Artykuły w czasopismach na temat „Architecture – japan – exhibitions”

Historical wooden buildings can be seen not only in Japanese open-air museums and in the Japanese countryside, but also in the largest metropolises. On the individual Japanese islands we can find almost ten open-air museums, all of a different character. They include local, regional and national museums - thereby presenting several areas at the same time. Most of them are rural buildings that are primarily related to agricultural subsistence, while some of them also exhibit urban life. In addition to exhibitions of real life and thematic exhibitions, the museums also prepare such programmes as traditional festivities and handicraft courses. Numerous information boards in the museums that are visited, however, are already obsolete in terms of their technical workmanship and their graphics while at the same time they display a lot of information, which also makes the exhibitions chaotic. An interesting concept for using historic buildings is The Art House Project, where endangered buildings were offered to leading Japanese artists and architects for their up-to-date adjustment. A brief encounter with Japanese architecture at the same time confirms that the practical implementation of basic needs to ensure living is similar across the world.

On the behalf of the organizing committee, the 2024 2nd International Conference on Civil Engineering, Architecture and Transportation (CEAT 2024) was successfully held in Kyoto, Japan during January 20-21, 2024. Related exhibitors from research laboratories, industrialists and suppliers were invited to propose exhibitions and demonstrations. CEAT 2024 allows for the free exchange of ideas and challenges faced by these two key stakeholders and encourage future collaboration between members of these groups. The conference also fosters cooperation among organizations and researchers involved in the fields of civil engineering, architecture design, urban planning, transportation, and intelligent logistics. We enjoyed 4 keynote speeches and many oral presentations made by the authors which lasted for 15-20 minutes each, and a lot of inspiration sparked during the Q&A parts. Researchers who have contributed their work to CEAT 2024 shared their findings and experience with other researchers and attendees. Many participants without any contribution of research paper have also been allowed to attend the conference to gain knowledge in their respective areas. Within all contributions from the participants, less than 40 papers were final accepted from more than 60 submissions. Thanks to the dedication of every committee member and reviewer, we finally made this conference. CEAT 2024 Conference Committee Kyoto, Japan

Western fascination with Japan and Japanese design is long established. The popularity of the recent exhibition The Japanese House: Architecture and Life After 1945 at London's Barbican illustrates that this fascination remains. This ‘blockbuster’ review of postwar domestic Japanese Architecture, supported by The Japan Foundation and previously hosted at MAXXI, National Museum of 21st Century Arts, Rome, responds to an enormous challenge: to try to account for the range and diversity of architectural approaches to domestic design within the broader contexts of traditional Japanese architecture and national life after 1945.The seven decades covered in the exhibition span postwar reconstruction, rapid economic expansion, bubble-era boom and bust, and deflationary stagnation, brought up to the present day. Material is organised ‘genealogically’ rather than chronologically, drawing together certain threads and traditions. It makes connections across time periods to suggest how the design of the Japanese house has dealt with sociological changes over this period, from the fracturing of the nuclear family and an increase in single-person households to an ageing population.

The article presents analytical material on the experience of organizing World Exhibitions, special attention is to EXPO-2020. The main postulates of the EXPO-2030 program in Ukraine are provide. Modern scientific approaches to the study of the problem of sustainable development, the economics of organizing exhibitions, social tasks, the aesthetics of the symbolism of the architectural composition of pavilions of different countries and exhibition sites in Dubai with the final Program for People and Planet are considered. The purpose of the publication is to identify the main characteristics and critically analyze the ideas of past exhibitions in order to adapt the best proposals for holding an exhibition in Ukraine, indicating the expected benefits and motivations. All countries and cities in which World Exhibitions held since their inception are lists. Attention is focuses on the theme of the exhibition: "Connecting minds, creating the future", which is dedicated to the goals of sustainable development and sounds like a call to unite different countries, peoples, and people for the sake of planetary development. A description of the main thematic areas with author's photos of the most significant pavilions illustrating "Opportunity", "Mobility" and "Sustainability" is present. A comparison of the results of the participation of representatives from Ukraine in the EXPO exhibition in 2010 and 2020 is given. The topic and tasks of the future exhibition in Japan EXPO 2025 are considered. The main postulates of the ODESA EXPO 2030 project on the theme "Renaissance. Technologies. Future" as a Post-war Reconstruction Plan. The motivation for Ukraine is express in the development of the National Economic Strategy until 2030, the prospects for the promotion of the national brand "Ukraine Now".

In a recently discovered photograph of German architect Bruno Taut's retrospective exhibition at the Istanbul Academy of Fine Arts, which opened on 4 June 1938, Taut in-exile stands with Erica Taut and his assistant Şinasi Lugal in front of a display (see Figure 1). What interests me in this image is not so much the frontal figures who posed for it as the documentary value of the exhibit in the background, the photographs inside the photograph. These images display Taut's Siedlungen (residential settlements/collective housing projects), designed and constructed as part of the Berlin Housing Program (1924–33) just before Taut was exiled from Germany due to the rise of National Socialism. After stays in Russia and Japan, Taut moved to Turkey, where he became head of the Architecture Department at the Istanbul Academy. Through a seminar and a studio he taught on Siedlung, he participated in a translation of the idea of collective housing that would shape the discursive space and practice of architecture in Turkey for decades to come. Most of the images in the exhibition were taken by the now-famous photographer Arthur Köster. The exhibit bears witness to the fact that Turkish architects were exposed not only to the influential Siedlungen of the Weimar period in Germany but also to their soon-to-be canonical photographs earlier than most of their colleagues around the world.

This study analyzed 15 unique cases of buildings designed by the Japanese that had the exterior appearance of traditional Korean architecture while the Western timber truss was applied. The characteristics of Korean-style roofs were first categorized into three parts: structural frame, roof curve, and eaves space. Then, the analytic drawings were prepared in order to scrutinize the cases in accordance with these characteristics. The analysis revealed that the Western truss was hybridized to embody the Korean-style roofs. The truss was segmented, diagonal supplementary building components were added, or some components of the Korean or Japanese-style timber structure were partially applied. The advent of such a ‘hybrid roof’ shares a background with the westernization of the construction techniques of the timber structure since the late 19th century in Japan. The political initiatives of Japan deliberately led to the exhibition of exotic Joseon in the expositions, thereby requiring Korean-style pavilions. As a result, the pavilion reflected double layers of hybridization: a Korean timber structure transformed through the Japanese westernization method. Although the buildings studied in this research were designed by non-Koreans and were already demolished, they are noteworthy for the unprecedented attempts to realize the appearance of traditional Korean architecture by using truss structures.

The development brings inevitable changes to the built environment in which architectural design holds a significant part. Architecture, undoubtedly, has a strong association with identity and the character of a certain built urban environment. Changes in architectural principles and designs may bring two-side impacts, which may either strengthen or harm the existing urban identity. This is especially true when we discuss architectural changes and the formation of urban identity on the Island of Bali. This study aims to examine the conformance of numerous facades of commercial buildings located along the Danau Tamblingan Corridor in Sanur-Bali to the set of local government regulations that govern the implementation of local traditions in architectural design and practices. The study is approached with a qualitative method. The study result shows there are 5 groups of violations, which are: 1) violation of the tri angga principle; 2) the use of flat roofs; 3) minimum use of local decorative elements; 4) dominant exhibition of commercial identity; 5) the absent of handcrafted character, natural materials and the color derived from their uses.Keywords: Balinese Architecture; facade; commercial building AbstrakPerkembangan zaman membawa perubahan pada banyak hal dan tidak dapat dihindari. Salah satu hal yang mengalami perubahan adalah arsitektur. Arsitektur memiliki hubungan yang erat dengan tata ruang sebuah wilayah atau kota. Arsitektur berkaitan dengan karakter dari suatu wilayah tersebut. Perubahan dalam arsitektur yang tidak terkontrol dapat menghilangkan karakter dari sebuah wilayah. Arsitektur Bali adalah salah satu gaya arsitektur yang mengalami perubahan. Jalan Danau Tamblingan adalah salah satu koridor komersial di Kelurahan Sanur yang terdiri dari berbagai jenis fasilitas komersial dengan karakter bangunan yang bervariasi. Namun terdapat banyak bangunan komersial yang tidak menerapkan prinsip Arsitektur Bali sebagaimana mestinya seperti yang sudah diatur dalam Peraturan Walikota Denpasar No. 25 Tahun 2010. Penelitian ini bertujuan untuk mengkaji prinsip Arsitektur Bali dalam peraturan perundang-undangan yang tidak diterapkan pada tampilan bangunan fasilitas komersial di lokasi penelitian. Metode yang digunakan adalah metode kualitatif dengan strategi studi kasus. Hasil penelitian menunjukkan bahwa terdapat 5 pelanggaran yang dilakukan oleh bangunan-bangunan komersial di Koridor Jalan Danau Tamblingan, Sanur yaitu; 1) tidak menerapkan konsep tri angga; 2) menggunakan atap datar; 3) minimnya penggunaan ragam hias Arsitektur Bali; 4) dominasi identitas perusahaan pada tampilan bangunan; 5) tidak menampilkan karakter handicraft serta tidak menggunakan warna dan material alamiah.Kata kunci: Arsitektur Bali; fasad; bangunan komersial

Lawang Sewu is a historic building owned by PT KAI in Operational Area 4 Semarang, Central Java. Lawang Sewu is a relic from the Dutch Colonial period. Now Lawang Sewu has become a cultural heritage building that is included in the building protection law. In this museum we can find the legacy of the old PT KAI. Lawang Sewu is also one of the leading tourist attractions in the city of Semarang and witnessed the 5-day battle in Semarang which took place from 14 to 19 August 1949 and is marked by the location of the Tugu Muda Monument which is on the west side of Lawang Sewu or more precisely at the Jalan Pandanaran roundabout. As an architectural and tourist object, Lawang Sewu has the value needed in the definition of a monument and monumental nature. These values include aspects of history, technology, architecture, and culture. Currently the Lawang Sewu building houses a collection of trains in Indonesia from time to time. Collections such as Alkmaar, Edmonson machines, calculating machines, typewriters, replica steam locomotives, securities, and several other collections. This place is also often used for community activities such as exhibitions, festivals, art performances, shooting, wedding parties and photo shoots.

Mamoru Kawaguchi (1932–2019) was one of the great structural engineers of the late 20th century. He developed his career mostly in Japan and he has also superb works in China, Singapore and Spain. The spectrum of his structures is manifold: he designed shells, space frames, inflatable structures, tension structures, timber–steel hybrid systems and so on. With them, he conceived and provided the bones and muscles of sports halls, exhibition halls, museums, railway stations, towers, bridges and sculptures. Kawaguchi collaborated with some of the best architects of his time: Kenzo Tange, Arata Isozaki and Kazuyo Sejima just to cite some of the internationally most renowned. For his works, he was awarded many times in Japan, as well as internationally (the Architectural Institute of Japan award, the International Association for Shell and Spatial Structures Torroja Medal, the International Association for Bridge and Structural Engineering International Award and many others). In this article, I review Mamoru Kawaguchi’s main professional and academic achievements, and discuss his design philosophy, sources of inspiration and means to develop his ideas from my own personal experience.

The Anyer-Panarukan post road was a monumental colonial project with the aim of connecting areas on the northern coast of Java Island whose the benefits can still be felt today. The phenomenon that occurs along with the times is the erosion of the community’s collective memory about the origin of the post road. This is caused by the socio-cultural changes by the people along the road which which have slowly shifted the function and image of the post road. In adition, the existence of toll roads also makes it no longer the only choice for people to travel. The purpose of the project “De Grote Postweg: Sequential Narrative Space of The Great Post Road” is to retell the history of the origins of these monumental project, reflections, dan resolutions towards the future, through historical tourism, in the midst of massive changes and along the northern coast of the Island of Java. The choice of the city of Bandung as the location of the museum is based on the historical narrative of the city which intersects with the construction of the road at that time. The method used in designing this museum is narrative architecture in the typology of museum exhibition space. The project begins with grouping the historical time span of the road which is divided into 5 permanent exhibition space zones based on time sequence, which are then narrated in the form of spatial space with different keywords according to their respective historical narratives. The result of rethinking the typology of museum exhibition space with narrative architecture is an exhibition space that is organized according to the chronological historical events that is educative, attractve, and inclusive. Keywords: history; museum; narative; tourism; typology AbstrakJalan raya pos Anyer-Panarukan merupakan proyek monumental zaman kolonial dengan tujuan untuk menghubungkan daerah-daerah di pesisir Utara Pulau Jawa yang manfaatnya masih dapat dirasakan hingga masa kini. Fenomena yang terjadi seiring dengan perkembangan zaman adalah terkikisnya memori kolektif masyarakat tentang asal usul jalan raya pos tersebut. Hal ini disebabkan oleh perubahan sosial-budaya masyarakat di sepanjang jalan raya tersebut yang turut menggeser fungsi dan citra jalan raya secara perlahan. Selain itu, adanya jalan tol juga menjadikannya bukan lagi satu-satunya sebagai pilihan orang untuk bepergian. Tujuan dari proyek “Museum De Grote Postweg: Ruang Narasi Berurutan Jalan Raya Pos Besar” di Kota Bandung adalah menceritakan kembali sejarah terbentuknya proyek monumental tersebut, refleksi, dan resolusi menuju masa depan melalui pariwisata sejarah di tengah masifnya perubahan di sepanjang pantai Utara Pulau Jawa. Pemilihan Kota Bandung sebagai lokasi museum tidak lepas dari narasi sejarah Kota Bandung yang saling bersinggungan dengan pembangunan jalan raya pos pada saat itu. Metode yang digunakan pada perancangan museum ini adalah arsitektur naratif pada tipologi ruang pamer museum. Perancangan dimulai dengan pengelompokan rentang waktu sejarah jalan rata pos yang dibagi menjadi 5 zona ruang pamer tetap berdasarkan urutan waktu, yang kemudian dinarasikan dalam bentuk ruang spasial dengan kata kunci yang berbeda sesuai narasi sejarahnya masing-masing. Hasil dari memikirkan kembali tipologi ruang pamer museum dengan arsitektur naratif adalah ruang pamer yang tersusun berdasarkan urutan waktu kejadian sejarah yang edukatif, atraktif, dan inklusif.

Fashion Show activities in the city of Samarinda are quite often held, both single events and filler events. The development of clothing in the city of samarinda is currently still developing with the fashion show event that is often held in the city of samarinda as well as the existence of a vocational school in the field of Clothing and Fashion Agency. How to plan a Fashion Center with the concept of Eco-Tech Architecture focus on the principles of the Civic Symbolic. The purpose of this research is to create a Fashion Center in the city of samarinda to support the interests and talents of the people in the field of Fashion with the concept of Eco-Tech architecture focusing on the principles of Civic Symbolis. The method used to achieve goals and objectives consists of primary data and secondary data. The results of the discussion in this study are that the Fashion Center planning using Eco-Tech architectural concepts is focused on the Civic Symbolic principle by adopting a form of dayak shield which is emphasized on the building facade as a point entrance. Analysis of the size of the room with a total area of m², KDH, KDB, with a total of 26 rooms, for the main hall of the exhibition hall and modeling classrooms, site analysis was selected on Jalan M. Yamin, Kelurahan Gunung Kelua. The concept of composition uses axial, the concept of landscape uses formations from fashion. Keyword : Planning, Fashion Center, Eco-Tech

MICE (meeting, incentive, convention, and exhibition) dipertimbangkan dari beberapa aspek yang belum terpenuhi di Kawasan Gelora Bung Tomo, yaitu membeludaknya supporter di luar stadion yang kehabisan tiket, minimnya tenant penjual sehingga Pedagang berkeliaran di sepanjang jalan, dan agenda rutinan oleh Official Persebaya yang belum terwadahi sehingga meminjam tempat lain yang sangat jauh. Dengan adanya daya tarik Pusat Bisnis, supporter dapat memiliki tempat nobar dekat stadion walau kehabisan tiket, Tenants yang tertata demi kelangsungan ekonomi pedagang, serta wadah untuk berkreatifitas antara supporter dengan pihak Official Persebaya dalam bentuk MICE (meeting, incentive, convention, and exhibition). Metode penelitian kasus dan lapangan dengan pendekatan deskriptif digunakan untuk merencanakan wadah kreatifitas Pusat Bisnis di Kawasan Gelora Bung Tomo. MICE dirancang dengan makro konsep spirit sehingga dihasilkan ruh bangunanyang mendukung sustainable architecture. Makro-konsep Spirit memiliki 3 mikro-konsep, yakni; Interaktif sebagai tatanan lahan sehingga dihasilkan wadah banyak interaksi, Simbolis sebagai tatanan bentuk sehingga dihasilkan ikonik ekor buaya dan Komunikatif sebagai tatanan ruang sehingga dihasilkan lahan yang luas untuk mengkomunikasikan kratifitas supporter Bonek.

This article describes an engineer, his grand thought, prominent works, and contribution to the advancement of spatial structures based on geometry and mechanism. He is Dr Mamoru Kawaguchi, who lived in Japan for almost 90 years from 1932 to 2019. In his life, he designed a large number of epoch-making structures in the field of spatial structures in Japan and worldwide. These encompass structures of wood, concrete, steel, fabrics, and even air and water. His approach for structural design is very strict and broad with respect to geometry and mechanism and with respect to design concept, analysis, construction, fail-safe, and control as same as an academician of philosophy. The structures of Yoyogi Swimming Pool for the Tokyo Olympic Games 1964, the Grand Roof of the Osaka World Exhibition 1970, Fuji Group Pavilion, Pantadome, Suspendome, and a jumbo fabric carp flying across the sky are introduced in this article in order to remember him and to highlight his grand thought and eminent spatial structures.

Abstract: Indonesia in 2045 will have a demographic bonus with a population structure of 70% in the productive age group (15-64 years). One of the biggest contributors is the province of West Java. The young generation of West Java is recognized by UNESCO by making the West Java Capital City, Bandung, a creative city. Bandung people's creativity is used as a provision for Bandung's highest export commodity, textiles, to increase its productivity. Textile productivity is poured by accommodating textile players to sell textiles, creating textile ideas, creating textile products, and introducing textile products. The four functions were designed to be designed in the Cigondewah Textile Area. The Cigondewah textile area is listed in the Bandung City RTRW as a textile center. The area is designed along Jalan Cigondewah Kidul with a length of 250 m. The area along Jalan Cigondewah Kidul was designed with output in the form of guidelines for facade improvement and remapping of functions along Jalan Cigondewah Kidul. Along Jalan Cigondewah Kidul, a site of 14,000 m2 of land was chosen to be built for a creative center for textiles consisting of buying and selling functions, collaboration space, exhibition space and workshop space. There are several issues in the design of the Cigondewah Textile Area. that is, the influence of the region to support the City of Bandung as a Creative City, the carrying capacity of the Region to the productivity of textiles, and to create a space that is comfortable to users. The above issue was initiated to be solved using an organic architecture approach that is dynamic and novelty. The nature of organic architecture was conceived to resolve the issue adaptively by using modular construction technology to increase efficiency.Abstrak: Diperkirakan pada tahun 2045 struktur populasi 70% pada kelompok usia produktif antara usia 15 sampai 64 tahun sebagai bonus demografi. Salah satu penyumbang terbanyak adalah provinsi Jawa Barat. Generasi muda Jawa Barat diakui oleh UNESCO dengan menjadikan Ibu Kota Jawa Barat, Bandung, sebagai kota kreatif. Kreatifitas masyarakat Bandung dimanfaatkan sebagai bekal bagi komoditi ekspor tertinggi Kota Bandung, tekstil, untuk meningkatkan produktifitasnya. Produktifitas tekstil dituangkan dengan mengakomodasi pelaku tekstil untuk menjual tekstil, menciptakan ide tekstil, menciptakan produk tekstil, dan mengenalkan produk tekstil. Keempat fungsi digagas untuk dirancang di Kawasan Tekstil Cigondewah. Kawasan tekstil Cigondewah tercantum pada RTRW Kota Bandung sebagai sentra tekstil. Kawasan dirancang sepanjang Jalan Cigondewah Kidul dengan panjang jalan 250 m. Kawasan sepanjang Jalan Cigondewah Kidul di rancang dengan keluaran berupa pedoman perbaikan fasad dan pemetaan ulang fungsi di sepanjang Jalan Cigondewah Kidul. Pada sepanjang Jalan Cigondewah Kidul dipilih satu wilayah tapak seluas 13.000 m2 yang akan dibangun pusat kreatif tekstil yang terdiri dari fungsi jual beli, ruang kolaborasi, ruang pameran dan ruang workshop. Terdapat beberapa isu pada perancangan Kawasan Tekstil Cigondewah. yaitu, pengaruh kawasan untuk mendukung Kota Bandung sebagai Kota Kreatif, Daya dukung Kawasan terhadap produktifitas tekstil, dan menciptakan ruang yang nyaman kepada pengguna. Isu diatas digagas untuk diselesaikan menggunakan pendekatan arsitektur organik yang bersifat dinamis dan kebaruan. Sifat dari arsitektur organik digagas untuk menyelesaikan isu secara adaptif dengan menggunakan teknologi konstruksi modular untuk meningkatkan efisiensi.

One of the problems in human life is individualism. This is because humans spend too much time at work and at home, so they rarely do social activities, along with the existence of social media that causes people to socialize with each other. This particular problem will be discussed in "Open Architecture as Third Place" project, which discusses how to create a third place as a place for people to socialize with each other and also as a public information space. The issue raised in this project is about "Grit" where people can learn how to grow grits within themselves to achieve the goals they want to achieve in the future. The project location is on Jalan Tanjung Duren Utara. This site is quite strategic for this third place project because it is close to First Place and Second Place where this project can become a permeability. This third place project is wished for people to be able to grow grits in themselves so that they can achieve their goals in their lives and can achieve their life goals that they have set. The method used in research is Field Survey, Literature Study, and Precedent Study. The results obtained are the design of the building as a "Grit Improvement Space". The main program in this project is the Experimental Room, Workshop, and Exhibition along with the supporting programs namely Co-Working Space, Library, and Late Night Street Food. Keywords: grit; human; permeability; social AbstrakPermasalahan dalam kehidupan manusia salah satunya individualisme. Hal ini disebabkan karena manusia terlalu banyak menghabiskan waktunya di tempat kerja dan di rumah, maka orang akan jarang sekali melakukan kegiatan sosial. Dengan adanya media sosial juga menyebabkan manusia bersosialisasi satu sama lain. Permasalahan utama yang akan dibahas di proyek ini adalah "Open Architecture sebagai Third Place" yang membahas bagaimana cara menciptakan tempat ketiga sebagai tempat untuk manusia saling bersosialisasi satu sama lain dan juga sebagai tempat publik informasi. Isu yang diangkat dalam proyek ini adalah mengenai "Grit" dimana orang dapat belajar cara menumbuhkan grit di dalam dirinya untuk mencapai goals yang mereka ingin capai di masa depan. Lokasi proyek berada di Jalan Tanjung Duren Utara. Tapak ini cukup strategis untuk proyek third place ini karena berdekatan dengan First Place dan Second Place sehingga proyek ini dapat menjadi rembesan (permeabilitas). Di proyek third place ini diharapkan orang bisa menumbuhkan grit dalam dirinya sehingga mereka bisa mencapai targetnya dalam hidup mereka dan dapat mencapai tujuan hidupnya yang telah mereka tentukan. Metode yang digunakan dalam penelitian adalah Survey Lapangan, Studi Literatur, dan Studi Preseden. Hasil penelitian yang didapatkan adalah perancangan bangunan sebagai "Tempat Pengembangan Grit". Program utama dalam proyek ini adalah Experimental Room, Workshop, dan Pameran. Lalu juga ada program pendukung yaitu Co - Working Space, Library, dan Late Night Street Food.

The Light and its Disappearance in the Darkness; The chapter begins with the question of what can be found in the integration of architecture and cinema and continues exploring light in the context of cinematic architecture theory. This is followed by a discussion of the illusions of light that emerge in spaces where cinema and architecture meet. The thought then reaches Paul Virilio's conception of the aesthetics of architecture as a metaphor for cinema from the experience of space, the image of disappearance. It suggested I make a film work, 'Hiroshima Through Light', in the AA. The Experimentation in the AA Diploma Unit 3; This chapter describes the exploration of cinematic architecture under the tutelage of Pascal Schöning, a unit master of the AA, which includes philosophy, aesthetics, and challenges to urban and social issues, along with his unique methodology. He explains to his former students the importance of a more philosophical approach to the notion at the end of Diploma Unit 3. That is when I see Juhani Pallasmaa's description of the need for architects to look at people's daily lives and society through a phenomenological approach, like filmmakers. My awareness moves on to a study of the architects depicted by filmmakers. Image of Architects Depicted in Film; The images of architects in the films of Michelangelo Antonioni, Terrence Malick and Hirokazu Kore-eda are discussed. It indicates that they are entrusted with a role of building human relationships. Cinématic Architecture Tokyo; This chapter outlines activities in Japan that are being rolled out in the form of workshops, lectures and exhibitions to develop the theory of cinematic architecture. The theme of the workshops held in the Hokuriku region was the revitalisation of declining local urban communities, which is also related to the previous chapter on “building human relationships”. This year, the projection attempted to embody poetic images to illuminate memories that are being lost. Conclusion; In addition to reflecting on essential elements such as the aesthetics of disappearing light, memory, history, poetic imagery, narrative and social issues, adding a focus on the significance of communication design, fields of sense and spatial quality, could bring new perspectives to the integration of architecture.

Working drawings are produced, when a house is designed, to envisage an imagined building. They are a tangible representation of an object that has no tangible existence. These working drawings act as a manual for constructing the house; they represent that which is to be built. The house comes into being, therefore, via this set of drawings. This is known as documentation. However, these drawings record the house at an ideal moment in time; they capture the house in stasis. They do not represent the future life of the house, the changes and traces the inhabitants make upon a space, nor do they document the path of the person, the arc of their actions, within the space of the house. Other types of documentation of the house allow these elements to be included. Documentation that is produced after-the-event, that interprets ‘the existing’, is absent from discourses on documentation; the realm of post factum documentation is a less examined form of documentation. This paper investigates post factum documentation of the house, and the alternative ways of making, producing and, therefore, thinking about, the house that it offers. This acknowledges the body in the space of architecture, and the inhabitation of space, and as a dynamic process. This then leads to the potential of the‘model of an action’ representing the motion and temporality inherent within the house. Architecture may then be seen as that which encloses the inhabitant. The word ‘document’ refers to a record or evidence of events. It implies a chronological sequence: the document comes after-the-event, that is, it is post factum. Within architecture, however, the use of the word documentation, predominantly, refers to working drawings that are made to ‘get to’ a building, drawings being the dominant representation within architecture. Robin Evans calls this notion, of architecture being brought into existence through drawing, the principle of reversed directionality (Evans 1997, 1989). Although it may be said that these types of drawings document the idea, or document the imagined reality of the building, their main emphasis, and reading, is in getting to something. In this case, the term documentation is used, not due to the documents’ placement within a process, of coming after the subject-object, but in referring to the drawings’ role. Other architectural drawings do exist that are a record of what is seen, but these are not the dominant drawing practice within architecture. Documentation within architecture regards the act of drawing as that process upon which the object is wholly dependent for its coming into existence. Drawing is defined as the pre-eminent methodology for generation of the building; drawings are considered the necessary initial step towards the creation of the 1:1 scale object. During the designing phase, the drawings are primary, setting out an intention. Drawings, therefore, are regarded as having a prescriptive endpoint rather than being part of an open-ended improvisation. Drawings, in getting to a building, draw out something, the act of drawing searches for and uncovers the latent design, drawing it into existence. They are seen as getting to the core of the design. Drawings display a technique of making and are influenced by their medium. Models, in getting to a building, may be described in the same way. The act of modelling, of making manifest two-dimensional sketches into a three-dimensional object, operates similarly in possessing a certain power in assisting the design process to unfurl. Drawing, as recording, alters the object. This act of drawing is used to resolve, and to edit, by excluding and omitting, as much as by including, within its page. Models similarly made after-the-fact are interpretive and consciously aware of their intentions. In encapsulating the subject-object, the model as documentation is equally drawing out meaning. This type of documentation is not neutral, but rather involves interpretation and reflection through representational editing. Working drawings record the house at an ideal moment in time: at the moment the builders leave the site and the owners unlock the front door. These drawings capture the house in stasis. There is often the notion that until the owners of a new house move in, the house has been empty, unlived in. But the life of the house cannot be fixed to any one starting point; rather it has different phases of life from conception to ruin. With working drawings being the dominant representation of the house, they exclude much; both the life of the house before this act of inhabitation, and the life that occurs after it. The transformations that occur at each phase of construction are never shown in a set of working drawings. When a house is built, it separates itself from the space it resides within: the domain of the house is marked off from the rest of the site. The house has a skin of a periphery, that inherently creates an outside and an inside (Kreiser 88). As construction continues, there is a freedom in the structure which closes down; potential becomes prescriptive as choices are made and embodied in material. The undesignedness of the site, that exists before the house is planned, becomes lost once the surveyors’ pegs are in place (Wakely 92). Next, the skeletal frame of open volumes becomes roofed, and then becomes walled, and walking through the frame becomes walking through doorways. One day an interior is created. The interior and exterior of the house are now two different things, and the house has definite edges (Casey 290). At some point, the house becomes lockable, its security assured through this act of sealing. It is this moment that working drawings capture. Photographs comprise the usual documentation of houses once they are built, and yet they show no lived-in-ness, no palimpsest of occupancy. They do not observe the changes and traces the inhabitants make upon a space, nor do they document the path of the person, the arc of their actions, within the space of the house. American architects and artists Elizabeth Diller and Ricardo Scofidio have written of these traces of the everyday that punctuate floor and wall surfaces: the intersecting rings left by coffee glasses on a tabletop, the dust under a bed that becomes its plan analog when the bed is moved, the swing etched into the floor by a sagging door. (Diller & Scofidio 99) It is these marks, these traces, that are omitted from the conventional documentation of a built house. To examine an alternative way of documenting, and to redress these omissions, a redefinition of the house is needed. A space can be delineated by its form, its edges, or it can be defined by the actions that are performed, and the connections between people that occur, within it. To define the house by what it encapsulates, rather than being seen as an object in space, allows a different type of documentation to be employed. By defining a space as that which accommodates actions, rooms may be delineated by the reach of a person, carved out by the actions of a person, as though they are leaving a trace as they move, a windscreen wiper of living, through the repetition of an act. Reverse directional documentation does not directly show the actions that take place within a house; we must infer these from the rooms’ fittings and fixtures, and the names on the plan. In a similar way, Italo Calvino, in Invisible Cities, defines a city by the relationships between its inhabitants, rather than by its buildings: in Ersilia, to establish the relationships that sustain the city’s life, the inhabitants stretch strings from the corners of the houses, white or black or grey or black-and-white according to whether they mark a relationship of blood, of trade, authority, agency. When the strings become so numerous that you can no longer pass among them, the inhabitants leave: the houses are dismantled; only the strings and their supports remain … Thus, when travelling in the territory of Ersilia, you come upon the ruins of the abandoned cities without the walls which do not last, without the bones of the dead which the wind rolls away: spiderwebs of intricate relationships seeking a form. (Calvino 62) By defining architecture by that which it encapsulates, form or materiality may be given to the ‘spiderwebs of intricate relationships’. Modelling the actions that are performed in the space of architecture, therefore, models the architecture. This is referred to as a model of an action. In examining the model of an action, the possibilities of post factum documentation of the house may be seen. The Shinkenchiku competition The Plan-Less House (2006), explored these ideas of representing a house without using the conventional plan to do so. A suggested alternative was to map the use of the house by its inhabitants, similar to the idea of the model of an action. The house could be described by a technique of scanning: those areas that came into contact with the body would be mapped. Therefore, the representation of the house is not connected with spatial division, that is, by marking the location of walls, but rather with its use by its inhabitants. The work of Diller and Scofidio and Allan Wexler and others explores this realm. One inquiry they share is the modelling of the body in the space of architecture: to them, the body is inseparable from the conception of space. By looking at their work, and that of others, three different ways of representing this inhabitation of space are seen. These are: to represent the objects involved in a particular action, or patterns of movement, that occurs in the space, in a way that highlights the action; to document the action itself; or to document the result of the action. These can all be defined as the model of an action. The first way, the examination of the body in a space via an action’s objects, is explored by American artist Allan Wexler, who defines architecture as ‘choreography without a choreographer, structuring its inhabitant’s movements’ (Galfetti 22). In his project ‘Crate House’ (1981), Wexler examines the notion of the body in a space via an action’s objects. He divided the house into its basic activities: bedroom, bathroom, kitchen and living room. Each of these is then defined by their artefacts, contained in their own crate on wheels, which is rolled out when needed. At any point in time, the entire house becomes the activity due to its crate: when a room such as the kitchen is needed, that crate is rolled in through one of the door openings. When the occupant is tired, the entire house becomes a bedroom, and when the occupant is hungry, it becomes a kitchen … I view each crate as if it is a diorama in a natural history museum — the pillow, the spoon, the flashlight, the pot, the nail, the salt. We lose sight of everyday things. These things I isolate, making them sculpture: their use being theatre. (Galfetti 42–6) The work of Andrea Zittel explores similar ideas. ‘A–Z Comfort Unit’ (1994), is made up of five segments, the centrepiece being a couch/bed, which is surrounded by four ancillary units on castors. These offer a library, kitchen, home office and vanity unit. The structure allows the lodger never to need to leave the cocoon-like bed, as all desires are an arm’s reach away. The ritual of eating a meal is examined in Wexler’s ‘Scaffold Furniture’ (1988). This project isolates the components of the dining table without the structure of the table. Instead, the chair, plate, cup, glass, napkin, knife, fork, spoon and lamp are suspended by scaffolding. Their connection, rather than being that of objects sharing a tabletop, is seen to be the (absent) hand that uses them during a meal; the act of eating is highlighted. In these examples, the actions performed within a space are represented by the objects involved in the action. A second way of representing the patterns of movement within a space is to represent the action itself. The Japanese tea ceremony breaks the act of drinking into many parts, separating and dissecting the whole as a way of then reassembling it as though it is one continuous action. Wexler likens this to an Eadweard Muybridge film of a human in motion (Galfetti 31). This one action is then housed in a particular building, so that when devoid of people, the action itself still has a presence. Another way of documenting the inhabitation of architecture, by drawing the actions within the space, is time and motion studies, such as those of Rene W.P. Leanhardt (Diller & Scofidio 40–1). In one series of photographs, lights were attached to a housewife’s wrists, to demonstrate the difference in time and effort required in the preparation of a dinner prepared entirely from scratch in ninety minutes, and a pre-cooked, pre-packaged dinner of the same dish, which took only twelve minutes. These studies are lines of light, recorded as line drawings on a photograph of the kitchen. They record the movement of the person in the room of the action they perform, but they also draw the kitchen in a way conventional documentation does not. A recent example of the documentation of an action was undertaken by Asymptote and the students at Columbia University Graduate School of Architecture in their exhibition at the Venice Biennale of Architecture in 2000. A gymnast moving through the interior space of the pavilion was recorded using a process of digitisation and augmentation. Using modelling procedures, the spatial information was then reconstructed to become a full-scale architectural re-enactment of the gymnast’s trajectory through the room (Feireiss 40). This is similar to a recent performance by Australian contemporary dance company Chunky Move, called ‘Glow’. Infra-red video tracking took a picture of the dancer twenty-five times a second. This was used to generate shapes and images based on the movements of a solo dancer, which were projected onto the floor and the dancer herself. In the past, when the company has used DVDs or videos, the dancer has had to match what they were doing to the projection. This shifts the technology to following the dancer (Bibby 3). A third way of representing the inhabitation of architecture is to document the result of an action. Raoul Bunschoten writes of the marks of a knife being the manifestation of the act of cutting, as an analogy: incisions imply the use of a cutting tool. Together, cuts and cutting tool embrace a special condition. The actual movement of the incision is fleeting, the cut or mark stays behind, the knife moves on, creating an apparent discontinuity … The space of the cut is a reminder of the knife, its shape and its movements: the preparation, the swoop through the air, the cutting, withdrawal, the moving away. These movements remain implicitly connected with the cut as its imaginary cause, as a mnemonic programme about a hand holding a knife, incising a surface, severing skin. (Bunschoten 40) As a method of documenting actions, the paintings of Jackson Pollack can be seen as a manifestation of an act. In the late 1940s, Pollack began to drip paint onto a canvas laid flat on the floor; his tools were sticks and old caked brushes. This process clarified his work, allowing him to walk around it and work from all four sides. Robert Hughes describes it as ‘painting “from the hip” … swinging paintstick in flourishes and frisks that required an almost dancelike movement of the body’ (Hughes 154). These paintings made manifest Pollack’s gestures. As his arm swung in space, the dripping paint followed that arc, to be preserved on a flat plane as pictorial space (Hughes 262). Wexler, in another study, recorded the manifestation of an action. He placed a chair in a one-room building. It was attached to lengths of timber that extended outdoors through slots in the walls of the building. As the chair moved inside the building, its projections carved grooves in the ground outside. As the chair moved in a particular pattern, deeper grooves were created: ‘Eventually, the occupant of the chair has no choice in his movement; the architecture moves him.’ (Galfetti 14) The pattern of movement creates a result, which in turn influences the movement. By redefining architecture by what it encapsulates rather than by the enclosure itself, allows architecture to be documented by the post factum model of an action that occurs in that space. This leads to the exploration of architecture, formed by the body within it, since the documentation and representation of architecture starts to affect the reading of architecture. Architecture may then be seen as that which encloses the inhabitant. The documentation of the body and the space it makes concerns the work of the Hungarian architect Imre Makovecz. His exploration is of the body and the space it makes. Makovecz, and a circle of like-minded architects and artists, embarked on a series of experiments analysing the patterns of human motion and subsequently set up a competition based around the search for a minimum existential space. This consisted of mapping human motion in certain spatial conditions and situations. Small light bulbs were attached to points on the limbs and joints and photographed, creating a series of curves and forms. This led to a competition called ‘Minimal Space’ (1971–2), in which architects, artists and designers were invited to consider a minimal space for containing the human body, a new notion of personal containment. Makovecz’s own response took the form of a bell-like capsule composed of a double shell expressing its presence and location in both time and space (Heathcote 120). Vito Acconci, an artist turned architect by virtue of his installation work, explored this notion of enclosure in his work (Feireiss 38). In 1980 Acconci began his series of ‘self-erecting architectures’, vehicles or instruments involving one or more viewers whose operation erected simple buildings (Acconci & Linker 114). In his project ‘Instant House’ (1980), a set of walls lies flat on the floor, forming an open cruciform shape. By sitting in the swing in the centre of this configuration, the visitor activates an apparatus of cables and pulleys causing walls to rise and form a box-like house. It is a work that explores the idea of enclosing, of a space being something that has to be constructed, in the same way for example one builds up meaning (Reed 247–8). This documentation of architecture directly references the inhabitation of architecture. The post factum model of architecture is closely linked to the body in space and the actions it performs. Examining the actions and movement patterns within a space allows the inhabitation process to be seen as a dynamic process. David Owen describes the biological process of ‘ecopoiesis’: the process of a system making a home for itself. He describes the building and its occupants jointly as the new system, in a system of shaping and reshaping themselves until there is a tolerable fit (Brand 164). The definition of architecture as being that which encloses us, interests Edward S. Casey: in standing in my home, I stand here and yet feel surrounded (sheltered, challenged, drawn out, etc.) by the building’s boundaries over there. A person in this situation is not simply in time or simply in space but experiences an event in all its engaging and unpredictable power. In Derrida’s words, ‘this outside engages us in the very thing we are’, and we find ourselves subjected to architecture rather than being the controlling subject that plans or owns, uses or enjoys it; in short architecture ‘comprehends us’. (Casey 314) This shift in relationship between the inhabitant and architecture shifts the documentation and reading of the exhibition of architecture. Casey’s notion of architecture comprehending the inhabitant opens the possibility for an alternate exhibition of architecture, the documentation of that which is beyond the inhabitant’s direction. Conventional documentation shows a quiescence to the house. Rather than attempting to capture the flurry — the palimpsest of occupancy — within the house, it is presented as stilled, inert and dormant. In representing the house this way, a lull is provided, fostering a steadiness of gaze: a pause is created, within which to examine the house. However, the house is then seen as object, rather than that which encapsulates motion and temporality. Defining, and thus documenting, the space of architecture by its actions, extends the perimeter of architecture. No longer is the house bounded by its doors and walls, but rather by the extent of its patterns of movement. Post factum documentation allows this altering of the definition of architecture, as it includes the notion of the model of an action. By appropriating, clarifying and reshaping situations that are relevant to the investigation of post factum documentation, the notion of the inhabitation of the house as a definition of architecture may be examined. This further examines the relationship between architectural representation, the architectural image, and the image of architecture. References Acconci, V., and K. Linker. Vito Acconci. New York: Rizzoli, 1994. Bibby, P. “Dancer in the Dark Is Light Years Ahead.” Sydney Morning Herald 22 March 2007: 3. Brand, S. How Buildings Learn: What Happens after They’re Built. London: Phoenix Illustrated, 1997. Bunschoten, R. “Cutting the Horizon: Two Theses on Architecture.” Forum (Nov. 1992): 40–9. Calvino, I. Invisible Cities. London: Picador, 1979. Casey, E.S. The Fate of Place. California: U of California P, 1998. Diller, E., and R. Scofidio. Flesh: Architectural Probes. New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 1994. Evans, R. Translations from Drawing to Building and Other Essays. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1997. ———. “Architectural Projection.” Eds. E. Blau and E. Kaufman. Architecture and Its Image: Four Centuries of Architectural Representation: Works from the Collection of the Canadian Center for Architecture. Exhibition catalogue. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1989. 19–35. Feireiss, K., ed. The Art of Architecture Exhibitions. Rotterdam: Netherlands Architecture Institute, 2001. Galfetti, G.G., ed. Allan Wexler. Barcelona: GG Portfolio, 1998. Glanville, R. “An Irregular Dodekahedron and a Lemon Yellow Citroen.” In L. van Schaik, ed., The Practice of Practice: Research in the Medium of Design. Melbourne: RMIT University Press, 2003. 258–265. Heathcote, E. Imre Mackovecz: The Wings of the Soul. West Sussex: Academy Editions, 1997. Hughes, R. The Shock of the New: Art and the Century of Change. London: British Broadcasting Corporation, 1980. Kreiser, C. “On the Loss of (Dark) Inside Space.” Daidalos 36 (June 1990): 88–99. Reed, C. ed. Not at Home: The Suppression of Domesticity in Modern Art and Architecture. London: Thames & Hudson, 1996. “Shinkenchiku Competition 2006: The Plan-Less House.” The Japan Architect 64 (Winter 2007): 7–12. Small, D. Paper John. USA: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1987. Wakely, M. Dream Home. Crows Nest, NSW: Allen & Unwin. 2003. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Macken, Marian. "And Then We Moved In: Post Factum Documentation of the House." M/C Journal 10.4 (2007). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/04-macken.php>. APA Style Macken, M. (Aug. 2007) "And Then We Moved In: Post Factum Documentation of the House," M/C Journal, 10(4). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/04-macken.php>.

The design of the detached house has been at the core of architectural developments in post-Second World War Japan and the subject of a lively discussion among architects about what makes a good home at a particular moment. Alongside the continuous production of houses, architects actively proposed new ways of living that contrasted with what was increasingly becoming a uniform housing stock based on mass fabrication. However, the intensification of neoliberal policies after a decade of severe economic crisis in the 1990s drove architects towards social involvement once again, initiating a housing trend based on sharing, renovation and re-use of the existing housing stock. This essay will highlight the work of the House Vision think-tank and full-scale building exhibitions – initiated in 2011 by Japanese designer and art director Kenya Hara – as one response to the socio-economic and political conditions after the neoliberal turn. Similar to the efforts of independent architects in recent decades, House Vision aims to generate awareness in society about alternatives to mainstream housing options. Yet what makes this initiative different is that it is not an individual effort but a collaborative project between designers and industries to push the latest technologies in home electronics, energy and mobility devices into new architectural forms.

In light of today’s global boom in landmark architecture, urban megaprojects and reconstructions of cultural heritage buildings, this paper analyses two large-scale reconstruction projects at iconic historical locations in Japan: the Heijō Palace in Nara and Dejima in Nagasaki. Since the 1990s, the two projects have recreated long-lost built environments, gradually transforming the sites, turning them into museums and exhibition spaces and giving rise to thorough reform of the surrounding urban fabric. In this paper I trace the involved agents’ motivations to engage in historical reconstruction from early-phase experimental efforts to legitimise the sites’ protected status to present-day politico-economic mobilisations of important historical locations to boost city attraction values. In this way, I link these two unfolding projects in Nara and Nagasaki to issues of urban boosterism, heritage production and the facilitation and commodification of tourist experiences of past realities. Approaching the reconstructions as contemporary heritage in traditional guise, the paper argues that both sites revolve materially, spatially and thematically around the master-metaphors of flow, growth and intercultural connectivity that characterise the present age. Elucidating processes of authentication and intersections of ideological and economic interests in and around the two sites, the paper asks in what ways Japanese cities exploit lost iconic localities and reconstructed heritage under post-industrial conditions marked by globalisation and intense cultural-economic competition.

In the era of post-modernization, profound transformations in urban spaces have led to significant shifts in the spatial composition paradigms of contemporary urban heritage. Research on this process is crucial for elucidating the spatial pathways and compositional changes in the modernization transformation of urban heritage. This study aims to establish identification indicators and assessment systems for the spatial structure of urban residential environments exhibiting historical characteristics and heritage potential through a comparative analysis of residential urban heritage spatial paradigms in historic cities in China and Japan. First, grounded in space syntax theory, this study selected residential urban heritage in Suzhou&rsquo;s Pingjiang Historic District and Uji&rsquo;s Nakauji District as research cases. Utilizing road network data, this study analyzed the Life Integration (Int.VR1000) and Global Integration (Int.VR5000) of urban heritage spaces, thereby constructing a spatial topology system for heritage spaces. Second, the study employed urban spatial entropy indicators, such as architectural density entropy, spatial morphology entropy, and function mixing entropy, to quantitatively describe the spatial structure, consequently establishing a heritage space morphological structure indicator system. Finally, spatial clustering methods are used to integrate the spatial topology system with the morphological structure indicator system, resulting in a feature model for residential urban heritage spaces. The research results indicate that the transformation path of residential space paradigms is mainly influenced by spatial topology, affecting the structure of residential heritage spaces in three aspects: functional layout, building density, and spatial form. This phenomenon, in turn, impacts population distribution and the migration of living spaces. However, at the same time, the &ldquo;resistance effect&rdquo; of street and lane spaces and the limitations of architectural forms on spatial functions have protected the integrity and authenticity of the internal space.

Historians of Modern Architecture have cultivated the image of the architect as a temperamental genius, unconcerned by issues of politeness or pragmatics—a reading reinforced in cultural representations of Modern Architects, such as Howard Roark, the protagonist in Ayn Rand’s 1943 novel The Fountainhead (a character widely believed to be based on the architect Frank Lloyd Wright). The perception of the Modern Architect as an artistic hero or genius has also influenced the reception of their work. Despite their indisputable place within the architectural canon, many important works of Modern Architecture were contested on pragmatic grounds, such as cost, brief and particularly concerning issues of suitability and effectiveness in relation to climate and weather. A number of famed cases resulted in legal action between clients and architects, and in many more examples historians have critically framed these accounts to highlight alternate issues and agendas. “Complaints about the weather,” in relation to architecture, inevitably raise issues regarding a work’s “success,” particularly in view of the tensions between artistry and functionality inherent in the discipline of architecture. While in more recent decades these ideas have been framed around ideas of sustainability—particularly in relation to contemporary buildings—more traditionally they have been engaged through discussions of an architect’s ethical responsibility to deliver a habitable building that meets the client’s needs. This paper suggests these complaints often raise a broader range of issues and are used to highlight tensions inherent in the discipline. In the history of Modern Architecture, these complaints are often framed through gender studies, ethics and, more recently, artistic asceticism. Accounts of complaints and disputes are often invoked in the social construction (or deconstruction) of artistic genius – whether in a positive or negative light. Through its discussion of a number of famed examples, this paper will discuss the framing of climate in relation to the figure of the Modern Architect and the reception of the architectural “masterpiece.” Dear Monsieur Le Corbusier … In June 1930 Mme Savoye, the patron of the famed Villa Savoye on the outskirts of Paris, wrote to her architect, Le Corbusier, stating: “it is still raining in our garage” (Sbriglio 144)—a persistent theme in their correspondence. This letter followed another sent in March after discovering leaks in the garage and several bedrooms following a visit during inclement weather. While sent prior to the building’s completion, she also noted that rainfall on the bathroom skylight “makes a terrible noise […] which prevents us from sleeping in bad weather” (Sbriglio 142). Claiming to have warned Le Corbusier about the concern, the contractor refused to accept responsibility, prompting some rather fiery correspondence between the two. This problem, compounded by issues with the heating system, resulted in the house feeling, as Sbriglio notes, “cold and damp” and subject to “substantial heat loss due to the large glazing”—a cause for particular concern given the health problems of the clients’ only child, Roger Savoye, that saw him spend time in a French Sanatorium (Sbriglio 145). While the cause of Roger’s illness is not clear, at least one writer (albeit with a noticeable lack of footnotes or supporting evidence) has linked this directly to the villa (de Botton 65). Mme Savoye’s complaints about dampness, humidity, condensation and leaking in her home persisted in subsequent years, prompting Benton to summarise in 1987, “every autumn […] there were cries of distress from the Savoye family with the first rains” (Villas 204). These also extended to discussion of the heating system, which while proving insufficient was also causing flooding (Benton, "Villa" 93). In 1935 Savoye again wrote to Le Corbusier, wearily stating: It is raining in the hall, it’s raining on the ramp and the wall of the garage is absolutely soaked [….] it’s still raining in my bathroom, which floods in bad weather, as the water comes in through the skylight. The gardener’s walls are also wet through. (Sbriglio 146-7) Savoye’s understandable vexation with waterproofing problems in her home continued to escalate. With a mixture of gratitude and frustration, a letter sent two years later stated: “After innumerable demands you have finally accepted that this house which you built in 1929 in uninhabitable…. Please render it inhabitable immediately. I sincerely hope that I will not have to take recourse to legal action” (Sbriglio 147). Paradoxically, Le Corbusier was interested in the potential of architecture and urban planning to facilitate health and well-being, as well as the effects that climate may play in this. Early twentieth century medical thought advocated heliotherary (therapeutic exposure to sunlight) for a diverse range of medical conditions, ranging from rickets to tuberculosis. Similarly the health benefits of climate, such as the dryness of mountain air, had been recognised for much longer, and had led to burgeoning industries associated with health, travel and climate. The dangers of damp environments had also long been medically recognised. Le Corbusier’s awareness of the health benefits of sunshine led to the inclusion of a solarium in the villa that afforded both framed and unframed views of the surrounding countryside, such as those that were advocated in the seventeenth century as an antidote to melancholy (Burton 65-66). Both Benton and Sbriglio present Mme Savoye’s complaints as part of their comprehensive histories of an important and influential work of Modern Architecture. Each reproduce excerpts from archival letters that are not widely translated or accessible, and Benton’s 1984 essay is the source other authors generally cite in discussing these matters. In contrast, for example, Murphy’s 2002 account of the villa’s conversion from “house” to “historical monument” cites the same letters (via Benton) as part of a broader argument that highlights the “undomestic” or “unhomely” nature of the work by cataloguing such accounts of the client’s experience of discomfort while residing in the space – thus revisiting a number of common criticisms of Modern Architecture. Le Corbusier’s reputation for designing buildings that responded poorly to climate is often referenced in popular accounts of his work. For example, a 1935 article published in Time states: Though the great expanses of glass that he favors may occasionally turn his rooms into hothouses, his flat roofs may leak and his plans may be wasteful of space, it was Architect Le Corbusier who in 1923 put the entire philosophy of modern architecture into a single sentence: “A house is a machine to live in.” Reference to these issues are usually made rather minimally in academic accounts of his work, and few would agree with this article’s assertion that Le Corbusier’s influence as a phrasemaker would rival the impact of his architecture. In contrast, such issues, in relation to other architects, are often invoked more rhetorically as part of a variety of historical agendas, particularly in constructing feminist histories of architecture. While Corbusier and his work have often been the source of intellectual contention from feminist scholars—for example in regard to authorial disputes and fractious relationships with the likes of Eileen Gray or Charlotte Perriand – discussion of the functional failures in the Villa Savoye are rarely addressed from this perspective. Rather, feminist scholars have focussed their attention on a number of other projects, most notably the case of the Farnsworth House, another canonical work of Modernism. Dear Herr Mies van der Rohe … Mies van der Rohe’s Farnsworth House, completed in 1951 in Plano Illinois, was commissioned as a country weekend residence by an unmarried female doctor, a brief credited with freeing the architect from many of the usual pragmatic requirements of a permanent city residence. In response Mies designed a rectilinear steel and glass pavilion, which hovered (to avoid the flood levels) above the landscape, sheltered by maple trees, in close proximity to the Fox River. The refined architectural detail, elegant formal properties, and poetic relationship with the surrounding landscape – whether in its autumnal splendour or covered in a thick blanket of snow – captivated architects seeing it become, like the Villa Savoye, one of the most revered architectural works of the twentieth century. Prior to construction a model was exhibited in the Museum of Modern Art in New York and, upon completion the building became a pilgrimage site for architects and admirers. The exhibition of the design later fuelled debate about whether Dr Farnsworth constituted a patron or a client (Friedman 134); a distinction generating very different expectations for the responsibilities of the architect, particularly regarding the production of a habitable home that met the client’s brief versus producing a design of architectural merit. The house was intended as a frame for viewing and contemplating nature, thus seeing nature and climate aligned with the transcendental qualities of the design. Following a visit during construction, Farnsworth described the building’s relationship to the elements, writing: “the two horizontal planes of the unfinished building, floating over the meadows, were unearthly beautiful under a sun which glowed like a wild rose” (5). Similarly, in 1951, Arthur Drexler described the building as “a quantity of air caught between a floor and a roof” (Vandenberg 6). Seven years later the architect himself asserted that nature “gained a more profound significance” when viewed from within the house (Friedman 139). While the transparency of the house was “forgiven” by its isolated location and the lack of visibility from neighbouring properties, the issues a glass and steel box might pose for the thermal comfort of its occupant are not difficult to imagine. Following the house’s completion, Farnsworth fitted windows with insect screens and blinds (although Mies intended for curtains to be installed) that clumsily undermined the refined and minimalistic architectural details. Controversy surrounding the house was, in part, the result of its bold new architectural language. However, it was also due to the architect-client relationship, which turned acrimonious in a very public manner. A dispute between Mies and Farnsworth regarding unpaid fees was fought both in the courtroom and the media, becoming a forum for broader debate as various journals (for example, House Beautiful), publicly took sides. The professional female client versus the male architect and the framing of their dispute by historians and the media has seen this project become a seminal case-study in feminist architectural histories, such as Friedman’s Women and the Making of the Modern House of 1998. Beyond the conflict and speculation about the individuals involved, at the core of these discussions were the inadequacies of the project in relation to comfort and climate. For example, Farnsworth describes in her journal finding the house awash with several inches of water, leading to a court session being convened on the rooftop in order to properly ascertain the defects (14). Written retrospectively, after their relationship soured, Farnsworth’s journal delights in recounting any errors or misjudgements made by Mies during construction. For example, she described testing the fireplace to find “the house was sealed so hermetically that the attempt of a flame to go up the chimney caused an interior negative pressure” (2). Further, her growing disenchantment was reflected in bleak descriptions aligning the building with the weather. Describing her first night camping in her home, she wrote: “the expanses of the glass walls and the sills were covered with ice. The silent meadows outside white with old and hardened snow reflected the bleak [light] bulb within, as if the glass house itself were an unshaded bulb of uncalculated watts lighting the winter plains” (9). In an April 1953 article in House Beautiful, Elizabeth Gordon publicly sided with Farnsworth as part of a broader campaign against the International Style. She condemned the home, and its ‘type’ as “unlivable”, writing: “You burn up in the summer and freeze in the winter, because nothing must interfere with the ‘pure’ form of their rectangles” (250). Gordon included the lack of “overhanging roofs to shade you from the sun” among a catalogue of “human qualities” she believed architects sacrificed for the expression of composition—a list that also included possessions, children, pets and adequate kitchen facilities (250). In 1998 excerpts from this article were reproduced by Friedman, in her seminal work of feminist architectural history, and were central in her discussion of the way that debates surrounding this house were framed through notions of gender. Responding to this conflict, and its media coverage, in 1960 Peter Blake wrote: All great houses by great architects tend to be somewhat impractical; many of Corbu’s and Wright’s house clients find that they are living in too expensive and too inefficient buildings. Yet many of these clients would never exchange their houses for the most workable piece of mediocrity. (88) Far from complaining about the weather, the writings of its second owner, Peter Palumbo, poetically meditate the building’s relationship to the seasons and the elements. In his foreword to a 2003 monograph, he wrote: life inside the house is very much a balance with nature, and an extension of nature. A change in the season or an alteration of the landscape creates a marked change in the mood inside the house. With an electric storm of Wagnerian proportions illuminating the night sky and shaking the foundations of the house to their very core, it is possible to remain quite dry! When, with the melting snows of spring, the Fox River becomes a roaring torrent that bursts its banks, the house assumes a character of a house-boat, the water level sometimes rising perilously close to the front door. On such occasions, the approach to the house is by canoe, which is tied to the steps of the upper terrace. (Vandenberg 5) Palumbo purchased the house from Farnsworth and commissioned Mies’s grandson to restore it to its original condition, removing the blinds and insect screens, and installing an air-conditioning system. The critical positioning of Palumbo has been quite different from that of Farnsworth. His restoration and writings on the project have in some ways seen him positioned as the “real” architectural patron. Furthermore, his willingness to tolerate some discomfort in his inhabitation has seen him in some ways prefigure the type of resident that will be next be discussed in reference to recent owners of Wright properties. Dear Mr Wright … Accounts of weatherproofing problems in buildings designed by Frank Lloyd Wright have become the basis of mythology in the architectural discipline. For example, in 1936 Herbert Johnson and J. Vernon Steinle visited Wright’s Richard Lloyd Jones house in Oklahoma. As Jonathan Lipman wrote, “Steinle’s most prominent recollection of the house was that there were scores of tubs and canning jars in the house catching water leaking through the roof” (45). While Lipman notes the irony that both the house and office Wright designed for Johnson would suffer the same problem, it is the anecdotal accounts of the former that have perhaps attracted the most interest. An oft-recounted story tells of Johnson telephoning Wright, during a dinner party, with regard to water dripping from the ceiling into his guest-of-honour’s soup; the complaint was reportedly rebuffed unsympathetically by Wright who suggested the lady should move her chair (Farr 272). Wright himself addressed his reputation for designing buildings that leaked in his Autobiography. In reference to La Miniatura in Pasadena, of 1923, he contextualised difficulties with the local climate, which he suggested was prone to causing leaks, writing: “The sun bakes the roof for eleven months, two weeks and five days, shrinking it to a shrivel. Then giving the roof no warning whatever to get back to normal if it could, the clouds burst. Unsuspecting roof surfaces are deluged by a three inch downpour.” He continued, stating: I knew all this. And I know there are more leaking roofs in Southern California than in all the rest of the world put together. I knew that the citizens come to look upon water thus in a singularly ungrateful mood. I knew that water is all that enables them to have their being there, but let any of it through on them from above, unexpectedly, in their houses and they go mad. It is a kind of phobia. I knew all this and I have taken seriously precautions in the details of this little house to avoid such scenes as a result of negligible roofs. This is the truth. (250) Wright was quick to attribute blame—directed squarely at the builder. Never one for quiet diplomacy, he complained that the “builder had lied to [him] about the flashing under and within the coping walls” (250) and he was ignorant of the incident because the client had not informed him of the leak. He suggested the client’s silence was undoubtedly due to her “not wishing to hurt [his] feelings”. Although given earlier statements it might be speculated that she did not wish to be accused of pandering to a phobia of leaks. Wright was dismissive of the client’s inconvenience, suggesting she would be able to continue as normal until the next rains the following year and claiming he “fixed the house” once he “found out about it” (250). Implicit in this justification was the idea that it was not unreasonable to expect the client to bear a few days of “discomfort” each year in tolerance of the local climate. In true Wright style, discussions of these problems in his autobiography were self-constructive concessions. While Wright refused to take responsibility for climate-related issues in La Minatura, he was more forthcoming in appreciating the triumphs of his Imperial Hotel in Japan—one of the only buildings in the vicinity to survive the 1923 earthquake. In a chapter of his autobiography titled “Building against Doomsday (Why the Great Earthquake did not destroy the Imperial Hotel),” Wright reproduced a telegram sent by Okura Impeho stating: “Hotel stands undamaged as monument of your genius hundreds of homeless provided perfectly maintained service. Congratulations” (222). Far from unconcerned by nature or climate, Wright’s works celebrated and often went to great effort to accommodate the poetic qualities of these. In reference to his own home, Taliesin, Wright wrote: I wanted a home where icicles by invitation might beautify the eaves. So there were no gutters. And when the snow piled deep on the roofs […] icicles came to hang staccato from the eaves. Prismatic crystal pendants sometimes six feet long, glittered between the landscape and the eyes inside. Taliesin in winter was a frosted palace roofed and walled with snow, hung with iridescent fringes. (173) This description was, in part, included as a demonstration of his “superior” understanding and appreciation of nature and its poetic possibilities; an understanding not always mirrored by his clients. Discussing the Lloyd Lewis House in Libertyville, Illinois of 1939, Wright described his endeavours to keep the house comfortable (and avoid flooding) in Spring, Autumn and Summer months which, he conceded, left the house more vulnerable to winter conditions. Utilising an underfloor heating system, which he argued created a more healthful natural climate rather than an “artificial condition,” he conceded this may feel inadequate upon first entering the space (495). Following the client’s complaints that this system and the fireplace were insufficient, particularly in comparison with the temperature levels he was accustomed to in his workplace (at The Daily News), Wright playfully wrote: I thought of various ways of keeping the writer warm, I thought of wiring him to an electric pad inside his vest, allowing lots of lead wire so he could get around. But he waved the idea aside with contempt. […] Then I suggested we appeal to Secretary Knox to turn down the heat at the daily news […] so he could become acclimated. (497) Due to the client’s disinclination to bear this discomfort or use any such alternate schemes, Wright reluctantly refit the house with double-glazing (at the clients expense). In such cases, discussion of leaks or thermal discomfort were not always negative, but were cited rhetorically implying that perfunctory building techniques were not yet advanced enough to meet the architect’s expectations, or that their creative abilities were suppressed by conservative or difficult clients. Thus discussions of building failures have often been invoked in the social construction of the “architect-genius.” Interestingly accounts of the permeability of Wright’s buildings are more often included in biographical rather that architectural writings. In recent years, these accounts of weatherproofing problems have transformed from accusing letters or statements implying failure to a “badge of honour” among occupants who endure discomfort for the sake of art. This changing perspective is usually more pronounced in second generation owners, like Peter Palumbo (who has also owned Corbusier and Wright designed homes), who are either more aware of the potential problems in owning such a house or are more tolerant given an understanding of the historical worth of these projects. This is nowhere more evident than in a profile published in the real estate section of the New York Times. Rather than concealing these issues to preserve the resale value of the property, weatherproofing problems are presented as an endearing quirk. The new owners of Wright’s Prefab No. 1 of 1959, on Staten Island declared they initially did not have enough pots to place under the fifty separate leaks in their home, but in December 2005 proudly boasted they were ‘down to only one leak’ (Bernstein, "Living"). Similarly, in 2003 the resident of a Long Island Wright-designed property, optimistically claimed that while his children often complained their bedrooms were uncomfortably cold, this encouraged the family to spend more time in the warmer communal spaces (Bernstein, "In a House"). This client, more than simply optimistic, (perhaps unwittingly) implies an awareness of the importance of “the hearth” in Wright’s architecture. In such cases complaints about the weather are re-framed. The leaking roof is no longer representative of gender or power relationships between the client and the uncompromising artistic genius. Rather, it actually empowers the inhabitant who rises above their circumstances for the sake of art, invoking a kind of artistic asceticism. While “enlightened” clients of famed architects may be willing to suffer the effects of climate in the interiors of their homes, their neighbours are less tolerant as suggested in a more recent example. Complaints about the alteration of the micro-climate surrounding Frank Gehry’s Walt Disney Concert Hall in Los Angeles prompted the sandblasting of part of the exterior cladding to reduce glare. In 2004, USA Today reported that reflections from the stainless steel cladding were responsible for raising the temperature in neighbouring buildings by more than 9° Celsius, forcing neighbours to close their blinds and operate their air-conditioners. There were also fears that the glare might inadvertently cause traffic problems. Further, one report found that average ground temperatures adjacent to the building peaked at approximately 58° Celsius (Schiler and Valmont). Unlike the Modernist examples, this more recent project has not yet been framed in aid of a critical agenda, and has seemingly been reported simply for being “newsworthy.” Benign Conversation Discussion of the suitability of Modern Architecture in relation to climate has proven a perennial topic of conversation, invoked in the course of recurring debates and criticisms. The fascination with accounts of climate-related problems—particularly in discussing the work of the great Modernist Architects like Le Corbusier, Mies van der Rohe and Frank Lloyd Wright—is in part due to a certain Schadenfreude in debunking the esteem and authority of a canonical figure. This is particularly the case with one, such as Wright, who was characterised by significant self-confidence and an acerbic wit often applied at the expense of others. Yet these accounts have been invoked as much in the construction of the figure of the architect as a creative genius as they have been in the deconstruction of this figure—as well as the historical construction of the client and the historians involved. In view of the growing awareness of the threats and realities of climate change, complaints about the weather are destined to adopt a new significance and be invoked in support of a different range of agendas. While it may be somewhat anachronistic to interpret the designs of Frank Lloyd Wright or Mies van der Rohe in terms of current discussions about sustainability in architecture, these topics are often broached when restoring, renovating or adapting the designs of such architects for new or contemporary usage. In contrast, the climatic problems caused by Gehry’s concert hall are destined to be framed according to a different set of values—such as the relationship of his work to the time, or perhaps in relation to contemporary technology. While discussion of the weather is, in the conversational arts, credited as benign topic, this is rarely the case in architectural history. References Benton, Tim. The Villas of Le Corbusier 1920-1930. New Haven: Yale UP, 1987. ———. “Villa Savoye and the Architects’ Practice (1984).” Le Corbusier: The Garland Essays. Ed. H. Allen Brooks. New York: Garland, 1987. 83-105. Bernstein, Fred A. “In a House That Wright Built.” New York Times 21 Sept. 2003. 3 Aug. 2009 < http://www.nytimes.com/2003/09/21/nyregion/in-a-house-that-wright-built.html >. ———. “Living with Frank Lloyd Wright.” New York Times 18 Dec. 2005. 30 July 2009 < http://www.nytimes.com/2005/12/18/realestate/18habi.html >. Blake, Peter. Mies van der Rohe: Architecture and Structure. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1963 (1960). Burton, Robert. The Anatomy of Melancholy, vol. II. Eds. Nicolas K. Kiessling, Thomas C. Faulkner and Rhonda L. Blair. Oxford: Clarendon, 1995 (1610). Campbell, Margaret. “What Tuberculosis Did for Modernism: The Influence of a Curative Environment on Modernist Design and Architecture.” Medical History 49 (2005): 463–488. “Corbusierismus”. Art. Time 4 Nov. 1935. 18 Aug. 2009 < http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,755279,00.html >. De Botton, Alain. The Architecture of Happiness. London: Penguin, 2006. Farnsworth, Edith. ‘Chapter 13’, Memoirs. Unpublished journals in three notebooks, Farnsworth Collection, Newberry Library, Chicago, unpaginated (17pp). 29 Jan. 2009 < http://www.farnsworthhouse.org/pdf/edith_journal.pdf >. Farr, Finis. Frank Lloyd Wright: A Biography. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1961. Friedman, Alice T. Women and the Making of the Modern House: A Social and Architectural History. New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1998. Gordon, Elizabeth. “The Threat to the Next America.” House Beautiful 95.4 (1953): 126-30, 250-51. Excerpts reproduced in Friedman. Women and the Making of the Modern House. 140-141. Hardarson, Ævar. “All Good Architecture Leaks—Witticism or Word of Wisdom?” Proceedings of the CIB Joint Symposium 13-16 June 2005, Helsinki < http://www.metamorfose.ntnu.no/Artikler/Hardarson_all_good_architecture_leaks.pdf >. Huck, Peter. “Gehry’s Hall Feels Heat.” The Age 1 March 2004. 22 Aug. 2009 < http://www.theage.com.au/articles/2004/02 /27/1077676955090.html >. Lipman, Jonathan. Frank Lloyd Wright and the Johnson Wax Buildings. Introduction by Kenneth Frampton. London: Architectural Press, 1984. Murphy, Kevin D. “The Villa Savoye and the Modernist Historic Monument.” Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 61.1 (2002): 68-89. “New L.A. Concert Hall Raises Temperatures of Neighbours.” USA Today 24 Feb. 2004. 24 Aug. 2009 < http://www.usatoday.com/news/nation/2004-02-24-concert-hall_x.htm >. Owens, Mitchell. “A Wright House, Not a Shrine.” New York Times 25 July 1996. 30 July 2009 . Sbriglio, Jacques. Le Corbusier: La Villa Savoye, The Villa Savoye. Paris: Fondation Le Corbusier; Basel: Birkhäuser, 1999. Schiler, Marc, and Elizabeth Valmont. “Microclimatic Impact: Glare around the Walt Disney Concert Hall.” 2005. 24 Aug. 2009 < http://www.sbse.org/awards/docs/2005/1187.pdf >. Vandenberg, Maritz. Farnsworth House. Ludwig Mies van der Rohe. Foreword by Lord Peter Palumbo. London: Phaidon Press, 2003. Wright, Frank Lloyd. An Autobiography. New York: Duell, Sloan and Pearce, 1943.

Introduction The concept of ‘wellbeing’ is typically thought of in human-centric ways, referring to the affective feelings and bodily sensations that people may have which inform their sense of health, safety, and connection. However, as our everyday lives, identities, relationships, and embodiments become digitised and datafied, ‘wellbeing’ has taken on new practices and meanings. The use of digital technologies such as mobile and wearable devices, social media platforms, and networks of information mediate our interactions with others, as well as the ways we conceptualise what it means to be human, including where the body begins and ends. In turn, digital health technologies and ‘wellness’ cultures such as those promoted on social media sites such as Instagram, Pinterest, YouTube, TikTok, and Facebook have also shaped our understanding of ‘wellness’ and ‘wellbeing’, their parameters, and how they ought to be practiced and felt (Baker; Lupton Digital Health; Lupton et al.). For millennia, aspects of human bodies have been documented and materialised in a variety of ways to help people understand states of health and illness: including relationships to the environments in which they lived. Indigenous and other non-Western cosmologies have long emphasised the kinds of vibrancies and distributed agencies that are part of reciprocal more-than-human ‘manifestings’ of kinships, and have called for all people to adopt the role of stewards of the ecosystem (Bawaka Country et al.; Hernández et al.; Kimmerer; Rots; Todd; Tynan). In Western cultures, ideas of the human body that reach back to ancient times adopt a perspective that viewed the continuous flows of forces (the four humours) in conjunction with the elements of air, wind, earth, and fire inside and outside the body as contributing to states of health or ill health. It was believed that good health was maintained by ensuring a balance between these factors, including acknowledgement of the role played by climactic, ecological, and celestial conditions (Hartnell; Lagay). A more-than-human approach is beginning to be re-introduced into Western cultures through political activism and academic thinking about the harms to the planet caused by human actions, including global warming and climate crises, loss of habitats and ecological biodiversity, increased incidence of extreme weather events such as bushfires, floods, and cyclones, and emerging novel pathogens affecting the health not only of humans but of other living things (Lewis; Lupton Covid Societies; Lupton Internet of Animals; Neimanis et al.). Contemporary Western more-than-human philosophers argue for the importance of acknowledging our kinship with other living and non-living things as a way of repositioning ourselves within the cosmos and working towards better health and wellbeing for the planet (Abram; Braidotti; Plumwood). As these approaches emphasise, health, wellbeing, and kinship are always imbricated within material-social assemblages of humans and non-digital things which are constantly changing, and thereby generating emergent rather than fixed capacities (Lupton "Human-Centric"; Lupton et al.). In this article, we describe our More-than-Human Wellbeing exhibition. To date, new media, Internet, and communication studies have not devoted as much attention to more-than-human theory. It is this more-than-digital and more-than-human approach to health information and wellbeing that marks out our research program as particularly distinctive. Our research focusses on the many and varied digital and non-digital forms that information about health and bodies takes. We are interested in health data as they are made and form part of the objects and activities of people’s everyday lives and aim to expand the human-centric approach offered in digital health by positioning human health and embodiment as always imbricated within more-than-human ecosystems. We acknowledge that all environments (natural and human-built) are intertwined with humans, and that to a greater or lesser extent, all are configured with and through the often exploitative and extractive practices and ideologies of those living in late modern societies in which people are positioned as superior to and autonomous from other living things. Together with more-than-human scholarship, we take inspiration from work in which arts-based, multisensory, and museum curation methods are employed to draw attention to the intertwining of people and ecologies (Endt-Jones; Howes). Our exhibition was planned as a research translation and engagement project, communicating several of our studies’ findings in arts-based media (Lupton "Embodying"). In what follows, we outline the concepts leading to the creation of our exhibits and describe how these pieces materialise and extend more-than-human concepts of wellbeing and care. Five of the exhibits we created for this exhibition are discussed. They all draw on our research findings across a range of studies, together with more-than-human theory and medical history (Lupton "More-Than-Human"). We describe how we used these pieces to materialise more-than-human concepts of health, wellbeing, and kinship in ways that we hoped would provoke critical thought, affective responses, and open capacities for action for contributing to both human and nonhuman flourishing. The background, thinking, and modes of making leading to the creation of ‘Cabinet of Human/Digital/Data Curiosities’, ‘Smartphone Fungi’, ‘Hand of Signs’, ‘Silken Anatomies’, and ‘Talking/Flowers’ are explained below. Bodily Curios Vaughan Wozniak-O’Connor and Deborah Lupton. Cabinet of Human/Digital/Data Curiosities. Reclaimed timber, found objects, resin 3D prints. 2023. Fig. 1: Cabinet of Human/Digital/Data Curiosities. Fig. 2: Detail from Cabinet of Human/Digital/Data Curiosities. The objects we have placed in Cabinet of Human/Digital/Data Curiosities (figs. 1 and 2) mix together such things from the past as prosthetic human eyeballs and teeth used in medicine and dentistry in earlier eras. This collection of found and manufactured objects, both old and new, draws on the concept of the ‘cabinet of curiosities’, also known as cabinets of wonder, which first became popular in the sixteenth century. Artefacts were assembled together for viewing in a room or a display case. The items were chosen for being notable in some way by the curator, including objects from natural history, antiquities, and religious relics, as well as works of art. These collections, purchased, curated, and assembled by members of the nobility or the wealthy as a marker of refinement, knowledge, or social status, were the precursor of museums (Endt-Jones). We see digital devices such as mobile phones as one of a multitude of ways that operate to document and preserve elements of human embodiment – indeed, as contemporary ‘cabinets of curiosities’. Our cabinet also refers to the tradition of medical museums, which display preserved human organs, body parts, and tissue in glass bottles for pedagogical purposes. Under this model of health, specimens of both ‘ideal’ health and also ‘ill’ health – abnormalities in the flesh – were documented as a means of categorising wellbeing. Museums such as these would often treat diseased and disabled bodies as oddities and artefacts of ‘curiosity’. In this work, we reimagine and wind back this way of thinking, through displaying and drawing attention and curiosity towards signs of the body and the everyday. We are showing that wellbeing is more than a process of categorisation, comparison, or measurement of ‘ideal’ or ‘abnormal’; it is in the traces we leave behind us when we return to the earth. Our information data are human remains, moving as endless constellations of the interior and exterior of the body (Lupton Data Selves). In this artwork, both reclaimed wood and 3D-printed resin were used as a synergy between the natural and synthetic. Taking our cue from the manner of display of these items in medical museums, we have added our own curios, including 3D-printed body organs sprouting fungi (fig. 2), as a way of demonstrating the entanglements between humans and the fungal kingdom. Interspersed among these relics of human bodies is a discarded mobile phone with its screen badly shattered. It is displayed as a more recent antiquated object for making images and collecting, storing, and displaying information and images about human bodies, which itself is subject to disastrous events despite its original high-tech veneer of glossy impermeability. Technologies are more-than-flesh as human-made simulacra of body parts. Our wellbeing is sensed and made sense of through bodies’ entanglements of human and nonhuman. These curios both materialise traces of our bodies and wellbeing and extend our bodies into the physical spaces we inhabit and through which we move. Reading the Traces and Signs Vaughan Wozniak-O’Connor and Deborah Lupton. Smartphone Fungi. Recycled European oak, 3D printed resin, CNC carved plywood. 2023 Vaughan Wozniak-O’Connor and Deborah Lupton. Hand of Signs. Laser-etched walnut and plywood. 2023. Fig. 3: Smartphone Fungi. / Fig. 4: Detail from Smartphone Fungi. Wellbeing is also a process of mark-making, realised through the reciprocal impressions we leave on each other and the world around us. In Smart Phone Fungi (figs. 3 and 4) we capture the idea of ‘recording’ that takes place between people, technologies, and the natural world. It was inspired by a huge tree which members of our team noticed on a bush walk in the Blue Mountains, near Sydney, Australia. Growing from this tree were fungi of similar size and shape to the smartphone that was used to capture the image. In our interpretation, a piece of reclaimed timber was used to represent the tree, itself marked by its human use, and fungal shapes replicating those on the tree were produced using computer numerical controlled (CNC) carving. The central timber post is covered with human and more-than-human traces, such as old tool marks, weather damage, and wood borer holes. Alongside these traces, the CNC-carved fungi forms add a conspicuously digital layer of human intervention. Fig. 5: Hand of Signs. In Hand of Signs (fig. 5), we extend this idea of both organic and digital data traces as something that can be ‘read’ or interpreted. Inspired by the practice of palmistry, this work re-interprets line reading, the historical wooden anatomical model, and human body scanning as ways of reading for signs of wellbeing in past and future. Palm readers interpret people’s character, health, longevity, and other aspects of their lives through the creases and traces of development, wear, and deteriorations in the skin of our hands (Chinn). Life leaves its traces on our palms. The piece also refers to the newer tradition of digitising human bodies (Lupton Quantified Self; Lupton et al.), employing scanning and data visualising technologies, which uses spatial GPS data to deduce patterns of human activity. For both palmistry and in more contemporary monitoring technologies, one’s wellbeing can be deduced through the map: the lines of the palm and the errant traces collected by satellites and sensors. To reflect this relation between mapping and palmistry, our updated anatomical model references both the contours of 3D geospatial data and of the human palm. However, this piece looks to represent more layers of data beyond those captured by GPS data. By using reclaimed wood to construct this human hand model, we are again making an analogy between the marks of growth and life that timber displays and those that the human body bears and develops as people move through more-than-worlds throughout their lifespans. The piece also seeks to draw attention to the various ‘signs’ that have been used across centuries to interpret the current and future health and wellbeing of humans (once markings on or morphologies of the body, now often the digitised visualisations of the internal operations and physical movements of the body that are generated by digital health technologies), superimposing older and newer modes of corporeal knowledge. Layers of Mediation Megan Rose. Silken Anatomies. Digital print on satin and yoryu silk chiffon. 2023. Ash Watson. Talking/Flowers. Collage and digital inkjet on paper. 2023. Fig. 6: Detail from Silken Anatomies. The ways that we come to sense and understand wellbeing are also mediated through the reproductive interplay of natural and technological elements. Silken Anatomies (fig. 6) was inspired by anatomical prints from the Renaissance showing details of the interiors of human bodies and organs together with living things and objects from the natural world. These webs of interconnectivity were thought to be key to wellbeing and health. Produced at scale through metal engraving and woodblock printing, these natural history and compendia took on major importance as part of these educational resources (Kemp; Swan). In an effort to extend the reach of artefacts beyond their tangible presence, libraries globally have sought to create open access digital scans of historic medical and botanical illustrations. The images reconfigured in Silken Anatomies were downloaded from the Wellcome Trust’s online archive and have been reimagined through digital enhancement and sublimation dye techniques. Referencing shrouds, the yoryu silk panels enfold exhibition visitors, who were able to touch and pass through the silks, causing them to billow in response to human movement. We bring together an animal-made material (crafted by silkworms) with more-than-human images featuring both humans and other living creatures. The vibrancies of these beautifully engraved and coloured anatomical images are given a new life and a new feel, both affectively and sensuously, through this piece. We can both see and touch these more-than-human illustrations that speak to us of the early modern natural science visualisations that underpin contemporary digital images of the human body and the more-than-human world. The vibrancies of these beautifully engraved and coloured anatomical plates are given a new life and a new feel, both affectively and sensuously. The digital is returned to the tangible. Fig. 7: Detail from Talking/Flowers. Even in increasingly digitised healthcare environments, paper and other printed materials remain central documents in the landscape of health and wellbeing. Zines are small-scale, DIY, and typically handcrafted publications, which are often made to express creators’ thoughts and feelings about health and wellbeing (Lupton "Health Zines"; Watson and Bennett). Talking/Flowers (fig. 7), a zine of visual and textual work, explores the materialities of health information and healthcare encounters by creatively layering a diverse range of materials: clippings from MRI scans, digitally warped and recoloured images from medical infographics, and found poetry made from research publications. In this way, the zine remixes and reconstitutes key documents of authority in health institutions which continue to take primacy as evidence. While vital in the pipeline of diagnosis and treatment, such documents can become black boxes of meaning, and serve to distance health professionals from consumers and consumers from agentic understandings of their own health. These evidentiary materials are brought together here with other imagery, textures, and recollections of personal experience; the pages also feature leaves, flowers, fungi, and oceanic tones. Oceans, pools, rivers, lakes, and other coastal forms or waterways offer all-consuming sensory spaces in which people can find calm, balance, buoyancy, and connection with the wider world. Aqua tides, purple eddies, and misshapen pearls flow through the pages as the golden thread of the zine’s aesthetic theme. Also featured are three original poems. The first and third poems, ‘talking to a doctor’ and ‘talking to other people’, explore moments of relational vulnerability. The second poem, ‘untitled’, is a found poem made from the conclusions of sociologist Talcott Parsons’s 1975 article on the sick role reconsidered. In each of these poems, information and communication jar the encounters and more-than-human metaphors hold space for complex feelings. The cover similarly merges imagery from botanical and historical medical illustrations with a silver shell, evoking the morphological dimensions that connect the more-than-human. Exhibition visitors were able to turn the pages of the original copy of the zine, and were invited to take a printed copy away with them. Conclusion More-than-Human Wellbeing is an exhibition which aims to expand the horizons of how we understand wellbeing and our entanglements with the world. Our exhibition was designed to draw on our research into the more-than-human dimensions of health and wellbeing in the context of an increasingly digitised and datafied world. We wanted to attune visitors to the relational connections and multisensory ways of knowing that develop with and through people’s encounters and entanglements with creatures, things, and spaces. We sought to demonstrate that in this digital age, in which digital devices and software are often considered the most accurate and insightful ways to monitor and measure health and wellbeing, multisensory and affective engagements with elements of the natural environment remain crucial to understanding our bodies and health. Through engagements with our artworks, we hoped that new capacities for visitors’ learning and thinking about the relational and distributed dimensions of more-than-human wellbeing would be opened. While traditionally thought of as human-centered, we explore human health and wellbeing as interconnected with both the natural and technological. We used materials from the natural world – timber, paper materials, and silk fabric – in our artworks to capture both the multigenerational traces and entanglements between humans and plant matter. Recent works of natural and cultural history have drawn attention to the mysterious and important worlds of the fungi kingdom and its role in supporting and living symbiotically with other life on earth, including humans as well as plants (Sheldrake; Tsing). We also made sure to acknowledge this third kingdom of living things in our artworks. We combined these images and materials from nature with digitised modes of printing and fabrication to highlight the intersections of the digital with the non-digital in representations and sensory feelings of health and wellbeing. We disrupt and make strange signs of traditional human-centric medicine through reconfigurations, bricolage, and re-imaginations of more-than-human wellbeing. As humans we are interconnected with the natural world, and the signs of these meetings can be traced and read. Through our artistic creations, we hope to re-orient people towards this more open way of thinking about wellbeing. Working with arts practices and creative data visualisations, both digital and analogue, we bring to the fore the role that more-than-human agents play in mediating and making these convivial more-than-digital connections. Acknowledgments This research was funded by the ARC Centre of Excellence for Automated Decision-Making and Society (CE200100005) and a Faculty of Arts, Design & Architecture collaboration grant. UNSW Library provided financial and curatorial support for the mounting of the exhibition. References Abram, David. "Wild Ethics and Participatory Science: Thinking between the Body and the Breathing Earth." Planet. Volume 1. Kinship: Belonging in a World of Relations. Eds. Gavin van Horn et al. Center for Humans & Nature Press, 2021. 50-62. 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Digital Health: Critical and Cross-Disciplinary Perspectives. Routledge, 2017. ———. "Embodying Social Science Research – the Exhibition as a Form of Multi-Sensory Research Communication." LSE Impact of the Social Sciences, 2023. <https://blogs.lse.ac.uk/impactofsocialsciences/2023/07/12/embodying-social-science-research-the-exhibition-as-a-form-of-multi-sensory-research-communication/>. ———. "From Human-Centric Digital Health to Digital One Health: Crucial New Directions for Mutual Flourishing." Digital Health 8 (2022). DOI: 10.1177/20552076221129103. ———. "Health Zines: Hand-Made and Heart-Felt." Routledge Handbook of Health and Media. Eds. Lester Friedman and Therese Jones. Routledge, 2022. 65-76. ———. The Internet of Animals: Human-Animals Relationships in the Digital Age. Polity Press, 2023. ———. "The More-than-Human Wellbeing Exhibition." <https://dlupton.com/>. ———. The Quantified Self: A Sociology of Self-Tracking. Polity Press, 2016. Lupton, Deborah, et al. "Digitized and Datafied Embodiment: A More-than-Human Approach." Palgrave Handbook of Critical Posthumanism. Eds. Stefan Herbrechter et al. Springer International Publishing, 2022. 1-23. DOI: 10.1007/978-3-030-42681-1_65-1. Neimanis, Astrida, et al. "Four Problems, Four Directions for Environmental Humanities: Toward Critical Posthumanities for the Anthropocene." Ethics & the Environment 20.1 (2015): 67-97. Plumwood, Val. Feminism and the Mastery of Nature. Routledge, 2002. Rots, Aike P. Shinto, Nature and Ideology in Contemporary Japan: Making Sacred Forests. Bloomsbury Publishing, 2017. Sheldrake, Merlin. Entangled Life: How Fungi Make Our Worlds, Change Our Minds & Shape Our Futures. Random House, 2020. Swan, Claudia. "Illustrated Natural History." Prints and the Pursuit of Knowledge in Early Modern Europe. Ed. Susan Dackerman. Harvard Art Museums, 2011. 186-191. Todd, Zoe. "An Indigenous Feminist's Take on the Ontological Turn: ‘Ontology’ Is Just Another Word for Colonialism." Journal of Historical Sociology 29.1 (2016): 4-22. Tsing, Anna Lowenhaupt. The Mushroom at the End of the World: On the Possibility of Life in Capitalist Ruins. Princeton UP, 2015. Tynan, Lauren. "What Is Relationality? Indigenous Knowledges, Practices and Responsibilities with Kin." cultural geographies 28.4 (2021): 597-610. DOI: 10.1177/14744740211029287. Watson, Ash, and Andy Bennett. "The Felt Value of Reading Zines." American Journal of Cultural Sociology 9.2 (2021): 115-149. DOi: 10.1057/s41290-020-00108-9.

Introduction: Cities as Open-Ended Place-Making Events The shaping and development of cities can be understood as a “place-making” process. Through the assemblage of diverse human and non-human elements—including various social and natural elements—abstract space gains meaning and is transformed into the more concrete form of place (Jaffe and Koning). Indeed, people, nature, arts, and architecture can all contribute to constituting a city, and depending on how these elements engage with each other, each city can be shaped differently, which makes cities “inherently dynamic and heterogeneous” (Jaffe and Koning 24). Furthermore, as these various elements and their meanings can accumulate, be changed, or even diminish over time, place boundaries can also be constantly renegotiated or rebuilt. In other words, place can be characterised as its “throwntogetherness” (Massey 283), which represents temporal and spatial shifts accumulated and woven together in a place, and place-making can be understood as an open-ended event that involves various acts of “territorial meaning-making” (Jaffe and Koning 23). In line with this understanding of place-making as a dynamic, ongoing process, by investigating changes in the ways that local communities engage with cultural heritage, the study reported here explores how cultural heritage can contribute to the development of a city. Among many other meaning-making elements that may constitute a city, a cultural heritage itself may represent or enfold the dynamics and heterogeneity of a place. The United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organisation (UNESCO) defines heritage as “our legacy from the past, what we live with today, and what we pass on to future generations. Our cultural and natural heritage are both irreplaceable sources of life and inspiration” (UNESCO). This definition suggests that heritage embodies history imbued with value and meaning for today and for the future. Cultural heritage may mobilise or recollect emotions, memories, and experiences, which may generate new cultures and values (Chung and Lee). Cultural heritage is not only a primary means of creating and nurturing a collective identity (Graham, Ashworth, and Tunbridge). It can also be refashioned and commodified as a marketable and consumable product. In other words, cultural heritage may contribute to the shaping of regional identities and the development of cultural products that may affect local communities socially and economically. Against this backdrop, this article examines how, as a constitutive element of a city, cultural heritage can add different kinds of values and meanings in accordance with the ways that the local communities perceive and engage with cultural heritage. To this end, this research presents a case study of the South Korean city of Andong, recognised as a cultural city with abundant tangible and intangible cultural heritages. Specifically, by adopting a qualitative approach that combines archival research, fieldwork, and observation, we trace Andong’s regional history and the changes in its cultural policies from the 1950s to the 2000s. We discuss Andong’s regional development with regard to using and refashioning cultural heritage. In so doing, we argue that conserving cultural heritage and facilitating heritage tourism—agendas seemingly in competition with each other—can complement sustainable regional development. We suggest that reconceptualising cities by drawing on the convergence of virtual and actual spaces, which involves the digitisation of cultural heritage, may open up new possibilities for extending the value and meaning of cultural heritage, as well as reconciling competing agendas and achieving sustainable regional development. Andong, the Capital of Korean Spirit Korea and other East Asian countries have accumulated heritages from regional folk culture, Buddhism, and Confucianism. Andong has abundance of both tangible and intangible heritages related to Korean folk culture, Buddhism, and Confucianism, some of which are listed as UNESCO World Heritage Sites (e.g. the Hahoe Folk Village, the Bongjeongsa Buddhist temple, and the Dosanseowon and Byeongsanseowon Confucian academies). Even though Andong is not in a metropolitan area and has a small population compared to many other Korean cities, its abundant and diverse heritage has made it a recognised cultural city. As of 2021, the number of cultural assets designated in Andong, according to the Korean Cultural Heritage Protection Act, is 333. This number is the second largest in the country, after Gyeongju, the capital of the Silla Kingdom (57 BC–935 AD). Andong is the origin of a traditional Korean folk religion called “Seongjusinang”. Practitioners of this religion worship household spirits who protect a house. Andong has also inherited various folk games and performances, such as Chajeonnori (fig. 1) and Notdaribalgi (fig. 2). In addition, Buseoksa, a Buddhist temple located in Yeongju in the greater Andong area, led the development of Buddhist culture during the Three Kingdoms period (57 BC–668 AD) and the Goryeo period (918–1392). During the Joseon Dynasty, Confucianism also flourished through the initiative of Toegye Yi Hwang and Seoae Ryu Seong-ryong, both of whom were well-recognised Korean Confucian scholars. In fact, Andong has a particularly solid Confucian tradition with its twenty-six private Confucian educational institutions, called “Seowon” (fig. 3), and other villages and buildings representing Confucian philosophy, rituals, and customs. Fig. 1: Chajeonnori: a folk game involving team battles. Fig. 2: Notdaribalgi: a female folk performance that involves making a human bridge. Fig. 3: Dosanseowon Confucian Academy (listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2019). Preserving these diverse cultural artefacts and traditions is one of the main reasons that Andong claims to be the capital of Korean moral and spiritual culture (Steinmetz; K.I. Lee). Andong has been using and spreading the slogan “The Capital of Korean Spirit” since 2003, when former mayor Kim Hwi Dong started using the slogan for the first time to shape and develop the city's identity to share Andong's spiritual culture. The slogan officially became a registered brand at the Korean Intellectual Property Office in 2006. Cultural Heritage and Authenticity As briefly outlined in the previous section, Andong has diverse tangible and intangible heritages, and they are at the heart of the city’s identity. In contrast to other elements that constitute a city, cultural heritage is often regarded as an object of protection and preservation. Indeed, a cultural heritage has a fundamental, inherent value, as it manifests history, which may significantly influence how people form individual and collective identities and consolidate a sense of community. Therefore, preservation and restoration have often served as the primary approaches to cultural heritage. Particularly in the Korean context—as discussed in detail in the next section—conservation used to be prioritised in heritage management. However, in more recent times, cultural heritage has been recognised as an asset or resource for urban development; accordingly, many cities, including Andong, have become increasingly interested in heritage tourism as a means of promoting their city’s brand and boosting the local economy. The emergence of the concept of “existential authenticity” may be relevant to the paradigm shift in approaches to cultural heritage. In fact, “authenticity” is an elusive concept that can be interpreted in different ways. In the field of tourism, it conventionally has been considered related to toured objects. For example, “objective authenticity”, which is characterised as identifiable and measurable, is gauged in terms of whether a toured object is genuine or fake (Wang). Another type of object-related authenticity is “constructive authenticity”, which denotes authenticity as a negotiable quality constructed by perspectives, beliefs, expectations, or ideologies, rather than an inherent property (Wang; see also Boonzaaier and Wels). From this perspective, origins or traditions can be understood as a projection of images, preferences, or expectations; thus, copies or reproductions may also be considered authentic. Even though these two approaches are significantly different, both notions are oriented to “experiences of the authentic” (Moore et al.). By contrast, “existential authenticity” involves tourists’ experiences, that is, “personal or intersubjective feelings activated by the liminal process of tourist activities”, whereby people feel “more authentic and more freely self-expressed than in everyday life” (Wang 351–352). In other words, conservation may not be the only method for protecting cultural heritage and preserving its authenticity. Rather, heritage tourism, which provides tourists with authentic experiences, can be a way of adding new meanings and values to cultural heritage. This also suggests that not only cultural heritage as authentic objects, but also experiences of cultural heritage, can contribute to the territorial meaning-making process and constitute a city. In line with this understanding of different types of authenticity, the next section examines how Andong’s approaches to cultural heritage have changed over time. The Evolution of Cultural Policies: The Conservation of Cultural Heritage vs. Regional Development The development of Korean cultural policies needs to be understood in relation to the idiosyncrasy of Korean historical and societal contexts. After the Japanese colonial rule (1910–1945) and the Korean War (1950–1953), one of the primary concerns of the Korean government was to reconstruct the country and restore national pride by building and developing a Korean cultural identity. Against this background, Korean cultural policies until the 1980s were mainly oriented towards repairing, restoring, and preserving traditional culture rather than fostering tourism and leisure to pursue a nationalistic agenda (H.S. Kim; Min). In this regard, it is worth noting that the first Korean Folk Art Festival, as part of the national policy, was hosted to celebrate the tenth anniversary of the establishment of the Korean government in 1958, when Korea was still going through the aftermath of the Korean War, which ended up with the destruction of cultural and natural heritage in Korea. The festival was a kind of competition where regions presented their representative intangible cultural heritages, particularly folk performances. The Gyeongsangbuk-do province, led by Andong, participated in this competition by restoring Hahoebyeolsinguttallori (mask dance play originating from Hahoe Village [fig. 4], hereafter Hahoe Mask Dance [fig. 5]) and Notdaribalgi (female folk play [fig. 2]) with the support of Andong City, and the province won the presidential prize. Fig. 4: Hahoe Village: the origin of the Hahoe Mask Dance. Fig. 5: Performers in the Hahoe Mask Dance. Initially, the Korean Folk Art Festival was planned as a one-off kind of event. However, it became a recurring annual event to propagate and promote the national culture with governmental support under the Park Jung Hee regime (1963–1979) that pursued a nationalistic agenda (H.S. Kim). Afterwards, this event was developed in complementary relations with the Cultural Properties Protection Law established in 1962 as part of the legislation of heritage management and other regional folk festivals, which provided regional governments and local communities with a motivation for the discovery and restoration of cultural heritage. Traditional cultural heritages dispersed in many regions started to be discovered and restored with the massive administrative support of regional governments to take part in the Korean Folk Art Festival. Once a cultural heritage presented at the festival was awarded, the heritage was customarily designated as a national cultural property by the Cultural Properties Protection Law. This designation helps cultural heritage gain social authority and receive public attention (H.-D. Yoo). Furthermore, a heritage designated as a national cultural property was required to be reintroduced to the public, often through local events such as regional folk festivals, which reinforced local communities’ pride in their regional culture. In this scenario, Andong actively participated in the Korean Folk Art Festival. Indeed, a number of cultural performances have been officially designated as national and regional intangible cultural properties, including the Hahoe Mask Dance mentioned above, which have become representative of Andong’s regional culture, offering a foundation for its development as a cultural city. Cultural policies, however, were still limited to preservation and restoration pursuing objective authenticity until the 1980s. It appeared to lack an awareness that cultural heritage could be used for the regeneration or development of cities in the 1980s (Kim and Kim). The conservation of cultural heritage and regional development have often been regarded as competing agendas, because cultural heritage is normally considered to be different from other tourism resources. Indeed, authenticity is a fundamental value sought in cultural heritage. Therefore, preservation and restoration often used to be primary approaches to cultural heritage. However, as discussed in the previous section, authenticity is not merely a binary concept that differentiates between the real and the fake in terms of the accurate representation of the past, but it can be a generative value that can be constituted or negotiated based on various perspectives, beliefs, and experiences (see Wang; K.-H. Kim; Waitt). Furthermore, the commodification of cultural heritage does not necessarily violate the intrinsic meaning and authenticity of heritage; rather, it may produce new meanings and values (Cohen). In this context, it is worth noting that the first Andong Mask Dance Festival hosted in 1997 paved the way for the development of tourism resources using cultural heritage in Andong and the globalisation of its regional culture. In fact, in the mid-1990s, Korea was going through interesting political events that significantly affected its culture and society. “Globalisation” was declared a national vision by former president Kim Young-sam in 1995, and the local self-governance of municipalities was reimplemented in the same year. In other words, Korean cultural policies were oriented towards “globalisation” and “localisation” during this period (see also Park). Against this background, Andong organised and hosted an international festival for the first time ever in 1997—the Andong Mask Dance Festival—by refashioning a traditional mask dance—the Hahoe Mask Dance. The Hahoe Mask Dance was a festive drama performance in Hahoe Village, but its inheritance was interrupted during the Japanese colonial period. Afterwards, as mentioned earlier, it was restored after the establishment of the Korean government and designated as a national cultural property. It then became the main theme of an annual festival, which attracts one million tourists to the city every year. In other words, the Hahoe Mask Dance is not only one of the most representative, well-known cultural heritages of Andong, but it also has an emblematic significance in the sense that it embodies the history of Andong’s cultural development. In particular, the Andong Mask Dance Festival immensely contributed to enhancing the awareness of cultural heritage as a tourism resource that may foster cultural economy in the local community and influenced the paradigm shift of approaches to cultural heritage from traditional artefacts or customs to be preserved to tourism resources. Most of the cultural events that took place in Andong after the first Andong Mask Dance Festival aimed to boost tourism. Indeed, the Andong Mask Dance Festival brought about important changes to Andong’s cultural development in the 2000s. Festivals that refashioned cultural heritage and tourists’ experiences began to be important elements of Andong’s character as a city. In accordance with the emergence of tourism as a means for cultural development, Andong experienced another remarkable change in its cultural development during the 2000s: increased interest in tangible cultural heritage as a local resource for tourism and place marketing. From the establishment of the Cultural Properties Protection Law until the 2000s, the preservation and utilisation of cultural heritage in Andong was primarily focussed on intangible cultural properties. This was mainly because the legal ownership of cultural heritage was clearly stated in the law, and thus Andong was able to manage architectural conservation without many challenges; thus, tangible cultural heritage tended to be relatively neglected in favour of the preservation and management of intangible cultural properties. However, in 2000, the Korean national government invested 470 billion KRW (approximately US$382 million) into the restoration and renovation of cultural heritage sites in eleven regions, including Andong. Even though this project did not produce immediate, significant touristic effects, many architectural heritage sites and traditional villages in Andong were renovated as part of the project. This provided the local community with an opportunity to see how tangible cultural heritage could act as an asset for place marketing and tourism. Furthermore, there was another event that motivated the use of architectural heritage to promote tourism in the early 2000s: the Tourism Promotion Act, which permits the use of architectural heritages for the purpose of accommodating commercial businesses, led to the addition of “Traditional Korean housing experiencing business” in the list of tourism business categories. This change also accelerated the utilisation of tangible cultural heritage as a tourism resource. In this context, place marketing combining tangible and intangible cultural assets has increased since the 2000s. In fact, before the 2000s, many cultural events lacked a coherent link between tangible and intangible cultural properties. For example, even though the Hahoe Mask Dance originated in Hahoe Village, the dance performance was often performed as an independent event outside Hahoe Village. However, since tangible cultural heritage—particularly architectural heritage—emerged as a local tourism resource, Andong has been developing cultural and artistic events relevant to heritage sites and the interesting narratives and storytelling that connect various heritages and make tourists develop emotional attachments to Andong and its cultural heritage (see D.Y. Lee). This shows that Andong’s approaches to cultural heritage began to seek the existential authenticity in tourism that may provide tourists with meaningful experiences. Future Directions: Redefining the City As has already been discussed, not only cultural heritage itself, but also national and regional policies, perspectives, experiences, meanings, and values have all contributed to making Andong a recognised cultural city. Notably, Andong’s development can be summarised as the adoption of diverse approaches to cultural heritage along with changes in social agendas and cultural policies. Even though the conservation of cultural heritage and regional development have at times been regarded as competing interests, for Andong—a city that has a large number of tangible heritages that come with enormous costs related to preservation and maintenance—the commodification of cultural heritage might be unavoidable. Indeed, the conservation of its heritage as well as regional development through the use of its heritage as a tourism resource are the two goals that Andong should achieve to ensure that it experiences sustainable future development. Doing so would allow it to fulfil the local community’s need and desire to take pride in its identity as a cultural city and boost its cultural economy. In this regard, we suggest that digitising cultural heritage and incorporating virtual spaces (e.g. the metaverse) into actual places may offer new possibilities for reconciling the conservation of cultural heritage with the need for regional development by allowing us to preserve and manage cultural heritage efficiently while enriching our cultural experience and enabling us to experience various kinds of authenticity. In the first place, digitisation represents an alternative way to preserve and maintain cultural heritage. Digital technologies can accurately scan and measure cultural heritages and readily reproduce a perfect replica of those cultural heritages, whether actual or virtual, which can serve to protect genuine cultural heritages from unwanted or inevitable damage. Once the data on a cultural artefact have been digitised, it is theoretically possible to preserve the digitised heritage forever without deterioration (Koshizuka and Sakamura; D. Hwan Yoo). Moreover, even though digitised artefacts are not objectively authentic, replicas and reproductions created from them may provide tourists with authentic, meaningful experiences in a constructive or existential sense. Furthermore, virtual space may offer a site in which past and present cultures can freely encounter and resonate with each other by facilitating the deterritorialisation and reterritorialisation of people and heritage, which may also lead us to an immersive and creative cultural experience. Indeed, various technologies—such as 3D animation, virtual reality, augmented reality, stereoscopic presentation, and 4K ultra high-definition immersive presentation—can create diverse kinds of virtual environment in which tourists can enjoy immersive interactivity and realistically experience heritage objects (Park, Muhammad, and Ahn). Indeed, as illustrated in a case study (D. Hwan Yoo), the digital restoration of Andong’s historical sites (i.e. using digital data collection and archiving as well as 2D and 3D modelling technologies, which reproduce landscapes and architecture in a virtual environment for museum content) may provide a novel cultural experience that fosters existential authenticity across actual and virtual spaces. To sum up, territorial meaning-making may involve the mobilisation of memories, experiences, and imaginations that are attached not only to actual heritage at actual heritage sites, but also to digitised heritage in virtual spaces, and the place that emerges from such a meaning-making process may be the contemporary city we live in. Acknowledgments This work was supported by the School of Languages and Cultures, University of Queensland, under the 2021 ECR Research Support Scheme, and the Ministry of Education of the Republic of Korea and the National Research Foundation of Korea (NRF-2021S1A6A3A01097826). 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