Mountains of Creation: How many am I?

Why do we privilege humans over conventions?

We talk of particular movements, of works, of songs, of albums, and, above all else, of the people that make them. We promote a lie of creation in doing so. We think of the song as articulating a set of conventions or a style for a certain moment, as instancing a moment of inscription whereby conventions (understood in the broadest historical, technological, and acoustical respects) are used and exceeded.

What is really happening is a sleight of hand that robs the world outside of the human of its strange primacy. The act of creation is an act of illusion. It is troubling, and entirely telling, that the closest we get to thinking this weird root of creation is in artists’ fuzzy feelings of conduity. But even this talk of ‘just being a conduit’ doesn’t quite get at the simple inversion of moment and (broadly conceived) convention that I want to promote. The object-orientated allegiance of drone music is an exhibition at the terminus of the phenomenon under discussion, where, put simply, music (or, better, vibrations of matter resonating in an audible spectrum) largely plays people, as opposed to the other way around.

Such a spectral view of creation puts us in troubled mind of Fernando Pessoa’s questions; ‘How many am I? Who is me? What is this interval between me and me?’ That interval, in respect of creation, is made of the gap between the ego and the superego, the now and the immanent.

We talk of people to the detriment of sonics, senses, and the abstract collusion of culture. In this talking about people and their works we construct a useful and alluring apparatus for enriched communication. But this is surely not the whole story. Is the work in fact an interval?


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