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A discussion of Worlds and Interpretation

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A discussion of Worlds and Interpretation

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“It is to turn the world into this world" (Sontag, S. 1964)

What do you mean by that

I mean an interpretation of art, turn the world into this world, as said by Susan Sontag in her work ‘Against Interpretation’

But it’s not a world, it’s simply a piece of art

Is that the case? Are all movies simply images on a camera, all books simply page upon page of ink and paper, and all ‘art’ simply sculptures of matter and surfaces marked by paint? Not at all. Each of these works holds within a capacity to create an experience, a barrel of black powder waiting for the match to explode. That match being you. Each reaction is different, depending on the timing, proximity, quality of the match.

Yeah, it’s an experience, but how is it a world

The world is shaped through our experience. We each encompass an entirely different world shaped by sensory information and the intangible factor that we hold within ourselves which I lack the knowledge to explain, colloquially known as a soul. Just as we create worlds, why can art not have the same effect? Haven’t you ever been thrown into experience because of your immersion into a book or play or had yourself stare breathless at an artwork for what it made you feel.

Well, when you put it like that than yeah, I guess art is a world. But I’m still confused, how does interpretation turn it into this world.

While I said before that everyone has their own world, they’re not entirely unrecognisable from each other. The framework of rules and understanding our mostly shared, through today’s world of breaking apart and sorting, fitting everything into neat little boxes for the masses to understand. That is this world. and by interpreting art, we are reshaping it for everyone to share a single experience, thus removing the core of art.

so, we shouldn't interpret art?

that’s up to you. This is simply my theory and what I believe, I cannot make that decision for you. all I ask is that you allow yourself to be open to the possibility of something more.

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Del Kathryn Barton, inside another land #56 (2017)

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Inside Another Land, Over and Over Again

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Inside Another Land, Over and Over Again

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Smoking, black mist down lungs, roses adorn the head of the smoking woman. Polished nails, ears with metal rings. Laying on a bed of glass, fractured from the weight, that she bears. The silk sheets of velvet cradle her fall. Eye, singular, blood red rather than white. Nothing is reflected in its gaze. I can’t understand you, your stare unwavering, except for when you light up another cigarette. Who do you see?

Black mist down the lungs, attempting to warm me. A singular heat, sentinel to dark nights. Addiction, electric buzz that seeps into your skin and tingles the veins. I don’t know how to quit, even though I should. Because quitting is the greatest pain, to not feel the heat within me. How can one go back?

Eye spy with my singular eye, nothing. I look but do not see. I eat but cannot not taste. Hear but will not listen. Omens, ill-fated encounters, avoidable pain. Ignorance is bliss, what a load of shit. Rather stabbed in the chest than in the back, easier said than done. Either way the heart is thoroughly pierced.

Nothing is reflected in its gaze, a statue. If one good crack opens your head, what thoughts would come spilling out, I wonder? Love, Lust, Loathing, Loneliness? Or nothing but red, like the colours of the silk you drape yourself in.

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Unnamed Painting - Believed to be painted by one of my distant uncles

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I don’t know what this painting is called. You wouldn’t find it at the local art gallery or on some artsy girls Instagram in conjunction with a poem on the deep meaning of love and attraction. This one hangs on a wall in my grandparents’ house, in-between the study and their bedroom. I had walked past it for over 15 years before I really looked at it. My mother and aunt were discussing the future, of the inevitable final page to my beloved grandparent’s story, and where each of the numerous items in the house would go. Who would inherit what, which would be kept or sold. Maybe that’s why I went looking for something to stake my claim on. Obviously, it couldn’t be anything bearing extreme weight or significance to the family, I was only the grandson after all. But this painting, no one talked about. Residing in gold painted frame, a beautiful sight lay before me, real or fictional I could only guess, perhaps inspired by a place in Slovenia (my grandparents birth country) that I have always heard stories about.

Rita Felski identified three key aspects in the process of attunement, being aesthetic time, Agency and Prescence. The first is a “question of its duration”. As I state before, it took me 15 years of Sundays and holidays spent roaming the house before I finally paid attention to it. Secondly, the question of its role as an “active force in the world”. The work inspires awe and beauty, and while that continues, what mostly remains every time I see it is the desire to go to this place, this small house next to a bridge, if it even exists at all. And if it does not, I hope to find myself somewhere that reminds of this painting.

Finally, “the ineffability of a certain aesthetic relation” the vividity of the arts existence. The paintings existence is compatibly small compared to say the works seen at ACCA, as this is only known to a handful of people. but I guess to me that makes its existence all the more vivid, as it feels personal in a way other do not have.

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The sound of triumph fills the air, the dashing hero makes his entrance. The upturned dust from shattered buildings creates a cloud of worry and despair. But above it, with the glimmering sun, the son of Krypton makes his presence known. Superman.

An average Sunday afternoon. Bored and looking to fill the time, I went to the local theatre. “the new superman movie is supposed to be great”. I’ll believe it when I see it. After half an hour of ads, almost like a horse in the starting gate, in an instant the film burst onto the screen. Never once did I feel disappointed. the music was this sweeping instrumental score that made you feel made of steel. The effects were so detailed, I was laser focused. The humour made you feel weightless enough to leap tall buildings in a single bound. I even laughed once or twice out loud. Superman was powerful, assertive and most importantly fun

Recently, I thought the soaring man had truly fallen to earth. Bad movie after worse movie had tainted the symbol of hope. Superman was not some god who would kill at the opportunity, and hide from responsibility (thanks Zack Snyder). But thanks to James Gunn, the real superman came back from a stay in the phantom zone. Supes was always Clark just as much as he was Kal El, an awkward kid from Smallville who wanted to do right. He was a hopeful person, and gave me room to be hopeful again. Things are hard right now, in the world and in my head. But as long as for a couple of hours you can watch a fun, sometimes silly movie about a good guy doing good because it’s the good thing to do, maybe everything will work out.

This piece was written after exploring how much of our encounters with art are centred around time and space. It was important to me to think about a recent moment in which I encountered art, in this case the film ‘Superman’ , and how reflecting upon the art as time went forwards led to further levels of reflection.

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Twenty-sided dice

Maker: mass produced by Wizard of the Coast

Date of manufacture: c. 2015

Date of report August 2025

Dimensions: diameter of approximately 22mm

Current location: resting on a bedside table, atop of various papers and other drawing utensils

A 20-sided polyhedron, acrylic dyed in a mix of black and green, the colours melding together as if fighting to overpower the other. Each side is marked with gold numbering, ranging from 1 to 20 with the numbers 6 and 9 given small line indicators to differentiate the two in order to not great misunderstanding in results that will be argued about later. The die fits snuggly with one’s hand, perfect for rolling, and does not become chipped or cracked upon clattering of the table after reckless rolls.  Despite being comprised of 20 sides, the result of the rolls is not unbiased. Within each is a little soul, given by the RNG Gods, and they each like entertainment. Some like to roll high when you need to roll high, looking to see you achieve the risky manoeuvres you greedily attempt. others like to roll low, enjoying your miserable failure at glory, and those dice go to dice jail. But if you treat them right, they’ll do their part, and even if you don’t like the number shown, the story they write is always interesting.

Upon looking back at this work, I realised how much my writing is influenced by the things that I enjoy. While that sounds like a simple statement it meant a lot to me when I realised this. Because it good to know that the foundation of my writing has not wavered in all the years since I started writing, and this class has simply cemented the importance in me about writing about the moments, places, even objects that drive you.

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“We’re often told that art can’t really change anything”

I think that couldn’t be further from the truth. Art is revolution, history makes that certain. And history itself is stored through art, whether that be the propaganda posters of the world wars which told the emotions felt by warring nations, or the manifestos of struggling workers wishing for things to change. Time is stored in the Art.

Additionally, Art has a strange relation to time. The time we take to finish a piece of art is entirely up to us, whether that be hours, days, weeks even years. It is also a door into new experience, to be different than those that can before us and learn. Art has changed who I am fundamentally. It is the people I have met, on the page, on the screen that have shaped my experience and beliefs. More than anything they can be role models. Growing up I read many story about heroes. And despite their flaws, and some had many, they always tried to be better. As I write this final entry and I look back on the long year of writing, I almost scoff at the words written by Olivia Laing which I start this entry off with. How can art not change anything. Writing about art has changed my practice as a whole. I have learned to appreciate the many mediums and forms of art, many of which I considered to abstract before starting this year. I learnt how to reflect deeply about my own writing and the time I spend on writing, and how that can lead new writing to spawn from that reflection. I will never forget the lessons I’ve learnt from this course, not a single moment.

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Workshopping is always a never racking experience. To share your writing that is only in its foundational stage to your peers, many who are your friends, and allow yourself to be fully at their mercy. At least that’s how I always see the experience. But there is always something fulfilling about workshopping for me. I always come into it with the mindset that I have the most to learn, and to not presume I am better at writing than anyone in the class. I find this allows me to take criticism in stride, not even consider it criticism really, rather advise from a more experienced source. So, despite my apprehension when workshopping comes around I strongly agree that workshopping can “do more to develop a writer’s craft than almost anything else”. (Chamberlin, J) And it feels better than anything in the world when a part of your workshop piece you absolutely love is given a compliment, and went that is agreed upon by many. That will have you riding a high for days after, which you can use to ensure you don’t fall into those pits of no motivation and keep on writing. Just knowing someone likes even a small bit of your writing and is looking forward to seeing more makes all the difference in the world.