Lord_of_the_System
Author: Jaka Bonca
Date: 2015-10-25T23:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Arts & Entertainment

Foreword

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Mon—2, 1. 9. 1997

Initially I drew all these drawings (with the exception of Lord of the System 3) by hand with a rapidograph and a ruler. I wanted a computer—generated or computer—processed drawing. But, since I did not have a computer, I began to think like a computer instead. This way of thinking does not allow visual corrections.
Consequently, all relationships between elements in the drawing are exactly the way they are. They are not concealed, which is achieved subconsciously when drawing by hand. Later, when the opportunity arose, I transferred all drawings to a computer. I changed and combined some of them, but in the process I discovered that the implementation of a work of art has a special charm and that the computer deprives us of many things. But it is an excellent simulation tool.
In retrospect, I tried to arrange drawings into logical units. I added text that, again, in retrospect speaks about my thoughts triggered by the drawings. But this is only a small proportion of all my thoughts.

I designed linear drawings without any illusion of the third dimension. Nevertheless, every composition can be translated into sculpture.

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Compositions, 1987—1992

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Kompozicije, 1987—1992

Stone and its (Hidden) Image

V Ljubljani, 21. julij 1994

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Ljubljana, July 21 1994

Tutte le opere, che si veggono fatte dall’ Idio, della natura in cielo ed in terra sono tutte di scultura.

(All works of nature created by God in heaven and on earth are works of sculpture.)

Benvenuto Cellini

I wish to start with an argument that began back in the Renaissance. But first, allow me to remind you of this: divinity is invariably adored in sculptural form. We can paint a god, we can paint Christ, crucifixes, the Holy Family and all kinds of pious scenes in any religion, but a »painting« is never revered. A painting can be wondered at, admired or disliked, but never worshipped. Only God or gods carved in stone are worshipped.

Non ha l’ottimo artista alcun concetto,
Ch’un marmo solo in se circonscriva
Col suo soverchio, e solo a quello arriva
La man che ubbidisce all’ inteletto.

(The best of artists hath no thought to show
which the rough stone in its superfluous shell doth not include;
to break the marble spell is all the hand
that serves the brain can do.)

Michelangelo Buonarotti, XV. sonet

Io intendo scultura, quella che si fa per forza di levare, quella che si fa per via di porre è simile alla pittura.

(By sculpture I mean that which is fashioned by the effort of cutting away, that which is fashioned by the method of building up being like unto painting.)

Michelangelo Buonarotti

All materials except clay are characterised by a specific quality that dictates something fundamental. By their nature, stone, wood, iron and other materials dominate over the artist; they mystify. Only clay does not show any inherent beauty or expression.

Carving forces me to respect the material. The material prevents me from moving away. By carving in stone, I explore the spirit of the material and its own proportions. The hand thinks and follows the thought of the material. There is no need to measure, because proportions are already there, in the block. Things can either ascend to heaven or descend to earth without changing their proportions. A sculpture is hidden in a block of stone, waiting for me to carve it out.

When I carve, I begin with a large solid block, something that exists. I begin with a mass from which I must extract a shape. In the beginning, there is much more material than at the end.

Modelling or constructing a sculpture in the direction from its interior to its exterior, is a procedure that is contrary to carving. I begin with the frame and use it as the foundation for the construction. It is as if I worked anatomically, beginning with the skeleton and adding the flesh. I can retrace my steps, make corrections, add and change. I begin with space, in which I create a form. It is a creative process, in which I begin with nothing.

Carving and modelling are two completely different modes of creativity. Modelling may be an easier way of creating a form in space. It takes great force to create a form in space by carving a sculpture in stone. It is easy to create a large compact block or carve it from one side or another without creating a form. Sculpture is in many ways covered with moss, with different kinds of surface growth, under which there is no form. This is extremely important when I want to emphasise the significance of those who like Michelangelo, Moore, Brancusi or Hepworth have achieved three—dimensionality by carving directly in stone. Direct carving demands that I openly face the material that I must master. Because of this, it is a very important craft.

If I was as sarcastic as Leonardo, I would say that there have never been any great artists among sculptors, only excellent craftsmen. This art started on a downward slope when direct carving, which gave the artist a personal victory over the material every time he finished a work, was abandoned.

Every art must obviously have roots in the »primitive« or else it becomes decadent. This explains why great periods, such as the Greece of Pericles or the Renaissance flourished so quickly: they followed the »primitive« periods and they waned slowly.

One of the first principles clearly visible in »primitive« art is respect for the material. A medieval chalice was made of rough gold and adorned with several large precious stones. When you held it, you felt the material. A Baroque chalice was of perfect shape, fragile, gilded and covered in tiny stones. When you picked it up, you were surprised how light and immaterial it was.

Today, we do not undertake enough practical work, because we are prevented from doing so by the artificially generated excessive need to rush and write. One who does not undertake enough practical work has lost all contact with the material and with nature in general. He imprints things with his ideas and projections that have nothing to do with the material. The same holds for observers, because they must be free of all wilful feelings: they must be free of all prejudice. If you already have an idea or perception about where your are going, you will not get anywhere, said Leonardo.

An artist makes a mistake if he writes too much about his work. Language is always directed outwards in order to describe something external instead of itself. Consequently, it is quite contrary to what sculpture should be. It does not see an egg as a simple, solid form, but as an object of nutritional value or as a literary idea of an object that will become a bird.

In addition, unlike in literature things in visual art are uniformly defined. If I wish to change a single detail in a composition, I will end up changing everything else, as well. Only philosophers can allow themselves to change a single comma in order to get something completely different.

Our weakness is also blind respect for ancient monuments. We endeavour to preserve them, including even ruins of a large part of »cultural« heritage. But this heritage is in fact ridiculous, if »cultural«, and we use it in a very confused way. We emulate it and turn (semi)art into art, instead of emulating nature and using raw material.

The »primitive« periods are mines of information and messages for a historian and anthropologist. But in order to understand and appreciate it, it is important to observe it rather than write a history of the primitive nations, their religions and social traditions.

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Albers, 1995

Throughout history, man’s connection with material and nature has gradually weakened. But rules that had developed over a longer period of collective practice were observed. They were based on the laws of nature and material. Their application represented security. Consequently, they were respected by all. A house could be constructed only in one out of five styles (in Tuscan, Doric, Ionic, Corinthian or Composite). These styles were in use from Antiquity to the last classicist period. Only in the Middle Ages, they took a different direction. But it is obvious that they respected all laws of material.

But if we take a look at the contemporary practice in any area of artistic creativity, we can see that we have lost all contact with material and nature: at a time when we most need them, there are no rules or laws that we are prepared to observe. We say that we are free, that we express ourselves freely, that there are no limits. But the question is whether we are truly free. The wise say that we are not.

In this century, all available means seem to be used for the material satisfaction of man who is only interested in scientific and technological progress. There is no unity between material, idea and proportions; there is no unity that would yield proportion.

Flying the flag of progress, practitioners become theoreticians whose work consists of expressing thoughts in highly restricted expressions of logic and words. But the observation of natural objects does not permit me to operate with formulas.

In my opinion, the only true sculpture is something that cannot be expressed in any other way but in sculpture. Anything that can be presented in other media should become something else. In order to understand what sculpture is, I must first focus on what I cannot express in any other way. I must focus on artistic practice and craftsmanship.

Visual Art is not Literature

Ljubljana, September 7 1994

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»ak«, 1988

I have found out that what we say is not necessarily true. In my student days I practiced drawing numbers — Arabic — in addition to the letters of the classical typeface — some call it Roman. But only someone without any sense at all would call this typeface »classical«. Only the external form of these letters is classical, but their essence lies deep within the classical letters (sculpted) and Arabic numbers (scratched). It is a matter of sensitivity. Arabic numbers have completely different arches, they tense in a completely different way and in most cases they are not embellished with serifs.

In Bauhaus, a functional typeface was developed in accordance with the contemporary belief that all decoration should be avoided. But this functional typeface later proved to be impractical. People read typefaces with serifs and other »junk« (according to Bauhaus) much more quickly. Consequently, the original idea about the functionality of writing proved one—sided and forced.

•

I intend to write about the difference between visual art and Literature and between visual art and literature—to—be. While I have great respect for Literature, I do not have anything positive to say about literature.

With the word literature I refer to everything that has been imposed on visual art and Literature. I do not think that visual art is only the material employed or that Literature is merely a collection of words. The difference does not necessarily lie in quality: it can be in the place where literature emerges.

• • • • •

There is an old story about three stonecutters. Someone asked them what they were doing. The first stonecutter replied: »I’m making life more pleasant.« The second said in between the swings of his hammer: »I’m cutting the finest stone in the land.« But the third looked at the sky in a visionary way and said: »I’m building a cathedral.«

The second stonecutter is problematic: to him, work is a purpose in itself. But the first and the third stonecutter see well: they recognize differences, they know that facts are relative and are aware that there is not just one form of visual formulation. Consequently they are more correct and more tolerant than the second stonecutter, who thinks only about what has been said and by whom. The first and the third stonecutter understand what has been said and by whom. They are overflowing with creative enthusiasm.

Nevertheless, writers praise the second stonecutter. They say: »Here is a down—to—earth chap! He does not live in the clouds, that one!«

• • •

A writer must not dare to traverse the gap between what he thinks is real and what he thinks is invented. But literature is nothing but a craft that creates images of a world constructed by its Craft. It is no less real than the reality created by an artist. A writer observes the world, stepping outside and assuming the position of an outsider.

Literature is an odd thing. It is thought to represent reality but in reality it does not represent anything. If I observe an object in order to discover what it means, I no longer see the object as it is; instead, I think about the question: »What is this?« With this question, I express my desire for everything to be understandable. I search for literary significance since I am afraid of the artistic. And as I search for the literary significance in the artistic, I invent a construction. I yearn for something to lean on. If I expect an explanation, it means that I do not understand visual expression. But as far as the visual artist is concerned, he said everything he had to say when he finished the work. Understanding is for words.

If having seen »Križanke IX« I visited Jakopič to find out what he wanted to express with this painting, do you honestly believe he could tell me anything? And if he had been able to express it with words, do you really think that he would have painted it? As far as I know, he did not give this title to the painting (the original title given to the painting by Jakopič was »Study of Light«). Nevertheless, this painting has always been known as »Križanke«. Don’t you understand the absurd wish to explain a simple, sensorial, artistic and human fact? Why speak about what I am doing if anybody can see it? Picasso once said: »Do you like birds singing? Can you explain it to me? No? Then why do you like it?« All this is literature that cannot become anything more than it already is. It speaks only lies. Any idiot can see beauty in a beautiful thing. But we should also see beauty in something else. Beauty is ever present. When a Chinese person draws a line and then draws another, why is one line more beautiful than the other? How can we explain this? How can we explain what a line expresses to him and why he does it? Bernik said all in a single sentence: »I flatten black lines to freeze the lie.«

Anthropologists, philosophers, historians, art dealers and others speak about what art is or should be. Instead, they should allow art to say what it is. It seems natural that we do not use the language of politics to speak about art. Therefore, it is logical that we cannot speak about art in a way that is foreign to art. Nevertheless, there is a strong tendency to interpret in a theatrical, literal way. As if it was not important what a work of art can say, at least while I have something else on my mind.

When Baudelaire, who wrote Literature, spoke about Delacroix, the artist, he was not interested in a literary topic but in painting as such: what colour had to offer and what form had to say. This is completely logical, for there exist things, not topics. A topic is merely an object dealt with in a certain way. As far as I know Baudelaire was the first non—artist who demanded that the viewer assume an irrational standpoint.

• • •

The first and the third stonecutter dream that they are only artists, but they are obstructed by the craftsman within. Nevertheless, this is their treasure, their personality. For this reason they try to bring these two personalities into line to avoid suffering. The craftsman is arrogant and they know him well. He forces them to say: »This stone is not that bad after all,« and makes them happy at the end of the day. But in the morning, they wake up to a catastrophe. The artist is a lowly man who is much less satisfied than the craftsman.

The second stonecutter is problematic. For him, functional work is the goal. He was born with a complex, a state of the spirit that is completely separate from the wishes of his family and the needs of his society. He is determined to hew that fine stone even though his family is starving and the cathedral is empty because the portal is too low. The only work of his hands is romantic ruins, not fortresses and arches that would make human wishes come true. He is only interested in the product as such. But valuable things exist only in connection with me, only when they affect me. I use a rock on the road to hoist the wheel of my car. It did not exist before: I brought it to life by using it. The moment I discard it, it returns to nothingness. These associations are infinitely varied and form the basis of an infinite range of visual art.

The opposite side of the same problem is evident from the following story. Degas once said to Mallarmè: »I cannot understand why my poems are no good though my ideas are wonderful.« Mallarmè replied: »Poems, my dear friend, are made of words not ideas.« The same holds for visual art. An idea is actually merely a frame that enables me to build a ship and launch it. If I fail to translate thoughts into the medium, when I do not imagine them practically, in a physical material, all my thoughts are worthless. They simply cannot last.

If, according to Thomas Mann, Literature is the ability to evoke emotion while speaking about everyday things, then painting is the ability to arrange colours in space in a way that the obvious aspect of colour disappears to the benefit of an outline of an inspired thought. This outline is a visible idea: the unity of idea and material. It is important not to separate these two things that go »hand in hand«, not to think in a dualistic way. An original artistic expression contains both. This does not mean that I think hermetically; it means that I do not let either burden me at the expense of the other. When I am not burdened down with anything, I am in a state of constant alertness; I am ready for anything and open to anything. I am like a beginner who sees a great opportunity and not an expert. An expert is a person that focuses only on specific problems and does not see the whole. He always knows things in advance; he has either seen or read them. A beginner is truly creative. And a truly creative person is always just beginning.

An expert is a Platonist: he does not believe his senses and is convinced that they are lying. Therefore, he has developed a scientific apparatus. He claims that he explores. This means that he deduces new properties and relationships from the properties and relationships postulated in axioms. Consequently, he does not focus on things but on their properties and relationships between them. He gains an (in)sight of the problem. The idea about exploration deludes him. He connects visual art with mathematics, trigonometry, chemistry, psychoanalysis and music in order to make its interpretation less complicated.

Axioms as points of departure for any theory are highly hypothetical. They describe properties and the relationships of elements, the nature of which is not known in advance. The only important thing is that the axiom system is not contradictory, or else anything could be proven. But the axiom system can be changed in order to prove anything. The axiom system is therefore invented and any similarity with reality is a pure coincidence.

An Indian, for example, takes another path. He keeps copying a problem until it appears clearly on paper and then he says: »Look!« He proves and explains the visible with the visible.

•

Literature with a small »l« tends to present things in a quantitative way. This kind of view of the world cannot be expressed with a merely visual medium. Objectively presentable things do not belong in the world of visual art.

Literature with a small »l« deals only with the external form and speaks of things without knowing what it says. It claims to know what the debate is about, whereas real Literature does not. Real Literature dances around the topic, beating about the bush, and because it does not touch upon the topic, it describes its essence. An example of this are holy scriptures, which are not written in metaphors so that simple people could understand them, but because this is the only possible way of describing (in words) the indescribable essence of the topic.

• • •

The spirit sees in two different ways: it sees as if it had eyes and understands a problem (in which eyes may or may not be involved). »Solving« a problem is like solving a crosswords puzzle: it has no particular purpose. I should not think about it too much. What is the spirit’s task if it is not the solving of problems? It is part of a work of art. In fact, it is a problem how to avoid finding problems so that the spirit would not have to struggle solving them. Solving problems is like literature that is always extrovert in order to describe something external instead of itself.

The literary is anything that does not function outside its artificial, invented mental framework. Usually I set myself a certain mental framework within which anything that does not contradict it in advance is proven correct. But when I shift this mental framework only a little bit, practically everything that seemed absolutely correct just a moment ago is now proven incorrect.

I believe that anybody dealing with theory believes that he is right. This does not bother me since artistic practice has nothing to do with the convictions of other people. But usually when somebody believes in something, his belief turns into a bitter sting. In the artistic practice, this sting should always be directed at ourselves. We should not bother about the differences between our convictions.

But a visual artist who writes or speaks about his work too much, who attempts to express his goals completely, logically and correctly, will soon become a writer whose work consists of his ideas expressed in strictly defined expressions of logic and words.

Therefore, a visual artists who is supposed to be silent and express himself only in art should use words only to give brief descriptions of what he has noticed if he believes that his experiences could help other artists to save time. (Here, I refer to Stockhausen.)

• • • • •

They asked the first and the third stonecutter: »How did Michelangelo, Buonarotti, Henry Moore, Konstantin Brancusi and Barbara Hepworth work in stone?«

»Directly.«

»How did Auguste Rodin work in stone?«

»He did not work in stone.«

This problem cannot be explained in terms of literature. It can only be explained with the help of the practical experience of a listener, which is unfortunately very rare. For this reason I must resort to a generally accepted medium: literature.

• •

In this article I complain about writing. Because, as the Vedas say, everything we learn from books (or our teachers) is like a vehicle. But a vehicle is useful only on the road. Once we reach the end of the road, we leave the vehicle and continue on foot. Therefore art theory is not omnipotent. But at the same time, we must be aware of the fact that art theory is still needed. As Johannes Itten says: »If you, unknowing, are able to create masterpieces in colour, then unknowledge is your way. But if you are unable to create masterpieces in colour out of your unknowledge, then you ought to look for knowledge.« And here Literature can be of great help.

Lord of the System 1

Ljubljana, 1998

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Saarinen, 1988

I was encouraged to edit and record my thoughts on the topic that I have been exploring since 1978 by an article by Borka Tepina, entitled Na konici svinčnika (At the tip of the pencil; Borko Tepina: Na konici svinčnika; Likovne besede, 12—13 March 1990, pp. 65—69).

If an artist who is supposed to be quiet and express himself only through visual art uses words, he should describe what he has noticed and what he thinks could help other artists save time in as few words as possible. If he speaks about modular order or a composition of a work, he should act in the capacity of a scientist.

Initially, I learnt a new language during my studies of modular order under Prof. Tine Kurent. Today, I understand and use this language differently, because I observe new phenomena year by year. The pure parameters of experience, which I have learnt, have become broader. The language has become more organic and flexible. I soon discovered that the artistic does not originate only from »purely artistic« properties. All our artistic endeavours are a statement about ourselves and reflect our understanding of the surroundings. Our work is greatly influenced by the surroundings in a way that cannot be expressed in words; the »geometric modular« language is thereby spiritually enriched.

Sequences, fonts, and series — the ordering of things through harmonic relationships is in terms of approach closer to nuclear physics, new biology, new genetics or a completely new conception of existence than a pure work of art. I understand the principle of series (sequences) as a universal principle. It broadens human awareness and possibilities of composition to the extent that it will continue to inspire us for some time in the future.

By using series, I pre—define composition. The material is arranged and organised even before I approach the task. One may wonder what is left for me to do if the preparation of material is based on variation. It means that I do not approach the task freely. I am bound by order. I become its voluntary servant, because I select it myself. But this means that I still have freedom.

People want to be free because they hope that this will release their inherent creative forces. But this is merely an expression of subjectivity. Their hope that it is possible to create only from one’s own source is soon shattered. The only solution seems to be objectivity. In this way, freedom is dialectically reversed. People realise that they must obey laws and the system, but this does not take away their freedom. Freedom is not the violation and disrespect for rules. This would be banal. We are free when we no longer feel rules as a restriction, when we expand on them: when we cease to be anarchic. From a wider perspective, true freedom may be found only in complete order and discipline.

Order as an artistic composition is not there to serve itself. It provides us with support. As such, it is justified, but it must be rejected when it turns into a form of etiquette.

Laws, rules and systems merely confirm real—life experiences, thereby performing a vitally important task. They form an organisation that is of utmost importance even in creativity. Today, these rules are mostly forgotten and perverted. In the past, they were not so objective or so extrovert. They were based on the experiences and practices of ancestors. This was a collective memory, and this something that can be restored; observing these rules meant security.

Some think systems are a trick and therefore they reject them. At the same time, they use a system that has been tested and widely used for centuries and that they are not aware of because it is so widely present. They have probably learnt about it in school and simply adopted the work of others. Without any gratitude or historical awareness!

• • •

Back in the seminar class during the first year of my university studies, I realised that form and material are closely connected. When you wish to create a new image using a material that was intended for a different purpose and has different properties, you notice that there is a contradiction between the material and forms that you wish to create with it. I have always felt that it is extremely important for the material and form to come together and complement one another, that I do not force the material to assume a form for which it was not created.

It all began with a problem of how to place a black square on a white surface. Theoretically, it can be placed anywhere and the square can be of any size.

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Fig. 1

I received the first information about the emerging composition from the format of the paper. The sides of the format generally used in my country are in the proportion of one to the square root of two (both A and B format). The format seems to be composed of a square and the proportionate remainder. For this reason, I drew diagonals of the entire format and diagonals of the square part. This defined both the position and the size (see fig. 1). I placed the black square in the centre of the upper square part, determining its size with the intersection of the diagonals of the entire format (see fig. 2).

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Fig. 2

Later it turned out that I always return to the same foundation. I always find out that I move in an area of what I call »primary composition«. I have also tried to translate this system into the golden section format. The mental construction and the order are the same, but the character of the proportions in the golden section does not suit me because due to emphatic elongation the golden section leans too much in one direction (see fig. 3). Therefore we should not search only for quantity in proportions (relationships), but also for quality. Each proportion has a different character. The difference between two proportions, such as between one to the square root of two and the golden section, in a certain instance resembles the difference between major and minor in music.

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Fig. 3

When I do not wish to construct a certain proportion in a geometric way, I take its arithmetic approximate in the form of a ratio between small integers. The quotients 5:7, 12:17, 29:41. 58:89 and 7:10 are arithmetic approximates of the one to the square root of two ratio. The difference between an accurate geometric construction and an arithmetic approximate is relatively small and of no significance for the usual artistic purposes. If we calculate, we see that the quotient of 1 to the square root of two is 1.414, whereas the quotient of 7:10 is 1.428. This means that in the length of one metre, the difference would be less than a millimetre and a half, which is far beyond our visual capacities.

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Fig. 4

Usually I take the B2 format because it is physically controllable but still large enough. I imagine that one side is 7 and the other 10 units long. The entire format is therefore a structure of 7 x 10 squares, which shows the basic principle of composition (see fig. 4). »Struktur ist die Wiederholung einer Einheit. Die Gliederungen werden bei den Proportionen Halt machen m¸ssen.« Paul KleeAnd this is a visible difference between the first and second composition, a difference that is behind the two drawings. The first follows geometric principles and its format is internally divided. Individual elements are different and proportions (ratios) connect these elements into a whole. In the second example, a certain unit repeats itself and individual elements are products of this unit. The individual elements can be subtracted or added without changing the rhythm of the composition.

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Fig. 5

In this I distinguish between the structure within an individual element and between the structure of equal and independent elements. If I draw a square with a grid that divides it into 5 x 5 small squares, this represents a structure within or of the square. It is something completely different if I draw 5 x 5 squares. The difference is immediately visible because squares no longer have common borders: each square has its own four edges (see fig. 5). This means that when we pay attention to the edges and less to surfaces, what we see within the structure are two parallel borders. This is a structure of 5 x 5 (squares) on the 7 x 10 surface, which is a foundation for my further work.

With the basic grid, I define the rules of the game/composition. Actually, I already define them in the first composition. The black square measures exactly 3×3 and the line cuts away the upper square part of the format three units above the lower edge. In this way, the format is divided into two surfaces measuring 3 x 7 and 7 x 7 respectively.

As long as there is only this, I speak about pure composition that is characterised by a special inherent constructional solidity and order that borders on rigidity. It is like a scientific work. It contains suppressed forces and tensions. It is beautiful as it is. This means that when I lay emphasis only on its construction, I receive an assurance that the final result will be »beautiful« no matter what the composition contains. In this case I achieve this by drawing a grid/structure. I could for example accentuate the perspective cross when drawing an architectural space. But this kind of composition is not alive and it is quickly exhausted. I find life in irregularities. Irregularities manifest as stresses, unexpected position, etc. Pure composition is merely a box for the required content. The content can be anything and does not change the composition.

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Fig. 6

I emphasise the squares of the basic structure by adding another element. In this way, the squares attain individuality. If I set additional elements in a regular position, which due to special features is mathematically called specific position, if their position is central or axial (symmetrical), characters emerge (see fig. 6). But in order for a character to be recognised at the first glance, it must constructed in a way that clearly reveals its regularity (it is mathematically specific)

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Fig. 7

But when additional elements are arranged in a general position, square turn into ordinary boxes with inserted content (see fig. 7). When additional elements are in a central position, we see only these elements as such, but when we move it, they acquire the significance of their position (in relation to other elements). The relative significance overshadows the absolute significance. This means that a simple line could be equally replaced by an elephant in the same position. Consequently, the main difference between the character and a certain sequence is the way elements are arranged. Characters are defined by their specific position. A character is memorable because of its regularity. Or else, if we remember a character only partially, it can be reconstructed with the help of the strict laws of its structure. This resembles a music written in a certain harmony that is defined by a solid, almost rigid inherent order. It lives in our memory for a long time.

Some of the best characters are letters. It is interesting that Y did not seem good enough to the sculptor Adam Smith. He changed it by adding another arm to the conventional two. This gave additional emphasis to the letter’s specific nature as a character. On the contrary, James Joyce in Finnegan’s Wake discovered something extremely interesting about characters: in the passage where a red hen finds a letter, he says that there is no difference between writing and drawing. The hen found a secret message. The letter means: »You have sent for me.« All letters bring the secret message: »You have sent for me.« They do not say: »I have sent for you.« Consequently Joyce believes that all characters have a common significance in addition to their own individuality. By trying to be as specific as possible, they achieve exactly the opposite. They became general.

• • •

With this I realised that pure composition is a craft. I found my solution to the problem, because the laws of a craft are not mandatory for creativity. A science about craftsmanship is practical and as such extremely useful and possibly even unavoidable.

This procedure can be called a composition—building method with a limited number of elements that are connected only to one another. It consists of a single basic image of a many times varied line of (five) elements; this defines the horizontal and vertical line, as can be expected from a basic motif with a limited number of elements. This method is one of craftsmanship, which has no decisive influence on the composition, and the character of the work. It is merely an issue of approaching the material with regard to a selection of design approaches and awareness of the material’s characteristics.

Lord of the System 2

Ljubljana, 1996

￼

»aa6«, 1994

Construction is
planning, organisation, arrangement,
comparison and control.
In short: it comprises
all means that resist
chaos and coincidence.
For this reason it befits
the human intention
and qualifies human
thought and deed.

Josef Albers

I flatten black lines in order to stop the lie in its tracks.

Janez Bernik

This text is an answer to a number of frequently asked questions. I have described methods and situations connected with my work. I have incorporated memories and circumstances surrounding the genesis of my work and have added whatever seems relevant: personal associations connected with my work.

I have excluded statements about what the drawings »represent«. I cannot and will not explain, analyse or define creative and emotive motives behind my work or the work of others. The description of an inspiration or of a meaning of a drawing or some other work of art is contained in the work itself. Endless conversations about creativity seem to be insignificant intellectual merry—go— rounds; I think their intention is to present exhausted possibilities and identify with fashion rather than to realise the spirit. For this reason I hope that my creative and technical standards in the present article are based on my work rather than an intellectual dissertation.

We live in a time of new technology, the tools and methods of which sometimes approach creative endeavour. As in any creative work, the craftsmanship aspect of art must suit the demands of expression. Because of this, I do not agree with those who consider craftsmanship to be inferior. Craftsmanship or technical skill is the foundation of our creativity. On the other hand there is a great difference if someone is technically skilled or a good technician. The skill of many, even highly distinguished artists is unattainable, but that is not the same thing. Art is a way of expressing one’s thoughts. It is not a craft. It is like writing literature. One simply uses shapes instead of words. But what you write is extremely important. Bernini gave an excellent description of this contradiction: »Ei [Michelangelo] dice cose, voi dite parole.«

But at the same time, Western man is obsessed with technique and is convinced that anything is possible, even in art. Nevertheless, the history of printing for example teaches us that the greatest masterpieces were not created by docessional printers (who always sold only craftsmanship) but by great painters: Dürer, Rembrandt, Goya, Manet, Matisse, Picasso and Miró, to mention only a few. But these painters had to be good craftsmen as well. It is a vicious circle running from intention to craftsmanship and back. Intention and craftsmanship constantly regulate each other.

We could say that, in craft, intention is subordinated to (or follows) technique. And when technique is subordinated to intention, we can speak of creativity (art). There is craft, »that manual work that highly objectively controls our lives« Johannes Maria Hollenstein on the one hand, and intention, that spirituality growing out of this physical activity, which is another, opposite form of control, on the other. It is like Mann’s Lord of the System, a »teacher of objectivity and organisation, a genius that connects what can be restored, the archaic, with the revolutionary. It is a source of freedom that is also manifested as a habit, memory or ability that is usually regarded as an obstacle. But we know that it is this very ability that liberates us from many hindrances in our lives.« Likewise, Charles Lapicque claims that »there is nothing more complex than work that owes its success to habit.« Collective habits and collective memory are called tradition; these are rules par excellence. According to Schopenhauer, a man who has lost his memory is crazy. This is obviously true, since the logic of our usual procedures is a consistent flow of memories of mutual relationships between objects and us. We obviously live in a time of discarded norms, rules and tradition — in short, in a time everything archaic that could be restored is rejected. It is a time of anarchy and madness.

When I speak of the Lord of the System, I do not mean a Hitlerian lord who sets his own rules but a supreme principle that was present in the original void from which the world was created. Only the Creator is capable of creating ex nihilo. Everything we imagine is already real. A thought cannot invent something unreal.

An artist’s attitude towards this supreme principle is evident in the masterful handling of proportions (I am not referring here to physical proportions). Proportion is one of the most important qualities of the world of art (including music). It can be understood only intuitively, since it is a quality of the thought process combined with what we see. It can be found in the perfect unity of idea, matter and dimensions. It is not concerned with the external appearance of the form but with its inner essence. It can be seen when, for example, we differentiate between individual types of tree; at the same time, not two trees of the same type are identical.

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»1a«, 1995

The operational steps (in my work) are derived from proportion, from the ratio of dimensions or from the basic dimension; this can be described in terms of modular order. This order is based on a module, on a unit that is constantly repeated in a certain work. These modular units have been used in architecture for centuries. But while in a Greek temple the module was hidden beneath the plasticity of the form, it is open in my »graphic« work. In this way I can observe modular order through a unique or multiple manipulation of the basic unit. I develop this until I formulate the basic theme that facilitates different operations. One element plus one element must, apart from their sum, give at least one more interesting link. The more interesting links are created, the more intense they are; the more elements they yield, the more important the result is. Several elements are connected in a structure (complex), where contrasts between different sizes and relationships between different parts become visible.

I usually develop the modular order around a nucleus, from which I receive new formulations: rotational, diagonal, horizontal or vertical movement. The only decision I must make is this nucleus or point from which everything grows or is at least connected with it. This is the first beginning, the fundamental co—ordinates and my own point of view (location in space), which I transfer into a painting or a format.

While looking at a format, I see a composition. I call this process (pre—)visualisation. Through this exercise I foresee the different influences of individual stages in a graphic process and I include them intuitively in the visualisation of the final image. I visualise the possibilities of images in the world around me. I try to define the relationships between the shapes and the values of what I see before me in the sense of the image format and image quality as seen by craftsmanship and material, not only by the eye. Lately I have not strictly adhered to standard paper formats, since the world only rarely takes their shape. But I still adhere to the keys of proportion, which are secure rules defined by past experience, because »with a sufficiently strict structure, I can ›correct‹ a coincidental shot« Georges Braque.

The definition of dimensions as a special operation is not necessary since dimensions are already there in the elements, material and format. I speak of the dimensions of the entire image and, probably more importantly, of the dimensions of a unit or the intensity with which the element establishes interrelationships. The size of the whole, the format and the outline play a much more important role in sculpture and architecture than they do in painting. A painting is separated from its surroundings with a frame (if it is not intended for decoration) and, for this reason, it is much easier for the painting to preserve its intended inherent relationships.

The unity of a creative concept demands simplicity, which does not exclude complexity. Simplicity is not renunciation. Subtle complexity can be achieved by combining simple geometric shapes, and through the harmony of structures (dimensions, etc.), the meaning (spirit) and the palpable (matter). There is a difference between the simplicity of form and the complexity of composition. »Errors«, such as approximate shapes, relationships and positions, create a powerful tension that forces the viewer to dwell on subtle differences. »L’exactitude n’est pas la vérité.« Henri Matisse

The computer is a valuable visualisation tool. Only rarely do I use it for execution. It is my planning tool — a tool in a stage that precedes realisation, which in my case is usually pure craftsmanship. And I never use it as a generator of shapes and composition. This means that I do not use the computer in the same way as most computer wizards do whose work is a direct result of computer manipulation. The computer naturally invites you to experiment. This can be good. But I think that it is better to experiment for a while in one’s own head before one lets the machine process the project. Most people usually focus on the technical, mechanical side of what can be done instead of doing it. In the face of endless new possibilities, they forget the essential.

Many people often confuse two things: owning a computer and being creative. The problem lies with »artists« who are not good or strong enough to make a breakthrough and establish their individuality. Moreover, the computer has become a creative tool of those who are not artists. Everybody, the qualified and unqualified alike, think they can be an artist. As if anybody could do anything. If you buy an expensive piano, this does not mean you can play it. But the prevalent opinion is: »No, no! You are wrong. You need skilful hands to play the piano. No such thing is required for the computer.« This is a complete delusion. Sooner or later, even the computer must be handled just like the piano. For this reason, it is not right to blame the computer for any deficiency. What it offers is possibilities. The tool itself is never problematic. The real problem lies in the handling of the tool. Anyway, the computer has evidently contributed to more varied creativity. It has also helped to bring about better work. In the past you had to be satisfied even if the result was not exactly right; with the computer, however, corrections are very easy. Nevertheless, the freedom introduced by computers has made creative work more complicated since »everything is possible« and changes can be made until the very last moment. For this reason, the finalisation of a project has become elusive. Before computers, everything had to be done in one’s head and, once it was put on paper, the project was finished. Literally finished.

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»24«, 24. 5. 1995

In the past it was possible to make an object in different sizes and there were small differences between individual versions. But in a computer, an element is entered once and for all for all sizes and can only be enlarged or reduced. Try to enlarge proportionally or photographically a conventional printed character in lead that was created for the footnote font in order to fit it to the title font. You will find that it is too smudged, too broad. Everybody with practical experience knows that, when enlarging something, one must not enlarge all parts equally. Width should be enlarged to a much lesser extent than the entire shape. In enlargement and reduction, the artistic law of the preservation of proportions does not hold. This law is only mathematically correct. In other words, in the past there were many laws incorporated into objects and their dimensions (anthropometry) and these were automatically observed when these objects were used. A table was as wide as one could reach. But today we talk about several tens of units (centimetres) or a fraction of a larger unit (metre). In order to get the right dimensions, a manual must be consulted. And ever since we placed the computer between man and product, it has become much more difficult to acquire such experience other than during manual work. For this reason, laws are newly discovered in the form of written regulations and standards so that we can instruct the computer how things should be.

When a technology is still new, people play with it as if it were a toy. Fortunately this does not last long. Some focus on the technical possibilities offered by new technology, but a good artist takes some time to find out how to use the new tool in the right way. Some things do not change. Whatever technology is used, one is still led by talent and effort to achieve the best possible result. The computer cannot help you find out what you want to say. You can do anything you want with a computer, but you will still ask yourself: »What shall I do next?« There are still only two types of artist: the good and the bad. The computer has raised the lower level so that a complete ignoramus no longer creates a complete mess like before, when he was forced to use his unskilled hands. But the upper level remains unchanged.

It is not good that, in schools, students spend most of their time learning how to use individual tools. As a result, schools yield technically exceptional and highly skilled docessionals. But the question is: what can they do? In the past they did not waste time on how things were done in practice. Students were expected to know that already. For example, during the Renaissance, composition was studied much less than it is today, but Renaissance structures still stand whereas contemporary structures have to be restored or replaced within ten years. Achieving the perfect unity of dimensions, matter and spirit is still as difficult as it was during the Renaissance.

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»aa3«, 1994

A good craftsman paints an element. A master of composition paints several elements arranged in a composition. But let us not hide a lack of craftsmanship with a composition and »compositional« insecurity with craftsmanship. For example, we can take the petals of a flower and use them to create something completely different, as if they were no longer the petals of a flower but independent objects arranged by man in a completely different way. Shapes contain only images (ideas) of things. Only in composition (in relation to other shapes and the format) do the individual elements of these shapes come into consideration, for only in composition do relationships between what is below and above, inside and outside emerge. Of primary importance are the arrangement and rhythm, as in music, which expresses itself only tonally. Any materialised thing that resembles a shape already created by nature is separated from the soul. All shapes already exist in nature.

»A shape becomes non—object (abstract) when it creates a new shape that emerges from the human spirit. Abstraction is not transformation, as some would have it. This would imply that the artistic is transformative. But the artistic is not like that. The artistic is simply formative.« In the words of Anthony Caro: »in non—object (abstract) art, art is subject—matter and not content. Significance is implicit and not explicit. The method is the painting itself.« There is nothing descriptive about such works because man can express himself only with pure shapes and pure colours. In this way, non—object (abstract) works do not literally describe and, in this way, we escape into the artistic from the ordinary, from the conventions of the manuscript, where socially agreed significance prevails over content. »Before the letters of the alphabet make up a word, there are symbols.« David Smith

Lord of the System 3

Ljubljana, 1997

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»123—a«, oktober 1997

»A realist often wonders: ›Does the line exist at all? The line is after all a section of two flat surfaces. Or a horizontally laid surface at eye level. An exact, active, moving point, a perfect line, is not visible at all. Therefore it does not exist.‹
But an idealist secretly laughs at this and says: ›If I do not see it, I sense it, and what I sense can be made cognitive and thereby visible. Therefore, the line does exist.‹ It undoubtedly exists in relative terms and in comparison with the otherwise manifested — with the flat surface, for example. And what is the line in general terms? A river in the distance. A thought. A railway. An attack. A sword, cut, arrow, ray. The blade of a knife. A beam. A carpenter of all shapes: a plummet.«

Paul Klee, from a lecture given on 9 January 1924 at the Bauhaus.

• • •

Constructing a graphic print from its interior, from the individual elements towards the whole, is a procedure that is diametrically opposed to elaboration. In the case of the latter, I start with the format, with solid material, which I then elaborate and divide. I start with something that exists and that must be turned into something. It is easy to preserve a large, single format or start eating away at it from both sides, without creating space or tension between the elements.

The process of composing is completely different. I start with nothing and in this »nothing« I create a form in the next stage when I add individual elements and combine different materials. Apart from the sum of these elements, I must create at least one more interesting link. The more interesting links are created, the more intense they are; the more elements they yield, the more important the result is.

In composing, the size of an individual unit is important. I do not know the final size of the sum (format) in advance, since the rules of composing and composition are defined by elements. But when I elaborate, I already have the size of the entire picture or format and I start from there. The size of the unit is only a fraction of the whole. It defines the intensity with which the format creates relationships between the elements, and between the elements and itself. Everything emerges from the material, which also contains the rules of the game.

It is not right for me to try to force the material to accept something that is foreign to it. But this forcing has become much easier with state—of—art technology. For this reason a knowledge of different materials has never been as important as it is today when everything is possible, including virtual architecture — architecture that does not give shelter from the rain. Thanks, but no thanks. Some basic rules must be observed. Let us say that artistic production is material production.

I do not experience rules, past experiences and respect for tradition as a restriction. All this is not really the past. Past experiences and principles generate new ones. I constantly interpret what I think once existed. I see splendid forms, large spaces and large formats in the past. I respect order, the very order which has always been omnipresent; the true order that was not invented by man.

In my work, freedom is a result of order — modular order. (It was Nietzsche who told us that freedom could be found only in perfect order and discipline). Among other things, I can ›correct‹ a coincidental shot with a sufficiently firm structure.

But many reject modular order because it supposedly restricts them. I can only understand this as a manifestation of complete ignorance or of a misunderstanding of the problem. This order has evolved through history, which means that it contains experiences from the past and is therefore a completely legitimate principle.

When people do not have sufficient understanding of a procedure, they are like violinists playing semiquavers and demisemiquavers and being fully aware of every one of them. But this can’t be done. A violinist must practice for so long that he stops »thinking« about which note he has to play next. He plays the sounds and consequently the melody.

When people fail to understand laws, they perceive them formally — that is, they see them superficially. They hear only words and they argue your every word. They do not comprehend the essence of things or what is being said. There is no use telling such people that modular order is one of the aspects of the supreme principle or the Lord of the System, hidden in the material with which I work. It is my respect for the material that sets me free.

Together with relevant techniques or crafts, stone, wood, iron, paper and other materials demand total submission. All crafts apart from computer science seem to contain a specific quality that dictates basic rules and demands proper expression. Computer science does not display any signs of craftsmanship or predefined expression, however. The reason for this is that those who usually work on computers are usually occupied with something other than computer science. Computer is nothing but an excellent simulator. It is a universal tool that comes in handy during work. For this reason, whoever bets on computers must above all be a good better rather than a computer expert. People working in an ordinary pre—print studio do not even know printing units. A computer is like a linguist who masters a certain language perfectly but who cannot say (or does not know much about) anything else.

When I draw on a computer, things crystallise much faster. For me, the difference between a drawing and computer graphics is the same as the difference between a man thinking only in his own head and a man who does it aloud in conversation. It is not a matter of getting something from the computer. You usually do not get much from a person you talk to. The computer is »only« an excellent and well—disposed listener. Usually, one’s thoughts crystallise very fast when one talks to such listeners.

• • •

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Mon—1, 1. 9. 1997

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Mon—1—txt, 1. 9. 1997

Why should I always draw shapes that keep repeating themselves in my work? I can define them as blocks in a drawing programme, but why should I keep defining constant relationships between shapes? Therefore I need a programme that can deal with constant shapes and relationships that are partly constant and partly changing. I can enter shapes in the computer like a row of characters. This means that apart from Bodoni, Garamond and Caslon, there are also Characters. The rest can be done using the QuarkXPress programme. The technical side is, in principle, this simple. But things get complicated at the next stage when I set some aesthetic demands.

Na primer: Presledek za posameznim znakom, je sestavni del znaka samega. For example: a space after a character is part of the character. This means that a large character is followed by a large space. But what happens if I want all spaces to be the same? Then I create a font in which the characters are without spaces. I insert spaces between the characters myself, just as I insert spaces between words. With this, I return to the good old days of »lead«, when typesetters worked manually with the help of the n—space. Nobody knows about this anymore. As if the computer knew everything instead of man. All this is good and fair, but everything changes with the n—space. There, the journey must be taken by foot. The computer surrenders its power and turns into the ordinary (indispensable) tool that it really is.

• • •

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√2&Φ—mm—1, 6. 9. 1997

In the old days, back in the 16th century, the craftsman and artisan was also a designer. In addition, he sold his own work. Today, only artists work, although recently even they have stopped working. Software wizards are changing and behave as if they were the makers of »anything«, working only with their heads and not with their hands. But they gain nothing this way. They merely relinquish a huge advantage that they could have. Because anybody can do it on his own. There is no need for others to deal with our personal problems.

The first typographers were both designers and workers. One such example was Claude Garamond. Making punch blanks demanded extreme skill. Characters were manually engraved into pieces of steel. It is easy to imagine how, with great skill and care, the surface of a form could be engraved with razors and small files. But the problem lies in the details of the form’s interior. For this reason, experts are convinced that engravers first perforated steel by punching or casting it in order to create space for the interior of the character. They then proceeded by shaping the character around this space. But this means that old characters are not forms that surround interior space but forms that are built around this space. There is a big difference between these two principles. It is a matter of two opposing principles. (This method hides many interesting and special things. A small anti—form can be used for several characters of the alphabet and not only for one).

Only 100 years ago, characters were designed and made in their actual font size. Today, characters are designed in a very large format and reduced later on. But it is a known fact that, in a mechanical or mathematically exact reduction, dimensions (particularly width) must be regulated. No character is designed universally for all font sizes and is able to be automatically enlarged and reduced by computer. No such character exists, at least not a good one. When enlarged to 72—unit size, a font created for the six—unit size looks like it is in bold.

• • •

I build on the law of contrasts, on the polar contrasts between black and white, and between the hard form and the »soft« anti—form. I arrange black shapes in a format so that the black disappears to the benefit of the form. For me, black is a colour and I am not bothered by the scientific discoveries about light absorption, according to which black is not a colour. I must still go to the shop and buy it like all other colours. Black has the least influence on the form itself. It is the flesh of visual perception and not merely the skin. From all colours, it most efficiently separates the form from its surrounding area.

I do not see the surrounding area of the form as part of universal surroundings. To me, it represents the material itself — a structural part of the object — to the point where it can yield volume just like any other solid material.

I do not incorporate the intentionally descriptive because I can express (myself) with pure forms and pure materials. The non—descriptive (non—object) approach allows me to create graphics that do not need to describe (themselves). Naturally, I cannot separate form from the descriptive, just as I cannot protect denotation from connotation.

Since I compose material and shapes rather than content, I find the anonymous means of the Character »font« very suitable. It facilitates the infinite possibilities of structural laws, the expandability and flexibility of the system, uniform quantities and relativity of dimensions, all of which determine the final appearance. The whole is based on arrangement and rhythm, just like in music, which expresses itself only tonally.

I am interested only in what I cannot express in any other way. Anything I can present through painting should become a painting. So in order to understand graphics, I must first look at what I cannot express in any other way.

• • •

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»3, 6, 9, 4, 2, 10—a«, 10. 8. 1997

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»3, 6, 9, 4, 2, 10—a—1«, 12. 8. 1997

Today, many people speak about content. But is content not a matter for literature? For this reason let us ask ourselves about the relationship between the language of material and the language of words. We think we are so familiar with our own (word) language that we are taken by surprise by the fact that we never accept it as pure, untainted by mediation. We are used to perceiving words as content, even if they are in the form of a text and illustration layout in a book, or the spoken text recorded by a film camera. We forget that we can see in two different ways: we can see by watching with our eyes or by seeing a meaning (in which our eyes play no part at all). The meaning of words is changed due to different stresses, contexts and subversions. In communication, words cannot exist without a certain narrative form: both the design and the designer of visual/verbal language undoubtedly go beyond mere words and the author’s work.

Just as we cannot avoid communication and the attribution of different meanings to it, we cannot avoid the conditions of the present time and space. Tools change, and the text and image turn into a common digital language. I am not a typical representative of the new era. I do not have a mobile phone or a TV set, and I do not have an Internet account. But I cannot imagine the world without a computer diskette. People do not understand this. They keep bringing me texts for publication on paper, typed on computer by their secretaries. Where is the diskette? Paper is only the last link in the chain. It is unnecessary beforehand. At the end we need it because we are used to this kind of printout, we are used to this form. On the screen, I do not see mistakes in typing; on paper, I see them immediately. Who knows why?

For this reason, the work displayed at the exhibition is also on paper.

5 Themes of Composition About Structure

»Our universe appears to be constructed according to the principle of hierarchy: small things are part of bigger things and those are part of yet bigger things. The molecules of aluminium silicate make up clay that can be shaped into bricks, and bricks — in certain combinations with other materials — make up houses, garden walls and workshops, that in turn make up a city. It is true that these things are manmade, but the same principle governs nature — the human body for example. Brick cannot be used for building modern skyscrapers, which demand steel construction, and if we use bamboo and paper as building materials we are faced with different limitations altogether. These limitations are the reason for many ›laws‹, but in reality these limitations are laws. This hierarchical order of the universe, however, facilitates an encoding system that can be used for the formulation of efficient general guidelines that allow us to detect complex data.«

Milan Butina, Elementi likovne prakse (Elements of Art Practice)

Theme I

Structure is the Repetition of a Unit

I create a pattern or an ornament that is based on a grid or, exceptionally, on some other form of repetition.

→ Patterns are nothing but mathematical isometric projections (on a plane). Isometric projections are usually understood as mirroring (there are several types of mirroring), a vortex, repetition or the like. Through the primary pattern, I grasp dimensions, module, scale, ratio and proportion.

I repeat the primary pattern in different compositions. The final product depends on how I begin. I work systematically and rationally, not »intuitively«.

Theme II

Structure → System

Standard Element → Group → Set

Standard elements function as representational elements. The number of elements in a set → the number of elements in all sets → the number of sets → the size of graphics. Each element is, in terms of quantity, equally distributed in all sets and each set is, in terms of quantity, equally represented through the graphics as a whole. → The size of an individual element equals one unit.

It is a matter of quantitative contrast known from colour theory. Usually the problem lies in the size of individual surfaces, something studied by Johannes Itten. But my work, like the work of Josef Albers, Owen Jones and above all Richard Paul Lohse, is about the quantity or number of repetitions.

Theme III

Structure → Sequence

I divide the format of 70×50 units into 7×5 squares with 10—unit sides, or a very similar format of 70 x 49 units into 10 x 7 squares with 7—unit sides. I continue to divide each square into smaller squares with 1—unit sides. The result is a grid of thick and fine lines which serves as a structure (framework) for my graphics. This means that elements, two versions of sets (groups) and the format are defined. Within each set I create a theme that is repeated in different variations in all other sets. When I move to a higher level, the previous sets turn into elements and the story repeats itself, so that the entire format represents a variation on the theme from the previous sets. Be aware: I do not describe the shape, I merely state the rules of the game!

Theme IV

√2

Structure → Elaboration

I divide the format of 70 x 50 units into 7 x 5 squares with 10—unit sides, or a very similar format of 70 x 49 units into 10 x 7 squares with 7—unit sides. I continue to divide each square into smaller squares with 1—unit sides. The result is a grid of thick and fine lines which serves as a structure (framework) for my graphics. Within each square, I develop a theme through elaboration: I join squares with one—unit sides into 3 x 2, 7 x 5, 17 x 12 and 41 x 29 planes. I can combine two longitudinal planes because the ratio does not change. If I am not happy with four different pairs of numbers, I can multiply the divisor (the smaller number in the pair) by a factor of two (the arithmetically expressed previous graphic law). Then I arrange the compositions of squares so that their inner composition logically continues horizontally and vertically. I respect the immanent linear (discursive) logic of √2.

It is all about the play of ratios or fractions that are arithmetic approximates of the √2/1 ratio. In the proposed procedure, I play with the law: (√2)-1 = √2/2.. [The reverse value of √2 equals its half value, which is (1.414)-1 = 0.707; the law also says that (1+√2) = 1/(√2-1) or (1+√2) = (√2- 1)-1.]

Theme V

Φ (Golden Section)

Structure → Elaboration

I divide the format of 72×45 units into 8×5 squares with 9—unit sides, or a similar format of 65 x 40 units into 13 x 8 squares with 5—unit sides. I continue to divide each square into smaller squares with 1—unit sides. The result is a grid of thick and fine lines which serves as a structure (framework) for my graphics. Within each square, I develop a theme through elaboration: I join squares with 1—unit sides into 3 x 2, 5 x 3, 8 x 5, 13 x 8, 21 x 13, 34 x 21 and 55 x 34 planes. Each plane can be enlarged by a square along the longer side, its edge coinciding with the side, or reduced by a square located within the plane along the shorter side, its edge coinciding with the side. If you take a closer look at the fractions, you will see that they feature the numbers 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34 and 55 (an = an-1 + an-2). Then I arrange the compositions of squares so that their inner composition logically continues horizontally and vertically. I respect the immanent plane logic of φ.

It is all about a play of ratios or fractions that are arithmetic approximates of the φ ratio (φ = (√5+1) / 2). In the proposed operation, I play with the law: φ-1 = φ-1. [The reverse value of φ equals its value minus 1. (1.618-1 = 0.618)].

Logic

Ljubljana, 1998

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Composition, 1988

For me, graphic art is a form of art in which I deal with the principles of artistic thought more than anywhere else. I mostly study approach, but only to an extent where this is exactly defined and based on a conscious use of artistic procedures and artistic notions. This does not significantly limit the extent of artistic research. I can reduce all clear and correct artistic procedures down to exactly defined artistic procedures. The possibility of translating into exactly defined procedures is a criterion of clarity. An exactly defined approach entails an assumption expressed as (artistic) language. If I attach great significance to the result of this approach, I clarify the approach »by drawing in my mind« or even on paper. It is true that an approach can be explored only indirectly, in its objectified form. But the tool which turns an approach into a topic of objective research is (artistic) language: only a linguistically expressed approach is a completely clear approach. Of all forms of exploration, graphic art is in my mind the most appropriate for the research of the artistic/logical side of an approach or an approach that focuses on what is artistically correct. (I think that it is not entirely inappropriate if I quote an old definition of logic, according to which logic is a science about the ways of correct thinking.) Since a graphic record conserves my approaches (Stane Bernik: »I flatten black lines to freeze the lie.«), I can at any time resume the exploration of approaches. My exploration invariably resembles objective research.

In a simplified way, an approach given form in an image is called composition building. Composition—building is a procedure in which format is translated into composition. The principles of composition—building cannot be defined only for individual concrete examples; they must speak about the possibility of deriving a specific composition from a specific format. I build the general formulations of my principles with the help of the composition format. These formulations are in fact schemes that express the common features of many different formats. I speak about the features of the format with the help of artistic variables. I define artistic variables simply with the relationships between shapes or forms that do not have a specific meaning. The correctness of this principle is based on the fact that any replacement of an artistic variable in a given (adopted) format, which verifies or implements a certain form by turning it into a composition, invariably verifies the composition in other similar formats. To avoid the dependence of composition—building principles on concrete data, I must exclude from the building of a composition any artistic elements that mark definite objects. Consequently, only those purified elements remain in formats, which I call logical (they are very close to artistic elements). The main characteristic of these logical elements is that they do not refer to any specific knowledge or thought which I might possess: they emerge regardless of what I am thinking. In a sense, I understand art as the exploration of this kind of universal elements.

The logical composition of the format or the logical result of the format is the name I give to the composition of a format containing only logical elements. Through art I explore the logical structure and formulate the principles of its correctness only as far as this depends exclusively on the artistic feature of the format, on its invisible inherent (although perceptible) structure. The principles of the correct logical approach are formulated as general schemes in which merely the logic of the format’s composition is featured.

In case you have not noticed: I have been speaking about formal logic.

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Composition, 1998

Linear Typography

Ljubljana, 1998￼

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Composition, 1988

What makes a letter and a word? This is an oft—repeated story, but I simply cannot avoid it. It all depends on the acknowledgement of and respect for the forms among and within letters. White forms make the background, whereas the black forms make the shapes. The background makes the shapes and vice versa. If I change one of them, I also change the other. This is a play between white and black.

I know three types of writing in terms of their origin: handwriting, lettering (collage, assemblage) and typography.

By handwriting I mean writing letters with a part of one’s body and drawing a significant part of a letter in a single stroke. Whole letters and whole words can be made in a single stroke. In doing this, I do not use only pencil and paper. I can write by hand with a brush on a stone or with a stick in sand. Therefore I write as I create letters with my body.

Handwriting is not typography! Letters written by hand can be used only while I am writing. I cannot create a stock of individual letters and compose them into words later on. Therefore, as I write letters by hand, I simultaneously compose them into words.

Lettering (collage, assemblage) is one step further. I use ready—made letters for writing. Lettering usually entails writing with letters cut out from newspapers. But lettering is also large neon signs on the facades of houses and letters carved on tombstones. These letters are usually more complicated: I cannot carve the entire shape of a letter in a single stroke. If it could be scratched in a single stroke, it would be handwriting.

Another difference between handwriting and lettering is that handwriting does not allow corrections, whereas when doing lettering I can change my mind and change what I have written. To a lay observer, the procedure of lettering (collage) may seem very similar to typography, because the individual letters resemble printed ones. But this is not so. Lettering is everything that can be done with »Letraset«. It is true that letters glued by skilful hands may seem typographically arranged, but spaces and alignments are defined manually; this is what defines lettering. Therefore, lettering lies somewhere between handwriting and typography.

In typography the composition of a word and the making of a letter is mechanical. This is true even for the simplest example of typography, where metal types are set manually. The background of the letters and the (metal) spaces are standard and are the same in every word, column and page. The size and position of used elements (when printed) are precisely defined. As is evident from the word »defined«, data can be given to somebody else who can then repeat the entire process somewhere else. This is due to a measure system that can be either mechanical or conventional (such as Didot). Therefore, mechanical production and system are properties of typography that cannot be achieved with handwriting and lettering.

Typographical material (simply stated although incorrectly, fonts) can be like anything else. There are no rules. It is impossible to distinguish typographical material according to form, use or treatment. It has always been different from other types of letters in that it is intended for reproduction and that the selection of a font defines how letters make up words: the process of typesetting is prefabricated.

Typography is also the process of taking »raw material« of a text and preparing it for printing or electronic distribution. Typography already incorporates composition: its place is between the text and different kinds of codification and design. If a writer records a personal experience for an unknown, faraway audience, the typographer’s task is to accelerate transmission.

Handwriting, lettering and typography have hardly anything in common: all three procedures employ signs/letters. Each of them gives a characteristic appearance to the final product and the only limit is human perception. Writing (by hand) and creating a collage (lettering) are limited also by the artist’s skills.

Yet the three procedures are not completely separated. The more skilful I am, the more exceptions I find.

In my work, the width of the basic element — the line — is defined by the selection of the writing utensil and its special, non—typical use. Therefore it is prefabrication. The relationship between lines — the inner structure of a plane or block — is defined with a hatching device. This therefore involves mechanical treatment. The shape and size of planes and the relationships between them are defined by using the format. In this case, it is the square root of two and the quadrature. And if I add the two, I deal with linear typography.

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Composition, 1998

Table of Contents

- Foreword
- Stone and its (Hidden) Image
- Visual Art is not Literature
- Lord of the System 1
- Lord of the System 2
- Lord of the System 3
- Logic
- Linear Typography