Journal articles on the topic 'Airport Fire Service'

The importance of awareness of fire risks in the community, especially at airports, encourages the need for effective prevention and countermeasures. Community service by lecturers of the D.III PKP Study Program through this training aims to provide knowledge and skills to the community of airport service users, especially workers in tenants, regarding how to prevent and overcome fires. Involving the Tri Darma Perguruan Tinggi concept, this training not only touches on aspects of fire prevention but also discusses fire phenomena, risk analysis, emergency response, and fire management. It is hoped that training participants will benefit them through increased knowledge and understanding that can increase awareness of fire risks so that the community around Soekarno-Hatta International Airport can be better prepared and trained in dealing with potential fire hazards.

The aim of this paper is to show the possibility of using UAV by airport managers. With a few exceptions, there are no studies on this issue. This article is an attempt to fill these research gap. This article is based on the results of studies of the Department of Air Technologies of the Silesian University of Technology, Civil Aviation Personnel Education Centre of Central and Eastern Europe Silesian University of Technology, RPAS TEAM functioning within the Centre. It has been reported that the airport’s UAV may serve such services as: Airport Protection Service (patrolling and protecting area near aerodrome), Rescue and Fire Fighting Services (accident area monitoring), airport maintenance and infrastructure services (monitoring and inspection of buildings, pavements, roads, installations), operational departments or duty departments (better visualization of the operational situation).

This article is an attempt to analyze the perception of the subject of airport rescue through the prism of tasks performed by the State Fire Service firefighters, i.e. an auxiliary external service. The reflections of the author are based on his earlier research on the usefulness of the participation of State Fire Service firefighters in comprehensive (full-scale) exercises at the airport in the process of professional development.

The airport is an airport pioneering awned by the province of Southeast Sulawesi. The airport was formely named Walter Mongmsidi Airport the condition of that airport still very minimal in term of facilities aid equipment and fire aviation accident (PKP-PK) while the task of airport services every day needs. In the law No. 1 of 2009 on aviation in paragraph 1 has stated that any business entity or unit of an airport operator is obliged to provide airport facilities that meet safety and aviation security and airport services in accordance with established service standards. Flight accident relief unit and fire Department (PKP-PK) is one of the units contained in the organizational structure of airport that are part of the field of ground operations, which have the task to rescue and firefighting aviation accident or fire during take off or landing. Condition of equipment facilities in the PKP-PK Haluleo the airport is currently still requires some facilities, as well as officer are still limited and in part have not been following the training. Bandara Haluoleo adalah bandara perintis yang dimiliki oleh provinsi Sulawesi Tenggara. Bandara ini sebelunmya bemama Bandara Wolter Monginsidi, kondisi bandara tersebut masih sangat minim dalam hal bantuan fasilitas peralatan pertolongan kecelakaan pesawat dan pemadam kebakaran (PKP-PK), sementara tugas pelayanan bandara setiap hari membutuhkan fasilitas yang lengkap Pertolongan Kecelakaan Pesawat dan Pemadam Kebakaran (PKP-PK) merupakan salah satu unit yang terkandung dalam struktur organisasi bandara yang merupakan bagian dari bidang operasi darat, yang memiliki tugas untuk kecelakaan penerbangan, pemadam kebakaran, penyelamatan dan tanggap darurat saat take-off atau landing. Kondisi fasilitas peralatan di PKP-PK Bandara Haluoleo saat ini masih membutuhkan bebexapa fasilitas, serta petugas masih terbatas dan sebagian belum mengikuti pelatihan.

Rescue and firefighting service is an important and essential part at the Václav Havel Airport Prague and it has to follow the requirements stated in Commission regulations (EU), regulations and laws of Czech Republic. Construction of parallel runway 06R/24L influences runway and taxiway system significantly. Consequences of these construction changes are changes of access routes and new places of potential interventions originates. Safety risks of inaccessible areas at the airport and inability to follow response time come with operations of the new runway. These risks are assessed and mitigated if necessary.

The Hang Nadim Airport is one of airport hub that located in Batam Island of Riau Islands Province. The aircraft movement in this airport was recorded for 10.92% growth from 28,436 movements in 2011 to 31.541 movements in 2012. In order to support the aircraft movement growth, the readiness of airport operational facilities that comply to safety and security requirements is needed. With regard to KP 420 Year 2011, each airport have the obligation to provide rescue and fire fighting service in accordance to the category of the airport. In addition, the rescue and fire fighting service must fulfill the operational and technical requirements. Descriptive qualitative analysis method is used to determine the conformity of rescue and fire fighting operational vehicle of Hand Nadim Airport to the assigned regulation. The results indicate that the regulation are applied accordingly. However, the rescue and fire fighting unit in this airport facing certain hindrance where the average age of vehicle and equipment is more than 20 years and the procurement of new vehicle and equipment can not be processed quickly. In order to minimize the occurrence of any problems related to the aging vehicle and equipment, preventive measures have been taken to regularly maintain the realibility of those rescue and fire fighting vehicle and equipment. Keywords: maintainance, rescue and fire fighting vehicle, Hang Nadim Airport. Bandar Udara Hang Nadim Batam merupakan Bandar Udara Kelas Utama yang terletak di Pulau Batam, Provinsi Kepulauan Riau. Pergerakan pesawat udara di Bandar Udara Hang Nadim pada tahun 2012 tercatat telah mencapai 31.541 kali pergerakan, naik sebesar 10,92% dari tahun 2011 yang sebanyak 28.436 kali pergerakan. Untuk menunjang peningkatan jumlah pergerakan pesawat udara tersebut, maka dibutuhkan kesiapan operasional fasilitas Bandar udara yang memenuhi persyaratan keselamatan dan keamanan penerbangan. Berdasarkan KP 420 tahun 2011, setiap Bandar udara wajib menyediakan dan memberikan pelayanan pertolongan kecelakaan pesawat dan pemadam kebakaran (PKP-PK) sesuai dengan kategori Bandar udara untuk PKP-PK yang dipersyaratkan. Metode yang digunaka adalah analisis deskriptif. Hasil observasi SOP pemeliharaan fasilitas kendaraan dan peralatan operasional yang dimiliki oleh Unit PKPPK Bandar Udara Hang Nadim-Batam pada dasarnya telah dilaksanakan sesuai dengan ketentuan yang berlaku dalam KP 420 tahun 2011. Kendala yang dihadapi Unit PKP-PK Bandar Udara Hang Nadim-Batam adalah umur kendaraan dan peralatan operasional PKP-PK yang rata-rata melebihi 20 tahun dan lamanya proses pengajuan pengadaan kendaraan dan peralatan operasional yang baru. Untuk mengatasi hal itu pemeliharaan preventif telah rutin dilakukan guna menjaga agar kendaraan tetap dapat diandalkan dalam operasional PKP-PK. Kata kunci: pemeliharaan, kendaraan PKPPK, Bandara Hang Nadim.

Hong Kong is situated at the center of the air traffic axis for Asia, and has, at Kai Tak, one of the busiest airports in the world. The areahas experienced a ten-fold increase in population over 25 years and now has the highest urban density in Asia. Hong Kong is in the monsoon belt and is subjected to the very severe weather conditions of typhoons.Kai Tak airport is unique. The main 7,000 foot runway is substantially reclaimed from the harbor which in turn lies within a spectacular mountain bowl. The 310° flight path traverses the north end of the Kowloon peninsula with equally spectacular urban development.Overall disaster contingency planning within this broad spectrum is the responsibility of a joint Police/Military Command. An Aircraft Accident Committee coordinates joint emergency service planning, command and communications training and exercises.Response to an aircraft disaster is initated by Air Traffic Control through the joint Fire Service/Police/Military Command which sets up a discretionary response for intervention, search and rescue by land, sea and air.Although the problems are universal, the Maximum Credible Incident scale is extraordinary to Hong Kong. Unique means of dealing with this problem have been specially evolved here, particularly in the field of fire fighting and marine rescue which involve a Catamaran Rescue and Immediate Care Vessel.

Airport security management is a rapidly evolving process which results in new regulations,new procedures or equipment and the acquisition of new skills for aviation personnel. The fireprotection of Chopin Airport in Warsaw serves as an example intended to show a pattern ofactivities of entities responsible for safety that clearly strive for perfection, and are comprised bythe safety management process, which can be replicated by other institutions. The essence of thearticle is to identify the key factors that determine the safety of an airport on the example ofChopin Airport in Warsaw. The article presents the results of own research. The analysis of expertinterviews conducted with airport personnel responsible for security and officers of the StateFire Service showed the reality of airport security management from the perspective of the entityresponsible for it. New directions of change and areas for improvement were thus acknowledged.The result of the interviews is the development of the authors concept of the improvement of toolsused within the Safety Management System at Warsaw Frederic Chopin Airport.

In the years 2021–2022, a research team gathered at the OSP Niegoszowice unit (Małopolskie Voivodeship) conducted scientific research and tests related to the use of unmanned aerial vehicle systems in operational activities (exercises): fire services (state and voluntary units), police units, during search and rescue operations, disaster or crisis situations related to the protection of sensitive infrastructure at the airport. During this time, over 500 test flights were performed with multirotor aircraft from various manufacturers (including Autel Evo II Pro 6k, Autel Evo II 8k, DJI Mavic II Dual Enterprise, DJI Matrice 300, Yuneec H520). The analyzes and research carried out so far have shown that it is necessary to develop a mobile system for the implementation of a photogrammetric raid of vast areas using unmanned aerial vehicles, a system for creating orthophotos and data transmission using unmanned systems that perform automatic flights and operate systemically in a set of vehicles enabling take-off and landing on moving platforms. The system should enable battery charging or replacement, thus ensuring continuous operation, data transmission and archiving, and task management. It is necessary to implement satellite techniques and technologies (GNSS), geographic information systems (GIS) about terrain, numerical terrain models, to develop a database necessary for the construction of artificial (ANN) or simulated (SNN) neural networks enabling detection and detection (fires, people, objects). There are important properties and properties of unmanned systems, determining their use in Voluntary Fire Service, State Fire Service, police and airport services units.

Introduction. The most dangerous emergency situation at the airport is an accident with human casualties, that is, a plane crash. It can occur on the territory of the airport, in its vicinity, as a result of take-off or landing of an aircraft. The consequences of aviation emergencies show that when a plane crash occurs in the area of responsibility of the airport, there is a death of passengers in 85 % of cases. At the same time, it is possible to increase the survival rate of people with a timely response to a plane crash. However, if an airport infrastructure facility may be affected in a significant way as a result of an emergency, the work to eliminate the consequences of the initial emergency event is supplemented by work on the new situation that has arisen. At the same time, a characteristic feature of an aviation emergency is a large number of options for the development of the situation and actions. This requires constant adjustment of measures to ensure the safety of the airport complex, the protection of passengers (people) and infrastructure within the airport, as well as the organization of its emergency and fire protection. The purpose of the study is to improve the efficiency of planning, organizing and conducting individual activities and their complex for the protection of people and infrastructure in an emergency situation at the airport, and in general, organizing emergency rescue operations at the airport complex facilities in an emergency. Research methods. To obtain the results, we used general scientific and special methods of scientific knowledge, namely, analysis, synthesis, generalization, which were based on the general provisions of systems theory, operations research, and information theory. The results of the study. Proposals for organizing fire-fighting and emergency rescue operations at airport infrastructure facilities, safety requirements for service, fire extinguishing and emergency rescue operations at the airport, and reducing the impact of damaging factors of an emergency situation at the airport are substantiated, as well as an economic assessment of the consequences of safety violations and flight regularity. Conclusion. Taking into account the provisions reviewed will generally improve security management of the airport complex, and additional activities will enable better management of emergency rescue forces and facilities. Key words: airport, danger, emergency, consequences, tasks of emergency rescue units, organization, management.

PKP-PK is a unit that must be owned by every airport. This unit is tasked with carrying out aviation accident rescue and fire fighting in the area or around the airport. Seeing the importance of this unit, it is necessary to conduct research on emergency service facilities, find out the reaction time, analyze PKP-PK categories, analyze fire risk management, and the development of this unit. This research was conducted at the PKP-PK unit located at Bayuwangi International Airport. The research method used is descriptive quantitative where data is obtained from the results of questionnaires given to PKP-PK personnel. These data are then compared with Regulation Nomor KP 14 Tahun 2015 which is used to assess the readiness of the PKP-PK. Whereas for risk mapping using the FAA Risk Matrix table. The results show that there is still a shortage of operational facilities while the reaction time and PKP-PK categories are in accordance with regulations. Risk mapping obtains 4 events that have a potential hazard.

The airport clinic at Flughafen Frankfurt Main AG (FAG) is a 24 hour manned casualty ward. It employs three surgeons and approximately 40 paramedics. This clinic is supported by external physicians during the night and weekends that guarantees, on a 24 hour basis, a minimum of one physician and four paramedics available for immediate response.In addition, the airport operator provides an industrial medical service which employs (during normal working hours) six physicians and approximately 10 paramedics.Finally, there is support from the clinic of the US Rhein Main Air Base, at the military part of the airport, which employs approximately 12 physicians and flight surgeons, 10 dentists and another 100 paramedics. The emergency staff of the clinic of the US Rhein Main Air Base is also manned on a 24 hour basis. The airport clinic and the clinic of the US Forces and their respective fire departments collaborate together in cases of emergency or disaster.For immediate medical care the airport clinic has available an emergency surgery unit, one emergency surgery ambulance vehicle, and three ambulances with first-aid equipment. In addition, the airport clinic provides two trucks with medical equipment for 100 severely injured persons and two inflatable air-conditioned emergency tents.Comparable medical equipment is also available at the clinic of the US Rhein Main Air Base, according to US military standards. The US Rhein Main Air Base also operates three DC-9 Nightingale medical aircraft which are responsible for all types of emergencies in the area of the US Forces in Europe.

On July 19,1989, at 1515h, United Airlines flight 232 with 297 passengers and crew on board, experienced disintegration of the number 2 engine (in the tail section) while at 40-thousand feet above Alta, Iowa (Map 1). The DC-10, en route from Denver to Chicago, was diverted to Sioux City, Iowa's Gateway Airport. The disabled jet made a crash landing on an unused runway, burst apart, and caught fire upon impact. Due to the advanced warning of the potential crash, local crash-fire-rescue (CFR) units from the Air National Guard stationed at Gateway Airport, local and regional paramedic and fire units, an advanced life-support EMS helicopter service, and the two Sioux City hospitals were on alert and ready. Firefighters and Air National Guard personnel fought the fire and EMS personnel performed triage, provided emergency care in the field, and transported victims from the crash scene to local health care facilities in Sioux City. Injured victims in critical condition were transported first followed by those with lesser injuries. All were being treated within one hour and 45 minutes of the event. Of the 297 passengers and crew, 59 were admitted to local hospitals in critical condition, and 124 were treated for less severe injuries and later released.

The Search and Rescue Co-ordination Center Goch called me, some years ago, to the Stuttgart airport with the rescue helicopter of the Federal Armed Forces Rescue Center at Ulm. A single-engine sports plane, whose pilot was a student on his first solo flight, had tried a belly landing. Next to the runway, there were several fire-trucks, two ambulances and one emergency physician's car waiting. Our rescue helicopter stayed hovering for nearly one hour until the student pilot finally managed a belly landing. Safe on the ground, he was surrounded by firemen, paramedics and physicians, while we flew back to Ulm. We had not landed promptly I was told because of the landing taxes an army helicopter has to pay at a civilian airport! This episode prompted me to look for more information.The Federal Republic of Germany is obliged by international agreements to search for planes in distress—no matter what nationality—to save the passengers and, if possible, the equipment and to provide medical treatment for the survivors if necessary. This Search and Rescue (SAR) Service is executed according to the instructions given by the International Civil Aeronautical Organization (ICAO). In the Federal Republic, the SAR service is provided jointly by the Ministry of Defense and the Ministry of Transport. The Ministry of defense provides the means and the Rescue Co-ordination Center. The Ministry of Transport provides the alarm services through the air traffic control offices.

The existence of travel agency in Malang is viewed as strategic business because it could replace the personal vehicle for heading toward Juanda Airport in Surabaya since Malang itself didn't have any international standard airport so the member of the society who wants to get in or out from Malang using aeroplane should go to Juanda Airport in Surabaya. This would cause the competition among travel services in Malang become more competitive by the emerging of new travel agencies. In case the Kirana Travel Agency would maintain its existence, they need to make efforts to improve its service quality. Therefore, it require an experiment to found out what kind of service attributes that wanted by the customer and how does the gap between the perception and consumer expectancy toward the ongoing service quality. One of the planning method that can be use to translate the need of the consumer into action plan for the company is QFD. This step would be use as evaluation tool and planning on service quality improvement. To sharpened identification of the service quality attributes then the QFD approach integrated with Servqual approach. During the Servqual review, it is found eight service attributes that need to be fixed which is: information accuracy given by the employees, the precise time on pick-up, good reaction of the employees in handling consumer complaints, the availability of health and safety facility (First aid box, fire extinguisher, etc), travel order confirmation, driver that should consistently being polite toward the consumer, easy access to be called and gain information from the operator and travel prices. While the technical response prioritized to be fix and to be use for fulfilling the consumer satisfaction in Kirana Travel from the HOQ analysis includes: employees training (contributed 23.43%), providing special number for complain support (contribution 13.71%), fixing the communication inter-department inside the company (contribution 11.84%), fixing the pick-up schedule system (contribution 8.83%). The improvement proposal given by the researcher is to improve the new and old employee training so it could bring better performance in order to fulfilling the consumer satisfaction.

The normative and technical requirements are considered, according to which the assignment of categories to airports according to the unified All-Russian classification – the level of required fire protection, as well as a set of measures through which staffing of fire departments and emergency rescue units with forces and means is organized, as well as, according to these categories, staffing of units with personnel according to the staff of employees fire and rescue flight support services. Both the organization of preliminary planning and the combat management system for a real fire during the conduct of combat operations to extinguish fires, as well as emergency rescue operations in an aircraft accident situation, fully depend on these factors.

The speedy development of disaster medicine has made intensive care on accident sites possible for everyday use. This prehospital care Has proved to be an indispensable, life-preserving work. It does, however, require having qualified medical and technical help brought to the site of disasters in reasonable time, and the ability to bring patients back in properly equipped units, supervised by paramedic staff, to ready and well run hospitals which are able to carry on the treatment and secure the results already obtained.Rescue work associated with air crashes must be of high interest to all nations, as air traffic is global and a European traveller may easily get into trouble in a wilderness in another part of the world. Through the International Civil Aviation Organization (ICAO) membership, nations are bound by means of international regulations, to contribute to security in the air and supervision of planes in their own area, and to co-operate with the FIR-system in adjoining areas. This system contributes to a better chance of detection of an aeroplane in difficulties, but the rescue problem will have to be solved by the existing and available national military and civil rescue service, its organization, material, education, medical preparedness and disaster plans.Statistics reveals that about 50% of all crashes take place in landing procedures, some of them occurring just outside the airport. To these must be added collisions en route and cases of sabotage. Most crashes at take-off happen so near the airport that there will be no problems of detection, and help in fire-fighting will be available from the airport, if necessary.

Abstract. This study investigates the role of biomass burning and long-range transport in the anomalies of carbon monoxide (CO) regularly observed along the tropospheric vertical profiles measured in the framework of the In-service Aircraft for a Global Observing System (IAGOS). Considering the high interannual variability of biomass burning emissions and the episodic nature of long-range pollution transport, one strength of this study is the amount of data taken into account, namely 30 000 vertical profiles at nine clusters of airports in Europe, North America, Asia, India and southern Africa over the period 2002–2017. As a preliminary, a brief overview of the spatiotemporal variability, latitudinal distribution, interannual variability and trends of biomass burning CO emissions from 14 regions is provided. The distribution of CO mixing ratios at different levels of the troposphere is also provided based on the entire IAGOS database (125 million CO observations). This study focuses on the free troposphere (altitudes above 2 km) where the long-range transport of pollution is favoured. Anomalies at a given airport cluster are here defined as departures from the local seasonally averaged climatological vertical profile. The intensity of these anomalies varies significantly depending on the airport, with maximum (minimum) CO anomalies of 110–150 (48) ppbv in Asia (Europe). Looking at the seasonal variation of the frequency of occurrence, the 25 % strongest CO anomalies appear reasonably well distributed throughout the year, in contrast to the 5 % or 1 % strongest anomalies that exhibit a strong seasonality with, for instance, more frequent anomalies during summertime in the northern United States, during winter/spring in Japan, during spring in south-east China, during the non-monsoon seasons in south-east Asia and south India, and during summer/fall in Windhoek, Namibia. Depending on the location, these strong anomalies are observed in different parts of the free troposphere. In order to investigate the role of biomass burning emissions in these anomalies, we used the SOFT-IO (SOft attribution using FlexparT and carbon monoxide emission inventories for In-situ Observation database) v1.0 IAGOS added-value products that consist of FLEXible PARTicle dispersion model (FLEXPART) 20-day backward simulations along all IAGOS aircraft trajectories, coupled with anthropogenic Monitoring Atmospheric Composition and Climate (MACC)/CityZEN EU projects (MACCity) and biomass burning Global Fire Assimilation System (GFAS) CO emission inventories and vertical injections. SOFT-IO estimates the contribution (in ppbv) of the recent (less than 20 days) primary worldwide CO emissions, tagged per source region. Biomass burning emissions are found to play an important role in the strongest CO anomalies observed at most airport clusters. The regional tags indicate a large contribution from boreal regions at airport clusters in Europe and North America during the summer season. In both Japan and south India, the anthropogenic emissions dominate all throughout the year, except for the strongest summertime anomalies observed in Japan that are due to Siberian fires. The strongest CO anomalies at airport clusters located in south-east Asia are induced by fires burning during spring in south-east Asia and during fall in equatorial Asia. In southern Africa, the Windhoek airport was mainly impacted by fires in Southern Hemisphere Africa and South America. To our knowledge, no other studies have used such a large dataset of in situ vertical profiles for deriving a climatology of the impact of biomass burning versus anthropogenic emissions on the strongest CO anomalies observed in the troposphere, in combination with information on the source regions. This study therefore provides both qualitative and quantitative information for interpreting the highly variable CO vertical distribution in several regions of interest.

Facilities at the airport are divided into two main parts consisting of the land side and the air side. Existing facilities on the land side consist of: passenger terminal, cargo terminal, operational building, air traffic control tower or Air Traffic Control (ATC), SAR (Search and Rescue) building, meteorological building, main/VIP class building, entrance , fueling building, as well as administrative and office buildings. While the facilities on the air side consist of: runways, taxiways, aircraft parking areas, runway strips or runway end safety areas, as well as aviation accident rescue and fire fighting facilities. This research uses a type of qualitative research and descriptive research type. The purpose of the authors using qualitative research is to describe and reveal the facts and symptoms contained in the research problem, namely to analyze and describe the revitalization of the waiting room for the domestic passenger terminal at El Tari Kupang International Airport.The strategy for repairing damaged and unfit for use due to the Seroja storm has been realized and the damaged and unfit for use facilities have received proper and prompt treatment due to good coordination and cooperation between operating units and related units that were damaged. In addition, efforts to maintain. The quality of facilities is an important thing to prioritize because it has a high level of importance, but in practice there are still many complaints from service users who feel unsatisfied regarding the quality of the facilities available at El Tari Kupang International Airport, especially in the waiting room. Keywords: Security,Waiting Room, and Comfortness

During peak hours at Frankfurt Airport, approximately 10,000 employees of 300 different firms, organizations and services simultaneously handle more than 10,000 passengers and accompanying people. Most of them are not familiar with the airport facilities and speak several different languages.Disaster management is the act of solving an organization problem under pressure of time. The leading role during the immediate action concerning major accidents or disasters is played by the Safety and Security Control Center of the airport operator, which alerts and controls all emergency services of the airport. Included in this organization are the fire-fighting, rescue and medical services of the airport operator, the U.S. Rhein Main Air Base and the emergency services of the City of Frankfurt. The immediate actions are exclusively based on the operation of professional task forces (without volunteer helpers). As far as possible, the emergency procedures, including personnel operations, are the same at all hours (working/holidays, day/night).The basis for the emergency operation is the “Emergency Orders” manual. The manual consists of an alarm plan in the form of alarm checklists for the different emergency services and of emergency procedures which are activated through the alarm plan.Command and control through the staff and communication system of the Safety and Security Operation Center, the on-scene Mobil Command Post and the operation centers of the airport services guarantee that the immediate response of the airport's and external task forces is fully coordinated without delay.

AbstractThe Metag triage label system was assessed during a major incident exercise at an international airport. The exercise simulated a crash of a plane carrying 40 passengers within the airport boundaries. A secondary incident also was staged involving an explosion resulting in a fire with three victims injured. The exercise involved the airport, fire, police, ambulance, and medical services of three counties—Leicestershire, Derbyshire, and Nottinghamshire. Use of the labels enabled evaluation of the triage process, early medical intervention for victims, and completion of the cards.

This research was conducted at Aji Pangeran Tumenggung Pranoto International Airport in Samarinda to determine the efficiency of communication after road access which affects flight safety. The method used in this research is descriptive qualitative. The data collection technique used was a documentation study and direct observation in the field from December 2020 to February 2021. The results showed that the movement of Pertamina and Rescue and Fire Fighting Services unit vehicles in the manouevering area and movement area of Aji Pangeran Tumenggung Pranoto Samarinda International Airport often impeded movement aircraft. There is a need for access road to improve flight safety and reduce the load of communication between air traffic controllers and the Pertamina and Rescue and Fire Fighting Services units at Aji Pangeran Tumenggung Pranoto International Airport, Samarinda.

Indonesia, as a developing country, is not exempt from the advancements in information and communication technology. However, these advancements in information and communication technology can bring negative impacts, such as an increasing threat of misuse. SDP (Service Desk Plus) is a system that serves as a management tool for IT services, facilitating employees from various departments in requesting services and reporting ICT (Information Communication Technology) incidents. SDP has faced challenges or obstacles that have hindered its optimal use, such as IT services experiencing downtime, inaccessible ICT services, and SDP users frequently sharing usernames and passwords. Based on these threats, it is necessary to conduct a further analysis of information security risks regarding the security of implementing SDP centrally using the OCTAVE Allegro method. OCTAVE Allegro is a framework that utilizes the OCTAVE approach with a primary focus on information assets, designed to provide faster results without requiring in-depth knowledge of risk assessment. The results of this research identified three risks that can be mitigated, namely user data password errors with a relative risk score of 27, internet downtime with a relative risk score of 31, and file intrusion with a relative risk score of 38, considering the likelihood of threats occurring. Additionally, there is one accepted risk, which is the input error of incident data, with a relative risk score of 19.

AbstractIntroduction:Crashes involving commercial airliners stress emergency medical services (EMS) and rescue operations to performance far in excess of everyday activities, and special adaptations of everyday responses need to be implemented. Fortunately, these events are infrequent and usually do not occur more than once in any location. The responses that occur must be highly coordinated and efficient. Little is known about the responses to such events. This study examines the EMS and rescue responses associated with eight recent crashes involving commercial airliners in the United States.Objective:To identify common factors for which alterations in responses may enhance the survival and decrease the morbidity to victims involved in commercial aviation crashes.Study population:Eight commercial airliner crashes in the United States from 1987 through 1991.Methods:Case review using: 1) press and media accounts; 2) U.S. National Transportation and Safety Board testimony and reports; and 3) structured interviews with airport, fire, EMS, and hospital personnel. Data were collated and common factors identified for the cases. Findings are classified into: 1) conditions at the crash sites; 2) initial responses; 3) scene management; 4) scene status; 5) patient transport; 6) hospital responses; and 7) preplanning exercises.Results:Common factors that impaired responses for which some remediation is possible include: 1) new methods for training including computerized simulations; 2) improvements in rescue-extrication equipment and supplies; 3) stored caches of EMS equipment and supplies at airports; 4) ambulance transport capabilities; and 5) augmentation of patient transport capabilities.Conclusions:Many lessons can be learned through structured studies of commercial aircraft crashes. These findings suggest that simple and relatively inexpensive modifications may enhance all levels of emergency response to such events.

Shipping goods by air, goods security is actually very well maintained because security continues to use aircraft as a key factor in maintaining customer confidence in shipping goods. Therefore, cargo/goods receiving operations services through airports, including loading and unloading, transfers from aircraft to warehouses (cargo warehouses). Compiler and storage and delivery of goods to the owner, must arrive safely and everything is fine. This Study aims to describe the facts about the questions posed by the author. So that the facts and valid data facilitate the analysis of effective and efficient problem solving by the author. Items that are not neatly placed in the cage can be stepped on or subjected to shocks or friction which can result in damage. This research uses a qualitative descriptive research method, namely research that uses a case study method or approach. This research is very focused on a particular topic being studied as a case, and case data can be obtained from all parties.. In addition, the placement of scattered goods also has the potential to increase the risk of loss of cargo. can affect customer confidence so that the cargo unit should be able to maximize to complete the existing facilities at the cargo terminal of the Main Juwata Tarakan Airport Class 1. The results of this study are that air cargo has advantages compared to sea and land cargo where shipping goods using air cargo can save time and reach a wide area. Despite these advantages, there is a problem that the cargo cannot be sent because the documents listed in the SMU and the contents of the cargo are different. The need to carry out cargo handling in accordance with applicable SOPs to avoid these problems.

The second half of 2014 has seen a dramatic increase in competition law activity in all areas, from mergers, to State aid as well as private enforcement. The European Commission ('Commission'), in particular, wrapped up no less than eighteen aviation related State aid investigations, perhaps reflecting the desire of the outgoing Commissioner's desire to clear the backlog of cases, but also probably relating to the Commission's adoption of the new Aviation Guidelines published in February this year and supplemented with new guidelines for rescue and restructuring aid to non-financial undertakings. Only four of the eighteen cases related solely to State aid granted to airlines and fourteen cases related to aid granted to airports with some cases also considering the potential State aid grated to one or more carriers operating at the airport. With an increase in the number of follow-on damages actions (taken by those affected by allegedly anti-competitive activity) there has also been an increase in the number of judgments handed down and still awaited clarifying specific points of law, particularly at the moment surrounding the complainant's access to the Commission's decision and documents on its file. The Commission's airfreight decision is notable insofar as there are now follow-on damages actions being taken in Germany, The Netherlands, Norway and the UK, as well as in the US. In the context of mergers, the Commission was notified of at least nine aviation related mergers, of which two related to airlines (Alitalia and CSA Czech Airways), two related to airports (in Croatia and the UK), four related to ancillary services (fuel, IT, pilot training and aircraft leasing) and final merger related to space launchers, satellite subsystems and missile propulsion.

The authors of the article assessed the impact of operating fluids used to service aircraft on changing mechanical parameters of cement concrete intended for airport pavement. The research concerned concrete designed with the use of CEM I 42.5N LH NA low-alkali cement, broken granite aggregate, fine washed aggregate, and admixtures. The analysis included the assessment of changes in differences in endurance parameters over various research periods of up to 140 days. The obtained results allowed to carry out statistical analysis using the student’s T-test. Research has shown a significant impact of operational fluids used in aircraft on the surface concrete properties of the airport. A reduction in the compressive strength of concrete exposed to one of the tested operating liquid to a reduction of 7.2% was observed over a period of 140 days, while there was no significant impact of operating fluids on tensile strength at splitting.

Keselamatan penerbangan menjadi faktor yang sangat penting dalam setiap operasional penerbangan. Penelitian ini bertujuan ntuk mengetahui Efektivitas Penerapan Sistem Tanggap Darurat Runway Excursion pada PT. Angkasa Pura I (Persero) Bandar Udara Internasional Sultan Aji Muhammad Sulaiman Sepinggan-Balikpapan dalam menanggulangi Incident/Accident di Bandar Udara. Manfaat penelitian ini untuk menambah wawasan dan pengetahuan peneliti tentang Efektivitas Penerapan Sistem Tanggap Darurat Runway Excursion dan Sebagai bahan evaluasi tentang Efektivitas Penerapan Sistem Tanggap Darurat Runway Excursiondi Bandar Udara khususnya Bandar Udara Internasional Sultan Aji Muhammad Sulaiman Sepinggan-Balikpapan. Metode penelitian ini menggunakan deskriptif kualitatif dengan teknik mengumpulkan dari hasil observasi dan wawancara. Lokasi penelitian inidilakukan di Perusahaan PT. Angakasa Pura I Airport Kantor Cabang Bandar Udara Internasional Sultan Aji Muhammad Sulaiman Sepinggan-Balikpapan khususnya pada unit Airport Rescue And Fire Fighting Services. Kesimpulan dari penelitian ini berdasarkan data yang dikumpulkan dari 3 variable yang telah ditentukan yaitu: response team, kualitas dan kuantitas personil PKP-PK dan Sarana Tanggap Darurat PKP-PK. Maka, diperoleh hasil rata-rata dengan capaian nilai persentase sebesar 81,33% atau dalam tingkat efektivitas memperoleh hasil “Sangat Efektif’

Abstract. Evaluation of a regional air quality forecasting system for the Pacific Northwest was carried out using a suite of surface and satellite observations. Wildfire events for the 2007 and 2008 fire seasons were simulated using the Air Information Report for Public Access and Community Tracking v.3 (AIRPACT-3) framework utilizing the Community Multi-scale Air Quality (CMAQ) model. Fire emissions were simulated using the BlueSky framework with fire locations determined by the Satellite Mapping Automated Reanalysis Tool for Fire Incident Reconciliation (SMARTFIRE). Plume rise was simulated using two different methods: the Fire Emission Production Simulator (FEPS) and the Sparse Matrix Operator Kernel Emissions (SMOKE) model. Predicted plume top heights were compared to the Cloud-Aerosol LIDAR with Orthogonal Polarization (CALIOP) instrument aboard the Cloud Aerosol LIDAR and Infrared Pathfinder Satellite Observation (CALIPSO) satellite. Carbon monoxide predictions were compared to the Atmospheric InfraRed Sounder (AIRS) instrument aboard the Aqua satellite. Horizontal distributions of column aerosol optical depth (AOD) were compared to retrievals by the Moderate Resolution Imaging Spectroradiometer (MODIS) instrument aboard the Aqua satellite. Model tropospheric nitrogen dioxide distributions were compared to retrievals from the Ozone Monitoring Instrument (OMI) aboard the Aura satellite. Surface ozone and PM2.5 predictions were compared to surface observations. The AIRPACT-3 model captured the location and transport direction of fire events well, but sometimes missed the timing of fire events and overall underestimated the PM2.5 impact of wildfire events at surface monitor locations. During the 2007 (2008) fire period, the fractional biases (FBs) of AIRPACT-3 for various pollutant observations included: average 24 h PM2.5 FB = −33% (−27%); maximum daily average 8 h ozone FB = −8% (+1%); AOD FB = −61% (−53%); total column CO FB = −10% (−5%); and tropospheric column NO2 FB = −39% (−28%). The bias in total column CO is within the range of expected error. Fractional biases of AIRPACT-3 plume tops were found to be −46% when compared in terms of above mean sea level, but only −28% when compared in terms of above ground level, partly due to the under-estimation of AIRPACT-3 ground height in complex terrain that results from the 12 km grid-cell smoothing. We conclude that aerosol predictions were too low for locations greater than ~100–300 km downwind from wildfire sources and that model predictions are likely under-predicting secondary organic aerosol (SOA) production, due to a combination of very low volatile organic compound (VOC) emission factors used in the United States Forest Service Consume model, an incomplete speciation of VOC to SOA precursors in SMOKE, and under-prediction by the SOA parameterization within CMAQ.

Dunia fotografi sangat erat berkaitan dengan pesawat tanpa awat disebut drone. Drone dipasang kamera sehingga pesawat tersebut dikendalikan pilot dari daratan. Hasil fotografi dilihat pilot setelah pesawat drone tersebut mendarat. Drone adalah pesawat tanpa awak yang dikendalikan dari jarak jauh. Pesawat tanpa awak atau pesawat nirawak (Unmanned Aerial Vehicle atau UAV) adalah sebuah mesin terbang yang berfungsi dengan kendali jarak jauh oleh pilot. Perkembangan teknologi membuat drone juga mulai banyak diterapkan untuk kebutuhan sipil, terutama di bidang bisnis, industri, dan logistik. Dalam dunia industri bisnis, drone telah diterapkan dalam berbagai layanan seperti pengawasan infrastruktur, pengiriman paket barang, pemadam kebakaran hutan, eksplorasi bahan tambang, pemetaaan daerah pertanian, dan pemetaan daerah industri. Berdasarkan jenisnya, terdapat dua jenis drone, yaitu multicopter dan fixed wing. Multicopter adalah jenis drone yang memanfaatkan putaran baling-baling untuk terbang, sedangkan fixed wing memiliki bentuk seperti pesawat terbang biasa yang dilengkapi sistem sayap. Langkah yang digunakan dalam penelitian ini adalah persiapan pembuatan drone, perencanaan ketinggian terbang, pengujian drone di ground, pengaturankalibrasi kamera, pengambilan foto udara, melihat hasil foto udara, kemudian menganalisis hasil foto udara. Drone dalam penelitian ini memiliki empat propeller, yang digunakan untuk pemetaan jalur selatan menuju pintu masuk New International Yogyakarta Airports melalui Desa Plumbon, Kecamatan Temon, Kabupaten Kulonprogo. AbstractRole Analysis of Unmanned Aerial Vehicle Type MultiCopter in Improving the Quality of Aerial Photography Field in the Southern Path towards the Prospective New Airport in Kulonprogo. The world of photography is very closely related to the unattended aircraft called drones. Drones are mounted with camera so that the plane is pilot-controlled from the mainland. Photography results are seen by the pilot after the drone aircraft is landed. Drones are unmanned aircraft controlled remotely. Unmanned aircraft or Unmanned Aerial Vehicle (UAV), is a flying machine which is operated with remote control by the pilot. Technological developments make the drones also start widely applied to civilian needs, especially in the areas of business, industry and logistics. In business industry, drones have been applied in various services such as infrastructure monitoring, freight forwarding, forest fire-fighter, mining exploration, agricultural mapping, and industrial area mapping. Based on its type, there are two types of drones, namely multicopter and fixed wing. Multicopter is the type of drone that utilizes the spin of the propeller, while the fixed wing has an airplane-like shape with a wing system. The steps used in this study were as follows: drone making preparation, fly height planning, ground drone testing, camera calibration settings, air photo capture, air results viewing, and aerial photographs results analyzing. Drone used in this study has fourpropellers used for mapping south path entrance of New Yogyakarta International Airport through Plumbon Village,Temon sub-district, Kulonprogo regency.

Abstract Chemical laboratories of the Fire Rescue Service of the Czech Republic are part of the radiation monitoring network and participate in the radiation situation monitoring in the Czech Republic. Measurements in situ are crucial for monitoring the radiation situation in emergencies associated with the deposition of radioactive substances on a large area. Those data can be used for estimating a possible dose obtained either by staying in a contaminated area or by consumption of food produced in the area. For correct setting of device parameters (e.g. efficiency calibration), standard samples should be measured regularly. Unlike in laboratory, verification in field conditions is difficult. Therefore, a search for suitable reference areas containing a higher amount of 137Cs homogeneously dispersed after the fall of a radioactive cloud passing through our territory following the Chernobyl accident was conducted. Small airports in the East Bohemia regions were identified as suitable candidates.

AbstractIn post-revolution Iran, the sacred notion of martyrdom has been transformed into a routine act of government – a moral sign of order and state sovereignty. Moving beyond the debates of the secularisation of the sacred and the making sacred of the secular, this article argues that the moment of sacralisation is realised through co-production within a social setting when the object of sacralisation is recognised as such by others. In contemporary Iran, however, the moment of sacralising bodies by the state is also the moment of its own subversion as the political-theological field of martyrdom is contested and challenged from within. This article traces the genealogy of martyrdom in contemporary Iran in order to explore its institutionalised forms and governmental practices. During the revolution, the Shi'a tradition of martyrdom and its dramatic performances of ritual mourning and self-sacrifice became central to the mass mobilisation against the monarchy. Once the revolutionary government came into existence, this sacred tradition was regulated to create ‘martyrs’ as a fixed category, in order to consolidate the legacy of the revolution. In this political theatre, the dead body is a site of transformation and performance upon which the original narrative of martyrdom takes place even as it displaces it and gives new meanings to the act.A CrashOn the morning of 6 December 2005, an Iranian military plane C-130 carrying journalists and Army officials crashed near Mehrabad airport in Tehran. The plane was attempting an emergency landing when it hit a ten-storey apartment block, setting off a big explosion which set fire to the building. In all, one hundred and sixteen charred bodies were recovered – ninty four passengers and twenty two residents of the building – from the smoke and rubble in this working class area of south-western Tehran. The residents were mostly women and schoolchildren who had stayed home – because of an official anti-pollution drive – to avoid a thick layer of smog that had developed over Tehran skies over the previous few days. Dozens of people were injured on the ground and the riot police had to be called in to clear the area of curious onlookers who were blocking the emergency services.The plane crash was met with grief, guilt and hints of anger. The Iranian media was most vocal in its expression of rage – seventy eight journalists had lost their lives in an instant. The ‘Iran News Daily’, a leading English language newspaper based in Tehran, two days later devoted a full page to the crash coverage including scathing editorials demanding accountability and answers to “disturbing questions” from the government. The editorial entitled ‘Duty and Responsibility’ stated that “condolences are not enough. People, the near and dear ones of victims in particular, have the right to know. Did the C-130 have technical problems? Was it fit for the passenger service? What would have really happened if the flight was cancelled? Who gave the final permission for the journey to go ahead? Is this another case of human error or engine failure? How can such major loss of innocent life be explained, leave [sic] alone justified?”2Similarly, Hossein Shariatmadari, influential editor of the conservative Persian daily ‘Kayhan’, called for a full investigation, not because it would bring “the dead back to life but (to) prevent repetition of similar incidents and further disasters”.3As private and public condolences began pouring in – newspapers had allocated prime space for such purpose – President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad sent a short message through state media that dramatically altered the narrative of grief and anger against the authorities. The message read as follows: “I learned of the catastrophe and the fact that members of the press have been martyred. I offer my condolences to the Supreme Leader and to the families of the victims”. With this message the dead journalists had been officially pronounced ‘martyrs’ – a moral-political subjectivity that traces its genealogy to the martyrdom of Imam Hussein.4In a single moment, the burnt corpses were no longer the bodies of ordinary victims of a plane crash, but the corpses of martyrs, and their charred remains sacrificial relics.

The article presents conclusions from the analysis of solutions applied in Poland in the field of implementation of joint projects of the State Fire Service and selected institutions responsible for ensuring the internal security of the state in the field of counteracting CBRN threats, including biological ones. The analysis refers to the binding legal system and the organizational solutions resulting from it. The considered legal order included the provisions of universally binding law and local law. It was assumed that the use of weapons of mass destruction in a terrorist attack might be executed through the contamination of air, water or soil, as well as by disease carriers: infected insects, rodents or people. One of the real methods of performing bioterrorists attacks is to contaminate the air by spraying, for example, biological aerosol. That is since aerosol production equipment is easily accessible, and most biological agents can be easily transported by air. The objects of such an attack will be primarily places with efficient air conditioning systems, public buildings and metro stations, and all places where people gather including railway stations, airports, shopping centers, sports and cultural facilities, government and public buildings, areas of military concentration, and places of public mass events. The considerations presented in this article refer to issues on a macro and micro scale, which allowed for distinguishing the rules of cooperation and its effectiveness. While endeavoring to objectify the conclusions from the analysis, the article was elaborated by a team of Polish, Czech, and Ukrainian experts.

Recent years have witnessed the increasing penetration of wireless charging base stations in the workplace and public areas, such as airports and cafeterias. Such an emerging wireless charging infrastructure has presented opportunities for new indoor localization and identification services for mobile users. In this paper, we present QID, the first system that can identify a Qi-compliant mobile device during wireless charging in real-time. QID extracts features from the clock oscillator and control scheme of the power receiver and employs light-weight algorithms to classify the device. QID adopts a 2-dimensional motion unit to emulate a variety of multi-coil designs of Qi, which allows for fine-grained device fingerprinting. Our results show that QID achieves high recognition accuracy. With the prevalence of public wireless charging stations, our results also have important implications for mobile user privacy.

Abstract – The task of Army Aviation Operations is carried out in remote areas where airport services are still minimal, the process related to refueling for pilot helicopters is an obstacle in carrying out the pilot's main tasks. So, we need tools to make the process more effective. This research uses a method that will obtain quantitative data for research to prove the hypothesis. The method is known as the Development Life Cycle Waterfall Diagram and experimental research. Currently still using a hand pump, therefore it is necessary to have a tool that is portable and uses an electric pump. specifically for fuel which is controlled by Arduino and the android application as input for a filling command and can store charging data. In this case the tool system uses supporting components, namely batteries, Bluetooth hc 05, 5v relays and flow sensors. With the research on portable pump tools, the process can be more efficient than hand pumps. When refueling the helicopter, it is enough to enter the charging value from the android application, the charging is already running, and the charging data is stored in the android file.

Abstract. The changing Arctic climate is creating increased economic, transportation, and recreational activities requiring reliable and relevant weather information. However, the Canadian Arctic is sparsely observed, and processes governing weather systems in the Arctic are not well understood. There is a recognized lack of meteorological data to characterize the Arctic atmosphere for operational forecasting and to support process studies, satellite calibration/validation, search and rescue operations (which are increasing in the region), high-impact weather (HIW) detection and prediction, and numerical weather prediction (NWP) model verification and evaluation. To address this need, Environment and Climate Change Canada commissioned two supersites, one in Iqaluit (63.74∘ N, 68.51∘ W) in September 2015 and the other in Whitehorse (60.71∘ N, 135.07∘ W) in November 2017 as part of the Canadian Arctic Weather Science (CAWS) project. The primary goals of CAWS are to provide enhanced meteorological observations in the Canadian Arctic for HIW nowcasting (short-range forecast) and NWP model verification, evaluation, and process studies and to provide recommendations on the optimal cost-effective observing system for the Canadian Arctic. Both sites are in provincial/territorial capitals and are economic hubs for the region; they also act as transportation gateways to the north and are in the path of several common Arctic storm tracks. The supersites are located at or next to major airports and existing Meteorological Service of Canada ground-based weather stations that provide standard meteorological surface observations and upper-air radiosonde observations; they are also uniquely situated in close proximity to frequent overpasses by polar-orbiting satellites. The suite of in situ and remote sensing instruments at each site is completely automated (no on-site operator) and operates continuously in all weather conditions, providing near-real-time data to operational weather forecasters, the public, and researchers via obrs.ca. The two sites have similar instruments, including mobile Doppler weather radars, multiple vertically profiling and/or scanning lidars (Doppler, ceilometer, water vapour), optical disdrometers, precipitation gauges in different shielded configurations, present weather sensors, fog monitoring devices, radiation flux sensors, and other meteorological instruments. Details on the two supersites, the suites of instruments deployed, the data collection methods, and example case studies of HIW events are discussed. CAWS data are publicly accessible via the Canadian Government Open Data Portal (https://doi.org/10.18164/ff771396-b22c-4bc3-844d-38fc697049e9, Mariani et al., 2022a, and https://doi.org/10.18164/d92ed3cf-4ba0-4473-beec-357ec45b0e78, Mariani et al., 2022b); this dataset is being used to improve our understanding of synoptic and fine-scale meteorological processes in the Arctic and sub-Arctic, including HIW detection and prediction and NWP verification, assimilation, and processes.

<span lang="EN-US">Airport Rescue and Fire Fighting (ARFF) services are essential for aviation safety, conforming to international standards. Traditional ARFF trainers face issues concerning fuel efficiency and environmental regulations. This study employs the Research and Development (R&amp;D) model by Borg and Gall, focusing on three core stages: preliminary study, research development, and validation. Professional insights from Politeknik Penerbangan Palembang inform the development of the Fuel Distribution Controller for the ARFF Trainer, aiming to improve practical aircraft firefighting training. This innovation enhances fuel efficiency, reduces environmental impact, and minimizes operational costs. The revamped system simplifies operations and provides a cost-effective, user-friendly learning experience. This achievement, verified by experts and users, holds significant promise for aircraft firefighting training and education.</span>

Advances in information technologies and vehicle automation have birthed new transportation services, including shared autonomous vehicles (SAVs). Shared autonomous vehicles are on-demand self-driving taxis, with flexible routes and schedules, able to replace personal vehicles for many trips in the near future. The siting and density of pick-up and drop-off (PUDO) points for SAVs, much like bus stops, can be key in planning SAV fleet operations, since PUDOs impact SAV demand, route choices, passenger wait times, and network congestion. Unlike traditional human-driven taxis and ride-hailing vehicles like Lyft and Uber, SAVs are unlikely to engage in quasi-legal procedures, like double parking or fire hydrant pick-ups. In congested settings, like central business districts (CBD) or airport curbs, SAVs and others will not be allowed to pick up and drop off passengers wherever they like. This paper uses an agent-based simulation to model the impact of different PUDO locations and densities in the Austin, Texas CBD, where land values are highest and curb spaces are coveted. In this paper 18 scenarios were tested, varying PUDO density, fleet size and fare price. The results show that for a given fare price and fleet size, PUDO spacing (e.g., one block vs. three blocks) has significant impact on ridership, vehicle-miles travelled, vehicle occupancy, and revenue. A good fleet size to serve the region’s 80 core square miles is 4000 SAVs, charging a $1 fare per mile of travel distance, and with PUDOs spaced three blocks of distance apart from each other in the CBD.

Background: Despite consistent evidence of a higher short-term risk of cardiovascular mortality associated with ambient temperature, there have been discrepant findings on the association between temperature and ischemic stroke hospitalization. Moreover, few prior studies have considered potential confounding by ambient fine particulate matter air pollution <2.5 μm in diameter (PM 2.5 ). Methods: We reviewed the medical records of 1,705 Boston area patients hospitalized with neurologist-confirmed ischemic stroke and abstracted data on the time of symptom onset and clinical characteristics. We obtained hourly meteorological data from the National Weather Service station at Boston’s Logan airport and calculated mean apparent temperature as an index of perceived discomfort due to heat and humidity. Hourly PM 2.5 was obtained from the Harvard ambient monitoring station. We used the time-stratified case-crossover study design to assess the association between the risk of ischemic stroke onset and apparent temperature in the hours and days preceding each event, after accounting for PM 2.5 , patient characteristics, season, and long-term time trends. Results: We found a 20% (95% confidence interval 3% to 33%) higher risk of ischemic stroke associated with a 10 0 C decrease in mean apparent temperature in the 4 days preceding symptom onset. The higher risk associated with cooler temperatures was observed within 14 to 24 hours. Results were similar in analyses stratified by season. Conclusions: Lower temperatures are associated with a higher risk of ischemic stroke onset in both warm and cool seasons. Additional work is necessary to examine the potential mechanisms underlying these observations and to examine whether other environmental factors may account for this association.

At the dawn of the twenty-first century, Boeing and Airbus, the leading manufacturers of large aircraft, were locked in a battle for market share that drove down prices for their new planes. At about the same time, the two industry heavyweights began developing new aircraft families to address the future market needs they each projected. Aircraft take many years to develop, so by the time the new planes made their inaugural flights, significant changes had occurred in the global environment. First, emerging economies in the Asia-Pacific region and elsewhere were growing rapidly, spawning immediate and long-term demand for more aircraft. At the same time, changes to the market for air travel had created opportunities for new products. These opportunities had not gone unnoticed by potential new entrants, which were positioning themselves to compete against the market leaders. In October 2007, the Airbus superjumbo A380 made its first flight. The A380 carried more passengers than any other plane in history and had been touted as a solution to increased congestion at global mega-hub airports. Four years later the Boeing 787, a smaller long-range aircraft, was launched to service secondary cities in a point-to-point network. The case provides students with an opportunity to analyze the profit potential of the global aircraft manufacturing industry in 2002 and in 2011. Students can also identify the actions of participants that weakened or intensified the pressure on profits within the industry. Audio format (.mp3 file) available with purchase of PDF. Contact cases@kellogg.northwestern.edu for access.

The primary source of chronic exposures to per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances (PFASs) in humans is through the ingestion of contaminated foods and drinking water, with fish and other seafood being a major contributor. Nevertheless, there is scant literature on the dietary exposure to PFASs for the general United States (U.S.) population. The Tampa Bay (Florida, USA) region has the highest population density in the State and communities and their attendant support services are arrayed in an urban to semi-rural continuum from the head of the Bay to the ocean mouth. Tampa Bay supports productive recreational and commercial fisheries, providing a diverse community of species. A variety of potential PFAS sources surround Tampa Bay including airports, industry, wastewater treatment plants, fire-fighting training areas and military installations. The objective of this study is to quantify PFASs in sediment and fishes collected from Tampa Bay to further estimate human health risks from dietary exposures. Sediment (n = 17) and fish (24 species, n = 140) were collected throughout Tampa Bay in 2020 and 2021 and analyzed for 25 PFAS compounds. Concentrations of PFASs in sediments and edible tissues of fish ranged from 36.8 to 2,990 ng kg-1 (dry weight) and 307 to 33,600 ng kg-1 (wet weight), respectively. Generally, levels were highest in Old Tampa Bay and decreased south towards the Gulf of Mexico. Profiles in both matrices were generally dominated by perfluorooctane sulfonic acid (PFOS) with variations by location. Estimated human health risks from the consumption of contaminated fish collected in Tampa Bay exceeded concentration thresholds for minimum risk levels (MRLs) and tolerable weekly intake (TWIs) values for adults and youths. Additionally, concentrations of PFOS in edible fish tissues of several recreationally important species collected in Tampa Bay exceeded consumption guideline levels established by several governmental agencies. In the current context, the elevated levels of PFAS in Tampa Bay and the exceedances of available thresholds for potential human health risks are a cause for concern and justify a more intensive examination especially for more heavily utilized species, particularly those used in subsistence-level fishing, which, as elsewhere may be significantly under documented.

Introduction: Artist Villages in Beijing Many of the most renowned sites of Beijing are found in the inner-city districts of Dongcheng and Xicheng: for instance, the Forbidden City, Tiananmen Square, the Lama Temple, the National Theatre, the Central Opera Academy, the Bell Tower, the Drum Tower, the Imperial College, and the Confucius Temple. However, in the past decade a new attraction has been added to the visitor “must-see” list in Beijing. The 798 Art District originated as an artist village within abandoned factory buildings at Dashanzi, right between the city’s Central Business District and the open outer rural space on Beijing’s north-east. It is arguably the most striking symbol of China’s contemporary art scene. The history of the 798 Art District is by now well known (Keane), so this paper will provide a short summary of its evolution. Of more concern is the relationship between the urban fringe and what Howard Becker has called “art worlds.” By art worlds, Becker refers to the multitude of agents that contribute to a final work of art: for instance, people who provide canvasses, frames, and art supplies; critics and intermediaries; and the people who run exhibition services. To the art-world list in Beijing we need to add government officials and developers. To date there are more than 100 artist communities or villages in Beijing; almost all are located in the city’s outskirts. In particular, a high-powered art centre outside the city of Beijing has recently established a global reputation. Songzhuang is situated in outer Tongzhou District, some 30 kilometres east of Tiananmen Square. The Beijing Municipal Government officially classifies Songzhuang as the Capital Art District (CAD) or “the Songzhuang Original Art Cluster.” The important difference between 798 and Songzhuang is that, whereas the former has become a centre for retail and art galleries, Songzhuang operates as an arts production centre for experimental art, with less focus on commercial art. The destiny of the artistic communities is closely related to urban planning policies that either try to shut them down or protect them. In this paper I will take a close look at three artist villages: Yuanmingyuan, 798, and Songzhuang. In tracing the evolution of the three artist villages, I will shed some light on artists’ lives in city fringes. I argue that these outer districts provide creative industries with a new opportunity for development. This is counter to the conventional wisdom that central urban areas are the ideal locality for creative industries. Accordingly, this argument needs to be qualified: some types of creative work are more suitable to rural and undeveloped areas. The visual art “industry” is one of these. Inner and Outer Worlds Urban historians contend that innovation is more likely to happen in inner urban areas because of intensive interactions between people (Jacobs). City life has been associated with the development of creative industries and economic benefits brought about by the interaction of creative classes. In short, the argument is that cities, or, more specifically, urban areas are primary economic entities (Montgomery) whereas outer suburbs are uncreative and dull (Florida, "Cities"). The conventional wisdom is that talented creative people are attracted to the creative milieu in cities: universities, book shops, cafes, museums, theatres etc. These are both the hard and the soft infrastructure of modern cities. They illustrate diversified built forms, lifestyles and experiences (Lorenzen and Frederiksen; Florida, Rise; Landry; Montgomery; Leadbeater and Oakley). The assumption that inner-city density is the cradle of creative industries has encountered critique. Empirical studies in Australia have shown that creative occupations are found in relatively high densities in urban fringes. The point made in several studies is that suburbia has been neglected by scholars and policy makers and may have potential for future development (Gibson and Brennan-Horley; Commission; Collis, Felton, and Graham). Moreover, some have argued that the practice of constructing inner city enclaves may be leading to homogenized and prescriptive geographies (Collis, Felton, and Graham; Kotkin). As Jane Jacobs has indicated, it is not only density of interactions but diversity that attracts and accommodates economic growth in cities. However, the spatiality of creative industries varies across different sectors. For example, media companies and advertising agencies are more likely to be found in the inner city, whereas most visual artists prefer working in the comparatively quiet and loosely-structured outskirts. Nevertheless, the logic embodied in thinking around the distinctions between “urbanism” and “suburbanism” pays little attention to this issue, although both schools acknowledge the causal relationship between locality and creativity. According to Drake, empirical evidence shows that the function of locality is not only about encouraging interactions between SMEs (small to medium enterprises) within clusters which can generate creativity, but also a catalyst for individual creativity (Drake). Therefore for policy makers in China, the question here is how to plan or prepare a better space to accommodate creative professionals’ needs in different sectors while making the master plan. This question is particularly urgent to the Chinese government, which is undertaking a massive urbanization transition throughout the country. In placing a lens on Beijing, it is important to note the distinctive features of its politics, forms of social structure, and climate. As Zhu has described it, Beijing has spread in a symmetrical structure. The reasons have much to do with ancient history. According to Zhu, the city which was planned in the era of Genghis Khan was constituted by four layers or enclosures, with the emperor at the centre, surrounded by the gentry and other populations distributed outwards according to wealth, status, and occupation. The outer layer accommodated many lower social classes, including itinerant artists, musicians, and merchants. This ”outer city” combined with open rural space. The system of enclosures is carried on in today’s city planning of Beijing. Nowadays Beijing is most commonly described by its ring roads (Mars and Hornsby). However, despite the existing structure, new approaches to urban policy have resulted in a great deal of flux. The emergence of new landscapes such as semi-urbanized villages, rural urban syndicates (chengxiang jiehebu), and villages-within-cities (Mars and Hornsby 290) illustrate this flux. These new types of landscapes, which don’t correspond to the suburban concept that we find in the US or Australia, serve to represent and mediate the urban-rural relationship in China. The outer villages also reflect an old tradition of “recluse” (yin shi), which since the Wei and Jin Dynasties allowed intellectuals to withdraw themselves from the temporal world of the city and live freely in the mountains. The Lost Artistic Utopia: Yuanmingyuan Artist Village Yuanmingyuan, also known as the Ming Dynasty summer palace, is located in Haidian District in the north-west of Beijing. Haidian has transformed from an outer district of Beijing into one of its flourishing urban districts since the mid-1980s. Haidian’s success is largely due to the electronics industry which developed from spin-offs from Peking University, Tsinghua University and the Chinese Academy of Sciences in the 1980s. This led to the rapid emergence of Zhongguancun, sometimes referred to as China’s Silicon Valley. However there is another side of Haidian’s transformation. As the first graduates came out of Chinese Academies of the Arts following the Cultural Revolution (1966–1976), creative lifestyles became available. Some people quit jobs at state-owned institutions and chose to go freelance, which was unimaginable in China under the former regime of Mao Zedong. By 1990, the earliest “artist village” emerged around the Yuanmingyuan accommodating artists from around China. The first site was Fuyuanmen village. Artists living and working there proudly called their village “West Village” in China, comparing it to the Greenwich Village in New York. At that time they were labelled as “vagabonds” (mangliu) since they had no family in Beijing, and no stable job or income. Despite financial difficulties, the Yuanmingyuan artist village was a haven for artists. They were able to enjoy a liberating and vigorous environment by being close to the top universities in Beijing[1]. Access to ideas was limited in China at that time so this proximity was a key ingredient. According to an interview by He Lu, the Yuanmingyuan artist village gave artists a sense of belonging which went far beyond geographic identification as a marginal group unwelcomed by conservative urban society. Many issues arose along with the growth of the artist village. The non-traditional lifestyle and look of these artists were deemed abnormal by many of the general public; the way of their expression and behaviour was too extreme to be accepted by the mainstream in what was ultimately a political district; they were a headache for local police who saw them as troublemakers; moreover, their contact with the western world was a sensitive issue for the government at that time. Suddenly, the village was closed by the government in 1993. Although the Yuanmingyuan artist village existed for only a few years, it is of significance in China’s contemporary art history. It is the birth place of the cynical realism movement as well as the genesis of Fang Lijun, Zhang Xiaogang and Yue Mingjun, now among the most successful Chinese contemporary artists in global art market. The Starting Point of Art Industry: 798 and Songzhuang After the Yuanmingyuan artist village was shut down in 1993, artists moved to two locations in the east of Beijing to escape from the government and embrace the free space they longed for. One was 798, an abandoned electronic switching factory in Beijing’s north-east urban fringe area; the other was Songzhuang in Tongzhou District, a further twenty kilometres east. Both of these sites would be included in the first ten official creative clusters by Beijing municipal government in 2006. But instead of simply being substitutes for the Yuanmingyuan artist village, both have developed their own cultures, functioning and influencing artists’ lives in different ways. Songzhuang is located in Tongzhou which is an outer district in Beijing’s east. Songzhuang was initially a rural location; its livelihood was agriculture and industry. Just before the closing down of the Yuanmingyuan village, several artists including Fang Lijun moved to this remote quiet village. Through word of mouth, more artists followed their steps. There are about four thousand registered artists currently living in Songzhuang now; it is already the biggest visual art community in Beijing. An artistic milieu and a local sense of place have grown with the increasing number of artists. The local district government invests in building impressive exhibition spaces and promoting art in order to bring in more tourists, investors and artists. Compared with Songzhuang, 798 enjoys a favourable location along the airport expressway, between the capital airport and the CBD of Beijing. The unused electronics plant was initially rented as classrooms by the China Central Academy of Fine Arts in the 1990s. Then several artists moved their studios and workshops to the area upon eviction from the Yuanmingyuan village. Until 2002 the site was just a space to rent cheap work space, a factor that has stimulated many art districts globally (Zukin). From that time the resident artists began to plan how to establish a contemporary art district in China. Led by Huang Rui, a leading visual artist, the “798 collective” launched arts events and festivals, notably a “rebuilding 798” project of 2003. More galleries, cafés, bars, and restaurants began to set up, culminating in a management takeover by the Chaoyang District government with the Seven Stars Group[2] prior to the Beijing Olympics. The area now provides massive tax revenue to the local and national government. Nonetheless, both 798 and Songzhuang face problems which reflect the conflict between artists’ attachment to fringe areas and the government’s urbanization approach. 798 can hardly be called an artist production village now due to the local government’s determination to exploit cultural tourism. Over 50 percent of enterprises and people working in 798 now identify 798 as a tourism area rather than an art or “creative” cluster (Liu). Heavy commercialization has greatly disappointed many leading artists. The price for renting space has gone beyond the affordability of artists, and many have chosen to leave. In Songzhuang, the story is similar. In addition to rising prices, a legal dispute between artists and local residents regarding land property rights in 2008 drove some artists out of Songzhuang because they didn’t feel it was stable anymore (Smith). The district’s future as a centre of original art runs up against the aspirations of local officials for more tax revenue and tourist dollars. In the Songzhuang Cultural Creative Industries Cluster Design Plan (cited in Yang), which was developed by J.A.O Design International Architects and Planners Limited and sponsored by the Songzhuang local government in 2007, Songzhuang is designed as an “arts capital incorporated with culture, commerce and tourism.” The down side of this aspiration is that more museums, galleries, shopping centres, hotels, and recreation infrastructure will inevitably be developed in order to capitalise on Songzhuang’s global reputation. Concluding Reflections In reflecting on the recent history of artist villages in Beijing, we might conclude that rural locations are not only a cheap place for artists to live but also a space to showcase their works. More importantly, the relation of artists and outlying district has evolved into a symbiotic relationship. They interact and grow together. The existence of artists transforms the locale and the locale in turn reinforces the identity of artists. In Yuanmingyuan the artists appreciated the old “recluse” tradition and therefore sought spiritual liberation after decades of suppression. The outlying location symbolized freedom to them and provided distance from the world of noisy interaction. But isolation of artists from the local community and the associated constant conflict with local villagers deepened estrangement; these events brought about the end of the dream. In contrast, at 798 and Songzhuang, artists not only regarded the place as their worksite but also engaged with the local community. They communicated with local people and co-developed projects to transform the local landscape. Local communities changed; they started to learn about the artistic world while gaining economic benefits in many ways, such as house renting, running small grocery stores, providing art supplies and even modelling. Their participation into the “art worlds” (Becker) contributed to a changing cultural environment, in turn strengthening the brand of these artist villages. In many regards there were positive externalities for both artists and the district, although as I mentioned in relation to Songzhuang, tensions about land use have never completely been resolved. Today, the fine arts in China have gone far beyond the traditional modes of classics, aesthetics, liberation or rebellion. Art is also a business which requires the access to the material world in order to produce incomes and make profits. It appears that many contemporary artists are not part of a movement of rebellion (except several artists, such as Ai Weiwei), adopting the pure spirit of art as their life-time mission, as in the Yuanmingyuan artist village. They still long for recognition, but they are also concerned with success and producing a livelihood. The boundary between inner urban and outer urban areas is not as significant to them as it once was for artists from a former period. While many artists enjoy the quiet and space of the fringe and rural areas to work; they also require urban space to exhibit their works and earn money. This factor explains the recent emergence of Caochangdi and other artist villages in the neighbouring area around the 798. These latest artist villages in the urban fringe still have open and peaceful spaces and can be accessed easily due to convenient transportation. Unfortunately, the coalition of business and government leads to rapid commercialization of place which is not aligned with the basic need of artists, which is not only a free or affordable place but also a space for creativity. As mentioned above, 798 is now so commercialized that it is too crowded and expensive for artists due to the government’s overdevelopment; whereas the government’s original intention was to facilitate the development of 798. Furthermore, although artists are a key stakeholder in the government’s agenda for visual art industry, it is always the government’s call when artists’ attachment to rural space comes into conflict with Beijing government’s urbanization plan. Hence the government decides which artist villages should be sacrificed to give way to urban development and which direction the reserved artist villages or art clusters should be developed. The logic of government policy causes an absolute distinction between cities and outlying districts. And the government’s enthusiasm for “urbanization” leads to urbanized artist villages, such as the 798. A vicious circle is formed: the government continuously attempts to have selected artist villages commercialized and transformed into urbanized or quasi-urbanized area and closes other artist villages. One of the outcomes of this policy is that in the government created creative clusters, many artists do not stay, and move away into rural and outlying areas because they prefer to work in non-urban spaces. To resolve this dilemma, greater attention is required to understand artists needs and ways to combine urban convenience and rural tranquillity into their development plans. This may be a bridge too far, however. Reference Becker, Howard Saul. Art Worlds. 25th anniversary, updated and expanded ed. Berkeley, CA: U of California P, 2008. Collis, Christy, Emma Felton, and Phil Graham. "Beyond the Inner City: Real and Imagined Places in Creative Place Policy and Practice." The Information Society: An International Journal 26.2 (2010): 104–12. Commission, Outer London. The Mayor's Outer London Commission: Report. London: Great London Authority, 2010. Drake, Graham. "'This Place Gives Me Space': Place and Creativity in the Creative Industries." Geoforum 34.4 (2003): 511–24. Florida, Richard. "Cities and the Creative Class." The Urban Sociology Reader. Eds. Jan Lin and Christopher Mele. London: Routledge, 2005. 290–301. ———. The Rise of the Creative Class. New York: Basic Books, 2002. Gibson, Chris, and Chris Brennan-Horley. "Goodbye Pram City: Beyond Inner/Outer Zone Binaries in Creative City Research." Urban Policy and Research 24.4 (2006): 455–71. Jacobs, Jane. The Economy of Cities. New York: Random House, 1969. Keane, Michael. "The Capital Complex: Beijing's New Creative Clusters." Creative Economies, Creative Cities: Asian-European Perspectives. Ed. Lily Kong and Justin O'Connor. London: Springer, 2009. 77–95. Kotkin, Joel. "The Protean Future of American Cities." New Geographer 7 Mar. 2011. 27 Mar. 2011 ‹http://blogs.forbes.com/joelkotkin/2011/03/07/the-protean-future-of-american-cities/›. Landry, Charles. The Creative City: A Toolkit for Urban Innovators. London: Earthscan Publications, 2000. Leadbeater, Charles, and Kate Oakley. The Independents: Britain's New Cultural Entrepreneurs. London: Demos, 1999. Liu, Mingliang. "Beijing 798 Art Zone: Field Study and Follow-Up Study in the Context of Market." Chinese National Academy of Arts, 2010. Lorenzen, Mark, and Lars Frederiksen. "Why Do Cultural Industries Cluster? Localization, Urbanization, Products and Projects." Creative Cities, Cultural Clusters and Local Economic Development. Ed. Philip Cooke and Luciana Lazzeretti. Cheltenham, UK: Edward Elgar, 2008. 155-79. Mars, Neville, and Adrian Hornsby. The Chinese Dream: A Society under Construction. Rotterdam: 010 Publishers, 2008. Montgomery, John. The New Wealth of Cities: City Dynamics and the Fifth Wave. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007. Smith, Karen. "Heart of the Art." Beijing: Portrait of a City. Ed. Alexandra Pearson and Lucy Cavender. Hong Kong: The Middle Kingdom Bookworm, 2008. 106–19. Yang, Wei, ed. Songzhuang Arts 2006. Beijing: Hunan Fine Arts Press, 2007. Zhu, Jianfei. Chinese Spatial Strategies Imperial Beijing, 1420-1911. Routledge Curzon, 2004. Zukin, Sharon. The Cultures of Cities. Cambridge, MA: Blackwell, 1995. [1] Most prestigious Chinese universities are located in the Haidian District of Beijing, such as Peking University, Tsinghua University, etc. [2] Seven Star Group is the landholder of the area where 798 is based.

Introduction Many destinations promote culinary encounters. Foods and beverages, and especially how these will taste in situ, are being marketed as niche travel motivators and used in destination brand building across the globe. While initial usage of the term culinary tourism focused on experiencing exotic cultures of foreign destinations by sampling unfamiliar food and drinks, the term has expanded to embrace a range of leisure travel experiences where the aim is to locate and taste local specialities as part of a pleasurable, and hopefully notable, culinary encounter (Wolf). Long’s foundational work was central in developing the idea of culinary tourism as an active endeavor, suggesting that via consumption, individuals construct unique experiences. Ignatov and Smith’s literature review-inspired definition confirms the nature of activity as participatory, and adds consuming food production skills—from observing agriculture and local processors to visiting food markets and attending cooking schools—to culinary purchases. Despite importing almost all of its foodstuffs and beverages, including some of its water, Singapore is an acknowledged global leader in culinary tourism. Horng and Tsai note that culinary tourism conceptually implies that a transferal of “local or special knowledge and information that represent local culture and identities” (41) occurs via these experiences. This article adds the act of reading to these participatory activities and suggests that, because food writing forms an important component of Singapore’s suite of culinary tourism offerings, taste contributes to the cultural experience offered to both visitors and locals. While Singapore foodways have attracted significant scholarship (see, for instance, work by Bishop; Duruz; Huat & Rajah; Tarulevicz, Eating), Singapore food writing, like many artefacts of popular culture, has attracted less notice. Yet, this writing is an increasingly visible component of cultural production of, and about, Singapore, and performs a range of functions for locals, tourists and visitors before they arrive. Although many languages are spoken in Singapore, English is the national language (Alsagoff) and this study focuses on food writing in English. Background Tourism comprises a major part of Singapore’s economy, with recent figures detailing that food and beverage sales contribute over 10 per cent of this revenue, with spend on culinary tours and cookery classes, home wares such as tea-sets and cookbooks, food magazines and food memoirs additional to this (Singapore Government). This may be related to the fact that Singapore not only promotes food as a tourist attraction, but also actively promotes itself as an exceptional culinary destination. The Singapore Tourism Board (STB) includes food in its general information brochures and websites, and its print, television and cinema commercials (Huat and Rajah). It also mounts information-rich campaigns both abroad and inside Singapore. The 2007 ‘Singapore Seasons’ campaign, for instance, promoted Singaporean cuisine alongside films, design, books and other cultural products in London, New York and Beijing. Touring cities identified as key tourist markets in 2011, the ‘Singapore Takeout’ pop-up restaurant brought the taste of Singaporean foods into closer focus. Singaporean chefs worked with high profile locals in its kitchen in a custom-fabricated shipping container to create and demonstrate Singaporean dishes, attracting public and media interest. In country, the STB similarly actively promotes the tastes of Singaporean foods, hosting the annual World Gourmet Summit (Chaney and Ryan) and Pacific Food Expo, both attracting international culinary professionals to work alongside local leaders. The Singapore Food Festival each July is marketed to both locals and visitors. In these ways, the STB, as well as providing events for visitors, is actively urging Singaporeans to proud of their food culture and heritage, so that each Singaporean becomes a proactive ambassador of their cuisine. Singapore Food Writing Popular print guidebooks and online guides to Singapore pay significantly more attention to Singaporean food than they do for many other destinations. Sections on food in such publications discuss at relative length the taste of Singaporean food (always delicious) as well as how varied, authentic, hygienic and suited-to-all-budgets it is. These texts also recommend hawker stalls and food courts alongside cafés and restaurants (Henderson et al.), and a range of other culinary experiences such as city and farm food tours and cookery classes. This writing describes not only what can be seen or learned during these experiences, but also what foods can be sampled, and how these might taste. This focus on taste is reflected in the printed materials that greet the in-bound tourist at the airport. On a visit in October 2013, arrival banners featuring mouth-watering images of local specialities such as chicken rice and chilli crab marked the route from arrival to immigration and baggage collection. Even advertising for a bank was illustrated with photographs of luscious-looking fruits. The free maps and guidebooks available featured food-focused tours and restaurant locations, and there were also substantial free booklets dedicated solely to discussing local delicacies and their flavours, plus recommended locations to sample them. A website and free mobile app were available that contain practical information about dishes, ingredients, cookery methods, and places to eat, as well as historical and cultural information. These resources are also freely distributed to many hotels and popular tourist destinations. Alongside organising food walks, bus tours and cookery classes, the STB also recommends the work of a number of Singaporean food writers—principally prominent Singapore food bloggers, reviewers and a number of memoirists—as authentic guides to what are described as unique Singaporean flavours. The strategies at the heart of this promotion are linking advertising to useful information. At a number of food centres, for instance, STB information panels provide details about both specific dishes and Singapore’s food culture more generally (Henderson et al.). This focus is apparent at many tourist destinations, many of which are also popular local attractions. In historic Fort Canning Park, for instance, there is a recreation of Raffles’ experimental garden, established in 1822, where he grew the nutmeg, clove and other plants that were intended to form the foundation for spice plantations but were largely unsuccessful (Reisz). Today, information panels not only indicate the food plants’ names and how to grow them, but also their culinary and medicinal uses, recipes featuring them and the related food memories of famous Singaporeans. The Singapore Botanic Gardens similarly houses the Ginger Garden displaying several hundred species of ginger and information, and an Eco(-nomic/logical) Garden featuring many food plants and their stories. In Chinatown, panels mounted outside prominent heritage brands (often still quite small shops) add content to the shopping experience. A number of museums profile Singapore’s food culture in more depth. The National Museum of Singapore has a permanent Living History gallery that focuses on Singapore’s street food from the 1950s to 1970s. This display includes food-related artefacts, interactive aromatic displays of spices, films of dishes being made and eaten, and oral histories about food vendors, all supported by text panels and booklets. Here food is used to convey messages about the value of Singapore’s ethnic diversity and cross-cultural exchanges. Versions of some of these dishes can then be sampled in the museum café (Time Out Singapore). The Peranakan Museum—which profiles the unique hybrid culture of the descendants of the Chinese and South Indian traders who married local Malay women—shares this focus, with reconstructed kitchens and dining rooms, exhibits of cooking and eating utensils and displays on food’s ceremonial role in weddings and funerals all supported with significant textual information. The Chinatown Heritage Centre not only recreates food preparation areas as a vivid indicator of poor Chinese immigrants’ living conditions, but also houses The National Restaurant of Singapore, which translates this research directly into meals that recreate the heritage kopi tiam (traditional coffee shop) cuisine of Singapore in the 1930s, purposefully bringing taste into the service of education, as its descriptive menu states, “educationally delighting the palate” (Chinatown Heritage Centre). These museums recognise that shopping is a core tourist activity in Singapore (Chang; Yeung et al.). Their gift- and bookshops cater to the culinary tourist by featuring quality culinary products for sale (including, for instance, teapots and cups, teas, spices and traditional sweets, and other foods) many of which are accompanied by informative tags or brochures. At the centre of these curated, purchasable collections are a range written materials: culinary magazines, cookbooks, food histories and memoirs, as well as postcards and stationery printed with recipes. Food Magazines Locally produced food magazines cater to a range of readerships and serve to extend the culinary experience both in, and outside, Singapore. These include high-end gourmet, luxury lifestyle publications like venerable monthly Wine & Dine: The Art of Good Living, which, in in print for almost thirty years, targets an affluent readership (Wine & Dine). The magazine runs features on local dining, gourmet products and trends, as well as international epicurean locations and products. Beautifully illustrated recipes also feature, as the magazine declares, “we’ve recognised that sharing more recipes should be in the DNA of Wine & Dine’s editorial” (Wine & Dine). Appetite magazine, launched in 2006, targets the “new and emerging generation of gourmets—foodies with a discerning and cosmopolitan outlook, broad horizons and a insatiable appetite” (Edipresse Asia) and is reminiscent in much of its styling of New Zealand’s award-winning Cuisine magazine. Its focus is to present a fresh approach to both cooking at home and dining out, as readers are invited to “Whip up the perfect soufflé or feast with us at the finest restaurants in Singapore and around the region” (Edipresse Asia). Chefs from leading local restaurants are interviewed, and the voices of “fellow foodies and industry watchers” offer an “insider track” on food-related news: “what’s good and what’s new” (Edipresse Asia). In between these publications sits Epicure: Life’s Refinements, which features local dishes, chefs, and restaurants as well as an overseas travel section and a food memories column by a featured author. Locally available ingredients are also highlighted, such as abalone (Cheng) and an interesting range of mushrooms (Epicure). While there is a focus on an epicurean experience, this is presented slightly more casually than in Wine & Dine. Food & Travel focuses more on home cookery, but each issue also includes reviews of Singapore restaurants. The bimonthly bilingual (Chinese and English) Gourmet Living features recipes alongside a notable focus on food culture—with food history columns, restaurant reviews and profiles of celebrated chefs. An extensive range of imported international food magazines are also available, with those from nearby Malaysia and Indonesia regularly including articles on Singapore. Cookbooks These magazines all include reviews of cookery books including Singaporean examples – and some feature other food writing such as food histories, memoirs and blogs. These reviews draw attention to how many Singaporean cookbooks include a focus on food history alongside recipes. Cookery teacher Yee Soo Leong’s 1976 Singaporean Cooking was an early example of cookbook as heritage preservation. This 1976 book takes an unusual view of ‘Singaporean’ flavours. Beginning with sweet foods—Nonya/Singaporean and western cakes, biscuits, pies, pastries, bread, desserts and icings—it also focuses on both Singaporean and Western dishes. This text is also unusual as there are only 6 lines of direct authorial address in the author’s acknowledgements section. Expatriate food writer Wendy Hutton’s Singapore Food, first published in 1979, reprinted many times after and revised in 2007, has long been recognised as one of the most authoritative titles on Singapore’s food heritage. Providing an socio-historical map of Singapore’s culinary traditions, some one third of the first edition was devoted to information about Singaporean multi-cultural food history, including detailed profiles of a number of home cooks alongside its recipes. Published in 1980, Kenneth Mitchell’s A Taste of Singapore is clearly aimed at a foreign readership, noting the variety of foods available due to the racial origins of its inhabitants. The more modest, but equally educational in intent, Hawkers Flavour: A Guide to Hawkers Gourmet in Malaysia and Singapore (in its fourth printing in 1998) contains a detailed introductory essay outlining local food culture, favourite foods and drinks and times these might be served, festivals and festive foods, Indian, Indian Muslim, Chinese, Nyonya (Chinese-Malay), Malay and Halal foods and customs, followed with a selection of recipes from each. More contemporary examples of such information-rich cookbooks, such as those published in the frequently reprinted Periplus Mini Cookbook series, are sold at tourist attractions. Each of these modestly priced, 64-page, mouthwateringly illustrated booklets offer framing information, such as about a specific food culture as in the Nonya kitchen in Nonya Favourites (Boi), and explanatory glossaries of ingredients, as in Homestyle Malay Cooking (Jelani). Most recipes include a boxed paragraph detailing cookery or ingredient information that adds cultural nuance, as well as trying to describe tastes that the (obviously foreign) intended reader may not have encountered. Malaysian-born Violet Oon, who has been called the Julia Child of Singapore (Bergman), writes for both local and visiting readers. The FOOD Paper, published monthly for a decade from January 1987 was, she has stated, then “Singapore’s only monthly publication dedicated to the CSF—Certified Singapore Foodie” (Oon, Violet Oon Cooks 7). Under its auspices, Oon promoted her version of Singaporean cuisine to both locals and visitors, as well as running cookery classes and culinary events, hosting her own television cooking series on the Singapore Broadcasting Corporation, and touring internationally for the STB as a ‘Singapore Food Ambassador’ (Ahmad; Kraal). Taking this representation of flavor further, Oon has also produced a branded range of curry powders, spices, and biscuits, and set up a number of food outlets. Her first cookbook, World Peranakan Cookbook, was published in 1978. Her Singapore: 101 Meals of 1986 was commissioned by the STB, then known as the Singapore Tourist Promotion Board. Violet Oon Cooks, a compilation of recipes from The FOOD Paper, published in 1992, attracted a range of major international as well as Singaporean food sponsors, and her Timeless Recipes, published in 1997, similarly aimed to show how manufactured products could be incorporated into classic Singaporean dishes cooked at home. In 1998, Oon produced A Singapore Family Cookbook featuring 100 dishes. Many were from Nonya cuisine and her following books continued to focus on preserving heritage Singaporean recipes, as do a number of other nationally-cuisine focused collections such as Joyceline Tully and Christopher Tan’s Heritage Feasts: A Collection of Singapore Family Recipes. Sylvia Tan’s Singapore Heritage Food: Yesterday’s Recipes for Today’s Cooks, published in 2004, provides “a tentative account of Singapore’s food history” (5). It does this by mapping the various taste profiles of six thematically-arranged chronologically-overlapping sections, from the heritage of British colonialism, to the uptake of American and Russia foods in the Snackbar era of the 1960s and the use of convenience flavoring ingredients such as curry pastes, sauces, dried and frozen supermarket products from the 1970s. Other Volumes Other food-themed volumes focus on specific historical periods. Cecilia Leong-Salobir’s Food Culture in Colonial Asia: A Taste of Empire discusses the “unique hybrid” (1) cuisine of British expatriates in Singapore from 1858 to 1963. In 2009, the National Museum of Singapore produced the moving Wong Hong Suen’s Wartime Kitchen: Food and Eating in Singapore 1942–1950. This details the resilience and adaptability of both diners and cooks during the Japanese Occupation and in post-war Singapore, when shortages stimulated creativity. There is a centenary history of the Cold Storage company which shipped frozen foods all over south east Asia (Boon) and location-based studies such as Annette Tan’s Savour Chinatown: Stories Memories & Recipes. Tan interviewed hawkers, chefs and restaurant owners, working from this information to write both the book’s recipes and reflect on Chinatown’s culinary history. Food culture also features in (although it is not the main focus) more general book-length studies such as educational texts such as Chew Yen Fook’s The Magic of Singapore and Melanie Guile’s Culture in Singapore (2000). Works that navigate both spaces (of Singaporean culture more generally and its foodways) such Lily Kong’s Singapore Hawker Centres: People, Places, Food, provide an consistent narrative of food in Singapore, stressing its multicultural flavours that can be enjoyed from eateries ranging from hawker stalls to high-end restaurants that, interestingly, that agrees with that promulgated in the food writing discussed above. Food Memoirs and Blogs Many of these narratives include personal material, drawing on the author’s own food experiences and taste memories. This approach is fully developed in the food memoir, a growing sub-genre of Singapore food writing. While memoirs by expatriate Singaporeans such as Cheryl Lu-Lien Tan’s A Tiger in the Kitchen: A Memoir of Food and Family, produced by major publisher Hyperion in New York, has attracted considerable international attention, it presents a story of Singapore cuisine that agrees with such locally produced texts as television chef and food writer Terry Tan’s Stir-fried and Not Shaken: A Nostalgic Trip Down Singapore’s Memory Lane and the food memoir of the Singaporean chef credited with introducing fine Malay dining to Singapore, Aziza Ali’s Sambal Days, Kampong Cuisine, published in Singapore in 2013 with the support of the National Heritage Board. All these memoirs are currently available in Singapore in both bookshops and a number of museums and other attractions. While underscoring the historical and cultural value of these foods, all describe the unique flavours of Singaporean cuisine and its deliciousness. A number of prominent Singapore food bloggers are featured in general guidebooks and promoted by the STB as useful resources to dining out in Singapore. One of the most prominent of these is Leslie Tay, a medical doctor and “passionate foodie” (Knipp) whose awardwinning ieatŸishootŸipost is currently attracting some 90,000 unique visitors every month and has had over 20,000 million hits since its launch in 2006. An online diary of Tay’s visits to hundreds of Singaporean hawker stalls, it includes descriptions and photographs of meals consumed, creating accumulative oral culinary histories of these dishes and those who prepared them. These narratives have been reorganised and reshaped in Tay’s first book The End of Char Kway Teow and Other Hawker Mysteries, where each chapter tells the story of one particular dish, including recommended hawker stalls where it can be enjoyed. Ladyironchef.com is a popular food and travel site that began as a blog in 2007. An edited collection of reviews of eateries and travel information, many by the editor himself, the site features lists of, for example, the best cafes (LadyIronChef “Best Cafes”), eateries at the airport (LadyIronChef “Guide to Dining”), and hawker stalls (Lim). While attesting to the cultural value of these foods, many articles also discuss flavour, as in Lim’s musings on: ‘how good can chicken on rice taste? … The glistening grains of rice perfumed by fresh chicken stock and a whiff of ginger is so good you can even eat it on its own’. Conclusion Recent Singapore food publishing reflects this focus on taste. Tay’s publisher, Epigram, growing Singaporean food list includes the recently released Heritage Cookbooks Series. This highlights specialist Singaporean recipes and cookery techniques, with the stated aim of preserving tastes and foodways that continue to influence Singaporean food culture today. Volumes published to date on Peranakan, South Indian, Cantonese, Eurasian, and Teochew (from the Chaoshan region in the east of China’s Guangdong province) cuisines offer both cultural and practical guides to the quintessential dishes and flavours of each cuisine, featuring simple family dishes alongside more elaborate special occasion meals. In common with the food writing discussed above, the books in this series, although dealing with very different styles of cookery, contribute to an overall impression of the taste of Singapore food that is highly consistent and extremely persuasive. This food writing narrates that Singapore has a delicious as well as distinctive and interesting food culture that plays a significant role in Singaporean life both currently and historically. It also posits that this food culture is, at the same time, easily accessible and also worthy of detailed consideration and discussion. 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Acknowledgements Research to complete this article was supported by Central Queensland University, Australia, under its Outside Studies Program (OSPRO) and Learning and Teaching Education Research Centre (LTERC). An earlier version of part of this article was presented at the 2nd Australasian Regional Food Networks and Cultures Conference, in the Barossa Valley in South Australia, Australia, 11–14 November 2012. The delegates of that conference and expert reviewers of this article offered some excellent suggestions regarding strengthening this article and their advice was much appreciated. All errors are, of course, my own.

While the term “visual literacy” has grown in popularity in the last 50 years, its meaning remains nebulous. It is described variously as: a vehicle for aesthetic appreciation, a means of defence against visual manipulation, a sorting mechanism for an increasingly data-saturated age, and a prerequisite to civic inclusion (Fransecky 23; Messaris 181; McTigue and Flowers 580). Scholars have written extensively about the first three subjects but there has been less research on how visual literacy frames civic life and how it might help the public as a tool to address disadvantage and assist in removing social and cultural barriers. This article examines a forerunner to visual literacy in the push to create an international symbol language born out of popular education movements, a project that fell short of its goals but still left a considerable impression on graphic media. This article, then, presents an analysis of visual literacy campaigns in the early postwar era. These campaigns did not attempt to invent a symbolic language but posited that images themselves served as a universal language in which students could receive training. Of particular interest is how the concept of visual literacy has been mobilised as a pedagogical tool in design, digital humanities and in broader civic education initiatives promoted by Third Space institutions. Behind the creation of new visual literacy curricula is the idea that images can help anchor a world community, supplementing textual communication. Figure 1: Visual Literacy Yearbook. Montebello Unified School District, USA, 1973. Shedding Light: Origins of the Visual Literacy Frame The term “visual literacy” came to the fore in the early 1970s on the heels of mass literacy campaigns. The educators, creatives and media theorists who first advocated for visual learning linked this aim to literacy, an unassailable goal, to promote a more radical curricular overhaul. They challenged a system that had hitherto only acknowledged a very limited pathway towards academic success; pushing “language and mathematics”, courses “referred to as solids (something substantial) as contrasted with liquids or gases (courses with little or no substance)” (Eisner 92). This was deemed “a parochial view of both human ability and the possibilities of education” that did not acknowledge multiple forms of intelligence (Gardner). This change not only integrated elements of mass culture that had been rejected in education, notably film and graphic arts, but also encouraged the critique of images as a form of good citizenship, assuming that visually literate arbiters could call out media misrepresentations and manipulative political advertising (Messaris, “Visual Test”). This movement was, in many ways, reactive to new forms of mass media that began to replace newspapers as key forms of civic participation. Unlike simple literacy (being able to decipher letters as a mnemonic system), visual literacy involves imputing meanings to images where meanings are less fixed, yet still with embedded cultural signifiers. Visual literacy promised to extend enlightenment metaphors of sight (as in the German Aufklärung) and illumination (as in the French Lumières) to help citizens understand an increasingly complex marketplace of images. The move towards visual literacy was not so much a shift towards images (and away from books and oration) but an affirmation of the need to critically investigate the visual sphere. It introduced doubt to previously upheld hierarchies of perception. Sight, to Kant the “noblest of the senses” (158), was no longer the sense “least affected” by the surrounding world but an input centre that was equally manipulable. In Kant’s view of societal development, the “cosmopolitan” held the key to pacifying bellicose states and ensuring global prosperity and tranquillity. The process of developing a cosmopolitan ideology rests, according to Kant, on the gradual elimination of war and “the education of young people in intellectual and moral culture” (188-89). Transforming disparate societies into “a universal cosmopolitan existence” that would “at last be realised as the matrix within which all the original capacities of the human race may develop” and would take well-funded educational institutions and, potentially, a new framework for imparting knowledge (Kant 51). To some, the world of the visual presented a baseline for shared experience. Figure 2: Exhibition by the Gesellschafts- und Wirtschaftsmuseum in Vienna, photograph c. 1927. An International Picture Language The quest to find a mutually intelligible language that could “bridge worlds” and solder together all of humankind goes back to the late nineteenth century and the Esperanto movement of Ludwig Zamenhof (Schor 59). The expression of this ideal in the world of the visual picked up steam in the interwar years with designers and editors like Fritz Kahn, Gerd Arntz, and Otto and Marie Neurath. Their work transposing complex ideas into graphic form has been rediscovered as an antecedent to modern infographics, but the symbols they deployed were not to merely explain, but also help education and build international fellowship unbounded by spoken language. The Neuraths in particular are celebrated for their international picture language or Isotypes. These pictograms (sometimes viewed as proto-emojis) can be used to represent data without text. Taken together they are an “intemporal, hieroglyphic language” that Neutrath hoped would unite working-class people the world over (Lee 159). The Neuraths’ work was done in the explicit service of visual education with a popular socialist agenda and incubated in the social sphere of Red Vienna at the Gesellschafts- und Wirtschaftsmuseum (Social and Economic Museum) where Otto served as Director. The Wirtschaftsmuseum was an experiment in popular education, with multiple branches and late opening hours to accommodate the “the working man [who] has time to see a museum only at night” (Neurath 72-73). The Isotype contained universalist aspirations for the “making of a world language, or a helping picture language—[that] will give support to international developments generally” and “educate by the eye” (Neurath 13). Figure 3: Gerd Arntz Isotype Images. (Source: University of Reading.) The Isotype was widely adopted in the postwar era in pre-packaged sets of symbols used in graphic design and wayfinding systems for buildings and transportation networks, but with the socialism of the Neuraths’ peeled away, leaving only the system of logos that we are familiar with from airport washrooms, charts, and public transport maps. Much of the uptake in this symbol language could be traced to increased mobility and tourism, particularly in countries that did not make use of a Roman alphabet. The 1964 Olympics in Tokyo helped pave the way when organisers, fearful of jumbling too many scripts together, opted instead for black and white icons to represent the program of sports that summer. The new focus on the visual was both technologically mediated—cheaper printing and broadcast technologies made the diffusion of image increasingly possible—but also ideologically supported by a growing emphasis on projects that transcended linguistic, ethnic, and national borders. The Olympic symbols gradually morphed into Letraset icons, and, later, symbols in the Unicode Standard, which are the basis for today’s emojis. Wordless signs helped facilitate interconnectedness, but only in the most literal sense; their application was limited primarily to sports mega-events, highway maps, and “brand building”, and they never fulfilled their role as an educational language “to give the different nations a common outlook” (Neurath 18). Universally understood icons, particularly in the form of emojis, point to a rise in visual communication but they have fallen short as a cosmopolitan project, supporting neither the globalisation of Kantian ethics nor the transnational socialism of the Neuraths. Figure 4: Symbols in use. Women's bathroom. 1964 Tokyo Olympics. (Source: The official report of the Organizing Committee.) Counter Education By mid-century, the optimism of a universal symbol language seemed dated, and focus shifted from distillation to discernment. New educational programs presented ways to study images, increasingly reproducible with new technologies, as a language in and of themselves. These methods had their roots in the fin-de-siècle educational reforms of John Dewey, Helen Parkhurst, and Maria Montessori. As early as the 1920s, progressive educators were using highly visual magazines, like National Geographic, as the basis for lesson planning, with the hopes that they would “expose students to edifying and culturally enriching reading” and “develop a more catholic taste or sensibility, representing an important cosmopolitan value” (Hawkins 45). The rise in imagery from previously inaccessible regions helped pupils to see themselves in relation to the larger world (although this connection always came with the presumed superiority of the reader). “Pictorial education in public schools” taught readers—through images—to accept a broader world but, too often, they saw photographs as a “straightforward transcription of the real world” (Hawkins 57). The images of cultures and events presented in Life and National Geographic for the purposes of education and enrichment were now the subject of greater analysis in the classroom, not just as “windows into new worlds” but as cultural products in and of themselves. The emerging visual curriculum aimed to do more than just teach with previously excluded modes (photography, film and comics); it would investigate how images presented and mediated the world. This gained wider appeal with new analytical writing on film, like Raymond Spottiswoode's Grammar of the Film (1950) which sought to formulate the grammatical rules of visual communication (Messaris 181), influenced by semiotics and structural linguistics; the emphasis on grammar can also be seen in far earlier writings on design systems such as Owen Jones’s 1856 The Grammar of Ornament, which also advocated for new, universalising methods in design education (Sloboda 228). The inventorying impulse is on display in books like Donis A. Dondis’s A Primer of Visual Literacy (1973), a text that meditates on visual perception but also functions as an introduction to line and form in the applied arts, picking up where the Bauhaus left off. Dondis enumerates the “syntactical guidelines” of the applied arts with illustrations that are in keeping with 1920s books by Kandinsky and Klee and analyse pictorial elements. However, at the end of the book she shifts focus with two chapters that examine “messaging” and visual literacy explicitly. Dondis predicts that “an intellectual, trained ability to make and understand visual messages is becoming a vital necessity to involvement with communication. It is quite likely that visual literacy will be one of the fundamental measures of education in the last third of our century” (33) and she presses for more programs that incorporate the exploration and analysis of images in tertiary education. Figure 5: Ideal spatial environment for the Blueprint charts, 1970. (Image: Inventory Press.) Visual literacy in education arrived in earnest with a wave of publications in the mid-1970s. They offered ways for students to understand media processes and for teachers to use visual culture as an entry point into complex social and scientific subject matter, tapping into the “visual consciousness of the ‘television generation’” (Fransecky 5). Visual culture was often seen as inherently democratising, a break from stuffiness, the “artificialities of civilisation”, and the “archaic structures” that set sensorial perception apart from scholarship (Dworkin 131-132). Many radical university projects and community education initiatives of the 1960s made use of new media in novel ways: from Maurice Stein and Larry Miller’s fold-out posters accompanying Blueprint for Counter Education (1970) to Emory Douglas’s graphics for The Black Panther newspaper. Blueprint’s text- and image-dense wall charts were made via assemblage and they were imagined less as charts and more as a “matrix of resources” that could be used—and added to—by youth to undertake their own counter education (Cronin 53). These experiments in visual learning helped to break down old hierarchies in education, but their aim was influenced more by countercultural notions of disruption than the universal ideals of cosmopolitanism. From Image as Text to City as Text For a brief period in the 1970s, thinkers like Marshall McLuhan (McLuhan et al., Massage) and artists like Bruno Munari (Tanchis and Munari) collaborated fruitfully with graphic designers to create books that mixed text and image in novel ways. Using new compositional methods, they broke apart traditional printing lock-ups to superimpose photographs, twist text, and bend narrative frames. The most famous work from this era is, undoubtedly, The Medium Is the Massage (1967), McLuhan’s team-up with graphic designer Quentin Fiore, but it was followed by dozens of other books intended to communicate theory and scientific ideas with popularising graphics. Following in the footsteps of McLuhan, many of these texts sought not just to explain an issue but to self-consciously reference their own method of information delivery. These works set the precedent for visual aids (and, to a lesser extent, audio) that launched a diverse, non-hierarchical discourse that was nonetheless bound to tactile artefacts. In 1977, McLuhan helped develop a media textbook for secondary school students called City as Classroom: Understanding Language and Media. It is notable for its direct address style and its focus on investigating spaces outside of the classroom (provocatively, a section on the third page begins with “Should all schools be closed?”). The book follows with a fine-grained analysis of advertising forms in which students are asked to first bring advertisements into class for analysis and later to go out into the city to explore “a man-made environment, a huge warehouse of information, a vast resource to be mined free of charge” (McLuhan et al., City 149). As a document City as Classroom is critical of existing teaching methods, in line with the radical “in the streets” pedagogy of its day. McLuhan’s theories proved particularly salient for the counter education movement, in part because they tapped into a healthy scepticism of advertisers and other image-makers. They also dovetailed with growing discontent with the ad-strew visual environment of cities in the 1970s. Budgets for advertising had mushroomed in the1960s and outdoor advertising “cluttered” cities with billboards and neon, generating “fierce intensities and new hybrid energies” that threatened to throw off the visual equilibrium (McLuhan 74). Visual literacy curricula brought in experiential learning focussed on the legibility of the cities, mapping, and the visualisation of urban issues with social justice implications. The Detroit Geographical Expedition and Institute (DGEI), a “collective endeavour of community research and education” that arose in the aftermath of the 1967 uprisings, is the most storied of the groups that suffused the collection of spatial data with community engagement and organising (Warren et al. 61). The following decades would see a tamed approach to visual literacy that, while still pressing for critical reading, did not upend traditional methods of educational delivery. Figure 6: Beginning a College Program-Assisting Teachers to Develop Visual Literacy Approaches in Public School Classrooms. 1977. ERIC. Searching for Civic Education The visual literacy initiatives formed in the early 1970s both affirmed existing civil society institutions while also asserting the need to better inform the public. Most of the campaigns were sponsored by universities, major libraries, and international groups such as UNESCO, which published its “Declaration on Media Education” in 1982. They noted that “participation” was “essential to the working of a pluralistic and representative democracy” and the “public—users, citizens, individuals, groups ... were too systematically overlooked”. Here, the public is conceived as both “targets of the information and communication process” and users who “should have the last word”. To that end their “continuing education” should be ensured (Study 18). Programs consisted primarily of cognitive “see-scan-analyse” techniques (Little et al.) for younger students but some also sought to bring visual analysis to adult learners via continuing education (often through museums eager to engage more diverse audiences) and more radical popular education programs sponsored by community groups. By the mid-80s, scores of modules had been built around the comprehension of visual media and had become standard educational fare across North America, Australasia, and to a lesser extent, Europe. There was an increasing awareness of the role of data and image presentation in decision-making, as evidenced by the surprising commercial success of Edward Tufte’s 1982 book, The Visual Display of Quantitative Information. Visual literacy—or at least image analysis—was now enmeshed in teaching practice and needed little active advocacy. Scholarly interest in the subject went into a brief period of hibernation in the 1980s and early 1990s, only to be reborn with the arrival of new media distribution technologies (CD-ROMs and then the internet) in classrooms and the widespread availability of digital imaging technology starting in the late 1990s; companies like Adobe distributed free and reduced-fee licences to schools and launched extensive teacher training programs. Visual literacy was reanimated but primarily within a circumscribed academic field of education and data visualisation. Figure 7: Visual Literacy; What Research Says to the Teacher, 1975. National Education Association. USA. Part of the shifting frame of visual literacy has to do with institutional imperatives, particularly in places where austerity measures forced strange alliances between disciplines. What had been a project in alternative education morphed into an uncontested part of the curriculum and a dependable budget line. This shift was already forecasted in 1972 by Harun Farocki who, writing in Filmkritik, noted that funding for new film schools would be difficult to obtain but money might be found for “training in media education … a discipline that could persuade ministers of education, that would at the same time turn the budget restrictions into an advantage, and that would match the functions of art schools” (98). Nearly 50 years later educators are still using media education (rebranded as visual or media literacy) to make the case for fine arts and humanities education. While earlier iterations of visual literacy education were often too reliant on the idea of cracking the “code” of images, they did promote ways of learning that were a deep departure from the rote methods of previous generations. Next-gen curricula frame visual literacy as largely supplemental—a resource, but not a program. By the end of the 20th century, visual literacy had changed from a scholarly interest to a standard resource in the “teacher’s toolkit”, entering into school programs and influencing museum education, corporate training, and the development of public-oriented media (Literacy). An appreciation of image culture was seen as key to creating empathetic global citizens, but its scope was increasingly limited. With rising austerity in the education sector (a shift that preceded the 2008 recession by decades in some countries), art educators, museum enrichment staff, and design researchers need to make a case for why their disciplines were relevant in pedagogical models that are increasingly aimed at “skills-based” and “job ready” teaching. Arts educators worked hard to insert their fields into learning goals for secondary students as visual literacy, with the hope that “literacy” would carry the weight of an educational imperative and not a supplementary field of study. Conclusion For nearly a century, educational initiatives have sought to inculcate a cosmopolitan perspective with a variety of teaching materials and pedagogical reference points. Symbolic languages, like the Isotype, looked to unite disparate people with shared visual forms; while educational initiatives aimed to train the eyes of students to make them more discerning citizens. The term ‘visual literacy’ emerged in the 1960s and has since been deployed in programs with a wide variety of goals. Countercultural initiatives saw it as a prerequisite for popular education from the ground up, but, in the years since, it has been formalised and brought into more staid curricula, often as a sort of shorthand for learning from media and pictures. The grand cosmopolitan vision of a complete ‘visual language’ has been scaled back considerably, but still exists in trace amounts. Processes of globalisation require images to universalise experiences, commodities, and more for people without shared languages. Emoji alphabets and globalese (brands and consumer messaging that are “visual-linguistic” amalgams “increasingly detached from any specific ethnolinguistic group or locality”) are a testament to a mediatised banal cosmopolitanism (Jaworski 231). In this sense, becoming “fluent” in global design vernacular means familiarity with firms and products, an understanding that is aesthetic, not critical. It is very much the beneficiaries of globalisation—both state and commercial actors—who have been able to harness increasingly image-based technologies for their benefit. To take a humorous but nonetheless consequential example, Spanish culinary boosters were able to successfully lobby for a paella emoji (Miller) rather than having a food symbol from a less wealthy country such as a Senegalese jollof or a Morrocan tagine. This trend has gone even further as new forms of visual communication are increasingly streamlined and managed by for-profit media platforms. The ubiquity of these forms of communication and their global reach has made visual literacy more important than ever but it has also fundamentally shifted the endeavour from a graphic sorting practice to a critical piece of social infrastructure that has tremendous political ramifications. Visual literacy campaigns hold out the promise of educating students in an image-based system with the potential to transcend linguistic and cultural boundaries. This cosmopolitan political project has not yet been realised, as the visual literacy frame has drifted into specialised silos of art, design, and digital humanities education. It can help bridge the “incomplete connections” of an increasingly globalised world (Calhoun 112), but it does not have a program in and of itself. Rather, an evolving visual literacy curriculum might be seen as a litmus test for how we imagine the role of images in the world. 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The academic journal is obsolete. In a world where there are more titles than ever, this is a comment on their form – especially the print journal – rather than their quantity. Now that you can get everything online, it doesn’t really matter what journal a paper appears in; certainly it doesn’t matter what’s in the same issue. The experience of a journal is rapidly obsolescing, for both editors and readers. I’m obviously not the first person to notice this (see, for instance, "Scholarly Communication"; "Transforming Scholarly Communication"; Houghton; Policy Perspectives; Teute), but I do have a personal stake in the process. For if the journal is obsolete then it follows that the editor is obsolete, and I am the editor of the International Journal of Cultural Studies. I founded the IJCS and have been sole editor ever since. Next year will see the fiftieth issue. So far, I have been responsible for over 280 published articles – over 2.25 million words of other people’s scholarship … and counting. We won’t say anything about the words that did not get published, except that the IJCS rejection rate is currently 87 per cent. Perhaps the first point that needs to be made, then, is that obsolescence does not imply lack of success. By any standard the IJCS is a successful journal, and getting more so. It has recently been assessed as a top-rating A* journal in the Australian Research Council’s journal rankings for ERA (Excellence in Research for Australia), the newly activated research assessment exercise. (In case you’re wondering, M/C Journal is rated B.) The ARC says of the ranking exercise: ‘The lists are a result of consultations with the sector and rigorous review by leading researchers and the ARC.’ The ARC definition of an A* journal is given as: Typically an A* journal would be one of the best in its field or subfield in which to publish and would typically cover the entire field/ subfield. Virtually all papers they publish will be of very high quality. These are journals where most of the work is important (it will really shape the field) and where researchers boast about getting accepted.Acceptance rates would typically be low and the editorial board would be dominated by field leaders, including many from top institutions. (Appendix I, p. 21; and see p. 4.)Talking of boasting, I love to prate about the excellent people we’ve published in the IJCS. We have introduced new talent to the field, and we have published new work by some of its pioneers – including Richard Hoggart and Stuart Hall. We’ve also published – among many others – Sara Ahmed, Mohammad Amouzadeh, Tony Bennett, Goran Bolin, Charlotte Brunsdon, William Boddy, Nico Carpentier, Stephen Coleman, Nick Couldry, Sean Cubitt, Michael Curtin, Daniel Dayan, Ben Dibley, Stephanie Hemelryk Donald, John Frow, Elfriede Fursich, Christine Geraghty, Mark Gibson, Paul Gilroy, Faye Ginsberg, Jonathan Gray, Lawrence Grossberg, Judith Halberstam, Hanno Hardt, Gay Hawkins, Joke Hermes, Su Holmes, Desmond Hui, Fred Inglis, Henry Jenkins, Deborah Jermyn, Ariel Heryanto, Elihu Katz, Senator Rod Kemp (Australian government minister), Youna Kim, Agnes Ku, Richard E. Lee, Jeff Lewis, David Lodge (the novelist), Knut Lundby, Eric Ma, Anna McCarthy, Divya McMillin, Antonio Menendez-Alarcon, Toby Miller, Joe Moran, Chris Norris, John Quiggin, Chris Rojek, Jane Roscoe, Jeffrey Sconce, Lynn Spigel, John Storey, Su Tong, the late Sako Takeshi, Sue Turnbull, Graeme Turner, William Uricchio, José van Dijck, Georgette Wang, Jing Wang, Elizabeth Wilson, Janice Winship, Handel Wright, Wu Jing, Wu Qidi (Chinese Vice-Minister of Education), Emilie Yueh-Yu Yeh, Robert Young and Zhao Bin. As this partial list makes clear, as well as publishing the top ‘hegemons’ we also publish work pointing in new directions, including papers from neighbouring disciplines such as anthropology, area studies, economics, education, feminism, history, literary studies, philosophy, political science, and sociology. We have sought to represent neglected regions, especially Chinese cultural studies, which has grown strongly during the past decade. And for quite a few up-and-coming scholars we’ve been the proud host of their first international publication. The IJCS was first published in 1998, already well into the internet era, but it was print-only at that time. Since then, all content, from volume 1:1 onwards, has been digitised and is available online (although vol 1:2 is unaccountably missing). The publishers, Sage Publications Ltd, London, have steadily added online functionality, so that now libraries can get the journal in various packages, including offering this title among many others in online-only bundles, and individuals can purchase single articles online. Thus, in addition to institutional and individual subscriptions, which remain the core business of the journal, income is derived by the publisher from multi-site licensing, incremental consortial sales income, single- and back-issue sales (print), pay-per-view, and deep back file sales (electronic). So what’s obsolete about it? In that boasting paragraph of mine (above), about what wonderful authors we’ve published, lies one of the seeds of obsolescence. For now that it is available online, ‘users’ (no longer ‘readers’!) can search for what they want and ignore the journal as such altogether. This is presumably how most active researchers experience any journal – they are looking for articles (or less: quotations; data; references) relevant to a given topic, literature review, thesis etc. They encounter a journal online through its ‘content’ rather than its ‘form.’ The latter is irrelevant to them, and may as well not exist. The Cover Some losses are associated with this change. First is the loss of the front cover. Now you, dear reader, scrolling through this article online, might well complain, why all the fuss about covers? Internet-generation journals don’t have covers, so all of the work that goes into them to establish the brand, the identity and even the ‘affect’ of a journal is now, well, obsolete. So let me just remind you of what’s at stake. Editors, designers and publishers all take a good deal of trouble over covers, since they are the point of intersection of editorial, design and marketing priorities. Thus, the IJCS cover contains the only ‘content’ of the journal for which we pay a fee to designers and photographers (usually the publisher pays, but in one case I did). Like any other cover, ours has three main elements: title, colour and image. Thought goes into every detail. Title I won’t say anything about the journal’s title as such, except that it was the result of protracted discussions (I suggested Terra Nullius at one point, but Sage weren’t having any of that). The present concern is with how a title looks on a cover. Our title-typeface is Frutiger. Originally designed by Adrian Frutiger for Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris, it is suitably international, being used for the corporate identity of the UK National Health Service, Telefónica O2, the Royal Navy, the London School of Economics , the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, the Conservative Party of Canada, Banco Bradesco of Brazil, the Finnish Defence Forces and on road signs in Switzerland (Wikipedia, "Frutiger"). Frutiger is legible, informal, and reads well in small copy. Sage’s designer and I corresponded on which of the words in our cumbersome name were most important, agreeing that ‘international’ combined with ‘cultural’ is the USP (Unique Selling Point) of the journal, so they should be picked out (in bold small-caps) from the rest of the title, which the designer presented in a variety of Frutiger fonts (regular, italic, and reversed – white on black), presumably to signify the dynamism and diversity of our content. The word ‘studies’ appears on a lozenge-shaped cartouche that is also used as a design element throughout the journal, for bullet points, titles and keywords. Colour We used to change this every two years, but since volume 7 it has stabilised with the distinctive Pantone 247, ‘new fuchsia.’ This colour arose from my own environment at QUT, where it was chosen (by me) for the new Creative Industries Faculty’s academic gowns and hoods, and thence as a detailing colour for the otherwise monochrome Creative Industries Precinct buildings. There’s a lot of it around my office, including on the wall and the furniture. New Fuchsia is – we are frequently told – a somewhat ‘girly’ colour, especially when contrasted with the Business Faculty’s blue or Law’s silver; its similarity to the Girlfriend/Dolly palette does introduce a mild ‘politics of prestige’ element, since it is determinedly pop culture, feminised, and non-canonical. Image Right at the start, the IJCS set out to signal its difference from other journals. At that time, all Sage journals had calligraphic colours – but I was insistent that we needed a photograph (I have ‘form’ in this respect: in 1985 I changed the cover of the Australian Journal of Cultural Studies from a line drawing (albeit by Sydney Nolan) to a photograph; and I co-designed the photo-cover of Cultural Studies in 1987). For IJCS I knew which photo I wanted, and Sage went along with the choice. I explained it in the launch issue’s editorial (Hartley, "Editorial"). That original picture, a goanna on a cattle grid in the outback, by Australian photographer Grant Hobson, lasted ten years. Since volume 11 – in time for our second decade – the goanna has been replaced with a picture by Italian-based photographer Patrick Nicholas, called ‘Reality’ (Hartley, "Cover Narrative"). We have also used two other photos as cover images, once each. They are: Daniel Meadows’s 1974 ‘Karen & Barbara’ (Hartley, "Who"); and a 1962 portrait of Richard Hoggart from the National Portrait Gallery in London (Owen & Hartley 2007). The choice of picture has involved intense – sometimes very tense – negotiations with Sage. Most recently, they were adamant the Daniel Meadows picture, which I wanted to use as the long-term replacement of the goanna, was too ‘English’ and they would not accept it. We exchanged rather sharp words before compromising. There’s no need to rehearse the dispute here; the point is that both sides, publisher and editor, felt that vital interests were at stake in the choice of a cover-image. Was it too obscure; too Australian; too English; too provocative (the current cover features, albeit in the deep background, a TV screen-shot of a topless Italian game-show contestant)? Running Order Beyond the cover, the next obsolete feature of a journal is the running order of articles. Obviously what goes in the journal is contingent upon what has been submitted and what is ready at a given time, so this is a creative role within a very limited context, which is what makes it pleasurable. Out of a limited number of available papers, a choice must be made about which one goes first, what order the other papers should follow, and which ones must be held over to the next issue. The first priority is to choose the lead article: like the ‘first face’ in a fashion show (if you don’t know what I mean by that, see FTV.com. It sets the look, the tone, and the standard for the issue. I always choose articles I like for this slot. It sends a message to the field – look at this! Next comes the running order. We have about six articles per issue. It is important to maintain the IJCS’s international mix, so I check for the country of origin, or failing that (since so many articles come from Anglosphere countries like the USA, UK and Australia), the location of the analysis. Attention also has to be paid to the gender balance among authors, and to the mix of senior and emergent scholars. Sometimes a weak article needs to be ‘hammocked’ between two good ones (these are relative terms – everything published in the IJCS is of a high scholarly standard). And we need to think about disciplinary mix, so as not to let the journal stray too far towards one particular methodological domain. Running order is thus a statement about the field – the disciplinary domain – rather than about an individual paper. It is a proposition about how different voices connect together in some sort of disciplinary syntax. One might even claim that the combination of cover and running order is a last vestige of collegiate collectivism in an era of competitive academic individualism. Now all that matters is the individual paper and author; the ‘currency’ is tenure, promotion and research metrics, not relations among peers. The running order is obsolete. Special Issues An extreme version of running order is the special issue. The IJCS has regularly published these; they are devoted to field-shaping initiatives, as follows: Title Editor(s) Issue Date Radiocracy: Radio, Development and Democracy Amanda Hopkinson, Jo Tacchi 3.2 2000 Television and Cultural Studies Graeme Turner 4.4 2001 Cultural Studies and Education Karl Maton, Handel Wright 5.4 2002 Re-Imagining Communities Sara Ahmed, Anne-Marie Fortier 6.3 2003 The New Economy, Creativity and Consumption John Hartley 7.1 2004 Creative Industries and Innovation in China Michael Keane, John Hartley 9.3 2006 The Uses of Richard Hoggart Sue Owen, John Hartley 10.1 2007 A Cultural History of Celebrity Liz Barry 11.3 2008 Caribbean Media Worlds Anna Pertierra, Heather Horst 12.2 2009 Co-Creative Labour Mark Deuze, John Banks 12.5 2009 It’s obvious that special issues have a place in disciplinary innovation – they can draw attention in a timely manner to new problems, neglected regions, or innovative approaches, and thus they advance the field. They are indispensible. But because of online publication, readers are not held to the ‘project’ of a special issue and can pick and choose whatever they want. And because of the peculiarities of research assessment exercises, editing special issues doesn’t count as research output. The incentive to do them is to that extent reduced, and some universities are quite heavy-handed about letting academics ‘waste’ time on activities that don’t produce ‘metrics.’ The special issue is therefore threatened with obsolescence too. Refereeing In many top-rating journals, the human side of refereeing is becoming obsolete. Increasingly this labour-intensive chore is automated and the labour is technologically outsourced from editors and publishers to authors and referees. You have to log on to some website and follow prompts in order to contribute both papers and the assessment of papers; interactions with editors are minimal. At the IJCS the process is still handled by humans – namely, journal administrator Tina Horton and me. We spend a lot of time checking how papers are faring, from trying to find the right referees through to getting the comments and then the author’s revisions completed in time for a paper to be scheduled into an issue. The volume of email correspondence is considerable. We get to know authors and referees. So we maintain a sense of an interactive and conversational community, albeit by correspondence rather than face to face. Doubtless, sooner or later, there will be a depersonalised Text Management System. But in the meantime we cling to the romantic notion that we are involved in refereeing for the sake of the field, for raising the standard of scholarship, for building a globally dispersed virtual college of cultural studies, and for giving everyone – from unfavoured countries and neglected regions to famous professors in old-money universities – the same chance to get their research published. In fact, these are largely delusional ideals, for as everyone knows, refereeing is part of the political economy of publicly-funded research. It’s about academic credentials, tenure and promotion for the individual, and about measurable research metrics for the academic organisation or funding agency (Hartley, "Death"). The IJCS has no choice but to participate: we do what is required to qualify as a ‘double-blind refereed journal’ because that is the only way to maintain repute, and thence the flow of submissions, not to mention subscriptions, without which there would be no journal. As with journals themselves, which proliferate even as the print form becomes obsolete, so refereeing is burgeoning as a practice. It’s almost an industry, even though the currency is not money but time: part gift-economy; part attention-economy; partly the payment of dues to the suzerain funding agencies. But refereeing is becoming obsolete in the sense of gathering an ‘imagined community’ of people one might expect to know personally around a particular enterprise. The process of dispersal and anonymisation of the field is exacerbated by blind refereeing, which we do because we must. This is suited to a scientific domain of objective knowledge, but everyone knows it’s not quite like that in the ‘new humanities’. The agency and identity of the researcher is often a salient fact in the research. The embedded positionality of the author, their reflexiveness about their own context and room-for-manoeuvre, and the radical contextuality of knowledge itself – these are all more or less axiomatic in cultural studies, but they’re not easily served by ‘double-blind’ refereeing. When refereeing is depersonalised to the extent that is now rife (especially in journals owned by international commercial publishers), it is hard to maintain a sense of contextualised productivity in the knowledge domain, much less a ‘common cause’ to which both author and referee wish to contribute. Even though refereeing can still be seen as altruistic, it is in the service of something much more general (‘scholarship’) and much more particular (‘my career’) than the kind of reviewing that wants to share and improve a particular intellectual enterprise. It is this mid-range altruism – something that might once have been identified as a politics of knowledge – that’s becoming obsolete, along with the printed journals that were the banner and rallying point for the cause. If I were to start a new journal (such as cultural-science.org), I would prefer ‘open refereeing’: uploading papers on an open site, subjecting them to peer-review and criticism, and archiving revised versions once they have received enough votes and comments. In other words I’d like to see refereeing shifted from the ‘supply’ or production side of a journal to the ‘demand’ or readership side. But of course, ‘demand’ for ‘blind’ refereeing doesn’t come from readers; it comes from the funding agencies. The Reading Experience Finally, the experience of reading a journal is obsolete. Two aspects of this seem worthy of note. First, reading is ‘out of time’ – it no longer needs to conform to the rhythms of scholarly publication, which are in any case speeding up. Scholarship is no longer seasonal, as it has been since the Middle Ages (with university terms organised around agricultural and ecclesiastical rhythms). Once you have a paper’s DOI number, you can read it any time, 24/7. It is no longer necessary even to wait for publication. With some journals in our field (e.g. Journalism Studies), assuming your Library subscribes, you can access papers as soon as they’re uploaded on the journal’s website, before the published edition is printed. Soon this will be the norm, just as it is for the top science journals, where timely publication, and thereby the ability to claim first discovery, is the basis of intellectual property rights. The IJCS doesn’t (yet) offer this service, but its frequency is speeding up. It was launched in 1998 with three issues a year. It went quarterly in 2001 and remained a quarterly for eight years. It has recently increased to six issues a year. That too causes changes in the reading experience. The excited ripping open of the package is less of a thrill the more often it arrives. Indeed, how many subscribers will admit that sometimes they don’t even open the envelope? Second, reading is ‘out of place’ – you never have to see the journal in which a paper appears, so you can avoid contact with anything that you haven’t already decided to read. This is more significant than might first appear, because it is affecting journalism in general, not just academic journals. As we move from the broadcast to the broadband era, communicative usage is shifting too, from ‘mass’ communication to customisation. This is a mixed blessing. One of the pleasures of old-style newspapers and the TV news was that you’d come across stories you did not expect to find. Indeed, an important attribute of the industrial form of journalism is its success in getting whole populations to read or watch stories about things they aren’t interested in, or things like wars and crises that they’d rather not know about at all. That historic textual achievement is in jeopardy in the broadband era, because ‘the public’ no longer needs to gather around any particular masthead or bulletin to get their news. With Web 2.0 affordances, you can exercise much more choice over what you attend to. This is great from the point of view of maximising individual choice, but sub-optimal in relation to what I’ve called ‘population-gathering’, especially the gathering of communities of interest around ‘tales of the unexpected’ – novelty or anomalies. Obsolete: Collegiality, Trust and Innovation? The individuation of reading choices may stimulate prejudice, because prejudice (literally, ‘pre-judging’) is built in when you decide only to access news feeds about familiar topics, stories or people in which you’re already interested. That sort of thing may encourage narrow-mindedness. It is certainly an impediment to chance discovery, unplanned juxtaposition, unstructured curiosity and thence, perhaps, to innovation itself. This is a worry for citizenship in general, but it is also an issue for academic ‘knowledge professionals,’ in our ever-narrower disciplinary silos. An in-close specialist focus on one’s own area of expertise need no longer be troubled by the concerns of the person in the next office, never mind the next department. Now, we don’t even have to meet on the page. One of the advantages of whole journals, then, is that each issue encourages ‘macro’ as well as ‘micro’ perspectives, and opens reading up to surprises. This willingness to ‘take things on trust’ describes a ‘we’ community – a community of trust. Trust too is obsolete in these days of performance evaluation. We’re assessed by an anonymous system that’s managed by people we’ll never meet. If the ‘population-gathering’ aspects of print journals are indeed obsolete, this may reduce collegiate trust and fellow-feeling, increase individualist competitiveness, and inhibit innovation. In the face of that prospect, I’m going to keep on thinking about covers, running orders, referees and reading until the role of editor is obsolete too. ReferencesHartley, John. "'Cover Narrative': From Nightmare to Reality." International Journal of Cultural Studies 11.2 (2005): 131-137. ———. "Death of the Book?" Symposium of the National Scholarly Communication Forum & Australian Academy of the Humanities, Sydney Maritime Museum, 2005. 26 Apr. 2009 ‹http://www.humanities.org.au/Resources/Downloads/NSCF/RoundTables1-17/PDF/Hartley.pdf›. ———. "Editorial: With Goanna." International Journal of Cultural Studies 1.1 (1998): 5-10. ———. "'Who Are You Going to Believe – Me or Your Own Eyes?' New Decade; New Directions." International Journal of Cultural Studies 11.1 (2008): 5-14. Houghton, John. "Economics of Scholarly Communication: A Discussion Paper." Center for Strategic Economic Studies, Victoria University, 2000. 26 Apr. 2009 ‹http://www.caul.edu.au/cisc/EconomicsScholarlyCommunication.pdf›. Owen, Sue, and John Hartley, eds. The Uses of Richard Hoggart. International Journal of Cultural Studies (special issue), 10.1 (2007). Policy Perspectives: To Publish and Perish. (Special issue cosponsored by the Association of Research Libraries, Association of American Universities and the Pew Higher Education Roundtable) 7.4 (1998). 26 Apr. 2009 ‹http://www.arl.org/scomm/pew/pewrept.html›. "Scholarly Communication: Crisis and Revolution." University of California Berkeley Library. N.d. 26 Apr. 2009 ‹http://www.lib.berkeley.edu/Collections/crisis.html›. Teute, F. J. "To Publish or Perish: Who Are the Dinosaurs in Scholarly Publishing?" Journal of Scholarly Publishing 32.2 (2001). 26 Apr. 2009 ‹http://www.utpjournals.com/product/jsp/322/perish5.html›."Transforming Scholarly Communication." University of Houston Library. 2005. 26 Apr. 2009 ‹http://info.lib.uh.edu/scomm/transforming.htm›.

As the ball dropped on 1999, is it any wonder that No Doubt played, “It’s the End of the World as We Know It” by R.E.M. live on MTV? Any discussion of the Nineties—and its pinnacle moment, Y2K—requires a discussion of both the cover and the glitch, two performative and technological enactments that fomented the collapse between author-reader and user-machine that has, twenty years later, become normalised in today’s Post Internet culture. By staging failure and inviting the audience to participate, the glitch and the cover call into question the original and the origin story. This breakdown of normative borders has prompted the convergence of previously demarcated media, genres, and cultures, a constellation from which to recognise a stochastic hybrid form. The Cover as a Revelation of Collaborative MurmurBefore Sean Parker collaborated with Shawn Fanning to launch Napster on 1 June 1999, networked file distribution existed as cumbersome text-based programs like Internet Relay Chat and Usenet, servers which resembled bulletin boards comprising multiple categories of digitally ripped files. Napster’s simple interface, its advanced search filters, and its focus on music and audio files fostered a peer-to-peer network that became the fastest growing website in history, registering 80 million users in less than two years.In harnessing the transgressive power of the Internet to force a new mode of content sharing, Napster forced traditional providers to rethink what constitutes “content” at a moment which prefigures our current phenomena of “produsage” (Bruns) and the vast popularity of user-generated content. At stake is not just the democratisation of art but troubling the very idea of intellectual property, which is to say, the very concept of ownership.Long before the Internet was re-routed from military servers and then mainstreamed, Michel Foucault understood the efficacy of anonymous interactions on the level of literature, imagining a culture where discourse would circulate without any need for an author. But what he was asking in 1969 is something we can better answer today, because it seems less germane to call into question the need for an author in a culture in which everyone is writing, producing, and reproducing text, and more effective to think about re-evaluating the notion of a single author, or what it means to write by yourself. One would have to testify to the particular medium we have at our disposal, the Internet’s ultimate permissibility, its provocations for collaboration and co-creation. One would have to surrender the idea that authors own anything besides our will to keep producing, and our desire for change; and to modulate means to resist without negating, to alter without omitting, to enable something new to come forward; the unfolding of the text into the anonymity of a murmur.We should remind ourselves that “to author” all the way down to its Latin roots signifies advising, witnessing, and transferring. We should be reminded that to author something means to forget the act of saying “I,” to forget it or to make it recede in the background in service of the other or others, on behalf of a community. The de-centralisation of Web development and programming initiated by Napster inform a poetics of relation, an always-open structure in which, as Édouard Glissant said, “the creator of a text is effaced, or rather, is done away with, to be revealed in the texture of his creation” (25). When a solid melts, it reveals something always underneath, something at the bottom, something inside—something new and something that was always already there. A cover, too, is both a revival and a reworking, an update and an interpretation, a retrospective tribute and a re-version that looks toward the future. In performing the new, the original as singular is called into question, replaced by an increasingly fetishised copy made up of and made by multiples.Authorial Effacement and the Exigency of the ErrorY2K, otherwise known as the Millennium Bug, was a coding problem, an abbreviation made to save memory space which would disrupt computers during the transition from 1999 to 2000, when it was feared that the new year would become literally unrecognisable. After an estimated $300 billion in upgraded hardware and software was spent to make computers Y2K-compliant, something more extraordinary than global network collapse occurred as midnight struck: nothing.But what if the machine admits the possibility of accident? Implicit in the admission of any accident is the disclosure of a new condition—something to be heard, to happen, from the Greek ad-cadere, which means to fall. In this drop into non-repetition, the glitch actualises an idea about authorship that necessitates multi-user collaboration; the curtain falls only to reveal the hidden face of technology, which becomes, ultimately, instructions for its re-programming. And even as it deviates, the new form is liable to become mainstreamed into a new fashion. “Glitch’s inherently critical moment(um)” (Menkman 8) indicates this potential for technological self-insurgence, while suggesting the broader cultural collapse of generic markers and hierarchies, and its ensuing flow into authorial fluidity.This feeling of shock, this move “towards the ruins of destructed meaning” (Menkman 29) inherent in any encounter with the glitch, forecasted not the immediate horror of Y2K, but the delayed disasters of 9/11, Hurricane Katrina, Deepwater Horizon Oil Spill, Indian Ocean tsunami, Sichuan Province earthquake, global financial crisis, and two international wars that would all follow within the next nine years. If, as Menkman asserts, the glitch, in representing a loss of self-control “captures the machine revealing itself” (30), what also surfaces is the tipping point that edges us toward a new becoming—not only the inevitability of surrender between machine and user, but their reversibility. Just as crowds stood, transfixed before midnight of the new millennium in anticipation of the error, or its exigency, it’s always the glitch I wait for; it’s always the glitch I aim to re-create, as if on command. The accidental revelation, or the machine breaking through to show us its insides. Like the P2P network that Napster introduced to culture, every glitch produces feedback, a category of noise (Shannon) influencing the machine’s future behaviour whereby potential users might return the transmission.Re-Orienting the Bizarre in Fantasy and FictionIt is in the fantasy of dreams, and their residual leakage into everyday life, evidenced so often in David Lynch’s Twin Peaks, where we can locate a similar authorial agency. The cult Nineties psycho-noir, and its discontinuous return twenty-six years later, provoke us into reconsidering the science of sleep as the art of fiction, assembling an alternative, interactive discourse from found material.The turning in and turning into in dreams is often described as an encounter with the “bizarre,” a word which indicates our lack of understanding about the peculiar processes that normally happen inside our heads. Dreams are inherently and primarily bizarre, Allan J. Hobson argues, because during REM sleep, our noradrenergic and serotonergic systems do not modulate the activated brain, as they do in waking. “The cerebral cortex and hippocampus cannot function in their usual oriented and linear logical way,” Hobson writes, “but instead create odd and remote associations” (71). But is it, in fact, that our dreams are “bizarre” or is it that the model itself is faulty—a precept premised on the normative, its dependency upon generalisation and reducibility—what is bizarre if not the ordinary modulations that occur in everyday life?Recall Foucault’s interest not in what a dream means but what a dream does. How it rematerialises in the waking world and its basis in and effect on imagination. Recall recollection itself, or Erin J. Wamsley’s “Dreaming and Offline Memory Consolidation.” “A ‘function’ for dreaming,” Wamsley writes, “hinges on the difficult question of whether conscious experience in general serves any function” (433). And to think about the dream as a specific mode of experience related to a specific theory of knowledge is to think about a specific form of revelation. It is this revelation, this becoming or coming-to-be, that makes the connection to crowd-sourced content production explicit—dreams serve as an audition or dress rehearsal in which new learning experiences with others are incorporated into the unconscious so that they might be used for production in the waking world. Bert O. States elaborates, linking the function of the dream with the function of the fiction writer “who makes models of the world that carry the imprint and structure of our various concerns. And it does this by using real people, or ‘scraps’ of other people, as the instruments of hypothetical facts” (28). Four out of ten characters in a dream are strangers, according to Calvin Hall, who is himself a stranger, someone I’ve never met in waking life or in a dream. But now that I’ve read him, now that I’ve written him into this work, he seems closer to me. Twin Peak’s serial lesson for viewers is this—even the people who seem strangers to us can interact with and intervene in our processes of production.These are the moments that a beginning takes place. And even if nothing directly follows, this transfer constitutes the hypothesised moment of production, an always-already perhaps, the what-if stimulus of charged possibility; the soil plot, or plot line, for freedom. Twin Peaks is a town in which the bizarre penetrates the everyday so often that eventually, the bizarre is no longer bizarre, but just another encounter with the ordinary. Dream sequences are common, but even more common—and more significant—are the moments in which what might otherwise be a dream vision ruptures into real life; these moments propel the narrative.Exhibit A: A man who hasn’t gone outside in a while begins to crumble, falling to the earth when forced to chase after a young girl, who’s just stolen the secret journal of another young girl, which he, in turn, had stolen.B: A horse appears in the middle of the living room after a routine vacuum cleaning and a subtle barely-there transition, a fade-out into a fade-in, what people call a dissolve. No one notices, or thinks to point out its presence. Or maybe they’re distracted. Or maybe they’ve already forgotten. Dissolve.(I keep hitting “Save As.” As if renaming something can also transform it.)C: All the guests at the Great Northern Hotel begin to dance the tango on cue—a musical, without any music.D: After an accident, a middle-aged woman with an eye patch—she was wearing the eye patch before the accident—believes she’s seventeen again. She enrolls in Twin Peaks High School and joins the cheerleading team.E: A woman pretending to be a Japanese businessman ambles into the town bar to meet her estranged husband, who fails to recognise his cross-dressing, race-swapping wife.F: A girl with blond hair is murdered, only to come back as another girl, with the same face and a different name. And brown hair. They’re cousins.G: After taking over her dead best friend’s Meals on Wheels route, Donna Hayward walks in to meet a boy wearing a tuxedo, sitting on the couch with his fingers clasped: a magician-in-training. “Sometimes things can happen just like this,” he says with a snap while the camera cuts to his grandmother, bed-ridden, and the appearance of a plate of creamed corn that vanishes as soon as she announces its name.H: A woman named Margaret talks to and through a log. The log, cradled in her arms wherever she goes, becomes a key witness.I: After a seven-minute diegetic dream sequence, which includes a one-armed man, a dwarf, a waltz, a dead girl, a dialogue played backward, and a significantly aged representation of the dreamer, Agent Cooper wakes up and drastically shifts his investigation of a mysterious small-town murder. The dream gives him agency; it turns him from a detective staring at a dead-end to one with a map of clues. The next day, it makes him a storyteller; all the others, sitting tableside in the middle of the woods become a captive audience. They become readers. They read into his dream to create their own scenarios. Exhibit I. The cycle of imagination spins on.Images re-direct and obfuscate meaning, a process of over-determination which Foucault says results in “a multiplication of meanings which override and contradict each other” (DAE 34). In the absence of image, the process of imagination prevails. In the absence of story, real drama in our conscious life, we form complex narratives in our sleep—our imaginative unconscious. Sometimes they leak out, become stories in our waking life, if we think to compose them.“A bargain has been struck,” says Harold, an under-5 bit player, later, in an episode called “Laura’s Secret Diary.” So that she might have the chance to read Laura Palmer’s diary, Donna Hayward agrees to talk about her own life, giving Harold the opportunity to write it down in his notebook: his “living novel” the new chapter which reads, after uncapping his pen and smiling, “Donna Hayward.”He flips to the front page and sets a book weight to keep the page in place. He looks over at Donna sheepishly. “Begin.”Donna begins talking about where she was born, the particulars of her father—the lone town doctor—before she interrupts the script and asks her interviewer about his origin story. Not used to people asking him the questions, Harold’s mouth drops and he stops writing. He puts his free hand to his chest and clears his throat. (The ambient, wind-chime soundtrack intensifies.) “I grew up in Boston,” he finally volunteers. “Well, actually, I grew up in books.”He turns his head from Donna to the notebook, writing feverishly, as if he’s begun to write his own responses as the camera cuts back to his subject, Donna, crossing her legs with both hands cupped at her exposed knee, leaning in to tell him: “There’s things you can’t get in books.”“There’s things you can’t get anywhere,” he returns, pen still in his hand. “When we dream, they can be found in other people.”What is a call to composition if not a call for a response? It is always the audience which makes a work of art, re-framed in our own image, the same way we re-orient ourselves in a dream to negotiate its “inconsistencies.” Bizarreness is merely a consequence of linguistic limitations, the overwhelming sensory dream experience which can only be re-framed via a visual representation. And so the relationship between the experience of reading and dreaming is made explicit when we consider the associations internalised in the reader/audience when ingesting a passage of words on a page or on the stage, objects that become mental images and concept pictures, a lens of perception that we may liken to another art form: the film, with its jump-cuts and dissolves, so much like the defamiliarising and dislocating experience of dreaming, especially for the dreamer who wakes. What else to do in that moment but write about it?Evidence of the bizarre in dreams is only the evidence of the capacity of our human consciousness at work in the unconscious; the moment in which imagination and memory come together to create another reality, a spectrum of reality that doesn’t posit a binary between waking and sleeping, a spectrum of reality that revels in the moments where the two coalesce, merge, cross-pollinate—and what action glides forward in its wake? Sustained un-hesitation and the wish to stay inside one’s self. To be conscious of the world outside the dream means the end of one. To see one’s face in the act of dreaming would require the same act of obliteration. Recognition of the other, and of the self, prevents the process from being fulfilled. Creative production and dreaming, like voyeurism, depend on this same lack of recognition, or the recognition of yourself as other. What else is a dream if not a moment of becoming, of substituting or sublimating yourself for someone else?We are asked to relate a recent dream or we volunteer an account, to a friend or lover. We use the word “seem” in nearly every description, when we add it up or how we fail to. Everything seems to be a certain way. It’s not a place but a feeling. James, another character on Twin Peaks, says the same thing, after someone asks him, “Where do you want to go?” but before he hops on his motorcycle and rides off into the unknowable future outside the frame. Everything seems like something else, based on our own associations, our own knowledge of people and things. Offline memory consolidation. Seeming and semblance. An uncertainty of appearing—both happening and seeing. How we mediate—and re-materialise—the dream through text is our attempt to re-capture imagination, to leave off the image and better become it. If, as Foucault says, the dream is always a dream of death, its purpose is a call to creation.Outside of dreams, something bizarre occurs. We call it novelty or news. We might even bestow it with fame. A man gets on the wrong plane and ends up halfway across the world. A movie is made into the moment of his misfortune. Years later, in real life and in movie time, an Iranian refugee can’t even get on the plane; he is turned away by UK immigration officials at Charles de Gaulle, so he spends the next sixteen years living in the airport lounge; when he departs in real life, the movie (The Terminal, 2004) arrives in theaters. Did it take sixteen years to film the terminal exile? How bizarre, how bizarre. OMC’s eponymous refrain of the 1996 one-hit wonder, which is another way of saying, an anomaly.When all things are counted and countable in today’s algorithmic-rich culture, deviance becomes less of a statistical glitch and more of a testament to human peculiarity; the repressed idiosyncrasies of man before machine but especially the fallible tendencies of mankind within machines—the non-repetition of chance that the Nineties emblematised in the form of its final act. The point is to imagine what comes next; to remember waiting together for the end of the world. There is no need to even open your eyes to see it. It is just a feeling. ReferencesBruns, Axel. “Towards Produsage: Futures for User-Led Content Production.” Cultural Attitudes towards Technology and Communication 2006: Proceedings of the Fifth International Conference, eds. Fay Sudweeks, Herbert Hrachovec, and Charles Ess. Murdoch: School of Information Technology, 2006. 275-84. <https://eprints.qut.edu.au/4863/1/4863_1.pdf>.Foucault, Michel. “Dream, Imagination and Existence.” Dream and Existence. Ed. Keith Hoeller. Pittsburgh: Review of Existential Psychology & Psychiatry, 1986. 31-78.———. “What Is an Author?” The Foucault Reader: An Introduction to Foucault’s Thought. Ed. Paul Rainbow. New York: Penguin, 1991.Glissant, Édouard. Poetics of Relation. Trans. Betsy Wing. Ann Arbor: U of Michigan P, 1997.Hall, Calvin S. The Meaning of Dreams. New York: McGraw Hill, 1966.Hobson, J. Allan. The Dream Drugstore: Chemically Altered State of Conscious­ness. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2001.Menkman, Rosa. The Glitch Moment(um). Amsterdam: Network Notebooks, 2011.Shannon, Claude Elwood. “A Mathematical Theory of Communication.” The Bell System Technical Journal 27 (1948): 379-423.States, Bert O. “Bizarreness in Dreams and Other Fictions.” The Dream and the Text: Essays on Literature and Language. Ed. Carol Schreier Rupprecht. Albany: SUNY P, 1993.Twin Peaks. Dir. David Lynch. ABC and Showtime. 1990-3 & 2017. Wamsley, Erin. “Dreaming and Offline Memory Consolidation.” Current Neurology and Neuroscience Reports 14.3 (2014): 433. “Y2K Bug.” Encyclopedia Britannica. 18 July 2018. <https://www.britannica.com/technology/Y2K-bug>.

Revving I’m convinced that no one actually listens to podcasts. Or maybe it’s just that no one admits it. This is partially because a podcast falls between fetish and precious. Listening to a podcast is at once intimate, someone speaking directly to you through your AirPods, and distant, since you’re likely listening by yourself. Listening to a podcast is weird enough; talking about listening to a podcast makes other people feel uncomfortable. This is why no one listens to podcasts while doing nothing else. Podcasts encourage passive listening; they compel active participation in something other than the podcast. There’s a suggested utility to listening to a podcast while doing something else—walking your cockapoo around the block, rearranging your bookshelf, prepping your meals—like you’re performing your practicality for the world. Listening to a podcast is not sufficient. When listening to a podcast, you simultaneously do something else to justify the listening. Podcasts are relatively new, as academic texts go. Yet they have been quickly taken up as technologies and artifacts of analysis (Vásquez), tools for teaching writing (Bowie), and modes of distributing scholarship (McGregor and Copeland). Podcasts are also, importantly, not simply audio versions of written essays (Detweiller), or non-visual equivalents of videos (Vásquez). Podcasts represent genres and opportunities for rhetorical choice that instructors cannot assume students already possess expected literacies for (Bourelle, Bourelle, and Jones). Paralleling much service work at institutions of higher education, women scholars and scholars of colour take on inequitable labour with podcast scholarship (Faison et al.; Shamburg). A promising new direction challenges the raced and gendered stereotypes of the genre and mode, highlighting podcasts as an anti-racist and anti-disinformation tool (Vrikki) and a way to engage reluctant students in critical race discourse (Harris). And, with so many podcasts accessible on virtually any topic imaginable, podcasts have more recently emerged as reliable secondary sources for academic research, a usage accelerated by the availability of audio versions of scholarly publications and professional academics composing podcasts to distribute and conduct their research. When we incorporate podcasts into our academic work, new connections become recognisable: connections between ourselves and other humans, ourselves and other things, and things and other things—including the connections between audio and work. Podcasts maintain their histories as a passive medium. A student can listen to a podcast for class while making dinner and keeping an eye on their family. A professional academic might more dutifully pay attention to the content of the podcast, but they’ll also attune to how the physical experience of doing research that way affects their work, their findings, and themself. When considered as academic work, as in this piece, podcasts persuade us to pay attention to methods, materiality, networks, and embodiment. Methods I listen to podcasts in the car, most often while driving to and from work. Listening to podcasts while commuting is common. Yet listening beyond content immersion or distraction, listening as part of an intentional methodology—formulating a plan, rhetorically listening, taking audio notes, annotating and building on those notes later—maybe less so. This intentional, rhetorical approach to listening while driving attunes the researcher to the embodied, physical aspects of each of these activities: research, driving, and listening. As a result, the research experience provides different kinds of opportunities for invention and reflection. My process is as follows: first, I curate a playlist based around a specific research question or agenda. This playlist will include selected episodes from podcasts that I have evaluated as reliable on a given topic. This evaluation is usually based on a combination of factors, mainly my familiarity with the podcast, the professional credentials (academic or otherwise) of the podcast hosts and guests, and recommendations from other researchers or podcasters. I also consider the structure of the podcast and the quality of the audio recording, because if I can’t hear the content, or if I must spend more time skipping ads than actively listening, then the podcast isn’t very usable for this stage of my research process. I will sometimes include single episodes of podcasts I’m less familiar with, usually because I noticed them pitched on one of my social media feeds and as a trial to see if I want to subscribe to the podcast. The playlist is arranged in what I hope will be a coherent order based on the episode descriptions. For example, sequencing episodes of Have You Heard (Berkshire and Schneider), Talking Race, Africa and People (Tiluk and Hope), and Is This Democracy (Mason and Zimmer) with the titles, "Digging Deep into the Education Wars”, “They Stole WOKE”, and “‘Cancel Culture’: How a Moral Panic Is Capturing America and the World” places these sources in conversation with each other, juxtaposes the arguments, and allows me to synthesise my own comprehensive response. Second, I listen. Ratcliffe positioned rhetorical listening as a performative “trope for interpretive invention” and a method for “facilitating cross-cultural dialogues” within composition studies (196). Listening is a thing we do in order to do something else. Under this framework, the listener/researcher approaches their task with goals of understanding and responsibility to themselves and others, which then affords opportunities to identify commonalities and differences within claims and cultural logics (204). In other words, by paying closer attention to who we are and who we’re listening to, and by listening in good faith, we can better understand what and why people are saying and doing what they are, and when we understand those better, we are better equipped for future action. Listening rhetorically can be an anchor when researching with podcasts, a modality notoriously coded and memed as white, male, and upper middle class (Locke; Morgan; “A Group of White Men Is Called a Podcast”). The technologies I use during this research afford and constrain, which leads to the third aspect: notetaking. I can’t write while driving. I tend to forget important bits. But the act of listening opens me up to things I might otherwise have missed. Sound, Detweiler shows, “affords different modes of composing, listening, thinking, and responding”. To facilitate my listening as invention, I added myself to my contacts list so that I can talk-to-text myself with questions about what I’m listening to, names and key terms that I need to look up later, and starter drafts of my own writing. While driving, I can “favourite” an episode while on the go, a marker to myself to re-listen and inspect the episode transcript. Later, at my work desk, I decipher whatever it is my phone’s text messaging app thought I said. “Anna Genesis Evolution from one species to another.” “Ben sick something at the bottom of the sea.” “Dinosaurs and dragons make each other plausible.” (Pretty sure my phone got that last one right.) There, my workflow is mediated by expected reading research technologies (word processing application, PDF viewer, boutique file organisation and annotation software), agents (desk, chair, and lighting selected by my employer to improve my productivity), and processes (coding transcripts, annotating secondary sources, writing, and revising). Materiality My methodology is an auditory variation of McNely’s visual fieldwork, which “attempts to render visible the environs, objects, sensations, and affects of inquiry” ("Lures" 216). Podcasts are expressions of physicality that bring together a confluence of networked actors, technologies, and spaces. Moreover, a podcast is itself a material artifact in the most literal sense: sound is a physical phenomenon, emitting and reverberating waves stimulating effects in our body and affecting physio-emotional responses. Inside my car, there is little impeding the sound waves emitting from the speakers and into my ears. Diffraction is minimal; the sound fills the interior of my vehicle so quickly that I can’t perceive that it is moving. I’m surrounded by the sound of the podcast, but not in the sense that is usually meant by “surround sound”. I’m also inundated by other sounds, the noises of driving that the twenty-first-century commuter has been conditioned to render ambient: the buzz of other vehicles passing me, the hum of my tyres on asphalt, the squeak of brakes and crunch of slowly turning tyres. Listening to a podcast in the car is like sitting in on a conversation that you can’t participate in. Slate magazine’s sports podcast “Hang Up and Listen” plays with this expectation, taking its name for the clichéd valediction that callers to local sports radio shows would say to indicate that they are done asking their question, signifying to the host that it’s their turn again. It’s a shibboleth through which the caller acknowledges and performs the participatory role of the listener as an actor within the network of the show. McNely writes that when he walks, “there are sounds in me, around me, passing through me. When I walk, I feel wind, mist, sleet. When I walk, I feel bass, treble, empathy. When I walk, I feel arguments, metaphors, dialogues—in my gut, in my chest” (Engaging 184). His attunement to all of these elicits physical sensations and emotional responses, and the sounds of the podcast cause similar responses for me. I jostle in my seat. I tense up, grip the steering wheel, and grind my teeth. I sigh, guffaw, roll my eyes, and yell. I pause—both my movement and the podcast app—to let a potential response roll about in my head. I’m in the car, but podcasts attempt to place me somewhere else through ambient worldbuilding: the clinking of cups and spoons to let me know the conversation is taking place in a coffee shop, the chirps of frogs and bugs to make me feel like I’m with the guest interviewee at the Amazonian research site, the clamour of a teacher calling their third-grade class to attention as a lead in for a discussion of public school funding. The arrangement and design of the podcast takes the listener to the world within the podcast, and it reminds me how the podcast, and myself, my car, and the listening are connected to everything else. Networks I am employed at an institution with a “distributed campus”, with multiple sites spread across the local region and online, without an officially designated central campus. Faculty and students attend these different places based on appointment, proximity, and preference. I teach classes in person on two of the campuses, sometimes at both simultaneously connected via videoconference. So where is the location of my class? It’s the physical campuses, certainly. It’s also the online space where the class meets, the locations where users join from (home, a dorm room, their workplace, etc.), and the Internet connecting those people and spaces. The class is transnational, as many of our students live in the neighbouring country. The class is also in between and in transit, with students using the shuttle bus Wi-Fi to complete work or join meetings. As with the research methodology detailed above, the class is moving between the static places, too, as the instructor and students alike travel to teach or attend class or book it home to join via videoconference in time. The institution’s networks enact Detweiller’s characterisation of podcasts as enacting both rhetorical distribution and circulation. Taken together, “distribution is not a strictly one-to-many phenomenon”. Yes, it’s “a conception of rhetoric that challenges but does not erase the role of human agency in rhetorical causes and effects”, but it’s also the physical networks and “supply chains” that move things. In both cases, the decentralisation draws attention away from individual nodes and to the network and the interconnections between various actors. Consider the routes the podcast takes. I start the episode as I leave my driveway. By the time I reach the highway, the podcast has made it through its preamble and first ad read. The episode travels with me in the car along my route, the sound of a single word literally takes up physical space on the highway. Ideas stretch for miles. I make the entire trip in a single episode. I then assign that episode to my students, who take the podcast with them. It moves at different speeds but also at the same speed (unless a particular listener sets their playback at a faster pace). In some ways, it’s the same sound, yet in other ways—time, space, distribution, audience—the same episode makes a different sound. Meanwhile, the podcast hosts remain in their recording booth, simultaneously locked into and moving through spacetime. Further, by analysing the various texts surrounding my listening to podcasts, we can see a multimodal genre ecology of signs, roadways, mapped and unmapped routes, turn-by-turn navigation apps, as well as other markers of location and direction, like billboards, water towers in the distance, the setting sun, and that one tree in a field that doesn’t belong there but lets me know I’ve passed the midpoint of my commute. Visual cues are perhaps more easily felt, but Rickert reminds us that “we consciously and unconsciously depend on sound to orient, situate, and wed ourselves to the places we inhabit” (152). The three-note dinging of a railroad crossing halts drivers even without visual confirmation of an oncoming train. The brutal springtime crosswind announces its presence on my passenger window, giving me a split second to steady the wheel. The lowering pitch of the pavement as I take the exit towards my house. The network of audio extends beyond the situations of the researcher and draws attention to what Barad referred to as “entangled material agencies” resulting in “networks or assemblages of humans and nonhumans” (1118, 1131). The network of my podcast listening accounts for the mobile device that we use to access content, the digital networks that I download episodes over, as well as the physical infrastructures that enable those networks, the hosting services and recording technologies and funding mechanisms used by the podcasters, the distribution of campuses, the roads I travel on, the tonnage of steel and plastic that I manipulate while researching, and that’s even before we get to everything else that impacts on my listening, like weather, traffic, the pathways all these material items took to get where they are, the head cold impacting on my hearing, my personal history of hearing different sounds, and on and on. Embodiment I listen to podcasts in the car while commuting to work. A more accurate way of putting that would be to say that commuting is work, which I mean twice over. First, a commute is likely a requisite component of your job. This is not to assign full culpability to one actor or another; the length of your commute likely owes to various factors—availability of affordable housing, proximity of worksite relative to your home, competing duties of family care, etc.—but a commute is and should be considered part of the work. Even if you’re not getting paid for it, even if the neoliberal economic system that overarches your life has convinced you that you are actively choosing to commute as part of the mutually and equally entered-into contract with your employer, you’re on the clock when commuting because you’re doing that action because of the work. If your response to this is, “then what about people who work from home? Should their personal devices and monthly Internet costs be considered work expenses? Or what about the time it takes to get up early to put makeup on or prepare lunches for their kids? Does all that count as work?” Yes. Yes, it does. The farmer’s day doesn’t start when they milk the cow, it starts as soon as they wake up. It starts before then, even. We are entangled with our work selves. Lately, I’ve begun logging these listening commutes on my weekly timesheet. It’s not an official record: salaried employees at my institution are not required to keep track of their work hours. Instead, it’s a routine and technical document I developed to help me get things done, an artifact of procedural rhetoric and the broader genre ecology of my work. Second, commuting is a physical act. It is work. We walk to bus and train stops and stand around waiting. We power our bicycles. We drive our vehicles, manoeuvring through streets and turns and other drivers. The deleterious effects of sitting down for prolonged periods for work, including while commuting, are well documented (Ding et al.). Driving itself is an act that places the human—the driver, passengers, and pedestrians—in greater physical danger than flying, or riding a train, or swimming with sharks. Research in this way presents a different kind of epistemic risk. Arriving So, the question I’m left to codify is what does this commuting audio research methodology offer for researchers that other, more traditional approaches, might not? Rickert analysed an electric car as “inherently suasive”, as it “participates in the conflicted discourses about that built environment and showcases some fundamental preconceptions rooted into our everyday ways of being together” (263). I’m alone in the car, but every sound reminds me of how I am connected to someone or something else. Of course, neither commuting nor listening to podcasts are exclusively solo endeavours: people carpool to work, and fans attend live recordings of their favourite shows. Perhaps listening while driving causes me to pay closer attention to what’s being said, the way you seem to learn the words of a song better when listening and singing along in the car. There are different kinds of distractions when driving versus sitting at one’s desk to read or listen (although it’s fair to say that the podcast itself is the distraction from what I should be paying the most attention to when driving). Anyone who has taken a long road trip alone can tell you about the opportunities it provides to sit with one’s thoughts, to spend uninterrupted time and miles turning over an idea in your mind, to reflect at length on a single topic, to rant to the noise of the road. Maybe that’s what a commuting podcast methodology affords: isolated moments surrounded by sound, away from the overtly audio, and connected to the rest of the world. References “A Group of White Men Is Called a Podcast.” Know Your Meme, 20 Feb. 2019. 6 Mar. 2024 <https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/a-group-of-white-men-is-called-a-podcast>. Barad, Karen. Meeting the Universe Halfway: Quantum Physics and the Entanglement of Matter and Meaning. Durham: Duke UP, 2007. Berkshire, Jennifer, and Jack Schneider, hosts. “Digging Deep into the Education Wars.” Have You Heard 156 (4 May 2023). <https://www.haveyouheardpodcast.com/episodes/156-digging-deep-into-the-education-wars?rq=woke>. Bourelle, Andrew, Tiffany Bourelle, and Natasha Jones. “Multimodality in the Technical Communication Classroom: Viewing Classical Rhetoric through a 21st Century Lens.” Technical Communication Quarterly 24.4 (2015): 306-327. Bowie, Jennifer L. “Podcasting in a Writing Class? Considering the Possibilities.” Kairos: A Journal of Rhetoric, Technology, and Pedagogy 16.2 (2012). 29 Nov. 2023 <https://kairos.technorhetoric.net/16.2/topoi/bowie/index.html>. Detweiler, Eric. “The Bandwidth of Podcasting.” Tuning in to Soundwriting, special issue of enculturation/Intermezzo. 9 Feb. 2024 <http://intermezzo.enculturation.net/14-stedman-et-al/detweiler.html>. Ding, Ding, et al. “Driving: A Road to Unhealthy Lifestyles and Poor Health Outcomes.” Plos One 9.6. 15 Feb. 2024 <https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0094602>. Faison, Wonderful, et al. “White Benevolence: Why Supa-Save-a-Savage Rhetoric Ain’t Getting It.” In Counterstories from the Writing Center, eds. Wonderful Faison and Frankie Condon. Logan: Utah State UP. 81-94. Harris, Jasmine. “Podcast Talk and Public Sociology: Teaching Critical Race Discourse Participation through Podcast Production.” About Campus 24.3 (2019): 16-20. Locke, Charley. “Podcasts' Biggest Problem Isn't Discovery, It's Diversity.” Wired, 31 Aug. 2015. 6 Mar. 2024 <https://www.wired.com/2015/08/podcast-discovery-vs-diversity/>. Mason, Lily, and Thomas, hosts. “‘Cancel Culture’: How a Moral Panic Is Capturing America and the World – with Adrian Daub.” Is This Democracy 24 (16 May 2023). <https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/24-cancel-culture-how-a-moral-panic-is-capturing/id1652741954?i=1000612321369>. McGregor, Hannah, and Stacey Copeland. “Why Podcast? Podcasting as Publishing, Sound-Based Scholarship, and Making Podcasts Count.” Kairos: A Journal of Rhetoric, Technology, and Pedagogy 27.1 (2022). 15 Feb. 2024 <https://kairos.technorhetoric.net/27.1/topoi/mcgregor-copeland/index.html>. McNely, Brian. “Lures, Slimes, Time: Viscosity and the Nearness of Distance.” Philosophy & Rhetoric 52.3 (2019): 203-226. ———. Engaging Ambience: Visual and Multisensory Methodologies and Rhetorical Theory. Logan: Utah State UP, 2024. Morgan, Josh. “Data Confirm That Podcasting in the US Is a White Male Thing.” Quartz, 12 Jan. 2016. 6 Mar. 2024 <https://qz.com/591440/data-confirm-that-podcasting-in-the-us-is-a-white-male-thing>. Ratcliffe, Krista. “Rhetorical Listening: A Trope for Interpretive Invention and a 'Code of Cross-Cultural Conduct'.” College Composition and Communication 51.2 (1999): 195-224. Rickert, Thomas. Ambient Rhetoric: The Attunements of Rhetorical Being. Pittsburgh: U of Pittsburgh P, 2013. Shamburg, Christopher. “Rising Waves in Informal Education: Women of Color with Educationally Oriented Podcasts.” Education and Information Technologies 26 (2021): 699–713. Tiluk, Daniel, and Have Hope, hosts. “They Stole WOKE.” Talking Race, Africa and People 1 (14 Apr. 2023). <https://podcasts.apple.com/ca/podcast/01-they-stole-woke/id1682830005?i=1000609221830> Vásquez, Camilla. Research Methods for Digital Discourse Analysis. London, Bloomsbury, 2022. Vrikki, Photini, and Sarita Malik. “Voicing Lived-Experience and Anti-Racism: Podcasting as a Space at the Margins for Subaltern Counterpublics.” Popular Communication 17.4 (2018): 273-287.

Ways of Seeing"Images … define our experiences more precisely in areas where words are inadequate." (Berger 33)"Different skins, you know, different ways of seeing the world." (Morrison)The research question animating this article is: 'How does an individual creative worker re-present themselves as a contemporary - and evolving - brand?' Berger notes that the "principal aim has been to start a process of questioning" (5), and the raw material energising this exploration is the life's work of Richard Morrison, the creative director and artist who is the key moving force behind The Morrison Studio collective of designers, film makers and visual effects artists, working globally but based in London. The challenge of maintaining currency in this visually creative marketplace includes seeing what is unique about your potential contribution to a larger project, and communicating it in such a way that this forms an integral part of an evolving brand - on trend, bleeding edge, but reliably professional. One of the classic outputs of Morrison's oeuvre, for example, is the title sequence for Terry Gilliam's Brazil.Passion cannot be seen yet Morrison conceives it as the central engine that harnesses skills, information and innovative ways of working to deliver the unexpected and the unforgettable. Morrison's perception is that the design itself can come after the creative artist has really seen and understood the client's perspective. As he says: "What some clients are interested in is 'How can we make money from what we're doing?'" Seeing the client, and the client's motivating needs, is central to Morrison's presentation of self as a brand: "the broader your outlook as a creative, the more chance you have of getting it right". Jones and Warren draw attention to one aspect of this dynamic: "Wealthy and private actors, both private and state, historically saw creative practice as something that money was spent on - commissioning a painting or a sculpture, giving salaries to composers to produce new works and so forth. Today, creativity has been reimagined as something that should directly or indirectly make money" (293). As Berger notes, "We never look at just one thing; we are always looking at the relation between things and ourselves…The world-as-it-is is more than pure objective fact, it includes consciousness" (9, 11). What is our consciousness around the creative image?Individuality is central to Berger's vision of the image in the "specific vision of the image-maker…the result of an increasing consciousness of individuality, accompanying an increasing awareness of history" (10). Yet, as Berger argues "although every image embodies a way of seeing, our perception or appreciation of an image depends also upon our own way of seeing" (10). Later, Berger links the meanings viewers attribute to images as indicating the "historical experience of our relation to the past…the experience of seeking to give meaning to our lives" (33). The seeing and the seeking go hand in hand, and constitute a key reason for Berger's assertion that "the entire art of the past has now become a political issue" (33). This partly reflects the ways in which it is seen, and in which it is presented for view, by whom, where and in which circumstances.The creation of stand-out images in the visually-saturated 21st century demands a nuanced understanding of ways in which an idea can be re-presented for consumption in a manner that makes it fresh and arresting. The focus on the individual also entails an understanding of the ways in which others are valuable, or vital, in completing a coherent package of skills to address the creative challenge to hand. It is self-evident that other people see things differently, and can thus enrich the broadened outlook identified as important for "getting it right". Morrison talks about "little core teams, there's four or five of you in a hub… [sometimes] spread all round the world, but because of the Internet and the way things work you can still all be connected". Team work and members' individual personalities are consequently combined, in Morrison's view, with the core requirement of passion. As Morrison argues, "personality will carry you a long way in the creative field".Morrison's key collaborator, senior designer and creative partner/art director Dean Wares lives in Valencia, Spain whereas Morrison is London-based and their clients are globally-dispersed. Although Morrison sees the Internet as a key technology for collaboratively visualising the ways in which to make a visual impact, Berger points to the role of the camera in relation to the quintessential pre-mechanical image: the painting. It is worth acknowledging here that Berger explicitly credits Walter Benjamin, including the use of his image (34), as the foundation for many of Berger's ideas, specifically referencing Benjamin's essay "The work of art in the age of mechanical reproduction". Noting that, prior to the invention of the camera, a painting could never be seen in more than one place at a time, Berger suggests that the camera foments a revolutionary transformation: "its meaning changes. Or, more exactly, its meaning multiplies and fragments into many meanings" (19). This disruption is further fractured once that camera-facilitated image is viewed on a screen, ubiquitous to Morrison's stock in trade, but in Berger's day (1972) particularly associated with the television:The painting enters each viewer's house. There it is surrounded by his wallpaper, his furniture, his mementoes. It enters the atmosphere of his family. It becomes their talking point. It lends its meaning to their meaning. At the same time it enters a million other houses and, in each of them, is seen in a different context. Because of the camera, the painting now travels to the spectator, rather than the spectator to the painting. In its travels, its meaning is diversified. (Berger, 19-20)Even so, that image, travelling through space and time is seen on the screen in a sequential and temporal context: "because a film unfolds in time and a painting does not. In a film the way one image follows another, their succession constructs an argument which becomes irreversible. In a painting all its elements are there to be seen simultaneously." Both these dynamics, the still and the sequence, are key to the work of a visual artist such as Morrison responsible for branding a film, television series or event. But the works also create an unfolding sequence which tells a different story to each recipient according to the perceptions of the viewer/reader. For example, instead of valorising Gilliam's Brazil, Morrison's studio could have been tagged with Annaud's Enemy at the Gates or, even, the contemporary Sky series, Niel Jordan's Riviera. Knowing this sequence, and that the back catalogue begins with The Who's Quadrophenia (1979), changes the way we see what the Morrison Studio is doing now.Ways of WorkingRichard Morrison harnesses an evolutionary metaphor to explain his continuing contribution to the industry: "I've adapted, and not been a dinosaur who's just sunk in the mud". He argues that there is a need to explore where "the next niche is and be prepared for change 'cause the only constant thing in life is change. So as a creative you need to have that known." Effectively, adaptation and embracing innovation has become a key part of the Morrison Studio's brand. It is trumpeted in the decision that Morrison and Ware made when they decided to continue their work together, even after Ware moved to Spain. This demonstrated, in an age of faxes and landlines, that the Morrison Studio could make cross country collaboration work: the multiple locations championed the fact that they were open for business "without boundaries".There was travel, too, and in those early pre-Internet days of remote location Morrison was a frequent visitor to the United States. "I'd be working in Los Angeles and he'd be wherever he was […] we'd use snail mail to actually get stuff across, literally post it by FedEx […]." The intercontinental (as opposed to inter-Europe) collaboration had the added value of offering interlocking working days: "I'd go to sleep, he wakes up […] We were actually doubling our capacity." If anything, these dynamics are more entrenched with better communications. Currah argues that Hollywood attempts to manage the disruptive potential of the internet by "seeking to create a 'closed' sphere of innovation on a global scale […] legitimated, enacted and performed within relational networks" (359). The Morrison Studio's own dispersed existence is one element of these relational networks.The specific challenge of technological vulnerability was always present, however, long before the Internet: "We'd have a case full of D1 tapes" - the professional standard video tape (1986-96) - "and we'd carefully make sure they'd go through the airport so they don't get rubbed […] what we were doing is we were fitting ourselves up for the new change". At the same time, although the communication technologies change, there are constants in the ways that people use them. Throughout Morrison's career, "when I'm working for Americans, which I'm doing a lot, they expect me to be on the telephone at midnight [because of time zones]. […] They think 'Oh I want to speak to Richard now. Oh it's midnight, so what?' They still phone up. That's constant, that never goes away." He argues that American clients are more complex to communicate with than his Scandinavian clients, giving the example that people assume a UK-US consistency because they share the English language. But "although you think they're talking in a tongue that's the same, their meaning and understanding can sometimes be quite a bit different." He uses the example of the A4 sheet of paper. It has different dimensions in the US than in the UK, illustrating those different ways of seeing.Morrison believes that there are four key constants in his company's continuing success: deadlines; the capacity to scope a job so that you know who and how many people to pull in to it to meet the deadline; librarian skills; and insecurity. The deadlines have always been imposed on creative organisations by their clients, but being able to deliver to deadlines involves networks and self-knowledge: "If you can't do it yourself find a friend, find somebody that's good at adding up, find somebody that's good at admin. You know, don't try and take on what you can't do. Put your hand up straight away, call in somebody that can help you". Chapain and Comunian's work on creative and cultural industries (CCIs) also highlights the importance of "a new centrality to the role of individuals and their social networks in understanding the practice of CCIs" (718).Franklin et al. suggest that this approach, adopted by The Morrison Studio, is a microcosm of the independent film sector as a whole. They argue that "the lifecycle of a film is segmented into sequential stages, moving through development, financing, production, sales, distribution and exhibition stages to final consumption. Different companies, each with specialized project tasks, take on responsibility and relative financial risk and reward at each stage" (323). The importance that Morrison places on social networks, however, highlights the importance of flexibility within relationships of trust - to the point where it might be as valid to engage someone on the basis of a history of working with that person as on the basis of that person's prior experience. As Cristopherson notes, "many creative workers are in vaguely defined and rapidly changing fields, seemingly making up their careers as they go along" (543).The skills underlying Morrison's approach to creative collaboration, however, include a clear understanding of one's own strength and weaknesses and a cool evaluation of others, "just quietly research people". This people-based research includes both the capabilities of potential colleagues, in order to deliver the required product in the specified time frame, along with research into creative people whose work is admired and who might provide a blueprint for how to arrive at an individual's dream role. Morrison gives the example of Quentin Tarantino's trajectory to directing: "he started in a video rental and all he did is watch lots and lots of films, particularly westerns and Japanese samurai films and decided 'I can do that'". One of his great pleasures now is to mentor young designers to help them find their way in the industry. That's a strategy that may pay dividends into the future, via Storper and Scott's "traded and untraded interdependencies" which are, according to Gornostaeva, "expressed as the multiple economic and social transactions that the participants ought to conduct if they wish to perpetuate their existence" (39).As for the library skills, he says that they are crucial but a bit comical:It's a bit like being a constant librarian in old-fashioned terms, you know, 'Where is that stuff stored?' Because it's not stored in a plan chest anymore where you open the drawer and there it is. It's now stored in, you know, big computers, in a cloud. 'Where did we put that file? Did we dump it down? Have we marked it up? […] Where's it gone? What did we do it on?'While juggling the demands of technology, people and product The Morrison brand involves both huge confidence and chronic insecurity. The confidence is evident in the low opinion Morrison has of the opportunities offered by professional disruptor sites such as 99designs: "I can't bear anything like that. I can see why it's happening but I think what you're doing is devaluing yourself even before you start […] it would destroy your self-belief in what you're doing". At the same time, Morrison says, his security is his own insecurity: "I'm always out hunting to see what could be next […] the job you finish could be your last job."Ways of BrandingChristopherson argues that there is "considerable variation in the occupational identities of new media workers among advanced economies. In some economies, new media work is evolving in a form that is closer to that of the professional [in contrast to economies where it is] an entrepreneurial activity in which new media workers sell skills and services in a market" (543). For The Morrison Studio, its breadth, history and experience supports their desire to be branded as professional, but their working patterns entirely resonate with, and are integrated within, the entrepreneurial. Seeing their activity in this way is a juxtaposition with the proposition advanced by Berger that:The existing social conditions make the individual feel powerless. He lives in the contradiction between what he is and what he would like to be. Either he then becomes fully conscious of the contradiction and its causes, and so joins the political struggle for a full democracy which entails, among other things, the overthrow of capitalism; or else he lives, continually subject to an envy which, compounded with his sense of powerlessness, dissolves into recurrent day-dreams (148).The role of the brand, and its publicity, is implicated by Berger in both the tension between what an individual is and what s/he would like to be; and in the creation of an envy that subjugates people. For Berger, the brand is about publicity and the commodifying of the future. Referring to publicity images, Berger argues that "they never speak of the present. Often they refer to the past and always they speak of the future". Brands are created and marketed by such publicity images that are often, these days, incorporated within social media and websites. At the same time, Berger argues that "Publicity is about social relationships, not objects [or experiences]. Its promise is not of pleasure, but of happiness: happiness as judged from the outside by others. The happiness of being envied is glamour." It is the dual pressure from the perception of the gap between the individual's actual and potential life, and the daydreaming and envy of that future, that helps construct Berger's powerless individual.Morrison's view, fashioned in part by his success at adapting, at not being a dinosaur that sinks into the mud, is that the authenticity lies in the congruence of the brand and the belief. "A personal brand can help you straight away but as long as you believe it […] You have to be true to what you're about and then it works. And then the thing becomes you [… you] just go for it and, you know, don't worry about failure. Failure will happen anyway".Berger's commentary on publicity is partially divergent from branding. Publicity is generally a managed message, on that is paid for and promoted by the person or entity concerned. A brand is a more holistic construction and is implicated in ways of seeing in that different people will have very different perceptions of the same brand. Morrison's view of his personal brand, and the brand of the Morrison Studio, is that it encompasses much more than design expertise and technical know-how. He lionises the role of passion and talks about the importance of ways of managing deadlines, interlocking skills sets, creative elements and the insecurity of uncertainty.For the producers who hire Morrison, and help build his brand, Berger's observation of the importance of history and the promise for the future remains key to their hiring decisions. Although carefully crafted, creative images are central to the Morrison Studio's work, it is not the surface presentation of those images that determines the way their work is perceived by people in the film industry, it is the labour and networks that underpin those images. While Morrison's outputs form part of the visual environment critiqued in Ways of Seeing, it is informed by the dynamics of international capitalism via global networks and mobility. Although one of myriad small businesses that help make the film industry the complex and productive creative sphere that it is, Morrison Studios does not so much seek to create a public brand as to be known and valued by the small group of industry players upon whom the Studio relies for its existence. Their continued future depends upon the ways in which they are seen.ReferencesBenjamin, Walter. Illuminations: Essays and Reflections. United States of America, 1969.Berger, John. Ways of Seeing. London: Penguin Books, 1972.Brazil. Dir. Terry Gilliam. Universal Pictures. 1985. Film. Chapain, Caroline, and Roberta Comunian. "Enabling and Inhibiting the Creative Economy: The Role of the Local and Regional Dimensions in England." Regional Studies 44.6 (2010): 717-734. Christopherson, Susan. "The Divergent Worlds of New Media: How Policy Shapes Work in the Creative Economy." Review of Policy Research 21.4 (2004): 543-558. Currah, Andrew. "Hollywood, the Internet and the World: A Geography of Disruptive Innovation." Industry and Innovation 14.4 (2007): 359-384. Enemies at the Gates. Dir. Jean-Jacques Annaud. Paramount. 2001. FilmFranklin, Michael, et al. "Innovation in the Application of Digital Tools for Managing Uncertainty: The Case of UK Independent Film." Creativity and Innovation Management 22.3 (2013): 320-333. Gornostaeva, Galina. "The Wolves and Lambs of the Creative City: The Sustainability of Film and Television Producers in London." Geographical Review (2009): 37-60. Jones, Phil, and Saskia Warren. "Time, Rhythm and the Creative Economy." Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 41.3 (2016): 286-296. Morrison, Richard. Personal Interview. 13 Oct 2016.The Morrison Studio. The Morrison Studio, 2017. 16 June 2017 <https://themorrisonstudio.com/>.Quadrophenia. Dir. Franc Roddam. Brent Walker Film Distributing. 1979. Film.Riviera. Dir. Neil Jordan. Sky Atlantic HD. 2017. Film.Storper, Michael, and Scott, Allen. "The Geographical Foundations and Social Regulation of Flexible Production Complexes". The Power of Geography: How Territory Shapes Social Life. Eds. Jennifer Wolch and Michael Dear. New York: Routledge, 1989. 21-40.