Journal articles on the topic 'Painting, Modern 20th century Themes, motives'

Chinese folk painting nianhua (literal translation, “New Year’s picture”) is a kind of Chinese graphic art, which received a wide popularity in the late XIX – early XX centuries. On the eve of the New Year in China everywhere decorated interiors of living rooms with colorful pictures containing New Year’s greetings, they were pasted on windows, doors, gates. Decorative pictures had a utilitarian and cultic purpose: images of mythological characters and gods symbolized happiness, longevity, prosperity, protected from disasters and misfortunes. At the beginning of the 20th century, nianhua was produced in the woodcutting shops in a woodcut way, since the middle of the 20th century have been used modern technologies, including printing. New Year’s paintings significantly different from national academic painting. The philosophical concept of New Year’s painting was to reflect the spiritual life of the people, moral values, and artistic tastes. The images were built on the basis of folklore motifs, a rhythmic combination of bright colors created a decorative effect, so nianhua is a valuable material that demonstrates the aesthetic representations of the Chinese people, their folk traditions and symbols. The themes of the New Year’s paintings are extremely diverse and includes the following: scenes from classical literature, religious and symbolic and benevolent drawings, genre art painting, calendars depicting 12 cyclic signs of animals, agricultural calendars and advertising pictures. During the history of its existence, the New Year’s picture plays an important political and ideological role. Traditional paintings propagated the foundations of the orthodox Confucian ideology about social and ethical relationships, including hierarchy in the family and society: “Wu lun – the five principles of relationships”, “Xiao – filial piety”, “Ren – patience”. In the second half of the XX century, the New Year's picture is developing as an agitational poster. Under the influence of European painting and modern political processes in Chinese society, artists began to use a new artistic method - revolutionary realism on purpose to illuminate sociopolitical events, propagandize government tasks and resolutions. The basic principles of painting the New Year’s picture are the decorative character (the brightness of colors, the rhythmic combination of color spots), the hyperbolism and idealization of images, the folklore basis of plots and the conventional symbolic-metaphoric language.

The Russo-Turkish War of 1877–1878 spawned a request from both the government and the public for an appropriate pictorial representation to be evaluated in the categories of ‘high art’, a request which revealed the inability of the predominant aesthetics to be satisfied. The paintings on the subjects of the preceding Balkan Crisis of 1875–1876 easily appealed to the existing reserve of descriptive means in primarily appealing to Orientalist motives by using the international Oriental-artistic language. In this case, painters such as K. Makovsky or V. Polenov did not need to resort to some inversions in the “Turkestan Series” by V. Vereshchagin: the developed artistic language allowed the conveying of the desired content without loss. On the contrary, attempts to present pictorial representations of the Russo-Turkish War found that the old military art was no longer perceived as genuine “art”. Thus, in not being regarded as a proper fixation of “memorable events”, the prevailing new aesthetics was unable to convey the pathos and heroics desired by the authorities. At the same time, it was found that a strong aesthetic effect in military plots was achieved through “seriality”, the interpretation of similar plots as isolated and independent. However, this did not produce a significant effect, that is to say, painting as such was not self-sufficient since it required the assistance of the text, the sequence of images, etc. The problem was reduced significantly with the new aesthetics of the 20th century, and in the last decades of the 19th century, in connection with mentioned above difficulties of painting, historical plots acquired new value, providing new opportunities for the representation of heroic themes while simultaneously giving greater aesthetic freedom.

Viktor Vlasov is one of the brightest representatives of Ukrainian button accordion school, and his work is a special page in the musical culture of Ukraine and a significant component of the button accordion art for children. By his work V. Vlasov implements, new ideas and techniques of performing skills that rely on bright artistic images in the native children’s music, and also applies the means of composition techniques that appear in contemporary button accordion art and he pays attention to the latest unconventional methods of sound making. Due to this variety, V. Vlasov’s works have no only their main task – the education of children, but also it is a guideline for other composers. Music scholars, who study the work of Ukrainian composer-accordionist V. Vlasov, have the important task to give a proper assessment of work in general, and summarize the basic criteria of his approach to the formation of the system of young accordionist’s professional skills. Children’s music of button accordion of Ukrainian authors is a significant amount of works for young performers. Although the history of button accordion performance and pedagogy in comparison with other musical instruments is very short, it can be confirmed of the formation of certain schools of button accordion craftsmanship, including the author’s schools, one of which includes the original work of V. Vlasov. In Ukraine, the period of children’s music of button accordion development was synchronized with the formation of a professional button accordion music in general. Beginning from the second half of the twentieth century composers-accordionists made a huge contribution to the musical heritage, including for children. At the same time, information about this stage of musical culture is still poorly explored, the potential of the Ukrainian children’s music of button accordion is not sufficiently defined, the information about collections of plays for children and young people of Ukrainian composers is not generalized or systematized. Ukrainian music for children encompasses a multitude of individual composer styles (from V. Kosenko, M. Lysenko, I. Shamo to contemporary authors such as A. Gaidenko, V. Vlasov, P. Gubanov, O. Shmykov, B. Myronchuk and many others. V. Vlasov definitely can be considered composers with a brightly individually creative writing. All composer’s musical creativity is original and is closely connected with Ukrainian and world classics using authentic folklore, with an appeal to modern pop and jazz genres. He is the author of many works for button accordion which are as complicated, oriented on high level masters as works for beginners. V. Vlasov’s «Album for Children and Youth» has become an important achievement in the field of button accordion art. The cycle of V. Vlasov includes 45 different-colored music pieces; they are not connected with a plot-thematic line, because each music piece has its musical and artistic content. In addition, the music pieces are grouped into five notebooks in accordance with the general plan and a clear pedagogical task. In the first two notebooks of the album («Album of the first-graders», « At a visit to a fairy tale «), the world of a modern child is developed very clearly in the tradition of children’s album from such composers as R. Schumann and P. Chaikovsky to S. Prokofiev and B. Bartok. In the notebook «Folk tunes» which includes folk treats, V. Vlasov managed to cover folk leaks of different regions of Ukraine. The music pieces of the last notebook («Variety-jazz plays») are based on modern jazz language. Researchers more often pay attention to the listed notebooks. This article focuses on the central book of the album – «Chamber Plays». Three sonatas at the beginning of this notebook are perceived as a microcycle where the specificity of sonat thinking is consistently revealed and the artistic and technical tasks for the artist are gradually becoming more complex. The first music piece is a miniature «Sonatyna» of F-dur of early classical type, but even in the summary presentation the thematic contrast is already presented and the functional and logical side of the sonata form is implemented. The second «Sonatyna» D-dur meets the examples of Vienna classics – the thematic is based on the original contrast, there is already a motive comparison in a small development. The third «Sonatyna» C-dur is the most difficult task for performance; it relies on a complex of expressive means corresponding to the music of the 20th century – the toccata-basis of the themes, a complex harmonious language. Thus, three sonatas are a short «summary» of the genre for button accordionists at beginner level. The study of these sonatas is important for assimilating the most complex musical structure. The following music plieces are devoted to other genres, where the author focuses on the transformation of stylistic features. The romantic type of «Serenade» focused on J. Field’s nocturnes has such features as intricacy, expressiveness, sensuality and refinement and corresponds to the general lyrical character of the music piece. The greatest artistic complexity for button accordion performers in «Serenade» is precisely the embodiment of the character of a work that requires a certain level of student’s artistic development, an open emotionality. «Harpsichord» is a work that helps to restore the picture of the aristocratic salon of the times of Rococo, but at the same time it gives certain tasks for the young performer. V. Vlasov somewhat unusually interprets the distribution of textural functions in this musical piece: the part in the left hand imitates the sound of a harpsichord, creating a harmonic accompaniment, while the soloing art of the right hand reflects the timbre of flute or oboe; here the coordination of the hands of the button accordionist and the differentiation of the strokes are important. The last music piece of the book «Watercolour» seems more complicated in content, and more complex in texture development and performance tasks. In this musical creation of this genre of painting, the composer redefines the established notions about the art technique of watercolors and combines the traditions of musical Impressionism with the elements of the «plot», which is represented as a picture. The Viktor Vlasov work, one of the most prominent representatives of the Ukrainian Button accordion School, is a special page of the musical culture of Ukraine and an important component of children’s button accordion music. The most important achievement of the composer in the “Album for Children and Youth” is the systematic, consistent, professional justification of the whole set of musical and auditory ideas and professional skills that make this cycle can be a real school of button accordion craftsmanship.

Viktor Vlasov is one of the brightest representatives of Ukrainian button accordion school, and his work is a special page in the musical culture of Ukraine and a significant component of the button accordion art for children. By his work V. Vlasov implements, new ideas and techniques of performing skills that rely on bright artistic images in the native children’s music, and also applies the means of composition techniques that appear in contemporary button accordion art and he pays attention to the latest unconventional methods of sound making. Due to this variety, V. Vlasov’s works have no only their main task – the education of children, but also it is a guideline for other composers. Music scholars, who study the work of Ukrainian composer-accordionist V. Vlasov, have the important task to give a proper assessment of work in general, and summarize the basic criteria of his approach to the formation of the system of young accordionist’s professional skills. Children’s music of button accordion of Ukrainian authors is a significant amount of works for young performers. Although the history of button accordion performance and pedagogy in comparison with other musical instruments is very short, it can be confirmed of the formation of certain schools of button accordion craftsmanship, including the author’s schools, one of which includes the original work of V. Vlasov. In Ukraine, the period of children’s music of button accordion development was synchronized with the formation of a professional button accordion music in general. Beginning from the second half of the twentieth century composers-accordionists made a huge contribution to the musical heritage, including for children. At the same time, information about this stage of musical culture is still poorly explored, the potential of the Ukrainian children’s music of button accordion is not sufficiently defined, the information about collections of plays for children and young people of Ukrainian composers is not generalized or systematized. Ukrainian music for children encompasses a multitude of individual composer styles (from V. Kosenko, M. Lysenko, I. Shamo to contemporary authors such as A. Gaidenko, V. Vlasov, P. Gubanov, O. Shmykov, B. Myronchuk and many others. V. Vlasov definitely can be considered composers with a brightly individually creative writing. All composer’s musical creativity is original and is closely connected with Ukrainian and world classics using authentic folklore, with an appeal to modern pop and jazz genres. He is the author of many works for button accordion which are as complicated, oriented on high level masters as works for beginners. V. Vlasov’s «Album for Children and Youth» has become an important achievement in the field of button accordion art. The cycle of V. Vlasov includes 45 different-colored music pieces; they are not connected with a plot-thematic line, because each music piece has its musical and artistic content. In addition, the music pieces are grouped into five notebooks in accordance with the general plan and a clear pedagogical task. In the first two notebooks of the album («Album of the first-graders», « At a visit to a fairy tale «), the world of a modern child is developed very clearly in the tradition of children’s album from such composers as R. Schumann and P. Chaikovsky to S. Prokofiev and B. Bartok. In the notebook «Folk tunes» which includes folk treats, V. Vlasov managed to cover folk leaks of different regions of Ukraine. The music pieces of the last notebook («Variety-jazz plays») are based on modern jazz language. Researchers more often pay attention to the listed notebooks. This article focuses on the central book of the album – «Chamber Plays». Three sonatas at the beginning of this notebook are perceived as a microcycle where the specificity of sonat thinking is consistently revealed and the artistic and technical tasks for the artist are gradually becoming more complex. The first music piece is a miniature «Sonatyna» of F-dur of early classical type, but even in the summary presentation the thematic contrast is already presented and the functional and logical side of the sonata form is implemented. The second «Sonatyna» D-dur meets the examples of Vienna classics – the thematic is based on the original contrast, there is already a motive comparison in a small development. The third «Sonatyna» C-dur is the most difficult task for performance; it relies on a complex of expressive means corresponding to the music of the 20th century – the toccata-basis of the themes, a complex harmonious language. Thus, three sonatas are a short «summary» of the genre for button accordionists at beginner level. The study of these sonatas is important for assimilating the most complex musical structure. The following music plieces are devoted to other genres, where the author focuses on the transformation of stylistic features. The romantic type of «Serenade» focused on J. Field’s nocturnes has such features as intricacy, expressiveness, sensuality and refinement and corresponds to the general lyrical character of the music piece. The greatest artistic complexity for button accordion performers in «Serenade» is precisely the embodiment of the character of a work that requires a certain level of student’s artistic development, an open emotionality. «Harpsichord» is a work that helps to restore the picture of the aristocratic salon of the times of Rococo, but at the same time it gives certain tasks for the young performer. V. Vlasov somewhat unusually interprets the distribution of textural functions in this musical piece: the part in the left hand imitates the sound of a harpsichord, creating a harmonic accompaniment, while the soloing art of the right hand reflects the timbre of flute or oboe; here the coordination of the hands of the button accordionist and the differentiation of the strokes are important. The last music piece of the book «Watercolour» seems more complicated in content, and more complex in texture development and performance tasks. In this musical creation of this genre of painting, the composer redefines the established notions about the art technique of watercolors and combines the traditions of musical Impressionism with the elements of the «plot», which is represented as a picture. The Viktor Vlasov work, one of the most prominent representatives of the Ukrainian Button accordion School, is a special page of the musical culture of Ukraine and an important component of children’s button accordion music. The most important achievement of the composer in the “Album for Children and Youth” is the systematic, consistent, professional justification of the whole set of musical and auditory ideas and professional skills that make this cycle can be a real school of button accordion craftsmanship.

Summary. The defined issue is the new angle to study Petro Kholodnyi Sr. heritage, that allows to research the thematic interest features and style synthesis specific to artist`s original language, where we can trace the modernist style, symbolism, byzantine style and impressionism echoes. It was observed an important group of artwork by Kholodnyi Sr. in the article. Together with the sacral heritage, they have played a significant role in the reviving of the Ukrainian national art in the first part of XX century - the compositions on the folk themes. The comprehensive review of the folk poetics in creative work by Petro Kholodnyi Sr., is lightened in context of the current historical and art-cultural realities of the defined period, that allowed to distinguish the characteristic, typical and novel features in creating, by Petro Kholodnyi Sr., the Ukrainian national art through appealing to the folk poetics. It was marked, that Petro Kholodnyi Sr. engagement in folklore was natural in context of two essential interdependent tendencies of that period: the idea of the “national reviving” in the Ukrainian culture in the first part of XX century, among the characteristic features of which – appealing to folklore as the field of the national spirit preserving and “tradition discovery”. It is defined the peculiarities of trendsetting technical performance and ideological-stylistic understanding and rendering of the folk poetics in the visual form, that expanded the idea of this source interpretation abilities in form and sense aspects of that period art searches context. Methods. For holistic analysis, author applied the following methods: form and style analysis to explore the art peculiarities of the artwork, on the Ukrainian folklore motives, by Petro Kholodnyi Sr.; comparative style analysis to detect the features of artist creation manner and its change according to certain one or other ideological-sensitive or emotional message, and to distinguish the differences, between comprehension and visual implementation of the folk poetics in Kholodnyi Sr. creative work in comparison with Russian artists, who, in their creative activities, appealed to the folk well-springs. Results. Through folk poetics, which he felt delicately, Kholodnyi Sr. propagates the most current messages of “national reviving” in early XX century. In particular, the Ukrainian national history pages he exposes via appealing to such source of its study as ballad (thought) (“The thought of the Black sea windstorm”), that added some folk-poetic colours to the theme; also he refers to one of the most famous ancient Rus literature memorials of the late XII century – “The Lay of Igor’s Campaign”, which is saturated with Slavic folk poetry motives. In compositions created by these sources, Kholodnyi Sr. not so much emphasized the ballad subject illustrations or historical annals context as the poetic highness. So there is in his artwork, even on historic themes, a strong, musical in its harmonic melody, rhythm of colourful spots and lines. That’s the important individuality of his creations. The same powerful national poetics we can also feel in his creative works on Ukrainian tales, corals and songs motives, where the emphasis is put on enlarging the emotional-sensitivity edge, but not on the external plot, that we can see in such works as “Oh, there is rye on a field”, “Ivasyk and witch” and “The tale of a girl and a peacock”. Poetry and subjective-emotional components of two last creations point out on the affinity to symbolic-modern worldview, where the reality and tale are mixed at the moment. In his works on folk themes, he combined the style trends early XX century with the national painting traditions. Particularly “The Tale of a girl and a Peacock” corresponds by style to plastic language of modern with its emphasized decorativeness, softness of lines and clear lineal drawing, but in composition “Oh, there is rye on a field” we can see the signs of late modern which includes into its art language the method of stylization one or other famous historical pattern, in this case - byzantinism. Both art work performed in discovered by artist tempera technique which allowed to get that colour tints that enchanted in the ancient Galician icons. So these paintings possess you by delicately harmonized tincture which together with folk motive, its subject and ethnographic details, like heroes’ cloths, creates the folk-national sound of composition.

The article deals with genre-style modifications of the realistic essay of the 19th-20th centuries. In the article the author studies Anton Krushelnytsky’s artistic legacy (1878–1937) in the context of the dominant trends of Ukrainian literature at the end of XIX – the beginning of XX century and through the receptive dimensions of modern theory of literature. The paper defines the ideological and axiological background of the writer’s artistic understanding the reality and aesthetic nature of his creativity. The unity of the form and contest of prose texts is determined. The prose of the given period has a great variety of intra-genre modifications: essay, feuilleton, short story, story, novel. The works demonstrate exceptional multidimensionality of their inner structure, style diffusion, eclecticism of belles lettres methods and ways to achieve reality; the motives of «true morals» appear, which form counterbalance and alternative to moral chaos. Syncretic interaction of aesthetic paradigms of neorealism with impressionism, expressionism, symbolism is observed in prose. The characteristic features of the literature of the transitional stage in the moral-ethical, psychological and emotional aspects are revealed. Ukrainian literature of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries was accompanied by the synthesis of sociological, psychological, aesthetic systems. The genre and style features and modifications of A. Krushelnytsky’s small form of prose are considered. The narrative models of the writer’s novels are analysed. Consequently, the essay as a genre of small prose is a complex and multifaceted phenomenon that contains philosophical and aesthetic representations, artistic, socio-political, and moral-ethical quest for the breakthrough of the turn of the 19th and 20th centuries. The artistic practice of writers contributed to enriching of Ukrainian writing with new themes, images and genre forms, expanding the limits of traditional realism, so, updating the artistic and stylistic palette. The given motives of writers’ works reflected to the inside feelings and experiences of heroes are present as intertextual inclusions in prose of M. Kotsubinskiy, V. Stefanik, P. Mirniy, L. Ukrainka, O. Kobilianska and other writers at the turn of XIX-XX centuries. Being an organic component of Ukrainian literature, the narrative represents a tendency to expand the social sphere of personality images, to deepen the personal psychological characteristics of the individual. The place and role of prose creative works in Ukrainian literary process at the turn of the century are grounded.

The essay presents an overview of Jewish American prose of the second half of the 20th — first two decades of the 21st century within the context of multicultural literature of the USA. The definition of Jewish literature remains a matter of debate. The author of the essay based on the opinions of critics concludes on the criterion for assigning a writer to Jewish literature. It is the artistic embodiment of the personal Jewish experience and identity in the works of literature, the view “from inside,” the perspective of collective memory and the connection to history and culture. Jewish literature today is one of the most developed ethnic segments of multicultural American literature. Writers under study are recognized throughout the world, their works have been translated into many languages, including Russian, they are known to readers and have already become the subject of study by literary scholars. Today, Jewish American literature is represented by two generations of writers. “Senior” generation includes the authors born in the 1920s–30s who began their literary careers in the 60s when there was a generational change in national literature. “Young” generation is represented by the writers who began their literary careers in the 2000s. On the example of the works of the most famous authors of both generations, the author of the essay talks about the factors determining the specific features of Jewish American prose and its characteristic themes, problems, and motives: the search for identity and roots, the representation and rethinking of the Holocaust, ethnic stereotypes, the image of the Jewish family, and the traditions of Jewish humor. The study of the works of modern Jewish writers in the United States allows us to draw conclusions about the display of border consciousness, national and ethnic identity, and collective memory in fiction.

The article deals with the thematicism and thematic work in the first movement of Mozart’s Piano Sonata KV 311/284c (1777). The analysis of thematical process in this instrumental composition is examined under the angle of correlation between the contemporary and historical approaches: 1. the correspondence of the music theory concepts that were part of the lexicon of Wolfgang Amadeus and Leopold Mozarts (Ideen, il filo), with a complex of musical-analytical terms of our time, formed both in line with the historically informed theory, and in the context of the general theory of musical composition and form; 2. the comparison of research methods of the musical-thematic plan in the English-language and Russian musicology of the last half century. Sonata KV311/284c does not pertain to the number of Mozart’s compositions that have already been studied earlier from the point of view of the theory of topoi, which makes its analysis of additional interest. The article defines the topoi in the first Allegro, demonstrates their distribution in the sonata form, traces the logic of motivic and thematic transformations. The similarity of the “plotline”, which is formed from the relationship of the elements of the musical text (tonal, harmonic, melodic, textural, dynamic, etc.), began to be examined in musicology during the last third of the 20th and the early 21st centuries through the prism of the concept of narrative analysis. Such a plotline in Mozart’s sonata unfolds on two levels. The first is the typical for the sonata form “deducibility” of all themes from the main theme, that is, a certain “obligatory tonefabula” of the sonata composition (a term by Rostislav Berberov). The second level is the presence of an individual “intonation fabula” (a term by Inna Barsova), which is realized through the correlation of motives. In this plot, the archetypal narrative of comedy described by Almén (Byron Almén, 2003, 2008) gets its original embodiment. Thus, when considering the works of Mozart, both narratological analysis and the identification of a “common” classical musical language have significant prospects. At the same time, the relationship between the concepts that have been brought into scholarly use in our time and the concepts that have come from the 18th century is by no means unambiguous. The modern terms “narrative” and “topos” primarily define typological models, while the terms taken from the personal communication of Wolfgang and Leopold Mozarts fix individual of such models specific compositions.

Surrealistic art is one of the most engaging and intriguing art genres. Surrealism itself is considered to have been the most influential art movement of the 20th century. Started in the 1920s as a literary movement that eventually took on a visual dimension, its foundational principles have continued to influence the thought process and style of many modern artists in the realm of self-expression. In their studies of many disciplines in the art including genres of painting, drawing and sculpture, students of art at the University usually find the concept of surrealism initially difficult to decipher mainly because of the uniqueness of its own description. The dream-like imageries of surrealism are derived from dreams and the unconscious mind; hence, the students have to contend with the derivation of subject matter from an unusual source. This is challenging for most of them since they are used to formulating subject matter from a purely academic perspective and from themes that they ordinarily relate to in their environment or can easily reference. Although students embark on drawing from their first year of study, they are introduced to surrealistic drawing as a unit in their final year. With their drawing background, it is presumed that by their final year, they have attained adequate levels of drawing skills for application in any artistic challenge. This study examines, through analysis of selected works, firstly, the extent to which students are able to internalise the concept of surrealism and apply it in the construction of the artistic composition, and secondly whether their drawings demonstrate an individual capacity for self-expression and the derivation of meaning, through dream-like imageries drawn from the unconscious mind. The students were exposed to preliminary studies and examination of surrealistic work, discussions of subject matter, origination, style and technique in the course of their unit programme. For the purpose of uniformity of medium, they were instructed to work only in pencil. They were subsequently accorded adequate time and space to embark on their work with class presentations and discussions at prescribed intervals. The resultant drawings were many and varied and the ones selected are those that displayed good artistic execution and/or displayed a certain profoundness of meaning or interpretation.

The article analyzes Y. Boyko-Blokhyn’s comparative model as an important integral concept element of Ukrainian emigre scholars comparative literary studies in the 1930s-1980s period (Y. Boyko-Blokhyn, M. Hnatyshak, S. Hordynsky, V. Derzhavyn, I. Kaczurowskyj, D. Chyzhevsky, Y. Sherekh and others). Approaches of the emigre scholar to literature comparative exploration are interpreted in the context of global comparative studies main trends, and placed against the views of the mainland comparative literary studies representatives. We clarified the distinguishing features of Y. Boyko-Blokhyn’s model, proved its multidimensional and multivector character, and ascertained comparatist attitudes relevance towards modern comparative literary studies, taking into account their development potential. This goes according to the purpose of the work and its tasks. This research applies advances in comparative historical analysis, methodology of both historic cultural and receptive aesthetic schools. Conceptual idea of the scholar shows his attention to contact-genetic relationship as well as typological similarities and differences. The author interprets functionality problem of inter-literary/ intercultural communication preeminently as a national literature stylistic development factor. The study reveals the interdisciplinary nature of Y. Boyko-Blokhyn’s works (with access to the realm of philosophy, psychology and cultural studies), and demonstrates his integration of contextual, intermedial and other approaches, which fundamentally enriched methodological tools of comparative literary studies. Reflections of Y. Boyko-Blokhyn on the problem of Slavic literatures comparative study, while witnessing the author’s inherent interest in national identity problem, emphasized and deepened research of Slavic, specifically East Slavic, literatures as a fundamental component of the European cultural space. They also substantiated the demand for changes in approach to study the East Slavic region, particularly historical and literary processes in Belarusian, Ukrainian, and Russian literatures. Scientist’s observations and conclusions, aimed at understanding Ukrainian literature in the European context, broaden drastically the idea of its peculiarity, with an emphasis on the features conditioned by its development (T. Shevchenko – G. Byron, R. Burns, J.W. Goethe, A. Dante, G. Leopardi, A. Mickiewicz, T. Moore, Novalis, S. Petőfi, W. Shakespeare, F. Schiller; I. Franko – G. Byron, E.T.A. Hoffmann, A. Chamisso; Lesya Ukrainka – G. Hauptmann, M. Maeterlinck, O. Wilde and others). The researcher traces occurrences of literary reception by the national literature of other nations artistic and aesthetic experiences at various levels of comparative poetics (themes, motives, style, etc.) Conclusion. We proved an important role of Y.Boyko-Blokhyn’s comparative model, who developed impactful traditions of national comparative literary studies of the second half of the 19th century – first third of the 20th century, and at the same time rethought (including through denial) western methodologies, in development not only of Ukrainian, but also of the global literature science as a whole. Insights and ideas of the emigre scholar, many of which were often ahead of his foreign colleagues ideas (A. Balakian, H. Bloom, U. Weisstein, D. Durishin, A. Popovich, H.R. Jauss and others), remain relevant even nowadays. Y. Boyko-Blokhyn’s approaches to comparative study of literatures in the world context with a special emphasis on the problem of national identity apparently acquired the utmost importance during the era of globalization. Similar logic of thinking is affine to those modern authors who insist to study first differences between national creative writings, which according to their deep conviction enrich and diversify the global cultural universe (A. Balakian, C.Bernheimer, E. Kaspersky, F. Toudoire-Surlapierre and others). In contrast to “cultural unification scenarios”, Y. Boyko-Blokhyn’s reflections which draw attention to different literatures/cultures polylogue phenomenon, their mutual understanding and enrichment, are based on the following fundamental thesis: “originality is a runner to commonality” (it is also of fundamental importance for formation of comparative literary history concept). It’s emblematic that the Ukrainian scientist back then strongly denied the position of R. Wellek and R.Warren, who absolutized the tendency to universalization of the global literary process. Instead, Y. Boyko-Blokhyn argued for study of national version of pan-European style (romanticism, realism, modernism), traditional plots and characters, and he also scaled out radically the influence range idea as a manifestation of literary reception, with an emphasis on its creative character (from influence as a repulsion to influence as an “activity stimulus”, “impulse for self-movement”). In fact, these reflections of Y. Boyko-Blokhyn anticipated approaches of those scholars who justified later the concept of active perception as opposed to passive influence, actualizing the role of recipient in the process of inter-literary communication (H.R. Jauss), thesis about the decisive role of the recipient literature (D. Durishin), interpretive theory – “fear of influence” (H.Bloom). Y. Boyko-Blokhyn’s conceptual thoughts about understanding the “reverse influences” problem, as well as related matter of contribution of each Slavic, in particular East Slavic, literature to the global cultural heritage, are extremely consonant with arguments that have been in the researchers’ focus even in these recent times (M. Boehmig, O. Pachlovska). In conclusion we can say that Y. Boyko-Blokhyn’s comparative model which is characterized by nation-centric orientation emphasizes fundamentally the prospects for further scientific research in historical, literary and comparative dimensions, first of all in projection of such methodologies inherent to modern comparative literary studies as imagology, theory of intertextuality and cultural transfer

Formulation of the problem. The creative work of the bright representative of the Italian opera U. Giordano consists of eleven operas. Despite the fact that the composer is considered a bright representative of verismo, not all his operas belong to this direction. For example, in the late period of his creativity (1910–1920), U. Giordano departs from the traditions of verismo and aims his search for the comedy genre («La cena delle beffe», «Dinner with Jokes»), the genre of opera novels («The King»). But all the same, the main, repertoire operas (as early as «Mala Vita», «Marina», and the mature ones like «Andrea Chenier», «Fedora») are the quintessence of the tradition of verismo. The opera «Siberia» is also considered to be such. The emergence of new productions of the opera in the 21st century gives a reason to appeal to this opus and analyse it in terms of stability of the traits of the composing style of U. Giordano. The purpose of the study is to identify the role of the opera «Siberia» in the context of creativity by U. Giordano. Analysis of recent publications on the topic of the article. U. Giordano’s creative work is systematically presented in the study of M. Morini (1968), where he collected articles not only written by himself, but also by other researchers of the composer’s creative work. Today it is the most complete publication of his letters and reviews on the opera productions. Vincenzo Therenzio reflects on the basics of the style of U. Giordano, Giovanni Ugolini resorts to the analysis of the traditions of verismo in the creative work of the composer. Carmine Ruizzo’s research is devoted to the manifestations of verismo in the creative work of U. Giordano. In relation to creativity (general characteristics) of U. Giordano one should list the encyclopaedic articles and the book by Alan Mallach, which covers the path of the Italian opera on the border of the 20th – 21st centuries from verismo to modernism. Regarding the opera “Siberia”, we should mention the review article by M. Morini and the articles directly devoted to the productions in the «Helikon-opera». We do not find a detailed analysis of the score of the opera in any scientific sources. Statement of the main content of the article. The plot of the opera «Siberia» is the love story of the officer Vasyl and the courtesan Stefana, who, after Vasyl was arrested, follows him to Siberia. The pimp Hleb cannot quarrel the lovers, but after an unsuccessful escape the injured Stefana dies. This tragic story is presented by the composer and librettist (Illik) on the background of the Russian reality, which creates a certain context of the love line of the main heroes. And the interpretation of the plot, and the musical concept in general, corresponds to the guides of the opera creativity of U. Giordano. Thus, generalizing the observations of G. Marqezi, M. Morini, and V. Therenzio, one can determine the following features of the composer’s opera style, among which there is the theme of love in the centre of the plot, the ability to create bright and exciting portraits of the main characters, the «stylistic equilibrium» (V. Therenzio), the reliance on the traditions of the Italian musical theatre, the combination of the purity of the picture and expression, the inclusion of reminiscences, the severity of orchestration, the provision of the national character to the score (by incorporating the musical material of the region in which the action takes place). All of them are embodied in the opera «Siberia». The analysis of the main scenes of the opera “Siberia” with the participation of the protagonists – Stefana and Vasyl – is presented, and it is proved that this opera (along with «Fedora» and «Andrea Chenier») is the quintessence of the traditions of verismo. Conclusions. In the context of the creative work of U. Giordano, the opera «Siberia» takes up the prominent place. It, along with the operas of the mature style («Fedora», «Andrea Chenier»), embodies the typical features of the opera style of the composer. So, the images of the protagonists are vivid in their musical characteristics. In addition, the musical images of Vasyl and Stefana are presented by the composer in the development. The very Vasyl owns almost all the main motives of the opera, which often appear before the listener in a slightly transformed form. Often there is just a reminder of them with similar intonations and rhythm. It should be noted that the musical material characterizing the image of Vasyl, in its expressiveness and intonation wealth, is not inferior to the woman’s party of Stefana, in contrast to the “La Traviata” by G. Verdi, where the main emphasis is on the main character – Violet. As for the orchestration of the opera, in general, it has a strict character, although the composer includes the simulation of a characteristic instrument for the colour provision. Thus, the vivid contrast in the scene of Stefana’s death is a picture of folk feasts under the sounds of the balalaika (which in the orchestra is imitated by the mandolin). The instrument symbolizes that somewhere far away, life continues to go on its own. The orchestral score of the opera “Siberia” is distinguished by the transparency of the texture, most of the material is laid out in the string group and the group of the wooden brass instruments. The timbres of the copper wind instruments are rare, as well as the great dynamic nuances. The feature that gives the opera “Siberia” a similarity to the best examples of the Italian theatre is the intonation concept. For example, the typical resemblance to G. Verdi’s “La Traviata” is that all the musical material of this picture from the lives of ordinary people is permeated with household song and dance intonations and rhythms. They fill both the recitative episodes and the aria ones. If in “La Traviata” the main theme of Alfred is presented in a waltz manner, with a three-part size, the themes of the hero of the opera “Siberia” of Vasyl are described predominantly in four-part sizes (including 12/8), which is more attractive to the song-romance composition. The parallel with “La Traviata” is still that the hero Alfred had to fight not only with the public condemnation about the choice of his beloved woman who led an unworthy way of life but also with the personal condemnation from his father and family. Vasyl also struggled for his beloved woman, who was also a courtesan, but for him it was not so important what Stefana’s being was like, the problem was her financial dependence on another man. The prospect of further study of the topic. In the modern theatre (after a long oblivion) both the directors and performers return their interest to the opera “Siberia”, which makes it possible to analyse the composition by U. Giordano from the point of view of the performing analysis.

Dr. Akira Mizuta Lippit, author of Electric Animal: Toward a Rhetoric of Wildlife, explores, in the context of the development of cinema, how the concept of “the animal” has become central to modern understandings of human subjectivity. Lippit considers the disappearance of real animals and their concurrent appearance in various conceptual and material uses, particularly noting the ways in which the conjoined notions of humanity and animality figure into and through cinema. The animal, he argues, haunts the foundation of western logical systems. Yet, despite the fact that humans and animals suffer under the discursive weight of the signifier, Lippit is careful to note the increasing instability of the human-animal boundary and what might be done to realize more just relationships among both humans and other animals. On February 12, 2008, Lauren Corman spoke with Lippit as part of the “Animal Voices” radio program, a weekly show dedicated to animal advocacy and cultural critique. They discussed how Lippit developed his thesis and the ramifications of his theoretical work. Electric Animal: Toward a Rhetoric of Wildlife was published in 2000 by the University of Minnesota Press. “Animal Voices” can be heard weekly on CIUT 89.5 FM in Toronto, or online at animalvoices.ca.Full TextLauren Corman: How have questions regarding animals and animality figured into your film scholarship? When did you bring these themes into your work, and why? Akira Mizuta Lippit: That is its own story in a way. The book that you refer to, Electric Animal, was written initially as my doctoral dissertation, and at the time, I was thinking in particular about the moment at which cinema appeared in the late 19th century. There are all kinds of phantasmatic and imaginary birthdays of cinema, but generally people agree that 1895, or thereabouts, was when cinema appeared as a set of technological, aesthetic, and cultural features, and as an economic mode of exchange. People sold and bought tickets and attended screenings. And I was thinking about what it must have felt like at that moment to experience this uncanny medium. There are various reports of early film performances and screenings, some of them apocryphal and inventive and embellished and so forth, but I think the fascination, the kind of wonder that cinema evoked among many early viewers had to do with this uncanny reproduction of life, of living movement, and the strange tension that it created between this new technology (and we are in the middle of the industrial revolution and seeing the advent of all sorts of technologies and devices and apparatuses), and its proximity to, in a simple way, life: the movements of bodies. And I began to think that the principle of animation, here was critical. To make something move, and in thinking about the term animation and all of its roots, to make something breathe, to make something live. What struck me, in this Frankensteinian moment was the sense that something had come to life, and the key seemed to be about how people understood, conceived of, and practiced this notion of animating life through a technology. I started to hear a resonance between animals and animation. I started to think about the way in which animals also played a role, not only in early cinema and in animation and the practice of the genre but leading up to it in the famous photographs of Edward Muybridge and Étienne-Jules Marey, the moving images of animals that were produced serially, as well as the “chronophotographs” that rendered animal motion. And it occurred to me that there was a reason to pause and think about what role animals were playing at that moment in history. As I began to read, and as I began to collect materials and to think through this question of the status and function of the animal, what animality meant, it took on its own set of values, and essentially Electric Animal ended up being a kind of preamble, or an introduction to a book that I haven’t yet written, because I only reach at the end of the book, and in a very perfunctory manner, the advent of cinema. So in a sense, this book, and this question, about what an animal meant for generations before, at that moment and in successive generations, became its own subject, one I still think is critically linked to the question of cinema, and the arrival of cinema, and the force of cinema throughout the 20th century. LC: Let’s return to that piece that you mentioned about life, and that cinema could show or play this Frankensteinian role; of course, a parallel stream is around death, and some of the work that I have read about early cinema shows that people were quite afraid, initially, of what it meant. Could you comment on that theme of death and the animal in cinema? AML: This emerged as a major issue during the course of my study. The discourse on death and the uncanny, the idea that something appears to be there, in the form of a ghost or a phantom, already existed in discussions of photography throughout the 19th century. The sense that photography forges a material connection to the object, that the photograph establishes a material connection to the photographed object, and as such when you look at a photograph you are not simply looking at a rendering, like an artist’s interpretation in a painting or sculpture, but you are actually looking at, experiencing a kind of carnal, physical contact with the persons themselves, or with an object, reappears frequently in the discourses on photography. This creates a real excitement, and also fear. I think that effect, the photographic effect of somehow being in the presence of the thing itself, is enhanced by the addition of movement, because with movement you have the feeling that this being is not just there, looking at you perhaps, but also moving in its element, in its time, whether (and this is very important to the discussions of photography) that person is still alive or not. I think that gap is produced at the moment of any photograph and perhaps in any film: the person who appears before you, who appears to be alive, who at that moment is alive, may or may not still be alive. So it produces, among those who have thought in this way, a sense of uncanniness, something is there and isn’t there at once. Where I think that this is particularly important in this discussion of “the animal,” and as I began to discover in doing the reading (I should add that I am not a philosopher, I don’t teach philosophy, but I am a reader of philosophy; I read it sporadically, I read here and there wherever my interests are) is that with very few but important exceptions, there is a line of western philosophy that says animals are incapable of dying. On the most intuitive level this seems nonsensical. Of course animals die. We know that animals die. We kill animals; we kill them andwe see them die. No question that animals die. But the philosophical axiom here—which begins with Epicurus, but is repeated over and over, by Descartes perhaps most forcefully, and in the 20th century by Martin Heidegger—is that death is not simply a perishing, the end of life, but it is a experience that one has within life, a relationship with one’s own end. The claim that is made over and over again, which has been disputed by many people – and it is certainly not my claim – but the claim that one finds repeatedly in philosophy is that animals don’t die – they don’t have death in the way human beings have, and carry with them, death. Animals know fear, they know things like instinctual preservation, they seek to survive, but they don’t have death as an experience. Heidegger will say in the most callous way, they simply perish. It struck me that this problem was not a problem of animals, but rather a problem for human beings. If human beings don’t concede the capacity of animals to die, then what does it mean that animals are disappearing at this very moment, in the various developments of industry, in human population, in urbanization, environmental destruction, that animals are increasingly disappearing from the material and everyday world? And where do they go, if we don’t, as human beings, concede or allow them death? (Of course this is only in a very specific, and one might argue, very small, discursive space in western philosophy. Many people have pointed out that this is not the case in religious discourses, in a variety of cultural practices, and in various ethnic and cultural communities. This is a certain kind of western ideology that has been produced through a long history of western philosophy.) So the question of death, the particular form of suspended death that photography and cinema introduced appeared in response to perhaps a crisis in western critical and philosophical discourse that denied to the animal, to animals, the same kind of death that human beings experience. You have this convergence of two death-related, life-anddeath related, problems at a time when I think that these issues were particularly important. LC: So from there, the question that comes to mind is what purpose does it serve and the word that is coming to mind is identity, and the idea of human identity and subjectivity. There must be some reason that western thought keeps going back to this denial of animal death. You tie it in, as others have, to language. AML: Two key features of human subjectivity, in the tradition of western philosophy, have been language and death, and the relationship between language and death. This goes back to Plato, to Socrates, and before. The point at which I was writing Electric Animal, at the end of the 20th century, gave me the ability to look back at developments in critical theory, philosophy, and the history of ideas throughout the 20th century, and it became clear with the significant interventions of the late 1960s that from at least one century earlier, the question of human subjectivity, its stability, its absoluteness, had already been in question. This question is slowly working its way toward a radical re-evaluation of the status of, the value of, and ultimately the confidence that human beings place in their own subjectivity, and there are many, many influences: around questions of gender and sexuality, questions of race and identity, and in crimes like genocide, for example, during World War II, but before and after as well. All of these developments contribute to this reevaluation, but one could argue that at this moment, in the late 19th century already, there was a certain sense that what had been insisted upon as absolutely unique, as an absolute form in itself – the human subject – required a whole series of constant exclusions and negations for it to survive. One such exclusion is to claim as properly human, language; what makes the human being human, is the capacity for language, and through this capacity, the capacity for death. As many philosophers argue, only human beings can name death as such, because language gives us the capacity to names those things, not just objects around us, but to name those things that do not appear before us, and these would be the traditional philosophical objects: love, death, fear, life, forgiveness, friendship, and so on. And it will be assumed that animals have communication, they communicate various things within their own groups and between groups, they signal of course, but that animals don’t have language as such, which means they can’t name those things that are not before them or around them. And it is very clear that there is an effort among human beings to maintain the survival of this precious concept of human subjectivity, as absolutely distinct and absolutely unique. So you find in those long discourses on human subjectivity, this return to questions of language and death. I would suggest that at this time, with the appearance of Charles Darwin and his theory of evolution, and with other disruptive thinkers like Sigmund Freud and the advent of psychoanalysis, there is a great sense of uncertainty regarding these edifices of human subjectivity, language and death. In Electric Animal this moment is particularly rich with such shifts and instabilities, and the sense that language is not exclusive to human beings, as many people thought, but also that language is not as self-assured in human beings as people thought. Here psychoanalysis plays an important role in indicating, at least speculatively, that we are not as in control of the language that we use to the extent that we would like to believe. LC: What are the consequences of this process in western thought, where the subject is conceived through an exclusion or a negation of the animal? What are the implications for humans, and also what are the implications for animals? I know that is a huge question. AML: It is a huge question; It is a very important question. One could argue that the consequences of a certain practice, let’s say, of the politics of the subject have been disastrous, certainly for animals, but also for human beings. If you take one of the places where the form of the human subject is created, it would be Descartes’ Discourse on Method, his attempt to figure out what, when everything that can be doubted and has been doubted, is left to form the core. And this is his famous quote: “Je pense donc je suis”, I think therefore I am, I am thinking therefore I am. If you read the Discourse on Method, this is a process of exclusion: I exclude everything that I am not to arrive at the central core of what I am. The process he follows leads him to believe that it is his consciousness, it is his presence, his selfpresence with his own consciousness that establishes for him, beyond any doubt, his existence. This is somewhat heretical, it is a break from theological discourses of the soul; it represents a form of self-creation through one’s consciousness. But consciousness is a very complicated thing, a very deceptive thing, because what I believe, what I feel, is not always exactly the way things are. Looking at a series of important shifts that have taken place during what we might call generally the modern period, which extends further back than the recent past, one finds a number of assaults on the primacy of consciousness. Freud names one as the Copernican revolution, which suggested that the earth was not the centre of the universe and that human beings were not at the centre of the universe; the Darwinian revolution, which suggested that humans beings were not created apart from other forms, all other forms of organic life, and that human beings shared with other animate beings, organic beings a common history, a pre-history. And Freud (he names himself as the third of these revolutionaries), is the one who suggested that consciousness itself is not a given at any moment, or available at any moment, to us as human beings. What constitutes our sense of self, our consciousness, is drawn from experiences that we no longer have access to—interactions with others, the desires of others, the kinds of influences and wishes that were passed into us through others, our parents, other influential figures early in our life— and that what we believe to be our conscious state, our wishes, desires, dreams and so forth, are not always known to us, and in fact can’t be known because they might be devastating and horrifying, in some cases. They will tell us things about ourselves that we couldn’t properly accept or continue to live with. I think that what is happening, certainly by the time that we enter the 20th century, around this discourse of the subject is that it is no longer holding, it is no longer serving its original purpose; it is generating more anxiety than comfort. Key historical events, World War I, for example, are producing enormous blows to the idea of western progress, humanism, and Enlightenment values, to the cultural achievements of the West— Hegel, for example, a 19th century philosopher, is very explicit about this—to those values that helped to shape the world, and ultimately were supposed to have created a better world for human beings: the Enlightenment, the pursuit of knowledge, science, medicine, religion and so forth. And yet, by the mid-twentieth century many of these beliefs were exposed as illusions, especially after the advent of death camps, camps created for the sole purpose of producing, as Heidegger himself says, producing corpses, a factory for corpses. It’s not a place where people happen to die. This is an entire apparatus designed in order to expeditiously, efficiently, and economically, create corpses out of living human beings. Similarly, with the first use of the atomic bomb, on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945, on human beings. This was a machine, a science, a technology, a weapon devised for maximizing, efficiently and economically, the destruction of human beings. I think what this created for many thinkers, philosophers, writers, artists, activists, citizens around the world was a sense that in fact what had helped to create this situation and these catastrophic results was not a matter of totalitarian regimes and bad politics, but something more fundamental: a certain belief that I have the right to destroy or take life from others. And how is that achieved? By first denying that those others are like me. So the discourse on Jews practiced throughout Nazi Germany is in fact even more extreme than that of the discourse on animals; in fact, as many people have pointed out, that many Nazis were famous for their love of animal, some were practicing vegetarians; they outlawed animal experimentation. In a sense animals were more like Aryan Germans, than Jews were. You have a series here of rhetorics that allow you to cast the enemy, the Other, at a distance from your own subjectivity, and in order to achieve this you have to deny them any form of subjectivity. Not just that they are just culturally different, or that they engage in different practices: They are radically and absolutely unlike me. And I believe that as many people began to think about this condition (Adorno has a very famous passage in which he talks about this), it became clear that one of the sources of this, is in fact the very ideology of the subject, which insists on an absolute autonomy, singularity, and distinct mode of existence from that which is not the subject, not any subject, the Other. Adorno, in a passage he wrote in a book titled Minima Moralia, which is a collection of aphorisms and observations he wrote during and after World War II, offers an observation I quote in Electric Animal. He titles it “People are looking at you”, and he says there is a moment in a typical scene of hunting where a wounded animal looks into the eyes of the hunter, or the killer as it dies. It produces at that moment, an effect that is undeniable: This thing, that is alive, that I have wounded and which is now dying, is looking at me. How can I deny that it is alive, that it is there, that it exists in the world, with its own consciousness, its own life, its own dreams, and desires? Adorno says the way you shake this off is you say to yourself, “It’s only an animal.” He will then link that gesture to the history of racism, and what he calls the pogrom, or genocide, against other human beings. You transfer this logic. So the ability to say to an animal, toward an animal that you have killed, whose death you’ve brought about, “It’s only an animal”, becomes the same logic you apply to other human beings when you harm or kill them. It’s a very profound observation because it suggests that in fact there is no line that separates the killing of animals from the killing of human beings. And in fact already at the moment when we kill an animal, we recognize something immediately that we have to erase from our consciousness with this phrase, “It’s only an animal.” LC: It seems to me then, too, that it’s this kind of perpetual haunting, because in that erasure, in that statement, “It’s only an animal,” there’s the animal itself that you had to assert yourself against and its living beingness. Do you think in that moment that he’s talking about—because it seems like kind of a struggle, or a narrative that you have to tell yourself—do you think that is also a moment potentially of agency, or resistance, in terms of an assertion of an animal subjectivity, or umwelt, or however you want to describe it? AML: Absolutely, and I think that Adorno’s phrase and that passage in which he is writing about this scene, an arbitrary, perhaps imaginary but typical scene of the hunt written shortly after the end of World War II, as well as all of Adorno’s pessimistic observations about the state of human culture, are written in a state of deep anguish. As he says in this very brief aphorism, we never believe this, even of the animal. When we tell ourselves, “It’s only an animal”, we in fact never believe it. Why? Because we are there and we see in the presence of an Other, a life that is there. For him it is important that the gaze, as he says, of the wounded animal, falls on the person who has perpetrated the crime. You seek to exclude it, to erase it, to dismiss it by saying that it is only an animal, but it allows you to transfer that very logic into the destruction of other human beings. Your phrase “haunting” is really important because I think that it suggests that a phantom animal becomes the crucial site not only for an animal rights, but for human ethics as well. The ability to kill another, is something in fact we—we, human beings—never properly achieve; we never truly believe this, “It’s only an animal” at that moment, Adorno says. We tell ourselves this, we insist upon it, try to protect ourselves through this mantric repetition of a phrase, “It’s only an animal,” “It’s only an animal,” yet we never believe it. And as such, we are haunted by it. I think the crisis in human subjectivity, in discourses on the human subject that arrive in the late 1950s, has everything to do with this kind of haunted presence. Human subjectivity is now a haunted subjectivity, haunted by animals, by everyone that has been excluded, by women, by people of different races, different ethnicities, different sexual preferences. And in fact the convergence of civil rights, critical theory, animal rights, feminism, the gay and lesbian movements, all of these things really shape—to use Foucault’s term—the episteme in which the primary political focus for many philosophers and theorists erupts in a critique of the subject. LC: Without getting you to offer something prescriptive [both laugh] about where to go from here, I do, I guess, want to ask about where to go from here. Because our audience is sort of the average person, turning on their car radio, or the animal rights activist, what does this mean then for… It just seems like a huge juggernaut, this huge weight, of Western history for people who want to shift, or people talk about blurring the boundaries between humans and animals (and this, of course, is very anxiety-provoking considering the legacy of Western thought), where is the turn now? Or where do you think there are potentials for (I think your phrase is) “remembering animals”? Is that the best can we can do? AML: Again, it’s an important question in so many ways. There are so many things I would like to speak to in response to that question. I would say that I don’t know if I am, by nature, an optimist or a pessimist. I do think, however, that a lot of things have been turning away from this condition, let’s say, or a certain kind of assumption, about the longevity of the human subject. I think that human subjectivity practiced honestly and ethically will continue to re-evaluate the terms of its own existence in relationship to Others, defined in the modern sense. And I do think that a certain ability to exist with an Other—an Other that may not share the same language that I speak, but certainly exists in a world that is as valuable, authentic, legitimate, as my own—will be the goal. I’ll introduce a phrase by Jacques Derrida. Somebody asked him, what does justice mean? What would justice be? He says justice is speaking to the Other in the language of the Other. I find this to be a very beautiful and very optimistic expression. It is not my task to exclude from my world those that I don’t understand; but it is my responsibility, or it is the practice or task of justice, to learn the Other’s language, which is to give the Other that capacity for language, to assume that there is in the Other, language. Language is, according to that earlier part of our conversation, language is that which is traditionally denied to the Other. “I don’t know what you mean when you speak”;, “women speak emotionally”; “ animals don’t have any language”; “the language that less developed cultures speak is not as articulate or precise as the language that I speak”, and so on and so forth. I think this pursuit of justice, defined as Derrida does, is very important. The other thing I will add is that the development of a field that some have called, perhaps temporarily, provisionally “Animal Studies”, is absolutely critical. I think there was a time when Animal Studies would have meant zoology, or in a very focused and direct manner, the pursuit of animal rights. What has been really been exciting for me to observe in this field of animal studies— and it’s not merely a community of scholars and academics; they are artists and performers, who engage in expressive and creative actions, activists who are committed politically, activists who are engaged in their daily lives and daily practices, and also a wide range of scholars in a variety of fields (feminists, literary scholars, historians, historians of ideas, philosophers, and so forth)—there is a certain understanding that “the question of the animal”, as it’s been called, or “of animals” or “of animality”, is not something that is restricted in the end just to the well-being of animals: it affects everybody in fact in ways that are obvious and perhaps less obvious. I think this kind of realization and this kind of community, let’s say, ex-community of people, who are in the field but also outside of their fields but in contact with one another is another way in which, much of what has been established can being critiqued, rethought, unthought, reformulated, toward a viable existence for all forms of life on this earth, and elsewhere. LC: It seems to me that it’s a difficult but important place to be, working in Animal Studies, in these divergent fields. My own experience was coming from Women’s Studies. It’s interesting how you point to these different groups, marginalized groups, and I think that one of the saddest things for me has been also that there’s this incredible moment of optimism, and potential to be thinking about “the animal” in different ways, (and thus us in different ways) but also in those moments of marginalization there has been a scrambling, a push towards a reinforcement of that human subject to say, “Ah, we are just like that, though. We are not like animals.” I think that this is very classic, in terms of an older feminism: liberation is about inclusion into a human culture that is necessarily exclusionary of animals. I think that’s still happening, that while there’s a kind of opening up of what this question means, “the question of the animal”, there’s also a concern, my concern anyway, that a simultaneous reinforcement as marginalized groups fight, using language, using the discourse of rights, etc., to become a part of what they were always excluded from. AML: That’s right. That’s a very difficult situation that traditionally marginalized groups have had to address. When you have been denied very basic civil rights, for example, one of the immediate and legitimate goals of any movement is to make sure that one secures those rights for one’s constituencies, for one’s members, and at the same time to make sure that the pursuit or achievement of that right does not reproduce the exclusion of others that one was fighting against initially. That’s why I think the role of animal rights is so important, because the animal is perhaps the place where life as such has been most excluded in the history of human cultures. And as such it is the place, perhaps, where this rethinking has to begin. There will be all sorts of differences, and all sorts of different objectives and agendas, but when this discussion is practiced rigorously and in good faith, I think ultimately it will be productive. Remember that most of those whom we now think of as the great thinkers were often marginalized in their time; many endured this marginalization, ridicule, hostility. It’s part of the task, and I think one of the comforts we can draw in these situations is that the process is ongoing and one makes a contribution where one can, one engages where one can, and it continues forward hopefully toward some better formulation of life for all beings. LC: Thank you very much. I hope you can join us again on the program sometime. It was really a great honour, and a great pleasure, to speak with you today. AML: It was a great pleasure for me today. And I really appreciate the work you’re doing. The questions were just fantastic. I enjoyed every moment of it. LC: Thank you so much. Today we’ve been speaking with Dr. Akira Mizuta Lippit.

Contemporary quilters use a wide range of Patchwork and Quilt designs and styles, from ancient and ethnic to post-modern futuristic patterns. Unusual quilting designs have increasingly become popular as decorative textiles. During the late 20th century, art quilts became popular for their aesthetic and artistic qualities rather than for functionality. Patchwork & Quilt as a form of art is very popular throughout the world. Patchwork & Quilt technology is based on stitching together, tufted fabric pieces with decorative embroidery patterns and variations on the theme of the artist's intentions. The larger design is usually based on repeat patterns built up with different fabric shapes. Patchwork is most often used to make quilts, but it can also be used to make bags, wall-hangings, warm jackets, cushion covers, skirts, waistcoats and other items of clothing. Some textile artists work with patchwork, often combining it with embroidery and other forms of stitchery. Traditional patchwork – blankets and pillows include such familiar themes as Log Cabin, Star, Pineapple, Scrap-Quilts, Bargello etc. Traditional patchwork has identifying names based on the arrangement of colors and shapes. A unique form of patchwork quilt is the Crazy Quilt. Crazy quilting was popular during the Victorian era (mid-late 19th century). The crazy quilt is made up of random shapes of luxurious fabric. The patchwork pieces are stitched together forming "crazy" or non-repeat, asymmetric compositions. Fancy embroidery embellishes the seam lines between the individual, pieced shapes. Traditions of Latvian Quilt continues at Quilt Latvian Society. Inspired by the world, Latvian artists creatively extend the style and technique-specific boundaries. Patchwork & Quilt is a process that continues to evolve and improve the selection of fabrics and innovative technological solutions and means of artistic versatility. The aim of the work – To study traditional 19th century patchwork motif and to explore the usage of Crazy Quilt motif in contemporary patchwork. Material and Methods. This paper analyses the contemporary textile artists’ quilts and traditional 19th century Crazy Quilt motif. Conclusions. The research explores traditional 19th century patchwork motif, summarizes and analyses most common visual and technological features of Crazy Quilt motif. As a result of the research, and on the basis of personal experience, authors offer the Crazy Quilt practical training (workshop) objectives and terms of reference to ensure patchwork technique practical and artistic components. Applying both – traditional and contemporary patchwork sewing techniques and combining them with textile techniques such as embroidery, crochet, textile printing and different painting techniques, there is scope for costume decoration process. The Workshop’s content is suitable for students and participants who are interested in patchwork, quilting and everything in the diverse world textile arts in the 21st century, for beginners and intermediate makers. Participants can use a Crazy Quilt for design idea and learn the easy ways how to draw chosen designs and combine patterns to create a contemporary quilt and costume elements. As a result, students obtain new knowledge, self-experience in traditional textile techniques and motivation to study textile technology.

Technique and creativity Having been called upon to provide a contribution to a publication dedicated to “Techne”, I feel it is fitting to start from the theme of technique, given that for too many years now, we have fruitlessly attempted to understand the inner workings of cinema whilst disregarding the element of technique. And this has posed a significant problem in our field of study, as it would be impossible to gain a true understanding of what cinema is without immersing ourselves in the technical and industrial culture of the 19th century. It was within this culture that a desire was born: to mould the imaginary through the new techniques of reproduction and transfiguration of reality through images. Studying the development of the so-called “pre-cinema” – i.e. the period up to the conventional birth of cinema on 28 December 1895 with the presentation of the Cinématographe Lumière – we discover that the technical history of cinema is not only almost more enthralling than its artistic and cultural history, but that it contains all the great theoretical, philosophical and scientific insights that we need to help us understand the social, economic and cultural impact that cinema had on the culture of the 20th century. At the 1900 Paris Exposition, when cinema had already existed in some form for a few years, when the first few short films of narrative fiction also already existed, the cinematograph was placed in the Pavilion of Technical Discoveries, to emphasise the fact that the first wonder, this element of unparalleled novelty and modernity, was still there, in technique, in this marvel of innovation and creativity. I would like to express my idea through the words of Franco Moretti, who claims in one of his most recent works that it is only possible to understand form through the forces that pulsate through it and press on it from beneath, finally allowing the form itself to come to the surface and make itself visible and comprehensible to our senses. As such, the cinematic form – that which appears on the screen, that which is now so familiar to us, that which each of us has now internalised, that has even somehow become capable of configuring our way of thinking, imagining, dreaming – that form is underpinned by forces that allow it to eventually make its way onto the screen and become artistic and narrative substance. And those forces are the forces of technique, the forces of industry, the economic, political and social forces without which we could never hope to understand cinema. One of the issues that I always make a point of addressing in the first few lessons with my students is that if they think that the history of cinema is made up of films, directors, narrative plots to be understood, perhaps even retold in some way, then they are entirely on the wrong track; if, on the other hand, they understand that it is the story of an institution with economic, political and social drivers within it that can, in some way, allow us to come to the great creators, the great titles, but that without a firm grasp of those drivers, there is no point in even attempting to explore it, then they are on the right track. As I see it, cinema in the twentieth century was a great democratic, interclassist laboratory such as no other art has ever been, and this occurred thanks to the fact that what underpinned it was an industrial reasoning: it had to respond to the capital invested in it, it had to make money, and as such, it had to reach the largest possible number of people, immersing it into a wholly unprecedented relational situation. The aim was to be as inclusive as possible, ultimately giving rise to the idea that cinema could not be autonomous, as other forms of art could be, but that it must instead be able to negotiate all the various forces acting upon it, pushing it in every direction. This concept of negotiation is one which has been explored in great detail by one of the greatest film theorists of our modern age, Francesco Casetti. In a 2005 book entitled “Eye of the Century”, which I consider to be a very important work, Casetti actually argues that cinema has proven itself to be the art form most capable of adhering to the complexity and fast pace of the short century, and that it is for this very reason that its golden age (in the broadest sense) can be contained within the span of just a hundred years. The fact that cinema was the true epistemological driving force of 20th-century modernity – a position now usurped by the Internet – is not, in my opinion, something that diminishes the strength of cinema, but rather an element of even greater interest. Casetti posits that cinema was the great negotiator of new cultural needs, of the need to look at art in a different way, of the willingness to adapt to technique and technology: indeed, the form of cinema has always changed according to the techniques and technologies that it has brought to the table or established a dialogue with on a number of occasions. Barry Salt, whose background is in physics, wrote an important book – publishing it at his own expense, as a mark of how difficult it is to work in certain fields – entitled “Film Style and Technology”, in which he calls upon us stop writing the history of cinema starting from the creators, from the spirit of the time, from the great cultural and historical questions, and instead to start afresh by following the techniques available over the course of its development. Throughout the history of cinema, the creation of certain films has been the result of a particular set of technical conditions: having a certain type of film, a certain type of camera, only being able to move in a certain way, needing a certain level of lighting, having an entire arsenal of equipment that was very difficult to move and handle; and as the equipment, medium and techniques changed and evolved over the years, so too did the type of cinema that we were able to make. This means framing the history of cinema and film theory in terms of the techniques that were available, and starting from there: of course, whilst Barry Salt’s somewhat provocative suggestion by no means cancels out the entire cultural, artistic and aesthetic discourse in cinema – which remains fundamental – it nonetheless raises an interesting point, as if we fail to consider the methods and techniques of production, we will probably never truly grasp what cinema is. These considerations also help us to understand just how vast the “construction site” of cinema is – the sort of “factory” that lies behind the production of any given film. Erwin Panofsky wrote a single essay on cinema in the 1930s entitled “Style and Medium in the Motion Pictures” – a very intelligent piece, as one would expect from Panofsky – in which at a certain point, he compares the construction site of the cinema to those of Gothic cathedrals, which were also under an immense amount of pressure from different forces, namely religious ones, but also socio-political and economic forces which ultimately shaped – in the case of the Gothic cathedral and its development – an idea of the relationship between the earth and the otherworldly. The same could be said for cinema, because it also involves starting with something very earthly, very grounded, which is then capable of unleashing an idea of imaginary metamorphosis. Some scholars, such as Edgar Morin, will say that cinema is increasingly becoming the new supernatural, the world of contemporary gods, as religion gradually gives way to other forms of deification. Panofsky’s image is a very focused one: by making film production into a construction site, which to all intents and purposes it is, he leads us to understand that there are different forces at work, represented by a producer, a scriptwriter, a director, but also a workforce, the simple labourers, as is always the case in large construction sites, calling into question the idea of who the “creator” truly is. So much so that cinema, now more than ever before, is reconsidering the question of authorship, moving towards a “history of cinema without names” in an attempt to combat the “policy of the author” which, in the 1950s, especially in France, identified the director as the de facto author of the film. Today, we are still in that position, with the director still considered the author of the film, but that was not always so: back in the 1910s, in the United States, the author of the film was the scriptwriter, the person who wrote it (as is now the case for TV series, where they have once again taken pride of place as the showrunner, the creator, the true author of the series, and nobody remembers the names of the directors of the individual episodes); or at times, it can be the producer, as was the case for a long time when the Oscar for Best Picture, for example, was accepted by the producer in their capacity as the commissioner, as the “owner” of the work. As such, the theme of authorship is a very controversial one indeed, but one which helps us to understand the great meeting of minds that goes into the production of a film, starting with the technicians, of course, but also including the actors. Occasionally, a film is even attributed to the name of a star, almost as if to declare that that film is theirs, in that it is their body and their talent as an actor lending it a signature that provides far more of a draw to audiences than the name of the director does. In light of this, the theme of authorship, which Panofsky raised in the 1930s through the example of the Gothic cathedral, which ultimately does not have a single creator, is one which uses the image of the construction site to also help us to better understand what kind of development a film production can go through and to what extent this affects its critical and historical reception; as such, grouping films together based on their director means doing something that, whilst certainly not incorrect in itself, precludes other avenues of interpretation and analysis which could have favoured or could still favour a different reading of the “cinematographic construction site”. Design and execution The great classic Hollywood film industry was a model that, although it no longer exists in the same form today, unquestionably made an indelible mark at a global level on the history not only of cinema, but more broadly, of the culture of the 20th century. The industry involved a very strong vertical system resembling an assembly line, revolving around producers, who had a high level of decision-making autonomy and a great deal of expertise, often inclined towards a certain genre of film and therefore capable of bringing together the exact kinds of skills and visions required to make that particular film. The history of classic American cinema is one that can also be reconstructed around the units that these producers would form. The “majors”, along with the so-called “minors”, were put together like football teams, with a chairman flanked by figures whom we would nowadays refer to as a sporting director and a managing director, who built the team based on specific ideas, “buying” directors, scriptwriters, scenographers, directors of photography, and even actors and actresses who generally worked almost exclusively for their major – although they could occasionally be “loaned out” to other studios. This system led to a very marked characterisation and allowed for the film to be designed in a highly consistent, recognisable way in an age when genres reigned supreme and there was the idea that in order to keep the audience coming back, it was important to provide certain reassurances about what they would see: anyone going to see a Western knew what sorts of characters and storylines to expect, with the same applying to a musical, a crime film, a comedy, a melodrama, and so on. The star system served to fuel this working method, with these major actors also representing both forces and materials in the hands of an approach to the filmmaking which had the ultimate objective of constructing the perfect film, in which everything had to function according to a rule rooted in both the aesthetic and the economic. Gore Vidal wrote that from 1939 onwards, Hollywood did not produce a single “wrong” film: indeed, whilst certainly hyperbolic, this claim confirms that that system produced films that were never wrong, never off-key, but instead always perfectly in tune with what the studios wished to achieve. Whilst this long-entrenched system of yesteryear ultimately imploded due to certain historical phenomena that determined it to be outdated, the way of thinking about production has not changed all that much, with film design remaining tied to a professional approach that is still rooted within it. The overwhelming majority of productions still start from a system which analyses the market and the possible economic impact of the film, before even starting to tackle the various steps that lead up to the creation of the film itself. Following production systems and the ways in which they have changed, in terms of both the technology and the cultural contexts, also involves taking stock of the still considerable differences that exist between approaches to filmmaking in different countries, or indeed the similarities linking highly disparate economic systems (consider, for example, India’s “Bollywood” or Nigeria’s “Nollywood”: two incredibly strong film industries that we are not generally familiar with as they lack global distribution, although they are built very solidly). In other words, any attempt to study Italian cinema and American cinema – to stay within this double field – with the same yardstick is unthinkable, precisely because the context of their production and design is completely different. Composition and innovation Studying the publications on cinema in the United States in the early 1900s – which, from about 1911 to 1923, offers us a revealing insight into the attempts made to garner an in-depth understanding of how this new storytelling machine worked and the development of the first real cultural industry of the modern age – casts light on the centrality of the issues of design and composition. I remain convinced that without reading and understanding that debate, it is very difficult to understand why cinema is as we have come to be familiar with it today. Many educational works investigated the inner workings of cinema, and some, having understood them, suggested that they were capable of teaching others to do so. These publications have almost never been translated into Italian and remain seldom studied even in the US, and yet they are absolutely crucial for understanding how cinema established itself on an industrial and aesthetic level. There are two key words that crop up time and time again in these books, the first being “action”, one of the first words uttered when a film starts rolling: “lights, camera, action”. This collection of terms is interesting in that “motore” highlights the presence of a machine that has to be started up, followed by “action”, which expresses that something must happen at that moment in front of that machine, otherwise the film will not exist. As such, “action” – a term to which I have devoted some of my studies – is a fundamental word here in that it represents a sort of moment of birth of the film that is very clear – tangible, even. The other word is “composition”, and this is an even more interesting word with a history that deserves a closer look: the first professor of cinema in history, Victor Oscar Freeburg (I edited the Italian translation of his textbook “The Art of Photoplay Making”, published in 1918), took up his position at Columbia University in 1915 and, in doing so, took on the task of teaching the first ever university course in cinema. Whilst Freeburg was, for his time, a very well-educated and highly-qualified person, having studied at Yale and then obtained his doctorate in theatre at Columbia, cinema was not entirely his field of expertise. He was asked to teach a course entitled “Photoplay Writing”. At the time, a film was known as a “photoplay”, in that it was a photographed play of sorts, and the fact that the central topic of the course was photoplay writing makes it clear that back then, the scriptwriter was considered the main author of the work. From this point of view, it made sense to entrust the teaching of cinema to an expert in theatre, based on the idea that it was useful to first and foremost teach a sort of photographable dramaturgy. However, upon arriving at Columbia, Freeburg soon realised whilst preparing his course that “photoplay writing” risked misleading the students, as it is not enough to simply write a story in order to make a film; as such, he decided to change the title of his course to “photoplay composition”. This apparently minor alteration, from “writing” to “composition”, in fact marked a decisive conceptual shift in that it highlighted that it was no longer enough to merely write: one had to “compose”. So it was that the author of a film became, according to Freeburg, not the scriptwriter or director, but the “cinema composer” (a term of his own coinage), thus directing and broadening the concept of composition towards music, on the one hand, and architecture, on the other. We are often inclined to think that cinema has inherited expressive modules that come partly from literature, partly from theatre and partly from painting, but in actual fact, what Freeburg helps us to understand is that there are strong elements of music and architecture in a film, emphasising the lofty theme of the project. In his book, he explores at great length the relationship between static and dynamic forms in cinema, a topic that few have ever addressed in that way and that again, does not immediately spring to mind as applicable to a film. I believe that those initial intuitions were the result of a reflection unhindered by all the prejudices and preconceived notions that subsequently began to condition film studies as a discipline, and I feel that they are of great use to use today because they guide us, on the one hand, towards a symphonic idea of filmmaking, and on the other, towards an idea that preserves the fairly clear imprint of architecture. Space-Time In cinema as in architecture, the relationship between space and time is a crucial theme: in every textbook, space and time are amongst the first chapters to be studied precisely because in cinema, they undergo a process of metamorphosis – as Edgar Morin would say – which is vital to constructing the intermediate world of film. Indeed, from both a temporal and a spatial point of view, cinema provides a kind of ubiquitous opportunity to overlap different temporalities and spatialities, to move freely from one space to another, but above all, to construct new systems of time. The rules of film editing – especially so-called “invisible editing”, i.e. classical editing that conceals its own presence – are rules built upon specific and precise connections that hold together different spaces – even distant ones – whilst nonetheless giving the impression of unity, of contiguity, of everything that cinema never is in reality, because cinema is constantly fragmented and interrupted, even though we very often perceive it in continuity. As such, from both a spatial and a temporal perspective, there are technical studies that explain the rules of how to edit so as to give the idea of spatial continuity, as well as theoretical studies that explain how cinema has transformed our sense of space and time. To mark the beginning of Parma’s run as Italy’s Capital of Culture, an exhibition was organised entitled “Time Machine. Seeing and Experiencing Time”, curated by Antonio Somaini, with the challenge of demonstrating how cinema, from its earliest experiments to the digital age, has managed to manipulate and transform time, profoundly affecting our way of engaging with it. The themes of time and space are vital to understanding cinema, including from a philosophical point of view: in two of Gilles Deleuze’s seminal volumes, “The Movement Image” and “The Time Image”, the issues of space and time become the two great paradigms not only for explaining cinema, but also – as Deleuze himself says – for explaining a certain 20th-century philosophy. Deleuze succeeds in a truly impressive endeavour, namely linking cinema to philosophical reflection – indeed, making cinema into an instrument of philosophical thought; this heteronomy of filmmaking is then also transferred to its ability to become an instrument that goes beyond its own existence to become a reflection on the century that saw it as a protagonist of sorts. Don Ihde argues that every era has a technical discovery that somehow becomes what he calls an “epistemological engine”: a tool that opens up a system of thought that would never have been possible without that discovery. One of the many examples of this over the centuries is the camera obscura, but we could also name cinema as the defining discovery for 20th-century thought: indeed, cinema is indispensable for understanding the 20th century, just as the Internet is for understanding our way of thinking in the 21st century. Real-virtual Nowadays, the film industry is facing the crisis of cinema closures, ultimately caused by ever-spreading media platforms and the power of the economic competition that they are exerting by aggressively entering the field of production and distribution, albeit with a different angle on the age-old desire to garner audiences. Just a few days ago, Martin Scorsese was lamenting the fact that on these platforms, the artistic project is in danger of foundering, as excellent projects are placed in a catalogue alongside a series of products of varying quality, thus confusing the viewer. A few years ago, during the opening ceremony of the academic year at the University of Southern California, Steven Spielberg and George Lucas expressed the same concept about the future of cinema in a different way. Lucas argued that cinemas would soon have to become incredibly high-tech places where people can have an experience that is impossible to reproduce elsewhere, with a ticket price that takes into account the expanded and increased experiential value on offer thanks to the new technologies used. Spielberg, meanwhile, observed that cinemas will manage to survive if they manage to transform the cinemagoer from a simple viewer into a player, an actor of sorts. The history of cinema has always been marked by continuous adaptation to technological evolutions. I do not believe that cinema will ever end. Jean-Luc Godard, one of the great masters of the Nouvelle Vague, once said in an interview: «I am very sorry not to have witnessed the birth of cinema, but I am sure that I will witness its death». Godard, who was born in 1930, is still alive. Since its origins, cinema has always transformed rather than dying. Raymond Bellour says that cinema is an art that never finishes finishing, a phrase that encapsulates the beauty and the secret of cinema: an art that never quite finishes finishing is an art that is always on the very edge of the precipice but never falls off, although it leans farther and farther over that edge. This is undoubtedly down to cinema’s ability to continually keep up with technique and technology, and in doing so to move – even to a different medium – to relocate, as contemporary theorists say, even finally moving out of cinemas themselves to shift onto platforms and tablets, yet all without ever ceasing to be cinema. That said, we should give everything we’ve got to ensure that cinemas survive.

We (I, Robert Lawrence and, in a rare display of unity, all my online avatars and agents)hereby render and proclaim thisMANIFESTO OF PIECES AND BITS IN SERVICE OF CONTRADICTIONAL AESTHETICSWe start with the simple premise that art has the job of telling us who we are, and that through the modern age doing this job while KEEPING UP with accelerating cultural change has necessitated the invention of something we might call the avant-garde. Along the way there has been an on-again-off-again affair between said avant-garde and technology. We are now in a new phase of the new and the technology under consideration is the Internet.The recent hyperventilating about the term postInternet reflects the artworld’s overdue recognition of the effect of the Internet on the culture at large, and on art as a cultural practice, a market, and a historical process.I propose that we cannot fully understand what the Internet is doing to us through a consideration of what happens on the screen, nor by considering what happens in the physical space we occupy either before or behind the screen. Rather we must critically and creatively fathom the flow of cultural practice between and across these realms. This requires Hybrid art combining both physical and Internet forms.I do not mean to imply that single discipline-based art cannot communicate complexity, but I believe that Internet culture introduces complexities that can only be approached through hybrid practices. And this is especially critical for an art that, in doing the job of “telling us who we are”, wants to address the contradictory ways we now form and promote, or conceal and revise, our multiple identities through online social media profiles inconsistent with our fleshly selves.We need a different way of talking about identity. A history of identity:In the ancient world, individual identity as we understand it did not exist.The renaissance invented the individual.Modernism prioritized and alienated him (sic).Post-Modernism fragmented him/her.The Internet hyper-circulates and amplifies all these modalities, exploding the possibilities of identity.While reducing us to demographic market targets, the Web facilitates mass indulgence in perversely individual interests. The now common act of creating an “online profile” is a regular reiteration of the simple fact that identity is an open-ended hypothesis. We can now live double, or extravagantly multiple, virtual lives. The “me meme” is a ceaseless morph. This is a profound change in how identity was understood just a decade ago. Other historical transformations of identity happened over centuries. This latest and most radical change has occurred in the click of a mouse. Selfhood is now imbued with new complexity, fluidity and amplified contradictions.To fully understand what is actually happening to us, we need an art that engages the variant contracts of the physical and the virtual. We need a Hybrid art that addresses variant temporal and spatial modes of the physical and virtual. We need an art that offers articulations through the ubiquitous web in concert with the distinct perspectives that a physical gallery experience uniquely offers: engagement and removal, reflection and transference. Art that tells us who we are today calls for an aesthetics of contradiction. — Ro Lawrence (and all avatars) 2011, revised 2013, 2015, 2018. The manifesto above grew from an artistic practice beginning in 1998 as I started producing a website for every project that I made in traditional media. The Internet work does not just document or promote the project, nor is it “Netart” in the common sense of creative work restricted to a browser window. All of my efforts with the Internet are directly linked to my projects in traditional media and the web components offer parallel aesthetic voices that augment or overtly contradict the reading suggested by the traditional visual components of each project.This hybrid work grew out of a previous decade of transmedia work in video installation and sculpture, where I would create physical contexts for silent video as a way to remove the video image from the seamless flow of broadcast culture. A video image can signify very differently in a physical context that separates it from the flow of mass media and rather reconnects it to lived physical culture. A significant part of the aesthetic pleasure of this kind of work comes from nuances of dissonance arising from contradictory ways viewers had learned to read the object world and the ways we were then still learning to read the electronic image world. This video installation work was about “relocating” the electronic image, but I was also “locating” the electronic image in another sense, within the boundaries of geographic and cultural location. Linking all my projects to specific geographic locations set up contrasts with the spatial ubiquity of electronic media. In 1998 I amplified this contrast with my addition of extensive Internet components with each installation I made.The Way Things Grow (1998) began as an installation of sculptures combining video with segments of birch trees. Each piece in the gallery was linked to a specific geographic location within driving distance of the gallery exhibiting the work. In the years just before this piece I had moved from a practice of text-augmented video installations to the point where I had reduced the text to small printed handouts that featured absurd Scripts for Performance. These text handouts that viewers could take with them suggested that the work was to be completed by the viewer later outside the gallery. This to-be-continued dynamic was the genesis of a serial form in work going forward from then on. Thematic and narrative elements in the work were serialized via possible actions viewers would perform after leaving the gallery. In the installation for The Way Things Grow, there was no text in the gallery at all to suggest interpretations of this series of video sculptures. Even the titles offered no direct textual help. Rather than telling the viewers something about the work before them in the gallery, the title of each piece led the viewer away from the gallery toward serial actions in the specific geographic locations the works referred to. Each piece was titled with an Internet address.Figure 1: Lawrence, Robert, The Way Things Grow, video Installation with web components at http://www.h-e-r-e.com/grow.html, 1998.When people went to the web site for each piece they found only a black page referencing a physical horizon with a long line of text that they could scroll to right for meters. Unlike the determinedly embodied work in the gallery, the web components were disembodied texts floating in a black void, but texts about very specific physical locations.Figure 2: Lawrence, Robert, The Way Things Grow, partial view of webpage at http://www.h-e-r-e.com/growth_variant4.html, 1998.The texts began with the exact longitude and latitude of a geographical site in some way related to birch trees. ... A particularly old or large tree... a factory that turned birch trees into popsicle sticks and medical tongue depressors... etc. The website texts included directions to the site, and absurd scripts for performance. In this way the Internet component transformed the suite of sculptures in the gallery to a series of virtual, and possibly actual, events beyond the gallery. These potential narratives that viewers were invited into comprised an open-ended serial structure. The gallery work was formal, minimal, essentialist. On the web it was social, locative, deconstructive. In both locations, it was located. Here follows an excerpt from the website. GROWTH VARIANT #25: North 44:57:58 by West 93:15:56. On the south side of the Hennepin County Government Center is a park with 9 birch trees. These are urban birches, and they display random scratchings, as well as proclamations of affection expressed with pairs of initials and a “+” –both with and without encircling heart symbols. RECOMMENDED PERFORMANCE: Visit these urban birches once each month. Photograph all changes in their bark made by humans. After 20 years compile a document entitled, "Human Mark Making on Urban Birches, a Visual Study of Specific Universalities". Bring it into the Hennepin County Government Center and ask that it be placed in the archives.An Acre of Art (2000) was a collaborative project with sculptor Mark Knierim. Like The Way Things Grow, this new work, commissioned by the Minneapolis Art Institute, played out in the gallery, in a specific geographic location, and online. In the Art Institute was a gallery installation combining sculptures with absurd combinations of physical rural culture fitting contradictorily into an urban "high art" context. One of the pieces, entitled Landscape (2000), was an 18’ chicken coop faced with a gold picture frame. Inside were two bard rock hens and an iMac. The computer was programmed to stream to the Internet live video from the coop, the world’s first video chicken cam. As a work unfolding across a long stretch of time, the web cam video was a serial narrative without determined division into episodes. The gallery works also referenced a specific acre of agricultural land an hour from the Institute. Here we planted a row of dwarf corn at a diagonal to the mid-western American rural geometric grid of farmland. Visitors to the rural site could sit on “rural art furniture,” contemplate the corn growing, and occasionally witness absurd performances. The third stream of the piece was an extensive website, which playfully theorized the rural/urban/art trialectic. Each of the three locations of the work was exploited to provide a richer transmedia interpretation of the project’s themes than any one venue or medium could. Location Sequence is a serial installation begun in 1999. Each installation has completely different physical elements. The only consistent physical element is 72 segments of a 72” collapsible carpenter's ruler evenly spaced to wrap around the gallery walls. Each of the 72 segments of the ruler displays an Internet web address. Reversing the notion of the Internet as a place of rapid change compared to a more enduring physical world, in this case the Internet components do not change with each new episode of the work, while the physical components transform with each new installation. Thematically, all aspects of the work deal with various shades of meaning of the term "location." Beginning/Middle/End is a 30-year conceptual serial begun in 2002, presenting a series of site-specific actions, objects, or interventions combined with corresponding web pages that collectively negotiate concepts related to time, location, and narrative. Realizing a 30-year project via the web in this manner is a self-conscious contradiction of the culture of the instantaneous that the Internet manifests and propagates.The installation documented here was completed for a one-night event in 2002 with Szilage Gallery in St Petersburg, Florida. Bricks moulded with the URLs for three web sites were placed in a historic brick road with the intention that they would remain there through a historical time frame. The URLs were also projected in light on a creek parallel to the brick road and seen only for several hours. The corresponding web site components speculate on temporal/narrative structures crossing with geographic features, natural and manufactured.Figure 3: Lawrence, Robert, Beginning/Middle/End, site-specific installation with website in conjunction with 30-year series, http://www.h-e-r-e.com/beginning.html, 2002-32.The most recent instalment was done as part of Conflux Festival in 2014 in collaboration with painter Ld Lawrence. White shapes appeared in various public spaces in downtown Manhattan. Upon closer inspection people realized that they were not painted tags or stickers, but magnetic sheets that could be moved or removed. An optical scan tag hidden on the back of each shape directed to a website which encouraged people to move the objects to other locations and send a geo-located photo to the web site to trace the shape's motion through the world. The work online could trace the serial narrative of the physical installation components following the installation during Conflux Festival. Figure 4: Lawrence, Robert w/Lawrence, Ld, Gravity Ace on the Move, site-specific installation with geo-tracking website at http://www.h-e-r-e.com/gravityace/. Completed for Conflux Festival NYC, 2014, as part of Beginning/Middle/End.Dad's Boots (2003) was a multi-sited sculpture/performance. Three different physical manifestations of the work were installed at the same time in three locations: Shirakawa-go Art Festival in Japan; the Phipps Art Center in Hudson, Wisconsin; and at the Tampa Museum of Art in Florida. Physical components of the work included silent video projection, digital photography, computer key caps, and my father's boots. Each of these three different installations referred back to one web site. Because all these shows were up at the same time, the work was a distributed synchronous serial. In each installation space the title of the work was displayed as an Internet address. At the website was a series of popup texts suggesting performances focused, however absurdly, on reassessing paternal relationships.Figure 5: Lawrence, Robert, Dad’s Boots, simultaneous gallery installation in Florida, Wisconsin and Japan, with website, 2003. Coincidently, beginning the same time as my transmedia physical/Internet art practice, since 1998 I have had a secret other-life as a tango dancer. I came to this practice drawn by the music and the attraction of an after-dark subculture that ran by different rules than the rest of life. While my life as a tanguero was most certainly an escape strategy, I quickly began to see that although tango was different from the rest of the world, it was indeed a part of this world. It had a place and a time and a history. Further, it was a fascinating history about the interplays of power, class, wealth, race, and desire. Figure 6: Lawrence, Robert, Tango Intervention, site-specific dance interventions with extensive web components, 2007-12.As Marta Savigliano points out in Tango and the Political Economy of Passion, “Tango is a practice already ready for struggle. It knows about taking sides, positions, risks. It has the experience of domination/resistance from within. …Tango is a language of decolonization. So pick and choose. Improvise... let your feet do the thinking. Be comfortable in your restlessness. Tango” (17). The realization that tango, my sensual escape from critical thought, was actually political came just about the time I was beginning to understand the essential dynamic of contradiction between the physical and Internet streams of my work. Tango Intervention began in 2007. I have now, as of 2018, done tango interventions in over 40 cities. Overall, the project can be seen as a serial performance of contradictions. In each case the physical dance interventions are manifestations of sensual fantasy in public space, and the Internet components recontextualize the public actions as site-specific performances with a political edge, revealing a hidden history or current social situation related to the political economy of tango. These themes are further developed in a series of related digital prints and videos shown here in various formats and contexts.In Tango Panopticon (2009), a “spin off” from the Tango Intervention series, the hidden social issue was the growing video surveillance of public space. The first Tango Panopticon production was Mayday 2009 with people dancing tango under public video surveillance in 15 cities. Mayday 2010 was Tango Panopticon 2.0, with tangointervention.org streaming live cell phone video from 16 simultaneous dance interventions on 4 continents. The public encountered the interventions as a sensual reclaiming of public space. Contradictorily, on the web Tango Panopticon 2.0 became a distributed worldwide action against the growing spectre of video surveillance and the increasing control of public commons. Each intervention team was automatically located on an online map when they started streaming video. Visitors to the website could choose an action from the list of cities or click on the map pins to choose which live video to load into the grid of 6 streaming signals. Visitors to the physical intervention sites could download our free open source software and stream their own videos to tangointervention.org.Figure 7: Lawrence, Robert, Tango Panopticon 2.0, worldwide synchronous dance intervention with live streaming video and extensive web components, 2010.Tango Panopticon also has a life as a serial installation, initially installed as part of the annual conference of “Digital Resources for Humanities and the Arts” at Brunel University, London. All shots in the grid of videos are swish pans from close-ups of surveillance cameras to tango interveners dancing under their gaze. Each ongoing installation in the series physically adapts to the site, and with each installation more lines of video frames are added until the images become too small to read.Figure 8: Lawrence, Robert, Tango Panopticon 2.0 (For Osvaldo), video installation based on worldwide dance intervention series with live streaming video, 2011.My new work Equivalence (in development) is quite didactic in its contradictions between the online and gallery components. A series of square prints of clouds in a gallery are titled with web addresses that open with other cloud images and then fade into randomly loading excerpts from the CIA torture manual used at Guantanamo Bay Detention Center.Figure 9: Lawrence, Robert, Eauivalence, digital prints, excerpts from CIA Guantanamo Detention Center torture manual, work-in-progress.The gallery images recall Stieglitz’s Equivalents photographs from the early 20th century. Made in the 1920s to 30s, the Equivalents comprise a pivotal change in photographic history, from the early pictorial movement in which photography tried to imitate painting, and a new artistic approach that embraced features distinct to the photographic medium. Stieglitz’s Equivalents merged photographic realism with abstraction and symbolist undertones of transcendent spirituality. Many of the 20th century masters of photography, from Ansel Adams to Minor White, acknowledged the profound influence these photographs had on them. Several images from the Equivalents series were the first photographic art to be acquired by a major art museum in the US, the Boston Museum of Fine Arts.My series Equivalence serves as the latest episode in a serial art history narrative. Since the “Pictures Generation” movement in the 1970s, photography has cannibalized its history, but perhaps no photographic body of work has been as quoted as Stieglitz’s Equivalents. A partial list includes: John Baldessari’s series Blowing Cigar Smoke to Match Clouds That Are the Same(1973), William Eggleston’s series Wedgwood Blue (1979), John Pfahl’s smoke stack series (1982-89), George Legrady’s Equivalents II(1993), Vik Muniz’sEquivalents(1997), Lisa Oppenheim (2012), and most recently, Berndnaut Smilde’s Nimbus Series, begun in 2012. Over the course of more than four decades each of these series has presented a unique vision, but all rest on Stieglitz’s shoulders. From that position they make choices about how to operate relative the original Equivalents, ranging from Baldessari and Muniz’s phenomenological playfulness to Eggleston and Smilde’s neo-essentialist approach.My series Equivalence follows along in this serial modernist image franchise. What distinguishes it is that it does not take a single position relative to other Equivalents tribute works. Rather, it exploits its gallery/Internet transmediality to simultaneously assume two contradictory positions. The dissonance of this positioning is one of my main points with the work, and it is in some ways resonant with the contradictions concerning photographic abstraction and representation that Stieglitz engaged in the original Equivalents series almost a century ago.While hanging on the walls of a gallery, Equivalence suggests the same metaphysical intentions as Stieglitz’s Equivalents. Simultaneously, in its manifestation on the Internet, my Equivalence series transcends its implied transcendence and claims a very specific time and place –a small brutal encampment on the island of Cuba where the United States abandoned any remaining claim to moral authority. In this illegal prison, forgotten lives drag on invisibly, outside of time, like untold serial narratives without resolution and without justice.Partially to balance the political insistence of Equivalence, I am also working on another series that operates with very different modalities. Following up on the live streaming technology that I developed for my Tango Panopticon public intervention series, I have started Horizon (In Development).Figure 10: Lawrence, Robert, Horizon, worldwide synchronous horizon interventions with live streaming video to Internet, work-in-progress.In Horizon I again use live cell phone video, this time streamed to an infinitely wide web page from live actions around the world done in direct engagement with the horizon line. The performances will begin and automatically come online live at noon in their respective time zone, each added to the growing horizontal line of moving images. As the actions complete, the streamed footage will begin endlessly looping. The project will also stream live during the event to galleries, and then HD footage from the events will be edited and incorporated into video installations. Leading up to this major event day, I will have a series of smaller instalments of the piece, with either live or recorded video. The first of these preliminary versions was completed during the Live Performers Workshop in Rome. Horizon continues to develop, leading to the worldwide synchronous event in 2020.Certainly, artists have always worked in series. However, exploiting the unique temporal dimensions of the Internet, a series of works can develop episodically as a serial work. If that work unfolds with contradictory thematics in its embodied and online forms, it reaches further toward an understanding of the complexities of postInternet culture and identity. ReferencesSaviligliano, Marta. Tango and the Political Economy of Passion. Boulder: Westview Press, 1995.

As the distinction between disclosure-fuelled celebrity and lasting fame becomes difficult to discern, the “based on a true story” label has gained a particular traction among readers and viewers. This is despite much public approbation and private angst sometimes resulting from such disclosure as “little in the law or in society protects people from the consequences of others’ revelations about them” (Smith 537). Even fiction writers can stray into difficult ethical and artistic territory when they disclose the private facts of real lives—that is, recognisably biographical information—in their work, with autoethnographic fiction where authors base their fiction on their own lives (Davis and Ellis) not immune as this often discloses others’ stories (Ellis) as well. F. Scott Fitzgerald famously counselled writers to take their subjects from life and, moreover, to look to the singular, specific life, although this then had to be abstracted: “Begin with an individual, and before you know it, you find that you have created a type; begin with a type, and you find that you have created—nothing” (139). One of the problems when assessing fiction through this lens, however, is that, although many writers are inspired in their work by an actual life, event or historical period, the resulting work is usually ultimately guided by literary concerns—what writers often term the quest for aesthetic truth—rather than historical accuracy (Owen et al. 2008). In contrast, a biography is, and continues to be, by definition, an accurate account of a real persons’ life. Despite postmodern assertions regarding the relativity of truth and decades of investigation into the incorporation of fiction into biography, other non-fiction texts and research narratives (see, for instance: Wyatt), many biographers attest to still feeling irrevocably tied to the factual evidence in a way that novelists and the scriptors of biographically-based fictional television drama, movies and theatrical pieces do not (Wolpert; Murphy; Inglis). To cite a recent example, Louis Nowra’s Ice takes the life of nineteenth-century self-made entrepreneur and politician Malcolm McEacharn as its base, but never aspires to be classified as creative nonfiction, history or biography. The history in a historical novel is thus often, and legitimately, skewed or sidelined in order to achieve the most satisfying work of art, although some have argued that fiction may uniquely represent the real, as it is able to “play […] in the gap between the narratives of history and the actualities of the past” (Nelson n.p.). Fiction and non-fictional forms are, moreover, increasingly intermingling and intertwining in content and intent. The ugly word “faction” was an attempt to suggest that the two could simply be elided but, acknowledging wide-ranging debates about whether literature can represent the complexities of life with any accuracy and post-structuralist assertions that the idea of any absolute truth is outmoded, contemporary authors play with, and across, these boundaries, creating hybrid texts that consciously slide between invention and disclosure, but which publishers, critics and readers continue to define firmly as either fiction or biography. This dancing between forms is not particularly new. A striking example was Marion Halligan’s 2001 novel The Fog Garden which opens with a personal essay about the then recent death of her own much-loved husband. This had been previously published as an autobiographical memoir, “Cathedral of Love,” and again in an essay collection as “Lapping.” The protagonist of the novel is a recently widowed writer named Clare, but the inclusion of Halligan’s essay, together with the book’s marketing campaign which made much of the author’s own sadness, encourages readers to read the novel as a disclosure of the author’s own personal experience. This is despite Halligan’s attempt to keep the two separate: “Clare isn’t me. She’s like me. Some of her experience, terrors, have been mine. Some haven’t” (Fog Garden 9). In such acts of disclosure and denial, fiction and non-fiction can interrogate, test and even create each other, however quite vicious criticism can result when readers feel the boundaries demarking the two are breached. This is most common when authors admit to some dishonesty in terms of self-disclosure as can be seen, for instance, in the furore surrounding highly inflated and even wholly fabricated memoirs such as James Frey’s A Million Little Pieces, Margaret B. Jones’s Love and Consequences and Misha Defonseca’s A Mémoire of the Holocaust Years. Related problems and anxieties arise when authors move beyond incorporating and disclosing the facts of their own lives in memoir or (autobiographical) fiction, to using the lives of others in this way. Daphne Patai sums up the difference: “A person telling her life story is, in a sense, offering up her self for her own and her listener’s scrutiny […] Whether we should appropriate another’s life in this way becomes a legitimate question” (24–5). While this is difficult but seemingly manageable for non-fiction writers because of their foundational reliance on evidence, this anxiety escalates for fiction writers. This seems particularly extreme in relation to how audience expectations and prior knowledge of actual events can shape perceptions and interpretations of the resulting work, even when those events are changed and the work is declared to be one of fiction. I have discussed elsewhere, for instance, the difficult terrain of crafting fiction from well-known criminal cases (Brien, “Based on a True Story”). The reception of such work shows how difficult it is to dissociate creative product from its source material once the public and media has made this connection, no matter how distant that finished product may be from the original facts.As the field of biography continues to evolve for writers, critics and theorists, a study of one key text at a moment in that evolution—Jill Shearer’s play Georgia and its reliance on disclosing the life of artist Georgia O’Keeffe for its content and dramatic power—reveals not only some of the challenges and opportunities this close relationship offers to the writers and readers of life stories, but also the pitfalls of attempting to dissemble regarding artistic intention. This award-winning play has been staged a number of times in the past decade but has attracted little critical attention. Yet, when I attended a performance of Georgia at La Boite Theatre in Brisbane in 1999, I was moved by the production and admiring of Shearer’s writing which was, I told anyone who would listen, a powerfully dramatic interpretation of O’Keeffe’s life, one of my favourite artists. A full decade on, aspects of the work and its performance still resonate through my thinking. Author of more than twenty plays performed throughout Australia and New Zealand as well as on Broadway, Shearer was then (and is) one of Australia’s leading playwrights, and I judged Georgia to be a major, mature work: clear, challenging and confident. Reading the Currency Press script a year or so after seeing the play reinforced for me how distinctive and successful a piece of theatre Shearer had created utilising a literary technique which has been described elsewhere as fictionalised biography—biography which utilises fictional forms in its presentation but stays as close to the historical record as conventional biography (Brien, The Case of Mary Dean).The published version of the script indeed acknowledges on its title page that Georgia is “inspired by the later life of the American artist Georgia O’Keeffe” (Shearer). The back cover blurb begins with a quote attributed to O’Keeffe and then describes the content of the play entirely in terms of biographical detail: The great American artist Georgia O’Keeffe is physically, emotionally and artistically debilitated by her failing eyesight. Living amidst the Navajo spiritual landscape in her desert home in New Mexico, she becomes prey to the ghosts of her past. Her solitude is broken by Juan, a young potter, whose curious influence on her life remains until her death at 98 (Georgia back cover). This short text ends by unequivocally reinforcing the relation between the play and the artist’s life: “Georgia is a passionate play that explores with sensitivity and wry humour the contradictions and the paradoxes of the life of Georgia O’Keeffe” (Georgia back cover). These few lines of plot synopsis actually contain a surprisingly large number of facts regarding O’Keeffe’s later life. After the death of her husband (the photographer and modern art impresario Alfred Steiglitz whose ghost is a central character in the play), O’Keeffe did indeed relocate permanently to Abiquiú in New Mexico. In 1971, aged 84, she was suffering from an irreversible degenerative disease, had lost her central vision and stopped painting. One autumn day in 1973, Juan Hamilton, a young potter, appeared at her adobe house looking for work. She hired him and he became her lover, closest confidante and business manager until her death at 98. These facts form not only the background story but also much of the riveting content for Georgia which, as the published script’s introduction states, takes as its central themes: “the dilemma of the artist as a an older woman; her yearning to create against the fear of failing artistic powers; her mental strength and vulnerability; her sexuality in the face of physical deterioration; her need for companionship and the paradoxical love of solitude” (Rider vii). These issues are not only those which art historians identify as animating the O’Keeffe’s later life and painting, but ones which are discussed at length in many of the biographies of the artist published from 1980 to 2007 (see, for instance: Arrowsmith and West; Berry; Calloway and Bry; Castro; Drohojowska-Philp; Eisler; Eldredge; Harris; Hogrefe; Lisle; Peters; Reily; Robinson).Despite this clear focus on disclosing aspects of O’Keeffe’s life, both the director’s and playwright’s notes prefacing the published script declare firmly that Georgia is fiction, not biography. While accepting that these statements may be related to copyright and privacy concerns, the stridency of the denials of the biography label with its implied intention of disclosing the facts of a life, are worthy of analysis. Although noting that Georgia is “about the American artist Georgia O’Keeffe”, director of the La Boite production Sue Rider asserts that not only that the play moves “beyond the biographical” (vii) but, a few pages later, that it is “thankfully not biography” (xii). This is despite Rider’s own underscoring of the connection to O’Keeffe by setting up an exhibition of the artist’s work adjacent to the theatre. Shearer, whose research acknowledgments include a number of works about O’Keeffe, is even more overtly strident in her denial of any biographical links stating that her characters, “this Juan, Anna Marie and Dorothy Norman are a work of dramatic fiction, as is the play, and should be taken as such” (xiii).Yet, set against a reading of the biographies of the artist, including those written in the intervening decade, Georgia clearly and remarkably accurately discloses the tensions and contradictions of O’Keeffe’s life. It also draws on a significant amount of documented biographical data to enhance the dramatic power of what is disclosed by the play for audiences with this knowledge. The play does work as a coherent narrative for a viewer without any prior knowledge of O’Keeffe’s life, but the meaning of the dramatic action is enhanced by any biographical knowledge the audience possesses. In this way, the play’s act of disclosure is reinforced by this externally held knowledge. Although O’Keeffe’s oeuvre is less well known and much anecdotal detail about her life is not as familiar for Australian viewers as for those in the artist’s homeland, Shearer writes for an international as well as an Australian audience, and the program and adjacent exhibition for the Brisbane performance included biographical information. It is also worth noting that large slabs of biographical detail are also omitted from the play. These omissions to disclosure include O’Keeffe’s early life from her birth in 1887 in Wisconsin to her studies in Chicago and New York from 1904 to 1908, as well as her work as a commercial artist and art teacher in Texas and other Southern American states from 1912 to 1916. It is from this moment in 1916, however, that the play (although opening in 1946) constructs O’Keeffe’s life right through to her death in 1986 by utilising such literary devices as flashbacks, dream sequences and verbal and visual references.An indication of the level of accuracy of the play as biographical disclosure can be ascertained by unpacking the few lines of opening stage directions, “The Steiglitz’s suite in the old mid-range Shelton Hotel, New York, 1946 ... Georgia, 59, in black, enters, dragging a coffin” (1). In 1946, when O’Keeffe was indeed aged 59, Steiglitz died. The couple had lived part of every year at the Shelton Towers Hotel at 525 Lexington Avenue (now the New York Marriott East Side), a moderately priced hotel made famous by its depiction in O’Keeffe’s paintings and Steiglitz’s photographs. When Stieglitz suffered a cerebral thrombosis, O’Keeffe was spending the summer in New Mexico, but she returned to New York where her husband died on 13 July. This level of biographical accuracy continues throughout Georgia. Halfway through the first page “Anita, 52” enters. This character represents Anita Pollitzer, artist, critic and O’Keeffe’s lifelong friend. The publication of her biography of O’Keeffe, A Woman on Paper, and Georgia’s disapproval of this, is discussed in the play, as are their letters, which were collected and published in 1990 as Lovingly, Georgia (Gibiore). Anita’s first lines in the play after greeting her friend refer to this substantial correspondence: “You write beautifully. I always tell people: “I have a friend who writes the most beautiful letters” (1). In the play, as in life, it is Anita who introduces O’Keeffe’s work to Stieglitz who is, in turn, accurately described as: “Gallery owner. Two Nine One, Fifth Avenue. Leader of the New York avant-garde, the first to bring in the European moderns” (6). The play also chronicles how (unknown to O’Keeffe) Steiglitz exhibited the drawings Pollitzer gave him under the incorrect name, a scene which continues with Steiglitz persuading Georgia to allow her drawings to remain in his gallery (as he did in life) and ends with a reference to his famous photographs of her hands and nude form. Although the action of a substantial amount of real time is collapsed into a few dramatic minutes and, without doubt, the dialogue is invented, this invention achieves the level of aesthetic truth aimed for by many contemporary biographers (Jones)—as can be assessed when referring back to the accepted biographical account. What actually appears to have happened was that, in the autumn 1915, while teaching art in South Carolina, O’Keeffe was working on a series of abstract charcoal drawings that are now recognised as among the most innovative in American art of that time. She mailed some of these drawings to Pollitzer, who showed them Steiglitz, who exhibited ten of them in April 1916, O’Keeffe only learning of this through an acquaintance. O’Keeffe, who had first visited 291 in 1908 but never spoken to Stieglitz, held his critical opinion in high regard, and although confronting him over not seeking her permission and citing her name incorrectly, eventually agreed to let her drawings hang (Harris). Despite Shearer’s denial, the other characters in Georgia are also largely biographical sketches. Her “Anna Marie”, who never appears in the play but is spoken of, is Juan’s wife (in real life Anna Marie Hamilton), and “Dorothy Norman” is the character who has an affair with Steiglitz—the discovery of which leads to Georgia’s nervous breakdown in the play. In life, while O’Keeffe was in New Mexico, Stieglitz became involved with the much younger Norman who was, he claimed, only his gallery assistant. When O’Keeffe discovered Norman posing nude for her husband (this is vividly imagined in Georgia), O’Keeffe moved out of the Shelton and suffered from the depression that led to her nervous breakdown. “ Juan,” who ages from 26 to 39 in the play, represents the potter Juan Hamilton who encouraged the nearly blind O’Keeffe to paint again. In the biographical record there is much conjecture about Hamilton’s motives, and Shearer sensitively portrays her interpretation of this liaison and the difficult territory of sexual desire between a man and a much older woman, as she also too discloses the complex relationship between O’Keeffe and the much older Steiglitz.This complexity is described through the action of the play, but its disclosure is best appreciated if the biographical data is known. There are also a number of moments of biographical disclosure in the play that can only be fully understood with biographical knowledge in hand. For instance, Juan refers to Georgia’s paintings as “Beautiful, sexy flowers [... especially] the calla lilies” (24). All attending the play are aware (from the exhibition, program and technical aspects of the production) that, in life, O’Keeffe was famous for her flower paintings. However, knowing that these had brought her fame and fortune early in her career with, in 1928, a work titled Calla Lily selling for U.S. $25,000, then an enormous sum for any living American artist, adds to the meaning of this line in the play. Conversely, the significant level of biographical disclosure throughout Georgia does not diminish, in any way, the power or integrity of Shearer’s play as a literary work. Universal literary (and biographical) themes—love, desire and betrayal—animate Georgia; Steiglitz’s spirit haunts Georgia years after his death and much of the play’s dramatic energy is generated by her passion for both her dead husband and her younger lover, with some of her hopeless desire sublimated through her relationship with Juan. Nadia Wheatley reads such a relationship between invention and disclosure in terms of myth—relating how, in the process of writing her biography of Charmain Clift, she came to see Clift and her husband George Johnson take on a larger significance than their individual lives: “They were archetypes; ourselves writ large; experimenters who could test and try things for us; legendary figures through whom we could live vicariously” (5). In this, Wheatley finds that “while myth has no real beginning or end, it also does not bother itself with cause and effect. Nor does it worry about contradictions. Parallel tellings are vital to the fabric” (5). In contrast with both Rider and Shearer’s insistence that Georgia was “not biography”, it could be posited that (at least part of) Georgia’s power arises from the creation of such mythic value, and expressly through its nuanced disclosure of the relevant factual (biographical) elements in parallel to the development of its dramatic (invented) elements. Alongside this, accepting Georgia as such a form of biographical disclosure would mean that as well as a superbly inventive creative work, the highly original insights Shearer offers to the mass of O’Keeffe biography—something of an American industry—could be celebrated, rather than excused or denied. ReferencesArrowsmith, Alexandra, and Thomas West, eds. Georgia O’Keeffe & Alfred Stieglitz: Two Lives—A Conversation in Paintings and Photographs. Washington DC: HarperCollins and Calloway Editions, and The Phillips Collection, 1992.Berry, Michael. Georgia O’Keeffe. New York: Chelsea House, 1988.Brien, Donna Lee. 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