Lines, Lines, Lines

What Have You Done To Me?

Lines are linear like times. But the seasons are cyclical - not lines.

A song cover is like a rewrite, but not of the words necessarily but of the interpretation, the performance.

Perhaps a song cover is like Donna Haraway’s Cyborg. There is no origin, no birth, perhaps no original only constant recombination and reinterpretation. A constant state of mediation or intersubjectivity.

Did I rewrite a piece on lines, that became about music, that became about a visual experience that we cannot ‘read’? How did I rewrite that?

x

Meredith