Journal articles on the topic 'Gold Coast Visioning Project'

Purpose The purpose of this paper is to map the outcomes of four influential South East Queensland city visioning and foresight initiatives conducted by the cities of Maroochy, Logan, Gold Coast and Brisbane. Design/methodology/approach This paper applies causal layered analysis to map the outcomes of four city visioning and foresight initiatives. Findings It is averred in this paper that cities need to map their experiences of past futures initiatives for what worked and what has resulted today, and for recommendations of futures actions and innovations. Originality/value This paper deepens the discussion about the critical features of the four initiatives by focusing on their outcomes and alternatives they could produce to influence the futures of their cities.

In the history of African cinema, there is a nexus between films and the colonial imperial project. That is, products of cinema and cinematic practices shaped the process of colonialism in the specific case of Africa. Predicated largely on archival documents, this study explores how cinema was regulated in the major towns and cities in the Gold Coast during the colonial era. Ghanaian cinema has a considerably long historical narrative, however, much of what is known about the history of cinema in Ghana, particularly, on film screening, censorship and exhibition practices, is rather little. Thus, it is with this gap that this study attempts to fill and make a useful contribution to Ghanaian film history. The colonial experience set the basis for cinematic houses, film production, censorship, distribution and ideological concerns in African cinema. This study is framed within the relationship between cinema and history, with a specific focus on Ghana. This article concludes that while film exhibition, censorship and licensing stimulated the growth of art, particularly cinema, they further inflated the colonial imperial agenda in the Gold Coast.

The pilot study reported in this paper was devised to develop and compare servicedelivery models that would achieve the provision of high quality parenteral therapycare to patients in the Gold Coast District Health Service community. All data werecollected on 113 patients for a 12-month period, January to December 1996. Thestudy compared the provision of outreach nursing services and contracted nursingservices on measures of satisfaction and cost.The study showed that patient and carers indicated a preference for community care,medical officers advocated the benefits of administering parenteral therapies in thecommunity, general practitioners were interested in managing future communityparenteral therapies, and contracted (nurse) service providers endorsed the developmentof a parenteral therapy resource centre. The findings also revealed considerablepotential cost savings in community-based care.

The issue regarding sustainability has emerged significantly in the construction industry. The appealing concept and the future benefits of sustainability have enamoured people to implement this notion progressively. This situation resulted in a trend in the architectural and engineering world. The Gold Coast city, which is located in the southeast of the Australian state of Queensland, is one of the world leading examples in which a government has put a green legacy as the concern in its development. One of the implementations of its sustainability concept is described in its waste management. This study explores the waste management in Gold Coast city in three stages of the project life cycle (PLC): design, construction, and operation. The cost-benefit analysis in qualitative and quantitative approach will be employed to provide the explanation of cost reduction that is achieved by the implementation of specific actions. However, the result of this study shows that the implementation of waste management does not only benefit in cost, but also many other aspects such as energy, built-environment, diversity, carbon critical design, and community lifestyle. This exploration can be the reference to the best practice of sustainability concept implementation in waste management.

Gold Coast Water is responsible for the management of the water, recycled water and wastewater assets of the City of the Gold Coast on Australia's east coast. Excess treated recycled water is released at the Gold Coast Seaway, a man-made channel connecting the Broadwater Estuary with the Pacific Ocean, on an outgoing tide in order for the recycled water to be dispersed before the tide changes and re-enters the Broadwater estuary. Rapid population growth has placed increasing demands on the city's recycled water release system and an investigation of the capacity of the Broadwater to assimilate a greater volume of recycled water over a longer release period was undertaken in 2007. As an outcome, Gold Coast Water was granted an extension of the existing release licence from 10.5 hours per day to 13.3 hours per day from the Coombabah wastewater treatment plant (WWTP). The Seaway SmartRelease Project has been designed to optimise the release of the recycled water from the Coombabah WWTP in order to minimise the impact to the receiving estuarine water quality and maximise the cost efficiency of pumping. In order achieve this; an optimisation study that involves intensive hydrodynamic and water quality monitoring, numerical modelling and a web-based decision support system is underway. An intensive monitoring campaign provided information on water levels, currents, winds, waves, nutrients and bacterial levels within the Broadwater. This data was then used to calibrate and verify numerical models using the MIKE by DHI suite of software. The Decision Support System will then collect continually measured data such as water levels, interact with the WWTP SCADA system, run the numerical models and provide the optimal time window to release the required amount of recycled water from the WWTP within the licence specifications.

This paper reports on the activities, processes and outputs in the first 18 months of a 3 year collaborative project, the Gold Coast Integrated Response for Youth at Risk. Survey, focus group and interview data were collected from project participants as part of a formative evaluation. Results identify both success and ongoing challenges within the project. Five key findings from the project are presented and discussed. These relate to issues such as the need for well designed project evaluation, and negotiating and clearly defining governance processes during the initial project planning stages. In addition, stakeholder communication and engagement processes are identified as an area of concern. The inherent tension of working collaboratively in a competitive (funding) culture and finding an operational balance between developmental processes and more tangible project outputs are discussed.

AbstractThroughout the 1920s, British officials in London and Accra dedicated considerable time and bureaucratic energy to the planning and construction of Takoradi harbor, an ambitious project that, they expected, would revolutionize the Gold Coast’s economic prospects. But by 1930, their efforts had created a structure beset with constructional defects, considerable flaws, and financial shortcomings. This article seeks to explain the sizeable gap separating Takoradi-envisioned from Takoradi-realized by examining the massive paper record compiled during the harbor’s planning and construction. Demonstrating that the structure was born largely from illusion, affect, and a particular version of “common sense” thinking, it encourages historians to not only give further attention to the detailed, and often overwhelming, corpus of blueprints, reports, and correspondence that such projects engendered, but to use them to reflect upon the ways in which colonial statecraft actually sought to limit, rather than expand, the knowledge it had at its disposal.

In 1992 the Geological Survey of Greenland (GGU) initiated the project SUPRASYD in order to carry out an economic assessment of the Ketilidian orogen in South Greenland, especially the supracrustal rocks in the southern and eastern parts of the orogen (see Dawes & Schønwandt, 1992). Geological investigations in the area east of Nanortalik and along the east coast of South Greenland as far as 62°N had previously indicated that acid metavolcanic rocks were an important constituent of the supracrustal rocks, and it was therefore expected that the region might have a significant potential for sulphide deposits.

This paper draws attention to an ambitious project in the publication of source material for the precolonial history of West Africa, which has recently been approved for inclusion in the Fontes Historiae Africanae series of the British Academy. In addition to self-promotion, however, I wish also to take the opportunity to air some of the problems of editorial strategy and choice which arise with regard to the editing and presentation of this material, in the hope of provoking some helpful feedback on these issues.The material to be published consists of correspondence of the Royal African Company of England relating to the West African coast in the late seventeenth century. The history of the Royal African Company (hereafter RAC) is in general terms well known, especially through the pioneering (and still not superseded) study by K.G. Davies (1957). The Company was chartered in 1672 with a legal monopoly of English trade with Africa. Its headquarters in West Africa was at Cape Coast (or, in the original form of the name, Cabo Corso) Castle on the Gold Coast, and it maintained forts or factories not only on the Gold Coast itself, but also at the Gambia, in Sierra Leone, and at Offra and Whydah on the Slave Coast. It lost its monopoly of the African trade in 1698, and thereafter went into decline, effectively ceasing to operate as a trading concern in the 1720s, although it continued to manage the English possessions on the coast of West Africa until it was replaced by a regulated company (i.e., one open to all traders), the Company of Merchants Trading to Africa, in 1750.

The discovery in 2002 of a gold mineralised quartz-carbonate vein at Ubekendt Ejland, central West Greenland, yielding 0.6 ppm Au over 0.7 m, led to a reconnaissance sampling project in summer 2003. Most of the accessible quartz-carbonate veins on the south-east coast of the island (Figs 1, 2) were sampled during boat-supported field work. Massive sulphide mineral deposits (Fe-Zn-Pb) were located in the centre of brecciated quartz-carbonate vein systems at several places along the south and south-east coast of the island, and gold anomalies mainly associated with the occurrence of the massive sulphides were identified. Pervasive hydrothermal alteration of the volcanic wall rocks surrounds the quartz-carbonate vein systems, which comprise low-temperature mineral assemblages dominated by dolomite and veined by chalcedony and fibrous silica. Evidence of oil migration into volcaniclastic rocks prior to the intense hydrothermal activity was found in several places in the form of organic carbon, interpreted to be pyrobitumen, that infills pores and cavities in hyaloclastites.

Debates over water and related issues have become prominent in twenty-first century Australia, where global warming is combining with climatic extremes to produce a volatile public and politics. The specific context of the Gold Coast Desalination Project, to be analysed here, was a prolonged drought earlier in the decade that reduced dams in densely populated South-East Queensland to unprecedented levels. This situation in turn triggered water rationing and uncertainty about the capacity of existing infrastructure to supply one of the fastest-growing areas of Australia. During the crisis, the Queensland state government was criticised in the press for mismanagement of water resources before the drought, and for the inadequate water situation, which ultimately led to the construction of a desalination plant. The period of this study covers the plant's construction and implementation. Capable of providing up to 125 million litres of clean, fresh drinking water to the South-East Queensland region every day, the desalination plant — which remains politically contentious — began in 2006 and was operational in early 2009.

This history project and indeed all the ASM celebrations happening in 2009 have their origins in the meeting of Council held on the Gold Coast in 2006. It was at that meeting that then President, Julian Rood, had an inkling that our Golden Jubilee was approaching. It is perhaps a reflection of the fact that we can so quickly lose track of the past that no one could definitively name our year of foundation. After subsequent research revealed the significance of 1959, Council quickly agreed that 2009 should be a special year of celebration for us.

This article examines the decision-making process for a new fort which the Dutch West India Company proposed to build near Takoradi in present-day Ghana in the third quarter of the eighteenth century. By closely following the process of design, evaluation, and redesign of the fort, this article argues that the WIC was institutionally incapable of coordinating and carrying out such a complex project. The original design for the new fort was made in 1774 by Johan Frederik Trenks, a Silesian-born engineer who, as it turned out, was not current with modern design practices and used Dutch examples from the first half of the seventeenth century. The design was sent to the Netherlands for evaluation and returned with scathing criticism. The long, drawn-out process of design, evaluation, and redesign of what was after all a relatively small fort show the institutional paralysis of the WIC in the years leading up to the Fourth Anglo-Dutch War (1780–84). Though the fort would never be completed, construction did begin shortly before the war. The conflict, followed shortly thereafter by the dissolution of the WIC, meant the project would never be completed.

The SUPRASYD project is a reassessment of the geo­tectonic setting and mineral potential of the Lower Proterozoic Ketilidian orogenic belt in southern Greenland (previously described by Allaart, 1976 and Kalsbeek et al., 1990), and in particular its supracrustal rocks. During the first field season in 1992 a geological and geochemical reconnaissance programme was carried out in South-East Greenland between approximately latitudes 60° to 62° N, mainly in areas with supracrustal rocks (Steenfelt et al., 1992; Nielsen et al., 1993; Chadwick et al., 1994a). The second season in 1993 focused on the southern part of the Julianehab batholith on the west coast of South Greenland, as well as on shear zones with spatially associated gold mineralisation (Garde & Schonwandt, 1994; Chadwick et al., 1994b; Stendal et al., in press). Field work from the early 1960s was re-evaluated and supplemented with new mapping with the aim of compilation of the 1: 100 000 scale map sheet 60 V.3, Sondre Sermilik.

A sediment budget analysis model was applied to the Tweed River entrance, and was used to evaluate different coastal management scenarios. Construction of training walls at the Tweed River entrance resulted in the accretion prior to 1994 of an estimated 7 million m3 along Letitia Spit, New South Wales (to the south), and erosion of beaches at the Gold Coast, Queensland (to the north). The Tweed River Entrance Sand Bypassing Project (TRESBP) was established in 1994 and is responsible for bypassing sand from south to north, through dredging campaigns and a permanent bypass jetty. The Inlet Reservoir Model was developed by Kraus (2000) as a tool to analyse morphology changes at inlets. The inputs for the model were the estimated monthly longshore sediment transport rate, and the monthly pumping and dredging volumes from the TRESBP. Side-scan sonar surveys of the entrance bathymetry were used to validate the model over the period from 2000 to 2009. The validated model was used to examine bypass pumping strategies to manage the Letitia and Gold coast beaches, maintain navigability and minimise dredging costs. According to the model results, annual bypass pumping needs to be less than 325,000 m3 to manage the recovery of the Letitia Spit shoreline, and annual dredging of approximately 125,000 m3 is required to maintain full navigability in the Tweed River entrance.

This paper presents the conceptual framework, activities and outcomes of the AlliedHealth BONE (Best Orthopaedic New Enterprise) Team, an early discharge incentiveat the Gold Coast Hospital. The clinical team of a physiotherapist, occupationaltherapist and social worker provided services within an interdisciplinary model of carewith the aim of reducing the length of stay of acute adult orthopaedic patients. Theteam provided intervention in the community, the accident and emergencydepartment, pre-admission clinic and orthopaedic wards to patients with hip andknee replacements, back pain and upper femoral fractures. This paper reports datafrom the first six months of the project, demonstrating success in improving thecontinuity of care provided to orthopaedic patients and reducing the length of stayin target groups by 24%.

I went out to the Gold Coast as a teacher on the staff of the newly established Achimota College in October 1924, and a few weeks before I came back for my first leave, in April 1926, there came to the college a distinguished visitor, Major Hanns Vischer (later Sir Harms), the educational adviser to the Colonial Office in London. It was Major Vischer who told me about the project to establish an International African Institute.Vischer was a remarkable and delightful character. I was told that he was of Swedish descent, which was why he spelt his name Harms instead of in the German form Hans. He had served in the British army through the First World War, but before the war he had served in Nigeria as a missionary for the Church Missionary Society. He spoke fluent Hausa, and (I was told) some other languages. He was certainly a skilled linguist, for he seemed equally at home in English, French and German. He spoke English with a slight foreign accent, which made it easy to believe in his Scandinavian origin; it was not a German accent. He stayed at Achimota for a week or so, and went on from the Gold Coast to visit Sierra Leone. He joined my homeward-bound steamer at Freetown; he remembered having met me at Accra, and told me about the projected institute. Whoever may have been responsible for starting the scheme, it was Vischer who was the driving force in organising its inaugural meeting.

Kwesi Brew (1928-2007) had an illustrious career as a poet, diplomat, and businessman that spanned key periods of Ghana’s history, from its colonial era as the Gold Coast to its maturity as a successful West African democracy. And yet when he died, none of his four published volumes of poetry were in print, and he existed mainly in a few anthologized poems. Though some of those are well-known, the breadth of his work has almost disappeared from sight. This essay examines Brew’s early development and growth as a poet, including the specifically African influences on his themes and metaphors, and situates him in the politics and culture of his time. This essay is drawn from a larger project that is in process, namely, the creation of an edition of the Selected Poems of Kwesi Brew, to bring more of his work before the public.

In response to the increasing occurrences of beach erosion along Surfers Paradise and Main Beaches - Gold Coast, Australia, the Northern Gold Coast Beach Protection Strategy [NGCBPS] was developed to widen the beach by 20-30m as well as improving surfing conditions as a secondary objective. The strategy, implemented in 1999- 2000, involved large-scale beach nourishment and construction of a submerged breakwater “reef” to act as a control point at Narrowneck. Construction of the reef involved innovative filling and placement methods using very large sand filled geotextile containers coupled with significant advances with regards to design of the geotextile material and containers. In the 11 years since construction, there has been substantial monitoring of the project since its completion in late 2000 including: - video imaging using webcams; hydrographic and beach surveys; aerial and oblique photography; surf and surf safety observations and GPS surfing track plots; and geotextile container condition and stability. This paper presents an update on the performance of the reef over the last four years. In particular, the response of the structure and the shoreline to a series of major storm events in 2009 has been examined. The results have shown that the erosion caused by these major events was accommodated within the wider beach created in 1999. Over the next 2 years there was a gradual recovery in the lee of the reef with a subtle groyne effect resulting in an even larger increase in the width of the updrift beach. A detailed underwater condition survey was also undertaken in 2011, to determine changes in the condition of the geotextile containers. This revealed a number of containers missing or damaged, and that seaward containers were covered by sand. The marine habitat which has been a feature of the reef has been impacted by the increased coverage of sand, but still shows high abundance and biodiversity.

Climate change impacts, sea level rise, and changes to the frequency and intensity of storms, in particular, are projected to increase the coastal land and assets exposed to coastal erosion. The selection of appropriate adaptation strategies requires an understanding of the costs and how such costs will vary by the magnitude and timing of climate change impacts. By drawing comparisons between past events and climate change projections, it is possible to use experience of the way societies have responded to changes to coastal erosion to inform the costs and selection of adaptation strategies at the coastal settlement scale. The experience of implementing a coastal protection strategy for the Gold Coast’s southern beaches between 1964 and 1999 is compiled into a database of the timing, units, and cost of coastal protection works. Records of the change to shoreline position and characteristics of local beaches are analysed through the Bruun model to determine the implied sea level rise at the time each of the projects was completed. Finally, an economic model updates the project costs for the point in the future based on the projected timing of sea level rise and calculates a net present value (NPV) for implementing a protection strategy, per km, of sandy beach shoreline against each of the four representative concentration pathways (RCP) of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) to 2100. A key finding of our study is the significant step-up in expected costs of implementing coastal protection between RCP 2.6 and RCP 8.5—from $573,792/km to $1.7 million/km, or a factor of nearly 3, using a social discount rate of 3%. This step-up is by a factor of more than 6 at a social discount rate of 1%. This step-up in projected costs should be of particular interest to agencies responsible for funding and building coastal defences.

From April to July of 1950, Bishop Stephen Neill (1900–84) took a sweeping tour of East and West Africa to assess the state of African theological education. He visited Egypt, Sudan and the six British territories in tropical Africa: Tanganyika, Kenya, Uganda, Nigeria, Gold Coast (Ghana) and Sierra Leone. Employed by the World Council of Churches at the time, Neill was appointed by the International Missionary Council to spearhead the project. The overall objective was to shed insight on what could be done to improve the quality of theological education and the training of ministry in Africa. Neill produced a considerable amount of material during and after the trip, including a 120-page ‘travel diary’ and a 51-page confidential report. This paper has three goals: to explain how and why this tour of African theological education came together, to provide an overview of Neill's research trip through his diary entries and to reflect on Neill's conclusions and suggestions for what ought to be done.

This study is the first research project to investigate Australian university students’ e-health knowledge management trends. An online survey was developed (http://www.limesurvey.org) to collect both quantitative and qualitative empirical data. The survey was promoted via Facebook and 2 broadcast emails to students’ email accounts who were attending Griffith University, Gold Coast, Australia (Arts, Education & Law). Two hundred and seventy-five (275) responses were included for analysis. A profile which emerged identifies that the majority of participants used the Internet to search for personal health information, used a random search engine, accessed online health information every few months, would mostly spend more than 1-15 minutes in reading it, with the majority accessing health topics concerning, 1) specific diseases, 2) medical treatment, and 3) health services. Australian university health services could benefit from understandings pertaining to students’ e-health knowledge management usage trends to meet their personal health concerns. It seems plausible to claim that reliable websites, designed and managed by university health services, should have a predominant position among interventions which are specifically aimed to address students’ health concerns.

Purpose – The purpose of this paper is to test the feasibility of utilising an Asset-Based Community Development (ABCD) model in the context of an Alcohol and Other Drug Therapeutic Community, and to use this as a way of assessing how TCs can contribute to the local communities in which they are sited. Design/methodology/approach – This is a qualitative action research project, based on an evolving model in which key stakeholders from participating sites were instrumental in shaping processes and activities, that is a partnership between a research centre, Turning Point in Melbourne, Australia and two Recovery Services operated by the Salvation Army Australia Eastern Territory (TSA). One of these is the Dooralong Transformation Centre on the Central Coast of New South Wales and the other, Fairhaven, is in the Gold Coast hinterland of Queensland, Australia. The project was designed to create “rehabilitation without walls” by building bridges between the treatment centres and the communities they are based in, and improving participation in local community life. This was done through a series of structured workshops that mapped community asset networks and planned further community engagement activities. Findings – Both of the TCs already had strong connections in their local areas including but not restricted to involvement with the mutual aid fellowships. Staff, residents and ex-residents still in contact with the service were strongly committed to community engagement and were able to identify a wide range of connections in the community and to build these around existing Salvation Army connections and networks. Research limitations/implications – This is a pilot study with limited research findings and no assessment of the generalisability of this method to other settings or TCs. Practical implications – Both TCs are able to act as “community resources” through which residents and ex-residents are able to give back to their local communities and develop the social and community capital that can prepare them for reintegration and can positively contribute to the experience of living in the local community. Social implications – This paper has significant ramifications for how TCs engage with their local communities both as a mechanism for supporting resident re-entry and also to challenge stigma and discrimination. Originality/value – The paper and project extend the idea of ABCD to a Reciprocal Community Development model in which TCs can act as active participants in their lived communities and by doing so can create a “therapeutic landscape for recovery”.

The Ri-Qing-Wei Basin is a newly discovered Late Mesozoic rift basin on the eastern Shandong coast in recent years. Thick, continuous deposited source rocks are found in the Lingshan Island scientific drilling project. Therefore, it is necessary to evaluate the distribution and hydrocarbon generation potential of source rocks in this area. Organic geochemical experiments were carried out on samples from the core of LK-1 and outcrops in the Lingshan Island, the Laoshan area, and the Jimo Zhougezhuang area to evaluate the maturity, abundance, and type of organic matter in source rocks. The results show that the cumulative thickness of the source rocks in the study area is more than 500 m, and the TOC content is generally greater than 1.0%. The organic matter type is good (mainly type II1 and type II2 kerogen) and the Ro value is more than 2.0. The thermal evolution degree of the organic matter is high with natural gas predominantly generated. We carried out Rock-Eval, PY-GC and gold tube experiments on low-maturity samples of Laikong 2 and established a chemical kinetic model to quantitatively evaluate the study area in combination with sedimentary burial history and thermal history data. The results show that the total resources of the five sags in the study area are about 476 billion cubic meters, and the average resource intensity is about 82.2 million cubic meters/km2. Among them, the resource intensities of the Lingshan Island Sag and Laoshan Sag are 112.6 million cubic meters/km2 and 98.8 million cubic meters/km2, respectively. Studied sites are “small and fertile” and may be used as favorable exploration prospect areas.

Primary Sense is a new data extraction, analysis and reporting tool that the Gold Coast Primary Health Network (GCPHN) has developed to enable practical and effective population health management in general practice and also on a regional level. Once installed, the tool de-identifies data within the practice before running it through various clinical risk algorithms to create practical information that can easily be actioned within the general practice business model in at least two ways. The first is to generate up-to-date reports of patients who are most likely to benefit from specific interventions or occasions of service. The second is to identify potentially serious medication safety issues, alerting clinicians in real time at point of prescribing. Formal live testing of the system was completed in nine practices where 22 managers and nurses and 42 GPs used the tool over a 5-month period in 2019. The live test monitored the use of reports and alerts, and regular feedback from users enabled small but important improvements to the tool. Practice teams successfully used the reports to target specific groups of patients with outstanding care needs or who were at greatest risk of adverse health outcomes. The results of the live test showed that users found Primary Sense to be easy to use and beneficial to general practice. The next phase of this project is now underway to further trial the scalability and change management requirements for full implementation of Primary Sense. As more and more practices adopt the tool, the aggregated data will increasingly help to support population health planning, commissioning of local services, active health surveillance and other related activities.

TamdrupRoyal residence and memorial church in a new light Tamdrup has been shrouded in a degree of mystery in recent times. The solitary church located on a moraine hill west of Horsens is visible from afar and has attracted attention for centuries. On the face of it, it resembles an ordinary parish church, but on closer examination it is found to be unusually large, and on entering one discovers that hidden beneath one roof is a three-aisled construction, which originally was a Romanesque basilica. Why was such a large church built in this particular place? What were the prevailing circumstances in the Early Middle Ages when the foundation stone was laid? The mystery of Tamdrup has been addressed and discussed before. In the 1980s and 1990s, archaeological excavations were carried out which revealed traces of a magnate’s farm or a royal residence from the Late Viking Age or Early Middle Ages located on the field to the west of the church (fig. 4), and in 1991, the book Tamdrup – Kirke og gård was published. Now, by way of metal-detector finds, new information has been added. These new finds provide several answers, but also give rise to several new questions and problems. In recent years, a considerable number of metal finds recovered by metal detector at Tamdrup have been submitted to Horsens Museum. Since 2012, 207 artefacts have been recorded, primarily coins, brooches, weights and fittings from such as harness, dating from the Late Viking Age and Early Middle Ages. Further to these, a coin hoard dating from the time of Svein Estridson was excavated in 2013. The museum has processed the submitted finds, which have been recorded and passed on for treasure trove evaluation. As resources were not available for a more detailed assessment of the artefacts, in 2014 the museum formulated a research project that received funding from the Danish Agency for Culture, enabling the finds to be examined in greater depth. The aim of the research project was to study the metal-detector finds and the excavation findings, partly through an analysis of the total finds assemblage, partly by digitalisation of the earlier excavation plans so these could be compared with each other and with the new excavation data. This was intended to lead on to a new analysis, new interpretations and a new, overall evaluation of Tamdrup’s function, role and significance in the Late Viking Age and Early Middle Ages.Old excavations – new interpretationsIn 1983, on the eastern part of the field, a trial excavation trench was laid out running north-south (d). This resulted in two trenches (a, b) and a further three trial trenches being opened up in 1984 (fig. 6). In the northern trench, a longhouse, a fence and a pit-house were discovered (fig. 8). The interpretation of the longhouse (fig. 4) still stands, in so far as we are dealing with a longhouse with curved walls. The western end of the house appears unequivocal, but there could be some doubt about its eastern end. An alternative interpretation is a 17.5 m long building (fig. 8), from which the easternmost set of roof-bearing posts are excluded. Instead, another posthole is included as the northernmost post in the gable to the east. This gives a house with regularly curved walls, though with the eastern gable (4.3 m) narrower than the western (5.3 m). North of the trench (a) containing the longhouse, a trial trench (c) was also laid out, revealing a number of features. Similarly, there were also several features in the northern part of the middle trial trench (e). A pit in trial trench c was found to contain both a fragment of a bit branch and a bronze key. There was neither time nor resources to permit the excavation of these areas in 1984, but it seems very likely that there are traces of one or more houses here (fig. 9). Here we have a potential site for a possible main dwelling house or hall. In August 1990, on the basis of an evaluation, an excavation trench (h) was opened up to the west of the 1984 excavation (fig. 7). Here, traces were found of two buildings, which lay parallel to each other, oriented east-west. These were interpreted as small auxiliary buildings associated with the same magnate’s farm as the longhouse found in the 1984 excavation. The northern building was 4 m wide and the southern building was 5.5 m. Both buildings were considered to be c. 7 m long and with an open eastern gable. The southern building had one set of internal roof-bearing posts. The excavation of the two buildings in 1990 represented the art of the possible, as no great resources were available. Aerial photos from the time show that the trial trench from the evaluation was back-filled when the excavation was completed. Today, we have a comprehensive understanding of the trial trenches and excavation trenches thanks to the digitalised plans. Here, it becomes apparent that some postholes recorded during the evaluation belong to the southernmost of the two buildings, but these were unfortunately not relocated during the actual excavation. As these postholes, accordingly, did not form part of the interpretation, it was assumed that the building was 7 m in length (fig. 10). When these postholes from the evaluation are included, a ground plan emerges that can be interpreted as the remains of a Trelleborg house (fig. 11). The original 7 m long building constitutes the western end of this characteristic house, while the remainder of the south wall was found in the trial trench. Part of the north wall is apparently missing, but the rest of the building appears so convincing that the missing postholes must be attributed to poor conditions for preservation and observation. The northeastern part of the house has not been uncovered, which means that it is not possible to say with certainty whether the house was 19 or 25 m in length, minus its buttress posts. On the basis of the excavations undertaken in 1984 and 1990, it was assumed that the site represented a magnate’s farm from the Late Viking Age. It was presumed that the excavated buildings stood furthest to the north on the toft and that the farm’s main dwelling – in the best-case scenario the royal residence – should be sought in the area to the south between the excavated buildings. Six north-south-oriented trial trenches were therefore laid out in this area (figs. 6, 7 and 13 – trial trenches o, p, q, r, s and t). The results were, according to the excavation report, disappointing: No trace was found of Harold Bluetooth’s hall. It was concluded that there were no structures and features that could be linked together to give a larger entity such as the presumed magnate’s farm. After digitalisation of the excavation plans from 1991, we now have an overview of the trial trenches to a degree that was not possible previously (fig. 13). It is clear that there is a remarkable concentration of structures in the central and northern parts of the two middle trial trenches (q, r) and in part also in the second (p) and fourth (s) trial trenches from the west, as well as in the northern parts of the two easternmost trial trenches (s, t). An actual archaeological excavation would definitely be recommended here if a corresponding intensity of structures were to be encountered in an evaluation today (anno 2016). Now that all the plans have been digitalised, it is obvious to look at the trial trenches from 1990 and 1991 together. Although some account has to be taken of uncertainties in the digitalisation, this nevertheless confirms the picture of a high density of structures, especially in the middle of the 1991 trial trenches. The collective interpretation from the 1990 and 1991 investigations is that there are strong indications of settlement in the area of the middle 1991 trial trenches. It is also definitely a possibility that these represent the remains of a longhouse, which could constitute the main dwelling house. It can therefore be concluded that it is apparently possible to confirm the interpretation of the site as a potential royal residence, even though this is still subject to some uncertainty in the absence of new excavations. The archaeologists were disappointed following the evaluation undertaken in 1991, but the overview which modern technology is able to provide means that the interpretation is now rather more encouraging. There are strong indications of the presence of a royal residence. FindsThe perception of the area by Tamdrup church gained a completely new dimension when the first metal finds recovered by metal detector arrived at Horsens Museum in the autumn of 2011. With time, as the finds were submitted, considerations of the significance and function of the locality in the Late Viking Age and Early Middle Ages were subjected to revision. The interpretation as a magnate’s farm was, of course, common knowledge, but at Horsens Museum there was an awareness that this interpretation was in some doubt following the results of the 1991 investigations. The many new finds removed any trace of this doubt while, at the same time, giving cause to attribute yet further functions to the site. Was it also a trading place or a central place in conjunction with the farm? And was it active earlier than previously assumed? The 207 metal finds comprise 52 coins (whole, hack and fragments), 34 fittings (harness, belt fittings etc.), 28 brooches (enamelled disc brooches, Urnes fibulas and bird brooches), 21 weights, 15 pieces of silver (bars, hack and casting dead heads), 12 figures (pendants, small horses), nine distaff whorls, eight bronze keys, four lead amulets, three bronze bars, two fragments of folding scales and a number of other artefacts, the most spectacular of which included a gold ring and a bronze seal ring. In dating terms, most of the finds can be assigned to the Late Viking Age and Early Middle Ages. The largest artefact group consists of the coins, of which 52 have been found – either whole or as fragments. To these can be added the coin hoard, which was excavated in 2013 (fig. 12) and which primarily consists of coins minted under Svein Estridson. The other, non-hoard coins comprise: 13 Svein Estridson (figs. 15, 16), five Otto-Adelheid, five Arabic dirhams, three Sancta Colonia, one Canute the Great, one Edward the Confessor, one Theodorich II, one Heinrich II, one Rand pfennig, one Roman denarius (with drilled hole) and nine unidentified silver coins, of which some appear however to be German and others Danish/Anglo-Saxon. Most of the single coins date from the late 10th and early 11th centuries. The next-largest category of finds from Tamdrup are the fittings, which comprise 34 items. This category does, however, cover a broad diversity of finds, of which the dominant types are belt/strap fittings of various kinds and fittings associated with horse harness (figs. 17-24). In total, ten fittings have been found by metal detector that are thought to belong to harness. In addition to these is a single example from the excavation in 1984. The majority of these fittings are interpreted as parts of curb bits, headgear and stirrups. One particularly expressive figure was found at Tamdrup: a strap fitting from a stirrup, formed in a very characteristic way and depicting the face of a Viking (fig. 20). The fitting has been fixed on the stirrup strap at the point where the sides meet. Individual stirrup strap fittings are known by the hundred from England and are considered stylistically to be Anglo-Scandinavian. The fitting from Tamdrup is dated to the 11th century and is an example of a Williams’ Class B, Type 4, East Anglian type face mount. A special category of artefacts is represented by the brooches/fibulas, and enamel brooches are most conspicuous among the finds from Tamdrup. Of the total of 28 examples, 11 are enamel brooches. The most unusual is a large enamel disc brooch of a type that probably has not been found in Denmark previously (fig. 24). Its size alone (5.1 cm in diameter) is unusual. The centre of the brooch is raised relative to the rim and furnished with a pattern of apparently detached figures. On the rim are some alternating sail-shaped triangles on a base line which forms four crown-like motifs and defines a cruciform shape. Between the crowns are suggestions of small pits that probably were filled with enamel. Parallels to this type are found in central Europe, and the one that approaches closest stylistically is a brooch from Komjatice in western Slovakia, found in a grave (fig. 25). This brooch has a more or less identical crown motif, and even though the other elements are not quite the same, the similarity is striking. It is dated to the second half of the 10th century and the first half of the 11th century. The other enamel brooches are well-known types of small Carolingian and Ottonian brooches. There are four circular enamel cross-motif brooches (fig. 26a), two stellate disc brooches with central casing (fig. 26b), one stepped brooch with a cruciform motif, one cruciform fibula with five square casings and two disc-shaped brooches. In addition to the enamel brooches there are ten examples that can definitely be identified as animal brooches. Nine of these are of bronze, while one is of silver. The motifs are birds or dragons in Nordic animal styles from the Late Viking Age, Urnes and Ringerike styles, and simpler, more naturalistic forms of bird fibulas from the Late Viking Age and Early Middle Ages. Accordingly, the date for all the animal brooches is the 11th and 12th centuries. A total of 21 weights of various shapes and forms have been found at Tamdrup: spherical, bipolar spherical, disc-shaped, conical, square and facetted in various ways. Rather more than half are of lead, with the remainder being of bronze, including a couple of examples with an iron core and a mantle of bronze (so-called ørtug weights), where the iron has exploded out through the bronze mantle. One of the bipolar spheres (fig. 28) has ornamentation in the form of small pits on its base. Weights are primarily associated with trade, where it was important to be able to weigh an agreed amount of silver. Weights were, however, also used in the metal workshops, where it was crucial to be able to weigh a particular amount of metal for a specific cast in order to achieve the correct proportions between the different metals in an alloy. Eight bronze keys have been found, all dated broadly to the Viking Age (fig. 29). Most are fragmentarily preserved pieces of relatively small keys of a very simple type that must be seen as being for caskets or small chests. Keys became relatively widespread during the course of the Viking Age. Many were of iron and a good number of bronze. Nevertheless, the number of keys found at Tamdrup is impressive. A further group of artefacts that will be briefly mentioned are the distaff whorls. This is an artefact group which appears in many places and which was exceptionally common in the Viking Age. In archaeological excavations, examples are often found in fired clay, while metal distaff whorls – most commonly of lead – are found in particular by metal detector. Nine distaff whorls have been found at Tamdrup, all of lead. The finest and absolutely most prestigious artefact is a gold ring, which was found c. 60 m southwest of house 1. The ring consists of a 2 mm wide, very thin gold band, while the fittings comprise a central casing surrounded by originally eight small circular casings. In the middle sits a red stone, presumably a garnet, mounted in five rings. In a circle around the stone are the original eight small, circular mounts, of which six are preserved. The mounts, from which the stones are missing, alternate with three small gold spheres. The edges of the mounts have fine cable ornamentation. The dating is rather uncertain and is therefore not ascribed great diagnostic value. In the treasure trove description, the ring is dated to the Late Middle Ages/Renaissance, but it could presumably also date from the Early Middle Ages as it has features reminiscent of the magnificent brooch found at Østergård, which is dated to 1050. Two other spectacular artefacts were found in the form of some small four-legged animals, probably horses, cast in bronze. These figures are known from the Slav area and have presumably had a pre-Christian, symbolic function. Common to both of them are an elongated body, long neck and very short legs. Finally, mention should be made of four lead amulets. These are of a type where, on a long strip of lead, a text has been written in runes or Latin characters. Typically, these are Christian invocations intended to protect the wearer. The lead amulets are folded together and therefore do not take up much space. They are dated to the Middle Ages (1100-1400) and will therefore not be dealt with in further detail here. What the artefacts tell usWhat do the artefacts tell us? They help to provide a dating frame for the site, they tell us something about what has taken place there, they give an indication of which social classes/strata were represented, and, finally, they give us an insight into which foreign contacts could have existed, which influences people were under and which networks they were part of. Most of the artefacts date from the period 900-1000, and this is also the dating frame for the site as a whole. There is a slight tendency for the 10th century finds to be more evenly distributed across the site than those from the 11th century, which tend to be concentrated in the eastern part. A number of the finds are associated with tangible activities, for example the weights and, especially, the distaff whorls. Others also had practical functions but are, at the same time, associated with the upper echelons of society. Of the material from Tamdrup, the latter include the harness fittings and the keys, while the many brooches/fibulas and pendants also belong to artefact groups to which people from the higher strata of society had access. Some of the harness fittings and brooches suggest links with England. The stirrup-strap fitting and the cruciform strap fitting in Anglo-Scandinavian style have clear parallels in the English archaeological record. The coins, on the other hand, point towards Germany. There are a number of German coins from the end of the 10th century and the beginning of the 11th century, but the occurrence of Otto-Adelheid pennies and other German coins is not necessarily an indication of a direct German connection. From the second half of the 11th century, Svein Estridson coins dominate, but they are primarily Danish. Other artefacts that indicate contacts with western Europe are the enamelled brooches in Carolingian-Ottonian style. A number of objects suggest some degree of trade. Here again, it is the coins and the hack silver, and also the relatively large number of lead weights, that must be considered as relatively reliable indicators of trade, at least when their number is taken into consideration. In the light of the metal-detector finds it can, in conclusion, be stated that this was a locality inhabited by people of middle to high status. Many objects are foreign or show foreign inspiration and suggest therefore that Tamdrup was part of an international network. The artefacts support the interpretation of Tamdrup as a magnate’s farm and a royal residence. ConclusionTamdrup was located high up in the landscape, withdrawn from the coast, but nevertheless with quick and easy access to Horsens Fjord. Tamdrup could be approached from the fjord via Nørrestrand and the river Hansted Å on a northern route, or by the river Bygholm Å on a southern route (fig. 33). A withdrawn loca­tion was not atypical in the Viking Age and the Early Middle Ages. At that time there were also sites directly on the coast and at the heads of fjords, where early urbanisation materialised through the establishment of the first market towns, while the king’s residences had apparently to be located in places rather less accessible by boat and ship. As withdrawn but central, regional hubs and markers between land and sea. One must imagine that Tamdrup had a high status in the 10th and 11th centuries, when the king had a residence and a wooden church there. A place of great importance, culminating in the construction of a Romanesque basilica to commemorate the Christianisation of Denmark. Tamdrup appears to have lost its significance for the monarchy shortly after the stone church was completed, which could fit with King Niels, as the last of Svein Estridson’s sons, being killed in 1134, and another branch of the royal family taking over power. At the same time as Tamdrup lost its importance, Horsens flourished as a town and became of such great importance for the Crown that both Svein Grathe and Valdemar the Great had coins minted there. Tamdrup must have been a central element of the local topography in the Viking Age, when Horsens functioned as a landing place, perhaps with seasonal trading. In the long term, Horsens came out strongest, but it must be assumed that Tamdrup had the highest status between AD 900 and 1100.Lars PaghHorsens Museum

Since the COVID-19 pandemic began, there has been increased reliance on new infrastructure projects to counter economic fallout and underpin employment security. Urban and inter-urban transportation projects, such as major road, rail and port facilities, are popular choices for national and state governments in Australia as they provide broad fiscal support across all sectors of the economy. The problem with stimulus is making sure that the quality of the new infrastructure provides collective utility to a community or region. Whether the benefits will be worthwhile and represent best use of resource inputs requires financial, social, ethical and environmental consequences to be evaluated in a comparable format. The aim in this paper is to analyse the Gold Coast Light Rail (GCLR) Stage 1&2 project using a method that is capable of merging tangible and intangible criteria using an ordinal ranking algorithm. While the GCLR case study is undertaken with the benefit of hindsight, normally these types of evaluations are performed in real time as a project progresses from initiation (design) to implementation (deliver) and influence (delight). The method adopted in this study represents a modern form of multi-criteria decision-making, which enables successful projects to be distinguished from unsuccessful ones using a time period from commencement until one full year of operation has occurred. The i3d3 model, developed by a team from Bond University, has the unique benefit of ranking projects from best to worst across an organisational portfolio, geographic region or industry sector. It also supports past project performance to inform new design through application of a continuous improvement process of recording lessons learned. The GCLR case study calculated 100% of the critical success factors in the model to be positive and produced an overall success ranking of 23 (on a scale of -100 to +100). This paper presents the approach taken to evaluate GCLR’s level of success and the calculations that took place to reach this finding. This is the first time i3d3 has been used on an Australian project.

Introduction Collaboration converges with adaptation insofar as collaborative practice involves an adaptation of the differences amongst collaborators with the aim of achieving a seamless blending of personalities and practices. By contrast, this article addresses the topic of the convergence potentials between collaboration and adaptation in those cases where the unmitigated differences across personnel and practices maximize the cultural significance of a project. The case study under review here appears linked to an unusually deep level of engagement with the concerns of its audience, which suggests the significance, more generally, of combining collaboration with a ‘difference-oriented’ notion of adaptation. Adaptation, thus, has the potential to open up new vistas in collaboration’s cultural impact. The case study, of which I am the director, is a multi-product, multi-person ‘adaptation portfolio’ designed as an intervention into urban identity issues affecting the inhabitants of Gold Coast City, Queensland, Australia. Through my analysis in this article, I propose that collaboration benefits from cross-fertilization with adaptation in two ways. Firstly, adaptation acts as a wellspring for potentially more radical modes of ‘participant-centred’ collaboration and, secondly, adaptation suggests an extension of collaborative activity into the non-participant, or what might be termed the ‘intra-textual’, domain. The Case Study My adaptation portfolio contains a short story (‘Now You Know What Women Have to Put Up With All of the Time’ [West]), a short film script (‘Passion Play’ [West]), a short film, a film set installation-art exhibition, an artistic website, an exhibition of still photography and cinematography, and an example of inter-genre writing (‘Intercut’ [West]). I am the author, as indicated, of three of these products. The rest are being produced by artists who operate, as I do, in the Gold Coast region. With the project still in progress, the conditions are now ripe for considering the methodological issues that subtend the development of the final set of products. The diversity of the portfolio is anchored (although, importantly, not pre-determined) by the narrative of my short story, which insinuates itself along the creative product spectrum of my collaborators. The first paragraph of the story summarizes its plot and instigates its insouciant tone: “You can’t just shove a mate into the back seat of a taxi, fling the driver a hundred bucks, then say, ‘take him anywhere’. Can you?” (West, ‘Now’ 2) The mate in question is Blair Beamish, a young man on his buck’s night, who is turned upon by his supposed friends. His ‘crime’ is to create a rift in the homo-social compact binding the group. They dispatch him on a taxi trip to ‘anywhere’ as a humiliating prank. Blair must then sort out his sexual desires and life choices. At the taxi driver’s whim, his trip weaves along the highways and byways of Gold Coast City. In this way, Blair’s identity is forced into a series of ‘interfaces’ with the city, which draws attention to issues of identity construction in relationship to exopolitanism as theorized by Edward Soja. Exopolitanism and the Adaptation Portfolio It quickly became apparent that my case-study project of creative engagement with questions of identity in Gold Coast City required a multi-product approach as a foil for the nature of the place itself. Gold Coast City is an ‘exopolitan’ site, in Soja’s classic sense of that term: “perched beyond the vortex of the old agglomerative nodes, [spinning] new whorls of its own, turning the city inside-out and outside-in at the same time” (Soja 95). Similarly, Patricia Wise notices its “routine fragmentation and partiality” (Wise). Gold Coast City is a place of multiplicities and, so, multiplicities—at least, a multiplicity of creative products—are required to expose, if not to mollify, the effects of the place on its half million inhabitants. And a genuine multiplicity—a convergence of differences freed from any single dominant term—is best generated via a multi-person approach. Regarding the effects of exopolitanism, Celeste Olalquiaga proposes that the spatially unsettled dweller in the postmodern city is ‘psychasthenic’: that is, “vanishing as a differentiated entity … incapable of demarcating the limits of its own body, lost in the immense area that circumscribes it” (Olalquiaga 2). Olalquiaga points to the typical Los Angeleno as an example of such identity confusion. However, while the scope of this project might expand in future, it is only currently designed as an enabling procedure for the ‘helplessly chameleon’ citizens of Gold Coast City, to the extent that adaptation within a portfolio of creative products suggests human-focused strategies of adaptation. People who engage with the relations amongst multiplicities in this collaborative project might draw from those relations models for dealing with the multiplicities of urbanism in their day-to-day lives. Not necessarily for overcoming or neutralizing such multiplicities, but for using them to advantage as part of the art and science of urban inhabitation itself. My narrative, therefore, acts as a springboard for the various creative endeavours of my collaborators, who are engaged across several art forms in the project of expressing aspects of Blair’s tale. The absence on my part of any deliberate control over what they might produce is crucial to the ‘ethics’ of our mode of collaboration. Adaptation becomes here an enabling tactic of collaboration because it contains the potential—notably when it operates to ‘combine’ radically different time-based and non-time-based art forms—to stimulate heightened difference rather than seamless blending. And this sort of difference is what we want for our engagement with the differences of the city. Suggestion One—Adaptation and Radical Collaboration The literature on adaptation appears to contain a better resource for such radical forms of collaboration than is offered within prevailing models of collaboration. Robert Stam, for example, provides a description of film adaptation that is immensely suggestive for the development of this collaborative project: “Film adaptations, then, are caught up in the ongoing whirl of intertextual reference and transformation, of texts generating other texts in an endless process of recycling, transformation, and transmutation, with no clear point of origin” (Stam 66). Something like what Stam describes seems to be present in one of the conjunctions of time-based (short film) and non-time-based (installation art) products in this collaborative enterprise. Here, the project responds to David Joselit’s notion that inhabitants of sites like Gold Coast City must negotiate “a new spatial order: a space in which the virtual and the physical are absolutely coextensive, allowing a person to travel in one direction through sound or image while proceeding elsewhere physically” (Joselit 276). Installation art representing place always already operates across a fissure of the represented site and the actual site of the representation: thus, art space and place space coalesce. Inspired by Matthew Barney’s hyperbolic Cremaster Cycle creations in the Guggenheim Museum, I plan to add to this spatial (and indeed temporal) coalescence by establishing film set installation art at certain Gold Coast City locations that feature in the film, while the film itself will loop screen on monitors embedded within this same installation art (Guggenheim Museum). This element of this collaborative project will function therefore as a ‘creative laboratory’ for testing Joselit’s ‘new spatial order’ in that it involves three (inter-related) levels of adaptation: time-based with non-time-based forms; art space with place space; and the virtual (short film) with the physical or real (on-site installation art). Suggestion Two—Adaptation and ‘Intra-Textual’ Collaboration Besides insinuating a radical element into collaboration, adaptation also suggests an extension of collaborative activity into the non-participant, or (to coin a phrase) ‘intra-textual’, domain. Put differently, the notion of intra-textual adaptation allows us to unshackle collaboration from the process of collaboration (the efforts of a team of individuals) and re-situate it as an aspect of the product itself. The value of this is twofold: it sweeps the rug out from under any fusty attachment collaboration might retain to participant intentionality; relatedly, it revitalizes the theory and practices of collaboration because it suggests that the collaborative process continues even after the product is claimed to be finished. In other words, adaptation undoes the tendency in creative circles to place too much emphasis on the process of collaboration, at the expense of an appreciation of the intra-textuality of the actual product—an appreciation that might stimulate, in turn, new ways of approaching the process of collaboration. An ‘Intra-Textual’ Example The ‘core’ narrative of this collaborative project involves a taxi trip that will end when the meter hits $100.00. Any given product in my adaptation portfolio (say, the artistic website, or the film set installation-art exhibition) might represent the taxi meter in any number of ways. But what interests me here is how the meter itself is always an instance of intra-textual adaptation, of a collaboration within the text between two elements of it. In C. S. Peirce’s terms, the taxi meter could be labelled an Index. In James Monaco’s gloss on Peirce, an Index “measures a quality not because it is identical to it but because it has an inherent relationship to it” (Monaco 133). Now, isn’t this also a possible definition of adaptation, or, by extension, collaboration? A quality is measured—you might say, adapted into something else; one thing is transformed into another thing related to the first thing. Specifically, returning to the diegesis of my core narrative, the taxi meter adapts the time and space of Blair’s urban journey into the running-up of the $100.00. In this case, adaptation is a function of language itself, and it is this that makes the taxi meter a challenge to those schools of collaborative thought currently over-invested in the participant definition of collaboration, which hampers the development of new models of collaboration in that it unduly emphasizes process over product. Conclusion This article has used an in-progress collaborative case study to highlight the value for collaboration of appropriating notions of difference and intra-textuality from the domain of adaptation. On the evidence of this multi-product, multi-person adaptation portfolio, such an approach can reap the rewards of greater involvement with the cultural and identity concerns of the audience. The main problem with much artistic collaboration is that it tends to preserve an artificial homogeneity that papers over the important ways in which the world is composed of differences and multiplicities rather than of sameness and unification. The exopolitan inhabitants of Gold Coast City know this, and creative products that attempt to engage powerfully with cultural and identity issues must know it too. References Guggenheim Museum—Past Exhibitions—Matthew Barney: The Cremaster Cycle. 21 Feb.-11 June 2003. Guggenheim Museum. 2 Mar. 2006 http://www.guggenheim.org/exhibitions/past_exhibitions/barney/index.html>. Joselit, David. “Navigating the New Territory.” Artforum 43.10 (2005): 276-80. Monaco, James. How to Read a Film: The Art, Technology, Language, History, and Theory of Film and Media. New York: Oxford UP, 1981. Olalquiaga, Celeste. Megalopolis: Contemporary Cultural Sensibilities. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1992. Soja, Edward. W. “Inside Exopolis: Scenes from Orange County.” Variations on a Theme Park: The New American City and the End of Public Space. Ed. Michael Sorkin. New York: Hill and Wang, 1992. Stam, Robert. “Beyond Fidelity: The Dialogics of Adaptation.” Film Adaptation. Ed. James Naremore. New Brunswick: Rutgers UP, 2000. West, Patrick. “Intercut.” Sites of Cosmopolitanism: Citizenship, Aesthetics, Culture. Eds. David Ellison and Ian Woodward. Brisbane: Centre for Public Culture and Ideas, Griffith University, 2005. ———. “Now You Know What Women Have to Put Up with All of the Time.” Idiom 23 17.1 (2005): 2-4. ———. “Passion Play.” Unpublished short film script. Wise, Patricia. “Australia’s Gold Coast: A City Producing Itself.” Cityscapes Conference, Aberystwyth, Wales. 8-10 July 2004. Citation reference for this article MLA Style West, Patrick. "The Convergence Potentials of Collaboration & Adaptation: A Case Study in Progress." M/C Journal 9.2 (2006). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0605/16-west.php>. APA Style West, P. (May 2006) "The Convergence Potentials of Collaboration & Adaptation: A Case Study in Progress," M/C Journal, 9(2). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0605/16-west.php>.

An eminent Geologist, Shri R.H.Sawkar breathed his last peacefully on the morning of June 1,2022 at the age of 87 in his home at Bengaluru. Shri R.H. Sawkar is survived by his Wife, Son, Daughter and Grand-Children and their families are settled in Bengaluru. Born on March 29, 1935 to Hem Reddy Sawkar and Lingamma Hiregoudar, he is from Magala Village, Huvinhadagalli taluk, Vijayanagar dist, Karnataka. He had four brothers and two sisters. He graduated with B.Sc. (Hons) in Geology in 1959 and M.Sc. in Geology in 1961 from Mysore University followed by Diploma in Aerial Photo Interpretation and training in I.T.C (Australia)-Mineral Exploration and Mine Development Programme under Colombo Plan. He was sportsman, swimmer and wrestler. Started his career in Dept of Mines and Geology, Govt of Karnataka as Assistant Geologist in1959. During 1959 -1964, he was associated for the exploration of Iron ore of West Coast, Clay & Feldspar deposits in Goribidanur taluk, mineral resources of South Canara, Limestone deposits in Bijapur and Belgaum, Gold deposits of Gadag Gold Fields, Karnataka. From 1964-1966 as Geologist (Jr.) he was deputed to National Mineral Development Corporation Ltd (NMDC), here he was associated with the exploration of Iron ore deposits of Kudremukh area, for the preparation of the detailed project report for Visvesvaraya Iron and Steel Ltd for mining iron ore. During 1966 -1970, he was associated the Dharwad division inspection of mining leases, exploration of Iron, Manganese ores of North Canara,Bauxite deposits of coastal area, site selection of Vijayanagar steel Plant, Karnataka. From 1970 - 1976, on deputation, he was associated with the Mysore Minerals Ltd (Karnataka State Minerals Corporation Ltd) as Project Manager and Agent for ore production, sales, shipment, transportation, mine planning, exploration of various minerals, etc. During 1976-1985, on deputation, he worked as Project Manager of Karnataka Copper Consortium Ltd. for the exploration and mine development of Kalyadi Copper Project, Ingaldhal Copper Mine, assisted the Karnataka State Govt in the merger proposal of these copper companies with the Hutti Gold Mines Co Ltd (HGML), merger took place with HGML on 12.07.1985. From1985 -1995, he worked in different capacities in HGML for the Chitrdurga Copper Unit, Gadag Gold Project and Corporate Planning etc. After Retiring from HGML on 31.3.1995 as Executive Director, he worked in HGML as Technical Advisor up to 1.6.1997. He was associated with all the leading earth science associations in India and abroad. Currently, he was Secretary General of the Geological Society of India and actively associated with the MEAI, Rashtriya Jal Biradari, Water Development Rural and Urban societies, Dam Safety etc. He was a member of various State and Central Govt committees. He has presented and published several papers in the national and international seminars and also chaired the technical sessions. He was actively involved as advisor/consultant to the exploration, mining and metallurgy industries. He travelled widely, a simple man with tons of curiosity to discover new things. He guided and inspired the many. Shri R.H. Sawkar will remain in the hearts of the many. He will be missed deeply by his family and colleagues.

Daniel Hartley of Federal Reserve Bank of Cleveland reviews, “Great American City: Chicago and the Enduring Neighborhood Effect” by Robert J. Sampson. The Econlit abstract of this book begins: “Explores how the mechanisms of social causality are profoundly shaped by the spatial logic of urban and neighborhood life rather than being shaped solely by independent self-maximizing individuals, with a special focus on the city of Chicago. Discusses being placed; neighborhood effects—the evolution of an idea; an analytic approach; the making of the Chicago Project; legacies of inequality; ““broken windows” and the meanings of disorder; the theory of collective efficacy; civic society and the organizational imperative; social altruism, cynicism, and the ““good community”; spatial logic—or why neighbors of neighborhoods matter; trading places—experiments and neighborhood effects in a social world; individual selection as a social process; network mechanisms of interneighborhood migration; leadership and the higher-order structure of elite connections; neighborhood effects and a theory of context; aftermath—Chicago 2010; and the twenty-first-century Gold Coast and slum. Sampson is Henry Ford II Professor of the Social Sciences at Harvard University.”

Prehistory and Protohistory ; Sarah C. Murray, The Collapse of the Mycenaean Economy. Imports, Trade and Institutions 1300–700 BCE / Chrysanthi Gallou, Death in Mycenaean Laconia. A Silent Place /James C. Wright and Mary K. Dabney (with contributions by Phoebe Acheson, Susan F. Allen, Kathleen M. Forster, Paul Halstead, S.M.A. Hoffman, Anna Karabatsoli, Konstantina Kaza-Papageorgiou, Bartłomiej Lis, Rebecca Mersereau, Hans Mommsen, Jeremy B. Rutter, Tatiana Theodoropoulou, and Jonathan E. Tomlinson), The Mycenaean Settlement on Tsoungiza Hill (Nemea Valley Archaeological Project III) – Oliver Dickinson ; Gioulika-Olga Christakopoulou, To Die in Style! The Residential Lifestyle of Feasting and Dying in Iron Age Stamna, Greece – John Bintliff ; Archaic to Hellenistic ; Oliver Hülden, Das griechische Befestigungswesen der archaïschen Zeit. Entwicklungen – Formen – Funktionen – Hans Lohmann ; Peter van Alfen and Ute Wartenberg (eds) (with Wolfgang Fischer-Bossert, Haim Gitler, Koray Konuk, and Catharine C. Lorber), White Gold: Studies in Early Electrum Coinage – Keith Rutter ; Marta González González, Funerary Epigrams of Ancient Greece: Reflections on Literature, Society and Religion – Fabienne Marchand ; Robert S. Wagman, The Cave of the Nymphs at Pharsalus. Studies on a Thessalian Country Shrine – Maria Mili ; Natascha Sojc (ed.), Akragas. Current Issues in the Archaeology of a Sicilian Polis – Johannes Bergemann ; Roman to Late Roman ; Laura Pfuntner, Urbanism and Empire in Roman Sicily. – Michalis Karambinis ; Walter Scheidel, Escape from Rome. The Failure of Empire and the Road to Prosperity – Bryan Ward-Perkins ; Rinse Willet, The Geography of Urbanism in Roman Asia Minor – Mark P.C. Jackson ; Medieval to Postmedieval ; Charalambos Bouras, Byzantine Athens, 10th-12th Centuries / Nickephoros I. Tsougarakis and Peter Lock (eds), A Companion to Latin Greece / Joanita Vroom (ed.), Medieval and Post-Medieval Ceramics in the Eastern Mediterranean - Fact and Fiction. / Joanita Vroom, Yona Waksman and Roos van Oosten (eds), Medieval Masterchef. Archaeological and Historical Perspectives on Eastern Cuisine and Western Foodways – John Bintliff ; Multiperiod ; María-Paz de Hoz, Juan Luis García Alonso and Luis Arturo Guichard Romero (eds), Greek paideia and local tradition in the Graeco-Roman east – Dorothea Stavrou ; John Ellis Jones and Ourania Kouka, Elis 1969. The Peneios Valley Rescue Excavation Project: British School at Athens Survey 1967 and Rescue Excavations at Kostoureika and Keramidia 1969 / Effie Photos-Jones and Alan J Hall, Eros, mercator and the cultural landscape of Melos in antiquity: The archaeology of the minerals industry of Melos – John Bintliff ; Bleda S. Düring and Claudia Glatz (eds), Kinetic Landscapes, the Cide Archaeological Project: Surveying the Turkish Western Black Sea Coast – James Crow ; J. Rasmus Brandt, Erika Hagelberg, Gro Bjørnstad and Sven Ahrens (eds), Life and Death in Asia Minor in Hellenistic, Roman and Byzantine Times: Studies in Archaeology and Bioarchaeology – Willem M. Jongman ; Caroline Arnould-Béhar and Véronique Vassal (eds), Art et archéologie du Proche-Orient hellénistique et romain. Les circulations artistiques entre Orient et Occident Vol.1 / Caroline Arnould-Béhar and Véronique Vassal (eds), Art et archéologie du Proche-Orient hellénistique et romain. Les circulations artistiques entre Orient et Occident Vol. 2 – Andrew Erskine ; Historiography and Theory ; John Boardman, A Classical Archaeologist’s Life: The Story So Far. An Autobiography – Robin Osborne

Abstract Background Despite being preventable, suicide is a leading cause of death and a major global public health problem. For every death by suicide, many more suicide attempts are undertaken, and this presents as a critical risk factor for suicide. Currently, there are limited treatment options with limited underpinning research for those who present to emergency departments with suicidal behaviour. The aim of this study is to assess if adding one of two structured suicide-specific psychological interventions (Attempted Suicide Short Intervention Program [ASSIP] or Brief Cognitive Behavioural Therapy [CBT] for Suicide Prevention) to a standardised clinical care approach (Suicide Prevention Pathway [SPP]) improves the outcomes for consumers presenting to a Mental Health Service with a suicide attempt. Methods This is a randomised controlled trial with blinding of those assessing the outcomes. People who attempt suicide or experience suicidality after a suicide attempt, present to the Gold Coast Mental Health and Specialist Services, are placed on the Suicide Prevention Pathway (SPP), and meet the eligibility criteria, are offered the opportunity to participate. A total of 411 participants will be recruited for the study, with 137 allocated to each cohort (participants are randomised to SPP, ASSIP + SPP, or CBT + SPP). The primary outcomes of this study are re-presentation to hospitals with suicide attempts. Presentations with suicidal ideation will also be examined (in a descriptive analysis) to ascertain whether a rise in suicidal ideation is commensurate with a fall in suicide attempts (which might indicate an increase in help-seeking behaviours). Death by suicide rates will also be examined to ensure that representations with a suicide attempt are not due to participants dying, but due to a potential improvement in mental health. For participants without a subsequent suicide attempt, the total number of days from enrolment to the last assessment (24 months) will be calculated. Self-reported levels of suicidality, depression, anxiety, stress, resilience, problem-solving skills, and self- and therapist-reported level of therapeutic engagement are also being examined. Psychometric data are collected at baseline, end of interventions, and 6,12, and 24 months. Discussion This project will move both ASSIP and Brief CBT from efficacy to effectiveness research, with clear aims of assessing the addition of two structured psychological interventions to treatment as usual, providing a cost-benefit analysis of the interventions, thus delivering outcomes providing a clear pathway for rapid translation of successful interventions. Trials registration ClinicalTrials.govNCT04072666. Registered on 28 August 2019

To my mind the word ‘sorry’ is important as a national symbol – a symbol that addresses the dispossession and cultural damage caused to the Stolen Generation by past governments. This apology is important on a number of levels – because it is a recognition of past wrongs, a recognition that our present society is a beneficiary of these wrongs and a recognition that those wrongs have tangible and extensive effect on Indigenous people today. When it is provided by individuals, I don’t believe it should be confused with an admission of personal responsibility. It more closely resembles an expression of sympathy or empathy. I think the symbolism of a national apology is an important tool in influencing the national consciousness and preserving the moral integrity of this nation. In saying this, however, the significance of a national apology only extends this far. Such a symbol is an initial step. An apology is the starting point from which real change can occur. I believe in comprehensive social change, and this position is reflected in the organisation to which I belong – Australians for Native Title and Reconciliation (ANTaR). ANTaR began in 1997 as a response to John Howard’s Ten Point Plan and at the request of the National Indigenous Working Group (NIWG) for a non-Indigenous support group. The National ANTaR body consults a number of prominent Indigenous leaders, including such inspirational individuals as Pat Dodson and the elected ATSIC Chair Geoff Clarke. The Ten Point Plan was the Liberal Government’s response to new native title developments brought by the High Court’s Wik decision in 1996. In our initial project we gathered 100,000 signatures protesting the existence of the Ten Point Plan and its ramifications upon the concept of native title. It became Australia’s largest public art installation – the Sea of Hands. In the Sea of Hands each of those original signatures was attached to a plastic hand and displayed en masse in public parks and venues. The Sea of Hands has toured Australia and made appearances in most major cities and in places such as Alice Springs, the Gold Coast and Cherbourg. We aspire to bring Indigenous and non-Indigenous communities together. We believe this can only be done where there is an environment of communication and respect. Our definition of reconciliation lies beyond symbolic rhetoric. We wish not only for a substantive change in the opinions of mainstream society but for the effects of this to impact upon the daily lives of Indigenous people. This includes not only the improvement of health, education and social welfare but also involves cementing in Australian law the human rights and legal rights to which Indigenous peoples have a legitimate right. I support a national apology and the reconciliation campaign on the basis that it is a first step towards changing mainstream society and providing the dignity and respect Indigenous peoples deserve. I support practical reconciliation on the basis that adequate living standards are something that all Australians should expect. I support land rights, the concept of a treaty and the concept of Aboriginal sovereignty because these are just legal rights and because they are reinforced by international and British colonial law. What I fear most in the ongoing public debate is that these issues, which have overriding importance to the future of Indigenous people and thus to the posterity and reputation of our nation, are being slowly acquired by parties who may not really have these interests at heart. One example is the concept of ‘practical reconciliation’ as espoused by current Prime Minister John Howard. It was inevitable that as the national reconciliation movement gained pace we would see the politicisation of the concept. John Howard’s position in the last few years has been to emphasise the importance of social welfare in the scope of the reconciliation debate. He has coined his approach as ‘practical reconciliation’. In an interview with Fran Kelly he said: "It is what I call practical reconciliation. The real problem of the indigenous in this community still remains that they are disadvantaged compared with the rest of us in things like education, health and job opportunities. And reconciliation to me is all about removing that disadvantage." The insidious nature of this project however is only revealed when we look at the Federal Government’s performance in terms of the protection of Indigenous peoples’ legal rights. The legal integrity of the original Ten Point Plan was criticised by legal bodies no less prestigious than the government’s own legal counsel. Henry Burmester, Chief Counsel and the government’s second most senior legal adviser, described crucial aspects of the legislation as racially discriminatory. It also came under attack from the Brian Harradine. The UN Committee for the Elimination of Racial Discrimination (CERD) continued criticism of the new act on an international level. The government sent a delegation that included the current Minister of Aboriginal Affairs, Phillip Ruddock, to the March 2000 meeting in Geneva in an attempt to convince it to reverse its opinion. After the CERD Committee repeated its criticism that the legislation was racially discriminatory, the Government announced a whole-of-government review of Australia’s participation in the treaty bodies system – an act unprecedented by any other western nation. The UN Committee for the Elimination of Racial Discrimination (CERD) continued criticism of the new act on an international level. The government sent a delegation that included the current Minister of Aboriginal Affairs, Phillip Ruddock, to the March 2000 meeting in Geneva in an attempt to convince it to reverse its opinion. After the CERD Committee repeated its criticism that the legislation was racially discriminatory, the Government announced a whole-of-government review of Australia’s participation in the treaty bodies system – an act unprecedented by any other western nation. The UN Committee for the Elimination of Racial Discrimination (CERD) continued criticism of the new act on an international level. The government sent a delegation that included the current Minister of Aboriginal Affairs, Phillip Ruddock, to the March 2000 meeting in Geneva in an attempt to convince it to reverse its opinion. After the CERD Committee repeated its criticism that the legislation was racially discriminatory, the Government announced a whole-of-government review of Australia’s participation in the treaty bodies system – an act unprecedented by any other western nation. While I agree that the improvement of Indigenous living standards is overwhelmingly important, it is a moral crime to seek to improve these on one hand while attacking native title and the UN on the other. I would suggest to the many ordinary Australians out there in the community who are committed to a reconciled vision of this country that they remain aware that their moral cause is also a political game and that they seek to be critical when listening to those in power.

As Earth heats up and water vapourises, “Adapt” is a word that is frequently invoked right now, in a world seething with change and challenge. Its Oxford English Dictionary definitions—“to fit, to make suitable; to alter so as to fit for a new use”—give little hint of the strangely divergent moral values associated with its use. There is, of course, the word’s unavoidable Darwinian connotations which, in spite of creationist controversy, communicate a cluster of positive values linked with progress. By contrast, the literary use of adapt is frequently linked with negative moral values. Even in our current “hyper-adaptive environment” (Rizzo)—in which a novel can become a theme park ride can become a film can become a computer game can become a novelisation—an adaptation is seen as a debasement of an original, inauthentic, inferior, parasitic (Hutcheon, 2-3). A starting point from which to explore the word’s “positive”—that is, evolutionary—use is the recently released Stern Review: The Economics of Climate Change, which argues the necessity of adapting in order to survive. Indeed, an entire section is titled “Policy responses for adaptation,” outlining—among other things—“an economic framework for adaptation”; “barriers and constraints to adaptation”; and “how developing countries can adapt to climate change” (403). Although evolution is not directly mentioned, it is evoked through the review’s analysis of a dire situation which compels humans to change in response to their changing environment. Yet the mere existence of the review, and its enumeration of problems and solutions, suggests that human adaptive abilities are up to the task, drawing on positive traits such as resilience, flexibility, agility, innovation, creativity, progressiveness, appropriateness, and so on. These values, and their connection to the evolutionary use of “adapt”, infuse 21st-century life. “Adapt,” “evolution”, and that cluster of values are entwined so closely that recalling effort is required to remind oneself that “adapt” existed before evolutionary theory. And whether or not one accepts the premise of evolution—or even understands it beyond the level of reductive popular science—it provides an irresistible metaphor that underlies areas as diverse as education, business, organisational culture, politics, and law. For example, Judith Robinson’s article “Education as the Foundation of the New Economy” quotes Canada’s former deputy prime minister John Manley: “The future holds nothing but change. … Charles Darwin said, ‘It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent, but the most responsive to change.’” Robinson adds: “Education is how we equip our people with the ability to adapt to change.” Further examples show “adapt” as a positive metaphor for government. A study into towns in rural Queensland discovered that while some towns “have reinvented themselves and are thriving,” others “that are not innovative or adaptable” are in decline (Plowman, Ashkanasy, Gardner and Letts, 8). The Queensland Government’s Smart State Strategy also refers to the desirability of adapting: “The pace of change in the world is now so rapid—and sometimes so unpredictable—that our best prospects for maintaining our lead lie in our agility, flexibility and adaptability.” The Australian Government Department of Education, Science and Training, in setting national research priorities, identifies “An Environmentally Sustainable Australia” and in that context specifically mentions the need to adapt: “there needs to be an increased understanding of the contributions of human behaviour to environmental and climate change, and on [sic] appropriate adaptive responses and strategies.” In the corporate world, the Darwinian allusion is explicit in book titles such as Geoffrey Moore’s 2005 Dealing with Darwin: How Great Companies Innovate at Every Phase of their Evolution: “Moore’s theme is innovation, which he sees as being necessary to the survival of business as a plant or animal adapting to changes in habitat” (Johnson). Within organisations, the metaphor is also useful, for instance in D. Keith Denton’s article, “What Darwin Can Teach Us about Success:” “In order to understand how to create and manage adaptability, we need to look first at how nature uses it. … Species that fail to adapt have only one option left.” That option is extinction, which is the fate of “over 99% of all species that have ever existed.” However, any understanding of “adapt” as wholly positive and forward-moving is too simplistic. It ignores, for example, aspects of adaptation that are dangerous to people (such as the way the avian influenza virus or simian AIDS can adapt so that humans can become their hosts). Bacteria rapidly adapt to antibiotics; insects rapidly adapt to pesticides. Furthermore, an organism that is exquisitely adapted to a specific niche becomes vulnerable with even a small disturbance in its environment. The high attrition rate of species is breathtakingly “wasteful” and points to the limitations of the evolutionary metaphor. Although corporations and education have embraced the image, it is unthinkable that any corporation or educational system would countenance either evolution’s tiny adaptive adjustments over a long period of time, or the high “failure” rate. Furthermore, evolution can only be considered “progress” if there is an ultimate goal towards which evolution is progressing: the anthropocentric viewpoint that holds that “the logical and inevitable endpoint of the evolutionary process is the human individual,” as Rizzo puts it. This suggests that the “positive” values connected with this notion of “adapt” are a form of self-congratulation among those who consider themselves the “survivors”. A hierarchy of evolution-thought places “agile,” “flexible” “adaptors” at the top, while at the bottom of the hierarchy are “stagnant,” “atrophied” “non-adaptors”. The “positive” values then form the basis for exclusionary prejudices directed at those human and non-human beings seen as being “lower” on the evolutionary scale. Here we have arrived at Social Darwinism, the Great-Chain-of-Being perspective, Manifest Destiny—all of which still justify many kinds of unjust treatment of humans, animals, and ecosystems. Literary or artistic meanings of “adapt”—although similarly based on hierarchical thinking (Shiloh)—are, as mentioned earlier, frequently laden with negative moral values. Directly contrasting with the evolutionary adaptation we have just discussed, value in literary adaptation is attached to “being first” rather than to the success of successors. Invidious dichotomies that actually reverse the moral polarity of Darwinian adaptation come into play: “authentic” versus “fake”, “original” versus “copy”, “strong” versus “weak”, “superior” versus “inferior”. But, as the authors collected in this issue demonstrate, the assignment of a moral value to evolutionary “adapt”, and another to literary “adapt”, is too simplistic. The film Adaptation (Spike Jonze, 2002)—discussed in three articles in this issue—deals with both these uses of the word, and provides the impetus to these authors’ explorations of possible connections and contrasts between them. Evidence of the pervasiveness of the concept is seen in the work of other writers, who explore the same issues in a range of cultural phenomena, such as graffiti, music sampling, a range of activities in and around the film industry, and several forms of identity formation. A common theme is the utter inadequacy of a single moral value being assigned to “adapt”. For example, McMerrin quotes Ghandi in her paper: “Adaptability is not imitation. It means power of resistance and assimilation.” Shiloh argues: “If all texts quote or embed fragments of earlier texts, the notion of an authoritative literary source, which the cinematic version should faithfully reproduce, is no longer valid.” Furnica, citing Rudolf Arnheim, points out that an adaptation “increases our understanding of the adapted work.” All of which suggests that the application of “adapt” to circumstances of culture and nature suggests an “infinite onion” both of adaptations and of the “core samples of difference” that are the inevitable corollary of this issue’s theme. To drill down into the products of culture, to peel back the “facts” of nature, is only ever to encounter additional and increasingly minute variations of the activity of “adapt”. One never hits the bottom of difference and adaptation. Still, why would you want to, when the stakes of “adapt” might be little different from the stakes of life itself? At least, this is the insight that the philosophy of Gilles Deleuze—in all its rhizomatic variations—seems constantly to be leading us towards: “Life” (capitalised) is a continual germination that feeds on a thousand tiny adaptations of open-ended desire and of a ceaselessly productive mode of difference. Besides everything else that they do, all of the articles in this issue participate—in one way or another—in this notion of “adapt” as a constant impetus towards new configurations of culture and of nature. They are the proof (if such proof were to be requested or required) that the “infinite onion” of adaptation and difference, while certainly a mise en abyme, is much more a positive “placing into infinity” than a negative “placing into the abyss.” Adaptation is nothing to be feared; stasis alone spells death. What this suggests, furthermore, is that a contemporary ethics of difference and alterity might not go far wrong if it were to adopt “adapt” as its signature experience. To be ever more sensitive to the subtle nuances, to the evanescences on the cusp of nothingness … of adaptation … is perhaps to place oneself at the leading edge of cultural activity, where the boundaries of self and other have, arguably, never been more fraught. Again, all of the contributors to this issue dive—“Alice-like”—down their own particular rabbit holes, in order to bring back to the surface something previously unthought or unrecognised. However, two recent trends in the sciences and humanities—or rather at the complex intersection of these disciplines—might serve as useful, generalised frameworks for the work on “adapt” that this issue pursues. The first of these is the upwelling of interest (contra Darwinism) in the theories of Jean-Baptiste Lamarck (1744-1829). For Lamarck, adaptation takes a deviation from the Darwinian view of Natural Selection. Lamarckism holds, in distinction from Darwin, that the characteristics acquired by individuals in the course of their (culturally produced) lifetimes can be transmitted down the generations. If your bandy-legged great-grandfather learnt to bend it like Beckham, for example, then Manchester United would do well to sign you up in the cradle. Lamarck’s ideas are an encouragement to gather up, for cultural purposes, ever more refined understandings of “adapt”. What this pro-Lamarckian movement also implies is a new “crossing-over point” of the natural/biological with the cultural/acquired. The second trend to be highlighted here, however, does more than merely imply such a refreshed configuration of nature and culture. Elizabeth Grosz’s recent work directly calls the bluff of the traditional Darwinian (not to mention Freudian) understanding of “biology as destiny”. In outline form, we propose that she does this by running together notions of biological difference (the male/female split) with the “ungrounded” difference of Deleuzean thinking and its derivatives. Adaptation thus shakes free, on Grosz’s reading, from the (Darwinian and Freudian) vestiges of biological determinism and becomes, rather, a productive mode of (cultural) difference. Grosz makes the further move of transporting such a “shaken and stirred” version of biological difference into the domains of artistic “excess”, on the basis that “excessive” display (as in the courting rituals of the male peacock) is fundamentally crucial to those Darwinian axioms centred on the survival of the species. By a long route, therefore, we are returned, through Grosz, to the interest in art and adaptation that has, for better or for worse, tended to dominate studies of “adapt”, and which this issue also touches upon. But Grosz returns us to art very differently, which points the way, perhaps, to as yet barely recognised new directions in the field of adaptation studies. We ask, then, where to from here? Responding to this question, we—the editors of this issue—are keen to build upon the groundswell of interest in 21st-century adaptation studies with an international conference, entitled “Adaptation & Application”, to be held on the Gold Coast, Queensland, Australia in early 2009. The “Application” part of this title reflects, among other things, the fact that our conference will be, perhaps uniquely, itself an example of “adapt”, to the extent that it will have two parallel but also interlocking strands: adaptation; application. Forward-thinking architects Arakawa and Gins have expressed an interest in being part of this event. (We also observe, in passing, that “application”, or “apply”, may be an excellent theme for a future issue of M/C Journal…) Those interested in knowing more about the “Adaptation and Application” conference may contact either of us on the email addresses given in our biographical notes. There are several groups and individuals that deserve public acknowledgement here. Of course, we thank the authors of these fourteen articles for their stimulating and reflective contributions to the various debates around “adapt”. We would also like to acknowledge the hugely supportive efforts of our hard-pressed referees. Equally, our gratitude goes out to those respondents to our call for papers whose submissions could not be fitted into this already overflowing issue. What they sent us kept the standard high, and many of the articles rejected for publication on this occasion will, we feel sure, soon find a wider audience in another venue (the excellent advice provided by our referees has an influence, in this way, beyond the life of this issue). We also wish to offer a very special note of thanks to Linda Hutcheon, who took time out from her exceptionally busy schedule to contribute the feature article for this issue. Her recent monograph A Theory of Adaptation is essential reading for all serious scholars of “adapt”, as is her contribution here. We are honoured to have Professor Hutcheon’s input into our project. Special thanks are also due to Gold-Coast based visual artist Judy Anderson for her “adaptation of adaptation” into a visual motif for our cover image. This inspiring piece is entitled “Between Two” (2005; digital image on cotton paper). Accessing experiences perhaps not accessible through words alone, Anderson’s image nevertheless “speaks adaptation”, as her Artist’s Statement suggests: The surface for me is a sensual encounter; an event, shifting form. As an eroticised site, it evokes memories of touch. … Body, object, place are woven together with memory; forgetting and remembering. The tactility and materiality of touching the surface is offered back to the viewer. These images are transitions themselves. As places of slippage and adaptation, they embody intervals on many levels; between the material and the immaterial, the familiar and the strange. Their source remains obscure so that they might represent spaces in-between—overlooked places that open up unexpectedly. If we have learned just one thing from the experience of editing the M/C Journal ‘adapt’ issue, it is that our theme richly rewards the sort of intellectual and creative activity demonstrated by our contributors. Much has been done here; much remains to be done. Some of this work will take place, no doubt, at the “Adaptation and Application” conference, and we hope to see many of you on the Gold Coast in 2009. But for now, it’s over to you, to engage with what you might encounter here, and to work new “adaptations” upon it. References Australian Government Department of Education, Science and Training. Environmentally Sustainable Australia. 2005. 28 Apr. 2007 http://www.dest.gov.au/sectors/research_sector/policies_issues_reviews /key_issues/national_research_priorities/priority_goals /environmentally_sustainable_australia.htm>. Deleuze, Gilles, and Félix Guattari. A Thousand Plateaux. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1987. Denton, D Keith. “What Darwin Can Teach Us about Success.” Development and Learning in Organizations 20.1 (2006): 7ff. Furnica, Ioana. “Subverting the ‘Good, Old Tune’: Carlos Saura’s Carmen Adaptation.” M/C Journal 10.2 (2007). 28 Apr. 2007 . Grosz, Elizabeth. In the Nick of Time: Politics, Evolution and the Untimely. Durham: Duke University Press, 2004. Grosz, Elizabeth. “Sensation”. Plenary III Session. 9th Annual Comparative Literature Conference. Gilles Deleuze: Texts and Images: An International Conference. University of South Carolina, Columbia. 7 April 2007. Grosz, Elizabeth. Time Travels: Feminism, Nature, Power. Durham: Duke University Press, 2005. Hutcheon, Linda. A Theory of Adaptation. New York and London: Routledge, 2006. Johnson, Cecil. “Darwinian Notions of Corporate Innovation,” Boston Globe, 15 Jan. 2006: L.2. McMerrin, Michelle. “Agency in Adaptation.” M/C Journal 10.2 (2007). 28 Apr. 2007 http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0705/03 mcmerrin.php mcmerrin.php>. Neimanis, Astrida. “A Feminist Deleuzian Politics? It’s About Time.” TOPIA: Canadian Journal of Cultural Studies 16 (2006): 154-8. Plowman, Ian, Neal M. Ashkanasy, John Gardner, and Malcolm Letts. Innovation in Rural Queensland: Why Some Towns Thrive while Others Languish: Main Report. University of Queensland/Department of Primary Industries. Queensland, Dec. 2003. 28 Apr. 2007 http://www2.dpi.qld.gov.au/business/14778.html>. Queensland Government. Smart State Strategy 2005-2015 Timeframe. 2007. 28 Apr. 2007 http://www.smartstate.qld.gov.au/strategy/strategy05_15/timeframes.shtm>. Rizzo, Sergio. “Adaptation and the Art of Survival.” M/C Journal 10.2 (2007). 28 Apr. 2007 http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0705/02-rizzo.php>. Shiloh, Ilana. “Adaptation, Intertextuality, and the Endless Deferral of Meaning: Memento.” M/C Journal 10.2 (2007). 28 Apr. 2007 http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0705/08-shiloh.php>. Stern Review: The Economics of Climate Change. 2006. 28 Apr. 2007 http://www.hm-treasury.gov.uk/independent_reviews/stern_review_ economics_climate_change/stern_review_report.cfm>. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Delamoir, Jeannette, and Patrick West. "Editorial." M/C Journal 10.2 (2007). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0705/00-editorial.php>. APA Style Delamoir, J., and P. West. (May 2007) "Editorial," M/C Journal, 10(2). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0705/00-editorial.php>.

In 1988, historian Nadia Wheatley and indigenous artist Donna Rawlins published their award-winning picture book, My Place, a reinterpretation of Australian national identity and sovereignty prompted by the bicentennial of white settlement. Twenty years later, the Australian Broadcasting Corporation (ABC) commissioned Penny Chapman’s multi-platform project based on this book. The 13 episodes of the television series begin in 2008, each telling the story of a child at a different point in history, and are accompanied by substantial interactive online content. Issues as diverse as religious difference and immigration, wartime conscription and trauma, and the experiences of Aboriginal Australians are canvassed. The program itself, which has a second series currently in production, introduces child audiences to—and implicates them in—a rich ideological fabric of deeply politicised issues that directly engage with vexed questions of Australian nationhood. The series offers a subversive view of Australian history and society, and it is the child—whether protagonist on the screen or the viewer/user of the content—who is left to discover, negotiate and move beyond often problematic societal norms. As one of the public broadcaster’s keystone projects, My Place signifies important developments in ABC’s construction of multicultural child citizenship. The digitisation of Australian television has facilitated a wave of multi-channel and new media innovation. Though the development of a multi-channel ecology has occurred significantly later in Australia than in the US or Europe, in part due to genre restrictions on broadcasters, all major Australian networks now have at least one additional free-to-air channel, make some of their content available online, and utilise various forms of social media to engage their audiences. The ABC has been in the vanguard of new media innovation, leveraging the industry dominance of ABC Online and its cross-platform radio networks for the repurposing of news, together with the additional funding for digital renewal, new Australian content, and a digital children’s channel in the 2006 and 2009 federal budgets. In line with “market failure” models of broadcasting (Born, Debrett), the ABC was once the most important producer-broadcaster for child viewers. With the recent allocation for the establishment of ABC3, it is now the catalyst for a significant revitalisation of the Australian children’s television industry. The ABC Charter requires it to broadcast programs that “contribute to a sense of national identity” and that “reflect the cultural diversity of the Australian community” (ABC Documents). Through its digital children’s channel (ABC3) and its multi-platform content, child viewers are not only exposed to a much more diverse range of local content, but also politicised by an intricate network of online texts connected to the TV programs. The representation of diasporic communities through and within multi-platformed spaces forms a crucial part of the way(s) in which collective identities are now being negotiated in children’s texts. An analysis of one of the ABC’s My Place “projects” and its associated multi-platformed content reveals an intricate relationship between postcolonial concerns and the construction of child citizenship. Multicultural Places, Multi-Platformed Spaces: New Media Innovation at the ABC The 2007 restructure at the ABC has transformed commissioning practices along the lines noted by James Bennett and Niki Strange of the BBC—a shift of focus from “programs” to multi-platform “projects,” with the latter consisting of a complex network of textual production. These “second shift media practices” (Caldwell) involve the tactical management of “user flows structured into and across the textual terrain that serve to promote a multifaceted and prolonged experience of the project” (Bennett and Strange 115). ABC Managing Director Mark Scott’s polemic deployment of the “digital commons” trope (Murdock, From) differs from that of his opposite number at the BBC, Mark Thompson, in its emphasis on the glocalised openness of the Australian “town square”—at once distinct from, and an integral part of, larger conversations. As announced at the beginning of the ABC’s 2009 annual report, the ABC is redefining the town square as a world of greater opportunities: a world where Australians can engage with one another and explore the ideas and events that are shaping our communities, our nation and beyond … where people can come to speak and be heard, to listen and learn from each other. (ABC ii)The broad emphasis on engagement characterises ABC3’s positioning of children in multi-platformed projects. As the Executive Producer of the ABC’s Children’s Television Multi-platform division comments, “participation is very much the mantra of the new channel” (Glen). The concept of “participation” is integral to what has been described elsewhere as “rehearsals in citizenship” (Northam). Writing of contemporary youth, David Buckingham notes that “‘political thinking’ is not merely an intellectual or developmental achievement, but an interpersonal process which is part of the construction of a collective, social identity” (179). Recent domestically produced children’s programs and their associated multimedia applications have significant potential to contribute to this interpersonal, “participatory” process. Through multi-platform experiences, children are (apparently) invited to construct narratives of their own. Dan Harries coined the term “viewser” to highlight the tension between watching and interacting, and the increased sense of agency on the part of audiences (171–82). Various online texts hosted by the ABC offer engagement with extra content relating to programs, with themed websites serving as “branches” of the overarching ABC3 metasite. The main site—strongly branded as the place for its targeted demographic—combines conventional television guide/program details with “Watch Now!,” a customised iView application within ABC3’s own themed interface; youth-oriented news; online gaming; and avenues for viewsers to create digital art and video, or interact with the community of “Club3” and associated message boards. The profiles created by members of Club3 are moderated and proscribe any personal information, resulting in an (understandably) restricted form of “networked publics” (boyd 124–5). Viewser profiles comprise only a username (which, the website stresses, should not be one’s real name) and an “avatar” (a customisable animated face). As in other social media sites, comments posted are accompanied by the viewser’s “name” and “face,” reinforcing the notion of individuality within the common group. The tool allows users to choose from various skin colours, emphasising the multicultural nature of the ABC3 community. Other customisable elements, including the ability to choose between dozens of pre-designed ABC3 assets and feeds, stress the audience’s “ownership” of the site. The Help instructions for the Club3 site stress the notion of “participation” directly: “Here at ABC3, we don’t want to tell you what your site should look like! We think that you should be able to choose for yourself.” Multi-platformed texts also provide viewsers with opportunities to interact with many of the characters (human actors and animated) from the television texts and share further aspects of their lives and fictional worlds. One example, linked to the representation of diasporic communities, is the Abatti Pizza Game, in which the player must “save the day” by battling obstacles to fulfil a pizza order. The game’s prefacing directions makes clear the ethnicity of the Abatti family, who are also visually distinctive. The dialogue also registers cultural markers: “Poor Nona, whatsa she gonna do? Now it’s up to you to help Johnny and his friends make four pizzas.” The game was acquired from the Canadian-animated franchise, Angela Anaconda; nonetheless, the Abatti family, the pizza store they operate and the dilemma they face translates easily to the Australian context. Dramatisations of diasporic contributions to national youth identities in postcolonial or settler societies—the UK (My Life as a Popat, CITV) and Canada (How to Be Indie)—also contribute to the diversity of ABC3’s television offerings and the positioning of its multi-platform community. The negotiation of diasporic and postcolonial politics is even clearer in the public broadcaster’s commitment to My Place. The project’s multifaceted construction of “places,” the ethical positioning of the child both as an individual and a member of (multicultural) communities, and the significant acknowledgement of ongoing conflict and discrimination, articulate a cultural commons that is more open-ended and challenging than the Eurocentric metaphor, the “town square,” suggests. Diversity, Discrimination and Diasporas: Positioning the Viewser of My Place Throughout the first series of My Place, the experiences of children within different diasporic communities are the focal point of five of the initial six episodes, the plots of which revolve around children with Lebanese, Vietnamese, Greek, and Irish backgrounds. This article focuses on an early episode of the series, “1988,” which explicitly confronts the cultural frictions between dominant Anglocentric Australian and diasporic communities. “1988” centres on the reaction of young Lily to the arrival of her cousin, Phuong, from Vietnam. Lily is a member of a diasporic community, but one who strongly identifies as “an Australian,” allowing a nuanced exploration of the ideological conflicts surrounding the issue of so-called “boat people.” The protagonist’s voice-over narration at the beginning of the episode foregrounds her desire to win Australia’s first Olympic gold medal in gymnastics, thus mobilising nationally identified hierarchies of value. Tensions between diasporic and settler cultures are frequently depicted. One potentially reactionary sequence portrays the recurring character of Michaelis complaining about having to use chopsticks in the Vietnamese restaurant; however, this comment is contextualised several episodes later, when a much younger Michaelis, as protagonist of the episode “1958,” is himself discriminated against, due to his Greek background. The political irony of “1988” pivots on Lily’s assumption that her cousin “won’t know Australian.” There is a patronising tone in her warning to Phuong not to speak Vietnamese for fear of schoolyard bullying: “The kids at school give you heaps if you talk funny. But it’s okay, I can talk for you!” This encourages child viewers to distance themselves from this fictional parallel to the frequent absence of representation of asylum seekers in contemporary debates. Lily’s assumptions and attitudes are treated with a degree of scepticism, particularly when she assures her friends that the silent Phuong will “get normal soon,” before objectifying her cousin for classroom “show and tell.” A close-up camera shot settles on Phuong’s unease while the children around her gossip about her status as a “boat person,” further encouraging the audience to empathise with the bullied character. However, Phuong turns the tables on those around her when she reveals she can competently speak English, is able to perform gymnastics and other feats beyond Lily’s ability, and even invents a story of being attacked by “pirates” in order to silence her gossiping peers. By the end of the narrative, Lily has redeemed herself and shares a close friendship with Phuong. My Place’s structured child “participation” plays a key role in developing the postcolonial perspective required by this episode and the project more broadly. Indeed, despite the record project budget, a second series was commissioned, at least partly on the basis of the overwhelmingly positive reception of viewsers on the ABC website forums (Buckland). The intricate My Place website, accessible through the ABC3 metasite, generates transmedia intertextuality interlocking with, and extending the diegesis of, the televised texts. A hyperlinked timeline leads to collections of personal artefacts “owned” by each protagonist, such as journals, toys, and clothing. Clicking on a gold medal marked “History” in Lily’s collection activates scrolling text describing the political acceptance of the phrase “multiculturalism” and the “Family Reunion” policy, which assisted the arrival of 100,000 Vietnamese immigrants. The viewser is reminded that some people were “not very welcoming” of diasporic groups via an explicit reference to Mrs Benson’s discriminatory attitudes in the series. Viewsers can “visit” virtual representations of the program’s sets. In the bedroom, kitchen, living room and/or backyard of each protagonist can be discovered familiar and additional details of the characters’ lives. The artefacts that can be “played” with in the multimedia applications often imply the enthusiastic (and apparently desirable) adoption of “Australianness” by immigrant children. Lily’s toys (her doll, hair accessories, roller skates, and glass marbles) invoke various aspects of western children’s culture, while her “journal entry” about Phuong states that she is “new to Australia but with her sense of humour she has fitted in really well.” At the same time, the interactive elements within Lily’s kitchen, including a bowl of rice and other Asian food ingredients, emphasise cultural continuity. The description of incense in another room of Lily’s house as a “common link” that is “used in many different cultures and religions for similar purposes” clearly normalises a glocalised world-view. Artefacts inside the restaurant operated by Lily’s mother link to information ranging from the ingredients and (flexible) instructions for how to make rice paper rolls (“Lily and Phuong used these fillings but you can use whatever you like!”) to a brief interactive puzzle game requiring the arrangement of several peppers in order from least hot to most hot. A selectable picture frame downloads a text box labelled “Images of Home.” Combined with a slideshow of static, hand-drawn images of traditional Vietnamese life, the text can be read as symbolic of the multiplicity of My Place’s target audience(s): “These images would have reminded the family of their homeland and also given restaurant customers a sense of Vietnamese culture.” The social-developmental, postcolonial agenda of My Place is registered in both “conventional” ancillary texts, such as the series’ “making of” publication (Wheatley), and the elaborate pedagogical website for teachers developed by the ACTF and Educational Services Australia (http://www.myplace.edu.au/). The politicising function of the latter is encoded in the various summaries of each decade’s historical, political, social, cultural, and technological highlights, often associated with the plot of the relevant episode. The page titled “Multiculturalism” reports on the positive amendments to the Commonwealth’s Migration Act 1958 and provides links to photographs of Vietnamese migrants in 1982, exemplifying the values of equality and cultural diversity through Lily and Phuong’s story. The detailed “Teaching Activities” documents available for each episode serve a similar purpose, providing, for example, the suggestion that teachers “ask students to discuss the importance to a new immigrant of retaining links to family, culture and tradition.” The empathetic positioning of Phuong’s situation is further mirrored in the interactive map available for teacher use that enables children to navigate a boat from Vietnam to the Australian coast, encouraging a perspective that is rarely put forward in Australia’s mass media. This is not to suggest that the My Place project is entirely unproblematic. In her postcolonial analysis of Aboriginal children’s literature, Clare Bradford argues that “it’s all too possible for ‘similarities’ to erase difference and the political significances of [a] text” (188). Lily’s schoolteacher’s lesson in the episode “reminds us that boat people have been coming to Australia for a very long time.” However, the implied connection between convicts and asylum seekers triggered by Phuong’s (mis)understanding awkwardly appropriates a mythologised Australian history. Similarly in the “1998” episode, the Muslim character Mohammad’s use of Ramadan for personal strength in order to emulate the iconic Australian cricketer Shane Warne threatens to subsume the “difference” of the diasporic community. Nonetheless, alongside the similarities between individuals and the various ethnic groups that make up the My Place community, important distinctions remain. Each episode begins and/or ends with the child protagonist(s) playing on or around the central motif of the series—a large fig tree—with the characters declaring that the tree is “my place.” While emphasising the importance of individuality in the project’s construction of child citizens, the cumulative effect of these “my place” sentiments, felt over time by characters from different socio-economic, ethnic, and cultural backgrounds, builds a multifaceted conception of Australian identity that consists of numerous (and complementary) “branches.” The project’s multi-platformed content further emphasises this, with the website containing an image of the prominent (literal and figurative) “Community Tree,” through which the viewser can interact with the generations of characters and families from the series (http://www.abc.net.au/abc3/myplace/). The significant role of the ABC’s My Place project showcases the ABC’s remit as a public broadcaster in the digital era. As Tim Brooke-Hunt, the Executive Head of Children’s Content, explains, if the ABC didn’t do it, no other broadcaster was going to come near it. ... I don’t expect My Place to be a humungous commercial or ratings success, but I firmly believe ... that it will be something that will exist for many years and will have a very special place. Conclusion The reversion to iconic aspects of mainstream Anglo-Australian culture is perhaps unsurprising—and certainly telling—when reflecting on the network of local, national, and global forces impacting on the development of a cultural commons. However, this does not detract from the value of the public broadcaster’s construction of child citizens within a clearly self-conscious discourse of “multiculturalism.” The transmedia intertextuality at work across ABC3 projects and platforms serves an important politicising function, offering positive representations of diasporic communities to counter the negative depictions children are exposed to elsewhere, and positioning child viewsers to “participate” in “working through” fraught issues of Australia’s past that still remain starkly relevant today.References ABC. Redefining the Town Square. ABC Annual Report. Sydney: ABC, 2009. Bennett, James, and Niki Strange. “The BBC’s Second-Shift Aesthetics: Interactive Television, Multi-Platform Projects and Public Service Content for a Digital Era.” Media International Australia: Incorporating Culture and Policy 126 (2008): 106-19. Born, Georgina. Uncertain Vision: Birt, Dyke and the Reinvention of the BBC. London: Vintage, 2004. boyd, danah. “Why Youth ♥ Social Network Sites: The Role of Networked Publics in Teenage Social Life.” Youth, Identity, and Digital Media. Ed. David Buckingham. Cambridge: MIT, 2008. 119-42. Bradford, Clare. Reading Race: Aboriginality in Australian Children’s Literature. Carlton: Melbourne UP, 2001. Brooke-Hunt, Tim. Executive Head of Children’s Content, ABC TV. Interviewed by Dr Leonie Rutherford, ABC Ultimo Center, 16 Mar. 2010. Buckingham, David. After the Death of Childhood: Growing Up in the Age of Electronic Media. Cambridge: Polity, 2000. Buckland, Jenny. Chief Executive Officer, Australian Children’s Television Foundation. Interviewed by Dr Leonie Rutherford and Dr Nina Weerakkody, ACTF, 2 June 2010. Caldwell, John T. “Second Shift Media Aesthetics: Programming, Interactivity and User Flows.” New Media: Theories and Practices of Digitextuality. Eds. John T. Caldwell and Anna Everett. London: Routledge, 2003. 127-44. Debrett, Mary. “Riding the Wave: Public Service Television in the Multiplatform Era.” Media, Culture & Society 31.5 (2009): 807-27. From, Unni. “Domestically Produced TV-Drama and Cultural Commons.” Cultural Dilemmas in Public Service Broadcasting. Eds. Gregory Ferrell Lowe and Per Jauert. Göteborg: Nordicom, 2005. 163-77. Glen, David. Executive Producer, ABC Multiplatform. Interviewed by Dr Leonie Rutherford, ABC Elsternwick, 6 July 2010. Harries, Dan. “Watching the Internet.” The New Media Book. Ed. Dan Harries. London: BFI, 2002. 171-82. Murdock, Graham. “Building the Digital Commons: Public Broadcasting in the Age of the Internet.” Cultural Dilemmas in Public Service Broadcasting. Ed. Gregory Ferrell Lowe and Per Jauert. Göteborg: Nordicom, 2005. 213–30. My Place, Volumes 1 & 2: 2008–1888. DVD. ABC, 2009. Northam, Jean A. “Rehearsals in Citizenship: BBC Stop-Motion Animation Programmes for Young Children.” Journal for Cultural Research 9.3 (2005): 245-63. Wheatley, Nadia. Making My Place. Sydney and Auckland: HarperCollins, 2010. ———, and Donna Rawlins. My Place, South Melbourne: Longman, 1988.

i) In Australia we do a lot of thinking about home. Or so it would seem from all the talk about belonging, home, being at home (see Read). A sure sign of displacement, some might say. In his recent memoir, John Hughes writes: It is a particularly Australian experience that our personal heritage and sense of identity includes a place and a history not really our own, not really accessible to us. The fact that our sense of self-discovery and self-realisation takes place in foreign lands is one of the rich and complex ironies of being Australian. (24-25) My sense of self-discovery did not occur in a foreign land. However, my personal heritage and sense of identity includes places and histories that are not really my own. Unlike Hughes I don’t have what is often portrayed as an exotic heritage; I am plainly white Australian. I grew up on the Far North Coast of New South Wales, on farms that every year knew drought and flood. My place in this country – both local and national – seemingly was beyond question. I am after all a white, settler Australian. But I left Kyogle twenty years ago and since then much has changed. My project is very different than Hughes’. However, reading his memoir led me to reflect upon my sense of belonging. What is my home made from? Like Hughes I want to deploy memories from my childhood and youth to unpack my idea of home. White settler Australians’ sense of belonging is often expressed as a profound feeling of attachment; imagined as unmediated (Moreton-Robinson 31). It is a connection somehow untroubled by the worldliness of the world: it is an oasis of plentitude. For Indigenous Australians, Aileen Moreton-Robinson argues, non-Indigenous Australians sense of belonging is tied to migrancy, while the Indigenous subject has an ontological relationship to land and these modes are incommensurable (31). Since colonisation the nation state has attempted through an array of social, legal, economic and cultural practices to break Indigenous people’s ontological connections to land, and to cast them as homeless in the ‘modern’ world. The expression of belonging as a profound sense of attachment – beyond the material – denies not only the racialised power relations of belonging and dispossession, but also the history of this sentiment. This is why I want to stay right here and take up Moreton-Robinson’s challenge to further theorise (and reflect) upon how non-Indigenous subjects are positioned in relation to the original owners not through migrancy but through possession (37). ii) Australia has changed a lot. Now most understand Australia to be comprised of a plurality of contradictory memories, imaginaries and histories, generated from different cultural identities and social bodies. Indigenous Australians, who have been previously spoken for, written about, categorised and critiqued by non-Indigenous people, have in the last three decades begun to be heard by mainstream Australia. In a diversity of mediums and avenues Indigenous stories, in all their multiplicity, penetrated the field of Australian culture and society. In so doing, they enter into a dialogue about Australia’s past, present and future. The students I teach at university arrive from school with an awareness that Australia was colonised, not discovered as I was taught. Recent critical historiography, by both Indigenous and non-Indigenous writers and academics, calls for and creates a new Australian memory (Hage 80). A memory, or memories, which the reconciliation movement not only want acknowledged by mainstream Australia but also integrated into national consciousness. Over the last twenty years, many Australian historians have reinforced the truths of fictional and autobiographical accounts of colonial violence against Indigenous people. The benign and peaceful settlement of Australia, which was portrayed in school history lessons and public discourse, began to be replaced by empirical historical evidence of the brutal subjugation of Indigenous people and the violent appropriation of Indigenous land. Indigenous struggles for recognition and sovereignty and revisionist history have created a cultural transformation. However, for all the big changes there has been limited investigation into white Australians’ sense of belonging continuing to be informed and shaped by settler colonial desire. Indigenous memories not only contest and contradict other memories, but they are also derived from different cultural bodies and social and historical contexts. My memory of our farm carved out of Toonumbah State Forest is of a peaceful place, without history; a memory which is sure to contradict Bundjalung memories. To me Kyogle was a town with only a few racial problems; except for the silences and all those questions left unasked. Ghassan Hage argues that a national memory or non-contradictory plurality of memories of colonisation in Australia is impossible because although there has been a cultural war, the two opposing sides have not assimilated to become one (92). There remain within Australia, ‘two communal subjects with two wills over one land; two sovereignties of unequal strength’ (Hage 93). The will of one is not the will of the other. I would argue that there is barely recognition of Indigenous sovereignty by non-Indigenous Australians; for so many there is only one will, one way. Furthermore, Hage maintains that: For a long time to come, Australia is destined to become an unfinished Western colonial project as well as a land in a permanent state of decolonisation. A nation inhabited by both the will of the coloniser and the will of the colonised, each with their identity based on their specific understanding, and memory, of the colonial encounter: what was before it and what is after it. Any national project of reconciliation that fails to fully accept the existence of a distinct Indigenous will, a distinct Indigenous conatus, whose striving is bound to make the settlers experience ‘sadness’, is destined to be a momentary cover-up of the reality of the forces that made Australia what it is. (94) Why must Indigenous will make settlers experience sad passions? Perhaps this is a naïve question. I am not dismissing Hage’s concerns, and agree with his critique of the failure of the project of reconciliation. However, if we are to understand the forces that made Australia what it is – to know our place – then as Hage writes we need not only to acknowledge these opposing forces, but understand how they made us who we are. The narrative of benign settlement might have resulted in a cultural amnesia, but I’m not convinced that settler Australians didn’t know about colonial violence and its aftermath. Unlike Henry Reynolds who asked ‘why didn’t we know?’ I think the question should be, as Fiona Nicoll asks, ‘what is it we know but refuse to tell?’ (7). Or how did I get here? In asking what makes home, one needs to question what is excluded to enable one to stay in place. iii) When I think of my childhood home there is one particular farm that comes to mind. From my birth to when I left home at eighteen I lived in about six different homes; all but one where on farms. The longest was for about eight years, on a farm only a few kilometres from town; conveniently close for a teenager wanting all the ‘action’ of town life. It was just up the road from my grandparents’ place, whose fridge I would raid most afternoons while my grandmother lovingly listened to my triumphs and woes (at least those I thought appropriate for her ears). Our house was set back just a little from the road. On this farm, my brother and I floated paper boats down flooded gullies; there, my sisters, brother and I formed a secret society on the banks of the picturesque creek, which was too quickly torn apart by factional infighting. In this home, my older sisters received nightly phone calls from boys, and I cried to my mother, ‘When will it be my turn’. She comforted me with, ‘Don’t worry, they will soon’. And sure enough they did. There I hung out with my first boyfriend, who would ride out on his motor bike, then later his car. We lolled around on our oddly sloping front lawn and talked for hours about nothing. But this isn’t the place which readily comes to mind when I think of a childhood home. Afterlee Rd, as we called it, never felt like home. Behind the house, over the other side of the creek, were hills. Before my teens I regularly walked to the top of the first hill and rode around the farm, but not all the way to the boundary fence. I didn’t belong there. It was too exposed to passing traffic, yet people rarely stopped to add to our day. For me excitement and life existed elsewhere: the Gold Coast or Lismore. When I think of my childhood home an image comes to mind: a girl child standing on the flat between our house and yards, with hills and eucalypts at her back, and a rock-faced mountain rising up behind the yards at her front. (Sometimes there is a dog by her side, but I think it’s a late edition.) The district was known as Toonumbah because of its proximity (as the crow flies) to Toonumbah Dam. My siblings and I ventured across the farm and we rode with my father to muster, or sometimes through the adjoining State Forest to visit our neighbours who lived deep in the bush. I thought the trees whispered to me and watched over us. They were all seeing, all knowing, as they often are for children – a forest of gods. Sometime during my childhood I read the children’s novel Z for Zachariah: a story of a lone survivor of an apocalypse saved by remaining in a safe and abundant valley, while the rest of the community went out to explore what happened (O’Brien). This was my idea of Toonumbah. And like Zachariah’s valley it was isolated and for that reason, in spite of its plenty, a strange home. It was too disconnected from the world. Despite my sense of homeliness, I never felt sovereign. My disquiet wasn’t due to a sense that at any moment we might be cast out. Quite the opposite, we were there to stay. And not because I was a child and sovereignty is the domain of adults. I don’t think, at least as a feeling, it is. But rather because sovereignty is tied to movement or crossings. Not just being in place, but leaving and returning, freely moving through and around, and welcoming others who recognise it as ‘our’ place. Home is necessitated upon movement. And my idea of this childhood home is reliant upon a romanticised, ‘profound’ feeling of attachment; a legacy of settler colonial desire. There is no place like home. Home is far more than a place, it is, as Blunt and Dowling suggest, about feelings, desire, intimacy and belonging and relationships between places and connections with others (2). One’s sense of home has a history. To be at home one must limit the chaos of the world – create order. As we know, the environment is also ordered to enable a sense of bodily alignment and integrity. How or rather with whom does one establish connections with to create a sense of home? To create a sense of order, who does one recognise as belonging or not? Who is deemed a part of the chaos? Here Sara Ahmed’s idea of the stranger is helpful. Spaces are claimed, or ‘owned’, she argues, not so much by inhabiting what is already there, but rather movement or ‘passing through’ creates boundaries, making places by giving them a value (33). Settlers moved out and across the country, and in so doing created the colonies and later the nation by prescribing an economic value to the land. Colonialism attempts to enclose both Indigenous people and the country within its own logic. To take possession of the country the colonisers attempted to fix Indigenous people in place. A place ordered according to colonial logic; making the Indigenous subject out of place. Thus the Indigenous ‘stranger’ came into view. The stranger is not simply constituted by being recognised by the other, but rather it is the recognition of strangers which forms the local (Ahmed 21-22). The settler community was produced and bounded by their recognition of strangers; their belonging was reliant upon others not belonging. The doctrine of terra nullius cleared the country not only of people, but also of the specifics of Indigenous place, in an attempt to recreate another place inspired by the economic and strategic needs of the colonisers. Indigenous people were further exposed as strangers in the ‘new’ country by not participating in the colonial economy and systems of exchange. Indigenous people’s movement to visit family, to perform ceremony or maintain connections with country were largely dismissed by the colonial culture and little understood as maintaining and re-making sovereignty. European forms of commerce made the settlers sovereign – held them in place. And in turn, this exchange continues to bind settler Australians to ways of being that de-limit connections to place and people. It created a sense of order that still constrains ideas of home. Colonial logic dominates Australian ideas of sovereignty, thus of being at home or belonging in this country. Indeed, I would argue that it enforces a strange attachment: clinging fast as if to a too absent parent or romancing it, wooing a desired but permissive lover. We don’t know, as Fiona Nicoll questions, what Indigenous sovereignty might look like. Discussions of sovereignty are on Western terms. If Indigenous sovereignty is recognised at all, it is largely figured as impractical, impossible or dangerous (Nicoll 9). The fear and forgetting of the long history of Indigenous struggles for sovereignty, Nicoll writes, conceals the everydayness of the contestation (1). Indigenous sovereignty is both unknown and too familiar, thus it continues to be the stranger which must be expelled to enable belonging. Yet without it we cannot know the country. iv) I carry around a map of Australia. It is a simple image, a crude outline of the giant landmass; like what you find on cheap souvenir tea-towels. To be honest it’s just the continent – an islandless island – even Tasmania has dropped off my map. My map is not in my pocket but my head. It comes to mind so regularly I think of it as the shape of my idea of home. It is a place shared by many, yet singularly mine. I want to say that it is not the nation, but the country itself, but of course this isn’t true. My sense of Australia as my home is forged from an imaginary nation. However, I have problems calling Australia home – as if being at home in the nation is like being in an idealised family home. What is too often sentimentalised and fetishised as closed and secure: a place of comfort and seamless belonging (Fortier 119). Making home an infantile place where everything is there for me. But we understand that nations are beyond us and all that they are composed of we cannot know. Even putting aside the romantic notions, nations aren’t very much like home. They are, however, relational. Like bower birds, we collect sticks, stones, shells and coloured things, building connections with the outside world to create something a bit like home in the imaginary nation. I fill my rough map with ‘things’ that hold me in place. We might ask, is a home a home if we don’t go outside? My idea of home borrows from Meaghan Morris. In Ecstasy and Economics, she is attempting to create what Deleuze and Guattari call home. She writes: In their sense of the term, “home does not pre-exist”; it is the product of an effort to “organize a limited space”, and the limit involved is not a figure of containment but of provisional (or “working”) definition. This kind of home is always made of mixed components, and the interior space it creates is a filter or a sieve rather than a sealed-in consistency; it is not a place of origin, but an “aspect” of a process which it enables (“as though the circle tended on its own to open into a future, as a function of the working forces it shelters”) but does not precede – and so it is not an enclosure, but a way of going outside. (92) If home is a way of going outside then we need to know something about outside. Belonging is a desire and we make home from the desire to belong. In desiring belonging we should not forsake the worldliness of the world. What is configured as outside home are often the legal, political, economic and cultural conditions that have produced contemporary Australia. However, by refusing to engage with how colonialism and Indigenous sovereignty have made Australia one might not be able to go outside; risk imprisoning oneself in a too comfortable space. By letting in some of the elements which are strange and unhomely, one might begin to build connections which aid the reimagining of the self and the social, which in turn enables one to not only live in postcolonial Australia but participate in creating it (Probyn). A strange place: unsettled by other desires, histories, knowledge and memories, but a place more like home. I am arguing that we need to know our place. But knowing our place cannot be taken for granted. We need many hearts and minds to allow us to see what is here. The childhood home I write of is not my home, nor do I want it to be. However, the remembering or rather investigation of my idea of home is important. Where has it come from? There has been a lot of discussion about non-Indigenous Australians being unsettled by revisionist historiography and Indigenous demands for recognition and this is true, but the unsettlement has been enabling. Given that settler Australians are afforded so much sovereignty then there seems plenty of room for uncertainty. We don’t need to despair, or if we do, it could be used productively to remake our idea of home. If someone were to ask that tired question, ‘Generations of my family have lived here, where am I going to go?’ The answer is no where. You’re going no where, but here. The question isn’t of leaving, but of staying well. References Ahmed, Sara. Strange Encounters: Embodied Others in Post-coloniality. London: Routledge, 2000. Blunt, Alison, and Robyn Dowling. Home. London: Routledge, 2006. Fortier, Anne-Marie. “Making Home: Queer Migrations and Motions of Attachment.” Uprootings/Regrounding: Questions of Home and Migration. Eds S. Ahmed et. al. Oxford: Berg, 2003. 115-135. Gelder, Ken, and Jane Jacobs. Uncanny Australia: Sacredness and Identity in a Postcolonial Nation. Carlton, Vic: Melbourne UP, 1998. Hage, Ghassan. Against Paranoid Nationalism. Annandale: Pluto Press, 2003. Hughes, John. The Idea of Home: Autobiographical Essays. Sydney: Giramondo, 2004. Moreton-Robinson, Aileen. “I Still Call Australia Home: Indigenous Belonging and Place in a White Postcolonizing Society.” Uprootings/Regrounding: Questions of Home and Migration. Eds S. Ahmed et. al. Oxford: Berg, 2003. 23-40. Morris, Meaghan. Ecstasy and Economics: American Essays for John Forbes. Sydney: Empress, 1992. Nicoll, Fiona. “Defacing Terra Nullius and Facing the Public Secret of Indigenous Sovereignty in Australia.” borderlands 1.2 (2002): 1-13. O’Brien, Robert C. Z for Zachariah: A Novel. London: Heinemann Educational, 1976. Probyn, Elspeth. Outside Belongings. New York: Routledge, 1996. Read, Peter. Belonging: Australians, Place and Aboriginal Ownership. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2000. Reynolds, Henry. Why Weren’t We Told?: A Personal Search for the Truth about Our History. Melbourne: Penguin, 2002. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Slater, Lisa. "No Place like Home: Staying Well in a Too Sovereign Country." M/C Journal 10.4 (2007). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/13-slater.php>. APA Style Slater, L. (Aug. 2007) "No Place like Home: Staying Well in a Too Sovereign Country," M/C Journal, 10(4). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/13-slater.php>.

IntroductionDespite claims that the importance of distance has been reduced due to technological and communications improvements (Cairncross; Friedman; O’Brien), the ‘power of place’ still resonates, often intensifying the role of geography (Christopherson et al.; Morgan; Pratt; Scott and Storper). Within the film industry, there has been a decentralisation of production from Hollywood, but there remains a spatial logic which has preferenced particular centres, such as Toronto, Vancouver, Sydney and Prague often led by a combination of incentives (Christopherson and Storper; Goldsmith and O’Regan; Goldsmith et al.; Miller et al.; Mould). The emergence of high end television, television programming for which the production budget is more than £1 million per television hour, has presented new opportunities for screen hubs sharing a very similar value chain to the film industry (OlsbergSPI with Nordicity).In recent years, interventions have proliferated with the aim of capitalising on the decentralisation of certain activities in order to attract international screen industries production and embed it within local hubs. Tools for building capacity and expertise have proliferated, including support for studio complex facilities, infrastructural investments, tax breaks and other economic incentives (Cucco; Goldsmith and O’Regan; Jensen; Goldsmith et al.; McDonald; Miller et al.; Mould). Yet experience tells us that these will not succeed everywhere. There is a need for a better understanding of both the capacity for places to build a distinctive and competitive advantage within a highly globalised landscape and the relative merits of alternative interventions designed to generate a sustainable production base.This article first sets out the rationale for the appetite identified in the screen industries for co-location, or clustering and concentration in a tightly drawn physical area, in global hubs of production. It goes on to explore the latest trends of decentralisation and examines the upturn in interventions aimed at attracting mobile screen industries capital and labour. Finally it introduces the Scottish screen industries and explores some of the ways in which Scotland has sought to position itself as a recipient of screen industries activity. The paper identifies some key gaps in infrastructure, most notably a studio, and calls for closer examination of the essential ingredients of, and possible interventions needed for, a vibrant and sustainable industry.A Compulsion for ProximityIt has been argued that particular spatial and place-based factors are central to the development and organisation of the screen industries. The film and television sector, the particular focus of this article, exhibit an extraordinarily high degree of spatial agglomeration, especially favouring centres with global status. It is worth noting that the computer games sector, not explored in this article, slightly diverges from this trend displaying more spatial patterns of decentralisation (Vallance), although key physical hubs of activity have been identified (Champion). Creative products often possess a cachet that is directly associated with their point of origin, for example fashion from Paris, films from Hollywood and country music from Nashville – although it can also be acknowledged that these are often strategic commercial constructions (Pecknold). The place of production represents a unique component of the final product as well as an authentication of substantive and symbolic quality (Scott, “Creative cities”). Place can act as part of a brand or image for creative industries, often reinforcing the advantage of being based in particular centres of production.Very localised historical, cultural, social and physical factors may also influence the success of creative production in particular places. Place-based factors relating to the built environment, including cheap space, public-sector support framework, connectivity, local identity, institutional environment and availability of amenities, are seen as possible influences in the locational choices of creative industry firms (see, for example, Drake; Helbrecht; Hutton; Leadbeater and Oakley; Markusen).Employment trends are notoriously difficult to measure in the screen industries (Christopherson, “Hollywood in decline?”), but the sector does contain large numbers of very small firms and freelancers. This allows them to be flexible but poses certain problems that can be somewhat offset by co-location. The findings of Antcliff et al.’s study of workers in the audiovisual industry in the UK suggested that individuals sought to reconstruct stable employment relations through their involvement in and use of networks. The trust and reciprocity engendered by stable networks, built up over time, were used to offset the risk associated with the erosion of stable employment. These findings are echoed by a study of TV content production in two media regions in Germany by Sydow and Staber who found that, although firms come together to work on particular projects, typically their business relations extend for a much longer period than this. Commonly, firms and individuals who have worked together previously will reassemble for further project work aided by their past experiences and expectations.Co-location allows the development of shared structures: language, technical attitudes, interpretative schemes and ‘communities of practice’ (Bathelt, et al.). Grabher describes this process as ‘hanging out’. Deep local pools of creative and skilled labour are advantageous both to firms and employees (Reimer et al.) by allowing flexibility, developing networks and offsetting risk (Banks et al.; Scott, “Global City Regions”). For example in Cook and Pandit’s study comparing the broadcasting industry in three city-regions, London was found to be hugely advantaged by its unrivalled talent pool, high financial rewards and prestigious projects. As Barnes and Hutton assert in relation to the wider creative industries, “if place matters, it matters most to them” (1251). This is certainly true for the screen industries and their spatial logic points towards a compulsion for proximity in large global hubs.Decentralisation and ‘Sticky’ PlacesDespite the attraction of global production hubs, there has been a decentralisation of screen industries from key centres, starting with the film industry and the vertical disintegration of Hollywood studios (Christopherson and Storper). There are instances of ‘runaway production’ from the 1920s onwards with around 40 per cent of all features being accounted for by offshore production in 1960 (Miller et al., 133). This trend has been increasing significantly in the last 20 years, leading to the genesis of new hubs of screen activity such as Toronto, Vancouver, Sydney and Prague (Christopherson, “Project work in context”; Goldsmith et al.; Mould; Miller et al.; Szczepanik). This development has been prompted by a multiplicity of reasons including favourable currency value differentials and economic incentives. Subsidies and tax breaks have been offered to secure international productions with most countries demanding that, in order to qualify for tax relief, productions have to spend a certain amount of their budget within the local economy, employ local crew and use domestic creative talent (Hill). Extensive infrastructure has been developed including studio complexes to attempt to lure productions with the advantage of a full service offering (Goldsmith and O’Regan).Internationally, Canada has been the greatest beneficiary of ‘runaway production’ with a state-led enactment of generous film incentives since the late 1990s (McDonald). Vancouver and Toronto are the busiest locations for North American Screen production after Los Angeles and New York, due to exchange rates and tax rebates on labour costs (Miller et al., 141). 80% of Vancouver’s production is attributable to runaway production (Jensen, 27) and the city is considered by some to have crossed a threshold as:It now possesses sufficient depth and breadth of talent to undertake the full array of pre-production, production and post-production services for the delivery of major motion pictures and TV programmes. (Barnes and Coe, 19)Similarly, Toronto is considered to have established a “comprehensive set of horizontal and vertical media capabilities” to ensure its status as a “full function media centre” (Davis, 98). These cities have successfully engaged in entrepreneurial activity to attract production (Christopherson, “Project Work in Context”) and in Vancouver the proactive role of provincial government and labour unions are, in part, credited with its success (Barnes and Coe). Studio-complex infrastructure has also been used to lure global productions, with Toronto, Melbourne and Sydney all being seen as key examples of where such developments have been used as a strategic priority to take local production capacity to the next level (Goldsmith and O’Regan).Studies which provide a historiography of the development of screen-industry hubs emphasise a complex interplay of social, cultural and physical conditions. In the complex and global flows of the screen industries, ‘sticky’ hubs have emerged with the ability to attract and retain capital and skilled labour. Despite being principally organised to attract international production, most studio complexes, especially those outside of global centres need to have a strong relationship to local or national film and television production to ensure the sustainability and depth of the labour pool (Goldsmith and O’Regan, 2003). Many have a broadcaster on site as well as a range of companies with a media orientation and training facilities (Goldsmith and O’Regan, 2003; Picard, 2008). The emergence of film studio complexes in the Australian Gold Coast and Vancouver was accompanied by an increasing role for television production and this multi-purpose nature was important for the continuity of production.Fostering a strong community of below the line workers, such as set designers, locations managers, make-up artists and props manufacturers, can also be a clear advantage in attracting international productions. For example at Cinecitta in Italy, the expertise of set designers and experienced crews in the Barrandov Studios of Prague are regarded as major selling points of the studio complexes there (Goldsmith and O’Regan; Miller et al.; Szczepanik). Natural and built environments are also considered very important for film and television firms and it is a useful advantage for capturing international production when cities can double for other locations as in the cases of Toronto, Vancouver, Prague for example (Evans; Goldsmith and O’Regan; Szczepanik). Toronto, for instance, has doubled for New York in over 100 films and with regard to television Due South’s (1994-1998) use of Toronto as Chicago was estimated to have saved 40 per cent in costs (Miller et al., 141).The Scottish Screen Industries Within mobile flows of capital and labour, Scotland has sought to position itself as a recipient of screen industries activity through multiple interventions, including investment in institutional frameworks, direct and indirect economic subsidies and the development of physical infrastructure. Traditionally creative industry activity in the UK has been concentrated in London and the South East which together account for 43% of the creative economy workforce (Bakhshi et al.). In order, in part to redress this imbalance and more generally to encourage the attraction and retention of international production a range of policies have been introduced focused on the screen industries. A revised Film Tax Relief was introduced in 2007 to encourage inward investment and prevent offshoring of indigenous production, and this has since been extended to high-end television, animation and children’s programming. Broadcasting has also experienced a push for decentralisation led by public funding with a responsibility to be regionally representative. The BBC (“BBC Annual Report and Accounts 2014/15”) is currently exceeding its target of 50% network spend outside London by 2016, with 17% spent in Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland. Channel 4 has similarly committed to commission at least 9% of its original spend from the nations by 2020. Studios have been also developed across the UK including at Roath Lock (Cardiff), Titanic Studios (Belfast), MedicaCity (Salford) and The Sharp Project (Manchester).The creative industries have been identified as one of seven growth sectors for Scotland by the government (Scottish Government). In 2010, the film and video sector employed 3,500 people and contributed £120 million GVA and £120 million adjusted GVA to the economy and the radio and TV sector employed 3,500 people and contributed £50 million GVA and £400 million adjusted GVA (The Scottish Parliament). Beyond the direct economic benefits of sectors, the on-screen representation of Scotland has been claimed to boost visitor numbers to the country (EKOS) and high profile international film productions have been attracted including Skyfall (2012) and WWZ (2013).Scotland has historically attracted international film and TV productions due to its natural locations (VisitScotland) and on average, between 2009-2014, six big budget films a year used Scottish locations both urban and rural (BOP Consulting, 2014). In all, a total of £20 million was generated by film-making in Glasgow during 2011 (Balkind) with WWZ (2013) and Cloud Atlas (2013), representing Philadelphia and San Francisco respectively, as well as doubling for Edinburgh for the recent acclaimed Scottish films Filth (2013) and Sunshine on Leith (2013). Sanson (80) asserts that the use of the city as a site for international productions not only brings in direct revenue from production money but also promotes the city as a “fashionable place to live, work and visit. Creativity makes the city both profitable and ‘cool’”.Nonetheless, issues persist and it has been suggested that Scotland lacks a stable and sustainable film industry, with low indigenous production levels and variable success from year to year in attracting inward investment (BOP Consulting). With regard to crew, problems with an insufficient production base have been identified as an issue in maintaining a pipeline of skills (BOP Consulting). Developing ‘talent’ is a central aspect of the Scottish Government’s Strategy for the Creative Industries, yet there remains the core challenge of retaining skills and encouraging new talent into the industry (BOP Consulting).With regard to film, a lack of substantial funding incentives and the absence of a studio have been identified as a key concern for the sector. For example, within the film industry the majority of inward investment filming in Scotland is location work as it lacks the studio facilities that would enable it to sustain a big-budget production in its entirety (BOP Consulting). The absence of such infrastructure has been seen as contributing to a drain of Scottish talent from these industries to other areas and countries where there is a more vibrant sector (BOP Consulting). The loss of Scottish talent to Northern Ireland was attributed to the longevity of the work being provided by Games of Thrones (2011-) now having completed its six series at the Titanic Studios in Belfast (EKOS) although this may have been stemmed somewhat recently with the attraction of US high-end TV series Outlander (2014-) which has been based at Wardpark in Cumbernauld since 2013.Television, both high-end production and local broadcasting, appears crucial to the sustainability of screen production in Scotland. Outlander has been estimated to contribute to Scotland’s production spend figures reaching a historic high of £45.8 million in 2014 (Creative Scotland ”Creative Scotland Screen Strategy Update”). The arrival of the program has almost doubled production spend in Scotland, offering the chance for increased stability for screen industries workers. Qualifying for UK High-End Television Tax Relief, Outlander has engaged a crew of approximately 300 across props, filming and set build, and cast over 2,000 supporting artist roles from within Scotland and the UK.Long running drama, in particular, offers key opportunities for both those cutting their teeth in the screen industries and also by providing more consistent and longer-term employment to existing workers. BBC television soap River City (2002-) has been identified as a key example of such an opportunity and the programme has been credited with providing a springboard for developing the skills of local actors, writers and production crew (Hibberd). This kind of pipeline of production is critical given the work patterns of the sector. According to Creative Skillset, of the 4,000 people in Scotland are employed in the film and television industries, 40% of television workers are freelance and 90% of film production work in freelance (EKOS).In an attempt to address skills gaps, the Outlander Trainee Placement Scheme has been devised in collaboration with Creative Scotland and Creative Skillset. During filming of Season One, thirty-eight trainees were supported across a range of production and craft roles, followed by a further twenty-five in Season Two. Encouragingly Outlander, and the books it is based on, is set in Scotland so the authenticity of place has played a strong component in the decision to locate production there. Producer David Brown began his career on Bill Forsyth films Gregory’s Girl (1981), Local Hero (1983) and Comfort and Joy (1984) and has a strong existing relationship to Scotland. He has been very vocal in his support for the trainee program, contending that “training is the future of our industry and we at Outlander see the growth of talent and opportunities as part of our mission here in Scotland” (“Outlander fast tracks next generation of skilled screen talent”).ConclusionsThis article has aimed to explore the relationship between place and the screen industries and, taking Scotland as its focus, has outlined a need to more closely examine the ways in which the sector can be supported. Despite the possible gains in terms of building a sustainable industry, the state-led funding of the global screen industries is contested. The use of tax breaks and incentives has been problematised and critiques range from use of public funding to attract footloose media industries to the increasingly zero sum game of competition between competing places (Morawetz; McDonald). In relation to broadcasting, there have been critiques of a ‘lift and shift’ approach to policy in the UK, with TV production companies moving to the nations and regions temporarily to meet the quota and leaving once a production has finished (House of Commons). Further to this, issues have been raised regarding how far such interventions can seed and develop a rich production ecology that offers opportunities for indigenous talent (Christopherson and Rightor).Nonetheless recent success for the screen industries in Scotland can, at least in part, be attributed to interventions including increased decentralisation of broadcasting and the high-end television tax incentives. This article has identified gaps in infrastructure which continue to stymie growth and have led to production drain to other centres. Important gaps in knowledge can also be acknowledged that warrant further investigation and unpacking including the relationship between film, high-end television and broadcasting, especially in terms of the opportunities they offer for screen industries workers to build a career in Scotland and notable gaps in infrastructure and the impact they have on the loss of production.ReferencesAntcliff, Valerie, Richard Saundry, and Mark Stuart. Freelance Worker Networks in Audio-Visual Industries. University of Central Lancashire, 2004.Bakhshi, Hasan, John Davies, Alan Freeman, and Peter Higgs. "The Geography of the UK’s Creative and High–Tech Economies." 2015.Balkind, Nicola. World Film Locations: Glasgow. Intellect Books, 2013.Banks, Mark, Andy Lovatt, Justin O’Connor, and Carlo Raffo. "Risk and Trust in the Cultural Industries." Geoforum 31.4 (2000): 453-464.Barnes, Trevor, and Neil M. Coe. “Vancouver as Media Cluster: The Cases of Video Games and Film/TV." Media Clusters: Spatial Agglomeration and Content Capabilities (2011): 251-277.Barnes, Trevor, and Thomas Hutton. "Situating the New Economy: Contingencies of Regeneration and Dislocation in Vancouver's Inner City." Urban Studies 46.5-6 (2009): 1247-1269.Bathelt, Harald, Anders Malmberg, and Peter Maskell. "Clusters and Knowledge: Local Buzz, Global Pipelines and the Process of Knowledge Creation." Progress in Human Geography 28.1 (2004): 31-56.BBC Annual Report and Accounts 2014/15 London: BBC (2015)BOP Consulting Review of the Film Sector in Glasgow: Report for Creative Scotland. Edinburgh: BOP Consulting, 2014.Champion, Katherine. "Problematizing a Homogeneous Spatial Logic for the Creative Industries: The Case of the Digital Games Industry." Changing the Rules of the Game. Palgrave Macmillan UK, 2013. 9-27.Cairncross, Francis. The Death of Distance London: Orion Business, 1997.Channel 4. Annual Report. London: Channel 4, 2014.Christopherson, Susan. "Project Work in Context: Regulatory Change and the New Geography of Media." Environment and Planning A 34.11 (2002): 2003-2015.———. "Hollywood in Decline? US Film and Television Producers beyond the Era of Fiscal Crisis." Cambridge Journal of Regions, Economy and Society 6.1 (2013): 141-157.Christopherson, Susan, and Michael Storper. "The City as Studio; the World as Back Lot: The Impact of Vertical Disintegration on the Location of the Motion Picture Industry." Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 4.3 (1986): 305-320.Christopherson, Susan, and Ned Rightor. "The Creative Economy as “Big Business”: Evaluating State Strategies to Lure Filmmakers." Journal of Planning Education and Research 29.3 (2010): 336-352.Christopherson, Susan, Harry Garretsen, and Ron Martin. "The World Is Not Flat: Putting Globalization in Its Place." Cambridge Journal of Regions, Economy and Society 1.3 (2008): 343-349.Cook, Gary A.S., and Naresh R. Pandit. "Service Industry Clustering: A Comparison of Broadcasting in Three City-Regions." The Service Industries Journal 27.4 (2007): 453-469.Creative Scotland Creative Scotland Screen Strategy Update. 2016. <http://www.creativescotland.com/__data/assets/pdf_file/0008/33992/Creative-Scotland-Screen-Strategy-Update-Feb2016.pdf>.———. Outlander Fast Tracks Next Generation of Skilled Screen Talent. 2016. <http://www.creativescotland.com/what-we-do/latest-news/archive/2016/02/outlander-fast-tracks-next-generation-of-skilled-screen-talent>.Cucco, Marco. "Blockbuster Outsourcing: Is There Really No Place like Home?" Film Studies 13.1 (2015): 73-93.Davis, Charles H. "Media Industry Clusters and Public Policy." Media Clusters: Spatial Agglomeration and Content Capabilities (2011): 72-98.Drake, Graham. "‘This Place Gives Me Space’: Place and Creativity in the Creative Industries." Geoforum 34.4 (2003): 511-524.EKOS. “Options for a Film and TV Production Space: Report for Scottish Enterprise.” Glasgow: EKOS, March 2014.Evans, Graeme. "Creative Cities, Creative Spaces and Urban Policy." Urban Studies 46.5-6 (2009): 1003-1040.Freidman, Thomas. "The World Is Flat." New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2006.Goldsmith, Ben, and Tom O’Regan. “Cinema Cities, Media Cities: The Contemporary International Studio Complex.” Screen Industry, Culture and Policy Research Series. Sydney: Australian Film Commission, Sep. 2003.Goldsmith, Ben, Susan Ward, and Tom O’Regan. "Global and Local Hollywood." InMedia. The French Journal of Media and Media Representations in the English-Speaking World 1 (2012).Grabher, Gernot. "The Project Ecology of Advertising: Tasks, Talents and Teams." Regional Studies 36.3 (2002): 245-262.Helbrecht, Ilse. "The Creative Metropolis Services, Symbols and Spaces." Zeitschrift für Kanada Studien 18 (1998): 79-93.Hibberd, Lynne. "Devolution in Policy and Practice: A Study of River City and BBC Scotland." Westminster Papers in Communication and Culture 4.3 (2007): 107-205.Hill, John. "'This Is for the Batmans as Well as the Vera Drakes': Economics, Culture and UK Government Film Production Policy in the 2000s." Journal of British Cinema and Television 9.3 (2012): 333-356.House of Commons Scottish Affairs Committee. “Creative Industries in Scotland.” Second Report of Session 2015–16. London: House of Commons, 2016.Hutton, Thomas A. "The New Economy of the Inner City." Cities 21.2 (2004): 89-108.Jensen, Rodney J.C. "The Spatial and Economic Contribution of Sydney's Visual Entertainment Industries." Australian Planner 48.1 (2011): 24-36.Leadbeater, Charles, and Kate Oakley. Surfing the Long Wave: Knowledge Entrepreneurship in Britain. London: Demos, 2001.McDonald, Adrian H. "Down the Rabbit Hole: The Madness of State Film Incentives as a 'Solution' to Runaway Production." University of Pennsylvania Journal of Business Law 14.85 (2011): 85-163.Markusen, Ann. "Sticky Places in Slippery Space: A Typology of Industrial Districts." Economic Geography (1996): 293-313.———. "Urban Development and the Politics of a Creative Class: Evidence from a Study of Artists." Environment and Planning A 38.10 (2006): 1921-1940.Miller, Toby, N. Govil, J. McMurria, R. Maxwell, and T. Wang. Global Hollywood 2. London: BFI, 2005.Morawetz, Norbert, et al. "Finance, Policy and Industrial Dynamics—The Rise of Co‐productions in the Film Industry." Industry and Innovation 14.4 (2007): 421-443.Morgan, Kevin. "The Exaggerated Death of Geography: Learning, Proximity and Territorial Innovation Systems." Journal of Economic Geography 4.1 (2004): 3-21.Mould, Oli. "Mission Impossible? Reconsidering the Research into Sydney's Film Industry." Studies in Australasian Cinema 1.1 (2007): 47-60.O’Brien, Richard. "Global Financial Integration: The End of Geography." London: Royal Institute of International Affairs, Pinter Publishers, 2002.OlsbergSPI with Nordicity. “Economic Contribution of the UK’s Film, High-End TV, Video Game, and Animation Programming Sectors.” Report presented to the BFI, Pinewood Shepperton plc, Ukie, the British Film Commission and Pact. London: BFI, Feb. 2015.Pecknold, Diane. "Heart of the Country? The Construction of Nashville as the Capital of Country Music." Sounds and the City. London: Palgrave Macmillan UK, 2014. 19-37.Picard, Robert G. Media Clusters: Local Agglomeration in an Industry Developing Networked Virtual Clusters. Jönköping International Business School, 2008.Pratt, Andy C. "New Media, the New Economy and New Spaces." Geoforum 31.4 (2000): 425-436.Reimer, Suzanne, Steven Pinch, and Peter Sunley. "Design Spaces: Agglomeration and Creativity in British Design Agencies." Geografiska Annaler: Series B, Human Geography 90.2 (2008): 151-172.Sanson, Kevin. Goodbye Brigadoon: Place, Production, and Identity in Global Glasgow. Diss. University of Texas at Austin, 2011.Scott, Allen J. "Creative Cities: Conceptual Issues and Policy Questions." Journal of Urban Affairs 28.1 (2006): 1-17.———. Global City-Regions: Trends, Theory, Policy. Oxford University Press, 2002.Scott, Allen J., and Michael Storper. "Regions, Globalization, Development." Regional Studies 41.S1 (2007): S191-S205.The Scottish Government. The Scottish Government Economic Strategy. Edinburgh: Scottish Government, 2015.———. Growth, Talent, Ambition – the Government’s Strategy for the Creative Industries. Edinburgh: Scottish Government, 2011.The Scottish Parliament Economy, Energy and Tourism Committee. The Economic Impact of the Film, TV and Video Games Industries. Edinburgh: Scottish Parliament, 2015.Sydow, Jörg, and Udo Staber. "The Institutional Embeddedness of Project Networks: The Case of Content Production in German Television." Regional Studies 36.3 (2002): 215-227.Szczepanik, Petr. "Globalization through the Eyes of Runners: Student Interns as Ethnographers on Runaway Productions in Prague." Media Industries 1.1 (2014).Vallance, Paul. "Creative Knowing, Organisational Learning, and Socio-Spatial Expansion in UK Videogame Development Studios." Geoforum 51 (2014): 15-26.Visit Scotland. “Scotland Voted Best Cinematic Destination in the World.” 2015. <https://www.visitscotland.com/blog/films/scotland-voted-best-cinematic-destination-in-the-world/>.

Introduction The first “Aquarius Festival” came together in Canberra, at the Australian National University, in the autumn of 1971 and was reprised in 1973 in the small rural town of Nimbin, in northern New South Wales. Both events reflected the Zeitgeist in what was, in some ways, an inchoate expression of the so-called “counterculture” (Roszak). Rather than attempting to analyse the counterculture as a discrete movement with a definable history, I enlist the theory of cultural memes to read the counter culture as a Dawkinsian cluster meme, with this paper offered as “testimonio”, a form of quasi-political memoir that views shifts in the culture through the lens of personal experience (Zimmerman, Yúdice). I track an evolving personal, “internal” topography and map its points of intersection with the radical social, political and cultural changes spawned by the “consciousness revolution” that was an integral part of the counterculture emerging in the 1970s. I focus particularly on the notion of “consciousness raising”, as a Dawkinsian memetic replicator, in the context of the idealistic notions of the much-heralded “New Age” of Aquarius, and propose that this meme has been a persistent feature of the evolution of the “meme cluster” known as the counterculture. Mimesis and the Counterculture Since evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins floated the notion of cultural memes as a template to account for the evolution of ideas within political cultures, a literature of commentary and criticism has emerged that debates the strengths and weaknesses of his proposed model and its application across a number of fields. I borrow the notion to trace the influence of a set of memes that clustered around the emergence of what writer Marilyn Ferguson called The Aquarian Conspiracy, in her 1980 book of that name. Ferguson’s text, subtitled Personal and Social Transformation in Our Time, was a controversial attempt to account for what was known as the “New Age” movement, with its late millennial focus on social and personal transformation. That focus leads me to approach the counterculture (a term first floated by Theodore Roszak) less as a definable historical movement and more as a cluster of aspirational tropes expressing a range of aspects or concerns, from the overt political activism through to experimental technologies for the transformation of consciousness, and all characterised by a critical interrogation of, and resistance to, conventional social norms (Ferguson’s “personal and social transformation”). With its more overtly “spiritual” focus, I read the “New Age” meme, then, as a sub-set of this “cluster meme”, the counterculture. In my reading, “New Age” and “counterculture” overlap, sharing persistent concerns and a broad enough tent to accommodate the serious—the combative political action of Students for a Democratic Society (SDS), say, (see Elbaum)—to the light-hearted—the sport of frisbee for example (Stancil). The interrogation of conventional social and political norms inherited from previous generations was a prominent strategy across both movements. Rather than offering a sociological analysis or history of the ragbag counterculture, per se, my discussion here focuses in on the particular meme of “consciousness raising” within that broader set of cultural shifts, some of which were sustained in their own right, some dropping away, and many absorbed into the dominant mainstream culture. Dawkins use of the term “meme” was rooted in the Greek mimesis, to emphasise the replication of an idea by imitation, or copying. He likened the way ideas survive and change in human culture to the natural selection of genes in biological evolution. While the transmission of memes does not depend on a physical medium, such as the DNA of biology, they replicate with a greater or lesser degree of success by harnessing human social media in a kind of “infectivity”, it is argued, through “contagious” repetition among human populations. Dawkins proposed that just as biological organisms could be said to act as “hosts” for replicating genes, in the same way people and groups of people act as hosts for replicating memes. Even before Dawkins floated his term, French biologist Jacques Monod wrote that ideas have retained some of the properties of organisms. Like them, they tend to perpetuate their structure and to breed; they too can fuse, recombine, segregate their content; indeed they too can evolve, and in this evolution selection must surely play an important role. (165, emphasis mine) Ideas have power, in Monod’s analysis: “They interact with each other and with other mental forces in the same brain, in neighbouring brains, and thanks to global communication, in far distant, foreign brains” (Monod, cited in Gleick). Emblematic of the counterculture were various “New Age” phenomena such as psychedelic drugs, art and music, with the latter contributing the “Aquarius” meme, whose theme song came from the stage musical (and later, film) Hair, and particularly the lyric that runs: “This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius”. The Australian Aquarius Festivals of 1971 and 1973 explicitly invoked this meme in the way identified by Monod and the “Aquarius” meme resonated even in Australia. Problematising “Aquarius” As for the astrological accuracy of the “Age of Aquarius meme”, professional astrologers argue about its dating, and the qualities that supposedly characterise it. When I consulted with two prominent workers in this field for the preparation of this article, I was astonished to find their respective dating of the putative Age of Aquarius were centuries apart! What memes were being “hosted” here? According to the lyrics: When the moon is in the seventh house And Jupiter aligns with Mars Then peace will guide the planets And love will steer the stars. (Hair) My astrologer informants assert that the moon is actually in the seventh house twice every year, and that Jupiter aligns with Mars every two years. Yet we are still waiting for the outbreak of peace promised according to these astrological conditions. I am also informed that there’s no “real” astrological underpinning for the aspirations of the song’s lyrics, for an astrological “Age” is not determined by any planet but by constellations rising, they tell me. Most important, contrary to the aspirations embodied in the lyrics, peace was not guiding the planets and love was not about to “steer the stars”. For Mars is not the planet of love, apparently, but of war and conflict and, empowered with the expansiveness of Jupiter, it was the forceful aggression of a militaristic mind-set that actually prevailed as the “New Age” supposedly dawned. For the hippified summer of love had taken a nosedive with the tragic events at the Altamont speedway, near San Francisco in 1969, when biker gangs, enlisted to provide security for a concert performance by The Rolling Stones allegedly provoked violence, marring the event and contributing to a dawning disillusionment (for a useful coverage of the event and its historical context see Dalton). There was a lot of far-fetched poetic licence involved in this dreaming, then, but memes, according to Nikos Salingaros, are “greatly simplified versions of patterns”. “The simpler they are, the faster they can proliferate”, he writes, and the most successful memes “come with a great psychological appeal” (243, 260; emphasis mine). What could be retrieved from this inchoate idealism? Harmony and understanding Sympathy and trust abounding No more falsehoods or derisions Golden living dreams of visions Mystic crystal revelation And the mind’s true liberation Aquarius, Aquarius. (Hair) In what follows I want to focus on this notion: “mind’s true liberation” by tracing the evolution of this project of “liberating” the mind, reflected in my personal journey. Nimbin and Aquarius I had attended the first Aquarius Festival, which came together in Canberra, at the Australian National University, in the autumn of 1971. I travelled there from Perth, overland, in a Ford Transit van, among a raggedy band of tie-dyed hippie actors, styled as The Campus Guerilla Theatre Troupe, re-joining our long-lost sisters and brothers as visionary pioneers of the New Age of Aquarius. Our visions were fueled with a suitcase full of potent Sumatran “buddha sticks” and, contrary to Biblical prophesies, we tended to see—not “through a glass darkly” but—in psychedelic, pop-, and op-art explosions of colour. We could see energy, man! Two years later, I found myself at the next Aquarius event in Nimbin, too, but by that time I inhabited a totally different mind-zone, albeit one characterised by the familiar, intense idealism. In the interim, I had been arrested in 1971 while “tripping out” in Sydney on potent “acid”, or LSD (Lysergic acid diethylamide); had tried out political engagement at the Pram Factory Theatre in Melbourne; had camped out in protest at the flooding of Lake Pedder in the Tasmanian wilderness; met a young guru, started meditating, and joined “the ashram”—part of the movement known as the Divine Light Mission, which originated in India and was carried to the “West” (including Australia) by an enthusiastic and evangelical following of drug-toking drop-outs who had been swarming through India intent on escaping the dominant culture of the military-industrial complex and the horrors of the Vietnam War. Thus, by the time of the 1973 event in Nimbin, while other festival participants were foraging for “gold top” magic mushrooms in farmers’ fields, we devotees had put aside such chemical interventions in conscious awareness to dig latrines (our “service” project for the event) and we invited everyone to join us for “satsang” in the yellow, canvas-covered, geodesic dome, to attend to the message of peace. The liberation meme had shifted through a mutation that involved lifestyle-changing choices that were less about alternative approaches to sustainable agriculture and more about engaging directly with “mind’s true liberation”. Raising Consciousness What comes into focus here is the meme of “consciousness raising”, which became the persistent project within which I lived and worked and had my being for many years. Triggered initially by the ingestion of those psychedelic substances that led to my shocking encounter with the police, the project was carried forward into the more disciplined environs of my guru’s ashrams. However, before my encounter with sustained spiritual practice I had tried to work the shift within the parameters of an ostensibly political framework. “Consciousness raising” was a form of political activism borrowed from the political sphere. Originally generated by Mao Zedong in China during the revolutionary struggle to overthrow the vested colonial interests that were choking Chinese nationalism in the 1940s, to our “distant, foreign brains” (Monod), as Western revolutionary romantics, Chairman Mao and his Little Red Book were taken up, in a kind of international counterculture solidarity with revolutionaries everywhere. It must be admitted, this solidarity was a fairly superficial gesture. Back in China it might be construed as part of a crude totalitarian campaign to inculcate Marxist-Leninist political ideas among the peasant classes (see Compestine for a fictionalised account of traumatic times; Han Suyin’s long-form autobiography—an early example of testimonio as personal and political history—offers an unapologetic account of a struggle not usually construed as sympathetically by Western commentators). But the meme (and the processes) of consciousness raising were picked up by feminists in the United States in the late 1960s and into the 1970s (Brownmiller 21) and it was in this form I encountered it as an actor with the politically engaged theatre troupe, The Australian Performing Group, at Carlton’s Pram Factory Theatre in late 1971. The Performance Group I performed as a core member of the Group in 1971-72. Decisions as to which direction the Group should take were to be made as a collective, and the group veered towards anarchy. Most of the women were getting together outside of the confines of the Pram Factory to raise their consciousness within the Carlton Women’s Liberation Cell Group. While happy that the sexual revolution was reducing women’s sexual inhibitions, some of the men at the Factory were grumbling into their beer, disturbed that intimate details of their private lives—and their sexual performance—might be disclosed and raked over by a bunch of radical feminists. As they began to demand equal rights to orgasm in the bedroom, the women started to seek equal access within the performance group, too. They requested rehearsal time to stage the first production by the Women’s Theatre Group, newly formed under the umbrella of the wider collective. As all of the acknowledged writers in the Group so far were men—some of whom had not kept pace in consciousness raising—scripts tended to be viewed as part of a patriarchal plot, so Betty Can Jump was an improvised piece, with the performance material developed entirely by the cast in workshop-style rehearsals, under the direction of Kerry Dwyer (see Blundell, Zuber-Skerritt 21, plus various contributors at www.pramfactory.com/memoirsfolder/). I was the only male in the collective included in the cast. Several women would have been more comfortable if no mere male were involved at all. My gendered attitudes would scarcely have withstood a critical interrogation but, as my partner was active in launching the Women’s Electoral Lobby, I was given the benefit of the doubt. Director Kerry Dwyer liked my physicalised approach to performance (we were both inspired by the “poor theatre” of Jerzy Grotowski and the earlier surrealistic theories of Antonin Artaud), and I was cast to play all the male parts, whatever they would be. Memorable material came up in improvisation, much of which made it into the performances, but my personal favorite didn’t make the cut. It was a sprawling movement piece where I was “born” out of a symbolic mass of writhing female bodies. It was an arduous process and, after much heaving and huffing, I emerged from the birth canal stammering “SSSS … SSSS … SSMMMO-THER”! The radical reversioning of culturally authorised roles for women has inevitably, if more slowly, led to a re-thinking of the culturally approved and reinforced models of masculinity, too, once widely accepted as entirely biologically ordained rather than culturally constructed. But the possibility of a queer re-versioning of gender would be recognised only slowly. Liberation Meanwhile, Dennis Altman was emerging as an early spokesman for gay, or homosexual, liberation and he was invited to address the collective. Altman’s stirring book, Homosexual: Oppression and Liberation, had recently been published, but none of us had read it. Radical or not, the Group had shown little evidence of sensitivity to gender-queer issues. My own sexuality was very much “oppressed” rather than liberated and I would have been loath to use “queer” to describe myself. The term “homosexual” was fraught with pejorative, quasi-medical associations and, in a collective so divided across strict and sometimes hostile gender boundaries, deviant affiliations got short shrift. Dennis was unsure of his reception before this bunch of apparent “heteros”. Sitting at the rear of the meeting, I admired his courage. It took more self-acceptance than I could muster to confront the Group on this issue at the time. Somewhere in the back of my mind, “homosexuality” was still something I was supposed to “get over”, so I failed to respond to Altman’s implicit invitation to come out and join the party. The others saw me in relationship with a woman and whatever doubts they might have carried about the nature of my sexuality were tactfully suspended. Looking back, I am struck by the number of simultaneous poses I was trying to maintain: as an actor; as a practitioner of an Artaudian “theatre of cruelty”; as a politically committed activist; and as a “hetero”-sexual. My identity was an assemblage of entities posing as “I”; it was as if I were performing a self. Little gay boys are encouraged from an early age to hide their real impulses, not only from others—in the very closest circle, the family; at school; among one’s peers—but from themselves, too. The coercive effects of shaming usually fix the denial into place in our psyches before we have any intellectual (or political) resources to consider other options. Growing up trying to please, I hid my feelings. In my experience, it could be downright dangerous to resist the subtle and gross coercions that applied around gender normativity. The psychoanalyst D. W. Winnicott, of the British object-relations school, argues that when the environment does not support the developing personality and requires the person to sacrifice his or her own spontaneous needs to adapt to environmental demands, there is not even a resting-place for individual experience and the result is a failure in the primary narcissistic state to evolve an individual. The “individual” then develops as an extension of the shell rather than that of the core [...] What there is left of a core is hidden away and is difficult to find even in the most far-reaching analysis. The individual then exists by not being found. The true self is hidden, and what we have to deal with clinically is the complex false self whose function is to keep this true self hidden. (212) How to connect to that hidden core, then? “Mind’s true liberation...” Alienated from the performative version of selfhood, but still inspired by the promise of liberation, even in the “fuzzy” form for which my inchoate hunger yearned (sexual liberation? political liberation? mystical liberation?), I was left to seek out a more authentic basis for selfhood, one that didn’t send me spinning along the roller-coaster of psychedelic drugs, or lie to me with the nostrums of a toxic, most forms of which would deny me, as a sexual, moral and legal pariah, the comforts of those “anchorage points to the social matrix” identified by Soddy (cited in Mol 58). My spiritual inquiry was “counter” to these institutionalised models of religious culture. So, I began to read my way through a myriad of books on comparative religion. And to my surprise, rather than taking up with the religions of antique cultures, instead I encountered a very young guru, initially as presented in a simply drawn poster in the window of Melbourne’s only vegetarian restaurant (Shakahari, in Carlton). “Are you hungry and tired of reading recipe books?” asked the figure in the poster. I had little sense of where that hunger would lead me, but it seemed to promise a fulfilment in ways that the fractious politics of the APG offered little nourishment. So, while many of my peers in the cities chose to pursue direct political action, and others experimented with cooperative living in rural communes, I chose the communal lifestyle of the ashram. In these different forms, then, the conscious raising meme persisted when other challenges raised by the counterculture either faded or were absorbed in the mainstream. I finally came to realise that the intense disillusionment process I had been through (“dis-illusionment” as the stripping away of illusions) was the beginning of awakening, in effect a “spiritual initiation” into a new way of seeing myself and my “place” in the world. Buddhist teachers might encourage this very kind of stripping away of false notions as part of their teaching, so the aspiration towards the “true liberation” of the mind expressed in the Aquarian visioning might be—and in my case, actually has been and continues to be—fulfilled to a very real extent. Gurus and the entire turn towards Eastern mysticism were part of the New Age meme cluster prevailing during the early 1970s, but I was fortunate to connect with an enduring set of empirical practices that haven’t faded with the fashions of the counterculture. A good guitarist would never want to play in public without first tuning her instrument. In a similar way, it is now possible for me to tune my mind back to a deeper, more original source of being than the socially constructed sense of self, which had been so fraught with conflicts for me. I have discovered that before gender, and before sexuality, in fact, pulsing away behind the thicket of everyday associations, there is an original, unconditioned state of beingness, the awareness of which can be reclaimed through focused meditation practices, tested in a wide variety of “real world” settings. For quite a significant period of time I worked as an instructor in the method on behalf of my guru, or mentor, travelling through a dozen or so countries, and it was through this exposure that I was able to observe that the practices worked independently of culture and that “mind’s true liberation” was in many ways a de-programming of cultural indoctrinations (see Marsh, 2014, 2013, 2011 and 2007 for testimony of this process). In Japan, Zen roshi might challenge their students with the koan: “Show me your original face, before you were born!” While that might seem to be an absurd proposal, I am finding that there is a potential, if unexpected, liberation in following through such an inquiry. As “hokey” as the Aquarian meme-set might have been, it was a reflection of the idealistic hope that characterised the cluster of memes that aggregated within the counterculture, a yearning for healthier life choices than those offered by the toxicity of the military-industrial complex, the grossly exploitative effects of rampant Capitalism and a politics of cynicism and domination. The meme of the “true liberation” of the mind, then, promised by the heady lyrics of a 1970s hippie musical, has continued to bear fruit in ways that I could not have imagined. References Altman, Dennis. Homosexual Oppression and Liberation. Sydney: Angus & Robertson, 1972. Blundell, Graeme. The Naked Truth: A Life in Parts. Sydney: Hachette, 2011. Brownmiller, Susan. In Our Time: Memoir of a Revolution. New York: The Dial Press, 1999. Compestine, Ying Chang. Revolution Is Not a Dinner Party. New York: Square Fish, 2009. Dalton, David. “Altamont: End of the Sixties, Or Big Mix-Up in the Middle of Nowhere?” Gadfly Nov/Dec 1999. April 2014 ‹http://www.gadflyonline.com/archive/NovDec99/archive-altamont.html›. Dawkins, Richard. The Selfish Gene. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1976. Elbaum, Max. Revolution in the Air: Sixties Radicals Turn to Lenin, Mao and Che. London and New York: Verso, 2002. Ferguson, Marilyn. The Aquarian Conspiracy. Los Angeles: Tarcher Putnam, 1980. Gleick, James. “What Defines a Meme?” Smithsonian Magazine 2011. April 2014 ‹http://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/What-Defines-a Meme.html›. Hair, The American Tribal Love Rock Musical. Prod. Michael Butler. Book by Gerome Ragni and James Rado; Lyrics by Gerome Ragni and James Rado; Music by Galt MacDermot; Musical Director: Galt MacDermot. 1968. Han, Suyin. The Crippled Tree. 1965. Reprinted. Chicago: Academy Chicago P, 1985. ---. A Mortal Flower. 1966. Reprinted. Chicago: Academy Chicago P, 1985. ---. Birdless Summer. 1968. Reprinted. Chicago: Academy Chicago P, 1985. ---. The Morning Deluge: Mao TseTung and the Chinese Revolution 1893-1954. Boston: Little Brown, 1972. ---. My House Has Two Doors. New York: Putnam, 1980. Marsh, Victor. The Boy in the Yellow Dress. Melbourne: Clouds of Magellan Press, 2014. ---. “A Touch of Silk: A (Post)modern Faerie Tale.” Griffith Review 42: Once Upon a Time in Oz (Oct. 2013): 159-69. ---. “Bent Kid, Straight World: Life Writing and the Reconfiguration of ‘Queer’.” TEXT: Journal of Writing and Writing Courses 15.1 (April 2011). ‹http://www.textjournal.com.au/april11/marsh.htm›. ---. “The Boy in the Yellow Dress: Re-framing Subjectivity in Narrativisations of the Queer Self.“ Life Writing 4.2 (Oct. 2007): 263-286. Mol, Hans. Identity and the Sacred: A Sketch for a New Social-Scientific Theory of Religion. Oxford: Blackwell, 1976. Monod, Jacques. Chance and Necessity: An Essay on the Natural Philosophy of Modern Biology. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1970. Roszak, Theodore. The Making of a Counter Culture: Reflections on the Technocratic Society and Its Youthful Opposition. New York: Doubleday, 1968. Salingaros, Nikos. Theory of Architecture. Solingen: Umbau-Verlag, 2006. Stancil, E.D., and M.D. Johnson. Frisbee: A Practitioner’s Manual and Definitive Treatise. New York: Workman, 1975 Winnicott, D.W. Through Paediatrics to Psycho-Analysis: Collected Papers. 1958. London: Hogarth Press, 1975. Yúdice, George. “Testimonio and Postmodernism.” Latin American Perspectives 18.3 (1991): 15-31. Zimmerman, Marc. “Testimonio.” The Sage Encyclopedia of Social Science Research Methods. Eds. Michael S. Lewis-Beck, Alan Bryman and Tim Futing Liao. London: Sage Publications, 2003. Zuber-Skerritt, Ortrun, ed. Australian Playwrights: David Williamson. Amsterdam: Rodolpi, 1988.

IntroductionAustralia is at a particular point in its history where there is a noticeable diaspora of artists and creative practitioners away from the major capitals of Sydney and Melbourne (in particular), driven in no small part by ballooning house prices of the last eight years. This has meant big changes for some regional spaces, and in turn, for the face of Australian cultural life. Regional cultural precincts are forming with tourist flows, funding attention and cultural economies. Likewise, there appears to be growing consciousness in the ‘art centres’ of Melbourne and Sydney of interesting and relevant activities outside their limits. This research draws on my experience as an art practitioner, curator and social researcher in one such region (Castlemaine in Central Victoria), and particularly from a recent interview series I have conducted in collaboration with art space in that region, Wide Open Road Art. In this, 23 regional and city-based artists were asked about the social, economic and local conditions that can and have supported their art practices. Drawing from these conversations and Bourdieu’s ideas around cultural production, the article suggests that authentic, diverse, interesting and disruptive creative practices in Australian cultural life involve the increasingly pressing need for security while existing outside the modern imperative of high consumption; of finding alternative ways to live well while entering into the shared space of cultural production. Indeed, it is argued that often it is the capacity to defy key economic paradigms, for example of ‘rational (economic) self-interest’, that allows creative life to flourish (Bourdieu Field; Ley “Artists”). While regional spaces present new opportunities for this, there are pitfalls and nuances worth exploring.Changes in Regional AustraliaAustralia has long been an urbanising nation. Since Federation our cities have increased from a third to now constituting two-thirds of the country’s total population (Gray and Lawrence 6; ABS), making us one of the most urbanised countries in the world. Indeed, as machines replaced manual labour on farms; as Australia’s manufacturing industry began its decline; and as young people in particular left the country for city universities (Gray and Lawrence), the post-war industrial-economic boom drove this widespread demographic and economic shift. In the 1980s closures of regional town facilities like banks, schools and hospitals propelled widespread belief that regional Australia was in crisis and would be increasingly difficult to sustain (Rentschler, Bridson, and Evans; Gray and Lawrence 2; Barr et al.; ABS). However, the late 1990s and early 21st century saw a turnaround that has been referred to by some as the rise of the ‘sea change’. That is, widespread renewed interest and idealisation of not just coastal areas but anywhere outside the city (Murphy). It was a simultaneous pursuit of “a small ‘a’ alternative lifestyle” and escape from rising living costs in urban areas, especially for the unemployed, single parents and those with disabilities (Murphy). This renewed interest has been sustained. The latest wave, or series of waves, have coincided with the post-GFC house price spike, of cheap credit and lenient lending designed to stimulate the economy. This initiative in part led to Sydney and Melbourne median dwelling prices rising by up to 114% in eight years (Scutt 2017), which alone had a huge influence on who was able to afford to live in city areas and who was not. Rapid population increases and diminished social networks and familial support are also considered drivers that sent a wave of people (a million since 2011) towards the outer fringes of the cities and to ‘commuter belt’ country towns (Docherty; Murphy). While the underprivileged are clearly most disadvantaged in what has actually been a global development process (see Jayne on this, and on the city as a consumer itself), artists and creatives are also a unique category who haven’t fared well with hyper-urbanisation (Ley “Artists”). Despite the class privilege that often accompanies such a career choice, the economic disadvantage art professions often involve has seen a diaspora of artists moving to regional areas, particularly those in the hinterlands around and train lines to major centres. We see the recent ‘rise of a regional bohemia’ (Regional Australia Institute): towns like Toowoomba, Byron Bay, Surf Coast, Gold Coast-Tweed, Kangaroo Valley, Wollongong, Warburton, Bendigo, Tooyday, New Norfolk, and countless more being re-identified as arts towns and precincts. In Australia in 2016–17, 1 in 6 professional artists, and 1 in 4 visual artists, were living in a regional town (Throsby and Petetskaya). Creative arts in regional Australia makes up a quarter of the nation’s creative output and is a $2.8 billion industry; and our regions particularly draw in creative practitioners in their prime productive years (aged 24 to 44) (Regional Australia Institute).WORA Conservation SeriesIn 2018 artist and curator Helen Mathwin and myself received a local shire grant to record a conversation series with 23 artists who were based in the Central Goldfields region of Victoria as well as further afield, but who had a connection to the regional arts space we run, WideOpenRoadArt (WORA). In videoed, in-depth, approximately hour-long, semi-structured interviews conducted throughout 2018, we spoke to artists (16 women and 7 men) about the relocation phenomenon we were witnessing in our own growing arts town. Most were interviewed in WORA’s roving art float, but we seized any ad hoc opportunity we had to have genuine discussions with people. Focal points were around sustainability of practice and the social conditions that supported artists’ professional pursuits. This included accessing an arts community, circles of cultural production, and the ‘art centre’; the capacity to exhibit; but also, social factors such as affordable housing and the ability to live on a low-income while having dependants; and so on. The conversations were rich with lived experiences and insights on these issues.Financial ImperativesIn line with the discussion above, the most prominent factor we noticed in the interviews was the inescapable importance of being able to live cheaply. The consistent message that all of the interviewees, both regional- and city-based, conveyed was that a career in art-making required an important independence from the need to earn a substantial income. One interviewee commented: “I do run my art as a business, I have an ABN […] it makes a healthy loss! I don’t think I’ve ever made a profit […].” Another put it: “now that I’m in [this] town and I have a house and stuff I do feel like there is maybe a bit more security around those daily things that will hopefully give me space to [make artworks].”Much has been said on the pervasive inability to monetise art careers, notably Bourdieu’s observations that art exists on an interdependent field of cultural capital, determining for itself an autonomous conception of value separate to economics (Bourdieu, Field 39). This is somewhat similar to the idea of art as a sacred phenomenon irreducible to dollar terms (Abbing 38; see also Benjamin’s “aura”; “The Work of Art”). Art’s difficult relationship with commodification is part of its heroism that Benjamin described (Benjamin Charles Baudelaire 79), its potential to sanctify mainstream society by staying separate to the lowly aspirations of commerce (Ley “Artists” 2529). However, it is understood, artists still need to attain professional education and capacities, yet they remain at the bottom of the income ladder not only professionally, but in the case of visual artists, they remain at the bottom of the creative income hierarchies as well. Further to this, within visual arts, only a tiny proportion achieve financially backed success (Menger 277). “Artistic labour markets are characterised by high risk of failure, excess supply of recruits, low artistic income level, skewed income distribution and multiple jobholding” (Mangset, Torvik Heian, Kleppe, and Løyland; Menger). Mangset et al. point to ideas that have long surrounded the “charismatic artist myth,” of a quasi-metaphysical calling to be an artist that can lead one to overlook the profession’s vast pitfalls in terms of economic sustainability. One interviewee described it as follows: “From a very young age I wanted to be an artist […] so there’s never been a time that I’ve thought that’s not what I’m doing.” A 1% rule seems widely acknowledged in how the profession manages the financial winners against those who miss out; the tiny proportion of megastar artists versus a vast struggling remainder.As even successful artists often dip below the poverty line between paid engagements, housing costs can make the difference between being able to live in an area and not (Turnbull and Whitford). One artist described:[the reason we moved here from Melbourne] was financial, yes definitely. We wouldn’t have been able to purchase a property […] in Melbourne, we would not have been able to live in place that we wanted to live, and to do what we wanted to do […]. It was never an option for us to get a big mortgage.Another said:It partly came about as a financial practicality to move out here. My partner […] wanted to be in the bush, but I was resistant at first, we were in Melbourne but we just couldn’t afford Melbourne in the end, we had an apartment, we had a studio. My partner was a cabinet maker then. You know, just every month all our money went to rent and we just couldn’t manage anymore. So we thought, well maybe if we come out to the bush […] It was just by a happy accident that we found a property […] that we could afford, that was off-grid so it cut the bills down for us [...] that had a little studio and already had a little cottage on there that we could rent that out to get money.For a prominent artist we spoke to this issue was starkly reflected. Despite large exhibitions at some of the highest profile galleries in regional Victoria, the commissions offered for these shows were so insubstantial that the artist and their family had to take on staggering sums of personal debt to execute the ambitious and critically acclaimed shows. Another very successful artist we interviewed who had shown widely at ‘A-list’ international arts institutions and received several substantial grants, spoke of their dismay and pessimism at the idea of financial survival. For all artists we spoke to, pursuing their arts practice was in constant tension with economic imperatives, and their lives had all been shaped by the need to make shrewd decisions to continue practising. There were two artists out of the 23 we interviewed who considered their artwork able to provide full-time income, although this still relied on living costs remaining extremely low. “We are very lucky to have bought a very cheap property [in the country] that I can [also] have my workshop on, so I’m not paying for two properties in Melbourne […] So that certainly takes a fair bit of pressure off financially.” Their co-interviewee described this as “pretty luxurious!” Notably, the two who thought they could live off their art practices were both men, mid-career, whose works were large, spectacular festival items, which alongside the artists’ skill and hard work was also a factor in the type of remuneration received.Decongested LivingBeyond more affordable real estate and rental spaces, life outside our cities offers other benefits that have particular relevance to creative practitioners. Opera and festival director Lindy Hume described her move to the NSW South Coast in terms of space to think and be creative. “The abundance of time, space and silence makes living in places like [Hume’s town] ideal for creating new work” (Brown). And certainly, this was a theme that arose frequently in our interviews. Many of our regionally based artists were in part choosing the de-pressurised space of non-metro areas, and also seeking an embedded, daily connection to nature for themselves, their art-making process and their families. In one interview this was described as “dreamtime”. “Some of my more creative moments are out walking in the forest with the dog, that sort of semi-daydreamy thing where your mind is taken away by the place you’re in.”Creative HubsAll of our regional interviewees mentioned the value of the local community, as a general exchange, social support and like-minded connection, but also specifically of an arts community. Whether a tree change by choice or a more reactive move, the diaspora of artists, among others, has led to a type of rural renaissance in certain popular areas. Creative hubs located around the country, often in close proximity to the urban centres, are creating tremendous opportunities to network with other talented people doing interesting things, living in close proximity and often open to cross-fertilisation. One said: “[Castlemaine] is the best place in Australia, it has this insane cultural richness in a tiny town, you can’t go out and not meet people on the street […] For someone who has not had community in their life that is so gorgeous.” Another said:[Being an artist here] is kind of easy! Lots of people around to connect—with […] other artists but also creatively minded people [...] So it means you can just bump into someone from down the street and have an amazing conversation in five minutes about some amazing thing! […] There’s a concentration here that works.With these hubs, regional spaces are entering into a new relevance in the sphere of cultural production. They are generating unique and interesting local creative scenes for people to live amongst or visit, and generating strong local arts economies, tourist economies, and funding opportunities (Rentschler, Bridson, and Evans). Victoria in particular has burgeoned, with tourist flows to its regions increasing 13 per cent in 5 years and generating tourism worth $10 billion (Tourism Victoria). Victoria’s Greater Bendigo is Australia’s most popularly searched tourist destination on Trip Advisor, with tourism increasing 52% in 10 years (Boland). Simultaneously, funding flows have increased to regional zones, as governments seek to promote development outside Australia’s urban centres and are confident in the arts as a key strategy in boosting health, economies and overall wellbeing (see Rentschler, Bridson, and Evans; see also the 2018 Regional Centre for Culture initiative, Boland). The regions are also an increasingly relevant participant in national cultural life (Turnbull and Whitford; Mitchell; Simpson; Woodhead). Opportunities for an openness to productive exchange between regional and metropolitan sites appear to be growing, with regional festivals and art events gaining importance and unique attributes in the consciousness of the arts ‘centre’ (see for example Fairley; Simpson; Farrelly; Woodhead).Difficulties of Regional LocationDespite this, our interviews still brought to light the difficulties and barriers experienced living as a regional artist. For some, living in regional Victoria was an accepted set-back in their ambitions, something to be concealed and counteracted with education in reputable metropolitan art schools or city-based jobs. For others there was difficulty accessing a sympathetic arts community—although arts towns had vibrant cultures, certain types of creativity were preferred (often craft-based and more community-oriented). Practitioners who were active in maintaining their links to a metropolitan art scene voiced more difficulty in fitting in and successfully exhibiting their (often more conceptual or boundary-pushing) work in regional locations.The Gentrification ProblemThe other increasingly obvious issue in the revivification of some non-metropolitan areas is that they can and are already showing signs of being victims of their own success. That is, some regional arts precincts are attracting so many new residents that they are ceasing to be the low-cost, hospitable environments for artists they once were. Geographer David Ley has given attention to this particular pattern of gentrification that trails behind artists (Ley “Artists”). Ley draws from Florida’s ideas of late capitalism’s ascendency of creativity over the brute utilitarianism of the industrial era. This has got to the point that artists and creative professionals have an increasing capacity to shape and generate value in areas of life that were previous overlooked, especially with built environments (2529). Now more than ever, there is the “urbane middle-class” pursuing ‘the swirling milieu of artists, bohemians and immigrants” (Florida) as they create new, desirable landscapes with the “refuse of society” (Benjamin Charles Baudelaire 79; Ley New Middle Class). With Australia’s historic shifts in affordability in our major cities, this pattern that Ley identified in urban built environments can be seen across our states and regions as well.But with gentrification comes increased costs of living, as housing, shops and infrastructure all alter for an affluent consumer-resident. This diminishes what Bourdieu describes as “the suspension and removal of economic necessity” fundamental to the avant-garde (Bourdieu Distinction 54). That is to say, its relief from heavy pressure to materially survive is arguably critical to the reflexive, imaginative, and truly new offerings that art can provide. And as argued earlier, there seems an inbuilt economic irrationality in artmaking as a vocation—of dedicating one’s energy, time and resources to a pursuit that is notoriously impoverishing. But this irrationality may at the same time be critical to setting forth new ideas, perspectives, reflections and disruptions of taken-for-granted social assumptions, and why art is so indispensable in the first place (Bourdieu Field 39; Ley New Middle Class 2531; Weber on irrationality and the Enlightenment Project; also Adorno’s the ‘primitive’ in art). Australia’s cities, like those of most developed nations, increasingly demand we busy ourselves with the high-consumption of modern life that makes certain activities that sit outside this almost impossible. As gentrification unfolds from the metropolis to the regions, Australia faces a new level of far-reaching social inequality that has real consequences for who is able to participate in art-making, where these people can live, and ultimately what kind of diversity of ideas and voices participate in the generation of our national cultural life. ConclusionThe revival of some of Australia’s more popular regional towns has brought new life to some regional areas, particularly in reshaping their identities as cultural hubs worth experiencing, living amongst or supporting their development. Our interviews brought to life the significant benefits artists have experienced in relocating to country towns, whether by choice or necessity, as well as some setbacks. It was clear that economics played a major role in the demographic shift that took place in the area being examined; more specifically, that the general reorientation of social life towards consumption activities are having dramatic spatial consequences that we are currently seeing transform our major centres. The ability of art and creative practices to breathe new life into forgotten and devalued ideas and spaces is a foundational attribute but one that also creates a gentrification problem. Indeed, this is possibly the key drawback to the revivification of certain regional areas, alongside other prejudices and clashes between metro and regional cultures. It is argued that the transformative and redemptive actions art can perform need to involve the modern irrationality of not being transfixed by matters of economic materialism, so as to sit outside taken-for-granted value structures. This emphasises the importance of equality and open access in our spaces and landscapes if we are to pursue a vibrant, diverse and progressive national cultural sphere.ReferencesAbbing, Hans. Why Artists Are Poor: The Exceptional Economy of the Arts. Amsterdam: Amsterdam UP, 2002.Adorno, Theodor. Aesthetic Theory. London: Routledge, 1983.Australian Bureau of Statistics. “Population Growth: Capital City Growth and Development.” 4102.0—Australian Social Trends. Canberra: Australian Bureau of Sttaistics, 1996. <http://www.abs.gov.au/ausstats/abs@.nsf/2f762f95845417aeca25706c00834efa/924739f180990e34ca2570ec0073cdf7!OpenDocument>.Barr, Neil, Kushan Karunaratne, and Roger Wilkinson. Australia’s Farmers: Past, Present and Future. Land and Water Resources Research and Development Corporation, 2005. 1 Mar. 2019 <http://inform.regionalaustralia.org.au/industry/agriculture-forestry-and-fisheries/item/australia-s-farmers-past-present-and-future>.Benjamin, Walter. Charles Baudelaire: A Lyric Poet in the Era of High Capitalism. London: NLB, 1973.———. “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction.” Illuminations. Ed. Hannah Arendt. Trans. Harry Zohn. New York: Schocken Books, 1969.Boland, Brooke. “What It Takes to Be a Leading Regional Centre of Culture.” Arts Hub 18 July 2018. 1 Mar. 2019 <https://www.artshub.com.au/festival/news-article/sponsored-content/festivals/brooke-boland/what-it-takes-to-be-a-leading-regional-centre-of-culture-256110>.Bourdieu, Pierre. Distinction. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1984.———. The Field of Cultural Production. New York: Columbia UP, 1993.Brown, Bill. “‘Restless Giant’ Lures Queensland Opera’s Artistic Director Lindy Hume to the Regional Art Movement.” ABC News 13 Sep. 2017. 10 Mar. 2019 <https://www.abc.net.au/news/2017-09-12/regional-creative-industries-on-the-rise/8895842>.Docherty, Glenn. “Why 5 Million Australians Can’t Get to Work, Home or School on Time.” Sydney Morning Herald 17 Feb. 2019. 10 Mar. 2019 <https://www.smh.com.au/national/why-5-million-australians-can-t-get-to-work-home-or-school-on-time-20190215-p50y1x.html>.Fairley, Gina. “Big Hit Exhibitions to See These Summer Holidays.” Arts Hub 14 Dec. 2018. 1 Mar. 2019 <https://visual.artshub.com.au/news-article/news/visual-arts/gina-fairley/big-hit-exhibitions-to-see-these-summer-holidays-257016>.Farrelly, Kate. “Bendigo: The Regional City That’s Transformed into a Foodie and Cultural Hub.” Domain 9 Apr. 2019. 10 Mar. 2019 <https://www.domain.com.au/news/bendigo-the-regional-city-you-didnt-expect-to-become-a-foodie-and-cultural-hub-813317/>.Florida, Richard. “A Creative, Dynamic City Is an Open, Tolerant City.” The Globe and Mail 24 Jun. 2002: T8.Gray, Ian, and Geoffrey Lawrence. A Future For Regional Australia: Escaping Global Misfortune. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001.Hume, Lindy. Restless Giant: Changing Cultural Values in Regional Australia. Strawberry Hills: Currency House, 2017.Jayne, Mark. Cities and Consumption. London: Routledge, 2005.Ley, David. The New Middle Class and the Remaking of the Central City. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996.———. “Artists, Aestheticisation and Gentrification.” Urban Studies 40.12 (2003): 2527–44.Menger, Pierre-Michel. “Artistic Labor Markets: Contingent Works, Excess Supply and Occupational Risk Management.” Handbook of the Economics of Art and Culture. Eds. Victor Ginsburgh and David Throsby. Amsterdam: Elsevier, 2006. 766–811.Mangset, Per, Mari Torvik Heian, Bard Kleppe and Knut Løyland. “Why Are Artists Getting Poorer: About the Reproduction of Low Income among Artists.” International Journal of Cultural Policy 24.4 (2018): 539-58.Mitchell, Scott. “Want to Start Collecting Art But Don’t Know Where to Begin? Trust Your Own Taste, plus More Tips.” ABC Life, 31 Mar. 2019 <https://www.abc.net.au/life/tips-for-buying-art-starting-collection/10084036>.Murphy, Peter. “Sea Change: Re-Inventing Rural and Regional Australia.” Transformations 2 (March 2002).Regional Australia Institute. “The Rise of the Regional Bohemians.” Regional Australia Institute 24 May. 2017. 1 Mar. 2019 <http://www.regionalaustralia.org.au/home/2017/05/rise-regional-bohemians-painting-new-picture-arts-culture-regional-australia/>.Rentschler, Ruth, Kerrie Bridson, and Jody Evans. Regional Arts Australia Stats and Stories: The Impact of the Arts in Regional Australia. Regional Arts Australia [n.d.]. <https://www.cacwa.org.au/documents/item/477>.Simpson, Andrea. “The Regions: Delivering Exceptional Arts Experiences to the Community.” ArtsHub 11 Apr. 2019. <https://visual.artshub.com.au/news-article/sponsored-content/visual-arts/andrea-simpson/the-regions-delivering-exceptional-arts-experiences-to-the-community-257752>.