thinking about culture

Extreme costume building: this guy designed and made a tauntaun costume.

Someone told me recently that they were interested in the death of Culture. I did not know what they meant. I still don’t actually. But today I ran across this while reading an essay in the book, Camp Grounds, Style and Homosexuality:
“The Frankfurt School argued that all cultural forms in an era of bourgeois dominance are inauthentic, artifacts of false consciousness, the anithesis of genuine expressions of individuality and freedom. In his examination of popular music, Theodor Adorno claimed that its repetitious phrases and rhythms are essentially the same as the rhythms of the modern factory, so that pleasure in the former secures one’s complicity in the latter. The only way to resist such social control is by introducing the negative through forms of critical thought (and critical expressions of art) that oppose the ideologically dominant forms of popular thought and cultural experience. These negations must deny the essentially affirmative nature of culture and must critique the form and structure of bourgeois culture as well as its content.” —Matias Viegener

Talkin’ bout Faery…

obliquely perhaps…

Those who know me know that I am in thrall to the magic of my childhood world. Oh! Those days of jugglers and troubadours, of bonfires and street faires, creative colorful humans engaging in playful countercultural experimentation!
When I moved North in 1979, it was into a grey world covered in rain, not a rainbow banner to be found anywhere, I used to lament, lament! my perceived loss, but what I didn’t realize that the times had changed as well as my personal geography, and that the gypsy fortune tellers had packed up their caravans and receded- that the flames had died down to coals carefully packed into beds of moss and tucked into caches to wait out the Reagan years and all those bindles and bindles of cocaine…
My heart was such a cache. I could feel the presence of Wildness within it, but I was waiting all the while for some collective breath to blow those embers back into a living flame.
How wonderful not to be waiting anymore.
How wonderful to contain the story and the means to tell it.
How wonderful to know the Trick of seeing into the grey, and past it to the lightning flashes of color that are not separate from it….

Humans are waking up and that fire is burning again. I’m the proof.

The Faeries are back!

alice's patchy pants