Articoli di riviste sul tema "Artworks geneses"

This paper deals with the legal side of the genesis of Florentine Renaissance artworks from the 14th to 16th centuries. The content falls into three blocks. Firstly, attention is focused on the legal nature of renaissance contracts which were essential for the origin of artworks, and the basic principles of these contracts. The second part describes the workings of the renaissance artistic competition, focusing on the congruency of some of its aspects with modern tendering processes. The pivotal third part examines the contracts themselves, their form and content. The analysis is determined by its legal focus, endeavouring, in the first place, to disprove the usual mistaken interpretation of these contracts as one-sided and provide a firmer structure to avoid the common haphazard manner of describing their content.

This qualitative report concerns a larger study on pictorial continuous narrative devised by Alberto Argenton and developed by the authors in his memory, reporting only a synthesis of the main findings obtained through the study of a corpus of 100 artworks on the Genesis story of Adam and Eve. The study was aimed at identifying the perceptual–representational strategies used by artists to visually tell this story in the continuous narrative mode. The pilot study, accomplished by three independent judges (the authors) on the corpus of artworks, adopting phenomenological observation, highlights four strategies used by artists to distinguish and link the episodes or events constituting the story: segmentation of episodes or events, time/space separating cues, vectors of direction and repetition of principal figures. A description of the above categories accompanied by some illustrative examples is given.

The object of this research is the references to the German composer of the XVIII century – Johann Sebastian Bach in poetry of the classic of modern American literature Charles Bukowski. Special attention is given to the poetic-semiotic and ontological aspects of Bach’s motif in the poetic works of C. Bukowski. The author meticulously examines the nature of mentioned references, categorizing them as the three narrative-ontological types or hypostases, in which the German composer appears in the poetry of C. Bukowski, namely: Bach-ideal, Bach-background, and Bach-father figure. The article employs the method of continuous sampling, interpretation and semantic analysis, motivic analysis, as well as biographical and psychological approaches. The author's special contribution into the research of this topic lies in the conclusion on the Bach’s motif in the poetry of C. Bukowski as a variety of ekphrasis, which suggests a verbal representation not of a single artwork, but of the demiurge (in this case it is Bach) as the creator of entirety of his brilliant compositions.

This paper selectively traces the art history of the gesture in drawing and painting with electronic painting systems/programs. Beginning with Ivan Sutherland's Sketchpad (1963), which mechanized the hand gesture via light pen; Richard Shoup's SuperPaint system (1973), with the Summagraphics tablet and stylus; the Quantel Paintbox (1983); and the Macintosh (1984), the author concludes with a review of contemporary finger painting via capacitive touchscreens in the iPhone and iPad. A selection of nine classically trained visual artists who have sought to expand their work by creating art via the computer while heuristically inventing unique ways of working reveals the genesis of a hybrid vocabulary for the visual arts.

ABSTRACT This paper is an attempt at connecting the emergence of second order observation in critical philosophy with the theory of aesthetic autonomy as developed by Early German Romanticism. In outlining the genesis of an autonomous art system from the reception of critical philosophy, my intention is to show how those apparently overly hermeneutical philosophical developments relate to the birth of a system of production and reproduction of artworks, which – as I will argue – are the very materialization of the system’s code.

This article shows how to account for the sociomaterial dimension of distributed creativity in the arts. By following the genesis of a new theatre production, we examined the sociomaterial practices involved to unpack the sociomaterial dimension of distributed creativity. To account for this, we draw on concepts from laboratory studies to explain creative and design work. In so doing, we considered the significance of distributed creative practices that are constituted by intermediaries which we argue, help to outline, refine and develop the creative idea. This article is especially attentive to the professional practices in the rehearsal room; what we called the ‘ creative laboratory’, the locus where material artifact and their potentialities unfold in the process of creating a work of art ‘yet to arrive’. Extracts from ethnographic observations are used to illustrate the creative process from the germination of ideas to the collectively arrived at final production. In this respect, the rehearsal room is where initiatives are trialled and tested, and specific aspects of a scene (re)created, to feed into the composition of the emergent theatrical work.

Two Japanese public art museums, the Tokyo Metropolitan Art Gallery and the National Art Museum of Osaka, hosted Project Babel, which included the Babel-mori (Heaping plate of food items imitating the Tower of Babel) project. This was part of an advertising campaign for the traveling exhibition “BABEL Collection of Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen: Bruegel’s ‘The Tower of Babel’ and Great 16th Century Masters” in 2017. However, Babel-mori completely misconstrued the meaning of the Tower of Babel in Genesis 11:1–9. I explore the opinions of the curators at the art museums who hosted it and the university students who took my interview on this issue. I will also discuss the treatment of artwork with religious connotations in light of education in Japan. These exhibitions of Christian artwork provide important evidence on the contemporary reception of Christianity in Japan and, more broadly, on Japanese attitudes toward religious minorities.

VibraFusionLab founder and director, David Bobier talks about the genesis of his explorations of vibration and accessibility in art-making, his current collaborations, the effects of the COVID-19 pandemic on vibrotactile artwork and issues of access, and the future of VibraFusionLab. He was interviewed by special issue editors Kim Sawchuk and Samuel Thulin on 23 November 2020. Bobier was co-curator of, and participating artist in, the Vibrations exhibition in Montreal, which launched in parallel with the VIBE symposium.

Selected works of the contemporary Polish abstract painting in the light of Ingarden’s conception of metaphysical qualities: The main thesis of my article is that Roman Ingarden’s concept of metaphysical qualities can be adapted to analyze and interpret artworks that represent some tendencies in abstract painting. I start by summarizing this concept, taking into consideration the elements of its reconstructions that are present in the source literature, especially those aspects that concern art. Although Ingarden’s idea can be used with many examples, I employ it to analyze chosen artworks by the outstanding Polish abstract artists Tamara Berdowska, Władysław Podrazik, Tadeusz G. Wiktor and Jan Pamuła. I do not intend to refer to these paintings strictly in Ingarden’s terms, but I use these criteria in a way that allows me to enrich the interpretation of these artworks by showing them in a new light. By recognizing the role of contemplation of art, I try to fnd the genesis of the analyzed examples and reveal how metaphysical qualities manifest in them and infuence the viewer. I underline aspects that are distinctive of the presented artists and are related to the exceptional ability of abstract language to correspond to Ingarden’s idea. Subsequently, when developing my point of view I maintain the relationship between aesthetic and metaphysical sense that creates a kind of interdependence. These artists intentionally go beyond purely aesthetic efects to relate to transcendence. By adapting Ingarden’s concept to some contemporary abstractions, I try to link philosophical and critical ways of approaching these artistic phenomena with special regards to their metaphysical connotations that tend to be overlooked in contemporary discourses.

In the history of ancient Egypt, women were an ordinary but indispensable group, occupying an important position in family construction, legal practice and national governance. At the same time, their activities are also reflected in literature, artworks genesis mythology. From the perspective of academic history, the existing achievements of ancient Egyptian women can be summarized as three research directions: image construction, status discrimination and Goddess reflection. In advocating gender study and interdisciplinary construction of academic trend, effectively take example by art, law, literature and other discipline research methods, reasonably draw religious theology, marriage and family theory paradigm, to build a discourse system of world history gender research with Chinese characteristics based on the historical facts of ancient Egypt which has a broad academic prospect.

In 2009 I completed a mural-scaled painting under the spell of the recent INSAP conference in Venice and a visit to the mosaics of Ravenna. Molecular Delirium responds to an array of scientific images based on astronomical research, in particular, computer models of the complex physics controlling star formation in our galaxy. My paper briefly examines these influences. Also, fundamental to this artwork are the perceptual and philosophical implications of artistically imaging the fragmentary and incomplete, sensations of energy in continuous transformation, and the anxiety and exhilaration of perpetual genesis through which we glimpse the unfathomable infinite.

The article – following previous ones of similar topic published in “Museology” – is the 1st part of a broader elaboration pertaining to relocations of cultural goods after World War II, in particular to functioning of repositories where those goods were assembled. They were established and operated by Polish administration on the territories liberated consecutively by the moving front. This time the repositories in Gdańsk Pomerania region are discussed. First part presents issues related to a geopolitical situation of Gdańsk Voivodeship, especially the city of Gdańsk. Historical background is given to the so-called recovery campaign conducted by Polish administration. The process of getting organised by Polish authorities is also described, as well as the way it affected the achievement of their objectives: organisation of social life, rescue of artworks – despite the shortage of means – by penetrating areas outside the city in search for hidden goods, establishment of repositories, depositories etc. for items of cultural heritage saved from the fire, left behind the moving front and the Red Army, and for those taken out of towns by the German monuments’ protection service. Sites of Gdańsk Voivodeship where the monuments were deposited by German administration are listed in the article. Collections of movable goods assembled in those caches survived military actions and – if not plundered by local people or Soviet Army commanders – were being saved and secured in repositories organised by delegates of the Ministry of Culture and Art. The way in which the Polish repositories were established and operating, as well as the fortunes of historic artefacts collected in them will be further described in the following 2nd part of the article.

The Ministry of Tourism commissioned Edoardo Tresoldi in 2016 to restore the Basilica of Siponto (Puglia, Italy), of which only ruins remain. The project is obtained through metal wefts that intertwine in the air presumably reconstructing the original environments: it is an example of creative restoration. This essay aims to examine the genesis of this artwork that has rekindled the debate on the usefulness of this type of restoration, introduced for the first time by Cesare Brandi (1906-1988) and Renato Bonelli (1911-2004) who gave rise to a critical discussion on the role that restoration must play in reconstructing the original spaces of a lost monument. Creative restoration tends to include in the concept of “restoration” all those actions of reconstruction necessary to restore “truth” to the lost monument in order to guarantee its enjoyment, making the “evocative fantasy” take over. Faced with an architecture that has now lost its face, the added value of Tresoldi’s creative restoration will be highlighted, which is not only the reconstruction of the Basilica but the possibility, through the wire mesh that generates transparency, to understand the monument not only as a historical document but as an artwork that needs to be experienced aesthetically, safeguarding the genius loci, making the site a place to be rediscovered in its link with the territory.

This article explores how themes of birth, rebirth, genesis and coming into being are present in modern and contemporary Catalan art, focusing on the works of Eugènia Balcells (b. 1942), Xicu Cabanyes (b. 1946), Mari Chordà (b. 1942), Salvador Dalí (1904–1989), and Joan Miró (1893–1983). In particular, the article looks at how these themes emerged for the artists as a way of expressing Catalan identity in the wake of the Spanish Civil War (1936–1939) and the dictatorship of Francisco Franco in Spain (1939–1975), as well as following Catalonia’s broader history as a nation without a state in Europe. In exploring the artists’ lives and works, the article also considers the topics of rebirth and the eternal return as they occur in the philosophy and history of religion of Friedrich Nietzsche (1844–1900), Albert Camus (1913–1960) and Mircea Eliade (1907–1986). Ultimately, the author interprets the artworks of the study as physical representations of rebirth that relate in part to a longstanding Catalan sentiment of an eternal recurrence to life after destruction.

The problem of the macrostructure of the text (literary work) is discussed in the article. Stresses that Genesis has a break of reality and value as the possibility of practical realization of certain subjective by nature constructs; language (through texts) joins them again. Question about the nature of values is also addressed. It is noted that the value orientations of the author and his reader as agents of cultural communication based on complex interactions of social representations with relevant concepts. Space artwork is understood as a synthesis of empirical reality. It is proved that a literary text mediated by specificity of aesthetic comprehension and specificity evaluation of reality. It is noted that the text manages the process of reading and subsequent interpretation. It concludes that the macrostructure of the text (the work) due to metaphysical unity of reality and human speech.

The object of the article is entelechy of culture. The subject is the entelechy of Russian artistic culture. The material for this article is represented by a new book of poetry by contemporary Russian poet A. Shatskov “Tyutchev’s Swans”. The focus of hermeneutic reconstruction is a cycle of poems from the book which presents swan symbolism in different variations. Great attention is paid to the problem of cultural entelechy which has a theoretical nature and at the same time is important for understanding the philosophical issues of creativity. The research methodology is based on the holistic ontological hermeneutic analysis aimed at highlighting the cultural potential of the given artwork, which makes it possible to approach the issues of creative process ontologically, to deepen the comprehension of the wordsmith’s views of genesis. The link between the concepts of “entelechy” and “apophaticism” is traced. Much attention is paid to the problem of cultural entelechy in the context of cultural transmission: not only the poetical prophetic gift is considered, but also the need to return to one’s roots, historiosophic perception of the past. The research results are presented through identification of the cultural potential of the book “Tyutchev’s Swans” for further study of entelechial problems in the artistic culture and national genesis. The research results can also be used in courses of modern Russian literature, culturology and philosophy.

This essay treats the growth and development of Charles S. Peirce’s three categories, particularly studying the qualities of Peirce’s Firstness, a basic formula of “airy-nothingness” (CP: 6.455) serving as fragment to Secondness and Thirdness. The categories of feeling, willing, and knowing are not separate entities but work in interaction within the three interpretants. Interpretants are triadomaniac elements through the adopted, revised, or changed habits of belief. In works of art, the first glance of Firstness arouses the spontaneous responses of musement, expressing emotions without the struggle and resistance of factual Secondness, and not yet involving logical Thirdness. The essential qualities of a loose or vague word, color, or sound give the fugitive meanings in Firstness. The flavor, brush, timbre, color, point, line, tone or touch of the First qualities of an aesthetic object is too small a base to build the logic of aesthetic judgment. The genesis art is explained by Peirce’s undegeneracy growing into group and individual interpretants and building into the passages and whole forms of double and single forms of degeneracy. The survey of the flash of Firstness is exemplified in a variety of artworks in language, music, sculpture, painting, and film. This analysis is a preliminary aid to further studies of primary Firstness in the arts.

This article focuses on two aspects of popular culture. Principally, the article presents a history of a popular sculpture erected at Australia’s Bondi Beach in 1960. The narrative follows the genesis of the work, its removal, and subsequent attempts to restore the sculpture at different locations on Bondi Beach and in the adjacent Bondi Park. Based on archival research and material from the popular press, the article offers the first thorough account of the sculpture, highlighting debates around its form, its popularity with local residents, the often-overlooked significance of the work as a tourist attraction, and decades-long efforts to restore the work. Secondly, the article identifies the sculpture’s creator, Lyall Randolph, as an artist who enjoyed popular appeal in Australia at this time, despite never reaching the status of an ‘elite’ artist. Investigating the place of a popular artwork in the cultural and social history of Australia’s most iconic beach, the article contributes to both Bondi and Sydney’s eastern suburbs’ local history and knowledge about popular Australian artists.

This article introduces in detail the genesis of Egypt’s first participation in the São Paulo Biennial (1953-1954). The story begins with a spontaneous application from a Swiss painter settled in Egypt after having lived in Brazil: Irmgard Micaela Burchard Simaika (1908-1964). Her request soon leads to the project of composing an official delegation to represent the country, at a time when Egypt was going through a period of political change, as the republic was proclaimed in June 1953. Within an artistic landscape deprived of specialized administration, the exhibition’s preparation was associated with several debates to establish who had the skills and legitimacy to select the artworks to be sent to São Paulo. The final list of artists reflects the reality of the Egyptian art worlds in the first half of the 1950s, in which academic personalities mix with a new generation keen to produce art which would stand as modern and authentically national, and with members of foreign elites well integrated into local society. This “group of modern Egyptian art painting, in the words of Burchard, includes a third of women and stands out as one of the most gender balanced pavilions in the Biennial. It thus reveals the important contribution of women to the development of modern art in Egypt and its promotion worldwide.

In training a specialist of creativity higher education institutions, knowledge of special aspects of theatrical art is importance. The subject of this article is the theater curtain, aspects of its application in various historical eras of the development of the theater as a cultural phenomenon. The author’s systematization of information about the theater curtain as an integral element of any theatrical production is based on a deep understanding of its role not only as a technical tool, but also as a spatial composition of the theater performance and the auditorium as a whole. The mentioned features may have a substantial, geographical, historical, political and functional character. Certainly, the theater curtain as an object of research is one of the most interesting phenomena of such a scientific field as art criticism. From her point of view, the theater curtain has come a long way in development in search of better stage and artistic expression, thereby representing a specific sign system. The study of the phenomenon of the theater curtain on examples of venues at the international level allows to take a fresh look at the genesis and current state of issues of the artwork of the productions of Kazakhstan theaters.

This article compares two approaches: scientific, which is oriented towards the ideals of natural science; and holistic, which is oriented towards humanities. The author attributes the work of L. S. Vygotsky “Psychology of Art” to the first approach, however notices that the founder of Soviet psychology implements humanistic approach in addition to natural scientific. The object of this research is the aesthetic response; Vygotsky shows that art is the so-called machine of human development. In contrast to this, within the framework of holistic approach, the author outlines the two basic patterns that should encompass the wholeness and essence of art. On the one hand, this is artistic communication, while on the other – artistic reality. Artistic communication has ambivalent characteristics: as a special non-utilitarian environment of human life and communication, as well as historically formed semiosis of art. Both characteristics are explained using a brief genesis of establishment of art, simultaneously demonstrating the role of philosophical reflection, which is the key in determination and description of the artistic reality of artworks. The author aims to show that although artistic reality represents an artifact created with the use of expressive means, it is perceived by the audience as the world of natural events. The latter allow the audience to live to the fullest and fulfill their personality. The article discusses the alternative concepts of the purpose of art, as well as the role creativity, and realization of the writer's worldview.

This article uses the concept of phonography, defined as the representation of sonic events, to examine two of W.B. Yeats’s later plays, The Words upon the Window-Pane and A Full Moon in March. Each of these plays allegorizes its own genesis as a phonographic artwork, a sonic inscription designed to transmit the author’s voice. By asking whether text can serve as a conduit, they provide ample evidence of Yeats’s attachment to phonocentric thought. The Words anticipates Roland Barthes’s pronouncements on “the death of the author” by pessimistically deconstructing Yeats’s own phonocentric position. Its centrepiece is a corrupted séance that functions as a travesty of the play itself, enacting a mechanical medium through a spiritualist medium who seems to relay a recording of the voice of Jonathan Swift. While The Words registers a host of anxieties about mediation, social degeneration, and nullified authority, A Full Moon reconciles voice and inscription in the symbol of the singing severed head. This reconciliation is allegorized as a sacred marriage, a scripted ritual that involves an execution by beheading. The head’s song, which can be read as Yeats’s figure for the phonographic inscription, represents the magically immediate transmission of the poet’s voice to a posthumous audience.

Abstract With the Soviet Pavilion of the 1962 Venice Art Biennale, the Thaw era made its entrance onto the international art scene. Artists from different generations and Soviet republics were entrusted to illustrate “the deeply human dimension of Soviet art.”1 Among younger painters, one prominent figure was 30-year old artist Viktor Popkov. Along with the drawings and sketches produced during his travels in the virgin lands and building sites of Siberia, he presented the monumental painting The Builders of Bratsk (1960-61), an iconic artwork of the so-called “severe style.” The exhibition took place just a few months before the Moscow Manege Exhibition of December 1962, which prompted Khrushchev’s notoriously negative reaction and the first stop to Soviet cultural détente. The present article explores the genesis of the canvas as the expression of a new “severe romanticism,” against the backdrop of the ongoing debate about romanticism in Soviet culture. It also analyzes the reception of Popkov’s work both in Italy—the country with the largest communist party in the West—and in the international press. On the basis of archival materials and press reviews, the article sheds light onto an artistic encounter between East and West in a divided Europe and discusses missed connections and unmet expectations of Western, mostly Italian, art critics.

The purpose of the article is to disseminate information on the formation, development, the genesis of art crafts in Ukraine and determining the status of the study of the scientific problem of leveling their meaning. The monographs presented, books, albums, articles noted the essence of technologies for performing products in decorative and applied arts, in which the features of the figurative structure of artistic works are subject to a comprehensive analysis of art historical directions. The methodology of the study is based on the factual, bibliographic, and topological consideration of materials, on the analysis of the art historical, historical, cultural nature used by the method of accumulating and systematization of factual material. Analytical, deductive, and inductive methods were also used, providing the possibility of summing up common outcomes based on the information received from the primary sources, archival documents, materials, memories of witnesses of events. The scientific novelty is to disclose the foundations of the scientific content of Ukrainian artistic classes based on the analysis of the origin, kinship, the development of phenomena denoted by the words "crafts" and "Industry". Analyzing the works of scientists about the creation of products of patterned textile artistic weaving, embroidery, carpets, wood threads, pottery, painting. We put the question of the emergence of the most well-known industries of traditional art crafts in Ukraine. Drawing attention to the fact that in the post-war years numerous mechanized factories, equipped with the production of domestic equipment, increased production of consumer goods, production took an active part in the district, regional and interregional social resources, the union was exhibited by artistic fields at exhibitions of state and international levels At the end of the twentieth century in the area of the local industry there is a decline. Many organizations affected art crafts during the NTR (scientific and technical revolution) and engineering growth. The Ministry of Local Industry was carried out to control numerous enterprises for the manufacture of works of art. Conclusions. Based on the results of the study of the source base and the study of archival materials, we can draw conclusions that in the analyzed publications of the authors, there is not enough attention to the industrial aspect, namely the activities of the production association, factories who worked with art crafts in Ukraine. Artists are mentioned by scientists, and there is no subject consideration of the case, there is confusion in the interpretation of key concepts. In our opinion, insufficient attention of researchers and scientists, this important topic is due to the lack of practical experience in production, knowledge of the industrial artistic association and demonstrates the low theoretical level of analysis in this important industry - art and production, namely production, creating artworks.

Despite the significant resurgence of expressive creativity through works of art in various disciplines particularly painting and sculpture, the underlying inspiration and subsequent endeavour for self-expression by artists, be it derived from experiences, observation of events and occurrences, imaginative compositions or even from the subconscious mind or surrealism, is often not very well articulated among the artistic audience or general public. This is in view of the general consensus among creative artists that works of Art are composed or created to be inherently expressive of something and hence should be given the opportunity to be seen and appreciated. It has been observed that often the artistic audience or general public only superficially examine the works of art in passing without necessarily delving into the expressive essence of the work itself. Hence the genesis of the expression, thought patterns or the philosophical foundation that underscore an artist’s inspiration and subsequent creation of that work is therefore just as often missed. If any work of art is not accorded adequate exposure and does not receive a fair amount of interrogation in terms of its creative and expressive substance or in terms of its contribution to the development of style, technique and application of materials, then that artwork runs the risk of being redundant. In addition, if this interrogation is not brought to the attention of the relevant artistic audience or articulated to the general public through exhibitions, relevant artistic fora, such as seminars, workshops and conferences, then the work amounts to a missed opportunity of its original purpose. There has been of course the debate about the nature and extent of participation by the ‘audience’ including the public and whether this audience bears the prerequisite qualification to interrogate or critique works of art including sculptural pieces. This paper does not, however, deal with this particular query. The focus of this paper is to demonstrate that sculptures are not mere embellishments but are a fundamental tool for commentary about pertinent societal issues in selected areas of endeavour. They, therefore, epitomize the artist’s point of view (POV) or opinion that underscores his or her sense of individual self-expression and hence lends credence to each piece. The paper, therefore, examines firstly, the origins of African sculptural tradition and the development of self-expression as a key tenet of form/content appreciation; and secondly the purposeful derivation of ideas from broad themes as well as the composition of specific subject matter as an avenue for the sculptor to address the retinue of societal issues. The paper covers six sculptural pieces seen from different angles created by Naftal Mageto Momanyi, a prominent Kenyan sculptor who works mainly using granite, wood and soapstone.

FRACTALS: The Secret Code of Creation by Jason Lisle. Green Forest, AR: Master Books, 2021. 224 pages. Paperback; $29.99. ISBN: 9781683442400. *Fractals: The Secret Code of Creation, by Jason Lisle, is a beautifully crafted coffee-table book which invites readers not only to the beauty of mathematics, but also to belief in Christianity. The author is affiliated with Answers in Genesis and is a founder of the Bible Science Institute, both of which insist on a young earth interpretation of Genesis 1-3. *The mathematical chapters are well written, but the book is really an apologetic for a narrow Christian worldview. The book claims that mathematics, particularly the Mandelbrot fractal and similar objects, displays God's nature. The first chapter, "The Secret Code," claims that "those who reject God like to explain the complexity of biological life by appealing to Darwinian evolution," but that mathematics is free from this "because numbers do not evolve." The fractals in this book, beginning with the Mandelbrot set, give an "infinitesimal glimpse into the mind of God" (p. 9). This sets the theme: there are only two worldviews, and these are in direct competition. The mathematics of fractals is to lead the reader toward the Christian worldview, indeed to a "secret code." *A computer-generated example of a fractal, introduced by Benoit Mandelbrot,1 is created in the complex plane by iterating the quadratic function f (x) = x2 + c. Pick a complex number c and examine the sequence c, f (c), f (f (c)), and so on. Ask the question, "Do these iterates of the function form a bounded sequence?" If the sequence is bounded, then the complex number c is in the Mandelbrot set. In the complex plane, color that point, c, black. If the sequence c, f (c), f (f (c)), … is not bounded, give c a color based on the speed of growth of the sequence. Use a modern computer to color the points in the complex plane. With this coloring, the mathematical analysis of the Mandelbrot set gives rise to intricate paintings of the complex plane. *After this introduction, the book describes the required mathematical material: sets, complex numbers, function iteration. The mathematical descriptions are well done and intended for a popular audience. There are no frightening equations to drive away the reader. The prose, along with the accompanying artwork, is inviting. One might use much of this book as an invitation into the study of mathematics. Indeed, many mathematicians have used the study of fractals to do just that. *Chapters two through seven explore the mathematics of the Mandelbrot set with text-printed elegant pictures of various regions of the fractals. Chapters two through five, with picturesque titles--"Valley of the Seahorses," "Valley of the Double Spirals," "Infinite Elephants, Scepters on Seahorses"--focus on a particular region of the Mandelbrot set, zooming in to display intricate spirals, bays, peninsulas. The infinite complexity of these drawings is beautiful and agrees with my belief that mathematics is the language of the great artist. *The sixth chapter, "Changing the Formula," asks what happens if the simple quadratic f (x) = x2 + c is replaced by other quadratics. It is shown, by examples, that other quadratics merely transform the Mandelbrot set, shifting it in some obvious manner. A mathematics student comfortable with function transformations will recognize that any quadratic function can be transformed into any other quadratic--this is the essence of the quadratic formula--and so it should not be surprising that nothing new is achieved by replacing one quadratic by another. *Later chapters replace a quadratic function by other polynomials, then by functions involving fractional exponents, then by a conjugate function and finally by trigonometric and exponential functions. Euler's marvelous identity eiθ = cosθ + i sinθ briefly comes into play, linking trigonometric and exponential functions in the complex plane. In all these chapters, the mathematical explanations are kept simple, and the beautiful artwork continues. The chapter, "Geometric and 3D Fractals," asks about higher dimensional figures and introduces the quaternions. The chapter does not go deeply into the material but intends to leave the reader curious and intrigued. The concluding chapter describes occurrences of fractals as physical objects in nature (shorelines, clouds, trees, etc.), returning to the topic found in Mandelbrot's introductory book. *Chapter 8, "Fractals and the Christian Worldview," is an interlude to the mathematics, returning to the claim that of the two suppositions, a Christian or a non-Christian worldview, only the Christian worldview truly explains fractals. Yes, the infinite complexity of the Mandelbrot set is beautiful. Many mathematicians agree that beautiful objects like this are independent of human thought, a form of mathematical platonism. But the leap from mathematical platonism to belief in a creator and then to belief in the biblical God is not well supported by Lisle. He ignores the difficulties involved in these steps: first from mathematical platonism to deism, and then from deism to belief in the God that Christians worship. *In the final (twelfth) chapter, Lisle returns to his argument that mathematics points to the God of the Bible. He quotes physicist Eugene Wigner's article, "The Unreasonable Effectiveness of Mathematics in the Natural Sciences," which discusses the "miracle" of mathematics in explaining the modern world.2 Lisle then quickly dismisses other religious views and claims that only the Bible makes sense of our universe. The book ends with a gospel presentation. *One can argue (Rom. 1:20) that God's divine nature is visible in the beauty of mathematics, but Lisle quickly dismisses the beliefs of atheists and non-Christian religions and leaps to claiming (as implied by the book's subtitle) that the only legitimate reaction to fractals is to believe in the Christian God. While most of my mathematical colleagues identify with mathematical platonism, their beliefs vary across a spectrum from atheism/agnosticism through Judaism, Islam, and Christianity. The jarring leap from "the beauty of fractals comes not from people" (p. 125) to the Christian worldview, will leave a thoughtful skeptic with whiplash. At no place is the "secret code" to creation explained explicitly. *Lisle's approach to apologetics is that of presuppositionalism. He assumes that only a Christian worldview is reasonable. However, presuppositional apologetics has several significant flaws. It can quickly become a circular argument: if one assumes the truth and accuracy of the Bible as an axiom then the Christian worldview is a foregone conclusion. This approach receives quick approval from people who already believe the scriptures but is readily dismissed by the sceptic. Even when the circular argument is avoided, the best one can argue is that the universe--and mathematics--appears to be beautiful, appears to have design. The appearance of design is roughly equivalent to mathematical platonism and parallels the argument of Romans 1. But the sceptic who accepts this argument will immediately point out that there are many worldviews that begin with this assumption. The leap to the Christian worldview is not proven by this approach; it requires the additional confirmation of special revelation. *In other publications, Lisle rejects both the big bang theory and evolution. Ironically, this beautiful book on fractals makes it clear that elegant and complex structures do indeed arise from quite simple processes. This is a concept that underlies the theory of evolution, which Lisle opposes. *Would I put this book on my coffee table? No, because ultimately this book is an attempt at apologetics. The flaw in the apologetics will be apparent to the thoughtful sceptic. And the author's attempt to establish the Christian worldview includes simplistic claims that are dismissive of people with other beliefs. *Notes *1Benoit B. Mandelbrot, The Fractal Geometry of Nature (New York: W. H. Freeman, 1982). *2E. P. Wigner, "The Unreasonable Effectiveness of Mathematics in the Natural Sciences," Communications on Pure and Applied Mathematics 13 (1960): 1-14. *Reviewed by Ken W. Smith, Professor of Mathematics, retired, Manton, MI 49663.

This article challenges the assumption in a classical sociology of art that artworks are created in the artist’s studio as independent and self-sufficient objects. Given that artistic production merges with exhibition making in contemporary art, I argue that the production of artworks needs to be situated in the exhibition space. In this institutional and physical environment, a set of scenographic principles dominate. Scenography is an ideology and method for exhibition making that emphasises the audience’s experience of the exhibition as a coherent entity. In the exhibition context, therefore, artworks are produced as an integral part of the scenography. Drawing upon six cases of solo exhibitions in museums and galleries, I reveal how the material, conceptual, and experiential features of artworks are shaped by scenographic considerations. The six cases also demonstrate the variations in the production of contemporary art. This article further develops the sociology of art in three ways. First, I show a middle way between the classical sociology of art and the recent material turn in cultural sociology. While the former explains artworks as social products but often fails to show the direct impact of social factors on features of artworks, the latter prioritises the agency of artworks qua artistic features but take these as given. Through the concept of scenography, I explain the social genesis of artistic features without prioritising human or non-human actors. Second, I call more attention to the dialogue with art history, especially its turns towards exhibitions for apprehending new developments in art. Third, the hybrid practices in visual art extend our understanding of artistic mediation as art itself, which becomes more applicable to different genres of art.

Abstract For decades considered a fringe artistic discipline, generative art has in recent years piqued an unusual interest due to its integration with blockchain technology, which has given rise to new ways of designing, generating, acquiring and collecting generative artworks. This article presents, by way of a chronicle, the process of designing and creating a long-form generative project entitled Catharsis, from its conceptual genesis through the challenges and innovations it presented, to its public launch last September 2022, with a view to offering a guide that may inspire future generative artists or scholars.

Abstract The author addresses the question of visual representation in his body of work, focusing on the genesis of his interest for digital imaging and its relationship to photography. He also discusses the relationship between photography and collage/montage, the extended imagination enabled by digital imaging, the issue of human-machine collaboration and the design of narrative structures, both guided by the interplay between certainty and uncertainty. In addition, the author presents aspects of his creation and research processes, with reference to some key artworks and conceptual issues. Adopting a retrospective approach, the analysis is unavoidably incomplete.

AbstractAby Warburg's Bilderatlas Mnemosyne, left unfinished in 1929, has attracted significant interest in recent decades. This essay offers a new interpretation of Warburg's “picture atlas,” not in relation to modernist collage and photomontage, but as an heir to scientific pedagogical exhibitions of the late Wilhelmine period. It deals in particular with two “public enlightenment” shows curated by the Leipzig medical historian Karl Sudhoff, whose work Warburg admired and employed: the first on with the history of hygiene in Dresden in 1911, the second in Leipzig, three years later, on the development of scientific images. Like Warburg, Sudhoff appreciated artworks and artifacts as sources for the history of science and medicine. His exhibitions consisted of assemblages of photographic reproductions—some of which were provided by Warburg himself—and uncannily anticipate Mnemosyne in both form and content. By examining the exchange of materials and display methods between the two scholars, the article explores how their respective visual projects reflected deeper disagreements over the public role of science, the epistemic power of images, and the persistence of the irrational in the human psyche.

The purpose of the article is to define the semantics of the actional forms and compositional structures of circle dances and dancing pantomimes featuring the anthropomorphic images which are characteristic of the traditional annual calendar, rites of passage, and family routine ceremonialism laying the original background of the Ukrainian artwork. The methodology rests on the grounds of the complex approach and the application of analytical (art-critical, philosophical, cultural approaches to the field of study), historical (the Ukrainian choreography genesis study), cultural (examining functions performed by folk dancing culture in the spiritual life of the Ukrainian ethnos) and semiotic (analysis of dance signs structure and dancing symbols semantics) methods. Scientific novelty: the author has conducted a complex art critical research of the anthropomorphic images that became symbols in the Ukrainian national tradition with the determination of their in-depth semantic meaning and functional role in the national dancing art. Conclusions. Within the imagery richness of the Ukrainian folk choreography, there are a lot of sign-symbols, character-symbols represented in dance space patterns, and figures reproduced by performers’ plastic movements. The study of the structural-verbal and symbolic features of these choreographic patterns gives reasons to claim about their undoubted archaic roots in a play mode reflecting the unique variant of the transitional ritual (passage rite) related to an individual’s life, his status, and the external world.

Aun cuando para millones de personas la información básica de los Juegos Olímpicos es el cartel anunciador de cada uno de ellos, de tal manera que, a partir de los mismos, somos capaces incluso de situar en el tiempo y el espacio los Juegos a los que corresponden, es igualmente cierto que desconocemos, en gran medida, los entornos artísticos y los autores de cada una de estas obras de arte que, formando parte de lo que se conoce como la Galería del Arte de la Calle, cada una en su tiempo, divulgaron no solo el mensaje olímpico, sino la forma de entender las actividades físicas desde un planteamiento de educación social en valores. En este trabajo se analiza la génesis del cartel, los artistas y sus entornos creativos, así como la producción artística de cada uno de ellos, en aquellos casos en que la producción de la obra de arte olímpica es consecuente con una trayectoria personal o profesional. Igualmente las formas de producción y difusión de estas obras, que han pasado desde la galería de la calle a las vitrinas de los museos y de estos a objetos de consumo o suvenir. ARTISTIC EXPRESSION AND OLYMPICS. THE POSTER Although millions of people the basics notice of the Olympic Games is the poster for each ones of them, so that, from them, we can even put in the time and space to which the Games correspond, it is equally true that we ignore, largely artistic environments and the authors of each of these works of art, part of what is known as the Gallery of Street Art, each in its time, reported not only the Olympic message, but how to understand the physical activities from a social approach to values education. This paper discusses the genesis of the poster, the artists and their creative environments and artistic production of each ones of them, in cases where the production of Olympic artwork is consistent with personal or professional trajectory. Equally forms of production and dissemination of these works, which have passed since the Street Gallery to museum cabinets and use these to objects or souvenirs.

The purpose of the article is to implement music studies analysis of «Karpatske kaprytchio» by Viktor Telychko, to reveal the key biographic dominants of the opus, to confirm the master’s subjective concerns implemented through the prism of creativity ascending the level of defining the region’s chronicle concepts. The research methodology encompasses a range of the following approaches: music studies, hermeneutic, biographic, culture studies, analytical, systemic, and theoretic generalization. The music studies method has been used to grasp the style and genre parameters of the suggested creative pattern. The hermeneutic method has been applied to interpret the senses presupposed by the author of the masterpiece. The biographic method has enabled considering Viktor Fedorovych’s chronicles, while the culture studies method has helped revealing various processes of the locus existence. The analytical method has been used to study the literature referring to the research issue. The systemic method has enabled comprehensive review of the question under consideration; the theoretic generalisation method has been used to summarise the research outcomes. Scientific novelty. For the first time ever in national humanitarian studies, «Karpatske kaprytchio» by Viktor Telychko was researched, and the idea of the artwork featuring the master’s biography and Zakarpattia’s history indirectly, was justified. Conclusions. «Karpatske kaprytchio» is a significant phenomenon of contemporary Ukrainian artistic domain. It reflects psychological characteristics of the regional dwellers (their optimism, humor, expressiveness, religiosity, and admiration of the nature); the paradigm basis of regional composer’s school (interpreting the microcosm images, reflecting the region’s polyethnic individuality, philosophic features, and the chamber nature of the utterance); the specifics of Viktor Telychko’s personal style (the grasp of a considerable range of avant-garde, traditional technologies of composing music, national identity, and autobiographic characteristics). Biographic dominants within the opus are revealed not as a consistent development of the plot or a definite narration of essential events, but as those through the cultural symbols, codes, and semantic prognostications. By decoding them, the recipient obtains information about the genesis, development of the master’s talent, civil position, outlook focuses, and relationships with people. By manifesting the concepts of personal biography, the master demonstrates the fundamental chronical parameters of the locus ontology and transfers the political, social, spiritual vicissitudes, as well as displays its mental and civilisational features. Key words: biography; Viktor Telychko, «Karpatske kaprytchio», Zakarpattia, music art.

This article examines the peculiarities of protests against the offensive content of artworks in the context of one of the most significant discoveries of modern society, the public sphere and its historical transformations. Art is one of the most sensitive indicators of the state of values and symbols, which makes it vulnerable, forming a space for various protests. A distinction is made between conflicts around art that have an etiology within the enlightenment paradigm and modern types of conflicts, in which the accusation that art offends the public and social groups dominates. The initiative for protests in modern culture comes from a public that perceives art in contrast to the previous dominant powers. The discourse of offence lies at the centre of art-related conflict, since the content of protest is heavily loaded with symbolic connotations (ethical, religious, political, ethnic, etc.). The authors analyse offense and its genesis in the modern. It is argued that the source of ressentiment is not within art, but outside it, in the public sphere, while the work is perceived as a medium or symbol of this source. In order to provide a systematic description of protests against art, the authors propose the concept of ressentiment as a mental and value attitude (M. Scheler), in which emphasis is placed on the significance of the long-term attitude that results from the repression of affects. Due to the inhibition of the response impulse, the reaction is transferred to another object. This explains the displacement of the negative reaction from the real cause of suffering to objects of a symbolic nature, in this case to the world of art. Based on the phases of development of ressentiment and its structural elements (themes, social environment, actors) identified by Ch. Pak and using discourse analysis of materials from the public sphere (media, social networks), a case study was examined: an exhibition by the photographer Jock Sturges, Absence of Shame (Moscow) in 2016–2017. It is proved that the motivator of the protest was not the exhibition itself, but the content of the blogger’s posts, the discourse around it, and other ways of representing the biography and oeuvre of the photographer in the public sphere. It is shown that ressentiment as an attitude is formed from the outside and seeks material for its establishment in the outside world. For the formation of a conflict, a preliminary formulation of the discourse of offence is necessary: further dissemination by public groups can consolidate affects and turn them into actions. Provocative art, which violates the boundaries of aesthetic conventions of the art field, risks becoming an object of substituted protest when entering the public sphere.

Does the arrival of the network society mean we are now a culture of collectors, a society of sharers? We mused about these questions while assembling this M/C Journal issue, which has its genesis in a past event of ‘shared’ confusion. Alex Burns booked into Axel Bruns’s hotel room at the 1998 National Young Writer’s Festival (NYWF) in Newcastle. This ‘identity theft’ soon extended to discussion panels and sessions, where some audience members wondered if the NYWF program had typographical errors. We planned, over café latte at Haddon’s Café, to do a co-session at next year’s festival. By then the ‘identity theft’ had spread to online media. We both shared some common interests: the music of Robert Fripp and King Crimson, underground electronica and experimental turntablism, the Internet sites Slashdot and MediaChannel.org, and the creative possibilities of Open Publishing. “If you’re going to use a pseudonym,” a prominent publisher wrote to Alex Burns in 2001, “you could have created a better one than Axel Bruns.” We haven’t yet done our doppelgänger double-act at NYWF but this online collaboration is a beginning. What became clear during the editorial process was that some people and communities were better at sharing than others. Is sharing the answer or the problem: does it open new possibilities for a better, fairer future, or does it destroy existing structures to leave nothing but an uncontrollable mess? The feature article by Graham Meikle elaborates on several themes explored in his insightful book Future Active: Media Activism and the Internet (New York: Routledge, London: Pluto Press, 2002). Meikle’s study of the influential IndyMedia network dissects three ‘compelling founder’s stories’: the Sydney-based Active software team, the tradition of alternative media, and the frenetic energy of ‘DiY culture’. Meikle remarks that each of these ur-myths “highlights an emphasis on access and participation; each stresses new avenues and methods for new people to create news; each shifts the boundary of who gets to speak.” As the IndyMedia movement goes truly global, its autonomous teams are confronting how to be an international brand for Open Publishing, underpinned by a viable Open Source platform. IndyMedia’s encounter with the Founder’s Trap may have its roots in paradigms of intellectual property. What drives Open Source platforms like IndyMedia and Linux, Tom Graves proposes, are collaborative synergies and ‘win-win’ outcomes on a vast and unpredictable scale. Graves outlines how projects like Lawrence Lessig’s Creative Commons and the Free Software Foundation’s ‘GNU Public License’ challenge the Western paradigm of property rights. He believes that Open Source platforms are “a more equitable and sustainable means to manage the tangible and intangible resources of this world we share.” The ‘clash’ between the Western paradigm of property rights and emerging Open Source platforms became manifest in the 1990s through a series of file-sharing wars. Andy Deck surveys how the ‘browser war’ between Microsoft and Netscape escalated into a long-running Department of Justice anti-trust lawsuit. The Motion Picture Association of America targeted DVD hackers, Napster’s attempt to make the ‘Digital Jukebox in the Sky’ a reality was soon derailed by malicious lawsuits, and Time-Warner CEO Gerald Levin depicted pre-merger broadband as ‘the final battleground’ for global media. Whilst Linux and Mozilla hold out promise for a more altruistic future, Deck contemplates, with a reference to George Orwell’s Homage to Catalonia (1938), that Internet producers “must conform to the distribution technologies and content formats favoured by the entertainment and marketing sectors, or else resign themselves to occupying the margins of media activity.” File-sharing, as an innovative way of sharing access to new media, has had social repercussions. Marjorie Kibby reports that “global music sales fell from $41.5 billion in 1995 to $38.5 billion in 1999.” Peer-to-Peer networks like KaZaA, Grokster and Morpheus have surged in consumer popularity while commercial music file subscription services have largely fallen by the wayside. File-sharing has forever changed the norms of music consumption, Kibby argues: it offers consumers “cheap or free, flexibility of formats, immediacy, breadth of choice, connections with artists and other fans, and access to related commodities.” The fragmentation of Australian families into new diversities has co-evolved with the proliferation of digital media. Donell Holloway suggests that the arrival of pay television in Australia has resurrected the ‘house and hearth’ tradition of 1940s radio broadcasts. Internet-based media and games shifted the access of media to individual bedrooms, and changed their spatial and temporal natures. However pay television’s artificial limit of one television set per household reinstated the living room as a family space. It remains to be seen whether or not this ‘bounded’ control will revive family battles, dominance hierarchies and power games. This issue closes with a series of reflections on how the September 11 terrorist attacks transfixed our collective gaze: the ‘sharing’ of media connects to shared responses to media coverage. For Tara Brabazon the intrusive media coverage of September 11 had its precursor in how Great Britain’s media documented the Welsh mining disaster at Aberfan on 20 October 1966. “In the stark grey iconography of September 11,” Brabazon writes, “there was an odd photocopy of Aberfan, but in the negative.” By capturing the death and grief at Aberfan, Brabazon observes, the cameras mounted a scathing critique of industrialisation and the searing legacy of preventable accidents. This verité coverage forces the audience to actively engage with the trauma unfolding on the television screen, and to connect with their own emotions. Or at least that was the promise never explored, because the “Welsh working class community seemed out of time and space in 1960s Britain,” and because political pundits quickly harnessed the disaster for their own electioneering purposes. In the early 1990s a series of ‘humanitarian’ interventions and televised conflicts popularized the ‘CNN Effect’ in media studies circles as a model of how captivated audiences and global media vectors could influence government policies. However the U.S. Government, echoing the coverage of Aberfan, used the ‘CNN Effect’ for counterintelligence and consensus-making purposes. Alex Burns reviews three books on how media coverage of the September 11 carnage re-mapped our ‘virtual geographies’ with disturbing consequences, and how editors and news values were instrumental in this process. U.S. President George W. Bush’s post-September 11 speeches used ‘shared’ meanings and symbols, news values morphed into the language of strategic geography, and risk reportage obliterated the ideal of journalistic objectivity. The deployment of ‘embedded’ journalists during the Second Gulf War (March-April 2003) is the latest development of this unfolding trend. September 11 imagery also revitalized the Holocaust aesthetic and portrayal of J.G. Ballard-style ‘institutionalised disaster areas’. Royce Smith examines why, in the aftermath of the terrorist attacks, macabre photo-manipulations of the last moments became the latest Internet urban legend. Drawing upon the theoretical contributions of Jean Baudrillard, Roland Barthes and others, Smith suggests that these photo-manipulations were a kitsch form of post-traumatic visualisation for some viewers. Others seized on Associated Press wire photos, whose visuals suggested the ‘face of Satan’ in the smoke of the World Trade Center (WTC) ruins, as moral explanations of disruptive events. Imagery of people jumping from the WTC’s North Tower, mostly censored in North America’s press, restored the humanness of the catastrophe and the reality of the viewer’s own mortality. The discovery of surviving artwork in the WTC ruins, notably Rodin’s The Thinker and Fritz Koenig’s The Sphere, have prompted art scholars to resurrect this ‘dead art’ as a memorial to September 11’s victims. Perhaps art has always best outlined the contradictions that are inherent in the sharing of cultural artefacts. Art is part of our, of humanity’s, shared cultural heritage, and is celebrated as speaking to the most fundamental of human qualities, connecting us regardless of the markers of individual identity that may divide us – yet art is also itself dividing us along lines of skill and talent, on the side of art production, and of tastes and interests, on the side of art consumption. Though perhaps intending to share the artist’s vision, some art also commands exorbitant sums of money which buy the privilege of not having to share that vision with others, or (in the case of museums and galleries) to set the parameters – and entry fees – for that sharing. Digital networks have long been promoted as providing the environment for unlimited sharing of art and other content, and for shared, collaborative approaches to the production of that content. It is no surprise that the Internet features prominently in almost all of the articles in this ‘share’ issue of M/C Journal. It has disrupted the existing systems of exchange, but how the pieces will fall remains to be seen. For now, we share with you these reports from the many nodes of the network society – no doubt, more connections will continue to emerge. Citation reference for this article Substitute your date of access for Dn Month Year etc... MLA Style Burns, Alex and Bruns, Axel. ""Share" Editorial" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture< http://www.media-culture.org.au/0304/01-editorial.php>. APA Style Burns, A. & Bruns, A. (2003, Apr 23). "Share" Editorial. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture, 6,< http://www.media-culture.org.au/0304/01-editorial.php>

In one of his final pieces of writing, Timothy Leary—one of the most singularly iconic and influential figures of the 1960s counterculture, known especially for his advocacy of a “molecular revolution” premised upon hallucinogenic self-medication—proposes that [c]ounterculture blooms wherever and whenever a few members of a society choose lifestyles, artistic expressions, and ways of thinking and being that wholeheartedly embrace the ancient axiom that the only true constant is change itself. The mark of counterculture is not a particular social form or structure, but rather the evanescence of forms and structures, the dazzling rapidity and flexibility with which they appear, mutate, and morph into one another and disappear. (ix) But it is not just radical activists and ancient philosophers who celebrate the constancy of change; on the contrary, it is a basic principle of post-industrial capitalism, a system which relies upon the constant extraction of surplus value—this being the very basis of the accumulation of capital—through an ever-accelerating creation of new markets and new desires fostered via a perpetual cycle of technical obsolescence and social destabilisation. Far from being unambiguously aligned with a mode of resistance then (as seemingly inferred by the quote above), the imperative for change would appear to be a basic constituent of that which the latter seeks to undermine. The very concept of “counterculture” as an ideal and a practice has been challenged and contested repeatedly over the past fifty or so years, both inside and outside of the academy. For the most part, the notion of counterculture is understood to have emerged out of the tumultuous cultural shifts of the 1960s, and yet, at the same time, as Theodore Roszak—who first coined the term—notes, the intellectual heritage of such a movement draws upon a “stormy Romantic sensibility, obsessed from first to last with paradox and madness, ecstasy and spiritual striving” (91) that dates back to nineteenth century Idealist philosophy and its critique of a rapidly industrialising civilisation. My purpose in this paper is not to address these numerous conceptualisations of counterculture but instead to analyse specifically the enigmatic definition given by Leary above, whereby he conflates counterculture with the demand for continual change or novelty, arguing that the former appears precisely at the point when “equilibrium and symmetry have given way to a complexity so intense as to appear to the eye as chaos” (ix). Concerned that this definition is internally inconsistent given Leary’s understanding of counterculture as a profoundly anti-capitalist force, I will cursorily illustrate the contradictions that proceed when the notion of counterculture as resistance to capitalist hegemony is combined with the identification of counterculture as an authentic and repeated irruption of the new, albeit one that is inevitably domesticated by and subsumed into the dominant culture against which it is posed, as occurs in Leary’s account. The claim that I make here is that this demand for change as an end in itself is inextricably capitalist in its orientation, and as such, cannot be meaningfully understood as a structural externality to the capitalist processes that it strives to interrupt. Capitalism and Growth The study of counterculture is typically, and probably inevitably premised upon an opposition between a dominant culture and those emergent forces that seek to undermine it. In the words of Roszak, the American counterculture of the 1960s arose in defiance of the “modernizing, up-dating, rationalizing, planning” tendencies of technocracy, “that social form in which an industrial society reaches the peak of its organizational integration” (5). Similarly, for Herbert Marcuse, the philosopher perhaps most closely associated with this counterculture, and whose writings formed the intellectual lynchpin of the student protest movement at that time, “intensified progress seems to be bound up with intensified unfreedom,” and as a consequence, we must strive for “a non-repressive civilization, based on a fundamentally different experience of being, a fundamentally different relation between man [sic] and nature, and fundamentally different existential relations” (Eros 4-5). In both cases, the dominant culture is associated with a particular form of repression, based upon the false sense of freedom imposed by the exigencies of the market. “Free choice among a wide variety of goods and services does not signify freedom,” argues Marcuse, “if these goods and services sustain social controls over a life of toil and fear” (One-Dimensional 10). Most importantly, Marcuse observes that this facile freedom of choice is propped up by processes of continual renewal, transformation, and rationalisation—“advertising, public relations, indoctrination, planned obsolescence”—operating on the basis of a “relentless utilization of advanced techniques and science,” such that “a rising standard of living is the almost unavoidable by-product of the politically manipulated industrial society” (One-Dimensional 52-53). Writing at a time when the Keynesian welfare state was still a foregone conclusion, Marcuse denounces the way in which an increase in the quality of life associated with the rise of consumerism and lifestyle culture “reduces the use-value of freedom”, for “there is no reason to insist on self-determination if the administered life is the comfortable and even the ‘good’ life” (One-Dimensional 53). The late industrial society, in other words, is presented as driven by a repressive desublimation which does not merely replace the objects of a so-called “high culture” with those of an inferior mass culture, but totally liquidates any such distinction, reducing all culture to a mere process of consumption, divorced from any higher goals or purposes. This desublimation is able to maintain growth through the constant production of novelty—providing new objects for the purposes of consumption. This society is not stagnant then; rather, “[i]ts productivity and efficiency, its capacity to increase and spread comforts, to turn waste into need, and destruction into construction” all represent the demand for a continual production of the new that undergirds its own stability (One-Dimensional 11). This necessary dynamism, and the creative destruction that goes along with it, is a result of the basic laws of competition: the need not only to generate profit, but to maintain this profitability means that new avenues for growth must constantly be laid down. This leads to both a geographical expansion in search of new markets, and a psychological manipulation in order to cultivate needs, desires, and fantasies in consumers that they never knew they had, combined with a dramatic shift in the search for both raw materials and labour power toward the developing economies of Asia. The result, notes David Harvey, is to “exacerbate insecurity and instability, as masses of capital and workers shift from one line of production to another, leaving whole sectors devastated, while the perpetual flux in consumer wants, tastes, and needs becomes a permanent locus of uncertainty and struggle” (106). What we are seeing then, as these processes of production and demands for consumption accelerate, is not so much the maintenance of the comfortable and carefree life that Marcuse sees as destructive to culture; conversely, this acceleration is engendering a sense of disorientation and even groundlessness that leaves us in a state of continual anxiety and disquietude. Although these processes have certainly accelerated in recent years—not least because of the rise of high-speed digital networking and telecommunications—they were prominent throughout the second-half of the twentieth century (in varying degrees), and indicate a general logic of rationalisation and technical efficiency that has been the focus of critique from the proto-countercultural romanticism of the nineteenth century onward. It is Marx who observes that “[t]he driving motive and determining purpose of capitalist production is the self-valorization of capital to the greatest possible extent,” and it is precisely this seemingly unstoppable impetus toward accumulation that finds its most acute manifestation in our age of digital, post-industrial capitalism (449). What needs to be kept in mind is that capitalism is not opposed to those exteriorities that resist its logic; on the contrary, it is through its ability to appropriate them in a double movement whereby it simultaneously claims to act as the condition of their production and claims the right to represent them on its terms (through the universal sign of money) that capitalism is able to maintain its continual growth. Put simply, capitalism as an economic system and an ideological constellation has proved itself time and time again to be remarkably resilient not only to intellectual critique, but also to the concrete production of new forms of living seemingly contrary to its principles, precisely because it is able to incorporate and thus nullify such threats. The production of the new does not harm capitalism; on the contrary, capitalism thrives on such production. The odd contradiction of the mass society, writes Walter Benjamin, coheres in the way that “the novelty of products—as a stimulus to demand—is accorded an unprecedented importance,” whilst at the same time, “‘the eternal return of the same’ is manifest in mass production” (331). This production of novelty is, in other words, restricted by the parameters of the commodity form—the necessity that it be exchangeable under the terms of capital (as money)—such that its potential heterogeneity is restrained by its identity as a commodity. Capitalism is perfectly capable of creating new modes of living, but it does so specifically according to its terms. This poses a difficulty then for the study and advocacy of counterculture in the terms for which Leary advocates above, because the progressivism of the latter—referring to its demand for continual change and innovation (a demand that admittedly runs counter to the nostalgic romanticism that has motivated a great deal of countercultural thought and praxis, and is certainly not a universally accepted definition of counterculture more broadly)—is not necessarily easily distinguishable from the dominant culture against which it is counterposed. Raymond Williams expresses this frustration well when he observes that “it is exceptionally difficult to distinguish between those which are really elements of some new phase of the dominant culture […] and those which are substantially alternative or oppositional to it” (123). In other words, given that capitalism as an economic system and hegemonic cultural formation is so effective in producing the novelty that we crave—creating objects, ideas, and practices often vastly different to those residual traditions that preceded them—there is no obvious metric for determining when we are looking at a genuine alternative to this hegemony, and when we are looking at yet another variegated product of it. Williams makes a distinction here, whereby the emergence (in the strict sense of coming-into-being or genesis) of a new culture is presumed to be qualitatively different to mere novelty. What is not adequately considered is the possibility that this distinction is entirely illusory—that holding out hope for a qualitatively different mode of existence that will mark a distinct break from capitalist hegemony is in fact the chimera by which this hegemony is sustained, and its cycle of production perpetuated. There is an anxiety here that is present within (and one might suggest even constitutive of) present-day debates over counterculture, particularly in regard to the question of resistance, and what form it might take under the conditions of late capitalism. From Williams’s perspective, it can be argued that “all or nearly all initiatives and contributions, even when they take on manifestly alternative or oppositional forms, are in practice tied to the hegemonic,” such that “the dominant culture, so to say, at once produces and limits its own forms of counter-culture” (114). To argue this though, he goes on to suggest, would: overlook the importance of works and ideas which, while clearly affected by hegemonic limits and pressures, are at least in part significant breaks beyond them, which may again in part be neutralized, reduced, or incorporated, but which in their most active elements nevertheless come through as independent and original. (114)Authentic breaks in specific social conditions are not just a fantasy, he correctly observes, but have occurred many times across history—and not merely in the guise of violent revolutionary activity. What is needed, therefore, is the development of “modes of analysis which instead of reducing works to finished products, and activities to fixed positions, are capable of discerning, in good faith, the finite but significant openness of many actual initiatives and contributions” (114). For Williams, this openness is located chiefly within the semiotic indeterminacy of the artwork, and the resultant potentiality contained within it for individuals to develop resistant readings contrary to any dominant interpretation. These divergent readings become the sites upon which we might imagine new worlds and new ways of living. There is a sense of resignation in his solution though: an appeal to the autonomy of an artwork, and a momentary sublime glimpse of another world, that will inevitably be domesticated by capital. The difficulty that comes with understanding counterculture as an uncompromising demand for the new, over and against the mundane repetitions of commodity culture and lifestyle consumerism, is that it must reckon with the seemingly inevitable appropriation of these new creations by the system against which they are opposed. In such cases, the typical result is a tragic and fundamentally romantic defeatism, in which the creative individual (or community, etc.) must continue to create anew, knowing full well that their output will immediately find itself domesticated and enervated by the forces of capital. This specific conception of counterculture as perpetual change knows that it is doomed to failure, but takes pleasure in the struggle that nonetheless ensues. The Subsumption of Counterculture “Marx and Freud, perhaps, do represent the dawn of our culture,” writes philosopher Gilles Deleuze, “but Nietzsche is something entirely different: the dawn of counterculture” (142). Friedrich Nietzsche seems like an unlikely candidate for the originator of counterculture—his writings certainly bear little overt resemblance to the premises of the various movements that emerged in the 1960s, even though, as Roszak remarks, these movements actually largely issued forth from “the work of Freud and of Nietzsche, the major psychologists of the Faustian soul” (91)—but what he does share with Leary is a belief, expressed most clearly in his posthumous text The Will to Power (1967), in the political and ethical power of becoming, and the need to celebrate and affirm, rather than resist, a world that appears to be in constant, ineluctable flux. Rather than seeking merely to improve the status quo, Nietzsche works toward total and perpetual upheaval—a transvaluation of all values. In Deleuze’s words, he “made thought into a machine of war—a battering ram—into a nomadic force” (149). At a time when resistance to capitalism seems futile; when the possibility of capitalism ending seems more and more distant (which is not to say that it is unlikely to end anytime soon, but merely that its plausible alternatives have been evacuated from the popular imagination), such a claim can seem rather appealing. But how might we distinguish this conception of perpetual revolution of values from the creative destruction of capitalism itself? Why do we presume that there is such a distinction to be made? Why should Leary’s call for rapidity and flexibility—and more broadly, a celebration of change over constancy—be seen as anything other than an acknowledgement and reinforcement of capitalism’s accelerating cycle of obsolescence? The uncomfortable reality we must consider is that the countercultural, as an apparent exteriority waiting to be appropriated, plays an essential role in the accumulation of capital that drives our economic system, and that accordingly, it cannot be plausibly understood as external to the structural conditions that it opposes. This is not to suggest that counterculture does not produce new possibilities, new opportunities, and new ways of living, but simply that its production is always already structured by capitalist relations—the precise anxiety acknowledged by Williams. Once again, this is not a dismissal of counterculture, just the opposite in fact. It is a rejection of the conflation that Leary makes between counterculture and novelty, the combination of which is supposed to provide a potent threat to capitalist hegemony. “The naive supposition of an unambiguous development towards increased production,” argues German philosopher Theodor Adorno, “is itself a piece of that bourgeois outlook which permits development because […] it is hostile to qualitative difference” (156). Capitalism produces many different types of commodities (within which we can include ideas, beliefs, means of communication, as well as physical goods in the traditional sense), but what unites them is their shared identity under the regime of exchange value (money). This exchange value masks their genuine heterogeneity. But what use is it simply reassuring us that if we continue to produce, we may eventually produce something so new, so different that it will evade capture by this logic? Does this not merely reinforce a complicity between the appeal of the countercultural as a force of change and the continuous accumulation of capital? I would contend that to define counterculture as the production of the new underwrites the inexhaustible productivism of the capitalist hegemony that it seeks to challenge. What if, then, this qualitative difference was created not through the production of the new, but the total rejection of this production as the means to resistance? This would not be to engender or encourage a state of total stasis (which is definitely not a preferable or plausible scenario), but rather, to detach the hope for a better world from the idea that we must achieve this by somehow adding to the world that we already have—to recognise, as Adorno would have it, that “the forces of production are not the deepest substratum of man [sic], but represent his historical form adapted to the production of commodities” (156). Leary’s peculiar conception of counterculture that we have been examining throughout this paper refuses to give countenance to any kind of stability or equilibrium, instead proffering an essentially Nietzschean mode of resistance in which incessant creativity becomes the means to the contrivance of a new world—this is part of what Roszak records as the rejection of Marx’s “compulsive hard-headedness” and the embrace of “[m]yth, religion, dreams, visions” which mark the fundamental romanticism of (post-)1960s counterculture, and its heritage in nineteenth century bourgeois sensibilities. For all the benefits that such a conception of counterculture has provided, it would seem misguided to ignore the ways in which Leary’s rhetoric is undermined by the simple fact that it presumes a hierarchy between a dominant culture (capitalism) and its resistant periphery that is already structured by and given through a capitalist mode of thought that presumes its own self-sufficiency (that is, it assumes the adequacy of the logic of exchange to homogenise all products under the commodity form). The postulate that grounds Leary’s understanding of counterculture is a covert identification of man/woman as a restless, alienated being who will never reach a state of stability or actualisation, and must instead continue to produce in the vain hope that this might finally and definitely change things for the better. Instead of embracing the constancy of change, an ideology that ends up justifying the excesses of a capitalist order that knows nothing other than production, perhaps it is possible to begin reconceptualising counterculture in terms that resist precisely this demand for novelty. As Alexander Galloway declares, “[i]t is time now to subtract from this world, not add to it,” for the “political does not arise from the domain of production” (138-139). We do not need more well-intentioned ideas regarding how the world could be a better place or what new possibilities are on offer—we know these things already, we hear about them every day. What we need, and what perhaps counterculture can offer, is to affirm the truth of that which does not need to be produced, which is always already given to us through the immanence of human thought. In the words of François Laruelle, this is an understanding of human individuals as ordinary, “stripped of qualities or attributes by a wholly positive sufficiency,” such that “they lack nothing, are not alienated,” whereby the identity of the individual “is defined by characteristics that are absolutely original, primitive, internal, and without equivalent in the World […] not ideal essences, but finite, inalienable (and consequently irrecusable) lived experiences” (48-49). The job of counterculture then becomes not so much creating that which did not exist prior, but of realising “what we already know to be true” (Galloway 139). References Adorno, Theodor. Minima Moralia: Reflections on a Damaged Life. London and New York: Verso, 1974. Benjamin, Walter. The Arcades Project. Ed. Rolf Tiedemann. Cambridge and London: The Belknapp Press, 1999. Deleuze, Gilles. “Nomad Thought.” The New Nietzsche: Contemporary Styles of Interpretation. Ed. David B. Allison. New York City: Dell Publishing, 1977: 142-149. Galloway, Alexander R. The Interface Effect. Cambridge and Malden: Polity, 2012. Harvey, David. The Condition of Postmodernity: An Enquiry into the Origins of Cultural Change. Cambridge and Oxford: Blackwell, 1989. Laruelle, François. From Decision to Heresy: Experiments in Non-Standard Thought. Ed. Robin Mackay. Falmouth: Urbanomic, 2012. Leary, Timothy. “Foreword.” Counterculture through the Ages: From Abraham to Acid House. Ken Goffman and Dan Joy. New York City: Villard Books, 2004: ix-xiv. Marcuse, Herbert. One Dimensional Man. London and New York: Routledge, 1991. ---. Eros and Civilization: A Philosophical Inquiry into Freud. London: Routledge, 1998. Marx, Karl. Capital, Volume One. London: Penguin, 1976. Nietzsche, Friedrich. The Will to Power. Ed. Walter Kaufmann. New York: Vintage Books, 1967. Roszak, Theodore. The Makings of a Counter Culture. Garden City, New York: Anchor Books, 1969. Williams, Raymond. Marxism and Literature. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 1977.

Our culture abhors the world.Yet Quicksand is swallowing the duellists; the river is threatening the fighter: earth, waters and climate, the mute world, the voiceless things once placed as a decor surrounding the usual spectacles, all those things that never interested anyone, from now on thrust themselves brutally and without warning into our schemes and manoeuvres (Michel Serres, The Natural Contract, p 3). When Michel Serres describes culture's abhorrence of the world in the opening pages of The Natural Contract he draws our attention to the sidelining of nature in histories and theories that have sought to describe Western culture. As Serres argues, cultural histories are quite often built on the debates and struggles of humanity, which are largely held apart from their natural surroundings, as if on a stage, "purified of things" (3). But, as he is at pains to point out, human activity and conflict always take place within a natural milieu, a space of quicksand, swelling rivers, shifting earth, and atmospheric turbulence. Recently, via the potential for vast environmental change, what was once thought of as a staid “nature” has reasserted itself within culture. In this paper I explore how Serres’s positioning of nature can be understood amid new communication systems, which, via the apparent dematerialization of messages, seems to have further removed culture from nature. From here, I focus on a set of artworks that work against this division, reformulating the connection between information, a topic usually considered in relation to media and anthropic communication (and something about which Serres too has a great deal to say), and nature, an entity commonly considered beyond human contrivance. In particular, I explore how information visualisation and sonification has been used to give a new sense of materiality to the atmosphere, repotentialising the air as a natural and informational entity. The Natural Contract argues for the legal legitimacy of nature, a natural contract similar in standing to Rousseau’s social contract. Serres’ss book explores the history and notion of a “legal person”, arguing for a linking of the scientific view of the world and the legal visions of social life, where inert objects and living beings are considered within the same legal framework. As such The Natural Contract does not deal with ecology per-se, but instead focuses on an argument for the inclusion of nature within law (Serres, “A Return” 131). In a drastic reconfiguring of the subject/object relationship, Serres explains how the space that once existed as a backdrop for human endeavour now seems to thrust itself directly into history. "They (natural events) burst in on our culture, which had never formed anything but a local, vague, and cosmetic idea of them: nature" (Serres, The Natural Contract 3). In this movement, nature does not simply take on the role of a new object to be included within a world still dominated by human subjects. Instead, human beings are understood as intertwined with a global system of turbulence that is both manipulated by them and manipulates them. Taking my lead from Serres’s book, in this paper I begin to explore the disconnections and reconnections that have been established between information and the natural environment. While I acknowledge that there is nothing natural about the term “nature” (Harman 251), I use the term to designate an environment constituted by the systematic processes of the collection of entities that are neither human beings nor human crafted artefacts. As the formation of cultural systems becomes demarcated from these natural objects, the scene is set for the development of culturally mediated concepts such as “nature” and “wilderness,” as entities untouched and unspoilt by cultural process (Morton). On one side of the divide the complex of communication systems is situated, on the other is situated “nature”. The restructuring of information flows due to developments in electronic communication has ostensibly removed messages from the medium of nature. Media is now considered within its own ecology (see Fuller; Strate) quite separate from nature, except when it is developed as media content (see Cubitt; Murray; Heumann). A separation between the structures of media ecologies and the structures of natural ecologies has emerged over the history of electronic communication. For instance, since the synoptic media theory of McLuhan it has been generally acknowledged that the shift from script to print, from stone to parchment, and from the printing press to more recent developments such as the radio, telephone, television, and Web2.0, have fundamentally altered the structure and effects of human relationships. However, these developments – “the extensions of man” (McLuhan)— also changed the relationship between society and nature. Changes in communications technology have allowed people to remain dispersed, as ideas, in the form of electric currents or pulses of light travel vast distances and in diverse directions, with communication no longer requiring human movement across geographic space. Technologies such as the telegraph and the radio, with their ability to seemingly dematerialize the media of messages, reformulated the concept of communication into a “quasi-physical connection” across the obstacles of time and space (Clarke, “Communication” 132). Prior to this, the natural world itself was the medium through which information was passed. Rather than messages transmitted via wires, communication was associated with the transport of messages through the world via human movement, with the materiality of the medium measured in the time it took to cover geographic space. The flow of messages followed trade flows (Briggs and Burke 20). Messages moved along trails, on rail, over bridges, down canals, and along shipping channels, arriving at their destination as information. More recently however, information, due to its instantaneous distribution and multiplication across space, seems to have no need for nature as a medium. Nature has become merely a topic for information, as media content, rather than as something that takes part within the information system itself. The above example illustrates a separation between information exchange and the natural environment brought about by a set of technological developments. As Serres points out, the word “media” is etymologically related to the word “milieu”. Hence, a theory of media should be always related to an understanding of the environment (Crocker). But humans no longer need to physically move through the natural world to communicate, ideas can move freely from region to region, from air-conditioned room to air-conditioned room, relatively unimpeded by natural forces or geographic distance. For a long time now, information exchange has not necessitated human movement through the natural environment and this has consequences for how the formation of culture and its location in (or dislocation from) the natural world is viewed. A number of artists have begun questioning the separation between media and nature, particularly concerning the materiality of air, and using information to provide new points of contact between media and the atmosphere (for a discussion of the history of ecoart see Wallen). In Eclipse (2009) (fig. 1) for instance, an internet based work undertaken by the collective EcoArtTech, environmental sensing technology and online media is used experimentally to visualize air pollution. EcoArtTech is made up of the artist duo Cary Peppermint and Leila Nadir and since 2005 they have been inquiring into the relationship between digital technology and the natural environment, particularly regarding concepts such as “wilderness”. In Eclipse, EcoArtTech garner photographs of American national parks from social media and photo sharing sites. Air quality data gathered from the nearest capital city is then inputted into an algorithm that visibly distorts the image based on the levels of particle pollution detected in the atmosphere. The photographs that circulate on photo sharing sites such as Flickr—photographs that are usually rather banal in their adherence to a history of wilderness photography—are augmented by the environmental pollution circulating in nearby capital cities. Figure 1: EcoArtTech, Eclipse (detail of screenshot), 2009 (Internet-based work available at:http://turbulence.org/Works/eclipse/) The digital is often associated with the clean transmission of information, as packets of data move from a server, over fibre optic cables, to be unpacked and re-presented on a computer's screen. Likewise, the photographs displayed in Eclipse are quite often of an unspoilt nature, containing no errors in their exposure or focus (most probably because these wilderness photographs were taken with digital cameras). As the photographs are overlaid with information garnered from air quality levels, the “unspoilt” photograph is directly related to pollution in the natural environment. In Eclipse the background noise of “wilderness,” the pollution in the air, is reframed as foreground. “We breathe background noise…Background noise is the ground of our perception, absolutely uninterrupted, it is our perennial sustenance, the element of the software of all our logic” (Serres, Genesis 7). Noise is activated in Eclipse in a similar way to Serres’s description, as an indication of the wider milieu in which communication takes place (Crocker). Noise links the photograph and its transmission not only to the medium of the internet and the glitches that arise as information is circulated, but also to the air in the originally photographed location. In addition to noise, there are parallels between the original photographs of nature gleaned from photo sharing sites and Serres’s concept of a history that somehow stands itself apart from the effects of ongoing environmental processes. By compartmentalising the natural and cultural worlds, both the historiography that Serres argues against and the wilderness photograph produces a concept of nature that is somehow outside, behind, or above human activities and the associated matter of noise. Eclipse, by altering photographs using real-time data, puts the still image into contact with the processes and informational outputs of nature. Air quality sensors detect pollution in the atmosphere and code these atmospheric processes into computer readable information. The photograph is no longer static but is now open to continual recreation and degeneration, dependent on the coded value of the atmosphere in a given location. A similar materiality is given to air in a public work undertaken by Preemptive Media, titled Areas Immediate Reading (AIR) (fig. 2). In this project, Preemptive Media, made up of Beatriz da Costa, Jamie Schulte and Brooke Singer, equip participants with instruments for measuring air quality as they walked around New York City. The devices monitor the carbon monoxide (CO), nitrogen oxides (NOx) or ground level ozone (O3) levels that are being breathed in by the carrier. As Michael Dieter has pointed out in his reading of the work, the application of sensing technology by Preemptive Media is in distinct contrast to the conventional application of air quality monitoring, which usually takes the form of extremely high resolution located devices spread over great distances. These larger air monitoring networks tend to present the value garnered from a large expanse of the atmosphere that covers individual cities or states. The AIR project, in contrast, by using small mobile sensors, attempts to put people in informational contact with the air that they are breathing in their local and immediate time and place, and allows them to monitor the small parcels of atmosphere that surround other users in other locations (Dieter). It thus presents many small and mobile spheres of atmosphere, inhabited by individuals as they move through the city. In AIR we see the experimental application of an already developed technology in order to put people on the street in contact with the atmospheres that they are moving through. It gives a new informational form to the “vast but invisible ocean of air that surrounds us and permeates us” (Ihde 3), which in this case is given voice by a technological apparatus that converts the air into information. The atmosphere as information becomes less of a vague background and more of a measurable entity that ingresses into the lives and movements of human users. The air is conditioned by information; the turbulent and noisy atmosphere has been converted via technology into readable information (Connor 186-88). Figure 2: Preemptive Media, Areas Immediate Reading (AIR) (close up of device), 2011 Throughout his career Serres has developed a philosophy of information and communication that may help us to reframe the relationship between the natural and cultural worlds (see Brown). Conventionally, the natural world is understood as made up of energy and matter, with exchanges of energy and the flows of biomass through food webs binding ecosystems together (DeLanda 120-1). However, the tendencies and structures of natural systems, like cultural systems, are also dependent on the communication of information. It is here that Serres provides us with a way to view natural and cultural systems as connected by a flow of energy and information. He points out that in the wake of Claude Shannon’s famous Mathematical Theory of Communication it has been possible to consider the relationship between information and thermodynamics, at least in Shannon’s explanation of noise as entropy (Serres, Hermes74). For Serres, an ecosystem can be conceptualised as an informational and energetic system: “it receives, stores, exchanges, and gives off both energy and information in all forms, from the light of the sun to the flow of matter which passes through it (food, oxygen, heat, signals)” (Serres, Hermes 74). Just as we are related to the natural world based on flows of energy— as sunlight is converted into energy by plants, which we in turn convert into food— we are also bound together by flows of information. The task is to find new ways to sense this information, to actualise the information, and imagine nature as more than a welter of data and the air as more than background. If we think of information in broad ranging terms as “coded values of the output of a process” (Losee 254), then we see that information and the environment—as a setting that is produced by continual and energetic processes—are in constant contact. After all, humans sense information from the environment all the time; we constantly decode the coded values of environmental processes transmitted via the atmosphere. I smell a flower, I hear bird songs, and I see the red glow of a sunset. The process of the singing bird is coded as vibrations of air particles that knock against my ear drum. The flower is coded as molecules in the atmosphere enter my nose and bind to cilia. The red glow is coded as wavelengths from the sun are dispersed in the Earth’s atmosphere and arrive at my eye. Information, of course, does not actually exist as information until some observing system constructs it (Clarke, “Information” 157-159). This observing system as we see the sunset, hear the birds, or smell the flower involves the atmosphere as a medium, along with our sense organs and cognitive and non-cognitive processes. The molecules in the atmosphere exist independently of our sense of them, but they do not actualise as information until they are operationalised by the observational system. Prior to this, information can be thought of as noise circulating within the atmosphere. Heinz Von Foester, one of the key figures of cybernetics, states “The environment contains no information. The environment is as it is” (Von Foester in Clarke, “Information” 157). Information, in this model, actualises only when something in the world causes a change to the observational system, as a difference that makes a difference (Bateson 448-466). Air expelled from a bird’s lungs and out its beak causes air molecules to vibrate, introducing difference into the atmosphere, which is then picked up by my ear and registered as sound, informing me that a bird is nearby. One bird song is picked up as information amid the swirling noise of nature and a difference in the air makes a difference to the observational system. It may be useful to think of the purpose of information as to control action and that this is necessary “whenever the people concerned, controllers as well as controlled, belong to an organised social group whose collective purpose is to survive and prosper” (Scarrott 262). Information in this sense operates the organisation of groups. Using this definition rooted in cybernetics, we see that information allows groups, which are dependent on certain control structures based on the sending and receiving of messages through media, to thrive and defines the boundaries of these groups. We see this in a flock of birds, for instance, which forms based on the information that one bird garners from the movements of the other birds in proximity. Extrapolating from this, if we are to live included in an ecological system capable of survival, the transmission of information is vital. But the form of the information is also important. To communicate, for example, one entity first needs to recognise that the other is speaking and differentiate this information from the noise in the air. Following Clarke and Von Foester, an observing system needs to be operational. An art project that gives aesthetic form to environmental processes in this vein—and one that is particularly concerned with the co-agentive relation between humans and nature—is Reiko Goto and Tim Collin’s Plein Air (2010) (fig. 3), an element in their ongoing Eden 3 project. In this work a technological apparatus is wired to a tree. This apparatus, which references the box easels most famously used by the Impressionists to paint ‘en plein air’, uses sensing technology to detect the tree’s responses to the varying CO2 levels in the atmosphere. An algorithm then translates this into real time piano compositions. The tree’s biological processes are coded into the voice of a piano and sensed by listeners as aesthetic information. What is at stake in this work is a new understanding of atmospheres as a site for the exchange of information, and an attempt to resituate the interdependence of human and non-human entities within an experimental aesthetic system. As we breathe out carbon dioxide—both through our physiological process of breathing and our cultural processes of polluting—trees breath it in. By translating these biological processes into a musical form, Collins and Gotto’s work signals a movement from a process of atmospheric exchange to a digital process of sensing and coding, the output of which is then transmitted through the atmosphere as sound. It must be mentioned that within this movement from atmospheric gas to atmospheric music we are not listening to the tree alone. We are listening to a much more complex polyphony involving the components of the digital sensing technology, the tree, the gases in the atmosphere, and the biological (breathing) and cultural processes (cars, factories and coal fired power stations) that produce these gases. Figure 3: Reiko Goto and Tim Collins, Plein Air, 2010 As both Don Ihde and Steven Connor have pointed out, the air that we breathe is not neutral. It is, on the contrary, given its significance in technology, sound, and voice. Taking this further, we might understand sensing technology as conditioning the air with information. This type of air conditioning—as information alters the condition of air—occurs as technology picks up, detects, and makes sensible phenomena in the atmosphere. While communication media such as the telegraph and other electronic information distribution systems may have distanced information from nature, the sensing technology experimentally applied by EcoArtTech, Preeemptive Media, and Goto and Collins, may remind us of the materiality of air. These technologies allow us to connect to the atmosphere; they reformulate it, converting it to information, giving new form to the coded processes in nature.AcknowledgmentAll images reproduced with the kind permission of the artists. References Bateson, Gregory. Steps to an Ecology of Mind. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1972. Briggs, Asa, and Peter Burke. A Social History of the Media: From Gutenberg to the Internet. Maden: Polity Press, 2009. Brown, Steve. “Michel Serres: Science, Translation and the Logic of the Parasite.” Theory, Culture and Society 19.1 (2002): 1-27. Clarke, Bruce. “Communication.” Critical Terms for Media Studies. Eds. Mark B. N. Hansen and W. J. T. Mitchell. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2010. 131-45 -----. “Information.” Critical Terms for Media Studies. Eds. Mark B. N. Hansen and W. J. T. Mitchell. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2010. 157-71 Crocker, Stephen. “Noise and Exceptions: Pure Mediality in Serres and Agamben.” CTheory: 1000 Days of Theory. (2007). 7 June 2012 ‹http://www.ctheory.net/articles.aspx?id=574› Connor, Stephen. The Matter of Air: Science and the Art of the Etheral. London: Reaktion, 2010. Cubitt, Sean. EcoMedia. Amsterdam and New York: Rodopi, 2005 Deiter, Michael. “Processes, Issues, AIR: Toward Reticular Politics.” Australian Humanities Review 46 (2009). 9 June 2012 ‹http://www.australianhumanitiesreview.org/archive/Issue-May-2009/dieter.htm› DeLanda, Manuel. Intensive Science and Virtual Philosophy. London and New York: Continuum, 2002. Fuller, Matthew. Media Ecologies: Materialist Energies in Art and Technoculture. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2005 Harman, Graham. Guerilla Metaphysics. Illinois: Open Court, 2005. Ihde, Don. Listening and Voice: Phenomenologies of Sound. Albany: State University of New York, 2007. Innis, Harold. Empire and Communication. Toronto: Voyageur Classics, 1950/2007. Losee, Robert M. “A Discipline Independent Definition of Information.” Journal of the American Society for Information Science 48.3 (1997): 254–69. McLuhan, Marshall. Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man. London: Sphere Books, 1964/1967. Morton, Timothy. Ecology Without Nature: Rethinking Environmental Aesthetics. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2007. Murray, Robin, and Heumann, Joseph. Ecology and Popular Film: Cinema on the Edge. Albany: State University of New York, 2009 Scarrott, G.C. “The Nature of Information.” The Computer Journal 32.3 (1989): 261-66 Serres, Michel. Hermes: Literature, Science Philosophy. Baltimore: The John Hopkins Press, 1982. -----. The Natural Contract. Trans. Elizabeth MacArthur and William Paulson. Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1992/1995. -----. Genesis. Trans. Genevieve James and James Nielson. Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1982/1995. -----. “A Return to the Natural Contract.” Making Peace with the Earth. Ed. Jerome Binde. Oxford: UNESCO and Berghahn Books, 2007. Strate, Lance. Echoes and Reflections: On Media Ecology as a Field of Study. New York: Hampton Press, 2006 Wallen, Ruth. “Ecological Art: A Call for Intervention in a Time of Crisis.” Leonardo 45.3 (2012): 234-42.

Introduction In October 2008, the UK’s National Videogame Archive became a reality and after years of negotiation, preparation and planning, this partnership between Nottingham Trent University’s Centre for Contemporary Play research group and The National Media Museum, accepted its first public donations to the collection. These first donations came from Sony’s Computer Entertainment Europe’s London Studios who presented the original, pre-production PlayStation 2 EyeToy camera (complete with its hand-written #1 sticker) and Harmonix who crossed the Atlantic to deliver prototypes of the Rock Band drum kit and guitar controllers along with a slew of games. Since then, we have been inundated with donations, enquiries and volunteers offering their services and it is clear that we have exciting and challenging times ahead of us at the NVA as we seek to continue our collecting programme and preserve, conserve, display and interpret these vital parts of popular culture. This essay, however, is not so much a document of these possible futures for our research or the challenges we face in moving forward as it is a discussion of some of the issues that make game preservation a vital and timely undertaking. In briefly telling the story of the genesis of the NVA, I hope to draw attention to some of the peculiarities (in both senses) of the situation in which videogames currently exist. While considerable attention has been paid to the preservation and curation of new media arts (e.g. Cook et al.), comparatively little work has been undertaken in relation to games. Surprisingly, the games industry has been similarly neglectful of the histories of gameplay and gamemaking. Throughout our research, it has became abundantly clear that even those individuals and companies most intimately associated with the development of this form, do not hold their corporate and personal histories in the high esteem we expected (see also Lowood et al.). And so, despite the well-worn bluster of an industry that proclaims itself as culturally significant as Hollywood, it is surprisingly difficult to find a definitive copy of the boxart of the final release of a Triple-A title let alone any of the pre-production materials. Through our journeys in the past couple of years, we have encountered shoeboxes under CEOs’ desks and proud parents’ collections of tapes and press cuttings. These are the closest things to a formalised archive that we currently have for many of the biggest British game development and publishing companies. Not only is this problematic in and of itself as we run the risk of losing titles and documents forever as well as the stories locked up in the memories of key individuals who grow ever older, but also it is symptomatic of an industry that, despite its public proclamations, neither places a high value on its products as popular culture nor truly recognises their impact on that culture. While a few valorised, still-ongoing, franchises like the Super Mario and Legend of Zelda series are repackaged and (digitally) re-released so as to provide continuity with current releases, a huge number of games simply disappear from view once their short period of retail limelight passes. Indeed, my argument in this essay rests to some extent on the admittedly polemical, and maybe even antagonistic, assertion that the past business and marketing practices of the videogames industry are partly to blame for the comparatively underdeveloped state of game preservation and the seemingly low cultural value placed on old games within the mainstream marketplace. Small wonder, then, that archives and formalised collections are not widespread. However antagonistic this point may seem, this essay does not set out merely to criticise the games industry. Indeed, it is important to recognise that the success and viability of projects such as the NVA is derived partly from close collaboration with industry partners. As such, it is my hope that in addition to contributing to the conversation about the importance and need for formalised strategies of game preservation, this essay goes some way to demonstrating the necessity of universities, museums, developers, publishers, advertisers and retailers tackling these issues in partnership. The Best Game Is the Next Game As will be clear from these opening paragraphs, this essay is primarily concerned with ‘old’ games. Perhaps surprisingly, however, we shall see that ‘old’ games are frequently not that old at all as even the shiniest, and newest of interactive experiences soon slip from view under the pressure of a relentless industrial and institutional push towards the forthcoming release and the ‘next generation’. More surprising still is that ‘old’ games are often difficult to come by as they occupy, at best, a marginalised position in the contemporary marketplace, assuming they are even visible at all. This is an odd situation. Videogames are, as any introductory primer on game studies will surely reveal, big business (see Kerr, for instance, as well as trade bodies such as ELSPA and The ESA for up-to-date sales figures). Given the videogame industry seems dedicated to growing its business and broadening its audiences (see Radd on Sony’s ‘Game 3.0’ strategy, for instance), it seems strange, from a commercial perspective if no other, that publishers’ and developers’ back catalogues are not being mercilessly plundered to wring the last pennies of profit from their IPs. Despite being cherished by players and fans, some of whom are actively engaged in their own private collecting and curation regimes (sometimes to apparently obsessive excess as Jones, among others, has noted), videogames have, nonetheless, been undervalued as part of our national popular cultural heritage by institutions of memory such as museums and archives which, I would suggest, have largely ignored and sometimes misunderstood or misrepresented them. Most of all, however, I wish to draw attention to the harm caused by the videogames industry itself. Consumers’ attentions are focused on ‘products’, on audiovisual (but mainly visual) technicalities and high-definition video specs rather than on the experiences of play and performance, or on games as artworks or artefact. Most damagingly, however, by constructing and contributing to an advertising, marketing and popular critical discourse that trades almost exclusively in the language of instant obsolescence, videogames have been robbed of their historical value and old platforms and titles are reduced to redundant, legacy systems and easily-marginalised ‘retro’ curiosities. The vision of inevitable technological progress that the videogames industry trades in reminds us of Paul Duguid’s concept of ‘supersession’ (see also Giddings and Kennedy, on the ‘technological imaginary’). Duguid identifies supersession as one of the key tropes in discussions of new media. The reductive idea that each new form subsumes and replaces its predecessor means that videogames are, to some extent, bound up in the same set of tensions that undermine the longevity of all new media. Chun rightly notes that, in contrast with more open terms like multimedia, ‘new media’ has always been somewhat problematic. Unaccommodating, ‘it portrayed other media as old or dead; it converged rather than multiplied; it did not efface itself in favor of a happy if redundant plurality’ (1). The very newness of new media and of videogames as the apotheosis of the interactivity and multimodality they promise (Newman, "In Search"), their gleam and shine, is quickly tarnished as they are replaced by ever-newer, ever more exciting, capable and ‘revolutionary’ technologies whose promise and moment in the limelight is, in turn, equally fleeting. As Franzen has noted, obsolescence and the trail of abandoned, superseded systems is a natural, even planned-for, product of an infatuation with the newness of new media. For Kline et al., the obsession with obsolescence leads to the characterisation of the videogames industry as a ‘perpetual innovation economy’ whose institutions ‘devote a growing share of their resources to the continual alteration and upgrading of their products. However, it is my contention here that the supersessionary tendency exerts a more serious impact on videogames than some other media partly because the apparently natural logic of obsolescence and technological progress goes largely unchecked and partly because there remain few institutions dedicated to considering and acting upon game preservation. The simple fact, as Lowood et al. have noted, is that material damage is being done as a result of this manufactured sense of continual progress and immediate, irrefutable obsolescence. By focusing on the upcoming new release and the preview of what is yet to come; by exciting gamers about what is in development and demonstrating the manifest ways in which the sheen of the new inevitably tarnishes the old. That which is replaced is fit only for the bargain bin or the budget-priced collection download, and as such, it is my position that we are systematically undermining and perhaps even eradicating the possibility of a thorough and well-documented history for videogames. This is a situation that we at the National Videogame Archive, along with colleagues in the emerging field of game preservation (e.g. the International Game Developers Association Game Preservation Special Interest Group, and the Keeping Emulation Environments Portable project) are, naturally, keen to address. Chief amongst our concerns is better understanding how it has come to be that, in 2009, game studies scholars and colleagues from across the memory and heritage sectors are still only at the beginning of the process of considering game preservation. The IGDA Game Preservation SIG was founded only five years ago and its ‘White Paper’ (Lowood et al.) is just published. Surprisingly, despite the importance of videogames within popular culture and the emergence and consolidation of the industry as a potent creative force, there remains comparatively little academic commentary or investigation into the specific situation and life-cycles of games or the demands that they place upon archivists and scholars of digital histories and cultural heritage. As I hope to demonstrate in this essay, one of the key tasks of the project of game preservation is to draw attention to the consequences of the concentration, even fetishisation, of the next generation, the new and the forthcoming. The focus on what I have termed ‘the lure of the imminent’ (e.g. Newman, Playing), the fixation on not only the present but also the as-yet-unreleased next generation, has contributed to the normalisation of the discourses of technological advancement and the inevitability and finality of obsolescence. The conflation of gameplay pleasure and cultural import with technological – and indeed, usually visual – sophistication gives rise to a context of endless newness, within which there appears to be little space for the ‘outdated’, the ‘superseded’ or the ‘old’. In a commercial and cultural space in which so little value is placed upon anything but the next game, we risk losing touch with the continuities of development and the practices of play while simultaneously robbing players and scholars of the critical tools and resources necessary for contextualised appreciation and analysis of game form and aesthetics, for instance (see Monnens, "Why", for more on the value of preserving ‘old’ games for analysis and scholarship). Moreover, we risk losing specific games, platforms, artefacts and products as they disappear into the bargain bucket or crumble to dust as media decay, deterioration and ‘bit rot’ (Monnens, "Losing") set in. Space does not here permit a discussion of the scope and extent of the preservation work required (for instance, the NVA sets its sights on preserving, documenting, interpreting and exhibiting ‘videogame culture’ in its broadest sense and recognises the importance of videogames as more than just code and as enmeshed within complex networks of productive, consumptive and performative practices). Neither is it my intention to discuss here the specific challenges and numerous issues associated with archival and exhibition tools such as emulation which seek to rebirth code on up-to-date, manageable, well-supported hardware platforms but which are frequently insensitive to the specificities and nuances of the played experience (see Newman, "On Emulation", for some further notes on videogame emulation, archiving and exhibition and Takeshita’s comments in Nutt on the technologies and aesthetics of glitches, for instance). Each of these issues is vitally important and will, doubtless become a part of the forthcoming research agenda for game preservation scholars. My focus here, however, is rather more straightforward and foundational and though it is deliberately controversial, it is my hope that its casts some light over some ingrained assumptions about videogames and the magnitude and urgency of the game preservation project. Videogames Are Disappearing? At a time when retailers’ shelves struggle under the weight of newly-released titles and digital distribution systems such as Steam, the PlayStation Network, Xbox Live Marketplace, WiiWare, DSiWare et al bring new ways to purchase and consume playable content, it might seem strange to suggest that videogames are disappearing. In addition to what we have perhaps come to think of as the ‘usual suspects’ in the hardware and software publishing marketplace, over the past year or so Apple have, unexpectedly and perhaps even surprising themselves, carved out a new gaming platform with the iPhone/iPod Touch and have dramatically simplified the notoriously difficult process of distributing mobile content with the iTunes App Store. In the face of this apparent glut of games and the emergence and (re)discovery of new markets with the iPhone, Wii and Nintendo DS, videogames seem an ever more a vital and visible part of popular culture. Yet, for all their commercial success and seemingly penetration the simple fact is that they are disappearing. And at an alarming rate. Addressing the IGDA community of game developers and producers, Henry Lowood makes the point with admirable clarity (see also Ruggill and McAllister): If we fail to address the problems of game preservation, the games you are making will disappear, perhaps within a few decades. You will lose access to your own intellectual property, you will be unable to show new developers the games you designed or that inspired you, and you may even find it necessary to re-invent a bunch of wheels. (Lowood et al. 1) For me, this point hit home most persuasively a few years ago when, along with Iain Simons, I was invited by the British Film Institute to contribute a book to their ‘Screen Guides’ series. 100 Videogames (Newman and Simons) was an intriguing prospect that provided us with the challenge and opportunity to explore some of the key moments in videogaming’s forty year history. However, although the research and writing processes proved to be an immensely pleasurable and rewarding experience that we hope culminated in an accessible, informative volume offering insight into some well-known (and some less-well known) games, the project was ultimately tinged with a more than a little disappointment and frustration. Assuming our book had successfully piqued the interest of our readers into rediscovering games previously played or perhaps investigating games for the first time, what could they then do? Where could they go to find these games in order to experience their delights (or their flaws and problems) at first hand? Had our volume been concerned with television or film, as most of the Screen Guides are, then online and offline retailers, libraries, and even archives for less widely-available materials, would have been obvious ports of call. For the student of videogames, however, the choices are not so much limited as practically non-existant. It is only comparatively recently that videogame retailers have shifted away from an almost exclusive focus on new releases and the zeitgeist platforms towards a recognition of old games and systems through the creation of the ‘pre-owned’ marketplace. The ‘pre-owned’ transaction is one in which old titles may be traded in for cash or against the purchase of new releases of hardware or software. Surely, then, this represents the commercial viability of classic games and is a recognition on the part of retail that the new release is not the only game in town. Yet, if we consider more carefully the ‘pre-owned’ model, we find a few telling points. First, there is cold economic sense to the pre-owned business model. In their financial statements for FY08, ‘GAME revealed that the service isn’t just a key part of its offer to consumers, but its also represents an ‘attractive’ gross margin 39 per cent.’ (French). Second, and most important, the premise of the pre-owned business as it is communicated to consumers still offers nothing but primacy to the new release. That one would trade-in one’s old games in order to consume these putatively better new ones speaks eloquently in the language of obsolesce and what Dovey and Kennedy have called the ‘technological imaginary’. The wire mesh buckets of old, pre-owned games are not displayed or coded as treasure troves for the discerning or completist collector but rather are nothing more than bargain bins. These are not classic games. These are cheap games. Cheap because they are old. Cheap because they have had their day. This is a curious situation that affects videogames most unfairly. Of course, my caricature of the videogame retailer is still incomplete as a good deal of the instantly visible shopfloor space is dedicated neither to pre-owned nor new releases but rather to displays of empty boxes often sporting unfinalised, sometimes mocked-up, boxart flaunting titles available for pre-order. Titles you cannot even buy yet. In the videogames marketplace, even the present is not exciting enough. The best game is always the next game. Importantly, retail is not alone in manufacturing this sense of dissatisfaction with the past and even the present. The specialist videogames press plays at least as important a role in reinforcing and normalising the supersessionary discourse of instant obsolescence by fixing readers’ attentions and expectations on the just-visible horizon. Examining the pages of specialist gaming publications reveals them to be something akin to Futurist paeans dedicating anything from 70 to 90% of their non-advertising pages to previews, interviews with developers about still-in-development titles (see Newman, Playing, for more on the specialist gaming press’ love affair with the next generation and the NDA scoop). Though a small number of publications specifically address retro titles (e.g. Imagine Publishing’s Retro Gamer), most titles are essentially vehicles to promote current and future product lines with many magazines essentially operating as delivery devices for cover-mounted CDs/DVDs offering teaser videos or playable demos of forthcoming titles to further whet the appetite. Manufacturing a sense of excitement might seem wholly natural and perhaps even desirable in helping to maintain a keen interest in gaming culture but the effect of the imbalance of popular coverage has a potentially deleterious effect on the status of superseded titles. Xbox World 360’s magnificently-titled ‘Anticip–O–Meter’ ™ does more than simply build anticipation. Like regular features that run under headings such as ‘The Next Best Game in The World Ever is…’, it seeks to author not so much excitement about the imminent release but a dissatisfaction with the present with which unfavourable comparisons are inevitably drawn. The current or previous crop of (once new, let us not forget) titles are not simply superseded but rather are reinvented as yardsticks to judge the prowess of the even newer and unarguably ‘better’. As Ashton has noted, the continual promotion of the impressiveness of the next generation requires a delicate balancing act and a selective, institutionalised system of recall and forgetting that recovers the past as a suite of (often technical) benchmarks (twice as many polygons, higher resolution etc.) In the absence of formalised and systematic collecting, these obsoleted titles run the risk of being forgotten forever once they no longer serve the purpose of demonstrating the comparative advancement of the successors. The Future of Videogaming’s Past Even if we accept the myriad claims of game studies scholars that videogames are worthy of serious interrogation in and of themselves and as part of a multifaceted, transmedial supersystem, we might be tempted to think that the lack of formalised collections, archival resources and readily available ‘old/classic’ titles at retail is of no great significance. After all, as Jones has observed, the videogame player is almost primed to undertake this kind of activity as gaming can, at least partly, be understood as the act and art of collecting. Games such as Animal Crossing make this tendency most manifest by challenging their players to collect objects and artefacts – from natural history through to works of visual art – so as to fill the initially-empty in-game Museum’s cases. While almost all videogames from The Sims to Katamari Damacy can be considered to engage their players in collecting and collection management work to some extent, Animal Crossing is perhaps the most pertinent example of the indivisibility of the gamer/archivist. Moreover, the permeability of the boundary between the fan’s collection of toys, dolls, posters and the other treasured objects of merchandising and the manipulation of inventories, acquisitions and equipment lists that we see in the menus and gameplay imperatives of videogames ensures an extensiveness and scope of fan collecting and archival work. Similarly, the sociality of fan collecting and the value placed on private hoarding, public sharing and the processes of research ‘…bridges to new levels of the game’ (Jones 48). Perhaps we should be as unsurprised that their focus on collecting makes videogames similar to eBay as we are to the realisation that eBay with its competitiveness, its winning and losing states, and its inexorable countdown timer, is nothing if not a game? We should be mindful, however, of overstating the positive effects of fandom on the fate of old games. Alongside eBay’s veneration of the original object, p2p and bittorrent sites reduce the videogame to its barest. Quite apart from the (il)legality of emulation and videogame ripping and sharing (see Conley et al.), the existence of ‘ROMs’ and the technicalities of their distribution reveals much about the peculiar tension between the interest in old games and their putative cultural and economic value. (St)ripped down to the barest of code, ROMs deny the gamer the paratextuality of the instruction manual or boxart. In fact, divorced from its context and robbed of its materiality, ROMs perhaps serve to make the original game even more distant. More tellingly, ROMs are typically distributed by the thousand in zipped files. And so, in just a few minutes, entire console back-catalogues – every game released in every territory – are available for browsing and playing on a PC or Mac. The completism of the collections allows detailed scrutiny of differences in Japanese versus European releases, for instance, and can be seen as a vital investigative resource. However, that these ROMs are packaged into collections of many thousands speaks implicitly of these games’ perceived value. In a similar vein, the budget-priced retro re-release collection helps to diminish the value of each constituent game and serves to simultaneously manufacture and highlight the manifestly unfair comparison between these intriguingly retro curios and the legitimately full-priced games of now and next. Customer comments at Amazon.co.uk demonstrate the way in which historical and technological comparisons are now solidly embedded within the popular discourse (see also Newman 2009b). Leaving feedback on Sega’s PS3/Xbox 360 Sega MegaDrive Ultimate Collection customers berate the publisher for the apparently meagre selection of titles on offer. Interestingly, this charge seems based less around the quality, variety or range of the collection but rather centres on jarring technological schisms and a clear sense of these titles being of necessarily and inevitably diminished monetary value. Comments range from outraged consternation, ‘Wtf, only 40 games?’, ‘I wont be getting this as one disc could hold the entire arsenal of consoles and games from commodore to sega saturn(Maybe even Dreamcast’ through to more detailed analyses that draw attention to the number of bits and bytes but that notably neglect any consideration of gameplay, experientiality, cultural significance or, heaven forbid, fun. “Ultimate” Collection? 32Mb of games on a Blu-ray disc?…here are 40 Megadrive games at a total of 31 Megabytes of data. This was taking the Michael on a DVD release for the PS2 (or even on a UMD for the PSP), but for a format that can store 50 Gigabytes of data, it’s an insult. Sega’s entire back catalogue of Megadrive games only comes to around 800 Megabytes - they could fit that several times over on a DVD. The ultimate consequence of these different but complementary attitudes to games that fix attentions on the future and package up decontextualised ROMs by the thousand or even collections of 40 titles on a single disc (selling for less than half the price of one of the original cartridges) is a disregard – perhaps even a disrespect – for ‘old’ games. Indeed, it is this tendency, this dominant discourse of inevitable, natural and unimpeachable obsolescence and supersession, that provided one of the prime motivators for establishing the NVA. As Lowood et al. note in the title of the IGDA Game Preservation SIG’s White Paper, we need to act to preserve and conserve videogames ‘before it’s too late’.ReferencesAshton, D. ‘Digital Gaming Upgrade and Recovery: Enrolling Memories and Technologies as a Strategy for the Future.’ M/C Journal 11.6 (2008). 13 Jun 2009 ‹http://journal.media-culture.org.au/index.php/mcjournal/article/viewArticle/86›.Buffa, C. ‘How to Fix Videogame Journalism.’ GameDaily 20 July 2006. 13 Jun 2009 ‹http://www.gamedaily.com/articles/features/how-to-fix-videogame-journalism/69202/?biz=1›. ———. ‘Opinion: How to Become a Better Videogame Journalist.’ GameDaily 28 July 2006. 13 Jun 2009 ‹http://www.gamedaily.com/articles/features/opinion-how-to-become-a-better-videogame-journalist/69236/?biz=1. ———. ‘Opinion: The Videogame Review – Problems and Solutions.’ GameDaily 2 Aug. 2006. 13 Jun 2009 ‹http://www.gamedaily.com/articles/features/opinion-the-videogame-review-problems-and-solutions/69257/?biz=1›. ———. ‘Opinion: Why Videogame Journalism Sucks.’ GameDaily 14 July 2006. 13 Jun 2009 ‹http://www.gamedaily.com/articles/features/opinion-why-videogame-journalism-sucks/69180/?biz=1›. 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