Points of Praxis

My Blog Reflects on Visual Rhetorical Theory and Disability Rhetoric and their Connections to Classical and Contemporary Rhetorical Theory

While doing some preliminary research for class on Van Looy and Baetens' book Close Reading New Media, I stumbled upon a blog that was discussing Ji Lee's The Bubble Project.  Lee printed 15,000 dialogue bubbles and pasted them to billboards and advertisements around NYC.  Sure enough, NY'ers filled in the bubbles with different comments, observations, and insights.  Lee, then, went back and photographed the bubbles and posted the images on his website, dividing them according to the subject matter:  Social Commentary, Sex and Drugs, Politics and Religion, Media and Fashion, Art and Philosophy, Humor, Personal Messages, and Seeds.

Lee states his purpose for the project (which is considered illegal) on his website:  "Our communial spaces are being overrun with ads.  Trainstations, streets, squares, busses, and now subways scream one message after another at us.  Once considered 'public,' these spaces are increasingly being seized by corporations to propoate their messages solely in the interest of profit.  Armed with heavy budgets, their marketing tactics are becoming more and more aggressive and manipulative.  We the public, are both the target and the victim of this media attack [sic].   The Bubble Project is the counter attack.  The Bubbles are the ammunition.  Once placed on ads, these stickers transform the corporate monologue into an open dialogue.  They encourage anyone to fill them in with any form of self expression, free from censorship.  More bubbles mean more freed spaces, more sharing of personal thoughts, more reactions to current events, and most importanly, more imagination and fun" (Lee, "Manifesto").  

The images of the filled-in bubbles were, honestly, hilarious and the messages they presented were honestly brutal.   But, for me, I like the availablity of social commentary and dissent they offer.  Specifically, few people have the opportunities to write, publish, and distribute their opinions.  But, Lee uses his new media to offer "public spaces" for social commentary through "old media" (i.e., the pen and paper) and new media. 

Lee also challenges the notion of audience, in this case.  By combining old and new media, Lee reaches a larger, more diverse audience.  For example, I discovered Lee's project on a blog published by new media scholars while searching for material for my electronic literature (new media) course.  The discourse community in this case is very limited.  However, by combining old and new media, Lee reaches an audience who might not have found his project online; instead, he reaches an audience who are simply walking to work, school, or the movies. 

In this case, Lee's work, and much of new media that is published online, challenges notions of discourse community; specifically, John Swales writes in Genre Analysis that discourse communities have mechanisms of intercommunication, public goals, acquired specific lexis, and thresholds of discoursal expertise (25-7).  However, by posting these bubbles in public spaces, the discourse community (who is able to understand the public goals even if they do reject them) is dramatically widened.  However, this discourse community is limited to those living in and traveling around NYC.  But, by posting the images of the bubbles online, the discourse community is widened enormously to anyone in the world who can access the internet and download Lee's project.  This, in my opinion, is what makes new media so interesting and important--the ways in which notions of audience and discourse community are challenged.

Lee, Ji.  The Bubble Project.  24 October 2005.  http://thebubbleproject.com/01.Bubbles/BubblesFrameset.htm

Swales, John.  Genre Analysis.  Cambridge:  Cambridge UP.  1990.

posted by: rgregory at 18:50 | link | comments (7) |

Looking around the Electronic Literature Organization's directory, I came across a self-published piece of hyperactive nonfiction on Jeff Gates' blog Life Outtacontext.  The work, "We're Old Enough to Know Better," presents a counter on the center of the page that presumably counts the number of soldiers killed in Iraq.  As the counter continues to run in bold red lettering, faces of soldiers fade in and out on the screen.  And, in the background, the song, "Old Enough to Know Better," seems reminiscent of folk-protest songs of the 60's and 70's.  I'm not sure who the group performing the song is, but it reminded me of the melodic, stripped down sound of the Beatles (ala "Imagine") and the heartfelt rebellion of Joan Biez. 

What I really liked about this work was the spirit in which it was created and published and the way in which he uses new media to make a political statement.  The images were haunting and simple, and the piece required little interaction from the viewer.  And, it didn't immerse viewers in the work like John Kusch's "Red Lily" does.  But, the piece seems reminiscent of protest poetry like Wilfred Owen's "Anthem for Doomed Youth" and protest songs like CCR's "Fortunate Son."  The piece seems to reflect these technologically changing times--when anyone with a computer, an internet connection, and an understanding of computer programming can voice their decent.  Of course, I'm not the first to discuss the ways in which blogs have become the "new news"--my colleague, Janet Johnson, wrote her Master's thesis on the blog as a journalistic medium.  But, what I find interesting is the exigency, to borrow Lloyd Bitzer's term, in which the piece was created--the rhetorical situation in which it was produced and distributed, via the internet.   Someone felt so frustrated by the war to spend the time to create such a piece, and, just as importantly, the forum existed to present it.   

Also as interesting, to me, at least, are the questions that Gates raises on his blog regarding the influence of new media on politics, like the war in Iraq.  Specifically, Gates writes on April 6, 2003:  "Now that I am a parent (and with twelve years of “new” media education behind me), I’m even more concerned about the effects of the media’s war coverage on my children. I wonder about the diary of information we are keeping for them. How will history be reflected and interpreted by the images we are making from this event? And what will their involvement be like in future pan-cultural ritual processes?"

Gates' questions are important--what type of worldview does new media present, especially as it relates to political discourse?  What will be remembered and what will be discarded?  Since there is so much information available, what will be considered relevant and worthy of study in the future?  I have to believe that we're going to go into information overload at some point.  Too many voices at once.  But, these different perspectives might've often silenced because they weren't "typical," "representational," or presented "grammatically correct" (read:  sarcasm).  And, while political dissent is common in American history, I think the means by which such dissent are presented is just as interesting.  Like I noted, CCR used, literally, their voices to dissent, Owen's used the pen and paper, and Gates uses electronic current.  Gates combines elements of the visual, and auditory--blending various media for a different effect. 

One effect, I believe, is that Gates is able to reach a different audience than CCR or Owens could.  Specifically, Gates is listed on the ELO directory, thereby increasing his readership among scholars in visual and new media.  Also, according to Gates' website, he serves as the Deputy Director of the U.S. Department of Art and Technology, where he runs another site We, the Blog.  Still, Gates' audience would be entirely different if he were not publishing his work electronically.  Would Gates have an audience at all?  While there is no verifiable answer to this question, it is interesting to note that I'm sure Gates' work would be presented differently if he had to pay to broadcast it on television.  It would also have changed dramatically if he had to publish it via pamphlets or brochures.  The effects of the faces fading in and out (like the unfortunate lives of the soldiers) might've been lost completely if presented as a pamphlet.  Also, the musical accompaniment would've been lost.  Thus, another element of the visual argument.  The fact that this piece is published electronically completely changes the audience, medium, and exigency of its publication.

Gates, Jeff.  "We're Old Enough to Know Better."  Life Outtacontexts.  23 October 2005.  http://outtacontext.com/life/archive/000315.shtml

posted by: rgregory at 01:01 | link | comments (2) |

Since we're "leaving" Burnett's text in my electronic literature class, I wanted to spend a little more time with his discussion on visualization and images in my blog.  Specifically, I'm interested in applying his definition of visualization, "the embodiment and the transformation of information into knowledge and understanding through human activity and the conversion of information and knowledge by humans into material and aesthetic forms" (202), to ultrasound and sonogram images of the fetus in-utero. 

I am still thinking this out as I write, but I'm specifically interested in the ways in which the visualization of the fetus changes the human experience and also how the notion of the "human experience" changes because of such technology.  Specifically, Burnett discusses how medical and scientific images that seem to "peer" into the body challenge notions of "what it means to be flesh and blood" (141).  Burnett also argues that technology (and the images created by such technologies) are considered "impure" and can manipulate "humans and what it means to be human" (141). 

So, how does this relate to the images of the fetus produced with ultrasounds and sonograms?  I'm thinking that if images, as Burnett discusses throughout his book, are spaces of transformation, interpretation, perception, hybridization, then the images of the fetus is, likewise, simply an image that must be interpreted and can be transformed.  After all, an ultrasound machine simply transmits high-frequency sound pulses through a woman's uterus; the pulses bounce off at different rates matter of different densities.  The "bounced back" pulses are then interpreted and programmed to reflect an image on the screen.  What viewers perceive to be the image of the fetus on the computer screen is simply a collection of bits that are shaded according to certain criteria programmed into the computer.  The resulting image appears to be "human" although it really is simply sound waves reconfigured as an image.  After all, sound bounces off of us all the time, but we don't see images of that "bounce back" until the date is given meaning by a computer.   And, then we associate the image reflected on the computer as that of a fetus.

This interpretation raises interesting questions about what it means to be human, as Burnett notes, because how often do parents look at the screen and proclaim, "That's my baby." Or, how often are ultrasound images preserved in baby books as the first "pictures" of the child?  However, the image is simply a collection of interpretable data.  It isn't a baby.  This seems a conflict, like Burnett discusses, between what it means to be human and technology.  In the case of the parent who proclaims "That's my baby," the image is "perceived" to be human, although it isn't.   In this case, the image has become a means of immersion, where parents become apart of the image and the experience.  That image is their baby--there is already a perceived connection and closeness with the image.  Viewing has become a "haze of mediation, experience, and screen" (7).

This distinction is all the more interesting in light of the ways in which ultrasound images have become "tools" for the pro-life movement.  While the image on the screen is simply the interpretation of data, the image becomes human--it is a child in a woman's womb.   However, the image is not really a child.  The image is simply a collection of data that is interpreted to be a child. 

A conflict also arises between technologies--the same scientific advances that offer the experiences of "seeing" a fetus are the same as those offer the experience of aborting a fetus. Ultrasound technologies are considered "positive" when they offer a glimpse of the developing fetus for the parents, but this same ultrasound technology is "negative" when it is to identify the gestational age and development of a fetus in the moments before an abortion.  In this case, again, the image is too "real" and, as is often the case, women seeking an abortion are not allowed to see the ultrasound image in the clinic.  This relates to Burnett's discussion on vantage point:  the "humanity" of the image is "closely related to perspective and attitude."  In this case, while the image is important, so is the position and placement of the viewer.  Again, technology and the images created by it are imbued with human qualities.  From the vantage point of the woman proceeding with a pregnancy, the technology is human.  It shows a woman's child in the development stages.  Likewise from the vantage point of the woman choosing to terminate the pregnancy, the technology is too human.  So human, in fact, that a woman should be shielded from its effects.

Burnett, Ron.  How Images Think.  Cambridge, MA:  MIT Press.  2005.

posted by: rgregory at 17:40 | link | comments (5) |

Cheri was kind enough to post some comments on my previous entry, and I feel compelled to explain my point further.  Because, I certainly wasn't trying to argue that the haiku generator, as a program, was meaningless in and of itself.  I, personally, can't attribute meaning to the lines, which was Cheri's point in the comment.  That meaning might be there--I just don't see it.  And, that was my point, at least, as I was trying to make it.  I was trying to argue that "this absense of meaning" meant something to me.

Cheri also brought up an interesting point about the "trivial/nontrival" aspects of the program.  That opening a book has meaning, even if it is considered trivial, and I'm wrestling with Cheri's comment that "these technologically created haiku have meaning if only in contrast to print-based haiku."  Now, that seems to make sense to me.  For example, what about the authorship?  Print-based haikus have authors, but what about the computer-generated haikus?  Would the computer be considered the author?  No, because the computer is simply a machine that uses binary codes that respond to commands.  Push this button, these (seemingly) random words appear on the screen.  But, the users of the program pushed the button, initated the action, set the commands in motion.  So, the author would be the user then?  Perhaps, but what about Peter Howard, is he really the author of the haikus since he programed the words initally? 

Eco, based on his distinction between dictionaries and encyclopedias, might argue that Howard isn't the author, like he would be if he wrote the haikus in a print-based form, because he simply programmed words from a "dictionary," meaning comes when these words are placed in a cultural and social situation, as with "encyclopedias."  Dictionaries (to borrow from Dr. Marsh's example) are simply the strands of a spider web; encyclopedias make up the whole of the web.  The words, themselves, programmed into the computer are simply words.  It's the user, who by clicking a button, puts them in a context.  The user is then the author of the haikus...  Which, challenges notions of authorship and creativity, especially when looking at the haikus as they appear in electronic settings in contrast to how they appear in print ones.

Okay, that actually made sense to me.  I hope it does to my kind readers.

posted by: rgregory at 02:35 | link | comments (10) |

On Peter Howard's "Haiku Generator," the Javascript program generates haikus (pl: haikis?) and tankas based on a predetermined vocabulary that adheres to the constraints of the poetic forms.  Users designate whether the program will use words from specific vocabulary lists with words that are, for example, "standard,"  "erotic," "silly," and "noir."  Simply clicking the designated button begins the process and a haiku or tanka is generated automatically.    So, for example, the following haiku was generated using the "standard vocabulary": 

 

 

 

Smoothly rough stars burn.
Arrows melt yet priests return.
Cruel stars carouse.

 

Or:

 

 

 

Hell turns fair hatred.
Kindly kind poverty walks.
Feared rain strokes stanzas.

 

This program seems completely nonsensical--generating phrases simply from a standard vocabulary.  However, there is something completely sensical about it, too.  I'm reminded particularly of Umberto Eco's discussion on dictionaries and encyclopedias; specifically, individual dictionaries define concepts (in a one-to-one fashion) whereas encyclopedias function in the form of inference.  Or, as Eco writes, "[T]he encyclopedia is a semantic concept and the dictionary is a pragmatic device" (85).

On the surface, then, the vocabulary used by Howard's program would function in Eco's dictionary sense--words that mean something by equavalence but are not culturally relevant or significant.  However, the lines of the haiku might also function in the encyclopedic sense, as well.  Specfically, the lines do mean something. 

Their meaning is in the absense of their meaning.  Let me explain:  these "dictionaries" of vocabulary reflect the absense of meaning.  Technology can't "think" (although the title of Ron Burnett's book How Images Think might challenge that notion); these haikus are really saying nothing.  They're just words put together in a pattern that is recognizable because they fit within the conventions of language.  The meaning that would be attributed to them would come from the readers' experiences.  Just as Eco writes, "signs exist only for a philosophical glance which decides to see them where other minds see only the fictive result of an analogical 'musement'" (9); in other words, signs only mean anything when someone decides the signs mean something.  The haikus do not mean anything because I don't attribute meaning to them.  They seem nonsensical to me.  But, I attribute meaning to the fact that they are generated automatically by a computer.  The meaning is that there is no meaning.  Technology doesn't attribute meaning to language, humans do.  Cognative understanding is a function reserved for humans, not machines.

Burnett, Ron.  How Images Think.  Cambridge, MA :  MIT Press.  2005.

Eco, Umberto.  Semiotics and the Philosophy of Language.  Bloomington : Indiana UP.  1984.

"Peter's Haiku Generator."  http://www.hphoward.demon.co.uk/haikugen/framset1.htm

 

posted by: rgregory at 01:54 | link | comments (2) |

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