Journal articles on the topic 'Radial Tully-Fisher relation'

ABSTRACT We study the radial acceleration relation (RAR) between the total (atot) and baryonic (abary) centripetal acceleration profiles of central galaxies in the cold dark matter (CDM) paradigm. We analytically show that the RAR is intimately connected with the physics of the quasi-adiabatic relaxation of dark matter in the presence of baryons in deep potential wells. This cleanly demonstrates how the mean RAR and its scatter emerge in the low-acceleration regime ($10^{-12}{\rm \, m\, s}^{-2}\lesssim a_{\rm bary}\lesssim 10^{-10}{\rm \, m\, s}^{-2}$) from an interplay between baryonic feedback processes and the distribution of CDM in dark haloes. Our framework allows us to go further and study both higher and lower accelerations in detail, using analytical approximations and a realistic mock catalogue of ${\sim}342\, 000$ low-redshift central galaxies with Mr ≤ −19. We show that, while the RAR in the baryon-dominated high-acceleration regime ($a_{\rm bary}\gtrsim 10^{-10}{\rm \, m\, s}^{-2}$) is very sensitive to details of the relaxation physics, a simple ‘baryonification’ prescription matching the relaxation results of hydrodynamical CDM simulations is remarkably successful in reproducing the observed RAR without any tuning. And in the (currently unobserved) ultra-low-acceleration regime ($a_{\rm bary}\lesssim 10^{-12}{\rm \, m\, s}^{-2}$), the RAR is sensitive to the abundance of diffuse gas in the halo outskirts, with our default model predicting a distinctive break from a simple power-law-like relation for H i-deficient, diffuse gas-rich centrals. Our mocks also show that the RAR provides more robust, testable predictions of the ΛCDM paradigm at galactic scales, with implications for alternative gravity theories than the baryonic Tully–Fisher relation.

In this review I discuss some aspects of the luminosity distributions in our Galaxy and external spiral galaxies. The major conclusions are the following: (1) the radial scale length of the luminosity distribution in the disk of our Galaxy is 5.0 ± 0.5 kpc, (2) on this basis the Hubble constant needs to be at most 65 ± 10 km s−1 Mpc−1, if our Galaxy and M31 are among the largest spirals, as the Fisher-Tully relation suggests, (3) the probable Hubble type of the Galaxy is SbI–II, (4) the bi-modal distribution function of face-on, central surface brightness μ0 and radial scale length h of spirals shows a preferred value for μ0 of about 22 B-mag arcsec2 and a distribution of h that declines with one e-folding per kpc, (5) the Galaxy is a normal, fairly large Sb galaxy, and (6) galaxies similar to our own in terms of large-scale, nonmorphological properties are NGC 891 and NGC 5033.

AbstractThe Updated Nearby Galaxy Catalog (=UNGC) of 1047 Local Volume (=LV) galaxies, situated within a distance of 11 Mpc, contains 870 dwarfs, i.e. 5/6 of the sample. Almost 40% of them have accurate distances measured with Hubble Space Telescope. Most of the LV dwarfs have been observed in HI and Hα emission lines, as well in far-ultraviolet with GALEX. We present basic properties of the LV dwarfs, their HI -mass content and star-formation rate in different local environments. We discuss a baryonic Tully-Fisher relation for the LV dwarfs, and apply it to determine TF -distances for several hundreds local galaxies. The accurate distances and radial velocities of the LV dwarfs are used by us to trace dark matter distribution within 11 Mpc. We discuss also does the Local Group may be treated as a typical or uncommon representative of the LV population.

AbstractWe study the correlations of rotation velocity and absolute magnitude with surface brightness for low surface brightness dwarf irregular galaxies (dIrrs). We find that isolated objects contribute most to the scatter in the Tully–Fisher relation (TFR). Excluding these extreme cases, we develop a three-parameter (luminosity, Hi line width at 20% of peak flux level, i.e., W20, effective surface brightness) TFR for 60 dIrrs (with revised Hubble type T > 8) in the Local Volume (LV) with Cepheid and tip-of-the-red-giant-branch distance measurements. The relation is applied to galaxies of the same morphological type with radial velocities vLG ≤ 3500 km s−1 in the Local Supercluster. We obtained surface photometry and determined structural parameters using sdss images. The rotational velocities and derived photometric parameters for most galaxies in small groups agree well with those corresponding to the three-parameter TFR. However, isolated galaxies appear to have systematically lower surface brightnesses and longer scale lengths for the same luminosity than galaxies in small groups. This may indicate on average twice larger Hi-to-optical disk size ratios for our sample of isolated dIrrs, because their Hi surface densities calculated using the optical diameters look normal.

We can obtain the Hubble constant value for the late Universe from the sample of radial velocities of galaxies and independent estimations of distances to them based on any statistical relation such as Cepheid variables, Tully-Fisher relation etc. Usually, the method of least squares is used when processing such data. However, the value of the Hubble constant is somewhat underestimated due to a statistical effect similar to the wellknown Malmquist bias. The main source of underestimation is associated with the deviation of the distances determined from the statistical dependence from their true values. The decrease of obtained Hubble constant value is about 5% for an error in the distance estimation of 20% and about 9% with an error of 30%. This impact cannot explain the recently discovered tensions between the values of Hubble constant obtained from the early and the late Universe. The estimation H0 = 67.4 km/s/Mpc obtained from observations in the recombination era account for about 92% of the average of the estimations based on observations of not very distant objects H0 = 73.3 km/s/ Mpc. Indeed, the described effect leads to underestimation of the largest of these values.

We use the 2MFGC catalogue for investigation of large-scale flows on the basis of the Tully-Fisher relation (TFR). The catalogue contains 18020 galaxies selected from the extended sources of the infrared sky survey 2MASS XSC. The majority of galaxies in the catalogue are spiral galaxies of late morphological types whose discs are visible almost from the edge. For more than a decade of the catalogue usage, the number of galaxies in HyperLEDA database with the measured radial velocities and rotational velocities (that are necessary to construct the TFR) has been increased by about 17%. In this paper, an updated working sample of 2MFGC galaxies is presented and earlier results are revised taking into account new data. We have confined ourselves to comparison of only the "old" and "new" parameters of the dipole component of the velocity field. The dipole bulk motion of galaxies of this sample with respect to cosmic microwave radiation is characterised by a velocity of V=264±36 km/s in the direction l=308°±8°, b=-16°±6°.

Aims. We present new 2D high resolution Fabry–Perot spectroscopic observations of 152 star-forming galaxies that are part of the Herschel Reference Survey (HRS), which is a complete K-band selected, volume-limited sample of nearby galaxies that spans a wide range of stellar mass and morphological types. Methods. By using improved data reduction techniques, that provide adaptive binning based on Voronoi tessellation, and using large field-of-view observations, we derived high spectral resolution (R > 10 000) Hα datacubes from which we computed Hα maps and radial 2D velocity fields that are based on several of thousand independent measurements. A robust method based on such fields allowed us to accurately compute rotation curves and kinematical parameters, for which uncertainties are calculated using a method based on the power spectrum of the residual velocity fields. Results. We checked the consistency of the rotation curves by comparing our maximum rotational velocities to those derived from H I data, and by computing the i-band, NIR, stellar, and baryonic Tully-Fisher relations. We used this set of kinematical data combined with those available at other frequencies to study, for the first time, the relation between the dynamical and the total baryonic mass (stars, atomic and molecular gas, metals, and dust) and to derive the baryonic and dynamical main sequence on a representative sample of the local universe.

General relativity and its Newtonian weak field limit are not sufficient to explain the observed phenomenology in the Universe, from the formation of large-scale structures to the dynamics of galaxies, with the only presence of baryonic matter. The most investigated cosmological model, the ΛCDM, accounts for the majority of observations by introducing two dark components, dark energy and dark matter, which represent ∼95% of the mass-energy budget of the Universe. Nevertheless, the ΛCDM model faces important challenges on the scale of galaxies. For example, some very tight relations between the properties of dark and baryonic matters in disk galaxies, such as the baryonic Tully–Fisher relation (BTFR), the mass discrepancy–acceleration relation (MDAR), and the radial acceleration relation (RAR), which see the emergence of the acceleration scale a0≃1.2×10−10 m s−2, cannot be intuitively explained by the CDM paradigm, where cosmic structures form through a stochastic merging process. An even more outstanding coincidence is due to the fact that the acceleration scale a0, emerging from galaxy dynamics, also seems to be related to the cosmological constant Λ. Another challenge is provided by dwarf galaxies, which are darker than what is expected in their innermost regions. These pieces of evidence can be more naturally explained, or sometimes even predicted, by modified theories of gravity, that do not introduce any dark fluid. I illustrate possible solutions to these problems with the modified theory of gravity MOND, which departs from Newtonian gravity for accelerations smaller than a0, and with Refracted Gravity, a novel classical theory of gravity introduced in 2016, where the modification of the law of gravity is instead regulated by a density scale.

We have developed a semianalitical approach to study galaxy formation and evolution in the cosmological context. Disk galaxies (dark matter halo+luminous disk) are considered to be formed through an extended process of gravitational collapse, whose character is determined by the statistical properties of the density fluctuation field assumed here to be Gaussian. Gas disks in centrifugal equilibrium within the collapsing dark halos are built up (detailed angular momentum conservation is assumed), and their galactic evolution is calculated with a model which consider all the gravitational interactions, the hydrodynamics of the ISM, and the SF process. A bulge as product of stellar disk gravitational instabilities is constructed. To study general behaviors a Gaussian σ8 = 1 SCDM model is used. For a given mass one obtains a range of dark matter configurations. The average case is in excellent agreement with results of cosmological N-body simulations. The slope of the mass-velocity relation agrees with the slope of the H- and I-band Tully-Fisher relations, but the velocities are too high. This problem dissapears if the power spectrum is renormalized to σ8 = 0.57, suggesting that the TF relation is result of the natural extension to galactic scales of the galaxy distribution power spectrum, and that on the basis of its origin are the cosmological initial conditions. The scatter on the mass-velocity relation is realistic. The models predict disk exponential surface brightness (SB) profiles, nearly flat rotation curves, and negative radial gradients in the B-V color. The obtained, gas fractions, B-V colors, central SBs μB0, bulge-to-disk (b/d) ratios, and rotation velocities (for σ8 = 0.57) are in agreement with observations, and their correlations are similar to those which define the Hubble sequence, including the LSB galaxies. These properties and correlations are the product of the combination of three fundamental physical factors: the mass, the mass aggregation history (MAH), and the initial angular momentum. The intensive properties are almost invariant to the mass, the MAH determines the B-V color, and the spin parameter λ mainly influences on μB0, and b/d ratio.

Context. Quickly growing computing facilities and an increasing number of extragalactic observations encourage the application of data-driven approaches to uncover hidden relations from astronomical data. In this work we raise the problem of distance reconstruction for a large number of galaxies from available extensive observations. Aims. We propose a new data-driven approach for computing distance moduli for local galaxies based on the machine-learning regression as an alternative to physically oriented methods. We use key observable parameters for a large number of galaxies as input explanatory variables for training: magnitudes in U, B, I, and K bands, corresponding colour indices, surface brightness, angular size, radial velocity, and coordinates. Methods. We performed detailed tests of the five machine-learning regression techniques for inference of m−M: linear, polynomial, k-nearest neighbours, gradient boosting, and artificial neural network regression. As a test set we selected 91 760 galaxies at z < 0.2 from the NASA/IPAC extragalactic database with distance moduli measured by different independent redshift methods. Results. We find that the most effective and precise is the neural network regression model with two hidden layers. The obtained root–mean–square error of 0.35 mag, which corresponds to a relative error of 16%, does not depend on the distance to galaxy and is comparable with methods based on the Tully–Fisher and Fundamental Plane relations. The proposed model shows a 0.44 mag (20%) error in the case of spectroscopic redshift absence and is complementary to existing photometric redshift methodologies. Our approach has great potential for obtaining distance moduli for around 250 000 galaxies at z < 0.2 for which the above-mentioned parameters are already observed.

Modified Newtonian equations for gravitational orbits in the expanding Universe indicate that local gravitationally bounded systems like galaxies and planetary systems are unaffected by the expansion of the Universe. This result is derived for the space expansion described by the standard FLRW metric. In this paper, the modified Newtonian equations are derived for the space expansion described by the conformal cosmology (CC) metric. In this metric, the comoving and proper times are different similarly as the comoving and proper distances. As shown by Vavryčuk (Front. Phys. 2022), this metric is advantageous, because it properly predicts the cosmic time dilation, and fits the Type Ia supernova luminosity observations with no need to introduce dark energy. Surprisingly, the solution of the equations for gravitational orbits based on the CC metric behaves quite differently than that based on the FLRW metric. In contrast to the common opinion that local systems resist the space expansion, they expand according to the Hubble flow in the CC metric. The evolution of the local systems with cosmic time is exemplified on numerical modelling of spiral galaxies. The size of the spiral galaxies grows consistently with observations and a typical spiral pattern is well reproduced. The theory predicts flat rotation curves without an assumption of dark matter surrounding the galaxy. The theory resolves challenges to the ΛCDM model such as the problem of faint satellite galaxies, baryonic Tully-Fisher relation or the radial acceleration relation. Furthermore, puzzles in the solar system are successfully explained such as the Faint young Sun paradox or the Moon’s and Titan’s orbit anomalies.

The Creative City Unlike the terms ‘creative industries’, which nobody ever quite understood, and ‘creative class’, about which actual ‘creatives’ were always ambiguous, the ‘creative city’ has been an incredibly successful global policy meme, to which cities across the world continue to aspire. From the early 1990s, faced with de-industrialisation, rising unemployment, and the increased global mobility of capital, professionals, and consumer-tourists, the ‘creative city’ became an essential part of the new urban imaginary for politicians, planners, local growth coalitions, and advocates and practitioners in art and culture. In the later 1980s and early 1990s, much of this policy and practice work had progressive intent; as decaying parts of the city acquired new artistic and cultural uses, and neo-bohemian lifestyles and pop-cultural aspirations seemed to provide the grounds for future-oriented urban identities. Whilst investment in iconic cultural buildings and refurbished heritage sites repositioned cities as destinations for global tourism and finance (Peck et al.), new forms of creative production would provide employment and catalyse the wider urban economy. The creative city was to be a benign economy of innovative small businesses, working in projects and acting in symbiosis with the transformed urban landscape of the city (Pratt; Scott). If at first such a “creativity fix” (Peck, Creativity) was permeable to new actors and radical visions, it rapidly became a codified “cookie cutter” approach (Oakley), primarily concerned with revalorising decaying urban built stock as ‘vibrant’ spaces for upmarket urban consumption. This has stretched from visual arts to popular music (Bennett; O’Connor Music). The “creative imaginary” of entrepreneurial subjects—working in flat networks clustered around zones or milieux of intensified creativity (O’Connor and Shaw; O’Connor and Gu)—was quickly localised in spaces of real estate-led consumption, with production corralled into the ‘managed workspace’ whose image value—a shiny ‘creative hub’—was usually worth far more than any actual production taking place inside of it (O’Connor, Art). From the turn of the millennium, this global “fast policy” flowed through elite circuits of ‘policy transfer’ (Peck, Scale): unevenly distributed nodes assembling politicians, public administrators, planners, ‘cool’ developers, cultural consultants, branded arts institutions, and creative ‘thought-leaders’ (De Beukelaer and O’Connor). Global agencies such as UNESCO, through its Creative Cities Network, or consultancies such as Charles Landry and BOP, have attempted to frame this in a benign narrative of ‘hands across the ocean’ cultural globalisation. But we now know from two decades of creative economy proselytising that culture is a “driver and enabler” of development, not a normative standard against which it might be judged. And however inclusive ‘culture’ is made to sound, the creative city agenda remains firmly in the hands of local elites attempting to harness global flows of finance, media images, tourists, and ‘creatives’ for local development opportunities (Novy and Colomb; Courage and McKeown). By 2008 the creative city was already in trouble, as an increasingly brutal wave of gentrification came to be seen as the necessary corollary of the gleaming images of creative clusters, hipster hangouts, and iconic arts infrastructure. Predicated on a “spatial fix” (Harvey) for the decaying landscapes of the industrial city, the creative city was already producing its own ruins, as culture-led investment projects failed (Brodie). Since 2008, as the paper-thin walls between art, creativity, and real estate capital dissolved, it became increasingly clear that, though the script remained, the utopian moment was dead and buried. For many critics, both inside the cultural sector and out, it was time to roughly bundle it into the catch-all of neoliberalism and ‘gentrification’ and throw it overboard. Creative City RIP. The Ordinary City This critical take was performed early on by geographers such as Ash Amin and others (Amin and Graham; Amin, Massey, and Thrift), who suggested we re-centre the ordinary city—the one in which most people live—rather than fetishise some high-growth, hi-tech, gleaming Creative City. It was reiterated more recently by the Foundational Economy Collective, who argue that it is the everyday infrastructures and services of our towns and cities—and their mundane local economies of nail bars, cafes, and auto-repair shops—that should form the basis of our urban economic thinking (FEC). Jamie Peck, an early critic of the Creative City, had already cast doubt on the real economic weight of ‘creative industries’ and saw the whole thing as cover for the ‘entrepreneurial (read: neoliberal) city’, and a new kind of culturally-inflected growth coalition (Peck and Ward; Peck, Struggling). Similar dissent could be found amongst those writing within the cultural field. For every new city on the global creative smorgasbord, there were local artists and community activists who could show you a whole other side, excluded from the glass boxes and white cubes, from the funding and the hyped-up narratives lavished on the creative city. This mostly targeted the big iconic developments, led by global brands sucking the funding and the imagination from the surrounding city—what we might call ‘the Bilbao effect’. This cynicism toward the Creative City overlapped with a rejection of a ‘high art’ establishment and its elitist forms of culture. The ‘ordinary city’ here did not set the mundane against art and culture but reframed these as part of an everyday creativity. This could mean small-scale, neighbourhood-embedded art and culture, proposed by those in favour of ‘community arts’ and indeed those seeking localised popular culture such as music scenes. But it could also mean a valorisation of creativity writ large; a generalised urban creativity in which imagination and experimentation, but also subversion and contestation permeate the everyday. Following the Global Financial Crisis (GFC), critiques of the creative city concept became increasingly common. Oli Mould’s 2015 book Urban Subversion and the Creative City captures much of this, providing a distinction between the capitalised Creative City and the lower-case creative city. Mould distinguishes between the ‘Creative City’ ideology as extractive, and the ‘creative city’ as enabling citizenship. For Mould, the Creative City is “the antithesis of urban creativity” (Urban 4), and “shorthand for the capitalistic, paradigmatic (bordering on dogmatic) and meta-narrative view of how creativity can be used to economically stimulate and develop the city” (5). It is top-down creative planning at its worst. Against this, Mould evokes the lower-case concept of creative city, seeing some hope for it as a descriptor of urban spaces where “being creative is the very act of citizenship” (5). The Creative City imposed itself as a requirement of urban economic competitiveness (successful or not) and needs to be implacably opposed. Alternatively, the creative city persists in various forms of ‘urban subversion’, though whether the actual term—like creativity itself (Mould, Against)—can be freed from an association with its capitalised nemesis is, for Mould, still moot. Whilst Mould’s distinction allows us to evoke an urban creativity distinct from the commodified, extractive forms of the Creative City—one rooted in the ordinary, everyday creative practices of the city still open to themes of subversion and contestation centring cultural labour over cultural infrastructure—we also have some reservations. The C/creative couplet recalls de Certeau’s opposition of strategy and tactics, skyscraper and street, and has some of its problems. Baldly, this gives control of the city over to the powerful and condemns the rest of us to a game of endless evasion and subversion. For whilst the contemporary Creative City agenda may be largely as Mould describes it, its provenance is more complex than the extractive agenda which currently animates it. Understanding this provenance might give us some pointers beyond this binary impasse. Roots of the Creative City Although the Creative City eventually became integrated into the neoliberal urban script, the policy imaginary that birthed it emerged from the post-1960s rise of urban social movements, anti-development coalitions, new cultural practices (especially around popular music), artist co-ops, squats, and alternative cultures. Across the 1970s and 1980s one might say the C/creative City was an aspect of growing claims for cultural citizenship, the more explicit acknowledgement of a cultural dimension within T.H. Marshall’s ‘social citizenship’ (Marshall). The Greater London Council (GLC) of 1979-86 is exemplary here (Bianchini; Hatherley), but this was only the most visible case in which de-industrialising cities acquired aspirations to a different kind of city living. The utopian-romantic vision of a new kind of urban culture in which the transformative powers of art would abandon the ethereal world of the museum-gallery and take carnal form in the grotesque ruins of an industrial city was most literal in Wim Wenders’s 1987 film Wings of Desire. It was there in Berlin and New York as it was in Melbourne and Manchester, and a hundred other such cities (Whitney). As an industrial urban civilisation no longer seemed viable in the Global North, ‘culture’ became a central stake in anticipating what might come next. What new forms of working and living might be possible? What new identities, pleasures, desires might it accommodate? A new generation, immersed in what Mark Fisher called ‘popular modernism’ (Fisher), sought new forms of artistic expression within popular culture, making demands on the formal cultural system, on the infrastructure of the city, and on how the city could be re-imagined. In short, the C/creative City was not simply an invention of neoliberalism. It carried within it a utopian promise that should not be discounted. Perhaps we can see this in that most vilified of concepts, the ‘creative class’. The (Not-So) Creative Class By the 2008 GFC, the concept of the ‘creative class’—positioned as the primary driver and beneficiary of the creative city—was already coming apart. Unaffordable housing, rent hikes, rising debts, welfare cuts, reducing returns to ‘educational capital’ and the dominance of asset economies, precarious employment, culture budget cuts, and the integration of large sections of creative production into new platform economies have accelerated since that time. Global development capital has now built high-end leisure, entertainment, accommodation, and amenities into its core business model, one that does not require a prior process of valorisation by local creatives. Mould suggests the Creative City was a Trojan Horse and the creative class the Greeks inside (Urban 8). But whilst policymakers and city marketers embraced this term, it was never a class for-itself, with the clear strategic focus of soldiers waiting to pounce. Florida’s statistical fantasy netted a massive chunk of the population—almost 40 percent—as ‘professional, managerial and scientific’ (Florida, Rise). Meanwhile actual ‘creatives’ were always a poor relation and lived very differently to those others, most of whom preferred the suburbs and ex-burbs to the bustling city. Artists were not the storm-troopers of gentrification but its dupes, eventually evicted from the city they helped conquer. Meanwhile, since the advent of Florida and Landry, developers didn’t even need to use these ‘storm-troopers’ to soften up places for gentrification. They could now work directly with compliant city authorities to do the work for them. Creative cities could be deployed by toolkit (Landry) and, of course, measured via economic impact studies and a variety of other econometrics weaponised by corporate consultancies for hire. This was the social and political landscape upon which the Global Financial Crisis dealt an especially severe form of austerity, disproportionately affecting the cultural sector, and exacerbating many of the problematic areas of ‘creative city’ policy that had previously been abated and ameliorated by a veneer of hipster cool. Nonetheless, the ‘creative class’ also articulated a utopian promise, especially in places outside of the ‘Global North’ where more traditional forms of political power, gender roles, and religion remain in play. In a period of rapid globalisation, as relatively insulated economies became integrated into global capital flows, and cities bore the brunt of disruptive social and cultural changes, the C/creative City could stand in for a global modernity with a future. It could make available a new set of aspirations and identities; for a younger, more educated few perhaps, yet still real despite this. De Beukelaer, in the Indonesian context, talks about the “productive friction” between the two C/creative Cities, where the gap between the universal abstract and the local reality can form a site of negotiation. The C/creative City licences an encounter between new aspirations and identities, and the more traditional elites; an unequal struggle to define or give further content to the neoliberal nostrums of creative modernity that emanate from the Creative City meme. Yet it is not clear just why this negotiation is only made possible by the ‘apolitical’ notion of ‘creative’, or what’s at stake in that term. Is it a merely a cypher—or McGuffin—for a more complex conflict of interests? In what form would the “re-politicisation” of the creative city, called for at the end of the article, consist? What Next? We are not then talking about The City & the City (Mieville), in which two cities occupy the same geographic space but codify their separation by routinely ignoring each other and that which is deemed to belong to the other city. They are always in some kind of negotiation and contestation, but around what? We would argue that the imaginary of the C/creative City was annexed by, but not necessarily created by, neoliberalism. If the C/creative City articulated a future beyond a Fordist industrial civilisation, then we must take care in rejecting it not to abandon at the same time the power to imagine a different future. So, too, in attempting to assert the ordinary everyday city, we must also keep hold of a sense of the creative imagination that art and culture articulates, rather than dismissing this as part of the shiny glass palace on the hill. The absence of art and culture from the new progressive social and economic agendas that are currently finding their way into the mainstream—green new deals, doughnuts, well-being, community and ecological economics, and so on—is telling (O’Connor, Reset). In part this reflects the capture of arts and cultural policy by neoliberalism. This is not just ‘economic rationalism’ or market fundamentalism, for in the ‘creative economy’ art and cultural policy fused with neoliberalism at a deep DNA level, and the creative city imaginary was part of this. Mould is right to doubt whether the notion of ‘creative’, so closely enmeshed, could ever be retrieved. But regardless of whether art and culture have been condemned by this close association, the collapse of its romantic-utopian promise into a consumer leisure economy has left a void. If Jameson’s contention that we cannot think the end of capitalism is no longer the case (Jameson; Morozov), then culture is not present at this new moment of transition. So much well-being, community, and ecological economics speaks of culture whilst barely naming it. For us, the rearticulation of the place of art and culture in the contemporary city is crucial. We would even suggest that without art and culture, a full transformation of the contemporary city would be impossible. But how to think this? Any democratic cultural policy would need to reclaim both the ordinary and the creative city. This would entail the creative city of dissent and subversion, so closely aligned with the broad social movements to which we must look, in large part, to transform the city. It would also mean the right to a full participation in the imaginary of the collective city in which we all dwell and where we can imagine different futures. For this to happen, art and culture needs to be taken out of the hands of real estate, tourism, and economic development, and reframed as part of public service and public value. Just as new movements seek to reframe economic growth in terms of sustainability, equity, and human flourishing (Raworth), a radical creative city would be one in which art and culture were constitutive of the social foundations and part of how we live together as citizens, not simply another engine of the consumption economy. This process of re-embedding art and culture in the everyday foundations of the ordinary city is certainly underway. The ‘new municipalism’ (Thompson) has begun to make space for culture, with cities such as Barcelona and organisations such as the UCLG making a lot of the running. Notions of cultural rights, both individual and collective, have returned to challenge the urban consumption model. Just as art and culture try to position themselves alongside other foundational services—health, education, welfare—they also need to engage with new approaches to urban design, where technologies and infrastructures have been repositioned as cultural rather than technological. This suggests both that art and culture engage with the wider ‘cultural’—as in the anthropological, ‘whole way of life’—but that it no longer ‘owns’ this culture. Art and culture are not to be seen, as in the 1980s, as the ‘key’ to a total social transformation, but as one element only, however crucial. So too ‘creative’ needs to be unpicked and reframed, away from its association with ‘progress’ and absolute self-creation towards ‘slowdown’ (Dorling), sustainability, custodianship, care, incrementalism, and restoration – the kinds of values we now associate with First Nations. The shared DNA between creativity and capitalist modernity runs deep. Conclusion The COVID-19 pandemic has devastated large areas of art and culture, putting a question mark next to the urban use patterns that underpinned so much of the creative city model (Banks and O’Connor; de Peuter et al.; Tanghetti et al.; Whiting and Roberts). The Creative City of consumption, commuting, tourism, and entertainment stopped. Though some construction continued, the very purpose of the city centre—which over three decades had been rebranded as the Central Business District—was called into question. But the creative city was devastated too. Not just the collapse in income for cultural workers and business owners, but so too the filigrees of creative connection, the rhizomic mica that underpin the ecosystem of the city. Creatives already made no money, but at least they could go to openings and stay out late. Not anymore. This knockout blow was followed by the recognition that, for all the creative rhetoric, it was construction spending that counted most towards cultural funding budgets (Pacella et al.). Whilst talk quickly became one of getting artists and creatives to kickstart urban activity and animate deserted main street properties—‘build back better’—it is not at all clear where this endless supply of artists is going to come from. Now might be the time to explore how we might rethink art, culture, and the city rather than business as usual. As Arundhati Roy suggested, “nothing could be worse than a return to normality. Historically, pandemics have forced humans to break with the past and imagine their world anew. This one is no different. It is a portal, a gateway between one world and the next” (Roy). If art and culture don’t form part of that search for the new world, they will end up simply defending this one. 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