Synergy by Mike Piazza
Introduction
Synergy is a peculiar artist book, jerry rigged with a functional circuit tester and exposed wires. The artist book repurposes a copy of Great Problems in European Civilization, which is open to pages 332-333. From front to back (or left to right if the book is open), a plug is attached to a wire, the wire passes through the front cover, then splits into two distinct parts (positive and negative currents) which wrap over the fore edge. The wires pass into two holes in page 313 (R) and re-emerge at 332 (V). Here, the plastic has been removed from the wires. The two exposed copper wires extend across the pages 332 to 333 so that the book lies open with the two exposed wires laying across it. At 332, the wires pass through 333 (R) and re-emerge at 356 (V), where they wrap over the remaining fore edge and pass through a hole in the back cover. The positive and negative sides of the wire are attached with clips to a circuit tester, which is functional when the plug end is plugged into an outlet.
A Note on Danger
The most notable aspect of experiencing this book is the danger involved. The book comes with a warning that reads: “Note before plugging in to electricity to make sure the wires do not cross.” If one were to touch the exposed wires while plugged in they might be electrocuted. If one were to cross the wires they might start a fire (books are flammable, after all). The artist could have very well left the wire covered in its protective rubber coating, but they made a conscious decision to expose the copper, suggesting that the element of danger is deliberate. This is one of the aspects that makes reading the text difficult. One must constantly be attentive to the positioning of the wire and their hands. The fact that the book is woven with a wire also makes it virtually impossible to read pages other than 332 and 333.
The Content of the Artist Book
The content of the pages 332-333 becomes especially important as these are the only accessible pages. At the top of 332, there is an excerpt from René Descartes’ Discourse on Method and Metaphysical Meditations (1963) (London: Walter Scott Publishing Co., n.d.), and includes probably the most famous quote from this text: “I think, therefore I am”. The second text, which starts mid 332 and takes up all of 333 is an excerpt from Johnathon Swift’s Gulliver's Travels, specifically the section describing the Lagado Academy. This piece describes a mad professor who has constructed a machine in the hopes of democratizing artistic and scientific progress, a pursuit usually reserved for those with an education: “Every one knew how laborious the usual method is of attaining to arts and sciences; whereas by his contrivance the most ignorant person at a reasonable charge, and with a little bodily labour, may write books in philosophy, poetry, politics, law, mathematics, and theology, without the least assistance from genius or study.” The machine which the professor has constructed is operated by many laborers and is essentially a random sentence generator. The laborers turn some levers and set an engine in motion which arranges words in random sentences from an assortment of “all the words of their language in their several moods, tenses, and declensions, but without any order” (333). The professor is trying to produce all of the works of arts and sciences which can be produced, from which he will piece together the broken sentences “and out of those rich materials to give the world a complete body of all arts and sciences.” (333)
Mike Piazza’s invention is along the lines of those being built by professors at the academy of Lagado. They strive towards noble pursuits, but they are highly flawed, highly outlandish, and operate within a logic all their own. Their logic plays with language in a way that is literal. One professor tries to harness sunlight by extracting sunbeams from cucumbers, another tries to solve the problem of hunger by reducing human excrement to something edible. The result of these pursuits are highly ironic inventions. Piazza’s artist book operates in a similar logic, where he attempts to create synergy, to kill two birds with one stone as it were. He combines a circuit tester and book in the hopes of creating a multipurpose tool. However, ironically, in the combination of these objects the function of each is made more difficult. One cannot read the contents of the book with the circuit tester woven through it. And one cannot test a circuit without lugging this thick book close to the outlet.
Irony in Synergy and the Humor of the Artists’ Book
My most immediate reaction to experiencing Synergy was the thought that It must be some kind of joke. Having minimal experience with artist books I was expecting Synergy to be more elaborate and more substantial in its content. However, Synergy is extremely simple, somewhat boring, and I would speculate that the labor intensity involved in creating the book was relatively minimal. That said, I believe that the value of Synergy and of most artists’ books cannot be measured in the number of pages, the masterful command of language, or the spectacle of the thing, but rather in the level of thought provocation that such a work inspires. Synergy is a conceptual piece. It isn’t flashy or especially exciting however it does elicit a reaction. Personally I found Synergy quite funny.
Synergy is a work of irony. The book is a combination of two tools: the book and the circuit tester, however this combination complicates the use of both tools. Nonetheless, this is a multipurpose artist book. This concept of fusion is clearly important to this artist book. Merriam Webster defines synergy as follows:
- Synergy
- a mutually advantageous conjunction or compatibility of distinct business participants or elements.
However in this case, the fusion of circuit tester with book is clearly not “advantageous”. The book itself is actually an antonym to the definition of synergy.
Synergy as Bookwork
In Garrett Stewart’s Bookwork: Medium to Object to Concept to Art, Stewart defines “bookwork” as “something done to a book, done with it and others like it, or done in place of it: alteration, assemblage, or simulation… bookwork, then: the mode of materialization for such reduced textual circumstances.” (Stewart, 21). Bookwork then is a process enacted by an artist upon a pre-existing textual object. In this very definition, there is an attention given to process over final product. Once the process is complete, the result is often manifested as something resembling a sculpture, and displayed most effectively as an installation. Bookwork might involve sculpting a book into something new, displacing portions of one book onto another, arranging multiple books in a specific way. Stewart compares bookwork to an “autopsy”, he explains that invasive manipulation often occurs: “rather than being elaborately worked, or in other words beautifully wrought, the book-work is often ironically worked over, battered or defaced, if not composed of indifferent multiples.” (23). Synergy fits within this formulation, as the bookwork has repurposed a copy of Great Problems in European Civilization, and engaged in a physical intervention.
One of the most relevant aspects of bookwork that Stewart points to is the quality of “illegibility”. Bookworks are often impossible to read, and always impossible to read in the way that the original author of the words intended. In Piazza’s Synergy the pages are bound together with wire. Other than pages 332-333, attempting to read the bound pages is cumbersome. One must pull the pages apart and read them from the side, and even then the text closer to the spine of the book cannot be accessed. Piazza forces our focus to the two pages which are legible. However even then, the legibility is complicated by the exposed wires. The danger involved in reading Synergy contributes to its illegibility. Whatever way you look at it, Synergy forces an unconventional reading experience, by introducing discomfort to the reader. One cannot comfortably read the book without fear of electrocution. One cannot experience the book in the comfort of their own home as the book is housed in the Kislak Special Collections. Piazza challenges our conventional notions of reading and thus makes us more self-conscious of the reading experience.
Self Reflexivity in Synergy
Synergy has a “meta” quality to it, in that it makes the reader conscious of its bookish nature. I would argue that most novels, or texts that are not artist books try their best to avoid self-reflexivity: that is, they try to absorb you into the text rather than constantly reminding you that you are experiencing a book. Artist books sharply diverge in this sense, as their “bookishness” is part and parcel of the statement they try to make. In Johanna Drucker’s Self-Reflexivity in Book Form, Drucker explains that “Artists’ books are often self-conscious about the elements of book structure. This can involve self-reflexive humor or serious philosophical interrogation of a book’s identity. Disturbing conventions of reading by calling attention to these structures is often a feature of artists’ books. (Drucker, 161).
Traditional books operate within an illusion in both form and content. The reading experience is meant to be one where the reader forgets that they are reading. The reader is meant to recede into their imagination, and experience a story. A literate person absorbed in a text is not constantly paying attention to their reading process, this process occurs naturally. Similarly, the material qualities of the book do not draw attention to themselves. Conventional books adhere to the same basic formal principles. The book has developed as a technology that can be easily used. The book fits within our hands, the pages can be easily turned, the text can be easily perceived by our eyes, specific contents can be easily found through conventions such as page numbers, the table of contents, the index, etc. Throughout the history of books the technology has evolved towards legibility.
Meanwhile, artists' books call attention to their materiality, as they diverge from the conventions that readers are accustomed to. We cannot experience artists’ books passively. Even if an artists’ book has a degree of legibility, as Synergy does, the artist does not permit us to forget that we are reading a book. Piazza for example, with the introduction of exposed wires, forbids us from entering the conventional subconscious mode of reading. If one attempts to read the text on pages 332-333, they must remain attentive to the positioning of the wires, being sure not to jostle the book or put their hands too close to the wire. Thus we are not allowed to enter the comfortable illusion that we have grown accustomed to as readers with the aid of the traditional codex form. An attempt to read the actual text of Synergy in a conventional way would be like allowing oneself to zone out while operating a table saw. A seasoned carpenter always remains attentive to the saw, and the placement of their fingers as they are cutting. Even after operating a table saw thousands of times, a carpenter who wishes to keep all of their fingers will not allow muscle memory to take over. Literacy usually involves turning off the switch of awareness to the process of reading. However in Synergy the element of danger forces the reader to remain attentive to the reading process.
Implications on Modes of Cataloging Artist Books
Viewing Synergy reveals some of the difficulties that a library like the Kislak Rare Book Collection faces in the cataloging and storage of an artist book. In Artists’ Books: Managing the Unmanageable Nola Farman effectively summarizes this inherent difficulty, explaining, “the librarian must show some skills that could be associated with forensic science! Within the library’s organizational scheme, that is usually constructed for the written word, it is difficult to identify and systematically organize visual play and especially that which skips between word, image and material.” (Farman, 324). Artists’ books are more at home in museums and art galleries, where they have space, and can be more fully described. Synergy for example, is a book which demands tactile interaction in order to fully experience it. Furthermore the book cannot be shut, so the library has to store it in a wide box. The book is meant to be plugged in, which it cannot be while in storage (this is for many reasons but the most obvious is that keeping the book plugged in could cause an electrical fire). Like most artists’ books, Synergy complicates the norms for cataloging and storing books, which have been developed with the traditional codex in mind.
In David Paton’s The Bookness of a Book: Cataloging Affect in South African Artists’ Books the author grapples with these difficulties, explaining “artists’ books occupy a liminal zone between libraries and art galleries that defies the limits of the terminology normally used by library catalogers.” (552). Paton offers up solutions such as digitizing collections by utilizing computer software. Paton argues that the work of cataloging artists’ books should be undertaken with issues of authority and power in mind. In institutions such as Penn Libraries, the issue of cataloging collections is inevitably steeped in issues of authority and power. Someone who is not a member of the Penn community would face significant troubles locating an artist book in the first place, let alone traveling to Penn and entering into the library in order to view it. Accessibility is a difficult issue to resolve especially when it comes to artists’ books, but digitization is one way that libraries can make artists’ books more accessible. Obviously this is not a perfect solution to the problem, as tactile interaction is often crucial to experiencing an artists’ book, however digitization does work towards increased accessibility.