Man, the bricolage!



Long ago art was a means to an end, only seen by torches and always accompanied by chanting where ritual was mimicked and dogma swallowed. These days, art is an end in itself. But, in its presence, still by flickering artificial light, ritual must be mimicked and dogma swallowed.


Formal modernism denies any representation; no icons for it, of either the religious or Piercian sort. Ironic modernism, aka postmodernism, is nothing but representation; any form will do for it–or none–as long as its ritual is mimicked and dogma swallowed.


Sincerity, if you believe it’s possible, is the only defense. It’s a shame it rarely puts food on the table. So “Man [no comma] the bricolage!…” sez this aging soixante-huitard, “…representamen are being interpretanted by commerce!”[3] not for the first or the last time.


  • “If one calls bricolage the necessity of borrowing one’s concept from the text of a heritage which is more or less coherent or ruined, it must be said that every discourse is bricoleur.” — JACQUES DERRIDA
  • In ’68, I was in college, an American (therefore faux) soixante-huitard, the editorial cartoonist for the student paper before the Uni shut us down. Sadly I missed the beat generation and was wary of the love one. The Marxists were boring and the capitalists kept their distance. IMHO none got it right, the beats came closest.
  • Representamen and interpretant are terms of C.S. Pierce; they mean sign and sign’s meaning (to someone) respectively. I love big words, no apologies.