Just a quick post for anyone still following this blog, I will be working with Erika over on her blog Journal Edmonton (journaledmonton.blogspot.com)
I would also like to thank everyone for reading and especially those who took the time to comment on my blog.
Good luck with exams and have a great summer.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Friday, April 1, 2011
The Mythical Brass Horse
In class we questioned whether items have mythic power as a single entity, or if it necessary for a multitude of items to be brought together in order for mythic power to be expressed. The conclusion that I came to was that items have a personal power when viewed individually, but a mythic power when brought into a collection (assemblage).
With that said, I'm having a tough time trying to decide on my five items. I think of myself as being a fairly minimalist person, in that I don't have the 'hoarder complex' which we talked about in class; however, the piles of books that are scattered throughout my room would say otherwise...
Anyways, I decided to focus on one item:
My Mother's Brass Horse: One day--actually it happened a lot--my brother and I decided to turn our entire basement into one massive fort. Usually this isn't a problem but today my mother was particularly on edge, and upon seeing her favourite horse-statue-thing laying immobile on the carpet, she went bezerk, entering into a cupboard-door-slamming rage.
:
I like the idea of the brass horse because it is weaves together two different ideas: me and my brother building forts together and my mom's anger. In this way, the horse holds a collection of memories within itself.
With that said, I'm having a tough time trying to decide on my five items. I think of myself as being a fairly minimalist person, in that I don't have the 'hoarder complex' which we talked about in class; however, the piles of books that are scattered throughout my room would say otherwise...
Anyways, I decided to focus on one item:
My Mother's Brass Horse: One day--actually it happened a lot--my brother and I decided to turn our entire basement into one massive fort. Usually this isn't a problem but today my mother was particularly on edge, and upon seeing her favourite horse-statue-thing laying immobile on the carpet, she went bezerk, entering into a cupboard-door-slamming rage.
:
I like the idea of the brass horse because it is weaves together two different ideas: me and my brother building forts together and my mom's anger. In this way, the horse holds a collection of memories within itself.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
River + Nature
Whenever I think of Nature with regards to Edmonton, the first idea that comes to my mind is the river valley. It seems that everything begins there and branches out from that point. This may have something to do with the river being the only truly natural thing in the city.
The river, more than any other natural entity, feels completely free from mediation. Parks, on the other hand, although natural, seem to be tarnished by the mediation of the city. I feel that the river exists despite our transgressions against it--mainly pollution. While the city park exists because of a humanistic desire to keep nature in the city. So it seems that the river is more natural for it doesn't seemingly need our help to remain intact.
What does the river mean for me then?
Resistance. It cuts through Edmonton, and as citizens we've had to adapt to it by building bridges. The river shows to me that the natural world still eludes our control. It's presence may not be as devastating as a flood or earthquake, but for me, it still carries the same message.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Childhood Vision
Try to see Edmonton like a tourist/child . . .
When I look look at Edmonton from a child's perspective, I find that it entails interacting with an area on a much more intimate level. This intimacy, however, is a physical connection that is free from the encodings that things acquire as one grows up. For example, a stop sign from the perspective of a child--or at least for me when I think back--isn't firmly encoded with the idea of 'STOP'. For the child, the sign is something that can be climbed and swung around, or maybe a meeting place. Everything changes; grass is dug up and thrown; pine trees are potential lookout points; the neighbors lawn is enemy territory. And overall, I think, everything is just so condensed. The pattern of the bark on front-yard tree is known by heart. The rivulets of water that trickle down the driveway have been intimately mapped, and often barricaded with collections of dirt and mud.
Then things change. You move to a new town, switch houses: place has become transitory, no longer the stable center. Physical contact gives way to a new connection: an immediate concoction of past events and future plans that mix with the lived moment. I think that as a child one is free from this mixture of past, present, and future--there is just the now.
When I look look at Edmonton from a child's perspective, I find that it entails interacting with an area on a much more intimate level. This intimacy, however, is a physical connection that is free from the encodings that things acquire as one grows up. For example, a stop sign from the perspective of a child--or at least for me when I think back--isn't firmly encoded with the idea of 'STOP'. For the child, the sign is something that can be climbed and swung around, or maybe a meeting place. Everything changes; grass is dug up and thrown; pine trees are potential lookout points; the neighbors lawn is enemy territory. And overall, I think, everything is just so condensed. The pattern of the bark on front-yard tree is known by heart. The rivulets of water that trickle down the driveway have been intimately mapped, and often barricaded with collections of dirt and mud.
Then things change. You move to a new town, switch houses: place has become transitory, no longer the stable center. Physical contact gives way to a new connection: an immediate concoction of past events and future plans that mix with the lived moment. I think that as a child one is free from this mixture of past, present, and future--there is just the now.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Perspectives on Edmonton
Looking back over the past month, I’m starting to realize just how many different ways there are to picture a city. The most striking moment came when everyone had to give a short summary of their maps on Tuesday. The maps ranged from detective stories to bike trails to Edmonton atriums. I can’t think of a single map—from the descriptions offered—that was like any other, each one had its own perspective, goal, and audience (I’m thinking of the map for homeless people).
This diverse range of conceptions of the city also extends to the literature we have been reading, most notably in the collection Edmonton on Location. The stories contained within this volume each speak to only different areas of the city, but also to different historical periods, histories, and memories.
My favourite short story from the collection would have to be Lynne Van Luven’s “City of My Groin”. Van Luven paints Edmonton in contrast to its rural surroundings, instead of placing it in opposition to larger cities, such as Vancouver or Toronto. My favourite line: “If art critic John Berger is right when he says every city has both a sex and an age, then my Edmonton is about thirty-three and feeling its oats, indulging itself with an innocence that now seems wilfully ignorant if not downright irresponsible.” I like the idea of picturing cities as people, giving them “both a sex and an age.” But how do some cities always manage to maintain their youthful image? And does Edmonton need to be youthful to be interesting?
This diverse range of conceptions of the city also extends to the literature we have been reading, most notably in the collection Edmonton on Location. The stories contained within this volume each speak to only different areas of the city, but also to different historical periods, histories, and memories.
My favourite short story from the collection would have to be Lynne Van Luven’s “City of My Groin”. Van Luven paints Edmonton in contrast to its rural surroundings, instead of placing it in opposition to larger cities, such as Vancouver or Toronto. My favourite line: “If art critic John Berger is right when he says every city has both a sex and an age, then my Edmonton is about thirty-three and feeling its oats, indulging itself with an innocence that now seems wilfully ignorant if not downright irresponsible.” I like the idea of picturing cities as people, giving them “both a sex and an age.” But how do some cities always manage to maintain their youthful image? And does Edmonton need to be youthful to be interesting?
Friday, March 4, 2011
Places and Stories
An assigned reading for another class--Wisdom Sits in Places: Landscape and Language among the Western Apache--brings up the notion of Place and how individuals can become fused with the landscapes they occupy. Specifically, at the end of the book, there is a reflection on a recently deceased Apache man who told stories that involved the land around him. What I found interesting, and relevant to 380, is that when this old man told these stories, he also imbued himself into the land around him. Basically, when we tell stories about places, the story AND the individual who told it both begin to live on in that specific place. I think this comes back to the idea of Hauntology.
Now that we have read a decent amount of literature about Edmonton, I find that the stories/memoirs are beginning to settle into the places that they deal with. But even more so, I feel that the authors behind these stores--at least my conception of them--are paired with their stories, existing in tandem.
But what happens when more than one author writes about a single place? It seems to me that these multiple stories become intertwined, jostling for position to be the first conception. In this manner, I think places can have a dominant story, or a dominant haunting. For example, the WCB building's dominant story has been completely changed due to the hostage situation that happened two years ago.
A question then...What is the dominant story/haunting where you live?
Now that we have read a decent amount of literature about Edmonton, I find that the stories/memoirs are beginning to settle into the places that they deal with. But even more so, I feel that the authors behind these stores--at least my conception of them--are paired with their stories, existing in tandem.
But what happens when more than one author writes about a single place? It seems to me that these multiple stories become intertwined, jostling for position to be the first conception. In this manner, I think places can have a dominant story, or a dominant haunting. For example, the WCB building's dominant story has been completely changed due to the hostage situation that happened two years ago.
A question then...What is the dominant story/haunting where you live?
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Movement and Psychogeography
The presentation given today on the situationalists opened up new ways to understand movement through a city. Specifically, the map of a woman's normal daily paths through Paris and how we may unconsciously--or maybe consciously--move through the city.
How much do our places influence our movement to new zones within the city?
The picture I have in my mind right now is a city map covered with various places and with each place functioning as a magnet, pulling the individual into its zone of familiarity. In other words, at what level are we pulled towards the familiar in order to ease our passage to the unfamiliar? Thinking about my own excursions into new areas of the city, I find that I want to stay close to areas which I understand.
Building off of this idea, I think an interesting experiment would be to have participants rank various areas of the city based on familiarity and then send them to a random location. Personally, I know I would at least be tempted to take known roads over those that are more unfamiliar, especially if some time limit was thrown in. With that said though...if it was a competition I may be more inclined to take a few risks and head off my usual grid. I guess in that way, movement through a city is also fueled by intention: am I rushed? casual stroll? avoiding someone? am I wanted by the authorities?
What then is the interplay between intention, movement, and the familiar? I think psychogeography would offer a compelling answer if given the chance.
How much do our places influence our movement to new zones within the city?
The picture I have in my mind right now is a city map covered with various places and with each place functioning as a magnet, pulling the individual into its zone of familiarity. In other words, at what level are we pulled towards the familiar in order to ease our passage to the unfamiliar? Thinking about my own excursions into new areas of the city, I find that I want to stay close to areas which I understand.
Building off of this idea, I think an interesting experiment would be to have participants rank various areas of the city based on familiarity and then send them to a random location. Personally, I know I would at least be tempted to take known roads over those that are more unfamiliar, especially if some time limit was thrown in. With that said though...if it was a competition I may be more inclined to take a few risks and head off my usual grid. I guess in that way, movement through a city is also fueled by intention: am I rushed? casual stroll? avoiding someone? am I wanted by the authorities?
What then is the interplay between intention, movement, and the familiar? I think psychogeography would offer a compelling answer if given the chance.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
A Quick Look Back
Reading week is almost here and it feels as if classes have barely begun (although the stack of homework burning a hole in mind would beg to differ). But to the question: "What’s surprised you? Any suspicions confirmed/undermined?"
I have to be honest and say that the initial distinction we made between Space and Place took me by surprise, or it at least got me thinking in a completely different way about the world I inhabit. It seems to me that there are variety of ways to accomplish this transformation; however, in my mind, the physical act of walking is at the top. Rebecca Solnit, in her novel Savage Dreams, talks about how walking forges a connection with the landscape, how we embed places into our "web of experience". In other words, walking rips us away from our sterile position as a voyeur and immerses us in de Certeau's everyday, in the chaos of life.
Suspicions? Somewhat confirmed. I knew from the outset that Edmonton had experiences to offer that were outside my normal place of habitat, and 380 has shown this to be true, yet I still can't grasp a coherent image of the city. But maybe Edmonton is a city that resists being labeled with any definitive meaning? Better question maybe?: What does Edmonton enable me to do?Does it increase my power to act?
I have to be honest and say that the initial distinction we made between Space and Place took me by surprise, or it at least got me thinking in a completely different way about the world I inhabit. It seems to me that there are variety of ways to accomplish this transformation; however, in my mind, the physical act of walking is at the top. Rebecca Solnit, in her novel Savage Dreams, talks about how walking forges a connection with the landscape, how we embed places into our "web of experience". In other words, walking rips us away from our sterile position as a voyeur and immerses us in de Certeau's everyday, in the chaos of life.
Suspicions? Somewhat confirmed. I knew from the outset that Edmonton had experiences to offer that were outside my normal place of habitat, and 380 has shown this to be true, yet I still can't grasp a coherent image of the city. But maybe Edmonton is a city that resists being labeled with any definitive meaning? Better question maybe?: What does Edmonton enable me to do?Does it increase my power to act?
Friday, February 4, 2011
Nostalgia, Destroyer of Places?
After reading Brenda Mann's "Places of Refuge", I was struck by how memories from past places can be influenced by simply revisiting them in the imagination. How often do we reconstruct places in our mind in order to align them with our current view in life? In other words, can new experiences shape places from the past?
During Darrin Hagen's talk to our class yesterday, he reminisced about the places that used to be pillars of the underground community. I wonder what his conception of these places used to be? The fights, the rumours, the drugs--are these thoughts and experiences still lurking in between the rubble, or inside the walls of the newly constructed buildings? Or has nostalgia infiltrated these past experiences and warped them to cohere to the past that we want to remember?
Personally, I feel a similar feeling of creeping nostalgia when I think back to my days as a labourer in my parent's household / gulag. The chores that were once the bane of my existence are now (mal?)-formed into wonderful family gatherings. Me, outside, cutting wood, -30 degrees--now a blissful interaction with nature.
The domicile of my past has been forever warped by the experiences I have accrued away from home (or maybe my parents propaganda is finally taking grip). My question: Is it possible to reform the places from our past without nostalgia or other events seeping in to warp it? Or are we entrapped in our own subjectivity? And if so, how can we be objective as possible when revisiting our pasts?
During Darrin Hagen's talk to our class yesterday, he reminisced about the places that used to be pillars of the underground community. I wonder what his conception of these places used to be? The fights, the rumours, the drugs--are these thoughts and experiences still lurking in between the rubble, or inside the walls of the newly constructed buildings? Or has nostalgia infiltrated these past experiences and warped them to cohere to the past that we want to remember?
Personally, I feel a similar feeling of creeping nostalgia when I think back to my days as a labourer in my parent's household / gulag. The chores that were once the bane of my existence are now (mal?)-formed into wonderful family gatherings. Me, outside, cutting wood, -30 degrees--now a blissful interaction with nature.
The domicile of my past has been forever warped by the experiences I have accrued away from home (or maybe my parents propaganda is finally taking grip). My question: Is it possible to reform the places from our past without nostalgia or other events seeping in to warp it? Or are we entrapped in our own subjectivity? And if so, how can we be objective as possible when revisiting our pasts?
Thursday, January 27, 2011
In defense of Hitotoki 2.0
The most interesting map that we discussed in class today for me was definitely the Hitotoki map, which came in two different versions: classic and the newer twitter-like version. During the last segment of class, when we were prompted to discuss the maps, both Erika and I found that the newer version of the Hitotoki site was actually quite interesting. One of the main draws of this style is that it is up to the user to search through the different posts / geo-tweets in order to find the ‘best’ ones. Obviously this involves more time, but I see it as being more interesting than simply being presented with authoritative material from an editor. With the new style of Hitotoki the user becomes the editor, which allows for each individual’s perspective to shape the way they not only use the site, but also what information is deemed to possess quality.
Moreover, the posts on Hitotoki vary in many ways: eloquence, style, information, and perspective. I feel that this mixture gives the site a more inclusive picture of the citizens of a city, as not everyone can perform the poetic manoeuvres that warrant editorial review, and I believe that these people should still have a place to put forward their experiences. And sometimes the contrast between the simplistic banality of one post can provide a powerful contrast to a more nuanced view.
However, I don’t mean to diminish the quality of the classic version in advocating for the newer version of the site. Both versions offer unique experiences. I just felt like the newer version was getting beat up on... :)
Friday, January 21, 2011
Place -> Local
Just as rushing water carves away at the stone embankments of a canyon, so do our lived experiences at the limits we place on the city. When I first moved to Edmonton my knowledge of the city was disjointed. I knew of a few malls, and maybe even a park or two here and there, but there was nothing to link these various budding-places together in my mind. However, as time progressed I began to venture further and further out, pushing my personal city limits continually outward.
I have new perceptions of the Edmonton now that I have lived here for roughly 4 years. The limits that surrounded me previously still exist, but now they're more akin to hurdles, able to by leaped over when the situation calls for it. These limits are now smaller in height, but the rate of outward expansion has slowed down. I believe this is partly due to the size of my previous habitat: an oil/forestry town called Whitecourt, which is just 2 hours north-west of Edmonton. It seems that I have taken the boundaries of my old habitat and transposed them onto Edmonton in an attempt to replicate a town-like experience. I'm still trying to decide if this is a favourable undertaking.
Looking inside my limits I can see that my area of habitation has completed its transformation into place, however, it has stalled on the path to its more intimate form: the local. And honestly, I blame myself. If the city is a text, as de Certeau would have us believe, then as a citizen of this city I must assume my role as a character in its ongoing story; I need to embrace a state of becoming-local (Sorry, I blame 302 (Note: I may butcher Deleuze, but I will have fun doing it!)); I need to enter into the community and experiment with it, instead of merely dismissing it without inspection. I'm hoping that my CSL placement with the Alberta Public Interest Research Group (APIRG) will give me this opportunity.
I have new perceptions of the Edmonton now that I have lived here for roughly 4 years. The limits that surrounded me previously still exist, but now they're more akin to hurdles, able to by leaped over when the situation calls for it. These limits are now smaller in height, but the rate of outward expansion has slowed down. I believe this is partly due to the size of my previous habitat: an oil/forestry town called Whitecourt, which is just 2 hours north-west of Edmonton. It seems that I have taken the boundaries of my old habitat and transposed them onto Edmonton in an attempt to replicate a town-like experience. I'm still trying to decide if this is a favourable undertaking.
Looking inside my limits I can see that my area of habitation has completed its transformation into place, however, it has stalled on the path to its more intimate form: the local. And honestly, I blame myself. If the city is a text, as de Certeau would have us believe, then as a citizen of this city I must assume my role as a character in its ongoing story; I need to embrace a state of becoming-local (Sorry, I blame 302 (Note: I may butcher Deleuze, but I will have fun doing it!)); I need to enter into the community and experiment with it, instead of merely dismissing it without inspection. I'm hoping that my CSL placement with the Alberta Public Interest Research Group (APIRG) will give me this opportunity.
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