THE SEER
STIMULANT WEEKLY NEWSLETTER 014 // SEPTEMBER 14, 2024
At first, The First Seer saw the world as the set of all answers to the question “will this make us disappear?” The place where the ground dropped off was yes. He had seen his brother disappear off of it when they were young. No one had gone there since. But having grown older and further from then had produced in him some mutation that attracted him to that affirmative place of disappearance, the terror of that resounding yes. And when he reached the end of the no, it occurred to him, after a lifetime of walking and running, eating and shitting, sleeping and fucking, all rest and restlessness — it occurred to him, as it had to no one before, just to stand.
In that moment, everything The First Seer saw was so far away from him that it could have been neither yes nor no. But it was all unequivocally there, all part of the world that he saw; and there was so much more of it than ever before. Suddenly there were plants, animals, mountains, valleys, waters… and suddenly there was sky over all of this. But none of this could he drag home in a trail of blood to his family. So he brought them there.
All the way there, following him, his wife and children looked on him from behind. The back of his head was a tunnel at the end of the light. And when he came to that place again he turned away from it. He saw his family walking towards him. And they saw his face in front of this world and that made them stop. Now, The First Seer saw his family before him, seeing him before what was behind him, standing. This was how beauty first came into being.
***
They say that every day 30 thousand people visit the Louvre. I think it’s safe to assume that most of them go to see the Mona Lisa. There are more works in the museum than there are visitors in a day. About 35 thousand. But Room 711 consistently draws the biggest crowds.
This is how it works: you go to the museum, you follow the people until you get to the place where it’s all loud and congested, you make your way up as close as you can get, and then you have your picture taken in front of her. It’s not like this for everyone. But let’s say about half of the people who see her will have their picture taken in front of her. That’s about 15 thousand people a day.
The question is, of course, how did we get here? As long as this question remains unanswered, art connoisseurs will hover against the ceiling of Room 711 and laugh. But even if they don’t think they do the same thing, they do. We all do.
Although the first camera was made in 1816, the first picture was taken long before then. They didn’t call it taking a picture at the beginning because they didn’t speak English back then. But what we now call taking a picture is a practice that is as old as beauty itself. In fact, beauty is a process in which taking a picture is the consummate moment.
When I see something beautiful, I take a picture of it. The only part of taking a picture that is unique to modernity is the part where it is done with a device called a camera. Since beauty’s birth, we have always taken pictures of it. Or, to be more precise, beauty was not born until its picture was taken.
Take the Myth of The First Seer as evidence. Standing before the cliff’s edge, he looks out over the world and sees something that neither helps nor hinders his survival. All he sees is a sight. He brings his family out to the site, but this time he turns away from the sight and passes it off to his family, making himself part of it. It turns out that someone who presents anything is really only presenting themselves.
The word present comes from the latin verb praeesse, which consists of the prefix prae-, meaning “before,” and esse, meaning “to be.” So, to present is to be-before. Thus, presentation is used to translate Kant’s vorstellung, which reduces to vor-, meaning “before,” and stellen, meaning “to stand.” Vorstellen is, hence, to stand-before.
These terms, praeesse and vorstellen, though they evolved independently of one another, came to express the same notion about presenting: that it involves a spatial relation of before-ness. When a presenter presents, they stand-before something.
Standing-before the sight of the world enables The First Seer to see it. This standing-before begins the process of presentation. When he brings his family to the cliff, again he stands-before the sight, but now he turns away from it; now he stands-before his family. But he is standing in the same place whereof we said that he stands-before the cliff. So, in this single position, he both stands-before his family and stands-before the cliff; or we could say that he presents the cliff to his family, and he presents his family to the sight. Collapse all of what is presented, and the family and the sight become a presented unity. Likewise, his family presents itself to him and to the cliff. Together, The First Seer and the sight become the one to whom the family presents itself.
The myth shows us that the instant of presentation involves three roles: one who presents, one who is presented, and one to whom the presenter presents. And it involves three players: The First Seer, his family, and the sight. In the act of presentation, each player is assigned simultaneously to all roles. And it is the simultaneity of each player playing each role that brings beauty into being. This positioning of three is what I call a picture. And a picture is genetically of beauty.
I like to imagine that the story does not end there. The First Seer initiated the act of presentation. But the act does not end when everyone leaves the cliff’s edge. Onlookers have seen a spectacle of self. They have seen the world bleeding through The First Seer like an object bleeding through its presentation. And they have seen themselves and The First Seer and the world as one universal self. Having seen not only beauty, but the means by which it is produced, picture-takers will make themselves presenters and will bring others to the site to take the pictures. The genealogy of selves branches infinitely into itself.
Lisa Gherardini, her husband, and Leonardo Da Vinci—in the tradition of The First Seer, his family, and the sight—gave birth to a line of self. Lisa’s husband presented Lisa to Leonardo, who took a picture of her. Then someone presented the painting to the museum.
Person A goes to the museum and happens upon this painting. Person B is walking around kind of aimlessly, not sure where to look until they see Person A. Person B stands behind Person A, briefly studying how one is to present oneself. Person A turns around, flashes a smile at B, and walks away to a different painting. B steps up to where A was standing and begins to present like A did. Person C is walking around kind of aimlessly and so on and so on.
Then the camera makes its way in, gradually extending the picture-taker who already existed. Then new, convenient methods of sharing pictures come onto the scene. These methods only make it easier to do what has been done since the birth of beauty. Now anybody can access the expression on Person A’s face after they turn around, not just Person B. In other words, the distance between the presenter and the one to whom the presenter presents can stretch out as far as any two people can. And when there are so many people to whom the presenter presents, it’s no surprise that this creates an urge to present in just as many people.
It is by virtue of this history that we say “The Mona Lisa is a beautiful painting.”
Now, Imagine you are alone in a museum. No cameras or anything. Would it feel the same to you as being there alongside strangers? Would you look at the paintings for the same amount of time as you would otherwise? Would the paintings even look the same? It’s unfair of me to ask this of you, I know. Because however you respond, you will not be able to avoid presenting yourself to me. When you answer, you’re not alone anymore. The hypothetical turns against itself. So don’t answer. Just think to yourself.
THE SEER was edited by Charlie Zacks.
maxwell norman’s album of the week
Clarence Clarity — NO NOW (2015)
Those who lurk around pop music’s freak fringe may know Clarence Clarity, if not from his own work then from his fruitful creative collaborations with Rina Sawayama such as her incredible album SAWAYAMA. His solo debut from back in ye olde days of 2015, NO NOW, is pop music that a gargantuan digital beast on psychedelics chews up and spits out while you listen. The mix of batshit-genius sounds and structures with accessible hooks and spiritually-themed lyrics leads to streamlined bangers (“Alive in the Septic Tank”, “The Gospel Truth”) alongside sentimental ballads (“Off My Grid”, “With No Fear”). Even as we come upon a decade after this record’s release, and something like 7 years after I first heard it, there’s still nothing in or around pop that sounds as warped and fucking cool as this. Maximalist and Maxwell-approved.
get hip
We are hosting a reading event at Le Frigo Vert on September 22. It is free / PWYC.
Visual Art by Kai White on Bizarre Publishing House.
Ethics magazine launch in Brooklyn on Sunday, September 16.
Featuring work from Amalia Mairet and Charlie Zacks of Stimulant :D.
Article from The Main about Montréal Anglo literary scene with a photo of Alana Dunlop. Controversially does not mention Stimulant, but we have gotten them hip now.
Twelve Vacancies Film Festival in Montréal is accepting submissions.
run by The Veg, friends of Stimulant.
Sam Pink’s reissue of “99 Poems /// Cops of Life” is available for purchase.
Book and cover designed by Charlie Zacks.
Come see I Love You Dearly live at Casa Del Popolo TONIGHT.
$10 tickets online, $15 at door.
doors at 8pm, music at 9pm.
Few copies of Stimulant Volume One left online…Also for sale at De Still and The Word in Montréal.