ABSTRACTING THE LINE

by

Blaise Larmee



In an essay for Artforum, Andrei Molotiu defines abstract comics as "comics that have abstract forms instead of representational images in their panels." To distinguish between abstraction and representation seems innocuous enough, but I am hesitant to draw a line, or even a spectrum between the two, except at the superficial level. As a child of postmodernity, I have no concept of "that without reference" except as a reference itself.




To believe in the abstract is to believe in nature - nature as in "the wild," as in that "without reference." Nature is free of manmade context and it is especially free of language. In "Forming," Jesse Moynihan imagines an idyllic past in which humans and animals communicate nonverbally. To represent this he uses altered speech balloons (resembling spotlights that shine out of one's forehead) with visual icons in place of text. Language, in this case, is introduced by colonial invaders as a corrupting element that actually inhibits communication. Similarly, Molotiu states that "words may play a part in abstract comics, but primarily as graphic elements, not to communicate or to further the plot." Is it possible for a word not to communicate? Only in several cases - when we are young and have not yet developed a capacity for language, when we are in a foreign land, or a foreign state of mind (ie hallucinogens), and when we babble, or "speak in tongues."




The lack of language is often associated with the lack of reason. It is a liberating feeling, not unlike the adult's conception of childhood. We imagine that when we were young the world was entirely sensory, made of shapes and colors - a sensuous, entirely abstract reality. It is a feeling we may try to recreate with the use of drugs - a way of making things seem foreign and other to us. In the mind of someone on hallucinogens a blade of grass loses its familiarity, almost becomes self-referential. Our imagination of the "Orient" is similarly foreign - our current fascination with India is painted in Dionysian colors and spices. Nature exists "over there," and a "trip" over there is both compelling and terrifying. It is a trip to our childhood - our "forming" - but it is likewise a trip to our death. In sleep our experiences seem foreign to our waking minds. In death - who knows? Death is the only thing that is completely "other" to us - a context for which we have no context. But in the present, in our sober, everyday life, there is always reference. Even in the wildest trip or dream there is reference. I once thought it possible to eschew reference, and in fact some memories seem to refer to that absence, but I highly doubt its possibility any more. Nature only exists as an idea, a realm that can only be defined negatively by its lack of society. In fact I wonder if "nature" has ever existed - it's hard for me to imagine a tribal lifestyle in which plants and animals are not commodified.




If nature doesn't exist, and reference is inescapable, what does abstraction mean? To abstract something is to essentialize something. For the abstract expressionists, whose influence on abstraction in art is almost overwhelming, the essence of something was Dionysian and it was visual. The abstract expressionists appeared to be "speaking in tongues" - communicating without reference, without the confining element of reason. Depending on who you believed, they were speaking a holy language or they were speaking nonsense. In either case, however, this language became standardized, and added to the vocabulary of society. "Abracadabra" became just another word, another reference. On the abstract comics blog, Alexey Sokolin asked fellow contributors to visually depict feelings like "joy" and "anger" without using "recognizable visual vocabulary". When the results came back he noted, "even though all the images are abstract, we are often using similar visual vocabulary to describe the feeling."




In a quick skim through the book I was struck by Warren Craghead's pages. In contrast with the bulk of the book, these pages placed line and color on equal footing, undoing the traditional cartoon hierarchy of line over color, masculine over feminine, reason over sensation. Without the strong line that defines and borders, these panels swam in a sort of playfully sexual realm, a realm that was familiar but did not yet have a name. This, to me, is the best comics can hope for - to create visual names for interior spaces. Because to believe in the abstract is also to believe in the unconscious. And unlike nature, there is no way of knowing how colonized our unconscious minds are.