Dennis Kierans
IMAGING NABOKOV:
A VIDEO INSTALLATION
What follows is not a critical review for I will not play the role of the self-reflexive critic. Rather, I will merely explain what I hoped to achieve and why I employed certain 'signs and symbols.'
This art piece is a symbolic recreation of any or all works by Vladimir Nabokov. More to the point, it recreates the reader's relationship to Nabokov's writing. As many critics have pointed out, a central theme running through Nabokov's works is the relationship between self and other (Connolly, Nabokov's Early Fiction: Patterns of Self and Other. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992, p. 2). What remains missing from Nabokov's critical heritage is the transforming effect of Nabokov's works on the reader and (especially) critic. It is difficult to claim the proper distance to remark on Nabokov's ever-extending realm of influence (Connolly, 214), but allow me to say this: Nabokov has managed not just to employ his characters in pitched battle against him - in which emulation underscores the rebellion and their successes or failures only help to glorify Nabokov's own mastery and authority - but he has also lured the critical reader into this same trap of stolen identity and emulation (Cf. A. Kazan: "...in his gamesmanship he is never as solemn as are those few scholars who can uncover most of his tricks." <...> "The greatest charm of this book lies in the fact that so many of the characters are as creative as Nabokov himself. The lovers are both geniuses. Many mysterious characters are referred to as if we should know them and would know them, if we were geniuses"; Saturday Review. 10 May 1969, pp. 28-30). This piece of art seeks to reconstruct the various forms through which this relationship manifests itself. By placing the viewer inside the piece, and so confusing the relationship between the diegetic world of the film and the extradiegetic world of the viewer, the viewer enters into the confusing world of mirrors and manipulation in which Nabokov is king. In this piece, the viewer must load the file to start the show; he must, like Sisyphus, "get the ball rolling."
The combination of music and paint is intended to capture both the aesthetic and the symbolic aspects of Nabokov's work. I felt that a symbolic painting alone would not capture Nabokov's aesthetic, nor would music alone articulate the intricacies of Nabokov's themes. Taken together, however, the two components are able to capture both of these aspects, as well as emphasize select issues by way of their interaction (much like the interaction between English and Russian Nabokov). Please take this into account when viewing the piece, even though I do believe that Nabokov's own literary references to painting (Ada) and music ("Sounds," "Music") would alone warrant this fusion. The music is a sound collage. It fuses heavily edited works of famous composers (Bach, Mozart, and Mahler) with sound clips recorded in downtown Halifax. The composers and pieces were selected based on their relevance to certain works or themes in Nabokov's literature. For instance, Mahler's composition, Kindertotenlieder ("Songs on the Death of Children") seemed quite appropriate, especially so when, upon further investigation, I discovered that while Mahler was in America he sought Freud's apparently helpful council regarding his wife's infidelity. He forbade his wife - twenty years his junior - to exert herself creatively, died of heart problems, and was buried beside his daughter who had died at a young age. Beethoven's Kreutzer Sonata, which is referenced in Nabokov's short story "Music," is also included in my arrangement. I found that story in particular to distinctly betray the interior-exterior motif. As the composition also has a direct tie to Russian literature (cf. Tolstoy's "The Kreutzer Sonata") it seemed to 'fit the part.' Beyond Mahler and Beethoven, I also borrowed excerpts from Bach (two fugues; one improvised by my sister, Annie, on our family piano) and Mozart (a serenade) (Cf.: "Evening song or instrumental piece sung or played esp. by lover at his lady's window," The Concise Oxford Dictionary, Sixth Edition, Ed. J.B. Sykes. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1976.).
The clips recorded around Halifax were also chosen carefully. For instance, some of the percussion is derived from the sound of a bus stopping and opening its door or the sound of shutters being whisked open or closed. Whence coupled with the serenade this specific example impresses the real division (and, therefore, hypothetical union) between 'outside' and 'inside,' extradiegetic and diegetic, upon the reader.
The overall form of the 'collage' also gives this impression. Structurally it is reminiscent of both Nabokov's "Sounds" and the 'rounded Binary form' or 'ternary form' of composition mastered by Mozart, among others. That is, it begins with Bach on the keyboard and the closing of a window (Part A); it is then interrupted by a brief respite in the form of a serenade marked by a shift in its key and rhythm (Part B); and it concludes with a return to its original limits, including the sounds of doors (Part A). My arrangement includes many other famous classical pieces and foreign components in order to demonstrate that Nabokov's use of character and plot mirrors a sort of Baroque-style contrapuntal arrangement. It is important as well to note that the audio editing was very intensive. Often a two-second clip is merged with the whole after being plucked out of a fifteen minute piece and heavily synthesized. This recombination of art for art is an aspect of Nabokov's central theme in a more sophisticated form (Connolly, 190) and is the task of the authentic auctor. The most successful characters are those who are able to renew the art of their environment with creativity ("Where shall I put all these gifts with which the summer morning rewards me - and only me? Save them up for future books?" [Nabokov, The Gift, p. 340]).
Also, I will briefly mention the strategy which accompanies the visual layout. The viewer is placed within the foreground of the piece and is facing his shadow, his other. Their game of chess is interrupted by the music, the piano. The piano is both a genuine clue and a necessary key to understanding the relationship between self and other, but it is also designed as a false signpost. Though many people might associate the piano with Dali and Freud's 'rotten sex,' Nabokov's disdain of Freud would suggest otherwise. The piano is instead a trompe l'oeil ( "A good trompe l'oeil painting proves at least that the painter is not cheating. The charlatan who sells his squiggles to ŽpatŽr Philistines does not have the talent or the technique to draw a nail, let alone the shadow of a nail." Nabokov, V. Strong Opinions. NY: McGraw-Hill, 1973, p. 167; Emphasis added). Though this painting as a whole is more reminiscent of the symbolists, the piano literally does trick the eye: it is both piano and butterfly. As in Nabokov's writing, where authorial presence is often marked with a butterfly, I too mark my presence here as author and creator of the experience; I, like Nabokov, merged with Nabokov, and dominated by Nabokov, invest the authorial role in the frame of the creation. The piano spatially dissects the action of the painting - the viewer and his shadow - and undermines the painting's autonomy by investing in it all of the motivations, achievements and implications of the music. The piano/butterfly also alludes to another of Nabokov's recurring symbols: natural and artificial light. Nabokov has used electric light to represent fate/authorial omnipotence (i.e. Lolita; "The Return of Chorb") and natural light to represent creative blossoming or creativity (i.e. The Gift; Connolly, 212). In both cases, the underpinning ideology can be summed up as a divide or union between an interior and an exterior. It follows naturally, then, that an electric light must cue for either the two 'A' sections or the 'B' section - either for the inside or the outside, the self or the other. I chose to cue the electric light for the 'B' section in order to convey that life in aversion to reality is an inevitable disaster; the exterior always penetrates the interior. If the electric light were to be taken as a symbol of creativity, then perhaps an alternate interpretation would suffice: After all the stages of becoming, where does the art reside? - It resides in the shadows, of course.
I hope that this digression has been helpful, but it is important to note that the above mentioned points are by no means all encompassing or even genuinely 'fixed.' The piece is interpretive and aesthetic at heart, and if, after all of the theory, it cannot incite genuine emotion and engagement with the viewer, it has failed.
This art piece is a symbolic recreation of any or all works by Vladimir Nabokov. More to the point, it recreates the reader's relationship to Nabokov's writing. As many critics have pointed out, a central theme running through Nabokov's works is the relationship between self and other (Connolly, Nabokov's Early Fiction: Patterns of Self and Other. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992, p. 2). What remains missing from Nabokov's critical heritage is the transforming effect of Nabokov's works on the reader and (especially) critic. It is difficult to claim the proper distance to remark on Nabokov's ever-extending realm of influence (Connolly, 214), but allow me to say this: Nabokov has managed not just to employ his characters in pitched battle against him - in which emulation underscores the rebellion and their successes or failures only help to glorify Nabokov's own mastery and authority - but he has also lured the critical reader into this same trap of stolen identity and emulation (Cf. A. Kazan: "...in his gamesmanship he is never as solemn as are those few scholars who can uncover most of his tricks." <...> "The greatest charm of this book lies in the fact that so many of the characters are as creative as Nabokov himself. The lovers are both geniuses. Many mysterious characters are referred to as if we should know them and would know them, if we were geniuses"; Saturday Review. 10 May 1969, pp. 28-30). This piece of art seeks to reconstruct the various forms through which this relationship manifests itself. By placing the viewer inside the piece, and so confusing the relationship between the diegetic world of the film and the extradiegetic world of the viewer, the viewer enters into the confusing world of mirrors and manipulation in which Nabokov is king. In this piece, the viewer must load the file to start the show; he must, like Sisyphus, "get the ball rolling."
The combination of music and paint is intended to capture both the aesthetic and the symbolic aspects of Nabokov's work. I felt that a symbolic painting alone would not capture Nabokov's aesthetic, nor would music alone articulate the intricacies of Nabokov's themes. Taken together, however, the two components are able to capture both of these aspects, as well as emphasize select issues by way of their interaction (much like the interaction between English and Russian Nabokov). Please take this into account when viewing the piece, even though I do believe that Nabokov's own literary references to painting (Ada) and music ("Sounds," "Music") would alone warrant this fusion. The music is a sound collage. It fuses heavily edited works of famous composers (Bach, Mozart, and Mahler) with sound clips recorded in downtown Halifax. The composers and pieces were selected based on their relevance to certain works or themes in Nabokov's literature. For instance, Mahler's composition, Kindertotenlieder ("Songs on the Death of Children") seemed quite appropriate, especially so when, upon further investigation, I discovered that while Mahler was in America he sought Freud's apparently helpful council regarding his wife's infidelity. He forbade his wife - twenty years his junior - to exert herself creatively, died of heart problems, and was buried beside his daughter who had died at a young age. Beethoven's Kreutzer Sonata, which is referenced in Nabokov's short story "Music," is also included in my arrangement. I found that story in particular to distinctly betray the interior-exterior motif. As the composition also has a direct tie to Russian literature (cf. Tolstoy's "The Kreutzer Sonata") it seemed to 'fit the part.' Beyond Mahler and Beethoven, I also borrowed excerpts from Bach (two fugues; one improvised by my sister, Annie, on our family piano) and Mozart (a serenade) (Cf.: "Evening song or instrumental piece sung or played esp. by lover at his lady's window," The Concise Oxford Dictionary, Sixth Edition, Ed. J.B. Sykes. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1976.).
The clips recorded around Halifax were also chosen carefully. For instance, some of the percussion is derived from the sound of a bus stopping and opening its door or the sound of shutters being whisked open or closed. Whence coupled with the serenade this specific example impresses the real division (and, therefore, hypothetical union) between 'outside' and 'inside,' extradiegetic and diegetic, upon the reader.
The overall form of the 'collage' also gives this impression. Structurally it is reminiscent of both Nabokov's "Sounds" and the 'rounded Binary form' or 'ternary form' of composition mastered by Mozart, among others. That is, it begins with Bach on the keyboard and the closing of a window (Part A); it is then interrupted by a brief respite in the form of a serenade marked by a shift in its key and rhythm (Part B); and it concludes with a return to its original limits, including the sounds of doors (Part A). My arrangement includes many other famous classical pieces and foreign components in order to demonstrate that Nabokov's use of character and plot mirrors a sort of Baroque-style contrapuntal arrangement. It is important as well to note that the audio editing was very intensive. Often a two-second clip is merged with the whole after being plucked out of a fifteen minute piece and heavily synthesized. This recombination of art for art is an aspect of Nabokov's central theme in a more sophisticated form (Connolly, 190) and is the task of the authentic auctor. The most successful characters are those who are able to renew the art of their environment with creativity ("Where shall I put all these gifts with which the summer morning rewards me - and only me? Save them up for future books?" [Nabokov, The Gift, p. 340]).
Also, I will briefly mention the strategy which accompanies the visual layout. The viewer is placed within the foreground of the piece and is facing his shadow, his other. Their game of chess is interrupted by the music, the piano. The piano is both a genuine clue and a necessary key to understanding the relationship between self and other, but it is also designed as a false signpost. Though many people might associate the piano with Dali and Freud's 'rotten sex,' Nabokov's disdain of Freud would suggest otherwise. The piano is instead a trompe l'oeil ( "A good trompe l'oeil painting proves at least that the painter is not cheating. The charlatan who sells his squiggles to ŽpatŽr Philistines does not have the talent or the technique to draw a nail, let alone the shadow of a nail." Nabokov, V. Strong Opinions. NY: McGraw-Hill, 1973, p. 167; Emphasis added). Though this painting as a whole is more reminiscent of the symbolists, the piano literally does trick the eye: it is both piano and butterfly. As in Nabokov's writing, where authorial presence is often marked with a butterfly, I too mark my presence here as author and creator of the experience; I, like Nabokov, merged with Nabokov, and dominated by Nabokov, invest the authorial role in the frame of the creation. The piano spatially dissects the action of the painting - the viewer and his shadow - and undermines the painting's autonomy by investing in it all of the motivations, achievements and implications of the music. The piano/butterfly also alludes to another of Nabokov's recurring symbols: natural and artificial light. Nabokov has used electric light to represent fate/authorial omnipotence (i.e. Lolita; "The Return of Chorb") and natural light to represent creative blossoming or creativity (i.e. The Gift; Connolly, 212). In both cases, the underpinning ideology can be summed up as a divide or union between an interior and an exterior. It follows naturally, then, that an electric light must cue for either the two 'A' sections or the 'B' section - either for the inside or the outside, the self or the other. I chose to cue the electric light for the 'B' section in order to convey that life in aversion to reality is an inevitable disaster; the exterior always penetrates the interior. If the electric light were to be taken as a symbol of creativity, then perhaps an alternate interpretation would suffice: After all the stages of becoming, where does the art reside? - It resides in the shadows, of course.
I hope that this digression has been helpful, but it is important to note that the above mentioned points are by no means all encompassing or even genuinely 'fixed.' The piece is interpretive and aesthetic at heart, and if, after all of the theory, it cannot incite genuine emotion and engagement with the viewer, it has failed.
