#they are a product of the innermost workings of my chaos brain

[driveitlikesebastianvettelwould]

Your tags kill me lmfao

Well that’s not very nice of them, I hope you’re okay nonnie💕

On another note:

[mickeygorgygil]

What is Art - really?

Before I write about New Media Art per se, it would be the best to deconstruct the concept. At the very core of New Media Art is "Art" - the traditional kind. Thus, it makes perfect sense to tackle Art first and foremost. What does Art mean for a multimedia student like me?

What does art mean to you?

First it cracks you open then it heals you. That's what ART is. It is not simply a tangible and sellable product or object, but a glorious and/or messy experience and a process.

It is one forms of therapy available to man. When you create art, you draw from you innermost thoughts and the most vulnerable parts of your mind's nooks and crannies. You access the ugliest parts of you to turn them into something beautiful.

My most favorite quote from a movie that defines Art is from Dead Poets Society (1989):

It perfectly encapsulates the essence of art. Although Art seems trivial for others and is not a lucrative field compared to STEM, Art helps keep us alive by giving us reason to survive and exist. Imagine a life without movies, books, series, and songs - won't life be so drab and monotonous? Is it a life worth living?

Furthermore, most people consider art as what they traditionally see in galleries, such as those painted by dexterous artists. Personally, however, art is not limited to what can be perceived visually. It is more of a feeling evoked by a created/produced work of a man.

Given that personal conception, what I treat as the strongest forms of art are poems, prose, music, and films. When I chance upon certain written words, songs, and films that tug my heartstrings or get me analytical and appreciative of that particular art's technical aspects, I consider them as art.

What is your experience of art?

One of the reasons why I am here taking Multimedia Studies is due to my affinity towards movies, music, creative writing, vlogs, TV series and graphic design - all of which I treat as art.

I know for sure that I have more of an artistic brain than of a scientific one. I mainly turn to art as a hobby and therapy, specifically through creative writing.

It is by stringing words altogether that I can tame the chaos within me.

Whenever I get all consumed with the flurry of school activities and life troubles, there's always this compelling force from the universe for me to write.

No specific subject, just arbitrary spillage of my thoughts at the moment.

I write when I badly want to forget something yet I also write when I want to immortalize a certain moment. My works and pieces aren't worthy of any literary award. But I know they're special. Because through writing I'm given a sense of creation — a key to the doorway of something great, something big, yet something... simple. It is in simplicity that we find beauty.

Writing as an Art

I express the artist in me through writing. Since I was a teenager, I've grown to love words and expanding my vocabulay. Before the advent of social media, reading novels is how I past the time.

Unlike movies and paintings, there is nothing visual about writing, making it not the most overt type of art out there. However, its strength lies on its ability to create worlds, reify a feeling, express a throusnd emotions, and paint a picture through merely utilizing words.

I have this habit of pouring all the ink of my soul for someone before I decide to depart my chaotic land of feelings for them.

I write when I'm elated and over the moon. I write when I'm dejected and down in the dumps.

Before I hit the hay, I have this habit of looking back at my creations from the past to remind myself how I felt then. "Wow, was I 'this' in love?" "Wow, this actually happened?" "Woah. I made this. "

"This composition still makes sense and relevant after a year." Like a first-time mother, I become proud of my creations for I was the one who actually gave birth to them. There are some babies of mine which a beautiful; there are some which are not and would not like to see again. Nevertheless, I'm equally proud of all of them. 'Cause they are my legacy that life can't take away from me.

Sample works

[the-organizing-principle]

‘Twin Peaks as Fugue’ Theory, Part 2: What is the Black Lodge?

In the second part of my analysis I explore the concept of the Black Lodge as Dale/Richard’s preconscious zone—a place he retreats to in his mind to reset his ‘reality’ when his delusions become too unstable—and I’ll compare the lodge’s inhabitants to the Id, Ego and Superego. I’ll also offer a potential explanation for the significance of the number “430.″

*If you haven’t seen my previous posts yet, you can find my theory summarized here, and Part 1 (about The Log Lady) here.

Continuing with the theory that all of Twin Peaks takes place in Dale/Richard’s mind after suffering a trauma-induced fugue state, I’d like to explore what the Black Lodge could mean in this context. I think one of the biggest clues to understanding this ‘place’ is found by looking at what happens whenever Dale/Richard enters and leaves it: aside from his dreams, we see him first ‘enter’ the lodge in the second season finale, in an attempt to rescue Annie. At this point in the narrative, ‘Dale’ was losing control to Windom Earle and was struggling to save a woman he loved. Windom lures ‘Dale’ into the lodge, and then we get the distinct sense that something bad is about to happen (cue Jimmy Scott!). I’ll get to what happens inside the lodge in a moment, but first, look at what results: ‘the good Dale’ is left ‘trapped’ inside, while his ‘evil doppelganger’ escapes into the ‘outside’ world.

If the fugue theory is true, then this would mean that Dale/Richard’s identity has fragmented into two versions of himself while he was in the Black Lodge. He now divides his conscious thinking into two separate personas, sometimes wandering the ‘outside world’ getting into all manner of dark shenanigans as his doppelganger, ‘Mr. C’; sometimes wandering the lonely hall(s) of the Black Lodge amongst its strange, semi-backward speaking/moving inhabitants, or ostensibly sitting quietly in an art deco armchair and contemplating his mistakes. Who knows what, exactly, goes on when he is ‘in the lodge,’ but suffice it to say that this is a kind of mental purgatory for him.

In psychoanalysis, the “preconscious” mind exists between the conscious and the unconscious mind; preconscious thoughts are those that have been repressed or that originate in the unconscious, but have become available for recall and can be made conscious. It’s a liminal state of awareness, just as the Black Lodge is a liminal space between the world of Twin Peaks and the ‘spirit world’; the void of non-existence; the ‘real world,’ etc., depending on where we are in the narrative.

Later, when Mr. C is confronted with the prospect of returning to the lodge, he takes great pains to stay ‘out.’ If the lodge represents Dale/Richard’s preconscious awareness, then it would make sense that Mr. C would want to avoid it because this is where integration would take place. Mr. C is a product of Dale/Richard’s unconscious; his ‘shadow self’ made conscious. One must always have a shadow self to occupy the unconscious, though, so if Mr. C is ‘out,’ then who is ‘in’? The ‘good Dale’ is in the lodge, i.e. the preconscious zone, so he has virtually been subducted into the unconscious for the duration of Mr. C’s takeover. But the ‘good Dale’ is not fully unconscious, either; I believe the ‘true’ persona (Richard?) has become the shadow self, now.

When ‘Dale’ gets violently ejected from the lodge by The Arm’s doppelganger (this is a tricky one, but I think “The Arm” / the Man From Another Place might be a kind of personification of aspects of Dale/Richard’s Ego in conjunction with the one-armed man—they are the “moderators”—while the Giant/Fireman is the Superego and BOB is the Id... more later!), he ends up falling through a void before being briefly suspended in Mr. C’s monitoring device, then lands on the patio of a structure on some kind of interdimensional island where some weird stuff happens before he travels back into the ‘real world’ through an electrical socket.

I’m not even going to attempt to unravel all of this, but I will mention that the scene in this strange, interdimensional space seems to be a kind of representation of the innermost workings of the ‘hydraulic mind,’ a concept that Freud adopted which seems to recur throughout several of Lynch’s works (Mulholland Drive, Lost Highway, Inland Empire, aka the “blurred identity trilogy”). The hydraulic mind concept views the psychic apparatus in mechanical terms, wherein pressures (from various stressors) build up within the psyche and are subsequently absorbed or discharged. In the interdimensional scene, we see Dale/Richard and Naido reacting to a banging on a door, causing her her climb up onto the top of a TARDIS-like structure and pull a lever, thus seemingly releasing the pressure in a burst of electrical energy that ultimately zaps her into the void. I’ll discuss Naido/Diane in part three, but for now let’s view this scene as a descent into a post-lodge, sub-preconconscious zone, ostensibly taking place in the actual unconscious realm. The ‘sea’ that Dale looks out on from the balcony of the structure is significant, as ocean imagery is commonly associated with the unconscious. 

Recall that this sequence precedes ‘good Dale’s’ transformation into ‘Dougie.’ Something forced ‘good Dale’ out of the preconscious zone / lodge before he was ready: I believe this may have been something occurring in the REAL ‘real world,’ e.g. a new treatment being administered by his doctors, possibly shock treatment given the importance of electricity in this transition. Medication might also produce a ‘shock’ to Dale/Richard’s system, simulating electrical impulses as his brain activity changes. This is pure speculation, but not entirely unsubstantiated.

So now we see ‘Dougie’ inhabiting a new world: ostensibly the same Twin Peaks universe, just 25 years later. This becomes his new ‘reality,’ but it still isn’t real. It’s just a new narrative he’s living out after exiting the lodge. He hasn’t lost touch with the lodge, though: he still experiences visions of the lodge and the one-armed man throughout his ‘Dougie’ arc. This is important, because if he did go through shock treatment or something similar, a moderating aspect of his ego is attempting to break through to him from his preconscious awareness. He needs to “wake up” from the deep dream that is Dougie Jones—from his post-treatment stupor—and recall his ‘good Dale’ persona, who still has unfinished business. Before Dale/Richard can ever become fully conscious, he needs to integrate all of his fractured personas into a single, multidimensional self and this can’t be accomplished until each have been deconstructed.

Without straying too far off topic, let’s briefly consider that the world that Dougie and Mr. C inhabit are meant to be one and the same, but when we follow their specific arcs, we can observe distinct differences in tone between Dougie’s world and that of Mr. C. The former is somewhat kitsch (think: the Lucky 7 Insurance Agency, the Silver Mustang Casino, even the local police station), whereas the latter is much darker (Buella’s house, Yankton prison, The Farm). We can assume that the environment and ‘interpersonal’ interactions that Dougie and Mr. C (as ‘alters’ of Dale/Richard) experience are influenced by and structured around each persona’s unique worldview. When these worlds collide—when Hutch and Chantal arrive on Lancelot Court along with the Mitchum Brothers’ troupe (and don’t forget the FBI stakeout, representing the hovering Dale persona)—chaos ensues.

I can’t claim the ability to diagnose a fictional character or anyone else, but I should note that Dissociative Identity Disorder doesn’t seem to be Dale/Richard’s only problem. He’s probably also suffering from psychotic depression with symptoms of depersonalization and derealization. If this is the case, and if he has been hospitalized as a result of his psychosis, he probably would have spent a lot of time lying in hospital beds while being dosed with all manner of medications; and if this was also true, he would have overheard a lot of medical talk as doctors checked on him and discussed his treatment with family, staff, etc.—whether he was conscious of it, or not—and do you know what medical term he might have heard repeatedly throughout this process? “DRG-430.”

The DRG (diagnoses-related group) is a system hospitals/physicians/insurance companies use to classify a disorder and establish a treatment protocol. DRG-430 is code for a patient suffering from psychoses. If my theory holds up, it would be highly likely that Dale/Richard would be classified under DRG-430. When the Giant/Fireman tells him to remember the number 430, I believe that the Giant/Fireman—as an agent of truth (recall my discussion of “fire” and “truth” in Part 1) and as a personification of the Superego—was trying to remind Dale/Richard of who he really was (Richard, probably) and what he was supposed to do (integrate). More on this later.

A quick note about parallels to other works by Lynch: I mentioned the “blurred identity trilogy” earlier, and should point out that these films all include scenes wherein characters who are experiencing identity crises (e.g. fugue states resulting from the unconscious trauma of unrequited love) encounter mysterious but revealing clues about their true selves after passing through/entering a space involving red curtains. We see these prominently featured in Fred’s home in Lost Highway, and in one scene he’s seen disappearing into a darkened space with a red-curtained background as he goes deeper into the mystery (read: his preconscious mind). We see them again when Betty and Rita enter the red-curtained Club Silencio in Mulholland Drive, and Betty finds a significant clue in the blue box. Then in Inland Empire, we see Sue pass through a red-curtained hallway before she enters into a convoluted, increasingly dreamlike sequence of events before the “valley girls” give her a clue about what will happen in the future, when she wakes from a kind of sleep. All of these scenes can ostensibly be linked to these characters’ preconscious awareness of their true identities. 

Let’s look at the lodge scene in TP:FWWM, now: this is after Leland kills Laura, when we see him standing in the lodge’s “red room” in front of the one-armed man, who is seated beside the Man From Another Place. BOB appears beside Leland after his body moves around strangely, then floats up and remains suspended in the air at an odd angle. The MFAP then places his hand on the O-AM’s shoulder and seems to speak through and with him in unison, saying: “BOB... I want all my garmonbozia (pain and sorrow).” BOB angrily complies, pulling a bloody wound out of an unresponsive Leland’s belly and depositing it in a splatter on the lodge floor, which the MFAP then seems to absorb and covert into creamed corn, which he proceeds to consume.

This exchange seems to support the idea that the MFAP and the O-AM represent aspects of Dale/Richard’s Ego, in that they share a kind of moderating role in the lodge, and have some degree of control over BOB (as Dale/Richard’s Id). Freud has said of these concepts: “The ego is that part of the id which has been modified by the direct influence of the external world. ...The ego represents what may be called reason and common sense, in contrast to the id, which contains the passions...in its relation to the id it is like a man on horseback, who has to hold in check the superior strength of the horse.” Its main concern is with the individual's safety and allows some of the id's desires to be expressed, but only when consequences of these actions are marginal. "Thus the ego, driven by the id, confined by the super-ego, repulsed by reality, struggles...[in] bringing about harmony among the forces and influences working in and upon it," and readily "breaks out in anxiety—realistic anxiety regarding the external world, moral anxiety regarding the super-ego, and neurotic anxiety regarding the strength of the passions in the id.” (x).

I don’t want to go too deep into an examination of how these psychoanalytical roles are mirrored in each of the four characters discussed above; hopefully their relationship to Freud’s concept is not so far-fetched when viewed in this light. We can interpret the lodge scene with Leland as a kind of preconscious integration of this character’s emotional trauma, without speculating on who Leland represents in Dale/Richard’s dreamworld (yet). This process is happening without Dale/Richard’s conscious awareness, but it is preconscious rather than unconscious, because he is present enough for us to hear his voice as the word “Judy” is whispered when the monkey’s face appears onscreen. I discussed the significance of this transition already, but to briefly reiterate: “garmonbozia”/pain and sorrow is synonymous with trauma, and though the garmonbozia seems to be the trauma surrounding Laura’s murder in this scene, Judy’s whispered name in this moment strongly supports the theory that the real, underlying trauma involves something that happened between Judy and Dale/Richard.

Once again, this analytical tangent has already gone on much longer than I intended but I can’t bail out without mentioning the very important Black Lodge scene in the final act:

This time, Dale/Richard enters the lodge without any more fanfare than hearing a backwards rustling/scratching sound, then looking to the side toward a red glow. In the next moment he is seated in the red room again, and the one-armed man is asking him “Is it future... or is it past?” (we can liken this transition to a kind of “waking up” from the nightmare of losing Laura in the woods; Dale/Richard’s mind compensates for the trauma of this nightmare scenario by abruptly returning him to the preconscious zone for a veiled ‘reality check’). Soon he’s meeting the evolution of The Arm again, who asks him “Is it the story of the little girl who lived down the lane? Is it?” We’ve seen this before, just as we’ve seen the following scene where Dale/Richard is seated as Laura Palmer approaches to whisper something in his ear, causing him to gasp. I may be mistaken, but I believe this is the only time we see Dale/Richard moving in semi-reverse motion in the lodge just like the other lodge inhabitants, which would be significant (he moves with rather than counter to them, perhaps suggesting that he is closer to something in that moment than he has been at any other time). Also, if you compare Dale/Richard’s reaction to whatever Laura whispers to him in this scene to it’s nearly identical one in the beginning of the season, you’ll see that in the earlier scene, Dale reacts with a gasp of apparent horror whereas in this finale scene, the gasp has more of a confused/disturbed tone (more like a “huh??”). Whatever she communicated to him seems to have a profound effect, because after she screams and is ripped up and away by some unseen force again, we see a new persona emerge for the first time. For clarity’s sake, I’m going to just call him ‘Richard.’ Now we see the curtain part and a more ashen-faced, serious ‘Richard’ emerges, briefly encountering Leland again who tells him to “Find Laura.” Something has changed; ‘Richard’ even walks differently. With a wave of his hand the lodge’s curtain is manipulated into opening to reveal Glastonbury Grove, where Diane is waiting. She asks “Is it you? Is it really you?” and he confirms that it is, but somehow neither she—nor we—are entirely convinced, especially after what follows.

So what has happened? I think Dale/Richard came too close to the truth this time in the preconscious lodge zone when Laura whispered in his ear, but instead of retreating into another safe, Dougie-like persona, something got through to him and one of the false layers fell away, leaving a persona that was more true to his actual identity than any other we’ve seen before. This ‘Richard’ persona still goes through the motions of trying to fix the broken dream, just like ‘Dale’ would, but he is tiring of the pretense. He is losing control of his own narrative and can’t maintain it for much longer. He leaves the lodge having come close enough to its preconscious information for some of it to leak through to his conscious mind, and the effect of this leak plays out in the rest of the episode as the false ‘reality’ becomes increasingly unstable: ‘Richard’ wakes in a strange motel that is different from the one he arrived at to find Diane/’Linda’ gone and a different car parked in a different place. This happens after he and Diane pass through a point in the road that is apparently 430 miles from somewhere. I think this transition is actually the point at which real world Dale/’Richard’ agrees(?) to undergo some kind of new therapy that his therapist, Diane (Linda?) warns him could have negative side effects. The number 430 marks this point of transition because 430 is the code for the diagnoses-related group (DRG) that Dale/Richard, the patient, has been assigned (psychoses). It is a kind of subliminal clue from his subconscious mind, as well as from the remote Superego (Fireman). I’ll explore what happens next—along with an explanation for why Naido’s face became the Black Lodge for a moment before she transformed into Diane—in Part 3. Stay tuned!