May 2008

& I @ WINZ

never young, golden & bulletproof, ever old, deluded & fragile, I contacted WINZ today to hear how my UB application was getting on: UB is allegedly the support mechanism for those enrolled @ PACE, although you can slide in via SB, sickly and not so slickly. Gordon – this was the 0800 general enquiries # for WINZ – promptly and cheerfully informed me that I would be receiving $36.21 weekly.



Are you sure, Gordon?

Yes. But it does seem low.

Low? It’s outrageous.

I’m afraid I’ve only got the numbers. I can’t explain them or justify them. For that you’ll have to talk to your case-manager.

Of course! What an idiot I’ve been. What a fool has been made of me. I’ve been dreaming! “I started a joke.” And only made a fool of myself.

Who in their right mind thinks you can really propose a theatre group as a viable source of income or  means of employment?

Who’d take it seriously enough, be sufficiently afraid of such a proposition to vacillate and prevaricate over business models? as if he already knew and wouldn’t admit it to himself: voluntarily deluded, mesmerized contemplating a prospect I couldn’t and wouldn’t credit as real!

Suspension of disbelief is one thing but suspension of disbelief stands to this self-hypnosis as $36.21 to … a small stipend, a little money to help me on my way on my pathway to artistic and cultural employment. $36.21. And I have two dependants.

Here I am down in the rabbit-hole, looking for a deeper one.


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T-Cell & I @ PACE: day 2, SORT OF

To write a letter to performing artists? to the performing arts community? sector? to theatre practitioners? to theatre workers? poets, makers & workers? (wouldn’t wankers be next in the series?) to whom it may concern … ? interested parties? partisans? compagneros? erroristas? (see <<empyre>> discussion for this month) insurgents? risk-takers? engagers??? fiance(e)(s)? actors? directors? producers? independent producers? (such as the group Stuart Devine contrived to bring together some years ago & because independence is good) resistors? brothers & sisters? (see “Miraculous Day,” pages opposite; it goes like this: “brothers, sisters, take my arms, lead me through the abattoir, where there is a swimmingpool; you cannot see the instruments, they are buried in the carcass, this is the environment.”) fellow victims of the beast that would eat your heart? (if you’d only give its teeth back; if only you didn’t prefer how it sucks) so, players? (but it isn’t supposed to be pleasant, not quite; we aren’t playing to have fun, otherwise, why work so hard?) small (because small is good, minoritarianist) independent (as above) professional (as in vocational, or even avocational) theatre groups? (yes, you! I can’t quite make you out in the crowd) (and groups still smacks of 1970s encounters with the id) companies? (doesn’t mean what it once did and recall that this is supposed to be a letter to elicit information from which is derived a Snapshot Of Real Theatre On the Fly, on the fly, not safe and established on delusional dreaming isles, atopic, SORT OF) so, emergent companies? emergent theatres? emerging performing artists? old & young emergers?

…addressing the letter to ‘fools’ might be deemed insulting (you talking to me!?) although it’s adequate. (See: yurodovstvo, in a previous post.)

To write this letter to you whose work is theatre or would be if you had the money and to find out what is useful to me without sounding like a prig (too late!) or to ingratiate myself so as to be confided in or to be plain and speak plainly and state upfront why I’m asking the questions I’m asking, what am I asking? Are you now or have you ever been … or do you like to hang around in bars? (Which calls to mean a delightful conversation with a member of the New Theatre Initiative, Auckland, now the Q, who tried to convince me that in building a theatre the bar was the most important because it’s like the engine-room of creativity, where alliances are formed, collaborations seeded, new work planned, dreams come true, alcohol is consumed, schemes are hatched, cabals, and knives come out … no, not this last. You get the idea. The bar!)

What is useful to me to know from other theatre practitioners is what kind of THREAT they pose to the viability of my business idea, as competitors after the ‘arts dollar’ of which there is a limited supply, we suppose. But to formulate it like this is immediately not useful, since it’s to be a literalist, to use the SWOT tool unimaginatively.

If I am to exploit a milieu, theatre, here now local specific, Auckland, 08, … ah, when I was young, golden and invulnerable, as Rimbaud says in Christopher Hampton’s Total Eclipse.


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cont. (from previous post): scene ii, dreams, plans and schemes, ideal, S.O.R.T. O.F.

– image courtesy OMA

What theatre practitioner, performing artist, thesb, with a room or without one, a broom, or without, would not be excited by Rem Koolhaas’s re-imagination of the bricks-&-mortar playhouse he or she would claim to be more familiar with, would, indeed, claim to have a more creative and imaginative engagement with, than any architect?

The Dee and Charles Wyly Theatre, part of the Dallas Centre for the Performing Arts, in Texas (unsurprisingly), deterritorialises the entirety of the theatre and its conventions on the vector of the conventional fly-tower. It surprises theatre design, catching it in one of its offhand aspects, an aspect, or feature, now almost considered redundant: the fly-tower. Here the whole building becomes a fly-tower. The vertically arranged auditorium and ancillary administrative, backstage, and public components are able to be redeployed, are flexible, less in the multi-purpose sense than in that which makes Wellington’s Hannah Playhouse, Downstage’s home since 1973, a clear precedent.

The Hannah’s auditorium, like that of the Wyly, could be configured with a proscenium, a thrust, in the round, traverse, in ways to which economics were the sole constraint, in more ways, in fact than have as yet or are in future ever likely to be explored, since economic constraints now play – hence the past tense – a greater role in its administration – and, it follows, on its stage – than the compulsion to create, or explore; and since, unlike the Wyly, the Hannah hides the modes and modalities of its contents – its very muscularity as a theatre space, its flexion – in its modes of form, in order that they are to be discovered; since the latter give away very little of what’s inside, its design may be called ‘brutalist,’ but it exactly doesn’t bruit it about, and remains, in its reflexive muscularity of form, shy, like the cliché of the musclebound hunk with a heart of purest cashmere, not prejudicing its viewers, to the point of appearing to some unprepossessing: squatting concrete; that is, the Hannah may not immediately attract the imagination but certainly rewards it.

– image courtesy OMA

If the Wyly is its unconscious legatee, it departs from its antecedent in causing an immediate flutter, is rather coy than shy, wearing nothing but a curtain: there is an immediate seduction. And whereas the Hannah is both muscular within and without, all flexion and flexibility on the inside, in its modes of contents, and reflex, caught in concrete spasm, or plexus, on the outside, in its modes of form, the Wyly is a flying cube, and is consciously contradicted, vicedicted, in its cubic form by its flying form, its exterior curtaining, like a wing: a literal fly-tower.

– image courtesy OMA

The flexibility we find in its modes of contents, configural variation, permitted by that musculature of the theatre space, translates, in its formal modes, to vertical flight. The Hannah may have neither longevity as the home of Downstage Theatre Company – the company ceased there in 1994 – nor in being the flexible space as Raymond Boyce conceived it, but its architectural legacy is assured.

I’ve heard it said, and not just by family and close friends, that the Hannah enjoyed its halcyon days when my father, Anthony Taylor was artistic director of Downstage and Raymond Boyce the company’s designer. Who am I not to concur? The potential of what I’ve called, after Deleuze and Guattari, the building’s modes of contents has never, either before or after, been so fully explored as during those six years, up to 1982. The production of Bernstein-Sondheim’s Candide was perhaps most exceptional, in a list of productions and production designs – that is, both in terms of how the show was set and how the set used the auditorium – which could not be replicated outside of that playhouse. Candide took place in the audience, above the audience, below the audience – and, that there were swivel seats, ‘behind’ the audience – occupied the ambulatories surrounding the auditorium and was broadcast out into the street during the day. You could say that the auditorium was played flat floor, in traverse, thrust, in the round, pros. arch at the same time, with a few more dimensions thrown in – the floor of the auditorium being modular and removable, the rostra being movable, the lighting grid, a permanent quadrate network of gantries, able to be used during performances, and the flying gantries constructed for the set being steel mesh, able to be looked through from the below, and at gallery height.

– image courtesy OMA

The Wyly comprises eleven storeys of height as a pure vector of movement, vertical flight; the floors take on the aspect of curtain-floors, like curtain-walls and flutter, float, or, again, fly. The real curtain around this real theatre – construction began in 2006 – opens not on a stage but on Dallas, the city, and, equally, from the point of view of the theatre, the spectacle, the soap, in a reciprocity of stripteases. The excitement here is the building’s dandiacal audacity, which is in part a camp reversal of the roles played by city and theatre. The city finds itself at the heart of the theatre and at heart theatre: the curtains open and what is revealed is the city-setting. The Wyly bears witness to its own drama: it excites because it is able to be construed as an act of imagination, theatrical imagination, architectural imagination, as much as it is actually constructed as an imaginative creation, a creative creation, by an artful art. It is a play on itself.

I’d hoped to segue gracefully into a second installment of T-Cell & I @ PACE, a scene visited in the previous post, but the connective tissue momentarily evades me and so I append those three points to show a break rather than a continuity. In this break, this lapse, we’ve fallen from the Wyly, from a discourse that I hadn’t, previous to writing, expected to have reached such elevation, down to more mundane matters, which remain at heart also, it must be said, theatre.

My native guide to PACE – native to those pathways, by turns obscure, however distinct, by turns revealing some feature, for example, an architecture, some vista, for example, a plan, to creative and cultural employment, to my creative and cultural employment – Lynn, led me to consider applying a SWOT analysis to the T-Cell idea, alongside a ‘dynamic’ analysis. The latter I’m more au fait with as the build-it-&-they-will-come model. Lynn proposed it as the more creative approach and the SWOT analysis as that focusing on the ‘business’ side of things, albeit that the business end of things is in this case creative.

There exists indeed a confusion around business and creativity promulgated, I would suggest, chiefly by the creative sector, in a gesture, somewhat self-defeating, of self-defense. But then how do we assess creative ventures? By whether they are successful as businesses or whether they are creatively, imaginatively successful? Isn’t creative, imaginative success ‘beyond the brief,’ a surplus for which due preparation may be made but on which we can in no sense depend? I admit, I’ve always judged as successful those creative ventures that survive. However, it is of course their business side that survives; whatever creativity or imagination suddenly flares up, it’s ignited among the tinder-sticks of due and businesslike preparations: business here is the business of seeing the flame kept alight.

Perhaps it’s that social Darwinism leads us to want to put survival down to fitness, implying competition, aggression, testosterone-fueled angst, red-faced men in suits yelling and taking risks that are not at all creative down at the exchange, and that this is why we’ve a resistance to softening, feminising our view of business. After all, creativity – as vouched for by Clive Bromhall – has a lot do with our childish and un-businesslike humanity, with human neoteny, an evolutionary turn that if we suddenly inserted it into social Darwinism might give us a cute view of business, a view that would not lose in acuity what it gained in cuteness. ‘Cute’ could become a business term, like mathematical ‘elegance,’ or ‘nice’ solutions. As for my implication that what is feminised is somehow less serious, more childish, softer, pinker, rounder, cuter, a cute view would demand, nay, politely inquire as to whether the traditional hierarchy of male virtues might do itself a distinct favour by conceding to being gently toppled.

I agreed, then, to Lynn’s proposal of a SWOT analysis as an adjunct to the gradualist and leap-of-faith, or, cute-baby-step-of-faith, approach, called ‘dynamic’ for the fact that there are flows but that they are matters of quality rather than quantity. Flows, of course, as Luce Irigaray would also agree, are at the heart of what is excluded from the already-dead world of male representations and constitute a kind of anti-math.

As I am acutely sensitive to my under-endowment with respect to both traditional male virtues and to an understanding of a mathematics that is sufficiently developed to exclude descriptions of flows from its logical and necessary world-view, I was hedging in agreeing to any sort of analytical approach, including the SWOT, and am hedging here, or at least putting off the necessity of doing it. Every time some arty type says I don’t believe in business, somewhere a small business dies. So, give me a second, I’ll clap my hands and say in a loud voice, I DO, I DO BELIEVE IN BUSINESS! And I believe, I’ll say, that business believes in my artistic and cultural venture.

In the second that therefore remains, I’d like to introduce another impossible task I’ve undertaken to complete before Monday, May 19. You’ll notice I’ve already made it cute by giving it an acronym: S.O.R.T. O.F. Research for the SWOT involves finding out about the competition. The ‘T’ in SWOT stands for THREATS! They’re balanced in a nice way by the ‘O’ for OPPORTUNITIES. (Then there’s the ‘S’ for STRENGTHS and the ‘W’ for WEAKNESSES.)

THREATS and OPPORTUNITIES are supposed to occur in the wild, in the external environment, that external to my abstract idea, the certain delusion of there ever being a theatre group called T-Cell. So to find out what THREATS are out there I intend to write an open letter to the performing arts sector asking a number of exquisitely probing questions, like, who does what to whom for what where and when? and do they pay for the pleasure? And from such questions compile a SNAPSHOT OF the REAL THEATRE ON the FLY, or SORT OF.

I have, you see, found my connective tissue: those pictures of the Wyly theatre I put in at the top of this post constitute SNAPSHOTS OF the REAL THEATRE ON the FLY, precisely, SORT OF.

I look forward to sharing the results of my SWOT with you and your friends and all the friends of business and will formulate my open letter forthwith to be circulated to all known THREATS for the sake of SORT OF.


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T-Cell & I @ PACE: day 1, scene i

I am at last, after a month of the usual humiliations and frustrations, having kissed the hoops and leapt the hems at Work and Income New Zealand, moving forward on distinct and obscure pathways to arts and cultural employment. So Lynn tells me, at The Depot Artspace [see link, left], my local service-provider for PACE:

In November 1999, ‘Uniquely New Zealand’ set out the Labour Party’s policy on how creative industries can make a significant contribution to New Zealand’s social and economic well-being. It further recognised that the employment potential in the cultural sector is significant and that by delivering appropriate support to the sector, significant growth can be achieved in a sustainable way.

In August 2001, following a discussion between Minister’s Maharey and Tizard, the ‘Pathway to Arts and Cultural Employment’ (PACE) initiative was developed and agreed to. PACE was launched by Minister’s Maharey and Tizard on 9 November 2001 and became effective from 12 November 2001.

The aim of PACE is to assist job seekers willing and able to pursue a career in the arts and creative industries to move towards sustainable employment and self-sufficiency.

– from PACE Resource Pack, 2008 (available at:

Having just spoken with my charming trainee case-manager at WINZ, Charlene, there may even be a benefit granted, some small and useful stipend pending. I couldn’t possibly hazard a guess as to how much it will ultimately amount to, but there’s no doubt it will compare favourably with that drawn weekly – a director’s prerogative – over the twelve years of Cafe Brazil’s run. And all this so as I might work some small and useful niche and serve my society by helping myself to realise the modest dream of establishing a theatre group called T-Cell.

I intend to bore you with a blow by blow record as I move forward with this venture, under WINZ’s economic wing and with PACE’s provision of a native guide: hit after hit after hit. Any assistance proffered from out there in the interweb, where you are, is, as usual, welcome, whether alphabetic or numeric; however coded, it will be gratefully accepted as a vote of confidence and good counsel.


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notes on Dorothea Olkowski’s Gilles Deleuze and the Ruin of Representation, the section entitled, “The Theatre of Terror:” preparing for a theatre group called T-Cell

The breast-feeding child, in Melanie Klein’s ‘theatre of terror’ (as Gilles Deleuze calls it, with relish), sets up a literal feedback loop with the mother. Rending the maternal body into fragments, the suckling infant consumes and introjects these morsels, investing them with an infantile but, for that, nonetheless sadistic rage. The pieces of the mother’s body become poisonous little breasts.

The infant squirts mother back at mother in a urinous flood: the child liquefies its mother, first directing the flow against the breast. In this interchange of flows, the suckling’s feedback contravenes the energetic law which constrains output never to exceed input. Mother and child concur in a feedback loop which is also a credit bubble.

Every other vehicle of sadistic attack that the child employs, such as anal sadism and muscular sadism, is in the first instance leveled against its mother’s frustrating breast; but it is soon directed to the inside of her body, which thus becomes at once the target of every highly intensified and effective instrument of sadism. In early analysis, these anal-sadistic destructive desires of the small child constantly alternate with desires to destroy its mother’s body by devouring and wetting it; but their original aim of eating up and destroying her breast is always discernable in them.

– Dorothea Olkowski quotes Melanie Klein’s The Psycho-Analysis of Children, trans. Alix Strachey, in her Gilles Deleuze and the Ruin of Representation, Uni. of California Press, 1999, p. 183



Reading these lines and others like them aloud, I have a sense that Deleuze in some manner enjoys this recitation of horrors because he does not perceive in them, as Klein does, the striving of the infant or child for something else, something that would be more complete and perfect, something that could be represented as good.

– Olkowski, op. cit., p. 183

The dramas we witness in the Kleinian ‘theatre of terror’ are for Deleuze original, neither originary, nor founding, but “always in the past and yet to come.” [quoted at ibid.] What about the dramas we would make in this theatre?



Olkowski infers from Deleuze that the Oedipus complex might just as well have been called the Herakles complex. She writes:

If it is the movements of bodies and language that interest Deleuze, and not the Greek theatre, then rather than developing Deleuze’s text in The Logic of Sense as a psychogenesis, the question of how infants begin to think, of how bodies enter directly into thought, as Philip Goodchild has suggested, I would like to distance myself from a psychoanalytic perspective and interrogate Klein’s impulse from the point of view of the ruin of representation.

– Ibid., p. 184

To, as it were, steal a march on psychoanalysis, Olkowski claims that Deleuze’s empiricism and embrace of duration are oriented, by his additional disavowal of ‘order-words,’ toward an ontology of change and becoming. This ontological question features for Olkowski as key (lock?) in her feminist project, which she summarises early on in Gilles Deleuze and the Ruin of Representation, asking: Can a feminist read Deleuze?

Psychoanalysis becomes the science of particular political points of view. Rather than being guilty of sexuality, psychoanalysis is found guilty of politics. It gets locked out, of Life, for committing the crime of politics, of constructing and organising the socius after its own image. For Deleuze, for us here, it is a social disease, having nothing to say about “a life” and saying nothing to make me think it’s going to get me one.

[Psychoanalysis] organises life in terms of static hierarchies of genus, species, and their differences or in homogeneous spatial units. [It] belongs to stratifications that will not be undone, that impose their negative valuations on all social interactions and that, ultimately, are mechanised and materialised so that they preclude the third synthesis of the death drive – that is, affirmation of eternal return – even though they attempt, though miserably, the repetition of the same. Ultimately, they are stratifications embraced by fascistic and capitalist regimes of power because they are useful to those regimes in maintaining that power and control over social groups. Against this, eternal return affirms all chance [in Deleuze’s reading] except the chance of subordination to the one, the same, and necessity, making death the affirmation of all that acts and dies once and for all.

– Ibid.



Olkowski returns to the Aristotelian framing of the problem of difference. For Aristotle, substance – leaving aside its gender here, a problem in itself – is primary. Being is said of homogeneous substance. Differences occur as accidental – to being. Being is equivocal, distributed, organised across categories and into genera and species. Primary difference does not and can not exist. Difference is secondary, a second order phenomenon – of which, phenomenology is the study.

Difference can only be derived from substance, which is the same. Difference is subsumed under the same. Olkowski desublimates representation, showing representation to be homologous with this view of substance: insofar that substance is presumed to be the guarantor, to ground and govern the continuity of the “sensible intuition,” of phenomena, organising, distributing, categorising. This work of stratifying and freezing in the privileged state of being, stating, or representing, is undertaken with the insistence of the same, the same substance, which, in what is smaller, partitioned and further partitioned, the being of substance eqivocates.

Take the phrase particle ‘just like:’ ‘like’ is a relation of analogy, calling upon a prior condition to justify it, or make it ‘just.’ So, “Representation subsumes species by means of resemblances that resume the continuity of the sensible intuition in a concrete representation.” [Ibid.] Representation doubles itself, but the double is a sheer repeat, doubles itself as itself, “to erase difference as a concept and as reality and to subsume all difference under the one, the same, and the necessary.” [Ibid., pp. 184-5] Reflection makes difference submit to representation, a bad habit.

As Aristotelian substance is just like representation, according to Olkowski, so Platonic Ideas impose representative standards upon the pure form of time and ‘death.’ The latter is understood to crack the subject open to the form of time, which is pure flow: on one side of the crack, the ‘I’ who acts; on the other, the ‘me’ who is acted upon, asujetti, subject-ed.

Death works as a transformative and therefore creative state-of-movement. In the eternal return of Deleuze’s reading of Nietzsche, death creates difference. However, not for Plato, who opposes the hierarchical order of (fixed) Ideas and representation to the Sophists’ claim that the same objects can be both alike and unlike, one and many, at rest and in motion.



If we continue, as Deleuze implies, to analyse the child from the point of view of the stratified adult, the organic representation, or the reminiscence of the Idea, then we are likely to find in the child’s motions and creations something as strange and horrible as Klein’s sideshow of infant freaks.

– Ibid., p. 185


Living beings are constituted in duration’s qualitative and heterogeneous movements as passive egos, mere ‘larval’ subjects, ‘cracked’ by the pure form of time, oriented by passive and active series, temporal and spatial tendencies, connective couplings, intensive aggregations.

– Ibid.


Difference and duration are unavailable to representation. Structures of differences undergo durational processes, which are also called actualisations, and produce at the surface effects of identity, similarity, analogy and opposition. Difference and structures end up feeding the bad habits, of the senses, for example, in their commonly stated, stratified arrangement, leading inevitably to the distorted world of representation, against which we may pit the habits of a Nietzschean ‘greater health,’ arts, drugs and substances that derange both senses and sensibilities.

There are, as Bergson has taken pains to show, two ‘tendencies’ or, as Nietzsche would have it, two forces in a struggle of interpretations. According to what organisation does difference differenciate without threat of representation?

– Ibid., p. 186

According to the organisation of a series, difference can differenciate, i.e. undergo durational processes and form structures, and so avoid falling under the authority of representation. Is, then, differenciation the hidden, the repressed of differentiation? (An oscillation of ‘T’ to ‘C’ would be all there was in it: think of T-Cell!) The Lacanian Real also pre-exists the split subject, however, a subject split between signifier and signified, a linguistic subject.

The Deleuzian ‘crack’ in the subject is opened by the pure form of time, an upswelling. Bergsonian duration shifts what only resembles the psychoanalytic distinction between the Symbolic, the Imaginary and the Real, psychoanalysis’s revolutionary invention of the unconscious, out from under an image of thought still governed by representation to the revolutionary thought that has yet to make the Real, or it real.

Deleuze emphasizes that the unconscious is not an object of reflection, or of psycho-linguistic inquiry, but has to be produced to be. He argues for MORE unconscious, therefore on behalf of differenciation and for the process implicating structures of difference. Duration, the pure form of time, rather than healing all wounds, keeps the crack of creativity open.

What is a series? A series connects different elements. Where two or more heterogeneous series connect different elements we have a system. The system, because constructed of connected or coupled differences, irreducible differences, may also be called a machine, for the way it articulates and sets in motion differential elements. The latter are ‘intensities,’ “constituted by a difference that refers to still other differences, more heterogeneity.” [Ibid.]

Difference can be between one and many, and between one and one. The sense of singularity and sameness, of the ‘same difference’ pertaining, comes from the fact that difference acts, makes, moves, creates the same regardless of the differences, where these differences, furthermore, in which a sense of sameness seemingly interecedes, have since while we were looking for resemblance – the habitual error – now become actualised and reduced to relations, relative size or relative number.

The impression of sameness and singularity of difference obverts the intuition: what is different is. This is the univocity of being. It finds difference first and does not allow representation to hide differences. Resemblance, identity, analogy, opposition can connect differences, as in, ‘to resemble,’ ‘to identify as’ or ‘with,’ ‘to be like,’ ‘to oppose,’ but do not confine these elements or terms to their relations, relations of definition, limitation, reduction, articulation, or representation. Deleuze is fond of citing Hume in this regard, to the effect that relations are not reducible and are external to their terms.

The three syntheses of the psyche constitute series:

Passive synthesis couples affective excitation forming the basis of habit. Eros, the second or active synthesis, designates the ‘internal resonance,’ that increase in qualitative differentiation that occurs when impressions of reflection are associated; as I have argued, impressions of grief and disappointment combine with anger, envy, and malice, or joy intermixes with love, generosity, pity, courage, and pride, and the association of ideas and that of impressions intertwine to provoke a violent ‘double impulse’ that intensifies passions. And finally, with the third synthesis the death drive merges with the movement of life itself and by necessity overflows all series, opening them up to chance and chaos.

– Ibid.

It’s at this juncture, in her series, that Olkowski introduces Antonin Artaud’s ‘theatre of cruelty,’ to attest to the dynamism of a system composed of series. Artaud, she writes, begins with an audible series, extending the voice, from words to vibrations, to qualities and affects, exaltant, numbing, charming , in “a long and vast derangement of the senses.” [Ibid., p. 187]

Artaud is not simply thematizing theatre, which would still be a matter of representing. Artaud is really finding a new manner of living and another order, insofar as theatrical system-series include techniques for making the theatre ‘function’ as the connective series between dreams and eroticism, obsession, savagery, fantasy, every utopian image the brain generates, and the real life of beings. To this end the physical and perceptible is of the utmost importance, and the theatre, rather than thematizing moral or personal crises, must find a way to thematize immediate affectivity.

– Ibid.

There follows a list, including theatrical devices, tricks of appearance, magic, as well as surprise, physical and perceptible differences, such that the theatre can bring and must bring into play in order not to represent, to ruin representation.

I haven’t cited Olkowski’s list in full because the Artaudian theatrical project has been, in twentieth century practice, so extensively explored as to form part of theatre tradition, a tradition to which any current practitioner is the rightful legatee. My interest, however, lies rather with the triad of terror, Artaud and representation’s ruin, that is, with the life of theatre, rather than with the theatre of Life.

The first two elements, terror and Artaud/theatre-of-cruelty, seem to me to vindicate an approach to theatre that is Artaudian and Kleinian in equal measure. To clarify: Artaud flips the discourse on infantile analysis over onto its back, where it may have something to offer the tradition in the way of innovation and renovation, particularly qua project.

Olkowski brings in Deleuze’s take on Klein’s ‘theatre of terror’ to witness the ruin of theatre. She introduces Artaud to witness the ruin of theatre as a form of representation. Her use of Artaud differs radically from Deleuze’s recontextualization, since for the latter, Artaud is the epitome of a schizophrenic writer, not a ‘man of the theatre [or of cruelty]’ at all. We would not sacrifice a single page of Artaud for Lewis Carroll’s entire literary output, says Deleuze.

Olkowski’s observations following these remarks about Artaudian theatre suggest little experience of contemporary theatre practice, which is as traditionally a ‘theatre of cruelty’ as one of ‘poverty’ or Aeschylus’s or Shakespeare’s: the whole tradition is transformed in Artaud’s theatre (in the past that’s never been present), but it is decisively there – where, as I’ve indicated, Olkowski situates it. She does, however, provide a few (negative) pointers useful to begin to discuss a theatre group called T-Cell, wherein we project the series of theatre – tradition and terror, Kleinian-Deleuzian – adds a series which includes Olkowski’s (ruin of) representation.

… theatre, poetry and prose, instead of offering the immediacy of affectivity, presents itself in terms of the moral injunction … to learn a lesson, to contemplate a fixed and dead expression, to conform to standards of perception that are constituted by a restrictive social norm. Such conformity does not merely bore the public, it substitutes for the affective immediacy of spectacle the representation of ideals, in order to then judge the public for not living up to the standard of those ideals. Rather than being challenged with what exceeds even their most intense series, the public is given stale models of resemblance, identity, analogy, and opposition; the public is given representations of violent acts, representations of vicious acts, representations of sexual acts, representations of courageous acts, representations of virtuous acts, actualizations that by definition exclude the possibility of what Deleuze has called humour. And so people … act out or represent to themselves degraded copies of these acts. … They represent but cannot create; most often they are not even given access to the basic tools of creation, and those who are have no idea what to do with them.

– Ibid., pp. 187-8

I hope you agree that this is a trenchant critique of the expressive arts, of creative acts altogether. But in so being, is it holding up a standard, like the Artaudian one, for example, to which we should – Olkowski says ‘must’ – aspire when we make theatre or create works of art? This is the trap Olkowski sets for herself and why I’m interested in adding terror to the series in which representation and spectacle (and carnival, the dialogical, participatory, etc., and other ideals to live up to) already arise. I would argue that representation is already thus complicated and resonates in series with the spectacle and, therefore, with terror: a complication with capital, a capital C.

Upon mounting this critical challenge, Olkowski returns to the larval subjects. These precede, presumably, those flies the gods swat for sport; they are also the results of engagement in the ‘theatre of terror,’ which, in its embryological incarnation, implies “vital, systematic movements, slidings, twistings, that only the embryo can tolerate; the adult would come out of them torn to pieces. There are movements with respect to which one can only be a patient but the patient can only be a larva.” [Deleuze, quoted in ibid., p. 188]

I am moving towards theorising the theatrical incarnation of a ‘theatre of terror’ which employs on its cruel stage larval subjects. There are, then, movements in the clinical project of the theatre I’m envisaging, that of a group called T-Cell, to which one, one actor, one audient, can only be a patient, a larva, and risking and at risk.

Thought too, Artaud has shown us, is though of these terrible movements, this theatre that only a ‘larval subject,’ a dynamic, heterogeneous, and local subject can endure. The system-series of the constituted subject consists of such larval subjects; they are the patients of the dynamic series that express them.

– Ibid., p. 188

Olkowski ends this section, which is a short one, in her long book with a note of caution as to how dangerously close difference veers to representation. She invokes Deleuze’s concept of the ‘object=x,’ ‘the disparate,’ although you might call it the disparator, displacing and disguising in the durational proecess of differenciation, darkly precursive – and somewhat theatrical, you might want to add. Represenation, she notes, distorts, garbles, and stops the infinitely speeding ‘object=x,’ which, like the logos, races through all, flipping the switch to difference, flipping the bit in the matrix to that inbetween/meanwhile in the separatrix.

This places representation always on the outside of any series or system-series, whereas difference, we have seen, in Bergson is internal or immanent.

– Ibid., pp. 188-189



I’ve taken so long working throught these notes that I now find myself, with continued admiration, reading Dorothea Olkowski’s The Universal (in the realm of the sensible): beyond continental philosophy. [Columbia Uni. Press, New York, 2007] At the beginning of this work she notes a break, where she pauses, in her thinking, specifically in regard to the contribution of the scientific worldview to the philosophy contemporary with it. She records having undergone a period of tuition, a mentored familiarisation with mathematics and theoretical physics. She notes Deleuze’s taking up of differential calculus into philosophy; moreover, she attends particularly to his conceptualisation of the manifold.

My affinity, I’m discovering, for Olkowski’s work has to do with her problems of which, in The Ruin of Representation, and why I picked up the book in the first place, representation is clearly one. She is attracted to Deleuze, as I am, for the reason that in his philosophy there might be a before/between/meanwhile to representation that is at the same time able to be conceived and brought to consciousness, that language need not be the only theatre of operations for philosophy.

Her problem, again where I concur, is that of affirmation: how make it without making it stand in a relation of opposition, to critique, to the negative; how affirm representation or not disavow it, when the problem of representation, like death, consists in its indifference. Anne Carson, I believe, poses to this dilemma the question of the double negative, a does Slavoj Zizek, by imposition, in his thematization of negative disavowal: it’s not not to judge/critique/oppose/negate or judge/affirm but to suspend such judgement in time.


The legends accumulate

like wealth or grain at the edge of a famine.

You will never be bored and you will never

conclude your investigations since the crime

has no culprit, or too many to fill the old courthouse.


The cab stalls on the far bank, its headlights ablaze.

I couldn’t photograph any of this for you.

I couldn’t show its reflection in a windshield.

I could tell you about the rain: it is not raining.


– John Ash, from “Unwilling Suspension,” in Disbelief, Carcanet Press, Manchester, 1987, p. 11


point to point

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universal light immediately confounds good and common sense (Cf. Dorothea Olkowski’s The Universal)

We are all unwell, if it comes to that, … for if some Plague were to take us all, why, these little spectra would still crawl about the room until the End of Days, neither knowing nor caring whether living hands were held up to catch them. Our flesh stops the light. The flesh is weak, yes, but the spirit is strong, and by applying our minds to the contemplation of what has been interrupted by our fleshly organs of sense, we may make our minds wiser and our spirits better, even though flesh decays.

… consider this light that you are catching in your hands. … During its hundred-million-mile passage, is it not acted upon by the gravity of the Sun, which is powerful enough to hold even mighty Jupiter in its grasp, though at a much greater remove? And is it not acted upon as well by the gravity of the Earth and Moon, and all the other planets? And yet it seems perfectly insensitive to these mighty forces. Yet there is embedded within this shard of glass some hidden Force that bends it and splits it with no effort. It’s as if a cannonball, hurled at infinite speed from some gun of inconceivable might, and passing through ramparts and bulwarks as if they were shadows, were deflected and shivered into bits by a child holding up a feather.

– Neal Stephenson, The Confusion, Vol. II of The Baroque Cycle, William Heinemann, London, 2004, pp. 422-423


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