disclaimer, note, exercise.

disclaimer:

this is an exercise i wrote a bit ago which i have thought about posting for a while: a bit of intellectual masturbation. it's just i can't figure out who would really be interested in it among those who read this blog. but i'm posting it anyway.

in fact i like it.

note:

Although the exercise that precedes this brief note may not seem like art in the traditional sense, I cite the work of Marcel Duchamp and the ready-made, Andy Warhol and Pop Art, and in the realm of literature, Mario Vargas Llosa and the novel “Pantaleón y las Visitadoras” (among other contemporary authors), in which the traditional meaning of art and the role of the artist is subverted: instead of creator, s/he becomes curator of the cultural object and judge of what is or isn’t art, shuttling between artistic and non-artistic contexts those artifacts that may pertain to the everyday, the common, the popular, or even something else.


exercise:

Language Games, Traduttóre Tradditóre, or Man vs. Machine

There is a phrase in Italian—traduttóre, traditóre—which means “translator, traitor,” and which suggests that the two Latinate words may trace back to a singular etymon. This saying refers to the notion that, at least in my opinion, language pertains to and is limited by cultural contexts, so crossing a bridge between two languages via translation can imply a dramatic difference, because of the profound relationship between language and culture.

In fact, any given word itself is of a schizophrenic nature, despite being confined to its unique cultural space: schizophrenic for the multitude of connotative meanings that flow and prance rebelliously behind it.

The postmodern project has been characterized by a putting into question of once solidly confided in modern paradigms, including that of language, and, by extension, the institutions to which it corresponds. This new uncertainty, voire distrust, of language consequently opens up its role and meaning to debate and interpretation. Ergo, this new linguistic terrain is one on which games can be played, where we need not take language so seriously.

With all this in mind, the following exercise consists of a note I wrote to one Ramiro Noriega, a professor of a Latin-American “boom” literature course I took while in Quito, Ecuador. I wrote the text itself nearly simultaneously in both Castilian and English: while writing in castellano, I would refer to my native language in order to translate concepts I could express more accurately in that one, and vice versa.

The first two copies are the ones originally written by myself, and the following two are translations into the respective target language, an amalgamation of results from the products of various on-line translators, for what better way to engage in linguistic games and underline the inherent ineffectiveness of translation than with this new, odd query of modern technology? Perhaps you will enjoy it:

I. Ramiro,

Solamente quería escribirle una cartita para decirle cuanto he gozado estando en su curso este semestre. Nunca he tenido un profesor que me haya empujado a trabajar con la mente como usted, a tantos niveles de análisis, ni que tenga un conocimiento tan acertado en cuanto a la materia.

Yo estoy seguro de que, al mirar atrás en el tiempo, que empaña las cosas, le veré como una ficción construida con afición.

Con una sinceridad casi pura,

Zachary David Campbell

II. Ramiro,

I just wanted to write you a little note to tell you how much I’ve enjoyed being in your course this semester. I have never had a professor that has pushed me to work intellectually as you have, at so many levels of analysis, nor that has such an apt level of knowledge when it comes to the subject matter.

I’m sure that when I look back at you through blurring time, I will see you as a fondly constructed fiction.

With an almost pure sincerity,

Zachary David Campbell

III. Ramiro,

Yo apenas desear escribir usted uno pequeño nota decir usted cuánto yo tener gozar ser en su curso este semestre. Yo tener nunca tener uno profesor que tener empujar mí trabajar intelectual como usted tener, en tan mucho nivel análisis, ni que tener tal uno conveniente nivel conocimiento cuando él venir tema materia.

Yo ser seguro que cuando yo mirar detrás en usted con tiempo que vela yo ver usted como uno encariñado construir ficción.

Con uno casi puro sinceridad,

Zachary David Campbell

IV. Ramiro,

It only wanted to write a note to say to him whatever to him I have enjoyed being in its semestral east course. I have never had a professor whom he has pushed to me to work with the mind like you, at so many levels of analysis, nor that so has a guessed right knowledge as far as the matter.

I am sure that, on having looked behind in the time, which steams up the things, I will see him like a fiction constructed with liking.

With an almost pure sincerity,

Zachary David Campbell

last saturday i was betting against policemen on chickens in a cockfight deep in Quito. this week i'm telemarketing for my father. i'm trying to tutor french and spanish but i'm not sure if all that'll work out.

and not even the love of my parents can save me from the Lonely Midwest. it's filled with silence and void on actual and figurative levels, but that doesn't mean i don't enjoy it, on occasion. it's just so imposing. it demands to be looked in the face until it makes you cry.

but maybe not? maybe i've just been looking away for awhile... what the hell do i know. every one seems so alone here. distant. myself included.

i do enjoy driving, being around family, and eating pizza, but these things get old. just give me a weekend in Grand Rapids.

not a whole lot else to say. we have a big screen tv now. wide screen HDTV shit. it looks kind of out of place in our living room, and no one in the house has mastered how the fuk to work it. i know there's some sort of lesson, parable, or perhaps irony hiding somewhere among these facts, but i'm either too dumb or too impatient to figure out what it is.

suppose that's about it. one more thing.

el ecuador ganó la argentina en fútbol ayer. ¡qué viva!