#also the implications of the prison realm can be interpreted in many ways and some of those ways are more sad than others

[stillfruit]

happy october 31st, shibuya incident / gojo sealing day

[tomorrow-and-tomorrows]

Narrative perspective and how cursed techniques become worlds: Gojou Satoru

In a key moment when theorizing about the nature of soul and body, the Brain speculates that “techniques dictate our worlds”. One of the other ways in which technique = world becomes literalized is through the narrative perspective from which we see characters.

Perspective, or point of view, determines our angle of vision through which to perceive character and story. It shapes representation and determines both how and what we are allowed to see.

Gojou

Gojou’s default technique is Limitless, which brings forth the distance that makes it impossible for objects in the world to reach him; neutral Limitless puts an uncrossable distance between himself and the world.

In the one-year timeskip after Riko Amanai’s death, it’s precisely as he’s learning to have his Limitless activated at all times that he and Geto become unable to reach each other. As Gojou’s power increases to sustain this invisible space, an uncrossable distance opens up between the person who was closest to him.

But I think there’s an additional distance that opens up as Gojou’s technique strengthens: The narrative distance preventing access to Gojou’s direct perspective and interiority after the Hidden Inventory Arc.

In contrast to how we were plunged into Geto’s intense introspection, there is nothing of Gojou’s internal thoughts from the immensely important turning point of the Premature Death chapters to ch.79 when he approaches Megumi. During these chapters, his Limitless technique defines his “world” both within the story (physically and interpersonally/emotionally), and on this meta-level of narration.

From then on, Geto and the readers can only observe Gojou from the outside: his inner mind becomes inaccessible and unreachable. So much so that, as readers, we might feel the absence distinctly as if part of the story after the Hidden Inventory arc and during Premature Death arc is altogether missing or incomplete.

In order to understand his words and expressions here, we are required to interpret, to try to bridge that impenetrable space that never lets us get any closer to Gojou. These two moments in particular illustrate this narrative distance, again as the most defining moments of his life, yet we are left looking on from the outside, ever held at a distance from his actual mind.

These two moments are the most defining moments of his life - dealing with losing Geto, and the first step he takes to dedicating his life to raising young allies through education. These moments are angled very similarly; our angle of vision is to look at Gojou, not through Gojou’s perspective.

We get physically close to Gojou’s eyes as possible, but that is the limit: there is a silence, an uncrossable space between us and his interiority. We never get so close as to access his inner thoughts when it is most important. It feels almost impersonal, alienating as readers to not be privy to these turning points in his worldview.

And it’s not just the case in these two singular moments, but the entire situation after the Hidden Inventory arc. How did Gojou emotionally process Riko’s death? What was on his mind during the time he was sent on solo missions no longer accompanied by Geto? How did he feel about Haibara’s death? How much of Geto’s psychological state was he really aware of? How did his reflections on Toji’s last words lead to him reaching out to Megumi?

It’s also the narrative method after he kills Geto in the prequel: we are shut out from his private emotions, only able to see what he chooses to reveal to the external world - nothing more than an inscrutable smile and a brief expression of affection for the person he had just killed. Does he feel guilt? Acceptance? What were his emotions in the moments after Geto’s death? We are denied access to these answers.

Similarly, many of those above questions about the post-Inventory arc situation will never be definitively answered in the way of internal monologue. However, many of them are implicitly answered, just not in a conventional, straightforward way. Rather than understanding him by being able to access his interiority, we are required to construct an understanding of him based on his external actions.

“Narrative says less than it knows, but it often makes known more than it says.” - Gérard Genette, Narrative Discourse

His response to failing to save Riko, to killing Toji, to Geto leaving, and so on -- we see how nearly all his subsequent actions are haunted by and in response to all these events. We don’t get internal monologue recounting what he feels, but we can try to discern how he feels in everything that he does, every decision that he makes throughout the rest of the story. Becoming an educator, finding meaning through raising allies to connect with, saving Megumi from the Zen’in clan, saving Yuta and Yuji from execution, endorsing Maki’s ambition to transform the Zen’in family, seeking change through education rather than violence, shouldering the balance of the both the jujutsu and human world--

In all of these decisions, we get as close to answer as possible of what he feels in response to the personal catastrophes of his youth that he had silently endured: above all, a deep sense of responsibility and a profound internalization of the experiences and painful lessons that come to define his entire life.

It is also no coincidence that, in Shibuya Arc, it is at the same moment the Prison Realm is able to physically overcome the distance of his Limitless technique, that this narrative distance established in chapters 76-79 is crossed for the first time in a meaningful way.

Throughout his fight with Jogo and Hanamai, we do get a some of his internal thoughts, but it’s for the practical purpose of knowing what his strategical deductions are; they tell us nothing substantial about his emotions, hence not what I consider a ‘meaningful’ overcoming of distance.

But as his Limitless utterly fails to prevent the Prison Realm from seizing him, suddenly that object in the world is able to reach him, and the narrative is simultaneously able to ‘reach’ his mind to a greater extent than before. Whilst he had previously successfully shut everything out, now he is suddenly permeable both in body and mind.

More precisely, what I’ve been calling this ‘narrative distance’ is crossed immediately before the physical distance is eliminated. The emotional distance is actually breached before the physical, but ultimately these two results are inseparable from each other.

Finally, we begin to understand directly, through just a momentary glimpse into his interiority, how strongly he feels the loss of his best friend, how present and alive those years of his youth are constantly in his mind. Seeing Suguru’s face after being emotionally and physically drained by his fight is what exposes his vulnerability, a weakness of the heart that we wouldn’t even be sure was still there until this moment.

It’s the delayed emotional insight into Gojou that makes it all the more poignant; we’re well past his Past arc, but it’s only now that we become privy to how heavily those events weigh on his mind. On a first reading, it would require us to slightly re-write what we would’ve understood of Gojou solely based on the previously distant, impersonal feeling we got from those past chapters.

The final major implication of what I’ve been suggesting is how, in light of all this, how to think about the effect of the last real substantial access to his inner thoughts/emotions.

The last meaningful unmediated access we get to Gojou’s inner thoughts/emotions during his Past Arc is this moment when he renounces human emotion and apologizes to Riko for feeling like he’s no longer fighting for her sake.

Even though this is a powerful, lasting impression of his inner mind for readers, it is not the case that this moment of egoism, self-centredness, and renunciation of compassion is completely who Gojou Satoru remains even as an adult. Gojou definitely retains some of those traits in his personality - I don’t want to overlook the extent of his individualistic mentality, self-involvement, and difficulty emotionally considering others. However, his actions in the aftermath of this spiritual transcendence demonstrate that this moment and those characteristics do not define his entire person at the expense of all others.

Again: the narrative distance that deliberately denies readers access to his inner mind after the Hidden Inventory Arc requires us to evaluate his character based on his subsequent actions that demonstrate his movement away from this emotionless, compassionless state, towards motivations that are highly emotionally driven.

Although this renunciation of human emotion and obligation towards Riko is the last substantial thought we receive from Gojou’s direct point of view, his character has not remained static since that temporary moment. On the contrary, he develops drastically from that, though we witness this change from the outside: the Gojou Satoru we see after the one-year timeskip and ten years later in the present day is a largely different Gojou Satoru than the one who feels no anger on behalf of a child he’d failed to protect - and the only way we can understand this when his mind is largely closed off to us is through looking at his external actions.

For example, in stark juxtaposition to his apology to Riko for not feeling anger or vengefulness, not only does Gojou immediately after think of killing the cult members to avenge her death, a large part of his philosophy as a teacher is founded on anger on behalf of children whose youth are threatened to be cut short. We get this primarily through external speech and action.

We do not experience his anger, realization of the value of working together with allies rather than exclusively as an individual, or decision to save children like Yuta and Yuji through a step-by-step psychological progression: we only see the end results of all that development that certainly occurs, but is hidden from us.

For such a major character, I find this a fascinating method that might run contrary to our expectations of how to portray and understand character development. It requires a greater degree of interpretation about the internal thought and emotional processes that, though not brought to the surface of the narrative, are at the foundation of his external actions, speech, and expressions throughout the story.

“Narrative 'representation', or, more exactly, narrative information, has its degrees: the narrative can furnish the reader with more or fewer details, and in a more or less direct way, and can thus seem to keep a greater or lesser distance from what it tells." - Gérard Genette

[flickeringart]

Fire and Air

As functions of the psyche

Fire is commonly associated with spirit. For some, ”spirit” seems too abstract to even begin to grasp. It’s essentially the thing that is life and gives life at the same time. It makes things show up and it is the thing that shows up simultaneously. It takes things into being and it is the being at the same time. Fire is the presence of life and the meaning it carries through its forms (which includes the absence of meaning). For something to ”be” it has to come alive in consciousness and it’s this phenomena that fire is a symbol of.

There’s a strong sense of ”being life” in fiery individuals which comes with all the positive attributes of warmth, passion, confidence, enthusiasm, bravery, creativity, leadership and authority. They view life in terms of symbolic meaning, which is different from viewing life in terms of literal function, which is more characteristic of earth. It’s also different from experiencing life through emotion, which is characteristic of water. Emotions have no higher purpose or inherent meaning when taken out of a fiery context. Water is the animating force, which means that it is experiential rather than symbolic. Since it’s purely experiential it is undifferentiated which allows for no more than what is felt. What is felt is a fact, but it has no context. Context is ultimately provided through the air element, which I will get to.

In astrology, fire dominant people are often described as being willing to head out on adventures, take risks and live like they are demi-gods of sorts. This is because they are in touch with the spirit of life – not the experience, the concept or the function of life. The force, or ”fire” if you will, is not a definable substance; it’s the implication and the presence of each form and phenomenon. Generosity is another thing that is usually associated with fire people. They can give because they usually don’t feel a sense of pressing lack. A gift is a symbol and is immortal in essence – it carries power because of the intention put into it. To contrast, from an earthy perspective a gift has a literal function (of utility and sensation) and is consequently stripped of its godliness. It is plain materia that is used for its physical properties and nothing more. Of course, in real life individuals are not made up of one element, but it’s effective to exemplify in this way.

Life of fire dominant individuals is, from their perspective, a fascinating enfoldment of a story. They’re not merely bodies that are born and clothed, moved and put to sleep, they harbor the sense of immortality, of being exempt from death in the way that death is present only because of the image making faculty and the attribution of meaning. Physical death is a symbol, not a fact in the life of these people. It’s more than a concept, because it is not separated from life, it’s an expression of life. Every component of life has a purpose, because the fact that anything shows up in consciousness must mean that it belongs to spirit. The spirit is pure light, pure being. The optimism that is usually associated with Aries, Leo and Sagittarius stems from this notion. The negative attributes of arrogance, superiority and intolerance that are sometimes shown in individuals with these signs are due to compensation for disconnection with the intangible. They don’t feel immortal and need to compensate for it by elevating themselves above others. It’s a childish attempt to regain potency, but it’s not genuine, it’s artificial.

Speaking of artificial, since fire is associated with the archetypal realm, individuals with strong fire placements tend to be able to step into the energy signature of a certain archetype and live it out. This is a great source of strength, but it is never the less a substitute for cultivating real confidence and power. Through the use of a certain jargon or mannerism that is essentially “taken on”, the person is able to navigate the environment and get certain needs met without having to put in the effort of actually meeting them on one’s own. For example, a person could want to live out the father archetype in order to gain strength and a sense of purpose. By stepping into the energy signature the person can live a life that is worthy of this specific archetype and feel safe as part of a set narrative. Fire is intimately connected to tales and story lines – and fire dominant individuals generally feel safe in the world of legend and myth. This might lead them to cope through bringing this world into real life, to compensate for feelings of inferiority and incompetence. They might be able to embody archetypes to the extent that they elude people – the façade seems so seamless and organic, almost too consistent.

The real strength of fiery individuals is found in the capacity to be, not in turning to archetypes to cover for a weak ego. Fire is not about what there is – it’s about the “is-ness”, the essence, and the spirit of life. It can’t be substituted with or derived from anything other than itself.

To flip the tables, I’d like to discuss the Air element. Air is somewhat of an agent of spirit, a mediator of life. Extending and reaching into the unknown, seeing the potential in the expression of thought and form. It’s the connective function within the psyche; in symbolic terms it’s the bridge that is made between point A and point B. Air is the function of relatedness which is distinctively different from merging, which is more characteristic of water and the emotions. While being the bridge, air is also the points on each side of the bridge. To make it even more complex, it’s also the absence of the bridge and the points. Air has no substance but can imitate substance accurately enough to be squarely in the perspective of a particular substance. It has the function of detachment, which allows for observation and objectivity. It also has the function of disidentification, which makes it possible to step back from or get closer to something that exist in consciousness. Perhaps equally important to mention is that air not only allows for disindentification but identification as well. In order to be able to relate from something and to something there has to be the introduction of duality. Subject interacts with object, which can be illustrated by a simple sentence. The air element is what allows for a conceptual “I” to exist and it’s defined by a simultaneous conceptualization of a “you”, “I am talking to you”. Language and communication is inevitably dualistic in this way. The intellect has a separating function – it depends on refining and dividing experiences into manageable parts.

Air dominant individuals operate primarily on the level of the intellect, which gives them the reputation for being conventionally smart, interactive, curious, inquisitive and reasonable. On the more negative end, they’re known for being prone to over-analyze, rationalize and not experience reality through anything other than the interpretative functions. As many have discovered, words are only pointers and don’t offer anything else than conceptual understanding. The experiential and functional components of reality are sublimated for abstractions. It makes air people very good at selling and promoting because they can interpret reality to their liking. The thought scape has limitless potential – which also contributes to making air people great liars, or more positively, great persuaders. As already stated, air is the subject and object but also neither of the two. Getting out of tight spots and trappings is one of their greatest advantages for this reason, but it could also lead to confusion. Is the subject the object or the object the subject? You see what I’m getting at.

Life of air dominant people primarily consists of relationships – not only with others but with themselves as well. There’s usually uncertainty around what one thinks or what one is without the contrast that other people provide. This is especially the case for Libra, the air sign of partnership. A conceptual self is derived from observing another and assuming a role that works to create equilibrium and balance. It’s not “ultimate” balance, but the relative balance that can be achieved between two shifting components. For Gemini, it’s more about general interaction and play then perfecting communion and for Aquarius there’s an emphasis on ethicality and mental ideals than balancing out polarity. Overall, air is necessary to provide context. Without the ability for comparison and evaluation, events are void of implication. There’s no clear direction or perception of direction. It’s easy for air dominants to confuse the mind with a concept and locking themselves into a mental prison. It’s also easy for them to not identify with anything in particular and be a constant inconstant, which paradoxically serves as fixed identity anyway.

[shazos]

Undertale/Deltarune Theory: The Two Angels of The Prophecy

Since I’ve been playing Deltarune as of late, I thought I would share some very compelling details I’ve noticed in game that have been rolling around in my mind lately...

 This is a theory pertaining both Undertale AND Deltarune, because I found connections between both of them interestingly enough. To start my theory off: I will begin with the very prominent theme in Deltarune of religion. There appears to be a strange emphasis on how religious the home town of Deltarune is, with everyone worshipping some deity called “The Angel.”

  It seems to be done in such a manner, that it is building up that the town is worshipping some false God of sorts. The town itself feels very…off. A very ominous vibe to it, especially with the very creepy bunker to the south of town as well.

The question is.. who is this Angel..? To answer this question, we will have to dig deeper. Another notable theme in Deltarune, is that many items found in the Light World—represent places and people in the Dark World. It mirrors it, essentially.

In the light world school closet, the cards on the floor represent the card suite inhabitants/card castle. The plush doll represents Seam, etc. Additionally, the red horns in Kris’s house could symbolically represent Ralsei’s presence, with his little red horns. 

However... even more interesting enough, is that in the town hospital can be found two angel dolls. One— that was made by Kris and Asriel, where they “wasted the whole time making big wings for it.”

 And the other, which was made by Noelle and her friend—looked like a typical angel doll, only “it’s lack of facial features was unsettling.” 

This appears to be clear symbolism for two different characters/angels... but whom? The first one, I believe matches the description of Asriel’s final form in Undertale perfectly: it has a rather disproportionate body, with huge over-sized, magnificent wings. 

Additionally, Asriel’s final form matches up with the Deltarune of Gerson’s prophecy, with each part of his angel body aligning with the runes. Gerson also mentions an Angel in his prophecy, saying that it will free everyone from the underground—which Asriel does at the end of Undertale, with the power of the seven souls. 

Then... who is the second angel, who is symbolically represented in the hospital? An angel we haven’t seen yet, but likely will at the end of Deltarune. Based off the evidence/implications given, I believe it is Gaster. 

To begin, the second angel doll is described with a lack of features that makes it unsettling—which is very reminiscent of Gaster. 

To build upon this, the angel of Undertale—Asriel— plays a focal point in Undertale’s story. He is not shown until the very end of the game, with the true ending, and is very mysterious at first. On top of this, many.. many songs in Undertale have the leitmotifs of Asriel’s theme: HIS theme. 

Meanwhile, Deltarunes soundtrack is heavily focused around Lietmotifs of Gasters theme, with the intro song being called ANOTHER HIM... Another angel, if you will. This implies that he is going to play a heavy role in the story, which is very much seen on the surface level of Deltarune—with the involvement of the “strange knight” as well as the subtext with Jevils backstory, having met a man that made his vision of the world grow “Darker, yet darker” and made him go insane, as told by the tale Seam the shopkeeper tells the protagonist. 

Additionally, the very first castle we see in the game--(not card castle, mind you) has wings on it... much akin to an angel’s, and is spewing a dark fountain forth from it. 

At the end of the chapter of Deltarune, Susie shows clear concern that they did not get rid of the right fountain. One fountain—the original, brought the dark world its life. The other, an unnatural source of darkness to upset the balance. And Ralsei, strangely enough, eagerly directed Kris to get rid of the Card Castle fountain—not the one coming from the Angel’s castle. The Angel’s Castle is also an empty kingdom, with no subjects.. except Ralsei. 

But who is the king? Nobody knows… And a very foreboding music plays in the castle town, adding to the mystery of it. Ralsei, who is quite suspicious enough as it is, (might go into this further in another theory later) will not let Kris inside the castle, stating that Kris must save the world/complete the prophecy first... and then they can come back. Ralsei acts very nervous and distraught when Kris keeps trying to enter the castle, and blocks him from going in. He then shuts Kris out of the kingdom gates, barring him off from going back inside--sinisterly enough. 

Additionally, the plot of Deltarune is based off the prophecy, to “banish the Angels heaven”. This makes the Angel seem like a very malicious figure...but why? What are the Angels motives, and what is the “Angels heaven..?” Well, if you talk to Gerson in Undertale, he says an interesting bit of dialogue that could be interpreted a bit differently with my context/point of view. One could argue that he is talking about “the angel of hyper death”, Asriel, when he says the Angel of death, but I believe it not to be the case. 

Gerson states the following: 

“Lately, the people have been taking a bleaker outlook…callin that winged circle the “Angel of Death”. 

A harbringer of destruction, and waitin to “free” us from this mortal realm…”

This seems like a much more sinister view of the Angel, and not like Asriel. Even though Asriel is very threatening, he is still pure of heart, and ends up saving all of Monsterkind in the end. The second angel however? Wants to “free” every one, and brings destruction in his wake. In Deltarune, we see much destruction and chaos being brought about by a strange “knight”, who appeared one day to take over the card kingdom and beyond, using the Chaos King to help him assert control. 

Seam also mentions that he hasn’t seen this much chaos, since the incident that occurred with Jevil—which implies that the stranger and the strange mysterious knight are one and the same. So, what then is the meaning of “free us from this mortal realm…?”, from Gerson’s prophecy of the second angel? Well, interestingly enough: in Deltarune Jevil mentions this line of dialogue in his boss fight, which lines up perfectly with Gerson’s dark prophecy:

 “I AM INNOCENT, INNOCENT. I JUST WANTED TO PLAY A GAME, GAME. BUT THE BORING KINGS FOUND SUCH FUN TO BE A TROUBLE. AS PUNISHMENT, THEY CRAVED TO IMPRISION MY BODY. THEY LOST THE CHASE, AND LOCKED UP THEIR ENTIRE RACE, BUILDING A PRISON AROUND THE WHOLE WORLD. NOW I’M THE ONLY FREE ONE”. 

This is extremely significant, because Jevil was made aware by the Knight that the world is only a game, and that he can become “free” by ignoring the rules of the game, if you will—to become sentient of the game itself. This matches up perfectly with Gaster: who after being shattered across time and space by falling into his creation, became aware that the world was all just a game. 

So why usurp the Dark World? Presumably, to make everyone aware that it is all just a game: to save them, from being stuck forever without choice. To make them free…done in a very twisted way of course, taking over the kingdom, locking up the rulers and all.

So why do this? After all he was a former scientist of Asgore’s in Undertale. This is where the symbolism comes in, that I noticed. Gaster seems to be a “fallen angel” of sorts. He was driven into madness after “falling” into his creation— after messing with the balance of things. What that is exactly, is unknown at this time. But it is implied that he discovered the presence of timelines, and tried to figure out how to manipulate them. 

This in a sense, was an act against nature/trying to defy god by trying to figure out the interworking’s of the world’s universe. 

Additionally, in Deltarune there is a repeated theme of a “shining light” that guides you—where you save your Soul at. In the bible, the fallen angel Lucifer, who defied God, is likewise represented with a “shining light”. In the files, Gaster is also associated with the number 666—which aligns with the prophecy of him being a dark, fallen angel. 

One could even argue his font/name Wingdings is symbolic, from the wing in the name. It isn’t a stretch to say that Toby got some inspiration from the Bible--he has gotten many inspirations from Undertale from various sources, including Asriel’s symbolism from a Hebrew god/demon named Azrael.

To add unto this theory that links both Asriel and Gaster together as being both angels, is that both were striken by tragedy. Asriel was killed at a very young age, and is forever stuck in an endless purgatory in the body of a flower. Meanwhile, Gaster was forgotten by everyone, including the ones he held closest, and was shattered across time and space. Both characters are implied to have been driven to madness because of this, but with Asriel having a bit more heart/sympathy to him in the very end, (due to having the power of the human Souls to feel compassion again) and freeing all of monsterkind out of a deep care for Frisk.

 Gaster on the other hand…? Seems to be a lot more unforgiving, and much more threatening, seen by his heavily implied actions in Deltarune, taking over kingdoms without mercy, and establishing his power in the Dark World. 

Another notable feature between the two characters, is that they both have black markings on their faces, stretching down from their eyes—(Asriel’s markings are seen during his final boss fight.) What are these? Well…one datamined detail (sourced from the Deltarune reddit) from Deltarune might be the answer to this question.

Both Asriel and Gaster have gone through incredible suffering, so this “pain” could have essentially manifested into the black markings, similar to tears. In the beginning of Deltarune, with the player’s encounter with the narrator/ Gaster, (or at the very least heavily implied...he speaks in the exact same manner) he asks the player what their favorite food is. Two answers, that immediately stand out as strange and bizarre—are pain, and cold—which at first glance is just an off the wall comment/dialogue option, but upon second glance gives us a window into what he has gone through—painful suffering, much like Asriel did, on a plane of existence where they could do nothing. Both characters also have committed horrible actions, due to their fall into madness, (Asriel as Flowey, being stuck in a soulless vessel for ages,) and Gaster, due to existential madness from realizing the entire world is just a game, presumably overthrew an entire kingdom to “free” everyone.

 (Almost forgot--) Additionally, another piece of dialogue which links together the Knight and the Angel being one and the same—is a dialogue seen from the Chaos King/Spade King himself. During the battle with him—he mentions multiple times how he obeys the word of the Knight, and with him he shall make a “new world out of Holy Shadows”, which backs up my theory even more, that the folks of the Light world are worshiping a false idol, a dark angel to destroy them all.

Sound familiar...?

I believe this is made all the more likely with Undertale being a mirror to Deltarune and vice versa—it would make all the more sense that each game would have an Angel character, considering each deals with a prophecy containing the Deltarune. One Angel of Light, and one of Dark.

EDIT: Here are some additional findings that make this come all together even more.

*In Undertale, every zone’s monsters reflect the boss monster of the area. (The monsters in Alphys zone are all anime related. The ones in Undyne’s zone are all muscular/into piano like her, etc...) the only area in the game that doesn’t make sense is Mettaton’s zone in the Core. The mobs don’t suit him at all: except when you realize that he wasn’t meant to be the true boss of the Core in the first place, since Alphys made him. If Gaster hadn’t died/become shattered across time and space, he would have been the likely boss monster of that area. What is notable, is that all of the enemies of the Core are primarily knights, mad, some of them use crosses as attacks, have wings, one of them uses a “Morningstar” as a weapon, (possible reference to Lucifer Morningstar) and you have to defeat some of the monsters by “praying”. Not symbolizing Mettaton at all—but rather Gaster, showing that the foreshadowing seen in Deltarune is indeed likely correct.

*The egg in Deltarune is a possible reference to the tale of Adam and Eve, as it aligns very well. A mysterious figure tempts someone behind a tree with a “fruit of knowledge”. Kris is offered the egg by “him”, presumably Gaster. Taking the egg to the Light-World doesn’t change it like all the other items in the game—it still exists in the Light-World—showing the forbidden knowledge that the world is all just a game. Even though it is a secret/not accessed by usual means, the egg is additionally a key item—that might prove more important by the end of the game.

[nofomoartworld]

Hyperallergic: The 1970 New York Artists’ Strike that Prefigured #J20

The Art Strike on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, May 22, 1970. Robert Morris and Poppy Johnson, strike co-chairs, at right, debate museum vice-director Joseph Noble, at left beside striking artist Art Coppedge (photo by Jan van Raay)

This week’s J20 Art Strike is a decentralized call for artists, critics, art historians, dealers, curators, and museums across the US to stop work on Inauguration Day as part of the broader #J20 resistance movement protesting the incoming administration of Donald Trump. The J20 Art Strike is an opportunity to reflect on what the new administration portends for art. Announced as “An Act of Noncompliance on Inauguration Day,” it responds to the presidential transition with the assertion that “business should not proceed as usual in any realm.”

This resonates with the approach of the May 22, 1970 New York Artists’ Strike against Racism, Sexism, Repression and War, also commonly referred to as the Art Strike. The 1970 Art Strike responded to different circumstances than the upcoming one. It was called in the weeks after President Nixon announced he had expanded the Vietnam War into Cambodia. Protesting students had been shot and killed at Kent State and Jackson State universities. Police in Augusta, Georgia had killed six black men and injured some 75 more protesting the death of a black prisoner. The strike memorialized these deaths and the three black students killed and 27 wounded by police two years earlier while demonstrating against racial segregation at the bowling alley at South Carolina State University in Orangeburg. Responding to the death of protesters at the hands of the police and National Guard, the strike proclaimed itself an “expression of shame and outrage at our government’s policies of racism, war and repression.”

Despite the different circumstances, many of the concerns artists expressed in 1970 continue to resonate today. During the Art Strike and in the months before and after, artists argued that trustees exploited their positions on museum boards to distract from their involvement in an oligarchy that perpetrated the Vietnam War. New York museums were asked to instead focus on the needs of more of the city’s residents, to exhibit the work of black, Puerto Rican, and women artists, and to include artists on their boards. The artists responded to an atmosphere of crisis by pointing to ways in which the institutions and structures of the art world appeared culpable and then sought to change them.

In the weeks leading up to Trump’s inauguration, many artists have made art to protest his presidency. While artists involved in the J20 Art Strike and in the 1970 Art Strike have explained their actions as a refusal to normalize a moment of crisis, they have taken different approaches. This week, J20 organizers are asking for a one-day work stoppage. In 1970, artists went beyond this by making the dramatic gesture of withdrawing their art from museums and asking that their exhibitions be closed indefinitely. Robert Morris announced he had closed his exhibition at the Whitney Museum “to underscore the need I and others feel to shift priorities at this time from art making and viewing to unified action within the art community against the intensifying conditions of repression, war and racism in this country.” Adrian Piper withdrew her artwork from an exhibition at the New York Cultural Center and replaced it with a statement that her action was “a protective measure against the increasingly pervasive conditions of fear … I submit its absence as evidence of the inability of art expression to have meaningful existence under conditions other than those of peace, equality, truth, trust and freedom.” In an earlier draft of her statement, Piper had described conditions of “repression, racism, hypocrisy, and murder.” Simplifying these to a single word, “fear,” suggested an overwhelmingly oppressive environment in which the government had turned against its own citizens to suppress dissent.

The withdrawal of art and closing of museum exhibitions also made the important point that these institutions were implicated in the crisis. For example, Robert Morris argued that “a reassessment of the art structure itself seems timely — its values, its policies, its modes of control, its economic presumptions, its hierarchy of existing power and administration.” J20 Art Strike organizers and those who have signed on have made similar arguments. “Could we devote some energy to thinking about how art and artists are embedded, whether we like it or not, in economic and social networks that surround and sustain Trump?” Coco Fusco asked recently. Hal Foster, pointing out that billionaire tycoons who finance the far right sit on prominent museum boards, asks us to consider how “the neoliberal museum has become normalized … and the art world has become an engine of inequality.”

Artists embraced a tactic of direct address in 1970 by asking New York City’s art museums and galleries to not only close but also “make available their main floors to the public, free of charge, for information activities against war, racism and repression.” While the artists said that they would be present to engage with visitors and “politicize” them, they insisted that museum directors, staff, and visitors take responsibility for the crisis, as demonstrated by a handbill written by the artists addressed directly to the reader:

You are involved in the murderous devastation of S.E. Asia

You are involved in racism, in persecution of Young Lords and Black Panthers

You are involved in discrimination and exploitation of women

You are involved in political repression at home

You are involved in the support of fascist dictators abroad

You are involved in these crimes committed in your name by your government

YOU ARE INVOLVED UNLESS YOU STOP IT!

This museum is also INVOLVED.

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The response from museums in 1970 was similar to the ways in which they have responded to the J20 Art Strike. The Whitney Museum of American Art came closest to meeting the 1970 Art Strike’s demands: It closed for the day, like the Jewish Museum and New York Cultural Center, and also created space for the display of protest materials. At the request of staff, the Whitney displayed Peter Saul’s satirical painting about the Vietnam War, “Saigon,” in the lobby. This year, the Whitney is not closing, but will host “Artists Speak Out,” organized by Occupy Museums, inviting artists, critics, and art workers to speak at the museum and carry the conversation into the streets in coordination with other #J20 events. This time, it is the Queens Museum that has decided to close its exhibitions on Inauguration Day, and instead “host … the community [for] production of signs, posters, banners, and buttons in preparation for upcoming marches and actions” of January 21, when the Women’s March on Washington and aligned regional events are scheduled.

Other museums resisted the 1970 Art Strike demand to close and, as some museums have responded to this week’s Art Strike, insisted on the constructive role they might play in an atmosphere of crisis. In 1970, Karl Katz, director of the Jewish Museum, explained that “functioning museums can serve to help in the present situation.” The Metropolitan Museum of Art, in a move that was both sympathetic and contrary to the strike, extended its hours for the day of the strike as “a positive gesture.” Approximately 500 artists responded by picketing the Met, which issued a statement that its “responsibility to the people of New York is best served by remaining open and allowing art to work its salutary effect on the minds and spirits of all of us.”

In response to the J20 Art Strike, most museums have taken a similar stance. In a Facebook post, the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles announced its decision to remain open and waive the admission fee as a constructive gesture: “In celebration of the First Amendment, and our ongoing commitment to honoring the multiplicity of voices and perspectives that make The Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles and the United States so deeply rich, MOCA will be free on Inauguration Day.” The suggestion is that the pedagogical value of art and the regular way of doing business in the art world offer only inspiration and solutions to the nation’s divisions — that museums are above criticism.

In 1970, some saw the closing of museums as a harmful act tantamount to censorship. The Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) director John Hightower warned that asking museums to close “puts you in the same position of Hitler in the 30s and 40s, Stalin in the 50s and more recently the Soviet repression of free expression of Czechoslovakia.” MoMA remained open, waived its admission fee, and opened a “pro-youth” exhibition of press photographs of recent student protests. The most antagonistic attitude was that of Guggenheim Museum director Thomas Messer who denounced what he regarded as the hypocrisy of the strike. Interpreting the demand to close as a threat, he had the art removed from the walls, ostensibly to protect it from violent protestors, and kept the Guggenheim open as if to display the consequences of the strike, explaining, “the museum’s empty walls are in themselves a sobering comment on violence and coercion of every kind.” The absence of art served to indict the strike.

The artists disagreed. In one of the most important parallels with this week’s Art Strike, they drew a distinction between art and the institutions that exhibited it. As Piper’s statement of withdrawal makes clear, she acted to protect her art from exploitation, not to change or destroy it. The strike served notice that the status quo would not be tolerated. This week’s Art Strike takes a similar approach. As organizers explain, “it is not a strike against art, theater, or any other cultural form. It is an invitation to motivate these activities anew, to reimagine these spaces as places where resistant forms of thinking, seeing, feeling, and acting can be produced.” Fusco asks whether artists can imagine “ways of refusing to provide or allow … super rich Trump backers to look cool while they make our lives impossible.” When oligarchs sit on museum boards, Foster asks, “At what cost comes the deal?” Closing the museums creates the opportunity to refuse the terms of the deal, if only for a day, and reconsider art’s role in our society. If art sometimes helps us understand each other better, does it also serve unwittingly to normalize the inequities that divide us? If art can be exploited by those who wield disproportionate power in the US, does withholding it create an opportunity to empower artists?

The post The 1970 New York Artists’ Strike that Prefigured #J20 appeared first on Hyperallergic.

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