Articles de revues sur le sujet « Art appreciation – europe »

Pak Yŏngch’ŏl (1879-1939) was a high-ranking government official, businessman and prominent art collector during the modern period. After Pak’s passing in 1940, his family donated Tasan mun’go (the Tasan Collection) to Keijō Imperial University in accordance with his will. The collection was comprised of 115 artworks, which included calligraphy, paintings, and craft items, along with a fund of 20,000 won. Pak’s financial support laid the foundation for the establishment of the Keijō Imperial University Museum two years later. Both the donation of his collection and the subsequent founding of the museum distinguish Pak Yŏngch’ŏl from contemporary Korean collectors. This study sheds light on Pak Yŏngch’ŏl’s character as an art collector and his perception of the museum based on a detailed investigation of the Tasan Collection housed at the Seoul National University Museum.Pak Yŏngch’ŏl did not actively participate in the appreciation and collection of art until the age of fifty. He began collecting art around 1928, coinciding with his appointment as the vice president of Chosŏn Commercial Bank. Pak then spent the next decade focused on building his collection. This study focuses on Pak Yŏngch’ŏl’s inspection tour of European countries in 1928, which was the catalyst that spurred his considerable devotion to the collection of art. During the tour, Pak Yŏngch’ŏl had the opportunity to experience various museums symbolizing modern civilization in Europe. The Louvre Museum in particular, which was first opened to the public and renown for its outstanding collection, seemed to have informed Pak of the value of art. The cultural treasures exhibited in the public spaces of museums would have reminded Pak that the preservation of historical artifacts is one of the indicators of civilization.In the pre-modern period, the appreciation and collection of calligraphy and painting were typically private activities limited to the individual’s personal domain. However, the political and social changes brought about in the modern period redefined art collecting within a public context. Pak Yŏngch’ŏl, who formed a collection and donated it with the purpose of establishing a museum, epitomizes the shift in perceptions of art collection in Colonial Korea.

Abstract The field of bioaesthetics seeks to understand how modern humans may have first developed art appreciation and is informed by considering a broad range of fields including painting, sculpture, music and the built environment. In recent times there has been a diverse range of art and communication media representing bees, and such work is often linked to growing concerns about potential bee declines due to a variety of factors including natural habitat fragmentation, climate change, and pesticide use in agriculture. We take a broad view of human art representations of bees to ask if the current interest in artistic representations of bees is evidenced throughout history, and in different regions of the world prior to globalisation. We observe from the earliest records of human representations in cave art over 8,000 years old through to ancient Egyptian carvings of bees and hieroglyphics, that humans have had a long-term relationship with bees especially due to the benefits of honey, wax, and crop pollination. The relationship between humans and bees frequently links to religious and spiritual representations in different parts of the world from Australia to Europe, South America and Asia. Art mediums have frequently included the visual and musical, thus showing evidence of being deeply rooted in how different people around the world perceive and relate to bees in nature through creative practice. In modern times, artistic representations extend to installation arts, mixed-media, and the moving image. Through the examination of the diverse inclusion of bees in human culture and art, we show that there are links between the functional benefits of associating with bees, including sourcing sweet-tasting nutritious food that could have acted, we suggest, to condition positive responses in the brain, leading to the development of an aesthetic appreciation of work representing bees.

Chinese culture elements accepted for the first time by the Western countries was ceramic and silk. China's silk was found in ancient Greece during the Roman era and since then China has become the “Country of Silk”. Chinese ceramics came to the West a bit later. It was during the Song Dynasty that Western countries started accepting Chinese ceramics, and soon after that Chinese Ceramics had became a new surprise to the Western Countries and had China known as the “Country of Porcelain”. Porcelain as a cultural element is considered not only as material but also as a spirit. When the Europeans came to know the porcelain material, they had gradually been influenced by its spiritual content. Delicateness of ceramic slowly became a widely accepted aesthetic style, added with other factors that shaped the formation of the Rococo style that became very popular in Europe. This article used desk study to analyze and summarize the following three aspects: first, the impact of Chinese ceramic art on Western Rococo art, second, the art appreciation of Rococo art and third, to elaborate the influence of Chinese Ceramic and aesthetic in Western Countries.

Raffles introduced government directly in Java and tried to do various things that he considered useful for his government. It abolished the slave trade, forced labor and permanent surrender of cash crops, and gave farmers the freedom to choose their own crops to grow. Later he also introduced the land tenure system, which abolished the unpopular forced farming system established by the Dutch, in which crops were grown and handed over to the government. In addition, he ordered the restoration of the Borobudur temple and other temples, and allowed research related to these cultural buildings. During his reign, Raffles increased his knowledge of Javanese customs, history, beliefs, geography, and natural history and compiled information for a book which he would later publish. This has a very big influence when it is associated with the end of the British rule in Java, it has a direct and indirect impact on the development of information and appreciation of the reception of art and culture observers of the indigenous Javanese population from Europe. Keywords: Raffles, Java, art, culture, landrente, picture plate

The Silk Road, a historical network of trade routes connecting East Asia to Central Asia, the Middle East, and Europe, facilitated profound cultural exchanges, including the transfer of artistic concepts and creations. The Western Liao dynasty (Qara Khitai), reigning from 1124 to 1218 over territories including present-day Xinjiang, marked an era of significant political and cultural importance. During this period, a unique artistic style emerged, seamlessly blending Chinese and Central Asian influences. This paper investigates the artistic interactions between China and Central Asia during the Silk Road and the Western Liao dynasty era. We explore to what extent the Silk Road and the Western Liao dynasty facilitated these interactions, pinpointing contributing factors and examining their impact on art evolution. The analysis includes three cases of jade ware. In conclusion, this study demonstrates that the artistic interactions between China and Central Asia during the Western Liao dynasty had a profound impact on both regions, leaving an enduring legacy. It underscores the interconnectedness of civilizations along the Silk Road and highlights the universal language of art, transcending boundaries to foster mutual understanding and cooperation. By exploring this shared history through art, we deepen our appreciation for the power of artistic expression to bridge gaps and connect diverse cultures across time and space.

One of the important positions of the last curricular reform in Slovenia, which included systemic issues of education (White Paper on Education, 2011) and curricula for compulsory subjects in primary school, is the fact that Slovenia has been integrated into Europe, and thus education should also include the development of core European competences. One such competence is cultural awareness and expression, which until now has been an issue more in the context of cultural policies than school policies in Slovenia. The purpose of the present article is to critically analyse the curricular reform of art education (i.e., visual art education), through which, in terms of certain components of the competence of cultural awareness and expression, it is foreseen that the student will gain a knowledge of art, develop an ability to experience works of art and develop a creative attitude towards art and heritage.Because the starting point and goal of curricular change is the curriculum, our analysis is derived from curriculum theories, and not from the art theories and pedagogical theories that have predominantly framed previous attempts at curriculum analysis. Critical consideration of the curricular reform of art education in primary school in terms of certain components of the competence of cultural awareness and expression was undertaken by comparing curricula in the field of aesthetic education. We compared art education with music education and literature within the Slovenian language curriculum. Qualitative analysis showed that, despite the reform, the curriculum for arts education does not realise selected components of the competence of cultural awareness and expression, largely due to the curriculum’s conceptual structure. Art education is centred principally on art-making activities, with an obviousneglect of appreciation. The integration of arts subjects at school, as proposed by the White Paper, is therefore not possible, due to the existing model of art education. From a practical point of view, the analysis also raised the question of the knowledge and competences of teachers.

Piano originated in Europe. It is a keyboard instrument invented by Italian Bartolomeo Cristofori in 1709, known as the king of musical instruments. It is often used in solo, accompaniment, ensemble and other performances. The piano came into China at the end of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th century. At first, the appreciation and acceptance of the piano by Chinese people was not high. Later, foreign missionaries often used the piano in the church. As time went by, people’s acceptance of piano increased day by day. After the founding of new China, China’s pianists won many awards in international piano competitions. After the reform and opening up, China’s economy has developed rapidly, and it has also absorbed the culture from all over the world. More and more Chinese people begin to appreciate piano music and learn to play. Piano education has also entered the public’s vision. In higher education, many art colleges and universities have set up piano learning related courses. Piano is no longer a rare thing hundreds of years ago, but gradually integrated into Chinese culture. At present, China’s piano education has been orderly popularized, occupying a place in art education, but at the same time there are also some aspects worth thinking about the piano education in the cultivation of aesthetic and artistic accomplishment. From the current situation and development of China’s piano education this paper gives the corresponding countermeasures.

The 4th CIRP International Conference on High Performance Cutting had been held at the Nagaragawa Convention Center in Gifu City of Japan in October 2010. The scope of the conference was to review and discuss the visions, state of the art and innovations in the area of high performance cutting and related manufacturing technologies. This conference is originated from the CIRP Working Group in High Performance Cutting established by Professor G. Byrne in 2001. After four workshops in Europe, the 1st international conference on HPC was held in Aachen in 2004 chaired by Professor Byrne and Professor F. Klocke. The second one was held in Vancouver under the chairmanship of Professor Y. Altintas and the 3rd one was organized by Professor Byrne and Dr. O’connell in Dublin. In this conference, 144 interesting papers were presented from 19 countries. The editorial committee of IJAT selected the excellent papers presented at the conference and requested the authors to contribute manuscripts in expanded version of conference papers. As a result, 25 papers were accepted for the publication. I believe that this special issue provides the readers valuable information at the leading edge of manufacturing technologies. I would like to express my sincere appreciation to all of the authors and reviewers for their invaluable effort.

Industrial livestock production with its communication strategy aimed at concealing a filthy death and the bad taste of the meat produced has become an important motif in contemporary literature. How to create a narrative about the quiet life of animals that blend in a large herd? A life that is ruthlessly framed by a beginning (insemination) and an end (slaughter) lacks deviation and adventure—it lacks the possibility of becoming the material for a novel. The aim of this article is to examine the poetic devices and ethical aspirations of an emerging genre called the ‘agroalimentary novel,’ which depicts animals for profit and recreates their unique existence worthy of a story. Agroalimentary novels have become increasingly common in Europe and the Americas in the last decade. They raise the issue of taste very plainly: in Latin (gustus) and Old French (in the 12th c., gost and in the 13th c., goust), ‘taste’ is understood literally and figuratively, and is linked to the sense and appreciation of taste. The meaning of taste is associated with aesthetics, and not only with the senses, but also with art, not only with the body, but also with social issues; it refers to both practical activities and norms. How do the themes of livestock production and slaughterhouses relate to the issue of taste? Writers and readers find the aesthetics of the traditional novel problematic. When depicting it, some become inarticulate, while others are confronted with the inability to talk about it. In both cases, they confront the impossible symbolic act of appropriation. Loathing and disgust that is physically expressed and less humanly focused, even more distinctly than in the work of Jean Paul Sartre or in the various accounts of war, have entered literature.

"„Sok szíves üdvözlettel régi barátos...” (“With kind regards, your old friend...”). Coriolan Petranu’s Friendly Connections to the Hungarian Historians. Coriolan Petranu is the founder of modern art history education and scientific research in Transylvania. He had received special education in this field of study that is relatively new in the region. He started his studies in 1911 at the University of Budapest, attending courses in law and art history. During the 1912-1913 academic year he joined the class of Professor Adolph Goldschmiedt (1863-1944) at the Friedrich-Wilhelm University in Berlin. The professor was an illustrious personality from the same generation as art historians Emil Mâle, Wilhelm Vögte, Bernard Berenson, Roger Fry, Aby Warburg, and Heinrich Wölfflin, specialists who had provided a decisive impetus to art historical research during the twentieth century. In the end of 1913, Coriolan Petranu favored Vienna, with its prestigious art historical school attached to the university from the capital of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. There he completed and perfected his education under the supervision of Professor Josef Strzygowski (1862-1941). The latter scholar was highly appreciated for his contributions to the field of universal art history by including the cultures of Asia Minor (Syria, Mesopotamia, Armenia, and Persia), revealing the influence that this area had on proto-Christian art, as well as by researching ancient art in Northern Europe. In March 1920 the young art historian successfully defended his doctoral dissertation entitled Inhaltsproblem und Kunstgeschichte (”Content and art history”). He thus earned his doctor in philosophy title that opened him access to higher education teaching and art history research. His debut was positively marked by his activity as museographer at the Fine Art Museum in Budapest (Szepműveszeti Muzeum) in 1917-1918. Coriolan Petranu has researched Romanian vernacular architecture (creating a topography of wooden churches in Transylvania) and his publications were appreciated, published in the era’s specialized periodicals and volumes or presented during international congresses (such as those held in Stockholm in 1933, Warsaw in 1933, Sofia in 1934, Basel in 1936 and Paris in 1937). The Transylvanian art historian under analysis has exchanged numerous letters with specialists in the field. The valuable lot of correspondence, comprising several thousands of letters that he has received from the United States of America, Great Britain, Spain, France, Switzerland, The Netherlands, Denmark, Sweden, Norway, Finland, Estonia, Latvia, Czechoslovakia, Austria, Hungary, Poland, the USSR, Serbia, Bulgaria, and Egypt represents a true history of the stage and development of art history as a field of study during the Interwar Period. The archive of the Art History Seminary of the University in Cluj preserves one section dedicated to Hungarian letters that he has send to Hungarian specialists, art historians, ethnographers, ethnologists or colleagues passionate about fine art (Prof. Gerevich Tibor, Prof. Takács Zoltán, Dr. Viski Károly, Count Dr. Teleki Domokos). His correspondence with Fritz Valjavec, editor of the “Südostdeutsche Forschungen” periodical printed in München, is also significant and revealing. The letters in question reveal C. Petranu’s significant contribution through his reviews of books published by Hungarian art historians and ethnographers. Beyond the theoretical debates during which Prof. Petranu has criticized the theories formulated by Prof. Gerevich’s school that envisaged the globalization of Hungarian art between the Middle Ages and the Early Modern Period and that also included in this general category the works of German masters and artists with other ethnic backgrounds, he has also displayed a friendly attitude and appreciation for the activity/works of his Hungarian colleagues (Viski Károly and Takács Zoltán). The previously unpublished Romanian-Hungarian and Hungarian-Romanian set of letters discussed here attest to this. Keywords: Transylvania, correspondence, vernacular architecture, reviews, photographs, Gerevich Tibor, Dr. Viski Károly "

In the last decade of the 18th century, the Danish state experienced a period of prosperity, which was characterized by a German-Danish cultural transfer in all intellectual fields. The first clouds were cast by the rise of an artistic self-confidence. Asmus Jacob Carstens from Schleswig and Ernst Meyer from Altona, who felt disadvantaged in the awarding of medals and protested vehemently, were expelled from the art academy in Copenhagen in 1781 and 1821. Nevertheless, the Copenhagen Art Academy had a strong attraction for numerous artists from northern Germany. In this respect, Caspar David Friedrich, Philipp Otto Runge and Georg Friedrich Kersting are primarily worthy of mention. The Danish sculptor Bertel Thorvaldsen was a strong link between the Germans and Scandinavians living in Rome throughout his life. The first cracks in the good bilateral relationship came with the strengthening of the national liberal movements. In 1842, the influential teacher at the Copenhagen Art Academy, N.L. Høyen, drew up a program aimed at repressing influences from abroad, especially from Germany. Not all artists heeded Høyens call for a return to national themes of history, folk life, and nature, so that two groups confronted each other in Denmark: the nationalists and the Europeans. With the German-Danish War of 1848/51 there was a rift, and with the war of 1864 the final break. Only after twenty years did the academies of Copenhagen and Berlin resume contact. From 1883 onwards, there were reciprocal visits, which led to Danish artists once again taking part in representative exhibitions in Berlin or Munich. Conversely, however, German artists were denied participation in exhibitions in Copenhagen, an exception being the International Art Exhibition on the inauguration of the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen in 1897. A spirit freed from all academic constraints also emanated from the artist colonies in Europe. In particular, the works of the Skagen painters were enthusiastically celebrated at exhibitions in Munich and Berlin, which led to some German painters traveling to the Danish artists' colony, where they were received without prejudice. However, at no time was there a balance in the official acceptance and appreciation of the art of the respective neighbouring country. While painters such as Michael Ancher and Peder Severin Krøyer sold works to renowned collectors and museums in Germany, no Danish Museum acquired the work of a German artist during the period under study. The Berlin painter Walter Leistikow, who was married to a Danish woman, worked hard to stimulate a German-Danish art transfer and succeeded in getting the leading Danish gallery owner Valdemar Kleis to offer German painters the opportunity to exhibit in Copenhagen for the first time in 1894, most of whom belonged to the group Die XI, a precursor of the Berlin Secession. The appreciation of the Skagen painters was replaced at the turn of the century by admiration works by F.J. Willumsen and Vilhelm Hammershøj. Hammershøj filled a room of his own at the Great Berlin Art Exhibition in 1900 with 14 works, and the Schulte Gallery in Berli While German admiration for Danish art peaked between 1890 and 1900, people in Denmark continued to look past the German art scene. This was also experienced by the artists' group Die Brücke, which sought foreign members soon after its founding. When Kleis presented works by the Brücke artists in Copenhagen in 1908, they too received only negative reviews. In March 1910, the time seemed ripe for a change of mood. The Berlin gallery owner Herwarth Walden strove to make his Sturm-Galerie a rallying point for the European modernist art movements. In July 1912, he rented the exhibition building of the secessionist group Den Frie in Copenhagen and held an exhibition of Italian Futurists there. When Walden was celebrated by the Danish press as a cosmopolitan who had brought modernism to Copenhagen, he showed works by the French Henri le Fauconier and Raoul Dufy, as well as the painters Marianne von Werefkin and Gabriele Münter, but the tenor of the press was again dominated by anti-German resentment. After the outbreak of World War I, Walden allowed himself to be abused by the German propaganda department of the German Secret and Intelligence Service, which strove to correct the image of Germans abroad as cultural barbarians. Walden showed works by Kandinsky, Klee, Kokoschka, Marc, and again Gabriele Münter at the Copenhagen artists’ cabaret Edderkoppen in the fall of 1917. He also planned an exhibition of Danish avant-garde in his Sturm Gallery in Berlin, but the artists had become suspicious in the face of German propaganda, which was celebrating a last military success. The exhibition was canceled. This did not prevent Walden from organizing an exhibition at Kleis’ art shop in Copenhagen shortly before the end of the war, under the guise of internationalism. This was Walden's largest and most ambitious project in Scandinavia. Of the 133 works exhibited, almost half came from Germany. The attempt to convince the Danes of the excellence of German art failed miserably, because the basic conviction was still: Everything that comes from Germany is bad. The opening took place on November 28 and ended on December 16, 1918, by which time the war was already over.

Dijian tushuo (帝鑑圖說; The Emperor's Mirror, Illustrated and Discussed) is a book compiled by Zhang Juzheng (張居正, 1525-1582), a great scholar during the late period of the Ming Dynasty of China. The book was made for the education of Wanli Emperor (萬歷帝, r.1572-1620), who rose to the throne at an early age. It contains 117 stories about the virtuous and evil deeds of previous emperors, complete with illustrations and relevant articles. After its presentation to the emperor in 1572, several editions of the book were produced by the end of the nineteenth century, and copies were distributed to neighboring countries like Korea and Japan and even to France via Jesuit missionaries. There are copies of more than twelve extant woodblock-printed and lithographic editions in East Asia, as well as copies reprinted with copper plates in France. Also, copies of the book with color illustrations remain in China and France. In Korea, colored illustrations of Dijian tushuo are kept under different titles such as Gunwang jwaumyeong (君王左右銘; The King's Motto) and Dohae yeokdae gungam (圖解歷代君鑑; The Mirror of Rulers throughout the Ages, An Illustrated Explanation) at the Gyeonggi Provincial Museum and the Jangseogak, the archive of the Academy of Korean Studies, respectively.<br/>In China, Dijian tushuo formed part of the education of the crown princes during the Ming and Qing Dynasties. More than eight different editions were made by the flourishing commercial publication industry during the two dynasties. In Joseon royal court, the book was recognized as one of the didactic books for the discipline of kingship. As for Japan, the shoguns of the Edo Bakufu used the book to advertise themselves as ideal rulers or to make Chinese royal palace genre paintings as an exotic hobby. Isidore Stanislas Henri Helman (1743~1809), a French engraver, made reprinted copies of the book amid Chinoiseries popularized in eighteenth-century France. The French edition reflects not only the public criticism of King Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette but also Helman’s implicit intention to receive financial support from Marie Louise Josephin de Savoie and the Count of Provence (later Louis XVIII), first in line to the throne at the time.<br/>Dijian tushuo was adopted in various countries in East Asia and Europe between the end of the sixteenth century and the early twentieth century, although the way it was used differed from country to country depending on their respective political, social, and cultural situations. However, all these countries had one thing in common– they had future rulers read the book. Perhaps, the fact that it was written for the education of the crown princes of China served as the stimulus for leaders and intellectuals alike. Studies on the ways in which books like Dijian tushuo were distributed as an aggregation of knowledge, information, and culture are thought to be significant and useful in identifying certain characteristics shared by diverse countries and in shedding light on differences in their political and social backgrounds and their art history.

Titian's Rape of Europa is highly praised for its luminous colors and sensual textures. But the painting has an overlooked dark side, namely that it eroticizes rape. I argue that this is an ethical defect that diminishes the painting aesthetically. This argument—that an artwork can be worse off qua work of art precisely because it is somehow ethically problematic—demonstrates that feminist concerns about art can play a legitimate role in art criticism and aesthetic appreciation.

Hrabanus Maurus's Commentary on Matthew provides a lens through which to view the centrality of biblical studies to Carolingian reform initiatives. The commentary sits amid a burst of interest in Matthew's Gospel in the first quarter of the ninth century. It also occupies a central place in Hrabanus's program for clerical education and renewal. Hrabanus imagined the work as a user-friendly reference guide or introductory text and structured the commentary with highly sophisticated and complementary indexing, organizing, and searching features to privilege ease of use. Hrabanus's design allows for quick appreciation and simple interpretation of the Gospel's overall narrative structure, its principal episodes, and its individual verses. Moreover, Hrabanus took painstaking effort to document the numerous patristic sources upon which he drew in building the commentary, as well as to acknowledge when he contributed thoughts of his own. The manuscript record, epistolary remarks, sermon texts, and literary references — including in the vernacular — testify to broad dissemination and use of the commentary by Hrabanus's network of patrons, peers, and students across Frankish Europe. Attention to the structure, content, and influence of the commentary expands scholarly appreciation of Hrabanus's genius beyond his achievements as an abbot and bishop or as a prolific biblical exegete, to include resourcefulness and practicality in teaching. Moreover, the study illumines the close association Carolingian leaders saw between biblical studies and broader cultural renewal along with the networks connecting leaders across the Frankish world as they reflected upon and promoted reform.

The world is changing rapidly, and archaeology with it. Globalisation is rewiring the relationship that connects Europe and North America, with their long histories of archaeological research, to other regions, where archaeologists are throwing new light on prehistories and early histories that have hitherto been less intensively studied. The outcome is a shifting but more balanced picture of the human past at a global scale, and a better appreciation of the interactions that have shaped the modern world.

Despite the diverse legal approaches towards surrogacy in Europe, there are common socio-legal arguments attempting to legitimise it amongst the European Union member states. Regardless of the prevailing regulation in each country, surrogacy in general is confronted with common criticisms and faces similar obstacles. For instance, the operative definition of altruism is put under question in countries where altruistic surrogacy is permitted. Surrogacy is also considered an attack on a woman’s dignity and a risk to children’s welfare. Behind such claims, however, rests the common yet unsubstantiated belief in a natural maternal instinct. Furthermore, a clear misunderstanding about the bonding theory still persists. Common debates around surrogacy in Europe show us that, beyond the national margin of appreciation, surrogacy challenges basic definitions of motherhood, filiation and family. These challenges are deeply permeated by gender stereotypes which partially explain the national similarities among the legal diversities.

abstract: This article addresses the annotations in the exemplar of the 1525 edition of Ptolemy's Geography at the Huntington Library. The book has a rich ownership history and a sixteenth-century humanistic program of annotation by multiple hands. These annotations include texts copied from Martin Waldseemüller's 1507 world map. The manuscript enhancements of the book also include an extension eastward of the modern map of Eastern Europe. The book is a powerful testament to the use of Ptolemy as a matrix for the accumulation of geographic knowledge and to the continuing appreciation of Waldseemüller's 1507 world map.

The unexpected approval in 1986 of the Single European Act and its program for completing the European Community's internal market by 1992 did not, according to the historical data presented in this article, result from an elite alliance of the European Community Commission, European Parliament, and pan-European business groups. Instead, it rested on interstate bargains involving Britain, France, and Germany, for which the two essential preconditions were the convergence of European economic policy prescriptions following the French turnaround in 1983 and the bargaining leverage that France and Germany gained by threatening to create a “two-track” Europe and exclude Britain. This suggests that theories stressing supranational factors, including certain variants of neofunctionalism, should be supplanted by an “intergovernmental institutionalise” approach combining a realist emphasis on state power and national interests with a proper appreciation of the important role of domestic factors in determining the goals that governments pursue.

This study examines politeness as a nonverbal politic behavior in 29 European countries and territories using Brown and Levinson’s (1987) politeness theory. The examination looked into the nonverbal acts of ‘following road signs and speed limit’ and ‘giving signals before changing lanes’ as they reflect (1) negative politeness in the form of avoiding imposition and reducing face-threatening-acts and (2) positive politeness in the form of noticing and appreciating other drivers’ wants and interests to drive without imposition respectively. The examination looked into four variables that are the gender of drivers, age of drivers, level of education of drivers and their country of origin. The study found that European drivers are generally polite and they tend to use the positive politeness act (giving signals) of noticing and appreciating other drivers more often than the negative politeness act (following sigs and speed limits) of reducing imposition and avoiding face-threatening acts. The study also found that the level of education did not play a significant role in the adherence to the driving politic behavior. However, this study found a positive coloration between the age of drivers and their adherence to the driving politic behavior as older drivers follow the driving politic behavior more often than young drivers. This study also found that female drivers in Europe are more polite than male drivers as they notice and appreciate other drivers (positive politeness). This study also revealed that Danish (female), British (male and female), Irish (male), Finish (male), Dutch (male and female), Belgium (female), Austrian (female), Greek (female) and Spanish (male) drivers have the highest frequency of adherence to the driving politic behavior. The study also found that Portuguese male and female, Croatian male and female, Macedonian male and female, Scottish male and female, Albanian male, Norwegian male, Czech male, Austrian female, Romanian male and Swedish female drivers have the lowest frequency of adherence to the driving politic behavior in Europe. The study also found that Cypriot (male), Catalonian (female), French (male and female), German (male and female), Hungarian (male and female), Italian (male and female), Polish (male and female), Russian (male and female), Serbian (male and female), Slovakian (male and female), and Turkish (male and female) drivers’ adherence to driving politic behavior is relatively moderate to high.

This article highlights transnational consequences for access to justice of political posturing by national governments in respect of the European Convention on Human Rights (echr). It charts the uk context preceding the adoption of Protocol 15, which inserts the concepts of subsidiarity and the margin of appreciation into the echr preamble. The article argues that whilst this was an attempt to curb the European Court of Human Rights’ (ECtHR) powers, this proved limited in effect, as the court is too well established as a Supreme Court for Europe in the cosmopolitan legal order of the echr. The political-legal interplay which is the genesis of the echr system means that political manoeuvring from national governments is inevitable, but not fatal to its existence. However, the legitimacy of the ECtHR is secured only through political concessions, which act to expel surplus subjects from echr protection. The article concludes that the legitimacy of the ECtHR is therefore secured at the cost of individuals whose rights are worth less than the future of the court.

In 2015, Europe experienced the worst refugee crisis since the Second World War. Along with terrorist attacks in Europe over the last decade, the refugee crisis has fueled a rise in the popularity of both far-right political parties and extremist groups—such as Finland’s Soldiers of Odin ( S.O.O.). The group debuted in late 2015, but quickly spread throughout Scandinavia. The popularity of S.O.O. coincided with a resurgent interest in Viking culture, and new country groups have been reported worldwide. This article explores the contested identity of the Norwegian chapter, Soldiers of Odin Norge ( S.O.O.N.), in national news (Norge) and networked spaces (social media). The mediated discourse was analyzed using ethnographic content analysis, with an appreciation for the intertextuality of the ambiguous political rhetoric. We found social media to be an important site for contesting the dominant narrative of ‘vigilante’ identified in the news articles. Drawing from cultural criminology, we further explored the contrast between mediated images, where Viking culture became the symbolic identifier for S.O.O.N., and the collective construction of meaning in the discourse. Finally, we argue that because the group’s identity was forged from, and exists because of, media-related communications, S.O.O.N. could be characterized as a ‘media-based collectivity’ (Couldry and Hepp, 2017).

When nations across the world were brought to an abrupt hiatus by the ravaging pandemic, the tourism industry was left in a quagmire. Tourism ventures were faced with the option of either suffering through an onslaught of hardships; while hoping to be relieved of it soon or adapting for resilience in order to cushion the blow. If they choose the latter, the conventional playbook of experience offerings and customer interactions had to be reinvented. It was a choice that the wine tourism sectors in America and Europe made; a choice that charted its course towards embracing the attributes of virtual tourism. Wineries curated virtual vineyard tours, hosted virtual tastings and conducted virtual interactions over wine. Although these virtual experiences did not exude the panache of being present in the midst of a vineyard or winery's immersive atmosphere, virtual wine tourism became increasingly popular. This newfound popularity and its outcome of garnering new clientele for wines and wine tours, in turn, boosted competitiveness in virtual experience offerings amongst wineries and wine regions. Despite this phenomenal adaptation of the wine tourism sector for resilience, there have been few peer- reviewed studies examining the enrichment of the sector through virtual experiences during the pandemic. The paper, thereby, explores the trajectory of virtual experiences in the pandemic battered wine tourism sector and the influence of such experiences in shaping consumers’ appreciation of wines and wine destinations. The paper discusses the failings and challenges of incorporating virtual experiences in wine tourism, along with appraising the future forward of using such experiences in the sector. Keywords: tourism digitalisation, virtual tourism, virtual wine experiences, virtual wine tasting, virtual wine tours

The essential idea of landscape, that a section of terrain can be appreciated as a visual or aesthetic object, is largely a phenomenon of modern history, tied to processes such as urbanization and the development of tourism. Although the appreciation of landscape in Russia was influenced by European aesthetics, Russia developed a unique approach to its own natural environment, and the Volga River played an important role in that process. When steamship tourism appeared on the Volga in the late nineteenth century, the river became a crucial location for the articulation of a new, scenic aesthetic. But this aesthetic competed with earlier views of Russian landscape, which held that the simple and unspectacular character of the native countryside contrasted favorably with the overly picturesque and inauthentic landscapes of western Europe. Images of the Volga that emerged in guidebooks, travelogues, and visual media took shape in attempts to negotiate between the touristic impulse to appreciate beautiful scenery and more established conceptions of Russian nature as appealing precisely in its lack of picturesqueness.

Church leaders and politicians in several countries make frequent references to Christian values as part of a rhetoric of dividing between wanted and unwanted view and practices. Hence, even more than a source for division between adherents of different faiths, religion divides adherents of the same faith when identifying the core of religion. The article presents findings from a survey and focus group interviews with five groups of Norwegian Christian leaders: church leaders, bishops and deans from the Church of Norway, as well as leaders in mission organization and diaconal foundations. The informants are generally very hospitable towards immigrants, not particularly skeptical of Islam, and highly skeptical of politicians applying the term ‘Christian values’ for protectionist purposes. While distancing themselves from the term ‘Christian values’, informants have a clear understanding of what these values encompass. These attitudes mirror the major attitudes among the so-called church-going Norwegians in the Pew report, “Being Christian in Western Europe”, having higher appreciation of both Islam and immigration than the other groups of informants. The article proceeds by explaining and contextualizing, including how the churches have promoted conviviality in diverse societies and whether the leaders are willing to act when Christianity is applied to legitimize nativism.

The plays of Bernard-Marie Koltès have been phenomenally successful, not just in Europe, but worldwide – his last work before his death in 1989, Roberto Zucco, having been performed in seventeen countries. Despite an early production of Twilight Zone by Pierre Audi at the Almeida Theatre in 1981, English appreciation has been tardy, but now this situation is set to change, with the Royal Court Theatre commissioning Martin Crimp to make a translation of Roberto Zucco, to be directed by James Macdonald, and Methuen bringing out a volume of Koltès's plays. These present a unique fusion of the French classical tradition combined with Shakespeare (he translated The Winter's Tale into French) and modern influences such as Genet and Fugard (he also translated The Blood Knot). After his death, Giles Croft wrote of Koltès: ‘He considered himself an outsider, rootless, and this perception of himself is reflected in his characters, whose tragedy is their inability to connect with one another, often despite their ability to articulate their despair. He created dark, mythic, polyglot worlds where people are dwarfed by or divorced from their surroundings: hotel rooms, construction sites, quaysides.’ Koltès's career was closely linked with that of Patrice Chéreau, who produced all his major plays, and who performed in his own production of In The Solitude of the Cotton Fields at last year's Edinburgh Festival. Here, David Bradby, Professor of Drama at Royal Holloway, University of London, contributes his own assessments of both men's life and work, to complement full chronological and bibliographical details of Koltès's career.

Ithiel Town traveled twice to England and Europe, intent on studying "improvements in the taste and science of architecture" and "bridge engineering." His first tour, between October 1829 and July 1830, preceded the zenith of his career. It can be retraced in a series of largely unpublished letters addressed to his daughter, Etha, and his partner, Alexander Jackson Davis. The correspondence relates Town's immediate reactions and, hence, taste; his contact with the artistic community in London, including such fellow American visitors as S. F. B. Morse, whom he accompanied to Rome; and his purchase of books and prints, which he later housed in the fireproof villa he built in New Haven between 1834 and 1836. The major legacy of his study was a deepened appreciation of historical architecture and an evident objective not of imitating specific historical works but of enhancing the scale and sophistication of his own design. He was also inspired to seek improved educational facilities and status for the profession in the United States, participating in the foundation of the short-lived American Institution of Architects. He maintained links with leading figures in the British architectural scene, being among the earliest nonresident members elected to the newly founded Institute of British Architects in 1836. The value he attached to his first tour was confirmed when, in July 1843, Town again crossed the Atlantic to examine recent developments and design, mainly in England and Paris, the effect of which was unfortunately curtailed by his death some six months after his return to New York in December 1843.

This essay sheds light on Peter Paul Rubens’ intentions or possible underlying reasons for the ‘organic’ growth of his landscape paintings by analysing the fundamental contemporary notion of ‘otium’ (fruitful repose). Understood as contemplative leisure encouraging artistic and intellectual endeavour in accordance with Cicero’s advocacy of ‘otium cum dignitate’, it was deeply rooted in the classical writings of Horace, Virgil and Pliny the Younger. Ample research has shown that life in early modern Europe was tempered by the conceptual force of ‘otium’ and its opposite form, ‘negotium’. However, Rubens’ response to this dyad, and especially the effect it had on the creation of his landscapes, has only been addressed superficially. By teasing out the strands of ‘otium’ and ‘otium ruris’ (fruitful repose in the countryside), the author indicates multiple ways in which the topos of retreat played a notable part in Rubens’ poetic response to nature and landscape, to the aesthetic appreciation of the countryside in real life and in painting. Exploring both places and spaces present in the notions of ‘otium’ and ‘otium ruris’ in Rubens’ day not only consolidates our understanding of the personal dimension of landscapes, but it also sheds new light on the artist’s attentiveness and receptiveness to and his ongoing preoccupation with many of his large compositions in the 1630s. Although Rubens did not follow the idea of ‘otium’ programmatically, exploring it as a form of contemplative leisure nonetheless offers a key to understand the productive energy, artistic invention, and unique evolution of many of his landscapes. The examination of the important, but hitherto neglected landscape Return from the fields (c.1635-1638) at the Palazzo Pitti in Florence not only provides new insights to the painting’s intriguing genesis, it also demonstrates that Rubens’ landscapes may have provided a growing space of ‘otium ruris’ – for their creator and beholders alike.

In a letter of 1404 to the Sienese professor Francesco Casini, the Italian humanist Coluccio Salutati expressed appreciation for the addressee's commentary on Aristotle'sNicomachean Ethics, comparing it favorably with the Greek (XI/XII century) commentaries of Eustratius and Michael of Ephesus, and with the Latin ones of Albert the Great, Albert of Saxony, Gerard of Odo, Walter Burley, and Jean Buridan. He invited Casini not to neglect the works of Henry of Friemar, a minor fourteenth-century figure. Furthermore, Salutati remarked that Casini had even surpassed Thomas Aquinas and Giles of Rome, whose commentaries were doubtless the most widespread in the Latin West of Salutati's time. As Luca Bianchi has pointed out, Salutati's letter highlights the degree to which Italian humanists depended on the scholastic tradition (whether Byzantine or Latin) when approaching Aristotle'sEthics; even Donato Acciaiuoli's famous commentary, published in 1478, draws heavily on Eustratius, Albert the Great, and St. Thomas. This was actually seen as one of its greatest merits by later commentators.3 However, Salutati's comments invite yet another observation: namely, that Salutati is unable to point to any specificallyItaliantradition connected with this work. In fact, although Salutati does name two Italians (Thomas and Giles of Rome), they too, like all the other commentators mentioned, spent most of their lifetimes in northern Europe; for most of them, the center was not Italy but Paris. This is why Salutati heaped so much praise on Francesco Casini — finally an indigenous Italian tradition might develop; its beginnings were promising indeed.

The article analyses how the folk singing tradition of the Lithuania Minor developed in the late 20th and in the early 21st centuries. It examines the activities of the folklore groups in the Klaipėda Region during the period of 1971–2020, focusing on those that assert fostering of the lietuvininkai singing tradition as their mission or one of their goals. The study employs the previously unused materials, which allow revising the former research results regarding the revival of the Lithuanian ethnic music and show the folklore ensembles working in the Klaipėda Region as a significant part of the Lithuanian folklore movement and the revival of the ethnic music, emerging from the 1960s. Special emphasis is placed on the early phase in adoption of the lietuvininkai singing tradition related to the activities of the folklore ensemble “Vorusnėˮ established in 1971 at the Klaipėda faculties of the State Conservatory of the former LSSR, and the role it had in prompting the creation of other folklore groups in Klaipėda, as well as its impact on the broader cultural and educational processes taking place in the Klaipėda Region.In the 20th century, the prevailing narrative regarding the Lithuanian inhabitants of the Lithuania Minor maintained that books, hymns, schools, church, social and cultural organizations, and choral or theatre activities were the most significant factors influencing the cultural expression of lietuvininkai, while the Lithuanian folklore was hardly practiced anymore or even considered an inappropriate thing. Judging from the folklore recordings, the folk singing tradition supported by the lietuvininkai themselves disappeared along with the singers born in the late 19th century. However, after the WWII, it was adopted and continued by the folklore groups appearing the Klaipėda Region. These groups included people from the other regions of Lithuania who had settled there. This is essentially the process of reviving the ethnic music, which began in Europe during the Enlightenment period and continues in many parts of the world.“Vorusnėˮ was founded in 1971 as the first institutional student folklore ensemble in Klaipėda Region. For 27 years, its leader was a young and talented professor of the Baltic languages Audronė Jakulienė (later Kaukienė). She became the founder of the linguistic school at the Klaipėda University (KU). In the intense and multifaceted activities of the “Vorusnėˮ ensemble, two different stages may be discerned, embracing the periods of 1971–1988 and 1989–2000.In 1971–1988, the ensemble mobilized and educated students in the consciously chosen direction of fostering the Lithuanian ethnic culture, sought contacts with the native lietuvininkai, collected and studied ethnographic and dialectal data, prepared concert programs based on the scholarly, written, and ethnographic sources, gave concerts in Lithuania and abroad, and cooperated with folklore groups from other institutions of higher education.In 1989–2000, the “Vorusnėˮ ensemble engaged in numerous other areas of activity. The children‘s folklore ensemble “Vorusnėlėˮ was established in 1989; both “Vorusnėˮ and “Vorusnėlėˮ became involved in the activities of the community of the Lithuania Minor founded in 1989. The leader of the ensemble and its members contributed to the establishment of the Klaipėda University, which became an important research center of the Prussian history and culture. The leader of the ensemble and her supporters created a new study program of the Lithuanian philology and ethnology at the KU, which during its heyday (2011–2014) had developed three levels of higher education, including bachelor’s, master’s and doctoral studies. The Folklore Laboratory and Archive was established at the Department of the Baltic Linguistics and Ethnology, headed by Kaukienė, and young researchers in philology, ethnology, and ethnomusicology were encouraged to carry out their research there. In the course of over two decades, Kaukienė initiated organizing numerous research conferences dealing with lietuvininkai language and culture.Until 1980, “Vorusnėˮ was the only folklore ensemble in the Klaipėda Region, but in 1985, there were already ten folklore ensembles. These ensembles developed different creative styles that perhaps most notably depended on the personal structure of these ensembles and their leaders’ ideas and professional musical skills. Generally, at the beginning of their activity, all these ensembles sang, played and danced the folklore repertoire comprising all the regions of Lithuania. The activities of “Vorusnėˮ and other folklore ensembles in Klaipėda until 1990 showed that revival of folklore there essentially followed the lines established in other cities and regions of Lithuania.During the first decade after the restoration of independence of Lithuania in 1990, folklore was in high demand. In Klaipėda, the existing ensembles were actively working, and the new ones kept appearing based on the previous ones. The folklore ensembles of the Klaipėda Region clearly declared their priorities, embracing all the contemporary contexts. Some of them associated their repertoire with the folklore of lietuvininkai, others with Samogitian folklore.The lietuvininkai singing tradition was adopted and developed in two main directions.The first one focused on authentic reconstruction, attempting recreation with maximumaccuracy of the song‘s dialect, melody, and manner of singing, as well as its relationship tocustoms, historical events or living environment. The second direction engaged in creativedevelopment, including free interpretations of the songs, combining them with other stylesand genres of music and literature, and using them for individual compositions. These twoways could be combined as well. Lietuvininkai are not directly involved in these activities, butthey tolerate them and participate in these processes in their own historically and culturallydetermined ways.The contemporary artistic expression of the promoters of the lietuvininkai singing tradition is no longer constrained by the religious and ideological dogmas that were previously maintained in the Lithuania Minor and in a way regulated performance of these songs. It is determined nowadays by consciousness, creativity, resourcefulness, and knowledge of its promoters. The dogmas of the Soviet era and modernity have created a certain publicly displayed (show type) folklore. The ensembles took part of the institutionalized amateur art, subsequently becoming subject to justified and unjustified criticism, which is usually levelled on them by the outsiders studying documents and analyzing processes. However, favorable appreciation and external evaluation by the participants of the activities and the local communities highlight the meaning of this activity.

For endless hours, I endure the cacophony of piercing young voices, shuffling metal chairs and shrieking speaker feedback. I accept that one of the microphones mysteriously shattered, that an important light shines in the wrong direction and that the knob fell off the main entrance door. I tolerate the countless antics: Louis now wants to be a firefighter and not a police officer, Becky is being picked up hours too early by her parents and six-year-old Matthew declares that he will not perform if Christopher looks at him. My composure erodes when I discover Roxanne, one of the principal characters, loudly weeping in the corner, proclaiming that she never would have agreed to all this if it meant not getting to see her “boyfriend” for the session’s closing days. Appreciative of the fact that one instant of rest is one instant too long for anything not inscribed in the rigid schedule for the day, I walk outside into the midday sun. I lean over a rustic bridge’s wooden railing, letting a cool breeze from the lake sooth my exhausted body. Thin birch trees sway restlessly back and forth. The outdoor scenery — so stereotypical of northern Ontario in the warm months — provides a moment of calm solace. My friends are lounging on patios, playing softball or tramping Europe. I, on the other hand, have spent virtually every minute in the past month at a summer camp, frantically directing a theatre production, which is less than two days from being presented to a packed audience. The experience begins to sound like the set-up for a joke when I contemplate the fact that the cast includes the entire camp community of 230 young people. In case the situation is not overwhelmingly comic enough, the punchline comes when I appreciate that this is not any summer camp, but Camp Kodiak, a place that features a program for young people with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Learning Disabilities, Non-verbal Learning Disorders and Asperger Syndrome.

Ireland’s paradoxical status within the British empire has been thoroughly researched and theorised. Ireland can now be imagined as both a subject nation and a recruiting ground for imperial profiteers. The thin red line emerges as disproportionately green while research into the slave trade reveals heavy Irish investment. Meanwhile eighteenth-century European imperialism flourishes alongside the earliest theorisations of “World Peace”, whether figured spatially as “universally peace” or temporally as “perpetual peace”. The Abbé Saint-Pierre’s influential work Projet pour rendre la paix perpétuelle en Europe (1713) attracted the appreciative attention of Jean-Jacques Rousseau and Immanuel Kant. Scholars debate the credibility of such projects, but their influence was considerable. Saint-Pierre’s notion of a European union which can arbitrate to prevent war fascinates, but it ignores conflicts arising from competitive global colonisation and by freezing pre-existing frontiers it may crush nationalist aspirations. What is Ireland’s place in the imagining of a world without war in the eighteenth century? To what extent is Ireland complicit in the entrenched injustices of a Pax Britannica and to what extent does a projected demilitarised world offer prospects for genuine self-determination? Looking at verse which celebrates the conclusion of various eighteenth-century conflicts, this article considers celebrations of the idea of “Peace” from Irish literary (and sub-literary) sources and attempts to consider the mixture of hopes and fears that animate understandings of how particular conflicts are concluded. The ways and means whereby “peaces” are extended in the literary imagination give a clue to versions of “enlightened” Irish futurity.

AbstractThe letters Jan Brueghel (1568-1625) wrote to his Italian patron Federico, cardinal Borromeo, between 1605 and 1625, provide some information about his flower paintings. The first significant item occurs in a letter of April 14, 16o6, in which he mentions having started on a flower piece with beautiful and rare species, all painted from life. He had seen and `portrayed' some of them in Brussels (note 16). In a letter of almost the same date to Borromeo's fellow-citizen, the collector Bianchi, Brueghel writes that the piece was to consist of m<>re than a hundred different flowers, and that he had never made such a picture before (note 17). The painting, which is still in the Ambrosiana in Milan, was thus Brueghel's very first flower piece (fig. 3). This is even more obvious when it is compared to a second version (fig. 4), probably painted soon afterwards, in which the flowers are distributcd more evenly over the surface. An arrangement of this kind of bouquet was not possiblc in Brueghel's day. Such flowers were too costly to be placed in vases (note 21); even in gardens they were displayed as single specimens (figs. 5 and 6). They were exotic rarities like the sunflower, which was thought to have been imported from Peru (note 25; fig. 7). Brueghel's native city, Antwerp, was the centre of botanical knowledge in the early 17th century in Europe because of the books published by Plantijn on herbs and plants, written by the leading botanists: Dodonacus, Lobelius and Clusius. In Brueghcl's day plants were fashionable collector's items, not only in the gardens of the aristocracy but also in those of the wealthy bourgeoisie. In this context a picture by a Brueghel imitator featuring Pictura painting a large flower piece (fig. 9) seems quite understandable. Illustrations of plants in books show little or no shadow on their forms, and the light is often diffuse (figs. 7 and 11). Brueghel's flower pieces have the same diffuse light and ignore the effect of light and shade. He may have becn influenced by these illustrations, and he adhered to the same principle: the recognizability of his flowers was all important. Brueghel's bouquet for Borromco (fig.3) consists of flowers which were rare, and therefore valuable. As he wrote to his pastron: 'Underneath the flowers I have made an ornament, with some coins (..). Your Excellency must judge for himself whether flowers do not deserve to take precedence above gold and ornaments' (note 18). Cardinal Borromeo was delighted (notes 47 - 5 1) and wrote that he had paid the value of the ornament as the price of the painting (note 48). However, painted flowers were merc substitues for the real ones to the Cardinal, who docs not seem to have reacted to the next flower piece Brueghel sent him, at the end of 1609 (fig. 15). It was the last flower piece Brueghel painted for him. It is interesting to note that the correspondence gives the impression that this piece was painted partly out of doors (notes 5 4 and 56). Remarks in a letter to Bianchi give some impression of how Brueghel painted his flower pieces. According to him he made no drawing or sketch, he painted alleprinle and arranged he flowers on the surface of the painting while working on it. The combination of spring and summer flowers is understandable when one realizes that it took him about four months to make such a picture. One wonders, however, whether he and his assistants (note 61) did not work on several near identical paintings at the same time. His remark that he painted several bouquets every spring (note 64) suggests the possibility and so does the fact that only about twelve different compositions of flower pieces by him are known, all in more than one version (cf. e.g. figs. 18 and 19). Only very few paintings - the ones for Borromeo, possibly those for the Vienna and/or Brussels court - have no known repeats. Brueghel was boasting when he wrote that he worked exclusively from life. Examination of a flower piece in Cambridge revealed a complete underdrawing (fig. 23); moreover, the iris is copied from a print by Pierre Vallet (fig. 25; note 68). He borrowed some day lilies from a woodcut in Dodonaeus' Stirpium Historiae Pemptades Sex (figs. 26 and 27). One flower - the red Anemone coccinaea on its twisted stem which often appears in his pictures - may be artificial, made from cloth or silk. Nevertheless, his flowers pieces were portraits of betanical rarities, as was probably the case in similar situations at the time (note 79). Any other meaning - for example as a vanitas - is highly unlikely. Neither Brueghel nor Borromco ever mention a religious morality in connection with these flower paintings. Therefore, the endeavour to 'Immorta]17.e' the ephemeral beauty of these flowers must often have been the chief motivation. On the basis of this appreciation for rare flowers, their occurrence in bouquets, and the assumption that Brueghel painted several near-identical flower pieces during a number of years a chronology of (most of) Brueghel's flower pieces has been added as appendix.

The adoption of western notation (which is an example of graphic notation) as the “official system” in Turkey dates from after 1828. Sultan Mahmud II (reigned 1808–1839) abolished the Janissary force in 1826 and with it the musical unit of that army, it was a band for wind and percussion instruments (Mehterhâne-i Hümâyûn). He then organised his new army on western lines and thus introduced an institution of western origin, the military band, as the musical unit of his modern army. This new institution, which was European in its music system, instruments, repertoire and first and foremost its methods of education, was formed under the name Muzika-i Hümâyûn (the royal military band). Professional musicians were invited from Europe to participate and, with the foundation of Muzika-i Hümâyûn in 1827, the most far-reaching change in Turkish musical history took place. It was an outstanding manifestation of westernisation which necessarily made a deep impact on both the Turkish makam (modal) music system and the existence and the behaviour of the musicians who produced and performed it. The domination of makam music and its masters in court circles and their claim to be the sole and absolute system of taste was undermined, although the appreciation and respect of certain sultans and bureaucrats continued on a personal level. From that date on, a duality, an East-West dichotomy (the effects of which can still be seen), overtook the cultural sphere of which music was a part. Within this dichotomy, tonal polyphonic music of the West began to make its influence felt at least as much as, if not more than, makam based Turkish music both within the state framework and in the society at large. These dual concepts were referred to as Alla Turca and Alla Franga. While Alla Franga (alafranga in common parlance) came to symbolise modernity, change and the new life style, Alla Turca (alaturka in common parlance) became a manifestation of being archaic and conservative and of having a blind commitment to tradition and an under-developed taste (even no taste at all). Within this series of dichotomies, which took hold of every area of life (from literature to fashion also, eating habits, systems of beliefs, and education as well as government) makam based Turkish music received a large share of “cultural negation” with the judgement that it did not even have a decent notation system. It became marginalised and restricted to a narrow social group deeply and passionately devoted to it. Even during this process, makam music developed a dynamic of self-protection against “cultural negation” with its composers, theorists, publishers, performers and listening public. Makam music composers and performers learnt western notation, they wrote pieces down and deciphered music from that notation; a system of education based on modern methods developed while still preserving meşk (the traditional oral teaching method of Turkish music). These efforts were driven by the ‘ideal’ of transforming makam music, which was claimed to be archaic due to its monodic structure, into a polyphonic music. The musicians who knew western notation (such as Melekzet Efendi, Leon [Hancıyan] Efendi, etc.) were paid great amounts of money in order to record the works of the old masters in western notation and compile them, along with new compositions, into extensive note-collections (such as Muzika-i Hümâyûn Kumandanı [the commander of the royal military band] Necîp Paşa Collection and the Pertev Paşa Collection, etc.). Works were also published in note editions (such as Mâlûmat [literally meaning knowledge], Müntehâbât [literally meaning selections], Ûdî [lute-player] Arşak editions, etc.). Moreover, educational guides devoted to teaching makam theory and solmisation (such as Tanbûrî Cemîl Bey's Rehber-i Mûsikî [The Music Guide], Muallim [teacher] İsmail Hakkı Bey's Mahzen-i Esrâr-ı Mûsikî [The Cellar of the Secrets of Music], Muallim Kâzım Bey's Mûsikî Nazariyâtı [Music Theory], etc.) and the first methods for learning the instruments of makam music (such as Ûdî Salâhî Bey's Ud metodu [Lute Method], Seyyid Abdülkaadir Bey's Usûl-i Ta'lîm-i Keman [Method for Practising Violin, etc.], modelled on their European counterparts, were beginning to be published.

ContentsGreen Chemistry in the International ContextThe Concept of green ChemistryDefinition of green chemistry | Green chemistry: Why now? | The historical context of green chemistry | The emergence of green chemistryThe Content of Green ChemistryAreas of green chemistry | Preliminary remarks | Alternative feedstocks | Benign reagents/synthetic pathways | Synthetic transformations | Solvents/reaction conditionsGreen Chemistry in the International ContextIt has come to be recognized in recent years, that the science of chemistry is central to addressing the problems facing the environment. Through the utilization of the various subdisciplines of chemistry and the molecular sciences, there is an increasing appreciation that the emerging area of green chemistry1is needed in the design and attainment of sustainable development. A central driving force in this increasing awareness is that green chemistry accomplishes both economic and environmental goals simultaneously through the use of sound, fundamental scientific principles. Recently, a basic strategy has been proposed for implementing the relationships between industry and academia, and hence, funding of the research that constitutes the engine of economic advancement; it is what many schools of economics call the "triple bottom line" philosophy, meaning that an enterprise will be economically sustainable if the objectives of environmental protection, societal benefit, and market advantage are all satisfied2. Triple bottom line is a strong idea for evaluating the success of environmental technologies. It is clear that the best environmentally friendly technology or discovery will not impact on the market if it is not economically advantageous; in the same way, the market that ignores environmental needs and human involvement will not prosper. This is the challenge for the future of the chemical industry, its development being strongly linked to the extent to which environmental and human needs can be reconciled with new ideas in fundamental research. On the other hand, it should be easy to foresee that the success of environmentally friendly reactions, products, and processes will improve competitiveness within the chemical industry. If companies are able to meet the needs of society, people will influence their own governments to foster those industries attempting such environmental initiatives. Of course, fundamental research will play a central role in achieving these worthy objectives. What we call green chemistry may in fact embody some of the most advanced perspectives and opportunities in chemical sciences.It is for these reasons that the International Union of Pure and Applied Chemistry (IUPAC) has a central role to play in advancing and promoting the continuing emergence and impact of green chemistry. When we think about how IUPAC furthers chemistry throughout the world, it is useful to refer to IUPAC's Strategic Plan. This plan demonstrates the direct relevance of the mission of IUPAC to green chemistry, and explains why there is growing enthusiasm for the pursuit of this new area as an appropriate activity of a scientific Union. The IUPAC Strategic Plan outlines among other goals:IUPAC will serve as a scientific, international, nongovernmental body in objectively addressing global issues involving the chemical sciences. Where appropriate, IUPAC will represent the interests of chemistry in governmental and nongovernmental forums.IUPAC will provide tools (e.g., standardized nomenclature and methods) and forums to help advance international research in the chemical sciences.IUPAC will assist chemistry-related industry in its contributions to sustainable development, wealth creation, and improvement in the quality of life.IUPAC will facilitate the development of effective channels of communication in the international chemistry community.IUPAC will promote the service of chemistry to society in both developed and developing countries.IUPAC will utilize its global perspective to contribute toward the enhancement of education in chemistry and to advance the public understanding of chemistry and the scientific method.IUPAC will make special efforts to encourage the career development of young chemists.IUPAC will broaden the geographical base of the Union and ensure that its human capital is drawn from all segments of the world chemistry community.IUPAC will encourage worldwide dissemination of information about the activities of the Union.IUPAC will assure sound management of its resources to provide maximum value for the funds invested in the Union.Through the vehicle of green chemistry, IUPAC can engage and is engaging the international community in issues of global importance to the environment and to industry, through education of young and established scientists, the provision of technical tools, governmental engagement, communication to the public and scientific communities, and the pursuit of sustainable development. By virtue of its status as a leading and internationally representative scientific body, IUPAC is able to collaborate closely in furthering individual national efforts as well as those of multinational entities.An important example of such collaboration in the area of green chemistry is that of IUPAC with the Organization for the Economical Cooperation and Development (OECD) in the project on "Sustainable Chemistry", aimed at promoting increased awareness of the subject in the member countries. During a meeting of the Environment Directorate (Paris, 6 June 1999), it was proposed that United States and Italy co-lead the activity, and that implementation of five recommendations to the member countries be accorded the highest priority, namely:research and developmentawards and recognition for work on sustainable chemistryexchange of technical information related to sustainable chemistryguidance on activities and tools to support sustainable chemistry programssustainable chemistry educationThese recommendations were perceived to have socio-economic implications for worldwide implementation of sustainable chemistry. How IUPAC and, in particular, its Divisions can contribute to this effort is under discussion. IUPAC is recognized for its ability to act as the scientific counterpart to OECD for all recommendations and activities. Although the initiatives being developed by the OECD are aimed primarily at determining the role that national institutions can play in facilitating the implementation and impact of green chemistry, it is recognized that each of these initiatives also has an important scientific component. Whether it is developing criteria or providing technical assessment for awards and recognition, identifying appropriate scientific areas for educational incorporation, or providing scientific insight into the areas of need for fundamental research and development, IUPAC can play and is beginning to play an important role as an international scientific authority on green chemistry.Other multinational organizations including, among others, the United Nations, the European Union, and the Asian Pacific Economic Community, are now beginning to assess the role that they can play in promoting the implementation of green chemistry to meet environmental and economic goals simultaneously. As an alternative to the traditional regulatory framework often implemented as a unilateral strategy, multinational governmental organizations are discovering that green chemistry as a nonregulatory, science-based approach, provides opportunities for innovation and economic development that are compatible with sustainable development. In addition, individual nations have been extremely active in green chemistry and provide plentiful examples of the successful utilization of green chemistry technologies. There are rapidly growing activities in government, industry, and academia in the United States, Italy, the United Kingdom, the Netherlands, Spain, Germany, Japan, China, and many other countries in Europe and Asia, that testify to the importance of green chemistry to the future of the central science of chemistry around the world.Organizations and Commissions currently involved in programs in green chemistry at the national or international level include, for example:U.S. Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), with the "Green Chemistry Program" which involves, among others, the National Science Foundation, the American Chemical Society, and the Green Chemistry Institute;European Directorate for R&D (DG Research), which included the goals of sustainable chemistry in the actions and research of the European Fifth Framework Programme;Interuniversity Consortium "Chemistry for the Environment", which groups about 30 Italian universities interested in environmentally benign chemistry and funds their research groups;UK Royal Society of Chemistry, which promotes the concept of green chemistry through a "UK Green Chemistry Network" and the scientific journal Green Chemistry;UNIDO-ICS (International Centre for Science and High Technology of the United Nations Industrial Development Organization) which is developing a global program on sustainable chemistry focusing on catalysis and cleaner technologies with particular attention to developing and emerging countries (the program is also connected with UNIDO network of centers for cleaner production); andMonash University, which is the first organization in Australia to undertake a green chemistry program.Footnotes:1. The terminology "green chemistry" or "sustainable chemistry" is the subject of debate. The expressions are intended to convey the same or very similar meanings, but each has its supporters and detractors, since "green" is vividly evocative but may assume an unintended political connotation, whereas "sustainable" can be paraphrased as "chemistry for a sustainable environment", and may be perceived as a less focused and less incisive description of the discipline. Other terms have been proposed, such as "chemistry for the environment" but this juxtaposition of keywords already embraces many diversified fields involving the environment, and does not capture the economic and social implications of sustainability. The Working Party decided to adopt the term green chemistry for the purpose of this overview. This decision does not imply official IUPAC endorsement for the choice. In fact, the IUPAC Committee on Chemistry and Industry (COCI) favors, and will continue to use sustainable chemistry to describe the discipline.2. J. Elkington, &lt; http://www.sustainability.co.uk/sustainability.htm

1. Introduction This Special Issue (Part 2) expands upon the theme “Building Local Capacity for Long-term Disaster Resilience” presented in Special Issue Part 1 (JDR Volume 5, Number 2, April 2010) by examining the evolving concept of disaster resilience and providing additional reflections upon various aspects of its meaning. Part 1 provided a mixed set of examples of resiliency efforts, ranging from administrative challenges of integrating resilience into recovery to the analysis of hazard mitigation plans directed toward guiding local capability for developing resiliency. Resilience was broadly defined in the opening editorial of Special Issue Part 1 as “the capacity of a community to: 1) survive a major disaster, 2) retain essential structure and functions, and 3) adapt to post-disaster opportunities for transforming community structure and functions to meet new challenges.” In this editorial essay we first explore in Section 2 the history of resilience and then locate it within current academic and policy debates. Section 3 presents summaries of the papers in this issue. 2. Why is Resilience a Contemporary Theme? There is growing scholarly and policy interest in disaster resilience. In recent years, engineers [1], sociologists [2], geographers [3], economists [4], public policy analysts [5, 6], urban planners [7], hazards researchers [8], governments [9], and international organizations [10] have all contributed to the literature about this concept. Some authors view resilience as a mechanism for mitigating disaster impacts, with framework objectives such as resistance, absorption, and restoration [5]. Others, who focus on resiliency indicators, see it as an early warning system to assess community resiliency status [3, 8]. Recently, it has emerged as a component of social risk management that seeks to minimize social welfare loss from catastrophic disasters [6]. Manyena [11] traces scholarly exploration of resilience as an operational concept back at least five decades. Interest in resilience began in the 1940s with studies of children and trauma in the family and in the 1970s in the ecology literature as a useful framework to examine and measure the impact of assault or trauma on a defined eco-system component [12]. This led to modeling resilience measures for a variety of components within a defined ecosystem, leading to the realization that the systems approach to resiliency is attractive as a cross-disciplinary construct. The ecosystem analogy however, has limits when applied to disaster studies in that, historically, all catastrophic events have changed the place in which they occurred and a “return to normalcy” does not occur. This is true for modern urban societies as well as traditional agrarian societies. The adoption of “The Hyogo Framework for Action 2005-2015” (also known as The Hyogo Declaration) provides a global linkage and follows the United Nations 1990s International Decade for Natural Disaster Reduction effort. The 2005 Hyogo Declaration’s definition of resilience is: “The capacity of a system, community or society potentially exposed to hazards to adapt by resisting or changing in order to reach and maintain an acceptable level of functioning and structure.” The proposed measurement of resilience in the Hyogo Declaration is determined by “the degree to which the social system is capable of organizing itself to increase this capacity for learning from past disasters for better future protection and to improve risk reduction measures.” While very broad, this definition contains two key concepts: 1) adaptation, and 2) maintaining acceptable levels of functioning and structure. While adaptation requires certain capacities, maintaining acceptable levels of functioning and structure requires resources, forethought, and normative action. Some of these attributes are now reflected in the 2010 National Disaster Recovery Framework published by the U.S. Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) [13]. With the emergence of this new thinking on resilience related to disasters, it is now a good time to reflect on the concept and assess what has recently been said in the literature. Bruneau et al. [1] offer an engineering sciences definition for community seismic resilience: “The ability of social units (e.g., organizations, communities) to mitigate hazards, contain the effects of disasters when they occur, and carry out recovery activities in ways that minimize social disruption and mitigate the effects of future earthquakes.” Rose [4] writes that resiliency is the ability of a system to recover from a severe shock. He distinguishes two types of resilience: (1) inherent – ability under normal circumstances and (2) adaptive – ability in crisis situations due to ingenuity or extra effort. By opening up resilience to categorization he provides a pathway to establish multi-disciplinary approaches, something that is presently lacking in practice. Rose is most concerned with business disruption which can take extensive periods of time to correct. In order to make resource decisions that lower overall societal costs (economic, social, governmental and physical), Rose calls for the establishment of measurements that function as resource decision allocation guides. This has been done in part through risk transfer tools such as private insurance. However, it has not been well-adopted by governments in deciding how to allocate mitigation resources. We need to ask why the interest in resilience has grown? Manyena [11] argues that the concept of resilience has gained currency without obtaining clarity of understanding, definition, substance, philosophical dimensions, or applicability to disaster management and sustainable development theory and practice. It is evident that the “emergency management model” does not itself provide sufficient guidance for policymakers since it is too command-and-control-oriented and does not adequately address mitigation and recovery. Also, large disasters are increasingly viewed as major disruptions of the economic and social conditions of a country, state/province, or city. Lowering post-disaster costs (human life, property loss, economic advancement and government disruption) is being taken more seriously by government and civil society. The lessening of costs is not something the traditional “preparedness” stage of emergency management has concerned itself with; this is an existing void in meeting the expanding interests of government and civil society. The concept of resilience helps further clarify the relationship between risk and vulnerability. If risk is defined as “the probability of an event or condition occurring [14]#8221; then it can be reduced through physical, social, governmental, or economic means, thereby reducing the likelihood of damage and loss. Nothing can be done to stop an earthquake, volcanic eruption, cyclone, hurricane, or other natural event, but the probability of damage and loss from natural and technological hazards can be addressed through structural and non-structural strategies. Vulnerability is the absence of capacity to resist or absorb a disaster impact. Changes in vulnerability can then be achieved by changes in these capacities. In this regard, Franco and Siembieda describe in this issue how coastal cities in Chile had low resilience and high vulnerability to the tsunami generated by the February 2010 earthquake, whereas modern buildings had high resilience and, therefore, were much less vulnerable to the powerful earthquake. We also see how the framework for policy development can change through differing perspectives. Eisner discusses in this issue how local non-governmental social service agencies are building their resilience capabilities to serve target populations after a disaster occurs, becoming self-renewing social organizations and demonstrating what Leonard and Howett [6] term “social resilience.” All of the contributions to this issue illustrate the lowering of disaster impacts and strengthening of capacity (at the household, community or governmental level) for what Alesch [15] terms “post-event viability” – a term reflecting how well a person, business, community, or government functions after a disaster in addition to what they might do prior to a disaster to lessen its impact. Viability might become the definition of recovery if it can be measured or agreed upon. 3. Contents of This Issue The insights provided by the papers in this issue contribute greater clarity to an understanding of resilience, together with its applicability to disaster management. In these papers we find tools and methods, process strategies, and planning approaches. There are five papers focused on local experiences, three on state (prefecture) experiences, and two on national experiences. The papers in this issue reinforce the concept of resilience as a process, not a product, because it is the sum of many actions. The resiliency outcome is the result of multiple inputs from the level of the individual and, at times, continuing up to the national or international organizational level. Through this exploration we see that the “resiliency” concept accepts that people will come into conflict with natural or anthropogenic hazards. The policy question then becomes how to lower the impact(s) of the conflict through “hard or soft” measures (see the Special Issue Part 1 editorial for a discussion of “hard” vs. “soft” resilience). Local level Go Urakawa and Haruo Hayashi illustrate how post-disaster operations for public utilities can be problematic because many practitioners have no direct experience in such operations, noting that the formats and methods normally used in recovery depend on personal skills and effort. They describe how these problems are addressed by creating manuals on measures for effectively implementing post-disaster operations. They develop a method to extract priority operations using business impact analysis (BIA) and project management based business flow diagrams (BFD). Their article effectively illustrates the practical aspects of strengthening the resiliency of public organizations. Richard Eisner presents the framework used to initiate the development and implementation of a process to create disaster resilience in faith-based and community-based organizations that provide services to vulnerable populations in San Francisco, California. A major project outcome is the Disaster Resilience Standard for Community- and Faith-Based Service Providers. This “standard” has general applicability for use by social service agencies in the public and non-profit sectors. Alejandro Linayo addresses the growing issue of technological risk in cities. He argues for the need to understand an inherent conflict between how we occupy urban space and the technological risks created by hazardous chemicals, radiation, oil and gas, and other hazardous materials storage and movement. The paper points out that information and procedural gaps exist in terms of citizen knowledge (the right to know) and local administrative knowledge (missing expertise). Advances and experience accumulated by the Venezuela Disaster Risk Management Research Center in identifying and integrating technological risk treatment for the city of Merida, Venezuela, are highlighted as a way to move forward. L. Teresa Guevara-Perez presents the case that certain urban zoning requirements in contemporary cities encourage and, in some cases, enforce the use of building configurations that have been long recognized by earthquake engineering as seismically vulnerable. Using Western Europe and the Modernist architectural movement, she develops the historical case for understanding discrepancies between urban zoning regulations and seismic codes that have led to vulnerable modern building configurations, and traces the international dissemination of architectural and urban planning concepts that have generated vulnerability in contemporary cities around the world. Jung Eun Kang, Walter Gillis Peacock, and Rahmawati Husein discuss an assessment protocol for Hazard Mitigation Plans applied to 12 coastal hazard zone plans in the state of Texas in the U.S. The components of these plans are systematically examined in order to highlight their respective strengths and weaknesses. The authors describe an assessment tool, the plan quality score (PQS), composed of seven primary components (vision statement, planning process, fact basis, goals and objectives, inter-organizational coordination, policies & actions, and implementation), as well as a component quality score (CQS). State (Prefecture) level Charles Real presents the Natural Hazard Zonation Policies for Land Use Planning and Development in California in the U.S. California has established state-level policies that utilize knowledge of where natural hazards are more likely to occur to enhance the effectiveness of land use planning as a tool for risk mitigation. Experience in California demonstrates that a combination of education, outreach, and mutually supporting policies that are linked to state-designated natural hazard zones can form an effective framework for enhancing the role of land use planning in reducing future losses from natural disasters. Norio Maki, Keiko Tamura, and Haruo Hayashi present a method for local government stakeholders involved in pre-disaster plan making to describe performance measures through the formulation of desired outcomes. Through a case study approach, Nara and Kyoto Prefectures’ separate experiences demonstrate how to conduct Strategic Earthquake Disaster Reduction Plans and Action Plans that have deep stakeholder buy-in and outcome measurability. Nara’s plan was prepared from 2,015 stakeholder ideas and Kyoto’s plan was prepared from 1,613 stakeholder ideas. Having a quantitative target for individual objectives ensures the measurability of plan progress. Both jurisdictions have undertaken evaluations of plan outcomes. Sandy Meyer, Eugene Henry, Roy E. Wright and Cynthia A. Palmer present the State of Florida in the U.S. and its experience with pre-disaster planning for post-disaster redevelopment. Drawing upon the lessons learned from the impacts of the 2004 and 2005 hurricane seasons, local governments and state leaders in Florida sought to find a way to encourage behavior that would create greater community resiliency in 2006. The paper presents initial efforts to develop a post-disaster redevelopment plan (PDRP), including the experience of a pilot county. National level Bo-Yao Lee provides a national perspective: New Zealand’s approach to emergency management, where all hazard risks are addressed through devolved accountability. This contemporary approach advocates collaboration and coordination, aiming to address all hazard risks through the “4Rs” – reduction, readiness, response, and recovery. Lee presents the impact of the Resource Management Act (1991), the Civil Defence Emergency Management Act (2002), and the Building Act (2004) that comprise the key legislation influencing and promoting integrated management for environment and hazard risk management. Guillermo Franco and William Siembieda provide a field assessment of the February 27, 2010, M8.8 earthquake and tsunami event in Chile. The papers present an initial damage and life-loss review and assessment of seismic building resiliency and the country’s rapid updating of building codes that have undergone continuous improvement over the past 60 years. The country’s land use planning system and its emergency management system are also described. The role of insurance coverage reveals problems in seismic coverage for homeowners. The unique role of the Catholic Church in providing temporary shelter and the central government’s five-point housing recovery plan are presented. A weakness in the government’s emergency management system’s early tsunami response system is noted. Acknowledgements The Editorial Committee extends its sincere appreciation to both the contributors and the JDR staff for their patience and determination in making Part 2 of this special issue possible. Thanks also to the reviewers for their insightful analytic comments and suggestions. Finally, the Committee wishes to again thank Bayete Henderson for his keen and thorough editorial assistance and copy editing support.

Abstract Documents relating to the acquisition by the South Kensington Museum in London of the Altarpiece of St George in 1864 offer (beyond their obvious relevance for studies of International Gothic painting in Valencia) a clear view of the competitive environment in which collections were shaped and curated in this great institution, then recently founded and dedicated to the education of the public taste. The role of the antiques trade in transactions of this type was important, for it was there that the purchase and sale of high-quality artistic pieces of uncertain origin was managed. Moreover, the new perception and increasing appreciation of Hispanic medieval art in Europe in the mid-1800s emerge clearly from this acquisition.

Abstract This article traces a statue, which Zenon of Aphrodisias carved, from Syracuse to its discovery at the Palace of Cogolludo in 2007. The study of this statue of the Muse Euterpe broadly demonstrates the appreciation for a figure from the classical world to Early Modern Europe and focuses attention on two understudied moments in the history of sculpture. It shows that Zenon carved the figure in the 4th c. CE, and its story reveals new connections between sculptors of Aphrodisias and specific patrons of the period. The statue's subsequent history attests to the high regard for ancient art and epigraphy in the Iberian Peninsula in 1500–1700. Since the statue probably belonged to Luis de la Cerda, ninth Duke of Medinaceli, it draws attention to a remarkable patron and a neglected aspect of Spanish cultural history.

Dragan Klaic, a leading researcher on festivals in Europe, believes the new emerging purpose of festivals is that they"increasingly… are not just artistic packages with appealing and valued content but instruments to re-examine the urban dynamics, … within the city space.…[F]estivals challenge the habitual pathways and perceptions…. In the urban space, functionally dominated by housing and consumerism, festivals reaffirm the public sphere in its civic dimension, including polemic, debate, critique and collective passion for a certain art form or topic.… [F]estivals appear as a precious force to mark the perimeters of the public sphere, upgrade it by the concentration of creative gestures and their collective appreciation"(202-203).Klaic captures a theme of central importance, one that has been debated already within the context of broadcast media, the Internet and newspaper industry, but that still has yet to be thoroughly explored by theorists within the context of the cultural sphere of festivals: the public sphere. Specifically, because of the nature of festivals as a spatiotemporal event within the physical space of the city, and because political, socioeconomic as well as artistic-cultural spaces intersect the festival event, festivals areunique points of convergence in the context of the public sphere.

Abstract Background Research suggests that access to urban green spaces (UGS) is crucial to support public and environmental health through ecosystem services (ES) provision. However, Cultural ecosystem services (CES), due to their connections to human emotion, a deep meaning, fulfilment, and motivation, have been less studied. CES provision in UGS are central to well-being, contributing to improving mental and physical health outcomes, as well as enhancing social cohesion. Accordingly, this systematic review aims to contribute to a better understanding of CES provision by UGS. Methods A systematic review was carried out in ScienceDirect (Article type = Research articles, years = 2000–2020), PubMed (Article type = journal article, text availability = Full text, year = 2000–2020) and Google Scholar (year = 2000–2020) databases. The keywords used in the search were: ‘urban green space’ OR ‘parks’ AND ‘cultural ecosystem service’ OR ‘cultural services’. Results The search returned 5417 results. After the screening process, 41 articles were reviewed. CES are mainly studied in Europe in the fields of social sciences and landscape management, linking human well-being, urban landscape management, and planning. The dimensions studied are (i) perception and assessment, (ii) recreation and mental and physical health, (iii) aesthetic appreciation/inspiration for culture, art, and design, (iv) tourism, and (v) spiritual experience and sense of place. Conclusions The study points out to the need for efforts to develop relational approaches to help understand what UGS users feel and experience. In particular, how UGS contribute towards promoting healthier and sustainable cities, and to fostering the well-being of people of all ages.

Literary history can be viewed alternately in a perspective of continuities or discontinuities. In the former perspective, what I perversely call postmodernism is simply an extension of modernism [which is], as everyone knows, a development of symbolism, which … is itself a specialisation of romanticismand who is there to say that the romantic concept of man does not find its origin in the great European Enlightenment? Etc. In the latter perspective, however, continuities [which are] maintained on a certain level of narrative abstraction (i.e., history [or aesthetic description]) are resisted in the interests of the quiddity and discreteness of art, the space that each work or action creates around itself. – Ihab Hassan Ihab Hassan’s words, published in 1975, continue to resonate today. How should we approach art? Can an artwork ever really fully be described by its critical review, or does its description only lead to an ever multiplying succession of terms? Michel Foucault spoke of the construction of modern sexuality as being seen as the hidden, irresolvable “truth” of our subjectivity, as that secret which we must constantly speak about, and hence as an “incitement to discourse” (Foucault, History of Sexuality). Since the Romantic period, the appreciation of aesthetics has been tied to the subjectivity of the individual and to the degree an art work appeals to the individual’s sense of self: to one’s personal refinement, emotions and so on. Art might be considered part of the truth of our subjectivity which we seem to be endlessly talking about – without, however, actually ever resolving the issue of what a great art work really is (anymore than we have resolved the issue of what natural sexuality is). It is not my aim to explicate the relationship between art and sex but to re-inject a strategic understanding of discourse, as Foucault understood it, back into commonplace, contemporary aesthetic criticism. The problems in rendering into words subjective, emotional experiences and formal aesthetic criteria continue to dog criticism today. The chief hindrances to contemporary criticism remain such institutional factors as the economic function of newspapers. Given their primary function as tools for the selling of advertising space, newspapers are inherently unsuited to sustaining detailed, informed dialogue on any topic – be it international politics or aesthetics. As it is, reviews remain short, quickly written pieces squeezed into already overloaded arts pages. This does not prevent skilled, caring writers and their editorial supporters from ensuring that fine reviews are published. In the meantime, we muddle through as best we can. I argue that criticism, like art, should operate self-consciously as an incitement to discourse, to engagement, and so to further discussion, poetry, et cetera. The possibility of an endless recession of theoretical terms and subjective responses should not dissuade us. Rather, one should provisionally accept the instrumentality of aesthetic discourse provided one is able always to bear in mind the nominalism which is required to prevent the description of art from becoming an instrument of repression. This is to say, aesthetic criticism is clearly authored in order to demonstrate something: to argue a point, to make a fruitful comparison, and so on. This does not mean that criticism should be composed so as to dictate aesthetic taste to the reader. Instead, it should act as an invitation to further responses – much as the art work itself does. Foucault has described discourse – language, terminologies, metaphorical conceits and those logical and poetic structures which underpin them – as a form of technology (Foucault, Archaeology of Knowledge and History of Sexuality). Different discursive forces arise in response to different cultural needs and contexts, including, indeed, those formulated not only by artists, but also by reviewers. As Hassan intimates, what is or is not “postmodernism”, for example, depends less on the art work itself – it is less a matter of an art work’s specific “quiddity” and its internal qualities – but is, rather, fundamentally dependent upon what one is trying to say about the piece. If one is trying to describe something novel in a work, something which relates it to a series of new or unusual forms which have become dominant within society since World War Two, then the term “postmodernism” most usefully applies. This, then, would entail breaking down the “the space that each work … creates around itself” in order to emphasise horizontal “continuities”. If, on the other hand, the critic wishes to describe the work from the perspective of historical developments, so as to trace the common features of various art works across a genealogical pattern running from Romanticism to the present day, one must de-emphasise the quiddity of the work in favour of vertical continuities. In both cases, however, the identification of common themes across various art works so as to aid in the description of wider historical or aesthetic conditions requires a certain “abstraction” of the qualities of the aesthetic works in question. The “postmodernism”, or any other quality, of a single art work thus remains in the eye of the beholder. No art work is definitively “postmodern” as such. It is only “postmodern” inasmuch as this description aids one in understanding a certain aspect of the piece and its relationship to other objects of analysis. In short, the more either an art work or its critical review elides full descriptive explication, the more useful reflections which might be voiced in its wake. What then is the instrumental purpose of the arts review as a genre of writing? For liberal humanist critics such as Matthew Arnold, F.R. Leavis and Harold Bloom, the role of the critic is straight forward and authoritative. Great art is said to be imbued with the spirit of humanity; with the very essence of our common subjectivity itself. Critics in this mode seek the truth of art and once it has been found, they generally construct it as unified, cohesive and of great value to all of humanity. The authors of the various avant-garde manifestoes which arose in Europe from the fin de siècle period onwards significantly complicated this ideal of universal value by arguing that such aesthetic values were necessarily abstract and so were not immediately visible within the content of the work per se. Such values were rather often present in the art work’s form and expression. Surrealism, Futurism, Supremacism, the Bauhaus and the other movements were founded upon the contention that these avant-garde art works revealed fundamental truths about the essence of human subjectivity: the imperious power of the dream at the heart of our emotional and psychic life, the geometric principles of colour and shape which provide the language for all experience of the sublime, and so on. The critic was still obliged to identify greatness and to isolate and disseminate those pieces of art which revealed the hidden truth of our shared human experience. Few influential art movements did not, in fact, have a chief theoretician to promote their ideals to the world, be it Ezra Pound and Leavis as the explicators of the works of T.S. Eliot, Martin Esslin for Beckett, or the artist her or himself, such as choreographers Martha Graham or Merce Cunningham, both of whom described in considerable detail their own methodologies to various scribes. The great challenge presented in the writings of Foucault, Derrida, Hassan and others, however, is to abandon such a sense of universal aesthetic and philosophical value. Like their fellow travellers within the New Left and soixante huit-ièmes (the agitators and cultural critics of 1968 Paris), these critics contend that the idea of a universal human subjectivity is problematic at best, if not a discursive fiction, which has been used to justify repression, colonialism, the unequal institutional hierarchies of bourgeois democratic systems, and so on. Art does not therefore speak of universal human truths. It is rather – like aesthetic criticism itself – a discursive product whose value should be considered instrumentally. The kind of a critical relationship which I am proposing here might provisionally be classified as discursive or archaeological criticism (in the Foucauldian sense of tracing discursive relationships and their distribution within any given cross-section or strata of cultural life). The role of the critic in such a situation is not one of acknowledging great art. Rather, the critic’s function becomes highly strategic, with interpretations and opinions regarding art works acting as invitations to engagement, consideration and, hence, also to rejection. From the point of view of the audience, too, the critic’s role is one of utility. If a critical description prompts useful, interesting or pleasurable reflections in the reader, then the review has been effective. If it has not, it has no role to play. The response to criticism thus becomes as subjective as the response to the art work itself. Similarly, just as Marcel Duchamp’s act of inverting a urinal and calling it art showed that anyone could be an artist provided they adopted a suitably creative vision of the objects which surrounded them, so anyone and everyone is a legitimate critic of any art work addressed to him or her as an audience. The institutional power accorded to critics by merit of the publications to which they are attached should not obfuscate the fact that anyone has the moral right to venture a critical judgement. It is not actually logically possible to be “right” or “wrong” in attributing qualities to an art work (although I have had artists assert the contrary to me). I like noise art, for example, and find much to stimulate my intellect and my affect in the chaotic feedback characteristic of the work of Merzbow and others. Many others however simply find such sounds to constitute unpleasant noise. Neither commentator is “right”. Both views co-exist. What is important is how these ideas are expressed, what propositions are marshalled to support either position, and how internally cohesive are the arguments supplied by supporters of either proposition. The merit of any particular critical intervention is therefore strictly formal or expressive, lying in its rhetorical construction, rather than in the subjective content of the criticism itself, per se. Clearly, such discursive criticism is of little value in describing works devised according to either an unequivocally liberal humanist or modernist avant-garde perspective. Aesthetic criticism authored in this spirit will not identify the universal, timeless truths of the work, nor will it act as an authoritative barometer of aesthetic value. By the same token though, a recognition of pluralism and instrumentality does not necessarily entail the rejection of categories of value altogether. Such a technique of aesthetic analysis functions primarily in the realm of superficial discursive qualities and formal features, rather than subterranean essences. It is in this sense both anti-Romantic and anti-Platonic. Discursive analysis has its own categories of truth and evaluation. Similarities between works, influences amongst artists and generic or affective precedents become the primary objects of analysis. Such a form of criticism is, in this sense, directly in accord with a similarly self-reflexive, historicised approach to art making itself. Where artists are consciously seeking to engage with their predecessors or peers, to find ways of situating their own work through the development of ideas visible in other cultural objects and historic aesthetic works, then the creation of art becomes itself a form of practical criticism or praxis. The distinction between criticism and its object is, therefore, one of formal expression, not one of nature or essence. Both practices engage with similar materials through a process of reflection (Marshall, “Vertigo”). Having described in philosophical and critical terms what constitutes an unfettered, democratic and strategic model of discursive criticism, it is perhaps useful to close with a more pragmatic description of how I myself attempt to proceed in authoring such criticism and, so, offer at least one possible (and, by definition, subjective) model for discursive criticism. Given that discursive analysis itself developed out of linguistic theory and Saussure’s discussion of the structural nature of signification, it is no surprise that the primary methodology underlying discursive analysis remains that of semiotics: namely how systems of representation and meaning mutually reinforce and support each other, and how they fail to do so. As a critic viewing an art work, it is, therefore, always my first goal to attempt to identify what it is that the artist appears to be trying to do in mounting a production. Is the art work intended as a cultural critique, a political protest, an avant-garde statement, a work of pure escapism, or some other kind of project – and hence one which can be judged according to the generic forms and values associated with such a style in comparison with those by other artists who work in this field? Having determined or intuited this, several related but nominally distinct critical reflections follow. Firstly, how effectively is this intent underpinning the art work achieved, how internally consistent are the tools, forms and themes utilised within the production, and do the affective and historic resonances evoked by the materials employed therein cohere into a logical (or a deliberately fragmented) whole? Secondly, how valid or aesthetically interesting is such a project in the first place, irrespective of whether it was successfully achieved or not? In short, how does the artist’s work compare with its own apparent generic rules, precedents and peers, and is the idea behind the work a contextually valid one or not? The questions of value which inevitably come into these judgements must be weighed according to explicit arguments regarding context, history and genre. It is the discursive transparency of the critique which enables readers to mentally contest the author. Implicitly transcendental models of universal emotional or aesthetic responses should not be invoked. Works of art should, therefore, be judged according to their own manifest terms, and, so, according to the values which appear to govern the relationships which organise materials within the art work. They should also, however, be viewed from a position definitively outside the work, placing the overall concept and its implicit, underlying theses within the context of other precedents, cultural values, political considerations and so on. In other words, one should attempt to heed Hassan’s caution that all art works may be seen both from the perspective of historico-genealogical continuities, as well as according to their own unique, self-defining characteristics and intentions. At the same time, the critical framework of the review itself – while remaining potentially dense and complex – should be as apparent to the reader as possible. The kind of criticism which I author is, therefore, based on a combination of art-historical, generic and socio-cultural comparisons. Critics are clearly able to elaborate more parallels between various artistic and cultural activities than many of their peers in the audience simply because it is the profession of the former to be as familiar with as wide a range of art-historical, cultural and political materials as is possible. This does not, however, make the opinions of the critic “correct”, it merely makes them more potentially dense. Other audiences nevertheless make their own connections, while spectators remain free to state that the particular parallels identified by the critic were not, to their minds, as significant as the critic would contend. The quantity of knowledge from which the critic can select does not verify the accuracy of his or her observations. It rather enables the potential richness of the description. In short, it is high time critics gave up all pretensions to closing off discourse by describing aesthetic works. On the contrary, arts reviewing, like arts production itself, should be seen as an invitation to further discourse, as a gift offered to those who might want it, rather than a Leavisite or Bloom-esque bludgeon to instruct the insensitive masses as to what is supposed to subjectively enlighten and uplift them. It is this sense of engagement – between critic, artist and audience – which provides the truly poetic quality to arts criticism, allowing readers to think creatively in their own right through their own interaction with a collaborative process of rumination on aesthetics and culture. In this way, artists, audiences and critics come to occupy the same terrain, exchanging views and constructing a community of shared ideas, debate and ever-multiplying discursive forms. Ideally, written criticism would come to occupy the same level of authority as an argument between an audience member and a critic at the bar following the staging of a production. I admit myself that even my best written compositions rarely achieve the level of playful interaction which such an environment often provokes. I nevertheless continue to strive for such a form of discursive exchange and bibulous poetry. References Apollonio, Umbro, ed. Futurist Manifestos. London: Thames and Hudson, 1973. Arnold, Matthew. Essays in Criticism. London: Macmillan, 1903-27, published as 2 series. Barthes, Roland. Mythologies. Trans. by Annette Lavers. London: Vintage, 1993. Bloom, Harold. Shakespeare: The Invention of the Human. New York: Riverhead, 1998. Benjamin, Walter. Reflections: Essays, Aphorisms, Autobiographical Writings. Trans. by Edmund Jephcott. New York: Harcourt, 1978. Breton, André. Manifestoes of Surrealism. Trans. by Richard Seaver and Helen Lane. Ann Arbor: Michigan UP, 1972. Eliot, T.S. Collected Poems 1909-1962. London: Faber, 1963. Esslin, Martin. Theatre of the Absurd. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1968. Foucault, Michel. The Archaeology of Knowledge. Trans. by A.M. Sheridan Smith. London: Tavistock, 1972. ———. The History of Sexuality: Volume I: An Introduction. Trans. by Robert Hurley. London: Penguin, 1990. Fukuyama, Francis. The End of History and the Last Man. London: Penguin, 1992. Graham, Martha. Blood Memory. New York: Doubleday, 1991. Hassan, Ihab. “Joyce, Beckett and the Postmodern Imagination.” Triquarterly 32.4 (1975): 192ff. Jameson, Fredric. “Postmodernism, or the Cultural Dominant of Late Capitalism,” New Left Review 146 (1984): 53-92. Leavis, F.R. F.R. Leavis: Essays and Documents. Eds. Ian MacKillop and Richard Storer. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995. Malevich, Kazimir. In Penny Guggenheim, ed. Art of This Century – Drawings – Photographs – Sculpture – Collages. New York: Art Aid, 1942. Marshall, Jonathan. “Documents in Australian Postmodern Dance: Two Interviews with Lucy Guerin,” in Adrian Kiernander, ed. Dance and Physical Theatre, special edition of Australasian Drama Studies 41 (October 2002): 102-33. ———. “Operatic Tradition and Ambivalence in Chamber Made Opera’s Recital (Chesworth, Horton, Noonan),” in Keith Gallasch and Laura Ginters, eds. Music Theatre in Australia, special edition of Australasian Drama Studies 45 (October 2004): 72-96. ———. “Vertigo: Between the Word and the Act,” Independent Performance Forums, series of essays commissioned by Not Yet It’s Difficult theatre company and published in RealTime Australia 35 (2000): 10. Merzbow. Venereology. Audio recording. USA: Relapse, 1994. Richards, Alison, Geoffrey Milne, et al., eds. Pearls before Swine: Australian Theatre Criticism, special edition of Meajin 53.3 (Spring 1994). Tzara, Tristan. Seven Dada Manifestos and Lampisteries. Trans. by Barbara Wright. London: Calder, 1992. Vaughan, David. Merce Cunningham: Fifty Years. Ed. Melissa Harris. New York: Aperture, 1997. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Marshall, Jonathan. "Inciting Reflection: A Short Manifesto for and Introduction to the Discursive Reviewing of the Arts." M/C Journal 8.5 (2005). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0510/08-marshall.php>. APA Style Marshall, J. (Oct. 2005) "Inciting Reflection: A Short Manifesto for and Introduction to the Discursive Reviewing of the Arts," M/C Journal, 8(5). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0510/08-marshall.php>.

Welcome to the first 2017 edition of Approaches! Last year was dedicated to two special issues: Music, Drama, Dance Movement and Art Therapy: Interdisciplinary Dialogues (Karkou 2016) and Dalcroze Eurhythmics in Music Therapy and Special Music Education (Habron 2016). The interdisciplinary focus of these two special issues highlights the vision of Approaches: to provide diverse perspectives on music therapy practice, profession and discipline by fostering polyphonic dialogues and by linking local and global aspects of music, health and wellbeing. We aim to work with scholars, researchers and practitioners from different fields related to music therapy while we try to create the conditions for healthy and academically robust debates. An open, yet critical, stance towards diverse, even conflicting, views, as well as a huge amount of learning and re-learning (Tsiris et al. 2016), is needed for the accomplishment of this vision. We would like to take this opportunity to thank Approaches’ editorial team members, the reviewers and, most importantly, the authors for promoting this vision within the journal. Many of our colleagues have served for several years as editorial team members – some since the journal’s establishment in 2008. We recently introduced a five-year pattern which means that some of our current team members will be stepping down at the end of this year. We express our sincere appreciation for their hard work and commitment over the past years. Their role has been vital for the growth of Approaches. Our thanks also go to the past and current sponsors of Approaches. This edition begins with a special feature entitled Music Therapy: A Profession for the Future. Guest edited by Inge Nygaard Pedersen, this special feature includes a series of papers from a symposium held on 15th April 2016 at Aalborg University, Denmark. Written by 15 authors, these papers explore two key questions: ‘Why music?’ and ‘Why and when is a music therapist needed?’ This feature is organised according to three areas of music therapy work: i) mental health, ii) dementia care and neuro-rehabilitation, and iii) attachment / communication and developmental problems. In addition to this special feature, this edition brings together a rich collation of articles, interviews, book reviews, conference reports and tributes. The content reflects our commitment not only to interdisciplinary but also to multicultural issues. Bethan Lee Shrubsole reflects on her music therapy practice in northern Uganda, while Elizabeth Coombes and Michal Tombs-Katz reflect on their therapeutic music skill-sharing work in the West Bank. The crucial task of producing practice-based evidence to support the establishment and continuation of music therapy services is addressed in two different but complementary articles by Claire Cartwright (UK) and Okiko Ishihara (Japan) respectively. In the final article, Melissa Mercadal-Brotons, Patricia Sabbatella and María Teresa Del Moral Marcos provide a comprehensive and detailed report on the history, current state, and potential future of music therapy in Spain from the perspectives of training, research and professional practice. They note many exciting accomplishments, yet argue that considerable work still needs to be done to achieve an organised and mature profession. The challenges associated with professionalisation, including the creation of a unified vision of the professional role of music therapists and official recognition of music therapy by national governments, will be familiar concerns within other countries. And indeed, similar considerations and concerns have been outlined in Approaches’ special issue on music therapy in Europe (Ridder & Tsiris 2015). Keeping with the theme of professionalisation, Elizabeth Coombes’ interview with Ioanna Etmektsoglou offers insights into the challenges and opportunities of a new music therapy training programme drawing on Coombes’ experience at the MA Music Therapy programme at the University of South Wales, UK. In this edition you will also find a number of book reviews, conference reports and tributes. The latter are dedicated to two individuals who passed away in 2015, in memory of their contribution to the field. The first of the tributes is to Oliver Sacks and his tremendous impact on our contemporary thinking about music and wellbeing. The second tribute is to Andrew O’Hanrahan, a UK-based music therapist whose work touched the lives of many. References Habron, J. (Ed.). (2016). Dalcroze Eurhythmics in music therapy and special music education. Approaches: An Interdisciplinary Journal of Music Therapy, Special Issue 8(2). Retrieved from https://approaches.gr/special-issue-8-2-2016/ Karkou, V. (Ed.). (2016). Music, drama, dance movement and art therapy: Interdisciplinary dialogues. Approaches: An Interdisciplinary Journal of Music Therapy, Special Issue 8(1). Retrieved from https://approaches.gr/special-issue-8-1-2016/ Ridder, H. M. O., & Tsiris, G. (Eds.). (2015). Music therapy in Europe: Paths of professional development. Approaches: Music Therapy & Special Music Education, Special Issue 7(1). Retrieved from https://approaches.gr/special-issue-7-1-2015/ Tsiris, G., Derrington, P., Sparkes, P., Spiro, N., & Wilson, G. (2016). Interdisciplinary Dialogues in Music, Health and Wellbeing: Difficulties, Challenges and Pitfalls. In M. Belgrave (Ed.), Proceedings of the ISME Commission on Special Music Education and Music Therapy (20-23 July 2016, Edinburgh, Scotland) (pp. 58-70). Edinburgh: ISME. Suggested citation: Tsiris, G., & Rickson, D. (2017). Fostering interdisciplinary and multicultural dialogues. Approaches: An Interdisciplinary Journal of Music Therapy, 9(1), 6-7.

This article is intended to create an interdisciplinary space to enable productive dialogue about bodily representation of psychological trauma and its meanings in artistic, literary, visual, and health discourses, with reference to Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot. Drawing on Pat Ogden and her colleagues’ somatic approach to trauma therapy and on Bessel A. van der Kolk’s hypothesis that traumatic experiences of the past manifest in physiological states and actions of the present, the article views postures and body movements of the characters in the play as symptoms of psychological trauma. It shows how the play offers unique insights into the trauma pathology of postwar Europe, which may be valuable to psychiatrists, psychotherapists, rehabilitation workers, victim advocates, and students and interns entering the fields of mental health and trauma treatment.

ResumenLas subvenciones a la prensa de los distintos Gobiernos en España es una necesidad no exenta de polémica por el control que se ejerce sobre ella. Su génesis se remonta a los años 60 y 70 y perviven en toda Europa sustentadas mediante el fomento del pluralismo. El objetivo de esta investigación es realizar un análisis contrastivo entre la Ley de Ayudas del Estado a la Prensa de 1984, y la legislación autonómica de Andalucía, Cataluña, Galicia y El País Vasco. Los resultados confirman el fortalecimiento de las publicaciones en las lenguas propias de las Comunidades Autónomas bilingües; el otorgamiento de estas contribuciones monetarias en exclusiva por parte de los Gobiernos autonómicos; el auge del patrocinio mediante la publicidad institucional insertada en las publicaciones periódicas de las Comunidades Autónomas; así como la concesión de ayudas financieras a medios minoritarios y la creciente valoración de proyectos de investigación periodística.AbstractThe subsidies to the press of the various governments in Spain is a need not without controversy by the control exercised over it. Its genesis goes back to the 60 and 70 and live on in Europe supported by promoting pluralism. The objective of this research is to conduct a contrastive analysis between the State Aid Act on the Press 1984, and regional legislation in Andalusia, Catalonia, Galicia and the Basque Country. The results confirm the strengthening of the publications in the languages of the bilingual Autonomous Communities, the granting of these monetary contributions exclusively by regional governments, the rise of corporate sponsorship through advertising inserted in the journals of the Autonomous Communities as well as the financial aid to minority media and the growing appreciation of investigative journalism projects.Palabras clavePrensa; Subvenciones; Políticas de Comunicación; Comunidades Autónomas; España.KeywordsPress; Subsidies; Policy Communication; Autonomous Communities; Spain.

Il recente ricorso alla Corte europea dei diritti dell’uomo (n. n. 46470/11) nasce dalla pretesa di usare gli embrioni umani per la ricerca scientifica sul presupposto che si tratti di “cose”. Infatti, la ricorrente invoca il suo diritto di proprietà sugli embrioni appellandosi all’art. 1 del Protocollo n. 1 addizionale alla Convenzione Europea per la salvaguardia dei diritti e delle libertà fondamentali. L’attacco è diretto contro la legge italiana sulla procreazione medicalmente assistita (Legge 40 del 19 febbraio 2004) il cui art. 13/1 vieta “qualsiasi sperimentazione su ciascun embrione umano”. Gli Autori, ritengono che sia infondata scientificamente e giuridicamente la pretesa di considerare l’embrione umano una cosa; mostrano come il riconoscimento del il concepito soggetto titolare di diritti (art.1), sia supportato da un importante complesso normativo; contestano la pretesa contraddizione tra la Legge 40 del 2004 con la legge 194 del 1978; sostengono la ragionevolezza scientifica, etica e giuridica di orientare la scienza verso la ricerca sulle staminali adulte, anziché su quelle embrionali. L’indagine viene condotta passando in rassegna numerose disposizioni a partire dall’art. 18 della Convenzione di Oviedo. Ampio spazio è dato alla giurisprudenza della Corte europea dei diritti dell’uomo in materia di bioetica in relazione alla dottrina del margine di apprezzamento che dovrebbe essere applicata anche in senso favorevole all’Italia nel caso in esame. Il contributo auspica che i giudici tengano conto di quanto scritto nell’articolo 2 del Trattato di Oviedo che sotto il titolo “Primato dell’essere umano”, dichiara “l’interesse ed il bene dell’essere umano devono prevalere sul solo interesse della società e della scienza”. ---------- The recent appeal to the European Court of Human Rights (Application n. 46470/11) originates from the demand to use human embryos for scientific research on the ground that they are “things”. Indeed the appellant claims her right to property of the embryos pleading to the art. 1 of the Additional Protocol n. 1 of the European Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms. The attack is directed against the Italian Law on medically assisted procreation (Law n. 40 of 19 February 2004) which bans any experimentation on human embryo. The Authors argue that the demanded evaluation of the human embryo as a “thing” is scientifically and legally baseless. They also show how the Italian Law n. 40/2004, which recognizes the embryo as a subject holder of rights (art.1), is backed by an important normative complex. In this article the thesis on the inconsistency between Law n. 40/2004 and Law n. 194/178 is rejected and it is claimed the scientific, ethical and legal reasonableness to lead the science to adult stem cells instead embryonic stem cells. The analysis is conducted reviewing numerous dispositions from art. 18 of the Oviedo Convention on Human Rights and Biomedicine. In this article a wide space is allowed to the Bioethics case-law of the European Court of Human Rights as for the doctrine of the margin of appreciation which should be applied also to defend Italy in the examined case. The article hope that the Court set great store by what is written in art. 2 (“Primacy of the Human Being”): “The interests and welfare of the human being shall prevail over the sole interest of society or science”.

Summary Interaction with heritage objects, which represent the transition between the past and present, is part of people’s daily lives in historical cities. However, even though heritage is a cultural asset, it is also the outcome of the social and political conditions regarding the selection, protection, and management of heritage objects. After the Second World War, different European countries developed diverse approaches regarding the rebuilding process of their cities, which were heavily destroyed due to air raids. While some followed the strategy of constructing a modern city from scratch, some decided to reconstruct the prior structures before the cities were demolished. Furthermore, there are examples where the authorities have selectively chosen what they wanted to remember and build. When these strategies are analysed in today’s conditions, they raise the question of how these different approaches affected the appreciation of these cities in the contemporary world, concerning their perceived authenticity and integrity, since perception can vary regarding the issues related to heritage objects. In most cases, while experts emphasise the protection of the environment and safeguard the authenticity of the historical objects, for the general public, the visual integrity and the impact of the changes to their daily lives might be more critical, which establishes a difference towards the social value of the authenticity. Therefore, this paper aims to demonstrate the possible diversity of ethical and aesthetic approaches to restoration and reconstruction, from the perspective of authenticity and integrity, by comparing three cities from different parts of Europe with similar demographics. The selected cities in this research are Coventry (United Kingdom), Dresden (Germany), and Gdańsk (Poland), which were all damaged by air raids during the Second World War and implemented different reconstruction approaches to their cities after the war.

Rabies is an ancient, much-feared, and neglected infectious disease. Caused by pathogens in the family Rhabdoviridae, genus Lyssavirus, and distributed globally, this viral zoonosis results in tens of thousands of human fatalities and millions of exposures annually. All mammals are believed susceptible, but only certain taxa act as reservoirs. Dependence upon direct routing to, replication within, and passage from the central nervous system serves as a basic viral strategy for perpetuation. By a combination of stealth and subversion, lyssaviruses are quintessential neurotropic agents and cause an acute, progressive encephalitis. No treatment exists, so prevention is the key. Although not a disease considered for eradication, something of a modern rebirth has been occurring within the field as of late with regard to detection, prevention, and management as well as applied research. For example, within the past decade, new lyssaviruses have been characterized; sensitive and specific diagnostics have been optimized; pure, potent, safe, and efficacious human biologics have improved human prophylaxis; regional efforts have controlled canine rabies by mass immunization; wildlife rabies has been controlled by oral rabies vaccination over large geographic areas in Europe and North America; and debate has resumed over the controversial topic of therapy. Based upon such progress to date, there are certain expectations for the next 10 years. These include pathogen discovery, to uncover additional lyssaviruses in the Old World; laboratory-based surveillance enhancement by simplified, rapid testing; anti-viral drug appearance, based upon an improved appreciation of viral pathobiology and host response; and improvements to canine rabies elimination regionally throughout Africa, Asia, and the Americas by application of the best technical, organizational, economic, and socio-political practices. Significantly, anticipated Gavi support will enable improved access of human rabies vaccines in lesser developed countries at a national level, with integrated bite management, dose-sparing regimens, and a 1 week vaccination schedule.

AbstractDrawing on long term research – including topical life stories, interviews and participant observation – we analyze how women converts to Islam in the Netherlands signify and experience making hijra. Our interlocutors, all observant Muslims, had left the Netherlands between the late 1990s and the mid 2010s. In the course of the last 5 years many have again returned to the Netherlands. Their life courses indicate that physical and existential mobility are interconnected in their everyday lives as well as in their migration trajectories. Whereas they considered conversion to Islam as moving forward, the majority society did not share this perspective. They were sharply aware of how they were no longer seen as self-evidently part of the Dutch nation. This produced feelings of stuckedness - in an existential and a material sense - for themselves and their children, and hence a desire to move to a Muslim majority country. They differed amongst themselves as to whether and how they signified leaving Europe as making hijra in an Islamic sense. To some, making hijra was a highly desirable religious act. Others did not foreground such religious signification, but nonetheless expected positive effects of living in an environment where Islam would be an integral part of daily life. Their attempts to settle in various Muslim majority countries were, however, often not successful. Material conditions made it difficult to enact their ethical aspirations, that included the moral and material wellbeing of others, especially their children. Moreover, their appreciation of the self-evident presence of Islam in the countries of settlement was tempered, first, by the tension between their quest for a reflexive, deculturalized Islam and the culturalized practices they encountered in their new environment, and second, by their growing awareness of how their sense of self was much more shaped by habitual ‘Dutch’ conventions than most of them had envisioned beforehand. As a result they were often unable to develop meaningful social relationships in their new environment. Eventually, almost all of them returned to the Netherlands.

IntroductionIn this article, I set out to accomplish two tasks. The first is to map coffee and cafés in Mainland China in different historical periods. The second is to focus on coffee and cafés in the socio-cultural milieu of contemporary China in order to understand the symbolic value of the emerging coffee/café-scape. Cafés, rather than coffee, are at the centre of this current trend in contemporary Chinese cities. With instant coffee dominating as a drink, the Chinese have developed a cultural and social demand for cafés, but have not yet developed coffee palates. Historical Coffee Map In 1901, coffee was served in a restaurant in the city of Tianjin. This restaurant, named Kiessling, was run by a German chef, a former solider who came to China with the eight-nation alliance. At that time, coffee was reserved mostly for foreign politicians and military officials as well as wealthy businessmen—very few ordinary Chinese drank it. (For more history of Kiessling, including pictures and videos, see Kiessling). Another group of coffee consumers were from the cultural elites—the young revolutionary intellectuals and writers with overseas experience. It was almost a fashion among the literary elite to spend time in cafés. However, this was negatively judged as “Western” and “bourgeois.” For example, in 1932, Lu Xun, one of the most important twentieth century Chinese writers, commented on the café fashion during 1920s (133-36), and listed the reasons why he would not visit one. He did not drink coffee because it was “foreigners’ food”, and he was too busy writing for the kind of leisure enjoyed in cafés. Moreover, he did not, he wrote, have the nerve to go to a café, and particularly not the Revolutionary Café that was popular among cultural celebrities at that time. He claimed that the “paradise” of the café was for genius, and for handsome revolutionary writers (who he described as having red lips and white teeth, whereas his teeth were yellow). His final complaint was that even if he went to the Revolutionary Café, he would hesitate going in (Lu Xun 133-36). From Lu Xun’s list, we can recognise his nationalism and resistance to what were identified as Western foods and lifestyles. It is easy to also feel his dissatisfaction with those dilettante revolutionary intellectuals who spent time in cafés, talking and enjoying Western food, rather than working. In contrast to Lu Xun’s resistance to coffee and café culture, another well-known writer, Zhang Ailing, frequented cafés when she lived in Shanghai from the 1920s to 1950s. She wrote about the smell of cakes and bread sold in Kiessling’s branch store located right next to her parents’ house (Yuyue). Born into a wealthy family, exposed to Western culture and food at a very young age, Zhang Ailing liked to spend her social and writing time in cafés, ordering her favourite cakes, hot chocolate, and coffee. When she left Shanghai and immigrated to the USA, coffee was an important part of her writing life: the smell and taste reminding her of old friends and Shanghai (Chunzi). However, during Zhang’s time, it was still a privileged and elite practice to patronise a café when these were located in foreign settlements with foreign chefs, and served mainly foreigners, wealthy businessmen, and cultural celebrities. After 1949, when the Chinese Communist Party established the People’s Republic of China, until the late 1970s, there were no coffee shops in Mainland China. It was only when Deng Xiaoping suggested neo-liberalism as a so-called “reform-and-open-up” economic policy that foreign commerce and products were again seen in China. In 1988, ten years after the implementation of Deng Xiaoping’s policy, the Nestlé coffee company made the first inroads into the mainland market, featuring homegrown coffee beans in Yunnan province (China Beverage News; Dong; ITC). Nestlé’s bottled instant coffee found its way into the Chinese market, avoiding a direct challenge to the tea culture. Nestlé packaged its coffee to resemble health food products and marketed it as a holiday gift suitable for friends and relatives. As a symbol of modernity and “the West”, coffee-as-gift meshed with the traditional Chinese cultural custom that values gift giving. It also satisfied a collective desire for foreign products (and contact with foreign cultures) during the economic reform era. Even today, with its competitively low price, instant coffee dominates coffee consumption at home, in the workplace, and on Chinese airlines. While Nestlé aimed their product at native Chinese consumers, the multinational companies who later entered China’s coffee market, such as Sara Lee, mainly targeted international hotels such as IHG, Marriott, and Hyatt. The multinationals also favoured coffee shops like Kommune in Shanghai that offered more sophisticated kinds of coffee to foreign consumers and China’s upper class (Byers). If Nestlé introduced coffee to ordinary Chinese families, it was Starbucks who introduced the coffee-based “third space” to urban life in contemporary China on a signficant scale. Differing from the cafés before 1949, Starbucks stores are accessible to ordinary Chinese citizens. The first in Mainland China opened in Beijing’s China World Trade Center in January 1999, targeting mainly white-collar workers and foreigners. Starbucks coffee shops provide a space for informal business meetings, chatting with friends, and relaxing and, with its 500th store opened in 2011, dominate the field in China. Starbucks are located mainly in the central business districts and airports, and the company plans to have 1,500 sites by 2015 (Starbucks). Despite this massive presence, Starbucks constitutes only part of the café-scape in contemporary Chinese cities. There are two other kinds of cafés. One type is usually located in universities or residential areas and is frequented mainly by students or locals working in cultural professions. A representative of this kind is Sculpting in Time Café. In November 1997, two years before the opening of the first Starbucks in Beijing, two newlywed college graduates opened the first small Sculpting in Time Café near Beijing University’s East Gate. This has been expanded into a chain, and boasts 18 branches on the Mainland. (For more about its history, see Sculpting in Time Café). Interestingly, both Starbucks and Sculpting in Time Café acquired their names from literature, Starbucks from Moby Dick, and Sculpting in Time from the Russian filmmaker Andrei Tarkovsky’s film diary of the same name. For Chinese students of literature and the arts, drinking coffee is less about acquiring more energy to accomplish their work, and more about entering a sensual world, where the aroma of coffee mixes with the sounds from the coffee machine and music, as well as the lighting of the space. More importantly, cafés with this ambience become, in themselves, cultural sites associated with literature, films, and music. Owners of this kind of café are often lovers of foreign literatures, films, and cultures, and their cafés host various cultural events, including forums, book clubs, movie screenings, and music clubs. Generally speaking, coffee served in this kind of café is simpler than in the kind discussed below. This third type of café includes those located in tourist and entertainment sites such as art districts, bar areas, and historical sites, and which are frequented by foreign and native tourists, artists and other cultural workers. If Starbucks cultivates a fast-paced business/professional atmosphere, and Sculpting in Time Cafés an artsy and literary atmosphere, this third kind of café is more like an upscale “bar” with trained baristas serving complicated coffees and emphasising their flavour. These coffee shops are more expensive than the other kinds, with an average price three times that of Starbucks. Currently, cafés of this type are found only in “first-tier” cities and usually located in art districts and tourist areas—such as Beijing’s 798 Art District and Nanluo Guxiang, Shanghai’s Tai Kang Road (a.k.a. “the art street”), and Hangzhou’s Westlake area. While Nestlé and Starbucks use coffee beans grown in Yunnan provinces, these “art cafés” are more inclined to use imported coffee beans from suppliers like Sara Lee. Coffee and Cafés in Contemporary China After just ten years, there are hundreds of cafés in Chinese cities. Why has there been such a demand for coffee or, more accurately, cafés, in such a short period of time? The first reason is the lack of “third space” environments in Mainland China. Before cafés appeared in the late 1990s, stores like KFC (which opened its first store in 1987) and McDonald’s (with its first store opened in 1990) filled this role for urban residents, providing locations where customers could experience Western food, meet friends, work, or read. In fact, KFC and McDonald’s were once very popular with college students looking for a place to study. Both stores had relatively clean food environments and good lighting. They also had air conditioning in the summer and heating in the winter, which are not provided in most Chinese university dormitories. However, since neither chain was set up to be a café and customers occupying seats for long periods while ordering minimal amounts of food or drink affected profits, staff members began to indirectly ask customers to leave after dining. At the same time, as more people were able to afford to eat at KFC and McDonald’s, their fast foods were also becoming more and more popular, especially among young people. As a consequence, both types of chain restaurant were becoming noisy and crowded and, thus, no longer ideal for reading, studying, or meeting with friends. Although tea has been a traditional drink in Chinese culture, traditional teahouses were expensive places more suitable for business meetings or for the cultural or intellectual elite. Since almost every family owns a tea set and can readily purchase tea, friends and family would usually make and consume tea at home. In recent years, however, new kinds of teahouses have emerged, similar in style to cafés, targeting the younger generation with more affordable prices and a wider range of choices, so the lack of a “third space” does not fully explain the café boom. Another factor affecting the popularity of cafés has been the development and uptake of Internet technology, including the increasing use of laptops and wireless Internet in recent years. The Internet has been available in China since the late 1990s, while computers and then laptops entered ordinary Chinese homes in the early twenty-first century. The IT industry has created not only a new field of research and production, but has also fostered new professions and demands. Particularly, in recent years in Mainland China, a new socially acceptable profession—freelancing in such areas as graphic design, photography, writing, film, music, and the fashion industry—has emerged. Most freelancers’ work is computer- and Internet-based. Cafés provide suitable working space, with wireless service, and the bonus of coffee that is, first of all, somatically stimulating. In addition, the emergence of the creative and cultural industries (which are supported by the Chinese government) has created work for these freelancers and, arguably, an increasing demand for café-based third spaces where such people can meet, talk and work. Furthermore, the flourishing of cafés in first-tier cities is part of the “aesthetic economy” (Lloyd 24) that caters to the making and selling of lifestyle experience. Alongside foreign restaurants, bars, galleries, and design firms, cafés contribute to city branding, and link a city to the global urban network. Cafés, like restaurants, galleries and bars, provide a space for the flow of global commodities, as well as for the human flow of tourists, travelling artists, freelancers, and cultural specialists. Finally, cafés provide a type of service that contributes to friendly owner/waiter-customer relations. During the planned-economy era, most stores and hotels in China were State-owned, staff salaries were not related to individual performance, and indifferent (and even unfriendly) service was common. During the economic reform era, privately owned stores and shops began to replace State-owned ones. At the same time, a large number of people from the countryside flowed into the cities seeking opportunities. Most had little if any professional training and so could only find work in factories or in the service industry. However, most café employees are urban, with better educational backgrounds, and many were already familiar with coffee culture. In addition, café owners, particularly those of places like Sculpting in Time Cafe, often invest in creating a positive, community atmosphere, learning about their customers and sharing personal experiences with their regular clients. This leads to my next point—the generation of the 1980s’ need for a social community. Cafés’ Symbolic Value—Community A demand for a sense of community among the generation of the 1980s is a unique socio-cultural phenomenon in China, which paradoxically co-exists with their desire for individualism. Mao Zedong started the “One Child Policy” in 1979 to slow the rapid population growth in China, and the generations born under this policy are often called “the lonely generations,” with both parents working full-time. At the same time, they are “the generation of me,” labelled as spoiled, self-centred, and obsessed with consumption (de Kloet; Liu; Rofel; Wang). The individuals of this generation, now aged in their 20s and 30s, constitute the primary consumers of coffee in China. Whereas individualism is an important value to them, a sense of community is also desirable in order to compensate for their lack of siblings. Furthermore, the 1980s’ generation has also benefitted from the university expansion policy implemented in 1999. Since then, China has witnessed a surge of university students and graduates who not only received scientific and other course-based knowledge, but also had a better chance to be exposed to foreign cultures through their books, music, and movies. With this interesting tension between individualism and collectivism, the atmosphere provided by cafés has fostered a series of curious temporary communities built on cultural and culinary taste. Interestingly, it has become an aspiration of many young college students and graduates to open a community-space style café in a city. One of the best examples is the new Henduoren’s (Many People’s) Café. This was a project initiated by Wen Erniu, a recent college graduate who wanted to open a café in Beijing but did not have sufficient funds to do so. She posted a message on the Internet, asking people to invest a minimum of US$316 to open a café with her. With 78 investors, the café opened in September 2011 in Beijing (see pictures of Henduoren’s Café). In an interview with the China Daily, Wen Erniu stated that, “To open a cafe was a dream of mine, but I could not afford it […] We thought opening a cafe might be many people’s dream […] and we could get together via the Internet to make it come true” (quoted in Liu 2011). Conclusion: Café Culture and (Instant) Coffee in China There is a Chinese saying that, if you hate someone—just persuade him or her to open a coffee shop. Since cafés provide spaces where one can spend a relatively long time for little financial outlay, owners have to increase prices to cover their expenses. This can result in fewer customers. In retaliation, cafés—particularly those with cultural and literary ambience—host cultural events to attract people, and/or they offer food and wine along with coffee. The high prices, however, remain. In fact, the average price of coffee in China is often higher than in Europe and North America. For example, a medium Starbucks’ caffè latte in China averaged around US$4.40 in 2010, according to the price list of a Starbucks outlet in Shanghai—and the prices has recently increased again (Xinhua 2012). This partially explains why instant coffee is still so popular in China. A bag of instant Nestlé coffee cost only some US$0.25 in a Beijing supermarket in 2010, and requires only hot water, which is accessible free almost everywhere in China, in any restaurant, office building, or household. As an habitual, addictive treat, however, coffee has not yet become a customary, let alone necessary, drink for most Chinese. Moreover, while many, especially those of the older generations, could discern the quality and varieties of tea, very few can judge the quality of the coffee served in cafés. As a result, few Mainland Chinese coffee consumers have a purely somatic demand for coffee—craving its smell or taste—and the highly sweetened and creamed instant coffee offered by companies like Nestlé or Maxwell has largely shaped the current Chinese palate for coffee. Ben Highmore has proposed that “food spaces (shops, restaurants and so on) can be seen, for some social agents, as a potential space where new ‘not-me’ worlds are encountered” (396) He continues to expand that “how these potential spaces are negotiated—the various affective registers of experience (joy, aggression, fear)—reflect the multicultural shapes of a culture (its racism, its openness, its acceptance of difference)” (396). Cafés in contemporary China provide spaces where one encounters and constructs new “not-me” worlds, and more importantly, new “with-me” worlds. While café-going communicates an appreciation and desire for new lifestyles and new selves, it can be hoped that in the near future, coffee will also be appreciated for its smell, taste, and other benefits. Of course, it is also necessary that future Chinese coffee consumers also recognise the rich and complex cultural, political, and social issues behind the coffee economy in the era of globalisation. References Byers, Paul [former Managing Director, Sara Lee’s Asia Pacific]. Pers. comm. Apr. 2012. China Beverage News. “Nestlé Acquires 70% Stake in Chinese Mineral Water Producer.” (2010). 31 Mar. 2012 ‹http://chinabevnews.wordpress.com/2010/02/21/nestle-acquires-70-stake-in-chinese-mineral-water-producer›. Chunzi. 张爱玲地图[The Map of Eileen Chang]. 汉语大词典出版 [Hanyu Dacidian Chubanshe], 2003. de Kloet, Jeroen. China with a Cut: Globalization, Urban Youth and Popular Music. Amsterdam: Amsterdam UP, 2010. Dong, Jonathan. “A Caffeinated Timeline: Developing Yunnan’s Coffee Cultivation.” China Brief (2011): 24-26. Highmore, Ben. “Alimentary Agents: Food, Cultural Theory and Multiculturalism.” Journal of Intercultural Studies, 29.4 (2008): 381-98. ITC (International Trade Center). The Coffee Sector in China: An Overview of Production, Trade And Consumption, 2010. Liu, Kang. Globalization and Cultural Trends in China. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2004. Liu, Zhihu. “From Virtual to Reality.” China Daily (Dec. 2011) 31 Mar. 2012 ‹http://www.chinadaily.com.cn/life/2011-12/26/content_14326490.htm›. Lloyd, Richard. Neobohemia: Art and Commerce in the Postindustrial City. London: Routledge, 2006. Lu, Xun. “Geming Kafei Guan [Revolutionary Café]”. San Xian Ji. Taibei Shi: Feng Yun Shi Dai Chu Ban Gong Si: Fa Xing Suo Xue Wen Hua Gong Si, Mingguo 78 (1989): 133-36. Rofel, Lisa. Desiring China: Experiments in Neoliberalism, Sexuality, and Public Culture. Durham and London: Duke UP, 2007: 1-30. “Starbucks Celebrates Its 500th Store Opening in Mainland China.” Starbucks Newsroom (Oct. 2011) 31 Mar. 2012. ‹http://news.starbucks.com/article_display.cfm?article_id=580›. Wang, Jing. High Culture Fever: Politics, Aesthetics, and Ideology in Deng’s China. Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: U of California P, 1996. Xinhua. “Starbucks Raises Coffee Prices in China Stores.” Xinhua News (Jan. 2012). 31 Mar. 2012 ‹http://news.xinhuanet.com/english/china/2012-01/31/c_131384671.htm›. Yuyue. Ed. “On the History of the Western-Style Restaurants: Aileen Chang A Frequent Customer of Kiessling.” China.com.cn (2010). 31 Mar. 2012 ‹http://www.china.com.cn/culture/txt/2010-01/30/content_19334964.htm›.

IntroductionThe European will to modify the natural world emerged through English landscape design during the eighteenth century. Released from the neo-classical aesthetic dichotomy of the beautiful and the ugly, new categories of the picturesque and the sublime gestured towards an affective relationship to nature. Europeans began to see the world as a picture, the elements of which were composed as though part of a theatrical scene. Quite literally, as I shall discuss below, gardens were “composed with ‘pantomimic’ elements – ruins of castles and towers, rough hewn bridges, Chinese pagodas and their like” (McGillivray 134–35) transforming natural vistas into theatrical scenes. Such a transformation was made possible by a habit of spectating that was informed by the theatrical metaphor or theatrum mundi, one version of which emphasised the relationship between spectator and the thing seen. The idea of the natural world as an aesthetic object first developed in poetry and painting and then through English landscape garden style was wrought in three dimensions on the land itself. From representations of place a theatrical transformation occurred so that gardens became a places of representation.“The Genius of the Place in All”The eighteenth century inherited theatrum mundi from the Renaissance, although the genealogy of its key features date back to ancient times. Broadly speaking, theatrum mundi was a metaphorical expression of the world and humanity in two ways: dramaturgically and formally. During the Renaissance the dramaturgical metaphor was a moral emblem concerned with the contingency of human life; as Shakespeare famously wrote, “men and women [were] merely players” whose lives consisted of “seven ages” or “acts” (2.7.139–65). In contrast to the dramaturgical metaphor with its emphasis on role-playing humanity, the formalist version highlighted a relationship between spectator, theatre-space and spectacle. Rooted in Renaissance neo-Platonism, the formalist metaphor configured the world as a spectacle and “Man” its spectator. If the dramaturgical metaphor was inflected with medieval moral pessimism, the formalist metaphor was more optimistic.The neo-Platonist spectator searched in the world for a divine plan or grand design and spectatorship became an epistemological challenge. As a seer and a knower on the world stage, the human being became the one who thought about the world not just as a theatre but also through theatre. This is apparent in the etymology of “theatre” from the Greek theatron, or “seeing place,” but the word also shares a stem with “theory”: theaomai or “to look at.” In a graceful compression of both roots, Martin Heidegger suggests a “theatre” might be any “seeing place” in which any thing being beheld offers itself to careful scrutiny by the beholder (163–65). By the eighteenth century, the ancient idea of a seeing-knowing place coalesced with the new empirical method and aesthetic sensibility: the world was out there, so to speak, to provide pleasure and instruction.Joseph Addison, among others, in the first half of the century reconsidered the utilitarian appeal of the natural world and proposed it as the model for artistic inspiration and appreciation. In “Pleasures of the Imagination,” a series of essays in The Spectator published in 1712, Addison claimed that “there is something more bold and masterly in the rough careless strokes of nature, than in the nice touches and embellishments of art,” and compared to the beauty of an ordered garden, “the sight wanders up and down without confinement” the “wide fields of nature” and is “fed with an infinite variety of images, without any certain stint or number” (67).Yet art still had a role because, Addison argues, although “wild scenes [. . .] are more delightful than any artificial shows” the pleasure of nature increases the more it begins to resemble art; the mind experiences the “double” pleasure of comparing nature’s original beauty with its copy (68). This is why “we take delight in a prospect which is well laid out, and diversified, with fields and meadows, woods and rivers” (68); a carefully designed estate can be both profitable and beautiful and “a man might make a pretty landskip of his own possessions” (69). Although nature should always be one’s guide, nonetheless, with some small “improvements” it was possible to transform an estate into a landscape picture. Nearly twenty years later in response to the neo-Palladian architectural ambitions of Richard Boyle, the third Earl of Burlington, and with a similarly pictorial eye to nature, Alexander Pope advised:To build, to plant, whatever you intend,To rear the Column, or the Arch to bend,To swell the Terras, or to sink the Grot;In all, let Nature never be forgot.But treat the Goddess like a modest fair,Nor over-dress, nor leave her wholly bare;Let not each beauty ev’ry where be spy’d,Where half the skill is decently to hide.He gains all points, who pleasingly confounds,Surprizes, varies, and conceals the Bounds.Consult the Genius of the Place in all;That tells the Waters or to rise, or fall,Or helps th’ ambitious Hill the heav’ns to scale,Or scoops in circling theatres the Vale,Calls in the Country, catches opening glades, Joins willing woods, and varies shades from shades,Now breaks or now directs, th’ intending Lines;Paints as you plant, and, as you work, designs. (Epistle IV, ll 47–64) Whereas Addison still gestured towards estate management, Pope explicitly advocated a painterly approach to garden design. His epistle articulated some key principles that he enacted in his own garden at Twickenham and which would inform later garden design. No matter what one added to a landscape, one needed to be guided by nature; one should be moderate in one’s designs and neither plant too much nor too little; one must be aware of the spectator’s journey through the garden and take care to provide variety by creating “surprises” that would be revealed at different points. Finally, one had to find the “spirit” of the place that gave it its distinct character and use this to create the cohesion in diversity that was aspired to in a garden. Nature’s aestheticisation had begun with poetry, developed into painting, and was now enacted on actual natural environments with the emergence of English landscape style. This painterly approach to gardening demanded an imaginative, emotional, and intellectual engagement with place and it stylistically rejected the neo-classical geometry and regularity of the baroque garden (exemplified by Le Nôtre’s gardens at Versailles). Experiencing landscape now took on a third dimension as wealthy landowners and their friends put themselves within the picture frame and into the scene. Although landscape style changed during the century, a number of principles remained more or less consistent: the garden should be modelled on nature but “improved,” any improvements should not be obvious, pictorial composition should be observed, the garden should be concerned with the spectator’s experience and should aim to provoke an imaginative or emotional engagement with it. During the seventeenth century, developments in theatrical technology, particularly the emergence of the proscenium arch theatre with moveable scenery, showed that poetry and painting could be spectacularly combined on the stage. Later in the eighteenth century the artist and stage designer Philippe Jacques de Loutherbourg combined picturesque painting aesthetics with theatrical design in works such as The Wonders of Derbyshire in 1779 (McGillivray 136). It was a short step to shift the onstage scene outside. Theatricality was invoked when pictorial principles were applied three dimensionally; gardens became sites for pastoral genre scenes that ambiguously positioned their visitors both as spectators and actors. Theatrical SceneryGardens and theatres were explicitly connected. Like “theatre,” the word “garden” was sometimes used to describe a collection, in book form, which promised “a whole world of items” which was not always “redeemable” in “straightforward ways” (Hunt, Gardens 54–55). Theatrum mundi could be emblematically expressed in a garden through statues and architectural fabriques which drew spectators into complex chains of associations involving literature, art, and society, as they progressed through it.In the previous century, writes John Dixon Hunt, “the expectation of a fine garden [. . .] was that it work upon its visitor, involving him [sic] often insidiously as a participant in its dramas, which were presented to him as he explored its spaces by a variety of statues, inscriptions and [. . .] hydraulically controlled automata” (Gardens 54). Such devices, which featured heavily in the Italian baroque garden, were by the mid eighteenth century seen by English and French garden theorists to be overly contrived. Nonetheless, as David Marshall argues, “eighteenth-century garden design is famous for its excesses [. . .] the picturesque garden may have aimed to be less theatrical, but it aimed no less to be theater” (38). Such gardens still required their visitors’ participation and were designed to deliver an experience that stimulated the spectators’ imaginations and emotions as they moved through them. Theatrum mundi is implicit in eighteenth-century gardens through a common idea of the world reimagined into four geographical quadrants emblematically represented by fabriques in the garden. The model here is Alexander Pope’s influential poem, “The Temple of Fame” (1715), which depicted the eponymous temple with four different geographic faces: its western face was represented by western classical architecture, its east face by Chinese, Persian, and Assyrian, its north was Gothic and Celtic, and its south, Egyptian. These tropes make their appearance in eighteenth-century landscape gardens. In Désert de Retz, a garden created between 1774 and 1789 by François Racine de Monville, about twenty kilometres west of Paris, one can still see amongst its remaining fabriques: a ruined “gothic” church, a “Tartar” tent (it used to have a Chinese maison, now lost), a pyramid, and the classically inspired Temple of Pan. Similar principles underpin the design of Jardin (now Parc) Monceau that I discuss below. Retz: Figure 1. Tartar tent.Figure 2. Temple of PanStowe Gardens in Buckinghamshire has a similar array of structures (although the classical predominates) including its original Chinese pavillion. It, too, once featured a pyramid designed by the architect and playwright John Vanbrugh, and erected as a memorial to him after his death in 1726. On it was carved a quote from Horace that explicitly referenced the dramaturgical version of theatrum mundi: You have played, eaten enough and drunk enough,Now is time to leave the stage for younger men. (Garnett 19) Stowe’s Elysian Fields, designed by William Kent in the 1730s according to picturesque principles, offered its visitor two narrative choices, to take the Path of Virtue or the Path of Vice, just like a re-imagined morality play. As visitors progressed along their chosen paths they would encounter various fabriques and statues, some carved with inscriptions in either Latin or English, like the Vanbrugh pyramid, that would encourage associations between the ancient world and the contemporary world of the garden’s owner Richard Temple, Lord Cobham, and his circle. Stowe: Figure 3. Chinese Pavillion.Figure 4. Temple of VirtueKent’s background was as a painter and scene designer and he brought a theatrical sensibility to his designs; as Hunt writes, Kent particularly enjoyed designing “recessions into woodland space where ‘wings’ [were] created” (Picturesque 29). Importantly, Kent’s garden drawings reveal his awareness of gardens as “theatrical scenes for human action and interaction, where the premium is upon more personal experiences” and it this spatial dimension that was opened up at Stowe (Picturesque 30).Picturesque garden design emphasised pictorial composition that was similar to stage design and because a garden, like a stage, was a three-dimensional place for human action, it could also function as a set for that action. Unlike a painting, a garden was experiential and time-based and a visitor to it had an experience not unlike, to cautiously use an anachronism, a contemporary promenade performance. The habit of imaginatively wandering through a theatre in book-form, moving associatively from one item to the next, trying to discern the author’s pattern or structure, was one educated Europeans were used to, and a garden provided an embodied dimension to this activity. We can see how this might have been by visiting Parc Monceau in Paris which still contains remnants of the garden designed by Louis Carrogis (known as Carmontelle) for the Duc de Chartres in the 1770s. Carmontelle, like Kent, had a theatrical background and his primary role was as head of entertainments for the Orléans family; as such he was responsible for designing and writing plays for the family’s private theatricals (Hays 449). According to Hunt, Carmontelle intended visitors to Jardin de Monceau to take a specific itinerary through its “quantity of curious things”:Visitors entered by a Chinese gateway, next door to a gothic building that served as a chemical laboratory, and passed through greenhouses and coloured pavilions. Upon pressing a button, a mirrored wall opened into a winter garden painted with trompe-l’œil trees, floored with red sand, filled with exotic plants, and containing at its far end a grotto in which supper parties were held while music was played in the chamber above. Outside was a farm. Then there followed a series of exotic “locations”: a Temple of Mars, a winding river with an island of rocks and a Dutch mill, a dairy, two flower gardens, a Turkish tent poised, minaret-like, above an icehouse, a grove of tombs [. . .], and an Italian vineyard with a classical Bacchus at its center, regularly laid out to contrast with an irregular wood that succeeded it. The final stretches of the itinerary included a Naumachia or Roman water-theatre [. . .], more Turkish and Chinese effects, a ruined castle, yet another water-mill, and an island on which sheep grazed. (Picturesque 121) Monceau: Figure 5. Naumachia.Figure 6. PyramidIn its presentation of a multitude of different times and different places one can trace a line of descent from Jardin de Monceau to the great nineteenth-century World Expos and on to Disneyland. This lineage is not as trite as it seems once we realise that Carmontelle himself intended the garden to represent “all times and all places” and Pope’s four quadrants of the world were represented by fabriques at Monceau (Picturesque 121). As Jardin de Monceau reveals, gardens were also sites for smaller performative interventions such as the popular fêtes champêtres, garden parties in which the participants ate, drank, danced, played music, and acted in comedies. Role playing and masquerade were an important part of the fêtes as we see, for example, in Jean-Antoine Watteau’s Fêtes Vénitiennes (1718–19) where a “Moorishly” attired man addresses (or is dancing with) a young woman before an audience of young men and women, lolling around a fabrique (Watteau). Scenic design in the theatre inspired garden designs and gardens “featured prominently as dramatic locations in intermezzi, operas, and plays”, an exchange that encouraged visitors to gardens to see themselves as performers as much as spectators (Hunt, Gardens 64). A garden, particularly within the liminal aegis of a fête was a site for deceptions, tricks, ruses and revelations, assignations and seductions, all activities which were inherently theatrical; in such a garden visitors could find themselves acting in or watching a comedy or drama of their own devising. Marie-Antoinette built English gardens and a rural “hamlet” at Versailles. She and her intimate circle would retire to rustic cottages, which belied the opulence of their interiors, and dressed in white muslin dresses and straw hats, would play at being dairy maids, milking cows (pre-cleaned by the servants) into fine porcelain buckets (Martin 3). Just as the queen acted in pastoral operas in her theatre in the grounds of the Petit Trianon, her hamlet provided an opportunity for her to “live” a pastoral fantasy. Similarly, François Racine de Monville, who commissioned Désert de Retz, was a talented harpist and flautist and his Temple of Pan was, appropriately, a music room.Versailles: Figure 7. Hamlet ConclusionRichard Steele, Addison’s friend and co-founder of The Spectator, casually invoked theatrum mundi when he wrote in 1720: “the World and the Stage [. . .] have been ten thousand times observed to be the Pictures of one another” (51). Steele’s reiteration of a Renaissance commonplace revealed a different emphasis, an emphasis on the metaphor’s spatial and spectacular elements. Although Steele reasserts the idea that the world and stage resemble each other, he does so through a third level of abstraction: it is as pictures that they have an affinity. World and stage are both positioned for the observer within complementary picture frames and it is as pictures that he or she is invited to make sense of them. The formalist version of theatrum mundi invokes a spectator beholding the world for his (usually!) pleasure and in the process nature itself is transformed. No longer were natural landscapes wildernesses to be tamed and economically exploited, but could become gardens rendered into scenes for their aristocratic owners’ pleasure. Désert de Retz, as its name suggests, was an artfully composed wilderness, a version of the natural world sculpted into scenery. Theatrum mundi, through the aesthetic category of the picturesque, emerged in English landscape style and effected a theatricalised transformation of nature that was enacted in the aristocratic gardens of Europe.ReferencesAddison, Joseph. The Spectator. No. 414 (25 June 1712): 67–70. Eighteenth Century Collections Online.Garnett, Oliver. Stowe. Buckinghamshire. The National Trust, 2011.Hays, David. “Carmontelle's Design for the Jardin de Monceau: A Freemasonic Garden in Late-Eighteenth-Century France.” Eighteenth-Century Studies 32.4 (1999): 447–62.Heidegger, Martin. The Question Concerning Technology and Other Essays. Trans. William Lovitt. New York: Harper and Row, 1977.Hunt, John Dixon. Gardens and the Picturesque: Studies in the History of Landscape Architecture. Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press, 1992.———. The Picturesque Garden in Europe. London: Thames and Hudson, 2002.Marshall, David. The Frame of Art. Fictions of Aesthetic Experience, 1750–1815. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP, 2005.Martin, Meredith S. Dairy Queens: The Politics of Pastoral Architecture from Catherine de' Medici to Marie-Antoinette. Harvard: Harvard UP, 2011.McGillivray, Glen. "The Picturesque World Stage." Performance Research 13.4 (2008): 127–39.Pope, Alexander. “Epistle IV. To Richard Boyle, Earl of Burlington.” Epistles to Several Persons. London, 1744. Eighteenth Century Collections Online.———. The Temple of Fame: A Vision. By Mr. Pope. 2nd ed. London, 1715. Eighteenth Century Collections Online. Shakespeare, William. As You Like It. Ed. Agnes Latham. London: Routledge, 1991.Steele, Richard. The Theatre. No. 7 (23 January 1720).

While the term “visual literacy” has grown in popularity in the last 50 years, its meaning remains nebulous. It is described variously as: a vehicle for aesthetic appreciation, a means of defence against visual manipulation, a sorting mechanism for an increasingly data-saturated age, and a prerequisite to civic inclusion (Fransecky 23; Messaris 181; McTigue and Flowers 580). Scholars have written extensively about the first three subjects but there has been less research on how visual literacy frames civic life and how it might help the public as a tool to address disadvantage and assist in removing social and cultural barriers. This article examines a forerunner to visual literacy in the push to create an international symbol language born out of popular education movements, a project that fell short of its goals but still left a considerable impression on graphic media. This article, then, presents an analysis of visual literacy campaigns in the early postwar era. These campaigns did not attempt to invent a symbolic language but posited that images themselves served as a universal language in which students could receive training. Of particular interest is how the concept of visual literacy has been mobilised as a pedagogical tool in design, digital humanities and in broader civic education initiatives promoted by Third Space institutions. Behind the creation of new visual literacy curricula is the idea that images can help anchor a world community, supplementing textual communication. Figure 1: Visual Literacy Yearbook. Montebello Unified School District, USA, 1973. Shedding Light: Origins of the Visual Literacy Frame The term “visual literacy” came to the fore in the early 1970s on the heels of mass literacy campaigns. The educators, creatives and media theorists who first advocated for visual learning linked this aim to literacy, an unassailable goal, to promote a more radical curricular overhaul. They challenged a system that had hitherto only acknowledged a very limited pathway towards academic success; pushing “language and mathematics”, courses “referred to as solids (something substantial) as contrasted with liquids or gases (courses with little or no substance)” (Eisner 92). This was deemed “a parochial view of both human ability and the possibilities of education” that did not acknowledge multiple forms of intelligence (Gardner). This change not only integrated elements of mass culture that had been rejected in education, notably film and graphic arts, but also encouraged the critique of images as a form of good citizenship, assuming that visually literate arbiters could call out media misrepresentations and manipulative political advertising (Messaris, “Visual Test”). This movement was, in many ways, reactive to new forms of mass media that began to replace newspapers as key forms of civic participation. Unlike simple literacy (being able to decipher letters as a mnemonic system), visual literacy involves imputing meanings to images where meanings are less fixed, yet still with embedded cultural signifiers. Visual literacy promised to extend enlightenment metaphors of sight (as in the German Aufklärung) and illumination (as in the French Lumières) to help citizens understand an increasingly complex marketplace of images. The move towards visual literacy was not so much a shift towards images (and away from books and oration) but an affirmation of the need to critically investigate the visual sphere. It introduced doubt to previously upheld hierarchies of perception. Sight, to Kant the “noblest of the senses” (158), was no longer the sense “least affected” by the surrounding world but an input centre that was equally manipulable. In Kant’s view of societal development, the “cosmopolitan” held the key to pacifying bellicose states and ensuring global prosperity and tranquillity. The process of developing a cosmopolitan ideology rests, according to Kant, on the gradual elimination of war and “the education of young people in intellectual and moral culture” (188-89). Transforming disparate societies into “a universal cosmopolitan existence” that would “at last be realised as the matrix within which all the original capacities of the human race may develop” and would take well-funded educational institutions and, potentially, a new framework for imparting knowledge (Kant 51). To some, the world of the visual presented a baseline for shared experience. Figure 2: Exhibition by the Gesellschafts- und Wirtschaftsmuseum in Vienna, photograph c. 1927. An International Picture Language The quest to find a mutually intelligible language that could “bridge worlds” and solder together all of humankind goes back to the late nineteenth century and the Esperanto movement of Ludwig Zamenhof (Schor 59). The expression of this ideal in the world of the visual picked up steam in the interwar years with designers and editors like Fritz Kahn, Gerd Arntz, and Otto and Marie Neurath. Their work transposing complex ideas into graphic form has been rediscovered as an antecedent to modern infographics, but the symbols they deployed were not to merely explain, but also help education and build international fellowship unbounded by spoken language. The Neuraths in particular are celebrated for their international picture language or Isotypes. These pictograms (sometimes viewed as proto-emojis) can be used to represent data without text. Taken together they are an “intemporal, hieroglyphic language” that Neutrath hoped would unite working-class people the world over (Lee 159). The Neuraths’ work was done in the explicit service of visual education with a popular socialist agenda and incubated in the social sphere of Red Vienna at the Gesellschafts- und Wirtschaftsmuseum (Social and Economic Museum) where Otto served as Director. The Wirtschaftsmuseum was an experiment in popular education, with multiple branches and late opening hours to accommodate the “the working man [who] has time to see a museum only at night” (Neurath 72-73). The Isotype contained universalist aspirations for the “making of a world language, or a helping picture language—[that] will give support to international developments generally” and “educate by the eye” (Neurath 13). Figure 3: Gerd Arntz Isotype Images. (Source: University of Reading.) The Isotype was widely adopted in the postwar era in pre-packaged sets of symbols used in graphic design and wayfinding systems for buildings and transportation networks, but with the socialism of the Neuraths’ peeled away, leaving only the system of logos that we are familiar with from airport washrooms, charts, and public transport maps. Much of the uptake in this symbol language could be traced to increased mobility and tourism, particularly in countries that did not make use of a Roman alphabet. The 1964 Olympics in Tokyo helped pave the way when organisers, fearful of jumbling too many scripts together, opted instead for black and white icons to represent the program of sports that summer. The new focus on the visual was both technologically mediated—cheaper printing and broadcast technologies made the diffusion of image increasingly possible—but also ideologically supported by a growing emphasis on projects that transcended linguistic, ethnic, and national borders. The Olympic symbols gradually morphed into Letraset icons, and, later, symbols in the Unicode Standard, which are the basis for today’s emojis. Wordless signs helped facilitate interconnectedness, but only in the most literal sense; their application was limited primarily to sports mega-events, highway maps, and “brand building”, and they never fulfilled their role as an educational language “to give the different nations a common outlook” (Neurath 18). Universally understood icons, particularly in the form of emojis, point to a rise in visual communication but they have fallen short as a cosmopolitan project, supporting neither the globalisation of Kantian ethics nor the transnational socialism of the Neuraths. Figure 4: Symbols in use. Women's bathroom. 1964 Tokyo Olympics. (Source: The official report of the Organizing Committee.) Counter Education By mid-century, the optimism of a universal symbol language seemed dated, and focus shifted from distillation to discernment. New educational programs presented ways to study images, increasingly reproducible with new technologies, as a language in and of themselves. These methods had their roots in the fin-de-siècle educational reforms of John Dewey, Helen Parkhurst, and Maria Montessori. As early as the 1920s, progressive educators were using highly visual magazines, like National Geographic, as the basis for lesson planning, with the hopes that they would “expose students to edifying and culturally enriching reading” and “develop a more catholic taste or sensibility, representing an important cosmopolitan value” (Hawkins 45). The rise in imagery from previously inaccessible regions helped pupils to see themselves in relation to the larger world (although this connection always came with the presumed superiority of the reader). “Pictorial education in public schools” taught readers—through images—to accept a broader world but, too often, they saw photographs as a “straightforward transcription of the real world” (Hawkins 57). The images of cultures and events presented in Life and National Geographic for the purposes of education and enrichment were now the subject of greater analysis in the classroom, not just as “windows into new worlds” but as cultural products in and of themselves. The emerging visual curriculum aimed to do more than just teach with previously excluded modes (photography, film and comics); it would investigate how images presented and mediated the world. This gained wider appeal with new analytical writing on film, like Raymond Spottiswoode's Grammar of the Film (1950) which sought to formulate the grammatical rules of visual communication (Messaris 181), influenced by semiotics and structural linguistics; the emphasis on grammar can also be seen in far earlier writings on design systems such as Owen Jones’s 1856 The Grammar of Ornament, which also advocated for new, universalising methods in design education (Sloboda 228). The inventorying impulse is on display in books like Donis A. Dondis’s A Primer of Visual Literacy (1973), a text that meditates on visual perception but also functions as an introduction to line and form in the applied arts, picking up where the Bauhaus left off. Dondis enumerates the “syntactical guidelines” of the applied arts with illustrations that are in keeping with 1920s books by Kandinsky and Klee and analyse pictorial elements. However, at the end of the book she shifts focus with two chapters that examine “messaging” and visual literacy explicitly. Dondis predicts that “an intellectual, trained ability to make and understand visual messages is becoming a vital necessity to involvement with communication. It is quite likely that visual literacy will be one of the fundamental measures of education in the last third of our century” (33) and she presses for more programs that incorporate the exploration and analysis of images in tertiary education. Figure 5: Ideal spatial environment for the Blueprint charts, 1970. (Image: Inventory Press.) Visual literacy in education arrived in earnest with a wave of publications in the mid-1970s. They offered ways for students to understand media processes and for teachers to use visual culture as an entry point into complex social and scientific subject matter, tapping into the “visual consciousness of the ‘television generation’” (Fransecky 5). Visual culture was often seen as inherently democratising, a break from stuffiness, the “artificialities of civilisation”, and the “archaic structures” that set sensorial perception apart from scholarship (Dworkin 131-132). Many radical university projects and community education initiatives of the 1960s made use of new media in novel ways: from Maurice Stein and Larry Miller’s fold-out posters accompanying Blueprint for Counter Education (1970) to Emory Douglas’s graphics for The Black Panther newspaper. Blueprint’s text- and image-dense wall charts were made via assemblage and they were imagined less as charts and more as a “matrix of resources” that could be used—and added to—by youth to undertake their own counter education (Cronin 53). These experiments in visual learning helped to break down old hierarchies in education, but their aim was influenced more by countercultural notions of disruption than the universal ideals of cosmopolitanism. From Image as Text to City as Text For a brief period in the 1970s, thinkers like Marshall McLuhan (McLuhan et al., Massage) and artists like Bruno Munari (Tanchis and Munari) collaborated fruitfully with graphic designers to create books that mixed text and image in novel ways. Using new compositional methods, they broke apart traditional printing lock-ups to superimpose photographs, twist text, and bend narrative frames. The most famous work from this era is, undoubtedly, The Medium Is the Massage (1967), McLuhan’s team-up with graphic designer Quentin Fiore, but it was followed by dozens of other books intended to communicate theory and scientific ideas with popularising graphics. Following in the footsteps of McLuhan, many of these texts sought not just to explain an issue but to self-consciously reference their own method of information delivery. These works set the precedent for visual aids (and, to a lesser extent, audio) that launched a diverse, non-hierarchical discourse that was nonetheless bound to tactile artefacts. In 1977, McLuhan helped develop a media textbook for secondary school students called City as Classroom: Understanding Language and Media. It is notable for its direct address style and its focus on investigating spaces outside of the classroom (provocatively, a section on the third page begins with “Should all schools be closed?”). The book follows with a fine-grained analysis of advertising forms in which students are asked to first bring advertisements into class for analysis and later to go out into the city to explore “a man-made environment, a huge warehouse of information, a vast resource to be mined free of charge” (McLuhan et al., City 149). As a document City as Classroom is critical of existing teaching methods, in line with the radical “in the streets” pedagogy of its day. McLuhan’s theories proved particularly salient for the counter education movement, in part because they tapped into a healthy scepticism of advertisers and other image-makers. They also dovetailed with growing discontent with the ad-strew visual environment of cities in the 1970s. Budgets for advertising had mushroomed in the1960s and outdoor advertising “cluttered” cities with billboards and neon, generating “fierce intensities and new hybrid energies” that threatened to throw off the visual equilibrium (McLuhan 74). Visual literacy curricula brought in experiential learning focussed on the legibility of the cities, mapping, and the visualisation of urban issues with social justice implications. The Detroit Geographical Expedition and Institute (DGEI), a “collective endeavour of community research and education” that arose in the aftermath of the 1967 uprisings, is the most storied of the groups that suffused the collection of spatial data with community engagement and organising (Warren et al. 61). The following decades would see a tamed approach to visual literacy that, while still pressing for critical reading, did not upend traditional methods of educational delivery. Figure 6: Beginning a College Program-Assisting Teachers to Develop Visual Literacy Approaches in Public School Classrooms. 1977. ERIC. Searching for Civic Education The visual literacy initiatives formed in the early 1970s both affirmed existing civil society institutions while also asserting the need to better inform the public. Most of the campaigns were sponsored by universities, major libraries, and international groups such as UNESCO, which published its “Declaration on Media Education” in 1982. They noted that “participation” was “essential to the working of a pluralistic and representative democracy” and the “public—users, citizens, individuals, groups ... were too systematically overlooked”. Here, the public is conceived as both “targets of the information and communication process” and users who “should have the last word”. To that end their “continuing education” should be ensured (Study 18). Programs consisted primarily of cognitive “see-scan-analyse” techniques (Little et al.) for younger students but some also sought to bring visual analysis to adult learners via continuing education (often through museums eager to engage more diverse audiences) and more radical popular education programs sponsored by community groups. By the mid-80s, scores of modules had been built around the comprehension of visual media and had become standard educational fare across North America, Australasia, and to a lesser extent, Europe. There was an increasing awareness of the role of data and image presentation in decision-making, as evidenced by the surprising commercial success of Edward Tufte’s 1982 book, The Visual Display of Quantitative Information. Visual literacy—or at least image analysis—was now enmeshed in teaching practice and needed little active advocacy. Scholarly interest in the subject went into a brief period of hibernation in the 1980s and early 1990s, only to be reborn with the arrival of new media distribution technologies (CD-ROMs and then the internet) in classrooms and the widespread availability of digital imaging technology starting in the late 1990s; companies like Adobe distributed free and reduced-fee licences to schools and launched extensive teacher training programs. Visual literacy was reanimated but primarily within a circumscribed academic field of education and data visualisation. Figure 7: Visual Literacy; What Research Says to the Teacher, 1975. National Education Association. USA. Part of the shifting frame of visual literacy has to do with institutional imperatives, particularly in places where austerity measures forced strange alliances between disciplines. What had been a project in alternative education morphed into an uncontested part of the curriculum and a dependable budget line. This shift was already forecasted in 1972 by Harun Farocki who, writing in Filmkritik, noted that funding for new film schools would be difficult to obtain but money might be found for “training in media education … a discipline that could persuade ministers of education, that would at the same time turn the budget restrictions into an advantage, and that would match the functions of art schools” (98). Nearly 50 years later educators are still using media education (rebranded as visual or media literacy) to make the case for fine arts and humanities education. While earlier iterations of visual literacy education were often too reliant on the idea of cracking the “code” of images, they did promote ways of learning that were a deep departure from the rote methods of previous generations. Next-gen curricula frame visual literacy as largely supplemental—a resource, but not a program. By the end of the 20th century, visual literacy had changed from a scholarly interest to a standard resource in the “teacher’s toolkit”, entering into school programs and influencing museum education, corporate training, and the development of public-oriented media (Literacy). An appreciation of image culture was seen as key to creating empathetic global citizens, but its scope was increasingly limited. With rising austerity in the education sector (a shift that preceded the 2008 recession by decades in some countries), art educators, museum enrichment staff, and design researchers need to make a case for why their disciplines were relevant in pedagogical models that are increasingly aimed at “skills-based” and “job ready” teaching. Arts educators worked hard to insert their fields into learning goals for secondary students as visual literacy, with the hope that “literacy” would carry the weight of an educational imperative and not a supplementary field of study. Conclusion For nearly a century, educational initiatives have sought to inculcate a cosmopolitan perspective with a variety of teaching materials and pedagogical reference points. Symbolic languages, like the Isotype, looked to unite disparate people with shared visual forms; while educational initiatives aimed to train the eyes of students to make them more discerning citizens. The term ‘visual literacy’ emerged in the 1960s and has since been deployed in programs with a wide variety of goals. Countercultural initiatives saw it as a prerequisite for popular education from the ground up, but, in the years since, it has been formalised and brought into more staid curricula, often as a sort of shorthand for learning from media and pictures. The grand cosmopolitan vision of a complete ‘visual language’ has been scaled back considerably, but still exists in trace amounts. Processes of globalisation require images to universalise experiences, commodities, and more for people without shared languages. Emoji alphabets and globalese (brands and consumer messaging that are “visual-linguistic” amalgams “increasingly detached from any specific ethnolinguistic group or locality”) are a testament to a mediatised banal cosmopolitanism (Jaworski 231). In this sense, becoming “fluent” in global design vernacular means familiarity with firms and products, an understanding that is aesthetic, not critical. It is very much the beneficiaries of globalisation—both state and commercial actors—who have been able to harness increasingly image-based technologies for their benefit. To take a humorous but nonetheless consequential example, Spanish culinary boosters were able to successfully lobby for a paella emoji (Miller) rather than having a food symbol from a less wealthy country such as a Senegalese jollof or a Morrocan tagine. This trend has gone even further as new forms of visual communication are increasingly streamlined and managed by for-profit media platforms. The ubiquity of these forms of communication and their global reach has made visual literacy more important than ever but it has also fundamentally shifted the endeavour from a graphic sorting practice to a critical piece of social infrastructure that has tremendous political ramifications. Visual literacy campaigns hold out the promise of educating students in an image-based system with the potential to transcend linguistic and cultural boundaries. This cosmopolitan political project has not yet been realised, as the visual literacy frame has drifted into specialised silos of art, design, and digital humanities education. It can help bridge the “incomplete connections” of an increasingly globalised world (Calhoun 112), but it does not have a program in and of itself. Rather, an evolving visual literacy curriculum might be seen as a litmus test for how we imagine the role of images in the world. 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