Artigos de revistas sobre o tema "Wells Cathedral. School"

The article is dedicated to the 120th anniversary of the foundation day of the Department of General Pathology (Pathophysiology) of the Imperial Tomsk University - Tomsk Medical Institute - Siberian State Medical University and scientists whose scientific and pedagogical activity as well as career paths are connected with the Department and Tomsk Cathedral Scientific School of Pathophysiologists, one of the oldest schools in Russia and the first one in the Asian part of Russia. Main directions of school's scientific and research work of the past years are described in the article as well as its present day achievements in science. Special attention is paid to the activity of the head directors and the best representatives of the Tomsk Pathophysiological School such as P.M. Albitsky, A.V. Reprev, D.I. Timofeevsky, P.P. Avrorov, A.D. Timofeevsky, L.F. Larionov, D.I. Goldberg, E.D. Goldberg, V.S. Lavrova, who made a significant contribution to the development of the Russian medical science and medical education. The data on the leading scientific school of the Russian Federation under the leadership of the RAMS Academician V.V. Novitsky is presented in the article.

This study looks anew at the interactions and possible influences between the monastic and cathedral school masters in Europe during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, and the leading contemporary scholars of the Talmud in northern France and Germany known as the Tosafists. By focusing on significant commonalities in interpretational methods and institutional structures, as well as on the formulations of various critics, the contours of these interactions can be more precisely charted and assessed.

The article is dedicated to the formation of Valaam’s own school of painting for monks and novices of the monastery. This process consisted of several stages connected to both the historical development of the monastery itself, as well as the expanding influence of the Russian Imperial Academy of Arts. The official establishment of the painting school, which trained artists according to academic methods, dates back to the late 19th – early 20th centuries. The entire preceding history of the monastery paved the way for the inauguration of the school. In particular, the monastery gathered a carefully selected collection of engravings and reproductions of famous religious paintings, art manuals, human anatomy atlases and picturesque copies of popular works of art. Construction of the new Transfiguration Cathedral, to be supposedly painted by monastery artists, provided the main impetus for the eventual opening of the school. Gifted Valaam monks Alipiy (Konstantinov) and Luka (Bogdanov), as well as a student of the Russian Academy of Arts, V. A. Bondarenko, taught at the monastery’s school. Among some of the most diligent students of the school were hegumen Gavrill (Gavrilov), the main proponent of its establishment and its trustee, along with monk Fotiy (Yablokov), the future head of the icon painting workshop. The school continued to operate until the monks of the Valaam Monastery were forced to flee to Finland as a result of hostilities that broke out in the archipelago during the Soviet-Finnish war of 1939–1940.

History of the Department of World Literature of H.S. Skovoroda Kharkiv National Pedagogical University dates back to 1805 – from the day the Pedagogical Institute was founded in the structure ofKharkovUniversity. It existed for more than a hundred years as part of the institute as a department of Russian literature. After the revolution of 1917, when the Kharkov Institute of Public Education was created, from 1924 to 1934 the department was headed by an outstanding scientist and literary critic then professor, and later academician Alexander Ivanovich Beletsky. The authors of the article pay special attention to the school of acad. A.I. Beletsky, who, with his many years of scientific and pedagogical activity, laid a solid foundation in the development of the science of literature inUkrainefor many decades to come. The authors connect the new, modern, stage in the research work of the department, in the activities of cathedral scientific schools with the beginning of the 1990s, when the so-called “perestroika” and the processes of democratization and publicity associated with it began, and when the university was created as much as possible favorable conditions for research work. It was then that a new generation of scientists and teachers came to the department, new leaders and new scientific schools appeared. This new stage in the history of the department is associated with the fruitful scientific, pedagogical and research activities of such scientists and their scientific schools, as Doctor of Philosophy, prof. L.G. Frezman (1935 - 2018), Doctor of Philosophy, prof. M.F. Getmanets (b. in 1923), Doctor of Philosophy, prof. E.A. Andrushenko (b.1968) and Doctor of Philosophy, prof. A.S. Sylayev (b. 1952). Over the years of stable work at the department, since 1978, graduate school and doctoral studies, the heads of the above scientific schools, as well as other teachers of the department have prepared more than 100 candidate and 14 doctoral dissertations. With its many years of fruitful activity, scientific schools of the Department of World Literature of H.S. Skovoroda Kharkiv National Pedagogical University made a significant contribution to the development of Ukrainian literary Russian studies, to the training of language teachers, as well as young scientific personnel – candidates and doctors of sciences.

In the Romanian Orthodox Church, for many years, at the initiative of His Beatitude Daniel, Patriarch of the Romanian Orthodox Church, each calendar year has been dedicated to a cultural, spiritual, social event or theological subject/segment of theological life. In this sense, the calendar year is intersected by scientific and cultural events organized by the Church, institutions of pre-university and university theological education. These manifestations are realized through symposiums and scientific congresses, concerts and the like. 2023 has been named the Year of Respect for the Pastor of the Aged. A memorable year for hymnographers and church singers (psalts). Without claiming to be exhaustive and taking into account the second part of the general theme, we propose to further highlight the great musical personality of Iasi of the 19th century, Gavriil Muzycescu. The article reveals three hypostases of his activity - a teacher, a choirmaster and a composer. The significant role of Gavriil Muzycescu in the development of Orthodox singing in Romania is noted, the stylistic features of the composer's spiritual chants are analyzed in conjunction with the traditions of the Russian composer school in the field of choral music, as well as their development. On the example of the concert chant "I will proclaim Your mercy", its design features and stylistic signs of belonging to the concert style are considered. It is suggested that the role of the composer in the development of the Orthodox singing tradition is underestimated.

We discuss the years of ministration of St. Luke (Voyno-Yasenetsky), who was Archbishop of Tambov and Michurinsk and ruled the Tambov Eparchy from February 1944 to May 1946. We present the number of memories of witnesses who spoke with Archbishop Luke, attended his sacred services, helped in the restoration of the Pokrovsky parish, were his patients or worked together with His Grace in the evacuation hospitals of Tambov, where he was the chief surgeon-consultant and conducted his famous operations. We recorded memories of a senior cleric of the Cathedral of the Transfiguration of the Saviour of the city of Tambov, Mitred Archpriest Boris Zhabin, who at the age of seven first saw the Archbishop Luka, Lyubov Petrovna Abramova, who witnessed the revival of the Pokrovsky Cathedral of the city of Tambov during the ministra-tion of St. Luke, the participant of the Great Patriotic War, captain 1st rank Nikolay Stefanovich Chaplygin, as well as graduates of Tambov Medical School and nurses of the Tambov evacuation hospital Vera Ivanovna Levashova, Nina Nikolaevna Zayko and Claudia Timofeevna Chaplygina. Each of the witnesses reveals his story of meeting and communicating with Archbishop Luke, who left an indelible impression on their souls. From these memories and testimonies one can feel the atmosphere in which St. Luke’s years of ministration were held, it is even possible to reconstruct the way of life and the situation of that wartime. The vernacular language of each witness adds its own unique sound and at the same time reveals different traits of St. Luke’s personality. The collection of witnesses’ memories creates a kind of public portrait of the personality of the great scientist and hierarch and now the famous saint – St. Luke the Confessor (born Valentin Feliksovich Voyno-Yasenetsky).

Among the universities, which were established around the European continent gradually from the second half of the 14th century, we have to highlight the role of Pécs within the Kingdom of Hungary. The University of Pécs (studium generale) was founded in 1367 by William of Koppenbach (1361–1347), who played an essential role in the operation of the institution. The most important objective of the establishment of the university was that the diplomats of the king (contemporarily King Louis I the Great) would be able to study in the territory of Hungary instead of the Italian cities. Self-evidently, the costs of studying at a local university proved to be much lower than spending years in the well-known Italian cities such as Bologna and Padova. As an ecclesiastical seat, Pécs offered an excellent opportunity for the development of a newly-established institution. The cathedral chapter school and the library also had an important role in the foundation. In my paper I will discuss the most important details regarding the short history of the medieval university of Pécs.

THE main sources for the boy bishop’s feast are available in print. These include sections in ceremonial- and service-books, cathedral statutes, councils’ decrees,compotus, that is, accounts of the gifts and offerings of money the boy bishop received, as well as his expenses, household books that include registrations of the expenses for the annual entertainment of the boy bishop and his retinue, as well as two sermons the boy bishop delivered. Chambers, in hisMedieval Stage, first published in 1903, dedicated a detailed description to the feast. A short reference to the feast appears in most research works on medieval schools and a number of articles have also been published on the subject. I’ll thus refer to the origins of the feast, but describe it only briefly, disregarding variations between places, and then turn to the subject of my paper: the boy bishop’s feast, as reflecting the image of childhood, attitudes towards childhood, and medieval educational conceptions. These are expressed in the feast itself and more clearly in the sermons written by adults to be delivered by the boy bishop.

For over twenty years school books have been accompanied by digital resources – once stored on attached CD-ROMs, lately also in the Internet services of publishers. But only since the launch of the program „Cyfrowa szkoła” („Digital School”) conducted by the ministry of education has widespread access to free educational materials become possible. Changing the carrier makes the current model of preparation and sharing the content, which lets the publisher control every step, go out of date. It will most likely be replaced by the model typical for the digital world, where the information wants to be free, accessible instantly, ready for modification and further distribution. In the article the relationship between Ministry of National Education and educational publishers after 1989 has been presented. The stages of the development of the publishing market, as well as their technological and social aspects, enhancing the intensity and the speed of changes, were taken into account. To describe the situation on this market the metaphor of the „cathedral” and the „bazaar”, drawn from Eric Raymond’s text on the open source phenomenon, was used. Acknowledging the „bazaar model” of working on textbooks as the natural consequence of withdrawing from the traditional model makes it necessary to ask questions about the effects of these decisions and especially – the future of textbooks. The significance of the issues analyzed in this paper is proven by the discussions ongoing lately in many countries.

Walter Stapledon, bishop of Exeter 1308-26, treasurer of England and victim of the downfall of Edward 11, was a notable benefactor of the Church. As well as giving generously to the rebuilding of Exeter Cathedral (where he was buried in a splendid tomb beside the high altar), he founded or planned three institutions for the clergy of his diocese: a school foundation for a tutor and twelve pupils in the hospital of St John at Exeter; a college for a chaplain and twelve scholars at Oxford (now Exeter College); and a hospital for two chaplains and twelve infirm priests at Clyst Gabriel in Bishop's Clyst, four miles east of Exeter. Unlike the college, the hospital has long since disappeared, but its records survive in unusual profusion for such a small foundation. Not only do they reveal the constitutional and financial history of the house, they also preserve the names of many of its inmates, the dates of their entry and of their deaths or departures. Clyst Gabriel possesses, in effect, one of the oldest registers of patients in an English hospital, commencing as early as 1312.

This article is an interdisciplinary study that aims to form a comprehensive view of music and church singing both in the educational process of collegium students and outside it. Thanks to the historical sources involved, we were able to clarify the mechanism of functioning of church singing both in the collegium and at the stage of primary (preparatory) education of future students, as well as its role in the life of collegium graduates who made careers in the major vocal chapel of the Russian Empire. The preparatory stage for the future students was studying in parish schools, where an obligatory discipline was irmoloinyi singing. It is probable that in the 18th century, the teaching of singing in the collegium was carried out in the primary classes, where Church Slavonic literacy was studied at the same time, and in the first years of the 19th century musical singing was officially reflected in the name of a separate class. All students of the collegium underwent compulsory liturgical singing practice. The most gifted of the students were members of the Episcopal Cathedral Vocal Chapel. The students of the collegium were not limited to singing only in the cathedral; they also sang during the festive processions, during the begging, as well as in the parish churches during the holidays, where they also taught church singing. Among the music books, we know for sure about several Irmologions that were used in the collegium. From the memoirs of an eyewitness of the first third of the 19th century, we learn about the singing of hymns during public exams, as well as the singing of vocal concerts during the traditional holiday greetings to the Bishop, Rector, and Prefect of the seminary. It was noted that this tradition existed in the last quarter of the 18th century. Such a practice did exist at the same time in Kyiv-Mohyla Academy, so this evidence seems plausible. The only evidence of the use of musical instruments among the students of the Pereyaslav Collegium comes from the descriptions of the May recreational festivities, when both vocal and instrumental ensembles from among the pupils were heard.

The Department of the History of Education and Culture at the Institute of History at the Jagiellonian University (Krakow) was established on February 1, 1971 in place of the Chair of the History of Science and Education. Since its beginning, it was located in the Kołłątaj Collegium at St. Anna St. 6, at first in the left wing of the building, and then – since 1980 – in its right wing. The heads of the Department in the years 1971–1997 were the professors: Jan Hulewicz, Kamilla Mrozowska and Renata Dutkowa. The Department also employed the scientific staff: Leszek Hajdukiewicz (head of the Archives of the Jagiellonian University), Julian Dybiec, Kazimierz Szczurek, Andrzej Kazimierz Banach, Krzysztof Stopka. The librarians of the Department were: Elżbieta Babuchowska, Joanna Plutecka and Krzysztof Stopka. In 1984, the librarian’s position was eliminated, and the department’s library was from that point onwards taken care of by the younger academics. Scientific research focused on the history of the Polish education: cathedral schools in the Middle Ages, secondary education in Krakow in the nineteenth century and the University of Krakow from the fifteenth to the twentieth century. Research was also undertaken on the Commission of National Education; the Polish Academy of Arts and Sciences; scientific and educational patronage in Galicia during the autonomous era; Galicia as a part of the Austrian school system as well as scientific and intellectual relations between Poland and other European countries; city culture (Stary Sącz, Nowy Sącz and Zakopane); historical biography was practiced as well. The teaching staff of the Department were mainly present at the Institute of History and the Institute of Pedagogy, but they were also involved in other fields of study at the Faculty of Philosophy and History (later Faculty of History) as well as at other faculties and inter-faculty units of the university. Occasionally they also took up employment at other higher education institutions. They additionally participated in the work of committees and commissions of the Polish Academy of Sciences (and later on those of the Polish Academy of Arts and Sciences) as well as in editorial boards for dictionaries and bibliographies.

The work presents little-known facts of the service of Professor T.Ya. Arieva in the post of the head of theDepartment of Military Surgery of the Military Medical Faculty S.M. Kirov at the Saratov Medical Institute in the period1951-1958. Arriving to a new duty station as a member of the staff of teachers from the Military Medical Academy, hesupported the command of the faculty of medical institute in a short time was able to staff the cathedral team and begin thecurrent work. Possessing significant personal scientific and pedagogical experience and the technique of performing complexsurgical interventions, he was able to effectively organize on a scientifically grounded principles the methodology of teachingdiscipline on the basis of a city clinical hospital. In his work he successfully used the rational distribution of study time, theoptimal schedule of the day of medical and nursing staff. As the head of the department T.Ya. Aryev paid much attentionto the professional growth of the teaching staff, regularly summarized in the press the accumulated experience, shared anddiscussed with colleagues promising ways to improve the pedagogical process. Scientific and clinical work complementedeach other, allowed not only to find answers to urgent questions and problems of medical science, improve the effectivenessof treatment of patients, but also to identify the most gifted listeners and teachers of the department. Such students are T.Ya.Aryev, as M.I. Lytkin and N.E. Povstyanoy, working under his leadership, became later known physicians and scientists, headsof surgical departments in large universities, created their own scientific schools. Service in Saratov allowed to accumulateT. I Aryev considerable experience in the management of the surgical department. It was this factor, combined with personalqualities, that enabled him to lead the first in our country chair of thermal defeats of the Military Medical Academy S.M.Kirov. Under his leadership, the team created a well-known clinic not only in our country but also abroad, a large scientificand educational center, which became a real school of professional skill for a large number of specialists.

The study is an attempt to discuss and summarize the multidirectional and multifaceted Conradist achievements of Stefan Zabierowski. I carefully try to present the scholar’s work on many planes so as to reveal his precursorship, which is not always visible at first glance. It is Zabierowski who creates the entire background of reading and reception research in Conrad studies, starting from the monograph from 1971, entitled Conrad w Polsce. Wybrane problemy recepcji krytycznej w latach 1896-1969 [Conrad in Poland. Selected problems of critical reception in the years 1896-1969] up to Dziedzictwo Conrada w literaturze polskiej XX wieku [Conrad’s Legacy in Polish literature of the 20th century] from 1992. From the perspective of interpretive research, Zabierowski-the researcher represents the exegetical school, devoting most of his attention to one work, the analysis of which has been deepened over the years, also using modern reading theories (Umberto Eco’s concept of the open work) – Lord Jim. In the discussion on the so-called Joseph Conrad’s Polish, as well as borderland background, Zabierowski proposes a competitive metaphor to the one comparing Conrad’s writing to the cathedral in Kamieniec Podolski by Paweł Hostowiec (Jerzy Stempowski) – Conrad’s literature is the Slutsk Belt of competing currents, motifs and poetics and as such, it requires original intertextual reflection. Zabierowski initiates it by comparing the Gould marriage from Nostromo with the Niechcic marriage from Maria Dąbrowska’s Nights and Days.

The article is devoted to the views on church painting of one of the Slavophile leaders A.S. Khomyakov. In 1845, Alexander Ivanov, an artist working in Rome, influenced by the “Slavophile” atmosphere of meetings with F.V. Chizhov, N.M. Yazykov and N.V. Gogol, attempted to use an icon as a model for the image of the Resurrection of Christ for the Moscow Cathedral of Christ the Saviour (for the first time in the history of the Russian academic school). It is doubtful that Khomyakov could have unreservedly welcomed this endeavor by Ivanov. Although he believed that for Russia’s return to nationality it would be sufficient only to revive the old in consciousness and life, he did not at all understand this return as a revival of the authentic forms of Old Russian art or as a stylization of these forms. Khomyakov’s negative attitude to stylizations is evidenced by his sharp criticism of the eclecticism of Bavarian art. In Russia, he believed, the link with tradition had long been severed and therefore Old Russian art could not serve as a basis for a modern art school. Not in Ivanov’s traditional icon-oriented sketch of the Resurrection of Christ, but in his painting The Appearance of the Messiah, Khomyakov recognized, even before he saw it with his own eyes, evidence of the beginning of the revival of truly Russian life and Russian thought. In his opinion, the artist sought in the painting to eliminate personal artistic manner, to become a kind of transparent medium through which the holy image would be imprinted on the canvas. The German Nazarene artists tried to capture the Christian phenomenon in the artistic contemplation of the spirit, but they could only teach it, they themselves were incapable of it. Ivanov, a graduate of the Imperial Academy of Arts, who had perfectly mastered the craft of an artist, was at the same time, according to Khomyakov, a pupil of icon painters, who created a great work of church wall painting. The history of the Russian art school of the second half of the 19th — early 20th century fully confirmed the validity of this assessment of the painting The Apparition of the Messiah. It laid the foundation for the God-seeking direction of Russian painting, on which Russian art blossomed in the work of I.N. Kramskoi, V.M. Vasnetsov, M.V. Nesterov, N.N. Ge, as well as atheists — V.D. Polenov and V.V. Vereshchagin. Although not all the works of this trend were honored to be accepted into the bosom of the Orthodox Church, most of them allow us to be deservedly proud of the Russian art school.

Abstract: The main issue of this article will revolve around the School of Translators of Toledo, one of the first European institutions carrying out translations that could be considered as translations within the Public Services and examples of Community Translation. The main objectives of this project will be to highlight the institution, as well as to carry out an inner investigation for trying to demonstrate the identity of one of the School’s most relevant translators: Gundisalvo’s main contributor, analyzing documents found in the current School’s Library and in the Cathedral Archive of Toledo. Firstly, there will be a brief analysis about the historical development of theSchool ofTranslators. Secondly, the research part about the identity of Gundisalvo’s contributor will be developed and explained, as well as the methodology used for the research and the conclusions obtained. Finally, general conclusions about the whole project will be exposed too.Resumen: El tema principal de este artículo girará en torno a la Escuela de Traductores de Toledo, una de las primeras instituciones europeas en realizar traducciones que podrían ser consideradas como traducciones de de los Servicios Públicos y ejemplos de Traducción Comunitaria. Los principales objetivos de este proyecto serán el de resaltar la figura de la institución, así como llevar a cabo una investigación interna para tratar de demostrar la identidad de uno de los traductores más relevantes de la Escuela: el colaborador principal de Gundisalvo, analizando los documentos encontrados en la actual biblioteca de la Escuela y en el Archivo Catedralicio de Toledo. En primer lugar, se realizará un breve análisis sobre el desarrollo histórico de la Escuela de Traductores. En segundo lugar, se llevará a cabo una investigación sobre la identidad del colaborador de Gundisalvo, así como la metodología utilizada y las conclusiones obtenidas. Por último, se expondrán también las conclusiones generales sobre el proyecto completo.

The object this research is the works of the Russian liturgical scholars who systematized the source material on the history of typikon (liturgical charter). The subject of this research is the approaches towards studying the charter as a holistic phenomenon – the system that combines the daily, seven-day, and annual (fixed and movable) circles in the Byzantine liturgical tradition. Having refused to consider the charter from the explanatory and edificatory perspectives and trying to research the historical-liturgical monuments in their development, the liturgists systematized liturgical material and examined it in the historical-critical and “historical-genetic” context. The Russian liturgists offered a classification of the types of liturgical charters, distinguishing the cathedral and monastic types, as well as differentiating the worship service of the desert-dwelling and city-dwelling monks. The scientists also developed a periodization of the charter from ancient forms to printed versions. In the works of N. F. Odintsov, I. D. Mansvetov, A. A. Dmitrievsky, I. A. Karabinov, archpriest M. Lisitsyn, M. N. Skaballanovich and others, the liturgical charter is described not as a uniform text, but as a system that has developed over centuries, marking its development stages in Byzantium and Rus’. The novelty of this research consists in determination of the key characteristics of the historical-liturgical scientific direction. The analysis is based on the works of Russian liturgists dedicated to the history of the typikon. The examination of sources on the history of the typikon, as well as the hypotheses advanced by the scholars, allow viewing the history of its formation as a holistic phenomenon, and forego the traditional view of the existing form of worship as historically consistent. The conclusion is made that examination of the history of liturgical charter prompted the use of synchronic and diachronic methods in the study of sources, encouraging scholars to hypothetical constructions and opening new vectors for further development of liturgics as a scientific discipline.

The history of the Dunham family goes back to the researches of Kingsley Dunham's grandfather, Rev. Charles Dunham (1848–1942), a Methodist Minister and diarist who, at the age of 72, brought together facts and recollections of the Dunham family. Apparently the family migrated from East Anglia and settled in the Bedford area for 200 years, centred on the village of Shillington. By the middle of the nineteenth century the family were bootmakers and shoemakers and moved to north London. Kingsley Dunham's father, Ernest Pedder Dunham, was trained in estate management at the Duke of Bedford's office in Trafalgar Square, and in 1904 he was given a position in the Pitt-Rivers estate office at Hinton St Mary, Dorset. To here he brought his bride, Edith Agnes Humphreys, to live at Newton House, Sturminster Newton. The first child, Kingsley Charles Dunham, was born on 2 January 1910. The family's time in Dorset was short, because Ernest Dunham's post came to an end in 1913 and be obtained a new appointment at Lord Boyne's estate office at Brancepeth near Durham. Although this estate was later sold to the Duke of Westminster, Ernest Dunham stayed on as agent throughout his career. Kingsley Dunham's mother Edith was a trained schoolteacher and chapel organist, and she gave him the foundations of his education and an introduction to music. Aged seven years he joined the school on the estate, Brancepeth Village School. Here he was well prepared to sit for a County Scholarship in the spring of 1921, when he was 11 years old. Dunham won the scholarship and entrance to the Durham Johnston School, a notable secondary school in the district. The teaching at the Johnston School was extremely efficient and he flourished, developing a particular interest in physical science and mathematics. His hobby was music and he was taught the organ at Durham Cathedral by the Canon Precentor, A.D. Culley. He was also a chorister at St Brandon's Church, Brancepeth, for five years, where, despite his Methodist background, the liturgy of the Anglican prayerbook made a deep and lasting impression. He was head of school in 1927 and sat for a Durham University Open Foundation Scholarship, winning a junior award. Thus, early in October 1927, aged 171/2, Dunham went up to Hatfield College, University of Durham, a scholar and later organ scholar. He was advised to read honours in chemistry with two auxiliary subjects, for which he chose physics and geology. The chemistry course was enjoyable, but the real joy was the geology course, with lectures on physical fundamentals given by Professor Arthur Holmes (FRS 1942) and practical work and fieldwork with Dr William Hopkins. The geology course and particularly the fieldwork proved to be life changing. At the end of the first year, Dunham was encouraged to continue with geology and found himself the only honours candidate in geology in his year, with almost individual attention from Professor Holmes and Dr Hopkins.

The article analyzes and highlights the origins and preconditions of the Lviv University, emphasizes the longevity of educational and scientific academic traditions at the university, shows what were the obstacles for the Ukrainian people of the Middle Ages in the conditions of statelessness to create a national higher education institution, particularly in Lviv. The preconditions and the time of the Faculty of Law foundation are studied, as well as its place and role at the Lviv University are determined. Much attention is focused on the characteristics of two traditions on determining the date of foundation of the Lviv University: the Eastern European tradition, which is based on the royal privilege of 1661; it has a formal character, based on documentary sources; as well as the Western European tradition, which is based on the establishment of the first school of the Western European standard in Lviv, also based on the source documents and international experience. It is substantiated that the formation and development of the first educational institutions in the Western Ukrainian lands, particularly in Lviv, date back to the times of the Galicia-Volyn state, which was the heir and successor of the Kyiv-Rus’ state. One of the first links in the emergence of the elements of university education in Lviv can be considered a parish school founded on November 11, 1372, and later a monastic school, which in 1451 became a cathedral school. The next link in the formation of university education in Lviv in accordance with the Western European tradition was the Lviv Stauropean Fraternal School (1586). Thereafter follow the Lviv Jesuit College (1608), the Academy (1661) as well as the University (1784). Due to the lack of historical sources, we do not have proper historical data about the parish (monastery) school in Lviv in 1372, in particular about its teachers and disciplines read by certain professors, famous graduates, as well as about their own statutes etc. However, we do possess the necessary historical data based on primary sources about the Lviv Fraternal School of 1586, from which, it seems, we can trace the origins of the Ivan Franko National University of Lviv. It is emphasized that since 1661, the Faculty of Law of «both laws» was envisaged among the four faculties («facultatis») of the Lviv University. In the first period of the Lviv University's existence, the faculties mentioned in the royal privilege began to operate in its structure, including the faculty of «both laws», which trained specialists in canon and Roman law. At that time, the faculties in their modern sense as organizational and educational-scientific units of the university, providing for the creation of departments, did not exist, as the training was conducted according to the program of Jesuit schools, developed in the late XVI century. It is also noted that in the first period of the Lviv University (1661–1773) the following legal studies (courses) were taught at the «both laws» Faculty of Law: basics of Roman law, public law, history of state system, political geography, «natural law», civil law (based on comments to the Justinian Code), the administrative system of European countries. In the process of teaching canon law and the so-called «incidents» - moral theology, certain aspects of criminal law were studied. From 1739, they began to teach the history of law. Teaching was in Latin. Within the framework of educational reforms from the beginning of the XVIII century, at the University of Lviv, a separate professor of canon law was appointed, and later – a professor of Roman law. The teaching system changed under the influence of new socio-economic and political conditions in the Commonwealth and Western Europe. After the annexation of Galicia to the Austrian Empire, a system of state bodies was formed, which required a significant number of qualified civil servants. There were few people willing to go to Lviv or other cities in Galicia and Bukovyna from Vienna or Prague. Based on the urgent need for training for the newly created province of Galicia and Lodomeria personnel of various specialties (government officials, judges, medical teachers, priests, etc.), the Austrian Emperor Joseph II on October 21, 1784 issued a diploma, which formally established and actually restored Lviv University consisting of four faculties (philosophical, law, medical and theological), as well as an academic gymnasium with the same rights for all universities of the state. The created gymnasium served as a base for staffing university students. The training of lawyers, who made up the vast majority of civil servants, as well as judges, prosecutors, lawyers, and notaries in Galicia, was entrusted to the Faculty of Law of the Lviv University. Since then, the Faculty of Law at the Lviv University had been functioning as an organizational and educational-scientific structural unit of the Lviv University, where a certain cycle of related scientific disciplines was taught and the specialists in law were trained, as well as the creation of departments and administration was provided for etc. Unlike other faculties of the Lviv University, the Faculty of Law did not cease its activities, due to the liquidation of the Faculty of Philosophy in 1924 and the Faculty of Theology in 1939, the Faculty of Law is also the oldest faculty of the Ivan Franko University of Lviv.

On January 21, 1727, the Irkutsk Diocese was established. Its opening was the result of Orthodoxy in spread in Eastern Siberia, which began in the 17th century. Irkutsk became the center of a new diocese. In 1727, there were 8 churches and 2 monasteries, while the city was developing dynamically while being the administrative center. In 1822, it included the territory of the Yenisei Province. The easternmost diocese of Russia turned out to be the largest in terms of territory – about 10 million square kilometers, occupying more than half of the entire territory of the country and extending over two continents. In 1826, the diocese was transferred from the 3rd grade to the 2nd grade, and its bishop became the archbishop. In the future, all the lords (church leaders) received the same rank, sometimes not immediately. An important event in its history was the canonization by the Synod in December 1804 of the first bishop Innokenty Kulchitsky. The most famous in Eastern Siberia was the Ascension Monastery, which became the spiritual center of the diocese. There were four churches, a chapel, a hotel, a school, cell buildings, and outbuildings. The high bell tower, the five-domed Ascension Cathedral, and other churches and buildings were distinguished by their beauty and richness. Dramatic events of the early twentieth century forced the Irkutsk clergy to take part in social and political life. In the emerging multi-party system, they relied on right-wing and centrist political parties. Under the Soviet regime, the Irkutsk diocese, as well as the Orthodox Church as a whole, was targeted by a wave of repressions (purges). The attitude of the state to religion began to change in the conditions of perestroika. This allowed the Orthodox Church to receive a powerful impetus for its development. The result of this was the establishment of the Irkutsk Metropolis, which included the Irkutsk, Bratsk and Sayan dioceses.

Józef Mehoffer’s competition design for the painting decoration of the Franciscan Church in Kraków in 1894 has not yet been found. This article is an attempt to reconstruct the artist’s decorative concept on the basis of the surviving sketches for the project, as well as notes drawn and written in a sketchbook from 1893–1894. The artist, who was in Paris in February 1894, heard about the competition from Tadeusz Stryjeński. The project he sent to the jury in May 1894 did not meet the formal requirements; it was too sketch-like and unpolished and was not accepted. Mehoffer began work on it with detailed studies of sources and iconography, documented by his drawings and notes in his sketchbook. These bear witness to his technical dependence on Jan Matejko and the painters of the historicist school. The artist’s meticulous approach in this respect was perhaps one of the reasons why the project was not completed within the three-month deadline set by the jury. A stylistic analysis of Mehoffer’s sketches for the decoration of the Franciscan Church leads to the conclusion that they were created under the influence of Matejko’s polychrome decoration of the presbytery of St Mary’s Church in Kraków, as well as other sacral decoration of the second half of the 19 th century, associated with the current of academic historicism – an important model for the Polish artist was undoubtedly the polychrome decoration of the chapels of Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris – by Eugène Viollet-le-Duc and Maurice Ouradou. Mehoffer owed much of his inspiration for the iconography of his design, in which the dominant motifs were depictions of 13 th -century Polish saints, nuns, female rulers and Piast princes, to Matejko’s work, "The Defeat of Legnica – The Rebirth of Poland. 1241", 1888. The overall vision for the decoration of the Franciscan Church, which he did not include in the competition design but described in his notes, went beyond historicism. It demonstrates the artist’s sensitivity to the new trends in art at the turn of the 20 th century, and the fact that he was already aware of the profound changes taking place in the style of monumental painting and in the perception of its function.

The Orthodox priesthood from Bukovina played a particularly important role in the tumultuous history of the Beech Country, actively involving itself in many aspects of society. This is how it happens that among the personalities related to the major events in Bukovina there are also numerous priests worthy of mention who, through their cultural presence, as well as through the administrative zeal they proved, made feelings such as the love of the nation and country last over the centuries and also, the dignity and courage of the values confession. One of the priests who stands out in this sense is Father Staurophorus Archpresbyter Ioan Puiul, a Bukovinian from Pătrăuții Sucevei, a priest whose personality I want to evoke in this article. He was born in Pătrăuții Sucevei (year 1882), a place where he attended the first five primary classes. He will do his secondary studies at the Superior Gymnasium from Suceava, then attending the courses of the Faculty of Theology in Chernivtsi. Doctor in Dogmatic Theology of the same Faculty, he will attend specialization courses at the Roman Catholic Faculty of Theology in Vienna, as well as at the Protestant Faculty in Bonn. Following his complex training, throughout his life, the father will perform various functions aimed at enlightening and guiding others: religion teacher at the prestigious high schools in Câmpulung Moldovenesc and Rădăuți; priest in parishes such as Prisăcăreni, Ostra and “St. Nicolae” from Rădăuți; missionary inspector and dean of Rădăuți (1926–1934); reference advisor in the metropolitan administration of Bukovina. It is also worth mentioning that the father is the one who, together with other personalities of the time, initiated and completed the construction of the Cathedral of Rădăuți. Good liturgist, exceptional orator, missionary by vocation, author of several theological writings, Father Ioan Puiul also had secular concerns, being an animator of the cultural life of Rădăuți, being part of various cultural societies of the time. The pages that will follow are intended to be an offering of gratitude to this servant of God and, through him, to the entire Bukovinian clergy that honoured our Romanian nation and who, unfortunately, nowadays leaves himself imprinted by the dust of oblivion and carelessness.

The article is devoted to the consideration of the subjects and artistic features of the architectural tiles placed on the Pskov Region’s Orthodox churches built in the 14th—17th centuries. The relevance of the article is determined by the increased interest in the history of the Pskov architectural school, the insufficient study, at the regional level, of medieval religious architecture in general and tile art in particular, which necessitated its in-depth study. The scientific novelty of the work lies in the classification and analogues identification of the subjects of the architectural tiles preserved on the walls of the medieval Orthodox churches in the Pskov Region, which is one of the earliest ancient Russian centers for the production of tiles. The article provides a detailed description of previously unpublished images of tiles from Pskov churches and highlights the peculiarities of their perception. By the nature of the images on the tiles, there are distinguished the following groups: geometric, floristic and ornithomorphic ornament, subject compositions. The most widespread in Pskov was floristic ornament, which includes images of grapes, cornflowers (carnations), flower rosettes, flowerpots with various types of flowers, herbal curls, “Flourishing Heart” and “Tree of Life” patterns, as well as ornithomorphic ornaments with images of peacock, turkey, nightingale and other birds. There is a single geometric triangular ornament on the porch tiles of the narthex of the Theotokos-Nativity Cathedral of the Snetogorsky Monastery (the church of the 14th century is included in the UNESCO World Heritage List, the porch is of the 17th century), and a subject composition of a horseman on the walls of the bell tower of the Peter and Paul Church of the former Sirotkin (Seredkin) Monastery of the 16th century. There are also unique tiles with a centaur on the Church of St. George from Vzvoz of the 15th century (included in the UNESCO World Heritage List). Made by Old Russian masters of tile art, the subjects reflect the Christian polysemous symbolism, the laconicism and generalization of the images, the harmonious composition and coloristics of the tiles. The visual perception of architectural tiles influences people, transmitting, in a symbolic form, the picture of the world, spiritual values and meanings of Russian culture from generation to generation.

Retrospective-chorological specificities of the appearance of Armenian ethnic element on the territory of Bukovyna and the City of Chernivtsi were disclosed. Population dynamics within the Armenian ethnic community of Chernivtsi based on the censuses held within 1774 – 2001 and said community’s participation in economic, public and political life of the city, as well as in cultural and educational activity were analyzed. Armenians for the first time appeared in Bukovyna as far back as in times of the Kiev Rus and the Principality of Galicia and Volyn as international traders. The first Armenian settlers lived in Chernivtsi beginning from the «pre-Austrian» time, and their community was always compact usually covering areas around and praying in the Roman Catholic Church of the Holy Cross that had the Armenian St George’s Altar until they built their own cathedral. It was in 1783 that the Armenian catholic religious community for the first time appeared in Chernivtsi. The first Armenian residents of Chernivtsi were predominantly engaged in trade, or were doctors, engineers, landowners, manufacturers and highly ranked state officers. With time, the houses of the Chernivtsi Armenians concentrated in a new «Armenian block», that is, in the area of present-day Armenian Street, Jacob von Petrovich Street, Ukrainian Street and the Armenian Lane. The block had the Armenian Catholic Church built in its center in 1869-1875 to become a focus of the spiritual life of Bukovynian Armenians, and later the center was added by the parochial house and the Armenian bursa for school goers. The Register of Objects of Cultural Heritage and the Present of Armenian Community of Chernivtsi was developed and the point-based assessment of their tourism attractiveness was introduced. The quantitative relative assessment of tourism attractiveness of 26 objects of cultural heritage totally made 78 points, while the mapping of the same allowed for disclosure of specificities of their territorial disposition and development of optimal Armenian excursion route. Following the significance, spatial distribution and territorial structure, we distinguished between localized (items and centers), linear and spatial elements of the Armenian ethnographic space. The items are represented by tourism objects of aesthetic, scientific and historical value, e.g., buildings where outstanding persons either lived, studied or worked; Roman Catholic Church of Exaltation of the Holy Cross with the Armenian St George’s Altar; social maintenance establishments (former Armenian bursa); monuments (Jacob von Petrovich) and the sites of memory. The centers are tourism objects of Armenian culture represented by functioning institutions and establishments, such as Armenian Church, Sunday school, national/cultural associations. The linear elements are the city streets (Armenian Street, personalized Jacob von Petrovich Street and Karol Mikuli Street), and the spatial (area) elements are conditioned by the fact of ethnic groups’ compact settlement. The hugest concentration of the Armenian ethnic tourism objects is found in the area around the Armenian Church (13 objects possessing 33 points of total attractiveness). Keywords: Armenian ethnic community; cultural heritage; ethno-tourism objects; excursion route; city of Chernivtsi.

The article explains the role of extra-musical factors in the creation of the compositions, caused by the action of the art synthesis as a cross-cutting theme of the composer’s creativity in the European tradition. In the academic art, this phenomenon has acquired the status of the program method, which to some extent has directed the listeners’ perceptions. The actualization of the present topic and its predetermined task is to determine the degree of the correlation of the semantics of a new composition to its artistic original, since it is precisely on the “artistic type translation” that both the programmability and the ways of its implementation by means of the performing interpretation depend. The object of the article is the programmability as a condition of the composer’s idea; the subject is the author’s concept of “The Ancient Kiev Frescoes” by A. Stashevsky for the accordion, implemented in the genre-stylistic system of the individual and national-musical thinking. The purpose of the article is to identify the genre-stylistic factors of the author’s conception of the selected composition, which reflects the sound-poetic ideas about the ancient history of the native land, while forming the national memory of the modern Ukrainian. Analysis of the recent publications on the research topic. Among the fundamental works devoted to programmability, we should point out the works by V. Konen, which trace the tendency to expand the limits of programmability in music at the expense of non-musical influences, as well as those by M. Lobanova, who characterizes the synthetic genres (opera, theatre music, ballet, program symphony) in the historical dimension. G. Khutorskaya owing to the introduction of the category “interspecific translation” into the scientific circulation explains the means of the synthesis of arts in vocal compositions [5]. The interspecific interaction of the theatre, painting, dance, poetry and literature contributes to the reproduction of the complete picture of the world in music. The material for the development of the problem is the composition for the accordion called “The Ancient Kiev Frescoes” by A. Stashevsky, one of the bright representatives of the modern accordion school of Ukraine. Observing the author’s premieres (in particular, the accordion compositions) in the quality of a professional listener, one can state that his creativity has become an important part of the musical culture of the Slobozhanska Ukraine. As a multifaceted personality – an accordion performer, teacher, composer, and scientist – he embodies new ideas, genre-style models and corresponding techniques of the performing skills in his activities. A comprehensive analysis of the genre stylistics and a personal view of the performance dramaturgy of the interpretation of the program cycle have been given. “The Ancient Kiev Frescoes” by A. Stashevsky (2005), besides the program name, have a genre refinement of the “suite-notebook”, which contains the key to understanding the essence of the stated program. First, the notebook (the album) is holistic, and contains information about interrelated events of a certain era, arranged in a timeline (the linear sequence). Secondly, the pages of the notebook can be represented as the planes where the images are located – the frescoes of St. Sophia Cathedral in Kiev. The most valuable decoration of the cathedral is the mural, which has been preserved for centuries and is an example of the skill and artistic taste of ancient Ukrainians. In general, St. Sophia Cathedral embodies the philosophical credo of the era with its national idea, the expression of the spirituality of the Christian worldview. There are nine parts in the suite-notebook, each with a program title. The author’s idea is realized, on the one hand, through the programmability of the picture type, when the parts of the suite cycle constitute a single composition that is associated with a multi-figured mural (with its mosaic, stained glass). It is impossible to capture it at one glance, so getting acquainted with it implies a consistent arrangement of the fragments of the whole in time. On the other hand, there is a pervasive narrative throughout the cycle: all the parts sound attacca. The pages of the chronicle seem to be expanded in the temporal axis; there is also a general logic of changing the various musical murals that is subordinate to the latent programmability: from “Intrada” to the climax in Part 8 and Part 9 an associate connection (a story line) is established. Programmability-driven musical stylistic contains repetitive segments of the author’s language focused on archaic styling. Because of the singing type of thematism, the ostinato nature and variability of the means of its development, the expanded fret and tonal nature, the mosaic principle of the stringing of the motives, and their combining. In the conclusions it is emphasized that in the program composition for the accordion A. Stashevsky skillfully realized his plan as a projection on historical, musical-performing and picture-everyday images-echo. The incarnation of the ancient history of Kievan Rus by means of the fret-harmonious, texture-timbre and compositional-dramatic means fully presents the author’s conception of the composition – the harmony of a man and history, the updating of the Past, in order to understand one’s own mental foundations, self-awareness in the national cosmos and logo.

The hero city of Sevastopol knows many family stories that have been carefully preserved for decades; they are located at the junction of oral history and homeland studies, and many of them formed the basis of excursion routes in the beautiful city. This article tells about the fate of Valentina Vasilyevna Zykova (Ur. Fomina, in her first marriage Kozlova) (February 23, 1887 — May 2, 1966), who lived a difficult and eventful life, not stopping at any obstacles and not fearing the storms of fate. Fomina was born into a family of Russian patriots: father, Vasily Petrovich Fomin — regular soldier, retired major general, teacher of the artillery school in Novocherkassk; mother, Anna Akimovna Chikileva came from a noble family living near Taganrog, graduated from the Smolny Institute of noble maidens. Parents raised three highly educated daughters: Evgenia Vasilievna (an excellent doctor), Valentina Vasilievna (a talented teacher) and Olga Vasilievna (impulsive nature, who had singing talent). Elder Fomins came to Sevastopol to unite the whole large family, daughters, their spouses and their grandchildren under one roof. Big toiler V. P. Fomin built a stone house № 64 in one staircase along Ekaterininskaya Street (now Lenin Street, house № 46), inside which he designed a small kindergarten, which he looked after until the end of his days. The house was located on the Sevastopol “upper city”, next to the Peter and Paul Church and Vladimir Cathedral, next to the peers of the defense of Sevastopol (1854—1855). And until now, the “handsome house” pleases the townspeople and guests of the city with its architectural design and ceremonial look. V. V. Zykova (Fomina) called Sevastopol her favorite city and believed that only in it she was truly happy. In the first Sevastopol period, she was surrounded by three generations of the family — parents, first husband, graduate of the law faculty of St. Petersburg University, B. I. Kozlov, who died of typhus in 1920, three of their sons, as well as a family of sisters. Valentina Vasilyevna got along very well with all of them. And in the troubled years, in order to financially support the household, she set up a small private cafe near the house, where celebrities who came to Sevastopol were invited to perform (there were F.I. Chaliapin, L.V. Sobinov, A.N. Vertinskiy), in addition members of a large family who had good voices spoke out. By 1923, his home on Catherine Street suffered a lot of losses, nationalization and compaction. Fomin was sued by her beautiful home. The following year, Fomina married a second-time military officer A.V. Zykov. In a happy marriage, Anatoly Vasilievich adopted the eldest sons, the younger children were born, a son and a daughter. At that time, the family moved to Maikop. The Maikop period was overshadowed by the arrest and execution of Valentina Vasilyevna’s second husband. After that, the stigma of the wife and children of the “people’s enemy” was entrenched for a long time to well-educated, educated and noble people. Having received a historical and philological education at the St. Petersburg Higher (Bestuzhev) Сourses, as a volunteer at the University of Berlin and the Sorbonne, having the ability to study European languages, all his life engaged in self-education, in the first Sevastopol period V. V. Zykova (Fomina) taught history, literature and geography in a private gymnasium A. V. Podlesnaya, located on Sadovaya Street, house number 2 (now the corner of Lyudmila Pavlichenko St. and Tereshchenko St.). Later, Zykova taught in schools in Central Asia and Abkhazia. A quarter of a century later, V. V. Zykova (Fomina) returned to Sevastopol, she lived in the family of the youngest daughter A. A. Leontyuk helping to raise a grandson. Biography of V. V. Zykova (Fomina) takes place around three Sevastopol addresses. In parallel, the fate of her close relatives is highlighted. The family archive of the Fomins — Kozlovs — Malovs — Antipovs — Salikovs — Zykovs was collected by several generations of family members; It is mainly concentrated in Sevastopol and St. Petersburg. The author of the article was in correspondence with A. A. Leontyuk since 1998, who expresses heartfelt gratitude for the opportunity to learn more about her mother — V. V. Zykova (Fomina).

In the article, the author reveals fragments of the study about repressions of the 1920s and 1930s against the churches, as an institution of society, against the clergy, church services, active parishioners of one of the settlements in Sumy Region(Dubovichi village). Self-identification and peaceful living under the laws of honor in the socialist regime led to the destruction of employed citizens and clergy who lived by vocation and by traditional moral principles. After all, it was they - conscious citizens, intellectuals, who "threaten" the terrorist plot of the Bolshevik authorities on the territory of Ukraine. Special attention was to the citizens who supported Tikhonovsk and Ukrainian autocephalous Orthodox churches. The parishioners of these churches were in principle affirmative. "Tikhonovtsi" decided religious uncompromising, "autocephalous" were nationalistic. Those and others did not perceive the Bolsheviks. Both opposed the political regime. Everyone who was in contact or was attached to these groups was prosecuted and arrested with special severity. Under the repressions were relatives and neighbors. Blackmail of single persons and family, voluminous and falsification documents, taking hostages. That was happening with all who was not controlled during the formation of the Soviet power. Over the 50 people from Dubovichi village and their families fell under the pressure of repressions. Most of them were sentenced to death. Just few of them returned from exile and settled in distant places from their native village. Dubovichi village has a centuries-long history. Best known it is in the religious environment through the icon of Dubovytsi's Mother of God. The miraculous image of the Virgin was discovered in the middle of the 17th century. And the glory about it spread far beyond the then Russian empire. Church leaders from Kiev, from Chernigov gathered at the procession during the celebrations of 1861. The pilgrimage to the icon in Dubovich was round-the-year. Copies from the list of the Virgin Mary Dubovitskaya were in the St. Sophia Cathedral of Kyiv. Information about the icon was printed in church calendars and metropolitan directories of pilgrims. The grand stone church of the Nativity of the Virgin in 1777 in the center of the village, it was the pease of architectural art that was rare in the countryside. As evidenced by foreign sources, the parish church was kind of fortress. It was surrounded by a brick fence with four towers in corners. The entrance to the churchyard was through the gates that were under the bell. There were burials around the temple. Marble monuments were raised on the graves. Icons in the temple were in different kyots, precious stones. Church property included a number of priest clothing, silverware. In the village there were three temples. This provided the opportunity for the parish to have six priests, several clerks and psalms in the state. All were destroyed until 1940, despite the architectural value of the builders and the ancients. Dubovichi parish numbered more than three thousand people at the beginning of the twentieth century. It was glorified by the numerous, beautiful choir, active citizens. The church library was more than 2000 volumes. The priests performed not only the need. Archpriest Gusakovsky was the head of refuge. The village choir numbered more than 60 people. There was a spiritual orchestra, a theater group, a hut-reading room, a rural school and a parochial school, and a folk school in the village. Also there was paramedic station, veterinarian, pharmacy. The hospital unit numbered up to 10 beds. Tolerance and high moral consciousness were typical for the people of Dubovichi. Not only Orthodox lived in the village . Archival documents indicate that the daughter of the priest was offended with the Catholic. Jews lived in Dubovichi. The social group was represented. There were Gypsies among the participants of the school. Those were posterity of that who survived and took good place in life of theatre. Able to analyze falsifications of the campaign to destroy the Dubovichi parish, the destruction of church buildings- works of architectural art. Information from directories, archival documents and old people's buildings allows us to reconstruct conditionally events of those times. The author for the first time highlights this page of the Dubovichi life. As well as information from recently declassified documents from archives of higher authorities on the repressed residents of Dubovichi village. Human losses, disadvantaged families, tales of reletives about Soviet Union. All this make a mosaic of the historical stratum of our country. The coverage of this problem somehow outlines the massive crimes of Soviet politics in the 1920's and 1930's. It is a tribute to those who sacredly keep memories of the repressed.

Abstract He was always the youngest in the group. In 1966, the core participants in what he—with Valie Export—would later dub “Viennese Actionism” applied for government funding to attend the Destruction in Art Symposium in London. The group sent him, just twenty-two years old, to the ministry to argue their case. He remained their go-to spokesperson. On June 7, 1968, at the Kunst und Revolution event in Lecture Hall 1 of the University of Vienna, it was he who introduced the wild proceedings with an “Inflammatory Speech,” his raised right asbestos-gloved hand in flames. Ending quickly in a cry of pain—kerosene on his naked forearm caught fire—his oration, titled (after Lenin's pamphlet) “What Is to Be Done?: Burning Questions of Our Movement,” gave way to the more scandalous, though perhaps less cunning, actions of his older comrades. Otto Muehl, a “former middle- school teacher,” as one “memory protocol” described him, screamed obscenities while whipping a bandaged man until he bled. Gunter Brus, after undressing onstage, cut himself and (again the protocol) “masturbated for about 20 minutes” before shitting and pissing in the audience's direction. Oswald Wiener, his speech drowned out onstage by grunting, was falsely heard to say that the shitting should move from the lecture hall to St. Stephen's Cathedral, the city's holy of holies. Meanwhile he, the event's “inflammatory” opening speaker, was the only actual student to address the Austrian Socialist Students’ Union (the hapless host of Vienna's infamous “hot quarter-hour”), and he had come well equipped. He brought with him a water bucket to extinguish his burning glove and wore safety goggles to protect his eyes against flames and, as things turned out, against blood, excrement, and urine. When he died this year, just four days short of his seventy-ninth birthday, Peter Weibel seemed perennially youthful. He had led the ZKM Center for Art and Media Karlsruhe for almost a quarter century, indefinitely postponing his retirement by mounting art exhibitions—sometimes as many as seven in one year—that reshaped the definition of art exhibitions. It was Weibel, earlier and more consistently than anyone, who gave museological form to our posthuman, postmedium, anthropocenic condition. Sprawling, experimental, and provisory, these exhibitions yielded mighty catalogues: about surveillance, futurity, and digital art, about forgotten contemporaries (like Vilém Flusser) and emergent stars (Weibel was early in celebrating William Kentridge and Olafur Eliasson). Of these many shows, the four co-curated with Bruno Latour, who passed away five months before Weibel, were the most significant. Weibel and Latour called them Gedankenausstellungen (“thought exhibitions”). With challenging titles like “Making Things Public,” “Reset Modernity,” and “Critical Zones” and conceptual in what they displayed and how, they blurred the lines between science and art, gallery space and laboratory, aesthetic object and political debate while remaining fun to visit and popularly appealing.

The article analyzes the history of creation, stylistics and plastic solution and development of the technology of restoration of the white stone sculpture of The Immaculate Conception of the Mother of God in the village of Tetevchytsi of Chervonohrad district, Lviv region. Remarkable works of limestone were created of limestone in Galicia during the XII – XX centuries. Unfortunately, monuments of sacral art suffered major damage in the second half of the XX century due to acts of vandalism committed by followers of the communist regime ideology in Russia. They are responsible for the destruction of churches, cathedrals and synagogues. The monuments of sculptural art were destroyed as well. The rethinking of the sacral heritage and activation of restoration processes began only after the restoration of Ukraine's independence. Hence, the issue of restoration of the sculpture of The Immaculate Conception of the Mother of God in the village of Tetevchytsi is currently of great interest and complex scientific research is the basis for the success of the planned work. The sculpture was placed on the pediment over the entrance of the parish church in the village of Tetevchytsi. Before the restoration the monument was in poor condition and the head of Holy Mother was missing. Older residents of the village say that an unknown soldier intentionally shot it off during the Second World War. The bullet, which was found in the wall of the church behind the Virgin, is the evidence that this story is true. After studying the general concept of restoration the program was developed and approved: to carry out photo fixation of the state of the monument before restoration, to conduct the analysis and processing of the cartogram of losses, to determine the sequence of stone conservation works, to carry out cleaning of stone using dry method with the help of brushes, to carry out cleaning of the sculpture using the method of sandblasting, to clean it from cement layering, to perform extraction of salts, to perform structural strengthening of stone with silicon-organic matter, to restore the lost elements of the folds of clothing with mineral restoration solution, to make a head out of plasticine on the basis of analogues and make a plaster form, to reconstruct it from artificial stone, to glue the head with epoxy resins and anchor made of stainless wire, to strengthen the structure of the stone with silicon-organic matter; to cover the sculpture with a biocidal solution of long-term action; to perform glazing of the sculpture, to perform hydrophobization of the sculpture with silicon-organic solution, to make recommendations on storage conditions and compliance with the protection of the monument. The significant role in the restoration of the head played the use of analogues of sculptures from the cemeteries of the surrounding villages. As a result of comparative analysis, it was found that the stylistic solution of the sculpture corresponds to the techniques typical of the 1930s. This is confirmed by the preserved sculptural compositions in Tetevchytsi and surrounding villages. Most likely, the author of the restored monument was a representative of a craft school of this region. Compatible materials of Ukrainian and German production are used in the restoration works, which meet the principles of reversibility. It is recommended to return the monument to its place after the restoration.

This paper demonstrates how a school library can be an intellectual power centre, a dynamo within the school, helping to build citizens of a knowledge society, using a variety of research-based units of work designed by teacher librarians at St Andrew's Cathedral School in collaboration with teachers across the curriculum. The types of units are information-skills-based units, units based on Bloom's Taxonomy, PowerPoint units, Internet research-based units. The paper also discusses the advantages of and strategies for using an Intranet to support teaching and learning as well as elements helpful for nurturing a culture of collaboration and a vital relevant library.

This study describes the experiences of a group of individuals who attended a southern California Catholic boys’ high school, and the men who taught them. The goal of this study was to relate a narrative that explained how an education, steeped in the Christian Brothers’ mission provided a quality education for the poor, and shaped the lives, perspectives, and values of the graduates. The narrative, reported through a social perspective inspired by Catholic Social Teaching (CST), the philosophical writings of Jacques Maritain and Alisdair MacIntyre, showed how the graduates received a quality education from the Brothers, and absorbed a strong sense of Catholic virtue, including a commitment toward social justice, an understanding of role of building and sustaining community, and an appreciation for giving back to society. Cathedral High, a small Catholic high school in Los Angeles, is an embodiment of MacIntyre’s belief that small communities, dedicated to upholding moral virtue and civility offer the possibility of reforming a society currently mired in individualistic and materialistic pursuits. A further implication is that Catholic schools, with their well-documented record for providing effective education for the poor, should remain an educational option for inner-city families.

Throughout the sixteenth century the Cathedral of Toledo continued its patronage program related to commission of illuminated manuscripts for its liturgical ceremonies. The Missal Rico de Cisneros, which marked the beginning of the century under the aesthetics of the School of Ghent and Bruges, opened the way to the incorporation of the all’antica repertoires developed in the last quarter of the century, under the multiple variants of the grutesco and the new Renaissance compositions. The seventeenth century began with the latest works for the Cardinal Quiroga’s Missal, in which Juan de Salazar worked as the main illuminator, influenced by Mannerist aesthetics; although, we soon noticed a lower production of illuminated manuscripts, with large periods without works. The documentary investigation reveals the presence of the painter Pedro de Obregón, born in Madrid, as one of the last miniaturists in the service of the primated cathedral, whose work presents the main characteristics of the Baroque style, as well as a progressive decline of miniature works.

ObjectivesWe aimed to develop and test the feasibility of a critical health literacy (CHL) and science literacy (SL) training course targeting secondary school students in Switzerland.MethodsUsing a community-based participatory approach, we developed a two-block training program, the first centered on argumentation skills and the second on scientific skills. We combined an ex-cathedra and a flipped-classroom approach, providing students with a deep understanding of CHL and SL concepts and the translational capability of implementing theoretical notions to real case scenarios. The feasibility study was designed as a one-group pretest-posttest quasi-experiment. Beyond socio-demographics, questionnaires included measures of CHL, SL, trust in science, and perceived quality of the course.ResultsThe curriculum was feasible and well-accepted by the target groups, teachers, and students. Students convincingly specified their perceived personal benefits associated with a positive change in CHL and SL scores after the training course.ConclusionTraining CHL and SL in secondary school students is feasible and can improve their competencies. Results from present study can inform a large-scale study.

The education has evolved and with it, it must be integrated towards to the students at professional level, the present investigation has as fundamental purpose the delimitation in scientific vocations for students of superior level, as well as the integration from certain processes according to a manual of processes, establishing the design, elaboration and impartation of formative workshops integrated to the vocation. The present work integrated the planning of the problems which big, medium, small and micro companies can present even if they do not have the document, as well as the purpose and importance of this in the internal and external part of the organizations. For economic units in education services registered in Mexico, micro companies represent the majority and the rest are classified as small, while medium and large organizations represent a small percentage. The school modality says that the professional level can be classified from the highest technical level and that only a percentage of them continues their studies at the degree level. For the research, the methodology is identified by integrating the instrument applicable to teachers who will give the formative workshops by knowledge of the cathedra.

In February 1793 the library of the Councillor of State Wilhelm Frederik Willemsen was sold at auction in Christiania. Of the 1.491 volumes about 200 are today to be found in the library of the Oslo (formerly Christiania) Cathedral School. The collection comprised books in several fields, but the majority were books on natural history, in particular mineralogy, economics and mining sciences. The total price – including his library and office furniture – was nearly 1.500 riksdaler, equivalent to half the selling price of his townhouse. Even though auctions were arguably the most important form of book trade in Norway during the eighteenth century, hardly any work has been done to shed light on them. After Willemsen’s death, the young widow ordered her late husbands library to be sold. The auction was advertised in newspapers and the catalogue distributed in several near-by towns. Nonetheless, the vast majority of the 50 buyers were local and state dignitaries and officials. The auction was seemingly one of the most important social events of that year. Among the buyers were most of the town’s large scale lumber merchants, such as the brothers Anker and James Collett; officers, among them general von Haxthausen and major general Lützow; several city officials; the later Minister of State Sommerhjelm; the English consul John Mitchell; as well as a few clergymen and wealthy farmers. Seven of the buyers had knocked down to them more than fifty volumes each.Among them was the late Willemsen’s father-in-law. Six of them – all wealthy men – bought books in all formats, while a local French-teacher, Ehlers, though one of the large scale buyers, bought only inexpensive octavo and duodecimo volumes. There is no doubt that the complete series of auction records kept in the regional State archive of Oslo – as well as similar material kept in other regional archives – is the single most important source for the study of Norwegian book ownership in the eighteenth century. However, they have yet to be studied.

The relevance of this study is determined by the importance of the development of “personalistic” approach in contemporary research. This approach acquired a special significance in Ukrainian pedagogy in connection with the nation-building processes that were activated when Ukraine got its independence and which brough back from the oblivion the names of those whose artistic or research achievements or civic position had not correlated with the ideological doctrine of the Soviet empire. Olena Pchilka, P. Kulish, M. Dragomanov, M. Zerov, I. Ohienko, V. Vynnychenko were among those personalities, however their names are well-known now. Yet, there has not been done enough research into the recent history – the second half of the 20th century with its contradictions and with opposing activities of those who made efforts to develop pedagogy based on the progressive experience of the predecessors and those who blindly followed the instructions of the guardians of imperial ideology. This paper focuses on a pedagogical reception of O. Honchar’s publicistic heritage that is represented by such genres as article, essay, diary, and epistolary correspondence the addresser and addressee of which was O. Honchar. The article singles out pedagogical problems that were of interest to the writer or that he had to solve, making significant efforts, as a state, political, public, cultural figure and as a person with the honorary title “the man of the 20th century”. The research has revealed the breadth of the spectrum of these problems which range from the understanding of the great and tragic history of national education, the role and place of outstanding educators in it, to specific measures taken to develop and implement Ukraine-centred educational model, in particular, language and literature education of the 60-s–80-s of the 20th century as an opposition to russification of education, as well as to protect teachers’ rights. The article characterises the originality of the writer’s views on the mission of the educator in the intellectual and spiritual life of the people, on the humanitarian component of the content of education, on the importance of language in the life of the society, and on the role of the native language as a means of communication and as a school subject using the example of the “teacher from Ichnia” Stepan Vasylchenko, who was destined to become a classic of Ukrainian literature. Based on the specific arguments, obtained from various sources, the paper proves that O. Honchar’s pedagogical views are as close as possible to the pedagogical conception of the founder of the science of pedagogy and the initiator of the folk school K. Ushynsky, who is highly appreciated by the world community. The evidence to support this claim has been obtained from O. Honchar’s articles, diary entries, letters that discuss the social essence of language as the most important means of communication, the nation-building and nation-preserving potential of the native language, the place of the native language in the educational system as a subject and as the most powerful instrument to learn all disciplines. The paper pays special attention to the history of the relationships of the world-famous writer O. Honchar and the world-renowned teacher V. Sukhomlynsky, whose destinies and life paths intersected in the space and time and whose views and thoughts merged in their focus on Ukrainian culture. The paper provides systematic account of the humanitarian component in the content of education as the spiritual aura of the nation, the culture of language, the role of literature in the upbringing of children, the real stories that would become literary works as they had been recorded in the epistolary correspondence between O. Honchar and the director and the teacher of the native language in Pavlysh school V. Sukhomlynsky as well as the diary notes of O. Honchar. The paper emphasizes that V. Sukhomlynsky, the author of the book “I Give My Heart to the Children”, highly praised O. Honchar’s novel “The Cathedral” at the peak of the campaign against this literary work. The paper also observes that V. Sukhomlynsky wrote several studies of O. Honchar’s literary world. The article draws readers’ attention to the fact that O. Honchar took an active part in the commemoration of V. Sukhomlynsky, in particular in publication of V. Sukhomlynsky’s research, literary and publicistic works. Besides, the paper describes O. Honchar’s activity to help preserve the oldest Kyiv school with its time-tested traditions and worthy achievements as well as save schools in small villages.

The hypothetical interpretation of the beginnings of monastic architecture in Hungary in the eleventh century as corresponding to the Italian origin of the clergy cannot be proved, and the beginning of the dominating role of a three-apsidal, axially organized basilica in Hungary cannot be traced earlier than the last quarter of the eleventh century.The dominance of the type, which has been considered in Hungarian art history since the nineteenth century as a “national” building type, can be dated as of the last quarter of the eleventh century. It is not only the problem of monastic architecture, because the same typology—in other dimensions—is also characteristic of other church buildings—cathedrals and provostry churches.However, it is apparent that both in the case of monasteries and in other genres of church buildings, the Hungarian solutions are minimal and less complicated. There is an important written source concerning the value of the patronage of church buildings. The so called Estimationes communes iuxta consuetudinem regni (i.e. common estimations) go back to Romanesque times and they were still accepted in 1516 by the printed edition of Decretum tripartitum by István Werbőczy. The classification of ecclesiastic property was governed by two criteria: the value of the building and the possession of the right of sepulture.The architectural heritage of the Cistercians appears as a rather uniform stylistic phenomenon. This uniformity was interpreted in the art historical literature as a contribution by the order supposedly having an own building organization. But the hypothesis that the workers, the conversi of the order were among the other craftsmen and builders of churches and monasteries of the order has been revealed as a legendary interpretation of art history.The most active period of the Hungarian Cistercians began with the privileges given by King Béla III to the Order and with the foundation of three abbeys in the 1180s. The very rational and well-organized building activity of the Cistercians and also the effective control coming from the top of their centralized organization has been presumably considered as unusual by contemporary observers.To prevent the excessive influence of secular people and to improve the education of the monks, the centralized organization was proposed for the Benedictines too. This reform was initiated by popes of the time about 1200, Innocent III and also Honorius III. It seems that the necessary reform as well as the solution of the problems by adopting the experience of the Cistercians influenced the spread of the regular monastery building under the evident intention of imitation. Quadratic interior courts framed by open galleries and surrounded by the most important common rooms, including the chapterhouse and refectory of the monastery, appear evidently from about 1220 in Hungarian Benedictine architecture.The Praemonstratensians, a reform order, was a nearly contemporary parallel to the Cistercians. In the twelfth century and also at the beginning of the thirteenth they were in fact in a straight contact with the Cistercians, who exercised a kind of control over the order, whose rules were not derived from the Benedictine rules but were based on the rules of St. Augustine. Mainly the centralized organization of the order could correspond to the Cistercian model. The main difference between these reform orders concerned their patronage. While the Cistercians in Hungary were mostly under royal patronage (mainly after the visit of a delegation of Cîteaux to the Court of Béla III in 1183), the Praemonstensian constructions were mainly foundations by private patrons.It seems that contrary to partly surviving hypotheses and forgeries in old art historical literature, no royal court and also no monastic order was practically involved in architecture or building praxis, including schools of architecture. Their relationship was different, corresponding to their liturgy and to the representation of their self-image.

The Harry Potter (HP) Fan Fiction (FF) phenomenon offers an opportunity to explore the nature of fame and the work of fans (including the second author, a participant observer) in creating and circulating cultural products within fan communities. Matt Hills comments (xi) that “fandom is not simply a ‘thing’ that can be picked over analytically. It is also always performative; by which I mean that it is an identity which is (dis-)claimed, and which performs cultural work”. This paper explores the cultural work of fandom in relation to FF and fame. The global HP phenomenon – in which FF lists are a small part – has made creator J K Rowling richer than the Queen of England, according to the 2003 ‘Sunday Times Rich List’. The books (five so far) and the films (three) continue to accelerate the growth in Rowling’s fortune, which quadrupled from 2001-3: an incredible success for an author unknown before the publication of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone in 1997. Even the on-screen HP lead actor, Daniel Radcliffe, is now Britain’s second wealthiest teenager (after England’s Prince Harry). There are other globally successful books, such as the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and the Narnia collection, but neither of these series has experienced the momentum of the HP rise to fame. (See Endnote for an indication of the scale of fan involvement with HP FF, compared with Lord of the Rings.) Contemporary ‘Fame’ has been critically defined in relation to the western mass media’s requirement for ‘entertaining’ content, and the production and circulation of celebrity as opposed to ‘hard news’(Turner, Bonner and Marshall). The current perception is that an army of publicists and spin doctors are usually necessary, but not sufficient, to create and nurture global fame. Yet the HP phenomenon started out with no greater publicity investment than that garnered by any other promising first novelist: and given the status of HP as children’s publishing, it was probably less hyped than equivalent adult-audience publications. So are there particular characteristics of HP and his creator that predisposed the series and its author to become famous? And how does the fame status relate to fans’ incorporation of these cultural materials into their lives? Accepting that it is no more possible to predict the future fame of an author or (fictional) character than it is to predict the future financial success of a book, film or album, there is a range of features of the HP phenomenon that, in hindsight, helped accelerate the fame momentum, creating what has become in hindsight an unparalleled global media property. J K Rowling’s personal story – in the hands of her publicity machine – itself constituted a magical myth: the struggling single mother writing away (in longhand) in a Scottish café, snatching odd moments to construct the first book while her infant daughter slept. (Comparatively little attention was paid by the marketers to the author’s professional training and status as a teacher, or to Rowling’s own admission that the first book, and the outline for the series, took five years to write.) Rowling’s name itself, with no self-evident gender attribution, was also indicative of ambiguity and mystery. The back-story to HP, therefore, became one of a quintessentially romantic endeavour – the struggle to write against the odds. Publicity relating to the ‘starving in a garret’ background is not sufficient to explain the HP/Rowling grip on the popular imagination, however. Instead it is arguable that the growth of HP fame and fandom is directly related to the growth of the Internet and to the middle class readers’ Internet access. If the production of celebrity is a major project of the conventional mass media, the HP phenomenon is a harbinger of the hyper-fame that can be generated through the combined efforts of the mass media and online fan communities. The implication of this – evident in new online viral marketing techniques (Kirby), is that publicists need to pique cyber-interest as well as work with the mass media in the construction of celebrity. As the cheer-leaders for online viral marketing make the argument, the technique “provides the missing link between the [bottom-up] word-of-mouth approach and the top-down, advertainment approach”. Which is not to say that the initial HP success was a function of online viral marketing: rather, the marketers learned their trade by analysing the magnifier impact that the online fan communities had upon the exponential growth of the HP phenomenon. This cyber-impact is based both on enhanced connectivity – the bottom-up, word-of-mouth dynamic, and on the individual’s need to assume an identity (albeit fluid) to participate effectively in online community. Critiquing the notion that the computer is an identity machine, Streeter focuses upon (649) “identities that people have brought to computers from the culture at large”. He does not deal in any depth with FF, but suggests (651) that “what the Internet is and will come to be, then, is partly a matter of who we expect to be when we sit down to use it”. What happens when fans sit down to use the Internet, and is there a particular reason why the Internet should be of importance to the rise and rise of HP fame? From the point of view of one of us, HP was born at more or less the same time as she was. Eleven years old in the first book, published in 1997, Potter’s putative birth year might be set in 1986 – in line with many of the original HP readership, and the publisher’s target market. At the point that this cohort was first spellbound by Potter, 1998-9, they were also on the brink of discovering the Internet. In Australia and many western nations, over half of (two-parent) families with school-aged children were online by the end of 2000 (ABS). Potter would notionally have been 14: his fans a little younger but well primed for the ‘teeny-bopper’ years. Arguably, the only thing more famous than HP for that age-group, at that time, was the Internet itself. As knowledge of the Internet grew stories about it constituted both news and entertainment and circulated widely in the mass media: the uncertainty concerning new media, and their impact upon existing social structures, has – over time – precipitated a succession of moral panics … Established commercial media are not noted for their generosity to competitors, and it is unsurprising that many of the moral panics circulating about pornography on the Net, Internet stalking, Web addiction, hate sites etc are promulgated in the older media. (Green xxvii) Although the mass media may have successfully scared the impressionable, the Internet was not solely constructed as a site of moral panic. Prior to the general pervasiveness of the Internet in domestic space, P. David Marshall discusses multiple constructions of the computer – seen by parents as an educational tool which could help future-proof their children; but which their children were more like to conceptualise as a games machine, or (this was the greater fear) use for hacking. As the computer was to become a site for the battle ground between education, entertainment and power, so too the Internet was poised to be colonised by teenagers for a variety of purposes their parents would have preferred to prevent: chat, pornography, game-playing (among others). Fan communities thrive on the power of the individual fan to project themselves and their fan identity as part of an ongoing conversation. Further, in constructing the reasons behind what has happened in the HP narrative, and in speculating what is to come, fans are presenting themselves as identities with whom others might agree (positive affirmation) or disagree (offering the chance for engagement through exchange). The genuinely insightful fans, who apparently predict the plots before they’re published, may even be credited in their communities with inspiring J K Rowling’s muse. (The FF mythology is that J K Rowling dare not look at the FF sites in case she finds herself influenced.) Nancy Baym, commenting on a soap opera fan Usenet group (Usenet was an early 1990s precursor to discussion groups) notes that: The viewers’ relationship with characters, the viewers’ understanding of socioemotional experience, and soap opera’s narrative structure, in which moments of maximal suspense are always followed by temporal gaps, work together to ensure that fans will use the gaps during and between shows to discuss with one another possible outcomes and possible interpretations of what has been seen. (143) In HP terms the The Philosopher’s Stone constructed a fan knowledge that J K Rowling’s project entailed at least seven books (one for each year at Hogwarts School) and this offered plentiful opportunities to speculate upon the future direction and evolution of the HP characters. With each speculation, each posting, the individual fan can refine and extend their identity as a member of the FF community. The temporal gaps between the books and the films – coupled with the expanding possibilities of Internet communication – mean that fans can feel both creative and connected while circulating the cultural materials derived from their engagement with the HP ‘canon’. Canon is used to describe the HP oeuvre as approved by Rowling, her publishers, and her copyright assignees (for example, Warner Bros). In contrast, ‘fanon’ is the name used by fans to refer the body of work that results from their creative/subversive interactions with the core texts, such as “slash” (homo-erotic/romance) fiction. Differentiation between the two terms acknowledges the likelihood that J K Rowling or her assignees might not approve of fanon. The constructed identities of fans who deal solely with canon differ significantly from those who are engaged in fanon. The implicit (romantic) or explicit (full-action descriptions) sexualisation of HP FF is part of a complex identity play on behalf of both the writers and readers of FF. Further, given that the online communities are often nurtured and enriched by offline face to face exchanges with other participants, what an individual is prepared to read or not to read, or write or not write, says as much about that person’s public persona as does another’s overt consumption of pornography; or diet of art house films, in contrast to someone else’s enthusiasm for Friends. Hearn, Mandeville and Anthony argue that a “central assertion of postmodern views of consumption is that social identity can be interpreted as a function of consumption” (106), and few would disagree with them: herein lies the power of the brand. Noting that consumer culture centrally focuses upon harnessing ‘the desire to desire’, Streeter’s work (654, on the opening up of Internet connectivity) suggests a continuum from ‘desire provoked’; through anticipation, ‘excitement based on what people imagined would happen’; to a sense of ‘possibility’. All this was made more tantalising in terms of the ‘unpredictability’ of how cyberspace would eventually resolve itself (657). Thus a progression is posited from desire through to the thrill of comparing future possibilities with eventual outcomes. These forces clearly influence the HP FF phenomenon, where a section of HP fans have become impatient with the pace of the ‘official’/canon HP text. J K Rowling’s writing has slowed down to the point that Harry’s initial readership has overtaken him by several years. He’s about to enter his sixth year (of seven) at secondary school – his erstwhile-contemporaries have already left school or are about to graduate to University. HP is yet to have ‘a relationship’: his fans are engaged in some well-informed speculation as to a range of sexual possibilities which would likely take J K Rowling some light years from her marketers’ core readership. So the story is progressing more slowly than many fans would choose and with less spice than many would like (from the evidence of the web, at least). As indicated in the Endnote, the productivity of the fans, as they ‘fill in the gaps’ while waiting for the official narrative to resume, is prodigious. It may be that as the fans outstrip HP in their own social and emotional development they find his reactions in later books increasingly unbelievable, and/or out of character with the HP they felt they knew. Thus they develop an alternative ‘Harry’ in fanon. Some FF authors identify in advance which books they accept as canon, and which they have decided to ignore. For example, popular FF author Midnight Blue gives the setting of her evolving FF The Mirror of Maybe as “after Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire and as an alternative to the events detailed in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, [this] is a Slash story involving Harry Potter and Severus Snape”. Some fans, tired of waiting for Rowling to get Harry grown up, ‘are doin’ it for themselves’. Alternatively, it may be that as they get older the first groups of HP fans are unwilling to relinquish their investment in the HP phenomenon, but are equally unwilling to align themselves uncritically with the anodyne story of the canon. Harry Potter, as Warner Bros licensed him, may be OK for pre-teens, but less cool for the older adolescent. The range of identities that can be constructed using the many online HP FF genres, however, permits wide scope for FF members to identify with dissident constructions of the HP narrative and helps to add to the momentum with which his fame increases. Latterly there is evidence that custodians of canon may be making subtle overtures to creators of fanon. Here, the viral marketers have a particular challenge – to embrace the huge market represented by fanon, while not disturbing those whose HP fandom is based upon the purity of canon. Some elements of fanon feel their discourses have been recognised within the evolving approved narrative . This sense within the fan community – that the holders of the canon have complimented them through an intertextual reference – is much prized and builds the momentum of the fame engagement (as has been demonstrated by Watson, with respect to the band ‘phish’). Specifically, Harry/Draco slash fans have delighted in the hint of a blown kiss from Draco Malfoy to Harry (as Draco sends Harry an origami bird/graffiti message in a Defence against the Dark Arts Class in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban) as an acknowledgement of their cultural contribution to the development of the HP phenomenon. Streeter credits Raymond’s essay ‘The Cathedral and the Bazaar’ as offering a model for the incorporation of voluntary labour into the marketplace. Although Streeter’s example concerns the Open Source movement, derived from hacker culture, it has parallels with the prodigious creativity (and productivity) of the HP FF communities. Discussing the decision by Netscape to throw open the source code of its software in 1998, allowing those who use it to modify and improve it, Streeter comments that (659) “the core trope is to portray Linux-style software development like a bazaar, a real-life competitive marketplace”. The bazaar features a world of competing, yet complementary, small traders each displaying their skills and their wares for evaluation in terms of the product on offer. In contrast, “Microsoft-style software production is portrayed as hierarchical and centralised – and thus inefficient – like a cathedral”. Raymond identifies “ego satisfaction and reputation among other [peers]” as a specific socio-emotional benefit for volunteer participants (in Open Source development), going on to note: “Voluntary cultures that work this way are not actually uncommon [… for example] science fiction fandom, which unlike hackerdom has long explicitly recognized ‘egoboo’ (ego-boosting, or the enhancement of one’s reputation among other fans) as the basic drive behind volunteer activity”. This may also be a prime mover for FF engagement. Where fans have outgrown the anodyne canon they get added value through using the raw materials of the HP stories to construct fanon: establishing and building individual identities and communities through HP consumption practices in parallel with, but different from, those deemed acceptable for younger, more innocent, fans. The fame implicit in HP fandom is not only that of HP, the HP lead actor Daniel Radcliffe and HP’s creator J K Rowling; for some fans the famed ‘state or quality of being widely honoured and acclaimed’ can be realised through their participation in online fan culture – fans become famous and recognised within their own community for the quality of their work and the generosity of their sharing with others. The cultural capital circulated on the FF sites is both canon and fanon, a matter of some anxiety for the corporations that typically buy into and foster these mega-media products. As Jim Ward, Vice-President of Marketing for Lucasfilm comments about Star Wars fans (cited in Murray 11): “We love our fans. We want them to have fun. But if in fact someone is using our characters to create a story unto itself, that’s not in the spirit of what we think fandom is about. Fandom is about celebrating the story the way it is.” Slash fans would beg to differ, and for many FF readers and writers, the joy of engagement, and a significant engine for the growth of HP fame, is partly located in the creativity offered for readers and writers to fill in the gaps. Endnote HP FF ranges from posts on general FF sites (such as fanfiction.net >> books, where HP has 147,067 stories [on 4,490 pages of hotlinks] posted, compared with its nearest ‘rival’ Lord of the rings: with 33,189 FF stories). General FF sites exclude adult content, much of which is corralled into 18+ FF sites, such as Restrictedsection.org, set up when core material was expelled from general sites. As an example of one adult site, the Potter Slash Archive is selective (unlike fanfiction.net, for example) which means that only stories liked by the site team are displayed. Authors submitting work are asked to abide by a list of ‘compulsory parameters’, but ‘warnings’ fall under the category of ‘optional parameters’: “Please put a warning if your story contains content that may be offensive to some authors [sic], such as m/m sex, graphic sex or violence, violent sex, character death, major angst, BDSM, non-con (rape) etc”. Adult-content FF readers/writers embrace a range of unexpected genres – such as Twincest (incest within either of the two sets of twin characters in HP) and Weasleycest (incest within the Weasley clan) – in addition to mainstream romance/homo-erotica pairings, such as that between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. (NB: within the time frame 16 August – 4 October, Harry Potter FF writers had posted an additional 9,196 stories on the fanfiction.net site alone.) 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Houghton Mifflin. “Potlatch.” Encyclopedia of North American Indians. http://college.hmco.com/history/readerscomp/naind/html/ na_030900_potlatch.htm>. Kirby, Justin. “Brand Papers: Getting the Bug.” Brand Strategy July-August 2004. http://www.dmc.co.uk/pdf/BrandStrategy07-0804.pdf>. Marshall, P. David. “Technophobia: Video Games, Computer Hacks and Cybernetics.” Media International Australia 85 (Nov. 1997): 70-8. Murray, Simone. “Celebrating the Story the Way It Is: Cultural Studies, Corporate Media and the Contested Utility of Fandom.” Continuum 18.1 (2004): 7-25. Raymond, Eric S. The Cathedral and the Bazaar. 2000. http://www.catb.org/~esr/writings/cathedral-bazaar/cathedral-bazaar/ar01s11.html>. Streeter, Thomas. The Romantic Self and the Politics of Internet Commercialization. Cultural Studies 17.5 (2003): 648-68. Turner, Graeme, Frances Bonner, and P. David Marshall. Fame Games: The Production of Celebrity in Australia. Melbourne: Cambridge UP. Watson, Nessim. “Why We Argue about Virtual Community: A Case Study of the Phish.net Fan Community.” Virtual Culture: Identity and Communication in Cybersociety. Ed. Steven G. Jones. London: Sage, 1997. 102-32. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Green, Lelia, and Carmen Guinery. "Harry Potter and the Fan Fiction Phenomenon." M/C Journal 7.5 (2004). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0411/14-green.php>. APA Style Green, L., and C. Guinery. (Nov. 2004) "Harry Potter and the Fan Fiction Phenomenon," M/C Journal, 7(5). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0411/14-green.php>.

On 26 April 2002, in the German city of Erfurt, 19-year-old Robert Steinhäuser entered his former high school with two semi-automatic weapons. He killed the secretary, twelve teachers, two students, and a policeman before a staff member locked him in an empty classroom and he turned his gun on himself (Lemonick). Ten years later, I visited the city with the intention of writing a play about it. This was to be my fifth play based on primary research of an actual event. In previous projects, I had written about personal catastrophes of failed relationships, and reversals of fortune within private community groups. As my experience progressed, I was drawn to events of increasing complexity and seriousness. Now I was dealing with the social catastrophe of violent, deliberate loss of life that had affected the community on a national scale. I had developed a practice of making contact with potential participants, gaining their trust, and conducting interviews. I was interested in truth and authenticity and the ethics of writing about real experiences. My process was informed by the work of theorists Donna Haraway, Zygmunt Bauman and Roy Bhaskar. While embracing postmodern reflexivity, these thinkers nevertheless maintain the existence of a reality that operates independently of social construction (Davies 19). This involves a rejection of a postmodern relativism, in which “unadulterated individualism” (Bauman 2) leaves us free to construct our own worlds with impunity. Instead, we are invited to acknowledge that “we are not in charge of the world” (Haraway 39), and that we are answerable for our relationships within it. I intended to challenge postmodern notions of truth with work that was real rather than relative, authentic rather than constructed. I believed that a personal relationship between me and those who inspired my work was crucial. This relationship would be the ethical foundation from which I could monitor the value of my work and the risk of harm to those involved in the stories I chose to tell. I launched into the Erfurt project intending to follow my established process. But that didn’t happen. I went to Erfurt on the tenth anniversary of the event. I attended an official memorial ceremony at the school, and another service at the church which had been heavily involved in counselling the bereaved. In the evening I saw a theatre production at the Erfurt Theatre entitled Die Würde der deutschen Waffenschränke ist unantastbar (The Dignity of German Weapons Cupboards is Inviolable). The piece, by writer and journalist Roman Grafe, is based on interviews and contemporary reports about this and similar incidents around Germany. My intention had been to make initial contact with people and lay the ground-work for subsequent communication and interviews for my project. However, the whole time I was in Erfurt, I spoke to no one, apart from waiters, shopkeepers and a lonely sight-seeing chimneysweep who cornered me for a conversation in the cathedral. It’s highly likely I couldn’t have done the interviews the way I had planned them anyway. But the point is that, in Erfurt, I decided I wasn’t going to try. The work I had done in the past was always about uncovering an untold story. My drive to investigate and illuminate a story was directly related to how hidden, surprising, and unreachable it was. This was a big part of how I judged the value of what I was doing, despite the inherent inequitable power of the colonizing voice (hooks 343). My previous experience had been that the people I found wanted to speak to me because no one had ever asked them for their story before. I also believed in the value of unearthing a story for an audience who either didn't know about it, or wanted to know more. Neither of these applied in Erfurt. This event attracted enormous media attention. There are dedicated books, documentaries, YouTube shorts, essays, Masters theses, parliamentary reports, inquiries, debates, magazine articles, and newspaper reports. Many people, including survivors, the bereaved, professionals, and Robert Steinhäuser’s parents and friends, had already spoken. Inquiries for more information keep coming. The principal of the school has ring binders full of them and, even after ten years, they continue to stream onto her desk every week (Müller 165). When I was at the official memorial service at the school, I saw reporters and photographers hovering in the crowd, sneaking around to catch moments of grief. I was ashamed to feel that I was one of them. For all my noble aspirations, academic justification and approval by an ethics committee, the sheer volume of interest in this event combined with the ongoing pain of those involved made what I was doing seem grubby. The closest I came to a personal interaction was a pencilled note in the margins of a copy of Für heute reichts (Geipel), a hybrid narrative-style investigation of the event which I borrowed from the library. The copy had been underlined throughout. On page 230, the investigator of the story is warned away by a bereaved lawyer: Ich kann Ihnen im Moment niemanden von den Angehörigen sagen, der bereit wäre, mit Ihnen zu sprechen. (I can’t tell you any of the next of kin at the moment who would be prepared to speak with you.) Written underneath in pencil: Ich hab’s nie ausgesprochen und doch denke ich, ich redete ununterbrochen davon. (I’ve never said it aloud and yet I think I’ve talked about it continuously.) I took this as a warning: those who wanted to speak already had; those who didn’t, wouldn’t. And more importantly, it was painful either way. To comb over this well-mined ground yet again, causing even more pain in the process, seemed unethical to me. The risk of further harm was obvious. The stories that people had told were horrifying. At the centre of each of them: raw, hopeless pain. The testimonials all spiralled into a tunnel of loss, silence, death, and blame. They bristled with the need for community, to have been there, the indignity and pain of not being with their loved ones when they needed them. The painful, horrible, awful truth: there is nothing they could have done. As I sat in the memorial church service in Erfurt, I felt the depth of my own losses yawning inside me and I was almost engulfed with sadness. The vulnerability of my loved ones and my own mortality loomed so large that I had to consciously control myself and pull myself back from the brink. It’s that silent place of grief that Cixous identifies as both aesthetically compelling and ethically fraught (McEvoy 214). It’s the silence where death exists. This is where the people around me had been for ten years. I’ve been taken to that place so many times in the course of researching this event, and it was in the theatre that it was most intense. I sat in the theatre and experienced a verbatim monologue from a bereaved mother, performed by an actress sitting on the edge of the stage, reading aloud from printed sheets of paper. A fifteen minute monologue of how she found out about the shooting, the wait for more news, how her daughter's mobile phone didn't answer, how she found out her daughter had been killed when someone called her to offer condolences, what the days, weeks and months afterwards were like, the celebration of her birthday beside her grave. It was authentic, in that it came directly from the person who had experienced it. The ethical values of the theatre maker were evident in the unedited rawness of the piece and the respect it was given within the production. This theatre piece did exactly what I had thought I wanted do: it opened a real window into what happened. But it wasn’t satisfying to experience. It was just plain awful. What I have come to believe, as an artist wanting to interpret this event with integrity, is that opening this window into grief is not enough. The tunnelling spiral of pain, loss and blame goes nowhere but down. It’s harder to bear because the victims were young, and they were killed in an explosion of violence, at the imposition of a stranger’s will, in a place that was supposed to be safe. But when you strip away the circumstances, the essence of loss is the same, whether your loved one dies of cancer, in a car accident, or a natural disaster. It’s terrible, and it’s real, but it’s not unique to this event. If I was going to be part of a crowd picking over the corpses, then I felt I had to be very clear within myself why I had chosen these ones. I was staying in a monastery where two hundred and sixty-seven people were killed by a bomb while sheltering in the library during World War II. Stories of violent death and loss are everywhere. Feeling the intensity of that loss as though it’s your own isn’t necessarily productive. A few weeks before, I had passed the scene of an accident on the way to school with my daughter. A girl had been hit by a car and seriously injured. The ambulance officers were already there and they had put a cushion under the girl's head, and they were at the ambulance preparing the stretcher. The girl was lying in the middle of the road, alone and crying. As we passed and walked towards the school, girls were running from the front gates to join the expanding fan of onlookers standing there, looking, shaking their heads, agreeing with each other how terrible it was. I wanted to tell them to go away. It highlighted for me the deeply held response to trauma that my parents instilled in me: if there’s nothing you can do to help, then you have no business being there. Standing around watching turned the girl’s pain turned her into a spectacle. It created a bright line between the spectators and the girl, while simultaneously making the spectators feel as though they were part of her story and that they were special for witnessing it. They could go back to class and say: I was there, it was terrible. The comfort seems to be in processing sympathy into a feeling of self-importance at having felt pain that isn’t yours. I have felt the pain of the bereaved. I have cried for those who were killed. But my tears have not brought me closer to understanding what happened here. I had the same feeling of wrongness when I left the theatre as when I was escaping the crowd staring at the girl from the side of the road. Sharing the feeling of loss gave an illusion of understanding, solidarity, community and helpfulness that the spectators could then just walk away from and take superficial comfort from, without ever dealing with what I think is the actual reality of the event. In my opinion, the essence of this event does not lie in the nature of the violence and its attendant loss. What happened in Erfurt wasn’t an accident. These were targeted murders. The heart of this event is not the loss: it’s the desire to kill. This is what distinguishes this particular kind of event from any other catastrophe in which lives are lost. At its centre: someone did this on purpose. Robert Steinhäuser was expelled from school without any qualifications, so he was unemployable and ineligible for further education. He didn’t tell his family or his friends about the expulsion, so for months afterwards he lived a charade of attending school. When he attacked, he specifically targeted teachers and actively tried to avoid hurting students. (The two students who died that day were killed as he shot through a locked door.) According to the state government commission into the incident, Robert Steinhäuser’s transgression was an attempt to achieve recognition and public importance (Müller 193). It appears that he was at a point where he decided that the best thing or the only thing he could do was enact a theatrical mass murder of the people he thought were responsible for his misery. For me, focusing on the repercussions and the victims and the loss actually reinforces the structures that led Robert to make this decision: Robert is isolated, singular, and everyone else is against him. For many, this is seen as the appropriate way to deal with him. Angela Merkel, the conservative party leader at the time, said: Wer das Unverständliche verstehbar und das Unerklärbare erklärbar machen möchte, der muss aufpassen, das er sich nicht – zumindest unterschwellig – auf die Seite des Täters stellt und versucht, das Unentschuldbar mit irgendwelchen Umständen zu erklären. (Slotosch 1) (Whoever wants to make something that’s beyond understanding understandable and the inexplicable explicable has to be careful that he doesn’t—even unconsciously—stand on the side of the perpetrator and try to explain the inexcusable with circumstances of some kind.) According to Merkel, even to attempt to understand Robert is to betray his victims, and places you on the wrong side of the line that defines our humanity. Many of those who were directly affected by the event believe this as well. A recurring issue for many of the survivors and bereaved is the need to suppress the memory of Robert Steinhäuser. The school principal, Christiane Alt, said: Ich kann es nicht ertragen, dass er so postmortalen Ruhm auf sich zieht – das passiert immer wieder, nicht nur im Internet – und dass die Namen der Opfer ins Vergessen sinken. (Müller 160) (I can’t bear that he attracts such posthumous celebrity—it keeps happening, not just on the internet—and that the names of the victims sink into obscurity.) There is ongoing debate about the appropriateness of a seventeenth tribute: seventeen people died that day, only sixteen are officially mourned. There were sixteen names on the plaque at the school, sixteen candles on the memorial on the steps, and sixteen people were honoured and remembered in speeches. The voices of the perpetrators were unheard in the theatre piece. They were given no words and no story. It was only in the church that there was a seventeenth candle, on its own, to the side, in the dark. I have circled around this story for over a year and I keep coming back to Robert, however unwillingly. I am a dramatic writer. I write characters who take action. The German word for “perpetrator” is Täter. From the verb tun, to do. It means “do-er.” Someone who does something. It’s closer to our word “actor”, which for me reinforces the theatricality of the event as a whole. Robert staged this event. He wanted witnesses, as the impact of what he did depends on it. He even performed in costume. I am concerned that looking at Robert may actively reinforce the dramaturgical structure that he orchestrated, and thereby empower him and those like him. He wanted people to see him and know his story, and this is the only way he felt he could take control over it and face its indignity. I don’t want him to be right. All of this has left me in a very strange position. My own ethical process has actually collapsed beneath my feet. I had relied on giving a voice to those who wanted to speak—those people have already spoken. I saw value in uncovering a story that was previously unknown. This one has been examined many times over. I relied on personal, situated relationships between myself and those involved in the event. I have no such relationship. And if I did, what I see as an ethical response to this event—that is to try to understand Robert’s story—would actually be contrary to what many of those involved in the event want. I would run the risk of hurting those I most want to champion. It’s a risk I’ve had to run before. My last play was about a fifteen-year-old girl who had a sexual relationship with a teacher. I interviewed her and her friends, family, court officials, and also spoke to the teacher himself. The girl is highly intelligent and she had suffered terribly, but she could also be conceited and manipulative, and for me that truth was a crucial part of her story. I believed I got it right, but I also knew I ran the risk of hurting her, which of course I didn’t want to do. The girl came to see the play on opening night and I was absolutely terrified. We couldn’t speak, because she has to remain anonymous, but she thanked me via e-mail afterwards and told me that she felt privileged. She said that the play gave her experience a level of dignity that she would never have found otherwise. I was relieved, humbled, honoured, and vindicated. This is what I hoped for: a creative work about real events that was truthful and authentic, without being exploitative or hurtful. I had thought that the process relied on this ethical and responsible relationship. But the girl told me what she appreciated most was the energy and integrity with which I had dedicated myself to her story. This response has helped me to continue with my project. I am no longer sure of how to achieve an ethical, authentic artistic outcome, or even what that may be. But I still believe in my own capacity to ask questions with energy and integrity, and I hope that this will be enough. Because it’s all I have left. References Bauman, Zygmunt. Postmodern Ethics. Blackwell: Oxford, 1993. Davies, Charlotte Aull. Reflexive Ethnography: A Guide to Researching Selves and Others. Routledge: London, 2008. Die Würde der deutschen Waffenschränke ist unantastbar (The Dignity of German Weapons Cupboards Is Inviolable). Dir. Roman Grafe. Erfurt Theatre, 2012. Geipel, Ines. Für heute reichts (Amok in Erfurt). Berlin: Rohwohlt, 2004. Haraway, Donna. “Situated Knowledges: The Science Question in Feminism and the Privilege of Partial Perspective.” Turning Points in Qualitative Research: Tying Knots in a Handkerchief. Eds. Norman K. Denzin, and Yvonna S. Lincoln. Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira P, 2003. 21–46. hooks, b. “Marginality as a Site of Resistance.” Out There: Marginalization and Contemporary Cultures. Eds. Russell Ferguson et al. Cambridge, MA: MIT P, 1990. 341–343. Lemonick, Michael. D. “Germany’s Columbine.” Time 159.18 (6 May 2002): 36. Mcevoy, W. “Finding the Balance: Writing and Performing Ethics in Théâtre du Soleil’s Le Dernier Caravansérail.” New Theatre Quarterly 22.3 (2003): 211–26. Müller, Hanno, and Paul-Josef Raue. Der Amoklauf: 10 Jahre danach—Erinnern und Gedenken. Essen: Klartext-Verlag, 2012. Slotosch, Sven. “Das alte Lied, das alte Leid.” Telepolis 30 Nov. 2006. 7 Jun. 2012 < http://www.heise.de/tp/artikel/24/24101/1.html >.

When the National Trust was established in 1895 its founders, Canon Rawnsley, Sir Robert Hunter and Octavia Hill, were, as Cannadine notes, “primarily concerned with preserving open spaces of outstanding natural beauty which were threatened with development or spoliation.” This was because, like Ruskin, Morris and “many of their contemporaries, they believed that the essence of Englishness was to be found in the fields and hedgerows, not in the suburbs and slums” (Cannadine 227). It was important to protect these sites of beauty and historical interest from development not only for what they were but for what they purportedly represented—an irreplaceable repository of the nation’s “spiritual values”, and thus a vital antidote to the “base materialism” of the day. G.M. Trevelyan, who I am quoting here, noted in two pieces written on behalf of the Trust in the 1920s and 30s, that the “inexorable rise of bricks and mortar” and the “full development of motor traffic” were laying waste to the English countryside. In the face of this assault on England’s heartland, the National Trust provided “an ark of refuge” safeguarding the nation’s cherished physical heritage and preserving its human cargo from the rising waters of materialism and despair (qtd. in Cannadine 231-2).Despite the extension of the road network and increasing private ownership of cars (up from 200,000 registrations in 1918 to “well over one million” in 1930), physical distance and economic hardship denied the majority of the urban population access to the countryside (Taylor 217). For the urban working classes recently or distantly displaced from the land, the dream of a return to rural roots was never more than a fantasy. Ford Madox Ford observed that “the poor and working classes of the towns never really go back” (Ford 58).Through the later nineteenth century the rural nostalgia once most prevalent among the working classes was increasingly noted as a feature of middle class sensibility. Better educated, with more leisure time and money at their disposal, these sentimental ruralists furnished a ready market for a new consumer phenomenon—the commodification of the English countryside and the packaging of the values it notionally embodied. As Valentine Cunningham observes, this was not always an edifying spectacle. By the late 1920s, “the terrible sounds of ‘Ye Olde England’ can already be heard, just off-stage, knocking together its thatched wayside stall where plastic pixies, reproduction beer-mugs, relics of Shakespeare and corn-dollies would soon be on sale” (Cunningham 229). Alongside the standard tourist tat, and the fiction and poetry that romanticised the rural world, a new kind of travel writing emerged around the turn of the century. Through an analysis of early-twentieth century notions of Englishness, this paper considers how the north struggled to find a place in H.V. Morton’s In Search of England (1927).In Haunts of Ancient Peace (1901), the Poet Laureate, Alfred Austin, described a journey through “Old England” as a cultural pilgrimage in quest of surviving vestiges of the nation’s essential identity, “or so much of it as is left” (Austin 18). Austin’s was an early example of what had, by the 1920s and 30s become a “boom market … in books about the national character, traditions and antiquities, usually to be found in the country” (Wiener 73). Longmans began its “English Heritage” series in 1929, introduced by the Prime Minister, Stanley Baldwin, with volumes on “English humour, folk song and dance, the public school, the parish church, [and] wild life”. A year later Batsford launched its series of books on “English Life” with volumes featuring “the countryside, Old English household life, inns, villages, and cottages” (Wiener 73). There was an outpouring of books with an overtly conservationist agenda celebrating journeys through or periods of residence in the countryside, many of them written by “soldiers like Henry Williamson and Edmund Blunden, who returned from the First War determined to preserve the rural England they’d known” (Cunningham 229; Blunden, Face, England; Roberts, Pilgrim, Gone ; Williamson). In turn, these books engendered an efflorescence of critical analyses of the construction of England (Hamilton; Haddow; Keith; Cavaliero; Gervais; Giles and Middleton; Westall and Gardiner).By the 1920s it was clear that a great many people thought they knew what England was, where it might be found, and if threatened, which parts of it needed to be rescued in order to safeguard the survival of its essential identity. By the same point, there were large numbers who felt, in Patrick Wright’s words, that “Some areas of the nation had been lost forever and in these no one should expect to find the traditional nation at all” (Wright 87).A key guide to the nation’s sacred sites in this period, an inventory of their relics, and an illustration of how its lost regions might be rescued for or erased from its cultural map, was provided in H.V. Morton’s In Search of England (1927). Initially published as a series of articles in the Daily Express in 1926, In Search of England went through nine editions in the two and a half years after its appearance in book form in 1927. With sales in excess of a million copies, as John Brannigan notes, the book went through a further twenty editions by 1943, and has remained continuously in print since (Brannigan).In his introduction Morton proposes In Search of England is simply “the record of a motor-car journey round England … written without deliberation by the roadside, on farmyard walls, in cathedrals, in little churchyards, on the washstands of country inns, and in many another inconvenient place” (Morton vii). As C.R. Perry notes, “This is a happy image, but also a misleading one” (Perry 434) for there was nothing arbitrary about Morton’s progress. Even a cursory glance at the map of his journey confirms, the England that Morton went in search of was overwhelmingly rural or coastal, and embodied in the historic villages and ancient towns of the Midlands or South.Morton’s biographer, Michael Bartholomew suggests that the “nodal points” of Morton’s journey are the “cathedral cities” (Bartholomew 105).Despite claims to the contrary, his book was written with deliberation and according to a specific cultural objective. Morton’s purpose was not to discover his homeland but to confirm a vision that he and millions of others cherished. He was not in search of England so much as reassuring himself and his readers that in spite of the depredations of the factory and the motor vehicle, it was still out there. These aims determined Morton’s journey; how long he spent in differing parts, what he recorded, and how he presented landscapes, buildings, people and material culture.Morton’s determination to celebrate England as rural and ancient needed to negotiate the journey north into an industrial landscape better known for its manufacturing cities, mining and mill towns, and the densely packed streets of the poor and working classes. Unable to either avoid or ignore this north, Morton needed to settle upon a strategy of passing through it without disturbing his vision of the rural idyll. Narratively, Morton’s touring through the south and west of the country is conducted at a gentle pace. In my 1930 edition of the text, it takes 185 of the book’s 280 pages to bring him from London via the South Coast, Cornwall, the Cotswolds and the Welsh marches, to Chester. The instant Morton crosses the Lancashire border, his bull-nosed Morris accelerates through the extensive northern counties in a mere thirty pages: Warrington to Carlisle (with a side trip to Gretna Green), Carlisle to Durham, and Durham to Lincoln. The final sixty-five pages return to the more leisurely pace of the south and west through Norfolk and the East Midlands, before the journey is completed in an unnamed village somewhere between Stratford upon Avon and Warwick. Morton spends 89 per cent of the text in the South and Midlands (66 per cent and 23 per cent respectively) with only 11 per cent given over to his time in the north.If, as Genette has pointed out, narrative deceleration results in the descriptive pause, it is no coincidence that this is the recurring set piece of Morton’s treatment of the south and west as opposed to the north. His explorations take dwelling moments on river banks and hill tops, in cathedral closes and castle ruins to honour the genius loci and imagine earlier times. On Plymouth Hoe he sees, in his mind’s eye, Sir Walter Raleigh’s fleet set sail to take on the Armada; at Tintagel it is Arthur, wild and Celtic, scaling the cliffs, spear in hand; at Buckler’s Hard amid the rotting slipways he imagines the “stout oak-built ships which helped to found the British Empire”, setting out on their journeys of conquest (Morton 39). At the other extreme, Genette observes, that narrative acceleration produces ellipsis, where details are omitted in order to render a more compact and striking expression. It is the principle of ellipsis, of selective omission, which compresses the geography of Morton’s journey through the north with the effect of shaping reader experiences. Morton hurries past the north’s industrial areas—shuddering at the sight of smoke or chimneys and averting his gaze from factory and slum.As he crosses the border from Cheshire into Lancashire, Morton reflects that “the traveller enters Industrial England”—not that you would know it from his account (Morton 185). Heading north towards the Lake District, he steers a determined path between “red smoke stacks” rising on one side and an “ominous grey haze” on the other, holding to a narrow corridor of rural land where, to his relief, he observes men “raking hay in a field within gunshot of factory chimneys” (Morton 185-6). These redolent, though isolated, farmhands are of greater cultural moment than the citadels of industry towering on either side of them. While the chimneys might symbolise the nation’s economic potency, the farmhands embody the survival of its essential cultural and moral qualities. In an allusion to the Israelites’ passage through the Red Sea from the Book of Exodus, the land that the workers tend holds back the polluted tide of industry, furnishing relief from the factory and the slum, granting Morton safe passage through the perils of modernity and into the Promised Land–or at least the Lake District. In Morton’s view this green belt is not only more essentially English than trade and industry, it is also expresses a nobler and more authentic Englishness.The “great industrial new-rich cities of northern England—vast and mighty as they are,” Morton observes, “fall into perspective as mere black specks against the mighty background of history and the great green expanse of fine country which is the real North of England” (Morton 208). Thus, the rural land between Manchester and Liverpool expands into a sea of green as the great cities shrink on the horizon, and the north is returned to its origins.What Morton cannot speed past or ignore, what he is compelled or chooses to confront, he transforms, through the agency of history, into something that he and England can bear to own. Tempted into Wigan by its reputation as a comic nowhere-land, a place whose name conjured a thousand music hall gags, Morton confesses that he had expected to find there another kind of cliché, “the apex of the world’s pyramid of gloom … dreary streets and stagnant canals and white-faced Wigonians dragging their weary steps along dull streets haunted by the horror of the place in which they are condemned to live” (Morton 187).In the process of naming what he dreads, Morton does not describe Wigan: he exorcises his deepest fears about what it might hold and offers an incantation intended to hold them at bay. He “discovers” Wigan is not the industrial slum but “a place which still bears all the signs of an old-fashioned country town” (Morton 188). Morton makes no effort to describe Wigan as it is, any more than he describes the north as a whole: he simply overlays them with a vision of them as they should be—he invents the Wigan and the north that he and England need.Having surveyed parks and gardens, historical monuments and the half-timbered mock-Tudor High Street, Morton returns to his car and the road where, with an audible sigh of relief, he finds: “Within five minutes of notorious Wigan we were in the depth of the country,” and that “on either side were fields in which men were making hay” (Morton 189).In little more than three pages he passes from one set of haymakers, south of town, to another on its north. The green world has all but smoothed over the industrial eyesore, and the reader, carefully chaperoned by Morton, can pass on to the Lake District having barely glimpsed the realities of industry and urbanism, reassured that if this is the worst that the north has to show then the rural heartland and the essential identity it sustains are safe. Paradoxically, instead of invalidating his account, Morton’s self-evident exclusions and omissions seem only to have fuelled its popularity.For readers of the Daily Express in the months leading up to and immediately after the General Strike of 1926, the myth of England that Morton proffered, of an unspoilt village where old values and traditional hierarchies still held true, was preferable to the violently polarised urban battlefields that the strike had revealed. As the century progressed and the nation suffered depression, war, and a steady decline in its international standing, as industry, suburban sprawl and the irresistible spread of motorways and traffic blighted the land, Morton’s England offered an imagined refuge, a real England that somehow, magically resisted the march of time.Yet if it was Morton’s triumph to provide England with a vision of its ideal spiritual home, it was his tragedy that this portrait of it hastened the devastation of the cultural survivals he celebrated and sought to preserve: “Even as the sense of idyll and peace was maintained, the forces pulling in another direction had to be acknowledged” (Taylor 74).In his introduction to the 1930 edition of In Search of England Morton approvingly acknowledged that a new enthusiasm for the nation’s history and heritage was abroad and that “never before have so many people been searching for England.” In the next sentence he goes on to laud the “remarkable system of motor-coach services which now penetrates every part of the country [and] has thrown open to ordinary people regions which even after the coming of the railways were remote and inaccessible” (Morton vii).Astonishingly, as the waiting charabancs roared their engines and the village greens of England enjoyed the last hours of their tranquillity, Morton somehow failed to make the obvious connection between these unique cultural and social phenomena or take any measure of their potential consequences. His “motoring pastoral” did more than alert the barbarians to the existence of the nation’s hidden treasures, as David Matless notes it provided them with a route map, itinerary and behavioural guide for their pillages (Matless 64; Peach; Batsford).Yet while cultural preservationists wrung their hands in horror at the advent of the day-tripper slouching towards Barnstaple, for Morton this was never a cause for concern. The nature of his journey and the form of its representation demonstrate that the England he worshipped was more an imaginary than a physical space, an ideal whose precise location no chart could fix and no touring party defile. ReferencesAustin, Alfred. Haunts of Ancient Peace. London: Macmillan, 1902.Bartholomew, Michael. In Search of H.V. Morton. London: Methuen, 2004.Batsford, Harry. How to See the Country. London: B.T. Batsford, 1940.Blunden, Edmund. The Face of England: In a Series of Occasional Sketches. London: Longmans, 1932.———. English Villages. London: Collins, 1942.Brannigan, John. “‘England Am I …’ Eugenics, Devolution and Virginia Woolf’s Between the Acts.” The Palgrave Macmillan Literature of an Independent England: Revisions of England, Englishness and English Literature. Eds. Claire Westall and Michael Gardiner. Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013.Cannadine, David. In Churchill’s Shadow: Confronting the Past in Modern Britain. London: Penguin, 2002.Cavaliero, Glen. The Rural Tradition in the English Novel 1900-1939. Totowa, NJ: Rowman and Littlefield, 1977.Cunningham, Valentine. British Writers of the Thirties. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988.Ford, Ford Madox. The Heart of the Country: A Survey of a Modern Land. London: Alston Rivers, 1906.Gervais, David. Literary Englands. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993.Giles, J., and T. Middleton, eds. Writing Englishness. London: Routledge, 1995.Haddow, Elizabeth. “The Novel of English Country Life, 1900-1930.” Dissertation. London: University of London, 1957.Hamilton, Robert. W.H. Hudson: The Vision of Earth. New York: Kennikat Press, 1946.Keith, W.J. Richard Jefferies: A Critical Study. Toronto: Toronto University Press, 1965.Lewis, Roy, and Angus Maude. The English Middle Classes. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1949.Matless, David. Landscape and Englishness. London: Reaktion Books, 1998.Morris, Margaret. The General Strike. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1976.Morton, H.V. In Search of England. London: Methuen, 1927.Peach, H. Let Us Tidy Up. Leicester: The Dryad Press, 1930.Perry, C.R. “In Search of H.V. Morton: Travel Writing and Cultural Values in the First Age of British Democracy.” Twentieth Century British History 10.4 (1999): 431-56.Roberts, Cecil. Pilgrim Cottage. London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1933.———. Gone Rustic. London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1934.Taylor, A.J.P. England 1914-1945. The Oxford History of England XV. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1975.Taylor, John. War Photography: Realism in the British Press. London: Routledge, 1991.Wiener, Martin. English Culture and the Decline of the Industrial Spirit, 1850-1980. 2nd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004.Williamson, Henry. The Village Book. London: Jonathan Cape, 1930.Wright, Patrick. A Journey through Ruins: A Keyhole Portrait of British Postwar Life and Culture. London: Flamingo, 1992.

At one point in Victor Hugo’s novel, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, the archdeacon, Claude Frollo, looked up from a book on his table to the edifice of the gothic cathedral, visible from his canon’s cell in the cloister of Notre Dame: “Alas!” he said, “this will kill that” (146). Frollo’s lament, that the book would destroy the edifice, captures the medieval cleric’s anxiety about the way in which Gutenberg’s print technology would become the new universal means for recording and communicating humanity’s ideas and artistic expression, replacing the grand monuments of architecture, human engineering, and craftsmanship. For Hugo, architecture was “the great handwriting of humankind” (149). The cathedral as the material outcome of human technology was being replaced by the first great machine—the printing press. At this point in the third millennium, some people undoubtedly have similar anxieties to Frollo: is it now the book’s turn to be destroyed by yet another great machine? The inclusion of “post print” in our title is not intended to sound the death knell of the book. Rather, we contend that despite the enduring value of print, digital publishing is “present and active” and is changing the way in which research, particularly in the humanities, is being undertaken. Our approach has three related parts. First, we consider how digital technologies are changing the way in which content is constructed, customised, modified, disseminated, and accessed within a global, distributed network. This section argues that the transition from print to electronic or digital publishing means both losses and gains, particularly with respect to shifts in our approaches to textuality, information, and innovative publishing. Second, we discuss the Children’s Literature Digital Resources (CLDR) project, with which we are involved. This case study of a digitising initiative opens out the transformative possibilities and challenges of digital publishing and e-scholarship for research communities. Third, we reflect on technology’s capacity to bring about major changes in the light of the theoretical and practical issues that have arisen from our discussion. I. Digitising in a “post-print age” We are living in an era that is commonly referred to as “the late age of print” (see Kho) or the “post-print age” (see Gunkel). According to Aarseth, we have reached a point whereby nearly all of our public and personal media have become more or less digital (37). As Kho notes, web newspapers are not only becoming increasingly more popular, but they are also making rather than losing money, and paper-based newspapers are finding it difficult to recruit new readers from the younger generations (37). Not only can such online-only publications update format, content, and structure more economically than print-based publications, but their wide distribution network, speed, and flexibility attract advertising revenue. Hype and hyperbole aside, publishers are not so much discarding their legacy of print, but recognising the folly of not embracing innovative technologies that can add value by presenting information in ways that satisfy users’ needs for content to-go or for edutainment. As Kho notes: “no longer able to satisfy customer demand by producing print-only products, or even by enabling online access to semi-static content, established publishers are embracing new models for publishing, web-style” (42). Advocates of online publishing contend that the major benefits of online publishing over print technology are that it is faster, more economical, and more interactive. However, as Hovav and Gray caution, “e-publishing also involves risks, hidden costs, and trade-offs” (79). The specific focus for these authors is e-journal publishing and they contend that while cost reduction is in editing, production and distribution, if the journal is not open access, then costs relating to storage and bandwith will be transferred to the user. If we put economics aside for the moment, the transition from print to electronic text (e-text), especially with electronic literary works, brings additional considerations, particularly in their ability to make available different reading strategies to print, such as “animation, rollovers, screen design, navigation strategies, and so on” (Hayles 38). Transition from print to e-text In his book, Writing Space, David Bolter follows Victor Hugo’s lead, but does not ask if print technology will be destroyed. Rather, he argues that “the idea and ideal of the book will change: print will no longer define the organization and presentation of knowledge, as it has for the past five centuries” (2). As Hayles noted above, one significant indicator of this change, which is a consequence of the shift from analogue to digital, is the addition of graphical, audio, visual, sonic, and kinetic elements to the written word. A significant consequence of this transition is the reinvention of the book in a networked environment. Unlike the printed book, the networked book is not bound by space and time. Rather, it is an evolving entity within an ecology of readers, authors, and texts. The Web 2.0 platform has enabled more experimentation with blending of digital technology and traditional writing, particularly in the use of blogs, which have spawned blogwriting and the wikinovel. Siva Vaidhyanathan’s The Googlization of Everything: How One Company is Disrupting Culture, Commerce and Community … and Why We Should Worry is a wikinovel or blog book that was produced over a series of weeks with contributions from other bloggers (see: http://www.sivacracy.net/). Penguin Books, in collaboration with a media company, “Six Stories to Start,” have developed six stories—“We Tell Stories,” which involve different forms of interactivity from users through blog entries, Twitter text messages, an interactive google map, and other features. For example, the story titled “Fairy Tales” allows users to customise the story using their own choice of names for characters and descriptions of character traits. Each story is loosely based on a classic story and links take users to synopses of these original stories and their authors and to online purchase of the texts through the Penguin Books sales website. These examples of digital stories are a small part of the digital environment, which exploits computer and online technologies’ capacity to be interactive and immersive. As Janet Murray notes, the interactive qualities of digital environments are characterised by their procedural and participatory abilities, while their immersive qualities are characterised by their spatial and encyclopedic dimensions (71–89). These immersive and interactive qualities highlight different ways of reading texts, which entail different embodied and cognitive functions from those that reading print texts requires. As Hayles argues: the advent of electronic textuality presents us with an unparalleled opportunity to reformulate fundamental ideas about texts and, in the process, to see print as well as electronic texts with fresh eyes (89–90). The transition to e-text also highlights how digitality is changing all aspects of everyday life both inside and outside the academy. Online teaching and e-research Another aspect of the commercial arm of publishing that is impacting on academe and other organisations is the digitising and indexing of print content for niche distribution. Kho offers the example of the Mark Logic Corporation, which uses its XML content platform to repurpose content, create new content, and distribute this content through multiple portals. As the promotional website video for Mark Logic explains, academics can use this service to customise their own textbooks for students by including only articles and book chapters that are relevant to their subject. These are then organised, bound, and distributed by Mark Logic for sale to students at a cost that is generally cheaper than most textbooks. A further example of how print and digital materials can form an integrated, customised source for teachers and students is eFictions (Trimmer, Jennings, & Patterson). eFictions was one of the first print and online short story anthologies that teachers of literature could customise to their own needs. Produced as both a print text collection and a website, eFictions offers popular short stories in English by well-known traditional and contemporary writers from the US, Australia, New Zealand, UK, and Europe, with summaries, notes on literary features, author biographies, and, in one instance, a YouTube movie of the story. In using the eFictions website, teachers can build a customised anthology of traditional and innovative stories to suit their teaching preferences. These examples provide useful indicators of how content is constructed, customised, modified, disseminated, and accessed within a distributed network. However, the question remains as to how to measure their impact and outcomes within teaching and learning communities. As Harley suggests in her study on the use and users of digital resources in the humanities and social sciences, several factors warrant attention, such as personal teaching style, philosophy, and specific disciplinary requirements. However, in terms of understanding the benefits of digital resources for teaching and learning, Harley notes that few providers in her sample had developed any plans to evaluate use and users in a systematic way. In addition to the problems raised in Harley’s study, another relates to how researchers can be supported to take full advantage of digital technologies for e-research. The transformation brought about by information and communication technologies extends and broadens the impact of research, by making its outputs more discoverable and usable by other researchers, and its benefits more available to industry, governments, and the wider community. Traditional repositories of knowledge and information, such as libraries, are juggling the space demands of books and computer hardware alongside increasing reader demand for anywhere, anytime, anyplace access to information. Researchers’ expectations about online access to journals, eprints, bibliographic data, and the views of others through wikis, blogs, and associated social and information networking sites such as YouTube compete with the traditional expectations of the institutions that fund libraries for paper-based archives and book repositories. While university libraries are finding it increasingly difficult to purchase all hardcover books relevant to numerous and varied disciplines, a significant proportion of their budgets goes towards digital repositories (e.g., STORS), indexes, and other resources, such as full-text electronic specialised and multidisciplinary journal databases (e.g., Project Muse and Proquest); electronic serials; e-books; and specialised information sources through fast (online) document delivery services. An area that is becoming increasingly significant for those working in the humanities is the digitising of historical and cultural texts. II. Bringing back the dead: The CLDR project The CLDR project is led by researchers and librarians at the Queensland University of Technology, in collaboration with Deakin University, University of Sydney, and members of the AustLit team at The University of Queensland. The CLDR project is a “Research Community” of the electronic bibliographic database AustLit: The Australian Literature Resource, which is working towards the goal of providing a complete bibliographic record of the nation’s literature. AustLit offers users with a single entry point to enhanced scholarly resources on Australian writers, their works, and other aspects of Australian literary culture and activities. AustLit and its Research Communities are supported by grants from the Australian Research Council and financial and in-kind contributions from a consortium of Australian universities, and by other external funding sources such as the National Collaborative Research Infrastructure Strategy. Like other more extensive digitisation projects, such as Project Gutenberg and the Rosetta Project, the CLDR project aims to provide a centralised access point for digital surrogates of early published works of Australian children’s literature, with access pathways to existing resources. The first stage of the CLDR project is to provide access to digitised, full-text, out-of-copyright Australian children’s literature from European settlement to 1945, with selected digitised critical works relevant to the field. Texts comprise a range of genres, including poetry, drama, and narrative for young readers and picture books, songs, and rhymes for infants. Currently, a selection of 75 e-texts and digital scans of original texts from Project Gutenberg and Internet Archive have been linked to the Children’s Literature Research Community. By the end of 2009, the CLDR will have digitised approximately 1000 literary texts and a significant number of critical works. Stage II and subsequent development will involve digitisation of selected texts from 1945 onwards. A precursor to the CLDR project has been undertaken by Deakin University in collaboration with the State Library of Victoria, whereby a digital bibliographic index comprising Victorian School Readers has been completed with plans for full-text digital surrogates of a selection of these texts. These texts provide valuable insights into citizenship, identity, and values formation from the 1930s onwards. At the time of writing, the CLDR is at an early stage of development. An extensive survey of out-of-copyright texts has been completed and the digitisation of these resources is about to commence. The project plans to make rich content searchable, allowing scholars from children’s literature studies and education to benefit from the many advantages of online scholarship. What digital publishing and associated digital archives, electronic texts, hypermedia, and so forth foreground is the fact that writers, readers, publishers, programmers, designers, critics, booksellers, teachers, and copyright laws operate within a context that is highly mediated by technology. In his article on large-scale digitisation projects carried out by Cornell and University of Michigan with the Making of America collection of 19th-century American serials and monographs, Hirtle notes that when special collections’ materials are available via the Web, with appropriate metadata and software, then they can “increase use of the material, contribute to new forms of research, and attract new users to the material” (44). Furthermore, Hirtle contends that despite the poor ergonomics associated with most electronic displays and e-book readers, “people will, when given the opportunity, consult an electronic text over the print original” (46). If this preference is universally accurate, especially for researchers and students, then it follows that not only will the preference for electronic surrogates of original material increase, but preference for other kinds of electronic texts will also increase. It is with this preference for electronic resources in mind that we approached the field of children’s literature in Australia and asked questions about how future generations of researchers would prefer to work. If electronic texts become the reference of choice for primary as well as secondary sources, then it seems sensible to assume that researchers would prefer to sit at the end of the keyboard than to travel considerable distances at considerable cost to access paper-based print texts in distant libraries and archives. We considered the best means for providing access to digitised primary and secondary, full text material, and digital pathways to existing online resources, particularly an extensive indexing and bibliographic database. Prior to the commencement of the CLDR project, AustLit had already indexed an extensive number of children’s literature. Challenges and dilemmas The CLDR project, even in its early stages of development, has encountered a number of challenges and dilemmas that centre on access, copyright, economic capital, and practical aspects of digitisation, and sustainability. These issues have relevance for digital publishing and e-research. A decision is yet to be made as to whether the digital texts in CLDR will be available on open or closed/tolled access. The preference is for open access. As Hayles argues, copyright is more than a legal basis for intellectual property, as it also entails ideas about authorship, creativity, and the work as an “immaterial mental construct” that goes “beyond the paper, binding, or ink” (144). Seeking copyright permission is therefore only part of the issue. Determining how the item will be accessed is a further matter, particularly as future technologies may impact upon how a digital item is used. In the case of e-journals, the issue of copyright payment structures are evolving towards a collective licensing system, pay-per-view, and other combinations of print and electronic subscription (see Hovav and Gray). For research purposes, digitisation of items for CLDR is not simply a scan and deliver process. Rather it is one that needs to ensure that the best quality is provided and that the item is both accessible and usable by researchers, and sustainable for future researchers. Sustainability is an important consideration and provides a challenge for institutions that host projects such as CLDR. Therefore, items need to be scanned to a high quality and this requires an expensive scanner and personnel costs. Files need to be in a variety of formats for preservation purposes and so that they may be manipulated to be useable in different technologies (for example, Archival Tiff, Tiff, Jpeg, PDF, HTML). Hovav and Gray warn that when technology becomes obsolete, then content becomes unreadable unless backward integration is maintained. The CLDR items will be annotatable given AustLit’s NeAt funded project: Aus-e-Lit. The Aus-e-Lit project will extend and enhance the existing AustLit web portal with data integration and search services, empirical reporting services, collaborative annotation services, and compound object authoring, editing, and publishing services. For users to be able to get the most out of a digital item, it needs to be searchable, either through double keying or OCR (optimal character recognition). The value of CLDR’s contribution The value of the CLDR project lies in its goal to provide a comprehensive, searchable body of texts (fictional and critical) to researchers across the humanities and social sciences. Other projects seem to be intent on putting up as many items as possible to be considered as a first resort for online texts. CLDR is more specific and is not interested in simply generating a presence on the Web. Rather, it is research driven both in its design and implementation, and in its focussed outcomes of assisting academics and students primarily in their e-research endeavours. To this end, we have concentrated on the following: an extensive survey of appropriate texts; best models for file location, distribution, and use; and high standards of digitising protocols. These issues that relate to data storage, digitisation, collections, management, and end-users of data are aligned with the “Development of an Australian Research Data Strategy” outlined in An Australian e-Research Strategy and Implementation Framework (2006). CLDR is not designed to simply replicate resources, as it has a distinct focus, audience, and research potential. In addition, it looks at resources that may be forgotten or are no longer available in reproduction by current publishing companies. Thus, the aim of CLDR is to preserve both the time and a period of Australian history and literary culture. It will also provide users with an accessible repository of rare and early texts written for children. III. Future directions It is now commonplace to recognize that the Web’s role as information provider has changed over the past decade. New forms of “collective intelligence” or “distributed cognition” (Oblinger and Lombardi) are emerging within and outside formal research communities. Technology’s capacity to initiate major cultural, social, educational, economic, political and commercial shifts has conditioned us to expect the “next big thing.” We have learnt to adapt swiftly to the many challenges that online technologies have presented, and we have reaped the benefits. As the examples in this discussion have highlighted, the changes in online publishing and digitisation have provided many material, network, pedagogical, and research possibilities: we teach online units providing students with access to e-journals, e-books, and customized archives of digitised materials; we communicate via various online technologies; we attend virtual conferences; and we participate in e-research through a global, digital network. In other words, technology is deeply engrained in our everyday lives. In returning to Frollo’s concern that the book would destroy architecture, Umberto Eco offers a placatory note: “in the history of culture it has never happened that something has simply killed something else. Something has profoundly changed something else” (n. pag.). Eco’s point has relevance to our discussion of digital publishing. The transition from print to digital necessitates a profound change that impacts on the ways we read, write, and research. As we have illustrated with our case study of the CLDR project, the move to creating digitised texts of print literature needs to be considered within a dynamic network of multiple causalities, emergent technological processes, and complex negotiations through which digital texts are created, stored, disseminated, and used. Technological changes in just the past five years have, in many ways, created an expectation in the minds of people that the future is no longer some distant time from the present. Rather, as our title suggests, the future is both present and active. References Aarseth, Espen. “How we became Postdigital: From Cyberstudies to Game Studies.” Critical Cyber-culture Studies. Ed. David Silver and Adrienne Massanari. New York: New York UP, 2006. 37–46. An Australian e-Research Strategy and Implementation Framework: Final Report of the e-Research Coordinating Committee. Commonwealth of Australia, 2006. Bolter, Jay David. Writing Space: The Computer, Hypertext, and the History of Writing. Hillsdale, NJ: Erlbaum, 1991. Eco, Umberto. “The Future of the Book.” 1994. 3 June 2008 ‹http://www.themodernword.com/eco/eco_future_of_book.html>. Gunkel, David. J. “What's the Matter with Books?” Configurations 11.3 (2003): 277–303. Harley, Diane. “Use and Users of Digital Resources: A Focus on Undergraduate Education in the Humanities and Social Sciences.” Research and Occasional Papers Series. Berkeley: University of California. Centre for Studies in Higher Education. 12 June 2008 ‹http://www.themodernword.com/eco/eco_future_of_book.html>. Hayles, N. Katherine. My Mother was a Computer: Digital Subjects and Literary Texts. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 2005. Hirtle, Peter B. “The Impact of Digitization on Special Collections in Libraries.” Libraries & Culture 37.1 (2002): 42–52. Hovav, Anat and Paul Gray. “Managing Academic E-journals.” Communications of the ACM 47.4 (2004): 79–82. Hugo, Victor. The Hunchback of Notre Dame (Notre-Dame de Paris). Ware, Hertfordshire: Wordsworth editions, 1993. Kho, Nancy D. “The Medium Gets the Message: Post-Print Publishing Models.” EContent 30.6 (2007): 42–48. Oblinger, Diana and Marilyn Lombardi. “Common Knowledge: Openness in Higher Education.” Opening up Education: The Collective Advancement of Education Through Open Technology, Open Content and Open Knowledge. Ed. Toru Liyoshi and M. S. Vijay Kumar. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2007. 389–400. Murray, Janet H. Hamlet on the Holodeck: The Future of Narrative in Cyberspace. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2001. Trimmer, Joseph F., Wade Jennings, and Annette Patterson. eFictions. New York: Harcourt, 2001.

IntroductionSydney’s Garden Palace was a magnificent building with a grandeur that dominated the skyline, stretching from the site of the current State Library of New South Wales to the building that now houses the Sydney Conservatorium of Music. The Palace captivated society from its opening in 1879. This article outlines the building of one of Sydney’s early structural icons and how, despite being destroyed by fire after three short years in 1882, it had an enormous impact on the burgeoning colonial community of New South Wales, thus building a physical structure, pride and a suite of memories.Design and ConstructionIn February 1878, the Colonial Secretary’s Office announced that “it is intended to hold under the supervision of the Agricultural Society of New South Wales an international Exhibition in Sydney in August 1879” (Official Record ix). By December the same year it had become clear that the Agricultural Society lacked the resources to complete the project and control passed to the state government. Colonial Architect James Barnet was directed to prepare “plans for a building suitable for an international exhibition, proposed to be built in the Inner Domain” (Official Record xx). Within three days he had submitted a set of drawings for approval. From this point on there was a great sense of urgency to complete the building in less than 10 months for the exhibition opening the following September.The successful contractor was John Young, a highly experienced building contractor who had worked on the Crystal Palace for the 1851 London International Exhibition and locally on the General Post Office and Exhibition Building at Prince Alfred Park (Kent 6). Young was confident, procuring electric lights from London so that work could be carried out 24 hours a day, to ensure that the building was delivered on time. The structure was built, as detailed in the Colonial Record (1881), using over 1 million metres of timber, 2.5 million bricks and 220 tonnes of galvanised corrugated iron. Remarkably the building was designed as a temporary structure to house the Exhibition. At the end of the Exhibition the building was not dismantled as originally planned and was instead repurposed for government office space and served to house, among other things, records and objects of historical significance. Ultimately the provisional building materials used for the Garden Palace were more suited to a temporary structure, in contrast with those used for the more permanent structures built at the same time which are still standing today.The building was an architectural and engineering wonder set in a cathedral-like cruciform design, showcasing a stained-glass skylight in the largest dome in the southern hemisphere (64 metres high and 30 metres in diameter). The total floor space of the exhibition building was three and half hectares, and the area occupied by the Garden Palace and related buildings—including the Fine Arts Gallery, Agricultural Hall, Machinery Hall and 10 restaurants and places of refreshment—was an astounding 14 hectares (Official Record xxxvi). To put the scale of the Garden Palace into contemporary perspective it was approximately twice the size of the Queen Victoria Building that stands on Sydney’s George Street today.Several innovative features set the building apart from other Sydney structures of the day. The rainwater downpipes were enclosed in hollow columns of pine along the aisles, ventilation was provided through the floors and louvered windows (Official Record xxi) while a Whittier’s Steam Elevator enabled visitors to ascend the north tower and take in the harbour views (“Among the Machinery” 70-71). The building dominated the Sydney skyline, serving as a visual anchor point that welcomed visitors arriving in the city by boat:one of the first objects that met our view as, after 12 o’clock, we proceeded up Port Jackson, was the shell of the Exhibition Building which is so rapidly rising on the Domain, and which next September, is to dazzle the eyes of the world with its splendours. (“A ‘Bohemian’s’ Holiday Notes” 2)The DomeThe dome of the Garden Palace was directly above the intersection of the nave and transept and rested on a drum, approximately 30 metres in diameter. The drum featured 36 oval windows which flooded the space below with light. The dome was made of wood covered with corrugated galvanised iron featuring 12 large lattice ribs and 24 smaller ribs bound together with purlins of wood strengthened with iron. At the top of the dome was a lantern and stained glass skylight designed by Messrs. Lyon and Cottier. It was light blue, powdered with golden stars with wooden ribs in red, buff and gold (Notes 6). The painting and decorating of the dome commenced just one month before the exhibition was due to open. The dome was the sixth largest dome in the world at the time. During construction, contractor Mr Young allowed visitors be lifted in a cage to view the building’s progress.During the construction of the Lantern which surmounts the Dome of the Exhibition, visitors have been permitted, through the courtesy of Mr. Young, to ascend in the cage conveying materials for work. This cage is lifted by a single cable, which was constructed specially of picked Manilla hemp, for hoisting into position the heavy timbers used in the construction. The sensation whilst ascending is a most novel one, and must resemble that experienced in ballooning. To see the building sinking slowly beneath you as you successively reach the levels of the galleries, and the roofs of the transept and aisles is an experience never to be forgotten, and it seems a pity that no provision can be made for visitors, on paying a small fee, going up to the dome. (“View from the Lantern of the Dome Exhibition” 8)The ExhibitionInternational Exhibitions presented the opportunity for countries to express their national identities and demonstrate their economic and technological achievements. They allowed countries to showcase the very best examples of contemporary art, handicrafts and the latest technologies particularly in manufacturing (Pont and Proudfoot 231).The Sydney International Exhibition was the ninth International Exhibition and the colony’s first, and was responsible for bringing the world to Sydney at a time when the colony was prosperous and full of potential. The Exhibition—opening on 17 September 1879 and closing on 20 April 1880—had an enormous impact on the community, it boosted the economy and was the catalyst for improving the city’s infrastructure. It was a great source of civic pride.Image 1: The International Exhibition Sydney, 1879-1880, supplement to the Illustrated Sydney News Jan. 1880. Image credit: Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (call no.: DL X8/3)This bird’s eye view of the Garden Palace shows how impressive the main structure was and how much of the Gardens and Domain were occupied by ancillary buildings for the Exhibition. Based on an original drawing by John Thomas Richardson, chief engraver at the Illustrated Sydney News, this lithograph features a key identifying buildings including the Art Gallery, Machinery Hall, and Agricultural Hall. Pens and sheds for livestock can also be seen. The parade ground was used throughout the Exhibition for displays of animals. The first notable display was the International Show of Sheep featuring Australian, French and English sheep; not surprisingly the shearing demonstrations proved to be particularly popular with the community.Approximately 34 countries and their colonies participated in the Exhibition, displaying the very best examples of technology, industry and art laid out in densely packed courts (Barnet n.p.). There were approximately 14,000 exhibits (Official Record c) which included displays of Bohemian glass, tapestries, fine porcelain, fabrics, pyramids of gold, metals, minerals, wood carvings, watches, ethnographic specimens, and heavy machinery. Image 2: “Meet Me under the Dome.” Illustrated Sydney News 1 Nov. 1879: 4. Official records cite that between 19,853 and 24,000 visitors attended the Exhibition on the opening day of 17 September 1879, and over 1.1 million people visited during its seven months of operation. Sizeable numbers considering the population of the colony, at the time, was just over 700,000 (New South Wales Census).The Exhibition helped to create a sense of place and community and was a popular destination for visitors. On crowded days the base of the dome became a favourite meeting place for visitors, so much so that “meet me under the dome” became a common expression in Sydney during the Exhibition (Official Record lxxxiii).Attendance was steady and continuous throughout the course of the Exhibition and, despite exceeding the predicted cost by almost four times, the Exhibition was deemed a resounding success. The Executive Commissioner Mr P.A. Jennings remarked at the closing ceremony:this great undertaking […] marks perhaps the most important epoch that has occurred in our history. In holding this exhibition we have entered into a new arena and a race of progress among the nations of the earth, and have placed ourselves in kindly competition with the most ancient States of the old and new world. (Official Record ciii)Initially the cost of admission was set at 5 shillings and later dropped to 1 shilling. Season tickets for the Exhibition were also available for £3 3s which entitled the holder to unlimited entry during all hours of general admission. Throughout the Exhibition, season ticket holders accounted for 76,278 admissions. The Exhibition boosted the economy and encouraged authorities to improve the city’s services and facilities which helped to build a sense of community as well as pride in the achievement of such a fantastic structure. A steam-powered tramway was installed to transport exhibition-goers around the city, after the Exhibition, the tramway network was expanded and by 1905–1906 the trams were converted to electric traction (Freestone 32).After the exhibition closed, the imposing Garden Palace building was used as office space and storage for various government departments.An Icon DestroyedIn the early hours of 22 September 1882 tragedy struck when the Palace was engulfed by fire (“Destruction of the Garden Palace” 7). The building – and all its contents – destroyed.Image 3: Burning of the Garden Palace from Eaglesfield, Darlinghurst, sketched at 5.55am, Sep 22/82. Image credit: Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (call no.: SSV/137) Many accounts and illustrations of the Garden Palace fire can be found in contemporary newspapers and artworks. A rudimentary drawing by an unknown artist held by the State Library of New South Wales appears to have been created as the Palace was burning. The precise time and location is recorded on the painting, suggesting it was painted from Eaglesfield, a school on Darlinghurst Road. It purveys a sense of immediacy giving some insight into the chaos and heat of the tragedy. A French artist living in Sydney, Lucien Henry, was among those who attempted to capture the fire. His assistant, G.H. Aurousseau, described the event in the Technical Gazette in 1912:Mister Henry went out onto the balcony and watched until the Great Dome toppled in; it was then early morning; he went back to his studio procured a canvas, sat down and painted the whole scene in a most realistic manner, showing the fig trees in the Domain, the flames rising through the towers, the dome falling in and the reflected light of the flames all around. (Technical Gazette 33-35)The painting Henry produced is not the watercolour held by the State Library of New South Wales, however it is interesting to see how people were moved to document the destruction of such an iconic building in the city’s history.What Was Destroyed?The NSW Legislative Assembly debate of 26 September 1882, together with newspapers of the day, documented what was lost in the fire. The Garden Palace housed the foundation collection of the Technological and Sanitary Museum (the precursor to the Powerhouse Museum, now the Museum of Applied Arts and Sciences), due to open on 1 December 1882. This collection included significant ethnological specimens such as Australian Indigenous artefacts, many of which were acquired from the Sydney International Exhibition. The Art Society of New South Wales had hung 300 paintings in preparation for their annual art exhibition due to open on 2 October of that year, all of these paintings consumed by fire.The Records of the Crown Lands Occupation Office were lost along with the 1881 Census (though the summary survived). Numerous railway surveys were lost, as were: £7,000 worth of statues, between 20,000 and 30,000 plants and the holdings of the Linnean Society offices and museum housed on the ground floor. The Eastern Suburbs Brass Band performed the day before at the opening of the Eastern Suburbs Horticultural Society Flower show; all the instruments were stored in the Garden Palace and were destroyed. Several Government Departments also lost significant records, including the: Fisheries Office; Mining Department; Harbour and Rivers Department; and, as mentioned, the Census Department.The fire was so ferocious that the windows in the terraces along Macquarie Street cracked with the heat and sheets of corrugated iron were blown as far away as Elizabeth Bay. How Did The Fire Start?No one knows how the fire started on that fateful September morning, and despite an official enquiry no explanation was ever delivered. One theory blamed the wealthy residents of Macquarie Street, disgruntled at losing their harbour views. Another was that it was burnt to destroy records stored in the basement of the building that contained embarrassing details about the convict heritage of many distinguished families. Margaret Lyon, daughter of the Garden Palace decorator John Lyon, wrote in her diary:a gentleman who says a boy told him when he was putting out the domain lights, that he saw a man jump out of the window and immediately after observed smoke, they are advertising for the boy […]. Everyone seems to agree on his point that it has been done on purpose – Today a safe has been found with diamonds, sapphires and emeralds, there were also some papers in it but they were considerably charred. The statue of her majesty or at least what remains of it, for it is completely ruined – the census papers were also ruined, they were ready almost to be sent to the printers, the work of 30 men for 14 months. Valuable government documents, railway and other plans all gone. (MLMSS 1381/Box 1/Item 2) There are many eyewitness accounts of the fire that day. From nightwatchman Mr Frederick Kirchen and his replacement Mr John McKnight, to an emotional description by 14-year-old student Ethel Pockley. Although there were conflicting accounts as to where the fire may have started, it seems likely that the fire started in the basement with flames rising around the statue of Queen Victoria, situated directly under the dome. The coroner did not make a conclusive finding on the cause of the fire but was scathing of the lack of diligence by the authorities in housing such important items in a building that was not well-secured a was a potential fire hazard.Building a ReputationA number of safes were known to have been in the building storing valuables and records. One such safe, a fireproof safe manufactured by Milner and Son of Liverpool, was in the southern corner of the building near the southern tower. The contents of this safe were unscathed in contrast with the contents of other safes, the contents of which were destroyed. The Milner safe was a little discoloured and blistered on the outside but otherwise intact. “The contents included three ledgers, or journals, a few memoranda and a plan of the exhibition”—the glue was slightly melted—the plan was a little discoloured and a few loose papers were a little charred but overall the contents were “sound and unhurt”—what better advertising could one ask for! (“The Garden Palace Fire” 5).barrangal dyara (skin and bones): Rebuilding CommunityThe positive developments for Sydney and the colony that stemmed from the building and its exhibition, such as public transport and community spirit, grew and took new forms. Yet, in the years since 1882 the memory of the Garden Palace and its disaster faded from the consciousness of the Sydney community. The great loss felt by Indigenous communities went unresolved.Image 4: barrangal dyara (skin and bones). Image credit: Sarah Morley.In September 2016 artist Jonathan Jones presented barrangal dyara (skin and bones), a large scale sculptural installation on the site of the Garden Palace Building in Sydney’s Royal Botanic Garden. The installation was Jones’s response to the immense loss felt throughout Australia with the destruction of countless Aboriginal objects in the fire. The installation featured thousands of bleached white shields made of gypsum that were laid out to show the footprint of the Garden Palace and represent the rubble left after the fire.Based on four typical designs from Aboriginal nations of the south-east, these shields not only raise the chalky bones of the building, but speak to the thousands of shields that would have had cultural presence in this landscape over generations. (Pike 33)ConclusionSydney’s Garden Palace was a stunning addition to the skyline of colonial Sydney. A massive undertaking, the Palace opened, to great acclaim, in 1879 and its effect on the community of Sydney and indeed the colony of New South Wales was sizeable. There were brief discussions, just after the fire, about rebuilding this great structure in a more permanent fashion for the centenary Exhibition in 1888 (“[From Our Own Correspondents] New South Wales” 5). Ultimately, it was decided that this achievement of the colony of New South Wales would be recorded in history, gifting a legacy of national pride and positivity on the one hand, but on the other an example of the destructive colonial impact on Indigenous communities. For many Sydney-siders today this history is as obscured as the original foundations of the physical building. What we build—iconic structures, civic pride, a sense of community—require maintenance and remembering. References“Among the Machinery.” The Sydney Mail and New South Wales Advertiser 10 Jan. 1880: 70-71.Aurousseau, G.H. “Lucien Henry: First Lecturer in Art at the Sydney Technical College.” Technical Gazette 2.III (1912): 33-35.Barnet, James. International Exhibition, Sydney, 1880: References to the Plans Showing the Space and Position Occupied by the Various Exhibits in the Garden Palace. Sydney: Colonial Architect’s Office, 1880.“A ‘Bohemian’s’ Holiday Notes.” The Singleton Argus and Upper Hunter General Advocate 23 Apr. 1879: 2.Census Department. New South Wales Census. 1881. 3 Mar. 2017 <http://hccda.ada.edu.au/pages/NSW-1881-census-02_vi>. “Destruction of the Garden Palace.” Sydney Morning Herald 23 Sep. 1882: 7.Freestone, Robert. “Space Society and Urban Reform.” Colonial City, Global City, Sydney’s International Exhibition 1879. Eds. Peter Proudfoot, Roslyn Maguire, and Robert Freestone. Darlinghurst, NSW: Crossing P, 2000. 15-33.“[From Our Own Correspondents] New South Wales.” The Age (Melbourne, Vic.) 30 Sep. 1882: 5.“The Garden Palace Fire.” Sydney Morning Herald 25 Sep. 1882: 5.Illustrated Sydney News and New South Wales Agriculturalist and Grazier 1 Nov. 1879: 4.“International Exhibition.” Australian Town and Country Journal 15 Feb. 1879: 11.Kent, H.C. “Reminiscences of Building Methods in the Seventies under John Young. Lecture.” Architecture: An Australian Magazine of Architecture and the Arts Nov. (1924): 5-13.Lyon, Margaret. Unpublished Manuscript Diary. MLMSS 1381/Box 1/Item 2.New South Wales, Legislative Assembly. Debates 22 Sep. 1882: 542-56.Notes on the Sydney International Exhibition of 1879. Melbourne: Government Printer, 1881.Official Record of the Sydney International Exhibition 1879. Sydney: Government Printer, 1881.Pike, Emma. “barrangal dyara (skin and bones).” Jonathan Jones: barrangal dyara (skin and bones). Eds. Ross Gibson, Jonathan Jones, and Genevieve O’Callaghan. Balmain: Kaldor Public Arts Project, 2016.Pont, Graham, and Peter Proudfoot. “The Technological Movement and the Garden Palace.” Colonial City, Global City, Sydney’s International Exhibition 1879. Eds. Peter Proudfoot, Roslyn Maguire, and Robert Freestone. Darlinghurst, NSW: Crossing Press, 2000. 239-249.“View from the Lantern of the Dome of the Exhibition.” Illustrated Sydney News and New South Wales Agriculturalist and Grazier 9 Aug. 1879: 8.

Introduction Burning Man (BM) is a festival of art and music that materialises for one week each year in the Nevada desert. It is considered by many to be the world’s largest countercultural event. But what is BM, really? With record attendance of 69,613 in 2013 (Griffith) (the original event in 1986 had twenty), and recent event themes that have engaged with mainstream political themes such as “Green Man” (2007) and “American Dream” (2008), can BM still be considered countercultural? Was it ever? In the first part of this article, we define counterculture as a subculture that originates in the hippie movement of 1960s America and the rejection of “mainstream” values associated with post-WWII industrial culture, that aligns itself with environmentalism and ecological consciousness, and that is distinctly anti-consumer (Roszak, Making). Second, we identify BM as an art and music festival that transcends the event to travel with its desert denizens out into the “real world.” In this way, it is also a festival that has countercultural connections. Third, though BM bears some resemblance to counterculture, given that it is founded upon “Radical Self-Reliance”, BM is actually anything but countercultural because it interlocks with the current socioeconomic zeitgeist of neoliberalism, and that reflects a “new individualism” (Elliot & Lemert). BM’s ambition to be a commercial-free zone runs aground against its entanglement with market relations, and BM is also arguably a consumer space. Finally, neoliberal ideology and “new individualism” are encoded in the space of BM at the level of the spectacle (Debord). The Uchronian’s structure from BM 2006 (a cavernous wooden construction nicknamed the “Belgian Waffle”) could be read as one example. However, opportunities for personal transformation and transcendent experience may persist as counterculture moves into a global age. Defining Counterculture To talk about BM as a counterculture, we must first define counterculture. Hebdige provided a useful distinction between subculture and counterculture in an endnote to a discussion of Teds versus Rockers (148). According to Hebdige, what distinguishes counterculture from mere subculture and related styles is its association with a specific era (1967–70), that its adherents tended to hail from educated, middle-class families, and that it is “explicitly political and ideological” and thus more easily “read” by the dominant powers. Finally, it opposes the dominant culture. Counterculture has its roots in “the hippies, the flower children, the yippies” of the 60s. However, perhaps Hebdige’s definition is too narrow; it is more of an instance of counterculture than a definition. A more general definition of counterculture might be a subculture that rejects “mainstream” values, and examples of this have existed throughout time. For example, we might include the 19th century Romantics with their rejection of the Enlightenment and distrust of capitalism (Roszak 1972), or the Beat generation and post-War America (Miller). Perhaps counterculture even requires one to be a criminal: the prominent Beat writer William S. Burroughs shot guns and heroin, was a homosexual, and accidentally shot and killed his wife in a drug haze (Severo). All of these are examples of subcultures that rejected or opposed the mainstream values of the time. But it was Roszak (Making) who originally defined counterculture as the hippie movement of 1960s era college-aged middle-class American youth who revolted against the values and society inherited not only from their parents, but from the “military-industrial complex” itself, which “quite simply was the American political system” (3). Indeed, the 1960s counterculture—what the term “counterculture” has more generally come to mean—was perhaps the most radical expression of humanity ever in its ontological overthrow of industrial culture and all that it implied (and also, Roszak speculates, in so much that it may have been an experiment gone wrong on the part of the American establishment): The Communist and Socialist Left had always been as committed to industrialism as their capitalist foes, never questioning it as an inevitable historical stage. From this viewpoint, all that needed to be debated was the ownership and control of the system. But here was a dissenting movement that yearned for an entirely different quality of life. It was not simply calling the political superstructure into question; with precocious ecological insight, it was challenging the culture of industrial cities on which that superstructure stood. And more troubling still, there were those among the dissenters who questioned the very sanity of that culture. These psychic disaffiliates took off in search of altered states of consciousness that might generate altered states of society. (8) For the purposes of this paper, then, counterculture refers specifically to those cultures that find their roots in the hippie movement of the late 1960s. I embrace both Roszak’s and Hebdige’s definitions of counterculture because they define it as a unique reaction of post-WWII American youth against industrial culture and a rejection of the accompanying values of home, marriage and career. Instead, counterculture embraced ecological awareness, rejected consumption, and even directed itself toward mystical altered states. In the case of the espoused ecological consciousness, that blossomed into the contemporary (increasingly mainstream) environmental movement toward “green” energy. In the case of counterculture, the specific instance really is the definition in this case because the response of postwar youth was so strong and idiosyncratic, and there is overlap between counterculture and the BM community. So what is Burning Man? Defining Burning Man According to the event’s website: Burning Man is an annual event and a thriving year-round culture. The event takes place the week leading up to and including Labor Day, in Nevada’s Black Rock Desert. The Burning Man organization […] creates the infrastructure of Black Rock City, wherein attendees (or “participants”) dedicate themselves to the spirit of community, art, self-expression, and self-reliance. They depart one week later, leaving no trace […] Outside the event, Burning Man’s vibrant year-round culture is growing through the non-profit Burning Man Project, including worldwide Regional Groups and associated non-profits who embody Burning Man’s ethos out in the world. (“What is Burning Man?”) I interpret BM as a massive art festival and party that materialises in the desert once a year to produce one of the largest cities in Nevada, but one with increasingly global reach in which the participants feel compelled to carry the ethos forward into their everyday lives. It is also an event with an increasing number of “regional burns” (Taylor) that have emerged as offshoots of the original. Creator Larry Harvey originally conceived of burning the effigy of a man on San Francisco’s Baker Beach in 1986 in honor of the solstice (“Burning Man Timeline”). Twenty people attended the first BM. That figure rapidly rose to 800 by 1990 when for legal reasons it became necessary to relocate to the remote Black Rock desert in Nevada, the largest expanse of flat land in the United States. In the early 90s, when BM had newly relocated and attendees numbered in the low thousands, it was not uncommon for participants to mix drugs, booze, speeding cars and firearms (Bonin) (reminiscent of the outlaw associations of counterculture). As the Internet became popular in the mid-1990s word spread quickly, leading to a surge in the population. By the early 2000s attendance regularly numbered in the tens of thousands and BM had become a global phenomenon. In 2014 the festival turned 28, but it had already been a corporation for nearly two decades before transitioning to a non-profit (“Burning Man Transitions”). Burning Man as Countercultural Event BM has connections to the counterculture, though the organisation is quick to dispel these connections as myths (“Media Myths”). For example, in response to the notion that BM is a “90s Woodstock”, the organisers point out that BM is for all ages and not a concert. Rather, it is a “noncommercial environment” where the participants come to entertain each other, and thus it is “not limited by the conventions of any subculture.” The idea that BM is a “hippie” festival is also a myth, but one with some truth to it: Hippies helped create environmental ethics, founded communes, wore colorful clothing, courted mysticism, and distrusted the modern industrial economy. In some ways, this counterculture bears a resemblance to aspects of Burning Man. Hippie society was also a youth movement that often revolved around drugs, music, and checks from home. Burning Man is about “radical self-reliance”–it is not a youth movement, and it is definitely not a subculture (“Media Myths”). There are some familiar aspects of counterculture here, particularly environmental consciousness, anti-consumer tendencies and mysticism. Yet, looking at the high attendance numbers and the progression of themes in recent years one might speculate that BM is no longer as countercultural as it once was. For instance, psychedelic themes such as “Vault of Heaven” (2004) and “Psyche” (2005) gave way to “The Green Man” (2007) and “American Dream” (2008). Although “Green Man” was an environmental theme it debuted the year after Vice President Al Gore’s “An Inconvenient Truth” (2006) brought the issue of climate change to a mainstream audience. Indeed, as a global, leaderless event with a strong participatory ethos in many respects BM followed suit with the business world, particularly given it was a Limited Liability Corporation (LLC) for many years (though it was ahead of the curve): “Capitalism has learned from the counter culture. But this is not news” (Rojek 355). Similarly, just in time for the 2008 U.S. Presidential election the organisational committee decided to juxtapose “the Man” with the American flag. Therefore, there has been an arguable shift toward engagement with mainstream issues and politics in recent years (and away from mysticism). Recent themes are really re-appropriations of mainstream discourses; hence they are “agonistic” readings (Mouffe). Take for example the VoterDrive Bus, an early example of political talk at BM that engaged with mainstream politics. The driver was seven-time BM veteran Corey Mervis (also known as “Misty Mocracy”) (“Jack Rabbit Speaks”). Beginning on 22 July 2004, the VoterDrive Bus wrote the word VOTE in script across the continental United States in the months before the election, stopping in the Black Rock City (BRC) for one week during the BM festival. Four years later the theme “American Dream” would reflect this countercultural re-appropriation of mainstream political themes in the final months leading up to the 2008 Presidential election. In that year, “the Man,” a massive wooden effigy that burns on the last night of the event, stood atop a platform of windows, each inscribed with the flag of a different country. “American Dream” was as politically as it was poetically inspired. Note the agonistic appeal: “This year's art theme is about patriotism—not that kind which freights the nation state with the collective weight of ego, but a patriotism that is based upon a love of country and culture. Leave ideology at home…Ask yourself, instead…What can postmodern America, this stumbling, roused, half-conscious giant, yet give to the world?” (“2008 Art Theme: American Dream”). BM has arguably retained its countercultural authenticity despite engagement with mainstream political themes by virtue of such agonistic appeals to “American Dream”, and to “Green Man” which promoted environmental awareness, and which after all started out in the counterculture. I attended BM twice in 2006 and 2007 with “The Zombie Hotel”, one among a thousand camps in the BRC, Nevada (oddly, there were numerous zombie-themed camps). The last year I attended, the festival seemed to have come of age, and 2007 was the first in its history that BM invited corporate presence in the form of green energy companies (and informational kiosks, courtesy of Google) (Taylor). Midway through the week, as I stumbled through the haphazard common area that was The Zombie Hotel hiding from the infernal heat of the desert sun, two twin fighter jets, their paths intertwining, disturbed the sanctity of the clear, blue afternoon sky followed by a collective roar from the city. One can imagine my dismay at rumours that the fighter jets—which I had initially assumed to be some sort of military reconnaissance—were in fact hired by the BM Organizational Committee to trace the event’s symbol in the sky. Speculation would later abound on Tribe.net (“What was up with the fighter jets?”). What had BM become after all? Figure 1: Misty Mocracy & the VoterDrive Bus. Photo: Erick Leskinen (2004). Reproduced with permission. “Radical Self-Reliance”, Neoliberalism and the “New Individualism” Despite overlap with elements of counterculture, there is something quite normative about BM from the standpoint of ideology, and thus “mainstream” in the sense of favouring values associated with what Roszak calls “industrial society”, namely consumption and capitalist labor relations. To understand this, let us examine “The Ten Principles of BM”. These include: Radical Inclusion, Gifting, Decommodification, Radical Self-Reliance, Radical Self-Expression, Communal Effort, Civic Responsibility, Leaving No Trace, Participation and Immediacy (“Ten Principles of Burning Man”). These categories speak to BM’s strong connection to the counterculture. For example, “Decommodification” is a rejection of consumerism in favour of a culture of giving; “Immediacy” rejects mediation, and “Participation” stresses transformative change. Many of these categories also evoke political agonism, for example “Radical Inclusion” requires that “anyone may be a part of Burning Man”, and “Radical Self-Expression”, which suggests that no one other than the gift-giver can determine the content of the message. Finally, there are categories that also engage with concepts associated with traditional civil society and democracy, such as “Civic Responsibility”, which refers to the “public welfare”, “Participation”, and “Communal Effort.” Though at first it may seem to connect with countercultural values, upon closer inspection “Radical Self-Reliance” aligns BM with the larger socioeconomic zeitgeist under late-capitalism, subverting its message of “Decommodification.” Here is what it says: “Burning Man encourages the individual to discover, exercise and rely on his or her inner resources.” That message is transformative, even mystical, but it aligns well with a neoliberal ideology and uncertain labor relations under late capitalism. Indeed, Elliot and Lemert explore the psychological impact of a “new individualism”, setting the self in opposition to the incoming forces of globalisation. They address the question of how individuals respond to globalisation, perhaps pathologically. Elliot and Lemert clarify the socio-psychological ramifications of economic fragmentation. They envision this as inextricably caught up with the erosion of personal identity and the necessity to please “self-absorbed others” in a multiplicity of incommensurate realities (20, 21). Individuals are not merely atomised socially but fragmented psychologically, while at the macroscopic level privatisation of the economy spawns this colonisation of the personal Lifeworld, as social things move into the realm of individualised dilemmas (42). It is interesting to note how BM’s principles (in particular “Radical Self-Reliance”) evoke this fracturing of identity as identities and realities multiply in the BRC. Furthermore, the spectre of neoliberal labour conditions on “the Playa” kicks down the door for consumer culture’s entrée. Consumer society “technicises” the project of the self as a series of problems having consumer solutions with reference to expert advice (Slater 86), BM provides that solution in the form of a transformative experience through “Participation”, and acolytes of the BM festival can be said to be deeply invested in the “experience economy” (Pine & Gilmore): “We believe that transformative change, whether in the individual or in society, can occur only through the medium of deeply personal participation” (“Ten Principles”). Yet, while BM rejects consumption as part of “Decommodification”, the event has become something of a playground for new technological elites (with a taste for pink fur and glow tape rather than wine and cheese) with some camps charging as much as US $25,000 in fees per person for the week (most charge $300) (Bilton). BM is gentrifying, or as veteran attendee Tyler Hanson put it, “Burning Man is no longer a counterculture revolution. It’s now become a mirror of society” (quoted in Bilton). Neoliberalism and “new individualism” are all around at BM, and a reading of space and spectacle in the Uchronian structure reveals this encoding. Figure 2: “Message Out of the Future by Night” (also known as “the Belgian Waffle). Photo: Laurent Chavanne (2006). Reproduced with permission. “Long Gone Hippies” Republican tax reformist Grover Norquist made his way to BM for the first time this year, joining the tech elites. He subsequently proclaimed that America had a lot to learn from BM: “The story of Burning Man is one of radical self-reliance” (Norquist). As the population of the BRC surges toward seventy thousand, it may be difficult to call BM a countercultural event any longer. Given parallels between the BM ethos and neoliberal market relations and a “new individualism”, it is hard to deny that BM is deeply intertwined with counterposing forces of globalisation. However, if you ask the participants (and Norquist) they will have a different story: After you buy your ticket to Burning Man to help pay for the infrastructure, and after you pay for your own transportation, food and water, and if you optionally decide to pay to join a camp that provides some services THEN you never have to take your wallet out while at Burning Man. Folks share food, massages, alcohol, swimming pools, trampolines, many experiences. The expenses that occur prior to the festival are very reasonable and it is wonderful to walk around free from shopping or purchasing. Pockets are unnecessary. So are clothes. (Alex & Allyson Grey) Consumerism is a means to an end in an environment where the meanings of civic participation and “giving back” to the counterculture take many forms. Moreover, Thornton argued that the varied definitions of what is “mainstream” among subcultures point more to a complex and multifaceted landscape of subculture than to any coherent agreement as to what “mainstream” actually means (101), and so perhaps our entire discussion of the counterculture/mainstream binary is moot. Perhaps there is something yet to be salvaged in the spaces of participation at BM, some agonistic activity to be harnessed. The fluid spaces of the desert are the loci of community action. Jan Kriekels, founder of the Uchronia Community, holds out some hope. The Belgian based art collective hauled 150 kilometres of lumber to the BRC in the summer of 2006 to construct a freestanding, cavernous structure with a floor space of 60 by 30 metres at its center and a height of 15 metres (they promised a reforestation of the equivalent amount of trees) (Figure 1). “Don’t mistake us for long gone hippies in the desert”, wrote Kriekels in Message Out of the Future: Uchronia Community, “we are trying to build a bridge between materialism and spiritualism” (102). The Uchronians announced themselves as not only desert nomads but nomads in time (“U” signifying “nothing” and “chronos” or “time”), their time-traveller personas designed to subvert commodification, their mysterious structure (nicknamed the “Belgian Waffle” by the burners, a painful misnomer in the eyes of the Uchronians) evoking a sense of timelessness. I remember standing within that “cathedral-like” (60) structure and feeling exhilarated and lonely and cold all at once for the chill of the desert at night, and later, much later, away from the Playa in conversations with a friend we recalled Guy Debord’s “Thesis 30”: “The spectator feels at home nowhere, for the spectacle is everywhere.” The message of the Uchronians provokes a comparison with Virilio’s conceptualisations of “world time” and “simultaneity” that emerge from globalisation and digital technologies (13), part of the rise of a “globalitarianism” (15)—“world time (‘live’) takes over from the ancient, immemorial supremacy of the local time of regions” (113). A fragmented sense of time, after all, accompanies unstable labour conditions in the 21st century. Still, I hold out hope for the “resistance” inherent in counterculture as it fosters humanity’s “bothersomely unfulfilled potentialities” (Roszak, Making 16). I wonder in closing if I have damaged the trust of burners in attempting to write about what is a transcendent experience for many. It may be argued that the space of the BRC is not merely a spectacle—rather, it contains the urban “forests of gestures” (de Certeau 102). These are the secret perambulations—physical and mental—at risk of betrayal. References An Inconvenient Truth. Dir. Davis Guggenheim. Perf. Al Gore. Paramount Pictures, 2006. Bilton, Nick. “At Burning Man, the Tech Elite One-Up One Another.” The New York Times: Fashion & Style, 20 Aug. 2014. 10 Oct. 2014 ‹http://www.nytimes.com/2014/08/21/fashion/at-burning-man-the-tech-elite-one-up-one-another.html› “Burning Man Timeline.” Burningman. 10 Oct. 2014 ‹http://burningman.org/timeline/›. “Burning Man Transitions to Non-Profit Organization.” Burningman 3 Mar. 2014. 10 Oct. 2014 ‹http://blog.burningman.com/2014/03/news/burning-man-transitions-to-non-profit-organization/›. De Bord, Guy. The Society of the Spectacle. New York: Zone, 1994. De Certeau, Michel. The Practice of Everyday Life. Berkeley, Calif.: U of California P, 1984. Dust & Illusions: 30 Years of History of Burning Man. Dir. Oliver Bonin. Perf. Jerry James, Larry Harvey, John Law. Imagine, 2009. Elliot, Anthony, and Charles Lemert. The New Individualism. New York: Routledge, 2006. Grey, Alex, and Alyson Grey. “Ticket 4066, Burning Man Study.” Message to the author. 30 Nov. 2007. E-mail. Griffith, Martin. “Burning Man Draws 66,000 People to the Nevada Desert.” The Huffington Post 2 Sep. 2014. 10 Oct. 2014 ‹http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/09/02/burning-man-2014_n_5751648.html›. Hebdige, Dick. Subculture: The Meaning of Style. New York: Methuen, 1979. “Jack Rabbit Speaks.” JRS 8.32 (2004). 10 Oct. 2014 ‹http://www.burningman.com/blackrockcity_yearround/jrs/vol08/jrs_v08_i32.html›. Kriekels, Jan. 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