Tuesday, 20 February 2018

The Politics of Desire: History, Genealogy and Desiring-Production


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The problem of critique is that of the value of values, of the evaluation from which their value arises, thus the problem of their creation.
Gilles Deleuze – Nietzsche and Philosophy[1]

In 1972, at a symposium titled ‘Nietzsche Today?’ held in the remote French town of Cerisy-la-Salle, Gilles Deleuze presented the following statement: “Marx and Freud may be the dawn of our culture, but Nietzsche is quite another thing, the dawn of a counterculture.”[2] The implication Deleuze was making is clear. Seen within the history of critique, Marx and Freud had become paradigmatic, yet outdated figures. Their combined theories of society, history and subjectivity – still then the cultural foundations of modern thought – were a set of analyses identifiable as the status quo: as static, homogenous and non-productive modes of critique. Conversely, Deleuze saw in Nietzsche a radical and marginalised force. Through his introduction of the concept of genealogy and the will-to-power, Deleuze saw in Nietzsche a rejection of all that had come before him: the value of values of themselves; the a priori value of judgment. Known in Nietzsche’s own words as the process of ‘philosophising with a hammer’, Deleuze saw in his philosophy the birth of a new form of productive critique; one that could overcome the passive nihilism and deterministic readings of life found in the history of political philosophy and modern critical thought.

The purpose of this essay will be to analyse the conceptual singularities present in Deleuze & Guattari’s formulation of ‘desiring-production’ – as articulated in their work Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia (1972) – through a reading of Marx’s philosophy of history and Nietzsche’s own radical conception of genealogical critique. By doing so I hope to highlight the productive nature of desire if thought of as a differential mode of critique. This will require an investigation into the genealogy of desire in Marx and its subsequent repurposing by Deleuze through Nietzsche. A full analysis of the more explicit notions of desire found in modern critical theory will not be possible here, such as in the psychoanalytic libidinal economy of Freud. Nonetheless, by articulating the ontological status of Deleuzo-Guattarian desire, I hope to demonstrate how the divergent claims of orthodox Marxism in philosophies of history and subjectivity are equally unable to compensate for the alinear, contingent and emergent properties of complex socio-material assemblages. 



Genealogy and the Philosophy of History 



In his book Nietzsche and Philosophy (1962), Deleuze noted that “Nietzsche’s relation to Kant is like Marx’s to Hegel: Nietzsche stands critique on its feet, just as Marx does with the dialectic.” He continues to say, “this analogy, far from reconciling Marx and Nietzsche, separates them still further.” The significance of this statement is manifestly twofold. On the one hand Deleuze situates both Nietzsche and Marx at points of critical exegesis. This is an observation mirrored in both Nietzsche and Marx’s own self-images as standing on the brink of historical rupture; a sentiment succinctly expressed in the former’s proclamation: “I am not a human being, I am dynamite.” This is true, in so far as both of their analyses anticipated a radical, ‘inevitable’ shift in the history of social consciousness: the Death of God or Communist revolution. Crucial for Deleuze, is that the process of critique is necessarily concerned with a production of new entities. As we shall see, the affirmational philosophy of Gilles Deleuze & Felix Guattari, conceptualised through the immanent plane of desiring-production, is a positive critique. This is not to say that powers of decay, entropy and collapse are ignored. Rather that the model of critique needed for an analysis of the ‘value of values’ is not negative, viz. determined by processes of dialectical negation. 

Secondly, that Marx and Nietzsche are separated by this conceptual fissure: between positive and negative, productive and non-productive forms of critique. As we have previously seen, for Deleuze Marx and Freud were theorists too deeply embedded in the culture they sought to critique. The latter of which was explicated by philosopher Hannah Arendt in no uncertain terms: “if Freud had lived and carried on his inquiries in a country and language other than the German-Jewish milieu which supplied his patients, we might never have heard of an Oedipus complex.” It is of no coincidence that Deleuze & Guattari’s most lucid expression of subjectivity and social formations – desiring-production – would later come in their seminal work ‘Anti-Oedipus’. However, it is the similar contention of Marx’s own historicist capitulation that must necessarily reconstruct itself through their assertion, contra-Hegel, that “universal history is the history of contingencies, and not the history of necessity.” For this, as Louis Althusser quips, it requires a Marx who has not “merely thought within the limits of [his] present”. And as Deleuze & Guattari will demonstrate, a Marx reconciled with a Nietzschean genealogy of difference in the concept of desiring-production.

Taking precedence in Feuerbach’s The Essence of Christianity (1841), Marx’s philosophy of history was conditioned by a materialist critique of what he termed the ‘German Ideologists’. Just as the former work had challenged Hegel’s philosophical Idealism, asserting an anthropological reading of religious Spirit as sensual matter, Marx recognised the potential for a new conception of philosophical history in the material culture of social relations; a historical materialism. Unlike his adversaries in the Young-Hegelians, this model would not be based in the self-realising tendencies of Spirit, nor the independent drive of Absolute reason. For Marx, the history of all social relations and their subsequent futures was bound up in the material infrastructure of class struggle. And as such, the history and fate of all social forms were bound together through a dialectical process of social antagonism. However, given this framework’s basis in the resolution of contradictory social forces – between the relations of production and the means of production – dialectical materialism traces a clear conceptual lineage to Hegel’s own use of dialectical negation. Therefore, it is an orthodox conception of dialectical materialism which posits the inevitable rise of universal socialism and equally provides the teleological dimension of capitalism based in negative difference which Deleuze, via Nietzsche, so doggedly critiques when he says: “History progresses not by negation and the negation of negation, but by deciding problems and affirming differences. It is no less bloody and cruel as a result. Only the shadows of history live by negation.” 

Thus, the formula of historical discourse typically ascribed to a Marxist philosophy of history, the negation of the negation, that which Marx states in Capital as the “inexorability of a law of Nature” – the inherent trajectory of social development per se – is the assumption forthright that at “a certain stage of development, the material productive forces of society come into conflict with the existing relations of production. [...] From forms of development of the productive forces these relations turn into their fetters. Then begins an era of social revolution.” For Deleuze, this premise traps a reading of Marx within the material conditions of his own critique; a conception of history and value which registers difference and change through Enlightenment narratives of rationality, identity and negation. The ‘inexorable law’ – the inevitable tendency of capitalism toward its own negation – is that which Frederic Jameson similarly highlights in his essay ‘Marx and Historicism’ as the teleological dimension of orthodox Marxism; one which inverts Hegel’s transcendental subject of Spirit through a materialist subject of class. Viewed this way, Marxist dialectics purport a set of fixed, purposeful and closed systems of development, eliding in their linear progression a multiplicity of contingent historical encounters. Thus, the difference between these thinkers – Marx and Hegel – lies not in the essence of their ontological critique – which remains fundamentally the same – but simply the face of their transcendental subject (be it God, Spirit or class). This ostensible shift, from religious dogma to the structural conditions of dialectical thought, not only annuls the common systemic notion that underpins each of their theological propositions – namely, the construction a natural law of history – but given that theological continuity, the foregoing premise continues to beg the question: “how are we to understand […] the historicism of Hegel and Marx as latent forms of Christianity, as tremendous and gruesome shadows of God”?

In his work, Thoughts on Death and Immorality (1830), Feuerbach speaks of Christianity as a reaction to, and answer for, the inherently alinear, formless and contingent foundations of emergent Life: “Nature develops its unlimited creative power in unrestricted multiplicity, independence, separation, severing, determining, and distinguishing. […] This wildly agitated whirlpool of material nature, [this] is called life!” Given what we have already established, that there remains a continuity of theological essence between the logic of Christian dogma and the dialectical thought of either Hegel or Marx, Feuerbach’s critique seems to eminently posit the theoretical impasse found in each model of universal history. What is key to Feuerbach’s theoretical contention in Christianity, is that it presupposes a systemic inability to account for the role of Life’s inherent contingencies and nonlinear dynamics, a process it disavows through its own propositions. Deleuze’s provocation is no less similar. The fluctuations and heterogeneity of historical development necessary for Deleuze’s ‘universal history of contingencies’ equally depends on an analysis of Marxist dialectics as inattentive to the true conditions of history as contingent, nonlinear and affirmative. For Deleuze it is a question of substituting a strict epistemology of capitalist axioms – dialectical contradiction within the means and relations of production – with an ontology of pure difference: the flows, territories and codifications of social desire. A system of historical becoming that Deleuze & Guattari find in the historical writings of Marx himself.

Indeed, this is nowhere clearer than in their assertion that universal history can only be seen as a history of contingencies, “provided that the rules formulated by Marx are followed exactly.” The central text used to excavate this multilinear, anti-dialectical Marx is his 1857 study of ‘Pre-Capitalist Economic Formations’, within which Deleuze & Guattari discern two key examples of the contingency of Marxist universal history: the anomalous cases of ancient Rome and the much-contested notion of the Asiatic mode of production. The former of these two examples is elucidated by Marx during a brief correspondence in 1877 with the Russian literary magazine Otechestvennye Zapiski, when in retort to sociologist and Narodnik leader Nikolai Mikhailovsky’s attempt to transmute Marx’s “historical sketch of the genesis of capitalism in Western Europe into an historico-philosophic theory of the general path every people is fated to tread” – in so far as the Russian Populists would therefore “have to take an active part in the process which separates the means of production and of labor, expropriates the peasants, mutilates the human organism, threatens the future of the human race” – Marx references the counter-intuitive fate of the Roman plebeians: 

And so one fine morning there were tom, be found on the one hand free men, stripped of everything except their labour power, and on the other, in order to exploit this labour, those who held all the acquired wealth in their possession. What happened? The Roman proletarians became not wage labourers but a mob of do-nothings […] there developed a mode of production which was not capitalist but based on slavery. Thus events strikingly analogous but taking place in different historical surroundings led to totally different results. By studying each of these forms of evolution separately and then comparing them one can easily find the clue to this phenomenon, but one will never arrive there by using as one’s master key a general historico-philosophical theory, the supreme virtue of which consists in being supra-historical.

This analysis is continued in Deleuze & Guattari’s appropriation of Marx’s Asiatic mode of production – the peculiar case of the simultaneous presence of autonomous village communities, an absence of private ownership of land and a despotic centralised state – one which countered any clear progression within a Eurocentric analysis of Marxist historiography. Indeed, the presence of a State appropriating surplus-labour without the precondition of private property stood anathema to traditional theories of historical materialism which understood the State as an instrument of the dominant class in relation to the ownership of the means of production. Marx himself saw the Asiatic mode of production as a contingent and differential model of historical becoming, as he continues in his correspondence with the Russian Populists to assert, albeit negatively, “If Russia continues to pursue the path she has followed since 1861, she will lose the finest chance ever offered by history to a nation, in order to undergo all the fatal vicissitudes of the capitalist regime.” His insinuation of the contingency of historical development found in the conditions of the Asiatic mode of production, coupled with the various historical encounters of deterritorialized labour and concentrated money-value, lead Deleuze & Guattari to the conclusion that capitalism as we know it may never have taken place, with the opportunity for “free workers and money-capital existing “virtually” side by side.”

Elaborating this point further, Jameson goes on to explain, “The dilemma of any “historicism” can then be dramatized by the peculiar, unavoidable, yet seemingly unresolvable alternation between Identity and Difference.” The former of which is, for Deleuze, untenable. For in his analysis of the dialectic – as it is in Nietzsche’s – Deleuze sees the mechanistic logic of negation as incapable of truly accounting for the notion of historical difference, relegating this notion to a subsidiary epistemology of the thing – be that of class, Spirit or fixed social relations. It is his dissonant claim that, in its ontological specificity, difference exists in and of itself, as difference-in-itself, and that this difference is the radical potential of Nietzsche’s historical genealogy: of a positive model of critique. This requires for Deleuze a re-reading of Marx through Nietzsche – a Marx transposed from the history of necessity to the contingency of will.



[1] Gilles Deleuze, Nietzsche and Philosophy (London: The Athlone Press, 1983): 1.
[2] Gilles Deleuze, ‘Penseé nomade,’ in Nietzsche aujourd'hui? Vol. 1 (Paris: Union générale d’éditions, 1973): 160 [my emphasis].

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Saturday, 3 February 2018

Gullet - Review



for Saatchi Magazine, Spring Issue 2018

Gulletby Julia Crabtree & William Evans & ‘U’: a performance by Rachel Pimm Cell Project Space 17.11.2017 — 21.01.2018


Upon hearing the title for Julia Crabtree and William Evan’s latest show at Cell Project Space, I arrived anticipating the macabre. A black room crammed with pink rinds of flesh and lurid, hypnotic screens; a sculptural endoscopy of sorts. Fortunately, this wasn’t the case. An extension of their long- term collaboration and combined research interests, ‘Gullet’ elides the surgical footage of gastric tissue and mucous which haunts our popular imagery of inner-bodily processes. Instead, by juxtaposing craft, technology and a vibrant materiality, Crabtree and Evans animate the customarily oblique aesthetics of contemporary art with a subtle consideration of mutual affectivity and the collective ecologies of human embodiment.

Augmenting their 2016 show ‘Gulch’ – commissioned by The Banff Centre, Canada – the architecture of Cell Space has similarly been inverted by the inclusion of an abstract, multi-coloured carpet. Taking its aesthetic from digitally rendered smoke, the flat surface evokes the inhuman perception of heat- sensitive surveillance technologies and satellite maps, used as a visual indicator of life or organic activity (as has been brutally displayed in the state-military apparatus of Richard Mosse’s prescient work Incoming). Angled and crammed toward one of two hollow doorframes – taking as their implicit form as Gullet’s pharynx and anus – this macro-vital cartography hosts an array of microbial forms.






The largest of these amoebic bodies are a series of lumpen furnishings mounting each other as they pile through the Gullet’s narrow oesophagus. Reminiscent of the uncanny mattresses shown in Kaari Upson’s latest exhibition at the New Museum, Good thing you are not alone (2017), the nauseating blend of moss green, warm beige and mauve gives the swollen forms a distinct sense of half-chewed, half-digested food matter. Hidden the other side are a loose swarm of parasitic worms, each cast in a pastel jesmonite, twisting and convulsing around one another in an orgy of ravenous anticipation.

The lucky few of these intestinal feeders that have slithered their way into the main space of the gallery find themselves drawn to presence of several clairvoyant glass blobs. Dispersed in the space, drooping from Cell’s natural architecture or bosomed by soft rolls of bare memory foam, several of these molten orbs have been left empty whilst others harbour a multitude of green algae. The morphological bodies of these post-terrarium chambers appear similar to the fluid undulations of brain cell mitochondria, which through a process of self-deformation stretch and connect our various neural pathways – a network of neuroanatomy itself named the vermis, from the etymological root ‘vermi’ - the worm.


Accompanying the exhibition is a performance by Rachel Pimm, an artist familiar with said vermicular genealogies (see her 2015 performance at the Chisenhale Gallery, Worming out of shit). Focusing on the active materiality of Uranium or ‘U’, a spoken word piece follows as the red eye of a Geiger counter traces over the audience’s bodies and Gullet’s strange glass amoebas. In each case the erratic ticks of the counter intensify: the glass has been fired in an old technique containing U, historically used for tinted colouring and ultra-violet illumination.


Constructing a conceptual assemblage of U, from its mining in the Congo and Rwanda, to its forces of evolutionary attraction and its new configuration as a vehicle of planetary annihilation, the address signs off: “U is alien. U, the first and last natural thing on the earth. U came from the stars in a fog of cosmic energy.” Combined with the hybrid ecology of Gullet, the insinuation is clear. You are U: both alien and collective, productive and entropic. Used neither as a bulwark to the bemoaning of symbolic integrity, nor as an avant-garde ‘Return to the Real’, the materiality expressed by Gullet and U is heterogeneous and entangled. It reminds us that we are complex systems; embodied collectivities at once organic and synthetic, molecular and cosmic. 

Thursday, 1 February 2018

Baited Pleasures: The Precarity of Desire



George Rouy
Squeeze Hard Enough It Might Just Pop!
The Hannah Barry Gallery, 1 February – 17 March
Exhibition Essay - See full publication here

Baited Pleasures: The Precarity of Desire
On more than one occasion George Rouy has mentioned to me the reading of his works as erotic. This he says, is not something he ever intended. The works are sensual and evocative sure, but not erotic. Unfortunately, despite his own interpretations I can’t help but be the one to make this connection. There is indeed something sensually erotic about George’s paintings – a point in which I’m sure I’m not alone –  but there is also a conceptual engagement with the question of eroticism per se: the ordering and codification of our libidinal economy in different socio-political paradigms. To use a term borrowed from the work of queer theorist Paul B. Preciado, the paintings on show at Squeeze Hard Enough It Might Just Pop! evaluate how our potentia gaudendi – the virtual capacity of our bodies to be excited, exciting or excited-with – is manifest in our current social milieu.
George frequently cites medieval art as a key source of inspiration in his paintings. The works of Jean Fouquet or Rogier van der Weyden for example. However, as both an aesthetic and conceptual genealogy to this exhibition (of which are there many), I can’t help but recall the infamous relationship between several works of two great modern painters: Picasso’s Les Demoiselles D’Avignon (1907) and Matisse’s The Dance II (1932). There is of course no drought of discourse surrounding these two paintings and their reflection on the status of sex, liberation and desire in early 20th century Europe. This was after all, a period defined by its intense urbanisation, furious imperial disputes and radical political upheaval. The history of Modern Art is typically seen through this lens, and the concurrent story of eroticism plays a decisive role. For some, eroticism in art had become a powerful weapon; a dagger to the heart of bourgeois taste.
In these paintings, we find a means of critique; an avenue of escape. In Les Demoiselles, Picasso uses afro-Cubist forms to provoke the viewer, deconstructing ideals of feminine and racialized beauty. The title draws attention to the roles that colonialism, sexual labour and class played in the construction of modern urban life; chastising the fraudulent values that relegated desire to a savage or ‘primitive’ sensibility. The Dance too presents five characters, this time bathed in a vivacious orange warmth, circling a clear hilltop in faunic revelry. Unlike Picasso’s confrontational stares the dancers are playfully indifferent. You, the viewer, are irrelevant to their primal cavort. The scene is knowingly utopic: a non-place. Somewhere beyond, out of reach of rational civil society. In each case, a violent rejection of classical Western form has charged their art with an erotic intensity; not only were their subject matters full of sex, but the unleashing of painting from its vapid constraints was a gesture itself full of libidinal menace.
Although there are clear formal semblances between these paintings and George’s own oeuvre, it is their differences that really interest me. Whilst they all share the use of a nominal setting, human corporeality and a subtle balance of affect and force, what allures me is how their representation of desire and the erotic has shifted from a modern to contemporary formulation; reading from Deleuze, from an architecture of discipline to the undulations of control. Contrary to those who cite a timeless or spectral quality to George’s work, my contention is that his paintings are in fact wholly contemporary, reflecting a new form of desire which – unlike its forbearers of the modern age – does not follow from narratives of order and repression, but rather produces the erotic through a heterogeneous network of soft technologies, audiovisual techniques and insidious forms of affective labour.
It is no coincidence that George’s paintings are heavily influenced by social media and Photoshop. Straight away we recognise an affective shift from the surface of The Dance to George’s Four Lounging (2018). Figures no longer glide across the face of the canvas, they recede into the hollow screen of an iPhone. The twilight sky – once conjuring peace, frivolity and freedom – now invokes the cataleptic shock of a corrupted MacBook. Even the blades of grass seem stolen from a Clip Art catalogue; delicate brushstrokes are mistaken for digital airbrush. Where previous bodies were clearly delineated or crested with geometric edges, George’s bodies subtly bleed into one another: an arm becomes a hip, a head becomes a head. Their peculiar anatomies and bent postures recall Schiele’s raw corporeal forms and their soft composure plays with Moore’s organic modernism. However, where these artists looked to a natural or ‘real’ state for the human condition, George makes no such suggestion. The characters are synthetic, and unapologetically so.

No longer confrontational, the gaze of his androgynous cast is vulnerable and needy; in some cases, they retain a vacant grin: a self-conscious apathy or social ennui. They’re teasing us. The pale figure in Gotcha (2018) reaches for stimulation but remains gormlessly satisfied in disappointment. The symbolic addition of the conch tantalises us further: an unattainable climax, lost at the end of the tunnel. By including two Geiger-like Chaise longue, the erotic potential of his paintings is diffused into the room, like a makeshift Chat Roulette. A cheeky red mask reminds us that everything can be siphoned into a cheap commodity, ready to endlessly circulate the web of artisanal brands. The erotic is no longer a form of critique or escape, rather a form of perennial enticement. A never-ending titillation-machine, producing embodiment as a reserve of psychosomatic sex-capital, ready to be provoked, harnessed and instrumentalised in our every finger tap and mouse click. A pop which never comes.