Articoli di riviste sul tema "Toiles de Jouy"

Toile de Jouy, a distinctive textile associated with the world of fashion, originated in France during the 18th century. Initially embraced by the aristocratic class, it has since transcended social boundaries to become a prevalent phenomenon in contemporary society. In this paper, I will explore the underlying themes that highlight the social dynamics depicted in the narratives portrayed on this fabric. From a conceptual perspective, this study aims to illustrate the intrinsic relationship between the labor of the proletariat and the consumption patterns of the bourgeoisie as reflected in Toile de Jouy. Drawing upon the theoretical frameworks of Karl Marx and Jean Baudrillard, I will investigate the interrelation between fashion, means of production, consumer conduct, and simulated phenomena.

Human skin is an island in constant interaction between diverse microorganisms (Archaea, fungi, bacteria, and protozoa), especially the inner elbow, armpit and buttocks, of which an imminent health danger is possible during injury or their sustained proliferation. Fat-soluble lauric acid-containing palm kernel oil, hardness-giving caustic soda and water solvent were essential ingredients used to produce toilet soap in this study, via a mechanized setup. Free caustic alkali (FCA), pH and moisture content (MC), as determined for additive (honey, clove, black seed) formulations A, B, C, D and E, which are respectively in the range of 0.006-0.02%, 7.10-9.97, and 7.33-15.33%, gave a soap of desired medicinal functionality. Formulation E physicochemical property compares favorably with other soaps, including Septol, Dettol, Premier, Joy, Sunlight, and Premier Cool found in Nigerian markets. It is found that the three additives introduced into the formulation in the ratio of 33, 50 and 17%, respectively, are responsible for its septic, antioxidant, antimicrobial and sanitizing properties. With this fit achieved, improvement, packaging and mass production of the produced toilet soap already having satisfactory foam stability, lathering, cleansing, fragrance, form and quality (according to SNI standard), is encouraged in this part of the world.

Dans ses romans « historiques », Umberto Eco revisite, de manière postmoderne, le grand bassin sémantique des « merveilles » (mirabilia) de la littérature médiévale et de la Renaissance. Plus spécifiquement, dans L’Île du jour d’avant, il travaille sur la toile de fond de l’imaginaire cosmographique de l’âge des grandes « reconnaissances ». Les aventures du protagoniste suivent un trajet initiatique vers un « centre sacré » de la mappemonde, le méridien zéro. En même temps, les péripéties extérieures sont le corrélatif d’une évolution intérieure, que nous analysons avec les instruments de la psychologie analytique jungienne. La colombe orange qui jaillit de l’île au moment culminant du roman, ayant les caractéristiques d’un Phénix — oiseau de la rédemption et la renaissance — est un symbole de l’accomplissement du personnage, de l’atteinte de son soi mystique.

La notion de traces laissées par l’expérience est à l’interface de la psychanalyse et des neurosciences dans ce qu’elles permettent, en termes de plasticité, tant psychique que neuronale. Alors que Freud, dès 1895, proposait un projet pour une psychologie scientifique, en parallèle, le champ des neurosciences se faisait jour et allait ouvrir à de nouvelles perspectives de pensées et de connaissances. Les traces, preuves de l’expérience acquise, vont être ce qui va permettre de penser un travail de mémoire tant dans sa dimension psychique que neurologique. Mais à ces plasticités psychiques et cérébrales, bientôt va se joindre une nouvelle : celle des neurones artificiels, toile de fond d’un champ de recherche et d’ouverture dont on ne connaît pas encore l’envergure : l’intelligence artificielle, elle aussi sujette à expérience, elle aussi empreinte de traces, laissant présager de sa propre plasticité.

Les expositions virtuelles fleurissent sur la toile. Les inventaires patrimoniaux et les collections muséales en ligne se structurent et s’enrichissent, tissant de denses réseaux de connaissances dans le cyberespace. Des projets de musées virtuels de plus en plus audacieux voient progressivement le jour. Le champ de la cybermuséologie se construit ainsi dans l’entrecroisement d’un héritage institutionnel fort et de pratiques en constant développement. Si l’on s’intéresse de prime abord à la frénésie technologique qui justifie le renouvellement des pratiques et l’intérêt des publics, il faut cependant, pour quelques instants, abandonner la forme pour tenter de comprendre les projets qui sous-tendent de tels déploiements. Les expériences de collaboration citoyenne et communautaire qui visent la conservation et la diffusion d’un petit patrimoine tantôt matériel, tantôt immatériel, offrent à cet égard un terrain remarquable pour saisir les dynamiques sociales, identitaires à l’oeuvre dans le virtuel. À travers l’étude de trois projets associés à la collecte de mémoires – Dane Wajich. Contes et chants : les rêveurs de leur terre (2007), le Musée de Toronto en ligne (2011) et Sacrée montagne (2011) –, nous tenterons de dégager quelques contributions possibles de la cybermuséologie à la mise en valeur d’un patrimoine parfois méconnu, voire invisible, et de saisir les effets sur la constitution de territoires alternatifs d’appartenance.

Tout propos critique tenu sur Fullmetal Alchemist s'adosse à l'énorme corps-toile vibrant d'une œuvre aux multiples supports, aux ramifications quasi-infinies, archétype de la culture jeune « mainstream ». Il n'en demeure pas moins qu'au cœur des récits serpente le fil rouge – le grand Chemin que chaque être doit suivre, de sa naissance à sa disparition, puis de sa disparition à son salut ; au « voyage inattendu » il n'est en effet pas de retour, le cheminement s'exerçant à l'intérieur de sa propre psyché au moins autant qu'en traversant les mondes – ou les temps – dans le grand chamboulement de la fantasy. C'est le voyage initiatique de deux frères, Edward et Alphonse Elric, qui semble le plus riche en interprétations : ayant essayé de ramener leur mère à la vie par une opération alchimique ratée, ils perdent leur intégrité corporelle... mais ne meurent pas ; ils partent, ils voyagent, ils font de leur mémoire un temps secret, une révolte. Leur quête ressemble au fond à la nôtre, elle est exemplaire : un jour ou l’autre, il faut mettre pied à terre et accepter la loi des autres, avant que les guetteurs ne fassent signe, que la nuit s’achève, et que le sens afflue. Mots-clés : alchimie ; résurrection ; fraternité ; dystopie ; fantasy

(francuski) Depuis l'Antiquit? l'histoire de la P?ninsule balkanique est jalonn?e d'alternances entre clivages culturels ou politiques et synth?ses de civilisation: Gr?ce, Rome, Byzance, Empire ottoman. Ce qui a cr?? une superposition de nuances et de diff?renciations ethniques et nationales selon les lignes de partage confessionnelles et culturelles, id?ologiques et politiques. La r?manence de ces lignes de partage, issues en partie du Moyen Age, et qui ne cessent de se d?multiplier depuis le XIXe si?cle, fait que les Balkans oscillent de nos jours entre adh?sion aux processus d'int?gration euro-atlantiques et processus de d?sint?grations successives sur la base des singularisassions communautaires et de pulsions identitaires. Menace majeure de la stabilit? europ?enne au XIXe si?cle connue ? l'?poque sous la d?nomination de "Question d'Orient", la crise balkanique est depuis la fin du XXe si?cle une zone d'ombre sur la toile d'int?gration europ?enne. Les redoutables difficult?s ? g?rer cette crise d?sormais redevenue chronique, font que les Balkans, ind?pendamment ou non de toutes autres contradictions euro-atlantiques, apparaissent comme un espace crucial au sein duquel la future Grande Europe joue tout ou partie de son avenir.

RésuméMarquée par le paradigme de la singularité, l’histoire de l’art européen a longtemps été le fruit d’une alliance entre le modèle vasarien, associé à l’écriture biographique, et le connoisseurship, comme méthode d’attribution. Mais ce modèle est en tension avec la complexité des formes de la production artistique à l’âge renaissant et classique. Des travaux récents, issus de l’histoire sociale, de la philosophie de l’art et d’un « nouveau connoisseurship » proche du monde des musées, explorent ainsi la tension entre autographie et réalisation à plusieurs mains, entre attribution et collaboration artistique, exemplaire dans l’œuvre de Rembrandt. La conception autographique de la peinture n’est pas universelle: elle a une histoire qui se cristallise au XVIIesiècle dans la littérature du connoisseurship et les discours nouveaux sur la touche. Ces travaux révèlent aussi l’importance des répétitions et des multiples dans l’histoire de l’art moderne, jusqu’alors marginalisés dans une écriture historique de la singularité. Attentifs à l’histoire matérielle des œuvres, comme à l’histoire sociale et intellectuelle de l’art, ils mettent au jour le rôle du collectif et des « originaux multiples » dans la fabrication de la singularité artistique, au cœur même de la toile. Ils remettent ainsi en cause certaines conceptions fondamentales de la peinture en Occident, tels le culte de l’original et le statut de l’autographie, et ouvrent la voie à une histoire culturelle de l’art renouvelée.

Cet article a donné la possibilité de rendre compte d’une analyse lexicale du 19ème siècle français dans l’édition mondiale produite durant les 19ème et 20ème siècles à l’aide d’un nouvel outil lexicométrique nommé « N-gram-Viewer » (visualisateur de fréquence de mots). Cet instrument numérique en ligne sur l’Internet nous a permis de réaliser une approche assez précise des occurrences lexicales des deux derniers siècles. Ce logiciel qui manipule un corpus de 5 millions de livres numérisés est à la fois linguistique et historique. Il offre en effet des possibilités nouvelles pour apprécier et expliquer l’histoire du 19ème siècle français entre mythe et réalité.La problématique centrale de cet article a donc été la suivante : dans quelle mesure peut-on dire que les nouvelles technologies linguistiques permettent d’obtenir un autre re- gard sur l’histoire dite traditionnelle d’un pays ? Et plus avant encore : dans quelle mesure peut-on dire aussi qu’une analyse structurelle macro-lexicale peut débusquer des représen- tations inédites et constitutives gravitant autour des « Grands Hommes » liés naturellement à l’histoire événementielle ou des positivistes d’un pays ?Les données obtenues ont permis de construire des courbes d’occurrences lexicales (nommées N-grammes) qui nous ont donné accès à un monde numérique jusqu’ici caché. Cet outil nous a permis surtout de voir un double immatériel de la mémoire de l’humanité car il offre l’accès à des traitements algorithmiques accélérés et à des enregistrements mas- sifs d’information connectés à l’édition mondiale.La science de fouilles de données (data mining), la science de réseaux (les graphes obtenus par l’Internet) et leur mise à jour par des « datas centers », tels ont été les trois pa- ramètres essentiels de cette recherche. Ces trois aspects techniques ont constitué la toile de fond de cette étude qui dispose au final de plus de 500 milliards de mots, soit environ 5 téraoctets. La création numérique de ce méga-texte réalisé par les laboratoires « Google » et l’université d’Harvard en 2010 a donc ouvert des perspectives inédites entre culture et nu- mérique, d’où le néologisme récent de « Culturomique » pour nommer ce microscope d’analyse linguistique au service de l’histoire.

Le programme de restructuration et de mise en valeur de la plaine aménagée de Niofila/Douna au Burkina Faso, initié à cet effet, a démarré en 2012. A ce jour, sept (07) coopératives de base existantes et leur faitière ainsi que le comité d’irrigants présentent toutes des insuffisances organisationnelles. L’objectif de cette étude a consisté à faire le diagnostic des organisations paysannes de la plaine aménagée de Niofila-Douna ainsi que les contraintes liées à leur fonctionnement, puis, à en faire l’analyse et proposer des actions à entreprendre. Pour ce faire, l’outil ̏ Toile d’araignée ̋ (Td’A) qui est spécifiquement destiné à l’analyse des performances des organisations paysannes a été utilisé. Les résultats auxquels nous sommes parvenus, montrent des organisations de très faibles niveaux de performance. Les scores moyens des Organisations Paysannes (OP) varient entre 0 et 6,13 points sur 20 soit une moyenne d’ensemble de 3,13 points sur 20. C’est pourquoi, les actions urgentes d’éducation coopérative, d’accroissement des facteurs de production et le développement du partenariat s’avèrent être les mesures nécessaires pour rehausser le niveau de performance, la capacité organisationnelle et de gestion des OP de la plaine de Niofila/Douna. English title: Agricultural cooperative diagnosis at farmlands of Niofila-Douna in the South-sudanian zone of Burkina Faso The programme to restructure and develop the Niofila/Douna irrigated plain in Burkina Faso was launched in 2012. To date, seven (07) existing grassroots cooperatives, their umbrella organisation and the irrigators' committee all have organisational shortcomings. The aim of this study was to diagnose the farmers' organisations on the Niofila-Douna plain and the constraints on their operation, then to analyse them and propose actions to be taken. To do this, we used the ̏Canvas spider ̋(Td'A) tool, which is specifically designed to analyse the performance of farmers' organisations. The results we arrived at show organisations with very low levels of performance. The average scores for farmers' organisations (FOs) ranged from 0 to 6.13 points out of 20, giving an overall average of 3.13 points out of 20. This is why urgent action to educate cooperatives, increase production factors and develop partnerships is needed to raise the level of performance and the organisational and management capacity of FOs on the Niofila/Douna plain.

Purpose Beaches are icons of summer tourism and a strong motivating factor for the arrival of tourists in the sun and sea tourism destinations. Spending time on the beach is one of the most popular forms of tourism leisure worldwide. Beaches serve both as recreational areas of coastal cities, and valuable ecosystems that provide natural and protective functions. The Croatian coast is relatively rich in this valuable tourism resource, but the management of beaches as a tourist product has not reached significant progress. This dissertation aims to contribute to the sustainable management of beaches as a tourism product and recognises the possibility of involving all stakeholders in this process by studying socio-demographic factors, preferences, satisfaction, and future behavioural intentions of beach visitors. This knowledge can make an important contribution to the beach management process because it can be used to make more informed management decisions. Which characteristics of a particular beach need to be improved, what facilities should be introduced or discontinued, beach managers can find out through social science research methods that can encourage participation of all stakeholders, increase visitor satisfaction and destination competitiveness, and thus lay the groundwork for more sustainable development of beaches as tourism products. The purpose of this doctoral dissertation is to develop a cognitive-affective-conative model of beach visitor satisfaction. This dissertation developed, validated, and tested an empirical model of beach visitor satisfaction by combining the sustainable development framework, international coastal zone management protocols, and national legislation with theories of satisfaction, quality, and consumer behaviour. The empirical model includes measures of beach visitor satisfaction levels with natural beach features, beach facilities, overall beach experience, emotional experience and their future behavioural intention. Methodology The study follows a mixed method design, employing both quantitative and qualitative research methods. The structural equation modelling (PLS-SEM) method was used for the purpose of testing the links between model constructs. Kruskal Wallis and MannWhitney U tests were used in analyses of socio-demographic variable influences of beach visitors. Data was collected through a semi-structured questionnaire on three separate beach locations in the Primorsko – goranska county littoral during the summer of 2021, with the paper assisted personal interview (PAPI) technique. A 5-point Likert scale was used in attribute level satisfaction and importance performance measurements. Qualitative methods include investigation by an unstructured inquiry of importance, concerning beach attributes not mentioned in the structured part of the questionnaire, as an opening of an unstructured interview with the beach visitor. Findings of the qualitative analysis have shown that beach visitors also value cultural factors and place high importance on beach sediment quality. Findings The findings of the descriptive statistical analyses concerning socio-demographic characteristics of beach visitors indicate that on average, women (59.4%) visit the beach more than men (40.6%). The most frequent age group of beach visitors is in between 45- 54 years old (25.7%), followed by visitors in between 15-24 (21%) years old. Regarding education levels, on average most visitors have finished high school (54.6%) followed by visitors with university level education (43.5%). Foreign tourists make up most of beach visitors (60.2%) while domestic tourists are second most represented (20.7%), followed by local residents (17.2%) and season residents (1.9%). Concerning the habits of beach visitors, they are most likely to visit the beach as a family with children (31.3%), as a couple (26.8%) or with friends (26.3%). Beach visitors will most likely use a car to get to the beach (77.7%), go on foot (12.5%) or use public transport (8.8%). Concerning the time they spend on the beach, most visitors stay in between 3-5 hours long (39.5%), followed by stays in between 1-3 hours long (38.2%) and stays over 5 hours long (21.2%). The descriptive statistical analyses of structural model independent variable constructs for the whole sample of all three beaches, indicates that regarding beach natural characteristics, beach visitors are most satisfied with beach scenery = 4.57, cleanliness of the sea = 4.47 and texture of beach sediment = 4.06. Beach visitors are somewhat satisfied with the opportunities to observe maritime species = 3.42. The least levels of beach visitor satisfaction are with available shade on the beaches = 2.82. Concerning beach visitor satisfaction with beach facilities, all average values of individual attributes are below 4, which indicates that beach visitors are on average more satisfied with the natural beach attributes than facilities available at the beaches. In the overall sample, beach visitors are satisfied the least with lifeguard and/or medical service = 2.90, accessibility to the beach and sea for persons with disabilities = 2.97, rental service of water sport and recreation equipment = 3.12, parking space availability = 3.12, shower availability = 3.13, toilet cleanliness = 3.15 and toilet availability = 3.24. Beach visitors are satisfied the most with bar and restaurant service on the beaches = 3.99, clearly designated safe swimming areas in the sea = 3.88, litter bin availability = 3.88 and with areas for sport, recreation, and children play on the beaches = 3.81. Concerning the descriptive analyses of beach visitor emotional experiences, measured on the Destination Emotion Scale (DES), on average beach visitors feel joy = 4.21 the most, followed by the emotion of love = 3.84 and positive surprise = 3.69. Beach visitor satisfaction with the overall experience at the beaches is on average relatively high = 4.29, as are the intention of revisit = 4.49, and the intention of recommending the beach = 4.35 The results of the bivariate statistical analysis show significant statistical differences in overall experience satisfaction regarding visitor type, while no differences were found by age or gender. Domestic tourists are least satisfied on average, while season residents are satisfied the most. The results partially support hypothesis H1. Significant statistical differences were found in the construct of intention of recommendation by gender and age. Women have a higher intention to recommend the beach than men. Age groups of 15-24 years of age tend to recommend the beach the least, while age groups of 45-54 and 55-64 have the highest levels of recommendation intention. These results partially support hypothesis H2, as no differences were found by beach visitor type. Women also have a higher intention of revisit the beach then men, while local residents and season residents have significantly higher intention of revisit than tourists, partially supporting hypothesis H3, as no differences by age were found. Lastly, the results of multivariate statistical analysis show that satisfaction with natural beach characteristics affects satisfaction with the overall experience at the beach (β=0.529, p<.01), intention to revisit (β=0.37, p<.01) and intention to recommend (β=0.497, p<.01). Thus, confirming hypothesis H4, H5 and H6. Satisfaction with beach facilities affects the overall experience satisfaction with the beach (β=0.189, p<.01), the intention to revisit (β=0.146, p<.01) and the intention to recommend the beach (β=0.106, p<.01) confirming hypotheses H7, H8 and H9. Concerning the impact of beach visitor emotions on the overall beach experience, the results show that joy (β=0.437, p<.01), love (β=0.203, p<.01) and positive surprise (β=0.105, p<.05) have a significant impact. Confirming in this way hypothesis H10. The impact of emotions on revisit intention is also statistically significant for joy (β=0.442, p<.01) and love (β=0.266, p<.01), while positive surprise is not related to revisit intention (β=0.061, p=0.271). By this, hypothesis H11 is partially confirmed. Concerning the effect of emotions on recommendation intention, both joy (β=0.445, p<.01) and love (β=0.27, p<.01) affect recommendation intention, while the relationship with positive surprise is not statistically significant (β=0.047, p=0.333). The results confirm partially hypothesis H12. Satisfaction with overall beach experience is significantly related to the intention of revisit (β=0.585, p<.01) and with the intention of recommendation (β=0.597, p<.01) confirming hypothesis H13 and H14 respectively. Mediation analysis results indicate that emotions partially mediate the relationship between satisfaction with natural beach characteristics and overall experience at the beach, while complete mediation of emotions is established between satisfaction with beach facilities and overall experience satisfaction. Finally, confirming hypothesis H15 and H16 respectively.

By its very nature, fashion consumption assumes a diverse and updated relevance in light of social, cultural, and economic transformations. The global fashion industry is undergoing a paradigm shift driven by rapid technological advances (Bertola & Teunissen, 2018; Lee, 2022), increased awareness of environmental sustainability (Heim & Hopper, 2022; Mishra et al., 2020), and the changing values of individuals (Bürklin, 2018; Camacho-Otero et al., 2020; Domingos et al., 2022). These transformations are forcing creative, production, distribution and communication systems and, not least, the “end consumer” to critically reflect on the role and impacts of the fashion system (Luchs et al., 2015). Digital technologies, for example, have revolutionized how fashion is produced, distributed, and consumed. Digital platforms enable unprecedented levels of interaction between brands and consumers, fostering new forms of engagement and co-creation (Gielens & Steenkamp, 2019). These are widespread, ubiquitous platforms that expand and fragment the fashion narrative (Sadler, 2021), creating a more interconnected, immediate ecosystem within which to experiment with new systems of relationship and mediation. In addition, the growing recognition of the fashion industry’s environmental and social impact has catalyzed a movement toward more sustainable practice. On the one hand, the fast fashion model, characterized by rapid production cycles and disposable garments, is being challenged by consumers and activists calling for greater accountability and transparency (Mazzarella et al., 2019). Conversely, sustainable fashion emphasizes ethical production, resource efficiency and circularity, seeking to minimize negative impacts and promote long-term well-being (Centobelli et al., 2022). Finally, European legislation has been proactive in promoting sustainability within the textile and fashion industries through several key legislative initiatives and strategies aimed at reducing the environmental and social impacts of textile production and consumption (European Commission, 2022; Regulation (EU) 2024/1781 of the European Parliament and of the Council of 13 June 2024 Establishing a Framework for the Setting of Ecodesign Requirements for Sustainable Products, Amending Directive (EU) 2020/1828 and Regulation (EU) 2023/1542 and Repealing Directive 2009/125/ECText with EEA Relevance., 2024). The term “consumption” is inherently multivalent and nuanced. Its very etymology encompasses several facets: consumption means “transformation” of natural resources into fungible goods, but also of signs and symbols into systems of meaning and value. This dual nature of consumption underscores its complexity. On the one hand, it involves converting resources into products that satisfy human needs and desires (Boivin, 2008). On the other hand, it involves the symbolic process of attributing meanings to these products that resonate within cultural and social contexts (Davis, 1992). This duality is particularly evident in fashion, where clothing has both functional and self-expression purposes. Consumption also means “destruction”, that is, the reduction to nothingness of tangible or intangible elements, in turn rendering them unusable through the very act of use. This aspect of consumption highlights the inherent tension between use and waste. Every act of consumption carries with it a potential for depletion and degradation, whether physical goods or intangible experiences. In fashion, this is manifested in the life cycle of clothing, from creation and use to eventual disposal (Shirvanimoghaddam et al., 2020). The environmental cost of producing and discarding garments is significant and prompts a critical examination of consumption practices and their sustainability. Obviously, in its most common meaning, consumption stands for “use” or “utilization”, which consists of the activity of making use of a tangible or intangible item but also, in a broader sense, in the act of enjoying services, experiences or activities that do not involve transformation or destruction. This broader interpretation of consumption emphasizes the experiential dimension, where value derives from enjoyment and engagement with fashion as a social and cultural phenomenon (Woodward, 2007). Fashion consumption thus encompasses a wide range of activities, from the purchase and use of clothing to its enjoyment in cultural terms to the experience provided by virtual worlds. The fashion system has always intertwined its practices and processes with this multivalent universe that constitutes the landscape of the consumption system of both the creative, material and human resources along the entire fashion supply chain and the fashion object itself, its images and projections. The interaction between creation and consumption is a distinctive feature of the fashion industry. Designers and brands create products that are functional and charged with symbolic meanings, anticipating how consumers will interpret and interact with them. This relationship extends throughout the supply chain, influencing decisions about material sourcing, production processes, communication strategies, and retail experiences. In the current digital and sustainable transformation context, this intertwining opens up broad areas for thinking about consumption practices, processes and impacts with a more critical and responsible approach (Colombi & D’Itria, 2023). Digital technologies have expanded the possibilities for creating, sharing and experiencing fashion. Virtual and augmented reality, for example, offer consumers new ways to interact with fashion products and brands, blurring the boundaries between the physical and digital worlds (Zarantonello & Schmitt, 2022). These innovations enable more personalized and immersive experiences, fostering deeper connections between consumers and fashion. On the one hand, focusing on more sustainable forms of natural resource use promotes new business models and circular forms of production, which involve reducing, recovering, and reusing finished products and their waste. Circular fashion models aim to extend the life cycle of garments, reducing the need for new resources and minimizing waste. Practices such as upcycling, recycling, and using sustainable materials are integral to this approach (de Aguiar Hugo et al., 2021). By designing long-lasting products and encouraging practices such as repair and resale, the fashion industry can reduce its environmental footprint and promote a more sustainable consumption pattern. On the other hand, new forms of collaborative consumption are emerging, aimed at extending the life cycle of products through the adoption of curation practices, re-signification and rethinking. These practices promote more active and conscious consumer participation, emphasizing the shift from passive consumption to an engaged and responsible use of fashion (McNeill & Venter, 2019). Collaborative consumption models, such as clothing rental services, fashion exchanges, and peer-to-peer resale platforms, encourage consumers to share and reuse clothing, reducing demand for new products (Arrigo, 2021). These models not only promote sustainability but also create communities of individuals who share values and practices. The third issue of Fashion Highlight investigates the dynamics, practices, and impacts of fashion consumption in the light of the transformations taking place, questioning the role and potential that fashion industries, creative communities, consumers and education can express. The issue comprehensively covers the different declinations of contemporary fashion consumption, highlighting the trajectories that shape practices, processes and methods within the context of the - long and complex - fashion value chain. The contributions cover three relevant and promising macro-areas to understand the state of the art of fashion design, manufacturing and consumption and to get a preview of the near future: “Consumed fashion”, with a focus on the economic-productive dimension of fashion within a context for which digital and sustainable transformation is crucial, with necessary implications in terms of reconfiguring and updating processes and competences; “Consumer communities”, through the investigation of new and contemporary orientations towards more responsible and sustainable consumption practices; “Consumer culture”, concerning the dynamics, approaches and practices through which fashion is narrated, conveyed, and experienced. The first section, “Consumed Fashion”, brings together articles that critically explore the trajectories within which fashion manufacturing systems are evolving, highlighting both the criticalities and impacts of a socio-economic system dominated by hyper-production and hyper-consumption, and outlining and experimenting with new and more responsible approaches to design and manufacturing. Likewise, the selected articles highlight transformational dynamics involving the fashion “know-how”, delving into the implications needed to reconfigure and update processes and skills and emphasizing the need for continuous evolution in how fashion is understood and practiced. These dynamics require a shift in the sector’s knowledge base, leading to a re-examination of traditional practices and the development of new sustainable approaches that respond to contemporary transformations. Jacopo Battisti and Alessandro Spennato critically examine the profound impact of fast fashion on individuals and societies in the context of globalization and consumer capitalism. The study explores how the industry’s rapid replication of trends and profit motivations have transformed clothing consumption, leading to hyper-consumption and disposability, with negative impacts in terms of economic dependency and inequalities to the detriment of low labour-cost countries. The paper underscores the need to address these systemic injustices through collective action, stressing the importance of prioritizing social and environmental responsibility to envision a more ethical and equitable fashion industry. Erminia d'Itria and Chiara Colombi propose an examination of sustainable innovation dynamics within the fashion industry, scrutinizing various merchandising strategies through fashion companies’ case studies. The authors build a system model centered on refashioning, formulated from diverse strategies aimed at enhancing product longevity and curbing overconsumption and overmanufacturing. Through their analysis, they identify three thematic frameworks that encapsulate sustainable design approaches, responsible practices, and conscious consumption strategies, thus providing reference for future research to explore the implications, challenges, and benefits of a viable, eco-sustainable future scenario. Isabella Enrica Alevato Aires and Stefan Lie explore the integration of next-generation materials into products with psychological significance to improve consumer acceptance and achieve environmental benefits. The study hypothesizes that customizing products with users’ genetic material can better represent their environmental concerns and individuality. Focusing on biofabricated bags, the research moves from secondary research to materials testing and prototyping to investigate whether incorporating the user’s genetic material into a bag can symbolize self-extension and advances in materials design, thus supporting environmental sustainability. Gianni Denaro and Andrea Pruiti’s article delves into the evolution of production and consumption paradigms in the fashion industry, highlighting the growing emphasis on customising fashion products through local craftsmanship, an approach considered more environmentally, economically, socially and culturally sustainable. Beginning with a renewed interest in local craft traditions, particularly in Italy, where the “Made in Italy” label exemplifies a fusion of creative manual skills and taste rooted in local tradition, the article explores how designers are integrating these craft practices into industrial production, promoting a new dimension of “know-how” that combines local specificity with industrial processes. Ludovica Rosato, Alberto Calleo, Simona Colitti, Giorgio Dall’Osso e Valentina De Matteo present an interesting case study on a multidisciplinary, multistakeholder model designed for a hybrid research-education-business environment. This model shows how involving research and industry professionals in a collaborative learning model can produce results that address contemporary fashion industry challenges. The study emphasizes the importance of collective intelligence in design-led innovation, particularly in the framework of open innovation, and through the adoption of co-design processes, proposes new strategies for industry transformation, especially in the shaded realm of technical apparel and uniforms. The article by Angelica Vandi, Paola Bertola and Emma Suh explores the evolution of the concept of “materiality” in fashion, influenced by Industry 4.0 technologies, and its implications in human-computer interaction (HCI). The research, resulting from a collaboration between the Gianfranco Ferré Research Center of the Politecnico di Milano and the Department of Mechanical Engineering at MIT, employs a Reverse Engineering approach to study and deconstruct a garment from the Gianfranco Ferré archive. This process aims to rematerialize the garment and integrate HCI principles into educational applications in culture and design. The results underscore the innovative potential of the fusion of traditional craftsmanship and advanced production, highlighting the democratization and dissemination of archival knowledge through technological hybridization and interdisciplinary collaboration. The second section, “Consumer Communities”, brings together articles that critically reflect on the changing dynamics of fashion consumption and the growing influence of consumer communities, highlighting their intrinsic motivations and imagining future trajectories. This section analyses how consumer behaviour, social movements and community-led initiatives are reshaping the fashion industry towards sustainability and ethical approaches. By examining different case studies and research findings, the selected articles provide insights into how consumer participation, digital platforms and innovative consumption patterns are beginning to contribute to a more sustainable and responsible fashion ecosystem and what - desirable - impacts they may have on the future of fashion. Claudia Morea and Silvia Gambi explore the central role of consumers in the transition to sustainable fashion. Recent consumer purchasing decisions have shaped new trends and business models, with one segment viewing purchasing as a political choice and in line with European legislation promoting sustainability in the fashion industry. The research surveyed Generation Z to investigate their familiarity with eco-design strategies related to the use phase, revealing a gap between policy and design orientations and actual consumer engagement. The study highlights the need to bridge the gap between policy, design and consumer behaviour for true sustainability in fashion. Lam Hong Lan and Donna Cleveland’s article analyzes the shift to sustainable consumption through pre-owned fashion in Vietnam. The research includes observations of local media, analysis of two major pre-owned fashion platforms, and insights from an online survey of Vietnamese consumers. This comprehensive study reveals how online media, particularly celebrity endorsements and social commerce, contribute significantly to this transformation by building e-communities that support circular fashion practices. The findings reveal that these e-communities are crucial in promoting responsible consumption among Vietnamese youth, driven by economic, environmental, and style considerations that make second-hand fashion attractive. Iryna Kucher’s article examines fashion consumption by analyzing clothing purchase, use, and disposal practices in Denmark and Ukraine. Employing the theory of fashion consumption temporalities, the study analyzes how these practices have evolved due to social changes. Through wardrobe studies of different age groups, the research highlights the unique and common aspects of sustainable clothing consumption among Western and post-Soviet consumers. It also introduces an additional temporality of clothing consumption, challenging previous studies and offering new perspectives for understanding the transition to sustainability in fashion. Laura Giraldi, Marta Maini, and Francesca Morelli examine the contemporary fashion consumption landscape, focusing on consumers' growing awareness of sustainability in the fashion industry. Analyzing the current state and highlighting exemplary sustainable practices, the article reveals emerging service design solutions that promote more sustainable and conscious fashion consumption. These practices, such as second-hand shopping, collaborative wardrobe sharing, and clothing customization, reshape consumer experiences and push brands to adapt their communication strategies to appeal to the more conscious Gen Z audience. Remaining in collaborative fashion consumption practices, Gabriela Fabro Cardoso analyzes the final stages of retail dynamics as potential pathways to a more sustainable future, focusing on the distribution and use phases through collaborative consumption models such as resale, rental and subscription services. Through case studies, the research explores the relationship between community involvement in retail activities - such as product authentication, promotion, price negotiation, and transaction completion - and corporate commitments to sustainability, including consumer education on circularity, financial support for sustainable practices, and progress monitoring systems. Finally, Giovanni Conti and Martina Motta explore the resurgence of knitwear in the contemporary fashion industry, emphasizing its role as a bridge between creation and consumption and challenging traditional fashion norms. Their qualitative research highlights knitwear’s response to changing consumer attitudes, technological advances and global events, showing its potential to promote creativity, sustainability and ethical practices. The article investigates the space created by knitwear, questioning the new role of individuals, who are freer to experiment and experiment with interconnected aspects, breaking away from being mere consumers and becoming conscious makers. The third and final section, “Consumer Culture”, presents a selection of articles that aim to analyze, adopting different points of view, the dynamics, approaches and practices through which fashion is narrated, transmitted and experienced. This section explores fashion narratives and recent evolutions in terms of languages, content and formats, focusing on the impact of digital technologies. Examining historical perspectives, philosophical readings and the transformative power of digital media, these articles offer a comprehensive understanding of how consumer culture shapes and is shaped by fashion. The studies provide insights into the cyclical nature of fashion, the intersection of fashion and social class, the emerging role of the metaverse, the motivations behind digital fashion consumption, and the implications of technologies in sustainable fashion. Karmen Samson opens the discussion with a theoretical reflection on fashion as an “economy of the ephemeral”, emphasizing its cyclical and transitory nature within consumer culture. Using the concepts of “blooming” and “decay”, the author elucidates the temporal dynamics of fashion, integrating these natural processes with the temporal politics of industry. By investigating the interplay between time, consumerism, and fashion’s impermanence, the article provides a deeper understanding of cycles that extend beyond traditional notions and presents a detailed and nuanced analysis of fashion's fleeting essence, encouraging to reconsider the significance of decay within the fashion industry. Shajwan Nariman Fatah’s article delves into the social dynamics captured in the narratives of the Toile de Jouy textile through a philosophical perspective. This study aims to reveal the fundamental connection between working-class labor and bourgeois consumption patterns as depicted in Toile de Jouy. Utilizing the theoretical frameworks of Karl Marx and Jean Baudrillard, the research examines the links between fashion, production methods, consumer behavior, and the concept of simulation, highlighting how the capitalist system commodifies/appropriates the product without regard for its aesthetic qualities, labor origins, or intrinsic value. Finally, diving into the impacts of digital technologies on fashion consumption, Romana Andò delves into the emerging and evolving concept of the Metaverse within the fashion industry. Through qualitative research focused on international Millennials and Generation Z consumers, the study explores the meanings associated with the Metaverse, its intersection with the digitization of fashion and digital apparel, and its target audience's media literacy and expectations. The investigation highlights the relationship between fashion and individual self-presentation in the Metaverse and examines how these digital environments are transforming consumption processes in the fashion industry. Adil Boughlala and Silvia Mazzucotelli Salice’s article explores the intricate relationship between contemporary fashion consumption and digital tools, from pre-purchase browsing to post-purchase sharing on social media. The study delves into the growing field of digital fashion, particularly the motivations behind consumer adoption of digital fashion end products such as NFT fashion, video game skins, and AR filters. The research, adopting a mixed-media approach, examines the profiles and cultures surrounding digital fashion consumption, suggesting that digital fashion contributes significantly to identity formation and self-expression, creating a new “phygital” hybrid identity paradigm in which the physical and digital realms merge, reinforcing socio-cultural dynamics within brand communities. By means of data from web platforms and social media recommendation systems, Tommaso Elli proposes research to identify and analyze significant local projects in sustainable fashion and design initiatives in the Milanese context. The research aims to investigate the relationships between urban actors, highlight key sustainability advocates, and evaluate the effectiveness of digital methods in studying local phenomena. The results demonstrate the potential of these methodologies to improve the understanding and promotion of sustainable practices in fashion and design. To conclude, Ermanno Petrocchi investigates the influence of persuasive technologies on consumer behavior in sustainable fashion. The study addresses the ethical concerns surrounding sustainability labels and their implementation within digital platforms, highlighting potential consumer risks in the digital age. By analyzing consumption patterns and consumer preferences, the paper reveals how persuasive technologies can manipulate individuals with weak preferences for sustainable fashion, thereby affecting the formation and expression of their identity. Together, these sections offer a comprehensive exploration of the multifaceted nature of fashion consumption in the contemporary world. By examining the economic, social and cultural dimensions of consumption, the issue provides a nuanced understanding of the complex dynamics shaping the fashion industry today. Contributors highlight the critical need for a more responsible and reflective approach to fashion consumption that recognizes the interconnectedness of production, distribution and use and the potential for more sustainable and ethical practices. Through this critical lens, this issue thus advances the discourse on sustainable fashion and deepens understanding of the changing landscape of fashion consumption.

Among ornamented canvas, many take their subjects from popular themes, including those of literary topical successes, such as the works of Marmontel (Bélisaire, Les Incas), Bernardin de Saint-Pierre (Paul and Virginie), Chateaubriand (Atala), Carmouche (The Vampire). Moments deemed to be key from these novels are retained in the imaging, responding to the expectations of the public at the time in the context of ideological, memorial and educational functions for these dream machines that are the “toiles de Jouy”.

On peut observer dans les pratiques artistiques contemporaines une volonté de la part des artistes réemployant la toile de Jouy de déployer diverses stratégies, visant à troubler le spectateur et à proposer un nouveau mode de lecture de l’Histoire. Une de ces stratégies est celle du détournement, immergeant le spectateur de deux manières différentes. Nous verrons que les motifs de la toile de Jouy détournés permettent aux artistes de représenter un nouveau type d’individu né de l’hybridation des cultures.

Le nucléaire fait partie intégrante de l’univers de la médecine. La médecine nucléaire a vu le jour en 1895, lorsque le physicien allemand Wilhelm Conrad Röntgen1 a découvert les rayons X. Mais c’est à la fin de la Seconde Guerre mondiale que la médecine nucléaire se développe avec l’utilisation de substances radioactives destinées à diagnostiquer et à soigner certaines maladies. Interrogés lors de la Convention nationale annuelle de la Sfen fin mars 2021, plusieurs spécialistes ont fait le point sur le sujet.

Et si le peintre, alors qu’il présente un portrait d’écrivain, donnait à lire dans sa toile ? Nous pourrions alors nous demander ce que signifie peindre un auteur. Est-ce l’homme biographique qu’il s’agit de révéler ? Son visage ? Son moi profond ? Met-on en scène un jeu de fantasmes auquel son seul nom donne lieu ou bien, convient-il de présenter plutôt une lecture picturale de son œuvre ? Dès lors, la peinture, avec ses propres moyens, s’occupe de ce qui fait littérature ou poésie. L’enjeu de cet article est de montrer qu’au-delà des partis pris artistiques, il est possible que se joue quelque chose qui ne soit pas tout à fait l’œuvre du peintre. Comme si le spectateur venait activer, ou actualiser, ses lectures dans le contenu du tableau. Ce contenu, en plus d’être diégétique, deviendrait alors littéraire. Le Portrait de Stéphane Mallarmé que signe Édouard Manet est pour nous une excellente illustration. Qu’y a-til sur le mur, derrière Mallarmé ? Et ce livre, est-il si anodin ?

En 2017, le Brésil a promulgué la Loi n.° 13.445/2017, qui régit les politiques migratoires du pays à partir du paradigme des Droits de l’Homme. Les promoteurs de cette nouvelle législation ont voulu s’inscrire à contre-courant de politiques migratoires qui, à travers le monde, criminalisent les migrants. Cependant, les avancées portées par la Loi n.° 13.445/2017 en matière de garantie des droits fondamentaux des migrants sont aujourd’hui menacées. De nouveaux textes juridiques (la Portaria 770/2019 et le Projet de Loi n.° 1928) sont défendus par des courants conservateurs qui souhaitent voir l’approche pénale des politiques migratoires brésiliennes renforcée. Cet article propose de réaliser une étude socio-anthropologique sur la mise en œuvre d'une politique migratoire fondée sur les piliers des Droits de l’Homme: ses avancées, ses limites et les débats qui l'entourent. A partir des notions de «ordre national» et de «nationalisme méthodologique», il analyse la résurgence d’idéologies nationalistes qui remettent à l’ordre du jour des politiques migratoires sécuritaires, fondées sur la représentation des migrations comme menace. En toile de fond, l’article développe une réflexion en faveur des mouvements de défense des Droits de l’Homme au Brésil, à l’heure où ceux-ci sont remis en cause par un gouvernement populiste d’extrême-droite récemment élu.

Undergraduates use a wide range of information resources for academic and nonacademic purposes, including web sites that range from credible, peer reviewed, online journal sites, to biased and inaccurate promotional web sites. Students are taught basic critical appraisal skills, but do they apply these skills to make decisions about information in different web sites? In an experimental setting, undergraduate students examined pairs of web sites containing conflicting information based on different aspects of critical appraisal, namely credibility of the author of the information, purpose of the web site, and last update of the site, and answered multiple choice questions about the conflicting information. Results indicated that students failed to use critical appraisal criteria, and that while knowledge of and self-reported use of these criteria were related to each other, they were not related to behaviour. This research demonstrates the need for alternative strategies for critical appraisal instruction and assessment. Les étudiants de premier cycle consultent une vaste gamme de sources d’information à des fins universitaires et non universitaires, y compris des sites Web allant de revues en ligne crédibles et évaluées par des pairs à des sites Web promotionnels partials et inexacts. On enseigne aux étudiants des méthodes de base d’évaluation critique, mais mettent-ils ces méthodes en pratique pour prendre des décisions relativement à l’information tirée de différents sites Web? Dans un cadre expérimental, les étudiants de premier cycle ont étudié des paires de sites Web contenant des informations contradictoires en se fondant sur différents aspects de l’évaluation critique, notamment la crédibilité de l’auteur de l’information, l’intention du site Web et la dernière mise à jour du site, et ont répondu à des questions à choix multiples concernant les informations contradictoires. Les résultats indiquent que les étudiants n’ont pas utilisé les critères d’évaluation critique et que si les connaissances et l’utilisation de ces connaissances déclarée par les étudiants étaient reliées, cette relation ne correspondait toutefois pas au comportement observé. Cette recherche démontre la nécessité de stratégies de rechange en matière d’enseignement de l’évaluation critique et son évaluation.

Traditionally small pieces of equipment (e.g. Zimmer frame, commode, toilet frame and raise and walking sticks) required for frail older people in their home environment are ordered by Allied Health Professionals who are highly skilled in ensuring safety and functionality of the chosen item. However, the problem is that this process can sometimes take up to six months due to backlogs in the system. This means the person is living with unacceptable risk within their own home and losing the ability to perform activities of daily living (ADLs). This could also potentially result in falls and hospital admissions with the subsequent increase in morbidity and mortality. The team working within social care are often the referrers into this service and we wondered if the use of simulation-based mastery learning which has been shown to allow safe successful dissemination of skills in other areas of health and social care could be used to enable home care teams to safely, timeously and appropriately order small pieces of equipment autonomously [1]? Using the 7-stage approach to SBML, Checklists allowing the safe acquisition of small pieces of equipment aiding ADLs were developed by our trained mastery learning facilitators (senior AHPs). Sessions were delivered to a wide range home care team members. The training was delivered using mastery-based learning approach. We believe that this is the only example of the use of SBML in the social care environment and are really excited about the safety benefits and the way SBML enables a person-centred approach to social care [2]. The SBML training and the train the trainers will be continued to be disseminated and we will continue to evaluate the impact both on practitioners, the time it takes to get a piece of equipment and also rates of falls and admissions to hospital. The feedback from the sessions reflects the massive benefit perceived from the participants in the way their new ability will transform the way they can support people in their homes: We can’t believe this is happening it will make such a difference to our practice and the care we can deliver to our clients in their own home I never thought the day would come We will continue to assess impact on home care teams especially whether this added enhanced role aids joy at work. Authors confirm that all relevant ethical standards for research conduct and dissemination have been met. The submitting author confirms that relevant ethical approval was granted, if applicable.

Sphincter I hope my good old asshole holds out 60 years it's been mostly OK Tho in Bolivia a fissure operation survived the altiplano hospital -- a little blood, no polyps, occasionally a small hemorrhoid active, eager, receptive to phallus coke bottle, candle, carrot banana & fingers -- Now AIDS makes it shy, but still eager to serve -- out with the dumps, in with the condom'd orgasmic friend -- still rubbery muscular, unashamed wide open for joy But another 20 years who knows, old folks got troubles everywhere -- necks, prostates, stomachs, joints -- Hope the old hole stays young till death, relax -- March 15, 1986, 1:00 PM, Allen Ginsberg Lucky to the end, Allen Ginsberg (1926-97) achieved his first and final wish. Despite the constipation mentioned occasionally in his later poems, the anus of the grand gay father of the Beats remained relatively healthy until his death while other vital organs failed. Ginsberg, who had also described the erectile misfunction of his penis in mid-to-late career poems, died from a heart attack brought on by liver cancer. While the poet fleshed out references to the male anus in at least fifty of his poems, his "Sphincter" comprises the chronological climax in the development of both his anal and erotic verse. The poem was written just months after the beginning of the global media demonisation of Hollywood star Rock Hudson who was found in late 1985 to be both gay and to have died from AIDS complications. Ginsberg's timely "Sphincter" reflects on the poet's survival as an anally-active gay man through both the pre-AIDS and AIDS eras. While criticism of the (homo)eroticism in Ginsberg's verse ranges from utter denial to near hagiography, overall the significance of his musings on male ani has been avoided. The rather anal-retentive Thomas Merrill claims that, "even sophisticated readers of Ginsberg's poetry are apt to be put off, perhaps bored by, his obsession not only with four-letter words, but with the clinical, strikingly nonerotic descriptions of his homosexuality" (24). For the far less uptight John Tytell, on the other hand, "Ginsberg has always reveled in the divinity of his own sexuality, his homosexuality, adorning his own physical propensities and urging the life of the body on his readers" (245). However, "Sphincter" which is an intensely erotic (albeit anti-Romantic) poem, contains none of the expletives (apart from "asshole") nor divine associations used repeatedly by the poet elsewhere to represent the (homo)eroticised male body, and his anus in particular. Six decades of anal health and recovery aside, Ginsberg packs a suggestive lot into his "Sphincter" with the list of objects wielded during the pre-AIDS period as the means to his erotic end. The term "phallus" -- while suggesting the penis and allo-erotic activity -- may also mean dildoes with certain tactile qualities and anus-fitting shapes and sizes ideal for auto-erotic delight. Indeed, the "coke bottle, candle, carrot/banana & fingers" -- with their smooth to slightly rough texture, stiff to pliable constituency, hard to semi-hard density, and rounded pointedness -- offer more reliable potential for sustained anal stimulation than the occasionally tumescent penis. These objects may answer the decades-old queries in "Iron Horse" (1966): "What can I shove up my ass?" and "Oh if only somebody'd come in &/shove som'in up that ass a mine" (432). The bottle and candle are appropriated from a passage in Ginsberg's signature poem, "Howl" (1955), about the "best [male] minds" (126) of the poet's generation, "who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of beer a sweetheart a/package of cigarettes a candle . . . and ended fainting on the wall with/a vision of ultimate cunt and come..." (128). In his "Sphincter", Ginsberg reminisces about the pleasurable insertion into his anus of such props to heterosexual romance. The coke (rather than beer) bottle signifies the contemporary product probably most commodified along with youthful images of (compulsory) heterosexuality in global mass media advertising. Through sodomy with that iconic item of American capitalist cultural imperialism, the poet's jingle valorises his rectum as one of the most fitting and wonderfully subversive "things" that "go better with coke!" As items usually for oral insertion rather than anal penetration, the carrot and banana (and bottle) here play on a subtle metaphor of "receptive"-anus-as-"active"-mouth. Allusions to the (frequently 'cock-hungry') oral-anal configuration of the anus denatus are more explicit in other Ginsberg poems. In "Journal Night Thoughts" (1961) the poet awaits as "a cock throbs I lie still my/mouth in my ass" (271). Ginsberg asks his sexual partner in "Please Master" (1968) to "make me wriggle my rear to eat up the prick trunk", and describes his anus as his "hairmouth" (494). In "Sweet Boy, Gimme Yr Ass" (1974) he desires a young man's "soft mouth asshole" (613). While containing "phallus" and "fingers", there is no tongue nor other oral referent in the rather clean "Sphincter". By contrast, "Iron Horse" (1966) includes the growly request: "Sweet Prince --/open yr ass to my mouth" (433-4). Ginsberg's Pre-AIDS poems frequently celebrate the joining of the uncondomed penis, anus and body fluids in sensational detail. In "This Form of Life Needs Sex" (1961) "joy" comes to mean the very act of joining male anus with penis: "You can joy man to man but the Sperm/comes back in a trickle at dawn/in a toilet on the 45th floor" (285). "Please Master" (1968) includes the demand, "fuck me more violent ... & throb thru five seconds to spurt out your semen heat over & over" (495). In "Love Comes" (1981) the period of the sex act and whether condoms are used is not stated: "I relaxed my inside/loosed the ring in my hide ... He continued to beat/his meat in my meat" (11). The memorial "'What You Up To?'" (1982) recaptures his most scatological unsafe copulation: "That white boy ... one night in 1946/he fucked me naked in the ass/till I smelled brown excrement/staining his cock" (29). While "Sphincter" marks the chronological peak in the development of Ginsberg's erotic poetry, the unbroken line, "unashamed wide open for joy", comprises the structural and thematic climax within the poem itself. This current of anal-erotic joy traces back to "Howl" (1955) with its passage about those men, "who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists/and screamed with joy" (128). Ginsberg has said that he wrote "joy" here instead of the expected "pain" as a reaction to the "James Dickey film Deliverance where [receptive anal sex] is supposed to be the worst thing in the world" (Young 103). In the inter-male rape scene in the 1972 film version of Dickey's 1970 novel, actions indicate that one man uses his penis to penetrate the anus of another who is held at gunpoint and ordered to squeal like a pig throughout the assault. Prior to this the raped man is taunted with female names. The consensual 'safe' gay anal joy exhibited by Ginsberg's "Sphincter" counters such homo-, gyno- and porcine-phobic violence. While the anal-erotic jouissance in poems that preceded "Sphincter" was overshadowed at times by non-reproductive aims and scatological themes, "Sphincter" delivers the explicit message that consensual protected anus-around-penis eroticism (particularly for actively "receptive" men) creates penultimate emotional and physical pleasure. The "phallus/coke bottle, candle, carrot/banana & fingers" leave any specified penis out of the pre-AIDS picture. By contrast, "Now" as Ginsberg states "[in the mid-Eighties age of] AIDS", at a time when auto-eroticism, digital/dildo stimulation and other penetrations without penis mean the safest anal sex, the poet himself celebrates contact with the safe sex penis -- "the condom'd/orgasmic friend" -- for which he is "unashamed wide open for joy". The preceding phrase, "out with the dumps", refers to the expulsing of two combined types of "dumps". Firstly, the mental depression about the end of skin-to-skin anus-penis sex and secondly, defecated matter which brings not only physical relief but an anus open to penetration. Unlike "Sphincter", later poems do not specify whether sexual encounters are 'safe' or 'unsafe'. In "The Guest" (1992) the question of whether condoms are used is open but the consensual status of the encounter is stressed: "I ask permission, he says 'yes,'/I pull his hips up, hold his breast,/spurt my loves deep in his bum" (78). Other poems such as "Violent Collaborations" (written with Peter Hale, 1992) humorously relish sadomasochistic and coprophilic pleasure: "Fuck me & fist me/in your army enlist me/Poop on me when you're at ease" (92). Again there is no specification that condoms are used nor that there is 'unsafe' contact. With its "shy" but "eager" anus and "condom'd/orgasmic friend", "Sphincter" marks not so much an end to 'unsafe' sex as an end to the specification of 'safe' sex in Ginsberg's poetry. No Ginsberg poem specifically addresses his penis (and/or testicles) in the way that "Sphincter" is devoted to his anus. In his poetry he does not epitomise himself as any libidinous body part other than his anal hole. In "Please Master" (1968) the poet conflates his anus with his selfhood when exclaiming: "touch your cock head to my wrinkled self-hole/... please please master fuck me again" (494-5), and "Please call me ... a wet asshole" (495). In Ginsberg's "Sphincter" moreover, his anus synecdochically represents not only his whole person but a type of gay Everyman. His sphincter is "active" and "receptive", "old" and "young", "shy" and "unashamed", and "rubbery" and "muscular". These antithetical qualities also characterise the male body idealised in gay culture (in reaction to media images of decaying 'plague victims') during the AIDS-era. This body is sexually 'versatile' (as both 'bottom' and 'top'), boyish-looking but sexually mature, introspective but assertively 'out', and physically toned but flexible. The "rubbery muscular" qualities of Ginsberg's anus are focal, because -- apart from the "blood" and "hemorrhoid" which evoke colours and shapes -- "Sphincter" contains no other physical representations of his anal orifice nor any of the myriad hyperbolic metaphorisations found in his earlier visceral verses. Anal-roseate associations appear in "A Methedrine Vision in Hollywood" (1965) and "Hiway Poesy" (1966). In the first there is wind of the floral: "one-eyed sparkle, giant glint, any tiny fart/or rose-whiff before roses were/Thought Impossible" (381). In the second, the anus-as-flower manifests through ambiguous layers. The word "rose" may be read as noun, adjective or verb: "Oh that I were young again and the skin in my anus folds/rose" (386). "Kaddish" (1959) draws on topographical metaphors: "a mortal avalanche, whole mountains of homosexuality, Matter-/horns of Cock, Grand Canyons of Asshole" (214). Manifestations of the anus as a cosmic portal or eye appear in several poems, but not in "Sphincter". Ginsberg draws on Yogic beliefs to cast the anus as the source of the enlightening kundalini in "Iron Horse" (1966): "Muladhara sphincter up thru/mind aura/Sahasrarapadma promise/another universe" (435). In the only reference to the anus in the copious footnotes to his Collected Poems, the editors explain 'Muladhara Sphincter' simplisticly as "anal chakra (one of seven bodily centers of spirit energy in Orient [sic] yoga practice)", while 'Sahasrarapadma' is described in detail as "Seventh chakra, 'thousand-petal lotus' at skulltop" (781). Ginsberg, however, seems to have placed his stress on these first and last chakras more equally or in reverse. In "Scatalogical Observations" (1997) he declares, "The Ass knows more than the mind knows" (85-6). In "Journal Night Thoughts" (1961) the poet's anus comprises a universal 'third eye' through which he comes to 'know' and 'see'. This anus/eye in the formulation of "the eye in the center of the moving/mandala -- the/eye in the hand/the eye in the asshole" (267) is later eroticised as "I prostrate my sphincter with my eyes in/the pillow" (271). As we have seen, Ginsberg's erotic poetry frequently features imagery of the sexual orifice that is beyond any man's individual scope and culturally most proscribed from public view. While many passages in his verse evoke the male anus as a subject worthy of versification and visualisation, Ginsberg's "Sphincter" comprises an ode which literally and literarily presents the poet's anus to the audience as a poetic vision in itself. The succinctly anti-analphobic and anti-homophobic "Sphincter" finely balances critical aspects of the ars poetica. Devoid of signature tropes such as the anus/mouth, anus/I and anus/eye, "Sphincter" with its relative lack of euphemism and clever mix of metonymy and metaphor nonetheless merges antithetical themes to relay a profound spiritual message. The poet's ode to his ageing anus matter-of-factly and humorously revels in memories of auto- and allo-erotic 'phallo-morphous' perversity and celebrates the anal-erotic joy in being 'fucked safely' as a personal and political act. As this millennium closes, we could do worse in our 'anal-retentive' culture than following one of the century's wisest poetic ends: "till death, relax". References Deliverance. Dir. John Boorman. U.S.A.: Warner Bros., 1972. Dickey, James. Deliverance. Boston, MA: Houghton Mifflin, 1970. Ginsberg, Allen. Collected Poems 1947-1980. New York: Viking Penguin, 1985. ---. Cosmopolitan Greetings: Poems 1986-1992. London: Penguin, 1994. ---. Death and Fame: Poems 1993-1997. London: Penguin, 1999. ---. White Shroud: Poems 1980-1985. New York: Harper and Row, 1986. Merrill, Thomas F. Allen Ginsberg. Boston, MA: Twayne, 1988. Tytell, John. Naked Angels: The Lives and Literature of the Beat Generation. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1976. Young, Allen. "Allen Young Interviews Allen Ginsberg." 1973. Gay Sunshine Interviews. Ed. Winston Leyland. San Francisco: Gay Sunshine Press, 1978: 96-128. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Simon-Astley Scholfield. "A Poetic End: Allen Ginsberg's 'Sphincter'." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2.8 (1999). [your date of access] <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9912/sphincter.php>. Chicago style: Simon-Astley Scholfield, "A Poetic End: Allen Ginsberg's 'Sphincter'," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2, no. 8 (199x), <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9912/sphincter.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: Simon-Astley Scholfield. (1999) A poetic end: Allen Ginsberg's "Sphincter". M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2(8). <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9912/sphincter.php> ([your date of access]).

En 1990, l'historien Eric Hobsbawm prophétisait la fin des nations et nationalismes. Pourtant, jamais autant d'États-nations n’ont vu le jour que dans le dernier quart du vingtième siècle. Leur importance dans le monde contemporain est telle qu’elle évoque un « système mondial ». Plus : nombre de conflits politiques aujourd’hui mobilisent des pulsions nationalistes qui soit président à la fondation d’un État-nation, soit en dérivent. La volonté de (re-)créer une communauté nationale y est portée par une espérance et un désir de vivre ensemble fondé sur la redéfinition de bases communes (langue, religion, etc.). Voici vingt ans, le nationalisme constituait un pré carré de l’histoire et de la science politique. À présent, il occupe une place centrale dans les travaux d’anthropologie politique. « Nationalisme », « national », « nationaliste » – Ajustements sémantiques. Le nationalisme se définit comme principe ou idéologie supposant une correspondance entre unités politique et nationale. La nation n'est cependant pas « chose » mais abstraction, construction idéologique dans laquelle est postulé un lien entre un groupe culturel auto-défini et un État. L’implication émotionnelle qu’elle suscite est, elle, bien concrète. Plus qu’une idéologie, d’aucuns considèrent le nationalisme comme sentiment et mouvement : de colère suscitée par la violation de l'intégrité politique et nationale, ou de satisfaction mû par sa défense.[1] Sentiment et mouvement, le nationalisme produit, entretient et transmet une implication émotionnelle autour de l'abstraction de la nation, potentiellement productrice de violence. La distinction entre « national » et « nationaliste » est ténue, davantage une question de perspective que de science objective. On oppose souvent le « simplement national », entendez « qui relève d’un intérêt légitime pour la nation », au « condamnable nationaliste », à savoir ressort de passions irrationnelles. Or, il s’agit davantage d’une question de point de vue. Importante pour l’analyse anthropologique, cette relativité permet de transcender les distinctions infructueuses entre « nations établies » (censées appartenir à la première catégorie) et « nations plus récentes » (reléguées à la seconde) qui balisent les réflexions les plus éclairées sur le nationalisme. Nationalisme, nationalisation et éducation. Le nationalisme a partie liée avec la nationalisation comme mise en œuvre d’un régime d’identification nationale. Celle-ci fut longtemps associée à des modèles de modernisation où la scolarisation était prépondérante. Le modèle sociologique universaliste d’Ernest Gellner (1983) au début des années 1980 a encadré maints programmes éducatifs, des appareils d’État comme des agences d’aide internationale. Dans cette perspective associant modernisation, industrialisation et nationalisme laïque, opèrent une division industrielle du travail et une culture partagée du nationalisme tenant ensemble les éléments d’une société atomisée par le procès d’industrialisation. Cette culture, homogène, doit être produite par la scolarisation, notamment primaire. Si la perspective gellnérienne est depuis longtemps disputée au vu du nombre de contre-exemples, où nationalisme exacerbé accompagne industrialisation faible ou, inversement, industrialisation poussée voisine avec nationalisme religieux, la plupart des États-nations aujourd’hui retiennent la corrélation entre scolarisation de masse et culture de sentiments d’appartenance nationale. En concevant l’éducation comme stratégie stato-centrée d’ingénierie sociale servant les structures hiérarchiques de la reproduction sociale (Bourdieu et Passeron 1990), cette perspective omet l'agency des citoyens ordinaires, autant que la contextualisation historique des conditions de production des mouvements nationalistes en contexte colonial, d’où sont issus maints État-nation récents. Nationalisme, colonialisme et catégories vernaculaires. Le cas des nations plus récentes appelle clarification concernant le legs des structures politiques européennes. Dans les sociétés autrefois sous le joug colonial, l’émergence d’une conscience nationaliste et la mobilisation contre les dirigeants coloniaux furent des processus concomitants. Citoyenneté et nationalisme furent étroitement associés, puisque la lutte pour l'indépendance assistait celle pour l’acquisition de droits fondamentaux. La conscience d’un sujet national libre s’est forgée de pair avec l'établissement de droits (et devoirs) de citoyen. Elle a aussi nécessité une accommodation vernaculaire de concepts initialement étiques. La sensibilité des anthropologues à l’égard des catégories vernaculaires opérantes dans les idiomes rituels, culturels et linguistiques et les pratiques de socialisation afférentes, contraste fortement avec leur faible investissement, de longues années durant, dans l’étude de sujets entretenant rapport avec une modernité politique, tels nationalisme, société civile ou citoyenneté. Philosophie et science politiques, aux instruments théoriques fondés sur une tradition européenne à valeur universelle, conservèrent longtemps l’exclusive. Or, même les perspectives les plus critiques vis-à-vis des Lumières ont négligé les langues vernaculaires dans leurs réflexions sur les modalités d’accueil en contextes non-européens de ces notions politiques (Kaviraj 1992; Burghart 1998; Rajagopal 2001 sont de notables exceptions). Pourtant, travailler avec les catégories vernaculaires illumine les répertoires sociaux et culturels et leurs négociations locales, favorisant une meilleure intelligibilité des ressorts culturels des processus, formes et modèles d’affects politiques et nationalistes. Ils déplacent aussi la focale, souvent portée sur l’éruption occasionnelle ou répétée de la violence nationaliste, vers l’analyse des procès de « naturalisation quotidienne de la nation ». Nouvelles approches (1) - Nationalisme banal et théologies du nationalisme. Mûris au long cours dans les multiples plis de la vie ordinaire, ces processus alimentent les « sentiments d’appartenance », piliers de l’identité en apparence naturels et évidents, vecteurs de la production journalière du « nationalisme banal ». Empruntée à Michael Billig (1995) en écho aux réflexions d’Hannah Arendt sur la « banalité du mal » (1963), l’expression réfère à l’expérience du nationalisme si parfaitement intégrée à la vie ordinaire qu’elle en passe inaperçue. Documenter la fabrique du nationalisme banal implique d’examiner les processus, d’apparence bénigne et anodine, d’identification nationale et de formation d’un attachement précoce à la nation. Ainsi s’éclairent la constitution de sens-/-timents d’appartenance dans la banalité quotidienne de la nation et la distinction ténue entre nationalisme religieux, sécularisme et patriotisme. Dans tout État-nation, les liturgies nationalistes se déroulant quotidiennement et périodiquement (par exemple, dans l’espace scolaire), sont fondées sur des rituels et procédures participant d’une « théologie du nationalisme ». Celle-ci peut dépendre d’une conception explicite de la fabrique de la nation comme projet théologique. Elle est alors informée par des principes d’adhésion à une doctrine ou à un dogme religieux. Tels sont les projets hindutva de construction nationale en Inde, où les partis d’extrême-droite hindoue prétendent édifier le royaume et le gouvernement du dieu Rama (Ramrajya) sur la base des écritures hindoues anciennes. Mais une théologie du nationalisme peut aussi s’arc-bouter sur des procédures rituelles promues par des idéologues et autres « constructeurs de la nation », nationalisme séculaire inclus. Dans l’après-coup de la Révolution française, par exemple, les parangons du sécularisme dur s’efforcèrent d’installer « une nation laïque » par l’emprunt massif des formes d’un catholicisme populaire (Ozouf 1988). Le cas français, bien qu'extrême, n’est nullement exceptionnel. Il souligne la troisième acception, plus générale, de la notion de théologie nationaliste en insistant sur l'élément sacré sous-jacent à maints projets d’édification nationale. Explicitement conceptualisées comme religieuses ou laïques, les production et sustentation de la nation sont dotées d'une inévitable sacralité (Anderson 1983). Ainsi apparaissent les similitudes habituellement méconnues entre différentes formes de nationalisme, y compris entre sécularisme, nationalisme religieux et confessionnalisme (Hansen 2001, Benei 2008). Nouvelles approches (2) - Sens, sentiments et ressentis d’appartenance nationale/nationaliste. Aujourd’hui, l’intérêt d’une perspective anthropologique sur le nationalisme tient au renouvellement du champ disciplinaire au croisement de recherches sur le corps*, les émotions et le sensible (Benei 2008). Celles-ci montrent comment les programmes nationalistes de formation du soi reposent sur la constitution d’un « sensorium national primaire », notamment dans un contexte national-étatique. À travers son appropriation préemptive de l’univers sensoriel de la population, l’État s’efforce de mobiliser les niveaux des sensoriums développés par les acteurs sociaux —dans l’intimité de la petite enfance, les traditions musicales recomposées, les liturgies dévotionnelles, les transformations culturelles et sensorielles engendrées par les nouvelles technologies et l’industrialisation, etc.— non seulement lors de rencontres périodiques, mais aussi dans l’union quotidienne de différentes couches de stimulations entrant dans la fabrique d’une allégeance nationale. Ces procès sont simultanément liés à une incorporation émotionnelle produite au long cours. Celle-ci repose la question de la « fin des méta-récits » —nationalisme inclus—, prophétisée par Jean-François Lyotard voici trente ans comme la marque distinctive de la postmodernité. L’époque était alors traversée par courants et discours contraires, aux plans régional, international et transnational. Depuis, on l’a vu, l’histoire a eu raison de ces prédictions. La forme « nation » et ses émanations nationalistes se sont manifestées concrètement dans la vie d'un nombre toujours croissant d'acteurs sociaux du monde contemporain. Comment, alors, expliquer le caractère désuet, voire acquis, de la notion aujourd’hui chez maints universitaires? Par la naturalisation de l’attachement national à une mesure sans précédent. Il ne s’agit plus de partager une communauté de nation avec des lecteurs de journaux (Anderson 1983) ou de « signaler banalement » le national (Billig 1995) : la naturalisation de l'idée et de l'expérience de la nation implique son « incorporation ». C'est par l'incorporation de la nation en nous-mêmes en tant que personnes sociales incarnées, sujets et citoyens, que nous entretenons un sentiment d'appartenance nationale, aussi éphémère et vague soit-il parfois. Conclusion : L’incorporation du nationalisme et ses limites. Un avertissement s’impose : loin de subir le projet étatique, les acteurs sociaux sont doués d’agency sociale et politique. Ils exercent plus d’autonomie que généralement concédé dans les analyses du nationalisme. La compréhension et la représentation des acteurs sociaux sont toujours le produit négocié de processus advenant en divers espaces, du foyer familial jusqu’à l’école et d’autres lieux dits « publics ». Par-delà visions et programmes étatiques relayés par des institutions-clés, l’intérêt d’une approche anthropologique faisant la part belle au corps, aux sens et aux émotions est sa mise en lumière de cette négociation toujours fragmentaire. Lesdits processus n’appartiennent pas à une unité d’analyse totale, État, “sphère publique” ou autre. Pour les acteurs sociaux « au ras du sol », l’État-nation n’est pas nécessairement un objet phénoménologiquement cohérent. Ce dont ils font l’expérience et qu’ils négocient, c’est le caractère incomplet et fragmentaire d’un projet politique de formation du soi, adossé à une toile historique et culturelle de « structures de ressenti » (Raymond Williams 1958). Également, les sens-/-timents d’appartenance sont protéiformes jusque dans leur construction dialogique avec les institutions étatiques, mass media et autres lieux de culture publique. Leur incorporation n’est un procès ni exhaustif ni final. Différents moments peuvent être convoqués dans une infinité de situations. Ce caractère labile rend l’issue de tout programme nationaliste imprévisible. Suite à ces constantes tension et incomplétude, aucun processus de nationalisme, pas même étatique, ne peut prévenir l’irruption de l’imprévisible, dans la routine quotidienne comme en des circonstances extra-ordinaires. En définitive, les programmes étatiques les mieux conçus, qui viseraient à capturer les expériences sensorielles et phénoménologiques que font les citoyens des réalités sociales, culturelles et politiques, ne peuvent en maîtriser la nature contingente.

In The Threshold of the Visible World, Kaja Silverman advances a subtle, ethical, post-Lacanian account of what constitutes “the active gift of love” and how this might be expressed on the screen. She argues for an orientation of subject to love object which is not merely an alternative to romantic passion, but an account of how identification of the loving subject and love object “might function in a way that results in neither the triumph of self-sameness, nor craven submission to an exteriorised but essentialized ideal”. In a move particularly relevant to our focus in this paper, she goes on to suggest that a gift of love so constituted entails an escape from conformity with culturally dictated ideals and thence a capacity “to put ourselves in a positive identificatory relation to bodies which we have been taught to abhor and repudiate” (79). Two lesbian/gay teen films of the late 1990s – Lukas Moodysson’s Fucking Åmål (1998; also known as Show Me Love) and Simon Shore’s Get Real (1999) – offer an illuminating contrast in the ways they deal with the possibility of the gift of love in the conflictual contexts both of teenage gay and lesbian love and sexuality, and of small-town spaces. Space solicits desire, but the sexual frisson that is evoked through encounters in various spaces in film depicted as offering excitement, risk, and bodily pleasures seems limited in three ways. First, the progression from desire to love is severely circumscribed by cultural presuppositions about the physical and social attributes of appropriate love objects. This is particularly evident in the Hollywood teen film, with its recurrent male and female Cinderella roles. Second, the desire represented is predominantly heterosexual, so the appropriate love object is further specified by the assumption of heteronormativity. Finally, there is a persistent attribution of space to woman and time to man – as early as the late eighteenth century William Blake had written, “Space is a woman” (in Bal 169) – and although this has been questioned by feminist thinkers (see Irigaray 1987) it still pervades filmic imagery. As Sue Best notes, the bounded spaces that people inhabit – “the nation, regions, cities and the home” – often rely on feminine metaphors to describe their attributes, contours, architecture; in the case of the romantic ‘home’, its enclosures suggest a warm, uterine space and maternal care. In a related sense, the open spaces of the countryside, the city streets and solitary travel have connoted a masculine space and prerogative (182-3). Traditionally, man moves through these spaces with a sense of temporal purpose, while woman bides her time in bounded domestic space. In Fucking Åmål, the film’s preoccupation with enclosed spaces, and especially the domestic spaces of home and school, on one hand generates an intense mood of claustrophobia while, on the other, communicates the terrifying aloneness of the young person abjected by the “in”-crowd. A measure of the inanity of the teenage boys of this small Swedish community is the unexamined misogyny of their spatial thinking, as when, for example, Jessica’s boyfriend Markus asserts that boys are interested in and understand technology, like cell phones, and that girls are instead good at things like "make-up and looking good". Get Real expresses the contrast more as that of outside and inside: the male domain of the sports field set against the interior space of the room where girls and boys like Steven (“I don’t smoke or play football and have an IQ over 25”) produce the school magazine. While these binaristic notions of gender and space serve as useful means for considering the restrictive nature of masculine and feminine constructions which still exist in various contemporary societies, they are also limited and limiting when it comes to thinking beyond a heterosexual framework. The imbrication of space and woman could account for the ongoing censure, disruption, and violation of feminised movement in so-called masculinised spaces. The notion of transgressing across spaces is the underlying theme of both Get Real and Fucking Åmål. Both films, with their “coming out” narratives, move away from conventional cinematic representations of teen love. Moreover, they provide a cinematic space in which the female or male body is a source of same-sex pleasure and desire, and offer viewers a space not defined by the other gender or by a narrative progress towards heterosexual romance and fulfilment. Consequently, the characters’ sensual/sexual encounters privilege bodily pleasure, response, and the ability to go beyond “the blind spot” of patriarchal sexuality (Irigaray 1985). Where they differ is that Fucking Åmål depicts Elin (the “love object”) progressing so far in her love for Agnes that her triumphant coming out is simultaneously an affirmation of a body universally abhorred and repudiated within the dominant youth community. There is no suggestion, for example, that Agnes will need to abandon her loose, oversized clothes and her trousers in favour of Elin’s short skirts and low-cut tops (although there is a hint that Elin may find Agnes’s intellectual interests more engrossing than the belated and etiolated versions of popular culture she has up until now inhabited). In contrast to Fucking Åmål, Get Real depicts the ultimate failure of John Dixon (the love object) to acknowledge love for Steven Carter, abhorred and repudiated by male peers for his suspected (and actual) homosexuality. Space is a shifting signifier which points to, but does not anchor, meaning across social, cultural, and territorial dimensions. In a Foucauldian sense, space is often linked to concepts of power. Furthermore, space, particularly queer space, becomes both a visual and metaphorical entity which needs to be interrogated in terms of its relationship to, and representation through, the eye of the beholder. In Get Real and Fucking Åmål “looking” becomes a complex play between characters and viewers. The specular logic that operates within the conventional notions of the gaze, with its underlying structure of a dominant subject and submissive object, is thus both interrogated and undercut (Mulvey). In Get Real a hole in a public toilet wall provides a spatial site for spying on illicit gay sexual encounters as well as a means for checking out a potential sexual partner. Such voyeurism is perverse as it disrupts the visual pleasure which has become intimately tied to patriarchal ideology with its structures of looking (male) and being looked at (female). This is one instance (and there are others in both films) when looking occupies a queer space, demonstrating complicity with voyeurism, desire, and visual pleasure, and disrupting the association of the gaze with rigid gender roles. The act of looking that the characters undertake also helps to make the viewer aware of the particular quality of their own gaze. The films contrive to position the viewer in ways that focus attention on the specific nature of his/her gaze as we become witness/voyeur to the characters’ spatial trajectories across private and public spaces - bedroom, toilet, home, school. Early in Fucking Åmål the gaze is invited and dismantled when Elin goes half undressed to try on clothes in front of the mirror in the apartment block’s lift, only to find that her sister Jessica has forgotten to bring the clothes. By overtly and comically replacing the narcissistic gaze with the gaze of the camera (and hence audience) the film problematizes looking, and begins to establish the situation whereby to look at Elin is to share the looking with Agnes, effectively queering the look. Further deconstructions of the look, or gaze, occur in the contrasting femme/butch representations of Elin and Agnes. The erotic pleasure of looking (at Elin) provides a counterpoint of gazes and highlights the vicissitudes of desire. While Elin’s sexy body and conventional beauty conform to an image of female desirability and make her the object of male fantasy, she is also the love object of Agnes. However, Elin’s feisty, restless character refuses any image of passive femininity. Rather, she embodies an active, desiring female subjectivity. Thus, the space of both female and male spectatorship is open to erotic imaginings. By contrast, the film undoes the tradition of fetishisation associated with the male gaze through the character of Agnes: she wears no makeup, hides her body in oversized clothing, and her hair is unadorned and simply styled. Thus, the camera’s attention to Agnes’s silent watching of Elin undermines the male gaze, creating a female gaze and a space of female desire. A comparable effect is achieved in Get Real when Steven uses his membership of the school magazine committee to suggest that a queer community exists within the school. First, and more subtly, the photographs he takes of John Dixon as school sporting hero queer the act of looking: Steven’s father, a professional photographer, sees them as examples of photographic art; John’s father views them as a celebration of a finely tuned athletic body; girls look at them heterosexually; but from Steven’s perspective they are gay pin-ups. The ground of a love relationship, as Silverman argues, is to posit the other rather than the self as the cause of desire, and hence to perceive perfection in the features of another and to celebrate that perceived perfection. This is the work performed by Steven’s photographs of John, and the irony inherent in the fact that the significance of the photographs depends on the interpretation of the beholder exemplifies how irony operates in these films to change how people interpret the “cultural screen”, the mental picture of society which they have naturalised. In Fucking Åmål, a class photograph of Elin in a school magazine also serves to queer the act of looking as it represents the love object of both Johan and Agnes. Whereas Johan cuts out Elin’s image, effectively excising her from the others in the photograph, and stores it in his wallet, Agnes is content to contemplate the image in the privacy of her bedroom, leaving it intact. Elin’s image has a strong erotic and visual impact on both Johan and Agnes, connoting “a to-be-looked-at-ness”, and the actions by Johan and Agnes to look and to possess can be understood in psychoanalytic terms as their attempt to turn the represented image into a fetish object (Mulvey). In a related way to Steven’s photograph of John Dixon as a gay pin-up, Agnes is able to reinvest erotically in the body of another woman. Steven’s second intervention by means of the magazine is to write the “Get Real” article about youth homosexuality. Once this is banned by the school Principal, it functions as a space of absence which defines and publicises the lack at the heart of the community. Further, in so far as it is lack which makes desire possible, Steven’s manifesto on a more individual level legitimises that lack for homosexual subjects. Get Real quite explicitly seeks to overturn the heterosexist stereotype of gays as lonely and unhappy figures, and to offer a different perspective on gay subjectivity and sexuality. Fucking Åmål performs the same work for the subjectivity and sexuality of young lesbians, as Agnes works through the trauma of her initial rejection by Elin and her “outing” at home, and Elin works through the identity crisis prompted by her emerging desire for Agnes. For each, the journey from abjection to joy ends triumphantly as, with no apparent threat of retribution, they redefine the significance of key spaces, of school and home. Both films use space to articulate the characters’ joys and anguish as they struggle with the conflicting effects of love and desire for another, the taunts they suffer from others because of their sexuality, and the eventual amelioration of the restrictions of their spatial location. While the gaze offers a metaphorical space for looking in Get Real and Fucking Åmål, space is also defined in regional and sexual terms. Elin and Agnes are space-bound characters, living within the claustrophobic confines of small town Åmål (Sweden). The original title of the film (Fucking Åmål), rather than the more bland, international release title (Show Me Love), captures teenage boredom with the stifling confines of their environment. Elin’s howls of exasperation give voice to her feelings of entrapment: “Why do we have to live in fucking Åmål? When something’s ‘in’ in the rest of the world, it’s already ‘out’ by the time it gets here.” When Elin and Agnes attempt an escape by hitching a ride out of town, their make-out session in the backseat of their lift’s car is accompanied by Foreigner’s “I want to know what love is”; the interplay of song lyrics, the young lovers’ sexual play, and their eventual eviction from the car offering an ironic performance that rehearses the double meaning of the film’s title and the story’s vexed themes of subjection and subjectivity. The visual style of Fucking Åmål also adds to the pervading sense of containment that the young protagonists experience. Interior domestic scenes dominate and appear spatially constrained. Often a low-key colour scheme serves as an iconic sign indicating the metaphorical nature of the drabness of Åmål. Agnes, as a relative newcomer to Åmål, occupies the spatial fringe both in terms of her strangeness to the place and her perceived queerness. She is the subject of ridicule, innuendo, and ostracism by her peers. Agnes’s marginalisation and abjection are metaphorically expressed through camera framing and tracking – close-ups capture her feelings of rejection and aloneness, and her movements in public spaces, such as the school canteen and corridors, are often confined to the perimeters or the background. By contrast, Elin appears to be in the spatial centre as she is a popular and sexually desirable young woman. It is when she falls in love with Agnes that she too finds herself dislocated, both within her self and within her home town. The stifling confines of Åmål offer limited recreational spaces for its youth, with the urban shopping centre and park are places for congregation and social contact. Ironically, communal spaces, such as the school and the park, effect a spatial intimacy through proximity; yet, the heterosexual imperative that operates in these public and populated spaces compels Elin and Agnes to effect a spatial distance with its necessary emotional and physical separation. When Elin and Agnes finally ‘come out’, it is part of a broader teen rebellion against continuing ennui and oppressive strictures that limit their lives. Steven (Get Real) lives a privileged middle class life in Basingstoke (Hampshire, UK) although this is unsettled by a pervasive sense of homophobic surveillance, locally and immediately embodied in the school’s masculinist bullies, but networked more widely through fathers, school principals, and the police. As Foucault argued, surveillance has a disciplinary function because individuals are made conscious that they are being watched and judged from a normalising perspective. This being so, even open spaces in Get Real have a claustrophobic effect. The park where Steven goes in quest of sexual contact thus signifies ambiguously: messages are passed from within the smallest space (a cubicle within the toilet) but once outside an individual’s presence can be registered by any neighbour, and the concealed spaces of the woodland are subjected to police raids. The film neatly ties this physical surveillance to mental surveillance when Steven’s father confronts him about being seen in the park when he was supposed to have been working on his essay project about youth in the contemporary world. For Steven, the project is a sham because he is only enabled to write from within the normalised perspective which excludes himself. Communication at the highest level available to him – a prize-winning essay in a public competition – thus denies him any subjective agency. The film’s ironic chain thus entails first the winning of the prize (but only because his father secretly submitted Steven’s discarded essay) and then Steven’s subsequent use of the award ceremony to present his other, suppressed essay and to declare his sexual orientation. In both films, gay and lesbian sexualities are constructed as paradoxical spaces. On the one hand, gay and lesbian desires and identities are distanced from the heterosexual paradigm, yet firmly embedded within it and (therefore subject to) homophobic discourses. Difference is not tolerated. In Fucking Åmål, characters are marginalised because of physical and sexual difference; in Get Real, difference is defined in terms of class, sexuality, and hegemonic masculinity. Both films offer positive outcomes which affirm a resignification of the “cultural screen”. By depicting the dystopic effect of heteronormative society on the principal gay and lesbian characters, each film functions to highlight issues of access to and place within the spatial public sphere. From Fucking Åmål, indeed, we might infer that such strategies as the ironic transformation of the gaze have the potential to produce utopian visions. Despite the strategy of allowing Steven one further transformation of public space, when he seizes a public forum to deliver his coming-out speech, Get Real offers a less utopian vision, but still a firm sense that social space has undergone significant disruption. While Elin comes to accept and realise the value of Agnes’s original “gift of love” to her, John Dixon is unable to move beyond the restrictive confines of heteronormative space and therefore rejects Steven’s public and personal gift of love. Nevertheless, in both films, it is through the agential actions of Elin, Agnes, and Steven in publicly declaring their love for the other that serves as an active signifier, openly challenging the sexualised space of their school and community: a space that passively accepts the kind of orthodoxy that naturalises heterosexualised ways of looking and loving, and abhors and repudiates homosexual/lesbian desire. In this sense, there is an opening up of a queer space of desire which exerts its own form of resistance and defiance to patriarchal discourse. Works Cited Bal, Mieke. Death and Dissymmetry: The Politics of Coherence in the Book of Judges. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1988. Best, Sue. “Sexualising space”. Eds. Elizabeth. Grosz & Elspeth Probyn Sexy Bodies: The strange Carnalities of Feminism. London & New York: Routledge, 1995. 181-194. Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish : The Birth of the Prison. London: A. Lane (Penguin Books), 1977. Irigaray, Luce. Speculum of the Other Woman, trans. G.C. Gill. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1985. Irigaray, Luce. “Sexual difference”. Ed. Toril Moi, French Feminist Thought: A Reader. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1987. 118-130. Mulvey, Laura. “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema” (1975) reprinted in Visual and Other Pleasures. London: Macmillan, 1989. 29-37. Silverman, Kaja. The Threshold of the Visible World. New York: Routledge, 1996. Filmography Fucking Åmål (Show Me Love). Dir./writer Lukas Moodysson. WN Danubius/ITA Slovakia, 1998. Get Real. Dir. Simon Shore. Paramount, 1999. Links linenoise.co.uk (Accessed 31/10/02) cinephiles.net (Accessed 31/10/02) brightlightsfilm.com (Accessed 31/10.02) hollywood.com (Accessed 31/10/02) movie-reviews.colossus.net (Accessed 31/10/02) culturevulture.net (Accessed 31/10/02) english.lsu.edu (Accessed 3/11/02) Citation reference for this article Substitute your date of access for Dn Month Year etc... MLA Style Mallan, Kerry and Stephens, John. "Love’s Coming (Out)" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5.6 (2002). Dn Month Year < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0211/lovescomingout.php>. APA Style Mallan, K. & Stephens, J., (2002, Nov 20). Love’s Coming (Out). M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture, 5,(6). Retrieved Month Dn, Year, from http://www.media-culture.org.au/0211/lovescomingout.html

It was no less than a minister in the Hawke Government who called me the worst thing I have ever been called. Of course he meant well, and he knew no better than what his advisors told him and what his speechwriters wrote. He was opening a new business incubator, where my business partner who was also deaf and I had set up our small business in editing and graphic design, and I was startled when in his speech he described us as two “hearing-impaired businessmen”. I visualised myself in some parallel universe where I was a “hearing-impaired businessman”. I could see an anxious, portly man, clad in a rumpled dark beige suit, a blue business shirt with some faded soup stains, a dark blue tie askew, and flat, sensible lace-up business shoes. This man would just tolerate the “hearing-impaired” moniker because it was endearingly different in a line of work that was often about being different, provided no-one made a song-and-dance about it. “Hearing impairment” would be his cross to bear. He would regard success as the measure of how many clients would not know he was deaf. And for those let in on the secret, exclamations of “I had no idea” would be sweet music to what was left of his ears. Having a Minister of the Crown refer to it at a public gathering would be like taking medicine – unpleasant but probably doing him good in ways he could not understand. This happened more than 20 years ago, and the fact I remember it well revealed the impression it made on me. I had thought to myself, was ‘hearing’ an adjective? Was the minister referring to businessmen whose hearing was impaired? Or was he referring to the act of hearing the noises made by businessmen who in some way were damaged or defective? Of course he meant the former, but it brought home to me how much the idea of being damaged was embedded in “hearing-impaired”. And with complete clarity, I knew this phrase did not describe me – I was not damaged in that way. My discomfort at that briefest of disclosures was a critical landmark on that most personal of journeys: to find out one’s place in the world. While I knew I was many things, for example a dad, a partner, a writer, I could never leave out the Deaf side of me. It was a journey of terminology, but the choices of many contentious words revealed much about my own exploration of what it meant to be deaf. It began soon after I acquired a hearing aid. I was six years old when a silver boxy thing, about the size of a packet of 25 cigarettes, was hitched onto my singlet under my shirt. There was a flesh-coloured cord that looped out from the collar into my ear. In spite of this device, I decided that I was not deaf. In medical terms of course I was: severe to profound bilateral sensori-neural deafness across the speech frequency ranges was the audiologists’ fancy way of saying I could not hear people when they spoke to me. And it was not myself, either; deafness affected two of my three sisters, and my brother. But I was not deaf – that was very clear to me. The word deaf was not uttered in the family home. The code words my mother used were the hearing. She would put it in a context like this: I was down the street and I met Mrs Schneider, and talking to her, she was very interested in the hearing with your family. Much later I asked my mother about this word deaf. She said it was associated with the word dumb. That was not at all surprising. In her time, deaf went with dumb the way bread went with butter. In her mind, deaf and dumb were complementary, and she never really shook off that association. A century ago Deaf people who signed and did not speak, freely acknowledged a mute side of deafness, and even referred to themselves as “doubly afflicted”. If I was not deaf, then what was I? Not being able to answer that question to my satisfaction eventually led to a fling with calling myself “hard of hearing”, But for me, “hard of hearing” became linked with decrepit, bumbling elderly citizens cupping an ear and barking “Whazat? Wha? Wha? Whazat?” This was an unfair stereotype. Such people, who were not at all bumbling types, were my first introduction to deaf people outside the family home. They gathered at the place my sisters and I attended to learn to lipread, at what was then the Australian Association for Better Hearing, and they all used the term “hard of hearing”. I was eight years old, and at that age, adults were impossibly ancient. From that perspective, “hard of hearing” people were very old, slightly stupid and faintly smelly. “Partially deaf” seemed better. This was an each-way bet. It covered those times when I was not deaf, such as when I was with my family, and the times when I was, such as at school. Not once did it occur to me that I might be “partially hearing”. In its own way, “partially deaf”, with its qualified mention of the d-word, captured a growing sense of deafness of the pre-adolescent teenager I was. The expression “oral deaf”, had a briefer vogue. This term recognised I was deaf but in a different kind of way from those whom I dimly perceived at the time were the real Deaf people. These people were defined as being unable to do things I could do, such as speak in a normal voice and carry on a phone conversation of sorts. But they could also do something I could not – communicate fluently in sign language. Whereas “hard-of-hearing” was a subspecies of hearing, oral deaf was a subspecies of deaf, not of hearing, so it had a point. It was at this time the group of young deaf people with whom I associated decided to produce a car-bumper sticker as part of a publicity drive. We rejected Deaf people do it orally, and soon, Deaf people do it with perception graced the rear window of my Torana. I was proud of this slogan, even if took considerable explaining to baffled enquirers. But it was a rare and early indication that there just might be something positive about being deaf. I soon realised that the word “oral” had considerable historical baggage. Dictionaries define oralism as the belief that deaf people should communicate by speech and lipreading, and without sign language. At the time I did not know why there was such a controversy around it, nor could I fathom why most of those in my growing circle of deaf friends did not understand it, or worse, did not want to talk about it. The penultimate term with which I flirted was the commonly used “hearing impaired”. At least from a disability perspective, there are people who are vision impaired and speech impaired. Like “hard-of-hearing”, hearing impaired” hitched such people firmly to the hearing wagon. For many people who acquired deafness gradually, it was palatable. I have settled quite happily on the term “Deaf”. Its capital D is important, but I do not insist on it for myself. After all these decades it is the only term that makes profound sense. In the company of good and aware people, I might suppress an impairment of hearing, but I do not suffer from Deafness; I merely am Deaf. I might overcome hearing impairment, but I can no more overcome being Deaf than I could overcome my elbow or my shoulder or the fact that I am compelled to write. For me, Deafness is a variation on the human condition, an example of the vast diversity of humans, like left-handedness or ethnicity or sexual orientation. No longer do I think in terms of a hearing loss; Deafness gain is what happened to me. There are several things I have learnt from this journey. First, no matter what terminology you feel happiest with, and which you feel suits you best, someone is going to tell you that you are wrong. He or she will insist, with a shrill note of finality, that you are not X, you are Y. That someone is unlikely to be another Deaf person. He or she is more likely to be hearing, or a hearing-impaired person, or a hearing parent. Second, dominating discussions of a Deaf identity are hearing people who never face the question in the same deeply personal way as Deaf and hearing-impaired people themselves. Third, discussion on a Deaf identity is plagued by stereotyping of what deaf people are not supposed to be able to do. For hearing people, what you cannot hear is what defines deafness. Chief among these is an inability to ever hear music. I can only say that music – listening to it, dancing to it, and yes, playing it – has been a normal part of my decades of being a part of the manifold shapes and colours of gatherings of Deaf and hearing-impaired people. It is easy to see this when reading popular accounts of deafness. Hearing-impaired people outnumber Deaf people by a factor of several hundreds. By sheer weight of numbers these accounts reflect themes of silence, conquering, overcoming, and triumph. Overcoming what, precisely? Silence. Such writers talk of deafness when they really mean the impairment of the hearing, because their aim is to be hearing again. And why not? Whether such accounts of hearing impairment have gotten away from this triumphalist approach, I am not sure, but I do know I could not bear to wade through more descriptions of the joy of sound. Thus we have the patter of rain on the roof, the silvery peals of children’s laughter, the waves lapping on the shore, and so on. Of course, each of the senses has a pleasurable aspect to it. One of the memorable scents that I know of is the smell of the earth after a burst of rain following a hot dry spell. But I also remember the revolting stench of a public toilet attached to a remote petrol station and bus stop in the desert of a third world country. All the senses have unpleasant aspects as well. So when I read a long list of pleasurable sounds, their imagined absence that are considered a reason for regarding deaf people as sad and pitiable, I’m reminded of the Monty Python parody of a well known hymn: All things dull and ugly, all creatures short and squat.All things rude and nasty, the Lord God made the lot And so it is with sound. No-one singing the praises of hearing ever refers to the hideous clogged-mucous growling of semi-trailers and their shrieking air brakes, or to the piercing skritter of fingernails scraped down plasterboard, or to any song by Barry Manilow. My sense of deafness as a part of who I am comes from a life-long exploration of deafness, exactly what that poor hearing-impaired businessman will never do. He could not because his narrow definition of deafness, a pallid imitation of what hearing people think it is, blind him to the rich possibilities of what Deafness can be. That gentleman’s life would have been dominated by tension as he negotiated transactions with hearing people. Such tension is universal with any Deaf or hearing-impaired person. Where Deaf people are concerned, the similarity ends because they draw a sustenance that comes from knowing the place of Deafness within oneself, and especially, from the ease of communication with other Deaf people. This businessman would know nothing about that. I think he would be a very lonely man, and devoid of any sense of humour. My exploration of Deafness, which will continue for as long as I live, was inextricably bound up with an exploration of who I was and what was my place in the world, because personal identity is fluid and changing, and has many facets. Deafness is one part of me, but it is not the only part.

Approaching the third millennium of the Christian calendar (a fact which in spite of its ethnocentrism is a culturally significant means of making temporal sense of the world), more people in the industrialised world than ever before are stamped with the imprimatur granted by formal education. To draw on the work of the French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu, the world is loaded with people in possession of cultural capital. However, while Bourdieu wrote in a milieu concerned with the capacity to distinguish between the 'Well-Tempered Clavier' and 'Blue Danube' as a pivotal mark of distinction, in the postmodern times in which we apparently live, these distinctions are no longer quite so distinguishable nor distinguished. This is no more true than at the ground zero of popular culture where a small army of mostly young people sit in lounge rooms, cinemas, and cafés armed with media and/or cultural studies training of one form or another, reading their world as texts. The net effect: advertisements become 'clever' and cinemagraphic; irony has become an empty signifier; intertextuality eats itself; and the weekly late night broadcast of Buffy (the Vampire Slayer) has -- at least here in Brisbane -- become a flashpoint for the local universities' public relations wars. Go girl! In this short article it is my intention to explore -- in a none too systematic manner -- some of the ways in which the traditional determinants of class are being redefined in the light of the so-called postmodern capitalist informational economy which arguably defines this moment. From this, I will then segue into a discussion of contemporary cultural distinctions -- the consumer practices inflecting style and fashion -- that draw upon an informed and educated subject as both their inspiration and market. Cultural Capital and Bricolage Those with cultural capital are in this socio-political moment the 'haves' (as distinct from the 'have nots') of an age where much certainty is being challenged. In both consumer choices and in the wider spheres of employment and kinship structures, bricolage -- the piecing together of value and/or meaning from the assortment of possibilities that can be wrenched from what's 'out there' -- is the modus operandi of those with the educational chutzpah to venture to try. Of course, the starting points are still far from equal; some hit the ground running due to privileges of birth, skin, class, gender, nationality, normative sexualities and biologies, others have often sought out education as the first step in an attempt to endow themselves with capital in any form. But the fact remains that the hurdle has been raised and formal -- preferably post-secondary -- education is now something of a pre-requisite for social mobility. Zygmunt Bauman equates this endowed subjectivity with that of the tourist: the mobile bourgeois consumer par excellence. As bricoleur our (I use the term 'our' to refer to those people similarly 'marked by our non-markedness' as myself: white, educated citizens of an industrialised nation, even if that is Australia) highly portable knowledge confers upon us a privileged status within global racial and economic structures of power. Cultural knowledge can operate literally as both right of passage and funding; hence cultural capital. As those in the best position from which to maximise the possibilities of the postmodern world, Bauman argues that the 'tourist' never actually arrives per se, rather the achievement is the journey -- the capacity to move on when the need arises or the whim strikes (90). That sort of mobility presumes agency. 'Tourists' choose to be mobile and transient and so can arrive somewhere bigger and better if they wish; they are not forcibly dislocated to what may well be a worse option. In Bauman's words, 'tourists' possess 'situational control': "the ability to choose where and with what parts of the world to 'interface' and when to switch off the connection" (91). By definition such a system also requires a larger grouping of people who are excluded from Nirvana; Bauman names this status that of the 'vagabond', those who are forcibly moved on from any space which may present as a possible home and who are allowed to settle precisely nowhere. They too are on the move, but unlike the movement of the 'tourist' this is not a chosen path; for the 'vagabond' freedom means the freedom "not to have to wander around" (92). The 'vagabonds' freedom is on par with that of the person forced by institutional status to live on the streets of industrialised societies wanting nothing more than a vaguely secure place to have a kip. The road may be mythic and romantic -- a site of freedom -- if you can choose to be there (and to return 'home'), but, and this can be said of many situations, something is not romantic nor desirable if you have no choice but to be there or to do it, even if the case were that if such a choice were possible you would indeed choose such a course of action. 'Slumming it' is fun if you know a hot bath and warm bed awaits you at the end of the day. Needless to say, it's also incredibly insulting to those who don't have this choice. Therefore, returning to Bauman, the point is that the greater "freedom of choice one has, the higher one's rank in the postmodern social hierarchy" (93). This embodied characterisation of the material significance of cultural capital in an age where information is king, should serve as a warning signal to those for whom the hype of a technologically mediated informational economy of global proportions equals rings somehow true. New horizons are being opened up and will soon be visited by independent travellers in search of a more 'authentic' and 'exotic' experience, who will subsequently open up the space for the more overtly imperialist agents who inevitably follow. Goa is no longer where it's happening, grab the Rough Guide to cyberspace and hang on. Nerd Chic At this point however, it's time to relate this all back to my putative title for this piece and to come clean on some moments of interpellation, which, as always, got me thinking on my own place within global systems of power (and desire). And I have to 'fess up that all my cultural capital came at a price, as it did for many of us: I was a teenage nerd (and arguably still am). What brings me joy however, is that long after the guys had their nerd chic moment in the sun -- Jarvis Cocker, glasses, lots of corduroy, (indeed, all those British non-laddish lads and their iconography) -- it's finally also the nerd chicks' time in the warm glow of funkiness. I'm afraid I'm not referring here to the popularity of the Charles Babbage and Ada Lovelace section of the Powerhouse Museum's "Universal Machine" Exhibition currently running in Sydney which included a piece of the original analytical engine itself as well as details regarding Ava and her status as the world's first computer programmer. The clunkiness of the world's first computer -- in all its tarnished metal and mechanistic glory -- couldn't compete in the eyes of the punters with the free Internet access provided by the spiffy new colourful Apple I-Macs. No, the current moment of female nerd chic, as I see it, is one much more firmly anchored in fashion, consumption and image. It is on a direct continuum from the emergence of nerd chic which is only now providing a space for women on vaguely equal terms [and by way of example, I refer you to the not necessarily unattractive, but still problematically infantilising, trend that hit the industrialised world in recent years which drew upon a cutesy schoolgirl aesthetic: I'm thinking of hair clips and 'baby doll' dresses in 'sweet' prints here]. Too Many Pockets As the new millennium beckons, in the industrialised world, technology saturates our lives; we are increasingly -- both literally and figuratively -- becoming cyborg beings. Cyborg subjectivity is a frequently cited concept which is used to describe, in broad terms, the manner in which human beings are already located as agents and vehicles within technological networks. Overt examples of cyborg beings are provided by science fiction, but this serves as a distraction from the fact that cyborgs already walk amongst us. Indeed probably are us. Maybe not in a strictly technical sense, but certainly as beings for whom the negotiation of cyborg identities is a taken for granted feature of everyday life. A cyborg being is one which is fitted with any manner of medical accoutrements (pacemaker, artificial limb, etc.), or which has been inoculated, wears glasses, sits at a computer, works in the electronics manufacturing industry, rides a bike, takes vitamin supplements, and on the list goes. The cyborg is a hard concept to pin down but it is precisely this slippery property which renders it a useful vehicle for exploring a world of overwhelming diversity and multiple subjectivities. This is also why it can be conceptually seized upon as a fashion concept, stripped of its political ramifications as posited by feminists (in particular Donna Haraway and her now legendary piece "A Manifesto For Cyborgs" in which she seeks to map out the possibilities for a technologically-able, contingently adept socialist feminism), but remain associated with women as a strong and powerful image of empowered -- and significantly embodied -- female identity. Hence, we have a series of interpellating fashion trends that borrow heavily from dance party/rave culture -- itself a space loaded with technological and cyborg possibilities -- and are manifest in a fashion which emphasises utility with an androgynous and sharp edge: combat trousers; record/porterage bags or bags which sit around the hip and look like fabric gun holsters (both of which supposedly sit on the body in such a way as to minimise their presence, while maximising one's cultural capital); puffer jackets with lots of zipped pockets so that your gear doesn't fall out while you dance all night; body adornment in the form of mehindi (henna tattoos); tattoos, bindi, glitter, piercing, body hugging jewellery; and, of course, trainers for mobility. This nerd-girl moment, the particular meeting of contemporary dance music and the fashionability of the savvy smart cyborg woman is discursively marked by the (unedited) video clip for the Chemical Brothers' 'Hey Boy, Hey Girl'. It features a young book-reading, museum visiting girl, hassled by boys, who (through a nice graphic match involving her image in a mirror) transforms into a cool, nightclub groover. A unifying motif is provided throughout by the girl/woman's fascination with an exploration of the role of the skeletal system as it holds us up and allows us to function, hence the book, the museum and some interesting renderings of sex in a nightclub toilet. The organic body as finely tuned skeletal machine, and Chemical Brothers video -- go girl? References Bauman, Zygmunt. "Tourists and Vagabonds: the Heroes and Victims of Postmodernity." Postmodernity and Its Discontents. Cambridge: Polity P, 1997. 83-94. Bourdieu, Pierre. Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste. Trans. Richard Nice. London: Routledge, 1994 (1979). Harraway, Donna. "A Manifesto for Cyborgs: Science, Technology, and Socialist Feminism in the 1980's." Socialist Review 80 15.2 (1985): 64-107. [This article was also subsequently reprinted in Haraway's Simians, Cyborgs, and Women: The Reinvention of Nature. New York: Routledge, 1991.] Citation reference for this article MLA style: Susan Luckman. "XX @ MM: Cyborg Subjectivity as Millennial Fashion Statement." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2.6 (1999). [your date of access] <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9909/xxmm.php>. Chicago style: Susan Luckman, "XX @ MM: Cyborg Subjectivity as Millennial Fashion Statement," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2, no. 6 (1999), <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9909/xxmm.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: Susan Luckman. (1999) XX @ MM: cyborg subjectivity as millennial fashion statement. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2(6). <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9909/xxmm.php> ([your date of access]).

Don't be afraid - it's only a flesh wound. The organs are intact although there is a threat of amputation, which we all know can easily be tolerated if the remaining bones are plentiful and sound and they are held in place by a tough skin. Where there's a will there's a will not and the National Museum of Australia (NMA) will not lie down in the face of Australian Government attempts to cut off its funding blood and give its guts a good going over. Not yet. Not for eternity. The NMA opened in March 2001 in Canberra, Australia's national capital. The buildings were designed by ARM (Ashton Raggatt McDougall), an architectural firm based in Melbourne, with landscape design by Room 4.1.3. Like other galleries and museums constructed in the last 20 years such as the Gugenheim in Bilbao and Libeskind's Jewish Museum, the NMA buildings and landscape are as much an exhibit as that which they contain. In fact the Jewish Museum first opened without containing anything other than space; the proper concern of architecture, some say. The strong colours and shapes of the NMA stand out in the grey, Modernist-inspired, concrete environment that is Canberra - some say this place is a perversion of Walter and Marion Burley Griffin's original plans for a garden wonderland; others marvel that the spirit of the original plan has even partially survived. I say, good bones and plenty of them. Bernard Tschumi says that society expects architecture to reflect its ideals and domesticate its deeper fears(72). This is certainly the brand of architecture that the Australian government thought it was ordering when it allocated funds for the building of a national museum. Not that Aussies have fears which need domesticating. No fear. A few secrets, some dirty laundry, a scar or two. But it can be argued that ARM have excoriated fear; they have tattooed it across the national forehead and said “read me if you can and if you dare”. ARM have provided a building which appears to be mostly skin. Hide the national scars under a national symbol that is all surface. A skin, but one which encases an undifferentiated body; of work, of nationhood, of stuff. The skin of the NMA is a site for writing; giant Braille dots the surface of the building, a confusion between writing and reading. For most, the dots are impossible to read – too large and too high to touch with human fingers and indecipherable by most who visit even if the scale and location would allow them to be touched. How did they have the nerve ending to write a writing that only hands can read; only hands so big that they have lost the delicate sense of touch, thereby rendering the Braille unreadable. Make a ceiling so high that it takes twenty million to change a light-bulb. Make a statement so clever that no-one gets it. Along with the Braille, the word eternity winds under and over, across and through the guts of the NMA. Howard Raggatt of ARM writes that having designed the shapes of the building forms, they “laid them out like dressmaking patterns, to press upon them this single stencilled script” – using software they superimposed the forms over a graphic of Arthur Stace’s Eternity and wrapped the Museum in it (45). Arthur Stace claimed that he was divinely inspired to write the word in ephemeral chalk an estimated 500,000 times on the footpaths of Sydney over a thirty-year period. He summoned the citizens to acknowledge the power of God. Raggatt says that its use on the outside of the NMA “encourages our hope to read this land”. And the text thickens. Is the writing of eternity on the national skin of the NMA a tattoo or stigmata? Derrida talks of these – tattoo and stigmata - in Writing and Difference in discussing the relationship between critical discourse and clinical discourse and focuses on Antonin Artuad’s “theatre of cruelty” (Artaud also inspired Deleuze and Guattari’s metaphor of the body without organs). Derrida begins with an exploration of the tendency to associate the work of art with the mental state of the artist. However from his specific critique of structuralism, he moves into much broader territory. Artuad’s attempts to make a verbal, not a grammatical theatre, “a graphism which …[is] an incarnation of the letter and a bloody tattoo” are judged by Derrida (and Artaud himself) to have been wanting precisely because such a tattoo “paralyzes gesture and silences the voice … represses the shout and the chance for a still unorganised voice” (235). Where the text (or in Artaud’s terms, breath) is “spirited/stolen…in order to place it in an order” the text is tattoo and it cannot hope to overturn the effects of power because it is on the surface rather than in opposition to it. By contrast, stigmata is a wound that cuts beneath the surface, “substituted for the text” that “undertakes neither a renewal, nor a critique” but “intends the effective, active, and non-theoretical destruction of Western civilization and its religions” (227). Text as stigmata is spirited/inspired rather than spirited/stolen. Granted, this section of Writing and Difference speaks of Artaud’s work in the context of theatre, however the theatrical metaphor is appropriate for the NMA – stand in the middle of the Garden of Australian Dreams surrounded by viewing platforms, and you understand that you are in the middle of a performance. But what does eternity do in this arena, on and under this skin? I have already described the writing of eternity around the NMA’s structure. Within the museum (in its stomach, it seems, when one seeks it out) is the small exhibition space built around the theme of eternity. Of course, it is a permanent exhibition – how could it be anything else. This space speaks to the people aspect of the NMA’s land, nation, people themes through “emotions” of separation, mystery, hope, joy, loneliness, thrill, devotion, fear, chance, and passion. The exhibits here are the stories of individuals. The black dress of Baby Azaria Chamberlain (who is alleged to have been killed by a dingo, a wild Australian native dog) (mystery) and an elaborate costume from the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras (thrill) are examples of the representations of Australian individuals. The eternity theme was chosen after the individual stories were selected and the curator realized that the NMA collection included one of the few remaining examples of Stace’s handiwork – one preserved on the back of the door of an outdoor toilet (if only there were space in this article to explore the significance of this in terms of Derrida’s linking of God and shit!). Marion Stell, the exhibition curator, writes that she believed this provided a link between the emotions as well as representing a fascinating individual story in its own right. Interestingly, the recentre view of the NMA that recommends the de/recon-struction of the Garden ofAustralian Dreams , a teleological recasting of the Circa multimedia theatre(criticized for presenting too episodic a view of Australian history) and the Horizons gallery (allegedly too limited in its presentation of the stories of migrants), commends the Eternity gallery, despite its depictions of gays and lesbians, those who have taken on the courts and won and other transgressors. The private sphere of individual lives seems too unimportant to take on? And if so, is this a strength of eternity at NMA or a weakness? Eternity slips under the radar as only such a slippery word can. And the review makes no mention of the writing on the outside of the building. How could you miss a word so big, so utterly big? Did the review panel confuse BIG with BenIGn? This word eternity, this script eternity. Inside the museum in the eternity gallery it is the street tattoo, the written surface of the traditional museum which reflects, mirror-like, what the visitor wishes to feel. There, it is Aussie icon-become-cliché. Attached firmly to the maker of the original marks, Arthur Stace, footpath font designer and illiterate messenger of God, it carries the trace of the God on whose behalf he wrote. And who in the current world political climate would dare to take on God’s messenger, no matter whose God. In that gallery it is spirited/stolen and, tattoo-like, it represses the uninhibited shout of difference through imposition of an order; the somewhat transgressive stories of individuals such as Lindy Chamberlain (Azaria’s mother, who was first convicted of her murder and then pardoned) and indeed, Arthur Stace, are rendered “safer” by the direct reproduction of Stace’s script. Originally, in Walter Benjamin’s terms, Stace’s eternity assumed auratic qualities that ironically it acquired, rather than lost, through repetition and reproduction on Sydney’s footpaths. However it’s use more recently– remember it was emblazoned on both the Sydney Harbour Bridge for the Millenium celebrations and in the2000 Sydney Olympic opening ceremony for its ability to call up a trace of the sublime – have turned it into an Australian brand name, designed to re/produce thoughts of a grand and glorious Australia, an Australia which neither Lindy Chamberlain nor Arthur Stace might have experienced. (The City of Sydney has gone so far as to copyright the Stace eternity script). But outside, scarred into the skin, too big to read, too black to ignore, eternity operates paradoxically at a more subtle level. Appearing as if pure ornament, black squiggles on a blatantly referential structure, with this use of Stace’s eternity ARM have tackled the issue of timelessness and architecture through invoking time in its entirety. They have invoked the quasi-religious contemplative response that the Stace rendering of the word engenders when it takes us by surprise. Eternity written on the surface of the NMA is stigmata, Stace’s eternity spirited/inspired rather than spirited/stolen. It is a flow of meaning that invokes the evangelistic incantations of Stace at a size which multiplies the possible meanings through its appeal to illiteracy and illegibility, and with a resilience which refuses to be washed away by reviews and revisions of the Museum. Derrida says that “to overthrow the power of the literal work is not to erase the letter, but only to subordinate it to the incidence of illegibility or at least of illiteracy” (225). Eternity. Legend has it that for a while some larrikin followed in Stace's footsteps changing eternity to maternity. Perhaps in the fullness of eternity a Government-appointed review panel can retrospectively declare the stigmata a harmless word better suited to a bland Australia. Like tomato or cricket or captain cook. For the foreseeable past and future, it remains eternity. Works Cited Benjamin, Walter. The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1993.Deleuze, Gilles and Guattari, Felix. Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. New York: Viking, 1972Derrida, Jacques. Writing and Difference. Trans. Alan Bass. London:Routledge, 2001. Raggatt, Howard. "Rabbits, Dogs and Butterflies." National Museum of Australia: Tangled Destinies. Melbourne: Images, 2002. 44-47. Stell, Marion, ed. Eternity: Stories from the Emotional Heart of Australia. Canberra: National Museum of Australia,2001.Tschumi, Bernard. Architecture and Disjunction. Cambridge: MIT P,1994. Links http://www.a-r-m.com.au/ http://www.daniel-libeskind.com/projects/pro.html?ID=2 http://www.nma.gov.au/ http://www.nma.gov.au/aboutus/council_and_committees/review http://www.room413.com.au/Museum/Museum.html http://www.skewarch.com/architects/gerhy/gerhy-gug.htm Citation reference for this article MLA Style Williams, Jordan. "The Stigmata or the Tattoo" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture <http://www.media-culture.org.au/0401/06-williams.php>. APA Style Williams, J. (2004, Jan 12). The Stigmata or the Tattoo. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture, 7, <http://www.media-culture.org.au/0401/06-williams.php>

Despite numerous critics describing him as an auteur (i.e. a film-maker who ‘does’ everything and fulfils every production role [Bordwell and Thompson 37] and/or with a signature “world-view” detectable in his/her work [Caughie 10]), Rolf de Heer appears to have declined primary authorship of Dance Me to My Song (1997), his seventh in an oeuvre of twelve feature films. Indeed, the opening credits do not mention his name at all: it is only with the closing credits that the audience learns de Heer has directed the film. Rather, as the film commences, the viewer is informed by the titles that it is “A film by Heather Rose”, thus suggesting that the work is her singular creation. Direct and uncompromising, with its unflattering shots of the lead actor and writer (Heather Rose Slattery, a young woman born with cerebral palsy), the film may be read as a courageous self-portrait which finds the grace, humanity and humour trapped inside Rose’s twisted body. Alternatively, it may be read as yet another example of de Heer’s signature interest in foregrounding a world view which gives voice to marginalised characters such as the disabled or the disadvantaged. For example, the developmentally retarded eponyme of Bad Boy Bubby (1993) is eventually able to make art as a singer in a band and succeeds in creating a happy family with a wife and two kids. The ‘mute’ girl in The Quiet Room (1996) makes herself heard by her squabbling parents through her persistent activism. In Ten Canoes (2006) the Indigenous Australians cast themselves according to kinship ties, not according to the director’s choosing, and tell their story in their own uncolonised language. A cursory glance at the films of Rolf de Heer suggests he is overtly interested in conveying to the audience the often overlooked agency of his unlikely protagonists. In the ultra-competitive world of professional film-making it is rare to see primary authorship ceded by a director so generously. However, the allocation of authorship to a member of a marginalized population re-invigorates questions prompted by Andy Medhurst regarding a film’s “authorship test” (198) and its relationship to a subaltern community wherein he writes that “a biographical approach has more political justification if the project being undertaken is one concerned with the cultural history of a marginalized group” (202-3). Just as films by gay authors about gay characters may have greater credibility, as Medhurst posits, one might wonder would a film by a person with a disability about a character with the same disability be better received? Enabling authorship by an unknown, crippled woman such as Rose rather than a famous, able-bodied male such as de Heer may be cynically regarded as good (show) business in that it is politically correct. This essay therefore asks if the appellation “A film by Heather Rose” is appropriate for Dance Me to My Song. Whose agency in telling the story (or ‘doing’ the film-making), the able bodied Rolf de Heer or the disabled Heather Rose, is reflected in this cinematic production? In other words, whose voice is enabled when an audience receives this film? In attempting to answer these questions it is inevitable that Paul Darke’s concept of the “normality drama” (181) is referred to and questioned, as I argue that Dance Me to My Song makes groundbreaking departures from the conventions of the typical disability narrative. Heather Rose as Auteur Rose plays the film’s heroine, Julia, who like herself has cerebral palsy, a group of non-progressive, chronic disorders resulting from changes produced in the brain during the prenatal stages of life. Although severely affected physically, Rose suffered no intellectual impairment and had acted in Rolf de Heer’s cult hit Bad Boy Bubby five years before, a confidence-building experience that grew into an ongoing fascination with the filmmaking process. Subsequently, working with co-writer Frederick Stahl, she devised the scenario for this film, writing the lead role for herself and then proactively bringing it to de Heer’s attention. Rose wrote of de Heer’s deliberate lack of involvement in the script-writing process: “Rolf didn’t even want to read what we’d done so far, saying he didn’t want to interfere with our process” (de Heer, “Production Notes”). In 2002, aged 36, Rose died and Stahl reports in her obituary an excerpt from her diary: People see me as a person who has to be controlled. But let me tell you something, people. I am not! And I am going to make something real special of my life! I am going to go out there and grab life with both hands!!! I am going to make the most sexy and honest film about disability that has ever been made!! (Stahl, “Standing Room Only”) This proclamation of her ability and ambition in screen-writing is indicative of Rose’s desire to do. In a guest lecture Rose gave further insights into the active intent in writing Dance Me to My Song: I wanted to create a screenplay, but not just another soppy disability film, I wanted to make a hot sexy film, which showed the real world … The message I wanted to convey to an audience was “As people with disabilities, we have the same feelings and desires as others”. (Rose, “ISAAC 2000 Conference Presentation”) Rose went on to explain her strategy for winning over director de Heer: “Rolf was not sure about committing to the movie; I had to pester him really. I decided to invite him to my birthday party. It took a few drinks, but I got him to agree to be the director” (ibid) and with this revelation of her tactical approach her film-making agency is further evidenced. Rose’s proactive innovation is not just evident in her successfully approaching de Heer. Her screenplay serves as a radical exception to films featuring disabled persons, which, according to Paul Darke in 1998, typically involve the disabled protagonist struggling to triumph over the limitations imposed by their disability in their ‘admirable’ attempts to normalize. Such normality dramas are usually characterized by two generic themes: first, that the state of abnormality is nothing other than tragic because of its medical implications; and, second, that the struggle for normality, or some semblance of it in normalization – as represented in the film by the other characters – is unquestionably right owing to its axiomatic supremacy. (187) Darke argues that the so-called normality drama is “unambiguously a negation of ascribing any real social or individual value to the impaired or abnormal” (196), and that such dramas function to reinforce the able-bodied audience’s self image of normality and the notion of the disabled as the inferior Other. Able-bodied characters are typically portrayed positively in the normality drama: “A normality as represented in the decency and support of those characters who exist around, and for, the impaired central character. Thus many of the disabled characters in such narratives are bitter, frustrated and unfulfilled and either antisocial or asocial” (193). Darke then identifies The Elephant Man (David Lynch, 1980) and Born on the Fourth of July (Oliver Stone, 1989) as archetypal films of this genre. Even in films in which seemingly positive images of the disabled are featured, the protagonist is still to be regarded as the abnormal Other, because in comparison to the other characters within that narrative the impaired character is still a comparatively second-class citizen in the world of the film. My Left Foot is, as always, a prime example: Christy Brown may well be a writer, relatively wealthy and happy, but he is not seen as sexual in any way (194). However, Dance Me to My Song defies such generic restrictions: Julia’s temperament is upbeat and cheerful and her disability, rather than appearing tragic, is made to look healthy, not “second class”, in comparison with her physically attractive, able-bodied but deeply unhappy carer, Madelaine (Joey Kennedy). Within the first few minutes of the film we see Madelaine dissatisfied as she stands, inspecting her healthy, toned and naked body in the bathroom mirror, contrasted with vision of Julia’s twisted form, prostrate, pale and naked on the bed. Yet, in due course, it is the able-bodied girl who is shown to be insecure and lacking in character. Madelaine steals Julia’s money and calls her “spastic”. Foul-mouthed and short-tempered, Madelaine perversely positions Julia in her wheelchair to force her to watch as she has perfunctory sex with her latest boyfriend. Madelaine even masquerades as Julia, commandeering her voice synthesizer to give a fraudulently positive account of her on-the-job performance to the employment agency she works for. Madelaine’s “axiomatic supremacy” is thoroughly undermined and in the most striking contrast to the typical normality drama, Julia is unashamedly sexual: she is no Christy Brown. The affective juxtaposition of these two different personalities stems from the internal nature of Madelaine’s problems compared to the external nature of Julia’s problems. Madelaine has an emotional disability rather than a physical disability and several scenes in the film show her reduced to helpless tears. Then one day when Madelaine has left her to her own devices, Julia defiantly wheels herself outside and bumps into - almost literally - handsome, able-bodied Eddie (John Brumpton). Cheerfully determined, Julia wins him over and a lasting friendship is formed. Having seen the joy that sex brings to Madelaine, Julia also wants carnal fulfilment so she telephones Eddie and arranges a date. When Eddie arrives, he reads the text on her voice machine’s screen containing the title line to the film ‘Dance me to my song’ and they share a tender moment. Eddie’s gentleness as he dances Julia to her song (“Kizugu” written by Bernard Huber and John Laidler, as performed by Okapi Guitars) is simultaneously contrasted with the near-date-rapes Madelaine endures in her casual relationships. The conflict between Madeline and Julia is such that it prompts Albert Moran and Errol Vieth to categorize the film as “women’s melodrama”: Dance Me to My Song clearly belongs to the genre of the romance. However, it is also important to recognize it under the mantle of the women’s melodrama … because it has to do with a woman’s feelings and suffering, not so much because of the flow of circumstance but rather because of the wickedness and malevolence of another woman who is her enemy and rival. (198-9) Melodrama is a genre that frequently resorts to depicting disability in which a person condemned by society as disabled struggles to succeed in love: some prime examples include An Affair to Remember (Leo McCarey, 1957) involving a paraplegic woman, and The Piano (Jane Campion, 1993) in which a strong-spirited but mute woman achieves love. The more conventional Hollywood romances typically involve attractive, able-bodied characters. In Dance Me to My Song the melodramatic conflict between the two remarkably different women at first seems dominated by Madelaine, who states: “I know I’m good looking, good in bed ... better off than you, you poor thing” in a stream-of-consciousness delivery in which Julia is constructed as listener rather than converser. Julia is further reduced to the status of sub-human as Madelaine says: “I wish you could eat like a normal person instead of a bloody animal” and her erstwhile boyfriend Trevor says: “She looks like a fuckin’ insect.” Even the benevolent Eddie says: “I don’t like leaving you alone but I guess you’re used to it.” To this the defiant Julia replies; “Please don’t talk about me in front of me like I’m an animal or not there at all.” Eddie is suitably chastised and when he treats her to an over-priced ice-cream the shop assistant says “Poor little thing … She’ll enjoy this, won’t she?” Julia smiles, types the words “Fuck me!”, and promptly drops the ice-cream on the floor. Eddie laughs supportively. “I’ll just get her another one,” says the flustered shop assistant, “and then get her out of here, please!” With striking eloquence, Julia wheels herself out of the shop, her voice machine announcing “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me”, as she departs exultantly. With this bold statement of independence and defiance in the face of patronising condescension, the audience sees Rose’s burgeoning strength of character and agency reflected in the onscreen character she has created. Dance Me to My Song and the films mentioned above are, however, rare exceptions in the many that dare represent disability on the screen at all, compliant as the majority are with Darke’s expectations of the normality drama. Significantly, the usual medical-model nexus in many normality films is ignored in Rose’s screenplay: no medication, hospitals or white laboratory coats are to be seen in Julia’s world. Finally, as I have described elsewhere, Julia is shown joyfully dancing in her wheelchair with Eddie while Madelaine proves her physical inferiority with a ‘dance’ of frustration around her broken-down car (see Starrs, "Dance"). In Rose’s authorial vision, audience’s expectations of yet another film of the normality drama genre are subverted as the disabled protagonist proves superior to her ‘normal’ adversary in their melodramatic rivalry for the sexual favours of an able-bodied love-interest. Rolf de Heer as Auteur De Heer does not like to dwell on the topic of auteurism: in an interview in 2007 he somewhat impatiently states: I don’t go in much for that sort of analysis that in the end is terminology. … Look, I write the damn things, and direct them, and I don’t completely produce them anymore – there are other people. If that makes me an auteur in other people’s terminologies, then fine. (Starrs, "Sounds" 20) De Heer has been described as a “remarkably non-egotistical filmmaker” (Davis “Working together”) which is possibly why he handed ownership of this film to Rose. Of the writer/actor who plied him with drink so he would agree to back her script, de Heer states: It is impossible to overstate the courage of the performance that you see on the screen. … Heather somehow found the means to respond on cue, to maintain the concentration, to move in the desired direction, all the myriad of acting fundamentals that we take for granted as normal things to do in our normal lives. (“Production NHotes”) De Heer’s willingness to shift authorship from director to writer/actor is representative of this film’s groundbreaking promotion of the potential for agency within disability. Rather than being passive and suffering, Rose is able to ‘do.’ As the lead actor she is central to the narrative. As the principle writer she is central to the film’s production. And she does both. But in conflict with this auteurial intent is the temptation to describe Dance Me to My Song as an autobiographical documentary, since it is Rose herself, with her unique and obvious physical handicap, playing the film’s heroine, Julia. In interview, however, De Heer apparently disagrees with this interpretation: Rolf de Heer is quick to point out, though, that the film is not a biography.“Not at all; only in the sense that writers use material from their own lives.Madelaine is merely the collection of the worst qualities of the worst carers Heather’s ever had.” Dance Me to My Song could be seen as a dramatised documentary, since it is Rose herself playing Julia, and her physical or surface life is so intense and she is so obviously handicapped. While he understands that response, de Heer draws a comparison with the first films that used black actors instead of white actors in blackface. “I don’t know how it felt emotionally to an audience, I wasn’t there, but I think that is the equivalent”. (Urban) An example of an actor wearing “black-face” to portray a cerebral palsy victim might well be Gus Trikonis’s 1980 film Touched By Love. In this, the disabled girl is unconvincingly played by the pretty, able-bodied actress Diane Lane. The true nature of the character’s disability is hidden and cosmeticized to Hollywood expectations. Compared to that inauthentic film, Rose’s screenwriting and performance in Dance Me to My Song is a self-penned fiction couched in unmediated reality and certainly warrants authorial recognition. Despite his unselfish credit-giving, de Heer’s direction of this remarkable film is nevertheless detectable. His auteur signature is especially evident in his technological employment of sound as I have argued elsewhere (see Starrs, "Awoval"). The first distinctly de Heer influence is the use of a binaural recording device - similar to that used in Bad Boy Bubby (1993) - to convey to the audience the laboured nature of Julia’s breathing and to subjectively align the audience with her point of view. This apparatus provides a disturbing sound bed that is part wheezing, part grunting. There is no escaping Julia’s physically unusual life, from her reliance on others for food, toilet and showering, to the half-strangled sounds emanating from her ineffectual larynx. But de Heer insists that Julia does speak, like Stephen Hawkings, via her Epson RealVoice computerized voice synthesizer, and thus Julia manages to retain her dignity. De Heer has her play this machine like a musical instrument, its neatly modulated feminine tones immediately prompting empathy. Rose Capp notes de Heer’s preoccupation with finding a voice for those minority groups within the population who struggle to be heard, stating: de Heer has been equally consistent in exploring the communicative difficulties underpinning troubled relationships. From the mute young protagonist of The Quiet Room to the aphasic heroine of Dance Me to My Song, De Heer’s films are frequently preoccupied with the profound inadequacy or outright failure of language as a means of communication (21). Certainly, the importance to Julia of her only means of communication, her voice synthesizer, is stressed by de Heer throughout the film. Everybody around her has, to varying degrees, problems in hearing correctly or understanding both what and how Julia communicates with her alien mode of conversing, and she is frequently asked to repeat herself. Even the well-meaning Eddie says: “I don’t know what the machine is trying to say”. But it is ultimately via her voice synthesizer that Julia expresses her indomitable character. When first she meets Eddie, she types: “Please put my voice machine on my chair, STUPID.” She proudly declares ownership of a condom found in the bathroom with “It’s mine!” The callous Madelaine soon realizes Julia’s strength is in her voice machine and withholds access to the device as punishment for if she takes it away then Julia is less demanding for the self-centred carer. Indeed, the film which starts off portraying the physical superiority of Madelaine soon shows us that the carer’s life, for all her able-bodied, free-love ways, is far more miserable than Julia’s. As de Heer has done in many of his other films, a voice has been given to those who might otherwise not be heard through significant decision making in direction. In Rose’s case, this is achieved most obviously via her electric voice synthesizer. I have also suggested elsewhere (see Starrs, "Dance") that de Heer has helped find a second voice for Rose via the language of dance, and in doing so has expanded the audience’s understandings of quality of life for the disabled, as per Mike Oliver’s social model of disability, rather than the more usual medical model of disability. Empowered by her act of courage with Eddie, Julia sacks her uncaring ‘carer’ and the film ends optimistically with Julia and her new man dancing on the front porch. By picturing the couple in long shot and from above, Julia’s joyous dance of triumph is depicted as ordinary, normal and not deserving of close examination. This happy ending is intercut with a shot of Madeline and her broken down car, performing her own frustrated dance and this further emphasizes that she was unable to ‘dance’ (i.e. communicate and compete) with Julia. The disabled performer such as Rose, whether deliberately appropriating a role or passively accepting it, usually struggles to placate two contrasting realities: (s)he is at once invisible in the public world of interhuman relations and simultaneously hyper-visible due to physical Otherness and subsequent instantaneous typecasting. But by the end of Dance Me to My Song, Rose and de Heer have subverted this notion of the disabled performer grappling with the dual roles of invisible victim and hyper-visible victim by depicting Julia as socially and physically adept. She ‘wins the guy’ and dances her victory as de Heer’s inspirational camera looks down at her success like an omniscient and pleased god. Film academic Vivian Sobchack writes of the phenomenology of dance choreography for the disabled and her own experience of waltzing with the maker of her prosthetic leg, Steve, with the comment: “for the moment I did displace focus on my bodily immanence to the transcendent ensemble of our movement and I really began to waltz” (65). It is easy to imagine Rose’s own, similar feeling of bodily transcendence in the closing shot of Dance Me to My Song as she shows she can ‘dance’ better than her able-bodied rival, content as she is with her self-identity. Conclusion: Validation of the Auteurial OtherRolf de Heer was a well-known film-maker by the time he directed Dance Me to My Song. His films Bad Boy Bubby (1993) and The Quiet Room (1996) had both screened at the Cannes International Film Festival. He was rapidly developing a reputation for non-mainstream representations of marginalised, subaltern populations, a cinematic trajectory that was to be further consolidated by later films privileging the voice of Indigenous Peoples in The Tracker (2002) and Ten Canoes (2006), the latter winning the Special Jury prize at Cannes. His films often feature unlikely protagonists or as Liz Ferrier writes, are “characterised by vulnerable bodies … feminised … none of whom embody hegemonic masculinity” (65): they are the opposite of Hollywood’s hyper-masculine, hard-bodied, controlling heroes. With a nascent politically correct worldview proving popular, de Heer may have considered the assigning of authorship to Rose a marketable idea, her being representative of a marginalized group, which as Andy Medhurst might argue, may be more politically justifiable, as it apparently is with films of gay authorship. However, it must be emphasized that there is no evidence that de Heer’s reticence about claiming authorship of Dance Me to My Song is motivated by pecuniary interests, nor does he seem to have been trying to distance himself from the project through embarrassment or dissatisfaction with the film or its relatively unknown writer/actor. Rather, he seems to be giving credit for authorship where credit is due, for as a result of Rose’s tenacity and agency this film is, in two ways, her creative success. Firstly, it is a rare exception to the disability film genre defined by Paul Darke as the “normality drama” because in the film’s diegesis, Julia is shown triumphing not simply over the limitations of her disability, but over her able-bodied rival in love as well: she ‘dances’ better than the ‘normal’ Madelaine. Secondly, in her gaining possession of the primary credits, and the mantle of the film’s primary author, Rose is shown triumphing over other aspiring able-bodied film-makers in the notoriously competitive film-making industry. Despite being an unpublished and unknown author, the label “A film by Heather Rose” is, I believe, a deserved coup for the woman who set out to make “the most sexy and honest film about disability ever made”. As with de Heer’s other films in which marginalised peoples are given voice, he demonstrates a desire not to subjugate the Other, but to validate and empower him/her. He both acknowledges their authorial voices and credits them as essential beings, and in enabling such subaltern populations to be heard, willingly cedes his privileged position as a successful, white, male, able-bodied film-maker. In the credits of this film he seems to be saying ‘I may be an auteur, but Heather Rose is a no less able auteur’. References Bordwell, David and Kristin Thompson. Film Art: An Introduction, 4th ed. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1993. Capp, Rose. “Alexandra and the de Heer Project.” RealTime + Onscreen 56 (Aug.-Sep. 2003): 21. 6 June 2008 ‹http://www.realtimearts.net/article/issue56/7153›. Caughie, John. “Introduction”. Theories of Authorship. Ed. John Caughie. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1981. 9-16. Darke, Paul. “Cinematic Representations of Disability.” The Disability Reader. Ed. Tom Shakespeare. London and New York: Cassell, 1988. 181-198. Davis, Therese. “Working Together: Two Cultures, One Film, Many Canoes.” Senses of Cinema 2006. 6 June 2008 ‹http://www.sensesofcinema.com/contents/06/41/ten-canoes.html›. De Heer, Rolf. “Production Notes.” Vertigo Productions. Undated. 6 June 2008 ‹http://www.vertigoproductions.com.au/information.php?film_id=10&display=notes›. Ferrier, Liz. “Vulnerable Bodies: Creative Disabilities in Contemporary Australian Film.” Australian Cinema in the 1990s. Ed. Ian Craven. London and Portland: Frank Cass and Co., 2001. 57-78. Medhurst, Andy. “That Special Thrill: Brief Encounter, Homosexuality and Authorship.” Screen 32.2 (1991): 197-208. Moran, Albert, and Errol Veith. Film in Australia: An Introduction. Melbourne: Cambridge UP, 2006. Oliver, Mike. Social Work with Disabled People. Basingstoke: MacMillan, 1983. Rose Slattery, Heather. “ISAAC 2000 Conference Presentation.” Words+ n.d. 6 June 2008 ‹http://www.words-plus.com/website/stories/isaac2000.htm›. Sobchack, Vivian. “‘Choreography for One, Two, and Three Legs’ (A Phenomenological Meditation in Movements).” Topoi 24.1 (2005): 55-66. Stahl, Frederick. “Standing Room Only for a Thunderbolt in a Wheelchair,” Sydney Morning Herald 31 Oct. 2002. 6 June 2008 ‹http://www.smh.com.au/articles/2002/10/30/1035683471529.html›. Starrs, D. Bruno. “Sounds of Silence: An Interview with Rolf de Heer.” Metro 152 (2007): 18-21. ———. “An avowal of male lack: Sound in Rolf de Heer’s The Old Man Who Read Love Stories (2003).” Metro 156 (2008): 148-153. ———. “Dance Me to My Song (Rolf de Heer 1997): The Story of a Disabled Dancer.” Proceedings Scopic Bodies Dance Studies Research Seminar Series 2007. Ed. Mark Harvey. University of Auckland, 2008 (in press). Urban, Andrew L. “Dance Me to My Song, Rolf de Heer, Australia.” Film Festivals 1988. 6 June 2008. ‹http://www.filmfestivals.com/cannes98/selofus9.htm›.