Essay On Antonin Artaud

Essay On Antonin Artaud-48
To understand Artaud is to undergo a process where he tries to induce his psychological state onto the reader; it is interesting that this type of writing borders on the edge of what writing is capable of doing.

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Supposed that each of my pondered instants is on certain shaken by these deep tornadoes which are not betrayed by anything external. If only I had the strength, I would sometimes indulge myself, in thought, in the luxury of subjecting to the mortification of such pressing pain any prominent mind, any writer, young or old, who produces and whose new-born thought carries weight in order to see what remained of him.

And tell me whether any work of literature is compatible with such states. One must not be to hasty in judging men, one must trust them to the point of absurdity, to their very dregs. [Silence: Noise like a huge wheel spinning, blowing out wind. At that moment two stars collide, and a succession of limbs of flesh fall.

The "short stories" (more like prose poems really) are all amazing and some of his more classic essays, which I'd already read via the Anthology, are in Volume 1.

I would recommend this book to anyone interested in volatile m As with most "Collected Works", some of the items included herein are of dubious worth, like Artaud's early unpublished poems (utterly unexceptional) and some of his letters to friends.

We cannot know it is a lie that masks the truth; all art lies- Artaud.

He has this moralistic principle of what art ought to be that is written in the most honest prose possible.Writers, as the (brilliant) introductory Sontag essay references, such as Sade and Reich attempt to traverse within this nebulous territory of writing in extremis.With Artaud, what he is trying to communicate, even though it borders on the edge on the possibility of language, is the intense suffering he is going through.With the publication of Artaud's Collected Works, in four volumes, English readers have been granted access to the range of Artaud's literary output, which extends well beyond his contributions to the theatre. They have live roots, roots of anguish that reach the heart of life. One does not feel in them the cosmic afflatus of a soul that has been shaken to its foundations.The first volume of Artaud's Collected Works is divided into two parts that contain seven works: "Correspondence with Jacques Rivière", "Umbilical Limbo", "Nerve Scales", "Art and Death", "Unpublished Prose and Poetry", "Cup and Ball", and "Seven Letters"; along with an Appendix that includes Early Poems and other uncollected works... Dear Sir, .............................................................................. My mental life is completely shot through with petty doubts and unarguably certainties that are expressed in lucid and coherent words. They are the weaknesses of a mind that have not pondered its weakness; if it had, it would render that weakness in dense and forceful words.Other highlights include: all writing is pig shit, artaud the momo, and his radio play. As with most "Collected Works", some of the items included herein are of dubious worth, like Artaud's early unpublished poems (utterly unexceptional) and some of his letters to friends.To be fair, those two items are shoved in the back of what is an otherwise awesome book.GIRL [lower still]: You love me and everything is fine. It is a sort of suction cup on the soul, whose acridity spread like acid into the furthermost bounds of the senses. Reading Artaud is a very draining experience and a difficult process.There isn't a linear goal with a narrative with premises leading to a conclusion.Only a madman could produce a treatise on the theory of the theater of cruelty which is only justified within the logic of its own internal convoluted self-correcting paradigm.Its execution when mediated through the social universe comes crashing down and fails to materialize. Hallucinatory scenes include: two stars colliding and a bunch of bugs falling out, scorpians emerging from a vagina, a woman biting the wrist of god and blood spills all over, a nun with huge bosoms which are grappled by a knight.

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