PM 014

This Primer Manufacture (PM) belongs to a collection set up by the Institute of Cartopology. The collection is an assembled compilation consisting of heterogeneous material related to cartopology in a particular way. Each PM is self-contained and simultaneously belongs to and supports the Forms of Expression.
The collection of PM’s is numbered and structured by sort, type and origin to retrieve a specific PM easier. To recognize a PM, there are two questions to answer: How does it relate to the cartopological context? and, what is the context the PM is taken from?

COLLECTION NR.: 

PM014 – BOOK

SORT:

English language

TYPE:

book

ORIGIN:

Hugh Raffles, Insectopedia (New York: Random House Usa Inc. 2011) 45-47.

FILE:

CONTEXT OF PM :

Scientific Illustration 

RELATION TO CARTOPOLOGY:

This text is about the practice of fieldwork and documentation process and how both relate to each other. 

‘What does Cornelia see when she focuses so intently on this creature? She tells me that when she’s outside, collecting in fields, at roadsides, and on the edges of forests, she “loses herself in the animal.” At these moments, she says, she feels “very connected, extremely connected”; she feels a deep bond, as if, perhaps, she herself had once been such a creature—a leaf bug—“and had a body remembering.

But her painting practice, as she explains it, is almost the opposite of this. When she sits down with her microscope, she no longer experiences the insect as a coevolved being but as form and color, shape and texture, quantity and volume, plane and aspect. Her work becomes as mechanical as possible. (“I want to be like a laser that goes from one square centimeter to the next. I see it, I show it; I see it, I show it,” she tells me.) At times, as in the painting below, she introduces a principle of formal randomness, selecting specimens from her collection by chance and abstracting a single structure, which she repeatedly positions at designated points on the graph paper, creating an image with no preconceived final arrangement she’s outside, collecting in fields, at roadsides, and on the edges of forests, she “loses herself in the animal.” At these moments, she says, she feels “very connected, extremely connected”; she feels a deep bond, as if, perhaps, she herself had once been such a creature—a leaf bug—“and had a body remembering.”

But her painting practice, as she explains it, is almost the opposite of this. When she sits down with her microscope, she no longer experiences the insect as a coevolved being but as form and color, shape and texture, quantity and volume, plane and aspect. Her work becomes as mechanical as possible. (“I want to be like a laser that goes from one square centimeter to the next. I see it, I show it; I see it, I show it,” she tells me.) At times, as in the painting below, she introduces a principle of formal randomness, selecting specimens from her collection by chance and abstracting a single structure, which she repeatedly positions at designated points on the graph paper, creating an image with no preconceived final arrangement, an image whose aesthetic origins lie squarely in the tradition of concrete art, in which she was raised.’