Posts Tagged ‘resistance’
“Archive as if the future depends on it”*…
UbuWeb, an open online collection of avant garde materials created by poet Kenneth Goldsmith, went live almost 30 years ago…
Founded in 1996, UbuWeb is a pirate shadow library consisting of hundreds of thousands of freely downloadable avant-garde artifacts. By the letter of the law, the site is questionable; we openly violate copyright norms and almost never ask for permission. Most everything on the site is pilfered, ripped, and swiped from other places, then reposted. We’ve never been sued—never even come close. UbuWeb functions on no money—we don’t take it, we don’t pay it, we don’t touch it; you’ll never find an advertisement, a logo, or a donation box. We’ve never applied for a grant or accepted a sponsorship; we remain happily unaffiliated, keeping us free and clean, allowing us to do what we want to do, the way we want to do it. Most important, UbuWeb has always been and will always be free and open to all: there are no memberships or passwords required. All labor is volunteered; our server space and bandwidth are donated by a likeminded group of intellectual custodians who believe in free access to knowledge. A gift economy of plentitude with a strong emphasis on global education, UbuWeb is visited daily by tens of thousands of people from every continent. We’re on numerous syllabuses, ranging from those for kindergarteners studying pattern poetry to those for postgraduates listening to hours of Jacques Lacan’s Séminaires. When the site goes down from time to time, as most sites do, we’re inundated by emails from panicked faculty wondering how they are going to teach their courses that week.
The site is filled with the detritus and ephemera of great artists better known for other things—the music of Jean Dubuffet, the poetry of Dan Graham, the hip-hop of Jean-Michel Basquiat, the punk rock of Martin Kippenberger, the films of John Lennon, the radio plays of Ulrike Meinhof, the symphonies of Hanne Darboven, the country music of Julian Schnabel—most of which were originally put out in tiny editions, were critically ignored, and quickly vanished. However, the web provides the perfect place to restage these works. With video, sound, and text remaining more faithful to the original experience than, say, painting or sculpture, Ubu proposes a different sort of revisionist art history based on the peripheries of artistic production rather than on the perceived, hyped, or market-based center…
… These days there’s a lot of support for the way we go about things. Many think of UbuWeb as an institution. Artists both well established and lesser known try to contact us asking to be on the site. But it wasn’t always this way; for a long time many people despised UbuWeb, fearing that it was contributing to the erosion of long-standing hierarchies in the avant-garde world, fearing that it was leading to the decimation of certain art forms, fearing that it would tank entire art-based economies. Of course, none of that happened. We just happened to be there at the beginning of the web and had to ride the choppy currents of change as each successive wave washed over. Whereas we once used to receive daily cease-and-desist letters, today we rarely get any. It’s not that we’re doing anything different; it’s just that people’s attitudes toward copyright and distribution have evolved as the web has evolved.
By the time you read this, UbuWeb may be gone. Never meant to be a permanent archive, Ubu could vanish for any number of reasons: our internet service provider (ISP) pulls the plug, we get sued, or we simply grow tired of it. Beggars can’t be choosers, and we gladly take whatever is offered to us. We don’t run on the most stable of servers or on the swiftest of machines; crashes eat into the archive on a periodic basis; sometimes the site as a whole goes down for days; more often than not, the already small group of volunteers dwindles to a team of one. But that’s the beauty of it: UbuWeb is vociferously anti-institutional, eminently fluid, refusing to bow to demands other than what we happen to be moved by at a specific moment, allowing us flexibility and the ability to continually surprise even ourselves…
And indeed, in January of last year, UbuWeb announced it was no longer active, posting: “As of 2024, UbuWeb is no longer active. The archive is preserved for perpetuity, in its entirety.”
But last month, the site reappeared…
A year ago, we decided to shutter UbuWeb. Not really shutter it, per se, but instead to consider it complete. After nearly 30 years, it felt right. But now, with the political changes in America and elsewhere around the world, we have decided to restart our archiving and regrow Ubu. In a moment when our collective memory is being systematically eradicated, archiving reemerges as a strong form of resistance, a way of preserving crucial, subversive, and marginalized forms of expression. We encourage you to do the same. All rivers lead to the same ocean: find your form of resistance, no matter how small, and go hard. It’s now or never. Together we can prevent the annihilation of the memory of the world.
(Image above: source)
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As we celebrate collective memory, we might (make ourselves) remember that it was on this date in 1933 that Nazi Germany opened its first and longest-operaating concentration camp, Dachau. Initially intended to intern (then still Chancellor) Hitler’s political opponents (communists, social democrats, and other dissidents), it seeded what became a network of more than a thousand concentration camps, including subcamps, on Germany’s own territory and in parts of German-occupied Europe. About 1.65 million people were registered prisoners in the camps, of whom about a million died during their imprisonment.

“I love to talk about nothing. It’s the only thing I know anything about.”*…
It took centuries for people to embrace the zero. Now, as Benjy Barnett explains, it’s helping neuroscientists understand how the brain perceives absences…
When I’m birdwatching, I have a particular experience all too frequently. Fellow birders will point to the tree canopy and ask if I can see a bird hidden among the leaves. I scan the treetops with binoculars but, to everyone’s annoyance, I see only the absence of a bird.
Our mental worlds are lively with such experiences of absence, yet it’s a mystery how the mind performs the trick of seeing nothing. How can the brain perceive something when there is no something to perceive?
For a neuroscientist interested in consciousness, this is an alluring question. Studying the neural basis of ‘nothing’ does, however, pose obvious challenges. Fortunately, there are other – more tangible – kinds of absences that help us get a handle on the hazy issue of nothingness in the brain. That’s why I spent much of my PhD studying how we perceive the number zero.
Zero has played an intriguing role in the development of our societies. Throughout human history, it has floundered in civilisations fearful of nothingness, and flourished in those that embraced it. But that’s not the only reason it’s so beguiling. In striking similarity to the perception of absence, zero’s representation as a number in the brain also remains unclear. If my brain has specialised mechanisms that have evolved to count the owls perched on a branch, how does this system abstract away from what’s visible, and signal that there are no owls to count?
The mystery shared between the perception of absences and the conception of zero may not be coincidental. When your brain recognises zero, it may be recruiting fundamental sensory mechanisms that govern when you can – and cannot – see something. If this is the case, theories of consciousness that emphasise the experience of absence may find a new use for zero, as a tool with which to explore the nature of consciousness itself…
[Barnett provides a fascinating history of the zero, of its uses, and of brain scientost’s attepts to understand the (not so masterful) human ability to perceive absence…]
… All of this returns us to zero. The question is, does the same underlying neural mechanism drive experiences of both zero and perceptual absence? If it does, this would show us that, when we’re engaged in mathematics using zero, we’re also invoking a more fundamental and automatic cognitive system – one that is, for instance, responsible for detecting an absence of birds when I’m birdwatching.
The brain systems used to extract positive numbers from the environment are relatively well understood. Parts of the parietal cortex have evolved to represent the number of ‘things’ in our environment while stripping away information of what those ‘things’ are. This system would simply indicate ‘four’ if I saw four owls, for example. It is thought to be central to learning the structure of our environment. If the neural systems that govern our ability to decide if we consciously see something or not were found to rely on this same mechanism, it would help theories like HOSS and PRM get a handle on how exactly this ability arises. Perhaps, just as this system learns the structure and regularities of our environment, it also learns the structure of our brain’s sensory activity to help determine when we have seen something. This is what PRM and HOSS already predict, but grounding the theories in established ideas about how the brain works may provide them with a stronger foothold in explaining the precise mechanisms that allow us to become aware of the world.
An intriguing hypothesis inspired by the ideas above is that, if the brain basis of zero relies on the kinds of absence-related neural mechanisms that the above frameworks take to be necessary for conscious experience, then for any organism to successfully employ the concept of zero, it might first need to be perceptually conscious. This would mean that understanding zero could act as a marker for consciousness. Given that even honeybees have been shown to enjoy a rudimentary concept of zero, this may seem – at least to some – far fetched. Nonetheless, it seems attractive to suggest that the similarities between numerical and perceptual absences could help reveal the neural basis of not only experiences of absence but conscious awareness more broadly. Jean-Paul Sartre testified that nothingness was at the heart of being, after all.
The evolution of the number zero helped unlock the secrets of the cosmos. It remains to be seen whether it can help to unpick the mysteries of the mind. For now, studying it has at least led to less disappointment about my birdwatching failures. Now I know that there’s great complexity in seeing nothing and that, more importantly, nothing really matters…
Noodling on nowt: “Why nothing matters,” from @benjyb.bsky.social in @aeon.co.
Apposite: Percival Everett‘s glorious novel, Dr. No.
* Oscar Wilde
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As we analyze our apprehension of absence, we might send empty bithday greetings to a man who ruled out the use of “0” in one specific case: Georg Ohm; he was born on this date in 1789. A mathematician and physicist, he demonstrated by experiment (in 1825) that there are no “perfect” electrical conductors– that’s to say, no conductors with 0 resistance.
Working with the new electrochemical cell, invented by Italian scientist Alessandro Volta, Ohm found that there is a direct proportionality between the potential difference (voltage) applied across a conductor and the resultant electric current— a relationship since known as Ohm’s law (V=iR). The SI unit of resistance is the ohm (symbol Ω).
“The strength and power of despotism consists wholly in the fear of resistance”*…

Interference Archive was founded in 2011 by Kevin Caplicki, Molly Fair, Dara Greenwald, and Josh MacPhee. Our initial collection grew out of the personal accumulation of Dara and Josh… through their involvement in social movements, DIY and punk, and political art projects over the past 25 years…
The mission of Interference Archive is to explore the relationship between cultural production and social movements. This work manifests in an open stacks archival collection, publications, a study center, and public programs including as exhibitions, workshops, talks, and screenings, all of which encourage critical and creative engagement with the rich history of social movements…
The archive contains many kinds of objects that are created as part of social movements by the participants themselves: posters, flyers, publications, photographs, books, T-shirts and buttons, moving images, audio recordings, and other materials.
Through our programming, we use this cultural ephemera to animate histories of people mobilizing for social transformation. We consider the use of our collection to be a way of preserving and honoring histories and material culture that is often marginalized in mainstream institutions…
Visit the Archive online, and if you’re in the New York area, visit their current exhibit.

[TotH to the always-inspirational Ganzeer]
* Thomas Paine
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As we question authority, we might recall that it was on this date in 1864 that the U.S. Senate passed the Thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution, declaring “Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction.”
The House passed the Amendment January 31, 1865, and it was ratified by the required number of states on December 6, 1865. On December 18, 1865, Secretary of State William H. Seward proclaimed its adoption.

Thomas Nast’s engraving, “Emancipation,” 1865




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