The Fictive Museum Catalogue

THE FICTIVE MUSEUM CATALOGUE A Constellation of Quotations Version 1.2 Edited by Clair Le Couteur for the John Affey Museum

2019


This anthology of 144 quotations, an associative constellation on the fictive museum, is published in PDF form in concert with the John Affey Museum (JAM). It can be read start to finish, browsed at random, or searched as an archive for keywords, e.g.: ~ Cognitive ~ Fictive ~ Museum ~ Space ~ We ~ Entries are numbered duodecimally with the dodecahedral Accessioning Dice (below), according to the JAM method. The dice itself is numbered 000.0. The sequence of quotations follows their order of appearance in an accompanying volume: The Fictive Museum by Clair Le Couteur.

Each passage included can be found on the Internet, freely accessible through Google Books or Amazonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s search inside features. No permission has been sought from any publisher; no profit is being made from this virtual volume, which is being made available for the purposes of artistic research. If any author or publisher wishes their content to be redacted, they can contact the editor at <clairlecouteur@gmail.com>.

772.2

â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;According to a proven convention, the exergue plays with citation. To cite before beginning is to give the key through the resonance of a few words, the meaning or form of which ought to set the stage. In other words, the exergue consists in capitalising on an ellipsis. In accumulating capital in advance and preparing the surplus value of an archive.â&#x20AC;&#x2122; Jacques Derrida, Archive Fever, trans. Eric Prenowitz (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998), p.12.

2

479.1

‘The presence of an artefact, it relations, contexts, functions and associations, in short its rich life, concretely exists and simultaneously participates in a discursive and ‘textual’ space… There is no autonomy for things however desired; an artefact inevitably grows a textual appendage. This parallel yet connected textual space intervenes in the realm of material things, it frames physically and conceptually at any given moment what may be possible. […] What I want to bring to mind is the dependency of a text on a set of procedures that elude, or at least resist writing. It would be a mistake to take a particular act of transcription for the practice itself.

Nowhere is this more apparent than in the specific, detailed and local realm of things. […] What I want to underline in attending to this multitude of differences – which could be physically apprehended in an instant – is the impossibility inherent in transcribing a material syntax. This book recognises its condition of being neither contiguous with, nor totally separate from its subject, the material of culture. […] A functional object has a metonymic relationship to meaning while in service, the effect and implementation of its function can be juxtaposed to produce a figure of meaning by contiguity. Outside of its immediate context, stripped of its function, in a museum, gallery, or photograph, for instance, an object operates more conventionally like a sign in a written language.’

Neil Cummings (ed.), Reading Things: Sight Works Vol. III (London: Chance Books, 1993), p.15– 22, <http://www.neilcummings.com/content/reading-things/> [accessed 8 April 2019].

3

144.0

‘In short, ‘reading’ follows production in all cases except those in which space is produced especially in order to be read. This raises the question of what the virtue of readability actually is. It turns out on close examination that spaces made (produced) to be read are the most deceptive and tricked up imaginable.’

Henri Lefebvre, The Production of Space, trans. Donald Nicholson-Smith (Oxford: Blackwell, 2000), p. 143.

4

218.1

‘[David Foster] Wallace claimed that footnotes…made his writing more like reality, asking the reader to accept a disorienting, nonlinear world… Negotiating between reality and fiction, the note, for him, called for a kind of “loopy” thinking, and many writers have followed Wallace since, employing this kind of loopy thinking to a consideration and re-consideration, a reading and re-reading of reality and fiction… No matter how factual and direct… notes… tend to illuminate the ways in which the artifice of the so-called primary text formally and thematically evolves as a new textual reality and as an extension of what comes before…

[Footnotes] begin to exceed their limited nature as citation and supplement, moving towards the role – always implicit in their nature – of co-partner with the main text in extending and transforming the reality to which they refer.’

Patrick O’Donnell & Heide Ziegler, ‘Introduction: Headnotes, Footnotes, Endnotes’. In Rütiger Ahrens & Klaus Stierstorfer (eds.), Symbolism 15: Special Focus – Headnotes, Footnotes, Endnotes (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2015), pp. 3–20 (p. 7).

5

8E0.0

‘Processes of interpretation are not singular, but multiple, and they proceed from a range of starting points. According to the role being played by the visitor at the time (parent, scholar, tour guide, artist, recluse) different aspects of potential meaning will be mobilised from the materials provided by the museum. Meaning is produced by museum visitors from their own point of view, using whatever skills and knowledge they may have, according to the contingent demands of the moment, and in response to the experience offered by the museum.’

Eilean Hooper-Greenhill, Museums and the Interpretation of Visual Culture (Abingdon: Routledge, 2000), p. 5.

6

441.0

‘[T]he psychic apparatus finds a sort of perverse pleasure in this displeasure itself, in the neverending, repeated circulation around the unattainable, always missed object. The Lacanian name for this “pleasure in pain” is of course enjoyment (jouissance), and the circular movement which finds satisfaction in failing again and again to attain the object, the movement whose true aim coincides therefore with its very path toward the goal, is the Freudian drive. The space of the drive is such a paradoxical, curved space… it is ultimately nothing but a certain curvature of the space itself which causes us to make a bend precisely when we want to get directly at the object.’

Slavoj Žižek, Enjoy Your Symptom!: Jacques Lacan in Hollywood and Out (Abingdon: Routledge, 2007), p. 56.

7

153.0

â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;"New materialism" as a term was coined by Manuel DeLanda and Rosi Braidotti in the second half of the 1990s. New materialism shows how the mind is always already material (the mind is an idea of the body), how matter is necessarily something of the mind (the mind has the body as its object), and how nature and culture are always already "naturecultures" (Donna Haraway's term). New materialism opposes the transcendental and humanist (dualist) traditions that are haunting cultural theory, standing on the brink of both the modern and the postpostmodern era. The transcendental and humanist traditions, which are manifold yet consistently predicated on dualist structures, continue to stir debates that are being opened up by new materialists (think of the feminist polemic concerning the failed materialism in the work of Judith Butler, and of the Saussurian/Lacanian linguistic heritage in media and cultural studies). What can be labelled "new materialism" shifts these dualist structures by allowing for the conceptualization of the travelling of the fluxes of nature and culture, matter and mind, and opening up active theory formation.â&#x20AC;&#x2122; Rick Dolphijn & Iris van der Tuin, New Materialism: Interviews & Cartographies (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Library, 2012), p. 48.

8

459.0

‘Ontological indeterminacy, a radical openness, an infinity of possibilities, is at the core of mattering. How strange that indeterminacy, in its infinite openness, is the condition for the possibility of all structures in their dynamically reconfiguring in/ stabilities. Matter in its iterative materialization is a dynamic play of in/ determinacy. Matter is never a settled matter. It is always already radically open.

Closure cannot be secured when the conditions of im/possibilities and lived indeterminacies are integral, not supplementary, to what matter is.’

Karen Barad, ‘Trans*/Matter/Realities and Queer Political Imaginings’, in GLQ: A Journal of Lesbian and Gay Studies, 21. 2–3 (2015), 387–422 (p. 401).

9

01X.1 ‘The analogy is the pure embodiment of the As-if, which as an experience is evident but epistemologically eludes comprehension. Analogy is a refusal to accept the ungraspable, even if its ungraspability is recognised to the extent that whatever comprehension has been imposed on it will turn out to be a semblance only. To understand by means of feigning something is, however, a pragmatic necessity that aims not at insight but at production… The As-if modifies comparison and analogy in equal measure, and so the “intermediaries” present themselves as models that cannot, however, offer information about what they are modelling. Therefore model building is only a precondition for acts of comprehension and cannot explain what is to be comprehended…’

Wolfgang Iser, The Fictive and the Imaginary: Charting Literary Anthropology (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993), pp. 147–9.

10

679.0

‘That alone may be enough to lend them an aura, to re-enchant them beyond any instrumental functions they may have had at an earlier time. It may be precisely the isolation of the object from its genealogical context that permits the experience via the museal glance of re-enchantment. Clearly, such longing for the authentic is a form of fetishism … The museum fetish itself transcends exchange value.’

Andreas Huyssen, Twilight Memories: Marking Time in a Culture of Amnesia (Abingdon: Routledge, 1995), p. 33.

11

928.0

‘[I]n Western societies, the system of domination and exploitation is not just patriarchal but kyriarchal––that is, it is defined not only by gender but also by race, class, ethnicity, imperialism, and age.’

Elizabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, Congress of Wo/men: Religion, Gender, and Kyriarchal Power (Cambridge, MA: Feminist Studies in Religion Publishing, 2017), p. 2, Note 5.

12

4E9.0

‘Accessioning something means to take it into the museum. This is a serious step […] Once an object is accessioned into a museum collection it takes on a whole new life…’

Daniel B. Reibel, Registration Methods for the Small Museum, 5th ed. (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2017), p. 43.

13

002.0

‘[T]he term ‘appropriation’ stands for the relocation, annexation or theft of cultural properties – whether objects, ideas or notations – associated with the rise of European colonialism and global capital. It is underwritten by the formation of disciplines such as anthropology, museology and allied epistemologies of description, collecting, comparison and evaluation… Within the systematic deracination of property legitimised by colonialist discourse and the powers of capital, the museum has played a key role both as a repository and an ‘appropriating agency.’… The first wave of institutional critique… concerned largely with exposing or ironizing the structures and logic of the museum, has given way to more interactive, performative interventions… The first generation included the parodic counter-classifications of Marcel Broodthaers’ Museum of Modern Art (1968-72)… The late 1980s and early 1990s also spawned a series of para-museums and reinterpretational centres, such as the Museum of Jurassic Technology… They also gave rise to a number of exhibitions, situated within and around conventional museums, that sought to interrogate ‘the museum culture of appropriation.’ […] ‘The Curator’s Egg’ (Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, December 1991 – May 1992) offered one of the fullest of these reckonings, attempting to interrupt normative museum experience and display routines by reconfiguring interpretive labelling, juxtaposing popular cultural material with revered classical art objects, and deconstructing the exhibition space itself.’

John C. Welschman, Art After Appropriation: Essays on Art in the 1990s (Abingdon: Routledge, 2001), pp. 1–2.

14

390.0

‘Blasphemy protects one from the moral majority within, while still insisting on the need for community. Blasphemy is not apostasy. Irony is about contradictions that do not resolve into larger wholes, even dialectically, about the tension of holding incompatible things together because both or all are necessary and true.

Irony is about humour and serious play. It is also a rhetorical strategy and a political method…’

Donna Haraway, ‘A Cyborg Manifesto: Science, Technology, and Socialist-Feminism in the Late Twentieth Century’, in Simians, Cyborgs, and Women: The Reinvention of Nature (Abingdon: Routledge, 1991), pp. 149–182 (p. 291).

15

15X.0

‘Rather than jettisoning "validity" as the term of choice, I retain the term in order to both circulate and break with the signs that code it. What I mean by the term, then, is all of the baggage that it carries plus, in a doubled movement, what it means to rupture validity as a regime of truth… What might open-ended and context sensitive validity criteria look like? Why is validity the site of such attraction? How much of this obsession with legitimation/validity issues in research methodology is part of the disciplinary nature of our society of confession and conscience? Such post-epistemic concerns reframe validity as multiple, partial, endlessly deferred… They construct a site of development for a validity of transgression that runs counter to the standard validity of correspondence: a nonreferential validity interested in how discourse does its work, where transgression is defined as "the game of limits . . . at the border of disciplines, and across the line of taboo".’

Patti Lather, ‘Fertile Obsession: Validity After Poststructuralism’, The Sociological Quarterly, 34.4 (1993), 673–693 (pp. 674–5).

16

901.0

‘[Maurice] Merlau-Ponty rejects the presupposition that emotional expressions are “natural signs” and linguistic signs are “conventional signs”… [E]ven the most disinterested uses of language involve some emotional sense. Words are not simply message bearers, but are expressions of a certain style of singing the world; different languages are not simply means for expressing the same ideas, but are different ways of being in the world. Languages, then, are not perfectly transposable because they are expressions of... different worlds. Language claims the goal of reaching a truth through more and more adequate expression, but this “universal thought” that is the implicit goal of language is not something that exists in advance and that is obscured by languages itself.’ [Our italics].

Donald A. Landes, Merleau-Ponty and the Paradoxes of Expression (London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2013), pp. 92–3.

17

E70.0

‘And who counts as ‘us’ in my own rhetoric? Which identities are available to ground such a potent political myth called ‘us’, and what could motivate enlistment in this collectivity?’

Donna Haraway, ‘A Cyborg Manifesto: Science, Technology, and Socialist-Feminism in the Late Twentieth Century’, in Simians, Cyborgs, and Women: The Reinvention of Nature (Abingdon: Routledge, 1991), pp. 149–182 (p. 296).

18

E6E.0

‘(Let us note at least in parentheses: the violence of this communal dissymmetry remains at once extraordinary and, precisely, most common. It is the origin of the common, happening each time we address someone, each time we call them while supposing, that is to say while imposing a “we,” and thus while inscribing the other person into this situation…)’

Jacques Derrida, Archive Fever, trans. Eric Prenowitz (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998), pp. 41–2.

19

13E.0

‘Should I say “we” instead of “I”? Am I pretending the museum is actually speaking? What would it say? How would it say it? Can I make jokes? How funny is my museum? Is Wellcome Collection sarcastic, staid, sombre, sassy?’

Russell Dornan [former operator of the Wellcome Collection Twitter account], ‘Should Museums Have a Personality?’ Museum Hack, 4 October 2017, <https://museumhack.com/should-museumshave-a-personality/> [accessed 15 October 2017].

20

712.0

‘More recently still, the concept of capital has been extended into the field of art and culture, in an effort to recognise the distinctive features of artworks and other cultural goods as capital assets, and to capture the ways in which such assets contribute, in combination with other inputs, to the production of further cultural goods and services. Thus the economic concept of cultural capital has taken shape. […] [T]he services of artworks as capital items may be combined with labour and other inputs to yield consumption experiences for visitors to art museums. The artworks in a museum may stimulate the production of further works through their influence on creative artists who view them, thus leading to further capital formation. Cultural capital may deteriorate over time, necessitating investment in its maintenance or refurbishment.’

David Throsby, ‘Cultural Capital’, in Ruth Towse, ed., A Handbook of Cultural Economics (Cheltenham: Edward Elgar Publishing Ltd., 2011), pp. 166–169 (p. 166–68).

21

9E5.0

‘The German word museal [museumlike] has unpleasant overtones. It describes objects to which the observer no longer has a vital relationship and which are in the process of dying. They owe their preservation more to historical respect than to the needs of the present. Museum and mausoleum are connected by more than phonetic association. Museums are like the family sepulchres of works of art.’

Theodore Adorno, quoted in Douglas Crimp, On the Museum’s Ruins (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1995), p. 44.

22

913.0

‘Although visitors in museums are trained to view the artefacts in an historicised and aestheticised way by employing “the museal gaze”, the traditional habit in dealing with the sacral and sacred has been very much perpetuated in the secular institution of the museum: visitors enter the sanctuaries with awe and reference [sic], the appropriate demeanour towards the exhibits is quiet contemplation, and the show-case is the modern shrine. And last but not least, people expect the museum to provide answers and determine that which is supposed to be “true”, “beautiful” and “good”…’

Silke Arnold-de Simine, ‘Theme Park GDR? The Aestheticiation of Memory in post-Wende Museums, Literature and Film’, in Christian Emden & David R. Midgley (eds.), Cultural Memory and Historical Consciousness in the German-speaking World (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2004), pp. 253–280 (p. 256).

23

182.0

‘[A]cts of presencing and absencing that are enacted by museums [are] part of the identity construction process transmitted by storytelling… the distinction… drawn in museal narratives between an imaginary ‘us’ and ‘them.’ I have treated these acts of identity ascription as political, since through identifying a ‘we’ and articulating particular Others, viewers are either allowed or denied access to identity and often to respective knowledge. By ascribing identities in storytelling, museums actively mould audience experiences and fill individual positions as part of communities… [A]cts of absencing are purposeful, and although absencing of information about artistic identities and artworks may serve different purposes, promoting locally dominant positions towards memory and belonging was a recurrent practice in the acts of ascribing meaning.’

Margaret Tali, ‘Speaking Absence: Art Museums, Representation and Knowledge’, (Unpublished Doctoral Thesis, University of Amsterdam, 2014), p. 201, <http://dare.uva.nl/search? metis.record.id=431096> [accessed 22 January 2018].

24

580.2

‘The movement of coloniality is speaking about the erasure, about the violence that was necessary for the institutionalisation of the world order. What has been lost?

What has been erased? The museum should not reinforce modernity, its role is to undo the ‘double erasure’ of coloniality.’

Rolando Vásquez, quoted in Margarita Osipian, ‘Conference: Museums, Citizenship and Belonging in a Changing Europe’ (Leiden: Research Centre for Material Culture, 2017), p. 1.

25

43E.0

‘[Double erasure is the] erasure of certain cultures by theorising them as inferior (less developed), and erasure of, hiding from sight, the work of cultural hegemony.

The postcolonial may counter this process by re-inscribing even seemingly matterof-fact issues such as economic growth within the realm of culture and social meaning.’

Eiman O. Zein-Elabdin, ‘Articulating the postcolonial (with economics in mind)’. In Eiman O. Zein-Elabdin & S. Charusheela (eds.), Postcolonialism Meets Economics (Abingdon: Routledge, 2004), pp. 21–39 (p. 28).

26

E52.0

‘Where thinking comes to a standstill in a constellation saturated with tensions–– there the dialectical image appears. It is the cæsura in the movement of thought.

Its position is naturally not an arbitrary one. It is to be found, in a word, where the tension between dialectical opposites is greatest. Hence, the object constructed in the materialist presentation of history is itself the dialectical image. [N10a3]’ Walter Benjamin, The Arcades Project, trans. Howard Eiland & Kevin McLaughlin (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press, 1999), p. 475.

27

968.3

It is the deepest enchantment of the collector to enclose a particular item within a magic circle, where, as a last shudder runs through it (the shudder of being acquired), it turns to stone. Everything remembered, everything thought, everything conscious becomes socle, frame, pedestal, seal of his possession. It must not be assumed that the collector, in particular, would find anything strange in the topos hyperourainos––that place beyond the heavens which, for Plato, shelters the unchangeable archetypes of things. [H1a,2]’ Walter Benjamin, The Arcades Project, trans. Howard Eiland & Kevin McLaughlin (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press, 1999), pp. 204–5.

28

6E0.0

‘A fifth regular solid still exists, namely the dodecahedron, which does not form the element of any substance; but God used it as a pattern for dividing the zodiac into its twelve signs.’; with ‘And whereas a fifth figure yet alone remained, God used it for the universe in embellishing it with signs.’

R. D. Archer-Hind, ed. The Timaeus of Plato (London: Macmillan & Co., 1888) p. 190, p.197, <http://www.math.upatras.gr/~streklas/public_html/timaeusofplato00platiala.pdf> [accessed 10 August 2017].

29

4E3.0

‘We can summarise this conception as one in which forms are imposed from the outside on an inert and obedient matter, a conception that Gilbert Simondon, a philosopher whose ideas were very influential on Deleuze, named the hylomorphic model. The hylomorphic model can be challenged in three ways: first, by replacing a passive matter with a materiality possessing its own active powers, like chemical substances with the capacity to affect and be affected by other substances, a capacity (or intensive affect), that leads to the spontaneous generation of new chemical forms; second, by replacing the notion of a formal cause resembling that which it causes to form by topological forms that do not resemble what they cause to form because they are actualised divergently; and third, by replacing the essential properties necessary to belong to a category with the emergent properties of a whole that are contingent on the interactions between its parts. These three replacements, of which only the first two are acknowledged by Deleuze and Guattari, should be performed in the case of natural forms as well as in cases of forms that involve human intervention…’

Manuel DeLanda, Assemblage Theory (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2016), pp. 142–43.

30

744.0

‘[C]ontemporary discussions in fields ranging from anthropology and archaeology to art history and material culture studies continue to reproduce the underlying assumptions of the hylomorphic model even as they seek to restore the balance between its terms. My ultimate aim, however, is to overthrow the model itself, and to replace it with an ontology that assigns primacy to processes of formation as against their final products…to restore to life a world that has been effectively killed off in the pronouncements of theorists… [A] focus on life processes requires us to attend not to materiality as such but to the fluxes and flows of materials… tracing the paths of form-generation…to read creativity ‘forwards’, as an improvisatory joining in with formative processes, rather than ‘backwards’, as an abduction from a finished object to an intention in the mind of an agent… [T]he pathways or trajectories along which improvisatory practice unfolds are not connections, nor do they describe relations between one thing and another. They are rather lines along which things continually come into being… not a network of connections but a meshwork of interwoven lines of growth and movement.’

Tim Ingold, ‘Bringing Things to Life: Creative Entanglements in a World of Materials’, ESRC National Centre for Research Methods Working Paper Series #15 (University of Manchester, July 2010), pp. 2–3. < http://eprints.ncrm.ac.uk/1306/1/0510_creative_entanglements.pdf> [accessed 24 November 2017].

31

303.0

‘This is where the old “mind” versus “matter” dichotomy breaks down. The mistake made by commentators who focus exclusively upon the “mind” is that they emphasise the potential for rich symbolic behaviour without indicating that the ultimate criterion is the praxis in the material world. This supposed potential only reaches fulfilment when mind and matter come together in a new material behaviour. To deal with these issues properly requires what one may term a hypostatic approach which transcends the mind/matter dichotomy (even if such terminology recalls medieval theological debates about the essence of the Holy Trinity). [I]n many cases it is not correct to assume that mind precedes practice, or that concept precedes material symbol. As we shall see, symbols are not always just the reflection or “materialisation”… of pre-existing concepts. The substantive engagement process brings the two forward together… From such experiencedbased constructs as “weight” and “length” and “sameness” emerge the possibility of measure and of taxonomy… It is from the engagement process between humans and artefacts that new meanings are generated… [There are] a range of cases where the material thing…does indeed work as a symbol – that is to say, has a symbolic role, is not representing something else but is itself active. We might call it a constitutive symbol.’

Colin Renfrew, ‘Towards a Cognitive Archaeology: Material Engagement and the Early Development of Society’, in Ian Hodder, ed. Archaeological Theory Today (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2012), pp. 124–145 (pp. 128–30).

32

E28.0

‘A detailed analysis of dualism also shows that its characteristic logical structure of otherness and negation corresponds closely to classical prepositional logic, the leading logical theory of modernity. I argue that classical logic, as the logic of instrumental reason, approximates this structure, and that is a major reason why it has been selected out of alternative theoretical possibilities. Moreover, the logic of dualism yields a common conceptual framework which structures otherwise different categories of oppression. […] [M]any elements of Platonic reason/nature dualism remain unresolved in modern approaches to reason, human identity and death… Breaking the dualism involves both affirming and reconceptualising the underside, nature… Once nature is reconceived as capable of agency and intentionality, and human identity is reconceived in less polarised and disembodied ways, the great gulf… disappears. […] The master culture must now make its long-overdue homecoming to the earth. This is no longer simply a matter of justice, but now also a matter of survival.’

Val Plumwood, Feminism and the Mastery of Nature (Abingdon: Routledge, 2003), pp. 2–6.

33

880.0

‘It was the mathematician Friedrich Gauss who first realized that the calculus could be used to study a surface without any reference to a global embedding space, that is, using only information on the surface itself. In short, Gauss “advanced the totally new concept that a surface is a space in itself”… Is it possible to “draw” intensive maps on multiplicities? To do this we need to include in the map not only the parameters characterizing the environment of the entity to be studied, but also the variables defining the entity itself… This generates a geometrical representation of the space of possible states in which the object can be… [T]he maps constituted by the state spaces of concrete entities or processes not only graphically record the results of laboratory measurements, they possess zones of stability and display transitions between zones as inherent features, yielding a more intimate relation between a map and that which is being mapped. Gilles Deleuze quickly realised the metaphysical importance of these ideas. To begin with, the fact that a multiplicity is defined locally without the need for a global embedding space implies that we are dealing with immanent features of a space, not with extrinsic, transcendent coordinates defined through the use of a supplementary dimension… In other words, the term “multiplicity” in Deleuze refers to manifolds used to conceptualize possibility spaces. Concepts that are defined not linguistically but as the structure of a space of possibilities, like the space of possible colours, he designates as “Ideas”.’

Manuel DeLanda, Deleuze: History and Science (New York: Atropos Press, 2010) pp. 125–127.

34

223.4

‘The philosophical significance of this can be brought out when we consider that, traditionally, transcendent forms of determination, whether the God of creationists or the formal essences constituted by Aristotelian genera and species, operate on a higher dimension that the space in which a material process unfolds. If we use the variable ’n’ for dimensions, transcendent formal or divine causes tend to operate in a space with n+1 dimensions. But as Deleuze and Guattari argue, the diagram of an assemblage ‘however many dimensions it may have…never has a supplementary dimension to that which transpires upon it. This alone makes it natural and immanent.’

Manuel DeLanda, Assemblage Theory (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2016), p. 116.

35

545.0

‘To talk about my museum means discussing the ways and means of analysing fraud. The ordinary museum and its representatives simply present one form of truth. To talk about this museum means speaking about the conditions of truth. It is also important to find out whether or not the fictional museum casts a new light on the mechanisms of art, the artistic life, and society. I pose the question with my museum. Therefore I do not find it necessary to produce the answer.’

Marcel Broodthaers, quoted in Meredith Carruthers, ‘“Melancholy bitter castle of eagles”: Jon Knowles Visits the Redpath Museum’, ETC: Cabinets de Curiosités, 86 (2009), pp. 20–23 (p. 20).

36

784.0

‘Uncertainties and unknowns need to be acknowledged and discussed as part of interpretive programmes; this includes the problems of identifying art and identifying value in art – these are silent questions that predicate confusion among many.’

Christopher Whitehead, Interpreting Art in Museums and Galleries (Abingdon: Routledge, 2012), p.

175.

37

97X.0

â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;In every statement, we make a choice of categories because we have some reason for focusing on certain properties and downplaying others. Every true statement, therefore, necessarily leaves out what is downplayed or hidden.â&#x20AC;&#x2122; George Lakoff & Mark Johnson, Metaphors We Live By (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2008), p. 163.

38

259.0

‘I am not interested in critique. In my opinion, critique is over-rated, overemphasized, and overutilized, to the detriment of feminism. As Bruno Latour signals in an article entitled "Why has critique run out of steam? From Matters of Fact to Matters of Concern" (2004), critique is a tool that keeps getting used out of habit perhaps, but it is no longer the tool needed for the kinds of situations we now face. Critique has been the tool of choice for so long, and our students find themselves so well trained in critique that they can spit out a critique with the push of a button. Critique is too easy, especially when a commitment to reading with care no longer seems to be a fundamental element of critique. So as I explain to my students, reading and writing are ethical practices, and critique misses the mark… Critique is all too often not a deconstructive practice, that is, a practice of reading for the constitutive exclusions of those ideas we can not do without, but a destructive practice meant to dismiss, to turn aside, to put someone or something down—another scholar, another feminist, a discipline, an approach, et cetera. So this is a practice of negativity that I think is about subtraction, distancing and othering.’

Karen Barad, quoted in Rick Dolphijn & Iris van der Tuin, New Materialism: Interviews & Cartographies (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Library, 2012), p. 49.

39

X05.0

‘Museums house objects… stored and sorted according to one system or another, and held as a kind of alphabet, the individual letters of which can be combined and re-combined according to particular recognized grammatical rules to generate easily recognized meanings. The succession of meta-narratives for which collections have provided visual illustrations is itself sufficient to roundly refute any claim that an object or series of objects can prove the truth or untruth of any scientific or aesthetic formation. The system of objects and the system of narratives have no intrinsic or necessary link between them. Consequently, the supposedly objective basis of systematic collections, and the use of such criteria to distinguish between private and museum-based collections must be seen as having been grounded on wholly fictitious assumptions.’

Anthony Shelton, ‘Introduction: The Return of the Subject’, in Collectors: Expressions of Self and Other, ed. Anthony Shelton (London: The Horniman Museum and Gardens, 2001), pp. 11–22 (pp.

19-20).

40

1E2.1

‘[T]he agglutinative brings into play associative manoeuvres, juxtaposition, blend and splice, non-inflexional modes of elision and stickiness. We have a dramatic contrast by setting it off against parsing – a function that epitomizes the “slice and carve” mechanism of grammar… It stands at the opposite end of the spectrum to the agglutinative’s “stick on” processes of figuring forth, of constellating assemblages. Whether this puts it entirely outside the ambit of grammar remains arguable. More likely we are faced with an agrammaticality that has the capacity to oscillate rapidly between several modalities.’

Sarat Maharaj, ‘Know-how and No-How: Stopgap Notes on “Method” in Visual Art as Knowledge Production’, Art & Research: A Journal of Ideas, Contexts and Methods 2.2 (2009), 1–11 (p. 4), <http://www.artandresearch.org.uk/v2n2/maharaj.html> [accessed 16 June 2016].

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220.0

‘In the Section de Figures (The Eagle from the Oligocene to the Present), mounted by his fictional museum, Broodthaers famously submitted more than three hundred different eagles to this principle of levelling. In this way, the eagle itself, no longer a figure of nobility, becomes a sign of the figure, the mark – that is – of pure exchange. Yet in this there is a further paradox that Broodthaers himself did not live to see. For the eagle principle, which simultaneously implodes the idea of an aesthetic medium and turns everything equally into a readymade that collapses the difference between the aesthetic and the commodified, has allowed the eagle to soar above the rubble and to achieve a hegemony once again. Twenty-five years later, all over the world, in every biennial and at every art fair, the eagle principle functions as the new Academy. Whether it calls itself installation art or institutional critique, the international spread of the mixed media-installation has become ubiquitous. Triumphantly declaring that we now inhabit a post-medium age, the post-medium condition of this form traces its lineage, of course, not so much to Joseph Kosuth as to Marcel Broodthaers.’

Rosalind Krauss, A Voyage on the North Sea – Art in the Age of the Post-Medium Condition (London: Thames and Hudson, 2000), p. 20.

42

128.0

‘The closed space of the aesthetic is thereby also opened up to its henceforth fully culturalized context: whence the critical attacks of the postmodernists on antiquated notions of the ‘autonomy of the work of art’ and the ‘autonomy of the aesthetic’ that persisted through the modernist period, [serving] as its philosophical cornerstone… [I]n a strict philosophical sense, this end of the modern must also spell the end of the aesthetic itself, or of aesthetics in general: for where the latter suffuses everything, where the sphere of culture expands to the point where everything becomes in one way or another acculturated, the traditional distinctiveness or ‘specificity’ of the aesthetic (and even of culture as such) is necessarily blurred or lost altogether. The return of the aesthetic, however… [goes] hand in hand with the equally widely trumpeted end of the political in the postmodern era. This paradox demands a dialectical explanation, which has to do with the end of artistic autonomy, of the work of art and of its frame. For once one no longer scrutinises individual works as such, for their form and inner organisation, the tour of the museum calls forth aleatory perceptions, in which glints of colour are collected from this or that surface in passing, fragments of form consumed in Benjaminian distraction, and as though laterally, out of the corner of the eye, textures acknowledged, densities navigated in an unmappable way with space assembling and disassembling itself oneirically around you.’

Fredric Jameson, ‘Transformations of the Image in Postmodernity’, in The Cultural Turn: Selected Writings on the Postmodern, 1983-1998 (New York: Verso, 1998), pp. 93–135 (pp. 111–12).

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745.0

‘The “clear and distinct” itself is inseparable from the model of recognition which serves as the instrument of every orthodoxy, even when it is rational. Clarity and distinctness form the logic of recognition, just as innateness is the theology of common sense…’

Gilles Deleuze, Difference and Repetition, trans. Paul Patton (New York: Columbia University Press, 1994), p. 146.

44

70E.0

‘While the contradiction principally denotes the use of fiction, the analogy is the pure embodiment of the As-if, which as an experience is evident but epistemologically eludes comprehension. Analogy is a refusal to accept the ungraspable, even if its ungraspability is recognised to the extent that whatever comprehension has been imposed on it will turn out to be a semblance only. To understand by means of feigning something is, however, a pragmatic necessity that aims not at insight but at production. For this process, the “intermediary and “similarity-centre” are indispensable types of fiction. The “intermediary” is devised in order to reduce “the gap between the mass of apperception and that which is to be apperceived” … The As-if modifies comparison and analogy in equal measure, and so the “intermediaries” present themselves as models that cannot, however, offer information about what they are modelling. Therefore model building is only a precondition for acts of comprehension and cannot explain what is to be comprehended…

[F]iction as “similarity-centre” serves “to facilitate and accelerate the comparison of particular sensations” … Their productiveness is proportional to what they accomplish. It is as “transit-points” that they come closest to their nature as mere projected supplements. Their contents are minimalised, and this brings out their elemental functionality, which is fulfilled by their catalytic effect. These different forms of the As-if reveal the unmistakable features of a structural model. The As-if is in fact the structure of the structures that vary according to prevailing pragmatic contexts… this structural model issues forth into an open taxonomy. This can be seen from the fact that Vaihinger’s voluminous study expands more and more into a veritable catalogue of fictions, the sheer number of which swamps both the qualitative and the functional differences between them. One has the impression that the accumulation of examples serves to produce a critical mass meant to prove incontrovertibly that, apart from sensations and “the unalterable co-existence and sequence of phenomena,” everything is fiction.’… Vaihinger’s use of the Kantian

45

As-if misappropriates its essential duality… Like Nietzsche’s concept of semblance as a foundational principle of the world, Vaihinger’s As-if finds itself in the dilemma that, by fictionalising all posits, it ends up being one itself.’

Wolfgang Iser, The Fictive and the Imaginary: Charting Literary Anthropology (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993), pp. 147–9.

46

998.0

‘A focus on what people find meaningful necessitates investigating the cognitive, physical and social embodiment that shapes and constrains meaningful expression… For example, we know from cognitive psychology that people find most categories meaningful in terms of prototypes, not in terms of necessary and sufficient conditions. In Cognitive Linguistics, we have developed a theory of radial categorization consonant with both the psychological evidence and wide ranges of linguistic examples. From cognitive neuroscience we know that the physical brain does not process visual information in a disembodied, nonimagistic way, but instead maintains the perceptual topology of images presented to it, and the re-represents increasingly abstract spatial and imagistic details of that topology… [T]opologies provide links between different clusters of prototypes in radial categories and… motivate the cross-domain mappings of systematic conceptual metaphors… [S]uch factors can and have been shown to shape and constrain what shared meaning emerges…’

Tim Rohrer, ‘Embodiment and Experientialism’, in Dirk Geeraerts & Hubert Cuyckens (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Cognitive Linguistics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), pp. 25–47 (p.

26).

47

823.0

‘Hegel betrays and distorts the immediate in order to ground his dialectic… to introduce mediation in a movement which is no more than that of his own thought and its generalities. When we say, on the contrary, that movement is repetition and that this is our true theatre… [w]e have in mind the theatrical space, the emptiness of that space, and the manner in which it is filled and determined by the signs and masks through which the actor plays a role which plays other roles; we think of how repetition is woven from one distinctive point to another, including the differences within itself… The theatre of repetition is opposed to the theatre of representation, just as movement is opposed to the concept and to representation which refers it back to the concept. In the theatre of repetition, we experience pure forces, dynamic lines in space which act without intermediary upon the spirit, and link it directly with nature and history, with a language which speaks before words, with gestures which develop before organised bodies, with masks before faces, with spectres and phantoms before characters - the whole apparatus of repetition as a “terrible power”.’

Gilles Deleuze, Difference and Repetition, trans. Paul Patton (New York: Columbia University Press, 1994), p. 10.

48

364.0

‘Building on the work of Michel Foucault… postcolonial theorist Gayatri Spivak in her key essay ‘Can the Subaltern Speak’ (1988), developed the idea of epistemic violence. Spivak argued that knowledge production has its own forms of violence, especially when the colonial white races produce knowledge about the colonised/ formerly colonized subjects. Whatever knowledge is produced by the Westerner then becomes established as truth, to be consumed by both the Western audience and the natives alike. Knowledge-making, or epistemology, was intimately connected to the violence of colonial conquest, domination and dispossession of the native subjects… produced as objects of knowledge to be inquired into, categorized and pronounced upon (as the Other of the West) … their own native knowledge-systems were rejected as irrational and irrelevant.’

Pramod K. Nayar, ‘Epistemic Violence’, in The Postcolonial Studies Dictionary (Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 2015), p. 65.

49

443.0

‘There is no true word that is not at the same time a praxis [action with reflection] … To exist, humanly, is to name the world, to change it. Once named, the world in its turn reappears to the namers as a problem and requires of them a new naming… no one can say a true word alone––nor can she say it for another, in a prescriptive act which robs others of their words… If it is in speaking their word that people, by naming their world, transform it, dialogue imposes itself as the way by which they achieve significance as human beings… Dialogue cannot exist, however, in the absence of a profound love for the world and for people. The naming of the world, which is an act of creation and re-creation, is not possible if it is not infused with love.’

Paulo Freire, Pedagogy of the Oppressed, trans. Myra Bergman Ramos (London: Penguin: 1996 [1970]), pp. 68–70.

50

998.0

‘Education thus becomes an act of depositing, in which the students are the depositories and the teacher is the depositor… This is the “banking” concept of education… Knowledge emerges only through invention and re-invention, through the restless, impatient, continuing hopeful inquiry human beings pursue in the world, with the world, and with each other… Education must begin with the solution of the teacher-student contradiction, by reconciling the poles of the contradiction so that both are simultaneously teachers and students….Those who use the banking-approach, knowingly or unknowingly (for there are innumerable well-intentioned bank-clerk teachers who do not realise that they are serving only to dehumanise), fail to perceive that the deposits themselves contain contradictions about reality. But, sooner or later, these contradictions may lead formerly passive students to turn against their domestication and the attempt to domesticate reality.’

Paulo Freire, Pedagogy of the Oppressed, trans. Myra Bergman Ramos (London: Penguin: 1996 [1970]), p. 53.

51

429.1

‘The path to the wild is paved with refusal […] the refusal of the choices as offered.’

Jack Halberstam, ‘The Wild Beyond: With and for the Undercommons’, in Stefano Harney & Fred Moten, The Undercommons: Fugitive Planning & Black Study (Wivenhoe: Minor Compositions, 2013), pp. 2–12 (p. 8), <http://www.minorcompositions.info/wp-content/uploads/2013/04/ undercommons-web.pdf> [accessed 16 October, 2017].

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E29.1

â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;I would like those who are not versed in anatomy to take the trouble, before reading this, to have the heart of some large animal with lungs dissected in front of them.â&#x20AC;&#x2122; Rene Descartes, A Discourse On Method, trans. John Veitch (London: J. M. Dent, 1920 [1637]), p.

37, Archive.org, <https://archive.org/details/in.ernet.dli.2015.206210> [accessed 19 October 2017].

53

555.1

‘This ant becomes infected by a fungus that takes over its brain: infected by inhaling the microscopic spore of a fungus… [which] lodges itself inside the ant's tiny brain and immediately begins to grow, quickly fomenting bizarre behavioural changes in its host… it leaves the forest floor and begins an arduous climb up the stalk of a vine or fern. […] Driven on by the still-growing fungus, the ant finally achieves a seemingly prescribed height… attaches its mandibles… [and] waits to die. […] The fungus, for its part, lives on: it continues to consume the ant's brain, moving through the rest of the nervous system and presently through all the soft tissue that remains of the ant. After approximately two weeks, a spikelike protrusion erupts from what was once the ant's head… heavily laden with spores, which now begin to rain down onto the forest floor for other unsuspecting ants to inhale. […]’”But at another level," David [Wilson] continued, "we were drawn to that particular instance because it seemed so metaphorical. That's one of our mottoes here at the museum: UT TRANSLATIO NATURA – NATURE AS METAPHOR. I mean, there've been times in my own life when I felt exactly like that ant – impelled, as if possessed, to do things that defy all common sense. That ant is me. I couldn't have summed up my own life better if I'd made him up all by myself." […] "But David," I wanted to say (and didn't). "You did make him up all by yourself."’

Lawrence Weschler, ‘Inhaling the Spore: Field Trip to a Museum of Natural (Un)History’, Harper’s Magazine 298.1732 (September, 1994).

54

585.0

‘But when we reach the point when our lives take on their final shape, as in a novel, we can identify our happiest moment. […] We can bear the pain only by possessing something of that instant. These mementos preserve the colours, textures, images, and delights as they were more faithfully, in fact, than can those who accompanied us through those moments… [I]t was at this, the happiest moment of my life, that the earring, whose shape I’d failed to notice fell from Füsun’s lovely ear onto the blue sheet.

Anyone remotely interested in the politics of civilisation will be aware that museums are the repositories of those things from which Western Civilisation derives its wealth of knowledge, allowing it to rule the world, and likewise when the true collector, on whose efforts these museums depend, gathers together his first objects, he almost never asks himself what will be the ultimate fate of his hoard. When their first pieces passed into their hands, the first true collectors–– who would later exhibit, categorise, and catalogue their great collections (in the first catalogues, which were the first encyclopaedias)––initially never recognised these objects for what they were.’

Orhan Pamuk, The Museum of Innocence, trans. Maureen Freely (New York: Vintage Books, 2010), p.98.

55

256.0

‘…the beginning is exactly what is lacking. One object must have been the first to be acquired, but then, when it was first, it was not being collected… In relation to the plot of collecting, the initial event is arbitrary, contingent, accidental. WHat makes this beginning a specifically narrative one is precisely that. Only retrospectively, through a narrative manipulation of the sequence of events, can the accidental acquisition of the first object become the beginning of a collection. In the plot it is pre-historic, in the story it intervenes in medias res. The beginning, instead, is a meaning, not an act. Collecting comes to mean collecting precisely when a series… suddenly becomes a meaningful sequence. This is the moment when a self-conscious narrators begins to ‘tell’ its story, bringing about a semiotics for a narrative of identity, history, and situation.’

Mieke Bal, “Telling Objects: A Narrative Perspective on Collecting”. In: John Elsner & Roger Cardinal (eds.) The Cultures of Collecting (London: Reaktion Books, 1997), 97-115 (p. 101).

56

882.0

’What we call “plot”… is nothing but a line that connects the points we want to relate and pass through. This line does not represent the material or the content of the novel…it indicates the distribution throughout the text of the many thousands of small points that compose the novel…the large and small spheres of energy…

Vladimir Nabokov called these…the “nerve endings” that make up a book. I feel that these units are, just like Aristotle’s atoms, indivisible and irreducible entities.’

Orhan Pamuk, The Naïve and the Sentimental Novelist, trans. Nazim Dikbas (London: Faber & Faber, 2011), p. 78.

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971.0

‘Sometimes, thus consoled [by visiting small European museums], I would imagine it possible for me to frame my collection with a story, and I would dream happily of a museum where I could display my life––the life that first my mother, and then Osman, and finally everyone else thought I had wasted––where I could tell my story though the things that Füsun had left behind, as a lesson to us all. […]

I was coming to see myself as someone who had travelled to distant countries and remained there for many years: say, an anthropologist who had fallen in love with a native girl while living among the indigenous folk of New Zealand, to study and catalogue their habits and rituals.’

Orhan Pamuk, The Naïve and the Sentimental Novelist, trans. Nazim Dikbas (London: Faber & Faber, 2011), pp. 495–6.

58

996.0

‘[O]ne always wonders whether and when Nietzsche is playing it straight or being ironic. Concerning resistance to paraphrase as a feature of Nietzsche’s writing, the third characteristic of his style which cannot be divorced from the thought it expresses, there are two senses in which this characterisation applies… [E]ven when a successful gloss can be offered of the item up for discussion, the feeling nevertheless persists that the item, just as it was written, is more important than its paraphrase… the specific words cannot be improved upon and that the force of the utterance is lost even in a successful paraphrase of its meaning… [T]his same relation obtains between Nietzsche’s text as a whole and its gloss or paraphrase… great writers want to be learnt by heart, memorised… since in memorising a line we incarnate it; it becomes a part of us, becomes us… [F]or almost any commentary on any aspect of Nietzsche’s work, that commentary fails to represent its subject accurately, that there are equally valid and deeply incompatible alternative reconstructions, no one of which is the final word…and that what is left over escapes conceptual reconstruction… [T]he relationship which holds between Nietzsche’s philosophising, on the one hand, and an account of that philosophy, on the other, is rather like the relationship which holds between a great novel and its plot summary; one learns everything and nothing from it.’

Bernd Magnus, ‘Philosophy as a Kind of Writing: Der Fall Nietzsche’, in Herbert Grabes, ed.

REAL, Yearbook of Research in English and American Literature, Volume 13: Literature and Philosophy (Tübingen: Gunter Narr Verlag, 1997), pp. 125–148 (p. 135).

59

332.0

‘Clearly, the processes of reading and looking are irreducible to one another; they’re simultaneous forms, in that they cannot be accurately compared in a tangible, or quantifiable sense. And yet, the embodied relations between reading and looking in the moment of actually experiencing something are compound; you can’t pull them apart. They have a sensation print, which will in turn store as a memory, and hopefully, eventually, bloom into an idea.’

Maria Fusco, ‘Imagining Our Future,’ talk given at Emily Carr University (3 April 2014), <https:// vimeo.com/92968640> [accessed 25 September 2017].

60

20E.0

‘On the Continent they still use Musée in a rather wider sense than we in England use Museum; but it is remarkable that, although the art of delighting by sound has long been called emphatically Music, we never apply the name Museum to a Concert Hall. In this country we have specialized the word so much that we usually distinguish Museums from libraries, picture galleries and music halls…

The Museum contains the books of Nature, and the sermons which are in stones.’

W. Stanley Jevons, ‘The Use and Abuse of Museums’, in Hugh H. Genoways & Mary Anne Andrei (eds.), Museum Origins: Readings in Early Museum History and Philosophy (London: Routledge, 2016), pp. 99–110 (p. 100).

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453.0

‘[D]uring the upheaval of the 1960s... the pace of material life accelerated and the networking of electronic communications systems irrevocably began to alter traditional mechanisms of social, economic, sexual and intellectual exchange. As these changes washed around them, the museum and the store may have adjusted in scale... but still retained markedly unreconstructed bureaucratic cores... The imagined mass of ‘mass consumption’ had fractured into lifestyle clusters, groups with requirements that could no longer be responded to with a rigid management hierarchy or single exhibition strategy.... It appeared that the store, like the museum, could be condemned to lie remaindered in a cultural backwater, permanently disengaged from the active interpretation of the past and present of things.’

Neil Cummings & Marysia Lewandowska, The Value of Things (Basel: Birkhauser, 2000), pp. 114– 116.

62

978.0

‘To begin with a properly museal gesture, we must remember that… the museum is a direct effect of modernisation, rather than somehow standing on its edge or even outside it. It is not the sense of secure traditions that marks the beginnings of the museum, but rather their loss combined with a multi-layered desire for (re)construction. A traditional society without a secular teleological concept of history does not need a museum, but modernity is unthinkable without its museal project… No matter how much the museum, consciously or unconsciously, produces and affirms the symbolic order, there is always a surplus of meaning that exceeds set ideological boundaries, opening spaces for reflection and counterhegemonic memory.’

Andreas Huyssen, Twilight Memories: Marking Time in a Culture of Amnesia (Abingdon: Routledge, 1995), p. 15.

63

5X6.1

‘If Bouvard and Pécuchet never assemble… a library, they nevertheless manage to constitute for themselves a private museum [which] occupies a central position in the novel; it is connected to the characters' interest in archaeology, geology, and history and it is thus through the Museum that questions of origin, causality, representation, and symbolisation are most clearly stated. The Museum, as well as the questions it tries to answer, depends upon an archaeological epistemology. Its representational and historical pretensions are based upon a number of metaphysical assumptions about origins… [E]ach archaeological artefact has to be an original artefact, and these original artefacts must in turn explain the "meaning" of a subsequent larger history… The set of objects the Museum displays is sustained only by the fiction that they somehow constitute a coherent representational universe. The fiction is that a repeated metonymic displacement of fragment for totality, object to label, series of objects to series of labels, can still produce a representation which is somehow adequate to a nonlinguistic universe.

Such a fiction is a result of an uncritical belief in the notion that ordering and classifying, that is to say, the spatial juxtaposition of fragments, can produce a representational understanding of the world. Should the fiction disappear, there is nothing left of the Museum but "bric-a-brac," a heap of meaningless and valueless fragments of objects which are incapable of substituting them selves either metonymically for the original objects or metaphorically for their representations.’

Eugenio Donato, quoted in Douglas Crimp, On the Museum’s Ruins (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1995), pp.52–3.

64

600.0

‘The copy theory in its various forms… stands closer [than a naturalistic theory] to the main philosophical tradition, and to the attitude of common sense today.

Uncritical semantics is the myth of a museum in which the exhibits are the meanings and the words are the labels. To switch language is to change labels…

[A] naturalistic view of language and a behavioural view of meaning… [gives up] not just the museum figure of speech. We give up an assurance of determinacy.

Seen according to the museum myth, the words and sentences of a language have their determinate meanings. To discover the meanings of a native’s words we may have to observe his behaviour, but still the meanings of the words are supposed to be determinate in the native’s mind, his mental museum… [But for naturalism] that there are no meanings, nor likenesses nor distinctions of meanings, beyond what are overt in people’s disposition to behave… the question of whether two expressions are alike or unalike in meaning has no determinate answer, known or unknown, except insofar as the answer is settled in principle by people’s speech dispositions, known or unknown. […] Still, if the museum myth were true, there would be a right and wrong of the matter; it is just that we would never know, not having access to the museum. See language naturalistically, on the other hand, and you have to see the notion of likeness of meaning in such a case simply as nonsense.’

Willard V. O. Quine, ‘The Inscrutability of Reference’, in Danny D. Steinberg & Leon A. Jokobovits (eds.), Semantics: An Interdisciplinary Reader in Philosophy, Linguistics and Psychology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), pp. 142–156 (pp. 142–4).

65

73E.1

‘The constant division between the normal and the abnormal, to which every individual is subjected, brings us back to our own time, by applying the binary branding and exile of the leper to quite different objects; the existence of a whole set of techniques and institutions for measuring, supervising and correcting the abnormal brings into play the disciplinary mechanisms to which the fear of the plague gave rise. All the mechanisms of power which, even today, are disposed around the abnormal individual, to brand him and to alter him, are composed of those two forms from which they distantly derive. Bentham’s Panopticon is the architectural figure of this composition.... The panoptic mechanism arranges spatial unities that make it possible to see constantly and to recognise immediately.’

Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison, trans. Alan Sheridan (London: Vintage Books, 1995), pp. 199–200.

66

EE7.0

‘All of us are now sure that the glut of history, rumour, and evidence we call the modernist tradition is being circumscribed by a horizon. Looking down, we see more clearly its "laws" of progress, its armature hammered out of idealist philosophy, its military metaphors of advance and conquest. What a sight it is – or was! Deployed ideologies, transcendent rockets, romantic slums where degradation and idealism obsessively couple, all those troops running back and forth in conventional wars. The campaign reports that end up pressed between boards on coffee tables give us little idea of the actual heroics. Those paradoxical achievements huddle down there, awaiting the revisions that will add the avantgarde era to tradition, or, as we sometimes fear, end it. Indeed, tradition itself, as the spacecraft withdraws, looks like another piece of bric-a-brac on the coffee table – no more than a kinetic assemblage glued together with reproductions, powered by little mythic motors and sporting tiny models of museums.’

Brian O’Doherty, Inside the White Cube: the Ideology of the Gallery Space (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1986), p. 14.

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742.0

â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Myths are not lies. Nor are they detached stories. They are imaginative patterns, networks of powerful symbols that suggest particular ways of interpreting the world. They shape its meaning.â&#x20AC;&#x2122; Mary Midgley, The Myths We Live By (Abingdon, Routledge, 2003), p. 1.

68

874.0

â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Often [Enlightenment thinking] seizes a particular pattern of thought as the only one that can properly be called rational and extends it to quite unsuitable topics.

This intellectual imperialism constantly favours the form over the substance of what is being said, the method over the aim of an activity, and precision of detail over completeness of cover. That formal basis is not in fact at all particularly rational, though it is often thought of as being so.â&#x20AC;&#x2122; Mary Midgley, The Myths We Live By (Abingdon, Routledge, 2003), p. 13.

69

61X.0

‘Fictive Art is a particular form of aesthetic production that doesn't belong to any one field. Other terms for related kinds of work include superfiction and parafiction. Fictive artworks have clearly fictional elements but extend outside the realm of the textual in various ways, principally through the creation of realia. A working definition of the term might be: plausible fictions created through production of real-world objects, events, and entities.’

Antoinette LaFarge, ‘About this Site’, Fictive Art, Irvine: University of California Irvine (2007), <http://fictive.arts.uci.edu> [accessed 11 July 2017].

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471.1

â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;[T]he fictive compels the imaginary to take on a form at the same time that it acts as a medium for its manifestation. What the fictive targets is yet empty and thus requires filling; and what is characteristic of the imaginary is its featurelessness, which thus requires unfolding.â&#x20AC;&#x2122; Wolfgang Iser, The Fictive and the Imaginary: Charting Literary Anthropology (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993), p. xviii.

71

419.0 â&#x20AC;&#x2122;Indeed, in all subject-object relationships there is necessarily a third term, which resolves the dualism unifying the reality, and touches equally both the others. A Trinity in Unity is implied by religious experience and a Trinity in Unity is ultimately required by metaphysics.â&#x20AC;&#x2122; Cyril Charles Richardson, The Doctrine of the Trinity (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1958), p. 55.

72

994.0 ’[F]ictionalised doubling eludes or cognitive grasp and defies essentialisation…

The upshot of such a boundary-crossing is the generation of a double meaning, with the manifest meaning not supposed to mean what it says in order to make the disguise reveal what it hides. Such a form of doubling emblematises the fictive as the coexistence of that which is mutually exclusive, and at the same time points to a “family resemblance” between the fictive and the dream, whose disclosure through disguise corresponds to a basic desire to overstep boundaries… [H]uman beings are driven by the need to have access to the condition achieved in fictionalising and dreaming, a condition in which they can simultaneously step out of and be with themselves.’

Wolfgang Iser, The Fictive and the Imaginary: Charting Literary Anthropology (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993), p. xv.

73

X05.0

‘Naming, needless to say, is a powerful activity and one that has been embedded in modern productions of expertise and knowledge production. I have selected the term “trans*” for this book precisely to open the term up to unfolding categories of being organised around but not confined to forms of gender variance… [T]he asterisk modifies the meaning of transitivity by refusing to situation transition in relation to a destination, a final form, a specific shape, or an established configuration of desire and identity. The asterisk holds off the certainty of diagnosis; it keeps at bay any sense of knowing in advance what the meaning of this or that gender variant form may be, and perhaps most importantly, it makes trans* people the authors of their own categorisations… [A] name for expansive forms of difference, haptic relations to knowing, uncertain modes of being, and the disaggregation of identity politics predicated upon the separating out of many kinds of experience that actually blend together, intersect, and mix. This terminology, trans*, stands at odds with the history of gender variance, which has been collapsed into concise definitions, sure medical pronouncements, and fierce exclusions.’

Jack Halberstam, Trans*: A Quick and Quirky Account of Gender Variability (Oakland: University of California Press, 2018), pp. 4-5.

74

695.0

‘We live with a particular image of thought, that is to say, before we begin to think, we have a vague idea of what it means to think, its means and its ends. And then someone comes along and proposes another idea, a whole other image… From then on, thought is no longer carried on by a voluntary self, but by involuntary forces, the “effects” of machines.’

Gilles Deleuze, Desert Islands and Other Texts, 1953-74, trans. Michael Taormina (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2004), p. 139.

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‘A work in which, next to the image, both a commentary and an explanation are arranged can serve as one variation of the parallelism. In itself, such a pair… does not represent anything new and is perceived easily and naturally, especially when we are talking about an exhibition in a museum, where a small placard with an explanation helps the viewer to understand the concept of the painting or to find out the history of its creation, and we are ready to provide our companion with a similar commentary… A little different situation arises, when we arrange both a commentary and an explanation next to a painting (object), in such a way that both the first and the second form an artistic whole, a unified “organism”. In that case, a commentary and an explanation naturally continue to play the same role as described above, that is an entirely official, elucidating role. But, being placed in the same compositional field with the object… these texts begin to radiate some new significances, some new meanings. This clearly occurs, because such a pair turns out to be itself in the field of commentaries and explanations “pronounced” by the viewer who examines this “matrimonial pair” from the outside. This connection between the text and the image begins “to work” in a particularly enriching and intricate was when the “commentaries” are attributed to invented viewers… Reading such commentaries and examining the image, a real viewer feels that he has involuntarily wound up in an infinite suite of opinions, many of which, it seems to him, could belong to him.’

Ilya Kabakov, The Text as the Basis of Visual Expression, ed. Zdenek Felix (Berlin: Oktagon, 2000) pp. 257–8.

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‘Like the fictive museum project, of which the plastic signs are a part, the Plaques too create “a whole new system of relationships” (Broodthaers) consisting of many and varied ambiguous and paradoxical links between empty forms, of which perhaps the most concise model is the pictureless picture-frame.’

Ingrid Schaffner & Matthias Winzen (eds.), Deep Storage: Collecting, Storing, and Archiving in Art (Munich: Prestel, 1998), p. 88.

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‘Marcel Broodthaers’ Musée d’Art Moderne, Département des Aigles, Section XIXème Siècle is a seminal, emblematic project of the late 1960s… The museum, a “political parody of art institutions and…an artistic parody of political events,” consisted of empty packing cases, postcards of objects from other museums’ collections, projected slides and a transport truck. Following the logic of Walter Benjamin, Broodthaers conceived of his work as an intervention in the relationship between artistic authority and cultural politics…he renamed himself the ‘museum director’ rather than ‘artist,’ and conflated theory and practice in this new guise.’

Ingrid Schaffner, ‘Dialectic: The Deceptive Play of the Individual, or In the Archive’, in Ingrid Schaffner & Matthias Winzen (eds.), Deep Storage: Collecting, Storing, and Archiving in Art (Munich: Prestel, 1998), pp. 125–8 (p. 127).

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â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;The cleverly playful criticism contained in the Plaques exposes the institution of the museum as an ordering force concerned not so much with presenting and preserving art as with inaugurating and maintaining its own system of order and administration, to which the works of art are subordinate. Inherent in the ensemble of plastic signs is a self-contradiction that subversively shatters its pseudo-system from within, just as the works of art are intended to shatter the varied frames in which they have been incarcerated by the museum. On the one hand, the group of similarly-sized signs would seem to be a systematic inventory of a collection of texts or objects. On the other, the impression they convey of an archive of enlarged index-cards is negated by the difficulty in understanding their paradoxical content.â&#x20AC;&#x2122; Ingrid Schaffner & Matthias Winzen (eds.), Deep Storage: Collecting, Storing, and Archiving in Art (Munich: Prestel, 1998), p. 88.

79

331.0 ‘Hyperstition is a positive feedback circuit including culture as a component. It can be defined as the experimental (techno-)science of self-fulfilling prophecies.

Superstitions are merely false beliefs, but hyperstitions – by their very existence as ideas – function causally to bring about their own reality. Capitalist economics is extremely sensitive to hyperstition, where confidence acts as an effective tonic, and inversely. The (fictional) idea of Cyberspace contributed to the influx of investment that rapidly converted it into a technosocial reality.’

Delphi Carstens & Nick Land, ‘Hyperstition: An Introduction,’ Merliquify (2009), <http:// merliquify.com/blog/articles/hyperstition-an-introduction> [accessed 17 September 2017].

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â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Some contributors to the debate on the specificity of research in the arts entertain the belief that art comes into being purely on the basis of intuition, on irrational grounds and via noncognitive routes, and that this makes it inaccessible for investigation from within. This misconception arises when the nonconceptual content of artistic facts becomes confused with their presumed noncognitive form, and when the nondiscursive manner in which that content is presented to us is presumed to betray its irrationality. Yet the phenomena at work in the artistic domain are decidedly cognitive and rational, even if we cannot always directly access them via language and concepts.â&#x20AC;&#x2122; Henk Borgdorff, The Debate on Research in the Arts (Bergen: Bergen National Academy of the Arts, 2007), p.14.

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‘[M]uch of what is sought for artistic research in the Deleuzian concept of deterritorialisation, especially the claim that objects combined in an artwork can coalesce in ways that transform [them or] … disclose their agency… is available in terms of metaphor, although Deleuze and Guattari would probably not agree. They hold a narrow concept of metaphor that limits the figure to being a relation between proper and figurative meaning…when an altogether more metaphysically dynamic concept is available from Max Black and Paul Ricœur.’

Clive Cazeaux, Art, Research, Philosophy (Abingdon: Routledge, 2017), p. 36.

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â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;The mind is inherently embodied. Thought is mostly unconscious. Abstract concepts are largely metaphorical. These are the three major findings of cognitive science. More than two millennia of a priori philosophical speculation about these aspects of reason are over.â&#x20AC;&#x2122; George Lakoff & Mark Johnson, Philosophy in the Flesh: The Embodied Mind and its Challenge to Western Thought (New York: Basic Books, 1999), p. 3.

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â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;[O]ne may vaguely see some object on the road a distance ahead. As one gets nearer, the object seems to resolve itself into a road accident with a car in the ditch.

Then all of a sudden, the picture changes to that of a tractor digging a ditch by the side of the road. The interesting point is the very sudden switch from one interpretation to another. The image of the object on the road sets of an elaboration pattern on the memory surface. Then the image changes slightly and there is a shift to a completely different pattern. It is not very difficult to understand how a change in a picture presented to the memory surface can lead to a sudden change in the pattern it evokes. The suddenness of the switch-over just reflects the flip-flop nature of the self-maximising organisation of the memory surface. A pattern that becomes slightly more likely will suddenly become most likely. What is rather more difficult to understand is how there can be a sudden and complete change in interpretation without any change whatsoever in the picture.â&#x20AC;&#x2122; Edward de Bono, The Mechanism of Mind (London: Penguin Books, 1977), pp. 165â&#x20AC;&#x201C;166.

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422.0

‘Research shows complex effects of emotion on decision making and reasoning, with emotion sometimes hindering normatively correct thinking and sometimes promoting it… [with] key differences between incidental affect (feeling states not related to the semantic contents of the cognitive task) and integral affect (where the feeling state is caused by or linked to the contents…).’

Isabelle Blanchette & Anne Richards, ‘The influence of affect on higher level cognition: A review of research on interpretation, judgement, decision making and reasoning’, Cognition and Emotion 24.4 (2010), 561–595 (p. 561).

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‘It is certain that practice (in this case, frequent re-evocation) keeps memories fresh and alive in the same manner in which a muscle that is used remains efficient; but it is also true that a memory evoked too often, and expressed in the form of a story, tends to become fixed in a stereotype, in a form tested by experience, crystallised, perfected adorned, which installs itself in the place of raw memory and grows at its expense.’

Primo Levi, The Drowned and the Saved (London: Abacus Books, 1989), pp. 11–12.

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X01.0

‘[The culturally normal fantasy of human exceptionalism] is the premise that humanity alone is not a spatial and temporal web of interspecies dependencies.

Thus, to be human is to be on the opposite side of the Great Divide from all the others… […] Freud described three great historical wounds to the primary narcissism of the self-centred human subject, who tries to hold panic at bay by the fantasy of human exceptionalism. […] The third wound is the Freudian, which posited an unconscious that undid the primacy of conscious processes, including the reason that confronted Man with his unique excellence, with dire consequences for teleology once again. Science seems to hold that blade too. I want to add a fourth wound, the informatic or cyborgian, which infolds organic and technological flesh and so melds that Great Divide as well.’

Donna J. Haraway, When Species Meet (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2008), pp.

11–12.

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‘[I]nstead of being integrated into a single map, spatial knowledge can fall into disconnected components, with little or no relation between the components… knowledge of routes (and other spatial facts) may be represented asymmetrically, so that a route is followed in one direction but not in the other… even the most sophisticated “Map in the Head” is built from computational structures that occasionally reveal their nonmaplike properties.’

Benjamin Kuipers, ‘The “Map in the Head” Metaphor’, Environment and Behaviour 14.2 (1982), 202–220 (p. 202).

88

896.0

‘Quite independently of the mind-body problem... our ordinary concepts of space, time, and matter are profoundly inadequate and partial representations of the nature of the reality to which they are a response.’

Galen Strawson, Mental Reality, 2nd ed. (Cambridge, MA: Bradford Books, 2009), pp. 98–99.

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‘The ability to exploit analogies is ubiquitous in human cognition and perception.

Humans excel at recognising and capitalising on structural isomorphisms between different objects or different conceptual domains… we do not always immediately recognise the parallelism between domains; but once we are aware… we exploit it effortlessly… One example, where the analogy between two domains is very clear and nearly perfect, is the use of maps, scale models, and drawings to understand their real-world counterparts…so compelling that children go through a stage of making scale errors, attempting to treat smaller model objects as if they were their larger counterparts… This ability to “see” structural or functional similarities is crucial to the formation of concepts and categories…it also underlies our ability to generalise from our memories…The strategy of using a concrete domain to represent an abstract one also underlies much of our use of [language]… These extended metaphors tend to be culturally shared, as shown in their systematic use in language… The grounding of abstract conceptual knowledge in concrete domains… is clearly at work in activities such as mathematics… In short, recognising and exploiting analogies, particularly physical and spatial analogies, seem to be a general feature of human cognition, ranging from perceptual to the abstractly cognitive… [L]anguage is a bodily activity, expressed with the vocal tract or… the hands.’

Margaret Wilson, ‘How Did We Get From There to Here? An Evolutionary Perspective on Embodied Cognition’, in Paco Calvio & Toni Gomila (eds.), Handbook of Cognitive Science: An Embodied Approach (Amsterdam: Elsevier Science, 2008) pp. 375–394 (pp. 383–388).

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‘If you look at any walls spotted with various stains or with a mixture of different kinds of stones, if you are about to invent some scene you will be able to see in it a resemblance to various different landscapes adorned with mountains, rivers, rocks, trees, plains, wide valleys, and various groups of hills. You will also be able to see divers combats and figures in quick movement, and strange expressions of faces, and outlandish costumes, and an infinite number of things which you can then reduce into separate and well-conceived forms. With such walls and blends of different stones it comes about as it does with the sound of bells, in whose clanging you may discover every name and word that you can imagine.’

Leonardo Da Vinci, Leonardo Da Vinci’s Notebooks, trans. Edward Curdy (New York: Empire State Book Company, 1923) p. 173, Archive.org, <https://archive.org/details/ leonardodavincis007918mbp> [Accessed 1 August 2017].

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‘The totalising power of suspicion is a formidable weapon in the hands of a rhetorician like Freud, who has the skill to evoke in his readers an immediate sense of self-recognition. He asks that we reinterpret our actions in an ironic and suspicious light, but in return we experience a thrill of comprehensions. We derive a sense of mastery even in recognising the nature of our unfreedom. It is no slight to Freud’s rhetorical gifts, furthermore, to recognise that suspicion is the most contagious of all attitudes next to simple fear, and that paranoia is the one communicable mental disease.’

John C. Farrell, Freud’s Paranoid Quest: Psychoanalysis and Modern Suspicion (New York: NYU Press, 1998), p. 44.

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‘Assemblages emerge from the interactions between their parts, but once an assemblage is in place it immediately starts acting as a source of limitations and opportunities for its components (downwards causality) … Philosophically, this double determination is important: wholes emerge in a bottom-up way, depending causally on their components, but they have a top-down influence on them. The upward causality is necessary to make emergent properties immanent: an assemblage’s properties may be irreducible to its parts but that does not make them transcendent, since they would cease to exist if the parts stopped interacting with one another. The downward causality is needed to account for the fact that most assemblages are composed of parts that come into existence after the whole has emerged.’

Manuel DeLanda, Assemblage Theory (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2016), p. 21.

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‘In fact, where menhirs are found, an obscene creed has persisted… In former times the towers, the pyramids, the wax tapers, the boundaries of roads, and even the trees had a phallic meaning. Bouvard and Pécuchet collected whipple-trees of carriages, legs of armchairs, bolts of cellars, apothecaries’ pestles. When people came to see them they would ask, “What do you think that is like?” and then they would confide the secret. And, if anyone uttered an exclamation, they would shrug their shoulders in pity… Immediately they showed the museum, beginning with the church window; but they longed to reach the new compartment––that of the phallus. The ecclesiastic stopped them, considering the exhibition indecent. He came to demand back his baptismal font. [They] begged it for another fortnight, the time necessary for taking a moulding of it.’

Gustave Flaubert, Bouvard and Pécuchet: A Tragi-Comic Novel of Bourgeois Life (1881), pp. 103– 4, FeedBooks.com, <http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/25014> [accessed 1 August 2017].

94

023.0

‘Not to be. To self-identify as. However secretly. To imagine they [who purchase elite military clothing] may be mistaken for, or at least associated with. Virtually none of these products will ever be used for anything remotely like what they were designed for. Of course that’s true of most of the contents of your traditional armynavy store. Whole universes of wistful male fantasy in those places. But the level of consumer motivation we’re seeing, the fact that these are often what amount to luxury goods, and priced accordingly. That’s new. I felt like a neurosurgeon, when this was brought to my attention, discovering a patient whose nervous system is congenitally and fully exposed. It’s just so nakedly obvious. Fantastic, really.’

William Gibson, Zero History (New York: Viking, 2011), p. 168.

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‘[E]xhibits slip from the factual to the metaphorical with disarming fluency… there’s no way of knowing how to read this material…exhibits unsettle us with information about information. The artefacts we’re supposed to be learning about start to dematerialise into a field of questions about display and the nature of knowledge… the general parameters of what constitutes an exhibit grow fuzzy. On coming out into the lobby, it’s easy to wonder whether the gift store is yet another exhibit… [T]he suspicion that these exhibits are metaphorical induces minor paranoia… [which] goes a long way toward shaking up habitual perceptions. In certain cases, the uncertainty that the MJT instils in a viewer can produce what I call Stoned Thinking… decoding cryptic messages and… previously unconsidered cosmic implications… something close to a trance.’

Ralph Rugoff, ‘Beyond Belief: The Museum as Metaphor’, in Lynne Cooke & Peter Wollen (eds.), Visual Display: Culture Beyond Appearances (New York: The New Press, 1995), pp. 72–3.

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‘What is decisive in collecting is that the object is detached from all of its original functions in order to enter into the closest conceivable relation to things of the same kind. This relation is the diametric opposite of utility, and falls into the peculiar category of completeness… a grand attempt to overcome the wholly irrational character of the object’s mere presence at hand through its integration into a new, expressly devised historical system: the collection… [E]very single thing in this system becomes an encyclopaedia of all knowledge of the epoch, the landscape, the industry, and the owner from which it comes. It is the deepest enchantment of the collector to enclose a particular item within a magic circle, where, as a last shudder runs through it (the shudder of being acquired), it turns to stone. Everything remembered, everything thought, everything conscious becomes socle, frame, pedestal, seal of his possession… [The collector would not] find anything strange in the topos hyperourainos––that place beyond the heavens which, for Plato, shelters the unchangeable archetypes of things. He loses himself, assuredly. But he has the strength to pull himself up again … from out of the sea of fog that envelops his senses rises the newly acquired piece, like an island. –– Collecting is a form of practical memory, and of all the profane manifestations of “nearness” it is the most binding… [T]he smallest act of political reflection makes for an epoch in the antiques business. We construct here an alarm clock that rouses the kitsch of the previous century to “assembly” [H1a,2].’

Walter Benjamin, The Arcades Project, trans. Howard Eiland & Kevin McLaughlin (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press, 1999), pp. 204–5.

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‘In museums, we care about both perceived authenticity and real authenticity. We want the power of the story--and the facts to back it up. This can come off as contradictory. We want visitors to come experience "the real thing" or "the real site," appealing to the spiritual notion that the personhood in the original artifact connotes a special value. At the same time, we don't always tell folks that what they are looking at is a replica, a simulation, or a similar object to the thing they think they are seeing.’

Nina Simon, ‘Is it Real? Artwork, Authenticity… and Cognitive Science’, Museum 2.0 (8 October 2014), <http://museumtwo.blogspot.co.uk/2014/10/is-it-real-artwork-authenticity-and.html> [accessed 7 August 2017].

98

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‘Neither teleologically closed, nor strictly inductive or deductive… [Warburg’s Atlas presents] a contingent or fragmentary material in which what we lose in precision we gain in legibility.’

Georges Didi-Huberman, Atlas: How to Carry the World on One’s Back (Madrid: Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía, 2010), p. 181.

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‘Producing an atlas is to reconfigure the space, to redistribute it, to disorient it at last: to displace it where we thought that it was continuous, re-gather it when we assumed there were borders… Aby Warburg had already understood that any image – any production of culture in general – is an encounter of multiple migrations. There are uncountable contemporary artists who do not accept a landscape only to tell us the history of a country: they are the reason why, in the same surface – or atlas page – different forms coexist to represent the space.’

George Didi-Huberman, translated and quoted by Cesar Huapaya, ‘Montage and Image as Paradigm’, Brazilian Journal on Presence Studies 1.6 (Jan/Apr 2016), p. 112.

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‘Warburg expresses in his atlas a fundamental complexity… neither to be synthesised (through a unifying concept) nor described exhaustively (in an integral archive), nor classed from A to Z (in a dictionary). Warburg’s atlas does not perform according to a pre-axiomatic structure. It is not predictable in its outcome.’

Georges Didi-Huberman, quoted in Larsson, ‘Thinking Things’, p. 8.

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130.0

‘For one to whom the real world becomes real images, mere images are transformed into real beings––tangible figments which are the efficient motor of trance-like behaviour.’

Guy Debord, quoted in Patrizia Dander & Elena Filipovic (eds.), Mark Leckey: On Pleasure Bent (Frankfurt: Walther König, 2014), p. 35.

102

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‘[T]he powers of difference and repetition could be reached only by putting into question the traditional image of thought. By this I mean not only that we think according to a given method, but also that there is a more or less implicit, tacit or presupposed image of thought which determines our goals when we try to think.

For example, we suppose that thought possesses a good nature, and the thinker a good will (naturally to 'want' the true); we take as a model the process of recognition - in other words, a common sense or employment of all the faculties on a supposed same object; we designate error, nothing but error, as the enemy to be fought; and we suppose that the true concerns solutions - in other words, propositions capable of serving as answers. This is the classic image of thought, and as long as the critique has not been carried to the heart of that image it is difficult to conceive of thought as encompassing those problems which point beyond the propositional mode; or as involving encounters which escape all recognition; or as confronting its true enemies, which are quite different from thought; or as attaining that which tears thought from its natural torpor and notorious bad will, and forces us to think.’

Gilles Deleuze, ‘The Image of Thought’, in Difference and Repetition, trans. Paul Patton (New York: Columbia University Press, 1994), p. xvi.

103

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‘Any true feeling cannot in reality be expressed. To do so is to betray it. To express it, however, is to conceal it. True expression conceals what it exhibits. It pits the mind against nature’s real vacuum, by creating in reaction a kind of fullness of thought. Or rather it creates a vacuum in thought, in relation to the manifest illusion of nature. Any strong feeling produces an idea of emptiness within us, and lucid language which prevents this emptiness also prevents poetry appearing in thought. For this reason an image, an allegory, a form disguising what it means to reveal, has more meaning to the mind than the enlightenment brought about by words or their analysis.’

Antonin Artaud, ‘Oriental and Western Theatre’, in The Theatre and Its Double, trans. Victor Corti (Richmond: Alma Classics, 2013), pp. 49–52 (p. 53).

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‘Here space is everything, for time ceases to quicken memory. Memory––what a strange thing it is!––does not record concrete duration… We are unable to relive duration that has been destroyed. We can only think of it, in the line of an abstract time that is deprived of all thickness. The finest specimens of fossilised duration concretised as a result of a long sojourn, are to be found in and through space. The unconscious abides. Memories are motionless, and the more securely they are fixed in space, the sounder they are… For a knowledge of intimacy, localisation in the spaces of our intimacy is more urgent than determination of dates.’

Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space (London: Penguin Classics, 2014), p. 31.

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‘Resemblance’, Anna Munster argues, ‘should here be considered as a resonating relation, rather than a hierarchy (a form) that arranges a signifier and signified within a sign. [For Gregory Bateson] this was difference itself… The point of overlay between map and territory, then, is a fuzzy set of resonating, subtractive, differentiating resemblance relations––the island-map force field.’

Anna Munster, An Aesthesia of Networks: Conjunctive Experience in Art and Technology, MIT Press, 2013: pp. 24–5.

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â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;On a map of an island laid down upon the soil of that island there must, under all normal circumstances, be some position, some point, marked or not, that represents qua place on the map the very same point qua place on the island.â&#x20AC;&#x2122; Charles Sanders Peirce, Collected Papers, Vol. 11, Charles Hartshorne & Paul Weiss (eds.), (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1932), p. 230.

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â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Meaning is not subjective; it is not projection of thought or thinking onto the object; it is a perception of a real relationship within a nexus prior to the subjectobject separation in thought.â&#x20AC;&#x2122; Wilhelm Dilthey, quoted in Richard Palmer, Hermeneutics: Interpretation Theory in Schleiermacher, Dilthey, Heidegger, and Gadamer (Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 1969), p. 120.

108

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‘The story of objects asserting themselves as things, then, is the story of a changed relation to the human subject and thus to the story of how the thing really names less an object than a particular subject-object relation.’

Bill Brown, ‘Thing Theory’, Critical Inquiry 28.1 (Autumn 2001), 1–22 (p. 4), <http:// faculty.virginia.edu/theorygroup/docs/brown.thing-theory.2001.pdf> [accessed 30 March 2016].

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‘[T]he pathways or trajectories along which improvisatory practice unfolds are not connections, nor do they describe relations between one thing and another. They are rather lines along which things continually come into being. Thus when I speak of the entanglement of things I mean this literally and precisely: not a network of connections but a meshwork of interwoven lines of growth and movement. […] perhaps we could define the thing… as a ‘parliament of lines’… [T]he thing has the character not of an externally bounded entity, set over and against the world, but of a know whose constituent threads, far from being contained within it, trail beyond, only to become caught with other threads in other knots.’

Tim Ingold, ‘Bringing Things to Life: Creative Entanglements in a World of Materials’, ESRC National Centre for Research Methods Working Paper Series #15 (University of Manchester, July 2010), p. 3. <http://eprints.ncrm.ac.uk/1306/1/0510_creative_entanglements.pdf> [accessed 24 November 2017].

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â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;It matters what matters we use to think other matters with; it matters what stories we tell to tell other stories with; it matters what knots knot knots, what thoughts think thoughts, what ties tie ties. It matters what stories make worlds, what worlds make stories.â&#x20AC;&#x2122; Donna Haraway, Staying with the Trouble (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2016), p. 12.

111

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‘The effect of stoned thinking is to scramble our perception of boundaries, so that almost anything looms as a potential exhibit deserving an intimate once-over. To give an example, a friend once emerged from the exhibition halls and started examining an unusual object on the front desk––what he assumed was some kind of antiquated seismic instrument. Upon inquiring, he learned it was a tape dispenser temporarily out of tape.’

Ralph Rugoff, ‘Beyond Belief: The Museum as Metaphor’, in Lynne Cooke & Peter Wollen (eds.), Visual Display: Culture Beyond Appearances (New York: The New Press, 1995), pp.73–74.

112

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‘[F]or Vo’s many fans, the idea of research and the lure of history still lend a certain assurance of critical substance. This is not to criticise his supporters, simply to point up the curious fact that Vo’s totemic, poignant, yet finally disconnected allusions are more akin to diamonds on a necklace––or, better, crystals dangling on a chandelier.’

Claire Bishop, ‘History Depletes Itself: Claire Bishop on Danh Vo at the Danish Pavilion and Punta Della Dogana’, Artforum International 54.1 (2015), 324–330 (p.329).

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‘The details may be dazzlingly colourful in their diversity, but the whole will never be more than grey on grey. After all, a puddle can never be more than dirty water, even though it may contain rainbow tints.’

Georg Lúkacs, ‘Realism in the Balance’, in Theodore Adorno (ed.), Aesthetics and Politics (London: Verso, 1977), pp. 37–49 (p. 43).

114

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‘Worse, this neutralising gaze recurs throughout an exceedingly large exhibition that celebrates the "migration of form" as a curatorial master trope… an innocent eye that can enjoy the life of forms without having to worry much about the political or social environment in which a form gains real effect and accrues layered meanings. The curators’ phenomenological bracketing of objective reality makes for a world of fluid figures, in which the shape of a totalitarian monument may seem comparable to a chewing gum bubble, say, or a piece of recent installation art… a cosmos of fascinating forms arranged into clusters of visual similes… [that] live side by side as equivalent elements in a transformational visual grammar able to generate an endless flow of similes… But when the logic of this visual play is elevated to a curatorial uberprinciple, delicate ocular jouissance gives way to a heavy-handed and tedious superficiality… What, in the end, is the point of these morphological exercises? What exactly is the “migration of form,” the conceptual cornerstone of Buergel’s curatorial edifice? How does it operate, and what does it mean?’

Daniel Birnbaum, ‘String Theory’, Artforum International 46.1 (1 September 2007), 408–10 (p.

408).

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‘Defining the specific status of the word as signifier for different modes of (literary) intellection within different genres or texts put poetic analysis at the sensitive centre of contemporary 'human' sciences – at the intersection of language (the true practice of thought) with space (the volume within which signification, through a joining of differences, articulates itself). To investigate the status of the word is to study its articulations (as semic complex) with other words in the sentence, and then to look for the same functions or relationships at the articulatory level of larger sequences. Confronted with this spatial conception of language's poetic operation, we must first define the three dimensions of textual space where various semic sets and poetic sequences function. These three dimensions or coordinates of dialogue are writing subject, addressee and exterior texts.’

Julia Kristeva, ‘Word, Dialogue and Novel’, in Toril Moi (ed.), The Kristeva Reader (New York: Columbia University Press: 1986), pp.34–61 (p. 36).

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â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;The modern world is one of simulacra. Man did not survive God, nor did the identity of the subject survive that of substance. All identities are only simulated, produced as an optical 'effect' by the more profound game of difference and repetition. We propose to think difference in itself independently of the forms of representation which reduce it to the Same, and the relation of different to different independently of those forms which make them pass through the negative. Modern life is such that, confronted with the most mechanical, the most stereotypical repetitions, inside and outside ourselves, we endlessly extract from them little differences, variations and modifications. Conversely, secret, disguised and hidden repetitions, animated by the perpetual displacement of a difference, restore bare, mechanical and stereotypical repetitions, within and without us. In simulacra, repetition already plays upon repetitions, and difference already plays upon differences. Repetitions repeat themselves, while the differenciator differenciates itself. The task of life is to make all these repetitions coexist in a space in which difference is distributed.â&#x20AC;&#x2122; Gilles Deleuze, Difference and Repetition, trans. Paul Patton (New York: Columbia University Press, 1994), p. xix.

117

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‘Stereotypes, as well as attitudes, goals, and identity also appear to exist at an implicit level, and operate “without the encumbrances of awareness, intention, and control,”… The implicit associations of the mind can be thought of as a tangled but highly organised network of connections. They connect representations of objects, people, concepts, feelings, your own self goals, motives and behaviours with one another. The strength of each of these connection depends on your past experiences (and also, interestingly, the current context)… [I]mplicit representations are remarkably reactionary… [I]t picks up and responds to cultural patterns in society, media, and advertising, which may well be reinforcing implicit associations you don’t consciously endorse… mean[ing] that if you are a liberal, politically correct sort of person, then chances are you won’t very much like your implicit mind’s attitudes…’

Cordelia Fine, Delusions of Gender: How Our Minds, Society, and Neurosexism Create Difference (London: W. W. Norton & Co., 2011), pp. 5–8.

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In one study, for example, a group of French high school students was asked to rate the truth of stereotypes about gender differences in talent in maths and the arts before rating their own abilities in these domains… Next, they were asked to report their scores… on a very important national standardised test taken about two years earlier. Unlike students in a control condition, those in the stereotype-salient group altered the memory of their own objective achievements to fit the well-known stereotype. The girls remembered doing better than they really had in the arts, while the boys inflated their marks in maths… If this method of priming gender doesn’t seem very subtle, it’s because it isn’t.’

Cordelia Fine, Delusions of Gender: How Our Minds, Society, and Neurosexism Create Difference (London: W. W. Norton & Co., 2011), p. 8.

119

XX5.0

‘Viewed through the lens of an anthropology that has finally become symmetrical or pluralist, the other cultures appear much more troubling today: they marshal categorizing principles that regroup within a single order – in a single collective, let us say – beings that we Westerners insist on keeping separate, or rather, while we think it is indispensable to have two houses to hold our collective, most of the other cultures insist on not having two. From this point on they can no longer be defined as different cultures having distinct points of view toward a single nature – to which “we” alone would have access; it of course becomes impossible to define them as cultures among other cultures against a background of universal nature.

There are only nature-cultures, or rather collectives that seek to know… what they have in common.’

Bruno Latour, Politics of Nature: How to Bring the Sciences into Democracy (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2004), p. 45.

120

E86.0

‘Conspiracy, one is tempted to say, is the poor person’s cognitive mapping in the postmodern age; it is the degraded figure of the total logic of late capital, a desperate attempt to represent the latter’s system, whose failure is marked by its slippage into sheer theme and content. Achieved cognitive mapping will be a matter of form…’

Fredric Jameson, ‘Cognitive Mapping’, in Cary Nelson & Lawrence Grossberg (eds.), Marxism and the Interpretation of Culture (Champaign: University of Illinois Press, 1988), pp. 347–60 (p. 356).

121

E98.1

‘To understand how a paradigm works, we first have to neutralise traditional philosophical oppositions such as universal and particular, general and individual, and even also form and content. The paradigm analogy is bipolar and not dichotomic, it is tensional and not oppositional. It produces a field of polar tensions which tend to form a zone of undecidability which neutralises every rigid opposition. We don’t have here a dichotomy, meaning two zones or elements clearly separated and distinguished by a caesura, we have a field where two opposite tensions run.’

Giorgio Agamben, What is a Paradigm? Lecture at European Graduate School (August 2002), European Graduate School, <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G9Wxn1L9Er0> [accessed 12 July 2017].

122

142.1

‘For most people today, divinity is a black-and-white issue. A being is either God or not God. God is "up there" in the heavenly realm, and we are "down here" in this realm. And there is an unbridgeable chasm between these two realms… [For most ancient people] the human realm was not an absolute category separated from the divine realm by an enormous and unbridgeable crevasse. On the contrary, the human and divine were two continuums that could, and did, overlap.’

Bart D. Ehrman, How Jesus Became God: The Exaltation of a Jewish Preacher from Galilee (San Francisco, CA: HarperOne, 2014), pp. 3–4.

123

98X.1

‘Lacan’s own discourse transformed into an exceedingly playful, more seemingly nonsensical and less immediately meaningful concatenation of polyphonic sounds.

Here his original ‘return to the reason of Freud' and that of the unconscious… gave way to a second return, a “return to the return”, involving the “enjoyification” of language, the “checking” of the unconscious, the “punning” of reason, an idiosyncratic mixture of science and poetry along the lines of Jarry’s pataphysics or, more performatively, the installations in Los Angeles’ Museum of Jurassic Technology.’ [NB: There are also two fictive museums dedicated to pataphysics: the Pataphysical Museum and Archive in London and the Musée Pataméchanique in Bristol, Rhode Island.]

Danny Nobus & Malcolm Quinn, Knowing Nothing, Staying Stupid: Elements for a Psychoanalytic Epistemology (Abingdon: Routledge, 2005), p. 78.

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736.0

‘Here, once again, pastiche: in a world in which stylistic innovation is no longer possible, all that is left is to imitate dead styles, to speak through the masks and with the voices of the styles in the imaginary museum. But this means that contemporary or postmodernist art is going to be about art itself in a new kind of way; even more, it means that one of its essential messages will involve the necessary failure of art and the aesthetic, the failure of the new, the imprisonment in the past.’

Fredric Jameson, ‘Postmodernism and Consumer Society,’ in The Cultural Turn: Selected Writings on the Postmodern, 1983-1998 (London: Verso, 1998), pp. 1–20 (p. 7).

125

824.1

‘[There is] a Duchamp genre in the making, which is not only at odds with his practice but paradoxically in advance of its recognition, and maybe in resistance to it as well… The important point is that the becoming-institutional of the avantgarde does not doom all subsequent art to court buffoonery. It also prompts in a second neo-avant-garde a critique of the process of acculturation and/or accommodation. Such is the principal subject of an artist like Broodthaers…’

Hal Foster, ‘What is Neo about the Neo-Avant-Garde?’ in Martha Buskirk & Mignon Nixon (eds.), The Duchamp Effect: Essays, Interviews, Round Table (Cambridge, MA: October Books, 1996), pp.

5–32 (p.23).

126

33E.1

‘[B]ehind its apparently simple visible façade – places, colours, forms – is an extremely complex and to a certain degree anarchic structure. In cyberspace, each thing conceals something else, each actor has a variety of faces. It is difficult to find something definitive, something that does not represent a puzzling mask behind which, once the puzzle would seem to be solved, something new appears; on closer inspection, everything shatters into a myriad disparate parts. No one has an overview of cyberspace. No one is its author or its subject…a burgeoning network in which identity and order would seem to be more or less dissolved.’

Ingrid Scharlau, ‘Cyberspace’, in Schaffner & Winzen, Deep Storage, pp. 108–112 (p. 109).

127

531.0

‘The suitability of this mode for the Internet was obvious – it is the perfect place for fictive and ‘pataphysical’ works.’

Greg Turner, Norie Neumark, Maria Miranda & Alastair Weakley, ‘Uncanny Interaction: A Digital Medium for Unconscious E.motion,’ (2008), p. 5, Open Publications of UTS Scholars, <https:// opus.lib.uts.edu.au/bitstream/10453/1574/1/2004000765.pdf> [accessed 03 June 2016].

128

639.1

â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Stories could also take this noble name [metaphor]: every day, they traverse and organise places; they select and link them together; they make sentences and itineraries out of them. They are spatial trajectories. In this respect, narrative structures have the status of spatial syntaxes. By means of a whole panoply of codes, ordered ways of proceeding and constraints, they regulate changes in space (or moves from one place to another) made by stories in the form of places put in linear or interlaced series: from here (Paris), one goes there (Montargis); this place (a room) includes another (a dream or a memory), etc... Every story is a travel story â&#x20AC;&#x201C; a spatial practice.â&#x20AC;&#x2122; Michel de Certeau, What is Architecture? ed. Andrew Ballantyne (Abingdon: Routledge, 2001), p.

72.

129

163.0

‘Terms of assemblage are necessitated by that which needs to be judged through the arrangement of their components… Fascinating how one finds the process before one realises why one is doing it.’

Maria Fusco, ‘How Imagination Remembers,’ The White Review (May 2014), <http:// www.thewhitereview.org/feature/how-imagination-remembers/> [accessed 20.10.2017].

130

611.0

‘The most pervasive “global” dialects of the present moment…proceed from…the aggregator…online services…making it possible, as a new generation of artists and critics has begun to assert, to shape vast flows and reservoirs of art-world information through the digital template of search algorithms and screen-based visual interfaces.’

David Joselit, ‘On Aggregators,’ October 146 (2013), 3–18 (p. 12).

131

851.1

‘[The aggregator] not only undermines the falsely unifying tone of the speaker and the alleged omniscience of the author, but also enables various practices, positions and perspectives to be juxtaposed…[and can thus] not only denounce naively subjective conceptions, but…redefines the object of writing history…as an agglomeration of numerous interlinked…structures.’

Benjamin H. D. Buchloh, ‘Warburg’s Paragon? The End of Collage and Photomontage in Postwar Europe’, in Schaffner & Winzen, Deep Storage pp. 55–6.

132

3X8.1

‘The desirability of aligning our counting––which was based on a biological accident––with our measuring––which was devised by pragmatic people––was well understood at the time of the French Revolution. It was evident that either counting should be changed to base twelve or that measuring should be changed to base ten so as to be in agreement with one another. The French blundered into changing the wrong one. Maladroitly, they decided to keep the accidental and to change the practical. It is analogous to cutting off one’s toes instead of obtaining a larger shoe.’

Gene Zirkel, ‘A Brief Introduction to Dozenal Counting’ (The Dozenal Society of America, Year 11X3), < http://www.dozenal.org/drupal/content/brief-introduction-dozenal-counting.html> [accessed 25 March 2018].

133

77E.0

‘From the late 1940s, Affey had begun to store his cases of indexed reference cards and dozens of original artefacts in the former Hektor whaling station… In 1968, disaster struck Deception in the form of violent geological upheaval, causing lahars of boiling mud and ash to engulf the site… The huts used as Base B of the BAS were badly damaged and abandoned, and, along with them, Affey’s improvised museum store. Despite increasingly desperate letters to anyone Affey thought may have been able to gain access to Deception Island and see what could be salvaged of his life’s work, all was to no avail, and the following year he suffered the first in a series of ultimately fatal strokes.’

Peter Le Couteur, ‘Fictive Museums and the Poetics of Mislabelling’, Performance Research 20.1 (2015), 36–47 (p.38).

134

486.1

‘Both in its singularity and its ubiquity within the landscape of the colonizer, the ethnographic museum can be understood as a household: a household of foreign matter. […] To work with it is to become contaminated: there is no redemption.

Everything I tell you today will be contaminated… If I want to work in a museum where redemption is possible, then I don’t go to an ethnographic museum.’

Clémentine Deliss, ‘Collecting and Curating Life’s Unknowns: Past Ethnography and Current Art Practice’, lecture at the Museu d’art Contemporani de Barcelona (28 November 2014).

135

282.0

‘There is a cursed head reputedly given to the museum by a ship’s captain who thought it gave him bad luck. On his way to hand it over, he fell and broke both his legs, and the person then entrusted to deliver the object suffered a similar fate.

Shortly after the head arrived at the museum, the director had a nasty accident. In 1965, two of the museum’s staff moved the head, and later that day were both injured in a car crash. Earlier this year, apparently, a new manager at the museum refused to believe the curse and moved the head. Shortly afterwards, a lorry reversed into his car on the way to work. Today, the object sits grinning from its glass cabinet, the awe-inspiring curse written on it for all to see in an ancient, indecipherable language.’

‘Guide to Warrington Museum’, Country Life [online] (10 January 2008), <http:// www.countrylife.co.uk/out-and-about/theatre-film-music/guide-to-warrington-museum-35149> [accessed 10 January 2018].

136

3X2.0

‘[A]s a conspiracy matures, criticisms of it – far from destabilising it – tend towards increasing its explanatory ambit, evidence that the theory has now even more theoretical traction, given, in part, the resistance it provokes. One might justifiably dub this reaction as ‘paranoid’ – yet, if it is, this paranoia is not merely a feature of conspiracy theory. Thinkers in the humanities and sciences have often tied the truth of a theory to the psychic resistance it ostensibly invokes.’

Emma A. Jane & Chris Fleming, Modern Conspiracy: the Importance of Being Paranoid (London: Bloomsbury, 2014), pp. 123–4.

137

581.2

‘When understanding museums as maps of culture, a silence can occur because something is purposefully excluded or because it is assumed that something is obvious. In the latter case an implicit assumption about the visitor, and about visitor demographics and visitors’ stocks of cultural capital, is made… [A]n imagined visitor – of European descent and/or educated in the western history of ideas – was bespoken through the cartography of the museum and invoked in the balance of provision of explanatory interpretation.’

Christopher Whitehead, Interpreting Art in Museums and Galleries (Abingdon: Routledge, 2012), p.

47.

138

643.0

‘It has been suggested that three technologies of power characterise the modern age: the census, the map, and the museum. Although these technologies were in existence before the modern period, it was at that time that they changed radically.

[These] ostensibly objective technologies for observation and classification, also act as technologies for value and power. The map has been used as a metaphor for the museum, which plots material geographies of taste and value. The functions of maps are to select from the totality of the world those aspects that can serve to depict it through ordering, classifying and construction pictures of ‘reality’. That which is marked on the map is affirmed as ‘real’; is that which is known and significant. […] Maps are official, legitimating documents. They, like modernist museums, have the authority of the official, the authenticated. They, like museums, are not neutral, may be inaccurate, may bear little relationship to the territory – the concrete that they are supposed to accurately reflect. Maps and museums both bring the world into an apparent single, rational framework, with unified, ordered and assigned relationships between nature, the arts, and cultures. Museums, like maps, construct relationships, propose hierarchies, define territories, and present a view. Through those things that are made visible and those things that are left invisible, views and values are created. These values relate to spaces, objects and identities.’

Eilean Hooper-Greenhill, Museums and the Interpretation of Visual Culture (Abingdon: Routledge, 2000), pp. 17–18.

139

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â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Individuation as such, as it operates beneath all forms, is inseparable from a pure ground that it brings to the surface and trails with it. It is difficult to describe this ground, or the terror and attraction it excites. Turning over the ground is the most dangerous occupation, but also the most tempting in the stupefied moments of an abstruse will. For this ground, along with the individual, rises to the surface yet assumes neither form nor figure. It is there, staring at us, but without eyes. The individual distinguishes itself from it, but it does not distinguish itself, continuing rather to cohabit with that which divorces itself from it. It is the indeterminate, but the indeterminate so far as it continues to embrace determination, as the ground does the shoe.â&#x20AC;&#x2122; Gilles Deleuze, Difference and Repetition, trans. Paul Patton (New York: Columbia University Press, 1994), p. 152.

140

935.1

‘That which had existed objectively but had not been perceived in its deeper implications (if at all) begins to “stand out”, assuming the character of a problem and therefore a challenge. Thus, men and women begin to single out elements from their “background awareness” and to reflect upon them. These elements are now objects of their consideration, and, as such, objects of their action and cognition.’

Paulo Freire, Pedagogy of the Oppressed, trans. Myra Bergman Ramos (London: Penguin: 1996 [1970]), p. 64.

141

5XE.0

‘Research artefact: Misleading features of research findings, produced by the activities of the researcher… Qualitative researchers strongly committed to naturalistic research might argue that the findings of most kinds of research are artefactual…’

Roger Gomm, Key Concepts in Social Research Methods (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009), p.

299.

142

2E2.0

‘The Encyclopedic Palace is an exhibition about the desire to know everything, and the point at which this impulse becomes defined by obsession and paranoia. In this regard, it is also an exhibition about the impossibility of knowing, about the failure to achieve omniscience, and the melancholy we suffer once it becomes clear that such efforts will always fall short of our desires. […] [The Encyclopedic Palace is] conceived of as a temporary museum…’

Massimiliano Gioni, The Encyclopedic Palace / Il Palazzo Encyclopedico Vol. 1 (Venice: Fondaione La Biennale di Venezia, 2013), p. 23.

143

6X9.0

‘The minimising of costs comes to be seen in relation not to a universal standard of time and energy expenditure but in terms of, for example, minimising disruption to other parts of the system. The maximising of benefits can be defined not in terms of universal measures of nutrient input but in terms of benefits to linked parts of the system or network. In these ways the focus on enhancing ‘fitness’ becomes transformed into an examination of increased ‘fittingness’.’

Ian Hodder, Entangled: An Archaeology of the Relationships between Humans and Things (Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 2012), p. 84.

144

502.0

‘[Art writing can approach] scholarly excellence… [through] proximity between the subject and one’s own voice…[and] to investigate and acknowledge relevant selfish archives, or again to investigate and acknowledge relevant archives selfishly… but such archival research is beleaguered with diversions, bolted gates, and stiles, which are best treated with amnesia in order to go on.’

Maria Fusco, ‘Imagining Our Future,’ talk given at Emily Carr University (3 April 2014), <https:// vimeo.com/92968640> [accessed 25 September 2017].

145