On Looking at the Work Done

“I find it an impossible book: I consider it badly written, ponderous, embarrassing, image-mad and image-confused, sentimental, in places saccharine to the point of effeminacy, uneven in tempo, without the will to logical cleanliness, very convinced and therefore disdainful of proof, mistrustful even of the propriety of proof, a book for initiates, "music" for those dedicated to music, those who are closely related to begin with on the basis of common and rare aesthetic experiences, "music" meant as a sign of recognition for close relatives in arbitus [In the arts]–an arrogant and rhapsodic book that ought to exclude right from the beginning the profanum vulgus [The profane crowd] of "the educated" even more than "the mass" or "folk,"” wrote Nietzsche in regards to his book “The Birth of Tragedy.”

But despite his accusations and reservations Nietzsche found value in his book because he trusted the intent and the merits of its subject (the history of Greek tragedy and the psychological/philosophical distinction between the Dionysian and Apollonian spirits), and also because Nietzsche had an ability (coming from clarity, arrogance or both) to see his own personal enterprise in a historical perspective: “this audacious book dared to tackle for the first time: to look at science in the perspective of the artist, but at art in that of life.”

For two years my studio has been working on a series of books documenting the work I have done since my days as an apprentice. It is not a work for publication. Nonetheless, seeing it in the world, even in its limited visibility, makes me consider the value of much of what I have done, and in turn, much of what I am doing. Looking at these books I have feelings not unlike the ones Nietzsche had in regards to “The Birth of Tragedy,” with the exception of his conviction of the work’s importance.

There is one argument the books make very convincingly: some things won’t be again.