second step is to think about not just the achievement of that, but to reflect on it. The first step is to do it, which makes things happen. The second step is to reflect on that thing happening. And—just bullshitting right now—I think the third step might be digesting both and coming up with something different. What is that third step? So much of art and writing is really this one-two step, one-two punch and then knockout. It seems like frequently that third step happens accidentally. In artists that innovate at the same time as reflecting on their genuine existence. It seems to happen in the great minds that were living these bizarre lives of really talented creators. That third step provides a completely transcendental space that provides not only that cultural critique but it also created a whole new standard in which to live. Creo que potencialmente podría haber un cuarto paso. Recuerdo, en la película de Ed Harris sobre Pollock, la escena de introducción es una de mis escenas favoritas en el cine, identificada al menos con mis pasiones. Pollock está subiendo las escaleras con su cuñado, está muy borracho, y se va cayendo, y su cuñado que también está borracho, le va arrastrando por las escaleras. Y Pollock comienza a gritar, “¡Que le jodan a Picasso! ¡Que le jodan a Picasso! ¡Ese cabrón lo hizo todo!”.. Esa idea de “Que le jodan a Picasso”. Pero existe otra perspectiva histórica en la que se puede decir, “Menos mal que existe Picasso”. Yo puedo mirar a Picasso. Picasso no tenía un Picasso al que mirar. I think there’s a potential fourth step. I remember, in the Ed Harris film on Pollock, the intro scene is one of my favorites in cinema, related to my passions at least. Pollock is coming up the stairs with his brother-in-law, and he’s shitfaced, and he’s falling down, and his brother-in-law is drunk too, dragging him up the stairs. And Pollock starts yelling, “Fuck Picasso! Fuck Picasso! That bastard did everything…” That whole notion of “Fuck Picasso.” But there is this other historical perspective, in which I can say, “Thank God Picasso exists.” I have Picasso to look at. Picasso didn’t have Picasso to look at. Esa idea la vemos claramente en la tecnología. Ray Kerzwell habla de lo excepcional que se aproxima rápidamente. Su idea es que la tecnología se integrará a la biología humana para el 2020, creo que ese era el año, basándose en el crecimiento exponencial que tiene la tecnología casa dos años. No podemos tener el iPhone sin el iPod. No podemos tener el iPad sin el iPhone. Debido a que existe esa tecnología, podemos desarrollarla rápidamente hacia algo espectacular. Pero nunca pensamos en el arte de la misma forma. Porque nos quedamos constantemente en la idea de originalidad como si tuviéramos un derecho a fanfarronear. We view that technologically, hands down. Ray Kerzwell talks about the singularity rapidly approaching. His whole notion is about technology integrating into human biology by 2020, I think this was the year, and this is based on the exponential growth of technology every two years. We can’t have the iPhone without the iPod. We can’t have the iPad without the iPhone. Because this technology exists, we’re able to rapidly increase toward something he thinks is spectacular and I think is a travesty. But we never look at art that way. Because we’re constantly against this notion of originality being bragger’s rights.
JS: Capabilidad negativa. ¿Conoces ese término? Capabilidad negativa es la capacidad de retener dos pensamientos opuestos en tu mente al mismo tiempo. Digamos, tu capacidad de pensar en 2012, “Gracias a Dios que Picasso existió para poder admirarlo” y lo genial que fue que Jackson Pollock dijera “¡Que le jodan a Picasso!” Puedes respetar de forma equitativa a lo mejor, o al menos respetar ambas ideas al mismo tiempo. Gracias a Dios por Picasso y gracias a Dios por que le jodan a Picasso. Que puedan significar cosas parecidas para ti como artista es algo postmoderno, imagino, al menos en términos de poesía. JS: Negative capability. Do you know that term? Negative capability is the capacity to hold opposing thoughts in your minds at once. So, the capacity for you to think in 2012, “Thank god Picasso exists for me to look at” and how great it was for Jackson Pollock to say “Fuck Picasso!” You can respect equally, maybe, or at least respect both of those ideas at once. Thank god for Picasso and thank god for Fuck Picasso, as a gesture. That they could mean similar things to you as an artist is kind of a post-modern thing, I guess, at I guess, at least in terms of poetry. EDV: Esta frase está escrita en la cubierta de mi cuaderno. Esto es algo de lo que hablo con frecuencia, porque Nietzsche ha sido al mismo tiempo un gran héroe y un adversario para mi, bregando con las nociones de cristiandad y demás. Esta es una de mis frases suyas favoritas, es de Así Habló Zaratustra: “Solo podría creer en un Dios que supiese bailar. Y cuando vi a mi demonio lo encontré serio, grave, profundo y solemne. Era el espíritu de la pesadez. Todas las cosas caen por su causa”. EDV: This quote is written in the front of my notebook. This is something I frequently talk about, because Nietzsche has been a big hero and adversary at the same time, struggling with notions of Christianity and whatnot. This is one of my favorites of his, and it’s from Thus Spoke Zarathustra: “I could only believe in a god that would know how to dance, and when I saw my devil I found him serious, thorough, profound, and solemn. He was the spirit of gravity, and through him all things fall.” Me he servido de ello muchas veces. No se encuentra a lo mejor en el primer plano de mi trabajo. ¡Pero es una idea tan fuerte!. Sólo podría creer en un Dios que supiese bailar. Ese concepto de verdad, de cómo la verdad debe ser - la verdad sin humanidad. El arte parece estar en una discusión constante acerca de la presencia de la verdad como un absoluto. Tanto si es lingüísticamente, como culturalmente, siempre plantea una opción a verdades socialmente aceptadas, verdades filosóficamente aseveradas. I’ve referenced that lots of times, because it’s not maybe at the forefront of my work, but it’s such an idea. I could only believe in a god that knows how to dance. That kind of notion of truth, how truth is supposed to behave—truth without humanity. Art seems to be constantly in conversation with the presence of truth as an absolute. Whether it be linguistically, whether it be culturally, its always posing an option to socially accepted truths, philosophically guaranteed truths, etc. But, it gains this wonderful privilege of dancing on responsibility.