Journal articles on the topic 'Film festivals – California – Exhibitions'

Кинотуризм как специфический вид туристской активности находится в поле внимания научных исследований, но вопросы, связанные с изучением выставочной деятельности в этой сфере мало представлены в научных публикациях. В статье рассматриваются вопросы развития кинотуризма, формирования кинолокаций и возможности использования ресурсов кинофестивалей и киновыставок как ресурса для повышения привлекательности дестинации на мировом рынке туризма; показаны особенности профессиональных выставок в сфере киноиндустрии, рассмотрены традиционные и новые форматы выставочной деятельности в киноиндустрии, приведены особенности крупных киновыставок с учетом зарубежного и отечественного опыта. Рассмотрена роль Кинокомиссий в системе организации киноиндустрии, описаны особенности Синепозиума как специфического формата профессиональной выставки в индустрии кино. На основе проведенного сравнительного анализа международной практики и российского опыта организации киновыставок делается вывод, что российский рынок кинофестивалей и киновставок становится все более привлекательным для зарубежных партнёров, что связано, в том числе, с его окончательной институционализацией. Cinema tourism as a specific kind of tourist activity represents a focus of scientific research, though it is barely covered in scientific publications. We consider problems of developing cinema tourism, forming cinema locations as well as possibilities of using the resources of film festivals and film exhibitions to increase the attractiveness of a tourist destination on the global market. We show characteristics of professional exhibitions in film industry and list the features of large exhibitions taking into consideration international and domestic experience. We consider the role of film commissions in the film industry system and describe the characteristics of Cineposium as a specific format of professional film exhibition. On the basis of comparative analysis of international practice and Russian experience in film exhibitions, we make a conclusion that Russian market of film festivals and exhibitions is becoming more attractive for foreign partners, which is connected with its definitive institutionalization.

As a law enforcement officer, a prosecutor plays an important role in investigating a case or prosecuting a suspect. However, in recent years, several prosecutors were found involved in a number of corruption cases in Indonesia. This phenomenon is not a new one. In Serat Jayengbaya written by R.Ng. Ronggowarsito, especially in the song Dadi Jeksa, the behavior and life of prosecutors in the past are depicted as a profession full of intrigue and manipulation. This phenomenon inspired the making of a dance film adapted from Dadi Jeksa song. Using a Research and Development (RnD) approach, this film was designed to use movements based on contemporary dance as a means of its story telling. This film represents the culture and perspective of the Indonesian people in viewing legal issues. After the film was presented at various festivals and exhibitions, positive responses were obtained from various parties. The appreciation received mainly focused on the film’s creative storytelling and visualization in presenting a depiction of law enforcement dynamics in Indonesia.

Today's temporary installations are the domain of artists and intellectuals. But, a century ago, temporary food installations represented America's emergence as the world's breadbasket while exhibiting the patriotic pride of a young, agriculturally expanding nation. At local harvest festivals, temporary installations would take the form of majestic grain palaces. At world's fairs—particularly in 1876 Philadelphia, 1893 Chicago, and 1904 St. Louis—individual states contributed novelty food displays that underscored a prime product, be it Minnesota butter, California oranges, or wheat from Ohio. And, at a time when vast tracts of fertile land lay undeveloped, temporary installations at all these venues were meant to attract new population, whether from among the visitors at crowded urban exhibitions or from the settlers stopping at land grant offices on their way West, by demonstrating what a bounty could be obtained by farming in one particular area.

The article gives a brief description of the most famous festivals and conventions of popular culture in the United States, which include Comic-Con International: San Diego, New York Comic Con, Wizard World Chicago Comic Con, AggieCon, Alamo City Comic Con, All-Con, ApolloCon, Archon, Big Apple Comic Con, Blerdcon, CarnageCon, Chattacon, Chicago Comic & Entertainment Expo, ClexaCon, CoastCon, ConCoction, ConGlomeration, ConnectiCon, CONvergence, Dragon Con, Emerald City Comic Con, Fan Expo Boston, Fan Expo Dallas, FanX, Florida Supercon, Genericon, Heroes Convention, LA Comic Con, MidSouthCon, MOBICON, MomoCon, Motor City Comic Con, Pacific Media Expo, Pensacon, Phoenix Fan Fusion, Sci-Fi Valley Con, Silicon Valley Comic Con, WonderCon, Zenkaikon. The most common thematic areas that fill the main structure of convention programs, in particular presentation of rare and latest examples of the comic’s industry, popularization of the idea of the value of collecting, providing space for novice artists to disseminate their work in the alley of artists. At the same time, with the growing dominance of the video game industry, board and card games, as well as themed collectible toys, remain widely popular. Most festivals feature cosplay competitions that reward the winners, autograph zones with invited celebrities, large-scale panels for exhibitions, where in addition to purely visual pleasure you can join workshops, thematic lectures and seminars. Events include Film Festival, cosplay and costume contests, dances, also the option of game playing. Programs include opportunities to preview the latest film industry news, anime, video game testing and sketches of leading artists from companies specializing in comic book content, exhibition panels with authentic material from the set of popular film franchises and interactions.

Today, media distribution and consumption can occur anytime, anywhere, anything, both conventional and digital. The change in media consumption behavior has brought many challenges for the Indonesian film industry, particularly distribution and exhibition. Film distribution should not just rely on the domestic market and film exhibitions through cinemas. The number of Indonesian cinemas and screens is not ideal, still concentrated in big cities, has low moviegoers, is dominated by foreign films, and lacks support from the government. This study intended to identify challenges and strategies for conventional and digital distribution and exhibition. Answer to that question, this study was carried qualitatively by conducting a literature review through meta-analysis related to history, experiences, and situations in some countries. Research findings indicate film distribution and exhibition need to run simultaneously conventional and digital. Digital distribution is urgent for expanding market size and cinemas revenue. The conventional distribution needs to be maintained because the highest film revenue still comes from cinemas exhibitions. Therefore, filmmakers should begin to organize their distribution strategy and expand cooperation with digital film providers. The government needs to build distribution infrastructures such as global film festivals and distribution agencies, also create policies related to exhibition incentives and tax rebates, especially for films with small audiences. Distribusi dan konsumsi media dewasa ini dapat dilakukan kapanpun, dimanapun, apapun, baik secara konvensional maupun digital. Perubahan perilaku konsumsi media membawa banyak tantangan bagi industri film di Indonesia, khususnya terkait aspek distribusi dan eksibisi. Distribusi film tidak boleh hanya bergantung pada pasar domestik dan mengandalkan eksibisi film melalui bioskop. Hal ini karena jumlah bioskop dan layar yang tersedia di Indonesia belum ideal, masih terpusat di kota besar, memiliki sedikit penonton, berada dalam dominasi film asing dan kurang mendapatkan dukungan dari pemerintah. Kajian ini dimaksudkan untuk mengetahui tantangan dan strategi dalam distribusi dan eksibisi film secara konvensional dan digital. Untuk menjawab pertanyaan tersebut kajian ini dilakukan secara kualitatif dengan melakukan kajian pustaka melalui analisis meta terkait sejarah, pengalaman, situasi yang terjadi di beberapa negara. Temuan penelitian menunjukkan bahwa distribusi dan eksibisi film perlu dilakukan secara simultan. Distribusi digital penting untuk memperluas pasar dan meningkatkan pendapatan. Distribusi konvensional perlu dipertahankan karena pendapatan film terbesar masih berasal dari distribusi melalui jalur bioskop. Oleh karena itu, pembuat film harus mulai mengatur sendiri strategi distribusinya dan meningkatkan kerjasama dengan provider film digital. Pemerintah perlu membangun infrastruktur distribusi seperti festival film dan agensi distribusi di tingkat global, dan membuat kebijakan terkait pemberian insentif eksibisi dan potongan pajak, khususnya bagi film dengan sedikit penonton.

The growing presence of the virtual world has made inroads into new ways of citizen cultural activism that call for an exploration and re-imagining of the idea of place and place-making in contemporary networked societies, cities in particular. This article is based on an analysis of such activism in contemporary Lucknow around its distinct cultural forms such as cuisine, heritage architecture, dance, music and literature actively deploying social media. It argues that social media has bolstered new and existing citizen cultural activism and facilitates place-making by connecting citizens to the city’s cultural specificities. Together with the aggressive use of social media as part of local government strategies for citizen engagement made mandatory under the Heritage Arc and the Smart Cities Plan (SCP) launched in 2014 and 2015, respectively, place-making processes revolve around hosting festivals, street plays, crafts and arts exhibitions, book launches, discussions, film screenings, heritage walks, writers meets and marathons. Resultantly, the idea of place as having shared meanings and sentimental value is resurrected in the face of the homogenising tendencies of cultural globalisation.

Video today is a popular tool for artists of postmodern, poststructuralist, post-conceptual orientations. These practices have not yet developed their economic model and have spread mainly through biennials and festivals of contemporary art, as the main form of their comprehension and display. At the same time, “video art”, “video installations”, “video sculptures”, “video performances”, “films” at the exhibitions are far from an exhaustive list of strategies, stating a cinematic turn in contemporary art, where videos are considered among the basic tools of a contemporary artist and curator. It gets increasingly difficult to imagine exhibitions that resonate with the public and critics without video. From an avant-garde countercultural practice, video has become the mainstream of contemporary exhibition projects and is presented in exhibitions in many variations. The article analyzes the strategies for including video in the expositions of national pavilions at the 58th Venice Biennale, among which the production of video content in the genre of documentary filming, investigative journalism, artistic mystification, and interactive installation can be distinguished. Artists both create their own content and use footage content from the Internet. The main awards of the Biennale are won by large—scale projects that dialogize fine art with cinema and theater. For the implementation of artistic ideas curators of biennial projects attract professional directors, screenwriters, sound and light specialists. The biennials of contemporary art, by analogy with the term screen culture, can be attributed to the large format in contemporary art. At them, video goes beyond the small screens with the help of full-screen interactive installations, projections on buildings, films timed to exhibitions are broadcast on YouTube and Netflix. As the coronavirus pandemic has shown, the search for new tactics using screen forms is sometimes the only way out for a large exhibition practice in a situation where it is impossible to conduct international projects and comply with new regulations. The Riga Biennale of Contemporary Art, Steirischer herbst in Graz, followed this path. The exhibition is moving closer to film production. New optical and bodily models are being formed. The contemplative essence of art is being replaced by new ways of human perception of information, space and time, built on the convergence of communication means—video, music, dance, the interpenetration of objective and virtual realities.

В статье представлены культуроориентированные интегрированные технологии как наиболее продуктивные в практике обучения русскому языку за рубежом, рассмотрены направления культурно-творческой деятельности центров открытого образования на русском языке и обучения русскому языку, русских домов, российских центров науки и культуры, позволяющие жителям зарубежных стран интегрироваться в русскую культурную среду. Актуальность данного исследования определяется потребностью комплексного подхода к описанию практик обучения русскому языку и обучения на русском языке, так как в современных условиях глобализации на первый план выходят технологии интегрированного обучения (обучение русскому языку во взаимодействии с другими предметами гуманитарного цикла и внеурочной деятельностью), позволяющие сформировать целостное представление о мире. Делается вывод о том, что благодаря современным методикам русский язык становится для иностранцев не только объектом изучения, а языком, на котором ученики делают открытия и познают русскую культуру. The article discusses the current forms of teaching the Russian language abroad. The most popular form is integration. Culture is learned through language, and language is learned through culture. Integration is a promising direction in education today. The work of the russian language Centers is considered. Modern methods help foreign students to learn the russian language quickly and well and to study russian culture. The main forms of work to promote the russian language and culture are theatrical performances, themed evenings and concerts, meeting evenings, song evenings, festivals, exhibitions, film clubs.

Engineers and artists have teamed to create combinations of fire and water that have dazzled people at tourist attractions, festivals, and the Olympic Games. At the University of the Pacific in Stockton, California, mechanical engineering professor Ed Pejack and student Eric Eubanks designed a small-scale fountain for educational and demonstration purposes, adapting parts used in irrigation and a camping fuel can. Alan Robinson and Mark Fuller invented a fountain that illuminates water jets with colored flames. Kiki Pettit, a computer programmer, has designed, built, and installed water fountains that incorporate liquid fuel to produce floating flames that flow with water. The water in the Olympic cauldron serves functional and esthetic purposes. The water film flowing down the glass creates random wave patterns that ripple the image of the fire inside. A computer system controls the water flow rate based on temperature of the return water.

The purpose of the article is to study and clarify the main forms of cultural cooperation of Western European cultural and leisure centers with European countries. The methodology. The descriptive method and the systemic approach were applied, the review references of the National library of Yaroslav Mudryi “On cultural cooperation of Ukraine with foreign countries” for 2017–2020 and numerous Internet sources were worked out. The results. It was found out that cultural and leisure centers, including the ones in Western Ukraine, take an active part in intercultural cooperation between Ukraine and European countries. As European countries have for a long time involved culture as a factor in humanitarian development, and leading European countries allocate significant funds and attract the best professionals to implement large­scale cultural projects and to increase their presence in Ukraine, so the increase of the number of cultural projects, programs, European culture days, printed and electronic publications, media product will justify themselves as the means of increasing the interest of the Ukrainian public in Europe. By cultural and leisure centers we mean various forms of cultural institutions that are part of the basic network of cultural institutions, including libraries, museums, galleries, reserves, exhibition halls, theaters, philharmonics, concert organizations, art groups, cinemas, film and video distribution enterprises, associations, palaces and houses of culture, other club establishments, educational establishments in the field of culture, art schools, studios, parks of culture and recreation. These institutions carry the lion’s share of all art exhibitions, projects, events and other cultural events taking place in Ukraine. In Western Ukraine, cultural and leisure centers are one of the main subjects in the process of cultural development of the country, without which it is impossible to achieve the strategic goals of Ukraine’s development in the field of culture. Among the events that promote European integration of Ukraine there are international festivals with European representatives, exhibitions, concerts, thematic events, master classes, workshops, trainings, training courses, creative laboratories, scientific cooperation — conferences, forums, seminars which take place in Lviv, Ternopil, Ivano­Frankivsk, Volyn, Rivne regions in offline and online formats. The scientific novelty: the article attempts to study the role of cultural and leisure centers of Western Ukraine in the formation of a single European socio­cultural space. The practical significance. The analyzed practical experience of European cooperation of cultural and leisure centers of Western Ukraine can be borrowed by the institutions of other regions.

IntroductionFestivals, according to Chris Gibson and John Connell, are like “glue”, temporarily sticking together various stakeholders, economic transactions, and networks (9). Australia’s First Nations peoples see festivals as an opportunity to display cultural vitality (Henry 586), and to challenge a history which has rendered them absent (587). The 2017 Australia Council for the Arts Showcasing Creativity report indicates that performing arts by First Nations peoples are under-represented in Australia’s mainstream venues and festivals (1). Large Aboriginal cultural festivals have long thrived in Australia’s northern half, but have been under-developed in the south. Each regional happening develops a cultural landscape connected to a long and intimate relationship with the natural environment.The Far South East coast and mountainous hinterland of New South Wales is rich in pristine landscapes that ground the Yuin and Monaro Nations to Country as the Monaroo Bobberrer Gadu (Peoples of the Mountains and the Sea). This article highlights cross-sector interaction between Koori and mainstream organisations in producing the Giiyong (Guy-Yoong/Welcoming) Festival. This, the first large festival to be held within the Yuin Nation, took place on Aboriginal-owned land at Jigamy, via Eden, on 22 September 2018. Emerging regional artists joined national headline acts, most notably No Fixed Address (one of the earliest Aboriginal bands to break into the Australian mainstream music industry), and hip-hop artist Baker Boy (Danzal Baker, Young Australian of the Year 2019). The festival followed five years of sustained community preparation by South East Arts in association with Grow the Music, Twofold Aboriginal Corporation, the Eden Local Aboriginal Land Council, and its Elders. We offer dual understandings of the Giiyong Festival: the viewpoints of a male Yuin Elder wedded to an Australian woman of European descent. We acknowledge, and rely upon, key information, statistics, and photographs provided by the staff of South East Arts including Andrew Gray (General Manager), Jasmin Williams (Aboriginal Creative and Cultural Engagement Officer and Giiyong Festival Project Manager), and Kate Howarth (Screen Industry Development Officer). We are also grateful to Wiradjuri woman Alison Simpson (Program Manager at Twofold Aboriginal Corporation) for valuable feedback. As community leaders from First Nations and non-First Nations backgrounds, Simpson and Williams complement each other’s talents for empowering Indigenous communities. They plan a 2020 follow-up event on the basis of the huge success of the 2018 festival.The case study is informed by our personal involvement with community. Since the general population barely comprehends the number and diversity of Australia’s Indigenous ‘nations’, the burgeoning Indigenous festival movement encourages First Nations and non-First Nations peoples alike to openly and confidently refer to the places they live in according to Indigenous names, practices, histories, and knowledge. Consequently, in the mental image of a map of the island-continent, the straight lines and names of state borders fade as the colours of the Indigenous ‘Countries’ (represented by David Horton’s wall map of 1996) come to the foreground. We reason that, in terms of ‘regionality,’ the festival’s expressions of “the agency of country” (Slater 141) differ vastly from the centre-periphery structure and logic of the Australian colony. There is no fixed centre to the mutual exchange of knowledge, culture, and experience in Aboriginal Australia. The broader implication of this article is that Indigenous cultural festivals allow First Nations peoples cultures—in moments of time—to assume precedence, that is to ‘stitch’ back together the notion of a continent made up of hundreds of countries, as against the exploitative structure of ‘hub and region’ colonial Australia.Festival Concepts and ContextsHoward Becker observed that cultural production results from an interplay between the person of the artist and a multitude of support personnel whose work is not frequently studied: “It is through this network of cooperation that the art work we eventually see or hear comes to be and continues to be” (1). In assisting arts and culture throughout the Bega Valley, Eurobodalla, and Snowy Monaro, South East Arts delivers positive achievements in the Aboriginal arts and cultural sector. Their outcomes are significant in the light of the dispossession, segregation, and discrimination experienced by Aboriginal Australians. Michael Young, assisted by Indigenous authors Ellen Mundy and Debbie Mundy, recorded how Delegate Reserve residents relocating to the coast were faced with having their lives controlled by a Wallaga Lake Reserve manager or with life on the fringes of the towns in shacks (2–3). But as discovered in the records, “their retention of traditional beliefs, values and customs, reveal that the accommodation they were forced to make with the Europeans did not mean they had surrendered. The proof of this is the persistence of their belief in the value of their culture” (3–4). The goal of the Twofold Aboriginal Corporation is to create an inclusive place where Aboriginal people of the Twofold Bay Region can be proud of their heritage, connect with the local economy, and create a real future for their children. When Simpson told Williams of the Twofold Aboriginal Corporation’s and Eden Local Aboriginal Land Council’s dream of housing a large cultural festival at Jigamy, Williams rigorously consulted local Indigenous organisations to build a shared sense of community ownership of the event. She promoted the festival as “a rare opportunity in our region to learn about Aboriginal culture and have access to a huge program of Aboriginal musicians, dancers, visual artists, authors, academics, storytellers, cooks, poets, creative producers, and films” (McKnight).‘Uncle Ossie’ Cruse of Eden envisaged that the welcoming event would enliven the longstanding caring and sharing ethos of the Yuin-Monaro people. Uncle Ossie was instrumental in establishing Jigamy’s majestic Monaroo Bobberrer Gudu Keeping Place with the Eden Local Aboriginal Land Council in 1994. Built brick by brick by Indigenous workers, it is a centre for the teaching and celebration of Aboriginal culture, and for the preservation of artefacts. It represents the local community's determination to find their own solutions for “bridging the gap” by creating education and employment opportunities. The centre is also the gateway to the Bundian Way, the first Aboriginal pathway to be listed on the NSW State Heritage Register. Festival Lead-Up EventsEden’s Indigenous students learn a revived South Coast language at Primary and Secondary School. In 2015, Uncle Ossie vitally informed their input into The Black Ducks, a hip-hop song filmed in Eden by Desert Pea Media. A notable event boosting Koori musical socialisation was a Giiyong Grow the Music spectacle performed at Jigamy on 28 October 2017. Grow the Music—co-founded by Lizzy Rutten and Emily White—specialises in mentoring Indigenous artists in remote areas using digital recording equipment. Eden Marine High School students co-directed the film Scars as part of a programme of events with South East Arts and the Giiyong Festival 2018. The Eden Place Project and Campbell Page also create links between in- and out-of-school activities. Eden’s Indigenous students thus perform confidently at NAIDOC Week celebrations and at various festivals. Preparation and PersonnelAn early decision was made to allow free entry to the Giiyong Festival in order to attract a maximum number of Indigenous families. The prospect necessitated in-kind support from Twofold Aboriginal Corporation staff. They galvanised over 100 volunteers to enhance the unique features of Jigamy, while Uncle Ossie slashed fields of bushes to prepare copious parking space. The festival site was spatially focused around two large stages dedicated to the memory of two strong supporters of cultural creativity: Aunty Doris Kirby, and Aunty Liddy Stewart (Image 1). Image 1: Uncle Ossie Cruse Welcomes Festival-Goers to Country on the Aunty Liddy Stewart Stage. Image Credit: David Rogers for South East Arts, Reproduction Courtesy of South East Arts.Cultural festivals are peaceful weapons in a continuing ontological political contest (Slater 144). In a panel discussion, Uncle Ossie explained and defended the Makarrata: the call for a First Nations Voice to be enshrined in the Constitution.Williams also contracted artists with a view to capturing the past and present achievements of Aboriginal music. Apart from her brilliant centrepiece acts No Fixed Address and Baker Boy, she attracted Pitjantjatjara singer Frank Yamma (Image 2), Yorta Yorta singer/songwriter Benny Walker, the Central Desert Docker River Band, and Jessie Lloyd’s nostalgic Mission Songs Project. These stellar acts were joined by Wallaga Lake performers Robbie Bundle, Warren Foster, and Alison Walker as well as Nathan Lygon (Eden), Chelsy Atkins (Pambula), Gabadoo (Bermagui), and Drifting Doolgahls (Nowra). Stage presentations were technologically transformed by the live broadcast of acts on large screens surrounding the platforms. Image 2: Singer-Songwriter Frank Yamma Performs at Giiyong Festival 2018. Image Credit: David Rogers for South East Arts, Reproduction Courtesy of South East Arts.Giiyong Music and Dance Music and dance form the staple components of Indigenous festivals: a reflection on the cultural strength of ancient ceremony. Hundreds of Yuin-Monaro people once attended great corroborees on Mumbulla Mountain (Horton 1235), and oral history recorded by Janet Mathews evidences ceremonies at Fishy Flats, Eden, in the 1850s. Today’s highly regarded community musicians and dancers perform the social arrangements of direct communication, sometimes including their children on stage as apprentices. But artists are still negotiating the power structures through which they experience belonging and detachment in the representation of their musical identity.Youth gain positive identities from participating alongside national headline acts—a form of learning that propels talented individuals into performing careers. The One Mob Dreaming Choir of Koori students from three local schools were a popular feature (Image 3), as were Eden Marine student soloists Nikai Stewart, and Nikea Brooks. Grow the Music in particular has enabled these youngsters to exhibit the roots of their culture in a deep and touching way that contributes to their life-long learning and development. Image 3: The One Mob Dreaming Choir, Directed by Corinne Gibbons (L) and Chelsy Atkins (R). Image Credit: David Rogers for South East Arts, Reproduction Courtesy of South East Arts. Brydie-Leigh Bartleet describes how discourses of pride emerge when Indigenous Australian youth participate in hip-hop. At the Giiyong Festival the relationship between musical expression, cultural representation, and political positioning shone through the songs of Baker Boy and Gabadoo (Image 4). Channelling emotions into song, they led young audiences to engage with contemporary themes of Indigeneity. The drones launched above the carpark established a numerical figure close on 6,000 attendees, a third of whom were Indigenous. Extra teenagers arrived in time for Baker Boy’s evening performance (Williams), revealing the typical youthful audience composition associated with the hip-hop craze (Image 5).Image 4: Bermagui Resident Gabadoo Performs Hip-Hop at the Giiyong Festival. Image Credit: David Rogers for South East Arts, Reproduced Courtesy South East Arts.Image 5: A Youthful Audience Enjoys Baker Boy’s Giiyong Festival Performance. Image Credit: David Rogers for South East Arts, Reproduced Courtesy South East Arts.Wallaga Lake’s traditional Gulaga Dancers were joined by Bermagui’s Gadhu Dancers, Eden’s Duurunu Miru Dancers, and Narooma’s Djaadjawan Dancers. Sharon Mason founded Djaadjawan Dancers in 2015. Their cultural practice connects to the environment and Mingagia (Mother Earth). At their festival tent, dancers explained how they gather natural resources from Walbanja Country to hand-make traditional dance outfits, accessories, and craft. They collect nuts, seeds, and bark from the bush, body paint from ancient ochre pits, shells from beaches, and bird feathers from fresh roadkill. Duurunu Miru dancer/didjeriduist Nathan Lygon elaborates on the functions of the Far South East Coast dance performance tradition:Dance provides us with a platform, an opportunity to share our stories, our culture, and our way of being. It demonstrates a beautiful positivity—a feeling of connection, celebration, and inclusion. The community needs it. And our young people need a ‘space’ in which they can grow into the knowledge and practices of their culture. The festival also helped the wider community to learn more about these dimensions. (n.p.)While music and dance were at the heart of the festival, other traditional skills were included, for example the exhibitions mounted inside the Keeping Place featured a large number of visual artists. Traditional bush cooking took place near Lake Pambula, and yarn-ups, poetry, and readings were featured throughout the day. Cultural demonstrations in the Bunaan Ring (the Yuin name for a corroboree circle) included ‘Gum Leaf Playing.’ Robin Ryan explained how the Yuin’s use of cultural elements to entertain settlers (Cameron 79) led to the formation of the Wallaga Lake Gum Leaf Band. As the local custodian of this unique musical practice, Uncle Ossie performed items and conducted a workshop for numerous adults and children. Festival Feedback and Future PlanningThe Giiyong Festival gained huge Indigenous cultural capital. Feedback gleaned from artists, sponsors, supporters, volunteers, and audiences reflected on how—from the moment the day began—the spirit of so many performers and consumers gathered in one place took over. The festival’s success depended on its reception, for as Myers suggests: “It is the audience who create the response to performance and if the right chemistry is achieved the performers react and excel in their presentation” (59). The Bega District News, of 24 September 2018, described the “incredibly beautiful event” (n.p.), while Simpson enthused to the authors:I believe that the amount of people who came through the gates to attend the Giiyong Festival was a testament to the wider need and want for Aboriginal culture. Having almost double the population of Eden attend also highlights that this event was long overdue. (n.p.)Williams reported that the whole festival was “a giant exercise in the breaking down of walls. Some signed contracts for the first time, and all met their contracts professionally. National artists Baker Boy and No Fixed Address now keep in touch with us regularly” (Williams). Williams also expressed her delight that local artists are performing further afield this year, and that an awareness, recognition, and economic impact has been created for Jigamy, the Giiyong Festival, and Eden respectively:We believe that not only celebrating, but elevating these artists and Aboriginal culture, is one of the most important things South East Arts can do for the overall arts sector in the region. This work benefits artists, the economy and cultural tourism of the region. Most importantly it feeds our collective spirit, educates us, and creates a much richer place to live. (Giiyong Festival Report 1)Howarth received 150 responses to her post-event survey. All respondents felt welcome, included, and willing to attend another festival. One commented, “not even one piece of rubbish on the ground.” Vanessa Milton, ABC Open Producer for South East NSW, wrote: “Down to the tiniest detail it was so obvious that you understood the community, the audience, the performers and how to bring everyone together. What a coup to pull off this event, and what a gift to our region” (Giiyong Festival Report 4).The total running cost for the event was $257,533, including $209,606 in government grants from local, state, and federal agencies. Major donor Create NSW Regional Partnerships funded over $100,000, and State Aboriginal Affairs gave $6,000. Key corporate sponsors included Bendigo Bank, Snowy Hydro and Waterway Constructions, Local Land Services Bega, and the Eden Fisherman’s Club. Funding covered artists’ fees, staging, the hiring of toilets, and multiple generators, including delivery costs. South East Arts were satisfied with the funding amount: each time a new donation arrived they were able to invite more performers (Giiyong Festival Report 2; Gray; Williams). South East Arts now need to prove they have the leadership capacity, financial self-sufficiency, and material resources to produce another festival. They are planning 2020 will be similar to 2018, provided Twofold Aboriginal Corporation can provide extra support. Since South East Arts exists to service a wider area of NSW, they envisage that by 2024, they would hand over the festival to Twofold Aboriginal Corporation (Gray; Williams). Forthcoming festivals will not rotate around other venues because the Giiyong concept was developed Indigenously at Jigamy, and “Jigamy has the vibe” (Williams). Uncle Ossie insists that the Yuin-Monaro feel comfortable being connected to Country that once had a traditional campsite on the east side. Evaluation and ConclusionAlthough ostensibly intended for entertainment, large Aboriginal festivals significantly benefit the educational, political, and socio-economic landscape of contemporary Indigenous life. The cultural outpourings and dissemination of knowledges at the 2018 Giiyong Festival testified to the resilience of the Yuin-Monaro people. In contributing to the processes of Reconciliation and Recognition, the event privileged the performing arts as a peaceful—yet powerful truth-telling means—for dealing with the state. Performers representing the cultures of far-flung ancestral lands contributed to the reimagining of a First Nations people’s map representing hundreds of 'Countries.’It would be beneficial for the Far South East region to perpetuate the Giiyong Festival. It energised all those involved. But it took years of preparation and a vast network of cooperating people to create the feeling which made the 2018 festival unique. Uncle Ossie now sees aspects of the old sharing culture of his people springing back to life to mould the quality of life for families. Furthermore, the popular arts cultures are enhancing the quality of life for Eden youth. As the cross-sector efforts of stakeholders and volunteers so amply proved, a family-friendly, drug and alcohol-free event of the magnitude of the Giiyong Festival injects new growth into an Aboriginal arts industry designed for the future creative landscape of the whole South East region. AcknowledgementsMany thanks to Andrew Gray and Jasmin Williams for supplying a copy of the 2018 Giiyong Festival Report. We appreciated prompt responses to queries from Jasmin Williams, and from our editor Rachel Franks. We are humbly indebted to our two reviewers for their expert direction.ReferencesAustralian Government. Showcasing Creativity: Programming and Presenting First Nations Performing Arts. Australia Council for the Arts Report, 8 Mar. 2017. 20 May 2019 <https://tnn.org.au/2017/03/showcasing-creativity-programming-and-presenting-first-nations-performing-arts-australia-council/>.Bartleet, Brydie-Leigh. “‘Pride in Self, Pride in Community, Pride in Culture’: The Role of Stylin’ Up in Fostering Indigenous Community and Identity.” The Festivalization of Culture. Eds. Andy Bennett, Jodie Taylor, and Ian Woodward. New York: Routledge, 2014.Becker, Howard S. Art Worlds. 25th anniversary edition. Berkeley: U of California P, 2008.Brown, Bill. “The Monaroo Bubberer [Bobberer] Gudu Keeping Place: A Symbol of Aboriginal Self-determination.” ABC South East NSW, 9 Jul. 2015. 20 May 2019 <http://www.abc.net.au/local/photos/2015/07/09/4270480.htm>.Cameron, Stuart. "An Investigation of the History of the Aborigines of the Far South Coast of NSW in the 19th Century." PhD Thesis. Canberra: Australian National U, 1987. Desert Pea Media. The Black Ducks “People of the Mountains and the Sea.” <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8fbJNHAdbkg>.“Festival Fanfare.” Eden Magnet 28 June 2018. 1 Mar. 2019 <edenmagnet.com.au>.Gibson, Chris, and John Connell. Music Festivals and Regional Development in Australia. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2012.Gray, Andrew. Personal Communication, 28 Mar. 2019.Henry, Rosita. “Festivals.” The Oxford Companion to Aboriginal Art and Culture. Eds. Syvia Kleinert and Margot Neale. South Melbourne: Oxford UP, 586–87.Horton, David R. “Yuin.” Encyclopaedia of Aboriginal Australia. Ed. David R. Horton. Canberra: Aboriginal Studies Press, 1994.———. Aboriginal Australia Wall Map Compiled by David Horton. Aboriginal Studies Press, 1996.Lygon, Nathan. Personal Communication, 20 May 2019.Mathews, Janet. Albert Thomas Mentions the Leaf Bands That Used to Play in the Old Days. Cassette recorded at Wreck Bay, NSW on 9 July 1964 for the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders (AIATSIS). LAA1013. McKnight, Albert. “Giiyong Festival the First of Its Kind in Yuin Nation.” Bega District News 17 Sep. 2018. 1 Mar. 2019 <https://www.begadistrictnews.com.au/story/5649214/giiyong-festival-the-first-of-its-kind-in-yuin-nation/?cs=7523#slide=2>. ———. “Giiyong Festival Celebrates Diverse, Enduring Cultures.” Bega District News 24 Sep. 2018. 1 Mar. 2019 <https://www.begadistrictnews.com.au/story/5662590/giiyong-festival-celebrates-diverse-enduring-cultures-photos-videos/>.Myers, Doug. “The Fifth Festival of Pacific Arts.” Australian Aboriginal Studies 1 (1989): 59–62.Simpson, Alison. Personal Communication, 9 Apr. 2019.Slater, Lisa. “Sovereign Bodies: Australian Indigenous Cultural Festivals and Flourishing Lifeworlds.” The Festivalization of Culture. Eds. Andy Bennett, Jodie Taylor, and Ian Woodward. London: Ashgate, 2014. 131–46.South East Arts. "Giiyong Festival Report." Bega: South East Arts, 2018.———. Giiyong Grow the Music. Poster for Event Produced on Saturday, 28 Oct. 2017. Bega: South East Arts, 2017.Williams, Jasmin. Personal Communication, 28 Mar. 2019.Young, Michael, with Ellen, and Debbie Mundy. The Aboriginal People of the Monaro: A Documentary History. Sydney: NSW National Parks and Wildlife Service, 2000.

The article seeks from the realization of the “Afro-Brazilian Cinema Moments Exhibition - Retrospective”, to analyze the process of consolidation of the concept of Black Cinema, and how the specific Encounters, Festivals and Exhibitions strengthened this process. Based on the questions about the image and the place of the black population in film production, we investigated the factors that led to the increase of production made by black filmmakers. In this way, we understand this process as a consequence of the racially defined public policies developed in recent decades, strengthened by the advance and access of new technological mechanisms and apparatuses of production; the establishment of the Association of Black Audiovisual Professionals (APAN); and also the outbreak of contemporary film festivals and shows, shaped around the racial issue in all regions of the country.

<p>This document lists over 80 screenings of <em>All This Can Happen</em> between September 2012 and July 2016. The list is evidence of the international interest the film generated and indicates the different contexts in which it was shown during its first four years. Most are screenings, often in the context of festivals, whereas others—much less frequently—exhibitions. The hosts vary between explicit screendance events, film festivals, art venues, and educational frameworks. For example, in Berlin’s doku.arts festival, <em>All This Can Happen</em> was screened alongside Mike Lerner und Maxim Posdorowkin’s documentary “Pussy Riot: A Punk Prayer” in a programme of films which transgress conventional narratives. The diverse contexts demonstrate that the boundaries between local and international communities and institutions are relatively porous and that films can travel widely. A second list of press reviews, existing review essays and selected blog entries on the film give a sense of audience reception and complement this review.</p>

An important product of the interaction of factors of the socio-cultural environment is cultural tourism, which involves visiting historical and cultural monuments, museums, travel on historical routes; participation in festivals (folklore, music, film festivals, theater), exhibitions, pilgrimage tours. However, we want to consider another aspect of cultural tourism - visiting revitalization facilities on the example of the city of Lviv. In recent years, in Lviv, as in Ukraine, a trend of mass tourism is formed, which, in turn, contributes to the spread of mass culture. There is an invasion of mass culture in the elite, which is represented by cultural tourism. Today Lviv is teetering on the brink. After all, the number of tourists visiting Lviv has been constantly growing since 2010. According to statistics, in 2019 Lviv was visited by more than 2.5 million tourists. New hotels and restaurants are opening (currently 748 restaurants and cafes are registered). And, unfortunately, all these objects are concentrated in the old part of the city. The concentration of an increasing number of tourists in the historic part of the old town (Market Square and surrounding areas) is beginning to pose a threat to the preservation of architectural monuments and create significant discomfort for residents. The article analyzes the processes of revitalization of industrial facilities in Lviv, which is the center of cultural tourism in Ukraine. The experience of American and European cities, where revitalization processes began in the 50s, is taken as a basis. Renovation processes at ! FESTrepublic, the territory of the former glass factory, where festivals, parties, thematic events and performers from all over the world now take place, are considered. The jam factory in Lviv, which was a factory for the production of alcoholic beverages, is now a center of contemporary art. An interesting project is the revitalization of the old industrial zone ReZavod, which until recently was a plant of electronic medical equipment. On the site of the old tram depot, LemStation was created - a social hub, where opportunities are created for artists, representatives of creative industries to realize their ideas.

The Covid-19 pandemic has disrupted most social activities including education, and unexpectedly studying and working from home has become a new normality. However, this has presented challenges, including questions about how educators might curate ‘end of the year exhibitions, presentations and screenings that have become an integral part of art school practice. These events constitute more than a ‘celebratory finale’ for art schools. They can also function as important learning environments. These types of events are usually formatted like film festivals. In the shadow of Covid-19, many film festivals around the world has gone online. Traditionally, Visual Effects (VFX) students at Auckland University of Technology (AUT), have showcased their VFX based short films, at the end of each semester in a popular event called Screening Night. This festival is not only a proud moment for students where they are able to showcase the outcome of their final to their friends, families and potential collaborators and employers, but it also supports networking processes. Every year, a panel of New Zealand based potential employers and peer artists are invited to these festivals and constructive dialogue occurs throughout and subsequent to the event. When Covid-19 occurred, Auckland city experienced an extensive lockdown, all social gatherings, including AUT’s Screening Night were cancelled. This case study offers a pedagogical consideration of how an alternative method for screening events using live festivals via online steaming services might be designed and facilitated. Online live streaming has been a prominent medium for personal and individual broadcasters as diverse as video gamers, gadget reviewers, home chefs, and nurseries, through which they monetize content creation activities to create significant sources of revenue. Accordingly, such methods are familiar to students and propose themselves as potentials for educational application, design, and development. This case study demonstrates how the structure of a festival was migrated and reformatted for a live festival where students: 1- Introduced their work with a self-reflective speech, 2- Showcased their films and the vfx production breakdowns, 3- Received feedback and reviews from invited guests, 4- Received positive support from the curator, 5- Networked in a ‘Pavilion space’ and engaged in employability discussions. Then through a vigorous planning, the ethos of physical in-person screening night event has been translated into a live festival event. Students introduced their artwork in their online self-reflective speeches, guests were invited to comment and review artworks alongside the convener. Live festival event featured new functions including live interactive commenting. Also, many students were watching the live festival event with their families at their home, within their bubble so the spectrum out to the community seems wider. The study demonstrates that live steaming screening as a pedagogical method, may constitute an effective alternative to traditional, physical in-person screening events, not just in the era of Covid-19 restrictions but as an adaptable approach to future online festival, presentation, learning and networking initiatives. The recorded version of the first live festival at AUT can be viewed here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RyBGzovaunM

The purpose of the article is to determine the role of modern art tourism, its components, and varieties in the process of the formation of tourist attractiveness of a certain territory. The methodology of the research is based on the use of general scientific methods (systemic, structural and functional, genetic, typologization, etc.) with the involvement of research guidelines of socio-cultural analysis of phenomena and processes. The scientific novelty of the results obtained is to find out the role of art tourism in the process of forming a tourist attractiveness of the territory, which consists in the formation of a positive image of the latter due to the use of new methods and mechanisms for promotion. Conclusions. The article presents an article characteristic of art tourism, which provides intellectual rest, that is, a combination of pleasant with useful, namely purposeful visits to various art measures and events: forums of contemporary art, large artistic and photo exhibitions, theatrical prime minister, film festivals, etc. Art tourism creates positive characteristics of a particular territory, forms a certain image of a consumer about cultural and historical heritage, contemporary art, everyday style of life, etc. The features of modern street art, which is one of the directions attracting tourists from all over the world. Street art is able to tell an entire history of culture and life without a single word. More and more communities include Street Art and Graffiti in the concept of designing modern quarters and areas of their cities. Important attention is paid to this direction of creative tourism activity as an art hotel, which distinguished from the overall mass with its originality, artistic design, and creative approach to service.

Alexandra Handal is a London based Palestinian visual artist, filmmaker and essayist. She works at the intersection of different disciplines, breaking the boundaries between them in search of new creative expressions and narrative possibilities to explore the human condition in lingering times of war and other man-made disasters. Through her creative practice she attempts to make palpable what is disappearing or has been destroyed, engaging with modern day ruins from conflict zones to areas of urban decay. Handal uses performance-based strategies to experiment with modes of storytelling that are multilayered and mixed-genre. She combines experience, research and imagination to redress absence - blurring the line between written and oral history, fact and fiction, subjectivity and objectivity, past and present. Handal's work includes an eclectic range of media such as digital storytelling, creative interventions, photography, drawing, experimental texts and films that expand the documentary form and propose a new kind of fiction. Handal holds a PhD (practice/theory) from the University of the Arts London, UK (2011), for which she was the recipient of the UAL Research Studentship Award, UK (2004) and the Chelsea College of Art and Design Graduate Fund (2007 & 2009). Her short film From the Bed & Breakfast Notebooks (2009) was selected for New Contemporaries 2009 - an internationally juried exhibition, which showcases emerging artists in the United Kingdom. Studio International magazine (2009) described her short as a 'quietly powerful political engagement' and she was listed among the 'few names to watch' in the Guardian (2009). Recent exhibitions and festivals include: 'Video Lounge', India Art Summit, New Delhi, India (2011), ‘Future Movements – Jerusalem’, Liverpool Biennial, Contemporary Urban Centre, Liverpool, UK (2010), ‘Whose Map is it?' INIVA, London, UK (2010), 'Documentary Program', Rencontres Internationales Paris/Berlin/Madrid (2009 & 2010), 'New Contemporaries 2009' A Foundation, London, UK (2009), and Cornerhouse, Manchester, UK (2009) and 'The Other Shadow of the City', Al-Hoash Gallery, East Jerusalem (2009).

This article reflects upon the process of the making and screening of an interactive short film called Textual @traction, which I wrote and directed. The film is 12 minutes long, 35mm film, and shows how a series of messages sent to a lost mobile phone inadvertently allows two gay men to declare their love for each other. In the form of a puzzle, the film denies sight of the crucial messages sent between the characters, messages which motivate their actions. However, through the simple use of SMS (Short Message System) text technology, the audience can receive each of these messages on their own mobile phones as they watch the film in the cinema. Billed as an interactive event with prior information for audience telephone registration, the film has been screened at cinemas, film festivals, and conferences as well as on broadcast television. To receive the text messages during the film, the phone owner is asked to send a message before the screening to a five-digit number that registers their telephone for the event. If audience members do not have a mobile phone, they must share with another audience member or try to solve the puzzle of the film without messages. Messages are sent to audience members’ mobile/cell phones from a laptop computer by a bulk SMS delivery programme, via an SMS gateway, directly to the appropriate national mobile telephone network provider, guaranteeing split-second accuracy. When appropriate and depending on the location of the screening, audience members can also choose the language of the messages when they register. Textual @traction was nominated for UK BAFTA Interactive Award 2005 and won the Best New Media: Interactive Award at the Celtic Film Festival 2005. It has been shown in a number of international film festivals, including the International Festival of New Film, in Split, Croatia 2004; the International Short Film Festival in Los Angeles 2005(Academy-listed); and the Atlantic Film Festival, Halifax, Nova Scotia, 2005. It had its broadcast premier, and world-first for an interactive film, on S4C (Sianel Pedwar Cymru), the Welsh Language Channel with its Welsh title, ‘Caru T x’, on 25 Jan. 2006. This article addresses the audience’s experience of this interactive event, speculating on the relative audience/user positions inherent in the two technologies (cinema and mobile telephone) and on whether or not their combination can be described as a collaboration. Underpinning this speculation is the assumption that modes of representation and communication construct the subject/user in specific ways and that the Textual @traction interactive event requires of the audience member to occupy both the position of cinema viewer and of phone user alternately during the event if they are to ‘complete’ the fiction. Following on from this assumption, I have set out a number of oppositions: Live/Dead, Social/Individual, Intimate/Anonymous, and Passive/Active, against which the differences between the two technologies and the ways they construct the viewer/user are posited. These polarities also allow exploration of the various aspects of the suspension of disbelief assumed by the viewer of the film and whether the interruption to the flow of images and sounds on the cinema screen by the actions required of the viewer to retrieve and read the telephone messages dismantles that suspension by spoiling the viewer’s identification with the characters, undermining their assumptions governing the world of the film, and shattering its temporal and spatial coherence. As writer and director of the film, my initial intention was not to set out to explore these questions at all. Once the story took shape and I saw the possibility that the only dialogue in the film was that delivered by text message, it was a short step (albeit, initially, a frivolous one!) to investigate the possibility of delivering those messages to the audience during the screening of the film. I dislike reading diegetic written text on the cinema screen, believing it to be a betrayal of cinema’s essential qualities: it is a medium of pictures and sounds, not words. Of course, once it became clear that it was going to be possible to send time-specific messages to the audience members, enabling them to simultaneously read the very same message the character on screen is reading, I soon became intrigued by the potential effect this would have on the audience. Would it ‘deepen’ the process of identification with the characters? None of the characters in the film are aware of each other’s identity when they communicate and thus the narrative unfolds with dramatic irony. Would the audience’s resulting privileged knowledge in relation to the characters be enhanced by the film’s interactive dimension, because the characters are ‘unaware’ that the audience members are reading ‘their messages’? The following explores these questions and is, to a large extent, a product of observation and analysis of the interactive event, post-event, and also includes reflection on comments from audience members that have attended the event. Live/Dead Textual @traction has been constructed according to the principles of classic continuity, with every shot contributing to the narrative chain. At the end of the film, there is closure, both the conventional culmination and the objective of the classic (Hollywood) narrative, the classic continuity approach. Textual @traction, like all forms of cinema—whether classic narrative, avant-garde, multi-screen, or home movie—is a record of past events. In this film we engage with re-animated past events at twenty-four still frames a second, willingly suppressing whatever knowledge and awareness of apparatus and artifice we possess. However, while knowledge of a process of construction and presentation are suppressed, there is no necessity for the viewer to believe that the events on screen are happening as we observe them. We know these events are in the past; rather, it is the knowledge of the active arrangement of these discreet, past events (shots, scenes, sequences…) into a natural flow that we necessarily suppress. This is achievable, of course, by our unconscious operation of a complex system that organises this flow into spatial, temporal, and narrative coherence. ‘Film language’ is the term given to this internalised vocabulary we bring to bear on a film to make sense of what we see and hear—modified in each film, some more than others. It allows us to understand spatial and temporal construction, to accept ellipses, parallel action and so on. It is a very complex system, which in classical continuity is mobilised in the service of the story and rendered invisible, so that a film unfolds as if conforming to natural laws (Bazin; Metz; Monaco). I made the decision at an early stage in the development process for Textual @traction that the film would do precisely this. While I wanted the film to be challenging and ‘experimental’, I believed its potential for breaking new ground resided in the realm of the juxtaposition/collaboration of the two technologies and its impact on the viewer’s engagement with the fictional world of the story. The messages would necessarily be disruptive of a mode of presentation that is sacrosanct (at least in mainstream cinema) and I thought the tighter the narrative chain, the more apparent the effects of this juxtaposition/collaboration would be. Disruption does occur when the viewer receives a message (there are eleven in all during the 12 minutes of the film) and it is at these points that the viewer becomes phone user and the recipient of a ‘live’ communication that is time-specific. Technically, each message is sent from the bulk-messaging programme to all the registered phones at the same time so that their arrival coincides with the arrival of the ‘same message’ in the on-screen character’s phone: audience member and on-screen character then read the same message simultaneously. To achieve this, the start time of the computer programme and the start time of the film projection in the cinema have to coincide exactly. One always presumes that text messages sent to our phones originate with a person, even those that are anonymous (news and sports alerts, etc.). The assumption underlying the use of the messages in Textual @traction is that, since according to the classic narrative cinema-effect we ‘become’ each character in order to understand what motivates their actions (identifying most energetically with the protagonist), receiving the same text messages they are receiving and reading them at the same time as they are is consistent with this process of identification, although stretching it to its limits. Crucial to the achievement of identification within the classic continuity approach is the point-of view shot, and it is this element that the messages ‘substitute’ or, perhaps, ‘literalise’ in the film (Bordwell 29-33; Branigan; Gaut 260-270). Conventionally in a film, when a character looks at something that is significant to the story, the look is followed on screen by the point-of-view shot, which shows the audience what is being seen by that character. In Textual @traction, point-of-view shots are deployed in this conventional manner. Moreover, as the main character in the film is a photographer whom we see taking photographs early in the film, the act of looking and the views he sees are, in fact, clearly foregrounded in a number of shot-reverse shot sequences. However, when we see characters looking at their phones and reading the messages they’ve been sent by other characters in the film, these shots are not followed by point-of-view shots that show the messages they are reading. Instead, the spectators in the cinema ‘enact’ their own point-of-view shot as they look at the same message on their phone screens in their hands. In a ‘literal’ sense, the audience members, at these points, ‘become’ the characters. Thus, in Textual @traction there is a two-fold process that reverses the live/dead polarity of cinema. Firstly, the arrival of the message in the audience-member’s phone transforms the past event on the screen to a live one. The suspension of disbelief in the viewer is heightened in order to accept the impossibility of acquiring the same knowledge the people on screen are acquiring, at the same time. Secondly, the viewer in the cinema, when reading the messages, ‘becomes’ the fictional character, performing a live enactment of the point-of view shot that is missing on screen. In both processes, phone technology bestows its live-ness to the dead world of the film—at least momentarily, until rational thought points out its absurdity. Social/Individual While going to the cinema is a social activity, the apparatus of cinema is organised in such a way as to individuate the cinema experience. The combination of the dimming of the auditorium lights to darkness and the seating arrangement encourages the viewer to suppress the awareness of others. The experience can then become intensely private. While there are physical and aural constraints on the viewer’s behaviour, imposed mainly to guarantee other viewers’ enjoyment (including, ordinarily, the prohibition of mobile phone use!), once seated and still, the viewer feels entitled to respond to the action on the screen in whatever way appropriate: they can smile, shudder, or weep with impunity. Additionally, the optics of the lens (the cinema projector reproducing the camera’s), in conjunction with the design of the auditorium itself, continues the tradition of Renaissance perspective in providing a single vanishing point that guarantees centrality to each viewer in relation to the scene depicted however many viewers there are in the cinema, wherever they are sitting. As far as the apparatus of cinema is concerned, there is no privileged view of the visual field displayed on the screen; each viewer in the auditorium see the same view, wherever they sit, centred and interpolated individually. Text-messaging is one-to-one communication par excellence. It takes speech telephone privacy one step further: even in a situation where both sender and receiver are in public spaces, surrounded by people, two-way communication can be completely private. When every member of the audience in a screening of Textual @traction receives text messages, they receive them at the same time as everyone else, and they assume they are receiving the same message. Emphasised by the cacophony of (individually-chosen) text alerts as each message reaches its destination within split seconds of each other, the simultaneity and the common address transforms what is usually an individual and private mode of communication into a collective, social one. At the same time, the individuating effect of the cinematic apparatus is undermined. Awareness of their counterparts’ presence returns, the light from individual phone screens illuminate the viewers’/phones users’ faces as they retrieve and read their messages and they look around the auditorium to compare their reactions with those of others. In those moments, the social/individual polarity as it relates to the two technologies is reversed: the phone’s from individual to social; cinema, from individuating to collectivising. Intimate/Anonymous While the apparatus of cinema individuates, the address of cinema is anonymous, making no adjustment for the individual (Baudry; Comolli; De Lauretis). Of course, there is specificity in the address of most cinema: the various genre of commercial film, as well as the varieties of independent and avant-garde films, presume certain audiences and address these audiences on the basis of a shared set of assumptions and expectations. These include individual films’ themes, the forms of narrative (or non-narrative), its variety of characters, the pleasures the films afford, and so on. However, cinema is not discursive. It cannot by ‘adjusted’ to suit the individual. The Intimate/Anonymous polarity is one that draws out the difference between a mode of representation, in this case cinema, and a mode of communication, text messaging. The former presents a completed artefact of some kind while the latter is a technology that allows for discursive activity between sender and receiver. Of course, various forms of interactive art are necessarily making this notion of the ‘artefact’ problematic, allowing the individual viewer to organise and re-organise narratives, modify environments, and create unique assemblages of images and sounds, often enabled by sophisticated computer programmes. During such interaction, individuals may create never-to-be repeated experiences brought about by complex, randomised interfaces. Nevertheless, these are examples of interaction with the artefact and while they may be unique, they are also anonymous. If discursive activity between users is achieved in these circumstances then the technology by definition becomes a mode of communication, however mediated by technology or programming. Telephone communication is all about individual address, both in spoken and text language. A text messages is either sent to elicit a response or it is the response. Unless it is an unsolicited, anonymous message, a text message is a specific and personal missive to the individual, its specificity arising from the sender’s knowledge of the receiver. Receiving such text messages during Textual @traction (and because of the sexual tenor of some of the messages, they are especially ‘personal’)—‘sent’ to the audience members ‘unwittingly’ by the individual fictional characters on screen—transforms the address of the film from anonymous to intimate, from general to individual. The intimacy associated with text messaging enhances our identification with the on-screen characters because we are given an insight into their motivations by being (voyeuristically) included what is generally a private discourse. For those who have experienced the Textual @traction interactive event and who have expressed an opinion about it, it does seem that it was this dimension of the experience that was a particular source of pleasure. Passive/Active In mainstream cinema we enter the auditorium and we sit down to face the screen, on which the film appears. While we watch and listen we may eat and drink, shout, weep, and laugh. We can also leave if we disapprove of the film or of the behaviour of others around us. While all these activities (and more) are possible, none will impact on what is happening on the screen, nor, crucially, on the flow of information that constructs our understanding of the characters’ actions and the narrative in general. In this respect, as an audience, we are effectively passive. The receiving of messages during Textual @traction invites the audience to collaborate actively in the final form of the narrative that is the interactive event, completing the fictional world constructed by film and text messages together. The information they receive by text message enhances their understanding of both character motivation and of the narrative in general. Without their activity, the film is a puzzle. Added to the conceptual activity that this involves, there is also the physical activity and the psychological adjustment: when the audience members’ message alert sounds, they have to undertake a number of keystrokes on their keypad in order to bring the message up on the phone screen, then they have to read the message and construe the message’s relevance to the characters on screen, before returning to the cinema-screen element of the event once more. Conclusion There is no doubt that the Textual @traction interactive event strains credulity, or, to put it another way, depends on an enhancement of the suspension of disbelief normally accustomed to by a cinema audience. The notion that on-screen characters are ‘unwittingly’ sending text messages to audience members and that they are reading them ‘at the same time’ is nothing short of absurd. Absurdity and its wilful disregard by the audience, however, is no stranger to cinema, as we know. What I have attempted to do in this paper is to account for the success of the Textual @traction interactive event, despite its absurdity, by identifying three forms of collaboration that it depends on: collaboration with the text in order to complete the fiction, a collaboration between cinema as a mode of representation and messaging as a mode of communication that the audience member enables, and a collaboration between cinema/subject and telephone/subject performed by each audience member. As I have indicated, when these collaborations take place, some of the habitual characteristics of both modes are transformed or modified: text messaging becomes a social rather than a private activity, while the apparatus of cinema transforms from one that individuates to one that collectivises. In addition, the address of cinema, normally anonymous, is bestowed with intimacy by the text messaging, and finally, a normally passive audience is active in their involvement to complete the fiction. References Baudry, Jean-Louis. “Ideological Effects of the Basic Cinematographic Apparatus.” Film Quarterly 28.2 (Winter 1974-5): 39-47. Bazin, André. “The Evolution of the Language of the Cinema.” What Is Cinema? Trans. Hugh Gray. Berkeley: U of California P, 1967. 23-40. Branigan, Edward. “Formal Permutations of the Point-of-View Shot”. Screen 16.3 (1975): 54-64. Bordwell, D., J. Staiger, and K. Thompson. The Classical Hollywood Cinema: Film Style and Mode of Production to 1960. London: Routledge, 1985. Comolli, Jean-Louis. “Technique and Ideology: Camera, Perspective, Depth of Field.” Movies and Methods Vol. II. Ed, Bill Nichols. Berkeley: U of California P, 1985. 40-57. De Lauretis, T., and S. Heath. The Cinematic Apparatus. London: Macmillan, 1980. Gaut, Berys. “Identification and Emotion in Narrative Film.” Philosophy of Film and Motion Pictures: An Anthology. Ed. Noel Carroll and Jinhee Choi. London: Blackwell, 2006. Metz, Christian. Film Language. Trans. Michael Taylor. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1975 [2004]. Monaco, James. How to Read a Film. 3rd ed. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2000. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Morris, Ieuan. "Interruption/Interaction/Collaboration: A Critical Appraisal of the Textual @traction Interactive Event." M/C Journal 9.2 (2006). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0605/15-morris.php>. APA Style Morris, I. (May 2006) "Interruption/Interaction/Collaboration: A Critical Appraisal of the Textual @traction Interactive Event," M/C Journal, 9(2). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0605/15-morris.php>.

Introduction Despite the emphasis on the theoretical definitions of the concept of “creativity“ and its impact on cities, it is still uncertain, difficult to measure and limited. Creativity and its impacts are difficult to generalise because of the multiplicity of approaches and a lack of comparative analysis. The concept of creativity and its reflection on cities represents a paradigm that brings together academics from different fields, including cultural economists, those working on economic development and innovation, sociologists, economic geographers, and urban planners. The creative economy has been associated with the knowledge economy and innovation since its onset in the 2000s and extends to the creative industries (Caves), the creative class (Florida), and creative cities (Landry; Florida et al.). Given that the term "creative" is still primarily associated with the arts and sciences, Landry points out that two major issues shape our understanding of creativity: first, the power of thoughts and ideas in shaping our mindset, and second, the significance of culture as a creative resource (Landry). Creativity is generally accepted as a critical urban phenomenon, and is viewed as one of the determining factors in the development and growth of cities. For a city to be defined as ‘creative’, it would be characterised by many aspects of ‘cultural cities’ (Scott) and ‘cities of knowledge’ (Yigitcanlar et al.). Creative industries, which provide the foundation for the production of culture and creative products, require a unique environment supported by the public sector to flourish, and they thrive on proximity and strong networks that enable information sharing and exchange. Although accepted as a crucial element of contemporary cities, the use of ‘creativity’ in city development may not be a straightforward task. Globalisation plays an important role in spotlighting creative cities as drivers of global change and innovation. The emphasis on creativity as part of the global city culture incentivises cities to focus on these activities as valuable assets. This view has been reinforced by global initiatives such as the designation of the European Capital of Culture (ECoC). City administrators view innovation and creativity as critical drivers for a more sustainable and inclusive means of urban development. This article lays out how drivers of creative output, design events, and creative industries contribute to local initiatives in the global city of Istanbul: a city that accommodates some of the most long-standing and established craft spaces as well as newly developing creative and design industries. This article provides a critical perspective on cultural frameworks from the perspective of local stakeholders and networks in Istanbul's Tomtom neighbourhood, the most invested district in terms of the city's cultural future, where creative industries are the main focus. Using the Creative Cities Network as a Creative City Identity The creative city concept is used by urban sociologists, geographers, urban planners, and economists to focus on developing a segment of society that is intertwined with the cultural and creative sphere. It represents a crucial and strategic industry for renewing the local economy and sustaining urban growth. Moreover, it has become a robust development paradigm adopted by many urban governments (d’Ovidio). The creative city, according to Costa, is a notion defined by three key elements. The first is the concept of creativity as a toolset for urban development; the second is the concept of the creative city as a collection of creative activities and businesses; the third promotes the concept of the creative city as a human resource capable of attracting creative competencies (Costa et al.). Successful creative cities have some common points, such as visionary individuals, creative organisations, physical and social assets, and a political culture that shares a clear purpose. Leadership was found in the public, private, and non-profit sectors, and it manifested itself in bold public efforts, frequently risky investments, and a web of interrelated undertakings, whether for profit or the common good (Landry). International recognition provides a building ground for attracting attention to local initiatives. UNESCO created the Creative Cities Network (UCCN) in 2004. It was conceived from the very beginning as an interactive process to bridge the possible isolation of cities and their inhabitants as a tool for multi-stakeholder collaboration. In other words, it was a relevant response, analysed in a comprehensive overview of the literature on the problem of urban branding. However, it gradually became clear that a kind of network structure alone was insufficient to combat fragmentation (Rosi). The network's purpose is to foster international cooperation among the selected cities in order to promote "joint development partnerships in line with UNESCO's worldwide priorities of "culture and development" and "sustainable development". A city's participation in the network allows it to communicate with other designated foreign metropoles and to carry out joint projects (Stocker). The 2007 global financial crisis and the ensuing recession led to movements that responded to the commodification of urban public space through applied, community-based activities and independent cultural production. This has resulted in new paths for reorienting the creative city strategy around the concept of "making" (Grodach). Scholars have linked creative placemaking to a long history of arts-based economic growth dating back to the late nineteenth-century City Beautiful movement. However, the reification of "creative placemaking" as a discursive practice guided and enforced by government agencies, funders, and other institutions elevates it above previous forms of arts-based economic development or cultural planning (Zitcer). It seeks to go beyond purely economic motivations and pursue multidimensional outcomes ranging from the economic to bringing "diverse people together to celebrate, inspire and be inspired" (Grodach). Place-selling, or communicating certain features of a place through logos, slogans, advertising campaigns, or public relations exercises, is one of the most prevalent actions carried out under the broad umbrella of place-making and marketing. Physical interventions and communication tactics that pick specific components of local 'identity', 'history', and 'culture' can be used to produce this "forging of associations" between places, their attributes, and specific target audiences (Colomb). This new outlook reflects Landry's emphasis on creative collaboration, but the impetus is on cross-agency partnerships and new funding sources for design and art that foster ‘creative’ cities. Placing Istanbul on the Cultural Map If the world was only one country, Istanbul would be its capital. — Napoleon Bonaparte Istanbul is one of the world's largest metropoles, with approximately 15 million inhabitants. It has served as a crossroads for civilisations, cultures, and international trade throughout its history, leaving behind a multi-layered cultural legacy that inspires new design concepts and is a rich source for traditional arts and crafts. The robust creative economy in Istanbul employs 140,000 people and generates 74.5 percent of Turkey's turnover. As a design hub, Istanbul hosts over 20 globally famous design events each year, including the Istanbul Design Biennial, Design Week Turkey, and Fashion Week Istanbul. In 2016 there were 41 conference centres and 225 art galleries in the city. In the same year, Istanbul's cultural institutions hosted 4,315 events, including international film, music, and theatre festivals, as well as art and design biennials. Events such as Contemporary Istanbul have been important in establishing a network of non-governmental organisations that have also been instrumental in the 2010 designation as the European Capital of Culture (ECoC) and membership in the UNESCO Creative Cities Network (UCCN). It has also served three times as United Cities and Local Governments (UCLG) leader. For previous ECoC cities, national or local governments had nominated their cities for the ECoC program, but in Istanbul non-governmental organisations spearheaded and managed the nomination process (Öner). This has lead to a slow and stunted start for the programs which were greatly diminished due to the difficulties in securing the required funding. ​​After becoming an ECoC in 2010, Istanbul joined the UNESCO Creative Cities Network in 2017, joining 246 cities worldwide. UNESCO defines Istanbul as “a geography where craft and craftsmanship have emerged in many different ways in the historical and cultural codes of creative production and everyday life” (UCCN About Us). Because of its cultural heritage, Istanbul can be considered an inspiration for the design sector and promotes its productive capacity. Due to Istanbul’s geographically unique position, there are significant opportunities, experiences, and potentials to reveal new scenarios to promoting a productive future by enhancing innovative approaches for contemporary design. Participating in the UCCN undoubtedly has significant benefits for Istanbul. First of all, it has the opportunity to share its knowledge experience with other cities in the network, and it can have the opportunity to promote its work through networking events organised regularly within Design Cities. In Istanbul, which is the locomotive of the Turkish economy, the vision of the 2014-2023 Regional Plan, prepared by the Istanbul Development Agency, identifies the city as "a city of innovation and culture with its creative and free people; unique Istanbul". Moreover, one of the three essential components of this vision is "a high added value, innovative and creative economy with a voice in the global economy" (ISTKA). This component reveals the importance of innovation and creativity-oriented growth in Istanbul for the gains created in the economic field to bring social development and realise holistic development. Although these frameworks have provided a strong ‘creative’ identity to the city, the lack of specific programs and funding opportunities for ‘creative industries’ that fall under these headings have not allowed these initiatives to be felt at the local scale. Fig. 1: Location of Beyoğlu district. In this article we chose Beyoğlu (fig. 1) as the local case study, due to the existence of cultural/creative industries since the nineteenth century. When we look at previous periods, there were times when Beyoğlu fell out of favour, and different segments gave up coming to Beyoğlu for various reasons. However, Beyoğlu has always recovered and regained its identity as a historical, touristic, and cultural centre (Türkün). Beyoğlu has been the scene of social and spatial changes. Especially a rapid renewal process has been in process since the 1980s. As a result most of the buildings were restored, leading to wide-scale gentrification, and many new buildings were built throughout Istiklal Street, its main avenue. The roads on both sides of the pedestrian street are filled with cafes, art galleries, bookstores, and antique shops, making Beyoğlu a 'Turkish SoHo' (Gül). A Critical Perspective from Tomtom Neighbourhood Tomtom is one of the 45 neighbourhoods of the Beyoğlu district with a historic identity and cultural richness (fig. 2). It has hosted many diplomatic institutions and historical buildings such as the Venetian Palace, the French Palace, the Italian, Russian, Dutch, and French embassies, ​​and continues to house many consulates and foreign schools (Akın). Because it is located in the centre of Galata, Çukurcuma, and Karaköy, since the beginning of the 2000s the Tomtom neighbourhood has become very attractive due to low rental prices in the transformation process in Beyoğlu. With the low-cost renovation practices, the creative class, which has a weak economic accumulation, and has a high artistic quality, has started to open their galleries in this district. In addition to this, cafés, boutique hotels, and entertainment venues opened in succession, and this class transformation attracted the attention of capital owners. The district had to face not only the danger of gentrification caused by this class migration but also the results of the Galataport project, a real estate capital initiative (Kütükoğlu). Fig. 2: Map of the Tomtom neighbourhood and its surroundings. A case study was conducted between September 2018 and August 2021 using secondary data, observation, and in-depth interviews to provide a critical perspective on cultural frameworks from the perspective of local stakeholders and networks in this neighbourhood. In the case study, in-depth interviews were conducted with 30 design studios and art galleries that have moved to Tomtom in the last decade. These interviews were held in three separate periods: the first was in September 2018, following the start of the Tomtom Designhood Project; the second in August 2019; and the last in June 2021. The Missing Ingredients As mentioned above, some criteria are required to be a booming creative city. As a result of the fieldwork carried out in the Tomtom neighbourhood, Istanbul's trajectory in becoming a creative city has been discussed under three headings: ownership and patronage, financial support, and resilience. The creative cluster in the Tomtom neighbourhood started as a neighbourhood revitalisation effort by a real estate investment firm to create a cultural hub in Istanbul, with the creation and promotion of an annual design event since 2017: Tomtom Designhood, inspired by similar events across Europe. However, this business approach did not suit the cultural businesses moving into the neighbourhood. Relying on the market alone and expecting up-and-coming cultural businesses to ‘invest’ in promoting their neighbourhood has not been a sustainable growth model for Tomtom. Interviews with firms in the area have demonstrated that social networks have been a more reliable means for attracting and maintaining design firms in the area. These networks appear to create a sense of belonging and identity, with a high level of personal investment, trust, and support as the foundation of relationships. The slow-paced relocation of businesses within close social networks has been more promising in establishing the cultural hub. The results show that the creative cluster grew slowly due to the lack of support by local authorities and the limited resources for the businesses relocating into the area. In recent years, multidisciplinary design events have been taking place in this new creative neighbourhood. Tomtom Designhood generally organises these events, some of them with the cooperation of the annual design event Contemporary Istanbul, and invites everyone to explore this creative neighbourhood with pop-up events, food and drink, and art and design exhibitions. In addition to design activities that recur periodically, there are also one-time events such as 'Back to Home', 'Tomtom Designwalks', and 'Portugal Is in Istanbul'. The main goal of these events is accessible art. Moreover, they aim to bring together art galleries, institutions, collectors, art students, and people of all ages who want to learn and know art better, especially young people and art professionals. These design events, which were put forward with the idea of "accessible art for everyone", have lacked patronage and backing from donors or government funding and thus had to be self-sustaining. Furthermore, the Tomtom events have been shifted to ‘money-making’ initiatives which further degraded their acceptance in the local neighbourhood. The design events and festivals in the neighbourhood are not directly connected with the creative community around the UCCN. The case study explores the effects of the large-scale design events on local dynamics and has also touched upon the effects of the Covid-19 pandemic, and reveals that the most critical factor in the creative industries' resilience in times of crisis has been support by public policies and advocates. The Covid-19 pandemic, which can be described as a global crisis, has affected the creative sectors at Tomtom and tested the resilience of the design firms in the area. Due to the lockdown measures, restrictions on international mobilities, and social distancing measures implemented in this process, some creative sectors could not continue their operations. There were no specific funding support systems for design professionals. Stating that the most significant potential of this area has been foreign tourists, the designers commented that their work has come to a standstill due to the complete stoppage of the tourist flow during the pandemic. On the other hand, it has been determined that some designers explored new business forms by developing new skills, not affected by the pandemic or relatively less affected. In addition, designers who sell products that appeal to higher-income groups also stated that they have not been economically affected by this process. ‘The City of Design’ title was expected to bring some visible changes to Istanbul, especially in an emerging creative neighbourhood like Tomtom, and even in the entire Beyoğlu district. However, unfortunately, it is not possible to see the effects of these even in a crucial creative neighbourhood like Tomtom. A positive step was taken at the last point of the whole place branding process, and Tomtom was included in the "Beyoğlu Culture Road" project carried out by the Ministry of Culture and Tourism in June 2022 (fig. 3). In this project, which is defined as "the branding project that transfers the cultural heritage of a city to future generations", many paid and free design events were held for two weeks in crucial creative and touristic areas such as Galataport, Atatürk Cultural Center, and French Street, with the participation of many national and international designers and artists. Many people had the opportunity to get to know Tomtom as a design neighbourhood, thanks to various concerts, workshops, festivals, design product exhibitions, and food and beverage areas held during this event for two weeks. Fig. 3: Posters for the Tomtom Designhood event in 2018 (left) and 2022 (right). (Source: Tomtom Designhood.) From Istanbul's perspective, the reciprocal relationship between creativity and Istanbul results in more creative industries, strengthening Istanbul's position in the global network. This study proves that a successful cultural policy needs to include financial support and local government cooperation for a more sustainable strategy. From an urban policy perspective, social networks seem a crucial player for a better and more sustainable support system that provides answers to the needs of the creative industries. It is hoped that the results of this study will provide new perspectives on understanding the importance of the collaboration of private, public, and civil society actors in order to strengthen cultural industries in creative cities and promote the diversity of cultural expressions. In Tomtom, as Colomb argued and authors focussed on place-making and branding have argued, specific local culture, history, identity, and aesthetics are picked, sanitised, commodified, and promoted to be consumed by target groups such as tourists or high-income locals as part of the place-making process. However, in this local neighbourhood, this process can negatively affect the spaces and social groups involved, particularly with gentrification pressure from its surrounding neighbourhoods, resulting in a loss of authenticity or outright displacement in the future. Acknowledgment The research was undertaken, in part, thanks to funding from the TUBITAK 2214-A International Research Scholarship Program. Sources Maps in fig. 1 and fig. 2 were developed by the authors using mapstyle.withgoogle.com. Posters in fig. 3 are from Tomtom Designhood: https://www.facebook.com/Tomtom-Designhood-363369284116558/. References Akın, Nur. 19. yüzyılın ikinci yarısında Galata ve Pera. No. 24. Literatur, 1998. Caves, Richard E. Creative Industries: Contracts between Art and Commerce. Harvard UP, 2000. Colomb, Claire. Staging the New Berlin: Place Marketing and the Politics of Urban Reinvention Post-1989. Routledge, 2013. D'Ovidio, Marianna. The Creative City Does Not Exist: Critical Essays on the Creative and Cultural Economy of Cities. Ledizioni, 2016. Florida, Richard. The Rise of the Creative Class. Basic Books, 2019. Florida, Richard, Tim Gulden, and Charlotta Mellander. "The Rise of the Mega-Region." Cambridge Journal of Regions, Economy and Society 1.3 (2008): 459-476. Grodach, Carl. "Urban Cultural Policy and Creative City Making." Cities 68 (2017): 82-91. Gül, Murat, Trevor Howells, and Aras Neftci. Istanbul Architecture. Watermark Press, 2013. ISTKA. 2014-2023 İstanbul Regional Plan. 10 Feb. 2022 <http://www.istka.org.tr/>. Kütükoğlu, İlker. Mimarlık ve Seçkinleştirme: Cihangir Örneği. Diss. Fen Bilimleri Enstitüsü, 2006. Landry, Charles. The Creative City: A Toolkit for Urban Innovators. Routledge, 2012. Martí-Costa, Marc, and Marc Pradel I. Miquel. "The Knowledge City against Urban Creativity? Artists’ Workshops and Urban Regeneration in Barcelona." European Urban and Regional Studies 19.1 (2012): 92-108. Öner, Oğuz. "Istanbul 2010 European Capital of Culture: Towards a Participatory Culture?" Orienting Istanbul. Routledge, 2010. 283-294. Rosi, Mauro. "Branding or Sharing? The Dialectics of Labeling and Cooperation in the UNESCO Creative Cities Network." City, Culture and Society 5.2 (2014): 107-110. Scott, Allen J. "The Cultural Economy of Cities." International Journal of Urban and Regional Research 21.2 (1997): 323-339. Stocker, Karl. "The Power of Design." A Journey through the 11 UNESCO Cities of Design. 2013. Türkün, Asuman. “Arafta Bir Beyoğlu: Tarihsel Kesitleriyle Bir Semt Yıllar İçinde Değişimler” 5 Apr. 2022 <https://www.araftabirbeyoglu.com/tr/>. UCCN. “About Us.” 2 Feb. 2022 <http://en.unesco.org/creative-cities/content/about-us>. UCCN. “UNESCO Creative Cities Network for Sustainable Development.” 2 Feb. 2022 <https://unesdoc.unesco.org/ark:/48223/pf0000375210>. Yigitcanlar, Tan, Koray Velibeyoglu, and Cristina Martinez‐Fernandez. "Rising Knowledge Cities: The Role of Urban Knowledge Precincts." Journal of Knowledge Management (2008). Zitcer, Andrew. "Making Up Creative Placemaking." Journal of Planning Education and Research 40.3 (2020): 278-288.

Introduction The exhibition of an artist’s work is traditionally accepted as representing the final stage of the creative process (Staniszewski). This article asks, however, whether this traditional view can be reassessed so that the curatorial practice of mounting an exhibition becomes, itself, a creative outcome feeding into work that may still be in progress, and that simultaneously operates as a learning and teaching tool. To provide a preliminary examination of the issue, we use a single case study approach, taking an example of practice currently used at an Australian university. In this program, internal and external students work together to develop and deliver an exhibition of their own work in progress. The exhibition space has a professional website (‘CQUniversity Noosa Exhibition Space’), many community members and the local media attend exhibition openings, and the exhibition (which runs for three to four weeks) becomes an outcome students can include in their curriculum vitae. This article reflects on the experiences, challenges, and outcomes that have been gained through this process over the past twelve months. Due to this time frame, the case study is exploratory and its findings are provisional. The case study is an appropriate method to explore a small sample of events (in this case exhibitions) as, following Merriam, it allows the construction of a richer picture of an under-examined phenomenon to be constructed. Although it is clear that this approach will not offer results which can be generalised, it can, nevertheless, assist in opening up a field for investigation and constructing a holistic account of a phenomenon (in this case, the exhibition space as authentic learning experience and productive teaching tool), for, as Merriam states, “much can be learned from a particular case” (51). Jennings adds that even the smallest case study is useful as it includes an “in-depth examination of the subject with which to confirm or contest received generalizations” (14). Donmoyer extends thoughts on this, suggesting that the single case study is extremely useful as the “restricted conception of generalizability … solely in terms of sampling and statistical significance is no longer defensible or functional” (45). Using the available student course feedback, anonymous end-of-term course evaluations, and other available information, this case study account offers an example of what Merriam terms a “narrative description” (51), which seeks to offer readers the opportunity to engage and “learn vicariously from an encounter with the case” (Merriam 51) in question. This may, we propose, be particularly productive for other educators since what is “learn[ed] in a particular case can be transferred to similar situations” (Merriam 51). Breaking Ground exhibition, CQUniversity Noosa Exhibition Space, 2014. Photo by Ulrike Sturm. Background The Graduate Certificate of Creative Industries (Creative Practice) (CQU ‘CB82’) was developed in 2011 to meet the national Australian Quality Framework agency’s Level 8 (Graduate Certificate) standards in terms of what is called in their policies, the “level” of learning. This states that, following the program, graduates from this level of program “will have advanced knowledge and skills for professional or highly skilled work and/or further learning … [and] will apply knowledge and skills to demonstrate autonomy, well-developed judgment, adaptability and responsibility as a practitioner or learner” (AQF). The program was first delivered in 2012 and, since then, has been offered both two and three terms a year, attracting small numbers of students each term, with an average of 8 to 12 students a term. To meet these requirements, such programs are sometimes developed to provide professional and work-integrated learning tasks and learning outcomes for students (Patrick et al., Smith et al.). In this case, professionally relevant and related tasks and outcomes formed the basis for the program, its learning tasks, and its assessment regime. To this end, each student enrolled in this program works on an individual, self-determined (but developed in association with the teaching team and with feedback from peers) creative/professional project that is planned, developed, and delivered across one term of study for full- time students and two terms for part- timers. In order to ensure the AQF-required professional-level outcomes, many projects are designed and/or developed in partnership with professional arts institutions and community bodies. Partnerships mobilised utilised in this way have included those with local, state, and national bodies, including the local arts community, festivals, and educational support programs, as well as private business and community organisations. Student interaction with curation occurs regularly at art schools, where graduate and other student shows are scheduled as a regular events on the calendar of most tertiary art schools (Al-Amri), and the curated exhibition as an outcome has a longstanding tradition in tertiary fine arts education (Webb, Brien, and Burr). Yet in these cases, it is ultimately the creative work on show that is the focus of the learning experience and assessment process, rather than any focus on engagement with the curatorial process itself (Dally et al.). When art schools do involve students in the curatorial process, the focus usually still remains on the students' creative work (Sullivan). Another interaction with curation is when students undertaking a tertiary-level course or program in museum, and/or curatorial practice are engaged in the process of developing, mounting, and/or critiquing curated activities. These programs are, however, very small in number in Australia, where they are only offered at postgraduate level, with the exception of an undergraduate program at the University of Canberra (‘215JA.2’). By adopting “the exhibition” as a component of the learning process rather than its end product, including documentation of students’ work in progress as exhibition pieces, and incorporating it into a more general creative industries focused program, we argue that the curatorial experience can become an interactive learning platform for students ranging from diverse creative disciplines. The Student Experience Students in the program under consideration in this case study come from a wide spectrum of the creative industries, including creative writing, film, multimedia, music, and visual arts. Each term, at least half of the enrolments are distance students. The decision to establish an on-campus exhibition space was an experimental strategy that sought to bring together students from different creative disciplines and diverse locations, and actively involve them in the exhibition development and curatorial process. As well as their individual project work, the students also bring differing levels of prior professional experience to the program, and exhibit a wide range of learning styles and approaches when developing and completing their creative works and exegetical reflections. To cater for the variations listed above, but still meet the program milestones and learning outcomes that must (under the program rules) remain consistent for each student, we employed a multi-disciplinary approach to teaching that included strategies informed by Gardner’s theory of multiple intelligences (Gardner, Frames of Mind), which proposed and defined seven intelligences, and repeatedly criticised what he identified as an over-reliance on linguistic and logical indices as identifiers of intelligence. He asserted that these were traditional indicators of high scores on most IQ measures or tests of achievement but were not representative of overall levels of intelligence. Gardner later reinforced that, “unless individuals take a very active role in what it is that they’re studying, unless they learn to ask questions, to do things hands on, to essentially re-create things in their own mind and transform them as is needed, the ideas just disappear” (Edutopia). In alignment with Gardner’s views, we have noted that students enrolled in the program demonstrate strengths in several key intelligence areas, particularly interpersonal, musical, body-kinaesthetic, and spacial/visual intelligences (see Gardner, ‘Multiple Intelligences’, 8–18). To cater for, and further develop, these strengths, and also for the external students who were unable to attend university-based workshop sessions, we developed a range of resources with various approaches to hands-on creative tasks that related to the projects students were completing that term. These resources included the usual scholarly articles, books, and textbooks but were also sourced from the print and online media, guest speaker presentations, and digital sites such as You Tube and TED Talks, and through student input into group discussions. The positive reception of these individual project-relevant resources is evidenced in the class online discussion forums, where consecutive groups of students have consistently reflected on the positive impact these resources have had on their individual creative projects: This has been a difficult week with many issues presenting. As part of our Free Writing exercise in class, we explored ‘brain dumping’ and wrote anything (no matter how ridiculous) down. The great thing I discovered after completing this task was that by allowing myself to not censor my thoughts by compiling a writing masterpiece, I was indeed “free” to express everything. …. … I understand that this may not have been the original intended goal of Free Writing – but it is something I would highly recommend external students to try and see if it works for you (Student 'A', week 5, term 1 2015, Moodle reflection point). I found our discussion about crowdfunding particularly interesting. ... I intend to look at this model for future exhibitions. I think it could be a great way for me to look into developing an exhibition of paintings alongside some more commercial collateral such as prints and cards (Student 'B', week 6, term 1 2015, Moodle reflection point). In class I specifically enjoyed the black out activity and found the online videos exceptional, inspiring and innovating. I really enjoyed this activity and it was something that I can take away and use within the classroom when educating (Student 'C', week 8, term 1 2015, Moodle reflection point). The application of Gardner’s principles and strategies dovetailed with our framework for assessing learning outcomes, where we were guided by Boud’s seven propositions for assessment reform in higher education, which aim to “set directions for change, designed to enhance learning achievements for all students and improve the quality of their experience” (26). Boud asserts that assessment has most effect when: it is used to engage students in productive learning; feedback is used to improve student learning; students and teachers become partners in learning and assessment; students are inducted into the assessment practices of higher education; assessment and learning are placed at the centre of subject and program design; assessment and learning is a focus for staff and institutional development; and, assessment provides inclusive and trustworthy representation of student achievement. These propositions were integral to the design of learning outcomes for the exhibition. Teachers worked with students, individually and as a group, to build their capacity to curate the exhibition, and this included such things as the design and administration of invitations, and also the physical placement of works within the exhibition space. In this way, teachers and students became partners in the process of assessment. The final exhibition, as a learning outcome, meant that students were engaged in productive learning that placed both assessment and knowledge at the centre of subject and project design. It is a collation of creative pieces that embodies the class, as a whole; however, each piece also represents the skills and creativity of individual students and, in this way, are is a trustworthy representations of student achievement. While we aimed to employ all seven recommendations, our main focus was on ensuring that the exhibition, as an authentic learning experience, was productive and that the students were engaged as responsible and accountable co-facilitators of it. These factors are particularly relevant as almost all the students were either currently working, or planning to work, in their chosen creative field, where the work would necessarily involve both publication, performance, and/or exhibition of their artwork plus collaborative practice across disciplinary boundaries to make this happen (Brien). For this reason, we provided exhibition-related coursework tasks that we hoped were engaging and that also represented an authentic learning outcome for the students. Student Curatorship In this context, the opportunity to exhibit their own works-in-progress provided an authentic reason, with a deadline, for students to both work, and reflect, on their creative projects. The documentation of each student’s creative process was showcased as a stand-alone exhibition piece within the display. These exhibits not only served not only to highlight the different learning styles of each student, but also proved to inspire creativity and skill development. They also provided a working model whereby students (and potential enrollees) could view other students’ work and creative processes from inception to fully-realised project outcomes. The sample online reflections quoted above not only highlight the effectiveness of the online content delivery, but this engagement with the online forum also allowed remote students to comment on each other’s projects as well as to and respond to issues they were encountering in their project planning and development and creative practice. It was essential that this level of peer engagement was fostered for the curatorial project to be viable, as both internal and external students are involved in designing the invitation, catalogue, labels, and design of the space, while on-campus students hang and label work according to the group’s directions. Distance students send in items. This is a key point of this experiment: the process of curating an exhibition of work from diverse creative fields, and from students located thousands of kilometres apart, as a way of bringing cohesion to a diverse cohort of students. That cohesiveness provided an opportunity for authentic learning to occur because it was in relation to a task that each student apparently understood as personally, academically, and professionally relevant. This was supported by the anonymous course evaluation comments, which were overwhelmingly positive about the exhibition process – there were no negative comments regarding this aspect of the program, and over 60 per cent of the class supplied these evaluations. This also met a considerable point of anxiety in the current university environment whereby actively engaging students in online learning interactions is a continuing issue (Dixon, Dixon, and Axmann). A key question is: what relevance does this curatorial process have for a student whose field is not visual art, but, for instance, music, film, or writing? By displaying documentation of work in progress, this process connects students of all disciplines with an audience. For example, one student in 2014 who was a singer/songwriter, had her song available to be played on a laptop, alongside photographs of the studio when she was recording her song with her band. In conjunction with this, the cover artwork for her CD, together with the actual CD and CD cover, were framed and exhibited. Another student, who was also a musician but who was completing a music history project, sent in pages of the music transcriptions he had been working on during the course. This manuscript was bound and exhibited in a way that prompted some audience members to commented that it was like an artist’s book as well as a collection of data. Both of these students lived over 1,000 kilometres from the campus where the exhibition was held, but they were able to share with us as teaching staff, as well as with other students who were involved in the physical setting up of the exhibition, exactly how they envisaged their work being displayed. The feedback from both of these students was that this experience gave them a strong connection to the program. They described how, despite the issue of distance, they had had the opportunity to participate in a professional event that they were very keen to include on their curricula vitae. Another aspect of students actively participating in the curation of an exhibition which features work from diverse disciplines is that these students get a true sense of the collaborative interconnectedness of the disciplines of the creative industries (Brien). By way of example, the exhibit of the singer/songwriter referred to above involved not only the student and her band, but also the photographer who took the photographs, and the artist who designed the CD cover. Students collaboratively decided how this material was handled in the exhibition catalogue – all these names were included and their roles described. Breaking Ground exhibition, CQUniversity Noosa Exhibition Space, 2014. Photo by Ulrike Sturm. Outcomes and Conclusion We believe that the curation of an exhibition and the delivery of its constituent components raises student awareness that they are, as creatives, part of a network of industries, developing in them a genuine understanding of the way the creating industries works as a profession outside the academic setting. It is in this sense that this curatorial task is an authentic learning experience. In fact, what was initially perceived as a significant challenge—, that is, exhibiting work in progress from diverse creative fields—, has become a strength of the curatorial project. In reflecting on the experiences and outcomes that have occurred through the implementation of this example of curatorial practice, both as a learning tool and as a creative outcome in its own right, a key positive indicator for this approach is the high level of student satisfaction with the course, as recorded in the formal, anonymous university student evaluations (with 60–100 per cent of these completed for each term, when the university benchmark is 50 per cent completion), and the high level of professional outcomes achieved post-completion. The university evaluation scores have been in the top (4.5–5/.5) range for satisfaction over the program’s eight terms of delivery since 2012. Particularly in relation to subsequent professional outcomes, anecdotal feedback has been that the curatorial process served as an authentic and engaged learning experience because it equipped the students, now graduates, of the program with not only knowledge about how exhibitions work, but also a genuine understanding of the web of connections between the diverse creative arts and industries. Indeed, a number of students have submitted proposals to exhibit professionally in the space after graduation, again providing anecdotal feedback that the experience they gained through our model has had a sustaining impact on their creative practice. While the focus of this activity has been on creative learning for the students, it has also provided an interesting and engaging teaching experience for us as the program’s staff. We will continue to gather evidence relating to our model, and, with the next iteration of the exhibition project, a more detailed comparative analysis will be attempted. At this stage, with ethics approval, we plan to run an anonymous survey with all students involved in this activity, to develop questions for a focus group discussion with graduates. We are also in the process of contacting alumni of the program regarding professional outcomes to map these one, two, and five years after graduation. We will also keep a record of what percentage of students apply to exhibit in the space after graduation, as this will also be an additional marker of how professional and useful they perceive the experience to be. In conclusion, it can be stated that the 100 per cent pass rate and 0 per cent attrition rate from the program since its inception, coupled with a high level (over 60 per cent) of student progression to further post-graduate study in the creative industries, has not been detrimentally affected by this curatorial experiment, and has encouraged staff to continue with this approach. References Al-Amri, Mohammed. “Assessment Techniques Practiced in Teaching Art at Sultan Qaboos University in Oman.” International Journal of Education through Art 7.3 (2011): 267–282. AQF Levels. Australian Qualifications Framework website. 18 June 2015 ‹http://www.aqf.edu.au/aqf/in-detail/aqf-levels/›. Boud, D. Student Assessment for Learning in and after Courses: Final Report for Senior Fellowship. Sydney: Australian Learning and Teaching Council, 2010. Brien, Donna Lee, “Higher Education in the Corporate Century: Choosing Collaborative rather than Entrepreneurial or Competitive Models.” New Writing: The International Journal for the Practice and Theory of Creative Writing 4.2 (2007): 157–170. Brien, Donna Lee, and Axel Bruns, eds. “Collaborate.” M/C Journal 9.2 (2006). 18 June 2015 ‹http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0605›. Burton, D. Exhibiting Student Art: The Essential Guide for Teachers. New York: Teachers College Press, Columbia University, New York, 2006. CQUniversity. CB82 Graduate Certificate in Creative Industries. 18 July 2015 ‹https://handbook.cqu.edu.au/programs/index?programCode=CB82›. CQUniversity Noosa Exhibition Space. 20 July 2015 ‹http://www.cqunes.org›. Dally, Kerry, Allyson Holbrook, Miranda Lawry and Anne Graham. “Assessing the Exhibition and the Exegesis in Visual Arts Higher Degrees: Perspectives of Examiners.” Working Papers in Art & Design 3 (2004). 27 June 2015 ‹http://sitem.herts.ac.uk/artdes_research/papers/wpades/vol3/kdabs.html›. Degree Shows, Sydney College of the Arts. 2014. 18 June 2015 ‹http://sydney.edu.au/sca/galleries-events/degree-shows/index.shtml› Dixon, Robert, Kathryn Dixon, and Mandi Axmann. “Online Student Centred Discussion: Creating a Collaborative Learning Environment.” Hello! Where Are You in the Landscape of Educational Technology? Proceedings ASCILITE, Melbourne 2008. 256–264. Donmoyer, Robert. “Generalizability and the Single-Case Study.” Case Study Method: Key Issues, Key Texts. Eds. Roger Gomm, Martyn Hammersley, and Peter Foster. 2000. 45–68. Falk, J.H. “Assessing the Impact of Exhibit Arrangement on Visitor Behavior and Learning.” Curator: The Museum Journal 36.2 (1993): 133–146. Flyvbjerg, Bent. “Five Misunderstandings about Case-Study Research.” Qualitative Inquiry 12.2 (2006): 219–245. Gardner, H. Frames of Mind: The Theory of Multiple Intelligences, New York: Basic Books, 1983. ———. Multiple Intelligences: New Horizons in Theory and Practice, New York: Basic Books, 2006. George Lucas Education Foundation. 2015 Edutopia – What Works in Education. 16 June 2015 ‹http://www.edutopia.org/multiple-intelligences-howard-gardner-video#graph3›. Gerring, John. “What Is a Case Study and What Is It Good For?” American Political Science Review 98.02 (2004): 341–354. Hooper-Greenhill, Eilean. “Museums and Communication: An Introductory Essay.” Museum, Media, Message 1 (1995): 1. Jennings, Paul. The Public House in Bradford, 1770-1970. Keele: Keele University Press, 1995. Levy, Jack S. “Case Studies: Types, Designs, and Logics of Inference.” Conflict Management and Peace Science 25.1 (2008): 1–18. Merriam, Sharan B. Qualitative Research: A Guide to Design and Implementation: Revised and Expanded from Qualitative Research and Case Study Applications in Education. Jossey-Bass, 2009. Miles, M., and S. Rainbird. From Critical Distance to Engaged Proximity: Rethinking Assessment Methods to Enhance Interdisciplinary Collaborative Learning in the Creative Arts and Humanities. Final Report to the Australian Government Office for Learning and Teaching, Sydney. 2013. Monash University. Rethinking Assessment to Enhance Interdisciplinary Collaborative Learning in the Creative Arts and Humanities. Sydney: Office of Learning and Teaching, 2013. Muller, L. Reflective Curatorial Practice. 17 June 2015 ‹http://research.it.uts.edu.au/creative/linda/CCSBook/Jan%2021%20web%20pdfs/Muller.pdf›. O’Neill, Paul. Curating Subjects. London: Open Editions, 2007. Patrick, Carol-Joy, Deborah Peach, Catherine Pocknee, Fleur Webb, Marty Fletcher, and Gabriella Pretto. The WIL (Work Integrated Learning) Report: A National Scoping Study [Final Report]. Brisbane: Queensland University of Technology, 2008. Rule, A.C. “Editorial: The Components of Authentic Learning.” Journal of Authentic Learning 3.1 (2006): 1–10. Seawright, Jason, and John Gerring. “Case Selection Techniques in Case Study Research: A Menu of Qualitative and Quantitative Options.” Political Research Quarterly 61.2 (2008): 294–308. Smith, Martin, Sally Brooks, Anna Lichtenberg, Peter McIlveen, Peter Torjul, and Joanne Tyler. Career Development Learning: Maximising the Contribution of Work-Integrated Learning to the Student Experience. Final project report, June 2009. Wollongong: University of Wollongong, 2009. Sousa, D.A. How the Brain Learns: A Teacher’s Guide. 2nd ed. Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin Press, 2001. Stake, R. “Qualitative Case Studies”. The Sage Handbook of Qualitative Research. 3rd ed. Eds. N.K. Denzin and Y.S. Lincoln. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 2005. 433-466. Staniszewski, Mary Anne. The Power of Display: A History of Exhibition Installations at the Museum of Modern Art. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1998. Sullivan, Graeme. Art Practice as Research: Inquiry in Visual Arts. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 2010. University of Canberra. “Bachelor of Heritage, Museums and Conservation (215JA.2)”. Web. 27 July 2015. Ventzislavov, R. “Idle Arts: Reconsidering the Curator.” The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism 72.1 (2014): 83–93. Verschuren, P. “Case Study as a Research Strategy: Some Ambiguities and Opportunities.” International Journal of Social Research Methodology 6.2 (2003): 121–139. Webb, Jen, and Donna Lee Brien. “Preparing Graduates for Creative Futures: Australian Creative Arts Programs in a Globalising Society.” Partnerships for World Graduates, AIC (Academia, Industry and Community) 2007 Conference, RMIT, Melbourne, 28–30 Nov. 2007. Webb, Jen, Donna Lee Brien, and Sandra Burr. “Doctoral Examination in the Creative Arts: Process, Practices and Standards.” Final Report. Canberra: Office of Learning and Teaching, 2013. Yin, Robert K. Case Study Research: Design and Methods. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 2013.

Unlike some current discourse on automediality, this essay eschews most of the analysis concerning the adoption or modification of avatars to deliberately enhance, extend or distort the self. Rather than the automedial enabling of alternative, virtual selves modified by playful, confronting or disarming avatars we concentrate instead on emerging efforts to present the self in hyper-realist, interactive modes. In doing so we ask, what is the relationship between traumatic forms of automediation and the affective impact on and response of the audience? We argue that, while on the one hand there are promising avenues for valuable individual and social engagements with traumatic forms of automediation, there is an overwhelming predominance of suffering as a theme in such virtual depictions, comingled with uncritically asserted promises of empathy, which are problematic as the technology assumes greater mainstream uptake.As Smith and Watson note, embodiment is always a “translation” where the body is “dematerialized” in virtual representation (“Virtually” 78). Past scholarship has analysed the capacity of immersive realms, such as Second Life or online games, to highlight how users can modify their avatars in often spectacular, non-human forms. Critics of this mode of automediality note that users can adopt virtually any persona they like (racial, religious, gendered and sexual, human, animal or hybrid, and of any age), behaving as “identity tourists” while occupying virtual space or inhabiting online communities (Nakamura). Furthermore, recent work by Jaron Lanier, a key figure from the 1980s period of early Virtual Reality (VR) technology, has also explored so-called “homuncular flexibility” which describes the capacity for humans to seemingly adapt automatically to the control mechanisms of an avatar with multiple legs, other non-human appendages, or for two users to work in tandem to control a single avatar (Won et. al.). But this article is concerned less with these single or multi-player online environments and the associated concerns over modifying interactive identities. We are principally interested in other automedial modes where the “auto” of autobiography is automated via Artificial Intelligences (AIs) to convincingly mimic human discourse as narrated life-histories.We draw from case studies promoted by the 2017 season of ABC television’s flagship science program, Catalyst, which opened with semi-regular host and biological engineer Dr Jordan Nguyen, proclaiming in earnest, almost religious fervour: “I want to do something that has long been a dream. I want to create a copy of a human. An avatar. And it will have a life of its own in virtual reality.” As the camera followed Nguyen’s rapid pacing across real space he extolled: “Virtual reality, virtual human, they push the limits of the imagination and help us explore the impossible […] I want to create a virtual copy of a person. A digital addition to the family, using technology we have now.”The troubling implications of such rhetoric were stark and the next third of the program did little to allay such techno-scientific misgivings. Directed and produced by David Symonds, with Nguyen credited as co-developer and presenter, the episode “Meet the Avatars” immediately introduced scenarios where “volunteers” entered a pop-up inner city virtual lab, to experience VR for the first time. The volunteers were shown on screen subjected to a range of experimental VR environments designed to elicit fear and/or adverse and disorienting responses such as vertigo, while the presenter and researchers from Sydney University constantly smirked and laughed at their participants’ discomfort. We can only wonder what the ethics process was for both the ABC and university researchers involved in these broadcast experiments. There is little doubt that the participant/s experienced discomfort, if not distress, and that was televised to a national audience. Presenter Nguyen was also shown misleading volunteers on their way to the VR lab, when one asked “You’re not going to chuck us out of a virtual plane are you?” to which Nguyen replied “I don't know what we’re going to do yet,” when it was next shown that they immediately underwent pre-programmed VR exposure scenarios, including a fear of falling exercise from atop a city skyscraper.The sweat-inducing and heart rate-racing exposures to virtual plank walks high above a cityscape, or seeing subjects haptically viewing spiders crawl across their outstretched virtual hands, all elicited predictable responses, showcased as carnivalesque entertainment for the viewing audience. As we will see, this kind of trivialising of a virtual environment’s capacity for immersion belies the serious use of the technology in a range of treatments for posttraumatic stress disorder (see Rizzo and Koenig; Rothbaum, Rizzo and Difede).Figure 1: Nguyen and researchers enjoying themselves as their volunteers undergo VR exposure Defining AutomedialityIn their pioneering 2008 work, Automedialität: Subjektkonstitution in Schrift, Bild und neuen Medien, Jörg Dünne and Christian Moser coined the term “automediality” to problematise the production, application and distribution of autobiographic modes across various media and genres—from literary texts to audiovisual media and from traditional expression to inter/transmedia and remediated formats. The concept of automediality was deployed to counter the conventional critical exclusion of analysis of the materiality/technology used for an autobiographical purpose (Gernalzick). Dünne and Moser proffered a concept of automediality that rejects the binary division of (a) self-expression determining the mediated form or (b) (self)subjectivity being solely produced through the mediating technology. Hence, automediality has been traditionally applied to literary constructs such as autobiography and life-writing, but is now expanding into the digital domain and other “paratextual sites” (Maguire).As Nadja Gernalzick suggests, automediality should “encourage and demand not only a systematics and taxonomy of the constitution of the self in respectively genre-specific ways, but particularly also in medium-specific ways” (227). Emma Maguire has offered a succinct working definition that builds on this requirement to signal the automedial universally, noting it operates asa way of studying auto/biographical texts (of a variety of forms) that take into account how the effects of media shape the kinds of selves that can be represented, and which understands the self not as a preexisting subject that might be distilled into story form but as an entity that is brought into being through the processes of mediation.Sidonie Smith and Julia Watson point to automediality as a methodology, and in doing so emphasize how the telling or mediation of a life actually shapes the kind of story that can be told autobiographically. They state “media cannot simply be conceptualized as ‘tools’ for presenting a preexisting, essential self […] Media technologies do not just transparently present the self. They constitute and expand it” (Smith and Watson “Virtually Me” 77).This distinction is vital for understanding how automediality might be applied to self-expression in virtual domains, including the holographic avatar dreams of Nguyen throughout Catalyst. Although addressing this distinction in relation to online websites, following P. David Marshall’s description of “the proliferation of the public self”, Maguire notes:The same integration of digital spaces and platforms into daily life that is prompting the development of new tools in autobiography studies […] has also given rise to the field of persona studies, which addresses the ways in which individuals engage in practices of self-presentation in order to form commoditised identities that circulate in affective communities.For Maguire, these automedial works operate textually “to construct the authorial self or persona”.An extension to this digital, authorial construction is apparent in the exponential uptake of screen mediated prosumer generated content, whether online or theatrical (Miller). According to Gernalzick, unlike fictional drama films, screen autobiographies more directly enable “experiential temporalities”. Based on Mary Anne Doane’s promotion of the “indexicality” of film/screen representations to connote the real, Gernalzick suggests that despite semiotic theories of the index problematising realism as an index as representation, the film medium is still commonly comprehended as the “imprint of time itself”:Film and the spectator of film are said to be in a continuous present. Because the viewer is aware, however, that the images experienced in or even as presence have been made in the past, the temporality of the so-called filmic present is always ambiguous” (230).When expressed as indexical, automedial works, the intrinsic audio-visual capacities of film and video (as media) far surpass the temporal limitations of print and writing (Gernalzick, 228). One extreme example can be found in an emergent trend of “performance crime” murder and torture videos live-streamed or broadcast after the fact using mobile phone cameras and FaceBook (Bender). In essence, the political economy of the automedial ecology is important to understand in the overall context of self expression and the governance of content exhibition, access, distribution and—where relevant—interaction.So what are the implications for automedial works that employ virtual interfaces and how does this evolving medium inform both the expressive autobiographical mode and audiences subjectivities?Case StudyThe Catalyst program described above strove to shed new light on the potential for emerging technology to capture and create virtual avatars from living participants who (self-)generate autobiographical narratives interactively. Once past the initial gee-wiz journalistic evangelism of VR, the episode turned towards host Nguyen’s stated goal—using contemporary technology to create an autonomous virtual human clone. Nguyen laments that if he could create only one such avatar, his primary choice would be that of his grandfather who died when Nguyen was two years old—a desire rendered impossible. The awkward humour of the plank walk scenario sequence soon gives way as the enthusiastic Nguyen is surprised by his family’s discomfort with the idea of digitally recreating his grandfather.Nguyen next visits a Southern California digital media lab to experience the process by which 3D virtual human avatars are created. Inside a domed array of lights and cameras, in less than one second a life-size 3D avatar is recorded via 6,000 LEDs illuminating his face in 20 different combinations, with eight cameras capturing the exposures from multiple angles, all in ultra high definition. Called the Light Stage (Debevec), it is the same technology used to create a life size, virtual holocaust survivor, Pinchas Gutter (Ziv).We see Nguyen encountering a life-size, high-resolution 2D screen version of Gutter’s avatar. Standing before a microphone, Nguyen asks a series of questions about Gutter’s wartime experiences and life in the concentration camps. The responses are naturalistic and authentic, as are the pauses between questions. The high definition 4K screen is photo-realist but much more convincing in-situ (as an artifact of the Catalyst video camera recording, in some close-ups horizontal lines of transmission appear). According to the project’s curator, David Traum, the real Pinchas Gutter was recorded in 3D as a virtual holograph. He spent 25 hours providing 1,600 responses to a broad range of questions that the curator maintained covered “a lot of what people want to say” (Catalyst).Figure 2: The Museum of Jewish Heritage in Manhattan presented an installation of New Dimensions in Testimony, featuring Pinchas Gutter and Eva SchlossIt is here that the intersection between VR and auto/biography hybridise in complex and potentially difficult ways. It is where the concept of automediality may offer insight into this rapidly emerging phenomenon of creating interactive, hyperreal versions of our selves using VR. These hyperreal VR personae can be questioned and respond in real-time, where interrogators interact either as casual conversers or determined interrogators.The impact on visitors is sobering and palpable. As Nguyen relates at the end of his session, “I just want to give him a hug”. The demonstrable capacity for this avatar to engender a high degree of empathy from its automedial testimony is clear, although as we indicate below, it could simply indicate increased levels of emotion.Regardless, an ongoing concern amongst witnesses, scholars and cultural curators of memorials and museums dedicated to preserving the history of mass violence, and its associated trauma, is that once the lived experience and testimony of survivors passes with that generation the impact of the testimony diminishes (Broderick). New media modes of preserving and promulgating such knowledge in perpetuity are certainly worthy of embracing. As Stephen Smith, the executive director of the USC Shoah Foundation suggests, the technology could extendto people who have survived cancer or catastrophic hurricanes […] from the experiences of soldiers with post-traumatic stress disorder or survivors of sexual abuse, to those of presidents or great teachers. Imagine if a slave could have told her story to her grandchildren? (Ziv)Yet questions remain as to the veracity of these recorded personae. The avatars are created according to a specific agenda and the autobiographical content controlled for explicit editorial purposes. It is unclear what and why material has been excluded. If, for example, during the recorded questioning, the virtual holocaust survivor became mute at recollecting a traumatic memory, cried or sobbed uncontrollably—all natural, understandable and authentic responses given the nature of the testimony—should these genuine and spontaneous emotions be included along with various behavioural ticks such as scratching, shifting about in the seat and other naturalistic movements, to engender a more profound realism?The generation of the photorealist, mimetic avatar—remaining as an interactive persona long after the corporeal, authorial being is gone—reinforces Baudrillard’s concept of simulacra, where a clone exists devoid of its original entity and unable to challenge its automedial discourse. And what if some unscrupulous hacker managed to corrupt and subvert Gutter’s AI so that it responded antithetically to its purpose, by denying the holocaust ever happened? The ethical dilemmas of such a paradigm were explored in the dystopian 2013 film, The Congress, where Robyn Wright plays herself (and her avatar), as an out of work actor who sells off the rights to her digital self. A movie studio exploits her screen persona in perpetuity, enabling audiences to “become” and inhabit her avatar in virtual space while she is limited in the real world from undertaking certain actions due to copyright infringement. The inability of Wright to control her mimetic avatar’s discourse or action means the assumed automedial agency of her virtual self as an immortal, interactive being remains ontologically perplexing.Figure 3: Robyn Wright undergoing a full body photogrammetry to create her VR avatar in The Congress (2013)The various virtual exposures/experiences paraded throughout Catalyst’s “Meet the Avatars” paradoxically recorded and broadcast a range of troubling emotional responses to such immersion. Many participant responses suggest great caution and sensitivity be undertaken before plunging headlong into the new gold rush mentality of virtual reality, augmented reality, and AI affordances. Catalyst depicted their program subjects often responding in discomfort and distress, with some visibly overwhelmed by their encounters and left crying. There is some irony that presenter Ngyuen was himself relying on the conventions of 2D linear television journalism throughout, adopting face-to-camera address in (unconscious) automedial style to excitedly promote the assumed socio-cultural boon such automedial VR avatars will generate.Challenging AuthenticityThere are numerous ethical considerations surrounding the potential for AIs to expand beyond automedial (self-)expression towards photorealist avatars interacting outside of their pre-recorded content. When such systems evolve it may be neigh impossible to discern on screen whether the person you are conversing with is authentic or an indistinguishable, virtual doppelganger. In the future, a variant on the Turning Test may be needed to challenge and identify such hyperreal simulacra. We may be witnessing the precursor to such a dilemma playing out in the arena of audio-only podcasts, with some public intellectuals such as Sam Harris already discussing the legal and ethical problems from technology that can create audio from typed text that convincingly replicate the actual voice of a person by sampling approximately 30 minutes of their original speech (Harris). Such audio manipulation technology will soon be available to anybody with the motivation and relatively minor level of technological ability in order to assume an identity and masquerade as automediated dialogue. However, for the moment, the ability to convincingly alter a real-time computer generated video image of a person remains at the level of scientific innovation.Also of significance is the extent to which the audience reactions to such automediated expressions are indeed empathetic or simply part of the broader range of affective responses that also include direct sympathy as well as emotions such as admiration, surprise, pity, disgust and contempt (see Plantinga). There remains much rhetorical hype surrounding VR as the “ultimate empathy machine” (Milk). Yet the current use of the term “empathy” in VR, AI and automedial forms of communication seems to be principally focused on the capacity for the user-viewer to ameliorate negatively perceived emotions and experiences, whether traumatic or phobic.When considering comments about authenticity here, it is important to be aware of the occasional slippage of technological terminology into the mainstream. For example, the psychological literature does emphasise that patients respond strongly to virtual scenarios, events, and details that appear to be “authentic” (Pertaub, Slater, and Barker). Authentic in this instance implies a resemblance to a corresponding scenario/activity in the real world. This is not simply another word for photorealism, but rather it describes for instance the experimental design of one study in which virtual (AI) audience members in a virtual seminar room designed to treat public speaking anxiety were designed to exhibit “random autonomous behaviours in real-time, such as twitches, blinks, and nods, designed to encourage the illusion of life” (Kwon, Powell and Chalmers 980). The virtual humans in this study are regarded as having greater authenticity than an earlier project on social anxiety (North, North, and Coble) which did not have much visual complexity but did incorporate researcher-triggered audio clips of audience members “laughing, making comments, encouraging the speaker to speak louder or more clearly” (Kwon, Powell, and Chalmers 980). The small movements, randomly cued rather than according to a recognisable pattern, are described by the researchers as creating a sense of authenticity in the VR environment as they seem to correspond to the sorts of random minor movements that actual human audiences in a seminar can be expected to make.Nonetheless, nobody should regard an interaction with these AIs, or the avatar of Gutter, as in any way an encounter with a real person. Rather, the characteristics above function to create a disarming effect and enable the real person-viewer to willingly suspend their disbelief and enter into a pseudo-relationship with the AI; not as if it is an actual relationship, but as if it is a simulation of an actual relationship (USC). Lucy Suchman and colleagues invoke these ideas in an analysis of a YouTube video of some apparently humiliating human interactions with the MIT created AI-robot Mertz. Their analysis contends that, while it may appear on first glance that the humans’ mocking exchange with Mertz are mean-spirited, there is clearly a playfulness and willingness to engage with a form of AI that is essentially continuous with “long-standing assumptions about communication as information processing, and in the robot’s performance evidence for the limits to the mechanical reproduction of interaction as we know it through computational processes” (Suchman, Roberts, and Hird).Thus, it will be important for future work in the area of automediated testimony to consider the extent to which audiences are willing to suspend disbelief and treat the recounted traumatic experience with appropriate gravitas. These questions deserve attention, and not the kind of hype displayed by the current iteration of techno-evangelism. Indeed, some of this resurgent hype has come under scrutiny. From the perspective of VR-based tourism, Janna Thompson has recently argued that “it will never be a substitute for encounters with the real thing” (Thompson). Alyssa K. Loh, for instance, also argues that many of the negatively themed virtual experiences—such as those that drop the viewer into a scene of domestic violence or the location of a terrorist bomb attack—function not to put you in the position of the actual victim but in the position of the general category of domestic violence victim, or bomb attack victim, thus “deindividuating trauma” (Loh).Future work in this area should consider actual audience responses and rely upon mixed-methods research approaches to audience analysis. 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This article proposes that the growing popularity of reality television in the southernmost state of India, Kerala – disseminated locally and throughout the Indian diaspora – is not the product of an innocuous nostalgia for a fast-disappearing regional identity but rather a spectacular example of an emergent ideology that displaces cultural memory, collective identity, and secular nationalism with new, globalised forms of public sentiment. Further, it is arguable that this g/local media culture also displaces hard-won secular feminist constructions of gender and the contemporary modern “Indian woman.” Shows like Idea Star Singer (hereafter ISS) (Malayalam [the language spoken in Kerala] television’s most popular reality television series), based closely on American Idol, is broadcast worldwide to dozens of nations including the US, the UK, China, Russia, Sri Lanka, and several nations in the Middle East and the discussion that follows attempts both to account for this g/local phenomenon and to problematise it. ISS concentrates on staging the diversity and talent of Malayalee youth and, in particular, their ability to sing ‘pitch-perfect’, by inviting them to perform the vast catalogue of traditional Malayalam songs. However, inasmuch as it is aimed at both a regional and diasporic audience, ISS also allows for a diversity of singing styles displayed through the inclusion of a variety of other songs: some sung in Tamil, some Hindi, and some even English. This leads us to ask a number of questions: in what ways are performers who subscribe to regional or global models of televisual style rewarded or punished? In what ways are performers who exemplify differences in terms of gender, sexuality, religion, class, or ability punished? Further, it is arguable that this show—packaged as the “must-see” spectacle for the Indian diaspora—re-imagines a traditional past and translates it (under the rubric of “reality” television) into a vulgar commodification of both “classical” and “folk” India: an India excised of radical reform, feminists, activists, and any voices of multiplicity clamouring for change. Indeed, it is my contention that, although such shows claim to promote women’s liberation by encouraging women to realise their talents and ambitions, the commodification of the “stars” as televisual celebrities points rather to an anti-feminist imperial agenda of control and domination. Normalising Art: Presenting the Juridical as Natural Following Foucault, we can, indeed, read ISS as an apparatus of “normalisation.” While ISS purports to be “about” music, celebration, and art—an encouragement of art for art’s sake—it nevertheless advocates the practice of teaching as critiqued by Foucault: “the acquisition and knowledge by the very practice of the pedagogical activity and a reciprocal, hierarchised observation” (176), so that self-surveillance is built into the process. What appears on the screen is, in effect, the presentation of a juridically governed body as natural: the capitalist production of art through intense practice, performance, and corrective measures that valorise discipline and, at the end, produce ‘good’ and ‘bad’ subjects. The Foucauldian isomorphism of punishment with obligation, exercise with repetition, and enactment of the law is magnified in the traditional practice of music, especially Carnatic, or the occasional Hindustani refrain that separates those who come out of years of training in the Gury–Shishya mode (teacher–student mode, primarily Hindu and privileged) from those who do not (Muslims, working-class, and perhaps disabled students). In the context of a reality television show sponsored by Idea Cellular Ltd (a phone company with global outposts), the systems of discipline are strictly in line with the capitalist economy. Since this show depends upon the vast back-catalogue of film songs sung by playback singers from the era of big studio film-making, it may be seen to advocate a mimetic rigidity that ossifies artistic production, rather than offering encouragement to a new generation of artists who might wish to take the songs and make them their own. ISS, indeed, compares and differentiates the participants’ talents through an “opaque” system of evaluations which the show presents as transparent, merit-based and “fair”: as Foucault observes, “the perpetual penalty that traverses all points and supervises every instant in the disciplinary institutions compares, differentiates, hierarchizes, homogenizes, excludes. In short, it normalizes” (183). On ISS, this evaluation process (a panel of judges who are renowned singers and composers, along with a rotating guest star, such as an actor) may be seen as a scopophilic institution where training and knowledge are brought together, transforming “the economy of visibility into the exercise of power” (187). The contestants, largely insignificant as individuals but seen together, at times, upon the stage, dancing and singing and performing practised routines, represent a socius constituting the body politic. The judges, enthroned on prominent and lush seats above the young contestants, the studio audience and, in effect, the show’s televised transnational audience, deliver judgements that “normalise” these artists into submissive subjectivity. In fact, despite the incoherence of the average judgement, audiences are so engrossed in the narrative of “marks” (a clear vestige of the education and civilising mission of the colonial subject under British rule) that, even in the glamorous setting of vibrating music, artificial lights, and corporate capital, Indians can still be found disciplining themselves according to the values of the West. Enacting Keraleeyatham for Malayalee Diaspora Ritty Lukose’s study on youth and gender in Kerala frames identity formations under colonialism, nationalism, and capitalism as she teases out ideas of resistance and agency by addressing the complex mediations of consumption or consumptive practices. Lukose reads “consumer culture as a complex site of female participation and constraint, enjoyment and objectification” (917), and finds the young, westernised female as a particular site of consumer agency. According to this theory, the performers on ISS and the show’s MC, Renjini Haridas, embody this body politic. The young performers all dress in the garb of “authentic identity”, sporting saris, pawaadu-blouse, mundum-neertha, salwaar-kameez, lehenga-choli, skirts, pants, and so on. This sartorial diversity is deeply gendered and discursively rich; the men have one of two options: kurta-mundu or some such variation and the pant–shirt combination. The women, especially Renjini (educated at St Theresa’s College in Kochi and former winner of Ms Kerala beauty contest) evoke the MTV DJs of the mid-1990s and affect a pidgin-Malayalam spliced with English: Renjini’s cool “touching” of the contestants and airy gestures remove her from the regional masses; and yet, for Onam (festival of Kerala), she dresses in the traditional cream and gold sari; for Id (high holy day for Muslims), she dresses in some glittery salwaar-kameez with a wrap on her head; and for Christmas, she wears a long dress. This is clearly meant to show her ability to embody different socio-religious spheres simultaneously. Yet, both she and all the young female contestants speak proudly about their authentic Kerala identity. Ritty Lukose spells this out as “Keraleeyatham.” In the vein of beauty pageants, and the first-world practice of indoctrinating all bodies into one model of beauty, the youngsters engage in exuberant performances yet, once their act is over, revert back to the coy, submissive docility that is the face of the student in the traditional educational apparatus. Both left-wing feminists and BJP activists write their ballads on the surface of women’s bodies; however, in enacting the chethu or, to be more accurate, “ash-push” (colloquialism akin to “hip”) lifestyle advocated by the show (interrupted at least half a dozen times by lengthy sequences of commercials for jewellery, clothing, toilet cleaners, nutritious chocolate bars, hair oil, and home products), the participants in this show become the unwitting sites of a large number of competing ideologies. Lukose observes the remarkable development from the peasant labor-centered Kerala of the 1970s to today’s simulacrum: “Keraleeyatham.” When discussing the beauty contests staged in Kerala in the 1990s, she discovers (through analysis of the dress and Sanskrit-centred questions) that: “Miss Kerala must be a naden pennu [a girl of the native/rural land] in her dress, comportment, and knowledge. Written onto the female bodies of a proliferation of Miss Keralas, the nadu, locality itself, becomes transportable and transposable” (929). Lukose observes that these women have room to enact their passions and artistry only within the metadiegetic space of the “song and dance” spectacle; once they leave it, they return to a modest, Kerala-gendered space in which the young female performers are quiet to the point of inarticulate, stuttering silence (930). However, while Lukose’s term, Keraleeyatham, is useful as a sociological compass, I contend that it has even more complex connotations. Its ethos of “Nair-ism” (Nayar was the dominant caste identity in Kerala), which could have been a site of resistance and identity formation, instead becomes a site of nationalist, regional linguistic supremacy arising out of Hindu imaginary. Second, this ideology could not have been developed in the era of pre-globalised state-run television but now, in the wake of globalisation and satellite television, we see this spectacle of “discipline and punish” enacted on the world stage. Thus, although I do see a possibility for a more positive Keraleeyatham that is organic, inclusive, and radical, for the moment we have a hegemonic, exclusive, and hierarchical statist approach to regional identity that needs to be re-evaluated. Articulating the Authentic via the Simulacrum Welcome to the Malayalee matrix. Jean Baudrillard’s simulacrum is our entry point into visualising the code of reality television. In a state noted for its distinctly left-leaning politics and Communist Party history which underwent radical reversal in the 1990s, the political front in Kerala is still dominated by the LDF (Left Democratic Front), and resistance to the state is an institutionalised and satirised daily event, as marked by the marchers who gather and stop traffic at Palayam in the capital city daily at noon. Issues of poverty and corporate disenfranchisement plague the farming and fishing communities while people suffer transportation tragedies, failures of road development and ferry upkeep on a daily basis. Writers and activists rail against imminent aerial bombing of Maoists insurgent groups, reading in such statist violence repression of the Adivasi (indigenous) peoples scattered across many states of eastern and southern India. Alongside energy and ration supply issues, politics light up the average Keralaite, and yet the most popular “reality” television show reflects none of it. Other than paying faux multicultural tribute to all the festivals that come and go (such as Id, Diwaali, Christmas, and Kerala Piravi [Kerala Day on 1 November]), mainly through Renjini’s dress and chatter, ISS does all it can to remove itself from the turmoil of the everyday. Much in the same way that Bollywood cinema has allowed the masses to escape the oppressions of “the everyday,” reality television promises speculative pleasure produced on the backs of young performers who do not even have to be paid for their labour. Unlike Malayalam cinema’s penchant for hard-hitting politics and narratives of unaccounted for, everyday lives in neo-realist style, today’s reality television—with its excessive sound and light effects, glittering stages and bejewelled participants, repeat zooms, frontal shots, and artificial enhancements—exploits the paradox of hyper-authenticity (Rose and Wood 295). In her useful account of America’s top reality show, American Idol, Katherine Meizel investigates the fascination with the show’s winners and the losers, and the drama of an American “ideal” of diligence and ambition that is seen to be at the heart of the show. She writes, “It is about selling the Dream—regardless of whether it results in success or failure—and about the enactment of ideology that hovers at the edges of any discourse about American morality. It is the potential of great ambition, rather than of great talent, that drives these hopefuls and inspires their fans” (486). In enacting the global via the site of the local (Malayalam and Tamil songs primarily), ISS assumes the mantle of Americanism through the plain-spoken, direct commentaries of the singers who, like their US counterparts, routinely tell us how all of it has changed their lives. In other words, this retrospective meta-narrative becomes more important than the show itself. True to Baudrillard’s theory, ISS blurs the line between actual need and the “need” fabricated by the media and multinational corporations like Idea Cellular and Confident Group (which builds luxury homes, primarily for the new bourgeoisie and nostalgic “returnees” from the diaspora). The “New Kerala” is marked, for the locals, by extravagant (mostly unoccupied) constructions of photogenic homes in garish colours, located in the middle of chaos: the traditional nattumparathu (countryside) wooden homes, and traffic congestion. The homes, promised at the end of these shows, have a “value” based on the hyper-real economy of the show rather than an actual utility value. Yet those who move from the “old” world to the “new” do not always fare well. In local papers, the young artists are often criticised for their new-found haughtiness and disinclination to visit ill relatives in hospital: a veritable sin in a culture that places the nadu and kin above all narratives of progress. In other words, nothing quite adds up: the language and ideologies of the show, espoused most succinctly by its inarticulate host, is a language that obscures its distance from reality. ISS maps onto its audience the emblematic difference between “citizen” and “population”. Through the chaotic, state-sanctioned paralegal devices that allow the slum-dwellers and other property-less people to dwell in the cities, the voices of the labourers (such as the unions) have been silenced. It is a nation ever more geographically divided between the middle-classes which retreat into their gated neighbourhoods, and the shanty-town denizens who are represented by the rising class of religio-fundamentalist leaders. While the poor vote in the Hindu hegemony, the middle classes text in their votes to reality shows like ISS. Partha Chatterjee speaks of the “new segregated and exclusive spaces for the managerial and technocratic elite” (143) which is obsessed by media images, international travel, suburbanisation, and high technology. I wish to add to this list the artificially created community of ISS performers and stars; these are, indeed, the virtual and global extension of Chatterjee’s exclusive, elite communities, decrying the new bourgeois order of Indian urbanity, repackaged as Malayalee, moneyed, and Nayar. Meanwhile, the Hindu Right flexes its muscle under the show’s glittery surface: neither menacing nor fundamentalist, it is now “hip” to be Hindu. Thus while, on the surface, ISS operates according to the cliché, musicinu mathamilla (“music has no religion”), I would contend that it perpetuates a colonising space of Hindu-nationalist hegemony which standardises music appreciation, flattens music performance into an “art” developed solely to serve commercial cinema, and produces a dialectic of Keraleeyatham that erases the multiplicities of its “real.” This ideology, meanwhile, colonises from within. The public performance plays out in the private sphere where the show is consumed; at the same time, the private is inserted into the public with SMS calls that ultimately help seal the juridicality of the show and give the impression of “democracy.” Like the many networks that bring the sentiments of melody and melancholy to our dinner table, I would like to offer you this alternative account of ISS as part of a bid for a more vociferous, and critical, engagement with reality television and its modes of production. Somehow we need to find a way to savour, once again, the non-mimetic aspects of art and to salvage our darkness from the glitter of the “normalising” popular media. References Baudrillard, Jean. The Mirror of Production. Trans. Mark Poster. New York: Telos, 1975. ———. Selected Writings. Ed. Mark Poster. California: Stanford UP, 1988. Chatterjee, Partha. The Politics of the Governed: Reflections on Popular Politics in Most of the World. Delhi: Permanent Black, 2004. Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Trans. Alan Sheridan. New York: Vintage, 1995. Lukose, Ritty. “Consuming Globalization: Youth and Gender in Kerala, India.” Journal of Social History 38.4 (Summer 2005): 915-35. Meizel, Katherine. “Making the Dream a Reality (Show): The Celebration of Failure in American Idol.” Popular Music and Society 32.4 (Oct. 2009): 475-88. Rose, Randall L., and Stacy L. Wood. “Paradox and the Consumption of Authenticity through Reality Television.” Journal of Consumer Research 32 (Sep. 2005): 284-96.

Hotspots of Cultural InnovationIn the 1960s, a long list of poets, writers, and musicians flocked to the Chelsea Hotel, 222 West 23rd Street, New York (Tippins). Among them Bob Dylan, who moved in at the end of 1964, Leonard Cohen, who wrote Take This Longing dedicated to singer Nico there, and Patti Smith who rented a room there together with Robert Mapplethorpe in 1969 (Smith; Bell; Simmons). They all benefited not just from the low rents, but also from the close, often intimate, presence of other residents who inspired them to explore new creative paths. Around the same time, across the Atlantic, the Indica Bookshop and Gallery, 6 Mason’s Yard, London played a similar role as a meeting place for musicians, artists and hangers-on. It was there, on the evening of 9 November 1966, that John Lennon attended a preview of Yoko Ono's first big solo exhibition, Unfinished Paintings and Objects. Legend has it that the two met as Lennon was climbing up the ladder of Ono’s installation work ‘Ceiling Painting’, and reaching out to a dangling magnifying glass in order to take a closer look at the single word ‘YES’ scribbled on a suspended placard (Campbell). It was not just Lennon’s first meeting with Yoko Ono, but also his first run into conceptual art. After this fateful evening, both Lennon’s private life and his artistry would never be the same again. There is already a rich body of literature on the geography of music production (Scott; Kloosterman; Watson Global Music City; Verboord and Brandellero). In most cases, these studies deal with the city or neighbourhood scales. Micro-geographies of concrete places are rarer, with some notable exceptions that focus on recording studios and on specific venues (cf. Gibson; Watson et al.; Watson Cultural Production; van Klyton). Our approach focuses on concrete places that act more like third spaces – something in between or even combining living and working. Such places enable frequent face-to-face meetings, both planned and serendipitous, which are crucial for the exchange of knowledge. These two spaces represent iconic cultural hotspots where innovative artists, notably (pop) musicians, came together in the 1960s. Because of their many famous visitors and residents, both spaces are well documented in (auto)biographies, monographs on art scenes in London and New York, as well as in newspapers. Below, we will explore how these two spaces played an important role at a time of cultural revolution, by connecting people and scenes to the micro geography of concrete places and by functioning as nodes of knowledge exchange and, hence, as milieus of innovation.Art Worlds, Scenes and Places The romantic view that artists are solitary geniuses was discarded already long ago and replaced by a conceptualization that sees them as part of broader social configurations, or art worlds. According to Howard Becker (34), these art worlds consist “of all the people necessary to the production of the characteristic works” – in other words, not just artists, but also “support personnel” such as sound engineers, editors, critics, and managers. Without this “resource pool” the production of art would be virtually impossible. Art worlds are also about the consumption of art. The concept of scene has been used to articulate the local processes of taste making and reputation building, as they “provide ways of social belonging attuned to the demands of a culture in which individuals increasingly define themselves” (Silver et al. 2295). Individuals who share certain aesthetic preferences come together, both socially and spatially (Currid) and locations such as cafés and nightclubs offer important settings where members of an art world may drink, eat, meet, gossip, and exchange knowledge. The urban fabric provides an important backdrop for these exchanges: as Jane Jacobs (181) observed, “old ideas can sometimes use new buildings. New ideas must come from old buildings.” In order to function as relational spaces, these amenities have to meet two sets of conditions. The first set comprises the locational characteristics, which Durmaz identifies as centrality and proximity. The second set relates to socio-economic characteristics. From an economic perspective, the amenity has to be viable– either independently or through patronage or state subsidies. Becoming a cultural hotspot is not just a matter of good bookkeeping. The atmosphere of an amenity has to be tolerant towards forms of cultural and social experimentation and, arguably, even transgression. In addition, a successful space has to have attractors: persons who fulfil key roles in a particular art world in evaluation, curation, and gatekeeping. To what extent did the Indica Gallery and the Chelsea Hotel meet these two sets of conditions in the 1960s? We turn to this question now.A Hotel and a GalleryThe Indica Gallery and the Chelsea Hotel were both highly central – the former located right in the middle of St. James’s in the central London Borough of Westminster (cf. Kloosterman) and the latter close to Greenwich Village in Manhattan. In the post-war, these locations provided a vacant and fertile ground for artists, who moved in as firms and wealthier residents headed for the green suburbs. As Ramanathan recounts, “For artists, downtown New York, from Chambers Street in Tribeca to the Meatpacking District and Chelsea, was an ideal stomping ground. The neighbourhoods were full of old factories that had emptied out in the postwar years; they had room for art, if not crown molding and prewar charm” (Ramanathan). Similarly in London, “Despite its posh address the area [the area surrounding the Indica Gallery] then had a boho feel. William Burroughs, Brion Gysin and Anthony Blunt all had flats in the same street.” (Perry no pagination). Such central locations were essential to attract the desired attention and interest of key gatekeepers, as Barry Miles – one of Indica’s founding members - states: “In those days a gallery virtually had to be in Mayfair or else critics and buyers would not visit” (Miles 73). In addition, the Indica Gallery’s next-door neighbour was the Scotch of St James club. The then up and coming singer Marianne Faithfull, married to Indica founder John Dunbar, reportedly “needed to be seen” in this “trendy ‘in’ club for the new rock aristocracy” (Miles 73). Undoubtedly, their cultural importance was also linked to the fact that they were both located in well-connected budding global cities with a strong media presence (Krätke).Over and above location, these spaces also met important socio-economic conditions. In the 1960s, the neighbourhood surrounding the Chelsea Hotel was in transition with an abundance of available and affordable space. After moving out of the Chelsea Hotel, Patti Smith and Robert Mapplethorpe (Smith) had no difficulty finding a cheap loft to rent nearby. Rates in the Chelsea Hotel – when they were settled, that is - were incredibly low to current standards. According to Tippins (350), the typical Chelsea Hotel room rate in 1967 was $ 10 per week, which would amount to some $ 67.30 per week in 2013. Again, a more or less similar story can be told for the Indica Gallery. When Barry Miles, Peter Asher and John Dunbar founded the Gallery in September 1965, the premises were empty and the rent was low: "We paid 19 quid a week rent" according to John Dunbar (Perry). These cheap spaces provided fruitful economic conditions for cultural experimentation. Innovative relational spaces require not only accessibility in spatial and financial terms, but also an atmosphere conducive to cultural experimentation. This implies some kind of benevolent, preferably even stimulating, management that is willing and able to create such an atmosphere. At the Chelsea Hotel and Indica Gallery alike, those in charge were certainly not first and foremost focused on profit maximisation. Instead they were very much active members of the art worlds themselves, displaying a “taste for creative work” (Caves) and looking for ways in which their spaces could make a contribution to culture in a wider sense. This holds for Stanley Bard who ran the Chelsea Hotel for decades: “Working besides his father, Stanley {Bard} had gotten to know many of these people. He had attended their performances and exhibitions, read their books, and had been invited to their parties. Young and malleable, he soon came to see the world largely from their point of view” (Tippins 166). Such affinity with the artistic scene meant that Bard was more than accommodating. As Patti Smith recalls (100), “you weren’t immediately kicked out if you got behind on the rent … Mostly everybody owed Bard something”. While others recall a slightly less flexible attitude towards missed rents - “… the residents greatly appreciated a landlord who tolerated everything, except, quite naturally, a deficit” (Tippins 132) – the progressive atmosphere at the Chelsea was acknowledged by many others. For example, “[t]he greatest advantage of life at the Chelsea, [Arthur] Miller had to acknowledge, was that no one gave a damn what anyone else chose to do sexually” (Tippins 155).Similarly at the Indica Gallery, Miles, Asher and Dunbar were not first and foremost interested in making as much money as possible. The trio was itself drawn from various artistic fields: John Dunbar, an art critic for The Scotsman, wanted to set up an experimental gallery with Peter Asher (half of the pop duo Peter & Gordon) and Barry Miles (painter and writer). When asked about Indica's origins, Dunbar said: "There was a reason why we did Indica in the first place: to have fun" (Nevin). Recollections of the Gallery mention “a brew pot for the counterculture movement”, (Ramanathan) or “a haven for the free-wheeling imagination, a land of free expression and cultural collaboration where underground seeds were allowed to take root” (Campbell-Johnston).Part of the attraction of both spaces was the almost assured presence of interesting and famous persons, whom by virtue of their fame and appeal contributed to drawing others in. The roll calls of the Chelsea Hotel (Tippins) and of the Indica Gallery are impressive and partly overlapping: for instance, Allen Ginsberg was a notable visitor of the Indica Gallery and a prominent resident of the Chelsea Hotel, whereas Barry Miles was also a long-term resident of the Chelsea Hotel. The guest books read as a cultural who-is-who of the 1960s, spanning multiple artistic fields: there are not just (pop) musicians, but also writers, poets, actors, film makers, fashion designers, and assorted support personnel. If innovation in culture, as anywhere else, is coming up with new combinations and crossovers, then the cross-fertilisation fostered by the coming together of different art worlds in these spaces was conducive to these new combinations. Moreover, as the especially the biographies of Bob Dylan, Paul McCartney, Leonard Cohen, and Patti Smith testify, these spaces served as repositories of accessible cultural capital and as incubators for new ideas. Both Leonard Cohen and Patti Smith benefited from the presence of Harry Smith who curated the Anthology of American Music at the Chelsea Hotel. As Patti Smith (115) recalls: “We met a lot of intriguing people at the Chelsea but somehow when I close my eyes to think of them, Harry is always the first person I see”. Leonard Cohen was also drawn to Harry Smith: “Along with other assorted Chelsea residents and writers and music celebrities who were passing through, he would sit at Smith’s feet and listen to his labyrinthine monologue” (Simmons 197).Paul McCartney, actively scanning the city for new and different forms of cultural capital (Miles; Kloosterman) could tap into different art worlds through the networks centred on the Indica Gallery. Indeed he was credited with lending more than a helping hand to Indica over the years: “Miles and Dunbar bridged the gap between the avant-garde rebels and the rock stars of the day, principally through their friendship with Paul McCartney, who helped to put up the shop’s bookshelves, drew its flyers and designed its wrapping paper. Later when Indica ran into difficulties, he lent his friends several thousands of pounds to pay their creditors” (Sandbrook 526).Sheltered Spaces Inevitably, the rather lenient attitude towards money among those who managed these cultural breeding spaces led them to serious financial difficulties. The Indica Gallery closed two years after opening its doors. The Chelsea Hotel held out much longer, but the place went into a long period of decline and deterioration culminating in the removal of Stanley Bard as manager and banishment from the building in 2007 (Tippins). Notwithstanding their patchy record as viable business models, their role as cultural hotspots is beyond doubt. It is possibly because they offered a different kind of environment, partly sheltered from more mundane moneymaking considerations, that they could thrive as cultural hotspots (Brandellero and Kloosterman). Their central location, close to other amenities (such as night clubs, venues, cafés), the tolerant atmosphere towards deviant lifestyles (drugs, sex), and the continuous flow of key actors – musicians of course, but also other artists, managers and critics – also fostered cultural innovation. Reflecting on these two spaces nowadays brings a number of questions to the fore. We are witnessing an increasing upward pressure on rents in global cities – notably in London and New York. As cheap spaces become rarer, one may question the impact this will have on the gestation of new ideas (cf. Currid). If the examples of the Indica Gallery and the Chelsea Hotel are anything to go by, their instrumental role as cultural hotspots turned out to be financially unsustainable against the backdrop of a changing urban milieu. The question then is how can cities continue to provide the right set of conditions that allow such spaces to bud and thrive? As the Chelsea Hotel undergoes an alleged $40 million dollar renovation, which will turn it into a boutique hotel (Rich), the jury is still out on whether central urban locations are destined to become - to paraphrase John Lennon’s ‘In my life’, places which ‘had their moments’ – or mere repositories of past cultural achievements.ReferencesAnderson, P. “Watch this Space.” Sydney Morning Herald, 19 Apr. 2014.Becker, H.S. Art Worlds. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1982.Bell, I. Once upon a Time: The Lives of Bob Dylan. Edinburgh/London: Mainstream Publishing, 2012.Brandellero, A.M.C. The Art of Being Different: Exploring Diversity in the Cultural Industries. Dissertation. Amsterdam: University of Amsterdam, 2011.Brandellero, A.M.C., and R.C. 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The Death and Life of Great American Cities, New York: Vintage Books, 1961.Jury, L. “Sixties Art Swings Back into London: Exhibition Brings to Life Decade of the 'Original Young British Artists'.” London Evening Standard, 3 Sep. 2013 Kloosterman, R.C. “Come Together: An Introduction to Music and the City.” Built Environment 31.3 (2005): 181-191.Krätke, S. “Global Media Cities in a World-Wide Urban Network.” European Planning Studies 11.6 (2003): 605-628.Miles, B. In the Sixties. London: Pimlico, 2003.Nevin, C. “Happening, Man!” The Independent, 21 Nov. 2006Norman, P. John Lennon: The Life. London: HarperCollins Publishers, 2008.Perry, G. “In This Humble Yard Our Art Boom was Born.” The Times, 11 Oct. 2006Ramanathan, L. “I, Y O K O.” The Washington Post, 10 May 2015.Rich, N. “Where the Walls Still Talk.” Vanity Fair, 8 Oct. 2013. Sandbrook, Dominic. White Heat: A History of Britain in the Swinging Sixties. London: Abacus, 2009. Scott, A.J. “The US Recorded Music Industry: On the Relations between Organization, Location, and Creativity in the Cultural Economy.” Environment and Planning A 31.11 (1999): 1965-1984.Silver, D., T.N. Clark, and C.J.N. Yanez . “Scenes: Social Context in an Age of Contingency.” Social Forces 88.5 (2010): 293-324.Simmons, S. I’m Your Man: The Life of Leonard Cohen. London: Jonathan Cape, 2012.Smith, P. Just Kids. London: Bloomsbury, 2010.Tippins, S. Inside the Dream Palace: The Life and Times of New York’s Legendary Chelsea Hotel. London/New York: Simon & Schuster, 2013.Van Klyton, A.C. “Space and Place in World Music Production.” City, Culture and Society 6.4 (2015): 101-108.Verboord, M., and A.M.C. Brandellero. “The Globalization of Popular Music, 1960-2010: A Multilevel Analysis of Music Flows.” Communication Research 2016. DOI: 10.1177/0093650215623834.Watson, A. “Global Music City: Knowledge and Geographical Proximity in London's Recorded Music Industry.” Area 40.1 (2008): 12-23.Watson, A. Cultural Production in and beyond the Recording Studio. London: Routledge, 2014.Watson, A., M. Hoyler, and C. Mager. “Spaces and Networks of Musical Creativity in the City.” Geography Compass 3.2 (2009): 856–878.

Working drawings are produced, when a house is designed, to envisage an imagined building. They are a tangible representation of an object that has no tangible existence. These working drawings act as a manual for constructing the house; they represent that which is to be built. The house comes into being, therefore, via this set of drawings. This is known as documentation. However, these drawings record the house at an ideal moment in time; they capture the house in stasis. They do not represent the future life of the house, the changes and traces the inhabitants make upon a space, nor do they document the path of the person, the arc of their actions, within the space of the house. Other types of documentation of the house allow these elements to be included. Documentation that is produced after-the-event, that interprets ‘the existing’, is absent from discourses on documentation; the realm of post factum documentation is a less examined form of documentation. This paper investigates post factum documentation of the house, and the alternative ways of making, producing and, therefore, thinking about, the house that it offers. This acknowledges the body in the space of architecture, and the inhabitation of space, and as a dynamic process. This then leads to the potential of the‘model of an action’ representing the motion and temporality inherent within the house. Architecture may then be seen as that which encloses the inhabitant. The word ‘document’ refers to a record or evidence of events. It implies a chronological sequence: the document comes after-the-event, that is, it is post factum. Within architecture, however, the use of the word documentation, predominantly, refers to working drawings that are made to ‘get to’ a building, drawings being the dominant representation within architecture. Robin Evans calls this notion, of architecture being brought into existence through drawing, the principle of reversed directionality (Evans 1997, 1989). Although it may be said that these types of drawings document the idea, or document the imagined reality of the building, their main emphasis, and reading, is in getting to something. In this case, the term documentation is used, not due to the documents’ placement within a process, of coming after the subject-object, but in referring to the drawings’ role. Other architectural drawings do exist that are a record of what is seen, but these are not the dominant drawing practice within architecture. Documentation within architecture regards the act of drawing as that process upon which the object is wholly dependent for its coming into existence. Drawing is defined as the pre-eminent methodology for generation of the building; drawings are considered the necessary initial step towards the creation of the 1:1 scale object. During the designing phase, the drawings are primary, setting out an intention. Drawings, therefore, are regarded as having a prescriptive endpoint rather than being part of an open-ended improvisation. Drawings, in getting to a building, draw out something, the act of drawing searches for and uncovers the latent design, drawing it into existence. They are seen as getting to the core of the design. Drawings display a technique of making and are influenced by their medium. Models, in getting to a building, may be described in the same way. The act of modelling, of making manifest two-dimensional sketches into a three-dimensional object, operates similarly in possessing a certain power in assisting the design process to unfurl. Drawing, as recording, alters the object. This act of drawing is used to resolve, and to edit, by excluding and omitting, as much as by including, within its page. Models similarly made after-the-fact are interpretive and consciously aware of their intentions. In encapsulating the subject-object, the model as documentation is equally drawing out meaning. This type of documentation is not neutral, but rather involves interpretation and reflection through representational editing. Working drawings record the house at an ideal moment in time: at the moment the builders leave the site and the owners unlock the front door. These drawings capture the house in stasis. There is often the notion that until the owners of a new house move in, the house has been empty, unlived in. But the life of the house cannot be fixed to any one starting point; rather it has different phases of life from conception to ruin. With working drawings being the dominant representation of the house, they exclude much; both the life of the house before this act of inhabitation, and the life that occurs after it. The transformations that occur at each phase of construction are never shown in a set of working drawings. When a house is built, it separates itself from the space it resides within: the domain of the house is marked off from the rest of the site. The house has a skin of a periphery, that inherently creates an outside and an inside (Kreiser 88). As construction continues, there is a freedom in the structure which closes down; potential becomes prescriptive as choices are made and embodied in material. The undesignedness of the site, that exists before the house is planned, becomes lost once the surveyors’ pegs are in place (Wakely 92). Next, the skeletal frame of open volumes becomes roofed, and then becomes walled, and walking through the frame becomes walking through doorways. One day an interior is created. The interior and exterior of the house are now two different things, and the house has definite edges (Casey 290). At some point, the house becomes lockable, its security assured through this act of sealing. It is this moment that working drawings capture. Photographs comprise the usual documentation of houses once they are built, and yet they show no lived-in-ness, no palimpsest of occupancy. They do not observe the changes and traces the inhabitants make upon a space, nor do they document the path of the person, the arc of their actions, within the space of the house. American architects and artists Elizabeth Diller and Ricardo Scofidio have written of these traces of the everyday that punctuate floor and wall surfaces: the intersecting rings left by coffee glasses on a tabletop, the dust under a bed that becomes its plan analog when the bed is moved, the swing etched into the floor by a sagging door. (Diller & Scofidio 99) It is these marks, these traces, that are omitted from the conventional documentation of a built house. To examine an alternative way of documenting, and to redress these omissions, a redefinition of the house is needed. A space can be delineated by its form, its edges, or it can be defined by the actions that are performed, and the connections between people that occur, within it. To define the house by what it encapsulates, rather than being seen as an object in space, allows a different type of documentation to be employed. By defining a space as that which accommodates actions, rooms may be delineated by the reach of a person, carved out by the actions of a person, as though they are leaving a trace as they move, a windscreen wiper of living, through the repetition of an act. Reverse directional documentation does not directly show the actions that take place within a house; we must infer these from the rooms’ fittings and fixtures, and the names on the plan. In a similar way, Italo Calvino, in Invisible Cities, defines a city by the relationships between its inhabitants, rather than by its buildings: in Ersilia, to establish the relationships that sustain the city’s life, the inhabitants stretch strings from the corners of the houses, white or black or grey or black-and-white according to whether they mark a relationship of blood, of trade, authority, agency. When the strings become so numerous that you can no longer pass among them, the inhabitants leave: the houses are dismantled; only the strings and their supports remain … Thus, when travelling in the territory of Ersilia, you come upon the ruins of the abandoned cities without the walls which do not last, without the bones of the dead which the wind rolls away: spiderwebs of intricate relationships seeking a form. (Calvino 62) By defining architecture by that which it encapsulates, form or materiality may be given to the ‘spiderwebs of intricate relationships’. Modelling the actions that are performed in the space of architecture, therefore, models the architecture. This is referred to as a model of an action. In examining the model of an action, the possibilities of post factum documentation of the house may be seen. The Shinkenchiku competition The Plan-Less House (2006), explored these ideas of representing a house without using the conventional plan to do so. A suggested alternative was to map the use of the house by its inhabitants, similar to the idea of the model of an action. The house could be described by a technique of scanning: those areas that came into contact with the body would be mapped. Therefore, the representation of the house is not connected with spatial division, that is, by marking the location of walls, but rather with its use by its inhabitants. The work of Diller and Scofidio and Allan Wexler and others explores this realm. One inquiry they share is the modelling of the body in the space of architecture: to them, the body is inseparable from the conception of space. By looking at their work, and that of others, three different ways of representing this inhabitation of space are seen. These are: to represent the objects involved in a particular action, or patterns of movement, that occurs in the space, in a way that highlights the action; to document the action itself; or to document the result of the action. These can all be defined as the model of an action. The first way, the examination of the body in a space via an action’s objects, is explored by American artist Allan Wexler, who defines architecture as ‘choreography without a choreographer, structuring its inhabitant’s movements’ (Galfetti 22). In his project ‘Crate House’ (1981), Wexler examines the notion of the body in a space via an action’s objects. He divided the house into its basic activities: bedroom, bathroom, kitchen and living room. Each of these is then defined by their artefacts, contained in their own crate on wheels, which is rolled out when needed. At any point in time, the entire house becomes the activity due to its crate: when a room such as the kitchen is needed, that crate is rolled in through one of the door openings. When the occupant is tired, the entire house becomes a bedroom, and when the occupant is hungry, it becomes a kitchen … I view each crate as if it is a diorama in a natural history museum — the pillow, the spoon, the flashlight, the pot, the nail, the salt. We lose sight of everyday things. These things I isolate, making them sculpture: their use being theatre. (Galfetti 42–6) The work of Andrea Zittel explores similar ideas. ‘A–Z Comfort Unit’ (1994), is made up of five segments, the centrepiece being a couch/bed, which is surrounded by four ancillary units on castors. These offer a library, kitchen, home office and vanity unit. The structure allows the lodger never to need to leave the cocoon-like bed, as all desires are an arm’s reach away. The ritual of eating a meal is examined in Wexler’s ‘Scaffold Furniture’ (1988). This project isolates the components of the dining table without the structure of the table. Instead, the chair, plate, cup, glass, napkin, knife, fork, spoon and lamp are suspended by scaffolding. Their connection, rather than being that of objects sharing a tabletop, is seen to be the (absent) hand that uses them during a meal; the act of eating is highlighted. In these examples, the actions performed within a space are represented by the objects involved in the action. A second way of representing the patterns of movement within a space is to represent the action itself. The Japanese tea ceremony breaks the act of drinking into many parts, separating and dissecting the whole as a way of then reassembling it as though it is one continuous action. Wexler likens this to an Eadweard Muybridge film of a human in motion (Galfetti 31). This one action is then housed in a particular building, so that when devoid of people, the action itself still has a presence. Another way of documenting the inhabitation of architecture, by drawing the actions within the space, is time and motion studies, such as those of Rene W.P. Leanhardt (Diller & Scofidio 40–1). In one series of photographs, lights were attached to a housewife’s wrists, to demonstrate the difference in time and effort required in the preparation of a dinner prepared entirely from scratch in ninety minutes, and a pre-cooked, pre-packaged dinner of the same dish, which took only twelve minutes. These studies are lines of light, recorded as line drawings on a photograph of the kitchen. They record the movement of the person in the room of the action they perform, but they also draw the kitchen in a way conventional documentation does not. A recent example of the documentation of an action was undertaken by Asymptote and the students at Columbia University Graduate School of Architecture in their exhibition at the Venice Biennale of Architecture in 2000. A gymnast moving through the interior space of the pavilion was recorded using a process of digitisation and augmentation. Using modelling procedures, the spatial information was then reconstructed to become a full-scale architectural re-enactment of the gymnast’s trajectory through the room (Feireiss 40). This is similar to a recent performance by Australian contemporary dance company Chunky Move, called ‘Glow’. Infra-red video tracking took a picture of the dancer twenty-five times a second. This was used to generate shapes and images based on the movements of a solo dancer, which were projected onto the floor and the dancer herself. In the past, when the company has used DVDs or videos, the dancer has had to match what they were doing to the projection. This shifts the technology to following the dancer (Bibby 3). A third way of representing the inhabitation of architecture is to document the result of an action. Raoul Bunschoten writes of the marks of a knife being the manifestation of the act of cutting, as an analogy: incisions imply the use of a cutting tool. Together, cuts and cutting tool embrace a special condition. The actual movement of the incision is fleeting, the cut or mark stays behind, the knife moves on, creating an apparent discontinuity … The space of the cut is a reminder of the knife, its shape and its movements: the preparation, the swoop through the air, the cutting, withdrawal, the moving away. These movements remain implicitly connected with the cut as its imaginary cause, as a mnemonic programme about a hand holding a knife, incising a surface, severing skin. (Bunschoten 40) As a method of documenting actions, the paintings of Jackson Pollack can be seen as a manifestation of an act. In the late 1940s, Pollack began to drip paint onto a canvas laid flat on the floor; his tools were sticks and old caked brushes. This process clarified his work, allowing him to walk around it and work from all four sides. Robert Hughes describes it as ‘painting “from the hip” … swinging paintstick in flourishes and frisks that required an almost dancelike movement of the body’ (Hughes 154). These paintings made manifest Pollack’s gestures. As his arm swung in space, the dripping paint followed that arc, to be preserved on a flat plane as pictorial space (Hughes 262). Wexler, in another study, recorded the manifestation of an action. He placed a chair in a one-room building. It was attached to lengths of timber that extended outdoors through slots in the walls of the building. As the chair moved inside the building, its projections carved grooves in the ground outside. As the chair moved in a particular pattern, deeper grooves were created: ‘Eventually, the occupant of the chair has no choice in his movement; the architecture moves him.’ (Galfetti 14) The pattern of movement creates a result, which in turn influences the movement. By redefining architecture by what it encapsulates rather than by the enclosure itself, allows architecture to be documented by the post factum model of an action that occurs in that space. This leads to the exploration of architecture, formed by the body within it, since the documentation and representation of architecture starts to affect the reading of architecture. Architecture may then be seen as that which encloses the inhabitant. The documentation of the body and the space it makes concerns the work of the Hungarian architect Imre Makovecz. His exploration is of the body and the space it makes. Makovecz, and a circle of like-minded architects and artists, embarked on a series of experiments analysing the patterns of human motion and subsequently set up a competition based around the search for a minimum existential space. This consisted of mapping human motion in certain spatial conditions and situations. Small light bulbs were attached to points on the limbs and joints and photographed, creating a series of curves and forms. This led to a competition called ‘Minimal Space’ (1971–2), in which architects, artists and designers were invited to consider a minimal space for containing the human body, a new notion of personal containment. Makovecz’s own response took the form of a bell-like capsule composed of a double shell expressing its presence and location in both time and space (Heathcote 120). Vito Acconci, an artist turned architect by virtue of his installation work, explored this notion of enclosure in his work (Feireiss 38). In 1980 Acconci began his series of ‘self-erecting architectures’, vehicles or instruments involving one or more viewers whose operation erected simple buildings (Acconci & Linker 114). In his project ‘Instant House’ (1980), a set of walls lies flat on the floor, forming an open cruciform shape. By sitting in the swing in the centre of this configuration, the visitor activates an apparatus of cables and pulleys causing walls to rise and form a box-like house. It is a work that explores the idea of enclosing, of a space being something that has to be constructed, in the same way for example one builds up meaning (Reed 247–8). This documentation of architecture directly references the inhabitation of architecture. The post factum model of architecture is closely linked to the body in space and the actions it performs. Examining the actions and movement patterns within a space allows the inhabitation process to be seen as a dynamic process. David Owen describes the biological process of ‘ecopoiesis’: the process of a system making a home for itself. He describes the building and its occupants jointly as the new system, in a system of shaping and reshaping themselves until there is a tolerable fit (Brand 164). The definition of architecture as being that which encloses us, interests Edward S. Casey: in standing in my home, I stand here and yet feel surrounded (sheltered, challenged, drawn out, etc.) by the building’s boundaries over there. A person in this situation is not simply in time or simply in space but experiences an event in all its engaging and unpredictable power. In Derrida’s words, ‘this outside engages us in the very thing we are’, and we find ourselves subjected to architecture rather than being the controlling subject that plans or owns, uses or enjoys it; in short architecture ‘comprehends us’. (Casey 314) This shift in relationship between the inhabitant and architecture shifts the documentation and reading of the exhibition of architecture. Casey’s notion of architecture comprehending the inhabitant opens the possibility for an alternate exhibition of architecture, the documentation of that which is beyond the inhabitant’s direction. Conventional documentation shows a quiescence to the house. Rather than attempting to capture the flurry — the palimpsest of occupancy — within the house, it is presented as stilled, inert and dormant. In representing the house this way, a lull is provided, fostering a steadiness of gaze: a pause is created, within which to examine the house. However, the house is then seen as object, rather than that which encapsulates motion and temporality. Defining, and thus documenting, the space of architecture by its actions, extends the perimeter of architecture. No longer is the house bounded by its doors and walls, but rather by the extent of its patterns of movement. Post factum documentation allows this altering of the definition of architecture, as it includes the notion of the model of an action. By appropriating, clarifying and reshaping situations that are relevant to the investigation of post factum documentation, the notion of the inhabitation of the house as a definition of architecture may be examined. This further examines the relationship between architectural representation, the architectural image, and the image of architecture. References Acconci, V., and K. Linker. Vito Acconci. New York: Rizzoli, 1994. Bibby, P. “Dancer in the Dark Is Light Years Ahead.” Sydney Morning Herald 22 March 2007: 3. Brand, S. How Buildings Learn: What Happens after They’re Built. London: Phoenix Illustrated, 1997. Bunschoten, R. “Cutting the Horizon: Two Theses on Architecture.” Forum (Nov. 1992): 40–9. Calvino, I. Invisible Cities. London: Picador, 1979. Casey, E.S. The Fate of Place. California: U of California P, 1998. Diller, E., and R. Scofidio. Flesh: Architectural Probes. New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 1994. Evans, R. Translations from Drawing to Building and Other Essays. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1997. ———. “Architectural Projection.” Eds. E. Blau and E. Kaufman. Architecture and Its Image: Four Centuries of Architectural Representation: Works from the Collection of the Canadian Center for Architecture. Exhibition catalogue. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1989. 19–35. Feireiss, K., ed. The Art of Architecture Exhibitions. Rotterdam: Netherlands Architecture Institute, 2001. Galfetti, G.G., ed. Allan Wexler. Barcelona: GG Portfolio, 1998. Glanville, R. “An Irregular Dodekahedron and a Lemon Yellow Citroen.” In L. van Schaik, ed., The Practice of Practice: Research in the Medium of Design. Melbourne: RMIT University Press, 2003. 258–265. Heathcote, E. Imre Mackovecz: The Wings of the Soul. West Sussex: Academy Editions, 1997. Hughes, R. The Shock of the New: Art and the Century of Change. London: British Broadcasting Corporation, 1980. Kreiser, C. “On the Loss of (Dark) Inside Space.” Daidalos 36 (June 1990): 88–99. Reed, C. ed. Not at Home: The Suppression of Domesticity in Modern Art and Architecture. London: Thames & Hudson, 1996. “Shinkenchiku Competition 2006: The Plan-Less House.” The Japan Architect 64 (Winter 2007): 7–12. Small, D. Paper John. USA: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1987. Wakely, M. Dream Home. Crows Nest, NSW: Allen & Unwin. 2003. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Macken, Marian. "And Then We Moved In: Post Factum Documentation of the House." M/C Journal 10.4 (2007). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/04-macken.php>. APA Style Macken, M. (Aug. 2007) "And Then We Moved In: Post Factum Documentation of the House," M/C Journal, 10(4). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/04-macken.php>.