The Function of the Eye

There can be tons said about the significance of the eye in Literature. Surrealism for one explored the function of the eye in art by distorting it, for what it saw was distorted anyways. George Bataille in the Story of the Eye had intercourse with a loose un-body-bound eye. Disgusting, noted, genius, just a little. The function of the eye was to play on the idea of the gaze, who is this other person you are engaging with, and what is it about them that determines you, why does their gaze inflict such excitement, what does that excitement represent, how does it constitute you? The list of questions goes on and on......and in having intercourse with the gaze you are actually submitting it to your whim, controlling the onlooker. Its a power play, because the EYE-I-OTHER Dynamic is all about power and reference and maybe representation (here I mix in a little Edward Said).


Frankly, Story of the Eye is vulgar for any uninterested reader, but again where do you draw the line between what is artful and what is plan lude:

• Check out the link below to read the story:

http://supervert.com/elibrary/georges_bataille

ABOVE is "Un Chien Andalou" by Salvador Dali and Luis Banuel. Its some what graphic so be warned.

    BELOW is an experimental rendition of word play in reference to the above ideas.

TODAY'S EYE CATCHING STORY IS THAT MY MOTHER JUST HAD EYE SURGERY TO REMOVE HER CATARACT! I WENT TO THE HOSPITAL WHERE SHE PROCEEDED TO EXPLAIN HOW IMPORTANT MY FEMININITY WAS TO MY iDENTITY. I PLAYED ALONG, INSERT WINKING EYE, BECAUSE I KNEW WHAT SHE KNEW, WHICH WAS THAT SHE WAS SCARED. I'M PROBABLY NOT SUPPOSE TO SAY THAT, BUT WHAT AM I SUPPOSE TO SAY ABOUT EYES IF NOT WHAT IS SEEN. IT'S OBVIOUS THAT TO HER MY iDENTITY IS LINKED DIRECTLY TO MY OUTLOOK ON LIFE WHICH IN RETURN DIRECTLY LINKS TO MY WEIGHT AS A FEMALE, BUT I CAN'T SEEM TO SEE EYE-TO-EYE WITH HER ON WHAT OUTLOOK IS AND WHY MY OUTLOOK DETERMINES WHAT THE ONLOOKER SEES. iRONICALLY I AM HER PHOTOCOPY. WHEN ONE LOOKS AT A MIRROR THEY SEE THEMSELVES AND IN AN HONEST MIRROR THEY SEE THEIR EYES, I SEE MY MOM. HER EYES ARE GREEN LIKE THE GRASS, MINE JUST A FADE DARKER ARE LOOKING AT HERS IN HOPES THAT HER FEAR WILL FADE IN SEEING THAT MY EYES TURNED JUST A SHADE GREENER FOR HER. SO THAT SHE KNOWS THAT WITH MY EYES SHE WILL SEE.