MORI YU GALLERY レクチャー＆トーク

MORI YU GALLERY Lecture & Talk Date and time: June 20, 2014 (Fri.) Doors open 18:30, start 19:00 (about two hours planned) Program: ● Lecture 「古典から現代にいたるノイズ＝映像」 (with screenings of works): Masayuki Kawai ● Talk by Yuichi Mori (MORI YU GALLERY) × Masayuki Kawai and other guests On view // Aki Kuroda, Paramodel and others -------------------------------------- Noise as Thought: To Break with Order and Meaning 'A masterpiece emits noise and does not stop calling out. In this matrix there is everything. Nothing exists in the matrix; it can be said to be smooth. It can be said to be chaos, a waterfall where water falls in thin sheets, or the movement of storm clouds, a crowd. Only what is named phenomena, that is, the transformations of the shape-shifter drawn out of the secret, are known and can be known. They surface from the noiseuse sea. What is visible and beautiful is the disordered painting.' (From Michel Serres, 『生成――概念をこえる試み』, translated by Kaoru Oikawa) The noise taken up here is not the 'noise' that, as opposed to 'signal', is supposed to be excluded from communication. Rather, noise itself is the possibility of genesis. Noise becomes turbulence, waves appear in the turbulence, the waves repeat, and such repetition, as a result, produces redundant order and meaning. But to turn our eyes toward such noise itself is not easy. For at first glance it is full of chaos and danger. And rather than going back upstream along such a current, it is far easier to settle comfortably into order and meaning already formed and to forget noise, which is their matrix. And in the present day, it is preferred to tame 'noise' placed in brackets, take it in, and seek to enrich meaning and order. But what we are trying to do here is, without siding with such order and meaning, to discover a way of art that has gazed at noise itself, which cannot be put in brackets. Of course, noise cannot be spoken of as such. But precisely because of that, it can also be called a thought in the most primordial, sheer place of possibility. We choose, without ever taking refuge in the 'easy intelligibility' of order and meaning, to set out into this torrent of possibility. Masayuki Kawai ------------------------------------------------------------- We present the following text as a reference text on noise. This time the exhibition is a reverse version of Paramodel, known for installations using Plarail. Many of Paramodel's various concepts are scattered throughout, and it is presented with the world of Yusuke Nakano at its center. Nakano has gone back and forth in the space between painting and text. When fitting painting and text onto a plane at the same time, the creation, contradiction and conflict that spread out there. He turns such things into works as 'model play'. Through the works Nakano made, the qualities of the work of the other member, Yasuhiko Hayashi, can also be seen. This is like an acrobatic feat that only they can perform. But what is carved at the end of the conflict between two lines is, for better or worse, probably a 'wound'. What is a 'wound'? There, perhaps, is a clue for grasping what lies 'between' painting and text, a hint for understanding the 'between' of the two of Paramodel. Nakano loves the words of Joë Bousquet: 'My wound existed before me; I was born to embody it.' Tenashi Inu, who bears a 'wound', is a character who has appeared since Paramodel was first formed. The wounded Tenashi Inu. The planes, drawings, videos and so on that depict all things born from its missing forelegs are, in contrast to the gorgeous, beautiful aspect of the Plarail installations that connect to the outside, something meta that forms the reverse version of Paramodel: its core. As Nakano speaks of two-person relationships such as Fujiko Fujio, or Deleuze-Guattari, this relationship overlaps with the problem mentioned at the beginning, between two people, between two terms. In one direction there is the direction from creation, born because two people are involved, to contradiction, conflict and then the 'wound'; in the opposite direction, Tenashi Inu, who bears the 'wound', exists, and one can create because the 'wound' exists: this bidirectionality can be seen in Paramodel. This is Paramodel's para-dox. In other words, Tenashi Inu can also be understood as the 'wound' of Paramodel itself. If so, it would be no exaggeration to say that Paramodel itself was formed in order to embody the 'wound'. To say that Paramodel is always already wounded sounds like someone's catchphrase, but behind their various concepts, which draw in even the outside, such a 'wound' is indeed hidden. Paramodel's creation and conflict continue like rails, crossing and then parting again. Yes, if you actually look closely at the Plarail installations, you are made to realize, belatedly, that an image like a 'wound' rises up. Looking back, from the moment I negotiated with a company and found Plarail for Paramodel's first installation, no, from before that, perhaps I too was wounded... as one who could not but meet Paramodel. A 'wound' is a trace. The 'wound', which comes to be produced by the contact of something with something, differs from memory and from external records, and exists on the horizon of the present as a sensation that only the one who bears the 'wound' can know. I can also understand it this way: only the 'wound' can express what the two of Paramodel can share; there is no passage connecting the two but the 'wound'. Tenashi Inu had already been drawn before Paramodel... and this had already been written as text by Bousquet, and Nakano drew Tenashi Inu without knowing Bousquet. Here, in order to think about the relationship between painting and text, I would like to take up the work of another painter, Aki Kuroda. Into Aki Kuroda's work 《Le Monde1991-1993》 (『世界』, 1991 to 93) is written a text by his friend, the novelist Pascal Quignard. Kuroda writes onto the canvas the text that Quignard set down for him on some twenty sheets of roughly A4 paper. No, he draws it. The lines Kuroda drew are also écriture. What on earth is écriture turned into a tableau? Or Kuroda's work titled 《conti/nuit/e'》 (『連続のなかの/夜/』). In the continuum that is time, there is night. When on earth does night begin, and when does it end? As if differentiated, its interval is unclear, yet night certainly exists. Text as line tangles and becomes night; night comes undone and becomes line. There, there is noise, undulation = waves produced by noise (the name of the magazine, 20 volumes of which Kuroda edited with Didier Ottinger as associate editor, was 『NOISE』. 'NOISE' is also found in the words of Kuroda's friend Michel Serres.). While differing from Kuroda's approach, the texts that Nakano writes and draws also seem, in the sea of his paintings and drawings, to form and vanish, vanish and form. Like night, they dissolve from morning into noon and are born again after evening. And it also comes to seem as if Hayashi and Nakano exist in the interval of time that is Paramodel, tangling and coming undone. When Paramodel fix their gaze on each other far, far away, there is a sea between them as a passage. And yet that sea is never superflat; there is a slight noise, an undulation. Therein lies what makes them Paramodel. And what makes them artists of MORI YU GALLERY. Plarail floating on the surface of the sea, and the stinging seawater that would recall a deep 'wound'. The Plarail installations are not something merely formal; the drawings the two always make in order to make an installation (which later became drawings by computer) are always swaying between the two, and the installation tangles and comes undone. Perhaps only those who bear a true 'wound' can understand it, but Nakano's paintings of water pipes and Hayashi's pipe installations unravel it for us in an easily understood way. This exhibition is also something that makes us recognize this anew. When the sea that exists between Paramodel grows rough, and the two who are between Paramodel, Nakano and Hayashi, become tangled, figure (the special figure I speak of with regard to Kuroda), a certain form, a trace, a 'wound' appears. Exactly so is the 'wound' from the contact of the two. Works produced while wounding and being wounded by each other have a strength and pain that none can match and, accompanied by the 'wound' borne by 'Shuntokumaru', become noise and produce undulation. Riding in a small boat floating between the two, one can always feel the waves of the sea that lies between them. However, let me dare to state at the end that noise is by no means always born from the space between so-called two terms, two people.' MORI YU GALLERY Yuichi Mori