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January 31, 2012

Lights, Tinsel, Presence

Jennifer Deeger, Visiting Research Fellow at the National Institute for Experimental Arts, Univ. of New South Wales

As the holidays recede and we brace for the months ahead, might we take a moment for a backwards glance, so that I can share the highlight of my 2011?

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On 7 December, Miyarrka Media, the group I co-founded with Yolngu co-directors, Paul Gurrumuruwuy and Fiona Wanambi, and established video artist, David Mackenzie, launched our first exhibition, Christmas Birrimbirr (Christmas Spirit) as an experiment across the spaces of visual art, ethnographic film, and Yolngu ritual performance.

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Opened with energetic ceremony at Darwin's Chan Contemporary Art Space (see video below), the exhibition features a 40 minute three-channel video, a number of other shorter videos and projections, a ‘forest’ of logs painted with clan motifs surrounding a Christmas Tree sculpture, and a series of photographs generated by the project (such as the example above).


This complex and beautiful work is about many things. Drawing on the performative power of Yolngu aesthetics, it explores the Yolngu genius for cultural incorporation and ritual elaboration as an extended family decorate graves and homes in preparation for Christmas. As the sounds and images unfold, viewers encounter Christmas as a season in which the work of ritual is to make the dead—and palpable—to the living. In the process, the work reveals something of the new roles of photography in Yolngu ritual, the social force of shared grief in contemporary Yolngu lives, and the luminous power of tinsel, lights and video itself.

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As Gurrumuruwuy puts it, this is a project concerned with “sharing feelings”. To this end, the three screens format allow for a sensuous compression of time and an intensification of affect inspired by the structure of Yolngu ritual. There are no narration or subtitles (although supplementary footage screened in other parts of the gallery does include both these elements). At the centre of the space, the Christmas tree sculpture works to transform the gallery into a site of invisible as well as visible potency (as the text by Gurrumuruwuy placed under the tree explains).

“The lights of the Christmas tree will draw you close. It’s like in a ceremony ground. It’s signalling to all to come, sparking memories and stirring emotions, connecting us to those who’ve passed away. The gamununggu (paintings) I’ve done here connect straight to those three men and their families. There’s so much meaning here. It’s a forest of connection. A forest of feeling”.

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We formed Miyarrka Media in 2009 inspired to create a new kind of shared art practice. From the outset our aim was to use media in ways that resonated with Yolngu aesthetics and cultural values while providing new avenues for creativity and social engagement. From the first meeting, through the filming, editing and installation we have worked together to create something new, yet always true to its roots in the remote community of Gapuwiyak in Australia’s tropical north.

After years of talking about it, followed finally by several more years of production and post-production, it was totally exhilarating to see gallery visitors (strangers!) become engaged and moved by this intimate family production, staying to watch the full 40 minute loop and then spending time with the other elements of the exhibition. Perhaps even more satisfying (if extremely hard on the pocket) was the experience of installing and launching the work with the Yolngu families involved, experiencing it all coming together—the images activated and authorized through the ceremony—in ways that none of us were in a position to imagine at when we began.

Have a look at an edit that combines elements of the project here:

There’s also media coverage here:

Ed note: and some further coverage here and here

December 20, 2011

Artifacts, Openness and Digital Practice in Design Collaboration

We invite you to submit a short paper to participate in a discussion on “Artifacts, Openness and Digital Practice in Design Collaboration” at the 28th EGOS Colloquium 2012. The conference, organized around the theme of ‘Design!?’, will take place at the Aalto University and Hanken School of Economics in Helsinki, Finland from July 5-7, 2012.

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August 1, 2011

Bunjilaka's Two Laws & Koorie Voices: Museums, Indigenous Communities and Institutional Critique.

Anna Weinrich, NYU Museum Studies

“We do not choose to be enshrined in a glass case, with our story told by an alien institution which has appointed itself as an ambassador of our culture.”
(Tasmanian Aboriginal Center 1997)

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This quote serves as the large heading for the permanent exhibition Two Laws in Bunjilaka, the Melbourne Museum's Aboriginal Cultural Center. It is displayed alongside a number of Koorie artifacts and a life group-style, life-size model of their collector, Baldwin Spencer, the prominent anthropologist who directed the museum between 1899 and 1928. In this position, he carried out fieldwork and collected in Aboriginal communities around the town of Alice Springs in Australia's Northern Territory. The exhibition's head curator John Morton has described this strategy of exhibiting the collector alongside his collection as a “parody of standard museum display-practice” and “museuming the museum, although here the key audience is Indigenous Australia” (2004: 55).

My first visit to the center - and the Two Laws exhibit in particular – initially sparked my interest in the relationship between museums and Indigenous communities prior to having ever come across the terms of New or Critical Museology. Two Laws and Koorie Voices - another permanent installation in Bunjilaka's Jumbanna ('Storytelling') gallery space - critically negotiate some of the reoccurring themes of our seminar concerning the interrelations between anthropology, museums and indigenous communities - such as collection and exhibition practices, issues of intellectual property rights as well as ethnographic photography. The opening of the Cultural Center in 2000 falls into a period which is marked by the museological shift from a narrow anthropological focus on Aboriginal culture to broader, interdisciplinary perspectives (Healy 2006: 16.2). This translated into major institutional transformations aiming to find innovative approaches to address these issues, in an environment characterized by a major restructuring of the public sector and changing conceptions of visitor expectations.

The exhibitions at the National Museum of Australia in Canberra and their representation of Australian history have been at the center of much conservative critique claiming that past injustices have been overemphasized while the views of those who were previously thought to have greatly contributed to national history remained excluded (Dean/Rider 2005: 37). At the same time, critical scholars have asserted that immersive exhibition strategies - often employing ‘new media’ and focusing on visitor experience - have compromised the possibility of museums to act as a public forum for the sake of a dramatized “taxonomical control over difference” (Apparundai 1996, quoted in Williams 2006: 20). These new institutions then exist in an area of tension between the challenges of representing a history which has ceased to be a single, grand narrative in a way that encourages public dialog, while having to respond to the pressures of a more market-oriented concept of the public sphere. I want to inquire how Bunjilaka's Two Laws and Koorie Voices exhibits respond to these issues and which role they ascribe to national museums with regards to the complexities of postcolonial societies. I will conclude by considering the center's approach relative to its own position within the Melbourne Museum which Bennett has described as “in [...] it and not in it, of it and not of it” (2006: 8.15).

Two Laws
The Two Laws exhibit consists of two parts – the display in the cabinet as briefly described in the introduction and a video installation. In the glass case, the model of Herbert Spencer is provided with a label that highlights the museum's recognition of his pivotal contribution to the institution's history, but at the same time invites critical reflection on part of the visitor regarding turn-of-the-century collection and exhibition practices. This is further emphasized by the case's display of other, predominantly Aboriginal objects, which at first sight resembles the familiar style of modern museum displays with respect to lighting, monochromatic backdrop, label design, and near-invisible mounting. Yet, instead of information about the objects themselves, the labels convey stories about their collectors and the museum's past preservation practices.

Spencer reappears in the second part of the Two Laws exhibit consisting of two large video screens from which a fictional version of the anthropologist and a second actor playing Irrapmwe enter into an argument. Irrapmwe was a leading Aboriginal elder of a community in Alice Springs in 1899, when Spencer published his seminal work Native Tribes of Central Australia with Frank Gillen. The dialog weaves into a single narrative the themes of Indigenous property laws, the desire for self-representation, Aboriginal control and access to the cultural heritage material held by museums, and the role of academic experts and Aboriginal representatives in the development of Indigenous policies (Morton 2004: 55). Spencer's statements express the obliviousness and ignorance towards these issues characteristic of Museum Age anthropology. After the anthropologist receives a couple of “critical blows” by Irrapmwe, the two men eventually come to an agreement as the Aboriginal elder can convince Spencer to revise some of his views (Morton 2004: 56). The dialog thus corresponds with the reflexive and confrontational tone of the display in the cabinet in addressing the museum's colonial baggage. However, as the two men eventually come to terms, it simultaneously expresses the potential for reconciliation.

Baldwin Spencer: Cabinets, Museums and Aboriginal Policies
Tony Bennett's account of Baldwin Spencer's contribution to the Museum of Victoria's research and collection profile and his subsequent involvement in the government's administration of Aboriginal affairs, demonstrates how these two roles were closely interrelated. This relationship was mediated through the object-based epistemology that characterized the development of the anthropological discourse (2006: 8.11). Spencer's introduction of typological ordering principles into the museum's collection of Aboriginal artifacts constitutes the application of evolutionary natural science models and their translation into anthropological knowledge through a particular configuration of the relationships between objects. According to Bennett, the arrangements which materialized within the institutional context of museums were “producing a distinctive kind of objecthood” (8.09) by which the artifacts were summoned into the more abstract narrative of Social Darwinism.

In his later administrative role for the Commonwealth government, Spencer employed the “principles of sequence” which governed his typological arrangements in the development of “civilizing programs” for Indigenous communities (Bennet 2006. 8.11). This saw the removal of people who fit the racist construct of 'half castes' from their communities as the “white” share of their biological heritage was assumed to signify “developmental possibilities” (ibid.). Their institutionalization into educational facilities then constitutes “the movement of bodies through social space as if they were so many museum pieces moved along a continuum of development” (ibid). This explicates how museum were not just involved in the construction of degrading images of Aboriginal communities, but also how their institutional role of classifying and arranging artifacts actively shaped the “contours of [..] social management” (ibid.) through the mobilization of ordering principles outside of museums.

Challenging Arrangements and Digital Dialog
If museums can simultaneously be understood as “epistemological and civic” (Bennett 2006: 08.8) spaces, in which the visitor is positioned within the order of objects and the realities it represents, how can these “interventions in the social” (08.4) promote a more pluralistic understanding of contemporary societies? Two Laws approaches this question through a reconfiguration of the relationships between artifacts, which allows them to assume different meanings. However, this strategy takes into consideration that the social history of objects and the meanings inscribed in them by past orderings cannot be entirely erased (Bennett 2006: 08.14). With regards to this, the very possibility of transformation depends on the resistance of objects to be incorporated into a “single, stable configuration in any point in time” (ibid). The resulting reflexive take on the museum's role in colonial history challenges certain visitor expectations. The object's display follows the aesthetic principles of modernist anthropological modes of representation. This emphasizes the relative arbitrariness of an object's meaning and exposes the politics of representation embodied by this minimalist design as fixing Aboriginal cultural material within an ethnographic present that does not take into account the realities faced by Indigenous people. The ways in which the exhibition invites reflection encourages an actively involved visitor, rather than demanding merely a “passive voyeuristic gaze from audiences” (Shelton 2001: 152). The representational strategies of the exhibit work on different levels - the integration of Spencer into the glass case deconstructs the “completely ecompassable realism” (Jenkins 2004: 247) of museum models and the point of view of the detached observer they imply. Thus, the statement introducing this essay continues as follows:

“To be a voyeur on the physical objects of other people's culture is not a way to understand them. That understanding could come only from becoming involved in debates on the issues that are at the heart of people's concerns today.”

The video then explicates some of the complex relationships between museum representation and the colonial reality faced by Aboriginal people. While it can be said to simplify some of the issues at hand for the sake of making them accessible to a broad audience, it resists the criticism that the use of digital media, immersive display strategies and a focus on visitor experience necessarily de-politicize the representation of cultures within a national frame. Rather, the dispute mediates different cultural identities and suggests the possibility of reconciling the ruptures of Australia's colonial legacy and the role museums might play in this process as a space for dialogic encounters. With regards to this, the exhibit makes use of the very principles by which museum practice has inscribed its objects with meaning to reveal that the institution has never assumed an objective, apolitical role.

Koorie Voices
The most prominent piece of the Koorie Voices exhibit is a gallery of 500 photographs depicting Indigenous Victorians. The images are interspersed with video screens showing members of the Koorie community who recount personal stories. This part of the exhibit reflects some of the themes covered by the displays in a glass case – the central icon of the Koorie Voices installation, which is concerned with the various forms in which Aboriginal people were institutionalized by the Australian government. It includes two plaster busts of Aboriginal people from the Victorian Coranderrk reserve that were created by artist Charles Summer in 1866. The label traces the histories of exchange and colonial exhibition which are inscribed in these objects and contextualizes them as material manifestations of “the western scientific tradition which concerned itself with measuring and documenting the indigenous people before their 'inevitable' demise” (Bunjilaka 1). How does the photography gallery refer to the ideological and historical narratives represented by the busts to form part of a display strategy that intends to “challenge the notions which the cube embodies” (ibid)?

Koorie Voices highlights Aboriginal people's resistance and ability to withstand the attempts at control and assimilation they were subjected to in the missionaries and reserves. I argue that the image gallery embodies the way in which photographs are susceptible to an opening to counter-narratives, subverting the authority of the museum and the “colonial memories embedded in the histories of collections, collectors and displays” (Healy 2006: 16.1). The photography exhibit can thus be understood as a visual translation of the process by which alternative historical narratives are created around images in the course of community consultation and involvement.

The Voice of the Archive and Indigenous Counter Narratives
At the request of Victoria's Aboriginal elders, the Indigenous collections of the Melbourne Museum are stored and managed in Bunjilaka, separately from the rest of the institution's holdings. The center houses a private Keeping Place, where members of Indigenous communities can meet and view their cultural heritage material. This structure makes up the institutional background for the production of a catalog of over 2500 photographs of Aboriginal people that was sent out to local Koorie communities and asked them to provide their own descriptions in order to improve the knowledge about the collections (Edwards 2003: 94). This practice describes a journey of the photographs that Elizabeth Edwards has termed “From 'The Archive' to 'Living Entity'” (2003: 92), which embodies the quality of photographic images as a “visual legacy [...] of encounters and relationships” (ibid: 83) that link past and present and open up an interpretative space which is never limited to one ultimate meaning.

According to Christopher Pinney, the archive functions as a “vast linguistic grid” disciplining the multiplicity of meanings inscribed in photographs by providing them with a “structuring certainty” that is indicative of a particular world view (1992: 90). With regards to the colonial legacy of collections, images of Indigenous people were (and often continue to be) enmeshed in the 'grand narrative' of human evolution in much the same way as the bust on display in Bunjilaka. This corresponds with the chemical process by which “photographs translate the flow of lived experience into a series of still, muted fragments of space and time” (Edwards 2003: 84). Thus, the archival discipline imposed on the images exemplifies the larger process of silencing Indigenous voices in preparation for their subjection to a developing scientific discourse.

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May 23, 2011

Mangrove Music

Carlo A. Cubero, Dept. of Anthropology, Tallinn Univ.

On making MANGROVE MUSIC – an ethnographic documentary released in 2007 about musicians on the Caribbean island of Culebra.

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Perhaps, the strongest theme that emerged out of my experience of making 'Mangrove Music', an ethnographic documentary about musicians of the island of Culebra, was to consider the fissures between the creative practice of music making and place. My initial provocation of making a documentary about the musicians of this particular island was to research the presupposed fixity between music and place. Texts abound on the relationship between salsa and Colombia (Wade 2000), merengue and the Dominican Republic (Austerlitz 1996), tango and Argentina (Taylor 1998), reggae and Jamaica (Manuel et al. 1996), calypso and Trinidad & Tobago (Birth 1994) – as if music and place had an inextricable connection.

But how does one avoid implying that these expressions and their relationship are stable and static? For example, salsa is often claimed by Puerto Rican academic and public discourse as an expression of authentic island national identity – in opposition to assimilation pressures coming from the USA. This kind of research suggests a consistency of place and time that overlooks Puerto Rico's 20th century transformations of its political discourse and its physical landscape. It overlooks the global meanderings of the salsa genre and how it is received and reinvented in different locations. It suggests, for example, that the salsa coming out of Puerto Rican urban centres 20 years ago can be compared with contemporary orchestras coming out of Frankfurt. Hip-hop in Liverpool, Polish clubbers in Dublin, reggae in Argentina, heavy metal in Cuba reads like an inconsistency or some kind of post-modern pastiche, an extraordinary anomaly that is written as if it were subversive, counter-cultural and exceptional. I oscillated between two poles: do these practices represent contestatory and liberating practices that resist the categorisations of modernity; or perhaps they represent an unremarkable continuity of musical creative practice, part and parcel of the mobile dimension of history. In the context of the Caribbean, movement and mixture has been its raison d'etre, it is the normality of experience. I felt that to write about music and place can easily fix concepts and histories that have historically been mobile.

Perhaps another angle can be more stimulating? I wanted a perspective that looks at what the musicians themselves do, rather than the broader structural scheme of things. I wanted to frame my enquiry in such a way that allowed me to look into the subjectivities of the creative process. Using audio-visual media, I figured, would acknowledge the forms, shapes, colours, textures, and spaces that characterise Caribbean music making – the materiality and corporeality of social life. But narrativising with video does not harness a total experience, just a mere fragment of the moment. It has the potential of concealing more than it reveals, of provoking questions rather than answers. But it can also do the contrary. It requires a different engagement with the process of understanding. The questions it poses are not authoritative but heuristic and its answers are revelatory rather than testimonial. It dislodges the binary present in oratory and debate, where there is a dialectical conversation of concepts and histories that are narrativised linearly, chronologically, following some kind of inductive or deductive logic.

Audio visual media addresses materialities in their state of being, as they lie, as they are (MacDougall 2006). Imagery exists prior to and regardless of thought, in the sense that we encounter the visual before we can grasp a meaning to it. In film, the meanings of the imagery are suggested through a narrative but also through its textures, colours, the sensorial, emotive and experiential affects they cause us. A good documentary manages a balance between a cinematic complexity and having a clear narrative direction. Ethnographic documentaries draw us into a social world – they ask us to engage imaginatively with it, to trust it, to ask it stimulating and meandering questions rather than contesting ones. In this way, they can reach out to us and dissolve the glass of the screen and involve us in a social world that is new to us.

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May 12, 2011

Everybody Goes: Designing Age-Friendly Public Toilet Solutions

Jo-Anne Bichard & Gail Knight
Helen Hamlyn Centre for Design, Royal College of Art


The design and provision of toilet facilities for people with disabilities has been covered in great depth by research (see Feeney, 2003), that in the UK, helped develop the ‘British Standard BS8300: Design of buildings and their approaches to meet the needs of disabled people’ and ‘Approved Document M of the Building Regulations’. However, research undertaken by Hanson et al (2007) has found that many older people do not think they are ‘entitled’ to use the accessible (disabled) toilet and therefore feel their needs are not being met, both in design and provision of lavatory facilities they may need when ‘away from home’. [1,2]

Current research being undertaken at the Royal College of Art Helen Hamlyn Centre (RCAHHC) is aiming to address the issue of older peoples access to ‘away from home’ toilet facilities. The research is focusing on the environmental barriers our ageing society faces when attempting to access a toilet away from home. Access to toilet facilities is one of the primary issues faced by many people who manage continence conditions, either as a temporary situation or more long-term chronic health concern. Examination of the issue of continence is being carried out by the RCAHHC in conjunction with a consortium of other researchers [3] on a project called 'Tackling Ageing Continence through Theory Tools and Technology' (TACT3). This is a three-year study that is specifically focused on age related continence, and is funded by the New Dynamics of Ageing (http://www.newdynamics.group.shef.ac.uk/) a unique collaborative research programme that is investigating the needs and issues of an ageing population and funded by all five of the UK’s research councils.

This posting specifically discusses the work package ‘Challenging Environmental Barriers to Continence’. It highlights current innovations in the design of non-domestic lavatory facilities and interventions, as well as demonstrates how these may not be suitable for an ageing population. The provision of toilets used by members of the public will be presented as a case study of how design needs to negotiate the physical and cognitive needs of a population to meet needs across the life course.

Toilet Provision for an Ageing Population

Besides dementia, which will be discussed in more detail in the next section, nothing is more feared by many older people than incontinence. Whilst the condition is not directly a consequence of ageing, urinary incontinence affects between 30-60% of women over the age of 40, and around 15-30% of men. Studies have shown that whilst urinary function does diminish with age, this can be exasperated by medication taken to counteract other chronic illnesses associated with the ageing process including; heart failure, some forms of cancer, Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s disease. Even for many older people who are not managing health conditions, the general effects of ageing on the body may result in the need to use the lavatory urgently and with more frequency. Ageing amongst the oldest old, those aged eighty, ninety and even centenarians, may make physical mobility more difficult and affects continence simply because an older person may find it harder to transfer on and off the WC pan or even reach lavatory facilities in time.

After climate change, the second most pressing issue for many of today’s societies is the global ageing population. It is currently estimated by the World Health Organisation that there are 6000 million people in the world aged 60 and over, and this figure is predicted to double by 2025 (WHO 2004). In the European Union it is estimated that 20% of the population are aged 60 and over, and like the global phenomenon this figure is also expected to double.

With a global ageing population, the issue of accessing appropriate lavatory facilities will be seen to be more pressing for independent living, well being and quality of life issues for older people. In 2007 it was estimated that half of the global population now lives in cities. The course of the twentieth century saw the mega city, with populations over 10 million people, extend from two to twenty. It is estimated that by 2030, 3 out of 5 people in the world will live in a city (WHO, 2007). With the growing ageing population and the move to more urban centres, The World Health Organisation has identified the provision of public toilets as essential to its ‘Age Friendly Cities’ programme.

Due to difficulties accessing toilets when away from home, many older people have been known to limit the time and the distances they leave their homes for. Yet, in contrast to a growing ageing population in the UK, the charity Help The Aged (2007) has found that the number of available public toilet facilities has dramatically declined.

In the United Kingdom, local authorities generally operate public toilet facilities. Provision is discretionary and there is no legislative enforcement that ensures an area has public toilet provision. Estimates suggest that current toilet provision operated by local authorities has dropped from approximately 10,000 in 1999 (Audit Commission, 1999) to 4423 in 2008 (Value Office Agency, 2008). With the UK population estimated by the World Bank to currently stand at 61,399,118, there is approximately one public toilet for every 13,882 people.

Help the Aged’s research has found that the reduction in provision especially at the local neighbourhood level can severely limit people’s activity’s of daily living such as going to the shops for food. Such restriction on movement can result in social isolation and avoidance of travelling to visit family and friends and going to work. The larger consequence of such access concerns has been found to be greater instances of low self-esteem, depression and loneliness, all of which draw on the resources of the local health authorities and social services.

We therefore have a need for facilities to be placed in the built environment that can be accessed by all but especially an ageing population. Yet for successful toileting a number of supporting interventions need to also be considered as part of the wider spectrum of toilet provision.


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Figure 1. An Automatic Public Convenience (APC)


Design Innovation for Toilet Provision.

Despite the closure of many of the UK’s public toilets, there have been a number of innovative designs that attempt to address the issue of toilet provision with innovative and technology inspired designs. The Automatic Public Convenience (APC) also known as the ‘Superloo’ or ‘Tardis’ (Fig. 1) began appearing on UK streets in the early 1990’s, but has not found favour with the toileting needs of the public (Bichard & Hanson, 2009). Previous research undertaken by Hanson et al (2007) found that many people would prefer to travel to the top floor of a department store then use an Automatic Public Convenience. In addition, their case studies of provision found that women over the age of 65 would not use this type of toilet provision. One user commented that the reason they avoided this form of provision was because it was too unfamiliar and perceived as complicated:

"I don’t know how to use one (APC)… I’m not standing outside reading instructions on how to use a toilet".

A more recent innovation has seen the needs of evening toilet provision addressed by the ‘Urilift’ (Fig. 2a, 2b). This ‘pop-up’ urinal is raised by remote control at dusk and set back in the ground at dawn. Designed primarily to counteract the effects of street urination (both the unsightly behaviour associated with this practice and the environmental distress caused by uric acid in urine), the Urilift has become a popular option amongst local authorities seeking to address the need for evening toilet provision. Noticeably the Urilift (and other temporary urinal solutions) only addresses the needs of the male population, and within this sector is not a toileting solution for men who have Paruresis (shy bladder syndrome); men who observe faith and hygiene practices with regards to toileting, and older men who find such urinals still somewhat exposed.


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Figures 2a, 2b: ‘Urilift’


A more recent design incorporates a urinal into a ‘wheelie bin’ (Bischof, 2009) and like most recent design solutions; this only meets the need of one small segment of the population (Fig. 3). In addition, such design interventions do nothing to challenge and discourage street urination. Indeed, it can be argued that such solutions continue to indulge the practice of street urination, which in general is considered anti-social behaviour.

Given that these current innovations do not meet the wider public preference and therefore needs, especially those of the ageing population, the researchers at the RCAHHC are investigating how provision can be best maximised to offer toileting facilities that are well designed for hygiene, access, comfort and dignity, and that will be welcomed by the majority of users.

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Figure 3: Wheelie Bin Urinal (Bischof, 2009).


Thinking about the needs of an ageing society

Whilst not exclusively a consequence of ageing, many older people do develop some form of cognitive impairment, and it is currently estimated that over 800,000 people in the UK have some degree of cognitive impairment associated with dementia. This number is expected to rise to over one million in the next 30 years (Matthews et al 2005).
 
Dementia is a degenerative impairment, and therefore the cognitive functions of people with dementia are unlikely to improve. Current and future medical advances are likely to increase the survival of older people, and thus it can be surmised that the populations of people with cognitive impairments are likely to increase. Globally, over 35 million people are currently estimated to have dementia, and 4.6 million new cases are diagnosed each year. There is a myth that diseases like Alzheimer’s are only associated with living in developed economies with the rate of dementia expected to double between 2001 and 2040. Yet 60 percent of people with dementia live in developing countries and it is forecast to increase by more than 300 percent in India and China (Ferri et al, 2005).
 

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April 16, 2011

Photographic Traditions in South African Popular Modernities

Sophie Feyder, Christoph Rippe and Tamsyn Adams (Leiden Univ.)


South African Visual Economies
The spread of photography in South Africa - as in many other colonial societies - reflects to a certain extent the parallel histories of colonialism and anthropology. Introduced to South Africa’s major cities in the 1840s, the camera progressively reached out into the countryside in the hands of white explorers, administrators, traders, anthropologists, missionaries and settlers (Bensusan 1966). Given this control over the camera, white subjects initially occupied a different range of photographic genres than did Black subjects – personal portraits, family photographs, etc. Black Africans were more often treated as anthropological “types” within scientific genres and racial taxonomies, emphasising their tribal classifications and reinforcing colonial stereotyping in the pursuit of the production of anthropological knowledge (Edwards 1992, Faris 1996, Ryan 1997). Where they appear in other contexts, such as family snapshots, it is usually in a more marginal role – as servants, nurses and grooms in South Africa’s racialised hierarchical society (c.f. Schoeman 1996).

Based on this history, it is not surprising, as Edwards and Morton have pointed out (2009) that for a long time the study of colonial photography, and particularly photography from Africa, was dominated by the analytical idea that control over the shutter ensured control over the image, and especially over the ways in which Africans and African society were represented. However, as valid as this approach has been, it can only provide a narrow vision of the diverse photographic practices that have multiplied in South Africa since the early 20th century. Limiting the reading of a photograph to power relationships and discourses leaves little room for the different personal memories and subjectivities with which an image can be simultaneously loaded. Perhaps more worryingly, it also risks perpetuating a view of black subjects as lacking agency – forever locked in the viewfinder of power.

A Foucauldian reading of the I.D. picture, for example, would underline the complicity of photography in systems of domination and control (Tagg 1988). Undeniably, the I.D. photograph required for the obligatory passbook under Apartheid reinforced the power of the State to limit and control black people’s displacements. Yet it was also very popular in black communities to transform I.D. pictures into airbrushed idealised wedding portraits or individual portraits bearing fictional uniforms. This tradition began in the 1930s, when various forms of popular photography were starting to develop in the streets of the city and the township. By the 1950s Black South Africans had actively taken the question of self-representation into their own hands (Appadurai 1997, Feyder 2009, Ranger 2001, Werner 2001).

As a research group, we hence intend to complicate the field of power between the camera and subject, by building on the argument that the vision of the camera as a tool of colonial and apartheid domination is only partial. Recent studies have sought to nuance the relationship between ideology and representation, showing for instance how contemporary vernacular practices of photography can recode colonial heritage within a new framework, adding new layers of meaning to the image (Pinney 1997, Hartman et al 1998, Strassler 2010). It then becomes possible to comprehend how for example photographs produced as “ethnographic” images by missionaries could appear on the living room walls of black South African homes, or how photographs of black domestic workers, appearing initially in a white family album, subsequently appear in black albums. Here, the stereotype is personalised and reclaimed as an ancestor, entering the domain of family photography and accordingly embedded in private narratives and histories.

The questions of multiple trajectories and contemporary readings of photographic archives are central to all three projects, though focusing on very diverse archival situations. The three different archives cover a wide geographical and temporal scope, ranging from early settler and missionary photography (1880s onwards) in rural KwaZulu-Natal (KZN) to urban township photography of the 1950s in Johannesburg. In these collections, an understanding of South African photographic practices starts to emerge that complicates the view of white control over photographic production and use, and black photographic disempowerment.


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March 28, 2011

Charting Material Memories: an ethnography of material and visual responses to woollen trade blankets in Canada, the USA, and Aotearoa/New Zealand

Fiona Macdonald, Department of Anthropology, UCL


One of the most conspicuous connections that links three nations (Canada, the United States, and Aotearoa/New Zealand) is witnessed through material culture—those objects of everyday life. Through trade, gift, theft, immigration, and migration, the things people have created for centuries have been crossing the landscape since time immemorial—today these objects are situated in diverse cultural contexts. Particular to a colonial experience since the 1600s is a relationship with woollen trade blankets. Woollen trade blankets produced in the United Kingdom since the seventeenth century were invaluable commodities disseminated with colonial missions to be gifted and traded with indigenous peoples in both Canada and the United States of America by agents such as the Hudson’s Bay Company, and via the South Pacific Trading Company to Aotearoa/New Zealand. Evidence of these trade exchanges can be seen in colonial visual culture and archival records.

In our current historical moment, woollen blankets create tangible connections between these three nations through aesthetic works created by contemporary artists and cultural practitioners in indigenous and non-indigenous communities. It is an unnoticed fact that the specific woolen trade blankets under investigation in my doctoral project were originally manufactured in Oxfordshire, UK until the turn of the twenty-first century. In the absence of any anthropological investigation into woollen trade blankets to date, this project contributes as a contemporary ethnography that seeks to understand how and why woollen trade blankets have remained unconsidered, yet are clearly visible cultural and artistic productions, and consequently relate to addressing anthropological issues of identity, circulation, agency, and memory in both indigenous and non-indigenous communities.

My research captures how the nature and presence of these blankets affects knowledge production in indigenous and non-indigenous communities today; and how this knowledge has a transnational reach. Over a four hundred year period that culminates in the present, the woollen blanket has shifted from being a trade item to a commodity of status and artistic expression in many Tlingit, Haida, and Tsimshian communities of Alaska, the Yukon, and British Columbia along the Pacific Northwest Coast, as well as the urban centers of Canada, the United States, and Aotearoa/New Zealand. In order to carry out this research I am working with the Sealaska Heritage Institute in Juneau, Alaska as a Visiting Scholar. This research will foreground the role of material culture in understanding how the interconnectedness to memories and experience within indigenous communities in my three field sites is made manifest. The fluidity of my research echoes the mutability of woollen trade blankets, thus my project is designed so that, as an ethnographer, I follow a material object that is not bounded.

This project is designed to harness multi-sited research as a necessary method to broaden understanding of material culture. The selection of multiple field sites—micro and macro—as paradigms for a comparative case study is based on preliminary fieldwork for my MA studies where I observed that woolleb blankets were consumed at distinct historical moments with divergent social consequences in both spaces but more so within specific communities (Blanketing a Nation: Tracing the Social Life of the Hudson’s Bay Company Point Blanket Through Canadian Visual Culture, 2006). This research will be framed as an investigation of the relationship between woollen trade blankets and the individuals who ‘renew’ them for public consumption (Kuechler 2009) in order to understand what questions are implicit in woollen trade blankets that encourages artists to produce explicit knowledge—cultural and regional—through specific materials.

March 2, 2011

Do kula canoes of the Massim region of Papua New Guinea have a bow, a stern, and prowboards?

Harry Beran, independent researcher
hberan@btinternet.com

Two types of outrigger canoes are used in the kula. This exchange system of shell valuables in the Massim region (Milne Bay Province) of Papua New Guinea is described by Bronislaw Malinowski in Argonauts of the Western Pacific (1932) and by Leach and Leach in The Kula (1983).

Western writers on kula canoes tend to write of the bow and stern of these canoes and to use the term prowboards for their wavesplitters and even their washboards, irrespective of whether they are at the canoe’s so-called bow or stern. This terminology obscures the structure of the canoes, which is quite different from most Western boats and ships. Below, I describe the structure of kula canoes and argue for abandoning the bow/stern/prowboard terminology in favour of a terminology based on how the Massim think about the canoes.

The issue may be of interest to writers on Massim art and to the curators of the many museums that have kula canoe boards. The issue also arises regarding Oceanic canoes from beyond the Massim region with a single outrigger and designed to have either end pointing ahead.

The larger of the two types of kula canoes is called nagega or anageg in the languages of the northern part of the Massim region and made primarily in Gawa and Kwaiwata islands, from where they are traded to Woodlark and in turn to the southern Massim region (Fig. 1).

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(Fig. 1. Gawa-built nagega canoe sitting on a beach, which shows its highly curved dug-out keel and three planks. Photograph taken by Clare Harding in 1983. Reproduced courtesy of Clare Harding).

The smaller of the two types of kula canoes is called masawa in the Trobriands and Iwa Island, epoi in Dobu Island, and tadobu in some places because the type is believed to have originated in Dobu (Fig. 2). This type is made mainly in the places just mentioned.

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(Fig. 2. A canoe of the masawa/epoi type, sitting on land, which shows its curved dug-out keel and two planks. Photograph by Templeton Crocker, taken in 1930, probably in the Trobriand Islands or Dobu. C. Templeton Crocker papers, California Academy of Sciences Archive. Courtesy of the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco, de Young).

The structure of the main components of the two types of kula canoes is the same. They have a single outrigger float, which must always be windwards, as the wind in the sail cannot easily lift the float out of the water but can easily submerge it and capsize the boat (Malinowski 1932: 110; Campbell 2002: 73). The canoe is, therefore, symmetrical, being designed to sail equally well whichever end points forward. The basic shape of the two ends of the canoe’s dug-out keel, its two wavesplitters (tabuya), and two washboards (lagim) is the same. It has a huge steering paddle, which is carried to, and used at, whichever end is at the back.

Nevertheless, the Massim distinguish between the branchend and root-end of the dug-out keel, cut from a single tree, to which two or three planks are added to make a canoe capable of carrying ten and more men on open-ocean voyages. Trobrianders call the branch-end dogina and the root end uuna or uula (Campbell 2002: 73-4; Lawton 2004) (1). Woodlark Islanders call the former dabwen, the latter wowun (Fred Damon, pers. comm., Nov. 23rd, 2010) (2). Kitava Islanders have separate names for the two wavesplitters (tabuya) of the canoe, calling that for the branch-end tabudogina and that for the root-end tabuvaura (Scoditti 1990: 71, 136, 140) or tubuuula (Hallinan 1972).

Although the basic shape of the wavesplitters and washboards for the canoe’s two ends is the same, there are small differences between them.

According to Shirley Campbell (2002: 74) and the late Chief Narubutau (1979, Items 7 and 10), the root-end wavesplitters of masawa are perforated (have openwork carving) along the bottom, the branch-end ones are not (3). Campbell (2002: 73-4) notes a second difference: the shape of the ‘nose’ of the wavesplitters. These differences are shown in Figs 3a and 3b.

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(Fig. 3, left. Dogina (branch-end) tabuya. Fig. 4, right. Uuna (root-end) tabuya. After Campbell (2002: 73). The arrows and the word ‘nose’ have been added).

Continue reading "Do kula canoes of the Massim region of Papua New Guinea have a bow, a stern, and prowboards?" »

February 28, 2011

PhotoCLEC – Colonial photography and contemporary Europe - announcing a new project

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A note from Prof. Elizabeth Edwards (University of the Arts) announcing her latest collaborative project:

A grant of €463,000 over 18 months awarded by HERA (Humanities in the European Research Area) for a project entitled ‘Photographs, Colonial Legacy and Museums in Contemporary European Culture’ to examine the role of the photographic legacy of colonial relations in the identity of a fluid and multi-cultural modern Europe and its global relations.

This international project, undertaken with colleagues in The Netherlands and Norway focuses specifically on the way in which such photographs are used in museums, the latter being major disseminators of historical narrative in the public domain. PhotoCLEC is especially concerned with the patterns of visibility of their colonial past in the processes through which contemporary European cultures configure their pasts for the benefit of their futures.

Importantly the comparative nature of the project is underpinned by other important questions: how do differently constituted colonial experiences translate into differently nuanced visual legacies and how do these visual legacies resonate through differently shaped post-colonial experiences? How do photographs articulate a European cultural history, rooted both in and outside Europe, which is actively moving across cultural boundaries, making new meanings in newly configured national and transnational communities in a global environment.

PhotoCLEC comprises linked projects in three European countries with very different colonial experiences to compare and contrast their visual legacies in contemporary societies. UK and The Netherlands were major colonial powers but with different ‘styles’ of colonial engagement and different patterns of de-colonisation and post- colonial engagement at home and abroad. Norway, though not a colonial power in the territorial sense, was engaged with extensive ‘colonial-derived’ activities e.g. exploration, science and missions, and has colonial-style issues over Sami histories, adding an important and expansive dimension to the project. These histories have collectively left extensive visual legacies in the institutions of the three countries, patterned by different institutional approaches in universities, local authorities and government institutions.

Thus the UK project, “Photographic Heritage, ‘Difficult’ Histories and Cultural Futures”, undertaken by Elizabeth Edwards and Matt Mead, explores the intersection of the ‘management of multi-culturalism’ as it is experienced in museums with the ‘invisibility’ of narratives of the colonial past. Working with a number of museums, it is exploring the extent to which new historiographical thinking about photography, presence and agency, which decentres the purely instrumental and ideological reading of photography to ask how can this impact on the ways in which these photographs can be engaged with, indeed how and should they be engaged with? What space do colonial photographs, from for instance, anthropological fieldwork to railway construction and tourist souvenirs, occupy in these debates and under what conditions? This does not make the histories which they both constitute and are constituted through any easier but, in photographic terms, they should be more widely debated because they represent relationships which are fundamental to the experience of contemporary Europe and which will figure in its futures. It is possible, given popular perceptions of colonialism and the everyday experience of post-colonial culture in the UK, that the photographs are perceived as being historical sources too disturbing to be engaged with within museum domains, which raises important questions about the patterns of forgetting.

In the Netherlands, Susan Legêne is leading the project ‘Indies Images of the Colonial Everyday in a Multi-ethnic Postcolonial Society’ focuses in particular on Indo-Dutch photograph collections that were collected after decolonization by IWI (Indisch Wetenschappelijk Instituut, or Indo-Dutch Scientific Institute). IWI was founded by people of mixed Indonesian-European descent (the Indo-Dutch), who, after Indonesia’s Independence in 1945 migrated to the Netherlands. These postcolonial immigrants brought hundreds of family albums and thousands of single photographs from colonial Indonesia to the Netherlands as personal memories. Through the making of this archive, the Indo-Dutch community form a ‘community of memory’ that both creates memories and performs as a social memory frame that contextualizes the memories it creates.

Consequently the project asks how these visual sources of an Indo-Dutch colonial everyday affect the more ‘formal’ collections of colonialism that were created by Dutch cultural institutions during the colonial time. What does the IWI-collection mean both in historical discourses on the colonial past, and in the making of Dutch post colonial immigration society and today’s multiculturalism? Starting from the ‘social biography’ of the IWI collection, it investigates the meaning of colonial photography in postcolonial identity formation, social memory and museum policies. How do these colonial photographic legacies interact with other memory texts and how are these visual sources interwoven in the national ‘texture of memory’?

In Norway, the patterns or colonial memory and forgetting are very different, creating a useful contrast to the two other PhotoCLEC projects. Seen in the context of the larger history of European colonialism, Norway has often been regarded as an exception, a small and innocent country that itself was the victim of several hundred years of Danish and Swedish colonisation. This conception has however recently been challenged. During the second half of the 19th century, Norwegian shipping also played an important part in the development of the expansive, global trade. The opportunity to travel widely over the world oceans made it possible for Norwegians to engage in colonial-derived activities as tradesmen, missionaries and explorers. Further, an internal process of colonisation had begun as early as the medieval period, with the Norwegian expansion into and takeover of the Sami areas in the North. The photographic legacies of these multiple cultural dynamics are the focus of the Norwegian project entitled ‘Foreign and Home Images of Unacknowledged Colonial Legacies’. A key question for the team lead by Sigrid Lien of the University of Bergen, concerns the ways in which these processes and their photographic legacies have an impact in the constitution of ‘Norway’ itself and how this can be related to the wider European cultural experience of the colonial and its post-colonial impacts.

The project runs until January 2012, when there will be a two day symposium to launch the results and to expand the debate yet further (I notice will be posted on MaterialWorld soon). It is intended to produce an open access web platform for PhotoCLEC’s results and a series of ‘case studies’ which merge academic debate and curatorial concerns, and is aimed especially at museum and heritage sector professionals, but also at a wider audience interested in the construction and representation of histories in modern Europe. We are all still in the fieldwork stage, however already very different patterns of visibility and invisibility are emerging strongly linked to specific patterns of national narrative and the political management of the post-colonial state.

The PhotoCLEC team would welcome comments or thoughts.

e.edwards@lcc.arts.ac.uk
m.mead@lcc.arts.ac.uk
s.legene@let.vu.nl
P.Pattynama@uva.nl
Sigrid.Lien@lle.uib.no
Hilde.Nielssen@lle.uib.no

http://www.heranet.info/
http://www.heranet.info/photoclec/index

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January 24, 2011

Rare Yup’ik masks (and their Surrealist pedigree) on view (and sale) this week in New York City

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[The “Donati Studio Mask,” from CNN online]

Occasionally, certain key objects come to light that encapsulate the imbricated history of Primitivism, Modern art, and museums. In Spring 2010, Sotheby’s in New York auctioned off an important collection of Native American and Eskimo art formerly owned by artist Enrico Donati (1909-2008). Donati was one of the last living Surrealists, a colleague of André Breton, Max Ernst and the other exiled artists who lived in New York during WW II. Like his friends, he was an enthusiastic collector of Native American art. Here is an excerpt from the Sotheby’s press release about that sale:

The sale comprised works from Surrealist painter Enrico Donati’s studio in the landmark Gainsborough Building on Central Park South. In his studio, Donati mixed Eskimo masks and kachina figures with his own work, works of his contemporaries, found objects, stones, fossils, and the mystical mandragora root to create an entirely new world, and a fountain of inspiration. The session’s top price was achieved by An Important and Rare Eskimo Polychrome Wood Mask, Yup’ik or Anvik, which totaled $362,500 (est. $300/500,000). The mask would likely have been used for both festival dancing and shamanistic activities, however its specific meaning remains an enigma, the mystery of which is part of the strong attraction Donati and his Surrealist compatriots had for Eskimo art during the middle of the 20th century.

In the mid-1940’s, Donati purchased two remarkable Yup’ik masks from the New York dealer Julius Carlebach, the man who supplied many of the exiled Surrealists residing in the city with the indigenous arts that so ignited their imaginations. He obtained most of his choice specimens from the collection of George Gustav Heye’s private Museum of the American Indian—the progenitor of the Smithsonian’s current National Museum of the American Indian. Like other museum directors at the time, Heye frequently deaccessioned items for financial reasons or exchanged objects deemed to be multiples. While Heye sometimes collected objects from their indigenous owners—he made several trips to Vancouver Island during the twenties and thirties, for instance—more often than not he purchased them from regional dealers or travelers to Indian Country.

A few days ago, with much fanfare because of their potential for record prices, two of Donati’s “Important and Rare” Yup’ik masks were offered up for sale at New York’s Winter Antiques Show. The Donald Ellis Gallery is offering an interesting selection of Alaskan, Inuit and Northwest Coast art as well as the Yup’ik masks from the former Donati collection, with their fascinating provenance prominently displayed. Referred to now as the "Donati Studio Mask," the one pictured above is a type of mask representing the weather, and is apparently known to the Yup'ik as "The Mask that Brought the South Winds” (the other is known as the “Donati Fifth Avenue Mask”). It was collected in the early 20th century by Alaskan trader Adams Hollis Twitchell, who sold it along with many others to Heye in 1916. Around 1944, Heye sold it to Carlebach, who in turn sold it to Donati in 1945. Surrealist poet André Breton once owned a mask, also purchased from Carlebach and now at the Louvre, which may have been made by the same carver as this one; George Duthuit, the son-in-law of Henri Matisse, owned another. [Info from the Donald Ellis 2011 catalogue]


Two other masks Twitchell collected ended up in landmark exhibitions at the Museum of Modern Art in New York: one in “Indian Art of the United States” (1941), the other in “Primitivism in 20th Century Art” (1984). In 2006, in Paris, Donald Ellis acquired a different set of Yup'ik masks at auction, each of which was purchased from Julius Carlebach by Robert Lebel, an art historian, the first biographer of Marcel Duchamp and a friend of André Breton. For anyone who has read James Clifford’s account of Surrealist interest in Native American art, these few pieces provide an object lesson in the vicissitudes of value surrounding indigenous arts. According to CNN Online, the Donati Studio Mask just sold to a private collector for more than $2.5 million, breaking the record for indigenous art from the United States sold at public auction.

The Winter Antiques Show runs from January 21- 30 at the Park Avenue Armory. See the masks while you can.

For some Internet art world chatter:
http://www.cnn.com/2011/US/01/19/surreal.yupik.masks/index.html
http://lindsaypollock.com/news/2m-eskimo-masks-debut-at-winter-show/
http://www.artdaily.com/index.asp?int_new=43695&int_sec=2

For some perspectives from Alaska:
http://community.adn.com/?q=adn/node/155187

For Ellis’s earlier acquisition:
http://newsgrist.typepad.com/robertgoldwaterlibrary/auctions/

January 7, 2011

The material ecologies of culture

Fernando Dominguez, The Open University and NYU

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Have a look at the picture above and take a guess. Upon first impression, the building on the picture can appear to be a disused factory, a high-security intelligence facility or even a nuclear bunker. And although it could well be any of those things, it is none of them. This building is, in fact, a storage facility for artworks. It is part of the Celeste Bartos Center, the film preservation center the Museum of Modern Art of New York (MoMA) built about a decade ago in a small rural community in Pennsylvania to store the museum’s film and video art collection, one of the largest and most important in the world. Behind the thick concrete walls, CCTV cameras and metal blinds, there are tens of thousand of old cellulose nitrate films, including some of the first silent films ever made as well as original copies of some of the finest Hollywood classics of the 30s and 40s.

I first encountered this building as part of the ethnography I’m currently conducing at MoMA studying contemporary practices of art conservation. One of the main interests of this project is to explore what I’d like to call the ‘material ecologies’ of culture, that is, the different infrastructures, technologies, practices and forms of containment that operate (often behind the curtains) to produce, and crucially, sustain different cultural forms, values and meanings. The reason why I’d like to draw your attention to the Celeste Bartos Center is because it constitutes a good illustration of the type of material ecologies that are typically required to contain and stabilize contemporary (Western) art.

Broadly defined, the mission of the Center is to maintain the intelligibility of artworks qua meaningful and valuable cultural objects. In spite of the illusion of fixity and timelessness that typically surround these artifacts, artworks are never still. They are always ‘on the move’ as parts of the complex and ever-changing field of forces emerging from the interactions between the material components of these artifacts and the changing environments in which they are placed. As temperature, humidity and light vary, artworks move and evolve: their colors change and whither, their materials expand and contract, and the original identity between material form and artist’s intention is eroded. As this process of change and transformation unfolds over time, forms corrode, meanings fade away and these artifacts risk losing their ‘art’ status to become valueless ‘natural’ objects. Contrary to what one might expect, this risk is nowhere more evident than in contemporary cultural artifacts. Indeed, while it is possible to successfully store, preserve and display valuable cultural artifacts produced centuries and even millennia ago, preserving cultural artifacts produced just a few decades ago, like video art, photography or film, poses formidable challenges. One of the reasons for this is that a large part of contemporary culture is dependent on very ephemeral and unstable materials. For example, the average life span of the VHS tapes that were so popular just over a decade ago is of just 10 years and that of CDs and DVDs upon which much of contemporary culture is stored right now, is of just over 15 years in normal room conditions. The case of film is even more dramatic. It only takes 10 years for early color prints to lose their dyes, and between 30 and 50 years for contemporary color prints. According to different estimates, around 85% of the silent films and around 50% of the sound films made in the US before 1950 are believed to be irremediably lost.


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On the left, an example of dye fading in color prints. On the right, an example of acetate decomposition.

The stabilization of these artifacts demands the construction of specially designed ‘material ecologies’ capable of preserving their status as meaningful and valuable cultural objects. This, however, not only requires engineering environments that are able to preserve the physical integrity of these artifacts but also, and more importantly, that are capable of producing and sustaining specific forms of evidence and value. In the case of Western art systems, where artworks are typically seen as materialization of the artist’s unique self and creative agency, this means creating environments in which artifacts remain truthful indexes of their author’s original intentions. In other words, if these videos and films are to retain their cultural (and economic) value, they must remain legible as the original products of a subjective agency. The production of this specific form of legibility requires a rather complex, and expensive, set of infrastructural and technological devices, like the Celeste Bartos Center. The building has been explicitly designed to prevent natural processes (like oxidation, emulsion, UV radiations or acetate decomposition) from altering the original connection between material form and intention. To accomplish this, the building is built following a Russian-doll structure containing an ‘outer’ building and, within it, a self-contained ‘inner’ building storing the different films, videos and tapes. The ‘outer building’ works as a technological skin that regulates the interaction between inside and outside and protects the environment enveloping the ‘inner’ building.

fPic4.JPG On the left, some of the devices that regulate the exchange between external and internal environments. Below, part of the Humidity, Ventilation and Air Condition (HAVC) system that stabilizes the climatic conditions of the internal environment. And, a view of the buffer zone between the ‘outer’ and ‘inner’ buildings.

The ‘inner building’ is structured as a giant technological beehive containing dozes of micro-ecologies especially designed to stabilize each specific type of material. For example, black and white prints are stored in flat-shelving units at 45ºF (7ºC) and 30% RH to prevent acetate decomposition. Pic5.jpgfPic6.jpg

The stabilization of dyes in color prints not only requires specific temperature and humidity conditions, but also especially designed shelving structure that sustains a constant air-flow.

Continue reading "The material ecologies of culture" »

December 13, 2010

A Material History of Bits

Jean-François Blanchette, Assistant Professor
Dept. of Information Studies, UCLA

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In both the popular press and scholarly research, the trope of digital information as “immaterial” is invoked with remarkable persistence. In this characterization, the digital derives its power from its nature as a mere collection of 0s and 1s wholly independent from the particular media on which it resides (hard drive, network wires, optical disk, etc.) and the particular signal carrier which encode bits (magnetic polarities, voltages, or pulses of light). This purported immateriality endows bits with considerable advantages: they are immune from the economics and logistics of analog media, and from the corruption, degradation, and decay that necessarily results from the handling of material carriers of information, resulting in a worldwide shift “from atom to bits” as captured by Negroponte. This is problematic: however immaterial it might appear, information cannot exist outside of given instantiations in material forms. But what might it mean to talk of bits as material objects?

Building on previous work by Kirschenbaum (2008) and Agre (1997), this project proposes a framework for discussing the material foundation of digital information. It suggests that various factors, including the trope of immateriality, have obscured the physical constraints that obtain on the storage, circulation, and processing of digital information, resulting in inadequate theorization of this fundamental dimension of information systems. In fact, computing systems are suffused through and through with the constraints of materiality, and the computing professions devote much of their activity to the management of these constraints, as manifested in infrastructure software.

While applications provide service to users, infrastructure software provides services to applications, by mediating their access to computing resources, the physical devices that provide processing power, storage, and networking. Infrastructure software is most commonly encountered in the form of operating systems, but is also found embedded in hardware (the firmware in a hard drive) or in specialized computers (e.g., web servers, or routers). Whatever its specific form, the role of infrastructure software is to provide a series of transformations whereby the signals that encode bits on some physical media (fiber optic, magnetic drive, electrical wires) become accessible for symbolic manipulation by applications. Infrastructure software must be able to accommodate growth in size and traffic, technical evolution and decay, diversity of implementations, integration of new services to answer unanticipated needs, and emergent behaviors, among other things. It must provide programmers with stable interfaces to system resources in the face of continuously evolving computing hardware—processors, storage devices, networking technologies, etc.

The computing industry manages accomplishes this feat through the design strategy of modularity, whereby a module’s implementation can be designed and revised without knowledge of other modules’ implementation. Modularity performs this magic by decoupling functional specification from implementation: operating systems, for example, enable applications to open, write to, and delete files, without any knowledge of the specific storage devices on which these files reside. This decoupling provides the required freedom and flexibility for the management, coordination, and evolution of complex technical systems. However, in abstracting from specific implementations of physical resources, such decoupling necessarily involves efficiency trade-offs. The TCP/IP protocols for example provide abstractions of networks that favor resilience (the network can survive nuclear attacks) over quality of service (the network provides no minimum delays for delivery of packets). Applications sensitive to such delays (e.g., IP telephony or streaming media) must thus overcome the infrastructural bias of the protocols to secure the quality of service they require.

An important point is that efficiency trade-offs (or biases) embedded in a given modular organization become entrenched through their institutionalization in a variety of domains: standards, material infrastructure (e.g., routers), and social practices (e.g. technical training) may all provide for the endurance of particular sets of abstraction. This entrenchment is further enabled by the economies of scale such institutionalization affords. An immediate consequence is that the computing infrastructure, like all infrastructures, is fundamentally conservative in character. Yet, it is also constantly under pressure from the need to integrate changes in the material basis of computing: multi-core, cloud-based, and mobile computing are three emerging material changes that will register at almost every level of the infrastructure.

Computing, it turns out, is material through and through. But this materiality is diffuse, parceled out and distributed throughout the entire computing ecosystem. It is always in subtle flux, structured by the persistence of modular decomposition, yet pressured to evolve as new materials emerge, requiring new trade-offs. This project thus argues that, in a very literal and fundamental sense, materiality is a key entry point for reading infrastructural change, for identifying opportunities for innovation that leverage such change, and for acquiring a deep understanding of the possibilities and constraints of computing. This understanding is not particularly provided by exposure to programming languages. Rather, it requires familiarity with the conflicts and compromises of standardization, with the principles of modularity and layering, and with a material history of computing that largely remains to be written.

a full version of this paper is available at http://polaris.gseis.ucla.edu/blanchette/papers/materiality.pdf

November 19, 2010

Of Toilets and Taboos

In honour of World Toilet Day, which is today....

Barbara Penner, Bartlett School of Architecture, UCL

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Recently, I was struck by the video, “The Bathroom Reinvented” on Dwell magazine’s website. It features London-based industrial designer, Virginia Gardiner, explaining her creation, GCH4, a waterless toilet molded out of horse dung and resin. While intrigued by Gardiner’s design itself, part of a proposed system for transforming human shit into biofuel, I was even more struck by the clever way she presented it. Take, for instance, the video’s opening scene [see still image] in which Gardiner makes straight for her toilet and lays her hands on it while informing viewers that it’s “made of poo.” With this simple act, she directly tackles the taboos that surround toilets in both popular and professional discourses. By touching and remarking on the toilet’s dark, organically textured surface (its “softness”), she reminds us of the material reality of our waste, usually rendered invisible by our ‘flush and forget’ waterborne sanitation systems. She also directly counters the design profession’s tendency to be “hands off” with toilets even as it treats smooth white bathroom fittings as icons of hygienic culture; rather, she signals her desire to dirty or perhaps soil design, literally and metaphorically, and, in so doing, restore a close, productive relationship between our bodies and the earth.

Gardiner’s video also resonates on another level. Its unapologetic and confident approach – not to mention the appreciative responses to it on the Dwell website – confirmed a sense I’ve had for some time: that toilets are at last becoming a (more) suitable and serious subject of architectural and academic interest. This comes as a relief. I have spent the last fifteen years researching public toilets in Western cities, writing on subjects ranging from late-nineteenth-century campaigns to provide women in London with public lavatories to recent designs for female urinals to social and professional resistance to alternate (i.e. dry) sanitation systems like Gardiner’s. I do study subjects other than toilets but this is the one that refuses to go away. The main reason that I continue to return to it is that I’ve found that toilets are a very powerful way of talking about how social categories like race, class, sex are inscribed in the built environment and about how architecture articulates and maintains social difference.

One curious side-effect of having stumbled into this topic, however, is that I repeatedly find myself talking about my choice of topic: or, more specifically, defending its legitimacy as a subject of academic inquiry. Although the majority of the objections to my topic are voiced politely (the arched eyebrow generally being the weapon of choice), they erupted to the surface in 2005 in a controversy around the Call for my co-edited book, Ladies and Gents: Public Toilets and Gender. In addition to articles in the mainstream media, my co-editor, Olga Gershenson, and I found ourselves the subjects of hundreds of bemused, sneering, and derogatory comments in conservative op-ed pages and blogs. These commentators saw our project as representative of the degradation of higher education and what they perceived as the contemporary academic obsession with the everyday, popular culture, and sub-cultural practices (denounced as “trivia”). In one typical comment, The New Criterion editor Roger Kimball, demanded: “But really: a book about the ideology of public toilets? Has it come to that?” More surprisingly, in the wake of the book’s publication in 2009 and in spite of generally supportive reviews, we were charged with trivializing academe again – this time by a reviewer in the Journal of Popular Culture who summarily dismissed the book’s entire premise. Despite acknowledging the value of individual essays, the reviewer declared, “I was still not convinced why public toilets need be the subject of any book,” and went on to compare the study of public toilets, negatively, to the study of “peanut butter cups.”

Continue reading "Of Toilets and Taboos" »

October 28, 2010

The Wittelsbach-Graf diamond comes to NYC

For those who missed it in Washington DC this past year, starting today you have a chance to see the diamond at the American Museum of Natural History in New York City. For my earlier post on the diamond, click here.

Here's an additional article from the Washington Post, and here's the Wikipedia page on the stone.

October 25, 2010

Digitized mourning

Anna Haverinen, PhD student
University of Turku, Digital culture
anna.haverinen@utu.fi


In the 21st century the Internet has taken a permanent place in social and cultural interactions, commerce, searching information and distributing data (see e.g. Boellstorff 2008; Markham 1998; Reid 1994; Uotinen 2005). Virtual memorials have also developed immensly with Web 2.0, which means more user-centered, collective intelligence utilization, and faster and lighter information transfer (O'Reilly 2005). Faster and cheaper broadband services and comprehensive virtual technology (e.g. mobile phones, wireless networks, portable computers) have also helped the virtual world to take its place in the (global) communication cultures including practices of mourning.

In my PhD study I examine the various ways of expressing loss, sorrow and honoring the memory of the deceased in virtual environments. My geographical focus is in Finland, however, I have already studied this matter in my master's thesis in which I collected international ethnographic material. I use this material as completentary to my PhD thesis, since this phenomena is – as many other cultural and technological innovations – transferred to Finland through the Web. The results so far indicate that the virtual nature of the memorial site has a similar significance as an actual memorial, e.g. gravesite (Haverinen 2009). The creators of these websites are either family or friends, and reasons of keeping the sites open for public can be for practicality (no passwords needed), or as one informant claimed “--to announce to the world how great a man my husband was (to friends and strangers)” - Yolanda (Haverinen 2009: 54). Using websites to cope with loss and sorrow seems to help in the mourning process, especially if the physical resting place of the deceased is either non-existent or too far away: “I would love to create a physical memorial for my sister, since she was cremated, per her wishes, I feel kind of lost because there is no place I can go to grieve for her (for example there is not gravesite) I think that is why the website has been so healing for me” -Sandy (Haverinen 2009: 55).


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Memory-Of.com frontpage, screencaptured 1.10.2010, Anna Haverinen

Since the mid 1990's, virtual cemeteries and virtual memorial sites have increased tremendously in popularity and size, especially in the United States (Haverinen 2009). However, the Finnish public has been reluctant to adopt this new practise of mourning, since there is no to date a Finnish virtual memorial website, althought one is currently in the designing process by the Finnish Funeral Association. Regardless of this, during the past three years (2007-2010) memorial groups and pages in the Finnish Facebook network have increased in number. This might be a result of our cultural habit of keeping loss and sorrow as private and, at best, “matters of the family”. Finland used to be the top in adapting mobile technology, but after the burst of the IT-bubble Finland seemed to have dropped from the international comparisons. For example, compared to Americans Finns do not utilize social media and virtual communications as comprehensive as given the current technological infrastructure, and so it seems worth asking whether this slowness of adapting technology has to do with anthropologically interesting rules of social interaction in this country, for instance the idea that the culture is very strict about individual's “personal space”.

Memorial services and mourning in online-games seems to be also a popular way to mourn the loss of a co-player. World of Warcraft and Second Life have taken in a practise of virtual reminiscing, since the game-developer's integrate whole memorial parks (e.g. Linden Lab for Second Life) or as Blizzard Entertainment (WoW) has created virtual memorials which are either integrated in the game as part of “quests”, or as individual parts of the game scenery. However, there has also been incidents of “fake deaths” where a player fakes his or hers death in real-life to create sensation. These fakers are seen very unpleasant and adolescent.


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World of Warcraft integrated memorial for Michel Koiter, 'Shrine of the Fallen Warrior', screencaptured 4.11.2009, Heidi Similä.


General attitudes towards virtual mourning and memorialized profiles in Finland seem to vary immensly, especially between different age groups where the young seem to adapt this conduct more easily and the elders are more reluctant and are clinging to old customs. Also being accustomed to virtual technology seems to determine if virtual mourning is accepted or not. Negative attitudes are usually explained and justified by how virtual memorials are perceived as disrespectful and/or harmful for the family of the deceased. Positive attitudes claim how other parts of lives are already in the Web, thus death should be included as well. Reasons such as accessibility, speed and easiness are some key reasons to mourn virtually.

Nevertheless, some virtual mourning forms are already part of normative every(virtual) mourning day practises, such as lighting a virtual candle at the most popular Finnish site www.sytytakynttila.fi (eng. 'light a candle'), which was launched in 2001. To date it has approximately 59 000 candles with condolences to both public and private figures, tragedic events and anything that should be honored and mourned.

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Finnish website for virtual candles, www.sytytakynttila.fi, (eng. 'light a candle'), screencaptured 1.10.2010, Anna Haverinen.

Mortuary rituals are universal and part of rites of passage (van Gennepp 1977), where the persona of the decesed is transferred to another social status and conceptual place: the afterworld. In different rituals the afterworld can be seen as actively affecting the affairs of the living (e.g. Hinduism), or these rituals deal more with memory and loss (e.g. Christianity).

These imaginations of the afterworld are relative and personal, but also seem to be analogical with the virtual “world”. Blogs, profile pages in social media, avatars and other virtual expressions seem to preserve the indentity of a person, which leads to similar phenomenas as bringing flowers and candles infront of the decead's home or place of death, such as virtual candles.However, it remains to be seen and for antrhopologists to examine how this phenomena will develop. Merely making a technology available will not determine its future, rather, the new possibilities offered by the Web will build on cultural and social aspects, issues of great interest also to anthropology.


Continue reading "Digitized mourning" »

October 17, 2010

The Totem Pole: Material Transformation of a Cultural Icon

By Aaron Glass and Aldona Jonaitis

(Co-authors of the new book “The Totem Pole: An Intercultural History” (University of Washington Press, 2010), on which the following essay is based).

- Click here for a slideshow narrated by Aldona Jonaitis.
- For readers in the New York City area, come hear Aaron Glass give an illustrated talk at Observatory on October 24, 2010.

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[image by Aaron Glass]

Wherever you go, it sometimes seems, you are likely to encounter a totem pole in some form or another. A tourist visiting a totem pole park—such as Saxman Native Village in Ketchikan, Alaska, or Thunderbird Park next to the Royal British Columbia Museum in Victoria, British Columbia—may observe how well cared for and preserved the monuments are. Once he or she has learned the identities of all the figures on a specific pole from available labels or tour guides, the typical tourist will probably be satisfied that he or she now understands the pole, and will go on to photograph the next one, or to buy a miniaturized version. In contrast, for the indigenous chief who erects a pole, it is a material record of the privilege that he or his lineage has to depict certain images (typically heraldic crests), and of the lavish potlatch – the famous feast at which valuables are distributed to seal social obligations of validation and reciprocity – which celebrated the pole’s raising and enhanced the host’s standing in his community. Following the potlatch, the pole might be used as a mnemonic device to recall the family’s claims or the event itself, but commonly the pole would also be left to the elements, which decides its ultimate fate. Although aesthetic sophistication may confer additional prestige on a pole’s carver or owner, totem poles were and are not typically objects of artistic contemplation, much less worship, for the communities from which they come. However, in contemporary popular imagination, such complex, socially oriented indigenous meanings have largely vanished. Instead, totem poles have become transformed into souvenir kitsch and commercial logos; signifiers of settler colonial cities, states and nations; monumental artworks in museums and outdoor parks; symbols of stereotyped Native Americans otherwise entirely based on Plains or Woodlands prototypes (feathered headdresses, teepees, peace pipes, tomahawks, and birchbark canoes).

Although originally placed within or beside houses along only a narrow strip of the North Pacific Coast, today totem poles show up in locations as varied as museums, parks, city squares, private homes, university campuses, theme parks, cruise ships, and gift shops around the world. Many misconceptions have followed these poles on their travels away from Native villages and into the public domain. For example, poles do not tell narrative stories that can be “read” from top to bottom or bottom to top like a comic strip or hieroglyph. Instead, poles are to be seen more as a cast of characters from lineage narratives or crests on family tree branches. In general, positions of figures on the pole have little bearing on their significance, despite the cliché “low man on the totem pole;” in fact, some groups put the most important family crest on the bottom, at eye level. Neither are poles suffused with spirituality, despite repeated attempts to portray them as such. The term “totem pole” itself is a bit of a misnomer, as the social and spiritual structures of Northwest Coast peoples do not conform to classic anthropological models of totemism. However, other misinterpretations follow: that poles and crest animals were worshiped as idols; that clan members practiced culinary taboos related to their crests; and that poles performed a protective function for houses or villages. None of that is true.

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Neither is the popular assumption that totem poles represent a form of art that existed in static abundance for centuries. Although carved heraldic monuments (interior house posts or panels, house entrance poles, memorial or mortuary columns) predated the arrival of Europeans to the North Pacific Coast, “the totem pole”—as an icon and idea—actually emerged and continues to change as a negotiation and involvement with, as well as reaction to, intruders into indigenous territories. The totem pole is a flexible technology that continues to express shifting identities in the settler context of North America. The most central participants in this transformative process are indigenous people themselves, who have been adapting the totem pole form to meet novel contexts of intercultural encounter. But others have contributed considerably to this history as well, including fur traders, missionaries, government officials, artists, tourists, journalists, settlers, academics, ethnographers, art critics, museum professionals, filmmakers, and photographers. Many of these outsiders found totem poles the most fascinating of Native artworks, subjecting them to varied judgments, interpretations and celebrations, and in the process imposed on them meanings that their Native creators could never have imagined. Because these reactions have integrated themselves into the concept of the totem pole, we frame this history of the pole’s transformations within the overarching and complementary themes of colonial articulation and imagination—the complex and often contradictory dynamic of both appropriation and appreciation of Native art forms. That is to say, the multiple meanings that adhere to totem poles are comprised of both indigenous realities and non-indigenous misconceptions (be they simple factual errors or wild, romantic imaginings). Thus the history of the totem pole is also a history of settler colonial relations, for it emerged over two centuries in the context of transactions between the original inhabitants of and the newcomers to the Northwest Coast.

Whatever totem poles were and are to Native people themselves, they also embody a history of intercultural contact, conflict, and exchange. To reflect this current diversity of attitudes and approaches to poles, our book includes 25 sidebars authored by scholars and artists, both Native and non, who discuss particular poles of their own choosing, as well as 7 appendices with information on specific poles in various contexts. Despite the many material transformations, as well as representations and misrepresentations, that totem poles have experienced over two centuries, they remain compelling, intriguing, and fascinating to people of all ethnicities and backgrounds. Despite – or, perhaps, because of – its enigmatic and ephemeral qualities, “the totem pole” has imprinted itself indelibly onto the aesthetic imagination of Natives and non-Natives alike, becoming in the process an even more complex, even more meaningful icon.

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[On the set of the Curtis film, 1913. From Bill Holm and George Quimby, Edward S. Curtis in the Land of the War Canoes]

As entry into the range of material and conceptual transformations that the totem pole has been subject to, we offer the following case study of a single pole (or rather, a pair of almost identical poles) and its wide circulation over the past century.

Continue reading "The Totem Pole: Material Transformation of a Cultural Icon" »

July 27, 2010

The Pink and Blue Project - JeongMee Yoon

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Photo Attribution: Flickr Pink & Blue Baby Bumps - Funny Coincidence by Daniel Greene, CC License

I recently discovered JeongMee Yoon's research "Pink and Blue Projects". In addition to a website with over 50 photographs of pink and blue objects that surround children's lives, Yoon provides a description of the broader project and a brief introduction to the history of the color pink. In Yoon's own words, The Pink and Blue Projects "explores the trends in cultural preferences and the differences in the tastes of children (and their parents) from diverse cultures, ethnic groups as well as gender socialization and identity. The work also raises other issues, such as the relationship between gender and consumerism, urbanization, the globalization of consumerism and the new capitalism."

June 20, 2010

Clockpunk Scenes

Shannon Lee Dawdy (Anthropology, University of Chicago)
sdawdy@uchicago.edu

One can detect an archaeological turn in popular culture that suggests an emergent anti-modernity and twists in the temporal imagination. In this movement, timelines are neither linear nor circular, but involve a complex folding of time, or what Svetlana Boym (2001) calls "reflective nostalgia." Mainstream media examples include Benjamin Button, Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy (film: The Golden Compass), the Harry Potter series or recent television programs such as Lost, Journeyman, Heroes or Life on Mars. It is also expressed in contemporary material culture through "retro" and eclectic interior design styles, which are guided not by a desire to accurately reproduce past place-times, as would a period room of a museum, but rather by an impulse to play with future possibilities by jumbling anachronistic artifacts (see Thorne 2003 for an astute take on the politics of apocalyptic/retro aesthetics). These are mundane examples of Latour's "quasi-objects" that can create multiple times and diffuse conceits of a predictable ontological order (1993:73-75).

This temporal folding in popular culture holds enough fascination for some to inform an entire lifestyle and several urban youth and on-line communities visible in the U.S., U.K. Japan, Australia, Italy, the Netherlands, Spain, and now Brazil. The Steampunk or Clockpunk subculture combines Victorian or Edwardian fashions (Figure 1) with contemporary nanotechnology and musical forms.

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Figure 1. Steampunk fashion. Flickr Creative Commons. Credit: Anna Fischer.

Elements of this aesthetic have seeped into the mainstream through the comicbook League of Extraordinary Gentleman (begun 1999). Clockpunks embrace a knotted temporality as expressed in their revival of the antique science fiction of Jules Verne and H.G. Wells. They see it as the role of their generation to engineer, not the end of the world, but the end of modernity by purposefully entangling moments of its progressive timeline. This is not the same "back to the past" neo-Luddism that characterized many 1960s back-to-the-land experiments. Although Steampunk shares a Do-It-Yourself (DIY) commitment to alternative economies, it also focuses on re-appropriating and taking control over advanced technology (Figure 2; for a 'how to' guide to Steampunk DIY urban survival, see Killjoy 2008). The most political adherents self-consciously refuse the commodity form through DIY labor, recycling, salvaging, sewing, and thrifting while simultaneously seizing individual control over mystified technologies such as computers, the internet, digital recording, medicine, and even water purification and food production (Killjoy 2008). This is sustainability with an attitude, and an aesthetic.

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Figure 2. Steampunk desktop computer. Wikimedia Commons (http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Category:Steampunk).

Notably, Steampunk is also associated with a utopian optimism about human potential. Contemporary artist Kris Kuksi's 11-foot sculpture entitled "Imminent Utopia" is made from recycled plastic army men, Victorian chachkas, and discarded junk jewelry. His work was featured in a recent exhibition of "Steampunk Art" in Oxford (closed February 21, 2010).

According to a foundational Steampunk manifesto:

We live in a world at the edge of the ecological catastrophe, in a world where the race for hoarding profits and resources is recreating all over the planet slums typical of 19th-century London, and the individual’s rights, obtained through fierce collective struggles in the last two-hundred years, are starting to wear away again one after another. That is why many people are beginning to consider the idea of de-growth, of slowing down production rhythms—or even of going back to early industrial conditions—as the only real solution to the death of the world as we know it... This trend becomes particularly radical when it refuses a mystical and unlikely return to the pre-industrial past and hybridizes with the hacker and punk do-it-yourself ethics: the result is not only critical of hypertechnological progress, but it proposes alternatives which are both self-produced and, what’s more important, open to self-management. (reginazabo 2008)

Thus, for some members of the Steampunk movement, the relationship between material culture and temporality is understood as key to understanding current political economies, and their utopian alternatives. Recycling of goods and the ecological sustainability of cities through practices such as urban gardening in vacant lots are seen as resonant with the imaginative 'recycling' of time (Killjoy 2008).

Another contemporary social phenomenon indicative of the archaeological turn in popular culture is the urban exploration (UrbEx) movement (Paiva 2008, Solis 2005). Practitioners spelunker into the abandoned spaces and modern ruins of contemporary cities, exploring sewer tunnels, factories, amusement parks, and schools. While these activities are usually illegal (minimally violating private trespassing laws), most urban explorers take only photos, posting blogs with images via several on-line communities. Others sometimes collect souvenirs and call themselves "industrial archaeologists," apparently unaware of their academic doppelgangers. The most prominent urban explorers are artists who pride themselves on their ability to "see" what society has overlooked in these neglected spaces. They are underground flâneurs, kindred spirits to Walter Benjamin, who was himself a bemused fan of Charles Fourier's science fiction utopia.

Continue reading "Clockpunk Scenes" »

May 15, 2010

Marked for Deselection Material traces of a book culling attempt at Victoria University

Giovanni Tiso, Victoria University, Wellington

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Under the somewhat deceptive title of Collection Appraisal Project, the library at Victoria University in Wellington, New Zealand, proposed in 2004 to dispose of up to 130,000 titles - approximately one-fifth of its overall holdings - so that some of its space could be freed up for other functions than the storage and display of books. It was initially decided that the books that hadn't been taken out of the library for ten years or longer would be marked for inclusion on this list, and that it would be up to the academic staff and students to indicate whether any of them should be spared. Once this initial phase had been completed, some of the books would be relegated to the stacks and the balance would be de-selected, that is to say destroyed. Library staff proceeded therefore to apply red stickers onto the spines of these seldom-borrowed books, and informed us that in order to take them off the list we would have to mark the stickers with a black felt pen.

This didn't go down well, especially in the humanities. In an email circulated around the faculty under the subject line 'Barbarians at the gates', Professor Robert Easting lamented the time he had been forced to spend on his hands and knees hunting for red-stickered books. He pointed out that the already scarce holdings of the library could hardly afford to be reduced further; that the crude ten-years criterion was singularly ill-suited to establish relevance to humanists and social scientists. He described the practice of destroying books as 'barbaric'. Soon the polemic reached the newspapers and a nationally televised panel TV show, and some time later the plan was abandoned.

But the books themselves preserve its memory. To this day if you browse the library, especially on certain floors, you'll find more books with the red sticker than books without. The Italian section was hit especially hard. Whole shelves, whole centuries of our literature had been plastered with the stickers. I recall going through them at the time and marking them just as indiscriminately. Save one, save all. I don't care how long it has been since the complete works of Giovanni Boccaccio were checked out. We need them; they must be there, occupy that space, or we might as well not have an Italian department at all.

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It had already been marked with a thick black forward-slash by the time I got there, but I recoiled especially at seeing Antonio Gramsci's Lettere dal carcere sporting a red sticker. The letters that Gramsci had penned as a political prisoner, under the constraints of censorship and the rationing of his writing privileges, and that together form an extraordinary prison memoir, yes, but also a chronicle of intellectual life during Fascism and the autobiography of one Europe's greatest political thinkers and philosophers of the last century - it seemed such an astonishing indignity for that particular book, such an offence to its history and ours, that it might even be suggested to remove it from view, let alone destroy it. It also underscored the poor intellectual effort that had gone into assessing the value of the library's collections, just when the times demanded our sharpest possible thinking on the subject of which print materials ought to be displayed, and how, and at what cost, and which titles would do better in a digital environment; how to balance the needs of current and future researchers with broader cultural considerations; how to understand the value of books as material objects, and the act of browsing them as a physical journey into a topic or the history of a country, within a set of spatial coordinates that don't always map well inside of a computer network.
***

Antonio Gramsci didn't die in prison, but only just. Mussolini had him arrested in 1926 along with others Parlamentarians of the opposition. At his trial, in 1928, public prosecutor Michele Isgrò famously spoke of the need to 'render that brain of his inoperative for at least twenty years'. And while his steadily deteriorating health bought him some respite from the harshest conditions of his imprisonment, and finally an early release in April of 1937, he had regained his freedom for less than a week when an aneurysm killed him. He was forty-six years old.

Far from rendering his brain inoperative, prison made a philosopher out of Gramsci. No longer able to carry out his active political duties as communist leader, he resolved from the outset to occupy as much time as he could with systematic studying and writing. Indeed in the very first letter following his arrest, addressed to the family whose apartment he was renting at the time, Gramsci asked if they could please send him some of his books and purchase for him a cheap copy of Dante's Divine Comedy. (He pointed out to them that these books would have to be stripped of their covers in order to pass inspection.) At his initial internment destination, on the island of Ustica, he started a school programme with Amedeo Bordiga and other political detainees. Later, in prison proper, he was involved in constant negotiations concerning which books he was allowed to receive and keep, how much stationery he was allowed to have, and how often he was allowed to write to his family and friends.

These constantly changing restrictions on his reading and writing are painstakingly documented in the letters, which are also a chronicle of how the Prison Notebooks came to be. Here too the posthumous title is descriptive not of a literary or philosophical subject, but of a concrete practice, of the circumstances in which the author was forced to operate: in prison, on a series of thirty-two notebooks that he had no meaningful hope of seeing published. Yet to these notebooks he entrusted his thoughts on hegemony, on the philosophy of Croce, on the role of public intellectuals, on Machiavelli, on literature. It was his intellectual legacy. Nearly three thousand pages, each paragraph seemingly composed inside his head and then written down - like the letters - already in final draft, not to waste precious paper or the time that he was allowed to spend on such activities. And once his ill health finally forced him to abandon the project, in 1935, so too from his correspondence disappeared the requests for books or periodicals, all signs of the febrile discipline that had given him a focus and a purpose for the best part of a decade and of the gestures that accompanied it. Gramsci's life was winding down, and what little energy he had left was spent writing to his family in Russia, to his two boys Delio and Giuliano, whom he had barely had time to see and who were now just old enough to be able to read his letters and respond.

Reading Gramsci's letters, more so than the Notebooks, I am reminded of Primo Levi and of his extraordinary compulsion to write while still a prisoner at Monowitz, knowing that if any of those scraps of hastily scribbled upon paper had been found on his person he would be put to death, and so they had to be immediately destroyed. Yet he wrote, as if the act alone could leave a material trace of his conscience, of his passage through that infernal machinery whose purpose it was to destroy him and every sign of his person. Gramsci too, albeit in a lesser hell, was almost physically consumed by the need to fight with the only weapon he had left the forces that wished to neutralize his intellect.

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When a library wants to get rid of some of its books, it is sometimes referred to as a cull. Bear in mind that this is the same discipline that refers to the acquisition of digital information as ‘ingesting’. But culls need to occur, and it may not be as inapt a word as all that. In order to make room for new acquisitions a library simply has to either physically expand or withdraw some of its holdings. It happens all the time. Of course generally they don’t ask you about it. On your next visit you might simply find that a familiar book or series has disappeared. And since frequency of borrowing is in fact one of the indicators of the relative value of the titles in a collection, checking a favourite book out from time to time may just be a smart thing to do, if you really care about it.

What made the exercise at Victoria objectionable then wasn’t the decision to get rid of some books, or the involvement of staff and students in the selection, but the ulterior aim, which was an actual reduction of the overall holdings so that other functions - primarily IT - could be expanded. By rights this move ought to have followed a discussion on what it means to have more computers and fewer books; whether or not it broadens access to key knowledge and resources; whether it leads to better research rather than just faster research. But in the clumsy way they went about it, the library administrators also created an interesting case study, in that they made visible and in fact indelible the process that leads to the elimination of books from a collection. The red sticker on the letters of Gramsci, as well as the black mark on the sticker itself, are now part of the history of that book. They broaden its meaning and contribute to its interpretation, inviting further reflection on the material circumstances in which the letters were written, and the history of their publication and ongoing reception. And when the book is threatened to be displaced due the encroaching of a new technology, those signs also remind us that before the digital humanities there was this thing called the analogue humanities, and that the transition between the two is enormously sensitive and fraught.

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Antonio Gramsci. Lettere dal carcere. Edited by Sergio Caprioglio and Elsa Fubini. Turin: Einaudi, 1965.
All images were taken by the author at the university library in April 2010.

May 7, 2010

Augmented Retail

Lane DeNicola, Anthropology Department, University College London
l.denicola@ucl.ac.uk

The meme of the Internet's radical transformation of commerce, and specifically the consumer-level experience of e-commerce, recognizes an amalgam of shifts. Perusal of commodities via keyboard and display, for example, engender a quite different posture than traditional “brick-and-mortar” venues. Shoppers are less “on display” themselves in the former case, and so the cosmetic preparations that attend shopping in physical spaces are typically eliminated. Further, groups of more than perhaps two or at most three who attempt to shop online “together” (i.e. using a single display or interface) will likely find it a less-than-satisfying experience, in contrast to traditional shopping, a highly social activity. Most significantly, some have levelled a critique of e-commerce (or “online shopping” more specifically) as an unfortunate abstraction, an excision of consumption from its traditional context of social interaction and the experience of local spaces. By sedentarizing and individualizing such practice, online shopping nudged us even further in the direction of homogeneous, alienated consumers.

It is worth considering, however, some recent examples of digital culture in the vein of retailing. The cases mentioned here demonstrate that online shopping has heretofore been an activity shaped by paradigmatic understandings of the Internet as a medium, more specifically as a derivative of television. Yet a combination of factors—the routinised embedding of webcams in computers, innovations in image processing, and the promulgation of automatic identification standards and advertising-subsidized Web services—have destabilized such understandings. The challenges implied (e.g. to traditional publishing) by the possibility of users uploading their own text or images to the Web has expanded now into the domain of objects. Certainly 2D visual displays have so far remained the pivotal feature of most people's experience with the Internet, and others have shown that this delicate membrane never really did segregate in any objective way people and objects on the one side from texts and representations on the other (cite Turkle). Yet the proliferation of sensing devices—especially cameras, microphones, accelerometers, and location finders—via desktop computers and mobile devices has dramatically intensified the entanglement of physical and virtual objects and spaces. The particularities of some recent examples in augmented reality and the Internet of Things yield important insights for digital anthropology.

Take Delicious Library, for example, a desktop application from the software company Delicious Monster (no relation to the Delicious of social bookmarking fame). Originally designed (as its name might suggest) for the management of physical books, the software's principal innovation was two-fold: first, it turned the average webcam into an EAN-13 bar code reader, allowing the user to simply scan each book in his or her library rather than entering its ISBN in manually, a capability long-enjoyed by many professional librarians but rarely worth the expense for home use. Second, once a volume was identified the software would automatically search Amazon.com for corresponding information (bibliographic particulars, cover illustration, reviews, retail price), downloading it into the users local library database. Now in its second major version, Delicious Library will also catalogue many movies, music, software, toys, tools, electronics, video games, “gadgets” and even some apparel. The scanning mechanism has been made to resemble that of the typical grocery store checkout, both visually and audibly, an ironic naturalization of the object-to-information binding. The aesthetics of the interface itself echoes the suturing of physical to informational: as each item is scanned, it's cover or identifying icon appears on a wood-grained “bookshelf” in a smoothly animated materialization, its retrieved specifications filling a drawer on the right.

Continue reading "Augmented Retail" »

April 29, 2010

The unanticipated city: shifting urban landscapes and the politics of spectacle in Chennai.

Roos Gerritsen, Institute of Cultural Anthropology, Leiden University.

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Mural dedicated to the political party DMDK. The man pointing his finger is the leader of the party and a well-known Tamil movie star. (Chennai 2009)

The streets of the South Indian city of Chennai have for years been used as the canvas of political competition. Until recently, Chennai’s cityscapes were saturated with billboards, cutouts, posters, painted slogans, murals, and various other signposts. In 2009 however, in the wake of criticism regarding the defacement of public and private walls, the Chennai city administration has attempted to intervene in this encroachment and initiated campaigns to regulate this visual “pollution” of unsanctioned forms of display within the city. They have decided to enforce a ban on posters, murals, and hoardings on two of its main thoroughfares within the city as these are considered distracting and therefore a danger to onlookers. Soon after the city extended the measure and at present the use of 3,000 public walls is now prohibited. To beautify the roads, signboard artists have been commissioned to cover several stretches of government walls with images of Tamil historic, cultural, and natural scenery.

Paradoxically, the South Indian state Tamil Nadu and particularly its capital Chennai have always provided a model for the elaborate spectacle of monumental yet ephemeral imagery dedicated to movie stars and politicians; the same images that are now being replaced. The state shows a long and extensive history of crossovers of cinema and politics. Their intimate connection has created a particular visual culture and remarkable forms of exhibition. Particularly conspicuous have been the gigantic cutouts of up to 30 meters and the ubiquitous murals depicting (cine-)political leaders. Tamil Nadu is particularly well known for this spectacle of leaders and heroes; famous for some and notorious for others.

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Cutout of Karunanidhi, leader of the political party DMK and Chief Minister of the state Tamil Nadu. (Pondicherry, date unknown)


The new restrictions taken up by the city administration have become part of new visual contestations over city space. Moreover, the new wall paintings do not seem to be merely an attempt to beautify the city, but also a way of urging a different morality for its inhabitants. Unanticipated, spontaneous visual regimes are displaced and even exchanged for new visual imaginaries.

The recent restrictions of imagery by the city administration are part of a larger beautification project and have to be understood within a wider discourse of city development. Chennai aspires to be a world-class city, with Singapore as its role model. The transformations of public spaces, therefore, have become crucial points in changing the image of the city. In actual practice this goes often at the expense of the urban poor who are deprived of their homes or means of income as e.g. slums are being cleared and relocated in the city’s fringes, or so-called “informal” economies barred from the streets. Within the visual contestations taking place right now, what stands out is the term used by the city itself: beautification. Beautification suggests that the surface of the city has to become beautiful, not habitable per se. In this line, the city attempts to push back the encroachment of public space by restricting its use, particularly that of city walls. The mayor of Chennai, M. Subramanian, declared that images that reflect Tamil culture will be painted on compound walls of government property in an attempt to keep those who paste posters away and improve aesthetics. Posters are an eyesore, he stated. The city thus has become a visual space, a space to look at, not particularly a space to use.

Continue reading "The unanticipated city: shifting urban landscapes and the politics of spectacle in Chennai." »

April 24, 2010

‘Denim’ and the Dongs

The closeness of denim consumption in a family in a South-west Chinese city

Tom McDonald, Research Student, UCL Department of Anthropology

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For the Dong family, who live in Kunming, a city in South-west China, the chief, consumer of denim is 22 year old Dong Baiyi. Dong Baiyi lives at home, with her older brother and parents they have two children, due to an exemption in the family planning laws allowing couples in which one of the parents is of a state-recognised ethnic minority (Dong Baiyi’s mother, Li Jingmei, is of Dai ethnicity) to have multiple births (Sautman, 1998:89-90).

The family are economically comfortable. Dong Baiyi works as a receptionist in a two-star hotel, earning around 2000 RMB per month. Her brother, Dong Yishan, sells insurance, which can earn several thousand RMB per month dependent on commission. Baiyi’s father, Dong Guoping, is a Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) doctor, and her mother is a nurse.

Dong Baiyi claims only she and her brother wear denim regularly, while her parents wear it very rarely. Baiyi herself had six pairs of jeans, and her brother had 4 pairs. The presence of denim in the family, however, is not a new phenomenon, dating back to 1990, when Baiyi was only four years old. At that time she received a denim dress from her mother’s sister, who, Baiyi informed the researcher, was then making a living importing large amounts of foreign clothing for sale.

Baiyi’s testimony reveals important trends for her induction into denim. All four of the first denim items she received were gifted to her, with at least three coming from close relations on both the maternal and paternal sides of her family. Baiyi herself took an active role in instigating the purchase of one pair.

Since graduating from university Baiyi’s situation has changed. She continues to live at home, but now has works, and considerable autonomy over her clothes, food and lifestyle. However, in this period denim has continued to remain an important feature in Baiyi’s wardrobe, even if the way she has thought about them has changed from an emphasis on ‘cuteness’ to a more practical rationality:

Now I like jeans because they are convenient (fāngbiàn), you can match them with anything. Match them with T-shirts, match them with shirts. And… the main point is you can match them with anything. Also, they won’t be vulgar (yōngsú).

Baiyi’s denim collection has expanded to six pairs of jeans (only three of which she regularly wears), a pair of denim dungarees, and three denim dresses. Baiyi’s jeans often featured floral embroidery.

Virtually every time Baiyi met the researcher she was wearing at least one item of clothing featuring some kind of floral pattern. But flowers were not merely worn by Baiyi, they seemed to permeate her entire life. This was made apparent when Baiyi invited the researcher on a park trip to “look at the flowers” (kànhuā). Baiyi was able to identify a large array of flora, their blossoming times, and sometimes their medicinal use. On at least three separate days, she pointed out, or drew the researcher’s attention to flowers.

Baiyi is aware that her clothing differs markedly from that of her parents. Her father owns only a single pair of jeans (which he rarely wears); her mother owns three; in comparison to four owned by her brother and six by herself. Baiyi reported that none of her grandparents (both paternal and maternal) ever owned or wore jeans. She describes her parents’ style as ‘plain’ (pǔsù), although she said that she did not mind the clothes that they wore. The wearing of flowers, either embroidered or print, seemed to be something that both her and her mother could indulge in, both linking the maternal side and emphasising femininity.

Baiyi has been wearing denim for over four-fifths of her life, and jeans for over half. Baiyi likes jeans because they are “comfortable” and “convenient”, two words she used on countless occasions to describe jeans. Not only has Baiyi grown up, denim has grown with her, and her preferences in what constitutes suitable denim have changed.

Most of her jeans remain straight-legged or flared, which she maintains is appropriate if your body is “just ok”. Flowers emphasise her femininity, but also draw attention to her body. The cut of Baiyi’s denim enables her to be a grown woman, while still being a filial daughter. The history of her receiving the denim from her family represents a tacit approval of her choice by her parents, that has enabled her to expand the forms of denim she wears. The multiple forms of denim Baiyi owns suggest the fabric was instrumental in allowing this transformation of identity to occur.

Denim and the closeness of kinship

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The Dong families case, in common with that of other families in China illustrates two phenomena. First, denim has been particularly efficacious due to its ability to insert itself into traditional Chinese notions of nurturance (Stafford, 1995:80; Stafford, 2000) enabling Kunming parents and elder relatives to gift it to their children in the hope that the act would strengthen their kinship bonds, while simultaneously making their offspring’s lives fundamentally different from their own, coupled with an awareness that an alteration in material circumstances would be necessary to achieve such a change. But denim also provoked a ‘kinship gulf’ between children and their parents, one that parents now appeared keen to close, by purchasing and wearing denim of their own, though not without a degree of ambivalence. It is as if, having dispatched their offspring into the Brave New World, parents desired to follow in their progenies’ footsteps, to experience some of the materiality their offspring had. Ambivalence was best reflected by the amount of parents’ jeans lying inactive, in wardrobes. Thus, perhaps the most remarkable discovery about denim in Kunming at the turn of the century is that it was seen as a tool that could create generational disjuncture through the most traditional of means, and then later was hoped would provide the solution to remove this disjuncture.

This article is an extract from a forthcoming paper to be published in the journal Textile. To preserve informants’ anonymity, their names have been altered.

Bibliography

Sautman, B. (1998). Preferential policies for ethnic minorities in China: The case of Xinjiang. Nationalism and Ethnic Politics, 4(1), 86-118.
Stafford, C. (1995). The Roads of Chinese Childhood: Learning and Identification in Angang. Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press.
Stafford, C. (2000). Chinese patriliny and the cycles of yang and laiwang. In J. Carsten (Ed.), Cultures of Relatedness: New Approaches to the Study of Kinship (pp. 37-54). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

March 15, 2010

MEANING OF WATER

This March as part of the ESRC's festival of Social Science, the Royal Anthropological Institute (RAI) is running a series of outreach events investigating the connections between water, conservation and community. The events are open to anyone, regardless of previous background or knowledge of anthropology. From 16th-18th March a series of film screenings entitled Water Cultures: Discovering the meaning of water through film will be held at the RAI's screening room in London. The screenings will be followed by our main event 'The Meaning of Water' held on the 20th March on the HMS boat on the River Thames.

Details of the events can be found below.
The events are free but booking is required.

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Continue reading "MEANING OF WATER" »

March 9, 2010

Genealogies Of Garbage: Historical Meanings and Practices of Garbage and their Impacts on Trash Activism Today

Max Liboiron, PhD Candidate
Department of Media, Culture and Communication
New York University
max.liboiron@nyu.edu
www.maxliboiron.com

We are facing a garbage crisis. From nuclear waste with a ten-thousand year half-life, to the persistent organic pollutants found in the breast milk of women living in the Arctic, to the billions upon billions of tiny plastic bits in the Pacific gyre, “garbage”—the unwanted detritus of industrial production and consumption— has taken on an unwieldy form.

Yet we have been here before. At least two other moments in the past two centuries in the United States have faced a similar “crisis of containment,” where garbage not
only seemed unimaginably foreign and dangerous to everyday sensibilities, but communicating these hazards and eliciting organized participation to prevent their spread also appeared impracticable. The first was in the late nineteenth century during the sanitation reform movement, and the other launched the popular environmental movement in the 1960s. In each case, the meanings and understandings (ontologies) of garbage were revolutionized, leading to practices and knowledge (epistemologies) unimaginable a decade earlier.

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New York City street before and after George Waring, Commissioner for Street Cleaning (1895), revolutionized sanitation practices and accomplished what was thought to be an impossible task.

I argue that whatever instigates such transformations leaves its trace on subsequent reasoning concerning what “garbage” is, how it affects people and the environment, and what can and should be done about it. The historical meanings of “garbage” constrain, compel, and otherwise influence trash activism today. The first section of my dissertation will construct a Foucaultian “history of the present” to examine how a concrete object called “garbage” has congealed in particular ways at particular times. While some scholarship describes how certain objects have moved into or out of the category of trash, such as recyclables or antiques, and others have researched the municipal sanitation reform movement, I argue that the category of trash itself has not been stable or continuous over time, and that changes in the category of garbage result in profound changes in trash activism.

The first chapter of my dissertation looks at American eastern coastal cities between 1840 and 1880, from the publication of the first health survey in New York to the beginning of the sanitation reform movement. I hypothesize that the health surveys of the 1840s and 60s that located, mapped, and defined garbage and its effects, as well as other “accounting” measures developed in the period, allowed garbage to cohere into an entity that was functionally homogenous despite its acknowledged varied material make up. This allowed it to be identified and productively controlled–that is, contained— for the first time in history. While there were kitchen scraps and ashes, old shoes and horse manure littering the streets before this time, these objects all had different values, levels of “nuisance,” and destinations. I hypothesize that the health surveys and their classification methods organized the ontology of garbage into something that could be readily identified by the public, feared, and rhetorically evoked to rally public action, resulting in new epistemologies and regimes of management and control. In effect, I hypothesize that garbage as we know it today was “invented” in this period.

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Title page for second sanitation/health survey of New York City, 1866.

My second chapter will investigate the “paradigm of pollution” that developed during the 1950s and 60s. In this case, a distrust of Big Industry and Big Science, the rhetoric of the Cold War, including nuclear weapon and waste protests, the publication of Rachael Carson’s Silent Spring, and a permanent, visible plethora of non-biodegradable “disposables” radically challenged what garbage was, how it polluted, and what could and ought to be done about it compared to how it was conceived of at the turn of the century. This was the second trash crisis of containment.

A crisis of containment is the result of garbage systematically exceeding, breaking down, or permeating not only material boundaries, but more importantly, social limits and control. The breech of social norms is what creates the impetus for change, even though the crisis focuses on material objects. In the nineteenth century, garbage newly signified both the threat of cholera and immigrant rebellion during a period of mass urbanization and immigration. In the 1950s and 60s, chemical modes of pollution and contamination were “discovered” as the globalization of industrial capitalism began to threaten ecosystems on unprecedented scales. Thus, by studying the time just before successful national trash activism, I am studying the conditions of possibility that allowed garbage to be diagnosed, located, categorized, and managed during previous crises of containment. My subject is the social stakes, communication strategies and cultural interpretations that launched these successful social movements.

Unquestionably, I am framing these garbage crises as social crises and not merely crises caused by an abundance of a certain type of material (garbage) and its attendant technical problems (how to get rid of it). During a crisis of containment, the management, dangers, and very character of everyday garbage are defamiliarized as threat, transformed into something new, and then naturalized as part of that crisis’ strategies and solution. I have chosen the sanitation reform movement and the birth of the popular environmental movement rather than, for example, the New York City garbage strike in 1917 or the national landfill crisis during the 1980s, because the latter were crises of accumulation and intensification; garbage itself was not ontologically or epistemologically challenged during these times, and as such were not crises of containment as I am using the term.

A crisis of containment is failing to take place today; the material transgressions of garbage are not matched by transgressions of social norms or limits. My dissertation is a historical genealogy that will investigate the conditions that redefined “garbage” during these two previous moments of revolutionary trash activism, and compare them to the problems faced and tactics used by trash activists in the twenty-first century.

What are the social, cultural, and material conditions that allow garbage to cohere into one type of object and threat during a particular moment in time? In other words, why are certain types of garbage and trash activism legible and possible at a given moment, and others not? Secondly, how does "the historical awareness of our present circumstance" affect what and how we know about garbage and how we deal with it today? How can we “update” ideas about garbage to create new forms and paradigms of trash activism?

March 3, 2010

On premature aging

In a couple of remarks collected from costume designers in the course of my research on the making of popular Hindi films (“Bollywood”), I was told that a challenge for the designer wanting to create “real” (as opposed to glamorous or overstated) costumes was that there was no interest in or knowledge of how to age them. By aging they meant what is sometimes termed “breakdown” or “distressing” in other theatrical and film industries, or treating the finished costume so as to appear to the viewer that it had undergone anything from days to weeks to years of wear. Considering this question has led me to discussions with ager-dyers and costume designers in contexts where aging is expected and therefore conventional, and the examination of aged costumes and the settings in which they are made.

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Aging ranges from more florid forms, creating torn and ragged garments, crusted with dirt, blood and so forth that are called for in specific dramatic contexts, all the way to subtle uses that barely draw any attention at all. The point of extreme aging is to assert the veracity of the experiences, some of them traumatic, of the film’s characters. Tattered, blood-spattered clothing are demanded by vigorous action scenes; dirty, decaying clothes by scenes of poverty and neglect. They speak too to the emotional drain such experiences exact on the characters. Indeed, the painstaking breakdown of costume in action films seems an essential component of the co-option of the indexicality of film images to act as, as Black puts it, a “realist guarantee for the unreal”. Consider, for example, this thumbnail description of the kind of request an ager/dyer might get from a costume designer: “it’s a late 1800s silhouette, they have caught the plague, they’re on a ship, then the ship was hit and they were burnt, and went to the bottom of the ocean for hundreds of years but then there is a good guy. What do they look like?”

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At the other end of the spectrum, discreet, restrained aging of a costume can involve as little as a wash before it is worn. Workforce stipulations in Europe and the US insist on the cleanliness and wearability of costume, and some ager-dyers are unusually, perhaps uniquely sensitive to the fact that the mundane new clothing we buy in shops is not necessarily safe or hygienic to wear. But the ultimate answer to “why” the subtlest of aging is done is that in this way costumes look less fresh from the tailor’s bench, and more fished from the character’s wardrobe. The overriding, taken-for-granted assumption in such a conviction is that the plausibility of a costume emerges from the extent to which it seems even minutely ‘lived-in.’ It is in the unconscious recognition of the worn collar and cuff, the shiny knee on the trouser or elbow in the coat, the softer folds or resilient creases of a washed and rewashed blouse, that realism is confirmed.

Continue reading "On premature aging" »

January 26, 2010

Gaea Girls

KINĒMATHEQUE
A new strand curated by Curzon Cinemas and Second Run DVD to present special world cinema screenings and events presents: GAEA GIRLS a film by Kim Longinotto and Jano Williams.

SPECIAL SCREENING + Director Q&A.

Renoir Cinema, Sunday 31st January, 12:30 pm

"Gaea Girls is about more than wrestling. Like 'Divorce Iranian Style' it smashes preconceptions about the women it depicts, transcending its subject in the process" Toronto Film Festival.

Continue reading "Gaea Girls" »

January 22, 2010

A History of the World in 100 Objects

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BBC Radio 4 recently kicked off a new series on the collections of British Museum called A History of the World in One Hundred Objects. The programme, written and presented by BM director Neil MacGregor, aims to tell the entire history of the world in a 100 15-minute episodes focusing on key objects in the BM's permanent collections. Each episode will concentrate on one 'thing' in the museum, explore its context and significance in the culture that produced it, together with its collection history and interpretation.

More about the series can be found by clicking: http://www.bbc.co.uk/ahistoryoftheworld/explorerflash/

Editorial Comment: If the story of the world can be told in 100 objects, maybe the BM can start thinking about giving back some of its 7 million or so objects it has in its collections.

January 5, 2010

Visualizing the New Utopians: The Transition Network as a Visual Community

Jane Dickson Mphil/PhD student UCL


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Images do more than represent. They are also material artifacts which have social, economic and political effects. They help people to make sense of the world, develop their ongoing biographies and enable and encourage the formation of subjectivities. These processes are evident in the Transition network, a fast-growing organisation which encourages community based responses to the environmental challenges of climate change and peak oil. Transition Initiatives run community building projects aimed at powering-down, localism, resilience and re-skilling; not just for a carbon-neutral future, but for a transformative, Utopian future. The Utopian vision is of a post-oil, zero-carbon, agrarian, socially just, pre-industrial type of lifestyle (Hopkins:2008).

The model of Transition has so far been taken up by more than 200 official Initiatives, with many more in the initial stages. These include forests, villages, universities, and islands, hence the name change from Transition Towns to Movement to network over the four years since its inception. The network emerged from the deep ecology movement, which promotes a “consciousness of identification with the non-human world” where humans and ecosystems are accorded equal status (Dobson 2007:40). The structure and principles come from Permaculture which is the combination of permanent agriculture and permanent culture coined by Bill Mollison and David Holmgren in the mid-1970s. Permaculture developed as a system of “consciously designed landscapes which mimic the patterns and relationships found in nature, while yielding an abundance of food, fibre, and energy for provision of local needs” (Holmgren 2003:xix). Holmgren's design principles which include: valuing renewable resources, designing from patterns to details and creatively using change, have been foundational to Transitioners (Holmgren:2007). The model also relies heavily on the work of Joanna Macy, an eco-psychologist, for its guiding principles on the psychology of change.

By situating the Transition network as a visual community, this research argues that the network is produced by, organized by and productive of the visual. MacDougall's insistence on images as “constituents of knowledge,” opens up the way that visual anthropology can produce new and different kinds of knowledge from written and discursive knowledges (2006:5). The network attracts and educates members through regular film showings followed by discussion groups. These include titles such as The Age of Stupid and The End of Suburbia. Regular members are encouraged to participate in collective creative visualization exercises in order to envision the future post-oil Utopia. These visions are used as the inspiration to produce material artefacts such as the 'Timeline' and the 'Energy Descent Action Plan'. These are documents which outline the targets and actions to be undertaken to transition to the post-oil future. In addition, members use social networking sites extensively, not only to organise but to share their visual products; everything from gardening projects to how to introduce and promote a local currency. In addition, the production and reception of the internally produced film In Transition was an important landmark for the network, and to which I was lucky enough to gain access.

The work of Edwards and Gell have been particularly influential to this study. By examining the materiality of images it can be seen how the visual both “stops agency” and allows it to continue flowing in different and multiple directions (Gell:1998). In addition, by using theories of processual subjectivity formation and the methodology of examining how the visual operates in circuits to co-produce “complexes of subjectification” this agency and its effects have been traced (Guattari 1995:7).

The Transition network is only four years old and has attracted many thousands of members country and world wide. Often people report that what attracts them to Transition is the move away from oppositional activism (although activism is not discouraged) towards a solutions based reconstruction of society. This ideal of geographically located community really becomes the heart of Transition. Transitioners are seeking what Heidegger referred to as 'dwelling', where there exists a harmony and integration between persons and location which does not destroy the 'essence' of either and which leads to nurturing and gives life meaning (1978:327-328).

Dobson, A. 2007. Green political thought. London: Routledge.

Edwards, E. & Hart, J. 2004. Photographs objects histories: On the materiality of images. London: Routledge.

Gell, A. 1998. Art and agency. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Guattari, F. 1995. Chaosmosis: An ethico-esthetic paradigm (trans. P. Bains and J. Pefanis), Bloomington: Indiana University press.

Heidegger, M. 1978. Building dwelling thinking. In Basic writings: From being and Time (1927) to the task of thinking (1964). (ed.) D. F. Krell, 323-339. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul.

Holmgren, D. 2007. Design principles (available on-line: http://permacultureprinciples.com/principles.php)

... 2003. Permaculture: Principles and pathways beyond sustainability. Cambridge: Holmgren Design Press.

Hopkins, R.2008. The Transition handbook: From oil dependency to local resilience. Totnes, Devon: Green Books LTD.

MacDougall, D. 2006. The corporeal image: Film, ethnography, and the senses. Princeton, NJ.: Princeton University Press.


Films:

In Transition 1.0. Forthcoming: Dec. 2009. Emma Goude, (dir.) 50 min. Colour.

The age of stupid. 2009. Fanny Armstrong, (dir.) 92 min. Colour. Distributed by Dogwood Pictures.

The end of suburbia: Oil depletion and the collapse of the American dream. 2004. Gregory Greene, (dir.) 78 min. Colour. Distributed by The Electric Wallpaper Company.

November 29, 2009

Contested Futures: Research into the Material Culture of Cemeteries

Maren Deepwell-Kurz, Department of Anthropology, UCL

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This research is focused on the material culture of cemeteries, from architectural structures and monuments, to tombs, coffins and funeral paraphernalia. The main fieldwork site was West Norwood Cemetery, which is located in South London. This Victorian cemetery has the largest number of individually listed monuments of any cemetery in the UK and thus represents a unique opportunity to study the role of heritage and conservation practices in the context of cemeteryscapes.

Working together with professionals from the funeral industry, cemetery staff, volunteers, mourners and members of the general public my research explores the meaning of Victorian cemeteries in contemporary society and questions the way in which they may develop in future. This led me to research new and emerging cemetery architecture, disposal methods and burial cultures.

One of the most fascinating aspects of the project is the way in which people and their practices are connected to the cemetery via means of production and consumption, ownership, professional and personal practices or by social relationships. Thus a single cemetery can have material and social connections throughout a network of communities all over the country.

Bringing together those individuals who have contributed so much to the project and providing a platform for some of the information and insights which could not be included in my thesis, a new collaborative blog called Cemeteryscapes allows information about funeral museums, coffin exhibitions and heritage practices as well as many other topics to be made available as an online resource.

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For more information or to contribute a post, visit
http://cemeteryscapes.blogspot.com

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September 24, 2009

“Carrot-Cut Jeans” in Berlin

Moritz Ege
Doctoral candidate, Institut für Europäische Ethnologie, Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin

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This is about “carrot-cut” jeans (Karottenschnitt): a type of jeans, how people use them and what they make of a number of small but symbolically potent Berlin-based denim brands that sell them. Picaldi’s jeans (and those by some other local brands that have followed this example, namely Daggio Romanzo, Blucino, and Casa) are based on a denim model by Diesel Jeans (“Saddle”) which was popular among a wide variety of men in the mid-1980s. The carrot-cut is defined by its high-waist fit, its relatively loose shape around the thighs, and slightly narrower form from there towards the hem. During the 1990s, mainstream fashion moved away from this cut, which is often considered conspicuously masculine. However, the cut has been in continuous demand by smaller, more specific groups of people since then, including – in Germany – immigrant youth and young adults, Turkish- or Arab-Germans of the second generation.

In the late 1990s, before Diesel stopped selling this model, it was copied and re-branded by a small-scale retailer in Berlin-Kreuzberg, run by a first- and a second generation Turkish immigrant. The retailer ordered the jeans from an Istanbul-based manufacturer, Picaldi, and sold them at a cheap price to neighbourhood youth. Since then, the store has grown into a small retail chain with twelve stores, an online dealership, and a handful of franchises in other cities. A sense of style, which originated among youth in Kreuzberg, spread with the brand. Marketed as the “Zicco” model by Picaldi, the “carrot-cut” denim now comes in many fabrics, dyes, washings, and designs. The company also produces other products such as sweaters and jackets, which often display the brand name prominently. Picaldi’s carrot-cut jeans are the most popular leg-wear for young men in many high schools and vocational schools in Berlin, especially those with a strong immigrant and/or working-class representation.

I reconstruct that story and the narratives surrounding it, which have become part of local lore – in different versions among different groups. Furthermore, through participant observation in various settings, ethnographic interviews and other methods such as go-alongs and media-based group-discussions, I research life-world meanings, emotions and distinctions in which such narratives are embedded. The following description is based on that work.

Partly as a generic item, partly as a branded one, the carrot-cut acquired the status of a marker of ethnic and lifestyle identity among boys and young men with Turkish, Arab, and other immigrant backgrounds, most of whom come from low-income families and face various forms of exclusion and discrimination. Many among Picaldi’s customers describe their own apparel as “gangster style”, referring to real or imagined connections to organized crime, the shadow economy, and the gangster figure in international popular culture, in mafia films and gangsta rap most prominently.

Such semantic connections between jeans and street crime were solidified through endorsements by local gangsta-rappers who had become highly successful in commercial terms. In that process, they disseminated the style and the brand’s name on a mass-media scale. At the same time, the denim type and brand became increasingly stigmatized by a variety of other social actors as embodying a type of personhood and masculinity deemed vulgar, deviant, “foreign”, lower-class – or all of the above.

For many outsiders and, to a lesser extent, to insiders as well, the crucial term in that context is prollig – a pejorative word that refers to showy, rude, assertive behaviour, loudness, and, in an (by now) indirect way, the working-class, the proletariat, or low social position more generally. Certain homologies seem to pertain between the jeans’ material properties and the meanings that are given to them: between, most prominently, the high-waist style in which the jeans are supposed to be worn, the male body shape it is taken to support and highlight (a narrow waist, muscular legs and behind, and a V-shaped upper body), and a self-confident, straightforward, dominant demeanour and personality. Such homologies are part of a low-complexity stereotype. Nevertheless, there also is some overlap of inside and outside understandings and usages, and consequently, a material-social-semiotic “lash-up” (H. Molotch) that helped bring about the style and jean as cultural entities.

After Picaldi’s initial growth among second-generation immigrants, it found a second major group of dedicated customers: largely working-class, “white” young men in the former East, many of whom live in areas such as Hellersdorf or Marzahn which have a small presence of immigrants, a high unemployment rate, and a strong presence of racist violence. Stylistically, there are similar aesthetic traditions; in the East, men’s carrot-cut had remained popular as well, though the overall stylistic patterns and practices (grooming, accessories, styles of movement et cetera) were hardly identical. Furthermore, the rise of Berlin gangsta-rap (and other somewhat similar, slightly more playful, genres) contributed significantly to the carrot-cut’s resurgence.

These stylistic developments parallel structural positions, as both the so-called “foreigners” in the West and the so-called “Germans” in the East share a basic class background and, in different ways and extents, experiences of socio-economic, cultural, and educational exclusion. The spread of the “Picaldi style”, which I call transversal diffusion, is remarkable not least in that the ethnic line that divides those groups is otherwise much harder to cross, both on the level of ideologies and on the level of political affects.

The ethnographic lens also shows the ways in which other relevancies complicate such socio-cultural dynamics. Among many young people, the ubiquity of Picaldi denim in schools and on the streets has given rise to heated conversations about the right and the wrong way to wear them, about colours, fabric and dye that only “foreigners”, “Germans”, “easterners” or, even more importantly, “wannabes” and “children” would want to wear. Many young men stopped wearing them because they associate them with a bygone biographic episode, or because they have been “polluted” by their popularity among boys whose pre-pubescent masculine pretence seems almost painfully obvious. At the same time, though, all of this is about relatively inexpensive pieces of denim which, theoretically, anyone may buy and wear. If, for instance, one shops at the Picaldi warehouse sale, one may get name-brand-clothing at no-name cost, which is not a trivial concern. Furthermore, for many people, carrot-cut jeans are just some leg-wear among others. Dads wear them. People grow up emulating what others in their surroundings wear, and how they carry themselves. One person’s deviance-from-the-norm is another person’s milieu-based conformity. Cautioning against facile attributions, such practical ambiguities document the indeterminate, socially embedded, multi-faceted nature of cultural symbolism.

I take this overall story, and its complications, as a vantage point to approach three sets of questions, which lead from ethnography to a cultural analysis of post-fordist working-class-ness in an ethnically diverse urban environment. Firstly, what does the relevance of these jeans in people’s life-worlds really consist in? How do people wear them, and what meanings, affects and emotions play into these practices? What difference do they make (and when and where do they make a difference)? What are the ways in which people use this type of denim to practically “manage” the dilemmas of conformity and individuality within this specific context? Which distinctions and which forms of symbolic togetherness and sociality are being created, upheld, challenged or broken down in this process? How do they play out over a number of years in individual lives and in networks of friends, classmates and acquaintances?

Secondly, I consider the specific social and cultural conditions that allowed this particular type of denim and these brands to emerge and take on such symbolic potency. This approach, I believe, will shed light on the ephemeral ways in which people handle various forms of social inequality. The third concern is methodological. I follow scholars such as anthropologist John Hartigan and cultural theorist Brian Massumi, who argue that it can be helpful to supplement the focus on “identities”, which is most often directed by psychological theories or theories of discourse, with a focus on “cultural figures”. The latter stresses the continuities and the affective flows between representations and appropriation while simultaneously highlighting their mediated and performative aspect. Denim represents one medium in which individuals and groups negotiate their relation to such “antagonistic” figures, which they may simultaneously embody, use to make sense of their situation, and, reflexively and satirically, hold at a distance.

see http://www.ucl.ac.uk/global-denim-project/me-1

September 17, 2009

Symbols and signs

Jeremy Menchik, PhD Candidate, Political Science, Univ. of Wisconsin-Madison

On 30 March 2009 the Prosperous Justice Party (PKS) held an election rally in Gelora Bung Karno, Central Jakarta. The stadium was packed with enthusiastic supporters waving flags, dancing to dangdut music, and cheering on Indonesia’s largest Islamist political party. Both the foreign and domestic press have depicted the election day showing of the PKS, as well as the even less impressive results of the other parties, as demonstrating the failure of radical Islamic parties in the world’s largest Muslim democracy (for example see Onishi 2009). Yet, the message from the political rally suggests that this characterization is worth reconsidering.

Pluralism, as defined by the Oxford American Dictionary, is “a condition or system in which two or more states, groups, principles, sources of authority, etc., coexist.” The political symbols found at the rally suggest that PKS cadres are not radicals bent on imposing a narrow interpretation of syariah on all Indonesians, but are rather pious Muslims striving to reconcile diverse ideologies including nationalism, pan-Islam, and deep respect for personal piety.


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PKS is more than a political party; it is part of a movement to implement the teachings of Islam by encouraging righteousness in all spheres of life. Above, a man’s shirt designed to encourage modesty by covering the torso and thighs. The shirt is decorated with the crescent moon and rice-grain logo of the PKS, along with the party’s ballot number.

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PKS blends nationalist imagery with symbols of the global umma (Islamic community). Above, jackets with the PKS logo and ballot number, alongside the Indonesian national flag, the Palestinian national flag, and the logo for the Palestinian group Hamas.

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In addition to supporting the Palestinian national struggle, some PKS supporters support militarized movements elsewhere. Above, a PKS supporter with a Palestinian flag and military jacket. On the coat, there is a patch for the Taliban above the right chest pocket, and an army logo above the left chest pocket.

Such syncretism has a long history in Indonesian politics dating from the first national election in 1955. At that time the modernist Islamic organization, Muhammadiyah, was the leading member of the Islamic party Masyumi. Both were firmly nationalist. Yet like the PKS, their nationalism was Islamic, and they supported the incorporation of Islamic law into state institutions. Nahdlatul Ulama (NU), the other major Islamic political party, was likewise more than simply a party supportive of syariah. NU was more concerned with defending its traditional institutions than promoting an Islamist ideology, which its leaders quickly demonstrated through their alliances with secular nationalist parties, especially the Sukarnoists (Fealy 2005). Such behavior has been ignored by contemporary scholars of nationalism, who situate the collective imaginings of the nation as wholly distinct from that of the umma (Anderson 1983). Yet characterizing nationalism as necessarily secular ignores Islamic parties’ beliefs, as well as the crucial role of Muslim groups in the Indonesian nationalist movement (Laffan 2003).

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In a novel example of reappropriating an appropriated image, a PKS football fan poses in front of the Indonesian comedian Benyamin Sueb (aka Bang Ben), posing as Che Guevara, the famous Latin American revolutionary.

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The Jakarta wing of PKS has tried to appeal to youth activists broadly. Above, PKS logos affixed to hats popular with young Indonesians and fashionmongers elsewhere.

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PKS supports the state enforcement of public morality, including a ban on pornography, limitation of the distribution of alcohol, and support for the war on drugs in Indonesia. Above, a campaign button for Twiwasaksana, a successful PKS candidate for the Regional Peoples’ Representative Council, atop a Rastafarian peace flag.

Is PKS today any less of an amalgamation of views than NU and Masyumi were in the 1950s? Evidence from the rally suggests not, although certainly the substance varies. PKS cadres blend ideologies and styles: Islamist, nationalist, individualist pop-culture hipster, pan-Islamist, democrat, soccer-fan, and even communist revolutionary. Such visual data should remind us that pious solidarities and nationalist ones may be productively coterminous, rather then being competitors (Wedeen 2008). Indeed, PKS women’s organizations are now playing a pivotal role in re-imagining the public life of the Indonesian nation (Rinaldo 2008). These photographs illustrate the diversity of imaginings found under the PKS banner.

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The rally felt more like a party, or a lively football game, than the gathering of a radical religious group. Above, the field at Gelora Bung Karno, where young male supporters danced, oblivious to the speeches from the stage. PKS ran one of the most innovative campaigns of the election season, distributing informational DVDs, running whimsical television advertisements, publishing collective campaigns to bolster all candidates rather then just individuals, and speaking directly to voters by knocking on one million doors.

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The rally felt more like a party, or a lively football game, than the gathering of a radical religious group. Above, the field at Gelora Bung Karno, where young male supporters danced, oblivious to the speeches from the stage. PKS ran one of the most innovative campaigns of the election season, distributing informational DVDs, running whimsical television advertisements, publishing collective campaigns to bolster all candidates rather then just individuals, and speaking directly to voters by knocking on one million doors.

References
Anderson B. 1983. Imagined communities. London: Verso.

Fealy G. 2005. The Masyumi Legacy: Between Islamic Idealism and Political Exigency. Studia Islamika 12: 73-100.

Laffan M. 2003. Islamic nationhood and colonial Indonesia: The umma below the winds. London: RoutledgeCurzon.

Onishi N. 2009. Indonesia's Voters Retreat From Radical Islam. In The New York Times, pp. A1. NYC.

Rinaldo R. 2008. Envisioning the Nation: Women Activists, Religion and the Public Sphere in Indonesia. Social Forces 86: 1781-04.

Wedeen L. 2008. Peripheral visions: Publics, power and performance in Yemen. Chicago: Univ. Press.

Jeremy Menchik (menchik@wisc.edu) is a PhD candidate in the political science program at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. His dissertation focuses on the history of Indonesian Islamic institutions. An extended version of this photo essay was first published in the magazine "Inside Indonesia".

July 25, 2009

Materiality and digitization in the Museum of the History of Polish Jews

Barbara Kirschenblatt Gimblett, NYU Performance Studies and the Museum of the History of Polish Jews

The Museum of the History of Polish Jews is being created in Warsaw on the site of the former Warsaw Ghetto and facing the Monument to the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising. At the heart of this educational and cultural center is a multimedia narrative museum presenting a millenium of Jewish presence on Polish soil. While we will show original historical objects, we do not depend primarily on them to tell this rich story.

There is a general perception that if we are not basing the exhibition on objects we must be a "virtual" museum--and that is generally taken to mean a museum that lacks materiality. I offer one example here of our work as a challenge to the generally accepted dichotomy between
virtual and--take your pick--actual, digital, material.

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Source: The Museum of the History of Polish Jews

I call the problem the materiality fallacy: what constitutes an "original" or "actual" or "authentic" object. The 18th-century wooden synagogue of Gwoździec that we will feature in the 18th-century gallery offers a fine case for exploring this issue. We intend to reconstruct the timber-framed roof and polychrome ceiling of this spectacular synagogue. Now we could go to a theater prop maker, give him the dimensions and some pictures, and say to him "Make it!" The result would look pretty much like the original, but it would be a theatrical prop. That is not what we want to do. What we want to do goes to the heart of the issue of actual and virtual. We want to work with a studio in Massachusetts, whose motto is "learn by building."

These beautiful 18th-century wooden synagogues no longer exist; the Germans burned to the ground those still standing in 1939. We can however recover the knowledge of how to build them by actually building one. What is actual about that artifact resides therefore not in the original 18th-century wood, not in the original painted interior, but in the knowledge that we recovered for how to build it.

It's a completely different concept of the object. This approach is related to a completely different tradition of thinking about what constitutes an object.

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The best example I can think of is the Jingu Shrine in Ise, Japan. This is a shrine that is 800 years old and never older than 20 years because for 800 years they have been tearing it down every 20 years in order to rebuild it. The only way to maintain the embodied knowledge of how to build it is to build it, and to make it necessary to build it, they tear it down and then must build it again. The value is in maintaining the knowledge of how to build it, not in preserving the original materials. The result is not a replica or simulation of the Jingu shrine; it is the Jingu shrine. This is a completely different way of defining what is "actual" about such an object.

This posting is adapted from my interview with Obieg, Poland's leading online contemporary art magazine. An English translation of the complete interview appears here:
ttp://www.jewishmuseum.org.pl/news_archive.php?miId=120&lang=en&nId=1744

July 13, 2009

PERSONAL COLLECTING AND THE INTERNET: A growing collective resource?

Lucy Elder, MA Museum Studies candidate, Institute of Archaeology, UCL

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Collection on bookshelf, 2009

I am currently researching personal collecting and the relationship that develops between these collections when put online and when offline in a domestic setting (Miller, 2001). This starting point will eventually become the focus of my MA dissertation, and will hopefully go a small way towards attempting to understand and explain how the internet can be utilised as a facilitating tool for personal collecting. This will be as seen from the perspective of the mass digitisation of material culture objects in the twenty-first century, and a growing interest in personal collecting (Martin 2001, Pearce 2002).

Research will provide case studies of current models of online exchange and consumerism, (e.g eHive, Collectors Weekly) and will identify the fascinating ways in which these models might often reflect the movement of collections between private and public spaces offline. This is illustrated through the observance of the auction, the garage sale and the storage facility (Cwerner, 2003; Herrman, 1997).

What I am particularly interested in at this stage of the research is getting a sense of how personal collectors collect online, that is, if they do at all. How are collecting sites used? Do they exist for formal or informal collectors? Do collectors replicate offline exchange/consumer collecting practices, or have new ones developed? (Miller 2008) Do collectors feel a motivation to put their objects online, or is this action transitory: a means to a sale or exchange?

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Brush collection, 2009

I am searching for collectors to interview, both those who are extremely formal and/or entirely informal in their collecting practices. I will chat, discuss, write letters, email and receive any criticism or thoughts on the matter.

I also have an online collecting survey, which I would like to get as many responses to as possible. I would be most grateful if any readers could take five minutes to fill in the survey, or just link this page onto someone who can.

Click Here to take survey

Below is a link to my website, The Lyric Road Archive. This was a very basic attempt to represent an idea of how people’s personal collections could be transferred from a domestic setting to a single resource on the Internet.

www.lyricroadarchive.com

June 25, 2009

Joywar

This account is taken from a site hosted by Joy Garnett: http://www.firstpulseprojects.com/joywar.html.

NY artist Joy Garnett makes paintings based on found photographs gathered from the mass media [more info]. In January 2004 she had a solo exhibition of a series of paintings called "Riot," which featured the figure in extreme emotional states. One of the paintings, Molotov, was based on an uncredited image found on the web that turned out to be a fragment of a 1979 photograph by Susan Meiselas.

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When Meiselas and her lawyer learned of the painting, they sent a cease-and-desist letter to Garnett accusing her of "pirating" the photo. They demanded she remove the image of Molotov from her website, and that she sign a retroactive licensing agreement that would sign over all rights to the painting to Meiselas, and to credit Meiselas on all subsequent reproductions of Molotov. Garnett offered a compromise: she agreed to give Meiselas a credit line on her website, but refused to sign a “derivative work” agreement, claiming that her painting was a transformative fair use of the Meiselas photo. Meiselas’ attorney, Barbara Hoffman, turned down the offer and instead threatened Garnett with an injunction, demanding that Garnett comply with all of the demands as well as pay $2,000 in retroactive licensing fees.

Garnett pulled the image of Molotov from her website, lest it result in the entire site being pulled down (cf: a “Take-Down order”). She never signed over the rights to her work, but she was not pursued once the image of Molotov was removed from her site.

Before Garnett removed the image from her site, fellow artists who were following her story on Rhizome.org, (a not-for-profit organization with a website and list serve dedicated to new media art), grabbed the jpeg in solidarity. First they copied the html and created mirror pages on their own websites; then they started making anti-copyright, or “copyfight” agitprop based on the painting, resulting in many derivative works including collages, animations, etc. Several media and copyright reform blogs ran the story, and soon it spread globally, along with the images. The story was translated into Italian, Czech, Chinese, Spanish, French, and Catalan.

Two years later, (April 2006), Garnett and Meiselas were invited to speak together at the COMEDIES OF FAIR U$E symposium at the New York Institute for the Humanities, organized by Lawrence Weschler and hosted by New York University (click here for the podcasts). They had the opportunity to meet the day before over a cup of tea and clear up some misunderstandings. They went on the next day to present their stories in tandem at the conference. Their panel presentations were then re-edited and published in Harper’s, February ‘07 (see here).

See also this video Painting Mass Media and the Art of Fair Use - about the entire controversy.

The series of websites, artistic interventions and debates is a fascinating commentary on the politics of fair use, the appropriate use of images, the power of reproduction, the weight of context, the ethics of display, and the importance of history.

June 10, 2009

Assembling Bodies: Art, Science and Imagination

Anita Herle & Mark Elliott,
Cambridge Univ. Museum of Archaeology & Anthropology

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Details of some of the objects shown in Assembling Bodies. © MAA.

How do we know and experience our bodies? How does the way we understand the human body reflect and influence our relations with others?

Assembling Bodies: Art, Science & Imagination is a major interdisciplinary exhibition at the Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology (MAA) University of Cambridge, open from March 2009 to November 2010. Curated by Anita Herle, Mark Elliott and Rebecca Empson, the exhibition explores some of the different ways that bodies are imagined, understood and transformed in the arts, social and biomedical sciences. They displays showcase Cambridge’s rich and diverse collections, complemented by loans from national museums and exciting contemporary artworks. It brings together a range of remarkable and distinctive objects, including the earliest stone tools used by human ancestors, classical sculptures, medieval manuscripts, anatomical drawings, scientific instruments, the model of the double helix, ancestral figures from the Pacific, South African body-maps and kinetic art.

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Atomised. Jim Bond. 2005. ® John Coombes.

The idea of assembly evokes two distinct but overlapping themes that underlie the exhibition. Jim Bond’s kinetic sculptures illuminate one notion of assembly – the process of putting something together, of creating something new from component parts. Positioned at the entrance to the gallery, Atomised (2005) is triggered by the movement of visitors into the gallery. An openwork human figure is pulled apart and put together by external telescopic ‘arms’. A second sculpture, Anamorphic Man (2009), consists of sections of the body suspended from the ceiling in the central area of the exhibition. These apparently abstract fragments converge into a human figure from a single vantage point. The realisation of the body’s form is thus dependant on the viewer’s perspective.

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Anamorphic Man. Jim Bond. 2009. 6.4m x 2m x 2.5m. As seen from below. ® MAA.

A second notion of assembly refers to a gathering for a common purpose, such as a legislative ‘body’. Assembling Bodies brings together a multitude of human forms originating from different times, places and perspectives. The diverse nature of the material brought together and the legal documents that frame the introductory installation also point to the political implications of the ways that distinct bodies are known and regulated. Different ways of knowing the body have a profound impact on the ways that bodies are imagined and acted upon.

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Photographic montage of the introductory section ‘An Assembly of Bodies’. © MAA.

The Curators aim to reveal and challenge preconceived notions of the body through the use of nuanced and at times startling juxtapositions. The conceptual organising principle for the exhibition was ‘exploring the technologies that make bodies visible’. The gathering of diverse objects demonstrates how different social and material technologies for making bodies visible bring new and often unexpected forms into focus. In this way Assembling Bodies works to transcend the dualism of subjects and objects and to argue that bodies are social in their materiality. Materiality is often associated with permanence, yet the exhibition focuses on changing and emergent forms. The objects on display show that technologies through which humans make bodies visible have a tangible, transformative effect on the body, both conceptually and materially. This idea is highlighted by the kinetic art that punctuates the exhibition space and is activated by the movement of bodies.

The exhibition is not conceived or arranged as a linear story. The displays are organised in overlapping thematic zones, each containing clusters of artworks, instruments and ideas. One side of the gallery focuses on techniques of measurement and classification, pointing to the productive and often uneasy interchange between anthropomorphic measurement, anatomy and the arts. The other side of the gallery focuses on relations between bodies, exploring how bodies are inextricably linked to their material environment, mapped through genealogies and genomes, extended through various technologies and distributed in different forms. There are multiple links between objects located in different areas of the exhibition. The layout of the gallery, interactive exhibits and website, encourage the visitor to develop multiple and surprising connections between the displays and assemble new bodies.

While each of the assembled bodies are situated within specific historical and cultural contexts, the exhibition does not attempt to provide detailed narratives of the body over time or in particular places. Instead the curators take advantage of the comparative method to throw differences into relief, to identify similarities between diverse materials and to make the familiar appear strange and open to investigation. Unexpected juxtapositions provoke new ways of comprehending the body, while artworks and interactive displays encourage visitors to explore the sensory capacity of their own bodies. The variety of bodily forms and their potential for transformation reveal that definitions and boundaries are not stable. We all live with differing and multiple bodies.


05_catalogue.jpg Exhibition catalogue by Anita Herle, Mark Elliott & Rebecca Empson. With contributions by Jim Bond, Dusan Boric, Simon Cohn, Sarah Franklin, Dianne Harris, Oliver Harris, Jessica Hughes, Bonnie Kemske, Maryon McDonald, Hayley MacGregor, Elizabeth Mills, Robin Osborne, Tom Rice, John Robb, Marilyn Strathern, Sarah Tarlow. 96 pages, full colour with 94 images.
Price: £12 + p&p (free postage within the UK)
Email: cumaa@hermes.cam.ac.uk

Highlights from the exhibition:
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(Left) Model of the Double Helix. 2003. Created by Claudio Villa and Roger Lucke after the original Crick and Watson model. © Laboratory of Molecular Biology, Cambridge. (Right) Malangan Sculpture. Late 19th century. Wooden funerary sculpture with shell eyes. New Ireland, Papua New Guinea. © MAA 1890.177.

Positioned alongside each other, the DNA model and the malangan draw attention to their ability to mark the particular characteristics of a person and then to distribute their life force to their descendants. Both objects were originally intended to be ephemeral.


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(Left) Family Group. Abraham Willaerts. 1660. © Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge, 534 (Right) Genomic Portrait. Marc Quinn. 2001. Double portrait of the geneticist John Sulston comprised of a realistic photograph and a sample of the sitter’s DNA in agar jelly mounted in stainless steel. © National Portrait Gallery 6591, 6592(1).

The juxtaposition challenges the viewer to consider the accuracy of different forms of portraiture, and underlines the complexity of different understandings of descent.


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Death mask of Sir Isaac Newton. John Michael Rysbrack. 1727. © Trinity College, Cambridge.

Newton's death mask is a treasured relic of the great scientist, which became a specimen for phrenological investigation. In the mid-nineteenth century it precipitated a debate in phrenological circles following the claim that the weakness of Newton’s causality bump did not match his extraordinary achievements.


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Bilum ‘Tree’. 2009. Installation of netbags from Papua New Guinea based on the imagination of Marilyn Strathern. © MAA.

The body is known by its capacity: it can grow things within, it can bring forth, can reproduce itself in others. It can also stand for a collectivity, an assembly of persons who together produce something.

Acknowledgements: Assembling Bodies is a research component of a larger Leverhulme-funded project “Changing beliefs of the human body”. Additional support was provided by the Wellcome Trust, Arts Council England, and the Crowther-Beynon Fund, University of Cambridge. Full acknowledgements and the names of the many contributors are listed in the catalogue and website [http://maa.cam.ac.uk/assemblingbodies].

June 1, 2009

Legitimizing a People: The Mashantucket Pequot Museum and Research Center

Joanna Alario, NYU Museum Studies

In the Connecticut River Valley, the thirteen-thousand-strong Pequot tribe lived in villages, practicing agriculture and trading products with neighboring groups. Similar to so many other Native people across the nation, the arrival of the English and their foreign diseases decimated the Pequot, reducing their population by close to eighty percent. Following growing hostilities between the Pequot and Colonial authorities, the Pequot Wars of 1636-1638 further diminished the tribe. Surviving Pequot, numbering between two thousand and twenty-five hundred, were either captured and sold into slavery or absorbed into neighboring tribes with whom they had ancestral ties (Bodinger de Uriarte 2007:42; Quin 1999:54; Lawlor 2006:35). In 1638 the Pequots became the first “terminated” tribe with the Treaty of Hartford. The Treaty declared that “the Pequots shall no more be called Pequots, but Narragansetts and Mohegans” (Bodinger de Uriarte 2007:43). In the years that followed, the Pequots reclaimed their name and petitioned for expanded lands for their reservation. However, their reservation lands continued to be sold off by the state and, by 1972, 204 acres remained, with only two women—Elizabeth George Plouffe and Martha Langevin Ellal—left living on the land (Bodinger de Uriarte 2007:43-44).

Skip Hayward, the grandson of Plouffe, was inspired by his grandmother’s commitment and encouraged tribal members to move back to the reservation “to reclaim illegally seized land, gain federal recognition, achieve economic self-sufficiency, and revitalize tribal culture” (Quin 1999:54). The Mashantucket Pequot Indian Claims Settlement Act of 1983 granted the tribe with federal recognition and $900,000 to purchase back their tribal lands. Ten years after the ruling, the tribe expanded into gaming as a means to support the future of their reservation. The Foxwoods Resort and Casino provides funds for the reservation’s infrastructure and has made the Pequot the wealthiest tribe in the nation (Lawlor 2006:31; 35-36).

To gain tribal membership one must provide documentation that lineally links them to a person appearing on the 1900 or 1910 tribal roll calls. After so many decades away from the reservation, the Pequot today represent a highly diverse ethnic background (Lawlor 2006:34). Because of this racial component and the fact that history considers them to be long extinct, the “Indianness” of the Pequot has been called into question over and over. For example, Atlantic City casino developer Donald Trump, who faced direct competition from Foxwoods, stated to a Connecticut legislative subcommittee: “Go up to Connecticut, and you look at the Mashantucket Pequots…They don’t look like Indians to me. They don’t look like Indians to Indians” (Bodinger de Uriarte 2007:46). The Pequots faced a continued need for legitimizing their presence even after gaining federal recognition and chose to open a tribal museum. Tribal museums throughout North America are “sites for establishing Native American humanity, historical presence, and contemporaneity for post-colonial audiences” (Erikson 1999:46). In 1998, the Manshantucket Pequot Museum and Research Center opened and serves as a vehicle for authenticating the Pequot people both past and present.

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Source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/mpmrc/2889751391/

CONTEXT OF TRIBAL MUSEUMS
Before I delve into the specifics of the MPMRC, it is helpful to know the definitions and history of tribal museums. Lisa J. Watt, a member of the Seneca tribe, is the founder and principal of Tribal Museum Planners and Consultants, an organization in place “to inform tribes about the challenges and opportunities that building a museum entail and present program ideas that help meet [their] cultural goals” (“Lisa”). She defines a tribal museum as a “museum, cultural center, heritage center, history center, or interpretive center that is owned and operated by any one or more of the federally recognized or unrecognized American Indian tribes, either on or off reservations” (2007: 71). They exist to perpetuate tribal culture and traditions, to hold onto the material culture, to construct and instill a tribal identity, to maintain a presence in the world, to define tribal territory, to exert tribal sovereignty, and to reinforce treaty rights. They serve as a public declaration, saying “we are important and worth culturally maintaining” (Watt 2007: 73). Tribal museums help reclaim and preserve their cultural heritage, often by building upon earlier traditions concerned with protection and transmission of knowledge, and expand to include overall community development (Kreps 2003: 114). Anglo-American understandings of ownership and rights of access do not always translate in the realm of tribal museums (Isaac 2007: 5-7; Kreps 2003: 114). In his observation of four Northwest Coast museums, Clifford notes that, in contrast to majority museums, “tribal museums express local culture, oppositional politics, kinship, ethnicity, and tradition” (1991: 225). He lays out the agenda of a tribal museum as follows:

(1) its stance is to some degree oppositional, with exhibits reflecting excluded experiences, colonial pasts, and current struggles; (2) the art/culture distinction is often irrelevant or positively subverted; (3) the notion of a unified or linear History (whether of the nation, of humanity, or of art) is challenged by local, community histories; and (4) the collections do not aspire to be included in the patrimony (of the nation, of great art, etc.) but to be inscribed with different traditions and practices, free of national, cosmopolitan patrimonies (Clifford 1991: 225-226).

Carla Roberts, director of a Phoenix-based Native American Arts organization writes “there have always been mechanisms in native communities for transmitting cultural values from one generation to another” (Kreps 2003: 107). The curator of New World Ethnology at the Burke Museum in Seattle James Nason supports this statement with his description of the Southwestern kivas, which were used “[to house] collections whose use was vital to the members of the pueblo and their sense of place in the world” (1999). The widely practiced method of passing on cultural knowledge through oral traditions and ritual practices has been inhibited in recent years because of an increasing generational gap in Native American communities (Isaac 2007: 9-10).

The Osage Tribal Museum in Pawhuska, Oklahoma, established in 1938, is considered to be the oldest tribal museum in the United States (Watt 2007: 70). The first wave of tribal museums coincided with the American Indian Movement of the 1960s and 1970s, during which time tribes began to question the museum’s authority and Native American representations. Under President Nixon in the 1970s, tribal museums were also seen as a source of job opportunities and a chance to diversify tribal economics. The next wave of tribal museums occurred in the 1990s when tribes with resources, knowledge, and desire established museums (Isaac 2007; Nason 1999; Watt 2007: 70-71). Gwyneira Isaac, an assistant professor and the director of Arizona State University’s Museum of Anthropology, cites Fuller and Fabricius’ argument that links the growth of tribal museums to a loss of tribal knowledge and a rise in self-determination, causing “the need for a new forum to transmit cultural knowledge [to meld] with the needs for autonomy and self-sufficiency” (2007: 10). Nason feels that tribal museums “complete a circle that began with alien institutions imperialistically collecting and interpreting Native American culture and ended with a resurgence of tribal communities” (1999).

THE MASHANTUCKET MUSEUM AND RESOURCE CENTER
The MPMRC is a 308,000-square-foot facility opened on August 11, 1998 and was founded to “serve as a major resource on the history of the Tribe, the histories and cultures of other tribes, and the region’s natural history” (Quin 1999: 54). Funding for the facilities came from the lucrative gaming industry at Foxwoods, which also helped fund education and healthcare on the reservation. Costing close to two hundred million dollars, more money went into the Pequot tribal museum than the Smithsonian’s National Museum of the American Indian (Erikson 1999:49). Exhibits cover Pequot life in southeastern Connecticut from the last Ice Age to the present, featuring displays like “a glacial crevasse, a caribou hunt of 11,000 years ago, a sixteenth century Pequot village, an eighteenth century farmstead, and a twentieth century trailer home” (Erikson 1999:46). It features a high level of transparency by featuring curators’ and researchers’ voices throughout the exhibits, as well as including information about how the exhibits were constructed (Lawlor 2006:46).

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Source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/mpmrc/2889752101/

Anthropologists have long acknowledged the draw of life group dioramas, however, the MPMRC has taken this technique to new heights (Hinsley 1991: 347-348). The largest display in the MPMRC is the 22,000-square-foot immersion style diorama of a 16th century coastal Pequot village. There is also a palisade fort next to the village, set fifty years after the village scene, included to represent the impact of European presence in the area. Patricia Pierce Erikson, currently a visiting professor at the University of Southern Maine, described the Pequot Village as follows:

Bombarding visitors’ senses are the smells of the forest and campfires, the sounds of chipmunks and running water. The human dimension of the diorama depicts daily life and provides a basis for interpreting coastal subsistence activities and Contact-period social structure (1999:50-51).

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Source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/mpmrc/2889752079/

Visitors use audio-guides as they walk through the display. It offers both “unattributed” Pequot perspectives, as well as anthropologists’ and archaeologists’ interpretations of the diorama (Erikson 1999:51).


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Source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/mpmrc/2889751271/

An important element of the Pequot Village display is the use of sound. Douglas Quin was one of the researchers who developed the soundscape. In addition to recreating what the environment sounded like in the 17th century, researchers had to figure out a way to represent the Pequot language as there are no native living speakers. After looking at other Algonquin languages, tribal members from Maine were brought in to record exhibition scripts in the Passamaquoddy language (Quin 1999:64). Other portions of the exhibit that utilized secondary voices—areas such as the sweat lodge ceremony and the hide tanning display—utilized recordings of voices of Native peoples from all over North America, including Navajo and Osage, to create “a collective resonance and identity” (Quin 1999:65).

In addition to the Pequot Village, the MPMRC has exhibits that speak to the continued presence of the people and culture. The Life on the Reservation gallery establishes Pequot presence in the Post-Pequot War time period, effectively dismissing accepted notions that the tribe was extinct. The stories featured in this exhibit include those of Pequot children working as indentured servants in colonial households, as well as those tribal members who learned the English legal system in an attempt to hold onto their traditional territory. This gallery is where the trailer home sits to represent the hardships faced by those who lived on the reservation in the 1970s. Also present in the Life on the Reservation gallery is the story of the casino and how it impacted the Pequot’s land claims and their contemporary lives (Erikson 1999:47-48).

Native Americans have been the subjects of portrait projects since the nineteenth century during the age of salvage anthropology (Bodinger de Uriarte 2007:179). The MPMRC appropriates this method not to capture the evidence of a dying people, but to show the cultural survival of the Pequot tribe:

The portraits reinvigorate the historic progression of life on the reservation by introducing the contemporary to the visitor experience. As the oral histories provide a shared remembered history, the portraits give that history an individual face. While they indicate each other as a group and destabilize essential notions of “Indianness,” the portraits provide a progression of possible singular connections for the visitor, mixing elements of person al, historic, and cultural markers, and offering multiple routs for recognition (Bodinger de Uriarte 2007:208).

The Tribal Portrait Gallery is an exhibit that “encourages visitors to humanize popular notions of Native peoples generally, and Pequot people in particular” (Erikson 1999:46). It is comprised of black-and-white portraits of tribal members and has accompanying recorded interviews from the Mashantucket Pequot oral history project (Bodinger de Uriart 2007:163). John J. Bodinger de Uriarte, who worked for and studied the MPMRC and the Foxwoods Casino, feels that the Tribal Portrait Gallery, like the overall museum space, becomes a charged contact zone (2007:208).

THE POWER OF A TRIBAL MUSEUM
Tribal spokesperson, Lori Potter, made a statement to the Tribal Tribute that effectively sums up the MPMRC’s purpose and power to bring legitimacy to the Pequot: “When I was a little girl and I looked up our tribe in an encyclopedia, it said we were a warlike tribe that was extinct. That was a lie, and I never forgot it. Now, our tribe is strong and united again, and this museum will make it possible for the world to know the truth” (Erikson 1999:46). In addition to the impact of the physical institution, the MPMRC is also making a presence on the internet. Its website has information about the tribe history, the exhibitions, as well as educational resources and information about programming. They have also broken into the realm of social networking sites, like Facebook, which serves as another outlet to make connections with people and maintain their contemporary presence (“Mashantucket”).

A criticism of the MPMRC concerns the “Disney-fication” of the displays that supposedly distracts from the authenticity of the information (Lawlor 2006:49). The style of display toes the same line of “infotainment” that other majority museums face. Curators have had issues with the level of entertainment present in the museum since Franz Boas’ time at the American Museum of Natural History. It persists in this case as well, yet the immersive life group experience at the MPMRC appears to be awe-inspiring and engaging. Coupled with their institution’s transparency, the technology remains grounded by the cultural information.

Another criticism is that the Pequot Village exhibition falls into the museum trap of displaying Native American cultures only in the light of the pre-Contact past and that the sheer size of the exhibit (22,000-square-feet) physically overshadows the displays about current Pequot life, thus diminishing their importance (Erikson 1999:52). Size, however, is not always a fair indication of social importance. People are proud of their heritage and possibly feel an ache of nostalgia for a life they never had the chance to know first hand, so they put that past on full display. Some museums only present Native peoples in the past and include nothing of their contemporary life. The MPMRC, however, makes the effort to include present-day elements of their culture to show the ties to the past (the recognizable “authentic Indian”) and how through all the changes time has brought, they are still a living, breathing, distinctive people with a legitimate claim to their culture.

Continue reading "Legitimizing a People: The Mashantucket Pequot Museum and Research Center" »

May 20, 2009

Anthropology and photography at the American Museum of Natural History

Haidy Geismar, NYU Anthropology and Museum Studies

On using blogs in class...

I'm a big fan of using blogs for teaching with - it's a great way of bringing the students into contact with each other's ideas, generating community, and potentially engaging in dialogue with other people outside of our class, and even the university. NYU has a blog service which allows an unlimited number of blogs for all registered users and which is extremely flexible and user friendly. Whilst I usually use blogs as a way for students to discuss each other's assignments and share relevant news stories and other links, I sometimes also use them as forms of web publication, as in the case of this site.

http://blogs.nyu.edu/blogs/hg26/amnhphotographs

As a class assignment, each student in my class Anthropology in and of Museums (taught at the NYU Program in Museum Studies in Spring 2009) was given an image to research. Barbara Mathé, the Museum Archivist and Head of Library Special Collections and I selected the images. We gave them to the students and encouraged them to think at first purely from the image: what could they learn not only from the content of the image, but the way in which it has been annotated, catalogued, curated, and archived. Following these leads, each student conducted original research into their images. These are their stories.

May 11, 2009

Ice Cream and ‘CCCP’: Evoking nostalgia in post-soviet packaging

Kseniya Makarenko and Janet Borgerson, University of Exeter

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Ice cream packaging from post-soviet Russian brand ‘CCCP’ employs soviet era themes, stylizations, and designs – including a potentially controversial use of the historic ‘State Quality Mark’ – evoking the past and appealing to nostalgic feelings of the Russian people. Capitalism and commodification breed conditions for nostalgia, according to Goldman and Papson: and this process may inspire the recycling of mass cultural texts as primary resources ‘for narrating our collective past as memory’ (1996). These cultural texts appear in numerous modes, from the recognizable meanings of particular shapes and colors to music and iconic photographic images. The intensity of this phenomenon and its peculiarities vary across countries and cultures, of course: However, since the start of economic transition, Russia’s accelerated commodification process has witnessed a growing tendency for nostalgia in marketing appeals – from both domestic and global companies.

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‘CCCP’ (‘USSR’) ice cream packaging employs the graphic style of soviet posters, often including red as a representative colour of communism and the soviet past; a recognizably constructivist font; and a luminous white – suggesting something miraculous and powerful. In one instance, the ice cream package appears to represent space itself: the viewer looks down as if from a spaceship high above the Earth. Space here is dominated by the name of the product, ‘CCCP’, carrying numerous associations for those who lived in the USSR, as well as those who have inherited this history; and also creates a context for the product – an appeal to a nostalgic, patriotic feeling of remembering Soviet power. Observing further, the Earth is situated to the right of ‘CCCP’: the planet is red, recalling Cold War period propaganda aims and statements that communism would be the entire planet’s dominant ideology. There is also an association with the soviet news programme ‘Vriemja’ (‘Time’), which started with a similar animation style (using the image of the Earth) and a recognizable signature tune. The ‘red Earth’ and ‘red universe’ are imaginary and hyperreal; however Sputnik appears as a real-life symbol of Soviet power.

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On the ‘CCCP’ ice cream package, Sputnik carries a red star high above the planet, flying to the right of the brand name. Russians recognize Sputnik as a symbol of one of the Soviet Union’s most important achievements. Soviet era propaganda interpreted the progress of space exploration as a step towards communism’s total world dominance. This emotional atmosphere and enthusiasm for space exploration were supposed to be shared by Russian people as an ‘hour of triumph’ for the country – something to be proud of, along with achievements in ballet and figure skating; and indeed these still evoke patriotism. Sputnik’s image appeals to national pride and nostalgia for a powerful state during the early period of cold war, a time when children were obsessed with space and every boy in the USSR was dreaming of becoming a ‘cosmonaut’. An image of the ice-cream treat itself stands to the brand name’s left, represented with the same importance as the red Earth and Sputnik. The Earth and the ice cream are similarly coloured and, with the graphic effect of a sparkling star, Earth also becomes an ice-cream dessert.

Even as a child of a powerful Russian state in the late 80s, one of the authors tried her first ice-cream at the age of nearly five, and still recalls the distinct happiness of consuming this sweet treat. In this sense, associations between ice cream and soviet symbols offer a promise of repeating that unforgettable childhood experience. Ice cream was a deficit product, difficult to obtain, in some areas; and although there were just a few types of ice cream in the USSR, all were high quality. Many people, whose childhood is connected with consumption of this limited range of ice cream, still consider it to be the best. Thus, not only brand representation, but the product itself – a traditional form of soviet ice cream – may act as a stimulus for nostalgia. In other words, these images integrate naïve dreams and inspirations of childhood with powerful pride for the motherland, the ‘hegemony of memory’ implicating this combination of signifiers that refer both to common past and personal memory.

A double reference to the past emerges, opening the collective and the individual past. Thus, the product’s image touches upon personal emotions, childhood dreams and moments of happiness, yet, evokes an overall reference to a triumphant USSR. Interestingly, multi-national corporations, such as Nestle, also exploit the image of soviet ice cream, launching a product called ‘48 kopeek’ (the price for ice-cream in the USSR), which has become a success.

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Even with the nostalgic appeal, the visually overloaded package can hardly be perceived in a totally serious manner. Irony emerges when the ‘CCCP’ manufacturer’s company logo is considered. The logo of ‘Russki Kholod’ (‘Russian Cold’) encompasses a variety of tsarist and traditionally Russian symbols – such as a royal robe and a crown along with the distinct pre-revolutionary Cyrillic font and the image of sables (the symbol of Syberia). From one perspective, this might deepen the patriotic feelings further into the history of Russia, encouraging the national pride and stretching nostalgia back in time. However, in combination, the expressly bold soviet images and the pre-revolutionarily stylized parent company logo transform the packaging into an example of ‘ironic-nostalgic kitsch’, defined by Sabonis-Chafee as that which seeks to ‘remember fondly but not re-create’.

Semiotic communication may appeal to specific human experiences, with interpretation requiring background in, or understanding of, historical and cultural contexts. Goldman and Papson have argued that ‘history’ represents a source of value in advertisements and can lend this value to corporations and other sponsors. As suggested by the packaging of ‘CCCP’ ice cream, signifiers rooted in history and culture used in brand communication transport meanings and values to brands (Schroeder and Salzer-Mörling 2006). Signifiers may be interpreted in many ways, however; and assumptions concerning product features may not correspond to relevant aspects of reality. Potential discrepancies between the interpreted features and values and their realization may be misleading for the consumers and cause confusion. This concern becomes especially relevant in the analysis of ‘CCCP’ ice-cream packaging design.

CCCP packaging carries the ‘State Quality Mark’ as a prominent aspect of the brand. This sign, the ‘State Quality Mark’, is still recognisable among different generations of Russians, given its prevalent use in soviet and early post-soviet times, on diverse everyday products; and the initial reaction is an assumption of high quality. The ‘State Quality Mark’ was established in 1967 by the USSR’s State System of Standardisation. The right to use the sign was granted by state expert commissions, providing that the product corresponded to approved quality standards, and it marked the most important mass products of relatively high quality. Products carrying the sign were automatically thought of as having a high quality, and many products carrying the sign became deficit.

After the collapse of the USSR, the standard of attestation and the use of the sign were cancelled. Thus, quality expertise no longer supports the mark. Moreover, ice-cream production methods and recipes are different from those regulated by the soviet era Union State Standard. Thus, discrepancies may appear between historically expected, sign-evoked features and actual features of present day ‘CCCP’ ice cream products. In other words, the sign has lost its original meaning, yet is used as a part of the brand’s past-invoking visual representation. Ethical concerns might include deliberately false representations of a product’s quality. However, such sign use demonstrates a ‘storehouse of recyclable exchange values’ – historical meanings disconnected from their context and reproduced according to marketing logic – a semiotic gap in which signs shift meanings and value, being transformed and used according to marketing aims and fashions.

A phantasmagoric combination of brand name, iconic design, and other sign values, these ice cream packages refer to a collective past, the collectivist ideology of the USSR, ‘softened’ by the more intimate memories of childhood. The trend for nostalgia in brand meanings may continue, with signs constantly transforming in time’s lapse. It is impossible to predict what meaning signs will carry in the future for new generations, where first-hand memories that capture relevant personal pasts are absent. Indeed, this absence of first-hand experience and memories combined with positive nostalgic perspectives – offered for example by popular soviet films and music, often extremely sincere and naïve – may reproduce and increase a nostalgia for the imaginary which, although explored here in a specific case of product packaging design, arguably exists generally, on a global scale.

Images by permission of Igor G. Arhipov, the General Manager of TD ‘Russki Kholod’ (image permission can be viewed here: View image

Kseniya Makarenko is a postgraduate student and Janet Borgerson is Reader in Philosophy and Management at the University of Exeter.

Selected references
Goldman, R. and Papson, S. (1996). Sign Wars: The Cluttered Landscape of Advertising. The Guilford Press: New York.

“Russki Kholod” Corporate website at http://www.rusholod.ru/eng/ (Accessed on 30 March 2008).

Sabonis-Chafee, T. (1999). “Communism as Kitsch: Soviet Symbols in Post-Soviet Society” in Consuming Russia: popular culture, sex, and society since Gorbachev Barker, A.M. (ed), Duke Univ. Press: Durham.

Schroeder, J. and Salzer-Mörling, M. (2006). Brand Culture. Routledge: London.

April 27, 2009

And the Pursuit of Happiness

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Artist Maira Kalman has a new "blog" at the NY Times which is a combination of illustration and text focused on the theme of American democracy. In her first installment she visits the supreme court and meditates on the role of women in law. I relish the artwork, but her analysis pushes whimsy and fashion into serious issues. Her comment on people outside the court house protesting circumcision:

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This seems to me like a lost opportunity to expand the healthy tradition of political cartoons in broadsheet media into more than one freezeframe.....what kind of intervention is Kalman's work into the healthy tradition of satirical political "cartoons" in the newspaper?

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February 12, 1937, New York Herald-Tribune, "Qualifying Test For Supreme Court Jobs"

April 17, 2009

Zapatista Tchotchkes

Miriam Basilio, Art History and Museum Studies, NYU

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I recently visited San Cristobal de las Casas, in Chipas, Mexico to take part in an academic workshop, and, although I had read and heard about the traffic in Zapatista souvenirs, knick-knacks, or tchotchkes there, was overwhelmed by their variety and number. The complex political motives that led to the Zapatista movement are not my subject here rather I am interested in the ways in which popular representations of this movement for self-determination circulate as objects for tourist consumption. What is our role as consumers? What does it mean to buy these objects? Just prior to my visit, the New York Times’ Frugal Traveler column published a piece promoting San Cristobal de las Casas as an ideal travel destination. Of course, this feeds this place into a cycle whereby those of us with relative wealth travel seeking this particular bargain, which then makes the place less inexpensive, more crowded, and less seemingly remote, and the new cheap and undiscovered place is…elsewhere.

One particular feature of this city, which the reporter underscored, is its proximity to a network of autonomous communities governed by the Zapatista movement. (For the account of a visit to one such community see: http://frugaltraveler.blogs.nytimes.com/2008/12/09/in-the-village-of-the-zapatistas/) That even a few years ago, the US State Department warned US citizens against going there lends the region a seductive hint of danger for some travelers. Other Americans, sympathetic to the Zapatista cause, travel there to see for themselves the revolutionary changes being made on behalf of the Mexican people. But most of us are not experts on the political situation there, and our role is more ambiguous. Are we seeking the thrill of the supposedly off the beaten track? Romanticizing revolution? Empathetically yet somewhat voyeuristically witnessing others’ struggles, only to safely return to our lives of privilege? How do we negotiate these at times intersecting positions?

As Americans in particular, and at a time when we are being urged to consume as our patriotic duty, we shop. Is it out of a desire to support the revolution in Chiapas, to help locals in one of the poorest areas in Mexico to make a living, regardless of where the proceeds end up, or, buying souvenirs motivated by the basic tourist drive to return home and say “Look, I was there.” Despite the New York Times reporter’s breathless account of his trip to view a Zapatista community (easily accessible and cheap public transport) and his detailed description of the group’s self-presentation and scripted tour of their community, I was shocked by the “Zapatista tourism” infrastructure that existed in San Cristobal. Large bus tours were advertised, and private taxis may be hired as well.

Seemingly hard to access, yet openly advertised, the prospect of visiting such communities was thus paradoxically tantalizingly possible, and mysteriously remote. Goods produced to publicly assert sympathy for the Zapatistas, however, were openly sold everywhere. Ubiquitous at the local market beside Santo Domingo church were T-shirts in myriad designs: black star logos, the EZLN initials, women with bandanas tied across their faces, hair worn in braids, with slogans calling for women’s dignity, others featured male freedom fighters, faces covered in ski masks. Male and female dolls made of yarn wore indigenous garb from the region, with the ski masks, and carried tiny cardboard rifles. Handmade revolutionary Barbies and Kens, they also are sold as Lilliputian key chains. Cotton handkerchiefs had slogans praising Subcomandante Marcos and his portrait all hand embroidered. Small change purses and pouches were similarly embellished. I purchased a tote bag large enough to carry my MacBook, featuring a female freedom fighter and the slogan: Las mujeres con la dignidad rebelde (Women with rebel dignity) for myself.

There were a few stores in town that advertised themselves as cooperatives that sold the goods for the benefit of Zapatista communities, so I tried to buy most of my gifts there. However, I also felt torn and bought a few things from local women at the market. The coop stores had the greatest variety of products, posters, postcards with photos of Zapatista communities, often featuring the beautiful murals painted on many of their walls and buildings, and locally produced textiles or coffee. I regret not asking the people selling these things at both places where they were made, did they also keep them in their homes, who else was buying them, what did they think about them, when did they start to sell these objects, and more. But someone should.

April 1, 2009

Visual Culture, Digitalization, and Cultural Heritage in Oceania

Haidy Geismar, NYU

This is our first effort at podcasting and we've had some trouble integrating audio into our blog template so please excuse us if this is somewhat clunky. The audio quality isn't bad at all for the speakers (recorded on an ipod with a belkin mike) but the questions at the end aren't too clear, so apologies for that. Many of the images referred to can be accessed at the links below.


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This is the audio for a panel entitled Visual Culture, Digitalization, and Cultural Heritage in Oceania which took place at the conference Pacific Alternatives: Cultural Heritage and Political Innovation in Oceania, March 23 - 27 2009, at the University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa. The panel was an exciting discussion of a number of different digital projects, from 3-D scanning with a view to digital repatriation, to archiving, online exhibitions and using digital technologies as a tool to reconnect communities to discourses of cultural heritage. The regional focus on Oceania provided an interesting frame for the conversation that ensued.

Anyone with further comments or links, please add to the comments below...

Conference partipcants were (with links to the projects discussed):

Chair: Graeme Were, University Museum Collections, UCL (http://www.museums.ucl.ac.uk/research/ecurator/)

Nicholas Thieberger, University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa (Digitization for Preservation, Repatriation, and Academic Responsibility—Examples from the PARADISEC and Kaipuleohone Digital Archives)

Guido Pigliasco, University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa (From Immemorial Heritage to Digital Memory: Owning History in Fiji)

Karen Nero, Macmillan Brown Centre for Pacific Studies, University of Canterbury (Digitized Images in Support of the Establishment of Virtual Museums in Oceania)

Stuart Dawrs, Special collections, University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa (Cultural Heritage Meets Cyber Commons: (Re)creating Island Communities through Digital Collections)

March 24, 2009

The Objects of Creativity

Tomohiro (Tomo) Morisawa, ISCA, Oxford University

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Last month I started my PhD in Anthropology at the University of Oxford. Through an ethnography of the production process of anime movies in Japan, my research will look at how socially negotiated ideas of creativity, facilitated by the institution of copyright law, have come to articulate the terms with which animators evaluate one another's work as well as their professional development. Through this project, I plan to engage with the emerging debate in anthropology about the concept and practices of creativity (Liep 2001, Hisrch and MacDonald 2005, Ingold and Hallam 2008) and intellectual property (Strathern 1999, 2006, Brown 1998, 2003, Myers 2005 etc.).

Whereas the analytical potential of creativity as a topic has been rather well discussed, I believe a more ethnographic engagement still finds ample space to be explored. The starting premise of the project is that ethnographic engagement with creativity does not yield much satisfactory result without turning to the legal and economic regime of intellectual property rights (Leach 2007). Both stem intricately from philosophy of John Locke and the Western liberalist tradition of possessive individualism (cf. Macpherson 1962). This point is brilliantly exposed in ethnographies of copyright, which look at how differing conceptions of authorship may prove to be a critical problem in determining ownership (Myers 2005). The ethnographic focus on creativity - the twin concept of authorship - where the local and the international regimes of copyright do not significantly differ i.e. Japan (but see for other examples Geismar 2005a, 2005b) will not only add on to the emerging literatures of creativity and intellectual property in anthropology, but also facilitate a connection between them.

Anime is a Japanese abbreviation for the English word 'animation', which has increasingly come to specifically mean animation movies produced in Japan and consumed worldwide. Currently, the estimated number of anime programmes broadcast on TV networks amount up to 80 per week domestically; the wide availability corresponding with its high visibility within popular cultures and media in Japan. However, the rise in the presence of anime related subculture also led to its polarized reception in public discourses during the past decade, oscillating between anime as the expression of creativity and that as arresting social malady.

Whereas the ideal of creativity in anime is personified in a few master animators such as Miyazaki Hayao, who has come to embody everything Japan aspires to as the master of personal creativity, malicious images of anonymous (more often than not male) consumers who are latent public offenders and social misfits also began to dominate in daily shows and sensational news media. This shift from creative individual to malfunctioning mass also traces a change in public imagination from the side of production to that of consumption. While 'genius' animators produce 'creative' art-like crafts, 'anonymous' consumers destroys the value by turning them into fetish commodities.

The government has promoted the anime industry as Japan's core 'softpower', and the relative success of such anime films like "Spirited Away" and "Pokemon" abroad are shaking up something of its newly defined sense of cultural uniqueness verging on that of superiority. Yet, the daily work the professional animators actually carve out at the studio, as the result of their labour, is anything but spectacular. Rather, it is the banality of it all that may perplex the researcher on the first encounter - a thousand of stop motion drawings which are hard to make heads or tails for non-professionals. By focussing on how animators make use of the concept of creativity in articulating their work and personal ideals I will be able to examine the juncture between creativity, work, and personhood, onto which the larger ideas of national future have come to be staked.

Starting from October 2009, I will conduct a 12 month fieldwork at a yet-to-be-specified anime production studio in Suginami-ku district of Tokyo, where almost one fifth of the entire industry (approx. 80 studios) is concentrated. Ideally, I will work as an assistant to the production-management section of the given studio, which foresees the schedule management of ongoing projects and entails highly frequent face to face interactions with animators. In the field, I will pay particular attention to how references to the ideas of creativity entail the corresponding references to the material forms it is objectified. That is to say, when animators talk about their work, and actually produce their drawings, how personification, objectification, and idealization of creativity all play out in such a way to elude rather than cement the boundaries between them.

March 10, 2009

Limited Edition: The Consumption of Music Box Sets and the Politics of Distinction

Andrew Bowsher, D.Phil Candidate at the Institute for Social and Cultural Anthropology at Oxford University

My research project explores the production, marketing and consumption of boxed-sets of recorded specialist music in Europe and North America. Boxed-sets collect archival materials pertaining to musical genres, eras and artists in elaborate packaging. They run in limited numbers, and are highly sought-after by music fans and collectors, who view them as valuable cultural artefacts and tributes to artistic legacies of cultural importance. Through an ethnographic investigation of practices surrounding these nostalgic goods, I examine the complex creative processes involved in producing these specific commodities, the dynamics of collecting practices, and the specific forms of sociality created through participating in fan culture to question anthropological theories of value creation in commercial marketplaces and consumer lifestyles (Graeber 2001) from a new perspective.

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By questioning why boxed-sets are so prized and important to consumers, my methodological and theoretical consideration of anthropological debates creates a perspective for understanding how the value of boxed-sets is produced, negotiated and sustained. My study on boxed-sets questions previous anthropological research into the industries of cultural goods, which has suggested that producers can engender specific consumer reactions to goods through advertising (Moeran 1996), or that producers’ efforts have little impact on consumer behaviour (Miller 1997). By understanding how musical nostalgia and memory are packaged for, utilised by, and become symbolically powerful for consumers of boxed-sets, my research anthropologically analyses cultural industries by novelly researching the sociality of boxed-sets’ consumers, and their relationship with music producers, to anthropologically explore market dynamics, consumer agency and the creation of inalienable, culturally dense valuables (Weiner 1994). My study employs ethnomusicological literature (Frith 1998, Seeger 1986), but adds a pertinent new dimension to anthropology’s study of music by investigating music as a commodity within the context of cross-cultural transmissions and sociality (Hannerz 1987). My research on boxed-sets also critiques current shifts in the anthropological research agenda on consumption from focussing on shopping, fashion, and taste to consumption in the home and commodity disposal.

Methodologically, my research combines the biographical model for studying objects grounded in anthropology (Kopytoff 1986) and the commodity-chain approach developed by geographers. I am currently conducting a multi-sited ethnography that examines the specific social and economic practices surrounding boxed-sets as they move from their production in the US to their consumption in the UK. I will conduct ethnography where boxed-sets are consumed in the UK and North America, in spaces ranging from concerts and conventions to Internet sites and fan literature.

Moreover, in a six-month internship with Revenant Records in Austin, Texas, I aim to gain insights into the multiple creative processes crucial to designing their unique boxed-sets, and to understand how this influences the value that consumers perceive in their commodities. Thusfar in Austin, I have come to realize the importance of authentic aesthetics in the city, and have further realized the trend-setting capabilities of this local music-market in the wider marketplace. It is clear therefore that Austin’s local characteristics impact upon industry-wide concepts of authenticity from production through to consumption, and these factors appear to bear influence upon the viable production of box sets by companies such as Revenant Records. Austin’s magnetism within the global music industry has made it the heartland for many subcultural styles; how this melting-pot of a city has prized musical authenticity and simultaneously nurtured many musical genres and modes of production is something I wish now to understand as part of my research; to understand how the local aesthetic for the ‘real’ and ‘authentic’ has affected the reception of Austin’s products in the global marketplace. My research has therefore benefited from immersion in a local music industry with worldwide influence. I anticipate to finish this research and my D.Phil by the end of 2010.

Any interest, comments or suggestions would be most welcome to this work-in-progress.

February 2, 2009

Syllabus watch - teaching material culture

I thought it might be a good idea to open a thread discussing and linking to teaching materials for courses in "material culture", "thing theory", "materiality" and so forth...
I've been looking around a bit.

Here are some of the courses I've come across so far that best exemplify the dynamism of this growing field (I've got a bias towards anthropology...literature people please weigh in in the comments, and design people, and history people...)

Severin Fowles "Thing Theory" in the Anthropology Dept at Columbia University is a great course with student assignments posted online to the class blog. It's also interesting to see how this course has changed over the years.

Robert Frosts course in "Material Culture and the Interpretation of Objects" at U Michigan is mainly focused on museological texts.

Bill Brown's literature based "thing theory" at Chicago

Mike Shanks, Thing Theory, from an archaeological perspective at Stanford.

Dr Fillippo Osella's course, The Allure of Things at Sussex University provides a great overview of the British slant on material culture. the course no longer seems to be online, but I saved the version from 2007 as a webarchive (safari is the browser) which hopefully you can download here: Download file

Then Fred Myers and I taught a graduate seminar in the NYU Anthropology department on Materiality, which was frustrating because there was so much we couldn't include. The idea was to really focus on the intersection of thinking about materiality for the discipline of anthropology rather than a broader based survey of the literature. Download file

January 16, 2009

The Relational Museum


Chris Gosden, School of Archaeology, Univ. of Oxford

Just how we should think about, and work in, museums is a considerable question at the beginning of the 21st century. Older ways of thinking about museums, as sets of static, decontextualised objects, are unhelpful and inaccurate. Museum objects are in a very definite set of contexts, even if they have been through a series of networks and relations to get where they are at present. The Relational Museum project, which ran from 2002 to 2006, was based around the idea that museum objects to some degree conceal the mass of relations that lie behind them, ranging from the people who originally made and used the objects, to all parties to their trade and transfer and ending, for now at least, with the curators, conservators and visitors who make up the museum community in the present.

Charting the relations that have helped compose a museum will provide insights into the colonial relations of administrators, missionaries, travellers and anthropologists, the changing situations of local people responding to and participating in these colonial forces, shifting intellectual fashions in the metropolitan centre lying behind collections and a mass of biographies of people of all types whose lives were entangled with objects and collections. Museum collections represent a privileged form of historical source composed of the objects themselves and the various links to other material backgrounds they have enjoyed, written and oral histories, archival materials, photographs and film. The Relational Museum project looked at the collections of the Pitt Rivers Museum, Oxford from 1884, when the museum was set up, to 1945, the beginning of the end of the British Empire. The project was funded by the ESRC and directed by Chris Gosden and Mike O’Hanlon, but the real work was done by the two researchers on the project Frances Larson, who concentrated on archival and historical work and Alison Petch, whose main task was to enhance the computerised databases of the Pitt Rivers and to carry out a mass of statistical analyses on them looking at when objects came in, where they came from and through which hands or conduits. In addition to articles, the project had two main outcomes – a website http://history.prm.ox.ac.uk/ and a book, Knowing Things. Both are linked and meant to be understood together. Although the book is the result of our reflections, the website contains material for anyone interested to carry out their own analyses.

The main aim of our project was to investigate the sets of relationships between people and things that make up the Pitt Rivers Museum. Let us start with one small example of what these relationships might involve. There are two ‘jew’s harps’ in the Pitt Rivers Museum – these are small, inconspicuous bamboo instruments that are held against the lips and plucked with the fingers. The Museum’s curator, Henry Balfour, acquired these two instruments in the Naga Hills of India in 1922. He was staying with his friend, James Mills, a Sub-Divisional Officer with the Indian Civil Service who was stationed at Mokokchung in the Naga Hills. On 1st December, Balfour visited a Chang Naga man called Ngaku, who worked as an interpreter at Mokokchung. They spent a ‘cheery’ time together discussing local traditions and practices, before the mother of a friend of Ngaku’s played the jew’s harp for their British visitor. After ‘quite a pleasing melodious performance’, the old woman gave Balfour two similar instruments for his ‘memsahib’, by which she probably meant Balfour’s wife. Memsahib is the female form of the Hindi word ‘sahib’, then used as respectful address for Europeans in India. From the use of this single word we know that during the course of the transaction Balfour was implicated in the existing social hierarchies in Mokokchung and India as a whole. The two jew’s harps are now in the collections at the Pitt Rivers Museum, but they were not accessioned until 1939, the year Balfour died. His wife, Edith, had passed away in 1938, so perhaps he did give them to her as the Naga lady had intended (the details supplied here are drawn from Balfour’s notebooks of his trip to Nagaland, held in the Pitt Rivers Museum and from documentation pertaining to the objects themselves).

These two bamboo instruments have quickly drawn us into a little cluster of relationships, involving Mills, Balfour, Ngaku, Ngaku’s friend’s mother, and Balfour’s wife. We cannot now know what Ngaku and his elderly friend understood of the Pitt Rivers Museum, if anything, but their stories have been part of the institution ever since, because their actions and interactions helped to create it, albeit in a small way. Rather than being distant observers, Ngaku and his friend are participants in the formation of the Pitt Rivers Museum. They are implicated and involved, and integral to the institution as a whole. Museums emerge through thousands of relationships like these; through the experiences of anthropological subjects, collectors, curators, lecturers and administrators, amongst others, and these experiences have always been mediated and transformed by the material world, by artefacts, letters, trains, ships, furniture, computers, display labels, and so on. No one person or group of people can completely control the identity of a museum. They have multiple authors, who need not be aware of their role nor even necessarily willing contributors. But however else each person’s involvement differs, all of their relationships cohere around things. It is objects that have drawn people together, helped to define their interactions, and made them relevant to the Museum.

This project had a series of intersecting research themes concerning variously the disciplinary histories of archaeology and anthropology, the history of museums within Oxford (itself embedded in broader discussions concerning the sciences and humanities), the nature of colonial histories as illuminated through the movement of objects, links with originating communities and an overarching concern for the relations between people and things. These themes include many of the big current issues within archaeology, anthropology and science and technology studies, so that a lot has been written about these topics, but we know of no one work which has combined in the way we have, focussing crucially on the collections of one large institution which provides coherence and focus.

The general ambit of thought within which we are working is that which explores the interactions and relationships between people and things. The notion is that people and things are equal (although different) players in the creation of social relations, institutions, knowledge and politics. Such ideas allow material things to be active players in the human world in manners which are still controversial and debated – in what sense objects are active or are agents is not at all clear or agreed and many are unhappy with this line of thought altogether (Gell 1998, Ingold 2000, Latour 1993, 2005, Strathern 1996). A museum which has lasted several human generations is given continuity through the objects in it, which are conventionally seen to be the museum, rather than the people. For museums it may be an issue as to how far people are active players.

The key idea of the Relational Museum is to look at the relationships between people and things in an historical context, charting how both continuity and change arise. Rather to our surprise a key issue has become through the course of the project a question about the nature of knowledge and the manner in which knowledge is embodied as well as, or instead of, being a mental construction. In the early twenty first century a number of divisions are breaking down, first of all between disciplines such as archaeology and anthropology, but also between key conceptual divisions such as culture and nature, or mind and matter. The Pitt Rivers Museum was established in 1884 at a period in which disciplinary boundaries had not been drawn up and the conceptual landscape different to that of today. There is no way in which we can return to the intellectual landscape of the late nineteenth century, but this was a world sufficiently different from our own to shake up now established forms of thought and provide some inspiration for the future. In particular, a general lack of distinction was made, by people like E. B. Tylor, between the material and the mental, so that objects were seen as materialisations of ideas, interacting with the skills of the body, as much as the operations of the mind.

Our particular focus has been on one museum, that of the Pitt Rivers, in the first 60 years of its history. There is a considerable literature on the history of museums and collecting (e.g. Barringer and Flynn 1998, Pearce 1995) but there has been surprisingly little in the way of detailed empirical studies of individual institutions and their collections. This, we suspect, is because working out when collections came into a museum, from whom and from where has been very difficult, a difficult now partly overcome through searchable electronic databases. We feel that our work has made a unique contribution in a number of important areas.

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The Anthropology Diploma class of 1910-11. Back row from left - Wilson D. Wallis, Diamond Jenness and Marius Barbeau. Front row from left - Henry Balfour, Arthur Thomson and Robert Ranulph Marett.

We have charted the first sixty years of the Museum’s existence looking at the intellectual, institutional and political forces influential in its creation. This has been made possible through the creation of electronic versions of the Museum’s catalogues which can be searched relatively rapidly and systematically. Because the Museum’s holdings are so large and various, now comprising some 275,000 objects from all continents of the world, we chose a number of routes into the collections, particularly those provided by the collectors. Some 4000 people are known to have collected objects in the ‘field’ (whether this is West Africa, Tasmania or north Oxfordshire) which they gave to the Museum, either directly or indirectly. Such a large number of collectors threw light on issues of class, gender and social networks which lay behind the Museum’s collections. We also concentrated on a number of topics (stone tools, toys and games, head hunting to take a few) important to the history of the Museum in various ways. Lastly, we selected out a small number of people either within the Museum or outside, who threw light on different aspects of the Museum’s history. This group was made up first of Pitt Rivers himself whose gift of 20,000 objects provided the starting point for the Museum. Analysis of this collection, which built up from the 1850s onwards, allowed us to extend our period of analysis back to the middle of the nineteenth century. Henry Balfour was employed for a year to unpack Pitt Rivers’ collection but stayed in the Museum until his death in 1939 and became the major force behind the build up of the collections through travel, letter writing and conversation which meant that he either gathered objects himself or encouraged others to collect. E. B. Tylor, the first professional anthropologist in Britain, was employed as Keeper of the University Museum from 1883 and oversaw the acquisition and initial ordering of the Museum. He had much less hands-on connection with the objects than Balfour but was the major intellectual force behind the Museum in the 1880s and 1890s, producing important work on objects and their role in religious life, magic and technology.
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Henry Balfour, Upper Gallery PRM some time in 1890s

John Hutton never worked for the Museum, but became a member of the Indian Civil Service in 1909, working in particular in Assam and especially in the Naga Hills. Through his friendship with Balfour, Hutton collected large amounts of material, especially from Naga, which he gave to the Museum. He also formed a focus for others to collect and donate. Hutton was a small, but exemplary, element of the British colonial world and its entanglement with anthropology and collection. In 1937 Hutton became William Wyse Professor of Social Anthropology, University of Cambridge. Charles Seligman’s major institutional affiliation was with the LSE, but he, with his wife Brenda, was a major collector for a number of different institutions including the Pitt Rivers Museum. The Seligman archive at the LSE provides considerable detail on the Seligmans’ style of fieldwork in the Sudan, Ceylon (Sri Lanka) and New Guinea and the impact that their survey mode of work had on patterns of collection of objects given to the Pitt Rivers Museum. Our final collector was Beatrice Blackwood who worked for a long time in the Department of Anatomy at Oxford, but latterly at the Pitt Rivers Museum where she stayed as an active presence until her death in 1975. Blackwood carried out fieldwork in north America and New Guinea which resulted in important collections. She was attracted to a Malinowskian style of fieldwork, more sedentary than the Seligmans, but was never quite able to achieve her aims, partly because of demands by Balfour to collect for the Museum. Blackwood was an important teacher of ethnography using the Museum’s collections, as well as being instrumental in setting up the catalogues that were later to be digitised to form the base for the Relational Museum project. We chose this range of collectors to provide some chronological span, which provided an insight into changing intellectual interests, styles of fieldwork and thoughts about the centrality of material culture to anthropology. The resulting work was not a history of the Pitt Rivers Museum but a series of key insights into aspects of its history, which can be used to throw light on key questions in the present.

The 'Relational Museum' project team was interested not only in knowing more about the individuals who contributed to the PRM but also to understanding more about the networks of people who created the museums collections. We were quickly confronted by a daunting mass of information concerning thousands of collectors and donors who have contributed to the Museum’s development, and the thousands and thousands of objects with which they were associated. All these people and things were interconnected to varying degrees in complex ways. We considered that when faced with a complicated, shifting circulation of people and things that is literally endless – as is the case when considering the history of a museum, a person’s life, a business or a laboratory – network analysis was a stimulating and revealing methodological tool. We hoped it would throw up patterns in sets of social relationships hard to perceive otherwise, and that it would be a spur to more in-depth, nuanced research. This complexity might be clearer if seen through an example. Take a collection of around 80 objects, primarily pottery eating bowls, water vases, cooking pots and ladles, from the Zuni and Hopi people of Arizona and New Mexico. These particular objects were collected by James Stevenson, who, in 1879, led to the first research expedition for the Smithsonian’s newly formed Bureau of Ethnology to study Zuni and Hopi cultures. The collection – made sometime between 1879 and 1884 – passed from Stevenson to John Wesley Powell, who was Director of the Bureau, and then from Powell to Henry Nottidge Moseley, who was Oxford’s Linacre Professor of Comparative Anatomy. Moseley was great friends with E.B. Tylor. It may well be that he acquired the collection from Powell during his visit to Canada and the United States in 1884, since he and Tylor traveled together and spent some time studying the cultures of New Mexico during this trip. Tylor and Moseley managed the administration of Pitt Rivers Collection when it first arrived in Oxford in the mid-1880s, so it is no surprise that his wife, Amabel Nevill Moseley, donated his ethnological collections to the Pitt Rivers Museum in 1896, five years after his death. This small group of objects passed through four pairs of hands – Stevenson’s, Powell’s, Henry Moseley’s, and Amabel Moseley’s – before entering the collections at the Pitt Rivers Museum. The Museum contains well over 275,000 objects, so it is easy to see how complicated such sets of social relationships can become. Many, although by no means all, of the people who collected and donated objects were known to each other and moved in the same social and intellectual circles. They might have worked together, or traveled together, or been members of the same clubs and societies, or met the same people during the course of their research. The same field collectors sometimes supplied objects to a number of different secondary collectors, who later gave their material to the Museum. The scale and complexity of the relationships that have constituted the Pitt Rivers Museum led us to seek alternative ways of visualizing and analyzing our data. We used network analysis to complement our in-depth historical research with some broader exploration of these sets of associations and relationships en masse.

The late nineteenth century is often seen (and caricatured) as a period of intellectual certainty when people pursued an ‘onwards and upwards’ notion of history within an evolutionary framework. By contrast we found this to be a period of intellectual openness in which people were exploring the nature of human culture, its links to the material world and its intellectual manifestations. The Pitt Rivers Collection was initially taken into the University Museum, which had itself opened in 1860 as a physical location which could bring together the various sciences in Oxford, but within an holistic conception where the links between physics, chemistry and anatomy could be sought. The Pitt Rivers collection became part of the Anatomy Department, so that human products were conceived on in comparative terms in much the same manner as biological organisms. The divisions between natural things and human products were not made, partly because people like Balfour were trained in the Natural Sciences before working on artifacts. Both archaeology and anthropology emerged through a series of links between the sciences and classics, which seem unlikely today, brought together in the person of someone like E. B. Tylor who ranged widely between interests in fire drills or flint tools on the one hand to the differences between magic, myth and religion on the other. As the twentieth century progressed this open intellectual atmosphere was divided up due to the growth of disciplinary specialisms, so that at the end of his life Balfour was defending his broad conception of anthropology, and the importance of the Museum within that, against the newly-appointed Radcliffe-Brown, Professor of Social Anthropology, who wanted more specialist teaching and a division made between the older generalist degrees (Gosden et al. 2007). It was against these changing backgrounds that collecting took place and the role of material culture was debated. Although an over-simplification, it is possible to say that the debates within anthropology in the 1920s and 1930s were between an older more materialist view of the subject, in which material culture was central, to a newer post-Durkheimian stress on social relations. These debates are still being pursued today.

The main results from the project were analyses of the collections themselves, either pursued statistically or through the archives. As described in the Methods section we carried out a series of searches through the electronic catalogues of the Museum to discover when, from where and via which hands the collections came. We now know in great detail about the structure of collections from the various continents or countries or individual major collectors. Such statistics allow us to gain an overview of the collections as a whole, from which various surprises emerge, which include the number of stone tools we have in the collections (about a third of the collections are stone tools) or the number of objects from England (we have some 30,000 objects from England alone, which form the basis for a follow-on project). We can see that there was a lag between areas entering the Empire and collections flowing into Oxford – in the case of East Africa, annexed in the 1890s, material does not real flow into the Museum until the 1920s. A key result is to uncover the huge number of people (almost 4000) who contributed objects to the Museum that they had collected in the field which allows us to look at the broad community of collectors in terms of their class, gender and social connections, a vital result for the Relational Museum project. The raw data for this element of the project is provided on the Pitt Rivers Museum website (http://history.prm.ox.ac.uk/). One important element of this presentation is that people can search the website for themselves, if they are interested in an individual or a network of people who engaged in collecting, so that the results of the project lie not just in what we have been able to deduce about the collections but also what others can explore for themselves using the new and expanded information on the Museum.

We have attempted to make the objects and the museum itself active players in its history and constitution, starting with the question of what is a museum? Museums seem to be defined and circumscribed institutions, but in fact they spread out into space, existing also trans-temporally, raising questions about where the museum is and how it is constituted. Museums also seem to be objects collected by people, but it is easy to reverse this formulation and see objects drawing people into the Museum, through various forms of attraction of form and function. Tylor developed the concept of animism, a belief in the capacity that objects had to act and move which he felt was held by many people in the world and in some ways museums can be seen as being composed of objects animating people. The typological form of thought employed by Pitt Rivers, Balfour and Tylor divided up the world into a series of categories of objects, which could then be displayed in and through the Museum. This represents a very different intellectual approach to the forms of relational thought with which we work today, in which categories are temporary entities arising out of a network of connections between entities. The comparisons and contrasts between categorical and relational thought could be productively explored further.

As the Pitt Rivers Museum came into existence in Oxford in the 1880s this caused a considerable realignment of the University’s collections, with large transfers of ethnographic material from the Ashmolean Museum and smaller ones from the University Museum of Natural History. The University’s collections represent a form of categorisation of the world and collections change in shape as such categories change. The Pitt Rivers internally also can be seen as a means of representing the world through its collections, a representation transformed through changing intellectual and other interests. It is perhaps no surprise that there are so many stone tools from Australia, but it slightly more thought provoking that there is a considerable amount of material to do with witchcraft and magic from England or many Ashanti gold weights from West Africa, the former part of an attempt to work through so-called ‘primitive’ traits at home, the latter concerning an unsuspected sophistication of measurement and commerce amongst people outside Europe and Asia. Anomalies and puzzles were worked through in the Museum as much as the expected being reflected and this is a large part of its charm today.

We coined the term ‘participatory anthropology’ to look the range of collectors and source communities which helped created the Museum’s collections in the first sixty years of its existence. The Museum today is also trying to re-embrace forms of participation which allow real engagement with the collections and their possible significance. Ostensibly, the aim of this project has been to uncover the history of the Museum, but through working on this history we have uncovered many features that are still of relevance today and by making the history of the Museum accessible on the Web we hope to encourage more interactions with the collections both in a virtual and real form.

We feel that the project was a considerable success, but that an infinite number of similar projects might be possible at other institutions, which could eventually be joined into some sort of larger mapping of communities, colonial connections and institutional connections of various kinds. The ultimate aim of such mapping would be not just to understand the past, but to gain insights into the conditions which gave rise to collections and connections, so that these can be used as sets of raw materials in the present for making new sets of relationships between all parties in a post-colonial world.

One outcome of the Relational Museum project is follow up work on Englishness, also funded by the ESRC. Englishness is a recurrent issue within the identity politics of the British Isles, being generally framed as a problem, not a solution; a question rather than an answer. Debates about the definition of Englishness have come to the fore again recently, making it an ideal time for us to reconsider the history of the concept over the last century. Many writers make the point that modern concepts of Englishness developed at the end of the nineteenth century in a context marked by the rise of Germany and France as national powers, as well as worries about the decline of Empire (Colls 2002, Colls and Dodd 1986, Kumar 2003). It is no coincidence that just over a century later debates about what it means to be English are again achieving prominence in a context of perceived external threats through terrorism, immigration and globalization (Blunkett 2005). The nineteenth century construction of English identity was enacted and transformed through a range of publications, and the creation of university positions and other institutions designed to explore and propagate what it meant to be English. At first sight it might seem strange that Oxford’s Pitt Rivers Museum - founded in 1884 and overtly an ethnographic museum dealing with exotic peoples - should be involved in such developments. However, a considerable proportion of the collections of the PRM prove to be from England, ranging between then contemporary items and archaeological material.

We shall argue that the collections of the PRM were involved in attempts to define what it meant to be English in a manner which took a material form. Much of the change through the nineteenth century which put identity at risk concerned the material world, through the production of mass-produced goods, the rise of consumer society and an empirical science. It should come as no surprise that thoughts about local identity should take the form of collecting craft products, items concerned with witchcraft and magic or the making of folk music. The links between material culture and Englishness have been little studied. The English collections of the Pitt Rivers Museum offer a rich set of possibilities, allowing us to look both at the objects, but also the people who collected them, who were in many cases involved more broadly in setting up the Folklore Society or the Folk-Song Society. The English collections will provide a unique insight into the construction of the concept, but also an excellent starting point for looking at the mix of intellectual, biographical and social motives for collection, allowing us to set these within a wider context through the analysis of relevant archives and published sources. The result will be an ethnography not of the English, but of the construction of Englishness in the past and its continuing resonances today. Initial results from the project are to be found on a website still under construction -
http://england.prm.ox.ac.uk/

References
Barringer, T. and T. Flynn (eds) 1998. Colonialism and the Object. Empire, Material Culture and the Museum. London: Routledge.

Blunkett, D. 2005. A New England. An English Identity within Britain. Speech to the Institute for Public Policy Research, London, 14 March 2005.

Colls, R. 2002. The Identity of England. Oxford: Univ. Press.

Colls, R. and P. Dodd (eds) 1986. Englishness: Politics and Culture 1880-1920. Croom Helm.

Gell, A. 1998. Art and Agency: An Anthropological Theory. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

Ingold, T. 2000. The Perception of the Environment. Essays in Livelihood, Dwelling and Skill. London: Routledge.

Kumar, K. 2003. The Making of English National Identity. Cambridge: Univ. Press.

Latour, B. 1993. We Have Never Been Modern. (trans. Catherine Porter). London: Harvester Wheatsheaf.

Latour, B., 2005. Reassembling the Social: An Introduction to Actor-Network-Theory. (trans. Catherine Porter). Oxford: Univ. Press.

Pearce, S. 1995. On Collecting. An Investigation into Collecting in the European Tradition. London: Routledge.

Strathern, M. 1996.‘Cutting the Network’. Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, NS, 2: 517-35.

Outputs from the Relational Museum Project

Alison Petch 2004 'Collecting Immortality: the field collectors who contributed to the Pitt Rivers Museum, Oxford' Journal of Museum Ethnography 16: 127-139.

Alison Petch 2005 'The happiest years': J.H. Hutton and the Nagas' Friends of the PRM, Oxford Newsletter Issue 54 November.

Frances Larson. 2006 Anthropology as Comparative Anatomy? Reflecting on material culture studies during the late 1800s and the late 1900s' in Journal of Material Culture 12 (1): 89-112.

Frances Larson & Alison Petch. 2006 "Hoping for the best, expecting the worse": Thomas Kenneth Penniman - Forgotten Curator of the Pitt Rivers Museum Journal of Museum Ethnography 18: 125-139.

Alison Petch. 2006 "Counting and Calculating: Some reflections on using statistics to examine the history and shape of the collections at the Pitt Rivers Museum" Journal of Museum Ethnography 18: 149-156.

Gosden, C, F. Larson and A. Petch. 2007. Origins and Survivals. Tylor, Balfour and the Pitt Rivers Museum and their role within Anthropology in Oxford 1883-1905, in P. Rivière (ed.) A History of Oxford Anthropology Oxford: Berghahn Books. pp. 21-42.

Alison Petch 2006 'A Typology of Benefactors: the relationships of Pitt Rivers and Tylor to the Pitt Rivers Museum at the University of Oxford' Forum for Anthropology and Culture [Russia]

Alison Petch 2007 'Notes and Queries and the Pitt Rivers Museum' Museum Anthropology 30 (1): 21-39.

Alison Petch 2006 'Chance and Certitude: Pitt Rivers and his first collection' Journal of the History of Collections 18 (2): 257-266.

Frances Larson, David Zeitlyn and Alison Petch. 2007 'Social Networks and the Creation of the Pitt Rivers Museum' Journal of Material Culture 12 (3).

Frances Larson 2007 'Anthropological Landscaping: General Pitt Rivers, the Ashmolean, the University Museum, and the shaping of an Oxford discipline' - Journal of History of Collections.

November 20, 2008

The Challenges of “Recuperating” Historical Memory: The Archive as Personal and Academic Source

Miriam Basilio, Museum Studies and Art History, NYU

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My grandfather’s refusal to discuss his role in the Spanish Civil War – he fought on the side of Republic - spurred me to try to find personal and art historical answers to questions that led me to attempt to empathize with, or at least understand, the motives of people I will never know except through their traces in visual materials produced during this period, and their fleeting presence in archives. This journey, which at first was academic, became personal as I visited archives where I sought answers that form the basis for the book I am currently writing Visual Culture, Exhibitions and the Politics of Memory during the Spanish Civil War, and was able to locate fragmentary information about my family. This process made me all too aware of the limits of attempting to recover historical events and motivations, and to keep at the forefront the need to contextualize archival documents and visual evidence.

Even today, archival information that would help survivors and their families seek justice is not available, in addition to the thousands murdered, jailed, persecuted, and sent into exile, countless remain disappeared or buried in mass graves. The December 2007 Ley de la Recuperacion de la Memoria Histórica seeks to encourage greater access to government, private and Church repositories that would shed light on these crimes against humanity. A few months ago, I contacted an archive seeking information about the concentration camp or jail where my grandfather and other relatives may have been incarcerated at the end of the war. An archivist answered that they would need to know the names of the sites where a person was held in order to facilitate this information. This type of bureaucratic circular reasoning, a Kafkaesque and absurd situation when observed from afar, demonstrates the need for this law, that unfortunately does not enforce cooperation, but rather encourages it.

In the late 1990s, I saw Susan Meiselas’ Kurdistan project (1991- present). I learned that because the Kurds have been the victims of genocide, as they moved from place to place, keeping visual evidence and material traces of their culture and their families’ histories could expose them to physical danger. When I saw the work again at ICP this fall, I realized that the impact of this work for me was not just one of empathy for the Kurds. Rather, it responded to an inarticulate and suppressed realization that I lack any traces of my relatives’ lives from the period when they fought to defend the Spanish Republic. This too, could have exposed them to danger.

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Only I began to examine objects brought home by veterans of the Abraham Lincoln Brigades housed at the Tamiment Labor Archive at New York University, part of an interdisciplinary workshop Visual Culture and Historical Evidence: The Case of the Abraham Lincoln Brigades, and spoke with Haidy Geismar about the ways in which material culture is understood, did this come into sharp relief. The veterans too, brought home objects as they fled the war torn Republic, items that once they returned home could expose them to political persecution here in the United States.

The traces of the ways in which the soldiers in their daily lives used visual materials such as posters, calendars and pamphlets, gave the contents of this archive particular poignancy. An example is calendars and albums commemorating Republican heroes in the defense of Barcelona from General Francisco Franco’s right wing military uprising, or depicting daily life, all illustrated by the artist known as “Sim” (José Luis Rey Vila). I had seen copies in pristine condition in Barcelona, but here, they were marked by traces of their owners. I saw ripped and cut out pages from the calendar, saved and carefully brought home by veterans, and one page in particular, with a handwritten note: “It’s like the church in Belchite, Spain.” The veteran who found SIM’s images compelling enough to tear them out of a calendar to safe keeping, inscribed the image as if it was a photograph, a testimony, or perhaps an aid to memory. Belchite was one of the longest and bloodiest battles in the Spanish Civil War, and the parallel the veteran makes between the ruined church in Barcelona and the one in Belchite (Franco preserved the town as a macabre site of memory, constructing a new town nearby) points to his movements during the war.

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Here were the elusive traces of “viewer reception” sought by many an art historian. What were the ways in which viewers understood these objects, today often decontextualized and clinically preserved in archives? In my work, I avoid such seemingly unanswerable questions. The readers, viewers, and owners of such objects, like my grandfather, are dead and their testimonies, lost. Instead, I focus on tracking the ways in which such visual propaganda circulated across media, and the efforts made by their producers to convey particular messages through the promotion and reinforcement of slogans in posters, postcards, illustrations and cartoons in magazines and newspapers, in speeches, press articles, and songs. I found administrative documents that also shed light on the strategies such producers – poster makers collectives’, political parties, unions, and political commissars – employed to attempt to persuade through these compelling and pervasive images. I did so based on a belief in the power of images, and the ALBA objects are testament to the importance of Sim’s images for some of their viewers, Americans that heroically fought to defend the Spanish Republic.

November 4, 2008

OBJECTS, PERFUMES, LANGUAGE

Daniel Miller, University College London

I happened to be talking to a potential publisher, Profile Books, and at the end of the discussion they were kind enough to leave me a copy of the book Perfumes: The Guide by Luca Turin and Tania Sanchez. When I opened this up I found that the book actually consists of an alphabetically ordered review of some 1,500 fragrances. I have never actually worn a perfume, and I don’t believe I have ever purchased a perfume for anyone else, except maybe cheap Christmas presents for informants during fieldwork. Yet one week later I find that I am reading this book cover to cover. There are two reasons for this. Firstly I am intrigued with this work as an exposition of the relationship between the material, the immaterial and language. Secondly because its utterly brilliant.

My fascination with the issue of immateriality and language arose a very long time ago when I read a volume called Wine and Conversation by the linguist Adrienne Lehrer in 1983. I am writing from distant memory but as I recall it documented a series of blind testing of people talking about wines. This included lay wine quaffers and professional wine experts from California. The point was that wine has developed an extraordinarily rich vocabulary of description, but was that actually effective in conveying something about the wines themselves? To cut to the chase, the book seemed to suggest that most people, including experts, could not actually identify wines based merely on such verbal descriptions. It implied that this language existed for social and symbolic purposes that falsely presumed the communication of substance and managed to survive happily even when this was largely illusory.

Now that could be seen as essentially a negative take on things like wine buffs, pretentiousness etc. But you could turn this around and see it instead as an interesting argument for the creativity of descriptive language itself even in the absence of actual denoted objects. Wine description developing its own artistic agility precisely because of the difficulty of its project. The present volume on perfume makes this much more plausible. Because I think it would generally be agreed that if taste is difficult to convey through language alone then smell is a great deal harder. It seems about the most intractable of the senses. Now I have no idea whether this book succeeds or not in creating the kind of objectivity that is ascribed to wine. Certainly it starts with an introduction that explains the chemistry and dynamics of perfume construction much as one might for wines, and I certainly imagine that the authors believe that language can actually convey substance, just as those wine experts were convinced that that is what they were engaged in doing when talking about wine.

But for me this ceases to matter when one comes up against the other quality of this book and the one that drives me to read it in full. What I mean by claiming that it is brilliant, is that the quality of the writing itself transcends any such link to either the material or immaterial. It’s not just the richness of metaphorical extension required in trying to convey smell. The point of the book is unflinching adjudication and this is where it excels. The put downs are often incredibly funny and so devastating and terse as to be an absolute delight. But then one is equally carried away by the soaring praise of what they consider the emperors of scent, and the sense of the ecstatic that they ascribe to the experience of perfumes such as Chanel No5 or Beyond Paradise.

It is the scale, the distance they create between their peaks and troughs that make reading about 1,500 scents such a joy. We are driven right down to `as near nonexistent it as it is possible to be while still remaining technically a fragrance’ or `the worlds most expensive lemon sorbet flavour’ or `hideously screechy’ or `probably first rejected for use in industrial drain cleaner.’ We are carried all the way up to `it is an ideally proportioned wonder, all of a piece, smooth to the touch and solid as marble, with no sharp edges or extraneous fur trimming, a monument of perfect structure and texture’ or `Laurent married grapefruit instead with an intensely pink floral accord and somehow gave it durability and that elusive quality of radiance; the ability to project an accurate image of itself at a distance’ or `a husky voiced come on’ or `one of the great emancipated fragrances.’

I suspect for some people the writing is too extreme, even vulgar. But then I like coral reef and Nirvana. I am not sure I could ever become completely entranced by smell, but I now find that I can certainly be captured by these florid tendrils of descriptive phrasing wafting by my nose.

October 8, 2008

The Rat

Haidy Geismar, NYU

Those of you based in NYC will be very familiar with this artefact, but for those further afield, I wanted to draw your attention to a startling materialisation of labour law, unethical corporate practice, and performative street life.

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On any given day, one is likely to confront a large inflatable rat on the streets of NYC, flanked by union representatives campaigning for fair and lawful employment. The rat comes out at construction sites, restaurants, and even at NYU where it became part of the protests surrounding the controversy over the graduate student's right to unionise.

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A brief google search ("inflatable rat new york") discovers that Construction and General Building Laborers Local 79 says it introduced the rat to New York about 1997, borrowing the idea from Chicago unions. Since then, other unions have bought inflatable rally rats of varying sizes, and at any time there could be more than half a dozen rats humiliating employers around the city. While unions set their own standards, Local 79's system is probably typical.

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A "rat contractor" is an old phrase in construction and can refer to an employer who is not providing proper safety equipment, benefits or wages, said Richard A. Weiss, communications director for Local 79. When the union gets a complaint, if the job site isn't one the union is already monitoring, the union research department checks it with the reports all contractors are required to file with the city. The actual decision to send out one of the gray, red-eyed, snarling rats is usually made by Local 79's market development department, Mr. Weiss said.

The Mason Tenders District Council, which oversees Local 79, owns seven rats, mostly from 12 to 15 feet high but including a monster 30-footer, which is often used for high-rise sites. "We've got a whole family of them," Mr. Weiss said. Other unions can request a visiting rat.

(taken from the site about the NYU strike, http://nerdsforgsoc.blogspot.com/2006/02/beware-rat.html)

The rat is a visceral reminder of the normally invisible labour force that props up the city. It is the inversion of a cartoon character, a sinister materialisation of unethical practice and a humerous reminder of ethical and moral responsibilities around labour. I have never seen such a carnavalesque and everyday form of protest on other city streets outside of the US, outside of the extra-ordinary events of large protests such as the huge anti-war rallies in the run-up to the Iraq invasion.

Does anyone know of any other strike material cultures?

September 25, 2008

Jeans in Socialist Hungary

Ferenc Hammer, Institute for Art Theory and Media Studies Eötvös Loránd University. Hungary

The project is an exploration of meanings of jeans in Hungary’s Communist past, articulated through ways of its use, its regulation regimes in the family or in public settings, and an array of representations, let them be personal stories, family photographs, novel scenes, record covers or newspaper articles. The reseach focuses on the period of 1960-1985. The main source of the inquiry is about 130 personal stories that people sent to me to my „call for cooperation“ published online and in the press, in which I asked people to tell me the story of their first pair of jeans in great detail.

The series of simple everyday denim accounts highlight a fascinating picture of the changing relationship between that state and society in the Communist period. The social history elements of the jeans stories are often intertwined with references to various aspects of the materiality of the garment including allusions stressing jeans as a second skin, as an enabling material condition to act particular ways in the communist culture and society. The perceived, visually patrolled and sanctioned jeaned body’s performances suggest a perhaps often overlooked historical anthropological understanding of living under Communist rule. The changing jeans wearing habits highlight strategies of citizenship, that is, norms, rules and habits regarding other individuals and the authorities. Jeans‘ manifold capacity to embody various aspects of authenticity dovetailed accurately to conditions of the self of young people in Hungary in the 1960-80s. Finally, the act of remembering to the first jeans, twenty years after the regime change, offers and illuminating approach to the Cold War for the storytellers as well those reading these stories.

At the current stage of the project I finalize the manuscript of a monograph on jeans in Communism. I perceive an abundance of connections to other denim projects. Jeans histories in other countries with authoritarian, particularly Communist experiences offer natural comparative aspects. Contemporary sartorial topics with the strong performative element associated with the outfit are also relevant too. The gender aspect of the findings are also quite notable.

The main part of the research was done in 2006 when I was a research fellow at Birkbeck College in the Cultures of Consumption Programme, funded jointly by the Economic and Social Research Council and Arts and Humanities Research Council in the UK. As a result of this work, a first account of the research was published in 2008: Hammer, F. (2008) ‘Sartorial Manoeuvres in the Dusk: Blue Jeans in Socialist Hungary.’ In F. Trentmann & K. Soper (szerk.) Citizenship and Consumption. London: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 51-68. A volume on dressing in Socialism will contain this piece in Hungarian in 2008. Another piece, based on my presentation at the 2008 ‘Cultures of Commodity Branding’ conference in London, organized by the British Academy and the Institute of Archaeology, University College of London, will be published in a conference paper collection, my chapter’s working title is ‘The Real One. Western brands and competing notions of authenticity in Socialist Hungary’.

Leading Hungarian dailies, weeklies, TV and radio programs and online sources made references to my jeans research: HVG, HVG, Kulturpart.hu, Magyar Narancs, Magyar Radio, Népszabadság, RTL Klub, Zalai Hírlap, Zalamédia Online.

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A hopeless attempt by the Hungarian garment industry to cope with jeans dreams of the youth, from the May 1 Men Clothing Factory, ca. 1975.

August 24, 2008

Water on Water: Kiribati in Crisis

Tony Whincup, School of Visual & Material Culture, Massey Univ.

This photo essay considers the enormity of the impact of even small changes to indigenous practices intimately linked to a specific land and sea and the subsequent threats for the survival of the culture itself.


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The Republic of Kiribati comprises Banaba (Ocean Island) to the west and Christmas Island and the Line Islands to the east, with Kiribati (the Gilbert Islands) and Rawaki (the Phoenix Islands) between them. Although the land area is only 800 square kilometres, the atolls are spread over approximately three million square kilometres of ocean. This group, comprising thirty-three coral atolls, lies along the equator about half way between Hawaii and Australia. Trade winds moderate a hot, humid, tropical marine climate.

The sixteen atolls that comprise the main island group of Kiribati, straddle the equator due north of New Zealand. The land, heartbreakingly threatened by ecologically offensive nations, rises a mere two metres above the sea. The atolls are tiny peaks of vast undersea mountains that rise through the depths of the Pacific Ocean. The reefs are the defence against relentless waves upon these precarious landfalls. There is nowhere, not even in the centre of the lagoon, that the incessant roar of the breakers is not heard. The sound of the sea is inescapable in Kiribati.


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Sea dominates life - this is a world of water. The nearest island is over the horizon, and a major land mass a thousand miles of endless ocean away. Only a narrow strip of land divides the ocean from the lagoon. The peaceful and gentle, the deep and strong, the inner and outer are in constant contrast.

These tiny ribbons of coral are the home of the I-Kiribati.


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Continue reading "Water on Water: Kiribati in Crisis" »

August 21, 2008

Artifact Piece, Revisited: Erica Lord at the National Museum of the American Indian, April 3-5, 2008


Jennifer Stampe, Museum Studies, New York University

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In April, Erica Lord performed Artifact Piece, Revisited at the Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum of the American Indian, George Gustav Heye Center, in New York City. In reprising James Luna’s work The Artifact Piece, first presented in 1987 at San Diego’s Museum of Man, Lord asks us to reassess relationships among Native American peoples, museums, and anthropology now, after twenty year’s work at repatriation, collaboration, and Native self-representation. In addition to returning to issues of stereotype and expropriation raised by Luna, Lord broached several concerns not apparent in Luna’s work, including the position of Native women in the popular mind and the role of consumption and commodification in identity-production.

In his performance-as-installation, Luna, a member of the La Jolla Band of Luiseño Indians, lay stretched out on a bed of sand in a horizontal glass case, dressed in a loincloth and surrounded by personal effects and official documents, including his divorce decree and high school diploma. The work performed Native presence: against the prevalent idea that American Indian people vanished under European domination or were reduced to those traces found in static exhibit halls, Luna lodged himself in the museum as a living, animate, disruption of established power relations. As Jean Fisher put it in a 1992 Art Journal article, Luna’s work did not simply threaten to return a controlling gaze: rather, she wrote, the presence “of the undead Indian of colonialism . . . and the possibility that he may indeed be watching and listening disarms the voyeuristic gaze and denies it its structuring power” (Fisher 1992:48-9). The Artifact Piece thus came to exemplify a postcolonial critique of museums and anthropology that troubled long-standing assumptions about the relationship between “us” and “them.”

Lord’s Artifact Piece, Revisited was mounted at NMAI with Luna’s cooperation, in conjunction with an exhibit of his Emendatio, a piece commissioned by the Smithsonian for the 2005 Venice Biennale. In Lord’s hands, the physical disposition of the work did not differ much: it consisted most fundamentally of the artist’s body on display, surrounded by artifacts from her life made museum objects through anthropological commentary. This included a text panel giving the ethnographic particulars about her species (Homo sapiens), culture (Athabaskan/Dena), and region (Alaska). But where Luna’s work relied upon the threat that the museum-goer’s gaze might be returned, Lord’s depended more substantially on inviting that gaze and the viewer’s desire. Labels mounted in the case with her called attention to her pedicure (identifying her painted toenails as a component of a ritual for attracting a mate), her endomorphic body type and wide hips (suitable for childbearing), and her pierced ears and nose, specifying that while these were not traditional, they did allow her to wear ornaments acquired through traditional practices of gifting and trading. In this way, Lord called attention to ways that constructions wrought by the gaze are not only raced but gendered, such that Native American women find themselves in different relation to museums and anthropology, as well as popular culture, than that experienced by Native men. The larger issue here, the phallocentrism of the museum gaze, is a subject that goes much remarked in discussions of contemporary art and in the literature on exoticism but is comparatively absent in Native American studies. Lord provides us with a way to begin to attend more completely to the multiple desires and pleasures active in museum display.

In his work, Luna drew attention to his scars, explained in label text as the remainders of injuries suffered while drinking. Alluding to Luna, Lord noted her scars and bruises, but attributed them to biking and skateboarding accidents sustained in the course of what she termed an active lifestyle. This small difference between passive, depressive drinking and active, healthful—if dangerous—biking, suggests a world of change: where Luna takes up, and even embraces, stereotype in order to confront it, Lord refuses stereotypical associations, aligning herself with an ethnically unmarked, and perhaps unexpected, community of X-sporting youth. In a similar move, Lord wore a buckskin dress, described in label text as made of “traditional materials, moose and deer hides” and “previously used in the ritual of costuming for the popular American holiday of Halloween.” With this, Lord drew attention to multiple vectors of appropriation, suggesting that “playing Indian” is a Native pursuit as much as a non-Native one.

Continue reading "Artifact Piece, Revisited: Erica Lord at the National Museum of the American Indian, April 3-5, 2008" »

August 10, 2008

The Creation Museum - visited

There is a good review of the Creation Museum at the literary journal, n+1:

Creation Nation

July 27, 2008

Photography and materiality

There has been a recent efflorescence of writing, exhibitions and other research focused on the material qualities of photographs. Here are just a few links, please feel free to add more in the comments:

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Smithsonian Anthropologist Joanna Cohan Scherer resurrected the work of photographer Benedicte Wrensted in this online exhibition. Wrensted's photography career began in Denmark in the 1880s and continued following her immigration in 1895 to Pocatello, Idaho. Many of her photos were of American Indians who visited her portrait studio by choice. These powerful Indian photographs unfortunately lost their provenance and were repeatedly used in exhibits and publications as unidentified, stereotypical Indian images.

This research project brought back the identification to the photos and reunited them with the Northern Shoshone and Bannock Indian families of origin. Scherer's book, A Danish Photographer of Idaho Indians: Benedicte Wrensted, University of Oklahoma Press, (2006), gives a more detailed analysis of Wrensted's work and other photographers of American Indians during the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. The web site is an excellent source of information regarding Native Americans and how photography influenced both the viewer's idea of the American Indians and the way the Indians viewed themselves. http://anthropology.si.edu/wrensted/intro.htm

I also found this helpful compendium of resources about photography on the web

And some other links, suggested by material world editor-at-large, Josh Bell:

tibet.jpg Tibet Album (Pitt Rivers Museum project) - Clare Harris, Elizabeth Edwards, Richard Blurton, Project Leaders
http://tibet.prm.ox.ac.uk/
"The Tibet Album presents more than 6000 photographs spanning 30 years of Tibet's history. These extraordinary photographs are a unique record of people long gone and places changed beyond all recognition. They also document the ways that British visitors encountered Tibet and
Tibetans. Go to the Tibet album site." (quote from PRM site)

Southern Sudan (PRM project) - Jeremy Coote & Elizabeth Edwards Project Leaders
http://southernsudan.prm.ox.ac.uk/
"This website provides access to a detailed catalogue of the
collections from Southern Sudan held at the Pitt Rivers Museum, the
University of Oxford's museum of anthropology and world archaeology.
The Museum's holdings from Southern Sudan comprise more than 1300
artefacts and 5000 photographs. Together together, the artefacts and
photographs provide a major resource for studying the cultural and
visual history of the region. Go to the Southern Sudan site." (quote
from PRM site)

Luo Visual History (PRM Project) Gilbert Oteyo and Chris Morton Project Leaders
http://photos.prm.ox.ac.uk/luo/page/home/
"Explore around 350 historical Luo photographs from the collections of
the Pitt Rivers Museum, University of Oxford, taken between 1902 and
1936. Go to the Luo visual history site." (quote from PRM site)

George Eastman House
http://www.geh.org/

Online Photographic Collections of The Smithsonian American Art Museum website
http://americanart.si.edu/Helios/features.html

Smithsonian's Photographic Initiative
http://photography.si.edu/
Attempt to integrate the diverse photographic holdings of the
Smithsonian, and make the accessible to researchers, artists and the
public.

Library of Congress
http://memory.loc.gov/ammem/
The National Digital Library Program digitizes the Americana holdings
at the Library of Congress.

Collected Visions
Project directed by Lorrie Novak in which people submit their own
family snapshots to the archive or use existing images to create a
visual essay.
http://cvisions.nyu.edu/

aka Kurdistan
http://www.akakurdistan.com/kurds/stories/index.html
Site created by Susan Meiselas that was inspired by her book
'Kurdistan, In the Shadow of History'. The site expands upon the
books tracing of the Kurds history through visual traces, and provides
a means for Kurds to create a digital archive.


And an interesting site that uses photography:
Graffiti Archaeology
http://otherthings.com/grafarc/

July 18, 2008

Lace and licentiousness

Nicolette Makovicky, Wolfson College, University of Oxford

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Is a hand-made, lace g-string an appropriate symbol of local cultural heritage? This has been one of the questions villagers in Koniakow, southwestern Poland, have been asking themselves since some local lace makers began to turn out crocheted lingerie in the face of falling demand for their traditional products. The production of tablecloths and ecclesiastical items in crochet lace has been a cottage industry in Koniakow since 1864, when the wife of a local schoolteacher taught the younger girls in the village the technique. The craft was passed on from one generation of women to the next, eventually developing into a distinct local style with its own vocabulary of floral motifs. Acknowledged as a craft unique to the village, it became recognized as a form of ‘folk art’ in the 20th century. Koniakow lace found its way to national and international exhibitions, as well as into the households of several European royal families and the Vatican with the appointment of John Paul II. Since 2003, bra and panty sets are churned out by members of the collective KONI-Art, along with the by now infamous ‘stringi’ – Polish for thongs. Their products are sold locally, through the village website (www.koniakow.com) and through websites located in the United States, the United Kingdom and Germany.

The commercial success of this crocheted lingerie demonstrates the ability of the small-scale manufacture of specialized goods to flourish alongside the global flow of mass-produced commodities. Yet, the innovative application of traditional motifs and techniques for the creation of this new line of products has not been without its challenges. The ‘stringi’ and their producers have been met with some resistance from within the community itself, as well as from the Catholic Church. Religious authorities have labeled the new line of products ‘indecent’ and the media reported that some craftswomen were reluctant to admit they make lingerie for fear they would be named and shamed in church. The Association of Folk Artists (Stowarzyszenie Tworcow Ludowych) has refused to grant the lingerie the official status of ‘folk art’, seeking to assert its right to determine and control ‘Koniakow lace’ as a brand (Grygar et al. 2004). Indeed, media interest in the story has done nothing to allay the social tensions that have appeared in Koniakow since the activities of the KONI-Art group in 2003. Rather, feasting on the story, the media has been eager to present the conflicts as a result of a liberal, young minority challenging an elderly, conservatively Catholic population within the village community. The Polish press has been keen to represent the ‘stringi’ as a symbol of burgeoning modernity, a thread that has been eagerly taken up by the international media.

Yet, while the image of grannies crocheting racy lingerie undoubtedly makes for eye-catching journalism, for the anthropologist it provides a case study for a much wider range of issues, particularly the relation between the transmission of craft knowledge and commercial innovation. Quite clearly, the emergence of the ‘stringi’ has challenged established norms and brought out latent conflicts surrounding issues of (sexual) morality, gender and entrepreneurship. The craft, however, is cultural knowledge shared by the majority of the women in this village and thus also a shared resource of income. The discussions and conflicts surrounding the application of a traditional technique for making ‘stringi’ can then be seen as an articulation of an ongoing negotiation of boundaries between the legitimate use and the misuse of craft knowledge. The relationship between tradition and innovation is a question of the political economy of knowledge, rather than simply the emergence of new material forms. The boundary between ‘tradition’ and ‘innovation’ is drawn through the constant renegotiation of who should know and how they should use their knowledge.

In July, I shall be going to Koniakow in order to conduct my first extended period of fieldwork in the village and these are some of the issues that will be informing my approach. Initially, I seek to understand why such issues as sexual morality, religious piety and adherence to craft tradition become the chosen vehicles for the articulation of this negotiation. Secondly, I seek to understand how the political economy of knowledge influences, and is influenced by, commercial practice. With the perhaps somewhat naïve enthusiasm of an amateur lace maker myself, I regard the emergence of Koniakow lace lingerie as a sign that the common prediction of the hand-made as a dying form of production is misconceived. I wonder what this case tell us about the emergence of new markets for craft objects in the globalised world.

Grygar J., Hodrová L. and Kočarková E. (2004) Koniakowská Krajka™. Vyjednávání tradice a lidovosti uměni ve Slezských Beskydách. In L. Hodrová and E. Kočarková III. Antropologické symposium. Plzeň: Aleš Čeněk.

Selected press:
Hańba z trzydziestu kwiatków Wysokie Obcasy (20/10/2003)
Koronkowie stringi budzą kontowersje Gazeta Wyborcza (24/8/2003)
Polish lace makers at odds over recent switch to G-strings The Wall Street Journal (4/6/2004)
Pope’s altar cloth makers turn to a more profitable line – thongs The Independent (8/8/2004)
Verushka’s Secret The New York Times (15/5/2005)
Heilige Höschen Stern (13/4/2006)

June 20, 2008

Living with mobile phones in Brazil

Sandra Rubia Silva, PhD student, Department of Anthropology, Federal University of Santa Catarina, Brazil (sandraxrubia@gmail.com)

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Photo 1: A university student looks up a mobile phone number in her handset´s phonebook before using a payphone to actually make a call. Still a common scene in Brazil, where due to the high cost of subscription rates and phone calls eighty per cent of mobile phones operate on the “pay as you go” system. However, a large percentage of Brazilians trade their handsets for newer ones every year.

In Brazil, according to the Brazilian Telecommunications Agency, ever since the beginning of mobile telephony services in 1990, the number of subscribers has increased at astonishing rates: from 4.6 million in 1997 to 124 million in February 2008, to a total population of 182 million. Nowadays, the Brazilian mobile service teledensity rate – that is, the number of mobile telephones in use per 100 inhabitants – is 65,09. In the country´s capital, Brasilia, there are more mobile phones than there are people.

The ubiquity of mobile phones in Brazilian everyday life has captured the imagination of the media, which has published many different reports in newspapers and magazines. In August 2005, one of the most important Brazilian weekly magazines ran a cover headline on how mobile phones are changing the ways in which people socialize and work, among other issues. Those included the social and cultural impacts of mobile phone adoption and usage, and the work of a couple of social scientists doing research on it – Richard Ling and Mizuko Ito – was cited. Having come from a media studies background and in hopes of doing my PhD in Anthropology, that immediately caught my attention as a possible original research subject in the context of Brazilian academia. I started my PhD studies in March 2006, with a project entitled “The world in your hands: an anthropological study of mobile phones”. This is an ongoing project, and what I want to share here, in outline form, are some of the very first findings of the initial part of my fieldwork, carried out in the first semester of 2007. I will resume fieldwork in the second semester of 2008 through to the first months of 2009. My main field is a low-income neighbourhood in the city of Florianopolis.

Continue reading "Living with mobile phones in Brazil" »

June 11, 2008

Making an Exhibition with Images and Objects from Fieldwork in Anthropological Research

Arnd Schneider and Cecilie Øien, University of Oslo

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For anthropologists, to quote Shakespeare, "all the world's a stage" in terms of their global and multi-sited research endeavours. This is also reflected in their photographic practices and in objects originating from their fieldwork sites. Yet, what is precisely the role of photographs, other visual representations and material objects in the various stages of the research process? This was the question that guided our work as curators with the exhibition The World Kaleidoscope: Images and Objects from Fieldwork in Anthropological Research, which was inaugurated on the 4 April 2008 in Galleri Sverdrup, at the University of Oslo. The exhibition ran between 4 April and 25 May, and will later this year continue in the Museum of Cultural History in Oslo. With this exhibition we wanted to reflect on the power of images and objects to represent and communicate anthropological insights. What role do images taken or encountered during fieldwork play in the research process? Can objects and images create associations, new insight and moreover become important in knowledge production?

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For this exhibition we invited each member of staff of the Department of Social Anthropology (www.sai.uio.no) and the Ethnographic section at the Museum of Cultural History (www.khm.uio.no) to present their work through one photograph and an object. The photos and objects in this exhibition were not selected because of their beauty. Rather we had asked the contributors to choose pieces that have been part of the ethnographic research process, either as a tool that represented them with new insights, or which was evocative in the process of writing up their research. The objects and photos are accompanied by captions written by the participants, but beyond that we did not wish to construct coherence across the contributions through an elaborate hypertext. Instead we wanted it to be up to the visitors themselves to create stories around these artefacts.

We started working with this idea during the summer of 2007, and started our dialogue with the participants in October: explaining what we wanted from them and discussing which photo and object they should pick. It is a unique experience to be able to collaborate with all one’s colleagues! Through willingly sharing their images and objects with us, we have been able to learn more about our colleagues’ work, and not least how images and objects enter into their work. At first, this can seem almost banal, but as the process went on it became increasingly interesting to see how people wanted to create a link between their photo, their object and the captions they wrote for each item. Originally, we had suggested that there did not need to be a link between photo and object, and that little text was necessary for the captions. For most, this seemed like a counterproductive way of conceptualising their contribution. After discussions with participants and our designer, Damir Cvetojevic, we decided that the link between pictures and objects had to be made evident both semantically, in terms of content, and visually, with small picture inserts. Damir therefore photographed all objects so that we could visually cross-reference objects and photographs. All captions and written material is furthermore bilingual (Norwegian and English).

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Caption: Maria Øien: Ongoing fieldwork 2007-8 in Nauiyu community, Daly River, the Northern Territory, Australia. I have spent countless hours under a shady tree away from the burning sun with Molly Yawalminy and Mercia Wawul teaching me how to weave. While we sit together and weave they teach me their language and techniques, laugh at my clumsiness, and praise my diligence and interest to learn. My participation in dilly bag weaving has given me valuable cultural insight and helped me build a strong relationship to my akkalli (grandmother) Molly.

Our intention with this exhibition is also to provoke a discussion on the status of visual and material artefacts in anthropological fieldwork, which are all too often neglected in the research process and relegated to a mere support role in the hermeneutic acts of interpretation and representation. Images and objects are an integral part of the anthropologist's understanding of other cultures, in a multi-sensorial process of cultural appropriation, learning and interpretation, even if this is rarely explicitly acknowledged.

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Caption: Astrid Bredholdt Stensrud: Two cosmologies merge in the pilgrimage of el Señor de Qoyllur Rit’i (Lord of the Snow Star) in the Peruvian Andes,. The belief in the spirit lords (Apus) and Mother Earth (Pachamama) live side by side with the catholic belief in Lord Jesus Christ. Christ, who according to legend made an apparition here in 1783, is depicted here on a stone, and the image has been reproduced in miniatures that pilgrims can bring home for protection. On this photo we see Apu Qolqepunku, which is part of the mountain range of the Apu Ausangate, the most powerful mountain lord in the area.

Moreover, we think that the images and objects in this exhibition are vivid testimony to the possibilities of representation beyond text. They evoke more than can be said with words, or what can be expressed in a descriptive, or for that matter analytic sentence. Yet the materiality of objects and the no less ‘material’ visual impressions disappear quickly after fieldwork is finished and ‘writing up’ takes over. Similar to precious gemstones, believed long lost, which are retrieved from private collections or reappear at auctions, this exhibition presents an astonishing array of significant items from the fieldworkers' own 'archives'. They also provide manifold sign-posts for how future anthropological researchers might give more prominence to the sensorially rich experience they encounter and engage with during fieldwork.

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Caption: Harald Beyer Broch. February 2007. The crew of a small vessel fishing for spawning cod at Malangsgrunnen in Troms during the winter fishing season. The men are from Helligvær in Nordland.

The curators acknowledge funding from Galleri Sverdrup, the Department of Social Anthropology, the Museum of Cultural History, and the Norwegian Anthropological Association. Images from the exhibition opening were taken by Damir Cvetojevic.

Continue reading "Making an Exhibition with Images and Objects from Fieldwork in Anthropological Research" »

May 31, 2008

Crests on Cotton: “Souvenir” T-shirts and the materiality of remembrance among the Kwakwaka’wakw of British Columbia

Aaron Glass, UBC

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Figure 1: T-shirt design by Beau Dick, distributed at his 1993 potlatch in Alert Bay, BC (photo by author).

A couple of years ago, at a conference on Native American art, I stood speaking with two colleagues, a Kwakwaka’wakw (Kwakiutl) scholar from Alert Bay, British Columbia—the primary site of my research since 1993—and a non-Native man who had once attended a potlatch there. This gentleman reminded the woman that they had previously met at this potlatch, which was hosted by Beau Dick, a prominent artist, as a memorial for his father. The man couldn’t remember the exact year of the event, however, so he asked his indigenous interlocutor if she recalled. “Let’s see,” she said, tilting her head back and gazing at the hotel ceiling, “what does it say on my T-shirt?” After a brief silence, I chimed in: “1993.” They both glanced at me. “I have the same shirt,” I said with a shrug. (Figure 1)

This paper examines the circulation of Kwakwaka’wakw T-shirts within larger visual economies of display. Specifically, I explore the role of printed T-shirts in facilitating social reproduction through the public articulation of memories and identities in diverse contexts of daily life and in the face of plural audiences. This entails a historical and classificatory exercise, as I relate different types of shirt to their contexts of production and exchange. I draw particular attention to T-shirts as “souvenirs,” that is, as material forms that encourage individual memories for specific events, collective family and village commemorations, and public affiliations at varying levels of identification. To speak of T-shirts produced in First Nations communities is to track the indigenization of this technology of mass production and consumption, to trace its legacy and legitimacy within communities that have long been objectified by outsiders and that have witnessed their own art forms appropriated to sell everything from smoked salmon and mouse pads to the idea of province and nation itself.

Like other forms of visual display on the Northwest Coast, T-shirts play a mnemonic role, prompting the recollection and discursive recounting of the events marked by the shirt’s graphics or text. Unlike totem poles and crest tattoos, however, T-shirts allow for flexible affiliation as they can be put on and taken off as occasion merits or as personal membership in social groups fluctuates. As Georg Simmel (1904) would have appreciated, they permit the (post)modern individual wide latitude in his or her vestimentary constitution vis-à-vis social norms and fashions. Here, I focus ethnographic attention on non-ceremonial, everyday items of Kwakwaka’wakw clothing that are nonetheless highly significant as objective links to ceremonial names and titles, extended kin units, various organizations, and historical events. This paper addresses an essential—if mundane—form of modernity as it is indigenized and circulated through a local economy of gift exchanges, fund-raisers, and thrift stores, where it materializes both the remembrance of local events and the re-membering of socialities.

- The full article is published in Museum Anthropology 31(1): 1-18, 2008.

- For full color versions of the illustrations, please visit: http://museumanthropology.blogspot.com/2008/05/color-images-for-crests-on-cotton-paper.html

May 15, 2008

The Yoruba Body

Julie Botticello, PhD candidate, University College London

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Photo 1: Herbal tonics and supplements sold on the street market stall of a Yoruba vendor in London come from the Caribbean, Hawaii, Tahiti, the UK and Canada.

According to the Oxford dictionary (1), a body can be ‘the physical structure of a person, including the bones, flesh and organs’ or ‘a group of people with a common purpose or function acting as an organized unit’, among other things. It is in both of these senses that this thesis addresses the notion of a ‘Yoruba body’—on the one hand the concrete physical being of one’s person (together with the spiritual aspiration of the person who is that body) and on the other, the social body, the group in which some sort of shared or collective identification takes place.

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Photo 2: Bottles of oils are prepared by having the Bible spoken over them. These confer spiritual blessing, inherent in the now translocated word of God, onto the wearer.

The idea to undertake research among the Yoruba people living in London arose organically in response to demographic changes taking place in my local area of residence, where a steadily increasing number of Yoruba people from Nigeria have been resettling. With that resettlement process, a number of material goods and services providers, including food stuffs, restaurants, textiles, dressmaking studios, street market stalls, and Pentecostal churches, to name a few, have been set up to respond to the needs of this burgeoning population. With such a plethora of material goods geared specifically for that user group, initially I hypothesized that self- and group- identification while living in a diaspora would be found in objectified forms and that these would be particular objects coming out of Nigeria and west Africa. Yet, as my research developed and my understanding deepened, I came to realize that the identification markers I sought for understanding oneself on a daily basis, were to be found more in notions surrounding the body, its physical health, its spiritual well-being, and its need to remain socially relevant, than in any one static form or concept.

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Photo 3: ‘Spraying’, the showering single (US dollar) bills onto the celebrant at her birthday party, serves to legitimize not only the host, but also those who take part in this exchange practice of mutual social validation.

These three aspects to body—the physical, the spiritual and the social—and how they relate to self- and group- identification roughly correspond to the places in which the research was undertaken: the street market stall for herbal medicines and advice for improved physical health, including procreation; the Pentecostal church for spiritual revival and promised manifest success in the world through embodied action and belief in the word of God; and rite-of-passage celebrations for expression of social bonds through the manifestation and perpetuation of material and symbolic debts and exchanges.

Guyer (2) postulates that over the past 500 years of African history, it is people who are the most important good, but that relationships between people and things should not be overlooked, for these remain vital for the expression and objectification of this wealth in people notion. In my own research findings, material objects have primary roles to play in the making of these Yoruba bodies, as material objects embody both material and immaterial qualities and enable these to be conveyed in direct relation to those bodies. In the physical realm, it is the actual material constitution and potency of the herbal medicines which work in the body, actively effecting visible healing changes. Material objects also function in the spiritual domain, where the word of God is offset into commutable forms, such as oil and water, which can then be doused or drunk, enabling Bible passages to come into direct contact with the bodies of the church members and work, as agents bearing God’s word, for them. Objects also function to objectify the social wealth and status of persons. This is not something acquired in isolation, but as part of a system of material (and social) exchange, enabling a selection of people to be part of the link. This conspicuous expression of social ties through objects also clearly demarcates who is not included in the mutual validation network.

Reconsidering the list of local goods and services post-fieldwork, there is more than a glimmer of global diffusion present in it. In that regard, the objects and practices utilized to make the Yoruba body do not necessarily come from Nigeria, or Africa for that matter, but are drawn from a wider global pool. Given that Yoruba people are themselves a social construct comprised of smaller ethnic or allegiance groups who, in the (global) diaspora become a collective ‘nation’ which spans the boundaries of any one nation state, it should not be surprising that it is global objects which are recast by the Yoruba people into nourishment for a threefold ‘Yoruba’ body.

I am interested to hear of others’ work in this or similar areas and in comments about my research findings.

Continue reading "The Yoruba Body" »

May 7, 2008

Gaucho Clothing: An Ethnographical Analysis of the Traditionalist Pedagogy of the 'pilchas'

Ceres Karam Brum, Professor of the Education Fundamentals, Department of the Federal University of Santa Maria, in the state of Rio Grande do Sul, Brazil. cereskb@terra.com.br

In this research I wish to propose a reflection about the Gaucho clothing and especially about the prenda dress in Rio Grande do Sul. I intend to show a little of its history, relating it to the other Traditionalist outfits, presented by some historians of clothing and folklorists. I want to situate the creation of the prenda dress in the context of elaboration of the Gaucho Traditionalist Movement (MTG), in the 1950's.

The creation of the pilchas is inside of this process. Pilcha is a valuable object such as an adornment, jewel, money. In the language of the Gaucho Traditionalist Movement this means is the typical gaucho clothing. The prenda dress is called pilcha.

The research is inserted in the reflections of the project The Gaucho Traditionalist Movement and the School. Educational and Pedagogical Perspectives. An Anthropological Analysis on the (Re)configurations of the Plural Identities, that I have been developing in the Education Center of the Federal University of Santa Maria since 2006.

Besides the issue of the relation school/Traditionalist, in general lines, the project aims at characterizing the Gaucho Traditionalist Movement or the Traditionalism as a cultural movement that worships the historical and mythical figure of the gaucho in the present. For such endeavor the Traditionalists represent it in various ways, producing a complex cultural universe that includes, among other elements: clothing, language, dance, food, animals, songs, work. These representations are characterized as gaucho traditions and related to the typical gaucho, diacritics that potentialize collective and individual identifications related to the affirmation of the “regional” in the Rio Grande do Sul.

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May 1, 2008

Tourist Objects and Objectives: Transformations in Material Culture of Tourism

Serban Vaetisi, PhD Cultural Anthropology, University of Cluj

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Photo 1. National Museum of the American Indian (Washington DC)

The Museum store sells not only postcards and slides but reproductions of pottery, fabrics, statuary, and jewelry. It handles books, uses greetings cards to popularize knowledge of the museum’s holdings, and generally functions as a commercial publicist. (Quimby, 1978, pp. 171-172)

Through its material constitution and the reiterative effects of its culturally produced durability, it [material culture] becomes constitutive of desired and imagined subjectivities either nostalgic, futuristic or transformative […] (Buchli, 2002, p. 9)

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Photo 2. Traditional architecture of the Pueblo American Indian (Mesa Verde National Park, Colorado) source: visitusa.com

Introduction
This is a research sketch on “Constructing and understanding Tourism through Material Culture”, based on some ethnographic experiences on the Eastern United States coast.

Overview
This is a project on how material culture creates tourism and how we can understand structures and processes implied in tourism industry and practices through the study of its materiality.

The research draws on ethnographic fieldworks as participant observant and tourist in such different places as: Washington DC, New York City, St. Augustine (Florida), Hilton Head Island (South Carolina), Bluffton (South Carolina), Orlando (Florida) and Miami (Florida). We refer in this draft to the first three sites.

This multi-sited ethnography is justified by tracing observation on different types of tourism: museum tourism, urban tourism, historical tourism, ecological tourism, heritage tourism, entertainment tourism, and ‘sun, sea and sand’ tourism.

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Photo 3. Indian traditional dwellings around the National Museum of the American Indian (Washington DC)

Nevertheless, this research is not organized in the idea of studying diverse forms of tourism and does not aim to differentiate among types of tourism, but it is mainly interested in how material culture shapes and is shaped within the tourism, as a whole. The different touristic sites provided us just distinct ethnographic material and different cultural perspectives.

This study relies on previous interests on alternative tourism (Vaetisi, 2006) and issues related to community, identity and tourism development in Southeastern United States (Vaetisi, 2008, ms.). If within these two cited works we were mainly interested in aspects such as the local-global relations, ideological constructions of nature and culture as well as processes and challenges of urban development in association with tourism, in this study we are mainly focused on the material culture of tourism.

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Photo 4. Statue of Liberty visited by tourists (New York)

We approach tourism largely from an anthropological perspective (Nash, 1996), considering its last decades alternative forms (Stronza, 2001) in search of recapturing values as history, nature and education (Eadington&Smith, 1992). We approach material culture considering the processes of economic/social/cultural/political/psychological/expressive needs through consumption (Miller, 1987; 1998) and the symbolic construction of identities and social lives that material objects provide (Dant, 1999; Berger, 1992) from a broad theoretical perspective (Buchli, 2004; Tilley, 2006).

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Photo 5. “Statue of Liberty” in a live statue street performance (New York)

A specific theoretical approach of material culture is based on using the concepts of transformation and translation, seen as both ‘processes of materialization’ and ‘artefact effects’ (Buchli 2002): objects and objectives of tourist immediate use and industry seen not only in theoretical processual perspective but in their material transformation/translation as precise, contextual objects. This being in fact one of the first-hand ethnographic attitudes of the researcher: observing how objects appear and are represented as different material things, and subject of variation and change within the cultural contexts they refer to.

Our research is aiming to address the following aspects of material culture: architecture, urban landscape and monuments; homes, furniture, landscape and backyard objects; cloth; gadgets, souvenirs, iconic objects and art objects; ethnic, domestic and industrial objects; technology and design; food. For this discussion on transformation - architecture, monuments, gadgets, iconic objects and clothes were especially taken into consideration.

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April 22, 2008

Packaging Paradise: Sonic Branding of the South Pacific

Janet Borgerson and Jonathan Schroeder, University of Exeter

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Hawaii-inspired music marketed via popular record albums, radio shows, and Hollywood film soundtracks aided Hawaii’s transformation in the popular imagination from a mysterious ‘primitive’ paradise into the 50th U.S. state. Indeed, by constructing and capturing the temptingly tropical so-called ‘sounds’ of Hawaii on the latest hi-fi recording equipment, the music industry offered up Hawaiian music as an achievement of modern technology, promoting these U.S. islands as an acoustic, as well as a tourist, paradise. Popular Hawaiian music’s marriage of stereo technology and so-called authentic sounds produced a repertoire of songs, a musical identity, and an auditory brand asset, creating a potent force and a performative example in the sonic branding of Hawaiian paradise. Indeed, what became known worldwide as Hawaiian music still provides a soothing soundtrack for South Pacific holidays, backyard luau parties, or ironic late night lounging.

The Hawaiian record album formed an important stage of Hawaii’s construction as a conceptual resource, just as pineapple, sugar and battleships played important roles at earlier stages. For decades the iconic Hula girl and her musical accompaniment have formed the foundation of a strongly appealing Hawaiian identity, making Hawaii instantly recognizable the world over. Contemporary efforts to re-establish ‘authentic’ Hawaiian motifs in Hawaii, too, draw upon a concocted image (Halualani 2002). Informing even native islanders’ conceptions of Hawaiian identity, these images fall under an ontological shadow. Hawaii remains an important tourist destination, strategic military outpost, and ‘tropical paradise’. Reflected in such record album titles as ‘Island Paradise,’ ‘the Lure of Paradise,’ and ‘Hawaiian Paradise,’ Hawaii has been represented as paradise on earth. Western Judeo-Christian culture gives paradise two central meanings: the Garden of Eden and heaven. Record album covers emphasize the former, featuring the women of paradise clad in ‘native cloth,’ peering out from palm fronds, sensually frolicking in the ocean tide. Indeed, a Hawaiian vacation might be considered the ultimate American consumer product – allowing anyone who can afford a ticket to participate in the neo-colonial project through a re-creation of discovering Hawaii.

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In this project, we turn a critical gaze onto a veritable archive of consumer artifacts – including our collection of over 400 Hawaiian LPs that provide a wealth of data – invoking a range of issues around consumption, objectification, and representation. Album covers, liner notes, and songs provide sites for an analysis of the representation of Hawaii in popular culture around the time it gained statehood in 1959. Record albums were given away by airlines, travel agents, and tour companies as part of broader efforts to attract visitors to Hawaii, and moreover supported the nation-building radio show, Hawaii Calls. The record album covers and songs under scrutiny are still available, often smartly repackaged as ‘exotica,’ ‘lounge’ and ‘chill’ in CD stores worldwide.

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Hawaiian records – cover art, liner notes and song lyrics – often reflect a dominant cultural view of the exotic other. Interestingly, the typical themes and tropes displayed in Hawaiian record albums -- paradise, escape, sexuality, tropicality, going native – are present in many marketing campaigns for products ranging from suntan oil to corporate relocation. Thus seemingly innocuous material artifacts create and maintain a discourse – produced through the use of models, poses, and conventions from art history and advertising design.

Record albums are useful sights for material culture studies for several reasons. First, they are durable. Records from the 1950s remain widely available today, collected and coveted by consumers, and recirculate as retro icons. Used records are sold by the thousands in vinyl stores, at record fairs, and on the Internet; and, surprisingly, vinyl has rebounded as a viable niche within the music industry. Furthermore, old records are often re-released on compact disc, thus enjoying a new life. Although images from 1950s and 1960s advertisements usually appear hopelessly dated, record cover designs enjoy new life on compact discs that cash in on ironic trends or retro fashions. Second, as consumer artifacts, records and CDs exemplify crucial material practices, such as identity building, collecting, and invoking nostalgic reverie. Third, record cover design was a driving force for graphic art during the decades after World War II. Many leading artists and graphic designers produced record covers, some of which are considered collectible classics.

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Continue reading "Packaging Paradise: Sonic Branding of the South Pacific" »

April 18, 2008

Materiality of School and Memory

Lisa Rosén Rasmussen, PhD student, Department of Educational Sociology, Danish School of Education – University of Aarhus

The rough asphalt against the knees in the schoolyard, the teacher’s golden watch chain replaced with trousers in brown velour, the wooden pen between the fingers, ink dripping everywhere, embarrassingly skipping mummy’s sandwiches in the bin. Standing in the sunny schoolyard (maybe on the bench), sitting in the classroom (tables in lines, tables in groups), running along the corridor (painted grey, painted orange), and hiding behind the bicycle shed or in the dark basement.

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The changes in the Danish folkeskole [primary and secondary school] after 1945 have been profound. Judging from political visions and pedagogical strategies, there seems to be all the differences in the world between the strictly academic school of the 1950s, the progressive school of the 1970s and the strongly individualised and consumer-oriented school taking its form in the 1990s. But when looking at everyday life and the world (and creation) of the school pupil, what then are the implications of these changes. My Phd-project sets out to explore: What matters when it comes to being (or becoming) a pupil, taking part in the daily life and festive occasions of school? How have political incentives, pedagogical norms and practices, relations of authority, categories of class, gender etc. been taken up, lived and reframed in individual processes of subjectification?

The empirical material of my project is made up of individual life story interviews with 3 generations from a school on the outskirts of Copenhagen. The former pupils went to school in the 50s, the 70s and the 90s, respectively. In addition a number of group interviews have been carried out in the context of the old school. At first the interview material invites to applying a narrative approach, but storying the often non-verbalised memories of childhood schooling tends to be a challenging task. Though, the lingering and the laughter, the tears and regrets tell that school must have mattered – and still matters. Furthermore, when talking about the memory of past school experiences, the informants keep returning to elements of materiality in their struggle for creating coherent narratives. Through objects, places, and through the body wordless memories of schooling are given presence. Materiality seems to be important to the memory of school in a subtle (and unnoticed) way. Looking closer, materiality in its different forms is part of, enables and shapes the memories. In the memories of school, materiality is relevant in relation to collected grade books, school photos, exercise books and worn down school buildings as well as in careful and vivid descriptions of pens, benches, classrooms etc. Taking the embodiment so closely linked to these school memories into account, it might even be possible to say that the experiences of school – of discipline and of experimentations – are also somehow materialised. In this a twofold role of materiality is linked together in the relations between the very processes of schooling and the memory of such. This is not a statement about the past as simply stored either mentally or materially. Rather, recollection is perceived as a reinvention of the past and of the meaning-making processes connected to it. Still, it keeps a link to the past, though, continuously being reworked and not simply repeated or reconstructed.

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April 6, 2008

The Body Beautiful

Emily Clark, Ph.D. candidate, College of Creative Arts, Massey Univ.

As the contemporary rallying cry to be screened as a means of ‘prevention’ against life threatening diseases and ailments gets ever louder, my research addresses the intricate processes of imaging the body in today’s climate. Artists have risen to the challenge of portraying the somatic using these complex technologies and offered up alternative visions to those mostly demanded and processed through scientific methodologies. More often than not, an artist is compelled to work with the medical profession to achieve the required portrayals. But as much of the medical science community are dubious about the contribution that artists make in the field, it seems to be time to investigate exactly what participation they do have, however subtly. Hence, the core problematic that this project addresses is how much creativity is incorporated into the so-called ‘objective’ view of an imaging technology, which is placed at the very epicentre of our social understanding of the healthy body?

Background
To say that the image as produced by X-Rray, CT, MRI or any other contemporary medical imaging technology, is an image of objectivity, can no longer be claimed – if indeed it ever could. These images, mostly seen in the auspices of a medical environment, and delivered by the authoritative character in the starched white coat, are highly complicated and politically charged. This projection of the state of our bodies does not just stop at the machine.

In the form of documentation and/or representation, the body portrayed and projected, is revealed not so much as the body in itself but as the framed body, both literally and culturally. In most areas of what we call the ‘civilized’ world, from ancient India to China, through the mountain ranges of the Caucasus, the body and medicine have involved complex drawings that reveal what the medical profession of the day and culture were looking for – the elements, the chi, the muscles and sinews, the flow of blood and so forth.

In the realm of contemporary western art, especially since the arrival of photography, the Cartesian dialectic dividing the body and the mind, appears to have become increasingly pronounced. Notable thinkers in the field of cultural and visual studies, for example Betty Holtzmann Kevles (1997) have written on how imaging of the body through various technologies has, through the ages endangered and compromised social relationships by privileging the health of some and not others. There has also been considerable work done, especially by Lisa Cartwright (1995), on how the enthusiasm to use these more elaborate technologies coincides with increased dissemination of these images in the creative and popular culture worlds of visual art and cinema, as well as perhaps more controversially, in advertising and marketing.

The shift from ‘reading’ the state of the body to screening the ‘image’ of our bodies is subtle, but suggests that the visceral entity might once again be rendered unsavoury and distasteful as Foucault (1973) points out in his seminal publication, The Birth of the Clinic:

"Instrumental mediation outside the body authorizes a withdrawal that measures the moral distance involved; the prohibition of physical contact makes it possible to fix the virtual image of what is occurring well below the visible area. For the hidden, the distance of shame is a projection screen. What one cannot see is shown in the distance from what one must not see".

We can see, from early and diversely originating illustrations (Fig. 1) that as well as being sources of information for the practice of medicine and anatomy, they were also laden with metaphors and cultural meanings that were particular to the peoples for which it was serving. In other words, the images themselves spoke volumes about the cultural practice of looking at the body being ‘enworlded’. They therefore appear as representations of the model or ideal body imbued with cultural meanings, with the authority of the image being given by the necessary surrounding written texts.

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Daniel Ricco: Mechanical anatomical plate
from Ristretto anomico. Venice 1790

The sophistication of contemporary technologies, on the one hand deals directly with the body as a singular entity allowing the peculiarity of the individual be viewed, whilst at the same time abstracting the body to fit within the parameters of the viewing machine.

Continue reading "The Body Beautiful" »

March 7, 2008

Urban Exploration: a Subculture at a Glance

Veronica Davidov, NYU

As subcultures go, "urban exploration" or "urbexing" is a very materially embedded one, where community formation happens around specific physical locations, even though as a global phenomenon, it is almost entirely facilitated by the internet. In its current form its inception is attributed to Jeff Chapman, a.k.a. “Ninjalicious,” who founded the zine “Infiltration: the zine about going places you're not supposed to go” and authored “Access All Areas: a user's guide to the art of urban exploration” (2005) but its roots go back to such groups as the San Francisco Suicide Club, whose members, influenced by surrealism and Dadaism, staged renegade events in abandoned spaces, and the Cacophony club, an anarchic creative urban group associated with culture-jamming, Hakim Bey's philosophy of TAZ, and infiltrating places off-limits to the public. Currently there are different branches and genres of urban exploration, based in different agendas and philosophies, and syncretic subcultures that combine “urbexing” with other pursuits. Parkour (or “free running”) practitioners use abandoned spaces for training to move through urban spaces and negotiate obstacles such as buildings, fences, and walls with maximum efficiency and speed. The Untergunther is a clandestine French “team” that recently attracted media attention for restoring the 19th-century clock in the Pantheon of Paris (King 2007), works on restoring abandoned or decaying heritage objects in secrecy and anonymity. Groups such as Dark Passage and The Madagascar Institute in New York City, reclaim abandoned spaces for games, art installations, and performances, as a part of a particular philosophy of urban preservation. At this point urban exploration in all of its forms has coalesced into a global subculture that is gaining popularity, even as the members regularly emphasize the important of overexposure. What all of these subgroups share is a value system concerned with locations and material remnants that, in the mainstream capitalist value system are nothing more than negative spaces around the trajectory of economic and industrial progress. An urban explorer or “urbexer” is someone who finds and goes into abandoned buildings. The motivation for such excursions, and the frameworks within which such excursions are undertaken vary, as discussed above, but in most cases this is an illegal, or semi-legal activity, often fraught with physical risks, and one that is extremely rewarding for the people involved in this subculture.

The common denominator in all "hot spots" of urban exploration is a period of economic decay in the general vicinity. In the United States hubs of “urbexing” are areas that belong to the so-called Rust Belt, most notably Detroit, where in certain parts of the city close to 50% of properties are vacant or abandoned (as one Detroit explorer said to me in personal communication “it's kind of hard not to [go into abandoned buildings] around here. They're pretty much a part of life. I'm just glad i dont have to live in them like a lot of people around here”) and Gary Indiana, originally founded as a service sector city by the United States Steel Corporation, where the downtown has turned into a virual ghosttown with the decline of the city's manufacturing base. Other examples of economically depressed areas becoming “hubs” for urban exploration include New England and old mill towns like Lowell, MA, Pennsylvania steel industry towns like Bethlehem and Allentown. Certain branches of “urbexing” focus on specific types of locations, which themselves always encode a history of financial decline and ineffective management preceding the physical decay. For example, exploring abandoned state mental asylums is popular with New England explorers, as budget cuts and lack of funding within the mental health system in Massachusetts in the early 1990s forced a number of institutions to close. The most notable of these institutions are “Kirkbrides”--mental hospitals designed and built utilizing the philosophy of a 19th-century doctor Thomas Kirkbride, who advocated an asylum system called “Moral Treatment” and authored On the Construction, Organization and General Arrangements of Hospitals for the Insane—an 1880 treatise on design, construction, and administration of mental hospitals that emphasized the patients' humanity and dignity, and the benefits of access to a natural environment away from urban centers for improving mental health.

Extravagant in design and expensive to manage, most of the “Kirkbrides” in New England are inactive at this point, and many are being torn down and redeveloped or turned into luxury condominiums.

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Worcester State Hospital, a “Kirkbride” in Worcester, MA

Continue reading "Urban Exploration: a Subculture at a Glance" »

February 29, 2008

Ethnographic Documentation Project

Sarah Mengler, University College London

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October last year saw the commencement of an eleven month AHRC project, based around the UCL Ethnography Collection. The geographical composition of the collection is diverse and includes objects from Africa (in particular West Africa), Oceania, North and South America, as well as smaller numbers of Asian and European objects. Acquisitions have originated from a range of sources, including academic staff and private collectors, as well as institutions such as The Wellcome Historical Medical Museum (WHMM), the latter numbering around 300. Studying the Wellcome objects has offered a valuable method of both navigating through formal museum nomenclature and highlighting the material culture of museum documentation process.

Wellcome archives estimate that on Sir Henry Wellcome’s death in 1936, he had amassed over one million objects. The non-medical collections, mostly comprising ethnographic material, were dispersed to museums both within the UK and overseas through ten ‘installments’ during the years 1949-1954. This coincided with Professor Daryll Forde’s formation of a small teaching collection in the anthropological department of UCL.

The WHMM was operated on the belief that the world could be known, understood and replicated through material objects, with the ultimate goal of historical and material completeness. Social progress could be ‘read’ from the material culture, the collection providing objectifications of authoritative knowledge. Forde also initiated his own classification system for the UCL collection, reflecting his interest in primitive technologies. Focusing on the networks of influential human actors who employed the various classification systems is one method of analysis. The challenge of this project is to focus on the object and on relationships between objects, people, aspirations, futures and distances. For example, staff reports at the WHMM note their need to rearrange entire classes and systems as new objects were acquired, as well as their difficulties in knowing, for example, ‘what is a weapon and what is a tool’.

The museum is often framed as a site of classifying and ordering of knowledge, ideology and disciplining of the public. How do museum classification systems impact on the value and meaning of objects? How can an account be constructed which prioritizes the material character of the museum and its objects? What role can ethnography museums play in anthropology? In this project, the creation of a new database and the research being conducted around on the objects attempts to address these questions. In doing so, it is hoped the teaching collection will further ignite student interests and projects.

February 10, 2008

Visibility and disability

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Publicity still for the Universal Kitchen (see link below)

Faye Ginsburg, NYU, has been working on issues related to disability and its public presence as a scholar (currently on a project funded by the Spencer Foundation with Rayna Rapp entitled Cultural Innovations and Learning Disabilities) and as a parent activist (Vice President of the Familial Dysautonomia Foundation). Both projects inevitably lead to questions about the built environment and accessibility, which fall under the rubric of Universal Design, an idea that goes back to the rehabilitative needs of WW II vets, although the term first came into use in the 1980s as "the design of products and environments to be usable to the greatest extent possible by people of all ages and abilities." Later, barrier-free movement influenced legislation that removed physical barriers in the environment.

This is a helpful digital exhibit about its origins:
http://www.hagley.org/univdesignexhibit/index.php?page=Harrison

Here is the link to a video about Faye's daughter, Samantha Myers who has become an active media presence advocating awareness about the Jewish genetic disease Familial Dysautonomia. The video was made by Faye's niece and underscores the profound importance of kinship in the embrace or denial of disability (in this case the former).
http://youtube.com/watch?v=XaI84_ANroQ

Samantha also has a blog in which she records her everyday experiences in a variety of different media:
http://samanthamyers.typepad.com/samantha_myers/

More on Universal Design, from Wikipedia:

Universal design is a relatively new paradigm that emerged from "barrier-free" or "accessible design" and "assistive technology."[1] Barrier free design and assistive technology provide a level of accessibility for people with disabilities but they also often result in separate and stigmatizing solutions, for example, a ramp that leads to a different entry to a building than a main stairway. Universal design strives to be a broad-spectrum solution that helps everyone, not just people with disabilities. Moreover, it recognizes the importance of how things look. For example, while built up handles are a way to make utensils more usable for people with gripping limitations, some companies introduced larger, easy to grip and attractive handles as feature of mass produced utensils. They appeal to a wide range of consumers
As life expectancy rises and modern medicine has increased the survival rate of those with significant injuries, illnesses and birth defects, there is a growing interest in universal design. There are many industries in which universal design is having strong market penetration but there are many others in which it has not yet been adopted to any great extent.
Universal design is a part of everyday living and is all around us. The "undo" command in most software products is a good example. Color-contrast dish ware with steep sides that assist those with visual problems as well as those with dexterity problems are another. Additional examples include cabinets with pull-out shelves, kitchen counters at several heights to accommodate different tasks and postures and low-floor buses that kneel and are equipped with ramps rather than lifts.

January 25, 2008

Objects That Look

Michael Atkins, MA Visual Anthropology, University of Manchester

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Despite police ‘crackdowns’ and the increasing availability of willing sexual partners online, the canal remains popular with men seeking anonymous and impersonal encounters with other men. During my fieldwork I employed a combination of ethnographic voyeurism and online ethnography to gain an insight into this capricious and difficult to access group. Sketch enabled me to place the witnessed body into a photograph of the empty site, avoiding the ethical, legal and practical complications of recording participants’ identities during ‘the act’. The downside of the technique was that ultimately the other becomes my creation in the collages. However this feels a more honest representation of my experiences and the men’s objectification of each other when cruising.

Participants create cruising grounds in environments most able to accommodate, perpetuate and protect their ambiguity. The cruiser negotiates the encounter with their body; its language and location. To function as a cruising ground a site must enable men to see each other, yet provide shelter for the sexual act from the social gaze. Cruising is an art of bodily and architectural recognition, every movement; placement, used condom and architectural feature contribute to its negotiation. I wanted to show how darkness, obstruction, ambiguous physical performance and scene selection contain the sexual act in a semi-physical yet imagined private space. When social discourse is undesirable, desire must be communicated by the body and its choice of location.

The exclusion of the other’s and my voice from the social exchange made conventional procedures and permissions difficult and in some cases impossible. Although particularly pronounced in my research, I believe this is a dilemma in most anthropological study. Social research always involves an element of deception (Mitchell 1993), even where consent forms can be obtained and research agendas explained, it is naive to assume the participant can appreciate the range of potential implications of being involved.

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Despite explanation of my research to many participants, I am unavoidably involved in the embodied communication exchange before permission can be obtained from the potential informant. The anthropologist’s body is part of the social world being studied, as such they are afforded information and access that the status of social player grants. Anthropological dialogue is arguably made possible through the investment of the other in us as part of their social world.

References
Afonso, A, I (2004). New Graphics for old Stories: representation of local memories through drawings. in Pink, Kurti & Alfonso (eds) Working Images: Visual Research and Representation in Ethnography. London:Routedge

Lenza, M (2004). Controversies surrounding Laud Humphreys’ Tearoom Trade: An Unsettling example of politics and power in methodological critiques. In International Journal of Sociology and Social Policy Vol 24 No3,4,5 pp. 20-31

Mitchell, R (1993). Secrecy and Fieldwork. Newbury Park: Sage

Warwick, D,P (1973). Tea Room Trade: Means and Ends in Social Research. The Hastings centre Studies, Vol. 1, No. 1. pp. 27-38

January 15, 2008

Putting Together Memories and Fantasies: The Phenomenon of Dolls’ Houses and Women in their Second Childhood

Hyun-Jung Oh, MA Material and Visual Culture, UCL

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Over the past three decades adult interest in dolls’ houses has been renewed, starting in America and then spreading to Europe, especially Britain. My dissertation examined the relationship between dolls’ houses and elderly women who enjoy them and what this phenomenon says about western culture. Extensive fieldwork based on observations and interviews was carried out in many places where dolls’ houses were found, such as dolls' house fairs, toyshops, museums, a stately home and in particular, internet communities to keep up with the growing tendency for the Internet to be a site for this hobby. A wide range of publications, such as monthly magazines, instruction books, mail-order catalogues and the general history of dolls’ houses and miniatures were analysed.

Originating in the sixteenth century mercantile region of Southern Germany, dolls’ houses flourished in the Netherlands, England and America in line with the development of modern capitalism over four centuries. As well-wrought replicas give aesthetic delight, originally dolls’ houses and miniatures contributed to the Cabinet of Curiosities. In the developmental era of modern capitalism, dolls’ houses and miniatures played a role in satisfying emerging bourgeois desire to show off their contemporary wealth and taste in the form of the replica of real houses and households. In the Victorian period with the discovery of childhood as a category, dolls’ houses were actively utilized as didactic medium for young girls as a preview to their future housewifery.

The contemporary dolls’ house scene is clearly divided into opposite ends of the life-cycle spectrum, that is, aimed at either at young children or at elderly women. While children’s dolls’ houses are provided in a complete set made of sturdy materials with a crude structure and vivid colours, adult version of dolls’ houses are an on-going project of collecting and making exquisite miniature pieces on a particular theme developed by owners’ own creativity. However, if the range of dolls’ houses can be extended to include simulation computer games, then teenage girls could still be said to be enjoying dolls’ houses. The SIMS, arguably the world’s bestselling game, can be seen as a virtual dolls' house that model human figures in their built environments, including houses, neighborhoods, and universities within sets of scenarios. The aim of Will Wright, the creator of the SIMS software was to make “a dolls' house come to life”. Given the Marsall MacLuhan’s famous phrase “the medium is the message”, the comparison between the age groups and media of dolls’ houses is well worth scholarly attention.

Stewart (1993: 68) locates a rise in the production of miniature furniture at the same time that antique furniture is being reproduced in mass and readily available form. Renewed interest in dolls’ house can be seen in the growing social obsession with antiquity and heritage since the 1970s onwards. The geographer Lowenthal (1996: 5) claims such phenomenon to be a “cult of nostalgia” with heritage in Britain a reflection of “nostalgia for imperial self-esteem and other bygone benisons”. The isolation of self from family and even of self from one’s former selves are engendered by the modern aspects of life, such as increasing longevity, family dissolution, the loss of familiar surroundings, quickened obsolescence and a growing fear of technology (Lowenthal 1996: 6). Thus, women in their later life are likely to objectify their memory or imagination of childhood or ancestry, such that Tudor, Victorian or 1940s styles are favoured. Stewart (1993: 69) notes that the miniature is linked to nostalgic versions of childhood and history. Mrs D, 74-year-old informant said: “Victorians had so much in their houses so cluttered up. Walls were covered in pictures. So they are quite interesting. There have been a lot of changes. I don’t like to do very modern ones”. Mrs C, 76-year-old widow said: “Not very interested in modern houses. They don’t have the lovely old things old people used to have”. She added: “There is just, when you get old you want something, you’re going back to childhood again, that’s what it is, that’s the real thing.”

Today’s hobbyists show diverse patterns in engaging with dolls’ houses as collectors, makers or players. While some wealthy people are collecting expensive miniature pieces, others are making them by employing their lifetimes’ craft skills memorized in their hands. However, the underlying premise of hobbyists of different categories is the activity of putting together an idyllic residential scene comprising a number of objects. In old-fashioned objects older women feel the warmth of the past, contrary to the coldness of contemporary things. Given most elderly women start dolls’ houses when they finish rearing their children and live apart from them, the warmth of home is well presented in the presence of dolls and objects conjuring up the sense of interactivity. The dolls’ house is a miniaturization of domesticity. Women who have accumulated taste, skills and knowledge on homebuilding can employ their lifetime’s accumulation in the miniaturization of domesticity. As children play with toy cars, toy tea sets according to their body size, some old people who are finding it increasingly difficult to deal physically with the actual sized world possibly satisfy their desire to interact a diminished artefactual world. Mrs D comments on the difference between decorating a real house and a dolls’ house: “SIZE. You don’t have to climb up the ladder. You can do it on the table”. The love of homebuilding is injected into making the miniature house, ‘something that’s not very exerting’.

The fact that dolls’ houses still have strong associations with children’s playthings may hurt women’s pride and joy in their hobby. However, there are huge difference between children’ dolls’ houses and grown-ups. While children’s dolls’ houses are made of sturdy material with crude structure and vivid colours, adult versions of dolls’ houses are exquisite and fragile. Thus, the dealing with miniatures requires great attention to the objects and consequently intensive awareness of their bodily movement, as one informant says: “You have to use tweezers to pick them up, things like that. You close the door, calm down, precision is of the most important thing”. This solitary patience in miniaturizing the world brings peace to fingers and thus souls become bathed in peace (Bachelard 1994: 159). This leads people to lose themselves in an intimate make-believe world offering a therapeutic refuge. Bachelard (Ibid: 161) observes the escapist attribute of the miniature noting that “To have experienced miniatures sincerely detaches me from the surrounding world, and helps me to resist the dissolution of the surrounding atmosphere”. Ageing is often accompanied by the sadness of human destiny, including deaths and illnesses. So older people regain a sense of control over the world of objects which are manipulatable and protected from inexorable human destiny. In general terms this research highlights the neglect of the material culture of the elderly, despite their becoming an increasingly important segment of the population.

References

Bachelard, G. (1994), The Poetics of Space, Boston: Beacon Press.
Lowenthal, D. (1996), The Heritage Crusade, London: Viking.
Stewart, S. (1993), On Longing: Narratives of the Miniature, the Gigantic, the Souvenir, the Collection. Durham and London: Duke University Press.

January 3, 2008

Loaded out - teaching through museums and material culture

Haidy Geismar, NYU

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I thought I would write a brief note about the class that I have just finished teaching this semester, which drew on the methods and practices of museum work and material culture studies to extend the intellectual practice of NYU graduate students not just within the university, but outwards within New York City.

Entitled “Making a Museum: Materializing Regimes of Value with the New York Department of Sanitation”,the class drew together Museum Studies students alongside students from the Draper Program (an interdisciplinary MA program at NYU) and was Co-taught between myself and Robin Nagle, Director of the Draper Program and Anthropologist-in-residence at the New York Department of Sanitation.

The class worked closely with the DSNY and with NYU Faculty Technology Services and had a number of guest speakers from DSNY artist in residence Mierel Laderman Ukeles talking about work with the department as a contemporary artist and social activist to Barbara Kirschenblatt Gimblett describing the formation of the new Museum of Polish Jews in Poland. The aim of the class was to develop a series of materials drawn from archival and contemporary research into the history and importance of the DSNY that would provide a blueprint for the formation of a DSNY museum.

In class we looked at the history of the DSNY, the cultural landscape of waste that has underpinned the development of NYC, the ways in which material culture passes through different registers of meaning and value within this context explicitly through the lens of working to establish a prototype for a future DSNY museum. Unlike the other public services of Police, Fire and Transit Authorities in NYC, the DSNY does not have its own museum. Its archive lies in a series of mouldy cardboard boxes, its artifactual history is scattered in the form of personal possessions and a few odd bits and pieces saved around DSNY facilities. Part of this lack of reification is due to the negative values associated with the job – DSNY workers, San Men, are valued by the public in relation to the material that they work with – being called “Garbage men” is also internalised by many of the people on the job who refer to their own work as a rubbish job. The class project therefore drew on the dual nature of collections based research to a). preserve and represent complicated histories and labour practices in material form and b) to use object based research as a strategy to influence the ways in which ideas around these concepts were formed and c) to use the idea of a new museum for the DSNY as a starting point for social activism – to not only teach the public more about the job, about waste management and the cultural landscape of trash, but to publicly integrate the DSNY into the fabric of the city in a representational as well as practical way. This work should not need to be done, as we depend more on a daily basis upon Sanitation workers than on almost any other public service. However it became glaringly apparent that there was a real need for the DSNY to have some kind of institutional and representational space, and to have a series of valued collections of historical and contemporary material that could contribute to this shift in valuation.

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Image from our archive (http://archive.nyu.edu). The archive is currently password protected but will be made open shortly. Here however you can see the digital repository that NYU has been developing.

As a class, over the course of this semester we have created a digital archive, working with the digital repository structure being developed for faculty use at NYU. Students mined archival material culled from the DSNY, scanned it and catalogued it. We developed collaboratively a series of key words and discussed how we should frame this material. Students also interviewed members from across different divisions of the DSNY and uploaded their oral histories to the same archive. They conducted their own ethnographic research into the contemporary landscape of garbage in the city, attending Freegan tours of the city, documenting litter in their neighbourhoods and keeping diaries of mongo – the things left on the street for hungry scavengers to recycle.

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The 'Garbage Mark' left on the street even once the garbage has been collected - permanently marking the city. Photograph taken by Casey Lynn as part of an assignment to do a contemporary ethnography of trash in NYC.

The archive was based on DSpace, an open source database programmed in Dublin core, but not specifically designed for museums. Alongside this formal archive, we ran a class weblog which we used as a commentary on our work in class. Collectively we used the blog to devise key word lists that we then incorporated into the archive, we shared media clips, articles, and have created a rich subsidiary repository of popular culture, our own research and writing and discussion. The blog is a less formal digital space that reflects the sociality of the class. For instance, the blog we also developed a looser framework of tagging which the archive did not permit, to open up our more formal list of key words. We used the blog to discuss issues of copyright and fair use, and to talk about the limitations of the different fields in the archive on how we were framing and presenting our newly created digital objects. Between these two digital forums we have created a rich resource of commentary surrounding a newly formed collection that we hope that the DSNY will carry forward and use as a prototype catalogue for its new museum in the future.

In this way, both blog and archive were tools in the imagination of what a museum both is and could be.

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Finally we drew back from both blog and archive to create an exhibition which opened on Wednesday 12 December to resounding success. Held at the DSNY's Derelict Vehicles Office (they are the people responsible for all the abandoned cars and wrecks in the city) we scavenged objects to recreate an old-school style locker rooms, we took objects from the basement of the DSNY headquarters and from people's offices, displayed our archive and the archival collections, created a cd from the oral histories we had been discussing and had a soundscape evoking the gathering of trash in the city. We will continue in another exhibition venue at NYU next year.

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Installing the 'locker room' using lockers already in the DSNY space

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DSNY pipers at the opening

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Commissioner Doherty speaking at the opening

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The class after everyone left!
the class has used the tools of conventional museum collection, preservation and research to interrogate the framework in which the DSNY has been conventionally understood and to develop a voice for the department which we hope will resonate both internally and throughout the city. It was rewarding for all of us to see the Commissioner of Sanitation respond so emotionally to the opening of the exhibition (he first worked out of the office in which the exhibition was held) and to hear representatives from the pipe and drum band play. It was obvious that this project has achieved a level of recognition for the issues that the Department faces and extended our practice outside of the conventional boundaries of museum and university walls (see press coverage below):

http://ny.metro.us/metro/local/article/A_museum_for_city_sanitation/11066.html


http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/2007/12/13/garbage-in-museum-out/?ex=1198213200&en=1a34c86fab799fe1&ei=5070&emc=eta1


WE would love to hear from anyone who has used this kind of investigation into materiality as a key tool in teaching...

December 24, 2007

Museums Get the Best Gifts

Marcus Moore, School of Visual & Material Culture, Massey Univ.


"Practically everything that [Marcel] Duchamp made has been treasured by someone - the losses are those things he happened not to give away" - Richard Hamilton 1965.


In 1983 Mrs. Betty and Judge Julius Isaacs of New York City bequeath a substantial collection to the National Art Gallery of New Zealand, Wellington - the twin precursor with the Dominion Museum to what is now Te Papa Tongarewa, the National Museum of New Zealand. This donation consisted of over 200 artworks, publications, and articles. As characterised by Betty Isaacs (born in Tasmania, Australia and a resident of New Zealand between 1896 and 1913) the collection is predominantly an eclectic range of over 80 of her sculptures and 45 amateur paintings by her husband Julius Isaacs. The bequest also contains a small grouping of artworks by the American artist Larry Rivers; and works by two important New Zealand expatriates Frances Hodgkins (NZ/London) and Billy Apple (NZ/London/New York).

There are equally three pieces by Marcel Duchamp which are the most important items in the gifting of this bequest. Two of the works were themselves signed 'gifts' by Duchamp to the Issacs. The entire bequest was accepted on the basis that his articles were included as well as the biographical association Betty Isaacs had with New Zealand. This was a clear sign of the recognition of Duchamp’s significance and the desire to acquire such works for the National collection. Given the comparative small scale of Duchamp's oeuvre and since unique works by him were rarely available or in art market circles, this would prove to be an astute and canny move (Naumann 2003). Such rarity has caused consternation for those wishing to collect works by the artist who has eclipsed the contributions of many other 20th Century figures in the history of contemporary art.

Of the various artefacts by Duchamp in the bequest, the following have been recorded as distinctly separate pieces: BETTY waistcoat (1961, New York) (Fig.1); The Box in a Valise (Edition D 1961, Paris); and The Chess Players (copperplate etching, artist’s proof, 1965, New York). In addition, four 1st edition publications on Marcel Duchamp signed with personal dedications accompany the works.

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Fig.1: Esquisse of Duchamp's BETTY waistcoat by M. Moore, 2007


The initial offer of the estate’s collection was sent by L. David Clark (representative executor) to the Secretary of the Art Galleries and Museums Association of New Zealand (AGMANZ) on 13 November 1980. Luit Bieringa, who was the vice-president of AGMANZ and director of the National Art Gallery, does not recollect the broad possible scope of benefactors for the bequest. Bieringa’s opportunity to view objects, works and books in the estate became the opportunity “to not miss out on something unique” making sure that “the sequence from Betty Isaacs and the Judge Julius Isaacs bequest to the National Gallery was a natural one” (pers. comm. 2005).

It was Bieringa who secured the collection for New Zealand. With AGMANZ support, Bieringa entered into a protracted process of disposition and scheduled a meeting with Paul F. Feilzer, the Senior Trust Officer of Chemical Bank Corporation, for February 8 and 9 1981 in New York, when he viewed selected works in the bequest. The collection of artworks and other related items in the Isaacs estate had been appraised by William Doyle Galleries, Inc., New York, who appraised (in U.S. dollars) the Betty Waistcoat at $20,000; the Chess Players at $2,000 and the Box in a Valise at $3,000. The Isaacs' bequest was confirmed via telegram to Luit Bieringa on June 6, 1981 from the Chemical Bank Corporation and the Board of Trustees of the National Art Gallery voted unanimously to approve acquisition on June 11, 1981. Although this approval was passed in June 1981, and Bieringa personally signed the receipt and release of the bequest in New York on November 9, 1981, it took until February 1983 before the works were formally accessioned into the National collection.

Delays are not an uncommon occurrence a propos a peripheral location. The news of obtaining the bequest originally in June 1981 was in fact new news again by the time of its actual arrival in Wellington and its formal acquisition in 1983. The delay was due to the distance the freighted works had to travel across the Pacific Ocean (and also due in part to the large size of the entire bequest). The total freight was comparatively expensive (estimated at $5,700 US dollars), yet approval of the bequest was conditional on National Art Gallery’s meeting associated costs for its climate-controlled freight to New Zealand. The full inventory of the Isaacs' collection was shipped by Day & Meyer, Murray & Young Corp. — Packers, Shippers and Movers of High Grade Household Effects and Art Objects, and departed New York on the Malmros Monsoon on November 23, 1981, arriving in New Zealand on December 18, 1981 through Auckland. The shipment reached its final destination in February 1982. It took another full year for formal acquisition processes to be completed, but, finally these Duchampian gifts had arrived in New Zealand.

Bieringa, delighted by the acquisition of Duchamp’s works, wrote to David Clark, the representative executor of the estate in 1981:

“As a young country New Zealand cannot, apart from its superb indigenous cultural assets, boast of rich assets reflecting the art historical developments of the Western world. As such several of the works contained in the Isaacs Estate, in particular the Duchamp items, will have a significant impact with the art museum collections in New Zealand, whereas their retention in Europe and America will only marginally affect the stature of any significant collection. Given the limited financial resources of our museums the impact of the Isaacs collection will be substantial”.

While the bequest was somewhat serendipitous, Bieringa exhibited a presence of mind in securing a small yet significant collection of Duchampian art and articles for the National Art Gallery, especially at a time contemporaneous to a wider desire in collecting works by Duchamp. The bequest belongs to a limited transfer of his works to international museum collections after the artist’s death. Museums and curators arrived at the significance of Duchamp’s work much later than that of other 1960’s New York based artists, and so a period of institutional interest in Duchamp’s work grew belatedly (Neumann 1999). Within a period in which very few Duchamp works might have actually been purchased or exchanged, the National Art Gallery of New Zealand succeeded in obtaining a small but unique collection.

Bieringa’s enthusiasm for the transaction made in 1983 has not been sustained by the institution that had facilitated the bequest. Indeed, The Box in a Valise, documented on its acquisition, has been shown on two occasions: at the Auckland Art Gallery, for the exhibition ‘Chance and Change’ in 1985, and more recently in 2003 at the Te Papa Museum, in ‘Past Presents’, an exhibition of works focusing on gifts to the collection (Fig.2). The BETTY waistcoat and The Chess Players were also documented upon their acquisition, but Te Papa Museum art catalogue files have not recorded any further movement of these items for exhibition, either within the institution or beyond. In addition, the 80 sculptural works by Betty Isaacs have never had any comprehensive exhibition and remain in their brown cardboard boxes in storage. Duchamp’s works have never formed a collective basis for any exhibition in New Zealand, though such an exhibition is long overdue. Therefore, akin to one of Duchamp’s time based pleasures (from his delayed work on the Large Glass), these three Duchamp works have, as in that figure of speech, gathered dust.

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Fig.2: Esquisse of Duchamp's Boîte-en-valise by M. Moore, 2007


Continue reading "Museums Get the Best Gifts" »

December 14, 2007

Market Mythology and the Cult of El Diego

Alan Bradshaw, University of Exeter

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Whilst the existence of a Church of Maradona seems bizarre, the cult of retired Argentine footballer, Diego Maradona, continues to grow. Maradona has profited from the marketing opportunities; producing such material relics as a t-shirt which has a picture of a football (described as the bible), a stadium (the church), the fans (the congregation) and finally himself – the God! Another shows Maradona rising majestically for his iconic 'Hand of God' goal with the inscription; 'The Hand of God is the single piece of indisputable evidence proving the existence of God'. In advertisements for his popular TV talk-show, Maradona is shown leaping over the England goalkeeper lifted by angelic wings (see here). The goal has been immortalized by the song La Mano de Dios, (the Hand of God) which, apart from being his show's theme song, is a major hit throughout Latin America. Beyond celebrity status, Maradona is a living case of total iconicity (an Oxford University Union declared him to be the Master Inspirer of Dreams in 1995) and an attraction of adulation ranging from the ironic to the profound. Considering this adulation allows for a demonstration of how football as mass consumer spectacle can be an extraordinary site for mass God-like myth-making and how these mythologies are reproduced through material culture.

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Continue reading "Market Mythology and the Cult of El Diego" »

November 27, 2007

THE GLOBAL DENIM PROJECT

Daniel Miller, UCL

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Please do visit www.ucl.ac.uk/global-denim-project This is the web address of a scheme designed to bring together what we hope will be an increasing number of projects on the topic of denim. The project is being announced in a paper called A Manifesto for the Study of Denim by Daniel Miller and Sophie Woodward which is being published in the next issue of the Journal of Social Anthropology. The abstract of the paper follows:-

This paper considers the challenge to anthropology represented by a topic such as global denim. Using the phrase ‘blindingly obvious’ it considers the problems posed by objects that have become ubiquitous. While there are historical narratives about the origins, history and spread of denim, these leave open the issue of how we make compatible the ethnographic study of specific regional appropriations of denim and its global presence in a manner that is distinctly anthropological. Ethnographies of blue jeans in Brazil and England are provided as examples. These suggest the need to understand the relationship between three observations: its global presence, the phenomenon of distressing and its relationship to anxiety in the selection of clothes. As a manifesto, this paper argues for a global academic response that engages with denim from the global commodity chain through to the specificity of local accounts of denim wearing. Ultimately this can provide the basis for an anthropological engagement with global modernity.

One of the main arguments in this paper is that at least occasionally it would be helpful if social anthropology tried to be social. Instead of everyone picking topics on the basis that no one was studying the same topic, perhaps we could occasionally pick topics because many people were agreeing to study the same thing in different ways over the same period. The Global Denim Project is an attempt to persuade as many academics as possible to consider studying denim over the next five years. Hopefully these will include historians, people concerned with the economics of the industry, and the cosmological significance it represents as a tension between global ubiquity and the personalisation of distressing. Miller and Woodward have now begun an ethnography of denim wearing in three streets in North London. Other projects range from a study of denim, sexuality and the body in Italy, to a study of trashed denim shoddy and its uses in recycling (until recently a third of US dollar bills were denim shoddy). Other proposals include denim in China, Japan and Korea, a study of how blue jeans record the movements of the body in their wear, and a proposal to work on the pressures towards ethical trade in denim in Turkey and Brazil. Brief outlines may be found on the global denim site. The point is that this is a global phenomenon and would be much better understood through collaboration between many projects. Think open-source academia. So if anyone out there would like to consider working on any aspect of denim over the next five years, a) go for it b) please contact me at d.miller@ucl.ac.uk and send something for the global denim project. Similarly if you know of anyone working on this topic please ask them to get in touch with d.miller@ucl.ac.uk

November 24, 2007

Envisioning Normality

Jana Carrey, MA Visual Anthropology, University of Manchester

The thing about camp is that no matter who you may be back in the valley you can start over here; you can take off your mask and try out different ways of dealing with other people. Because people here won't judge you, you can decide what kind of person you want to be.”*

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“Envisioning Normality” looks at how youth with serious illnesses, chronic disorders and disabilities maintain a sense of normality in their life and how they seek to define their identity in the face of continual life disruption and physical limitation. Marrying a documentary realist style with participant observation-based ethnography, this project looks at the embodied illness experience from an adolescent and childhood perspective. This work explores how positive self-image and identity reconstruction are encouraged by participating in the embodied and collective social experience of summer camp in rural, upstate New York.

Taken from a larger ethnographic project, the selected images focus specifically on how campers “perform normality” to fit culturally prescribed roles in relation to their own bodily perception and self-image. Childhood is a series of performances for a variety of audiences and through exploring different roles, children learn who they are and want to be. This view of childhood performance goes beyond the idea of actors masking another reality and instead looks at performance as a way to define personal narrative. Through the embodied performance of normality, campers can transform the meanings attached to their illness whilst reconstructing a more positive body and self-image.

This project also involves the use of photography as a collaborative and therapeutic tool through which children can reflect upon themselves and how their experiences at camp impact their developing sense of self. Campers were taught to use digital cameras and through a series of reflexive exercises explored topics ranging from nature photography to selfportraiture.

For more information on the ethnographer/photographer or this project please see the website http://janacarrey.scarrey.com/jana.htm and reference the accompanying book under Visual Anthropology Work, Envisioning Normality: The Ethnographic Photographic Essay.

* Anonymous quote taken from “Tillery, Randal K. 1992. Touring Arcadia: Elements of discursive
simulation and cultural struggle at a children’s summer camp. In Cultural Anthropology 7 (3): 374-
388.”

Continue reading "Envisioning Normality" »

November 18, 2007

THIS IS…. WARCRAFT! Or: How to Stop Worrying and Abandon Abstruse Notions of ‘Cyberspace’

Efe Levant, MA Material and Visual Culture student, UCL

The Question of ‘online identity’ and/or ‘cyberspace’ is increasingly gaining importance with the ever-increasing popularity of online games like Second life and World of Warcraft (WoW). An increasing amount of concern and interest is focusing on the supposed addictive qualities of the software and the emergence of economic interactions involving the exchange of online goods with real money. A specialized industry is steadily developing to cater for the demands of MMO players (Massively Multiplayer Online). These industries are known amongst players as ‘gold farms’; a great deal of which consists of workshops in China, where Chinese gold farmers perform repetitive tasks to gather/farm in-game currency (known as gold or simply g).

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The increasing amount of time spent by players in ‘virtual spaces’ like World of Warcraft has not failed to reach the attention of a diverse range of interest groups. A fruitful analytical categorisation, in terms of illustrating the historical continuity of the controversy surrounding artificial spaces can be extracted from the debate between Boyle and Hobbes regarding the air-pump. The problem is whether manufactured, synthetic spaces have experimental legitimacy to potentially alter human existence. In a paper called “Just like IRL: Play, Spatiality and sociality in Online Fantasy Games.” I have identified the two positions in the controversy as Boylean and Hobbesian. The Boylean position is the suggestion that online spaces provide unique situations that allow possibilities for experimenting with various aspects of human existence such as: identity, literature and economy. Economist Edward Castronova argues that economies in synthetic worlds can be considered as a ‘corporate Petri-dish’ as they provide the opportunity to experiment not only with new forms of organisational technologies but also with the conventional ethical paradigms that condition the study of economics. However fieldwork results can ascertain that virtual economies function too much like the unpredictable ‘real’ economies (of which they essentially a part of) to be able to enjoy the degree of control a natural scientist might enjoy in a laboratory or a Petri dish. For instance the ultimate problem of inequality is often brought up in discussions between players. The most common source of agitation amongst the players is what is known as the nerf debate. When a specific class (mage, hunter, warrior etc…) gets nerfed (reduced in power) the players who play the class take action to lobby for the reversal of the nerf, which mostly consists of whining on the World Wide Web forums. Far from being a hygienic space suitable for controlling experimental variables, the economies of MMOs are just as susceptible to arbitrary factors unpredictable both to the players and the developers of games like World of Warcraft. This view draws a picture of online environments as a cyberian apartness that gives numerous experimental possibilities both to the users and a diverse spectrum of scholars ranging from economists to medical scientists. Although it is evident that online games may provide food for thought for a wide range of intellectual pursuits, approaching these spaces as mere illustrations to pre-existing models and paradigms will not do justice to the activities carried out inside them. Ethnographic study is in a unique position to reveal the significance of these quotidian activities and correct misconceptions that detach these spaces from the ordinary condition of human existence with labels like ‘cyberspace’ or ‘virtual community’.

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The Hobbesian view stands in opposition to the Boylean willingness to seek experimental opportunities in ‘virtual’ spaces. This position claims that online games are dangerous and addictive. Some view such recreational uses of the Internet as time consuming and unproductive others suggest that video games are killing simulators and encourage violent behaviour. This approach generally uses hypodermic metaphors to illustrate how video games induce a ‘permanent state of arousal’ and seduce the players into an illusion of control. The argument echoes Hobbes’ objection to the laboratory space set up by Boyle, to be specific the Hobbesian attitude towards artificial spaces involves the denouncement of such environments as illegitimate. In Hobbes’ case the laboratory is a challenge to the Leviathan/state, embodied in the person of the sovereign. The contemporary case against MMOs replaces Hobbes’ monarchic symbolisms with liberal values like autonomy and entrepreneurship, hence it should be no surprise that an overwhelming majority of this literature comes from the field of clinical psychology, which as noted by Nikolas Rose has a significant tendency for disciplining difference in the name of stability. Hence the Hobbesian interpretation views spaces like World of Warcraft as deeply subversive to legitimate values and the structures of authority attached to them. The policy implications entailed by this approach expectably involves the ‘treatment’ of what is considered to be an‘epidemic’ in order to subdue these spaces to the authority of the Leviathan. Though there is certainly policy to be made in this field these policies need to bear in mind that online communities have not suddenly descended from outer space but are deeply embedded in ‘real’ social relationships.

Continue reading "THIS IS…. WARCRAFT! Or: How to Stop Worrying and Abandon Abstruse Notions of ‘Cyberspace’" »

November 13, 2007

Material Culture and Surveillance in British Society

Carys Banks, MA Material and Visual Culture, UCL

My dissertation has investigated surveillance and security systems and what their implementation indicates about perceived risks and fears in British society. My analysis focuses on a commercial communications company: C3 who are suppliers of a security service ‘LookOut Call’. This service is specifically designed to provide security for lone or mobile workers. I have also conducted fieldwork research within CCTV (close circuit television) control rooms run by Governmental bodies.

My research indicates that societal notions of risk and fear are pivotal to perceptions and usage of surveillance and security within modern society. Consumption of surveillance and security systems is also a consumption of societal conventions of perceived risk and risk management. This has had consequences for notions of personal and social responsibility in society.

The ‘LookOut Call’ security technology as a risk management device is indicative of how surveillance and security are constitutive of people’s responsibility. Investing in and consuming security devices allow people to take their own precautionary measures. With the aid of technology, they are thus taking on the responsibility for their own safety in the face of perceived crime. ‘LookOut Call’ can be viewed as a “therapeutic” or ‘life style’ choice. Consuming the security is a means by which the individual partakes in “introspection” and “management” (Rose, 1996:162) of plans and goals in their life. Much like other forms of “therapeutics” the ‘LookOut Call’ service can be ‘tailor made’ to meet individual needs. It is “imbued with a ‘personal’ meaning” (1996:162) so as to highlight what kin