Journal articles: 'Alexander Martin (Firm)' – Grafiati (2024)

APA, Harvard, Vancouver, ISO, and other styles

APA, Harvard, Vancouver, ISO, and other styles

Abstract:

Resumo: A concepção sobre saber nos gregos antigos só tomou uma forma bem elaborada e tal como hoje compreendemos a partir de Platão. Mas é possível observar noções elementares sobre saber, no que concerne a separação das capacidades cognitivas (sensações e inteligência) e também na possibilidade deste ser adquirido pelo homem, deixando de lado a exclusividade do saber para os deuses ou oráculo no pensamento de Herácl*to de Éfeso. Proponho aqui um esclarecimento nesse sentido, analisando alguns dos fragmentos de Herácl*to que temos disponíveis nos nossos dias, que fazem referência ao saber, à alma e a condição necessária para adquiri-lo. Elucidaremos a seguir algumas importantes noções heracl*teanas sobre conceitos fundamentais de seus aforismos, tais como Physis, Logos, Cosmos e Psyché.Palavras-chave: Herácl*to, saber, logos, cosmo, fogo, hom*ologia. Abstract: The conception about knowledge in the old Greeks only took a well elaborated form and as today we understand from Plato. But it is possible to observe elementary notions of knowing, as regards the separation of cognitive capacities (sensations and intelligence) and also in the possibility of this being acquired by man, leaving aside the exclusivity of knowledge for the gods or oracle in the thought of Heracl*tus from Ephesus. I propose here a clarification in this sense, analyzing some of the fragments of Heracl*tus that we have available nowadays, which refer to the knowledge, the soul and the necessary condition to acquire it. We will elucidate some important Heracl*tean notions about fundamental concepts of their aphorisms, such as Physis, Logos, Cosmos and Psyché.Keywords: Heracl*tus, knowledge, logos, cosmos, fire, hom*ologia. REFERÊNCIASARISTÓTELES. Retórica. Tradução de Manuel Alexandre Júnior, Paulo Farmhouse Alberto, e Abel do Nascimento Pena. São Paulo: Martins Fontes, 2012.BERGE, Damião. O Logos Heraclítico. Rio de Janeiro: Instituto Nacional do Livro, 1969.COSTA, Alexandre. Herácl*to: Fragmentos Contextualizados. São Paulo: Odysseus, 2012.FLAKSMAN, Ana. Aspectos da recepção de Herácl*to por Platão. Pontifícia Universidade Católica do Rio de Janeiro, 2009. (Tese de Doutorado)_______. A Questão do Conhecimento em Herácl*to. Rio de Janeiro: PUC-Rio, 2001. (Dissertação de Mestrado).LAÉRCIO, Diógenes. Vidas e Doutrinas dos Filósofos Ilustres. Brasília: Ed. UnB, 1988.

APA, Harvard, Vancouver, ISO, and other styles

APA, Harvard, Vancouver, ISO, and other styles

APA, Harvard, Vancouver, ISO, and other styles

Abstract:

Abstract. Across the world, nature-triggered disasters fuelled by climate change are worsening. Some two billion people have been affected by the consequences of natural hazards over the last ten years, 95% of which were weather-related (such as floods and windstorms). Fires swept across large parts of California, and in Australia caused unprecedented destruction to lives, wildlife and bush. This picture is likely to become the new normal, and indeed may worsen if unchecked. The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) estimates that in some locations, disaster that once had a once-in-a-century frequency may become annual events by 2050.Disaster management needs to keep up. Good cooperation and coordination of crisis response operations are of critical importance to react rapidly and adequately to any crisis situation, while post-disaster recovery presents opportunities to build resilience towards reducing the scale of the next disaster. Technology to support crisis response has advanced greatly in the last few years. Systems for early warning, command and control and decision-making have been successfully implemented in many countries and regions all over the world. Efforts to improve humanitarian response, in particular in relation to combating disasters in rapidly urbanising cities, have also led to better approaches that grapple with complexity and uncertainty.The challenges however are daunting. Many aspects related to the efficient collection and integration of geo-information, applied semantics and situational awareness for disaster management are still open, while agencies, organisations and governmental authorities need to improve their practices for building better resilience.Gi4DM 2020 marked the 13th edition of the Geoinformation for Disaster Management series of conferences. The first conference was held in 2005 in the aftermath of the 2004 Indian Ocean earthquake and tsunami which claimed the lives of over 220,000 civilians. The 2019-20 Australian Bushfire Season saw some 18.6 million Ha of bushland burn, 5,900 buildings destroyed and nearly three billion vertebrates killed. Gi4DM 2020 then was held during Covid-19 pandemic, which took the lives of more than 1,150,000 people by the time of the conference. The pandemic affected the organisation of the conference, but the situation also provided the opportunity to address important global problems.The fundamental goal of the Gi4DM has always been to provide a forum where emergency responders, disaster managers, urban planners, stakeholders, researchers, data providers and system developers can discuss challenges, share experience, discuss new ideas and demonstrate technology. The 12 previous editions of Gi4DM conferences were held in Delft, the Netherlands (March 2005), Goa, India (September 2006), Toronto, Canada (May 2007), Harbin, China (August 2008), Prague, Czech Republic (January 2009), Torino, Italy (February 2010), Antalya, Turkey (May 2011), Enschede, the Netherlands (December, 2012), Hanoi, Vietnam (December 2013), Montpellier, France (2015), Istanbul, Turkey (2018) and Prague, Czech Republic (2019). Through the years Gi4DM has been organised in cooperation with different international bodies such as ISPRS, UNOOSA, ICA, ISCRAM, FIG, IAG, OGC and WFP and supported by national organisations.Gi4DM 2020 was held as part of Climate Change and Disaster Management: Technology and Resilience for a Troubled World. The event took place through the whole week of 30th of November to 4th of December, Sydney, Australia and included three events: Gi4DM 2020, NSW Surveying and Spatial Sciences Institute (NSW SSSI) annual meeting and Urban Resilience Asia Pacific 2 (URAP2).The event explored two interlinked aspects of disaster management in relation to climate change. The first was geo-information technologies and their application for work in crisis situations, as well as sensor and communication networks and their roles for improving situational awareness. The second aspect was resilience, and its role and purpose across the entire cycle of disaster management, from pre-disaster preparedness to post-disaster recovery including challenges and opportunities in relation to rapid urbanisation and the role of security in improved disaster management practices.This volume consists of 22 scientific papers. These were selected on the basis of double-blind review from among the 40 short papers submitted to the Gi4DM 2020 conference. Each paper was reviewed by two scientific reviewers. The authors of the papers were encouraged to revise, extend and adapt their papers to reflect the comments of the reviewers and fit the goals of this volume. The selected papers concentrate on monitoring and analysis of various aspects related to Covid-19 (4), emergency response (4), earthquakes (3), flood (2), forest fire, landslides, glaciers, drought, land cover change, crop management, surface temperature, address standardisation and education for disaster management. The presented methods range from remote sensing, LiDAR and photogrammetry on different platforms to GIS and Web-based technologies. Figure 1 illustrates the covered topics via wordcount of keywords and titles.The Gi4DM 2020 program consisted of scientific presentations, keynote speeches, panel discussions and tutorials. The four keynotes speakers Prof Suzan Cutter (Hazard and Vulnerability Research Institute, USC, US), Jeremy Fewtrell (NSW Fire and Rescue, Australia), Prof Orhan Altan (Ad-hoc Committee on RISK and Disaster Management, GeoUnions, Turkey) and Prof Philip Gibbins (Fenner School of Environment and Society, ANU, Australia) concentrated on different aspects of disaster and risk management in the context of climate change. Eight tutorials offered exciting workshops and hands-on on: Semantic web tools and technologies within Disaster Management, Structure-from-motion photogrammetry, Radar Remote Sensing, Dam safety: Monitoring subsidence with SAR Interferometry, Location-based Augmented Reality apps with Unity and Mapbox, Visualising bush fires datasets using open source, Making data smarter to manage disasters and emergency situational awareness and Response using HERE Location Services. The scientific sessions were blended with panel discussions to provide more opportunities to exchange ideas and experiences, connect people and researchers from all over the world.The editors of this volume acknowledge all members of the scientific committee for their time, careful review and valuable comments: Abdoulaye Diakité (Australia), Alexander Rudloff (Germany), Alias Abdul Rahman (Malaysia), Alper Yilmaz (USA), Amy Parker (Australia), Ashraf Dewan (Australia), Bapon Shm Fakhruddin (New Zealand), Batuhan Osmanoglu (USA), Ben Gorte (Australia), Bo Huang (Hong Kong), Brendon McAtee (Australia), Brian Lee (Australia), Bruce Forster (Australia), Charity Mundava (Australia), Charles Toth (USA), Chris Bellman (Australia), Chris Pettit (Australia), Clive Fraser (Australia), Craig Glennie (USA), David Belton (Australia), Dev Raj Paudyal (Australia), Dimitri Bulatov (Germany), Dipak Paudyal (Australia), Dorota Iwaszczuk (Germany), Edward Verbree (The Netherlands), Eliseo Clementini (Italy), Fabio Giulio Tonolo (Italy), Fazlay Faruque (USA), Filip Biljecki (Singapore), Petra Helmholz (Australia), Francesco Nex (The Netherlands), Franz Rottensteiner (Germany), George Sithole (South Africa), Graciela Metternicht (Australia), Haigang Sui (China), Hans-Gerd Maas (Germany), Hao Wu (China), Huayi Wu (China), Ivana Ivanova (Australia), Iyyanki Murali Krishna (India), Jack Barton (Australia), Jagannath Aryal (Australia), Jie Jiang (China), Joep Compvoets (Belgium), Jonathan Li (Canada), Kourosh Khoshelham (Australia), Krzysztof Bakuła (Poland), Lars Bodum (Denmark), Lena Halounova (Czech Republic), Madhu Chandra (Germany), Maria Antonia Brovelli (Italy), Martin Breunig (Germany), Martin Tomko (Australia), Mila Koeva (The Netherlands), Mingshu Wang (The Netherlands), Mitko Aleksandrov (Australia), Mulhim Al Doori (UAE), Nancy Glenn (Australia), Negin Nazarian (Australia), Norbert Pfeifer (Austria), Norman Kerle (The Netherlands), Orhan Altan (Turkey), Ori Gudes (Australia), Pawel Boguslawski (Poland), Peter van Oosterom (The Netherlands), Petr Kubíček (Czech Republic), Petros Patias (Greece), Piero Boccardo (Italy), Qiaoli Wu (China), Qing Zhu (China), Riza Yosia Sunindijo (Australia), Roland Billen (Belgium), Rudi Stouffs (Singapore), Scott Hawken (Australia), Serene Coetzee (South Africa), Shawn Laffan (Australia), Shisong Cao (China), Sisi Zlatanova (Australia), Songnian Li (Canada), Stephan Winter (Australia), Tarun Ghawana (Australia), Ümit Işıkdağ (Turkey), Wei Li (Australia), Wolfgang Reinhardt (Germany), Xianlian Liang (Finland) and Yanan Liu (China).The editors would like to express their gratitude to all contributors, who made this volume possible. Many thanks go to all supporting organisations: ISPRS, SSSI, URAP2, Blackash, Mercury and ISPRS Journal of Geoinformation. The editors are grateful to the continued support of the involved Universities: The University of New South Wales, Curtin University, Australian National University and The University of Melbourne.

APA, Harvard, Vancouver, ISO, and other styles

Abstract:

Abstract. Across the world, nature-triggered disasters fuelled by climate change are worsening. Some two billion people have been affected by the consequences of natural hazards over the last ten years, 95% of which were weather-related (such as floods and windstorms). Fires swept across large parts of California, and in Australia caused unprecedented destruction to lives, wildlife and bush. This picture is likely to become the new normal, and indeed may worsen if unchecked. The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) estimates that in some locations, disaster that once had a once-in-a-century frequency may become annual events by 2050.Disaster management needs to keep up. Good cooperation and coordination of crisis response operations are of critical importance to react rapidly and adequately to any crisis situation, while post-disaster recovery presents opportunities to build resilience towards reducing the scale of the next disaster. Technology to support crisis response has advanced greatly in the last few years. Systems for early warning, command and control and decision-making have been successfully implemented in many countries and regions all over the world. Efforts to improve humanitarian response, in particular in relation to combating disasters in rapidly urbanising cities, have also led to better approaches that grapple with complexity and uncertainty.The challenges however are daunting. Many aspects related to the efficient collection and integration of geo-information, applied semantics and situational awareness for disaster management are still open, while agencies, organisations and governmental authorities need to improve their practices for building better resilience.Gi4DM 2020 marked the 13th edition of the Geoinformation for Disaster Management series of conferences. The first conference was held in 2005 in the aftermath of the 2004 Indian Ocean earthquake and tsunami which claimed the lives of over 220,000 civilians. The 2019-20 Australian Bushfire Season saw some 18.6 million Ha of bushland burn, 5,900 buildings destroyed and nearly three billion vertebrates killed. Gi4DM 2020 then was held during Covid-19 pandemic, which took the lives of more than 1,150,000 people by the time of the conference. The pandemic affected the organisation of the conference, but the situation also provided the opportunity to address important global problems.The fundamental goal of the Gi4DM has always been to provide a forum where emergency responders, disaster managers, urban planners, stakeholders, researchers, data providers and system developers can discuss challenges, share experience, discuss new ideas and demonstrate technology. The 12 previous editions of Gi4DM conferences were held in Delft, the Netherlands (March 2005), Goa, India (September 2006), Toronto, Canada (May 2007), Harbin, China (August 2008), Prague, Czech Republic (January 2009), Torino, Italy (February 2010), Antalya, Turkey (May 2011), Enschede, the Netherlands (December, 2012), Hanoi, Vietnam (December 2013), Montpellier, France (2015), Istanbul, Turkey (2018) and Prague, Czech Republic (2019). Through the years Gi4DM has been organised in cooperation with different international bodies such as ISPRS, UNOOSA, ICA, ISCRAM, FIG, IAG, OGC and WFP and supported by national organisations.Gi4DM 2020 was held as part of Climate Change and Disaster Management: Technology and Resilience for a Troubled World. The event took place through the whole week of 30th of November to 4th of December, Sydney, Australia and included three events: Gi4DM 2020, NSW Surveying and Spatial Sciences Institute (NSW SSSI) annual meeting and Urban Resilience Asia Pacific 2 (URAP2).The event explored two interlinked aspects of disaster management in relation to climate change. The first was geo-information technologies and their application for work in crisis situations, as well as sensor and communication networks and their roles for improving situational awareness. The second aspect was resilience, and its role and purpose across the entire cycle of disaster management, from pre-disaster preparedness to post-disaster recovery including challenges and opportunities in relation to rapid urbanisation and the role of security in improved disaster management practices.This volume consists of 16 peer-reviewed scientific papers. These were selected on the basis of double-blind review from among the 25 full papers submitted to the Gi4DM 2020 conference. Each paper was reviewed by three scientific reviewers. The authors of the papers were encouraged to revise, extend and adapt their papers to reflect the comments of the reviewers and fit the goals of this volume. The selected papers concentrate on monitoring and analysis of forest fire (3), landslides (3), flood (2), earthquake, avalanches, water pollution, heat, evacuation and urban sustainability, applying a variety of remote sensing, GIS and Web-based technologies. Figure 1 illustrates the scope of the covered topics though the word count of keywords and titles.The Gi4DM 2020 program consisted of scientific presentations, keynote speeches, panel discussions and tutorials. The four keynotes speakers Prof Suzan Cutter (Hazard and Vulnerability Research Institute, USC, US), Jeremy Fewtrell (NSW Fire and Rescue, Australia), Prof Orhan Altan (Ad-hoc Committee on RISK and Disaster Management, GeoUnions, Turkey) and Prof Philip Gibbins (Fenner School of Environment and Society, ANU, Australia) concentrated on different aspects of disaster and risk management in the context of climate change. Eight tutorials offered exciting workshops and hands-on on: Semantic web tools and technologies within Disaster Management, Structure-from-motion photogrammetry, Radar Remote Sensing, Dam safety: Monitoring subsidence with SAR Interferometry, Location-based Augmented Reality apps with Unity and Mapbox, Visualising bush fires datasets using open source, Making data smarter to manage disasters and emergency situational awareness and Response using HERE Location Services. The scientific sessions were blended with panel discussions to provide more opportunities to exchange ideas and experiences, connect people and researchers from all over the world.The editors of this volume acknowledge all members of the scientific committee for their time, careful review and valuable comments: Abdoulaye Diakité (Australia), Alexander Rudloff (Germany), Alias Abdul Rahman (Malaysia), Alper Yilmaz (USA), Amy Parker (Australia), Ashraf Dewan (Australia), Bapon Shm Fakhruddin (New Zealand), Batuhan Osmanoglu (USA), Ben Gorte (Australia), Bo Huang (Hong Kong), Brendon McAtee (Australia), Brian Lee (Australia), Bruce Forster (Australia), Charity Mundava (Australia), Charles Toth (USA), Chris Bellman (Australia), Chris Pettit (Australia), Clive Fraser (Australia), Craig Glennie (USA), David Belton (Australia), Dev Raj Paudyal (Australia), Dimitri Bulatov (Germany), Dipak Paudyal (Australia), Dorota Iwaszczuk (Germany), Edward Verbree (The Netherlands), Eliseo Clementini (Italy), Fabio Giulio Tonolo (Italy), Fazlay Faruque (USA), Filip Biljecki (Singapore), Petra Helmholz (Australia), Francesco Nex (The Netherlands), Franz Rottensteiner (Germany), George Sithole (South Africa), Graciela Metternicht (Australia), Haigang Sui (China), Hans-Gerd Maas (Germany), Hao Wu (China), Huayi Wu (China), Ivana Ivanova (Australia), Iyyanki Murali Krishna (India), Jack Barton (Australia), Jagannath Aryal (Australia), Jie Jiang (China), Joep Compvoets (Belgium), Jonathan Li (Canada), Kourosh Khoshelham (Australia), Krzysztof Bakuła (Poland), Lars Bodum (Denmark), Lena Halounova (Czech Republic), Madhu Chandra (Germany), Maria Antonia Brovelli (Italy), Martin Breunig (Germany), Martin Tomko (Australia), Mila Koeva (The Netherlands), Mingshu Wang (The Netherlands), Mitko Aleksandrov (Australia), Mulhim Al Doori (UAE), Nancy Glenn (Australia), Negin Nazarian (Australia), Norbert Pfeifer (Austria), Norman Kerle (The Netherlands), Orhan Altan (Turkey), Ori Gudes (Australia), Pawel Boguslawski (Poland), Peter van Oosterom (The Netherlands), Petr Kubíček (Czech Republic), Petros Patias (Greece), Piero Boccardo (Italy), Qiaoli Wu (China), Qing Zhu (China), Riza Yosia Sunindijo (Australia), Roland Billen (Belgium), Rudi Stouffs (Singapore), Scott Hawken (Australia), Serene Coetzee (South Africa), Shawn Laffan (Australia), Shisong Cao (China), Sisi Zlatanova (Australia), Songnian Li (Canada), Stephan Winter (Australia), Tarun Ghawana (Australia), Ümit Işıkdağ (Turkey), Wei Li (Australia), Wolfgang Reinhardt (Germany), Xianlian Liang (Finland) and Yanan Liu (China).The editors would like to express their gratitude to all contributors, who made this volume possible. Many thanks go to all supporting organisations: ISPRS, SSSI, URAP2, Blackash, Mercury and ISPRS Journal of Geoinformation. The editors are grateful to the continued support of the involved Universities: The University of New South Wales, Curtin University, Australian National University and The University of Melbourne.

APA, Harvard, Vancouver, ISO, and other styles

APA, Harvard, Vancouver, ISO, and other styles

Abstract:

Computer- und Videospiele sind heute ein selbstverständlicher Bestandteil der Lebenswelt vieler Kinder und Jugendlicher, aber auch von (jüngeren) Erwachsenen, die mit diesen neuen Medien aufgewachsen sind. Lange Zeit haben elektronische Bildschirmspiele allenfalls sporadische Beachtung gefunden. Weder in der Medienforschung oder Medienpädagogik noch in der breiteren Öffentlichkeit waren sie ein Gegenstand von breiterem Interesse.* In den letzten knapp zehn Jahren sind Video- und Computerspiele allerdings zunehmend in den Fokus der Aufmerksamkeit gerückt. Dabei sind in der massenmedial vermittelten Öffentlichkeit vor allem Amokläufe in Schulen in einen direkten Zusammenhang mit den Vorlieben (der Täter) für bestimmte Computerspiele gebracht worden. Die auch von prominenten Politikern aufgegriffene These lautete, dass gewalthaltige Spiele wie der First Person Shooter «Counterstrike» ein virtuelles Trainingsprogramm für das Töten und daher als wesentliche Ursache solcher Schulmassaker anzusehen seien. Auf der Basis dieser kausalen Wirkungsannahmen bzw. der unterstellten negativen Lern- und Trainingseffekte werden seither immer wieder Forderungen nach einem Verbot solcher «Killerspiele» oder gar nach der Verbannung aller Bildschirmmedien aus den Kinderzimmern abgeleitet. Neben solcher skandalisierter Thematisierung ist aber zunehmend auch eine nüchterne wissenschaftliche Auseinandersetzung zu konstatieren. So haben sich seit Beginn des neuen Jahrtausends die «digital game studies» als interdisziplinäres Forschungsfeld etabliert. Im Jahr 2000 wurde innerhalb der Gesellschaft für Medienwissenschaft z.B. die AG Games gebildet, die sich zu einem wichtigen deutschsprachigen Forum für die wissenschaftliche Beschäftigung mit Computerspielen entwickelt hat, und im Jahr 2002 entstand die internationale Digital Games Research Association (DiGRA), die im September 2009 ihre vierte grosse Konferenz nach 2003, 2005 und 2007 durchgeführt hat (vgl. www.digra.org). Seit 2001 gibt es mit der «Game Studies» eine primär kulturwissenschaftlich ausgerichtete Online-Zeitschrift (vgl. gamestudies.org), und daneben sind zahlreiche Publikationen zu verzeichnen, die zur Strukturierung und Systematisierung des Forschungsfeldes beigetragen haben, etwa die transdisziplinär angelegten Sammel- und Tagungsbände von Wolf & Perron (2003); Fritz & Fehr (2003), Copier & Raessens (2003), Neitzel, Bopp & Nohr (2004), Raessens & Goldstein (2005), Kaminski & Lorber (2006), Vorderer & Bryant (2006), de Castell & Jenson (2007), Kafai et al. (2008), Quandt, Wimmer & Wolling (2008). Ausserdem liegen Monografien vor, die sich um Orientierung sowie empirische oder theoretische Klärungen bemühen (etwa Fromme, Meder & Vollmer 2000, Newman 2004, Juul 2005, Klimmt 2005, Mäyrä 2008, Pearce & Artemesia 2009). Diese wissenschaftlichen Entwicklungen und Arbeiten zeigen, dass die Phase der blossen Skandalisierung oder akademischen Ignorierung der Computerspiele zu Ende geht. Stattdessen kann von einer zunehmenden Normalisierung und Ausdifferenzierung der akademischen Auseinandersetzung mit diesen neuen Medien und ihren Verwendungsweisen ausgegangen werden, wie sie bei anderen, etablierteren Gegenstandsbereichen (etwa der Film- oder Fernsehforschung) schon länger selbstverständlich ist. Zur Normalisierung und Differenzierung der Debatte soll auch dieses Themenheft der Online-Zeitschrift «MedienPädagogik» auf www.medienpaed.com beitragen, das sich mit den digitalen Spielen und Spielkulturen aus einer primär medienpädagogischen Perspektive befasst und nach den Chancen und Potentialen für informelle wie auch formelle Lern- und Bildungsprozesse fragt. Die Beiträge fokussieren in diesem Spannungsfeld von Spielen und Lernen, von Unterhaltung und Bildung unterschiedliche Aspekte. Die Mehrzahl greift dabei aktuelle Diskussionen über Einsatzmöglichkeiten digitaler Spiele im Bereich des Lernens und der Ausbildung auf, die unter dem Label «Serious Games» oder auch «Game-based Learning» geführt werden (Petko; Bopp; Berger/Marbach; Lampert/Schwinge/Tolks; Malo/Neudorf/Wist; Pfannstiel/Sänger/Schmidt). Daneben widmen sich Beiträge der Frage, wie die Lern- und Bildungsrelevanz der medial-kulturellen Praxen, die sich weitgehend unabhängig von pädagogischer Intervention entfalten, untersucht und verstanden, aber auch pädagogisch unterstützt werden können (Fromme/Jörissen/Unger; Schrammel/Mitgutsch). In einem Beitrag geht es schliesslich darum, Computerspiele selbst zum Gegenstand der pädagogischen Reflexion machen (Biermann). Diese Verteilung spiegelt das Gewicht der Schwerpunkte innerhalb des aktuellen Diskurses über den Zusammenhang von Computerspielen und Lernen/Bildung durchaus angemessen wider. Dominik Petko fokussiert auf formelle Lern- und Bildungskontexte und behandelt die Frage, welche didaktischen Potenziale Computerspiele für den gezielten Einsatz in Schule und Ausbildung aufweisen. Ausgangspunkt ist die Überlegung, dass es für den schulischen Bereich nicht ausreicht, die allgemeinen Lernpotenziale der Spiele auszuweisen und die Muster des spielimmanenten Lernens nachzuzeichnen, wie dies in einigen Publikationen der letzten Jahre geschehe. Um einen Schritt weiterzukommen und zu erreichen, dass digitale Spiele tatsächlich vermehrt in den Unterricht integriert werden, komme es darauf an, den Lehrpersonen zu zeigen, dass der Einsatz solcher Spiele einerseits mit einem vertretbaren Aufwand möglich ist und andererseits zu einem erkenn- und begründbaren Mehrwert führt. Dazu sei im ersten Schritt eine genauere Analyse und Typisierung der Spiele und anschliessend eine Konkretisierung der didaktischen Strategien und Arrangements für die sinnvolle Einbettung in den Unterricht erforderlich. Der Beitrag vermittelt einen ersten systematischen Überblick über entsprechende mediendidaktische Ziele und Ansätze für den Einsatz von Computerspielen in Schule und Unterricht. Matthias Bopp geht aus von der Überlegung, dass Computerspiele die Spielenden generell mit Aufgaben und Herausforderungen konfrontieren, die nur im Rahmen von spielbezogenen Lernprozessen bewältigt werden können. Zudem unterstützen aktuelle Spiele die Spielenden in der Regel systematisch beim Erwerb der erforderlichen Kenntnisse und Fähigkeiten, weisen also ein (zumindest implizites) didaktisches Design auf. Wenn man in Rechnung stellt, dass Video- und Computerspiele für Kinder, Jugendliche und zunehmend auch Erwachsene trotz – oder gerade wegen – der hohen Anforderungen, die sie stellen, höchst faszinierend und motivierend sind, dann bietet es sich an, die Lehr-Lern-Designs digitaler Spiele genauer zu untersuchen, um ihre erfolgreichen Prinzipien auf Lernspiele zu übertragen. Der Beitrag konzentriert sich in diesem Kontext auf die Frage, welche Bedeutung zum einen Rahmengeschichten (Storytelling) und zum anderen parasoziale Interaktionen zwischen Spielenden und virtuellen Spielfiguren für die Spielmotivation haben und welche Rolle ihre gezielte Verwendung beim Design von Lernspielen zur Steigerung oder Aufrechterhaltung der Lernmotivation spielen kann. Daraus werden Empfehlungen für die Gestaltung motivierender Lernspiele abgeleitet und abschliessend an Hand zweier Beispiele veranschaulicht. Johannes Fromme, Benjamin Jörissen und Alexander Unger plädieren dafür, die Bildungspotenziale von Computerspielen – und der neuen, computerbasierten Medien überhaupt – nicht nur in ihrer Verwendung bzw. Verwendbarkeit als didaktische und motivationssteigernde Hilfsmittel für die Vermittlung dieser oder jener Lehrinhalte zu sehen, sondern die Perspektive in verschiedenen Hinsichten zu erweitern. Eine prinzipielle Erweiterung bestehe darin, bei der Frage nach Bildungspotenzialen in der Tradition der humanistischen Bildungstheorie nicht primär den Wissenserwerb, sondern die Steigerung von Reflexivität im Selbst- und Weltverhältnis in den Blick zu nehmen und somit zu fragen, in welcher Weise der Umgang mit Medien hierzu beitragen kann. Und weil Bildung in dieser Tradition grundsätzlich als Selbstbildung verstanden werde, liege es nahe, neben der formellen, institutionalisierten Bildung dem Bereich der informellen Bildung eine entsprechende Beachtung zu schenken. Der Artikel fragt daher nach dem Beitrag, den Computerspiele – und vor allem community-basierte Praxen – für eine Flexibilisierung von Selbst- und Weltsichten sowie für den Aufbau von Orientierungswissen leisten können, und diskutiert abschliessend, inwiefern solche informellen Bildungspotenziale pädagogisch aufgegriffen und unterstützt werden können. Florian Berger und Alexander Marbach gehen davon aus, dass es angesichts der Popularität und hohen Motivationskraft der Computerspiele zwar nahe liege, ihre pädagogische Verwertbarkeit zu prüfen, dass für den pädagogischen Einsatz der digitalen Spiele aber bisher weder theoretisch fundierte Konzepte noch eine hinreichende Forschung existiere. Insbesondere würden Fragen der technischen Machbarkeit zu wenig beachtet, wobei die Schwierigkeit darin bestehe, dass der jeweilige «State of the Art» für Lernspiele als Massstab schon wegen der begrenzten (finanziellen) Ressourcen ausscheide, andererseits aber ein Mindeststandard erreicht werden müsse, um die notwendige Akzeptanz beim Anwender zu finden. Vor diesem Hintergrund geht der Beitrag zunächst der Frage nach, was die technische, die kulturelle und die pädagogische Qualität eines digitalen Spiels ausmacht, um dann – aus einer primär ingenieurwissenschaftlichen Perspektive – zu diskutieren, wie bei der Gestaltung von Lernspielen eine gute Balance erreicht werden kann. Ralf Biermann betrachtet Computerspiele in seinem Beitrag nicht aus mediendidaktischer, sondern aus medienpädagogischer Perspektive und stellt ein Konzept vor, mit dem die digitalen Spiele selbst zum Gegenstand einer lernorientierten Auseinandersetzung werden. Die leitende Idee ist es, Wege aufzuzeigen und zu erproben, wie Computerspiele in den Bereich der aktiven, projektorientierten Medienarbeit eingebunden werden können, die sich dieser neuen Medien – im Unterschied zu Radio, Presse oder Film – bisher kaum angenommen hat. Das Konzept des Video Game Essays knüpft an der Film- und Videoarbeit an, erweitert es aber um einige neue Elemente, die mit den technischen Besonderheiten der Spiele zu tun haben. Der Ansatz kann als innovative Form der Medienanalyse angesehen werden, bleibt aber bei der Analyse nicht stehen, sondern eröffnet auch weitergehende Handlungs- und Lernpotenziale. Als Einsatzgebiete des Video Game Essays werden die ausserschulische Medienarbeit, die Schul- und die Hochschulausbildung genauer betrachtet. Claudia Lampert, Christiane Schwinge und Daniel Tolks zeichnen in ihrem Beitrag die bisherigen Entwicklungen im Bereich der Serious Games nach, die von anderen Ansätzen des mediengestützten Lernens wie E-Learning, Edutainment und Game-Based Learning abgegrenzt werden, und arbeiten den aktuellen Diskussions- und Forschungsstand auf. Die Potenziale und Grenzen werden am Beispiel zweier Spiele aus dem Gesundheitsbereich (Games for Health) detaillierter diskutiert, für die auch erste empirische Befunde vorliegen. Serious Games gewinnen zwar – nach Ansicht der Autoren/innen vor allem aus Marketinggründen – zunehmend an Bedeutung, allerdings bestehe noch ein erheblicher Forschungs- und Evaluationsbedarf. Sabrina Schrammel und Konstantin Mitgutsch kritisieren, dass im medienpädagogischen Diskurs über Computerspiele der Umstand vernachlässigt werde, dass Spielen eine kulturell geprägte, aktive Auseinandersetzung mit einem Spielgegenstand sei. Ihnen geht es im vorliegenden Beitrag daher darum, die spezifische medial- kulturelle Praktik des Computerspielens zu erfassen bzw. dafür einen geeigneten methodischen und theoretischen Zugang zu entwickeln und vorzustellen. Das Spielen von Computerspielen wird in Anlehnung an den internationalen Diskurs als Transformation und Produktion kultureller Erfahrungen interpretiert, auch um aus den Engführungen der im deutschsprachigen Raum noch dominierenden Mediennutzungs- und Medienwirkungsforschung herauszugelangen. Für die pädagogische Auseinandersetzung wird daraus abgeleitet, dass nicht die didaktische Nützlichkeit, sondern die bildungstheoretische Bedeutung von Computerspielen zu fokussieren sei. Den bisher vorherrschenden teleologischen Lernkonzepten wird hier ein genealogischer Ansatz gegenübergestellt, bei dem die Erfahrungen und Lernprozesse im Zuge der Spielhandlungen selbst thematisiert werden. An einem Beispiel wird abschliessend verdeutlicht, wie das theoretisch-methodische Vorgehen einer hierauf ausgerichteten Analyse ausgestaltet und wie bei einer solchen Analyse die medial-kulturelle Praktik des Computerspielens pädagogisch rekonstruiert werden kann. Steffen Malo, Maik Neudorf und Thorben Wist ordnen ihren Beitrag in den Kontext des Game-based Training (GBT) ein und berichten über das Projekt Alphabit, bei dem es darum geht, computerbasierte Lern- bzw. Trainingsspiele als ergänzendes methodisches Mittel für Alphabetisierungs- bzw. Grundbildungsprogramme einzusetzen. Vorgestellt werden die im Projekt entwickelten konzeptionellen Überlegungen zu den Rahmenbedingungen, zur Auswahl der Inhalte, zu unterstützenden instruktionalen Hilfen, zu den Entwicklungsprozessen und zu methodischen Aspekten des spielerischen Lernens in virtuellen Umgebungen. Ausserdem werden erste Ansätze für die Umsetzung präsentiert und offene Forschungsfragen aufgezeigt. Auch Jochen Pfannstiel, Volker Sänger und Claudia Schmitz berichten über ein Projekt, das für die Bildungspraxis konzipiert wurde und auch bereits erprobt wird. Hier geht es um Game- based Learning im Hochschulbereich, genauer: um ein Lernspiel, das ergänzend zu einer Pflichtvorlesung in der Informatik eingesetzt wird, um Studierende dazu zu motivieren, sich während des Studiums intensiver und vertiefend mit der Vorlesungsthematik zu befassen. Ziel ist also ein verbessertes und vor allem nachhaltigeres Verständnis der Vorlesungsinhalte durch spielerische Mittel zu erreichen. Der Beitrag beschreibt das dazu entwickelte Lernspiel und berichtet über die bisherigen Erfahrungen und erste Evaluationsergebnisse. * Eine Ausnahme erscheint allerdings erwähnenswert: In der ersten Hälfte der 1980er Jahre gab es in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland eine Debatte (und einige Forschungsarbeiten) zum Videospiel in Spielhallen mit dem Ergebnis, dass 1985 ein geändertes Jugendschutzgesetz in Kraft trat, das den Zugang zu Glücks- und Videospielautomaten in der Öffentlichkeit neu regulierte und unter 18-Jährigen nicht mehr gestattete. Diese Regelung ist – anders als die 2003 obligatorisch gewordenen Altersfreigaben der USK für Computerspiele auf Datenträgern – unabhängig vom Inhalt der Spiele, und sie ist bis heute in Kraft. Literatur Copier, Marinka/Raessens, Joost (Eds.) (2003): Level Up. Digital Games Research Conference, 4–6 November 2003, Utrecht University, Conference Proceedings. De Castell, Suzanne/Jenson, Jennifer (Eds.) (2007): Worlds in Play. International Perspectives on Digital Games Research. New York et al.: Peter Lang. Fritz, Jürgen/Fehr, Wolfgang (Hrsg.) (2003): Computerspiele. Virtuelle Spiel- und Lernwelten. Bonn: Bundeszentrale für politische Bildung. Fromme, Johannes, Meder, Norbert; Vollmer, Nikolaus (2000). Computerspiele in der Kinderkultur. Opladen: Leske + Budrich. Juul, Jesper (2005). Half-real. Video games between real rules and fictional worlds. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. Kafai, Yasmin B./Heeter, Carrie/Denner, Jill/Sun, Jennifer Y. (Eds.) (2008): Beyond Barbie and Mortal Kombat. New Perspectives on Gender and Gaming. Cambridge, Mass./London: MIT Press. Kaminski, Winfred/Lorber, Martin (Hrsg.) (2006): Clash of Realities. Computerspiele und soziale Wirklichkeit. München: Kopäd. Klimmt, Christoph (2005): Computerspielen als Handlung. Dimensionen und Determinanten des Erlebens interaktiver Unterhaltungssoftware. Köln: Herbert von Halem. Mäyrä, Frans (2008): An Introduction to Game Studies. Games in Culture. Los Angeleos u.a.: SAGE. Neitzel, Britta/Bopp, Matthias/Nohr, Rolf F. (Hrsg.) (2004): «See? I’m real …» Multidisziplinäre Zugänge zum Computerspiel am Beispiel von ‹Silent Hill›. Münster: Lit. Newman, James (2003): Videogames. London/New York: Routledge. Pearce, Celia/Artemesia (2009): Communities of Play. Emergent Cultures in Multiplayer Games and Virtual Worlds. Cambridge, Mass./London: MIT Press. Quandt, Thorsten/Wimmer, Jeffrey/Wolling, Jens (Hrsg.) (2008): Die Computerspieler. Studien zur Nutzung von Computergames. Wiesbaden: VS Verlag. Raessens, Joost; Goldstein, Jeffrey (2005) (Ed). Handbook of Computer Game Studies. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. Vorderer, Peter; Bryant, Jennings (2006) (Ed). Playing Video Games. Motives, Responses, and Consequences. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Wolf, Mark J./Perron, Bernard (Eds.) (2003): The Video Game Theory Reader. New York/London: Routledge.

APA, Harvard, Vancouver, ISO, and other styles

APA, Harvard, Vancouver, ISO, and other styles

APA, Harvard, Vancouver, ISO, and other styles

APA, Harvard, Vancouver, ISO, and other styles

APA, Harvard, Vancouver, ISO, and other styles

APA, Harvard, Vancouver, ISO, and other styles

Abstract:

Classen, Albrecht (Hrsg.), Travel, Time, and Space in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Time. Explorations of World Perceptions and Processes of Identity Formation (Fundamentals of Medieval and Early Modern Culture, 22), Boston / Berlin 2018, de Gruyter, XIX u. 704 S. / Abb., € 138,95. (Stefan Schröder, Helsinki) Orthmann, Eva / Anna Kollatz (Hrsg.), The Ceremonial of Audience. Transcultural Approaches (Macht und Herrschaft, 2), Göttingen 2019, V&R unipress / Bonn University Press, 207 S. / Abb., € 40,00. (Benedikt Fausch, Münster) Bagge, Sverre H., State Formation in Europe, 843 – 1789. A Divided World, London / New York 2019, Routledge, 297 S., £ 120,00. (Wolfgang Reinhard, Freiburg i. Br.) Foscati, Alessandra, Saint Anthony’s Fire from Antiquity to the Eighteenth Century, übers. v. Francis Gordon (Premodern Health, Disease, and Disability), Amsterdam 2020, Amsterdam University Press, 264 S., € 99,00. (Gregor Rohmann, Frankfurt a. M.) Füssel, Marian / Frank Rexroth / Inga Schürmann (Hrsg.), Praktiken und Räume des Wissens. Expertenkulturen in Geschichte und Gegenwart, Göttingen 2019, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 225 S. / Abb., € 65,00. (Lisa Dannenberg-Markel, Aachen) Korpiola, Mia (Hrsg.), Legal Literacy in Premodern European Societies (World Histories of Crime, Culture and Violence), Cham 2019, Palgrave Macmillan, X u. 264 S., € 103,99. (Saskia Lettmaier, Kiel) Stercken, Martina / Christian Hesse (Hrsg.), Kommunale Selbstinszenierung. Städtische Konstellationen zwischen Mittelalter und Neuzeit (Medienwandel – Medienwechsel – Medienwissen, 40), Zürich 2018, Chronos, 391 S. / Abb., € 58,00. (Ruth Schilling, Bremen / Bremerhaven) Thewes, Guy / Martin Uhrmacher (Hrsg.), Extra muros. Vorstädtische Räume in Spätmittelalter und früher Neuzeit / Espaces suburbains au bas Moyen Âge et à l’époque moderne (Städteforschung. Reihe A: Darstellungen, 91), Wien / Köln / Weimar 2019, Böhlau, 521 S. / Abb., € 70,00. (Holger Th. Gräf, Marburg) Bühner, Peter, Die Freien und Reichsstädte des Heiligen Römischen Reiches. Kleines Repertorium (Schriftenreihe der Friedrich-Christian-Lesser-Stiftung, 38), Petersberg 2019, Imhof, 623 S. / Abb., € 39,95. (Stephanie Armer, Eichstätt) Kümin, Beat, Imperial Villages. Cultures of Political Freedom in the German Lands c. 1300 – 1800 (Studies in Central European Histories, 65), Leiden / Boston 2019 Brill, XIV u. 277 S. / Abb., € 121,00. (Magnus Ressel, Frankfurt a. M.) Kälble, Mathias / Helge Wittmann (Hrsg.), Reichsstadt als Argument. 6. Tagung des Mühlhäuser Arbeitskreises für Reichsstadtgeschichte Mühlhausen 12. bis 14. Februar 2018 (Studien zur Reichsstadtgeschichte, 6), Petersberg 2019, Imhof, 316 S. / Abb., € 29,95. (Pia Eckhart, Freiburg i. Br.) Müsegades, Benjamin / Ingo Runde (Hrsg.), Universitäten und ihr Umfeld. Südwesten und Reich in Mittelalter und Früher Neuzeit. Beiträge zur Tagung im Universitätsarchiv Heidelberg am 6. und 7. Oktober 2016 (Heidelberger Schriften zur Universitätsgeschichte, 7), Heidelberg 2019, Universitätsverlag Winter, VIII u. 276 S. / Abb., € 25,00. (Beate Kusche, Leipzig) Drews, Wolfram (Hrsg.), Die Interaktion von Herrschern und Eliten in imperialen Ordnungen des Mittelalters (Das Mittelalter. Beihefte, 8), Berlin / Boston 2018, de Gruyter, VIII u. 321 S. / Abb., € 99,95. (Elisabeth Gruber, Salzburg) Schmidt, Hans-Joachim, Herrschaft durch Schrecken und Liebe. Vorstellungen und Begründungen im Mittelalter (Orbis mediaevalis, 17), Göttingen 2019, V&R unipress, 770 S., € 90,00. (Matthias Becher, Bonn) Wickham, Chris, Das Mittelalter. Europa von 500 bis 1500. Aus dem Englischen von Susanne Held, Stuttgart 2018, Klett-Cotta, 506 S. / Abb., € 35,00. (Hans-Werner Goetz, Hamburg) Gramsch-Stehfest, Robert, Bildung, Schule und Universität im Mittelalter (Seminar Geschichte), Berlin / Boston 2019, de Gruyter, X u. 273 S. / Abb., € 24,95. (Benjamin Müsegades, Heidelberg) Berndt, Rainer SJ (Hrsg.), Der Papst und das Buch im Spätmittelalter (1350 – 1500). Bildungsvoraussetzung, Handschriftenherstellung, Bibliotheksgebrauch (Erudiri Sapientia, 13), Münster 2018, Aschendorff, 661 S. / Abb., € 79,00. (Vanina Kopp, Trier) Eßer, Florian, Schisma als Deutungskonflikt. Das Konzil von Pisa und die Lösung des Großen Abendländischen Schismas (1378 – 1409) (Papsttum im mittelalterlichen Europa, 8), Wien / Köln / Weimar 2019, Böhlau, 874 S., € 120,00. (Bernward Schmidt, Eichstätt) Baur, Kilian, Freunde und Feinde. Niederdeutsche, Dänen und die Hanse im Spätmittelalter (1376 – 1513) (Quellen und Darstellungen zur Hansischen Geschichte. Neue Folge, 76), Wien / Köln / Weimar 2018, Böhlau, 671 S., € 85,00. (Angela Huang, Lübeck) Pietsch, Tobias, Führende Gruppierungen im spätmittelalterlichen Niederadel Mecklenburgs, Kiel 2019, Solivagus-Verlag, 459 S. / graph. Darst., € 58,00. (Joachim Krüger, Greifswald) Putzer, Katja, Das Urbarbuch des Erhard Rainer zu Schambach von 1376. Besitz und Bücher eines bayerischen Niederadligen (Quellen und Erörterungen zur bayerischen Geschichte. Neue Folge, 50), München 2019, Beck, 318 S., € 56,00. (Wolfgang Wüst, Erlangen) Drossbach, Gisela / Klaus Wolf (Hrsg.), Reformen vor der Reformation. Sankt Ulrich und Afra und der monastisch-urbane Umkreis im 15. Jahrhundert (Studia Augustana, 18), Berlin / Boston 2018, VII u. 391 S. / Abb., € 99,95. (Thomas Groll, Augsburg) Ricci, Giovanni, Appeal to the Turk. The Broken Boundaries of the Renaissance, übers. v. Richard Chapman (Viella History, Art and Humanities Collection, 4), Rom 2018, Viella, 186 S. / Abb., € 30,00. (Stefan Hanß, Manchester) Böttcher, Hans-Joachim, Die Türkenkriege im Spiegel sächsischer Biographien (Studien zur Geschichte Ungarns, 20), Herne 2019, Schäfer, 290 S., € 19,95. (Fabian Schulze, Elchingen / Augsburg) Shaw, Christine, Isabella d’Este. A Renaissance Princess (Routledge Historical Biographies), London / New York 2019, Routledge, 312 S., £ 90,00. (Christina Antenhofer, Salzburg) Brandtzæg, Siv G. / Paul Goring / Christine Watson (Hrsg.), Travelling Chronicles. News and Newspapers from the Early Modern Period to the Eighteenth Century (Library of the Written Word, 66 / The Handpress World, 51), Leiden / Boston 2018, Brill, XIX u. 388 S. / Abb., € 129,00. (Andreas Würgler, Genf) Graheli, Shanti (Hrsg.), Buying and Selling. The Business of Books in Early Modern Europe (Library of the Written Word, 72; The Handpress World, 55), Leiden / Boston 2019, Brill, XXIII u. 559 S. / Abb., € 159,00. (Johannes Frimmel, München) Vries, Jan de, The Price of Bread. Regulating the Market in the Dutch Republic (Cambridge Studies in Economic History), Cambridge [u. a.] 2019, Cambridge University Press, XIX u. 515 S. / graph. Darst., £ 34,99. (Justus Nipperdey, Saarbrücken) Caesar, Mathieu (Hrsg.), Factional Struggles. Divided Elites in European Cities and Courts (1400 – 1750) (Rulers and Elites, 10), Leiden / Boston 2017, Brill, XI u. 258 S., € 119,00. (Mathis Leibetseder, Berlin) Freytag, Christine / Sascha Salatowsky (Hrsg.), Frühneuzeitliche Bildungssysteme im interkonfessionellen Vergleich. Inhalte – Infrastrukturen – Praktiken (Gothaer Forschungen zur Frühen Neuzeit, 14), Stuttgart 2019, Steiner, 320 S., € 58,00. (Helmut Puff, Ann Arbor) Amend-Traut, Anja / Josef Bongartz / Alexander Denzler / Ellen Franke / Stefan A. Stodolkowitz (Hrsg.), Unter der Linde und vor dem Kaiser. Neue Perspektiven auf Gerichtsvielfalt und Gerichtslandschaften im Heiligen Römischen Reich (Quellen und Forschungen zur höchsten Gerichtsbarkeit im Alten Reich, 73), Wien / Köln / Weimar 2020, Böhlau, 320 S., € 65,00. (Tobias Schenk, Wien) Rittgers, Ronald K. / Vincent Evener (Hrsg.), Protestants and Mysticism in Reformation Europe (St Andrews Studies in Reformation History), Leiden / Boston 2019, Brill, XIV u. 459 S., € 156,00. (Lennart Gard, Berlin) Temple, Liam P., Mysticism in Early Modern England (Studies in Modern British Religious History, 38), Woodbridge 2019, The Boydell Press, IX u. 221 S. / Abb., £ 60,00. (Elisabeth Fischer, Hamburg) Kroll, Frank-Lothar / Glyn Redworth / Dieter J. Weiß (Hrsg.), Deutschland und die Britischen Inseln im Reformationsgeschehen. Vergleich, Transfer, Verflechtungen (Prinz-Albert-Studien, 34; Arbeiten zur Kirchengeschichte Bayerns, 97), Berlin 2018, Duncker & Humblot, X u. 350 S., € 79,90. (Andreas Pečar, Halle a. d. S.) Breul, Wolfgang / Kurt Andermann (Hrsg.), Ritterschaft und Reformation (Geschichtliche Landeskunde, 75), Stuttgart 2019, Steiner, 374 S., € 63,00. (Andreas Flurschütz da Cruz, Bamberg) Niederhäuser, Peter / Regula Schmid (Hrsg.), Querblicke. Zürcher Reformationsgeschichten (Mitteilungen der Antiquarischen Gesellschaft in Zürich, 86), Zürich 2019, Chronos, 203 S. / Abb., € 48,00. (Volker Reinhardt, Fribourg) Braun, Karl-Heinz / Wilbirgis Klaiber / Christoph Moos (Hrsg.), Glaube‍(n) im Disput. Neuere Forschungen zu den altgläubigen Kontroversisten des Reformationszeitalters (Reformationsgeschichtliche Studien und Texte, 173), Münster 2020, Aschendorff, IX u. 404 S., € 68,00. (Volker Leppin, Tübingen) Fata, Márta / András Forgó / Gabriele Haug-Moritz / Anton Schindling (Hrsg.), Das Trienter Konzil und seine Rezeption im Ungarn des 16. und 17. Jahrhunderts (Reformationsgeschichtliche Studien und Texte, 171), Münster 2019, VI u. 301 S., € 46,00. (Joachim Werz, Frankfurt a. M.) Tol, Jonas van, Germany and the French Wars of Religion, 1560 – 1572 (St Andrews Studies in Reformation History), Leiden / Boston 2019, Brill, VIII u. 274 S. / Abb., € 125,00. (Alexandra Schäfer-Griebel, Mainz) Lipscomb, Suzannah, The Voices of Nîmes. Women, Sex, and Marriage in Reformation Languedoc, Oxford / New York 2019, Oxford University Press, XIV u. 378 S., £ 30,00. (Adrina Schulz, Zürich) Kielinger, Thomas, Die Königin. Elisabeth I. und der Kampf um England. Biographie, München 2019, Beck, 375 S. / Abb., € 24,95. (Pauline Puppel, Aumühle) Canning, Ruth, The Old English in Early Modern Ireland. The Palesmen and the Nine Years’ War, 1594 – 1603 (Irish Historical Monograph Series, [20]), Woodbridge 2019, The Boydell Press, XI u. 227 S., £ 75,00. (Martin Foerster, Düsseldorf) Bry, Theodor de, America. Sämtliche Tafeln 1590 – 1602, hrsg. v. Michiel van Groesen / Larry E. Tise, Köln 2019, Taschen, 375 S. / Abb., € 100,00. (Renate Dürr, Tübingen) Haskell, Yasmin / Raphaële Garrod (Hrsg.), Changing Hearts. Performing Jesuit Emotions between Europe, Asia, and the Americas (Jesuit Studies, 15), Leiden / Boston 2019, Brill, XIX u. 328 S. / Abb., € 130,00. (Christoph Nebgen, Saarbrücken) Jackson, Robert H., Regional Conflict and Demographic Patterns on the Jesuit Missions among the Guaraní in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries (European Expansion and Indigenous Response, 31), Leiden / Boston 2019, Brill, XVII u. 174 S. / Abb., € 100,00. (Irina Saladin, Tübingen) Kelly, James / Hannah Thomas (Hrsg.), Jesuit Intellectual and Physical Exchange between England and Mainland Europe, c. 1580 – 1789: „The world is our house“? (Jesuit Studies, 18), Leiden / Boston 2019, Brill, XIV u. 371 S., € 140,00. (Martin Foerster, Hamburg) Wilhelm, Andreas, Orange und das Haus Nassau-Oranien im 17. Jahrhundert. Ein Fürstentum zwischen Souveränität und Abhängigkeit, Berlin [u. a.] 2018, Lang, 198 S., € 39,95. (Olaf Mörke, Kiel) Geraerts, Jaap, Patrons of the Old Faith. The Catholic Nobility in Utrecht and Guelders, c. 1580 – 1702 (Catholic Christendom, 1300 – 1700), Leiden / Boston 2019, Brill, XIII, 325 S. / Abb., € 129,00. (Johannes Arndt, Münster) Arnegger, Katharina, Das Fürstentum Liechtenstein. Session und Votum im Reichsfürstenrat, Münster 2019, Aschendorff, 256 S., € 24,80. (Tobias Schenk, Wien) Marti, Hanspeter / Robert Seidel (Hrsg.), Die Universität Straßburg zwischen Späthumanismus und Französischer Revolution, Wien / Köln / Weimar 2018, Böhlau, VII u. 549 S. / Abb., € 80,00. (Wolfgang E. J. Weber, Augsburg) Kling, Alexander, Unter Wölfen. Geschichten der Zivilisation und der Souveränität vom 30-jährigen Krieg bis zur Französischen Revolution (Rombach Wissenschaft. Reihe Cultural Animal Studies, 2), Freiburg i. Br. / Berlin / Wien 2019, Rombach, 581 S., € 68,00. (Norbert Schindler, Salzburg) Arnke, Volker, „Vom Frieden“ im Dreißigjährigen Krieg. Nicolaus Schaffshausens „De Pace“ und der positive Frieden in der Politiktheorie (Bibliothek Altes Reich, 25), Berlin / Boston 2018, de Gruyter Oldenbourg, IX u. 294 S., € 89,95. (Fabian Schulze, Elchingen / Augsburg) Zirr, Alexander, Die Schweden in Leipzig. Die Besetzung der Stadt im Dreißigjährigen Krieg (1642 – 1650) (Quellen und Forschungen zur Geschichte der Stadt Leipzig, 14), Leipzig 2018, Leipziger Universitätsverlag, 939 S. / Abb., € 98,00. (Philip Hoffmann-Rehnitz, Münster) Fehler, Timothy G. / Abigail J. Hartman (Hrsg.), Signs and Wonders in Britain’s Age of Revolution. A Sourcebook, London / New York 2019, Routledge, XVII u. 312 S. / Abb., £ 110,00. (Doris Gruber, Wien) Dorna, Maciej, Mabillon und andere. Die Anfänge der Diplomatik, aus dem Polnischen übers. v. Martin Faber (Wolfenbütteler Forschungen, 159), Wiesbaden 2019, Harrassowitz in Kommission, 287 S. / Abb., € 49,00. (Wolfgang Eric Wagner, Münster) Kramper, Peter, The Battle of the Standards. Messen, Zählen und Wiegen in Westeuropa 1660 – 1914 (Veröffentlichungen des Deutschen Historischen Instituts London / Publications of the German Historical Institute London / Publications of the German Historical Institute, 82), Berlin / Boston 2019, de Gruyter Oldenbourg, X u. 599 S., € 69,95. (Miloš Vec, Wien) Schilling, Lothar / Jakob Vogel (Hrsg.), Transnational Cultures of Expertise. Circulating State-Related Knowledge in the 18th and 19th Centuries (Colloquia Augustana, 36), Berlin / Boston 2019, de Gruyter Oldenbourg, X u. 201 S., € 59,95. (Justus Nipperdey, Saarbrücken) Carhart, Michael C., Leibniz Discovers Asia. Social Networking in the Republic of Letters, Baltimore 2019, Johns Hopkins University Press, XVI u. 324 S. / Abb., $ 64,95. (Markus Friedrich, Hamburg) Wolf, Hubert, Verdammtes Licht. Der Katholizismus und die Aufklärung, München 2019, Beck, 314 S., € 29,95. (Wolfgang Reinhard, Freiburg i. Br.) Holenstein, André / Claire Jaquier / Timothée Léchot / Daniel Schläppi (Hrsg.), Politische, gelehrte und imaginierte Schweiz. Kohäsion und Disparität im Corpus helveticum des 18. Jahrhunderts / Suisse politique, savante et imaginaire. Cohésion et disparité du Corps helvétique au XVIIIe siècle (Travaux sur la Suisse des Lumières, 20), Genf 2019, Éditions Slatkine, 386 S. / Abb., € 40,00. (Lisa Kolb, Augsburg) Williams, Samantha, Unmarried Motherhood in the Metropolis, 1700 – 1850. Pregnancy, the Poor Law and Provisions, Cham 2018, Palgrave Macmillan, XV u. 270 S. / graph. Darst., € 96,29. (Annette C. Cremer, Gießen) Wirkner, Christian, Logenleben. Göttinger Freimaurerei im 18. Jahrhundert (Ancien Régime, Aufklärung und Revolution, 45), Berlin / Boston 2019, de Gruyter Oldenbourg, VIII u. 632 S. / Abb., € 89,95. (Helmut Reinalter, Innsbruck) Göse, Frank, Friedrich Wilhelm I. Die vielen Gesichter des Soldatenkönigs, Darmstadt 2020, wbg Theiss, 604 S. / Abb., € 38,00. (Michael Kaiser, Bonn) Querengässer, Alexander, Das kursächsische Militär im Großen Nordischen Krieg 1700 – 1717 (Krieg in der Geschichte, 107), Berlin 2019, Duncker & Humblot, 628 S. / graph. Darst., € 148,00. (Tilman Stieve, Aachen) Sirota, Brent S. / Allan I. Macinnes (Hrsg.), The Hanoverian Succession in Great Britain and Its Empire (Studies in Early Modern Cultural, Political and Social History, 35), Woodbridge 2019, The Boydell Press, IX u. 222 S. / graph. Darst., £ 65,00. (Georg Eckert, Wuppertal / Potsdam) Petersen, Sven, Die belagerte Stadt. Alltag und Gewalt im Österreichischen Erbfolgekrieg (1740 – 1748) (Krieg und Konflikt, 6), Frankfurt a. M. / New York 2019, Campus, 487 S., € 45,00. (Bernhard R. Kroener, Freiburg i. Br.) Lounissi, Carine, Thomas Paine and the French Revolution, Cham 2018, Palgrave Macmillan, IX u. 321 S., € 96,29. (Volker Depkat, Regensburg) Kern, Florian, Kriegsgefangenschaft im Zeitalter Napoleons. Über Leben und Sterben im Krieg (Konsulat und Kaiserreich, 5), Berlin [u. a.] 2018, Lang, 352 S., € 71,95. (Jürgen Luh, Potsdam)

APA, Harvard, Vancouver, ISO, and other styles

Abstract:

Re-Framing Participation in the Architecture Studio Recently, within design literature, significant attention has been given to collaboration across different disciplines (see for instance, Nicolini et al.; Carlile), as well as consideration of the breakdown of traditional disciplinarity and the corresponding involvement of users in co-generation (Sanders and Stappers, “Co-Creation” 11–12) through the development and deployment of structured methods and toolkits (Sanders et al., “Framework”; Sanders and Stappers, “Probes”). Relatively less attention has been paid to the workings of the “communities of practice” (Wenger) operating within the disciplinary domain of architecture. The discourse around concept design in architecture has tended to emphasise individualist approaches driven by personal philosophies, inspirations, imitation of a more experienced designer, and emphasis on latent talent or genius (for instance, Moneo). This can be problematic because without a shared language and methods there are limited opportunities for making meaning to facilitate participation between collaborators in architectural studio settings. It is worth asking then: are there things that “Architecture” might learn from “Design” about the deployment of structured methods, and might this interdisciplinary exchange promote participatory practices in studio-based cultures? We address this question by connecting and building on two important concepts relevant to design methods, meta-design as described in the open design literature (De Mul 36–37), and design frames as described by Schön and formalised by Dorst (‘Core’; Frame; see also Weedon). Through this combination, we propose a theory of participation by making shared meaning in architectural design. We animate our theoretical contribution through a design toolkit we have developed, refined, and applied over several years in typologically focused architectural design studios in Australian university contexts. One important contribution, we argue, is to the area of design theory-building, by taking two previously unrelated concepts from the design methods literature. We draw them together using an example from our own design practices to articulate a new term and concept for making shared meaning in design. The other contribution made is to the translation of this concept into the context of studio-based architectural practice, a setting that has traditionally struggled to accept structured methods. The existence of other form-metaphor design tools available for architecture and the theoretical basis of their development and connection to design literature more broadly has not always been clearly articulated (see for example Di Mari and Yoo; Lewis et al.). The rationale for giving an account of the construction and deployment of our own toolkit is to illustrate its theoretical contribution while providing the basis for future field testing and translation (including by other researchers), noting the established trajectory of this kind of work in the design literature (see, for example, Hoolohan and Browne; Visser et al.; Vaajakallio and Mattelmäki; Sanders and Stappers, “Co-Creation” and ”Probes”). In line with this issue’s thematic and epistemological agenda, we adopt what Cross identifies as “designerly ways of knowing” (223), and is at least partly a reflection on a practice in which we engage with our own disciplines and research interests to propose and deploy design thinking as a kind of critical “reflection-in-action” (Robertson and Simonsen 2). Meta-Framing: Combining Meta-Design and Framing Meta-design is a term used in open design literature to describe approaches aimed toward orchestration of a project in such a way that people are afforded the agency to become effective co-designers, regardless of their pre-existing skills or design-specific knowledge (De Mul 36). According to a meta-design approach, design is conceived of as a shared project of mutual learning instead of an individualistic expression of singular genius. Through the establishment of shared protocols and formats, what Ehn (1) calls “infrastructuring”, individuals with even very limited design experience are provided scaffolds that enable them to participate in a design project. One important way in which meta-design helps “create a pathway through a design space” is through the careful selection and adoption of shared guiding metaphors that provide common meanings between co-designers (De Mul 36). The usefulness of metaphors is also recognised in the context of design frames, the second concept on which we build our theory. Conceptualised as “cognitive shortcuts” for making “sense of complex situations” (Haase and Laursen 21), design frames were first conceived of by Schön (132) as a rational approach to design, one guided by “epistemological norms”. Frames have subsequently been further developed within the design methods literature and are defined as a system of counterfactual design decision-making that uses metaphors to provide a rationale for negotiating ill-structured problems. According to Dorst, frames involve: the creation of a (novel) standpoint from which a problematic situation can be tackled … . Although frames are often paraphrased by a simple metaphor, they are in fact very complex sets of statements that include the specific perception of a problem situation, the (implicit) adoption of certain concepts to describe the situation, a ‘working principle’ that underpins a solution and the key thesis: IF we look at the problem situation from this viewpoint, and adopt the working principle associated with that position, THEN we will create the value we are striving for. (525) Despite Schön choosing to illustrate his original conception of framing through the example of a student’s architectural design project, there has been limited subsequent consideration of framing in architectural studio contexts—an exception being Eissa in 2019. This may be because formalised design methods have tended to be treated with suspicion within architectural culture. For instance, Christopher Alexander’s Pattern Language is one such “highly systemised design process” (Dawes and Ostwald 10) that despite its potential to guide participatory design has had an “uneven reception” (Bhatt 716) within architecture itself. One way architecture as a disciplinary domain and as a profession has attempted to engage with design method is through typology, which is one of the few persistent and recurring notions in architectural discourse (Bandini; Grover et al.). As a system of classification, typology categorises “forms and functions as simply and unequivocally as possible” (Oechslin 37). In addition to being used as a classification system, typology has also been positioned as “a process as much as an object”, one with the potential for an “active role in the process of design” (Lathouri 25). Type and typology have been conceptualised as a particular way of projecting architecture’s “disciplinary agency” (Jacoby 936), and this goes some way to explaining their enduring value. A potentially valid criticism of framing is that it can tend toward “design fixation”, when a pre-existing assumption “inadvertently restricts the designers’ imagination” (Crilly). Similarly, typology-as-method—as opposed to a classification tool—has been criticised for being relatively “inflexible” or “reductive” (Shane 2011) and responsible for perpetuating “conservative, static norms” (Jacoby 932) if applied in a rote and non-reflexive way. We deal with these concerns in the discussion of the deployment of our Typekit below. We are drawing here on our experience teaching in the first two years of undergraduate architecture degrees in Australian university settings. As well as being equipped with a diversity of educational, social, linguistic, and cultural backgrounds, students typically have divergent competencies in the domain-specific skills of their discipline and a limited vocabulary for making shared meaning in relation to an architectural proposal. The challenge for studio-based collaborative work in such a context is developing shared understandings and a common language for working on a design project to enable a variety of different design solutions. The brief for a typical studio project will specify a common site, context, and program. Examples we have used include a bathhouse, fire station, archive, civic centre, and lifesaving club. There will then be multiple design solutions proposed by each studio participant. Significantly we are talking about relatively well-structured problems here, typically a specific building program for a specified site and user group. These are quite unlike the open-ended aims of “problem frames” described in the design thinking literature “to handle ill-defined, open-ended, and ambiguous problems that other problem-solving methodologies fail to handle” (Haase and Laursen 21). However, even for well-structured problems, there is still a multitude of possible solutions possible, generated by students working on a particular project brief. This openness reduces the possibility of making shared meaning and thus hinders participation in architectural design. Designing the Typekit The Typekit was developed heuristically out of our experiences teaching together over several years. As part of our own reflective practice, we realised that we had begun to develop a shared language for describing projects including that of students, our own, precedents and canonical works. Often these took the form of a simple formal or functional metaphor such as “the building is a wall”; “the building is an upturned coracle”; or “the building is a cloud”. While these cognitive shortcuts proved useful for our communication there remained the possibility for this language to become esoteric and exclusionary. On the other hand, we recognised the potential for this approach to be shared beyond our immediate “interpretive community” (Fish 485) of two, and we therefore began to develop a meta-design toolkit. Fig. 1: Hybrid page from the Typekit We began by developing a visual catalogue of formal and functional metaphors already present within the panoply of constructed contemporary architectural projects assembled by surveying the popular design media for relevant source material. Fig. 2: Classification of contemporary architectural built work using Typekit metaphors We then used simple line drawings to generate abstract representations of the observed building metaphors adopting isometry to maintain a level of objectivity and a neutral viewing position (Scolari). The drawings themselves were both revelatory and didactic and by applying what Cross calls “designerly ways of knowing” (Cross 223) the toolkit emerged as both design artefact and output of design research. We recognised two fundamentally different kinds of framing metaphors in the set of architectural projects we surveyed, rule-derived and model-derived—terms we are adapting from Choay’s description of “instaurational texts” (8). Rule-derived types describe building forms that navigate the development of a design from a generic to a specific form (Baker 70–71) through a series of discrete “logical operators” (Choay 134). They tend to follow a logic of “begin with x … perform some operation A … perform some operation B … end up with y”. Examples of such operations include add, subtract, scale-translate-rotate, distort and array. Model-derived framing metaphors are different in the way they aim toward an outcome that is an adapted version of an ideal initial form. This involves selecting an existing type and refining it until it suits the required program, site, and context. Examples of the model-derived metaphors we have used include the hedgehog, caterpillar, mountain, cloud, island, and snake as well as architectural Ur-types like the barn, courtyard, tent, treehouse, jetty, and ziggurat. The framing types we included in the Typekit are a combination of rule-derived and model-derived as well as useful hybrids that combined examples from different categories. This classification provides a construct for framing a studio experience while acknowledging that there are other ways of classifying formal types. Fig. 3: Development of isometric drawings of metaphor-frames After we developed a variety of these line drawings, we carried out a synthesis and classification exercise using a version of the KJ method. Like framing, KJ is a technique of abduction developed for dealing objectively with qualitative data without a priori categorisation (Scupin; Kawakita). It has also become an established and widely practiced method within design research (see, for instance, Hanington and Martin 104–5). Themes were developed from the images, and we aimed at balancing a parsimony of typological categories with a saturation of types, that is to capture all observed types/metaphors and to put them in as few buckets as possible. Fig. 4: Synthesis exercise of Typekit metaphors using the KJ method (top); classification detail (bottom) Deploying the Typekit We have successfully deployed the Typekit in architectural design studios at two universities since we started developing it in 2018. As a general process participants adopt a certain metaphor as the starting point of their design. Doing so provides a frame that prefigures other decisions as they move through a concept design process. Once a guiding metaphor is selected, it structures other decision-making by providing a counterfactual logic (Byrne 30). For instance, if a building-as-ramp is chosen as the typology to be deployed this guides a rationale as to where and how it is placed on the site. People should be able to walk on it; it should sit resolutely on the ground and not be floating above it; it should be made of a massive material with windows and doors appearing to be carved out of it; it can have a green occupiable roof; quiet and private spaces should be located at the top away from street noise; active spaces such as a community hall and entry foyer should be located at the bottom of the ramp … and so on. The adoption of the frame of “building-as-ramp” by its very nature is a crucial and critical move in the design process. It is a decision made early in the process that prefigures both “what” and “how” types of questions as the project develops. In the end, the result seems logical even inevitable but there are many other types that could have potentially been explored and these would have posed different kinds of questions and resulted in different kinds of answers during the process. The selection of a guiding metaphor also allows students to engage with historical and contemporary precedents to offer further insights into the development—as well as refinement—of their own projects within that classification. Even given the well-structured nature of the architectural project, precedents provide useful reference points from which to build domain-specific knowledge and benchmarks to measure the differences in approaches still afforded within each typological classification. We believe that our particular meta-framing approach addresses concerns about design fixation and balances mutual learning with opportunities for individual investigation. We position framing less about finding innovative solutions to wicked problems to become more about finding ways for a group of people to reason together through a design problem process by developing and using shared metaphors. Thus our invocation of framing is aligned to what Haase and Laursen term “solution frames” meaning they have an “operational” meaning-making agenda and provide opportunities for developing shared understanding between individuals engaged in a given problem domain (Haase and Laursen 20). By providing a variety of opportunities within an overarching “frame of frames” there are opportunities for parallel design investigation to be undertaken by individual designers. Meta-framing affords opportunities for shared meaning-making and a constructive discourse between different project outcomes. This occurs whether adopting the same type to enable questions including “How is my building-as-snake different from your building-as-snake?”, “Which is the most snake-like?”, or different types (“In what ways is my building-as-ramp different to your building-as-stair?”) By employing everyday visual metaphors, opportunities for “mutual learning between mutual participants” (Robertson and Simonsen 2) are enhanced without the need for substantial domain-specific architectural knowledge at a project’s outset. We argue that the promise of the toolkit and our meta-framing approach more generally is that it actually multiples rather than forecloses opportunities while retaining a shared understanding and language for reasoning through a project domain. This effectively responds to concerns that typology-as-method is a conservative or reductive approach to architectural design. It is important to clarify the role of our toolkit and its relationship to our theory-building agenda. On the basis of the findings accounted for here we do claim to draw specific conclusions about the efficacy of our toolkit. We simply did not collect experimental data relevant to that task. We can, however, use the example of our toolkit to animate, flesh out, and operationalise a model for collaboration in architectural design that may be useful for teaching and practicing architecture in collaborative, team-based contexts. The contribution of this account, therefore, is theoretical. That is, the adaptation of concepts from design literature modified and translated into a new domain to serve new purposes. The Promise of Meta-Framing through Typology Through our work, we have outlined the benefits of adopting formalised design methods in architecture as a way of supporting participation, including using toolkits for scaffolding architectural concept design. Meta-framing has shown itself to be a useful approach to enable participation in architectural design in a number of ways. It provides coherence of an idea and architectural concept. It assists decision-making in any given scenario because a designer can decide which out of a set of choices makes more sense within the “frame” adopted for the project. The question becomes then not “what do I like?” or “what do I want?” but “what makes sense within the project frame?” Finally and perhaps most importantly it brings a common understanding of a project that allows for communication across a team working on the same problem, supporting a variety of different approaches and problem-solving logics a voice. By combining methodologies and toolkits from the design methods literature with architecture’s domain-specific typological classifications we believe we have developed an effective and adaptive model for scaffolding participation and making shared meaning in architecture studio contexts. References Baker, Geoffrey H. Design Strategies in Architecture: An Approach to the Analysis of Form. Taylor and Francis, 2003. Bandini, Micha. “Typology as a Form of Convention.” AA Files 6 (1984): 73–82. Bhatt, Ritu. “Christopher Alexander’s Pattern Language: An Alternative Exploration of Space-Making Practices.” Journal of Architecture 15.6 (2010): 711–29. Byrne, Ruth M.J. The Rational Imagination: How People Create Alternatives to Reality. MIT P, 2005. Carlile, Paul R. “Transferring, Translating, and Transforming: An Integrative Framework for Managing Knowledge across Boundaries”. Organization Science 15.5 (2004): 555–68. Choay, Françoise. The Rule and the Model: On the Theory of Architecture and Urbanism. MIT P, 1997 [1980]. Crilly, Nathan. “Methodological Diversity and Theoretical Integration: Research in Design Fixation as an Example of Fixation in Research Design?” Design Studies 65 (2019): 78–106. Cross, Nigel. “Designerly Ways of Knowing”. Design Studies 3.4 (1982): 221–27. Dawes, Michael J., and Michael J. Ostwald. “Christopher Alexander’s A Pattern Language: Analysing, Mapping and Classifying the Critical Response.” City, Territory and Architecture 4.1 (2017): 1–14. De Mul, Jos. “Redesigning Design”. In Open Design Now: Why Design Cannot Remain Exclusive, eds. Bas Van Abel, Lucas Evers, Roel Klaassen, and Peter Troxler. BIS Publishers, 2011. 34–39. Di Mari, Anthony, and Nora Yoo. Operative Design. BIS Publishers, 2012. Dorst, Kees. “The Core of ‘Design Thinking’ and Its Application”. Design Studies 32.6 (2011): 521–32. <https://doi.org/10.1016/j.destud.2011.07.006>. ———. Frame Innovation: Create New Thinking by Design. Design Thinking, Design Theory. MIT P, 2015. Ehn, Pelle. “Participation in Design Things.” In Proceedings of the Participatory Design Conference 2008. Bloomington, Indiana, 2008. 92–101 Eissa, Doha. “Concept Generation in the Architectural Design Process: A Suggested Hybrid Model of Vertical and Lateral Thinking Approaches.” Thinking Skills and Creativity 33 (2019). Fish, Stanley E. “Interpreting the ‘Variorum’.” Critical Inquiry 2.3 (1976): 465–85. Grover, Robert, Stephen Emmitt, and Alex Copping. “The Language of Typology.” Arq 23.2 (2019): 149–56. <https://doi.org/10.1017/S1359135519000198>. Haase, Louise Møller, and Linda Nhu Laursen. “Meaning Frames: The Structure of Problem Frames and Solution Frames”. Design Issues 35.3 (2019): 20–34. <https://doi.org/10.1162/desi_a_00547>. Hanington, Bruce, and Bella Martin. Universal Methods of Design: 100 Ways to Research Complex Problems, Develop Innovative Ideas, and Design Effective Solutions. Rockport Publishers, 2012. Hoolohan, Claire, and Alison L Browne. “Design Thinking for Practice-Based Intervention: Co-Producing the Change Points Toolkit to Unlock (Un)Sustainable Practices.” Design Studies 67 (2020): 102–32. Jacoby, Sam. “Typal and Typological Reasoning: A Diagrammatic Practice of Architecture.” Journal of Architecture 20.6 (2015): 938–61. <https://doi.org/10.1080/13602365.2015.1116104>. Kawakita, Jiro. “The KJ Method and My Dream towards the ‘Heuristic’ Regional Geography.” Japanese Journal of Human Geography 25.5 (1973): 493–522. Lathouri, Marina. “The City as a Project: Types, Typical Objects and Typologies.” Architectural Design 81.1 (2011): 24–31. Lewis, Paul, Marc Tsurumaki, and David J Lewis. Manual of Section. Princeton Architectural P, 2016. Moneo, José Rafael. Theoretical Anxiety and Design Strategies in the Work of Eight Contemporary Architects. MIT P, 2004. Nicolini, Davide, Jeanne Mengis, and Jacky Swan. “Understanding the Role of Objects in Cross-Disciplinary Collaboration”. Organization Science (Providence, R.I.) 23.3 (2012): 612–29. Oechslin, Werner. “Premises for the Resumption of the Discussion of Typology.” Assemblage 1 (1986): 37–53. Panzano, Megan. “Foreword.” In Operative Design: A Catalogue of Spatial Verbs, by Anthony Di Mari and Nora Yoo. Amsterdam: BIS Publishers, 2012. 6–7. Robertson, Toni, and Jesper Simonsen. “Participatory Design: An Introduction”. In Routledge International Handbook of Participatory Design, eds. Toni Robertson and Jesper Simonsen. Taylor and Francis, 2012. 1–18. Sanders, Elizabeth B.-N., Eva Brandt, and Thomas Binder. “A Framework for Organizing the Tools and Techniques of Participatory Design.” Proceedings of the 11th Biennial Participatory Design Conference. ACM, 2010. 195–98. DOI: 10.1145/1900441.1900476. Sanders, Elizabeth B.-N., and Pieter Jan Stappers. “Co-Creation and the New Landscapes of Design.” Co-Design 4.1 (2008,): 5–18. ———. “Probes, Toolkits and Prototypes: Three Approaches to Making in Codesigning.” CoDesign 10.1 (2014): 5–14. Schön, Donald A. “Problems, Frames and Perspectives on Designing.” Design Studies 5.3 (1984): 132–36. <https://doi.org/10.1016/0142-694X(84)90002-4>. Scolari, Massimo. Oblique Drawing: A History of Anti-Perspective. MIT P, 2012. Scupin, Raymond. “The KJ Method: A Technique for Analyzing Data Derived from Japanese Ethnology.” Human Organization, 1997. 233–37. Shane, David Grahame. "Transcending Type: Designing for Urban Complexity." Architectural Design 81.1 (2011): 128-34. Vaajakallio, Kirsikka, and Tuuli Mattelmäki. “Design Games in Codesign: As a Tool, a Mindset and a Structure.” CoDesign 10.1 (2014): 63–77. <https://doi.org/10.1080/15710882.2014.881886>. Visser, Froukje Sleeswijk, Pieter Jan Stappers, Remko van der Lugt, and Elizabeth B.N. Sanders. “Contextmapping: Experiences from Practice.” CoDesign 1.2 (2005): 119–49. Weedon, Scott. “The Core of Kees Dorst’s Design Thinking: A Literature Review.” Journal of Business and Technical Communication 33.4 (2019): 425–30. <https://doi.org/10.1177/1050651919854077>. Wenger, Etienne. Communities of Practice : Learning, Meaning, and Identity. Learning in Doing. Cambridge UP, 1988. Yaneva, Albena. The Making of a Building: A Pragmatist Approach to Architecture. Peter Lang, 2009.

APA, Harvard, Vancouver, ISO, and other styles

Abstract:

There is, in our sense of place, little cognisance of what lies underground. Yet our sense of place, instinctive, unconscious, primeval, has its own underground: the secret spaces which mirror our insides; the world beneath the skin. Our roots lie beneath the ground, with the minerals and the dead. (Hughes 83) The-Home-and-Away-Game Imagine the earth-grounded, “diagrammatological” trajectory of a footballer who as one member of a team is psyching himself up before the start of a game. The siren blasts its trumpet call. The footballer bursts out of the pavilion (where this psyching up has taken place) to engage in the opening bounce or kick of the game. And then: running, leaping, limping after injury, marking, sliding, kicking, and possibly even passing out from concussion. Finally, the elation accompanying the final siren, after which hugs, handshakes and raised fists conclude the actual match on the football oval. This exit from the pavilion, the course the player takes during the game itself, and return to the pavilion, forms a combination of stasis and movement, and a return to exhausted stasis again, that every player engages with regardless of the game code. Examined from a “diagrammatological” perspective, a perspective Rowan Wilken (following in the path of Gilles Deleuze and W. J. T. Mitchell) understands as “a generative process: a ‘metaphor’ or way of thinking — diagrammatic, diagrammatological thinking — which in turn, is linked to poetic thinking” (48), this footballer’s scenario arises out of an aerial perspective that depicts the actual spatial trajectory the player takes during the course of a game. It is a diagram that is digitally encoded via a sensor on the footballer’s body, and being an electronically encoded diagram it can also make available multiple sets of data such as speed, heartbeat, blood pressure, maybe even brain-wave patterns. From this limited point of view there is only one footballer’s playing trajectory to consider; various groupings within the team, the whole team itself, and the diagrammatological depiction of its games with various other teams might also be possible. This singular imagining though is itself an actuality: as a diagram it is encoded as a graphic image by a satellite hovering around the earth with a Global Positioning System (GPS) reading the sensor attached to the footballer which then digitally encodes this diagrammatological trajectory for appraisal later by the player, coach, team and management. In one respect, this practice is another example of a willing self-surveillance critical to explaining the reflexive subject and its attribute of continuous self-improvement. According to Docker, Official Magazine of the Fremantle Football Club, this is a technique the club uses as a part of game/play assessment, a system that can provide a “running map” for each player equipped with such a tracking device during a game. As the Fremantle Club’s Strength and Conditioning Coach Ben Tarbox says of this tactic, “We’re getting a physiological profile that has started to build a really good picture of how individual players react during a game” (21). With a little extra effort (and some sizeable computer processing grunt) this two dimensional linear graphic diagram of a footballer working the football ground could also form the raw material for a three-dimensional animation, maybe a virtual reality game, even a hologram. It could also be used to sideline a non-performing player. Now try another related but different imagining: what if this diagrammatological trajectory could be enlarged a little to include the possibility that this same player’s movements could be mapped out by the idea of home-and-away games; say over the course of a season, maybe even a whole career, for instance? No doubt, a wide range of differing diagrammatological perspectives might suggest themselves. My own particular refinement of this movement/stasis on the footballer’s part suggests my own distinctive comings and goings to and from my own specific piece of home country. And in this incessantly domestic/real world reciprocity, in this diurnally repetitive leaving and coming back to home country, might it be plausible to think of “Home as Capital of the Region”? If, as Walter Benjamin suggests in the prelude to his monumental Arcades Project, “Paris — the Capital of the Nineteenth Century,” could it be that both in and through my comings and goings to and from this selfsame home country, my own burgeoning sense of regionality is constituted in every minute-by-minutiae of lived experience? Could it be that this feeling about home is manifested in my every day-to-night manoeuvre of home-and-away-and-away-and-home-making, of every singular instance of exit, play/engage, and the return home? “Home, Capital of the Region” then examines the idea that my home is that part of the country which is the still-point of eternal return, the bedrock to which I retreat after the daily grind, and the point from which I start out and do it all again the next day. It employs, firstly, this ‘diagrammatological’ perspective to illustrate the point that this stasis/movement across country can make an electronic record of my own psychic self-surveillance and actualisation in-situ. And secondly, the architectural plan of the domestic home (examined through the perspective of critical regionalism) is used as a conduit to illustrate how I am physically embedded in country. Lastly, intermingling these digressive threads is chora, Plato’s notion of embodied place and itself an ancient regional rendering of this eternal return to the beginning, the place where the essential diversity of country decisively enters the soul. Chora: Core of Regionality Kevin Lynch writes that, “Our senses are local, while our experience is regional” (10), a combination that suggests this regional emphasis on home-and-away-making might be a useful frame of reference (simultaneously spatiotemporal, both a visceral and encoded communication) for me to include as a crucial vector in my own life-long learning package. Regionality (as, variously, a sub-generic categorisation and an extension/concentration of nationality, as well as a recently re-emerged friend/antagonist to a global understanding) infuses my world of home with a grounded footing in country, one that is a site of an Eternal Return to the Beginning in the micro-world of the everyday. This is a point John Sallis discusses at length in his analysis of Plato’s Timaeus and its founding notion of regionality: chora. More extended absences away from home-base are of course possible but one’s return to home on most days and for most nights is a given of post/modern, maybe even of ancient everyday experience. Even for the continually shifting nomad, nightfall in some part of the country brings the rest and recreation necessary for the next day’s wanderings. This fundamental question of an Eternal Return to the Beginning arises as a crucial element of the method in Plato’s Timaeus, a seemingly “unstructured” mythic/scientific dialogue about the origins and structure of both the psychically and the physically implaced world. In the Timaeus, “incoherence is especially obvious in the way the natural sequence in which a narrative would usually unfold is interrupted by regressions, corrections, repetitions, and abrupt new beginnings” (Gadamer 160). Right in the middle of the Timaeus, in between its sections on the “Work of Reason” and the “Work of Necessity”, sits chora, both an actual spatial and bodily site where my being intersects with my becoming, and where my lived life criss-crosses the various arts necessary to articulating a recorded version of that life. Every home is a grounded chora-logical timespace harness guiding its occupant’s thoughts, feelings and actions. My own regionally implaced chora (an example of which is the diagrammatological trajectory already outlined above as my various everyday comings and goings, of me acting in and projecting myself into context) could in part be understood as a graphical realisation of the extent of my movements and stationary rests in my own particular timespace trajectory. The shorthand for this process is ‘embedded’. Gregory Ulmer writes of chora that, “While chorography as a term is close to choreography, it duplicates a term that already exists in the discipline of geography, thus establishing a valuable resonance for a rhetoric of invention concerned with the history of ‘place’ in relation to memory” (Heuretics 39, original italics). Chorography is the geographic discipline for the systematic study and analysis of regions. Chora, home, country and regionality thus form an important multi-dimensional zone of interplay in memorialising the game of everyday life. In light of these observations I might even go so far as to suggest that this diagrammatological trajectory (being both digital and GPS originated) is part of the increasingly electrate condition that guides the production of knowledge in any global/regional context. This last point is a contextual connection usefully examined in Alan J. Scott’s Regions and the World Economy: The Coming Shape of Global Production, Competition, and Political Order and Michael Storper’s The Regional World: Territorial Development in a Global Economy. Their analyses explicitly suggest that the symbiosis between globalisation and regionalisation has been gathering pace since at least the end of World War Two and the Bretton Woods agreement. Our emerging understanding of electracy also happens to be Gregory Ulmer’s part-remedy for shifting the ground under the intense debates surrounding il/literacy in the current era (see, in particular, Internet Invention). And, for Tony Bennett, Michael Emmison and John Frow’s analysis of “Australian Everyday Cultures” (“Media Culture and the Home” 57–86), it is within the home that our un.conscious understanding of electronic media is at its most intense, a pattern that emerges in the longer term through receiving telegrams, compiling photo albums, listening to the radio, home- and video-movies, watching the evening news on television, and logging onto the computer in the home-office, media-room or home-studio. These various generalisations (along with this diagrammatological view of my comings and goings to and from the built space of home), all point indiscriminately to a productive confusion surrounding the sedentary and nomadic opposition/conjunction. If natural spaces are constituted in nouns like oceans, forests, plains, grasslands, steppes, deserts, rivers, tidal interstices, farmland etc. (and each categorisation here relies on the others for its existence and demarcation) then built space is often seen as constituting its human sedentary equivalent. For Deleuze and Guatteri (in A Thousand Plateaus, “1227: Treatise on Nomadology — The War Machine”) these natural spaces help instigate a nomadic movement across localities and regions. From a nomadology perspective, these smooth spaces unsettle a scientific, numerical calculation, sometimes even aesthetic demarcation and order. If they are marked at all, it is by heterogenous and differential forces, energised through constantly oscillating intensities. A Thousand Plateaus is careful though not to elevate these smooth nomadic spaces over the more sedentary spaces of culture and power (372–373). Nonetheless, as Edward S. Casey warns, “In their insistence on becoming and movement, however, the authors of A Thousand Plateaus overlook the placial potential of settled dwelling — of […] ‘built places’” (309, original italics). Sedentary, settled dwelling centred on home country may have a crust of easy legibility and order about it but it also formats a locally/regionally specific nomadic quality, a point underscored above in the diagrammatological perspective. The sedentary tendency also emerges once again in relation to home in the architectural drafting of the domestic domicile. The Real Estate Revolution When Captain Cook planted the British flag in the sand at Botany Bay in 1770 and declared the country it spiked as Crown Land and henceforth will come under the ownership of an English sovereign, it was also the moment when white Australia’s current fascination with real estate was conceived. In the wake of this spiking came the intense anxiety over Native Title that surfaced in late twentieth century Australia when claims of Indigenous land grabs would repossess suburban homes. While easily dismissed as hyperbole, a rhetorical gesture intended to arouse this very anxiety, its emergence is nonetheless an indication of the potential for political and psychic unsettling at the heart of the ownership and control of built place, or ‘settled dwelling’ in the Australian context. And here it would be wise to include not just the gridded, architectural quality of home-building and home-making, but also the home as the site of the family romance, another source of unsettling as much as a peaceful calming. Spreading out from the boundaries of the home are the built spaces of fences, bridges, roads, railways, airport terminals (along with their interconnecting pathways), which of course brings us back to the communications infrastructure which have so often followed alongside the development of transport infrastructure. These and other elements represent this conglomerate of built space, possibly the most significant transformation of natural space that humanity has brought about. For the purposes of this meditation though it is the more personal aspect of built space — my home and regional embeddedness, along with their connections into the global electrosphere — that constitutes the primary concern here. For a sedentary, striated space to settle into an unchallenged existence though requires a repression of the highest order, primarily because of the home’s proximity to everyday life, of the latter’s now fading ability to sometimes leave its presuppositions well enough alone. In settled, regionally experienced space, repressions are more difficult to abstract away, they are lived with on a daily basis, which also helps to explain the extra intensity brought to their sometimes-unsettling quality. Inversely, and encased in this globalised electro-spherical ambience, home cannot merely be a place where one dwells within avoiding those presuppositions, I take them with me when I travel and they come back with me from afar. This is a point obliquely reflected in Pico Iyer’s comment that “Australians have so flexible a sense of home, perhaps, that they can make themselves at home anywhere” (185). While our sense of home may well be, according to J. Douglas Porteous, “the territorial core” of our being, when other arrangements of space and knowledge shift it must inevitably do so as well. In these shifts of spatial affiliation (aided and abetted by regionalisation, globalisation and electronic knowledge), the built place of home can no longer be considered exclusively under the illusion of an autonomous sanctuary wholly guaranteed by capitalist property relations, one of the key factors in its attraction. These shifts in the cultural, economic and psychic relation of home to country are important to a sense of local and regional implacement. The “feeling” of autonomy and security involved in home occupation and/or ownership designates a component of this implacement, a point leading to Eric Leed’s comment that, “By the sixteenth century, literacy had become one of the definitive signs — along with the possession of property and a permanent residence — of an independent social status” (53). Globalising and regionalising forces make this feeling of autonomy and security dynamic, shifting the ground of home, work-place practices and citizenship allegiances in the process. Gathering these wide-ranging forces impacting on psychic and built space together is the emergence of critical regionalism as a branch of architectonics, considered here as a theory of domestic architecture. Critical Regionality Critical regionalism emerged out of the collective thinking of Liane Lefaivre and Alexander Tzonis (Tropical Architecture; Critical Regionalism), and as these authors themselves acknowledge, was itself deeply influenced by the work of Lewis Mumford during the first part of the twentieth century when he was arguing against the authority of the international style in architecture, a style epitomised by the Bauhaus movement. It is Kenneth Frampton’s essay, “Towards a Critical Regionalism: Six Points for an Architecture of Resistance” that deliberately takes this question of critical regionalism and makes it a part of a domestic architectonic project. In many ways the ideas critical regionalism espouses can themselves be a microcosm of this concomitantly emerging global/regional polis. With public examples of built-form the power of the centre is on display by virtue of a building’s enormous size and frequently high-cultural aesthetic power. This is a fact restated again and again from the ancient world’s agora to Australia’s own political bunker — its Houses of Parliament in Canberra. While Frampton discusses a range of aspects dealing with the universal/implaced axis across his discussion, it is points five and six that deserve attention from a domestically implaced perspective. Under the sub-heading, “Culture Versus Nature: Topography, Context, Climate, Light and Tectonic Form” is where he writes that, Here again, one touches in concrete terms this fundamental opposition between universal civilization and autochthonous culture. The bulldozing of an irregular topography into a flat site is clearly a technocratic gesture which aspires to a condition of absolute placelessness, whereas the terracing of the same site to receive the stepped form of a building is an engagement in the act of “cultivating” the site. (26, original italics) The “totally flat datum” that the universalising tendency sometimes presupposes is, within the critical regionalist perspective, an erroneous assumption. The “cultivation” of a site for the design of a building illustrates the point that built space emerges out of an interaction between parallel phenomena as they contrast and/or converge in a particular set of timespace co-ordinates. These are phenomena that could include (but are not limited to) geomorphic data like soil and rock formations, seismic activity, inclination and declension; climatic considerations in the form of wind patterns, temperature variations, rainfall patterns, available light and dark, humidity and the like; the building context in relation to the cardinal points of north, south, east, and west, along with their intermediary positions. There are also architectural considerations in the form of available building materials and personnel to consider. The social, psychological and cultural requirements of the building’s prospective in-dwellers are intermingled with all these phenomena. This is not so much a question of where to place the air conditioning system but the actuality of the way the building itself is placed on its site, or indeed if that site should be built on at all. A critical regionalist building practice, then, is autochthonous to the degree that a full consideration of this wide range of in-situ interactions is taken into consideration in the development of its design plan. And given this autochthonous quality of the critical regionalist project, it also suggests that the architectural design plan itself (especially when it utilised in conjunction with CAD and virtual reality simulations), might be the better model for designing electrate-centred projects rather than writing or even the script. The proliferation of ‘McMansions’ across many Australian suburbs during the 1990s (generally, oversized domestic buildings designed in the abstract with little or no thought to the above mentioned elements, on bulldozed sites, with powerful air-conditioning systems, and no verandas or roof eves to speak of) demonstrates the continuing influence of a universal, centralising dogma in the realm of built place. As summer temperatures start to climb into the 40°C range all these air-conditioners start to hum in unison, which in turn raises the susceptibility of the supporting infrastructure to collapse under the weight of an overbearing electrical load. The McMansion is a clear example of a built form that is envisioned more so in a drafting room, a space where the architect is remote-sensing the locational specificities. In this envisioning (driven more by a direct line-of-sight idiom dominant in “flat datum” and economic considerations rather than architectural or experiential ones), the tactile is subordinated, which is the subject of Frampton’s sixth point: It is symptomatic of the priority given to sight that we find it necessary to remind ourselves that the tactile is an important dimension in the perception of built form. One has in mind a whole range of complementary sensory perceptions which are registered by the labile body: the intensity of light, darkness, heat and cold; the feeling of humidity; the aroma of material; the almost palpable presence of masonry as the body senses it own confinement; the momentum of an induced gait and the relative inertia of the body as it traverses the floor; the echoing resonance of our own footfall. (28) The point here is clear: in its wider recognition of, and the foregrounding of my body’s full range of sensate capacities in relation to both natural and built space, the critical regionalist approach to built form spreads its meaning-making capacities across a broader range of knowledge modalities. This tactility is further elaborated in more thoroughly personal ways by Margaret Morse in her illuminating essay, “Home: Smell, Taste, Posture, Gleam”. Paradoxically, this synaesthetic, syncretic approach to bodily meaning-making in a built place, regional milieu intensely concentrates the site-centred locus of everyday life, while simultaneously, the electronic knowledge that increasingly underpins it expands both my body’s and its region’s knowledge-making possibilities into a global gestalt, sometimes even a cosmological one. It is a paradoxical transformation that makes us look anew at social, cultural and political givens, even objective and empirical understandings, especially as they are articulated through national frames of reference. Domestic built space then is a kind of micro-version of the multi-function polis where work, pleasure, family, rest, public display and privacy intermingle. So in both this reduction and expansion in the constitution of domestic home life, one that increasingly represents the location of the production of knowledge, built place represents a concentration of energy that forces us to re-imagine border-making, order, and the dynamic interplay of nomadic movement and sedentary return, a point that echoes Nicolas Rothwell’s comment that “every exile has in it a homecoming” (80). Albeit, this is a knowledge-making milieu with an expanded range of modalities incorporated and expressed through a wide range of bodily intensities not simply cognitive ones. Much of the ambiguous discontent manifested in McMansion style domiciles across many Western countries might be traced to the fact that their occupants have had little or no say in the way those domiciles have been designed and/or constructed. In Heidegger’s terms, they have not thought deeply enough about “dwelling” in that building, although with the advent of the media room the question of whether a “building” securely borders both “dwelling” and “thinking” is now open to question. As anxieties over border-making at all scales intensifies, the complexities and un/sureties of natural and built space take ever greater hold of the psyche, sometimes through the advance of a “high level of critical self-consciousness”, a process Frampton describes as a “double mediation” of world culture and local conditions (21). Nearly all commentators warn of a nostalgic, romantic or a sentimental regionalism, the sum total of which is aimed at privileging the local/regional and is sometimes utilised as a means of excluding the global or universal, sometimes even the national (Berry 67). Critical regionalism is itself a mediating factor between these dispositions, working its methods and practices through my own psyche into the local, the regional, the national and the global, rejecting and/or accepting elements of these domains, as my own specific context, in its multiplicity, demands it. If the politico-economic and cultural dimensions of this global/regional world have tended to undermine the process of border-making across a range of scales, we can see in domestic forms of built place the intense residue of both their continuing importance and an increased dependency on this electro-mediated world. This is especially apparent in those domiciles whose media rooms (with their satellite dishes, telephone lines, computers, television sets, games consuls, and music stereos) are connecting them to it in virtuality if not in reality. Indeed, the thought emerges (once again keeping in mind Eric Leed’s remark on the literate-configured sense of autonomy that is further enhanced by a separate physical address and residence) that the intense importance attached to domestically orientated built place by globally/regionally orientated peoples will figure as possibly the most viable means via which this sense of autonomy will transfer to electronic forms of knowledge. If, however, this here domestic habitué turns his gaze away from the screen that transports me into this global/regional milieu and I focus my attention on the physicality of the building in which I dwell, I once again stand in the presence of another beginning. This other beginning is framed diagrammatologically by the building’s architectural plans (usually conceived in either an in-situ, autochthonous, or a universal manner), and is a graphical conception that anchors my body in country long after the architects and builders have packed up their tools and left. This is so regardless of whether a home is built, bought, rented or squatted in. Ihab Hassan writes that, “Home is not where one is pushed into the light, but where one gathers it into oneself to become light” (417), an aphorism that might be rephrased as follows: “Home is not where one is pushed into the country, but where one gathers it into oneself to become country.” For the in-and-out-and-around-and-about domestic dweller of the twenty-first century, then, home is where both regional and global forms of country decisively enter the soul via the conduits of the virtuality of digital flows and the reality of architectural footings. Acknowledgements I’m indebted to both David Fosdick and Phil Roe for alerting me to the importance to the Fremantle Dockers Football Club. The research and an original draft of this essay were carried out under the auspices of a PhD scholarship from Central Queensland University, and from whom I would also like to thank Denis Cryle and Geoff Danaher for their advice. References Benjamin, Walter. “Paris — the Capital of the Nineteenth Century.” Charles Baudelaire: A Lyric Poet in the Era of High Capitalism. Trans. Quintin Hoare. London: New Left Books, 1973. 155–176. Bennett, Tony, Michael Emmison and John Frow. Accounting for Tastes: Australian Everyday Cultures. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1999. Berry, Wendell. “The Regional Motive.” A Continuous Harmony: Essays Cultural and Agricultural. San Diego: Harcourt Brace. 63–70. Casey, Edward S. The Fate of Place: A Philosophical History. Berkeley: U of California P, 1997. Deleuze, Gilles and Félix Guattari. A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Trans. Brian Massumi. Minneapolis: U of Minneapolis P, 1987. Deleuze, Gilles. “The Diagram.” The Deleuze Reader. Ed. Constantin Boundas. Trans. Constantin Boundas and Jacqueline Code. New York: Columbia UP, 1993. 193–200. Frampton, Kenneth. “Towards a Critical Regionalism: Six Points for an Architecture of Resistance.” The Anti-Aesthetic: Essays on Post-Modern Culture. Ed. Hal Foster. Port Townsend: Bay Press, 1983. 16–30. Gadamer, Hans-Georg. “Idea and Reality in Plato’s Timaeus.” Dialogue and Dialectic: Eight Hermeneutical Studies on Plato. Trans. P. Christopher Smith. New Haven: Yale UP, 1980. 156–193. Hassan, Ihab. “How Australian Is It?” The Best Australian Essays. Ed. Peter Craven. Melbourne: Black Inc., 2000. 405–417. Heidegger, Martin. “Building Dwelling Thinking.” Poetry, Language, Thought. Trans. Albert Hofstadter. New York: Harper and Row, 1971. 145–161. Hughes, John. The Idea of Home: Autobiographical Essays. Sydney: Giramondo, 2004. Iyer, Pico. “Australia 1988: Five Thousand Miles from Anywhere.” Falling Off the Map: Some Lonely Places of the World. London: Jonathon Cape, 1993. 173–190. “Keeping Track.” Docker, Official Magazine of the Fremantle Football Club. Edition 3, September (2005): 21. Leed, Eric. “‘Voice’ and ‘Print’: Master Symbols in the History of Communication.” The Myths of Information: Technology and Postindustrial Culture. Ed. Kathleen Woodward. Madison, Wisconsin: Coda Press, 1980. 41–61. Lefaivre, Liane and Alexander Tzonis. “The Suppression and Rethinking of Regionalism and Tropicalism After 1945.” Tropical Architecture: Critical Regionalism in the Age of Globalization. Eds. Alexander Tzonis, Liane Lefaivre and Bruno Stagno. Chichester, West Sussex: Wiley-Academy, 2001. 14–58. Lefaivre, Liane and Alexander Tzonis. Critical Regionalism: Architecture and Identity in a Globalized World. New York: Prestel, 2003. Lynch, Kevin. Managing the Sense of a Region. Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT P, 1976. Mitchell, W. J. T. “Diagrammatology.” Critical Inquiry 7.3 (1981): 622–633. Morse, Margaret. “Home: Smell, Taste, Posture, Gleam.” Home, Exile, Homeland: Film, Media, and the Politics of Place. Ed. Hamid Naficy. New York and London: Routledge, 1999. 63–74. Plato. Timaeus and Critias. Trans. Desmond Lee. Harmondsworth: Penguin Classics, 1973. Porteous, J. Douglas. “Home: The Territorial Core.” Geographical Review LXVI (1976): 383-390. Rothwell, Nicolas. Wings of the Kite-Hawk: A Journey into the Heart of Australia. Sydney: Pidador, 2003. Sallis, John. Chorology: On Beginning in Plato’s Timaeus. Bloomington: Indianapolis UP, 1999. Scott, Allen J. Regions and the World Economy: The Coming Shape of Global Production, Competition, and Political Order. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998. Storper, Michael. The Regional World: Territorial Development in a Global Economy. New York: The Guildford Press, 1997. Ulmer, Gregory L. Heuretics: The Logic of Invention. New York: John Hopkins UP, 1994. Ulmer, Gregory. Internet Invention: Literacy into Electracy. Longman: Boston, 2003. Wilken, Rowan. “Diagrammatology.” Illogic of Sense: The Gregory Ulmer Remix. Eds. Darren Tofts and Lisa Gye. Alt-X Press, 2007. 48–60. Available at http://www.altx.com/ebooks/ulmer.html. (Retrieved 12 June 2007)

APA, Harvard, Vancouver, ISO, and other styles

Abstract:

This issue of M/C Journal is devoted to all things cute – Internet animals and stuffed toys, cartoon characters and branded bears. In what follows our nine contributors scrutinise a diverse range of media objects, discussing everything from the economics of Grumpy Cat and the aesthetics of Furbys to Reddit’s intellectual property dramas and the ethics of kitten memes. The articles range across diverse sites, from China to Canada, and equally diverse disciplines, including cultural studies, evolutionary economics, media anthropology, film studies and socio-legal studies. But they share a common aim of tracing out the connections between degraded media forms and wider questions of culture, identity, economy and power. Our contributors tell riveting stories about these connections, inviting us to see the most familiar visual culture in a new way. We are not the first to take cute media seriously as a site of cultural politics, and as an industry in its own right. Cultural theory has a long, antagonistic relationship with the kitsch and the disposable. From the Frankfurt School’s withering critique of cultural commodification to revisionist feminist accounts that emphasise the importance of the everyday, critics have been conducting sporadic incursions into this space for the better part of a century. The rise of cultural studies, a discipline committed to analysing “the scrap of ordinary or banal existence” (Morris and Frow xviii), has naturally provided a convincing intellectual rationale for such research, and has inspired an impressive array of studies on such things as Victorian-era postcards (Milne), Disney films (Forgacs), Hallmark cards (West, Jaffe) and stock photography (Frosh). A parallel strand of literary theory considers the diverse registers of aesthetic experience that characterize cute content (Brown, Harris). Sianne Ngai has written elegantly on this topic, noting that “while the avant-garde is conventionally imagined as sharp and pointy, as hard- or cutting-edge, cute objects have no edge to speak of, usually being soft, round, and deeply associated with the infantile and the feminine” (814). Other scholars trace the historical evolution of cute aesthetics and commodities. Cultural historians have documented the emergence of consumer markets for children and how these have shaped what we think of as cute (Cross). Others have considered the history of domestic animal imagery and its symptomatic relationship with social anxieties around Darwinism, animal rights, and pet keeping (Morse and Danahay, Ritvo). And of course, Japanese popular culture – with its distinctive mobilization of cute aesthetics – has attracted its own rich literature in anthropology and area studies (Allison, Kinsella). The current issue of M/C Journal extends these lines of research while also pushing the conversation in some new directions. Specifically, we are interested in the collision between cute aesthetics, understood as a persistent strand of mass culture, and contemporary digital media. What might the existing tradition of “cute theory” mean in an Internet economy where user-generated content sites and social media have massively expanded the semiotic space of “cute” – and the commercial possibilities this entails? As the heir to a specific mode of degraded populism, the Internet cat video may be to the present what the sitcom, the paperback novel, or the Madonna video was to an earlier moment of cultural analysis. Millions of people worldwide start their days with kittens on Roombas. Global animal brands, such as Maru and Grumpy Cat, are appearing, along with new talent agencies for celebrity pets. Online portal I Can Haz Cheezburger has received millions of dollars in venture capital funding, becoming a diversified media business (and then a dotcom bubble). YouTube channels, Twitter hashtags and blog rolls form an infrastructure across which a vast amount of cute-themed user-generated content, as well as an increasing amount of commercially produced and branded material, now circulates. All this reminds us of the oft-quoted truism that the Internet is “made of kittens”, and that it’s “kittens all the way down”. Digitization of cute culture leads to some unusual tweaks in the taste hierarchies explored in the aforementioned scholarship. Cute content now functions variously as an affective transaction, a form of fandom, and as a subcultural discourse. In some corners of the Internet it is also being re-imagined as something contemporary, self-reflexive and flecked with irony. The example of 4Chan and LOLcats, a jocular, masculinist remix of the feminized genre of pet photography, is particularly striking here. How might the topic of cute look if we moving away from the old dialectics of mass culture critique vs. defense and instead foreground some of these more counter-intuitive aspects, taking seriously the enormous scale and vibrancy of the various “cute” content production systems – from children’s television to greeting cards to CuteOverload.com – and their structural integration into current media, marketing and lifestyle industries? Several articles in this issue adopt this approach, investigating the undergirding economic and regulatory structures of cute culture. Jason Potts provides a novel economic explanation for why there are so many animals on the Internet, using a little-known economic theory (the Alchian-Allen theorem) to explain the abundance of cat videos on YouTube. James Meese explores the complex copyright politics of pet images on Reddit, showing how this online community – which is the original source of much of the Internet’s animal gifs, jpegs and videos – has developed its own procedures for regulating animal image “piracy”. These articles imaginatively connect the soft stuff of cute content with the hard stuff of intellectual property and supply-and-demand dynamics. Another line of questioning investigates the political and bio-political work involved in everyday investments in cute culture. Seen from this perspective, cute is an affect that connects ground-level consumer subjectivity with various economic and political projects. Carolyn Stevens’ essay offers an absorbing analysis of the Japanese cute character Rilakkuma (“Relaxed Bear”), a wildly popular cartoon bear that is typically depicted lying on the couch and eating sweets. She explores what this representation means in the context of a stagnant Japanese economy, when the idea of idleness is taking on a new shade of meaning due to rising under-employment and precarity. Sharalyn Sanders considers a fascinating recent case of cute-powered activism in Canada, when animal rights activists used a multimedia stunt – a cat, Tuxedo Stan, running for mayor of Halifax, Canada – to highlight the unfortunate situation of stray and feral felines in the municipality. Sanders offers a rich analysis of this unusual political campaign and the moral questions it provokes. Elaine Laforteza considers another fascinating collision of the cute and the political: the case of Lil’ Bub, an American cat with a rare genetic condition that results in a perpetually kitten-like facial expression. During 2011 Lil’ Bub became an online phenomenon of the first order. Laforteza uses this event, and the controversies that brewed around it, as an entry point for a fascinating discussion of the “cute-ification” of disability. These case studies remind us once more of the political stakes of representation and viral communication, topics taken up by other contributors in their articles. Radha O’Meara’s “Do Cats Know They Rule YouTube? How Cat Videos Disguise Surveillance as Unselfconscious Play” provides a wide-ranging textual analysis of pet videos, focusing on the subtle narrative structures and viewer positioning that are so central to the pleasures of this genre. O’Meara explains how the “cute” experience is linked to the frisson of surveillance, and escape from surveillance. She also explains the aesthetic differences that distinguish online dog videos from cat videos, showing how particular ideas about animals are hardwired into the apparently spontaneous form of amateur content production. Gabriele de Seta investigates the linguistics of cute in his nuanced examination of how a new word – meng – entered popular discourse amongst Mandarin Chinese Internet users. de Seta draws our attention to the specificities of cute as a concept, and how the very notion of cuteness undergoes a series of translations and reconfigurations as it travels across cultures and contexts. As the term meng supplants existing Mandarin terms for cute such as ke’ai, debates around how the new word should be used are common. De Seta shows us how deploying these specific linguistic terms for cuteness involve a range of linguistic and aesthetic judgments. In short, what exactly is cute and in what context? Other contributors offer much-needed cultural analyses of the relationship between cute aesthetics, celebrity and user-generated culture. Catherine Caudwell looks at the once-popular Furby toy brand its treatment in online fan fiction. She notes that these forms of online creative practice offer a range of “imaginative and speculative” critiques of cuteness. Caudwell – like de Seta – reminds us that “cuteness is an unstable aesthetic that is culturally contingent and very much tied to behaviour”, an affect that can encompass friendliness, helplessness, monstrosity and strangeness. Jonathon Hutchinson’s article explores “petworking”, the phenomenon of social media-enabled celebrity pets (and pet owners). Using the famous example of Boo, a “highly networked” celebrity Pomeranian, Hutchinson offers a careful account of how cute is constructed, with intermediaries (owners and, in some cases, agents) negotiating a series of careful interactions between pet fans and the pet itself. Hutchinson argues if we wish to understand the popularity of cute content, the “strategic efforts” of these intermediaries must be taken into account. Each of our contributors has a unique story to tell about the aesthetics of commodity culture. The objects they analyse may be cute and furry, but the critical arguments offered here have very sharp teeth. We hope you enjoy the issue.Acknowledgments Thanks to Axel Bruns at M/C Journal for his support, to our hard-working peer reviewers for their insightful and valuable comments, and to the Swinburne Institute for Social Research for the small grant that made this issue possible. ReferencesAllison, Anne. “Cuteness as Japan’s Millenial Product.” Pikachu’s Global Adventure: The Rise and Fall of Pokemon. Ed. Joseph Tobin. Durham: Duke University Press, 2004. 34-48. Brown, Laura. Homeless Dogs and Melancholy Apes: Humans and Other Animals in the Modern Literary Imagination. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2010. Cross, Gary. The Cute and the Cool: Wondrous Innocence and Modern American Children's Culture. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004. Forgacs, David. "Disney Animation and the Business of Childhood." Screen 33.4 (1992): 361-374. Frosh, Paul. "Inside the Image Factory: Stock Photography and Cultural Production." Media, Culture & Society 23.5 (2001): 625-646. Harris, Daniel. Cute, Quaint, Hungry and Romantic: The Aesthetics of Consumerism. New York: Basic Books, 2000. Jaffe, Alexandra. "Packaged Sentiments: The Social Meanings of Greeting Cards." Journal of Material Culture 4.2 (1999): 115-141. Kinsella, Sharon. “Cuties in Japan” Women, Media and Consumption in Japan. Ed. Lise Skov and Brian Moeran. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1995. 220 - 54. Frow, John, and Meaghan Morris, eds. Australian Cultural Studies: A Reader. Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1993. Milne, Esther. Letters, Postcards, Email: Technologies of Presence. New York: Routledge, 2012. Morse, Deborah and Martin Danahay, eds. Victorian Animal Dreams: Representations of Animals in Victorian Literature and Culture. Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing. 2007. Ngai, Sianne. "The Cuteness of the Avant‐Garde." Critical Inquiry 31.4 (2005): 811-847. Ritvo, Harriet. The Animal Estate: The English and Other Creatures in the Victorian Age. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1987. West, Emily. "When You Care Enough to Defend the Very Best: How the Greeting Card Industry Manages Cultural Criticism." Media, Culture & Society 29.2 (2007): 241-261.

APA, Harvard, Vancouver, ISO, and other styles

Abstract:

As Lewis Carroll’s Alice comes to the end of her journey through the looking glass world, she has also come to the end of her patience with its strange power games and arbitrations. At every stage of the adventure, she has encountered someone who wants to dictate rules and protocols, and a lesson on table manners from the Red Queen finally triggers rebellion. “I can’t stand this any more,” Alice cries, as she seizes the tablecloth and hurls the entire setting into chaos (279). Then, catching hold of the Red Queen, she gives her a good shaking, until the rigid contours of the imperious figure become fuzzy and soft. At this point, the hold of the dream dissolves and Alice, awakening on the other side of the mirror, realises she is shaking the kitten. Queens have long been associated with ideas of transformation. As Alice is duly advised when she first looks out across the chequered landscape of the looking glass world, the rules of chess decree that a pawn may become a queen if she makes it to the other side. The transformation of pawn to queen is in accord with the fairy tale convention of the unspoiled country girl who wins the heart of a prince and is crowned as his bride. This works in a dual register: on one level, it is a story of social elevation, from the lowest to the highest rank; on another, it is a magical transition, as some agent of fortune intervenes to alter the determinations of the social world. But fairy tales also present us with the antithesis and adversary of the fortune-blessed princess, in the figure of the tyrant queen who works magic to shape destiny to her own ends. The Queen and the mirror converge in the cultural imaginary, working transformations that disrupt the order of nature, invert socio-political hierarchies, and flout the laws of destiny. In “Snow White,” the powers of the wicked queen are mediated by the looking glass, which reflects and affirms her own image while also serving as a panopticon, keep the entire realm under surveillance, to pick up any signs of threat to her pre-eminence. All this turbulence in the order of things lets loose a chaotic phantasmagoria that is prime material for film and animation. Two major film versions of “Snow White” have been released in the past few years—Mirror Mirror (2012) and Snow White and the Huntsman (2012)—while Tim Burton’s animated 3D rendition of Alice in Wonderland was released in 2010. Alice through the Looking Glass (2016) and The Huntsman: Winter’s War, the 2016 prequel to Snow White and the Huntsman, continue the experiment with state-of-the-art-techniques in 3D animation and computer-generated imaging to push the visual boundaries of fantasy. Perhaps this escalating extravagance in the creation of fantasy worlds is another manifestation of the ancient lore and law of sorcery: that the magic of transformation always runs out of control, because it disrupts the all-encompassing design of an ordered world. This principle is expressed with poetic succinctness in Ursula Le Guin’s classic story A Wizard of Earthsea, when the Master Changer issues a warning to his most gifted student: But you must not change one thing, one pebble, one grain of sand, until you know what good and evil will follow on that act. The world is in balance, in Equilibrium. A wizard's power of Changing and Summoning can shake the balance of the world. It is dangerous, that power. (48)In Le Guin’s story, transformation is only dangerous if it involves material change; illusions of all kinds are ultimately harmless because they are impermanent.Illusions mediated by the mirror, however, blur the distinction Le Guin is making, for the mirror image supposedly reflects a real world. And it holds the seductive power of a projected narcissism. Seeing what we wish for is an experience that can hold us captive in a way that changes human nature, and so leads to dangerous acts with material consequences. The queen in the mirror becomes the wicked queen because she converts the world into her image, and in traditions of animation going back to Disney’s original Snow White (1937) the mirror is itself an animate being, with a spirit whose own determinations become paramount. Though there are exceptions in the annals of fairy story, powers of transformation are typically dark powers, turbulent and radically elicit. When they are mediated through the agency of the mirror, they are also the powers of narcissism and autocracy. Through a Glass DarklyIn her classic cultural history of the mirror, Sabine Melchior-Bonnet tracks a duality in the traditions of symbolism associated with it. This duality is already evident in Biblical allusions to the mirror, with references to the Bible itself as “the unstained mirror” (Proverbs 7.27) counterpointed by images of the mortal condition as one of seeing “through a glass darkly” (1 Corinthians 13.12).The first of these metaphoric conventions celebrates the crystalline purity of a reflecting surface that reveals the spiritual identity beneath the outward form of the human image. The church fathers drew on Plotinus to evoke “a whole metaphysics of light and reflection in which the visible world is the image of the invisible,” and taught that “humans become mirrors when they cleanse their souls (Melchior-Bonnet 109–10). Against such invocations of the mirror as an intermediary for the radiating presence of the divine in the mortal world, there arises an antithetical narrative, in which it is portrayed as distorting, stained, and clouded, and therefore an instrument of delusion. Narcissus becomes the prototype of the human subject led astray by the image itself, divorced from material reality. What was the mirror if not a trickster? Jean Delumeau poses this question in a preface to Melchior-Bonnet’s book (xi).Through the centuries, as Melchior-Bonnet’s study shows, these two strands are interwoven in the cultural imaginary, sometimes fused, and sometimes torn asunder. With Venetian advances in the techniques and technologies of mirror production in the late Renaissance, the mirror gained special status as a possession of pre-eminent beauty and craftsmanship, a means by which the rich and powerful could reflect back to themselves both the self-image they wanted to see, and the world in the background as a shimmering personal aura. This was an attempt to harness the numinous influence of the divinely radiant mirror in order to enhance the superiority of leading aristocrats. By the mid seventeenth century, the mirror had become an essential accessory to the royal presence. Queen Anne of Austria staged a Queen’s Ball in 1633, in a hall surrounded by mirrors and tapestries. The large, finely polished mirror panels required for this kind of display were made exclusively by craftsmen at Murano, in a process that, with its huge furnaces, its alternating phases of melting and solidifying, its mysterious applications of mercury and silver, seemed to belong to the transformational arts of alchemy. In 1664, Louis XIV began to steal unique craftsmen from Murano and bring them to France, to set up the Royal Glass and Mirror Company whose culminating achievement was the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles.The looking glass world of the palace was an arena in which courtiers and visitors engaged in the high-stakes challenge of self-fashioning. Costume, attitude, and manners were the passport to advancement. To cut a figure at court was to create an identity with national and sometimes international currency. It was through the art of self-fashioning that the many princesses of Europe, and many more young women of title and hereditary distinction, competed for the very few positions as consort to the heir of a royal house. A man might be born to be king, but a woman had to become a queen.So the girl who would be queen looks in the mirror to assess her chances. If her face is her fortune, what might she be? A deep relationship with the mirror may serve to enhance her beauty and enable her to realise her wish, but like all magical agents, the mirror also betrays anyone with the hubris to believe they are in control of it. In the Grimm’s story of “Snow White,” the Queen practises the ancient art of scrying, looking into a reflective surface to conjure images of things distant in time and place. But although the mirror affords her the seer’s visionary capacity to tell what will be, it does not give her the power to control the patterns of destiny. Driven to attempt such control, she must find other magic in order to work the changes she desires, and so she experiments with spells of self-transformation. Here the doubleness of the mirror plays out across every plane of human perception: visual, ethical, metaphysical, psychological. A dynamic of inherent contradiction betrays the figure who tries to engage the mirror as a servant. Disney’s original 1937 cartoon shows the vain Queen brewing an alchemical potion that changes her into the very opposite of all she has sought to become: an ugly, ill-dressed, and impoverished old woman. This is the figure who can win and betray trust from the unspoiled princess to whom the arts of self-fashioning are unknown. In Tarsem Singh’s film Mirror Mirror, the Queen actually has two mirrors. One is a large crystal egg that reflects back a phantasmagoria of palace scenes; the other, installed in a primitive hut on an island across the lake, is a simple looking glass that shows her as she really is. Snow White and the Huntsman portrays the mirror as a golden apparition, cloaked and faceless, that materialises from within the frame to stand before her. This is not her reflection, but with every encounter, she takes on more of its dark energies, until, in another kind of reversal, she becomes its image and agent in the wider world. As Ursula Le Guin’s sage teaches the young magician, magic has its secret economies. You pay for what you get, and the changes wrought will come back at you in ways you would never have foreseen. The practice of scrying inevitably leads the would-be clairvoyant into deeper levels of obscurity, until the whole world turns against the seer in a sequence of manifestations entirely contrary to his or her framework of expectation. Ultimately, the lesson of the mirror is that living in obscurity is a defining aspect of the human condition. Jorge Luis Borges, the blind writer whose work exhibits a life-long obsession with mirrors, surveys a range of interpretations and speculations surrounding the phrase “through a glass darkly,” and quotes this statement from Leon Bloy: “There is no human being on earth capable of declaring with certitude who he is. No one knows what he has come into this world to do . . . or what his real name is, his enduring Name in the register of Light” (212).The mirror will never really tell you who you are. Indeed, its effects may be quite the contrary, as Alice discovers when, within a couple of moves on the looking glass chessboard, she finds herself entering the wood of no names. Throughout her adventures she is repeatedly interrogated about who or what she is, and can give no satisfactory answer. The looking glass has turned her into an estranged creature, as bizarre a species as any of those she encounters in its landscapes.Furies“The furies are at home in the mirror,” wrote R. S. Thomas in his poem “Reflections” (265). They are the human image gone haywire, the frightening other of what we hope to see in our reflection. As the mirror is joined by technologies of the moving image in twentieth-century evolutions of the myth, the furies have been given a new lease of life on the cinema screen. In Disney’s 1937 cartoon of Snow White, the mirror itself has the face of a fury, which emerges from a pool of blackness like a death’s head before bringing the Queen’s own face into focus. As its vision comes into conflict with hers, threatening the dissolution of the world over which she presides, the mirror’s face erupts into fire.Computer-generated imaging enables an expansive response to the challenges of visualisation associated with the original furies of classical mythology. The Erinyes are unstable forms, arising from liquid (blood) to become semi-materialised in human guise, always ready to disintegrate again. They are the original undead, hovering between mortal embodiment and cadaverous decay. Tearing across the landscape as a flock of birds, a swarm of insects, or a mass of storm clouds, they gather into themselves tremendous energies of speed and motion. The 2012 film Snow White and the Huntsman, directed by Rupert Sanders, gives us the strongest contemporary realisation of the archaic fury. Queen Ravenna, played by Charlize Theron, is a virtuoso of the macabre, costumed in a range of metallic exoskeletons and a cloak of raven’s feathers, with a raised collar that forms two great black wings either side of her head. Powers of dematerialisation and rematerialisation are central to her repertoire. She undergoes spectacular metamorphosis into a mass of shrieking birds; from the walls around her she conjures phantom soldiers that splinter into shards of black crystal when struck by enemy swords. As she dies at the foot of the steps leading up to the great golden disc of her mirror, her face rapidly takes on the great age she has disguised by vampiric practices.Helena Bonham Carter as the Red Queen in Burton’s Alice in Wonderland is a figure midway between Disney’s fairy tale spectre and the fully cinematic register of Theron’s Ravenna. Bonham Carter’s Queen, with her accentuated head and pantomime mask of a face, retains the boundaries of form. She also presides over a court whose visual structures express the rigidities of a tyrannical regime. Thus she is no shape-shifter, but energies of the fury are expressed in her voice, which rings out across the presence chamber of the palace and reverberates throughout the kingdom with its calls for blood. Alice through the Looking Glass, James Bobin’s 2016 sequel, puts her at the centre of a vast destructive force field. Alice passes through the mirror to encounter the Lord of Time, whose eternal rule must be broken in order to break the power of the murdering Queen; Alice then opens a door and tumbles in free-fall out into nothingness. The place where she lands is a world not of daydream but of nightmare, where everything will soon be on fire, as the two sides in the chess game advance towards each other for the last battle. This inflation of the Red Queen’s macabre aura and impact is quite contrary to what Lewis Carroll had in mind for his own sequel. In some notes about the stage adaptation of the Alice stories, he makes a painstaking distinction between the characters of the queen in his two stories.I pictured to myself the Queen of Hearts as a sort of embodiment of ungovernable passion—a blind and aimless Fury. The Red Queen I pictured as a Fury, but of another type; her passion must be cold and calm—she must be formal and strict, yet not unkindly; pedantic to the 10th degree, the concentrated essence of governesses. (86)Yet there is clearly a temptation to erase this distinction in dramatisations of Alice’s adventures. Perhaps the Red Queen as a ‘not unkindly’ governess is too restrained a persona for the psychodynamic mythos surrounding the queen in the mirror. The image itself demands more than Carroll wants to accord, and the original Tenniel illustrations give a distinctly sinister look to the stern chess queen. In their very first encounter, the Red Queen contradicts every observation Alice makes, confounds the child’s sensory orientation by inverting the rules of time and motion, and assigns her the role of pawn in the game. Kafka or Orwell would not have been at all relaxed about an authority figure who practises mind control, language management, and identity reassignment. But here Carroll offers a brilliant modernisation of the fairy story tradition. Under the governance of the autocratic queen, wonderland and the looking glass world are places in which the laws of science, logic, and language are overturned, to be replaced by the rules of the queen’s games: cards and croquet in the wonderland, and chess in the looking glass world. Alice, as a well-schooled Victorian child, knows something of these games. She has enough common sense to be aware of how the laws of gravity and time and motion are supposed to work, and if she boasts of being able to believe six impossible things before breakfast, this signifies that she has enough logic to understand the limits of possibility. She would also have been taught about species and varieties and encouraged to make her own collections of natural forms. But the anarchy of the queen’s world extends into the domain of biology: species of all kinds can talk, bodies dissolve or change size, and transmutations occur instantaneously. Thus the world-warping energies of the Erinyes are re-imagined in an absurdist’s challenge to the scientist’s universe and the logician’s mentality.Carroll’s instinct to tame the furies is in accord with the overall tone and milieu of his stories, which are works of quirky charm rather than tales of terror, but his two queens are threatening enough to enable him to build the narrative to a dramatic climax. For film-makers and animators, though, it is the queen who provides the dramatic energy and presence. There is an over-riding temptation to let loose the pandemonium of the original Erinyes, exploiting their visual terror and their classical association with metamorphosis. FashioningThere is some sociological background to the coupling of the queen and the mirror in fairy story. In reality, the mirror might assist an aspiring princess to become queen by enchanting the prince who was heir to the throne, but what was the role of the looking glass once she was crowned? Historically, the self-imaging of the queen has intense and nervous resonances, and these can be traced back to Elizabeth I, whose elaborate persona was fraught with newly interpreted symbolism. Her portraits were her mirrors, and they reflect a figure in whom the qualities of radiance associated with divinity were transferred to the human monarch. Elizabeth developed the art of dressing herself in wearable light. If she lacked for a halo, she made up for it with the extravagant radiata of her ruffs and the wreaths of pearls around her head. Pearls in mediaeval poetry carried the mystique of a luminous microcosm, but they were also mirrors in themselves, each one a miniature reflecting globe. The Ditchely portrait of 1592 shows her standing as a colossus between heaven and earth, with the changing planetary light cycle as background. This is a queen who rules the world through the mediation of her own created image. It is an inevitable step from here to a corresponding intervention in the arrangement of the world at large, which involves the armies and armadas that form the backdrop to her other great portraits. And on the home front, a regime of terror focused on regular public decapitations and other grisly executions completes the strategy to remaking the world according to her will. Renowned costume designer Eiko Ishioka created an aesthetic for Mirror Mirror that combines elements of court fashion from the Elizabethan era and the French ancien régime, with allusions to Versailles. Formality and mannerism are the keynotes for the palace scenes. Julia Roberts as the Queen wears a succession of vast dresses that are in defiance of human scale and proportion. Their width at the hem is twice her height, and 100,000 Svarovski crystals were used for their embellishment. For the masked ball scene, she makes her entry as a scarlet peaco*ck with a high arching ruff of pure white feathers. She amuses herself by arranging her courtiers as pieces on a chess-board. So stiffly attired they can barely move more than a square at a time, and with hats surmounted by precariously balanced ships, they are a mock armada from which the Queen may sink individual vessels on a whim, by ordering a fatal move. Snow White and the Huntsman takes a very different approach to extreme fashioning. Designer Colleen Atwood suggests the shape-shifter in the Queen’s costumes, incorporating materials evoking a range of species: reptile scales, fluorescent beetle wings from Thailand, and miniature bird skulls. There is an obvious homage here to the great fashion designer Alexander McQueen, whose hallmark was a fascination with the organic costuming of creatures in feathers, fur, wool, scales, shells, and fronds. Birds were everywhere in McQueen’s work. His 2006 show Widows of Culloden featured a range of headdresses that made the models look as if they had just walked through a flock of birds in full flight. The creatures were perched on their heads with outstretched wings askance across the models’ faces, obscuring their field of vision. As avatars from the spirit realm, birds are emblems of otherness, and associated with metempsychosis, the transmigration of souls. These resonances give a potent mythological aura to Theron’s Queen of the dark arts.Mirror Mirror and Snow White and the Huntsman accordingly present strikingly contrasted versions of self-fashioning. In Mirror Mirror we have an approach driven by traditions of aristocratic narcissism and courtly persona, in which form is both rigid and extreme. The Queen herself, far from being a shape-shifter, is a prisoner of the massive and rigid architecture that is her costume. Snow White and the Huntsman gives us a more profoundly magical interpretation, where form is radically unstable, infused with strange energies that may at any moment manifest themselves through violent transformation.Atwood was also costume designer for Burton’s Alice in Wonderland, where an invented framing story foregrounds the issue of fashioning as social control. Alice in this version is a young woman, being led by her mother to a garden party where a staged marriage proposal is to take place. Alice, as the social underling in the match, is simply expected to accept the honour. Instead, she escapes the scene and disappears down a rabbit hole to return to the wonderland of her childhood. In a nice comedic touch, her episodes of shrinking and growing involve an embarrassing separation from her clothes, so divesting her also of the demure image of the Victorian maiden. Atwood provides her with a range of fantasy party dresses that express the free spirit of a world that is her refuge from adult conformity.Alice gets to escape the straitjacket of social formation in Carroll’s original stories by overthrowing the queen’s game, and with it her micro-management of image and behaviour. There are other respects, though, in which Alice’s adventures are a form of social and moral fashioning. Her opening reprimand to the kitten includes some telling details about her own propensities. She once frightened a deaf old nurse by shouting suddenly in her ear, “Do let’s pretend that I’m a hungry hyaena and you’re a bone!” (147). Playing kings and queens is one of little Alice’s favourite games, and there is more than a touch of the Red Queen in the way she bosses and manages the kitten. It is easy to laud her impertinence in the face of the tyrannical characters she meets in her fantasies, but does she risk becoming just like them?As a story of moral self-fashioning, Alice through the Looking Glass cuts both ways. It is at once a critique of the Victorian social straitjacket, and a child’s fable about self-improvement. To be accorded the status of queen and with it the freedom of the board is also to be invested with responsibilities. If the human girl is the queen of species, how will she measure up? The published version of the story excludes an episode known to editors as “The Wasp in a Wig,” an encounter that takes place as Alice reaches the last ditch before the square upon which she will be crowned. She is about to jump the stream when she hears a sigh from woods behind her. Someone here is very unhappy, and she reasons with herself about whether there is any point in stopping to help. Once she has made the leap, there will be no going back, but she is reluctant to delay the move, as she is “very anxious to be a Queen” (309). The sigh comes from an aged creature in the shape of a wasp, who is sitting in the cold wind, grumbling to himself. Her kind enquiries are greeted with a succession of waspish retorts, but she persists and does not leave until she has cheered him up. The few minutes devoted “to making the poor old creature comfortable,” she tells herself, have been well spent.Read in isolation, the episode is trite and interferes with the momentum of the story. Carroll abandoned it on the advice of his illustrator John Tenniel, who wrote to say it didn’t interest him in the least (297). There is interest of another kind in Carroll’s instinct to arrest Alice’s momentum at that critical stage, with what amounts to a small morality tale, but Tenniel’s instinct was surely right. The mirror as a social object is surrounded by traditions of self-fashioning that are governed by various modes of conformity: moral, aesthetic, political. Traditions of myth and fantasy allow wider imaginative scope for the role of the mirror, and by association, for inventive speculation about human transformation in a world prone to extraordinary upheavals. ReferencesBorges, Jorge Luis. “Mirrors of Enigma.” Labyrinths: Selected Stories and Other Writings. Eds. Donald A. Yates and James Irby. New York: New Directions, 2007. 209–12. Carroll, Lewis. Alice through the Looking Glass. In The Annotated Alice. Ed. Martin Gardner. London: Penguin, 2000.The King James Bible.Le Guin, Ursula. The Earthsea Quartet. London: Penguin, 2012.Melchior-Bonnet, Sabine. The Mirror: A History. Trans. Katherine H. Jewett. London: Routledge, 2014.Thomas, R.S. “Reflections.” No Truce with the Furies, Collected Later Poems 1988–2000. Hexham, Northumberland: Bloodaxe, 2011.

APA, Harvard, Vancouver, ISO, and other styles

Abstract:

There is no diagram that does not also include, besides the points it connects up, certain relatively free or unbounded points, points of creativity, change and resistance, and it is perhaps with these that we ought to begin in order to understand the whole picture. (Deleuze, “Foucault” 37) Monty Cantsin: Why do we use a pervert software robot to exploit our collective consensual mind? Letitia: Because we want the thief to be a digital entity. Monty Cantsin: But isn’t this really blasphemic? Letitia: Yes, but god – in our case a meta-co*cktail of authorship and copyright – can not be trusted anymore. (Amazon Noir, “Dialogue”) In 2006, some 3,000 digital copies of books were silently “stolen” from online retailer Amazon.com by targeting vulnerabilities in the “Search inside the Book” feature from the company’s website. Over several weeks, between July and October, a specially designed software program bombarded the Search Inside!™ interface with multiple requests, assembling full versions of texts and distributing them across peer-to-peer networks (P2P). Rather than a purely malicious and anonymous hack, however, the “heist” was publicised as a tactical media performance, Amazon Noir, produced by self-proclaimed super-villains Paolo Cirio, Alessandro Ludovico, and Ubermorgen.com. While controversially directed at highlighting the infrastructures that materially enforce property rights and access to knowledge online, the exploit additionally interrogated its own interventionist status as theoretically and politically ambiguous. That the “thief” was represented as a digital entity or machinic process (operating on the very terrain where exchange is differentiated) and the emergent act of “piracy” was fictionalised through the genre of noir conveys something of the indeterminacy or immensurability of the event. In this short article, I discuss some political aspects of intellectual property in relation to the complexities of Amazon Noir, particularly in the context of control, technological action, and discourses of freedom. Software, Piracy As a force of distribution, the Internet is continually subject to controversies concerning flows and permutations of agency. While often directed by discourses cast in terms of either radical autonomy or control, the technical constitution of these digital systems is more regularly a case of establishing structures of operation, codified rules, or conditions of possibility; that is, of guiding social processes and relations (McKenzie, “Cutting Code” 1-19). Software, as a medium through which such communication unfolds and becomes organised, is difficult to conceptualise as a result of being so event-orientated. There lies a complicated logic of contingency and calculation at its centre, a dimension exacerbated by the global scale of informational networks, where the inability to comprehend an environment that exceeds the limits of individual experience is frequently expressed through desires, anxieties, paranoia. Unsurprisingly, cautionary accounts and moral panics on identity theft, email fraud, p*rnography, surveillance, hackers, and computer viruses are as commonplace as those narratives advocating user interactivity. When analysing digital systems, cultural theory often struggles to describe forces that dictate movement and relations between disparate entities composed by code, an aspect heightened by the intensive movement of informational networks where differences are worked out through the constant exposure to unpredictability and chance (Terranova, “Communication beyond Meaning”). Such volatility partially explains the recent turn to distribution in media theory, as once durable networks for constructing economic difference – organising information in space and time (“at a distance”), accelerating or delaying its delivery – appear contingent, unstable, or consistently irregular (Cubitt 194). Attributing actions to users, programmers, or the software itself is a difficult task when faced with these states of co-emergence, especially in the context of sharing knowledge and distributing media content. Exchanges between corporate entities, mainstream media, popular cultural producers, and legal institutions over P2P networks represent an ongoing controversy in this respect, with numerous stakeholders competing between investments in property, innovation, piracy, and publics. Beginning to understand this problematic landscape is an urgent task, especially in relation to the technological dynamics that organised and propel such antagonisms. In the influential fragment, “Postscript on the Societies of Control,” Gilles Deleuze describes the historical passage from modern forms of organised enclosure (the prison, clinic, factory) to the contemporary arrangement of relational apparatuses and open systems as being materially provoked by – but not limited to – the mass deployment of networked digital technologies. In his analysis, the disciplinary mode most famously described by Foucault is spatially extended to informational systems based on code and flexibility. According to Deleuze, these cybernetic machines are connected into apparatuses that aim for intrusive monitoring: “in a control-based system nothing’s left alone for long” (“Control and Becoming” 175). Such a constant networking of behaviour is described as a shift from “molds” to “modulation,” where controls become “a self-transmuting molding changing from one moment to the next, or like a sieve whose mesh varies from one point to another” (“Postscript” 179). Accordingly, the crisis underpinning civil institutions is consistent with the generalisation of disciplinary logics across social space, forming an intensive modulation of everyday life, but one ambiguously associated with socio-technical ensembles. The precise dynamics of this epistemic shift are significant in terms of political agency: while control implies an arrangement capable of absorbing massive contingency, a series of complex instabilities actually mark its operation. Noise, viral contamination, and piracy are identified as key points of discontinuity; they appear as divisions or “errors” that force change by promoting indeterminacies in a system that would otherwise appear infinitely calculable, programmable, and predictable. The rendering of piracy as a tactic of resistance, a technique capable of levelling out the uneven economic field of global capitalism, has become a predictable catch-cry for political activists. In their analysis of multitude, for instance, Antonio Negri and Michael Hardt describe the contradictions of post-Fordist production as conjuring forth a tendency for labour to “become common.” That is, as productivity depends on flexibility, communication, and cognitive skills, directed by the cultivation of an ideal entrepreneurial or flexible subject, the greater the possibilities for self-organised forms of living that significantly challenge its operation. In this case, intellectual property exemplifies such a spiralling paradoxical logic, since “the infinite reproducibility central to these immaterial forms of property directly undermines any such construction of scarcity” (Hardt and Negri 180). The implications of the filesharing program Napster, accordingly, are read as not merely directed toward theft, but in relation to the private character of the property itself; a kind of social piracy is perpetuated that is viewed as radically recomposing social resources and relations. Ravi Sundaram, a co-founder of the Sarai new media initiative in Delhi, has meanwhile drawn attention to the existence of “pirate modernities” capable of being actualised when individuals or local groups gain illegitimate access to distributive media technologies; these are worlds of “innovation and non-legality,” of electronic survival strategies that partake in cultures of dispersal and escape simple classification (94). Meanwhile, pirate entrepreneurs Magnus Eriksson and Rasmus Fleische – associated with the notorious Piratbyrn – have promoted the bleeding away of Hollywood profits through fully deployed P2P networks, with the intention of pushing filesharing dynamics to an extreme in order to radicalise the potential for social change (“Copies and Context”). From an aesthetic perspective, such activist theories are complemented by the affective register of appropriation art, a movement broadly conceived in terms of antagonistically liberating knowledge from the confines of intellectual property: “those who pirate and hijack owned material, attempting to free information, art, film, and music – the rhetoric of our cultural life – from what they see as the prison of private ownership” (Harold 114). These “unruly” escape attempts are pursued through various modes of engagement, from experimental performances with legislative infrastructures (i.e. Kembrew McLeod’s patenting of the phrase “freedom of expression”) to musical remix projects, such as the work of Negativland, John Oswald, RTMark, Detritus, Illegal Art, and the Evolution Control Committee. Amazon Noir, while similarly engaging with questions of ownership, is distinguished by specifically targeting information communication systems and finding “niches” or gaps between overlapping networks of control and economic governance. Hans Bernhard and Lizvlx from Ubermorgen.com (meaning ‘Day after Tomorrow,’ or ‘Super-Tomorrow’) actually describe their work as “research-based”: “we not are opportunistic, money-driven or success-driven, our central motivation is to gain as much information as possible as fast as possible as chaotic as possible and to redistribute this information via digital channels” (“Interview with Ubermorgen”). This has led to experiments like Google Will Eat Itself (2005) and the construction of the automated software thief against Amazon.com, as process-based explorations of technological action. Agency, Distribution Deleuze’s “postscript” on control has proven massively influential for new media art by introducing a series of key questions on power (or desire) and digital networks. As a social diagram, however, control should be understood as a partial rather than totalising map of relations, referring to the augmentation of disciplinary power in specific technological settings. While control is a conceptual regime that refers to open-ended terrains beyond the architectural locales of enclosure, implying a move toward informational networks, data solicitation, and cybernetic feedback, there remains a peculiar contingent dimension to its limits. For example, software code is typically designed to remain cycling until user input is provided. There is a specifically immanent and localised quality to its actions that might be taken as exemplary of control as a continuously modulating affective materialism. The outcome is a heightened sense of bounded emergencies that are either flattened out or absorbed through reconstitution; however, these are never linear gestures of containment. As Tiziana Terranova observes, control operates through multilayered mechanisms of order and organisation: “messy local assemblages and compositions, subjective and machinic, characterised by different types of psychic investments, that cannot be the subject of normative, pre-made political judgments, but which need to be thought anew again and again, each time, in specific dynamic compositions” (“Of Sense and Sensibility” 34). This event-orientated vitality accounts for the political ambitions of tactical media as opening out communication channels through selective “transversal” targeting. Amazon Noir, for that reason, is pitched specifically against the material processes of communication. The system used to harvest the content from “Search inside the Book” is described as “robot-perversion-technology,” based on a network of four servers around the globe, each with a specific function: one located in the United States that retrieved (or “sucked”) the books from the site, one in Russia that injected the assembled documents onto P2P networks and two in Europe that coordinated the action via intelligent automated programs (see “The Diagram”). According to the “villains,” the main goal was to steal all 150,000 books from Search Inside!™ then use the same technology to steal books from the “Google Print Service” (the exploit was limited only by the amount of technological resources financially available, but there are apparent plans to improve the technique by reinvesting the money received through the settlement with Amazon.com not to publicise the hack). In terms of informational culture, this system resembles a machinic process directed at redistributing copyright content; “The Diagram” visualises key processes that define digital piracy as an emergent phenomenon within an open-ended and responsive milieu. That is, the static image foregrounds something of the activity of copying being a technological action that complicates any analysis focusing purely on copyright as content. In this respect, intellectual property rights are revealed as being entangled within information architectures as communication management and cultural recombination – dissipated and enforced by a measured interplay between openness and obstruction, resonance and emergence (Terranova, “Communication beyond Meaning” 52). To understand data distribution requires an acknowledgement of these underlying nonhuman relations that allow for such informational exchanges. It requires an understanding of the permutations of agency carried along by digital entities. According to Lawrence Lessig’s influential argument, code is not merely an object of governance, but has an overt legislative function itself. Within the informational environments of software, “a law is defined, not through a statue, but through the code that governs the space” (20). These points of symmetry are understood as concretised social values: they are material standards that regulate flow. Similarly, Alexander Galloway describes computer protocols as non-institutional “etiquette for autonomous agents,” or “conventional rules that govern the set of possible behavior patterns within a heterogeneous system” (7). In his analysis, these agreed-upon standardised actions operate as a style of management fostered by contradiction: progressive though reactionary, encouraging diversity by striving for the universal, synonymous with possibility but completely predetermined, and so on (243-244). Needless to say, political uncertainties arise from a paradigm that generates internal material obscurities through a constant twinning of freedom and control. For Wendy Hui Kyong Chun, these Cold War systems subvert the possibilities for any actual experience of autonomy by generalising paranoia through constant intrusion and reducing social problems to questions of technological optimisation (1-30). In confrontation with these seemingly ubiquitous regulatory structures, cultural theory requires a critical vocabulary differentiated from computer engineering to account for the sociality that permeates through and concatenates technological realities. In his recent work on “mundane” devices, software and code, Adrian McKenzie introduces a relevant analytic approach in the concept of technological action as something that both abstracts and concretises relations in a diffusion of collective-individual forces. Drawing on the thought of French philosopher Gilbert Simondon, he uses the term “transduction” to identify a key characteristic of technology in the relational process of becoming, or ontogenesis. This is described as bringing together disparate things into composites of relations that evolve and propagate a structure throughout a domain, or “overflow existing modalities of perception and movement on many scales” (“Impersonal and Personal Forces in Technological Action” 201). Most importantly, these innovative diffusions or contagions occur by bridging states of difference or incompatibilities. Technological action, therefore, arises from a particular type of disjunctive relation between an entity and something external to itself: “in making this relation, technical action changes not only the ensemble, but also the form of life of its agent. Abstraction comes into being and begins to subsume or reconfigure existing relations between the inside and outside” (203). Here, reciprocal interactions between two states or dimensions actualise disparate potentials through metastability: an equilibrium that proliferates, unfolds, and drives individuation. While drawing on cybernetics and dealing with specific technological platforms, McKenzie’s work can be extended to describe the significance of informational devices throughout control societies as a whole, particularly as a predictive and future-orientated force that thrives on staged conflicts. Moreover, being a non-deterministic technical theory, it additionally speaks to new tendencies in regimes of production that harness cognition and cooperation through specially designed infrastructures to enact persistent innovation without any end-point, final goal or natural target (Thrift 283-295). Here, the interface between intellectual property and reproduction can be seen as a site of variation that weaves together disparate objects and entities by imbrication in social life itself. These are specific acts of interference that propel relations toward unforeseen conclusions by drawing on memories, attention spans, material-technical traits, and so on. The focus lies on performance, context, and design “as a continual process of tuning arrived at by distributed aspiration” (Thrift 295). This later point is demonstrated in recent scholarly treatments of filesharing networks as media ecologies. Kate Crawford, for instance, describes the movement of P2P as processual or adaptive, comparable to technological action, marked by key transitions from partially decentralised architectures such as Napster, to the fully distributed systems of Gnutella and seeded swarm-based networks like BitTorrent (30-39). Each of these technologies can be understood as a response to various legal incursions, producing radically dissimilar socio-technological dynamics and emergent trends for how agency is modulated by informational exchanges. Indeed, even these aberrant formations are characterised by modes of commodification that continually spillover and feedback on themselves, repositioning markets and commodities in doing so, from MP3s to iPods, P2P to broadband subscription rates. However, one key limitation of this ontological approach is apparent when dealing with the sheer scale of activity involved, where mass participation elicits certain degrees of obscurity and relative safety in numbers. This represents an obvious problem for analysis, as dynamics can easily be identified in the broadest conceptual sense, without any understanding of the specific contexts of usage, political impacts, and economic effects for participants in their everyday consumptive habits. Large-scale distributed ensembles are “problematic” in their technological constitution, as a result. They are sites of expansive overflow that provoke an equivalent individuation of thought, as the Recording Industry Association of America observes on their educational website: “because of the nature of the theft, the damage is not always easy to calculate but not hard to envision” (“Piracy”). The politics of the filesharing debate, in this sense, depends on the command of imaginaries; that is, being able to conceptualise an overarching structural consistency to a persistent and adaptive ecology. As a mode of tactical intervention, Amazon Noir dramatises these ambiguities by framing technological action through the fictional sensibilities of narrative genre. Ambiguity, Control The extensive use of imagery and iconography from “noir” can be understood as an explicit reference to the increasing criminalisation of copyright violation through digital technologies. However, the term also refers to the indistinct or uncertain effects produced by this tactical intervention: who are the “bad guys” or the “good guys”? Are positions like ‘good’ and ‘evil’ (something like freedom or tyranny) so easily identified and distinguished? As Paolo Cirio explains, this political disposition is deliberately kept obscure in the project: “it’s a representation of the actual ambiguity about copyright issues, where every case seems to lack a moral or ethical basis” (“Amazon Noir Interview”). While user communications made available on the site clearly identify culprits (describing the project as jeopardising arts funding, as both irresponsible and arrogant), the self-description of the artists as political “failures” highlights the uncertainty regarding the project’s qualities as a force of long-term social renewal: Lizvlx from Ubermorgen.com had daily shootouts with the global mass-media, Cirio continuously pushed the boundaries of copyright (books are just pixels on a screen or just ink on paper), Ludovico and Bernhard resisted kickback-bribes from powerful Amazon.com until they finally gave in and sold the technology for an undisclosed sum to Amazon. Betrayal, blasphemy and pessimism finally split the gang of bad guys. (“Press Release”) Here, the adaptive and flexible qualities of informatic commodities and computational systems of distribution are knowingly posited as critical limits; in a certain sense, the project fails technologically in order to succeed conceptually. From a cynical perspective, this might be interpreted as guaranteeing authenticity by insisting on the useless or non-instrumental quality of art. However, through this process, Amazon Noir illustrates how forces confined as exterior to control (virality, piracy, noncommunication) regularly operate as points of distinction to generate change and innovation. Just as hackers are legitimately employed to challenge the durability of network exchanges, malfunctions are relied upon as potential sources of future information. Indeed, the notion of demonstrating ‘autonomy’ by illustrating the shortcomings of software is entirely consistent with the logic of control as a modulating organisational diagram. These so-called “circuit breakers” are positioned as points of bifurcation that open up new systems and encompass a more general “abstract machine” or tendency governing contemporary capitalism (Parikka 300). As a consequence, the ambiguities of Amazon Noir emerge not just from the contrary articulation of intellectual property and digital technology, but additionally through the concept of thinking “resistance” simultaneously with regimes of control. This tension is apparent in Galloway’s analysis of the cybernetic machines that are synonymous with the operation of Deleuzian control societies – i.e. “computerised information management” – where tactical media are posited as potential modes of contestation against the tyranny of code, “able to exploit flaws in protocological and proprietary command and control, not to destroy technology, but to sculpt protocol and make it better suited to people’s real desires” (176). While pushing a system into a state of hypertrophy to reform digital architectures might represent a possible technique that produces a space through which to imagine something like “our” freedom, it still leaves unexamined the desire for reformation itself as nurtured by and produced through the coupling of cybernetics, information theory, and distributed networking. This draws into focus the significance of McKenzie’s Simondon-inspired cybernetic perspective on socio-technological ensembles as being always-already predetermined by and driven through asymmetries or difference. As Chun observes, consequently, there is no paradox between resistance and capture since “control and freedom are not opposites, but different sides of the same coin: just as discipline served as a grid on which liberty was established, control is the matrix that enables freedom as openness” (71). Why “openness” should be so readily equated with a state of being free represents a major unexamined presumption of digital culture, and leads to the associated predicament of attempting to think of how this freedom has become something one cannot not desire. If Amazon Noir has political currency in this context, however, it emerges from a capacity to recognise how informational networks channel desire, memories, and imaginative visions rather than just cultivated antagonisms and counterintuitive economics. As a final point, it is worth observing that the project was initiated without publicity until the settlement with Amazon.com. There is, as a consequence, nothing to suggest that this subversive “event” might have actually occurred, a feeling heightened by the abstractions of software entities. To the extent that we believe in “the big book heist,” that such an act is even possible, is a gauge through which the paranoia of control societies is illuminated as a longing or desire for autonomy. As Hakim Bey observes in his conceptualisation of “pirate utopias,” such fleeting encounters with the imaginaries of freedom flow back into the experience of the everyday as political instantiations of utopian hope. Amazon Noir, with all its underlying ethical ambiguities, presents us with a challenge to rethink these affective investments by considering our profound weaknesses to master the complexities and constant intrusions of control. It provides an opportunity to conceive of a future that begins with limits and limitations as immanently central, even foundational, to our deep interconnection with socio-technological ensembles. References “Amazon Noir – The Big Book Crime.” http://www.amazon-noir.com/>. Bey, Hakim. T.A.Z.: The Temporary Autonomous Zone, Ontological Anarchy, Poetic Terrorism. New York: Autonomedia, 1991. Chun, Wendy Hui Kyong. Control and Freedom: Power and Paranoia in the Age of Fibre Optics. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2006. Crawford, Kate. “Adaptation: Tracking the Ecologies of Music and Peer-to-Peer Networks.” Media International Australia 114 (2005): 30-39. Cubitt, Sean. “Distribution and Media Flows.” Cultural Politics 1.2 (2005): 193-214. Deleuze, Gilles. Foucault. Trans. Seán Hand. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1986. ———. “Control and Becoming.” Negotiations 1972-1990. Trans. Martin Joughin. New York: Columbia UP, 1995. 169-176. ———. “Postscript on the Societies of Control.” Negotiations 1972-1990. Trans. Martin Joughin. New York: Columbia UP, 1995. 177-182. Eriksson, Magnus, and Rasmus Fleische. “Copies and Context in the Age of Cultural Abundance.” Online posting. 5 June 2007. Nettime 25 Aug 2007. Galloway, Alexander. Protocol: How Control Exists after Decentralization. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2004. Hardt, Michael, and Antonio Negri. Multitude: War and Democracy in the Age of Empire. New York: Penguin Press, 2004. Harold, Christine. OurSpace: Resisting the Corporate Control of Culture. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 2007. Lessig, Lawrence. Code and Other Laws of Cyberspace. New York: Basic Books, 1999. McKenzie, Adrian. Cutting Code: Software and Sociality. New York: Peter Lang, 2006. ———. “The Strange Meshing of Impersonal and Personal Forces in Technological Action.” Culture, Theory and Critique 47.2 (2006): 197-212. Parikka, Jussi. “Contagion and Repetition: On the Viral Logic of Network Culture.” Ephemera: Theory & Politics in Organization 7.2 (2007): 287-308. “Piracy Online.” Recording Industry Association of America. 28 Aug 2007. http://www.riaa.com/physicalpiracy.php>. Sundaram, Ravi. “Recycling Modernity: Pirate Electronic Cultures in India.” Sarai Reader 2001: The Public Domain. Delhi, Sarai Media Lab, 2001. 93-99. http://www.sarai.net>. Terranova, Tiziana. “Communication beyond Meaning: On the Cultural Politics of Information.” Social Text 22.3 (2004): 51-73. ———. “Of Sense and Sensibility: Immaterial Labour in Open Systems.” DATA Browser 03 – Curating Immateriality: The Work of the Curator in the Age of Network Systems. Ed. Joasia Krysa. New York: Autonomedia, 2006. 27-38. Thrift, Nigel. “Re-inventing Invention: New Tendencies in Capitalist Commodification.” Economy and Society 35.2 (2006): 279-306. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Dieter, Michael. "Amazon Noir: Piracy, Distribution, Control." M/C Journal 10.5 (2007). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0710/07-dieter.php>. APA Style Dieter, M. (Oct. 2007) "Amazon Noir: Piracy, Distribution, Control," M/C Journal, 10(5). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0710/07-dieter.php>.

APA, Harvard, Vancouver, ISO, and other styles

Abstract:

Iain Sinclair is a writer who is synonymous with a city. Sinclair’s sustained literary engagement with London from the mid 1960s has produced a singular account of place in that city (Bond; Baker; Seale “Iain Sinclair”). Sinclair is a leading figure in a resurgent and rebranded psychogeographic literature of the 1990s (Coverley) where on-foot wandering through the city brings forth narrative. Sinclair’s wandering, materialised as walking, is central to the claim of intimacy with the city that underpins his authority as a London writer. Furthermore, embodied encounters with the urban landscape through the experience of “getting lost” in urban environments are key to his literary methodology. Through works such as Lights Out for the Territory (2007), Sinclair has been repeatedly cast as a key chronicler of London, a city focused with capitalist determination on the future while redolent, even weighted, with a past that, as Sinclair says himself, is there for the wanderer to uncover (Dirda).In this essay, we examine how Sinclair’s wandering makes place in London. We are interested not only in Sinclair’s wandering as a spatial or cultural “intervention” in the city, as it is frequently positioned in critiques of his writing (Wolfreys). We are also interested in how Sinclair’s literary methodology of wandering undertakes its own work of placemaking in material ways that are often obscured because of how his work is positioned within particular traditions of wandering, including those of psychogeography and the flâneur. It is our contention that Sinclair’s wandering has an ambivalent relationship with place in London. It belongs to the tradition of the wanderer as a radical outsider with an alternative practice and perspective on place, but also contributes to contemporary placemaking in a global, neo-liberal London.Wandering as Literary MethodologyIain Sinclair’s writing about London is considered both “visionary” and “documentary” in its ambitions and has been praised as “giving voice to lost, erased, or forgotten histories or memories” (Baker 63). Sinclair is the “raging prophet” (Kerr) for a transforming and disappearing city. This perspective is promulgated by Sinclair himself, who in interviews refers to his practice as “bearing witness” to the erasures of particular place cultures, communities, and their histories that a rapidly gentrifying city entails (Sinclair quoted in O’Connell). The critical reception of Sinclair’s perambulation mostly follows Michel de Certeau’s observation that walking is a kind of reading/writing practice that “makes the invisible legible” (Baker 28). Sinclair’s wandering, and the encounters it mobilises, are a form of storytelling, which bring into proximity complex and forgotten narratives of place.Sinclair may “dive in” to the city, yet his work writing and rewriting urban space is usually positioned as representational. London is a text, “a system of signs […], the material city becoming the (non-material) map” (Baker 29). Sinclair’s wandering is understood as writing about urban transformation in London, rather than participating in it through making place. The materiality of Sinclair’s wandering in the city—his walking, excavating, encountering—may be acknowledged, but it is effectively dematerialised by the critical focus on his self-conscious literary treatment of place in London. Simon Perril has called Sinclair a “modernist magpie” (312), both because his mode of intertextuality borrows from Modernist experiments in form, style, and allusion, and because the sources of many of his intertexts are Modernist writers. Sinclair mines a rich seam of literature, Modernist and otherwise, that is produced in and about London, as well as genealogies of other legendary London wanderers. The inventory includes: “the rich midden of London’s sub-cultural fiction, terse proletarian narratives of lives on the criminous margin” (Sinclair Lights Out, 312) in the writing of Alexander Baron and Emanuel Litvinoff; the small magazine poetry of the twentieth century British Poetry Revival; and the forgotten suburban writings of David Gascoyne, “a natural psychogeographer, tracking the heat spores of Rimbaud, from the British Museum to Wapping and Limehouse” (Atkins and Sinclair 146). Sinclair’s intertextual “loiterature” (Chambers), his wayward, aleatory wandering through London’s archives, is one of two interconnected types of wandering in Sinclair’s literary methodology. The other is walking through the city. In a 2017 interview, Sinclair argued that the two were necessarily interconnected in writing about place in London:The idea of writing theoretical books about London burgeoned as a genre. At the same time, the coffee table, touristy books about London emerged—the kinds of books that can be written on Google, rather than books that are written by people of the abyss. I’m interested in someone who arrives and takes this journey into the night side of London in the tradition of Mayhew or Dickens, who goes out there and is constantly wandering and finding and having collisions and bringing back stories and shaping a narrative. There are other people who are doing things in a similar way, perhaps with a more journalistic approach, finding people and interviewing them and taking their stories. But many books about London are very conceptual and just done by doing research sitting at a laptop. I don’t think this challenges the city. It’s making a parallel city of the imagination, of literature. (Sinclair quoted in O'Connell)For Sinclair, then, walking is as much a literary methodology as reading, archival research, or intertextuality is.Wandering as Urban InterventionPerhaps one of Sinclair’s most infamous walks is recorded in London Orbital (2003), where he wandered the 127 miles of London’s M25 ring road. London Orbital is Sinclair’s monumental jeremiad against the realpolitik of late twentieth-century neo-liberalism and the politicised spatialisation and striation of London by successive national and local governments. The closed loop of the M25 motorway recommends itself to governmental bodies as a regulated form that functions as “a prophylactic, […] a tourniquet” (1) controlling the flow (with)in and (with)out of London. Travellers’ movements are impeded when the landscape is cut up by the motorway. Walking becomes a marginalised activity it its wake, and the surveillance and distrust to which Sinclair is subject realises the concerns foreshadowed by Walter Benjamin regarding the wanderings of the flâneur. In the Arcades Project, Benjamin quoted a 1936 newspaper article, pessimistically titled “Le dernier flâneur” [The last flâneur]:A man who goes for a walk ought not to have to concern himself with any hazards he may run into, or with the regulations of a city. […] But he cannot do this today without taking a hundred precautions, without asking the advice of the police department, without mixing with a dazed and breathless herd, for whom the way is marked out in advance by bits of shining metal. If he tries to collect the whimsical thoughts that may have come to mind, very possibly occasioned by sights on the street, he is deafened by car horns, [and] stupefied by loud talkers […]. (Jaloux, quoted in Benjamin 435)Susan Buck-Morss remarks that flâneurs are an endangered species in the contemporary city: “like tigers, or pre-industrial tribes, [they] are cordoned off on reservations, preserved within the artificially created environments of pedestrian streets, parks, and underground passages” (344). To wander from these enclosures, or from delineated paths, is to invite suspicion as the following unexceptional anecdote from London Orbital illustrates:NO PUBLIC RITE [sic] OF WAY. Footpaths, breaking towards the forest, have been closed off. You are obliged to stick to the Lee Navigation, the contaminated ash conglomerate of the Grey Way. Enfield has been laid out in grids; long straight roads, railways, fortified blocks. […] In a canalside pub, they deny all knowledge of the old trace. Who walks? “There used to be a road,” they admit. It’s been swallowed up in this new development, Enfield Island Village. […] The hard hat mercenaries of Fairview New Homes […] are suspicious of our cameras. Hands cover faces. Earth-movers rumble straight at us. A call for instruction muttered into their lapels: “Strangers. Travellers.” (69-70)There is an excess to wandering, leading to incontinent ideas, extreme verbiage, compulsive digression, excessive quotation. De Certeau in his study of the correlation between navigating urban and textual space speaks of “the unlimited diversity” of the walk, highlighting its improvised nature, and the infinite possibilities it proposes. Footsteps are equated with thoughts, multiplying unchecked: “They are myriad, but do not compose a series. […] Their swarming mass is an innumerable collection of singularities” (97). Throughout the 1980s and 1990s, the erratic trajectories, digression, and diversion of Sinclair’s wanderings are aligned with a tradition of the flâneur as hom*o ludens (Huizinga) or practitioner of the Situationist derive, as theorised by Guy Debord:The dérive entails playful-constructive behaviour and awareness of psychogeographical effects, which completely distinguishes it from the classical notions of the journey or the stroll. In a dérive one or more persons during a certain period drop their usual motives for movement and action, their relations, their work and leisure activities, and let themselves be drawn by the attractions of the terrain and the encounters they find there. The element of chance is less determinant than one might think: from the dérive point of view, cities have a psychogeographical relief, with constant currents, fixed points and vortexes that strongly discourage entry into or exit from certain zones. (“Theory of the dérive” 50)Like Charles Baudelaire’s painter of modern life, Sinclair is happily susceptible to distraction. The opening essay of Lights Out is a journey through London with the ostensible purpose of diligently researching and reporting on the language he detects on his travels. However, the map for the walk is only ever half-hearted, and Sinclair admits to “hoping for some accident to bring about a final revision” (5). Sinclair’s walks welcome the random and when he finds the detour to disfigure his route, he is content: “Already the purity of the [walk] has been despoiled. Good” (8). Wandering’s Double Agent: Sinclair’s Placemaking in LondonMuch has been made of the flâneur as he appears in Sinclair’s work (Seale “Eye-Swiping”). Nevertheless, Sinclair echoes Walter Benjamin in declaring the flâneur, as previously stereotyped, to be impossible in the contemporary city. The fugeur is one détournement (Debord “Détournement”) of the flâneur that Sinclair proposes. In London Orbital, Sinclair repeatedly refers to his wandering as a fugue. A fugue is defined in the Oxford English Dictionary as a “flight from or loss of the awareness of one’s identity, sometimes involving wandering away from home, and often occurring as a reaction to shock or emotional stress.” As Sinclair explains:I found the term fugueur more attractive than the now overworked flâneur. Fugueur had the smack of a swear word […]. Fugueur was the right job description for our walk, our once-a-month episodes of transient mental illness. Madness as a voyage. […] The fugue is both drift and fracture. (London Orbital, 146)Herbert Marcuse observed that to refuse to comply with capitalist behaviour is to be designated irrational, and thus relegate oneself to the periphery of society (9). The neo-liberal city’s enforcement of particular spatial and temporal modalities that align with the logic of purpose, order, and productivity is antagonistic to wandering. The fugue state, then, can rupture the restrictive logic of capitalism’s signifying chains through regaining forcibly expurgated ideas and memories. The walk around the M25 has an unreason to it: the perversity of wandering a thoroughfare designed for cars. In another, oft-quoted passage from Lights Out, Sinclair proposes another avatar of the flâneur:The concept of “strolling”, aimless urban wandering […] had been superseded. We had moved into the age of the stalker; journeys made with intent—sharp-eyed and unsponsored. The stalker was our role model: purposed hiking, not dawdling, nor browsing. No time for the savouring of reflections in shop windows, admiration for Art Nouveau ironwork, attractive matchboxes rescued from the gutter. This was walking with a thesis. With a prey. […] The stalker is a stroller who sweats, a stroller who knows where he is going, but not why or how. (75)Not only has the flâneur evolved into something far more exacting and purposeful, but as we want to illuminate, the flâneur’s wandering has evolved into something more material than transforming urban experience and encounter into art or literature as Baudelaire described. In a recent interview, Sinclair stated: The walker exists in a long tradition, and, for me, it’s really vital to simply be out there every day—not only because it feels good, but because in doing it you contribute to the microclimate of the city. As you withdraw energy from the city, you are also giving energy back. People are noticing you. You’re doing something, you’re there, the species around you absorb your presence into it, and you become part of this animate entity called the city. (Sinclair quoted in O'Connell)Sinclair’s acknowledgement that he is acting upon the city through his wandering is also an acknowledgement of a material, grounded interplay between what Jonathan Raban has called the “soft” and the “hard” city: “The city as we might imagine it, the soft city of illusion, myth, aspiration, nightmare, is as real, maybe more real, than the hard city one can locate in maps and statistics, in monographs on urban sociology and demography and architecture” (quoted in Manley 6). Readers and critics may gravitate to the soft city of Sinclair, but as Donald puts it, “The challenge is to draw the connections between place, archive, and imagination, not only by tracing those links in literary representations of London, but also by observing and describing the social, cultural, and subjective functions of London literature and London imagery” (in Manley, 262).Sinclair’s most recent longform book, The Last London (2017), is bracketed at both beginning and end with the words from the diarist of the Great Fire of 1666, John Evelyn: “London was, but is no more.” Sinclair’s evocation of the disaster that razed seventeenth-century London is a declaration that twenty-first century London, too, has been destroyed. This time by an unsavoury crew of gentrifiers, property developers, politicians, hyper-affluent transplants, and the creative classes. Writers are a sub-category of this latter group. Ambivalence and complicity are always there for Sinclair. On the one hand, his wanderings have attributed cultural value to previously overlooked aspects of London by the very virtue of writing about them. On the other hand, Sinclair argues that the value of these parts of the city hinges on their neglect by the dominant culture, which, of course, is no longer possible when his writing illuminates them. Certainly, wandering the city excavating the secret histories of cities has acquired an elevated cultural currency since Sinclair started writing. In making the East End “so gothically juicy”, Sinclair inaugurated a stream of new imaginings from “young acolyte psychogeographers” (McKay). Moreover, McKay points out that “Sinclair once wryly noted that anywhere he ‘nominated’ soon became an estate agent vision of luxury lifestyle”.Iain Sinclair’s London wanderings, then, call for a recognition that is more-than-literary. They are what we have referred to elsewhere as “worldly texts” (Potter and Seale, forthcoming), texts that have more-than-literary effects and instead are materially entangled in generating transformative conditions of place. Our understanding sits alongside the insights of literary geography, especially Sheila Hones’s concept of the text as a “spatial event”. In this reckoning, texts are spatio-temporal happenings that are neither singular nor have one clear “moment” of emergence. Rather, texts come into being across time and space, and in this sense can be understood as assemblages that include geographical locations, material contexts, and networks of production and reception. Literary effects are materially, collaboratively, and spatially generated in the world and have “territorial consequences”, as Jon Anderson puts it (127). Sinclair’s writings, we contend, can be seen as materialising versions of place that operate outside the assemblage of “literary” production and realise spatial and socio-economic consequence.Sinclair’s work does more than mimetically reproduce a “lost” London, or angrily write against the grain of neo-liberal gentrification. It is, in a sense, a geographic constituent that cannot be disaggregated from the contemporary dynamics of the privileges and exclusions of city. This speaks to the author’s ambivalence about his role as a central figure in London writing. For example, it has been noted that Sinclair is “aware of the charge that he’s been responsible as anyone for the fetishization of London’s decrepitude, contributing to an aesthetic of urban decay that is now ubiquitous” (Day). Walking the East End in what he has claimed to be his “last” London book (2017), Sinclair is horrified by the prevalence of what he calls “poverty chic” at the erstwhile Spitalfields Market: a boutique called “Urban Decay” is selling high-end lipsticks with an optional eye makeover. Next door is the “Brokedown Palace […] offering expensive Patagonia sweaters and pretty colourful rucksacks.” Ironically, the aesthetics of decline and ruin that Sinclair has actively brought to public notice over the last thirty years are contributing to this urban renewal. It could also be argued that Sinclair’s wandering is guilty of “the violence of spokesmanship”, which sublimates the voices of others (Weston 274), and is surely no longer the voice of the wanderer as marginalised outsider. When textual actors become networked with place, there can be extra-textual consequences, such as Sinclair’s implication in the making of place in a globalised and gentrified London. It shifts understanding of Sinclair’s wandering from representational and hermeneutic interpretation towards materialism: from what wandering means to what wandering does. From this perspective, Sinclair’s wandering and writing does not end with the covers of his books. The multiple ontologies of Sinclair’s worldly texts expand and proliferate through the plurality of composing relations, which, in turn, produce continuous and diverse iterations in an actor-network with place in London. Sinclair’s wanderings produce an ongoing archive of the urban that continues to iteratively make place, through multiple texts and narrative engagements, including novels, non-fiction accounts, journalism, interviews, intermedia collaborations, and assembling with the texts of others—from the many other London authors to whom Sinclair refers, to the tour guides who lead Time Out walking tours of “Sinclair’s London”. Place in contemporary London therefore assembles across and through an actor-network in which Sinclair’s wandering participates. Ultimately, Sinclair’s wandering and placemaking affirm Manley’s statement that “the urban environment in which (and in response to which) so much of English literature has been written has itself been constructed in many respects by its representation in that literature—by the ideas, images, and styles created by writers who have experienced or inhabited it” (2).ReferencesAnderson, Jon. “Towards an Assemblage Approach to Literary Geography.” Literary Geographies 1.2 (2015): 120–137.Atkins, Marc and Iain Sinclair. Liquid City. London: Reaktion, 1999.Baker, Brian. Iain Sinclair. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2007.Baudelaire, Charles. The Painter of Modern Life and Other Essays. Trans. and ed. Jonathan Mayne. London and New York: Phaidon, 1995.Benjamin, Walter. The Arcades Project. Trans. Howard Eiland and Kevin McLaughlin. Ed. Rolf Tiedmann. Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press, 2002.Bond, Robert. Iain Sinclair. Cambridge: Salt Publishing, 2005.Buck-Morss, Susan. The Dialectics of Seeing: Walter Benjamin and the Arcades Project. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1989.Chambers, Russ. Loiterature. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1999.Coverley, Merlin. Psychogeography. Harpenden: Pocket Essentials, 2005.Day, Jon. “The Last London by Iain Sinclair Review—an Elegy for a City Now Lost.” The Guardian 27 Sep. 2017. 7 July 2017 <https://www.theguardian.com/books/2017/sep/27/last-london-iain-sinclair-review>.Debord, Guy. “Theory of the Dérive.” Situationist International Anthology. Trans. and ed. Ken Knabb. Berkeley, Calif.: Bureau of Public Secrets, 1981.———. “Détournement as Negation and Prelude.” Situationist International Anthology. Trans. and ed. Ken Knabb. Berkeley, Calif.: Bureau of Public Secrets, 1981.De Certeau, Michel. The Practice of Everyday Life. Trans. Steven Rendall. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984.Dirda, Michael. “Modern Life, as Seen by a Writer without a Smart Phone.” The Washington Post 17 Jan. 2018. 4 July 2018 <https://www.washingtonpost.com/entertainment/books/modern-life-as-seen-by-an-artist-without-a-phone/2018/01/17/6d0b779c-fb07-11e7-8f66-2df0b94bb98a_story.html?noredirect=on&utm_term=.9333f36c6212>.Hones, Sheila. “Text as It Happens: Literary Geography.” Geography Compass 2.5 (2008): 301–1307.Huizinga, Johan. hom*o Ludens: A Study of the Play-Element in Culture. Boston: Beacon Press, 1955.Kerr, Joe. “The Habit of Hackney: Joe Kerr on Iain Sinclair.” Architects’ Journal 11 Mar. 2009. 8 July 2017 <https://www.architectsjournal.co.uk/home/the-habit-of-hackney-joe-kerr-on-iain-sinclair/1995066.article>.Manley, Lawrence, ed. The Cambridge Companion to the Literature of London. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011.Marcuse, Herbert. One-Dimensional Man. London and New York: Routledge, 2002.McKay, Sinclair. “Is It Time for All Lovers of London to Pack up?” The Spectator 2 Sep. 2017. 6 July 2018 <https://www.spectator.co.uk/2017/09/is-it-time-for-all-lovers-of-london-to-pack-up/>.O’Connell, Teresa. “Iain Sinclair: Walking Is a Democracy.” Guernica 16 Nov. 2017. 7 July 2018 <https://www.guernicamag.com/iain-sinclair-walking-democracy/>.Perril, Simon. “A Cartography of Absence: The Work of Iain Sinclair.” Comparative Criticism 19 (1997): 309–339.Potter, Emily, and Kirsten Seale. “The Worldly Text and the Production of More-than-Literary Place: Helen Garner’s Monkey Grip and Melbourne’s ‘Inner North’”. Cultural Geographies (forthcoming 2019).Seale, Kirsten. “‘Eye-Swiping’ London: Iain Sinclair, Photography and the Flâneur.” Literary London 3.2 (2005).———. “Iain Sinclair’s Archive.” Sydney Review of Books. 10 Sep. 2018. 12 July 2019 <https://sydneyreviewofbooks.com/sinclair-last-london/>.Sinclair, Iain. Dining on Stones, or, The Middle Ground. London: Hamish Hamilton, 2004.———. Lights Out for the Territory. London: Granta, 1997.———. London Orbital. London: Penguin, 2003.———. The Last London: True Fictions from an Unreal City. London: Oneworld Publications, 2017.Weston, Daniel. “‘Against the Grand Project’: Iain Sinclair’s Local London.” Contemporary Literature 56.2 (2015): 255–280. Wolfreys, Julian. Writing London: Materiality, Memory, Spectrality Volume 2. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004.

APA, Harvard, Vancouver, ISO, and other styles

Abstract:

IntroductionIn late 2016, I undertook a short-term, three-month project to share some of my research through my Instagram account using the categorising hashtag #AustralianBeachspace. Much of this work emerged from my PhD thesis, which is being published in journal articles, but has yet to be published in any accessible or overarching way. I wanted to experiment with the process of using a visual social media tool for research dissemination. I felt that Instagram’s ability to combine text and image allowed for an aesthetically interesting way to curate this particular research project. My research is concerned with representations of the Australian beach, and thus the visual, image-based focus of Instagram seemed ideal. In this article, I briefly examine some of the existing research around academic practices of research dissemination, social media use, and the emerging research around Instagram itself. I then will examine my own experience of using Instagram as a tool for depicting curated, aesthetically-driven, research dissemination and reflect whether this use of Instagram is effective for representing and disseminating research. Research DisseminationResearchers, especially those backed by public funding, are always bound by the necessity of sharing the findings and transferring the knowledge gained during the research process. Research metrics are linked to workload allocations and promotion pathways for university researchers, providing clear motivation to maintain an active research presence. For most academics, the traditional research dissemination strategies involve academic publications: peer-reviewed scholarly books and journal articles.For academics working within a higher education policy climate that centres on measuring impact and engagement, peer-reviewed publications remain the gold standard. There are indicators, however, that research dissemination strategies may need to include methods for targeting non-academic outputs. Gunn and Mintrom (21), in their recent research, “anticipate that governments will increasingly question the value of publicly funded research and seek to evaluate research impact”. And this process, they argue, is not without challenges. Education Minister Simon Birmingham supports their claim by suggesting the Turnbull Government is looking to find methods for more meaningful ways of evaluating value in higher education research outcomes, “rather than only allocating funding to researchers who spend their time trying to get published in journals” (para 5).It therefore makes sense that academics are investigating ways of using social media as a way of broadening their research dissemination, despite the fact social media metrics do not yet count towards traditional citations within the university sector.Research Dissemination via Social MediaThere has been an established practice of researchers using social media, especially blogging (Kirkup) and Twitter, as ways of sharing information about their current projects, their findings, their most recent publications, or to connect with colleagues. Gruzd, Staves, and Wilk (2348) investigated social media use by academics, suggesting “scholars are turning to social media tools professionally because they are more convenient for making new connections with peers, collaboration, and research dissemination”. It is possible to see social media functioning as a new way of representing research – playing an important role in the shaping and developing of ideas, sharing those ideas, and functioning as a dissemination tool after the research has concluded.To provide context for the use of social media in research, this section briefly covers blogging and Twitter, two methods considered somewhat separated from university frameworks, and also professional platforms, such as Academia.edu and The Conversation.Perhaps the tool that has the most history in providing another avenue for academics to share their work is academic blogging. Blogging is considered an avenue that allows for discussion of topics prior to publication (Bukvova, 4; Powell, Jacob, and Chapman, 273), and often uses a more conversational tone than academic publishing. It provides opportunity to share research in long form to an open, online audience. Academic blogs have also become significant parts of online academic communities, such as the highly successful blog, The Thesis Whisperer, targeted for research students. However, many researchers in this space note the stigma attached to blogging (and other forms of social media) as useless or trivial; for instance, in Gruzd, Staves, and Wilk’s survey of academic users of social media, an overwhelming majority of respondents suggested that institutions do not recognise these activities (2343). Because blogging is not counted in publication metrics, it is possible to dismiss this type of activity as unnecessary.Twitter has garnered attention within the academic context because of its proliferation in conference engagement and linking citation practices of scholars (Marht, Weller, and Peters, 401–406). Twitter’s platform lends itself as a place to share citations of recently published material and a way of connecting with academic peers in an informal, yet meaningful way. Veletsianos has undertaken an analysis of academic Twitter practices, and there is a rise in popularity of “Tweetable Abstracts” (Else), or the practice of refining academic abstracts into a shareable Tweet format. According to Powell, Jacob, and Chapman (272), new media (including both Twitter and the academic blog) offer opportunities to engage with an increasingly Internet-literate society in a way that is perhaps more meaningful and certainly more accessible than traditional academic journals. Like blogging, the use of Twitter within the active research phase and pre-publication, means the platform can both represent and disseminate new ideas and research findings.Both academic blogs and Twitter are widely accessible and can be read by Internet users beyond academia. It appears likely, however, that many blogs and academic Twitter profiles are still accessed and consumed primarily by academic audiences. This is more obvious in the increasingly popular specific academic social media platforms such as ResearchGate or Academia.edu.These websites are providing more targeted, niche communication and sharing channels for scholars working in higher education globally, and their use appears to be regularly encouraged by institutions. These sites attempt to mediate between open access and copyright in academic publishing, encouraging users to upload full-text documents of their publications as a means of generating more attention and citations (Academia.edu cites Niyazov et al’s study that suggests articles posted to the site had improved citation counts). ResearchGate and Academia.edu function primarily as article repositories, albeit with added social networking opportunities that differentiate them from more traditional university repositories.In comparison, the success of the online platform The Conversation, with its tagline “Academic rigour, journalistic flair”, shows the growing enthusiasm and importance of engaging with more public facing outlets to share forms of academic writing. Many researchers are using The Conversation as a way of sharing their research findings through more accessible, shorter articles designed for the general public; these articles regularly link to the traditional academic publications as well.Research dissemination, and how the uptake of online social networks is changing individual and institution-wide practices, is a continually expanding area of research. It is apparent that while The Conversation has been widely accepted and utilised as a tool of research dissemination, there is still some uncertainty about using social media as representing or disseminating findings and ideas because of the lack of impact metrics. This is perhaps even more notable in regards to Instagram, a platform that has received comparatively little discussion in academic research more broadly.Instagram as Social MediaInstagram is a photo sharing application that launched in 2010 and has seen significant uptake by users in that time, reaching 700 million monthly active users as of April 2017 (Instagram “700 Million”). Recent additions to the service, such as the “Snapchat clone” Instagram Stories, appear to have helped boost growth (Constine, para 4). Instagram then is a major player in the social media user market, and the emergence of academic research into the platform reflect this. Early investigations include Manikonda, Hu and Kambhampati’s analysis social networks, demographics, and activities of users in which they identified some clear differences in usage compared to Flickr (another photo-sharing network) and Twitter (5). Hochman and Manovich and Hochman and Schwartz examined what information visualisations generated from Instagram images can reveal about the “visual rhythms” of geographical locations such as New York City.To provide context for the use of Instagram as a way of disseminating research through a more curated, visual approach, this section will examine professional uses of Instagram, the role of Influencers, and some of the functionalities of the platform.Instagram is now a platform that caters for both personal and professional accounts. The user-interface allows for a streamlined and easily navigable process from taking a photo, adding filters or effects, and sharing the photo instantly. The platform has developed to include web-based access to complement the mobile application, and has also introduced Instagram Business accounts, which provide “real-time metrics”, “insights into your followers”, and the ability to “add information about your company” (Instagram “Instagram Business”). This also comes with the option to pay for advertisem*nts.Despite its name, many users of Instagram, especially those with profiles that are professional or business orientated, do not only produce instant content. While the features of Instagram, such as geotagging, timestamping, and the ability to use the camera from within the app, lend themselves to users capturing their everyday experience in the moment, more and more content is becoming carefully curated. As such, some accounts are blurring the line between personal and professional, becoming what Crystal Abidin calls Influencers, identifying the practice as when microcelebrities are able to use the “textual and visual narration of their personal, everyday lives” to generate paid advertorials (86). One effect of this, as Abidin investigates in the context of Singapore and the #OOTD (Outfit of the Day) hashtag, is the way “everyday Instagram users are beginning to model themselves after Influences” and therefore generate advertising content “that is not only encouraged by Influences and brands but also publicly utilised without remuneration” (87). Instagram, then, can be a very powerful platform for businesses to reach wide audiences, and the flexibility of caption length and visual content provides a type of viral curation practice as in the case of the #OOTD hashtag following.Considering the focus of my #AustralianBeachspace project on Australian beaches, many of the Instagram accounts and hashtags I encountered and engaged with were tourism related. Although this will be discussed in more detail below, it is worth noting that individual Influencers exist in these fields as well and often provide advertorial content for companies like accommodation chains or related products. One example is user @katgaskin, an Influencer who both takes photos, features in photos, and provides “organic” adverts for products and services (see image). Not all her photos are adverts; some are beach or ocean images without any advertorial content in the caption. In this instance, the use of distinctive photo editing, iconic imagery (the “salty pineapple” branding), and thematic content of beach and ocean landscapes, makes for a recognisable and curated aesthetic. Figure 1: An example from user @katgaskin's Instagram profile that includes a mention of a product. Image sourced from @katgaskin, uploaded 2 June 2017.@katgaskin’s profile’s aesthetic identity is, as such, linked with the ocean and the beach. Although her physical location regularly changes (her profile includes images from, for example, Nicaragua, Australia, and the United States), the thematic link is geographical. And research suggests the visual focus of Instagram lends itself to place-based content. As Hochman and Manovich state:While Instagram eliminates static timestamps, its interface strongly emphasizes physical place and users’ locations. The application gives a user the option to publicly share a photo’s location in two ways. Users can tag a photo to a specific venue, and then view all other photos that were taken and tagged there. If users do not choose to tag a photo to a venue, they can publically share their photos’ location information on a personal ‘photo-map’, displaying all photos on a zoomable word map. (para 14)This means that the use of place in the app is anchored to the visual content, not the uploader’s location. While it is possible to consider Instagram’s intention was to anchor the content and the uploader’s location together (as in the study conducted by Weilenmann, Hillman, and Jungselius that explored how Instagram was used in the museum), this is no longer always the case. In this way, Instagram is also providing a platform for more serious photographers to share their images after they have processed and edited them and connect the image with the image content rather than the uploader’s position.This place-based focus also shares origins in tourism photography practices. For instance, Kibby’s analysis of the use of Instagram as a method for capturing the “tourist gaze” in Monument Valley notes that users mostly wanted to capture the “iconic” elements of the site (most of which were landscape formations made notable through representations in popular culture).Another area of research into Instagram use is hashtag practice (see, for example, Ferrara, Interdonato, and Tagarelli). Highfield and Leaver have generated a methodology for mapping hashtags and analysing the information this can reveal about user practices. Many Instagram accounts use hashtags to provide temporal or place based information, some specific (such as #sunrise or #newyorkcity) and some more generic (such as #weekend or #beach). Of particular relevance here is the role hashtags play in generating higher levels of user engagement. It is also worth noting the role of “algorithmic personalization” introduced by Instagram earlier in 2017 and the lukewarm user response as identified by Mahnke Skrubbeltrang, Grunnet, and Tarp’s analysis, suggesting “users are concerned with algorithms dominating their experience, resulting in highly commercialised experience” (section 7).Another key aspect of Instagram’s functionality is linked to the aesthetic of the visual content: photographic filters. Now a mainstay of other platforms such as Facebook and Twitter, Instagram popularised the use of filters by providing easily accessible options within the app interface directly. Now, other apps such as VCSO allow for more detailed editing of images that can then be imported into Instagram; however, the pre-set filters have proven popular with large numbers of users. A study in 2014 by Araújo, Corrêa, da Silva et al found 76% of analysed images had been processed in some way.By considering the professional uses of Instagram and the functionality of the app (geotagging; hashtagging; and filters), it is possible to summarise Instagram as a social media platform that, although initially perhaps intended to capture the everyday visual experiences of amateur photographers using their smart phone, has adapted to become a network for sharing images that can be for both personal and professional purposes. It has a focus on place, with its geotagging capacity and hashtag practices, and can include captions The #AustralianBeachspace ProjectIn October 2016, I began a social media project called #AustralianBeachspace that was designed to showcase content from my PhD thesis and ongoing work into representations of Australian beaches in popular culture (a collection of the project posts only, as opposed to the ongoing Instagram profile, can be found here). The project was envisaged as a three month project; single posts (including an image and caption) were planned and uploaded six times a week (every day except Sundays). Although I have occasionally continued to use the hashtag since the project’s completion (on 24 Dec. 2016), the frequency and planned nature of the posts since then has significantly changed. What has not changed is the strong thematic through line of my posts, all of which continue to rely heavily on beach imagery. This is distinct from other academic social media use which if often more focused on the everyday activity of academia.Instagram was my social media choice for this project for two main reasons: I had no existing professional Instagram profile (unlike Twitter) and thus I could curate a complete project in isolation, and the subject of my PhD thesis was representations of Australian beaches in literature and film. As such, my research was appropriate for, and in fact was augmented by, visual depiction. It is also worth noting the tendency reported by myself and others (Huntsman; Booth) of academics not considering the beach an area worthy of focus. This resonates with Bech Albrechtslund and Albrechtslund’s argument that “social media practices associated with leisure and playfulness” are still meaningful and worthy of examination.Up until this point, my research outputs had been purely textual. I, therefore, needed to generate a significant number of visual elements to complement the vast amount of textual content already created. I used my PhD thesis to provide the thematic structure (I have detailed this process in more depth here), and then used the online tool Trello to plan, organise, and arrange the intended posts (image and caption). The project includes images taken by myself, my partner, and other images with no copyright limitations attached as sourced through photo sharing sites like Unsplash.com.The images were all selected because of their visual representation of an Australian beach, and the alignment of the image with the themes of the project. For instance, one theme focused on the under-represented negative aspects of the beach. One image used in this theme was a photo of Bondi Beach ocean pool, empty at night. I carefully curated the images and arranged them according to the thematic schedule (as can be seen below) and then wrote the accompanying textual captions. Figure 2: A sample of the schedule used for the posting of curated images and captions.While there were some changes to the schedule throughout (for instance, my attendance at the 2016 Sculpture by the Sea exhibition prompted me to create a sixth theme), the process of content curation and creation remained the same.Visual curation of the images was a particularly important aspect of the project, and I did use an external photo processing application to create an aesthetic across the collection. As Kibby notes, “photography is intrinsically linked with tourism” (para 9), and although not a tourism project inherently, #AustralianBeachspace certainly engaged with touristic tropes by focusing on Australian beaches, an iconic part of Australian national and cultural identity (Ellison 2017; Ellison and Hawkes 2016; Fiske, Hodge, and Turner 1987). However, while beaches are perhaps instinctively touristic in their focus on natural landscapes, this project was attempting to illustrate more complexity in this space (which mirrors an intention of my PhD thesis). As such, some images were chosen because of their “ordinariness” or their subversion of the iconic beach images (see below). Figures 3 and 4: Two images that capture some less iconic images of Australian beaches; one that shows an authentic, ordinary summer's day and another that shows an empty beach during winter.I relied on captions to provide the textual information about the image. I also included details about the photographer where possible, and linked all the images with the hashtag #AustralianBeachspace. The textual content, much of which emerged from ongoing and extensive research into the topic, was somewhat easier to collate. However, it required careful reworking and editing to suit the desired audience and to work in conjunction with the image. I kept captions to the approximate length of a paragraph and concerned with one point. This process forced me to distil ideas and concepts into short chunks of writing, which is distinct from other forms of academic output. This textual content was designed to be accessible beyond an academic audience, but still used a relatively formal voice (especially in comparison to more personal users of the platform).I provided additional hashtags in a first comment, which were intended to generate some engagement. Notably, these hashtags were content related (such as #beach and #surf; they were not targeting academic hashtags). At time of writing, my follower count is 70. The most liked (or “favourited”) photo from the project received 50 likes, and the most comments received was 6 (on a number of posts). Some photos published since the end of the project have received higher numbers of likes and comments. This certainly does not suggest enormous impact from this project. Hashtags utilised in this project were adopted from popular and related hashtags using the analytics tool Websta.me as well as hashtags used in similar content styled profiles, such as: #seeaustralia #thisisqueensland #visitNSW #bondibeach #sunshinecoast and so on. Notably, many of the hashtags were place-based. The engagement of this project with users beyond academia was apparent: followers and comments on the posts are more regularly from professional photographers, tourism bodies, or location-based businesses. In fact, because of the content or place-based hashtagging practices I employed, it was difficult to attract an academic audience at all. However, although the project was intended as an experiment with public facing research dissemination, I did not actively adopt a stringent engagement strategy and have not kept metrics per day to track engagement. This is a limitation of the study and undoubtedly allows scope for further research.ConclusionInstagram is a platform that does not have clear pathways for reaching academic audiences in targeted ways. At this stage, little research has emerged that investigates Instagram use among academics, although it is possible to presume there are similarities with blogging or Twitter (for example, conference posting and making connections with colleagues).However, the functionality of Instagram does lend itself to creating and curating aesthetically interesting ways of disseminating, and in fact representing, research. Ideas and findings must be depicted as images and captions, and the curatorial process of marrying visual images to complement or support textual information can make for more accessible and palatable content. Perhaps most importantly, the content is freely accessible and not locked behind paywalls or expensive academic publications. It can also be easily archived and shared.The #AustralianBeachspace project is small-scale and not indicative of widespread academic practice. However, examining the process of creating the project and the role Instagram may play in potentially reaching a more diverse, public audience for academic research suggests scope for further investigation. Although not playing an integral role in publication metrics and traditional measures of research impact, the current changing climate of higher education policy provides motivations to continue exploring non-traditional methods for disseminating research findings and tracking research engagement and impact.Instagram functions as a useful platform for sharing research data through a curated collection of images and captions. Rather than being a space for instant updates on the everyday life of the academic, it can also function in a more aesthetically interesting and dynamic way to share research findings and possibly generate wider, public-facing engagement for topics less likely to emerge from behind the confines of academic journal publications. ReferencesAbidin, Crystal. “Visibility Labour: Engaging with Influencers’ Fashion Brands and #Ootd Advertorial Campaigns on Instagram.” Media International Australia 161.1 (2016): 86–100. <http://journals.sagepub.com/doi/abs/10.1177/1329878X16665177>.Araújo, Camila Souza, Luiz Paulo Damilton Corrêa, Ana Paula Couto da Silva, et al. “It is Not Just a Picture: Revealing Some User Practices in Instagram.” Proceedings of the 9th Latin American Web Congress, Ouro Preto, Brazil, 22–24 October, 2014. <http://ieeexplore.ieee.org/stamp/stamp.jsp?arnumber=7000167>Bech Albrechtslund, Anne-Metter, and Anders Albrechtslund. “Social Media as Leisure Culture.” First Monday 19.4 (2014). <http://firstmonday.org/ojs/index.php/fm/article/view/4877/3867>.Birmingham, Simon. “2017 Pilot to Test Impact, Business Engagement of Researchers.” Media Release. Australian Government: Australian Research Council. 21 Nov. 2016. <http://www.arc.gov.au/news-media/media-releases/2017-pilot-test-impact-business-engagement-researchers>.Booth, Douglas. Australian Beach Cultures: The History of Sun, Sand, and Surf. London, United Kingdom: F. Cass, 2001.Bukvova, Helena. “Taking New Routes: Blogs, Web Sites, and Scientific Publishing.” ScieCom Info 7.2 (2011). 20 May 2017 <http://journals.lub.lu.se/index.php/sciecominfo/article/view/5148>.Constine, Josh. “Instagram’s Growth Speeds Up as It Hits 700 Million Users.” Techcrunch, 26 Apr. 2017. 1 June 2017 <https://techcrunch.com/2017/04/26/instagram-700-million-users/>.drlizellison. “Dr Liz Ellison.” Instagram.com, 2017. 8 June 2017 <http://www.instagram.com/drlizellison>.Ellison, Elizabeth. “The Australian Beachspace: Flagging the Spaces of Australian Beach Texts.” PhD thesis. Brisbane: Queensland U of Technology, 2013. <https://eprints.qut.edu.au/63468/>.Ellison, Elizabeth. “The Gritty Urban: The Australian Beach as City Periphery in Cinema.” Filmburia: Screening the Suburbs. Eds. David Forrest, Graeme Harper and Jonathan Rayner. UK: Palgrave Macmillan, 2017. 79–94.Ellison, Elizabeth, and Lesley Hawkes. “Australian Beachspace: The Plurality of an Iconic Site”. Borderlands e-Journal: New Spaces in the Humanities 15.1 (2016). 4 June 2017 <http://www.borderlands.net.au/vol15no1_2016/ellisonhawkes_beachspace.pdf>.Else, Holly. “Tell Us about Your Paper—and Make It Short and Tweet.” Times Higher Education, 9 July 2015. 1 June 2017 <https://www.timeshighereducation.com/opinion/tell-us-about-your-paper-and-make-it-short-and-tweet>.Ferrara, Emilio, Roberto Interdonato, and Andrea Tagarelli. “Online Popularity and Topical Interests through the Lens of Instagram.” Proceedings of the 25th ACM Conference on Hypertext and Social Media, Santiago, Chile, 1–4 Sep. 2014. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1145/2631775.2631808>.Gruzd, Anatoliy, Kathleen Staves, and Amanda Wilk. “Connected Scholars: Examining the Role of Social Media in Research Practices of Faculty Using the Utaut Model.” Computers in Human Behavior 28.6 (2012): 2340–50.Gunn, Andrew, and Michael Mintrom. “Evaluating the Non-Academic Impact of Academic Research: Design Considerations.” Journal of Higher Education Policy and Management 39.1 (2017): 20–30. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/1360080X.2016.1254429>.Highfield, Tim, and Tama Leaver. “A Methodology for Mapping Instagram Hashtags”. First Monday 20.1 (2015). 18 Oct. 2016 <http://firstmonday.org/ojs/index.php/fm/article/view/5563/4195>.Hochman, Nadav, and Lev Manovich. “Zooming into an Instagram City: Reading the Local through Social Media.” First Monday 18.7 (2013). <http://firstmonday.org/ojs/index.php/fm/article/view/4711/3698>.Hochman, Nadav, and Raz Schwartz. “Visualizing Instagram: Tracing Cultural Visual Rhythms.” Proceedings of the Workshop on Social Media Visualization (SocMedVis) in Conjunction with the Sixth International AAAI Conference on Weblogs and Social Media (ICWSM–12), 2012. 6–9. 2 June 2017 <http://razschwartz.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/Instagram_ICWSM12.pdf>.Huntsman, Leone. Sand in Our Souls: The Beach in Australian History. Carlton South, Victoria: Melbourne U Press, 2001.Instagram. “700 Million.” Instagram Blog, 26 Apr. 2017. 6 June 2017 <http://blog.instagram.com/post/160011713372/170426-700million>.Instagram. “Instagram Business.” 6 June 2017. <https://business.instagram.com/>.katgaskin. “Salty Pineapple”. Instagram.com, 2017. 2 June 2017 <https://www.instagram.com/katgaskin/>.katgaskin. “Salty Hair with a Pineapple Towel…” Instagram.com, 2 June 2017. 6 June 2017 <https://www.instagram.com/p/BU0zSWUF0cm/?taken-by=katgaskin>.Kibby, Marjorie Diane. “Monument Valley, Instagram, and the Closed Circle of Representation.” M/C Journal 19.5 (2016). 20 April 2017 <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/index.php/mcjournal/article/view/1152>.Kirkup, Gill. “Academic Blogging: Academic Practice and Academic Identity.” London Review of Education 8.1 (2010): 75–84.liz_ellison. “#AustralianBeachspace.” Storify.com. 8 June 2017. <https://storify.com/liz_ellison/australianbeachspace>.Mahnke Skrubbeltrang, Martina, Josefine Grunnet, and Nicolar Traasdahl Tarp. “#RIPINSTAGRAM: Examining User’s Counter-Narratives Opposing the Introduction of Algorithmic Personalization on Instagram.” First Monday 22.4 (2017). <http://firstmonday.org/ojs/index.php/fm/article/view/7574/6095>.Mahrt, Merja, Katrin Weller, and Isabella Peters. “Twitter in Scholarly Communication.” Twitter and Society. Eds. Katrin Weller, Axel Bruns, Jean Burgess, Merja Mahrt, and Cornelius Puschmann. New York: Peter Lang, 2014. 399–410. <https://eprints.qut.edu.au/66321/1/Twitter_and_Society_(2014).pdf#page=438>.Manikonda, Lydia, Yuheng Hu, and Subbarao Kambhampati. “Analyzing User Activities, Demographics, Social Network Structure and User-Generated Content on Instagram.” ArXiv (2014). 1 June 2017 <https://arxiv.org/abs/1410.8099>.Niyazov, Yuri, Carl Vogel, Richard Price, et al. “Open Access Meets Discoverability: Citations to Articles Posted to Academia.edu.” PloS One 11.2 (2016): e0148257. <https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0148257>.Powell, Douglas A., Casey J. Jacob, and Benjamin J. Chapman. “Using Blogs and New Media in Academic Practice: Potential Roles in Research, Teaching, Learning, and Extension.” Innovative Higher Education 37.4 (2012): 271–82. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/s10755-011-9207-7>.Veletsianos, George. “Higher Education Scholars' Participation and Practices on Twitter.” Journal of Computer Assisted Learning 28.4 (2012): 336–49. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1365-2729.2011.00449.x>.Weilenmann, Alexandra, Thomas Hillman, and Beata Jungselius. “Instagram at the Museum: Communicating the Museum Experience through Social Photo Sharing.” Proceedings of the SIGCHI Conference on Human Factors in Computing Systems. Paris: ACM Press, 2013. 1843–52. <dx.doi.org/10.1145/2470654.2466243>.