Archive for April, 2016

On Affirmed Knowing

Why would I believe in what I believe in? Why affirm my own values?

Henry Thaggert and I went to the Hirshhorn and saw Robert Irwin’s All the Rules Will Change. We looked and talked. I kept telling him I needed to go home and re-think my life. And I kept saying it was because I was seeing so many affirmations of my own values. Irwin’s work seemed too familiar, like I could have made it. His ideas felt like my own.

I have never seen his work in person. I have never seen the body of work that comprised much of the content of Lawrence Weschler’s book, Seeing is Forgetting the Name of the Thing One Sees. The show at the Hirshhorn seems to have been curated by almost copy and pasting directly form the book.

That book made the rounds in American art programs. At least on the east coast. From New York to Boston to Washington D.C., it seems to have made an impact. I know people who read it. I plan to assign it when the proper class presents itself. The book is used in art programs because Weschler’s interrogative writing method chugs along like a steam engine. Pages turn. It reads easily. Chug-a-chuga-a, it ends.

And the content is like a mind being read. Irwin laid bare. From being a dickhead, hot rod douche bag, to a number crunching horse racing gambler, and to being a considerate thinker, that text functions like a film of Irwin’s mind, and the reader has a front row seat.

The book was influential for me because Irwin began looking deeply. He began empathizing with objects, reducing what he needed, and tossing everything else out the window.

There are show spoilers below, so if you haven’t seen it, you might read the rest later. 

The show started with a mid-late object, the disks. A good place to start, a good place to draw the visitors in. This was the first time I had seen one. It actually felt like a let down, because I had only seen it in the text or online. The object had too much canonical sacredness in my mind. It was really just thought, until I had to address looking at the thing in person. I’ve encountered this let down before.

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Next was the hand held paintings, breaking up the passive looking and turning looking into an active thing.

Pick it up, look. Touch. Observe. Multiple senses at work.

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That active looking seemed to resonate with me. The act seemed deeply political. Art becoming a spatial thing. Like a sculpture you must interact with. Asking the viewer to not merely view disrupted the history of merely looking at painting. The painting had to enter into the issues of sculpture, the thing in the round. Further, it was intended to be picked up. To be smelled at close distance, to cover in hand oil, to be interrogated with blood and bones, not just wet distant drippy eyes.

From there the show followed the book to the larger messy line paintings. The mark was still there, the hand, the impasto gloppy gloop mark.

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But Irwin started removing that hand thing and just held onto the line. Pushing variables further and further afield, looking deeply at “one” thing.

Beyond the hand held paintings there were a few dot paintings. I didn’t photograph them. What I didn’t realize is the present opposing grids pushed back against each other creating subtle pattern. In the first one, there was a sort of circle created with opposing horizontal/vertical grid and the diamond shaped grid. The second dot painting’s edges flicked like fire, but barely perceptual. The dots dappled as they neared the edge, creating a sort of heliosphere of solar flares.

But the show went on and Irwin kept removing variables. From the dot to the line. Why have the hand? Why not just the line?

And so next, we saw the line paintings. Depthless yet misty, the painted lines were staples for holding down distances. Slightly raised off the canvas, resonating with the more neutralized neighboring colors; the lines wavered sometimes, glowing yet still sitting quite still. What I hadn’t remembered form the book (or perhaps was not present) was the ground treatment. The ground of these was actually quite “hand-present.” They were painterly painted. Not with big brushes for a real mechanical covering, but many small gestures with a single three-finger scale brush. Scritch scratch coverage, all over. Then the lines. Henry said he thought there was color under the ground; seeping through and pushing the ground around. I saw it sometimes, but wasn’t sure what I was seeing. But the ground was still quite mechanically executed. The smaller brush was used in a single direction, each time. Observe:

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See the mechanical execution of the ground? More examples:

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As an aside, you can see the luminosity and color relationships with this particular close view. Painting under the painting.

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So you can see that the grounds of each one of these paintings is pretty painterly, yet still quite mechanical in execution. That seemed very odd to me. It seemed that Irwin had not tossed out the hand variable. The Line paintings still had that painter painting thing present.

Next we came to the more environmental, large line paintings. We stood there and let the thing overtake us. Wingtip to wingtip it was supposed to envelop. The red, meant to burn the retina, creating fatigue and a real sense of…redness. A red world, a potentially dangerous utopian/dystopian red world. We talked about Rothko with these.

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The book talked about all these things and there were more objects but the scrim needs to be discussed.

We reached an uncanny room, the anticipation for this was building. I knew it was coming. The skrim room, like other Irwin skrim instillations utilized the location’s architecture to create its form. The skrim held back some curving walls. The place was all breath.

The previous variables of line and hand removed. It was all light and fog. It was astounding to see it. It was difficult to look at, because the eye kept wanting to penetrate. Maybe it functioned similarly to Agnes Martin or Chuck Close. Distance and nearness changing the experience contextually. If close, X, if far, Y. But with the skrim, X and Y played together. Becoming a shifty third letter. Essentially an X with a dangling dick.

But the skrim had depth but no depth. It was flat yet deep. It wanted to be touched, because the eye wasn’t sure of what it was seeing. I talked to guards in each section and the guard in this section said he was frustrated by people constantly touching the thing.

The book laid all these things bare. It was like reading the book through seeing the things. And with each seeing I was reminded of my own content, my own inquiry. That book affected me, the ideas pushed me around.

The book was influential for me because I could see a way through some of the complex issues of art and life. I came from a theist background. A small town in Texas wherein the second question anyone asks you is, “What church do you attend?” This was disruptive. It seemed there was only one way to think, anything outside that method was flawed and would produce ostracism. At the age of fifteen I decided to be an atheist and I always felt tense and unwanted. This background made me doubt an affirming a world view. The people around me seemed to affirm each other’s values. One set of values. But I doubted the core premises of those values. It was/is all disruptive to my ability to think.

With this background I came to Weschler’s book and the MFA. The important core concept of Irwin’s work is looking deeply. To look deeply and  remove what is unnecessary. To interrogate an idea to its conclusion and beyond. This approach allows for mistakes and play. Potentially, this approach doesn’t favor any other approach over another. Irwin allows for plural possibilities. And this resonated with me because I grew up with what felt like a singular possibility. One method. One holy text.

But Irwin offered multiple possibilities. The book laid this all bare. The show laid this all bare.

Looking deeply engenders empathy. To accord a thing such weight is a substantial learning opportunity. This situation can enter into life, allow for accordance of weight to another person, to their values, to their world view. To look deeply allows for a willingness to empathize and thusly to treat other things and beings with dignity. This is why Irwin is important to me. This is why that book and the show are meaningful.

As we walked through the show I kept feeling an unease. As I walked through the show, I saw my aesthetic history on display right next to each object. Each object was a bookmark in my thought. To hold the painting, to be active rather than passive, this is the clarion call and exit ramp out of moderinist solipsism. To remove the hand. To only have lines. To reduce to a disk of light and glass. To create an environment of mist. And each work thereafter seemed to resonate with my work. The setting aside of unnecessary variables resonated with my Average Color of One-Hundred Paintings. To squish it all together. Compact paintings, compact mist. Compact history. Compact values.


The removal of variables resonated with 100 Paintings. 100 potentials. 100 world views. 100 paintings.


But as I walked through the show, each work showed me that I might have been affirming Irwin’s values. I might have been affirming some values at all. To affirm itself continues to feel dangerous. But of course interrogative thinking requires challenge and affirmation. It seems to function just like painting. Play, make mistakes, learn, fall down the stairs and break every bone. Then rethink the thing and repeat in some way.

But I thought I should go home and re-think my life.

It has been several days since seeing the show. And after writing this I think the issue is really that, no matter what, I am a doubter. I remain skeptical. Weschler’s book isn’t a holy text. It is useful but not any more sacred to me than the dangerous Bible. But I honestly got quite a lot from both sources. From my hometown I learned to be wary yet my home town created me, created the situation wherein I would be willing to analyze my situation. From Irwin I learned to look deeply. Or more precisely, I was allowed to look more deeply. Irwin made me think I could slide art and life together.


Erasing Forwards

This past year has been difficult. Post grad life has been a whole host of uncertainties. Food and shelter aren’t free.

A History of a Discard Pile and Its Discontents

A History of a Discard Pile and Its Discontents, 2016, archival inkjet print on fine art photo rag paper

I have stayed away from my digital erasures for several reasons. Maybe they ran their course. Maybe they are conceptually problematic. When I first started making them, I wrote the following statement:

I make hundreds of paintings that involve erasure. Erasure and multiple is important to this analog painting process. I then digitally erase those analog paintings. Erasure is a sign for doubt for me. I test the painting process through analog erasure and digital erasure. It functions like layered multiple double negatives. The process is a continuous attempt at testing the value of convictions and ultimately discerning a valid space between judgments about good and bad. Through this process I test the space between matter and the digital.

If a painting is an object that speaks to presence, the artist’s hand, or silence, then what changes about that presence, hand, and silence when the painting’s vocabulary changes to pixels rather than canvas?

But I also always made them to process data. They are digital erasures. They aren’t erasures of the actual analog paintings. There isn’t a real threat. No danger. The analog object isn’t modified. It is the photo of the thing. That’s why the so called, “Erased Paintings,” are problematic. If a painting is an analog object, a tactile, kinesthetic object, then a photo of it is a mere representation. The photo of a painting is a record. Camera and painting are record keepers. The end photo is there to be put online, or emailed, or digitally transmitted. But perhaps it is not the thing itself. Of course, an artist can declare what they think that “thing itself,” is for themselves.

A Many One Pivot Lie

A Many One Pivot Lie, 2016, archival inkjet print on fine art photo rag paper

So, maybe digitally erasing a photo is problematic. But for me, this process helps me go back in time. Dig through the history of these things. Dig through what I was thinking about when I made them. Dig through the good and bad of life at that time. As I digitally erase them, I dig back into their making. I remember each mark. It is like a digital archaeology of an analog thing. Brush marks become signatures. Scrapings become physically remembered. I can hear the canvas being touched. I can hear it through my eyes. It’s all kinesthetic empathy (to borrow from Kenny Jones). A kinesthetic empathy of my memory. I empathize with my hands of that time. The erasure is a time machine. But it isn’t a nostalgic gesture. Nostalgia isn’t something I trust.

A Wild Herd of Indifferents Appears

A Wild Herd of Indifferents Appears, 2016, archival inkjet print on fine art photo rag paper

If At First You Don't Succeed, Kill Yourself

If At First You Don’t Succeed, Kill Yourself, 2016, archival inkjet print on fine art photo rag paper

The Erased Paintings are an attempt at delving into why or what is good about painting. I make the analog paintings to test their veracity. The digital work is a continuation of this process.

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Ripple Ending, 2016, archival inkjet print on fine art photo rag paper

Trainwreck Wreck 02

Trainwreck Wreck 01, 2016, archival inkjet print on fine art photo rag paper

The digital erasure further analyzes the whole idea of the image on a screen. Much of our seeing is mitigated by the screen. We look at them all day. People live their whole lives online. People buy paintings online. People buy paintings by only seeing a jpeg. These are those jpegs.

Trainwreck Wreck 01

Trainwreck Wreck 02, 2016, archival inkjet print on fine art photo rag paper


Tidy ABCD, 2016, archival inkjet print on fine art photo rag paper

But these jpegs return to the analog object. These digital erasures return as prints. Cluttered processed photos of that analog thing. Some kind of shadow of a painting.

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Wet Gesture, 2016, archival inkjet print on fine art photo rag paper

All my work is a continuum. One thing relates to the other. It’s stacked dominoes. They clatter, fall.

The One Pixel series relates to the Erased Painting series. A single pixel of one of my paintings.


One Pixel of a Jay Hendrick Painting, 2013, archival inkjet print on fine art photo rag paper

The Erased Paintings relate to the microscope slide.


Average Color of One-Hundred Paintings, 2015, acrylic on microscope slide in wooden box, 8.5x5x1″

The microscope slide relates to the 100 Paintings.


100 Paintings, 2015, one-hundred acrylic paintings on a 20×16” stretcher on easel, 74x37x37″

The 100 Paintings relate to all the paintings.



How to End a Painting

I went to 410 Goodbuddy today to see Pat Goslee’s paintings. I arrived early and we chatted about painting. The works ranged from 2005 to 2016. Some of the recent work had just been made, taken right from the studio.

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Pat isn’t using brushes. She cuts the paint onto the surface, then gouges, sands, and scrapes. She is drawing with tools. Layering paint. One of the most recent works was the largest (I didn’t get a photo of that one). She said it was ten paintings. That is something I relate to. But it took ten paintings to arrive at the final one we saw in the gallery. When you got close you could see the many layers. Writ there a history of Pat’s labor. And she said that the painting wasn’t necessarily done, but rather the curator, Thomas Drymon, sort of gave it a stamp of doneness. Quite often this is the case; someone sees a work in progress and tells you to put it on a wall. This is something I could speak at length about but I want to adhere to the subject of layers and such.

This layering is search for doneness. Pat said she is looking for “calm.” Which is interesting because  I think so many painters are looking for tension. Tension to cause the viewer to stumble or go cross eyed. Tension of a never-doness. An ever inquiry. That’s what I am currently dealing with. Why end the painting? Why would it ever end? The painting is infinite.

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But she wants calm. Something stable perhaps. Serenity rather than frenetic inertia. A painting that ends perhaps. Somewhere to hang your hat.

Maybe a calm of the eye, a calm of the layering. A calm of the search for that precious little zone on a painting. She talked about finishing a painting, and perhaps a difficulty in that. I mentioned Calli Moore over at American University.

Calli was making these labored paintings. I can’t find any images of them but here is one of hers from 2016.


Dash-Dash-Dash-Infinity, Acrylic and wooden dowels on canvas, 20×16″, 2016

Calli was finding those precious little zones of goodness. And zeroing in on them, pushing all other variables aside. She painted everything else black. That seems a functional method for dealing with the never ending painting.

Dealing with darlings.

She didn’t kill those darlings but found a way to embrace them. Of course that is its own issue. When once they were darlings, the addition of blacking out the canvas would completely change the context of that darling’s relationship to the rest of the painting.

It works like this: mark A interacts with the canvas and itself. Mark B then interacts with the canvas, mark A, itself, and the many relationships of A, B, and canvas. This grows exponentially with each mark until you have a painting that is a raucous calamity of variables fluxing each other. Just fluxing their brains out. It is a roller coaster. The roller coaster of highs and lows of goodness. Pat called that good thing, precious. The point of preciousness that wants to linger; live. The darlings become legion, or they push against each other. Rub them out and the whole relationship changes.

Then, is it so darling anymore? Change one thing, and it effects everything else. Stomping on butterflies right?


Rewire Ark, 30×30″, acrylic, latex, and marker on canvas, 2013 (this one wasn’t at the show)

This is something I have struggled with myself. When to end it. Why to end it. Those precious little darlings beg to be loved. But they die. Pat said you have to paint around them or paint them out. My response to this is the Kitchen Sink painting.

The Kitchen Sink painting includes everything…including the kitchen sink. It is an overworked painting. I just layer and layer. Making painting after painting on a single painting. Like her ten paintings on one painting that only ended because Thomas wanted to put it in the show. And sometimes this layering becomes mechanical, as with this one that is literally just 80 layers of latex, applied then scratched away with a tool:


80 Layers, acrylic and latex on canvas on oil on canvas, 36×24″, 2015

Or there are  other cases. Like any other painting, yet still a mechanical effect. I have recently been doing what I am calling the Stretch/Un-stretch Series wherein I make a painting as normal then un-stretch the canvas, re-restretch the canvas in a slightly different register, then make a new painting. Each attempt is having each painting interact with the previous, yet each time is an attempt at an “autonomous,” painting. Each attempt is a series of finding darlings and killing them yet retaining some, but in a mechanically methodical plan of stretch/un-stretch.


Six Paintings, One Stretcher, acrylic on canvas, 21×16″, 2016

It all becomes a many layered painting. My other approach is literally 100 paintings layered atop each other. Here I literally made 100 paintings, each canvas covering the one previous to it. Like Calli painting out everything but the darling, or Pat painting layer after layer seeking her calm.

dab4ffa6743f38287aa63cdb6d866da8100 Paintings, one-hundred acrylic paintings on a 20×16” stretcher on easel, 74x37x37″, 2015

Where ever, however to end a painting is a real question. When should things end?

Lives end. Civilizations end. Why shouldn’t paintings end? Where are those darlings and why can’t we just kill them? How to end a painting?

See more of their paintings at


Can I write an essay with only questions?

Can I write an essay with only questions? How would I write something like that? Would it be readable? Would it be interesting? How long can I keep this up? Would it become pedantic in form? Would it be too ironic? To self involved? Too self referential? Would it just be an annoying attempt at shoehorning skepticism into a textual format?

And, most importantly, would it make sense? Would it be an analysis of a piece of writing that only asks questions?

Would it just be a logistical experiment in writing? Would it be merely a formal exercise?How could I begin each sentence? Would each sentence begin with speculative language? How would it all be designed? Would the structure not lend itself to variety? Would it be merely a thing of unity? How could I structure a thing like this?

And how could I transition to new paragraphs and new thoughts? Would I just move on? Can I reference previous ideas or would that be problematic in the document’s continuum? Should each sentence relate to the previous sentence? Would the whole thing really just come out like a torrent of questions? Shouldn’t I use a period at some point? Don’t I need to pause and take stock of things? Don’t I need to make a declaration?

And in writing this am I not analyzing the structure of the question itself? Does this form of speculation lend itself to a certain world view? Does this method of writing create a platform with which to inquire?

Does this method of writing lend itself to being a skeptic? Or is this some kind of dogmatic relativism wherein nothing is ever stated, nothing is ever claimed? Is this method of writing merely a way to never truly address knowledge? Is this investigation just a method to hide behind? Is the skeptic a coward?

Shouldn’t skepticism be a tool in the philosophical tool belt rather than a philosophical Swiss army knife? Can skepticism precede knowledge? Is that the most valid approach to knowing?

Am I merely putting my anxieties about epistemology on display? Is that what a question truly is? A fear? What can I know? How can I justify that knowing? Who tells me I know? Who measures the knowing? What do I do with doubt?

Is doubt all consuming? Does doubt ever go away? Does doubt polish the knowing? Does doubt strengthen knowledge? Does doubt lead to certainty? Is it possible that doubt strengthens knowledge and therefore strengthens conviction? And if conviction is strengthened then is it possible that doubt is weakened? Can knowledge be stable when it is continuously challenged? And if knowledge can never be stable then can doubt be stable? Can knowing exist at all?

And is it possible that I am merely making statements but asking them in the form of a question? Doesn’t that seem quite likely? So is the issue here that I am not really asking questions but instead, leading the reader as much as any other argument building writing method? Am I merely writing a standard sentence and applying a question to the end and a speculative word at the beginning?

And by this point, am I not desperate to put a period at the end of a sentence? Do I not want to make a claim? Doesn’t writing and thinking beg to come to a close and respond to those questions? Doesn’t the format of writing beg to end in a period? How long can this go on?

And don’t things end? Don’t they just? Don’t sentences end? Don’t lives end? Isn’t that just the way of things? Endings? Declarations? Claims? And can I ask a question with a single word and a question mark? Am I leading this investigation? Shouldn’t this end at some point?

Could I use the scientific method to end this essay? Could I use the scientific method to assuage my doubt? Is the scientific method really the thing I am using here? Is the scientific method a loop rather than a line? Is it possible that instead of generating outwards infinitely, the scientific method circulates infinitely. Does this inquiry follow the scientific method of observe, question, hypothesize, predict, test, theorize, question, hypothesize, predict, test, theorize, etc? Where is the logic in doubt? Where is the logic in this language analysis? Where is the logic in epistemology? And should logic enter into this discussion? Can the scientific method be used on knowledge?

The question is, how could this end? How can this essay terminate? If the essay is itself a question, then how can that question cease? How can a question end? Is this essay solvable and therefore capable of ending? Should it end? Is it an infinite thing? Does a question just lead off into infinity? Is a question an infinite pendulum swaying on a gray horizon? How could I ever reach that horizon? How could I see through that fog? How could it end?

Why must there be periods? Are endings to sentences actually expressions of fear? Are sentence endings, our endings? Endings we need?

Graceful endings? Are they good endings? Weak endings? Whom do those endings serve? Whose ideas do those endings serve? Whose world view is justified in these endings? Who can sleep at night because questions can or cannot be answered? Who can sleep at night because an answer is enough?

How do I end this? Why do I end this? Where is my graceful ending?


Art as Currency for Visiting Artists

Why haven’t I ever thought of this before?! I want to pay visiting artists with my own paintings. Art departments traditionally have budget issues. It is the nature of now. So the way to deal with the situation is for me to take the financial loss myself. If I actually care about teaching and art, then maybe this exchange makes quite a lot of sense. I make enough paintings so this could work out.

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Of course the issue is that people will be getting paintings that are not paid for in the standard model of art for currency. Is that disruptive to our world view? Will collectors be less interested in me? Is this really a poor choice because then I will never be purchased by important collectors and therefore never get into museums and therefore never fit in a career model we understand? If I do this will I get to have food and shelter?

I know artists have traditionally (and contemporaneously) traded art for services. Pollock paid rent with paintings. I know folks who get dental work through art trade. So why not bring this model into academia?

Does this create a problematic precedent? Could we say that our art labor should be fairly compensated? Of course. If we begin allowing our labor to be traded for things other than currency, then perhaps our labor is diminished? Does that work? Is that right? Is this idea damaging to artists?

There are some good things about the concept. It gives me agency within my school. It gives me agency within my artist community. It allows artists to visit who may never have done so purely due to budgets. It allows students to meet working local artists. Students get to meet people who are living the life they could live. Everyone involved would get to network with each other.

I would appreciate feedback on this. It sounds exciting but there are potential issues. What do we think? Email or comment:


It’s interesting what some people consider to be “used-good,” and “used-acceptable.” This book was bought by me using the used-good equation. I bought it from amazon. But this book seems pretty bad to me. It is falling apart. How long will the binding glue last? It will likely be just fine, but the question arises, how do we define good and acceptable, not only for texts, but in other areas?

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It makes me wonder about the scale of good vs acceptable. Of course, this is always the thing I am thinking about because that which is good and that which is acceptable seems quite subjective. My aesthetic inquiry is based on an analysis of what we see as good and bad. I make paintings for this reason. Paintings are the stand-in for measurement.

But here we have an established scale of good vs acceptable. There is a unit of measure. The following comes from amazon’s, Condition Guidelines:

Used – Good: All pages and cover are intact (including the dust cover, if applicable). Spine may show signs of wear. Pages may include limited notes and highlighting. May include “From the library of” labels.

Used – Acceptable: All pages and the cover are intact, but the dust cover may be missing. Pages may include limited notes and highlighting, but the text cannot be obscured or unreadable.

This is incredibly fascinating to me as I am always looking for ways to assess my world. How do I make sound value judgements? How do I make sound value judgements wherein there seems to be subjectivity? And how do I make sound value judgements when the premises behind measurements are themselves questionable?

But back to the book. It is subjective on my part and on the seller’s part. Perhaps I expect too much.

My mother is a librarian. I almost literally grew up amongst the stacks. Imagine a six year old boy wandering the huge shelves of the Texas Tech Library, the shelves monoliths. A valley. Mountains rise on either side. Remember how large things seemed as a child, and how as you grew those things began to become proportional to your adult frame? Well, so those stacks literally loomed large for me. And always will. And the things on those stacks likewise loom large. Their conditions, their goodness, their utility. All bound up with glue and stitching. Bound up with what those texts imparted. What they represented. Whom they served.

But back to the book. Herein is a rubric. Good v Acceptable. Golden gloves, tarnished gloves. A bout about we all participate. This rubric is commercial, yet influences how we see things. It’s a yardstick. We create it, it creates us. Chicken and egg.

Amazon sells a lot of books, and their conditions are set by a certain standard. According to a Forbes staffer,  “…books account for 7% of the company’s $75 billion in total yearly revenue.” If I did my math right, then that is 525 million doll hairs. That suggests there is quite a lot at stake in this rubric of good vs acceptable.

And I wonder if this particular rubric could be applied to other areas. It is pretty general in its declarations. Used-good is intact with limited wear. Used-acceptable can be coverless and marked. What if I applied this rubric to other things? What if I applied to rubric to humans. A used-good human is intact with limited wear. A used-good human has all its arms and legs. So, sorry amputees, you are used-good. What about used-acceptable when applied to humans? You are considered used-acceptable when you are skinless and tattooed. Maybe a bit of an oxymoron but that’s ok.

So the whole point of an analysis like this isn’t to complain about a book seller, it’s to address the premises of value judgements. How do we account for that which is good? How can I tell? To put our rubrics through their paces extracts their inherent idiosyncrasies. To grind these things down begins to foreground their proclivities and axiological merits. To foreground the context of a thing extracts its values and tells us about what really is used-good and used-acceptable.

Some sources:

As a side note, I am going to come back to this and write more. This whole rubric analysis connects with my interest in measurement.

Blogging Forward

I haven’t been using this blog. My previous post was the first since 2013. I think it would be more of an appropriate place to think through words. Especially now that I am teaching. Expect more blog posts?

Pedagogy as Practice

I am interested in “pedagogy as practice.” I am trying to find my way through this approach. The following is touching on some major issues I want to incorporate.

“When describing their pedagogic practice, these artists tended to define themselves in opposition to teachers. Although respecting the teaching profession, they resisted describing their practice as ‘teaching’, associating it exclusively with transmissive pedagogy. Instead, artists sought to engage participants primarily through discussion and exchanging ideas and experiences. There is evidence of ‘co-constructive’ learning taking place, whereby shared knowledge is generated between all participants including the teacher. These artists’ tended to identify themselves as co-learners, who question and re-organise their knowledge, rather than as infallible experts…”

The concept of co-learner appeals to me. It sounds like an ethical approach to teaching wherein both the artist and the student co-habitate the learning experience. The idea is that both parties are active. The idea is that both parties take agency over the situation of learning. Rather than being taught at, the student learns with the teacher.