Journal articles on the topic 'COLLARED FLOATER'

Figures and objects float in the luminous depths of Bunch Washington’s Transparent Collages, creations that are fascinating assemblages of textures and colors changing and expanding as the light caresses them at varying angles and at varying degrees of intensity.....

The main structure of bearing frame for pressure test device and it’s functions are described in this paper. For the pressure test device with float collar and float shoe, the screw transmits movement with standing pressuring load. According to the needs of actual production and the requirements of test sample pressuring, this paper designed a drive mechanism for screw rod, calculated the stress and checked the correlated stiffness. The result shows that it is reasonable, safe and reliable for screw-drive mechanism, depending on the operation behavior of float collar and float shoe pressure test device.

The mechanisms for the regulation of ciliogenesis and for the synthesis of mucus are not well understood. We sought to develop a culture system for differentiating ciliated and secretory types of human respiratory epithelial (HRE) cells. Dissociated HRE cells obtained from nasal polyps and maxillary sinus mucosa were cultured on type I collagen gel. Cells grown to confluence on collagen gel lost their cilia and exhibited a flat, squamouslike appearance. After reaching confluence, the cultured cells with a collagen gel substrate were removed from plastic dishes and floated in the culture medium. After 7 days in the floating culture, some cells exhibited several centrioles or basal bodies, while others showed secretory granules. The secretory phenotype predominated after 7 days. After 14 days in the floating culture, nearly all cells were ciliated. The results demonstrate that the differentiation of HRE cells can be induced by floating cultured cells with a collagen gel substrate in a defined culture medium.

Several previous studies have demonstrated that mammary epithelial cells from pregnant mice retain their differentiated characteristics and their secretory potential in culture only when maintained on stromal collagen gels floated in the culture medium. The cellular basis for these culture requirements was investigated by the monitoring of milk protein synthesis and polarized secretion from the mouse mammary epithelial cell line, COMMA-1-D. Experiments were directed towards gaining an understanding of the possible roles of cell-extracellular matrix interactions and the requirements for meeting polarity needs of the epithelium. When cells are cultured on floating collagen gels they assemble a basal lamina-like structure composed of laminin, collagen (IV), and heparan sulfate proteoglycan at the interface of the cells with the stromal collagen. To assess the role of these components, an exogenous basement membrane containing these molecules was generated using the mouse endodermal cell line, PFHR-9. This matrix was isolated as a thin sheet attached to the culture dish, and mammary cells were then plated onto it. It was found that cultures on attached PFHR-9 matrices expressed slightly higher levels of beta-casein than did cells on plastic tissue culture dishes, and also accumulated a large number of fat droplets. However, the level of beta-casein was approximately fourfold lower than that in cultures on floating collagen gels. Moreover, the beta-casein made in cells on attached matrices was not secreted but was instead rapidly degraded intracellularly. If, however, the PFHR-9 matrices with attached cells were floated in the culture medium, beta-casein expression became equivalent to that in cells cultured on floating stromal collagen gels, and the casein was also secreted into the medium. The possibility that floatation of the cultures was necessary to allow access to the basolateral surface of cells was tested by culturing cells on nitrocellulose filters in Millicell (Millipore Corp., Bedford, MA) chambers. These chambers permit the monolayers to interact with the medium and its complement of hormones and growth factors through the basal cell surface. Significantly, under these conditions alpha 1-, alpha 2-, and beta-casein synthesis was equivalent to that in cells on floating gels and matrices, and, additionally, the caseins were actively secreted. Similar results were obtained independently of whether or not the filters were coated with matrices.(ABSTRACT TRUNCATED AT 400 WORDS)

To study motion range changes with wave condition and motion relationship between cages, physical model experiments were carried out. The authors designed 2 models of composite-type sea cages. Experimental data obtained by the CCD data acquisition system. The experiment results showed that 1.in the same period, horizontal motion range,vertical motion range and inclination changes of float collar increase with wave height; 2.In the same wave height, horizontal motion range of the float collar increases with period; 3.The laws between vertical motion and period are not obvious 4.The laws between inclination changes and period are not obvious 5.Motion range of the first cage along the direction of waves is less than other cages.

Fibroblasts can contract collagen gels, a process thought to be related to tissue remodeling. Because epithelial cells are also involved in repair responses, we postulated that human bronchial epithelial cells (HBECs) could cause contraction of collagen gels. To evaluate this, HBECs were plated on the top of native type I collagen gels and were incubated for 48 h. After this, the gels were released and floated in LHC-9-RPMI 1640 for varying times, and gel size was measured with an image analyzer. HBECs caused a marked contraction of the gels within 24 h; the area was reduced by 88 ± 4% ( P < 0.01). The degree of gel contraction was dependent on cell density; 12,500 cells/cm2 resulted in maximal contraction, and half-maximal contraction occurred at 7,500 cells/cm2. Contraction varied inversely with the collagen concentration (91 ± 1% with 0.5 mg/ml collagen vs. 43 ± 5% with 1.5 mg/ml collagen). In contrast to fibroblasts that contract gels most efficiently when cast into the gel, HBEC-mediated contraction was significantly ( P < 0.01) more efficient when cells were on top of the gels rather than when cast into the gels. Anti-β1-integrin antibody blocked HBEC-mediated contraction by >50%, whereas anti-α2-, anti-α3-, anti-αv-, anti-αvβ5-, anti-β2-, or anti-β4-integrin antibody was without effect. The combination of anti-β1-integrin antibody and an anti-α-subfamily antibody completely blocked gel contraction induced by HBECs. In contrast, anti-cellular fibronectin antibody did not block HBEC-induced gel contraction, whereas it did block fibroblast-mediated gel contraction. In summary, human airway epithelial cells can contract type I collagen gels, a process that appears to require integrins but may not require fibronectin. This process may contribute to airway remodeling.

Reconstituted basement membranes and extracellular matrices have been demonstrated to affect, positively and dramatically, the production of milk proteins in cultured mammary epithelial cells. Here we show that both the expression and the deposition of extracellular matrix components themselves are regulated by substratum. The steady-state levels of the laminin, type IV collagen, and fibronectin mRNAs in mammary epithelial cells cultured on plastic dishes and on type I collagen gels have been examined, as has the ability of these cells to synthesize, secrete, and deposit laminin and other, extracellular matrix proteins. We demonstrate de novo synthesis of a basement membrane by cells cultured on type I collagen gels which have been floated into the medium. Expression of the mRNA and proteins of basement membranes, however, are quite low in these cultures. In contrast, the levels of laminin, type IV collagen, and fibronectin mRNAs are highest in cells cultured on plastic surfaces, where no basement membrane is deposited. It is suggested that the interaction between epithelial cells and both basement membrane and stromally derived matrices exerts a negative influence on the expression of mRNA for extracellular matrix components. In addition, we show that the capacity for lactational differentiation correlates with conditions that favor the deposition of a continuous basement membrane, and argue that the interaction between specialized epithelial cells and stroma enables them to create their own microenvironment for accurate signal transduction and phenotypic function.

Proteolytic degradation of extracellular matrix is thought to play an important role in many lung disorders. In the current study, human lung fibroblasts were cast into type I collagen gels and floated in medium containing elastase, cytomix (combination of tumor necrosis factor-α, interleukin-1β, and interferon-γ), or both. After 5 days, gel collagen content was determined by measuring hydroxyproline. Elastase alone did not result in collagen degradation, but in the presence of fibroblasts, elastase reduced hydroxyproline content to 75.2% ( P < 0.01), whereas cytomix alone resulted in reduction of hydroxyproline content to 93% ( P < 0.05). The combination of elastase and cytomix reduced hydroxyproline content to 5.2% ( P < 0.01). α1-Proteinase inhibitor blocked this synergy. Gelatin zymography and Western blot revealed that matrix metalloproteinase (MMP)-1, -3, and -9 were induced by cytomix and activated in the presence of elastase. Tissue inhibitor of metalloproteinase (TIMP)-1 and -2 were also induced by cytomix but were cleaved by elastase. We conclude that a synergistic interaction between cytomix and elastase, mediated through cytokine induction of MMP production and elastase-induced activation of latent MMPs and degradation of TIMPs, can result in a dramatic augmentation of collagen degradation. These findings support the notion that interaction among inflammatory mediators secreted by mononuclear cells and neutrophils can induce tissue cells to degrade extracellular matrix. Such a mechanism may contribute to the protease-anti-protease imbalance in emphysema.

Nitric oxide (NO) relaxes vascular smooth muscle in part through an accumulation of cGMP in the target cells. We hypothesized that a similar effect may also exist on collagen gel contraction mediated by human fetal lung (HFL1) fibroblasts, a model of wound contraction. To evaluate this, HFL1 cells were cultured in three-dimensional type I collagen gels and floated in serum-free DMEM with and without various NO donors. Gel size was measured with an image analyzer. Sodium nitroprusside (SNP, 100 μM) significantly augmented collagen gel contraction by HFL1 cells (78.5 ± 0.8 vs. 58.3 ± 2.1, P < 0.01), whereas S-nitroso- N-acetylpenicillamine, 5-amino-3-(4-morpholinyl)-1,2,3-oxadiazolium chloride, NONOate, and N G-monomethyl-l-arginine did not affect the contraction. Sodium ferricyanide, sodium nitrate, or sodium nitrite was not active. The augmentory effect of SNP could not be blocked by 1 H-[1,2,4]-oxadiazolo-[4,3- a]-quinoxalin-1-one, whereas it was partially reversed by 8-(4-chlorophenylthio) (CPT)-cGMP. To further explore the mechanisms by which SNP acted, fibronectin and PGE2 production were measured by immunoassay after 2 days of gel contraction. SNP inhibited PGE2 production and increased fibronectin production by HFL1 cells in a concentration-dependent manner. CPT-cGMP had opposite effects on fibronectin and PGE2 production. Addition of exogenous PGE2 blocked SNP-augmented contraction and fibronectin production by HFL1 cells. Therefore, SNP was able to augment human lung fibroblast-mediated collagen gel contraction, an effect that appears to be independent of NO production and not mediated through cGMP. Decreased PGE2 production and augmented fibronectin production may have a role in this effect. These data suggest that human lung fibroblasts in three-dimensional type I collagen gels respond distinctly to SNP by mechanisms unrelated to the NO-cGMP pathway.

Matrix metalloproteinase-9 (MMP-9) is a matrix-degrading enzyme implicated in many biological processes, including inflammation. It is produced by many cells, including fibroblasts. When cultured in three-dimensional (3D) collagen gels, fibroblasts contract the surrounding matrix, a function that is thought to model the contraction that characterizes both normal wound repair and fibrosis. The current study was designed to evaluate the role of endogenously produced MMP-9 in fibroblast contraction of 3D collagen gels. Fibroblasts from mice lacking expression of MMP-9 and human lung fibroblasts (HFL-1) transfected with MMP-9 small-interfering RNA (siRNA) were used. Fibroblasts were cast into type I collagen gels and floated in culture medium with or without transforming growth factor (TGF)-β1 for 5 days. Gel size was determined daily using an image analysis system. Gels made from MMP-9 siRNA-treated human fibroblasts contracted less than control fibroblasts, as did fibroblasts incubated with a nonspecific MMP inhibitor. Similarly, fibroblasts cultured from MMP-9-deficient mice contracted gels less than did fibroblasts from control mice. Transfection of the MMP-9-deficient murine fibroblasts with a vector expressing murine MMP-9 restored contractile activity to MMP-9-deficient fibroblasts. Inhibition of MMP-9 reduced active TGF-β1 and reduced several TGF-β1-driven responses, including activity of a Smad3 reporter gene and production of fibronectin. Because TGF-β1 also drives fibroblast gel contraction, this suggests the mechanism for MMP-9 regulation of contraction is through the generation of active TGF-β1. This study provides direct evidence that endogenously produced MMP-9 has a role in regulation of tissue contraction of 3D collagen gels mediated by fibroblasts.

Connective tissue contraction is an important aspect of both normal wound healing and fibrosis. This process may contribute to small airway narrowing associated with certain airway diseases. Fibroblast-mediated contraction of a three-dimensional collagen gel has been considered a model of tissue contraction. In this study, the ability of primary cultured human bronchial epithelial cells (HBEC) obtained by bronchial brushings to modulate fibroblast gel contraction was evaluated. Human lung fibroblasts (HFL1) were cast into type I collagen gels. The gels were floated both in dishes containing a monolayer of HBEC or in dishes without HBEC. Contraction assessed by measuring the area of gels was increased at all time points from 24 h up to 96 h of coculture. At 48 h, coculture of HBEC with fibroblasts resulted in significantly more contraction than fibroblasts alone (36.6 ± 1.2 vs. 20.4 ± 1.7%, P < 0.05). Lipopolysaccharide (LPS, 10 μg/ml) stimulation of the HBEC augmented the contraction (44.9 ± 1.0%, P < 0.05 vs. HBEC). In the presence of indomethacin, the augmentation by LPS was increased further (52.2 ± 4.3%, P< 0.05 vs. HBEC with LPS), suggesting that prostaglandins (PGs) are present and may inhibit contraction. Consistent with this, PGE was present in HBEC-conditioned medium. Bronchial epithelial cell conditioned medium had an effect similar to coculturing. SG-150 column chromatography revealed augmentive activity between 20 and 30 kDa and inhibitory activity between 10 and 20 kDa. Measurement by enzyme-linked immunosorbent assay confirmed the presence of the active form of transforming growth factor (TGF)-β2. The stimulatory activity of conditioned medium was blocked by adding anti-TGF-β antibody. These data demonstrate that, through the release of factors including TGF-β2 which can augment and PGE which can inhibit, HBEC can modulate fibroblast-mediated collagen gel contraction. In this manner, HBEC may modulate fibroblast activities that determine the architecture of bronchial tissue.

The effect of tensile stress on the orientation and phenotype of arterial smooth muscle cells (SMCs) cultured in three-dimensional (3D) type I collagen gels was morphologically investigated. Ring-shaped hybrid tissues were prepared by thermal gelation of a cold mixed solution of type I collagen and SMCs derived from bovine aorta. The tissues were subjected to three different modes of tensile stress. They were floated (isotonic control), stretched isometrically (static stress) and periodically stretched and recoiled by 5% above and below the resting tissue length at 60 RPM frequency (dynamic stress). After incubation for up to four wk, the tissues were investigated under a light microscope (LM) and a transmission electron microscope (TEM). Hematoxylin and eosinstained LM samples revealed that, irrespective of static or dynamic stress loading, SMCs in stress-loaded tissues exhibited elongated bipolar spindle shape and were regularly oriented parallel to the direction of the strain, whereas those in isotonic control tissues were polygonal or spherical and had no preferential orientation. In Azan-stained samples, collagen fiber bundles in isotonic control tissues were somewhat retracted around the polygonal SMCs to form a random network. On the other hand, those in statically and dynamically stressed tissues were accumulated and prominently oriented parallel to the stretch direction. Ultrastructural investigation using a TEM showed that SMCs in control and statically stressed tissues were almost totally filled with synthetic organelles such as rough endoplasmic reticulums, free ribosomes, Golgi complexes and mitochondria, indicating that the cells remained in the synthetic phenotype. On the other hand, SMCs in dynamically stressed tissues had increased fractions of contractile apparatus, such as myofilaments, dense bodies and extracellular filamentous materials equivalent to basement membranes, that progressed with incubation time. These results indicate that periodic stretch, in concert with 3-D extracellular collagen matrices, play a significant role in the phenotypic modulation of SMCs from the synthetic to the contractile state, as well as cellular and biomolecular orientation.

The development of megasporocarps of Azolla microphylla, after the retention of a single functional megaspore within the megasporangium, was studied by light and transmission electron microscopy, using material grown under controlled conditions. The young megaspore contained a thin layer of cytoplasm with various organelles and was bounded by a thin exine. It was surrounded by a dense periplasmodial tapetum, which consisted of a peripheral vacuolate region, containing degenerated megaspores, a middle region containing nuclei and large organelles such as amyloplasts and mitochondria, and an inner zone, invaginated round the spore, comprising microtubules, ribosomes, and coated vesicles. At a later stage the exine increased in thickness, and greater vacuolation occurred at the periphery of the periplasmodium. The endoperine was formed by deposition of granular material between the exine and the periplasmodium, and further granular material deposited in small vacuoles gave rise to the exoperine. The floats were formed from three (tapetal) membrane-bounded chambers, in which granular material gradually became organised to form the pseudocells. Characteristic exoperinal filaments were formed in channels in the periplasmodium, which was eventually completely used up in the formation of floats, collar, and megaspore wall, in which sporopollenin was probably present. The megaspore itself became engorged with cytoplasm and storage products such as lipid and starch. Cells of Anabaena with relatively thick walls were present between the megasporangial wall and the indusium.

How we think about the future of the pipe industry must evolve. How must tubular design and manufacturing change as we transition to clean energy? Geothermal energy is an area that needs attention and, further, needs very specific attention on tubulars. Tubulars are an important component in the construction of geothermal wells, and we must align our requirements for geothermal energy. Some of the main challenges encountered in geothermal wells are corrosion and scaling. Moreover, temperature becomes a major consideration for tubulars, even more so with the temperature excursion during geothermal production. Perhaps the critical aspect in the design of the geothermal wells involves casing selection and design. Beyond manufacturing casing pipes to withstand these problems, considering the manufacturing of other components, such as connections, float collars, and float shoes, also is essential. Thermal expansion and thermal excursion of casings are well-integrity concerns; thus, casing design is important for long-term sustainability of geothermal wells. Apart from thermal simulations, guidelines and software are needed to undergird the designs to withstand not only temperature excursions but also thermomechanical and thermochemical loadings. Engineered nonmetallic casings also provide an alternative solution because they provide the desired strength and corrosion resistance in addition to meeting the goals of sustainability. Undoubtedly, the future of the tubular industry is going to be revitalized. The question now is how we can retrofit existing abandoned wells for this purpose. Recommended additional reading at OnePetro: www.onepetro.org. SPE 199570 - Special Considerations for Well-Tubular Design at Elevated Temperatures by Gang Tao, C-FER Technologies, et al.

Methods: Our research was scheduled in Southern Taiwan between April 2017 and December 2017. A total of 280 patients presenting 280 eyes were enrolled and received a series of ocular examinations. Each of our specially designed capsules contained 190 mg bromelain, 95 mg papain and 95 mg ficin. In Experiment 1, 120 subjects were classified into Group 1 (one symptomatic vitreous opacity (SVO)) and Group 2 (multiple SVOs) which each subject taking two capsules every day. In Experiment 2, 160 eyes with SVOs were randomly divided into four groups including the placebo; low protease group (LPG) (1 capsule/day); middle protease group (MPG) (2 capsules/day); and high protease group (HPG) (3 capsules/day), respectively. Finally, we analyzed the change in SVOs and checked the numbers of SVOs during and after three months in our study. Results: In Experiment 1, 80 subjects with one SVO were reduced to 24 cases (30.0%; 24/80), 40 participants with multiple SVOs were decreased to 11 cases (27.5%; 11/40) three months later. In Experiment 2, the numbers of patients with SVOs in the placebo group was similar after three months. The disappeared rates of SVOs by treatment with fruit enzymes was 65.5%, 70.0% and 75.5% and for those taking one, two and three capsules daily as therapy, respectively. Hence, the results showed that the effects of treating SVOs in a dose-dependent manner; the higher the dose, the greater the SVO reduction. We also suggested that the mechanisms of dissolving and absorbing SVOs may be due to the proteinase and associated hydrolysis and antioxidant activities that may clear the compromised opacity and scavenge free radicals in the vitreous. In addition, there were no serious side effects or discomfort during treatment. Conclusion: We demonstrated that mixed-fruit-enzyme including bromelain, papain and ficin may excise SVOs and even eliminate intraocular hemorrhage by cleaving the collagen fibrils and cellular debris that may induce ocular floaters.

Little is known about the regulation of apoptosis in fibroblasts although several model systems including serum deprivation and treatment with staurosporine or topoisomerase inhibitors have been used to induce apoptosis in vitro. To validate a reproducible in vitro model for the study of apoptosis in fibroblasts, we cultured density-inhibited monolayer cultures of Balb/c 3T3 fibroblasts in Dulbecco's modified essential medium plus 15% fetal calf serum and then withdrew serum. Time-lapse video microscopy demonstrated that within minutes of serum withdrawal, cells lost substrate attachment and floated to the top of the liquid growth medium. There was a time-dependent increase in the number of non-adherent cells. Some of these cells regained attachment and spread momentarily, but they eventually rounded up and lost attachment permanently. In contrast to serum-containing cultures in which similar morphological changes were followed by mitosis, in serum-free cultures repeated attempts at mitosis were followed by permanent attachment loss and presumably cell death. To assess whether all the non-adherent cells were in fact dead, the percentages of cells that continued to proliferate upon return to serum-supplemented conditions was computed. After various periods of serum starvation a decreasing proportion (approx. 75% at 30 minutes; &lt; 2% at 24 hours) of the non-adherent cells could be rescued by addition of serum. Transmission electron microscopy of cells 3 hours after serum withdrawal showed that the majority (approximately 60%) of non-adherent cells exhibited marked intranuclear chromatin condensation but maintained integrity of cell and nuclear membranes and cell organelles, morphological changes consistent with those of apoptotic cell death. Scanning electron microscopy of cultures 3 hours following serum withdrawal showed rounded cells with marked surface blebbing. Fluorescence and confocal microscopy revealed increased intensity of nuclear staining with DAPI while actin filaments became indistinct or collapsed around the nucleus. After cycloheximide treatment to inhibit protein synthesis, there was no reduction of apoptosis. Gel electrophoresis of DNA from both control and 3 hour-serum-deprived cells showed intact DNA with no oligonucleosomal length fragmentation. After serum withdrawal, intracellular calcium was reduced by about 32% over 5 minutes as measured by fura2 ratio fluorimetry in single cells. Serum-starved cells showed a time-dependent shrinkage in mean cell diameter compared to trypsinized, adherent control cells (at 0 hours, mean diameter = 18.0 microns--viable; at 4 hours, mean diameter = 15.5 microns--apoptotic). Flow cytometric analysis showed increased propidium iodide staining and reduced fluorescein diacetate uptake over 3 hours, changes that were contemporaneous with the reduction of cell diameter.(ABSTRACT TRUNCATED AT 400 WORDS)

Abstract Abstract 1138 Introduction: Inorganic polyphosphates (polyP) are negatively charged, linear phosphate polymers that are abundant in platelet dense granules and secreted upon platelet activation. We recently reported that polyP may be the long-sought (patho)physiologic activator of the contact pathway with important roles in inflammation and thrombosis. We also reported that polyP opposes the action of many anticoagulant drugs and thus has potential as a general procoagulant agent to treat bleeding. Studies of the role of polyP in blood clotting would be facilitated by being able to covalently attach probes – including fluorophores and biotin – to the ends of polyP. For therapeutic applications, it would also be advantageous to covalently immobilize polyP onto solid supports like collagen sponges and wound dressings. We now report that a wide variety of primary amine-containing compounds can be covalently attached to the terminal phosphates of polyP via phosphoramidate linkages. This allows essentially the full armamentarium of protein chemistry to be employed in modifying polyP. Methods: We have developed and optimized reaction conditions under which EDAC (1-ethyl-3-[3-dimethylaminopropyl] carbodiimide) efficiently promotes the covalent coupling of compounds with primary amines to polyP via the formation of stable phosphoramidate linkages with the terminal phosphate groups (see figure). Results & Conclusions: Using 31P NMR, we have confirmed that EDAC-mediated reaction between primary amines and polyP results in stable phosphoramidate linkages with the terminal phosphate groups. We have used this chemistry to efficiently float polyP onto amine-derivatized microtiter plates and chromatography beads, and have used this presentation of polyP to quantify the binding affinities of thrombin, kallikrein, and factor XIa for polyP. We have also successfully attached fluorescent probes to the termini of polyP and thereby visualized the incorporation of polyP into fibrin clots. We have also demonstrated that polyP covalently attached to solid supports via phosphoramidate linkages retains potent procoagulant activity. And finally, we have found that attaching small organic molecules to the terminal phosphates of polyP protects polyP from degradation by exopolyphosphatases such as alkaline phosphatase, which should prolong its in vivo half-life considerably. These findings facilitate more extensive studies of the biological role(s) of polyP, as well as development of enhanced polyP-based treatments for bleeding. Disclosures: Smith: University of Illinois: Patents & Royalties. Morrissey:University of Illinois: Patents & Royalties.

In the opening passage ofA Room of One's Own, Virginia Woolf catches herself, and is subsequently caught out, in a moment of reflection on the banks of a river, within the grounds of a barely fictionalised “Oxbridge University”:Here then was I (call me Mary Beton, Mary Seton, Mary Carmichael or by any name you please – it is not a matter of any importance) sitting on the banks of a river a week or two ago in fine October weather, lost in thought. That collar I have spoken of, women and fiction, the need of coming to some conclusion on a subject that raises all sorts of prejudices and passions, bowed my head to the ground. To the right and left bushes of some sort, golden and crimson, glowed with the colour, even it seemed burnt with the heat, of fire. On the further bank the willows wept in perpetual lamentation, their hair about their shoulders. The river reflected whatever it chose of sky and bridge and burning tree, and when the undergraduate had oared his boat through the reflections they closed again, completely, as if he had never been. There one might have sat the clock round lost in thought. (6–7)In this fictional account of her trespass on university property, Woolf forges a close association between the environment in which she does her thinking and what she thinks, so that body, mind, and text are shown to be engaged in the same work. Her thoughts, she suggests, have a physical weight: they bow her head to the ground. The landscape bows with her so that a momentarily surreal vista of flaming leaves and long-haired trees is at once the place she is sitting and the space of her imagination, and the “reflections” through which the undergraduate oars take on a double meaning as the boat floats through her consciousness and back out again. The interruption of the beadle causes her to lose her train of thought: it is a fish that jumps and then disappears back into the river. This reverie, which rehearses the lecture's central argument concerning the material conditions required for gender equality, identifies the university as a case in point. Oxbridge is experienced by Woolf's fictional avatar as a place where intellectual freedom is achieved within a series of carefully regulated spaces, and her essay balances the attraction and acknowledged value of these exclusive spaces against the experience of her own exclusion. As so often in her work, the geography of Woolf's prose is haunted by the Victorians, whose lyric voices she can only half hear as she sits at a college window. Her essay therefore invites a return to nineteenth-century accounts of university life that pay attention to the material, or formal, delineations of the university.

During the spring of 2013, many plants of common sage (Salvia officinalis L.), grown as potted plants in a commercial farm at Albenga (northern Italy) showed extensive symptoms of foliar wilt and root rot. The first symptoms developed with temperatures ranging between 8 and 26.5°C, average 17°C, and consisted of leaf chlorosis, wilting, and collapse. Severe root and crown rot were also observed, leading to sudden collapse of approximately 60% of the 6,000 plants within 60 days from transplant. Symptomatic tissues from the root and collar of infected plants were surface disinfested for 1 min in a 1% NaOCl solution, rinsed for 5 min in water, and placed on a selective medium for oomycetes (3). A Phytophthora-like organism (1) was consistently isolated and was transferred to carrot agar. Mycelial disks of the isolate DB13GIU02 were floated in petri plates containing soil extract (1), under continuous fluorescent light at room temperature. Hyphal swelling was abundant in such aqueous medium, measuring 6.4 to 20.1 (13.1 average) μm. Sporangia were obpyriform, persistent, and nonpapillate, measuring 25.3 to 55.1 × 17.9 to 37.1 (average 42.8 to 27.9) μm. Oospores and chlamydospores were absent. The same isolate was tested with two isolates of P. cryptogea from Quercus ilex (PH050, mating type A1) and from Pistacia lentiscus (PH017, mating type A2) on carrot agar, at 23 ± 1°C in the dark. Only the paring of DB13GIU02 with PH017 was successful and produced oogonia with diameter of 28.3 to 34.6 (average 31.7) μm, oospores with diameter of 28.0 to 32.2 (average 29.2) μm, and anphigynous antheridia of 10.5 to 15.1 × 11.6 to 15.1 (average 13.5 × 13.3) μm. DNA of the three isolates was extracted by using the Nucleospin Plant kit (Macherey Nagel). PCR of DNA amplified with primers Cryp 1 and Cryp 2 (4) from all P. cryptogea isolates produced a specific amplicon. The internal transcribed spacer (ITS) region of rDNA of the isolate DB13GIU02 was amplified using the primers ITS1/ITS4 and sequenced. BLAST analysis of the 845-bp segment (GenBank Accession No. KM458193) showed a 99% homology with the sequence of P. cryptogea GU111631. Pathogenicity tests were performed on healthy common sage 60-day-old plants by using one strain of P. cryptogea grown on a mixture of 2:1 wheat/hemp kernels. Infested kernels (10 g/liter of substrate) were mixed into a steam-disinfested substrate based on sphagnum peat/pomix/pine bark/clay (50:20:20:10 v/v). Control plants were treated with uninoculated wheat/hemp kernels mixed into the steam-disinfested soil. The trial was repeated once. Fifteen plants per treatment were used. All plants were kept in a growth chamber at 20 ± 1°C. Inoculated plants became chlorotic 7 days after inoculation, and root and crown rot developed 15 days after inoculation. P. cryptogea was consistently reisolated from inoculated plants. No colonies were isolated on the selective medium from control plants that remained symptomless. P. cryptogea has been reported on S. officinalis in the United States (2), while in Italy the same pathogen has been observed on S. leucantha. This is the first report of P. cryptogea on S. officinalis in Italy. The economic importance of the disease can increase due to the expanding use of this plant both as an aromatic for culinary purposes and for landscaping. References: (1) D. C. Erwin and O. K. Ribeiro. Phytophthora Diseases Worldwide. APS Press, St. Paul, MN, 1996. (2) S. T. Koike et al. Plant Dis. 81:959, 1997. (3) H. Masago et al. Phytopathology 67:25, 1977. (4) D. Minerdi et al. Eur. J. Plant Pathol. 122:227, 2008.

This article, written by JPT Technology Editor Chris Carpenter, contains highlights of paper SPE 208988, “Novel Application of Abrasive Jet Perforating To Restore Productivity of a High-Potential Inactive Horizontal Oil Producer,” by Sadaf S. Chishti, SPE, Steven H. Craig, SPE, Baker Hughes, and Edward J. Wheatley, SPE, ADNOC, et al. The paper has not been peer reviewed. The complete paper illustrates a novel methodology that enabled the safe application of coiled tubing (CT) abrasive perforation to increase production in a sour horizontal extended-reach (ER) oil producer. The well was underperforming at 10% of the anticipated production rate because of a damaged lower completion. To avert a costly workover, abrasive perforation with CT was selected as a safe alternative to conventional explosives-based perforating conveyed on electric line. Introduction An offshore horizontal ER producer well was drilled with a total depth (TD) in excess of 24,000-ft measured depth (MD). During the completion phase, a 4.5-in. liner with 16 inflow control devices (ICDs) and eight swellable packers was run with the ICDs in the closed position. Swellable packers were placed after every two ICDs. To open these ICDs, an internal pressure of 2,500 psi was required, achieved by dropping a ball that would seat in the float collar. Multiple attempts were made to pressure up and open the ICDs without success. The decision was made to run the upper completion with a plan to activate the ICDs using rigless CT intervention. After a drift CT run, multiple attempts were made to run a through-tubing inflatable packer bottomhole assembly (BHA) on CT to isolate and pressure up the well. All attempts failed to reach target depth, with repeated holdup at approximately 20,273-ft MD. Production-logging passes performed in injection mode determined that the well interval between 20,262 and 20,300 ft was taking more than 80% of the injected fluid. In a subsequent CT logging run, a caliper log identified that the liner section in this interval was parted and identified an openhole section with washouts in excess of 7-in. inner diameter. The results from the log are shown in Fig. 1, with the enlarged section representing the parted liner/openhole interval. Because the ICDs remained closed along with a damaged liner section, the options of recovery leaned heavily toward a rig-based workover for sidetrack and recompletion. Considering time and cost constraints, studies commenced to identify an efficient alternative to establish flow contribution from the inactive compartments by adding perforations. CT was chosen as the conveyance method based on previous success in reaching TD, and three options were evaluated. Based on the lowest risk level and availability of resources, the safest and most-viable option was abrasive perforation with CT. This technique uses a sand jet perforator, a downhole tool that uses high-pressure abrasive-laden fluids to penetrate the casing, liner, and cement and extend a cavity into the reservoir.

Numerical simulations and experiments of an elastic circular collar of a floating fish farm are reported. The floater model without netting structure is moored with nearly horizontal moorings and tested in regular deep-water waves of different steepnesses and periods without current. Local overtopping of waves was observed in steep waves. The focus here is on the vertical accelerations along the floater in the different conditions. The experiments show that higher-order harmonics of the accelerations matter. A three-dimensional (3D) weak-scatter model with partly nonlinear effects as well as a 3D linear frequency-domain method based on potential flow are used. From their comparison against the measurements, strong 3D and frequency dependency effects as well as flexible floater motions matter. The weak-scatter model can only partly explain the nonlinearities present in the measured accelerations.

Objective Despite new strategies in tissue engineering, cartilage repair remains a major challenge. Our aim is to treat patients with focal lesions of articular cartilage with autologous hyaline cartilage implants using a scaffold-free approach. In this article, we describe experiments to optimize production of scaffold-free cartilage discs. Design Articular chondrocytes were expanded in vitro, seeded in transwell inserts and redifferentiated using established chondrogenic components. Experimental variables included testing 2 different expansion media, adding bone morphogenetic protein 2 (BMP2), insulin-like growth factor 1 (IGF1), growth/differentiation factor 5 (GDF5), or fibroblast growth factor 18 (FGF18) to the differentiation medium and allowing the disc to float freely in large wells. Cartilage discs were analyzed by weight and thickness, real-time RT-qPCR (reverse transcriptase qualitative polymerase chain reaction), fluorescence immunostaining, transmission electron microscopy, second harmonic generation imaging, and measurement of Young’s modulus. Results Addition of BMP2 to the chondrogenic differentiation medium (CDM) was essential for stable disc formation, while IGF1, GDF5, and FGF18 were redundant. Allowing discs to float freely in CDM on a moving platform increased disc thickness compared with discs kept continuously in transwell inserts. Discs cultured for 6 weeks reached a thickness of almost 2 mm and Young’s modulus of >200 kPa. There was abundant type II collagen. Collagen fibrils were 25 nm thick, with a tendency to be organized perpendicular to the disc surface. Conclusion Scaffold-free engineering using BMP2 and providing free movement in CDM produced firm, elastic cartilage discs with abundant type II collagen. This approach may potentially be used in clinical trials.

Abstract Enzymatic unhairing is a cleaner strategy for leather-making. It is a potential alternative to the traditional hair-burning process. However, several shortcomings, such as uncontrolled enzymatic reaction, and risk of grain looseness and damage have restricted the broad application of enzymatic unhairing. In this work, metal ions and organic additives were screened for lessening the hydrolytic activity of proteinase K to collagen fiber. Then, the selected additives were applied to the enzymatic unhairing process for bovine hide. The results showed that a suitable concentration of metal ions (Cu (II), Fe (III) and Al (III)) and organic additives (salicylate, laurate, adipate, gallate and epicatechin (ECG)) could diminish approximately 35% of the hydrolytic activity of proteinase K to collagen fibers. Then, the additives were applied for the bovine hide enzymatic unhairing process. Hydroxyproline determination in the unhairing float shows that applying additives could reduce collagen hydrolysis. The morphology results showed that the grain damage could be significantly reduced with the addition of the screened additives in the proteinase K enzymatic unhairing system, whereas the addition of ECG and gallate significantly slowed down the unhairing speed. This outcome provides new potential to reduce the risk of grain damage in enzymatic unhairing process. Graphical abstract

Now a days even with the aeronautical modern technology along with weather forecasting, aviation accidents still cannot be avoided and hearing news about loss of control, airplane crashes and disappearance due to humans errors, bad climate, mechanical failure or any obstruct. Some missing flights in middle of the seas still could not found where they were collapsing. In this paper the design of a module consists of two layers inner and outer with some sensors. The module is made with hard metal, whenever the flight crashes and interact with water the pH sensor will measure the water. If the water salinity is equal to the sea water, the outer layer of the module become open up and using GPS can find current location and transmitted through RF transmitter. In case of some regions like Bermuda triangle no signals work.The inner module that designed the body like, does not allow the water to pass through it easily inside and it can float on the water. The module consists of high intensity flickering lights can easily identify the location where the module present and through memory in the module can find the place where the planes were collapsed..

AbstractMaterials processing in a microgravity environment is aimed at developing commercial materials as well as investigating basic phenomena to improve earth-based processing. Materials research in space has dealt with glasses and ceramics, crystal growth, electronic materials, metals and alloys, polymers, composites, and biological materials. Battelle has been conducting research in this area since the early-1970s. Several important results have been obtained in: immiscible alloys, containerless under-cooling of clustering alloys, sol-gel glasses, and collagen fibers.More recently, Battelle's Advanced Materials Center for the Commercial Development of Space (CCDS) has been established to utilize the microgravity environment in the commercial development of composite and mixed-phase materials with substantially improved properties. Currently, the Center is conducting research in catalysts (variant-phase chlorides, zeolites, and mixed oxides), polymer systems, electronic materials (float-zone crystal growth on Type II-VI semiconductor crystals, particularly CdTe), and con-trolled- porosity glass. The present program focuses on a proof of principle for each research thrust, utilizing ground-based and suborbital facilities, together with modeling to demonstrate the potential for producing commercially important materials.Each of these research programs is outlined. In addition, the more important developments in each of the major categories of microgravity materials research is reviewed.

Persian walnut (Juglans regia L.) is an important nut crop in Italy. In recent years, incidence of walnut decline and death has increased in many Italian commercial orchards. In early summer 2020, we observed a serious decline in approximately 5% of trees in a waterlogged area of a Veneto-region walnut orchard (J. regia, cv Lara). Symptoms included extensive foliar wilt and canopy decline associated with collar and root rot. Symptomatic tissues excised from larger roots of affected trees were surface disinfested for 1 min in a 1% NaOCl solution, rinsed for 5 min in sterile distilled water, and placed onto P5ARPH selective medium (Jeffers and Martin 1986). A Phytophthora-like organism was consistently isolated. Pure cultures were obtained by single-hyphal transfers onto potato dextrose agar (PDA). Isolates were identified as Phytophthora inundata based on morphological characteristics (Brasier et al. 2003), sequences of internal transcribed spacer (ITS) amplicons from universal primers ITS6 (Cooke et al. 2000) and ITS4 (White et al. 1990) and sequences of cytochrome c oxidase, subunit II (Cox II) from Fm75 and Fm78 primer pair (Martin and Tooley 2003). On carrot agar (CA), colonies had a characteristic stellate to broad lobed patterns. On this medium, optimal growth was at 28-30 °C (7,3 mm/day) and the upper temperature limit for mycelial growth was 37°C. Mycelial disks of isolate CREADC-Om306, grown on CA, were floated in Petri plates with soil extract solution and incubated under continuous fluorescent light at room temperature (25+/-2 °C). Within 48 to 72 h, sporangia were produced that were persistent, non-papillate, ovoid or ovoid-obpyriform, measuring 55.0 to 80.7 (length) x 41.3 to 65.2 (width) µm (averages 64.3+/-10.2 x 47.9+/-9.7 µm). Oospores and chlamydospores were absent. BLAST analysis of the amplicons from CREADC-Om306 revealed ITS sequences (854-bp; GenBank accession no. OK342200) and Cox II sequences (568-bp; GenBank accession no. OK349677) that shared 100% identity with published P. inundata sequences available in GenBank (acc. n. AF266791 for ITS; MT458994 for Cox II). Pathogenicity tests were conducted in the greenhouse on six 2-year-old walnut (J. regia, cv Lara) plants. Four of the plants were inoculated with CREADC-Om306 on two opposite sides of each plant’s stem at 1-2 cm above soil line. A cork borer was used to remove a 5-mm disk of bark that was replaced by a 5-mm diameter mycelial plug from 10-day-old cultures of the pathogen on PDA. Two control plants were treated in the same way except the bark wounds were inoculated with sterile PDA plugs. Plants were kept in greenhouse at 24 ± 2°C. After 3 months, lesions had developed from all points of inoculation with. P. inundata (mean lesion length 55,25+/-6,22 mm) and the pathogen was reisolated from the lesion margins of all inoculated plants. The control plants remained symptomless and did not yield the pathogen. P. inundata is widely distributed across the world as a plant pathogen on several native as well as horticultural crops, especially in riparian or other areas subject to flooding or waterlogging. This report is the first to document P. inundata as a pathogen on Persian walnut and adds it to the diverse list of known susceptible perennial native, ornamental, and agricultural hosts of this organism. In addition to P. inundata, which belongs to the major Phytophthora ITS Clade 6, other members of the clade including P. megasperma (Belisario et al. 2012) and P. gonapodyides (Belisario et al. 2016) have been described as walnut pathogens. References: Belisario, A., et al. 2012. Plant Dis. 96 (11):1695. https://doi.org/10.1094/PDIS-05-12-0470-PDN. Belisario, A., et al. 2016. Plant Dis. 100 (12):2537. https://doi.org/10.1094/PDIS-03-16-0394-PDN. Brasier, C.M., et al. 2003. Mycol. Res. 107 (4):477. DOI: 10.1017/S0953756203007548. Cooke, D. E. L., et al. 2000. Fungal Genet. Biol. 30:17. https://doi.org/10.1006/fgbi.2000.1202. Jeffers SN, Martin SB. (1986) Plant Dis70:1038. Martin, F. N., and Tooley, P. W. 2003. Mycologia 95:269. https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/21156613/. Schena, L., et al. 2008. Plant Pathol. 57:64. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1365-3059.2007.01689.x. White, T.J. et al. 1990. In PCR Protocols: A Guide to Methods and Applications; Innis, M.A., Gelfand, D.H., Sninsky, J.J., White, T.J., Eds.; Academic Press, (USA,) 18: 315–322.

Abstract Case report - Introduction The differential diagnosis of paediatric uveitis is extensive. Classification starts by determining infectious versus non-infectious causes, anatomic location and associated intra-ocular and extra-ocular features. A relatively common referral to Paediatric Rheumatology from our Ophthalmology colleagues is of a child with a diagnosis of uveitis. This case highlights the importance and benefits of multidisciplinary team working across our regional network when caring for children with complex and rare conditions. Case report - Case description An 8-year-old-girl was referred by her local ophthalmology team to the paediatric rheumatology clinic with a diagnosis of pars-planitis. She had presented to them with blurred-vision and eye-“floaters”. On review, the girl reported that she had a 4-month-history of headaches and blurred-vision, associated with dizziness. She denied any eye-pain. Corresponding to the onset of her symptoms, she had suffered with Chickenpox. Her mother felt that she had "not been right since then". She noted that she was generally quieter and more fatigued than normal. Over the course of the 4 months, she was noted to have become clumsier and was bumping into things on a regular basis. She reported increasing visual difficulties in her right eye and initially attended for an optician review. The optician was concerned and referred for urgent ophthalmology opinion. She was diagnosed with bilateral pars-planitis, commenced on oral prednisolone and referred for paediatric rheumatology and tertiary ophthalmology assessment. The headaches improved following commencement on steroids. Positive findings on systems review included occasional oral ulcers, 1—2 times-per-month. They started about 1-month prior to the onset of her chickenpox and continued for the following 3—4 months. She denied any history of genital-ulcers or skin-rash. She had new-onset muscle soreness and tiredness after activity. She also described non-specific abdominal pain since having chickenpox, but no associated change in bowel habit. Examination revealed normal skin, hair, nail and joint examination. She had a soft systolic murmur (echocardiogram normal). She had RUQ tenderness on abdominal palpation (abdominal-USS – spleen upper limit of normal. Nil else). Relevant blood and stool samples were sent as part of a uveitis work-up panel. The paediatric ophthalmologist found right-intermediate uveitis with vitreitis and peripheral retinal changes in keeping with a peripheral exudative detachment. Similar changes were seen in the peripheral retina of the left eye. The impression was of bilateral pan-uveitis with retinal involvement. A subsequent oral fluorescein angiogram showed a widespread retinal vasculitis with some occlusive changes in the right-eye, and a tuft of retinal vascular leakage at the 5-o'clock position in the left eye. Case report - Discussion The differential diagnosis for paediatric retinal vasculitis is broad. It includes collagen vascular disorders, Behçet's disease, Eales’ disease, post viral or post vaccination, acquired toxoplasmosis, multiple sclerosis, systemic immunosuppression and Henoch-Schönlein purpura. The ANA, ENAs, dsDNA, ANCA, ACE, Toxoplasma and Lyme serology were all negative for this little girl. Her inflammatory markers were also normal. She was not on any regular medications prior to her illness and had not had any recent vaccinations. She had no significant past medical or family history of note. However, the onset of her symptoms did correspond to her having chickenpox. She was subsequently found to be positive for HLA B51. In view of the ophthalmology findings and positive HLA B51, the little girl was admitted for an urgent MRI/MRI to exclude neuro- Behçets. This was reported as normal. She was treated with a three-day pulse of IV methylprednisolone and discharged on oral prednisolone 10mg OD (weight 33.4kg). At present Bechet’s retinal vasculitis remains high in the list of differentials for this little girl; however, currently she does not strictly meet the diagnostic criteria for Bechet’s disease. She has been commenced on a steroid sparing agent, azathioprine. Her follow-up plan is to be reviewed in the joint paediatric rheumatology and ophthalmology clinic in 1 months’ time. Case report - Key learning points Retinal vasculitis may occur secondary to a systemic disease or an infectious agent, or as an isolated retinal aetiology. Given that the differentials are vast, a detailed history and examination are important to identify signs and symptoms of systemic disease. Appropriate investigations should be chosen to help narrow the differentials and ensure pathology that could lead to significant morbidity and mortality is not missed. With a case such as this, close collaboration between the paediatric ophthalmologist and rheumatologist is paramount to ensure the best outcome for the patient. With regards to treatment, small case series have described a refractory nature of retinal vasculitis in paediatric patients. One study report that almost 80% of patients with paediatric idiopathic uveitis show manifestations of retinal vasculitis, which is associated with a lower probability of inflammation control resulting in a worse visual prognosis. Points for discussion

Background information Sandscript was programmed with the web application « Tchat-scene », created by Carol-Ann Braun and the computer services company Timsoft (). It organizes a data-base of raw material into compositions and sequences allowing to build larger episodes. Multimedia resources are thus attributed to frames surrounding the chat space or to the chat space itself, thus “augmented” to include pre-written texts and graphics. Sandscript works best on a PC, with Internet Explorer. On Mac, use 0S9 and Internet Explorer. You will have to download a chat application for the site to function. Coded conversation General opinion would have it that chat space is a conversational space, facilitating rather than complicating communication. Writing in a chat space is very much influenced by the current ideological stance which sees collaborative spaces as places to make friends, speak freely, flip from one “channel” to another, link with a simple click into related themes, etc. Moreover, chat users tend to think of the chat screen in terms of a white page, an essentially neutral environment. A quick analysis of chat practices reveals a different scenario: chat spaces are highly coded typographical writing spaces, quick to exclude those who don’t abide by the technical and procedural constraints associated with computer reading/writing tools (Despret-Lonné, Gentès). Chatters seek to belong to a “community;” conversely, every chat has “codes” which restrict its membership to the like-minded. The patterns of exchange characteristic of chats are phatic (Jakobson), and their primary purpose is to get and maintain a social link. It is no surprise then that chatters should emphasize two skills: one related to rhetorical ingenuity, the other to dexterity and speed of writing. To belong, one first has to grasp the banter, then manage very quickly the rules and rituals of the group, then answer by mastering the intricacies of the keyboard and its shortcuts. Speed is compulsory if your answers are to follow the communal chat; as a result, sentences tend to be very short, truncated bits, dispatched in a continuous flow. Sandscript attempts to play with the limits of this often hermetic writing process (and the underlying questions of affinity, participation and reciprocity). It opens up a social space to an artistic and fictional space, each with rules of its own. Hyper-linked dialogue Sandscript is not just about people chatting, it is also about influencing the course of these exchanges. The site weaves pre-scripted poetic content into the spontaneous, real-time dialogue of chatters. Smileys and the plethora of abbreviations, punctuations and icons characteristic of chat rooms are mixed in with typographical games that develop the idea of text as image and text as sound — using Morse Code to make text resonate, CB code to evoke its spoken use, and graphic elements within the chat space itself to oppose keyboard text and handwritten graffiti. The web site encourages chatters to broaden the scope of their “net-speak,” and take a playfully conscious stance towards their own familiar practices. Actually, most of the writing in this web-site is buried in the database. Two hundred or so “key words” — expressions typical of phatic exchanges, in addition to other words linked to the idea of sandstorms and archeology — lie dormant, inactive and unseen until a chatter inadvertently types one in. These keywords bridge the gap between spontaneous exchange and multimedia content: if someone types in “hi,” an image of a face, half buried in sand, pops up in a floating window and welcomes you, silently; if someone types in the word “wind,” a typewritten “wind” floats out into the graphic environment and oscillates between the left and right edges of the frames; typing the word “no” “magically” triggers the intervention of an anarchist who says something provocative*. *Sandscript works like a game of ping-pong among chatters who are intermittently surprised by a comment “out of nowhere.” The chat space, augmented by a database, forms an ever-evolving, fluid “back-bone” around which artistic content is articulated. Present in the form of programs who participate in their stead, artists share the spot light, adding another level of mediation to a collective writing process. Individual and collective identities Not only does Sandscript accentuate the multimedia aspects of typed chat dialogues, it also seeks to give a “ shape” to the community of assembled chatters. This shape is musical: along with typing in a nickname of her choice, each chatter is attributed a sound. Like crickets in a field, each sound adds to the next to create a collective presence, modified with every new arrival and departure. For example, if your nick is “yoyo-mama,” your presence will be associated with a low, electronic purr. When “pillX” shows up, his nick will be associated with a sharp violin chord. When “mojo” pitches in, she adds her sound profile to the lot, and the overall environment changes again. Chatters can’t hear the clatter of each other’s keyboards, but they hear the different rhythms of their musical identities. The repeated pings of people present in the same “scape” reinforce the idea of community in a world where everything typed is swept away by the next bit of text, soon to be pushed off-screen in turn. The nature of this orchestrated collective presence is determined by the artists and their programs, not by the chatters themselves, whose freedom is limited to switching from one nick to another to test the various sounds associated with each. Here, identity is both given and built, both individual and collective, both a matter of choice and pre-defined rules. (Goffman) Real or fictitious characters The authors introduce simulated bits of dialogue within the flow of written conversation. Some of these fake dialogues simply echo whatever keywords chatters might type. Others, however, point else where, suggesting a hyper-link to a more elaborate fictionalized drama among “characters.” Sandscript also hides a plot. Once chatters realize that there are strange goings on in their midst, they become caught in the shifting sands of this web site’s inherent duality. They can completely lose their footing: not only do they have to position themselves in relation to other, real people (however disguised…) but they also have to find their bearings in the midst of a database of fake interlocutors. Not only are they expected to “write” in order to belong, they are also expected to unearth content in order to be “in the know.” A hybridized writing is required to maintain this ambivalence in place. Sandscript’s fake dialogue straddles two worlds: it melds in with the real-time small talk of chatters all while pointing to elements in a fictional narrative. For example, “mojo” will say: “silting up here ”, and “zano” will answer “10-4, what now? ” These two characters could be banal chatters, inviting others to join in their sarcastic banter… But they are also specifically referring to incidents in their fictional world. The “chat code” not only addresses its audience, it implies that something else is going on that merits a “click” or a question. “Clicking” at this juncture means more than just quickly responding to what another chatter might have typed. It implies stopping the banter and delving into the details of a character developed at greater length elsewhere. Indeed, in Sandscript, each fictional dialogue is linked to a blog that reinforces each character’s personality traits and provides insights into the web-site’s wind-swept, self-erasing world. Interestingly enough, Sandscript then reverses this movement towards a closed fictional space by having each character not only write about himself, but relate her immediate preoccupations to the larger world. Each blog entry mentions a character’s favorite URL at that particular moment. One character might evoke a web site about romantic poetry, another one on anarchist political theory, a third a web-site on Morse code, etc… Chatters click on the URL and open up an entirely new web-site, directly related to the questions being discussed in Sandscript. Thus, each character represents himself as well as a point of view on the larger world of the web. Fiction opens onto a “real” slice of cyber-space and the work of other authors and programmers. Sandscript mixes up different types of on-line identities, emphasizing that representations of people on the web are neither “true” nor “false.” They are simply artificial and staged, simple facets of identities which shift in style and rhetoric depending on the platform available to them. Again, identity is both closed by our social integration and opened to singular “play.” Conclusion: looking at and looking through One could argue that since the futurists staged their “electrical theater” in the streets of Turin close to a hundred years ago, artists have worked on the blurry edge between recognizable formal structures and their dissolution into life itself. And after a century of avant-gardes, self-referential appropriations of mass media are also second nature. Juxtaposing one “use” along another reveals how different frames of reference include or exclude each other in unexpected ways. For the past twenty years much artwork has which fallen in between genres, and most recently in the realm of what Nicolas Bourriaud calls “relational aesthetics.” Such work is designed not only to draw attention to itself but also to the spectator’s relation to it and the broader artistic context which infuses the work with additional meaning. By having dialogue serve as a hyper-link to multimedia content, Sandscript, however, does more. Even though some changes in the web site are pre-programmed to occur automatically, not much happens without the chatters, who occupy center-stage and trigger the appearance of a latent content. Chatters are the driving force, they are the ones who make text appear and flow off-screen, who explore links, who exchange information, and who decide what pops up and doesn’t. Here, the art “object” reveals its different facets around a multi-layered, on-going conversation, subjected to the “flux” of an un-formulated present. Secondly, Sandscript demands that we constantly vary our posture towards the work: getting involved in conversation to look through the device, all while taking some distance to consider the object and look at its content and artistic “mediations.” (Bolster and Grusin, Manovitch). This tension is at the heart of Sandscript, which insists on being both a communication device “transparent” to its user, and an artistic device that imposes an opaque and reflexive quality. The former is supposed to disappear behind its task; the latter attracts the viewer’s attention over and over again, ever open to new interpretations. This approach is not without pitfalls. One Sandscript chatter wondered if as the authors of the web-site were not disappointed when conversation took the upper hand, and chatters ignored the graphics. On the other hand, the web site’s explicit status as a chat space was quickly compromised when users stopped being interested in each other and turned to explore the different layers hidden within the interface. In the end, Sandscript chatters are not bound to any single one of these modes. They can experience one and then other, and —why not —both simultaneously. This hybrid posture brings to mind Herman’s metaphor of a door that cannot be closed entirely: “la porte joue” —the door “gives.” It is not perfectly fitted and closed — there is room for “play.” Such openness requires that the artistic device provide two seemingly contradictory ways of relating to it: a desire to communicate seamlessly all while being fascinated by every seam in the representational space projected on-screen. Sandscript is supposed to “run” and “not run” at the same time; it exemplifies the technico-semiotic logic of speed and resists it full stop. Here, openness is not ontological; it is experiential, shifting. About the Authors Carol-Ann Braun is multimedia artist, at the Ecole Nationale Superieure des Telecomunications, Paris, France. EmaiL: carol-ann.braun@wanadoo.fr Annie Gentes is media theorist and professor at the Ecole Nationale Superieure des Telecomunications, Paris, France. Email: Annie.Gentes@enst.fr Works Cited Adamowicz, Elza. Surrealist Collage in Text and Image, Dissecting the Exquisite Corpse. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. Augé, Marc. Non-lieux, Introduction à une Anthropologie de la Surmodernité. Paris: Seuil, 1992. Bolter, Jay David and Richard Grusin. Remediation, Understanding New Media. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2000. Bourriaud, Nicholas. Esthétique Relationnelle. Paris: Les Presses du Réel, 1998. Despret-Lonnet, Marie and Annie Gentes, Lire, Ecrire, Réécrire. Paris: Bibliothèque Centre Pompidou, 2003. Goffman, Irving. Interaction Ritual. New York: Pantheon, 1967. Habermas, Jürgen. Théorie de l’Agir Communicationnel, Vol.1. Paris: Fayard, 1987. Herman, Jacques. “Jeux et Rationalité.” Encyclopedia Universalis, 1997. Jakobson, Roman.“Linguistics and Poetics: Closing statements,” in Thomas Sebeok. Style in Language. Cambridge: MIT Press, 1960. Latzko-Toth, Guillaume. “L’Internet Relay Chat, Un Cas Exemplaire de Dispositif Socio-technique,” in Composite. Montreal: Université du Québec à Montréal, 2001. Lyotard, Jean-François. La Condition Post-Moderne. Paris: les Editions de Minuit, 1979. Manovitch, Lev. The Language of New Media. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2001. Michaud, Yves. L’Art à l’Etat Gazeux. Essai sur le Triomphe de l’Esthétique, Les essais. Paris: Stock, 2003. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Braun, Carol-Ann & Gentes, Annie. "Dialogue: a hyper-link to multimedia content." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture <http://www.media-culture.org.au/0406/05_Braun-Gentes.php>. APA Style Braun, C. & Gentes, A. (2004, Jul1). Dialogue: a hyper-link to multimedia content.. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture, 7, <http://www.media-culture.org.au/0406/05_Braun-Gentes.php>

Jessica craned her head to take in the imposing, stone building, then lowered her gaze to the gold-plated sign at the base of the steps. “Institute of Methodology”, it read. Inside the heavy iron doors, a woman sat at a desk, her face devoid of expression. “Subject area?” asked the woman. “Uhmm, feminism ... and fiction, I think.” “Turn right.” “Do you have a map?” “No.” “How am I meant to find things?” “Each has their own method; it’s not up to us to prescribe that.” Jessica sighed, readjusted her handbag and turned right. A corridor stretched out before her. She set off, her stiletto boots echoing on the hard wooden floor. The first door she arrived at had the words “Deleuze and Guattari” positioned squarely in the middle. She hesitated, then turned the doorknob. The room was white and empty. A male voice issued from somewhere but she couldn’t tell the direction from which it came. It droned on, with some inflection, but there was no way of knowing where the sentences started and finished. She picked out a few words: a thousand plateaus, becoming, burrowing, but couldn’t piece them into anything meaningful. She backed out of the room, frowning, and asked me, How am I going to learn anything if they only have these voices? I can’t lipread them. And how can I produce something factual if I haven’t heard it all? I might make stuff up. You always make things up anyway. After the barrier of disembodied sound, the silence of the corridor was soothing. Jessica always had difficulty with hearing men’s voices, for their registers were lower. Sometimes, she wondered if this was the reason she’d become interested in feminism: women were simply easier to understand. The next door was labelled “Facets of Phenomenology.” After that was “Post-It Notes and Poststructuralism”, “Interpretation of Geometric Design”, “Knitting Class” and “Cyberspace and Geography.” None of these were very helpful. She wanted something on bodies and writing. She walked on. It was, she soon realised, so terribly easy to lose one’s way. The corridors continued. She turned right most of the time, and occasionally left. Her arches began to ache. After a while she came to the conclusion that she had no idea of where she was. Immediately, a bird appeared and dived down her throat. Trapped, it thudded against her ribs. Breathe, I told her. Breathe. She put a hand out to the wall. Outside another door she heard, a voice with a distinct Australian accent. She checked the label on the door. “Fictocriticism,” it read. The door opened. The bird climbed out of her chest and flew away. A young woman stood before her, wearing bright red lipstick. “We saw your shadow beneath the door.” She pointed to Jessica’s feet. “We don’t like barriers, so come in.” The room was airy and brilliantly lit, with a high ceiling patterned with pressed metal vines and flowers. A man and a handful of women sat at a table covered with papers, bottles of wine, brie, sundried tomatoes and crackers. “Wine?” asked the woman, a bottle in her hand. “It’s from Margaret River.” “Oh yes, please.” Jessica pulled out a chair from the table. The people’s faces looked friendly. “What brings you here?” The woman with red lipstick asked, handing her a glass. “I’m trying to find a writing style that’s comfortable for me to use. I just can’t relate to abstract texts, like those by Deleuze and Guattari.” Jessica eyed the cheese platter on the table. She was hungry. “Help yourself,” said the man. Jessica picked up the cheese knife and a cracker. “You’d like my essay, then, ‘Me and My Shadow.’” It was an older woman speaking, with soft grey hair and luminous eyes. “In it I assert that Guattari’s Molecular Revolution is distancing and, she pushed the pile of paper napkins towards Jessica, ‘totally abstract and impersonal. Though the author uses the first person (‘The distinction I am proposing’, ‘I want therefore to make it clear’), it quickly became clear to me that he had no interest whatsoever in the personal, or in concrete situations as I understand them – a specific person, a specific machine, somewhere in time and space, with something on his/her mind, real noises, smells, aches and pains” (131). Jessica thought about the first room, where Deleuze’s and Guattari’s voices had seemed to issue from nowhere. “Of course,” she said. “If my comprehension comes from reading faces and bodies, it follows that those writers who evince themselves in the text will be the ones that appeal to me.” The rest of the table was silent. “I’m deaf,” Jessica explained. “I’ve no hearing in my left ear and half in my right, but people don’t know until I tell them.” “I’d never have guessed,” said the woman with red lipstick. “I’m good at faking it,” Jessica replied wryly. “It seems to me that, if I only hear some things and make the rest up, then my writing should reflect that.” “We might be able to help you — we write about, and in the style of, fictocriticism.” Two women were talking at once. It was difficult to tell who was saying what. “But what is it?” Jessica asked. “That’s a problematic question. It resists definition, you see, for the form it takes varies according to the writer.” She glanced from one woman to the other. It was hard to keep up. They went on, “Fictocriticism might most usefully be defined as hybridised writing that moves between the poles of fiction (‘invention’/‘speculation’) and criticism (‘deduction’/‘explication’), of subjectivity (‘interiority’) and objectivity (‘exteriority’). It is writing that brings the ‘creative’ and the ‘critical’ together – not simply in the sense of placing them side by side, but in the sense of mutating both, of bringing a spotlight to bear upon the known forms in order to make them ‘say’ something else” (Kerr and Nettlebeck 3). “It began to incorporate narratives and styles that wrote against omniscience in favour of fragmentary, personal perspectives.” Concentrating on cutting and spreading her brie, Jessica couldn’t see who had said this. She looked up, trying to see who had spoken. “In addition,” said a young, slim woman, “The use of autobiographical elements in ficto-criticism that include the body and personal details … realises a subjectivity that is quite different from the controlling academic critical subject with their voice from on high” (Flavell 77). Jessica bit into her cracker. The brie was creamy, but rather too strong. She piled sundried tomatoes onto it. “It is of course, a capacious category,” the man added, “as it must be if it is inspired by the materials and situation at hand. One might urge the interested writer not to feel that their practice has to conform to one or another model, but to have the confidence that the problem characterising the situation before them will surprise them into changing their practices. Like all literature, fictocriticism experiments with ways of being in the world, with forms of subjectivity if you like” (Muecke 15). Jessica nodded, her mouth full of biscuit and brie. Oil dripped from the tomatoes down her fingers. “Yes,” it was the two women in their duet, “in fictocritical writings the ‘distance’ of the theorist/critic collides with the ‘interiority’ of the author. In other words, the identity of the author is very much at issue. This is not to say that an ‘identity’ declares itself strictly in terms of the lived experience of the individual, but it does declare itself as a politic to be viewed, reviewed, contested, and above all engaged with” (Kerr and Nettlebeck 3). “That makes sense,” Jessica thought aloud. “Everything I write is an amalgam of fact and fiction, because I hear some things and make the rest up. Deafness influences the way I process and write about the world, so it seems I can’t avoid my body when I write.” She lifted a napkin from the pile and wiped her oily fingers. “Yet, to use a language of the body, or écriture féminine, is also to run the risk of essentialism, of assuming that, for example when we write long, silky sentences, we are saying that this is how every woman would write. It’s also true that, when writing, we don’t have to be limited to our own bodies – we can go beyond them.” She paused, thinking. “It’s been said that sign language is a form of écriture féminine, for a person who signs literally writes with their hands. Where are my notes?” She ferreted through her handbag, pushing aside tubes of lip gloss and hand cream, a bus pass and mirror, and extracted some folded pieces of paper. “Here, H-Dirksen L. Bauman comments on the possibilites of écriture féminine for the disabled, writing that, The project of recognizing Deaf identity bears similarities to the feminist project of re-gaining a ‘body of one’s own’ through linguistic and literary practices. Sign, in a more graphic way, perhaps, than l’écriture féminine is a ‘writing of/on the body.’ The relation between Sign and l’écriture féminine raises questions that could have interesting implications for feminist performance. Does the antiphonocetric nature of Sign offer a means of averting these essentializing tendency of l’écriture féminine? Does the four-dimensional space of performance offer ways of deconstructing phallogocentric linear discourse? (359) “As Sign is a writing by the body, it could be argued that each body produces an original language. I think it’s this, rather than antiphonocentrism — that is, refusing to privilege speech over writing, as has been the tradition — that represents the destabilising effects of Sign.” “Here’s Jamming the Machinery.” The slim woman pushed a book towards Jessica. “It’s about contemporary Australian écriture féminine.” Jessica opened the covers and began reading: As a counter-strategy, écriture féminine, it is argued, is theoretically sourced in the bodies of women. Here, the body represents one aspect of what it ‘means’ to be a woman, but of course our bodies are infinitely variable as are our socio-historical relations and the way that we live through and make meaning of our particular bodies. Texts, however, are produced through the lived practices of being socially positioned as (among other things) women, so those effects will be inscribed in actively inventing ways for women to speak and write about ourselves as women, rather than through the narrative machinery of patriarchy (Bartlett 1-2). I agree with that, Jessica mused to herself. Even if, on paper, écriture féminine does run the risk of essentialism, it’s still a useful strategy, so long as one remains attentive to the specificity of each individual body. She looked up. The conversation was becoming loud, joyful and boisterous. It was turning into a party. Sadly, she stood. “I’d like to stay, but I have to keep thinking.” She pushed in her chair. “Thank you for your ideas.” “Goodbye and good luck!” they chorused, and replenished their wine glasses. Outside, it was getting dark. She trailed her fingers along the wall for balance. Her sight orientated her; without it, she was liable to fall over, particularly in stilettos. Seeing a movement near the ceiling, Jessica stopped and peered upwards. Dragons! she cried. Sitting in the rafters were three small, pearly white dragons, their scaly hides gleaming in the darkness. Here, she called, stretching out a hand. One dropped, swooping, and landed on her wrist, its talons gripping her arm. Ouch! It looked at her curiously with its small gold eyes, then stretched its wings proudly. Dark blue veins ran across the soft membrane. You’re not very cuddly, she told it, but you are exquisite. Tell me, are you real? For an answer, it leaned over and gently nipped her thumb, drawing blood. Its tail swished like a cat’s in a frisky mood. Stop making things up, I scolded her. This is supposed to be serious. Abruptly, the dragon sprang from her wrist, winging gracefully back to the ceiling. Jessica rubbed her arm and continued, feeling ripples of unevenly applied paint beneath her fingertips. Let me pose a question, I suggested: if a fairy godmother offered you your hearing, would you take it? Well, deafness has made me who I am— You mean, an opinionated, obnoxious, feminist thinker and writer? Yes, exactly. So perhaps I wouldn’t take it. And where would you be without silence, which has given you the space in which to think, and which has shaped you as a writer? Without silence, you wouldn’t have turned to words. Hmmm, yes. She slowed. It’s awfully dark in here now. And quiet. For deaf people, silence has often been yoked together with negative connotations – it’s a cave, a prison, a tomb. Sometimes it can feel like this, but, as you know, at other times it’s liberating. You don’t have to listen to someone yakking on their mobile phone on the bus, nor overhear your flatmate having loud sex in the room above; you can simply switch off your hearing aid and keep reading your book, or thinking your thoughts. In a somewhat similar situation, Stephen Hawking, the theoretical physicist, has said that ‘his disability has given him the advantage of having more time to think,’ although Susan Wendell points out that he is only able to do this ‘because of the help of his family, three nurses, a graduate student who travels with him to maintain his computer-communications systems’ – resources which are unavailable to many disabled people” (109). Thus although disability has been largely theorised as lack, it would seem that the contrary is the case: disability brings with it a wealth of possibility. Jessica slowed, feeling vibrations in the wall and beneath our feet. Her heartbeat quickened. Maybe it’s music. It’s not. It’s irregular. Then we heard the sound, like distant thunder. Get back against the wall, I ordered her. Seconds later a crowd of creatures ran past, rattling the floorboards. They were so black we couldn’t see them. What was that? she asked. They smelled like horses. Musky, but sharp too. Let’s get moving. And I told you to stop making things up. I didn’t make that up! she protested. Her pulse was still rapid, so I kept talking to distract her. The difficulty is to avoid referring to the disabled person as having lost something. Of course, you can lose your hearing, but you gain infinitely more in other ways – your senses of touch, taste, smell and sight are augmented. In the current climate of thinking, this is easier said than done. Lennard Davis indicates with distaste that discussions of disability stop theorists in their tracks. Disability, as it has been formulated, is a construct that is defined by lack. Rather than face this ragged imaged [of the disabled individual], the critic turns to the fluids of sexuality, the gloss of lubrication, the glossary of the body as text, the heteroglossia of the intertext, the glossolalia of the schizophrenic. But almost never the body of the differently abled (5). Theorists of disability consistently point out that, if more effort and energy were directed towards the philosophical implications of the disabled body, a wealth of new material and ideas would emerge that would shatter existing presumptions about the corporeal. For example, there are still immense possibilities thrown up by theorising a jouissance, or pleasure, in the disabled body. As Susan Wendell points out, “paraplegics and quadriplegics have revolutionary things to teach us about the possibilities of sexuality which contradict patriarchal culture’s obsessions with the genitals” (120). Thus if there were more of a focus on the positive aspects of disability and on promoting the understanding that disability is not about lack, people could see how it fosters creativity and imagination. Jessica saw with relief that there was a large bay window at the end of a corridor, looking out onto the Institute’s grounds. She collapsed onto the bench beneath it, which was layered with cushions. The last of the sun was fading and the grass refracted a golden sheen. She unzipped her boots and swung her legs onto the bench. Leaning her head back against the wall, she remembered a day at primary school when she was eleven. She sat on the blue seat beneath the Jacaranda tree, a book open in her lap. It was lunchtime, the sun was warm and purple Jacaranda blossoms lay scattered at her feet, some squidged wetly into the cement. She looked up from the book to watch her classmates playing soccer on the field, shouting and calling. She would have joined them, except that of late she had felt awkwardness, where before she had been blithe. She, who was so used to scrambling over the delightful hardness of wool bales in the shearing shed, who ran up and down the banks of creeks and crawled into ti trees, flakes of bark sticking to her jumper, had gradually, insidiously, learnt a consciousness of her body. She was not like them. We were silent. The electric lights on the walls of the building came on, illuminating sections of the stonework. At the time, she hated being isolated, but it forced to look at the world differently. Spending so much time on her own also taught her to listen to me, her imagination, and because of that her writing flourished. There was a flutter in the hallway. The tiny dragon had returned. It braked in the air, circled, and floated gently onto her skirt. Was this your doing? She asked me suspiciously. Maybe. She held out her palm. The dragon jumped into it, squeaking, its tail whipping lazily. Jessica smiled. References Bartlett, Alison. Jamming the Machinery: Contemporary Australian Women’s Writing. Toowoomba: Association for the Study of Australian Literature, 1998. Bauman, H-Dirksen L. “Toward a Poetics of Vision, Space and the Body.” The Disability Studies Reader. Ed. Lennard J. Davis. Hoboken: Routledge, 2006. 355-366. Davis, Lennard J. Enforcing Normalcy: Disability, Deafness, and the Body. London: Verso, 1995. Flavell, Helen. Writing-Between: Australian and Canadian Ficto-Criticism. Ph.D. Thesis. Murdoch University, 2004. Gibbs, Anna. “Writing and the Flesh of Others.” Australian Feminist Studies 18 (2003): 309–319. Kerr, Heather, and Amanda Nettlebeck. “Notes Towards an Introduction.” The Space Between: Australian Women Writing Fictocriticism. Ed. Heather Kerr and Amanda Nettlebeck. Nedlands: U of Western Australia P, 1998. 1-18. Muecke, Stephen. Joe in the Andamans: And Other Fictocritical Stories. Erskineville: Local Consumption Publications, 2008. Tompkins, Jane. “Me and My Shadow.” Gender and Theory: Dialogues on Feminist Criticism. Ed. Linda Kauffman. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1989. 121-139. Wendell, Susan. “Towards a Feminist Theory of Disability.” Hypatia 4 (1989): 104–124.

Introduction The sensational appearance of kawaii fashion in Tokyo’s Harajuku neighborhood—full of freedom, fun, and frills— has captivated hearts and imaginations worldwide. A key motivational concept for this group is “kawaii” which is commonly translated as “cute” and can also be used to describe things that are “beautiful”, “funny”, “pretty”, “wonderful”, “great”, “interesting”, and “kind” (Yamane 228; Yomota 73; Dale 320). Representations in media such as the styling of Harajuku street model and J-pop star Kyary Pamyu Pamyu, directed by Sebastian Masuda, have helped bring this fashion to a wider audience. Of this vibrant community, decora fashion is perhaps best known with its image well documented in in street-fashion magazines such as Shoichi Aoki’s FRUiTS (1997–2017), Websites such as Tokyo Fashion (2000–present), and in magazines like KERA (1998–2017). In particular, decora fashion captures the “do-it-yourself” approach for which Harajuku is best known for (Yagi 17). In this essay we draw on New Materialism to explore the ways in which decora fashion practitioners form kawaii affective assemblages with the objects they collect and transform into fashion items. We were motivated to pursue this research to build on other qualitative studies that aimed to include the voices of practitioners in accounts of their lifestyles (e.g. Nguyen; Monden; Younker) and respond to claims that kawaii fashion is a form of infantile regression. We—an Australian sociologist and kawaii fashion practitioner, a Japanese decora fashion practitioner and Harajuku street model, and a Japanese former owner of a tearoom in Harajuku—have used an action-led participatory research method to pool our expertise. In this essay we draw on both a New Materialist analysis of our own fashion practices, a 10-year longitudinal study of Harajuku (2012–2022), as well as interviews with twelve decora fashion practitioners in 2020. What Is Decora Fashion? Decora is an abbreviation of “decoration”, which reflects the key aesthetic commitment of the group to adorn their bodies with layers of objects, accessories, and stickers. Decora fashion uses bright clothing from thrift stores, layers of handmade and store-bought accessories, and chunky platform shoes or sneakers. Practitioners enjoy crafting accessories from old toys, kandi and perler beads, weaving, braiding, crocheting novelty yarn and ribbon, and designing and printing their own textiles. In addition to this act of making, decora practitioners also incorporate purchases from specialty brands like 6%DOKI DOKI, Nile Perch, ACDC Rag, YOSUKE USA, and minacute. According to our interviewees, whom we consulted in 2020, excess is key; as Momo told us: “if it’s too plain, it’s not decora”. Decora uses clashing, vibrant, electric colours, and a wild variety of kawaii versions of monsters, characters, and food which appear as motifs on their clothing (Groom 193; Yagi 17). Clashing textures and items—such as a sweat jackets, gauzy tutus, and plastic toy tiaras—are also a key concept (Koga 81). Colour is extended to practitioners’ hair through colourful hair dyes, and the application of stickers, bandaids, and jewels across their cheeks and nose (Rose, Kurebayashi and Saionji). These principles are illustrated in fig. 1, a street snap from 2015 of our co-author, Kurebayashi. Working with the contrasting primary colours across her hair, clothes, and accessories, she incorporates both her own handmade garments and found accessories to form a balanced outfit. Her Lisa Frank cat purse, made from a psychedelic vibrant pink faux fur, acts as a salient point to draw in our eyes to a cacophony of colour throughout her ensemble. The purse is a prized item from her own collection that was a rare find on Mercari, an online Japanese auction Website, 15 years ago. Her sweater dress is handmade, with a textile print she designed herself. The stickers on the print feature smiley faces, rainbows, ducks, and candy—all cheap and cheerful offerings from a discount store. Through intense layering and repetition, Kurebayashi has created a collage that is reminiscent of the clips and bracelets that decorate her hair and wrists. This collage also represents the colour, fun, and whimsy that she immerses herself in everyday. Her platform shoes are by Buffalo London, another rare find for her collection. Her hair braids are handmade by Midoroya, an online artist, which she incorporates to create variety in the textures in her outfit from head to toe. Peeking beneath her sweater is a short colourful tutu that floats and bounces with each step. Together the items converge and sing, visually loud and popping against the urban landscape. Fig. 1: Kurebayashi’s street snap in an decora fashion outfit of her own styling and making, 2015. Given the street-level nature of decora fashion, stories of its origins draw on oral histories of practitioners, alongside writings from designers and stores that cater to this group (Ash). Its emergence was relatively organic in the early 1990s, with groups enjoying mixing and combining found objects and mis-matching clothing items. Initially, decorative styles documented in street photography used a dark colour palette with layers of handmade accessories, clips, and decorations, and a Visual-kei influence. Designers such as Sebastian Masuda, who entered the scene in 1995, also played a key role by introducing accessories and clothes inspired by vintage American toys, Showa era (1926-1989) packaging, and American West Club dance culture (Sekikawa and Kumagi 22–23). Pop idols such as Tomoe Shinohara and Kyary Pamyu Pamyu are also key figures that have contributed to the pop aesthetic of decora. While decora was already practiced prior to the release of Shinohara’s 1995 single Chaimu, her styling resonated with practitioners and motivated them to pursue a more “pop” aesthetic with an emphasis on bright colours, round shapes, and handmade colourful accessories. Shinohara herself encouraged fans to take on a rebelliously playful outlook and presentation of self (Nakao 15–16; Kondō). This history resonates with more recent pop idol Kyary Pamyu Pamyu’s costuming and set design, which was directed by Sebastian Masuda. Kyary’s kawaii fashion preceded her career, as she regularly participated in the Harajuku scene and agreed to street snaps. While the costuming and set design for her music videos, such as Pon Pon Pon, resonate with the Harajuku aesthetic, her playful persona diverges. Her performance uses humour, absurdity, and imperfection to convey cuteness and provide entertainment (Iseri 158), but practitioners in Harajuku do not try to replicate this performance; Shinohara and Kyary’s stage persona promotes ‘immaturity’ and ‘imperfection’ as part of their youthful teenage rebellion (Iseri 159), while kawaii fashion practitioners prefer not to be seen in this light. When considering the toys, stickers, and accessories incorporated into decora fashion, and the performances of Shinohara and Kyary, it is understandable that some outsiders may interpret the fashion as a desire to return to childhood. Some studies of kawaii fashion more broadly have interpreted the wearing of clothing like this as a resistance to adulthood and infantile regression (e.g., Kinsella 221–222; Winge; Lunning). These studies suggest that practitioners desire to remain immature in order to “undermin[e] current ideologies of gender and power” (Hasegawa 140). In particular, Kinsella in her 1995 chapter “in Japan” asserts that fashion like this is an attempt to act “vulnerable in order to emphasize … immaturity and inability to carry out social responsibilities” (241), and suggests that this regression is “self-mutilation [which denies] the existence of a wealth of insights, feelings and humour that maturity brings with it” (235). This view has spread widely in writing about kawaii fashion, and Steele, Mears, Kawamura, and Narumi observe for instance that “prolonging childhood is compelling” as an attractive component of Harajuku culture (48). While we recognise that this literature uses the concept of “childishness” to acknowledge the rebellious nature of Harajuku fashion, our participants would like to discourage this interpretation of their practice. In particular, participants highlighted their commitment to studies, paying bills, caring for family members, and other markers they felt indicated maturity and responsibility. They also found this belief that they wanted to deny themselves adult “insights, feelings and humour” deeply offensive as it disregards their lived experience and practice. From a Sociological perspective, this infantilising interpretation is concerning as it reproduces Orientalist framings of Japanese women who enjoy kawaii culture as dependent and submissive, rather than savvy consumers (Bow 66–73; Kalnay 95). Furthermore, this commentary on youth cultures globally, which points to an infantilisation of adulthood (Hayward 230), has also been interrogated by scholars as an oversimplistic reading that doesn’t recognise the rich experiences of adults who engage in these spaces while meeting milestones and responsibilities (Woodman and Wyn; Hodkinson and Bennett; Bennett). Through our lived experience and work with the decora fashion community, we offer in this essay an alternative account of what kawaii means to these practitioners. We believe that agency, energy, and vibrancy is central to the practice of decora fashion. Rather than intending to be immature, practitioners are looking for vibrant ways to exist. A New Materialist lens offers a framework with which we can consider this experience. For example, our informant Momota, in rejecting the view that her fashion was about returning to childhood, explained that decora fashion was “rejuvenating” because it gave them “energy and power”. Elizabeth Groscz in her essay on freedom in New Materialism encourages us to consider new ways of living, not as an expression of “freedom from” social norms, but rather “freedom to” new ways of being, as expression of their “capacity for action” (140). In other words, rather than seeking freedom from adult responsibilities and regressing into a state where one is unable to care for oneself, decora fashion is a celebration of what practitioners are “capable of doing” (Groscz 140–141) by finding pleasure in collecting and making. Through encounters with kawaii objects, and the act of creating through these materials, decora fashion practitioners’ agential capacities are increased through experiences of elation, excitement and pleasure. Colourful Treasures, Fluttering Hearts: The Pleasures of Collecting kawaii Matter Christine Yano describes kawaii as having the potential to “transform the mundane material world into one occupied everywhere by the sensate and the sociable” (“Reach Out”, 23). We believe that this conceptualisation of kawaii has strong links to New Materialist theory. New Materialism highlights the ways in which human subjects are “are unstable and emergent knowing, sensing, embodied, affective assemblages of matter, thought, and language, part of and inseparable from more-than human worlds” (Lupton). Matter in this context is a social actor in its own right, energising and compelling practitioners to incorporate them into their everyday lives. For example, kawaii matter can move us to be more playful, creative, and caring (Aiwaza and Ohno; Nishimura; Yano, Pink Globalization), or help us relax and feel calm when experiencing high levels of stress (Stevens; Allison; Yano, “Reach Out”). Studies in the behavioral sciences have shown how kawaii objects pique our interest, make us feel happy and excited, and through sharing our excitement for kawaii things become kinder and more thoughtful towards each other (Nittono; Ihara and Nittono; Kanai and Nittono). Decora fashion practitioners are sensitive to this sensate and sociable aspect of kawaii; specific things redolent with “thing-power” (Bennett) shine and twinkle amongst the cultural landscape and compel practitioners to gather them up and create unique outfits. Decora fashion relies on an ongoing hunt for objects to upcycle into fashion accessories, thrifting second-hand goods in vintage stores, dollar stores, and craft shops such as DAISO, Omocha Spiral, and ACDC Rag. Practitioners select plastic goods with smooth forms and shapes, and soft, breathable, and light clothing, all with highly saturated colours. Balancing the contrast of colours, practitioners create a rainbow of matter from which they assemble their outfits. The concept of the rainbow is significant to practitioners as the synergy of contrasting colours expresses its own kawaii vitality. As our interviewee, Kanepi, described, “price too can be kawaii” (Yano, Pink Globalization 71); affordable products such as capsule toys and accessories allow practitioners to amass large collections of glistening and twinkling objects. Rare items are also prized, such as vintage toys and goods imported from America, resonating with their own “uniqueness”, and providing a point of difference to the Japanese kawaii cultural landscape. In addition to the key principles of colour, rarity, and affordability, there is also a personalised aspect to decora fashion. Amongst the mundane racks of clothing, toys, and stationary, specific matter twinkles at practitioners like treasures, triggering a moment of thrilling encounter. Our interviewee Pajorina described this moment as having a “fateful energy to it”. All practitioners described this experience as “tokimeki” (literally, a fluttering heart beat), which is used to refer to an experience of excitement in anticipation of something, or the elating feeling of infatuation (Occhi). Our interviewees sought to differentiate this experience of kawaii from feelings of care towards an animal or children through writing systems. While the kanji for “kawaii” was used to refer to children and small animals, the majority of participants wrote “kawaii” to express the vivid and energetic qualities of their fashion. We found each practitioner had a tokimeki response to certain items that and informed their collecting work. While some items fit a more mainstream interpretation of kawaii, such as characters like Hello Kitty, ribbons, and glitter, other practitioners were drawn to non-typical forms they believed were kawaii, such as frogs, snails, aliens, and monsters. As our interviewee Harukyu described: “I think people’s sense of kawaii comes from different sensibilities and perspectives. It’s a matter of feelings. If you think it is kawaii, then it is”. Guided by individual experiences of objects on the shop shelves, practitioners select things that resonate with their own inner beliefs, interests, and fantasies of what kawaii is. In this regard, kawaii matter is not “structured” or “fixed” but rather “emergent through relations” that unfold between the practitioner and the items that catch their eye in a given moment (Thorpe 12). This offers not only an affirming experience through the act of creating, but a playful outlet as well. By choosing unconventional kawaii motifs to include in their collection, and using more standard kawaii beads, jewels, and ribbons to enhance the objects’ cuteness, decora fashion practitioners are transforming, warping, and shifting kawaii aesthetic boundaries in new and experimental ways (Iseri 148; Miller 24–25). As such, this act of collecting is a joyous and elating experience of gathering and accumulating. Making, Meaning, and Memory: Creating kawaii Assemblages Once kawaii items are amassed through the process of collecting, their cuteness is intensified through hand-making items and assembling outfits. One of our interviewees, Momo, explained to us that this expressive act was key to the personalisation of their clothes as it allows them to “put together the things you like” and “incorporate your own feelings”. For example, the bracelets in fig. 2 are an assemblage made by our co-author Kurebayashi, using precious items she has collected for 10 years. Each charm has its own meaning in its aesthetics, memories it evokes, and the places in which it was found. Three yellow rubber duck charms bob along strands of twinkling pink and blue bubble-like beads. These ducks, found in a bead shop wholesaler while travelling in Hong Kong, evoke for Kurebayashi an experience of a bubble bath, where one can relax and luxuriate in self care. Their contrast with the pink and blue—forming the trifecta of primary colours—enhances the vibrant intensity of the bracelet. A large blue bear charm, contrasting in scale and colour, swings at her wrist, its round forms evoking Lorenz’s Kindchenschema. This bear charm is another rare find from America, a crowning jewel in Kurebayashi’s collection. It represents Kurebayashi’s interest in fun and colourful animals as characters, and as potential kawaii friends. Its translucent plastic form catches the light as it glistens. To balance the colour scheme of her creation, Kurebayashi added a large strawberry charm, found for just 50 Yen in a discount store in Japan. Together these objects resonate with key decora principles: personal significance, rarity, affordability, and bright contrasting colours. While the bear and duck reference childhood toys, they do not signify to Kurebayashi a desire to return to childhood. Rather, their rounded forms evoke a playful outlook on life informed by self care and creativity (Ngai 841; Rose). Through bringing the collection of items together in making these bracelets, the accessories form an entanglement of kawaii matter that carries both aesthetic and personal meaning, charged with memories, traces of past travels, and a shining shimmering vitality of colour and light. Fig. 2: Handmade decora fashion bracelet by Kurebayashi, 2022. The creation of decora outfits is the final act of expression and freedom. In this moment, decora fashion practitioners experience elation as they gleefully mix and match items from their collection to create their fashion style. This entanglement of practitioner and kawaii matter evokes what Gorscz would describe as “free acts … generated through the encounter of life with matter” (151). If we return to fig. 1, we can see how Kurebayashi and her fashion mutually energise each other as an expression of colourful freedom. While the objects themselves are found through encounters and given new life by Kurebayashi as fashion items, they also provide Kurebayashi with tools of expression that “expand the variety of activities” afforded to adults (Gorscz 154). She feels elated, full of feeling, insight, and humour in these clothes, celebrating all the things she loves that are bright, colourful, and fun. Conclusion In this essay, we have used New Materialist theory to illustrate some of the ways in which kawaii matter energises decora fashion practitioners, as an expression of what Gorscz would describe as “capacity for action” and a “freedom towards” new modes of expression. Practitioners are sensitive to kawaii’s affective potential, motivating them to search for and collect items that elate and excite them, triggering moments of thrilling encounters amongst the mundanity of the stores they search through. Through the act of making and assembling these items, practitioners form an entanglement of matter charged with their feelings, memories, and the vitality and vibrancy of their collections. Like shining rainbows in the streets, they shimmer and shine with kawaii life, vibrancy, and vitality. Acknowledgements This article was produced with the support of a Vitalities Lab Scholarship, UNSW Sydney, a National Library of Australia Asia Studies scholarship, as well as in-kind support from the University of Tokyo and the Japan Foundation Sydney. 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IntroductionI have been studying the creation of Metro style train travel in Sydney for over a decade. My focus has been on the impact that media has had on the process (see Richardson, “Curatorial”; “Upheaval”; “Making”). Through extensive expert, public, and media research, I have investigated the coalitions and alliances that have formed (and disintegrated) between political, bureaucratic, news media, and public actors and the influences at work within these actor-networks. As part of this project, I visited an underground Métro turning fifty in Montreal, Canada. After many years studying the development of a train that wasn’t yet tangible, I wanted to ask a functional train the simple ethnomethodological/Latourian style question, “what do you do for a city and its people?” (de Vries). Therefore, in addition to research conducted in Montreal, I spent ten days wandering through many of the entrances, tunnels, staircases, escalators, mezzanines, platforms, doorways, and carriages of which the Métro system consists. The purpose was to observe the train in situ in order to broaden potential conceptualisations of what a train does for a city such as Montreal, with a view of improving the ideas and messages that would be used to “sell” future rapid rail projects in other cities such as Sydney. This article outlines a selection of the pathways wandered, not only to illustrate the power of social research based on physical wandering, but also the potential power the metaphorical and conceptual wandering an Actor-Network Theory (ANT) assemblage affords social research for media communications.Context, Purpose, and ApproachANT is a hybrid theory/method for studying an arena of the social, such as the significance of a train to a city like Montreal. This type of study is undertaken by following the actors (Latour, Reassembling 12). In ANT, actors do something, as the term suggests. These actions have affects and effects. These might be contrived and deliberate influences or completely circumstantial and accidental impacts. Actors can be people as we are most commonly used to understanding them, and they can also be texts, technological devices, software programs, natural phenomena, or random occurrences. Most significantly though, actors are their “relations” (Harman 17). This means that they are only present if they are relating to others. These relations and the resulting influences and impacts are called networks. A network in the ANT sense is not as simple as the lines that connect train stations on a rail map. Without actions, relations, influences, and impacts, there are no actors. Hence the hyphen in actor-network; the actor and the network are symbiotic. The network, rendered visible through actor associations, consists of the tenuous connections that “shuttle back and forth” between actors even in spite of the fact their areas of knowledge and reality may be completely separate (Latour Modern 3). ANT, therefore, may be considered an empirical practice of tracing the actors and the network of influences and impacts that they both help to shape and are themselves shaped by. To do this, central ANT theorist Bruno Latour employs a simple research question: “what do you do?” This is because in the process of doing, somebody or something is observed to be affecting other people or things and an actor-network becomes identifiable. Latour later learned that his approach shared many parallels with ethnomethodology. This was a discovery that more concretely set the trajectory of his work away from a social science that sought explanations “about why something happens, to ontological ones, that is, questions about what is going on” (de Vries). So, in order to make sense of people’s actions and relations, the focus of research became asking the deceptively simple question while refraining as much as possible “from offering descriptions and explanations of actions in terms of schemes taught in social theory classes” (14).In answering this central ANT question, studies typically wander in a metaphorical sense through an array or assemblage (Law) of research methods such as formal and informal interviews, ethnographic style observation, as well as the content analysis of primary and secondary texts (see Latour, Aramis). These were the methods adopted for my Montreal research—in addition to fifteen in-depth expert and public interviews conducted in October 2017, ten days were spent physically wandering and observing the train in action. I hoped that in understanding what the train does for the city and its people, the actor-network within which the train is situated would be revealed. Of course, “what do you do?” is a very broad question. It requires context. In following the influence of news media in the circuitous development of rapid rail transit in Sydney, I have been struck by the limited tropes through which the potential for rapid rail is discussed. These tropes focus on technological, functional, and/or operational aspects (see Budd; Faruqi; Hasham), costs, funding and return on investment (see Martin and O’Sullivan; Saulwick), and the potential to alleviate peak hour congestion (see Clennell; West). As an expert respondent in my Sydney research, a leading Australian architect and planner, states, “How boring and unexciting […] I mean in Singapore it is the most exciting […] the trains are fantastic […] that wasn’t sold to the [Sydney] public.” So, the purpose of the Montreal research is to expand conceptualisations of the potential for rapid rail infrastructure to influence a city and improve communications used to sell projects in the future, as well as to test the role of both physical and metaphorical ANT style wanderings in doing so. Montreal was chosen for three reasons. First, the Métro had recently turned fifty, which made the comparison between the fledgling and mature systems topical. Second, the Métro was preceded by decades of media discussion (Gilbert and Poitras), which parallels the development of rapid transit in Sydney. Finally, a different architect designed each station and most stations feature art installations (Magder). Therefore, the Métro appeared to have transcended the aforementioned functional and numerically focused tropes used to justify the Sydney system. Could such a train be considered a long-term success?Wandering and PathwaysIn ten days I rode the Montreal Métro from end to end. I stopped at all the stations. I wandered around. I treated wandering not just as a physical research activity, but also as an illustrative metaphor for an assemblage of research practices. This assemblage culminates in testimony, anecdotes, stories, and descriptions through which an actor-network may be glimpsed. Of course, it is incomplete—what I have outlined below represents only a few pathways. However, to think that an actor-network can ever be traversed in its entirety is to miss the point. Completion is a fallacy. Wandering doesn’t end at a finish line. There are always pathways left untrodden. I have attempted not to overanalyse. I have left contradictions unresolved. I have avoided the temptation to link paths through tenuous byways. Some might consider that I have meandered, but an actor-network is never linear. I can only hope that my wanderings, as curtailed as they may be, prove nuanced, colourful, and rich—if not compelling. ANT encourages us to rethink social research (Latour, Reassembling). Central to this is acknowledging (and becoming comfortable with) our own role as researcher in the illumination of the actor-network itself.Here are some of the Montreal pathways wandered:First Impressions I arrive at Montreal airport late afternoon. The apartment I have rented is conveniently located between two Métro stations—Mont Royal and Sherbrooke. I use my phone and seek directions by public transport. To my surprise, the only option is the bus. Too tired to work out connections, I decide instead to follow the signs to the taxi rank. Here, I queue. We are underway twenty minutes later. Travelling around peak traffic, we move from one traffic jam to the next. The trip is slow. Finally ensconced in the apartment, I reflect on how different the trip into Montreal had been, from what I had envisaged. The Métro I had travelled to visit was conspicuous in its total absence.FloatingIt is a feeling of floating that first strikes me when riding the Métro. It runs on rubber tyres. The explanation for the choice of this technology differs. There are reports that it was the brainchild of strong-willed mayor, Jean Drapeau, who believed the new technology would showcase Montreal as a modern world-scale metropolis (Gilbert and Poitras). However, John Martins-Manteiga provides a less romantic account, stating that the decision was made because tyres were cheaper (47). I assume the rubber tyres create the floating sensation. Add to this the famous warmth of the system (Magder; Hazan, Hot) and it has a thoroughly calming, even lulling, effect.Originally, I am planning to spend two whole days riding the Métro in its entirety. I make handwritten notes. On the first day, at mid-morning, nausea develops. I am suffering motion sickness. This is a surprise. I have always been fine to read and write on trains, unlike in a car or bus. It causes a moment of realisation. I am effectively riding a bus. This is an unexpected side-effect. My research program changes—I ride for a maximum of two hours at a time and my note taking becomes more circumspect. The train as actor is influencing the research program and the data being recorded in unexpected ways. ArtThe stained-glass collage at Berri-Uquam, by Pierre Gaboriau and Pierre Osterrath, is grand in scale, intricately detailed and beautiful. It sits above the tunnel from which the trains enter and leave the platform. It somehow seems wholly connected to the train as a result—it frames and announces arrivals and departures. Other striking pieces include the colourful, tiled circles from the mezzanine above the platform at station Peel and the beautiful stained-glass panels on the escalator at station Charlevoix. As a public respondent visiting from Chicago contends, “I just got a sense of exploration—that I wanted to have a look around”.Urban FormAn urban planner asserts that the Métro is responsible for the identity and diversity of urban culture that Montreal is famous for. As everyone cannot live right above a Métro station, there are streets around stations where people walk to the train. As there is less need for cars, these streets are made friendlier for walkers, precipitating a cycle. Furthermore, pedestrian-friendly streets promote local village style commerce such as shops, cafes, bars, and restaurants. So, there is not only more access on foot, but also more incentive to access. The walking that the Métro induces improves the dynamism and social aspects of neighbourhoods, a by-product of which is a distinct urban form and culture for different pockets of the city. The actor-network broadens. In following the actors, I now have to wander beyond the physical limits of the system itself. The streets I walk around station Mont Royal are shopping and restaurant strips, rich with foot traffic at all times of day; it is a vibrant and enticing place to wander.Find DiningThe popular MTL blog published a map of the best restaurants the Métro provides access to (Hazan, Restaurant).ArchitectureStation De La Savane resembles a retro medieval dungeon. It evokes thoughts of the television series Game of Thrones. Art and architecture work in perfect harmony. The sculpture in the foyer by Maurice Lemieux resembles a deconstructed metal mace hanging on a brutalist concrete wall. It towers above a grand staircase and abuts a fence that might ring a medieval keep. Up close I realise it is polished, precisely cut cylindrical steel. A modern fence referencing another time and place. Descending to the platform, craggy concrete walls are pitted with holes. I get the sense of peering through these into the hidden chambers of a crypt. Overlaying all of this is a strikingly modern series of regular and irregular, bold vertical striations cut deeply into the concrete. They run from floor to ceiling to add to a cathedral-like sense of scale. It’s warming to think that such a whimsical train station exists anywhere in the world. Time WarpA public respondent describes the Métro:It’s a little bit like a time machine. It’s a piece of the past and piece of history […] still alive now. I think that it brings art or form or beauty into everyday life. […] You’re going from one place to the next, but because of the history and the story of it you could stop and breathe and take it in a little bit more.Hold ups and HostagesA frustrated General Manager of a transport advocacy group states in an interview:Two minutes of stopping in the Métro is like Armageddon in Montreal—you see it on every media, on every smartphone [...] We are so captive in the Métro [there is a] loss of control.Further, a transport modelling expert asserts:You’re a hostage when you’re in transportation. If the Métro goes out, then you really are stuck. Unfortunately, it does go out often enough. If you lose faith in a mode of transportation, it’s going to be very hard to get you back.CommutingIt took me a good week before I started to notice how tired some of the Métro stations had grown. I felt my enthusiasm dip when I saw the estimated arrival time lengthen on the electronic noticeboard. Anger rose as a young man pushed past me from behind to get out of a train before I had a chance to exit. These tendrils of the actor-network were not evident to me in the first few days. Most interview respondents state that after a period of time passengers take less notice of the interesting and artistic aspects of the Métro. They become commuters. Timeliness and consistency become the most important aspects of the system.FinaleI deliberately visit station Champ-de-Mars last. Photos convince me that I am going to end my Métro exploration with an experience to savour. The station entry and gallery is iconic. Martins-Manteiga writes, “The stained-glass artwork by Marcelle Ferron is almost a religious experience; it floods in and splashes down below” (306). My timing is off though. On this day, the soaring stained-glass windows are mostly hidden behind protective wadding. The station is undergoing restoration. Travelling for the last time back towards station Mont Royal, my mood lightens. Although I had been anticipating this station for some time, in many respects this is a revealing conclusion to my Métro wanderings.What Do You Do?When asked what the train does, many respondents took a while to answer or began with common tropes around moving people. As a transport project manager asserts, “in the world of public transport, the perfect trip is the one you don’t notice”. A journalist gives the most considered and interesting answer. He contends:I think it would say, “I hold the city together culturally, economically, physically, logistically—that’s what I do […] I’m the connective tissue of this city”. […] How else do you describe infrastructure that connects poor neighbourhoods to rich neighbourhoods, downtown to outlying areas, that supports all sorts of businesses both inside it and immediately adjacent to it and has created these axes around the city that pull in almost everybody [...] And of course, everyone takes it for granted […] We get pissed off when it’s late.ConclusionNo matter how real a transportation system may be, it can always be made a little less real. Today, for example, the Paris metro is on strike for the third week in a row. Millions of Parisians are learning to get along without it, by taking their cars or walking […] You see? These enormous hundred-year-old technological monsters are no more real than the four-year-old Aramis is unreal: They all need allies, friends […] There’s no inertia, no irreversibility; there’s no autonomy to keep them alive. (Latour, Aramis 86)Through ANT-based physical and metaphorical wanderings, we find many pathways that illuminate what a train does. We learn from various actors in the actor-network through which the train exists. We seek out its “allies” and “friends”. We wander, piecing together as much of the network as we can. The Métro does lots of things. It has many influences and it influences many. It is undeniably an actor in an actor-network. Transport planners would like it to appear seamless—commuters entering and leaving without really noticing the in-between. And sometimes it appears this way. However, when the commuter is delayed, this appearance is shattered. If a signal fails or an engine falters, the Métro, through a process mediated by word of mouth and/or social and mainstream media, is suddenly rendered tired and obsolete. Or is it historic and quaint? Is the train a technical problem for the city of Montreal or is it characterful and integral to the city’s identity? It is all these things and many more. The actor-network is illusive and elusive. Pathways are extensive. The train floats. The train is late. The train makes us walk. The train has seeded many unique villages, much loved. The train is broken. The train is healthy for its age. The train is all that is right with Montreal. The train is all that is wrong with Montreal. The artwork and architecture mean nothing. The artwork and architecture mean everything. Is the train overly limited by the tyres that keep it underground? Of course, it is. Of course, it isn’t. Does 50 years of history matter? Of course, it does. Of course, it doesn’t. It thrives. It’s tired. It connects. It divides. It’s functional. It’s dirty. It’s beautiful. It’s something to be proud of. It’s embarrassing. A train offers many complex and fascinating pathways. It is never simply an object; it lives and breathes in the network because we live and breathe around it. It stops being effective. It starts becoming affective. Sydney must learn from this. My wanderings demonstrate that the Métro cannot be extricated from what Montreal has become over the last half century. In May 2019, Sydney finally opened its first Metro rail link. And yet, this link and other ongoing metro projects continue to be discussed through statistics and practicalities (Sydney Metro). This offers no affective sense of the pathways that are, and will one day be, created. By selecting and appropriating relevant pathways from cities such as Montreal, and through our own wanderings and imaginings, we can make projections of what a train will do for a city like Sydney. We can project a rich and vibrant actor-network through the media in more emotive and powerful ways. Or, can we not at least supplement the economic, functional, or technocratic accounts with other wanderings? Of course, we can’t. Of course, we can. ReferencesBudd, Henry. “Single-Deck Trains in North West Rail Link.” The Daily Telegraph 20 Jun. 2012. 17 Jan. 2018 <https://www.dailytelegraph.com.au/news/nsw/single-deck-trains-in-north-west-rail-link/news-story/f5255d11af892ebb3938676c5c8b40da>.Clennell, Andrew. “All Talk as City Chokes to Death.” The Daily Telegraph 7 Nov. 2011. 2 Jan 2012 <http://www.dailytelegraph.com.au/news/opinion/all-talk-as-city-chokes-to-death/story-e6frezz0-1226187007530>.De Vries, Gerard. Bruno Latour. Cambridge, UK: Polity, 2016.Faruqi, Mehreen. “Is the New Sydney Metro Privatization of the Rail Network by Stealth?” Sydney Morning Herald 7 July 2015. 19 Jan. 2018 <http://www.smh.com.au/comment/is-the-new-sydney-metro-privatisation-of-the-rail-network-by-stealth-20150707-gi6rdg.html>.Game of Thrones. HBO, 2011–2019.Gilbert, Dale, and Claire Poitras. “‘Subways Are Not Outdated’: Debating the Montreal Métro 1940–60.” The Journal of Transport History 36.2 (2015): 209–227. Harman, Graham. Prince of Networks: Bruno Latour and Metaphysics. Melbourne: re.press, 2009.Hasham, Nicole. “Driverless Trains Plan as Berejiklian Does a U-Turn.” Sydney Morning Herald 6 Jun. 2013. 16 Jan. 2018 <https://www.smh.com.au/national/nsw/driverless-trains-plan-as-berejiklian-does-a-u-turn-20130606-2ns4h.html>.Hazan, Jeremy. “Montreal’s First-Ever Official Metro Restaurant Map.” MTL Blog 17 May 2010. 11 Oct. 2017 <https://www.mtlblog.com/things-to-do-in-mtl/montreals-first-ever-official-metro-restaurant-map/1>.———. “This Is Why Montreal’s STM Metro Has Been So Hot Lately.” MTL Blog 22 Sep. 2017. 11 Oct. 2017 <https://www.mtlblog.com/whats-happening/this-is-why-montreals-stm-metro-has-been-so-hot-lately>. Latour, Bruno. We Have Never Been Modern. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1993.———. Aramis: Or the Love of Technology. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1996. ———. Reassembling the Social: An Introduction to Actor-Network-Theory. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005.Law, John. After Method: Mess in Social Science Research. New York: Routledge, 2004.Magder, Jason. “The Metro at 50: Building the Network.” Montreal Gazette 13 Oct. 2016. 18 Oct. 2017 <http://montrealgazette.com/news/local-news/the-metro-at-50-building-the-network>.Martin, Peter, and Matt O’Sullivan. “Cabinet Leak: Sydney to Parramatta in 15 Minutes Possible, But Not Preferred.” Sydney Morning Herald 14 Aug. 2017. 7 Dec. 2017 <https://www.smh.com.au/national/nsw/cabinet-leak-sydney-to-parramatta-in-15-minutes-possible-but-not-preferred-20170813-gxv226.html>.Martins-Manteiga, John. Métro: Design in Motion. Dominion Modern: Canada 2011.Richardson, Nicholas. “Political Upheaval in Australia: Media, Foucault and Shocking Policy.” ANZCA Conference Proceedings 2015. Eds. D. Paterno, M. Bourk, and D. Matheson.———. “A Curatorial Turn in Policy Development? Managing the Changing Nature of Policymaking Subject to Mediatisation” M/C Journal 18.4 (2015). 7 Aug. 2019 <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/index.php/mcjournal/article/view/998>.———. “‘Making it Happen’: Deciphering Government Branding in Light of the Sydney Building Boom.” M/C Journal 20.2 (2017). 7 Aug. 2019 <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/index.php/mcjournal/article/view/1221>.Saulwick, Jacob. “Plenty of Sums in Rail Plans But Not Everything Adds Up.” Sydney Morning Herald 7 Nov. 2011. 17 Apr. 2012 <http://www.smh.com.au/opinion/politics/plenty-of-sums-in-rail-plans-but-not-everything-adds-up-20111106-1n1wn.html>.Sydney Metro. 16 July 2019. <https://www.sydneymetro.info/>.West, Andrew. “Second Harbour Crossing – or Chaos.” Sydney Morning Herald 31 May 2010. 17 Jan. 2018 <http://www.smh.com.au/nsw/second-harbour-crossing--or-chaos-20100530-wnik.html>.

IntroductionThe American artist Ryan Trecartin makes digital videos that centre on the self-presentations common to video-sharing sites such as YouTube. Named by New Yorker critic Peter Schjeldahl as “the most consequential artist to have emerged since the 1980s” (84), Trecartin’s works are like high-octane domestic dramas told in the first-person, blending carnivalesque and horror sensibilities through multi-layered imagery, fast-paced editing, sprawling mise-en-scène installations and heavy-handed digital effects. Featuring narcissistic young-adult characters (many of whom are played by the artist and his friends), Trecartin’s scripted videos portray the self as fundamentally performed and kaleidoscopically mediated. His approach is therefore exemplary of some of the key concepts of automediality, which, although originating in literary studies, address concerns relevant to contemporary art, such as the blurring of life-story, self-performance, identity, persona and technological mediation. I argue that Trecartin’s work is a form of automedial art that combines camp personas with what Sianne Ngai calls the “zany” aesthetics of neoliberalism—the 24/7 production of affects, subjectivity and sociability which complicate distinctions between public and private life.Performing the Script: The Artist as Automedial ProsumerBoth “automedia” and “automediality” hold that the self (the “auto”) and its forms of expression (its “media”) are intimately linked, imbricated within processes of cultural and technological mediation. However, whereas “automedia” refers to general modes of self-presentation, “automediality” was developed by Jörg Dünne and Christian Moser to explicitly relate to the autobiographical. Noting a tendency in literary studies to under-examine how life stories are shaped by their mediums, Dünne and Moser argued that the digital era has made it more apparent how literary forms are involved in complex processes of mediation. Sidonie Smith and Julia Watson, in response, called for an expansion of autobiography into “life writing,” claiming that automediality is useful as a theoretical frame for contemplating the growth of self-presentation platforms online, shifting from the life-narrative genre of autobiography towards more discursive and irresolute forms of first-person expression (4). One’s life story, in this context, can be communicated obliquely and performatively, with the choice of media inextricably contributing to the subjectivity that is being produced, not just as a tool for rendering a pre-existent self. Lauren Berlant conceives of life writing as a laboratory for “theorizing ‘the event’” of life rather than its narration or transcription (Prosser 181). Smith and Watson agree, describing automediality as the study of “life acts” that operate as “prosthetic extension[s] of the self in networks” (78). Following this, both “automedia” and “automediality” can be understood as expanding upon the “underlying intermedial premises” (Winthrop-Young 188) of media theory, addressing how technologies and mediums do not just constitute sensory extensions of the body (Mcluhan) but also sensory extensions of identity—armed with the potential to challenge traditional ideas of how a “life” is conveyed. For Julie Rak, “automedia” describes both the theoretical framing of self-presentation acts and the very processes of mediation the self-presenter puts themselves through (161). She prefers “automedia” over “automediality” due to the latter’s tendency to be directed towards the textual products of self-presentation, rather than their processes (161). Given Trecartin’s emphasis on narrative, poetic text, performativity, technology and commodification, both “automedia” and “automediality” will be relevant to my account here, highlighting not just the crossovers between the two terms but also the dual roles his work performs. Firstly, Trecartin’s videos express his own identity through the use of camp personas and exaggerated digital tropes. Secondly, they reflexively frame the phenomenon of online self-presentation, aestheticizing the “slice of life” and “personal history” posturings found on YouTube in order to better understand them. The line between self-presenter and critic is further muddied by the fact that Trecartin makes many of his videos free to download online. As video artist and YouTuber, he is interested in the same questions that Smith and Watson claim are central to automedial theory. When watching Youtube performers, they remind themselves to ask: “How is the aura of authenticity attached to an online performance constructed by a crew, which could include a camera person, sound person, director, and script-writer? Do you find this self-presentation to be sincere or to be calculated authenticity, a pose or ‘manufactured’ pseudo-individuality?” (124). Rather than setting out to identify “right” from “wrong” subjectivities, the role of both the automedia and automediality critic is to illuminate how and why subjectivity is constructed across distinct visual and verbal forms, working against the notion that subjectivity can be “an entity or essence” (Smith and Watson 125).Figure 1: Ryan Trecartin, Item Falls (2013), digital video stillGiven its literary origins, automediality is particularly relevant to Trecartin’s work because writing is so central to his methods, grounding his hyperactive self-presentations in the literary as well as the performative. According to Brian Droitcour, all of Trecartin’s formal devices, from the camerawork to the constructed sets his videos are staged in, are prefigured by the way he uses words. What appears unstructured and improvised is actually closely scripted, with Trecartin building on the legacies of conceptual poetry and flarf poetry (an early 2000s literary genre in which poetry is composed of collages of serendipitously found words and phrases online) to bring a loose sense of narrativization to his portrayals of characters and context. Consider the following excerpt from the screenplay for K-Corea INC. K (Section A) (2009)— a work which centres on a CEO named Global Korea (a pun on “career”) who presides over symbolic national characters whose surnames are also “Korea”:North America Korea: I specialize in Identity Tourism, ?Agency...I just stick HERE, and I Hop Around–HEY GLOBAL KOREA!?Identifiers: That’s Global, That’s Global, That’s GlobalFrench adaptation Korea: WHAT!?Global Korea: Guys I just Wanted to show You Your New Office!Health Care, I don’t Care, It’s All WE Care, That’s WhyWE don’t Care.THIS IS GLOBAL!Identified: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGlobal Korea: Global, Global !!Identified: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHFigure 2: Ryan Trecartin, K-Corea INC. K (Section A) (2009), digital video stillTrecartin’s performers are guided by their lines, even down to the apparently random use of commas, question marks and repeated capital letters. As a consequence, what can be alienating on the page is made lively when performed, his words instilled with the over-the-top personalities of each performer. For Droitcour, Trecartin’s genius lies in his ability to use words to subliminally structure his performances. Each character makes the artist’s poetic texts—deranged and derivative-sounding Internet-speak—their own “at the moment of the utterance” (Droitcour). Wayne Koestenbaum similarly argues that voice, which Trecartin often digitally manipulates, is the “anxiety point” in his works, fixing his “retardataire” energies on the very place “where orality and literacy stage their war of the worlds” (276).This conflict that Koestenbaum describes, between orality and literacy, is constitutive of Trecartin’s automedial positioning of the self, which presents as a confluence of life narrative, screenplay, social-media posing, flarf poetry and artwork. His videos constantly criss-cross between pre-production, production and postproduction, creating content at every point along the way. This circuitousness is reflected by the many performers who are portrayed filming each other as they act, suggesting that their projected identities are entangled with the technologies that facilitate them.Trecartin’s A Family Finds Entertainment (2004)—a frenetic straight-to-camera chronicle of the coming-out of a gay teenager named Skippy (played by the artist)—was included in the 2006 Whitney Biennial, after which time his work became known around the world as an example of “postproduction” art. This refers to French curator and theorist Nicholas Bourriaud’s 2001 account of the blurring of production and consumption, following on from his 1997 theory of relational aesthetics, which became paradigmatic of critical art practice at the dawn of Web 2.0. Drawing from Marcel Duchamp and the Situationists, in Postproduction: Culture as Screenplay: How Art Reprograms the World, Bourriaud addressed new forms of citation, recycling and détournement, which he saw as influenced by digital computing, the service economies and other forms of immaterial social relations that, throughout the 1990s, transformed art from a subcultural activity to a key signifier and instrument of global capitalism.Because “word processing” was “indexed to the formal protocol of the service industry, and the image-system of the home computer […] informed and colonized from the start by the world of work” (78), Bourriaud claimed that artists at the start of the twenty-first century were responding to the semiotic networks that blur daily and professional life. Postproduction art looked like it was “issued from a script that the artist projects onto culture, considered the framework of a narrative that in turn projects new possible scripts, endlessly” (19). However, whereas the artists in Bourriaud’s publication, such as Plamen Dejanov and Philippe Parreno, made art in order to create “more suitable [social] arrangements” (76), Trecartin is distinctive not only because of his bombastic style but also his apparent resistance to socio-political amelioration.Bourriaud’s call for the elegant intertextual “scriptor” as prosumer (88)—who creatively produces and consumes, arranges and responds—was essentially answered by Trecartin with a parade of hyper-affective and needy Internet characters whose aims are not to negotiate new social terrain so much as to perform themselves crazy, competing with masses of online information, opinions and jostling identities. Against Bourriaud’s strategic prosumerism, Trecartin, in his own words, chases “a kind of natural prosumerism synonymous with existence” (471). Although his work can be read as a response to neoliberal values, unlike Bourriaud, he refuses to treat postproduction methods as tools to conciliate this situation. Instead, his scripted videos present postproduction as the lingua franca of daily life. In aiming for a “natural prosumerism,” his work rhetorically asks, in paraphrase of Berlant: “What does it mean to have a life, is it always to add up to something?” (Prosser 181). Figure 3: Ryan Trecartin, A Family Finds Entertainment (2004), digital video stillPluralist CampTrecartin’s scripts direct his performers but they are also transformed by them, his words acquiring their individualistic tics, traits and nuances. As such, his self-presentations are a long way from Frederic Jameson’s account of pastiche as a neutral practice of imitation—“a blank parody” (125) that manifests as an addiction rather than a critical judgement. Instead of being uncritically blank, we could say that Trecartin’s characters have too much content and too many affects, particularly those of the Internet variety. In Ready (Re’Search Wait’S) (2009-2010), Trecartin (playing a character named J.J. Check, who wants to re-write the U.S constitution) states at one point: “Someone just flashed an image of me; I am so sure of it. I am such as free download.” Here, pastiche turns into a performed glitch, hinting at how authentic speech can be composed of an amalgam of inauthentic sources—a scrambling of literary forms, movie one-liners, intrusive online advertising and social media jargon. His characters constantly waver between vernacular clichés and accretions of data: “My mother accused me of being accumulation posing as independent free will,” says a character from Item Falls (2013)What makes Trecartin’s video work so fascinating is that he frames what once would have been called “pastiche” and fills it with meaning, as if sincerely attuned to the paradoxes of “anti-normative” posturing contained in the term “mass individualism.” Even when addressing issues of representational politics, his dialogue registers as both authentic and insipid, as when, in CENTER JENNY (2013), a conversation about sexism being “the coolest style” ends with a woman in a bikini asking: “tolerance is inevitable, right?” Although there are laugh-out-loud elements in all of his work—often from an exaggeration of superficiality—there is a more persistent sense of the artist searching for something deeper, perhaps sympathetically so. His characters are eager to self-project yet what they actually project comes off as too much—their performances are too knowing, too individualistic and too caught up in the Internet, or other surrounding technologies.When Susan Sontag wrote in 1964 of the aesthetic of “camp” she was largely motivated by the success of Pop art, particularly that of her friend Andy Warhol. Warhol’s work looked kitsch yet Sontag saw in it a genuine love that kitsch lacks—a sentiment akin to doting on something ugly or malformed. Summoning the dandy, she claimed that whereas “the dandy would be continually offended or bored, the connoisseur of Camp is continually amused, delighted. The dandy held a perfumed handkerchief to his nostrils and was liable to swoon; the connoisseur of Camp sniffs the stink and prides himself on his strong nerves” (292).As an artistic device, camp essentially wallows in all the bad fetishisms that Frankfurt School theorists lamented of capitalism. The camp appropriator, does, however, convey himself as existing both inside and outside this low culture, communicating the “stink” of low culture in affecting ways. Sontag viewed camp, in other words, as at once deconstructive and reconstructive. In playing appearances off against essences, camp denies the self as essence only to celebrate it as performance.In line with accounts of identity in automediality and automedia theory, camp can be understood as performing within a dialectical tension between self and its representation. The camp aesthetic shows the self as discursively mediated and embedded in subjective formations that are “heterogeneous, conflictual, and intersectional” (Smith and Watson 71). Affiliated with the covert expression of homosexual and queer identity, the camp artist typically foregrounds art as taste, and taste as mere fashion, while at the same time he/she suggests how this approach is shaped by socio-political marginalization. For Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, the criticality of camp is “additive and accretive” rather than oppositional; it is a surplus form that manifests as “the ‘over’-attachment to fragmentary, marginal, waste or leftover products” (149).Trecartin, who identifies as gay, parodies the excesses of digital identity while at the same time, from camp and queer perspectives, he asks us to take these identifications seriously—straight, gay, transsexual, bisexual, inter-sexual, racial, post-racial, mainstream, alternative, capitalist or anarchist. This pluralist agenda manifests in characters who speak as though everything is in quotation marks, suggesting that everything is possible. Dialogue such as “I’m finally just an ‘as if’”, “I want an idea landfill”, and “It reminds me of the future” project feelings of too much and not enough, transforming Warhol’s cool, image-oriented version of camp (transfixed by TV and supermarket capitalism) into a hyper-affective Internet camp—a camp that feeds on new life narratives, identity postures and personalities, as stimuli.In emphasising technology as intrinsic to camp self-presentation, Trecartin treats intersectionality and intermediality as if corresponding concepts. His characters, caught between youthhood and adulthood, are inbetweeners. Yet, despite being nebulous, they float free of normative ideals only in the sense that they believe everybody not only has the right to live how they want to, but to also be condemned for it—the right to intolerance going hand-in-hand with their belief in plurality. This suggests the paradoxical condition of pluralist, intersectional selfhood in the digital age, where one can position one’s identity as if between social categories while at the same time weaponizing it, in the form of identity politics. In K-Corea INC. K (Section A) (2009), Global Korea asks: “Who the fuck is that baby shit-talker? That’s not one of my condiments,” which is delivered with characteristic confidence, defensiveness and with gleeful disregard for normative speech. Figure 4: Ryan Trecartin, CENTER JENNY (2013), digital video stillThe Zaniness of the Neoliberal SelfIf, as Koestenbaum claims, Trecartin’s host of characters are actually “evolving mutations of a single worldview” (275), then the worldview they represent is what Sianne Ngai calls the “hypercommodified, information saturated, performance driven conditions of late capitalism” (1). Self-presentation in this context is not to be understood so much as experienced through prisms of technological inflection, marketing spiel and pluralist interpretative schemas. Ngai has described the rise of “zaniness” as an aesthetic category that perfectly encapsulates this capitalist condition. Zany hyperactivity is at once “lighthearted” and “vehement,” and as such it is highly suited to the contemporary volatility of affective labour; its tireless overlapping of work and play, and the networking rhetoric of global interconnectedness (Ngai, 7). This is what Luc Boltanski and Eve Chiapello have termed the “connexionist” spirit of capitalism, where a successful career is measured by one’s capacity to be “always pursuing some sort of activity, never to be without a project, without ideas, to be always looking forward to, and preparing for, something along with other persons, whose encounter is the result of being always driven by the drive for activity” (Chiapello and Fairclough 192).For Ngai, the zany—epitomized by Jim Carrey’s character in Cable Guy (1996) or Wile E. Coyote from the Looney Tunes cartoons—performs first and asks questions later. As such, their playfulness is always performed in a way that could spin out of control, as when Trecartin’s humour can, in the next moment, appear psychotic. Ngai continues:What is essential to zaniness is its way of evoking a situation with the potential to cause harm or injury […]. For all their playfulness and commitment to fun, the zany’s characters give the impression of needing to labor excessively hard to produce our laughter, straining themselves to the point of endangering not just themselves but also those around them. (10)Using sinister music scores, anxiety-inducing editing and lighting that references iconic DIY horror films such as the Blair Witch Project (1999), Trecartin comically frames the anxieties and over-produced individualism of the global neoliberalist project, but in ways that one is unsure what to do with it. “Don’t look at me—look at your mother, and globalize at her,” commands Global Korea. Set in temporary (read precarious) locations that often resemble both domestic and business environments, his world is one in which young adults are incessantly producing themselves as content, as if unstable market testers run riot, on whose tastes our future global economic growth depends.Michel Foucault defined this neoliberal condition as “the application of the economic grid to social phenomena” (239). As early as 1979 he claimed that workers in a neoliberal context begin to regard the self as an “abilities-machine” (229) where they are less partners in the processes of economic exchange than independent producers of human capital. As Jodi Dean puts it, with the totalization of economic production, neoliberal processes “simultaneously promote the individual as the primary unit of capitalism and unravel the institutions of solidaristic support on which this unit depends” (32). As entrepreneurs of the self, people under neoliberalism become producers for whom socialization is no longer a byproduct of capitalist production but can be the very means through which capital is produced. With this in mind, Trecartin’s portrayal of the straight-to-camera format is less a video diary than a means for staging social auditions. His performers (or contestants), although foregrounding their individualism, always have their eyes on group power, suggesting a competitive individualism rather than the countering of normativity. Forever at work and at play, these comic-tragics are ur-figures of neoliberalism—over-connected and over-emotional self-presenters who are unable to stop, in fear they will be nothing if not performing.ConclusionPortraying a seemingly endless parade of neoliberal selves, Trecartin’s work yields a zany vision that always threatens to spin out of control. As a form of Internet-era camp, he reproduces automedial conceptions of the self as constituted and expanded by media technologies—as performative conduits between the formal and the socio-political which go both ways. This process has been described by Berlant in terms of life writing, but it applies equally to Trecartin, who, through a “performance of fantasmatic intersubjectivity,” facilitates “a performance of being” for the viewer “made possible by the proximity of the object” (Berlant 25). Inflating for both comic and tragic effect a profoundly nebulous yet weaponized conception of identity, Trecartin’s characters show the relation between offline and online life to be impossible to essentialize, laden with a mix of conflicting feelings and personas. As identity avatars, his characters do their best to be present and responsive to whatever precarious situations they find themselves in, which, due to the nature of his scripts, seem at times to have been automatically generated by the Internet itself.ReferencesBourriaud, Nicolas. Postproduction: Culture as a Screenplay: How Art Reprograms the World. New York: Lucas & Stenberg, 2001.Chiapello, E., and N. Fairclough. “Understanding the New Management Ideology: A Transdisciplinary Contribution from Critical Discourse Analysis and New Sociology of Capitalism.” Discourse and Society 13.2 (2002): 185–208.Dean, Jodi. Crowds and Party. London & New York: Verso, 2016.Droitcour, Brian. “Making Word: Ryan Trecartin as Poet.” Rhizome 27 July 2001. 18 Apr. 2015 <http://rhizome.org/editorial/2011/jul/27/making-word-ryan-trecartin-poet/>.Dünne, Jörg, and Christian Moser. 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Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2015.Prosser, Jay. “Life Writing and Intimate Publics: A Conversation with Lauren Berlant.” Biography 34.1 (Winter 2012): 180- 87.Rak, Julie. “Life Writing versus Automedia: The Sims 3 Game as a Life Lab.” Biography 38.2 (Spring 2015): 155-180.Schjeldahl, Peter. “Party On.” New Yorker, 27 June 2011: 84-85.Smith, Sidonie. “Virtually Me: A Toolbox about Online Self-Presentation.” Identity Technologies: Constructing the Self Online. Eds. Anna Poletti and Julie Rak. Wisconsin: University of Wisconsin Press, 2014.———, and Julia Watson. Reading Autobiography: A Guide for Interpreting Life Narratives. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota P, 2010———, and Julia Watson. Life Writing in the Long Run: Smith & Watson Autobiography Studies Reader. Ann Arbor: Michigan Publishing, 2016.Sontag, Susan. “Notes on Camp.” Against Interpretation and Other Essays. 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Introduction Fashion has long been associated with resistance movements across Asia and Australia, from the hand-spun cotton Khadi of Mahatma Gandhi’s freedom struggle to the traditional ankle length robe worn by Tibetans in the ‘White Wednesday Movement’ (Singh et al.; Yangzom). There are many reasons why fashion and activism have been interlinked. Fashion can serve as a form of nonverbal communication (Crane), which can convey activists’ grievances and concerns while symbolising solidarity (Doerr). It can provide an avenue to enact individual agency against repressive, authoritarian regimes (Yangzom; Doerr et al.). Fashion can codify a degree of uniformity within groups and thereby signal social identity (Craik), while also providing a means of building community (Barry and Drak). Fashion, therefore, offers activists the opportunity to develop the three characteristics which unite a social or environmental movement: a shared concern about an issue, a sense of social identity, and connections between individuals and groups. But while these fashion functions map onto movement characteristics, it remains unclear whether activists across the world deliberately include fashion into their protest action repertoires. This uncertainty exists partly because of a research and media focus on large scale, mass protests (Lester and Hutchins), where fashion characteristics are immediately visible and amenable to retrospective interpretation. This focus helps explain the rich volume of research examining the manifestation of fashion in past protests, such as the black, red, and yellow colours worn during the 1988 Aboriginal Long March of Freedom, Justice, and Hope (Maynard Dress; Coghlan), and the pink anti-Trump ‘pussyhats’ (Thompson). However, the protest events used to identify these fashion characteristics are a relatively small proportion of actions used by environmental activists (Dalton et al.; Gulliver et al.), which include not only rallies and marches, but also information evenings, letter writing sessions, and eco-activities such as tree plantings. This article aims to respond to Barnard’s (Looking) call for more empirical work on what contemporary cultural groups visually do with what they wear (see also Gerbaudo and Treré) via a content analysis of 36,676 events promoted on Facebook by 728 Australian environmental groups between 2010 and 2019. The article firstly reports findings from an analysis of this dataset to identify how fashion manifests in environmental activism, building on research demonstrating the role of protest-related nonverbal communications, such as protest signage (Bloomfield and Doolin), images (Kim), and icons, slogans, and logos (Goodnow). The article then considers what activists may seek to achieve through incorporating fashion into their action repertoire, and whether this suggests solidarity with activists seeking to effect environmental change across the wider Asian region. Fashion Activism Fashion is created through a particular assemblage of clothes, accessories, and hairstyles (Barry and Drak), which in turn forms a prevailing custom or style of dress (Craik). It is a cultural practice, providing ‘real estate’ (Benda 7) for an individual to express their social roles (Craik) and political identity (Behnke). Some scholars argue that fashion became overtly political during the 1960s and 70s, as social movements politicised appearance (Edwards). This has only increased in relevance with the rise of far right, populist, and authoritarian regimes, whose sub-cultures enact politicised identities through their distinct fashion characteristics (Gaugele and Titton; Gaugele). Fashion can therefore play an important role in protest movements, as “political subjectivities, political authority, political power and discipline are rendered visible, and thereby real, by the way fashion co-establishes them” (Behnke 3). Across the literature scholars have identified two primary avenues by which fashion and activism are connected. The first of these relates to activism targeting the fashion industry. This type of activism is found in both Asia and Australia, and promotes sustainable consumption choices such as buying used goods and transforming existing items (Chung and Yim), as well as highlighting garment worker exploitation within the fashion industry (Khan and Richards). The second avenue is called ‘fashion activism’: the use of fashion to intentionally signal a message seeking to evoke social and/or political change (Thompson). In this conceptualisation, clothing is used to signify a particular message (Crane). An example of this type of fashion activism is the ‘SlutWalk’, a protest where participants deliberately wore outfits described as slutty or revealing as a response to victim-blaming of women who had experienced sexual assault (Thompson). A key element of fashion activism thus appears to be its message intentionality. Clothes are specifically utilised to convey a message, such as a grievance about victim-blaming, which can then be incorporated into design features displayed on t-shirts, pins, and signs both on the runway and in protest events (Titton). However, while this ‘sender/receiver’ model of fashion communication (Barnard, Fashion as) can be compelling for activists, it is complex in practice. A message receiver can never have full knowledge of what message the sender seeks to signify through a particular clothing item, nor can the message sender predict how a receiver will interpret that message. Particular arrangements of clothing only hold communicative power when they are easily interpreted and related to the movement and its message, usually only intelligible to a specific culture or subculture (Goodnow). Even within that subculture it remains problematic to infer a message from a particular style of dress, as demonstrated in examples where dress is used to imply sexual consent; for example, in rape and assault cases (Lennon et al.). Given the challenges of interpreting fashion, do activists appear to use the ‘real estate’ (Benda 7) afforded by it as a protest tool? To investigate this question a pre-existing dataset of 36,676 events was analysed to ascertain if, and how, environmental activism engages with fashion (a detailed methodology is available on the OSF). Across this dataset, event categories, titles, and descriptions were reviewed to collate events connecting environmental activism to fashion. Three categories of events were found and are discussed in the next section: street theatre, sustainable fashion practices, and disruptive protest. Street Theatre Street theatre is a form of entertainment which uses public performance to raise awareness of injustices and build support for collective action (Houston and Pulido). It uses costumes as a vehicle for conveying messages about political issues and for making demands visible, and has been utilised by protesters across Australia and Asia (Roces). Many examples of street theatre were found in the dataset. For example, Extinction Rebellion (XR) consistently promoted street theatre events via sub-groups such as the ‘Red Rebels’ – a dedicated team of volunteers specialising in costumed street theatre – as well as by inviting supporters to participate in open street theatre events, such as in the ‘Halloween Dead Things Disco’. Dressed as spooky skeletons (doot, doot) and ghosts, we'll slide and shimmy down Sydney's streets in a supernatural style, as we bring attention to all the species claimed by the Sixth Mass Extinction. These street theatre events appeared to prioritise spectacle rather than disruption as a means to attract attention to their message. The Cairns and Far North Environment Centre ‘Climate Action Float’, for example, requested that attendees: Wear blue and gold or dress as your favourite reef animal, solar panel, maybe even the sun itself!? Reef & Solar // Blue & Gold is the guiding theme but we want your creativity take it from there. Most groups used street theatre as one of a range of different actions organised across a period of time. However, Climacts, a performance collective which uses ‘spectacle and satire to communicate the urgency of the climate and biodiversity crisis’ (Climacts), utilised this tactic exclusively. Their Climate Guardians collective used distinctive angel costumes to perform at the Climate Conference of Parties 26, and in various places around Australia (see images on their Website). Fig. 1: Costumed protest against Downer EDI's proposed work on the Adani coalmine; Image by John Englart (CC BY-SA 2.0). Sustainable Fashion Practices The second most common type of event which connected fashion with activism were those promoting sustainable fashion practices. While much research has highlighted the role of activism in raising awareness of problems related to the fashion industry (e.g. Hirscher), groups in the dataset were primarily focussed on organising activities where supporters communally created their own fashion items. The most common of these was the ‘crafternoon’, with over 260 separate crafternoon events identified in the dataset. These events brought activists together to create protest-related kit such as banners, signs, and costumes from recycled or repurposed materials, as demonstrated by Hume Climate Action Now’s ‘Crafternoon for Climate’ event: Come along on Sunday arvo for a relaxed arvo making posters and banners for upcoming Hume Climate Action Now events… Bring: Paints, textas, cardboard, fabric – whatever you’ve got lying around. Don’t have anything? That’s cool, just bring yourself. Events highlighting fashion industry problems were less frequent and tended to prioritise sharing of information about the fashion industry rather than promoting protests. For example, Transition Town Vincent held a ‘Slowing Down Fast Fashion – Transition Town Vincent Movie Night’ while the Green Embassy promoted the ‘Eco Fashion Week’. This event, held in 2017, was described as Australia’s only eco-fashion week, and included runway shows, music, and public talks. Other events also focussed on public talks, such as a Conservation Council of ACT event called ‘Green Drinks Canberra October 2017: Summer Edwards on the fashion industry’ and a panel discussion organised by a group called SEE-Change entitled ‘The Sustainable Wardrobe’. Disruptive Protest and T-Shirts Few events in the dataset mentioned elements of fashion outside of street theatre or sustainable fashion practices, with only one organisation explicitly connecting fashion with activism in its event details. This group – Australian Youth Climate Coalition – organised an event called ‘Activism in Fashion: Tote Bags, T-shirts and Poster Painting!’, which asked: How can we consistently be involved in campaigning while life can be so busy? Can we still be loud and get a message across without saying a word? The iconic 21st century activist "t-shirt and tote-bag" combination is hard to miss these days! Unlike street theatre and sustainable fashion practices, fashion appeared to be a consideration for only a small number of disruptive protests promoted by environmental groups in Australia. XR Brisbane sought to organise a fashion parade during the 2019 Rebellion Week, while XR protesters in Melbourne stripped down to underwear for a march through Melbourne city arcades (see also Turbet). Few common fashion elements appeared consistently on individual activists participating in events, and these were limited to accessories, such as ‘Stop Adani’ earrings, or t-shirts sold for fundraising and promotional purposes. Indeed, t-shirts appeared to be the most promoted clothing item in the dataset, continuing a long tradition of their use in protests (e.g. Maynard, Blankets). Easy to create, suitable for displaying both text and imagery, t-shirts sharing anti-coal messages featured predominantly in the Stop Adani campaign, while yellow t-shirts were a common item in Knitting Nanna’s anti-coal seam gas mining protests. Fig. 2: Stop Adani earrings and t-shirts; Image by John Englart (CC BY-SA 2.0). The Role of Fashion in Environmental Activism As these findings demonstrate, fashion appears to be deliberately utilised in environmental activism primarily through street theatre and the promotion of sustainable fashion practices. While fewer examples of fashion in disruptive protest were found and no consistent fashion assemblage was identified, accessories and t-shirts were utilised by many groups. What may activists be seeking to achieve through incorporating fashion via street theatre and sustainable fashion practices? Some scholars have argued that incorporating fashion into protest allows activists to signal political dissent against authoritarian control. For example, Yanzoom noted that by utilising fashion as a means of communication, Tibetan activists were able to embody their political goals despite repression of speech and movement by political powerholders. However, a consistent fashion repertoire across protests in this Australian dataset was not found. The opportunities afforded by protected protest rights in Australia and absence of violent police repression of disruptive protests may be one explanation why distinctive dress such as the masks and black attire of Hong Kong pro-democracy protesters did not manifest in the dataset. Other scholars have observed that fashion sub-cultures also developed partly to express anti-establishment politics, such as the punk movement in the 1970s. Radical clothing accessorised by symbols, bright hair colours, body piercings, and heavy-duty books signalled opposition to the dominant political ideology (Craik). However, none of these purposes appeared to play a role in Australian environmental activism either. Instead, it appears that Maynard’s contention that Australian protest fashion barely deviates from everyday dress remains true today. Fashion within the events promoted in this large empirical dataset retained the ‘prevalence of everyday clothing’ (Maynard, Dress 111). The lack of a clearly discernible single protest fashion style within the dataset may be related to the shortcomings of the sender/receiver model of fashion communication. As Barnard (Fashion Statements) argued, fashion is not always used as a vehicle for conveying messages, but also as a platform for constructing and reproducing identity. Indeed, a multiplicity of researchers have noted how fashion acts as a signal of what social groups individuals belong to (see Roach-Higgins and Eicher). Activist groups have a variety of goals, which not only include promoting environmental change but also mobilising more people to join their cause (Gulliver et al., Understanding). Stereotyping can hinder achievement of these goals. It has been demonstrated, for example, that individuals who hold negative stereotypes of ‘typical’ activists are less likely to want to associate with them, and less likely to adopt their behaviours (Bashir et al.). Accordingly, some activist groups have been shown to actively promote dress associated with other identity groups, specifically to challenge cultural constructions of environmental activist stereotypes (see also Roces). For example, Bloomfield and Doolins’s study of the NZ anti-GE group MAdGE (Mothers against Genetic Engineering in Food and the Environment) demonstrated how visual protest artifacts conveyed the protesters’ social identity as mothers and customers rather than environmental activists, claiming an alternative cultural mandate for challenging the authority of science (see also Einwohner et al.). The data suggest that Australian activists are seeking to avoid this stereotype as well. The absence of a consistent fashion promoted within the dataset may reflect awareness of problematic stereotypes that activists may be then deliberately seeking to avoid. Maynard (Dress), for example, has noted how the everyday dress of Australian protesters serves to deflect stereotypical labelling of participants. This strategy is also mirrored by the changing nature of groups within the Australian environmental movement. The event database demonstrates that an increasing number of environmental groups are emerging with names highlighting non-stereotypical environmental identities: groups such as ‘Engineers Declare’ and ‘Bushfire Survivors for Climate Action’. Beyond these identity processes, the frequent use of costumed street theatre protest suggests that activists recognise the value of using fashion as a vehicle for communicating messages, despite the challenges of interpretation described above. Much of the language used to promote street theatre in the Facebook event listings suggests that these costumes were deliberately designed to signify a particular meaning, with individuals encouraged to dress up to be ‘a vehicle for myth and symbol’ (Lavender 11). It may be that costumes are also utilised in protest due to their suitability as an image event, convenient for dissemination by mass media seeking colourful and engaging imagery (Delicath and Deluca; Doerr). Furthermore, costumes, as with text or colours presented on t-shirts, may offer activists an avenue to clearly convey a visual message which is more resistant to stereotyping. This is especially relevant given that fashion can be re-interpreted and misinterpreted by audiences, as well as reframed and reinterpreted by the media (Maynard, Dress). While the prevalence of costumed performance and infrequent mentions of fashion in the dataset may be explained by stereotype avoidance and messaging clarity, sustainable fashion practices were more straightforward in intent. Groups used multiple approaches to educate audiences about sustainable fashion, whether through fostering sustainable fashion practices or raising awareness of fashion industry problems. In this regard, fashion in protest in Australia closely resembles Asian sustainable fashion activism (see e.g. Chon et al. regarding the Singaporean context). In particular, the large number of ‘crafternoons’ suggests their importance as sites of activism and community building. Craftivism – acts such as quilting banners, yarn bombing, and cross stitching feminist slogans – are used by many groups to draw attention to social, political and environmental issues (McGovern and Barnes). This type of ‘creative activism’ (Filippello) has been used to challenge aesthetic and political norms across a variety of contested socio-political landscapes. These activities not only develop activism skills, but also foster community (Barry and Drak). For environmental groups, these community building events can play a critical role in sustaining and supporting ongoing environmental activism (Gulliver et al., Understanding) as well as demonstrating solidarity with workers across Asia experiencing labour injustices linked to the fashion industry (Chung and Yim). Conclusion Studies examining protest fashion demonstrate that clothing provides a canvas for sharing protest messages and identities in both Asia and Australia (Benda; Yangzom; Craik). However, despite the fashion’s utility as communication tool for social and environmental movements, empirical studies of how fashion is used by activists in these contexts remain rare. This analysis demonstrates that Australian environmental activists use fashion in their action repertoire primarily through costumed street theatre performances and promoting sustainable fashion practices. By doing so they may be seeking to use fashion as a means of conveying messages, while avoiding stereotypes that can demobilise supporters and reduce support for their cause. Furthermore, sustainable fashion activism offers opportunities for activists to achieve multiple goals: to subvert the fast fashion industry, to provide participation avenues for new activists, to help build activist communities, and to express solidarity with those experiencing fast fashion-related labour injustices. These findings suggest that the use of fashion in protest actions can move beyond identity messaging to also enact sustainable practices while co-opting and resisting hegemonic ideas of consumerism. By integrating fashion into the vibrant and diverse actions promoted by environmental movements across Australia and Asia, activists can construct and perform identities while fostering the community bonds and networks from which movements demanding environmental change derive their strength. Ethics Approval Statement This study was approved by the Research Ethics Committee of the University of Queensland (2018000963). 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