When
Primo Levi wrote The
Periodic Table,
his 1975 collection of stories and autobiographical pieces, his task
was to employ chemical elements as central themes-- of the 106
elements known to the scientific community at the time, he selected
21 to act either as metaphors (argon for the destroyed Jewish
community of Emilia-Romagna) or real-life materials that feature in
the narrative (nickel as a trace metal he was employed to extract
from mine).
He
did better than most. There are some elements-- iron, gold, sulfur,
arsenic-- that have imageistic value and metaphorical weight in
everyday speech, but most remain obscure. When was the last time you
saw a piece of rhodium, or even heard about it? A high school
chemistry test? Ever? There's a reason that screenwriters can make up
the names of elements in sci-fi movies, and we as the audience will
accept them at face value.
But
one of the few elements that does retain symbolic value is neon, and
it's something of an odd man out. It's an invisible and stubbornly
nonreactive gas, and it was isolated and discovered barely more than
a century ago. And yet in its human uses, it has become so
ubiquitous, and has come to be a byword for so many things.
In
1913, the world saw its first neon advertisement in Paris, and it
rapidly spread around the world, the electric equivalent of the
tropical lianas that spread and wrap themselves around every
structure they come into contact with. As the world rushed to banish
darkness (and its brother phenomenon, silence) from urban space, the
neon light became the symbol of brightness, speed, and modernity.
America got its first neon light in 1923. Within ten years, Times
Square looked like this.
And
with its universality came inevitable doubt and pessimism. There were
nostalgics, like Tanizaki Junichiro, who wrote In
Praise of Shadows
in 1933 as a eulogy for tenebrous, traditional Japanese aesthetics.
And there were the dissenters, like Nelson Algren who published his
short story collection The
Neon Wilderness
in 1947, or a young John Kennedy Toole, who wrote The
Neon Bible
in 1954.
And
then, as lighting evolved, neon seemed far sleazier, tawdrier, and
more garish. It became the aesthetic token of Las Vegas, and of Taxi
Driver-era
Times Square. Rather than conveying an optimistic modernity, it
became a symbol of decadence and false aspirations, a reputation it
still has to a certain degree. In my adopted city of Bangkok, there
is an inverse relationship between the reputation of a neighborhood
and the preponderance of neon. It's concentrated in the
semen-drenched quarters of Nana, Patpong, and Ratchada, and in the
backpacker ghetto of Khaosan. The “karaoke” bars and other
outposts of sleaze of course have neon signs, and rainbow-toned neon
is almost as universal an indicator as a cigar store Indian.
With
the sudden love affair with “vintage modern” aesthetics in the
'90s, neon became itself subject to the fantasies of the nostalgics.
Faux-vintage neon signs were put up, and surviving signs from the
mid-century were bought up from decrepit steakhouses and meth-riddled
motels across the country and artfully renovated for kitsch purposes.
In certain circles, the buzz and glow of neon no longer signified
excess and decrepitude, but the flickering imagery of a David Lynch
film. And in saying that, I should note that it reflects both sides of Lynch's aesthetics, both the moronically grinning and cherry-cheeked facade of Hollywood's representations of America, and the vileness and filth that lurks underneath.
This
doesn't mean that neon lighting or neon color schemes have been in
any way “rehabilitated.” The grotesquely grinning clown of Circus
Circus still stands tall on the Las Vegas Strip, and when you see a
book cover with a neon color scheme-- Pynchon's Inherent
Vice
comes to me out of the blue as a perfect example-- you can predict
the number of femmes fatales and brooding jazz trumpeters. For all
intents and purposes, it has become the aesthetic signifier of the
last century.
And
so it seems to me that neon as we know it, a transfigured image coursing
through a tube, entails all the hope and anxiety, the violence and
optimism of that century, a time in our history when we really
believed that utopian age would be an era of the machine.
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