Er(r)go...
… we are reaching into the depths of memory and of the archive, here and there brushing against ideology. What a variety: there is collective memory and, of course, individual memory, transactive memory and interactive memory, deep memory, narrative memory, live memory, cultural memory, declarative memory, memory enchanted in the body and intellectual memory, communicative memory, common memory, memory beyond-the-self, generational memory, cultural memory, mythical memory, somatic memory and semantic memory, prosthetic memory, shared memory, observable memory, family memory, community memory, diffuse memory and total memory, tactile memory and mediated memory, involuntary memory and voluntary memory, and on top of these post-memory, anti-memory, meta-memory, as well as a selection of recollections, memory recyclings, generational nostalgias, nostalgic affirmations, mnemonic structures of pain and trauma, memory crystallisation points, practices of commemorating, artistic anamneses, anchors of memory, but also desacralisation and instrumentalization of memory, history without shame, memory loss, non-memory, amnesia, creative forgetfulness – and all that among the crumbs of the past, accidental trivialities, reminiscences and afterimages.
Interesting things also happen in arts, film and the media: poles of good and evil are reversed, suburban ideologies are exposed, femininity is trimmed to match the expectations of an age which in turn loses its innocence, savages are being tamed and Taiwanese aborigines united, heads are chopped off with machetes, bodies stabbed with knives and bayonets. Fearless warrior Buta undergoes a magical transformation and becomes a rainbow, lone cowards enter the world of the dead, during a massacre one woman sings of life and death while the other – already domesticated – suffers from a problem with no name. A director creates an opera with the use of virtual media – a person can passively watch the piece while petting the dog or eating a sandwich (wow!) – and the opera-singer declares: I am the voice of the vampire. Picasso tries to climb up on the throne and argues with Matisse, creating Arcadia in a brothel, Saturn castrates his father and throws into the sea his mutilated genitals (Venus! Venus!), and female genitals are the ones that return our look even though we do not accept painting as exorcism. Fans apply cultural acupuncture and their ideology reaches far beyond a mouse click. This is the great power of poiēsis! It is through poiēsis that they are able to locate meaning in their being-there, and Hermione Granger transforms from a fictional character to an apt vehicle capable of igniting social change. Game designers face a tough one: enter the player who forgot they have amnesia, immersing in the game world, taking decisions in Dark Knight’s shoes, and the sight of their own bowels, wrapped around their wrist like some ghastly bracelet, makes them sick. Paranoid Incarnation creates a diary, locked up in a dodecahedron, as a trap for other incarnations, Marta the Seamstress collects teeth and other parts of corpses. The Walking Dead turns out to be one big swindle. And Camille Lemonnier rightly notes that nothing is less nude than a woman emerging from a pair of drawers. Near Smoleńsk time moves backwards and loops itself, and the Polish national hero follows the path of passion and ends up in Eden. That’s how it works: if you don’t know yourself, you are lost. But the narrative will sell anyway.
Literature does not fall behind either: grotesque and repulsive descriptions of the mother here, attempts to re-create oneself a-new without ancestral burden there, then the past locked up in a castle cellar and life tainted with trauma, and on top of these, lecherous songs, circumcision as inscription, a ghost full of venom, redness of a lipstick which allows for a kiss, creation as a gloriously cancerous proliferation and then trauma again, but this time a hauntological one. A lot is happening here, too. Nailcruncher speaks highly of Gamaliel while the latter warns his son against the deceitful charm of feminine beauty, the past haunts the protagonist like a boomerang, and scars on a female protagonist’s back shape up as a cherry tree, the subject hauntologically encounters its own spectres and stops being identical with itself, Britain sinks in the fog breathed out by the she-dragon Querig, and yet Sir Gawain and the monks keep her alive. And then an invisible force ferociously hurls a dog against the wall, naked and smiling Beloved is exiled, women take pictures of pictures, cream fudge candies “carambar” and “makagiga” metaphorically connect Górzański and Perec, who remembers hating the taste of sour cabbage, and the third generation remembers the things they never lived through. And so the archive becomes the experience of the future.
Various personae are watching all this: Nietzsche, Kierkegaard, Heidegger, Aristotle, Plato, Parmenides, Anaximander, Heraclitus, Husserl, Freud, Bergson, Ricoeur, Derrida, Lacan, Horkheimer, Adorno, Halbwachs, Sacks, Taylor, Barthes, and even Athena and Theseus. Someone makes a constatation: in many countries, those who are heard (and in charge) are those who conquer memory and nurture hatred. So let us rejoice: after all, it is not truth that is in question.
Wojciech Kalaga
https://orcid.org/0000-0003-4874-9734
No. 49 (2024)
Published: 2024-12-30