Journal articles on the topic 'Rain man (Motion picture)'

The research aims to monitor the image of the man in the group (The Cart and the Rain) by the storyteller (Badiaa Amin); With the aim of highlighting an aspect of feminist writing, especially with regard to the relationship of women to men, and determining the form adopted by the storyteller in drawing the features of men. The research used the descriptive-analytical method in the space of its textual formation, which aims to stand on the text and deconstruct its narrative significance. To provide a comprehensive picture of it. Three images of the man appeared in the group's stories, represented by (the authoritarian, the negative, and the positive), and the image of the authoritarian man topped the story's texts in a remarkable way. Those images, and the presence of the hostile place clearly in many of the group’s stories, as well as the story’s attention to spatial transformations and its impact on the souls of its characters, and its reliance on the technique of retrieval more than anticipation, especially the painful retrieval in drawing these images.

The extraordinary announcement, coming from the Federal University of Agriculture, Abeokuta, that ace filmmaker Kelani will now be based there as a Fellow is heartwarming. The news reveals the warmth and uniqueness of the University’s boundless imaginations and the humanistic vision of its Vice-Chancellor, Professor Kolawole Salako. The news of this deserving appointment follows on the heels of Kelani receiving the prestigious Leopold ́ Sédar Senghor Prize for African Cultural Creativity and Impact in July, 2019 at the annual TOFAC event at Babcock University. In that same month, he was also inducted into the American Oscars—the Academy of Motion Picture, Arts and Sciences. All of these accolades are well-deserved. Kelani has spent his career putting things—people, ideas, cultures, traditions, and ideologies—inside the cinematographic frame. It is a most exciting thing to see him too bursting out of every frame with all these multiple achievements that celebrate him Ìrókò!

Th e paper deals with techniques bicross start. Th e aim of this study is to analyse particular phases of BMX start through cinematographic metod and to evaluate basic cinematic parameters of fi rst movements. For scanning the picture we used two high-frequency synchronized digital cameras SIMI MOTION Version 7. Th e bicross start was performed by two representatives of the Czech Republic, one man and one woman. Th e result of our study is a distribution of start movement to fi ve basic phases. According to kinematic parameters of initial movements we compared diff erences between start techniques of each tested person.

On more than one occasion in his critical writings of the 1920’s, surrealist leader André Breton compared Max Ernst’s collages to cinema. In his first essay on the artist in 1921, Breton aligned Ernst’s collages with cinematic special effects such as slow and accelerated motion, and spoke of the illusionistic ‘transformation from within’ that characterized Ernst’s constructed scenes. For Breton, Ernst’s collages employing found commercial, scientific and journalistic images approximated the naturalistic movement of film, and thereby contributed to the radical obsolescence of traditional two-dimensional media such as painting and drawing, which remained frozen in stillness. Thus, Ernst’s images were provocative witnesses to the way in which modern technology fundamentally altered the perspectivally-ordered picture plane. But at the same time that Ernst’s collages rendered painting obsolete, they likewise depended upon fragments of outmoded popular culture themselves. For Breton, Ernst was a magician, “the man of these infinite possibilities,” comparable to cinematic prestidigators like turn-of-the-century filmmaker Georges Méliès. By drawing on the influence of recently outmoded popular culture such as early trick films, Ernst provides a crucial early example of the post-war fixation on counter-temporalities and anti-production. At once technologically advanced and culturally archeological, Ernst’s collages cannily defy strict categorization as “Modernist.”

Acute coronary syndrome occurring during the course of a type I hypersensitivity reaction constitutes Kounis syndrome. We report a case of a 64-year-old man who presented with a non-ST elevation myocardial infarction and peripheral blood eosinophilia. He had rhinitis and constitutional symptoms for several days prior to presentation. Blood investigations revealed moderate eosinophilia and elevated IgE levels. A cardiac MRI showed generalised oedema with a subtle wall motion abnormality in basal inferior/inferolateral wall, and subendocardial high signal on late gadolinium enhancement suggesting a localised myocardial infarction. A coronary angiogram then revealed triple vessel disease. A diagnosis of Kounis syndrome was made. Within days of starting appropriate treatment, the patient’s eosinophil count returned to normal with improvement of clinical picture.

In the 1950s, the top American Jewish organizations chose a single man, John Stone, to represent their collective interests in Hollywood. Over the course of the decade, Stone's Motion Picture Project sought to prevent antisemitism on film and to inspire the creation of positive Jewish characters. Negotiating the cultural politics of the era, however, resulted in an increasing tendency to favor depictions of biblical Jews over contemporary American ones. In a strange twist, Stone endorsed no film with as much zeal asBen-Hur, a New Testament celebration of Jesus. By following Stone's tortuous attempts to navigate Cold War controversies, and by casting new light on the phenomenal success of biblical epics in the 1950s, this essay suggests that at the heart of postwar popular culture was a shift toward a particular discourse of liberal humanism.

AbstractIn the 1910s, New York suffragette Electra Sparks wrote a series of essays in theMoving Picture Newsthat advocated for cine-therapy treatments for pregnant women. Film was, in her view, the great democratizer of beautiful images, providing high-cultural access to the city's poor. These positive ‘mental pictures’ were important for her because, she claimed, in order to produce an attractive, healthy child, the mother must be exposed to quality cultural material. Sparks's championing of cinema during its ‘second birth’ was founded upon the premise of New Thought. This metaphysical Christian doctrine existed alongside the self-help and esoteric publishing domains and testified, above all, to the possibility of the ‘mind-cure’ of the body through the positive application of ‘mental pictures’. Physiologically, their method began best in the womb, where the thoughts of the mother were of utmost importance: the eventual difference between birthing an Elephant Man or an Adonis. This positive maternal impression was commonplace in New Thought literature; it was Sparks's innovation to apply it to cinema. Investigating Sparks's film theory, practice and programming reveals her to be a harbinger of the abiding analogy between mind and motion picture that occupies film theorists to this day.

This article focuses on a computer in downtown Manhattan that is displaying a robotics designer’s latest creation in action. Fashioned to look like an armored knight, the mechanical man in this three-dimensional simulation sits up, waves its arms, moves its head on a flexible neck, and opens and closes its hands and its jaw, all in smooth, precise motions. The robot could be used in a new motion picture, museum, or amusement park. Its original designer, however, never heard of movies, computers, or Wait Disney: The robot sprang from the mind of Leonardo da Vinci. Most Renaissance-era designers took a practical approach to mechanics, viewing each machine as a universal entity to be applied as a whole. Leonardo, however, used a revolutionary method of analysis that involved dissecting machines into individual components or “organs” and establishing how many essential parts exist; pulleys, chains, pinions, shock absorbers, springs, and friction bearings were just some of the elements he discovered to be common in many different machines. Leonardo’s studies have influenced and inspired Rossheim greatly in his current robotics designs. Leonardo followed the Renaissance ideal of “man as the measure,” the standard for which the world was designed.

<p><span style="font-size: medium;"><em>9 Summers 10 Autumns</em> (2011) is an inspirational autobiographical novel about a young man from a small city of Batu who later succeeded in pursuing his dream by working in the United States. The novel was written according to Iwan Setyawan’s life story and it has been made into a movie by the same name in 2013. Two years later, the movie was adapted into an augmented motion picture hinted illustrative book which is said to be the first kind to appear in Indonesia that combines novel, comic, app and film together. Somehow this phenomenon has also contributed to the rising trend of films adapted into books in Indonesia, such as <em>Assalamualaikum Beijing</em> (2015), <em>What’s Up with Love?</em> (2016), and others. This study caters for Iwan Setyawan’s strategy in achieving legitimacy in the arena of Indonesian Literature and his American Dream Ideals that are depicted within the book. The discussion is carried out within the perspectives of Pierre Bourdieu’s field of cultural production theory as well as sociology of literature approach in highlighting the phenomenon of transformation from novel into film and eventually into augmented motion picture hinted illustrative book. Later, the study discovers that it has changed the image of Indonesian art and literary world in which such prestigious legitimacy can now be achieved through commercial strategies, making it seem dynamic but at the same time questionable in its most authentic sense. </span></p>

The sustainable rural development more and more depends on the efficient usage of water resources. Most often, at least in one part of the year, the rain is not sufficient for plant growth and rain plant production significantly depends on the yearly precipitation variation. The increase and stability of the agricultural production is possible in the irrigation conditions. The most part (around 70%) of the global water resources is used for food production. Irrigation water quality indicator is used to show if the available water resources have the required quality for application in agriculture. Irrigation is characterised by the complex water-plant-soil relationship, and in that eco-system the man as the end user of the irrigated fields occupies a very important place. That explains the difficulties in producing one universal classification of irrigation water quality. The paper analyses numerous water quality classifications from the aspect of the applicability on the quantifying of this indicator. The adopted classification should possess understandable, qualified and internationally comparable indicator. Thus, local classifications (Neigebauer, Miljkovic) cannot be used for this indicator. United Nation Food and Agricultural Organization (FAO) and US Salinity Laboratory (USSL) classifications are used for the evaluation of the irrigation water quality throughout the world. FAO classification gives the complex picture of the usability of the irrigation water from the point of its influence on the soil and the plants. However, the scope of the analyses is not often suited to the needs of that classification, which makes it difficult to apply. The conclusion is that the USSL (US Salinity Laboratory) classification is best suited to this range of chemical water analyses. The evaluation of the irrigation water quality indicator in the Juzna Morava river basin, upstream from the Toplica river estuary is given in this paper. Based on the obtained results, it can be concluded that the irrigation isn?t limitation for sustainable rural development.

Slush avalanches, primarily known from uninhabited arctic and mountainous regions, every year cause damage to man and property in Norway. Seeking objective criteria to identify their hazard zones, and methods for their prediction and control, the Norwegian Geotechnical Institute (NGI) has started a research program on these topics. Thirty-four slush avalanches with known locations of crown surface have been investigated with regard to geomorphic and climatic characteristics. Starting zones, crown surfaces and tracks were classified according to geomorphic conditions important to avalanche release and motion. Weak cohesionless snowpacks of coarse grains, and hard layers or crusts of ice in snow cover or on the ground, are critical conditions for slush avalanche release. Intense rain, falling on cohesionless new snow on these substrata, is the most striking feature of current weather situations. The main starting zones were drainage channels, Sloping bogs, depressions and open fields. Channel-like, scar-like or bowl-like features appeared in the snow cover due to avalanche release. Three main types of release were identified: 1) Sudden release from crown surface, 2) drainage of snow-embanked, water-saturated snowfields through narrow outlets and 3) rapid headward growth from first point of release. Enlargements and confinements along the avalanche tracks were caused by distinctly defined features in the tracks.

Abstract: Image restoration is the process of restoring the original image. It can be challenging to eliminate image blur in a variety of contexts, including photography, radar imaging, and the removal of motion blur brought on by camera shaking. Image noise is unintentional signal that enters an image from a sensor,such as a thermal or electrical signal or an external factor like rain or snow. The image degradation may be caused by transmission noise, object motion, resolution restrictions, coding artefacts, camera shake, or a combination of these factors. In order to distinguish between HF and LF artefacts, image decomposition is employed to divide the deformed image into a texture layer and a structure layer (Low Frequency LF Component) The current approach utilises the frequency characteristics of various forms of artefactsthrough a configurable deep neural network structure. Therefore, by changing the architecture, the same method may be applied to a number of picture restoration tasks. A quality enhancement network that uses residual and recursive learning is suggested for decreasing the artefacts with comparable frequency characteristics. Residuallearning is used to enhance performance and speed up the training process. Recursive learning is used to both improve performance and drastically cut down on the amount of training parameters. This Project aims to build systems for reconstructing the old images from under sampled one and mismatched Pixels to form a proper image to increase its visible quality and its pixels quality by using a Deep Neural network Models and it can improve the integration of various feature representations from many photos. Result Shows Improved Training accuracy of 92%.When compared to the two-frame designs now in use, the multi-frame architecture will be used which prevents repetitive computations caused by multiple inferences when aligning multiple images

The relevance of the article is due to the need to determine the philosophical basis of the worldview and poetic world of the Ukrainian literature classic of the XX–XXI centuries Pavlo Movchan (born in 1939) — ancient Greek spontaneous materialism — as the basis of universal and national memory, the continuity of history. The peculiarities of Movchan’s spontaneous materialism are the subject of research. The main problem of the article is the connection of each specific existence with the million-year history of the material world, humanity and a specific — Ukrainian — nation, reproduced in P. Movchan’s poetry, the role of this existence as a connecting link in the transfer of information (memory) from the past to the future. Cultural-historical, biographical, hermeneutic and formal (philological) research methods were used to solve this problem. As a result of the study, the images of the four elements were traced in the poet’s lyrical works. Different forms (water — snow, rain, well, spring, reservoirs, blood, etc.; earth — soil, clay, sand, stone, salt, etc.; fire — sun, light, ray, etc.; air — wind, whirlwind, etc.) of these elements become the most important in the life of the Ukrainian peasant-farmer, and therefore also of the ethnos. The primary elements are in constant motion, creating new things, objects, and phenomena as a synthesis of elements and their inevitable destruction. Only latent small imprints of the existence and transformations of matter in the form of energy (information) remain while reading. The preservation and the transmission of this energy to the next generations is the vocation, the purpose of a man in the world. The poetic world and the poet’s ideological concept syncretically combine knowledge of the global and Ukrainian national origins of existence, which determine the essence of our present and future life. Man as a combination of four elements, as a part of the primordial movement of the elements, is inextricably linked with his destined space, environment. Universal and ethnic memory as another name for energy-information unites a person with time and space, makes it possible to find and realize one’s own purpose on earth.

The relevance of the article is due to the need to determine the philosophical basis of the worldview and poetic world of the Ukrainian literature classic of the XX–XXI centuries Pavlo Movchan (born in 1939) — ancient Greek spontaneous materialism — as the basis of universal and national memory, the continuity of history. The peculiarities of Movchan’s spontaneous materialism are the subject of research. The main problem of the article is the connection of each specific existence with the million-year history of the material world, humanity and a specific — Ukrainian — nation, reproduced in P. Movchan’s poetry, the role of this existence as a connecting link in the transfer of information (memory) from the past to the future. Cultural-historical, biographical, hermeneutic and formal (philological) research methods were used to solve this problem. As a result of the study, the images of the four elements were traced in the poet’s lyrical works. Different forms (water — snow, rain, well, spring, reservoirs, blood, etc.; earth — soil, clay, sand, stone, salt, etc.; fire — sun, light, ray, etc.; air — wind, whirlwind, etc.) of these elements become the most important in the life of the Ukrainian peasant-farmer, and therefore also of the ethnos. The primary elements are in constant motion, creating new things, objects, and phenomena as a synthesis of elements and their inevitable destruction. Only latent small imprints of the existence and transformations of matter in the form of energy (information) remain while reading. The preservation and the transmission of this energy to the next generations is the vocation, the purpose of a man in the world. The poetic world and the poet’s ideological concept syncretically combine knowledge of the global and Ukrainian national origins of existence, which determine the essence of our present and future life. Man as a combination of four elements, as a part of the primordial movement of the elements, is inextricably linked with his destined space, environment. Universal and ethnic memory as another name for energy-information unites a person with time and space, makes it possible to find and realize one’s own purpose on earth.

Abstract A framework is introduced to investigate the indirect effect of aerosol loading on tropical deep convection using three-dimensional limited-domain idealized cloud-system-resolving model simulations coupled with large-scale dynamics over fixed sea surface temperature. The large-scale circulation is parameterized using the spectral weak temperature gradient (WTG) approximation that utilizes the dominant balance between adiabatic cooling and diabatic heating in the tropics. The aerosol loading effect is examined by varying the number of cloud condensation nuclei (CCN) available to form cloud droplets in the two-moment bulk microphysics scheme over a wide range of environments from 30 to 5000 cm−3. The radiative heating is held at a constant prescribed rate in order to isolate the microphysical effects. Analyses are performed over the period after equilibrium is achieved between convection and the large-scale environment. Mean precipitation is found to decrease modestly and monotonically when the aerosol number concentration increases as convection gets weaker, despite the increase in cloud liquid water in the warm-rain region and ice crystals aloft. This reduction is traced down to the reduction in surface enthalpy fluxes as an energy source to the atmospheric column induced by the coupling of the large-scale motion, though the gross moist stability remains constant. Increasing CCN concentration leads to 1) a cooler free troposphere because of a reduction in the diabatic heating and 2) a warmer boundary layer because of suppressed evaporative cooling. This dipole temperature structure is associated with anomalously descending large-scale vertical motion above the boundary layer and ascending motion at lower levels. Sensitivity tests suggest that changes in convection and mean precipitation are unlikely to be caused by the impact of aerosols on cloud droplets and microphysical properties but rather by accounting for the feedback from convective adjustment with the large-scale dynamics. Furthermore, a simple scaling argument is derived based on the vertically integrated moist static energy budget, which enables estimation of changes in precipitation given known changes in surfaces enthalpy fluxes and the constant gross moist stability. The impact on cloud hydrometeors and microphysical properties is also examined, and it is consistent with the macrophysical picture.

Abstract We report a case of left pericardial agenesis in a 61 year old man presenting palpitations, without syncope. Clinical picture was not specific on clinical field: atypical chest pain, systolic murmur 2/6 Levine on the second left interspace were found. ECG showed sinus rhythm, clockwise deviation of axis in the precordial leads and incomplete right bundle branch block. Frequent isolated polymorphic premature extrabeats. Holter ecg was perfomed: frequent polymorphic extrabeats (9834/24 ore) with some couplets and triplets, without sustained ventricular tachycardia episodes. Starting metoprololo 100 mg per day the arrhythmic burden decreases significantly. Chest X–ray showed marked levocardia and dilatation of pulmonary trunk. Levocardia increased with the patient on the left side. Levoposition of the heart, lung interposition between the diaphragm and the base of the heart and between the aorta and pulmonary artery Echocardiography showed a classic abnormal swinging motion of the heart in the chest, a paradoxical interventricular septal movement, apparent right–sided heart enlargement, with unusual bulging of the apex of the right ventricle. Magnetic resonance imaging (currently the gold standard for diagnosing) confirmed the absence of the left pericardium, and a left pericardial agenesia diagnosis was performed Patients have a similar life expectancy to those without pericardial defects; however in certain cases, herniation and strangulation of cardiac chambers can be life threatening and lead to sudden cardiac death. We analyze the diagnostic problems and the prognostic doubts of this rare congenital anomaly.

The article considers cinema as an instrument of soft power of states, using the example of cinema in Spain and the USA. Different approaches are shown. On the one hand, the United States, which uses universal concepts, on the other hand, Spain, which uses stereotypical ideas and recognizable images about its country. In American films, most often, universal topics are used that are understandable to all people: the struggle between good and evil (moreover, evil is universal, threatening the whole world, and good is the United States), love, happiness, compassion. Even if purely national issues are raised in American films (for example, African-American racism), these problems are presented as universal, as a problem of human dignity, honor, etc. In Spanish cinema, well-established stereotypes about Spain and its culture are actively used: bullfighting, flamenco, Andalusian folklore, traditional cuisine and clothing (for example, the matador costume), as well as typical, recognizable images of the Spanish man and woman (Spanish macho - Antonio Banderas and swarthy, passionate, beautiful Carmen - Penelope Cruz). All this forms the concept of ‘españolada’. The United States does not officially support its film production, but coordinates and consults with the film productions and directors through unofficial resources, primarily the Motion Picture Association of America, whose leadership includes many former White House officials. Spain, on the contrary, actively supports its filmmakers, helps to promote Spanish films in the international arena, develops joint film production, stimulates the shooting of films at the state level, including foreign ones, using Spanish locations, etc. Thus, one can see two different approaches to cinema as an instrument of soft power, and although American cinema certainly dominates the world market, the obvious success of Spanish cinema, which is becoming increasingly popular, should be noted.

Abstract Kounis syndrome (KS) is defined as an acute coronary syndrome (SCA) associated with an anaphylactic reaction. A 64–year–old sports man with no previous cardiovascular disease arrived at the emergency room of our Hospital for dyspnoea and chest pain arising during physical activity e preceded by a syncopal episode. During the physical activity (cycling) the patient reported that he had felt an insect bite sensation, with no possibility of precisely identify it. Parameters an admission were: BP 85/45 mmHg, HR 70 bpm, on ECG signs of early repolarization (Fig. 1), blood tests rise in hsTNI (328 ng/L), normal D–dimer. The transthoracic echocardiogram showed no motion abnormalities. In the suspicion of KS, therapy was set up only with ASA and statin, avoiding any drug commonly used to treat allergic reactions that could have worsen the hemodynamic and vasomotor situation by further reducing the coronary perfusion. During hospitalization, in consideration of the clinical picture and cardiovascular risk factors (dyslipidemia and previous smoking), was performed coronary angiography, which showed no obstructive lesions, but during the first injection of contrast showed vasospasm of the ostium of the right coronary artery, dominant (Fig. 2 – left), resolved spontaneously (Fig. 2 – right). The post–procedural hsTNI peak (3953 ng/L) and the presence of the European paper wasp i77 antigen to the serological dosage of the allergens supported the pathophysiology of acute coronary syndrome concomitant with allergic reaction and supported the diagnostic hypothesis of KS type I (without underlying coronary artery disease). The patient was discharged with calcium channel blocker therapy, to reduce coronary vasospasm which characterizes KS, and short–term follow–up was planned with blood tests, exercise stress test and cardiological visit which were normal. KS, though rare, is a clinical entity that should not be underestimated, especially in allergic patients with evidence of SCA without coronary occlusions. The data available in the literature are scarce and it is not clear the medium and long term prognosis. It therefore seems reasonable to follow up the patients as outpatient cardiology visits especially in the first months after the event and schedule instrumental tests control.

Abstract Case Report A 62–year–old man, history of hypertension. In 2015, there was suspicion of non–compaction cardiomyopathy, and he underwent cardiac MRI at another facility (report not available). The patient reported palpitations and dyspnea with exertion, leading to a follow–up visit. EKG showed sinus rhythm 90/min, nonspecific intraventricular conduction delay and isolated monomorphic ventricular ectopic beats. Echo revealed a mildly dilated left ventricle (end–diastolic volume 88 ml/m), systolic function at the lower limits of normal (EF 53%), and prominent muscular structures near the posterior interventricular septum (SIV), likely related to anomalies of the papillary muscles (prominent and possibly duplicated posterior–medial papillary muscle). There was apical trabecular protrusion, which did not meet the criteria for non–compaction (NC/C ratio in systole approximately 1), with no other significant findings. The cardiac MRI, performed to assess dilated cardiomyopathy, revealed a conspicuous structural abnormality in the septo–papillary region, located medio–apically and paraseptal–endocardial in the left ventricle. This anomaly lacked evident chordae tendineae with the mitral valve leaflets and exhibited synchronous systo–diastolic motion with the left ventricular wall, suggesting septal duplication. The septal thickness was slightly reduced, particularly in the medio–apical region. Additionally, there was hypertrabeculation of the posterior and lateral walls of the left ventricle, exceeding the threshold for non–compaction (NC/C ratio in end–diastole: 2.6 – normal range: &lt;2.3). Left ventricular mass was normal (mass: 173.52 g; mass/body surface area (BSA): 86.58 g/m). Basal septum, medio–apical septum and medio–apical lateral wallshowed hypokinetic contractility. The left ventricle was dilated (end–diastolic diameter: 55.0 mm; end–systolic diameter: 45.3 mm – end–diastolic volume: 230 ml; stroke volume/BSA: 57.6 ml/m² – EF: 51%). Areas of late gadolinium enhancement (LGE) were observed in the anterior medio–basal septum and at the site of the described structural muscular anomaly, both displaying an intramural non–ischemic pattern. Conclusions The described findings suggest a picture of dilated cardiomyopathy and an associated structural septo–papillary anomaly of uncertain diagnostic interpretation (septum duplication with associated non–compacted myocardium? duplicated posterior–medial papillary muscle with associated non–compacted myocardium?).

The article is devoted to the symbolism of color in the works of Saltykov-Shchedrin. Color is a fundamental phenomenon of existence; various sciences, including literary criticism, study it. It is connected with the ideological conception of the work, with art space; it bears a visual function, emotionally colors the world depicted by a writer, enriches, makes it more complex. Saltykov-Shchedrin’s use of color is connected with the satirist’s talent to see the reality in the "concentration of evil". In the works of the writer, Russia appears to be ambivalent: it is a field of the rampage of the elements, energies, and the realm of deadness, of slumber, which is presented in the writer's palette by two achromatic colors. White and gray are distinguished by special semantic saturation. In Saltykov-Shchedrin’s works, their symbolism is seen in a negative aspect: white represents coldness, despair, insipidity; gray – poverty, sadness, rough weather. In the descriptions of the environment, these colors are accompanied by images of snow, rain, fog, which in turn are connected with the motifs of death, doom, and emptiness of life. Many of the satirist’s works starting from his early stories, Contradictions, Brusin, are emotionally charged in such a way. White and gray colors define the peculiarity of the artistic space of many works of Saltykov-Shchedrin. In the epilogue of the series Provincial Sketches, the ground appears covered with a white shroud. The tragedy of this image is compounded in the cycle of Well-Intentioned Speeches. Snow as a white shroud is the writer’s constant metaphor. Almost always when describing Russian expanses, monotonous, dull colors dominate in the works of the satirist. White color expands the space to the infinity overwhelming a man; gray increases the feeling of hopelessness. Saltykov-Shchedrin’s landscape correlates with the unclear fate of Russia, with mournful events in the national history, a fading aristocratic landlord class. These colors are associated with moral issues in the novel-chronicle The Golovlyov Family. In the tale Night of Christ, white and gray serve as the concentration of world evil. However, gray does not have only negative energy – the «gray tones» of the Motherland cause the writer to feel «love to the pain in the heart». Golden color in the idiomatic expression «Golden age», an age of harmony and prosperity, used by the socialists-utopians, to whose ideals Saltykov-Shchedrin always remained true, stand as the antagonist of white and gray. Color is one of the mental units forming the concept sphere of Saltykov-Shchedrin’s creative work; it reflects the diversity of the author's thinking, the philosophy of the artist-satirist, the worldview of a particular age, and the national picture of the world.

Bartók’s American estate dates its origins to 1943, when he entrusted his music manuscript collection to the care of two fellow Hungarian emigrés, Gyula Báron and Victor Bator, both then living in the United States. After his death in 1945 the estate devolved into their care, in accord with the legal provisions of the will. For the next 22 years it was carefully managed by Bator, a lawyer and businessman who lived in New York City for the rest of his life. The onset of Cold War politics in the late 1940s presented numerous challenges to the estate, out of which emerged the tangled thicket of rumor, litigation, misunderstanding, confusion, and personal animosity that has been the American Bartók estate’s unfortunate legacy since the 1950s.As one of Hungary’s most significant cultural assets located outside the country’s borders, the American Bartók estate has since 1981 been under the control and careful supervision of Peter Bartók, now the composer’s only remaining heir. All but forgotten is the role Victor Bator played in managing the estate during the difficult years after World War II, when its beneficiaries became separated by the Iron Curtain, setting in motion legal and emotional difficulties that no one in the immediate family could have predicted. Equally overlooked is the role he played in enhancing the collection to become the world’s largest repository of Bartók materials.A considerable amount of Bator’s personal correspondence related to the early years of the Bartók estate has recently come to light in the U.S. Together with U.S. court documents and information gleaned from recent interviews with Bator’s son, Francis Bator, still living in Massachusetts, and the late Ivan Waldbauer, we can now reconstruct with reasonable accuracy the early history of Bartók’s estate. A strikingly favorable picture of Bator emerges. Bartók, it turns out, chose his executors wisely. A cultivated and broadly learned man, by the late 1920s Victor Bator had gained recognition as one of Hungary’s most prominent legal minds in the field of international business and banking law. His professional experience became useful to the Bartók estate as the Communist party gradually took hold of Hungary after World War II, seizing assets and nationalizing property previously belonging to individual citizens. His comfort in the arena of business law also thrust him into prominence as a public advocate for increased fees for American composers in the late 1940s - a matter of tremendous urgency for composers of serious music at the time. By reconstructing Bator’s professional career prior to 1943 his actions as executor and trustee become more understandable. We gain new insight into a figure of tremendous personal importance for Bartók and his family.

NOT CHANGING LOOKS. PRESENTATION OF CRUELTY AND EVIL IN THE FILMS OF ANDRZEJ WAJDAAmong Andrzej Wajda’s legacy, the image of the totalitarian regime and its repercussions for people, countries, and humanity holds a significant place. Films of Andrzej Wajda, who was a liaison officer in the anti-Hitler Polish underground, are a kind of chronicle of the survivors of twentieth century. The article is dedicated to study the various forms of evil and its effects on real people. The study is applicable for our time because the world again deals with the recidivism of evil which the Soviet government spread in its own country and beyond its own borders. In the USRR, the perception of Andrzej Wajda’s films was dependent on the political play in action: when the relations between two countries were friendly, he received awards, however after the Solidarity was established, no one ever mentioned Wajda. The epic work Danton, about the French revolution, made in France during times difficult for Poland because of the martial law imposed on Poland, reveals the effects of revolution that paradoxically destroyed its most dedicated revolutionists, including Danton. Wajda’s refusal to American producers to direct a motion picture based on a screen play of Aleksander Slozenicyn had se-rious reasons, primarily commitment to his homeland. He made up for the missed opportunity to show Stalin’s evil empire when he shot the film Katyń. This word echoes deep tragedy in the heart of every Pole and the director succeeded in portraying the cruelty of mechanism of punishment in totalitarian USRR. The second most important aspect was the discovery of the lies of this regime, which tried to place the responsibility for the execution of Polish officers on the Nazis. After a premiere of Katyń in Ukraine, Andrzej Wajda was awarded the medal of Jaroslaw Madry. The article also includes the theme of influence of Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s novels on Andrzej Wajda’s work — the director not only used Dostoyevsky’s work for his filmmaking and staging, but as well he was inspired by Dostoyevsky’s deep analysis of dangerous social phenomena and the courage in discovering the evil. In Wajda’s films, which belongs to the so-called “cinema of moral unrest”, the tragic fate of a talented journalist Jerzy Michalowski, the hero of film Bez znieczulenia who personalizes the characteristics of a professional and a good man, simply horrifies. In his last film Powidoki, the director masterfully shows circles of hell survived by avant-garde artist Wladyslaw Strzeminski, the lecturer of Fine Arts Academy. All the films mentioned above are deemed necessary warning for future generations, they cannot put up with the aggression — on a political and private levels. Wajda’s lessons are universal, timeless, and everla-sting, like an eternal battle of good against evil.

ABSTRACT. The Physical Education and Health Development learning area of the National Core Curriculum (NCC) 2020 and the framework curricula that form a coherent unit with it includes a set of goals and contents that meet the challenges of the 21st century. One of the prominent components of the 21st century image of man is that the individual is active, but at the same time capable of reflective deliberation. A person of action is characterized by the right attitudes related to movement, a physically active lifestyle, realistic self-acceptance, autonomy combined with social responsibility, openness to innovative initiatives and the ability to apply reliable solutions. A physically and mentally healthy person experiences the state of health and a harmonious life as a value. The abilities and skills related to movement as a basic competence, as well as the motor abilities and skills that are mobilized according to the given situation, are the basis for the individual to become an active member of society, and are characterized by safety in movement throughout life. A significant positive of NCC 2020 is that, in addition to speaking, reading, writing, text comprehension, orientation to quantitative, spatial-visual and temporal conditions, movement is also found among the basic competencies. There are learning areas (subjects) in NCC 2020, in the following system: Hungarian language and literature (literature, Hungarian language); Mathematics (mathematics); History and civic knowledge (history, civic knowledge, country and people knowledge); Ethics/faith and morality; Natural science and geography (environmental knowledge, natural science, integrated natural science, biology, chemistry, physics, geography); Foreign language (first and second foreign language); Arts (singing and music, drama and theatre, visual culture, motion picture culture and media literacy); Technology (technique and design, digital culture); Physical education and health promotion (physical education); Community education (class head teacher's lesson). The learning area of NCC 2020 Physical Education and Health promotion follows the following structure: first, the general principles and goals of the learning area and the physical education subject are formulated; after that, specific characteristics of the teaching of the subject can be found in chapters 1-4 and 5-8 and 9-12 projected by grade; the next point contains the main topics, also divided into four grades. In the NCC, certain characteristics of physical education learning and teaching are also presented by education stage. The educational process takes place along seven development areas: movement culture development; motor abilities development; development of motor skills – learning to move; games; contests, competitions; prevention, lifestyle; healthy physical development, health promotion. These development areas are closely aligned with the main topics of the subject, as well as with the learning outcomes (general requirements) set as overall goals and related to the development areas.

While the military and political accomplishments of World War I were clearly limited, the war, nonetheless, established a foundation for unparalleled economic growth in the United States during the 1920s. A significant consumer economy grew as many Americans worked fewer hours, earned higher salaries, invested in the stock market, and bought everything from washing machines to Model T Fords. This culture of consumerism in the 1920s changed the politics of American society and set the tone for American attitudes about economic political issues for decades to come. In the early 1920s, President Warren G. Harding's policies were generally conservative, especially regarding taxes, tariffs, immigration restriction, labor rights, and business regulation. Continuing Republican policies, President Calvin Coolidge included federal tax cuts and high tariffs. The expansive economy of the 1920s was fueled by the use of factory machine manufacturing and standardized mass production. The economic boom also resulted from the effects of World War I on technology, scientific management, the rapid increase in worker productivity, the psychology of mass consumption (with installment credit) behind the purchase of radios, motion picture tickets, electric appliances, and automobiles. Certainly, federal policies that supported big business with high tariffs, cutbacks in the authority of the Federal Trade Commission to regulate unfair trade practices, and the reduction of corporate and personal income taxes contributed to the boom as well. It was with this backdrop that Herbert Hoover and Al Smith squared off in the election of 1928. Hoover was born in Iowa and orphaned as a child. He began a career as a mining engineer soon after graduating from Stanford University in 1895. Within twenty years he had used his engineering knowledge and business skills to make a fortune as an independent mining consultant. In 1914, Hoover administered the American Relief Committee and during World War I he headed the Commission for Relief in Belgium and the U.S. Food Administration and was chairman of the Interallied Food Council. After the war he directed the American Relief Administration. Then Assistant Secretary of the Navy Franklin D. Roosevelt said of Hoover in 1920, "He is certainly a wonder and I wish we could make him President of the United States. There could be no better one." In 1919 Hoover founded the Hoover Institution on War, Revolution, and Peace at Stanford University. As Secretary of Commerce in the Harding and Coolidge administrations from 1921 to 1929, Hoover was widely celebrated for his leadership. The man who had fed Belgium, had run the U.S. Food Administration, revolutionized the Department of Commerce, and ministered to victims of the 1927 Mississippi flood appeared the ideal candidate in 1928. Hoover seemed more practical than Woodrow Wilson, glowed with respectability compared to the Harding administration, was easily more inspired than Coolidge, and was generally considered more "purely American" than his Democratic opponent, New York Governor Alfred E. Smith.

Background. The “melos” and “colourfulness” terms are used in various meanings both, in music and fine arts. The ambiguity of these concepts in our time of unlimited possibilities for creative experiment and bold search for new semantic levels, interest in establishing versatile inter-scientific relations allows us to apply innovative analytic methods to the works of art. Among these methods, intermedial inter-disciplinary researches seem to be extremely promising, especially when applied to such traditional, well-established forms of art as academic painting and music. The article uses the innovative method of intermedial research, which consists in attempts to trans-code the elements of the musical semiotic system into a pictorial one and vice versa. B. Asafyev (1987, р. 83) determined the “melos” in music as an abstract notion that unites all the forms of melody and the properties of melodiousness: the qualitative, expressive sides of all kinds of sound correlations as sequences in time. The consistent movement of sounds in a piece of music is called “a line” (for example, a “melodic line”) that gives the reason to see a certain parallel between music and painting. Accordingly, the concept of “melos” in music correlates with the concept of “linearity” (graphics) of a picture. The notion of “colourfulness” was first introduced in the fine arts. The colourfulness is a total of correlations of colour tones, hues, which create a certain unity and are an esthetic reflection of the colour diversity of reality (based on Bilodid, I., 1973, p. 232 and others). In musical science there is no well-established definition of this concept, however, we find such attempts: “Colourfulness [in original –’kolorit’ – translator’s note] (from the Latin ’color’) in music – is the predominant emotional colouring of one or another episode, which is achieved by using various registers, tones, harmonic and other expressive means” (FDSTAR. Electronic music. The site of composers, CJs and DJs). The adjoint concept “colouristics” is used, which is described as follows: “… colouristics – music of subtle and colorful sounds, in which all tones are distinguished (the beginning of the Etude in G sharp minor by Chopin, the scene of the transformation of fishes in the 4th Picture of “Sadko”, bell harmonies by M. P. Mussorgsky, S. V. Rachmaninoff)”(Maklygin, A., 1990, in Musical Encyclopedic Dictionary). The purpose of this article is an attempt to determine the correlation of melos and colourfulness in the musical and fine arts on the example of musical portraits and landscapes from the M. Mussorgsky’s “Pictures at an Exhibition” cycle. Research results. The “Pictures at an Exhibition” piano cycle is created under impression of works by Viktor Hartmann, the artist, architect, and designer. The content of the cycle is a vivid example of music and painting interrelation, therefore it gives an occasion to detailed intermedial analysis to understand the melos and colourfulness correlation in the musical pictures. So, the peculiarities of the melos in “The Gnome” are the quick broken zigzag lines, contains brief chromatic motifs, separated by pauses, grace notes and trills. A special role is given to syncopation, which imitate the Gnome’s limping gait. The texture of M. Mussorgsky’s piece – the octave movement in the party of the right and the left hands without a clearly defined accompaniment can be seen as a musical analogy to colourfulness of V. Hartmann’s sketch with its transparent background. Thus, in Mussorgsky’s play “The Gnome”, melos prevails over colourfulness that coincides with the ratio of melos / color in V. Hartmann’s sketch, since the artist gave preference to drawing creating this picture as monochrome one. “The Old Castle” is extremely colourful, as the composer deals great importance to modal, harmonic and textural factors. In general, it can be argued that the composer inherits the ratio of drawing and colouring in the painting by V. Hartmann, embodying the overall emotional and colourful palette of the picture with the help of tonality (“mysterious” G sharp minor) and texture (basso ostinato as an expression of the statics of the massive old building). Melos prevails over colourfulness and expresses the individuality of images in the “Samuel” Goldenberg and “Schmu&#255;le”, the musical portrait based on two paintings by V. Hartmann (“Poor Jew”, “Rich Jew in the Fur Hat”). The melodic (linear) component of the work is represented by two musical themes. The first is a characterization of a rich man, in which ascending intonations are used as a symbol of his high social status, by analogy with the proudly raised head and upward glance in the painting by V. Hartmann. The melodic theme of a poor Jew with a downward motion corresponds with the image of the poor man’s stooped figure. “Colour” of the musical portrait, as in the V. Hartmann’s painting, serves only as a background. In the piece “Catacombs. Roman Tomb”, the colorfulness prevails over the melos, The “gloomy” tonality (B minor) and the figurative textural techniques used by the composer (the sound of the melody against the background of tremolo octaves in high register, which can be compared with flickering lantern light in the darkness of the tomb, also juxtaposition of the fragments of the theme in different registers, creating contrasts of light and darkness), clearly reflect the overall colouring of the painting by V. Hartmann. In the musical portrait “The Hut on Hen’s Legs (Baba Yaga)” melos prevails over colorfulness, because it is with the help of melodic means that the portrait of a fairy-tale character is depicted, while the coloristic component of the music in this composition corresponds to the sketch of V. Hartman (where the clock in the house’s form depicted) only partially and plays the role of a landscape background (tremolo and triplets in accompaniment performing a coloristic function). “The Bogatyr (Great) Gates (In the Capital in Kiev)” is based on V. Hartmann’s the architectural and painting project of the city gate. Melos of the composition is presented by three contrasting themes. The graphic drawing of some fragments of these themes associatively correlates with the individual elements of the graphics of V. Hartmann’s picture (the peaked line of the passage in the right hand’s party, the tremolo-like figures). The colourfulness of the piece expresses in part by its texture and tone (E Flat Major, according to N. Rimsky Korsakov, the tone of “walls and cities”). In V. Hartmann’s painting, the drawing prevails over colour; however, M. Mussorgsky rethought the melody / colourful ratio in the piece. Melos conveys only some of the features of the drawing, its most important lines, while textural and coloristic musical means reproduce both, the linear side of the image and colouristics as such, that is, the colouristic component dominates. Conclusions. 1. The melos/colourfulness correlation in M. Mussorgsky’s cycle is regulated as follows: melos prevails over colouring in the pieces “The Gnome”, “Samuel” Goldenberg and “Schmu&#255;le, “The Hut on Hen’s Legs (Baba Yaga)”; colourfulness prevails over melos in “The Old Castle”, “Catacombs. Roman Tomb”, “The Bogatyr Gate in Kyiv”. 2. The melos / colourfulness correlation in the analyzed pieces from M. Mussorgsky’s cycle corresponds with the melos / colourfulness correlation in the respective V. Hartmann’s paintings. The musical portrait of Baba Yaga in “The Hut on Hen”s legs” is an exception: V. Hartman painted the stylized clock as an example of decorative and applied art, but M. Mussorgsky emphasized the reflection of the fairy-tale image; as well as “The Bogatyr Gate”, where colouristics and volume prevail over grafics and planeness of the architectural sketch. 3. The main expressive means of creating a portrait, as a rule, is the melody (melos), and the landscape – tonality, texture, timbre (colourfulness). The intermedial analysis of the above portraits and landscapes from M. Mussorgsky’s piano cycle confirms this concept.

The issue of the journal begins with an article on French sinology. French sinology takes a special place in the history of the sinological studies development. It was France that became the first country where the transformation of missionary sinology, which was common among a limited circle of researchers (mainly in a religious sphere), into the academic scientific discipline, which had already been taught and studied at a professional level in academic institutions, occurred. The Parisian type of sinology used to dominate the entire world for a long time, including such powerful centers of Chinese studies as Germany, Great Britain, the USA, and China itself. In order to form a complete picture of sinology development in France, the authors singled out and analyzed three historical periods covering the entire history of Chinese studies development, starting from its birth and flourishment to the process of stagnation. Modern scientific communication traditionally uses visual narratives, such as comics, for education, presentation of scientific achievements to a mass audience, and as an object of research. In the article by Oksana Hudoshnyk and Oleksandr P. Krupskyi, offers a three-level characterization of the interaction of comic culture and science in a diachronic aspect. Attention is focused not only on the chronological stages of these intersections, the expression of the specifics of the interaction is offered against the background of scientific and public discussions that accompany the comics–science dialogue to this day. Emphasis is placed on the unique phenomenon of the simultaneous concordance of various stages of the dialogue between comics and science, on the prolonged replication of successful inventions into modern experience, and the active testing of known narratives at new levels of a scientific presentation. The next paper assesses the topicality of Vernadsky's concept of the noosphere, coined over almost twenty years starting in the early 20th century. Emphasizing the uniqueness of Vernadsky's concept of the noosphere as the transformation of the biosphere by a man using reason, we concentrate on the assessment of the utopian or realistic nature of his vision of the future of humanity. Based on the philosophical case-studies analysis, it identifies the ideological roots of the noosphere concept, the development of views on the concept in time, the role of reason and scientific thinking, the opinions of its supporters and critics, and Moiseev's related concept of co-evolution. Lectures de Potentia Restitutiva or Of Spring: Explaining the Power of Springing Bodies (1678) is an important book for the history of science. This book is better known for Hooke’s presentation of the law that bears his name. In the article by Isadora Monteiro, seeks to study the Lectures de Potentia Restitutiva once again to better understand Hooke’s thoughts about the rule which bears his name and his conception of gravity, which the author considered a force. Here Hooke’s definitions of body and motion will be presented, as well as his actual objective when he formulated the so-called Hooke’s Law. As we will see, Hooke intended to create a “philosophical scale” to measure the gravitational attraction between bodies. By considering his previous publications, such as An attempt to prove the motion of the Earth from Observations or Micrographia: or some Physiological Descriptions of Minute Bodies, or even unpublished works such as On the inflection of a direct motion into a curve by supervening Attractive principle, it becomes clear that Hooke was already opening a path toward an understanding of gravity before Newton’s Principia (1687) were published. By taking into account the controversy between Isaac Newton and Robert Hooke, we also intend to strengthen the idea that Hooke was an indispensable contributor to the elaboration of a law of universal gravitation. In 1915, the first occupational therapy school was founded by Jane Addams at Hull House (Chicago, USA). In that process, Addams inspired the first generation of occupational therapists, especially Eleanor Clarke Slagle. Thus, in the article by Rodolfo Morrisonseeks to highlight the contribution of Jane Addams to the development of Occupational Therapy through an in-depth bibliographic review, from primary sources. The next article presents the results of a study of the features of biographical and prosopographic materials about famous mathematicians and natural scientists, published in one of the most authoritative journals “Bulletin of Experimental Physics and Elementary Mathematics”, which was published in Kyiv and Odesa during 1886–1917. In fact, the journal was an unofficial periodical printed branch of the Mathematical Department of the Novorossiysk Society of Naturalists. The aim of the next research is to study the policy efforts conducted by the Indonesian government since the beginning of independence in 1945 to present, in advancing science and technology and innovation. A content analysis approach is employed to identify each stipulated regulation in Indonesia in the form of Laws, Government Regulations, Presidential Regulations, Presidential Decrees, and Presidential Instructions. There are 78 regulations in the field of science and technology and innovation that are analyzed. The results of the analysis are described based on the emergence of regulations and institutional implications generated as part of the ecosystem. In the article by Ihor Annienkov, based on the problem-chronological, comparative-historical, historiographical, and source-research methods, as well as the method of actualization, identifies the extent of borrowing foreign design and technological solutions in the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic for projecting electrical machines in the second half of the 1930s, as well as the reasons for the absence of unambiguous information in historiography regarding the existence of this phenomenon in the republic at this chronological stage. The publication provides a general assessment of the quality of scientific support for the processes of creating electrical machines, establishes the ways of fulfilling the scientific-technical borrowings that were studiedand the dynamics of their development, analyzes their role in the growth of the technical level of products of the Ukrainian electrical machine-building branch. In the article by Mykola Ruban and Andrii Fomin, attempts to investigate the historical circumstances of the mastering and development of the industrial production of rolling stock in Ukraine from 1991 to 2021. In the course of the scientific development of the proposed research, materials from mass-circulation newspapers, industry publications of railway transport, as well as technical studies of employees of manufacturing plants were used. The next discusses the conditions and prerequisites for choosing the location of the plant; considers the stage of the establishment (foundation) of the plant; examines the stage of plant construction and equipping it with technological facilities in detail; analyzes the development and establishment of the plant between 1897 and 1914. A brief analysis of locomotive designs produced by the Kharkiv Locomotive Plant from 1897 to 1914 has been made. The article shows the significance of Consultative Congresses of Traction Engineers for the development of railway machinery both at Kharkiv Locomotive Plant and for the entire railway industry. The purpose of next study is to highlight the peculiarities of the development of the Russian aviation industry during the First World War. The focus is on analyzing production programs and matching their quantitative and qualitative parameters to war requirements. Production plans of leading Russian aviation factories as well as qualitative and quantitative parameters of products have been analyzed in the article.

Sacrificial Tradition and Religion during the Early Iron Age in South Scandinavia – with Special Reference to Settlement SacrificesSacrificial customs and religion during the Early Iron Age (500 BC–400 AD) has occupied archaeologists from the infancy of archaeology. Most would probably agree that the religion was primarily fertility related, originating as it was in the existing peasant society. The literature does not reflect any disagreement about the religion of the Early Iron Age being polytheistic and consequently concerned a variety of gods. However, it is still unknown how the religion was integrated in the everyday life, and under which conditions it was practiced.The research interest and the overall synthesis framework have especially addressed sacrifices in bogs and wetlands (for instance weapon sacrifices, bog bodies, deposited earthenware, anthropomorphic wooden figures, domestic animals, cauldrons, ring sacrifices, etc.). Strongly simplified, the existing consensus may be expressed in one single sentence: The overall society-related sacrificial traditions develop from being almost exclusively connected with wetland areas during the Early Iron Age (until c.400 AD) to being primarily connected with dry land after this time, cf. Fig. 1.The question is whether – based on the intense data collection over the recent decades – archaeology can or should maintain this very simple picture of the development of the sacrificial traditions and the religions during the Iron Age? Is it possible that we – rooted in for instance narrow definitions of sacrificial finds, habitual thinking, and a “delusion” consisting of the numerous well-preserved, well-documented, spectacular, and impressive finds of bog sacrifices – fail to see numerous forms of deposits, which (as opposed to the impressive finds of sacrifices in bogs) are hidden in the archaeological material?The settlements of the Iron Age have been excavated in large numbers over the recent decades, and it is the ritual finds from these localities that provide the background for this article.The ritual deposits from the settlements can be divided into two superior groups distinguished by the physical context. One comprises sacrifices made to constructions, which are characterized by being directly connected to a specific structure; the other encompasses settlement sacrifices that are to a higher degree characterized by an overriding affiliation to the settlement. The establishment of a sacrifice definition suitable for scanning the archaeological material for relevant finds is of vital importance. As the definition should not beforehand restrict the search through the material, it is important not to narrow the basis by concentrating only on the physical characteristics of the individual artefacts. The general idea behind the present presentation is that the different ritual dimensions of a society are internally connected as they function within the same overall conventions and, as a consequence, make up parts of a general mental structure, which can leave physically recognizable traces across the different ritual dimensions, cf. Fig. 2. This principal viewpoint creates a theoretical starting point for my work and the established definition of sacrificial finds: All intentionally deposited objects, which analytically show significant similarities as regards their physical appearance and/or their deposition context with other recognized ritual objects/contexts, and which are closely connected to these in time and space, should, when analysed, be considered sacrificial finds.The British religious historian, Ninian Smart, describes religion as consisting of seven thematically describing situations, which – albeit not completely unconnected – may be described individually:1) A dogmatic and philosophical dimension, comprising doctrine systems.2) A mythical and narrative dimension, comprising tales of the deities, of the creation, etc.3) An ethical and judicial dimension, comprising the consequences of the religion in relation to the shaping of the life of the individual.4) A social and institutional dimension comprising organisations and institutions that tie together the individual religious society.5) An empirical and emotional dimension comprising the individual’s experience of god and the divine.6) A ritual and practical dimension comprising prayer, sacrifices, worship, etc.7) A materiel dimension comprising architecture, art, sacred places, buildings, and iconography.As archaeologists, we have a very limited possibility of investigating the very thoughts behind the practiced religion. It is therefore natural to concentrate to a higher extent on the overall setting for it – the ritual dimension and the materiel dimension respectively. The ritual dimension and in particular its sacrificial aspect is traditionally divided into groups characterised by their significance level within the religion as such.1) The first and most “important” group consists of cult rituals. These are characterized by being calendar rites based on the myths of the religion or the history of the people, and by playing a part in the events of the year.2) The next group comprises transition rites (rite de passage), which follow the life cycle of the individual.3) The last group comprises rites of crises, which serve the purpose of averting danger, illness, etc.It is important to realize that the two first ritual groups are predictable cyclic rituals addressing the gods, the myths, and/or the people/the individual respectively. Only the third and least central group of rituals is determined by non-predictable and “not-always” occurring incidences. On this background, it becomes central to analyse, which category one is facing when one wants to assess its importance for the religion as such, in order to evaluate the primary character of the religion.In an attempt to understand the overall importance of a specific ritual practice, one cannot ignore a very complicated problem, which is to evaluate whether the sacrifices were practiced by single individuals or by a larger group of people as part of more common and society-supporting rituals. The issue of the relation between different sacrifice types and the groups causing these has been addressed repeatedly. Often, narrow physical interpretation frames as to who sacrificed what are advanced (i.e. Fig. 3). However, the question is how suitable are these very narrow and rigid interpretation models? As mentioned above, a sacrifice is defined by the intention (context) that caused it rather than by the specific physical form of the object!The above mentioned methodical and theoretical issues provide the background for the author’s investigation of the archaeological sources, in which he focused especially on the relationship between ritual actions as they are expressed in bog deposits and in burial grounds and measured them against the contemporary finds from the settle­ments.The analysis of the archaeological material is based on those find groups (sacrifices of cauldrons, magnificent chariots, humans, animals, metals, and weapons), which have traditionally been presented as a proof that society supporting and more community influenced ritual sacrifices were carried out beside the bogs.The examination of the material supports that sacrifices of cauldrons, magnificent chariots, humans, animals, and earthenware are found in both settlements and wetlands (Figs. 4-12), and that the deposits seem to follow superior ritual conventions, i.e. Fig. 2. The sacrifices were not made in fixed sacred places but in a momentary sacred context, which returns to its daily secular sphere once the rituals have been carried out. Often, the ceremony consists of a ritual cutting up of the sacrificed object, and the pars pro toto principle occurs completely integrated in connection with both burial customs, wetland sacrifice customs, and settlement sacrifice customs. Sacrifices often occur as an expression of a rite de passage connected to the structures, fields, or infrastructure of the village. However, the repeated finds of earthenware vessels, humans, and animals in both wetland areas and in the villages indicates that fertility sacrifices were made regularly as part of the cyclic agricultural world. This places the find groups in a central position when it comes to understanding the religious landscape of the Early Iron Age. In a lot of respects, the settlement finds appear as direct parallel material to the contemporary wetland-related sacrificial custom and so one must assume that major religious events also took place in the settlements, for instance when a human or a cauldron was handed over to the next world. Both the selection of sacrificial objects, the form of depositing, and the preceding ceremonial treatment seem to follow superior ritual structures applying to both funerary rites and wetland sacrifices in Iron Age society.Often, the individual settlement-related sacrificial find seems to be explained by everyday doings, as largely all sacrifice-related objects of the Early Iron Age have a natural affiliation with the settlement and the daily housekeeping. However, it is clear that if the overwhelming amount of data is made subject to a comprehensive and detailed contextual analysis, settlement related find groups and attached action patterns appear, which have direct parallels in the ritual interpretation platform of the bog context. These parallels cannot be explained by pure practical or coincidence-related explanation models!As opposed to ploughed-up Stone Age axe deposits or impressive bronze depots from the Bronze Age and gold depots from the Late Iron Age, a ploughed-up collection of either earthenware, bones, human parts, etc. are not easily explained as sacrificial deposits. However, much indicates that the sacrificial settlement deposits of the Iron Age were not placed very deeply, and so they occur in the arable soil of later times. We must therefore assume that these very settlement-related sacrificial deposits from the Early Iron Age are extremely underrepresented in the available archaeological material. In order to clarify the sacrifice traditions in the Early Iron Age settlements, it is therefore necessary to have localities, which comply with a very rarely occurring find situation. The sites must have fine preservation conditions for bone material and, equally important, thick, continuously accumulated deposits of culture layers, as these preserve the usually shallowly deposited sacrifices. Further, it would be a great advantage if the site has a high degree of settlement continuity, as under optimal conditions, the investigation should comprise the activities of several centuries on the same spot.The Aalborg area holds Early Iron Age localities, which meet all of the above-mentioned conditions – for instance the settlement mound of Nr. Tranders, from which a few results will be pointed out. Time wise, the locality covers all of the Pre-Roman Iron Age and the fist part of the Early Roman Iron Age. Around ten farm units have been excavated from the settlement, each of which can be traced across a period of several hundred years. The houses were constructed with chalk floors (cf. Fig. 13), which give optimal preservation conditions for bone material, and the culture deposits assumed a thickness of up to 2 metres. Around 150 houses were excavated at this site (cf. Fig. 14). The author systematically checked the comprehensive find material, and starting from the theoretical and methodical approach presented in this article, was able to isolate 393 sacrificial deposits – a very comprehensive material in comparison with the sacrificial wetland sites!In 279 cases, it was possible to isolate sacrifices in connection with constructions. These comprised such different items as Stone Age axes, fossils, dress pins, a bronze fibula, iron knives, iron arrowheads, a bronze ring, an iron axe, various pottery sacrifices, amber, bone stilettos, bone spearheads, a bone arrowhead, complete animal skeletons, animal skulls and jaws, various animal bones, an infant, humane skull fragments, etc. (cf. Fig. 15). Just as the sacrificed objects themselves vary, so does the sacrifice intensity in the different constructions. Thus, houses without any registered construction sacrifices occur, whereas other constructions showed up to 5-15 sacrifices. These intense sacrifice activities are mainly connected with the later settlement phases from the Late Pre-Roman and the Early Roman Iron Age.The most ordinary find groups are different animal bones, pottery, Stone Age axes, fossils, and various pointed or edged tools. It is a characteristic of the construction sacrifices that they almost never show any signs of having been burnt prior to the depositing. The fact that all finds are not comparable merely because they are related to a construction is obvious, as the find group comprises as different objects as a sea urchin and an infant! Whereas the first should probably be considered an amulet, human sacrifices are traditionally considered a far more radical and ultimate act, and thus a sacrifice concerning a wider circle than the individual household. The highly varied sacrifice material causes the traditional link between construction sacrifices and an extremely narrow celebrant group to be reassessed. The excavations at Nr. Tranders also stress the fact that the amount of registered construction sacrifices are highly dependant on the preservation conditions and context registration as well as an open mind towards ritual interpretations in a traditionally secular research setting.In 114 cases, it was possible to determine settlement sacrifices at Nr. Tranders (cf. Fig. 16). The variation between the sacrificed objects closely follows the above described construction sacrifice and bog sacrifice traditions – both as regards temporary intensity in the centuries around the birth of Christ and which objects were deposited. From a superior view, the settlement sacrifices are characterized by often having been deposited in small, independent sacrificial pits, which were merely dug down a few centimetres from the surface level of the time, and rarely more than 25 cm. This very limited deposition depth emphasizes the enormous problems and distorting factors, which are probably the reason why the settlement sacrifices are so anonymous in most Iron Age settlements. They were simply ploughed away! The dominating sacrificial animal in the settlements was the sheep, often a lamb. However, the dog, the horse, and the cow also occur frequently in the material, whereas the pig is rarely included in the finds. To judge from both settlement and structure sacrifices, the distribution of sacrificial animals seem to be a direct mirror image of the life basis of the Early Iron Age society in the Aalborg area.One ritual element in particular, however, fundamentally separates the group of settlement sacrifices from those connected to structures, namely fire. Whereas fire does not seem to be part of the ritual make-up concerning structure sacrifices, both burnt and unburnt sacrifices appear in the settlement sacrifice material (cf. Fig. 17 & 18). This condition is especially obvious when examining the deposited animal and human bones. The two maps on Fig. 19 show the finds of burnt and unburnt bone deposits respectively. On the background of these two plots (x, y, and z coordinates) the following analysis has been made: (interpolation “unburnt”)-(interpolation “burnt”), cf. Fig. 20. The analysis clearly points out that the relation between burnt and unburnt bone deposits is time related: the burnt deposits were made in the time before the birth of Christ, whereas the unburnt deposits were made during the following centuries. If this is related to the contemporary development of the grave custom in North Jutland, it is noteworthy that we can establish an obvious parallel development. Thus, the burial custom also changes around the beginning of the birth of Christ from a cremation grave custom to an inhumation grave custom. This coincidence probably indicates that within the two different religious and ritual contexts, the “ritual language” is to some degree identical when it comes to passing on humans and sacrificial animals.Irrespective of the superior sacrificial context – a bog, a lake, a field, a meadow, a structure, or a settlement – both the sacrifice intensity and the sacrificed objects seem to be based on objects from the daily household. As shown in the case of Nr. Tranders, the sacrifices occur in such large numbers on settlements with optimal preservation conditions that it is impossible to maintain the thesis that the Iron Age people had an especially one-sided preference for performing the sacrificial rituals in connection with wetland areas.As a supplement to the archaeological evidence, archaeologists have often sought support in historical accounts written by Romans in the centuries around the birth of Christ. The Roman historian Tacitus’ description of the religious activities of the Teutons is particularly describing and geographically differentiated. He mentions some general features such as the Teutons mainly worshipping Mercury (Mercury is the god of fertility, shepherds, etc.) and that they consider it a sacred duty even to bring him a human sacrifice on fixed days (i.e. a sacrifice cycle). Hercules and Mars (gods of strength and war) can only be reconciled with the allowed animal sacrifices. Besides, the Teutons consider it incompatible with the grandness of the heavenly powers to close them in behind walls and give them human features (cf. the lacking iconography). Tacitus´ overall description of the religion of the Teutons is thus primarily dealing with fertility sacrifices in relation to Mercury and the sacrifice of humans on certain days, i.e. a sacrifice cycle.More specifically, Tacitus describes the religious practice performed by tribes in South Scandinavia and North Germany at the time immediately succeeding the birth of Christ:“Nor in one of these nations does aught remarkable occur, only that they universally join in the worship of Nerthus; that is to say, the Mother Earth [Nerthus is phonetically concordant with the name Njord, a fertility goddess known from Norse mythology]. Her they believe to interpose in the affairs of man, and to visit countries. In an island of the ocean stands the wood Castum: in it is a chariot dedicated to the Goddess, covered over with a curtain, and permitted to be touched by none but the Priest. Whenever the Goddess enters this her holy vehicle, he perceives her; and with profound veneration attends the motion of the chariot, which is always drawn by yoked cows. Then it is that days of rejoicing always ensue, and in all places whatsoever which she descends to honour with a visit and her company, feasts and recreation abound. They go not to war; they touch no arms; fast laid up is every hostile weapon; peace and repose are then only known, then only beloved, till to the temple the same priest reconducts the Goddess when well tired with the conversation of mortal beings. Anon the chariot is washed and purified in a secret lake, as also the curtains; nay, the Deity herself too, if you choose to believe it. In this office it is slaves who minister, and they are forthwith doomed to be swallowed up in the same lake. Hence all men are possessed with mysterious terror; as well as with a holy ignorance what that must be, which none see but such as are immediately to perish.”Traditionally, the text is solely related to the numerous bog finds from the period. The question is, however, whether this is appropriate? Even a very limited analysis of the content of the text clearly reveals that the described religious exertion and the traces it must have left in the archaeological material can only be partly described from the numerous sacrificial bogs. The account of Nerthus may be split into two separate parts. One part that describes the common religious actions and another part comprising rituals carried out by a narrower group of people. The ritual mentioned with a severely limited circle (priest and slaves) comprises the washing of the goddess’ chariot by a lake and the succeeding sacrifice of the slaves chosen for the task. Far larger does the participant group appear throughout the rest of the Nerthus story. At first, there is a short mentioning of Nerthus driving about to the different tribes! This may be interpreted in such a way that the rituals described comprise actions, which take place where people are primarily moving about, i.e. in the villages! Perhaps the larger settlements of the Early Iron Age play a central part in relation to such common society-supporting ritual traditions. Tacitus decribes the physical context to be able to change its rules and norms at this sudden religious activity (cf. “They go not to war; they touch no arms.”) and in this way change sphere from an everyday, secular context to a religious context – a sacrosanct condition arises. The settlement thus enters different spheres at different times! Tacitus´ account of the execution of and the setting for the practiced ritual structure thus closely follows the structure known from archaeological excavations of bogs and settlements.How, then, does the religious practice of the Early Iron Age – and its sacrificial part in particular – appear on the background of the analyses above? (Fig. 22). May the sacrificial activity in actual fact be divided into two overriding groups, as was previously the tradition – individual structure sacrifices on settlements and both common and individual sacrifices in wetland areas – or is it necessary to revise and differentiate this view of Early Iron Age religion and the sacrificial customs in particular?The very unbalanced picture of the ritual displays of the society, involving chosen bogs as an almost “church-like” forum, is neither expressed in the archaeological material nor in the few written sources. On the contrary, the sacrificial activity appears as a very complex area, completely connected to the time and the regional development of the society of which it was part. Sacrificial objects primarily comprising everyday objects in the form of food, earthenware, animals, and humans did not differ from the secular culture until the actual ritual act took place.Considering the fact that the sacrificial objects comprised a wide range of everyday items, it is perhaps not so strange that the context in which the objects were sacrificed also varied considerably. It thus seems as if the conventional sacrificial customs were attached to the complete active resource area of the settlements, both in the form of wetland areas, and to the same degree of settlements. The conditions concerning burial sites, field systems, grazing areas, border markings, etc. still appear unclear, although it can be established that here, too, ritual activities took place according to the same conventions.The exertion of the rituals constituted a just as varied picture during the Early Iron Age as did the choice of sacrificial objects and place of sacrifice. Thus, we see objects deposited intact, as pars pro toto, smashed, burnt, etc. In spite of this very complex picture, patterns do seem to occur. There are thus strong indications that the rituals connected to settlement sacrifices of humans and animals during the Early Iron Age are closely connected with the rituals attached to the burial custom, and as such mirror a conventional communication form between humans and gods. Conversely, it seems as if structure sacrifices through all of the Early Iron Age primarily occur unburnt and that the ritual make-up connected to the finds of structure sacrifices is thus detached from the previously mentioned types of sacrifice, whereas the actual selection of the sacrificial objects seem to follow the same pattern.It is a characteristic of the ritual environments of the Early Iron Age that they appear momentary and as part of the daily life in the peasant community. Much thus indicates that permanent sacred environments and buildings did not exist to any particularly large degree. This does not imply that people would not return to the same sacred sacrificial places but rather that in between the sacrifices, these places formed part of the daily life, just as all the other parts of the cultural landscape.The examination of both published and unpublished material shows that the settlements were parallel contexts to the wetland areas and that these two contexts probably supplemented each other within the religious landscape of the Early Iron Age. In the light of the sacrificial find material there is no need to make a strong distinction between the religious societal roles of the settlements as opposed to the wetlands. The context (wetland and settlement) cannot in itself be understood as a useful parameter for determining whether we are dealing with large collective society-supporting ritual sites or sites connected to a minor village community. The question is whether the variation of sacrificial contexts should be related to different deities and myths, i.e. the mythical and narrative dimension of the religion, rather than to the size of the group of participants. On a few settlements, metal vessels, chariots, and humans were sacrificed – find types that are traditionally associated with the bogs and with groups of participants from a larger area than the individual settlement. This interpretation should also be applied to the settlements.In spite of the fact that from an overall perspective, the practiced religion in South Scandinavia seems homogenous, there is neither archaeological nor historical evidence for the presence of real ritual and religious units comprising large areas, such as complete provinces. However, we must assume that sacrifices of for instance humans, chariots, cauldrons, and the large weapon accumulations were made by groups of people exceeding the number of inhabitants in a single settlement. We thus have no reason for questioning the traditional concept that chosen wetland areas functioned as sacred places from time to time to major sections of the population – whether the sacrifices were brought about by for instance acts of war or as part of a cyclic ritual. The question is whether the large settlements of the Early Iron Age did not play a similar part to a hinterland consisting of a number of minor settlements, as the comprehensive finds from for instance the settlement mounds near Aalborg seem to indicate.During the Late Roman Iron Age and Early Germanic Iron Age, the previously so comprehensive sacrificial activity connected to the wetlands declined considerably. Parallel to this, the frequent settlement-related fertility sacrifices of bones and earthenware vessels in the Early Iron Age recede into the background in favour of knives, lances, craftsmen’s tools, and prestigious items representing the changed society of these centuries. During the Late Iron Age, the iconographic imagery, after having been throttled down for almost a millennia, regains a central role within the religion. This happens by virtue of a varied imagery on prestigious items such as bracteates and “guldgubber,” cf. Fig. 21. Seen as a whole, it seems as if – parallel to the development of the society during the Late Roman Iron Age and the Early Germanic Iron Age – there is a dimension displacement within the ritual and religious world, which manifests itself in an increased focus on the material dimension. The question is whether this very dimension displacement is not reflecting the religious development from the fertility-related Vanir faith to the more elitist Æsir faith.Jesper HansenOdense Bys Museer Translated by Annette Lerche Trolle

This research studies about flouting maxim in The B.F.G movie. The research concerns on finding the flouting maxims in The B.F.G movie. This research employed mainly descriptive qualitative method to support in interpreting and analysing the data. The data of this research were utterances produced by Sophie and BFG as main characters in The B.F.G movie. The context of the research was the dialogues of the movie. The data sources of this research were The B.F.G and its script. Meanwhile, the primary instrument of this research was the researcher ourselves. The data were collected by downloading the movie and the script, watching the movie, and then collecting the data which reflects the phenomena of maxim flouting. The paper examines the use of flouts in different situations and explores in what situations the different characters flout the maxims for any conversation. The results show that there were 10 flouting maxims of quantity (42%); 10 flouting maxims of relevance (42%); 2 flouting maxims of quality (8%); and 2 flouting maxims of manner (8%). Hence the total number of flouting maxims is 24. These results suggest that the use of flouts has to do with their different personalities and communities.Keywords: Cooperative Principle, Grice’s Maxim, Flouting MaximHow to Cite: Ulfah-1, R.A.A.N.U.-1., Afrilia, R-2. (2018). An Analysis of Fluting Maxim in BFG Movie. Project, X (X), XX-XX. INTRODUCTIONCommunication is a medium to convey meaning from one to another. As stated by Yule (2006) that communication involves word recognition and meaning recognition. There could be hidden intention in some utterances. Failing to recognize those intentions may lead to misunderstanding and even a dispute. Nevertheless, listener is not always to be in guilt. Sometimes in communication, the speaker may provide incomplete or unclear utterance hence the listener found difficulties to comprehend. Thus it is claimed that language as a tool for communication serves as an instrument to maintain a good relationship between the speaker and the hearer. Dealing with language and communication, cooperative principle proposed by Grice serves as means to achieve effective communication. It is described that speakers and listeners must give contribution as required by each other so that both of them may come to the same understanding of the meaning they are trying to convey. Grice elaborates four conversational maxims: maxim of relevance, maxim of quantity, maxim of quality, and maxim of manner. During conversation, speakers may break the rule of the maxims. The flouting of the maxims may occur in daily life or in movies. Movies as one of literary works mostly functions to entertain the audience. The flouting maxims in movies may be intentionally created to achieve the purpose of entertaining. The BFG is one fantasy adventure film released in 2016 by Walt Disney. It tells about the journey of two different species, a human (Sophie) and a giant (that Sophie called Big Friendly Giant). Since they are from different group of communities, their communication may run ineffective. This study aims at analyzing the flouting maxims occurred in The BFG movie.The Cooperative Principle Cooperative Principle is the basic principle in pragmatics. The Cooperative Principle is principle of conversation that was proposed by Grice. He called The Cooperative Principle as when we try to talk to be cooperative by elevating. He says, “make your conversational contribution such as is required, at the stage at which it occurs, by the accepted purpose or direction of talk exchange in which you are engaged.” Within this principle, he intended four maxims.(Grundy, 1998) (in Ginarsih, 2014)Grice’s MaximMaxim of RelevanceMaxim of relation: This maxim may seem clear in the first look but as Grice himself mentioned it is very difficult to define it exactly: "Though the maxim itself is terse, its formulation conceals a number of problems that exercise me a good deal: questions about what different kinds and focuses of relevance there may be, how these shift in the course of a talk exchange, how to allow for the fact that subjects of conversations are legitimately changed, and so on. I find the treatment of such questions exceedingly difficult, and I hope to revert to them in later work." Grice ( in Kheirabadi, 2012).Maxim of Quantity Maxim of quantity requires that participants of a conversation give their contribution as is required in terms of the quantity of information. To say beyond the quantity of information needed in the conversation is to break the maxim. In making their contribution to the conventional talk, participants should gauge the amount information that is really sought for and give it as much as is necessary. They should not make their contribution either more informative or less informative. (Seken, n.d.2015)Maxim of QualityMaxim of quality requires conventional participants to say things that are true or things that they believe to be true. That is, they do not say anything than they believe to be false or anything of which they do not have any evidence. In other words, to comply with this maxim, a speaker in a conventional exchange must speak on the basis of facts, or he/she must have factual evidence by which to sufficiently support what he/she says as truth. (Seken, n.d.2015)Maxim of Manner Utterances may conform to the maxims or may disobey them by infringing, opting out, and flouting or violating. The infringement of the maxims is because of the speaker‟s imperfect knowledge of linguistic. When speakers decided to be uncooperative, they opt out of observing the maxims. ( Thomas 1995 in Jafari, 2013) Maxim Flouting Flouting a maxim is the case when a speaker purposefully disobeys a maxim at the level of what is said with the deliberate intention of generating an implicature. In this case, the speaker’s choice not to observe the maxim by the words he/she utters may be related to the some motive (such as politeness, style of speaking, etc.) (Seken, n.d.2015).According to Thomas (1995:64 in Mohammed & Alduais, 2012) flouting a maxim occurs where a participant in a conversation chooses to ignore one or more of the maxims by using a conversational implicature. Ignoring maxims by using conversational implicatures means that the participant adds meaning to the literal meaning of the utterance. He further explains the conversational implicature that is added when flouting is not intended to deceive the recipient of the conversation, but the purpose is to make the recipient look for other meaning. Moreover Black (2006:25 in Mohammed & Alduais, 2012) explains that a speaker who flouts maxims is actually aware of the Cooperative Principles and the maxims. In other words, it is not only about the maxims that are broken down but that the speaker chooses an indirect way to achieve the cooperation of the communication.Types of Flouting Maxim In ( Grice’s theory in Nur & Fatmawati, 2015) there are four types of maxim flouting. They are quantity maxim flouting, quality maxim flouting, relevance maxim flouting, and manner maxim flouting. Quantity Maxim FloutingWhen a speaker flouts the maxims under the category of Quantity, she/he blatantly gives either more or less information than the situation demands.For example: A : The other giants. Are they nice, like you a nice?B : No, I regret to say that the guys would eat you alive bite. My twenty four foot, but not in Giant country, and that's where you are. In Giants country now.In the example above, it is not appropriate, because when A asks the B about another giant, B does not answer according to the question. He give more information that not needed by A.Quality Maxim Flouting Thomas (in Fami 2015:15) said that flout maxim of quality occur when the speaker say something which is blatantly untrue or for which he/she lack adequate evidence.For example:A : Not as it happens to me, it is most terrible speakB : Well, I think you speak beautifullyIn the example above, B say untrue or lie. She do this, because she doesn’t want B sad with his speaking.Relevance Maxim FloutingFlouting of maxim relevance, (Ginarsih 2014, n.d.) said that by changing the subject or by failing the address the topic directly is encountered very frequently. For example:A : You mean of my life. For the rest of my life?B : Hey, do not you cold?In this case B did not answer according to the question, B changes the topic of conversation. Manner Maxim FloutingAccording to (Ginarsih 2014, n.d.) The maxim under the category of manner is exploited by giving ambiguity and obscure expressions, failure to be brief and orderly. It is often trying to exclude a third party, as in this sort of exchange between husband and wife.A : Where are you off to?B : I was thinking of going out to get some of that funny white stuff for somebody.A : OK, but don’t be long – dinner is nearly readyB speaks in an ambiguous way, saying “that funny white stuff” and“somebody”, because he is avoiding saying “ice cream” and “her/his Daugther”, so that his little daughter does not become excited and ask for the ice cream before her meal. Sometimes the speakers play with words to heighten the ambiguity, in order to make a point.Movie(Chandra Yuliasman 2014) Movie is happen based on script, but it reflect to our daily life activity mostly. That is why the researcher interested to use movie as media to increase the researcher understanding about flouting maxim. Movie also affect masses in childhood and youth. Movie is also called a film or motion picture, is a series of still or moving images. Based on the theories above, the researcher chose “The BFG (Big Friendly Giant)” as the object of the research.The B.F.GThe B.F.G is a 2016 American fantasy adventure film directed and produced by Steven Spielberg, written by Melissa Mathison and based on the 1982 novel of the same name by Roald Dahl. In the film, an orphan human girl be friends a benevolent giant, dubbed the "Big Friendly Giant", who takes her to Giant Country, where they attempt to stop the man-eating giants that are invading the human world. The writers chose The B.F.G, because in the film contain about friendship and courage, in that movie also have morality and ethics quotes. Steven Spielberg is known for his quality films, such as Jurrasic Park. He has also received three Oscars, and received a Life Achievement Award from the American Film Institute (AFI). Steven hooked some Hollywood actresses to play in the movie B.F.G, such as: Mark Rylance (B.F.G), Ruby Barnhill (Sophie), Penelope Wilton, Jemani Clement, Rebecca Hall, Rafe Spall, and Bill Hader. Steven Spielberg films this In the premiere of premiere The BFG managed to triumph in the Top 10 Box Office by collecting revenues of USD 31 million. Although not a chance to taste the top of the Box Office but The BFG still loved by his fans, especially for lovers of fantasy and adventure movies.METHODThis research uses a descriptive qualitative method to analyse the flouting maxim in The B.F.G movie directed by Steven Spielberg. According to Holloway (in Nur & Fatmawati, n.d.) qualitative research is a form of social inquiry focusing on the interpretation of experience and the world by people.” Therefore, this research is conducted systematically through the technique of data collecting and data analysis. The data are taken from the script, the writers analysed of flouting maxim of quantity, maxim of quality, maxim of relation, and maxim of manner based on Grice’s theories, being used to choose the most frequently method among them, the writer used percentage category based on Multihajz’s formula, in Selvia (2014) as follows: P = Percentage F = Frequency n = Number of Maxims RESULTS AND DISCUSSIONResultsThere are 24 conversations from 100 conversations that found in The B.F.G Movie between the main characters, Sophie and B.F.G that flouted the Grice’s cooperative principle. They flouted the maxim of quantity, the maxim of quality, the maxim of relation, and the maxim of manner. In the calculation the writers employed percentage technique as described below:Table 1The Classification of Maxim:NoTypes of MaximQuantityPercentage1.The Maxim of Quantity1042 %2. The Maxim of Quality28 %3The Maxim of Relevance1042 %4The Maxim of Manner28 %Total24100 %From the classification above, it could be seen clearly that among four types of maxim in conversation between the main characters, Sophie and B.F.G in “The B.F.G” Movie, the maxim of Quantity and Relevance were the most identifiable types. First is Quantity. There are 10 conversations or cover 42 %. The second was the maxim of Relevance; there are 10 conversations or cover 42 %. The third was maxim of Quality; there are 2 conversations or cover 8 %. The fourth was the maxim of Manner; there are 2 conversations or cover 8 %. Based on the table above, here are the explanations of each maxim that the main character, Sophie and B.F.G flouted in The B.F.G Movie. The maxim of quantitySophie : The other giants. Are they nice, like you a nice?B.F.G : No, I regret to say that the guys would eat you alive bite. My twenty four foot, but not in Giant country, and that's where you are. In Giants country now.Analysis: It is not appropriate, because when Sophie asks the BFG about another giant, the BFG does not answer according to the question. He give more information that not needed by Sophie.Sophie : We can’t have secrets. I'll tell you mine. I sneak around at night too, and that still sometimes theft and lying. So I’m alone at the time. I've never had a best friend, I told you all thatB.F.G : We got over.Analysis: The BFG did not give the right reasons to reply to a statement from Sophie.Sophie : You should not let them treat you like that. You should notB.F.G : Live with nine giant eats beans. They take so I return. Murmur good dreams. It's what I can do, I do something. I do something.Analysis: The BFG ignored Sophie’s suggestion of another giant treating the BFG badly and he changed the subject.Sophie : No I’m not.B.F.G : Yes you here. If you are a human being and human being is a strawberry cream for giants. They are the prey of those giants out there, so you stay in a nice safe place right here. Analysis: BFG answer does not fit with the context of the conversation at that time.B.F.G : Someone called me a big, friendly giant. How should I call you? Sophie : My name is SophieAnalysis: Sophie does not understand about a nickname, so she just answers with her name only "Sophie".B.F.G: So you're an orphan?Sophie: Yes. You took me to an orphanage. You did not know?Analysis: Sophie did not give the right reasons to reply to a statement from B.F.G.B.F.G: I did not know that. Are you happy there?Sophie: No! I hate that. The lady who runs it is incompetent and she’s crazy rules and you get punish a lot.Analysis: In this conversation, Sophie should answer yes or no , because the question is are you happy there ?.Sophie : Being is not be ing .What is that green thing ?B.F.G : Frobscuttel. All giant drink frobscottel.Analysis: BFG answer does not fit with the context of the conversation at that time.Sophie : Where are you going now ?B.F.G : A dreams blow .It's what I do next.Analysis: BFG answer does not fit with the context of the conversation at that time. In this conversation Sophie asks where, it means that ask about place.Sophie : But why did you bring me here? Why did you take me?B.F.G : I had did to take you, because the first thing you, you would do spread the news you actually saw a giant and then there would be a big fuss and all human beans would be looking for the giant dresses all excited, and then I would be locked up in a cage to look at me with all the noisy hypo-fat and crocodiles and giraffes. And then there would be a huge hunt for all the boy giantsAnalysis: The BFG gives too much give reason to Sophie, should the BFG give Sophie a simple and precise reason for the question.The maxim of RelevanceSophie : Then, who are you? What kind of monster are you?B.F.G : You as me wrongAnalysis: BFG does not honestly reply to Shopie that he is a giant kind.Sophie : You mean of my life. For the rest of my life. B.F.G : Hey, do not you cold?Analysis: BFG did not answer according to the questionSophie : What did you work? B.F.G : And now she asks me to tell you very big secrets.Analysis: BFG did not answer according to the questionSophie : Flesh head ,he comes to eat me, my blood will be on your hands. B.F.G : Everything about you going against my better judgment.Analysis: BFG tries to make Shopie calm by diverting the conversationSophie : Look at all the stars! B.F.G : Often when it is clear I hear distant music living of the stars in the skyAnalysis: When Shopie wants to show something, BFG answer it with things that are not appropriate.Sophie: Really? B.F.G : You think I'm kidding, right? Analysis: BFG should simply answer "yes" or "no".Sophie : Are there bad dreams here too? B.F.G : It will a TrogglehumperAnalysis: BFG did not answer the question correctly.Sophie : Make them all happy. BFG, your father and your mother taught you about dreams? B.F.G : The Giants do not have mothers or fathers. Analysis: BFG should simply answer “has” or “has not”.Sophie : What is the Sophie’s dream? B.F.G : A golden Phizzwizard. I had not seen in a while. Analysis: BFG does not explain what dreams Sophie will experience.Sophie : You snapped me.B..F.G : Well, you are right. After all, you're just a little thing. I can’t help thinking what your poor mother and father must be …Analysis: BFG should simply answer "yes" and "no", and not discuss the unnecessaryThe maxim of QualityB.F.G : You do, you really do?Sophie : Simply beautifully.Analysis: In this situation of conversation, Sophie gives untrue respond to B.F.G or she lies, because she didn’t want make B.F.G sad with B.F.G’s sentence.B.F.G : Not as it happens to me, it is most terrible speak.Sophie : Well, I think you speak beautifully.Analysis: In this conversation, Sophie say untrue or lie. She did it, because she didn’t want B.F.G sad with his statement.The maxim of mannerSophie : Blood bottler ? B.F.G : Yes and butcherSophie : The butcher. Please don’t eat me.Analysis: BFG does not explain in detail about Bottler.Sophie : But then I wake up.B.F.G : And you wake up.Sophie : But not here.Analysis: There is no alignment in the conversationDiscussionThe writer found total numbers of flouting maxim that produce by main character in “The B.F.G” movie those were 24 utterances. Then divided into four types of flouting, they were quality which had 10 data or 42%, quantity had 2 data or 8%, relevance had 10 data or 42% and manner had 2 data or 8%. Thus the most frequent category of flouting maxim produce is the main character was maxim of quality and maxim of relevance. It means that in this movie, The BFG tended to conduct his flouted utterance for move the conversations. CONCLUSIONThe aim of this research is to find out the flouting maxim by the main characters in “The B.F.G” movie. The result show the most frequent category of flouting maxim by the main character was quality and relevance. It indicates that based on the maxim of quantity, there are some conversations that giving more or less information. Based on the semantics theory it is wrong, because giving more information than the need is flouting the maxim of quantity. For the maxim of relevance, there are some conversations that are not relevance, it is related with Ginarsih statement relevance maxim flouting by changing the subject or by failing the address the topic directly is encountered very frequently. There are only two flouting maxims of quality and manner was less frequent. It indicates mostly the conversation in The B.F.G movie is cooperative. It is different with the previous study, from Iniyanti, A et.al (2014) they found two flouting maxims, there are: maxim of relation and maxim of manner. And from Al-Qaderi (2015) he found that the maxim of quantity was most frequently flouted.After the research, the researcher took a conclusion that even the famous movie, the flouting maxims are can’t be avoid. ACKNOWLEDGMENTSPlace Acknowledgments, including information on the source of any financial support received for the work being published. Place Acknowledgments, including information on the source of any financial support received for the work being published.

AbstractDescribing the ionization of an atom exposed to a strong laser field entails computationally expensive quantum simulations based on the numerical solutions of the time-dependent Shrödinger equation. The well-known Simple Man Model provides a qualitatively accurate description of the ionization process. Here, we propose a quantum generalization of the physical picture given by the Simple Man Model. We describe an approximate solution to the Heisenberg operator equations of motion for an atom in a laser field. We provide justification of this generalization and test its validity by applying it to calculate the coordinate and velocity autocorrelation functions. Both our model and results of the ab initio numerical calculations show distinct types of correlations due to different types of electron’s motion providing insight into the strong field ionization dynamics.

The scientific picture of the world was first presented by Galileo. He introduced the uniform world time as a parameter into the description of the motion of bod­ies. The central paradigm of the 17th century scientific revolution adopted by the scientific community on this basis was rational, but described a strictly mechani­cal picture of the universe, in which there was no place for man and all other liv­ing beings. By the end of the XX century in the course of the further evolution of knowledge, it became clear that the classical theory of the uniform time of the Universe does not correspond to the newly discovered physical facts. The theory of relativity overcame this difficulty by adopting the concept of “local times” in inertial reference frames. However, in a discussion with Albert Einstein, the French philosopher Henri Bergson showed that the theory of relativity by no means proved the multiplicity of time. On the contrary, SRT secretly uses a single universal time, but its source is not classical, but another – the course of a per­son’s inner life. Following Bergson, Academician Vladimir Vernadsky adopted the biological nature of time and thereby introduced life into the picture of the Universe. At the same time, Vernadsky argued that biospheric cosmology should not turn into absolute cosmogony. The Universe has no beginning and its laws do not change. Therefore, the actual structure of the universe testifies to its infinity in time. It is described as limited or private models by groups of scientific disci­plines. The general idea of the world should be left to the categorical thinking of philosophy or that sense of the integrity of the world that religion possesses. It is philosophy that can use descriptive and experimental knowledge and scientific models of the cosmos obtained on its basis.

Abstract Background Dynamic obstruction of the left ventricular outflow tract resulting from systolic anterior motion of the mitral valve can be an unexpected cause of acute and severe perioperative hypotension in noncardiac surgery. We report a patient undergoing spinal anesthesia for transurethral resection of the prostate who experienced sudden hypoxemia caused by systolic anterior motion-induced mitral regurgitation but with a clinically picture simulating fluid overload. Case presentation An 83-year-old man with a history of hypertension was scheduled for transurethral resection of the prostate. One hour after spinal anesthesia, he developed acute restlessness and dyspnea, with pink frothy sputum and progressive hypoxemia. Slight hypertension was noted, and an electrocardiogram showed atrial fibrillation with a rapid ventricular response. Furosemide and nitroglycerin were thus administered for suspected fluid overload or transurethral resection of the prostate syndrome; however, he then became severely hypotensive. After tracheal intubation, intraoperative transesophageal echocardiography was promptly performed, which revealed an empty hypercontractile left ventricle, significant mitral regurgitation and mosaic flow signal in the left ventricular outflow tract. Following aggressive fluid therapy, his hemodynamic changes stabilized. Repeat echocardiography in intensive care unit confirmed the presence of systolic anterior motion of the anterior mitral leaflet obstructing the left ventricular outflow tract. We speculate that pulmonary edema was induced by systolic anterior motion-associated mitral regurgitation and rapid atrial fibrillation, and the initial management had worsened his hypovolemia and provoked left ventricular outflow tract obstruction and hemodynamic instability. Conclusions Pulmonary edema caused by systolic anterior motion of the mitral valve can be difficult to clinically differentiate from that induced by fluid overload. Therefore, bedside echocardiography is paramount for timely diagnosis and prompt initiation of appropriate therapy in the perioperative care setting.

AbstractIn the past two decades, the research and development of light-triggered molecular machines have mainly focused on developing molecular devices at the nanoscale. A key scientific issue in the field is how to amplify the controlled motion of molecules at the nanoscale along multiple length scales, such as the mesoscopic or the macroscopic scale, or in a more practical perspective, how to convert molecular motion into changes of properties of a macroscopic material. Light-driven molecular motors are able to perform repetitive unidirectional rotation upon irradiation, which offers unique opportunities for responsive macroscopic systems. With several reviews that focus on the design, synthesis and operation of the motors at the nanoscale, photo-responsive macroscopic materials based on light-driven molecular motors have not been comprehensively summarized. In the present review, we first discuss the strategy of confining absolute molecular rotation into relative rotation by grafting motors on surfaces. Secondly, examples of self-assemble motors in supramolecular polymers with high internal order are illustrated. Moreover, we will focus on building of motors in a covalently linked system such as polymeric gels and polymeric liquid crystals to generate complex responsive functions. Finally, a perspective toward future developments and opportunities is given. This review helps us getting a more and more clear picture and understanding on how complex movement can be programmed in light-responsive systems and how man-made adaptive materials can be invented, which can serve as an important guideline for further design of complex and advanced responsive materials.

The Gernman abbess and mystic Hildegard of Bingen (1098-1179) developped a richly nuanced theology of the feminine. At the heart of her spiritual world stands the numinous figure she called Sapientia or Caritas: Wisdom or Love, a theophany of the feminine aspect of the divine. In Hildegard's visionary work De operatione Dei, "The Book of Divine Works", written between 1163-1173, Caritas/Sapientia plays an important part. She is the central figure in five out of the ten visions, that comprises De operatione Dei. The first two visions picture Caritas as Anima Mundi, the world soul - the divine presense in the cosmos - and Creatrix, who creates the world by existing in it as an eternal, circling motion. The eighth vision presents Caritas/Sapienta as the "living fountain", that both quickens and reflects all creatures, and inspires the prophets, including Hildegard herself. The theme of the ninth vision is "Wisdom's vesture". Because Wisdom is both a cosmic and a microcosmic figure, her garb can represent the workmanship og either God or man. In the tenth vision Caritas rests in the center of the wheel of eternity and history, and is presented as the eternal archetype of the Virgin Mary. Besides being a theological necessity as mediator of creation, incarnation and salvation Hildegard's feminine divine also serves as a model for women, particularly consecrated virgins, who represent the feminine divine on earth.

Consumer or home use (previously ‘amateur’) moving image formats are distinguished from professional (still known as ‘professional’) ones by relative affordability, ubiquity and simplicity of use. Since Pathé Frères released its Pathé Baby camera, projector and 9.5mm film gauge in 1922, a distinct line of viewing and making equipment has been successfully marketed at nonprofessional use, especially in the home. ‘Amateur film’ is a simple term for a complex, variegated and longstanding set of activities. Conceptually it is bounded only by the negative definition of nonprofessional (usually intended as sub-professional), and the positive definition of being for the love of the activity and motivated by personal passion alone. This defines a field broad enough that two major historians of US amateur film, Patricia R. Zimmermann and Alan D. Kattelle, write about different subjects. Zimmermann focuses chiefly on domestic use and ‘how-to’ literature, while Kattelle unearths the collective practices and institutional structure of the Amateur Ciné Clubs and the Amateur Ciné League (Zimmerman, Reel Families, Professional; Kattelle, Home Movies, Amateur Ciné). Marion Norris Gleason, a test subject in Eastman Kodak’s development of 16mm and advocate of amateur film, defined it as having three parts, the home movie, “the photoplay produced by organised groups”, and the experimental film (Swanson 132). This view was current at least until the 1960s, when domestic documentation, Amateur Ciné clubs and experimental filmmakers shared the same film gauges and space in the same amateur film magazines, but paths have diverged somewhat since then. Domestic documentation remains committed to the moving image technology du jour, the Amateur Ciné movement is much reduced, and experimental film has developed a separate identity, its own institutional structure, and won some legitimacy in the art world. The trajectory of Super 8, a late-coming gauge to amateur film, has been defined precisely by this disintegration. Obsolescence was manufactured far more slowly during the long reign of amateur film gauges, allowing 9.5mm (1922-66), 16mm (1923-), 8mm (1932-), and Super 8 (1965-) to engage in protracted format wars significantly longer than the life spans of their analogue and digital video successors. The range of options available to nonprofessional makers – the quality but relative expense of 16mm, the near 16mm frame size of 9.5mm, the superior stability of 8mm compared to 9.5mm and Super 8, the size of Super 8’s picture relative to 8mm’s – are not surprising in the context of general competition for a diverse popular market on the usual basis of price, quality, and novelty. However, since analogue video’s ascent the amateur film gauges have all comprehensibly lost the battle for the home use market. This was by far the largest section of amateur film and the manufacturers’ overt target segment, so the amateur film gauges’ contemporary survival and significance is as something else. Though all the gauges from 8mm to 16mm remain available today to the curious and enthusiastic, Super 8’s afterlife is distinguished by the peculiar combination of having been a tremendously popular substandard to the substandard (ie, to 16mm, the standardised film gauge directly below 35mm in both price and quality), and now being prized for its technological excellence. When the large scale consumption that had supported Super 8’s manufacture dropped away, it revealed the set of much smaller, apparently non-transferable uses that would determine whether and as what Super 8 survived. Consequently, though Super 8 has been superseded many times over as a home movie format, it is not obsolete today as an art medium, a professional format used in the commercial industry, or as an alternative to digital video and 16mm for low budget independent production. In other words, everything it was never intended to be. I lately witnessed an occasion of the kind of high-fetishism for film-versus-video and analogue-versus-digital that the experimental moving image world is justifiably famed for. Discussion around the screening of Peter Tscherkassky’s films at the Xperimenta ‘09 festival raised the specifics and availability of the technology he relies on, both because of the peculiarity of his production method – found-footage collaging onto black and white 35mm stock via handheld light pen – and the issue of projection. Has digital technology supplied an alternative workflow? Would 35mm stock to work on (and prints to pillage) continue to be available? Is the availability of 35mm projectors in major venues holding up? Although this insider view of 35mm’s waning market share was more a performance of technological cultural politics than an analysis of it, it raised a series of issues central to any such analysis. Each film format is a gestalt item, consisting of four parts (that an individual might own): film stock, camera, projector and editor. Along with the availability of processing services, these items comprise a gauge’s viability (not withstanding the existence of camera-less and unedited workflows, and numerous folk developing methods). All these are needed to conjure the geist of the machine at full strength. More importantly, the discussion highlights what happens when such a technology collides with idiosyncratic and unintended use, which happens only because it is manufactured on a much wider scale than eccentric use alone can support. Although nostalgia often plays a role in the advocacy of obsolete technology, its role here should be carefully qualified and not overstated. If it plays a role in the three main economies that support contemporary Super 8, it need not be the same role. Further, even though it is now chiefly the same specialist shops and technicians that supply and service 9.5mm, 8mm, Super 8, and 16mm, they are not sold on the same scale nor to the same purpose. There has been no reported Renaissances of 9.5mm or 8mm, though, as long term home movie formats, they must loom large in the memories of many, and their particular look evokes pastness as surely as any two-colour process. There are some specifics to the trajectory of Super 8 as a non-amateur format that cannot simply be subsumed to general nostalgia or dead technology fetishism. Super 8 as an Art Medium Super 8 has a longer history as an art medium than as a pro-tool or low budget substandard. One key aspect in the invention and supply of amateur film was that it not be an adequate substitute for the professional technology used to populate the media sphere proper. Thus the price of access to motion picture making through amateur gauges has been a marginalisation of the outcome for format reasons alone (Zimmermann, Professional 24; Reekie 110) Eastman Kodak established their 16mm as the acceptable substandard for many non-theatrical uses of film in the 1920s, Pathé’s earlier 28mm having already had some success in this area (Mebold and Tepperman 137, 148-9). But 16mm was still relatively expensive for the home market, and when Kiyooka Eiichi filmed his drive across the US in 1927, his 16mm camera alone cost more than his car (Ruoff 240, 243). Against this, 9.5mm, 8mm and eventually Super 8 were the increasingly affordable substandards to the substandard, marginalised twice over in the commercial world, but far more popular in the consumer market. The 1960s underground film, and the modern artists’ film that was partly recuperated from it, was overwhelmingly based on 16mm, as the collections of its chief distributors, the New York Film-Makers’ Co-op, Canyon Cinema and the Lux clearly show. In the context of experimental film’s longstanding commitment to 16mm, an artist filmmaker’s choice to work with Super 8 had important resonances. Experimental work on 8mm and Super 8 is not hard to come by, even from the 1960s, but consider the cultural stakes of Jonas Mekas’s description of 8mm films as “beautiful folk art, like song and lyric poetry, that was created by the people” (Mekas 83). The evocation of ‘folk art’ signals a yawning gap between 8mm, whose richness has been produced collectively by a large and anonymous group, and the work produced by individual artists such as those (like Mekas himself) who founded the New American Cinema Group. The resonance for artists of the 1960s and 1970s who worked with 8mm and Super 8 was from their status as the premier vulgar film gauge, compounding-through-repetition their choice to work with film at all. By the time Super 8 was declared ‘dead’ in 1980, numerous works by canonical artists had been made in the format (Stan Brakhage, Derek Jarman, Carolee Schneemann, Anthony McCall), and various practices had evolved around the specific possibilities of this emulsion and that camera. The camcorder not only displaced Super 8 as the simplest to use, most ubiquitous and cheapest moving image format, at the same time it changed the hierarchy of moving image formats because Super 8 was now incontestably better than something. Further, beyond the ubiquity, simplicity and size, camcorder video and Super 8 film had little in common. Camcorder replay took advantage of the ubiquity of television, but to this day video projection remains a relatively expensive business and for some time after 1980 the projectors were rare and of undistinguished quality. Until the more recent emergence of large format television (also relatively expensive), projection was necessary to screen to anything beyond very small audience. So, considering the gestalt aspect of these technologies and their functions, camcorders could replace Super 8 only for the capture of home movies and small-scale domestic replay. Super 8 maintained its position as the cheapest way into filmmaking for at least 20 years after its ‘death’, but lost its position as the premier ‘folk’ moving image format. It remained a key format for experimental film through the 1990s, but with constant competition from evolving analogue and digital video, and improved and more affordable video projection, its market share diminished. Kodak has continued to assert the viability of its film stocks and gauges, but across 2005-06 it deleted its Kodachrome Super 8, 16mm and slide range (Kodak, Kodachrome). This became a newsworthy Super 8 story (see Morgan; NYT; Hodgkinson; Radio 4) because Super 8 was the first deletion announced, this was very close to 8 May 2005, which was Global Super 8 Day, Kodachrome 40 (K40) was Super 8’s most famous and still used stock, and because 2005 was Super 8’s 40th birthday. Kodachome was then the most long-lived colour process still available, but there were only two labs left in the world which could supply processing- Kodak’s Lausanne Kodachrome lab in Switzerland, using the authentic company method, and Dwayne’s Photo in the US, using a tolerable but substandard process (Hodgkinson). Kodak launched a replacement stock simultaneously, and indeed the variety of Super 8 stocks is increasing year to year, partly because of new Kodak releases and partly because other companies split Kodak’s 16mm and 35mm stock for use as Super 8 (Allen; Muldowney; Pro8mm; Dager). Nonetheless, the cancelling of K40 convulsed the artists’ film community, and a spirited defence of its unique and excellent properties was lead by artist and activist Pip Chodorov. Chodorov met with a Kodak executive at the Cannes Film Festival, appealed to the French Government and started an online petition. His campaign circular read: EXPLAIN THE ADVANTAGES OF K40We have to show why we care specifically about Kodachrome and why Ektachrome is not a replacement. Kodachrome […] whose fine grain and warm colors […] are often used as a benchmark of quality for other stocks. The unique qualities of the Kodachrome image should be pointed out, and especially the differences between Kodachrome and Ektachrome […]. What great films were shot in Kodachrome, and why? […] What are the advantages to the K-14 process and the Lausanne laboratory? Is K40 a more stable stock, is it more preservable, do the colors fade resistant? Point out differences in the sensitometry curves, the grain structure... There was a rash of protest screenings, including a special all-day programme at Le Festival des Cinemas Différents de Paris, about which Raphaël Bassan wrote This initiative was justified, Kodak having announced in 2005 that it was going to stop the manufacturing of the ultra-sensitive film Kodachrome 40, which allowed such recognized artists as Gérard Courant, Joseph Morder, Stéphane Marti and a whole new generation of filmmakers to express themselves through this supple and inexpensive format with such a particular texture. (Bassan) The distance Super 8 has travelled culturally since analogue video can be seen in the distance between these statements of excellence and the attributes of Super 8 and 8mm that appealed to earlier artists: The great thing about Super 8 is that you can switch is onto automatic and get beyond all those technicalities” (Jarman)An 8mm camera is the ballpoint of the visual world. Soon […] people will use camera-pens as casually as they jot memos today […] and the narrow gauge can make finished works of art. (Durgnat 30) Far from the traits that defined it as an amateur gauge, Super 8 is now lionised in terms more resembling a chemistry historian’s eulogy to the pigments used in Dark Ages illuminated manuscripts. From bic to laspis lazuli. Indie and Pro Super 8 Historian of the US amateur film Patricia R. Zimmermann has charted the long collision between small gauge film, domesticity and the various ‘how-to’ publications designed to bridge the gap. In this she pays particular attention to the ‘how-to’ publications’ drive to assert the commercial feature film as the only model worthy of emulation (Professional 267; Reel xii). This drive continues today in numerous magazines and books addressing the consumer and pro-sumer levels. Alan D. Kattelle has charted a different history of the US amateur film, concentrating on the cine clubs and their national organisation, the Amateur Cine League (ACL), competitive events and distribution, a somewhat less domestic part of the movement which aimed less at family documentation more toward ‘photo-plays’, travelogues and instructionals. Just as interested in achieving professional results with amateur means, the ACL encouraged excellence and some of their filmmakers received commissions to make more widely seen films (Kattelle, Amateur 242). The ACL’s Ten Best competition still exists as The American International Film and Video Festival (Kattelle, Amateur 242), but its remit has changed from being “a showcase for amateur films” to being open “to all non-commercial films regardless of the status of the film makers” (AMPS). This points to both the relative marginalisation of the mid-century notion of the amateur, and that successful professionals and others working in the penumbra of independent production surrounding the industry proper are now important contributors to the festival. Both these groups are the economically important contemporary users of Super 8, but they use it in different ways. Low budget productions use it as cheap alternative to larger gauges or HD digital video and a better capture format than dv, while professional productions use it as a lo-fi format precisely for its degradation and archaic home movie look (Allen; Polisin). Pro8mm is a key innovator, service provider and advocate of Super 8 as an industry standard tool, and is an important and long serving agent in what should be seen as the normalisation of Super 8 – a process of redressing its pariah status as a cheap substandard to the substandard, while progressively erasing the special qualities of Super 8 that underlay this. The company started as Super8 Sound, innovating a sync-sound system in 1971, prior to the release of Kodak’s magnetic stripe sound Super 8 in 1973. Kodak’s Super 8 sound film was discontinued in 1997, and in 2005 Pro8mm produced the Max8 format by altering camera front ends to shoot onto the unused stripe space, producing a better quality image for widescreen. In between they started cutting professional 35mm stocks for Super 8 cameras and are currently investing in ever more high-quality HD film scanners (Allen; Pro8mm). Simultaneous to this, Kodak has brought out a series of stocks for Super 8, and more have been cut down for Super 8 by third parties, that offer a wider range of light responses or ever finer grain structure, thus progressively removing the limitations and visible artefacts associated with the format (Allen; Muldowney; Perkins; Kodak, Motion). These films stocks are designed to be captured to digital video as a normal part of their processing, and then entered into the contemporary digital work flow, leaving little or no indication of the their origins on a format designed to be the 1960s equivalent of the Box Brownie. However, while Super 8 has been used by financially robust companies to produce full-length programmes, its role at the top end of production is more usually as home movie footage and/or to evoke pastness. When service provider and advocate OnSuper8 interviewed professional cinematographer James Chressanthis, he asserted that “if there is a problem with Super 8 it is that it can look too good!” and spent much of the interview explaining how a particular combination of stocks, low shutter speeds and digital conversion could reproduce the traditional degraded look and avoid “looking like a completely transparent professional medium” (Perkins). In his history of the British amateur movement, Duncan Reekie deals with this distinction between the professional and amateur moving image, defining the professional as having a drive towards clarity [that] eventually produced [what] we could term ‘hyper-lucidity’, a form of cinematography which idealises the perception of the human eye: deep focus, increased colour saturation, digital effects and so on. (108) Against this the amateur as distinguished by a visible cinematic surface, where the screen image does not seem natural or fluent but is composed of photographic grain which in 8mm appears to vibrate and weave. Since the amateur often worked with only one reversal print the final film would also often become scratched and dirty. (108-9) As Super 8’s function has moved away from the home movie, so its look has adjusted to the new role. Kodak’s replacement for K40 was finer grained (Kodak, Kodak), designed for a life as good to high quality digital video rather than a film strip, and so for video replay rather than a small gauge projector. In the economy that supports Super 8’s survival, its cameras and film stock have become part of a different gestalt. Continued use is still justified by appeals to geist, but the geist of film in a general and abstract way, not specific to Super 8 and more closely resembling the industry-centric view of film propounded by decades of ‘how-to’ guides. Activity that originally supported Super 8 continues, and currently has embraced the ubiquitous and extremely substandard cameras embedded in mobile phones and still cameras for home movies and social documentation. As Super 8 has moved to a new cultural position it has shed its most recognisable trait, the visible surface of grain and scratches, and it is that which has become obsolete, discontinued and the focus of nostalgia, along with the sound of a film projector (which you can get to go with films transferred to dvd). So it will be left to artist filmmaker Peter Tscherkassky, talking in 1995 about what Super 8 was to him in the 1980s, to evoke what there is to miss about Super 8 today. Unlike any other format, Super-8 was a microscope, making visible the inner life of images by entering beneath the skin of reality. […] Most remarkable of all was the grain. While 'resolution' is the technical term for the sharpness of a film image, Super-8 was really never too concerned with this. Here, quite a different kind of resolution could be witnessed: the crystal-clear and bright light of a Xenon-projection gave us shapes dissolving into the grain; amorphous bodies and forms surreptitiously transformed into new shapes and disappeared again into a sea of colour. Super-8 was the pointillism, impressionism and the abstract expressionism of cinematography. (Howath) Bibliography Allen, Tom. “‘Making It’ in Super 8.” MovieMaker Magazine 8 Feb. 1994. 1 May 2009 ‹http://www.moviemaker.com/directing/article/making_it_in_super_8_3044/›. AMPS. “About the American Motion Picture Society.” American Motion Picture Society site. 2009. 25 Apr. 2009 ‹http://www.ampsvideo.com›. Bassan, Raphaël. “Identity of Cinema: Experimental and Different (review of Festival des Cinémas Différents de Paris, 2005).” Senses of Cinema 44 (July-Sep. 2007). 25 Apr. 2009 ‹http://archive.sensesofcinema.com/contents/07/44/experimental-cinema-bassan.html›. Chodorov, Pip. “To Save Kodochrome.” Frameworks list, 14 May 2005. 28 Apr. 2009 ‹http://www.hi-beam.net/fw/fw29/0216.html›. Dager, Nick. “Kodak Unveils Latest Film Stock in Vision3 Family.” Digital Cinema Report 5 Jan. 2009. 27 Apr. 2009 ‹http://www.digitalcinemareport.com/Kodak-Vision3-film›. Durgnat, Raymond. “Flyweight Flicks.” GAZWRX: The Films of Jeff Keen booklet. Originally published in Films and Filming (Feb. 1965). London: BFI, 2009. 30-31. Frye, Brian L. “‘Me, I Just Film My Life’: An Interview with Jonas Mekas.” Senses of Cinema 44 (July-Sep. 2007). 15 Apr. 2009 ‹http://archive.sensesofcinema.com/contents/07/44/jonas-mekas-interview.html›. Hodgkinson, Will. “End of the Reel for Super 8.” Guardian 28 Sep. 2006. 20 Mar. 2009 ‹http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/2006/sep/28/1›. Horwath, Alexander. “Singing in the Rain - Supercinematography by Peter Tscherkassky.” Senses of Cinema 28 (Sep.-Oct. 2003). 5 May 2009 ‹http://archive.sensesofcinema.com/contents/03/28/tscherkassky.html›. Jarman, Derek. In Institute of Contemporary Arts Video Library Guide. London: ICA, 1987. Kattelle, Alan D. Home Movies: A History of the American Industry, 1897-1979. Hudson, Mass.: self-published, 2000. ———. “The Amateur Cinema League and its films.” Film History 15.2 (2003): 238-51. Kodak. “Kodak Celebrates 40th Anniversary of Super 8 Film Announces New Color Reversal Product to Portfolio.“ Frameworks list, 9 May 2005. 23 Mar. 2009 ‹http://www.hi-beam.net/fw/fw29/0150.html›. ———. “Kodachrome Update.” 30 Jun. 2006. 24 Mar. 2009 ‹http://www.hi-beam.net/fw/fw32/0756.html›. ———. “Motion Picture Film, Digital Cinema, Digital Intermediate.” 2009. 2 Apr. 2009 ‹http://motion.kodak.com/US/en/motion/index.htm?CID=go&idhbx=motion›. Mekas, Jonas. “8mm as Folk Art.” Movie Journal: The Rise of the New American Cinema, 1959-1971. Ed. Jonas Mekas. Originally Published in Village Voice 1963. New York: Macmillan, 1972. Morgan, Spencer. “Kodak, Don't Take My Kodachrome.” New York Times 31 May 2005. 4 Apr. 2009 ‹http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=9F05E1DF1F39F932A05756C0A9639C8B63&sec=&spon=&pagewanted=2›. ———. “Fans Beg: Don't Take Kodachrome Away.” New York Times 1 Jun. 2005. 4 Apr. 2009 ‹http://www.nytimes.com/2005/05/31/technology/31iht-kodak.html›. Muldowney, Lisa. “Kodak Ups the Ante with New Motion Picture Film.” MovieMaker Magazine 30 Nov. 2007. 6 Apr. 2009 ‹http://www.moviemaker.com/cinematography/article/kodak_ups_the_ante_with_new_motion_picture_film/›. New York Times. “Super 8 Blues.” 31 May 2005: E1. Perkins, Giles. “A Pro's Approach to Super 8.” OnSuper8 Blogspot 16 July 2007. 13 Apr. 2009 ‹http://onsuper8.blogspot.com/2007/07/pros-approach-to-super-8.html›. Polisin, Douglas. “Pro8mm Asks You to Think Big, Shoot Small.” MovieMaker Magazine 4 Feb. 2009. 1 May 2009 ‹http://www.moviemaker.com/cinematography/article/think_big_shoot_small_rhonda_vigeant_pro8mm_20090127/›. Pro8mm. “Pro8mm Company History.” Super 8 /16mm Cameras, Film, Processing & Scanning (Pro8mm blog) 12 Mar. 2008. 3 May 2009 ‹http://pro8mm-burbank.blogspot.com/2008/03/pro8mm-company-history.html›. Radio 4. No More Yellow Envelopes 24 Dec. 2006. 4 May 2009 ‹http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio4/factual/pip/m6yx0/›. Reekie, Duncan. Subversion: The Definitive History of the Underground Cinema. London: Wallflower Press, 2007. Sneakernet, Christopher Hutsul. “Kodachrome: Not Digital, But Still Delightful.” Toronto Star 26 Sep. 2005. Swanson, Dwight. “Inventing Amateur Film: Marion Norris Gleason, Eastman Kodak and the Rochester Scene, 1921-1932.” Film History 15.2 (2003): 126-36 Zimmermann, Patricia R. “Professional Results with Amateur Ease: The Formation of Amateur Filmmaking Aesthetics 1923-1940.” Film History 2.3 (1988): 267-81. ———. Reel Families: A Social History of Amateur Film. Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1995.

Joyce, William. The Fantastic Flying Books of Morris Lessmore. Shreveport, LA: Moonbot Books, 2011. iPad app. It seems strange that a story that expresses such love towards books as physical objects was first produced as an award-winning animated short film, and then adapted into an “interactive narrative experience” for the iPad. The protagonist, Morris Lessmore, is transported via hurricane to another land where he encounters a young woman held aloft by a flock of anthropomorphized flying books. One book leads him to a house full of more books, where he ends up living. He takes care of the books, and lends them to drab, black-and-white people who bloom into full colour (à la Wizard of Oz) as soon as they receive their reading material. Finally, as an old man, he is whisked away by the books, and the book that he wrote is used to draw a young girl into the house to take over his role as caretaker.It is usually the fate of new media to be unfavourably compared to more established media forms, but in this case, Morris Lessmore also suffers from being an adaptation rather than an original work. This iPad version seems uncomfortably caught between the fluidity and liveliness of the original animated film and the sequential narrative of a traditional picture book. Like a video game adaptation of a major motion picture in which the player re-enacts a simple replay of the movie plot, many of the interactive features of this book app seem contrived, acting as tacked-on gimmicks rather than being truly integrated with the story as a unique experience. However, that does not mean that the narrative experience is entirely without merit. The animation (taken directly from the film) looks amazing on the iPad’s vibrant screen, and finding the hidden “Easter eggs” on each page is quite entertaining for all ages. Moonbot Studios also gets extra credit for its inventive use of the iPad’s touch interface - readers will enjoy swiping, coloring, dragging, and even playing the piano on the screen, even if these activities are sometimes tangential to the narrative itself. Despite its shortcomings, Morris Lessmore stands out as exceptional in comparison to other picture book apps currently available for the iPad. As a final incentive, it is very reasonably priced; for only $4.99 at the iTunes Store, the app is much less than your average print picture book (although there’s not much chance of finding it at your local library).Recommended: 3 out of 4 starsReviewer: Dale StorieDale Storie is Public Services Librarian at the John W. Scott Health Sciences Library at the University of Alberta. He has a BA in English, and has also worked in a public library as a children's programming coordinator, where he was involved with story times, puppet shows, and book talks.

Abstract Phaeochromocytoma is a rare tumour of the chromaffin cells in the adrenal medulla, which secretes catecholamines. While associated with genetic disorders e.g., MEN-2, they tend to occur sporadically, and are often initially asymptomatic, found incidentally on imaging. Classical symptoms of Phaeochromocytoma include headaches, sweating, and palpitations, with sustained or paroxysmal hypertension which is refractory to a cocktail of antihypertensives. A variety of presentations have been reported in the literature including, but not limited to colitis, intracerebral haemorrhage, and PRES syndrome. We present a case of a 64-year-old man with an incidental left adrenal nodule. This radiologically indeterminate lesion was initially asymptomatic. Secretion studies revealed elevated metadrenaline levels, and an MIBG scan with positive avidity unveiled the lesion's pheochromocytoma nature. Whilst awaiting surgical intervention, the patient required emergency admission with a hypertensive crisis, presenting with left-sided flank pain and a blood pressure peaking at 220mmHg systolic. ECG findings were consistent with a myocardial infarction-like picture, and echocardiogram demonstrated regional wall motion abnormalities. CT coronary angiography revealed no significant coronary arterial disease – confirming that the patient’s presentation was in fact secondary to the pheochromocytoma. Pre-operative optimization is crucial for safe surgery. After the crisis, surgery was delayed by 6 weeks for cardiac rehabilitation. The patient was admitted a week before the procedure for optimal haemodynamics. Adrenalectomy proceeded as planned after alpha-blockade. A structured endocrine surgery clinic follow-up was established to assess the patient's ongoing recovery, and cardiovascular status. This case highlights cardiovascular implications of phaeochromocytoma, stressing a multidisciplinary approach for hypertensive crises and optimising outcomes.

A imagem da capa, trabalho do fotógrafo canadense Redd Angelo, tem algo de releitura dos registros de Henri Cartier Bresson. Um intertexto com o personagem que na praça molhada depois da chuva, tem ao fundo um casal apaixonado e seu beijo, protegidos por seu mundo criado a dois sob um guarda-chuva. A fotografia ainda rememora outro salto, o de um homem sobre o espelho d’água. Toda edição da nossa revista é um salto. Na imagem da capa o modelo salta sobre uma superfície, uma lâmina líquida, e seu movimento capturado por uma câmera e toda a cena, inclusive o fotógrafo, também capturada por outra câmera. Nossa capa é metalinguística, assim como a nossa revista. Se a imagem fala, explica a si mesma, nossa revista é comunicação delineando comunicação. Diálogo dentro de outro diálogo. Sonho dentro do sonho. Mídia que revela a mídia. Uma tradução perfeita do olhar atento da ciência (a fotografia é física, química, mecânica – e agora também digital!), no entanto, só se compreende a vida por meio da estética, da poética e da arte.The cover image, a Canadian photographer Redd Angelo’s work, can be seen as an interpretation of Henri Cartier Bresson’s registers. An intertext with the main character that is in a wet square after the rain and who has in his background a loving couple and their kiss, protected by an own world created by themselves under an umbrella. The picture still recalls another jump, the one that of a man on a water mirror. Every edition of our journal is a jump. In our cover image the model jumps on a surface, a liquid blade, whose movement is captured by a camera and the whole scene, including the photographer, is also capture by another camera. Our cover is metalinguistic, such as our journal is. If the image speaks and explains itself, our journal is communication delineating communication. A dialogue inside another dialogue. A dream inside a dream. Media revealing media. A perfect translation of science’s attentive eyes (the photograph is physics, chemistry, mechanics – and now it is also digital!), nevertheless, life can be only understood through aesthetics, poetry and art.

Vickers, Roy Henry and Robert Budd. Cloudwalker. Madeira Park, BC: Harbour Publishing, 2014. Print.This is a stunning new book from painter, print maker, carver, author and member of the Orders of Canada and British Columbia, Roy Henry Vickers. It contains 18 new prints from this innovative Indigenous artist, which accompany the retelling of a traditional story. The story explains the origin of the three great rivers: The Nass, The Stikine and the Skeena (or Ksien, which means "juice from the clouds”). It is the story of a young man who is carried up to the clouds by swans and wanders around on the clouds. He carries a box of water, which spills when he falls. The spills form the lakes and rivers on the land. While the text tells the story, it also incorporates cultural knowledge including the cycle of the salmon and the importance of marmot hides as symbols of wealth. The text is simple and readable at the upper elementary level. While the story is important, it is the sophisticated artwork that makes this book stand out. Vickers has used flat designs, incorporating the familiar formlines and ovoids found in traditional North coastal Indigenous art. Ovoids are the rounded shapes used to portray joints and sometimes eyes. Some of the paintings show the familiar red and black figures on simple backgrounds of strong colours. However other figures are printed in shiny overlay most visible as you move the book to catch the light, creating hidden treasures for children to find. For example the image on page 28 shows a figure by the river; shiny streaks cross the page to represent rain and shiny fish are printed on the surface of the river. This book, which reminds us that picture books and traditional stories are not just for children, would be an excellent addition to public and school libraries everywhere, as well as to collections that specialize in Canadian Indigenous traditional stories. Highly recommended: 4 stars out of 4 Reviewer: Sandy CampbellSandy is a Health Sciences Librarian at the University of Alberta, who has written hundreds of book reviews across many disciplines. Sandy thinks that sharing books with children is one of the greatest gifts anyone can give.

Print culture, as the call for this issue suggests, has dominated the world for 500 years, but also suggests that print’s hegemony may now be under threat from new communications technologies. There are a number of perspectives from which to view the ‘threats’ to which print culture is subject, the longer term effects this will have and, particularly, on what it will mean to be human in the future of print culture. I’d like to address this issue by turning my attention to one dimension of this question that seems essentially absent from the discourses which surround it. I’d like to step back and put this question in the context of the structural relations of print as a cultural technology. My questions concern what these structural relations and their effects are, the limits of this print model of textuality, and what would constitute an ‘outside’ to the print system of texts. The point of this is to expose the ‘naturalised’ elements of this cultural formation, to show that there is as yet no radical break from print culture, and to consider the nature of the current pressures on print culture. The primary infrastructure of the print system concerns the structure of its texts, the structure of its modes of subject formation, and the structural relations between them. We should note how deeply embedded these structural relations are in terms of the idea of the human, of the idea of being human. Walter Ong (117-38), for example, has shown us how the print form is deeply embedded within culture and affects us at deeper levels than just the external manifestations of the medium. The conventions of print greatly influence and structure the ways in which it is possible to think – for Ong, the dominant communicational culture affects and determines the possibilities of thought and expression, and the relationships between individuals and texts structures the ways in which we view the world. This is what Ong calls “a psychological breakthrough of the first order”. For Ong, the achievement of alphabetic letterpress printing was that it “embedded the word itself deeply in the manufacturing process and made it a kind of commodity”. It was, he says, the first assembly line, and from this we have the mass distribution of texts, mass literacy through mass schooling, religion, etc. (Extended examinations of the function of religion in the construction of a print model can be pursued in both Aries and Luke.) Firstly, we must note that a model of textuality is not a natural thing; it is a technology. A textual model provides an infrastructure which determines and articulates the possibilities of relationships between those elements of the textual infrastructure – texts, subjects, and their relationships. As a consequence, the model also largely determines the possibilities for reading and writing within the textual system. The print-based system of texts has always presented an infrastructure that consists of a two-dimensional surface to which it sutures a subject in a face-to-face relationship – the requirement is for a certain kind of text, a certain kind of subject, and a certain kind of relationship between them in a highly prescribed and circumscribed textual infrastructure. This model of textuality is assumed as the natural mode of textuality, and consequently the referent for all textuality. What is obscured in the naturalisation of the print model of textuality are the technological dimensions of textuality: that all textual models are technologies. This print model has become so naturalised that it disappears. These structural relations of print do not change with the advent of the desktop personal computer, nor screen culture generally, as these are already cast within the infrastructure of the print model. Even three-dimensionality on the two-dimensional screen is always-already simulacra, constituted by continual changes on a surface which give only the appearance of three-dimensionality. The screen and keyboard therefore mark a continuity with the pre-existing social relations of print-based technology and its system of texts, and inscribe these textual relations in the model of the desktop personal computer. The essential “face-to-face” relation, where the subject is always placed “in front of”, also largely determines this subject. This mode of positionality is the condition of this subject. Its possibilities for “knowing” and “understanding”, if not wholly determined, are strongly influenced by this positionality. When Heidegger says that the meaning of the term understanding is intended to go back to its usage in ordinary language, he is referring to understanding (verstehen) in these terms: In German we say that someone can vorstehen something – literally stand in front or ahead of it, that is, stand at its head, administer, manage, preside over it. This is equivalent to saying that he versteht sich darauf, understands in the sense of being skilled or expert at it, has the know how of it. (Heidegger, “Age” 129-30) Such a subject, in that she or he is always placed “in front of” the text, surface, screen, page, is always the subject of the print age. This is the sense in which the desktop personal computer is still a Book. Accounts of computing per se initiating a radically new textuality, then, should proceed with caution. There is a new textual environment, to be sure, yet assertions of its radicality would seem firstly to refer to changes in degree rather than changes in kind. For Heidegger, the very essence of ‘man’ changes in the representationalist paradigm in that ‘man becomes subject’. He points out that the word sub-iectum names ‘that-which-lies-before’, and which ‘as ground, gathers everything onto itself’ (Heidegger, “Age” 128). When man becomes primary, then ‘man becomes that being upon which all that is is grounded as regards the manner of its Being and its truth’. It is only possible for man to become this relational centre when ‘the comprehension of what is as a whole changes’ (Heidegger, “Age” 128). In terms of this change, Heidegger says, we are asking after the ‘essence of the modern age’ which concerns the ‘modern world picture (Weltbild)’. World picture … does not mean a picture of the world but the world conceived and grasped as picture. … Whenever we have the world picture, an essential decision takes place regarding what is, in its entirety. The Being of whatever is, is sought and found in the representedness of the latter. He further points out that The world picture does not change from an earlier medieval one into a modern one, but rather the fact that the world becomes picture at all is what distinguishes the essence of the modern age. (Heidegger, “Age” 129-30) It is the positionality largely determined through these structural relations that enables the identity of the modernist subject, and the possibility of its representation (as an object for another subject). Representationalism therefore requires positionality in order to represent. The print subject is sutured to the page or screen and this always provides it with a representable position. The subject of representationalism therefore comes to appear as naturally given, just as, in this view, technology is also a given. Positionality concerns fixation, or what can be held to be true. Positionality is what Deleuze and Guattari oppose to nomadism which concerns constant movement and circulation. Representationalism requires this stable formation, and infusions of ‘noise’ into the system are rendered as pathologies. “Virtual reality” then, in that it disrupts or introduces something that is apparently new into the system, tends to become a pathologisation of the subject. It is on this basis that claims are made of crises in modes of subjectivity within virtual reality or cyberculture, where the problematic is mis-construed in terms of the subject rather than in terms of this model of interpretation. In this sense, it clings to the illusion of the subject as ground, that everything that is, is an object for a subject. In this model, it becomes a question of repositioning the subject such that the subject may be accommodated in an expanded representational regime, a practice that is widespread. Bukatman (8-9), for example, has argued a representationalist position which can be seen in the following passage. It is the purpose of much recent science fiction to construct a new subject position to interface with the global realms of data circulation, a subject that can occupy or intersect the cyberscapes of contemporary existence. For Bukatman, it is about a new position for the subject: that is, it is a question of how to represent the subject such that it can be accommodated to or within a representationalist paradigm. This subject is reduced to the notion of positionality which is representable as the subject labelled “I”. It concerns differences in degree rather than in kind. The establishing of the human subject as ground for “that which is” positions the human in an entirely different way from the subject of earlier times. For the first time, Heidegger says, there became such a thing as a “position” of the human. Humanity is subiectum, and must stand in front of, or “take his stand in relation to whatever is as the objective”. What is decisive, he says is that man himself expressly takes up this position as one constituted by himself, that he intentionally maintains it as that taken up by himself, and that he makes it secure as the solid footing for a possible development of humanity. (Heidegger, “Age” 132) This decisive event, for Heidegger, is what begins a new way of being human that gives rise to the world as picture. Heidegger’s “age of the world picture” corresponds with the arrival of the mass textual system or model (the printing press of the fifteenth century) which serves to instantiate this model of “man”. This is an actualisation of the technology of the subiectum, the age of the world picture, that is henceforth demanded in order to produce and to represent this “man”, and to represent him to himself. There has been no radical break with the structures underlying the social formation of print culture, yet this formation is subject to increasing pressures. What is most under pressure in this late age of print, however, is not the particular formation of texts, but, crucially, this mode of being human that has been ever more deeply embedded in the human psyche for more than 500 years. This will not disappear overnight; however, its structural conditions of existence do appear to be beginning to overflow their limit, producing an excess that is not, or not easily, assimilated back to itself. This excess is constituted by those contemporary elements that do not fit the structural model of the print system of texts. There are several aspects to this which can only be gestured towards in this space. In particular, one aspect will concern the complex network of relations in the changing nature of information in a digital, networked era, the commodification of information in global capitalism, and the distortions of space and time these produce. It gestures towards the possibility of a post-representationalism – a new subject that, rather than being fixed and positional, sutured to a screen/page, is set in motion – a structure which would alter all relations as well as the constitution of the subject. Immersive virtual reality texts already begin the necessity of thinking these relations and the possibility of a subject in motion within fields of information flow. These immersive virtual realities gesture towards the possibility of the subject becoming a post-print. A post-print will not emerge fully formed or all at once, or even very soon, but reflections on what such a system of texts and subjects might be or become poses the relations of print or our reflections on them in a different way. In any event, it points towards a difficult time ahead for the print subject and for the formation and meaning of print culture. References Aries, Philippe. Centuries of Childhood. Trans. Robert Baldick. London: Jonathan Cape, 1973. Bukatman, Scott. Terminal Identity: The Virtual Subject in Postmodern Science Fiction. Durham: Duke UP, 1993. Heidegger, Martin. The Basic Problems of Phenomenology. Trans. A. Hofstadter. Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1982. —. “The Age of the World Picture”. In Martin Heidegger, The Question Concerning Technology and Other Essays. Trans. William Lovitt. New York: Garland, 1977. 115-54. Luke, Carmen. Pedagogy, Printing, and Protestantism. Albany: State U of New York, 1989. Ong, Walter. Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word. London: Routledge. 1982. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Roe, Phillip. "Dimensions of Print." M/C Journal 8.2 (2005). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0506/07-roe.php>. APA Style Roe, P. (Jun. 2005) "Dimensions of Print," M/C Journal, 8(2). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0506/07-roe.php>.

Abstract Background Bone marrow edema syndrome (BMES), previously referred to as transient osteoporosis, is an uncommon and underdiagnosed self-limiting condition typically affecting the weight-bearing joints of the hip and lower limb. Its occurrence in upper limb or non-weight bearing joints is particularly rare. Case presentation We report the case of an otherwise healthy 42-year-old man who gradually developed severe and disabling left shoulder pain over the course of 6 months. Nine months after onset, he presented clinically with bilateral involvement and radiologically (magnetic resonance imaging, MRI) with diffuse BME associated with a subchondral insufficiency fracture, suggestive of proximal humeral avascular necrosis. Clinical evidence of subacromial shoulder impingement and MRI findings of bilateral subchondral bursitis and tenosynovitis with effusion of the biceps tendons likely resulted from primary BME, as musculoskeletal sonography confirmed the absence of rotator cuff tears. Repeated MRI findings at 2, 12, and 18 months documented near complete resolution of both edema and fracture, consistent with BMES of the proximal humerus. During this time, the patient reported a gradual improvement in both pain symptoms and range of motion. The clinical picture of insidious shoulder pain, exacerbated by activity and improved by load relief, in the absence of predisposing factors for osteonecrosis or antecedent trauma in patients of middle age, should indicate the possibility of the diagnosis of BMES. Conclusions This unprecedented report documents a rare case of bilateral BMES of the humeral head mimicking avascular necrosis. The correct diagnosis of BMES within an atypical anatomical location avoids invasive measures in the affected bone. The misdiagnosis of secondary BME and idiopathic osteonecrosis can be avoided by recognizing the characteristics of BME and subchondral fractures of the humeral head in the absence of rotator cuff tears, as well as their evolution on serial MRI.

The German anatomist and artist Gunther von Hagens’s exhibition Body Worlds has toured Europe, Asia and the US several times, provoking both interest and dismay, fascination and disgust. This “original exhibition of real human bodies” features whole cadavers as well as specific body parts and it is organized thematically around specific bodily functions such as the respiratory system, blood circulation, skeletal materials and brain and nervous system. In each segment of the exhibition these themes are illustrated using parts of the body, presented in glass cases that are associated with each function. Next to these cases are the full body cadavers—the so-called “plastinates”. The Body Worlds exhibition is all about perception-in-motion: it is about circumnavigating bodies, stopping in front of a plastinate and in-corporating it, leaning over an arm or reaching towards a face, pointing towards a discrete blood vessel, drawing an abstract line between two organs. Experiencing here is above all a matter of reaching-towards and incorporeally touching bodies (Manning, Politics of Touch). These bodies are dead, still, motionless, “frozen in time between death and decay” (von Hagens, Body Worlds). Dead and still eerily animate, just as the surface of a freeze-frame photograph would seem to capture spatially a movement in its unfolding becoming, plastinates do not simply appear as dead matter used to represent vitality, but rather [...] as persons who managed to survive together with their bodies. What “inner quality” makes them appear alive? In what way is someone present, when what is conserved is not opinions (in writing), actions (in stories) or voice (on tape) but the body? (Hirschauer 41—42) Through the corporeal transformation—the plastination process—that these bodies have gone through, and the designed space of the exhibition—a space that makes possible both innovative and restrictive movements—these seemingly dead bodies come alive. There is a movement within these bodies, a movement that resonates with-in the exhibition space and mobilises visitors.Two ways of thinking movement in relation to stillness come out of this. The first one is concerned with the ordering and designing of space by means of visual cues, things or texts. This relates to stillness and slowness as suggestive, imposed and enforced upon bodies so that the possibilities of movement are reduced due to the way an environment is designed. Think for example of the way that an escalator moulds movements and speeds, or how signs such as “No walking on the grass” suggest a given pattern of walking. The second one is concerned with how movement is linked up with and implies continuous change. If a body’s movement and exaltation is reduced or slowed down, does the body then become immobile and still? Take ice, water and steam: these states give expression to three different attributes or conditions of what is considered to be one and the same chemical body. But in the transformation from one to the other, there is also an incorporeal transformation related to the possibilities of movement and change—between motion and rest—of what a body can do (Deleuze, Spinoza).Slowing Down Ever since the first exhibition Body Worlds has been under attack from critics, ethicists, journalists and religious groups, who claim that the public exhibition of dead bodies should, for various reasons, be banned. In 2004, in response to such criticism, the Californian Science Centre commissioned an ethical review of the exhibition before taking the decision on whether and how to host Body Worlds. One of the more interesting points in this review was the proposition that “the exhibition is powerful, and guests need time to acclimate themselves” (6). As a consequence, it was suggested that the Science Center arrange an entrance that would “slow people down and foster a reverential and respectful mood” (5). The exhibition space was to be organized in such a way that skeletons, historical contexts and images would be placed in the beginning of the exhibition, the whole body plastinates should only be introduced later in the exhibition. Before my first visit to the exhibition, I wasn’t sure how I would react when confronted with these dead bodies. To be perfectly honest, the moments before entering, I panicked. Crossing the asphalt between the Manchester Museum of Science and the exhibition hall, I felt dizzy; heart pounding in my chest and a sensation of nausea spreading throughout my body. Ascending a staircase that would take me to the entrance, located on the third floor in the exhibition hall, I thought I had detected an odour—rotten flesh or foul meat mixed with chemicals. Upon entering I was greeted by a young man to whom I presented my ticket. Without knowing in advance that this first room had been structured in such a way as to “slow people down”, I immediately felt relieved as I realized that the previously detected smell must have been psychosomatic: the room was perfectly odourless and the atmosphere was calm and tempered. Dimmed lights and pointed spotlights filled the space with an inviting and warm ambience. Images and texts on death and anatomical art were spread over the walls and in the back corners of the room two skeletons had been placed. Two glass cases containing bones and tendons had been placed in the middle of the room and next to these a case with a whole body, positioned upright in ‘anatomically correct’ position with arms, hands and legs down. There was nothing gruesome or spectacular about this room; I had visited anatomical collections, such as that of the Hunterian Museum in London or Medical Museion in Copenhagen, which in comparison far surpassed the alleged gruesomeness and voyeurism. And so I realized that the room had effectively slowed me down as my initial state of exaltation had been altered and stalled by the relative familiarity of images, texts and bare bones, all presented in a tempered and respectful way.Visitors are slowed down, but they are not still. There is no degree zero of movement, only different relations of speeds and slowness. Here I think it is useful to think of movement and change as it is expressed in Henri Bergson’s writings on temporality. Bergson frequently argued that the problem of Western metaphysics had been to spatialise movement, as in the famous example with Zeno’s arrow that—given that we think of movement as spatial—never reaches the tree towards which it has been shot. Bergson however did not refute the importance and practical dimensions of thinking through immobility; rather, immobility is the “prerequisite for our action” (Creative Mind 120). The problem occurs when we think away movement on behalf of that which we think of as still or immobile.We need immobility, and the more we succeed in imagining movement as coinciding with the immobilities of the points of space through which it passes, the better we think we understand it. To tell the truth, there never is real immobility, if we understand by that an absence of movement. Movement is reality itself (Bergson, Creative Mind 119).This notion of movement as primary, and immobility as secondary, gives expression to the proposition that immobility, solids and stillness are not given but have to be achieved. This can be done in several ways: external forces that act upon a body and transform it, as when water crystallizes into ice; certain therapeutic practices—yoga or relaxation exercises—that focus and concentrate attention and perception; spatial and architectural designs such as museums, art galleries or churches that induce and invoke certain moods and slow people down. Obviously there are other kinds of situations when bodies become excited and start moving more rapidly. Such situations could be, to name a few, when water starts to boil; when people use drugs like nicotine or caffeine in order to heighten alertness; or when bodies occupy spaces where movement is amplified by means of increased sensual stimuli, for example in the extreme conditions that characterize a natural catastrophe or a war.Speeding Up After the Body Worlds visitor had been slowed down and acclimatised in and through the first room, the full body plastinates were introduced. These bodies laid bare muscles, tissues, nerves, brain, heart, kidneys, and lungs. Some of these were “exploded views” of the body—in these, the body and its parts have been separated and drawn out from the position that they occupy in the living body, in some cases resulting in two discrete plastinates—e.g. one skeleton and one muscle-plastinate—that come from the same anatomical body. Congruent with the renaissance anatomical art of Vesalius, all plastinates are positioned in lifelike poses (Benthien, Skin). Some are placed inside a protective glass case while others are either standing, lying on the ground or hanging from the ceiling.As the exhibition unfolds, the plastinates themselves wipe away the calmness and stillness intended with the spatial design. Whereas a skeleton seems mute and dumb these plastinates come alive as visitors circle and navigate between them. Most visitors would merely point and whisper, some would reach towards and lean over a plastinate. Others however noticed that jumping up and down created a resonating effect in the plastinates so that a plastinate’s hand, leg or arm moved. At times the rooms were literally filled with hordes of excited and energized school children. Then the exhibition space was overtaken with laughter, loud voices, running feet, comments about the gruesome von Hagens and repeated remarks on the plastinates’ genitalia. The former mood of respectfulness and reverence has been replaced by the fascinating and idiosyncratic presence of animated and still, plastinated bodies. Animated and still? So what is a plastinate?Movement and Form Through plastination, the body undergoes a radical and irreversible transformation which turns the organic body into an “inorganic organism”, a hybrid of plastic and flesh (Hirschauer 36). Before this happens however the living body has to face another phase of transition by which it turns into a dead cadaver. From the point of view of an individual body that lives, breathes and evolves, this transformation implies turning into a decomposing and rotting piece of flesh, tissue and bones. Any corpse will sooner or later turn into something else, ashes, dust or earth. This process can be slowed down using various techniques and chemicals such as mummification or formaldehyde, but this will merely slow down the process of decomposition, and not terminate it.The plastination technique is rather different in several respects. Firstly the specimen is soaked in acetone and the liquids in the corpse—water and fat—are displaced. This displacement prepares the specimen for the next step in the process which is the forced vacuum impregnation. Here the specimen is placed in a polymer mixture with silicone rubber or epoxy resin. This process is undertaken in vacuum which allows for the plastic to enter each and every cell of the specimen, thus replacing the acetone (von Hagens, Body Worlds). Later on, when this transformation has finished, the specimen is modelled according to a concept, a “gestalt plastinate”, such as “the runner”, “the badminton player” or “the skin man”. The concept expresses a dynamic and life-like pose—referred to as the gestalt—that exceeds the individual parts of which it is formed. This would suggest that form is in itself immobility and that perception is what is needed to make form mobile; as gestalt the plastinated body is spatially immobilised, yet it gives birth to a body that comes alive in perception-movement. Once again I think that Bergson could help us to think through this relation, a relation that is conceived here as a difference between form-as-stillness and formation-as-movement:Life is an evolution. We concentrate a period of this evolution in a stable view which we call a form, and, when the change has become considerable enough to overcome the fortunate inertia of our perception, we say that the body has changed its form. But in reality the body is changing form at every moment; or rather, there is no form, since form is immobile and the reality is movement. What is real is the continual change of form; form is only a snapshot view of a transition (Bergson, Creative Evolution 328, emphasis in original).In other words there is a form that is relative to human perception, but there is “underneath” this form nothing but a continuous formation or becoming as Bergson would have it. For our purposes the formation of the gestalt plastinate is an achievement that makes perceptible the possibility of divergent or co-existent durations; the plastinate belongs to a temporal rhythm that even though it coincides with ours is not identical to it.Movement and Trans-formation So what kind of a strange entity is it that emerges out of this transformation, through which organic materials are partly replaced with plastic? Compared with a living body or a mourned cadaver, it is first and foremost an entity that no longer is subject to the continuous evolution of time. In this sense the plastinate is similar to cryogenetical bodies (Doyle, Wetwares), or to Ötzi the ice man (Spindler, Man in the ice)—bodies that resist the temporal logic according to which things are in constant motion. The processes of composition and decomposition that every living organism undergoes at every instant have been radically interrupted.However, plastinates are not forever fixed, motionless and eternally enduring objects. As Walter points out, plastinated cadavers are expected to “remain stable” for approximately 4000 years (606). Thus, the plastinate has become solidified and stabilized according to a different pattern of duration than that of the decaying human body. There is a tension here between permanence and change, between bodies that endure and a body that decomposes. Maybe as when summer, which is full of life and energy, turns into winter, which is still and seemingly without life. It reminds us of Nietzsche's Zarathustra and the winter doctrine: When the water is spanned by planks, when bridges and railings leap over the river, verily those are believed who say, “everything is in flux. . .” But when the winter comes . . . , then verily, not only the blockheads say, “Does not everything stand still?” “At bottom everything stands still.”—that is truly a winter doctrine (Bennett and Connolly 150). So we encounter the paradox of how to accommodate motion within stillness and stillness within motion: if everything is in continuous movement, how can there be stillness and regularity (and vice versa)? An interesting example of such temporal interruption is described by Giorgio Agamben who invokes an example with a tick that was kept alive, in a state of hibernation, for 18 years without nourishment (47). During those years this tick had ceased to exist in time, it existed only in extended space. There are of course differences between the tick and von Hagens’s plastinates—one difference being that the plastinates are not only dead but also plastic and inorganic—but the analogy points us to the idea of producing the conditions of possibility for eternal, timeless (and, by implication, motionless) bodies. If movement and change are thought of as spatial, as in Zeno’s paradox, here they have become temporal: movement happens in and because of time and not in space. The technique of plastination and the plastinates themselves emerge as processes of a-temporalisation and re-spatialisation of the body. The body is displaced—pulled out of time and history—and becomes a Cartesian body located entirely in the coordinates of extended space. As Ian Hacking suggests, plastinates are “Cartesian, extended, occupying space. Plastinated organs and corpses are odourless: like the Cartesian body, they can be seen but not smelt” (15).Interestingly, Body Worlds purports to show the inner workings of the human body. However, what visitors experience is not the working but the being. They do not see what the body does, its activities over time; rather, they see what it is, in space. Conversely, von Hagens wishes to “make us aware of our physical nature, our nature within us” (Kuppers 127), but the nature that we become aware of is not the messy, smelly and fluid nature of bodily interiors. Rather we encounter the still nature of Zarathustra’s winter landscape, a landscape in which the passage of time has come to a halt. As Walter concludes “the Body Worlds experience is primarily visual, spatial, static and odourless” (619).Still in Constant MotionAnd yet...Body Worlds moves us. If not for the fact that these plastinates and their creator strike us as gruesome, horrific and controversial, then because these bodies that we encounter touch us and we them. The sensation of movement, in and through the exhibition, is about this tension between being struck, touched or moved by a body that is radically foreign and yet strangely familiar to us. The resonant and reverberating movement that connects us with it is expressed through that (in)ability to accommodate motion in stillness, and stillness in motion. For whereas the plastinates are immobilised in space, they move in time and in experience. As Nigel Thrift puts it The body is in constant motion. Even at rest, the body is never still. As bodies move they trace out a path from one location to another. These paths constantly intersect with those of others in a complex web of biographies. These others are not just human bodies but also all other objects that can be described as trajectories in time-space: animals, machines, trees, dwellings, and so on (Thrift 8).This understanding of the body as being in constant motion stretches beyond the idea of a body that literally moves in physical space; it stresses the processual intertwining of subjects and objects through space-times that are enduring and evolving. The paradoxical nature of the relation between bodies in motion and bodies at rest is obviously far from exhausted through the brief exemplification that I have tried to provide here. Therefore I must end here and let someone else, better suited for this task, explain what it is that I wish to have said. We are hardly conscious of anything metaphorical when we say of one picture or of a story that it is dead, and of another that it has life. To explain just what we mean when we say this, is not easy. Yet the consciousness that one thing is limp, that another one has the heavy inertness of inanimate things, while another seems to move from within arises spontaneously. There must be something in the object that instigates it (Dewey 182). References Agamben, Giorgio. The Open. Trans. Kevin Attell. Stanford: Stanford U P, 2004.Bennett, Jane, and William Connolly. “Contesting Nature/Culture.” Journal of Nietzsche Studies 24 (2002) 148-163.Benthien, Claudia. Skin: On the Cultural Border Between Self and the World. Trans. Thomas Dunlap. New York: Columbia U P, 2002. California Science Center. “Summary of Ethical Review.” 10 Jan. 2009.Bergson, Henri. The Creative Mind. Trans. Mabelle Andison. Mineola: Dover, 2007. –––. Creative Evolution. Trans. Arthur Mitchell. New York: Cosimo Classics, 2005Deleuze, Gilles. Spinoza: Practical Philosophy. Trans. Robert Hurley. San Francisco: City Lights, 1988.Dewey, John. Art as Experience. New York: Perigee, 2005.Doyle, Richard. Wetwares. Minnesota: Minnesota U P, 2003.Hacking, Ian. “The Cartesian Body.” Biosocieties 1 (2006) 13-15.Hirschauer, Stefan. “Animated Corpses: Communicating with Post Mortals in an Anatomical Exhibition.” Body & Society 12.4 (2006) 25-52.Kuppers, Petra. “Visions of Anatomy: Exhibitions and Dense Bodies.” differences 15.3 (2004) 123-156.Manning, Erin. Politics of Touch: Sense, Movement, Sovereignty. Minnesota: Minnesota UP, 2007. Spindler, Konrad. The Man in the Ice. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1994.Thrift, Nigel. Spatial Formations. London: Sage, 1996.Von Hagens, Gunther, and Angelina Whalley. Body Worlds: The Original Exhibition of Real Human Bodies. Heidelberg: Institute for Plastination, 2008.Walter, Tony. “Plastination for Display: A New Way to Dispose of the Dead.” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 10.3 (2004) 603-627.

Abstract The case A 58–year–old man presented to ED because of fever, non–productive cough and worsening dyspnea. The patient’s medical history was unremarkable. On examination there was a hypoxic respiratory failure and the clinical picture rapidly evolved towards a cardiogenic shock characterized by altered mental status and cool extremities. Vital parameters: peripheral blood pressure was of 60/30 mmHg, pulse rate of 126 bpm, respiratory rate of 30 breaths/min, temperature of 38 °C. Two episodes of ventricular fibrillation were resolved by electrical shocks. The nasopharyngeal swab tested positive for COVID–19 on real–time reverse transcriptase–polymerase chain reaction assay. Arterial blood gas analysis showed a severe metabolic acidosis with hyperlactacidaemia (pH 7.26, excess basis–22 mEq/L, lactates 10 mmol/dL) and hypoxaemia. Situation evolved towards an end–organ hypoperfusion associated with multisystem organ failure (MOF). High resolution chest CT demonstrated bilateral ground glass opacities consisting of COVID–19 related interstitial pneumonia. 12–leads ECG demonstrated sinus rhythm with diffuse concave ST–segment elevation. T–T echocardiogram showed: 1) severely thickened LV walls; 2) decreased LV systolic function; 3) segmental wall motion abnormalities consisting of akinesis of the LV distal segments with relatively preserved function at the base; 4) LVEF) of 25%; 5) pericardial effusion. Thickened LV walls meant myocardial inflammatory infiltration/edema and the final diagnosis was FULMINANT COVID–19 related MYOCARDITIS. Patient underwent oro–tracheal intubation+invasive ventilation. An intra–aortic balloon pump (IABP) was placed on top of adrenaline (0.07μg/kg/min), and noradrenaline (0.1μg/kg/min) was added for worsening hypotension (systolic blood pressure: 80/67/60 mmHg). Additional therapy consisted of intravenous high dose diuretics, methyprednisolone, tucilizumab, immunoglobulin, ceftriaxone, remdesivir. After 3 weeks, patient recovered a good respiratory and haemodinamic status, LV wall thicknesses decreased and EF increased to normal values. The final outcome was favorable. Discussion The prevalence of fulminant myocarditis among COVID–19 patients is unclear. This simultaneous presentation of fulminant myocarditis and COVID–19 pneumonia favors an alternative pathogenetic pathway with possible acute replication and direct dissemination of the virus through the blood or the lymphatic system from the respiratory tract to the myocardium.

Pastoral as a kind of poetry is a paradoxical combination of apparent naïveté and sophistication; William Empson refers to ‘the pastoral process of putting the complex into the simple’. The pastoral landscape in its more ideal moments is the stage for simple country folk who lead an easy and uncomplicated life. But landscape and shepherds appear in poems written by sophisticated poets, whose self-consciousness weighs heavily on the figures who speak in their poems. The picture of an idyllic world often conjured up by the words ‘pastoral’ or ‘bucolic’ is a trivializing and selective simplification of the full reading experience offered by the Eclogues. That simple image is presented to the reader in the first five lines of Eclogue 1 in Meliboeus’ description of his friend Tityrus’ happy situation: Tityrus reclines at ease in the shadow of a tree, composing ‘woodland music’ on his rustic pipe and teaching the sympathetic woods to echo the name of his girlfriend Amaryllis. But this description frames Meliboeus’ statement of his own plight: in contrast to his settled friend he is in motion, away from the boundaries of the idyllic Never Never Land, which in line 3 is already redefined with the very Roman word patria. Eclogue 1 quickly bursts the limits of a simple and timeless bucolicism to encompass the historical and social realities of the city of Rome, in the course of a brief exchange of experiences past and anticipated in which the humble herdsman Tityrus meets a man-god, and the smallholder Meliboeus foresees an exile as far distant as Britain (1.66), the limit of Julius Caesar’s imperialist adventuring a decade and a half before the time of composition. The first Eclogue is typical of the collection as a whole in this testing of limits and in the recurrent thwarting of the desire for fulfilment in an enclosed locus amoenus or ‘green cabinet’. Much of the energy and interest of the Eclogues derives from the constant tension between the limiting case of a static pastoral ‘idyll’ and the forces that threaten to destabilize the idyll.

‘Complex(ity)’ is currently fashionable in the humanities. Fashions come and go, but in this article I argue that the interest in complexity connects with something deeper, an intellectual revolution that began before complexity became trendy, and will continue after the spotlight passes on. Yet to make this case, and understand and advance this revolution, we need a better take on ‘complexity’. ‘Complex’ is of course complex. In common use it refers to something ‘composed of many interrelated parts’, or problems ‘so complicated or intricate as to be hard to deal with’. I will call this popular meaning, with its positive and negative values, complexity-1. In science it has a more negative sense, complexity-2, referring to the presenting complexity of problems, which science will strip down to underlying simplicity. But recently it has developed positive meanings in both science and humanities. Complexity-3 marks a revolutionarily more positive attitude to complexity in science that does seek to be reductive. Humanities-style complexity-4, which acknowledges and celebrates the inherent complexity of texts and meanings, is basic in contemporary Media and Cultural studies (MaC for short). The underlying root of complex is plico bend or fold, plus con- together, via complector grasp (something), encompass an idea, or person. The double of ‘complex’ is ‘simple’, from Latin simplex, which less obviously also comes from plico, plus semel once, at the same time. ‘Simple’ and ‘complex’ are closer than people think: only a fold or two apart. A key idea is that these elements are interdependent, parts of a single underlying form. ‘Simple(x)’ is another modality of ‘complex’, dialectically related, different in degree not kind, not absolutely opposite. The idea of ‘holding together’ is stronger in Latin complex, the idea of difficulty more prominent in modern usage, yet the term still includes both. The concept ‘complex’ is untenable apart from ‘simple’. This figure maps the basic structures in ‘complexity’. This complexity contains both positive and negative values, science and non-science, academic and popular meanings, with folds/differences and relationships so dynamically related that no aspect is totally independent. This complex field is the minimum context in which to explore claims about a ‘complexity revolution’. Complexity in Science and Humanities In spite of the apparent similarities between Complexity-3 (sciences) and 4 (humanities), in practice a gulf separates them, policed from both sides. If these sides do not talk to each other, as they often do not, the result is not a complex meaning for ‘complex’, but a semantic war-zone. These two forms of complexity connect and collide because they reach into a new space where discourses of science and non-science are interacting more than they have for many years. For many, in both academic communities, a strong, taken-for-granted mindset declares the difference between them is absolute. They assume that if ‘complexity’ exists in science, it must mean something completely different from what it means in humanities or everyday discourse, so different as to be incomprehensible or unusable by humanists. This terrified defence of the traditional gulf between sciences and humanities is not the clinching argument these critics think. On the contrary, it symptomises what needs to be challenged, via the concept complex. One influential critic of this split was Lord Snow, who talked of ‘two cultures’. Writing in class-conscious post-war Britain he regretted the ignorance of humanities-trained ruling elites about basic science, and scientists’ ignorance of humanities. No-one then or now doubts there is a problem. Most MaC students have a science-light education, and feel vulnerable to critiques which say they do not need to know any science or maths, including complexity science, and could not understand it anyway. To understand how this has happened I go back to the 17th century rise of ‘modern science’. The Royal Society then included the poet Dryden as well as the scientist Newton, but already the fissure between science and humanities was emerging in the elite, re-enforcing existing gaps between both these and technology. The three forms of knowledge and their communities continued to develop over the next 400 years, producing the education system which formed most of us, the structure of academic knowledges in which culture, technology and science form distinct fields. Complexity has been implicated in this three-way split. Influenced by Newton’s wonderful achievement, explaining so much (movements of earthly and heavenly bodies) with so little (three elegant laws of motion, one brief formula), science defined itself as a reductive practice, in which complexity was a challenge. Simplicity was the sign of a successful solution, altering the older reciprocity between simplicity and complexity. The paradox was ignored that proof involved highly complex mathematics, as anyone who reads Newton knows. What science held onto was the outcome, a simplicity then retrospectively attributed to the universe itself, as its true nature. Simplicity became a core quality in the ontology of science, with complexity-2 the imperfection which challenged and provoked science to eliminate it. Humanities remained a refuge for a complexity ontology, in which both problems and solutions were irreducibly complex. Because of the dominance of science as a form of knowing, the social sciences developed a reductivist approach opposing traditional humanities. They also waged bitter struggles against anti-reductionists who emerged in what was called ‘social theory’. Complexity-4 in humanities is often associated with ‘post-structuralism’, as in Derrida, who emphasises the irreducible complexity of every text and process of meaning, or ‘postmodernism’, as in Lyotard’s controversial, influential polemic. Lyotard attempted to take the pulse of contemporary Western thought. Among trends he noted were new forms of science, new relationships between science and humanities, and a new kind of logic pervading all branches of knowledge. Not all Lyotard’s claims have worn well, but his claim that something really important is happening in the relationship between kinds and institutions of knowledge, especially between sciences and humanities, is worth serious attention. Even classic sociologists like Durkheim recognised that the modern world is highly complex. Contemporary sociologists agree that ‘globalisation’ introduces new levels of complexity in its root sense, interconnections on a scale never seen before. Urry argues that the hyper-complexity of the global world requires a complexity approach, combining complexity-3 and 4. Lyotard’s ‘postmodernism’ has too much baggage, including dogmatic hostility to science. Humanities complexity-4 has lost touch with the sceptical side of popular complexity-1, and lacks a dialectic relationship with simplicity. ‘Complexity’, incorporating Complexity-1 and 3, popular and scientific, made more complex by incorporating humanities complexity-4, may prove a better concept for thinking creatively and productively about these momentous changes. Only complex complexity in the approach, flexible and interdisciplinary, can comprehend these highly complex new objects of knowledge. Complexity and the New Condition of Science Some important changes in the way science is done are driven not from above, by new theories or discoveries, but by new developments in social contexts. Gibbons and Nowottny identify new forms of knowledge and practice, which they call ‘mode-2 knowledge’, emerging alongside older forms. Mode-1 is traditional academic knowledge, based in universities, organised in disciplines, relating to real-life problems at one remove, as experts to clients or consultants to employers. Mode-2 is orientated to real life problems, interdisciplinary and collaborative, producing provisional, emergent knowledge. Gibbons and Nowottny do not reference postmodernism but are looking at Lyotard’s trends as they were emerging in practice 10 years later. They do not emphasise complexity, but the new objects of knowledge they address are fluid, dynamic and highly complex. They emphasise a new scale of interdisciplinarity, in collaborations between academics across all disciplines, in science, technology, social sciences and humanities, though they do not see a strong role for humanities. This approach confronts and welcomes irreducible complexity in object and methods. It takes for granted that real-life problems will always be too complex (with too many factors, interrelated in too many ways) to be reduced to the sort of problem that isolated disciplines could handle. The complexity of objects requires equivalent complexity in responses; teamwork, using networks, drawing on relevant knowledge wherever it is to be found. Lyotard famously and foolishly predicted the death of the ‘grand narrative’ of science, but Gibbons and Nowottny offer a more complex picture in which modes-1 and 2 will continue alongside each other in productive dialectic. The linear form of science Lyotard attacked is stronger than ever in some ways, as ‘Big Science’, which delivers wealth and prestige to disciplinary scientists, accessing huge funds to solve highly complex problems with a reductionist mindset. But governments also like the idea of mode-2 knowledge, under whatever name, and try to fund it despite resistance from powerful mode-1 academics. Moreover, non-reductionist science in practice has always been more common than the dominant ideology allowed, whether or not its exponents, some of them eminent scientists, chose to call it ‘complexity’ science. Quantum physics, called ‘the new physics’, consciously departed from the linear, reductionist assumptions of Newtonian physics to project an irreducibly complex picture of the quantum world. Different movements, labelled ‘catastrophe theory’, ‘chaos theory’ and ‘complexity science’, emerged, not a single coherent movement replacing the older reductionist model, but loosely linked by new attitudes to complexity. Instead of seeing chaos and complexity as problems to be removed by analysis, chaos and complexity play a more ambiguous role, as ontologically primary. Disorder and complexity are not later regrettable lapses from underlying essential simplicity and order, but potentially creative resources, to be understood and harnessed, not feared, controlled, eliminated. As a taste of exciting ideas on complexity, barred from humanities MaC students by the general prohibition on ‘consorting with the enemy’ (science), I will outline three ideas, originally developed in complexity-3, which can be described in ways requiring no specialist knowledge or vocabulary, beyond a Mode-2 openness to dynamic, interdisciplinary engagement. Fractals, a term coined by mathematician Benoit Mandelbrot, are so popular as striking shapes produced by computer-graphics, circulated on T-shirts, that they may seem superficial, unscientific, trendy. They exist at an intersection between science, media and culture, and their complexity includes transactions across that folded space. The name comes from Latin fractus, broken: irregular shapes like broken shards, which however have their own pattern. Mandelbrot claims that in nature, many such patterns partly repeat on different scales. When this happens, he says, objects on any one scale will have equivalent complexity. Part of this idea is contained in Blake’s famous line: ‘To see the world in a grain of sand’. The importance of the principle is that it fundamentally challenges reductiveness. Nor is it as unscientific as it may sound. Geologists indeed see grains of sand under a microscope as highly complex. In sociology, instead of individuals (literal meaning ‘cannot be divided’) being the minimally simple unit of analysis, individuals can be understood to be as complex (e.g. with multiple identities, linked with many other social beings) as groups, classes or nations. There is no level where complexity disappears. A second concept is ‘fuzzy logic’, invented by an engineer, Zadeh. The basic idea is not unlike the literary critic Empson’s ‘ambiguity’, the sometimes inexhaustible complexity of meanings in great literature. Zadeh’s contribution was to praise the inherent ambiguity and ambiguity of natural languages as a resource for scientists and engineers, making them better, not worse, for programming control systems. Across this apparently simple bridge have flowed many fuzzy machines, more effective than their over-precise brothers. Zadeh crystallised this wisdom in his ‘Principle of incompatibility’: As the complexity of a system increases, our ability to make precise and yet significant statements about its behaviour decreases until a threshold is reached beyond which precision and significance (or relevance) become almost mutually exclusive characteristics (28) Something along these lines is common wisdom in complexity-1. For instance, under the headline “Law is too complex for juries to understand, says judge” (Dick 4), the Chief Justice of Australia, Murray Gleeson, noted a paradox of complexity, that attempts to improve a system by increasing its complexity make it worse (meaningless or irrelevant, as Zadeh said). The system loses its complexity in another sense, that it no longer holds together. My third concept is the ‘Butterfly Effect’, a name coined by Lorenz. The butterfly was this scientist’s poetic fantasy, an imagined butterfly that flaps its wings somewhere on the Andes, and introduces a small change in the weather system that triggers a hurricane in Montana, or Beijing. This idea is another riff on the idea that complex situations are not reducible to component elements. Every cause is so complex that we can never know in advance just what factor will operate in a given situation, or what its effects might be across a highly complex system. Travels in Complexity I will now explore these issues with reference to a single example, or rather, a nested set of examples, each (as in fractal theory) equivalently complex, yet none identical at any scale. I was travelling in a train from Penrith to Sydney in New South Wales in early 2006 when I read a publicity text from NSW State Rail which asked me: ‘Did you know that delays at Sydenham affect trains to Parramatta? Or that a sick passenger on a train at Berowra can affect trains to Penrith?’ No, I did not know that. As a typical commuter I was impressed, and even more so as an untypical commuter who knows about complexity science. Without ostentatious reference to sources in popular science, NSW Rail was illustrating Lorenz’s ‘butterfly effect’. A sick passenger is prosaic, a realistic illustration of the basic point, that in a highly complex system, a small change in one part, so small that no-one could predict it would matter, can produce a massive, apparently unrelated change in another part. This text was part of a publicity campaign with a scientific complexity-3 subtext, which ran in a variety of forms, in their website, in notices in carriages, on the back of tickets. I will use a complexity framework to suggest different kinds of analysis and project which might interest MaC students, applicable to objects that may not refer to be complexity-3. The text does two distinct things. It describes a planning process, and is part of a publicity program. The first, simplifying movement of Mode-1 analysis would see this difference as projecting two separate objects for two different specialists: a transport expert for the planning, a MaC analyst for the publicity, including the image. Unfortunately, as Zadeh warned, in complex conditions simplification carries an explanatory cost, producing descriptions that are meaningless or irrelevant, even though common sense (complexity-1) says otherwise. What do MaC specialists know about rail systems? What do engineers know about publicity? But collaboration in a mode-2 framework does not need extensive specialist knowledge, only enough to communicate with others. MaC specialists have a fuzzy knowledge of their own and other areas of knowledge, attuned by Humanities complexity-4 to tolerate uncertainty. According to the butterfly principle it would be foolish to wish our University education had equipped us with the necessary other knowledges. We could never predict what precise items of knowledge would be handy from our formal and informal education. The complexity of most mode-2 problems is so great that we cannot predict in advance what we will need to know. MaC is already a complex field, in which ‘Media’ and ‘Culture’ are fuzzy terms which interact in different ways. Media and other organisations we might work with are often imbued with linear forms of thought (complexity-2), and want simple answers to simple questions about complex systems. For instance, MaC researchers might be asked as consultants to determine the effect of this message on typical commuters. That form of analysis is no longer respectable in complexity-4 MaC studies. Old-style (complexity-2) effects-research modelled Senders, Messages and Receivers to measure effects. Standard research methods of complexity-2 social sciences might test effects of the message by a survey instrument, with a large sample to allow statistically significant results. Using this, researchers could claim to know whether the publicity campaign had its desired effect on its targeted demographic: presumably inspiring confidence in NSW Rail. However, each of these elements is complex, and interactions between them, and others that don’t enter into the analysis, create further levels of complexity. To manage this complexity, MaC analysts often draw on Foucault’s authority to use ‘discourse’ to simplify analysis. This does not betray the principle of complexity. Complexity-4 needs a simplicity-complexity dialectic. In this case I propose a ‘complexity discourse’ to encapsulate the complex relations between Senders, Receivers and Messages into a single word, which can then be related to other such elements (e.g. ‘publicity discourse’). In this case complexity-3 can also be produced by attending to details of elements in the S-M-R chain, combining Derridean ‘deconstruction’ with expert knowledge of the situation. This Sender may be some combination of engineers and planners, managers who commissioned the advertisement, media professionals who carried it out. The message likewise loses its unity as its different parts decompose into separate messages, leaving the transaction a fraught, unpredictable encounter between multiple messages and many kinds of reader and sender. Alongside its celebration of complexity-3, this short text runs another message: ‘untangling our complex rail network’. This is complexity-2 from science and engineering, where complexity is only a problem to be removed. A fuller text on the web-site expands this second strand, using bullet points and other signals of a linear approach. In this text, there are 5 uses of ‘reliable’, 6 uses of words for problems of complexity (‘bottlenecks’, ‘delays’, ‘congestion’), and 6 uses of words for the new system (‘simpler’, ‘independent’). ‘Complex’ is used twice, both times negatively. In spite of the impression given by references to complexity-3, this text mostly has a reductionist attitude to complexity. Complexity is the enemy. Then there is the image. Each line is a different colour, and they loop in an attractive way, seeming to celebrate graceful complexity-2. Yet this part of the image is what is going to be eliminated by the new program’s complexity-2. The interesting complexity of the upper part of the image is what the text declares is the problem. What are commuters meant to think? And Railcorp? This media analysis identifies a fissure in the message, which reflects a fissure in the Sender-complex. It also throws up a problem in the culture that produced such interesting allusions to complexity science, but has linear, reductionist attitudes to complexity in its practice. We can ask: where does this cultural problem go, in the organisation, in the interconnected system and bureaucracy it manages? Is this culture implicated in the problems the program is meant to address? These questions are more productive if asked in a collaborative mode-2 framework, with an organisation open to such questions, with complex researchers able to move between different identities, as media analyst, cultural analyst, and commuter, interested in issues of organisation and logistics, engaged with complexity in all senses. I will continue my imaginary mode-2 collaboration with Railcorp by offering them another example of fractal analysis, looking at another instant, captured in a brief media text. On Wednesday 14 March, 2007, two weeks before a State government election, a very small cause triggered a systems failure in the Sydney network. A small carbon strip worth $44 which was not properly attached properly threw Sydney’s transport network into chaos on Wednesday night, causing thousands of commuters to be trapped in trains for hours. (Baker and Davies 7) This is an excellent example of a butterfly effect, but it is not labelled as such, nor regarded positively in this complexity-1 framework. ‘Chaos’ signifies something no-one wants in a transport system. This is popular not scientific reductionism. The article goes on to tell the story of one passenger, Mark MacCauley, a quadriplegic left without power or electricity in a train because the lift was not working. He rang City Rail, and was told that “someone would be in touch in 3 to 5 days” (Baker and Davies 7). He then rang emergency OOO, and was finally rescued by contractors “who happened to be installing a lift at North Sydney” (Baker and Davies 7). My new friends at NSW Rail would be very unhappy with this story. It would not help much to tell them that this is a standard ‘human interest’ article, nor that it is more complex than it looks. For instance, MacCauley is not typical of standard passengers who usually concern complexity-2 planners of rail networks. He is another butterfly, whose specific needs would be hard to predict or cater for. His rescue is similarly unpredictable. Who would have predicted that these contractors, with their specialist equipment, would be in the right place at the right time to rescue him? Complexity provided both problem and solution. The media’s double attitude to complexity, positive and negative, complexity-1 with a touch of complexity-3, is a resource which NSW Rail might learn to use, even though it is presented with such hostility here. One lesson of the complexity is that a tight, linear framing of systems and problems creates or exacerbates problems, and closes off possible solutions. In the problem, different systems didn’t connect: social and material systems, road and rail, which are all ‘media’ in McLuhan’s highly fuzzy sense. NSW Rail communication systems were cumbrously linear, slow (3 to 5 days) and narrow. In the solution, communication cut across institutional divisions, mediated by responsive, fuzzy complex humans. If the problem came from a highly complex system, the solution is a complex response on many fronts: planning, engineering, social and communication systems open to unpredictable input from other surrounding systems. As NSW Rail would have been well aware, the story responded to another context. The page was headed ‘Battle for NSW’, referring to an election in 2 weeks, in which this newspaper editorialised that the incumbent government should be thrown out. This political context is clearly part of the complexity of the newspaper message, which tries to link not just the carbon strip and ‘chaos’, but science and politics, this strip and the government’s credibility. Yet the government was returned with a substantial though reduced majority, not the swingeing defeat that might have been predicted by linear logic (rail chaos = electoral defeat) or by some interpretations of the butterfly effect. But complexity-3 does not say that every small cause produces catastrophic effects. On the contrary, it says that causal situations can be so complex that we can never be entirely sure what effects will follow from any given case. The political situation in all its complexity is an inseparable part of the minimal complex situation which NSW Rail must take into account as it considers how to reform its operations. It must make complexity in all its senses a friend and ally, not just a source of nasty surprises. My relationship with NSW Rail at the moment is purely imaginary, but illustrates positive and negative aspects of complexity as an organising principle for MaC researchers today. The unlimited complexity of Humanities’ complexity-4, Derridean and Foucauldian, can be liberating alongside the sometimes excessive scepticism of Complexity-2, but needs to keep in touch with the ambivalence of popular complexity-1. Complexity-3 connects with complexity-2 and 4 to hold the bundle together, in a more complex, cohesive, yet still unstable dynamic structure. It is this total sprawling, inchoate, contradictory (‘complex’) brand of complexity that I believe will play a key role in the up-coming intellectual revolution. But only time will tell. References Baker, Jordan, and Anne Davies. “Carbon Strip Caused Train Chaos.” Sydney Morning Herald 17 Mar. 2007: 7. Derrida, Jacques. Of Grammatology. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins, 1976. Dick, Tim. “Law Is Now Too Complex for Juries to Understand, Says Judge.” Sydney Morning Herald 26 Mar. 2007: 4. Empson, William. Seven Types of Ambiguity. London: Chatto and Windus, 1930. Foucault, Michel. “The Order of Discourse.” In Archaeology of Knowledge, trans. A.M Sheridan Smith. London: Tavistock, 1972. Gibbons, Michael. The New Production of Knowledge. London: Sage, 1994. Lorenz, Edward. The Essence of Chaos. London: University College, 1993. Lyotard, Jean-Francois. The Postmodern Condition. Manchester: Manchester UP, 1984. McLuhan, Marshall. Understanding Media. London: Routledge, 1964. Mandelbrot, Benoit. “The Fractal Geometry of Nature.” In Nina Hall, ed. The New Scientist Guide to Chaos. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1963. Nowottny, Henry. Rethinking Science. London: Polity, 2001. Snow, Charles Percy. The Two Cultures and the Scientific Revolution. London: Faber 1959. Urry, John. Global Complexity. London: Sage, 2003. Zadeh, Lotfi Asker. “Outline of a New Approach to the Analysis of Complex Systems and Decision Processes.” ILEE Transactions on Systems, Man, and Cybernetics 3.1 (1973): 28-44. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Hodge, Bob. "The Complexity Revolution." M/C Journal 10.3 (2007). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0706/01-hodge.php>. APA Style Hodge, B. (Jun. 2007) "The Complexity Revolution," M/C Journal, 10(3). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0706/01-hodge.php>.

I want to argue here that the use of terms like “disabled” has very concrete and practical consequences; such language choices are significant and constitutive, not simply the abstract subject of a theoretical debate or a “politically correct” storm in a teacup. In this paper I want to examine some significant moments of conflict over and resistance to definitions of “disability” in an arts project, “In the Picture”, run by one of the UK’s largest disability charities, Scope. In the words of its webpages, this project “aims to encourage publishers, illustrators and writers to embrace diversity - so that disabled children are included alongside others in illustrations and story lines in books for young readers” (http://www.childreninthepicture.org.uk/aboutus.htm). It sought to raise awareness of “ableism” in the book world and through its webpage, offer practical advice and examples of how to include disabled children in illustrated children’s books. From 2005 to 2007, I tracked the progress of the project’s Stories strand, which sought to generate exemplary inclusive narratives by drawing on the experiences of disabled people and families of disabled children. My research drew on participant observation and interviews, but also creative audience research — a process where, in the words of David Gauntlett, “participants are asked to create media or artistic artefacts themselves.” Consequently, when I’m talking here about definitions of “disability’, I am discussing not just the ways people talk about what the word “disabled” might mean, but also the ways in which such identities might appear in images. These definitions made a real difference to those participating in various parts of the project and the types of inclusive stories they produced. Scope has been subject to substantial critique from the disability movement in the past (Benjamin; Carvel; Shakespeare, "Sweet Charity"). “In the Picture” was part of an attempt to resituate the charity as a campaigning organization (Benjamin; O’Hara), with the campaign’s new slogan “Time to get Equal” appearing prominently at the top of each page of the project’s website. As a consequence the project espoused the social model of disability, with its shift in focus from individual peoples’ bodily differences, towards the exclusionary and unequal society that systematically makes those differences meaningful. This shift in focus generates, some have argued, a performative account of disability as an identity (Sandhal; Breivik). It’s not simply that non-normative embodiment or impairment can be (and often is) acquired later in life, meaning that non-disabled people are perhaps best referred to as TABs — the “temporarily able bodied” (Duncan, Goggin and Newell). More significantly, what counts as a “disabled person” is constituted in particular social, physical and economic environments. Changing that environment can, in essence, create a disabled person, or make a person cease to be dis-abled. I will argue that, within the “In the Picture” project, this radically constructionist vision of disablement often rubbed against more conventional understandings of the term “disabled people”. In the US, the term “people with disabilities” is favoured as a label, because of its “people first” emphasis, as well as its identification of an oppressed minority group (Haller, Dorries and Rahn, 63; Shakespeare, Disability Rights). In contrast, those espousing the social model of disability in the UK tend to use the phrase “disabled people”. This latter term can flag the fact that disability is not something emanating from individuals’ bodily differences, but a social process by which inaccessible environments disable particular people (Oliver, Politics). From this point of view the phrase “people with disabilities” might appear to ascribe the disability to the individual rather than the society — it suggests that it is the people who “have” the disability, not the society which disables. As Helen Meekosha has pointed out, Australian disability studies draws on both US civil rights languages and the social model as understood in the UK. While I’ve chosen to adopt the British turn of phrase here, the broader concept from an Australian point of view, is that the use of particular sets of languages is no simple key to the perspectives adopted by individual speakers. My observations suggest that the key phrase used in the project — “ disabled people” — is one that, we might say, “passes”. To someone informed by the social model it clearly highlights a disabling society. However, it is a phrase that can be used without obvious miscommunication to talk to people who have not been exposed to the social model. Someone who subscribes to a view of “disability” as impairment, as a medical condition belonging to an individual, might readily use the term “disabled people”. The potentially radical implications of this phrase are in some ways hidden, unlike rival terms like “differently abled”, which might be greeted with mockery in some quarters (eg. Purvis; Parris). This “passing” phrase did important work for the “In the Picture” project. As many disability activists have pointed out, “charity” and “concern” for disabled people is a widely espoused value, playing a range of important psychic roles in an ableist society (eg. Longmore; Hevey). All the more evocative is a call to support disabled children, a favoured object of the kinds of telethons and other charitable events which Longmore discusses. In the words of Rosemarie Garland Thomson, the sentimentality often used in charity advertising featuring children “contains disability’s threat in the sympathetic, helpless child for whom the viewer is empowered to act” (Garland Thomson, 63). In calling for publishers to produce picture books which included disabled children, the project had invested in this broad appeal — who could argue against such an agenda? The project has been successful, for example, in recruiting support from many well known children’s authors and illustrators, including Quentin Blake and Dame Jackie Wilson. The phrase “disabled children”, I would argue, smoothed the way for such successes by enabling the project to graft progressive ideas —about the need for adequate representation of a marginalized group — onto existing conceptions of an imagined recipient needing help from an already constituted group of willing givers. So what were the implications of using the phrase “disabled children” for the way the project unfolded? The capacity of this phrase to refer to both a social model account of disability and more conventional understandings had an impact on the recruitment of participants for writing workshops. Participants were solicited via a range of routes. Some were contacted through the charity’s integrated pre-school and the networks of the social workers working beside it. The workshops were also advertised via a local radio show, through events run by the charity for families of disabled people, through a notice in the Disabled Parents site, and announcements on the local disability arts e- newsletter. I am interested in the way that those who heard about the workshops might have been hailed by —or resisted the lure of — those labels “disabled person” or “parent of a disabled child” or at least the meaning of those labels when used by a large disability charity. For example, despite a workshop appearing on the programme of Northwest Disability Arts’ Deaf and Disability Arts Festival, no Deaf participants became involved in the writing workshops. Some politicised Deaf communities frame their identities as an oppressed linguistic minority of sign language users, rather than as disabled people (Corker; Ladd). As such, I would suggest that they are not hailed by the call to “disabled people” with which the project was framed, despite the real absence of children’s books drawing on Deaf culture and its rich tradition of visual communication (Saunders; Conlon and Napier). Most of those who attended were (non-disabled) parents or grandparents of disabled children, rather than disabled people, a fact critiqued by some participants. It’s only possible to speculate about the reasons for this imbalance. Was it the reputation of this charity or charities in general (see Shakespeare, "Sweet Charity") amongst politicised disabled people that discouraged attendance? A shared perspective with those within the British disabled peoples’ movement who emphasise the overwhelming importance of material changes in employment, education, transport rather than change in the realm of “attitudes” (eg Oliver, Politics)? Or was it the association of disabled people undertaking creative activities with a patronising therapeutic agenda (eg Hevey, 26)? The “pulling power” of a term even favoured by the British disability movement, it seems, might be heavily dependent on who was using it. Nonetheless, this term did clearly speak to some people. In conversation it emerged that most of those who attended the workshops either had young family members who were disabled or were imbricated in educational and social welfare networks that identified them as “disabled” — for example, by having access to Disability Living Allowance. While most of the disabled children in participants’ families were in mainstream education, most also had an educational “statement” enabling them to access extra resources, or were a part of early intervention programmes. These social and educational institutions had thus already hailed them as “families of disabled children” and as such they recognised themselves in the project’s invitation. Here we can see the social and institutional shaping of what counts as “disabled children” in action. One participant who came via an unusual route into the workshops provides an interesting reflection of the impact of an address to “disabled people”. This man had heard about the workshop because the local charity he ran had offices adjacent to the venue of one of the workshops. He started talking to the workshop facilitator, and as he said in an interview, became interested because “well … she mentioned that it was about disabilities and I’m interested in people’s disabilities – I want to improve conditions for them obviously”. I probed him about the relationship between his interest and his own experiences as a person with dyslexia. While he taught himself to read in his thirties, he described his reading difficulties as having ongoing impacts on his working life. He responded: first of all it wasn’t because I have dyslexia, it was because I’m interested in improving people’s lives in general. So, I mean particularly people who are disabled need more care than most of us don’t they? …. and I’d always help whenever I can, you know what I mean. And then thinking that I had a disability myself! The dramatic double-take at the end of this comment points to the way this respondent positions himself throughout as outside of the category of “disabled”. This self- identification points towards the stigma often attached to the category “disabled”. It also indicates the way in which this category is, at least in part, socially organised, such that people can be in various circumstances located both inside and outside it. In this writer’s account “people who are disabled” are “them” needing “more care than most of us”. Here, rather than identifying as a disabled person, imagined as a recipient of support, he draws upon the powerful discourses of charity in a way that positions him giving to and supporting others. The project appealed to him as a charity worker and as a campaigner, and indeed a number of other participants (both “disabled” and “non-disabled”) framed themselves in this way, looking to use their writing as a fundraising tool, for example, or as a means of promoting more effective inclusive education. The permeability of the category of “disabled” presented some challenges in the attempt to solicit “disabled peoples’” voices within the project. This was evident when completed stories came to be illustrated by design, illustration and multimedia students at four British universities: Liverpool John Moores University, the University of Wolverhampton, the University of Teeside and the North East Wales Institute. Students attending an initial briefing on the project completed a questionnaire which included an item asking whether they considered themselves to be disabled. While around eight of the eighty respondents answered “yes” to this question, the answers of these students and some others were by no means clear cut. A number of students identified themselves as dyslexic, but contested the idea that this diagnosis meant that they were disabled. One respondent commented along similar lines: “My boyfriend was very upset that the university considers him to be disabled because he is dyslexic”. How can we make sense of these responses? We could note again that the identity of “disabled” is highly stigmatised. Many disabled students believe that they are seen as lazy, demanding excessive resources, or even in the case of some students with non- visible impairments, lying (Kleege; Olney and Brockman). So we could view such responses as identity management work. From this point of view, an indicator of the success of the project in shifting some of the stigma attached to the label of “disabled” might be the fact that at least one of the students participants “came out” as dyslexic to her tutors in the course of her participation in the project. The pattern of answers on questionnaire returns suggests that particular teaching strategies and administrative languages shape how students imagine and describe themselves. Liverpool John Moores University, one of the four art schools participating in the project, had a high profile programme seeking to make dyslexic students aware of the technical and writing support available to them if they could present appropriate medical certification (Lowy). Questionnaires from LJMU included the largest number of respondents identifying themselves as both disabled and dyslexic, and featured no comment on any mismatch between these labels. In the interests of obtaining appropriate academic support and drawing on a view of dyslexia not as a deficit but as a learning style offering significant advantages, it might be argued, students with dyslexia at this institution had been taught to recognise themselves through the label “disabled”. This acknowledgement that people sharing some similar experiences might describe themselves in very different ways depending on their context suggests another way of interpreting some students’ equivocal relationship to labels like “dyslexia” and “disabled”. The university as an environment demanding the production of very formal styles of writing and rapid assimilation of a high volume of written texts, is one where particular learning strategies of people with dyslexia come to be disabling. In many peoples’ day to day lives – and perhaps particularly in the day to day lives of visual artists – less conventional ways of processing written information simply may not be disabling. As such, students’ responses might be seen less as resistance to a stigmatised identity and more an acknowledgement of the contingent nature of disablement. Or perhaps we might understand these student responses as a complex mix of both of these perspectives. Disability studies has pointed to the coexistence of contradictory discourses around disability within popular culture (eg, Garland-Thomson; Haller, Dorries and Rahn). Similarly, the friezes, interactive games, animations, illustrated books and stand-alone images which came out of this arts project sometimes incorporate rival conceptions of disability side by side. A number of narratives, for example, include pairs of characters, one of which embodies conventional narratives of disability (for example, being diagnostically labelled or ‘cured’), while the other articulates alternative accounts (celebrating diversity and enabling environments). Both students and staff reported that participation in the project prompted critical thinking about accessible design and inclusive representation. Some commented in interviews that their work on the project had changed their professional practice in ways they thought might have longer term impact on the visual arts. However, it is clear that in student work, just as in the project itself, alternative conceptions of what “disability” might mean were at play, even as reframing such conceptions are explicitly the aim of the enterprise. Such contradictions point towards the difficulties of easily labelling individual stories or indeed the wider project “progressive” or otherwise. Some illustrated narratives and animations created by students were understood by the project management to embody the definitions of “disabled children” within the project’s ten principles. This work was mounted on the website to serve as exemplars for the publishing industry (http://www.childreninthepicture.org.uk/stories.htm). Such decisions were not unreflective, however. There was a good deal of discussion by students and project management about how to make “disabled children” visible without labelling or pathologising. For example, one of the project’s principles is that “images of disabled children should be used casually or incidentally, so that disabled children are portrayed playing and doing things alongside their non- disabled peers” (see also Bookmark). Illustrator Jane Ray commented wryly in an article on the website on her experience of including disabled characters in a such a casual way in her published work that no-one notices it! (Ray). As I’ve discussed in more detail elsewhere (Matthews, forthcoming), the social model, espoused by the project, with its primary focus on barriers to equality rather than individual impaired bodies, presented some challenges to such aims. While both fairytales and, increasingly, contemporary books for young people, do sometimes engage with violence, marginalisation and social conflict (Saunders), there is a powerful imperative to avoid such themes in books for very young children. In trying to re-narrativise disabled children outside conventional paradigms of “bravery overcoming adversity”, the project may have also pushed writers and illustrators away from engaging with barriers to equality. The project manager commented in an interview: “probably in the purest form the social model would show in stories the barriers facing disabled children, whereas we want to show what barriers have been knocked down and turn it round into a more positive thing”. While a handful of the 23 stories emerging from the writing workshops included narratives around bullying and or barriers to equal access, many of the stories chose to envisage more utopian, integrated environments. If it is barriers to inequality that, at least in part, create “disabled people”, then how is it possible to identify disabled children with little reference to such barriers? The shorthand used by many student illustrators, and frequently too in the “images for inspiration” part of the project’s website, has been the inclusion of enabling technologies. A white cane, a wheelchair or assistive and augmentative communication technologies can be included in an image without making a “special” point of these technologies in the written text. The downside to this shorthand, however, is the way that the presence of these technologies can serve to naturalise the category of “disabled children”. Rather than being seen as a group identity constituted by shared experiences of discrimination and exclusion, the use of such “clues” to which characters “are disabled” might suggest that disabled people are a known group, independent of particular social and environmental settings. Using this arts project as a case study, I have traced here some of the ways people are recognised or recognise themselves as “disabled”. I’ve also suggested that within this project other conceptions of what “disabled” might mean existed in the shadows of the social constructionist account to which it declared its allegiances. Given the critiques of the social model which have emerged within disability studies over the last fifteen years (e.g. Crowe; Shakespeare, Disability Rights), this need not be a damning observation. The manager of this arts project, along with writer Mike Oliver ("If I Had"), has suggested that the social model might be used strategically as a means of social transformation rather than a complete account of disabled peoples’ lives. However, my analysis here has suggested that we can not only imagine different ways that “disabled people” might be conceptualised in the future. Rather we can see significant consequences of the different ways that the label “disabled” is mobilised here and now. Its inclusion and exclusions, what it makes it easy to say or difficult to imagine needs careful thinking through. References Benjamin, Alison. “Going Undercover.” The Guardian, Society, April 2004: 8. Bookmark. Quentin Blake Award Project Report: Making Exclusion a Thing of the Past. The Roald Dahl Foundation, 2006. Breivik, Jan Kare. “Deaf Identities: Visible Culture, Hidden Dilemmas and Scattered Belonging.” In H.G. Sicakkan and Y.G. Lithman, eds. What Happens When a Society Is Diverse: Exploring Multidimensional Identities. Lewiston, New York: Edwin Mellen Press, 2006. 75-104. Carvel, John. “Demonstrators Rattle Scope.” The Guardian, Society section, 6 Oct. 2004: 4. Conlon, Caroline, and Jemina Napier. “Developing Auslan Educational Resources: A Process of Effective Translation of Children’s Books.” Deaf Worlds 20.2. (2004): 141-161. Corker, Mairian. Deaf and Disabled or Deafness Disabled. Buckingham: Open University Press, 1998. Crow, Liz. “Including All of Our Lives: Renewing the Social Model of Disability.” In Jenny Morris, ed. Encounters with Strangers: Feminism and Disability. Women’s Press, 1996. 206-227. Davis, John, and Nick Watson. “Countering Stereotypes of Disability: Disabled Children and Resistance.” In Mairian Corker and Tom Shakespeare, eds. Disability/Postmodernity: Embodying Disability Theory. London: Continuum, 2002. 159-174. Duncan, Kath, Gerard Goggin, and Christopher Newell. “Don’t Talk about Me… like I’m Not Here: Disability in Australian National Cinema.” Metro Magazine 146-147 (2005): 152-159. Garland Thomson, Rosemarie. “The Politics of Staring: Visual Rhetorics of Disability in Popular Photography.” In Sharon L. Snyder, Brenda Jo Bruggemann, and Rosemarie Garland Thomson, eds. Disability Studies: Enabling the Humanities. New York: MLAA, 2002. 56-75. Gauntlett, David. “Using Creative Visual Research Methods to Understand Media Audiences.” MedienPädagogik 4.1 (2005). Haller, Beth, Bruce Dorries, and Jessica Rahn. “Media Labeling versus the US Disability Community Identity: A Study of Shifting Cultural Language.” In Disability & Society 21.1 (2006): 61-75. Hevey, David. The Creatures Time Forgot: Photography and Disability Imagery. London: Routledge, 1992. Kleege, Georgia. “Disabled Students Come Out: Questions without Answers.” In Sharon Snyder, Brenda Jo Brueggeman, and Rosemarie Garland Thomson, eds. Disability Studies: Enabling the Humanities. New York: Modern Language Association of America, 2002. 308-316. Ladd, Paddy. Understanding Deaf Culture: In Search of Deafhood. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters, 2003. Longmore, Paul. “Conspicuous Contribution and American Cultural Dilemma: Telethon Rituals of Cleansing and Renewal.” In David T. Mitchell and Sharon L. Snyder, eds. The Body and Physical Difference: Discourses of Disability. Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1997. 134-158. Lowy, Adrienne. “Dyslexia: A Different Approach to Learning?” JMU Learning and Teaching Press 2.2 (2002). Matthews, Nicole. “Contesting Representations of Disabled Children in Picture Books: Visibility, the Body and the Social Model of Disability.” Children’s Geographies (forthcoming). Meekosha, Helen. “Drifting Down the Gulf Stream: Navigating the Cultures of Disability Studies.” Disability & Society 19.7 (2004): 720-733. O’Hara, Mary. “Closure Motion.” The Guardian, Society section, 30 March 2005: 10. Oliver, Mike. The politics of Disablement. London: Macmillan, 1990. ———. “If I Had a Hammer: The Social Model in Action.” In John Swain, Sally French, Colin Barnes, and Carol Thomas, eds. Disabling Barriers – Enabling Environments. London: Sage, 2002. 7-12. Olney, Marjorie F., and Karin F. Brockelman. "Out of the Disability Closet: Strategic Use of Perception Management by Select University Students with Disabilities." Disability & Society 18.1 (2003): 35-50. Parris, Matthew. “Choose Your Words Carefully If You Want to Be Misunderstood.” The Times 10 July 2004. Purves, Libby. “Handicap, What Handicap?” The Times 9 Aug. 2003. Ray, Jane. “An Illustrator’s View: Still Invisible.” In the Picture. < http://www.childreninthepicture.org.uk/au_illustrateview.htm >.Sandhal, Carrie. “Queering the Crip or Cripping the Queer: Intersections of Queer and Crip Identities in Solo Autobiographical Performance.” GLQ: A Journal of Lesbian and Gay Studies 9.1-2 (2003): 25-56. Saunders, Kathy. Happy Ever Afters: A Storybook Guide to Teaching Children about Disability. London: Trenton Books, 2000. Shakespeare, Tom. “Sweet Charity?” 2 May 2003. Ouch! < (http://www.bbc.co.uk/ouch/features/charity.shtml >. Shakespeare, Tom. Disability Rights and Wrongs. London: Routledge, 2006.

Abstract Case report. 60-year-old man without previous history of coronary artery disease was admitted to our hospital. He complained of weakness, low extremities edema. Physical examination revealed also enlargement of the liver, positive hepatojugular reflux, multiple ecchymoses on patient’s face, especially in periorbital area. The arterial blood pressure was 100/60 mm Hg. ECG showed sinus rhythm 83/min, low R waves in V2, V3 with biphasic T waves in V4-V6. The last coronary angiography revealed normal coronary arteries, it was performed 6 months ago because of atypical chest pain and inconclusive stress test. Echocardiography revealed severe tricuspid regurgitation (TR) due to leaflets restriction and malcoaptation. TR gradient was about 10 mm Hg. Interventricular septum 12 mm, left ventricle posterior wall 9 mm, mass index 87 g/m2, relative wall thickness 0.38; no LV regional wall motion abnormalities was noted, left ventricular ejection fraction (LV EF) was about 50%, mitral valve E/A ratio was 1,4, but average E/E" = 17. Left atrium volume 33 ml/m2. Insignificant amount of pericardial effusion also was found. 3D evaluation of tricuspid valve (TV) showed no leaflets defects and chordal ruptures. LV global longitudinal strain (LV GLS) was – 11,1 % with the apex/(mid + base) ratio 1,3 - apical sparing pattern. Cardiac MRI with gadolinium also showed severe TR and diffuse late subendocardial gadolinium enhancement in both ventricles. We suspected cardiac amyloidosis with significant tricuspid valve involvement, torrential TR, and right ventricle volume overload. The rectum biopsy was negative. The cardiac muscle biopsy with congo red straining was positive for amyloidosis. The patient was transferred to hematology clinic where the diagnosis of AL-amyloidosis was confirmed. The treatment with lenalidomide and prednisone was started. Unfortunately, one month later the patient died. The autopsy was not performed due to religious reasons. Discussion AL-amyloidosis is a systemic disease characterized by multiple organ and tissue changes and associated with poor prognosis. Cardiac involvement is a major prognostic factor as it accounts for approximately 75% of death due to heart failure or arrhythmias. Infiltration of myocardium with amyloid leads to diastolic than systolic dysfunction of the heart and to developing of the heart failure. The most common presentation of heart involvement in AL-amyloidosis is fatigue and dyspnea. In this case the main complaint of the patient was peripheral edema, echocardiography showed damaged TV and preserved LV systolic function. In literature, we found only one case report describing cardiac amyloidosis presented as severe TR. Conclusion In patients presenting with significant isolated valvular dysfunction and heart failure the cardiac amyloidosis can be suspected. The comprehensive echocardiography is the most useful tool to detect this problem. Abstract P1684 Figure. 3D picture of tricuspid valve

Saturday, 24 July 1971, Tower Mill Hotel The man jiggles the brick, gauges its weight. His stout hand, a flash of his watch dial, the sleeve rolled back, muscles on the upper arm bundled tight. His face half-erased by the dark. There’s something going on beneath the surface that Murray can’t grasp. He thinks of the three witches in Polanski’s Macbeth, huddled together on the beach, digging a circle in the sand with bare hands, unwrapping their filthy bundle. A ritual. The brick’s in the air and it’s funny but Murray expected it to spin but it doesn’t, it holds its position, arcs forward, as though someone’s taken the sky and pulled it sideways to give the impression of movement, like those chase scenes in the Punch and Judy shows you don’t see anymore. The brick hits the cement and fractures. Red dust on cops’ shined shoes. Murray feels the same sense of shock he’d felt, sitting in the sagging canvas seat at one of his film nights, recognising the witches’ bundle, a severed human arm, hacked off just before the elbow; both times looking so intently, he had no distance or defence when the realisation came. ‘What is it?’ says Lan. Murray points to the man who threw the brick but she is looking the other way, at a cop in a white riot helmet, head like a globe, swollen up as though bitten. Lan stands on Murray’s feet to see. The pig yells through a megaphone: ‘You’re occupying too much of the road. It’s illegal. Step back. Step back.’ Lan’s back is pressed against Murray’s stomach; her bum fits snugly to his groin. He resists the urge to plant his cold hands on her warm stomach, to watch her squirm. She turns her head so her mouth is next to his ear, says, ‘Don’t move.’ She sounds winded, her voice without force. He’s pinned to the ground by her feet. Again, ‘Step back. Step back.’ Next to him, Roger begins a chant. ‘Springboks,’ he yells, the rest of the crowd picking up the chant, ‘out now!’ ‘Springboks!’ ‘Out now!’ Murray looks up, sees a hand pressed against the glass in one of the hotel’s windows, quickly withdrawn. The hand belongs to a white man, for sure. It must be one of the footballers, although the gesture is out of keeping with his image of them. Too timid. He feels tired all of a sudden. But Jacobus Johannes Fouché’s voice is in his head, these men—the Springboks—represent the South African way of life, and the thought of the bastard Bjelke inviting them here. He, Roger and Lan were there the day before when the footballers pulled up outside the Tower Mill Hotel in a black and white bus. ‘Can you believe the cheek of those bastards?’ said Roger when they saw them bounding off the bus, legs the span of Murray’s two hands. A group of five Nazis had been lined up in front of the glass doors reflecting the city, all in uniform: five sets of white shirts and thin black ties, five sets of khaki pants and storm-trooper boots, each with a red sash printed with a black and white swastika tied around their left arms, just above the elbow. The Springboks strode inside, ignoring the Nazi’s salute. The protestors were shouting. An apple splattered wetly on the sidewalk. Friday, 7 April 1972, St Lucia Lan left in broad daylight. Murray didn’t know why this upset him, except that he had a vague sense that she should’ve gone in the night time, under the cover of dark. The guilty should sneak away, with bowed heads and faces averted, not boldly, as though going for an afternoon walk. Lan had pulled down half his jumpers getting the suitcase from the top of the cupboard. She left his clothes scattered across the bedroom, victims of an explosion, an excess of emotion. In the two days after Lan left, Murray scours the house looking for some clue to where she was, maybe a note to him, blown off the table in the wind, or put down and forgotten in the rush. Perhaps there was a letter from her parents, bankrupt, demanding she return to Vietnam. Or a relative had died. A cousin in the Viet Cong napalmed. He finds a packet of her tampons in the bathroom cupboard, tries to flush them down the toilet, but they keep floating back up. They bloat; the knotted strings make them look like some strange water-dwelling creature, paddling in the bowl. He pees in the shower for a while, but in the end he scoops the tampons back out again with the holder for the toilet brush. The house doesn’t yield anything, so he takes to the garden, circles the place, investigates its underbelly. The previous tenant had laid squares of green carpet underneath, off-cuts that met in jagged lines, patches of dirt visible. Murray had set up two sofas, mouldy with age, on the carpeted part, would invite his friends to sit with him there, booze, discuss the state of the world and the problem with America. Roger rings in the afternoon, says, ‘What gives? We were supposed to have lunch.’ Murray says, ‘Lan’s left me.’ He knows he will cry soon. ‘Oh Christ. I’m so sorry,’ says Roger. Murray inhales, snuffs up snot. Roger coughs into the receiver. ‘It was just out of the blue,’ says Murray. ‘Where’s she gone?’ ‘I don’t know.’ ‘She didn’t say anything?’ ‘No,’ says Murray. ‘She could be anywhere. Maybe you should call the police, put in a missing report,’ says Roger. ‘I’m not too friendly with the cops,’ says Murray, and coughs. ‘You sound a bit crook. I’ll come over,’ says Roger. ‘That’d be good,’ says Murray. Roger turns up at the house an hour later, wearing wide pants and a tight collared shirt with thick white and red stripes. He’s growing a moustache, only cuts his hair when he visits his parents. Murray says, ‘I’ll make us a cuppa.’ Roger nods, sits down at the vinyl table with his hands resting on his knees. He says, ‘Are you coming to 291 on Sunday?’ 291 St Paul’s Terrace is the Brisbane Communist Party’s headquarters. Murray says, ‘What’s on?’ ‘Billy needs someone to look after the bookshop.’ Murray gives Roger a mug of tea, sits down with his own mug between his elbows, and cradles his head in his hands so his hair falls over his wrists. After a minute, Roger says, ‘Does her family know?’ Murray makes a strange noise through his hands. ‘I don’t even know how to contact them,’ he says. ‘She wrote them letters—couldn’t afford to phone—but she’s taken everything with her. The address book. Everything.’ Murray knows nothing of the specifics of Lan’s life before she met him. She was the first Asian he’d ever spoken to. She wore wrap-around skirts that changed colour in the sun; grew her hair below the waist; sat in the front row in class and never spoke. He liked the shape of her calf as it emerged from her skirt. He saw her on the great lawn filming her reflection in a window with a Sony Portapak and knew that he wanted her more than anything. Murray seduced her by saying almost nothing and touching her as often as he could. He was worried about offending her. What reading he had done made him aware of his own ignorance, and his friend in Psych told him that when you touch a girl enough — especially around the aureole — a hormone is released that bonds them to you, makes them sad when you leave them or they leave you. In conversation, Murray would put his hand on Lan’s elbow, once on the top of her head. Lan was ready to be seduced. Murray invited her to a winter party in his backyard. They kissed next to the fire and he didn’t notice until the next morning that the rubber on the bottom of his shoe melted in the flames. She moved into his house quickly, her clothes bundled in three plastic bags. He wanted her to stay in bed with him all day, imagined he was John Lennon and she Yoko Ono. Their mattress became a soup of discarded clothes, bread crumbs, wine stains, come stains, ash and flakes of pot. He resented her when she told him that she was bored, and left him, sheets pulled aside to reveal his erection, to go to class. Lan tutored high-schoolers for a while, but they complained to their mothers that they couldn’t understand her accent. She told him her parents wanted her to come home. The next night he tidied the house, and cooked her dinner. Over the green peas and potato—Lan grated ginger over hers, mixed it with chili and soy sauce, which she travelled all the way to Chinatown on a bus to buy—Murray proposed. They were married in the botanic gardens, surrounded by Murray’s friends. The night before his father called him up and said, ‘It’s not too late to get out of it. You won’t be betraying the cause.’ Murray said, ‘You have no idea what this means to me,’ and hung up on him. Sunday, 9 April 1972, 291 St Paul’s Terrace Murray perches on the backless stool behind the counter in The People’s Bookshop. He has the sense he is on the brink of something. His body is ready for movement. When a man walks into the shop, Murray panics because Billy hadn’t shown him how to use the cash register. He says, ‘Can I help?’ anyway. ‘No,’ says the man. The man walks the length of the shelves too fast to read the titles. He stops at a display of Australiana on a tiered shelf, slides his hand down the covers on display. He pauses at Crocodile Hunt. The cover shows a drawing of a bulky crocodile, scaled body bent in an S, its jaws under the man’s thumb. He picks it up, examines it. Murray thinks it odd that he doesn’t flip it over to read the blurb. He walks around the whole room once, scanning the shelves, reaches Murray at the counter and puts the book down between them. Murray picks it up, turns it over, looking for a price. It’s stuck on the back in faded ink. He opens his mouth to tell the man how much, and finds him staring intently at the ceiling. Murray looks up too. A hairline crack runs along the surface and there are bulges in the plaster where the wooden framework’s swollen. It’s lower than Murray remembers. He thinks that if he stood on his toes he could reach it with the tips of his fingers. Murray looks down again to find the man staring at him. Caught out, Murray mutters the price, says, ‘You don’t have it in exact change, do you?’ The man nods, fumbles around in his pocket for a bit and brings out a note, which he lays at an angle along the bench top. He counts the coins in the palm of his hand. He makes a fist around the coins, brings his hand over the note and lets go. The coins fall, clinking, over the bench. One spins wildly, rolls past Murray’s arm and across the bench. Murray lets it fall. He recognises the man now; it is the act of release that triggers the memory, the fingers spread wide, the wrist bent, the black watch band. This is the man who threw the brick in the Springbok protest. Dead set. He looks up again, expecting to see the same sense of recognition in the man, but he is walking out of the shop. Murray follows him outside, leaving the door open and the money still on the counter. The man is walking right along St Paul’s Terrace. He tucks the book under his arm to cross Barry Parade, as though he might need both hands free to wave off the oncoming traffic. Murray stands on the other side of the road, unsure of what to do. When Murray came outside, he’d planned to hail the man, tell him he recognised him from the strike and was a fellow comrade. They give discounts to Communist Party members. Outside the shop, it strikes him that perhaps the man is not one of them at all. Just because he was at the march doesn’t make him a communist. Despite the unpopularity of the cause —‘It’s just fucking football,’ one of Murray’s friends had said. ‘What’s it got to do with anything?’— there had been many types there, a mixture of labour party members; unionists; people in the Radical Club and the Eureka Youth League; those not particularly attached to anyone. He remembers again the brick shattered on the ground. It hadn’t hit anyone, but was an incitement to violence. This man is dangerous. Murray is filled again with nervous energy, which leaves him both dull-witted and super-charged, as though he is a wind-up toy twisted tight and then released, unable to do anything but move in the direction he’s facing. He crosses the road about five metres behind the man, sticks to the outer edge of the pavement, head down. If he moves his eyes upwards, while still keeping his neck lowered, he can see the shoes of the man, his white socks flashing with each step. The man turns the corner into Brunswick Street. He stops at a car parked in front of the old Masonic Temple. Murray walks past fast, unsure of what to do next. The Temple’s entry is set back in the building, four steps leading up to a red door. Murray ducks inside the alcove, looks up to see the man sitting in the driver’s seat pulling out the pages of Crocodile Hunt and feeding them through the half wound-down window where they land, fanned out, on the road. When he’s finished dismembering the book, the man spreads the page-less cover across the back of the car. The crocodile, snout on the side, one eye turned outwards, stares out into the street. The man flicks the ignition and drives, the pages flying out and onto the road in his wake. Murray sits down on the steps of the guild and smokes. He isn’t exactly sure what just happened. The man must have bought the book just because he liked the picture on the front of the cover. But it’s odd though that he had bothered to spend so much just for one picture. Murray remembers how he had paced the shop and studiously examined the ceiling. He’d given the impression of someone picking out furniture for the room, working out the dimensions so some chair or table would fit. A cough. Murray looks up. The man’s standing above him, his forearm resting on the wall, elbow bent. His other arm hangs at his side, hand bunched up around a bundle of keys. ‘I wouldn’t of bothered following me, if I was you,’ the man says. ‘The police are on my side. Special branch are on my side.’ He pushes himself off the wall, stands up straight, and says, ‘Heil Hitler.’ Tuesday April 19, 1972, 291 St Paul’s Terrace Murray brings his curled fist down on the door. It opens with the force of his knock and he feels like an idiot for even bothering. The hallway’s dark. Murray runs into a filing cabinet, swears, and stands in the centre of the corridor, with his hand still on the cabinet, calling, ‘Roger! Roger!’ Murray told Roger he’d come here when he called him. Murray was walking back from uni, and on the other side of the road to his house, ready to cross, he saw there was someone standing underneath the house, looking out into the street. Murray didn’t stop. He didn’t need to. He knew it was the man from the bookshop, the Nazi. Murray kept walking until he reached the end of the street, turned the corner and then ran. Back on campus, he shut himself in a phone box and dialed Roger’s number. ‘I can’t get to my house,’ Murray said when Roger picked up. ‘Lock yourself out, did you?’ said Roger. ‘You know that Nazi? He’s back again.’ ‘I don’t get it,’ said Roger. ‘It doesn’t matter. I need to stay with you,’ said Murray. ‘You can’t. I’m going to a party meeting.’ ‘I’ll meet you there.’ ‘Ok. If you want.’ Roger hung up. Now, Roger stands framed in the doorway of the meeting room. ‘Hey Murray, shut up. I can hear you. Get in here.’ Roger switches on the hallway light and Murray walks into the meeting room. There are about seven people, sitting on hard metal chairs around a long table. Murray sits next to Roger, nods to Patsy, who has nice breasts but is married. Vince says, ‘Hi, Murray, we’re talking about the moratorium on Friday.’ ‘You should bring your pretty little Vietnamese girl,’ says Billy. ‘She’s not around anymore,’ says Roger. ‘That’s a shame,’ says Patsy. ‘Yeah,’ says Murray. ‘Helen Dashwood told me her school has banned them from wearing moratorium badges,’ says Billy. ‘Far out,’ says Patsy. ‘We should get her to speak at the rally,’ says Stella, taking notes, and then, looking up, says, ‘Can anyone smell burning?’ Murray sniffs, says ‘I’ll go look.’ They all follow him down the hall. Patsy says, behind him, ‘Is it coming from the kitchen?’ Roger says, ‘No,’ and then the windows around them shatter. Next to Murray, a filing cabinet buckles and twists like wet cardboard in the rain. A door is blown off its hinges. Murray feels a moment of great confusion, a sense that things are sliding away from him spectacularly. He’s felt this once before. He wanted Lan to sit down with him, but she said she didn’t want to be touched. He’d pulled her to him, playfully, a joke, but he was too hard and she went limp in his hands. Like she’d been expecting it. Her head hit the table in front of him with a sharp, quick crack. He didn’t understand what happened; he had never experienced violence this close. He imagined her brain as a line drawing with the different sections coloured in, like his Psych friend had once showed him, except squashed in at the bottom. She had recovered, of course, opened her eyes a second later to him gasping. He remembered saying, ‘I just want to hold you. Why do you always do this to me?’ and even to him it hadn’t made sense because he was the one doing it to her. Afterwards, Murray had felt hungry, but couldn’t think of anything that he’d wanted to eat. He sliced an apple in half, traced the star of seeds with his finger, then decided he didn’t want it. He left it, already turning brown, on the kitchen bench. Author’s Note No one was killed in the April 19 explosion, nor did the roof fall in. The bookstore, kitchen and press on the first floor of 291 took the force of the blast (Evans and Ferrier). The same night, a man called The Courier Mail (1) saying he was a member of a right wing group and had just bombed the Brisbane Communist Party Headquarters. He threatened to bomb more on Friday if members attended the anti-Vietnam war moratorium that day. He ended his conversation with ‘Heil Hitler.’ Gary Mangan, a known Nazi party member, later confessed to the bombing. He was taken to court, but the Judge ruled that the body of evidence was inadmissible, citing a legal technicality. Mangan was not charged.Ian Curr, in his article, Radical Books in Brisbane, publishes an image of the Communist party quarters in Brisbane. The image, entitled ‘After the Bomb, April 19 1972,’ shows detectives interviewing those who were in the building at the time. One man, with his back to the camera, is unidentified. I imagined this unknown man, in thongs with the long hair, to be Murray. It is in these gaps in historical knowledge that the writer of fiction is free to imagine. References “Bomb in the Valley, Then City Shots.” The Courier Mail 20 Apr. 1972: 1. Curr, Ian. Radical Books in Brisbane. 2008. 24 Jun. 2011 < http://workersbushtelegraph.com.au/2008/07/18/radical-books-in-brisbane/ >. Evans, Raymond, and Carole Ferrier. Radical Brisbane: An Unruly History. Brisbane: Vulgar Press, 2004.