Steve Pulaski's foreword to Miles Santiago's piece "Concerning Yeezus, pornography, and modern art:" I've known Miles Santiago since sophomore year of high school. He was another face in my social studies class for about a solid month until one day, during an impromptu discussion about the Westboro Baptist Church in our US History class, he got up, walked over to the board, and proceeded to draw a diagram, illustrating ideas about the Bible and Christianity. I, along with about twenty other students, was in awe. This was completely random but clearly not pointless. From then on out, I made it a priority to get to know the man himself and am honored to say I've read numerous of his essays - some published for classes, some published for leisure, all of truly amazing quality - and am proud to feature him on my personal blog site.
Miles Santiago's foreword to his piece "Concerning Yeezus, pornography, and modern art:" "I was approached by Steve Pulaski to publish my philosophies onto this blog, to which I agreed. I was born Miles Santiago. “Black Jesus, the Messiah” is the title bestowed onto me by Pulaski himself sophomore year after he, with an entire classroom, witnessed a "sermon" of mine in a social studies course. The realm of those who understand—or even just knowledgeable of—my capabilities is frustratingly suffocating. The purpose of me being featured here, on this blog, is to alleviate to whatever extent that may ensue. I hail from an Ingalls Harvey Hospital in southern Cook County, more specifically and sequentially the south Chicago suburbs (Chicago Heights, Robbins, Park Forest)."
This is the only promotional poster for Yeezus, the latest Kanye West
album released June 18th. It was stamped across urban structures and
spread virally. This image is 2-dimensional, its image could be
accomplished with a couple of Sharpies. There is no outstanding angle,
deliberate lines or color beyond the vision-attracting red tape to give
it the slightest distinction.
There is no vanity, neither in composition nor subject. Certainly, this is a poster destined to project an aimless and lazy photo of an aimless and lazy packaging for an aimless and lazy album.
But this will come from the understanding of the inartistic observer.
Within this poster, the packaging, the typewriting, lies an embodiment of the most elusive understanding of artistic endeavors post-impressionism: in an urbanized society where information and culture spreads more rapidly than at any other point in history, observational subjects have been usurped by objectifying the creator’s psyche. The burden of aesthetic communication has shifted away from the pretext of the subject and onto the willing shoulders of the observer. Mona Lisas are moot. Michelangelo is no longer here to paint God with fleeting blatancy.
The power of introspection has usurped the power of awe.
Today, an image that outright projects its message is thoroughly uninteresting, uninspired, and more akin to instructional illustration:
‘Hey, here’s an athlete. This athlete is cosmetically appealing, so they must train a lot. I guess you can say they work hard so I guess you could plant writing about hard work with this athlete. We will make it absolutely clear that this poster is about hard work.’
Surely, it’s art, and the message is undeniably positive, but that does not excuse it from mediocrity.
A more moving, superior choice is to idolize James Deen in that inspirational poster. It’s a choice that will polarize, but the side that appreciates it, of which I’m included, will make the decision highly profitable. His paradigm ignites my cognitive processes. Whatever you believe about the moral merits of pornography is irrelevant, he means something to me. He is art to me. He instills energy into me that allows me to produce my work, of which you will never equal in either authority or importance. What you think will never matter.
And it won’t matter as long as you don’t seek and embrace what appeals to you emotionally, even in (especially in) the sexual regard. I know the condescension in the preceding paragraph sounds assholish, but such is the Darwinistic minds of humble geniuses. Selfishness is key. The few (very few) people who know me know I don’t act that way, but, then again, fire doesn’t have to tell you that it’s hotter than you to burn a house down.
With this mindset, I, a historically failing Afro-Puerto Rican student from the south Chicago suburbs, ran semantic circles around the likes of T.S. Eliot and Perrine in my Advanced Placement English course. Forget appeasement, you won’t satisfy everyone so don’t bother trying. Creative importance can and must be earned with ideological courage. Who appreciates your work is more important than how many, just look at Pusha T.
“I have a psyche! I have a voice! I matter! Just try to refute me!” is what you should be thinking.
At this point I am obligated to justify how this rambling is pertinent
to the bareness of the Yeezus poster. Overtaken this obligation shall
be, as the reason that Yeezus promotion is lacking in vanity is because
Kanye is rejecting the vanity in his life at the time of the recording,
“kill self” he said in the New York Times in regard to the new sonic
elements he’s introducing into his discography. It’s hard, it’s
resonant, it’s reduced. It’s crude and appropriately so: Kanye is coming
down from the grandeur invested into My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy
and Watch the Throne, the form of Yeezus is meeting the function of his
message. It projects what he is, not what’s expected of him. As the
choir interludes in "On Sight," It’s the album anyone who respects Kanye
needs to listen to and the one he needed to make. Not the one that
either party wanted.
In order to feel the sheer turmoil and vice-laden production of the album the observer must have the capacity to understand that modern artists—as aforementioned—are tasked with projecting their experience as opposed to the likeness of anyone who asks, to invite us into their psyche as we hope to define our own.
So, of course, people are going to be all like “Born Sinner is better, the beats on Yeezus was wack.” They’re not inclined to consider the meditated choices Kanye made and usually they can’t compute anything that isn’t a trap rhythm or a soul sample.
Or Kendrick Lamar.
"Hold My Liquor" isn’t Kanye turnt up to Backseat Freestyle, not as he
contemplates the shame of waking up drunk on his girlfriend’s sofa, not
after the anxiety he may feel in not providing optimal patriarchy to his
newborn daughter and how she’ll function in the attention she never
asked for. That he may the perfect embodiment of everything his mother
renounced, and now he’s plummeted to intoxication and carelessness in
his indulgence in mood regulators.
The same interpretive process pertains the remainder of the tracks. For one example: I’m In It and its Agent Sasco feature sounds dirty and nasty, just like the subject matter. It’s hollowed out with Justin Vernon’s high-pitched vocals and the monotonous synth.
Yeezus is his mirror. He’s speaking to his soul and to whichever soul will stand behind him and listen.
It’s carnal and reckless and poorly fit for the radio. He is a monstrosity, stripped of popularity galore garnered by the likes of Taylor Swift and Drake. A concerted effort to brand it for mass commercialization is inappropriate, and would no longer invite consumers into the uncorrupted artistic endeavor (as the PLEASE ADD GRAFFITI tag encourages). The space for imagination and reinterpretation will become suffocating.
No rap album serves its emotional purpose in 2013 better than Yeezus. The veil is unrefined, allowing the artist’s message to supersede the hype, effectively generating hype through the rejection of hype itself. The hardly-detailed-if-at-all image is the essence of modern art.
You can not like Yeezus, but don’t claim your reasoning to be “it’s different” and not have it deemed a lapse in judgment.
‘Less is more’ means that it’s better to execute a few things at a deliberately supreme and functional level than produce some half-assed clusterfuck.
It is not laziness.
Miles Santiago's foreword to his piece "Concerning Yeezus, pornography, and modern art:" "I was approached by Steve Pulaski to publish my philosophies onto this blog, to which I agreed. I was born Miles Santiago. “Black Jesus, the Messiah” is the title bestowed onto me by Pulaski himself sophomore year after he, with an entire classroom, witnessed a "sermon" of mine in a social studies course. The realm of those who understand—or even just knowledgeable of—my capabilities is frustratingly suffocating. The purpose of me being featured here, on this blog, is to alleviate to whatever extent that may ensue. I hail from an Ingalls Harvey Hospital in southern Cook County, more specifically and sequentially the south Chicago suburbs (Chicago Heights, Robbins, Park Forest)."
HASTILY WRITTEN by MILES SANTIAGO
CONCERNING YEEZUS, PORNOGRAPHY, AND DEFINING MODERN ART
There is no vanity, neither in composition nor subject. Certainly, this is a poster destined to project an aimless and lazy photo of an aimless and lazy packaging for an aimless and lazy album.
But this will come from the understanding of the inartistic observer.
##
Within this poster, the packaging, the typewriting, lies an embodiment of the most elusive understanding of artistic endeavors post-impressionism: in an urbanized society where information and culture spreads more rapidly than at any other point in history, observational subjects have been usurped by objectifying the creator’s psyche. The burden of aesthetic communication has shifted away from the pretext of the subject and onto the willing shoulders of the observer. Mona Lisas are moot. Michelangelo is no longer here to paint God with fleeting blatancy.
The power of introspection has usurped the power of awe.
Today, an image that outright projects its message is thoroughly uninteresting, uninspired, and more akin to instructional illustration:
‘Hey, here’s an athlete. This athlete is cosmetically appealing, so they must train a lot. I guess you can say they work hard so I guess you could plant writing about hard work with this athlete. We will make it absolutely clear that this poster is about hard work.’
Surely, it’s art, and the message is undeniably positive, but that does not excuse it from mediocrity.
A more moving, superior choice is to idolize James Deen in that inspirational poster. It’s a choice that will polarize, but the side that appreciates it, of which I’m included, will make the decision highly profitable. His paradigm ignites my cognitive processes. Whatever you believe about the moral merits of pornography is irrelevant, he means something to me. He is art to me. He instills energy into me that allows me to produce my work, of which you will never equal in either authority or importance. What you think will never matter.
And it won’t matter as long as you don’t seek and embrace what appeals to you emotionally, even in (especially in) the sexual regard. I know the condescension in the preceding paragraph sounds assholish, but such is the Darwinistic minds of humble geniuses. Selfishness is key. The few (very few) people who know me know I don’t act that way, but, then again, fire doesn’t have to tell you that it’s hotter than you to burn a house down.
With this mindset, I, a historically failing Afro-Puerto Rican student from the south Chicago suburbs, ran semantic circles around the likes of T.S. Eliot and Perrine in my Advanced Placement English course. Forget appeasement, you won’t satisfy everyone so don’t bother trying. Creative importance can and must be earned with ideological courage. Who appreciates your work is more important than how many, just look at Pusha T.
“I have a psyche! I have a voice! I matter! Just try to refute me!” is what you should be thinking.
##
In order to feel the sheer turmoil and vice-laden production of the album the observer must have the capacity to understand that modern artists—as aforementioned—are tasked with projecting their experience as opposed to the likeness of anyone who asks, to invite us into their psyche as we hope to define our own.
So, of course, people are going to be all like “Born Sinner is better, the beats on Yeezus was wack.” They’re not inclined to consider the meditated choices Kanye made and usually they can’t compute anything that isn’t a trap rhythm or a soul sample.
Or Kendrick Lamar.
##
The same interpretive process pertains the remainder of the tracks. For one example: I’m In It and its Agent Sasco feature sounds dirty and nasty, just like the subject matter. It’s hollowed out with Justin Vernon’s high-pitched vocals and the monotonous synth.
Yeezus is his mirror. He’s speaking to his soul and to whichever soul will stand behind him and listen.
It’s carnal and reckless and poorly fit for the radio. He is a monstrosity, stripped of popularity galore garnered by the likes of Taylor Swift and Drake. A concerted effort to brand it for mass commercialization is inappropriate, and would no longer invite consumers into the uncorrupted artistic endeavor (as the PLEASE ADD GRAFFITI tag encourages). The space for imagination and reinterpretation will become suffocating.
No rap album serves its emotional purpose in 2013 better than Yeezus. The veil is unrefined, allowing the artist’s message to supersede the hype, effectively generating hype through the rejection of hype itself. The hardly-detailed-if-at-all image is the essence of modern art.
You can not like Yeezus, but don’t claim your reasoning to be “it’s different” and not have it deemed a lapse in judgment.
##
‘Less is more’ means that it’s better to execute a few things at a deliberately supreme and functional level than produce some half-assed clusterfuck.
It is not laziness.
##
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