#mamdp

[jenner-benjamin]

The Codex of Rohonc

Pages from the Codex of Rohonc.

The Codex of Rohonc is an illustrated book by an unknown author whose mystery rivals that of the Voynich Manuscript. It is named after the city of Rohonc in Hungary, where the book resided until 1838, after which it was donated to the Hungarian Academy of Sciences. The text is written in an as yet undeciphered language and writing system but is continually being investigated by scholars and aspiring cryptologists alike. The paper upon which the Codex was written has been carbon dated to the mid 1500s, though it is currently not known when the book itself was written.

In contrast to the illustrations found in the Voynich Manuscript that leave much scope for discussion, those evidenced in the Codex of Rohonc appear to have seemingly biblical leanings. Most of the imagery can be understood to be scenes as distinct as the Three Wise Men in Bethlehem or Jesus being crucified. These Christian figures would suggest the mysterious book has a religious purpose, but if that is the case then why is the text written in such a way that no one could understand it? Perhaps it was written by someone renouncing religion, and so the text is coded to hide this fact from the Church, or maybe the religious illustrations are to distract from the writing and the true nature of the book. I feel that because the illustrations would point to the book being theological in some form or another, I would propose that it is less likely to be a hoax. Of course, this is speculation, and part of the book’s allure.

It is interesting to note that the number of individual written glyphs in the Codex is ten times higher than any known alphabet - currently the list sits at 792 characters. However some symbols are scarcely used, which perhaps leads us to believe that the glyphs are encoded syllables or words, in which case they would be logograms and not letters. 

If the written codex is indeed a hoax, the very fact that it is compiled in to a bound book enforces the notion that there is a story to tell. The story might be a work of fiction, a recipe book or instruction manual, but nevertheless it is the format of the writing that alludes to the promise of decipherment. I have questioned this idea before with regards to the Voynich Manuscript and the Voynich Symphony. How much of our yearning to decipher the writing comes from the fact that it is a book? I wonder how much we strive to read and understand asemic works with the hopes of grasping semantic content for the sheer fact that we understand the book format to be a method of disseminating information. 

Regardless of what the true purpose of the Codex of Rohonc may be, it provides a point of discussion around the nature of the written word and its capacity to engross, fascinate and capture our attention. There are many conceivable hypotheses and educated guesses that can be reached, but it is my hope that there will always be a Codex of Rohonc or Voynich Manuscript to keep the passion for handwriting theory alive. I intend to continue researching ideas of constructed languages, universally understood languages, and also exploring the limits of the format and presentation of the written word; as this seems to be quite an integral part of how we approach our reading of both semantic and asemic words. 

Pages from the Codex of Rohonc.

[corinnewelch-blog]

Degree Show highlights

A really inspiring show from this year’s MA Multi-disciplinary Printmaking final year students at UWE.

From the top:

Stephanie Turnbull (stunning constructed tobacco label printed from original litho plates)

Jono Sandilands (screen print with raspberry pi LCD, and a mind blowing pinball machine - off the scale amazing!)

Clare Owen (beautiful ceramics and prints)

Philip Johnson (huge screen print with more than a nod to a woodcut approach)

[jenner-benjamin]

Hassan Massoudy

‘Love understands all languages.’ by Hassan Massoudy, 2017 - ink on paper.

As a consequence of reading ‘Habibi’ my research found me at the doorstep of artists that integrate middle eastern calligraphy into their practice. One such artist is the Iraqi painter, Hassan Massoudy.

The images of Massoudy’s performative approach to his practice have motivated me to explore scale in a similar way. I have previously touched on scale in terms of a larger surface area, but continued to use the same drawing implements. What might happen if the size of the tools for drawing were also considered? I have always been fascinated by the performance of handwriting itself, and how the execution of writing is as important as the product. Whilst in a university setting I feel it would be beneficial to investigate this interest as it has great potential for further speculation.

Hassan Massoudy performing asemic calligraphies in his studio.

I have been engrossed in Massoudy’s book entitled, ‘Calligraphies of Love’ that offers quotations and poems around a general theme of love and shows how he has reproduced these sentiments in an asemic calligraphic manner. He explains that in doing this he enables a grasp of the inner meaning of the words. In a sense this is how I have approached certain areas of my practice, in particular the asemic translations of my own poetry collection, ‘anagapesis.’ I would describe it as an attempt to to depict the overarching emotive content of the source material as opposed to a direct and literal translation. 

Massoudy has become an important figure in the contemporary calligraphy community, chiefly amongst a new generation of calligraffiti artists. ‘Calligraffiti’ is defined as being an amalgamation of calligraphy and graffiti, creating a new form of street art that blends tradition and contemporaneity. The calligraffiti artist takes inspiration from words, not allowing themselves to be confined by language itself and making these calligraphic evocations into something elusive, fresh, and displayed in a public setting. 

It is exciting to read on how widespread the visual poetry community can be found, and subsequently the impact it can have on other creative disciplines. I briefly mentioned after attending the ‘Seen as Read’ course about taking my work into a public setting, and it is encouraging to find that there is a community of asemic artists already doing this. So far the extent of my public art has stretched to QR code stickers, which in all honesty is as far as I am comfortable with at the moment. This year is about exploring ways in which I can share my work with my audience and I must continue to do so in a way that I am confident in pursuing. 

‘When you glanced at me, I learned the meaning of love.’ by Hassan Massoudy, 2017 - ink on paper.

[jenner-benjamin]

‘Habibi’ - Craig Thompson

‘Habibi’ front cover by Craig Thompson.

I was recommended this book by a work colleague some time ago and bought it relatively quickly afterwards, but found the 672 page tome intimidating and I did let it collect dust for a while. Now that we find ourselves in lockdown again and creative motivation is becoming increasingly difficult to muster, I have decided that rather than merely float from day to day I will put my efforts in to research in the hopes that inspiration will strike.

I am pleased that I left this book for when I needed some artistic encouragement, it is the most exquisite book that I have read in years. ‘Habibi’ is a graphic novel about two former child slaves, and set in a fictional Islamic landscape. The children become separated and go on their own unique journeys into adulthood before reuniting and struggling to find where the other now fits into their life now that they are essentially familiar strangers. 

Thompson began writing ‘Habibi’ in response to the negative attention given towards the Middle East following the 9/11 attacks. He explains how the graphic novel was an attempt to better understand Islam and focus on the beauty of Arabic and Islamic cultures. In the creation of this contemporary parable, Thompson was influenced by calligraphy from the Middle East, adding that his interest in making a mark on paper and letting that be cursive shorthand for an idea is the origin of cartooning. 

Excerpt from ‘Habibi’ by Craig Thompson.

The calligraphy itself is stunning and has allowed me to see how the handwritten mark can be used to connect a story throughout a publication, and not just for isolated, single page narratives. The ebb and flow of the text and image coupled with the calligraphic elements allowed for a leisurely read of such a gripping story.

Though not necessarily asemic writing, the otherness ‘walls’ are torn down when the gestures of the marks are explained as part of the story. We are taught how the different strokes of the pen create words, and given a lesson of sorts as to how the language is constructed. The performative gestures are an important aspect of the narrative and in the concluding pages we learn about how these relate to the characters, their own personal journey and indeed the title of the book.

Excerpt from ‘Habibi’ by Craig Thompson.

Excerpt from ‘Habibi’ by Craig Thompson.

[jenner-benjamin]

Performance Writing

‘Letter of Resignation��� - performance writing.

This last year in particular I have started to become more comfortable with the fact that I am as excited by the performative act of making as I am by the consequential drawing or print. I think because my research has led to intense discourse about the disappearance of handwriting, I have become increasingly aware of this being an important aspect of my practice. As such I have started to document the process and creation of some artworks, regarding these performances just as important as than the finished outputs themselves. 

These drawings were mostly produced at home, but eventually became tiresome and monotonous. I think because I was limited to the desk in my bedroom, I felt as though everything was whispered and restricted. Once university began to slowly reopen I was able to get hold of a space big enough that I could really spread out, and when not confined by space I was able to shout about how I was feeling rather than whisper. This release was exactly what I needed to breathe a bit of life back into my practice and I am very excited by the results.

The following performances are titled ‘Letters of Resignation’. The title is an homage to the works of the same name by Cy Twombly, an artist that is widely recognised for his works that have quite clear connections to asemic writing. Furthermore there are many suggestions that can be derived from this title; letters in the sense of individual written characters, letters that we write in correspondence, resigning from a job and resigning to the fact that this is just how life is now. I enjoyed the multiple meanings that can be deduced from this, just as there are multiple ways that we can read and understand asemic writing.

‘Letter of Resignation’ - performance writing.

‘Letter of Resignation’ - performance writing.

I conducted this series of performances because I wanted to spread out and enjoy not being limited to a domestic space. I unravelled a roll of Fabriano paper and performed a series of asemic written works to music with a mop, a handheld jug mop, and a drawing instrument that I made with bamboo cane and string. These instruments are all evidently larger than a pen or paintbrush, and so in writing with these on the oversized paper I was making myself more aware that this performance was more of a spectacle than writing at my desk with a pen. 

I write every single day, therefore I perform every day, and yet I was not consciously aware that the performance was taking place. It is interesting that the change in writing implement made me acutely alert to this fact. This is definitely something to think about in terms of the context of how or where the performance is taking place. 

Does a performance need to be documented or witnessed in order to describe it as a performance? If I sit at my desk and write a letter, is it any less performance as it would be to do the exact same thing but go live on social media whilst doing it? Is every act of writing a performance, or is it a performance because it is labelled as such? I have begun to read more about some artists that explore performance in their practice in the hopes of learning more about why this method of communicating my ideas has peaked my interest.

Inoue Yûichi

Inoue Yûichi in his studio by Itô Tokio, 1984 - photograph.

‘Katsu (Sound of Metal)’ by Inoue Yûichi, 1977 - ink on paper.

Inoue Yûichi, was a Japanese artist who began working as a primary school teacher, before retraining under the tutelage of calligrapher, Ueda Sokyu. He came to the practice later on in life but is now regarded as one of the most esteemed Japanese artists of the last century. He co-founded the avant-garde society for calligraphy which in turn saw his push for liberation from calligraphy’s traditional roots, advocating documentation of the calligrapher’s physical movements and energy as being equally as paramount as the textual pieces themselves. 

Yûichi depicts traditional Japanese kanji characters, having been predominantly inspired by traditional masters of Japanese calligraphy, but performs them in such a way that has been likened to abstract expressionist action painters. This meeting of Eastern and Western culture culminates in a performative practice that is a pure expression of being in the present moment. He allowed himself to enter a state of calm that is standard practice of the Japanese art of ‘Shodo’, which connects the mind with the body. This calm state of being is thus expressed in his written performance. 

Nakajima Hiroyuki

‘Calligraphies Sonores’ by Nakajima Hiroyuki, 2018 - performance at Villa Cavrois Lille in France.

‘Shizen’ by Nakajima Hiroyuki, 2012 - performance at Galeria Nobili Milano in Italy.

Nakajima Hiroyuki is a performance artist, also from Japan, but learnt the art of Shodo from a young age. Hiroyuki understood that the art of calligraphy was highly sought after, but recognised that it had the potential to surpass tradition. He began to create abstract artworks based on his deep knowledge of Japanese calligraphy.

Not long after he began exhibiting his calligraphic abstract forms, he introduced elements of Tai Chi in to his practice, aiming to establish the process of calligraphy by way of performance. He begins his performances by standing in a meditative situation, as per traditional Shodo practices, and then in one swift movement he creates his written thoughts as an evidence of that point in time.

Hiroyuki says:

“Every work of "Sho" is created in one continuous motion, and therefore cannot be repeated or re-written. The power of "Sho" lies in this feature of non-recurrence. Even if you draw the same letter ten times, ten different forms will arise spontaneously.”

I am drawn to the sense of calm and quiet in both Yûichi and Hiroyuki’s performances. The influence of Zen Buddhism and traditional leanings makes for a great basis on which to build from. They utilise traditional ideas in conjunction with contemporary art practice to create performance writings that are not only dynamic but also speak of their cultural backgrounds. 

James Nares

James Nares is a multi-disciplinary artist whose practice includes; film, music, painting, photography and performance. He uses these methodologies to explore ideas of physicality and motion. 

In the 1980s Nares began creating what are now his iconic brush stroke calligraphic paintings. These paintings document a gestural and expressive moment, a record of motion across the surface, and are inspired by Roy Lichtenstein’s own depictions of brush strokes. 

Nares suspends himself on wires above the canvas in what looks to be a slightly precarious Mission Impossible manner. This inclusion of an outside source in which to aid the creation of the painting further enhances the idea of performance, bringing an element of true action to the forefront of the drawing. The innovative employment of the wires does add an extra dimension to the works, though I would tend to think that they are required for logistic purposes as opposed to it being performance art. Nevertheless it is an interesting way in which to create a drawing, and an added point of interest. 

‘Girl About Town’ by James Nares, 2017 - screenprint on paper.

‘Damian’ by James Nares, 2014 - screenprint on paper.

Janine Antoni

‘Loving Care’ by Janine Antoni, 1993 - performance with hair dye. Janine Antoni’s work sits in the space between performance and installation. She addresses everyday activities such as eating and bathing and transforms these routines in to art, chiefly using her own body as her method of conveying these ideas. 

Antoni has performed pieces where she has scraped away at both lard and chocolate with her teeth, as well as washing away exact replicas of her face made from soap. The piece I am most drawn to is ‘Loving Care’, a performance whereby Antoni mopped the floor with her own hair, soaked in ‘Loving Care’ hair dye. She explains that in doing this she learns and reconnects with her body, finding an understanding with what happens when she puts her body in such an uncompromising space. I am reminded of the body prints by David Hammons and the performative prints that I studied in the Research Practice module. Hammons expressed a sense of cultural identity by using his body as a matrix for printing and mark-making. 

Antoni could also be seen to be putting forth a thought-provoking address of antiquated views of femininity in the domestic setting in collusion with action painting. Mopping been seen as a domestic chore and action painting popularised by abstract expressionism which was predominantly populated by men. 

This is a great instance of performance drawing, an example of the artist claiming the space as her canvas, and forcing the audience out of the room as she did so. Again, I enjoy the sense of performance art as a means of describing one's identity, this case being an emotional articulation of gender identity. 

Franz Erhard Walther

Politisch (Political), no. 36 by Franz Erhard Walther, 1967 - performance.

I came across the work of Franz Erhard Walther during my research of the Fluxus movement. He is a German artist that rose to prominence with his participatory and activated sculptural works. 

‘Werksatz’ is a series of roughly fifty wearable sculptures that are activated through audience interaction, and an exploration is made of the demands that they place on the human body. These demands are furthered by the possibility of the relationships that the objects prompt between additional participants. The fabric objects consist of a multitude of openings, fastenings and straps that encourage the user to wear and initiate them, either as a solo performance or as a collective effort. 

Walther explains that the motivation behind the wearable sculptures was to understand the negotiation between dormant and active states. This in turn suggests how the materiality of the works might change the body’s behaviour. It is also interesting to note how some of the pieces depended upon the audience’s ability to achieve an awareness of harmony within the structure, making the piece a confrontation as opposed to a simple Happening. I do like this sense of participation from the audience, if it weren't a risk to health and safety this would be something I would have been keen to explore at my end of degree show. Perhaps urging the audience to create their own asemic works in response or alongside my own. This is still food for thought for further study, as restrictions begin to ease.

Körpergewichte (Body Weights), no. 48 by Franz Erhard Walther, 1969 (performed in 2008) - performance.

Nancy Murphy Spicer

‘Hanging Drawings, 20 successive drawings, unique and unrehearsed’ by Nancy Murphy Spicer, 2015 - installation and performance.

I met Nancy Murphy Spicer as an undergraduate student after she gave a talk to my year group about her drawing practice. I have since read that she created a participatory drawing performance that questions the very nature of drawing. She establishes the line as a sensuous object that can be touched, moved and manipulated. The result is a participatory installation that invites the audience forth to engage with the line and create their own drawing.

It is an interesting conception of the physicality of drawing. The artist has brought forth the tools in which the drawing is to be made, but ultimately it is the spectator that activates its agency as a drawing. This notion not only melds the roles of artist and audience, but also gallery and art studio. 

The hanging drawings also touch upon the idea posited by Hiroyuki about the same drawing never being able to be repeated - ‘even if you draw the same letter ten times, ten different forms will arise spontaneously’. This is a thought that I have come back to multiple times throughout this course, the idea of the multiple and the edition. I am a printmaker that is excited by the accidental and incidental unplanned marks, and so the notion of works that can never be repeated is something that I have explored time and time again through print, drawing, writing, and now performance.

‘Hanging Drawings, 20 successive drawings, unique and unrehearsed’ by Nancy Murphy-Spicer, 2015 - installation and performance.

In researching ideas of performance drawing and performance writing, I again find myself being reminded of the Fluxus movement. I would propose that these performances are both Happenings and event scores. I think that this might be an avenue to explore going forward, the capacity for asemic writing to exist both as performance and event score. I do not see Letters of Resignation as a finished piece, but as a starting point to which I could further investigate. Perhaps I could record more written pieces that are less dramatic and focus more on the every day written works. These are just as much performance even without the great expanse and exaggerated writing implements. 

[jenner-benjamin]

Everything that I’ve wanted to say but haven’t had the confidence to until now

‘Everything that I’ve wanted to say but haven’t had the confidence to until now’ publication.

The ethos of this module has been to discover creative ways in which I can connect with my audience. Since the cancellation of this year’s end of degree show I have been conflicted at the prospect of a digital showcase and have been researching ways in which my work can be received in the physical sense. In a world where we scroll past artwork and give thoughtless ‘likes’ and ‘thumbs ups’, I wanted the reception of my work to be more considered and thoughtful and make my audience slow down for just a moment.

For months I had thought about making a publication at the end of the year that would consolidate my third year work in the form of a newspaper. My interest in the newspaper as an object was peaked by Guy Bigland’s workshop where he explained that the newspaper was a dying medium. I think this resonated because of the research I have carried out with handwriting falling under this same seemingly antiquated umbrella. On reflection, I felt that the newspaper carried with it connotations of either formality and seriousness or gossip and celebrity culture. These associations are difficult for audiences to disassociate with, despite what the actual subject matter of the publication may be, and so I decided to rethink my ideas of how to present this collection of works. I think because this publication is taking the place of an exhibition I had ideas of it needing to be grand and formal, when in essence this would detract from what the work is actually about.

I had samples from The Newspaper Club sent to me in the post which gave further insight in to how my publication might look. One such sample was of a zine, which I began to think might be more appropriate for what it was I was trying to say. The paper quality is of the same standard as a newspaper, so the audience reception would be similar to how they might approach this traditional form of relaying information. However the size is smaller, and as a result is much more intimate. 

The works found in the publication are a personal account of the pandemic. This includes the relentless lockdowns and periods of isolation, the loneliness that ensued as a result of these, the dire predicament of working in the hospitality industry throughout the whole ordeal and my feelings towards this, and finally the rare moments of quiet in between the anxiety, and how my creative practice has been a constant crux right from the beginning of the pandemic.

I feel that experiencing this work in a tangible way is paramount to reading the emotive content it offers. Contemporary society is oversaturated with digital media across a great many platforms and I did not want my story to get lost in a split second of someone’s screen time. Social media and virtual showcases will be used to share the work but these will only communicate so far. The publication will undoubtedly exist on multiple platforms, but I would like it to predominantly be experienced in the physical. 

‘Everything that I’ve wanted to say but haven’t had the confidence to until now’ is how I described this collection of drawings, prints, poetry and performances in a presentation that I gave earlier in the year. I noted it down as I really felt that it rung true to where I currently stood, not only as an artist but within myself as well. 

‘Everything that I’ve wanted to say but haven’t had the confidence to until now’ publication front cover - monoprint on paper.

The format of the zine itself communicates various aspects of my practice. It is divided in to two sections, Side A and Side B, a reference to cassette tapes. Dividing the publication in to chapters alludes to the sense of narrative that is present in all aspects of work. Side A addresses the negative moments of the pandemic and Side B has a much lighter tone. At the beginning of each section is a playlist, a reference to the layout of my sketchbooks. At the beginning of each sketchbook I begin a playlist that is personal to that book. When I reflect on past sketchbooks I know how I was feeling and what I was thinking by looking through the playlist. Side A is comprised of songs that I listened to when I was feeling down, and Side B was during the times I felt more optimistic and motivated. I have also made a QR code for each playlist so that the reader can further interact with the zine and listen to what I was listening to when when making the works that they are flicking through. QR codes are also very topical at the moment as they have become a part of our every day life, from checking in to locations with the NHS Test and Trace app to reading and ordering from a menu at a pub or restaurant. The inclusion of the QR code adds another dimension to the publication that combines traditional ideas with contemporary purposes. 

‘Side A’ playlist - monoprint on paper.

The zine contains a narrative of asemic works that respond to the current global crisis, some of these responses address the days where I struggled within myself and became outward reflections of inner feelings, and some respond to the hierarchical dynamic that became apparent in the hospitality industry. A few of the asemic works have been paired with poems that I have written in the last year. I chose to appropriate these as monoprints, a nod to the work I made before I rejoined the course (and have continued to explore throughout),  a further reminder of how far I have come and how much work has progressed. 

Side B offers works from my performative explorations, where I began to utilise my practice to cope with and overcome my lockdown struggles. The first of which is from the ‘Exhale’ performances and the second from the ‘Letter of Resignation’ performances. I wanted to include screenshots from the videos so there was a feeling of animation and movement as the reader journeys though the pages, but did not want the appearance of these to distract from the aesthetic of the publication. Therefore I printed these on the offset lithography press. The finished prints almost look like mid-20th Century American high school year book portraits - adding to the traditional tone I was hoping to achieve. 

Screenshot from the ‘Exhale’ drawing performance - offset lithography on paper.

I understood that in order for the publication to be assessed and meet the criteria for the newly adopted blended learning approach to teaching that I would have to decide upon a method of digitising the zine somehow. I thought that scanning in each individual page or submitting it as a .pdf document would completely undermine what I was intending to achieve, and so I collaborated with filmmakers, Tom Crane and Lianna Denwood who documented the zine in their own creative voice. I gave Tom and Lianna a copy of the zine and allowed them to produce a short narrative that highlights the quiet tone of the book. They included fragments of songs from the playlists that give prominence to how the audience might engage with the QR code playlists, in effect the soundtrack is both narrational and instructional.    

I am incredibly proud of this piece of work. It is my largest edition to date, sitting at 150 copies. I intend to circulate these amongst my audience as invitations to a moment of reflection and poignant human think time, away from internet instantaneity. I am unsure as to the reception that the publication will meet, but it would be my hope there are moments in the pages that encourage the reader to consider and muse on.

[jenner-benjamin]

Extended Practice Summary

Presentation poster that summarises my practice in three words - digital rendering of mixed media works.

Throughout the last three years as a Multi-Disciplinary Printmaking Masters student my work has endured a development beyond that which I could have ever anticipated. I began the course very unsure of myself and felt incredibly out of my depth, suffering from imposter syndrome and a feeling a general uncertainty that I was a right fit for the course. I have since undertaken a series of modules that have; taught me the basic principles of printmaking, shown me how to understand research as a practice in itself, allowed me to develop ideas in a supportive environment, encouraged me to consider where I would place myself as a creative in a professional context, and ultimately, to produce a body of work that consolidates all of the above. My work has developed quite substantially in this time, beginning with figurative printmaking and ending at the complete opposite end of the spectrum in abstraction. However the concepts at the heart of the work have always remained constant. I have always strived to depict an autobiographical narrative, but the aesthetic, the depth of thought and research have progressed.

At the beginning of the academic year I had surmised that visual poetry and asemic writing were a means by which I could communicate a personal narrative. I had spent the previous year touching upon the theory of asemic writing, and using the skills I had learnt in the printmaking studios to develop ideas and explore this newfound and exciting visual language. Because I had established an area of interest and a research methodology, I sought to utilise this final year to try to locate my audience. I achieved a mindset of discerning that the end of the masters degree is not an ending as such, but the beginning of my career as a creative practitioner that is using the end of the masters degree to segue in to a professional context.

In terms of putting my aims in to practice, I submitted works to a multitude of opportunities, open calls and exhibitions with the intention of placing myself in a professional context and locating my audience simultaneously. As time progressed I understood that I am a representative of more than just one community of artists. I am a Masters degree student, a queer artist, a conceptual artist, a performance artist, a book artist, a visual poet and also a researcher. Therefore, by not defining myself as a fixed identity I was able to explore more avenues and test more places where I might place my work. I submitted works to assembling publications and exhibitions, both digital and physical. The networking that I have carried out as a result of this determination has led to further opportunities, such as exhibiting at Bristol Pride and reaching out to artists whose work touches upon asemic writing in their practice.

I have finally developed my website as a space to host a digital portfolio. A lot of open calls and opportunities ask for an online presence, and I feel a website is considerably more professional than pointing people in the direction of your Instagram profile. I initially made my website to serve as an exhibition space for the Practice in a Professional Context module and for the Bower Ashton Library artist-in-residence exhibition. I am glad to be able to use this space as a permanent display for my work, rather than the awkward digital exhibition venue that it has been - though these were necessary at the time to adhere to government restrictions and social distancing measures.

I have regrettably not become as proactive as I would have liked at engaging with social media. I have grasped that it is a useful means through which ideas can be shared, but I still feel an awkward disconnect with the concept. Perhaps this is because the algorithms mean that there is no definite strategy to employ to get people to actually see your posts. I would rather put more emphasis on encouraging my audience to physically engage with my practice. I have achieved this by collating the work that I would have exhibited at the end of degree exhibition in to an edition of 150 publications that I will share with as many people as possible. I will post this portable exhibition to those that supported me in fundraising for the project, those that I would have invited to the exhibition at university, and I intend to submit the publications that are left over to various libraries and artist’s book archives.

Inevitably the current global crisis affected my practice quite dramatically. Access to university facilities has been sporadic throughout the last year, and this lack of consistency meant that my creative outputs have been staggered as a result. The weeks of isolation and multiple lockdowns hindered motivation and consequently, creative development. This feeling of disconnect that I had with my practice led to a period of reflection. I realised that not having access to the facilities meant that I did not feel the pressure to adhere to printmaking traditions, and that I could explore the more conceptual side of my work from home. This deeper understanding that I had gained of where I want to push my practice led to a much broader body of research, and I found that the gesture and performance of writing was as exciting to me as the works on paper themselves. Both research and performance have peaked my intrigue in the last six months and are areas that I would hope to explore further as my practice progresses after the course has ended.

The coronavirus outbreak affected more than just my university studies, it was also quite damaging to my mental wellbeing. Consequently I have utilised my practice as a coping mechanism throughout the latest lockdown. I have used it as a means of documenting everything that I have felt and experienced in the last year, this includes working in the hospitality industry throughout the whole ordeal, and in particular my feelings towards the treatment of hospitality workers. My third year work has told the story of the pandemic and three lockdowns from my point of view. The various periods of isolation and the loneliness that ensued had a negative impact on my mental health, and so I adapted these feelings into a series of breathing and drawing exercises that became daily rituals that formed a big part of my routine in lockdown.

The repercussions of the current situation meant that I faced many obstacles that required a degree of problem solving. The most notable instance was my time as artist-in-residence at Bower Ashton Library. I developed a body of work from found poetry that I was initially unable to complete due to the nation being locked down. I took to social media to ask my followers to send a found word, from which I could make a lockdown poem and print to send to everyone that had submitted a word. This was a wholesome project that kept my mind occupied in a time of uncertainty, and also a gift for everyone that took part. Upon my return to university I was able to complete the found poetry artist’s book, but the nation went in to a second lockdown just as I was about to exhibit the work. This challenged me to digitise the book that I had made and attribute a QR code to it that I plastered all around the city. My aim was for a new audience of passers-by to find my exhibition by chance, continuing the ethos of found poetry in a whole new context. I also spent the remaining budget from the residency on making the book into lo-fi zines that I could also distribute, wanting as many people to physically interact with the book as possible. I was particularly proud of this project, it showed that a little determination could enable me to see my ideas realise themselves in surprising and creative ways.

I have proven to myself that I can fulfil everything that I had proposed at the start of the year with very little in the way of facilities and materials. The majority of my final year’s worth of work was conducted from my bedroom with a roller and some etching ink. This low maintenance method of working is completely transferrable to anywhere in the world, which really is an exciting discovery to make so early on in my career as an artist. Armed with the knowledge that I do not necessarily need studios to develop ideas, I had the confidence to propose a project to an artist residency in rural Italy. I will be placing myself in the community and examining through first hand research how ideas of asemic writing and narrative might translate in a setting where the language spoken is not my mother tongue. I am intrigued as to the otherness of language, and how a language that I do not understand might be transcribed visually. The proposal itself is also transferrable, and has the potential to be explored on a global scale.

There is much scope for further research within asemic writing, and handwriting as a whole. I have enjoyed having the masters degree as a part time constant, but the nature of this part time study has meant that I have not been able to dedicate as much time to my practice as I would have liked. Asemic writing is an under researched area of study, and it deserves more time and commitment than I have been able to afford in the last few years. With this in mind I intend to write a proposal for PhD research. I am keen to explore ideas of asemic writing, narrative and comprehension, and will utilise everything that I have read and learnt in the last two years in particular as a basis for this proposal.

I cannot commend this course highly enough. Having the support to develop and explore my practice has been truly invaluable. I have seen my work mature in to a coherent practice with a clear path forwards beyond the confines of university. This confidence in my practice would not have been achieved without the continuous backing of the module leaders, my peer group, and studio culture as a whole. I have found my creative voice, and am excited to use everything that I have learnt as a student on this course to establish a future for myself as an artist.

[jenner-benjamin]

Dead Letters

‘Dead Letters’, varied edition of 50 - relief print on watercolour postcard.

I have been reflecting on the minimal amount of physical work that I have made this academic year and this is in part due to the lack of access to university facilities. Disheartening as this may be, it has been a necessary restriction due to the current global crisis. With creative motivation being difficult to muster at the moment I thought it might be productive to rethink past works. The project that I spent the most time on was the ‘lostalgia’ typeface that I made in isolation. I spent a lot of time on this project, most of which was incredibly intense as I was unable to leave my bedroom. It might be cause for regret to not have experimented further with their limitations, however they may unfold.  

‘lostalgia’ typeface - lasercut plywood in portfolio presentation box.

Another series of ongoing works that I have undertaken since the start of the pandemic is that of postal art. The resurgence and emphasis that has been placed on correspondence in the last twelve months has been more than apparent. I have taken part in many projects that utilise this idea and it has always initiated a sense of hope and optimism waiting for the post to arrive. After submitting to various Fluxes-inspired mail art projects around the world I would like to take it upon myself to conduct my own mail art intention. I feel that the typeface I made in conjunction with the postal service might breathe new life into the two currently stagnant projects. 

Submission for ‘Postcards for Perec’ mail art project and exhibition.

I was thinking about the individual characters from my typeface and how the letters are simply sterile. The lack of gesture and emotive content render them empty and static in comparison to some of my more gestural drawings and prints. Therefore I would like to impose meaning upon them. 

I recall an album I used to listen to when I was in my teens by the Finnish rock band, ‘The Rasmus’ called, ‘Dead Letters’ that offered a definition to the title in the album booklet. It states:

‘A dead letter is a letter that has never been delivered because the person to whom it was written cannot be found, and it also cannot be returned to the person who wrote it.’

I propose a dual meaning to this definition, and offer that a dead letter not only references a letter in the postal sense, but also in the written sense; a written letter that has no meaning is also a dead letter. At this point I must state that I am referring to overall emotive meaning, and not semantic content. Asemic writing still ‘means’, it just offers no semantic meaning. 

The project that I set in motion incorporates both definitions and transpire as a series of postcards that feature a series of the dead letters on them, to be posted (and hopefully not to become a dead letter in the postal sense). The selection of letters are printed intuitively in a variety of combinations. 

‘Dead Letters’ album by The Rasmus, 2003.

I have also taken inspiration from a printmaker whose work I have followed for many years, Camilla Taylor. 

Taylor conducted an artist’s talk through Saddleback Gallery that I was fortunate enough to listen to online. In her discussion she explains how she has an almost spiritual dedication to the materials she brings in to her studio. This obligation ensures that the materials are used in one form or another. For example; discarded prints will be upcycled into new artworks and zinc etching plates will be melted down in order to make sculptures from them. This notion furthered my desire to really get the most from the letterforms that I had made, seeing it wasteful of not only the material, but also the time and thought that went into their production. 

In response to the pandemic and feelings of social isolation Taylor made a series of new works with the idea to post them to her audience. She made a series of symbols prompted by events of the year and each print depicted a different variation of the stories, thus creating a conversation between artist and viewer. 

I enjoy the way Taylor has utilised the mail art concept as a means of bringing the gallery situation in to the viewer’s home. It has become increasingly difficult to sustain excitement at the prospect of yet another digital ‘exhibition’ and so this seems to be a resourceful way to safely bring art in the physical sense into your audience’s domestic setting. At the end of the second year I produced a digital showcase of my Professional Practice module; a diagrammatic view of the exhibition space I would have liked to have shown in. I feel that the method of sharing work that Taylor has implemented is much more authentic and it has encouraged me to think along this train of thought in preparation for the lack of an end of degree show in June. 

‘A Conversation’ by Camilla Taylor, 2021 - relief print on paper.

[jenner-benjamin]

James IV and Inchkeith

‘James IV, 1473 - 1513. Reigned 1488 - 1513′ by Unknown, after 1578 - Oil on panel.

Throughout history there have been a number of language deprivation experiments recorded, wherein which children are isolated from society and language in order for the conductor of the experiment to ascertain the origin of language itself. What language or method of communication might someone grow up to voice if they grew up completely detached from the world? 

The story that fascinates me the most is that of James IV of Scotland, who allegedly performed such an experiment on the island of Inchkeith. The rumours speak of James IV casting out a mute woman and two children to grow up segregated from mankind to discover what language they might grow up to speak. He believed that this speech would be the purest form of communication and would be the intrinsic ‘language of God’. 

Unfortunately there are no sources that can verify this story, many modern historians claiming it implausible. However, there are also no sources to say that it could not have happened. It has been reported that among the King’s intellectual interests, his love of language and communication was the most significant; he himself was fluent in Scots Gaelic, English, Latin, French, German, Italian Flemish and Spanish. I believe it not in the realms of impossibility that someone with such an interest in language and with that much influence could not have put this inquisitiveness into action and perform such an inquiry. 

I have enjoyed reading stories about language deprivation, though it seems cruel to intentionally deny someone the option to communicate in the way we have been privileged to. The fundamentals of communication have progressed considerably since the dawn of man and to strip someone of that is unfair. The notion of a pure verbal articulation is interesting though, the idea that not having any persuasion or corruption from the outside world might culminate in a refined language. I wonder how that might translate in written form. 

In all honesty, I don’t think these peculiar experiments would amount to much in terms of a divine language being discovered. I expect that the reality of it might be reminiscent of the forms of communication by the populaces of the Palaeolithic era; evocative cave paintings and limited verbal expression. That being said it makes for an interesting read, and also encourages us to appreciate the advancement of communication, both verbal and written. The very fact that written communication and the printed mark exist allows the ability to communicate not only with each other in the present but to record information for future generations; communicative time travel.

[jenner-benjamin]

Handwriting Continued

Studies of fantasy writing as found in ‘Symbols Signs Letters’ by Martin Andersch, 1989.

‘These are the two factors that are responsible for the state of the writing art: the decay of education on the subject in our schools and the digitalisation of letters that turns variation into repetition.’ (Andersch, 11)

I have continued reading about handwriting theory and came across a book called ‘Symbols Signs Letters’ by Martin Andersch. The book is described by Andersch as being a picture book as opposed to a text book, and documents the teaching methods that he developed whilst teaching calligraphy and lettering in the 1960s. Being published in the late 1980s it is a little more open-minded in terms of its approach and theory than the ‘Good Handwriting and How to Acquire It’ book, though it is still endearingly dated in terms of some of the expressions used.

Andersch began his teaching by breaking down his students’ previous ideas of the concept of what it is to write by hand. The first lesson he taught was an ‘invitation to fantasy’, whereby he gave his students a series of writing implements such as leaves, ribbons and matches, and allowed them to freely improvise a rhythm on the page. What followed was a series of asemic writing, before the term asemic writing had even been conceived. There was much emphasis on rhythm in this first block of taught sessions. Andersch encouraged the transferral of sensations from the body to the drawing instrument. These rhythmical glyphs were said to awaken sensibilities, allowing the mind to ‘focus on meditation, reflection and self-consciousness’. (Andersch, 14)

Later in this module Andersch prompted his students to enter this meditative state through listening to music, singing and sometimes screaming - which they all happily obliged. There are absolute parallels between these concepts and those that I have been exploring since I first discovered asemic writing, from transcribing music to embodying tranquil, meditative states whilst drawing. He even notes the importance of breathing techniques, stating that both writing and breathing are rhythmical activities. I noticed the importance of this in my own works, particularly the intentional attention I paid to breathing in the ‘Exhale’ prints, compared to the erratic state of mind I was in when making the anxiety-influenced monotypes when lockdown came to an end.

I did enjoy the way Andersch described this first module as a fantasy writing. The inclusion of a variety of unconventional writing instruments made the process lighthearted, and might have encouraged a sense of play and whimsy in his students. The term fantasy conjures notions of daydreams and make-believe, possibly alluding to a conlang (constructed language) of which I have also touched upon briefly in the past.

It is interesting to note that the majority of books that I have been reading about handwriting have been written during the transition from the pre-Digital Age to the Digital Age. I am writing with a wistful view of hindsight whereas both Andwersh and Tarr were living in a time of change where the digital revolution was powering forwards. I am looking back at an age where the handwritten word was commonplace and personality was evident in every word written, whereas they were hesitant and fearful for the future of handwriting. Further discourse from contemporary reading has the same view of looking back with an almost regretful mourning of what was.

I personally believe that we are not past the point of no return, and that handwriting can still be encouraged alongside digital media. There is potential to explore handwriting in a way that is investigative but also experimental. Taking Andwersch’s lead, perhaps an inquiry in to participatory works might spark an enthusiasm for writing by hand. If a series of unorthodox writing utensils and methods were encouraged then it might make the idea less formal and archaic. This is something to consider for future works, either workshops, interactive exhibitions, or even artist residencies.  

[jenner-benjamin]

Asemic Writing

Asemic text by Emily Dickinson, 1859 - ink on paper.

A fascination with Brice Marden’s Etchings to Rexroth series of prints has led me to a subcategory of abstraction called ‘Asemic Writing.’ The word Asemic is defined as having no semantic content, it is a form of gestural mark making that resembles the written word but in fact is purely abstract. It is described as being similar to free writing rather than writing to produce an articulated body of text. The open nature of the abstracted calligraphy allows for an understanding to happen across all linguistic meaning, thus a piece of Asemic text may be read by a multitude of different people regardless of their native tongue. The reader becomes a co-author of sorts in that they decide how to interpret and investigate the Asemic text.

There are a number of notable artists that have paved the way for Asemic writers. One of which was Man Ray who created a poem that was comprised purely of lines and dashes. Henri Michaux who was inspired by automatic writing and asian calligraphy began to write wordless calligraphic pieces that he referred to as ‘interior gestures’. The most exemplary textual abstraction in my opinion is the back catalogue of Cy Twombly. His illegible and wordless Asemic mark making explores a language that is completely universal.

‘Paris, mai’ by Man Ray, 1924 - ink on paper.

‘Alphabet’ by Henri Michaux, 1927 - ink on paper.

What I enjoy about this gestural way of working is how deep in our subconscious it goes. Regardless of where one comes from the ‘words’ serve as a common language for everyone (though abstract) and can be argued to level the playing field despite our individual reading ability. 

[jenner-benjamin]

SURREALISTS STUCK AT HOME: Writing and Drawing Lockdown

This is the second online workshop I have attended by London Drawing Group, this time hosted by artist Luisa-Maria MacCormack and writer Philip Webb Gregg. I cannot commend London Drawing Group highly enough. The workshops they offer are engaging, insightful and incredibly well researched and presented. From my experience they have been ‘pay what you can’, which when times are financially uncertain is a fantastic option. 

In the last couple of months I have found myself in isolation twice, as per the government guidelines for coming in to contact with someone who has tested positive for coronavirus. It is a strange period of time where you are led to feel as though you have been given a golden opportunity to create artworks and be productive, but this time does not necessarily lend itself to positive thinking or inspired creativity. This has led to a period of self doubt and a general feeling of demotivation. 

I have found solace in virtual courses, workshops and activities that have given me a feeling of artificial normality and some routine to long stretches of disorganised and unstructured days.  

This Surrealist workshop caught my eye because it incorporated writing alongside drawing and I felt it might inspire some visual poetry. We were instructed to have prepared a body of text in which we would be defacing, which reminded me of the Dadaist poetry that I had considered in the last module. 

The introduction stated that Surrealism was described as being a reaction against the ridiculousness of the world. I felt this sentiment resonated with most participants. A series of rapid challenges were thrust upon us in quick succession that did not allow for us to sit and contemplate too much about the work we were making, but to accept and enjoy the creative chaos that ensued. 

The tasks that we were asked to participate in were selected from the Surrealist Book of Games. In all honesty the games we took part in were not revolutionary tasks that I had not come across before, but did stimulate a response from the part of me that had been struggling to feel free with my creative outlets. I have felt very despondent of late, and forcing work that does not want to be forced. These tasks encouraged expression and amusement. I have since bought the Surrealist Book of Games for myself for times when I feel creatively disorientated.    

Below are examples of the drawings and written works that came from the workshop, some were more successful than others, but all were important reminders to not expect too much of yourself in a strange and unsettling time such as the one we find ourselves in. Being encouraged to seek out words and images in this hour also led to a newfound appreciation for the space around us in lockdown, encouraging us to not merely exist in the space but to live in it.

Ephemeral Poem - a game in which you explore your home environment searching for misplaced words in order to create a collaged poem. We had two minutes to search for words or phrases, and then two words to compose a poem. 

Shake, and create your own universe,

Enjoy!

Love, distilled and bottled.

Found Drawing - a game in which you explore the home environment searching for misplaced imagery in order to create a collaged drawing which will reflect the experience of your environment. Each item was given a different time limit, some were as short as 5 seconds, some as long as 30 seconds.

Text as art - select a body of text and cut up words or phrases, not reading the words beforehand. We had four minutes to cut up the text, and then four minutes to compose a poem.

we’re gonna do tonight

outside on the street

we’ve got it all planned,

laughing and feeling good

he was the funniest

Decalcomania - also know as ‘blackout poetry’. Take a page of text and ruthlessly erase big bodies of writing with a black marker pen, trying not to read the text beforehand. 

at any moment

freedom and absolute freedom.

I myself was not a lovely little poem

for this one rare full moon.

Involuntary Sculpture - take a page of text and screw it up into a sculpture, studying the sculpture and composing a poem with the words that you can find.

Your Spot - a series of 4x three minute drawings from a place that you find yourself drawn to in lockdown. The drawings must sit on one sheet of paper, either on top of each other or as a panoramic study.

Automatic Writing - allowing yourself to be completely honest with what feelings or thoughts arise in response to a specific image. In this case, we responded to ‘The Therapist’ by René Magritte and subsequently ‘Notes for an Apocalypse’ by Dorothea Tanning. 

I can’t support myself. I’m tired, and hiding, and tired. I want to leave, but I'm trapped in my outside inside. Clutching, not holding. Red, white and blue, but not in a freedom way. Two birds in the cage is worth how many in the hand? How many in the bag?

‘The Therapist’ by René Magritte, 1937 - oil on canvas. 

I don’t understand what it is I'm experiencing. A tablecloth that is a cloud, but not. And how many limbs? And a green goblin? Stuff of nightmares with a fireball halo. Confusion, uncertainty and a fireball halo in a moody grey sky.

‘Notes for an Apocalypse’ by Dorothea Tanning, 1978 - oil on canvas. 

As a closing task for the workshop we we asked to select elements from both artworks and create a new surrealist piece in response to these. The drawing I ended up creating was made while not looking at the page, fully embracing the surrealist weirdness of what happens when you relinquish control of the drawing to pure intuition. 

[jenner-benjamin]

Voynich Symphony

‘The Voynich Symphony for Orchestra’ by Hannah Lash, 2017.

After I attended the ‘Kandinsky: DRAWING MUSIC’ workshop with the London Drawing Group I searched online for artists inspired by music, and musicians inspired by art and happened upon the Lash Voynich Project by harpist Hannah Lash. 

In 2017 Lash was a composer in residence at the New Haven Symphony Orchestra where she completed a symphony inspired by the Voynich Manuscript. I was very excited by this discovery after my own recent intrigue of the mysterious book and subsequent Fantasy Placement written report. Lash’s residency inspired by the Voynich Manuscript made the prospect of completing my own residency at the Beineke Library a little more attainable than I initially thought. She says that the residency afforded her the time to develop and clarify her ideas, I plan to spend a period of time in the last academic year researching residencies to submit proposals to for the same reason. I would look forward to having an extended period of time to dedicate to my practice.   

Lash spent two years researching the manuscript, and composed four movements, each influenced by a section of the book. The symphony as a whole does not aim to impose a meaning on the enigmatic book, but is about sharing how the book makes Lash feel. She explains:

‘A lot of what this piece is is its imagination, its colour. And that relates very deeply to what the Voynich is to me, this beautiful, sensuous thing, that’s colourful and odd and unknowable.’ 

This sense of trying to evoke an emotive response through the vehicle of a creative outlet is a sentiment I share within my own practice. Rather than explain my feelings to the viewer in a flagrant way I would opt for taking them on a journey of how I am feeling in response to the text or music that I am translating. 

The first movement of Lash’s symphony, ‘Herbal’ is whimsical and playful, similar to the plant illustrations in the book. The next movement is ‘Astronomical’ and correlates to the drawings of celestial charts, and is a much slower movement and is stern in character. The third movement is ‘Biological’, inspired by the illustrations of bathing women and is vigorous and light. Finally, the fourth movement is ‘Cosmological’ and takes its inspiration from the circular, diagrammatic illustrations of the book and is said to communicate a sense of vastness, combining elements from the previous three movements. 

Lash further explains that the ideas from each movement are interwoven. There are sounds and material that are present in each section of the symphony that weave them together to form a whole. This sense of weaving relates quite nicely to the idea of a bound manuscript, and further enforces ideas of narrative. 

I wonder how Lash’s symphony would have come to be were it not for the four categorised sections for her to respond to. I am interested in the ways in which meaning has been attributed to the Voynich Manuscript. The book has been divided in to sections, decided upon by the illustrations for each section. I wonder if we would still affiliate such meaning if the pages existed as stand alone artefacts. I understand there is reason to still try to decipher this book, but question if we would still strive for this if the writings were not in book form. Do we search for a narrative of semantic meaning because of its format? If my own asemic works were bound in a book, would the viewer strive to understand a story from it? These are questions I have as yet no answers for, but will think on in the upcoming months. 

A page from the herbal section of the Voynich Manuscript.

[jenner-benjamin]

Shodo

‘Yugetsu’ kanji practice - ink on calligraphy paper (hanshi).

After conducting my research into performance writing I was keen to explore the Japanese art of Shodo. I introduced ideas of ritualistic breathing exercises with drawing to my practice whilst in lockdown, and Shodo seemed like a logical art to explore as it focuses on the union of body and mind. 

I undertook an online course that serves as an introduction to the art of Shodo and was taught by master calligrapher, Rie Takeda. The course consisted of a series of pre-recorded videos, online resources, guides for where to source the necessary specialist equipment as well as an online forum for Shodo students to interact and share ideas. 

Shodo is one of the oldest and most profound art forms in Japan, its origins have been traced back to the fifth century. We were introduced to several Japanese terms in relation to this art form that I found of particular interest as I do enjoy learning of the origin of words. 

The word ‘Shodo’ is composed from the kanji characters ‘sho’ which means to write and ‘do’ which means the path or the Tao. In Eastern philosophy the body and mind are one, they do not exist as separate entities. When both body and mind are united you are closer to a sense of ‘mushin’. ‘Mushin’ is a zen word that consists of two kanji characters; ‘mu’ which means emptiness or nothingness, and ‘shin’; which means heart, mind, feeling, intuition, soul, and spirit. In essence when your body and mind are connected you have a much clearer mind that is free from disturbance and distracting thoughts. 

We were then introduced to the different aesthetics of written characters. ‘Kaisho’ is the most common, it is a block style character form that is mostly found in books and printed media. ‘Sosho’ is cursive and is much more difficult to read. It was developed as an abbreviated style for writing quickly, for example taking notes in a lecture. It is mostly found in artworks and most poetry is written in this way. ‘Gyosho’ avoids shapes and angles and does not have a clear straight line, it exists somewhere in-between kaisho and sosho. Kaisho is said to be the best style to learn the foundation of Shodo techniques and basic brush movements. 

The materials themselves are an integral aspect of this art form. They are not only utilised for practice but their symbolism is also important. They are known as ‘form treasures of the study’, and the preparation of the materials is the beginning of the meditational process of achieving a state of mushin. The practice begins with the preparing of the ink. A little water is poured on to the ink stone (suzuri) and the ink stick (sumi) is slowly taken in and out of the water. An emphasis was placed on breathing at this stage as we guide the ink stick on its journey to becoming a usable drawing material. As we approached this moment of quiet we begin to notice the water becoming thicker as it becomes a drawing ink. At this stage we were ready to begin mark making.

Takeda provided us with information sheets that advised us through the steps of performing traditional kanji characters. We were being taught to write the kanji for evening moon (yugetsu), and were taken through a series of mark making exercises that taught us how to perform the gestures necessary to write the finished kanji. 

Directions for how to perform the gestures for the kanji, ‘yugetsu’.

I found this a very challenging but rewarding series of exercises that made me reflect on my own ideas of achieving a sense of calm in my practice. I had previously thought that connecting with my inner self would be relatively straight forward, but found it difficult at times to achieve a state of tranquility. The frustrating part was that it was very telling in the marks that you make whether this state has been achieved or not. 

‘Yugetsu’ kanji practice - ink on calligraphy paper (hanshi).

I intend to continue exploring this practice as I have a developed an interest in the last year of calligraphy from other cultures. The otherness of this writing has parallels with asemic writing in that we do not understand its semantic meaning, but recognise its expressive meaning. The difference being we know the semantic meaning exists, we just do not have access to it so enjoy it for its aesthetic and emotive qualities. I would like to approach this area of interest in the hopes that it could deepen my understanding of unfamiliar languages and calligraphies.

I would also like to be mindful of the mushin state of mind in my practice outside of the Shodo tradition. I wonder how achieving mushin would impact the works that I make, in particular, how the performative works would benefit from an introduction of stillness before the writing begins.

[jenner-benjamin]

Codex Seraphinianus

An example of the asemic text from the Codex Seraphinianus by Luigi Serafini, 1981.

Codex Seraphinianus is an illustrated encyclopaedia of a fictional world by Italian artist, Luigi Serafini. Originally published in 1981, the codex is likened to the Voynich Manuscript in that it is written in an asemic language. The difference being Serafini invented a language specifically for the creation of the book, a conlang (constructed language), whereas we are still uncertain of the origin of the language in the Voynich Manuscript. 

The codex boasts an abundance of surreal illustrations whose hallucinogenic aesthetic appear to be an homage to the painter, Hieronymous Bosch. The drawings parody elements of reality, for example; fingers that become quill nibs, a horse that transforms in to larva and deer whose antlers become trees, to name just a few. Similarly to the Voynich Manuscript the Codex Seraphinianus is divided in to sections that we can categorise according to its illustrations. The chapters address seemingly encyclopaedic topics such as flora, fauna, science, architecture and humanities. It is the encyclopaedic appearance that gives the book its appeal, a surrealist book impersonating a book of facts. 

A page from the humanities chapter of the Codex Seraphinianus by Luigi Serafini, 1981.

Detail of the central panel of ‘The Garden of Earthly Delights’ by Hieronymous Bosch, 1490-1500 - oil paint on Oak panel.

Serafini stated in 2009 at the Oxford University Society of Bibliophiles that the text found in the codex is not a cipher but is purely asemic. He said that within the confines of his book he strives to replicate in adults the feeling a child has when they first become aware of literature. The sense of knowing a body of text means something to literate people, but not being able to understand it yourself. While I enjoy the notion of wonderment that this idea suggests I find that this mimicking of feelings is problematic with regards to asemic writing. The hierarchical structure of knowledge it creates makes us feel that the writing does indeed mean something, we just haven’t learnt it yet. I personally feel that to label it as asemic when trying to portray such feelings does not follow. 

Further to this there is an illustration in the codex that bears a striking likeness to the Rosetta Stone in the language chapter of the book. The Rosetta Stone is a large tablet with writing on it in two distinct languages; Egyptian and Greek. The text written on the stone is the key to deciphering and understanding Egyptian Hieroglyphics, and so the inclusion of an illustration that resembles this tool leads us to believe that the assumed asemic text could in fact be decoded. Of course this is educated speculation.

A detail from the Codex Seraphinianus that bears similarities to the Rosetta Stone by Luigi Serafini, 1981.

The Rosetta Stone in situ at The British Museum, London.

Detail of the Ancient Greek section of The Rosetta Stone.

Regardless of whether the codex is a product of tongue-in-cheek mischief or a surrealist mock encyclopaedia I find it to be a good example of the implementation of the theory of asemic writing, and source material for further study. I have said previously that I want my asemic writing to be explored and speculated which is definitely what Serafini has achieved. His book was written forty years ago and we are still speculating and second guessing its meaning today.

A page from the architecture chapter of the Codex Seraphinianus by Luigi Serafini, 1981.

[jenner-benjamin]

Fantasy Project

Clockwise from top left: Roland Barthes, Hermes, Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, L.L. Zamenhof.

The Validity of Asemic Writing as a Means of Evoking and Communicating Narrative

‘the birth of the reader must be at the cost of the death of the author’ (Barthes 148)

The way in which narrative is communicated has dramatically altered since the dawn of storytelling. As we now find ourselves in the digital age, the notion of narrative has become a comprehensive experience; originating from what was once a cave drawing. However, I wonder if there is a way in which a sequence of events can be expressed in a written form that not only transcends semantic meaning but surpasses language barriers as well; an abstract language understood by all. 

I would place this project in a relatively under researched area of study. In terms of literature review the main source of inspiration has come from Asemic: The Art of Writing by Peter Schwenger. This is the first critical study of the field, that not only discusses, but challenges ideas of the handwritten word. The handwritten word in itself has become a novel topic of discussion as its usage is in decline since the advent of the printed word.

Additionally, I have been inspired by Roland Barthes’ ideas of ownership of the written word. He explains in The Death of the Author how the ownership of the intention of the written word dies with the author and is reborn within the reader (Barthes, 148). Therefore Barthes’ ideology would suggest that once the artist has written their asemic narrative it is no longer their own interpretation, allowing for the reader to create new meaning. With this in mind I intend to investigate how a body of hand rendered marks can be understood universally if the viewer’s role as co-author dictates that the their interpretation would be different to what the artist had intended.

Exploring the notion of a language that can unify all readers leads us to ponder the divisive attributes of language. The Greek messenger God, Hermes is often associated with gifting the human race with language, and is affiliated with speech, communication and interpretation (Levine Gera, 115). I am curious as to why he divided humanity with multiple languages, rather than unite us under one singular language (Hyginus, 143). In contrast to this, Polish ophthalmologist L.L.Zamenhof created the language, Esperanto, which was made to be a universal second language to foster world peace and international understanding. I propose an interview with both Hermes and Zamenhof to discuss view of the unification of language and literature. The concept of bringing communities together seemingly challenges what Hermes initially established so I would be interested to know their thoughts on the potential for a universally understood asemic narrative. Regarding Barthes’ aforementioned theory, I am also intrigued to understand whether Hermes’ interpretation of language ended with him, and was reborn with the human race. Did we interpret language in individual ways, and that is why there are many spoken and written languages? I feel that the answer to this would be important in discerning the attainability of a universal understanding of an asemic text.

Finally, I intend to address existing asemic works by way of a case study and discussing their capacity as a narrative construct; the most notable of which is the Voynich Manuscript. This mysterious book has had many meanings attributed to it, as ciphers have attempted to define a narrative within its pages. I would like to visit the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library where it is housed and study the book for myself. I am intrigued to discuss whether or not the interpretations of the book have been concluded because of the accompanying illustrations, and if so would the removal of these allow for the same interpretation? Perhaps not having a meaning is meaning in itself. Do we construct our own narratives for the Voynich Manuscript when we apply Barthes’ theory of textual ownership?

It is my intention that the combination of interview, case study and practice as research will culminate in a piece of creative art work that explores the proficiency of implementing asemic writing to suggest narrative.