Статті в журналах з теми "Energy conservation Victoria Springvale"

As a result of Australia’s long-running drought there has been renewed community focus on water as a vital resource. In response to this and as part of ExxonMobil’s environmental performance improvement program, local water conservation teams have been established at multiple ExxonMobil Australia sites in Victoria. This has stimulated an increased focus on water as a precious resource across the entire workforce resulting in additional emphasis on pro-active planning for water conservation. In one initiative, freshwater use at Altona Refinery was reduced by one megalitre per day. This was achieved through multiple initiatives such as optimising use of standby equipment and the frequency of flushing operations. At Long Island Point, an engineering study supported by the water conservation team identified a cost effective means of ensuring that water used in the flare-stacks is synchronised with the volume of gas being processed at the flare-tip. This initiative is on track to reduce site fresh water consumption since late February 2007 by up to 55 megalitres of potable water a year. Since 2001 Longford has successfully reduced water use by 40% from 5 ML a day in 2001 to 3 ML a day in 2006. Similarly, 2006 water usage for Long Island Point was the lowest on record. Now, with water conservation teams firmly established on these and other sites and further projects yet to be implemented, water consumption is set to decline even further. Overall water saving initiatives have been aligned with increased regulatory and community expectations to reduce water usage, driven by the drought conditions.

Abstract: The impact of photogalvanic cells containing the best combination of dyes, reductants, and surfactants was studied. The photosensitizers employed in this research were Methyl Orange-Glucose-Cetyl Trimethyl Ammonium Bromide, Thymole Blue-Glucose-Cetyl Trimethyl Ammonium Bromide, Victoria Blue-Glucose-Cetyl Trimethyl Ammonium Bromide, and Methyl Orange-EDTA-Cetyl Trimethyl Ammonium Bromide. Cell efficiency also has been reported to be significantly higher. The device has a conservation efficiency of 0.55 to 1.01 percent and can be used in the dark for 32 to 68 minutes. Various factors which influence solar energy conversion efficiency are also evaluated and accounted for.Key words: Potentials at power point, Photosensitizers, Rates of generation, Reductants, Fill Factors, surfactants, Power consumption, Charging time.GOAL 7: Affordable and Clean Energy

Abstract Dasyurids are small mammals that can conserve energy and water by using shelters that insulate against extreme conditions, prevent predation, and facilitate torpor. To quantify the diurnal sheltering requirements of a poorly known, endangered dasyurid, the sandhill dunnart, Sminthopsis psammophila, we radiotracked 40 individuals in the Western Australian Great Victoria Desert between 2015 and 2019. We assessed the effect of habitat class (broad habitat features), plot-level (the area surrounding each shelter), and shelter characteristics (e.g., daily temperature ranges), on shelter selection and sheltering habitat preferences. Two hundred and eleven diurnal shelters (mean of 5 ± 3 shelters per individual) were located on 363 shelter days (the number of days each shelter was used), within mature vegetation (mean seral age of 32 ± 12 years postfire). Burrows were used on 77% of shelter days and were typically concealed under mature spinifex, Triodia spp., with stable temperature ranges and northern aspects facing the sun. While many burrows were reused (n = 40 across 175 shelter days), spinifex hummock shelters typically were used for one shelter day and were not insulative against extreme temperatures. However, shallow scrapes within Lepidobolus deserti hummock shelters had thermal advantages and log shelters retained heat and were selected on cooler days. Sminthopsis psammophila requires long-unburned sheltering habitat with mature vegetation. Summer fires in the Great Victoria Desert can be extensive and destroy large areas of land, rendering them a key threat to the species. We conclude that the survey and conservation of S. psammophila requires attention to long-unburned, dense lower stratum swale, sand plain, and dune slope habitats, and the tendency of S. psammophila to burrow allows the species to survive within the extreme conditions of its desert environment.

Field metabolic rates (FMRs) and water influx rates were measured via the doubly labelled water method in wild Tasmanian pademelons and grey kangaroos living in the Jock Marshall Reserve at Clayton, Victoria, and in wild black-tailed deer free-ranging within a nature reserve at Davis, California. Deer expended more than 3 times more energy per day than similar sized grey kangaroos. Feeding rates required to achieve energy balance were estimated from FMRs along with an estimate of metabolizable energy content of the food. The estimated feeding rates for pademelons and kangaroos were combined with similar values for 5 other species of macropods to calculate an allometric (scaling) relationship for food requirements of macropod marsupials. Feeding rate had the following relationship to body mass: g food (DM) consumed per day = 0.20 g body mass0.79 (r2 = 0.94). The findings reported herein should be useful for predicting the approximate food requirements of free-ranging macropods and deer for purposes of ecological modelling, conservation efforts and management programmes.

Four nineteenth-century casts of the decoration on the north side of the exterior of the apse of the Notre-Dame Cathedral in Paris are held in the plaster casts collection at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London. The casts were manufactured by two different nineteenth-century workshops, one run by Jean Pouzadoux and the other by Auguste Malzieux. After an assessment of the condition of the casts, a scientific analysis allowed the characterization of the manufacturing materials and subsequent conservation treatments aimed at ensuring the stability of the casts and removing dirt and grime from the casts’ surfaces. Optical microscopy of the samples taken from the casts allowed the stratigraphy to be studied, which largely consisted of gypsum plaster and a coating layer (oxidized diterpenic resin or shellac) containing silicon and aluminium partially diffused in the porous substrate. These materials were identified by a range of techniques, including X-ray diffraction, scanning electron microscope–energy dispersive X-ray spectroscopy, Fourier transform infrared spectroscopy, and gas chromatography/mass spectrometry. The conservation works returned stability to the panels for redisplay in the galleries and achieved a closer comparative study between the two workshops. The two sets of panels showed numerous differences in manufacturing processes that corresponded to their observed deterioration.

The Ross Sea is one of the most productive areas of the Southern Ocean and includes several functionally different marine ecosystems. With the aim of identifying signs and patterns of microbial response to current climate change, seawater microbial populations were sampled at different depths, from surface to the bottom, at two Ross Sea mooring areas southeast of Victoria Land in Antarctica. This oceanographic experiment, the XX Italian Antarctic Expedition, 2004-05, was carried out in the framework of the ABIOCLEAR project as part of LTER-Italy. Here, microbial biogeochemical rates of respiration, carbon dioxide production, total community heterotrophic energy production, prokaryotic heterotrophic activity, production (by3H-leucine uptake) and prokaryotic biomass (by image analysis) were determined throughout the water column. As ancillary parameters, chlorophylla, adenosine-triphosphate concentrations, temperature and salinity were measured and reported. Microbial metabolism was highly variable amongst stations and depths. In epi- and mesopelagic zones, respiratory rates varied between 52.4–437.0 and 6.3–271.5 nanol O2l-1h-1; prokaryotic heterotrophic production varied between 0.46–29.5 and 0.3–6.11 nanog C l-1h-1; and prokaryotic biomass varied between 0.8–24.5 and 1.1–9.0 µg C l-1, respectively. The average heterotrophic energy production ranged between 570 and 103 mJ l-1h-1in upper and deeper layers, respectively. In the epipelagic layer, the Prokaryotic Carbon Demand and Prokaryotic Growth Efficiency averaged 9 times higher and 2 times lower, respectively, than in the mesopelagic one. The distribution of plankton metabolism and organic matter degradation was mainly related to the different hydrological and trophic conditions. In comparison with previous research, the Ross Sea results, here, evidenced a relatively impoverished oligotrophic microbial community, throughout the water column.

The most southerly of the six described subspecies of the Pied Currawong, Strepera graculina ashbyi, is perhaps the least known and most controversial. Because it has reduced areas of white at the bases of the primaries and at the bases of the rectrices, its appearance is superficially similar to the Grey Currawong S. versicolor, and this has caused confusion from the time of its first description to the present day. Subspecies ashbyi is considered to be extinct by some authorities, yet our observations indicate that birds showing the phenotypic characteristics of ashbyi are common breeding residents in the Otway Ranges of southern Victoria and in the regional city of Geelong and surrounding areas. Here we review the taxonomic history, morphological characteristics and current status of S. g. ashbyi. We identify errors of citation and misinterpretation of the literature which, combined with a lack of ground-truthing, have resulted in the classification of a seemingly common taxon as Extinct. We then present a re-assessment of the distribution and biogeography of S. g. ashbyi and discuss the suitability of the type specimen. The true taxonomic status of S. g. ashbyi can probably only be determined by studies of rates of genetic introgression amongst Pied Currawong populations across western Victoria, but in the meantime its conservation status should be revised to Least Concern.

Purpose The purpose of this study was to explore strategies used by developers of master-planned housing development projects in Victoria, Australia, for obtaining certification under the Urban Development Institute of Australia’s (UDIA) EnviroDevelopment (ED) sustainable development certification programme. To be awarded ED certification, a development must demonstrate that it meets the assessment criteria within at least four of the six ED “leaves”. These leaves relate to its performance in terms of energy, water, materials, waste, community and ecosystems. This study explored how developers make choices regarding sustainability features they build into the planning, design and management of their developments to gain the leaves needed for ED certification. Having this certification is valued by developers as it can be used to demonstrate the sustainability credentials of their developments to potential house buyers, the validity of which is backed up by a trusted independent non-profit organisation (UDIA). Design/methodology/approach The study sought to quantify the preferential weightings of nine developers in selecting ED “leaves” and the strategies they use for meeting the assessment criteria needed to obtain selected ED leaves. This was done using a novel data collection and analysis method, the analytical hierarchical process (AHP), which relies on respondents, in this case, developers of ED certified development projects, making pairwise comparisons between choices of different development factors associated with the different ED “leaves”. Findings The most highly preferred ED leaves were found to be community, energy and ecosystems. “Community facilities” and “on-site transportation” were the two most highly weighted factors associated with the community leaf. Energy, the next most preferred leaf, was most highly weighted on “saving on operational costs” for the consumers (home buyers). Here consumer demand factors seem to be driving preferences. The ecology leaf was the next most preferred, with “existing site conditions” being the most highly weighted factor for this leaf. For sites that already contain significant areas of indigenous habitat, such as wetlands, selecting this leaf would seem to be an attractive, and potentially lower cost, option. Existing ecologically significant natural areas that are preserved, and where necessary enhanced, can be used for marketing purposes and serve in fulfilling planning open-space contribution requirements. The developers were more indifferent to the water, waste and materials leaves; however, the water leaf was rated slightly higher than the other two and was most strongly associated with “recycled water” and opportunities for “water conservation”, another example of demand factors driving preferences. Originality/value The results of this study reveal the preferences of a small sample of developers in terms of how they weigh different factors in making decisions about acquiring sustainability certification for residential master-planned development projects through the UDIA’S ED programme. The findings provide insight into the types of decisions developers make in the process of seeking ED certification, which includes considerations of site characteristics, costs, predicted effectiveness of different interventions and usefulness for marketing and other factors in terms of which ED leaves to pursue and how to acquire them to gain ED certification. The study also tested the AHP method as a methodological tool for addressing this question. Modifications in how data are collected using the on-line survey can be made to allow the method to be more easily used with larger respondent sample sizes. Collection of more focussed data elicited from respondents with specific areas of expertise, for example, specialists in energy, water, landscape architecture and planning, ecology and other relevant areas of knowledge, should also been considered.

Summary. At 2 sites in south-western Victoria, 132 plots of predominantly perennial ryegrass pasture were randomly allocated, within 4 replicate blocks, to each of 3 lock up dates (L1, L2, L3) by 12, 12 or 9 harvest times. Harvesting commenced 2 weeks after initial treatment lock up with L1 and L2 being harvested 12 times (weekly intervals) and L3, 9 times. Lock up dates were 15 August (L1), 5 September (L2) and 26 September (L3) at site 1 and 17 August (L1), 7 September (L2) and 28 September (L3) at site 2. For each treatment and harvest date, dry matter yield and botanical composition were determined and samples of total pasture and the ryegrass fraction were collected and assessed for dry matter digestibility, crude protein and neutral detergent fibre. Dry matter yield was measured from the start of L1 (site 1, 15 August; site 2, 17 August) until the final harvest date of L3 (site 1, 12 December; site 2, 14 December). At site 1, L3 produced higher dry matter yields than L1 and L2 at comparable lengths of lock up time, whilst there were no differences at site 2. Over the total experimental period (site 1, 15 August–12 December; site 2, 17 August–14 December) there were no differences in total dry matter yield (t/ha) between treatments at either site (site 1—L1 5.79, L2 6.43, L3 5.94; site 2—L1 6.68, L2 5.07, L3 5.73). Treatments had little effect on botanical composition at either site when compared at the same time after lock up, both during the harvesting period or in the subsequent autumn. Pasture metabolisable energy and crude protein all declined with increasing length of lock up whilst neutral detergent fibre content increased, changes which were similar for both the total pasture and the ryegrass fraction. The metabolisable energy of pasture in L1 and L2 was higher than that of L3 at least until week 8 at both sites. Initial crude protein values were higher for L1 and L2 than for L3 at site 1, whilst at site 2, L1 had higher values than either L2 or L3. Although longer lock up periods produced more herbage, if conserving forage is to be an integral component of managing surplus spring pasture, then dairy farmers should aim to produce high quality pasture for forage conservation. This will be achieved through shorter lock up periods and harvesting pasture no later than early ear emergence in the ryegrass fraction of the sward. This management will reduce dry matter yields, but allow more flexibility for maintaining intensive grazing practices through the spring period. The decision about when to lock up pasture will depend on both plant growth rates and animal feed requirements.

Effect of cultivation practice and sowing time on soil moisture retention at sowing, growth rates, dry matter yield, water use efficiency and nutritive characteristics (metabolisable energy, crude protein, neutral detergent fibre, water-soluble carbohydrates and starch) of turnip, pasja and rape was determined on 2 soil types (site A and B) over 2 years. Cultivation treatments were: optimum full inversion, an optimum non-inversion cultivation and over cultivated. At each site, cultivation treatments were imposed at 2 different times (early and late).Results showed few differences in soil moisture at sowing between the 3 cultivation systems. Where seedbeds were prepared earlier rather than later, soil moisture at sowing was higher. Given that there was relatively little difference in soil moisture between cultivation treatments within a sowing time, it is likely that rainfall events may have confounded cultivation effects.Apart from year 2 at site A, the water use efficiency of turnip was higher than for pasja and rape. It is proposed that the lower value in year 2 may be due to root development being retarded by low moisture availability, particularly at the later sowing date, thus leading to a lower dry matter yield.Despite no cultivation effects on soil moisture at sowing, there appeared to be clear advantages for the full inversion technique in terms of subsequent weed germination. Generally, weed numbers post germination were lower for this cultivation method compared with both non-inversion techniques. In conclusion, the cultivation techniques used had little effect on soil moisture at sowing and subsequent dry matter yields, provided the resultant seedbed was well-prepared, fine, firm and weed free. Full inversion cultivation techniques in areas where broad-leaved weeds are a problem may substantially reduce subsequent weed burdens. Early sowing where possible may reduce the likelihood of crop failure through the provision of adequate soil moisture at sowing and increase the incidence of rain during the growing period. Timing of sowing will vary according to paddock requirements during early spring (e.g. grazing or forage conservation), soil type, and trafficability for cultivation.

Fringing reefs have significant impacts on beach dynamics, yet there is little research on how they should be considered in beach nourishment design, monitoring, and conservation works. Thus, the behavior and characteristics of nourishment projects at two reef protected beaches, Royal Hawaiian Beach (RHB) in Hawaii, USA, and Victoria Beach (VB) in Cadiz, Spain, are compared to provide transferable information for future nourishment projects and monitoring in fringing reef environments. The nourishment cost at RHB was nine times higher than VB. This is partly due to lower total volume and a more complex placement and spreading method at RHB, despite the much closer borrow site at RHB. There was a significant difference in post-nourishment monitoring frequency and assessment of accuracy. RHB elevation was monitored quarterly for 2.7 years at 30 m-spaced profiles, compared to 5 years of biannual surveys of 50 m-spacing at VB. An additional problem related to the presence of reefs at both RHB and VB was estimating the beach volume increase after nourishment, due to variable definitions of the ‘beach’ area and high alongshore variability in reef topography. At sites where non-native sediment is used, it is imperative to understand how wave and current energy changes due to reefs will influence nourishment longevity. Thus, differences in erosion and accretion mechanisms at both beaches have been detected, though are still little understood. Moreover, discrepancies in sediment porosity between the two sites (which should be surveyed in future nourishments) have been found, probably due to differences in the nourishment sand transportation and distribution methods. In summary, more dialogue is needed to explicitly consider the influence of fringing reefs on coastal processes and beach nourishment projects.

This paper provides a brief update on some of the key environmental issues that arose during 2009. In Queensland, activity is dominated by coal seam gas projects and specifically coal seam gas (CSG) to liquefied natural gas (LNG) projects. Environmental milestones for these projects are discussed, and the State Government’s response policy and regulation development response is reviewed. The progress of the more conventional LNG projects in Western Australia and the Northern Territory is also discussed. The final report on the mandated ten year review of the Environment Protection and Biodiversity Conservation Act 1999 was released in December 2009. Seventy-one recommendations were made, and some key recommendations related to our industry are discussed here. Climate change has again dominated the media, with the United Nations Climate Change Conference held in Copenhagen in December 2009. In Queensland, the Government released a paper that presented a range of strategies and policies, building on a number of existing schemes and introducing new measures. Gas is identified as a key transitional fuel while low emission coal technology and emerging renewable energy sources are being developed. Greenhouse gas legislation is continuing to be developed across several states, but subordinate legislation is yet to be finalised. In Victoria, submissions on the Greenhouse Gas Geological Sequestration Regulations closed in October 2009, and the Greenhouse Gas Geological Sequestration Act 2008 came into effect on 1 December 2009. In March 2009, ten offshore acreage releases were made under the Commonwealth legislation; however, the closing date for submissions is dependent upon the development of the regulations. South Australia passed an Act amending the Petroleum and Geothermal Act 2000 on 1 October 2009 to allow geosequestration. A number of reviews of the regulatory framework or the administrative systems associated with the upstream oil and gas sector have been completed in the last decade. All these reviews make similar findings and recommendations, and most recently the Jones Report, tabled in Western Australian Parliament on 12 August 2009, found that most key recommendations from previous reports and reviews had not been addressed or properly implemented. There seems to be little point in undertaking regulatory and system reviews that consistently make similar findings, if these findings are never addressed. The hurdles to implementation of key recommendations need to be identified, so that progress can be made in improving the approvals processes for the industry, and improving the environmental outcomes.

A 3-year experiment (September 1999–August 2002) was conducted in south-western Victoria to determine the impact of spring grazing on pasture accumulation rates, dry matter (DM) consumed yield (estimate of DM yield), and pasture nutritive characteristics [metabolisable energy (ME), crude protein (CP), neutral detergent fibre (NDF), and water-soluble carbohydrates (WSC)] of a perennial ryegrass (Lolium perenne L.)–white clover (Trifolium repens L.) pasture. Spring grazing treatments, applied annually from September to November, were based on ryegrass leaf development stage with high (HF), medium (MF), and low (LF) grazing frequency being 2-, 3-, and 4-leaf stage, respectively, and post-grazing height as the grazing intensity with high (HI), medium (MI), and low (LI) grazing intensity being 3, 5, and 8 cm, respectively. Five combinations were used: HFHI, LFHI, MFMI, HFLI, and LFLI. A sixth treatment, rapid grazing (RG), maintained pasture between 1500 and 1800 kg DM/ha by grazing weekly during spring, and a seventh and eighth treatment, simulating forage conservation for early-cut silage (lock-up for 6–7 weeks; SIL) and late-cut hay (lock-up for 11–12 weeks; HAY), were also included. For the remainder of the year, all plots were grazed at the perennial ryegrass 3-leaf stage of growth, or when pasture mass had reached 2800 kg DM/ha, and grazed to a residual height of 5 cm. On average, pasture accumulation rates ranged from <5 (February–March) to 100–110 kg DM/ha.day (September–October). Overall, SIL resulted in a lower accumulation rate than all other treatments. High spring grazing frequency (including RG) treatments led to more grazing events than medium and low spring grazing frequency treatments. In Years 1, 2, and 3, DM consumed ranged from 9.7 (HAY) to 16.3 (RG), 4.2 (HAY) to 10.1 (HFHI), and 7.3 (SIL) to 10.9 t DM/ha.year (HAY), respectively. HAY resulted in a lower pasture ME content than SIL, HFHI, and LFHI spring grazing, and LFLI spring grazing resulted in a lower pasture ME content than all other treatments except HAY. HFHI grazing resulted in an increase in ME content over time, whereas the rate of increase in ME content over time was higher for LFLI spring grazing than for HAY, RG, and HFLI spring grazing. For all treatments, average pasture ME content ranged from 9.4 (January–February) to 11.4 MJ/kg DM (September). HAY resulted in a lower CP content than all treatments except LFLI grazing. RG resulted in no change in CP content over time. For all treatments, average pasture CP content ranged from a low of 11–14 (January–February) to a high of 24–28% DM (August–September). LFLI grazing resulted in a higher NDF content than HFHI, LFHI, MFMI, and HFLI grazing, while RG resulted in a lower NDF content than LFHI, MFMI, and HFLI. For all treatments, average pasture NDF content ranged from a low of 48–55 (August–September) to a high of 58–62% DM (January–February). All treatments resulted in an increase in pasture WSC content over time. The results demonstrate that frequent and intense grazing management (e.g. HFHI and RG) during spring is important in maintaining high pasture DM yields. Results also indicate positive pasture nutritive characteristic (ME, CP, and NDF) gains with more frequent spring grazing than with infrequent spring grazing. No treatment effect was observed for WSC content.

AbstractA multi-analytical study was designed to characterise historical coated plaster surfaces. The method was applied to investigate the surface coatings of the nineteenth-century plaster cast of the tombstone of the Presbyter Bruno that belongs to the Victoria and Albert Museum collection. At first, selected samples of the object were examined with Visible Light Reflectance and Ultra-Violet Fluorescence Optical Microscopy (VLR- and UVf-OM respectively) and Scanning Electron Microscopy (SEM) demonstrating a consistent stratigraphy featuring a bulk, an interface and an uppermost layer. The latter layer appeared to consist of an aged coating and dirt. Overpainted and repaired areas of the object generated samples that had additional layers on top of the aforementioned stratigraphy. A layer that seemed to be an additional surface varnish or a coating that had not been absorbed to the bulk has been observed in a couple of samples. Elemental characterization was carried out with energy dispersive X-ray spectroscopy (EDS) and further analyses were performed with X-ray diffraction (XRD) and Fourier-transform infrared (FT-IR) spectroscopy with focal plane array (FPA) imaging which confirmed that the bulk of the object is made of gypsum plaster containing mostly silicate and carbonate inclusions. Gas chromatography/mass spectrometry (GC/MS) and pyrolysis-GC/MS with extraction methods based on n-propanol followed by pentafluoropropionic anhydride (PFPA), tetramethylammonium hydroxide (TMAH) and 3-trifluoromethylphenyltrimethylammonium hydroxide (m-TFPTAH) were performed to detect organic media. The results suggest that the organic medium used for the surface coating is a diterpenic resin that contained silicon, aluminium and traces of other inorganic elements. The organic medium of overpainted areas was based on alkyd resins and the in-paints were characterised as a blend of silicon and barium at varied concentrations. This multi-analytical approach can generate a better understanding of manufacturing, component materials and conservation issues of coated plaster objects.

Cladocerans are important filter-feeders transferring energy up the food web to different invertebrate and vertebrate predators. Along the flood period, cladocerans are one of the primary food sources for juvenile fish in floodplain. Resting egg banks allow cladoceran populations to overcome the environmental stress, related to several limnological changes, including complete drying of temporary wetlands. After drought, resting egg banks influence cladoceran community attributes during the cyclic and successional processes driven by episodic flood events. In this study we compared the taxonomic richness of active (from the water column) and dormant (from the sediment) Cladocera assemblages and analyzed the structure of resting egg banks, comparing the diversity, abundance and apparent viability/unviability of the eggs, between six temporary and six permanent wetlands, located along the Ovens River Floodplain, Victoria, Australia. The qualitative analysis shows higher taxonomic richness in active assemblages from temporary (24 taxa) than permanent (13 taxa) wetlands compared to dormant assemblages present in resting egg banks (9 taxa) from temporary and permanent wetlands. However, richness was influenced by taxonomic level of identification, with the majority of resting eggs only being identified to the taxonomic level of family (i.e. Chydoridae). Total taxa richness within egg banks was similar between wetland types, however, on average higher Shannon’s diversity of resting eggs was found within permanent (1.53) than temporary (0.82) wetlands. This is likely to be due to more stable wetlands not providing appropriate cues to trigger dormancy induction or breakage for specific populations, leading to higher values of evenness in permanent than temporary wetlands. Comparing permanent and temporary wetlands, higher abundance of resting eggs (more than four times) consisting of higher abundance of unviable eggs and similar viable egg abundance to permanent wetlands, was found within temporary wetlands, suggesting that the increased resting egg abundance in temporary wetlands is balanced by the losses due to factors such as predation, parasitism or other physical damage, during the terrestrial phase. Despite resistant outer shell structure, this study highlights that the damage to egg integrity is intensified in wetlands that undergo dry phases. Cladoceran resting egg banks represent the potential assemblage to recover after disturbance events such as drying, and information about these is important to ensure appropriate management and conservation of floodplain biodiversity.

IntroductionAustralia is at a particular point in its history where there is a noticeable diaspora of artists and creative practitioners away from the major capitals of Sydney and Melbourne (in particular), driven in no small part by ballooning house prices of the last eight years. This has meant big changes for some regional spaces, and in turn, for the face of Australian cultural life. Regional cultural precincts are forming with tourist flows, funding attention and cultural economies. Likewise, there appears to be growing consciousness in the ‘art centres’ of Melbourne and Sydney of interesting and relevant activities outside their limits. This research draws on my experience as an art practitioner, curator and social researcher in one such region (Castlemaine in Central Victoria), and particularly from a recent interview series I have conducted in collaboration with art space in that region, Wide Open Road Art. In this, 23 regional and city-based artists were asked about the social, economic and local conditions that can and have supported their art practices. Drawing from these conversations and Bourdieu’s ideas around cultural production, the article suggests that authentic, diverse, interesting and disruptive creative practices in Australian cultural life involve the increasingly pressing need for security while existing outside the modern imperative of high consumption; of finding alternative ways to live well while entering into the shared space of cultural production. Indeed, it is argued that often it is the capacity to defy key economic paradigms, for example of ‘rational (economic) self-interest’, that allows creative life to flourish (Bourdieu Field; Ley “Artists”). While regional spaces present new opportunities for this, there are pitfalls and nuances worth exploring.Changes in Regional AustraliaAustralia has long been an urbanising nation. Since Federation our cities have increased from a third to now constituting two-thirds of the country’s total population (Gray and Lawrence 6; ABS), making us one of the most urbanised countries in the world. Indeed, as machines replaced manual labour on farms; as Australia’s manufacturing industry began its decline; and as young people in particular left the country for city universities (Gray and Lawrence), the post-war industrial-economic boom drove this widespread demographic and economic shift. In the 1980s closures of regional town facilities like banks, schools and hospitals propelled widespread belief that regional Australia was in crisis and would be increasingly difficult to sustain (Rentschler, Bridson, and Evans; Gray and Lawrence 2; Barr et al.; ABS). However, the late 1990s and early 21st century saw a turnaround that has been referred to by some as the rise of the ‘sea change’. That is, widespread renewed interest and idealisation of not just coastal areas but anywhere outside the city (Murphy). It was a simultaneous pursuit of “a small ‘a’ alternative lifestyle” and escape from rising living costs in urban areas, especially for the unemployed, single parents and those with disabilities (Murphy). This renewed interest has been sustained. The latest wave, or series of waves, have coincided with the post-GFC house price spike, of cheap credit and lenient lending designed to stimulate the economy. This initiative in part led to Sydney and Melbourne median dwelling prices rising by up to 114% in eight years (Scutt 2017), which alone had a huge influence on who was able to afford to live in city areas and who was not. Rapid population increases and diminished social networks and familial support are also considered drivers that sent a wave of people (a million since 2011) towards the outer fringes of the cities and to ‘commuter belt’ country towns (Docherty; Murphy). While the underprivileged are clearly most disadvantaged in what has actually been a global development process (see Jayne on this, and on the city as a consumer itself), artists and creatives are also a unique category who haven’t fared well with hyper-urbanisation (Ley “Artists”). Despite the class privilege that often accompanies such a career choice, the economic disadvantage art professions often involve has seen a diaspora of artists moving to regional areas, particularly those in the hinterlands around and train lines to major centres. We see the recent ‘rise of a regional bohemia’ (Regional Australia Institute): towns like Toowoomba, Byron Bay, Surf Coast, Gold Coast-Tweed, Kangaroo Valley, Wollongong, Warburton, Bendigo, Tooyday, New Norfolk, and countless more being re-identified as arts towns and precincts. In Australia in 2016–17, 1 in 6 professional artists, and 1 in 4 visual artists, were living in a regional town (Throsby and Petetskaya). Creative arts in regional Australia makes up a quarter of the nation’s creative output and is a $2.8 billion industry; and our regions particularly draw in creative practitioners in their prime productive years (aged 24 to 44) (Regional Australia Institute).WORA Conservation SeriesIn 2018 artist and curator Helen Mathwin and myself received a local shire grant to record a conversation series with 23 artists who were based in the Central Goldfields region of Victoria as well as further afield, but who had a connection to the regional arts space we run, WideOpenRoadArt (WORA). In videoed, in-depth, approximately hour-long, semi-structured interviews conducted throughout 2018, we spoke to artists (16 women and 7 men) about the relocation phenomenon we were witnessing in our own growing arts town. Most were interviewed in WORA’s roving art float, but we seized any ad hoc opportunity we had to have genuine discussions with people. Focal points were around sustainability of practice and the social conditions that supported artists’ professional pursuits. This included accessing an arts community, circles of cultural production, and the ‘art centre’; the capacity to exhibit; but also, social factors such as affordable housing and the ability to live on a low-income while having dependants; and so on. The conversations were rich with lived experiences and insights on these issues.Financial ImperativesIn line with the discussion above, the most prominent factor we noticed in the interviews was the inescapable importance of being able to live cheaply. The consistent message that all of the interviewees, both regional- and city-based, conveyed was that a career in art-making required an important independence from the need to earn a substantial income. One interviewee commented: “I do run my art as a business, I have an ABN […] it makes a healthy loss! I don’t think I’ve ever made a profit […].” Another put it: “now that I’m in [this] town and I have a house and stuff I do feel like there is maybe a bit more security around those daily things that will hopefully give me space to [make artworks].”Much has been said on the pervasive inability to monetise art careers, notably Bourdieu’s observations that art exists on an interdependent field of cultural capital, determining for itself an autonomous conception of value separate to economics (Bourdieu, Field 39). This is somewhat similar to the idea of art as a sacred phenomenon irreducible to dollar terms (Abbing 38; see also Benjamin’s “aura”; “The Work of Art”). Art’s difficult relationship with commodification is part of its heroism that Benjamin described (Benjamin Charles Baudelaire 79), its potential to sanctify mainstream society by staying separate to the lowly aspirations of commerce (Ley “Artists” 2529). However, it is understood, artists still need to attain professional education and capacities, yet they remain at the bottom of the income ladder not only professionally, but in the case of visual artists, they remain at the bottom of the creative income hierarchies as well. Further to this, within visual arts, only a tiny proportion achieve financially backed success (Menger 277). “Artistic labour markets are characterised by high risk of failure, excess supply of recruits, low artistic income level, skewed income distribution and multiple jobholding” (Mangset, Torvik Heian, Kleppe, and Løyland; Menger). Mangset et al. point to ideas that have long surrounded the “charismatic artist myth,” of a quasi-metaphysical calling to be an artist that can lead one to overlook the profession’s vast pitfalls in terms of economic sustainability. One interviewee described it as follows: “From a very young age I wanted to be an artist […] so there’s never been a time that I’ve thought that’s not what I’m doing.” A 1% rule seems widely acknowledged in how the profession manages the financial winners against those who miss out; the tiny proportion of megastar artists versus a vast struggling remainder.As even successful artists often dip below the poverty line between paid engagements, housing costs can make the difference between being able to live in an area and not (Turnbull and Whitford). One artist described:[the reason we moved here from Melbourne] was financial, yes definitely. We wouldn’t have been able to purchase a property […] in Melbourne, we would not have been able to live in place that we wanted to live, and to do what we wanted to do […]. It was never an option for us to get a big mortgage.Another said:It partly came about as a financial practicality to move out here. My partner […] wanted to be in the bush, but I was resistant at first, we were in Melbourne but we just couldn’t afford Melbourne in the end, we had an apartment, we had a studio. My partner was a cabinet maker then. You know, just every month all our money went to rent and we just couldn’t manage anymore. So we thought, well maybe if we come out to the bush […] It was just by a happy accident that we found a property […] that we could afford, that was off-grid so it cut the bills down for us [...] that had a little studio and already had a little cottage on there that we could rent that out to get money.For a prominent artist we spoke to this issue was starkly reflected. Despite large exhibitions at some of the highest profile galleries in regional Victoria, the commissions offered for these shows were so insubstantial that the artist and their family had to take on staggering sums of personal debt to execute the ambitious and critically acclaimed shows. Another very successful artist we interviewed who had shown widely at ‘A-list’ international arts institutions and received several substantial grants, spoke of their dismay and pessimism at the idea of financial survival. For all artists we spoke to, pursuing their arts practice was in constant tension with economic imperatives, and their lives had all been shaped by the need to make shrewd decisions to continue practising. There were two artists out of the 23 we interviewed who considered their artwork able to provide full-time income, although this still relied on living costs remaining extremely low. “We are very lucky to have bought a very cheap property [in the country] that I can [also] have my workshop on, so I’m not paying for two properties in Melbourne […] So that certainly takes a fair bit of pressure off financially.” Their co-interviewee described this as “pretty luxurious!” Notably, the two who thought they could live off their art practices were both men, mid-career, whose works were large, spectacular festival items, which alongside the artists’ skill and hard work was also a factor in the type of remuneration received.Decongested LivingBeyond more affordable real estate and rental spaces, life outside our cities offers other benefits that have particular relevance to creative practitioners. Opera and festival director Lindy Hume described her move to the NSW South Coast in terms of space to think and be creative. “The abundance of time, space and silence makes living in places like [Hume’s town] ideal for creating new work” (Brown). And certainly, this was a theme that arose frequently in our interviews. Many of our regionally based artists were in part choosing the de-pressurised space of non-metro areas, and also seeking an embedded, daily connection to nature for themselves, their art-making process and their families. In one interview this was described as “dreamtime”. “Some of my more creative moments are out walking in the forest with the dog, that sort of semi-daydreamy thing where your mind is taken away by the place you’re in.”Creative HubsAll of our regional interviewees mentioned the value of the local community, as a general exchange, social support and like-minded connection, but also specifically of an arts community. Whether a tree change by choice or a more reactive move, the diaspora of artists, among others, has led to a type of rural renaissance in certain popular areas. Creative hubs located around the country, often in close proximity to the urban centres, are creating tremendous opportunities to network with other talented people doing interesting things, living in close proximity and often open to cross-fertilisation. One said: “[Castlemaine] is the best place in Australia, it has this insane cultural richness in a tiny town, you can’t go out and not meet people on the street […] For someone who has not had community in their life that is so gorgeous.” Another said:[Being an artist here] is kind of easy! Lots of people around to connect—with […] other artists but also creatively minded people [...] So it means you can just bump into someone from down the street and have an amazing conversation in five minutes about some amazing thing! […] There’s a concentration here that works.With these hubs, regional spaces are entering into a new relevance in the sphere of cultural production. They are generating unique and interesting local creative scenes for people to live amongst or visit, and generating strong local arts economies, tourist economies, and funding opportunities (Rentschler, Bridson, and Evans). Victoria in particular has burgeoned, with tourist flows to its regions increasing 13 per cent in 5 years and generating tourism worth $10 billion (Tourism Victoria). Victoria’s Greater Bendigo is Australia’s most popularly searched tourist destination on Trip Advisor, with tourism increasing 52% in 10 years (Boland). Simultaneously, funding flows have increased to regional zones, as governments seek to promote development outside Australia’s urban centres and are confident in the arts as a key strategy in boosting health, economies and overall wellbeing (see Rentschler, Bridson, and Evans; see also the 2018 Regional Centre for Culture initiative, Boland). The regions are also an increasingly relevant participant in national cultural life (Turnbull and Whitford; Mitchell; Simpson; Woodhead). Opportunities for an openness to productive exchange between regional and metropolitan sites appear to be growing, with regional festivals and art events gaining importance and unique attributes in the consciousness of the arts ‘centre’ (see for example Fairley; Simpson; Farrelly; Woodhead).Difficulties of Regional LocationDespite this, our interviews still brought to light the difficulties and barriers experienced living as a regional artist. For some, living in regional Victoria was an accepted set-back in their ambitions, something to be concealed and counteracted with education in reputable metropolitan art schools or city-based jobs. For others there was difficulty accessing a sympathetic arts community—although arts towns had vibrant cultures, certain types of creativity were preferred (often craft-based and more community-oriented). Practitioners who were active in maintaining their links to a metropolitan art scene voiced more difficulty in fitting in and successfully exhibiting their (often more conceptual or boundary-pushing) work in regional locations.The Gentrification ProblemThe other increasingly obvious issue in the revivification of some non-metropolitan areas is that they can and are already showing signs of being victims of their own success. That is, some regional arts precincts are attracting so many new residents that they are ceasing to be the low-cost, hospitable environments for artists they once were. Geographer David Ley has given attention to this particular pattern of gentrification that trails behind artists (Ley “Artists”). Ley draws from Florida’s ideas of late capitalism’s ascendency of creativity over the brute utilitarianism of the industrial era. This has got to the point that artists and creative professionals have an increasing capacity to shape and generate value in areas of life that were previous overlooked, especially with built environments (2529). Now more than ever, there is the “urbane middle-class” pursuing ‘the swirling milieu of artists, bohemians and immigrants” (Florida) as they create new, desirable landscapes with the “refuse of society” (Benjamin Charles Baudelaire 79; Ley New Middle Class). With Australia’s historic shifts in affordability in our major cities, this pattern that Ley identified in urban built environments can be seen across our states and regions as well.But with gentrification comes increased costs of living, as housing, shops and infrastructure all alter for an affluent consumer-resident. This diminishes what Bourdieu describes as “the suspension and removal of economic necessity” fundamental to the avant-garde (Bourdieu Distinction 54). That is to say, its relief from heavy pressure to materially survive is arguably critical to the reflexive, imaginative, and truly new offerings that art can provide. And as argued earlier, there seems an inbuilt economic irrationality in artmaking as a vocation—of dedicating one’s energy, time and resources to a pursuit that is notoriously impoverishing. But this irrationality may at the same time be critical to setting forth new ideas, perspectives, reflections and disruptions of taken-for-granted social assumptions, and why art is so indispensable in the first place (Bourdieu Field 39; Ley New Middle Class 2531; Weber on irrationality and the Enlightenment Project; also Adorno’s the ‘primitive’ in art). Australia’s cities, like those of most developed nations, increasingly demand we busy ourselves with the high-consumption of modern life that makes certain activities that sit outside this almost impossible. As gentrification unfolds from the metropolis to the regions, Australia faces a new level of far-reaching social inequality that has real consequences for who is able to participate in art-making, where these people can live, and ultimately what kind of diversity of ideas and voices participate in the generation of our national cultural life. ConclusionThe revival of some of Australia’s more popular regional towns has brought new life to some regional areas, particularly in reshaping their identities as cultural hubs worth experiencing, living amongst or supporting their development. Our interviews brought to life the significant benefits artists have experienced in relocating to country towns, whether by choice or necessity, as well as some setbacks. It was clear that economics played a major role in the demographic shift that took place in the area being examined; more specifically, that the general reorientation of social life towards consumption activities are having dramatic spatial consequences that we are currently seeing transform our major centres. The ability of art and creative practices to breathe new life into forgotten and devalued ideas and spaces is a foundational attribute but one that also creates a gentrification problem. Indeed, this is possibly the key drawback to the revivification of certain regional areas, alongside other prejudices and clashes between metro and regional cultures. It is argued that the transformative and redemptive actions art can perform need to involve the modern irrationality of not being transfixed by matters of economic materialism, so as to sit outside taken-for-granted value structures. This emphasises the importance of equality and open access in our spaces and landscapes if we are to pursue a vibrant, diverse and progressive national cultural sphere.ReferencesAbbing, Hans. Why Artists Are Poor: The Exceptional Economy of the Arts. Amsterdam: Amsterdam UP, 2002.Adorno, Theodor. Aesthetic Theory. London: Routledge, 1983.Australian Bureau of Statistics. “Population Growth: Capital City Growth and Development.” 4102.0—Australian Social Trends. Canberra: Australian Bureau of Sttaistics, 1996. <http://www.abs.gov.au/ausstats/abs@.nsf/2f762f95845417aeca25706c00834efa/924739f180990e34ca2570ec0073cdf7!OpenDocument>.Barr, Neil, Kushan Karunaratne, and Roger Wilkinson. Australia’s Farmers: Past, Present and Future. Land and Water Resources Research and Development Corporation, 2005. 1 Mar. 2019 <http://inform.regionalaustralia.org.au/industry/agriculture-forestry-and-fisheries/item/australia-s-farmers-past-present-and-future>.Benjamin, Walter. Charles Baudelaire: A Lyric Poet in the Era of High Capitalism. London: NLB, 1973.———. “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction.” Illuminations. Ed. Hannah Arendt. Trans. Harry Zohn. New York: Schocken Books, 1969.Boland, Brooke. “What It Takes to Be a Leading Regional Centre of Culture.” Arts Hub 18 July 2018. 1 Mar. 2019 <https://www.artshub.com.au/festival/news-article/sponsored-content/festivals/brooke-boland/what-it-takes-to-be-a-leading-regional-centre-of-culture-256110>.Bourdieu, Pierre. Distinction. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1984.———. The Field of Cultural Production. New York: Columbia UP, 1993.Brown, Bill. “‘Restless Giant’ Lures Queensland Opera’s Artistic Director Lindy Hume to the Regional Art Movement.” ABC News 13 Sep. 2017. 10 Mar. 2019 <https://www.abc.net.au/news/2017-09-12/regional-creative-industries-on-the-rise/8895842>.Docherty, Glenn. “Why 5 Million Australians Can’t Get to Work, Home or School on Time.” Sydney Morning Herald 17 Feb. 2019. 10 Mar. 2019 <https://www.smh.com.au/national/why-5-million-australians-can-t-get-to-work-home-or-school-on-time-20190215-p50y1x.html>.Fairley, Gina. “Big Hit Exhibitions to See These Summer Holidays.” Arts Hub 14 Dec. 2018. 1 Mar. 2019 <https://visual.artshub.com.au/news-article/news/visual-arts/gina-fairley/big-hit-exhibitions-to-see-these-summer-holidays-257016>.Farrelly, Kate. “Bendigo: The Regional City That’s Transformed into a Foodie and Cultural Hub.” Domain 9 Apr. 2019. 10 Mar. 2019 <https://www.domain.com.au/news/bendigo-the-regional-city-you-didnt-expect-to-become-a-foodie-and-cultural-hub-813317/>.Florida, Richard. “A Creative, Dynamic City Is an Open, Tolerant City.” The Globe and Mail 24 Jun. 2002: T8.Gray, Ian, and Geoffrey Lawrence. A Future For Regional Australia: Escaping Global Misfortune. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001.Hume, Lindy. Restless Giant: Changing Cultural Values in Regional Australia. Strawberry Hills: Currency House, 2017.Jayne, Mark. Cities and Consumption. London: Routledge, 2005.Ley, David. The New Middle Class and the Remaking of the Central City. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996.———. “Artists, Aestheticisation and Gentrification.” Urban Studies 40.12 (2003): 2527–44.Menger, Pierre-Michel. “Artistic Labor Markets: Contingent Works, Excess Supply and Occupational Risk Management.” Handbook of the Economics of Art and Culture. Eds. Victor Ginsburgh and David Throsby. Amsterdam: Elsevier, 2006. 766–811.Mangset, Per, Mari Torvik Heian, Bard Kleppe and Knut Løyland. “Why Are Artists Getting Poorer: About the Reproduction of Low Income among Artists.” International Journal of Cultural Policy 24.4 (2018): 539-58.Mitchell, Scott. “Want to Start Collecting Art But Don’t Know Where to Begin? Trust Your Own Taste, plus More Tips.” ABC Life, 31 Mar. 2019 <https://www.abc.net.au/life/tips-for-buying-art-starting-collection/10084036>.Murphy, Peter. “Sea Change: Re-Inventing Rural and Regional Australia.” Transformations 2 (March 2002).Regional Australia Institute. “The Rise of the Regional Bohemians.” Regional Australia Institute 24 May. 2017. 1 Mar. 2019 <http://www.regionalaustralia.org.au/home/2017/05/rise-regional-bohemians-painting-new-picture-arts-culture-regional-australia/>.Rentschler, Ruth, Kerrie Bridson, and Jody Evans. Regional Arts Australia Stats and Stories: The Impact of the Arts in Regional Australia. Regional Arts Australia [n.d.]. <https://www.cacwa.org.au/documents/item/477>.Simpson, Andrea. “The Regions: Delivering Exceptional Arts Experiences to the Community.” ArtsHub 11 Apr. 2019. <https://visual.artshub.com.au/news-article/sponsored-content/visual-arts/andrea-simpson/the-regions-delivering-exceptional-arts-experiences-to-the-community-257752>.

About half way through Yann Arthus-Bertrand’s film Home (2009) the narrator describes the fall of the Rapa Nui, the indigenous people of the Easter Islands. The narrator posits that the Rapa Nui culture collapsed due to extensive environmental degradation brought about by large-scale deforestation. The Rapa Nui cut down their massive native forests to clear spaces for agriculture, to heat their dwellings, to build canoes and, most importantly, to move their enormous rock sculptures—the Moai. The disappearance of their forests led to island-wide soil erosion and the gradual disappearance of arable land. Caught in the vice of overpopulation but with rapidly dwindling basic resources and no trees to build canoes, they were trapped on the island and watched helplessly as their society fell into disarray. The sequence ends with the narrator’s biting remark: “The real mystery of the Easter Islands is not how its strange statues got there, we know now; it's why the Rapa Nui didn't react in time.” In their unrelenting desire for development, the Rapa Nui appear to have overlooked the role the environment plays in maintaining a society. The island’s Moai accompanying the sequence appear as memento mori, a lesson in the mortality of human cultures brought about by their own misguided and short-sighted practices. Arthus-Bertrand’s Home, a film composed almost entirely of aerial photographs, bears witness to present-day environmental degradation and climate change, constructing society as a fragile structure built upon and sustained by the environment. Home is a call to recognise how contemporary practices of post-industrial societies have come to shape the environment and how they may impact the habitability of Earth in the near future. Through reflexivity and a ritualised structure the text invites spectators to look at themselves in a new light and remake their self-image in the wake of global environmental risk by embracing new, alternative core practices based on balance and interconnectedness. Arthus-Bertrand frames climate change not as a burden, but as a moment of profound realisation of the potential for change and humans ability to create a desirable future through hope and our innate capacity for renewal. This article examines how Arthus-Bertrand’s ritualised construction of climate change aims to remake viewers’ perception of present-day environmental degradation and investigates Home’s place in contemporary climate change communication discourse. Climate change, in its capacity to affect us globally, is considered a world risk. The most recent peer-reviewed Synthesis Report of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change suggests that the concentration of atmospheric greenhouse gases has increased markedly since human industrialisation in the 18th century. Moreover, human activities, such as fossil fuel burning and agricultural practices, are “very likely” responsible for the resulting increase in temperature rise (IPPC 37). The increased global temperatures and the subsequent changing weather patterns have a direct and profound impact on the physical and biological systems of our planet, including shrinking glaciers, melting permafrost, coastal erosion, and changes in species distribution and reproduction patterns (Rosenzweig et al. 353). Studies of global security assert that these physiological changes are expected to increase the likelihood of humanitarian disasters, food and water supply shortages, and competition for resources thus resulting in a destabilisation of global safety (Boston et al. 1–2). Human behaviour and dominant practices of modernity are now on a path to materially impact the future habitability of our home, Earth. In contemporary post-industrial societies, however, climate change remains an elusive, intangible threat. Here, the Arctic-bound species forced to adapt to milder climates or the inhabitants of low-lying Pacific islands seeking refuge in mainland cities are removed from the everyday experience of the controlled and regulated environments of homes, offices, and shopping malls. Diverse research into the mediated and mediatised nature of the environment suggests that rather than from first-hand experiences and observations, the majority of our knowledge concerning the environment now comes from its representation in the mass media (Hamilton 4; Stamm et al. 220; Cox 2). Consequently the threat of climate change is communicated and constructed through the news media, entertainment and lifestyle programming, and various documentaries and fiction films. It is therefore the construction (the representation of the risk in various discourses) that shapes people’s perception and experience of the phenomenon, and ultimately influences behaviour and instigates social response (Beck 213). By drawing on and negotiating society’s dominant discourses, environmental mediation defines spectators’ perceptions of the human-nature relationship and subsequently their roles and responsibilities in the face of environmental risks. Maxwell Boykoff asserts that contemporary modern society’s mediatised representations of environmental degradation and climate change depict the phenomena as external to society’s primary social and economic concerns (449). Julia Corbett argues that this is partly because environmental protection and sustainable behaviour are often at odds with the dominant social paradigms of consumerism, economic growth, and materialism (175). Similarly, Rowan Howard-Williams suggests that most media texts, especially news, do not emphasise the link between social practices, such as consumerist behaviour, and their environmental consequences because they contradict dominant social paradigms (41). The demands contemporary post-industrial societies make on the environment to sustain economic growth, consumer culture, and citizens’ comfortable lives in air-conditioned homes and offices are often left unarticulated. While the media coverage of environmental risks may indeed have contributed to “critical misperceptions, misleading debates, and divergent understandings” (Boykoff 450) climate change possesses innate characteristics that amplify its perception in present-day post-industrial societies as a distant and impersonal threat. Climate change is characterised by temporal and spatial de-localisation. The gradual increase in global temperature and its physical and biological consequences are much less prominent than seasonal changes and hence difficult to observe on human time-scales. Moreover, while research points to the increased probability of extreme climatic events such as droughts, wild fires, and changes in weather patterns (IPCC 48), they take place over a wide range of geographical locations and no single event can be ultimately said to be the result of climate change (Maibach and Roser-Renouf 145). In addition to these observational obstacles, political partisanship, vested interests in the current status quo, and general resistance to profound change all play a part in keeping us one step removed from the phenomenon of climate change. The distant and impersonal nature of climate change coupled with the “uncertainty over consequences, diverse and multiple engaged interests, conflicting knowledge claims, and high stakes” (Lorenzoni et al. 65) often result in repression, rejection, and denial, removing the individual’s responsibility to act. Research suggests that, due to its unique observational obstacles in contemporary post-industrial societies, climate change is considered a psychologically distant event (Pawlik 559), one that is not personally salient due to the “perceived distance and remoteness [...] from one’s everyday experience” (O’Neill and Nicholson-Cole 370). In an examination of the barriers to behaviour change in the face of psychologically distant events, Robert Gifford argues that changing individuals’ perceptions of the issue-domain is one of the challenges of countering environmental inertia—the lack of initiative for environmentally sustainable social action (5). To challenge the status quo a radically different construction of the environment and the human-nature relationship is required to transform our perception of global environmental risks and ultimately result in environmentally consequential social action. Yann Arthus-Bertrand’s Home is a ritualised construction of contemporary environmental degradation and climate change which takes spectators on a rite of passage to a newfound understanding of the human-nature relationship. Transformation through re-imagining individuals’ roles, responsibilities, and practices is an intrinsic quality of rituals. A ritual charts a subjects path from one state of consciousness to the next, resulting in a meaningful change of attitudes (Deflem 8). Through a lifelong study of African rituals British cultural ethnographer Victor Turner refined his concept of rituals in a modern social context. Turner observed that rituals conform to a three-phased processural form (The Ritual Process 13–14). First, in the separation stage, the subjects are selected and removed from their fixed position in the social structure. Second, they enter an in-between and ambiguous liminal stage, characterised by a “partial or complete separation of the subject from everyday existence” (Deflem 8). Finally, imbued with a new perspective of the outside world borne out of the experience of reflexivity, liminality, and a cathartic cleansing, subjects are reintegrated into the social reality in a new, stable state. The three distinct stages make the ritual an emotionally charged, highly personal experience that “demarcates the passage from one phase to another in the individual’s life-cycle” (Turner, “Symbols” 488) and actively shapes human attitudes and behaviour. Adhering to the three-staged processural form of the ritual, Arthus-Bertrand guides spectators towards a newfound understanding of their roles and responsibilities in creating a desirable future. In the first stage—the separation—aerial photography of Home alienates viewers from their anthropocentric perspectives of the outside world. This establishes Earth as a body, and unearths spectators’ guilt and shame in relation to contemporary world risks. Aerial photography strips landscapes of their conventional qualities of horizon, scale, and human reference. As fine art photographer Emmet Gowin observes, “when one really sees an awesome, vast place, our sense of wholeness is reorganised [...] and the body seems always to diminish” (qtd. in Reynolds 4). Confronted with a seemingly infinite sublime landscape from above, the spectator’s “body diminishes” as they witness Earth’s body gradually taking shape. Home’s rushing rivers of Indonesia are akin to blood flowing through the veins and the Siberian permafrost seems like the texture of skin in extreme close-up. Arthus-Bertrand establishes a geocentric embodiment to force spectators to perceive and experience the environmental degradation brought about by the dominant social practices of contemporary post-industrial modernity. The film-maker visualises the maltreatment of the environment through suggested abuse of the Earth’s body. Images of industrial agricultural practices in the United States appear to leave scratches and scars on the landscape, and as a ship crosses the Arctic ice sheets of the Northwest Passage the boat glides like the surgeon’s knife cutting through the uppermost layer of the skin. But the deep blue water that’s revealed in the wake of the craft suggests a flesh and body now devoid of life, a suffering Earth in the wake of global climatic change. Arthus-Bertrand’s images become the sublime evidence of human intervention in the environment and the reflection of present-day industrialisation materially altering the face of Earth. The film-maker exploits spectators’ geocentric perspective and sensibility to prompt reflexivity, provide revelations about the self, and unearth the forgotten shame and guilt in having inadvertently caused excessive environmental degradation. Following the sequences establishing Earth as the body of the text Arthus-Bertrand returns spectators to their everyday “natural” environment—the city. Having witnessed and endured the pain and suffering of Earth, spectators now gaze at the skyscrapers standing bold and tall in the cityscape with disillusionment. The pinnacles of modern urban development become symbols of arrogance and exploitation: structures forced upon the landscape. Moreover, the images of contemporary cityscapes in Home serve as triggers for ritual reflexivity, allowing the spectator to “perceive the self [...] as a distanced ‘other’ and hence achieve a partial ‘self-transcendence’” (Beck, Comments 491). Arthus-Bertrand’s aerial photographs of Los Angeles, New York, and Tokyo fold these distinct urban environments into one uniform fusion of glass, metal, and concrete devoid of life. The uniformity of these cultural landscapes prompts spectators to add the missing element: the human. Suddenly, the homes and offices of desolate cityscapes are populated by none other than us, looking at ourselves from a unique vantage point. The geocentric sensibility the film-maker invoked with the images of the suffering Earth now prompt a revelation about the self as spectators see their everyday urban environments in a new light. Their homes and offices become blemishes on the face of the Earth: its inhabitants, including the spectators themselves, complicit in the excessive mistreatment of the planet. The second stage of the ritual allows Arthus-Bertrand to challenge dominant social paradigms of present day post-industrial societies and introduce new, alternative moral directives to govern our habits and attitudes. Following the separation, ritual subjects enter an in-between, threshold stage, one unencumbered by the spatial, temporal, and social boundaries of everyday existence. Turner posits that a subjects passage through this liminal stage is necessary to attain psychic maturation and successful transition to a new, stable state at the end of the ritual (The Ritual Process 97). While this “betwixt and between” (Turner, The Ritual Process 95) state may be a fleeting moment of transition, it makes for a “lived experience [that] transforms human beings cognitively, emotionally, and morally.” (Horvath et al. 3) Through a change of perceptions liminality paves the way toward meaningful social action. Home places spectators in a state of liminality to contrast geocentric and anthropocentric views. Arthus-Bertrand contrasts natural and human-made environments in terms of diversity. The narrator’s description of the “miracle of life” is followed by images of trees seemingly defying gravity, snow-covered summits among mountain ranges, and a whale in the ocean. Grandeur and variety appear to be inherent qualities of biodiversity on Earth, qualities contrasted with images of the endless, uniform rectangular greenhouses of Almeria, Spain. This contrast emphasises the loss of variety in human achievements and the monotony mass-production brings to the landscape. With the image of a fire burning atop a factory chimney, Arthus-Bertrand critiques the change of pace and distortion of time inherent in anthropocentric views, and specifically in contemporary modernity. Here, the flames appear to instantly eat away at resources that have taken millions of years to form, bringing anthropocentric and geocentric temporality into sharp contrast. A sequence showing a night time metropolis underscores this distinction. The glittering cityscape is lit by hundreds of lights in skyscrapers in an effort, it appears, to mimic and surpass daylight and thus upturn the natural rhythm of life. As the narrator remarks, in our present-day environments, “days are now the pale reflections of nights.” Arthus-Bertrand also uses ritual liminality to mark the present as a transitory, threshold moment in human civilisation. The film-maker contrasts the spectre of our past with possible visions of the future to mark the moment of now as a time when humanity is on the threshold of two distinct states of mind. The narrator’s descriptions of contemporary post-industrial society’s reliance on non-renewable resources and lack of environmentally sustainable agricultural practices condemn the past and warn viewers of the consequences of continuing such practices into the future. Exploring the liminal present Arthus-Bertrand proposes distinctive futurescapes for humankind. On the one hand, the narrator’s description of California’s “concentration camp style cattle farming” suggests that humankind will live in a future that feeds from the past, falling back on frames of horrors and past mistakes. On the other hand, the example of Costa Rica, a nation that abolished its military and dedicated the budget to environmental conservation, is recognition of our ability to re-imagine our future in the face of global risk. Home introduces myths to imbue liminality with the alternative dominant social paradigm of ecology. By calling upon deep-seated structures myths “touch the heart of society’s emotional, spiritual and intellectual consciousness” (Killingsworth and Palmer 176) and help us understand and come to terms with complex social, economic, and scientific phenomena. With the capacity to “pattern thought, beliefs and practices,” (Maier 166) myths are ideal tools in communicating ritual liminality and challenging contemporary post-industrial society’s dominant social paradigms. The opening sequence of Home, where the crescent Earth is slowly revealed in the darkness of space, is an allusion to creation: the genesis myth. Accompanied only by a gentle hum our home emerges in brilliant blue, white, and green-brown encompassing most of the screen. It is as if darkness and chaos disintegrated and order, life, and the elements were created right before our eyes. Akin to the Earthrise image taken by the astronauts of Apollo 8, Home’s opening sequence underscores the notion that our home is a unique spot in the blackness of space and is defined and circumscribed by the elements. With the opening sequence Arthus-Bertrand wishes to impart the message of interdependence and reliance on elements—core concepts of ecology. Balance, another key theme in ecology, is introduced with an allusion to the Icarus myth in a sequence depicting Dubai. The story of Icarus’s fall from the sky after flying too close to the sun is a symbolic retelling of hubris—a violent pride and arrogance punishable by nemesis—destruction, which ultimately restores balance by forcing the individual back within the limits transgressed (Littleton 712). In Arthus-Bertrand’s portrayal of Dubai, the camera slowly tilts upwards on the Burj Khalifa tower, the tallest human-made structure ever built. The construction works on the tower explicitly frame humans against the bright blue sky in their attempt to reach ever further, transgressing their limitations much like the ill-fated Icarus. Arthus-Bertrand warns that contemporary modernity does not strive for balance or moderation, and with climate change we may have brought our nemesis upon ourselves. By suggesting new dominant paradigms and providing a critique of current maxims, Home’s retelling of myths ultimately sees spectators through to the final stage of the ritual. The last phase in the rite of passage “celebrates and commemorates transcendent powers,” (Deflem 8) marking subjects’ rebirth to a new status and distinctive perception of the outside world. It is at this stage that Arthus-Bertrand resolves the emotional distress uncovered in the separation phase. The film-maker uses humanity’s innate capacity for creation and renewal as a cathartic cleansing aimed at reconciling spectators’ guilt and shame in having inadvertently exacerbated global environmental degradation. Arthus-Bertrand identifies renewable resources as the key to redeeming technology, human intervention in the landscape, and finally humanity itself. Until now, the film-maker pictured modernity and technology, evidenced in his portrayal of Dubai, as synonymous with excess and disrespect for the interconnectedness and balance of elements on Earth. The final sequence shows a very different face of technology. Here, we see a mechanical sea-snake generating electricity by riding the waves off the coast of Scotland and solar panels turning towards the sun in the Sahara desert. Technology’s redemption is evidenced in its ability to imitate nature—a move towards geocentric consciousness (a lesson learned from the ritual’s liminal stage). Moreover, these human-made structures, unlike the skyscrapers earlier in the film, appear a lot less invasive in the landscape and speak of moderation and union with nature. With the above examples Arthus-Bertrand suggests that humanity can shed the greed that drove it to dig deeper and deeper into the Earth to acquire non-renewable resources such as oil and coal, what the narrator describes as “treasures buried deep.” The incorporation of principles of ecology, such as balance and interconnectedness, into humanity’s behaviour ushers in reconciliation and ritual cleansing in Home. Following the description of the move toward renewable resources, the narrator reveals that “worldwide four children out of five attend school, never has learning been given to so many human beings” marking education, innovation, and creativity as the true inexhaustible resources on Earth. Lastly, the description of Antarctica in Home is the essence of Arthus-Bertrand’s argument for our innate capacity to create, not simply exploit and destroy. Here, the narrator describes the continent as possessing “immense natural resources that no country can claim for itself, a natural reserve devoted to peace and science, a treaty signed by 49 nations has made it a treasure shared by all humanity.” Innovation appears to fuel humankind’s transcendence to a state where it is capable of compassion, unification, sharing, and finally creating treasures. With these examples Arthus-Bertrand suggests that humanity has an innate capacity for creative energy that awaits authentic expression and can turn humankind from destroyer to creator. In recent years various risk communication texts have explicitly addressed climate change, endeavouring to instigate environmentally consequential social action. Home breaks discursive ground among them through its ritualistic construction which seeks to transform spectators’ perception, and in turn roles and responsibilities, in the face of global environmental risks. Unlike recent climate change media texts such as An Inconvenient Truth (2006), The 11th Hour (2007), The Age of Stupid (2009), Carbon Nation (2010) and Earth: The Operator’s Manual (2011), Home eludes simple genre classification. On the threshold of photography and film, documentary and fiction, Arthus-Bertrand’s work is best classified as an advocacy film promoting public debate and engagement with a universal concern—the state of the environment. The film’s website, available in multiple languages, contains educational material, resources to organise public screenings, and a link to GoodPlanet.info: a website dedicated to environmentalism, including legal tools and initiatives to take action. The film-maker’s approach to using Home as a basis for education and raising awareness corresponds to Antonio Lopez’s critique of contemporary mass-media communications of global risks. Lopez rebukes traditional forms of mediatised communication that place emphasis on the imparting of knowledge and instead calls for a participatory, discussion-driven, organic media approach, akin to a communion or a ritual (106). Moreover, while texts often place a great emphasis on the messenger, for instance Al Gore in An Inconvenient Truth, Leonardo DiCaprio in The 11th Hour, or geologist Dr. Richard Alley in Earth: The Operator’s Manual, Home’s messenger remains unseen—the narrator is only identified at the very end of the film among the credits. The film-maker’s decision to forego a central human character helps dissociate the message from the personality of the messenger which aids in establishing and maintaining the geocentric sensibility of the text. Finally, the ritual’s invocation and cathartic cleansing of emotional distress enables Home to at once acknowledge our environmentally destructive past habits and point to a hopeful, environmentally sustainable future. While The Age of Stupid mostly focuses on humanity’s present and past failures to respond to an imminent environmental catastrophe, Carbon Nation, with the tagline “A climate change solutions movie that doesn’t even care if you believe in climate change,” only explores the potential future business opportunities in turning towards renewable resources and environmentally sustainable practices. The three-phased processural form of the ritual allows for a balance of backward and forward-looking, establishing the possibility of change and renewal in the face of world risk. The ritual is a transformative experience. As Turner states, rituals “interrupt the flow of social life and force a group to take cognizance of its behaviour in relation to its own values, and even question at times the value of those values” (“Dramatic Ritual” 82). Home, a ritualised media text, is an invitation to look at our world, its dominant social paradigms, and the key element within that world—ourselves—with new eyes. It makes explicit contemporary post-industrial society’s dependence on the environment, highlights our impact on Earth, and reveals our complicity in bringing about a contemporary world risk. The ritual structure and the self-reflexivity allow Arthus-Bertrand to transform climate change into a personally salient issue. This bestows upon the spectator the responsibility to act and to reconcile the spectre of the past with the vision of the future.Acknowledgments The author would like to thank Dr. Angi Buettner whose support, guidance, and supervision has been invaluable in preparing this article. 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