The following is from 312 No. 7, September 2005 [Download Publication in .PDF format]:

Hints & Suspicions: Reading The Talking Cure

In his introduction to The Practice of Everyday Life, Michel de Certeau describes reading as a “silent production,” likening it to the relationship between a tenant and an apartment: the author’s text becomes “a space borrowed for a moment by a transient” (xxi). De Certeau sees reading not as passive consumption, but as a creative act. Readers fill in the details and inhabit the text, testing it against their own experiences and memories. Video artist Jillian Locke approaches her weblog-based videos similarly, fully aware of her own “silent production” while reading.

In her series The Allowance for Doubtful Accounts, Locke takes weblogs she finds at livejournal.com and inhabits each author’s persona, presenting her interpretations as performance-based videos. As a weblog reader, Locke evaluates each blogger, filling in the blanks where details are scarce. The Allowance for Doubtful Accounts is about the process of reading and interpretation.

In one installment, called The Talking Cure, Locke is not the only reader examining the chosen weblog. In this case, the blogger is a self-described anorexic under fire from other online readers for being a “fakerexic.” In the video, Locke presents herself as the blogger, but the critics remain locked in text, appearing as subtitles. Their words punctuate Locke’s performance, forcing her to react to their accusations in realtime. “I’m anorexic, and I have been on and off,” she confesses, relating her current and goal weights alongside sparse daily menus. Posting their comments on the weblog, readers question its validity. One critic writes, “don’t cheapen anorexia for those of us who have it or are experiencing it by claiming to have anorexia when you are perfectly healthy…”. Rather than simply inhabiting it, these critics poke holes in the confession—enabled to give feedback, de Certeau’s “silent” tenants begin knocking out walls. Eventually, the author relents, giving up altogether.

But why make a personal confession, the stuff of hidden diaries, so public? And if the accusers in The Talking Cure are correct, why present a false confession when not under pressure? Well, for starters, text is meant to be read. As Lisa Steele has noted in reference to this video series, even diaries from as early as the 17th Century have been preserved for study (“The Allowance for Doubtful Accounts: Embodied performance-video in the work of Jillian Locke”). Once pen is put to paper, or finger put to key, an author invites readers. It’s exhibitionism, also the stuff of visual art, and in The Talking Cure, Locke’s comedic performance pushes her character’s inner diva to the ultra-dramatic hilt. Her world-weary tone of voice, hyperactive hand gestures, and self-conscious, but carefully posed, movements suggest that Locke is winking at you beneath the one-dimensional surface. But there’s also exhibitionism inherent in voicing critique: the author is denied centre stage when scrutinized. The final word goes to the readers, a visibly inseparable part of the text.

As with all texts, however, it pays to be cautious before reaching conclusions. Locke’s performances are obviously not true-to-life—they’re reflections of how she has chosen to read the weblogs (apparently de Certeau’s tenants also make videos about reading). By filling in the blanks, Locke creates characters with what little bloggers choose to write. Any reader interprets a text—even Locke’s videos—by moving around within its space. Because an author’s ulterior motives do not introduce a text, interpretation is always more complicated than it first seems. Interpretation is gleaned from hints and suspicions. Even Locke suggests this with her title’s reference to psychotherapy—there is something unknown motivating this confession. As The Talking Cure’s blogger says, “Never judge someone at a ten second glance. I know, clearly, you cannot see me…yet. But you don’t know a thing about me.”
Mark Prier.