March 09, 2004

Transgressive

goes beyond the bounds or limits set by (a commandment, law, etc); violate, infringe

Transgression in art and life fascinate me, and not just because I have adolescent-style issues with authority. Great work can be done in the spaces and relations that are not _supposed_ to exist. The blending of boundaries, the larger ones of Self and Other but also the smaller ones, the divisions we are supposed to abide by; male/female, gay/straight, intellectual/hedonist, moral/immoral, black/white etc.

I think the grey area’s in life are tasty and sexy, those that co-opt and redefine the spaces in between (in one way or another) are those that make some off the best art. It is not that they are dichotomies, simple embodied dualities; they stake a space in-between or amongst- a third way of being.

I have been thinking a lot about how physical spaces can demarcate idea's like this and driving down from boston on the chinatown bus I could not sleep and was bored with my book so I spent most of the ride looking out the window as dense urban area's gave way to industrial to suburban to sub-sub-urban to rural and back again several times. I love the in-between, the infrastructure that runs in these "empty" places; weird rusting but still in use factories with long conveyor belts between tired buildings, lots filled with hundreds of yellow school buses, high tension power lines, empty motels, gravel pit's, malls, home depot's. All of it is beautiful- in bridgeport conn, driving through along the water there are all manner of decaying industrial sites, large silo's of chemicals, empty lots and in the midst of it, next to the freeway surrounded by empty trash filled lot's stands one lonely late Victorian house, boarded up, empty but still with dignity. It's so sexy and beautiful, defiant, demarcating the in-between economies and zoning and travel and land and water. It almost gave me chub (ok… it did).


This Poet [ny times] as profiled in the times strikes me as a transgressive figure. It's not so much the idea that a murderer can be a great artist, that shit is bland; it's the idea of beauty and darkness dancing together and melding, fucking right there in a florescent lighted cell. I am not drawn to the obvious dichotomy (that he is both a poet and a death-row inmate) but that he has created through his work a third space where-in both these performative actions (poetry and murder) are inscribed upon his being, he is not in any sense a duality as many would seek to describe him as but a singularity. A third space between the two (and many others). Oh… and he fucking writes ill verse.

Posted by thickeye at March 9, 2004 01:34 AM | TrackBack
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