Since the 1950s, there has been an active production of experimental film, animation, and video art in Asia. Yet, much of this work has not been consistently conserved or shared with the public due to the lack of accessible archives or organized collections dedicated to its preservation and dissemination.

The conference “The Archival Impulse: Collecting and Conserving the Moving Image in Asia” took place on September 10, 2015 in the The Celeste Bartos Theater at the Museum of Modern Art. Co-organized by Asia Art Archive in America, Collaborative Cataloging Japan, and MoMA’s Contemporary and Modern Art Perspectives (C-MAP), it brought together archiving initiatives that have emerged in recent years across Asia, presenting an opportunity to rethink and share methods, philosophies, and challenges to archiving moving image and time-based media works. The event is divided into three panels.

In the first panel Developing Collections, Hiroko Tasaka, Farah Wardani, Fang Lu, and moderator Stuart Comer introduce collection strategies and compare archiving techniques at their respective organizations in Japan, Singapore, China, and New York. Keeping in mind the different regional contexts, the panel will explore the following issues: What was the impetus behind the development of these collections? What are the urgencies to which these collections respond? How do these collections expand upon existing art historical narratives? Complicating these questions is the complex nature of moving image and media works, which often blurs the boundary between disciplines and requires ongoing reevaluation of the organizational categories within institutions. Hiroko Tasaka introduces the collecting practice at the Tokyo Metropolitan Museum of Photography, covering 19th century film and film production, film history of Japan and Asia, and international artists of today. Recognizing the discontinuities and missing links in the field of Southeast Asian art historiography, Farah Wardani discusses the collection strategies taken at the National Gallery Singapore Resource Centre, where she serves as Assistant Director. Fang Lu talks about how Video Bureau, an artist-run video archive founded in 2012, structures the archival process, and how this project is situated in the Chinese contemporary art world.

Archiving is never just about collecting and safeguarding materials; it is also about how to share and circulate these materials, and bring them into a rhizomatic network of knowledge. With the rise of digital modes of access, archiving initiatives are faced with a plentitude of possibilities, as well as new challenges, such as the privatization and commodification of information. In the second panel, Opening the Digital Vault, archivists Sen Uesaki, David Smith, Alf Chang, and moderator Ben Fino-Radin explore the transition from a static physical archive to a digital infrastructure that is open, nonlinear, web-like, and constantly evolving. They will also share their experience in emerging technologies, examining different ways to effectively digest, preserve, and distribute media works in the digital age. Taking a cue from the discussions on collecting practices in the first panel, Sen Uesaki reexamines the physical and digital natures of archival and artistic material by questioning its physical existence in the first place, exploring its function as information. David Smith discusses Asia Art Archive’s digital presence and the motivations behind its current restructuring efforts, looking at the relationship between the archivist, the collections, and the public. Alf Chang will introduce the history and archive of ETAT, an ongoing experiment started from 1995 to create an autonomous platform for sharing, interaction, and preservation.

In the third panel, Transforming Stories, Mariam Ghani, Go Hirasawa, Huang Chien-Hung, and moderator Jane DeBevoise discuss research projects that develop out of archival materials. Pointing to diverse sources of information, from personal archives to commercial and state-sponsored media production, these projects represent efforts to expand and add nuance to ways of thinking about history, politics, and collective memory. Mariam Ghani will present What we left unfinished, a long-term research, film, and dialogue project centered around five unfinished films commissioned, produced, and canceled by various iterations of the Afghan state. Go Hirasawa introduces his research, preservation, and curatorial projects focusing on two Japanese filmmakers—Masao Adachi and Motoharu Jonouchi—in order to examine how established narratives about certain works or artists may be reconsidered and reconstructed. Huang Chien-Hung presents Liu Asio’s documentary project that traces the life of an anti-communist hero, proposing a possibility to think of a topological Asia, an Asia not based on geography, nations, or races, but on interrelations between events, media, persons and the production of images.

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Graphic scores visibly and sonically changed contemporary music in the late 1950s and ’60s. The new notation unleashed a torrent of fundamental questions about music, sound, and composition: What counts as music? What distinguishes musical sound from non-musical sound? What is the time of music, and can there be alternatives to industrial clock-time? What assumptions about performance and skill underlie formal musical training? As Akiyama Kuniharu and Ichiyangi Toshi brought their knowledge of music and graphics from their experiences in Germany and the United States to Japan between 1959 and 1961, excitement surrounding graphic notation and its aesthetic possibilities spread rapidly among experimental composers, critics, and composers working around Tokyo. This annotated bibliography presents a selection of essays and articles about the new notational forms. Some, like Donald Richie, wrote scathing criticisms of the scores and performances linked to the aesthetics of chance and indeterminacy. Others, like Takahashi Yuji, questioned the motivation for using graphic notation: is it employed merely as a utilitarian tool for making writing easier, or is it viewed as the basis of a new aesthetic?

Two exhibitions presenting graphic scores in Tokyo in 1962 and the surrounding discourse attest to the high level of interest generated by the new form not only among musicians, but also among artists and designers. In about 1962 the critic Akiyama began using the term “graphic scores” to refer to the scores that used graphic notation. This reflects a profound change in the concept of the score itself, first as a combination of musical practice and graphic design using new forms of notation, and then as a hybrid object that stands on its own, potentially even independently of music and performance.

After the early 1960s, many of the pioneers of graphic scores returned to traditional notation, while others stopped writing scores in favor of instructions or embraced free improvisation. It’s difficult to say why the popularity of the form was so short-lived. One way to approach the question is to return to the conversations that took place in the early 1960s. Another is to turn to composers and performers working today and ask about their relationship to scores and notation. How might scores operate with a new, contemporary significance in tandem with the abundance of recorded sound available online today?

Source contents

Of Theory, the Aleatoric, and Space
by Nam June Paik, December 1959

Paik discusses recent developments in music theory and composition, notably the use of chance operations and indeterminacy in the music of John Cage, Morton Feldman, and Christian Wolff. The essay is by a young Paik, still deeply immersed in the study of contemporary Western classical music and the debates that surround it. Includes excerpts of graphic scores by Cage, Feldman, and Earle Brown.

Publication: 「セリー・偶然・空間など」  Ongaku Geijutsu 17(13), 82−101
Language: Japanese

Notation and Graphism: New Tendencies in Modern European Music
by Akiyama Kuniharu, March 15, 1960

Akiyama writes about his encounter with graphic notation during his European travels from August to October 1959. He is particularly impressed by the idea of notation and musical graphics as representations of “moving forms” in Stockhausen’s music. He reports that the European experiments with graphic notation are tied to efforts to conceptualize “new senses of time and space.”

Publication: 「記譜とグラフィズムーーヨーロッパ現代音楽の新傾向」 The Yomiuri Shimbun
Language: Japanese

New Directions in Sound and Image (Round Table) 1
by Akiyama Kuniharu, May 1960

In conversation with the artist Yamaguchi Katsuhiro, musician and critic Akiyama Kuniharu discusses his recent trip to Paris and Germany, commenting on the state of contemporary music (particularly musique concrète and electronic music) and the music festival circuits in Germany. Yamaguchi draws Akiyama out on the subject of Moving Forms, a new approach to composition that he encountered at the Domaine Musical concerts in Paris. Akiyama explains that among the composers featured in Domaine Musical, the aim of music composition is shifting from forming melodies and harmony by arranging a succession of pitches to creating acoustic space and time through movement. In the second half of the interview, Akiyama speaks with great excitement about his encounter with the new graphic notation used by composers such as Karlheinz Stockhausen, Luciano Berio, and Sylvano Bussotti, among others. Contains images of graphic scores by Stockhausen, Berio, and Bussotti.

Publication: 「音と形のあたらしい展望(対談)-1-」 Bijutsu Techo 173, 69–79
Language: Japanese

New Directions in Sound and Image (Round Table) 2
by Akiyama Kuniharu, June 1960

Part two of the conversation between Akiyama and Yamaguchi takes up the topic of new entanglements of sound and image, with a focus on jazz and action painting. Yamaguchi opens the conversation with the statement “I think abstract art and electronic music are related in the sense that they are both deeply invested in rationalism.” This is followed by a discussion of the relationship of rationalism, anti-rationalism, indeterminacy, and improvisation in music and painting. Akiyama notes a concentration of new and exciting electronic music coming out of Poland: “I am fascinated by the search for a new musical language in Poland in the midst of building a new social state, and a new society.” Contains images of graphic scores and notation by Stockhausen, Boulez, and Cage.

Publication: 「音と形のあたらしい展望(対談)-2-」 Bijutsu Techo 174, 62−75
Language: Japanese

Toward a New Approach to Time and Space 1
by Akiyama Kuniharu, March 1960

Part one of a report following Akiyama’s trip to Europe and his encounter with the idea of Music and Graphics (Musik und Graphik) during a five-part talk on the subject by Karlheinz Stockhausen.

Publication: 「音楽の新しい時間と空間への試み I 」 SAC, no. 1, n.p.
Language: Japanese

Toward a New Approach to Time and Space 2
by Akiyama Kuniharu, April 1960

Part two of a report following Akiyama’s trip to Europe. Akiyama writes about Musikalische Graphik, an exhibition of graphic scores held at the Donaueschingen Music Festival, along with performances of graphic score pieces by Roman Haubenstock-Ramati and Sylvano Bussotti, conducted by Pierre Boulez. These new notational forms, he argues, are attempts by young avant-garde artists to create a new sense of time and space through the intersection of music and graphics. Illustrations include photographs of a rehearsal in Cologne and an excerpt of Bussotti’s score.

Publication: 「音楽の新しい時間と空間への試み II」 SAC, no. 2, n.p.
Language: Japanese

John Cage
by Ichiyanagi Toshi, February 1961

An introduction to the music and thought of John Cage, focusing on his work since the late 1950s and exploring concepts such as indeterminacy, chance, natural sounds, and the musical approach to silence. Also includes a discussion of graphic notation and instruction-based scores.

Publication: 「ジョン・ケージ」 The Ongaku-Geijutsu 19(2) , 10−16
Language: Japanese

Music of Chance
by Ichiyanagi Toshi, October 1961, 48−50

Ichiyanagi introduces readers to chance operations in his own music and in the music of others, including Morton Feldman, Richard Maxfield, and Sylvano Bussotti. He credits John Cage with establishing chance operations as a compositional method. Cage’s method is groundbreaking, he writes, because the music of chance begins with the premise that “beauty happens in all sounds that occur in the environment.” Illustrations include images of scores by Cage and Ichiyanagi.

Publication: 「偶然の音楽」 Geijutsu Shincho 12(10)
Language: Japanese

Design (A Proposal for New Scores)—From This Year’s JAAC Exhibition
by Akiyama Kuniharu, October 25, 1961

Akiyama writes about an experiment undertaken at the Nissenbi (Japan Advertising Artists Club) exhibition of 1961, where designers rather than composers presented visual proposals for making musical notation suitable for contemporary musical sensibilities.

Publication: 「デザイン〈新しい楽譜のための提案〉——ことしの日宣美展から」 SAC Journal, no. 19, n.p.
Language: Japanese

Design (A Proposal for New Scores)—From This Year’s JAAC Exhibition
by Akiyama Kuniharu, December 8, 1961

In his review of Ichiyanagi’s concert at the Sogetsu Art Center on November 30, 1961, Akiyama writes for the general public about the new graphic notation. “There is the sense that music is an aestheticized form that is incapable of violently attacking people.” With this statement, he implies that the new music might possess the capacity for violence. Another idea to ponder: “The ‘work’ does not exist a priori [before performance].” Includes an image of Ichiyanagi’s graphic score for “Stanzas” and a description of his piece “IBM.”

Publication: 「現代音楽の自由と冒険　一柳慧の作品発表会をきいて」 Yomiuri Shimbun, Evening edition, 7
Language: Japanese

Nature and Music
by Ichiyanagi Toshi, February 1962

Part one of a three-part series. Writing about the ecology of everyday sounds in the city, Ichiyanagi opens with Cage’s questions: “Is music just sound?” and “Is the sound of a truck passing also music?” Arguing that traditional notation (using a five-line staff and notes) privileges the authority of the composer while de-emphasizing the natural environment, the essay follows the trajectory of European and American composers such as Varèse and Cage, who “reintroduced” into music the material and acoustic reality of sound.

Publication: 「自然と音楽」 Ongaku-Geijutsu 20(2), 6−9
Language: Japanese

The Meaning of Changing Signs: Looking at Graphic Scores
by Takiguchi Shuzo, March 1962

Beginning with descriptions of graphic scores realized as collaborations between composers and designers (Takahashi Yuji and Wada Makoto; Takemitsu Toru and Sugiura Kohei), and of a then-rare example of musical performance in an art gallery (Group Ongaku at an exhibition of paintings by Hiraoka Hiroko), Akiyama proceeds with a discussion of new undertakings by composers, performers, and designers working together on the creation and performance of graphic scores. He writes of concerns shared by composers Pierre Boulez and John Cage: “Problematizing the idea of chance, [the new graphic scores] afford performers a certain freedom of choice, and a site of possibilities.” On an optimistic note, Akiyama concludes: “If putting signs in a white space means producing a new acoustic space, what a free painting that is.” Illustrations include part of Takemitsu Toru’s score for “Corona for Pianists.”

Publication: 「記号変革の意味——グラフィズムの楽譜をみて」 Yomiuri Shinbun, Evening edition, 7
Language: Japanese

Nature and Music 2
by Ichiyanagi Toshi, March 1962

In part two of a three-part series of essays, Ichiyanagi discusses his own graphic scores as well as scores by John Cage, Matsudaira Yoriaki, Takahashi Yuji, Yuasa Joji, and Takemitsu Toru. Ichiyanagi argues that this new form of notation places a premium on process and experience (the “natural way of music,” as he puts it) rather than on the inscribed score as the final product by the composer as author. Includes images of scores by Ichiyanagi, Cage, Matsudaira, Takahashi, Yuasa, and Takemitsu.

Publication: 「自然と音楽 2」 Ongaku-Geijutsu 20(3), 14−19, 47
Language: Japanese

Corona for Strings II
by Takemitsu Toru & Sugiura Kohei, April 1962

Devoted to the theme “Contemporary Image,” this issue of the journal Bjutsu Techo includes a graphic score co-created by composer Takemitsu Toru and graphic designer Sugiura Kohei. The reproduction is notable in that it is a facsimile copy of the score rather than a partial or reduced illustration.

Publication: 「弦楽のためのコロナ II」 Bijutsu Techo 203, 34−41
Language: Japanese

Nature and Music 3
by Ichiyanagi Toshi, May 1962

In the final part of a three-part series of essays, Ichiyanagi focuses on the notion of time in contemporary music. Asking what kinds of time besides clock-time are possible, he writes about the endeavors of musicians such as John Cage, Yoko Ono, Tone Yasunao, Takehisa Kosugi, and LaMonte Young, who are seeking new conceptions of time through practices involving graphic notation, chance, and indeterminacy. At the end of the article, an announcement of an exhibition of graphic scores at the Tokyo Gallery includes a list of works by the four featured composers. Includes illustrations of scores by Cage and Tone, respectively, and installation views of works by Yoko Ono and Gruppo T.

Publication: 「自然と音楽 3」 Ongaku-Geijutsu 20(5), 23−27
Language: Japanese

Exhibition of 4 Graphic Composers
by Akiyama Kuniharu, May 1962

Setting aside his customary enthusiasm, Akiyama pans the exhibition of graphic scores at Tokyo Gallery (4 Composers—Exhibition of Graphic Scores). He describes the exhibition as hedonistic and opportunistic, overly focused on visual prettiness and spectacle (“Real live tadpoles! Toys hanging on strings!”), and missing the opportunity to engage with the new creative possibilities afforded by graphic scores.

Publication: 「4人のグラフィック楽譜展」 SAC 24, n.p.
Language: Japanese

From the Exhibition of Four Composers—An Adventure in Signs of Sound and Vision

by Akiyama Kuniharu, June 1962

A reflection on the exhibition 4 Composers—Exhibition of Graphic Scores at Tokyo Gallery featuring images of scores by Ichiyanagi Toshi, Mayuzumi Toshiro, Takemitsu Toru, and Takahashi Yuji, and accompanied by brief explanations of how to interpret the works. One of the illustrations includes guitarist Ibe Harumi playing Mayuzumi’s “Tadpole Music.” Adopting a more positive tone than the one he used in his review of the same exhibition, published in the May issue of the SAC Journal (see above), Akiyama discusses the profound significance of graphic scores for new ways of thinking about music. However, he reiterates his desire for the show’s four composers to translate these new concepts into audible musical results rather than fixating on the heightened visual interest in the scores.

Publication: 「『4人の作曲』展より　音と視覚の記号の冒険」 Bijutsu Techo 205, 39−43
Language: Japanese

Tripping up at the Front Lines: Yoko Ono’s Avant-Garde Show
by Donald Richie, July 1962

In this essay Donald Richie, working in Japan as a filmmaker and active participant in the experimental arts scene, launches a vitriolic attack against Yoko Ono’s concert at the Sogetsu Art Center. Richie accuses Ono of lacking originality and stealing from the work of others. The program consisted of pieces performed using instruction-based scores that challenged conventional ideas about music, originality, and aesthetic judgment.

Publication: 「つまづいた最前線——小野洋子の前衛ショー」 Geijutsu Shincho 13(7)
Language: Japanese

A Voice from the Front Line: A Response to Donald Richie
by Ichiyanagi Toshi, August 1962

In an eloquent response to Donald Richie’s harsh critique of Yoko Ono’s concert at the Sogetsu Art Center (see above), Ichiyanagi defends Ono and explains her position within the international avant-garde, citing established artists such as John Cage and Morton Feldman, who have expressed admiration for her work, and noting her recent invitations to participate in concerts and exhibitions in Europe and the U.S. Ichiyanagi describes the contributions her work has made to current conversations about temporality and the roles of the audience, performer, and composer in avant-garde and experimental music.

Publication: 「最前衛の声—ドナルド・リチイへの反論」 Geijutsu Shincho 13(8), 60−61
Language: Japanese

Seeing Music
by Sugiura Kohei, August 1962

Writing from the perspective of a designer, Sugiura regards his contributions to the creation of Takemitsu’s “Corona for Pianists” and “Corona for Strings II” as visual solutions to the composer’s ideas. For Sugiura, it doesn’t matter if the result is called a “score”; what is important is that the result be seen and handled by the interpreter, who may produce one of many possible orderly systems based on the object. The ideal design, he writes, is “a site that allows a person to explore freely the possibilities of self-expression.”

Publication:「見る音楽」 Geijutsu Shincho 13(8), 112−113
Language: Japanese

I Am Tired of Avant-Garde Art
by Hariu Ichiro, August 1962

Revisiting a panel on “The Present and Future of the Avant-Garde” moderated by the critic Hariu Ichiro, the article begins with excerpts from starkly contrasting statements by Yoko Ono and Takahashi Yuji about the current avant-garde. Other panel participants include composer Ichiyanagi Toshi and members of the Neo-Dada group. Noting the proliferation of conflicting statements about the avant-garde, Hariu expresses doubts about the usefulness of “avant-garde” as a label as well as about the role that avant-garde art plays in contemporary society. Includes images of performances by Ichiyanagi at the 4 Composers exhibition at the Tokyo Gallery, including “Tadpole Music” by Mayuzumi and works by Shinohara Ushio, Kikuhata Mokuma, Yoshimura Masunobu, and installation views of the Yomiuri Independent exhibition.

Publication:「前衛芸術に疲れました」 Geijutsu Shincho 13(8), 148−153
Language: Japanese

Announcement for Exhibition of WGS: Body text—”An exhibition of more than 100 new works by John Cage and more than 40 composers from around the world”
November 1962

A newspaper announcement for the Exhibition of World Graphic Scores. A clipping of the announcement, along with a fragment of a news page dated November 19, 1962, was inserted into the notebook in which Akiyama Kuniharu laid out the plans for this exhibition.

Publication:本文より「ジョン・ケージら世界各国の作曲家40数名の新作百数十件の展示」 Shukan Shincho, 18
Language: Japanese

An Exhibition of World Graphic Scores—A Return to Zero
By Yano Junichi, November 25, 1962

In a review of the Exhibition of World Graphic Scores, Yano Junichi celebrates the event for bringing together works by important figures in experimental music from Japan and around the world. Comparing the new form of notation to work by action painters, Yano writes that graphic notation allows composers to “return to primary sensations” and access the nature of sound itself.

Publication:「世界の新しい楽譜展——ゼロへの回帰」 SAC Journal, no. 27, n.p.
Language: Japanese

Round Table: An Inquiry into Graphic Scores—Around Recently Performed Works
By Ichiyanagi Toshi, Kobayashi Kenji, Kumagai Hiroshi, Takahashi Yuji, Yamaguchi Koichi, Akiyama Kuniharu July 1963

Performers, composers, and critics participating in the roundtable discussion address the significance of recently performed works that employ graphic notation. Violinist Kobayashi speaks of practical issues surrounding performance, while Takahashi wonders about the aesthetic and philosophical significance of graphic notation for the new music of chance and indeterminacy. They discuss pieces performed on July 3, 1963, at the Sogetsu Art Center (Sogetsu Contemporary Series 21, New Direction ensemble, second concert), including “Phrase à Trois,” by Sylvano Bussotti, “Zyklus,” by Stockhausen, “Drip Music,” by George Brecht, and “Sapporo” by Ichiyanagi Toshi.

Publication:「座談会 図形楽譜の問題——今回の作品を中心に」 SAC Journal, no. 32, n.p.
Language: Japanese

New Direction’s Second Concert, Or, A Critical Reflection on Graphic Scores
By Tone Yasunao, September 1963

Reviewing the July 3, 1963, concert by the New Direction ensemble (see above), Tone suggests that graphic scores such as Sylvano Bussotti’s, which depends on expert performers like David Tudor, harbor regressive tendencies. He contrasts this with Ichiyanagi’s “Sapporo,” which he praises for employing minimal signage and privileging actions by performers engaged in forms of creativity that are not centered on self-expression.

Publication:「ニューディレクション第２回演奏会または図形楽譜への反省」 Ongaku Geijutsu, *in Kagayake, p. 284
Language: Japanese

An Unusual Exhibition
By Hariu Ichiro, April 1974

Reviewing the July 3, 1963, concert by the New Direction ensemble (see above), Tone suggests that graphic scores such as Sylvano Bussotti’s, which depends on expert performers like David Tudor, harbor regressive tendencies. He contrasts this with Ichiyanagi’s “Sapporo,” which he praises for employing minimal signage and privileging actions by performers engaged in forms of creativity that are not centered on self-expression.

Publication:「異色の展覧会」 Geijutsu Seikatsu 296 , 148−149
Language: Japanese

The post Moving Forms: Writings on Graphic Notation appeared first on post.

問題設定──ポスターと出来事

唐十郎さんデザインが遅くれたことをお許し下さい。［原文ママ］ ──横尾忠則（1967年）

まず問題なのは、見たところ、私的な書き込み［碑文 inscription］である。アーカイヴへの帰属に関わる最初の問いの題名［title］は、こうである──何のアーカイヴなのか。 ──ジャック・デリダ『アーカイヴの病──フロイトの印象』（1995年）

画面右下にデザイナーからクライアントへのお詫びの一文（私的な書き込み）が印字された、劇団状況劇場の第九回お詫び興行〈唐十郎の『ジョン・シルバー』──新宿恋しや夜泣き篇〉（旧草月会館ホール、1967年5月22–25日）のポスターは、「公演当日の午前中に出来上がり、これはまったくポスターの機能という点では逸脱したものだった¹」四辺を黒い外枠と、原寸大の花札（それぞれが黒い外枠を持ち、桐の札にはそのまま「有權（福）商標」「任天堂」「別製張貫」といった文字列が見られる）の羅列で二重に縁取られた画面の中央には、背後から昇る白い月に照らされ、島田髷の重さに俯く、濃灰色の裸婦の影。横尾忠則がデザインを手掛けたこのB1（103×72.8cm）のポスターが、四日間の公演のどのタイミングで納品、掲示に至ったのかはともかく、当時ある小劇団のある公演のために用意されたポスターとしては例外的に大判だったというこの印刷物は、要するに、それが事前に告げようとしていた催事＝出来事には間に合わなかった。 　　

さて、このような類いの逸話には事欠かない横尾という存在について、いままで私たちはどう向き合ってきたのか。横尾について書かれた数多の記述群が織り成す言説空間を覗くと、そこはとにかく賛辞で溢れ返っている。それらの記述群の大半が、この天才に関するいくつかの逸話を束ねた上で、彼をどう褒めるか、どう讃えるかという手続きに終始しているということである。同時代の書き手の多くは横尾との私的なエピソードを綴り、褒め讃え、暫くすると、誰がどのように横尾を褒め讃えたのかということが、後続の書き手によって新たに逸話の束へと取り込まれる。そうやって横尾論の空間は、横尾のポスターの画面が持つ入れ籠状の様態との間にアナロジーを結んでいる。 　　

いずれにしても横尾は、上述の事例（彼の謝罪が記された場所）を挙げ、「ポスターの機能」とその「逸脱」について語った。先ずはこの「記載の場所」への注視を促し、そのような観測地点に本稿の居を定めよう。アーカイヴと呼ばれるこの観測地点には、記載の場所とその「外」とを同時に見渡せる立地が望ましい（この観測地点からは、シルクスクリーンのポスターが持つあの繊細な肌理までは目視できないにせよ）。「だが、実のところ見るものにとって、これらがポスターか否かということは、あまり関係がないのではないか²」そうかもしれない。しかし、横尾の手掛けたポスター群の到達点が、ポスターの基本的機能やポスター本来の目的といった尺度から逸脱した場所、あるいはそういった尺度とは無関係な場所にあるという見解──誰もが容易に同意しかねないこのような見解に私たちの思考が委ねられた途端、横尾を天才たらしめているこのポスターという媒体自体についての問いの練り上げは、当然のことながら疎かになる。横尾の仕事に限らず、ポスターは例外なく、ポスターの基本的機能やポスター本来の目的といった虚ろな尺度との距離の取り方の匙加減として具体化されているのであって、それらがポスター状の印刷物である限りにおいて、それらの「ポスターの機能」からの逸脱は現実にはあり得ない。横尾のこれらの仕事が、過去の特定の出来事の到来を告げるポスターであったこと、そしていまもなお、ポスターであり続けること（然るべき告知内容を告知し続けていること）、このような事実を棚上げにすることの利点は、私たちの観測地点においては、そもそも定かではないのである。横尾のポスター群が持つ、まるで酉の市の露店に並ぶ縁起熊手のような賑々しさも、三島由紀夫が指摘した「明るい色彩に包まれたやりきれない暗さ³」も、デザイナーの表現と芸術家の表現を不当に隔てているあの偽の閾も、亀倉雄策が横尾を「自身の鋳型の中の天才⁴」と呼んだ理由も……全てはポスターという印刷物に印刷された問題である。では、ポスターとは何か。

『横尾忠則グラフィック大全』（講談社、1989年）、『横尾忠則の全ポスター』（誠文堂新光社、1995年）、『横尾忠則全ポスター』（国書刊行会、2010年）……「全」という語を書名に用いて網羅性を標榜するこれら浩瀚なカタログの各頁に、横尾の仕事が枚挙される。横尾を扱う書物の表紙を横尾自身が手掛けることも多く、カタログもまた、しばしば入れ籠状に仕上げられている。これらのカタログは横尾の仕事を年代順に一覧化し、各頁の表面には横尾のポスター群が刷り直される。とはいえ、それらのポスター群は各々の固有の紙＝皮膚に直に刷り直されるわけではない。それらはカタログの各頁の内容（図版）として縮小されており、各頁への割付け［地取り、配置、入棺の準備 layout］のプロセスを経た後、個々の実体としてのポスターを個別に支えている紙（個々のポスターが持つ固有の皮膚）よりも新しい、しかし他者のものである皮膚の表面に、他者の印刷の肌理に沿って埋め込まれている──オフセット、つまり版と紙とが直に触れ合わないことを特徴とする印刷技術の非臨床性を、それとなく模倣しつつ。また、カタログの各頁に垣間見られる余白、ポスター（の図版）によって占められていないこの場所は、ポスター（の図版）にとっての「外」である。そこには、各々が何のポスターなのかという説明が書き込まれており、この記載は慣例的に「シルクスクリーン、紙」あるいは「オフセット、紙」といった表記や寸法の表記を伴う。カタログの各頁に残されたこの余白は、各頁の内容＝関心の対象（の集合）それ自体ではなく、その周辺であり、外部であり、そうであるにも拘わらず、各頁の内容と同じ皮膚を持つ。余白は当然、そのまま残される。小さく刷り直されたポスター（の図版）の周囲は裁ち落とされない。この余白が、本稿がその観測地点から目視している第二の「記載の場所」である。そして、各頁の内容と一緒に何度か印刷機を通ったこの余白の肌理こそが、アーカイヴの肌理である。 　　

この余白、この外部は、写真の中のアンドレ・マルローが彼の獲物（の写真図版）を敷き詰めて悦に入っている、あの居間の床面によっても説明されうる。写真の被写体としての写真群を、写真の中で下から支える、あの非臨床性の床面である。ところで、〈唐十郎の『ジョン・シルバー』〉の版下が準備されるプロセスにおいて、横尾は「本物の花札を貼って原稿を作りそれをベニア板に乗せて印刷所に運んだという⁵」横尾による印刷物としての花札の扱いがただ原寸大というだけでなく、実物を直に版にしていたということを確認した上で、「ポスターとは何か」という問いの場所に戻ろう。

端的に言って、ポスターとは兆しであり、先触れであり、約束である。いま、それらがアーカイヴの肌理に沿って、かつて各々が告げようとした（そしていまもなお告げようとし続けている）催事＝出来事の証人たちとして呼び戻されている。しかし実のところ、これらの印刷物は、 各々が待ち設ける出来事を事前に告知するために、それぞれの出来事に先だって印刷されていたことを忘れてはならない。出来事の先触れ＝伝令としての彼らは、アーカイヴの中では最も証人らしい顔つきをしているが、「実現されたこと」には一切触れず、ひたすら「目論まれたこと」のみを証言する（中には「粉砕」され、実現されなかった催事のポスターも含まれているが、だからといって彼らが嘘の証言をしているのではないことは明白である）。証人たちは饒舌であり、彼らを徴として回顧されうる過去の出来事、彼らが一足早く待ち設けた出来事がその後どのように実現されたのかについては何も知らされないまま、いまもなお彼らの眼前の未来を追憶し続けている。先触れ＝伝令としてのこれら証人たちは、それぞれの出来事の顛末を知ることのできた他の証人たち、つまり記録写真や音源、映像よりも、むしろ出来事全体との直接的な関係を持つ。それは過去の出来事のリアリティが、目論まれたことと実現されたことの間の振幅の中にあるのではなく、未来を追憶する者と過去を予測する者との二重の期待の中に、二重に志向されているからである。「横尾さんが出てきて、みんなが煽られたんだね。B全じゃないと勝負にならないとか。（中略）この頃というのはポスターの方から芝居に影響を与えるということが十分あり得たよね。たとえば『ジョン・シルバー』の後の芝居は前のポスターに刺激されて変わるということがあったと思う⁶」

問題の再設定とヤレ（破紙）の比喩

到来とは出来事の約束である。 ──モーリス・メルロ＝ポンティ「間接的言語と沈黙の声」（1952年）

アーカイヴ技術は印刷の形式や構造ばかりでなく、印象＝印刷の印刷される内容を条件づける。それは、印刷されるものと印刷するものの間の分割以前の、印刷［impression］の圧力［pression］である。このアーカイヴ技術は、まさに過去において、未来の先取りとして創設し構成していたどんなものをも支配してきたのである。 ──デリダ『アーカイヴの病』

「精神分析は、痕［印刷されたもの］と印刷機械の比喩を、たまたま特権化しているのではない⁷」とデリダは言う。印刷物［印刷された問題 printed matter］のアーカイヴは私たちの関心の対象（の集合）に常に隣接しているが、対象そのものでも、対象の伸び代でもない。アーカイヴは常に、関心の対象にとっての「外」である。どこまでが芸術で、どこまでがデザインなのか──例えばこのような偽の分割線を尻目に「ポスターとは何か」という問いの練り上げを始めた私たちは、どこからがアーカイヴなのかを示す分割線をすでに何度か引き直している。つまりアーカイヴは、観測者が「外」を穿つ度に幾重にも層状に引かれうる分割線群の、その度毎の外側に居を定めるのである。横尾のカタログの各頁に残された余白の肌理が「アーカイヴ」の肌理と呼ばれる一方で、そのような肌理を目視している本稿の観測地点もまた「アーカイヴ」と呼ばれるのはそのためである。アーカイヴは、自らを指し示す概念の外側で、具体的な対象の集合［外延 extension］として事例を枚挙する以外の一切の規定を拒絶しておきながら、結局そのように枚挙された事例群を一望するための自らの場所を、常に「外」に要請するのである。本稿の観測地点をその眺望に含む、一歩退いた場所に観測地点を設ける（転地する）ならば、その場所はやはり、取りも直さず「アーカイヴ」と呼ばれる。アーカイヴ化のプロセスは常に内容（の集合）に対して特定の観測地点として準備されるが、そのような観測地点は次第に、ある種の容器として対象化されてしまう。そうやってアーカイヴは、/アーカイヴ/アーカイヴ/////……と多層化していくのである。

ある年譜によると、1955年に地元の兵庫県立西脇高等学校を卒業した横尾は武蔵野美術大学油絵学科への進学を志し、受験のため一度上京するが、「老いた両親を思い」進学を断念し帰郷する。数カ月後、〈織物祭〉（西脇市、1955年5月7–8日）のポスター入選、採用を機に、横尾は加古川市のとある印刷所に就職する（半年で解雇）。この印刷所で横尾は、印刷技術の中でもとりわけ、「ヤレ（破紙）」に興味を持ったという⁸。 　　印刷技術のサイクルから、試刷のプロセスなどでクライアントに納品すべき印刷物としては除外となった紙が撥ねられる。すでに印刷機を何度か通過したその紙は「ヤレ」と呼ばれ、リサイクルのために蓄積されていく。一方「ヤレ通し」と呼ばれるプロセスは、新たにセットされた版と共に印刷機そのものを調整するためのプロセスであり、このプロセスにおいて用いられるヤレの存在は、印刷されるものと印刷するものの間の分割の手続きとして差し込まれる「/」そのものである。印刷物になり損ねたヤレの再利用は、単に経済的な理由からだけではない。印刷するものを印刷に備えさせるためには、すでに印刷されるものの役割を何度か担い、印刷するものとの物理的な接触を果たしているヤレの肌理が必要となるのである。そして、そのような「ヤレ通し」の結果として、ヤレの表面にはその都度、印刷技術としての重ね刷りとは無関係に、半ば予期せぬ重ね刷りが生じる。 　　ヤレの表面で起きているのは意図されざる錯雑である。横尾の興味を惹いたこの（そして、これらの）ヤレの表面が持つ、複数の異なる全体に帰属していた（あるいは帰属し損ねた）複数の肌理の過剰な重なり合いを、横尾の特定の印刷物へと重ね合わせるつもりはない。ヤレは本稿における第三の「記載の場所」にはなりえないのである。ヤレの表面で起きている錯雑は、目論まれた版の重なり合いとは断じて異質のものである。ヤレの肌理の多重性は圧倒的であると同時に身も蓋もなく、「ヤレ通し」の繰り返しの先にあるのは脱分化に他ならない。むしろこのヤレの比喩は、私たちが横尾の仕事について特定の画面を選ばずに（外部を設定せずに）、つまりアーカイヴを欠いて褒め讃えるときの、あの言説空間の錯雑に向けられる。

最後にもう一度特定のポスターを、特定の出来事を扱っておこう。草月アートセンターと雑誌『デザイン批評』（風土社）の共催による連続シンポジウム〈EXPOSE 1968──なにかいってくれ、いまさがす〉の第一回「変わった? 何が（現代の変身）」（旧草月会館ホール、1968年4月10日）の一幕として、一柳慧、黒川紀章そして横尾の三名が構成を担当した〈サイコ・デリシャス〉の導入部は、「言葉を信じないから発言しない⁹」という彼らの態度表明によって、結局始められずに終わりを迎えたという。そのとき、旧草月会館ホールの舞台の背景（ホリゾント）には、上述の作曲家、建築家そしてグラフィック・デザイナーの肖像写真を用いた三種のポスターが隙間無く張り巡らされていた。

ただし、いまここに呼び戻されているこれらの証人たちは、彼らが関係を結んでいる出来事については何も証言しない。公的な告知内容であれ私的な書き込みであれ、彼ら固有の記載の場所には、何ら情報が記されていないのである¹⁰。何かのポスターであることも含めた一切について口をつぐんだまま、自らが待ち設けた出来事との間にパフォーマティヴな関係を結ぶこれらの証人たち──記録写真の中で、被写体として自らを反復し、記録写真の画面にすら横尾の画面が持つ入れ籠状の様態を模倣させている（記録写真に「アーカイヴ」を演じさせている）これらの証人たちこそが、アーカイヴの多層化を誘発して止まない横尾のポスターの範型なのである。やはり印刷物を伴うこのような事例について、デリダはこう答えるだろう。「なぜならアーカイヴは、もしもこの語または比喩［figure］が何らかの意味作用に安定化するならば、それは決して、自発的で生き生きとした内的経験としての記憶でも想起でもないだろうからである。まったくその逆で、アーカイヴは当該の記憶の、根源的で構造的な欠陥の代わりに生じる［欠陥の場で場を持つ］のである。」そして彼はこう続ける。「記載の場所のない、反復の技術のない、何らかの外在性のないアーカイヴは、存在しない。外部のないアーカイヴはない¹¹。」

「今、なにか言う」──これらのポスター（の図版）の「外」に書き込まれているのは、これらのポスターの題名だろうか。仮にポスターが自らの待ち設ける出来事の名以外にそのような題名を持つとして、当時、その題名が記載される場所は果たしてどこにあったのだろうか。その題名は、アーカイヴの始まりを示す分割線が引かれた後に、余白の肌理に沿って宛がわれたものではなかったか。「なにかいってくれ、いまさがす。」粟津潔が『ゴドーを待ちながら』の一節から転用したあの呼び掛けに応答しているこの声は、一体誰の声なのか。

この論考は『ユリイカ』44巻・13号（2012年11月）の誌面で一度発表された拙稿「『記載の場所』を巡って──アーカイヴと横尾忠則（印刷された問題）」に加筆、修正を施したものである。An English version of this text is available here as “A Sedimentation of the Archival Mind, 2.”

The post 「記載の場所」を巡って アーカイヴと横尾忠則 appeared first on post.

1. Posters and Events

“Dear Kara Juro, please forgive me for being late with this design.” —Yokoo Tadanori (1967)

“It has, in appearance, primarily to do with a private inscription. This is the title of a first problem concerning the question of its belonging to an archive: which archive?” —Jacques Derrida, “Archive Fever: A Freudian Impression” (1995)

The poster for the Jokyo Gekijo’s (Situation Theater) 9th Apology Event (Kara Juro’s John Silver—Shinjuku Longing and Crying in the Night Edition; former Sogetsu Hall, May 22–25, 1967) is inscribed with a written apology in the lower right corner of the picture plane—a private message—from the designer to the client. Yokoo Tadanori later described the work as “deviating completely from the function of a poster in that it was completed on the morning of the day of the performance.”¹ The picture is surrounded by a black border, and its center is also framed by images of countless life-size hanafuda playing cards, each of which is similarly bordered in black.² Some of the cards—such as the pair of paulownia flower cards at the top and bottom centers—also include inscriptions, apparently copied from existing logos: “‘Fuku’ trademark, all rights reserved,” “Nintendo,” and “Specially manufactured papier maché”). A white moon rising in the background emits light, and there is a dark gray silhouette of a naked woman with her head drooping under the weight of a Shimada-style coiffure. This B1-format (39 3/8″ x 27 7/8″) poster conceived by Yokoo was at that time exceptionally large for an announcement of a performance by a small theater company. Regardless of when it was submitted and displayed in relation to the four-day performance, it did not, as previously noted, arrive in time for the occasion or event. Yokoo has no shortage of similar anecdotes.

Examining the discursive space that is woven from countless historical descriptions of the artist by scholars and curators, we find an outpouring of unstinting praise. After recounting anecdotes about his genius, the majority of the descriptions turn to praising and commending him. Many of Yokoo’s contemporaries weave in personal stories about him, and after praising and commending him, they recount anew the ways in which others have commended him. This discursive space of theories about Yokoo is analogous to the nested aspect of the pictures in his posters.

Yokoo mentions his work’s “deviation” from the “function of the poster” in the above example (the place where his apology is printed). First, let us establish a point here in this text from which to examine the “place of consignation” (that is, the place of exposed private inscription). It would be desirable for the observation point known as an “archive” to simultaneously allow us to survey the place of consignation and the area “outside” of it (even if it is not possible to look at the delicate grain of the silkscreened poster from this point).³ “Yet, when it comes right down to it, it doesn’t make much difference to the viewer whether these are posters or not.”⁴ This may indeed be true. But Yokoo’s posters are greatly admired in part because they are thought not to fulfill the poster’s fundamental function and original purpose, nor to relate to such criteria. By entrusting our ideas to this view, which anyone might easily subscribe to, we necessarily neglect to address questions related to the poster medium on which Yokoo’s status as a genius rests. When a poster is seen to depart from the fundamental function and original purpose of its medium, it is invariably regarded as the object it used to be in its pre-printed state. But once a poster is a poster, that is to say printed matter, it is impossible for it to deviate from its “function.” The “advantage” of ignoring the fact that these works by Yokoo are posters that announced specific events in the past and yet are still posters (they carry an announcement) is not evident from our archival observation point. The sense of vivacity in Yokoo’s posters (akin to the lucky rakes lined up in the street stalls at the Torinoichi Festival) and what Mishima Yukio identified as their “unbearable darkness cloaked in bright colors”⁵; the phony threshold that unjustly separates the expressions of a designer and those of an artist; and Kamekura Yusaku’s reason for calling Yokoo “a genius in his own mold,” are all parts of the question of the poster as a form of printed matter.⁶ So what exactly is a poster?

Every page of bulky catalogues like Yokoo Tadanori Gurafikku Daizenshu (The complete Tadanori Yokoo graphic works, Kodansha, 1989), Yokoo Tadanori no zen posta (Yokoo Tadanori’s complete posters, Seibundo Shinkosha, 1995), and Yokoo Tadanori zen posta (The Complete Posters of Yokoo Tadanori, Kokushokankokai, 2010), which announce their comprehensiveness with the word “complete” (zen) in their original Japanese titles, plays a part in enumerating the artist’s work. The covers of many of these books were created by Yokoo himself, and the catalogues also often assume a nested form. They provide a chronological listing of Yokoo’s work, and images of his posters are printed on the surface of each page. The posters are reduced to function as the content (plate) on each page, and after being laid out (planned, prepared, arranged, and placed) are embedded as separate entities in the surface of a distinct skin. The paper of the book is a new and uniform skin that by implication mimics the printed grain of the posters, but relies on the use of offset printing, characterized by the absence of direct contact between the skin of the printing plate and the skin of the paper. Moreover, the places that are not occupied by the (images of the) posters—that is, the blank spaces that are visible in the margins on every page of the catalogue—function as the “outside” of the (image of the) poster. It is also here that we find a description explaining each poster. Notes on the printing technique, such as “silkscreen on paper” or “offset on paper,” and the dimensions typically accompany such entries. This blank space that remains on each page is neither part of the actual assemblage of content on the page nor the subject of interest. Yet, despite its position on the perimeter or outside, it shares the same continuous skin as the content. Naturally, the blank space remains as it is. The perimeter of the plate of the small, reprinted poster is not cut off. From our [archival] observation point in this text, the blank space is the second “place of consignation.” And it is the grain of this blank space, which has passed through the printing press several times along with the content on the page, that is the grain of the archive.

This blank space, this outside, could be explained by the joy that André Malraux emanated when he spread his study floor full of his catch (in this case, the photographic prints). The photographs, which are the subject of the Malraux photograph, are supported from beneath by the photographs themselves.⁷ In the process of preparing the artwork for Kara Juro’s John Silver, Yokoo “said he took some real hanafuda cards, made the text, and affixed them to a piece of plywood, and carried it to the print shop.”⁸ Not only did Yokoo deal with the hanafuda cards as printed matter, he took the actual cards to be printed. After understanding this, we once again return to the question of what constitutes a poster.

To come right to the point, a poster is a sign—it serves as a harbinger and conveys a promise. In the present, according to the grain of the archive, the poster recalls the occasion or event that it announced many years ago (and continues to announce today). But the fact is that as this piece of printed matter announced an anticipated event, we must not forget that every poster is printed prior to the occasion that is its subject. As a herald of the event, it most closely resembles a witness in the archive, but without ever touching on what actually happened. It merely testifies to what was proposed; some posters announce events that were canceled, but obviously this does not mean that they give false testimony. The witnesses are verbose, and they still continue to reminisce about the immediate future without knowing anything about how the events of the past that they anticipated actually transpired. Such witnesses, as preliminary announcements or messengers, probably have a more direct connection to the overall event than other witnesses, such as documentary photographs or audio or video recordings that have captured the outcomes of the event. This is due not only to the fact that the reality of a past event lies in the amplitude between the proposed and the actual, but also to the fact that, insofar as it recollects the future and predicts the past, a poster has a dual purpose. “When Yokoo arrived on the scene, everybody became very upset. They said things like it was meaningless [to make a poster] unless you used B-zen size [728mm × 1,030mm] paper… During that period, it was completely viable for a poster to influence the play. For example, they changed the play that they did after John Silver due to the impact of the poster for the previous play.”⁹

2. Spoilage

“The advent is a promise of events.” —Maurice Merleau-Ponty, “Indirect Language and the Voices of Silence ” (1952)

“It conditions not only the form or the structure which prints, but the printed content of the printing: the pressure of the printing, the impression, before the division between the printed and the printer. This archival technique has commanded that which even in the past instituted and constituted whatever there was as anticipation of the future.” —Jacques Derrida, Archive Fever: A Freudian Impression (1995)

Derrida writes: “[psychoanalysis] does not privilege by chance the figure of the imprint and the printer.”¹⁰ The archive of printed matter is constantly related to (an assemblage of) subject matter, but there is no room for growth in the subject itself. An archive remains “outside” the subject of interest. By the time we begin to refine the question, dismiss the false division between, for example, the quantity of art versus the quantity of design, and ask “What is a poster?” we have already redrawn several times the line that indicates the point at which the archive begins. In other words, an archive reestablishes its position on the outside each time the observer bores through a multilayered, stratified group of dividing lines. While on the one hand we might say that the grain of the blank spaces on every page of Yokoo’s catalogues has the grain of an “archive,” this is due to the fact that our observation point in this text, which provides a clear view of this kind of grain, can be seen as that of an “archive.” An archive exists outside a concept that indicates itself and refuses all rules except the one that concerns gathering a number of examples as an assemblage (extension) of concrete subjects. The place from which we ultimately survey these examples is necessarily outside. If we were to create a new observation point (a change of air) by taking one step back, obtaining a new view that includes the one we are afforded from the observation point in this text, that place would, in other words, be called an “archive.” The process of archivization is always conducted from a specific observation point with regard to the (assemblage of) content, but gradually this observation point is objectified as a kind of vessel. Thus, the archive becomes multilayered: /archive/archive/////…

According to one chronology, after graduating from Nishiwaki High School (Hyogo Prefecture) in his hometown in 1955, Yokoo planned to enter the oil painting department at Musashino Art University and moved to Tokyo to take the entrance exam, but out of concern for his “aged parents,” he abandoned the idea and returned to Nishiwaki. A few months later, his poster for the local Textile Festival (May 7 and 8, 1955) was selected, leading him to take a job at a printing company in Kakogawa (he quit six months later). Apparently, the thing that he found most interesting about the printing process was the spoilage (torn paper).¹¹

In the printing cycle, in processes such as trail printing, some of the paper is inevitably damaged and removed from the printed matter that is set to be delivered to the client. The damaged paper, which has been run through the press several times, is called “spoilage,” and it is accumulated and recycled. This process of printing on waste paper to adjust a new plate and the press itself, and the use of spoilage in the process, is nothing less than the “/” [slash] that is introduced to establish a division between that which is printed and that which prints. The reuse of torn paper as printed matter stems not only from economic reasons. In order to prepare the printed matter to be printed, it is necessary to integrate that which prints into that which is printed in order to achieve the desired grain of the printed matter. Each time the paper passes through the press, an unexpected overprint occurs on the surface of the paper which is unrelated to the layers of print that are a regular part of the printing process.

The complicated tangle that appears on the surface of the spoilage is by no means predetermined. I am not attempting to superimpose an excessive layering of multiple grains that belong to (or are lost in) a multitude of different wholes on the surface of the spoilage, which captured Yokoo’s interest, to arrive at the artist’s specific approach to printed matter. Spoilage cannot be the third “place of consignation” in this text. The complications on the surface of the spoilage have a decidedly different character from a planned overlapping of plates. The multiple layers of grain on the spoilage are overwhelming but at the same time lack both body and coverage. After repeatedly passing through the press, the paper is dedifferentiated. The spoilage leads us to the complicated tangle of discursive space arising out of the critical praise and commendation that turns out to be devoid of an archive (en mal d’archive, in Derrida’s terms). However, from an archival perspective, we do not select (do not establish the outside) a particular picture from Yokoo’s work.

Finally, I would like to turn to some specific posters at a specific event. “Changed? What? (Contemporary Transformation)” (held at the former Sogetsu Art Center Hall, April 10, 1968) was the first part of a multiday symposium called “Expose 1968: Nanika Ittekure, Ima Sagasu” (Expose 1968: Say something, I’m trying), which was co-organized by the Sogetsu Art Center and Design Review (Fudosha). The introduction, “Psycho Delicious,” was overseen by three people: Ichiyanagi Toshi, Kurokawa Noriaki [Kisho], and Yokoo. Apparently, it ended without ever beginning, in keeping with the artists’ idea that “because we don’t believe in words, we won’t make any statements.”¹² Posters with photographic portraits of the composer, architect, and graphic designer were hung at the rear of the stage (horizon) without any gaps between them.

Yet, these witnesses that we have called forward into the here and now cannot provide us with any evidence of the event that they created together. In this specific place of consignation, there is no recorded information, neither a public notice of content nor a personal note.¹³ These witnesses that were linked in a performative relationship to the event that they themselves anticipated remain completely silent about every aspect of that event, including themselves, the posters. Indeed, the performative witnesses repeat themselves as subjects in documentary photographs of the event and imitate (perform an “archive” in the photograph) the nesting aspect of these documentary photographs depicting the posters. This is the mold for Yokoo’s posters, which ceaselessly create the multiple layers of the archive. Derrida might offer the following explanation in regard to this type of example related to printed matter: “Because the archive, if this word or this figure can be stabilized so as to take signification, will never be either memory or anamnesis as spontaneous, alive and internal experience. On the contrary: the archive takes place at the place of originary and structural breakdown of the said memory. There is no archive without a place of consignation, without a technique of repetition, and without a certain exteriority. No archive without outside.”¹⁴

To “Say something.” Is this unwritten title the thing that is inscribed “outside” the assemblage of the posters? If the poster is waiting for a title other than the name of the event that it anticipates, where was the place that the title was inscribed at that time? Wasn’t the title given according to the grain of the blank space after the dividing line was drawn to indicate the beginning of the archive? Say something, I’m trying. In the end, whose voice is responding to the line (both a call and a reply) that Awazu Kiyoshi borrowed from Waiting for Godot?

Note: The Japanese version of this text is adapted from an essay that appeared in the November 2012 issue of Eureka 44(13) under the same title.

Text translated into English by Christopher Stephens.

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例えばボリス・グロイスが綴った以下の言葉は、そのパフォーマティヴな冗長さも含めて絶妙である。「同一性と差異の向こう側には、区別されていないもの、関係のないもの、何でもいいもの、月並みなもの、ぱっとしないもの、面白くないもの、注目に値しないもの、同一ではないもの、差異のないものの領域が広がっている¹。」センテンスの大半を占める冗語的な語の並びが、文末に向けて横たえられており、次第に、同一性と差異の二軸が覚束なくなっていく。ところで私たちは、グロイスが言うその「領域」に分け入って、一体何を捕獲しようとしているのだろうか。そもそも、私たちのこの分け入るという所作によって、「向こう側」はむしろどんどん遠ざかっていくのではないのだろうか。

この一覧表の課題は、取捨選択されたマテリアルを巧みに配置して見せること（composition）ではなく、ある特定の網羅性において扱うことの可能な全てのモティーフを、むしろ淡々と並置すること（juxtaposition）である。私たちの関心はつまるところ、選択的なリストによって表現される虚構と、網羅的なリストによって記録される虚構との質の違いにある。全てが残されているわけではないことを知っている私たちは、選択＝淘汰（selection）の境界線上で、全ての「残りのもの」と、残されなかったもののための空所とを同時に扱う——記録の網と、表現の網を重ねて。（実は、どちらの網も記録という縦糸と表現という横糸で編まれており、網目は均一である。）出来事が仮に捕獲可能なモティーフであるならば、いま私たちが張ったこの二重の網、「アーカイヴ」と呼ばれるこの仕掛けは、それぞれの出来事を二重に絡め取りつつも、網目の単位で細切れにしていく。そのとき、ある網目は「残りのもの」で詰まり、またある網目は何も掛からないまま残されるのである。アーカイヴの獲物を「ブリコラージュ」と呼んでしまうのは簡単だが、私たちがアーキヴィストである以上、常に掻き集め、繕い続けなければならないのは獲物の方ではなく、むしろこれらの網目なのである。

三つ折りにされた白い上質紙（とはいえそれは酸化しており、かなり黄ばんでいるのだが）を広げると、私たちは先ず、この印刷物の第一の特徴である縦長のフォーマットに直面する（474 × 116 mm）。黒いインクの文字列（後半はただ「animaginarypiece」を延々と繰り返す）と、紙面の凹凸のみで表された無色の数列（タイプライターの空打ち）が占めている領域は、この印刷物の外形をそれとなく反復し、縦方向への伸長性を強調している。そしてその表面には、干からびたモヤシが辛うじてへばり付いている。この印刷物は、草月アートセンターが当時の先鋭的なパフォーマンスを紹介した「草月コンテンポラリー・シリーズ」の第15回、「WORKS OF YOKO ONO——小野洋子作品発表会」（1962年5月24日）の開催を伝える案内状である。この印刷物をデザインした杉浦康平は、2002年のインタヴューでこう語っている。「この時の案内状は、草月のスタッフにモヤシを培養してもらって、タイプライターで文字組を打った上にそれを貼りつけてみた。」「人間の生きた叫びと、透明な思考法。その新鮮な感じ方を、生きたもの、つまりモヤシで表現しようと思ったんです。なぜモヤシかというと、栽培しやすかったから……。」「なんといったらいいのか、ようするにどろどろしたものではなく、生きた輝き、その痕跡を鮮やかに伝える……というつもりで、一つずつモヤシを貼った ²。」

草月会館の資料室に残されたマテリアル群の中では、モヤシが貼り付けられなかった、つまり郵送されなかった案内状（残部）数点の所在が確認されている。私たちがいま手にしているこの案内状、この個体は、慶應義塾大学アート・センター所蔵の瀧口修造文書（Takiguchi Shuzo papers, c.1945–1979）に帰属するマテリアルである。案内状に生のモヤシを貼り付けて郵送した杉浦と、そのような杉浦の態度を「印刷された問題（printed matter）」として引き受け、そのまま残そうとした瀧口³。アーカイヴの網は、このあまりにも些細な、しかし、そのような些細な物（matter）を手掛かりとすることでしか束ね直すことのできない問題（matter）を、果たしてどこまで絡め取り、またどこまで細切れにすることができるのだろうか。

このテクストは、グラフィック・デザイナーの森大志郎と私が、足立アンや荒川医（Ground Openings）らとともにC-MAP向けのプレゼンテーション（ニューヨーク近代美術館アトリウム、2011年7月26日）を行った際のハンドアウト「Remnants of Sogetsu Art Center (1958–1971): Events, Printed Matter and the Archive」の一部に加筆、修正を施したものである。An English version of this text is available here as “A Sedimentation of the Archival Mind 1.”

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As a young designer with ambitions to become an artist, Yokoo frequented events at the Sogetsu Art Center (SAC), where he witnessed memorable performances by the likes of Robert Rauschenberg, who created a painting onstage during what was supposed to be a Q&A session; Yoko Ono, whose “action” consisted of holding her baby; and Nam June Paik, who destroyed a piano. Yokoo also viewed scores of experimental and Surrealist films in the SAC hall. His direct involvement with Sogetsu Art Center in the 1960s came mainly through his poster designs for theater and dance events (Terayama Shuji, Hijikata Tatsumi, and Kara Juro) and for the multimedia symposium “Expose 1968: Nanika itte kure, ima sagasu” (Expose 1968: Say something, I’m trying, 1968). He also designed the cover of a volume of poetry by Mutsuo Takashi that was published by the SAC. In addition to graphic work, Yokoo made experimental animations in collaboration with SAC engineers and musicians such as Akiyama Kuniharu and Ichiyanagi Toshi. Two of these, Anthology No. 1 (1964) and KISS KISS KISS (1964; soundtrack by Akiyama), were screened at the Center’s Sogetsu Cinematheque 11: Animation Festival (September 21–26, 1964).

Yokoo’s posters are highly sought after by museums and collectors. As a result, many have been dispersed in archives and collections. The posters and films presented below highlight Yokoo’s involvement at the Sogetsu Art Center. The material has been selected by archivist Uesaki Sen and film scholar Hirasawa Go, who located and brought together these materials from the Sogetsu Foundation, the National Museum of Art, Osaka, and Aomori Museum of Art. Three works from the collection of The Museum of Modern Art are also included here. They were acquired when the Museum presented a solo exhibition of Yokoo’s work in 1972.

Major highlights of this presentation are the two animations mentioned above, Anthology No. 1 and KISS KISS KISS, shown here for the first time in public in their newly restored state. Hirasawa and Uesaki, during the course of their research for post, discovered the 1960s film reels in storage at the Sogetsu Foundation (the Sogetsu Art Center’s original home) and set about restoring them. The result is the highest quality presentation of these two works since they were first created.

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Beyond identity and difference there is the realm of the undifferentiated, indifferent, arbitrary, banal, nondescript, uninteresting, unremarkable, non-identical, and non-different.” ¹—Boris Groys

The string of words in the second half of the statement quoted above collapses in exhaustion as it reaches the end of the sentence, and gradually, in its performative redundancy, the poles of identity and difference appear to be overwhelmed. By entering the “realm” that Groys refers to, what exactly are we archivists trying to achieve (capture)? Upon entering, do we not, as our work demands, identify and differentiate and thus push back the “realm” of the banal and nondescript?

The chart that Mori Daishiro and I made for the exhibition, Penumbra of the Printed Matter: Sogetsu Art Center, 1958-1971 (KUAC 2009), was not an attempt to arrange and display adroitly a number of carefully selected materials (composition). Rather, it was a matter-of-fact attempts to appose every possible motif in the context of a given comprehensiveness (juxtaposition). Ultimately, our interest focuses on the difference in the degree of fictitiousness between representation that emerges from a selected list and documentation that emerges from a comprehensive list. Acutely aware of the incompleteness of the full complement of the remnants available to us, we work not only with things that are “left over” but also with the void of things that used to be, by overlapping the two nets of documentation and representation. (Though under closer examination, each net is woven with a vertical thread of documentation and a horizontal thread of representation, forming an even mesh.) If an occurrence is something that can be captured, it is sifted through a double-net trap called “archive,” which will separate the captured elements through the mesh of its double weave. Some nets will be clogged with remnants, while others will be empty of any prize. It would be tempting to call our catch from the archive a “bricolage,” but since we are archivists, it is not so much the catch that we have to collect and mend but the meshes.

In spreading out the white, uncoated sheet of paper (which nonetheless has oxidized and yellowed considerably) that was originally folded in three, the first thing we notice is the object’s most distinguishing feature—its long vertical format (474 x 116 mm). The area occupied by a line of letters in black ink and a line of colorless numbers that are expressed only by a series of bumps on the surface of the paper (empty impressions made with a typewriter) reiterates the overall form of the document and accentuates its vertical extension. Then, just barely attached to the surface, is a dried-up bean sprout. The announcement on the invitation reads: “WORKS OF YOKO ONO” (May 24, 1962). The event that is referred to was the 15th installment of the Sogetsu Contemporary Series, in which cutting-edge performances were presented at the art center. Sugiura Kohei, who designed the card, provides us with some insight: “I asked the staff at Sogetsu to grow some bean sprouts and I stuck them on the announcements after I typed a bunch of letters with a typewriter.…[This was meant to convey] the living cry of a human being and transparent thought process. I wanted to express the vitality of organic matter with the sprouts. I chose bean sprouts because they were easy to grow. You might say that instead of using something muddled, I wanted to distinctly convey a trace of living brilliance by attaching one sprout to each card.”²

Among the collection of materials preserved in the reference room at Sogetsu Foundation, I discovered several unsent invitations without any bean sprouts attached. The invitation described above is from the artist Takiguchi Shuzo’s papers (c. 1945–1979), which are now housed in the Keio University Art Center Archives. Takiguchi preserved it in its original form, seeing this as a “question of printed matter” that represented Sugiura’s approach as a designer.³ To what extent is it possible for the archival net to capture or sift through matter so trivial, when the very physicality of the trivial matter is the only clue to examining [a] matter?

Note: This text is a revised version of the essay “Remnants of Sogetsu Art Center (1958–1971): Events, Printed Matter and the Archive,” which was presented at MoMA on July 26, 2011, by the graphic designer Mori Daishiro and myself, together with Ann Adachi and Arakawa Ei. A Japanese version is available here.

Text translated into English by Christopher Stephens.

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