【 𝘙𝘶𝘯 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘦 ．．．𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘖𝘭𝘥 𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘉𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘠𝘰𝘶】

POST: 0028
CRITIQUE
06-02-02022

 

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This print began its path to creation in January of 2020, when a page in Adbusters Magazine (【ABM】) gave me P░A░U░S░E.

<ᴅɪɢʀᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ>

I’ve subscribed to【ABM】off & on for over a decade. I’ve watched it become repetitive in years since the Ⓞⓒⓒⓤⓟⓨ Ⓜⓞⓥⓔⓜⓔⓝⓣ’ⓢ undignified evaporation.【ABM】was instrumental in igniting that movement and is trying so, so hard to be instrumental again.【ABM】continues to call for a new revolution each issue, often on specific dates; the results are a cricket song.

As a reader/artist/revolter, I speculate that the tools of culture jamming【ABM】used to help ignite Ⓞⓒⓒⓤⓟⓨ have since been thoroughly co-opted by the capitalist 🄰🄿🄿🄰🅁🄰🅃🅄🅂 🄾🄵 🄲🄰🄿🅃🅄🅁🄴 that it sought to jam.

(◔◡◔)っ ♥ 🅺🅴🆈 🆃🅴🆁🅼🆂 ♥

C̴̹͚̝̟̻̊͗̿͆̐̿̂͜ṷ̸͇̞̯͖̘͓̓̿̿͐̓l̷̖͉̹̠͓̫̤͚̎̂ͅt̵̡̮͌̔̀̆̉̚͝ṳ̵̅̿̈̄̒̊̿ȑ̶̼̗̣͍̪͙͖̺̄̒͋͌̈́̓͛̈͜ě̴̛͉͓̠̰̜̀͆̇̅͑͘͘͜͝ͅ ̷͓̦̣͉͙͕̘̙̫͛J̴͉̥͓͕̬̰͍͚̆̎ȁ̵̘͌̈̽͐̈́͘m̷̡̡̰͍̫͑͂̏m̷͕͙̻̤̮̱͈̳͎̆̉͜í̵̛̥̪̲̣̥̲̰̂͐͋̓̉ṉ̴̟̦̀͝ͅg̶̛̮̻̟̯͌̊̈́̓͑͋

• In a nutshell: “The practice of parodying advertisements and hijacking billboards in order to drastically alter their messages.” (Naomi Klein, No Logo)
• In a more romantic nutshell: “Culture jamming will become to our era what civil rights was to the ‘60s, what feminism was to the ‘70s, what environmental activism was to the ‘80s. It will alter the way we live and think. It will change the way information flows . . . the way in which meaning is produced in our society.” (Kalle Lassen, Culture Jam)

The 🄰🄿🄿🄰🅁🄰🅃🅄🅂 🄾🄵 🄲🄰🄿🅃🅄🅁🄴 co-opted the aesthetic of Culture Jamming. It was the logical uplevel of 𝘎𝘶𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘢 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨. It is now hard to tell the defaced adverts from the faux-defaced; the ironic design from the sincere. Also, how do you vandalize a digital ad and maintain anonymity?

I think【ABM】is in denial. Rather than mourn and re-tool the tactics–as any competent A͎C͎T͎I͎V͎E͎ ͎A͎R͎T͎I͎S͎T͎ must do to outwit the specter of co-option–【ABM】clings because it looks radical to keep tossing those same molotovs . . . but when the target is now a bonfire . . . now the furnace of  🄰🄿🄿🄰🅁🄰🅃🅄🅂 🄾🄵 🄲🄰🄿🅃🅄🅁🄴 . . . well?

EVOLVE!

It’s hard to be with【ABM】. I sometimes feel like I’m at a bar with my old friend who, ignoring all irked patrons, refuses to stop trying to get the dance floor fired up, playing 𝔸𝕟𝕒𝕣𝕔𝕙𝕪 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕌𝕂 again & again on the jukebox.

But I should be dancing, we should be dancing, revolts should feel like dancing.

It’s also hard to be with【ABM】because they remind me of our lost desire for the romance of revolution.

So, despite its out-moded tactics,【ABM】endears me. And . . . just when I think I can’t read another page about squeezing glue into ATM card slots (they use tap readers now,【ABM】) a page gives me P░A░U░S░E. . .

</ᴅɪɢʀᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ>

The P░A░U░S░E of note was a photo page of a young human rushing through a land of brush, refuse, & tear gas. Around the human face is the now familiar tool of impromptu revolutionaries, the quick-tied T-shirt mask. And scrawled over the image . . .

“𝚁𝚞𝚗 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚎 . . . 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞.”

I don’t know if this human is running toward the border of a safer place or away from a line of riot cops. I don’t know if they’re a refugee, a looter, a radical, or a pedestrian having a bad day. There are so many ways to get tear gassed these days.

And I don’t quite know why it stirred me so. The image/text combo cast a ᴍ͓̽ᴀ͓̽ɴ͓̽ᴛ͓̽ʀ͓̽ɪ͓̽ᴄ͓̽ ͓̽ᴄ͓̽ʜ͓̽ᴀ͓̽ʀ͓̽ᴍ͓̽ over me, over my personal pandemic—the days/weeks/months/years that were so S̷ I̷ S̷ I̷ P̷ H̷ Y̷ I̷ A̷ N̷.

It might be because I am a runner. Vaulting roots & garbage piles, sprinting trails & streets. These were some of the precious moments of alrightness through the deep-quar years. That page colored these runs. It felt like I was pushing back, literally, the old world with the balls of my feet, exhaling it with the breath of my lungs. I’d make my runs ʀ͓̽ɪ͓̽ᴛ͓̽ᴜ͓̽ᴀ͓̽ʟ͓̽, incantations to float me toward newness.

It feels like a blessing and a curse to always be middling between OLD::NEW, AWAY::TOWARDS.

It might be because I know what tear gas feels like. I know it is not nearly bad enough to stop my revolution . . . or my good time. I’ve rioted with a thousand 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚜 who frolicked in the moment, throwing a party when everything seem like pain. And I know the baking soda remedy works wonders. I know a few of you were there.

And it might be that, regardless of who this human is, running on the page of【ABM】, they’re human after all. And so they’re 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚎.

So, I made a print to remind me that I’m not in this world/dance/revolt by my lonesome; that the old world is behind us if we put it there, and the run towards newness is a collective mandatory marathon.

Simultaneously, to borrow a common trail runner cliche . . .

“𝙄’𝙢 𝙧𝙪𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙮 𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙍𝙖𝙘𝙚.”

And, to borrow from Henry Miller, I’ll say that the charge towards new worlds . . .

“...𝙄𝙨 𝙖 𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙫𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙖𝙛𝙛𝙖𝙞𝙧, 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙞𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙙𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙡𝙮.”

And there is no party at the finish line because there is no finish line. So I make art! Art to help marry this merry run to the party. I don’t have to be ᗪEᑭᖇEᔕᔕEᗪ to be an artist, or a revolutionary. ᗪEᑭᖇEᔕᔕEᗪ might be the worst thing for a revolutionary to be.

I’ll end with an excerpt from anonymous poet that ran out of the exuberant chaos of France in May of 1968 . . .

𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕠𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕤𝕞 𝕥𝕠𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕞 𝕠𝕗 𝕣𝕖𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕞.

ℝ𝕖𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕞 𝕞𝕪 𝕒𝕤𝕤.

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕧𝕠𝕝𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕣𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕔𝕒𝕦𝕤𝕖 𝕚𝕥’𝕤 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘.

𝕀 𝕔𝕒𝕞𝕖, 𝕀 𝕤𝕒𝕨, 𝕀 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕨𝕠𝕟 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣.

ℝ𝕦𝕟, 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕣𝕒𝕕𝕖, 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕝𝕕 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕝𝕕 𝕚𝕤 𝕓𝕖𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦!

ℚ𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜!

𝕀𝕗 𝕨𝕖 𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕪 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕖𝕟𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖 . . .