It is so pointedly against symbol, the house requires a symbol destroyer. But that lightless fire leaving the walls permanently ashen and, to my eye, obsidian smooth is still nothing more than the artist's Procrustean way of combating influence: to create a featureless golem, a universal eclipse, Jacob's angel, Mary's Frankenstein, the great eradicator of all that is and ever was and thus through this trope succeed in securing poetic independence no matter how lonely, empty, and agonizing the final result may be.
My dear girl, is it that you are so lonely that you had to create this?
A Poe t. 21 years old. No tattoos. No piercings.
Setting: In front of a giant transformer.
Poe t: No capitals. [She takes out a paper napkin and reads from it] i was on line, i had no recollection of how i got there, of how i got sucked in there, it was pitch black, i suspected the power had failed, i started moving, i had no idea which direction i was headed, i kept moving, i had the feeling i was being watched, i asked "who's there?" the echoes created a passage and disappeared, i followed them
Douglas R. Hofstadter.
Hofstadter: Similar to Zeno's arrow, consider the following equation: 1/a =D EMBED "Equation" V mergeformat □□□ where 1/» = 0.
If we apply this to your friend Bloom's poetics we get an interesting perspective on the monster.
Let 1 mean the artist, then let "a" equal 1 which stands for one influence and we get 1 for an answer, A =1, or a level of one influence which I take to mean Ish ta! influence.
If however we divide by 2 then the influence level drops to 1/2 and so on. Take the number of influences to infinity, where a = », and voila you have an influence level of zero, A=0.
Now let's take this formula into account as we consider your monster. It has cleared the walls and corridors of everything. In other words, it has been influenced by infinity and therefore not influenced at all. But then look at the result: it's lightless, featureless, and empty.
I don't know maybe a little influence is a good
thing.
Byron Baleworth.
Baleworth: You need to refine how the house itself serves as a symbol —
Stephen King. Novelist.
Setting: P.S. 6 playground.
King: Symbols shmimbols. Sure they're important but . . . Well look at Ahab's whale. Now there's a great symbol. Some say it stands for god, meaning, and purpose. Others say it stands for purposelessness and the void. But what we sometimes forget is that Ahab's whale was also just a whale.
Steve Wozniak. Inventor Philanthropist.
Setting: The Golden Gate Bridge.
Woz: Sure I agree with King. An icon for a bridge game, it's a symbol for the program, the data, and more. But in some respects, it can also be looked at as that bridge game. The same is true with this house you created. It could represent plenty of things but it also is nothing more than itself, a house—albeit a pretty weird house.
Jennifer Antipala.
Antipala: I look at Hadrian's Pantheon, Justinian's Hagia Sophia, Suger's St. Denis, the roof of Westminster Hall, thanks to Herland, or Wren's dome for St. Paul's, and anything else that is seemingly above and beyond this world, and by the way, in my mind, those places I just mentioned really are above and beyond this world, and first it sparks awe, maybe disbelief, and then, after doing the math, tracing the lines, studying the construction, though it's still awesome, it also makes sense. Consequently it's unforgettable. Well that house of yours in your movie definitely sparks awe and all the disbelief, but in my mind it never makes sense. I trace the lines, do the math, study the construction, and all I come up with is . . . well the whole thing's just a hopeless, structural impossibility. And therefore substanceless and forgettable. Despite its weight, its magnitude, its mass ... in the end it adds up to nothing.
[Moving away]
Jacques Derrida. French philosopher.
Setting: Artaud exhibit.
Derrida: Well that which is inside, which is to say, if I may say, that which infinitely patterns itself without the outside, without the other, though where then is the other? Finished? Good. [Pause]
Hold my hand. We stroll.
Andrew Ross.
Karen: Anything else?
Ross: The house was windowless. I loved that.
Byron Baleworth.
Baleworth: [Defensive] It's very sloppy. Why that type of house? Why in Virginia? These questions should have answers. There would be more cohesion. Mind you there is promise. [Pause] I hope you don't think I just made a pass at you.
Camille Paglia.
Paglia: [Laughing] Baleworth said that? You should have asked him why Dante's entrance to hell was in Tuscany? Why Young Goodman Brown's path was in New England? Baleworth's just jealous and besides he can't write a screenplay to save his pecker. [Pause] And incidentally I'm not afraid to tell you that I did make a pass at you.
So are you free this afternoon?
Walter Mosley. Novelist.
Setting: Fresh Kills Park
Mosley: Strange place. The walls changing all the time. Everything's similar, familiar, and yet without signposts or friends. Plenty of clues but no solutions. Just mystery. Strange, very strange. [He looks up, genuinely baffled] I don't know. I sure would hate to be stuck there.
Leslie Stern, M.D.
Karen: What else do you think about the film?
Stern: I'm no Siskel and Ebert—though IVe been called Ebert before. There's a lot about emptiness, darkness, and distance. But since you created that world I don't think it's unfair to ask why you were so drawn to those themes?
Stephen King.
King: You didn't make this up, did you? [Studying Karen] I'd like to see this house.
Kiki Smith. Figurative Artist.
Setting: The New York Hospital - Cornell Medical Center E.R.
Kiki: Well gosh, without color and hardly even any grey, the focus moves to the other stuff—the surfaces, the shapes, dimensions, even all that movement. I'd have to say it comes down to that. Down to the construction, the interior experience, the body-sense there, which—well gosh—what makes the whole thing so visceral, so authentic.
Hunter S. Thompson. Journalist.
Setting: Giants Stadium.
Thompson: It's been a bad morning.
Karen: What did you think of the footage?
Thompson: I've been staying with friends, but they kicked me out this morning.
Karen: I'm sorry.
Thompson: Your film didn't help. It's, well... one thing in two words: fucked up .. .very fucked up. Okay three words, four words, who the hell cares . . . very very fucked up. What I'd call a bad trip. I never thought I'd hear myself say this but lady you need to lay off the acid, the mescaline, or whatever else you're snorting, inhaling, ingesting . . . check yourself into rehab, something, anything because you're gonna be in a bad way if you don't do something fast. I've never seen anything so goddamn fucked up, so fucking fucked up. I broke things because of it, plates, a small jade figurine of a penguin. A glass bullfrog. I was so upset I even threw my friend's fishtank at their china cabinet. Ugly, very ugly. Salt water, dead fish everywhere, me screaming "so very very fucked up." Five words. They threw me out. Do you think I could spend the night at your place?
Stanley Kubrick. Filmmaker.
Setting: (on-line)
Kubrick: "What is it?" you ask. And I answer, "It's a film. And it's a film because it uses film (and videotape)." What matters is how that film affects us or in this case how it affects me. The quality of image is often terrible except when Will Navidson handles the camera which does not happen often enough. The sound is poor. The elision of many details contributes to insufficiently developed characters. And finally the overall structure creaks and teeters, threatening at any minute to collapse. That said (or in this case typed) I remain soberly impressed and disturbed. I even had a dream about your house. If I didn't know better I'd say you weren't a filmmaker at all. I'd say the whole thing really happened.
David Copperfield. Magician.
Setting: The Statue of Liberty
Copperfield: It looks like a trick but it's a trick that constantly convinces you it's not a trick. A levitation without wires. A hall of mirrors without mirrors. Dazzling really.
Karen: So how would you describe the house?
Copperfield: A riddle.
[Behind him the Statue of Liberty disappears.] Camille Paglia.
Paglia: How would I describe it? The feminine void.
Douglas R. Hofstadter.
Hofstadter: A horizontal eight.
Stephen King.
King: Pretty darn scary.
Kiki Smith.
Kiki: Texture.
Harold Bloom.
Bloom: Unheimlich—of course.
Byron Baleworth.
Baleworth: Don't care to.
Andrew Ross.
Ross: A great circuit in which individuals play the part of electrons, creating with their paths bits of information we are ultimately unable to read. Just a guess.
Anne Rice.
Rice: Dark.