MY FULL MICRONOVEL IS INCLUDED HERE


No question, there is a lot in this book, many ideas presented in complex, obscure language. But I persisted and read through to the end. On reflection, I thought it best to express my understanding of Derrida's main points in the form of the following micronovel. Special thanks to Goodreads friend Manny Rayner for helping me better understand the ideas in this Derrida book.

The Cannibals Read Jacques Derrida's The Truth in Painting -
A Postmodern Micronovel

One
A tribe of cannibals is reading Jacques Derrida's The Truth in Painting, the great French philosopher's prime work on art and aesthetics. The cannibals huddle around the fire, scrutinize the first lines and declare in unison how they will create paintings that are nothing but the truth.

Two
One cannibal says, “I am not only interested in painting; I am interested in the idiom in painting.” This launches an all-night heated discussion on the exact meaning of “idiom,” complete with quotation marks and quotation marks within quotation marks, all executed with adroit simultaneous rapid downward strokes of index and middle fingers of both hands. The result: there’s consensus among the cannibals: they will paint in the idiom of cannibal painting and they will always speak of their painting in the language of cannibals.

Three
Paul Cézanne said how he owed us the truth of painting and will tell it to us. The artist’s words served to underscore how he would gaze intensely at a subject, apply his brushstrokes and construct a picture rather than paint it. The cannibals muse over this section of Derrida’s book and wonder how they will likewise tell the viewer the truth of painting.

Four
What is the difference between an artist painting the truth and writing down in words how he owes it to the viewer to paint the truth? Reflecting on just this question, one cannibal proclaims, “Starting tomorrow, we will paint the truth rather than stating verbally or writing down in language how we will paint the truth.” Using sophisticated hand gestures and head nodding, the other cannibals express their agreement.

Five
It’s springtime. I sit on the hillside, overlooking a green mountain. I’m reminded of Cezanne. Is there any other painter who captured a mountain nearly as vividly, constructing his canvas with bold individual brushstrokes? I wonder if any other civilization or society could produce such an artist even if it were to last a thousand years.

Six
In the middle of my reflection in that particular place I was filled with incongruous, impracticable thoughts, such as fancying I have been seeing Cezanne’s mountain in my mind’s eye as if getting drunk on the artist’s vision and wondering how his pledge to tell the truth in painting accords with a classical theory of speech, that he really means what he says and says what he means and how his words impacted an appreciative audience in his own day, art lovers around the world in our day and how his words will resonate at future times and in other civilizations; my wondering turned to a humming and then a singing of nonsense sounds, pretending each sound could take on a color and the colors were various shades of green, first dark forest green then becoming progressively lighter until reaching the lightest of limes.

Seven
How would I translate my nonsense sounds into another language? Is this question tied up with the whole issue of what it means to render? I wonder. What if I stated in writing I only wanted to sing nonsense that was true nonsense, no matter what the language? Would I be able to accomplish my goal with greater ease than an artist like Cezanne who only wanted to paint the truth?

Eight
After six straight weeks of painting nonstop, the cannibals stand back and behold their giant mural painted on the rock face of a mountain. Most of the colors are rich browns – russet, bronze, seal brown, sepia, earth yellow, burnt amber, cocoa, tan – highlighted by lines and circles of white or grey. Remarkable. They all acknowledge they have accomplished, as far as they can discern, truth in painting.

Nine
Their rock painting is truly enormous, over four hundred feet wide by sixty feet high. Enormous, striking, refined and nuanced, bold and imaginative. The cannibals, returning to Derrida’s The Truth in Painting read how aesthetic judgement must properly bear upon intrinsic beauty, not on finery and surrounds. Hence, Derrida continues, one must know how to determine the intrinsic, that is, what is framed, and know what one is excluding as frame and outside-the-frame. Since their gigantic rock painting is framed in a bold white line running around the entire painted, they think they have a beautiful work of art, one where no viewer would have any question or difficulty discerning what is framed and what is outside-the-frame.

Ten
The next portion of Derrida’s work addresses the colossal in art. The cannibals smile, knowing they have anticipated what the great philosopher says about size and art. And since colossal is one of the defining qualities of their efforts, they put down the book, thinking they should really quit while they are ahead. Also, they are a bit confused when reference is made to another philosopher by the name of Kant. None of the cannibals have read Kant previously.

Eleven
I walk along the path until I am struck: before me is a gigantic abstract painting on a rock face, a type of painting I have never before set eyes upon. It takes me the better part of an hour but I approach this colossal work. I make a move to touch what I smell as fresh paint. Someone behind me shouts, “Please do not touch!” I turn around. I’m face to face with three dozen cannibals.

Twelve
The cannibals approach. They tell me they spent the last six straight weeks painting and, so sorry to break the bad news - they are extremely hungry. I stay calm and inform them they can’t eat me since I am the author of the story of their reading Derrida and their painting and how, if they eat me, they will likewise perish, something they should have no difficulty grasping since they are familiar with the postmodern philosophy of Derrida and in postmodernism an author can speak directly to the story’s characters.

Thirteen
The cannibals reflect on my words and admit what I say is true. I ask them to please stand in front of their painting so I can take their picture, post it on the internet and make them famous. They agree, all smiles. I methodically pace back, whip out my phone, focus and click a whole bunch of times. I wave and they wave back. A few give me the thumbs up. I turn and head for the hills, fast.

Fourteen
Reflecting on the cannibals’ splendid painting, magnificent in execution and colossal in both color and form, I decide when back in Outer Europe I’ll seek out guidance from a few experts to dig deeper into art, into painting and into the truth. Those cannibals certainly knew their Derrida and now I walked in the glow of postmodern revelation: incumbent upon me to match their knowledge.

Fifteen
“First off, you must grasp how in the West, our use of such oppositions as reason versus emotion, man versus women, spirit versus nature, center versus edge are all destructive and hierarchal, false oppositions that have served to bolster a society keeping the power players in power.” So says Jean-Georges, scholar and philosopher specializing in Derrida’s The Truth in Painting. We’re drinking coffee at an outdoor café. I add more cream. I have a coffee on the bottom, cream on the top dichotomy. Since I do not want to drink a beverage that’s a symbol of a false opposition, I stir the cream into the coffee. “Now that’s a realized interrelationship,” Jean-Georges chimes, “One continuous creamy coffee. You’re catching on.”

Sixteen
I walk down the busy street, quite a beautiful city street, cafes, art galleries, small parks, quaint bookstores, I’m pleased to say, alternating walking in the middle of the sidewalk and the edge of the sidewalk, keeping in the spirit of giving equal weight to center and edge so as not enhance any of those false oppositions and thus feed the manipulation of destruction or hierarchy. Such moving back and forth can be exhausting. I reflect on a world of undifferentiated oneness, where there is no space between what I perceive as me and the external world, a world of complete, total, undifferentiated light and an intense feeling of total bliss. All of life as light, oneness and bliss. I’m jarred out of my reverie by the honking of a truck horn and move from the edge of the sidewalk back to the center.

Seventeen
The next block down, there are several men watching a martial arts demonstration in a dojo. It’s a pleasant evening and the dojo is open on the sidewalk side – a great view for anybody interested in martial arts. On the white mat in the dojo itself, a dozen pre-teen and teenage students sit in their grey martial arts uniforms on their knees in a row to the left; about ten adult men, also in grey uniform, sit on their knees in a row on the right – the master is giving a demonstration. His movements are graceful, cat-like. I don’t see it at first but now I do: he is holding what looks to me like a samurai sword with two flowing handkerchiefs attached to the hilt. In a whisper I ask the man on the end what’s this form of martial arts? In a low voice he answers: “Shaolin Kung Fu Plum-Blossom Saber.” The demonstration is impressive, obviously taking years of diligent practice. Then I have a shock of recognition. Can it be? Yes, there’s no question: the Shaolin Kung Fu Plum-Blossom Saber master is none other than the literary critic, James Wood.

Eighteen
“I must admit I never suspected James Wood was a Kung Fu master; I mean, I’ve read a couple of his books and seen him interviewed on YouTube and he never really struck me as the ninja or martial arts type.” I’m talking to Pablo, one of the men who was watching the demonstration. We are drinking coffee at a café. Pablo says, “I’ve never read any of his books but he really is a flawless master; I should know since I’ve been practicing Kendo and Tae Kwon Do for more than a dozen years. I can spot a mater in any of the martial arts in an instant. What’s your name?” I thought perhaps I would remain an unnamed narrator but since he asked, I tell Pablo my name is Thaddeus Oldfather and I’m a literary critic and art critic for the international magazine Vol Gratuit.

Nineteen
The new monthly issue of Vol Gratuit is out on the newsstands with my photos of the cannibals and their rock painting. Instant fame. The editors plan to post on the Vol Gratuit website once all the magazines (requiring a huge second printing) are gobbled up. Of course, since I also wrote an accompanying short one paragraph blurb recounting my chance encounter with the rock painting and cannibals, everybody in the media wants an interview. I tell them all to wait until next summer as an aura of mystery and mystique enhances art, something dearly needed in the visual arts here in our postmodern world. Meanwhile, I grow a beard, wear a safari hat, move apartments and go underground. I need time to learn more about Derrida and The Truth in Painting.

Twenty
The cannibals send a scout across the mountains to a town to scout out any media coverage for their rock painting. The scout has no trouble finding a copy of Vol Gratuit with a photo of their tribe standing in front of the rock painting on the cover. Also, the scout brings back a newspaper with headlines about the extraordinary work of art. Of course the scout didn’t have any trouble blending in with the townspeople since he was wearing a New York Yankees baseball cap and an Oakland Raiders jersey along with Converse classic white high top sneakers complements of a group of unfortunate tourists who lost their way in the mountains and were more than happy to hand over their baseball caps, sweatshirts, hiking boots and sneakers in return for not being cooked for dinner.

Twenty-One
The cannibals gobble up my article in Vol Gratuit; they can’t get enough of the fact that I stated emphatically and unequivocally I would not reveal the whereabouts of the tribe or the rock painting since the artists are entitled to privacy until that time if and when they themselves choose to make contact with the outside world and welcome visitors and art lovers. They also feast their eyes on the stunning photos of their rock painting, stunning, that is, since the Vol Gratuit visual department did wonders with my amateurish snaps. Such are the technologies of our postmodern world, the photos are works of art in their own right.

Twenty-Two
“Things can get confusing very quickly. As when Derrida begins by noting how someone standing outside the frame, that is, outside the context of painting, starts asking about the idiom of painting. Such out-of-the-frame questioning will create ambiguity, thus, a problem, since an ambiguous phrase gives rise to multiple interpretations.” Jean-Georges taps his finger on the café table. I take a sip of my creamy, well-stirred coffee.

Twenty-Three
The first thing I need to clarify for myself is the tern ‘idiom.’ Of course we have phrases like ‘kick the bucket’ which means something much different than literally kicking the bucket; in other words, someone would have to be familiar with the culture and context wherein such an idiom was used to understand the idiom. Similarly, in the world of art, a painter puts ‘the finishing touches’ on the painting before it is complete. One would have to know something about painting generally to understand what the finishing touches on a particular painting amounts to.

Twenty-Four
Following this logic, if someone unfamiliar with painting and art stands outside the frame and asks about the idiom of painting, they create ambiguity simply by their asking the question. And, of course, any answer they might be given will be unclear since they are outside rather than inside the world of painting. This would be like me asking an electrical engineer about the idiom of circuitry – whatever the engineer answers will sound to me like so much gobbledygook.

Twenty-Five
I convey my modest comprehension to Jean-Georges. He nods, takes a couple of sips from his coffee, black with sugar, and says, “Already Derrida has us puzzling over language and painting, painting and language, well beyond any simple, standard approach to speaking of these two topics. This bit of Derrida is well worth pondering.” After a long moment of shared silence he says, “Derrida turns to a second ambiguous statement, a statement where Cezanne wrote his friend that he owed him the truth in painting and will tell it to him. This type of statement or speech act is referred to as a performance utterance, a statement that does something, like a minister telling a couple he will pronounce them husband and wife on Saturday.”

Twenty-Six
“Derrida asks us to think about the frame. Let’s use the example of a painting and its frame. What does the frame do? What does the frame show?” I can’t quite put my finger on it, but Jean-George’s questions about the function of a frame strike me as a key to opening the door to The Truth in Painting.

Twenty-Seven
I’m at a bookstore. I see a notice for a Kung Fu demonstration to be held at the same dojo I watched James Wood give his demonstration. I mark the date and time. I’ve never done any martial arts myself but I don’t want to miss this event, James Wood or no James Wood. There was something pure, something harmonious and beautiful about that dojo, more than the master and disciples, as if inhabited by the spirit of past masters of the arts, not only the martial arts but all of the arts from the East.

Twenty-Eight
Summer has passed into fall and I’m still undercover. My blonde beard has grown quite full and my safari hat and I have become best friends. I have been reflecting on all the many points Jean-Georges has made on Derrida’s The Truth of Painting. I sense I have a much firmer grasp of the French philosopher’s aesthetic theory. I turn over each point in my mind until it is as fine and as sharp as a plumb blossom saber, the saber I’ve seen James Wood demonstrate on four separate occasions. I still can’t quite get over James’ mastery, a mastery every bit as stunning as his literary criticism.

Twenty-Nine
Is the truth in The Truth in Painting the thing itself, as in for example the cannibals’ rock painting where the brown shapes outlined by white and grey are all taken together? If so, then the truth of painting is disclosed without any coverings or veils or disguises - the truth is what you see before your very eyes.

Thirty
Is the truth in The Truth in Painting more on the level of representation? And that’s representation in two senses: firstly, the round shapes of the rock painting representing a deeper spiritual reality or dream world; and second, as in the enhanced Vol Gratuit photographs representing the rock painting in such a way as to reveal its deeper truth, for example, a clearer portrayal of what would be impossible to see in the original, particularly in the cannibals’ rock painting where the top parts would be difficult, if not impossible, to see from below.

Thirty-One
Is the truth in The Truth in Painting an active agent, opening an observer’s imagination to the many possibilities of the rock painting? In this sense, there are as many ‘truths’ contained in the rock painting as there are visual pictures in the imagination of onlookers.

Thirty-Two
Or is the truth in The Truth in Painting more about an open-ended discussion relating to the painting rather than simply the painting itself? So, for example, my listing possible interpretations of the truth contained in the rock painting, a more conceptual, philosophical overview is, in fact, the truth, a interpretation having a decidedly postmodern ring.

Thirty-Three
I sit at a café across the table from a gentleman who is supremely interested in my reflections and all I have learned about Derrida’s The Truth of Painting. I sip my creamy coffee; he sips his latte. We are both undercover, me with my beard and safari hat; him with his Yankees cap and Raiders sweatshirt.

Thirty-Four
Konia tells me he is particularly inclined to the truth of their rock painting in alternative one, as the forms and colors, and also alternative two, as a pointer to the dreamtime and spiritual realm. On the other hand, the truth of painting as those imaginary worlds envisioned by art lover as they look at the rock painting strikes him as a bit too new age touchy-feely. Same thing goes for the photographs of the painting, since the photos should be judged as photos and their rock painting as the work of art itself. Respecting the truth of painting as the compilation of philosophical concepts and reflections – he would have to ponder this type of intellectualizing and be back with me.

Thirty-Five
Konia says something interesting: how the rock painting required extraordinary dexterity and skill, a unique conquering of heights, how these very talents have been honed and developed by his tribe over generations. This adeptness and expertise should enter the equation for what is the truth in painting since, according to his logic, without the necessary skill and nimbleness and the overcoming of fear of heights, there would be no rock art.

My Micronovel continues in the first comment within the comment section below for chapters 36-49. ( )

MY FULL MICRONOVEL IS INCLUDED HERE


No question, there is a lot in this book, many ideas presented in complex, obscure language. But I persisted and read through to the end. On reflection, I thought it best to express my understanding of Derrida's main points in the form of the following micronovel. Special thanks to Goodreads friend Manny Rayner for helping me better understand the ideas in this Derrida book.

The Cannibals Read Jacques Derrida's The Truth in Painting -
A Postmodern Micronovel

One
A tribe of cannibals is reading Jacques Derrida's The Truth in Painting, the great French philosopher's prime work on art and aesthetics. The cannibals huddle around the fire, scrutinize the first lines and declare in unison how they will create paintings that are nothing but the truth.

Two
One cannibal says, “I am not only interested in painting; I am interested in the idiom in painting.” This launches an all-night heated discussion on the exact meaning of “idiom,” complete with quotation marks and quotation marks within quotation marks, all executed with adroit simultaneous rapid downward strokes of index and middle fingers of both hands. The result: there’s consensus among the cannibals: they will paint in the idiom of cannibal painting and they will always speak of their painting in the language of cannibals.

Three
Paul Cézanne said how he owed us the truth of painting and will tell it to us. The artist’s words served to underscore how he would gaze intensely at a subject, apply his brushstrokes and construct a picture rather than paint it. The cannibals muse over this section of Derrida’s book and wonder how they will likewise tell the viewer the truth of painting.

Four
What is the difference between an artist painting the truth and writing down in words how he owes it to the viewer to paint the truth? Reflecting on just this question, one cannibal proclaims, “Starting tomorrow, we will paint the truth rather than stating verbally or writing down in language how we will paint the truth.” Using sophisticated hand gestures and head nodding, the other cannibals express their agreement.

Five
It’s springtime. I sit on the hillside, overlooking a green mountain. I’m reminded of Cezanne. Is there any other painter who captured a mountain nearly as vividly, constructing his canvas with bold individual brushstrokes? I wonder if any other civilization or society could produce such an artist even if it were to last a thousand years.

Six
In the middle of my reflection in that particular place I was filled with incongruous, impracticable thoughts, such as fancying I have been seeing Cezanne’s mountain in my mind’s eye as if getting drunk on the artist’s vision and wondering how his pledge to tell the truth in painting accords with a classical theory of speech, that he really means what he says and says what he means and how his words impacted an appreciative audience in his own day, art lovers around the world in our day and how his words will resonate at future times and in other civilizations; my wondering turned to a humming and then a singing of nonsense sounds, pretending each sound could take on a color and the colors were various shades of green, first dark forest green then becoming progressively lighter until reaching the lightest of limes.

Seven
How would I translate my nonsense sounds into another language? Is this question tied up with the whole issue of what it means to render? I wonder. What if I stated in writing I only wanted to sing nonsense that was true nonsense, no matter what the language? Would I be able to accomplish my goal with greater ease than an artist like Cezanne who only wanted to paint the truth?

Eight
After six straight weeks of painting nonstop, the cannibals stand back and behold their giant mural painted on the rock face of a mountain. Most of the colors are rich browns – russet, bronze, seal brown, sepia, earth yellow, burnt amber, cocoa, tan – highlighted by lines and circles of white or grey. Remarkable. They all acknowledge they have accomplished, as far as they can discern, truth in painting.

Nine
Their rock painting is truly enormous, over four hundred feet wide by sixty feet high. Enormous, striking, refined and nuanced, bold and imaginative. The cannibals, returning to Derrida’s The Truth in Painting read how aesthetic judgement must properly bear upon intrinsic beauty, not on finery and surrounds. Hence, Derrida continues, one must know how to determine the intrinsic, that is, what is framed, and know what one is excluding as frame and outside-the-frame. Since their gigantic rock painting is framed in a bold white line running around the entire painted, they think they have a beautiful work of art, one where no viewer would have any question or difficulty discerning what is framed and what is outside-the-frame.

Ten
The next portion of Derrida’s work addresses the colossal in art. The cannibals smile, knowing they have anticipated what the great philosopher says about size and art. And since colossal is one of the defining qualities of their efforts, they put down the book, thinking they should really quit while they are ahead. Also, they are a bit confused when reference is made to another philosopher by the name of Kant. None of the cannibals have read Kant previously.

Eleven
I walk along the path until I am struck: before me is a gigantic abstract painting on a rock face, a type of painting I have never before set eyes upon. It takes me the better part of an hour but I approach this colossal work. I make a move to touch what I smell as fresh paint. Someone behind me shouts, “Please do not touch!” I turn around. I’m face to face with three dozen cannibals.

Twelve
The cannibals approach. They tell me they spent the last six straight weeks painting and, so sorry to break the bad news - they are extremely hungry. I stay calm and inform them they can’t eat me since I am the author of the story of their reading Derrida and their painting and how, if they eat me, they will likewise perish, something they should have no difficulty grasping since they are familiar with the postmodern philosophy of Derrida and in postmodernism an author can speak directly to the story’s characters.

Thirteen
The cannibals reflect on my words and admit what I say is true. I ask them to please stand in front of their painting so I can take their picture, post it on the internet and make them famous. They agree, all smiles. I methodically pace back, whip out my phone, focus and click a whole bunch of times. I wave and they wave back. A few give me the thumbs up. I turn and head for the hills, fast.

Fourteen
Reflecting on the cannibals’ splendid painting, magnificent in execution and colossal in both color and form, I decide when back in Outer Europe I’ll seek out guidance from a few experts to dig deeper into art, into painting and into the truth. Those cannibals certainly knew their Derrida and now I walked in the glow of postmodern revelation: incumbent upon me to match their knowledge.

Fifteen
“First off, you must grasp how in the West, our use of such oppositions as reason versus emotion, man versus women, spirit versus nature, center versus edge are all destructive and hierarchal, false oppositions that have served to bolster a society keeping the power players in power.” So says Jean-Georges, scholar and philosopher specializing in Derrida’s The Truth in Painting. We’re drinking coffee at an outdoor café. I add more cream. I have a coffee on the bottom, cream on the top dichotomy. Since I do not want to drink a beverage that’s a symbol of a false opposition, I stir the cream into the coffee. “Now that’s a realized interrelationship,” Jean-Georges chimes, “One continuous creamy coffee. You’re catching on.”

Sixteen
I walk down the busy street, quite a beautiful city street, cafes, art galleries, small parks, quaint bookstores, I’m pleased to say, alternating walking in the middle of the sidewalk and the edge of the sidewalk, keeping in the spirit of giving equal weight to center and edge so as not enhance any of those false oppositions and thus feed the manipulation of destruction or hierarchy. Such moving back and forth can be exhausting. I reflect on a world of undifferentiated oneness, where there is no space between what I perceive as me and the external world, a world of complete, total, undifferentiated light and an intense feeling of total bliss. All of life as light, oneness and bliss. I’m jarred out of my reverie by the honking of a truck horn and move from the edge of the sidewalk back to the center.

Seventeen
The next block down, there are several men watching a martial arts demonstration in a dojo. It’s a pleasant evening and the dojo is open on the sidewalk side – a great view for anybody interested in martial arts. On the white mat in the dojo itself, a dozen pre-teen and teenage students sit in their grey martial arts uniforms on their knees in a row to the left; about ten adult men, also in grey uniform, sit on their knees in a row on the right – the master is giving a demonstration. His movements are graceful, cat-like. I don’t see it at first but now I do: he is holding what looks to me like a samurai sword with two flowing handkerchiefs attached to the hilt. In a whisper I ask the man on the end what’s this form of martial arts? In a low voice he answers: “Shaolin Kung Fu Plum-Blossom Saber.” The demonstration is impressive, obviously taking years of diligent practice. Then I have a shock of recognition. Can it be? Yes, there’s no question: the Shaolin Kung Fu Plum-Blossom Saber master is none other than the literary critic, James Wood.

Eighteen
“I must admit I never suspected James Wood was a Kung Fu master; I mean, I’ve read a couple of his books and seen him interviewed on YouTube and he never really struck me as the ninja or martial arts type.” I’m talking to Pablo, one of the men who was watching the demonstration. We are drinking coffee at a café. Pablo says, “I’ve never read any of his books but he really is a flawless master; I should know since I’ve been practicing Kendo and Tae Kwon Do for more than a dozen years. I can spot a mater in any of the martial arts in an instant. What’s your name?” I thought perhaps I would remain an unnamed narrator but since he asked, I tell Pablo my name is Thaddeus Oldfather and I’m a literary critic and art critic for the international magazine Vol Gratuit.

Nineteen
The new monthly issue of Vol Gratuit is out on the newsstands with my photos of the cannibals and their rock painting. Instant fame. The editors plan to post on the Vol Gratuit website once all the magazines (requiring a huge second printing) are gobbled up. Of course, since I also wrote an accompanying short one paragraph blurb recounting my chance encounter with the rock painting and cannibals, everybody in the media wants an interview. I tell them all to wait until next summer as an aura of mystery and mystique enhances art, something dearly needed in the visual arts here in our postmodern world. Meanwhile, I grow a beard, wear a safari hat, move apartments and go underground. I need time to learn more about Derrida and The Truth in Painting.

Twenty
The cannibals send a scout across the mountains to a town to scout out any media coverage for their rock painting. The scout has no trouble finding a copy of Vol Gratuit with a photo of their tribe standing in front of the rock painting on the cover. Also, the scout brings back a newspaper with headlines about the extraordinary work of art. Of course the scout didn’t have any trouble blending in with the townspeople since he was wearing a New York Yankees baseball cap and an Oakland Raiders jersey along with Converse classic white high top sneakers complements of a group of unfortunate tourists who lost their way in the mountains and were more than happy to hand over their baseball caps, sweatshirts, hiking boots and sneakers in return for not being cooked for dinner.

Twenty-One
The cannibals gobble up my article in Vol Gratuit; they can’t get enough of the fact that I stated emphatically and unequivocally I would not reveal the whereabouts of the tribe or the rock painting since the artists are entitled to privacy until that time if and when they themselves choose to make contact with the outside world and welcome visitors and art lovers. They also feast their eyes on the stunning photos of their rock painting, stunning, that is, since the Vol Gratuit visual department did wonders with my amateurish snaps. Such are the technologies of our postmodern world, the photos are works of art in their own right.

Twenty-Two
“Things can get confusing very quickly. As when Derrida begins by noting how someone standing outside the frame, that is, outside the context of painting, starts asking about the idiom of painting. Such out-of-the-frame questioning will create ambiguity, thus, a problem, since an ambiguous phrase gives rise to multiple interpretations.” Jean-Georges taps his finger on the café table. I take a sip of my creamy, well-stirred coffee.

Twenty-Three
The first thing I need to clarify for myself is the tern ‘idiom.’ Of course we have phrases like ‘kick the bucket’ which means something much different than literally kicking the bucket; in other words, someone would have to be familiar with the culture and context wherein such an idiom was used to understand the idiom. Similarly, in the world of art, a painter puts ‘the finishing touches’ on the painting before it is complete. One would have to know something about painting generally to understand what the finishing touches on a particular painting amounts to.

Twenty-Four
Following this logic, if someone unfamiliar with painting and art stands outside the frame and asks about the idiom of painting, they create ambiguity simply by their asking the question. And, of course, any answer they might be given will be unclear since they are outside rather than inside the world of painting. This would be like me asking an electrical engineer about the idiom of circuitry – whatever the engineer answers will sound to me like so much gobbledygook.

Twenty-Five
I convey my modest comprehension to Jean-Georges. He nods, takes a couple of sips from his coffee, black with sugar, and says, “Already Derrida has us puzzling over language and painting, painting and language, well beyond any simple, standard approach to speaking of these two topics. This bit of Derrida is well worth pondering.” After a long moment of shared silence he says, “Derrida turns to a second ambiguous statement, a statement where Cezanne wrote his friend that he owed him the truth in painting and will tell it to him. This type of statement or speech act is referred to as a performance utterance, a statement that does something, like a minister telling a couple he will pronounce them husband and wife on Saturday.”

Twenty-Six
“Derrida asks us to think about the frame. Let’s use the example of a painting and its frame. What does the frame do? What does the frame show?” I can’t quite put my finger on it, but Jean-George’s questions about the function of a frame strike me as a key to opening the door to The Truth in Painting.

Twenty-Seven
I’m at a bookstore. I see a notice for a Kung Fu demonstration to be held at the same dojo I watched James Wood give his demonstration. I mark the date and time. I’ve never done any martial arts myself but I don’t want to miss this event, James Wood or no James Wood. There was something pure, something harmonious and beautiful about that dojo, more than the master and disciples, as if inhabited by the spirit of past masters of the arts, not only the martial arts but all of the arts from the East.

Twenty-Eight
Summer has passed into fall and I’m still undercover. My blonde beard has grown quite full and my safari hat and I have become best friends. I have been reflecting on all the many points Jean-Georges has made on Derrida’s The Truth of Painting. I sense I have a much firmer grasp of the French philosopher’s aesthetic theory. I turn over each point in my mind until it is as fine and as sharp as a plumb blossom saber, the saber I’ve seen James Wood demonstrate on four separate occasions. I still can’t quite get over James’ mastery, a mastery every bit as stunning as his literary criticism.

Twenty-Nine
Is the truth in The Truth in Painting the thing itself, as in for example the cannibals’ rock painting where the brown shapes outlined by white and grey are all taken together? If so, then the truth of painting is disclosed without any coverings or veils or disguises - the truth is what you see before your very eyes.

Thirty
Is the truth in The Truth in Painting more on the level of representation? And that’s representation in two senses: firstly, the round shapes of the rock painting representing a deeper spiritual reality or dream world; and second, as in the enhanced Vol Gratuit photographs representing the rock painting in such a way as to reveal its deeper truth, for example, a clearer portrayal of what would be impossible to see in the original, particularly in the cannibals’ rock painting where the top parts would be difficult, if not impossible, to see from below.

Thirty-One
Is the truth in The Truth in Painting an active agent, opening an observer’s imagination to the many possibilities of the rock painting? In this sense, there are as many ‘truths’ contained in the rock painting as there are visual pictures in the imagination of onlookers.

Thirty-Two
Or is the truth in The Truth in Painting more about an open-ended discussion relating to the painting rather than simply the painting itself? So, for example, my listing possible interpretations of the truth contained in the rock painting, a more conceptual, philosophical overview is, in fact, the truth, a interpretation having a decidedly postmodern ring.

Thirty-Three
I sit at a café across the table from a gentleman who is supremely interested in my reflections and all I have learned about Derrida’s The Truth of Painting. I sip my creamy coffee; he sips his latte. We are both undercover, me with my beard and safari hat; him with his Yankees cap and Raiders sweatshirt.

Thirty-Four
Konia tells me he is particularly inclined to the truth of their rock painting in alternative one, as the forms and colors, and also alternative two, as a pointer to the dreamtime and spiritual realm. On the other hand, the truth of painting as those imaginary worlds envisioned by art lover as they look at the rock painting strikes him as a bit too new age touchy-feely. Same thing goes for the photographs of the painting, since the photos should be judged as photos and their rock painting as the work of art itself. Respecting the truth of painting as the compilation of philosophical concepts and reflections – he would have to ponder this type of intellectualizing and be back with me.

Thirty-Five
Konia says something interesting: how the rock painting required extraordinary dexterity and skill, a unique conquering of heights, how these very talents have been honed and developed by his tribe over generations. This adeptness and expertise should enter the equation for what is the truth in painting since, according to his logic, without the necessary skill and nimbleness and the overcoming of fear of heights, there would be no rock art.

My Micronovel continues in the first comment within the comment section below for chapters 36-49. ( )

Avvicinarsi con cautela e solo se si ha pazienza....potreste non toccare più un libro di storia dell'arte. Labirintico. ( )