Becoming-Violence, Becoming-Synesthesia: On the Pope, Velazquez and Bacon

Each image, when taken separately, operates as good art in and of itself, as a staple of art history classes around the country. But what occurs as they are placed side by side, as they become intimately intertwined, relentlessly forging a new composition? Does one jamb the circuit of the other, which is to say, does the one overshadow the other? Or, perhaps, neither is privileged? Perhaps, they inform each other, produce a mutual circuit, a new mode of seeing altogether. It would seem such is the case. For this nuptial does proffer the strange, the unfamiliar: the tense calm of Velazquez encountering the disturbed anguish of Bacon. A chilling violence overtakes us, telling us at each moment: “This is no ordinary seeing.” Indeed, this is a seeing construed according to a very peculiar movement: a (guilty?) pope violently transformed before our very eyes.

This is not the movement of the cinematic image, nor is it the movement of our everyday lives. Whereas the cinema proffers an ever-modulating frame, a stream of still-images creating an illusion of movement, here, the frames are unsettlingly still. There is literally no movement of the frame. Nevertheless, there is a movement of some sort here. And like the cinema, this movement is occurring behind our backs: just as the moving-image of the cinema is composed of still-frames, the movement of which is constituted by our seeing and not the image itself, here, we are seeing two images that are moving somewhere, but not in and of themselves. This movement, like all movements, occurs behind our backs. And yet, this movement is just as apparent as any other movement.

So, then, what is this movement? It is a movement of violence. That is to say, this work disturbingly displaces us: seeing Bacon’s tormented pope, our bodies begin to writhe, convulse, palpate violently. This work is no longer mere depiction—it is an aggressive performance of violence itself, shamelessly intertwining seer and seen: as we become privy to this strange motion, we become violence. We perform violence—in each sensory mode! A wholly synesthetic performance, then.

Hence, we can finally see this movement for what it is: a synesthetic movement. And don’t be mistaken—this odd motion does not privilege violence; it is the movement of everything. We are always and already engaged in a synesthetic movement, unbeknownst to us; like the movement of life, this movement streams behind our backs. And, don’t mistake this movement for Kant’s “free play” either. This is not a movement of a mental state; rather, this is the movement of phenomenology. And it is an impossible movement, a movement composed of seer and seen intertwining always and already—a movement bereft of opposition between subject and object. And to see this movement: perhaps it is this odd space of seeing—if only we could see movement—that allows us to recast our eyes, and perhaps, to get a little closer to seeing what it is to see synesthesia.

The Seeing Event

Is seeing separate from touching, or hearing from tasting? And what about seeing seeing? Or to hear hearing, taste tasting, smell smelling, feel feeling? Despite these possibilities—and yet, precisely in and of the possible—it seems seeing, and seeing alone, is privileged. Why, and what space can such occupy? Let’s try to, um, see.

Look at the person next to you and into her eyes. What do you see? It’s not just her eyes. You see her seeing you. And stranger, you see her eyes seeing you seeing her. Eyes, then, perform multiply: they are at once seer and seen, at once consuming the world just as they are playing the world back. But, alas, seeing is not alone—touching inaugurates a similar experience. Try touching her: a carnal intertwining at once a touching and feeling, at once changing the world and changed by it.

Now turn away from her and look at a work of art, a portrait if you will. You may see two eyes peering out at you, but they are not seeing you per se: paintings and photographs and film, then, remove you from your space. Or not so much remove you as enfold you into their visual fabric with an alien posture and gait, a thoroughly foreign mode of seeing. What is this seeing of seeing? It is an alien seeing, and it is because seeing alone is framed, is closed and bounded, that seeing can be alien, that seeing can see seeing. That is to say, you can see another person seeing and see through another person’s very seeing as if it were your own.

But just as in The Matrix, when Neo opens his eyes for the first time, he is blinded by the light, learning to see seeing hurts, it blinds till you emerge a whole new seer. To persevere, to finally open your eyes, however, explodes the world. Representational art becomes the norm, a mere replication of your familiar world. But so-called non-representational art, abstract art: ah, here we have the inauguration of whole new modes of seeing, whole new worlds to explore, to sense and create and become with.

May I say, though? The notion of privileging sight above the other senses, still, seems odd. Perhaps it is a symptom of language? Perhaps, just as we can see seeing, we can see sounds, see palpably, even see palatably? But I wonder, what about synesthesia? Can we see synesthesia itself? What would such an undertaking entail? Such will be the focus of this blog: to explore this strange space, and perhaps look at a film or three, analyze acid-induced synesthesia, and occasionally just wonder at the beauty of such a multiply single sensation.