Memorial Hunt (Whitney): Remembering Our Soldiers

I apologize, again, that I couldn't get this up with everyone else's. As I mentioned in class today, I visited the University's veteran memorial in the IMU early last month, and then rediscovered a new and somewhat disturbing aspect of it on this more recent visit.

The memorial photos shown here are just of the (what I'm calling) "somber" part of the memorial. It's hard to capture the capabilities of the "digital" part with just a static photo. The golden crest on the floor announces to the person walking over it that this room is "In memory of the sons and daughters of Indiana University who have served in the wars of the Republic." The large tome under glass on the carved wooden desk has the name of every student calligraphied, along with their death date, which war they fought in and, as much as possible, the reason for death. As is evident from the photo, each student is provided with a good amount of space for their written memorial. The space between each name seems to provide the reader with a natural pause - a written moment of reflection - before preceding to the next name.

As a side note, this memorial is in an interesting place in the IMU. When we were talking about Kelly's post on graffiti today in class and the different signification depending on the space the graffiti occupying, it made me start wondering why this campus memorial is where it is. It's tucked away to some extent and it would be easy to pass right by it if you weren't looking for it. But it's also only about twenty paces from the main front entrance and right across from the Starbucks. In fact, the Starbucks line often snakes around and passes right by the door, which is actually just an iron gate and, therefore, the room is always both visually and audibly accessible (you can always see into it and any noise from the outer hallway would always echo within it). It's interesting me to that this becomes the chosen space for such a memorial. I wonder if the memorial or the Starbucks came first. Like the graffiti, it seems to raise an interesting question about the decisions that go into carving out space for a memorial and what those decisions entail.

As I left the room on my most recent visit, I noticed the digital display along the back wall that I didn't notice on my first visit. It seems ridiculous that I overlooked it the first time, but I feel like there's a real possibility for that if you imagine the room to be a kind of sacred, memorial space. Imagining that one is in such a space, the mind may find it easier to overlook the digital screen by the back door, almost because it becomes too intrusive. But, I was being a bit more careful with my observations of the room this time and had to look at it on my way out. On closer inspection, I realized that I could click on a small icon for each war and immediately (well, after 10 seconds of a "Loading" bar and notification) bring up a list of the names of every student who had died in that particular war. And these names are not given the decorous space for pause that the names in the book are. They are written in script, but listed one after another, more in catalogue form. As Jess mentioned in class, there's something very disturbing and disjointing about trying to reconcile this kind of digital display with a commemoration of the dead. It's as if my mind couldn't subject the names in the book to the kind of artificiality the digital display's touch screen asked me to participate in.

Consequently, I could only bring myself to click on one icon and see the list before I was too disgusted to continue. As I think about it more, though, I suppose it's possible that the catalogue list of names could be hyperlinks that lead to a page about each student. But, I don't think that's actually the case and I wonder if that might even be more disturbing....although, perhaps more thorough and successful of a memorial in the sense that we would get a broader sense of who these students really were?

Memorial Hunt - Crown Hill Cemetery

Since I went home to northern Indiana this weekend, I was looking for memorials on my way to and from my destination. I was not inspired - I went to a cemetery in Knox, Indiana. However, the layers of representation were fascinating. At the entrance to Crown Hill, one is greeted by this sign:

I particularly like the statement that opens the sign. Simply by observing the rules (not obeying, just visually observing), I have made the location more beautiful - an empowering thought.

Beyond this is another memorial commemorating those who founded and care for Crown Hill. As  Derek pointed out in his post, the creators of memorials are often forgotten in favor of those being commemorated. While we don't know the stonemason and ironmonger involved in creating this memorial, it still honors invisible creators of the larger memorial - the cemetery.

Since the memorial is at the entrance to the cemetery, it also serves to thank, encourage, and implicitly demand (as opposed to the previous example, which explicitly demands) good behavior and civic duty. This reflects Roach's insights into the controlling geography of New Orleans (14). As the cemetery was rather busy on the day I visited, the sign - whether read or not - appeared to be performing its duty admirably - it was encouraging and thanking those who were mowing, weeding, tending and remembering.

In line with Roach's argument, the memorial for the caretakers brings the act of performing, preparing, and maintaining mourning out into the open. Mourning and its related behaviors are "reinforced [sign and caregiver memorial], celebrated [caretaker memorial], and intensified [both signs working to celebrate and thank the performers]" (28). Add into this mix the memorial to fallen soldiers that face these two and the hills of gravestones behind them, and the entire "place of memory" is a complex spectacle, in Debord's sense, of performed memory.

One comes here not to live, not to honor life, but to review life past. To quote Thornton Wilder's play Our Town, "Live people don't understand, do they? ... They're sort of shut up in little boxes, aren't they?" Debord would certainly agree - they are all divided, row upon row, into their boxes, both in life and in death.

(I also examined some of the individual and family stones in the cemetery, but I'll leave those for my personal blog, rather than crowding our class space any further.)

Memorial Hunt - Sara | Hoagyland!

In subsection 4, page 12 of his manifesto on "separation perfected," Debord proclaims that "spectacle is not a collection of images; rather it is a social relationship between people that is mediated by images." Taking my cue from Debord, I sought a memorial for this projct that was local to campus, but detached from the lived experience of "being there"--a commemoration of a memorial mediated through images that epitomizes Debord's characterization of the modern mind as preferring the signifiers to the signifieds.

I present "Hoagyland! The Secret Life of IU's Hoagy Carmichael Statue":

 I stumbled across this blog while doing a research project about the use of social media in and around the university. A student, Tina Hanagan, maintains a wordpress account with which she documents what she terms the "secret life" of the Bronze statue of Hoagy Carmichael in the Fine Arts Plaza. Though most of the images are her own, she also accepts submissions from the general public, and has gotten quite a few, though most amount to little more than images taken from odd angles, with  instagram filters, or in the case of the above illicit additions to the tableau. I am also quite amused and intrigued by all the people who just pose with Hoagy--not because they have a particular affinity for the musician or his work, but because at the time it must seem funny or clever or cute. The seeming "realness" of the figure cast in bronze and his slumped posture and loosely curled hands seem to invite interaction. It is not uncommon when encountering the statue in real like to see the many tokens and profanities with which students have decorated him--flowers, cigarettes, funny hats, bottles of booze. They are not attempts at vandalism as much as they are offerings of a sort--an attempt to interact with this inanimate object that is a sort of "realistic artifice." Unlike those who might bring flowers or tokens to a monument commemorating another celebrity, the students seem not to be attracted to the aura of celebrity of the historical figure of Carmichael, but rather the statue itself and its association with an idea of campus life.

The blog is an extension of that "virtual interaction"--calling itself not the secret life of Hoagy Carmichael, but rather the secret life of IU's Hoagy Carmichael Statue, the photographers not only acknowledge but celebrity the divorce of the sign from its signifier. As Debord notes, "The spectacle is essentially tautological, for the simple reason that its means and its ends are identical." (Debord 15) The statue is an effigy in Roach's sense of the word, "it fills by surrogation a vacancy created by the absence of an original" (Roach 36) and serves as a performance of the absence of the actual historical memory of Carmichael as a person and musician associated with IU. For now it is not the memory of Carmichael that lives on through the statue, but the spectacle of forgetting, present in bronze out in the Fine Arts plaza and in the digitized expose of the Hoagy Statue's secret life.

How fitting, as Hoagy did acknowledge the evanescence of memory in his most memorable hit written here on the IU campus, the lovliness of life preserved only  in the "stardust of a song":

"Though I dream in vain In my heart it will remain My stardust melody The memory of love's refrain."

Memorial Hunt-Jenna

When I first read about this assignment, I have to say that I chose my object before reading our texts. I did this largely because the object that I chose is one that I walk by every weekday on my way to class-this statue of a man playing the piano.I suppose I should be ashamed to admit that I had absolutely no idea who the man was until my parents were visiting one day and told me that it was supposed to be Hoagy Carmichael.

If you are a jazz lover, Hoagy might be more easily recognizable from this second photo. I still couldn't identify him, but perhaps he was known for wearing that particular hat? Clearly I know very little about Hoagy Carmichael. I have learned that he composed several songs with which I am familiar-"Stardust", "Georgia on my Mind", and the omnipresent "Heart and Soul." I also know that he was born in Bloomington and attended Indiana University. (Could this be why so many places in town sell hoagie sandwiches?) 

After learning those facts, I was surprised that the commemorative sculpture did not make its subject immediately evident. (Some of you may be remembering that there is a historical marker for Hoagy Carmichael in town, but it is not near this sculpture. Rather, it is on Indiana Street, kitty-corner from the Sample Gates.) Although, upon closer examination, I did discover that Hoagy's name is listed in on the "Stardust" sheet of music underneath the hand holding the pink flowers. Without a name, I always interpreted the statute as an honored soloist playing an inaudible song for a hoard of students making their trek across campus. Now that I've learned the statue is of Hoagy Carmichael, I interpret it as spectacle. 

I "read" the Hoagy Carmichael memorial as such because it transforms someone that lived (Hoagy) and the product of his activity (his famous songs) into a representation of institutional pride. As Debord writes on page 19, "By means of spectacle, the ruling order discourses endlessly upon itself in an uninterrupted monologue of self-praise." Hoagy's statue is placed in an area of high student traffic to comment on the fact that Bloomington, Indiana, and more particularly, Indiana University is capable of producing students that transform the world. After all, nearly every child who learns to play the piano in this country learns "Heart and Soul" and for most of those students, "Heart and Soul" is the only song they can play from memory. 

The statue is rather insidious. Even stripped of its identity,  as it probably is for most students who have never heard of Hoagy Carmichael, the sculpture exudes its propaganda through the flowers placed in Hoagy's hand. As they are replaced at regular intervals, it is likely that the statue flowers are maintained by Indiana University gardeners. The flowers, which are always brightly colored and draw focus through contrast, transform the sculpture into a shrine. Even if no one ever realizes the identity of Hoagy Carmichael, the flowers, so like funerary adornments, indicate that this pianist is a notable one honored by the university for his success.

Memorial Hunt- Dorothy

YouTube Comments on Bone Thugz N Harmony's "Tha Crossroads"as Memorial

Youtube comments represent the least respected of the throwaway commentaries that have infiltrated our post Web 2.0 lives. I have always had a sort of perverse fascination with the spirit of YouTube commenter (extremeness!) and feel that there is an interesting study of memorialization at hand in the comments left on a song like "Tha Crossroads" which hold a cultural significance in many urban communities of color as a song to be played at funerals and to remember one's loved ones with.

The comments above shows the most obvious form of memorialization, that of lost loved ones. The urge to create a virtual memorial of this video by commenting "R.I.P Eddie Guerreo" reminds me of Debord's concept of the spectacle, in that the comment's existence stands in the place of Eddie's existence. It forces the reader to memorialize Eddie, even though they have no idea who he is. There are pages and pages of "R.I.P -----" on this song's comment page and they were all created as little spectacles, in the sense Debord uses in this quote

[The spectacle] is not something added to the real world- not a decorative element, so to speak. On the contrary, it is the very heart of society's real unreality.

The second form of memorialization is perhaps less obvious, but still important- the memorialization of the past. Not the past in the sense of people we once knew, but the past in the sense of people we once were. Along with the comments on loved ones who have passed, there are an equal number of comments about famous musicians who have passed and, most interestingly, supposed musical eras that have passed. Commenters like "cmoneyking123456789" and "paperchaserdru" use this song to force the remembrance of how things used to be, when we had singers like Aaliyah and music that was more grounded in "reality." The anger commenters have towards the present while they continue to valorize the music and performers of the past bring to mind a discomfort with reality mirrored in this Debord quote

So long as the realm of necessity remains a social dream, dreaming will remain a social necessity. The spectacle is the bad dream of modern society in chains, expressing nothing more than its wish for sleep. The spectacle is the guardian of that sleep.  

Memorial Hunt (Kelly) : Graffiti

I have always had a long standing infatuation with the British street artist known as Banksy. I think his pieces are thought provoking, smart, witty, poignant, vulgar, violent, unsettling, hilarious, cute, and every other adjective you could probably come up with.

When ever I get on a Banksy kick and start googling him and seeing what new mischief he is up to, I always come across this quote of his: 

“I don’t believe in anything. I’m just here for the violence.” That statement has always fascinated me, because one would not associated street art with violence. I understand that graffiti could be associated with gangs and, therefore, violence does seem to be a key ingredient in that, butI’m talking more about his stencil work. The one with two male police officers making out. One where a man is throwing a bouquet of flowers as if it is a grenade. The violence that Banksy is talking about… perhaps it is the violence that happens once he has done his work. To see the uproar it has stirred. To see what happens when you shake society a little bit more than expected.

My friend took me to one of her favorite spots in Bloomington where she practices her graffiti. (Apparently there is a very large street artists’ community in Bloomington. And, as my friend put it “aside from a few dicks” every seems to be very supportive of each other and each other’s talents. 

One ‘genre’ that is beginning to surface is these emotional statements tagged on the side of buildings.   

This kind of tagging has been around forever and I hope I’m not making it sound like this is something that is revolutionarily unique. It’s not. These types of graffiti date all the way back to ancient Rome where people would write on walls in frustrating rage about someone who sleeps around a lot. These PSA’s, though, I believe, are a type or revolution. Perhaps even a revolt.

The painted words on the wall is, certainly, not a plaque commemorating fallen soldiers, or ‘the ones who’ve passed these halls before’. But they do commemorate something or someone, that much is obvious. And I think that is where the brilliance of this all comes in.

The artist is demanding you participate.
The artist has given us a portion of the picture but not everything. We must fill in the left over holes. The gaps that were left behind.

Who was this man who was, apparently, good?
Did that person ever forget that other person?
When does the point come when it truly is too late to apologize?

So there is not a institution that is being remembered here. There is no ‘fund’ to make life easier for the next being established. In fact, it is quite the opposite. It’s the artist making a choice to go out and buy a can of spray paint. And tag this message on a building. Inside the artist there was this need to commemorate a person. An idea. 
Or perhaps they needed to put to rest a relationship that has been long since dead and left this as a final goodbye and a resting place. 

Having that desire inside the artsist to go out and do this, and then have it, in turn, demand that the audience participate.


No longer is the artists’ work the performance. 
But it is merely a trigger for the audience to become the performer.

I think this type of graffiti in conversation with very expensive statues and plaques and the like, is very fascinating. Because I respond to these much more than I do of the bust of Herman Wells. These are monuments that I can cling to and understand. 

“The Spectacle is not a collection of images; rather, it is a social relationship between people that is mediated by images.” Debord 12

That transfer between image and audience is where the spectacle takes place.
It’s not the interpretation of the image, but it is the audience’s performance prompted by the image that stirs inside a relationship with the artist we may have never even met. A communication. 

Memorial Hunt (Derek) - Colonel Owen in the IMU

Figure 1. Monument of Col. Owen in entrance to IMU.
(Photograph by Derek DiMatteo)

Standing just inside the central entrance to the Indiana Memorial Union (IMU), this monument commemorates Colonel Richard Owen for his role as Commandant of Camp Morton Prison in 1862. My encounter with this monument on 2012.09.02 was entirely accidental, never having used this entrance to the IMU before, and only entering by virtue of its immediacy as I tried to escape the rain and go in search of a computer lab. The towering monument’s commanding presence within the vestibule arrested me. I felt compelled by the tall dark marble base, by the figure’s folded arms and draped cloak, by the contrast between his benevolent but worn face and his powerful forearms. I read the inscription, which declares the moment to be a “tribute by confederate prisoners of war and their friends for his courtesy and kindness.” I was surprised, never having seen a monument in honor of a prison camp commandant before, let alone a monument of thanks to such a man, made even more striking because it was the prisoners who were paying tribute “for his courtesy and kindness.” I knew nothing of the history of Camp Morton, neither where it had been nor what had happened there, but I felt the monument demand that I admire this person, this Colonel Owen, despite my ignorance. And I did feel some admiration for him, but I wasn’t sure why, other than the sense that we should probably all admire the virtues of courtesy and kindness. The brass plaque reads: “This replica has been presented to the University by classes of 1910, 1913, 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920, 1922, 1923, 1924, 1926, 1927, 1928, 1929, 1930, 1931.” It was clear that the committee members of those graduated classes had felt strongly enough about Colonel Owen and what he did to commemorate him. I gazed up at the figure of Colonel Owen and wondered what kind of man he really was, what kind of things he did, and whether I could trust the monument and the judgment of those graduated students. Then I remembered our assignment, and I snapped some photos.

At home, later, I tried to analyze this monument. The title of Joseph Roach’s book, Cities of the Dead, suggests one way to broaden our understanding. Our cities and towns are full of sites and monuments commemorating the dead, their deeds, and historical events. Taken to the Marxist extreme, any man-made structure or product could be considered a monument to the labor (people and power) that created it. Therefore, in addition to commemorating Colonel Owen and the thankful Confederate prisoners, this monument in the IMU also commemorates all of the graduated classes listed on the brass plaque (who presumably commissioned the project) as well as all of the laborers who actually produced the monument. The laborers themselves are unmentioned, uncredited, and are thereby rendered invisible and perhaps forgotten, which is ironic because of the insistence on remembrance that every monument demands.

One function of commissioning a monument as a gift or of donating money toward a campus improvement project is for the people making the donation to leave something of themselves behind for future students and members of the university community to see and remember them by. In this case, the classes listed on the plaque will be remembered, if only in the nameless, collective sense, by those who enter the IMU at that location and who also stop to read the plaque. (But what of the missing classes of 1911, 1912, 1914, 1921, 1925? Did they not approve of the choice of subject, or were their members unable to contribute money due to poverty or death?) The monument could be interpreted as an act of “surrogation” which those classes committed in an effort to fill an “actual or perceived vacanc[y] in the…social fabric” (Roach, 2). In other words, the graduated students of those classes felt the need to remind the university community of the importance of “courtesy and kindness.” It’s unclear what year this monument was created and installed in the IMU, but perhaps the surviving representatives of those graduated classes felt the virtues of courtesy and kindness were fading away in the later 20^th century. If so, how does this affect the spectator, the one who gazes at the monument? According to Guy Debord, “the spectator’s alienation from and submission to the contemplated object” occurs through the inverse relationship between contemplation and life: “the more readily he recognizes his own needs in the images of need proposed by the dominant system, the less he understands his own existence and desires. … the individual’s own gestures are no longer his own, but rather those of someone else who represents them to him” (Debord, 30). In the case of this monument, is the spectator being told the world needs more kindness and courtesy? Or is it more specifically exhorting us through commemorative example to be kind and courteous toward our vanquished foes? Again, I wonder when this monument was built and installed in the IMU, for knowledge of the historical moment would surely alter our understanding.

Finally, I would like to draw attention to the word “replica” in the plaque, which signifies the monument is not original; i.e., there is an original someplace else. Again, we are not told where or when or why. One might make guesses about all these mysteries. IU being a state institution, my guess is that Camp Morton is located somewhere in Indiana. The original monument is probably located at either the site of the old camp or else somewhere in the state capitol building in Indianapolis. The date of the original must be sometime after the Civil War ended (too easy? Okay, let’s say it was created during the war’s semi-centennial between 1910-1915). More seriously, this blog entry has been written without checking the history records, since I wanted to keep my analysis true to what I knew at the time I first encountered the monument. (I have since done some elementary research to learn more about Colonel Owen and Camp Morton, but still remain ignorant of many facts about the monument.)