Embeddedness2 - Revision history

Juju: /* embeddedness */

2022-04-19T08:53:49Z

embeddedness

← Older revision		Revision as of 10:53, 19 April 2022
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	Something that helped me think through the tension between <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> and difference is the figure of the parasite. As A.M. Gullestad wrote: ‘Parasites are both a part and not a part of the host’s body, neither self nor non-self.’<ref>Anders M. Gullestad, ‘Literature and the Parasite’, ''Deleuze Studies'' 5, no. 3 (2012), p. 314, doi.org/10.3366/dls.2011.0023<span class="underline">.</span></ref> They exist in relation, yet do not assimilate. Through time, the strangeness of the parasite might be appropriated by the host. This phenomenon is deeply ingrained in our bodies: the mitochondria that energize our cells are said to have started out as parasites, they even have their own DNA.<ref>Lewis Thomas, ''The Lives of a Cell'' (Toronto, New York and London: Bantam Books, 1974), p. 2.</ref> Gullestad links the notion of parasite to the notion of ‘minor literature’ which Deleuze coined in a book on Kafka, a writer who lived and worked in Prague as part of a German-speaking minority: ‘To Deleuze, minor literature is therefore not external, but internal to a major language, yet at the same time “foreign” to it.’<ref>Gullestad, ‘Literature and the Parasite’, p. 312.</ref> This sounds a lot like <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark>. Thinking through the parasitic, <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> evokes paranoia: who is using whom? Am I using the energy that the mitochondria provide, or is it the mitochondria ‘who walk through the local park in the morning... thinking my thoughts?’<ref>Thomas, ''The Lives of a Cell'', p. 3.</ref>		Something that helped me think through the tension between <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> and difference is the figure of the parasite. As A.M. Gullestad wrote: ‘Parasites are both a part and not a part of the host’s body, neither self nor non-self.’<ref>Anders M. Gullestad, ‘Literature and the Parasite’, ''Deleuze Studies'' 5, no. 3 (2012), p. 314, doi.org/10.3366/dls.2011.0023<span class="underline">.</span></ref> They exist in relation, yet do not assimilate. Through time, the strangeness of the parasite might be appropriated by the host. This phenomenon is deeply ingrained in our bodies: the mitochondria that energize our cells are said to have started out as parasites, they even have their own DNA.<ref>Lewis Thomas, ''The Lives of a Cell'' (Toronto, New York and London: Bantam Books, 1974), p. 2.</ref> Gullestad links the notion of parasite to the notion of ‘minor literature’ which Deleuze coined in a book on Kafka, a writer who lived and worked in Prague as part of a German-speaking minority: ‘To Deleuze, minor literature is therefore not external, but internal to a major language, yet at the same time “foreign” to it.’<ref>Gullestad, ‘Literature and the Parasite’, p. 312.</ref> This sounds a lot like <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark>. Thinking through the parasitic, <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> evokes paranoia: who is using whom? Am I using the energy that the mitochondria provide, or is it the mitochondria ‘who walk through the local park in the morning... thinking my thoughts?’<ref>Thomas, ''The Lives of a Cell'', p. 3.</ref>

	This parasite/host relationship is not clear-cut. Just like we have parasites fuelling our cells, we have bacteria in our intestines, digesting our food; strangers truly are inside of us. I can fantasize about being external to the infrastructure of art, for example, but we, as artists, makers, readers of this lexicon, are the bodies through which the <mark class="c3">institution</mark> of art propagates. I host the <mark class="c3">institution</mark>, as much as I am a parasite.		This parasite/host relationship is not clear-cut.
			<br>Just like we have parasites fuelling our cells, we have bacteria in our intestines, digesting our food; strangers truly are inside of us. I can fantasize about being external to the infrastructure of art, for example, but we, as artists, makers, readers of this lexicon, are the bodies through which the <mark class="c3">institution</mark> of art propagates. I host the <mark class="c3">institution</mark>, as much as I am a parasite.


	Before despairing—because how does one research something one is so much entangled with?—I tell myself that there might be no true distance, no separability to hold on to, but there is no true proximity either (see <mark class="c3">criticality</mark>). I am a different material, I practice differently. Following the model of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> does not have to lead me to assimilation. The main questions I ask myself are: Which shape does the <mark class="c3">institution</mark> that is ''embedded'' in me imprint on my practice, and which shape do I imprint on the <mark class="c1">institution</mark> as an embedded artistic researcher? How am I hosted and how do I host?		Before despairing—because how does one research something one is so much entangled with?—I tell myself that there might be no true distance, no separability to hold on to, but there is no true proximity either (see <mark class="c3">criticality</mark>). I am a different material, I practice differently. Following the model of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> does not have to lead me to assimilation. The main questions I ask myself are: Which shape does the <mark class="c3">institution</mark> that is ''embedded'' in me imprint on my practice, and which shape do I imprint on the <mark class="c1">institution</mark> as an embedded artistic researcher? How am I hosted and how do I host?

Juju: /* embeddedness */

2022-04-12T09:25:01Z

embeddedness

← Older revision		Revision as of 11:25, 12 April 2022
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	<span class="author">Pia Louwerens</span>		<span class="author">Pia Louwerens</span>

	My name is Pia Louwerens. You may be surprised to read a text written in the first person in a lexicon of collective <mark class="c6">material practices</mark>, but I would like to ask you to read my I, myself, as a collective effort in and by itself. Without you I wouldn’t be here after all. And whatever I have done, as a ‘junior embedded artistic researcher’'','' I didn’t come up with that myself. I held the job of junior embedded artistic researcher at the research project that this lexicon is part of. I decided that my research, asking how the artist performs within the <mark class="c3">institution</mark>, had to start with this peculiar job description.		<div class="no-indent">My name is Pia Louwerens. You may be surprised to read a text written in the first person in a lexicon of collective <mark class="c6">material practices</mark>, but I would like to ask you to read my I, myself, as a collective effort in and by itself. Without you I wouldn’t be here after all. And whatever I have done, as a ‘junior embedded artistic researcher’'','' I didn’t come up with that myself. I held the job of junior embedded artistic researcher at the research project that this lexicon is part of. I decided that my research, asking how the artist performs within the <mark class="c3">institution</mark>, had to start with this peculiar job description.</div>

	In this case, the word ''<mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark>'' has an institutional provenance. The governmental organs who funded this research project are tailored to academic research in which this term indicates a specific institutional relationship. You can imagine <br>a research project in the field of biology, in which case <br>a junior researcher would do their research at one of the commercial partners of the project (the laboratory of a company, for example). They would, as a result, be ‘embedded’ in that company.		In this case, the word ''<mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark>'' has an institutional provenance. The governmental organs who funded this research project are tailored to academic research in which this term indicates a specific institutional relationship. You can imagine <br>a research project in the field of biology, in which case <br>a junior researcher would do their research at one of the commercial partners of the project (the laboratory of a company, for example). They would, as a result, be ‘embedded’ in that company.

Juju: /* embeddedness */

2022-04-07T10:19:35Z

embeddedness

← Older revision		Revision as of 12:19, 7 April 2022
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	When considering the embedded state of a stone, we might observe its conditional dependence, but we can only do so by grace of its difference. There is by definition a difference between the stone and the riverbed, between object A and object B. If they were the same, there would be no <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> to observe. To get back to this particular project: if I, as an artist, use the infrastructure of the <mark class="c1">institution</mark> in the same way as other artists, I would not be embedded anymore. Or, if you insist that all artists are in embedded relation to the <mark class="c1">institution</mark>, I can point out that I wasn’t only embedded in the <mark class="c1">institution</mark>, but in the institutional position of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> as well.		When considering the embedded state of a stone, we might observe its conditional dependence, but we can only do so by grace of its difference. There is by definition a difference between the stone and the riverbed, between object A and object B. If they were the same, there would be no <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> to observe. To get back to this particular project: if I, as an artist, use the infrastructure of the <mark class="c1">institution</mark> in the same way as other artists, I would not be embedded anymore. Or, if you insist that all artists are in embedded relation to the <mark class="c1">institution</mark>, I can point out that I wasn’t only embedded in the <mark class="c1">institution</mark>, but in the institutional position of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> as well.

	Something that helped me think through the tension between <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> and difference is the figure of the parasite. As A.M. Gullestad wrote: ‘Parasites are both a part and not a part of the host’s body, neither self nor non-self.’<ref>Anders M. Gullestad, ‘Literature and the Parasite’, ''Deleuze Studies'' 5, no. 3 (2012), p. 314, doi.org/10.3366/dls.2011.0023<span class="underline">.</span></ref> They exist in relation, yet do not assimilate. Through time, the strangeness of the parasite might be appropriated by the host. This phenomenon is deeply ingrained in our bodies: the mitochondria that energize our cells are said to have started out as parasites, they even have their own DNA.<ref>Lewis Thomas, ''The Lives of a Cell'' (Toronto, New York and London: Bantam Books, 1974), p. 2.</ref> Gullestad links the notion of parasite to the notion of ‘minor literature’ which Deleuze coined in a book on Kafka, a writer who lived and worked in Prague as part of a German-speaking minority: ‘To Deleuze, minor literature is therefore not external, but internal to a major language, yet at the same time “foreign” to it.’<ref>Gullestad, ‘Literature and the Parasite’, p. 312.</ref> This sounds a lot like <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark>. Thinking through the parasitic, <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> evokes paranoia: who is using whom? Am I using the energy that the mitochondria provide, or is it the mitochondria ‘who walk through the local park in the morning … thinking my thoughts?’<ref>Thomas, ''The Lives of a Cell'', p. 3.</ref>		Something that helped me think through the tension between <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> and difference is the figure of the parasite. As A.M. Gullestad wrote: ‘Parasites are both a part and not a part of the host’s body, neither self nor non-self.’<ref>Anders M. Gullestad, ‘Literature and the Parasite’, ''Deleuze Studies'' 5, no. 3 (2012), p. 314, doi.org/10.3366/dls.2011.0023<span class="underline">.</span></ref> They exist in relation, yet do not assimilate. Through time, the strangeness of the parasite might be appropriated by the host. This phenomenon is deeply ingrained in our bodies: the mitochondria that energize our cells are said to have started out as parasites, they even have their own DNA.<ref>Lewis Thomas, ''The Lives of a Cell'' (Toronto, New York and London: Bantam Books, 1974), p. 2.</ref> Gullestad links the notion of parasite to the notion of ‘minor literature’ which Deleuze coined in a book on Kafka, a writer who lived and worked in Prague as part of a German-speaking minority: ‘To Deleuze, minor literature is therefore not external, but internal to a major language, yet at the same time “foreign” to it.’<ref>Gullestad, ‘Literature and the Parasite’, p. 312.</ref> This sounds a lot like <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark>. Thinking through the parasitic, <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> evokes paranoia: who is using whom? Am I using the energy that the mitochondria provide, or is it the mitochondria ‘who walk through the local park in the morning... thinking my thoughts?’<ref>Thomas, ''The Lives of a Cell'', p. 3.</ref>

	This parasite/host relationship is not clear-cut. Just like we have parasites fuelling our cells, we have bacteria in our intestines, digesting our food; strangers truly are inside of us. I can fantasize about being external to the infrastructure of art, for example, but we, as artists, makers, readers of this lexicon, are the bodies through which the <mark class="c3">institution</mark> of art propagates. I host the <mark class="c3">institution</mark>, as much as I am a parasite.		This parasite/host relationship is not clear-cut. Just like we have parasites fuelling our cells, we have bacteria in our intestines, digesting our food; strangers truly are inside of us. I can fantasize about being external to the infrastructure of art, for example, but we, as artists, makers, readers of this lexicon, are the bodies through which the <mark class="c3">institution</mark> of art propagates. I host the <mark class="c3">institution</mark>, as much as I am a parasite.

	Before despairing—because how does one research something one is so much entangled with?—I tell myself that there might be no true distance, no separability to hold on to, but there is no true proximity either (see: criticality). I am a different material, I practice differently. Following the model of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> does not have to lead me to assimilation. The main questions I ask myself are: Which shape does the <mark class="c3">institution</mark> that is ''embedded'' in me imprint on my practice, and which shape do I imprint on the <mark class="c1">institution</mark> as an embedded artistic researcher? How am I hosted and how do I host?
			Before despairing—because how does one research something one is so much entangled with?—I tell myself that there might be no true distance, no separability to hold on to, but there is no true proximity either (see <mark class="c3">criticality</mark>). I am a different material, I practice differently. Following the model of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> does not have to lead me to assimilation. The main questions I ask myself are: Which shape does the <mark class="c3">institution</mark> that is ''embedded'' in me imprint on my practice, and which shape do I imprint on the <mark class="c1">institution</mark> as an embedded artistic researcher? How am I hosted and how do I host?

Juju: /* embeddedness */

2022-04-07T10:17:58Z

embeddedness

← Older revision		Revision as of 12:17, 7 April 2022
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	<br>I didn’t know yet.		<br>I didn’t know yet.

	<span class="tighter">Online searches for <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> quickly lead to a specific context: it denotes the position of journalists who travel with the military to report from the front lines. I can’t think of a more paranoid image.<ref>Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, ‘Paranoid Reading and Reparative Reading, or, You’re So Paranoid, You Probably Think This Essay Is About You’, in ''Touching Feeling'' (Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2003), pp. ~~123-152~~.</ref> In addition to these two perspectives, I also like to think of the more basic reading of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark>: two objects of different materials, one big and one small, where the smaller object is firmly lodged inside the other. I imagine a stone in a riverbed, creating an impression with its shape, while it gets smoothed over time.</span>		<span class="tighter">Online searches for <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> quickly lead to a specific context: it denotes the position of journalists who travel with the military to report from the front lines. I can’t think of a more paranoid image.<ref>Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, ‘Paranoid Reading and Reparative Reading, or, You’re So Paranoid, You Probably Think This Essay Is About You’, in ''Touching Feeling'' (Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2003), pp. 123–152.</ref> In addition to these two perspectives, I also like to think of the more basic reading of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark>: two objects of different materials, one big and one small, where the smaller object is firmly lodged inside the other. I imagine a stone in a riverbed, creating an impression with its shape, while it gets smoothed over time.</span>


	<span class="tighter">My adoption of the condition of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark>		<span class="tighter">My adoption of the condition of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark>
	<br>as a research subject, was precisely the start of my performance of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark>. Because of certain misconceptions that originated in modernity, artists are not encouraged to embed or lodge themselves firmly in their own conditions. This relates to causality: as an autonomous artist, the primary cause for action should be your own initiative (inspiration, or creation). Artists, like artworks, like art in general, strive to be free and independent, separate. To explain the misconception I think of a Spinoza Symposium at the contemporary art space West Den Haag, where I first heard Spinoza’s parable of the stone that was thrown.<ref>Moira Gatens, ‘Living on the Gallows?’, Spinoza & the Arts Symposium (West Den Haag), 4 October 2019.</ref> If the stone, Spinoza wrote, would get a consciousness mid-air, it would mistake itself into thinking that it made itself fly. If the artist is a stone, then ‘the <mark class="c3">institution</mark>’ (see: <mark class="c3">institution</mark> ~~as practice~~) controls most of the conditions that make it fly and keep it flying.</span>		<br>as a research subject, was precisely the start of my performance of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark>. Because of certain misconceptions that originated in modernity, artists are not encouraged to embed or lodge themselves firmly in their own conditions. This relates to causality: as an autonomous artist, the primary cause for action should be your own initiative (inspiration, or creation). Artists, like artworks, like art in general, strive to be free and independent, separate. To explain the misconception I think of a Spinoza Symposium at the contemporary art space West Den Haag, where I first heard Spinoza’s parable of the stone that was thrown.<ref>Moira Gatens, ‘Living on the Gallows?’, Spinoza & the Arts Symposium (West Den Haag), 4 October 2019.</ref> If the stone, Spinoza wrote, would get a consciousness mid-air, it would mistake itself into thinking that it made itself fly. If the artist is a stone, then ‘the <mark class="c3">institution</mark>’ (see <mark class="c3">institution as practice</mark>) controls most of the conditions that make it fly and keep it flying.</span>


	When considering the embedded state of a stone, we might observe its conditional dependence, but we can only do so by grace of its difference. There is by definition a difference between the stone and the riverbed, between object A and object B. If they were the same, there would be no <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> to observe. To get back to this particular project: if I, as an artist, use the infrastructure of the <mark class="c1">institution</mark> in the same way as other artists, I would not be embedded anymore. Or, if you insist that all artists are in embedded relation to the <mark class="c1">institution</mark>, I can point out that I wasn’t only embedded in the <mark class="c1">institution</mark>, but in the institutional position of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> as well.		When considering the embedded state of a stone, we might observe its conditional dependence, but we can only do so by grace of its difference. There is by definition a difference between the stone and the riverbed, between object A and object B. If they were the same, there would be no <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> to observe. To get back to this particular project: if I, as an artist, use the infrastructure of the <mark class="c1">institution</mark> in the same way as other artists, I would not be embedded anymore. Or, if you insist that all artists are in embedded relation to the <mark class="c1">institution</mark>, I can point out that I wasn’t only embedded in the <mark class="c1">institution</mark>, but in the institutional position of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> as well.

Juju: /* embeddedness */

2022-04-07T10:16:09Z

embeddedness

← Older revision		Revision as of 12:16, 7 April 2022
Line 3:		Line 3:
	<span class="author">Pia Louwerens</span>		<span class="author">Pia Louwerens</span>

	My name is Pia Louwerens. You may be surprised to read a text written in the first person in a lexicon of collective <mark class="c5">material practices</mark>, but I would like to ask you to read my I, myself, as a collective effort in and by itself. Without you I wouldn’t be here after all. And whatever I have done, as a ‘junior embedded artistic researcher’'','' I didn’t come up with that myself. I held the job of junior embedded artistic researcher at the research project that this lexicon is part of. I decided that my research, asking how the artist performs within the <mark class="c3">institution</mark>, had to start with this peculiar job description.		My name is Pia Louwerens. You may be surprised to read a text written in the first person in a lexicon of collective <mark class="c6">material practices</mark>, but I would like to ask you to read my I, myself, as a collective effort in and by itself. Without you I wouldn’t be here after all. And whatever I have done, as a ‘junior embedded artistic researcher’'','' I didn’t come up with that myself. I held the job of junior embedded artistic researcher at the research project that this lexicon is part of. I decided that my research, asking how the artist performs within the <mark class="c3">institution</mark>, had to start with this peculiar job description.

	In this case, the word ''<mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark>'' has an institutional provenance. The governmental organs who funded this research project are tailored to academic research in which this term indicates a specific institutional relationship. You can imagine <br>a research project in the field of biology, in which case <br>a junior researcher would do their research at one of the commercial partners of the project (the laboratory of a company, for example). They would, as a result, be ‘embedded’ in that company.		In this case, the word ''<mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark>'' has an institutional provenance. The governmental organs who funded this research project are tailored to academic research in which this term indicates a specific institutional relationship. You can imagine <br>a research project in the field of biology, in which case <br>a junior researcher would do their research at one of the commercial partners of the project (the laboratory of a company, for example). They would, as a result, be ‘embedded’ in that company.
Line 17:		Line 17:
	When considering the embedded state of a stone, we might observe its conditional dependence, but we can only do so by grace of its difference. There is by definition a difference between the stone and the riverbed, between object A and object B. If they were the same, there would be no <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> to observe. To get back to this particular project: if I, as an artist, use the infrastructure of the <mark class="c1">institution</mark> in the same way as other artists, I would not be embedded anymore. Or, if you insist that all artists are in embedded relation to the <mark class="c1">institution</mark>, I can point out that I wasn’t only embedded in the <mark class="c1">institution</mark>, but in the institutional position of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> as well.		When considering the embedded state of a stone, we might observe its conditional dependence, but we can only do so by grace of its difference. There is by definition a difference between the stone and the riverbed, between object A and object B. If they were the same, there would be no <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> to observe. To get back to this particular project: if I, as an artist, use the infrastructure of the <mark class="c1">institution</mark> in the same way as other artists, I would not be embedded anymore. Or, if you insist that all artists are in embedded relation to the <mark class="c1">institution</mark>, I can point out that I wasn’t only embedded in the <mark class="c1">institution</mark>, but in the institutional position of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> as well.

	Something that helped me think through the tension between <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> and difference is the figure of the parasite. As A.M. Gullestad wrote: ‘Parasites are both a part and not a part of the host’s body, neither self nor non-self.’<ref>Anders M. Gullestad, ‘Literature and the Parasite’, ''Deleuze Studies'' 5, no. 3 (2012), p. 314, doi.org/10.3366/dls.2011.0023<span class="underline">.</span></ref> They exist in relation, yet do not assimilate. Through time, the strangeness of the parasite might be appropriated by the host. This phenomenon is deeply ingrained in our bodies: the mitochondria that energize our cells are said to have started out as parasites, they even have their own DNA.<ref>Lewis Thomas, ''The Lives of a Cell'' (Toronto, New York and London: Bantam Books, 1974), p. 2.</ref> Gullestad links the notion of parasite to the notion of ‘minor literature’ which Deleuze coined in a book on Kafka, a writer who lived and worked in Prague as part of a German-speaking minority: ‘To Deleuze, minor literature is therefore not external, but internal to a major language, yet at the same time “foreign” to it.’<ref>Gullestad, ‘Literature and the Parasite’, p. 312.</ref> This sounds a lot like </mark>embeddedness</mark>. Thinking through the parasitic, <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> evokes paranoia: who is using whom? Am I using the energy that the mitochondria provide, or is it the mitochondria ‘who walk through the local park in the morning … thinking my thoughts?’<ref>Thomas, ''The Lives of a Cell'', p. 3.</ref>		Something that helped me think through the tension between <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> and difference is the figure of the parasite. As A.M. Gullestad wrote: ‘Parasites are both a part and not a part of the host’s body, neither self nor non-self.’<ref>Anders M. Gullestad, ‘Literature and the Parasite’, ''Deleuze Studies'' 5, no. 3 (2012), p. 314, doi.org/10.3366/dls.2011.0023<span class="underline">.</span></ref> They exist in relation, yet do not assimilate. Through time, the strangeness of the parasite might be appropriated by the host. This phenomenon is deeply ingrained in our bodies: the mitochondria that energize our cells are said to have started out as parasites, they even have their own DNA.<ref>Lewis Thomas, ''The Lives of a Cell'' (Toronto, New York and London: Bantam Books, 1974), p. 2.</ref> Gullestad links the notion of parasite to the notion of ‘minor literature’ which Deleuze coined in a book on Kafka, a writer who lived and worked in Prague as part of a German-speaking minority: ‘To Deleuze, minor literature is therefore not external, but internal to a major language, yet at the same time “foreign” to it.’<ref>Gullestad, ‘Literature and the Parasite’, p. 312.</ref> This sounds a lot like <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark>. Thinking through the parasitic, <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> evokes paranoia: who is using whom? Am I using the energy that the mitochondria provide, or is it the mitochondria ‘who walk through the local park in the morning … thinking my thoughts?’<ref>Thomas, ''The Lives of a Cell'', p. 3.</ref>

	This parasite/host relationship is not clear-cut. Just like we have parasites fuelling our cells, we have bacteria in our intestines, digesting our food; strangers truly are inside of us. I can fantasize about being external to the infrastructure of art, for example, but we, as artists, makers, readers of this lexicon, are the bodies through which the <mark class="c3">institution</mark> of art propagates. I host the <mark class="c3">institution</mark>, as much as I am a parasite.		This parasite/host relationship is not clear-cut. Just like we have parasites fuelling our cells, we have bacteria in our intestines, digesting our food; strangers truly are inside of us. I can fantasize about being external to the infrastructure of art, for example, but we, as artists, makers, readers of this lexicon, are the bodies through which the <mark class="c3">institution</mark> of art propagates. I host the <mark class="c3">institution</mark>, as much as I am a parasite.

	Before despairing—because how does one research something one is so much entangled with?—I tell myself that there might be no true distance, no separability to hold on to, but there is no true proximity either (see: criticality). I am a different material, I practice differently. Following the model of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> does not have to lead me to assimilation. The main questions I ask myself are: Which shape does the <mark class="c3">institution</mark> that is ''embedded'' in me imprint on my practice, and which shape do I imprint on the <mark class="c1">institution</mark> as an embedded artistic researcher? How am I hosted and how do I host?		Before despairing—because how does one research something one is so much entangled with?—I tell myself that there might be no true distance, no separability to hold on to, but there is no true proximity either (see: criticality). I am a different material, I practice differently. Following the model of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> does not have to lead me to assimilation. The main questions I ask myself are: Which shape does the <mark class="c3">institution</mark> that is ''embedded'' in me imprint on my practice, and which shape do I imprint on the <mark class="c1">institution</mark> as an embedded artistic researcher? How am I hosted and how do I host?

Juju: /* embeddedness */

2022-03-28T12:41:31Z

embeddedness

← Older revision		Revision as of 14:41, 28 March 2022
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	My name is Pia Louwerens. You may be surprised to read a text written in the first person in a lexicon of collective <mark class="c5">material practices</mark>, but I would like to ask you to read my I, myself, as a collective effort in and by itself. Without you I wouldn’t be here after all. And whatever I have done, as a ‘junior embedded artistic researcher’'','' I didn’t come up with that myself. I held the job of junior embedded artistic researcher at the research project that this lexicon is part of. I decided that my research, asking how the artist performs within the <mark class="c3">institution</mark>, had to start with this peculiar job description.		My name is Pia Louwerens. You may be surprised to read a text written in the first person in a lexicon of collective <mark class="c5">material practices</mark>, but I would like to ask you to read my I, myself, as a collective effort in and by itself. Without you I wouldn’t be here after all. And whatever I have done, as a ‘junior embedded artistic researcher’'','' I didn’t come up with that myself. I held the job of junior embedded artistic researcher at the research project that this lexicon is part of. I decided that my research, asking how the artist performs within the <mark class="c3">institution</mark>, had to start with this peculiar job description.

	In this case, the word ‘<mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark>’ has an institutional provenance. The governmental organs who funded this research project are tailored to academic research in which this term indicates a specific institutional relationship. You can imagine <br>a research project in the field of biology, in which case <br>a junior researcher would do their research at one of the commercial partners of the project (the laboratory of a company, for example). They would, as a result, be ‘embedded’ in that company.		In this case, the word ''<mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark>'' has an institutional provenance. The governmental organs who funded this research project are tailored to academic research in which this term indicates a specific institutional relationship. You can imagine <br>a research project in the field of biology, in which case <br>a junior researcher would do their research at one of the commercial partners of the project (the laboratory of a company, for example). They would, as a result, be ‘embedded’ in that company.

	When you replace the biologist with an artist, you can see how this description inadvertently sketches out an unusual practice, reminiscent of the placement of artists in non-art organizations by the Artist Placement Group in the 1970s and 1980s. On top of that, I was placed or embedded in an exhibition space, which already works with artists, but in different capacities. They exhibit artists, and the staff is also populated by many young artists. I would be embedded as an artist in an <mark class="c3">institution</mark>, but not working at the <mark class="c3">institution</mark> as an artist; it would be different. How,		When you replace the biologist with an artist, you can see how this description inadvertently sketches out an unusual practice, reminiscent of the placement of artists in non-art organizations by the Artist Placement Group in the 1970s and 1980s. On top of that, I was placed or embedded in an exhibition space, which already works with artists, but in different capacities. They exhibit artists, and the staff is also populated by many young artists. I would be embedded as an artist in an <mark class="c3">institution</mark>, but not working at the <mark class="c3">institution</mark> as an artist; it would be different. How,

Hd-onions: /* embeddedness */

2022-03-24T17:46:42Z

embeddedness

← Older revision		Revision as of 19:46, 24 March 2022
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	When considering the embedded state of a stone, we might observe its conditional dependence, but we can only do so by grace of its difference. There is by definition a difference between the stone and the riverbed, between object A and object B. If they were the same, there would be no <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> to observe. To get back to this particular project: if I, as an artist, use the infrastructure of the <mark class="c1">institution</mark> in the same way as other artists, I would not be embedded anymore. Or, if you insist that all artists are in embedded relation to the <mark class="c1">institution</mark>, I can point out that I wasn’t only embedded in the <mark class="c1">institution</mark>, but in the institutional position of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> as well.		When considering the embedded state of a stone, we might observe its conditional dependence, but we can only do so by grace of its difference. There is by definition a difference between the stone and the riverbed, between object A and object B. If they were the same, there would be no <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> to observe. To get back to this particular project: if I, as an artist, use the infrastructure of the <mark class="c1">institution</mark> in the same way as other artists, I would not be embedded anymore. Or, if you insist that all artists are in embedded relation to the <mark class="c1">institution</mark>, I can point out that I wasn’t only embedded in the <mark class="c1">institution</mark>, but in the institutional position of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> as well.

	Something that helped me think through the tension between <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> and difference is the figure of the parasite. As A.M. Gullestad wrote: ‘Parasites are both a part and not a part of the host’s body, neither self nor non-self.’<ref>Anders M. Gullestad, ‘Literature and the Parasite’, ''Deleuze Studies'' 5, no. 3 (2012), p. 314, ~~[file:///Users/Astrid/Downloads/doi.org/10.3366/dls.2011.0023~~ doi.org/10.3366/dls.2011.0023]<span class="underline">.</span></ref> They exist in relation, yet do not assimilate. Through time, the strangeness of the parasite might be appropriated by the host. This phenomenon is deeply ingrained in our bodies: the mitochondria that energize our cells are said to have started out as parasites, they even have their own DNA.<ref>Lewis Thomas, ''The Lives of a Cell'' (Toronto, New York and London: Bantam Books, 1974), p. 2.</ref> Gullestad links the notion of parasite to the notion of ‘minor literature’ which Deleuze coined in a book on Kafka, a writer who lived and worked in Prague as part of a German-speaking minority: ‘To Deleuze, minor literature is therefore not external, but internal to a major language, yet at the same time “foreign” to it.’<ref>Gullestad, ‘Literature and the Parasite’, p. 312.</ref> This sounds a lot like </mark>embeddedness</mark>. Thinking through the parasitic, <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> evokes paranoia: who is using whom? Am I using the energy that the mitochondria provide, or is it the mitochondria ‘who walk through the local park in the morning … thinking my thoughts?’<ref>Thomas, ''The Lives of a Cell'', p. 3.</ref>		Something that helped me think through the tension between <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> and difference is the figure of the parasite. As A.M. Gullestad wrote: ‘Parasites are both a part and not a part of the host’s body, neither self nor non-self.’<ref>Anders M. Gullestad, ‘Literature and the Parasite’, ''Deleuze Studies'' 5, no. 3 (2012), p. 314, doi.org/10.3366/dls.2011.0023<span class="underline">.</span></ref> They exist in relation, yet do not assimilate. Through time, the strangeness of the parasite might be appropriated by the host. This phenomenon is deeply ingrained in our bodies: the mitochondria that energize our cells are said to have started out as parasites, they even have their own DNA.<ref>Lewis Thomas, ''The Lives of a Cell'' (Toronto, New York and London: Bantam Books, 1974), p. 2.</ref> Gullestad links the notion of parasite to the notion of ‘minor literature’ which Deleuze coined in a book on Kafka, a writer who lived and worked in Prague as part of a German-speaking minority: ‘To Deleuze, minor literature is therefore not external, but internal to a major language, yet at the same time “foreign” to it.’<ref>Gullestad, ‘Literature and the Parasite’, p. 312.</ref> This sounds a lot like </mark>embeddedness</mark>. Thinking through the parasitic, <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> evokes paranoia: who is using whom? Am I using the energy that the mitochondria provide, or is it the mitochondria ‘who walk through the local park in the morning … thinking my thoughts?’<ref>Thomas, ''The Lives of a Cell'', p. 3.</ref>

	This parasite/host relationship is not clear-cut. Just like we have parasites fuelling our cells, we have bacteria in our intestines, digesting our food; strangers truly are inside of us. I can fantasize about being external to the infrastructure of art, for example, but we, as artists, makers, readers of this lexicon, are the bodies through which the <mark class="c3">institution</mark> of art propagates. I host the <mark class="c3">institution</mark>, as much as I am a parasite.		This parasite/host relationship is not clear-cut. Just like we have parasites fuelling our cells, we have bacteria in our intestines, digesting our food; strangers truly are inside of us. I can fantasize about being external to the infrastructure of art, for example, but we, as artists, makers, readers of this lexicon, are the bodies through which the <mark class="c3">institution</mark> of art propagates. I host the <mark class="c3">institution</mark>, as much as I am a parasite.

	Before despairing—because how does one research something one is so much entangled with?—I tell myself that there might be no true distance, no separability to hold on to, but there is no true proximity either (see: criticality). I am a different material, I practice differently. Following the model of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> does not have to lead me to assimilation. The main questions I ask myself are: Which shape does the <mark class="c3">institution</mark> that is ''embedded'' in me imprint on my practice, and which shape do I imprint on the <mark class="c1">institution</mark> as an embedded artistic researcher? How am I hosted and how do I host?		Before despairing—because how does one research something one is so much entangled with?—I tell myself that there might be no true distance, no separability to hold on to, but there is no true proximity either (see: criticality). I am a different material, I practice differently. Following the model of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> does not have to lead me to assimilation. The main questions I ask myself are: Which shape does the <mark class="c3">institution</mark> that is ''embedded'' in me imprint on my practice, and which shape do I imprint on the <mark class="c1">institution</mark> as an embedded artistic researcher? How am I hosted and how do I host?

Juju: /* embeddedness */

2022-03-23T10:58:23Z

embeddedness

← Older revision		Revision as of 12:58, 23 March 2022
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	My name is Pia Louwerens. You may be surprised to read a text written in the first person in a lexicon of collective <mark class="c5">material practices</mark>, but I would like to ask you to read my I, myself, as a collective effort in and by itself. Without you I wouldn’t be here after all. And whatever I have done, as a ‘junior embedded artistic researcher’'','' I didn’t come up with that myself. I held the job of junior embedded artistic researcher at the research project that this lexicon is part of. I decided that my research, asking how the artist performs within the <mark class="c3">institution</mark>, had to start with this peculiar job description.		My name is Pia Louwerens. You may be surprised to read a text written in the first person in a lexicon of collective <mark class="c5">material practices</mark>, but I would like to ask you to read my I, myself, as a collective effort in and by itself. Without you I wouldn’t be here after all. And whatever I have done, as a ‘junior embedded artistic researcher’'','' I didn’t come up with that myself. I held the job of junior embedded artistic researcher at the research project that this lexicon is part of. I decided that my research, asking how the artist performs within the <mark class="c3">institution</mark>, had to start with this peculiar job description.

	In this case, the word ‘<mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark>’ has an institutional provenance. The governmental organs who funded this research project are tailored to academic research in which this term indicates a specific institutional relationship. You can imagine a research project in the field of biology, in which case a junior researcher would do their research at one of the commercial partners of the project (the laboratory of a company, for example). They would, as a result, be ‘embedded’ in that company.		In this case, the word ‘<mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark>’ has an institutional provenance. The governmental organs who funded this research project are tailored to academic research in which this term indicates a specific institutional relationship. You can imagine <br>a research project in the field of biology, in which case <br>a junior researcher would do their research at one of the commercial partners of the project (the laboratory of a company, for example). They would, as a result, be ‘embedded’ in that company.

	When you replace the biologist with an artist, you can see how this description inadvertently sketches out an unusual practice, reminiscent of the placement of artists in non-art organizations by the Artist Placement Group in the 1970s and 1980s. On top of that, I was placed or embedded in an exhibition space, which already works with artists, but in different capacities. They exhibit artists, and the staff is also populated by many young artists. I would be embedded as an artist in an <mark class="c3">institution</mark>, but not working at the <mark class="c3">institution</mark> as an artist; it would be different. How,		When you replace the biologist with an artist, you can see how this description inadvertently sketches out an unusual practice, reminiscent of the placement of artists in non-art organizations by the Artist Placement Group in the 1970s and 1980s. On top of that, I was placed or embedded in an exhibition space, which already works with artists, but in different capacities. They exhibit artists, and the staff is also populated by many young artists. I would be embedded as an artist in an <mark class="c3">institution</mark>, but not working at the <mark class="c3">institution</mark> as an artist; it would be different. How,

Juju: /* embeddedness */

2022-03-22T15:39:37Z

embeddedness

← Older revision		Revision as of 17:39, 22 March 2022
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	In this case, the word ‘<mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark>’ has an institutional provenance. The governmental organs who funded this research project are tailored to academic research in which this term indicates a specific institutional relationship. You can imagine a research project in the field of biology, in which case a junior researcher would do their research at one of the commercial partners of the project (the laboratory of a company, for example). They would, as a result, be ‘embedded’ in that company.		In this case, the word ‘<mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark>’ has an institutional provenance. The governmental organs who funded this research project are tailored to academic research in which this term indicates a specific institutional relationship. You can imagine a research project in the field of biology, in which case a junior researcher would do their research at one of the commercial partners of the project (the laboratory of a company, for example). They would, as a result, be ‘embedded’ in that company.

	When you replace the biologist with an artist, you can see how this description inadvertently sketches out an unusual practice, reminiscent of the placement of artists in non-art organizations by the Artist Placement Group in the 1970s and 1980s. On top of that, I was placed or embedded in an exhibition space, which already works with artists, but in different capacities. They exhibit artists, and the staff is also populated by many young artists. I would be embedded as an artist in an <mark class="c3">institution</mark>, but not working at the <mark class="c3">institution</mark> as an artist; it would be different. How, I didn’t know yet.		When you replace the biologist with an artist, you can see how this description inadvertently sketches out an unusual practice, reminiscent of the placement of artists in non-art organizations by the Artist Placement Group in the 1970s and 1980s. On top of that, I was placed or embedded in an exhibition space, which already works with artists, but in different capacities. They exhibit artists, and the staff is also populated by many young artists. I would be embedded as an artist in an <mark class="c3">institution</mark>, but not working at the <mark class="c3">institution</mark> as an artist; it would be different. How,
			<br>I didn’t know yet.

	Online searches for <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> quickly lead to a specific context: it denotes the position of journalists who travel with the military to report from the front lines. I can’t think of a more paranoid image.<ref>Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, ‘Paranoid Reading and Reparative Reading, or, You’re So Paranoid, You Probably Think This Essay Is About You’, in ''Touching Feeling'' (Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2003), pp. 123-152.</ref> In addition to these two perspectives, I also like to think of the more basic reading of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark>: two objects of different materials, one big and one small, where the smaller object is firmly lodged inside the other. I imagine a stone in a riverbed, creating an impression with its shape, while it gets smoothed over time.		<span class="tighter">Online searches for <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> quickly lead to a specific context: it denotes the position of journalists who travel with the military to report from the front lines. I can’t think of a more paranoid image.<ref>Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, ‘Paranoid Reading and Reparative Reading, or, You’re So Paranoid, You Probably Think This Essay Is About You’, in ''Touching Feeling'' (Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2003), pp. 123-152.</ref> In addition to these two perspectives, I also like to think of the more basic reading of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark>: two objects of different materials, one big and one small, where the smaller object is firmly lodged inside the other. I imagine a stone in a riverbed, creating an impression with its shape, while it gets smoothed over time.</span>

	My adoption of the condition of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> as a research subject, was precisely the start of my performance of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark>. Because of certain misconceptions that originated in modernity, artists are not encouraged to embed or lodge themselves firmly in their own conditions. This relates to causality: as an autonomous artist, the primary cause for action should be your own initiative (inspiration, or creation). Artists, like artworks, like art in general, strive to be free and independent, separate. To explain the misconception I think of a Spinoza Symposium at the contemporary art space West Den Haag, where I first heard Spinoza’s parable of the stone that was thrown.<ref>Moira Gatens, ‘Living on the Gallows?’, Spinoza & the Arts Symposium (West Den Haag), 4 October 2019.</ref> If the stone, Spinoza wrote, would get a consciousness mid-air, it would mistake itself into thinking that it made itself fly. If the artist is a stone, then ‘the <mark class="c3">institution</mark>’ (see: <mark class="c3">institution</mark> as practice) controls most of the conditions that make it fly and keep it flying.		<span class="tighter">My adoption of the condition of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark>
			<br>as a research subject, was precisely the start of my performance of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark>. Because of certain misconceptions that originated in modernity, artists are not encouraged to embed or lodge themselves firmly in their own conditions. This relates to causality: as an autonomous artist, the primary cause for action should be your own initiative (inspiration, or creation). Artists, like artworks, like art in general, strive to be free and independent, separate. To explain the misconception I think of a Spinoza Symposium at the contemporary art space West Den Haag, where I first heard Spinoza’s parable of the stone that was thrown.<ref>Moira Gatens, ‘Living on the Gallows?’, Spinoza & the Arts Symposium (West Den Haag), 4 October 2019.</ref> If the stone, Spinoza wrote, would get a consciousness mid-air, it would mistake itself into thinking that it made itself fly. If the artist is a stone, then ‘the <mark class="c3">institution</mark>’ (see: <mark class="c3">institution</mark> as practice) controls most of the conditions that make it fly and keep it flying.</span>

	When considering the embedded state of a stone, we might observe its conditional dependence, but we can only do so by grace of its difference. There is by definition a difference between the stone and the riverbed, between object A and object B. If they were the same, there would be no <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> to observe. To get back to this particular project: if I, as an artist, use the infrastructure of the <mark class="c1">institution</mark> in the same way as other artists, I would not be embedded anymore. Or, if you insist that all artists are in embedded relation to the <mark class="c1">institution</mark>, I can point out that I wasn’t only embedded in the <mark class="c1">institution</mark>, but in the institutional position of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> as well.		When considering the embedded state of a stone, we might observe its conditional dependence, but we can only do so by grace of its difference. There is by definition a difference between the stone and the riverbed, between object A and object B. If they were the same, there would be no <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> to observe. To get back to this particular project: if I, as an artist, use the infrastructure of the <mark class="c1">institution</mark> in the same way as other artists, I would not be embedded anymore. Or, if you insist that all artists are in embedded relation to the <mark class="c1">institution</mark>, I can point out that I wasn’t only embedded in the <mark class="c1">institution</mark>, but in the institutional position of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> as well.

Heerko: /* embeddedness */

2022-03-19T17:17:19Z

embeddedness

← Older revision		Revision as of 19:17, 19 March 2022
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	<span class="author">Pia Louwerens</span>		<span class="author">Pia Louwerens</span>

	My name is Pia Louwerens. You may be surprised to read a text written in the first person in a lexicon of collective material ~~practices↵~~, but I would like to ask you to read my I, myself, as a collective effort in and by itself. Without you I wouldn’t be here after all. And whatever I have done, as a ‘junior embedded artistic researcher’'','' I didn’t come up with that myself. I held the job of junior embedded artistic researcher at the research project that this lexicon is part of. I decided that my research, asking how the artist performs within the ~~institution↵~~, had to start with this peculiar job description.		My name is Pia Louwerens. You may be surprised to read a text written in the first person in a lexicon of collective <mark class="c5">material practices</mark>, but I would like to ask you to read my I, myself, as a collective effort in and by itself. Without you I wouldn’t be here after all. And whatever I have done, as a ‘junior embedded artistic researcher’'','' I didn’t come up with that myself. I held the job of junior embedded artistic researcher at the research project that this lexicon is part of. I decided that my research, asking how the artist performs within the <mark class="c3">institution</mark>, had to start with this peculiar job description.

	In this case, the word ~~‘embeddedness↵’~~ has an institutional provenance. The governmental organs who funded this research project are tailored to academic research in which this term indicates a specific institutional relationship. You can imagine a research project in the field of biology, in which case a junior researcher would do their research at one of the commercial partners of the project (the laboratory of a company, for example). They would, as a result, be ‘embedded’ in that company.		In this case, the word ‘<mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark>’ has an institutional provenance. The governmental organs who funded this research project are tailored to academic research in which this term indicates a specific institutional relationship. You can imagine a research project in the field of biology, in which case a junior researcher would do their research at one of the commercial partners of the project (the laboratory of a company, for example). They would, as a result, be ‘embedded’ in that company.

	When you replace the biologist with an artist, you can see how this description inadvertently sketches out an unusual practice, reminiscent of the placement of artists in non-art organizations by the Artist Placement Group in the 1970s and 1980s. On top of that, I was placed or embedded in an exhibition space, which already works with artists, but in different capacities. They exhibit artists, and the staff is also populated by many young artists. I would be embedded as an artist in an ~~institution↵~~, but not working at the ~~institution↵~~ as an artist; it would be different. How, I didn’t know yet.		When you replace the biologist with an artist, you can see how this description inadvertently sketches out an unusual practice, reminiscent of the placement of artists in non-art organizations by the Artist Placement Group in the 1970s and 1980s. On top of that, I was placed or embedded in an exhibition space, which already works with artists, but in different capacities. They exhibit artists, and the staff is also populated by many young artists. I would be embedded as an artist in an <mark class="c3">institution</mark>, but not working at the <mark class="c3">institution</mark> as an artist; it would be different. How, I didn’t know yet.

	Online searches for ~~embeddedness↵~~ quickly lead to a specific context: it denotes the position of journalists who travel with the military to report from the front lines. I can’t think of a more paranoid image.<ref>Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, ‘Paranoid Reading and Reparative Reading, or, You’re So Paranoid, You Probably Think This Essay Is About You’, in ''Touching Feeling'' (Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2003), pp. 123-152.</ref> In addition to these two perspectives, I also like to think of the more basic reading of ~~embeddedness↵~~: two objects of different materials, one big and one small, where the smaller object is firmly lodged inside the other. I imagine a stone in a riverbed, creating an impression with its shape, while it gets smoothed over time.		Online searches for <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> quickly lead to a specific context: it denotes the position of journalists who travel with the military to report from the front lines. I can’t think of a more paranoid image.<ref>Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, ‘Paranoid Reading and Reparative Reading, or, You’re So Paranoid, You Probably Think This Essay Is About You’, in ''Touching Feeling'' (Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2003), pp. 123-152.</ref> In addition to these two perspectives, I also like to think of the more basic reading of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark>: two objects of different materials, one big and one small, where the smaller object is firmly lodged inside the other. I imagine a stone in a riverbed, creating an impression with its shape, while it gets smoothed over time.

	My adoption of the condition of ~~embeddedness↵~~ as a research subject, was precisely the start of my performance of ~~embeddedness↵~~. Because of certain misconceptions that originated in modernity, artists are not encouraged to embed or lodge themselves firmly in their own conditions. This relates to causality: as an autonomous artist, the primary cause for action should be your own initiative (inspiration, or creation). Artists, like artworks, like art in general, strive to be free and independent, separate. To explain the misconception I think of a Spinoza Symposium at the contemporary art space West Den Haag, where I first heard Spinoza’s parable of the stone that was thrown.<ref>Moira Gatens, ‘Living on the Gallows?’, Spinoza & the Arts Symposium (West Den Haag), 4 October 2019.</ref> If the stone, Spinoza wrote, would get a consciousness mid-air, it would mistake itself into thinking that it made itself fly. If the artist is a stone, then ‘the ~~institution↵’~~ (see: ~~institution↵~~ as practice) controls most of the conditions that make it fly and keep it flying.		My adoption of the condition of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> as a research subject, was precisely the start of my performance of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark>. Because of certain misconceptions that originated in modernity, artists are not encouraged to embed or lodge themselves firmly in their own conditions. This relates to causality: as an autonomous artist, the primary cause for action should be your own initiative (inspiration, or creation). Artists, like artworks, like art in general, strive to be free and independent, separate. To explain the misconception I think of a Spinoza Symposium at the contemporary art space West Den Haag, where I first heard Spinoza’s parable of the stone that was thrown.<ref>Moira Gatens, ‘Living on the Gallows?’, Spinoza & the Arts Symposium (West Den Haag), 4 October 2019.</ref> If the stone, Spinoza wrote, would get a consciousness mid-air, it would mistake itself into thinking that it made itself fly. If the artist is a stone, then ‘the <mark class="c3">institution</mark>’ (see: <mark class="c3">institution</mark> as practice) controls most of the conditions that make it fly and keep it flying.

	When considering the embedded state of a stone, we might observe its conditional dependence, but we can only do so by grace of its difference. There is by definition a difference between the stone and the riverbed, between object A and object B. If they were the same, there would be no ~~embeddedness↵~~ to observe. To get back to this particular project: if I, as an artist, use the infrastructure of the ~~institution↵~~ in the same way as other artists, I would not be embedded anymore. Or, if you insist that all artists are in embedded relation to the ~~institution↵~~, I can point out that I wasn’t only embedded in the ~~institution↵~~, but in the institutional position of ~~embeddedness↵~~ as well.		When considering the embedded state of a stone, we might observe its conditional dependence, but we can only do so by grace of its difference. There is by definition a difference between the stone and the riverbed, between object A and object B. If they were the same, there would be no <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> to observe. To get back to this particular project: if I, as an artist, use the infrastructure of the <mark class="c1">institution</mark> in the same way as other artists, I would not be embedded anymore. Or, if you insist that all artists are in embedded relation to the <mark class="c1">institution</mark>, I can point out that I wasn’t only embedded in the <mark class="c1">institution</mark>, but in the institutional position of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> as well.

	Something that helped me think through the tension between ~~embeddedness↵~~ and difference is the figure of the parasite. As A.M. Gullestad wrote: ‘Parasites are both a part and not a part of the host’s body, neither self nor non-self.’<ref>Anders M. Gullestad, ‘Literature and the Parasite’, ''Deleuze Studies'' 5, no. 3 (2012), p. 314, [file:///Users/Astrid/Downloads/doi.org/10.3366/dls.2011.0023 doi.org/10.3366/dls.2011.0023]<span class="underline">.</span></ref> They exist in relation, yet do not assimilate. Through time, the strangeness of the parasite might be appropriated by the host. This phenomenon is deeply ingrained in our bodies: the mitochondria that energize our cells are said to have started out as parasites, they even have their own DNA.<ref>Lewis Thomas, ''The Lives of a Cell'' (Toronto, New York and London: Bantam Books, 1974), p. 2.</ref> Gullestad links the notion of parasite to the notion of ‘minor literature’ which Deleuze coined in a book on Kafka, a writer who lived and worked in Prague as part of a German-speaking minority: ‘To Deleuze, minor literature is therefore not external, but internal to a major language, yet at the same time “foreign” to it.’<ref>Gullestad, ‘Literature and the Parasite’, p. 312.</ref> This sounds a lot like ~~embeddedness↵~~. Thinking through the parasitic, ~~embeddedness↵~~ evokes paranoia: who is using whom? Am I using the energy that the mitochondria provide, or is it the mitochondria ‘who walk through the local park in the morning … thinking my thoughts?’<ref>Thomas, ''The Lives of a Cell'', p. 3.</ref>		Something that helped me think through the tension between <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> and difference is the figure of the parasite. As A.M. Gullestad wrote: ‘Parasites are both a part and not a part of the host’s body, neither self nor non-self.’<ref>Anders M. Gullestad, ‘Literature and the Parasite’, ''Deleuze Studies'' 5, no. 3 (2012), p. 314, [file:///Users/Astrid/Downloads/doi.org/10.3366/dls.2011.0023 doi.org/10.3366/dls.2011.0023]<span class="underline">.</span></ref> They exist in relation, yet do not assimilate. Through time, the strangeness of the parasite might be appropriated by the host. This phenomenon is deeply ingrained in our bodies: the mitochondria that energize our cells are said to have started out as parasites, they even have their own DNA.<ref>Lewis Thomas, ''The Lives of a Cell'' (Toronto, New York and London: Bantam Books, 1974), p. 2.</ref> Gullestad links the notion of parasite to the notion of ‘minor literature’ which Deleuze coined in a book on Kafka, a writer who lived and worked in Prague as part of a German-speaking minority: ‘To Deleuze, minor literature is therefore not external, but internal to a major language, yet at the same time “foreign” to it.’<ref>Gullestad, ‘Literature and the Parasite’, p. 312.</ref> This sounds a lot like </mark>embeddedness</mark>. Thinking through the parasitic, <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> evokes paranoia: who is using whom? Am I using the energy that the mitochondria provide, or is it the mitochondria ‘who walk through the local park in the morning … thinking my thoughts?’<ref>Thomas, ''The Lives of a Cell'', p. 3.</ref>

	This parasite/host relationship is not clear-cut. Just like we have parasites fuelling our cells, we have bacteria in our intestines, digesting our food; strangers truly are inside of us. I can fantasize about being external to the infrastructure of art, for example, but we, as artists, makers, readers of this lexicon, are the bodies through which the ~~institution↵~~ of art propagates. I host the ~~institution↵~~, as much as I am a parasite.		This parasite/host relationship is not clear-cut. Just like we have parasites fuelling our cells, we have bacteria in our intestines, digesting our food; strangers truly are inside of us. I can fantasize about being external to the infrastructure of art, for example, but we, as artists, makers, readers of this lexicon, are the bodies through which the <mark class="c3">institution</mark> of art propagates. I host the <mark class="c3">institution</mark>, as much as I am a parasite.

	Before despairing—because how does one research something one is so much entangled with?—I tell myself that there might be no true distance, no separability to hold on to, but there is no true proximity either (see: criticality). I am a different material, I practice differently. Following the model of ~~embeddedness↵~~ does not have to lead me to assimilation. The main questions I ask myself are: Which shape does the ~~institution↵~~ that is ''embedded'' in me imprint on my practice, and which shape do I imprint on the ~~institution↵~~ as an embedded artistic researcher? How am I hosted and how do I host?		Before despairing—because how does one research something one is so much entangled with?—I tell myself that there might be no true distance, no separability to hold on to, but there is no true proximity either (see: criticality). I am a different material, I practice differently. Following the model of <mark class="c1">embeddedness</mark> does not have to lead me to assimilation. The main questions I ask myself are: Which shape does the <mark class="c3">institution</mark> that is ''embedded'' in me imprint on my practice, and which shape do I imprint on the <mark class="c1">institution</mark> as an embedded artistic researcher? How am I hosted and how do I host?

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