Academic literature on the topic 'Frances Ingram'

This paper outlines the story of the inventions and discoveries that directly relate to the genesis and development of electrostatic production and drawing of fibres: electrospinning. Current interest in the process is due to the ease with which nano-scale fibers can be produced in the laboratory. In 1600, the first record of the electrostatic attraction of a liquid was observed by William Gilbert. Christian Friedrich Schönbein produced highly nitrated cellulose in 1846. In 1887 Charles Vernon Boys described the process in a paper on nano-fiber manufacture. John Francis Cooley filed the first electrospinning patent in 1900. In 1914 John Zeleny published work on the behaviour of fluid droplets at the end of metal capillaries. His effort began the attempt to mathematically model the behavior of fluids under electrostatic forces. Between 1931 and 1944 Anton Formhals took out at least 22 patents on electrospinning. In 1938, N.D. Rozenblum and I.V. Petryanov-Sokolov generated electrospun fibers, which they developed into filter materials. Between 1964 and 1969 Sir Geoffrey Ingram Taylor produced the beginnings of a theoretical underpinning of electrospinning by mathematically modelling the shape of the (Taylor) cone formed by the fluid droplet under the effect of an electric field. In the early 1990s several research groups (notably that of Reneker who popularised the name electrospinning) demonstrated electrospun nano-fibers. Since 1995, the number of publications about electrospinning has been increasing exponentially every year.

06–108Andrew, Michael D. (U New Hampshire, USA), Casey D. Cobb & Peter J. Giampietro, Verbal ability and teacher effectiveness. Journal of Teacher Education (Sage) 56.4 (2005), 343–354.06–109Beran, Tanya (U Calgary, Canada) & Claudio Violato, Ratings of university teacher instruction: How much do student and course characteristics really matter?Assessment & Evaluation in Higher Education (Routledge/Taylor&Francis) 30.6 (2005), 593–601.06–110Cadman, Kate (U Adelaide, Australia; kate.cadman@adelaide.edu.au), Towards a ‘pedagogy of connection’ in critical research education: A REAL story. Journal of English for Academic Purposes (Elsevier) 4.4 (2005), 353–367.06–111Francis, Dawn (James Cook U, Australia) & Louise Ingram-Starrs, The labour of learning to reflect. Teachers and Teaching: Theory and Practice (Routledge/Taylor&Francis) 11.6 (2005), 541–553.06–112Gordon, June A. (U California at Santa Cruz, USA), The crumbling pedestal: Changing images of Japanese teachers. Journal of Teacher Education (Sage) 56.5 (2005), 459–470.06–113Green, Catherine & Rosie Tanner (IVLOS Institute of Education, Utrecht U, the Netherlands; catherine_green@usamedia.tv), Multiple intelligences and online teacher education. ELT Journal (Oxford University Press) 59.4 (2005), 312–321.06–114Hsu, Shihkuan (National Taiwan U, Taiwan), Help-seeking behaviour of student teachers. Educational Research (Routledge/Taylor&Francis) 47.3 (2005), 307–318.06–115Kolesnikova, Irina L. (St Petersburg, Russia; vkolesni@rol), English or Russian? English language teacher training and education. World Englishes (Blackwell) 24.4 (2005), 471–476.06–116Leeman, Yvonne & Guuske Ledoux (U Amsterdam, the Netherlands), Teachers on intercultural education. Teachers and Teaching: Theory and Practice (Routledge/Taylor&Francis) 11.6 (2005), 575–589.06–117Longaker, Mark Garrett (U Texas at Austin, USA), Market rhetoric and the Ebonics debate. Written Communication (Sage) 22.4 (2005), 472–501.06–118Lovtsevich, Galina N. (Vladivostok, Russia; lovtsev@ext.dvgu.ru), Language teachers through the looking glass: Expanding Circle teachers' discourse. World Englishes (Blackwell) 24.4 (2005), 461–469.06–119McDonald, Ria (U South Africa, South Africa) & Daniel Kasule, The monitor hypothesis and English teachers in Botswana: Problems, varieties and implications for language teacher education. Language, Culture and Curriculum (Multilingual Matters) 18.2 (2005), 188–200.06–120Orland-Barak, Lily (U of Haifa, Israel), Lost in translation: Mentors learning to participate in competing discourses of practice. Journal of Teacher Education (Sage) 56.4 (2005), 355–366.06–121Postholm, May Britt (Norwegian U Science & Technology, Norway), The teacher shaping and creating dialogues in project work. Teachers and Teaching: Theory and Practice (Routledge/Taylor&Francis) 11.6 (2005), 519–539.06–122Poulou, Maria (U Crete, Greece), Educational psychology with teacher education. Teachers and Teaching: Theory and Practice (Routledge/Taylor&Francis) 11.6 (2005), 555–574.06–123Shahrzad, Saif (Université Laval, Quebec, Canada), Aiming for positive washback: A case study of international teaching assistants. Language Testing (Hodder Arnold) 23.1 (2006), 1–34.06–124Siew-Lian Wong, Mary (Batu Lintang Teachers' College, Malaysia; marywsl@yahoo.com), Language learning strategies and self-efficacy: Investigating the relationship in Malaysia. RELC Journal (Sage) 36.3 (2005), 245–269.06–125Sifakis, Nicos C. & Areti-Maria Sougari (Hellenic Open U, Greece), Pronunciation issues and EIL pedagogy in the periphery: A survey of Greek state school teachers' beliefs. TESOL Quarterly (Teachers of English to Speakers of Other Languages) 39.3 (2005), 467–488.06–126Yin Wa Chan, Alice (City U Hong Kong, China), Tactics employed and problems encountered by university English majors in Hong Kong in using a dictionary. Applied Language Learning (Defense Language Institute Foreign Language Center and Presidio of Monterey) 15.1 & 15.2 (2005), 1–27.

546 Gift by John, count of Mortain, to Reading Abbey of a burgage which belonged to William son of William son of Anand in Dunwich, to be held by the service of 3s 4d annually28 Aug. 1192Aff90v–91r; Bf35r; Cf10r–vIohannes comes Moreton(ii) omnibus hominibus et amicis suis Francis et Angl(is) presentibus et futuris, salutem. Sciatis me dedisse et hac mea carta confirmasse deo et ecclesie sancti Iacobi de Rading(ia) et monachis ibidem deo servientibus unum burgagium cum edificiis et pertinentiis quod fuit Willelmi filii Willelmi filii Anandi et in Dunewico, tenendum in perpetuum de me et heredibus meis per servitium .iii. solidorum et .iiii. denariorum per annum pro omni servitio et consuetudine. Quare volo et firmiter precipio quod prefati monachi eandem domum cum pertinentiis habeant et teneant in perpetuum per predictum servitium libere et quiete, bene et in pace, absque omni molestia et impedimento quod eis inde fieri possit. Testibus: Stephano Ridel cancellario meo, Willelmo comite Sar(esburie), Willelmo Briwere, Galfr(edo) filio Petri, Ingera(m) de Pratell(is), magistro Petro Canute. Apud Rading(iam) [f91r] xxviii. die Augusti, regni regis Ricardi anno iii.

Rowan Moore, in his work Why We Build: Power and Desire in Architecture, notes that “most people know that buildings are not purely functional, that there is an intangible something about them that has to do with emotion” (16). Emotion is critical to why and how we build. Indeed, there is a basic human desire to build—to leave a mark on the landscape or on our society. This issue of M/C Journal unpacks this idea of emotion, examining the functional and the creative in the design process, for a range of building projects, from the tangible: building transport infrastructure, exhibition centre, or a new-style museum; to those building projects that are more difficult to define: building an artwork, a community, or a reputation. In addition, this issue looks at how we also ‘unbuild’ the world around us. In the feature article Aleks Wansbrough critically takes up ideas of ‘build’ and ‘unbuild’ through an examination of how the role that the death of Man, which follows the death of God, has had on the idea of creation, and how Man is unbuilt in three works by three different artists: Francis Bacon’s “Study of a Baboon” (1953), Jan Švankmajer’s Darkness, Light, Darkness (1989) and Patricia Piccinini’s “The Young Family” (2002). In the first article, Ella Mudie also looks at ‘unbuild’. This is achieved with a review of how the Sydney Metro—a major transport infrastructure project—requires demolition work that will inevitably result in a reconfiguration of the character of Sydney’s inner city and the suburbs it intersects. Mudie questions unbuilding and rebuilding, drawing on literary texts in which demolition and infrastructure development are key preoccupations. In the second article on construction and destruction, Sarah Morley, looks at one of Sydney’s earliest iconic buildings. The Garden Palace—a purpose built facility designed to house the Colony’s first International Exhibition in 1879—was a famous, and favourite, building of New South Wales, prior to its destruction by fire in 1882. Morley explores the loss of the building and its contents; which included many Australian Aboriginal objects and ancestral remains.Simon Dwyer looks at building a story with light. Drawing upon a range of historical documents, this article investigates how world-renowned architect Jørn Utzon envisaged the use of natural and artificial light. In this way, he showed how light could contribute to the final build of the Sydney Opera House, through giving additional expression to the traditional building elements that he had carefully selected. Nadine Kozak highlights much smaller structures in her qualitative analysis of comments made by stewards about their Little Free Libraries. This, increasingly popular, movement offers opportunities for reading and to build community networks as people come together to build, maintain and stock Little Free Libraries. Kozak’s work also acknowledges some of the resistance to this movement and how communities are strengthened in their efforts to protect what they have built. The earliest detectives were forced to overcome significant resistance from a suspicious public. Rachel Franks investigates the efforts of Charles Dickens to change the perception of policing. Focusing on letters written about capital punishment and articles aimed at promoting the role of the detective, Franks unpacks how one of the great novelists of the Victorian age also assisted in building the reputation of a fledging detective branch. Moving forward in time, Hazel Ferguson also interrogates ideas of reputation. This work looks at the activities of early career researchers on social media which is increasingly being used to build communities around mutual support and professional development. Ferguson’s analysis, of the #ECRchat group on Twitter, aims to contribute to emerging discussions about academic labour and online reputation. In noting how the babble of a crowd can indicate the presence of others constructing ephemeral emergent communities where the voice of an individual is often lost, Rebecca Collins, identifies how sound informs our experience of space. In this article, she discusses the potential of sound to construct fictional spaces, build individual identities and evoke the presence of a crowd in relation to two artistic installations. Ben Egliston takes on another type of creative output with videogames. Egliston’s work considers how players build ingame competencies by engaging with media beyond the game itself; such as walkthrough guides or YouTube videos. This article provides a re-framing of the relationship between gameplay (and the development of competency) and the elements of games existing beyond the screen. Creativity is also central to George Jaramillo’s article which focuses on the relationship between Ionad Hiort and the Glasgow School of Art’s Institute of Design Innovation as a case study for understanding how design innovation can engender and build community capabilities. This work studies the development of a new type of heritage centre on the western coast of the Isle of Lewis in Scotland and the idea of a “place of interpretation” as an alternative to the “visitor centre”, to go “beyond the museum”. We bookend this issue with another piece on building infrastructure in the city of Sydney. Nicholas Richardson interrogates the New South Wales Government’s ‘making it happen’ campaign. This research explores whether the current build-at-any-cost mentality behind ‘making it happen’ is in either the long-term interest of the New South Wales constituency or the short-term interest of a political party.To build is to embark on a multi-disciplinary and multi-faceted project. These articles demonstrate the wide-ranging potential of exploring how different interpretations of, and ways to, build impacts our cultural, emotional, intellectual, private, and public lives. AcknowledgementsOur sincere thanks to our enthusiastic contributors, to those who gave their expertise and time in the blind peer review process, and to Axel Bruns. ReferenceMoore, Rowan. Why We Build: Power and Desire in Architecture. New York: HarperCollins, 2013.

It is widely acknowledged among film scholars that Lynch’s 2001 neo-noir Mulholland Drive is richly infused with intertextual references and homages — most notably to Charles Vidor’s Gilda (1946), Billy Wilder’s Sunset Boulevard (1950), Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo (1958), and Ingmar Bergman’s Persona (1966). What is less recognised is the extent to which J. Sheridan Le Fanu’s 1872 Gothic novella Carmilla has also influenced Mulholland Drive. This article focuses on the dynamics of the relationship between Carmilla and Mulholland Drive, particularly the formation of femme fatale Camilla Rhodes (played by Laura Elena Harring), with the aim of establishing how the Gothic shapes the viewing experience of the film. I argue that not only are there striking narrative similarities between the texts, but lying at the heart of both Carmilla and Mulholland Drive is the uncanny. By drawing on this elusive and eerie feeling, Lynch successfully introduces an archetypal quality both to Camilla and Mulholland Drive as a whole, which in turn contributes to powerful sensations of desire, dread, nostalgia, and “noirness” that are aroused by the film. As such Mulholland Drive emerges not only as a compelling work of art, but also a deeply evocative cinematic experience. I begin by providing a brief overview of Le Fanu’s Gothic tale and establish its formative influence on later cinematic texts. I then present a synopsis of Mulholland Drive before exploring the rich interrelationship the film has with Carmilla. Carmilla and the Lesbian Vampire Carmilla is narrated from the perspective of a sheltered nineteen-year-old girl called Laura, who lives in an isolated Styrian castle with her father. After a bizarre event involving a carriage accident, a young woman named Carmilla is left in the care of Laura’s father. Carmilla is beautiful and charming, but she is an enigma; her origins and even her surname remain a mystery. Though Laura identifies a number of peculiarities about her new friend’s behaviour (such as her strange, intense moods, languid body movements, and other irregular habits), the two women are captivated with each other, quickly falling in love. However, despite Carmilla’s harmless and fragile appearance, she is not what she seems. She is a one hundred and fifty year old vampire called Mircalla, Countess Karnstein (also known as Millarca — both anagrams of Carmilla), who preys on adolescent women, seducing them while feeding off their blood as they sleep. In spite of the deep affection she claims to have for Laura, Carmilla is compelled to slowly bleed her dry. This takes its physical toll on Laura who becomes progressively pallid and lethargic, before Carmilla’s true identity is revealed and she is slain. Le Fanu’s Carmilla is monumental, not only for popularising the female vampire, but for producing a sexually alluring creature that actively seeks out and seduces other women. Cinematically, the myth of the lesbian vampire has been drawn on extensively by film makers. One of the earliest female centred vampire movies to contain connotations of same-sex desire is Lambert Hilyer’s Dracula’s Daughter (1936). However, it was in the 1960s and 1970s that the spectre of the lesbian vampire exploded on screen. In part a response to the abolishment of Motion Picture Code strictures (Baker 554) and fuelled by latent anxieties about second wave feminist activism (Zimmerman 23–4), films of this cycle blended horror with erotica, reworking the lesbian vampire as a “male pornographic fantasy” (Weiss 87). These productions draw on Carmilla in varying degrees. In most, the resemblance is purely thematic; others draw on Le Fanu’s novella slightly more directly. In Roger Vadim’s Et Mourir de Plaisir (1960) an aristocratic woman called Carmilla becomes possessed by her vampire ancestor Millarca von Karnstein. In Roy Ward Baker’s The Vampire Lovers (1970) Carmilla kills Laura before seducing a girl named Emma whom she encounters after a mysterious carriage breakdown. However, the undead Gothic lady has not only made a transition from literature to screen. The figure also transcends the realm of horror, venturing into other cinematic styles and genres as a mortal vampire whose sexuality is a source of malevolence (Weiss 96–7). A well-known early example is Frank Powell’s A Fool There Was (1915), starring Theda Barra as “The Vampire,” an alluring seductress who targets wealthy men, draining them of both their money and dignity (as opposed to their blood), reducing them to madness, alcoholism, and suicide. Other famous “vamps,” as these deadly women came to be known, include the characters played by Marlene Dietrich such as Concha Pérez in Joseph von Sternberg’s The Devil is a Woman (1935). With the emergence of film noir in the early 1940s, the vamp metamorphosed into the femme fatale, who like her predecessors, takes the form of a human vampire who uses her sexuality to seduce her unwitting victims before destroying them. The deadly woman of this era functions as a prototype for neo-noir incarnations of the sexually alluring fatale figure, whose popularity resurged in the early 1980s with productions such as Lawrence Kasdan’s Body Heat (1981), a film commonly regarded as a remake of Billy Wilder’s 1944 classic noir Double Indemnity (Bould et al. 4; Tasker 118). Like the lesbian vampires of 1960s–1970s horror, the neo-noir femme fatale is commonly aligned with themes of same-sex desire, as she is in Mulholland Drive. Mulholland Drive Like Sunset Boulevard before it, Mulholland Drive tells the tragic tale of Hollywood dreams turned to dust, jealousy, madness, escapist fantasy, and murder (Andrews 26). The narrative is played out from the perspective of failed aspiring actress Diane Selwyn (Naomi Watts) and centres on her bitter sexual obsession with former lover Camilla. The film is divided into three sections, described by Lynch as: “Part one: She found herself inside a perfect mystery. Part two: A sad illusion. Part three: Love” (Rodley 54). The first and second segments of the movie are Diane’s wishful dream, which functions as an escape from the unbearable reality that, after being humiliated and spurned by Camilla, Diane hires a hit man to have her murdered. Part three reveals the events that have led up to Diane’s fateful action. In Diane’s dream she is sweet, naïve, Betty who arrives at her wealthy aunt’s Hollywood home to find a beautiful woman in the bathroom. Earlier we witness a scene where the woman survives a violent car crash and, suffering a head injury, stumbles unnoticed into the apartment. Initially the woman introduces herself as Rita (after seeing a Gilda poster on the wall), but later confesses that she doesn’t know who she is. Undeterred by the strange circumstances surrounding Rita’s presence, Betty takes the frightened, vulnerable woman (actually Camilla) under her wing, enthusiastically assuming the role of detective in trying to discover her real identity. As Rita, Camilla is passive, dependent, and grateful. Importantly, she also fondly reciprocates the love Betty feels for her. But in reality, from Diane’s perspective at least, Camilla is a narcissistic, manipulative femme fatale (like the character portrayed by the famous star whose name she adopts in Diane’s dream) who takes sadistic delight in toying with the emotions of others. Just as Rita is Diane’s ideal lover in her fantasy, pretty Betty is Diane’s ego ideal. She is vibrant, wholesome, and has a glowing future ahead of her. This is a far cry from reality where Diane is sullen, pathetic, and haggard with no prospects. Bitterly, she blames Camilla for her failings as an actress (Camilla wins a lead role that Diane badly wanted by sleeping with the director). Ultimately, Diane also blames Camilla for her own suicide. This is implied in the dream sequence when the two women disguise Rita’s appearance after the discovery of a bloated corpse in Diane Selwyn’s apartment. The parallels between Mulholland Drive and Carmilla are numerous to the extent that it could be argued that Lynch’s film is a contemporary noir infused re-telling of Le Fanu’s novella. Both stories take the point-of-view of the blonde haired, blue eyed “victim.” Both include a vehicle accident followed by the mysterious arrival of an elusive dark haired stranger, who appears vulnerable and helpless, but whose beauty masks the fact that she is really a monster. Both narratives hinge on same-sex desire and involve the gradual emotional and physical destruction of the quarry, as she suffers at the hands of her newly found love interest. Whereas Carmilla literally sucks her victims dry before moving on to another target, Camilla metaphorically drains the life out of Diane, callously taunting her with her other lovers before dumping her. While Camilla is not a vampire per se, she is framed in a distinctly vampirish manner, her pale skin contrasted by lavish red lipstick and fingernails, and though she is not literally the living dead, the latter part of the film indicates that the only place Camilla remains alive is in Diane’s fantasy. But in the Lynchian universe, where conventional forms of narrative coherence, with their demand for logic and legibility are of little interest (Rodley ix), intertextual alignment with Carmilla extends beyond plot structure to capture the “mood,” or “feel” of the novella that is best described in terms of the uncanny — something that also lies at the very core of Lynch’s work (Rodley xi). The Gothic and the Uncanny Though Gothic literature is grounded in horror, the type of fear elicited in the works of writers that form part of this movement, such as Le Fanu (along with Horace Walpole, Ann Radcliffe, Mary Shelly, and Bram Stoker to name a few), aligns more with the uncanny than with outright terror. The uncanny is an elusive quality that is difficult to pinpoint yet distinct. First and foremost it is a sense, or emotion that is related to dread and horror, but it is more complex than simply a reaction to fear. Rather, feelings of trepidation are accompanied by a peculiar, dream-like quality of something fleetingly recognisable in what is evidently unknown, conjuring up a mysterious impression of déjà vu. The uncanny has to do with uncertainty, particularly in relation to names (including one’s own name), places and what is being experienced; that things are not as they have come to appear through habit and familiarity. Though it can be frightening, at the same time it can involve a sensation that is compelling and beautiful (Royle 1–2; Punter 131). The inventory of motifs, fantasies, and phenomena that have been attributed to the uncanny are extensive. These can extend from the sight of dead bodies, skeletons, severed heads, dismembered limbs, and female sex organs, to the thought of being buried alive; from conditions such as epilepsy and madness, to haunted houses/castles and ghostly apparitions. Themes of doubling, anthropomorphism, doubt over whether an apparently living object is really animate and conversely if a lifeless object, such as a doll or machinery, is in fact alive also fall under the broad range of what constitutes the uncanny (see Jentsch 221–7; Freud 232–45; Royle 1–2). Socio-culturally, the uncanny can be traced back to the historical epoch of Enlightenment. It is the transformations of this eighteenth century “age of reason,” with its rejection of transcendental explanations, valorisation of reason over superstition, aggressively rationalist imperatives, and compulsive quests for knowledge that are argued to have first caused human experiences associated with the uncanny (Castle 8–10). In this sense, as literary scholar Terry Castle argues, the eighteenth century “invented the uncanny” (8). In relation to the psychological underpinnings of this disquieting emotion, psychiatrist Ernst Jentsch was the first to explore the subject in his 1906 document “On the Psychology of the Uncanny,” though Sigmund Freud and his 1919 paper “The Uncanny” is most popularly associated with the term. According to Jentsch, the uncanny, or the unheimlich in German (meaning “unhomely”), emerges when the “new/foreign/hostile” corresponds to the psychical association of “old/known/familiar.” The unheimlich, which sits in direct opposition to the heimlich (homely) equates to a situation where someone feels not quite “at home” or “at ease” (217–9). Jentsch attributes sensations of the unheimlich to psychical resistances that emerge in relation to the mistrust of the innovative and unusual — “to the intellectual mystery of a new thing” (218) — such as technological revolution for example. Freud builds on the concept of the unheimlich by focusing on the heimlich, arguing that the term incorporates two sets of ideas. It can refer to what is familiar and agreeable, or it can mean “what is concealed and kept out of sight” (234–5). In the context of the latter notion, the unheimlich connotes “that which ought to have remained secret or hidden but has come to light” (Freud 225). Hence for Freud, who was primarily concerned with the latent content of the psyche, feelings of uncanniness emerge when dark, disturbing truths that have been repressed and relegated to the realm of the unconscious resurface, making their way abstractly into the consciousness, creating an odd impression of the known in the unknown. Though it is the works of E.T.A. Hoffman that are most commonly associated with the unheimlich, Freud describing the author as the “unrivalled master of the uncanny in literature” (233), Carmilla is equally bound up in dialectics between the known and the unknown; the homely and the unhomely. Themes centring on doubles, the undead, haunted gardens, conflicting emotions fuelled by desire and disgust — of “adoration and also of abhorrence” (Le Fanu 264), and dream-like nocturnal encounters with sinister, shape-shifting creatures predominate. With Carmilla’s arrival the boundaries between the heimlich and the unheimlich become blurred. Though Carmilla is a stranger, her presence triggers buried childhood memories for Laura of a frightening and surreal experience where Carmilla appears in Laura’s nursery during the night, climbing into bed with her before seemingly vanishing into thin air. In this sense, Laura’s remote castle home has never been homely. Disturbing truths have always lurked in its dark recesses, the return of the dead bringing them to light. The Uncanny in Mulholland Drive The elusive qualities of the uncanny also weave their way extensively through Mulholland Drive, permeating all facets of the cinematic experience — cinematography, sound score, mise en scène, and narrative structure. As film maker and writer Chris Rodley argues, Lynch mobilises every aspect of the motion picture making process in seeking to express a sense of uncanniness in his productions: “His sensitivity to textures of sound and image, to the rhythms of speech and movement, to space, colour, and the intrinsic power of music mark him as unique in this respect.” (Rodley ix–xi). From the opening scenes of Mulholland Drive, the audience is plunged into the surreal, unheimlich realm of Diane’s dream world. The use of rich saturated colours, soft focus lenses, unconventional camera movements, stilted dialogue, and a hauntingly beautiful sound score composed by Angelo Badalamenti, generates a cumulative effect of heightened artifice. This in turn produces an impression of hyper-realism — a Baudrillardean simulacrum where the real is beyond real, taking on a form of its own that has an artificial relation to actuality (Baudrillard 6–7). Distorting the “real” in this manner produces an effect of defamiliarisation — a term first employed by critic Viktor Shklovsky (2–3) to describe the artistic process involved in making familiar objects seem strange and unfamiliar (or unheimlich). These techniques are something Lynch employs in other works. Film and literary scholar Greg Hainge (137) discusses the way colour intensification and slow motion camera tracking are used in the opening scene of Blue Velvet (1984) to destabilise the aesthetic realm of the homely, revealing it to be artifice concealing sinister truths that have so far been hidden, but that are about to come to light. Similar themes are central to Mulholland Drive; the simulacra of Diane’s fantasy creating a synthetic form of real that conceals the dark and terrible veracities of her waking life. However, the artificial dream place of Diane’s disturbed mind is disjointed and fractured, therefore, just as the uncanny gives rise to an elusive sense of mystery and uncertainty, offering a fleeting glimpse of the tangible in something otherwise inexplicable, so too is the full intelligibility of Mulholland Drive kept at an obscure distance. Though the film offers a succession of clues to meaning, the key to any form of complete understanding lingers just beyond the grasp of certainty. Names, places, and identities are infused with doubt. Not only in relation to Betty/Diane and Rita/Camilla, but regarding a succession of other strange, inexplicable characters and events, one example being the recurrent presence of a terrifying looking vagrant (Bonnie Aarons). Figures such as this are clearly poignant to the narrative, but they are also impossibly enigmatic, inviting the audience to play detective in deciphering what they signify. Themes of doubling and mirroring are also used extensively. While these motifs serve to denote the split between waking and dream states, they also destabilise the narrative in relation to what is familiar and what is unfamiliar, further grounding Mulholland Drive in the uncanny. Since its publication in 1872, Carmilla has had a significant formative influence on the construct of the seductive yet deadly woman in her various manifestations. However, rarely has the novella been paid homage to as intricately as it is in Mulholland Drive. Lynch draws on Le Fanu’s archetypal Gothic horror story, combining it with the aesthetic conventions of film noir, in order to create what is ostensibly a contemporary, poststructuralist critique of the Hollywood dream-factory. Narratively and thematically, the similarities between the two texts are numerous. However, intertextual configuration is considerably more complex, extending beyond the plot and character structure to capture the essence of the Gothic, which is grounded in the uncanny — an evocative emotion involving feelings of dread, accompanied by a dream-like impression of familiar and unfamiliar commingling. Carmilla and Mulholland Drive bypass the heimlich, delving directly into the unheimlich, where boundaries between waking and dream states are destabilised, any sense of certainty about what is real is undermined, and feelings of desire are paradoxically conjoined with loathing. Moreover, Lynch mobilises all fundamental elements of cinema in order to capture and express the elusive qualities of the Unheimlich. In this sense, the uncanny lies at the very heart of the film. What emerges as a result is an enigmatic work of art that is as profoundly alluring as it is disconcerting. References Andrews, David. “An Oneiric Fugue: The Various Logics of Mulholland Drive.” Journal of Film and Video 56 (2004): 25–40. Baker, David. “Seduced and Abandoned: Lesbian Vampires on Screen 1968–74.” Continuum 26 (2012): 553–63. Baudrillard, Jean. Simulacra and Simulation. Michigan: U Michigan P, 1994. Bould, Mark, Kathrina Glitre, and Greg Tuck. Neo-Noir. New York: Wallflower, 2009. Castle, Terry. The Female Thermometer: Eighteenth-century Culture and the Invention of the Uncanny. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1995. Freud, Sigmund. “The Uncanny.” Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, Vol. XVII: An Infantile Neurosis and Other Works. London: Hogarth, 2001. 217–256. Le Fanu, J. Sheridan. Carmilla. In a Glass Darkly. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2008. 243–319. Hainge, Greg. “Weird or Loopy? Spectacular Spaces, Feedback and Artifice in Lost Highway’s Aesthetics of Sensation.” The Cinema of David Lynch: American Dreams, Nightmare Visions. Ed. Erica Sheen and Annette Davidson. London: Wallflower, 2004. 136–50. Jentsch, Ernst. “On the Psychology of the Uncanny.” Uncanny Modernity: Cultural Theories, Modern Anxieties. Ed. Jo Collins and John Jervis. Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2008. 216–28. Punter, David. “The Uncanny.” The Routledge Companion to the Gothic. Ed. Catherine Spooner and Emma McEvoy. Hoboken: Taylor and Francis, 2007. 129–36. Rodley, Chris. Lynch on Lynch. London: Faber, 2005. Royle, Nicholas. The Uncanny. Manchester: Manchester UP, 2003. Shklovsky, Viktor. “Art as Technique.” Theory of Prose. Illinois: Dalkey, 1991. Tasker, Yvonne. Working Girls: Gender and Sexuality in Popular Cinema. New York: Routledge, 1998. Weiss, Andrea. Vampires and Violets: Lesbians in Cinema. London: Jonathan Cape, 1992. Zimmerman, Bonnie. “Daughters of Darkness Lesbian Vampires.” Jump Cut 24.5 (2005): 23–4.

Max Ingrand (1908-1969) fut l'un des maîtres verriers français les plus célèbres du XXe siècle. Après ses études à l'École nationale des arts décoratifs, il entre en 1927 dans l'atelier de Jacques Gruber (1870-1936). Dès 1931, il commence une carrière personnelle de maître verrier décorateur et réalise de nombreux décors civils en glaces gravées. Il crée les vitraux de l'église Sainte-Agnès de Maisons-Alfort et participe au projet des verrières de la nef de Notre-Dame de Paris qui sont présentées au pavillon pontifical de l'Exposition de 1937. Mobilisé en 1939, il reste cinq ans prisonnier dans un Oflag en Allemagne. A son retour, il devient l'un des verriers les plus actifs des chantiers de la reconstruction où il réalise notamment l'ensemble monumental de l'église d'Yvetot. Le service des Monuments historiques lui confie des chantiers prestigieux : cathédrales de Rouen, de Beauvais, de Saint-Malo, de Strasbourg, chapelles des châteaux de Blois, d'Amboise, de Chenonceau, églises de La-Charité-sur-Loire et des Jacobins de Toulouse. Au milieu des années cinquante, sa notoriété lui vaut des commandes importantes à l'étranger, notamment aux États-Unis, au Canada et en Amérique du sud. Il poursuit parallèlement une œuvre de décorateur et de designer. Il assure pendant treize ans la direction artistique de la firme italienne Fontana-Arte pour laquelle il crée de nombreux modèles de luminaires. Il participe au décor de paquebots parmi lesquels le Normandie et le France. Il conçoit des fontaines lumineuses, notamment pour les Champs-Élysées à Paris. Dans ses dernières années, il réoriente sa carrière vers l'architecture d'intérieur et l'éclairage. Il meurt brutalement en 1969, peu après avoir confié la direction de son atelier à son collaborateur Michel Durand
Max Ingrand (1908-1969) was one of the most famous French glassmakers in the twentieth century. He studied at the National School for Decorative Arts and joined Jacques Gruber’s studio (1870-1936) in 1927. He began his own career as a glass designer in 1931 and produced many engraved glass decorations, both in public and religious buildings. He created the stained glass windows of Saint-Agnes Church at Maisons-Alfort and took part in the project of the windows executed for the nave at Notre-Dame de Paris, which were first displayed inside the papal pavilion of the 1937 Exhibition. An officer in the French armed forces in 1939, he was made a prisoner and jailed for five years in a camp in Germany. When he returned home, he became one of the most active glassmakers in the whole country, being involved in the reconstruction effort and working, in particular, to the project of a monumental church in Yvetot (Normandy). He was part of prestigious projects led by the French Heritage in cathedrals (such as Rouen, Beauvais, Saint-Malo and Strasbourg), in castles (such as the chapels of Blois, Amboise, Chenonceau), in churches (such as La Charité-sur-Loire and the Jacobins in Toulouse). Due to his fame, he won a large amount of orders abroad in the mid-fifties, especially in the United States, in Canada and in South America. He acted at the same time as a decorator and a designer. He was, for instance, an art director for thirteen years at the Fontana Arte, a big design company in Italy, and created many lighting fixtures for them. Before and after World War II, he was involved in the decoration of liners as important as the Normandy and the France. He also designed lit fountains in public spaces, the best known being along the Champs-Élysées in Paris. He had to change career dramatically in his late years and stopped glassmaking. He then specialized in architectural design and lighting fixtures. He died suddenly in 1969, a few months after he had passed his workshop on to his associate Michel Durand

Thesis advisor: Jeffery Howe
The Orient has been a mythical, looming presence since the foundation of Islam in the 7th century. It has always been the “Other” that Edward Said wrote about in his 1979 book Orientalism. The gulf of misunderstanding between the myth and the reality of the Near East still exists today in the 21st century. Napoleon's invasion of Egypt in 1798 and the subsequent colonization of the Near East is perhaps the defining moment in the Western perception of the Near East. At the beginning of modern colonization, Napoleon and his companions arrived in the Near East convinced of their own superiority and authority; they were Orientalists. The supposed superiority of Europeans justified the colonization of Islamic lands. Said never specifically wrote about art; however, his theories on colonialism and Orientalism still apply. Linda Nochlin first made use of them in her article “The Imaginary Orient” from 1983. Artists such as Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres, Eugène Delacroix and Jean-Léon Gérôme demonstrate Said's idea of representing the Islamic “Other” as a culturally inferior and backward people, especially in their portrayal of women. The development of photography in the late 19th century added another dimension to this view of the Orient, with its seemingly objective viewpoint
Thesis (BA) — Boston College, 2004
Submitted to: Boston College. College of Arts and Sciences
Discipline: Fine Arts
Discipline: College Honors Program

Les films de Bergman de la période postérieure à 1950 relatent le cheminement du cinéaste qui tente de s'affranchir de l'ordre établi. Ce parcours intérieur conduit, selon nous, le spectateur à réfléchir sur l'importance de la Subjectivité au sens kierkegaardien. Initialement méconnu, le pouvoir libérateur de la Subjectivité fait l'objet d'une découverte progressive par les personnages bergmaniens. Trois étapes peuvent être distinguées. Dans les films de la première période (jeux d'Eté 1951 - L'Oeil du Diable 1960), les personnages se révoltent contre la société, ses conventions et le dogmatisme religieux, face auxquels ils demeurent impuissants et éprouvent une souffrance. A l'inverse, dans les fims de la seconde période (A travers le miroir 1961 - Une Passion 1969), les personnages parviennent à échapper à l'emprise de la Vérité objective. Cette liberté conquise rend possible l'introduction du concept de choix, et, donc, d'angoisse dans l'univers bergmanien. De plus, les personnages se trouvent confrontés au phénomène de la perte de sens des valeurs et soumis aux formes de violence les plus variées. Au cours de la troisième période (Le Lien 1971 - Après la Répétition 1984), les personnages tentent d'acquérir la capacité d'assumer leur propre existence". "Etre sujet à part entière" devient une exigence fondamentale. L'atteinte de la reprise, comme continuation et recommencement perpétuels, constituera l'ultime étape de l'affranchissement du sujet
Bergman movies belonging to the period directly following 1950 deal with the film director progressive attempt to free herself from commonly accepted values and attitudes. In our opinion, that inward trip leads the spectator to consider the importance of Subjectivity in the Kierkegaardian way. Originally unknown, the freeing power of Subjectivity is gradually discovered by the Bergmanian characters. Three stages can be identified. In the first period movies (Summer Interlude 1951 - The Devil's Eye 1960), the characters rebel against society. Confronted with its conventions and to religious dogmatism they feel powerless and the whole situation hurts them. On the contrary, in the second period (Winter Light 1961 - The Passion of Anna 1969), the characters manage to escape objective truth. This newly conquered freedom opens the way to the concept of choice in the Bergmanian world and consequently to anguish. Moreover the characters are confronted with the experience of losing all reference to common values and they are submitted to various types of violence. During the third period (The Touch 1971 - After the Rehearsal 1984) the characters try to develop the ability to take upon themselves the responsability for their own existence. To be a fully self recognized subject becomes an essential prerequisite. The final stage of the subject freedom is determined by the repetition Gjentagelsen" : endless progression and new beginnings

Orientador: Jorge Sidney Coli Junior
Dissertação (mestrado) - Universidade Estadual de Campinas, Instituto de Filosofia e Ciencias Humanas
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Mestrado
Mestre em História

Elève de Pradier, d’Ingres et de Duban le sculpteur, peintre et architecte Jean Antoine Étex (1808-1888) s'essayait à toutes les formes d'art laissant après son décès une œuvre abondante qui compte plus de 450 ouvrages. Déjà un nombre imposant de ses sculptures sont disséminées dans la capitale de la France. On les rencontre dans des endroits stratégiques de la métropole. Mais aussi beaucoup d’autres villes et musées de la France conservent des ouvrages importants de cet artiste. Parmis les œuvres les plus connues comptent les deux haut-reliefs « La Résistance » et « La Paix » à l’Arc de Triomphe de l’Étoile puis le groupe en marbre « Caïn et sa race maudits de Dieu », chef -d’œuvre de la sculpture romantique, conservé aujourd’hui au Musée de Lyon. En tant que républicain convaincu et adhérent du saint-simonisme, Étex participait activement aux révolutions de 1830 et de 1848 combattant incessamment pour l’instauration de la République. Sous la monarchie de juillet, il avait connu un grand succès et une grande célebrité mais son art fut peu estimé sous le second Empire. Gravement défavorisé par le gouvernement imperial, Étex perdait sa place parmi les premiers artistes de la France et ses œuvres tombaient aussitôt dans l’oubli. Ce présent thèse de doctorat fournit pour la première fois une biographie détaillée et un catalogue raisonné de l’œuvre de cet artiste important. Ses propres écrits (publications et correspondance), les documents dans les archives françaises ainsi que la critique d’art concernant ses œuvres y sont exploités
Disciple of Pradier, Ingres and Duban the french sculptor, painter and architect Jean-Antoine Étex (1808-1888) created works in nearly all categories of art. He left after his death a highly impressive number of more than 450 works of art. A great deal of his sculptures are dispersed in the french capital city of Paris all placed at strategic locations. But also a lot of other french cities and museums conserve important works by this artist. Among the most famous sculptures made by him are certainly the two monumental reliefs “La Résistance” and “La Paix” at the Arc de Triomphe de l’Étoile as well as the marble group “Cain and his race coursed by God”, masterpice of the french romantic scuplture, conserved at the mueum of Lyon. As a convinced member of the republicain partie Étex took actively part in the revolutions of 1830 and 1848 fighting incessantly for the republic idea. During the monarchie de juillet his works achieved extreme success but after the instauration of the Empire his works were no more appreciated. Constantly ignored by the imperial government Étex lost his place among the first artists in France and his works were soon forgotten. This present dissertation constitutes for the first time a detailed biographie and a complete catalogue of the works of this important artist. His own writings (publications and correspondence), hundreds of documents from the french archives and the critiques of art concerning his works are seriously explored

In the late 1980s and 1990s it was commonplace to announce the death of feminism as a social movement. A 1989 special journal issue in France was entitled: ‘Le féminisme … ringard?’ (‘Is feminism … passé?)¹ (BIEF, 1989). In the UK Vicki Coppock, Deena Haydon and Ingrid Richter argued in 1995 that: ‘Post-feminism happened without warning. It seemed to arrive from nowhere. One minute there were feminisms, identified by their diverse political standpoints, and their contrasting campaign strategies, the next … it was all over’ (...

This chapter provides an overview of Jacques Aumont’s life and writings since leaving Cahiers du cinéma in 1974. While many former Cahiers critics of the post-1968 era have taken teaching roles, Aumont was the only one to fully pursue an academic career. Writing his doctoral dissertation on the films of Eisenstein (published as Montage Eisenstein in 1979), he became a key figure in the formation of film studies in France in the 1970s and 1980s. In his prolific writings since that time (including major works such as L’OEil interminable, À quoi pensent les films and Matière d’images), Aumont has attempted to produce a scholarly account of the cinema that would place it within a broader system of the arts (with an emphasis on the relationship between cinema and painting) as well as devoting monographs to individual filmmakers such as Ingmar Bergman and Jean-Luc Godard.

Farhadi’s The Salesman, which won the Best Screenplay award at the 2016 Cannes Film Festival and the Best Foreign Language Film in the 89th Academy Awards, got universal acclaim and behooved for academic debates. The intertextual references in The Salesman optimized with the film’s explicit references to Arthur Miller’s drama play, The Death of a Salesman. However, the director, Asghar Farhadi, includes more subtle intertextual references to attract the audience to some masterpieces of art. This study introduces referenced sources to emphasize parallels between Farhadi’s film and other literary and artistic works to determine the central themes of the movie in order to evaluate the protagonist and antagonist’s actions thoroughly and accurately. Out of The Death of a Salesman, the film establishes intertextual relations with plays such as Hamlet by Shakespeare and Out at Sea by Slawomir Mrozek, “The Cow” —a short story—by Gholam-Hossein Saedi, Gilemard—a novel—by Bozorg Alavi, and movies such as Shame by Ingmar Bergman and The Godfather by Francis Ford Coppola. These intertextual relations are the film’s central conflict that should be evaluated in the realm of the challenge between tradition and modernity. In addition, of course, various manifestations of such resistance are reflected in the facedown between the past and the future.