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SILENCE

Lectures

and

writings

by

JOHN

CAGE

DO,

cas

WESLEYAN UNIVERSITY PRESS Middletown, Connecticut

Many of these lectures and articles have been delivered or published elsewhere
in the past two decades. The headnote preceding each one makes grateful ac-
knowledgment of its precise source.

The design used on the endpapers is a part of the score of Mr. Cage's Concert
for Piano and Orchestra, for Elaine de Kooning, copyright © I960 by Henmar
Press Inc.

Copyright © 1939, 1944, 1949, 1952, 1954, 1955, 1957, 1958, 1959, 1961 by John Cage

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 61-14238
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition

USIC LIBRAE

To Whom It May Concern

CONTENTS

Foreword / ix

Manifesto / xii

The Future of Music: Credo I 3

Experimental Music / 7

Experimental Music: Doctrine / 13

Composition as Process / 18

I. Changes / 18

II. Indeterminacy I 35

III. Communication / 41

Composition / 57

To Describe the Process of Composition Used in Music
of Changes and Imaginary Landscape No. 4/57

To Describe the Process of Composition Used in Music
for Piano 21-52 / 60

Forerunners of Modern Music / 62

History of Experimental Music in the United States / 67

Erik Satie I 76

Edgard Varese / 83

Four Statements on the Dance / 86

Goal: New Music, New Dance / 87

Grace and Clarity / 89

In This Day . . . / 94

2 Pages, 122 Words on Music and Dance / 96
On Robert Rauschenberg, Artist, and His Work / 98
Lecture on Nothing / 109
Lecture on Something / 128
45' for a Speaker / 146

Where Are We Going? and What Are We Doing? / 194
Indeterminacy / 260
Music Lovers' Field Companion / 274

FOREWORD

For over twenty years I have been writing articles and giving lectures.
Many of them have been unusual in form— this is especially true of the lec-
tures—because I have employed in them means of composing analogous to
my composing means in the field of music. My intention has been, often, to
say what I had to say in a way that would exemplify it; that would, con-
ceivably, permit the listener to experience what I had to say rather than
just hear about it. This means that, being as I am engaged in a variety of
activities, I attempt to introduce into each one of them aspects convention-
ally limited to one or more of the others.

So it was that I gave about 1949 my Lecture on Nothing at the Artists'
Club on Eighth Street in New York City (the artists' club started by Robert
Motherwell, which predated the popular one associated with Philip Pavia,
Bill de Kooning, et al. ) . This Lecture on Nothing was written in the same
rhythmic structure I employed at the time in my musical compositions
( Sonatas and Interludes, Three Dances, etc. ) . One of the structural divi-
sions was the repetition, some fourteen times, of a single page in which
occurred the refrain, "If anyone is sleepy let him go to sleep." Jeanne
Reynal, I remember, stood up part way through, screamed, and then said,
while I continued speaking, "John, I dearly love you, but I can't bear
another minute." She then walked out. Later, during the question period,
I gave one of six previously prepared answers regardless of the question
asked. This was a reflection of my engagement in Zen.

FOREWORD/ix

At Black Mountain College in 1952, 1 organized an event that involved
the paintings of Bob Rauschenberg, the dancing of Merce Cunningham,
films, slides, phonograph records, radios, the poetries of Charles Olson and
M. C. Richards recited from the tops of ladders, and the pianism of David
Tudor, together with my Juilliard lecture, which ends: "A piece of string,
a sunset, each acts." The audience was seated in the center of all this activ-
ity. Later that summer, vacationing in New England, I visited America's
first synagogue, to discover that the congregation was there seated pre-
cisely the way I had arranged the audience at Black Mountain.

As I look back, I realize that a concern with poetry was early with me.
At Pomona College, in response to questions about the Lake poets, I wrote
in the manner of Gertrude Stein, irrelevantly and repetitiously. I got an A.
The second time I did it I was failed. Since the Lecture on Nothing there
have been more than a dozen pieces that were unconventionally written,
including some that were done by means of chance operations and one that
was largely a series of questions left unanswered. When M. C. Richards
asked me why I didn't one day give a conventional informative lecture,
adding that that would be the most shocking thing I could do, I said, "I
don't give these lectures to surprise people, but out of a need for poetry."

As I see it, poetry is not prose simply because poetry is in one way or
another formalized. It is not poetry by reason of its content or ambiguity
but by reason of its allowing musical elements (time, sound) to be intro-
duced into the world of words. Thus, traditionally, information no matter
how stuffy (e.g., the sutras and shastras of India) was transmitted in
poetry. It was easier to grasp that way. Karl Shapiro may have been think-
ing along these lines when he wrote his Essay on Rime in poetry.

Committing these formalized lectures to print has presented certain
problems, and some of the solutions reached are compromises between
what would have been desirable and what was practicable. The lecture
Where Are We Going? and What Are We Doing? is an example. In this
and other cases, a headnote explains the means to be used in the event of
oral delivery.

Not all these pieces, of course, are unusual in form. Several were writ-
ten to be printed— that is, to be seen rather than to be heard. Several others
were composed and delivered as conventional informative lectures (with-
out shocking their audiences for that reason, so far as I could determine).

x/SILENCE

This collection does not include all that I have written; it does reflect what
have been, and continue to be, my major concerns.

Critics frequently cry "Dada" after attending one of my concerts or
hearing one of my lectures. Others bemoan my interest in Zen. One of the
liveliest lectures I ever heard was given by Nancy Wilson Ross at the
Cornish School in Seattle. It was called Zen Buddhism and Dada. It is pos-
sible to make a connection between the two, but neither Dada nor Zen is
a fixed tangible. They change; and in quite different ways in different
places and times, they invigorate action. What was Dada in the 1920's is
now, with the exception of the work of Marcel Duchamp, just art. What I
do, I do not wish blamed on Zen, though without my engagement with
Zen ( attendance at lectures by Alan Watts and D. T. Suzuki, reading of
the literature) I doubt whether I would have done what I have done. I am
told that Alan Watts has questioned the relation between my work and
Zen. I mention this in order to free Zen of any responsibility for my actions.
I shall continue making them, however. I often point out that Dada nowa-
days has in it a space, an emptiness, that it formerly lacked. What now-
adays, America mid-twentieth century, is Zen?

I am grateful to Richard K. Winslow, composer, whose musical ways
are different from mine, who seven years ago, as Professor of Music at
Wesleyan University, engaged David Tudor and me for a concert and
who, at the time as we were walking along, introduced me without warn-
ing to his habit of suddenly quietly singing. Since then, he has twice invited
us back to Wesleyan, even though our programs were consistently percus-
sive, noisy, and silent, and the views which I expressed were consistently
antischolastic and anarchic. He helped obtain for me the Fellowship at the
Wesleyan Center for Advanced Studies which, in spite of the air-condition-
ing, I have enjoyed during the last academic year. And he inspired the
University Press to publish this book. The reader may argue the propri-
ety of this support, but he must admire, as I do, Winslow's courage and
unselfishness.

-J.C.

June 1961

FOREWORD/xi

The text below was written for Julian Beck and Judith Molina, directors of the
Living Theatre, for use in their program booklet when they were performing at
the Cherry Lane Theatre, Greenwich Village, New York.

written in response i

toarequestfor \ . , ,,.,,

) instantaneous and unpredictable

a manifesto on (

music, 1952 1

nothing is accomplished by writing a piece of music J our ears are

- « " - hearing" " " " > now

" " " " playing" " " " \ in excellent condition

—John CA9E

xM/SILENCE

SILENCE

V.

The following text was delivered as a talk at a meeting of a Seattle arts society
organized by Bonnie Bird in 1937. It was printed in the brochure accompanying
George Avakian's recording of my twenty-five-year retrospective concert
at Town Hall, New York, in 1958.

THE FUTURE OF MUSIC: CREDO

I BELIEVE THAT THE USE OF NOISE

Wherever we are, what we hear is mostly
noise. When we ignore it, it disturbs us. When we listen to it, we find it
fascinating. The sound of a truck at fifty miles per hour. Static between the
stations. Rain. We want to capture and control these sounds, to use them
not as sound effects but as musical instruments. Every film studio has a
library of "sound effects" recorded on film. With a film phonograph it is now
possible to control the amplitude and frequency of any one of these sounds
and to give to it rhythms within or beyond the reach of the imagination.
Given four film phonographs, we can compose and perform a quartet for
explosive motor, wind, heartbeat, and landslide.

TO MAKE MUSIC

If this word "music" is
sacred and reserved for eighteenth- and nineteenth-century instruments,
we can substitute a more meaningful term: organization of sound.

WILL CONTINUE AND IN-
CREASE UNTIL WE REACH A MUSIC PRODUCED THROUGH THE ADD OF ELECTRICAL
INSTRUMENTS

Most inventors of electrical musical instruments have at-
tempted to imitate eighteenth- and nineteenth-century instruments, just as
early automobile designers copied the carriage. The Novachord and the

THE FUTURE OF MUSIC: CREDO/3

Solovox are examples of this desire to imitate the past rather than construct
the future. When Theremin provided an instrument with genuinely new
possibilities, Thereministes did their utmost to make the instrument sound
like some old instrument, giving it a sickeningly sweet vibrato, and per-
forming upon it, with difficulty, masterpieces from the past. Although the
instrument is capable of a wide variety of sound qualities, obtained by the
turning of a dial, Thereministes act as censors, giving the public those
sounds they think the public will like. We are shielded from new sound
experiences.

The special function of electrical instruments will be to pro-
vide complete control of the overtone structure of tones (as opposed to
noises) and to make these tones available in any frequency, amplitude,
and duration.

WHICH WILL MAKE AVAILABLE FOR MUSICAL PURPOSES ANY AND
ALL SOUNDS THAT CAN BE HEARD. PHOTOELECTRIC, FILM, AND MECHANICAL
MEDIUMS FOR THE SYNTHETIC PRODUCTION OF MUSIC

It is now possible for
composers to make music directly, without the assistance of intermediary
performers. Any design repeated often enough on a sound track is audible.
Two hundred and eighty circles per second on a sound track will produce
one sound, whereas a portrait of Beethoven repeated fifty times per second
on a sound track will have not only a different pitch but a different sound
quality.

WILL BE EXPLORED.
WHEREAS, IN THE PAST, THE POINT OF DISAGREEMENT HAS BEEN BETWEEN DIS-
SONANCE AND CONSONANCE, IT WILL BE, IN THE IMMEDIATE FUTURE, BETWEEN
NOISE AND SO-CALLED MUSICAL SOUNDS.

THE PRESENT METHODS
OF WRITING MUSIC, PRINCIPALLY THOSE WHICH EMPLOY HARMONY AND ITS
REFERENCE TO PARTICULAR STEPS IN THE FTELD OF SOUND, WELL BE INADEQUATE
FOR THE COMPOSER, WHO WELL BE FACED WITH THE ENTTRE FEELD OF SOUND.

4/SILENCE

The composer ( organizer of sound ) will be faced not only with the entire
field of sound but also with the entire field of time. The "frame" or fraction
of a second, following established film technique, will probably be the basic
unit in the measurement of time. No rhythm will be beyond the composer's
reach.

NEW METHODS WILL BE DISCOVERED, BEARING A DEFINITE RELATION TO SCHOEN-
BERG'S TWELVE-TONE SYSTEM

Schoenberg's method assigns to each material,
in a group of equal materials, its function with respect to the group. ( Har-
mony assigned to each material, in a group of unequal materials, its func-
tion with respect to the fundamental or most important material in the
group. ) Schoenberg's method is analogous to a society in which the empha-
sis is on the group and the integration of the individual in the group.

AND PRESENT METHODS OF WRITING PERCUSSION
MUSIC

Percussion music is a contemporary transition from keyboard-influ-
enced music to the all-sound music of the future. Any sound is acceptable to
the composer of percussion music; he explores the academically forbidden
"non-musical" field of sound insofar as is manually possible.

Methods of writing percussion music have as their goal the rhythmic
structure of a composition. As soon as these methods are crystallized into
one or several widely accepted methods, the means will exist for group im-
provisations of unwritten but culturally important music. This has already
taken place in Oriental cultures and in hot jazz.

AND ANY OTHER METHODS WHICH ARE FREE FROM THE CONCEPT OF A
FUNDAMENTAL TONE.

THE PRINCIPLE OF
FORM WILL BE OUR ONLY CONSTANT CONNECTION WITH THE PAST. ALTHOUGH
THE GREAT FORM OF THE FUTURE WILL NOT BE AS IT WAS IN THE PAST, AT

THE FUTURE OF MUSIC: CREDO/5

ONE TIME THE FUGUE AND AT ANOTHER THE SONATA, IT WILL BE RELATED TO
THESE AS THEY ARE TO EACH OTHER:

Before this happens, centers of experi-
mental music must be established. In these centers, the new materials,
oscillators, turntables, generators, means for amplifying small sounds, film
phonographs, etc., available for use. Composers at work using twentieth-
century means for making music. Performances of results. Organization
of sound for extra-musical purposes (theatre, dance, radio, film).

THROUGH
THE PRINCIPLE OF ORGANIZATION OR MAN'S COMMON ABILITY TO THINK.

It was a Wednesday. I was in the sixth grade. I overheard Dad saying to Mother, "Get ready: we're
going to New Zealand Saturday." I got ready. I read everything I could find in the school library about
New Zealand. Saturday came. Nothing happened. The project was not even mentioned, that day or any
succeeding day.

M. C. Richards went to see the Bolshoi Ballet. She was delighted with the dancing. She said, "It's not
what they do; it's the ardor with which they do it." I said, "Yes: composition, performance, and audition or
observation are really different things. They have next to nothing to do with one another." Once, I told her,
I was at a house on Riverside Drive where people were invited to be present at a Zen service conducted by
a Japanese Roshi. He did the ritual, rose petals and all. Afterwards tea was served with rice cookies. And
then the hostess and her husband, employing an out-of-tune piano and a cracked voice, gave a wretched
performance of an excerpt from a third-rate Italian opera. I was embarrassed and glanced towards the Roshi
to see how he was taking it. The expression on his face was absolutely beatific.

A young man in Japan arranged his circumstances so that he was able to travel to a distant island to
study Zen with a certain Master for a three-year period. At the end of the three years, feeling no sense of
accomplishment, he presented himself to the Master and announced his departure. The Master said, "You've
been here three years. Why don't you stay three months more?" The student agreed, but at the end of the
three months he still felt that he had made no advance. When he told the Master again that he was leaving,
the Master said, "Look now, you've been here three years and three months. Stay three weeks longer." The
student did, but with no success. When he told the Master that absolutely nothing had happened, the Master
said, "You've been here three years, three months, and three weeks. Stay three more days, and if, at the
end of that time, you have not attained enlightenment, commit suicide." Towards the end of the second
day, the student was enlightened.

6/SILENCE

The following statement was given as an address to the convention of the
Music Teachers National Association in Chicago in the winter of 1957. It was
printed in the brochure accompanying George Avakian's recording of
my twenty-five-year retrospective concert at Town Hall, New York, in 1958.

EXPERIMENTAL MUSIC

Formerly, whenever anyone said the music I presented was experimental,
I objected. It seemed to me that composers knew what they were doing,
and that the experiments that had been made had taken place prior to the
finished works, just as sketches are made before paintings and rehearsals
precede performances. But, giving the matter further thought, I realized
that there is ordinarily an essential difference between making a piece of
music and hearing one. A composer knows his work as a woodsman knows
a path he has traced and retraced, while a listener is confronted by the
same work as one is in the woods by a plant he has never seen before.

Now, on the other hand, times have changed; music has changed; and
I no longer object to the word "experimental." I use it in fact to describe all
the music that especially interests me and to which I am devoted, whether
someone else wrote it or I myself did. What has happened is that I have
become a listener and the music has become something to hear. Many
people, of course, have given up saying "experimental" about this new
music. Instead, they either move to a halfway point and say "controversial"
or depart to a greater distance and question whether this "music" is music
at all.

For in this new music nothing takes place but sounds: those that are
notated and those that are not. Those that are not notated appear in the

EXPERIMENTAL MUSIC/7

written music as silences, opening the doors of the music to the sounds that
happen to be in the environment. This openness exists in the fields of
modern sculpture and architecture. The glass houses of Mies van der Rohe
reflect their environment, presenting to the eye images of clouds, trees, or
grass, according to the situation. And while looking at the constructions in
wire of the sculptor Richard Lippold, it is inevitable that one will see other
things, and people too, if they happen to be there at the same time, through
the network of wires. There is no such thing as an empty space or an empty
time. There is always something to see, something to hear. In fact, try as
we may to make a silence, we cannot. For certain engineering purposes, it
is desirable to have as silent a situation as possible. Such a room is called an
anechoic chamber, its six walls made of special material, a room without
echoes. I entered one at Harvard University several years ago and heard
two sounds, one high and one low. When I described them to the engineer
in charge, he informed me that the high one was my nervous system in
operation, the low one my blood in circulation. Until I die there will be
sounds. And they will continue following my death. One need not fear
about the future of music.

But this fearlessness only follows if, at the parting of the ways, where
it is realized that sounds occur whether intended or not, one turns in the
direction of those he does not intend. This turning is psychological and
seems at first to be a giving up of everything that belongs to humanity— for
a musician, the giving up of music. This psychological turning leads to the
world of nature, where, gradually or suddenly, one sees that humanity
and nature, not separate, are in this world together; that nothing was lost
when everything was given away. In fact, everything is gained. In musical
terms, any sounds may occur in any combination and in any continuity.

And it is a striking coincidence that just now the technical means to
produce such a free-ranging music are available. When the Allies entered
Germany towards the end of World War II, it was discovered that improve-
ments had been made in recording sounds magnetically such that tape had
become suitable for the high-fidelity recording of music. First in France
with the work of Pierre Schaeffer, later here, in Germany, in Italy, in Japan,
and perhaps, without my knowing it, in other places, magnetic tape was

8/SILENCE

used not simply to record performances of music but to make a new music
that was possible only because of it. Given a minimum of two tape recorders
and a disk recorder, the following processes are possible: 1 ) a single record-
ing of any sound may be made; 2) a rerecording may be made, in the
course of which, by means of filters and circuits, any or all of the physical
characteristics of a given recorded sound may be altered; 3) electronic
mixing (combining on a third machine sounds issuing from two others)
permits the presentation of any number of sounds in combination; 4 ) ordi-
nary splicing permits the juxtaposition of any sounds, and when it includes
unconventional cuts, it, like rerecording, brings about alterations of any or
all of the original physical characteristics. The situation made available by
these means is essentially a total sound-space, the limits of which are ear-
determined only, the position of a particular sound in this space being the
result of five determinants: frequency or pitch, amplitude or loudness,
overtone structure or timbre, duration, and morphology ( how the sound
begins, goes on, and dies away). By the alteration of any one of these
determinants, the position of the sound in sound-space changes. Any sound
at any point in this total sound-space can move to become a sound at any
other point. But advantage can be taken of these possibilities only if one is
willing to change one's musical habits radically. That is, one may take
advantage of the appearance of images without visible transition in distant
places, which is a way of saying "television," if one is willing to stay at home
instead of going to a theatre. Or one may fly if one is willing to give up
walking.

Musical habits include scales, modes, theories of counterpoint and har-
mony, and the study of the timbres, singly and in combination of a
limited number of sound-producing mechanisms. In mathematical terms
these all concern discrete steps. They resemble walking— in the case of
pitches, on steppingstones twelve in number. This cautious stepping is not
characteristic of the possibilities of magnetic tape, which is revealing to us
that musical action or existence can occur at any point or along any line
or curve or what have you in total sound-space; that we are, in fact, tech-
nically equipped to transform our contemporary awareness of nature's
manner of operation into art.

EXPERIMENTAL MUSIC/9

Again there is a parting of the ways. One has a choice. If he does not
wish to give up his attempts to control sound, he may complicate his musi-
cal technique towards an approximation of the new possibilities and aware-
ness. ( I use the word "approximation" because a measuring mind can never
finally measure nature. ) Or, as before, one may give up the desire to control
sound, clear his mind of music, and set about discovering means to let
sounds be themselves rather than vehicles for man-made theories or expres-
sions of human sentiments.

This project will seem fearsome to many, but on examination it gives
no cause for alarm. Hearing sounds which are just sounds immediately sets
the theorizing mind to theorizing, and the emotions of human beings are
continually aroused by encounters with nature. Does not a mountain unin-
tentionally evoke in us a sense of wonder? otters along a stream a sense of
mirth? night in the woods a sense of fear? Do not rain falling and mists
rising up suggest the love binding heaven and earth? Is not decaying flesh
loathsome? Does not the death of someone we love bring sorrow? And is
there a greater hero than the least plant that grows? What is more angry
than the flash of lightning and the sound of thunder? These responses to
nature are mine and will not necessarily correspond with another's. Emo-
tion takes place in the person who has it. And sounds, when allowed to be
themselves, do not require that those who hear them do so unfeelingly. The
opposite is what is meant by response ability.

New music: new listening. Not an attempt to understand something
that is being said, for, if something were being said, the sounds would be
given the shapes of words. Just an attention to the activity of sounds.

Those involved with the composition of experimental music find ways
and means to remove themselves from the activities of the sounds they
make. Some employ chance operations, derived from sources as ancient as
the Chinese Book of Changes, or as modern as the tables of random num-
bers used also by physicists in research. Or, analogous to the Rorschach
tests of psychology, the interpretation of imperfections in the paper upon
which one is writing may provide a music free from one's memory and
imagination. Geometrical means employing spatial superimpositions at

1 O/SILENCE

variance with the ultimate performance in time may be used. The total field
of possibilities may be roughly divided and the actual sounds within these
divisions may be indicated as to number but left to the performer or to the
splicer to choose. In this latter case, the composer resembles the maker of a
camera who allows someone else to take the picture.

Whether one uses tape or writes for conventional instruments, the
present musical situation has changed from what it was before tape came
into being. This also need not arouse alarm, for the coming into being of
something new does not by that fact deprive what was of its proper place.
Each thing has its own place, never takes the place of something else; and
- the more things there are, as is said, the merrier.

But several effects of tape on experimental music may be mentioned.
Since so many inches of tape equal so many seconds of time, it has become
more and more usual that notation is in space rather than in symbols of
quarter, half, and sixteenth notes and so on. Thus where on a page a note
appears will correspond to when in a time it is to occur. A stop watch is
used to facilitate a performance; and a rhythm results which is a far cry
from horse's hoofs and other regular beats.

Also it has been impossible with the playing of several separate tapes
at once to achieve perfect synchronization. This fact has led some towards
the manufacture of multiple-tracked tapes and machines with a corre-
sponding number of heads; while others— those who have accepted the
sounds they do not intend— now realize that the score, the requiring that
many parts be played in a particular togetherness, is not an accurate repre-
sentation of how things are. These now compose parts but not scores, and
the parts may be combined in any unthought ways. This means that each
performance of such a piece of music is unique, as interesting to its com-
poser as to others listening. It is easy to see again the parallel with nature,
for even with leaves of the same tree, no two are exactly alike. The parallel
in art is the sculpture with moving parts, the mobile.

It goes without saying that dissonances and noises are welcome in this
new music. But so is the dominant seventh chord if it happens to put in an
appearance.

EXPERIMENTAL MUSIC/11

Rehearsals have shown that this new music, whether for tape or for in-
struments, is more clearly heard when the several loud-speakers or per-
formers are separated in space rather than grouped closely together. For
this music is not concerned with harmoniousness as generally understood,
where the quality of harmony results from a blending of several elements.
Here we are concerned with the coexistence of dissimilars, and the central
points where fusion occurs are many: the ears of the listeners wherever
they are. This disharmony, to paraphrase Bergson's statement about dis-
order, is simply a harmony to which many are unaccustomed.

Where do we go from here? Towards theatre. That art more than
music resembles nature. We have eyes as well as ears, and it is our busi-
ness while we are alive to use them.

And what is the purpose of writing music? One is, of course, not deal-
ing with purposes but dealing with sounds. Or the answer must take the
form of paradox: a purposeful purposelessness or a purposeless play. This
play, however, is an affirmation of life— not an attempt to bring order out
of chaos nor to suggest improvements in creation, but simply a way of
waking up to the very life we're living, which is so excellent once one gets
one's mind and one's desires out of its way and lets it act of its own accord.

When Xenia and I came to New York from Chicago, we arrived in the bus station with about twenty-five
cents. We were expecting to stay for a while with Peggy Guggenheim and Max Ernst. Max Ernst had met
us in Chicago and had said, "Whenever you come to New York, come and stay with us. We have a big
house on the East River." I went to the phone booth in the bus station, put in a nickel, and dialed. Max Ernst
answered. He didn't recognize my voice. Finally he said, "Are you thirsty?" I said, "Yes." He said, "Well,
come over tomorrow for cocktails." I went back to Xenia and told her what had happened. She said, "Call
him back. We have everything to gain and nothing to lose." I did. He said, "Oh! It's you. We've been
waiting for you for weeks. Your room's ready. Come right over."

Dad is an inventor. In 1912 his submarine had the world's record for staying under water. Running as
it did by means of a gasoline engine, it left bubbles on the surface, so it was not employed during World
War I. Dad says he does his best work when he is sound asleep. I was explaining at the New School that the
way to get ideas is to do something boring. For instance, composing in such a way that the process of
composing is boring induces ideas. They fly into one's head like birds. Is that what Dad meant?

12/SILENCE

This article, there titled Experimental Music, first appeared in The Score and
I. M. A. Magazine, London, issue of June 1955. The inclusion of a dialogue
between an uncompromising teacher and an unenlightened student, and the
addition of the word "doctrine" to the original title, are references to
the Huang-Po Doctrine of Universal Mind.

EXPERIMENTAL MUSIC: DOCTRINE

Objections are sometimes made by composers to the use of the term
experimental as descriptive of their works, for it is claimed that any
experiments that are made precede the steps that are finally taken with
determination, and that this determination is knowing, having, in fact, a
particular, if unconventional, ordering of the elements used in view. These
objections are clearly justifiable, but only where, as among contemporary
evidences in serial music, it remains a question of making a thing upon the
boundaries, structure, and expression of which attention is focused. Where,
on the other hand, attention moves towards the observation and audition of
many things at once, including those that are environmental— becomes,
that is, inclusive rather than exclusive— no question of making, in the sense
of forming understandable structures, can arise (one is tourist), and here
the word "experimental" is apt, providing it is understood not as descriptive
of an act to be later judged in terms of success and failure, but simply as of
an act the outcome of which is unknown. What has been determined?

For, when, after convincing oneself ignorantly that sound has, as its
clearly defined opposite, silence, that since duration is the only character-
istic of sound that is measurable in terms of silence, therefore any valid
structure involving sounds and silences should be based, not as occidentally
traditional, on frequency, but rightly on duration, one enters an anechoic
chamber, as silent as technologically possible in 1951, to discover that one
hears two sounds of one's own unintentional making (nerve's systematic
operation, blood's circulation ) , the situation one is clearly in is not objec-

EXPERIMENTAL MUSIC: DOCTRINE/13

tive (sound-silence), but rather subjective (sounds only), those intended
and those others (so-called silence) not intended. If, at this point, one says,
"Yes! I do not discriminate between intention and non-intention," the splits,
subject-object, art-life, etc., disappear, an identification has been made with
the material, and actions are then those relevant to its nature, i.e.:

A sound does not view itself as thought, as ought, as needing another
sound for its elucidation, as etc.; it has no time for any consideration— it is
occupied with the performance of its characteristics: before it has died
away it must have made perfectly exact its frequency, its loudness, its
length, its overtone structure, the precise morphology of these and of itself.

Urgent, unique, uninformed about history and theory, beyond the
imagination, central to a sphere without surface, its becoming is unim-
peded, energetically broadcast. There is no escape from its action. It does
not exist as one of a series of discrete steps, but as transmission in all direc-
tions from the field's center. It is inextricably synchronous with all other,
sounds, non-sounds, which latter, received by other sets than the ear, oper
ate in the same manner.

A sound accomplishes nothing; without it life would not last out the
instant.

Relevant action is theatrical (music [imaginary separation of hearing
from the other senses] does not exist), inclusive and intentionally pur-
poseless. Theatre is continually becoming that it is becoming; each human
being is at the best point for reception. Relevant response (getting up in
the morning and discovering oneself musician) (action, art) can be made
with any number (including none [none and number, like silence and
music, are unreal] ) of sounds. The automatic minimum (see above) is two.

Are you deaf (by nature, choice, desire) or can you hear (externals,
tympani, labyrinths in whack)?

Beyond them (ears) is the power of discrimination which, among
other confused actions, weakly pulls apart (abstraction), ineffectually
establishes as not to suffer alteration (the "work"), and unskillfully pro-
tects from interruption (museum, concert hall) what springs, elastic,
spontaneous, back together again with a beyond that power which is
fluent (it moves in or out), pregnant (it can appear when- where- as
what-ever [rose, nail, constellation, 485.73482 cycles per second, piece of
string]), related (it is you yourself in the form you have that instant

14/SILENCE

taken), obscure (you will never be able to give a satisfactory report even
to yourself of just what happened).

In view, then, of a totality of possibilities, no knowing action is com-
mensurate, since the character of the knowledge acted upon prohibits all
but some eventualities. From a realist position, such action, though cau-
tious, hopeful, and generally entered into, is unsuitable. An experimental
action, generated by a mind as empty as it was before it became one, thus
in accord with the possibility of no matter what, is, on the other hand, prac-
tical. It does not move in terms of approximations and errors, as "informed"
action by its nature must, for no mental images of what would happen were
set up beforehand; it sees things directly as they are: impermanently in-
volved in an infinite play of interpenetrations. Experimental music—

Question: —in the U.S.A., if you please. Be more specific. What do
you have to say about rhythm? Let us agree it is no longer a question of
pattern, repetition, and variation.

Answer: There is no need for such agreement. Patterns, repetitions,
and variations will arise and disappear. However, rhythm is durations of
any length coexisting in any states of succession and synchronicity. The
latter is liveliest, most unpredictably changing, when the parts are not
fixed by a score but left independent of one another, no two performances
yielding the same resultant durations. The former, succession, liveliest
when (as in Morton Feldman's Intersections) it is not fixed but presented
in situation-form, entrances being at any point within a given period of
time. — Notation of durations is in space, read as corresponding to time,
needing no reading in the case of magnetic tape.

Question: What about several players at once, an orchestra?

Answer: You insist upon their being together? Then use, as Earle
Brown suggests, a moving picture of the score, visible to all, a static vertical
line as coordinator, past which the notations move. If you have no particu-
lar togetherness in mind, there are chronometers. Use them.

Question: I have noticed that you write durations that are beyond
the possibility of performance.

Answer: Composing's one thing, performing's another, listening's a
third. What can they have to do with one another?

EXPERIMENTAL MUSIC: DOCTRINE/15

Question: And about pitches?

Answer: It is true. Music is continually going up and down, but no
longer only on those stepping stones, five, seven, twelve in number, or the
quarter tones. Pitches are not a matter of likes and dislikes ( I have told
you about the diagram Schillinger had stretched across his wall near the
ceiling: all the scales, Oriental and Occidental, that had been in general
use, each in its own color plotted against, no one of them identical with, a
black one, the latter the scale as it would have been had it been physically
based on the overtone series ) except for musicians in ruts; in the face of
habits, what to do? Magnetic tape opens the door providing one doesn't
immediately shut it by inventing a phonogene, or otherwise use it to recall
or extend known musical possibilities. It introduces the unknown with such
sharp clarity that anyone has the opportunity of having his habits blown
away like dust. — For this purpose the prepared piano is also useful, espe-
cially in its recent forms where, by alterations during a performance, an
otherwise static gamut situation becomes changing. Stringed instruments
(not string-players) are very instructive, voices too; and sitting still any-
where ( the stereophonic, multiple-loud-speaker manner of operation in the
everyday production of sounds and noises ) listening . . .

Question : I understand Feldman divides all pitches into high, middle,
and low, and simply indicates how many in a given range are to be played,
leaving the choice up to the performer.

Answer: Correct. That is to say, he used sometimes to do so; I haven't
seen him lately. It is also essential to remember his notation of super- and
subsonic vibrations ( Marginal Intersection No. 1 ) .

Question: That is, there are neither divisions of the "canvas" nor
"frame" to be observed?

Answer: On the contrary, you must give the closest attention to
everything. # ^ ^

Question: And timbre?

Answer: No wondering what's next. Going lively on "through many a
perilous situation." Did you ever listen to a symphony orchestra?

* * *

Question: Dynamics?

Answer: These result from what actively happens (physically, me-

16/SILENCE

chanically, electronically) in producing a sound. You won't find it in the
books. Notate that. As far as too loud goes: "follow the general outlines of
the Christian life."

Question: I have asked you about the various characteristics of a
sound; how, now, can you make a continuity, as I take it your intention is,
without intention? Do not memory, psychology —

Answer: " — never again."

Question: How?

Answer: Christian Wolff introduced space actions in his composi-
tional process at variance with the subsequently performed time actions.
Earle Brown devised a composing procedure in which events, following
tables of random numbers, are written out of sequence, possibly anywhere
in a total time now and possibly anywhere else in the same total time next.
I myself use chance operations, some derived from the I-Ching, others from
the observation of imperfections in the paper upon which I happen to be
writing. Your answer: by not giving it a thought.

Question: Is this athematic?

Answer: Who said anything about themes? It is not a question of
having something to say.

Question: Then what is the purpose of this "experimental" music?

Answer: No purposes. Sounds.

Question: Why bother, since, as you have pointed out, sounds are
continually happening whether you produce them or not?

Answer: What did you say? I'm still

Question: I mean — But is this music?

Answer: Ah! you like sounds after all when they are made up of
vowels and consonants. You are slow-witted, for you have never brought
your mind to the location of urgency. Do you need me or someone else to
hold you up? Why don't you realize as I do that nothing is accomplished
by writing, playing, or listening to music? Otherwise, deaf as a doornail,
you will never be able to hear anything, even what's well within earshot.

Question: But, seriously, if this is what music is, I could write it as
well as you.

Answer: Have I said anything that would lead you to think I thought
you were stupid?

EXPERIMENTAL MUSIC: DOCTRINE/17

The following three lectures were given at Darmstadt (Germany) in
September 1958. The third one, with certain revisions, is a lecture given
earlier that year at Rutgers University in New Jersey, an excerpt from which
was published in the Village Voice, New York City, in April 1958.

COMPOSITION AS PROCESS
I. Changes

This is a lec-
ture on changes
that have taken
place in my com-
position means,
with particu-
lar reference
to what, a dec-
ade ago, I

termed "structure" and
"method." By "struc-
ture" was meant the
division of
a whole into
parts; by "method,"
the note-to-note
procedure. Both
structure and meth-
od ( and also

18/SILENCE

Having been asked by Dr. Wolfgang Steinecke, Director of the Internationale
Ferienkurse fiir Neue Musik at Darmstadt, to discuss in particular my
Music of Changes, I decided to make a lecture within the time length of the
Music of Changes (each line of the text whether speech or silence requiring
one second for its performance), so that whenever I would stop speaking, the
corresponding part of the Music of Changes itself would be played. The music
is not superimposed on the speech but is heard only in the interruptions of
the speech— which, like the lengths of the paragraphs themselves, were the
result of chance operations.

"material"—
the sounds and si-
lences of a
composition)

were, it seemed to
me then, the prop-
er concern of
the mind ( as op-
posed to the heart)
( one's ideas
of order as
opposed to one's
spontaneous
actions ) ; whereas
the two last

of these, namely
method and ma-
terial, to-
gether with form
(the morpholo-
gy of a con-
tinuity)
were equally
the proper con-
cern of the heart.
Composition,
then, I viewed, ten
years ago, as
an activity integrat-
ing the oppo-
sites, the ration-
al and the ir-
rational, bring-
ing about, i-

deally, a
freely moving
continui-
ty within a
strict division
of parts, the sounds,
their combina-
tion and succes-
sion being ei-
ther logical-
ly related
or arbitrar-
ily chosen.
fThe strict divi-
sion of parts, the
structure, was a
function of the
duration as-
pect of sound, since,

of all the as-
pects of sound in-
cluding frequen-
cy, amplitude,
and timbre, dur-
ation, alone,
was also a
characteris-
tic of silence.
The structure, then,
was a divi-
sion of actu-
al time by con-
ventional met-
rical means, me-
ter taken as
simply the meas-
urement of quan-
tity, fin the
case of the So-
natas and In-
terludes (which I
finished in nine-
teen forty-eight ) ,
only structure
was organized,
quite roughly for
the work as a
whole, exactly,
however, with-
in each single
piece. The method
was that of con-
sidered impro-
visation (main-
ly at the pi-

ano, though i-
deas came to
me at some mo-
ments away from
the instrument.

The materi-
als, the pia-
no prepara-
tions, were chosen
as one chooses
shells while walking

along a beach.
The form was as
natural as
my taste permit-
ted: so that where,
as in all of
the Sonatas
and two of the
Interludes, parts
were to be re-
peated, the for-
mal concern was
to make the prog-
ress from the end
of a section
to its begin-
ning seem inev-
itable. TfThe
structure of one
of the Sona-
tas, the fourth, was
one hundred meas-
ures of two-two
time, divided
into ten u-
nits of ten meas-

ures each. These u-
nits were combined
in the propor-
tion three, three, two,
two, to give the
piece large parts, and
they were subdi-
vided in the
same proportion
to give small parts
to each unit.
In contrast to
a structure based
on the frequen-
cy aspect of
sound, tonali-
ty, that is, this
rhythmic structure
was as hospi-
table to non-
musical sounds,
noises, as it
was to those of
the convention-
al scales and in-
struments. For noth-
ing about the
structure was de-
termined by the
materials
which were to oc-
cur in it; it
was conceived, in
fact, so that it
could be as well
expressed by the

COMPOSITION AS PROCESS/19

absence of these
materials
as by their pres-
ence, flln terms
of the oppo-
sition of free-
dom and law, a
piece written ten
years before the
Sonatas and
Interludes, Con-
struction in Met-
al, presents the
same relation-
ship, but reversed:
structure, method,
and materi-
als were all of
them subjected
to organi-
zation. The mor-
phology of
the continu-
ity, form, a-
lone was free. Draw-
ing a straight line
between this sit-
uation and
that presented

by the later
work, the deduc-
tion might be made
that there is a
tendency in
my composi-
tion means away
from ideas
of order towards
no ideas
of order. And
though when exam-
ined the histo-
ry would probab-
ly not read as
a straight line, re-
cent works, begin-
ning with the Mu-
sic of Changes,
support the ac-
curacy of

this deduction.
flFor, in the Mu-
sic of Changes,
the note-to-note
procedure^ the
method, is the
function of chance
operations.
And the structure,
though planned precise-
ly as those of
the Sonatas
and Interludes,
and more thorough-
ly since it en-
compassed the whole
span of the com-
position, was
only a se-
ries of numbers,
three, five, six and
three quarters, six
and three quarters,
five, three and one
eighth, which became,
on the one hand,
the number of
units within
each section, and,
on the other,
number of meas-
ures of four-four
within each u-
nit. At each small
structural di-
vision in the

Music of Chan-
ges, at the be-
ginning, for ex-
ample, and a-

gain at the fourth
and ninth measures
and so on, chance
operations
determined sta-
bility or

change of tempo.
Thus, by intro-
ducing the ac-
tion of method
into the bod-
y of the struc-
ture, and these two
opposed in terms
of order and
freedom, that struc-
ture became in-
determinate:
it was not pos-
sible to know the
total time-length
of the piece un-
til the final
chance opera-
tion, the last toss
of coins af-
fecting the rate
of tempo, had
been made. Being

20/SILENCE

indetermi-
nate, though still pres-
ent, it became
apparent that
structure was not
necessary,
even though it had
certain uses.
flOne of these u-
ses was the de-
termination
of density,
the determi-
nation, that is,
of how many
of the poten-
tially present
eight lines, each com-
posed of sounds and
silences, were
actually
to be present
within a giv-
en small structur-
al part, f Anoth-
er use of the
structure affect-
ed the charts of
sounds and silen-
ces, amplitudes,
durations, po-
tentially ac-
tive in the con-
tinuity.

These twenty-four
charts, eight for sounds

and silences,
eight for ampli-
tudes, eight for du-
rations, were, through-
out the course of
a single struc-
tural unit, half
of them mobile
and half of them
immobile. Mo-
bile meant that once
any of the
elements in
a chart was used

it disappeared
to be replaced
by a new one.
Immobile meant
that though an el-
ement in a
chart had been used,
it remained to
be used again.
At each unit
structural point,
a chance oper-
ation deter-
mined which of the
charts, numbers one,
three, five, and sev-
en or numbers

two, four, six, and
eight, were mobile
and which of the
charts were immo-
bile—not changing.

fJThe structure, there-
fore, was in these
respects useful.
Furthermore, it
determined the
beginning and

COMPOSITION AS PROCESS/21

ending of the
composition-
al process. But
this process, had
it in the end
brought about a
division of

parts the time-lengths
of which were pro-
portional to
the origi-
nal series of
numbers, would have
been extraordi-
nary. And the
presence of the
mind as a rul-
ing factor, e-
ven by such an
extraordina-
ry eventu-
ality, would
not have been es-
tablished. For what
happened came a-
bout only through
the tossing of
coins, fit be-
came clear, therefore,
I repeat, that
structure was not
necessary.
And, in Music
for Piano,
and subsequent
pieces, indeed,

22/SILENCE

structure is no
longer a part
of the compo-
sition means. The
view taken is
not of an ac-
tivity the
purpose of which
is to inte-
grate the oppo-
sites, but rather
of an activ-
ity charac-
terized by
process and es-
sentially

purposeless. The

mind, though stripped
of its right to
control, is still
present. What does
it do, having
nothing to do?
And what happens
to a piece of
music when it
is purposeless-
ly made? fWhat hap-
pens, for instance,
to silence? That
is, how does the
mind's perception
of it change? For-
merly, silence
was the time lapse
between sounds, use-
ful towards a va-
riety of

ends, among them
that of tasteful
arrangement, where
by separat-
ing two sounds or
two groups of sounds
their differen-
ces or rela-
tionships might re-
ceive emphasis;
or that of ex-
pressivity,
where silences
in a musi-
cal discourse might

provide pause or
punctuation;
or again, that
of architec-
ture, where the in-
troduction or
interruption
of silence might
give defini-
tion either to
a predeter-
mined structure or
to an organ-
ically de-
veloping one.
Where none of these
or other goals
is present, si-
lence becomes some-
thing else— not si-
lence at all, but
sounds, the ambi-
ent sounds. The na-
ture of these is
unpredicta-
ble and changing.
These sounds ( which are

called silence on-
ly because they
do not form part
of a musi-
cal intention)
may be depen-
ded upon to
exist. The world
teems with them, and
is, in fact, at
no point free of
them. He who has
entered an an-
echoic cham-
ber, a room made
as silent as
technologi-
cally possible,
has heard there two
sounds, one high, one
low— the high the
listener's ner-
vous system in
operation,
the low his blood
in circula-
tion. There are, dem-
onstrably, sounds
to be heard and
forever, giv-
en ears to hear.
Where these ears are
in connection

with a mind that
has nothing to
do, that mind is
free to enter
into the act
of listening,
hearing each sound
just as it is,
not as a phe-
nomenon more
or less approx-
imating a
preconception.

ffWhat's the histo-
ry of the chan-
ges in my com-
position means
with particu-
lar reference
to sounds? I had
in mind when I
chose the sounds for
Construction in
Metal that they
should be sixteen
for each player.
The number six-
teen was also
that of the num-
ber of measures

of four-four in
each unit of
the rhythmic struc-
ture. In the case
of the structure
this number was
divided four,
three, two, three, four;
in the case of
the materi-
als the gamuts
of sixteen sounds
were divided
into four groups
of four. The plan,
as preconceived,
was to use four
of the sounds in
the first sixteen
measures, intro-
ducing in each
succeeding struc-
tural unit
four more until
the exposi-
tion involving
all sixteen and
lasting through the
first four units
was completed.
The subsequent
parts, three, two, three,
four, were composed

COMPOSITION AS PROCESS/23

as develop-
ment of this in-
itial situ-
ation. In ac-
tuality,
this simple plan

was not real-
ized, although it
was only re-
cently that I
became fully
aware that it
was not. I had
known all along
that one of the
players used three
Japanese tem-
ple gongs rather
than four, but the
fact that only
three of these rel-
atively rare
instruments were
then availa-
ble to me, to-
gether with the
attachment I
felt towards their sound,
had convinced me
of the rightness
of this change in
number. More se-
rious, however,
it seems to
me now, was the
effect of beat-
ers: playing cow-
bells first with rub-
ber and then with

metal multi-
plied by two the
number of sounds
actually
used. Sirenlike
piano trills
which sound as one
were counted as
two. Various
other devi-
ations from the
original

plan could be dis-
covered on an-
alysis: for
instance, the ad-
dition of met-
al thundersheets
for background noise
bringing the num-
ber sixteen, for
those players who
enjoyed it

24/SILENCE

to seventeen.
One might conclude
that in compos-
ing Construction
in Metal the
organiza-
tion of sounds was
imperfectly
realized. Or
he might conclude
that the compos-
er had not ac-
tually lis-
tened to the sounds
he used, p have
already com-
pared the selec-
tion of the sounds

for the Sona-
tas and Inter-
ludes to a se-
lection of shells
while walking a-
long a beach. They
are therefore a
collection ex-
hibiting taste.
Their number was
increased by use
of the una
corda, this ped-
al bringing a-
bout altera-
tions of timbre and
frequency for
many of the
prepared keys. In
terms of pitch, how-
ever, there is
no change from the
sounds of the Con-
struction. In both
cases a stat-
ic gamut of
sounds is present-
ed, no two oc-
taves repeating
relations. How-
ever, one could
hear interest-
ing differen-
ces between cer-
tain of these sounds.
On depressing

a key, sometimes
a single fre-
quency was heard.
In other cas-
es depressing
a key produced
an interval;
in still others
an aggregate
of pitches and
timbres. Noticing
the nature of
this gamut led
to selecting
a comparable
one for the
Spring Quartet: the

inclusion there
of rigidly

scored convention-
al harmonies
is a matter
of taste, from which
a conscious con-
trol was absent.
Before writing
the Music of
Changes, two piec-

es were written
which also used
gamuts of sounds:
single sounds, doub-
le sounds and oth-
ers more numer-
ous, some to be
played simultan-
eously, oth-
ers successive-
ly in time. These
pieces were Six-
teen Dances and
Concerto for
Prepared Pia-
no and Chamber
Orchestra. The
elements of
the gamuts were
arranged unsys-
tematically
in charts and
the method of
composition
involved moves on
these charts anal-
agous to those
used in construct-
ing a magic
square. Charts were al-
so used for the
Music of Chang-
es, but in con-
trast to the meth-
od which involved
chance opera-

COMPOSITION AS PROCESS/25

tions, these charts were
subjected to
a rational
control: of the
sixty-four el-
ements in a

square chart eight times
eight (made in this
way in order
to interpret
as sounds the co-
in oracle
of the Chinese
Book of Changes)
thirty-two were
sounds, thirty-two
silences. The
thirty-two sounds
were arranged in
two squares one a-
bove the other,
each four by four.
Whether the charts
were mobile or
immobile, all
twelve tones were pres-
ent in any
four elements
of a given
chart, whether a
line of the chart
was read hori-
zontally or
vertically.
Once this dodec-
aphonic re-

quirement was sat-
isfied, noises
and repeti-
tions of tones were
used with freedom.

One may conclude
from this that in
the Music of
Changes the ef-
fect of the
chance operations
on the structure

(making very
apparent its
anachronis-
tic character)

was balanced by
a control of
the materials.
Charts remain in
the Imagi-
nary Landscape
Number TV, and
in the Williams

Mix, but, due to
the radios
of the first piece
and the librar-
y of record-
ed sounds of the
second, and for
no other rea-
son, no twelve-tone
control was used.
The question "How
do we need to
cautiously pro-
ceed in dual-
istic terms?" was
not consciously
answered until
the Music for
Piano. In

that piece notes were
determined by
imperfections
in the paper
upon which the
music was writ-
ten. The number
of imperfec-
tions was deter-
mined by chance.

26/SILENCE

The origi-
nal notation
is in ink, and
the actual
steps that were tak-
en in compo-
sition have been
described in an
article in

Die Reihe. flThough
in the Music
for Piano
I have affirmed
the absence of
the mind as a
ruling agent
from the structure
and method of the
composing
means, its presence
with regard to
material
is made clear on
examining

the sounds themselves:
they are only
single tones of
the convention-
al grand pia-

no, played at the
keyboard, plucked or
muted on the
strings, together
with noises in-
side or outside
the piano
construction. The
limited na-
ture of this u-
niverse of pos-
sibilities

makes the events
themselves compa-
rable to the
first attempts at
speech of a child
or the fumblings
about of a

blind man. The mind
reappears as
the agent which
established the
boundaries with-
in which this small
play took place. Some-
thing more far-reach-
ing is neces-
sary: a com-
posing of sounds
within a u-
niverse predi-
cated upon the
sounds themselves

COMPOSITION AS PROCESS/27

rather than up-
on the mind which
can envisage
their coming in-
to being, f Sounds,
as we know, have
frequency, am-
plitude, dura-
tion, timbre, and in
a composi-
tion, an order
of succession.
Five lines repre-
senting these five
characteris-
tics may be drawn

in India ink
upon trans-
parent plastic
squares. Upon an-
other such square
a point may be
inscribed. Placing
the square with the
lines over the
square with the point,
a determi-
nation may be
made as to the
physical na-
ture of a sound

and its place with-
in a deter-
mined program sim-
ply by dropping
a perpendi-
cular from the
point to the line
and measuring
according to
any method
of measurement.
Larger points will
have the meaning
of intervals
and largest points
that of aggre-
gates. In order
to make the sev-
eral measure-
ments necessar-
y for inter-
vals and aggre-
gates, further squares
having five lines
are made and the
meaning of an-
y of the lines
is left unde-
termined, so that
a given one
refers to an-
y of the five
characteris-
tics. These squares are
square so that they
may be used in

any posi-
tion with respect
to one anoth-
er. This describes
the situa-
tion obtaining

in a recent
composition,
Variations,
the composing
means itself one
of the eighty-
four occurring
in the part for
piano of
Concert for Pi-

ano and Or-
chestra. In this
situation,
the universe
within which the
action is to
take place is not
preconceived. Fur-
thermore, as we
know, sounds are e-
vents in a field
of possibil-
ities, not on-
ly at the dis-
crete points conven-
tions have favored.
The notation
of Varia-
tions departs from
music and im-
itates the phys-
ical real-
ity, pt is
now my inten-
tion to relate
the history
of the changes
with regard to
duration of
sounds in my com-
posing means. Be-
yond the fact that
in the Construc-
tion in Metal
there was a con-
trol of dura-

28/SILENCE

tion patterns par-
allel to that
of the number
of sounds chosen,
nothing uncon-
ventional took
place. Quantities
related through
multiplica-
tion by two or
addition of
one-half togeth-
er with grupet-
tos of three, five,
seven, and nine
were present. The
same holds for the
Sonatas and
Interludes, though
no rhythmic pat-
terns were ration-
ally controlled.
In the String Quar-
tet the rhythmic
interest drops,
movements being
nearly charac-
terized by the
predominance
of a single
quantity. Not
until the Mu-
sic of Changes
do the quantities
and their no-
tation change. They

are there measured
in space, a quar-
ter note equal-
ling two and one-
half centime-
ters. This made pos-
sible the no-
tation of a
fraction, for ex-
ample one-third
of an eighth, with-
out the neces-
sity of no-
tating the re-
mainder of the
fraction, the re-
maining two-thirds,
following the
same example.
This possibil-
ity is di-
rectly anal-
ogous to the
practice of cut-
ting magnetic
tape. In the du-
ration charts of
the Music of
Changes there were
sixty-four el-
ements, all of
them durations
since they were both

applicable

to sound and si-
lence ( each of which
had thirty-two
elements ) . These
were segmented
( for example
one-half plus one-
third of an eighth
plus six-sevenths
of a quarter)
and were expres-
sible wholly
or in part. This
segmentation
was a practi-
cal measure tak-
en to avoid
the writing of
an impossi-
ble situa-
tion which might a-
rise during a
high density
structural a-
rea due to
the chance oper-

ations. fThe same
segmentation
of durations
took place in the
Williams Mix, since
a maximum
of eight machines
and loudspeakers
had been pre-es-
tablished. When the
density rose
from one to six-
teen, it was of-
ten necessar-
y to express
durations by
their smallest parts,
there being no
room left on the
tape for the larg-
er segments. flEx-
act measurement
and notation

of durations
is in real-
ity mental:

rmaginar-
y exacti-
tude. In the case
of tape, many

COMPOSITION AS PROCESS/29

circumstances
enter which ev-
er so slightly,
but nonetheless
profoundly, al-
ter the inten-
tion ( even though
it was only
the carrying out
of an action
indicated
by chance oper-
ations ) . Some of
these circumstan-
ces are the ef-
fects of weather
upon the ma-
terial; others
follow from hu-
man frailty—
the inabil-
ity to read
a ruler and
make a cut at
a given point-
still others are
due to mechan-
ical causes,
eight machines not
running at pre-
cisely the same
speed. flGiven these
circumstances,
one might be in-
spired towards greater
heights of dura-

30/SILENCE

tion control or

he might renounce
the need to con-
trol durations
at all. In Mu-
sic for Pia-
no I took the
latter course. Struc-
ture no longer
being present,
that piece took place
in any length
of time whatso-
ever, accord-
ing to the ex-
igencies of
an occasion.
The duration
of single sounds
was therefore al-
so left inde-
terminate. The
notation took
the form of whole
notes in space, the
space suggesting
but not measur-
ing time. Noises
were crotchets with-
out stems. flWhen a

performance of
Music for Pi-
ano involves
more than one pi-
anist, as it
may from two to
twenty, the suc-
cession of sounds
becomes complete-
ly indeter-
minate. Though each
page is read from
left to right con-
ventionally,
the combina-
tion is unpre-
dictable in
terms of succes-
sion. fThe histo-
ry of changes
with reference
to timbre is short.
In the Construc-
tion in Metal
four sounds had a
single timbre; while
the prepared pi-
ano of the
Sonatas and
Interludes pro-
vided by its
nature a klang-
farbenmelo-
die. This inter-
est in changing
timbres is evi-

dent in the String
Quartet. But this
matter of tim-
bre, which is large-
ly a question
of taste, was first
radically

changed for me in
the Imagi-
nary Landscape
Number IV. I
had, I confess,
never enjoyed
the sound of ra-
dios. This piece
opened my ears

to them, and was
essentially
a giving up
of personal
taste about timbre.
I now frequent-
ly compose with
the radio

turned on, and my
friends are no long-
er embarrassed
when visiting
them I inter-
rupt their recep-
tions. Several
other kinds of
sound have been dis-
tasteful to me:
the works of Bee-

thoven, Ital-
ian bel can-
to, jazz, and the
vibraphone. I
used Beethoven
in the Williams
Mix, jazz in the
Imaginar-
y Landscape Num-
ber V, bel can-
to in the re-
cent part for voice
in the Concert
for Piano
and Orchestra.
It remains for
me to come to
terms with the vib-
raphone. In oth-
er words, I find
my taste for timbre

lacking in ne-
cessity, and
I discover
that in the pro-
portion I give
it up, I find
I hear more and
more accurate-

ly. Beethoven
now is a sur-
prise, as accept-
able to the
ear as a cow-
bell. What are the
orchestral timbres
of the Concert
for Piano
and Orchestra?
It is impos-
sible to pre-
dict, but this may
be said: they in-
vite the timbres of
jazz, which more than
serious music
has explored the
possibili-
ties of instru-
ments. flWith tape and
music-synthe-
sizers, action
with the over-
tone structure of
sounds can be less
a matter of
taste and more thor-
oughly an ac-
tion in a field
of possibil-
ities. The no-
tation I have
described for Var-
iations deals
with it as such.

f[The early works
have beginnings,
middles, and end-
ings. The later
ones do not. They
begin any-
where, last any
length of time, and
involve more or
fewer instru-
ments and players.
They are therefore
not preconceived
objects, and to
approach them as
objects is to
utterly miss

occasions for
experience,
and this exper-
ience is not
only received
by the ears but
by the eyes too.
An ear alone
is not a be-
ing. I have no-
ticed listening
to a record

that my attention
moves to a
moving object
or a play of
light, and at a
rehearsal of
the Williams Mix
last May when all
eight machines were
in opera-
tion the atten-
tion of those pres-
ent was engaged
by a sixty-
year-old pian-
o tuner who
was busy tun-
ing the instru-
ment for the eve-
ning's concert. It
becomes evi-
the point. They are dent that music

COMPOSITION AS PROCESS/3

itself is an
ideal sit-
uation, not
a real one. The
mind may be used
either to ig-
nore ambient
sounds, pitches oth-
er than the eight-
y-eight, dura-
tions which are not
counted, timbres which
are unmusi-
cal or distaste-
ful, and in gen-
eral to con-
trol and under-
stand an avail-
able exper-
ience. Or the
mind may give up
its desire to
improve on cre-
ation and func-
tion as a faith-
ful receiver
of experi-
ence. P have not
yet told any
stories and yet
when I give a
talk I gener-
ally do. The
subject certain-
ly suggests my
telling something

32/SILENCE

irrelevant

but my inclin-
ation is to
tell something apt.
That reminds me:
Several years
ago I was
present at a
lecture given
by Dr. Dai-
setz Teitaro
Suzuki. He
spoke quietly
when he spoke. Some-
times, as I was
telling a friend
yesterday eve-
ning, an airplane

would pass over-
head. The lecture
was at Colum-
bia Uni-
versity and
the campus is
directly in
line with the de-
parture from La
Guardia of
planes bound for the
west. When the wea-
ther was good, the
windows were o-
pen: a plane
passing above drowned
out Dr. Dai-
setz Teitaro
Suzuki. Nev-
ertheless, he
never raised his
voice, never paused,
and never in-
formed his listen-
ers of what they
missed of the lec-
ture, and no one
ever asked him
what he had said
while the airplanes
passed above. Any-

way, he was
explaining one
day the meaning
of a Chinese
character— Yu,
I believe it
was— spending the
whole time explain-
ing it and yet
its meaning as
close as he could
get to it in
English was "un-
explainable."
Finally he

laughed and then said,
"Isn't it strange
that having come
all the way from
Japan I spend
my time explain-
ing to you that
which is not to
be explained?" f That
was not the stor-
y I was go-
ing to tell when
I first thought I
would tell one, but
it reminds me
of another.

Years ago when
I was study-
ing with Arnold
Schoenberg someone
asked him to ex-
plain his technique
of twelve-tone com-
position. His
reply was im-
mediate: "That
is none of your
business." f Now
I remember
the story I
was going to
tell when I first
got the ide-
a to tell one.
I hope I can
tell it well. Sev-
eral men, three
as a matter of
fact, were out
walking one day,
and as they were
walking along
and talking one
of them noticed
another man
standing on a
hill ahead of
them. He turned to
his friends and said,
"Why do you think
that man is stand-
ing up there on

that hill?" One said,
"He must be up
there because it's
cooler there and
he's enjoying
the breeze." He turned
to another
and repeated
his question, "Why
do you think that
man's standing up
there on that hill?"
The second said,
"Since the hill is
elevated
above the rest
of the land, he
must be up there
in order to
see something in
the distance." And
the third said, "He
must have lost his
friend and that is
why he is stand-
ing there alone
on that hill." Af-
ter some time walk-
ing along, the
men came up the
hill and the one
who had been stand-
ing there was still
there: standing there.

They asked him to
say which one was
right concerning
his reason for
standing where he
was standing. fl"What
reasons do you
have for my stand-
ing here?" he asked.
"We have three," they
answered. "First, you
are standing up
here because it's
cooler here and
you are enjoy-
ing the breeze. Second,
since the hill
is eleva-
ted above the
rest of the land,
you are up here
in order to

see something in
the distance. Third,
you have lost your
friend and that is
why you are stand-
ing here alone
on this hill. We
have walked this way;
we never meant
to climb this hill;
now we want an

COMPOSITION AS PROCESS/33

answer: Which one
of us is right?"
f The man answered,
"I just stand." flWhen
I was studying
with Schoenberg
one day as he was
writing some
counterpoint to
show the way to
do it, he used
an eraser.
And then while he
was doing this

he said, "This end
of the pencil
is just as im-
portant as the
other end." I
have several
times in the course
of this lecture
mentioned ink. Com-
posing, if it
is writing notes,
is then actu-

34/SILENCE

ally writing,
and the less one
thinks it's tliinking
the more it be-
comes what it is:
writing. Could mu-
sic be composed
( I do not mean
improvised) not
writing it in
pencil or ink?

The answer is
no doubt Yes and
the changes in
writing are pro-
phetic. The So-
natas and In-
terludes were com-
posed by playing
the piano,
listening to
differences,
making a choice,
roughly writing
it in pencil;
later this sketch

was copied, but
again in pen-
cil. Finally
an ink manuscript
was made care-
fully. The Mu-
sic of Changes
was composed in
almost the same
way. With one change:
the origi-
nal pencil sketch
was made exact-
ly, an era-
ser used whenev-
er necessar-
y, elimin-
ating the need
for a neat pen-
cil copy. In
the case of the
Imaginar-
y Landscape Num-
ber IV, the first
step of playing
the instrument
was elimin-
ated. The oth-
ers kept. Music
for Piano
was written di-
rectly in ink.

The excessively small type in the following pages is an attempt to emphasize
the intentionally pontifical character of this lecture.

II. Indeterminacy

This is a lecture on composition which is indeterminate with respect to its performance. The Klavierstiick XI by
Karlheinz Stockhausen is an example. The Art of the Fugue by Johann Sebastian Bach is an example. In The Art
of the Fugue, structure, which is the division of the whole into parts; method, which is the note-to-note procedure;
and form, which is the expressive content, the morphology of the continuity, are all determined. Frequency and
duration characteristics of the material are also determined. Timbre and amplitude characteristics of the material,
by not being given, are indeterminate. This mdeterminacy brings about the possibility of a unique overtone struc-
ture and decibel range for each performance of The Art of the Fugue. In the case of the Klavierstiick XI, all the
characteristics of the material are determined, and so too is the note-to-note procedure, the method. The division
of the whole into parts, the structure, is determinate. The sequence of these parts, however, is indeterminate,
bringing about the possibility of a unique form, which is to say a unique morphology of the continuity, a unique
expressive content, for each performance.

The function of the performer, in the case of The Art of the Fugue, is comparable to that of someone filling
in color where outlines are given. He may do this in an organized way which may be subjected successfully to
analysis. (Transcriptions by Arnold Schoenberg and Anton Webern give examples pertinent to this century.) Or
he may perform his function of colorist in a way which is not consciously organized ( and therefore not subject to
analysis)— either arbitrarily, feeling his way, following the dictates of his ego; or more or less unknowingly, by
going inwards with reference to the structure of his mind to a point in dreams, following, as in automatic writing,
the dictates of his subconscious mind; or to a point in the collective unconscious of Jungian psychoanalysis, fol-
lowing the inclinations of the species and doing something of more or less universal interest to human beings; or
to the "deep sleep" of Indian mental practice— the Ground of Meister Eckhart— identifying there with no matter
what eventuality. Or he may perform his function of colorist arbitrarily, by going outwards with reference to the
structure of his mind to the point of sense perception, following his taste; or more or less unknowingly by employ-
ing some operation exterior to his mind: tables of random numbers, following the scientific interest in probability;
or chance operations, identifying there with no matter what eventuality

The function of the performer in the case of the Klavierstiick XI is not that of a colorist but that of giving
form, providing, that is to say, the morphology of the continuity, the expressive content. This may not be done in
an organized way: for form unvitalized by spontaneity brings about the death of all the other elements of the work.
Examples are provided by academic studies which copy models with respect to all their compositional elements:
structure, method, material, and form. On the other hand, no matter how rigorously controlled or conventional the
structure, method, and materials of a composition are, that composition will come to life if the form is not con-
trolled but free and original. One may cite as examples the sonnets of Shakespeare and the haikus of Basho. How
then in the case of the Klavierstiick XI may the performer fulfill his function of giving form to the music? He
must perform his function of giving form to the music in a way which is not consciously organized ( and therefore
not subject to analysis), either arbitrarily, feeling his way, following the dictates of his ego, or more or less
unknowingly, by going inwards with reference to the structure of his mind to a point in dreams, following, as in
automatic writing, the dictates of his subconscious mind; or to a point in the collective unconscious of Jungian
psychoanalysis, following the inclinations of the species and doing something of more or less universal interest to
human beings; or to the "deep sleep" of Indian mental practice— the Ground of Meister Eckhart— identifying there
with no matter what eventuality. Or he may perform his function of giving form to the music arbitrarily, by going

COMPOSITION AS PROCESS/35

outwards with reference to the structure of his mind to the point of sense perception, following his taste; or more
or less unknowingly by employing some operation exterior to his mind: tables of random numbers, following the
scientific interest in probability; or chance operations, identifying there with no matter what eventuality.

However, due to the presence in the Klavierstuck XI of the two most essentially conventional aspects of
European music— that is to say, the twelve tones of the octave (the frequency characteristic of the material) and
regularity of beat (affecting the element of method in the composing means), the performer— in those instances
where his procedure follows any dictates at all (his feelings, his automatism, his sense of universality, his taste)—
will be led to give the form aspects essentially conventional to European music. These instances will predominate
over those which are unknowing where the performer wishes to act in a way consistent with the composition as
written. The form aspects essentially conventional to European music are, for instance, the presentation of a
whole as an object in time having a beginning, a middle, and an ending, progressive rather than static in character,
which is to say possessed of a climax or climaxes and in contrast a point or points of rest.

The indeterminate aspects of the composition of the Klavierstuck XI do not remove the work in its per-
formance from the body of European musical conventions. And yet the purpose of indeterminacy would seem to
be to bring about an unforseen situation. In the case of Klavierstuck XI, the use of indeterminacy is in this sense
unnecessary since it is ineffective. The work might as well have been written in all of its aspects determinately.
It would lose, in this case, its single unconventional aspect: that of being printed on an unusually large sheet of
paper which, together with an attachment that may be snapped on at several points enabling one to stretch it out
flat and place it on the music rack of a piano, is put in a cardboard tube suitable for safekeeping or distribution
through die mails.

This is a lecture on composition which is indeterminate with respect to its performance. The Intersection 3 by
Morton Feldman is an example. The Music of Changes is not an example. -In the Music of Changes, structure,
which is the division of the whole into parts; method, which is the note-to-note procedure; form, which is the
expressive content, the morphology of the continuity; and materials, the sounds and silences of the composition, are
all determined. Though no two performances of the Music of Changes will be identical ( each act is virgin, even
the repeated one, to refer to Rene Char's thought), two performances will resemble one another closely. Though
chance operations brought about the determinations of the composition, these operations are not available in its
performance. The function of the performer in the case of the Music of Changes is that of a contractor who, fol-
lowing an architect's blueprint, constructs a building. That the Music of Changes was composed by means of
chance operations identifies the composer with no matter what eventuality. But that its notation is in all respects
determinate does not permit the performer any such identification: his work is specifically laid out before him. He
is therefore not able to perform from his own center but must identify himself insofar as possible with the center of
the work as written. The Music of Changes is an object more inhuman than human, since chance operations
brought it into being. The fact that these things that constitute it, though only sounds, have come together to
control a human being, the performer, gives the work the alarming aspect of a Frankenstein monster. This situation
is of course characteristic of Western music, the masterpieces of which are its most frightening examples, which
when concerned with humane communication only move over from Frankenstein monster to Dictator.

In the case of the Intersection 3 by Morton Feldman, structure may be viewed as determinate or as indeter-
minate; method is definitely indeterminate. Frequency and duration characteristics of the material are determi-
nate only within broad limits ( they are with respect to narrow limits indeterminate ) ; the timbre characteristic of the
material, being given by the instrument designated, the piano, is determinate; the amplitude characteristic of
the material is indeterminate. Form conceived in terms of a continuity of various weights— that is, a continuity of
numbers of sounds, the sounds themselves particularized only with respect to broad range limits ( high, middle, and
low ) —is determinate, particularly so due to the composer's having specified boxes as time units. Though one might
equally describe it as indeterminate for other reasons. The term "boxes" arises from the composer's use of graph
paper for the notation of his composition. The function of the box is comparable to that of a green light in metropolitan
thoroughfare control. The performer is free to play the given number of sounds in the range indicated at any time
during the duration of the box, just as when driving an automobile one may cross an intersection at any time during
the green light. With the exception of method, which is wholly indeterminate, the compositional means are char-
acterized by being in certain respects determinate, in others indeterminate, and an interpenetration of these opposites
obtains which is more characteristic than either. The situation is therefore essentially non-dualistic; a multiplicity of
centers in a state of non-obstruction and interpenetration.

The function of the performer in the case of the Intersection 3 is that of a photographer who on obtaining a
camera uses it to take a picture. The composition permits an infinite number of these, and, not being mechanically
constructed, it will not wear out. It can only suffer disuse or loss. How is the performer to perform the Intersection 3?
He may do this in an organized way which may be subjected successfully to analysis. Or he may perform his
function of photographer in a way which is not consciously organized (and therefore not subject to analysis)—
either arbitrarily, feeling his way, following the dictates of his ego; or more or less unknowingly, by going inwards
with reference to the structure of his mind to a point in dreams, following, as in automatic writing, the dictates
of his subconscious mind; or to a point in the collective unconsciousness of Jungian pyschoanalysis, following the
inclinations of the species and doing something of more or less universal interest to human beings; or to the ' deep

36/SILENCE

sleep" of Indian mental practice— the Ground of Meister Eckhart— identifying there with no matter what even-
tuality. Or he may perform his function of photographer arbitrarily, by going outwards with reference to the
structure of his mind to the point of sense perception, following his taste; or more or less unknowingly by employ-
ing some operation exterior to his mind: tables of random numbers, following the scientific interest in probability;
or chance operations, identifying there with no matter what eventuality.

One evening Morton Feldman said that when he composed he was dead; this recalls to me the statement of
my father, an inventor, who says he does his best work when he is sound asleep. The two suggest the "deep sleep"
of Indian mental practice. The ego no longer blocks action. A fluency obtains which is characteristic of nature.
The seasons make the round of spring, summer, fall, and winter, interpreted in Indian thought as creation, preser-
vation, destruction, and quiescence. Deep sleep is comparable to quiescence. Each spring brings no matter what
eventuality. The performer then will act in any way. Whether he does so in an organized way or in any one of the
not consciously organized ways cannot be answered until his action is a reality. The nature of the composition and
the knowledge of the composer's own view of his action suggest, indeed, that the performer act sometimes con-
sciously, sometimes not consciously and from the Ground of Meister Eckhart, identifying there with no matter
what eventuality.

This is a lecture on composition which is indeterminate with respect to its performance. Indices by Earle Brown
is not an example. Where the performance involves a number of players, as it does in the case of Indices, the
introduction of a score— that is, a fixed relation of the parts— removes the quality of indeterminacy from the per-
formance. Though tables of random numbers (used in a way which introduces bias) brought about the determi-
nations of the composition ( structure, method, materials, and form are in the case of Indices all thus determined ) ,
those tables are not available in its performance. The function of the conductor is that of a contractor, who,
following an architect's blueprint, constructs a building. The function of the instrumentalists is that of workmen
who simply do as they are bid. That the Indices by Earle Brown was composed by means of tables of random
numbers ( used in a way which introduces bias ) identifies the composer with no matter what eventuality, since by
the introduction of bias he has removed himself from an association with the scientific interest in probability. But
that the notation of the parts is in all respects determinate, and that, moreover, a score provides a fixed relation of
these parts, does not permit the conductor or the players any such identification. Their work is laid out before
them. The conductor is not able to conduct from his own center but must identify himself insofar as possible with
the center of the work as written. The instrumentalists are not able to perform from their several centers but are
employed to identify themselves insofar as possible with the directives given by the conductor. They identify with
the work itself, if at all, by one remove. From that point of view from which each thing and each being is seen
as moving out from its own center, this situation of the subservience of several to the directives of one who is
himself controlled, not by another but by the work of another, is intolerable.

(In this connection it may be remarked that certain Indian traditional practices prohibit ensemble, limiting
performance to the solo circumstance. This solo, in traditional Indian practice, is not a performance of something
written by another but an improvisation by the performer himself within certain limitations of structure, method,
and material. Though he himself by the morphology of the continuity brings the form into being, the expressive
content does not reside in this compositional element alone, but by the conventions of Indian tradition resides also
in all the other compositional elements. )

The intolerable situation described is, of course, not a peculiarity of Indices, but a characteristic of Western
music, the masterpieces of which are its most imposing examples, which, when they are concerned not with tables
of random numbers ( used in a way which introduces bias ) but rather with ideas of order, personal feelings, and
the integration of these, simply suggest the presence of a man rather than the presence of sounds. The sounds of
Indices are just sounds. Had bias not been introduced in the use of the tables of random numbers, the sounds
would have been not just sounds but elements acting according to scientific theories of probability, elements act-
ing in relationship due to the equal distribution of each one of those present— elements, that is to say, under the
control of man.

This is a lecture on composition which is indeterminate with respect to its performance. The 4 Systems by Earle
Brown is an example. This piece may be performed by one or several players. There is no score, either for the
solo circumstance or for that of ensemble. The quality of indeterminacy is for this reason not removed from the
performance even where a number of players are involved, since no fixed relation of the parts exists. The original
notation is a drawing of rectangles of various lengths and widths in ink on a single cardboard having four equal
divisions (which are the systems). The vertical position of the rectangles refers to relative time. The width of
the rectangles may be interpreted either as an interval where the drawing is read as two-dimensional, or as ampli-
tude where the drawing is read as giving the illusion of a third dimension. Any of the interpretations of this
material may be superimposed in any number and order and, with the addition or not of silences between them,
may be used to produce a continuity of any time-length. In order to multiply the possible interpretations the
composer gives a further permission— to read the cardboard in any of four positions: right side up, upside down,
sideways, up and down.

This further permission alters the situation radically. Without it, the composition was highly indeterminate

COMPOSITION AS PROCESS/37

of its performance. The drawing was not consciously organized. Drawn unknowingly, from the Ground of Meister
Eckhart, it identified the composer with no matter what eventuality. But with the further permission— that of
reading the cardboard right side up, upside down, sideways, up and down— the drawing became that of two dif-
ferent situations or groups of situations and their inversions. Inversions are a hallmark of the conscious mind. The
composer's identification ( though not consciously so according to him ) is therefore no longer with no matter what
eventuality but rather with those events that are related by inversion. What might have been non-dualistic becomes
dualistic. From a non-dualistic point of view, each thing and each being is seen at the center, and these centers
are in a state of interpenetration and non-obstruction. From a dualistic point of view, on the other hand, each
thing and each being is not seen: relationships are seen and interferences are seen. To avoid undesired interfer-
ences and to make one's intentions clear, a dualistic point of view requires a careful integration of the opposites.

If this careful integration is lacking in the composition, and in the case of 4 Systems it is ( due to the high
degree of indeterminacy), it must be supplied in the performance. The function of the performer or of each
performer in the case of 4 Systems is that of making something out of a store of raw materials. Structure, the
division of the whole into parts, is indeterminate. Form, the morphology of the continuity, is also indeterminate.
In given interpretations of the original drawing (such as those made by David Tudor sufficient in number to
provide a performance by four pianists lasting four minutes ) method is determinate and so too are the amplitude,
timbre, and frequency characteristics of the material. The duration characteristic of the material is both determi-
nate and indeterminate, since fines extending from note-heads indicate exact length of time, but the total length of
time of a system is indeterminate. The performer's function, in the case of 4 Systems, is dual: to give both structure
and form; to provide, that is, the division of the whole into parts and the morphology of the continuity.

Conscious only of his having made a composition indeterminate of its performance, the composer does not
himself acknowledge the necessity of this dual function of the performer which I am describing. He does not agree
with the view here expressed that the permission given to interpret the drawing right side up, upside down, and
sideways, up and down obliges the integration of the opposites: conscious organization and its absence. The struc-
tural responsibility must be fulfilled in an organized way, such as might be subjected successfully to analysis. ( The
performers in each performance have, as a matter of record, given to each system lengths of time which are
related as modules are in architecture: fifteen seconds and multiples thereof by two or four.) The formal respon-
sibility must be fulfilled in one or several of the many ways which are not consciously organized. However, due
to the identification with the conscious mind indicated in 4 Systems by the presence of inversions, though not
acknowledged by the composer, those ways which are not consciously organized that are adjacent to the ego are
apt to be used, particularly where the performer wishes to act in a way consistent with the composition as here
viewed. He will in these cases perform arbitrarily, feeling his way, following the dictates of his ego; or he will
perform arbitrarily, following his taste, in terms of sense perception.

What might have given rise, by reason of the high degree of indeterminacy, to no matter what eventuality
(to a process essentially purposeless) becomes productive of a time-object. This object, exceedingly complex due
to the absence of a score, a fixed relation of the parts, is analagous to a futurist or cubist painting, perhaps, or to
a moving picture where flicker makes seeing the object difficult.

From the account which appears to be a history of a shift from non-dualism to dualism (not by intention,
since the composer does not attach to the inversions the importance here given them, but as a by-product of the
action taken to multiply possibilities) the following deduction may be made: To ensure indeterminacy with respect
to its performance, a composition must be determinate of itself. If this indeterminacy is to have a non-dualistic
nature, each element of the notation must have a single interpretation rather than a plurality of interpretations
which, coming from a single source, fall into relation. Likewise— though this is not relevant to 4 Systems— one may
deduce that a single operation within the act of composition itself must not give rise to more than a single
notation. Where a single operation is applied to more than one notation, for example to those of both frequency and
amplitude characteristics, the frequency and amplitude characteristics are by that operation common to both brought
into relationship. These relationships make an object; and this object, in contrast to a process which is purposeless,
must be viewed dualistically. Indeterminacy when present in the making of an object, and when therefore viewed
dualistically, is a sign not of identification with no matter what eventuality but simply of carelessness with regard
to the outcome.

This is a lecture on composition which is indeterminate with respect to its performance. Duo II for Pianists by
Christian Wolff is an example. In the case of Duo II for Pianists, structure, the division of the whole into parts,
is indeterminate. ( No provision is given by the composer for ending the performance. ) Method, the note-to-note
procedure, is also indeterminate. All the characteristics of the materials (frequency, amplitude, timbre, duration)
are indeterminate within gamut limitations provided by the composer. The form, the morphology of the con-
tinuity, is unpredictable. One of the pianists begins the performance: the other, noticing a particular sound or
silence which is one of a gamut of cues, responds with an action of his own determination from among given
possibilities within a given time bracket. Following this beginning, each panist responds to cues provided by the
other, letting no silence fall between responses, though these responses themselves include silences. Certain time
brackets are in zero time. There is no score, no fixed relation of the parts. Duo II for Pianists is evidently not a
time-object, but rather a process the beginning and ending of which are irrelevant to its nature. The ending, and

38/SILENCE

the beginning, will be determined in performance, not by exigencies interior to the action but by circumstances of
the concert occasion. If the other pieces on the program take forty-five minutes of time and fifteen minutes more
are required to bring the program to a proper length, Duo II for Pianists may be fifteen minutes long. Where only
five minutes are available, it will be five minutes long.

The function of each performer in the case of Duo II for Pianists is comparable to that of a traveler who
must constantly be catching trains the departures of which have not been announced but which are in the process
of being announced. He must be continually ready to go, alert to the situation, and responsible. If he notices no
cue, that fact itself is a cue calling for responses indeterminate within gamut limitations and time brackets. Thus
he notices (or notices that he does not notice) a cue, adds time bracket to time bracket, determines his response
to come (meanwhile also giving a response), and, as the second hand of a chronometer approaches the end of
one bracket and the beginning of the next, he prepares himself for the action to come ( meanwhile still making an
action), and, precisely as the second hand of a chronometer begins the next time bracket, he makes the suitable
action (meanwhile noticing or noticing that he does not notice the next cue), and so on. How is each performer
to fulfill this function of being alert in an indeterminate situation? Does he need to proceed cautiously in dualistic
terms? On the contrary, he needs his mind in one piece. His mind is too busy to spend time splitting itself into
conscious and not-conscious parts. These parts, however, are still present. What has happened is simply a com-
plete change of direction. Rather than making the not-conscious parts face the conscious part of the mind, the
conscious part, by reason of the urgency and indeterminacy of the situation, turns towards the not-conscious parts.
He is therefore able, as before, to add two to two to get four, or to act in organized ways which on being subjected
to analysis successfully are found to be more complex. But rather than concentrating his attention here, in the
realm of relationships, variations, approximations, repetitions, logarithms, his attention is given inwardly and out-
wardly with reference to the structure of his mind to no matter what eventuality. Turning away from himself and
his ego-sense of separation from other beings and things, he faces the Ground of Meister Eckhart, from which all
impermanencies flow and to which they return. "Thoughts arise not to be collected and cherished but to be
dropped as though they were void. Thoughts arise not to be collected and cherished but to be dropped as though
they were rotten wood. Thoughts arise not to be collected and cherished but to be dropped as though they were
pieces of stone. Thoughts arise not to be collected and cherished but to be dropped as though they were the cold
ashes of a fire long dead." Similarly, in the performance of Duo II for Pianists, each performer, when he performs
in a way consistent with the composition as written, will let go of his feelings, his taste, his automatism, his sense
of the universal, not attaching himself to this or to that, leaving by his performance no traces, providing by his
actions no interruption to the fluency of nature. The performer therefore simply does what is to be done, not
splitting his mind in two, not separating it from his body, which is kept ready for direct and instantaneous contact
with his instrument.

This is a lecture on composition which is indeterminate with respect to its performance. That composition is neces-
sarily experimental. An experimental action is one the outcome of which is not forseen. Being unforseen, this action
is not concerned with its excuse. Like the land, like the air, it needs none. A performance of a composition which
is indeterminate of its performance is necessarily unique. It cannot be repeated. When performed for a second
time, the outcome is other than it was. Nothing therefore is accomplished by such a performance, since that per-
formance cannot be grasped as an object in time. A recording of such a work has no more value than a postcard;
it provides a knowledge of something that happened, whereas the action was a non-knowledge of something that
had not yet happened.

There are certain practical matters to discuss that concern the performance of music the composition of
which is indeterminate with respect to its performance. These matters concern the physical space of the per-
formance. These matters also concern the physical time of the performance. In connection with the physical space
of the performance, where that performance involves several players (two or more), it is advisable for several
reasons to separate the performers one from the other, as much as is convenient and in accord with the action and
the architectural situation. This separation allows the sounds to issue from their own centers and to interpenetrate
in a way which is not obstructed by the conventions of European harmony and theory about relationships and
interferences of sounds. In the case of the harmonious ensembles of European musical history, a fusion of sound
was of the essence, and therefore players in an ensemble were brought as close together as possible, so that their
actions, productive of an object in time, might be effective. In the case, however, of the performance of music
the composition of which is indeterminate of its performance so that the action of the players is productive of a
process, no harmonious fusion of sound is essential. A non-obstruction of sounds is of the essence. The separation
of players in space when there is an ensemble is useful towards bringing about this non-obstruction and interpene-
tration, which are of the essence. Furthermore, this separation in space will facilitate the independent action of
each performer, who, not constrained by the performance of a part which has been extracted from a score, has
turned his mind in the direction of no matter what eventuality. There is the possibility when people are crowded
together that they will act like sheep rather than nobly. That is why separation in space is spoken of as facilitating
independent action on the part of each performer. Sounds will then arise from actions, which will then arise from
their own centers rather than as motor or psychological effects of other actions and sounds in the environment.
The musical recognition of the necessity of space is tardy with respect to the recognition of space on the part of

COMPOSITION AS PROCESS/39

the other arts, not to mention scientific awareness. It is indeed astonishing that music as an art has kept perform-
ing musicians so consistently huddled together in a group. It is high time to separate the players one from another,
in order to show a musical recognition of the necessity of space, which has already been recognized on the part of
the other arts, not to mention scientific awareness. What is indicated, too, is a disposition of the performers, in the
case of an ensemble in space, other than the conventional one of a huddled group at one end of a recital or sym-
phonic hall. Certainly the performers in the case of an ensemble in space will be disposed about the room. The
conventional architecture is often not suitable. What is required perhaps is an architecture like that of Mies van der
Rohe's School of Architecture at the Illinois Institute of Technology. Some such architecture will be useful for the
performance of composition which is indeterminate of its performance. Nor will the performers be huddled together
in a group in the center of the audience. They must at least be disposed separately around the audience, if not, by
approaching their disposition in the most radically realistic sense, actually disposed within the audience itself. In this
latter case, the further separation of performer and audience will facilitate the independent action of each person,
which will include mobility on the part of all.

There are certain practical matters to discuss that concern the performance of music the composition of
which is indeterminate with respect to its performance. These matters concern the physical space of the per-
formance. These matters also concern the physical time of the performance. In connection with the physical time
of the performance, where that performance involves several players (two or more), it is advisable for several
reasons to give the conductor another function than that of beating time. The situation of sounds arising from
actions which arise from their own centers will not be produced when a conductor beats time in order to unify
the performance. Nor will the situation of sounds arising from actions which arise from their own centers be pro-
duced when several conductors beat different times in order to bring about a complex unity to the performance.
Beating time is not necessary. All that is necessary is a slight suggestion of time, obtained either from glancing at
a watch or at a conductor who, by his actions, represents a watch. Where an actual watch is used, it becomes
possible to foresee the time, by reason of the steady progress from second to second of the second hand. Where,
however, a conductor is present, who by his actions represents a watch which moves not mechanically but vari-
ably, it is not possible to foresee the time, by reason of the changing progress from second to second of the con-
ductor's indications. Where this conductor, who by his actions represents a watch, does so in relation to a part
rather than a score— to, in fact, his own part, not that of another— his actions will interpenetrate with those of the
players of the ensemble in a way which will not obstruct their actions. The musical recognition of the necessity of
time is tardy with respect to the recognition of time on the part of broadcast communications, radio, television,
not to mention magnetic tape, not to mention travel by air, departures and arrivals from no matter what point at no
matter what time, to no matter what point at no matter what time, not to mention telephony. It is indeed
astonishing that music as an art has kept performing musicians so consistently beating time together like so many
horseback riders huddled together on one horse. It is high time to let sounds issue in time independent of a beat
in order to show a musical recognition of the necessity of time which has already been recognized on the part of
broadcast communications, radio, television, not to mention magnetic tape, not to mention travel by air, departures
and arrivals from no matter what point at no matter what time, to no matter what point at no matter what time,
not to mention telephony.

An Indian lady invited me to dinner and said Dr. Suzuki would be there. He was. Before dinner I
mentioned Gertrude Stein. Suzuki had never heard of her. I described aspects of her work, which he
said sounded very interesting. Stimulated, I mentioned James Joyce, whose name was also new to him.
At dinner he was unable to eat the curries that were offered, so a few uncooked vegetables and fruits
were brought, which he enjoyed. After dinner the talk turned to metaphysical problems, and there were
many questions, for the hostess was a follower of a certain Indian yogi and her guests were more or less
equally divided between allegiance to Indian thought and to Japanese thought. About eleven o'clock we
were out on the street walking along, and an American lady said, "How is it, Dr. Suzuki? We spend the
evening asking you questions and nothing is decided." Dr. Suzuki smiled and said, "That's why I love
philosophy: no one wins."

40/SILENCE

The following text is made up of questions and quotations. The quotations are
some from the writings of others and some from my own writings. (That from
Christian Wolff is from his article "New and Electronic Music," copyright
1958 by the Audience Press, and reprinted by permission from Audience,
Volume V, Number 3, Summer 1958.) The order and quantity of the quotations
were given by chance operations. No performance timing was composed.
Nevertheless, 1 always prescribe one before delivering this lecture, sometimes
adding by chance operations indications of when, in the course of the
performance, I am obliged to light a cigarette.

III. Communication

NlCHI NICHI KOBE KO NICHI: EVERY DAY IS A BEAUTIFUL DAY

What if I ask thirty-two questions?

What if I stop asking now and then?

Will that make things clear?

Is communication something made clear?

What is communication?

Music, what does it communicate?

Is what's clear to me clear to you?

Is music just sounds?

Then what does it communicate?

Is a truck passing by music?

If I can see it, do I have to hear it too?

If I don't hear it, does it still communicate?

If while I see it I can't hear it, but hear something else, say an egg-beater, because I'm

inside looking out, does the truck communicate or the egg-beater, which communicates?
Which is more musical, a truck passing by a factory or a truck

passing by a music school?
Are the people inside the school musical and the ones outside unmusical?
What if the ones inside can't hear very well, would that change my question?
Do you know what I mean when I say inside the school?
Are sounds just sounds or are they Beethoven?
People aren't sounds, are they?

COMPOSITION AS PROCESS/41

Is there such a thing as silence?

Even if I get away from people, do I still have to listen to something?

Say I'm off in the woods, do I have to listen to a stream babbling?

Is there always something to hear, never any peace and quiet?

If my head is full of harmony, melody, and rhythm, what happens to

me when the telephone rings, to my piece and quiet, I mean?
And if it was European harmony, melody, and rhythm in my head, what has happened

to the history of, say, Javanese music, with respect, that is to say, to my head?
Are we getting anywhere asking questions?
Where are we going?
Is this the twenty-eighth question?
Are there any important questions?

"How do you need to cautiously proceed in dualistic terms?"
Do I have two more questions?
And, now, do I have none?

Now that I've asked thirty-two questions, can I ask forty-four more?

I can, but may I?

Why must I go on asking questions?

Is there any reason in asking why?

Would I ask why if questions were not words but were sounds?

If words are sounds, are they musical or are they just noises?

If sounds are noises but not words, are they meaningful?

Are they musical?

Say there are two sounds and two people and one of each is beautiful,

is there between all four any communication?
And if there are rules, who made them, I ask you?
Does it begin somewhere, I mean, and if so, where does it stop?
What will happen to me or to you if we have to be somewhere where beauty isn't?
I ask you, sometime, too, sounds happening in time, what will happen to our experience

of hearing, yours, mine, our ears, hearing, what will happen if sounds being

beautiful stop sometime and the only sounds to hear are not beautiful to hear

but are ugly, what will happen to us?
Would we ever be able to get so that we thought the ugly sounds were beautiful?
If we drop beauty, what have we got?
Have we got truth?

42/SILENCE

Have we got religion?

Do we have a mythology?

Would we know what to do with one if we had one?

Have we got a way to make money?

And if money is made, will it be spent on music?

If Russia spends sixty million for the Brussels Fair, lots of it for music and dance, and

America spends one-tenth of that, six million about, does that mean that one out of

ten Americans is as musical and kinesthetic as all the Russians put together?
If we drop money, what have we got?

Since we haven't yet dropped truth, where shall we go looking for it?
Didn't we say we weren't going, or did we just ask where we were going?
If we didn't say we weren't going, why didn't we?
If we had any sense in our heads, wouldn't we know the truth instead

of going around looking for it?
How otherwise would we, as they say, be able to drink a glass of water?
We know, don't we, everybody else's religion, mythology, and philosophy

and metaphysics backwards and forwards, so what need would we have

for one of our own if we had one, but we don't, do we?
But music, do we have any music?
Wouldn't it be better to just drop music too?
Then what would we have?
Jazz?

What's left?

Do you mean to say it's a purposeless play?

Is that what it is when you get up and hear the first sound of each day?
Is it possible that I could go on monotonously asking questions forever?
Would I have to know how many questions I was going to ask?
Would I have to know how to count in order to ask questions?
Do I have to know when to stop?

Is this the one chance we have to be alive and ask a question?
How long will we be able to be alive?

CONTEMPORARY MUSIC IS NOT THE MUSIC OF THE FUTURE

NOR THE MUSIC OF THE PAST BUT SIMPLY

MUSIC PRESENT WITH US: THIS MOMENT, NOW,

THIS NOW MOMENT.

COMPOSITION AS PROCESS/43

\S

Something remarkable has happened: I was asking questions; now I'm
quoting from a lecture I gave years ago. Of course I will ask some
more questions later on, but not now: I have quoting to do.

THAT MOMENT IS ALWAYS CHANGING. ( I WAS SILENT : NOW I AM

SPEAKING. ) HOW CAN WE POSSIBLY TELL WHAT CONTEMPORARY

MUSIC IS, SINCE NOW WERE NOT LISTENING TO IT, WE RE LISTENING

TO A LECTURE ABOUT IT. AND THAT ISNT IT.

THIS IS "TONGUE-WAGGING." REMOVED AS WE ARE THIS MOMENT FROM

CONTEMPORARY MUSIC ( WE ARE ONLY THINKING ABOUT IT ) EACH ONE OF US

IS THINKING HIS OWN THOUGHTS, HIS OWN EXPERIENCE, AND EACH

EXPERIENCE IS DIFFERENT AND EACH EXPERIENCE IS CHANGING AND WHILE

WE ARE THINKING I AM TALKING AND CONTEMPORARY MUSIC IS CHANGING.

LIKE LIFE IT CHANGES. IF IT WERE NOT CHANGING

IT WOULD BE DEAD, AND, OF COURSE, FOR SOME OF US, SOMETIMES

IT IS DEAD, BUT AT ANY MOMENT IT CHANGES AND IS LWING AGAIN.

TALKING FOR A MOMENT ABOUT CONTEMPORARY MILK:
AT ROOM TEMPERATURE IT IS CHANGING, GOES SOUR ETC., AND
THEN A NEW BOTTLE ETC., UNLESS BY SEPARATING IT FROM ITS CHANGING
BY POWDERING IT OR REFRIGERATION ( WHICH IS A WAY OF SLOWING

DOWN ITS LIVELINESS ) ( THAT IS TO SAY MUSEUMS AND ACADEMIES ARE

WAYS OF PRESERVING) WE TEMPORARILY SEPARATE THINGS FROM LIFE

(FROM CHANGING) BUT AT ANY MOMENT DESTRUCTION MAY COME SUDDENLY
AND THEN WHAT HAPPENS IS FRESHER

WHEN WE SEPARATE MUSIC FROM LIFE WHAT WE GET IS ART ( A COMPENDIUM

OF MASTERPIECES ) . WITH CONTEMPORARY MUSIC, WHEN IT IS ACTUALLY

CONTEMPORARY, WE HAVE NO TIME TO MAKE THAT SEPARATION ( WHICH

PROTECTS US FROM LrVING ) , AND SO CONTEMPORARY MUSIC IS

NOT SO MUCH ART AS IT IS LIFE AND ANY ONE MAKING IT NO SOONER

FINISHES ONE OF IT THAN HE BEGINS MAKING ANOTHER JUST AS PEOPLE

KEEP ON WASHING DISHES, BRUSHING THEIR TEETH, GETTING SLEEPY,

AND SO ON. VERY FREQUENTLY NO ONE KNOWS THAT

CONTEMPORARY MUSIC IS OR COULD BE ART. HE SIMPLY THINKS IT IS

IRRITATING. IRRITATING ONE WAY OR ANOTHER,

THAT IS TO SAY KEEPING US FROM OSSIFYING.

44/SILENCE

FOR ANY ONE OF US CONTEMPORARY MUSIC
IS OR COULD BE A WAY OF LrVTNG.

SEVERAL STORIES OCCUR TO ME THAT I SHOULD LIKE TO INTERPOLATE .
( IN THE SAME WAY, BY THE WAY, THAT WHILE I AM WRITING THIS THAT
I AM NOW TALKING, THE TELEPHONE KEEPS RINGING AND THEN CONTEMPORARY
CONVERSATION TAKES PLACE INSTEAD OF THIS PARTICULAR WAY OF
PREPARING A LECTURE ) . THE FIRST STORY

is from the Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna. his living and talking

had impressed a musician who began to think that he should gfve

up music and become a disciple of ramakrishna. but when he proposed

this, Ramakrishna said, by no means. remain

a musician: music is a means of raped transportation.

rapid transportation, that is, to ld7e "everlasting,"
that is to say, life, period. another story is that

when i was ferst aware that i was to grve this talk i consulted
the Book of Changes and obtained by tossing coins the hexagram

TO INFLUENCE, TO STIMULATE. SIX AT THE TOP MEANS THE

INFLUENCE SHOWS ITSELF IN THE JAWS, CHEEKS, AND TONGUE AND THE

COMMENTARY SAYS : THE MOST SUPERFICIAL WAY OF TRYING TO INFLUENCE

OTHERS IS THROUGH TALK THAT HAS NOTHING REAL BEHIND IT. THE

INFLUENCE PRODUCED BY SUCH MERE TONGUE- WAGGING MUST NECESSARILY

REMAIN INSIGNIFICANT. HOWEVER, I FIND MYSELF IN

DISAGREEMENT WITH THE COMMENTARY. I SEE NO NECESSITY TO PUT

SOMETHING "REAL" BEHIND TONGUE- WAGGING. I DO NOT SEE THAT

TONGUE-WAGGING IS ANY MORE SIGNIFICANT OR INSIGNIFICANT THAN ANY

THING ELSE. IT SEEMS TO ME THAT IT IS SIMPLY A MATTER OF

GOING ON TALKING, WHICH IS NEITHER SIGNIFICANT NOR INSIGNIFICANT,

NOR GOOD NOR BAD, BUT SIMPLY HAPPENING TO BE THE WAY I AM RIGHT

NOW LrVTNG WHICH IS CTVING A LECTURE IN ILLINOIS WHICH BRINGS US

BACK TO CONTEMPORARY MUSIC. BUT TAKING OFF

AGAIN AND RETURNING TO THE Book of Changes: THE HEXAGRAM ON GRACE

( WHICH IS THE HEXAGRAM ON ART ) DISCUSSES THE EFFECT OF A WORK

OF ART AS THOUGH IT WERE A LIGHT SHINING ON TOP OF A

MOUNTAIN PENETRATING TO A CERTAIN EXTENT THE SURROUNDING DARKNESS.

THAT IS TO SAY, ART IS DESCRIBED AS BEING ILLUMINATING,
AND THE REST OF LIFE AS BEING DARK. NATURALLY I DISAGREE.

COMPOSITION AS PROCESS/45

T

IF THERE WERE A PART OF LIFE DARK ENOUGH TO KEEP OUT OF IT A LIGHT

FROM ART, I WOULD WANT TO BE EST THAT DARKNESS, FUMBLING AROUND D7

NECESSARY, BUT ALTVE AND I RATHER THINK THAT CONTEMPORARY

MUSIC WOULD BE THERE IN THE DARK TOO, BUMPING INTO THINGS, KNOCKING

OTHERS OVER AND IN GENERAL ADDING TO THE DISORDER THAT CHARACTERIZES

LIFE ( IF IT IS OPPOSED TO ART ) RATHER THAN ADDING TO THE

ORDER AND STABILIZED TRUTH BEAUTY AND POWER THAT CHARACTERIZE

A MASTERPIECE ( IF IT IS OPPOSED TO LD7E ) . AND IS IT? YES

IT IS. MASTERPDZCES AND GENIUSES GO TOGETHER AND WHEN BY

RUNNING FROM ONE TO THE OTHER WE MAKE LIFE SAFER THAN IT

ACTUALLY IS WERE APT NEVER TO KNOW THE DANGERS OF

CONTEMPORARY MUSIC OR EVEN TO BE ABLE TO DRINK

A GLASS OF WATER. TO HAVE SOMETHING BE A MASTERPD2CE YOU

HAVE TO HAVE ENOUGH TIME TO CLASSD7Y IT AND MAKE IT CLASSICAL.

BUT WITH CONTEMPORARY MUSIC THERE IS NO TIME TO DO
ANYTHING LIKE CLASSIFYING. ALL YOU CAN DO IS SUDDENLY LISTEN

EST THE SAME WAY THAT WHEN YOU CATCH COLD ALL
YOU CAN DO IS SUDDENLY SNEEZE. UNFORTUNATELY

EUROPEAN THINKING HAS BROUGHT IT ABOUT THAT ACTUAL THINGS THAT
HAPPEN SUCH AS SUDDENLY LISTENING OR SUDDENLY SNEEZING ARE NOT

CONSroERED PROFOUND. EST THE COURSE OF A

LECTURE LAST WINTER AT COLUMBIA, SUZUKI SATO THAT THERE WAS A
DD7FERENCE BETWEEN ORIENTAL THINKING AND EUROPEAN THINKING,
THAT IN EUROPEAN THINKING THINGS ARE SEEN AS CAUSING ONE
ANOTHER AND HAVING EFFECTS, WHEREAS IN ORIENTAL THINKING

THIS SEEING OF CAUSE AND EFFECT IS NOT EMPHASIZED
BUT INSTEAD ONE MAKES AN DDENTTFICATION WITH WHAT IS HERE AND
NOW. HE THEN SPOKE OF TWO QUALITIES: UNTMPEDEDNESS

AND INTERPENETRATION. NOW THIS

UNIMPEDEDNESS IS SEEING THAT IN ALL OF SPACE EACH THING AND
EACH HUMAN BEING IS AT THE CENTER AND FURTHERMORE THAT EACH
ONE BEING AT THE CENTER IS THE MOST HONORED

ONE OF ALL. INTERPENETRATION MEANS THAT EACH ONE OF THESE

MOST HONORED ONES OF ALL IS MOVING OUT IN ALL DIRECTIONS
PENETRATING AND BEING PENETRATED BY EVERY OTHER ONE NO MATTER
WHAT THE TIME OR WHAT THE SPACE. SO THAT WHEN ONE SAYS

46/SILENCE

THAT THERE IS NO CAUSE AND EFFECT, WHAT IS MEANT IS THAT THERE

ARE AN INCALCULABLE INFINITY OF CAUSES AND EFFECTS, THAT IN FACT

EACH AND EVERY THING IN ALL OF TIME AND SPACE IS RELATED TO

EACH AND EVERY OTHER THING IN ALL OF TIME AND SPACE. THIS

BEING SO THERE IS NO NEED TO CAUTIOUSLY PROCEED IN DUALISTIC

TERMS OF SUCCESS AND FAILURE OR THE BEAUTIFUL AND THE UGLY

OR GOOD AND EVIL BUT RATHER SIMPLY TO WALK ON "NOT WONDERING,"

TO QUOTE MEISTER ECKHART, "AM I RIGHT OR DOING SOMETHING WRONG."

This is the second Tuesday in Sepember of 1958 and I still have

quite a lot to say: I'm nowhere near the end. I have four questions I must ask.

If, as we have, we have dropped music, does that mean we have nothing to listen to?
Don't you agree with Kafka when he wrote, "Psychology— never again?"
If you had to put on ten fingers the music you would take with you

if you were going to the North Pole, what would you put?
Is it true there are no questions that are really important?

Here's a little information you may find informative about the information theory:

FOURIER ANALYSIS ALLOWS A FUNCTION OF TIME (OR ANY OTHER INDEPENDENT VARIABLE) TO BE EX-
PRESSED IN TERMS OF PERIODIC (FREQUENCY) COMPONENTS. THE FREQUENCY COMPONENTS ARE OVER-
ALL PROPERTIES OF THE ENTIRE SIGNAL. BY MEANS OF A FOURIER ANALYSIS ONE CAN EXPRESS THE VALUE
OF A SIGNAL AT ANY POINT EST TERMS OF THE OVER-ALL FREQUENCY PROPERTIES OF THE SIGNAL; OR VICE
VERSA, ONE CAN OBTAIN THESE OVER-ALL PROPERTDZS FROM THE VALUES OF THE SIGNAL AT ITS VARIOUS
POINTS.

What did I say?

Where is the "should" when they say you should have something to say?
Three. Actually when you drop something, it's still with you, wouldn't you say?
Four. Where would you drop something to get it completely away?
Five. Why do you not do as I do, letting go of each thought as though it were void?
Six. Why do you not do as I do, letting go of each thought as though it were rotten wood?
Why do you not do as I do, letting go of each thought as though it were a piece of stone?
Why do you not do as I do, letting go of each thought as though it were the cold ashes of a
fire long dead, or else just making the slight response suitable to the occasion?

COMPOSITION AS PROCESS/47

Nine. Do you really think that the discovery that a measurable entity exists, namely,
the energy which can measure mechanical, electrical, thermal, or any other kind of
physical activity, and can measure potential as well as actual activity, greatly
simplifies thinking about physical phenomena?

Do you agree with Boulez when he says what he says?

Are you getting hungry?

Twelve. Why should you ( you know more or less what you're going to get ) ?

Will Boulez be there or did he go away when I wasn't looking?

Why do you suppose the number 12 was given up but the idea of the series wasn't?

Or was it?

And if not, why not?

In the meantime, would you like to hear the very first performance of
Christian Wolffs For Piano with Preparations?

What in heaven's name are they going to serve us for dinner, and what

happens afterwards?
More music?

Living or dead, that's the big question.
When you get sleepy, do you go to sleep?
Or do you He awake?
Why do I have to go on asking questions?
Is it the same reason I have to go on writing music?
But it's clear, isn't it, I'm not writing music right now?
Why do they call me a composer, then, if all I do is ask questions?
If one of us says that all twelve tones should be in a row and another says they shouldn't,

which one of us is right?
What if a B flat, as they say, just comes to me?
How can I get it to come to me of itself, not just pop up out of my

memory, taste, and psychology?
How?

Do you know how?
And if I did or somebody else did find a way to let a sound be itself,

would everybody within earshot be able to listen to it?
Why is it so difficult for so many people to listen?
Why do they start talking when there is something to hear?
Do they have their ears not on the sides of their heads but situated inside their mouths

48/SILENCE

so that when they hear something their first impulse is to start talking?
The situation should be made more normal, don't you think?
Why don't they keep their mouths shut and their ears open?
Are they stupid?

And, if so, why don't they try to hide their stupidity?
Were bad manners acquired when knowledge of music was acquired?
Does being musical make one automatically stupid and unable to listen?
Then don't you think one should put a stop to studying music?
Where are your thinking caps?

we're passing through time and space, our ears are in excellent condition.

a sound is high or low, soft or loud, of a certain ttmhre, lasts a certain length of time,
and has an envelope.

Is it high?

Is it low?

Is it in the middle?

Is it soft?

Is it loud?

Are there two?

Are there more than two?

Is it a piano?

Why isn't it?

Was it an airplane?

Is it a noise?

Is it music?

Is it softer than before?

Is it supersonic?

When will it stop?

What's coming?

Is it time?

Is it very short?

Very long?

Just medium?

If I had something to see, would it be theatre?

COMPOSITION AS PROCESS/49

Is sound enough?

What more do I need?

Don't I get it whether I need it or not?

Is it a sound?

Then, again, is it music?

Is music— the word, I mean— is that a sound?

If it is, is music music?

Is the word "music" music?

Does it communicate anything?

Must it?

If it's high, does it?

If it's low, does it?

If it's in the middle, does it?

If it's soft, does it?

If it's loud, does it?

If it's an interval, does it?

What is an interval?

Is an interval a chord?

Is a chord an aggregate?

Is an aggregate a constellation?

What's a constellation?

How many sounds are there altogether?

One million?

Ten thousand?

Eighty-eight?

Do I have to ask ten more?

Do I?

Why?

Why do I?

Did I decide to ask so many?

Wasn't I taking a risk?

Was I?

Why was I?

Will it never stop?

Why won't it?

SO/SILENCE

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS SILENCE. GET THEE TO AN ANECHOIC CHAMBER AND HEAR THERE THY NERVOUS
SYSTEM IN OPERATION AND HEAR THERE THY BLOOD IN CIRCULATION.

I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY AND I AM SAYING IT.

Would it be too much to ask if I asked thirty-three more?

Who's asking?

Is it I who ask?

Don't I know my own mind?

Then why do I ask if I don't know?

Then it's not too much to ask?

Right?

Then, tell me, do you prefer Bach to Beethoven?

And why?

Would you like to hear Quantitaten by Bo Nilsson whether it's

performed for the first time or not?
Has any one seen Meister Eckhart lately?
Do you think serious music is serious enough?
Is a seventh chord inappropriate in modern music?
What about fifths and octaves?
What if the seventh chord was not a seventh chord?
Doesn't it seem silly to go on asking questions when there's so much

to do that's really urgent?
But we're halfway through, aren't we?
Shall we buck up?

Are we in agreement that the field of music needs to be enlivened?
Do we disagree?
On what?
Communication?

If I have two sounds, are they related?
If someone is nearer one of them than he is to the second, is he

more related to the first one?
What about sounds that are too far away for us to hear them?
Sounds are just vibrations, isn't that true?
Part of a vast range of vibrations including radio waves, light,

cosmic rays, isn't that true?

COMPOSITION AS PROCESS/51

Why didn't I mention that before?
Doesn't that stir the imagination?
Shall we praise God from Whom all blessings flow?
Is a sound a blessing?
I repeat, is a sound a blessing?

I repeat, would you like to hear Quantitaten by Bo Nilsson whether
it's performed for the first time or not?

The Belgians asked me about the avant-garde in America and this is what I told them:

in the united states there aee as many ways of writing music as there
are composers. there is also no avatlarle information as to what is
going on. there is no magazine concerned with modern music. purlishers
are not inquisitive. the societies which actively exist ( hroadcast
music inc., american society of composers, authors and publishers ) are
concerned with economics, currently engaged in an important lawsuit,
in new york city, the league of composers and the international
society for contemporary music have fused, the new organization
representing the current interest in consolidating the acquisitions
of schoenberg and stravinsky. this circle has, no doubt, an avant-garde,
but it is a cautious one, refusing risk. its most accomplished
and adventurous representative is probably mllton babbitt, who, in
certain works, has applied serial method to the several aspects of
sound. the works for magnetic tape by luening and ussachevsky, louis
and Bebe Barron, are not properly termed avant-garde, since they
maintain conventions and accepted values. the young study with
neo-classicists, so that the spirit of the avant-garde, infecting them,
induces a certain dodecaphony. in this social darkness, therefore, the
work of Earle Brown, Morton Feldman, and Christian Wolff continues to
present a brilliant light, for the reason that at the several points
of notation, performance, and audition, action is provocative. none
of these uses serial method. brown's notation in space equal to time

TENDS CURRENTLY TO FINE PRECISION OF DIRECTIVE. Wolff's INTRODUCTION
IN DURATIONS OF SPLIT AND PARTIAL GRUPETTOS, IN TEMPI THAT OF ZERO,
TENDS OPPOSITELY. THE GRAPHS OF FELDMAN CTVE WITHIN LIMITS EXTREME
FREEDOM OF ACTION TO THE PERFORMER.

52/SILENCE

They also— the Belgians, that is— asked me whether the American avant-garde follows
the same direction as the European one and this is what I told them:

THE AMERICAN AVANT-GARDE, RECOGNIZING THE PROVOCATIVE CHARACTER OF
CERTAIN EUROPEAN WORKS, OF PlERRE BOULEZ, KARLHEINZ StOCKHAUSEN,

Henri Pousseur, Bo Ndlsson, Bengt Hambraeus, has in its concerts
presented them in performances, notably by davod tudor, pianist. that
these works are serial in method diminishes somewhat the interest
they enjoin. but the thoroughness of the method's application bringing
a situation removed from conventional expectation frequently
opens the ear. however, the european works present a harmoniousness,
a drama, or a poetry which, referring more to thedr composers than to
thehl hearers, moves in directions not shared by the american ones.
many of the american works envisage each auditor as central, so
that the physical circumstances of a concert do not oppose audd2nce
to performers but dispose the latter around-among the former, bringing
a unique acoustical experience to each patr of ears. admittedly, a
situation of this complexity is beyond control, yet it resembles
a listener's situation before and after a concert— daily experience,
that is. it appears such a continuum is not part of the european

OBJECTTVE, SINCE IT DISSOLVES THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN "art" AND "LIFE."
TO THE UNEXPERIENCED, THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE EUROPEANS AND THE
AMERICANS LIES IN THAT THE LATTER INCLUDE MORE SDLENCE IN THEm WORKS.
IN THIS VD2W THE MUSIC OF NlLSSON APPEARS AS INTERMEDIATE, THAT OF
BOULEZ AND OF THE AUTHOR AS IN OPPOSITION. THIS SUPERFICIAL DIFFERENCE
IS ALSO PROFOUND. WHEN SILENCE, GENERALLY SPEAKING, IS NOT IN
EVIDENCE, THE WTLL OF THE COMPOSER IS. INHERENT SILENCE IS EQUIVALENT
TO DENIAL OF THE WELL- "TAKING A NAP, I POUND THE RICE." NEVERTHELESS,
CONSTANT ACTIVITY MAY OCCUR HAVING NO DOMINANCE OF WTLL IN IT.
NEITHER AS SYNTAX NOR STRUCTURE, BUT ANALOGOUS TO THE SUM OF NATURE,
IT WILL HAVE ARISEN PURPOSELESSLY.

It's getting late, isn't it?

I still have two things to do, so what I want to know is : Would you like to hear
Quantitaten by Bo Nilsson whether it's performed for the first time or not?

COMPOSITION AS PROCESS/53

I must read a little from an article by Christian Wolff. Here's what he says:

NOTABLE QUALITIES OF THIS MUSIC, WHETHER ELECTRONIC OR NOT, ARE MONOTONY
AND THE IRRITATION THAT ACCOMPANIES IT. THE MONOTONY MAY LIE IN
SIMPLICITY OR DELICACY, STRENGTH OR COMPLEXITY. COMPLEXITY TENDS TO
REACH A POINT OF NEUTRALIZATION : CONTINUOUS CHANGE RESULTS IN A CERTAIN
SAMENESS. THE MUSIC HAS A STATIC CHARACTER. IT GOES IN NO PARTICULAR
DIRECTION. THERE IS NO NECESSARY CONCERN WITH TIME AS A MEASURE OF
DISTANCE FROM A POINT IN THE PAST TO A POINT IN THE FUTURE, WITH LINEAR
CONTINUITY ALONE. IT IS NOT A QUESTION OF GETTING ANYWHERE, OF
MAKING PROGRESS, OR HAVING COME FROM ANYWHERE IN PARTICULAR, OF TRADITION
OR FUTURISM. THERE IS NEITHER NOSTALGIA NOR ANTICIPATION. OFTEN
THE STRUCTURE OF A PIECE IS CIRCULAR: THE SUCCESSION OF ITS PARTS IS

variable, as in Pousseur's Exercises de Piano and Stockhausen's Klavierstuck XL
in Cage's recent work the notation itself can be circular,
the succession of notes on a stave not necessarily indicating their
sequence in time, that is, the order in which they are performed, one
may have to read notes on a circle, in two "voices" going in opposite
ddrections simultaneously. an aspect of time dissolves. and the europeans
often view organization as "global," whereby beginnings and ends
are not points on a line but limits of a piece's material ( for example,
pitch ranges or possible combinations of timbres ) which may be touched
at any time during the piece. the boundaries of the piece are expressed,
not at moments of time which mark a succession, but as margins of a
spatial projection of the total sound structure.

as for the quality of irritation, that is a more subjective matter,
one might say that it is at least preferable to soothing, edifying,
exalting, and similar qualities. its source is, of course, precisely
in monotony, not in any forms of aggression or emphasis. it is the
immobility of motion. and it alone, perhaps, is truly moving.

And now I have to read a story from Kwang-Tse and then I'm finished:

Yun Kiang, rambling to the East, having been borne along on a gentle breeze,
suddenly encountered Hung Mung, who was rambling about, slapping his buttocks and
hopping like a bird. Amazed at the sight, Yun Kiang stood reverentially and said to

54/SILENCE

the other, "Venerable Sir, who are you? and why are you doing this?" Hung Mung went
on slapping his buttocks and hopping like a bird, but replied, "I'm enjoying myself."
Yun Kiang said, "I wish to ask you a question." Hung Mung lifted up his head, looked at
the stranger, and said, "Pooh !" Yun Kiang, however, continued, "The breath of heaven
is out of harmony ; the breath of earth is bound up ; the six elemental influences do not act
in concord ; the four seasons do not observe their proper times. Now I wish to blend together
the essential qualities of those six influences in order to nourish all living things. How shall
I go about it?" Hung Mung slapped his buttocks, hopped about, and shook his head, saying,
"I do not know ; I do not know !"

Yun Kiang could not pursue his question ; but three years afterwards, when again
rambling in the East, as he was passing by the wild of Sung, he happened to meet
Hung Mung. Delighted with the rencontre, he hastened to him, and said,
"Have you forgotten me, O Heaven ? Have you forgotten me, O Heaven ?" At the same
time, he bowed twice with his head to the ground, wishing to receive his instructions.
Hung Mung said, "Wandering listlessly about, I know not what I seek ; carried on by a
wild impulse, I know not where I am going. I wander about in the strange manner which
you have seen, and see that nothing proceeds without method and order — what more
should I know?" Yun Kiang replied, "I also seem carried on by an aimless influence, and
yet people follow me wherever I go. I cannot help their doing so. But now as they thus
imitate me, I wish to hear a word from you." The other said, "What disturbs the regular
method of Heaven, comes into collision with the nature of things, prevents the
accomplishment of the mysterious operation of Heaven, scatters the herds of animals,
makes the birds sing at night, is calamitous to vegetation, and disastrous to all insects ;
all this is owing, I conceive, to the error of governing men." "What then," said Yun Kiang,
"shall I do ?" "Ah," said the other, "you will only injure them ! I will leave you in my
dancing way, and return to my place." Yun Kiang rejoined, "It has been difficult to get this
meeting with you, O Heaven ! I should like to hear from you a word more."
Hung Mung said, "Ah ! your mind needs to be nourished. Do you only take the position of
doing nothing, and things will of themselves become transformed. Neglect your body ;
cast out from you your power of hearing and sight ; forget what you have in common with
things ; cultivate a grand similarity with the chaos of the plastic ether ; unloose your mind ;
set your spirit free ; be still as if you had no soul. Of all the multitude of things, every one
returns to its root, and does not know that it is doing so. They all are as in the state of
chaos, and during all their existence they do not leave it. If they knew that they were
returning to their root, they would be consciously leaving it. They do not ask its name ;
they do not seek to spy out their nature ; and thus it is that things come to life of themselves."

COMPOSITION AS PROCESS/55

Yun Kiang said, "Heaven, you have conferred on me the knowledge of your
operation and revealed to me the mystery of it. All my life I have been seeking for it, and
now I have obtained it." He then bowed twice with his head to the ground, arose,
took his leave, and walked away.

One day when I was across the hall visiting Sonya Sekula, I noticed that she was painting left-handed.
I said, "Sonya, aren't you right-handed?" She said, "Yes, but I might lose the use of my right hand, and so
I'm practicing using my left." I laughed and said, "What if you lose the use of both hands?" She was busy
painting and didn't bother to reply. Next day when I visited her, she was sitting on the floor, painting with
difficulty, for she was holding the brush between two toes of her left foot.

Morris Graves introduced Xenia and me to a mim'ature island in Puget Sound at Deception Pass. To
get there we traveled from Seattle about seventy-five miles north and west to Anacortes Island, then south
to the Pass, where we parked. We walked along a rocky beach and then across a sandy stretch that was
passable only at low tide to another island, continuing through some luxuriant woods up a hill where now
and then we had views of the surrounding waters and distant islands, until finally we came to a small foot-
bridge that led to our destination— an island no larger than, say, a modest home. This island was carpeted
with flowers and was so situated that all of Deception Pass was visible from it, just as though we were
in the best seats of an intimate theatre. While we were lying there on that bed of flowers, some other
people came across the footbridge. One of them said to another, "You come all this way and then when
you get here there's nothing to see."

A composer friend of mine who spent some time in a mental rehabilitation center was encouraged
to do a good deal of bridge playing. After one game, his partner was criticizing his play of an ace on a
trick which had already been won. My friend stood up and said, "If you think I came to the loony bin
to learn to play bridge, you're crazy."

56/S1LENCE

The two articles which follow are technical. Information regarding other
compositional means may be found in the brochure accompanying George
Avakians recording of my twenty-five-year retrospective concert at
Town Hall in 1958.

The first article was my part of Four Musicians at Work which was published
in trans/formation, Volume 1, Number 3 (New York City, 1952).

COMPOSITION

To Describe the Process of Composition Used in
Music of Changes and Imaginary Landscape No. 4

My recent work (Imaginary Landscape No. TV for twelve radios and the
Music of Changes for piano) is structurally similar to my earlier work:
based on a number of measures having a square root, so that the large
lengths have the same relation within the whole that the small lengths have
within a unit of it. Formerly, however, these lengths were time-lengths,
whereas in the recent work the lengths exist only in space, the speed of
travel through this space being unpredictable.

What brings about this unpredictability is the use of the method estab-
lished in the I-Ching (Book of Changes) for the obtaining of oracles, that
of tossing three coins six times.

Three coins tossed once yield four lines: three heads, broken with a
circle; two tails and a head, straight; two heads and a tail, broken; three
tails, straight with a circle. Three coins tossed thrice yield eight trigrams
( written from the base up ) : chien, three straight; chen, straight, broken,
broken; kan, broken, straight, broken; ken, broken, broken, straight; kun,
three broken; sun, broken, straight, straight; li, straight, broken, straight;
tui, straight, straight, broken. Three coins tossed six times yield sixty-four
hexagrams (two trigrams, the second written above the first) read in refer-
ence to a chart of the numbers 1 to 64 in a traditional arrangement having
eight divisions horizontally corresponding to the eight lower trigrams and
eight divisions vertically corresponding to the eight upper trigrams. A
hexagram having lines with circles is read twice, first as written, then as
changed. Thus, chien-chien, straight lines with circles, is read first as 1,

COMPOSITION/57

then as kun-kun, 2; whereas chien-chien, straight lines without circles, is
read only as 1.

Charts are made of an equal number of elements (sixty-four) which
refer to Superpositions (one chart) (how many events are happening at
once during a given structural space); Tempi (one chart); Durations (n,
the number of possible superpositions, in these works, eight charts ) ; Sounds
( eight charts ) ; Dynamics ( eight charts ) .

Where there are eight charts, four at any instant are mobile and four
immobile ( mobile means an element passes into history once used, giving
place to a new one; immobile means an element, though used, remains to
be used again). Which charts are which is determined by the first toss at a
large unit structural point, an odd number bringing about a change, an
even number maintaining the previous status.

The Tempi and Superpositions charts, however, remain unchanged
through the entire work.

In the charts for sounds thirty-two of the elements ( the even numbers )
are silences. The sounds themselves are single, aggregates ( cf . the accord
sometimes obtained on a prepared piano when only one key is depressed),
or complex situations ( constellations ) in time ( cf . the Chinese characters
made with several strokes ) . Sounds of indefinite pitch ( noises ) are free to
be used without any restriction. Those of definite pitch are taken as being
twelve in number. In any chart for sounds ( there being thirty-two sounds )
two squares (four times four) exist, one above the other. Reading horizon-
tally or vertically, one reads all twelve tones. In the case of the mobility of
sounds (disappearance into history) four in succession also produce the
twelve tones, with or without noises and repetitions. In the case of "inter-
ference" ( the appearance of a sound having characteristics in common with
the characteristics of the previously sounded situation ) the characteristics
that produce the interference are omitted from the newly appearing sound
or cut short in the situation that has previously sounded. In the radio piece,
numbers on a tuning dial are written instead of sounds, whatever happens
being acceptable (station, static, silence).

In the charts for dynamics only sixteen numbers produce changes ( one,
five, nine, etc. ) ; the others maintain the previous status. These are either
dynamic levels or accents (in the piano piece); levels, diminuendi, and
crescendi in the radio piece. In the piano piece, combinations of dynamic
levels (e.g. fff >p) indicate accents; in the case of a sound complex in time

58/ SILENCE

this may become a diminuendo or (by retrograde interpretation) a cre-
scendo, or derived complex.

In the charts for durations there are sixty -four elements ( since silence
also has length). Through use of fractions (e.g. %; % -f- % -f- y2 ) meas-
ured following a standard scale (2% cm. equals a crotchet), these
durations are, for the purposes of musical composition, practically infinite
in number. The note stem appears in space at a point corresponding to the
appearance of the sound in time, that is if one reads at the tempo, or chang-
ing tempo indicated. Given fractions of a quarter, half, dotted half and
whole note up to y8, simple addition of fractions is the method employed
for the generating of durations. Because addition is the generating means
employed, the durations may be said to be "segmented." These segments
may be permuted and/or divided by two or three ( simple nodes ) . A sound
may then express the duration by beginning at any one of these several
points.

A way of relating durations to sounds has been thought of in the course
of this work but not in it utilized: to let four durations equal a specified
length (on the chart, horizontally or vertically and in mobility four in suc-
cession ) —this specified length being subject to change.

The chart for Tempi has thirty-two elements, the blanks maintaining
the previous tempo.

Each one of the events one to eight is worked from the beginning to
the end of the composition. For instance, the eighth one is present from
beginning to end but may sound only during a structural space that has
been defined by a toss ( for Superpositions ) of fifty-seven to sixty-four. It is
then not only present but possibly audible. It becomes actually audible if a
sound is tossed (rather than a silence) and if the duration tossed is of a
length that does not carry the sound beyond the structural space open to it.

It is thus possible to make a musical composition the continuity of
which is free of individual taste and memory (psychology) and also of the
literature and "traditions" of the art. The sounds enter the time-space cen-
tered within themselves, unimpeded by service to any abstraction, their
360 degrees of circumference free for an infinite play of interpenetration.

Value judgments are not in the nature of this work as regards either
composition, performance, or listening. The idea of relation (the idea: 2)
being absent, anything (the idea: 1) may happen. A "mistake" is beside
the point, for once anything happens it authentically is.

COMPOSITION/59

This article, translated into German by Christian Wolff, first appeared in
Die Reihe No. 3 (Vienna, 1957) . The English text was printed in the Universal
Edition of Die Reihe No. 3, copyright 1959 by Theodore Presser Co.,
Pennsylvania, by whose permission it is reprinted here.

To Describe the Process of Composition Used in
M usk for Piano 2 7 -52

1. Given ink, pen, and sheets of transparent paper of determined dimensions, a master page
( without notations ) is made, having four total systems. "Total" here means having enough space
above and below each staff to permit its being either bass or treble. Thus, there being the conven-
tional two staves (one for each hand), each has enough space above it to accommodate nine ledger
lines (as equidistant as those of the staves) and below it to accommodate six ledger lines plus
(leaving room for the extreme low piano key and string). Between the two there is a narrow space,
bisected by a line, allowing for the notation of noises produced by hand or beater upon the interior
(above the line) or exterior (below the line) piano construction. Measurements are such that the
entire sheet ( within margins ) is potentially useful.

2. Laying the master page aside, chance operations derived from the I-Ching and channeled
within certain limits ( 1-128 for 21-36; 1-32 for 37-52) (which are established in relation to relative
difficulty of performance ) are employed to determine the number of sounds per page.

3. A blank sheet of transparent paper is then placed so that its pointal imperfections may readily
be observed. That number of imperfections corresponding to the determined number of sounds is
intensified with pencil.

4. Placing the penciled sheet in a registered way upon the master page, first the staves and
interline and then the ledger lines where necessary are inscribed in ink. Secondly, conventional
whole notes are written in ink wherever a penciled point falls within the area of staves or ledger
lines, inked-in notes ( crotchets without stems ) being written wherever such a point falls within the
space between the two staves. This operation is done roughly, since, through the use of conventional
lines and spaces, points falling in the latter are in the majority. Thus it is determined that a point,
though not on a line, is actually more nearly so than it is at the center of the adjacent space.

5. Eight single coin tosses are made determining the clefs, bass or treble, and inscribed in ink.

60/ SILENCE

6. The sixty-four possibilities of the I-Ching are divided by chance operations into three groups
relative to three categories: normal (played on the keyboard); muted; and plucked (the two latter
played on the strings ) . For example, having tossed numbers 6 and 44, a number 1 through 5 will
produce a normal; 6 through 43 a muted; 44 through 64 a plucked piano tone. A certain weight of
probability exists in favor of the second and third categories. Though this has not appeared to be of
consequence, it indicates a possible change in "technique." The categories having been determined,
notations (M and P) are conveniently placed in reference to the notes.

A similar procedure is followed to determine whether a tone is natural, sharp, or flat, the
procedure being altered, of course, for the two extreme keys where only two possibilities exist.

7. The notation of the composition is thus completed. Much that occurs in performance has
not been determined. Therefore, the following note is fixed at the head of the manuscript: "These
pieces constitute two groups of sixteen pieces (21-36; 37-52) which may be played alone or together
and with or without Music for Piano 4-19.1 Their length in time is free; there may or may not be
silence between them; they may be overlapped. Given a programed time length, the pianists may
make a calculation such that their concert will fill it. Duration of individual tones and dynamics are
free."

COMMENTARY

A performance is characterized by the programed time length calculated beforehand and adhered
to through the use of a stop watch. This is primarily of use in relation to an entire page, secondarily
of use in relation, to say, a system; for it is possible that, though the space of the page is here equal to
time, the performance being realized by a human being rather than a machine, such space may be
interpreted as moving, not only constantly, but faster or slower. Thus, finally, nothing has been
determined by the notation as far as performance time is concerned. And, as concerns timbre (the
noises, the three categories ) next to nothing has been determined. This is especially the case where
P is interpreted as meaning a plucked muted string or M a muted plucked string. Nor, indeed, have
the points on the strings where these latter operations are to be made been indicated. And— and this
may be considered a fundamental omission— nothing has been indicated regarding the architecture
of the room in which the music is to be played and the placement ( customarily distant one from
another) of the instruments (how many?) therein. All these elements, evidently of paramount
importance, point the question: What has been composed? ^

1 The composition of these pieces followed a different procedure and, furthermore, did not include interior and
exterior construction noises.

COMPOSITION/61

This article first appeared in the March 1949 issue of The Tiger's Eye, a
journal edited by Ruth and John Stephan from Bleecker Street in New York.
It was translated into French by Frederick Goldbeck, who changed the title
to Raison d'etre de la musique moderne. This was published in Contrepoints
(Paris) later in the same year.

FORERUNNERS OF MODERN MUSIC

Strategy

The purpose of music

Music is edifying, for from time to time it sets the soul in operation. The soul is the
gatherer-together of the disparate elements (Meister Eckhart), and its work fills
one with peace and love.

Definitions

Structure in music is its divisibility into successive parts from phrases to long
sections. Form is content, the continuity. Method is the means of controlling the
continuity from note to note. The material of music is sound and silence. Inte-
grating these is composing.

Structure is properly mind-controlled. Both delight in precision, clarity, and the
observance of rules. Whereas form wants only freedom to be. It belongs to the
heart; and the law it observes, if indeed it submits to any, has never been and never
will be written.1 Method may be planned or improvised (it makes no difference:
in one case, the emphasis shifts towards thinking, in the other towards feeling; a
piece for radios as instruments would give up the matter of method to accident).
Likewise, material may be controlled or not, as one chooses. Normally the choice
of sounds is determined by what is pleasing and attractive to the ear: delight in
the giving or receiving of pain being an indication of sickness.

1 Any attempt to exclude the "irrational" is irrational. Any composing strategy which is wholly "rational" is
irrational in the extreme.

62/SILENCE

Refrain

Activity involving in a single process the many, turning them, even though some
seem to be opposites, towards oneness, contributes to a good way of life.

The plot thickens

When asked why, God being good, there was evil in the world, Sri Ramakrishna said:
To thicken the plot.

The aspect of composition that can properly be discussed with the end in view of
general agreement is structure, for it is devoid of mystery. Analysis is at home here.

Schools teach the making of structures by means of classical harmony. Out-
side school, however (e.g., Satie and Webern), a different and correct2 structural
means reappears : one based on lengths of time.3, 4

In the Orient, harmonic structure is traditionally unknown, and unknown
with us in our pre-Renaissance culture. Harmonic structure is a recent Occidental
phenomenon, for the past century in a process of disintegration.5
Atonality 6 has happened

The disintegration of harmonic structure is commonly known as atonality. All that
is meant is that two necessary elements in harmonic structure— the cadence, and
modulating means— have lost their edge. Increasingly, they have become ambig-
uous, whereas their very existence as structural elements demands clarity ( single-
ness of reference) . Atonality is simply the maintenance of an ambiguous tonal state
of affairs. It is the denial of harmony as a structural means. The problem of a
composer in a musical world in this state is to supply another structural means,7

' Sound has four characteristics: pitch, timbre, loudness, and duration. The opposite and necessary coexistent
of sound is silence. Of the four characteristics of sound, only duration involves both sound and silence. Therefore,
a structure based on durations (rhythmic: phrase, time lengths) is correct (corresponds with the nature of the
material ) , whereas harmonic structure is incorrect ( derived from pitch, which has no being in silence ) .

* This never disappeared from jazz and folk music. On the other hand, it never developed in them, for they
are not cultivated species, growing best when left wild.

4 Tala is based on pulsation, Western rhythmic structure on phraseology.
8 For an interesting, detailed proof of this, see Casella's book on the cadence.

* The term "atonality" makes no sense. Schoenberg substitutes "pantonality," Lou Harrison ( to my mind and
experience the preferable term) "proto-tonality." This last term suggests what is actually the case: present even in
a random multiplicity of tones (or, better, sounds [so as to include noises]), is a gravity, original and natural,
"proto," to that particular situation. Elementary composition consists in discovering the ground of the sounds em-
ployed, and then letting life take place both on land and in the air.

7 Neither Schoenberg nor Stravinsky did this. The twelve-tone row does not offer a structural means; it is a
method, a control, not of the parts, large and small, of a composition, but only of the minute, note-to-note pro-
cedure. It usurps the place of counterpoint, which, as Carl Ruggles, Lou Harrison, and Merton Brown have shown,
is perfectly capable of functioning in a chromatic situation. Neo-classicism, in reverting to the past, avoids, by
refusing to recognize, the contemporary need for another structure, gives a new look to structural harmony. This
automatically deprives it of the sense of adventure, essential to creative action.

FORERUNNERS OF MODERN MUSIC/63

just as in a bombed-out city the opportunity to build again exists.8 This way one
finds courage and a sense of necessity.

Interlude (Meister Eckhart)

"But one must achieve this unselfconsciousness by means of transformed knowl-
edge. This ignorance does not come from lack of knowledge but rather it is from
knowledge that one may achieve this ignorance. Then we shall be informed by
the divine unconsciousness and in that our ignorance will be ennobled and adorned
with supernatural knowledge. It is by reason of this fact that we are made perfect
by what happens to us rather than by what we do."

At random

Music means nothing as a thing.

A finished work is exactly that, requires resurrection.

The responsibility of the artist consists in perfecting his work so that it may become attractively disinteresting.

It is better to make a piece of music than to perform one, better to perform one than to listen to one, better to
listen to one than to misuse it as a means of distraction, entertainment, or acquisition of "culture."

Use any means to keep from being a genius, all means to become one.

Is counterpoint good? "The soul itself is so simple that it cannot have more than one idea at a time of anything. . . .
A person cannot be more than single in attention." (Eckhart)

Freed from structural responsibility, harmony becomes a formal element (serves expression).

Imitating either oneself or others, care should be taken to imitate structure, not form (also structural materials
and structural methods, not formal materials and formal methods ) , disciplines, not dreams; thus one remains "inno-
cent and free to receive anew with each Now-moment a heavenly gift." ( Eckhart )

If the mind is disciplined, the heart turns quickly from fear towards love.

Before making a structure by means of rhythm, it is necessary to decide what rhythm is.

This could be a difficult decision to make if the concern were formal (expressive)
or to do with method (point to point procedure); but since the concern is struc-
tural (to do with divisibility of a composition into parts large and small), the
decision is easily reached: rhythm in the structural instance is relationships of
lengths of time.9 Such matters, then, as accents on or off the beat, regularly re-
curring or not, pulsation with or without accent, steady or unsteady, durations
motivically conceived (either static or to be varied), are matters for formal

8 The twelve-tone row offers bricks but no plan. The neo-classicists advise building it the way it was before,
but surfaced fashionably.

B Measure is literally measure— nothing more, for example, than the inch of a ruler— thus permitting the
existence of any durations, any amplitude relations (meter, accent), any silences.

64/SILENCE

Claim

( expressive ) use, or, if thought about, to be considered as material ( in its "textural"
aspect) or as serving method. In the case of a year, rhythmic structure is a matter of
seasons, months, weeks, and days. Other time lengths such as that taken by a fire
or the playing of a piece of music occur accidentally or freely without explicit recog-
nition of an all-embracing order, but nevertheless, necessarily within that order.
Coincidences of free events with structural time points have a special luminous
character, because the paradoxical nature of truth is at such moments made ap-
parent. Caesurae on the other hand are expressive of the independence ( accidental
or willed ) of freedom from law, law from freedom.

Any sounds of any qualities and pitches (known or unknown, definite or indefi-
nite), any contexts of these, simple or multiple, are natural and conceivable within
a rhythmic structure which equally embraces silence. Such a claim is remarkably
like the claims to be found in patent specifications for and articles about tech-
nological musical means ( see early issues of Modern Music and the Journal of the
Acoustical Society of America). From differing beginning points, towards possibly
different goals, technologists and artists (seemingly by accident) meet by inter-
section, becoming aware of the otherwise unknowable ( conjunction of the in and
the out), imagining brightly a common goal in the world and in the quietness
within each human being.

Just as art as sand painting ( art for the now-moment 10 rather than for posterity's
museum civilization) becomes a held point of view, adventurous workers in the
field of synthetic music (e.g. Norman McLaren) find that for practical and eco-
nomic reasons work with magnetic wires (any music so made can quickly and
easily be erased, rubbed off) is preferable to that with film.11

The use of technological means 12 requires the close anonymous collaboration
of a number of workers. We are on the point of being in a cultural situation,13

10 This is the very nature of the dance, of the performance of music, or any other art requiring performance
(for this reason, the term "sand painting" is used: there is a tendency in painting (permanent pigments), as in
poetry (printing, binding), to be secure in the thingness of a work, and thus to overlook, and place nearly insur-
mountable obstacles in the path of, instantaneous ecstasy).

11 Twenty-four or n frames per second is the "canvas" upon which this music is written; thus, in a very
obvious way, the material itself demonstrates the necessity for time (rhythmic) structure. With magnetic means,
freedom from the frame of film means exists, but the principle of rhythmic structure should hold over as, in geom-
etry, a more elementary theorem remains as a premise to make possible the obtaining of those more advanced.

u "I want to be as though new-born, knowing nothing, absolutely nothing about Europe." (Paul Klee)
13 Replete with new concert halls : the movie houses ( vacated by home television fans, and too numerous for
a Hollywood whose only alternative is "seriousness" ) .

FORERUNNERS OF MODERN MUSIC/65

For instance:

without having made any special effort to get into one1* (if one can discount
lamentation).

The in-the-heart path of music leads now to self-knowledge through self-
denial, and its in-the-world path leads likewise to selflessness.15 The heights that
now are reached by single individuals at special moments may soon be densely
populated.

" Painting in becoming literally (actually) realistic— (this is the twentieth century) seen from above, the earth,
snow-covered, a composition of order superimposed on the "spontaneous" (Cummings) or of the latter letting
order be (from above, so together, the opposites, they fuse) (one has only to fly [highways and topography,
Milarepa, Henry Ford] to know)— automatically will reach the same point (step by step) the soul leaped to.

" The machine fathers mothers heroes saints of the mythological order, works only when it meets with
acquiescence (cf. The King and the Corpse, by Heinrich Zimmer, edited by Joseph Campbell).

Peggy Guggenheim, Santomaso, and I were in a Venetian restaurant. There were only two other
people dining in the same room and they were not conversing. I got to expressing my changed views with
regard to the French and the Italians. I said that I had years before preferred the French because of their
intelligence and had found the Italians playful but intellectually not engaging; that recently, however, I
found the French cold in spirit and lacking in freedom of the mind, whereas the Italians seemed warm
and surprising. Then it occurred to me that the couple in the room were French. I called across to them
and said, "Are you French?" The lady replied. "We are," she said, "but we agree with you completely."

Richard Lippold called up and said, "Would you come to dinner and bring the I-Ching?" I said I
would. It turned out he'd written a letter to the Metropolitan proposing that he be commissioned for a
certain figure to do The Sun. This letter withheld nothing about the excellence of his art, and so he
hesitated to send it, not wishing to seem presumptuous. Using the coin oracle, we consulted the I-Ching.
It mentioned a letter. Advice to send it was given. Success was promised, but the need for patience was
mentioned. A few weeks later, Richard Lippold called to say that his proposal had been answered but
without commitment, and that that should make clear to me as it did to him what to think of the I-Ching.
A year passed. The Metropolitan Museum finally commissioned The Sun. Richard Lippold still does not
see eye to eye with me on the subject of chance operations.

The question of leading tones came up in the class in experimental composition that I give at the
New School. I said, "You surely aren't talking about ascending half-steps in diatonic music. Is it not true
that anything leads to whatever follows?" But the situation is more complex, for things also lead back-
wards in time. This also does not give a picture that corresponds with reality. For, it is said, the Buddha's
enlightenment penetrated in every direction to every point in space and time.

66/SILENCE

The following article was written at the request of Dr. Wolfgang Steinecke,
Director of the Internationale Ferienkiirse fiir Neue Musik at Darmstadt. The
German translation by Heinz Klaus Metzger was published in the 1959 issue
of Darmstadter Beitrage. The statement by Christian Wolff quoted herein is
from his article "New and Electronic Music," copyright 1958 by the Audience
Press, and reprinted by permission from Audience, Volume V, Number 3,
Summer 1958.

HISTORY OF EXPERIMENTAL MUSIC IN THE UNITED STATES

Once when Daisetz Teitaro Suzuki was giving a talk at Columbia Uni-
versity he mentioned the name of a Chinese monk who had figured in the
history of Chinese Buddhism. Suzuki said, "He lived in the ninth or the
tenth century." He added, after a pause, "Or the eleventh century, or the
twelfth or thirteenth century or the fourteenth."

About the same time, Willem de Kooning, the New York painter, gave
a talk at the Art Alliance in Philadelphia. Afterwards there was a discus-
sion: questions and answers. Someone asked De Kooning who the painters
of the past were who had influenced him the most. De Kooning said, "The
past does not influence me; I influence it."

A little over ten years ago I acted as music editor for a magazine called
Possibilities. Only one issue of this magazine appeared. However: in it, four
American composers (Virgil Thomson, Edgard Varese, Ben Weber, and
Alexei Haieff ) answered questions put to them by twenty other composers.
My question to Varese concerned his views of the future of music. His an-
swer was that neither the past nor the future interested him; that his con-
cern was with the present.

Sri Ramakrishna was once asked, "Why, if God is good, is there evil in
the world?" He said, "In order to thicken the plot." Nowadays in the field of
music, we often hear that everything is possible; ( for instance ) that with
electronic means one may employ any sound (any frequency, any ampli-
tude, any timbre, any duration) ; that there are no limits to possibility. This

HISTORY OF EXPERIMENTAL MUSIC IN THE UNITED STATES/67

is technically, nowadays, theoretically possible and in practical terms is
often felt to be impossible only because of the absence of mechanical aids
which, nevertheless, could be provided if the society felt the urgency of
musical advance. Debussy said quite some time ago, "Any sounds in any
combination and in any succession are henceforth free to be used in a
musical continuity." Paraphrasing the question put to Sri Ramakrishna and
the answer he gave, I would ask this: "Why, if everything is possible, do we
concern ourselves with history (in other words with a sense of what is
necessary to be done at a particular time?" And I would answer, "In order
to thicken the plot." In this view, then, all those interpenetrations which
seem at first glance to be hellish— history, for instance, if we are speaking
of experimental music— are to be espoused. One does not then make just
any experiment but does what must be done. By this I mean one does not
seek by his actions to arrive at money but does what must be done; one
does not seek by his actions to arrive at fame ( success ) but does what must
be done; one does not seek by his actions to provide pleasure to the senses
( beauty ) but does what must be done; one does not seek by his actions to
arrive at the establishing of a school (truth) but does what must be done.
One does something else. What else?

In an article called "New and Electronic Music," Christian Wolff says:
"What is, or seems to be, new in this music? . . . One finds a concern for a
kind of objectivity, almost anonymity— sound come into its own. The 'music'
is a resultant existing simply in the sounds we hear, given no impulse by ex-
pressions of self or personality. It is indifferent in motive, originating in no
psychology nor in dramatic intentions, nor in literary or pictorial purposes.
For at least some of these composers, then, the final intention is to be free
of artistry and taste. But this need not make their work 'abstract/ for noth-
ing, in the end, is denied. It is simply that personal expression, drama,
psychology, and the like are not part of the composer's initial calculation:
they are at best gratuitous.

"The procedure of composing tends to be radical, going directly to the
sounds and their characteristics, to the way in which they are produced and
how they are notated."

"Sound come into its own." What does that mean? For one thing: it
means that noises are as useful to new music as so-called musical tones, for
the simple reason that they are sounds. This decision alters the view of

68/SILENCE

history, so that one is no longer concerned with tonality or atonality,
Schoenberg or Stravinsky (the twelve tones or the twelve expressed as
seven plus five), nor with consonance and dissonance, but rather with
Edgard Varese who fathered forth noise into twentieth-century music. But
it is clear that ways must be discovered that allow noises and tones to be
just noises and tones, not exponents subservient to Varese's imagination.

What else did Varese do that is relevant to present necessity? He was
the first to write directly for instruments, giving up the practice of making
a piano sketch and later orchestrating it. What is unnecessary in Varese
( from a present point of view of necessity ) are all his mannerisms, of which
two stand out as signatures (the repeated note resembling a telegraphic
transmission and the cadence of a tone held through a crescendo to maxi-
mum amplitude). These mannerisms do not establish sounds in their own
right. They make it quite difficult to hear the sounds just as they are, for
they draw attention to Varese and his imagination.

What is the nature of an experimental action? It is simply an action
the outcome of which is not foreseen. It is therefore very useful if one has
decided that sounds are to come into their own, rather than being exploited
to express sentiments or ideas of order. Among those actions the outcomes
of which are not foreseen, actions resulting from chance operations are use-
ful. However, more essential than composing by means of chance opera-
tions, it seems to me now, is composing in such a way that what one does
is indeterminate of its performance. In such a case one can just work
directly, for nothing one does gives rise to anything that is preconceived.
This necessitates, of course, a rather great change in habits of notation. I
take a sheet of paper and place points on it. Next I make parallel fines on
a transparency, say five parallel lines. I establish five categories of sound
for the five lines, but I do not say which fine is which category. The trans-
parency may be placed on the sheet with points in any position and read-
ings of the points may be taken with regard to all the characteristics one
wishes to distinguish. Another transparency may be used for further meas-
urements, even altering the succession of sounds in time. In this situation
no chance operations are necessary ( for instance, no tossing of coins ) for
nothing is foreseen, though everything may be later minutely measured or
simply taken as a vague suggestion.

Implicit here, it seems to me, are principles familiar from modern

HISTORY OF EXPERIMENTAL MUSIC IN THE UNITED STATES/69

painting and architecture: collage and space. What makes this action like
Dada are the underlying philosophical views and the collagelike actions.
But what makes this action unlike Dada is the space in it. For it is the space
and emptiness that is finally urgently necessary at this point in history
(not the sounds that happen in it— or their relationships) (not the stones-
thinking of a Japanese stone garden— or their relationships but the empti-
ness of the sand which needs the stones anywhere in the space in order to
be empty). When I said recently in Darmstadt that one could write music
by observing the imperfections in the paper upon which one was writing, a
student who did not understand because he was full of musical ideas asked,
"Would one piece of paper be better than another: one for instance that
had more imperfections?" He was attached to sounds and because of his
attachment could not let sounds be just sounds. He needed to attach himself
to the emptiness, to the silence. Then things— sounds, that is— would come
into being of themselves. Why is this so necessary that sounds should be
just sounds? There are many ways of saying why. One is this: In order that
each sound may become the Buddha. If that is too Oriental an expression,
take the Christian Gnostic statement: "Split the stick and there is Jesus."

We know now that sounds and noises are not just frequencies
( pitches ) : that is why so much of European musical studies and even so
much of modern music is no longer urgently necessary. It is pleasant if you
happen to hear Beethoven or Chopin or whatever, but it isn't urgent to do
so any more. Nor is harmony or counterpoint or counting in meters of two,
three, or four or any other number. So that much of Ives ( Charles Ives ) is
no longer experimental or necessary for us (though people are so used to
knowing that he was the first to do such and such). He did do things in
space and in collage, and he did say, Do this or this (whichever you
choose), and so indeterminacy which is so essential now did enter into his
music. But his meters and rhythms are no longer any more important for
us than curiosities of the past like the patterns one finds in Stravinsky.
Counting is no longer necessary for magnetic tape music ( where so many
inches or centimeters equal so many seconds ) : magnetic tape music makes
it clear that we are in time itself, not in measures of two, three, or four or
any other number. And so instead of counting we use watches if we want
to know where in time we are, or rather where in time a sound is to be. All
this can be summed up by saying each aspect of sound (frequency, ampli-

70/SILENCE

tude, timbre, duration ) is to be seen as a continuum, not as a series of dis-
crete steps favored by conventions (Occidental or Oriental). (Clearly all
the Americana aspects of Ives are in the way of sound coming into its own,
since sounds by their nature are no more American than they are Egyptian. )
Carl Ruggles? He works and reworks a handful of compositions so that
they better and better express his intentions, which perhaps ever so slightly
are changing. His work is therefore not experimental at all but in a most
sophisticated way attached to the past and to art.

Henry Cowell was for many years the open sesame for new music in
America. Most selflessly he published the New Music Edition and encour-
aged the young to discover new directions. From him, as from an efficient
information booth, you could always get not only the address and telephone
number of anyone working in a lively way in music, but you could also get
an unbiased introduction from him as to what that anyone was doing. He
was not attached (as Varese also was not attached) to what seemed to so
many to be the important question: Whether to follow Schoenberg or
Stravinsky. His early works for piano, long before Varese's Ionization
(which, by the way, was published by Cowell), by their tone clusters and
use of the piano strings, pointed towards noise and a continuum of timbre.
Other works of his are indeterminate in ways analogous to those currently
in use by Boulez and Stockhausen. For example: Cowell's Mosaic Quartet,
where the performers, in any way they choose, produce a continuity from
composed blocks provided by him. Or his Elastic Musics, the time lengths
of which can be short or long through the use or omission of measures
provided by him. These actions by Cowell are very close to current experi-
mental compositions which have parts but no scores, and which are there-
fore not objects but processes providing experience not burdened by
psychological intentions on the part of the composer.

And in connection with musical continuity, Cowell remarked at the
New School before a concert of works by Christian Wolff, Earle Brown,
Morton Feldman, and myself, that here were four composers who were
getting rid of glue. That is: Where people had felt the necessity to stick
sounds together to make a continuity, we four felt the opposite necessity to
get rid of the glue so that sounds would be themselves.

Christian Wolff was the first to do this. He wrote some pieces vertically
on the page but recommended their being played horizontally left to right,

HISTORY OF EXPERIMENTAL MUSIC IN THE UNITED STATES/71

as is conventional. Later he discovered other geometrical means for freeing
his music of intentional continuity. Morton Feldman divided pitches into
three areas, high, middle, and low, and established a time unit. Writing on
graph paper, he simply inscribed numbers of tones to be played at any
time within specified periods of time.

There are people who say, "If music's that easy to write, I could do it."
Of course they could, but they don't. I find Feldman's own statement more
affirmative. We were driving back from some place in New England where
a concert had been given. He is a large man and falls asleep easily. Out of
a sound sleep, he awoke to say, "Now that things are so simple, there's so
much to do." And then he went back to sleep.

Giving up control so that sounds can be sounds (they are not men:
they are sounds) means for instance: the conductor of an orchestra is no
longer a policeman. Simply an indicator of time— not in beats— like a chro-
nometer. He has his own part. Actually he is not necessary if all the players
have some other way of knowing what time it is and how that time is
changing.

What else is there to say about the history of experimental music in
America? Probably a lot. But we don't need to talk about neo-classicism
(I agree with Varese when he says neo-classicism is indicative of intel-
lectual poverty ), nor about the twelve-tone system. In Europe, the number
twelve has already been dropped and in a recent lecture Stockhausen ques-
tions the current necessity for the concept of a series. ElliottjCarter's ideas
about rhythmic modulation are not experimental. They just extend sophis-
tication out from tonality ideas towards ideas about modulation from one
tempo to another. They put a new wing on the academy and open no doors
to the world outside the school. Cowell's present interests in the various
traditions, Oriental and early American, are not experimental but eclectic.
Jazz per se derives from serious music. And when serious music derives
from it, the situation becomes rather silly.

One must make an exception in the case of William Russell. Though
still living, he no longer composes. His works, though stemming from jazz
—hot jazz— New Orleans and Chicago styles— were short, epigrammatic,
original, and entirely interesting. It may be suspected that he lacked the
academic skills which would have enabled him to extend and develop his
ideas. The fact is, his pieces were all expositions without development and

72/S1LENCE

therefore, even today, twenty years after their composition, interesting to
hear. He used string drums made from kerosene cans, washboards, out-of-
tune upright pianos; he cut a board such a length that it could be used to
play all the eighty-eight piano keys at once.

If one uses the word "experimental" ( somewhat differently than I have
been using it) to mean simply the introduction of novel elements into one's
music, we find that America has a rich history: the clusters of Leo Ornstein,
the resonances of Dane Rudhyar, the near-Eastern aspects of Alan Hov-
haness, the tack piano of Lou Harrison, my own prepared piano, the dis-
tribution in space of instrumental ensembles in works by Henry Brant, the
sliding tones of Ruth Crawford and, more recently, Gunther Schuller, the
microtones and novel instruments of Harry Partch, the athematic continu-
ity of cliches of Virgil Thomson. These are not experimental composers in
my terminology, but neither are they part of the stream of European music
which though formerly divided into neo-classicism and dodecaphony has
become one in America under Arthur Berger's term, consolidation: consoli-
dation of the acquisitions of Schoenberg and Stravinsky.

Actually America has an intellectual climate suitable for radical ex-
perimentation. We are, as Gertrude Stein said, the oldest country of the
twentieth century. And I like to add: in our air way of knowing nowness.
Buckminster Fuller, the dymaxion architect, in his three-hour lecture on
the history of civilization, explains that men leaving Asia to go to Europe
went against the wind and developed machines, ideas, and Occidental
philosophies in accord with a struggle against nature; that, on the other
hand, men leaving Asia to go to America went with the wind, put up a
sail, and developed ideas and Oriental philosophies in accord with the
acceptance of nature. These two tendencies met in America, producing a
movement into the air, not bound to the past, traditions, or whatever. Once
in Amsterdam, a Dutch musician said to me, "It must be very difficult for
you in America to write music, for you are so far away from the centers of
tradition." I had to say, "It must be very difficult for you in Europe to write
music, for you are so close to the centers of tradition." Why, since the
climate for experimentation in America is so good, why is American ex-
perimental music so lacking in strength politically (I mean unsupported
by those with money [individuals and foundations], unpublished, undis-
cussed, ignored) , and why is there so little of it that is truly uncompromis-

HISTORY OF EXPERIMENTAL MUSIC IN THE UNITED STATES/73

ing? I think the answer is this: Until 1950 about all the energy for furthering
music in America was concentrated either in the League of Composers or
in the ISCM ( another way of saying Boulanger and Stravinsky on the one
hand and Schoenberg on the other). The New Music Society of Henry
Cowell was independent and therefore not politically strong. Anything that
was vividly experimental was discouraged by the League and the ISCM.
So that a long period of contemporary music history in America was devoid
of performances of works by Ives and Varese. Now the scene changes, but
the last few years have been quiet. The League and the ISCM fused and,
so doing, gave no concerts at all. We may trust that new life will spring up,
since society like nature abhors a vacuum.

What about music for magnetic tape in America? Otto Luening and
Vladimir Ussachevsky call themselves experimental because of their use
of this new medium. However, they just continue conventional musical
practices, at most extending the ranges of instruments electronically and
so forth. The Barrons, Louis and Bebe, are also cautious, doing nothing
that does not have an immediate popular acceptance. The Canadian
Norman McLaren, working with film, is more adventurous than these— also
the Whitney brothers in California. Henry Jacobs and those who surround
him in the San Francisco area are as conventional as Luening, Ussachevsky,
and the Barrons. These do not move in directions that are as experimental
as those taken by the Europeans: Pousseur, Berio, Maderna, Boulez, Stock-
hausen, and so forth. For this reason one can complain that the society of
musicians in America has neither recognized nor furthered its native musi-
cal resource ( by "native" I mean that resource which distinguishes it from
Europe and Asia— its capacity to easily break with tradition, to move easily
into the air, its capacity for the unforeseen, its capacity for experimenta-
tion ) . The figures in the ISCM and the League, however, were not powerful
aesthetically, but powerful only politically. The names of Stravinsky,
Schoenberg, Webern are more golden than any of their American deriva-
tives. These latter have therefore little musical influence, and now that
they are becoming quiescent politically, one may expect a change in the
musical society.

The vitality that characterizes the current European musical scene
follows from the activities of Boulez, Stockhausen, Nono, Maderna, Pous-
seur, Berio, etc. There is in all of this activity an element of tradition, con-

74/SILENCE

tinuity with the past, which is expressed in each work as an interest in
continuity whether in terms of discourse or organization. By critics this
activity is termed post-Webernian. However, this term apparently means
only music written after that of Webern, not music written because of that
of Webern: there is no sign of klangfarbenmelodie, no concern for discon-
tinuity—rather a surprising acceptance of even the most banal of continuity
devices: ascending or descending linear passages, crescendi and diminu-
endi, passages from tape to orchestra that are made imperceptible. The
skills that are required to bring such events about are taught in the acad-
emies. However, this scene will change. The silences of American experi-
mental music and even its technical involvements with chance operations
are being introduced into new European music. It will not be easy, how-
ever, for Europe to give up being Europe. It will, nevertheless, and must:
for the world is one world now.

History is the story of original actions. Once when Virgil Thomson was
giving a talk at Town Hall in New York City, he spoke of the necessity of
originality. The audience immediately hissed. Why are people opposed to
originality? Some fear the loss of the status quo. Others realize, I suppose,
the fact that they will not make it. Make what? Make history. There are
kinds of originality: several that are involved with success, beauty, and
ideas (of order, of expression: i.e., Bach, Beethoven); a single that is not
involved, neuter, so to say. All of the several involved kinds are generally
existent and only bring one sooner or later to a disgust with art. Such orig-
inal artists appear, as Antonin Artaud said, as pigs: concerned with self-
advertisement. What is advertised? Finally, and at best, only something
that is connected not with making history but with the past: Bach, Beetho-
ven. If it's a new idea of order, it's Bach; if it's a heartfelt expression, it's
Beethoven. That is not the single necessary originality that is not involved
and that makes history. That one sees that the human race is one person
(all of its members parts of the same body, brothers— not in competition
any more than hand is in competition with eye) enables him to see that
originality is necessary, for there is no need for eye to do what hand so well
does. In this way, the past and the present are to be observed and each
person makes what he alone must make, bringing for the whole of human
society into existence a historical fact, and then, on and on, in continuum
and discontinuum.

HISTORY OF EXPERIMENTAL MUSIC IN THE UNITED STATES/75

The text below first appeared in the 1958 Art News Annual. It is an imaginary
conversation between Satie and myself. Because he died over thirty years
before, neither of us hears what the other says. His remarks are ones he is
reported to have made and excerpts from his writings.

ERIK SATIE

There'll probably be some music, but we'll manage
to find a quiet corner where we can talk.

A few days ago it rained. I should be out gathering
mushrooms. But here I am, having to write about
Satie. In an unguarded moment I said I would.
Now I am pestered with a deadline. Why, in
heaven's name, don't people read the books about
him that are available, play the music that's pub-
lished? Then I for one could go back to the woods
and spend my time profitably.

Nevertheless, we must bring about a music which
is like furniture— a music, that is, which will be part
of the noises of the environment, will take them
into consideration. I think of it as melodious, sof-
tening the noises of the knives and forks, not domi-
nating them, not imposing itself. It would fill up
those heavy silences that sometimes fall between
friends dining together. It would spare them the
trouble of paying attention to their own banal re-
marks. And at the same time it would neutralize
the street noises which so indiscretely enter into
the play of conversation. To make such music
would be to respond to a need.

Records, too, are available. But it would be an act
of charity even to oneself to smash them whenever

76/SILENCE

they are discovered. They are useless except for
that and for the royalties which the composer,
dead now some thirty-odd years, can no longer
pick up.

We cannot doubt that animals both love and prac-
tice music. That is evident. But it seems their musi-
cal system differs from ours. It is another school.
. . . We are not familiar with their didactic works.
Perhaps they don't have any.

Who's interested in Satie nowadays anyway? Not
Pierre Boulez: he has the twelve tones, governs
La Domaine Musicale, whereas Satie had only the
Group of Six and was called Le Maitre d'Arcueil.
Nor Stockhausen: I imagine he has not yet given
Satie a thought. . . . Current musical activities in-
volve two problems: ( 1 ) applying the idea of the
series inherent in the twelve-tone system to the
organization of all the characteristics of sound,
viz., frequency, duration, amplitude, timbre, pro-
ducing a more controlled situation than before
attempted (Stockhausen: "It makes me feel so
good to know that I am on the right track.") ; and
(2a) discovering and acting upon the new musi-
cal resources ( all audible sounds in any combina-
tion and any continuity issuing from any points
in space in any transformations) handed to us
upon the magnetic plate of tape, or ( 2b ) some-
how arranging economical instrumental occasions
(tape is expensive) so that the action which re-
sults presupposes a totality of possibility. ... Is
Satie relevant in mid-century?

I am bored with dying of a broken heart. Every-
thing I timidly start fails with a boldness before
unknown. What can I do but turn towards God

ERIK SATIE/77

and point my finger at him? I have come to the
conclusion that the old man is even more stupid
than he is weak.

Taking the works of Satie chronologically ( 1886-
1925), successive ones often appear as completely
new departures. Two pieces will be so different as
not to suggest that the same person wrote them.
Now and then, on the other hand, works in suc-
cession are so alike, sometimes nearly identical, as
to bring to mind the annual exhibitions of painters,
and to allow musicologists to discern stylistic pe-
riods. Students busy themselves with generalized
analyses of harmonic, melodic, and rhythmic mat-
ters with the object of showing that in Socrate all
these formal principles are found, defined, and re-
united in a homogeneous fashion ( as befits a mas-
terpiece). From this student point of view, Pierre
Boulez is justified in rejecting Satie. Le bon
Maitre's harmonies, melodies, and rhythms are no
longer of interest. They provide pleasure for those
who have no better use for their time. They've lost
their power to irritate. True, one could not endure
a performance of Vexations ( lasting [my estimate]
twenty-four hours; 840 repetitions of a fifty-two
beat piece itself involving a repetitive structure:
A,Ai,A,A2, each A thirteen measures long), but
why give it a thought?

How white it is! no painting ornaments it; it is all
of a piece. ( Reverie on a plate )

An artist conscientiously moves in a direction
which for some good reason he takes, putting one
work in front of the other with the hope he'll ar-
rive before death overtakes him. But Satie de-
spised Art ("J'emmerde VArt"). He was going

78/SILENCE

L.

nowhere. The artist counts: 7, 8, 9, etc. Satie ap-
pears at unpredictable points springing always
from zero: 112, 2, 49, no etc. The absence of transi-
tion is characteristic not only between finished
works, but at divisions, large and small, within a
single one. It was in the same way that Satie made
his living: he never took a regular (continuity-
giving) job, plus raises and bonuses (climaxes).
No one can say for sure anything about the String
Quartet he was on the point of writing when he
died.

They will tell you I am not a musician. That's right.
. . . Take the Fils des Etoiles or the Morceaux en
forme de poire, En habit de cheval or the Sara-
bandes, it is clear no musical idea presided at the
creation of these works.

Curiously enough, the twelve-tone system has no
zero in it. Given a series: 3, 5, 2, 7, 10, 8, 11, 9, 1, 6,
4, 12 and the plan of obtaining its inversion by
numbers which when added to the corresponding
ones of the original series will give 12, one obtains
9, 7, 10, 5, 2, 4, 1, 3, 11, 6, 8 and 12. For in this sys-
tem 12 plus 12 equals 12. There is not enough of
nothing in it.

It's a large stairway, very large.

It has more than a thousand steps, all made of ivory.

It is very handsome.

Nobody dares use it

For fear of spoiling it.

The King himself never does.

Leaving his room

He jumps out the window.

ERIK SATIE/79

So, he often says:

I love this stairway so much

I'm going to have it stuffed.

Isn't the King right?

Is it not a question of the will, this one, I mean, of
giving consideration to the sounds of the knives
and forks, the street noises, letting them enter in?,
(Or call it magnetic tape, musique concrete,
furniture music. It's the same thing: working in
terms of totality, not just the discretely chosen
conventions. )

Why is it necessary to give the sounds of knives
and forks consideration? Satie says so. He is right.
Otherwise the music will have to have walls to
defend itself, walls which will not only constantly
be in need of repair, but which, even to get a drink
of water, one will have to pass beyond, inviting
disaster. It is evidently a question of bringing
one's intended actions into relation with the am-
bient unintended ones. The common denominator
is zero, where the heart beats (no one means to
circulate his blood ) .

Show me something new; I'll begin all over again.

Of course "it is another school"— this moving out
from zero.

Flowers! But, dear lady, it is too soon!

80/SILENCE

To repeat: a sound has four characteristics: fre-
quency, amplitude, timbre and duration. Silence
(ambient noise) has only duration. A zero musi-
cal structure must be just an empty time. Satie
made at least three kinds of empty time structures:

6

A:

(numbers are of measures). Symmetry, which
itself suggests zero, is here horizontal, whereas in:

6

B:

6

it is vertical; and in:

C:

1

2

2 2
1 11 1

2

1 1

1

2
1 1

it is geometric ( the large numbers are groups of
measures ) .

V

When I was young, people told me: You'll see
when you're fifty. I'm fifty. I've seen nothing.

A time that's just time will let sounds be just
sounds and if they are folk tunes, unresolved ninth
chords, or knives and forks, just folk tunes, un-
resolved ninth chords, or knives and forks.

I am in complete agreement with our enemies. It's
a shame that artists advertise. However, Beethoven
was not clumsy in his publicity. That's how he be-
came known, I believe.

ERIK SATIE/81

I

It ( L'Esprit Nouveau) teaches us to tend towards
an absence (simplicite) of emotion and an inac-
tivity (fermete) in the way of prescribing sonori-
ties and rhythms which lets them affirm themselves
clearly, in a straight line from their plan and pitch,
conceived in a spirit of humility and renunciation.

To be interested in Satie one must be disinterested*
to begin with, accept that a sound is a sound and
a man is a man, give up illusions about ideas of
order, expressions of sentiment, and all the rest of
our inherited aesthetic claptrap.

If I fail, so much the worse for me. It's because I
had nothing in me to begin with.

It's not a question of Satie's relevance. He's indis-
pensable.

No longer anything to be done in that direction, I
must search for something else or I am lost.

This subject is entertaining ( "What's necessary is
to be uncompromising to the end") but it is getting
nowhere, and more than ever there are things to
be done.

Listen, my friends, when I leave you like this and
must go home on foot, it is towards dawn I come
near Arcueil. When I pass through the woods, the
birds beginning to sing, I see an old tree, its leaves
rustling, I go near, I put my arms around it and
think, What a good character, never to have
harmed anyone.

—and, on another occasion,

Personally, I am neither good nor bad. I oscillate,
if I may say so. Also I've never really done anyone
any harm— nor any good, to boot.

82/SILENCE

The Fall 1958 issue of Nutida Musik (Stockholm) was devoted to the work of
Edgard Varese. I contributed the following article.

EDGARD VARESE

Changes which are characteristic of a living organism (and twentieth-
century music is one) have become recently more marked and occur in
more rapid succession. In the history Varese appears sometimes as a figure
of the past; and, again, as one active according to present necessities.

Facts about his life and work are difficult to obtain. He considers in-
terest in them to be a form of necrophilia; he prefers to leave no traces.
Analytical studies of his work are somehow not relevant to one's experience
of it. Though Varese has defined music as "organized sound," it is unclear
how he brings about the organization of his works. He has often insisted
upon imagination as a sine qua non, and the presence of his imagination is
strong as handwriting in each of his works. The characteristic flourish is a
tone sustained through a crescendo to the maximum amplitude.

For those who are interested in sounds just as they are, apart from
psychology about them, one must look further for Varese's present rele-
vance. This is not found in the character of his imagination, which has to do
with him— not with sound itself. Nor is his use of tape relevant, for in Deserts
he attempts to make tape sound like the orchestra and vice versa, showing
again a lack of interest in the natural differences of sounds, preferring to
give them all his unifying signature. In this respect his need for continuity
does not correspond to the present need for discontinuity (discontinuity
has the effect of divorcing sounds from the burden of psychological inten-
tions ) . Though Varese was the first to write directly for instrumental en-
sembles ( giving up the piano sketch and its orchestral coloration), his way

EDGARD VARESE/83

of doing this was controlled by his imagination to the point of exploiting
the sounds for his own purposes.

Recently ( 1957-1958 ) he has found a notation for jazz improvisation
of a form controlled by himself. Though the specific notes are not deter-
mined by him, the amplitudes are; they are characteristic of his imagina-
tion, and the improvisations, though somewhat indeterminate, sound like
his other works.

In these respects Varese is an artist of the past. Rather than dealing
with sounds as sounds, he deals with them as Varese.

However, more clearly and actively than anyone else of his generation,
he established the present nature of music. This nature does not arise from
pitch relations ( consonance-dissonance ) nor from twelve tones nor seven
plus five (Schoenberg-Stravinsky), but arises from an acceptance of all
audible phenomena as material proper to music. While others were still
discriminating "musical" tones from noises, Varese moved into the field of
sound itself, not splitting it in two by introducing into the perception of it a
mental prejudice. That he fathered forth noise— that is to say, into twentieth-
century music— makes him more relative to present musical necessity than
even the Viennese masters, whose notion of the number 12 was some time
ago dropped and shortly, surely, their notion of the series will be seen as
no longer urgently necessary.

One summer day, Merce Cunningham and I took eight children to Bear Mountain Park. The paths
through the zoo were crowded. Some of the children ran ahead, while others fell behind. Every now
and then we stopped, gathered all the children together, and counted them to make sure none had been
lost. Since it was very hot and the children were getting difficult, we decided to buy them ice cream
cones. This was done in shifts. While I stayed with some, Merce Cunningham took others, got them cones,
and brought them back. I took the ones with cones. He took those without. Eventually all the children
were supplied with ice cream. However, they got it all over their faces. So we went to a water fountain
where people were lined up to get a drink, put the children in line, tried to keep them there, and waited
our turn. Finally, I knelt beside the fountain. Merce Cunningham turned it on. Then I proceeded one by
one to wash the children's faces. While I was doing this, a man behind us in line said rather loudly,
"There's a washroom over there." I looked up at him quickly and said, "Where? And how did you know
I was interested in mushrooms?"

84/SILENCE

One day I asked Schoenberg what he thought about the international situation. He said, "The im-
portant thing to do is to develop foreign trade."

Earle Brown and I spent several months splicing magnetic tape together. We sat on opposite sides
of the same table. Each of us had a pattern of the splicing to be done, the measurements to be made, etc.
Since we were working on tapes that were later to be synchronized, we checked our measurements every
now and then against each other. We invariably discovered errors in each other's measurements. At first
each of us thought the other was being careless. When the whole situation became somewhat exasperating,
we took a single ruler and a single tape and each one marked where he thought an inch was. The two
marks were at different points. It turned out that Earle Brown closed one eye when he made his measure-
ments, whereas I kept both eyes open. We then tried closing one of my eyes, and later opening both of
his. There still was disagreement as to the length of an inch. Finally we decided that one person should
do all the final synchronizing splices. But then errors crept in due to changes in weather. In spite of these
obstacles, we went on doing what we were doing for about five more months, twelve hours a day, until
the work was finished.

Dorothy Norman invited me to dinner in New York. There was a lady there from Philadelphia who
was an authority on Buddhist art. When she found out I was interested in mushrooms, she said, "Have
you an explanation of the symbolism involved in the death of the Buddha by his eating a mushroom?"
I explained that I'd never been interested in symbolism; that I preferred just taking things as themselves,
not as standing for other things. But then a few days later while rambling in the woods I got to thinking.
I recalled the Indian concept of the relation of life and the seasons. Spring is Creation. Summer is
Preservation. Fall is Destruction. Winter is Quiescence. Mushrooms grow most vigorously in the fall, the
period of destruction, and the function of many of them is to bring about the final decay of rotting
material. In fact, as I read somewhere, the world would be an impassible heap of old rubbish were it
not for mushrooms and their capacity to get rid of it. So I wrote to the lady in Philadelphia. I said, "The
function of mushrooms is to rid the world of old rubbish. The Buddha died a natural death."

Once I was visiting my Aunt Marge. She was doing her laundry. She turned to me and said, "You
know? I love this machine much more than I do your Uncle Walter."

One Sunday morning, Mother said to Dad, "Let's go to church." Dad said, "O.K." When they drove
up in front, Dad showed no sign of getting out of the car. Mother said, "Aren't you coming in?" Dad
said, "No, I'll wait for you here."

After a long and arduous journey a young Japanese man arrived deep in a forest where the teacher
of his choice was living in a small house he had made. When the student arrived, the teacher was
sweeping up fallen leaves. Greeting his master, the young man received no greeting in return. And to
all his questions, there were no replies. Realizing there was nothing he could do to get the teacher's
attention, the student went to another part of the same forest and built himself a house. Years later, when
he was sweeping up fallen leaves, he was enlightened. He then dropped everything, ran through the
forest to his teacher, and said, "Thank you."

EDGARD VARESE/85

While I was studying with Adolph Weiss in the early 1930's, I became aware
of his unhappiness in face of the fact that his music was rarely performed. I too
had experienced difficulty in arranging performances of my compositions, so
I determined to consider a piece of music only half done when I completed a
manuscript. It was my responsibility to finish it by getting it played.

It was evident that musicians interested in new music were rare. It was
equally evident that modern dancers were grateful for any sounds or noises
that could be produced for their recitals. My first commission was from the
Physical Education Department of U.C.L.A. An accompaniment for an aquatic
ballet was needed. Using drums and gongs, I found that the swimmers
beneath the surface of the water, not being able to hear the sounds, lost their
places. Dipping the gongs into the water while still playing them solved the
problems of synchronization and brought the sliding tones of the "water gong"
into the percussion orchestra.

FOUR STATEMENTS ON THE DANCE

Very soon I was earning a livelihood accompanying dance classes and
occasionally writing music for performances. In 1937 I was at the Cornish
School in Seattle, associated with Bonnie Bird, who had danced with Martha
Graham. Merce Cunningham was a student, so remarkable that he soon left
Seattle for New York, where he became a soloist in the Graham company. Four
or five years later I went to New York and encouraged Cunningham to give
programs of his own dances. We have worked together since 1943.

86/SILENCE

This article was part of a series, Percussion Music and Its Relation to the
Modern Dance, that appeared in Dance Observer in 1939. It was written in
Seattle where I had organized a concert- giving percussion ensemble.

Goal: New Music, New Dance

Percussion music is revolution. Sound and rhythm have too long been sub-
missive to the restrictions of nineteenth-century music. Today we are fight-
ing for their emancipation. Tomorrow, with electronic music in our ears,
we will hear freedom.

Instead of giving us new sounds, the nineteenth-century composers
have given us endless arrangements of the old sounds. We have turned on
radios and always known when we were tuned to a symphony. The sound
has always been the same, and there has not been even a hint of curiosity as
to the possibilities of rhythm. For interesting rhythms we have listened
to jazz.

At the present stage of revolution, a healthy lawlessness is warranted.
Experiment must necessarily be carried on by hitting anything— tin pans,
rice bowls, iron pipes— anything we can lay our hands on. Not only hitting,
but rubbing, smashing, making sound in every possible way. In short, we
must explore the materials of music. What we can't do ourselves will be
done by machines and electrical instruments which we will invent.

The conscientious objectors to modern music will, of course, attempt
everything in the way of counterrevolution. Musicians will not admit that
we are making music; they will say that we are interested in superficial
effects, or, at most, are imitating Oriental or primitive music. New and
original sounds will be labeled as "noise." But our common answer to every
criticism must be to continue working and listening, making music with its
materials, sound and rhythm, disregarding the cumbersome, top-heavy
structure of musical prohibitions.

FOUR STATEMENTS ON THE DANCE/87

These prohibitions removed, the choreographer will be quick to real-
ize a great advantage to the modern dance: the simultaneous composition
of both dance and music. The materials of dance, already including rhythm,
require only the addition of sound to become a rich, complete vocabulary.
The dancer should be better equipped than the musician to use this vo-
cabulary, for more of the materials are already at his command. Some
dancers have made steps in this direction by making simple percussion
accompaniments. Their use of percussion, unfortunately, has not been con-
structive. They have followed the rhythm of their own dance movement,
accentuated it and punctuated it with percussion, but they have not given
the sound its own and special part in the whole composition. They have
made the music identical with the dance but not cooperative with it.
Whatever method is used in composing the materials of the dance can be
extended to the organization of the musical materials. The form of the
music-dance composition should be a necessary working together of all
materials used. The music will then be more than an accompaniment; it
will be an integral part of the dance.

When I was growing up in California there were two things that everyone assumed were good for
you. There were, of course, others— spinach and oatmeal, for instance— but right now I'm thinking of
sunshine and orange juice. When we lived at Ocean Park, I was sent out every morning to the beach
where I spent the day building roily-coasters in the sand, complicated downhill tracks with tunnels and
inclines upon which I rolled a small hard rubber ball. Every day toward noon I fainted because the sun
was too much for me. When I fainted I didn't fall down, but I couldn't see; there were flocks of black
spots wherever I looked. I soon learned to find my way in that blindness to a hamburger stand where I'd
ask for something to eat. Sitting in the shade, I'd come to. It took me much longer, about thirty-five years
in fact, to learn that orange juice was not good for me either.

Before studying Zen, men are men and mountains are mountains. While studying Zen, things become
confused. After studying Zen, men are men and mountains are mountains. After telling this, Dr. Suzuki
was asked, "What is the difference between before and after?" He said, "No difference, only the feet are
a little bit off the ground."

88/SILENCE

The following piece was printed in Dance Observer in 1944.

Grace and Clarity

The strength that comes from firmly established art practices is not present
in the modern dance today. Insecure, not having any clear direction, the
modern dancer is willing to compromise and to accept influences from
other more rooted art manners, enabling one to remark that certain dancers
are either borrowing from or selling themselves to Broadway, others are
learning from folk and Oriental arts, and many are either introducing into
their work elements of the ballet, or, in an all-out effort, devoting them-
selves to it. Confronted with its history, its former power, its present in-
security, the realization is unavoidable that the strength the modern dance
once had was not impersonal but was intimately connected with and ulti-
mately dependent on the personalities and even the actual physical bodies
of the individuals who imparted it.

The techniques of the modern dance were once orthodox. It did not
enter a dancer's mind that they might be altered. To add to them was the
sole privilege of the originators.

Intensive summer courses were the scenes of the new dispensations,
reverently transmitted by the master-students. When the fanatically
followed leaders began, and when they continued, to desert their own
teachings (adapting chiefly balletish movements to their own rapidly-
growing-less-rigorous techniques ) , a general and profound insecurity fell
over the modern dance.

Where any strength now exists in the modern dance, it is, as before,
in isolated personalities and physiques. In the case of the young, this is
unfortunate; for, no matter how impressive and revelatory their expressed

FOUR STATEMENTS ON THE DANCE/89

outlooks on life are, they are overshadowed, in the minds of audiences, and
often, understandably, in the dancers' own minds, by the more familiar,
more respected, and more mature older personalities.

Personality is a flimsy thing on which to build an art. ( This does not
mean that it should not enter into an art, for, indeed, that is what is meant
by the word style. ) And the ballet is obviously not built on such an ephem-
eron, for, if it were, it would not at present thrive as it does, almost devoid
of interesting personalities and certainly without the contribution of any
individual's message or attitude toward life.

That the ballet has something seems reasonable to assume. That what
it has is what the modern dance needs is here expressed as an opinion.

It is seriously to be doubted whether tour jetS, entrechat six, or sur les
pointes (in general) are needed in the modern dance. Even the prettiness
and fanciness of these movements would not seem to be requisite. Also, it
is not true that the basis of the ballet lies in glittering costumes and sets, for
many of the better ballets appear year after year in drab, weather-beaten
accoutrements.

Ballets like Les Sylphides, Swan Lake, almost any Pas de Deux or
Quatre, and currently, the exceptional Danses Concertantes have a strength
and validity quite beyond and separate from the movements involved,
whether or not they are done with style (expressed personality), the orna-
mented condition of the stage, quality of costumery, sound of the music,
or any other particularities, including those of content. Nor does the secret
lie in that mysterious quantity, form. (The forms of the ballet are mostly
dull; symmetry is maintained practically without question. )

Good or bad, with or without meaning, well dressed or not, the ballet
is always clear in its rhythmic structure. Phrases begin and end in such a
way that anyone in the audience knows when they begin and end, and
breathes accordingly. It may seem at first thought that rhythmic structure
is not of primary importance. However, a dance, a poem, a piece of music
( any of the time arts ) occupies a length of time, and the manner in which
this length of time is divided first into large parts and then into phrases
(or built up from phrases to form eventual larger parts) is the work's very
life structure. The ballet is in possession of a tradition of clarity of its rhyth-
mic structure. Essential devices for bringing this about have been handed
down generation after generation. These particular devices, again, are not

90/SILENCE

to be borrowed from the ballet: they are private to it. But the function they
fulfill is not private; it is, on the contrary, universal.

Oriental dancing, for instance, is clear in its phraseology. It has its own
devices for obtaining it. Hot jazz is never unclear rhythmically. The poems
of Gerard Manley Hopkins, with all their departure from tradition, enable
the reader to breathe with them. The modern dance, on the other hand, is
rarely clear.

When a modern dancer has followed music that was clear in its phrase
structure, the dance has had a tendency to be clear. The widespread habit
of choreographing the dance first, and obtaining music for it later, is not in
itself here criticized. But the fact that modern choreographers have been
concerned with things other than clarity of rhythmic structure has made
the appearance of it, when the dance-first-music-later method was used,
both accidental and isolated. This has led to a disregard of rhythmic struc-
ture even in the case of dancing to music already written, for, in a work
like Martha Graham's Deaths and Entrances, an audience can know where
it is in relation to the action only through repeated seeings and the belying
action of memory. On the other hand, Martha Graham and Louis Horst
together were able to make magnificently clear and moving works like their
Frontier, which works, however, stand alarmingly alone in the history of
the modern dance.

The will to compromise, mentioned above, and the admirable humility
implied in the willingness to learn from other art manners is adolescent, but
it is much closer to maturity than the childish blind following of leaders
that was characteristic of the modern dance several years ago. If, in receiv-
ing influences from the outside, the modern dance is satisfied with copying,
or adapting to itself, surface particularities (techniques, movements, de-
vices of any kind), it will die before it reaches maturity; if, on the other
hand, the common denominator of the completely developed time arts, the
secret of art life, is discovered by the modern dance, Terpsichore will have
a new and rich source of worshippers.

With clarity of rhythmic structure, grace forms a duality. Together
they have a relation like that of body and soul. Clarity is cold, mathe-
matical, inhuman, but basic and earthy. Grace is warm, incalculable, hu-
man, opposed to clarity, and like the air. Grace is not here used to mean
prettiness; it is used to mean the play with and against the clarity of the

FOUR STATEMENTS ON THE DANCE/91

rhythmic structure. The two are always present together in the best works
of the time arts, endlessly, and lif e-givingly, opposed to each other.

"In the finest specimens of versification, there seems to be a perpetual
conflict between the law of the verse and the freedom of the language, and
each is incessantly, though insignificantly, violated for the purpose of
giving effect to the other. The best poet is not he whose verses are the most
easily scanned, and whose phraseology is the commonest in its materials,
and the most direct in its arrangement; but rather he whose language com-
bines the greatest imaginative accuracy with the most elaborate and sen-
sible metrical organisation, and who, in his verse, preserves everywhere the
living sense of the metre, not so much by unvarying obedience to, as by
innumerable small departures from, its modulus." (Coventry Patmore,
Prefatory Study on English Metrical Law, 1879, pp. 12-13)

The "perpetual conflict" between clarity and grace is what makes hot
jazz hot. The best performers continually anticipate or delay the phrase
beginnings and endings. They also, in their performances, treat the beat
or pulse, and indeed, the measure, with grace: putting more or fewer icti
within the measure's limits than are expected ( similar alterations of pitch
and timbre are also customary), contracting or extending the duration of
the unit. This, not syncopation, is what pleases the hep-cats.

Hindu music and dancing are replete with grace. This is possible be-
cause the rhythmic structure in Hindu time arts is highly systematized, has
been so for many ages, and every Hindu who enjoys listening to music or
looking at the dance is familiar with the laws of tala. Players, dancers, and
audience enjoy hearing and seeing the laws of the rhythmic structure now
observed and now ignored.

This is what occurs in a beautifully performed classic or neo-classic
ballet. And it is what enables one to experience pleasure in such a perform-
ance, despite the fact that such works are relatively meaningless in our
modern society. That one should, today, have to see Swan Lake or some-
thing equally empty of contemporary meaning in order to experience the
pleasure of observing clarity and grace in the dance, is, on its face, lamen-
table. Modern society needs, as usual, and now desperately needs, a strong
modern dance.

The opinion expressed here is that clarity of rhythmic structure with
grace are essential to the time arts, that together they constitute an aes-

92/SILENCE

thetic ( that is, they he under and beneath, over and above, physical and
personal particularities), and that they rarely occur in the modern dance;
that the latter has no aesthetic (its strength having been and being the
personal property of its originators and best exponents ) , that, in order for
it to become strong and useful in society, mature in itself, the modern dance
must clarify its rhythmic structure, then enliven it with grace, and so get
itself a theory, the common, universal one about what is beautiful in a
time art.

In Zen they say: If something is boring after two minutes, try it for four. If still boring, try it for
eight, sixteen, thirty-two, and so on. Eventually one discovers that it's not boring at all but very interesting.

At the New School once I was substituting for Henry Cowell, teaching a class in Oriental music. I
had told him I didn't know anything about the subject. He said, "That's all right. Just go where the
records are. Take one out. Play it and then discuss it with the class." Well, I took out the first record. It
was an LP of a Buddhist service. It began with a short microtonal chant with sliding tones, then soon
settled into a single loud reiterated percussive beat. This noise continued relendessly for about fifteen
minutes with no perceptible variation. A lady got up and screamed, and then yelled, "Take it off. I can't
bear it any longer." I took it off. A man in the class then said angrily, "Why'd you take it off? I was just
getting interested."

During a counterpoint class at U.C.L.A., Schoenberg sent everybody to the blackboard. We were to
solve a particular problem he had given and to turn around when finished so that he could check on the
correctness of the solution. I did as directed. He said, "That's good. Now find another solution." I did.
He said, "Another." Again I found one. Again he said, "Another." And so on. Finally, I said, "There are
no more solutions." He said, "What is the principle underlying all of the solutions?"

I went to a concert upstairs in Town Hall. The composer whose works were being performed had
provided program notes. One of these notes was to the effect that there is too much pain in the world.
After the concert I was walking along with the composer and he was telling me how the performances
had not been quite up to snuff. So I said, "Well, I enjoyed the music, but I didn't agree with that program
note about there being too much pain in the world." He said, "What? Don't you think there's enough?"
I said, "I think there's just the right amount."

FOUR STATEMENTS ON THE DANCE/93

In This Day .

Many of my performances with Merce Cunningham and Dance Company are
given in academic situations. Now and then the director of the concert series
asks for an introductory talk. The following remarks were written for audiences
in St. Louis and at Principia College in the autumn of 1956. Then a few
months later, in January 1957, they appeared in Dance Observer.

In this day of TV-darkened homes, a live performance has become some-
thing of a rarity, so much so that Aaron Copland recently said a concert is a
thing of the past. Nevertheless, I would like to say a few words regarding
the new direction taken by our company of dancers and musicians.

Though some of the dances and music are easily enjoyed, others are
perplexing to certain people, for they do not unfold along conventional
lines. For one thing, there is an independence of the music and dance,
which, if one closely observes, is present also in the seemingly usual works.
This independence follows from Mr. Cunningham's faith, which I share,
that the support of the dance is not to be found in the music but in the
dancer himself, on his own two legs, that is, and occasionally on a single one.

Likewise the music sometimes consists of single sounds or groups of
sounds which are not supported by harmonies but resound within a space
of silence. From this independence of music and dance a rhythm results
which is not that of horses' hoofs or other regular beats but which reminds
us of a multiplicity of events in time and space— stars, for instance, in the
sky, or activities on earth viewed from the air.

We are not, in these dances and music, saying something. We are
simple-minded enough to think that if we were saying something we would
use words. We are rather doing something. The meaning of what we do is
determined by each one who sees and hears it. At a recent performance of
ours at Cornell College in Iowa, a student turned to a teacher and said,
"What does it mean?" The teacher's reply was, "Relax, there are no symbols
here to confuse you. Enjoy yourself I" I may add there are no stories and no

94/SILENCE

psychological problems. There is simply an activity of movement, sound,
and light. The costumes are all simple in order that you may see the
movement.

The movement is the movement of the body. It is here that Mr. Cun-
ningham focuses his choreographic attention, not on the facial muscles. In
daily life people customarily observe faces and hand gestures, translating
what they see into psychological terms. Here, however, we are in the pres-
ence of a dance which utilizes the entire body, requiring for its enjoyment
the use of your faculty of kinesthetic sympathy. It is this faculty we employ
when, seeing the flight of birds, we ourselves, by identification, fly up, glide,
and soar.

The activity of movement, sound, and light, we believe, is expressive,
but what it expresses is determined by each one of you— who is right, as
Pirandello's title has it, if he thinks he is.

The novelty of our work derives therefore from our having moved
away from simply private human concerns towards the world of nature
and society of which all of us are a part. Our intention is to affirm this life,
not to bring order out of chaos nor to suggest improvements in creation,
but simply to wake up to the very life were living, which is so excellent
once one gets one's mind and one's desires out of its way and lets it act of
its own accord.

When Vera Williams first noticed that I was interested in wild mushrooms, she told her children
not to touch any of them because they were all deadly poisonous. A few days later she bought a steak
at Martino's and decided to serve it smothered with mushrooms. When she started to cook the mushrooms,
the children all stopped whatever they were doing and watched her attentively. When she served dinner,
they all burst into tears.

One day I went to the dentist. Over the radio they said it was the hottest day of the year. However,
I was wearing a jacket, because going to a doctor has always struck me as a somewhat formal occasion.
In the midst of his work, Dr. Heyman stopped and said, "Why don't you take your jacket off?" I said,
"I have a hole in my shirt and that's why I have my jacket on." He said, "Well, I have a hole in my sock,
and, if you like, 111 take my shoes off."

FOUR STATEMENTS ON THE DANCE/95

This piece appeared in Dance Magazine, November 1957. The two pages were
given me in dummy form by the editors. The number of words was given by
chance operations. Imperfections in the sheets of paper upon which I worked
gave the position in space of the fragments of text. That position is different in
this printing, for it is the result of working on two other sheets of paper, of
another size and having their own differently placed imperfections.

2 Pages, 122 Words on Music and Dance

To obtain the value

of a sound, a movement,

measure from zero. ( Pay A bird flies

attention to what it is,

just as it is. )

Slavery is abolished.

the woods
A sound has no legs to stand on.

The world is teeming: anything can
happen.

96/SILENCE

sound

movement

Points in

time, in

love

space

mirth

the heroic

wonder

The emotions

tranquillity

fear

anger

sorrow

disgust

Activities which are different
happen in a time which is a space:
are each central, original.

are in the audience.

The telephone rings.
Each person is in the best seat.

Is there a glass of water?

War begins at any moment.

lights

inaction?

Each now is the time, the space.

Are eyes open?

Where the bird flies, fly.

ears?

FOUR STATEMENTS ON THE DANCE/97

This article, completed in February of 1961, was published in Metro (Milan) in
May. It may be read in whole or in part; any sections of it may be skipped,
what remains may be read in any order. The style of printing here employed is
not essential. Any of the sections may be printed directly over any of the others,
and the spaces between paragraphs may be varied in any manner. The words in
italics are either quotations from Rauschenberg or titles of his works.

To Whom It May Concern:
The white paintings came
first; my silent piece
came later.

—l.C.

ON ROBERT RAUSCHENBERG, ARTIST, AND HIS WORK

Conversation was difficult and correspondence virtually ceased. ( Not because of
the mails, which continued.) People spoke of messages, perhaps because they'd
not heard from one another for a long time. Art flourished.

The goat. No weeds. Virtuosity with ease. Does his head have a bed in it?
Beauty. His hands and his feet, fingers and toes long-jointed, are astonishing. They
certify his work. And the signature is nowhere to be seen. The paintings were
thrown into the river after the exhibition. What is the nature of Art when it reaches
the Sea?

Beauty is now underfoot wherever we take the trouble to look. (This is an
American discovery. ) Is when Rauschenberg looks an idea? Rather it is an enter-
tainment in which to celebrate unfixity. Why did he make black paintings, then
white ones (coming up out of the South), red, gold ones (the gold ones were
Christmas presents), ones of many colors, ones with objects attached? Why did he
make sculptures with rocks suspended? Talented?

I know he put the paint on the tires. And he unrolled the paper on the city
street. But which one of us drove the car?

98/SILENCE

As the paintings changed the printed material became as much of a subject
as the paint ( I began using newsprint in my work ) causing changes of focus: A third
palette. There is no poor subject (Any incentive to paint is as good as any other.).
Dante is an incentive, providing multiplicity, as useful as a chicken or an old shirt.
The atmosphere is such that everything is seen clearly, even in the dark night or
when thumbing through an out-of-date newspaper or poem. This subject is un-
avoidable (A canvas is never empty.); it fills an empty canvas. And if, to continue
history, newspapers are pasted onto the canvas and on one another and black paints
are applied, the subject looms up in several different places at once like magic to
produce the painting. If you don't see it, you probably need a pair of glasses. But
there is a vast difference between one oculist and another, and when it is a question
of losing eyesight the best thing to do is to go to the best oculist (i.e., the best
painter: he'll fix you up ) . Ideas are not necessary. It is more useful to avoid having
one, certainly avoid having several (leads to inactivity). Is Gloria V. a subject or
an idea? Then, tell us: How many times was she married and what do you do when
she divorces you?

There are three panels taller than they are wide fixed together to make a single
rectangle wider than it is tall. Across the whole thing is a series of colored photos,
some wider than tall, some taller than wide, fragments of posters, some of them
obscured by paint. Underneath these, cutting the total in half, is a series of rec-
tangular color swatches, all taller than wide. Above, bridging two of the panels,
is a dark blue rectangle. Below and slightly out of line with the blue one, since it is
on one panel only, is a gray rectangle with a drawing on it about halfway up. There
are other things, but mostly attached to these two "roads" which cross: off to the
left and below the swatches is a drawing on a rectangle on a rectangle on a rectangle
(its situation is that of a farm on the outskirts of a mainstreet town). This is not a
composition. It is a place where things are, as on a table or on a town seen from
the air: any one of them could be removed and another come into its place through
circumstances analogous to birth and death, travel, housecleaning, or cluttering.
He is not saying; he is painting. (What is Rauschenberg saying?) The message is
conveyed by dirt which, mixed with an adhesive, sticks to itself and to the canvas

ON ROBERT RAUSCHENBERG, ARTIST, AND HIS WORK/99

upon which he places it. Crumbling and responding to changes in weather, the
dirt unceasingly does my thinking. He regrets we do not see the paint while it's
dripping.

Rauschenberg is continually being offered scraps of this and that, odds and
ends his friends run across, since it strikes them: This is something he could use
in a painting. Nine times out of ten it turns out he has no use for it. Say it's some-
thing close to something he once found useful, and so could be recognized as his.
Well, then, as a matter of course, his poetry has moved without one's knowing
where it's gone to. He changes what goes on, on a canvas, but he does not change
how canvas is used for paintings— that is, stretched flat to make rectangular surfaces
which may be hung on a wall. These he uses singly, joined together, or placed in a
symmetry so obvious as not to attract interest (nothing special). We know two
ways to unfocus attention: symmetry is one of them; the other is the over-all where
each small part is a sample of what you find elsewhere. In either case, there is at
least the possibility of looking anywhere, not just where someone arranged you
should. You are then free to deal with your freedom just as the artist dealt with
his, not in the same way but, nevertheless, originally. This thing, he says, duplication
of images, that is symmetry. All it means is that, looking closely, we see as it was
everything is in chaos still.

To change the subject: "Art is the imitation of nature in her manner of opera-
tion." Or a net.

1 OO/SILENCE

So somebody has talent? So what? Dime a dozen. And were overpopulated.
Actually we have more food than we have people and more art. We've gotten to
the point of burning food. When will we begin to burn our art? The door is never
locked. Rauschenberg walks in. No one home. He paints a new painting over the
old one. Is there a talent then to keep the two, the one above, the one below? What
a plight (it's no more serious than that) we're in! It's a joy in fact to begin over
again. In preparation he erases the De Kooning.

Is the door locked? No, it's open as usual. Certainly Rauschenberg has tech-
niques. But the ones he has he disuses, using those he hasn't. I must say he never
forces a situation. He is like that butcher whose knife never became dull simply
because he cut with it in such a way that it never encountered an obstacle. Modern
art has no need for technique. (We are in the glory of not knowing what we're
doing. ) So technique, not having to do with the painting, has to do with who's look-
ing and who painted. People. Technique is : how are the people? Not how well did
they do it, but, as they were saying, frailty. ( He says— and is he speaking of tech-
nique?—"What do you want, a declaration of love? I take responsibility for com-
petence and hope to have made something hazardous with which we may try
ourselves.") It is a question, then, of seeing in the dark, not slipping over things
visually. Now that Rauschenberg has made a painting with radios in it, does that
mean that even without radios, I must go on listening even while I'm looking,
everything at once, in order not to be run over?

Would we have preferred a pig with an apple in its mouth? That too, on
occasion, is a message and requires a blessing. These are the feelings Rauschenberg
gives us: love, wonder, laughter, heroism (I accept), fear, sorrow, anger, disgust,
tranquillity.

There is no more subject in a combine than there is in a page from a news-
paper. Each thing that is there is a subject. It is a situation involving multiplicity.

ON ROBERT RAUSCHENBERG, ARTIST, AND HIS WORK/101

( It is no reflection on the weather that such-and-such a government sent a note to
another.) (And the three radios of the radio combine, turned on, which provides
the subject?) Say there was a message. How would it be received? And what if it
wasn't? Over and over again I've found it impossible to memorize Rauschenberg's
paintings. I keep asking, "Have you changed it?" And then noticing while I'm
looking it changes. I look out the window and see the icicles. There, dripping water
is frozen into object. The icicles all go down. Winter more than the others is the
season of quiescence. There is no dripping when the paint is squeezed from a tube.
But there is the same acceptance of what happens and no tendency towards gesture
or arrangement. This changes the notion of what is beautiful. By fixing papers to
canvas and then painting with black paint, black became infinite and previously
unnoticed.

Hallelujah! The blind can see again. Blind to what he has seen so that seeing
this time is as though first seeing. How is it that one experiences this, for example,
with the two Eisenhower pictures which for all intents and purposes are the same?
(A duplication containing duplications.) Everything is so much the same, one
becomes acutely aware of the differences, and quickly. And where, as here, the
intention is unchanging, it is clear that the differences are unintentional, as unin-
tended as they were in the white paintings where nothing was done. Out of seeing,
do I move into poetry? And is this a poetry in which Eisenhower could have dis-
appeared and the Mona Lisa taken his place? I think so but I do not see so. There
is no doubt about which way is up. In any case our feet are on the ground. Painting's
place is on the wall— painting's place, that is, in process. When I showed him a
photograph of one of Rauschenberg's paintings, he said, "If I had a painting, I'd
want to be sure it would stay the way it is; this one is a collage and would change."
But Rauschenberg is practical. He goes along with things just as they are. Just as
he knows it goes on a wall and not any which way, but right side up, so he knows,
as he is, it is changing (which one more quickly? and the pyramids change). When
possible, and by various means, he gives it a push: holes through which one sees
behind the canvas the wall to which it is committed; the reflective surfaces chang-
ing what is seen by means of what is happening; lights going on and off; and the
radios. The white paintings were airports for the lights, shadows, and particles.

102/SILENCE

Now in a metal box attached by a rope, the history kept by means of drawings of
what was taken away and put in its place, of a painting constantly changing.

There is in Rauschenberg, between him and what he picks up to use, the quality
of encounter. For the first time. If, as happens, there is a series of paintings con-
taining such and such a material, it is as though the encounter was extended into a
visit on the part of the stranger (who is divine). (In this way societies uninformed
by artists coagulate their experiences into modes of communication in order to
make mistakes. ) Shortly the stranger leaves, leaving the door open.

Having made the empty canvases (A canvas is never empty.), Rauschenberg
became the giver of gifts. Gifts, unexpected and unnecessary, are ways of saying
Yes to how it is, a holiday. The gifts he gives are not picked up in distant lands but
are things we already have (with exceptions, of course: I needed a goat and the
other stuffed birds, since I don't have any, and I needed an attic in order to go
through the family things [since we moved away, the relatives write to say: Do you
still want them?] ) , and so we are converted to the enjoyment of our possessions.
Converted from what? From wanting what we don't have, art as pained struggle.
Setting out one day for a birthday party, I noticed the streets were full of presents.
Were he saying something in particular, he would have to focus the painting; as it
is he simply focuses himself, and everything, a pair of socks, is appropriate, appro-
priate to poetry, a poetry of infinite possibilities. It did not occur to me to ask him
why he chose Dante as a project for illustration. Perhaps it is because we've had
it around so long so close to us without bothering to put it to use, which becomes its
meaning. It involved a stay in Florida and at night, looking for help, a walk through
land infested with rattlesnakes. Also slipping on a pier, gashing his shin, hanging,
his foot caught, not calling for help. The technique consists in having a plan: Lay

ON ROBERT RAUSCHENBERG, ARTIST, AND HIS WORK/103

out stretcher on floor match markings and join. Three stretchers with the canvas on
them no doubt already stretched. Fulfilling this plan put the canvas in direct contact
with the floor, the ground thereby activated. This is pure conjecture on my part but
would work. More important is to know exactly the size of the door and techniques
for getting a canvas out of the studio. ( Combines don't roll up. ) Anything beyond
that size must be suitably segmented.

I remember the show of the black paintings in North Carolina. Quickly! They
have become masterpieces.

Is it true that anything can be changed, seen in any light, and is not destroyed
by the action of shadows? Then you won't mind when I interrupt you while you're
working?

104/SILENCE

The message changes in the combine-drawings, made with pencil, water color,
and photographic transfer: (a) the work is done on a table, not on a wall; (b) there
is no oil paint; (c) because of a + b, no dripping holds the surface in one plane;
( d) there is not always the joining of rectangles since when there is, it acts as remi-
niscence of stretchers; ( e ) the outlines appear vague as in water or air ( our feet are
off the ground); (f) I imagine being upside down; (g) the pencil lines scan the
images transferred from photographs; (h) it seems like many television sets work-
ing simultaneously all tuned differently. How to respond to this message? (And I
remember the one in Dante with the outline of the toes of his foot above, the
changed position and another message, the paper absorbing the color and spread-
ing it through its wet tissues. ) He has removed the why of asking why and you can
read it at home or in a library. ( These others are poems too. ) Perhaps because of
the change in gravity (Monument 1958), the project arose of illustrating a book.
(A book can be read at a table; did it fall on the floor?) As for me, I'm not so
inclined to read poetry as I am one way or another to get myself a television set,
sitting up nights looking.

Perhaps after all there is no message. In that case one is saved the trouble of
having to reply. As the lady said, "Well, if it isn't art, then I like it." Some (a) were
made to hang on a wall, others ( b ) to be in a room, still others ( a -f b ) .

By now we must have gotten the message. It couldn't have been more explicit.
Do you understand this idea?: Painting relates to both art and life. Neither can be
made. (I try to act in that gap between the two.) The nothingness in between is
where for no reason at all every practical thing that one actually takes the time to
do so stirs up the dregs that they're no longer sitting as we thought on the bottom.
All you need do is stretch canvas, make markings, and join. You have then turned on

ON ROBERT R A U S C H E N B E RG, ARTIST, AND HIS WORK/105

the switch that distinguishes man, his ability to change his mind: If you do not
change your mind about something when you confront a picture you have not seen
before, you are either a stubborn fool or the painting is not very good. Is there any
need before we go to bed to recite the history of the changes and will we in that
bed be murdered? And how will our dreams, if we manage to go to sleep, suggest
the next practical step? Which would you say it was: wild, or elegant, and why?
Now as I come to the end of my rope, I noticed the color is incredibly beautiful. And
that embossed box.

I am trying to check my habits of seeing, to counter them for the sake of greater
freshness. I am trying to be unfamiliar with what I'm doing.

( I cannot remember the name of the device made of glass which has inside it
a delicately balanced mechanism which revolves in response to infrared rays.)
Rauschenberg made a painting combining in it two of these devices. The painting
was excited when anybody came near it. Belonging to friends in the country, it was
destroyed by a cat. If he takes a subject, what does he take? And what does he
combine with it, once he's put it in place? It's like looking out a window. (But our
windows have become electronic: everything moves through the point where our
vision is focused; wait long enough and you'll get the Asiatic panoply. ) Poetry is
free-wheeling. You get its impact by thumbing through any of the mass media. The
last time I saw him, Rauschenberg showed me a combine-drawing, and while I was

1 06/ SILENCE

looking he was speaking and instead of hearing (I was looking) I just got the
general idea that this was an autobiographical drawing. A self-portrait with mul-
tiplicity and the largest unobstructed area given to the white painting, the one
made of four stretchers, two above, two below, all four of equal size. Into this,
structure and all, anything goes. The structure was not the point. But it was prac-
tical: you could actually see that everything was happening without anything's
being done. Before such emptiness, you just wait to see what you will see. Is
Rauschenberg's mind then empty, the way the white canvases are? Does that mean
whatever enters it has room? ( In, of course, the gap between art and life. ) And
since his eyes are connected to his mind, he can see what he looks at because his
head is clear, uncluttered? That must be the case, for only in a mind (twentieth)
that had room for it could Dante (thirteenth-fourteenth) have come in and gone
out. What next? The one with the box changed by the people who look at it.

What do images do? Do they illustrate? ( It was a New Year's Eve party in the
country and one of them had written a philosophical book and was searching for a
picture that would illustrate a particular point but was having difficulty. Another
was knitting, following the rules from a book she had in front of her. The rest were
talking, trying to be helpful. The suggestion was made that the picture in the
knitting book would illustrate the point. On examination it was found that every-
thing on the page was relevant, including the number. ) But do we not already
have too much to look at? ( Generosity. ) Left to myself, I would be perfectly con-
tented with black pictures, providing Rauschenberg had painted them. (I had one,
but unfortunately the new room has a slanting ceiling and besides the wall isn't
long enough for it. These are the problems that have no solution, such as the suit
wearing out.) But going along, I see I'm changing: color's not so bad after all. (I
must have been annoyed by the games of balance and what-not they played with
it. ) One of the simplest ideas we get is the one we get when someone is weeping.
Duchamp was in a rocking chair. I was weeping. Years later but in the same part
of town and for more or less the same reason, Rauschenberg was weeping.

ON ROBERT RAUSCHENBERG, ARTIST, AND HIS WORK/107

(The white paintings caught whatever fell on them; why did I not look at
them with my magnifying glass? Only because I didn't yet have one? Do you agree
with the statement: After all, nature is better than art?) Where does beauty begin
and where does it end? Where it ends is where the artist begins. In this way we
get our navigation done for us. If you hear that Rauschenberg has painted a new
painting, the wisest thing to do is to drop everything and manage one way or
another to see it. That's how to learn the way to use your eyes, sunup the next
day. If I were teaching, would I say Caution Watch Your Step or Throw yourself
in where the fish are thickest? Of course, there are objects. Who said there weren't?
The thing is, we get the point more quickly when we realize it is we looking
rather than that we may not be seeing it. (Why do all the people who are not
artists seem to be more intelligent? ) And object is fact, not symbol. If any thinking
is going to take place, it has to come out from inside the Mason jar which is sus-
pended in Talisman, or from the center of the rose (is it red?) or the eyes of the
pitcher (looks like something out of a movie) or— the farther one goes in this
direction the more one sees nothing is in the foreground: each minute point is at
the center. Did this happen by means of rectangles ( the picture is "cut" through
the middle)? Or would it happen given this point of view? Not ideas but facts.

M. C. Richards and David Tudor invited several friends to dinner. I was there and it was a pleasure.
After dinner we were sitting around talking. David Tudor began doing some paper work in a corner,
perhaps something to do with music, though I'm not sure. After a while there was a pause in the con-
versation, and someone said to David Tudor, "Why don't you join the party?" He said, "I haven't left it.
This is how I keep you entertained."

1 08/SILENCE

This lecture was printed in Incontri Musicali, August 1959. There are jour
measures in each line and twelve lines in each unit of the rhythmic structure.
There are forty-eight such units, each having forty-eight measures. The
whole is divided into five large parts, in the proportion 7, 6, 14, 14, 7.
The forty-eight measures of each unit are likewise so divided. The text is
printed in four columns to facilitate a rhythmic reading. Each line is to be
read across the page from left to right, not down the columns in sequence.
This should not he done in an artificial manner (which might result from an
attempt to he too strictly faithful to the position of the words on the page), hut
with the rubato which one uses in everyday speech.

LECTURE ON NOTHING

I am here , and there is nothing to say

If among you are

those who wish to get somewhere , let them leave at

any moment . What we re-quire is

silence ; but what silence requires

is that I go on talking

Give any one thought

a push : it falls down easily

; but the pusher and the pushed pro-duce that enter-

tainment called a dis-cussion

Shall we have one later ?

Or

cussion
now
words
silences

poetry

iff
, we could simply de— cide

What ever you like
there are silences
make help make

and I am saying it

as I need it

not to have a dis-

But

and the

the

I have nothing to say

and that is

This space of time is organized

We need not fear these silences, —

TIF

LECTURE ON NOTHING/109

we may love them

talk

just as I make
of milk
and we need the
empty glass
moment

milk

for I am making it
a piece of music.

We need the

Or again
into which

This is a composed

It is like a glass

glass

it is like an

at any

anything
As we go along
an i-dea may occur in this

may be poured

(who knows?)

or not.

gard it as something seen
though from a window

If across Kansas ,

Arizona
almost too interesting ,
being interested in spite of himself

needs the Kansas in him

nothing on earth ,

It is like an empty glass ,
is it corn ?

Kansas has this about it:

and whenever one wishes one may return to it

talk

I have no idea

If one does,

ny

momentarily
while traveling

then, of course,

is more
especially for a New-
in everything.

and for a New Yorker
nothing but wheat
Does it matter which
at any instant,

•

whether one will

let it. Re-

, as

•

Kansas

interesting,

Yorker who is

Now he knows he

Kansas is like

very refreshing.

, or

?

one may leave it,

Or you may leave it forever

for we pos-sess nothing
is the reali-zation

Anything

(since we do not pos-sess it)

and never return to it

that we possess
therefore
and thus

at any moment,

•

owned it,

1 10/SILENCE

We need not destroy the past:

it might reappear and seem to be

Would it be a repetition?

but since we don't, it is free

and

and

Our poetry now

nothing

is a delight

need not fear its loss

it is gone;

be the present

Only if we thought we

so are we

and how un-certain it is

Most anybody knows a-bout the future

What I am calling poetry

I myself have called

nuity of a piece of music.

when it is necessary ,

interestedness. That is,

lies in not pos-sessing anything

presents what happens .

this form sense is

Iff
is often called
it form

Continuity
is a demonstration
it is a proof

content.

today,

It is the conti-

of dis-

that our delight
Each moment
How different
from that which is bound up with

memory:

themes

and secondary themes;

their struggle;

their development;

the climax;

the recapitulation

(which is the belief

that one may

own one's own

home)

But actually,

unlike the snail

, we

carry our homes

within us,

which enables us

iff

to fly

or to stay

»

to enjoy

each.

But beware of

that which is

breathtakingly

beautiful,

for at any moment

the telephone

may ring

or the airplane

come down in a

vacant lot

*

A piece of string

or a sunset

»

possessing neither

»

each acts

and the continuity

happens

•

Nothing more

than nothing

can be said.

Hearing

or making this

in music

is not different

—

only simpler —

than living this way

.

Simpler, that is , for me, — because it happens

that I write music

•

Iff Iff

That music is

simple to make comes from

one's willingness to ac-

cept

the limitations

of structure.

Structure is

simple

be— cause

it can be thought out,

figured out,

measured

•

It is a discipline

which,

accepted,

in return

accepts whatever

, even those

rare moments

of ecstasy,

which, as

sugar loaves train horses,

train us

to make what we

make

How could I

LECTURE ON NOTHING/111

better tell

what structure

is

than simply to

tell

about this,

this talk

which is

contained

within

a space of time

approximately

forty minutes

long

?

w

That forty minutes has been divided into five large parts, and

each unit is divided likewise. Subdivision in-

volving a square root is the only possible subdivision which

permits this micro-macrocosmic rhythmic structure ,

which I find so acceptable and accepting

As you see, I can say anything

It makes very little difference what I say or even how I say it.

At this par-ticular moment, we are passing through the fourth

part of a unit which is the second unit in the second large

part of this talk . It is a little bit like passing through Kansas

This, now, is the end of that second unit

Now begins the

third unit

HP
of the second part

Now the

second part of that third unit

Now its third part

part
length

as the third part)

(which, by the way,

Now its fourth
is just the same

Now the fifth

and last part

You have just
microcosmic
point of view
large part,
nothing

1 1 2/SILENCE

UP
ex-perienced the structure of this talk

point of view . From a macrocosmic

we are just passing the halfway point in the second

The first part was a rather rambling discussion of

, of form, and continuity

from a

when it

is

the

way

we now

part
>

what it is

accept

its limitations

ideas.

This one

need it. This second

is about structure: how simple it is

and why we should be willing

Most speeches are full

doesn't have to have any

to
of

But at any moment an idea
Then we may enjoy it

Iff

may come along

Structure

without life

is dead.

But Life without

structure

is un-seen

.

Pure life

expresses itself

within

and through structure

.

Each moment

is absolute,

alive and sig-

nificant.

Blackbirds

rise from

a field making a

sound

de-licious

be-yond

corn-pare

•

I heard them

because

I ac-cepted

the limitations

of an arts

conference

in a Virginia

girls' finishing school,

which limitations

allowed me

quite by accident

to hear the blackbirds

as they flew up

and overhead

•

There was a social

calendar

and hours for breakfast

i

but one day I saw a

cardinal

»

and the same day

heard a woodpecker.

I also met

America's youngest

college president

•

However,

she has resigned,

and people say she is

going into politics

•

Let her.

Why shouldn't she? I also had the

pleasure

of hearing an eminent

music critic

ex-claim

that he hoped

he would live long

e-nough to i

see the end

of this

craze for Bach.

A pupil once

said to me: I

understand

what you say

about

Beethoven

and I think

I agree

but I have a

very serious

question to

ask you:

How do you

feel

about Bach

?

Now we have

come

to the end of the

part

about structure

•

Iff HT

However,

it oc-curs

to me to say more

about structure

•

Specifically

this:

We are

now at

the be-ginning

of the third part

and that part

LECTURE ON NOTHING/113

is not the part
about material,
clear from that
as we have seen,
ginning to get

devoted to structure.

But I'm still talking about structure.

that structure has

form has no point either,

nowhere

It's the part
It must be
no point, and,

Clearly we are be-

Unless some other i-dea crops up

a-bout it that is

all I have

to say about structure

Iff
is it interesting

Now about

material:

It is and it

isn't

•

certain.

If one is making

something

>

the one making must

love and be

the material

he chooses.

Otherwise he

material,

which is precisely something

>

nothing

that

was being made;

or

himself,

whereas

nothing is anonymous

The technique

of handling materials

what structure

as a

discipline is on 1

;he rational level

a means

of experiencing

Iff

I remember loving sound before I ever

And so we make our lives

But one thing is
which is to be nothing
patient with

calls attention to the
whereas it was
he calls attention to

is, on the sense level

nothing

took a music lesson

by what we love

•

(Last year

when I talked here

I made a short talk.

That was because

I was talking

about something

; but

this year

I am talking

about nothing

and

of course will go on talking

for a long time

•)

The other day a

pupil said,

after trying to compose a melody

using only

three tones,

"I

felt limited

»»

•

Had she

con-cerned herself

with the three tones —

her materials

—

she would not

have felt limited

»

nr
and since materials are without feeling,

there would not have been

any limitation.

It was all in her

1 1 4/ SILENCE

mind

, whereas it be-longed

in the

materials

•

It became something

by not being

nothing;

it would have been

nothing by being

something

•

Should one use the

materials

characteristic

of one's time

?

Now there's a question

that ought to get us

somewhere

.

It is an intel-

lectual question

*

I shall answer it

slowly

and

autobiographically

•

loving

I remember as a child

all the sounds

i

even the unprepared

ones.

I liked them

especially

when there was one at
A five-finger exercise

a time

•

for one hand was

full of beauty

.

Later on I

gradually liked

all the intervals

•

As I look back

I realize that I be-gan liking the octave

*

I accepted the

major and minor

thirds.

Perhaps, of all the intervals,

I liked these thirds

least

.

Through the music of

Grieg,

•

I became passionately

fond

of the fifth

Or perhaps you could

call it

HP
puppy-dog love

>

for the fifth did not make me

want to write music:

: it made me want to de-

vote my life to

playing the works of Grieg

.

I took, like a duck
seconds, the

didn't like the sound
Bach was the

Asl
really liked the
liked Brahms

When later I heard

to water, to all the modern intervals:

tritone, and the fourth

I liked Bach too a-bout this time

of the thirds and sixths,
way many things

keep on re-membering,

thirds, and this explains

W

modern music,
the sevenths,

the

but I
What I admired in

went together

I see that I never

why I never really

LECTURE ON NOTHING/115

Modern music

sevenths,

always,

all,

fascinated me with all its modern

the seconds, the tritone, and the

every now and then, there was a fifth,
Sometimes there were single tones,

and that was a de-
tervals in modern music that it fascinated
fascinated by it I de-cided
first is difficult:

takes the ear off it
I was free to hear that a high sound

low sound even when both are called by the same letter,

working alone ,

light.

me rather than that I
to write it.
that is,
However,

is

Studying with a

meaning;

in their progressions

I worked at it

feeling for it

gressions called

as to imply

fool everyone by not

fooled

•

However

teacher,

they are not just

a sound

Tonality.

de— ceptive cadences.

the presence

landing on it —
?

The whole question is
modern music

intervals

I began to feel

I learned that the
sounds

not actually
I never liked tonality
Studied it.
for instance:
The idea is this:
of a tone not actually
land somewhere else.
Not the ear
very intellectual
still fascinated me
TO

intervals: the

fourth and

and that pleased me
not intervals at
There were so many in-
loved it, and being
Writing it at
putting the mind on it
doing it alone,
different from a

After several years of
lonely.

intervals have

but they imply
present to the ear

But I never had any
there are some pro-

progress in such a way
present; then

What is being
but the mind

the mind had fixed it
make one think of

with all its modern
have them ,

void having pro-gressions that would

not actually present to the ear
did not ap-peal to me

that the separation of mind and ear had spoiled

, — that a clean slate was necessary,

not only contemporary , but "avant-garde."

They had not been in-tellectualized;
directly and didn't have to go through any abstraction

1 1 6/SILENCE

the

the
a-

But in order to

so that one had to a-

sounds that were

Avoiding

I began to see

sounds

This made me

I used noises

ear could hear them

bout them

liked intervals.

I found that I
I liked noises

liked noises
just as much as I had
TCP

even more than I
liked single sounds

, had been discriminated against

having been trained to be sentimental,

I fought

Noises, too
and being American,

for noises. I liked being

on the side of the
I got police
I ever found
pickup arm
really shocking,
half sentimentally
only
to be no truth,

But quiet sounds
love

»

Life, Time and

I still feel this way

intellectualization-
though they are
not worn out
new sounds.

underdog
per-mission to play sirens. The most amazing noise

was that produced by means of a coil of wire attached to the

of a phonograph and then amplified. It was shocking,

and thunderous . Half intellectually and

, when the war came a-long, I decided to use

quiet sounds
no good,

or friendship
values,
Coca-Cola

in anything big
Iff
were like loneliness

independent

but something else is

There seemed to me
in society.

or

I begin to hear

the ones I had thought worn out,

I begin to hear the old sounds

not worn out

They are just as
Thinking had worn them out

Permanent, I thought
at least from
I must say
happening
the old sounds
worn out by

as

Obviously, they are
audible as the

And i

f one

stops thinking aboi

it them,
HP
"If you

suddenly they are

fresh

anc1

new.

think

you are a ghost

you will become a

ghost

>>

Thinking the sounds

worn out

wore them out

•

So you see

•
•

this question

brings us back

where we were:

nowhere

>

or,

if you like

>

where

we are

•

I have

a story:

"There was once a ]

man

LECTURE ON NOTHING/117

standing on a high elevation. A company of several men who happened to be walking on the road
noticed from the distance the man standing on the high place and talked among themselves about
this man. One of them said: He must have lost his favorite animal. Another man said
: No, it must be his friend whom he is looking for. A third one said:

cussion

place where the man

asked:

lost your pet animal

later?) went on until

He is just enjoying the cool air up there. The three could not

UP
(Shall we have one
was

O, friend
?

The second man asked
No, sir

a-gree

and the dis-

standing up there
No, sir,

?

either

the fresh breeze

I am not

up there?

they reached the high
One of the three
, have you not

I have not lost any
: Have you not lost your friend

, I have not lost my friend

The third man asked: Are you not enjoying
No, sir ,

What, then

, are you standing up there

if you say no
questions ?

I just stand ."

no questions, there are no answers

, then, of course,

final answer makes the

, whereas the questions,

than the answers

for

The man on high said
UP

to all our

there are answers

questions

up until then,

bussy

I take all the tones
use all the others
When I was young,
Now I'm fifty

how he wrote
there are,

people told me:

If there are
If there are questions
, but the

seem absurd
seem more intelligent
Somebody asked De-
He said:
don't want, and

you're fifty years old

UP

Here we are now

More and more
nowhere.

of the fourth large part

Slowly

we are getting

music.

leave out the ones I
Satie said
You'll see when
I've seen nothing

UP

at the beginning
of this talk.
I have the feeling that we are getting

, as the talk goes on

nowhere

and that is a pleasure

1 1 8/SILENCE

only irritating

>

fourth large part

It is not irritating to be where one is

to think one would like to be somewhere else,
a little bit after the beginning

of this talk
we have the feeling
nowhere

Here we are now

It is

of the

pleasure

of being
is sleepy

Here we are now
third unit
More and more
nowhere.

only irritating

>

fourth large part

More and more
that I am getting
Slowly

slowly

we are getting
which will continue
it is not a pleasure
if one is irritated
it is a pleasure
it is not irritating
and slowly

we were nowhere
we are having
slowly

up

nowhere.

)•

the pleasure
nowhere,
let him go to sleep

up

as the talk goes on

we have the feeling
That is a pleasure
If we are irritated
Nothing is not a

but suddenly
and then more and more
(and then more and more
Originally
and now, again

If anybody

of the fourth large part

Slowly

we are getting
It is not irritating
to think one would like
a little bit after the

More and more
that I am getting
Slowly

slowly

we are getting

at the beginning
of this talk.

of the

I have the feeling

nowhere
to be where one is

to be somewhere else.

that we are getting
as the talk goes on
and that is a pleasure

Here we are now

beginning

of this talk

we have the feeling

nowhere

of the third unit

It is

of the

as the talk goes on

W

nowhere.

we have the feeling
That is a pleasure

LECTURE ON NOTHING/119

which will continue

*

If we are irritated

>

it is not a pleasure

•

Nothing is not a

pleasure

if one is irritated

>

but suddenly

>

it is a pleasure

»

and then more and more

it is not irritating

-

(and then more and more

and slowly

)■

Originally

we were nowhere

>

and now, again

>

we are having

the pleasure

of being

slowly

nowhere.

If anybody

is sleepy

>

let him go to sleep

W

atth

•

Here we are now

ie beginning of the

fifth unit

of the fourth large part

of this talk.

More and more

I have the feeling

that we are getting

nowhere.

Slowly

>

as the talk goes on

»

we are getting

nowhere

and that is a pleasure

.

It is not irritating

to be where one is

It is

only irritating

to think one would like to be somewhere else.

Here we are now

>

a little bit after the

beginning of the fifth unit of the

fourth large part

of this talk

.

More and more

we have the feeling

that I am getting

nowhere

.

Slowly

>
>

as the talk goes on

»

slowly

we have the feeling

we are getting

nowhere.

That is a pleasure

which will continue

.

If we are irritated

>

it is not a pleasure

.

Nothing is not a

pleasure

if one is irritated

>

but suddenly

»

it is a pleasure

>

and then more and more

it is not irritating

(and then more and more

and slowly

)•

Originally

we were nowhere

»

and now, again

»

we are having

the pleasure

of being

slowly

nowhere.

If anybody

is sleepy

»

let him go to sleep
UP

•

1 20/SILENCE

Here we are now

More and more
nowhere.

only irritating
fourth large part

pleasure

of being
is sleepy

Here we are now
ninth unit
More and more
nowhere.

only irritating
fourth large part

of the fourth large part

Slowly

we are getting
It is not irritating
to think one would like
a little bit after the

More and more
that I am getting
Slowly

slowly

we are getting
which will continue
it is not a pleasure

if one is irritated
it is a pleasure

it is not irritating
and slowly

we were nowhere

we are having

slowly

at the middle
of this talk.

I have the feeling

>

nowhere
to be where one is
to be somewhere else,
middle
of this talk
we have the feeling
nowhere
>

»

nowhere.

that we are getting
as the talk goes on
and that is a pleasure

It is
Here we are now

of the

)•

the pleasure
nowhere,
let him go to sleep

as the talk goes on

we have the feeling
That is a pleasure
If we are irritated
Nothing is not a

but suddenly
and then more and more
(and then more and more
Originally
and now, again

If anybody

of the fourth large part

Slowly

we are getting
It is not irritating
to think one would like
a little bit after the

More and more

at the beginning
of this talk.

of the

I have the feeling

j

nowhere
to be where one is

to be somewhere else.

that we are getting
as the talk goes on
and that is a pleasure

It is
Here we are now

of the

beginning of the ninth unit

of this talk

we have the feeling

LECTURE ON NOTHING/121

that I am getting

nowhere

.

Slowly

>

Iff
>

as the talk goes on

»

slowly

we have the feeling

we are getting

nowhere.

That is a pleasure

which will continue

.

If we are irritated

>

it is not a pleasure

•

Nothing is not a

pleasure

if one is irritated

>

but suddenly

>

it is a pleasure

>

and then more and more

it is not irritating

(and then more and more

and slowly

)•

Originally

we were nowhere

»

and now, again

»

we are having

the pleasure

of being

slowly

nowhere.

If anybody

is sleepy

»

let him go to sleep
Iff

•

Here we are now

at the beginning of the

eleventh unit

of the fourth large part

of this talk.

More and more

I have the feeling

that we are getting

nowhere.

Slowly

>

as the talk goes on

»

we are getting

nowhere

and that is a pleasure

•

It is not irritating

to be where one is

It is

only irritating

to think one would like

to be somewhere else.

Here we are now

»

a little bit after the

beginning of the eleventh unit of the

fourth large part

of this talk

•

More and more

we have the feeling

that I am getting

nowhere

.

Slowly

>
Iff

>

as the talk goes on

>

slowly

we have the feeling

we are getting

nowhere.

That is a pleasure

which will continue

.

If we are irritated

t

it is not a pleasure

.

Nothing is not a

pleasure

if one is irritated

>

but suddenly

»

it is a pleasure

>

and then more and more

it is not irritating

(and then more and more

122/SILENCE

and slowly

)•

Originally

we were nowhere

»

and now, again

1

we are having

the pleasure

of being

slowly

nowhere.

If anybody

is sleepy

»

let him go to sleep
HP

attl

•

Here we are now

le beginning of the thir-

teenth unit

of the fourth large part

of this talk.

More and more

I have the feeling

that we are getting

nowhere.

Slowly

»

as the talk goes on

f

we are getting

nowhere

and that is a pleasure

•

It is not irritating

to be where one is

It is

only irritating

to think one would like to be somewhere else.

Here we are now

»

a little bit after the

beginning of the thir-teenth unit of the

fourth large part

of this talk

.

More and more

we have the feeling

that I am getting

nowhere

.

Slowly

>

TIP

f

as the talk goes on

»

slowly

we have the feeling

we are getting

nowhere.

That is a pleasure

which will continue

•

If we are irritated

»

it is not a pleasure

.

Nothing is not a

pleasure

if one is irritated

>

but suddenly

>

it is a pleasure

>

and then more and more

it is not irritating

(and then more and more

and slowly

)■

Originally

we were nowhere

>

and now, again

*

we are having

the pleasure

of being

slowly

nowhere.

If anybody

is sleepy

»

let him go to sleep

TIP TIP

•

LECTURE ON NOTHING/123

iff

Iff

That is finished

It was a pleasure

now.

And now ,

"Read me that part a-gain where I disin-herit everybody

The twelve-tone row

method is a control of each

note. There is too much there there

There is not enough of nothing in it

like a bridge from nowhere to

anyone may go on it :

, corn or wheat

? I thought there were eighty-eight tones

You can quarter them too

iff
If it were feet , would it be a two-tone row

? Or can we fly from here to where

1 24/SILENCE

this is a pleasure.

is a method; a

single

A structure is
nowhere and

noises or tones
Does it matter which

9

I have nothing

against the twelve-tone row;

but it is a

method,

not a structure

.

We really do need a structure

>

so we can see

we are nowhere

•

Much of the music

I love

uses the twelve— tone row

»

but that is not why I

love it.

I love it

for no reason

.

I love it

for suddenly

I am nowhere

•

(My own music does that

quickly for me

0

And it seems to me

I could

listen forever

to Japanese

shakuhachi music

Iff

or the Navajo

Yeibitchai

Or I could sit or

stand

near Richard Lippold's

Full Moon

any length of time

•

Chinese bronzes

> —

how I love them

•

But those beauties

»

which others have made,

tend to stir up

the need to possess

and I know

I possess

nothing

.

Record collections

>

that is not music

•

iff

The phonograph

is a thing, -

not a musical

instrument

A thing leads to other things,

whereas a

musical instrument

leads to nothing

•

Would you like to join

a society called

Capitalists Inc.

?

(Just so no one would

think we were

Communists.)

Anyone joining

automatically

becomes president

•

To join

you must show

you've destroyed

at least one hundred

records

or, in the case of

tape,

one sound mirror

•

To imagine you

own

any piece of music

is to miss

the whole point

•

There is no point

or the point

is nothing;

and even

a long-playing

record
iff

LEG

is a thing.

TURE ON NOTHING/1

A lady from Texas said: I live in Texas

We have no music in Texas. The reason they've no

music in Texas is because they have recordings

in Texas. Remove the records from Texas

and someone will learn to sing

Everybody has a song

which is no song at all :

it is a process of singing ,

and when you sing ,

you are where you are

All I know about method is that when I am not working I sometimes
think I know something, but when I am working, it is quite clear that I know nothing.

up w

Afternote to LECTURE ON NOTHING

In keeping with the thought expressed above that a discussion is nothing more
than an entertainment, I prepared six answers for the first six questions asked,
regardless of what they were. In 1949 or '50, when the lecture was first
delivered (at the Artists' Club as described in the Foreword), there were six
questions. In 1960, however, when the speech was delivered for the second
time, the audience got the point after two questions and, not wishing to be
entertained, refrained from asking anything more.
The answers are:

1 . That is a very good question. I should not want to spoil it with an
answer.

2. My head wants to ache.

3. Had you heard Mary a Freund last April in Palermo singing Arnold
Schoenberg's Pierrot Lunaire, I doubt whether you would ask that
question.

4. According to the Farmers' Almanac this is False Spring.

5. Please repeat the question . . .
And again . . .

And again . . .

6. I have no more answers.
1 26/SILENCE

Now giving lecture on Japanese poetry. First
giving very old Japanese poem, very classical:

Oh willow tree,

Why are you so sad, willow tree?

Maybe baby?

Now giving nineteenth-century romantic Jap-
anese poem:

Oh bird, sitting on willow tree,

Why are you so sad, bird?

Maybe baby?

Now giving up-to-the-minute twentieth-cen-
tury Japanese poem, very modern:

Oh stream, flowing past willow tree,

Why are you so sad, stream?

Baby?

I was never psychoanalyzed. I'll tell you how
it happened. I always had a chip on my shoulder
about psychoanalysis. I knew the remark of Rilke
to a friend of his who wanted him to be psycho-
analyzed. Rilke said, "I'm sure they would re-
move my devils, but I fear they would offend my
angels." When I went to the analyst for a kind of
preliminary meeting, he said, "I'll be able to fix
you so that you'll write much more music than
you do now." I said, "Good heavens! I already
write too much, it seems to me." That promise of
his put me off.

And then in the nick of time, Gita Sarabhai
came from India. She was concerned about the
influence Western music was having on tradi-
tional Indian music, and she'd decided to study
Western music for six months with several teachers
and then return to India to do what she could to
preserve the Indian traditions. She studied con-
temporary music and counterpoint with me. She
said, "How much do you charge?" I said, "It'll be
free if you'll also teach me about Indian music."
We were almost every day together. At the end

of six months, just before she flew away, she gave
me the Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna. It took me a
year to finish reading it.

I was on an English boat going from Siracusa
in Sicily to Tunis in North Africa. I had taken the
cheapest passage and it was a voyage of two nights
and one day. We were no sooner out of the har-
bor than I found that in my class no food was
served. I sent a note to the captain saying I'd like
to change to another class. He sent a note back
saying I could not change and, further, asking
whether I had been vaccinated. I wrote back that
I had not been vaccinated and that I didn't intend
to be. He wrote back that unless I was vaccinated
I would not be permitted to disembark at Tunis.
We had meanwhile gotten into a terrific storm.
The waves were higher than the boat. It was im-
possible to walk on the deck. The correspondence
between the captain and myself continued in
deadlock. In my last note to him, I stated my firm
intention to get off his boat at the earliest oppor-
tunity and without being vaccinated. He then
wrote back that I had been vaccinated, and to
prove it he sent along a certificate with his
signature.

David Tudor and I went to Hilversum in
Holland to make a recording for the Dutch radio.
We arrived at the studio early and there was
some delay. To pass the time, we chatted with
the engineer who was to work with us. He asked
me what kind of music he was about to record.
Since he was a Dutchman I said, "It may remind
you of the work of Mondrian."

When the session was finished and the three
of us were leaving the studio, I asked the engineer
what he thought of the music we had played. He
said, "It reminded me of the work of Mondrian."

LECTURE ON NOTHING/127

Although it had been prepared some years earlier, this lecture was not printed
until 1959, when it appeared in It Is, edited by Philip Pavia, with the following
introduction:

In the general moving around and talking that followed my Lecture on
Something (ten years ago at the Club), somebody asked Morton Feldman
whether he agreed with what I had said about him. He replied, "That's
not me; that's John." When Pavia recently asked me for a text on the
occasion of Columbia's issuing a record devoted to Feldman's music, I
said, "I already have one. Why don't you print it?"

[In this connection, it may be noted that the empty spaces, omitted in the It Is
printing but to be encountered below, are representative of silences that were
a part of the LectureJ

LECTURE ON SOMETHING

To bring things up to date, let me say that I am as ever changing, while
Feldman's music seems more to continue than to change. There never was
and there is not now in my mind any doubt about its beauty. It is, in fact,
sometimes too beautiful. The flavor of that beauty, which formerly seemed
to me to be heroic, strikes me now as erotic (an equal, by no means a
lesser, flavor). This impression is due, I believe, to Feldman's tendency
towards tenderness, a tenderness only briefly, and sometimes not at all,
interrupted by violence. On paper, of course, the graph pieces are as
heroic as ever; but in rehearsal Feldman does not permit the freedoms he
writes to become the occasion for license. He insists upon an action
within the gamut of love, and this produces (to mention only the extreme
effects) a sensuousness of sound or an atmosphere of devotion. As ever, I
prefer concerts to records of instrumental music. Let no one imagine that
in owning a recording he has the music. The very practice of music, and
Feldman's eminently, is a celebration that we own nothing.

128/SILENCE

This is a talk about something and naturally also a talk about

nothing. About how something and nothing are not opposed to each other

but need each other to keep on going . It is difficult to

talk when you have something to say precisely because of the words which

keep making us say in the way which the words need to

stick to and not in the Way which we need for living. For instance:

someone said, "Art should come from within; then it is profound."

But it seems to me Art goes within, and I don't see the need for "should" or

'then" or "it" or

'pro-found." When Art comes from within , which is

what it was for so long doing, it be— came a thing which seemed to elevate the

man who made it a-bove those who ob-served it or heard it and the artist was

considered a genius or given a rating: First, Second, No Good , until

finally riding in a bus or subway: so proudly he signs his

work like a manufacturer

But since everything's changing, art's now going
in and it is of the utmost importance not to make a thing but rather to make

nothing. And how is this done? Done by making something

which then goes in and reminds us of nothing. It is im-portant that this

something be just something, finitely something; then very

simply it goes in and becomes infinitely nothing

It seems we are living. Understanding of what is nourishing

changing . Of course, it is always changing,

now it is very clearly changing, so that the people either agree or they don't

is
but
and the

differences of

go

two sides.

other side it is more
it's all the same, —
starting finitely

•

mind

Intersection
within broad limits
the responsibility of

o-pinion are clearer . Just a year or so a-

everything seemed to be an individual matter. But now there are

On one side it is that individual matter going on, and on the

not an individual but everyone which is not to say

on the contrary there are more differences. That is:

everything's different but in going in it all becomes the same

H.C.E.

when he called

the first ones
the composer

Which is what Morton Feldman
the music he's now writing

Feldman speaks of
that come along.

had in

from making
To accept
re-gardless

no sounds, and takes
He has changed
to accepting

whatever comes
of the consequences

LECTURE ON SOMETHING / 1 29

such an individual
more impressively,
what, precisely,
have to do
separate from it.

is to be unafraid or

to be full of that love which

comes from a sense of at-one-ness with whatever

This goes to explain what Feldman means
when he says that he is associated with all of the sounds,
and so can foresee what will happen

even though he has not written the particular

notes down as other composers do

When a com-poser feels a responsibility to make, rather
than accept, he e-liminates from the area of possibility

all those events that do not suggest the at that point in
time vogue of profund-ity. For he takes himself seriously,
wishes to be considered great, and he thereby diminishes

his love and in-creases his fear and concern about

what people will think

There are many serious problems confronting

He must do it better,
more beautifully, etc. than anybody else . And

does this, this beautiful profound object, this masterpiece,

with Life? It has this to do with Life : that it is

Now we see it and now we don't. When we see it

we feel better, and when we are away from it, we don't feel so good

contrast.

point.

when traditions exist

are made pleasing

forms

Life seems shabby and chaotic, disordered,
Let me read a passage from the I-Ching
"In human affairs aesthetic form

that strong and abiding
by a lucid beauty,

ex-isting in the heavens

ugly in

which discusses this

comes into being
like mountains
By contemplating the
we come to understand

time and its changing demands . Through contemplation of the

forms existing in human society it be— comes possible to shape the world

." And the footnote goes on: "Tranquil beauty: clarity within,

quiet without . This is the tran-quillity of pure

contemplation. When desire is silenced and the will comes to rest

, the world as i-dea becomes manifest . In this aspect the world is beautiful

and re-moved from the struggle for existence. This is the world of

Art. However, contemplation alone will not put the

1 30/SILENCE

will to rest abso-lutely. It will a-waken again and then

all the beauty of form will appear to have been only a brief

moment of exaltation. Hence this is still not the true way of

redemption. The fire whose light illuminates the mountain

and makes it pleasing, does not shine far. In the same way

beautiful form suffices to brighten and throw light upon mat-ters of lesser moment

But important questions cannot be decided

in this way . They require greater earnestness

." Perhaps

Blythe

responsibility of the
for a moment

and
The
just beautiful but also

not just good, but also evil , not just true, but also an il-

I remember now that Feldman spoke of shadows,

the sounds were not sounds but shadows. They are obviously

that's why they are shadows. Every something is an echo of nothing,
very much like a piece by Morty Feldman.

may ob-ject that the sounds that happened were not interesting.
Next time he hears the piece, it will be different,

this will make

in his book

artist

let's consider

what is that

important question is

ugly,

lusion.

He said that

sounds;

Life goes on

Someone

understandable
Haiku:
is to hide beauty."
what are the
greater earnestness
what is it that is not

They require

a statement made by

"The highest
Now

important questions
that is required

Let him.
perhaps
disastrous.
And life
citing,

not for Feldman.

sometimes

ex-

and so on;

and

we live

and

with Life.

on saying that they

less interesting, perhaps suddenly exciting . Perhaps

A disaster for whom ? For him,

the same: always different,

sometimes boring, sometimes gently pleasing

what other important questions are there? Than that

how to do it in a state of accord

Some people may now be indignant and insist

control Life. They are the same ones who insist on controlling and judging art

Why judge? "Judge not lest ye be judged."

Or we can say: Judge and re-gardless of the consequences

What is

meant by Judge and re-gardless of the conse-quences? Simply this:

Judge in a state of disinterest as to the effects of the judging . A modern

Cuban composer, Caturla, earned his living as a judge. A

LECTURE ON S OM ET H I N G / 1 3 1

man he sentenced
murdered Caturla.
was Caturla
consequences,
guilt, concern,
musical term
last week

it was argued from a
This is again
simply means

to life imprisonment es-caped from prison

In that penultimate now-moment before being killed

and

in hell or in heaven? Make judgments

Otherwise no life: Hamlet,

responsibility. The i-dea, consequences,
continuity and that produced
for Feldman spoke of no-continuity,

rational point of view that no matter what
a matter of disinterest
accepting that

but accept the

fear,

suggests
a discussion

whereas

there is continuity,
and acceptance. No-continuity

continuity that happens.

the

making that particular

continuity

that

This is, of course,

possible

but

for we have found that by

excluding

we may have an enormous

bank account

one needs critics,

connoisseurs,

Dnes, otherwise one gets

gypped;

lse with all that fol-de-rol

9

no one

Continuity means the opposite:

excludes all others.

not any longer nourishing

we grow thin inside even though

outside. For somethings

judgments, authoritative ones,

but for nothing one can dis

loses nothing be-cause nothing

When nothing is se-curely possessed

How many are there? They roll up at your feet. How many doors and windows are there

in it? There is no end to the number of somethings and all of them (without

exception) are ac-ceptable. If one gets suddenly proud and says

for one reason or a-nother: I cannot accept this; then the whole freedom

to accept any of the others vanishes. But if one maintains secure possession

of nothing (what has been called poverty of spirit), then there is no limit

is se-curely possessed

one is free to accept

any of the somethings.

to what one may
possession of things.
This is what

freely enjoy.
There is only
is meant when one says
No sounds.

In this free
enjoyment.

No harmony.
No rhythm.

No counterpoint.

there is not one of the somethings

When this is meant

and paradoxically free to pick and choose again

moment Feldman does, will or may. New picking

en-joyment there is no

What is possessed is nothing.
No-continuity.
No melody.
That is to say
that is not acceptable,
one is in accord with life,

as at any
and

choosing is just like the old picking and choosing except that one
takes as just another one of the somethings any consequence

of

1 32/SILENCE

having picked and chosen. When in the state of

nothing, one diminished the something in one: Character.
At any moment one is free to take on character again, but

then it is without fear, full of life and love.

For one's been at the point of the nourishment that sustains in no
matter what one of the something situations.

High, middle, low; enter any time within the duration notated;

this particular timbre. These are the somethings Feldman has

chosen. They give him and his art character,

useless in this situation for anyone to say

is good or not good. Because we are in the direct

it is. If you don't like it you may choose to

But if you avoid it that's a pity, because it re-

very closely, and life and it are essentially a cause for joy.

People say, sometimes , timidly: I know nothing about music but I know what I

like. But the important questions are answered by not liking only but disliking

and accepting equally what one likes and dislikes. Otherwise there is no access to

the dark night of the soul. At the present time, a twelve-tone time, it is not popular
to allow the more common garden variety of tonal relations

These latter are dis-criminated against. Feldman allows them to be if

they happen to come along. And to ex-plain again, the only reason

for his being able to allow them is by his acting on the as-sumption that

no tonal relations ex-ist, meaning

are acceptable. Let us say in life: No earthquakes

What happens then ?

It is quite
Feldman's work
situation:
avoid it.
sembles life

all tonal relations
are permissible.

All the somethings in the
world begin to sense their at-one-ness when something happens that reminds them of

nothing

way the music

so that its

all of the things

And in this
of Morton Feldman may actively remind us of nothing

no-continuity will let us allow our lives with

that happen in them to be simply what they are and not separate

LECTURE ON S O M E T H I N G / 1 3 3

from one another. It is perfectly clear that walking a-long the river is

one thing and writing music is another and being interrupted

while writing music is still an-other and a backache too. They

all go together and it's a continuity that is not a continuity that is being

clung to or in-sisted upon. The moment it be—comes a

special continuity of I am composing and nothing else should happen, then the

rest of life is nothing but a series of interruptions, pleasant or

catastrophic as the case may be. The truth, however, is that it is

more like Feldman's music — anything may happen and it all does

go together. There is no rest of life. Life is one. Without be-

ginning, without middle, without ending . The concept: beginning

middle and meaning comes from a sense of self which separates itself

from what it considers to be the rest of life. But this attitude is untenable unless

one insists on stopping life and bringing it to an end . That

thought is in itself an attempt to stop life, for life goes on, indifferent to the

deaths that are part of its no beginning, no middle, no meaning

How much better to simply get behind and push!
To do the opposite is clownish, that is: clinging or trying to force

life into one's own i-dea of it, of what it should be, is on-ly absurd. The ab-

surdity comes from the artificiality of it, of not living, but of

having to have first an idea about how one should do it and then stumblingly
trying. Falling down on some one of the various banana peels is what we

have been calling tragedy. Ideas of separateness artificially elevated. The mythological
and Oriental view of the hero is the one who accepts life

And so if one should object to calling Feldman a composer,

one could call him a hero. But we are all heroes, if we accept what

comes, our inner cheerfulness undis-turbed. If we ac-cept what comes,

that (again) is what Feldman means by Intersection. Anyone may cross it.

Here Comes Everybody . The light has turned. Walk on. The

water is fine. Jump in. Some will refuse, for they see that the

water is thick with monsters ready to devour them. What they have in

mind is self-preservation. And what is that self-preservation but

only a preservation from life? Whereas life without death is no longer life but

only self-preservation. (This by the way is another reason why recordings are not music
.) Which do we prefer is, practically speaking, an irrelevant question,

since life by exercising death settles the matter conclusively for

1 34/SILENCE

something but without conclusion for nothing. It is nothing that

goes on and on without beginning middle or meaning or ending. Something is

always starting and stopping, rising and falling. The nothing that

goes on is what Feldman speaks of when he speaks of being sub-

merged in silence. The ac-ceptance of death

source of all life. So that listening to this music

takes as a spring-board the first sound that comes along ;

something springs us into nothing and out of that nothing a-rises

next something; etc. like an al-ternating current,

the silence that ex-tinguishes it. And no silence exists

with sound. Someone said

to the performance of Feldman's music

"That kind of music if you call it music

in a public hall, because many people do not understand it

and they start talking or tittering and the result is that you can't

hear the music be—cause of all these extraneous sounds." Going on, that

someone said, "The music could be played and possibly appreciated ,

in a home where, not having paid to be entertained, those listening

reference
recent recital:
played

is the
one
the first
the
Not one sound fears
that is not pregnant
the other day, in

at Merce Cunningham's
should not be

might listen

out of decorum

more comfortable and
»>

sire for special

or having it

in a home it is
to hear it
de-scribes the de-
an ivory tower,
of keeping the
one day get out
and talking) become

and not have the impulse to titter

squelch it and be-sides

quiet: there would be a better chance

Now what that someone said

cut-off-from-life conditions:

But no ivory tower ex-ists, for there is no possibility

Prince forever within the Palace Walls. He will, willy nilly,

and seeing that there are sickness and death (tittering

Buddha. Be-sides at my house, you hear the boat sounds,

traffic sounds, the neighbors quarreling, the children playing and screaming in the

hall, and on top of it all the pedals of the piano squeak
There is no getting a-way from life

going back to what that someone said: "That kind of music,

Actually what difference? Words are only noises

makes little difference . Essentially

: do you five, or do you in-sist

the
the

Now, going on by

if you call it music."
. Which noise
the question is
on words?

If before you live
Whereas

you go through a word then there is an indirection,

we need not go around the barn ,

but

LECTURE ON SOMET H I N G / 1 3 5

may go directly in
"Paid to be entertained
Life.

moment

And then to go on :

This brings us again
If at any moment we approach that

with a pre— conceived idea of what that moment will provide, and if,

to

furthermore, we pre-sume that having paid for it makes us safe about it, we simply

start off on the wrong foot. Let's say for ten years everything
as we imagined it would and ought,

the table turns and it doesn't work out

We buy something to keep
stolen. We bake a cake and it turns out

turns out
Sooner or later
as we wish it would

and it is

sugar was not sugar
start to work
what is

Heroes are being
the accepting
will happen
why it is

but salt

than the telephone rings .
entertainment? And who

entertained and their nature
of what comes without preconceived ideas of
and re-gardless of the consequences,

so difficult to listen to music

that the

I no sooner

But to continue:

is being entertained?
is that of nature:

what

This is, by the way,

we are familiar

with; memory has acted to keep us a-ware

next, and so it is almost im-possible

presence of a well-known

it happens, and when it does,

Going on about
to appreciate
to hear it without
at the root of all
separate from the

of what will happen
to remain a-live
masterpiece. Now and then

it par-takes of the miraculous

in the

of the desire

rather that that,

sounds —

this work is a thing

with Feldman's music

of art which is a thing

nothing

at the root
to call it this
extraneous

what someone said:
a piece of music,
the unavoidable

this is the idea that

rest of life, which is not the case

We are in the presence not of a work

but of an action which is implicitly

Nothing has been said

Nothing is communicated. And there is no use

intellectual references. No thing in life requires a symbol

what it is: a visible manifestation

All somethings equally par-take of that

But to go on again about someone said:

And I forgot to mention it before. He said,

all those silences ?" How do I know

of symbols

since it is clearly
of an invisible nothing.

life-giving nothing.
"What?"
"What about

when

or

136/SILENCE

LECTURE ON SO MET H I N G / 1 3 7

We never know when but being cheerful helps . Are there

other ways than Feldman's? Naturally; something-speaking there are an

infinite number of ways. How many doors and windows?

1 38/SILENCE

I forgot to say
this isn't a talk about Morton Feldman's music. It's a talk within a rhythmic structure
and that is why every now and then it is possible to have absolutely

nothing; the possibility of nothing —

middles meanings and endings?
beginnings middles and meanings

And what is the

And what is the
?

be-ginning of no
ending of no

If you let it
Each something
When we
it doesn't drop.

it supports itself. You don't have to

is a celebration of the nothing that supports it.

re-move the world from our shoulders we notice

Where is the responsibility ?

Responsibility is to oneself;

irresponsibility to oneself which is to say

responsibility to others and things comes a-long

and the highest form of it is

the calm acceptance of whatever

If one adopts this attitude art

station in which one tries out living; one

living

one is living,
something
the art;

is a sort of experimental
doesn't stop

when one is occupied making the art,

that is, for example, now reading
and nothing, one doesn't stop

should I be writing

and when

a lecture on

being occupied making
that

LECTURE ON SOMETHING/ 1 39

Of course, I am — and going to the movies

about nothing or eating an apple: concerto piano,

and no blame. The continuity that is no continuity

for-ever; and there is no problem

With this exception: there
those things that come from

and full of pride and self-glory

as separate from and finer

on earth . But, actually,

a-bout accepting
is great difficulty
a profound

assert
than anything

where is the

piano concerto?

or explaining

No "should"

is going on

whatever.

in accepting

inner feeling

themselves

else

difficulty? It is the simplest thing in the world to directly see: this

is an orange; that is a frog; this is a man being proud;

is a man thinking another man is proud; etc

It all goes to-gether and doesn't require that we

try to improve it or feel our inferiority or superiority to it. Progress is out of the
question. But inactivity is not what happens. There is always activity
free from com-pulsion, done from disinterest,

free to stop brooding and to observe the effects of our actions,
proud, that pride keeps us from ob-serving

And what do we observe: the effects of our

others or on ourselves? On ourselves;

on us are con-ducive to less separateness,

more love, we may walk on then regardless

this

And we are
(When we are
very clearly.)
actions
for if the effects
less fear,
of the others.

Out of that lack of regard for the others
competitive, for as in those silences that
are confident of each other's

nervousness, only a sense

we will not feel
occur
friendship,
of at-one-ness

the need
when two people
there is no

but it is

on

to be

140/SILENCE

LECTURE ON S ONIETH I N G / 1 4 1

1 42/SILENCE

When going from nothing towards something,

we have all

the European history of music and art

we remember

and there we can see that this is well done

but the other is not.

So-and-so contributed this and that and criteria.

But now we are

going from something towards nothing,

and there is no way

of saying success or failure since all things

have equally

their

Buddha nature. Being ignorant of that fact

is the only obstacle

to

enlightenment. And being enlightened is not

some spooky

un-

earthly condition. Before studying Zen men are men and mountains

are mountains. While studying Zen, things get confused. After

studying Zen men are men and mountains are mountains.

No

difference except that one is no longer

attached;

now

and then I have found in dis-cussing

these ideas

that

some people say, "That is all very well,

but it

won't

work for us, for it's Oriental." (Actually

there is no longer

a

question of Orient and Occident.

All of that is rapidly

disappearing; as Bucky Fuller is fond of

pointing out:

the movement with the wind of the Orient

and the movement

against the wind of the Occident meet

in America

and

produce a movement upwards

into the air —

the

space, the silence, the nothing that supports us .)

And then

again if any of you are troubled still

about Orient

and

Occident, you can read Eckhart, or Blythe's

book on

Zen in

English literature, or Joe Campbell's books on mythology and philosophy,

or the books by Alan Watts. And there are naturally

many others.

There are books to read, pictures to look at,

poetry

LECTURE ON SOMETHING/143

so nowadays,

doing, say,

quite some time.'

most musicians

tradition,

tradition

in

to

are

to read (cummings for instance), sculpture, architecture, even

theatre and dance, and now some music too.

Mostly, right now, there is painting and sculpture, and just as

formerly when starting to be ab-stract, artists referred

musical practices to show that what they were doing was valid,

musicians, to explain what they

"See, the painters and sculptors have been doing it for

But we are still at the point where

are clinging to the complicated torn-up competitive remnants of

and, furthermore, a tradition that was always a

of breaking with tradition, and further-more, a tradition that

its ideas of counterpoint and harmony
with its own but with all other traditions

was out of step not only

I had thought

of leaving this last section silent,

but then it turns out

I have something to say .

I am after all talking

about Morton Feldman's music and whether that is right or wrong is

not to the point.

I am doing it. Going on doing it.

And that is the way.

This morning

I thought of an image

that might make clear to

some of you

the natural usefulness of Feldman's music.

It was this:

do you remember,

in myth, the hero's encounter

with the

shape-shifting

monster? The way

the sounds be-

tween two

> per-formances shift

their somethingness

suggests this.

Now what does the hero do?

(You and I

are the heroes

and incidentally Morty too.)

He doesn't

get frightened

but simply accepts

what the sound-shift-

ing performer happens to do. Eventually the whole mirage disappears.

And the prize

or sought-for something

(that is nothing)

is obtained.

And that something- generating nothing

that is obtained is

that each

something is really what it is

, and so

what happens?

Live happily ever after.

And do we

need

a celebration? We cannot

a-void it

since

each thing in life is continually

just that

.

Now what if I'm wrong?

Shall I telephone

Joe Campbell

and ask him the meaning

of shape-shifters

?

(I can't do it for a nickel any more.)

He would know the

answer.

However, that is not the point.

The point is

144/SILENCE

this.

other life-and-death

Out of Meister

I take the following

first to settle how

This is a situation which is no more and no less serious than any
situation. What is needed is irresponsibility.

Eckhart's sermon, God made the poor for the rich,

: "If, going to some place, we

to put the front foot down, we should never get there,

had to plan out every brush-mark before he made

your principles and keep

that is the way."

If the painter

first he would not paint at all. Follow

straight on; you will come to the right place,

The other day I had a letter

He said, "We try not to think too much

from day to day, pushing our in-vestigations

had

his

from Pierre Boulez.
of the war; we live

as far as possible

Coming back
of a

emphatic
and nothing
keep on going,
any something)
nothing)
still invades
whether

to Eckhart,
brilliant conclusion,
conclusion
and how
as Eckhart
"has no escape
"flee she up
her, energizing

for the sake
a tonic
to this talk
they need

says, "Earth"
from heaven:"
or flee she down
her, fructifying

by the way
and dominant
about something
each other
(that is
(that is
heaven
her,

to

for her weal or

for her woe."

np 1? up

LECTURE ON SOMET H I N G / 1 45

Before writing this piece, I composed 34' 46.776" for Two Pianists. These
piano parts shared the same numerical rhythmic structure but were not fixed
together by means of a score. They were mobile with respect to one another.
In each case the structural units became different in actual time-length by use
of a factor obtained by chance operations. Having been asked to speak at the
Composers' Concourse in London (October 1954), I decided to prepare for that
occasion a lecture using the same structure, thus permitting the playing of
music during the delivery of the speech. The second pianist's part had turned
out to be 31' 57.9864". When I applied the chance factor to the numerical
rhythmic structure in the case of the speech, I obtained 39' 16.95". However,
when the text was completed, I found I was unable to perform it within that
time-length. I needed more time. I made experiments, reading long lines as
rapidly as I could. The result was two seconds for each line, 45' for the entire
piece. Not all the text can be read comfortably even at this speed, but
one can still try.

45' FOR A SPEAKER

The piano parts had included noises and whistles in addition to piano and
prepared piano tones. For the speaker, I made a list of noises and gestures. By
means of chance operations, determining which noise or gesture and when
it was to be made, I added these to the text.

Similarly, the relative loudness of delivery was varied: soft, normal, loud.
(These volumes are indicated in the text below by typographical means: italics
for soft, roman for normal, and boldface italics for loud.)

The text itself was composed using previously written lectures together
with new material. Answers to the following questions were all obtained by
chance operations:

1 . Is there speech or silence?

2. And for how long?

3. If speech, is it old material or new?

4. If old, from which lecture and what part of it?

5. If new, on which of the following 32 subjects?

Structure (emptiness) (in general no structure)

Quotations

Time (and rhythm)

Sound (and noises)

Silence

Chance

Technique in general (no technique)

Other arts (shadows, etc.: incidental sounds)

1 46/SILENCE

Relationship (synchronicittf)
Music (work of art)
Magnetic tape
Prepared piano
Form

Theatre (music work of life)
Listening as ignorance
Focus

Square root and flexibility
Asymmetry of probability
Imperfections technique
Coins technique
Mobility-immobility
Multiple loud-speakers
Non-dualism
Error

Psychology (expressivity) (inspiration)
Vertical (forced) relations
Horizontal (forced) relations
Mobility of parts (this work)
The string pieces
The carillon music
Activity of performance
Purpose
6. Is the material, new or old, to be measured in terms of words or syllables?
And how many?

The piece for two pianists had been commissioned for performance at
Donaueschingen in September 1954. I finished it just in time to catch the boat
for Rotterdam with David Tudor. My plan was to write the speech while
crossing the Atlantic. The boat, however, met with a collision twelve hours
after leaving Manhattan. We slowly returned to New York. With the help of
other passengers having obligations abroad, we organized the flight of all the
ship's passengers to Amsterdam. 45' for a Speaker was written on trains and in
hotels and restaurants during the course of a European tour. Returning to
America later that fall, I composed 26' 1.1499" for a String Player (incorporating
in it short pieces written two years before) and, later, 27' 10.554" for a
Percussionist. All these compositions, including the speech, may be performed
alone or together in any combination.

45' FOR A SPEAKER/1 47

O'OO'

"Lo and behold the horse turns into

a prince, who, except for the

acquiescence of the hero

would have had to remain a

miserable shaggy nag."
10" I have noticed something else about

Christian Wolffs music. All you can

do is

suddenly listen

in the same way

that, when you catch cold,
20" all you can do is

suddenly

sneeze.

Unfortunately —

European harmony.

30'

40"

50" Where it is:

within us
but

like an empty glass
into which

148/SILENCE

l'OO" at any moment

anything

may be poured

just something finitely something

or even

to be able to drink
10" a glass of water.

Unless some other idea

crops up about it,

that is all I have to say about structure.

My present

way
20" of composing s

involved with the

observation

of imperfections in the paper

on which I happen

to be
30" writing.

( Snore )
About the

prepared piano: each prepared piano is

prepared differently. Objects are placed

between the strings and the piano sound,

to all of these various characteristics, he
40" is transformed with respect to all of its characteristics.

Music is an oversimplification of the situation

we actually are in. An ear alone

is not a being; music is one

part of theatre. "Focus" is what aspects one's

noticing. Theatre is all the various things
50" going on at the same time. I have noticed

that music is liveliest for me when listening for instance

doesn't distract me from seeing. One should

take music very naturally. No

technique

at all:

45' FOR A SPEAKER/1 49

2'00" only technique

worth having.

I remember

being asked

what I

thought about
10" technique.

And at

first I

had

nothing

to say.
20" Several days

later I

realized

I have no time

for technique

because
30" I must

always be making

one: any

technique can

be discovered

after any technique
40" is forgotten.

Another technique

I've devised

is derived

from the

I-Ching method
50" of obtaining

oracles.

And a

principle

(also I-Ching)

which interested me

(Lean on Elbow)

150/SILENCE

3'00" ( not at all any more )
is that which is
called
"mobility •immobility".

10"

(Hiss)
Time,

which is the title of this piece,

( so many minutes
20" so many seconds ) ,

is what we

and sounds

happen in. Whether early or late:

in it.

It is not a question of counting.
30" Our poetry now

is the realization

that we possess nothing.

Anything therefore ( Slap table )

is a delight

( since we do not possess it )
40" and thus need ( Cough )

not fear.

This composition involves a flexible use of

the number 10,000: that

istosayl00xl00(sq.rt.).

The actual time-lengths
50" are changing. This

work has no score. It should be abolished. "A statement concerning the

arts is no statement concerning the arts." It

consists of single parts. Any of them may

be played together or eliminated and at any

time. "To me teaching is an expedient, but I do

45' FOR A SPEAKER/1 51

4'00" not teach external signs." Like a long book if a

long book is like a mobile. "The ignorant be-
cause of their attachment to existence seize on signified

or signifying." No beginning no ending. Harmony, so-called,

is a forced abstract vertical relation which blots Out the spontaneous

transmitting nature of each of the sounds forced into it. It is
10" artificial and unrealistic. Form, then, is not something

off in the distance in solitary confinement:

It is right here right now. Since it is

something we say about past actions,
it is wise

to drop it.
20" This, too, giving himself

6- his quest up to the aimless rolling

of a metal ball, the hero, unquestioningly does.

They proceed thus, by chance, by no will

of their own passing

safely
30" through many perilous situations.

I begin to hear the old sounds, the ones

I had thought worn out, worn out

by intellectualization, I begin to hear

the old sounds as though they are not

worn out. Silence, like music, is non-
40" existent. There always are sounds. That

is to say if one is alive to hear them.

Obviously they are not. Whether I make them

or not there are always sounds to be heard and

all of them are excellent.

We bake a cake ( Brush Hair )

50" and

it turns

out

that the sugar

was not sugar

but salt

1 52/SILENCE

5'00" Are you deaf

( by nature, choice, desire )

or can you hear

( externals, tympani, labyrinths in whack ) ?

10"

20"

40"

By no means.

( Blow nose )

30" The twelve-tone row is

a method. A method
is a control of each single note.
Their development, the climax,
the recapitulation
which is the belief one may own one's own home.

'There is too much there there.'

There is not enough of
nothing in it.

So far, I have written two parts for a pianist.
50" Either part can be played alone or they can both

be played together. Each piano is prepared differently
although, as a matter of focus, the parts could be
played without bothering to prepare the piano
or pianos. If prepared, then, generally,
the preparations will be altered in

45' FOR A SPEAKER/1 53

6'00" the course
of the
performance.

10" The principle called mobility-immobility is this :

every thing is changing

but while some things

are changing

others

are not.
20"

Eventually those

that were

not
30"

changing

begin suddenly

to change
40"

et vice versa ad infinitum.

A technique to be useful ( skillful, that is )

must be such that it fails
50" to control

the elements subjected to it. Otherwise

it is apt to become unclear.

And listening is best

in a state of mental

emptiness.

154/SILENCE

7'00" Composers are spoken of as having
ears for music which generally
means that nothing presented
to their ears can be heard by them.
Their ears are walled in
with sounds
10" of their own imagination.

Of five aspects

observe

20" two.

The highest purpose is to have no purpose
at all. This puts one in accord with nature
in her manner of operation. If someone comes
along and asks why?, there are answers.

30" However there is a story I have found very help-
ful. What's so interesting about
technique anyway? What if there are twelve tones in a
row? What row? This seeing of cause and effect
is not emphasized but instead one makes an
identification with what is here and now. He

40" then spoke of two qualities . Unimpededness and Inter-
penetration.

The relationship of things happening
at the same time is spontaneous
and irrepressible.
50" It is you yourself

in the form you have

that instant taken.

To stop and figure it out

takes

time.

45' FOR A SPEAKER/155

8'00"

The only thing,

pardon me,

that I do not find.
10"

The preparation of

the pianos

is also

determined by chance.

The various materials
20" that exist

are placed in the

following categories:

P meaning plastics, bone, glass, etc.,

M meaning metal,

C meaning cloth, fibre, rubber,
30" W meaning wood, paper,

X meaning other materials, special circumstances,

free choices etc.

Coins are then tossed.
40"

Form's not the same twice:

50" Sonatas

Fugues

That two or

1 56/SILENCE

9'00" more things happen

at the same time

is their relation.

The beginning of

this work in progress

was not a
10" part for a pianist,

but, curiously enough,

six short parts

no one of them

lasting much more

than a minute,
20" for a string-player,

that is, a four-strings-player.

Surely things happening

at different times are also
30" related.

If it needed to be clear, magnetic tape

makes it perfectly so,

that we are not in a twelve-tone

or any other discrete situation.

The reason I am presently working
40" with imperfections in paper is this :

I am thus able to

designate

certain aspects of sound

as though they were in a field,

which
50" of course

they are.

The sounds that had accidentally occurred

while it

was being played were in

45' FOR A SPEAKER/1 57

lO'OO" no sense an interruption.
More and
more

I have the feeling
that we are getting nowhere.

10"

"Not wondering am I right or
doing something wrong."
The preparation changes that occur
during a performance are
a) simple change of position
20" b ) total or partial addition of objects
c) total or partial subtraction.

Nothing has been said about
Bach or Beethoven.

30" We are the oldest (it makes the silence)
at having our air-way of knowing
nowness.

Years ago I asked myself

"Why do I write music?"
40" An Indian musician told me the

traditional answer in India was

"To sober the mind and thus make

it susceptible to divine influences."

Same answer is given by some old

English composer. Consider this non-dualistically.
50"

"He goes by me; I see him not. He passes
on; but I perceive him not." These pieces
take into consideration the physical
action of playing an instrument.

1 58/SILENCE

ll'OO" You won't find this in the books.

"Why do you not do as I do? Letting

go of your thoughts

as though

they were

the cold ashes of a
10" long

dead fire?"

What has taken the place of the mobility-immobility principle

now that I am no longer interested in it? Three coins

tossed six times yield a hexagram of which

there are sixty-four. In this way one can establish
20" which of sixty-four possibilities obtains. And changes.

What better technique than to leave

no traces? To determine the number of

imperfections in a given space, coins are tossed.

That number of spots is then potentially active.

Subsequent tosses determine which are actually active.
30" Tables are arranged referring to tempi, the number

of superimpositions, that is to say number of things

that can go on at once, sounds & silences, durations,

loudnesses, accents. Sounds together (suffice it to say).

Structure is of no importance,

however, I go on having it by chance
40" to determine first the relative probability

of the three, and then to determine which

of the three happens in the world

for studying music.

It doesn't seem to me to affect anything

that happens in it. I am speaking, of course,
50" about a time structure. It simply

allows anything to happen

in it.

What I am calling poetry is often called

content. I myself have called it

form.

45' FOR A SPEAKER/159

12'00" It is the continuity of a
piece of music.
Continuity today
when it is necessary.

A fugue is a more complicated game; but
10" it can be broken up by a single sound,
say, from a fire engine.

20'

(Cough)

Now

(Laugh)

30" getting sleepy & so on.

Very frequently no one knows that

contemporary music is or could be

art.

He simply thinks it was irritating. ( Clap )

Irritating one way or another
40" that is to say

keeping us from ossifying.

It may be objected that from this point

of view anything goes. Actually

anything does go, — but only when

nothing is taken as the basis. In an utter emptiness
50" anything can take place.

The feeling we are

getting nowhere

1 60/SILENCE

13'00" that is a pleasure

which will continue. Why?

The way to test a modern painting is this : If

it is not destroyed by the action of

shadows it is genuine oil painting.
10" A cough or a baby crying will not

ruin a good piece of modern music.

This is 's Truth. As contemporary music

goes on changing in the way I am changing it

what will be done is to more & more completely liberate sounds.

Of course you do know structure is the division
20" of whatever into parts. Last year when I talked

here I made a short talk. That was because I

was talking about something; but this year I

am talking about nothing and of course

will go on. Magnetic tape music makes it clear we

are in
30" totality

actively

40'

Upaya.

Let your ears send a
message of surprise or perplexity. That's the Way.
Was asked: "Dr. Suzuki, what is the difference between
men are men & mountains are mountains before studying Zen

& men are men & mountains are mountains after studying Zen?" It is not a question of
50" going in to oneself or out to the world. It is

rather a condition of fluency that's in and out.
Need I quote Blake? Certainly not. Spots are spots
and skill's needed to turn them to the point
of practicality.

45' FOR A SPEAKER/1 61

WOO" Tape music requires multiple loud-speakers.

And it seems to me I could listen forever to
Japanese shakuhachi music or the Navajo
Yeibitchai or I could sit or stand
near Richard Lippold's "Full Moon"
10" any length of time.

40'

But those beauties —

Formerly for me

time-length was a constant. Now it, too,
20" like everything else, changes.

Beginning of the

third unit
30"

of the fourth

large part.

Yes it is. Masterpieces &
geniuses go together and when, by running from
one to the other, we make life safer than it
actually is, we're apt never to know the dangers
of contemporary music. When I wrote the Imaginary Landscape
50" for twelve radios, it was not for the purpose of
shock or as a joke but rather to increase the
unpredictability already inherent in the situation
through the tossing of coins. Chance,

to be precise, is a leap, provides a leap out
of reach of one's own grasp of oneself. Once

1 62/SILENCE

15'00" done, forgotten. One thing to do with time

is this: Measure it. (Slap table)

"Cultivate in yourself a grand similarity
with the chaos of the surrounding ether; un-
loose your mind, set your spirit free. Be
still as if you had no soul. Every one returns
10" to its root, & does not know. If they knew, they

would be leaving it." Structure. Given a number
of actually active points, they are an aggregate, a
constellation, they can move about among themselves
and it becomes necessary to classify the kinds
of aggregates, say constant and again intermittent.

20'

30*

i

40"

50"

(Cough)

One can hear a sound.

I wrote
some music for carillon for Mary Carolyn Richards using differently
shaped scraps of paper folded and small holes cut in them
at the points of folding. Then used these as
stencils at points in time-space I-Ching determined.

If you are interested you can read a detailed

description of it that will appear

in the forthcoming issue of trans/formation.

When I first tossed coins
I sometimes thought: I hope such ir such will turn up.

45' FOR A SPEAKER/1 63

16'00'

'Earth's no escape from Heaven.

10"

How can we speak of error when it is
understood "psychology never again"? It should
be clear from what I am saying that one's one.
Counterpoint is the same proposition as harmony

20" except that it is more insidious. I noticed
in 1938 that some young people were
still interested in it. "Greater earnestness
is required if one is going to solve the
really important problems."

My point is this:

30" various techniques can go together all at the
same time. Therefore this work, I am using
the word progress with which in connection,
has no organizing technique supporting it.

Giving up counterpoint
40"

one gets superimposition

and, of course,

a little counterpoint comes in of its own
50" accord.

How I wouldn't know.

1 64/SILENCE

17'00" The best thing to do about counterpoint is what
Schoenbergdid: Teach it.

30"

40"

50"

( Hold up hand, gargle )

I am still really
thoroughly puzzled by this way of composing

10" by observing imperfections in paper. It is
this being thoroughly puzzled that makes
it possible for me to work. I am puzzled
by hearing music well played too.

If I'm not puzzled it
wasn't well played. Hopelessly incompre-

20" hensible. While studying music things get
a little confused. Sounds are no longer
just sounds, but are letters: ABC D EF G.

At the end of the journey when success
is almost in view:

I know nothing. All I can do
is say what strikes me
as especially
changing

45' FOR A SPEAKER/165

18'00" in

contemporary
music.

Unfortunately, European
thinking has brought it about that actual
things that happen such as suddenly
10" listening or suddenly sneezing
are not
considered profound.

Not just tones, noises too! What
is

the physical action
20" involved

in playing an instrument? Yes

For instance,
now, my focus involves very little: a lecture

30" on music : my music. But it is not a
lecture, nor is it music; it is, of neces-
sity, theatre: What else? If I choose,
as I do,
music,
I get theatre, that, that is, I get that

40" too. Not just this, the two.

50" Art as art is order or expression or integration
of these. It is a light, the Chinese say, but
there is darkness. What is now unheard-of
is an eight-loud-speaker situation: to be in
the center of transmission. Sounds coming
from every direction. After eight give me sixteen.

166/SILENCE

19W

10"

Where is the best position for audition?
The corner where you are! It is understood
that everything is clean: there is no dirt.
"Then why are you always taking baths?"
"Just a dip: No why!" For me it is a matter
of getting up and daily, unless commitments.

That is finished now

20"

it was a pleasure

And now

Just the same only
somewhat as though you had your feet a
little off the ground. Now, at the beginning,
before studying music, men are men & sounds

30" are sounds; this causes some hesitation on the
hero's part but he finally acquiesces.

One of them said: He must have lost
his favorite animal. Another man said: No,
it must be his friend. "Do you only take
the position

40" of doing nothing, & things
will

of themselves
become

transformed." Think for

a moment about sound how it has pitch,

50" loudness, timbre and duration and how
silence which is its nonexistent opposite
has only duration. Duration structure.

Error is drawing a straight line between
anticipation of what should happen and

45' FOR A SPEAKER/167

20'00" what actually happens. What actually
happens is however in a total not
linear situation and is responsible
generally. Therefore error is a fiction, has
no
reality

10" in fact.

Errorless music is written by not giving
a thought to cause and effect.
Any other

kind of music always has mistakes in it.
In other words there is no

20" split

between spirit and matter.

And to realize this one has only suddenly

to awake to the fact.

This makes possible the writing of such
30" durations as 1/7 + 1/3 + 3/5, all fractions

of a quarter. This brings

about an

emphasis on uniqueness

so that two nearly the same

durations can each be uniquely itself
40" just as

two leaves, however much of the same tree

are not

identical. If there is time

I will tell about my visit

to the anechoic chamber
50" at Harvard. It was not

silent. Two sounds: one

high, one low. The privileged tones

that remain are arranged in

modes or scales or nowadays rows

& an abstract process begins called

(Cough)
(Lean on elbow)

168/SILENCE

21'00" composition. Express an idea.

10'

The only structure
which permits of natural activity is one so
flexible as not to be a structure; I write
in order to hear; never do I hear and
then write what I hear. Inspiration is not
a special occasion.

After studying
music men are men and sounds are
sounds. And subtract: That is to say, at
20" the beginning one can
hear
a

sound
and tell

30"

40" In the direct situation: it is

If you don't like it you may
choose
to avoid it
50" but what

silence requires isn't it.

45' FOR A SPEAKER/169

22'00"

What I think & what I feel can be
my inspiration but it is then also my
pair of blinders. To see one must go
beyond the imagination and for that
one must stand absolutely still as though
10" in the center of a leap.

20"

30" Several

stories occur to me that I should like to interpolate (in
the same way, by the way, that while I am talking
the telephone keeps ringing and then contemporary
conversation takes place instead of this particular
way of preparing a lecture).

40" It is high
or low

has a certain timbre

50" and loudness.

I will not disturb by my concern the structure
of anything that
is going to be acting; to
act is miracle and needs everything and
every me out of the way. An error is simply a

170/SILENCE

23'00" failure to adjust immediately from a preconception
to an actuality.

However, it occurs to me
to say more about
10" structure.

Specifically this:
We are now
at the beginning.

( Blow nose, rub eyes )

20" Or not

And it isn't

a human being or something

30" to look at; it is high or low-
has a certain timbre & loudness,

lasts a certain length of time.

40" End.

It is necessary to see that there is not only a sharp
distinction to be made between composing and listening
but that although all things are different it is
not their differences which are to be our concern
but rather their uniquenesses and their infinite

50" play of interpenetration with themselves and with
us.

There are three categories of noises

45' FOR A SPEAKER/171

24'00" in the two parts for two pianists: those produced in-
side the piano construction, outside the same and
accessory noises, whistles, percussions, etc.

Reading music is for musicologists. There is no
straight line to be drawn between notes
10" and sounds.

20"

Vertically in

the same

space

any

range
30" will

appear.

It was originally for me a matter of flexibility
by means of changing and not changing
tempi. The matter reduces itself however

40" to time which is short or long. And that
to a process of multiplication using a
variety of multiplicands. Communication
if it is

required is a way of calling
attention to one's own psychology.

50" If permitted, it takes place of its own

accord,

is

for all the world

inevitable.

1 72/SILENCE

25'00"

If it were the
same purpose as when it has to do with another leaf
it would be a coincidence, imitation of nature
from which each leaf should hold on to the
complete rule which would be free because it
10" adds "in her manner of operation." Then it will
not be of its own unique position in space
uniqueness, plagiarism of result, having a
particular suchness, but active from
"before operations begin." ( Is eoctremely
close to
20" being
here
and
now.) (Clap)

So that listening one takes as a spring-
30" board the first sound that comes along;

the first something springs us into nothing and
out of that nothing arises the next something;
etc. like an alternating current. Not one
sound fears the silence that extinguishes it
But if you avoid it, that's a pity, because
40" it resembles life very closely & life and it
are essentially a cause for joy. People say,
sometimes,
timidly.

Organized
50" ways of predicting the weather say for instance it is in
all of its acoustical details. For a calculated
theatrical activity I would say offhand that
the minimum number of necessary actions going on
at once is five. Bright people can clear up
rather quickly perplexity arising from lower numbers.

45' FOR A SPEAKER/173

26'00" Modern intervals : but in order to have

them the mind had fixed it so that one had to
avoid having progressions that would make one
think of sounds that were not actually
present to the ear.

10"

He is most utterly indebted, not one who
struggles to force his idea? and who would
have had to remain, I have noticed.
Calculated actions that are to go on together
need not have been composed in the same

20" way. One runs the risk of falling into
a marasm of idea if one goes on
composing without discovering. Turn on several
radios at once. There again one has a
multiple loud-speaker system. Besides
actually being in space, the mind no longer

30" can function as A B C.

Theatre takes place
all the time wherever one is and art simply
40" facilitates persuading one this is the case.

So that this ignorance I speak of is not losing
sensitivic responsiveness, on the contrary. It
is a question of when: now. "Flee she
up or flee she down." It acts in

50" such a
way

that one can "hear through" a piece of
music just as one can "see through."
Echoes, breaking, varying its speed, and
synchronized. Skillful means has a good

174/SILENCE

27'00" deal to do with multiple division of process.
And here for instance we begin to be in
a state of immobility. Anyone can
see the desirability of mobility. Had I had
nothing to say, it would have been different. All it
is now is what it is : faster and slower.
10" It is the

space between the loud-speakers that is to be considered:
From a desire for clarity, great.

20" We carry our homes

within us

which enables us to fly
30"

Each moment presents what happens. I

derived the method I use for writing music

40" by tossing coins

from the method used in the Book of Changes.
It may be objected that from this point of view
anything goes.

50" Actually, anything does go but only when
nothing is taken as the basis.
In an utter emptiness
anything can take place. And

needless to say,

45' FOR A SPEAKER/175

28'00" each sound is unique ( had accidentally occurred while it was being played )
and is not informed
about European history and theory:
Keeping one's mind
on the emptiness,
on the space
10" one can see anything can be in it, is, as
a matter of fact, in it.

Were in no sense an interruption.
I have noticed
20" I needed a way
Something else

This causes some hesitation

hero would have had to remain
30" now knows he is most

asks the hero to kill him.

Three kinds of them. It was by means of

words we became subservient. The central

point is everywhere receiving and transmitting. What

is passivity? Only one monk in the monastery the oldest one wrote a poem
40" but he stayed up night and day deliberating on it. The other monks didn't try

because they were certain the oldest one would win. When his poem

finally came out, it said: Continuity takes place of its own

accord and things do go on at the same time.

All of this is correct and true: there is no con-
cern necessary for, say, intonation, counterpoint,
50" scales, going to and coming from; and, then, when?

An abstract process begins called composition. That

is: a composer

uses the sounds to express an idea:

What then

are you standing up there for, if you

176/SILENCE

29W' say

10"

No

to all of our questions?

The man on high said, I just stand

If there are no questions.

This means for me knowing more

and
20" more not what I.

If it is

on paper, it is graphic: calligraphy;

if you can hear and see it, it is.

There are no answers. Then, of course,

there are answers but the final
30" answer makes the questions

seem absurd

whereas the questions up until then

seem more intelligent than the

answers. Somebody asked Debussy

Have you not lost your friend?
40"

No, sir, I have not lost my friend

either.

Is it

interesting? It is and it isn't. But

one thing is certain. They are with
50" respect to counterpoint melody

harmony rhythm and any other

musical methods, pointless.

45' FOR A SPEAKER/177

30'00"

All that is necessary is an empty
space of time and letting it act in its magnetic way.
Eventually there will be so much in it that
whistles. In order to apply it to all of these various characteristics
he necessarily reduces it to numbers. He has also found a math-

10" ematical way of making a correspondence between rows. I remember
as a child loving all the sounds even the unprepared ones; I liked them
especially when itself in the jaws cheeks and tongue
and the commentary says "The most super-
ficial way of trying to influence others is through talk
that has nothing real behind it. The

20" influence produced by such mere tongue-
wagging must necessarily remain insignificant."

"I believe that one can arrive

30" at directing the phenomenon of the automatism of
Chance which I mistrust as a f acility which
is not absolutely necessary. For, in the end,
in interpolations and interferences between
different rows ( when one of them passes
from time-lengths to pitches, at the

40" same time that another passes from
intensities to attacks, etc. ) there is
already a sufficiency of the unknown."

50" ( Diminishes his love and increases his fear
and concern about what people will think. )

(Bang fist on table)

178/SILENCE

31'00"

There is all the

time in the world for studying
music,
10"

but for living there is scarcely

any time at all.
20"

For living takes place

each instant.

30"

40" Unimpeded.

50"

(Yawn)

There are two great dangers for
magnetic tape: one is music ( all the
history and thinking about it) ; and the other
is feeling obliged to have an instrument.

45' FOR A SPEAKER/179

32'00" One is Pacific 231 1954 and the other:
organ music.

If you are interested you can

read a detailed description of it.

10"

If there are
ten things to do and I only do two of them, focus
have changed. In his ear, where he will find a metal
ball, to toss it on the road, in front of them, so that
20" as the horse goes on to say, we may be led
by it. This too giving himself.

Is there anything
else to say about structure?

Yes, it goes on
30" supporting everything: its only difficulty
lies where struggle to support is already

(Touch nose and ears; click)

in process. Fearing what?

40" Any kind of paper will do for seeing spots
in it.

When one gets around to copying on a
second sheet what was given by a
first it becomes clear.
50"

What?

1 80/SILENCE

33'00" Magnetic

tape as being all-interesting can disappear.

There are rumors of machines and cards

Let us move however for unpredictability
10"

A structure is like a bridge from

nowhere

20"

( Lean on elbow )

If something with respect to something
else happens sooner or later everything is different
but essentially nothing of any permanent
importance has happened. I am talking
30" & contemporary music is changing. Like life

it changes. If it were not changing it would be dead.

That is why chance enters for me
so largely into my means which
are skillful. It is at the point

40" of potentiality.

(Yawn)
I am
working now to work without charts, without
any support in total space. I see now
by many slow transitions, one of which

50" is tempo like streams (varying & not
varying ) that as long as one discrim-
inates as I formerly
did problems re-
main. Each one of us is thinking his own thoughts
his own experience & each experience is changing & while we

45' FOR A SPEAKER/1 81

34'00" are thinking ( to get yourself in such a state of
confusion that you think that a sound is
not something to hear but rather something to look at)
I am happy about all the experiences I
have had with the prepared piano; for one thing
it showed me how different two pianos are from one another
10" and music (so-called)

makes us think

two pianos are the same. It isn't true.

20"

( Hold up watch [to mike] )

30"

It is tossed out.

40'

50'

It just happened that the series
of numbers which are at the basis of this
work add up to 100 x 100 which is
10,000. This is pleasing, momentarily: The world,

1 82/SILENCE

35'00" the 10,000 things. But the title is simply
minutes and seconds. Question to ask you:
How do you need to cautiously proceed
in dualistic terms?

AB

Just as going from

10" here to Egypt is a single trip but a
more or less complex series of
experiences or just as Chinese
characters are some written with one
stroke but others with two or several
or many And not

20" in the way we need for living. For
instance: someone said Art should
come from overhead. There was
a social calendar and hours
for breakfast but one day I
saw a cardinal and the same

30" day heard a woodpecker. I
also met Meister Eckhart. Of
course Kansas. Arizona is more
interesting.

40" have nothing to say and I am saying it
and that is poetry.

It is no longer a case of moving along

50" stepping stones ( scales of any degree,

series of no matter what ) , but one can
move or just appear to, at any
point in this total space, long enough

45' FOR A SPEAKER/1 83

36'00" to see the end of this craze for Bach. A
pupil once said to me: I understand
what you say about Beethoven & I
think I agree but I have a very
serious question to ask you: How
do you feel about Bach?

10"

Now we have come to the end of the
part about structure.

That two or more
20" things happen at the same time is

It is entirely possible for something to

their relationship: Synchronicity. That
Break for instance

means at the center moving out in all
30"

directions and then time is clearly

Should one stop and mend it?

luminous. It could not be easily otherwise.

go wrong. And machines are never synchronous
40" not even the synchronous ones. If
you need several things at once, use
one as the basis, and one motor.

50"

(Lean, cough)

To befit
be the present. Would it be a

repetition? Only if we thought we
owned it, but since we don't, it
is free 8t so are we. Most

anybody knows about the future and ( "No" of hand in air, lass sound )

1 84/SILENCE

37'00" how uncertain it is.

A sound is a sound.

To realize this : one has to put a stop
to studying music.

10" The most enlivening thing

about magnetic tape is this : whether we actually do it or not, everything

we do do, say what we're doing, is affected, radically,

by it.

Rhythm is not arithmetic.

And so is this unfinished work: so far for two pianists,
20" string-players, lecturer

Lines of demarcation are O.K.

when they have to do with potentiality.

It must be clearly understood they have

nothing. A sound accomplishes nothing:

without it life would not last out the
30" instant. It is only irritating to

think one would like to be somewhere

else. Here we are now.

40" It becomes

gradually clear to us dull-witted
musicians that interpenetration
means that each one of these
most honored ones of all
is moving out in all directions.

50" Penetrating & being penetrated no

matter what the time.

Research would

45' FOR A SPEAKER/1 85

38'00" then take place in the field of music
as it takes place normally in other
fields.

10"

20"

Energizing, whether for her weal or for her
woe.

Testing pictures:
can they support action of shadows?

I have
been satisfied for some time with one to
sixty-four; there is no way of telling how
long this will continue. I could go back
30" to two or:

One loud-speaker is insufficient and so
are two or three or four: five is
40" when it seems to me to begin. What begins
is our inability to comprehend, "that on the
contrary chance ought to be very controlled.

In using tables in general, or a series of tables, I
believe one can
50" arrive at direct"

Form
is what interests everyone and fortunately
it is wherever you are and there is
no place where it isn't. Highest truth,
that is.

1 86/SILENCE

39'00"

Eventually everything will be happening
at once: nothing behind a screen unless a screen happens to be
in front. It will increasingly be a thump instead of
10" a bang. The thing to do is to gather up one's
ability to respond and go on at varying speeds.
Following, of course, the general outlines of the
Christian life. I myself tend to think of catching trains
more than Christianity.

20"

Insisting on stimulating activity, though

Without a multiple loud-speaker system, all

becomes music and submissiveness. But,
30" fortunately the piano is there and one can

always prepare it in a different way.

Otherwise it would become an instrument.
It is like, as

Artaud said, a disease. No avoiding. And

not having an idea about it.
40"

The thing

to do is to keep the head alert but

empty. Things come to pass, arising

and disappearing. There can then be no

consideration of error. Things are always going
50" wrong.

(Lean on elbow)

( Whistle three times )

45' FOR A SPEAKER/1 87

40W

10"

We re apt never to know

but
something else is

happening: I am getting nowhere slowly
as the talk goes on slowly
we have the feeling we're getting nowhere; that
is a pleasure which will continue if
we are irritated with whatever. This goes
20" to explain what he means when he says that

he is associated with all of the sounds & so can foresee
what will happen even though he has not written the
particular notes down at room temperature as other composers do.

30'

And I have noticed something else about most anyone's
music, that can be accomplished to increase the unpredictability
already inherent in the situation:

40" The control must be at one point only and so
placed that it has no effect on anything that
happens: A technique which results in no technique, etc.
Of course the answer is time and since
we have them, chronometers, I mean, use
them; or you may leave it forever & never

50" return. Play my piece for bells. Whether I hear it
or not is of no consequence : but until someone
does, music is at a standstill.

Before I die, I shall
leave a will, because if you want some-
thing done, sentimentality is effective. I

1 88/SILENCE

41'00" haven't the slightest idea of what is good

in the world, but instead quite passively, & often
against what might be considered a better
judgment, accepts what happens.

I find that it is important to take a
10" multiplicity of steps.

A story is told about an Irish hero that

he is required by a jealous mother-in-law

to go to some distant island.

At all costs inspiration
20" must be avoided which is to say

act in such a way that inspiration

doesn't come up as an alternative

but exists eternally. Then of course

it is theatre and music disappears

entirely into the realm of art where
30" it knows it belongs. Art silence is

not real silence and the difference

is continuity versus interpenetration. This ( Light match )

is also.

40'

50"

( Hold up hand )

Music is simply trying things out in
school fashion to see what happens.
Etudes. Making it easier but not
real. Theatre is the only thinf
that comes near what it is.

This means for me knowing more &
more not what I think a sound is, but

45' FOR A SPEAKER/1 89

42'00

n

what it actually is, in all of its acoustical
details & then letting the sound exist, itself
changing in a changing sonorous environment.

10" The way it does it is by the intimacy of
multiplicity and emptiness. The mind has
nothing in it but everything else is busy
and there is not an instant lost in
doing what must be done. Later on, if
you wish, you can read about mobility

20" and immobility. To repeat: I am no
longer interested in it. I am interested
in asymmetry.

If one feels

30" protective about the word "music," protect
it and find another word for
all the rest that enters through the
ears. It's a waste of time to trouble
oneself with words, noises. What it
is is theatre and we are in it and

40" like it, making it.

50" But beware!

Here we are now at the
middle of the fourth large part

1 90/S1LENCE

43'00" of this talk

10"

There is no

20'

30"

40"

such thing as silence. Something is al-
ways happening that makes a sound.

No one can have an idea

once he starts really listening.

It is very simple but extra-urgent

The Lord knows whether or not

the next

50'

(Bang fist)

45' FOR A SPEAKER/1 91

44'00"

Forever? Now?

10"

(Blow nose)

Hearing or making this in
20"

music is not different

only simpler
30"

than living this way. Simpler

that is, — for me, because it happens. ( Cough )

No error.

And no wondering about what's next.
40" Going lively on "thru many a

perilous situation." ( Was it later he was

discovered? ) And what is your purpose

in writing music? I do not deal

in purposes; I deal with sounds.

What
50" sounds are those? I make

them just as well by sitting quite

still looking for mushrooms.

Growing fast in sawdust.
1 92/SILENCE

Sonya Sekula said, "Why don't you come with me to the Reises'? They're giving a party." I said I
wasn't invited. Sonya said, "Come anyway; they won't mind." As we walked in, Mrs. Reis was extremely
friendly in her greeting, and even asked what I'd like to drink. I said, "Rum." She said, "Oh, I'm so sorry.
I don't have any at the bar, but 111 go down to the basement and get some." I asked her not to bother,
but she insisted. While she was gone, I made my way over to the bar and discovered Bushmills Irish
whisky, of which I am very fond. I asked for some and began drinking it. When Mrs. Reis came back
with the rum, naturally I drank some of that. As the time passed, I drank rum when Mrs. Reis was looking
and Irish whisky when she wasn't. After a while Sonya Sekula said, "Let's go. You take one of the bottles
of Irish and I'll get my coat and meet you downstairs." I said, "You take the bottle; I'll get your coat."
She said, "O.K." I went downstairs, picked up a fur coat; Sonya came running down with the Irish; we
went out into the snow. I said, "Do you want your coat on?" She said, "No. The car's right here. Just
throw it in the back seat." A few blocks along, Sonya said, "That's not my coat." I said, "How do you
know?" She said, "The perfume." We drove on to Grand Street, went upstairs, and killed the Irish. We
talked all the time about selling the coat in some distant city. Sonya said she knew a fence in St. Louis.
About midnight I called the Reises and spoke to Mr. Reis. I said, "I have the coat." He said, "Thank God!"
We made arrangements for my bringing it to his office in the morning. When I got there I explained it
had all been a mistake. Before we said good-by, he whispered, "No one will ever hear a word about this."
I went to the elevator. He came running down the hall and said, "What about Mrs. Reis's coat?" I said,
"I don't know anything about her coat; I didn't take it."

Two wooden boxes containing Oriental spices and foodstuffs arrived from India. One was for David
Tudor, the other for me. Each of us found, on opening his box, that the contents were all mixed up. The
lids of containers of spices had somehow come off. Plastic bags of dried beans and palm sugar had ripped
open. The tin lids of cans of chili powder had come off. All of these things were mixed with each other
and with the excelsior which had been put in the box to keep the containers in position. I put my box
in a corner and simply tried to forget about it. David Tudor, on the other hand, set to work. Assembling
bowls of various sizes, sieves of about eleven various-sized screens, a pair of tweezers, and a small knife,
he began a process which lasted three days, at the end of which time each spice was separated from each
other, each land of bean from each other, and the palm sugar lumps had been scraped free of spice and
excavations in them had removed embedded beans. He then called me up to say, "Whenever you want
to get at that box of spices you have, let me know. Ill help you."

One of Suzuki's books ends with the poetic text of a Japanese monk describing his attainment of
enlightenment. The final poem says, "Now that I'm enlightened, I'm just as miserable as ever."

While Meister Eckhart was alive, several attempts were made to excommunicate him. (He had, in
his sermons, said such things as "Dear God, I beg you to rid me of God.") None of the trials against
him was successful, for on each occasion he defended himself brilliantly. However, after his death, the
attack was continued. Mute, Meister Eckhart was excommunicated.

45' FOR A SPEAKER/1 93

When I was invited to speak in January 1961 at the Evening School of
Pratt Institute in Brooklyn, I was told that the burning questions among the
students there were: Where are we going? and What are we doing? 1 took these
questions as my subjects and, in order to compose the texts, made use of
my Cartridge Music.

The texts were written to be heard as four simultaneous lectures. But to
print four lines of type simultaneously— that is, superimposed on one another—
was a project unattractive in the present instance. The presentation here used
has the effect of making the words legible— a dubious advantage, for I had
wanted to say that our experiences, gotten as they are all at once, pass
beyond our understanding.

A part of this lecture has been printed, in a different typographical
arrangement, in Ring des Arts, Paris, summer 1961. The entire lecture has been

WHERE ARE WE GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING?

recorded by C. F. Peters, New York, in the form of four single-track tapes
(7/2 ips, forty-five minutes each). The following is a set of directions:
Four independent lectures to be used in whole or in part— horizontally and
vertically. The typed relation is not necessarily that of a performance.
Twenty-five lines may be read in 1 minute, 1% minutes, 1% minutes, giving
lectures roughly 37, 47, 57 minutes long respectively. Any other speech speed
may be used.

A performance must be given by a single lecturer. He may read "live" any
one of the lectures. The "live" reading may be superimposed on the recorded
readings. Or the whole may be recorded and delivered mechanically. Variations
in amplitude may be made; for this purpose, use the score of my composition
WBAI (also published by C. F. Peters).

I was driving out to the country once with Carolyn and Earle Brown. We
got to talking about Coomaraswamy's statement that the traditional function of
the artist is to imitate nature in her manner of operation. This led me to the
opinion that art changes because science changes— that is, changes in science
give artists different understandings of how nature works.

A Phi Beta Kappa ran in the other day and said, "Your view is that art
follows science, whereas Blake's view is that art is ahead of science."

Right here you have it: Is man in control of nature or is he, as part of it,
going along with it? To be perfectly honest with you, let me say I find nature
far more interesting than any of man's controls of nature. This does not imply
that I dislike humanity. I think that people are wonderful, and I think this
because there are instances of people changing their minds. (I refer to
individuals and to myself. )

1 94/SILENCE

Not all of our past, but the parts of it we are taught, lead us to believe that
we are in the drivers seat. With respect to nature. And that if we are not, life
is meaningless. Well, the grand thing about the human mind is that it can turn
its own tables and see meaninglessness as ultimate meaning.

I have therefore made a lecture in the course of which, by various means,
meaning is not easy to come by even though lucidity has been my constant
will-of-the-wisp. I have permitted myself to do this not out of disdain of you
who are present. But out of regard for the way in which I understand nature
operates. This view makes us all equals— even if among us are some
unfortunates: whether lame, blind, stupid, schizoid, or poverty-stricken.

Here we are. Let us say Yes to our presence together in Chaos.

If we set out to catalogue things

today, we find ourselves rather

endlessly involved in cross-

referencing. Would it not be

Those of us who don't agree are going

less efficient to start the other

around together. The string Duchamp dropped.

way around, after the fashion of

He took the apartment without being able to

some obscure second-hand bookstore?

pay for it. They danced on a concrete floor.

The candles at the Candlelight Concert are

One New Year's Eve I had too
electric. It was found dangerous

many invitations. I decided to
for them to be wax. It has not yet

WHERE ARE WE GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING7/195

go to all the parties, ending up
been found dangerous for them to

at the most interesting one. I
be electric — and this in spite of

arrived early at the one I was
the air-conditioning. If 1 were

sure would be dull. I stayed there
able to open my windows, I think

the whole evening— never got to the others.
I would do it often, and for no reason at all.

I would have written sooner but

I picked up the book and

could scarcely put it down. It is absolutely

charming. Tm going to write to the author.

How can we go over there when

we haven't the least idea of

what we will find when we

get there? Also we don't

Three birds and a telephone ringing. Does

know how to land, and we

that relate to where we are going? Does

9

have no way of trying it

it tell us the direction to take: out

1 96/SILENCE

out beforehand. Perhaps we

the window and down the hall?
will sink into a huge mile-

I take a sword and cut off my
thick pile of dust. What then?

t

head and it rolls to where we

are going. The question is: Do they

mean it when they say No Trespassing?

In a sense we are going to extremes.

You want to know what we're doing?

That is what we are doing. In fact

We're breaking the rules, even our

we don't need to go to bring that

own rules. And how do we do that?

into our action. We tend to rush

By leaving plenty of room for X quantities.

to what we think are the limits

The house had been so well built that

only to discover how tamed our
even though it burned, it did not

After we have been going for some

ambitions were. Will we ever learn
burn down. The fire gutted it.

time, do we mellow? ( They used to

WHERE A R WE GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE D O I N G ? / 1 9 7

that it is endless? What then
We're not going to become less
say we would. ) Mellowing is sof-

ts an extreme? The very low sounds,
scientific, but more scientific. We
tening. Left to ourselves, if the

extremely low, are so little available
do not include probability in science.
birds didn't get us, we'd putrefy.

We're putting art in museums, getting it out

to us and yet we rush to them
Do I thank you or the one who's
Of course, our air-conditioning

of our lives. We're bringing machines
and don't get them. We find
opening and closing the door? On days when
is such that if we just managed

home to live with us. Now that

them too soft. We want them

nobody answers, we stop telephoning. We are

to die under its influence we'd

the machines are here so to say to
extremely loud. If you announced
going and then coming back and going and
not putrefy: we'd dry up.

1 98/SILENCE

stay with us, we've got to find

that there was going to be a low
coming back again. Eventually we
But since the windows won't

ways to entertain them. If we don't,
and loud sound, I imagine
will go and not come back at all.
open, we could scarcely be ex-

they'U explode, but as for going, we're

quite a number of us would

•

pected to blow away. I've always

going out. Did we just notice the moon

rush to hear it. What about an

•

had my heart set on cremation

or was it there always? Where we're
extremely loud high sound? Hear!

•

but now I see the reason for earth,

going is not only to the moon but out into

Anxiety enters. Some of us would stay

•

it frees the air from dead influences.

space. Home is discrete points. Space is an
put and say, "Tell me about it."
The house is built around a large

infinite field without boundaries. We are

Once someone's done something,
chimney, so large that on a good

leaving the machines home to play the
it's no longer his responsibility.
day when the flue is open, the sun

old games of relationships, addition and

It's someone else's. It could of

shines on the hearth. We're getting into

who wins. ( We're going out. ) A teen-ager-
course be his again, but what
our heads that existence, the existence of

served custard that had wheyed — said, "My

would he do? I asked the three girls

a sound, for instance, is a field

At the beginning of our going, it seems

mother bakes custard too, but she

what they would take with them
phenomenon, not one limited to
that we are going our separate ways,

doesn't put water in it." Let us admit,

to the Caribbean. The third was
known discrete points in that field — the
that we have nothing further to say

once and for all, that the lines

going to take some fish and a

conventionally accepted ones — but capable

to one another, and we leave behind

we draw are not straight.

bird which she cannot because

of appearance at any point in the field.

in particular the ways we learned to

they're being housed by friends when
This brings about a change in our heads.
communicate. Later on

she and her family go away. I

*

we won't bother about any of that.

pointed this out: "Since you can't
We'll be one happy anarchistic family.

take the bird and the fish, what
We haven't any time left to stay: we

«

will you take? Your sisters

must go now. Though his ears are

have said what they'll take."

WHERE ARE WE GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING?/199

extraordinarily sensitive and he's a Quaker,

There was no answer. Shortly,

he recommended a restaurant with Muzak.

but after her sisters, she ran up-

stairs to bed. "Tuck me in.*

She drives rapidly; her life is shorter.

Everything is ready for tomorrow morning.

I must remember to turn out the lights.

200/SILENCE

Small telephones for those near the

central telephone and large telephones

for those farther away following

what one calls a law of nature.

If there are as many ways as

there are of looking, there must

be at least three ways of going— not

so much ways as wheres. Well,

there you have it: If I go over

there and stop, could I not have

The trouble with Denver is its past.

gone slightly to the left? As I

San Francisco used to have the same
go, direction changes. It is not

problem. But how are we going to know

measurable. But it is precise

where to go when it doesn't make

going. One moved off to the south,

the least difference to us where we

and when I measured he was going

go? The problem is simple: You

north. Or I crossed the stream at the

WHERE ARE WE GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING7/201

"Powdered eggs are good enough for me."

either stay put until you get

point where the water was going both
It's not the air-conditioning; it's the

an invitation or you make your-

ways. They say how fast and there
radiant heating in the ceiling: it makes

self an invitation written in such
is no way to answer. Tempo is out
me think someone's up on the roof.

a way that you couldn't know,

but comes back in. You might add:
They played a game in which she
At the present time it seems

when you wrote it, what you

There was no need for us to have gone.
was the sun. One man was the
reasonable not to go. The weather

were writing, and where it would

•

earth and the other was the moon: a

is not made for adult affairs

be sending you going. And other ways.

choreography. Now what shall we do?
202/SILENCE

( and the furtherance of the national

economy) but for the games of

children. Even if we sense

I wander out in the hall expecting

a certain obligation to go we

to see someone. It turns out it wasn't

Do you remember the story of his

•

may very likely not be able to.

anybody: it was a machine. I'm as

hanging his shoes out of his own
Whether or not we want it, we

crazy as a loon: I'm invited out to

reach, so that rather than taking
are insured. And we say it is a

dinner. I keep telling myself: Before

the trouble of getting them down,
good thing. The thing to do is not to

you go to bed, be sure to close the

he would simply go on doing what
have one policy but many and then

bathroom door; if you don't, you'll

he was doing and not go out? From
there is the possibility that the central

just have to get up and close it

what I hear, there are ideas that
office will get confused. (It happens.)

later. We are going stupidly to places

we have not yet had simply be-
We are going to realize that our

we have never been. Going away from
cause we don't yet have the language
analytic method of approaching

home, sometimes lost, we come by
to have them. But even in our
the material we are working with

circle, home again. We're surprised:

own language, it seems, there
(sound, I mean) which was so

it's changed. Did it slip — out

are ideas that are confined

useful is going to give place to

What we do is not utterly different from

from under us? The day in the

to systems, each to a single one,
some other means, some other

what we used to do. That is: we

woods_I took a compass was the

which means there would be

useful means. Its awkwardness led us

used to get an idea and do it and

day I got lost for sure. Two years

times when it would be reason-
willy-nilly into a certain sloppiness.

then someone else had to do more

later when I was throwing it out,

able to say Yes and other times
(That was not without its hilarious

or less what he was told to do.

a child to whom I'd given a bass

when it would be absurd to say
effects which we in our deadliness
Now we get an idea and present

drum asked whether he might also have

that same word. Ideas take on

did not notice.) There is a lingering

it in such a way that it can

the compass. The first thing she said
WHIR! ARE WE GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING7/203

a kind of material reality
confusion, paying heed to results
be used by him who is going to

was: "Everyone's confused; there isn't

but essentially they are intangible.
rather than actions (the only solution
do it. Someone once raised the

anyone now who isn't confused."

My question is: Why do we, as

is to stay where you are: it's you acting).

question who gets the credit. The

Or was that the first thing she said?

it were, imprison them? Of

•

listener gives it to himself when

all things, they are best equipped,

he gets it. All the people have

wouldn't you say, to fly in and
People always want to know what
become active and enjoy what you

out of the most unlikely places?
we're doing and the last thing we
might call individual security.

Off hand, for instance, we can do
204/SILENCE

want to do is keep it a secret. But

The composer also has ears on his head.

one thing at a time. But we
the truth is we don't know what

used to admire those artists of
we're doing and that is how we

vaudeville who did several
manage to do it when it's lively.

at once. To their three, say,

I believe, of course, that what we're

we could add our one. But at
doing is exploring a field, that the

a circus, three rings, though
field is limitless and without

high up, I remember I
qualitative differentiation but with

could only look at one ring
multiplicity of differences,

at a time. I kept missing or
that our business has changed

thinking I was missing some-
from judgment to awareness —

thing. On the other hand, if
I believe all this and it makes
Travel was not only possible.

what I'm doing is digging the
me speechless, for there is nothing
It was widely engaged in. On

hog peanut, then it actually happens

to say. For if I say I am

both sides of the streets, the two-

that I can converse, notice changes

especially active in the

way ones, there were long lines

in temperature, take as perfectly
amplification of small sounds
of traffic proceeding, to be sure,

natural the discovery of geasters
and work with the voice, it
slowly, but getting, one assumed,

growing underneath the surface
doesn't tell you what the others
eventually where they were going.

of the earth when I knew

(who are also us) are doing. Would

People also were walking and a

It's very curious. I remember recording

perfectly well the books don't men-
it be accurate co say then that

very large crowd attended the

machines with dials and clutches.

tion they do or can. Perhaps a live
we are all off in separate corners

Candlelight Concert. Was it because

Then later there were push buttons. Now

ghost might have made an ap-
engaged in our special concerns?
it was a tradition? It must

WHERE ARE WE GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING7/205

one has the feeling we're going to

parition and I would have

No. It is more to the point to talk

be that that is the case: the lady

have dials again. We need

found it perfectly unremarkable.
about the field itself, which
beyond the one sitting next to me

desperately when it comes to a

Is this the effect of concentration?
is that it is and enables us
whispered to my neighbor that

machine to be able to go at any speed.

// only, she said, I have a

all to be doing the same thing

the program this year was not

thread, I can then take the
so differently. And about this
as entirely appreciated by her

rest, hanging on as it were.
field, nothing can be said. And
as the one last year. And

We also discussed the mortality of
yet one goes on talking, in order
when they first came in, they

birds in connection with modern architecture.
to make this clear. Suzuki Daisetz
sat down in the reverse relation

Instead of living and learning, don't we

•

laughed many times quietly: once

to me that I have just described

live by learning we're not learning?

•

it was when he was discussing
so that the one who was later

For instance: When I moved to the

•

the quality of not being explicable

my neighbor was then at the

country I no sooner found myself

They have curious regulations for
and pointing out that he had
beginning beyond my neighbor.

insatiably involved in tramping

pedestrians. After the light turns
come from Japan with the inten-
She whispered her approval of

through the woods than summer

red, there is a white one and

tion of making explicit this

the wreaths and ropes of greenery

passed through fall into an

then the people walk wherever

206/SILENCE

quality which was of not being clear.

which decorated the chapel

icy winter. I made some

they wish, crossing the intersection
(My words, it goes without saying,
along with the electric lights and

inquiries and finally got to

even diagonally. One begins to think
are not the ones he used.) We
electric candles. She found them

a municipal office where I

it's better when we're going not
don't any more take vacations. Or
more beautiful than last year.

filled out blanks that led to

to pay attention to the signs.

if through special circumstances we

Very rarely do people any more

my getting a license for hunting

It is as though we were looking
are obliged to take a vacation, we
flock to a public occasion.

and fishing. Then I bought some
with other eyes than our own. I mean
take what we're doing with us.
Apparently if you keep some-
ingenious paraphernalia for fishing
the way we are going is transform-
There is, in fact, no way to get away.

thing traditional they'll still do

on an ice-covered body of water.

ing our vision. And the profound-

•

it, providing the weather permits.

Dressed as warmly as possible,

est changes take place in the

•

One thing I found a bit jarring

I drove up to the lake, chopped

things we thought the most

•

was the switching on of the electric lights that

holes in the ice, fixed hooks

familiar. On the first trip when

•

suddenly gave the effect of sun-

and lines and waited for

the cat was taken up to that

•

light streaming through the

little red flags, popping up,

town near Boston (because they were going

•

stained glass windows high above

to signal success. I heard

away) it got sick; they nursed it back.

the chorus and orchestra. I glanced
WHERE ARE WE GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING9/207

the sounds that travel through

On the second trip, the cat died.

•

along the sides of the chapel. The
the ice as it freezes; I was

windows there were not illuminated.

astonished. Later, I was on the

The tradition of focusing one's

ice as the sun, setting, colored

attention was being observed. The
both it and the sky. I was

electric candles were some white and

amazed. I remember I shrank

some a sort of highway brownish yellow.

in my own estimation. Before

I nearly froze, I collected all

my traps, no fish. I made a

What we do, we do without purpose.

mental note not to go ice-fishing
We are simply invited

again without a bottle of cognac.
to do it, by someone else

On the other hand, there are certain

or by ourselves. And so we do this or that.

things I am taught ( and I do want

The day before yesterday towards the

to learn them ) ; for instance : if

middle of the afternoon I noticed

I will remember not just to touch

208/SILENCE

I was running out of matches.

wood but to rub my hand on

I went through pockets, under

it before I touch metal, then I

papers on tables and finally

won't get a shock. I had pre-

found a single match. Having

viously thought that if I picked
lit a cigarette, I decided to

•

We are not doing very much

up my feet as I walked

keep one lit constantly whether

•

of any one thing. We are continually

across the carpet or if I even
J was smoking or not. Oppressed

9

dropping one thing and picking

hopped through the room

by this obligation, I went down-

up another. We are, you might

before turning a doorknob or

stairs to the kitchen, found

»

say, concentrated inside and idiotic out.

a light switch that I

nothing, but picked up an

wouldn't get a shock. That
article by the man at the

doesn't work. The wood-rubbing

other end of the hall that happened

does work. The crux of the

to catch my eye. I read it,

matter is: will I remember

cooked dinner, went on working,

to rub wood first and, even

and managed through all of this

WHERE ARE WE GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING7/209

so, just in case I sometime

to light another cigarette foe-

find myself in a situation

fore the burning one burned out.

where there isn't any wood

I determined to go to the movies

to rub, shouldn't I just

in order to get some matches.

decide, here and now, no

However, in the car, I found

matter where I go, to carry

some partly used folders of them

a piece of wood with me?

and just went to the movies uselessly.

21 O/SILENCE

Although we speak about going,

The next afternoon, the secretary

I notice that we spend a lot

came in and asked for a

of time waiting; that is, I wait.
match. I still had a few

And when I tell others about it,

left from those I'd found in the

•

He was afraid all along that he

they say they wait too.
car. I realized the situation

•

might lose his mind. He had no

was growing ticklish. I left and

fear of the cancer which killed him.

with the single purpose of getting

He gave rise to two schools, and repudiated

matches. I came back with an

them both. That is partly true. We are

Talking about death, we began

artichoke, a sweet potato, an onion

not just going: we are being swept away.

laughing. There had even been an

I didn't need (for I already

How was it she managed to teach me

attempted suicide. Which are

had one), three limes, two per-

that the play of her emotions needn't involve

you supposed to read: the

simmons, six cans of ale, a box
me? Christmas is here and then

article or the advertisements?

of cranberries and an orange, eggs,
shortly we'll be filling out the income tax.

I felt so miserable I went to

milk, and cream, and fortunately

I remembered the matches. That

gotten up. I decided to

evening the possibility of lighting

cancel everything. Instead

a cigarette on an electric stove

I went out in the woods and

was mentioned, an action

revived. Going into the unknown

with which I am fully familiar.

You remember the seeds? Well, today,

we have no use for value

It is fairly clear that we have
it was rubber bands (not flying

judgments. We are only greedy:

changed our direction, but it
through the air, but littering the
There are those who go part way

we want more and more while
sleep even though I'd just is not so clear when we

WHERE ARE WE GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING7/211

sidewalk). It would be so much
but can't go any farther. And

there's still time. We're getting
did it. Was it in 1913 when
simpler if we were expressing

there is a great interest in going

around to the usefulness of science

Duchamp wrote his piece of music?
ourselves. In that case all you'd
and staying at the same time:

( I don't mean probability ) ( I mean

And since he didn't tell us, how
need for an understanding of
naturally not in the physical

seeing things just as they are in

did we know? Is what we're
what we're doing would be a
world, but in the world of art.

their state of chaos ) '. And so, if
doing in the air or on the land?
large collection of city directories.
These people want somehow to

you were writing a song, would
When did competition cease?

•

keep alive the traditions and

you write music, or would you
Looking back, it all seems to

•

212/SILENCE

yet push them forward. It gets

write for a singer? "I can't even

have been done the way we are

•

rather superhuman as a

try," she said, "I can't whistle."

doing it. Even the old bridges.

•

project. The others don't care

so much about tradition, but hang on anyway.

We sometimes leave before we said

we would, and then by things beyond

our control arrive ahead of time. We

then imagine that it will be the same

coming back, and it is. They were in

Why didn't I bring my boots? I

an automobile together on the way to

have several pairs but I left

Oxford. It is remarkable what we are

them all where they are. I could

WHERE ARE WE GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING7/213

doing: even though we give the appearance of
say that I knew where I was

idiots, we are clearing things up considerably.
going but didn't know what it

Both the turnips and the sweet potatoes
would be like when I got there.

appeared to have been left to rot.

I would have brought some boots

One of the noticeable things about our
So I took some of each without

•

had I thought there was a chance

going is that we're all going
asking. It turned out I should have

•

of going mushrooming. I did

in different directions. That's

asked whether or not I might have the

•

bring the basket in which I often

because there's plenty of room.

turnips. No question of will you or

214/SILENCE

throw the boots, but this time

We're not confined to a path

won't you: we are inevitably going.

•

the boots are where they are; and
and so we don't have to follow

yet I could have put them to

in someone's footsteps even though

use. Often the reverse situation

that's what we're taught to do. We

arises: we get into a position

can go anywhere, and if we

with our art where we have

can't, we concentrate on finding

a need for something which
a way to get exactly there

we have never had and of

( if we know where there is ) .

the existence of which we have

There's so much to do, it's a

no knowledge. We then go to

waste of time to run around

a store that might carry

the house writing twelve-tone

such things and discover to

music. And that's the only musical

our delight that the tool was
way to go now if one's going

•

We go foolishly where angels fear
just invented and is in stock.

to go in the same direction

•

to tread (which is not to say that
That was more or less what

others go. That was Schoenberg's business.

•

we do not tremble) and in our
happened to the field of music

foolishness, we make connections

eleven or twelve years ago.

where there had been separateness.
And that concomitant going

We take things that were together

makes us sometimes say that

and pull them apart. We remove
things are in the air. Or

the glue but build invisible bridges.

the Lord is working or some

For the field is not not a field

such statement. The less we

WHERE ARE WE GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING7/215

Had a musician to choose between

«

of music, and the acceptance is

hold onto our going, the more

death, deafness, and blindness,

•

not just of the sounds that

this mysterious stream of gifts

which would he choose?

•

had been considered useless, ugly,
surrounds us or comes our

Death's inevitable, does not

•

and wrong, but it is a field

way. Say then that we are

sting, and time shows it's good

•

of human awareness, and the
generally active but not specifically

for music. Blindness would cer-

•

acceptance ultimately is

doing just this but able to employ

tainly sharpen his sense of

Say I've accepted two invitations and they're

of oneself as present mysterious-

for no purpose whatever comes our way.

hearing. Deafness . . . well . . .
21 6/SILENCE

both for the same time. In certain
ly, impermanently, on

Beethoven. The lake up above

cases,, I could speed up, as it were, and
this limitless occasion.

where we live used to be a town.

accept both, spending less time with

When the people who lived there

each. In another case, it would be

were told to leave because the

physically impossible to go to both, in which

waters were being let in, they,

case a choice would have to be made.

Shall I give up mushrooms and

most of them, did leave. A few

One obligation is then dropped and every-
study the trees? By all means. They
We are inclined to think that

insisted on staying and had

thing goes smoothly. How, however,

go together almost alarmingly

things are done better when they're

to be rescued from the roofs

do we regain the sense of duty? I told
clearly. What dogged determination
done the first time. That, for

of their homes by policemen

her several times Yd bring her mush-
made my mind shuttle back and
instance, as we go on doing

in rowboats. On the north

rooms; why is it I never have?
forth on one track? We only
the same thing, it gets worse

side of this lake there were here

make choices when it's absolutely

rather than better. So many

and there grapevines, not wild,

necessary. If we have something

things in history exemplify

but wildly growing, excellent for

to do, we don't question whether

this deterioration in going.

jelly. One year I made, if I

it is worth while; we just do it.

WHERE ARE WE

However, when our eyes get
do say so, good grape jelly

•

The reason we waste our time so
used to the dark, we see that

from those grapes. Next year

willingly is that our ideas about
it's not so bad after all.

I gathered a greater quantity

•

usefulness were so limited.

We enjoy hearing about night-

although I was told by an

When someone with his nose to the
mares but we feel we are

inspector that it was against

•

grindstone tells us we needn't bother

going along in sunlight doing

regulations. Anyway, while cooking,

to do such and such, we get the
the things we do. He said,

I got something else on my

We will not go unless we have no alter-
impression that's something might
when I explained that formerly

GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING?/217

mind and the jelly burned —

native. They were the wrong ages and related.
interest us. We study how not to
I had to keep my house and

not with the sugar in it

The doctor who gave the adjustment butchered
stick to our work. Of course, if
desk in order and that my

but before, when I was

the deer. It was an invention? The
we have too much to do,
first work each day consisted

expressing the juice. Now, of

telegram arrived but never departed.
studying being interrupted, we try first

in copying over neatly the

course, all the vines are gone.

The picture on the front page has no caption.
to do everything, and if we
work of the previous day—

They're putting in a parking

•

can't, then, as a last resort,

he said, "That's the way I do

lot and a beach for swimming

He told me about the seeds that whirl
we choose, not so much what
it now." But I made a

21 8/SILENCE

so that two thousand people can

and showed me one; I think he
we'll do as, regretfully, what

sweeping gesture around

swim at once. We do not

said they were from the tulip tree—
we wont. But this choice is
the room suggesting the

determine where we go by

and in the wind, he said, they go great
not made on any basis such
embrace of the chaos that one

where we'd like to go. We are

distances. I looked out the window
as "What would please us the most?"
could see there. The house-
too aware of everywhere.
just now. They suggest an innovation in toys.
There again, what we find most
keeper does nothing about

That is, woods, for instance,

•

pleasing is that our tastes are
it because he is instructed

any woods will do for my

«

not limited the way they were.

not to touch any papers.

wandering in them, and

They're getting catholic, we might

There are advantages and

nothing could be more

c

say. Naturally, we don't want
disadvantages. It takes time

frustrating than our necessary

•

to kill ourselves. At the same

to find something you're

long trips that take us quickly

•

time, we realize we're on a sinking

thinking of, but in the course

over large territories, each

•

ship. We come up with a version
of looking for it all sorts of

square foot of which would

•

of the Golden Rule, but we're not

things come up that one was

be suitable for exploration.

•

certain how we'd like to he done

not looking for. You might

Need I say?— Not only woods, but

by. We suspect, rather we know,

call living in chaos an

sounds, people, hook-ups, protests.

•

there are pleasures beyond our

exteriorization of the mind.

cautious past experience. If they

It is as though the things in

say, for instance, "That music hurt

the room, in the world, in the

my ears" we immediately think it

woods, were the means of thinking.

WHERE ARE WE GOI

probably didn't, that what were hurt

In a grand sense, I do what you

were mental attitudes and feelings, and these

do and you do what I do.

make us rampant. Traffic continues.
NG? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING7/219

Thus it is economical for each

one of us to be original. We get

more done by not doing what

someone else is doing. This

way we can speed up history —

t

Originally we had in mind what
the one we're making. No need

■

you might call an imaginary
for competition, even with

beauty, a process of basic
220/SILENCE

oneself. After all, we're all

emptiness with just a few

the same species and we live on the

things arising in it. What we

same planet. And I am not who I was.

had there in mind was not

We are trying to go fast enough
so much ours (but we thought

to catch up with ourselves. This
it was ) as it was something

We were artisans; now we're

helps to keep us ignorant of

•

like those Japanese gardens

the observers of miracle. All you

knowing where we are going.

•

with a few stones in them.

have to do is go straight on,

Things come in and we send

•

And then when we actually

leaving the path at any moment,

answers. By slow and fast mail,

•

set to work, a kind of

and to the right or to the left,

telegram, and telephone. Now and

•

avalanche came about which

coming back or never, coming

then we appear in person to one

•

corresponded not at all

in, of course, out of the rain.

another. An announcement arrived.

•

with that beauty which had

There she was with her back to me painting
seemed to appear to us as an

with a stick as long as that of a broom.
objective. Where do we go

then? Do we turn around?

Go back to the beginning and

change everything? Or do

we continue and give up

what had seemed to be

where we were going? Well,

Those signs that are misplaced—
what we do is go straight

the ones on the street over to the
WHERE ARE WE GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING7/221

on; that way lies, no doubt,

left— the one-way street (there
a revelation. I had no idea

are two signs, each saying "One way,"
this was going to happen. I

and they point towards one
did have an idea something

another— that is, they are at cross
else would happen. Ideas

purposes): were they misplaced by
are one thing and what

children? and is that what was
happens another. At this

meant by the Scripture, that we would
222/SILENCE

point again space between

be led by children? I asked
things is useful. But we

the man at the toll booth
are not going into retirement.

what would be my best bet:
If we are islands, we are

he said just go straight ahead.
glass ones with no blinds

I noted that the road shortly
but plenty of old shoes

became very confusing. He said,
lying around. Also these

"Why should itF' A car behind
islands are not cubes but

made me proceed against my
are spheres: we go out

better judgment. We purposefully
from them in any direction,

The weather's changing. We are

do what is unnecessary. And

•

not just north, east, south,

busy doing what we do. We take

we have the brass to say that

•

and west. Field therefore is

time, now and then, not to see what

that is exactly what had to be

•

not explicit as a term of

someone's doing but what he did.

done. We have come (or are we
I must say I was surprised
description. And thus a piece

We see that to look at an object,

still going?) (someone wrote that
to read that he had no interest
of paper also falsifies the

a work of art, say, we have to
we've touched bottom— an imper-
in food. If I hadn't been told,
situation. One way or another,

see it as something happening,

manent bottom, he hastened to add, but

I would have surmised that he

we are obliged to be able to go in all directions.

not as it did to him who made it,
then added that we truly have
was a gourmet. Not at all. It

but as it does while we see it.

touched bottom as far as our
appears that he preferred food to

We don't have to go anywhere:

knowledge and tools are concerned).
be the same (providing he found

it comes to us. It's a bright
As I was saying: we have come
some he enjoyed), the same each day.

sunny day, but that man's

(or are we still going?) to a

windshield-wipers are working.
WHERE ARE WE GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING?/223

point where it is necessary to
We who speak English were so

It looks as though I will one day

speak at cross purposes with what
certain of our language and that

be able to look at a tree and speak its

we are saying. It is because what-
we could use it to communicate
We are still going and we are

name, and if that happens, going

ever we were saying so failed to
that we have nearly destroyed
certain that we will never get there.

along with it will be a change

hit the mark. Now at last we know that
its potential for poetry. The
It is just as I thought: the

of attitude towards winter, just

saying one thing requires saying
thing in it that's going to save
children are out playing and

as fungi have given me a

the opposite in order to keep the
the situation is the high percentage
the rest of us are running the

change of attitude towards rain. Getting

whole statement from being like

224/SILENCE

of consonants and the natural way
danger of not being able to

rid of leaves makes trees visible.

a Hollywood set. Perhaps it would
in which they produce discontinuity.
do what we have to do. And

be better to be silent, but a) someone
so, to put it bluntly, what

else would be speaking; and b) it
will we do if we cannot

wouldn't keep us from going and we
go on with what we are doing?

would continue doing what we
I congratulate myself that I

are doing. I remember once his
What do we like? We do not like

had the good sense to put the car in a garage.

saying: "But this opens up

to be pushed around emotionally or to

an entirely untouched field

have impressive constructions of re-

of poetry." And to this day
lationships push us. We can

neither one of us has budged
manage to do something with

to move into that untouched
such situations (if we have to

open field. I put it away.

be present) such as pinning our

Today in the newspaper they
attention to some natural event

bring up the subject, but con-
which is either in the work

tinue: "Persons who threaten to
or ambient to it but irrelevant

take their lives and are picked
to its intention. I was asked about

up by the police here will

the music for the Candlelight Concert

not be jailed any more, but
and I remarked that it would

will be taken to the hospital instead.'
be a pleasure to hear the

motets and the Christmas carols

but that excerpts from the

WHERE ARE WE GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING?/225

oratorio were too much. The

reply was, "But don't you enjoy

being moved?' (I enjoy being

interrupted but not pushed.)

Other people came and some left

Dropping everything and going is not
and in the conversation my

as simple as it sounds. You find
answer was given to a person

you forgot to go through your
226/SILENCE

who had not asked the question.
pockets; and then again that if

*

I quoted: "The purpose of music

you didn't actually take something
is to sober and quiet the mind,

along, that something stuck to
thus making it susceptible to divine

you that you failed to notice.
influences." Shortly three of us left

One might say, "Well, let it, since
and were out in the sharp

everything goes and there is no

We are doing only what is necessary.
clear winter night. We walked

question of value, etc." But

Once when I thought I was going east, I

along and then into the apartment

here is a rub: that is only

went west. Do I assume the microscope will be
(not the air-conditioned one) and

the case when somehow you've

ruined? Poison ivy this time but not the other.
I asked whether they had music

managed to drop everything. Do

The appointment is for 9:00 A.M. Friday.
in their Quaker meetings and of

we do it and then go? Are our
course they don't. And yet his

means suitable for this objective?
ears are marvelously open when

Examine them carefully with accuracy.
we walk in the woods. He hears

Repeat the examination daily. This

brings up the subject of anonymity.

•

makes, up at the top of the

I was absolutely amazed to hear

But it can be dropped. Here I am.

ridge and down by the stream and
him describing to me the beauties

My work is something else.

«

in different trees. He hears them all

of the long line in music, and

together and distinguishes them. He

lamenting its absence in the

told me about the suit he was wear-
pulverized, fragmented modern

We are losing our sense of values

•

ing, a hand-woven tweed, and the
music. And I was amazed

and we are getting increased awareness.

•

difficulties attached to finding a
too that when the nature

the different sounds the wind

WHERE ARE WE GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING?/227

We are giving up pride and shame and

•

tie that had the rust color

of the pulverization was pointed

getting interested in whatever comes

•

of one of the threads in the

out, that he continued to

our way or to which we get. Who knows?

material. His daughter sent

say something was missing,

If, after thought, I come to the con-

•

him a tie recently, and since

namely the long line.

elusion that Cantherellus umbonatus grows

she has a fine sense of color, it
( She too had said, "Give me a

most plentifully where there is not

matches perfectly, but the suit
line and I'll be able to hang

only the hair-capped moss but also

is wearing out. The cleaner in

anything on it.") But the

228/SILENCE

young junipers, dampness, and some

•

fact said there is nothing more
other one, she who came

sun, how do you explain that to-

to be done to save it. Before I left,

from India, was grateful

day in a more or less open field

•

they brought out a dress from Guatemala.
for silence. She could see

we were stepping on them? To be

easily the possibility of the

sure there was moss, but it was a sit-

omission of a constant

uation like ones in which I'd only met

connective. Nothing needs

with failure. While we're on the sub-

to be connected to anything

ject, how is it I lost interest in the

else since they are not

Greeks? Now they interest me

separated irrevocably to begin

very much. It seems they weren't

with. Past appearances are

so devoted to the gods after all. Tragedy?

to some blinding and to others

clarifying. Right now perhaps

again the children are teaching

We are going into the field of frequency
us. They have no conception of

a long line. They have only

leaving the notes of the major and minor
a short attention span. And

scales and the modes, for they are
the mass media— they take it

in the field we're going into. The
for granted that we, like

same holds true for the field of
children, need to have every-

amplitude, the field of timbre, the
thing constantly changing. I

field of duration, the field of space.

m

can find no example now
Though we are not leaving any-

and that doesn't mean that we are

WHERE ARE WE GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING7/229

in our consciousness of

thing, our notations are changing
the necessity in us for a long

and sometimes even disappearing.
line outside of us. ( She called

Usefulness is uppermost in our
it the uncommitted void. ) If

*

minds. We begin to be certain
we were really prepared we would

that we never were where we

m

need not only boots but roller

thought we were, that not only
skates too. Then we could visit

were mistakes made on occasion,

•

the museums with the long halls
230/SILENCE

noticeable wrong notes, but that the

■

lined with art. Do you suppose

whole kit and caboodle was a mis-
that eventually they will clear

t

take. The Cuban boy is partly German.
everything up? Enough so that

the children will have to stop

playing? There is a fear too

Our sense of whether or not we did

there that an idea which is

what we said we would do is slipping.

not in line will somehow

What will we do now? I noticed, magnificent
cause one to lose the thread.

as he is, that he can't tell where he's going.
What results is work without

interruption, apologies for

absence of quality, and shortness

of quantity and complaints

that they did something to

it which was not part

of the original intention.

We will change direction constantly.

WHERE ARE WE GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING7/231

People have arrived from out of town.

We are having two or three gatherings at once.

It was before dawn: I looked out

the window and there he was

walking down the street in the dark.

It turned out he was not in town at

all. I had seen someone else. We celebrate.

Between 1930 or say 1929 and 1942

We don't have to make special arrangements.
232/SILENCE

I moved around a good deal.

I got the impression that I

never stayed any place more

There is a story that is to the

than a year. I was full of

point. A man was born in

purpose. Ask me what it was

Austria. When he came into

and I couldn't really tell you.

his inheritance, he gave all

Jobs. Actually, I still have

his money away. He engaged

the same goal in mind. What

in a wide variety of activities

I've always wanted and still want

one after the other. When

is a Center for Experimental Music.

the War came along, he went

Perhaps, some day, maybe when I

into it. He continued his

can just barely whisper in accept-

activity during the War and

ance, they'll say, "Why! of course

even his correspondence. Later

you can have it. Here it is,

he moved back and forth between

a big, beautiful Center for Ex-

more or less the same countries

perimental Music, replete with

and, as I say elsewhere, he

Festivals of Contemporary Music

started at different times

that'll make America look as

different schools and repudiated

wide awake as Europe. Make

both of them which is only

any sounds you like: loud-speakers,

partly true. He moved around

tape machines; that's nothing,

a good deal and even came

you can have a super synthe-
RE ARE ING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING7/233

I know that if I managed to tell you
to America and then he went

sizer. What more do you

where we are going, it wouldn't

•

back; he had been at one

want? You can have it." Well,

interest you, and it shouldn't except

•

time in Ireland and he

every time I moved, I used to

as conversation. (But I am going

•

began to more and more

look through my papers, letters,

alone; in the Martian anal-

•

include it in the places

music, and so forth, and I threw a-

ysis we are all one happy

•

to which he went and he

way whatever I thought I could

family.) I mentioned that nothing

•

included Norway. He found

just to lighten the travel. That

seemed irrelevant and he said, "Yes,

234/SILENCE

a rare mushroom and since

way I threw away all my

we see more and more connections"

•

it was in a dry season he

earliest work. There used to

But we are doing something else:

•

built a protection for it

be, for instance, some settings

we are putting separations between

•

and provided it with water.

to choruses from The Persians by

each thing and its other. And why is it, when

•

Fulfilling other commitments

Aeschylos and an Allemande. But

we have no silence, they say, "Why didn't you?"

m

and yet studying the growth
before that there were some

of the fungus, he involved

short, very short, pieces composed

himself in many trips of 250 miles
by means of mathematical formulae.

each. Is that what we are doing?

What do you think, moving off

as we might, all of us, to the

moon, might we not all of us look through

our papers? Father's foot: twice he

up a tree, cutting nearly through his

we do right now. It is not

wrist; lately in a back yard a

in the nature of doing to

thorn pierced the flesh of his ankle.

•

It is interesting when we hear
improve but rather to come

It's been a year and a half going on two years.

that someone has traveled to a

into being, to continue, to

foreign country, one he was never

go out of being and to

went out to pick flowers for Mother

in before. It is also interesting

be still, not doing. That
We will never have a better

and wounded himself seriously, once

when we hear that someone has

still not-doing is a

idea of what we're doing than

WHERE ARE WE GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING7/235

homes in various places all
preparation. It is not

What are we doing about technique?

•

over the world. And if we hear
just static: it is a quiet

We can use it or leave it alone.

•

that someone does not travel
readiness for whatever and

We can remember the old ones and

•

at all, or very little, that too is inter-

the multiplicities are already

invent new ones. If you are o-

•

esting. We heard that they might have
there in the making. We watch

bliged to whistle and can't, there

•

gone to Finland but didn't; that

for signs and accept omens.

remains the possibility of buying

•

was not interesting. We, too,

Everything is an omen, so

a whistle which you can surely
236/SILENCE

have not gone to Finland, and

we continue doing and changing.

blow. We are not bound hand

what will be interesting is news
Do we have, if not ideas

and foot even if we were never

that someone's actually gone there.

about what we're doing,

taught to sing or to play an in-

•

In our own experience, we some-

feelings about our actions,

strument. We can be silent and

•

times have the impression that

what we've made? We're

so forth. In fact, technically speaking,

•

we are the first ones to ever
losing them because we're

we are in possession of a vast

•

be in a particular place, but

no longer making objects

repertoire of ways of producing

we do not trust this impression.
but processes and it is easy

sound. What is it that makes

•

We feel it rising up like an

to see that we are not separate

anyone say, "I can't"? Busy doing

•

atmosphere around us and we

from processes but are in them,

something else? Shall we then

•

find it a kind of hallucination

so that our feelings are not

all gather at the River? Stick

•

which does not let us see clearly

about but in them. Criticism

together? We have multiplied

where we are. If we want to go
vanishes. Awareness and use

ourselves geometrically and our

•

where no one else has ever gone
and curiosity enter into

inclination is to be alone when-

(and still not go out into space),

WHERE ARE WE

making our consciousness. We

ever possible, except when loneliness

we will have two good bets:

are glad to see that we are

sets in. Sixty people all singing

•

areas environmental to highly

noticing what happens. Asked

in chorus like angels only make

•

attractive points which are

what happened, we have to

us pray that once in Heaven,

exceedingly difficult to get to,

say we don't know, or we

God lets us anarchistic be! Why

and areas which are unattractive,

could say we see more

did we go in our arts to order and

period. It is these latter that are

clearly but we can't tell you what we see.

many people doing the same thing

so useful: a) because they re all
GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING7/237

together, when, given an opportunity
around us (Americans); b) because we can

for a vacation, we look for a spot
actually go to them instead of just

where we know ( statistically ) no
talking about going (as we might

one we know will be? We go
have to do in the other case);

into a crowd with a sharp

c) because the experience erodes our

awareness of the idiosyncrasies
preconceptions about what attracts

of each person in it, even if

us. Nevertheless we would still like

they're marching, and we along

to have a Center for Experimental Music.

with them. We see, to put it

We can tell very easily whether

coldly, differences between two things

something we're doing is con-

that are the same. This enables

temporarily necessary. The way

us to go anywhere alone or with

we do it is this: if something

others and any ordinarily too

else happens that ordinarily would
Will we ever again really bother

large number of others. We could

be thought to interrupt it

to describe in words or notation

take a vacation in a hotel on

238/SILENCE

doesn't alter it, then it's work-
the details of something that

Times Square. But what we do

ing the way it now must. This state-
has not then yet happened? Many

see is that we have to give up

ment is in line and can be illustrated
will do this and the changes in sol-

our ideas about where we are

by former statements I have
fege that will soon take place in

going since if we don't, we

made about painting and music
the schools are alarming just to

won't get anywhere. If you'd

but here extend to doing: that
imagine. There will be an

asked me a few years ago

is (about painting): if the
increase in the amount of time

or even just last year whether

work is not destroyed by

we spend waiting — waiting for

I'd like to live in an air-

shadows; and (about music):
machines to do what we planned

conditioned suite where I

if the work is not destroyed

for them to do, and then discovering

wouldn't be able to open the

by ambient sounds. And so
a mistake was made or the

windows, I would have given you a flat No.

the doing not destroyed by
circuits were out, and finally

simultaneous simisituated

getting an acceptable approximation.

action. It must then have no
This is not unrelated to thinking

objective, no goal. Time must be of
the recording, say, of the sound

WHERE ARE WE GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING7/239

little— I was going to say
of a gong is the sound

no— consequence. (I pray one

of the gong when it isnt recorded.

day I may.) But other

It is at this crossroads that

prayers would be: Dear Lord,
we must change direction, if,

let me not run out of ink

that is, we are going where we

(I have committed myself to
are going. (I know perfectly

quantity); and Dear Lord, do
well I'm wandering but I try to

If we really did change, we wouldn't

let me catch up, otherwise
see what there is to see and

have to bother about practicing. Of

I will have to become not
my eyes are not as good as

course, we'd gradually slip out of doing

contemporary (in my terms)
they were but they're improving.)

all the things we practiced. And then when

but ancient (in my terms)
We make then what we do

we started going, it would be in a

working like a monk in
virtually unnoticeable, so that

state of not knowing. We would be

a tower with a princess
you could even have missed

as interested as anybody else. Have

of his own imagination.

the point of its beginning and

240/SILENCE

painters always been looking?

I refuse art if that is what

not be certain about the events

Musicians, mirabile dictu, are just

it is but unless I am cautious

(whether they were "in" or "out" of it) to

beginning to listen. ( It was some-

that is precisely what it will

say nothing of its ending. Nothing

thing else to say it's a good thing the
become (mine, I mean: He came
special. Nothing predetermined. Just

children, aged five and seven, are being

in and warned me; and then
something useful to set the
I have just ascertained that

taught solf ege. ) Are we on foot

another and thanked me for

thing going. We could say to

the clock is twenty-five minutes fast.

or in the air? That's an important

Mallarme and job; and then
ourselves: "Beware of setting
That means that I still have

question when it's a question of

I sneezed ) . I am not obliged
out in search of something
time, probably not enough to

going. By what bleak chain

to tell you all of this: I am
interesting"; and, "Beware of doing
finish what I'm doing but

of events did we exchange the

obliged to speak to you and

special things to make two

time. It is extremely unpredictable

chain store for the market place?

that is what we (you and I) are
things more different than they
what will happen next and

Conversation, the food itself, these and

doing. And now I've just heard
are"; "Beware in fact of the
that, of course, is largely

how much else down the drain?

about Marchetti. They've made
tendency to stop and start." "But
due to the weather. We made

a mistake. I do hope it isn't

we must have something to do!"

our arrangements very early

a mistake. Hidalgo's gone to

WHERE ARE WE GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING7/241

in advance and they even
Paris and Marchetti's gone to

9

include dinner ( I have no
Milan and Spain is left without

t

idea what we'll eat or

anyone. What we need now is not
indeed whether I'll get there

disarmament and people marching in
and whether the plans still

the streets but someone, someone
hold and whether if they do

active active in Spain interested
hold I'll be able to get every-

in modern art. Why do they all
242/SILENCE

thing done that I have in

leave it? What is wrong with Spain?

mind to do. This is our

immediate and permanent

condition and we just fail

continually to notice it even

when we think we agree.

If, for instance, as may well

What's doing? (Never a dull moment.)

have been the case, if someone

It's snowing. It began in the night.
procrastinated, then what?

*

The roofs and eaves of the houses
The obstacles I foresee to the

are white and the natural
fulfillment of my obligation

tendency of the ends of the
which is what we are doing

branches of the hemlocks to
are only a few. Why don't

droop has been encouraged. The
I see the others? Don't I

traffic continues more or less as
have eyes and a head and

doggedly as it did yesterday. Are

m

ears? They are not as good

What we need are machines that will

people the way "their land and air

as they were and also the

enable us to do all the things we could

is"? If so, should they not have

•

metabolism and perhaps they're

do before we had them plus all the

four or five purposes (instead of one)

•

getting worse. We are now

new things we don't yet know we

and let those interpenetrate with

•

told well be able to get so

can do. Perhaps you would say we

one another in some interesting
So often we think that something
far but no further and a

are going mad. We are certainly

natural way? For instance: this
needs to be devious, so that we

day ago we were told it would

aimless or you might say that is
WHERE ARE WE GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING7/243

snow is not a proper winter
go to no end of trouble to do
be impossible to go in that

our aim. We are needlessly finicky

snow. It seems more like the
something that could be done
direction because there was no

when it comes to our notice that

last one does just before spring
straightforwardly. (In this particular
money. There was money for

somebody else did it before we

arrives. But the caretaker who
case I am obliged to do four
the eyes but no money for

did it. And generally speaking, it

swept the sidewalk is already
times as much work as I would
the ears. They're going to do

does come to our notice. A little

thinking of the ice to come.

in a conventional fulfillment of the

it anyway and just let the

bit of the scientific attitude, however,

"Those stones are mighty slippery!

same duty.) (Furthermore, Tve committed

ears go along with the eyes

and you soon see that what was

There'll be more than one person

244/SILENCE

myself to thoughts about relevancy

in a kind of slapdash way.

just done was not at all what

falls down this winter!" Bird
and irrelevancy in addition to
Where is their sense of urgency?

was done before except as regards

maddened by the length of its
stories and subjects and where

the general situation. There was, by

own winter. But now (as I

are we going and what are we doing.)

way of example, a discontinuity of

say elsewhere) the trees are changing
I thought, for instance, when I

particles, then there was emptiness

me— my attitude towards winter
first saw the book that it was

( which now seems like a melody ) .

is changing because of the way
probably out of print even

Just now there was raw material. Repetition?

one can see the trees in the winter.
though they told me it wasn't.

What I assumed took place
I looked for it in bookstores

Is there a story in the fact that we

in spring has already

and never wrote to the publisher.

call someone to discover that there

taken place: the buds are
Nor did I ask anyone to write

is no answer? And would you say

there on the trees already. With
for me. However, when I met

such a story would be relevant

our eyes and our ears, we do
someone who lived in the town

or irrelevant to our subject: Where

more by doing nothing and just
where the book is published

are we going? Now we have the

giving attention to the natural
I asked him if he'd mind

example of a young composer

busyness. Was what I did
going to the publisher's office

going into the army at a point

interrupted by what happened?
and finding out whether the

in his life when going seemed

If so, it was not contemporary
book was available. I did say,

really unfortunate. And yet it

doing. And equally, it works
"Don't take the trouble until you

has worked out extraordinarily

equally the other way: Does
hear from me." Before writing

well: a great deal of music

what I do interrupt the

to this person, 1 finally wrote

has been written, lectures given,
changes in weather? This is
directly to the publisher and

WHERE ARE WE GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING?/245

and article written and perf orm-

a corollary to Satie's statement
a week or so later the book

ances, live and broadcast, given.

about the necessity for a music
finally arrived. Now the question

And a raise, which involved

which would not interrupt the
arises (which 1 find more and

carrying a gun which however

sounds of knives and forks and
more ridiculous, because the

is never used and rarely, for

the conversation of friends at table.
answer could be this or that and

that reason, requires cleaning.

Put the two together and you
it could be refused or accepted

He had done what he could to keep

have an American Picnic.

by something no more solid than

from getting in it. But once in,
246/SILENCE

You know what this absence of
a whim): the question arises:

going along as usual with
boredom does? It turns each
What can be said to be

changes, very interesting changes.

waking hour musical just as
irrelevant and what can be

We are going in such a way that

for years now (on the street), in
said to be relevant and what

even if we do what we would

the woods, wherever (I remember
keeps a story from becoming a

if we liked (as though entranced),

pavement waiting for a bus), each
subject and indeed vice versa?

our activity meets with alter-

place is an active exhibition.

ation. It is entirely possible that I

cross the room to burst a balloon

which when I was not looking

was removed. In such a case,

would it not have been more

realistic of me to have gone

across the room with nothing in
We cannot know now

mind about balloons and burst-

whether we are continuing or

WHERE ARE WE GO

ing them? ( They will tell us
whether shortly there's going

in that case that it is not
to be an interruption, after

music but some kind of choreo-
which we will pick up where

graphy. ) However, it is music
we left off. We have a way

the way it's apt to be going.

of knowing but we are conscientious-

We're not going to go on playing
ly not using it. We are

games, even if the rules are
cultivating disorder in ourselves.

NG? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING7/247

downright fascinating. We re-

Perhaps this seems ridiculous

quire a situation more like

but it seems sensible when we

it really is — no rules at all.

see that the order we cultivated

Only when we make them

was also of our own making. So

"This has nothing to do with it,"

do it in our labs do crystals

•

in a sense we are simply doing

we say, but it is descriptive

win our games. Do they then? I wonder.

•

what we left undone, but we
of what we are doing and where

are not extending our knowledge.

we are going that we doubt

248/SILENCE

We are learning to say, "I dorit
whether we could verify our

know." Another way to say is:

statement. We know perfectly

"We don't need a release because

well now that this has

we are in release." We noticed
something very much to do

in foreign countries a vast

with everything else. That

difference between occasions, between

that seems gray, undifferentiated,

strictness and freedom, and we

inarticulate to us only

are smoothing out that difference

repeats what nineteenth-century

mostly by making things which

criticism had to say for

seem to be boring. ("They are not

the musics of India and

boring but very interesting")

China. Everything is articulated.

I think the knowledge as it

We don't have to do it. In fact,

gets extended (and you see that

the sharpness increases as we

I mean information) will get

lay hands off. There are

into books that will be read

temptations for us to stop

not by us but by machines, because

what we're doing and make

there will by that time be too many.

a connection that will

As it is now, there is only one

be overwhelming. Well, perhaps

secretary. When the phone

it is. I haven't seen yet.

rings, she has to run down
I've seen some. But I'm

the hall to discover whether

losing my ability to make

so and so is in or out, and
/HERE ARE ING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING7/249

connections because the ones

then come back alone or

I do make so belittle the

accompanied as the case may

natural complexity. Now

be. That is a kind of inefficiency.
and then I'll file things

The other kind is connected with

away ( there is a file and

Another thing we're doing is
the fact that the windows
I can use the alphabet, even

leaving the things that are in us
cannot be opened. Perhaps telephones

though the secretary only

in us. We are leaving our emotions

in graduated sizes would solve the problem.

went as far as S and since

250/SILENCE

where they are in each one of us. One of

m

she's not English-speaking

ms is not trying to put his emo-
by birth— that is, her own

tion into someone else. That way
alphabet was different from

you "rouse rabbles"; it seems on
ours— she's got some of

the surface humane, but it
the letters in the file upside

animalizes, and we're not doing
down. I can use them, though,

it. The cool other thing we
right side up or upside down.

are also not doing: that is,
When I get everything put

making constructions of relation-

9

away, then the housekeeper

ships that are observed by us.
can come in and dust.

That faculty of observing relation-
By that time I trust the

ships we are also leaving in
bulbs will have started

us, not putting the observation

9

sprouting. Now they are in

of one into the other who, it goes
the dark where we are. Satie's

without saying, see things from his

9

remark to the tree will do but
own point of view which is

9

I am not certain any one

different from another's. We
of us remembers it. Something

can of course converse (and do)

9

about never having done any

and we can say: "Stand where
harm or any good either

I stand and look over there and

9

to anyone. It was while

see what I see." This is called
he was on one of his return

lordly entertainment, but we do
WHERE ARE WE GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING?/251

nocturnal walks home.

Last year I gave a concert and answered

not thereby pull ourselves up

questions afterwards. This year some-

by our bootstraps nor do we see.

one said, "I was present at your lecture

Thus in his teaching, he makes

and hope to have the chance sometime to

presents silently, and it is only

hear your music." How can you tell

because I am slow-witted that,

whether someone's going or staying?

in impatience, he gives hints,

If he says, speaking of three things,

suggestions. We are all

•

252/SILENCE

"Put this in the foreground and the others

so busy, we have no time for

in the background," you know he's

one another. By keeping things

staying. If, however, he says,
in that are in and letting those

"I can't find any place to divide

things that are out stay out, a

it; in fact, I don't know how big

paradox takes place: it becomes

it is and as a matter of fact I'm

a simple matter to make an

just using the word 'it' as a

identification with someone or

convenience because I don't know

something. But this is virtually

anything about it," you know he's go-

impossible in terms of ideas and

ing. In the field and where he

feelings. Purposeless play there is un-

goes, there go we. There are times

Bodhisattvic and only leads to a conflagra-

when I get out of the house

tion, a more or less catastrophic
That he enjoyed going to the

with the jacket on that belongs

social situation, public or

movies is interesting. (She doesn't.)

to the pants that are still hanging in the closet.

private, that has brought down
And that he liked to sit in the

on our heads the arm of the
front row, which gave him the

law (it was such employment
feeling of a shower bath. Our

of feelings and ideas letting
family doctor brought himself back

them go out that brings about
from blindness by sitting in the

naturally the consequence of
front row at movies (together

police and don't do this and the
with staring at the sun).

entire web of rules). But what
Some people are coming out

WHERE ARE WE GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING?/253

we are doing is in our ways of art
of church and others are on their

to breathe again in our lives anarchistically.
way in. Apparently it's continuous.

254/SILENCE

When they wanted to photograph

her, they asked her what she could

do. She said she could put on

can do is this or that at the

drop of a hat. Actually what

we do is drop one hat and pick

up another. It is as though

we were painting on silk

and could not erase. And

yet erasing quite completely
her hat or take it off. What we

WHERE ARE WE GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING7/255

is one of the easiest things now

for us to do. Are we then

It is not a question of decisions and

erasing as though it were on

the willingness or fear to make them.

silk? And do we just abandon
It is that we are impermanently

rather than finish a work?
part and parcel of all. We are

It sounds as though that were
involved in a life that passes

what we are doing but where

understanding and our highest
256/SILENCE

would we go if we abandoned

business is our daily life. To draw

something? We only have to

lines straight or curved anywhere

change our means of measuring

does not alter the situation, only

to see how close we are to what

affirms it — if indeed the lines are

we were doing. It is not an

drawn, I mean materially. If

object; it is a process and it

not, they were drawn in a mind

will go on probably for some

to which there is no entry. Let

time. It is difficult to know

mysteries remain. Even in desperation

whether we will ever forget
we fail to convey our thoughts,

all the things that objects made
our feelings. It is because a

us memorize. However, let us
line-drawing mind is one bent

be optimistic and giddy with
on closure whereas the only

the possibility— the possibility
means of getting out ( above or

of having everything clearly
below ) to another is by not

what it is, going on consuming
drawing lines, by keeping the

and generously giving and
doors open, by some fluent

finding time to find our access
disclosure, and then there is no

to revelation. Now of course
desperation. Another way of

everything is canceled, not canceled
saying it is: "Do not be

but postponed, not on silk
satisfied with approximations

and not erased. There is

( or just: Do not be satisfied ) but insist

still the question of time and
WHERE ARE WE GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING7/257

( as you need not) on what comes

the old and the new and

to you." This morning, up neither

whether we'll all get there

early nor late, aware that what-

where we're going but we'll

ever it is is still with me — a

Therefore, perhaps, we make things

•

never be sure who was coming

feeling that the flesh around my

that are irritatingly worse than

•

in the first place. There'll

eyes is swollen — perhaps a

we would want them to be in our

•

probably be some new faces. We

cold — or the glasses which are
lives, if therapy, a kind of pre-

•

want to get together (if not
258/SILENCE

new and which the oculist said

ventative therapy. And now the

•

here, in the South) but we're

wouldn't be useful after three

question of structure, the division of a

•

going in different directions. Do

years; at any rate I did get

whole into parts. We no longer

•

you suppose anything will get worked out?

up and was told the telephone

make that and I have given our

had been ringing and then that

reasons elsewhere (here too). What

a friend was ready and waiting

it is is a situation in which

to go mushrooming. The night

grandeur can rub shoulders with

before I'd scheduled my time for

frivolity. (Now I am speak-

not just today but the week

ing to the man at the

and realized clearly that if I'd

other end of the hall.) At any

just stick to it I'd get it done —

rate, now structure is not put

this lecture I mean — however,

into a work, but comes up in

I called and said, "An egg and

the person who perceives it in

then I'm with you." Presently

himself. There is therefore no problem of

in a few weeks they'd be in

the Caribbean with all the

children. In my mind's eye

I was hunting for tropical fungi.

Now I'm back working. There

was also a biological puzzle and a dis-

cussion of the proper use of knives and forks,
in the woods and she said

understanding but the possibility of awareness.

WHERE ARE WE GOING? AND WHAT ARE WE DOING7/259

Late in September of 1958, in a hotel in Stockholm, I set about writing this
lecture for delivery a week later at the Brussels Fair. I recalled a remark made
years earlier by David Tudor that I should give a talk that was nothing
but stories. The idea was appealing, but 1 had never acted on it,
and I decided to do so now.

When the talk was given in Brussels, it consisted of only thirty stories,
without musical accompaniment. A recital by David Tudor and myself of music
for two pianos followed the lecture. The full title was Indeterminacy:
New Aspect of Form in Instrumental and Electronic Music.
Karlheinz Stockhausen was in the audience. Later, when I was in Milan
making the Fontana Mix at the Studio di Fonologia, I received a letter from
him asking for a text that could be printed in Die Reihe No. 5.
I sent the Brussels talk, and it was published.

INDETERMINACY

The following spring, back in America, I delivered the talk again,
at Teachers College, Columbia. For this occasion I wrote sixty more stories,
and there was a musical accompaniment by David Tudor— material from the
Concert for Piano and Orchestra, employing several radios as noise
elements. Soon thereafter these ninety stories were brought out as a Folkways
recording, but for this the noise elements in the Concert were tracks
from the Fontana Mix.

In oral delivery of this lecture, I tell one story a minute. If it's a short one,
I have to spread it out; when I come to a long one, I have to speak as
rapidly as I can. The continuity of the stories as recorded was not planned.
I simply made a list of all the stories I could think of and checked them off as
I wrote them. Some that I remembered I was not able to write to my
satisfaction, and so they were not used. My intention in putting the stories
together in an unplanned way was to suggest that all things— stories, incidental
sounds from the environment, and, by extension, beings— are related, and
that this complexity is more evident when it is not oversimplified by an
idea of relationship in one persons mind.

Since that recording, I have continued to write down stories as I have
found them, so that the number is now far more than ninety. Most concern
things that happened that stuck in my mind. Others I read in books and
remembered— those, for instance, from Sri Ramakrishna and the literature
surrounding Zen. Still others have been told me by friends— Merce Cunningham,
Virgil Thomson, Betty Isaacs, and many more. Xenia, who figures in several
of them, is Xenia Andreyevna Kashevaroff, to whom I was married for
some ten years.

260/SILENCE

Some stories have been omitted since their substance forms part of other
writings in this volume. Many of those that remain are to be found below.
Others are scattered through the book, playing the function that odd bits of
information play at the ends of columns in a small-town newspaper. I suggest
that they be read in the manner and in the situations that one reads
newspapers— even the metropolitan ones— when he does so purposelessly:
that is, jumping here and there and responding at the same time to
environmental events and sounds.

When I first went to Paris, I did so instead of
returning to Pomona College for my junior year.
As I looked around, it was Gothic architecture
that impressed me most. And of that architecture
I preferred the flamboyant style of the fifteenth
century. In this style my interest was attracted by
balustrades. These I studied for six weeks in the
Bibliotheque Mazarin, getting to the library when
the doors were opened and not leaving until they
were closed. Professor Pijoan, whom I had known
at Pomona, arrived in Paris and asked me what I
was doing. (We were standing in one of the rail-
way stations there. ) I told him. He gave me liter-
ally a swift kick in the pants and then said, "Go
tomorrow to Goldfinger. I'll arrange for you to
work with him. He's a modern architect." After
a month of working with Goldfinger, measuring
the dimensions of rooms which he was to modern-
ize, answering the telephone, and drawing Greek
columns, I overheard Goldfinger saying, "To be
an architect, one must devote one's life solely to
architecture." I then left him, for, as I explained,
there were other things that interested me, music
and painting for instance.

Five years later, when Schoenberg asked me
whether I would devote my life to music, I said,
"Of course." After I had been studying with him
for two years, Schoenberg said, "In order to write
music, you must have a feeling for harmony." I
explained to him that I had no feeling for har-
mony. He then said that I would always en-
counter an obstacle, that it would be as though I
came to a wall through which I could not pass. I

said, "In that case I will devote my life to beating
my head against that wall."

When I first moved to the country, David
Tudor, M. C. Richards, the Weinribs, and I all
lived in the same small farmhouse. In order to get
some privacy I started taking walks in the woods.
It was August. I began collecting the mushrooms
which were growing more or less everywhere.
Then I bought some books and tried to find out
which mushroom was which. Realizing I needed
to get to know someone who knew something
about mushrooms, I called the 4-H Club in New
City. I spoke to a secretary. She said they'd call
me back. They never did.

The following spring, after reading about the
edibility of skunk cabbage in Medsger's book on
wild plants, I gathered a mess of what I took to
be skunk cabbage, gave some to my mother and
father (who were visiting) to take home, cooked
the rest in three waters with a pinch of soda as
Medsger advises, and served it to six people, one
of whom, I remember, was from the Museum of
Modern Art. I ate more than the others did in an
attempt to convey my enthusiasm over edible wild
plants. After coffee, poker was proposed. I began
winning heavily. M. C. Richards left the table.
After a while she came back and whispered in my
ear, "Do you feel all right?" I said, "No. I don't.
My throat is burning and I can hardly breathe."
I told the others to divide my winnings, that I was
folding. I went outside and retched. Vomiting
with diarrhea continued for about two hours. Be-

INDETERMINACY/261

fore I lost my will, I told M. C. Richards to call
Mother and Dad and tell them not to eat the
skunk cabbage. I asked her how the others were.
She said, "They're not as bad off as you are."
Later, when friends lifted me off the ground to
put a blanket under me, I just said, "Leave me
alone." Someone called Dr. Zukor. He prescribed
milk and salt. I couldn't take it. He said, "Get
him here immediately." They did. He pumped
my stomach and gave adrenalin to keep my
heart beating. Among other things, he said,
"Fifteen minutes more and he would have been
dead."

I was removed to the Spring Valley hospital.
There during the night I was kept supplied with
adrenalin and I was thoroughly cleaned out. In
the morning I felt like a million dollars. I rang
the bell for the nurse to tell her I was ready to
go. No one came. I read a notice on the wall
which said that unless one left by noon he would
be charged for an extra day. When I saw one
of the nurses passing by I yelled something to
the effect that she should get me out since I had
no money for a second day. Shortly the room was
filled with doctors and nurses and in no time at
all I was hustled out.

I called up the 4-H Club and told them what
had happened. I emphasized my determination
to go on with wild mushrooms. They said, "Call
Mrs. Clark on South Mountain Drive." She said,
"I can't help you. Call Mr. So-and-so." I called
him. He said, "I can't help you, but call So-and-
so who works in the A&P in Suffern. He knows
someone in Ramsey who knows the mushrooms."
Eventually, I got the name and telephone number
of Guy G. Nearing. When I called him, he said,
"Come over any time you like. I'm almost always
here, and I'll name your mushrooms for you."

I wrote a letter to Medsger telling him skunk
cabbage was poisonous. He never replied. Some
time later I read about the need to distinguish
between skunk cabbage and the poisonous helle-

bore. They grow at the same time in the same
places. Hellebore has pleated leaves. Skunk cab-
bage does not.

During recent years Daisetz Teitaro Suzuki
has done a great deal of lecturing at Columbia
University. First he was in the Department of
Religion, then somewhere else. Finally he settled
down on the seventh floor of Philosophy Hall.
The room had windows on two sides, a large
table in the middle with ash trays. There were
chairs around the table and next to the walls.
These were always filled with people listening,
and there were generally a few people standing
near the door. The two or three people who took
the class for credit sat in chairs around the table.
The time was four to seven. During this period
most people now and then took a little nap.
Suzuki never spoke loudly. When the weather
was good the windows were open, and the air-
planes leaving La Guardia flew directly over-
head from time to time, drowning out whatever
he had to say. He never repeated what had been
said during the passage of the airplane. Three
lectures I remember in particular. While he was
giving them I couldn't for the life of me figure
out what he was saying. It was a week or so later,
while I was walking in the woods looking for
mushrooms, that it all dawned on me.

Patsy Davenport heard my Folkways record.
She said, "When the story came about my asking
you how you felt about Bach, I could remember
everything perfecdy clearly, sharply, as though
I were living through it again. Tell me, what did
you answer? How do you feel about Bach?" I
said I didn't remember what I'd said — that
I'd been nonplused. Then, as usual, when the next
day came, I got to thinking. Giving up Beethoven,
the emotional climaxes and all, is fairly simple for
an American. But giving up Bach is more difficult.
Bach's music suggests order and glorifies for those

262/SILENCE

who hear it their regard for order, which in their
lives is expressed by daily jobs nine to five and
the appliances with which they surround them-
selves and which, when plugged in, God willing,
work. Some people say that art should be an in-
stance of order so that it will save them momen-
tarily from the chaos that they know is just
around the corner. Jazz is equivalent to Bach
(steady beat, dependable motor), and the love of
Bach is generally coupled with the love of jazz.
Jazz is more seductive, less moralistic than Bach.
It popularizes the pleasures and pains of the phys-
ical life, whereas Bach is close to church and all
that. Knowing as we do that so many jazz mu-
sicians stay up to all hours and even take dope,
we permit ourselves to become, sympathetically
at least, junkies and night owls ourselves: by
participation mystique. Giving up Bach, jazz, and
order is difficult. Patsy Davenport is right. It's a
very serious question. For if we do it — give them
up, that is — what do we have left?

Once when I was a child in Los Angeles I
went downtown on the streetcar. It was such a
hot day that, when I got out of the streetcar, the
tar on the pavement stuck to my feet. (I was
barefoot.) Getting to the sidewalk, I found it so
hot that I had to run to keep from blistering my
feet. I went into a five and dime to get a root
beer. When I came to the counter where it was
sold from a large barrel and asked for some, a
man standing on the counter high above me said,
"Wait. I'm putting in the syrup and it'll be a few
minutes." As he was putting in the last can, he
missed and spilled the sticky syrup all over me.
To make me feel better, he offered a free root
beer. I said, "No, thank you."

Betty Isaacs told me that when she was in
New Zealand she was informed that none of the
mushrooms growing wild there was poisonous. So
one day when she noticed a hillside covered with

fungi, she gathered a lot and made catsup. When
she finished the catsup, she tasted it and it was
awful. Nevertheless she bottled it and put it up
on a high shelf. A year later she was houseclean-
ing and discovered the catsup, which she had
forgotten about. She was on the point of throwing
it away. But before doing this she tasted it. It
had changed color. Originally a dirty gray, it had
become black, and, as she told me, it was divine,
improving the flavor of whatever it touched.

George Mantor had an iris garden, which he
improved each year by throwing out the com-
moner varieties. One day his attention was called
to another very fine iris garden. Jealously he made
some inquiries. The garden, it turned out, be-
longed to the man who collected his garbage.

Staying in India and finding the sun unbear-
able, Mrs. Coomaraswamy decided to shop for a
parasol. She found two in the town nearby. One
was in the window of a store dealing in American
goods. It was reasonably priced but unattractive.
The other was in an Indian store. It was Indian-
made, desirable, but outlandishly expensive. Mrs.
Coomaraswamy went back home without buying
anything. But the weather continued dry and hot,
so that a few days later she went again into town
determined to make a purchase. Passing by the
American shop, she noticed their parasol was still
in the window, still reasonably priced. Going into
the Indian shop, she asked to see the one she had
admired a few days before. While she was looking
at it, the price was mentioned. This time it was
absurdly low. Surprised, Mrs. Coomaraswamy
said, "How can I trust you? One day your prices
are up; the next day they're down. Perhaps your
goods are equally undependable." "Madame," the
storekeeper replied, "the people across the street
are new in business. They are intent on profit.
Their prices are stable. We, however, have been
in business for generations. The best things we

INDETERMINACY/263

have we keep in the family, for we are reluctant
to part with them. As for our prices, we change
them continually. That's the only way we've
found in business to keep ourselves interested."

There's a street in Stony Point in a lowland
near the river where a number of species of mush-
rooms grow abundantly. I visit this street often.
A few years ago in May I found the morel there,
a choice mushroom which is rare around Rock-
land County. I was delighted. None of the people
living on this street ever talk to me while I'm
collecting mushrooms. Sometimes children come
over and kick at them before I get to them. Well,
the year after I found the morel, I went back in
May expecting to find it again, only to discover
that a cinder-block house had been put up where
the mushroom had been growing. As I looked at
the changed land, all the people in the neighbor-
hood came out on their porches. One of them said,
"Ha, ha! Your mushrooms are gone."

We are all part and parcel of a way of life
that puts trust in the almighty dollar— so much so
that we feel ourselves slipping when we hear that
on the international market the West German
mark inspires more confidence. Food, one as-
sumes, provides nourishment; but Americans eat
it fully aware that small amounts of poison have
been added to improve its appearance and delay
its putrefaction. None of us wants cancer or skin
diseases, but there are those who tell us that's
how we get them. It's hard to tell, come Decem-
ber, whether we're celebrating the birth of Christ
or whether American business has simply pulled
the wool over our eyes. When I hear that an
artist whose work I admire gets $7000 for a paint-
ing whereas another whose work I don't admire
gets twice as much, do I then change my mind?
Ten years ago the New York painters were for the
most part poor as church mice. Did they then or
do they now have a place in American society?

264/SILENCE

Coming back from an all-Ives concert we'd
attended in Connecticut, Minna Lederman said
that by separating his insurance business from his
composition of music (as completely as day is
separated from night), Ives paid full respect to
the American assumption that the artist has no
place in society. (When Mother first heard my
percussion quartet years ago in Santa Monica, she
said, "I enjoyed it, but where are you going to
put it?") But music is, or was at one time, Amer-
ica's sixth-largest industry— above or below steel,
I don't remember which. Schoenberg used to say
that the movie composers knew their business
very well. Once he asked those in the class who
intended to become professional musicians to put
up their hands. No one did. (Uncle Walter in-
sisted when he married her that Aunt Marge, who
was a contralto, should give up her career.) My
bet is that the phenomenal prices paid for paint-
ings in New York at the present time have less to
do with art than with business. The lady who
lived next door in Santa Monica told me the
painting she had in her dining room was worth
lots of money. She mentioned an astronomical
sum. I said, "How do you know?" She said she'd
seen a small painting worth a certain amount,
measured it, measured hers (which was much
larger), multiplied, and that was that.

Mrs. Coomaraswamy told another story about
business methods in India. It seems that early one
morning she was at a kind of craftsmen's bazaar.
There were fewer shops available than there were
craftsmen. So a poetry contest was arranged. The
one who made up the best poem got the shop.
The losers were going away quite contented re-
citing the winning poem. She asked them why
they were so pleased since they were actually un-
fortunate. They said, "Oh, it's no matter. When
his goods are sold he'll have no use for the shop.
Then one more of us will get a chance to sell
what he has, and so on."

Lois Long (the Lois Long who designs tex-
tiles), Christian Wolff, and I climbed Slide Moun-
tain along with Guy Nearing and the Flemings,
including Wilhe. All the way up and down the
mountain we found nothing but Collybia platy-
phylla, so that I began to itch to visit a cemetery
in Millerton, New York, where, in my mind's eye,
Pluteus cervinus was growing. By the time we
got back to the cars, our knees were shaking with
fatigue and the sun had gone down. Nevertheless,
I managed to persuade Lois Long and Christian
Wolff to drive over to Millerton. It meant an extra
hundred miles. We arrived at the cemetery at
midnight. I took a flashlight out of the glove com-
partment, got out, and first hastily and then care-
fully examined all the stumps and the ground
around them. There wasn't a single mushroom
growing. Going back to the car, I fully expected
Lois Long and Christian Wolff to be exasperated.
However, they were entranced. The aurora bore-
alis, which neither of them had ever seen before,
was playing in the northern sky.

I dug up some hog peanuts and boiled them
with butter, salt, and pepper for Bob Rauschen-
berg and Jasper Johns. I was anxious to know
what Jasper Johns would think of them because
I knew he liked boiled peanuts. I was curious to
know whether he would find a similarity between
boiled peanuts and hog peanuts. Most people in
the North have no experience at all of boiled
peanuts. People who've had hog peanuts speak
afterwards of the taste of chestnuts and beans.
Anyway, Jasper Johns said they were very good
but that they didn't taste particularly like boiled
peanuts. Then he went down to South Carolina
for a few weeks in November. When I saw him
after he got back, he said he'd had boiled peanuts
again and that they tasted very much like hog
peanuts.

Artists talk a lot about freedom. So, recalling
the expression "free as a bird," Morton Feldman

went to a park one day and spent some time
watching our feathered friends. When he came
back, he said, "You know? They're not free:
they're fighting over bits of food."

I was asked to play my Sonatas and Inter-
ludes in the home of an elderly lady in Burnsville,
North Carolina, the only person thereabouts who
owned a grand piano. I explained that the piano
preparation would take at least three hours and
that I would need a few additional hours for prac-
ticing before the performance. It was arranged for
me to start work directly after lunch. After about
an hour, I decided to take a breather. I fit a ciga-
rette and went out on the veranda, where I found
my hostess sitting in a rocking chair. We began
chatting. She asked me where I came from. I told
her that I'd been born in Los Angeles but that as
a child I was raised both there and in Michigan;
that after two years of college in Claremont, Cali-
fornia, I had spent eighteen months in Europe
and North Africa; that, after returning to Califor-
nia, I had moved first from Santa Monica to
Carmel, then to New York, then back to Los
Angeles, then to Seattle, San Francisco, and Chi-
cago, successively; that, at the moment, I was liv-
ing in New York in an apartment on the East
River. Then I said, "And where do you come
from?" She said, pointing to a gas station across
the street, "From over there." She went on to say
that one of her sons had tried to persuade her to
make a second move, for now she lived alone ex-
cept for the servants, and to come and five with
him and his family. She said she refused because
she wouldn't feel at home in a strange place.
When I asked where he lived, she said, "A few
blocks down the street."

On one occasion, Schoenberg asked a girl in
his class to go to the piano and play the first move-
ment of a Beethoven sonata, which was after-
wards to be analyzed. She said, "It is too difficult.

INDETERMINACY/265

I can't play it." Schoenberg said, "You're a pianist,
aren't you?" She said, "Yes." He said, "Then go to
the piano." She did. She had no sooner begun
playing than he stopped her to say that she was
not playing at the proper tempo. She said that if
she played at the proper tempo, she would make
mistakes. He said, "Play at the proper tempo and
do not make mistakes." She began again, and he
stopped her immediately to say that she was mak-
ing mistakes. She then burst into tears and between
sobs explained that she had gone to the dentist
earlier that day and that she'd had a tooth pulled
out. He said, "Do you have to have a tooth pulled
out in order to make mistakes?"

There was a lady in Suzuki's class who said
once, "I have great difficulty reading the sermons
of Meister Eckhart, because of all the Christian
imagery." Dr. Suzuki said, "That difficulty will
disappear."

Betty Isaacs went shopping at Altaian's. She
spent all her money except her last dime, which
she kept in her hand so that she'd have it ready
when she got on the bus to go home and wouldn't
have to fumble around in her purse since her arms
were full of parcels and she was also carrying a
shopping bag. Waiting for the bus, she decided to
make sure she still had the coin. When she opened
her hand, there was nothing there. She mentally
retraced her steps trying to figure out where she'd
lost the dime. Her mind made up, she went
straight to the glove department, and sure enough
there it was on the floor where she'd been stand-
ing. As she stooped to pick it up, another shopper
said, "I wish I knew where to go to pick money
up off the floor." Relieved, Betty Isaacs took the
bus home to the Village. Unpacking her parcels,
she discovered the dime in the bottom of the
shopping bag.

When David Tudor, Merce Cunningham,
Carolyn and Earle Brown, and I arrived in Brus-

sels a year or so ago for programs at the World's
Fair, we found out that Earle Brown's Indices was
not going to be played since the orchestra found
it too difficult. So, putting two and two together,
we proposed that Merce Cunningham and Caro-
lyn Brown dance solos and duets from Merce
Cunningham's Springweather and People (which
is his tide for Earle Brown's Indices) and that
David Tudor play the piano transcription as ac-
companiment. With great difficulty, arrangements
were made to realize this proposal. At the last
minute the authorities agreed. However, just be-
fore the performance, the Pope died and every-
thing was canceled.

One day down at Black Mountain College,
David Tudor was eating his lunch. A student
came over to his table and began asking him ques-
tions. David Tudor went on eating his lunch. The
student kept on asking questions. Finally David
Tudor looked at him and said, "If you don't know,
why do you ask?"

When David Tudor and I walked into the
hotel where we were invited to stay in Brussels,
there were large envelopes for each of us at the
desk; they were full of programs, tickets, invita-
tions, special passes to the Fair, and general in-
formation. One of the invitations I had was to a
luncheon at the royal palace adjacent to the Fair
Grounds. I was to reply, but I didn't because I
was busy with rehearsals, performances, and the
writing of thirty of these stories, which I was to
deliver as a lecture in the course of the week de-
voted to experimental music. So one day when I
was coming into the hotel, the desk attendant
asked me whether I expected to go to the palace
for lunch the following day. I said, "Yes." Over
the phone, he said, "He's coming." And then he
checked my name off a fist in front of him. He
asked whether I knew the plans of others on the
fist, which by that time I was reading upside

266/SILENCE

down. I helped him as best I could. The next
morning when I came down for breakfast there
was a man from Paris associated as physicist with
Schaeffer's studio for musique concrete. I said,
"Well, I'll be seeing you at luncheon today." He
said, "What luncheon?" I said, "At the palace."
He said, "I haven't been invited." I said, "I'm sure
you are invited. I saw your name on the list. You'd
better call them up; they're anxious to know who's
coming." An hour later the phone rang for me. It
was the director of the week's events. He said,
"I've just found out that you've invited Dr. So-
and-So to the luncheon." I said I'd seen his name
on the list. The director said, "You've made a mis-
take and I am able to correct it, but what I'd like
to know is: How many others have you also
invited?"

An Indian woman who lived in the islands
was required to come to Juneau to testify in a
trial. After she had solemnly sworn to tell the
truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth,
she was asked whether she had been subpoenaed.
She said, "Yes. Once on the boat coming over,
and once in the hotel here in Juneau."

I took a number of mushrooms to Guy
Nearing, and asked him to name them for me. He
did. On my way home, I began to doubt whether
one particular mushroom was what he had called
it. When I got home I got out my books and came
to the conclusion that Guy Nearing had made a
mistake. The next time I saw him I told him all
about this and he said, "There are so many Latin
names rolling around in my head that sometimes
the wrong one comes out."

A depressed young man came to see Hazel
Dreis, the bookbinder. He said, "I've decided to
commit suicide." She said, "I think it's a good
idea. Why don't you do it?"

David Tudor and I went up to New Haven
to do a television class for the New Haven State
Teachers College. That college specializes in teach-
ing by means of television. What they do is to
make a tape, audio and visual, and then broad-
cast it at a later date early in the morning. In the
course of my talking, I said something about the
purpose of purposelessness. Afterwards, one of the
teachers said to the head of the Music Depart-
ment, "How are you going to explain that to the
class next Tuesday?" Anyway, we finished the TV
business, drove back to the school, and I asked the
teachers to recommend some second-hand book-
stores in New Haven for David Tudor and me to
visit. They did. A half -hour later when we walked
into one of them, the book dealer said, "Mr.
Tudor? Mr. Cage?" I said, "Yes?" He said, "You're
to call the State Teachers College." I did. They
said the television class we had recorded had not
been recorded at all. Apparently someone forgot
to turn something on.

On the way back from New Haven we were
driving along the Housatonic. It was a beautiful
day. We stopped to have dinner but the restau-
rants at the river's edge turned out not to be res-
taurants at all but dark, run-down bars with,
curiously, no views of the river. So we drove on
to Newtown, where we saw many cars parked
around a restaurant that appeared to have a Colo-
nial atmosphere. I said, "All those cars are a good
sign. Let's eat there." When we got in, we were
in a large dining room with very few other people
eating. The waitress seemed slightiy giddy. David
Tudor ordered some ginger ale, and after quite a
long time was served some Coca-Cola, which he
refused. Later we both ordered parfaits; mine was
to be chocolate, his to be strawberry. As the wait-
ress entered the kitchen, she shouted, "Two choc-
olate parfaits." When David Tudor explained to
her later that he had ordered strawberry, she said,
"They made some mistake in the kitchen." I said,

INDETERMINACY/267

"There must be another dining room in this build-
ing with a lot of people eating in it." The waitress
said, "Yes. It's downstairs and there are only two
of us for each floor and we keep running back and
forth."

Then we had to go back to New Haven to do
the TV class over again. This time on the way
back it was a very hot and humid day. We stopped
again in Newtown, but at a different place, for
some ice. There was a choice: raspberry, grape,
lemon, orange, and pineapple. I took grape. It
was refreshing. I asked the lady who served it
whether she had made it. She said, "Yes." I said,
"Is it fresh fruit?" She said, "It's not fresh, but
it's fruit."

Mr. Ralph Ferrara drives a Studebaker Lark
which is mashed at both ends. Sometimes the car
requires to be pushed in order to run. One Sunday
when the mushroom class met at 10:00 A.M. at
Suffem, Mr. Ferrara didn't arrive. Next week he
told me he'd arrived late, gone to Sloatsburg,
gathered a few mushrooms, gone home, cooked
dinner, and two of his guests were immediately
ill but not seriously. At the last mushroom field
trip, November 1, 1959, we ended at my house,
drank some stone fences, and ate some Cortinarius
alboviolaceous that Lois Long cooked. She said to
Ralph Ferrara, "Mr. Cage says that there's noth-
ing like a little mushroom poisoning to make peo-
ple be on time." He said, "Oh, yes. I'm always
first in the parking lot."

While I was studying the frozen food depart-
ment of Gristede's one day, Mrs. Elliott Carter
came up and said, "Hello, John. I thought you
touched only fresh foods." I said, "All you have to
do is look at them and then you come over here."
She said, "Elliott and I have just gotten back from
Europe. We'd sublet to some intellectuals whose
names I won't mention. They had been eating

those platters with all sorts of food on them." I
said, "Not TV dinners?" She said, "Yes, I found
them stuffed around everywhere."

When I came to New York to study with
Adolph Weiss and Henry Cowell, I took a job in
the Brooklyn YWCA washing walls. There was
one other wall-washer. He was more experienced
than I. He told me how many walls to wash per
day. In this way he checked my original enthu-
siasm, with the result that I spent a great deal of
time simply reading the old newspapers which I
used to protect the floors. Thus I had always to
be, so to speak, on my toes, ready to resume scrub-
bing the moment I heard the housekeeper ap-
proaching. One room finished, I was to go to the
next, but before entering any room I was to look
in the keyhole to see whether the occupant's key
was in it on the inside. If I saw no key, I was to
assume the room empty, go in, and set to work.
One morning, called to the office, I was told I had
been accused of peeking through the keyholes. I
no sooner began to defend myself than I was in-
terrupted. The housekeeper said that each year
the wall-washer, no matter who he was, was so
accused, always by the same lady.

Standing in line, Max Jacob said, gives one
the opportunity to practice patience.

Mr. Romanoff is in the mushroom class. He is
a pharmacist and takes color slides of the fungi
we find. It was he who picked up a mushroom I
brought to the first meeting of the class at the
New School, smelled it, and said, "Has anyone
perfumed this mushroom?" Lois Long said, "I
don't think so." With each plant Mr. Romanoff's
pleasure is, as one might say, like that of a child.
(However, now and then children come on the
field trips and they don't show particular delight
over what is found. They try to attract attention
to themselves.) Mr. Romanoff said the other day,

268/SILENCE

"Life is the sum total of all the little things that
happen." Mr. Nearing smiled.

Tucker Madawick is seventeen years old. He
is Lois Long's son by her first husband. It was
dinnertime. He came home from his job in the
Good Samaritan Hospital in Suffern and said to
his mother, "Well, dear, I won't be seeing you for
a couple of days." Lois Long said, "What's up?"
Tucker said, "Tomorrow night after work, I'm
driving to Albany with Danny Sherwood for a cup
of coffee, and I'll be back for work the following
day." Lois Long said, "For heaven's sake, you can
have a cup of coffee here at home." Tucker Mada-
wick replied, "Don't be a square. Read Kerouac."

Merce Cunningham's parents were going to
Seattle to see their other son, Jack. Mrs. Cunning-
ham was driving. Mr. Cunningham said, "Don't
you think you should go a little slower? You'll get
caught." He gave this warning several times.
Finally, on the outskirts of Seattle, they were
stopped by a policeman. He asked to see Mrs.
Cunningham's license. She rummaged around in
her bag and said, "I just don't seem to be able to
find it." He then asked to see the registration. She
looked for it but unsuccessfully. The officer then
said, "Well, what are we going to do with you?"
Mrs. Cunningham started the engine. Before she
drove off, she said, "I just don't have any more
time to waste talking with you. Good-by."

I went to hear Krishnamurti speak. He was
lecturing on how to hear a lecture. He said, "You
must pay full attention to what is being said and
you can't do that if you take notes." The lady on
my right was taking notes. The man on her right
nudged her and said, "Don't you hear what he's
saying? You're not supposed to take notes." She
then read what she had written and said, "That's
right. I have it written down right here in my
notes."

Virgil Thomson and Maurice Grosser were
driving across the United States. When they came
to Kansas, Virgil Thomson said, "Drive as fast as
possible, in no case stop. Keep on going until we
get out of it." Maurice Grosser got hungry and
insisted on stopping for lunch. Seeing something
at the end of the counter, he asked what it was,
and the waitress replied, "Peanut butter pie."
Virgil Thomson said, "You see what I mean?"

One of Mies van der Rohe's pupils, a girl,
came to him and said, "I have difficulty studying
with you because you don't leave any room for
self-expression." He asked her whether she had
a pen with her. She did. He said, "Sign your
name." She did. He said, "That's what I call
self-expression."

Just before I moved to the country, I called
up the Museum of Natural History and asked a
man there what poisonous snakes were to be
found in Rockland County. Unhesitatingly he re-
plied, "The copperhead and the rattlesnake."
Going through the woods, I never see either (now
and then a blacksnake or some other harmless
reptile down near the stream or even up in the
hills). The children across the road warned me
that in our woods snakes hang from the trees. A
man who works for the Interstate Park and who
fives just north of us on Gate Hill told me he'd
never seen any poisonous snakes on our land.

On a mushroom walk near Mianus Gorge in
Connecticut we came across thirty copperheads
basking in the sun. Mr. Fleming put one in a
paper bag and carried it home attached to his
belt. He is, of course, a specialist with snakes,
works for the Bronx Zoo, and makes hunting ex-
peditions in South America. However, he told me
once of another snake specialist who worked for
the Park his whole life without ever having any
trouble, and then, after getting his pension, went

INDETERMINACY/269

out tramping in the woods, was bitten by a copper-
head, didn't take the bite seriously, and died of it.

Among those thirty copperheads at Mianus
Gorge I noticed three different colorations, so
that I have lost faith in the pictures in the books
as far as snake identification goes. What you have
to do, it seems, is notice whether or not there is a
pitlike indentation in each of the snake's cheeks,
between the eye and the nostril, in order to be
certain whether it's poisonous or not. This is, of
course, difficult unless one is already dangerously
close.

Over in New Jersey on Bare Fort Mountain
and once up at Sam's Point we ran into rattle-
snakes. They were larger and more noble in action
and appearance than the copperheads. There was
only one on each occasion, and each went through
the business of coifing, rattiing, and spitting.
Neither struck.

My new room is one step up from my old
kitchen. One fall evening before the gap between
the two rooms was closed up, I was shaving at the
sink and happened to notice what seemed to be a
copperhead making its way into the house five
feet away from where I was standing. Never hav-
ing killed a snake and feeling the urgency of that's
being done, I called, "Paul! A copperhead's in the
house!" Paul Williams came running over from his
house and killed the snake with a bread board.
After he left, the snake was still writhing. I cut
off its head with a carving knife. With a pair of
tongs, I picked up both parts and flushed them
down the toilet.

When I told Daniel DeWees what had hap-
pened, he said, "That's what I thought. When I
was working in the dark under the house the
other day putting in the insulation, I had the feel-
ing there was a snake there near me." I said,
"Was it just a feeling? Did you imagine it? Or
was there something made you certain?" He said,
"Well, I thought I heard some hissing."

In 1949 Merce Cunningham and I went to
Europe on a Dutch boat. As we were approach-
ing Rotterdam, the fog became so thick that land-
ing was delayed. To expedite matters, the cus-
toms officials came aboard the boat. Passengers
formed into lines and one by one were questioned.
Merce Cunningham was in one line, I was in an-
other. I smoke a great deal, whereas he doesn't
smoke at all. However, he was taking five cartons
of cigarettes into Europe for me and I had that
number myself. We were both traveling through
Holland to Belgium and then France, and the
customs regulations of all those countries varied
with regard to cigarettes. For instance, you could
at that time take five cartons per person into
France but only two per person into Holland.
When I got to my customs officer, all of this was
clear to both of us. Out of the goodness of his
heart, he was reluctant to deprive me of my three
extra cartons or to charge duty on them, but he
found it difficult to find an excuse for letting
me off. Finally he said, "Are you going to go out
of Holland backwards?" I said, "Yes." He was
overjoyed. Then he said, "You can keep all the
cigarettes. Have a good trip." I left the line and
noticed that Merce Cunningham had just reached
his customs officer and was having some trouble
about the extra cartons. So I went over and told
the official that Merce Cunningham was going to
go out of Holland backwards. He was delighted.
"Oh," he said, "in that case there's no problem
at all."

One day when I was studying with Schoen-
berg, he pointed out the eraser on his pencil and
said, "This end is more important than the other."
After twenty years I learned to write direcdy in
ink. Recendy, when David Tudor returned from
Europe, he brought me a German pencil of mod-
ern make. It can carry any size of lead. Pressure
on a shaft at the end of the holder frees the lead
so that it can be retracted or extended or removed

270/SILENCE

and another put in its place. A sharpener came
with the pencil. This sharpener offers not one but
several possibilities. That is, one may choose the
kind of point he wishes. There is no eraser.

During my last year in high school, I found
out about the Liberal Catholic Church. It was in
a beautiful spot in the Hollywood hills. The cere-
mony was an anthology of the most theatrical bits
and pieces found in the principal rituals, Occi-
dental and Oriental. There were clouds of incense,
candles galore, processions in and around the
church. I was fascinated, and though I had been
raised in the Methodist Episcopal Church and
had had thoughts of going into the ministry, I
decided to join the Liberal Catholics. Mother and
Dad objected strenuously. Ultimately, when I told
them of my intention to become an acolyte active
in the Mass, they said, "Well, make up your mind.
It's us or the church." Thinking along the lines of
"Leave your father and mother and follow Me,"
I went to the priest, told him what had hap-
pened, and said I'd decided in favor of the Lib-
eral Catholics. He said, "Don't be a fool. Go home.
There are many religions. You have only one
mother and father."

Schoenberg always complained that his Amer-
ican pupils didn't do enough work. There was one
girl in the class in particular who, it is true, did
almost no work at all. He asked her one day why
she didn't accomplish more. She said, "I don't
have any time." He said, "How many hours are
there in the day?" She said, "Twenty-four." He
said, "Nonsense: there are as many hours in a day
as you put into it."

A crowded bus on the point of leaving Man-
chester for Stockport was found by its conductress
to have one too many standees. She therefore
asked, "Who was the last person to get on the
bus?" No one said a word. Declaring that the bus

would not leave until the extra passenger was put
off, she went and fetched the driver, who also
asked, "All right, who was the last person to get
on the bus?" Again there was a public silence. So
the two went to find an inspector. He asked,
"Who was the last person to get on the bus?" No
one spoke. He then announced that he would
fetch a policeman. While the conductress, driver,
and inspector were away looking for a policeman,
a litde man came up to the bus stop and asked,
"Is this the bus to Stockport?" Hearing that it
was, he got on. A few minutes later the three re-
turned accompanied by a policeman. He asked,
"What seems to be the trouble? Who was the
last person to get on the bus?" The little man
said, "I was." The policeman said, "All right, get
off." All the people on the bus burst into laughter.
The conductress, thinking they were laughing at
her, burst into tears and said she refused to make
the trip to Stockport. The inspector then arranged
for another conductress to take over. She, seeing
the little man standing at the bus stop, said,
"What are you doing there?" He said, "I'm wait-
ing to go to Stockport." She said, "Well, this is
the bus to Stockport. Are you getting on or not?"

Alex and Gretchen Corazzo gave a great deal
of thought to whether or not they would attend
the funeral of a close friend. At the last minute
they decided they would go. Hurriedly they
dressed, rushed out of the house, arrived late; the
services had begun. They took seats at the back of
the chapel. When the invitation came to view the
body, they again deliberated, finally deciding to
do so. Coming to the casket, they discovered they
were at the wrong funeral.

Xenia told me once that when she was a child
in Alaska, she and her friends had a club and
there was only one rule: No silliness.

Xenia never wanted a party to end. Once, in
Seattle, when the party we were at was folding,

INDETERMINACY/271

she invited those who were still awake, some of
whom we'd only met that evening, to come over
to our house. Thus it was that about 3:00 A.M.
an Irish tenor was singing loudly in our living
room. Morris Graves, who had a suite down the
hall, entered ours without knocking, wearing an old-
fashioned nightshirt and carrying an elaborately
made wooden birdcage, the bottom of which had
been removed. Making straight for the tenor,
Graves placed the birdcage over his head, said
nothing, and left the room. The effect was that of
snuffing out a candle. Shortiy, Xenia and I were
alone.

I enrolled in a class in mushroom identifica-
tion. The teacher was a Ph.D. and the editor of a
publication on mycology. One day he picked up a
mushroom, gave a good deal of information about
it, mainly historical, and finally named the plant
as Pluteus cervinus, edible. I was certain that that
plant was not Pluteus cervinus. Due to the attach-
ment of its gills to the stem, it seemed to me to be
an Entoloma, and therefore possibly seriously poi-
sonous. I thought: What shall I do? Point out the
teacher's error? Or, following school etiquette,
saying nothing, let other members of the class pos-
sibly poison themselves? I decided to speak. I said,
"I doubt whether that mushroom is Pluteus cer-
vinus. I think it's an Entoloma." The teacher said,
"Well, we'll key it out." This was done, and it
turned out I was right. The plant was Entoloma
grayanum, a poisonous mushroom. The teacher
came over to me and said, "If you know so much
about mushrooms, why do you take this class?" I
said, "I take this class because there's so much
about mushrooms I don't know." Then I said, "By
the way, how is it that you didn't recognize that
plant?" He said, "Well, I specialize in the jelly
fungi; I just give the fleshy fungi a whirl."

Merce Cunningham's father delights in gar-
dening. Each year he has had to move the shrubs

back from the driveway to protect them from
being run over when Mrs. Cunningham backs out.
One day Mrs. Cunningham in backing out knocked
down but did not hurt an elderly gentieman who
had been taking a stroll. Getting out of her car
and seeing him lying on the sidewalk, Mrs. Cun-
ningham said, "What are you doing there?"

Generally speaking, suicide is considered a
sin. So all the disciples were very interested to
hear what Ramakrishna would say about the fact
that a four-year-old child had just then committed
suicide. Ramakrishna said that the child had not
sinned, he had simply corrected an error; he had
been born by mistake.

One day while I was composing, the tele-
phone rang. A lady's voice said, "Is this John
Cage, the percussion composer?" I said, "Yes."
She said, "This is the J. Walter Thompson Com-
pany." I didn't know what that was, but she ex-
plained that their business was advertising. She
said, "Hold on. One of our directors wants to
speak to you." During a pause my mind went
back to my composition. Then suddenly a man's
voice said, "Mr. Cage, are you willing to pros-
titute your art?" I said, "Yes." He said, "Well,
bring us some samples Friday at two." I did.
After hearing a few recordings, one of the direc-
tors said to me, "Wait a minute." Then seven
directors formed what looked like a football hud-
dle. From this one of them finally emerged, came
over to me, and said, "You're too good for us.
We're going to save you for Robinson Crusoe."

In the poetry contest in China by which the
Sixth Patriarch of Zen Buddhism was chosen,
there were two poems. One said: "The mind is
like a mirror. It collects dust. The problem is to
remove the dust." The other and winning poem
was actually a reply to the first. It said, "Where
is the mirror and where is the dust?"

272/SILENCE

Some centuries later in a Japanese monastery,
there was a monk who was always taking baths.
A younger monk came up to him and said, "Why,
if there is no dust, are you always taking baths?"
The older monk replied, "Just a dip. No why."

While we were sitting on top of Slide Moun-
tain looking out towards Cornell and Wittenberg
and the Ashokan Reservoir beyond, Guy Nearing
said he had known two women who were bitten
by copperheads. "They were just the same after
as before," he said, "except they were a little
more cranky."

On Christmas Day, Mother said, "I've lis-
tened to your record several times. After hearing
all those stories about your childhood, I keep ask-
ing myself, 'Where was it that I failed?' "

One spring morning I knocked on Sonya
Sekula's door. She lived across the hall. Presendy
the door was opened just a crack and she said
quickly, "I know you're very busy: I won't take a
minute of your time."

When the depression began, I was in Europe.
After a while I came back and lived with my
family in the Pacific Palisades. I had read some-
where that Richard Buhlig, the pianist, had years
before in Berlin given the first performance of
Schoenberg's Opus 11. I thought to myself: He
probably fives right here in Los Angeles. So I
looked in the phone book and, sure enough, there
was his name. I called him up and said, "I'd like
to hear you play the Schoenberg pieces." He
said he wasn't contemplating giving a recital. I said,
"Well, surely, you play at home. Couldn't I come
over one day and hear the Opus 11?" He said,
"Certainly not." He hung up.

About a year later, the family had to give up
the house in the Palisades. Mother and Dad went
to an apartment in Los Angeles. I found an auto

court in Santa Monica where, in exchange for
doing the gardening, I got an apartment to five in
and a large room back of the court over the
garages, which I used as a lecture hall. I was
nineteen years old and enthusiastic about modern
music and painting. I went from house to house
in Santa Monica explaining this to the housewives.
I offered ten lectures for $2.50. I said, "I will
learn each week something about the subject that
I will then lecture on."

Well, the week came for my lecture on Schoen-
berg. Except for a minuet, Opus 25, his music
was too difficult for me to play. No recordings
were then available. I thought of Richard Buhlig.
I decided not to telephone him but to go direcdy
to his house and visit him. I hitchhiked into Los
Angeles, arriving at his house at noon. He wasn't
home. I took a pepper bough off a tree and, pulling
off the leaves one by one, recited, "He'll come
home; he won't; he'll come home . . ." It always
turned out He'll come home. He did. At midnight.
I explained I'd been waiting to see him for twelve
hours. He invited me into the house. When I
asked him to illustrate my lecture on Schoenberg,
he said, "Certainly not." However, he said he'd
like to see some of my compositions, and we made
an appointment for the following week.

Somehow I got through the lecture, and the
day came to show my work to Buhlig. Again I
hitchhiked into L.A., arriving somewhat ahead of
time. I rang the doorbell. Buhlig opened it and
said, "You're half an hour early. Come back at the
proper time." I had library books with me and
decided to kill two birds with one stone. So I went
to the library to return the books, found some new
ones, and then came back to Buhfig's house and
again rang the doorbell. He was furious when he
opened the door. He said, "Now you're half an
hour late." He took me into the house and lec-
tured me for two hours on the importance of time,
especially for one who proposed devoting his life
to the art of music.

INDETERMINACY/273

In 1954 an issue of the United States Lines Paris Review devoted to humor was
being prepared. I was invited to write on the subject of music. I contributed
the following article.

MUSIC LOVERS' FIELD COMPANION

I have come to the conclusion that much can be learned about music by
devoting oneself to the mushroom. For this purpose I have recently moved
to the country. Much of my time is spent poring over "field companions"
on fungi. These I obtain at half price in second-hand bookshops, which
latter are in some rare cases next door to shops selling dog-eared sheets of
music, such an occurrence being greeted by me as irrefutable evidence that
I am on the right track.

The winter for mushrooms, as for music, is a most sorry season. Only
in caves and houses where matters of temperature and humidity, and in
concert halls where matters of trusteeship and box office are under constant
surveillance, do the vulgar and accepted forms thrive. American commer-
cialism has brought about a grand deterioration of the Psalliota campestris,
affecting through exports even the European market. As a demanding
gourmet sees but does not purchase the marketed mushroom, so a lively
musician reads from time to time the announcements of concerts and stays
quietly at home. If, energetically, Collybia velutipes should fruit in Janu-
ary, it is a rare event, and happening on it while stalking in a forest is almost
beyond one's dearest expectations, just as it is exciting in New York to note
that the number of people attending a winter concert requiring the use of
one's faculties is on the upswing ( 1954: 129 out of 12,000,000; 1955: 136 out
of 12,000,000).

In the summer, matters are different. Some three thousand different

274/SILENCE

mushrooms are thriving in abundance, and right and left there are Festivals
of Contemporary Music. It is to be regretted, however, that the consolida-
tion of the acquisitions of Schoenberg and Stravinsky, currently in vogue,
has not produced a single new mushroom. Mycologists are aware that in
the present fungous abundance, such as it is, the dangerous Amanitas play
an extraordinarily large part. Should not program chairmen, and music-
lovers in general, come the warm months, display some prudence?

I was delighted last fall (for the effects of summer linger on, viz.
Donaueschingen, C. D. M. I., etc. ) not only to revisit in Paris my friend the
composer Pierre Boulez, rue Beautreillis, but also to attend the Exposition
du Champignon, rue de Buffon. A week later in Cologne, from my vantage
point in a glass-encased control booth, I noticed an audience dozing off,
throwing, as it were, caution to the winds, though present at a loud-speaker-
emitted program of Elektronische Musik. I could not help recalling the
riveted attention accorded another loud-speaker, rue de Buffon, which de-
livered on the hour a lecture describing mortally poisonous mushrooms and
means for their identification.

But enough of the contemporary musical scene; it is well known. More
important is to determine what are the problems confronting the contem-
porary mushroom. To begin with, I propose that it should be determined
which sounds further the growth of which mushrooms; whether these latter,
indeed, make sounds of their own; whether the gills of certain mushrooms
are employed by appropriately small-winged insects for the production of
pizzicati and the tubes of the Boleti by minute burrowing ones as wind
instruments; whether the spores, which in size and shape are extraordi-
narily various, and in number countless, do not on dropping to the earth
produce gamelan-like sonorities; and finally, whether all this enterprising
activity which I suspect delicately exists, could not, through technological
means, be brought, amplified and magnified, into our theatres with the net
result of making our entertainments more interesting.

What a boon it would be for the recording industry (now part of
America's sixth largest) if it could be shown that the performance, while at
table, of an LP of Beethoven's Quartet Opus Such-and-Such so alters the
chemical nature of Amanita muscaria as to render it both digestible and
delicious!

Lest I be found frivolous and light-headed and, worse, an "impurist"

MUSIC LOVERS' FIELD COMPANION/275

for having brought about the marriage of the agaric with Euterpe, observe
that composers are continually mixing up music with something else.
Karlheinz Stockhausen is clearly interested in music and juggling, con-
structing as he does "global structures," which can be of service only when
tossed in the air; while my friend Pierre Boulez, as he revealed in a recent
article (Nouvelle Revue Frangaise, November 1954), is interested in music
and parentheses and italics] This combination of interests seems to me ex-
cessive in number. I prefer my own choice of the mushroom. Furthermore
it is avant-garde.

I have spent many pleasant hours in the woods conducting perform-
ances of my silent piece, transcriptions, that is, for an audience of myself,
since they were much longer than the popular length which I have had
published. At one performance, I passed the first movement by attempting
the identification of a mushroom which remained successfully unidentified.
The second movement was extremely dramatic, beginning with the sounds
of a buck and a doe leaping up to within ten feet of my rocky podium. The
expressivity of this movement was not only dramatic but unusually sad
from my point of view, for the animals were frightened simply because I
was a human being. However, they left hesitatingly and fittingly within the
structure of the work. The third movement was a return to the theme of the
first, but with all those profound, so-well-known alterations of world feeling
associated by German tradition with the A-B-A.

In the space that remains, I would like to emphasize that I am not
interested in the relationships between sounds and mushrooms any more
than I am in those between sounds and other sounds. These would involve
an introduction of logic that is not only out of place in the world, but time-
consuming. We exist in a situation demanding greater earnestness, as I can
testify, since recently I was hospitalized after having cooked and eaten
experimentally some Spathyema foetida, commonly known as skunk cab-
bage. My blood pressure went down to fifty, stomach was pumped, etc. It
behooves us therefore to see each thing directly as it is, be it the sound of a
tin whistle or the elegant Lepiota procera.

276/SILENCE

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