routine excerpts

in the garden

june 2011

The End of San Francisco

Interview Excerpt:

Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore: Sure, sure. Well, I believe that probably the most important thing, you know, in developing a politic is, you know, to have a critical engagement. And I do think that without critical engagement, then what’s the point of anything? That is what I thought when I first, you know, started coming into my own politic, and that is what I think now. Um...BUT I also think that in that--as part of that critical engagement, you know, I think I believe in, you know, a politic of accountability, of mutuality, of negotiation, of creating like, you know, deep forms of like intimacy and trust, um, and you know, through that--being able to articulate what’s important. And I mean sometimes what’s important is where your ideas are failing.

Katrina Lamb: Sure.

MBS: And so, you know, not holding up some sort of absolute as, like, here’s the abso--‘Here we are, we’ve reached the, you know, absolute pinnacle of political achievement, and now we can just stop.

KL: Sure.

MBS: And so that for me is where critical engagement really comes into play, you know....Um, like say, let’s talk about, um, you know, um, say hipster culture. And you know, in the book I talk a lot about hipster--well, since it is called The End of San Francisco, {laughs} a lot of it is about San Francisco of course. And I think that one of the problems about hipster culture is that this sort of identity becomes and end point, so it becomes, like--we’ve arrived, you know, we have the coolest parties, we have, you know, we grow our own food, we--you know--shop at the right stores....You know, we support co-ops, you know, we--you know all this stuff. And some of the things are great and some of the things are silly, um, but--it should never be an endpoint, you know, I mean--and I feel like in a way that’s similar sort of in a way to what’s happened in mainstream gay politics, where, like, gay identity has become like an end point, so it’s like--‘Oh now that we’re gay, we can bomb people abroad and we can, you know, fight to join the military, and kill people and get away with it like everyone else....instead of, like, ‘Oh let’s go there from a starting point, you know, where do we go from these places that we emerged, I mean, we all start Somewhere, and most of us probably don’t like it, you know, in these places that we were born and in these families that are, in various ways, oppressive, um, and coming out of that, um...I guess what I believe is that we should try to articulate some alternative, but also to always be questioning that alternative.

KL: Sure.

MBS: AND articulating the places that we fail one another, and where we fail ourselves, and where we fail at Everything. {laughs}.

KL: I really got that from The End of San Francisco is the problem you have with hipster culture, or mainstream gay culture, is, um, not so much the identity as the end point but relying on the sort of imitative aesthetics that are wrapped up with identity, and having some of the ...ideals...that you strived for get lost in that, um...You mention, like, mainstream gay dudes wearing Doc Martins at one point, or the sort of hipster--hipster Manic Panic craze as sort of, you know, proceeding a more authentic quest for, of, what those identity issues were about.

MBS: Mm-hm, mm-hmm, um, Yeah, I think that a lot of the part of the book that you read was about, you know, the early 90s in San Francisco, and for me, you know, I moved there when I was 19, and that was, like, my most formative time. That’s where I learned my politic, that’s where I learned queerness, that’s where I learned, you know, my...pretty much everything. I mean, you know--And I mean, and was involved in what I believed where radical alternatives to status quo normalcy, and whether that be, like, mainstream fashion, or mainstream gay identity, or, you know, mainstream radical aesthetics....right?

KL: Right. I’d be interested to hear you talk a little bit about what your feelings are now about San Francisco, which is such a large, um, area, you know, compared to, like, Providence or , u, Santa Fe, or Seattle, which are--you know, smaller areas, um, in relation to, you know, more liminal community structures.

MBS: Sure. I mean I guess I have to say, um, you know that, like I was saying before, San Francisco had been my most formative place, and it is where--I moved there when I was 19, and I was able to find, you know, like, you know--a bunch of queers and outcasts and, you know, misfits and anarchists and vegans, and freaks, and you know--hookers, and drug addicts, and you know--people like, really trying to live on the outskirts of normalcy. And, um, it’s also the place that’s let me down the most. And the letting down--I mean, it started right when I got there. So--I mean {laughs}, it wasn’t like--it’s funny, actually, one of the people--one of my friends and a writer who articulated--who critiqued me--who was giving me critique on The End of San Francisco....She really wanted me to have this arc of ‘So I move to San Francisco, I find everything I want, and then I realize it’s....flawed,’ you know, and, you know, it’s the undoing of that. But I mean, that was happening the whole time, you know, And I don’t think--I know my life doesn’t follow such an easy arc, and...

KL: Sure.

MBS: And so, I wanted to show, um, you know--here was this time of incredible possibility, in my life, and I think in the lives of a lot of people who, you know, fled abusive families and places where they couldn’t express themselves in order to try to figure out a way to cope, and--but I also think--even in those--even in that initial moment, that, of--being there and finding activism, and finding a culture that meant something to me, and finding relationships, and finding people to love and trust, and, you know, hate and date...{laughs}

KL: Sure.

MBS: You know, even in those moments, you know, there was always the failure of those dreams, and I think the thing that happens to me over and over again, is that I believe in the dream. I believe that I’m creating something, you know--it’s not like finding, you know, a readymade community or culture, which I would think is a flaw--you know, it’s not going to do something for you, you have to do your own thing....And, but--I keep getting to this place where I keep thinking that I’m creating something that’s really going somewhere, something that’s really building into, um, greater intimacy, deeper trust, greater challenge to the status quo, and then it always ends up letting me down, or it always ends up being some sort of surface...Um....I mean, not that there isn’t some degree of intimacy underneath that, but there’s also such a facade that really mimics the grossest aspects of, like, dominant cultural norms.

KL: Sure. I was really struck by your, um--You started your, um, the chapter that you sent me by talking about how you got married, um, to Laurie in order to avoid the student housing policies, and then that transitioned into a, um, real relationship that, um, mimicked so many of the norms that you were working so hard to avoid.

MBS: Yeah, yeah, yeah, I mean that’s right, I mean it’s funny, right, here I am--we are talking about, it’s this place of emergence, you know, and so it’s just after--this is when I was like 19, you know, and just after getting away from, you know, a hideous, abusive, upper middle class, um family, and, you know, and in Washington D.C., and, you know, what could be a worse kind of claim to any kind of possibility, you know, right? And, um--you know, this is my closest friend, and we got married to get out of campus housing and ended up moving to San Francisco, and we were really....Laurie was really the 1st person who I trusted, you know, and, you know, it was the deepest relationship that I had had. And we were both, you know, really committed to seeing it as a permanent part of our lives. But we also had not--we had suddenly unlearned everything in our lives, and--you know what I mean?! {laughs}. And....I think there is that tendency to, like, when you’re coming into your politic, or your identity, to suddenly think--‘Oh, well I’ve arrived!’ You know what I mean? And not to notice, Oh well here are these other ways that we haven’t really figured out how to create a relationship that isn’t--that IS completely separate from the norms that we’re trying to escape.

KL: Sure, I’m curious what your--how you feel it’s possible, or what possibilities you see for, um, organization when so much of the root of your rage is around personal betrayals.

MBS: Sure. Um....wait, say that again... “The possibility that I feel outraged”?

KL: Um. How to organize groups of people when, um, when so much--when the root of your rage is based in, around personal betrayals--um, a lot of which you go into depth about with the various, um, sort of personal relationships that, um, that unfolded during your time of activism, um, in San Francisco.

MBS: Sure, sure. I mean, you know, it’s a tricky I think because, you know, I think that’s a hard question because, you know, I think at the heart of all activism are our relationships. And you know, not just our relationships to other people, but I mean, to the world, you know, how we want to articulate ourselves to other people in the world. You know, and, um, you know, you can’t have direct--rad--I mean, you know, well I mean queer direct action, collective process, without people. Ha. {laughs}. Um... SO I don’t know, I think, okay, so it’s interesting, so the section you read, you know, I’m sort of talking mostly about the early nineties?

KL: Yes.

MBS: And in later sections, I also talk about--cause I lived in San Francisco three different times, and, um, certain patterns sort of repeated themselves in very different ways, and, um, and, you know, a more recent incarnation of my activism was Gay Shame, in San Francisco, which is, you know--from like 2000 on, and, um--actually 2001, and, you know--Gay Shame was/is about, you know, creating, um--about exposing the hypocrisy of the gay mainstream, and creating, like, a forum for flamboyance and accountability in order to sort of undo the, you know, the violence around us. And, ah, so you know, sometimes the violence is something more distant, you know, and sometimes that violence comes right from inside the center, and so....I think that’s a good question, you know, what does it mean, like, you know, and I think we have to challenge the whole--All of it. Most people don’t want to---

KL: Yeah--

MBS: And I think even people, I would say on the fringe, but I might even say especially people on the fringe, who want to think they’ve finally created something that isn’t that. And I don’t know that we ever can. Um...I know that it’s never happened in may life. It doesn’t mean I’m not gonna still try, um, but I think, um, I think part of the violence is, um, when you pretend that, um, --that the violence isn’t there.

KL: Yeah.

MBS: You know what I mean?

KL: In the 1st chapter that you sent that describes the narrative as being about crying. Um. I think it’s on the--I think it’s in the 1st few pages. And really, through all the--through all the different stories, um, you do reach this sort of--I appreciate the way the way you way this sort of loss of being able to describe a clear outcome of what you are trying to achieve.

MBS: ............{silence}.........

[SHIT. Never mind].

KL: But I’m curious if you would care to respond to that?

MBS: Sure. I mean, I think in my work I’m really trying to aim for vulnerability. So that’s....that’s in my written work, but it’s also just in my work in life. Cuz I think...I think in some ways...so the book, The End of San Francisco, begins with visiting my father before he dies. And he was dying of terminal cancer, and in the--So I hadn’t spoken to him since confronting him about sexually abusing me, 11 years before, and in the process of trying to decide whether to visit him, I found myself at this event asking him, ‘What are you most afraid of,’ and I started crying, you know--At the microphone, crying--talking about trying to decide if I wanted to visit him. And there was something about that vulnerability that felt so empowering to me. And so that’s what I am kind of trying to portray in my writing. I want to talk about the places where I’ve failed, where all the people in my life that I’ve trusted most have failed me, all the places where the larger culture has failed me, and where all the places that the smaller cultures that are, you know, that I’m involved in that are trying to create alternatives to the larger culture, also failed me. You know. And--Lost Missing is also a very similar project, because here was basically the friendship of fifteen years, and this was someone who I met in his very first days of coming to San Francisco, when I was nineteen, and when I was forging, you know, these politics that meant so much to ourselves, but also, you know, the politic of mutual self care. And that lasted for so long, for fifteen years! You know? That’s a long time! You know, I probably lived in six different cities, we, you know, sometimes we lived across the country from each other, sometimes we lived in the same city and this was someone who, um, basically stopped talking to me when I told him that I was still angry about this 5-yr period where he lied about everything because of a does disastrous alcoholism that he had already acknowledged. And then he just stopped talking to me! And it was gone, it was like {snaps fingers} boom! The whole thing is over. And that’s where I keep coming to this question that’s like--what are we building if it can just be thrown in the trash like that. You know, here I thought, at the very least, you know, if your relationship ended we would at least talk about it, right?!

KL: Sure.

MBS: You know, we would say, ‘Hey, this isn’t working anymore.’ I mean, sixteen years is a lot to just, you know, throw in the garbage just like that, and--

KL: --The Lost Missing piece is an interesting way to--way to go about, um, some of these things that seem so specific in your own personal history. And, um, in the context of San Francisco, I’m curious how you imagine that, um, project translating to other areas--to other geographic places?

MBS: Yeah, yeah, definitely. I mean, the idea with Lost Missing was: Well, here’s this person that’s shutting me out. And not letting me speak, right? This person who, you know, was the most important person in my life, at some point, you know? And, um, at a very recent point. Um, and what I wanted was to be able to express myself in public in a way that could connect--you know, so I could share my story of grief and loss and longing and love and in a way that I could connect with other people, you know, you--Everyone has had something like That experience. And so that it didn’t remain like only in my sort of body, you know, so it became something more communal. So what I did was I created these posters that are letters to a specific person, but they’re not for that person, you know, they’re not, and, um, I put them up in public space, and I also sent them to people, you know, in other cities, to put up, and I put them on my blog and then people would print them out, so--And then they would send me photos, um, of the photos in public spaces. So the 1st photos I actually got were from Little Rock, Arkansas. You know, I didn’t know anyone in Little Rock, Arkansas, and it was from someone who said she really related to the project and then she took these photos, and then I used these photos, you know, in the posters. And...So That’s what I mean about creating something, where--I don’t know, I mean, I think it’s interesting to see who has related and who has not related to the project, because some of the people that are closest to me don’t relate to it at all, and other people, you know, write me and say ‘I have my own Lost Missing story,’ and that’s what I wanted it to become, and even though this isn’t my experience, the Exact thing you’re talking about, I have do something that does feel like the exact same thing.

KL: Sure.

MBS: And so in some ways it’s part like, I always think that people relate when you’re most specific. I think there’s this mythology that we’re told, that in order for something to be truly universal, it has to be really general, and I think that’s a lie. You know, I think that people only really relate cause relating to something in general, you’re not really relating!

KL: Sure.

MBS: Like, you have to relate to a specific experience especially if it’s not your own, you know what I mean? It’s like--it doesn’t have to match you. And--but something in it matches you, and that is in the case of Lost Missing, or maybe in the case of a lot of work is the emotion, you know. I mean, sure, it’s also the story, the, you know, trying to create our own culture (s?)and communities(s?)

KL: Sure, yeah. Do you see that as being part of the struggle to create a radical queer identity?

MBS: Um. Do I see what as a part?

KL: The struggle to--or the part of that project that, um, is about, um, figuring out a way to communicate a way around that intimate loss that you experienced?

MBS: Um....Yes, I do. I mean, I think that part of that is about accountability, and I do see the absence of accountability over and over again...in these cultures that identify as radical and queer. I don’t you can have anything that’s radical with no accountability! {laughs}. There’s only radically wrong, right? And um--

KL: That’s interesting, brought into the work--that more general idea of accountability, because I did notice in the letters that formed the posters you asking the person you directed the letters toward to be accountable for behavior.

MBS: Yeah, yeah, exactly. I don’t know. I think--accountability has to be at the heart of any radical politic. ‘Cause if we’re not accountable to ourselves and the people we care about and the people we trust and the people we’re doing work with, whether that work is having a potluck, or whether that work is, you know, taking over a building, you know, we can’t--if we’re not accountable, we’re just doing the same thing as the people we’re supposedly challenging.

KL: Hm.

{pause}.

KL:......I don’t know if you would maybe want to end by just reading an excerpt?

MBS: Oh, um, sure, let’s see--I wasn’t prepared....But let me ah--let me grab it. Um, let’s see.......

{muttering and pauses, looking for excerpt, etc}.

MBS: Let’s see, what was that chapter called. That was The End of San Francisco, right?

{continued pauses and discussion re. which part of excerpt}.

The End of Failure

The End of Failure

The End of Failure

Curated by Katrina Lamb

Louis V.E.S.P.

140 Jackson St., #4D, Brooklyn, NY, 11211

Opening Reception: April 29, 2011, 7:30-10:00 p.m.

Performances by Ross Moreno, Christian Oittinen, and Ryan Wilsie begin at 8:30 p.m. Television For Ghosts, by Shalo P., will conclude the program at 10:00 p.m. as the doors close, and will continue into the night.

Featuring (in alphabetical order):

Ross Moreno

Michelle O’Brien

Christian Oittinen and Kellie McCool, http://cmoworks.com/

Shalo P, http://thatsforsure.net/shalo.php

Anna Pratt, annaprattjournalist.com

Jeff Ray, jeffrayart.com

Chris Sollars, http://667shotwell.com/ChrisSollars.html

Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore, http://www.mattildabernsteinsycamore.com/

Anne Yalon

Ryan Wilsie, http://boogrlips.blogspot.com/

Michael Zheng, http://michaelzheng.org/

Hosted by Louis V.E.S.P. in Brooklyn, The End of Failure features a group of contemporary artists and writers whose work operates with failure at its core. I invited participants in the exhibition to consider what place failure has had in their work at different points in their lives, and what their relationship to failure is today.

From liminal modes of artistic production to conscientious socio-political positioning as a daily performative act, “failure” has been adopted throughout recent art history as an alternative strategy for making things. I would argue that failure as a creative strategy emerged with the advent of the Avant-Garde in the mid-nineteenth century. It seems worth taking a moment to note that while failure, as a theme, can be located in a much longer and broader historical landscape, Avant-Garde movements including Dadaism, Surrealism, Conceptual Art, Anti-Art, and the Situationist International comprised the first wave of artists that created methodologies revolving around the purpose of rejecting bourgeois class values. Beyond artistic production, these groups worked to form practices that reflected a completely new way of operating in the world.

In more recent art history, many practices first introduced in these Avant-Garde experiments have become assimilated into the expansive array of methodological options available for our use and new interpretations of. Failure has been championed for its reputation as a strategy that carries radical connotations—one that implicitly rejects mainstream values and measures of success and creates a way to turn attention to things that may be otherwise ignored or erased.

Failure (Documents of Contemporary Art) (Lisa LeFeuvre, MIT Press, 2010), Beautiful Losers (directed by Aaron Rose and Joshua Leonard, Sidetrack Films, 2008), A Conference on Failure in the Arts (hosted by University at Buffalo’s Department of Visual Studies, February 2010) and P.S. 1’s event An Afternoon of Failure (April 2, 2011), are just several from an inventory of recent publications and exhibitions dedicated to the subject of failure in contemporary art.

While failure has been promoted from side note to superstar status by such exhibitions, I have been increasingly plagued with doubt and concern about the way that failure has had undue influence on my peers’ as well as my own work. For too long, I fear that we have become entangled with failure as a highly seductive strategy without maintaining active engagement in the process, or in the implications of these projects.

Please take note:

1. The work by folks in The End of Failure is among my favorite anywhere—I am by no means suggesting that we should retreat from seeking out working methods that repel mainstream notions of success and failure. I do, however, feel that we carry a responsibility to articulate what our past efforts around failure were about—it seems especially important that we not rely upon a vague or unspoken (“poetic”) assumption of failure.

2. I want to make sure, as well, that the concerns and reservations that I have about failure will not be misconstrued as a sentiment that pits failure with more minimalist or conceptual work, and post-failure work with well-crafted things. What I care about more than anything is creating spaces where artists are allowed to be smarter.

3. For all the wrong reasons, I tried to avoid boring everyone involved in The End of Failure by talking excessively about the structure of the project (administratively, politically, socially, aesthetically). This is one major failure on my part. I feel quite strongly about the need to make the space to address the institutional structures that we operate within, and derive support from; because such issues are part of a fair number of the contributors’ work, the conversations happened, but in kind of an awkward way.

The aesthetically and ideologically diverse work in The End of Failure reflects the kind of complicated possibilities within and connected to failure--and its absence. Through text, interviews, audio work, blog projects, video pieces, installation, a public art project, and live performances, the artists frame their relationship with failure on their own terms.

Many heartfelt thanks to everyone involved. All of you do such astoundingly beautiful work. Please be in touch.

-Katrina Lamb, April 2011

miss ya already

xmas

FATE Abstract

Fate: Rethinking Art Criticism (Abstract)

For the panel Rethinking Art Criticism, I will argue that as we move into an era in which the internet, social networking, blogs, e-newsletters, and interactive databases have replaced many traditional art magazines, this transition is part of a much broader paradigm shift within contemporary art and culture, and that art college curricula, starting at the Foundations level, must reflect these changes.

As the delineations between fine art, commercial art, visual culture (and the roles of the players therein) are currently in question, the In-Question nature of this paradigm shift poses a unique dilemma in regards to developing curricula that will retain its relevance for a duration over students’ careers and lives. At the core, this dilemma points to the need to impart students with the tools to become not only object-makers, but also critical thinkers.

In-Question:

-What range of writing and research skills should be expected at the undergraduate level for fine art students?

-As academic and professional boundaries between Art Criticism, Art History, and Visual Culture Studies overlap, is there any permeability between these disciplines and Fine Art/Studio Art?

-Does the notion of “The Artist As Critic” still hold relevance, or is The Artist Critic no longer a category that need be differentiated from other art writers?

-On what grounds do we accept a piece of writing as being at “a professional level,” or a “publishable” level in a post-print world?

-What place does poetry and experimental have in art criticism?

-Can art schools be trade schools in the 21st Century? Who decides what that means?

-How do we find language to talk about craft?

-Which “Art World” do we, or should we, prepare students for?

-Is self-censoring and group-censoring a form of art criticism, or does criticism always refer to the written dialogue that proceeds the art object?

-Are studio and group seminar critiques a form of Art Criticism, or are these critical discussions held between art-makers something different?

-How does the study and praxis of Fine Art/Studio Art play out within the international Art World in relation to the writing about it, at present?

-As boundaries between academic and creative disciplines are destabilized, what may be the place of interpretive or critical language within the “global visual economy”?

-How does the interplay between visual and verbal language impact the specificity of a non-verbal piece of art?

-What do historical models and aspirations of universal communication have to do with contemporary art and criticism?

Jewelry

excerpt from Code Names: Deciphering U.S. Military Plans, Programs, and Operations in the 9/11 World

"Able Condor, Action Express, Active Improvement, Adventure Express, Air Warrior, Allied Response, Amber Star, Anvil Ghost, Arabian Gauntlet, ARRcade Fusion, Arcade series, Ardent Ground, Argonaut, Artificer, Artful Image, Artful Issue, ASCIET, Asterix, Atlantic Drive, Atomic Music Principle, Auburn Endeavor, Aurora, Avid Recovery, Baltic Series, Baltlink, Baltops, Barracuda, Bartisan Hinge, Bass Rock, Battle Griffin, Beady Eye, Bell Buoy, Big Red, Black Hat, Blue Flag, Blue Harrier, Blue Hungwe, Blue Tiger, Boron Mercury, Bowline, Brave Heart, Bright Horizon, Bright Star, Brilliant Foil, Britannia Way, Bullseye, Burmese Chase, Burning Bush, Buzard, Cajun Combat, Cape Petrel, Carpathian Exchange, Central Enterprise, Centrasbat, Chalet, Churinga, Circuit Mayflower, Classic Owl, Clean Hunter, Cobb Ring, Combined Endeavor, Condor, Conifer, Constant Harmony, Cooperative series, Cope Thunder, Coronet East, Coronet Nova, Coronet Regatta, Coronet Yankee, Cossack Express, Cossack Steppe, Counter Guard, Courageous Bat, Crab Apple, Cross Check, Cross Ski, Cygnet series, Datex, Delphin, Desert series, Destined Glory, Devil’s Hat, Diagonal Glance, Diamond Cutter, Dimming Sun, Distant Frontier, Distant Thunder, Dogfish, Dogue Akdeniz, Druid’s Dance, Dynamic series, Eager Sentry, Early Victor, Eastern Sailor, ECHELON, Elder Forest, Entgrou, European Mountaineer, Excalibur, Extract, Falcon Sound, Final Nail, Fincastle, Fingel, Fingel’s Cave, Flying Fish, Flying Rhinot, Frisian Flag, Full Moon, Gardenia, Gaulish, GI Joe, Giant, Glacial Enigma, Global series, Glow Worm, Gobi Dust, Golden Sands, Granby, Grand Prix, Green Flag, Griffin, GULFLEX, Hairspring, Hard Flint, Have Eagle, High Court, Himalayan Bluebell, IADS ADEX, Ince, Infinite Courage, Initial Link, Interpret, Iron series, Island Spell, Istar, Jackel Cave, Jagged Course, Joint Winter, Jolly Roger, RTFEX, Jumbo, Juniper Cobra, Kangaroo, Kelp, Kingfisher, Lark Song, Linked Seas, Lion Sun, Lin’s Pride, Lone Eagle, Lone Kestrel, Lone Star, Long Look, Looking Glass, Lucky Sentinel, Mace, Magic Carpet, Magic Roundabout, Magestran, Majestic Eagle, Mallet Blow, Maple Flag, Maple Tour, MARGOT, MCOP, Med Shark, MEDFLAG, Medicine Man, Mercury, Mono Prix, Moon Penny, Mothia, Mulberry Tree, Mystic Star, Native Trail, Neo Tapon, Neon, Neop Spark, Neptune’s series, Nightjar, Northern Light, Northern Lights, Northern Watch, Oak Apple, Odette, Oracle, Orient Express, Pacific Kukri, Pacific Protector, Panther Cub, Peaceshield, Pet Worth, Pine Apple, Pinemartin, Pitch Black, Pond Jump West, Power Drive, Prairie Warrior, Principal, Premier Link, Prominent Hammer, Provide Hope, Ptarmigan, Purple Star, Purple Strik,e, Quick Lift, Quick Stand, Red Stripe, Raynard Chase, Rhino, RIMPAC, Rock Work, Rocky Lance, Rolling Deep, Roving Sands, Royal Patrol, Rutley, Saffron Sands, Saif Sereea, Sailfish, Sandy Coast, Sanso, Scope Sand, Sea Series, Senator, Sensor Pacer, Shant Doot, SHAREM, Sharp Point, Silver Weed Ruckus, SIT, Slovak Express, Snipe, Snow Falcon, Snow Shoe, Snow Drop, Soothsayer, Sorbet Royale, Southern Crusade, Southern Knight, Southern Watch, Spriochaete, Spontex, Stardex, Starfish, Starwindow, Steeplebush, Stoney Run, Strong Resolve, Suman Warrior, Suriot, Swabian Crusade, Sweeney, TAPON, Tartan Eagle, Tartan Venture, Telic, Temple Jade, Thirsty Panther, Thor/Odin, Tier III, Tiger Lake, Timbuktu, Torpedo Focus, Totaliser, Tradewinds, Trailblazer, Trial, Trident D’Or, Troutman, Turtle Heritage, Turtle Truss, Tyne Tease, Ulan Eagle, Ultrapure, Ulu Rajah, Unified Charger, Unified Spirit, United Shield, Urban Encounter, Ursa Minor, Utah, Vampire, Vigilant, Viking, Warlord, Western Vortex, Westpac MCMEX, Wet Gap, Winged Star."

-Text excerpt from Code Names: Deciphering U.S. Military Plans, Programs, and Operations in the 9/11 World by William M. Arkin, p. 234.
Used this as lyrics for the song Code. Find it here:
http://www.myspace.com/mskatrinalamb

the end of failure

After days and months dedicated to falling short of meeting any obligation, we will cross paths in our discrete trajectories, within the elliptical expressions of reversals, underwater worlds of incredible and thorough loss.

Failure. Do you remember when we used to run with this word, owning it as prize-winning job title and life strategy?

Artistically and academically, thrilled by its abject potential, we mined failure for all it was worth. We glorified living in flats with leaking ceilings, prided our attempts to flunk out of Painting 101, and bonded over beers stolen from the next table over. The possibilities seemed endless, visually manifested through scribbly line drawing, undocumented (ephemeral) public interventions, and deliberately pseudo-anti-gallery processes. We were the founders of post-conceptual working methodologies. We collapsed the space between intent and action, rejecting content and meaning; whatever the new project was “about” was beside the point--what mattered was how it made you feel or how it functioned, in-context; we fore grounded extremes of social isolation and its antipode, and worked in earnest to tease out universal aspects of the human condition through vigorous processes of elimination.

Crucial to this endeavor was an art scene that implicitly supported our efforts by providing access to bottomless drinks and comp tickets to anything in town. In recent years, this model of aggrandized poverty and excess has been replaced by one of moderation in every aspect of life. The worth of this extensive collection of shortcomings, wrongdoings, and disappointments that we worked so hard to attain is, given more contemporary concerns, lost upon our parents and potential employers. Concerned mentors and career-savvy peers who saw this coming politely refrain from criticism and gently forward web links to employment sites and coupon days.

The End Of Failure

Katrina Lamb

Summer 2010.

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from A SHORT PLAY ON FAILURE by Harry Aclund, 1999.

Andrew Mackenzie-Oh timelord, we have heard your cries from the future. We are the oracles you called. You have succeeded in distorting time.Andrea Garner-Yes, Lord knows how blind you have been: all here are from the past, like it or not.

Timelord- Then you are not real.

Chorus (sing)- A Ha. Are we real. Real or false. Are we real. Real or false.

Timelord- By Davros what are these voices -- my failure is confirmed, Am I real or false? My success is a fraud, it is not possible at all. My failure is my inevitable tragedy.

Chorus (Sing)- But we are here, we are real, you are false.

Nickie Smith- Yes we are here for you, we have come for you, to rid time of you. We come in the image of friends, but Davros sent us to destroy you; your success is your downfall; your success is to be our end. you could say your failure.

(she strangles him)

Timelord- My success? my success is my downfall. I have run out of time....

(dies)

Narrator- And so we witness the madness, and the death of our hero - a self-proclaimed failure, who's success was his downfall, although he (tragically) only knew this on his death. He was surely a sacrifice for the stability of time itself at the command of the mighty Davros, but we are running out of time too, and our moral tale must close upon this sadness.

Chorus (sing)- Our tale must end, our tale must end,

this sadness is so overwhelming,

the Lord of time is dead, the lord of time is dead,

this sadness is so overwhelming,

or will he fight the mighty Davros on another day,

in another time.

(THE END).