Steven Seidenberg joins the show to talk about what it means to perform your own writing, why confusion in a reader is a good sign, and how constraint became the engine behind everything he creates.
We get into the gap between finishing a book and publishing it, how reading aloud reveals things about a text that silent reading never does, and why he makes the audiobook of his work freely available. We also dig into his photography practice — shooting in series and finding overlooked things in plain sight: drainage valves in East Berlin, adhesive tape patterns on Tokyo subway floors, domestic spaces inside squatted buildings in Rome.
The thread running through all of it: repetition, constraint, and what happens when you stop trying to make something beautiful and start trying to make something true.
Topics covered:
- Going on tour for a book: what readings actually feel like from the inside
- Why a work "stops having an author" after publication
- Reading aloud as a compositional tool and as a performance
- The value of a confused, provoked, or even bored audience
- Wittgenstein, Pessoa, Beckett, and the literature that shaped his writing
- English as both limitation and advantage: the largest lexicon, but less syntactic subtlety
- Photography as a continuous aesthetic experience of the world
- Content creation vs. photography
- Documenting the unnoticed in Berlin, Rome, Tokyo
- Repetition and condensation as shared pillars across writing and photography
About Steven:
Steven Seidenberg's work lives in the tension between analysis and experimentation. As a writer, photographer, and poet, he explores how active engagement with the everyday — noticing overlooked corners and liminal spaces — surfaces what theory alone keeps hidden. Across disciplines, insight arrives through repeated attention and small experiments: shrinking infinite choices down to something you can actually see and test.
His writing is deliberately challenging. Circuitous syntax, recursive repetition, and a prose rhythm built to be heard as much as read — it draws from Western philosophy, poetry, and writers like Pessoa and Beckett, and it expects the reader to meet it halfway. His recent photography work follows the same logic: minimalist repetition, geometric abstraction, and patterns that only emerge when you commit to a particular way of looking. Six books in, he is still refining both the work and the performance of it.