Friday, March 23, 2007

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The existence of the Homebody/Kabul lies in the intersection of binary relationships formed by the economy of discourse. Through this act of cross-pollination they each find form and are transformed through the displacement of themselves, found by the creative opportunity caused by migration.

In the same way as books migrate and are nomadic, colonialist literatures being one that is sued to mediate between different cultures demonstrates its existence through the explorative representation of a world at the boundaries of civilization, a world that has not yet been domesticated by the colonial impulse to reference and classify; "…reducing the unmediated slovenly complexities which exist ….in space by making of complicated nuanced things their simple non-nuanced identicals.”

This position between the Self and Other is complicated through the displacement enacted by the bookends of the play (Homebody and Mahala, the Kabuli librarian), repositioning the Other inside the Self. This concrete action taken in the face of great uncertainties resounds the danger of not even attempting to “sample”, rendering their boundaries only penetrable by books. The catalyst of this situation is propagated by the colonial myth of primitive (east)/civilized (west) cultures.

In more local contexts, we are familiar with the claim of terra nullius by Cook and the myth of the noble savage; the Other. Both concepts that have become key terms in social and cultural analysis to explain ways dominant groups characterize subordinate groups as problematically different, where other narratives are left out and others reinforced by their constant repetition.

On more recent times, the Tampa affair and the internment of mostly Arabic refugees in Australian camps seems a familiar story. It is critical in this aspect to lend a soft ear and offer a hand by speculating and creating architecture that positions itself within these boundaries. We must not be afraid to “sample”.



" You came from out of the sky,
Your skin and your eyes,
Colours of bronze, the moon in your ear
Twinkled and shone."
-crosby stills nash + young-