Practising Poetics (June Tang) - Revision history

June Tang at 23:13, 18 April 2020

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June Tang at 23:12, 18 April 2020

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June Tang at 23:11, 18 April 2020

2020-04-18T23:11:41Z

June Tang at 03:16, 18 April 2020

2020-04-18T03:16:37Z

June Tang at 03:11, 18 April 2020

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June Tang at 03:10, 18 April 2020

2020-04-18T03:10:20Z

June Tang at 02:46, 18 April 2020

2020-04-18T02:46:48Z

June Tang at 02:46, 18 April 2020

2020-04-18T02:46:12Z

June Tang at 02:41, 18 April 2020

2020-04-18T02:41:12Z

June Tang: Created page with "For two or so weeks in 2018 I came to Frontyard with a vague, only half-conscious desire: to think about the intersections between writing and architecture. I spent my time th..."

2020-04-18T02:38:52Z

Created page with "For two or so weeks in 2018 I came to Frontyard with a vague, only half-conscious desire: to think about the intersections between writing and architecture. I spent my time th..."

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For two or so weeks in 2018 I came to Frontyard with a vague, only half-conscious desire: to think about the intersections between writing and architecture. I spent my time there leafing through the beautiful books in the library, following one to the next like a dog learning to smell a route. I made notes, jottings, some related to the readings I'd found, and much of it not. And when I became restless, or too cold, I tried to film a little. I liked the green leather chairs, and the frosted(?) glass window of the library, especially when it rained, and to where I often retreated in the evenings.

I had one very memorable visitor: an old man, short, with a wheelie bag, a can of Mother, and wearing perhaps a baseball cap. He was an ethnomusicologist, and somehow began to ramble wonderfully about the nomadic horsemen of Kyrgyzstan, playing their stringed instruments as they galloped.

Words felt flimsy and sometimes redundant, as I wondered how to situate my own in relation to architecture, which seemed manifest in such concrete, physical forms. I spent a lot of time looking out the glass windowfront and listening peripherally to 89.7 Eastside FM, and conducting small experiments that attempted to force language into the physical.

I left FY buzzing with thoughts about poetics -- the poetics of architecture, and the architecture of poetics; nested within that was a rhizome of notions, especially relating to materiality x textuality, and much of which I have yet to untangle for myself.
The link below will take you to a piece that emerged out of my time at Frontyard, and further below that are some scatterings from the log I kept while I was there.
infrastructural poetics [https://www.dropbox.com/s/kft37fx2m0klhn0/JuneTang_infrastructuralpoetics.pdf?dl=0]

----

LOG

In English we say it’s raining hard/heavy or raining light … but in Chinese it’s a matter of size and scale. Big rain or small rain. Big sound or small sound. What does this mean for the body, its relation to its environment?

In Chinese, asking after age: ‘How big are you now?’
Which finds its correlate in English, contextually: ‘Back when she was still very small…’

Big wind, small wind …

--

In the bathroom, on a post-it:

THIS DOORWAY
IS AN
INVITATION

--

The front room is a multifunctional space
It becomes whatever you need it to be
Last night it became a small viewing theatre
If you take the table out it would seem like just a room for some kind of physical activity
Ballet or aerobics

--

From the experiment:

(1)

Will the privilege of space / Be an adequate defence?
Who gets to decide?
Find a corner / Must it have a function?
The privilege / To stay empty

(2)

Poetry / Must / Have a function?
Who gets to decide? / Who needs it / More?
Maybe it wants / A window to look into?

(3)

Exposed to the elements ...
The privilege / Of language

--

“Grammar is politics by another means” (Haraway)

← Older revision		Revision as of 23:13, 18 April 2020
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	/		/

−	From ~~the~~ experiment:	+	From an experiment:

@@ Line 1: / Line 1: @@
 For two or so weeks in 2018 I came to Frontyard with a vague, only half-conscious desire: to think about the intersections between writing and architecture. I spent my time there leafing through the beautiful books in the library, following one to the next like a dog learning to smell a route. I made notes, jottings, some related to the readings I came across, and much of it not. And when I became restless, or too cold, I tried to film a little. I liked the green leather chairs, and the frosted(?) glass window of the library, especially when it rained, and to where I often retreated in the evenings.
-I had one very memorable visitor: an old man, short, with a wheelie bag, a can of Mother, wearing perhaps a baseball cap. He was an ethnomusicologist, and somehow began to ramble on wonderfully about the nomadic horsemen of Kyrgyzstan, playing their specialty stringed instruments as they galloped.
+I had one very memorable visitor: an old man, short, with a wheelie bag, a can of Mother, wearing perhaps a baseball cap. He was an ethnomusicologist, and somehow began to ramble on wonderfully about the nomadic horsemen of Kyrgyzstan, playing their stringed instruments as they galloped.
 Words felt flimsy and sometimes redundant, as I wondered how to situate my own in relation to architecture, which seemed manifest in such concrete, physical forms. I spent a lot of time looking out the glass windowfront, listening peripherally to 89.7FM, and conducting small, sporadic experiments that attempted to force language into the physical.

@@ Line 1: / Line 1: @@
 For two or so weeks in 2018 I came to Frontyard with a vague, only half-conscious desire: to think about the intersections between writing and architecture. I spent my time there leafing through the beautiful books in the library, following one to the next like a dog learning to smell a route. I made notes, jottings, some related to the readings I came across, and much of it not. And when I became restless, or too cold, I tried to film a little. I liked the green leather chairs, and the frosted(?) glass window of the library, especially when it rained, and to where I often retreated in the evenings.
-I had one very memorable visitor: an old man, short, with a wheelie bag, a can of Mother, and wearing perhaps a baseball cap. He was an ethnomusicologist, and somehow began to ramble wonderfully about the nomadic horsemen of Kyrgyzstan, playing their stringed instruments as they galloped.
+I had one very memorable visitor: an old man, short, with a wheelie bag, a can of Mother, wearing perhaps a baseball cap. He was an ethnomusicologist, and somehow began to ramble on wonderfully about the nomadic horsemen of Kyrgyzstan, playing their specialty stringed instruments as they galloped.
-Words felt flimsy and sometimes redundant, as I wondered how to situate my own in relation to architecture, which seemed manifest in such concrete, physical forms. I spent a lot of time looking out the glass windowfront, listening peripherally to 89.7 Eastside FM, and conducting small, sporadic experiments that attempted to force language into the physical.
+Words felt flimsy and sometimes redundant, as I wondered how to situate my own in relation to architecture, which seemed manifest in such concrete, physical forms. I spent a lot of time looking out the glass windowfront, listening peripherally to 89.7FM, and conducting small, sporadic experiments that attempted to force language into the physical.
-I left FY buzzing with thoughts about poetics -- the poetics of architecture, and the architecture of poetics; nested within that was a rhizome of notions, especially relating to materiality x textuality, and much of which I have yet to untangle for myself.
+I left FY buzzing with thoughts about poetics -- the poetics of architecture, and the architecture of poetics; nested within that was a rhizome of notions relating to materiality x textuality, much of which I have yet to untangle for myself.
 The link below will take you to a piece that emerged out of my time at Frontyard, and further below are some scatterings from the log I kept while I was there.
    infrastructural poetics [https://www.dropbox.com/s/kft37fx2m0klhn0/JuneTang_infrastructuralpoetics.pdf?dl=0]

@@ Line 3: / Line 3: @@
 I had one very memorable visitor: an old man, short, with a wheelie bag, a can of Mother, and wearing perhaps a baseball cap. He was an ethnomusicologist, and somehow began to ramble wonderfully about the nomadic horsemen of Kyrgyzstan, playing their stringed instruments as they galloped.
-Words felt flimsy and sometimes redundant, as I wondered how to situate my own in relation to architecture, which seemed manifest in such concrete, physical forms. I spent a lot of time looking out the glass windowfront and listening peripherally to 89.7 Eastside FM, and conducting small, sporadic experiments that attempted to force language into the physical.
+Words felt flimsy and sometimes redundant, as I wondered how to situate my own in relation to architecture, which seemed manifest in such concrete, physical forms. I spent a lot of time looking out the glass windowfront, listening peripherally to 89.7 Eastside FM, and conducting small, sporadic experiments that attempted to force language into the physical.
 I left FY buzzing with thoughts about poetics -- the poetics of architecture, and the architecture of poetics; nested within that was a rhizome of notions, especially relating to materiality x textuality, and much of which I have yet to untangle for myself.

← Older revision		Revision as of 02:46, 18 April 2020
Line 1:		Line 1:
−	For two or so weeks in 2018 I came to Frontyard with a vague, only half-conscious desire: to think about the intersections between writing and architecture. I spent my time there leafing through the beautiful books in the library, following one to the next like a dog learning to smell a route. I made notes, jottings, some related to the readings I~~'d found~~, and much of it not. And when I became restless, or too cold, I tried to film a little. I liked the green leather chairs, and the frosted(?) glass window of the library, especially when it rained, and to where I often retreated in the evenings.	+	For two or so weeks in 2018 I came to Frontyard with a vague, only half-conscious desire: to think about the intersections between writing and architecture. I spent my time there leafing through the beautiful books in the library, following one to the next like a dog learning to smell a route. I made notes, jottings, some related to the readings I came across, and much of it not. And when I became restless, or too cold, I tried to film a little. I liked the green leather chairs, and the frosted(?) glass window of the library, especially when it rained, and to where I often retreated in the evenings.

	I had one very memorable visitor: an old man, short, with a wheelie bag, a can of Mother, and wearing perhaps a baseball cap. He was an ethnomusicologist, and somehow began to ramble wonderfully about the nomadic horsemen of Kyrgyzstan, playing their stringed instruments as they galloped.		I had one very memorable visitor: an old man, short, with a wheelie bag, a can of Mother, and wearing perhaps a baseball cap. He was an ethnomusicologist, and somehow began to ramble wonderfully about the nomadic horsemen of Kyrgyzstan, playing their stringed instruments as they galloped.

@@ Line 19: / Line 19: @@
 In English we say it’s raining hard/heavy or raining light … but in Chinese it’s a matter of size and scale. Big rain or small rain. Big sound or small sound. What does this mean for the body, its relation to its environment?
-In Chinese, asking after age: ‘How big are you now?’
+In Chinese, asking after age: ‘How big are you now?’ <br>
 Which finds its correlate in English, contextually: ‘Back when she was still very small…’
@@ Line 37: / Line 37: @@
-The front room is a multifunctional space
+The front room is a multifunctional space<br>
-It becomes whatever you need it to be
+It becomes whatever you need it to be<br>
-Last night it became a small viewing theatre
+Last night it became a small viewing theatre<br>
-If you take the table out it would seem like just a room for some kind of physical activity
+If you take the table out it would seem like just a room for some kind of physical activity<br>
 Ballet or aerobics
@@ Line 51: / Line 51: @@
 (1)
-Will the privilege of space / Be an adequate defence?
+Will the privilege of space / Be an adequate defence?<br>
-Who gets to decide?
+Who gets to decide?<br>
-Find a corner / Must it have a function?
+Find a corner / Must it have a function?<br>
 The privilege / To stay empty
@@ Line 59: / Line 59: @@
 (2)
-Poetry / Must / Have a function?
+Poetry / Must / Have a function?<br>
-Who gets to decide? / Who needs it / More?
+Who gets to decide? / Who needs it / More?<br>
 Maybe it wants / A window to look into?
@@ Line 66: / Line 66: @@
 (3)
-Exposed to the elements ...
+Exposed to the elements ...<br>
 The privilege / Of language

@@ Line 6: / Line 6: @@
 I left FY buzzing with thoughts about poetics -- the poetics of architecture, and the architecture of poetics; nested within that was a rhizome of notions, especially relating to materiality x textuality, and much of which I have yet to untangle for myself.
-The link below will take you to a piece that emerged out of my time at Frontyard, and further below that are some scatterings from the log I kept while I was there.
+The link below will take you to a piece that emerged out of my time at Frontyard, and below that are some scatterings from the log I kept while I was there.
    infrastructural poetics [https://www.dropbox.com/s/kft37fx2m0klhn0/JuneTang_infrastructuralpoetics.pdf?dl=0]

@@ Line 14: / Line 14: @@
-LOG
+<i>LOG</i>
@@ Line 25: / Line 25: @@
---
@@ Line 34: / Line 34: @@
     INVITATION
---
@@ Line 44: / Line 44: @@
---
 From the experiment:
@@ Line 69: / Line 69: @@
 The privilege / Of language
---
    “Grammar is politics by another means” (Haraway)