Student blog: The clothes we wear

Another student blog for you, come into its own, right here, on the threshold where the inmost being we are, touches the public sphere we move about in. Clothes, hair, eyes, lips, limbs, and how we make up and dress down, pierce and dye, stain or tear, tattoo or don’t. For, as Evan rightly says, not to is every bit as much a choice, as to.

I say this as one uncomfortable caring at all about how I look. So much more important to me how one sees. And yet it do matter don’t it. We are moving at all moments through a web of codes.

Merleau-Ponty noted, I think it was he, I’m taking this from my memory of David Abram‘s Spell of the Sensuous, that the eye can’t see without also being seen – can’t do vision without entering the visual. To see is to be seen. More, to see is to be seen seeing. A phenomenology of flirting might begin here. (Maybe also one of voyeurism, which maybe feels dirty because it breaks out of that reciprocity.) That, anyway, is our social being, to see and to be seen and to be seen seeing.

Is why we do not all wear Mao suits. Or, if we do, we want to look this good.

mao suit

Evan’s got a fine and punchy style going, a good model of, one, how to do blog prose, and, two, how to marry personal and social awarenesses. Light touch, nothing didactic. I mean it feels seamless to me, how her awakeness to her own life, and her wondering how the world goes, meet. Check it out.

Into the life of things

Wandering on Google+ came to a brief sensitive reading of George Oppen by Anil Bawa-Cavia, of whom I haven’t heard, relayed by Miggy Angel, of whom ditto.

That’s my bad, head in Sumerian sands and all. Hope to read more of both as we seem to have some in common. It begins —

George Oppen was a poet of matter. Of stuff itself. Dealing in the opacity of things, the impenetrability of materials, the tangible complexity of the world.

Omission as an expression of the unresolved. The conflicts to be admitted in objects.

— and completes here. There’s Heidegger in there, and Merleau-Ponty, but worn lightly, thankfully.

What if thing were not a dirty word.

What if matter were, as its etymology implies, mother of us all.

Which, duh, it is, but what if we took that to heart.

That beautiful man, made light, made matter, made light —