described almost simultaneously. However, in the pre-Freudian world of the long eighteenth century this form of writing opened the door to what was to become known as the human subconscious. And it is helpful to use Freud anachronistically to understand the role of memory in the subjective experience of Rome. Importantly, too, Freud gives us some insight into the part prints played in the memorialisation of cities.
There is no doubt of the importance of the city – not least Rome – as a means of describing the workings of the mind. For instance in Freud’s Civilization
Salpêtrière to consider the field of art history. Here, Didi-Huberman delineates the goals of his project: ‘To effect a true critique, to propose an alternative future, isn’t it necessary to engage in an archaeology , of the kind that Lacan undertook with Freud, Foucault with Binswanger, Deleuze with Bergson, and Derrida with Husserl?’ 2 This statement clearly signals his revisionist intent. It also simultaneously aligns his work with some of the great revisionist projects of the twentieth century. Fast forward to an interview of 2010, in which he declared his ongoing
There is no soundtrack is a specific yet expansive study of sound tactics deployed in experimental media art today. It analyses how audio and visual elements interact and produce meaning, drawing from works by contemporary media artists ranging from Chantal Akerman, to Nam June Paik, to Tanya Tagaq. It then links these analyses to discussions on silence, voice, noise, listening, the soundscape, and other key ideas in sound studies. In making these connections, the book argues that experimental media art – avant-garde film, video art, performance, installation, and hybrid forms – produces radical and new audio-visual relationships that challenge and destabilize the visually-dominated fields of art history, contemporary art criticism, cinema and media studies, and cultural studies as well as the larger area of the human sciences. This book directly addresses what sound studies scholar Jonathan Sterne calls ‘visual hegemony’. It joins a growing body of interdisciplinary scholarship that is collectively sonifying the study of culture while defying the lack of diversity within the field by focusing on practitioners from transnational and diverse backgrounds. Therefore, the media artists discussed in this book are of interest to scholars and students who are exploring aurality in related disciplines including gender and feminist studies, queer studies, ethnic studies, postcolonial studies, urban studies, environmental analysis, and architecture. As such, There Is No Soundtrack makes meaningful connections between previously disconnected bodies of scholarship to build new, more complex and reverberating frameworks for the study of art, media, and sound.
This book presents new research on the histories and legacies of the German
Expressionist group, Der Blaue Reiter, the founding force behind modernist
abstraction. For the first time Der Blaue Reiter is subjected to a variety of
novel inter-disciplinary perspectives, ranging from a philosophical enquiry into
its language and visual perception, to analyses of its gender dynamics, its
reception at different historical junctures throughout the twentieth century,
and its legacies for post-colonial aesthetic practices. The volume offers a new
perspective on familiar aspects of Expressionism and abstraction, taking
seriously the inheritance of modernism for the twenty-first century in ways that
will help to recalibrate the field of Expressionist studies for future
scholarship. Der Blaue Reiter still matters, the contributors argue, because the
legacies of abstraction are still being debated by artists, writers,
philosophers and cultural theorists today.
by Althusser’s theorisation of ideology, which made the
unconscious a site of political investigation. In his account of the Lacanian
and feminist re-reading of Freud that took place during this period, Peter
Wollen explains that ‘[p]sychoanalysis was used, not simply to give a theoretical
account of femininity, but to find a way of understanding motherhood as both
Rewriting maternal femininity in Mary Kelly’s Post-Partum Document
a psychoanalytic and a political category.’34 While Freud was the declared enemy
in many American feminist tracks of the 1970s
, as detailed extensively in
Neuwirth’s Arbeitsjournal . Drawing on a theoretical
tradition that includes Proust on memory, Benjamin on allegory and
montage, Derrida’s notion of the ‘trace’, and
Freud’s conception of memory as a
palimpsestic text bearing traces of past experiences, and taking his
examples from post-war French literature and film, Silverman argues that
‘The notion of memory as palimpsest provides us with a
politico-aesthetic model of cultural memory in that it gives us a way of
appetites – fluctuates between the graphic pleasures of anal expulsion and
their sublimation.23 Ultimately, Kristeva’s analysis sanctions the fact that it is
men who have been granted the privilege of taking up, at the scene of writing,
the dirty connections between the appetites of the mouth and the aggressions
of the anus. This is precisely what Codex Artaud resists: the engrained notion
that men have greater access to their aggressions and can create with a fuller
array of their impulses.
In Three Essays on the Theory of Sexuality (1905), Freud offers a model
tedium). In the study of comedy there is something of a disjunction between
those critical texts that focus on how humour works (for example,
Freud’s analysis of the mechanics of the joke) and those that focus on
what appears to be at stake (that is, the content or subject of the comedy).
Palmer, arguing in favour of his own approach, suggests that: ‘To
evoke values in the mode of humour is to evoke them in a special, unique
“Mystic Writing-Pad”’ Sigmund Freud likened the human psyche to a kind of wax slab, a Wunderblock , with an unlimited capacity for new perceptions. As this writing pad was filled with permanent but alterable memory traces, much became covered up, hidden and inaccessible but never fully erased.
This brief text is often included in discussions about the connection between archives and memory, since Freud described a material structure for the storage and recording of memories, thus linking the human psyche's day
new means of expression.’12 Mulvey conveys this
‘collective strength’ in ‘Visual Pleasure.’ It is evident in her frequent use of
collective pronouns, in the large, pressing stakes of her argument, but also in
her tone, which is detached and passionate at the same time.
Mulvey’s attention to language, expression, and their political consequences
is a consistent feature of the writing she produced in the 1970s. It reflects her
engagement with Lacan’s semiotic re-reading of Freud (which she does not
utilise in a strict or specialised way) and highlights her emphasis on