Journal articles on the topic 'Andrew morton'

The following is a transcription of a conversation between curators of art, science, and digital data about how their practice creates knowledge in their respective fields. Drawn from Pittsburgh’s rich institutional resources, the panelists include Dan Byers, (then) Richard Armstrong Curator of Contemporary Art, Carnegie Museum of Art; Dr. Alison Langmead, Director, Visual Media Workshop, Department of History of Art and Architecture, and Assistant Professor, School of Information Scienes, University of Pittsburgh; Dr. Cynthia Morton, Associate Curator of Botany, Carnegie Museum of Natural History; and Dr. Terry Smith, Andrew W. Mellon Professor of Contemporary Art History and Theory, University of Pittsburgh. Moderated by Nicole Scalissi, PhD candidate, Department of History of Art and Architecture, University of Pittsburgh. The panel took place as a part of Debating Visual Knowledge, a symposium organized by graduate students in Information Science and History of Art and Architecture at the University of Pittsburgh, October 3-5, 2014. The transcription has been edited for clarity.Curatorial Practice as Production of Visual & Spatial Knowledge

This essay presents a pharmacologist's perspective of what would be now called ‘preclinical research’ and ‘uncontrolled clinical trials’ surrounding the first public demonstration by William Thomas Green Morton of painless surgery achieved by the inhalation of ether in a patient at the Massachusetts General Hospital on 16 October 1846. Of the many people who made history in those earliest days of surgical anaesthesia in both the United States and Great Britain, John Snow stands out for his personal research that spanned basic science and clinical medicine. Primarily, Snow used the relationship between the vapour pressure of a volatile liquid and temperature to design a vaporiser. This allowed control of the inspired concentration of the volatile liquid epitomised by diethyl ether, and thus the time-course and depth of anaesthesia. In an era when developments in anaesthesia were almost exclusively based on empirical modifications to apparatus and technique, Snow, and to a lesser extent his contemporary Andrew Buchanan, stood out from all others in advancing the quantitative basis of anaesthesia. Both described the physiological basis of control over gas uptake whereby they related that gas moved across concentration gradients in the body: alveolar to arterial to tissue to venous gas tensions, and Snow devised a progressional semi-quantitative scale of five ‘stages’ of ether anaesthesia. They thereby introduced the elements of what would be referred to ‘pharmacokinetics’ and ‘pharmacodynamics’, a century later. This essay attempts to place them and their scientific insights into context with contemporaneous principal personae and knowledge.

Background:Patients who achieve remission promptly could have a specific genetic risk profile that supports regaining immune tolerance. The identification of these genes could provide novel drug targets.Objectives:To test the association between RA genetic risk variants with achieving remission at 6 months.Methods:We computed genetic risk scores (GRS) comprising of the RA susceptibility variants1 and HLA-SE status separately in 4425 patients across eight datasets from inception cohorts. Remission was defined as DAS28CRP<2.6 at 6 months. Missing DAS28CRP values in patients were imputed using predictive mean matching by MICE. We first tested whether baseline DAS28CRP changed with increasing GRS using linear regression. Next, we calculated odds ratios for GRS and HLA-SE on remission using logistic regression. Heterogeneity of the outcome between datasets was mitigated by running inverse variance meta-analysis.Results:Evaluation of the complete dataset, baseline clinical variables did not differ between patients achieving remission and those who did not (Table 1). Distribution of GRS was consistent between datasets. Neither GRS nor HLA-SE was associated with baseline DAS2DAS (OR1.01; 95% CI 0.99-1.04). A fixed effect meta-analysis (Figure 1.) showed no significant effect of the GRS (OR 0.99; 95% CI 0.94-1.03) or HLA-SE (OR 0.8CRP87; 95% CI 0.75-1.01) on remission at 6 months.Table 1.Summary of the data separated by disease activity after 6 months.allRemission at 6 monthsNo remission at 6 monthsN4425*15582430Age, mean (sd)55.38 (13.87)5517 (14.09)55.62 (13.59)Female %68.98%65.43%70.73%ACPA+ %61.94%63.53%61.67%Baseline DAS28, mean (sd)4.76 (1.22)4.47 (1.23)5.1 (1.15)*not all patients had 6 months dataConclusion:In these combined cohorts, RA genetics risk variants are not associated with early disease remission. At baseline there was no difference in genetic risk between patients achieving remission or not. Studies encompassing other genetic variants are needed to elucidate the genetics of RA remission.References:[1]Knevel R et al. Sci Transl Med. 2020;12(545):eaay1548.Acknowledgements:This project has received funding from the Innovative Medicines Initiative 2 Joint Undertaking under grant agreement No 777357, RTCure.This project has received funding from Pfizer Inc.Disclosure of Interests:Samantha Jurado Zapata: None declared, Marc Maurits: None declared, Yann Abraham Employee of: Pfizer, Erik van den Akker: None declared, Anne Barton: None declared, Philip Brown: None declared, Andrew Cope: None declared, Isidoro González-Álvaro: None declared, Carl Goodyear: None declared, Annette van der Helm - van Mil: None declared, Xinli Hu Employee of: Pfizer, Thomas Huizinga: None declared, Martina Johannesson: None declared, Lars Klareskog: None declared, Dennis Lendrem: None declared, Iain McInnes: None declared, Fraser Morton: None declared, Caron Paterson: None declared, Duncan Porter: None declared, Arthur Pratt: None declared, Luis Rodriguez Rodriguez: None declared, Daniela Sieghart: None declared, Paul Studenic: None declared, Suzanne Verstappen: None declared, Leonid Padyukov: None declared, Aaron Winkler Employee of: Pfizer, John D Isaacs: None declared, Rachel Knevel Grant/research support from: Pfizer

Resumo Nesta entrevista que Nathan Wachtel concedeu a Andrea Daher na Universidade Federal do Rio de Janeiro (UFRJ), um percurso feito a partir de sua vasta obra faz vislumbrar uma experiência de trabalho única, cujo fundamento é a junção do relato dos vivos à letra dos mortos, entre antropologia e história, em que índios ou marranos são os agentes da história de uma América "subterrânea", soterrada nas conquistas do passado, porém viva em vestígios de memórias no presente.

O objetivo do artigo é o de realizar uma análise do filme Funny Ha Ha (2002), dirigido por Andrew Bujalski e responsável por inaugurar o movimento mumblecore nos EUA, cuja diegese extrai sua verdade de uma imagem incompleta, de uma temática que não se revela e de um gênero que, a todo o momento, se esconde. Nesse sentido, tendo em vista a articulação do real em Hal Foster e os regimes de identificação da arte propostos por Jacques Rancière, a ideia do estudo é reconhecer nos tempos mortos construídos por Bujalski a noção traumática da incomunicabilidade e ao mesmo tempo entender a desconstrução narrativa que valoriza o fragmento em detrimento de qualquer hierarquia representacional.

Background:Current rheumatoid arthritis (RA) therapeutics target immune inflammation and are subject to ceiling effects, with non-response observed in a third of recipients together with low remission rates. Synovial fibroblasts (SFs) are stromal cells not yet targeted in RA, whose hyperplastic and proliferative properties drive inflammation and tissue destruction. Seliciclib (R-roscovitine) is an orally available cyclin-dependent kinase (CDK) inhibitor that suppresses SF proliferation and ameliorates inflammatory arthritis in rodents.Objectives:To determine the maximum tolerated dose (MTD) of seliciclib in patients with active RA despite anti-TNF, with or without background conventional disease modifying anti-rheumatic drugs (cDMARDs). Safety and pharmacokinetics (PK) were also evaluated.Methods:A restricted, one-stage Bayesian continual reassessment method (CRM) determined MTD based on a target dose-limiting toxicity (DLT) probability of 35%. RA patients (DAS28 ≥3.2) were recruited sequentially to cohorts of 3 subjects each. Cohort 1 received 400mg seliciclib daily for 4 consecutive days each week for 4 weeks, added to existing therapy. Each subsequent cohort received a dose determined by the toxicity-based CRM algorithm, calculated upon conclusion of the previous cohort. Safety was assessed through adverse event (AE) monitoring. Associations with relevant PK parameters were sought.Results:15 anti-TNF recipients were enrolled, 10 of whom were also taking cDMARDs (median DAS28 4.9). Application of the CRM algorithm prompted one dose increment during the study (to 600mg for cohort 2), but reversion to 400mg for subsequent cohorts (Figure 1A). After treatment of 5 cohorts, 400mg was determined the MTD, with a DLT probability of 0.35 (CI 0.18-0.52; Figure 1B). 6 patients experienced DLTs, of which two were classified as serious AEs (SAEs) in keeping with the safety profile of seliciclib; these are summarised in Table 1. Of 43/65 total AEs reported at any dose that didnotcontribute to a DLT, 26 were possibly, probably or definitely related to seliciclib; 19 of these 26 were mild, 7 moderate and none severe. The most frequent AE was mild nausea. No relationship of safety and/or tolerability with concomitant cDMARD use or PK was seen.Table 1.Characteristics of patients who developed HZ at initiation of baricitinibDLTSeliciclib dose (mg)Doses receivedContributing AEsContributing SAEsDescriptionOutcomeA1400830Constipation, N+V, liver injury; fatigue.Resolved2600430Constipation, N+V.Resolved3600101BFever, N+V, renal injury.Resolved4400831BConstipation, N+V, jaundice, liver injury.Resolved5400840Fever, dizziness, liver injury.Resolved6400890Dizziness, N+V, liver injury, bilirubin rise.Persistent AST riseConclusion:The MTD of seliciclib has been defined for RA. No unexpected safety concerns were identified to preclude ongoing evaluation in patients, which focuses on clinical, radiological and biological indicators of efficacy.Disclosure of Interests:Arthur Pratt Grant/research support from: Pfizer, GlaxoSmithKlein, Stefan Siebert Grant/research support from: BMS, Boehringer Ingelheim, Celgene, GlaxoSmithKline, Janssen, Novartis, Pfizer, UCB, Consultant of: AbbVie, Boehringer Ingelheim, Janssen, Novartis, Pfizer, UCB, Speakers bureau: AbbVie, Celgene, Janssen, Novartis, Michael Cole: None declared, Deborah Stocken: None declared, Stephen Kelly: None declared, Muddassir Shaikh: None declared, Amy Cranston: None declared, Miranda Morton: None declared, Jennifer Walker: None declared, Sheelagh Frame Employee of: Cyclacel Ltd., Wan-fai Ng: None declared, Chris Buckley Consultant of: Janssen, Pfizer, GSK, Galapagos, Gillead, Iain McInnes Grant/research support from: Bristol-Myers Squibb, Celgene, Eli Lilly and Company, Janssen, and UCB, Consultant of: AbbVie, Bristol-Myers Squibb, Celgene, Eli Lilly and Company, Gilead, Janssen, Novartis, Pfizer, and UCB, Andrew Filer: None declared, John D Isaacs Consultant of: AbbVie, Bristol-Myers Squibb, Eli Lilly, Gilead, Janssen, Merck, Pfizer, Roche

KRONIKKEN fortæller om det forgangne kvartal på Det Kongelige Bibliotek: Begivenheder, foredrag, udstillinger, koncerter, erhvervelser m.m.m. KRONIKKEN fortæller om det forgangne kvartal på Det Kongelige Bibliotek: Begivenheder, foredrag, udstillinger, koncerter, erhvervelser m.m. Indhold: Bøger og bibliotek: Sjældent Beethoven-manus restaureret og SIBMAS Teaterkonference )Société Internationale des Bibliothèques, des Musées et des Archives de documanta­tion des Arts du Spectacle!). Danmarks Kunstbibliotek bliver en del af Det Kongelige Bibliotek. Søren Gyldendal-prisen blev tildelt en af bibliotekets, domicilerede forskere, cand.mag. Morten Møller. Det Kongelige Bibliotek på nettet: Søg i REX på andre alfabeter. Udstillinger: Skatte i Det Kongelige Bibliotek. Bladtegnermuseet: Den lyse illustrator: Ida Gantriis, Skuespilleren der tegnede: Valdemar Møller, Grænseløs humor: Medborgerskab set gennem humor og satire. Det Nationale Fotomuseum: Vi byggede et hus. Foredragsrække: Demokrati før og nu, Faith, Feminism and Freedom, International Forfatterscene, De Unge og De Tunge, Shakespeare-fejring: Foredragsrække og koncertrække Koncerter: DiamantEnsemblet, Vinterjazz og andre koncerter

Charlotte Appel: Titles, typography and other adjustments. A study of Morten Hallager as a media-savvy publisher of Danish books for children during the last decades of the eighteenth century This article investigates the involvement of Morten Hallager (1740–1803) in the book business, and how he contributed to shaping a new commodity in Denmark: books for children. Until recently, Hallager has not attracted much scholarly attention due to a traditional focus on authors who made original contributions to Danish literature. However, Hallager’s combined experience as a printer (1771–84), a schoolteacher (from 1785) and an expert in German and French gave him a unique background to act as a transnational agent, introducing European Enlightenment literature for children (by J. H. Campe, C. K. J. Dassel, K. T. Thieme, A. Berquin etc.) to Danish readers. After an outline of Hallager’s life and career, the article presents a survey of his publications. He was particularly active as an author, translator, compiler and publisher of books for children c.1791–1804 (his last books were published posthumously), and during this period he published 38 individual titles – and 57 editions in all (including 19 second or later editions) – corresponding to c.11 per cent of all Danish titles for a young readership. Four main types of intervention that characterise Hallager’s books for children are analysed. First, he took great care over titles and the contents of title pages. Most of them would include an explicit reference to ‘child’, ‘children’ or ‘youth’, and Hallager would present himself as a schoolteacher and thus an expert in the field. Next, when it came to the physical appearance of the books, Hallager made use of his professional know-how. His initial success, a small reader in sextodecimo from 1791 (reprinted ten times), for example, demonstrated how he made choices concerning format, typeface etc. Third, Hallager made a number of pedagogical adjustments to the translated texts, reflecting his ambition to be as specific and concrete as possible and also to include variety, so that his young readers were never bored. Fourth, the article maps his impressive range of strategies with regard to translating, transforming and ‘localising’ foreign texts, so that they would become more digestible and relevant for a Danish audience. Finally, the conclusion argues that Hallager’s experience in every role and every position within Robert Darnton’s famous communication circuit (1982) was a key to his success – and may explain his wish to explicate his publishing strategies in great detail. For this reason, a study of Hallager’s publications provides us with new insights not only into his own book business but also into the emerging market for children’s books in general.

The article discusses the role of classical and interdisciplinary methods in the study of the Soviet regions of the late Socialist era. The chronological scope of the study is limited to 1950-1980. The study uses the concept of "late socialism" in Alexei Yurchak's interpretation. The study is based on the analysis of the ideas of Viktor Mokhov on Regional Elites; of Oleg Khlevniuk and Yoram Gorlizki, on the Soviet governing regional networks; of Lorina Repina, Irina Savel'yeva, Andrey Poletayev, on historical memory. Through the vector of "region-centre"communication, the methods of research of the Soviet regional elites of the Upper Volga regions (Vladimir, Ivanovo, Kostroma, Tver, Yaroslavl regions) are considered. The study is based on interdisciplinary theoretical concepts – Kurt Lewin's theory of group dynamics and social fi eld; Morton Deutsch's and Harold B. Gerard's information model of conformity; Randall Collins' theory of reference authority; Veronika Nurkova's ideas on autobiographical memory; "categorisation" and "schematisation"concepts highlighted by Jerome Seymour Bruner.

Abstract The most important study of the topographic background to Daniel Defoe’s Tour thro’ Great Britain (1724–1726) is still one written by the historical geographer J. H. Andrews in 1960. This article seeks to amplify what Andrews says about two aspects of the subject: the use that the author made of maps in compiling his work, and his recourse to the text of topographic volumes, including atlases and guides. On the first issue, the evidence corroborates what Andrews suggested about the use of maps in the Tour, but it shows that Defoe enlisted their aid more widely than previously suspected in areas of the country such as Westmorland. The discussion draws chiefly on maps by Robert Morden, but also those by John Speed, Herman Moll, and others. On the second point, Andrews tended to understate Defoe’s acquaintance with counties such as Dorset, Somerset, and East Yorkshire. As a result, except for parts of Cornwall, he exaggerated the degree to which the author relied on A New General Atlas (1721). Some other sources that he did not consider have now surfaced. A full comparison between the Tour and John Macky’s Journey is provided, exploring the kind of topographic detail each writer supplied. It remains the case that much of the treatment by Andrews continues to be valid after 60 years, and the article endorses his conclusion that even when we identify Defoe’s borrowings, they do not diminish the importance of ‘a great pioneer work of economic geography’.

It has been suggested that the core of Andrei Platonov's linguistic and artistic innovation as embodied in such masterpieces as Chevengur and Kotlovan (The foundation pit) lies in his masterful undermining of the Utopian project. If utopianism consists, as Gary S. Morson suggests, in an attempt to fuse the transcendent with the everyday, then Platonov's unique contribution to the genre's undoing lies in "a series of ontologically vivid parodies of the genre in which the fusion routinely fails to take place." Thus the pathos of the author's works of the late 1920s and early 1930s revolves inescapably around the failure of the ideal to materialize and become reified. This movement is reciprocal, since the material substrata of being are never infused with the animating warmth of spirit; instead matter acts as a void that condemns the spirit it would ideally preserve to entropy and finally death.

Background:Belimumab (BEL), a recombinant human monoclonal antibody that inhibits B-lymphocyte stimulator (BLyS), is approved for the treatment of systemic lupus erythematosus (SLE). Clinical studies have yielded varying incidence rates of mortality and adverse events of special interest, such as malignancies, thereby necessitating large-scale, long-term assessment following BEL exposure.Objectives:To assess all-cause mortality and new primary malignancies during post-treatment Year 2 follow-up in adult patients with active, autoantibody-positive SLE who received intravenous (IV) BEL or placebo (PBO), plus standard therapy in the 52-week double-blind treatment period of the ongoing BASE trial.1Methods:This was a post-treatment follow-up of the Phase 4, double-blind study (BASE1; GSK Study BEL115467; NCT01705977), which randomised 4019 adults with active SLE and receiving standard therapy to BEL (10 mg/kg IV) or PBO on Days 0, 14, 28, and monthly thereafter until Week 48. All patients (including those who discontinued BEL before the end-of-treatment phase) were contacted by phone annually (+/-30-day time window). Rates of mortality and new primary malignancy are summarised for Year 2 follow-up, presented by the treatment received during the 52-week double-blind treatment period (Year 1).Results:Baseline patient characteristics and disease activity collected at the start of the study, evaluated in patients with Year 2 follow-up were similar to the overall Year 1 study population. Cumulatively by Year 2 follow-up, 10.7% and 9.5% of patients had been exposed to commercial BEL in the BEL and PBO groups, respectively. Cumulative follow-up adjusted mortality and malignancy rates (per 100 patient years) were lower in the BEL vs PBO Year 1 treatment group (Table 1).Conclusion:Year 2 follow-up results of BASE, the largest clinical trial of SLE to date,1 provide continued support for the BEL safety profile. No new BEL safety concerns were identified in patients with active, autoantibody-positive SLE receiving standard therapy.Funding: GSKReferences:[1]Sheikh SZ, et al. Lancet Rheum. 2020 (ePub ahead of print) doi.org/10.1016/S2665-9913(20)30355-6Table 1.Year 2 post-treatment* follow-up mortality and new primary malignancy rates by study treatment during Year 1BELPBOTotalYear 1 as-treated populationN=2002N=2001N=4003Year 1 deaths, n (%)13 (0.65)22 (1.10)35 (0.87)Year 1 new primary malignancies, n (%)9 (0.45)10 (0.50)19 (0.47)Year 2 (as-treated in Year 1) populationN=1681N=1666N=3347Year 2 deaths by MedDRA SOC, n (%)9 (0.54)21 (1.26)30 (0.90)Cardiac disorders2 (0.12)6 (0.36)8 (0.24)Infections and infestations4 (0.24)2 (0.12)6 (0.18)Uncoded1 (0.06)3 (0.18)4 (0.12)General disorders/administration site conditions1 (0.06)2 (0.12)3 (0.09)Gastrointestinal disorders1 (0.06)1 (0.06)2 (0.06)Neoplasms02 (0.12)2 (0.06)Other05 (0.30)†5 (0.15)Cumulative deaths by Year 2 follow-up, n (%)22 (1.10)43 (2.15)65 (1.62)Incidence rate per 100 patient years0.601.180.89Year 2 new primary malignancies by MedDRA SOC, n (%)3 (0.18)4 (0.24)7 (0.21)Neoplasms2 (0.12)4 (0.24)6 (0.18)Hepatobiliary disorders1 (0.06)01 (0.03)Cumulative malignancies by Year 2 follow-up, n (%)12 (0.60)14 (0.70)26 (0.65)Patient incidence rate per 100 patient years0.340.400.37*Patients in the post-treatment follow-up period are no longer receiving study treatment; †1 event/patient: blood/lymphatic system, musculoskeletal/connective tissue, nervous system, psychiatric, and renal/urinary disorders.MedDRA, Medical Dictionary for Regulatory Activities; SOC, system organ class.Acknowledgements:Medical writing assistance was provided by Katalin Bartus, PhD, Fishawack Indicia Ltd., UK, part of Fishawack Health, and was funded by GSK.Disclosure of Interests:Saira Sheikh Grant/research support from: Pfizer, Morton Scheinberg Consultant of: GSK, Pfizer, Alnylam, AbbVie, PTC Therapeutics, James Cheng-Chung Wei Consultant of: TSH Biopharm, AbbVie, BMS, Celgene, Chugai, Eisai, Janssen, Novartis, Pfizer, Sanofi-Aventis and UCB pharma, Grant/research support from: AbbVie, Amgen, Astellas, BMS, Celgene, Eli Lilly, Gilead, Janssen, Novartis, Pfizer Sun and UCB, Dana Tegzová: None declared, William Stohl Consultant of: GSK, Grant/research support from: GSK, Pfizer, Gilead, Tamara Mucenic Speakers bureau: Novartis, Janssen, BMS, AbbVie, Pfizer, Roche, Grant/research support from: GSK, Janssen, Roche, Eli Lilly, Gilead, UCB, Raj Punwaney Shareholder of: GSK, Employee of: GSK, Regina Kurrasch Shareholder of: GSK, Employee of: GSK, Julia Harris Shareholder of: GSK, Employee of: GSK, Saima Muzaffar Shareholder of: GSK, Employee of: GSK, Sofia Fernandes Shareholder of: GSK, Employee of: GSK, Norma Lynn Fox Shareholder of: GSK, Employee of: GSK, Andrew Liu Shareholder of: GSK, Employee of: GSK, Holly Quasny Shareholder of: GSK, Employee of: GSK, David Roth Shareholder of: GSK, Employee of: GSK

-Louis Allaire, Samuel M. Wilson, Hispaniola: Caribbean chiefdoms in the age of Columbus. Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 1990. xi + 170 pp.-Douglas Melvin Haynes, Philip D. Curtin, Death by migration: Europe's encounter with the tropical world in the nineteenth century. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989. xviii + 251 pp.-Dale Tomich, J.H. Galloway, The sugar cane industry: An historical geography from its origins to 1914. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989. xii + 266 pp.-Myriam Cottias, Dale Tomich, Slavery in the circuit of sugar: Martinique and the world economy, 1830 -1848. Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 1990. xiv + 352 pp.-Robert Forster, Pierre Dessalles, La vie d'un colon à la Martinique au XIXe siècle. Pré-senté par Henri de Frémont. Courbevoie: s.n., 1984-1988, four volumes, 1310 pp.-Hilary Beckles, Douglas V. Armstrong, The old village and the great house: An archaeological and historical examination of Drax Hall Plantation, St Ann's Bay, Jamaica. Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1990. xiii + 393 pp.-John Stewart, John A. Lent, Caribbean popular culture. Bowling Green OH: Bowling Green State University Popular Press, 1990. 157 pp.-W. Marvin Will, Susanne Jonas ,Democracy in Latin America: Visions and realities. New York: Bergin & Garvey Publishers, 1990. viii + 224 pp., Nancy Stein (eds)-Forrest D. Colburn, Kathy McAfee, Storm signals: Structural adjustment and development alternatives in the Caribbean. London: Zed books, 1991. xii + 259 pp.-Derwin S. Munroe, Peggy Antrobus ,In the shadows of the sun: Caribbean development alternatives and U.S. policy. Carmen Diana Deere (coordinator), Peter Phillips, Marcia Rivera & Helen Safa. Boulder CO: Westview Press, 1990. xvii + 246 pp., Lynne Bolles, Edwin Melendez (eds)-William Roseberry, Louis A. Pérez, Jr., Lords of the mountain: Social banditry and peasant protest in Cuba, 1878-1918. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1989. xvii + 267 pp.-William Roseberry, Rosalie Schwartz, Lawless liberators, political banditry and Cuban independence. Durham NC: Duke University Press, 1989. x + 297 pp.-Robert L. Paquette, Robert M. Levine, Cuba in the 1850's: Through the lens of Charles DeForest Fredricks. Tampa: University of South Florida Press, 1990. xv + 86 pp.-José Sánchez-Boudy, Gustavo Pérez Firmat, The Cuban condition: Translation and identity in modern Cuban literature. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989. viii + 185 pp.-Dick Parker, Jules R. Benjamin, The United States and the origins of the Cuban revolution: An empire of liberty in an age of national liberation. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990. xi + 235 pp.-George Irvin, Andrew Zimbalist ,The Cuban economy: Measurement and analysis of socialist performance. Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 1989. xiv + 220 pp., Claes Brundenius (eds)-Menno Vellinga, Frank T. Fitzgerald, Managing socialism: From old Cadres to new professionals in revolutionary Cuba. New York: Praeger, 1990. xiv + 161 pp.-Patricia R. Pessar, Eugenia Georges, The making of a transnational community: Migration, development, and cultural change in the Dominican republic. New York: Columbia University Press, 1990. xi + 270 pp.-Lucía Désir, Maria Dolores Hajosy Benedetti, Earth and spirit: Healing lore and more from Puerto Rico. Maplewood NJ: Waterfront Press, 1989. xvii + 245 pp.-Thomas J. Spinner, Jr., Percy C. Hintzen, The costs of regime survival: Racial mobilization, elite domination and control of the state in Guyana and Trinidad. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989. x + 240 pp.-Judith Johnson, Morton Klass, Singing with the Sai Baba: The politics of revitalization in Trinidad. Boulder CO: Westview, 1991. xvi + 187 pp.-Aisha Khan, Selwyn Ryan, The Muslimeen grab for power: Race, religion and revolution in Trinidad and Tobago. Port of Spain: Inprint Caribbean, 1991. vii + 345 pp.-Drexel G. Woodson, Patrick Bellegarde-Smith, Haiti: The Breached Citadel. Boulder CO: Westview Press, 1990. xxi + 217 pp.-O. Nigel Bolland, Howard Johnson, The Bahamas in slavery and freedom. Kingston, Jamaica: Ian Randle; London: James Currey, 1991. viii + 184 pp.-Keith F. Otterbein, Charles C. Foster, Conchtown USA: Bahamian fisherfolk in Riviera beach, Florida. (with folk songs and tales collected by Veronica Huss). Boca Raton: Florida Atlantic University Press, 1991. x + 176 pp.-Peter van Baarle, John P. Bennett ,Kabethechino: A correspondence on Arawak. Edited by Janette Forte. Georgetown: Demerara Publishers, 1991. vi + 271 pp., Richard Hart (eds)-Fabiola Jara, Joop Vernooij, Indianen en kerken in Suriname: identiteit en autonomie in het binnenland. Paramaribo: Stichting Wetenschappelijke Informatie (SWI), 1989. 178 pp.-Jay Edwards, C.L. Temminck Groll ,Curacao: Willemstad, city of monuments. R.G. Gill. The Hague: Gary Schwartz/SDU Publishers, 1990. 123 pp., W. van Alphen, R. Apell (eds)-Mineke Schipper, Maritza Coomans-Eustatia ,Drie Curacaose schrijvers in veelvoud. Zutphen: De Walburg Pers, 1991. 544 pp., H.E. Coomans, Wim Rutgers (eds)-Arie Boomert, P. Wagenaar Hummelinck, De rotstekeningen van Aruba/The prehistoric rock drawings of Aruba. Utrecht: Uitgeverij Presse-Papier, 1991. 228 pp.-J.K. Brandsma, Ruben S. Gowricharn, Economische transformatie en de staat: over agrarische modernisering en economische ontwikkeling in Suriname, 1930-1960. Den Haag: Uitgeverij Ruward, 1990. 208 pp.-Henk N. Hoogendonk, M. van Schaaijk, Een macro-model van een micro-economie. Den Haag: STUSECO, 1991. 359 pp.-Bim G. Mungra, Corstiaan van der Burg ,Hindostanen in Nederland. Leuven (Belgium)/ Apeldoorn (the Netherlands): Garant Publishers, 1990. 223 pp., Theo Damsteegt, Krishna Autar (eds)-Adrienne Bruyn, J. van Donselaar, Woordenboek van het Surinaams-Nederlands. Muiderberg: Dick Coutinho, 1989. 482 pp.-Wim S. Hoogbergen, Michiel Baud ,'Cultuur in beweging': creolisering en Afro-Caraïbische cultuur. Rotterdam: Bureau Studium Generale, 1989. 93 pp., Marianne C. Ketting (eds)

En række sociologer har de seneste år peget på, at den postindustrielle serviceøkonomi stiller stadigt større krav til servicemedarbejderes sociale og følelsesmæssige kompetencer. Eva Illouz (2008) argumenterer eksempelvis for, at vestlige samfund kendetegnes af en ”emotionel kapitalisme”, hvor følelsesmæssige kompetencer er blevet en central stratifikationsfaktor, som marginaliserer især mænd med en traditionel arbejderklasse habitus. Men få studier har undersøgt, hvordan arbejdsgivere rent faktisk vurderer ansøgernes sociale og følelsesmæssige kompetencer. Gennem interviews og observationsstudier har artiklens forfatter undersøgt, hvordan verdens største ambulanceoperatør vurderer og værdsætter ansøgeres sociale og følelsesmæssige kompetencer gennem rekrutteringsprocessen til stillingen som ambulanceredderelev. Artiklen viser med udgangspunkt i fire ansættelsessamtaler med mandlige ansøgere, hvordan ansøgerens primære følelsesmæssige habitus har betydning for samtalens udfald og de sympatirelationer, som skabes i forbindelse med samtalen. Data viser også, at selvom ledelsen fremhæver, at personlighed og empati er afgørende i screeningen af ansøgerne, så anvender virksomheden ikke personlighedstest eller andre psykologiske teknologier i rekrutteringsprocessen. Sociale og følelsesmæssige kompetencer vurderes derimod ud fra ansøgerens institutionaliserede omsorgskapital samt bedømmelsesudvalgets mavefornemmelse af ansøgerens følelsesmæssige dispositioner og evne til at passe ind både i faget og virksomhed. ENGELSK ABSTRACT: Morten Kyed: ”We Are a Business that Is Really above Average in Empathy”: Recruiting ”Soft Competences” in Ambulance Service A number of sociologists have suggested that the post-industrial service economy is placing increasing demands on service employees’ social and emotional skills. Eva Illouz (2008), for instance, argues that Western societies are characterised by an ”emotional capitalism”, in which emotional competencies are pivotal for social stratification and marginalisation of men with a traditional working class habitus. However, few studies have examined how employers actually assess applicants’ social and emotional skills. Through interviews and observational studies, the author has studied how the world’s largest ambulance operator assesses and evaluates social and emotional skills of ambulance apprentice applicants. Employing four job interviews with male candidates, the article illustrates how the applicant’s primary emotional habitus is important for the construction of sympathy relations during the job interviews and the outcome of the conversation. The data also shows that although management emphasises that personality and empathy are crucial when screening applicants, the company does not use personality tests or other psychological technologies in the recruitment process. Assessment of social and emotional skills is based on the candidate’s ”institutionalised care capital” and the assessment committee’s gut feeling about the applicant’s emotional disposition and ability to fit into both the vocation and the company. Keywords: service work, service economy, recruitment, social competences, emotional competences, gender.

Uoverensstemmelser mellem pædagoger og småbørnsforældre i daginstitutioner kan være afgørende for forældresamarbejdet, forældrenes tilfredshed og pædagogernes arbejdsliv. Sådanne uoverensstemmelser eller deciderede konflikter kan opstå af forskellige årsager. Særligt kan forskelle i gruppernes viden om børn, interessekonflikter og værdikonflikter gøre sig gældende. I denne artikel undersøger vi værdikonflikter mellem pædagoger og småbørnsforældre igennem en holdningsundersøgelse. Det har ikke tidligere været undersøgt, hvor ens eller hvor forskellige forældres og pædagogers holdninger til konkrete pædagogiske spørgsmål er. I to kvantitative vignetundersøgelser gennemført med et repræsentativt udsnit af pædagoger og småbørnsforældre sammenlignes de to gruppers holdninger. Undersøgelserne viser overordnet, at de to gruppers holdninger er meget ens. I forhold til en del spørgsmål har majoriteten inden for både pædagoggruppen og forældregruppen samme holdning, mens begge grupper i andre spørgsmål er splittede internt, men på nogenlunde samme måde. Der er således ikke belæg for, at der forekommer værdikonflikter mellem professionsgruppen og brugergruppen. De empiriske resultater diskuteres i forhold til organisations- og professionsteoretiske tilgange samt i forhold til forskellige Bourdieu-inspirerede referencerammer, der har været almindelige i studiet af relationsprofessioner i Danmark. På denne baggrund argumenteres for, at eksisterende tilgange til studiet af relationsprofessioner må modificeres, så de kan rumme både holdningsdiversiteten blandt professionelle og ligheder i holdningsmønstre professionsgruppen og brugergruppen imellem. ENGELSK ABSTRACT: Morten Ejrnæs and Merete Monrad: Profession, Attitude and Habitus: The Relationship between Parents’ and Teachers’ Attitudes concerning Pedagogical Issues in Day Care Institutions Disagreements between child care professionals and parents in day care institutions can be important for their cooperation, for the satisfaction of parents and for the working life of the professionals. Disagreements or conflicts may arise because of differences in knowledge, conflicting interests and conflicting values. In this article we examine value conflicts between child care professionals and parents by using a study of attitudes. Similarities and differences between parents’ and professionals’ attitudes regarding specific pedagogical questions have not been examined previously. The attitudes of the two groups are compared through two quantitative vignette studies. The results show that the attitudes of the two groups resemble each other. The majority of both groups hold similar attitudes on a wide range of questions, while both groups are internally divided in much the same way regarding other questions. Thus, there is no evidence for the existence of value conflicts between professionals and parents. The empirical results are discussed in terms of theories of organizations and professions as well as Bourdieu-inspired theoretical approaches that are common in the study of welfare professions. It is argued that existing approaches to the welfare professions need to be modified in order to account for the empirical evidence of both diversity of attitudes between professionals and similarity in attitudes between professionals and users. Key words: Child-care professionals, parents as service users, profession, attitudes, vignette method.

Background:Chronic inflammatory arthritis is a hallmark of Ankylosing Spondylitis (AS), where co-existence of inflammatory bowel disease, such as Crohn’s Disease (CD) is prominent. The clinical overlap of AS and CD has raised the hypothesis that these conditions may have similar pathophysiological mechanisms. Both indications are characterized by an altered extracellular matrix turnover, where particularly collagens are remodeled.Objectives:We investigated the association between biomarkers of collagen degradation in healthy controls and patients with AS, CD and AS/CD overlap, with the aim to investigate the biomarkers’ ability to identify patients with AS/CD overlap.Methods:Patients with AS fulfilling ASAS criteria (n=13), biopsy-proven CD (n=14), subjects with AS and CD overlap (n=10) and healthy controls (n=11) undergoing standard of care colonoscopies were included in the study. The collagen degradation biomarkers measuring type III, IV, VI and X collagen (C3M, C4M, C6M and C10C, respectively) were measured in EDTA plasma samples from all subject groups. Biomarkers were measured by competitive ELISAs. Statistical analysis was performed using an ANCOVA adjusted for age, an AUROC analysis and spearman correlations.Results:The collagen biomarker C4M was significantly higher in patients with AS/CD overlap compared to AS, CD and HCs (all p<0.0001, Figure 1A). The blood levels of C4M in AS patients were significantly lower than HC (p=0.0003), while CD also showed a lower level compared to HC though not significant (p=0.0798). No difference was found between AS and CD alone. In an AUROC analysis, C4M showed a complete separation between the patients with AS/CD overlap compared to HC, AS and CD with an AUC=1.00; p=0.0001. No differences were found between the patient groups for C3M, C6M and C10C (Figure 1, B-D). 91.3 % of patients with AS, 92.8% of patients with CD and 60 % of patients with AS and IBD overlap were actively treated with TNF-α inhibitors, which may explain the suppression of the collagen degradation biomarker levels in AS, CD and AS/IBD overlap compared to healthy controls[1,2]. No correlations were found between the collagen biomarkers and CRP, BASDAI, SCCAI or HBI scores.Conclusion:Degradation of type IV collagen quantified by C4M showed a complete separation of patients with AS/IBD overlap, compared to AS, CD and HC patients, which indicates an excessive collagen degradation and epithelial turnover. This biomarker could potentially be used to identify patients affected by both manifestations, and guide treatment decisions.References:[1]van Haaften WT, Mortensen JH, Dige AK, Grønbæk H, Hvas CL, Bay-Jensen AC, et al. Serological Biomarkers of Tissue Turnover Identify Responders to Anti-TNF Therapy in Crohn’s Disease: A Pilot Study. Clin Transl Gastroenterol. 2020;11:e00217.[2]Siebuhr AS, Bay-Jensen AC, Karsdal MA, Lories RJ, de Vlam K. CRP and a biomarker of type I collagen degradation, C1M, can differentiate anti-inflammatory treatment response in ankylosing spondylitis. Biomark Med. 2016;10:197–208.Figure 1.Levels of C4M (A), C3M (B), C6M (C) and C10C (D) in EDTA plasma from patients diagnosed with AS (n=13), CD (n=14), AS and CD overlap (n=10) and HC (n=11). Graphs are presented as Tukey box plots. Statistical significance: ****p<0.0001.Disclosure of Interests:Signe Holm Nielsen Employee of: Full time PostDoc at Nordic Bioscience and Technical University of Denmark, Andrew Stahly: None declared, Emilie H. Regner: None declared, Anne-Christine Bay-Jensen Shareholder of: Stocks at Nordic Bioscience, Employee of: Full-time employee at Nordic Bioscience, Morten Karsdal Shareholder of: Stocks at Nordic Bioscience, Employee of: Full-time employee at Nordic Bioscience, Kristine A. Kuhn: None declared.

The purpose of this research is to reveal about Princess Diana’s role in society in Andrew Morton Diana: Her True Story – In Her Own Words. This research is classified as a qualitative research. The data gathered are in the form of words as well as quotation. The writer collects the data from two kinds of sources namely primary source and secondary. The primary data source was taken from the Biography book Diana: Her True Story – In Her Own Words by Andrew Morton. And the secondary source is other material that supports the analysis, such as website. The result of this study shows the role of Princess Diana in society. Diana as a Princess actives in humanitarian activities, she was always seen visit and entertain AIDS sufferers, leprosy and other diseases, she also actively visited homeless people in shelters, she was active in supporting human welfare, and actively raised funds and formed charities to help people who need help. The one thing that Diana had done that shocked the world at the time was when she broke the stigma about Aids, that touching or shaking hands with people with Aids would get infected, but Diana shook their hands and even sat close and comforted them.Humanitarian, Princess, Lady Diana, Biographical Approach.

Tanja Bueltmann, Andrew Hinson and Graeme Morton, The Scottish Diaspora. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2013. Pp. 272. ISBN 9780748648924. CAD$40.00; Marjory Harper, Scotland No More? The Scots who left Scotland in the Twentieth Century’. Edinburgh: Luath Press Limited, 2012. Pp. 279. ISBN 9781908373359. CAD$24.99; Murray Stewart Leith and Duncan Sim, eds. The Modern Scottish Diaspora: Contemporary Debates and Perspectives. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2014. Pp. 288. ISBN 9780748681419. CAD$40.00

The article clarifies the status of philosophy’s “dark turn.” The dark is positioned as a kind of principle of what is “non-” - as non-environmental (Timothy Morton), non-joyous (Andrew Culp), non-affirmative (Benjamin Noys) etc. - and is deprived of a dark model for its own production and regarded as a “distortion” of existing types of philosophical endeavor such as the production of concepts (Gilles Deleuze). The article develops a dark method for production of philosophy by focusing on techniques that permit switching between the light and the dark rather than invoking the conflict between them. Philosophy’s crossing over to the dark side indicates an economy of the meme incorporated into it, which leads to a reiteration in philosophy of the theme of confrontation between the dark and light sides. To deal with this, philosophy must attend to the meme itself and make a choice not between the light and dark side, but between various memes about the dark and the light. Diverse memes dedicated to the confrontation between the dark and the light refer to distinct ways of arranging the two sides. The demarcation is based on different attitudes toward thought and the external. The author argues that the main memological tension in philosophy is centered on a “Jedi” version of the confrontation, on the one hand, and a reflexive model of thought derived from it, on the other. The reflexive model is grounded in a harmonious (transcendental) relationship between Jedi and the Force that exists in the Star Wars universe. The author presents the possibility that the Jedi version of light may be superseded by a dark model for the meme about the two sides which makes reference to the “Night Watch” and “Day Watch” books and movies franchise, as well as to parasitic, more sub-reflexive than non-reflexive relations with the Twilight.

Kelly, Stéphane. Les fins du Canada: selon Macdonald, Laurier, Mackenzie King et Trudeau. Par François Charbonneau 900Cross, William, ed. Political Parties, Representation, and Electoral Democracy in Canada. By Nelson Wiseman 901Boisvert, Yves, Jacques Hamel et Marc Molgat, sous la direction de. Vivre la citoyenneté. Identité, appartenance et participation. Par Christian Nadeau 903Doern, G. Bruce, Arslan Dorman and Robert W. Morrison, eds. Canadian Nuclear Energy Policy: Changing Ideas, Institutions, and Interests. By Genevieve Fuji Johnson 906Seymour, Michel. Le pari de la démesure. L'intransigeance canadienne face au Québec. Par François Rocher 908Doran, Charles F. Why Canadian Unity Matters and Why Americans Care: Democratic Pluralism at Risk. By Garth Stevenson 910Bakvis, Herman and Grace Skogstad, eds. Canadian Federalism: Performance, Effectiveness, and Legitimacy. By Willem Maas 912Poitras, Guy. Inventing North America: Canada, Mexico and the United States. By Maureen Appel Molot 914Cuccioletta, Donald, Jean-François Côté et Frédéric Lesemann, sous la direction de. Le grand récit des Amériques. Polyphonie des identités culturelles dans le contexte de la mondialisation. Par Jean Rousseau 915Pue, W. Wesley, ed. Pepper in our Eyes: The APEC Affair. By Sharon A. Manna 918Delannoi, Gil et Pierre-André Taguieff, sous la direction de. Nationalismes en perspective. Par Frédéric Boily 920Stevenson, Garth. Community Besieged: The Anglophone Minority and the Politics of Quebec. By Stephen Brooks 923Mény, Yves and Yves Surel, eds. Democracies and the Populist Challenge; and Taggart, Paul. Populism. By Andrej Zaslove 924Gainsborough, Juliet F. Fenced Off: The Suburbanization of American Politics. By Andrew Sancton 927Sineau, Mariette. Profession : femme politique. Sexe et pouvoir sous la Cinquième république. Par Chantal Maillé 928Nissen, Bruce, ed. Which Direction for Organized Labor? Essays on Organizing, Outreach, and Internal Transformations. By Greg Albo 931Dashwood, Hevina S. Zimbabwe: The Political Economy of Transformation. By Sara Rich Dorman 933Bonin, Pierre-Yves, sous la direction de. Mondialisation : perspectives philosophiques. Par Hélène Pellerin 935Diamond, Larry and Ramon H. Myers, eds. Elections and Democracy in Greater China. By Jeremy Paltiel 936Polo, Anne-Lise. La Nef marrane : essai sur le retour du judaïsme aux portes de l'Occident. Par Sophie Régnière 939Hazony, Yoram. The Jewish State: The Struggle for Israel's Soul. By Neil Caplan and Rueven Shultz 941Embong, Abdul Rahman and Jurgen Rudolph, eds. Southeast Asia into the Twenty First Century: Crisis and Beyond. By Erik M. Kuhonta 943Sidjanski, Dusan. The Federal Future of Europe. From the European Community to the European Union. By Amy Verdun 945Capling, Ann. Australia and the Global Trade System: From Havana to Seattle. By Nobuaki Suyama 946Thompson, John B. Political Scandal: Power and Visibility in the Media Age. By Constantine J. Spiliotes 947Rozell, Mark J. and Clyde Wilcox, eds. The Clinton Scandal and the Future of American Government. By Hans Hacker 949Volkoff, Vladimir. Désinformations par l'image. Par Yves Laberge 952Graber, Doris A. Processing Politics: Learning from Television in the Internet Age. By Terri Susan Fine 952Delacampagne, Christian. Le philosophe et le tyran. Par Francis Dupuis- Déri 954Gaukroger, Stephen. Francis Bacon and the Transformation of Early- Modern Philosophy. By Travis D. Smith 955Grell, Ole Peter and Roy Porter, eds. Toleration in Enlightened Europe. By Jene M. Porter 957Murphy, Andrew R. Conscience and Community: Revisiting Toleration and Religious Dissent in Early Modern England and America. By Mark David Hall 959Todorov, Tzvetan. Frail Happiness: An Essay on Rousseau. By Rosanne Kennedy 960Braybrooke, David. Natural Law Modernized. By John von Heyking 962Munzer, Stephen R., ed. New Essays in the Legal and Political Theory of Property. By Rowan Cruft 964Dallmayr, Fred and José M. Rosales, eds. Beyond Nationalism? Sovereignty and Citizenship. By Josep Costa 966David, Charles-Philippe. La guerre et la paix : Approches contemporaines de la sécurité et la stratégie. Par Jean-Sébastien Rioux 967Deveaux, Monique. Cultural Pluralism and Dilemmas of Justice. By Philip Parvin 970Barry, Brian. Culture and Equality. By Patti Tamara Lenard 972Hampshire, Stuart. Justice is Conflict. By Colin Farrelly 975Miller, David and Sohail H. Hashmi, eds. Boundaries and Justice: Diverse Ethical Perspectives. By Seana Sugrue 976Cohen, Herman J. Intervening in Africa: Superpower Peacemaking in a Troubled Continent. By Carola Weil 978Nye, Joseph S. and John D. Donahue, eds. Governance in a Globalizing World. By William D. Coleman 980Rupert, Mark. Ideologies of Globalization: Contending Visions of a New World Order. By Stephen McBride 981Thomas, Daniel C. The Helsinki Effect: International Norms, Human Rights, and the Demise of Communism. By Morton Winston 982Stevis, Dimitris and Valerie J. Assetto, eds. The International Political Economy of the Environment. By Edward Sankowski 984

Med den ontologiske vending som incitament blev udsagnet „Vi bebor mangfoldige verdener“ taget op til debat påKøenhavns Universitet i maj 2011. Inspirationen til debatformen blev hentet fra Manchester, hvor The Group for Debates in Anthropological Theory årligt afholder arrangementer. De foregår på den måde, at to proponenter taler for et bestemt udsagn, mens to opponenter taler imod. I 2008 stod striden om udsagnet, Ontology is just another word for culture, og den debat er siden udgivet på skrift (Venkatesan 2010). Nærværende temanummer udspringer af arrangementet i København, hvor to debattører, Morten Nielsen og Morten Axel Pedersen, blev inviteret til at tale for gyldigheden af udsagnet, „Vi bebor mangfoldige verdener“, mens Christian K. Høbjerg og Kirsten Hastrup blev inviteret til at tale imod. Hver debattør fik et kvarter til at fremføre sine pointer og med argumentatorisk snilde forsøge at overbevise publikum om henholdsvis, at vi bebor mangfoldige verdener, eller at vi ikke gør det. Efter de fire oplæg var der åben debat, og det hele blev afsluttet med en afstemning blandt tilhørerne. Det gjaldt med andre ord om at vinde publikum over på sin side.

Joia de família não é sinônimo de joia. Essa coisa – que pode ou não ser feita com metais nobres e gemas – apenas recebe a alcunha “de família” em processos sociais, ou seja, ao se enredar em ancestrais e ser repassada como herança. Acompanhada de narrativas, converte-se em elos de experiências e trajetórias entre vivos, mortos e aqueles que nem nasceram. Crônicas e performances acompanham seus movimentos e nos permitem acessar práticas e emoções recebidas e legadas entre gerações.A alegoria que Fabricio Barreto (fotos) e Aline Lopes Rochedo (texto) compõem na narrativa imagética aqui apresentada emerge de uma etnografia sobre transmissão de joias de família, pesquisa que resultará na tese de Rochedo em 2020. Em termos teóricos, a autora parte de Ensaio sobre a dádiva, de Marcel Mauss, publicado em 1925 e que ainda hoje incita reflexões. Rochedo tenciona identificar práticas e dinâmicas envolvidas em repasses de joias de família, coisas às quais se atribuem valores para além do econômico. Intenta, ainda, compreender o que esses processos revelam sobre a vida coletiva, observando como sujeitos vivenciam histórias e instituições nas quais as relações existem, contemplando marcadores simbólicos de gênero e classe.Este ensaio é uma construção parcial de realidades expressas pela cenógrafa Andrea Mazza Terra, moradora de Pelotas, no Rio Grande do Sul. Embora reúna na tese mais de 40 casos de repasses geracionais de joias de família, Rochedo destaca as prosas desta interlocutora pela riqueza de sua fala para narrar a família. A pesquisa se iniciou com entrevistas, conversas informais e observação realizadas na casa de Andrea, entre fevereiro e abril de 2018, quando ela discorreu sobre o bracelete da baronesa, joia de família que, inicialmente, fora presente de casamento do barão de Santa Tecla à futura esposa, Amélia, avó de sua bisavó.Rochedo reencontrou Andrea em maio de 2018, desta vez com Barreto, para fotografá-la interagindo com sua joia de família, e a experiência jogou novas luzes sobre possibilidades de dádiva. Mas o desfecho desse roteiro improvisado e imprevisível só foi possível graças a Raphael Scholl, amigo que apresentou Andrea à Rochedo e cuidou do figurino para as fotos. Barreto e Rochedo construíram a narrativa de imagens numa tentativa de misturar vozes e percepções na composição de uma experiência cênica protagonizada por Andrea com ajuda de Raphael e do estilista Maurício Guidotti.As fotos foram feitas em maio de 2018, no sobrado cansado e cravejado de vitrais Tiffany onde a interlocutora nasceu e reside. Neste palco tão familiar herdado dos avós maternos, Andrea compôs sua opereta imagética sobre o bracelete de ouro e diamantes forjado em Paris no século XIX. O adorno que testemunhou o esplendor e a decadência da economia do charque pelotense nos anos 1920 conecta Andrea a cinco gerações de mulheres, da baronesa de Santa Tecla até a avó, Nóris, de quem recebeu a dádiva. Também a mantém algemada ao passado da família. À crônica atualizada e crítica às crueldades cometidas contra cativos pelos barões do charque soma-se o relicário novecentista que lhe foi transmitido por Nóris em vida. A interlocutora vela na caixinha de ouro baixo e alta estima a matriarca falecida no início dos anos 2000: “Se sou o que sou, se sou como sou, é tudo da minha vó. Fui criada por ela, e a consciência foi ela quem me deu. [...] Porque a história da escravidão foi negada sempre, e inventaram uma outra história, a de uma escravidão light”.

Well, you couldn't control the situation to that extent. The world just comes in on top of you. It creeps under the door. It falls out of the sky. It's all around. (Leunig) Like the world that cartoonist Michael Leunig describes, ambience is all around. Everywhere you go. You cannot get away from it. You cannot hide from it. You cannot be without it. For ambience is that which surrounds us, that which pervades. Always-on. Always by-your-side. Always already. Here, there and everywhere. Super-surround-sound. Immersive. Networked and cloudy. Ubiquitous. Although you cannot avoid ambience, you may ignore it. In fact, ambience is almost as ignored as it is pervasive. For the most part, our attention is given over to what’s in front of us, what we pick up, what we handle, what is in focus. Instead of ambience, our phenomenal existence is governed by what we bring into the foreground of our lives. Our attention is, almost by definition, occupied not by what is ambient, but what is salient (Jaaniste, Approaching Ch. 1). So, when Brian Eno coined the term Ambient Music in the 1970s (see Burns; Radywyl; and Ensminger in this issue), he was doing something strange. He was bringing ambience, as an idea and in its palpable sonic dimension, into salience. The term, and the penchant for attuning and re-thinking our connections to our surroundings, caught on. By the end of the twentieth century, it was deemed by one book author worthy of being called the ambient century (Prendergast). Eno is undoubtedly the great populariser of the term, but there’s a backstory to ambience. If Spitzer’s detailed semantic analysis of ‘ambience’ and its counterpart ‘milieu’ published back in the 1940s is anything to go by, then Newtonian physics had a lot to do with how ambience entered into our Modern vernacular. Isaac Newton’s laws and theories of gravity and the cosmos offered up a quandary for science back then: vast amounts of empty space. Just like we now know that most of an atom is empty space, within which a few miserly electrons, protons, neutrons and other particle fly about (and doesn’t that seem weird given how solid everything feels?) so too it is with planets, stars, galaxies whose orbits traverse through the great vacuum of the universe. And that vacuum Newton called ambience. But maybe outer-space, and ambience, is not actually empty. There could be dark matter everywhere. Or other things not yet known, observed or accounted for. Certainly, the history of our thinking around ambience since its birth in physics has seen a shift from vacuity to great density and polyphony. Over time, several ‘spaces’ became associated with ambience, which we might think of as the great scapes of our contemporary lives: the natural environment, the built environment, the social world, the aesthetic worlds encountered ‘within’ artefacts, and the data-cloud. Now is not the time or place to give a detailed history of these discursive manoeuvres (although some key clues are given in Spizter; and also Jaaniste, Approaching). But a list of how the term has been taken up after Eno–across the arts, design, media and culture–reveals the broad tenets of ambience or, perhaps, the ambience of ambience. Nowadays we find talk of (in alphabetical order): ambient advertising (Quinion), aesthetics (Foster), architecture (CNRS; Sample), art (Desmarias; Heynen et al.), calculus (Cardelli), displays (Ambient Displays Reserch Group; Lund and Mikael; Vogel and Balakrishnan), fears (Papastergiadis), findability (Morville), informatics (Morville), intelligence (Weber et al.), media (Meeks), narratives (Levin), news (Hagreaves and Thomas), poetics (Morton), television (McCarthy), and video (Bizzocchi). There’s probably more. Time, then, to introduce the authors assembled for this special ‘ambient’ issue of M/C Journal. Writing from the globe, in Spain, Ukraine, Canada, United Sates, and New Zealand, and from cities across Australia, in Melbourne, Canberra and Perth, they draw on and update the ambience of ambience. Alison Bartlett, in our feature article, begins with bodies of flesh (and sweat and squinting) and bodies of thought (including Continental theory). She draws us into a personal, present tense and tensely present account of the way writing and thinking intertwine with our physical locality. The heat, light and weathered conditions of her place of writing, now Perth and previously Townsville, are evoked, as is some sort of teased out relation with Europe. If we are always immersed in our ambient conditions, does this effect and affect everything we do, and think? Bruce Arnold and Margalit Levin then shift gear, from the rural and natural to the densely mediated contemporary urban locale. Urban ambience, as they say, is no longer about learning to avoid (or love?) harsh industrial noises, but it’s about interactivity, surveillance and signalling. They ambivalently present the ambient city as a dialectic, where feeling connected and estranged go hand-in-hand. Next we explore one outcome or application of the highly mediated, iPhone and Twitter-populated city. Alfred Hermida has previously advanced the idea of ‘ambient journalism’ (Hermida, Twittering), and in his M/C Journal piece he outlines the shift from ambient news (which relies on multiple distribution points, but which relays news from a few professional sources) to a journalism that is ambiently distributed across citizens and non-professional para-journalists. Alex Burns takes up Hermida’s framework, but seeks to show how professional journalism might engage in complex ways with Twitter and other always-on, socially-networked data sources that make up the ‘awareness system’ of ambient journalism. Burns ends his provocative paper by suggesting that the creative processes of Brian Eno might be a model for flexible approaches to working with the ambient data fields of the Internet and social grid. Enter the data artist, the marginal doodler and the darkened museum. Pau Waelder examines the way artists have worked with data fields, helping us to listen, observe and embody what is normally ignored. David Ensminger gives a folklorist-inspired account of the way doodles occupy the ambient margins of our minds, personalities and book pages. And Natalia Radywyl navigates the experiences of those who encountered the darkened and ambiguously ambient Screen Gallery of the Australian Centre for Moving Image, and ponders on what this mean for the ‘new museum’. If the experience of doodles and darkened galleries is mainly an individual thing, the final two papers delve into the highly social forms of ambience. Pauline Cheong explores how one particular type of community, Christian churches in the United States, has embraced (and sometimes critiqued) the use of Twitter to facilitate the communal ambience, 140 characters at a time. Then Christine Teague with Lelia Green and David Leith report on the working lives of transit officers on duty on trains in Perth. This is a tough ambience, where issues of safety, fear, confusion and control impact on these workers as much as they try to influence the ambience of a public transport network. The final paper gives us something to pause on: ambience might be an interesting topic, but the ambience of some people and some places might be unpalatable or despairing. Ambience is morally ambivalent (it can be good, bad or otherwise), and this is something threading through many of the papers before us. Who gets to control our ambient surrounds? Who gets to influence them? Who gets to enjoy them, take advantage of them, ignore them? For better or worse. The way we live with, connect to and attune to the ambience of our lives might be crucially important. It might change us. And it might do so on many levels. As is now evident, all the great scapes, as I called them, have been taken up in this issue. We begin with the natural environment (Bartlett’s weather) and the urban built environment (Arnold and Levin; and also Radywyl). Then we enter the data-cloud (Herminda; Burns; Waelder, and also Cheong), shifting into the aesthetic artefact (Waelder; Ensminger; Radywyl), and then into the social sphere (Cheong; Teague, Green and Leith). Of course, all these scapes, and the authors’ concerns, overlap. Ambience is a multitude, and presses into us and through us in many ways. References Ambient Displays Research Group. “Ambient Displays Research Group.” 25 July 2006 ‹http://www.eecs.berkeley.edu/Research/Projects/CS/io/ambient/›. Bizzocchi, Jim. “Ambient Video: The Transformation of the Domestic Cinematic Experience.” Media Environments and the Liberal Arts Conference, 10-13 June 2004, Rochester Institute of Technology, New York. 26 July 2006 ‹http://www.dadaprocessing.com› [third version of this essay]. Cardelli, Luca. “Mobility and Security.” Lecture notes for Marktoberdorf Summer School 1999, summarising several Ambient Calculus papers by Luca Cardelli & Andrew Gordon. Foundations of Secure Computation. Eds. Friedrich L. Bauer and Ralf Steinbrüggen. NATO Science Series. Proceedings of the NATO Advanced Study Institute on Foundations of Secure Computation, Marktoberdorf, Germany, 27 July - 8 Aug. 1999. 3-37. ‹http://lucacardelli.name/Papers/Mobility%20and%20Security.A4.pdf›. CNRS. “UMR CNRS 1563: Ambiances architecturales et urbaines”. 2007. 9 Feb. 2007 ‹http://www.archi.fr/RECHERCHE/annuaireg/pdf/UMR1563.pdf›. Desmarias, Charles. “Nothing Compared to This: Ambient, Incidental and New Minimal Tendencies in Contemporary Art.” Catalogue essay for exhibition curated by Charles Desmarais at Cincinnati Contemporary Arts Center, 25 Sep. - 28 Nov. 2004. Foster, Cheryl. “The Narrative and the Ambient in Environmental Aesthetics.” Journal of Aesthetics & Art Criticism 56.2 (Spring 1998): 127-137. Hargreaves, Ian, and James Thomas. “New News, Old News.” ITC/BSC (October 2002). 3 May 2010 ‹http://legacy.caerdydd.ac.uk/jomec/resources/news.pdf›. Herminda, Alfred. “Twittering the News: The Emergence of Ambient Journalism.” Journalism Practice (11 March 2010). 3 May 2010 ‹http://www.informaworld.com/smpp/content~content=a919807525›. Heynen, Julian, Kasper Konig, and Stefani Jansen. Ambiance: Des deux cơtes du Rhin. To accompany an exhibition of the same name at K21 Kuntstsammlung NRW, Düsseldorf, 15 Oct. 2005 – 12 Feb. 2006. Köln: Snoeck. Jaaniste, Luke. Approaching the Ambient: Creative Practice and the Ambient Mode of Being. Doctoral thesis, Queensland University of Technology, 2007. 3 May 2010 ‹http://www.lukejaaniste.com/writings/phd›. Leunig, Michael. “Michael Leunig”. Enough Rope with Andrew Denton. ABC Television, 8 May 2006. 3 May 2010 ‹http://www.abc.net.au/tv/enoughrope/transcripts/s1632918.htm›. Lund, Andreas, and Mikael Wiberg. “Ambient Displays beyond Convention.” HCI 2004, The 18th British HCI Group Annual Conference, Leeds Metropolitan University, UK, 6-10 Sep. 2004. 18 Oct. 2005 ‹http://www.informatik.umu.se/~mwiberg/designingforattention_workshop_lund_wiberg.pdf›. Manovich, Lev. “Soft Cinema: Ambient Narratives.” Catalogue for the Soft Cinema Project presented at Future Cinema: The Cinemtic Imaginary after Film at ZKM Center for Art and Media in Karlsruhe, Germany, 16 Nov. 2002 - 30 March 2003. McCarthy, Anna. Ambient Television: Visual Culture and Public Space. Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2001. Meeks, Cyan. Ambient Media: Meanings and Implications. Masters of Fine Arts thesis, Graduate School of the State University of New York, Department of Media Study, August 2005. Morton, Timothy. “Why Ambient Poetics?: Outline for a Depthless Ecology.” The Wordsworth Circle 33.1 (Winter 2002): 52-56. Morville, Peter. Ambient Findability: What We Find Changes Who We Become. O’Reilly Media, 2005. Papastergiadis, Nikos. “Ambient Fears.” Artlink 32.1 (2003): 28-34. Prendergast, Mark. The Ambient Century: From Mahler to Trance, the Evolution of Sound in the Electronic Age. London: Bloomsbury, 2000. Quinion, Michael. “Ambient Advertising.” World Wide Words 5 Sep. 1998. 3 Aug. 2006 ‹http://www.worldwidewords.org/turnsofphrase/tp-amb1.htm›. Sample, Hilary. “Ambient Architecture: An Environmental Monitoring Station for Pasadena, California.” 306090 07: Landscape with Architecture. 306090 Architecture Journal 7 (Sep. 2004): 200-210. Spitzer, Leo. “Milieu and Ambiance: An Essay in Historical Semantics (Part 2).” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 3.2 (Dec. 1942): 169–218. Vogel, Daniel, and Ravin Balakrishnan. “Interactive Public Ambient Displays: Transitioning from Implicit to Explicit, Public to Personal, Interaction with Multiple Users.” Proceedings of the 18th ACM Symposium on User Interface Software and Technology. Large Public Displays session, Santa Fe. New York: ACM Press. 137-146. Weber, W., J.M. Rabaey, and E. Aarts. Eds. Ambient Intelligence. Berlin: Springer, 2005.

In a media saturated world, doodles have recently received the kind of attention usually reserved for coverage of racy extra marital affairs, corrupt governance, and product malfunction. Former British Prime Minister Blair’s private doodling at a World Economic Forum meeting in 2005 raised suspicions that he, according to one keen graphologist, struggled “to maintain control in a confusing world," which infers he was attempting to cohere a scattershot, fragmentary series of events (Spiegel). However, placid-faced Microsoft CEO Bill Gates, who sat nearby, actually scrawled the doodles. In this case, perhaps the scrawls mimicked the ambience in the room: Gates might have been ‘tuning’–registering the ‘white noise’ of the participants, letting his unconscious dictate doodles as a way to cope with the dissonance trekking in with the officialspeak. The doodles may have documented and registered the space between words, acting like deposits from his gestalt.Sometimes the most intriguing doodles co-exist with printed texts. This includes common vernacular graffiti that lines public and private books and magazines. Such graffiti exposes tensions in the role of readers as well as horror vacui: a fear of unused, empty space. Yet, school children fingering fresh pages and stiff book spines for the first few times often consider their book pages as sanctioned, discreet, and inviolable. The book is an object of financial and cultural investment, or imbued both with mystique and ideologies. Yet, in the e-book era, the old-fashioned, physical page is a relic of sorts, a holdover from coarse papyrus culled from wetland sage, linking us to the First Dynasty in Egypt. Some might consider the page as a vessel for typography, a mere framing device for text. The margins may reflect a perimeter of nothingness, an invisible borderland that doodles render visible by inhabiting them. Perhaps the margins are a bare landscape, like unmarred flat sand in a black and white panchromatic photo with unique tonal signature and distinct grain. Perhaps the margins are a mute locality, a space where words have evaporated, or a yet-to-be-explored environment, or an ambient field. Then comes the doodle, an icon of vernacular art.As a modern folklorist, I have studied and explored vernacular art at length, especially forms that may challenge and fissure aesthetic, cultural, and social mores, even within my own field. For instance, I contend that Grandma Prisbrey’s “Bottle Village,” featuring millions of artfully arranged pencils, bottles, and dolls culled from dumps in Southern California, is a syncretic culturescape with underlying feminist symbolism, not merely the product of trauma and hoarding (Ensminger). Recently, I flew to Oregon to deliver a paper on Mexican-American gravesite traditions. In a quest for increased multicultural tolerance, I argued that inexpensive dimestore objects left on Catholic immigrant graves do not represent a messy landscape of trinkets but unique spiritual environments with links to customs 3,000 years old. For me, doodles represent a variation on graffiti-style art with cultural antecedents stretching back throughout history, ranging from ancient scrawls on Greek ruins to contemporary park benches (with chiseled names, dates, and symbols), public bathroom latrinalia, and spray can aerosol art, including ‘bombing’ and ‘tagging’ hailed as “Spectacular Vernaculars” by Russell Potter (1995). Noted folklorist Alan Dundes mused on the meaning of latrinalia in Here I Sit – A Study of American Latrinalia (1966), which has inspired pop culture books and web pages for the preservation and discussion of such art (see for instance, www.itsallinthehead.com/gallery1.html). Older texts such as Classic American Graffiti by Allen Walker Read (1935), originally intended for “students of linguistics, folk-lore, abnormal psychology,” reveal the field’s longstanding interest in marginal, crude, and profane graffiti.Yet, to my knowledge, a monograph on doodles has yet to be published by a folklorist, perhaps because the art form is reconsidered too idiosyncratic, too private, the difference between jots and doodles too blurry for a taxonomy and not the domain of identifiable folk groups. In addition, the doodles in texts often remain hidden until single readers encounter them. No broad public interaction is likely, unless a library text circulates freely, which may not occur after doodles are discovered. In essence, the books become tainted, infected goods. Whereas latrinalia speaks openly and irreverently, doodles feature a different scale and audience.Doodles in texts may represent a kind of speaking from the ‘margin’s margins,’ revealing the reader-cum-writer’s idiosyncratic, self-meaningful, and stylised hieroglyphics from the ambient margins of one’s consciousness set forth in the ambient margins of the page. The original page itself is an ambient territory that allows the meaning of the text to take effect. When those liminal spaces (both between and betwixt, in which the rules of page format, design, style, and typography are abandoned) are altered by the presence of doodles, the formerly blank, surplus, and soft spaces of the page offer messages coterminous with the text, often allowing readers to speak, however haphazardly and unconsciously, with and against the triggering text. The bleached whiteness can become a crowded milieu in the hands of a reader re-scripting the ambient territory. If the book is borrowed, then the margins are also an intimate negotiation with shared or public space. The cryptic residue of the doodler now resides, waiting, for the city of eyes.Throughout history, both admired artists and Presidents regularly doodled. Famed Italian Renaissance painter Filippo Lippi avoided strenuous studying by doodling in his books (Van Cleave 44). Both sides of the American political spectrum have produced plentiful inky depictions as well: roughshod Democratic President Johnson drew flags and pagodas; former Hollywood fantasy fulfiller turned politician Republican President Reagan’s specialty was western themes, recalling tropes both from his actor period and his duration acting as President; meanwhile, former law student turned current President, Barack Obama, has sketched members of Congress and the Senate for charity auctions. These doodles are rich fodder for both psychologists and cross-discipline analysts that propose theories regarding the automatic writing and self-styled miniature pictures of civic leaders. Doodles allow graphologists to navigate and determine the internal, cognitive fabric of the maker. To critics, they exist as mere trifles and offer nothing more than an iota of insight; doodles are not uncanny offerings from the recesses of memory, like bite-sized Rorschach tests, but simply sloppy scrawls of the bored.Ambient music theory may shed some light. Timothy Morton argues that Brian Eno designed to make music that evoked “space whose quality had become minimally significant” and “deconstruct the opposition … between figure and ground.” In fact, doodles may yield the same attributes as well. After a doodle is inserted into texts, the typography loses its primacy. There is a merging of the horizons. The text of the author can conflate with the text of the reader in an uneasy dance of meaning: the page becomes an interface revealing a landscape of signs and symbols with multiple intelligences–one manufactured and condoned, the other vernacular and unsanctioned. A fixed end or beginning between the two no longer exists. The ambient space allows potential energies to hover at the edge, ready to illustrate a tension zone and occupy the page. The blank spaces keep inviting responses. An emergent discourse is always in waiting, always threatening to overspill the text’s intended meaning. In fact, the doodles may carry more weight than the intended text: the hierarchy between authorship and readership may topple.Resistant reading may take shape during these bouts. The doodle is an invasion and signals the geography of disruption, even when innocuous. It is a leveling tool. As doodlers place it alongside official discourse, they move away from positions of passivity, being mere consumers, and claim their own autonomy and agency. The space becomes co-determinant as boundaries are blurred. The destiny of the original text’s meaning is deferred. The habitus of the reader becomes embodied in the scrawl, and the next reader must negotiate and navigate the cultural capital of this new author. As such, the doodle constitutes an alternative authority and economy of meaning within the text.Recent studies indicate doodling, often regarded as behavior that announces a person’s boredom and withdrawal, is actually a very special tool to prevent memory loss. Jackie Andrade, an expert from the School of Psychology at the University of Plymouth, maintains that doodling actually “offsets the effects of selective memory blockade,” which yields a surprising result (quoted in “Doodling Gets”). Doodlers exhibit 29% more memory recall than those who passively listen, frozen in an unequal bond with the speaker/lecturer. Students that doodle actually retain more information and are likely more productive due to their active listening. They adeptly absorb information while students who stare patiently or daydream falter.Furthermore, in a 2006 paper, Andrew Kear argues that “doodling is a way in which students, consciously or not, stake a claim of personal agency and challenge some the values inherent in the education system” (2). As a teacher concerned with the engagement of students, he asked for three classes to submit their doodles. Letting them submit any two-dimensional graphic or text made during a class (even if made from body fluid), he soon discovered examples of “acts of resistance” in “student-initiated effort[s] to carve out a sense of place within the educational institution” (6). Not simply an ennui-prone teenager or a proto-surrealist trying to render some automatic writing from the fringes of cognition, a student doodling may represent contested space both in terms of the page itself and the ambience of the environment. The doodle indicates tension, and according to Kear, reflects students reclaiming “their own self-recognized voice” (6).In a widely referenced 1966 article (known as the “doodle” article) intended to describe the paragraph organisational styles of different cultures, Robert Kaplan used five doodles to investigate a writer’s thought patterns, which are rooted in cultural values. Now considered rather problematic by some critics after being adopted by educators for teacher-training materials, Kaplan’s doodles-as-models suggest, “English speakers develop their ideas in a linear, hierarchal fashion and ‘Orientals’ in a non-liner, spiral fashion…” (Severino 45). In turn, when used as pedagogical tools, these graphics, intentionally or not, may lead an “ethnocentric, assimilationist stance” (45). In this case, doodles likely shape the discourse of English as Second Language instruction. Doodles also represent a unique kind of “finger trace,” not unlike prints from the tips of a person’s fingers and snowflakes. Such symbol systems might be used for “a means of lightweight authentication,” according to Christopher Varenhorst of MIT (1). Doodles, he posits, can be used as “passdoodles"–a means by which a program can “quickly identify users.” They are singular expressions that are quirky and hard to duplicate; thus, doodles could serve as substitute methods of verifying people who desire devices that can safeguard their privacy without users having to rely on an ever-increasing number of passwords. Doodles may represent one such key. For many years, psychologists and psychiatrists have used doodles as therapeutic tools in their treatment of children that have endured hardship, ailments, and assault. They may indicate conditions, explain various symptoms and pathologies, and reveal patterns that otherwise may go unnoticed. For instance, doodles may “reflect a specific physical illness and point to family stress, accidents, difficult sibling relationships, and trauma” (Lowe 307). Lowe reports that children who create a doodle featuring their own caricature on the far side of the page, distant from an image of parent figures on the same page, may be experiencing detachment, while the portrayal of a father figure with “jagged teeth” may indicate a menace. What may be difficult to investigate in a doctor’s office conversation or clinical overview may, in fact, be gleaned from “the evaluation of a child’s spontaneous doodle” (307). So, if children are suffering physically or psychologically and unable to express themselves in a fully conscious and articulate way, doodles may reveal their “self-concept” and how they feel about their bodies; therefore, such creative and descriptive inroads are important diagnostic tools (307). Austrian born researcher Erich Guttman and his cohort Walter MacLay both pioneered art therapy in England during the mid-twentieth century. They posited doodles might offer some insight into the condition of schizophrenics. Guttman was intrigued by both the paintings associated with the Surrealist movement and the pioneering, much-debated work of Sigmund Freud too. Although Guttman mostly studied professionally trained artists who suffered from delusions and other conditions, he also collected a variety of art from patients, including those undergoing mescaline therapy, which alters a person’s consciousness. In a stroke of luck, they were able to convince a newspaper editor at the Evening Standard to provide them over 9,000 doodles that were provided by readers for a contest, each coded with the person’s name, age, and occupation. This invaluable data let the academicians compare the work of those hospitalised with the larger population. Their results, released in 1938, contain several key declarations and remain significant contributions to the field. Subsequently, Francis Reitman recounted them in his own book Psychotic Art: Doodles “release the censor of the conscious mind,” allowing a person to “relax, which to creative people was indispensable to production.”No appropriate descriptive terminology could be agreed upon.“Doodles are not communications,” for the meaning is only apparent when analysed individually.Doodles are “self-meaningful.” (37) Doodles, the authors also established, could be divided into this taxonomy: “stereotypy, ornamental details, movements, figures, faces and animals” or those “depicting scenes, medley, and mixtures” (37). The authors also noted that practitioners from the Jungian school of psychology often used “spontaneously produced drawings” that were quite “doodle-like in nature” in their own discussions (37). As a modern folklorist, I venture that doodles offer rich potential for our discipline as well. At this stage, I am offering a series of dictums, especially in regards to doodles that are commonly found adjacent to text in books and magazines, notebooks and journals, that may be expanded upon and investigated further. Doodles allow the reader to repopulate the text with ideogram-like expressions that are highly personalised, even inscrutable, like ambient sounds.Doodles re-purpose the text. The text no longer is unidirectional. The text becomes a point of convergence between writer and reader. The doodling allows for such a conversation, bilateral flow, or “talking back” to the text.Doodles reveal a secret language–informal codes that hearken back to the “lively, spontaneous, and charged with feeling” works of child art or naïve art that Victor Sanua discusses as being replaced in a child’s later years by art that is “stilted, formal, and conforming” (62).Doodling animates blank margins, the dead space of the text adjacent to the script, making such places ripe for spontaneous, fertile, and exploratory markings.Doodling reveals a democratic, participatory ethos. No text is too sacred, no narrative too inviolable. Anything can be reworked by the intimate graffiti of the reader. The authority of the book is not fixed; readers negotiate and form a second intelligence imprinted over the top of the original text, blurring modes of power.Doodles reveal liminal moments. Since the reader in unmonitored, he or she can express thoughts that may be considered marginal or taboo by the next reader. The original subject of the book itself does not restrict the reader. Thus, within the margins of the page, a brief suspension of boundaries and borders, authority and power, occurs. The reader hides in anonymity, free to reroute the meaning of the book. Doodling may convey a reader’s infantalism. Every book can become a picture book. This art can be the route returning a reader to the ambience of childhood.Doodling may constitute Illuminated/Painted Texts in reverse, commemorating the significance of the object in hitherto unexpected forms and revealing the reader’s codex. William Blake adorned his own poems by illuminating the skin/page that held his living verse; common readers may do so too, in naïve, nomadic, and primitive forms. Doodling demarcates tension zones, yielding social-historical insights into eras while offering psychological glimpses and displaying aesthetic values of readers-cum-writers.Doodling reveals margins as inter-zones, replete with psychogeography. While the typography is sanctioned, legitimate, normalised, and official discourse (“chartered” and “manacled,” to hijack lines from William Blake), the margins are a vernacular depository, a terminus, allowing readers a sense of agency and autonomy. The doodled page becomes a visible reminder and signifier: all pages are potentially “contested” spaces. Whereas graffiti often allows a writer to hide anonymously in the light in a city besieged by multiple conflicting texts, doodles allow a reader-cum-writer’s imprint to live in the cocoon of a formerly fossilised text, waiting for the light. Upon being opened, the book, now a chimera, truly breathes. Further exploration and analysis should likely consider several issues. What truly constitutes and shapes the role of agent and reader? Is the reader an agent all the time, or only when offering resistant readings through doodles? How is a doodler’s agency mediated by the author or the format of texts in forms that I have to map? Lastly, if, as I have argued, the ambient space allows potential energies to hover at the edge, ready to illustrate a tension zone and occupy the page, what occurs in the age of digital or e-books? Will these platforms signal an age of acquiescence to manufactured products or signal era of vernacular responses, somehow hitched to html code and PDF file infiltration? Will bytes totally replace type soon in the future, shaping unforeseen actions by doodlers? Attached Figures Figure One presents the intimate graffiti of my grandfather, found in the 1907 edition of his McGuffey’s Eclectic Spelling Book. The depiction is simple, even crude, revealing a figure found on the adjacent page to Lesson 248, “Of Characters Used in Punctuation,” which lists the perfunctory functions of commas, semicolons, periods, and so forth. This doodle may offset the routine, rote, and rather humdrum memorisation of such grammatical tools. The smiling figure may embody and signify joy on an otherwise machine-made bare page, a space where my grandfather illustrated his desires (to lighten a mood, to ease dissatisfaction?). Historians Joe Austin and Michael Willard examine how youth have been historically left without legitimate spaces in which to live out their autonomy outside of adult surveillance. For instance, graffiti often found on walls and trains may reflect a sad reality: young people are pushed to appropriate “nomadic, temporary, abandoned, illegal, or otherwise unwatched spaces within the landscape” (14). Indeed, book graffiti, like the graffiti found on surfaces throughout cities, may offer youth a sense of appropriation, authorship, agency, and autonomy: they take the page of the book, commit their writing or illustration to the page, discover some freedom, and feel temporarily independent even while they are young and disempowered. Figure Two depicts the doodles of experimental filmmaker Jim Fetterley (Animal Charm productions) during his tenure as a student at the Art Institute of Chicago in the early 1990s. His two doodles flank the text of “Lady Lazarus” by Sylvia Plath, regarded by most readers as an autobiographical poem that addresses her own suicide attempts. The story of Lazarus is grounded in the Biblical story of John Lazarus of Bethany, who was resurrected from the dead. The poem also alludes to the Holocaust (“Nazi Lampshades”), the folklore surrounding cats (“And like the cat I have nine times to die”), and impending omens of death (“eye pits “ … “sour breath”). The lower doodle seems to signify a motorised tank-like machine, replete with a furnace or engine compartment on top that bellows smoke. Such ominous images, saturated with potential cartoon-like violence, may link to the World War II references in the poem. Meanwhile, the upper doodle seems to be curiously insect-like, and Fetterley’s name can be found within the illustration, just like Plath’s poem is self-reflexive and addresses her own plight. Most viewers might find the image a bit more lighthearted than the poem, a caricature of something biomorphic and surreal, but not very lethal. Again, perhaps this is a counter-message to the weight of the poem, a way to balance the mood and tone, or it may well represent the larval-like apparition that haunts the very thoughts of Plath in the poem: the impending disease of her mind, as understood by the wary reader. References Austin, Joe, and Michael Willard. “Introduction: Angels of History, Demons of Culture.” Eds. Joe Austion and Michael Willard. Generations of Youth: Youth Cultures and History in Twentieth-Century America. New York: NYU Press, 1998. “Doodling Gets Its Due: Those Tiny Artworks May Aid Memory.” World Science 2 March 2009. 15 Jan. 2009 ‹http://www.world-science.net/othernews/090302_doodle›. Dundes, Alan. “Here I Sit – A Study of American Latrinalia.” Papers of the Kroeber Anthropological Society 34: 91-105. Ensminger, David. “All Bottle Up: Reinterpreting the Culturescape of Grandma Prisbey.” Adironack Review 9.3 (Fall 2008). ‹http://adirondackreview.homestead.com/ensminger2.html›. Kear, Andrew. “Drawings in the Margins: Doodling in Class an Act of Reclamation.” Graduate Student Conference. University of Toronto, 2006. ‹http://gradstudentconference.oise.utoronto.ca/documents/185/Drawing%20in%20the%20Margins.doc›. Lowe, Sheila R. The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Handwriting Analysis. New York: Alpha Books, 1999. Morton, Timothy. “‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’ as an Ambient Poem; a Study of Dialectical Image; with Some Remarks on Coleridge and Wordsworth.” Romantic Circles Praxis Series (2001). 6 Jan. 2009 ‹http://www.rc.umd.edu/praxis/ecology/morton/morton.html›. Potter, Russell A. Spectacular Vernaculars: Hip Hop and the Politics of Postmodernism. Albany: State University of New York, 1995. Read, Allen Walker. Classic American Graffiti: Lexical Evidence from Folk Epigraphy in Western North America. Waukesha, Wisconsin: Maledicta Press, 1997. Reitman, Francis. Psychotic Art. London: Routledge, 1999. Sanua, Victor. “The World of Mystery and Wonder of the Schizophrenic Patient.” International Journal of Social Psychiatry 8 (1961): 62-65. Severino, Carol. “The ‘Doodles’ in Context: Qualifying Claims about Contrastive Rhetoric.” The Writing Center Journal 14.1 (Fall 1993): 44-62. Van Cleave, Claire. Master Drawings of the Italian Rennaissance. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard UP, 2007. Varenhost, Christopher. Passdoodles: A Lightweight Authentication Method. Research Science Institute. Cambridge, Mass.: Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 2004.

Lars von Trier’s film Melancholia depicts the last days of the earth through the eyes of a young woman, Justine, who is suffering from a severe depressive illness. In the hours leading up to the Earth’s destruction through the impact of a massive blue planet named Melancholia, Justine tells her sister that “the Earth is evil, we don’t need to grieve for it. Nobody will miss it.” We can read this apparently anti-environmental statement in one sense as a symptom of Justine’s melancholic depression. The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders defines melancholia as a form of depression that is “qualitatively different from the sadness experienced during bereavement” (419). It is as if Justine’s illness relates to some ungrievable loss, a loss so pathologically far reaching that it short circuits the normal psychology of mourning. But, in another sense, does her statement not strike us with the ring of an absolute and inescapable truth? In the wake of our destruction, there would be no one left to mourn it since human memory itself would have been destroyed along with the global ecosystems which support and sustain it. The film’s central dramatic metaphor is that the experience of a severe depressive episode is like the destruction of the world. But the metaphor can be turned around to suggest that ecological crisis, real irreparable damage to the environment to the point where it may no longer be able to support human life, affects us with a collective melancholia because the destruction of the human species is a strictly ungrievable event. The discoveries of Charles Darwin in the nineteenth century constituted a major thought event which placed the emergence of humanity within a temporal context extending far beyond the limits of human memory. Claire Colebrook suggests that the equivalent event for present times is the thought of our own extinction, the awareness that environmental changes could bring about the end of the species: “[the] extinction awareness that is coming to the fore in the twenty-first century adds the sense of an ending to the broader awareness of the historical emergence of the human species.” While the scientific data is stark, our mediated cultural experience provides us with plenty of opportunities to, in Colebrook’s words, “[domesticate] the sense of the human end” by affirming “various modes of ‘post-humanism’” in ways which ultimately deny the shattering truth of extinction. This domestication obviously takes place in one sense on the level of a conscious denial of the scale of the ecological crisis. On another level, however, environmentally conscious representations of “the planet” or “nature” as a sheer autonomous objectivity, a self-contained but endangered natural order, may ultimately be the greatest obstacle to genuine ecological thinking. By invoking the concept of a non-human nature in perfect balance with itself we factor ourselves out of the ecological equation while simultaneously drawing on the power of an objectifying gaze. Slavoj Žižek gives the example of Alan Weisman’s book The World Without Us which imagines a contemporary world in which all humans have disappeared and nature reasserts itself in the ruins of our abandoned cities. Žižek describes this as the ultimate expression of ideology because: we, the humans, are here reduced to a pure disembodied gaze observing our own absence [...] this is the fundamental subjective position of fantasy: to be reduced to a gaze observing the world in the condition of the subject’s non-existence—like the fantasy of witnessing the act of one’s own conception, parental copulation, or the act of witnessing one’s own burial (80). In many ways, the very spectacle or fantasy of our own destruction has provided us with a powerful means of naturalising it—environmental catastrophe occurs to and in a “nature” whose essence excludes us—and this renders it compatible with a psychology by which the human end is itself internalised, processed, and normalised. Ironically, this normalisation may have been affected to a great extent through the popularisation, over the last ten years or so, of environmental discourses relating to the grave threats of climate change. A film such as Wall-E, for example, shows us an entirely depopulated, desertified world in which the eponymous robot character sorts through the trash of human history, living an almost-human life among the ruins. The robot functions as a kind of proxy humanity, placing us, the viewers, in a position posterior to our own species extinction and thus sending us the ultimately reassuring message that, even in our absence, our absence will be noted. In a similar way, the drama-documentary The Age of Stupid presents a future world devastated by environmental collapse in which a lone archivist presides over the whole digitised memory of humanity and carefully constructs out of actual news and documentary footage the story of our demise. These narratives and others like them ultimately serve, whatever their intentions, to domesticate the end of humanity through the logic of a post-human mastery of the story of our own obliteration. The starker truth with which Melancholia confronts us is that the end of humanity cannot and will not be internalised by any process of human memorialisation. Von Trier’s film does not portray any post-catastrophe world from which we might be able to extract a degree of psychological comfort or residual sense of mastery. Rather, the narrative frame is entirely bounded by the impact event, which we witness first in the film’s opening shots and then again at its close. There is no narrative time posterior to the impact and yet for us, the viewers, everything happens in its shattering aftermath, according to the strange non-successional logic of the future-anterior. Everything begins and ends with the moment of impact. If the narrative itself is concerned with the lives of the characters, particularly the effects of the main character’s depression on her family relationships, then the film’s central event remains radically disjunctive, incapable of being processed on this interpersonal level through the standard cinematic tropes of the disaster or survival genres. The value of regarding Melancholia as an environmental film, then, is that it profoundly de-psychologises the prospect of our extinction while forcing the burden of this event’s unfathomable content onto us. Von Trier’s film suggests that melancholy, not mourning, is a more apt emotional register for ecological crisis and for the extinction awareness it brings, and in this sense Melancholia represents a valuable alternative to more standard environmental narratives which remain susceptible to ideological reinscriptions of human (or post-human) mastery. As ecocritic Timothy Morton suggests, “melancholy is more apt, even more ethically appropriate, to an ecological situation in which the worst has already happened, and in which we find ourselves [...] already fully implicated” (75–6). The most influential account of mourning and melancholia comes from Sigmund Freud, who described these attitudes as two different ways of dealing with loss. In the process of mourning, Freud states that there comes the realisation “that the loved object no longer exists” which “[demands] that all libido shall be withdrawn from its attachments to that object” (245). The healthy outcome of this very painful process is that our libidinal attachments are free once again to take on another object of love; the lost object can be replaced according to a logic of temporal succession. Melancholia also results from a loss, says Freud, but this time it relates not simply or primarily to a replaceable external object but, more complexly, to something in the ego itself, not a discrete thing in the world but a certain way of being in the world which the lost object facilitated. Freud writes that the trauma of melancholia is thus manifested by the ego itself taking on or embodying the loss. The ego, stripped of its sense of being, comes to mimic the non-existence of that which once supported it. The “delusion” of the melancholic’s depressive state, says Freud, stems from the fact that something has ruptured her affective and libidinal attachment to the world, but this cannot be psychologically processed in terms of a replaceable loss since what is lost was never simply an external object. Her world is struck by an absence that cannot be mourned because it is kept alive as a non-being which she is. She has taken on the burden of this structural impossibility and does not pursue an imaginary resolution of it which, to invoke Žižek’s Lacanian terms once more, would involve her submitting to the subjective position of fantasy (i.e. becoming a witness to her own non-existence). The melancholic’s attitude is, Freud observes, “psychologically very remarkable” because it involves “an overcoming of the instinct which compels every living thing to cling to life” (246). The melancholic carves out an existence apparently contrary to nature. This is the context in which Justine remarks that the earth, as an ungrievable object, is “evil.” Her melancholia is never explained in the course of the film, and, indeed, we see little of her personality apart from the events which manifest her psychological crisis. The film opens with the moment of interplanetary impact itself. The great blue planet of Melancholia approaches and begins to swallow the earth into its atmosphere. We cut immediately to Justine and her sister in the moments just before the impact: the air is electrified by the approaching collision and birds cascade from the trees. Our way into the narrative is this moment of chaos and dispersion, but von Trier’s depiction of it, his use of highly choreographed slow-motion shots resembling tableaux vivants, distance us from any sense of urgency or immediacy. It is as if the closer we come to the collision, the less real and the more stylised the world becomes; as if the impact holds a content which cannot be rendered in realist terms. By contrast, the subsequent scenes focusing on Justine’s interpersonal drama use a shaky, handheld camera which embeds us in the action. The narrative follows Justine on her wedding day. As events unfold we see cracks appear in the wedding party’s luxurious facade: Justine’s divorced parents argue viciously; her wealthy brother-in-law, who funded the wedding, fears that the occasion may be ruined by petty squabbling, to his great expense. Beneath these cracks, however, we realise that there is a deeper, more inexplicable crack opening up within Justine herself. At one point she retreats with her newlywed husband from the tumult of the wedding party. We expect from this scene an articulation or partial resolution, perhaps, of Justine’s mental conflict, or at least an insight into her character. In a more conventional story, this moment of conjugal intimacy would allow Justine to express an “authentic” desire, distinct from the superficial squabbling of her family, a means to “be herself.” But this doesn’t happen. Justine inexplicably rejects her husband’s overtures. In clinical terms, we might say that Justine’s behaviour corresponds to “anhedonia,” a loss of interest in the normal sources of pleasure or enjoyment. Invoking Freud, we could add to this that the very objective viability of her libidinal attachments has been called into question and that this is what precipitates her crisis. If such attachments are what ground us in reality, Justine’s desire seems to have become ungrounded through the emergence of something “nonobjectifiable,” to borrow a term from philosophers Deleuze and Guattari (What is Philosophy?, 209). This “something” is revealed only in the second half of the film with the appearance of Melancholia and the prospect of its obliterating impact. Justine is drawn to this new planet, in one scene luxuriating naked beneath its blue glow. We could argue, in one sense, that she has discovered in Melancholia a correlate to her own self-destructive desire: the only thing that can possibly gratify her is the annihilation of the earth itself. However in another, more constructive sense, we can say that her melancholic desire amounts to a kind of geophilosophical critique, a political and ultimately ecological protest against the territorialisation of her desire according to a supposed acceptability of objects. Deleuze and Guattari suggest that, if desire’s libidinal attachments form a kind of ground or “territory” then all territories interact with one another at some level because they are all equally founded on “lines of deterritorialization” sweeping them towards a mutually shared, extra-territorial outside (A Thousand Plateaus, 9). Or, putting it in plainer terms: beneath every ground is a non-ground such that the earth cannot ultimately ground itself in itself. Every mental, material, or social territory is founded upon this global movement of ungrounding. The trauma of Justine’s melancholia refers us to something which cannot be resolved within the given territories of her social or interpersonal milieus. While her illness can be registered in terms of the events of the film’s narrative time, the film’s central event—the collision with Melancholia—remains irreducible to the memorial properties of storytelling. We may thus argue that the impact event is not strictly speaking an element of the film’s narrative, but rather a pure cinematic sign evoking a radical form of ecological openness. The film moves through different territories—conjugal, familial, economic, scientific—but what propels us from one territory to another is the impact event whose content is reducible to none of these territories. Of all the film’s characters, only Justine is “open” to this absolute irreducibility, this resistance to closure. Her openness to Melancholia is not determined by whether or not it can be objectified, that is, rendered assimilable to the terms of a given territory. Both her brother-in-law (an amateur astronomer) and her sister attempt to calculate the chances of impact, but Justine remains open to it in a manner which does not close off that which precludes survival. In the end, as Melancholia bears down on the Earth, Justine’s attitude—which in Freud’s terms is antithetical to the instinct for life—turns out to be the most appropriate one. The point of this article is certainly not to argue that we should acquiesce to the traumatic realities of environmental crisis. Its aim, rather, is to suggest that well-being and harmony may no longer describe the appropriate emotional register for ecological thinking, given the current urgency of the crisis. Human and ecological health may, after all, be radically different and incommensurable things. The great anthropologist and structuralist thinker Claude Lévi-Strauss once remarked: I am concerned with the well-being of plants and animals that are threatened by humanity. I think ecologists make the mistake of thinking that they can defend humans and nature at the same time. I think it is necessary to decide if one prefers humans or nature. I am on the side of nature (qtd in Conley, 66). Lévi-Strauss may well be right when he says that a common human and ecological health may be an illusion of wishful thinking. However, what if there is a common trauma, whose ineradicability would not be a tragedy but, rather, evidence of radical openness in which we no longer have to pick sides (humans or plants and animals)? What if the proper “base” from which to begin thinking ecologically were not a conception of a harmonious human-ecological whole but a foundational non-harmony, an encounter with which contains something ineliminably traumatising? In a recent paper, the philosopher Reza Negarestani proposes just such a traumatic account of ecological openness. All existence, understood geophilosophically, is, says Negarestani, “conditioned by a concatenation of traumas or cuts [...] there is no single or isolated psychic trauma [...] there is no psychic trauma without an organic trauma and no organic trauma without a terrestrial trauma that in turn is deepened into open cosmic vistas.” Ecological openness, in this sense, would be necessarily melancholic, in the terms described above, in that it would necessitate the perpetual precariousness of those links by which we seek to ground ourselves. Ecology is all too often given to a “mournful” attitude, which is, as we’ve argued, the very attitude of psychological incorporation, healing, and normalisation. Similarly, “nature,” we are told, holds the key to harmonious self-regulation. But what if today such notions are obstacles to a genuine awareness of the ecological realities facing us all (humans and non-humans)? What if this ideal of nature were just a product of our own desire for stability, order, and regularity—for some imaginary extra-social and non-human point of reference by which to attain to a position of mastery in the telling of the story of ourselves? References Age of Stupid, The. Dir. Fanny Armstrong. Spanner Films, 2009. American Psychological Association. Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. 4th Ed. Text Revision. Washington: American Psychological Association, 2000. Colebrook, Claire. “Introduction: Framing the End of the Species.”.Extinction. Ed. Claire Colebrook. Open Humanities Press. 2012. 14 April 2012. Conley, Vera Andermatt. Ecopolitics: The Environment in Poststructuralist Thought. London: Routledge, 1997. Deleuze, Gilles, and Felix Guattari. A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Trans. Brian Massumi. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1987. Deleuze, Gilles and Felix Guattari. What is Philosophy? Trans. Hugh Tomlinson and Graham Burchell. New York: Columbia UP, 1994. Freud, Sigmund. “Mourning and Melancholia.” The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, Vol. 24. Ed. and trans. James Strachey. London: Hogarth Press, 1917. 237–58. Melancholia. Dir. Lars von Trier. Zontropa, 2011. Morton, Timothy. Ecology Without Nature: Rethinking Environmental Aesthetics. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2007. Negarestani, Reza. “On the Revolutionary Earth: A Dialectic in Territopic Materialism.” Dark Materialism Conference. Natural History Museum, London. January 12th 2011. Weisman, Alan. The World Without Us. New York: Picador, 2007. WALL-E. Dir. Andrew Stanton. Pixar, 2008. Žižek, Slavoj. Living in the End Times. London: Verso, 2010.

Australia in Maps is a compilation of cartography taken from the collection of over 600,000 maps held at the Australian National Library. Included in this collection are military maps, coastal maps and modern-day maps for tourists. The map of the eastern coast of ‘New Holland’ drawn by James Cook when he ‘discovered’ Australia in 1770 is included. Also published is Eddie Koiki Mabo’s map drawn on a hole-punched piece of paper showing traditional land holdings in the Murray Islands in the Torres Strait. This map became a key document in Eddie Mabo’s fight for native title recognition, a fight which became the precursor to native title rights as they are known today. The inclusion of these two drawings in a collection of maps defining Australia as a country illustrates the dichotomies and contradictions which exist in a colonial nation. It is now fifteen years since the Native Title Act 1994 (Commonwealth) was developed in response to the Mabo cases in order to recognise Indigenous customary law and traditional relationships to the land over certain (restricted) parts of Australia. It is 220 years since the First Fleet arrived and Indigenous land was (and remains) illegally possessed through the process of colonisation (Moreton-Robinson Australia). Questions surrounding ‘country’ – who owns it, has rights to use it, to live on it, to develop or protect it – are still contested and contentious today. In part, this contention arises out of the radically different conceptions of ‘country’ held by, in its simplest sense, Indigenous nations and colonisers. For Indigenous Australians the land has a spiritual significance that I, as a non-Indigenous person, cannot properly understand as a result of the different ways in which relationships to land are made available. The ways of understanding the world through which my identity as a non-Indigenous person are made intelligible, by contrast, see ‘country’ as there to be ‘developed’ and exploited. Within colonial logic, discourses of development and the productive use of resources function as what Wetherell and Potter term “rhetorically self-sufficient” in that they are principles which are considered to be beyond question (177). As Vincent Tucker states; “The myth of development is elevated to the status of natural law, objective reality and evolutionary necessity. In the process all other world views are devalued and dismissed as ‘primitive’, ‘backward’, ‘irrational’ or ‘naïve’” (1). It was this precise way of thinking which was able to justify colonisation in the first place. Australia was seen as terra nullius; an empty and un-developed land not recognized as inhabited. Indigenous people were incorrectly perceived as individuals who did not use the land in an efficient manner, rather than as individual nations who engaged with the land in ways that were not intelligible to the colonial eye. This paper considers the tensions inherent in definitions of ‘country’ and the way these tensions are played out through native title claims as white, colonial Australia attempts to recognise (and limit) Indigenous rights to land. It examines such tensions as they appear in the media as an example of how native title issues are made intelligible to the non-Indigenous general public who may otherwise have little knowledge or experience of native title issues. It has been well-documented that the news media play an important role in further disseminating those discourses which dominate in a society, and therefore frequently supports the interests of those in positions of power (Fowler; Hall et. al.). As Stuart Hall argues, this means that the media often reproduces a conservative status quo which in many cases is simply reflective of the positions held by other powerful institutions in society, in this case government, and mining and other commercial interests. This has been found to be the case in past analysis of media coverage of native title, such as work completed by Meadows (which found that media coverage of native title issues focused largely on non-Indigenous perspectives) and Hartley and McKee (who found that media coverage of native title negotiations frequently focused on bureaucratic issues rather than the rights of Indigenous peoples to oppose ‘developments’ on their land). This paper aims to build on this work, and to map the way in which native title, an ongoing issue for many Indigenous groups, figures in a mainstream newspaper at a time when there has not been much mainstream public interest in the process. In order to do this, this paper considered articles which appeared in Australia’s only national newspaper – The Australian – over the six months preceding the start of July 2008. Several main themes ran through these articles, examples of which are provided in the relevant sections. These included: economic interests in native title issues, discourses of white ownership and control of the land, and rhetorical devices which reinforced the battle-like nature of native title negotiations rather than emphasised the rights of Indigenous Australians to their lands. Native Title: Some Definitions and Some Problems The concept of native title itself can be a difficult one to grasp and therefore a brief definition is called for here. According to the National Native Title Tribunal (NNTT) website (www.nntt.gov.au), native title is the recognition by Australian law that some Indigenous people have rights and interests to their land that come from their traditional laws and customs. The native title rights and interests held by particular Indigenous people will depend on both their traditional laws and customs and what interests are held by others in the area concerned. Generally speaking, native title must give way to the rights held by others. Native title is therefore recognised as existing on the basis of certain laws and customs which have been maintained over an area of land despite the disruption caused by colonisation. As such, if native title is to be recognised over an area of country, Indigenous communities have to argue that their cultures and connection with the land have survived colonisation. As the Maori Land Court Chief Judge Joe Williams argues: In Australia the surviving title approach […] requires the Indigenous community to prove in a court or tribunal that colonisation caused them no material injury. This is necessary because, the greater the injury, the smaller the surviving bundle of rights. Communities who were forced off their land lose it. Those whose traditions and languages were beaten out of them at state sponsored mission schools lose all of the resources owned within the matrix of that language and those traditions. This is a perverse result. In reality, of course, colonisation was the greatest calamity in the history of these people on this land. Surviving title asks aboriginal people to pretend that it was not. To prove in court that colonisation caused them no material injury. Communities who were forced off their land are the same communities who are more likely to lose it. As found in previous research (Meadows), these inherent difficulties of the native title process were widely overlooked in recent media reports of native title issues published in The Australian. Due to recent suggestions made by Indigenous Affairs Minister Jenny Macklin for changes to be made to the native title system, The Australian did include reports on the need to ensure that traditional owners share the economic profits of the mining boom. This was seen in an article by Karvelas and Murphy entitled “Labor to Overhaul Native Title Law”. The article states that: Fifteen years after the passage of the historic Mabo legislation, the Rudd Government has flagged sweeping changes to native title to ensure the benefits of the mining boom flow to Aboriginal communities and are not locked up in trusts or frittered away. Indigenous Affairs Minister Jenny Macklin, delivering the third annual Eddie Mabo Lecture in Townsville, said yesterday that native title legislation was too complex and had failed to deliver money to remote Aboriginal communities, despite lucrative agreements with mining companies. (1) Whilst this passage appears supportive of Indigenous Australians in that it argues for their right to share in economic gains made through ‘developments’ on their country, the use of phrases such as ‘frittered away’ imply that Indigenous Australians have made poor use of their ‘lucrative agreements’, and therefore require further intervention in their lives in order to better manage their financial situations. Such an argument further implies that the fact that many remote Indigenous communities continue to live in poverty is the fault of Indigenous Australians’ mismanagement of funds from native title agreements rather than from governmental neglect, thereby locating the blame once more in the hands of Indigenous people rather than in a colonial system of dispossession and regulation. Whilst the extract does continue to state that native title legislation is too complex and has ‘failed to deliver money to remote Aboriginal communities’, the article does not go on to consider other areas in which native title is failing Indigenous people, such as reporting the protection of sacred and ceremonial sites, and provisions for Indigenous peoples to be consulted about developments on their land to which they may be opposed. Whilst native title agreements with companies may contain provisions for these issues, it is rare that there is any regulation for whether or not these provisions are met after an agreement is made (Faircheallaigh). These issues almost never appeared in the media which instead focused on the economic benefits (or lack thereof) stemming from the land rather than the sovereign rights of traditional owners to their country. There are many other difficulties inherent in the native title legislation for Indigenous peoples. It is worth discussing some of these difficulties as they provide an image of the ways in which ‘country’ is conceived of at the intersection of a Western legal system attempting to encompass Indigenous relations to land. The first of these difficulties relates to the way in which Indigenous people are required to delineate the boundaries of the country which they are claiming. Applications for native title over an area of land require strict outlining of boundaries for land under consideration, in accordance with a Western system of mapping country. The creation of such boundaries requires Indigenous peoples to define their country in Western terms rather than Indigenous ones, and in many cases proves quite difficult as areas of traditional lands may be unavailable to claim (Neate). Such differences in understandings of country mean that “for Indigenous peoples, the recognition of their indigenous title, should it be afforded, may bear little resemblance to, or reflect minimally on, their own conceptualisation of their relations to country” (Glaskin 67). Instead, existing as it does within a Western legal system and subject to Western determinations, native title forces Indigenous people to define themselves and their land within white conceptions of country (Moreton-Robinson Possessive). In fact, the entire concept of native title has been criticized by many Indigenous commentators as a denial of Indigenous sovereignty over the land, with the result of the Mabo case meaning that “Indigenous people did not lose their native title rights but were stripped of their sovereign rights to manage their own affairs, to live according to their own laws, and to own and control the resources on their lands” (Falk and Martin 38). As such, Falk and Martin argue that The Native Title Act amounts to a complete denial of Aboriginal sovereignty so that Indigenous people are forced to live under a colonial regime which is able to control and regulate their lives and access to country. This is commented upon by Aileen Moreton-Robinson, who writes that: What Indigenous people have been given, by way of white benevolence, is a white-constructed from of ‘Indigenous’ proprietary rights that are not epistemologically and ontologically grounded in Indigenous conceptions of sovereignty. Indigenous land ownership, under these legislative regimes, amounts to little more than a mode of land tenure that enables a circumscribed form of autonomy and governance with minimum control and ownership of resources, on or below the ground, thus entrenching economic dependence on the nation state. (Moreton-Robinson Sovereign Subjects 4) The native title laws in place in Australia restrict Indigenous peoples to existing within white frameworks of knowledge. Within the space of The Native Title Act there is no room for recognition of Indigenous sovereignty whereby Indigenous peoples can make decisions for themselves and control their own lands (Falk and Martin). These tensions within definitions of ‘country’ and sovereignty over land were reflected in the media articles examined, primarily in terms of the way in which ‘country’ was related to and used. This was evident in an article entitled “An Economic Vision” with a tag-line “Native Title Reforms offer Communities a Fresh Start”: Central to such a success story is the determination of indigenous people to help themselves. Such a business-like, forward-thinking approach is also evident in Kimberley Land Council executive director Wayne Bergmann's negotiations with some of the world's biggest resource companies […] With at least 45 per cent of Kimberley land subject to native title, Mr Bergmann, a qualified lawyer, is acutely aware of the royalties and employment potential. Communities are also benefitting from the largesse of Australia’s richest man, miner Andrew “Twiggy” Forrest, whose job training courses and other initiatives are designed to help the local people, in his words, become “wonderful participating Australians.” (15) Again, this article focuses on the economic benefits to be made from native title agreements with mining companies rather than other concerns with the use of Indigenous areas of country. The use of the quote from Forrest serves to imply that Indigenous peoples are not “wonderful participating Australians” unless they are able to contribute in an economic sense, and overlooks many contributions made by Indigenous peoples in other areas such as environmental protection. Such definitions also measure ‘success’ in Western terms rather than Indigenous ones and force Indigenous peoples into a relationship to country based on Western notions of resource extraction and profit rather than Indigenous notions of custodianship and sustainability. This construction of Indigenous economic involvement as only rendered valid on particular terms echoes findings from previous work on constructions of Indigenous people in the media, such as that by LeCouteur, Rapley and Augoustinos. Theorising ‘Country’ The examples provided above illustrate the fact that the rhetoric and dichotomies of ‘country’ are at the very heart of the native title process. The process of recognising Indigenous rights to land through native title invites the question of how ‘country’ is conceived in the first place. Goodall writes that there are tensions within definitions of ‘country’ which indicate the ongoing presence of Indigenous people’s connections to their land despite colonisation. She writes that the word ‘country’: may seem a self-evident description of rural economy and society, with associations of middle-class gentility as well as being the antonym of the city. Yet in Australia there is another dimension altogether. Aboriginal land-owners traditionally identify themselves by the name of the land for which they were the custodians. These lands are often called, in today’s Aboriginal English, their ‘country’. This gives the word a tense and resonating echo each time it is used to describe rural-settler society and land. (162) Yet the distinctions usually drawn between those defined as ‘country’ people or ‘locals’ and the traditional Indigenous people of the area suggest that, as Schlunke states, in many cases Indigenous people are “too local to be ‘local’” (43). In other words, if white belonging and rights to an area of country are to be normalised, the prior claims of traditional owners are not able to be considered. As such, Indigenous belonging becomes too confronting as it disrupts the ways in which other ‘country’ people relate to their land as legitimately theirs. In the media, constructions of ‘country’ frequently fell within a colonial definition of country which overlooked Indigenous peoples. In many of these articles land was normatively constructed as belonging to the crown or the state. This was evidenced in phrases such as, “The proceedings [of the Noongar native title claim over the South Western corner of Australia] have been watched closely by other states in the expectation they might encounter similar claims over their capital cities” (Buckley-Carr 2). Use of the word their implies that the states (which are divisions of land created by colonisation) have prior claim to ‘their’ capital cities and that they rightfully belong to the government rather than to traditional owners. Such definitions of ‘country’ reflect European rather than Indigenous notions of boundaries and possession. This is also reflected in media reports of native title in the widespread use of European names for areas of land and landmarks as opposed to their traditional Indigenous names. When the media reported on a native title claim over an area of land the European name for the country was used rather than, for example, the Indigenous name followed by a geographical description of where that land is situated. Customs such as this reflect a country which is still bound up in European definitions of land rather than Indigenous ones (Goodall 167; Schlunke 47-48), and also indicate that the media is reporting for a white audience rather than for an Indigenous one whom it would affect the most. Native title debates have also “shown the depth of belief within much of rural and regional Australia that rural space is most rightfully agricultural space” (Lockie 27). This construction of rural Australia is reflective of the broader national imagining of the country as a nation (Anderson), in which Australia is considered rich in resources from which to derive profit. Within these discourses the future of the nation is seen as lying in the ‘development’ of natural resources. As such, native title agreements with industry have often been depicted in the media as obstacles to be overcome by companies rather than a way of allowing Indigenous people control over their own lands. This often appears in the media in the form of metaphors of ‘war’ for agreements for use of Indigenous land, such as development being “frustrated” by native title (Bromby) and companies being “embattled” by native title issues (Wilson). Such metaphors illustrate the adversarial nature of native title claims both for recognition of the land in the first place and often in subsequent dealings with resource companies. This was also seen in reports of company progress which would include native title claims in a list of other factors affecting stock prices (such as weak drilling results and the price of metals), as if Indigenous claims to land were just another hurdle to profit-making (“Pilbara Lures”). Conclusion As far as the native title process is concerned, the answers to the questions considered at the start of this paper remain within Western definitions. Native title exists firmly within a Western system of law which requires Indigenous people to define and depict their land within non-Indigenous definitions and understandings of ‘country’. These debates are also frequently played out in the media in ways which reflect colonial values of using and harvesting country rather than Indigenous ones of protecting it. The media rarely consider the complexities of a system which requires Indigenous peoples to conceive of their land through boundaries and definitions not congruent with their own understandings. The issues surrounding native title draw attention to the need for alternative definitions of ‘country’ to enter the mainstream Australian consciousness. These need to encompass Indigenous understandings of ‘country’ and to acknowledge the violence of Australia’s colonial history. Similarly, the concept of native title needs to reflect Indigenous notions of country and allow traditional owners to define their land for themselves. In order to achieve these goals and overcome some of the obstacles to recognising Indigenous sovereignty over Australia the media needs to play a part in reorienting concepts of country from only those definitions which fit within a white framework of experiencing the world and prioritise Indigenous relations and experiences of country. If discourses of resource extraction were replaced with discourses of sustainability, if discourses of economic gains were replaced with respect for the land, and if discourses of white control over Indigenous lives in the form of native title reform were replaced with discourses of Indigenous sovereignty, then perhaps some ground could be made to creating an Australia which is not still in the process of colonising and denying the rights of its First Nations peoples. The tensions which exist in definitions and understandings of ‘country’ echo the tensions which exist in Australia’s historical narratives and memories. The denied knowledge of the violence of colonisation and the rights of Indigenous peoples to remain on their land all haunt a native title system which requires Indigenous Australians to minimise the effect this violence had on their lives, their families and communities and their values and customs. As Katrina Schlunke writes when she confronts the realisation that her family’s land could be the same land on which Indigenous people were massacred: “The irony of fears of losing one’s backyard to a Native Title claim are achingly rich. Isn’t something already lost to the idea of ‘Freehold Title’ when you live over unremembered graves? What is free? What are you to hold?” (151). If the rights of Indigenous Australians to their country are truly to be recognised, mainstream Australia needs to seriously consider such questions and whether or not the concept of ‘native title’ as it exists today is able to answer them. Acknowledgments I would like to thank Damien Riggs and Andrew Gorman-Murray for all their help and support with this paper, and Braden Schiller for his encouragement and help with proof-reading. I would also like to thank the anonymous referees for their insightful comments. References Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities. 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Goodall, Heather. “Telling Country: Memory, Modernity and Narratives in Rural Australia.” History Workshop Journal 47 (1999): 161-190. Hall, Stuart, Critcher, C., Jefferson, T., Clarke, J. and Roberts, B. Policing the Crisis: Mugging, the state, and Law and Order. London: Macmillan, 1978. Hartley, John, and Alan McKee. The Indigenous Public Sphere: The Reporting and Reception of Aboriginal Issues in the Australian Media. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2000. Karvelas, Patricia and Padraic Murphy. “Labor to Overhaul Native Title Laws.” The Australian, 22 May 2008: 1. LeCouteur, Amanda, Mark Rapley and Martha Augoustinos. “This Very Difficult Debate about Wik: Stake, Voice and the Management of Category Membership in Race Politics.” British Journal of Social Psychology 40 (2001): 35-57. Lockie, Stewart. “Crisis and Conflict: Shifting Discourses of Rural and Regional Australia.” Land of Discontent: The Dynamics of Change in Rural and Regional Australia. Ed. Bill Pritchard and Phil McManus. Kensington: UNSW P, 2000. 14-32. Meadows, Michael. “Deals and Victories: Newspaper Coverage of Native Title in Australia and Canada.” Australian Journalism Review 22.1 (2000): 81-105. Moreton-Robinson, Aileen. “I still call Australia Home: Aboriginal Belonging and Place in a White Postcolonising Nation.” Uprooting/Regrounding: Questions of Home and Migration. Eds. S Ahmed et.al. Oxford: Berg, 2003. 23-40. Moreton-Robinson, Aileen. “The Possessive Logic of Patriarchal White Sovereignty: The High Court and the Yorta Yorta Decision.” Borderlands e-Journal 3.2 (2004). 20 June 2008. http://www.borderlands.net.au/vol3no2_2004/moreton_possessive.htm Morteton-Robinson, Aileen. Ed. Sovereign Subjects: Indigenous Sovereignty Matters. Allen and Unwin, 2007. Neate, Graham. “Mapping Landscapes of the Mind: A Cadastral Conundrum in the Native Title Era.” Conference on Land Tenure and Cadastral Infrastructures for Sustainable Development, Melbourne, Australia (1999). 20 July 2008. http://www.sli.unimelb.edu.au/UNConf99/sessions/session5/neate.pdf O’Connor, Maura. Australia in Maps: Great Maps in Australia’s History from the National Library’s Collection. Canberra: National Library of Australia, 2007. “Pilbara Lures Explorer with Promise of Metal Riches.” The Australian. 28 May 2008: Finance 2. Schlunke, Katrina. Bluff Rock: An Autobiography of a Massacre. Fremantle: Curtin U Books, 2005. “The National Native Title Tribunal.” Exactly What is Native Title? 29 July 2008. http://www.nntt.gov.au/What-Is-Native-Title/Pages/What-is-Native-Title.aspx The National Native Title Tribunal Fact Sheet. What is Native Title? 29 July 2008. http://www.nntt.gov.au Path; Publications-And-Research; Publications; Fact Sheets. Tucker, Vincent. “The Myth of Development: A Critique of Eurocentric Discourse.” Critical Development Theory: Contributions to a New Paradigm. Ed. Ronaldo Munck, Denis O'Hearn. Zed Books, 1999. 1-26. Wetherell, Margaret, and Jonathan Potter. Mapping the Language of Racism: Discourse and the Legitimation of Exploitation. New York: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1992. Williams, Joe. “Confessions of a Native Title Judge: Reflections on the Role of Transitional Justice in the Transformation of Indigeneity.” Land, Rights, Laws: Issues of Native Title 3, (2008). 20 July 2008. http://ntru.aiatsis.gov.au/publications/issue_papers.html Wilson, Nigel. “Go with the Flow.” The Australian, 29 March 2008: 1.

Introduction One of the ways in which ‘country’ is made to work discursively is in ‘country music’ – defining a genre and sensibility in music production, marketing and consumption. This article seeks to excavate one small niche in the historical geography of country music to explore exactly how discursive antecedents emerged, and crucially, how images associated with ‘country’ surfaced and travelled internationally via one of the new ‘global’ media of the first half of the twentieth century – sheet music. My central arguments are twofold: first, that alongside aural qualities and lyrical content, the visual elements of sheet music were important and thus far have been under-acknowledged. Sheet music diffused the imagery connecting ‘country’ to music, to particular landscapes, and masculinities. In the literature on country music much emphasis has been placed on film, radio and television (Tichi; Peterson). Yet, sheet music was for several decades the most common way people bought personal copies of songs they liked and intended to play at home on piano, guitar or ukulele. This was particularly the case in Australia – geographically distant, and rarely included in international tours by American country music stars. Sheet music is thus a rich text to reveal the historical contours of ‘country’. My second and related argument is that that the possibilities for the globalising of ‘country’ were first explored in music. The idea of transnational discourses associated with ‘country’ and ‘rurality’ is relatively new (Cloke et al; Gorman-Murray et al; McCarthy), but in music we see early evidence of a globalising discourse of ‘country’ well ahead of the time period usually analysed. Accordingly, my focus is on the sheet music of country songs in Australia in the first half of the twentieth century and on how visual representations hybridised travelling themes to create a new vernacular ‘country’ in Australia. Creating ‘Country’ Music Country music, as its name suggests, is perceived as the music of rural areas, “defined in contrast to metropolitan norms” (Smith 301). However, the ‘naturalness’ of associations between country music and rurality belies a history of urban capitalism and the refinement of deliberate methods of marketing music through associated visual imagery. Early groups wore suits and dressed for urban audiences – but then altered appearances later, on the insistence of urban record companies, to emphasise rurality and cowboy heritage. Post-1950, ‘country’ came to replace ‘folk’ music as a marketing label, as the latter was considered to have too many communistic references (Hemphill 5), and the ethnic mixing of earlier folk styles was conveniently forgotten in the marketing of ‘country’ music as distinct from African American ‘race’ and ‘r and b’ music. Now an industry of its own with multinational headquarters in Nashville, country music is a ‘cash cow’ for entertainment corporations, with lower average production costs, considerable profit margins, and marketing advantages that stem from tropes of working class identity and ‘rural’ honesty (see Lewis; Arango). Another of country music’s associations is with American geography – and an imagined heartland in the colonial frontier of the American West. Slippages between ‘country’ and ‘western’ in music, film and dress enhance this. But historical fictions are masked: ‘purists’ argue that western dress and music have nothing to do with ‘country’ (see truewesternmusic.com), while recognition of the Spanish-Mexican, Native American and Hawaiian origins of ‘cowboy’ mythology is meagre (George-Warren and Freedman). Similarly, the highly international diffusion and adaptation of country music as it rose to prominence in the 1940s is frequently downplayed (Connell and Gibson), as are the destructive elements of colonialism and dispossession of indigenous peoples in frontier America (though Johnny Cash’s 1964 album The Ballads Of The American Indian: Bitter Tears was an exception). Adding to the above is the way ‘country’ operates discursively in music as a means to construct particular masculinities. Again, linked to rural imagery and the American frontier, the dominant masculinity is of rugged men wrestling nature, negotiating hardships and the pressures of family life. Country music valorises ‘heroic masculinities’ (Holt and Thompson), with echoes of earlier cowboy identities reverberating into contemporary performance through dress style, lyrical content and marketing imagery. The men of country music mythology live an isolated existence, working hard to earn an income for dependent families. Their music speaks to the triumph of hard work, honest values (meaning in this context a musical style, and lyrical concerns that are ‘down to earth’, ‘straightforward’ and ‘without pretence’) and physical strength, in spite of neglect from national governments and uncaring urban leaders. Country music has often come to be associated with conservative politics, heteronormativity, and whiteness (Gibson and Davidson), echoing the wider politics of ‘country’ – it is no coincidence, for example, that the slogan for the 2008 Republican National Convention in America was ‘country first’. And yet, throughout its history, country music has also enabled more diverse gender performances to emerge – from those emphasising (or bemoaning) domesticity; assertive femininity; creative negotiation of ‘country’ norms by gay men; and ‘alternative’ culture (captured in the marketing tag, ‘alt.country’); to those acknowledging white male victimhood, criminality (‘the outlaw’), vulnerability and cruelty (see Johnson; McCusker and Pecknold; Saucier). Despite dominant tropes of ‘honesty’, country music is far from transparent, standing for certain values and identities, and yet enabling the construction of diverse and contradictory others. Historical analysis is therefore required to trace the emergence of ‘country’ in music, as it travelled beyond America. A Note on Sheet Music as Media Source Sheet music was one of the main modes of distribution of music from the 1930s through to the 1950s – a formative period in which an eclectic group of otherwise distinct ‘hillbilly’ and ‘folk’ styles moved into a single genre identity, and after which vinyl singles and LP records with picture covers dominated. Sheet music was prevalent in everyday life: beyond radio, a hit song was one that was widely purchased as sheet music, while pianos and sheet music collections (stored in a piece of furniture called a ‘music canterbury’) in family homes were commonplace. Sheet music is in many respects preferable to recorded music as a form of evidence for historical analysis of country music. Picture LP covers did not arrive until the late 1950s (by which time rock and roll had surpassed country music). Until then, 78 rpm shellac discs, the main form of pre-recorded music, featured generic brown paper sleeves from the individual record companies, or city retail stores. Also, while radio was clearly central to the consumption of music in this period, it obviously also lacked the pictorial element that sheet music could provide. Sheet music bridged the music and printing industries – the latter already well-equipped with colour printing, graphic design and marketing tools. Sheet music was often literally crammed with information, providing the researcher with musical notation, lyrics, cover art and embedded advertisements – aural and visual texts combined. These multiple dimensions of sheet music proved useful here, for clues to the context of the music/media industries and geography of distribution (for instance, in addresses for publishers and sheet music retail shops). Moreover, most sheet music of the time used rich, sometimes exaggerated, images to convince passing shoppers to buy songs that they had possibly never heard. As sheet music required caricature rather than detail or historical accuracy, it enabled fantasy without distraction. In terms of representations of ‘country’, then, sheet music is perhaps even more evocative than film or television. Hundreds of sheet music items were collected for this research over several years, through deliberate searching (for instance, in library archives and specialist sheet music stores) and with some serendipity (for instance, when buying second hand sheet music in charity shops or garage sales). The collected material is probably not representative of all music available at the time – it is as much a specialised personal collection as a comprehensive survey. However, at least some material from all the major Australian country music performers of the time were found, and the resulting collection appears to be several times larger than that held currently by the National Library of Australia (from which some entries were sourced). All examples here are of songs written by, or cover art designed for Australian country music performers. For brevity’s sake, the following analysis of the sheet music follows a crudely chronological framework. Country Music in Australia Before ‘Country’ Country music did not ‘arrive’ in Australia from America as a fully-finished genre category; nor was Australia at the time without rural mythology or its own folk music traditions. Associations between Australian national identity, rurality and popular culture were entrenched in a period of intense creativity and renewed national pride in the decades prior to and after Federation in 1901. This period saw an outpouring of art, poetry, music and writing in new nationalist idiom, rooted in ‘the bush’ (though drawing heavily on Celtic expressions), and celebrating themes of mateship, rural adversity and ‘battlers’. By the turn of the twentieth century, such myths, invoked through memory and nostalgia, had already been popularised. Australia had a fully-established system of colonies, capital cities and state governments, and was highly urbanised. Yet the poetry, folk music and art, invariably set in rural locales, looked back to the early 1800s, romanticising bush characters and frontier events. The ‘bush ballad’ was a central and recurring motif, one that commentators have argued was distinctly, and essentially ‘Australian’ (Watson; Smith). Sheet music from this early period reflects the nationalistic, bush-orientated popular culture of the time: iconic Australian fauna and flora are prominent, and Australian folk culture is emphasised as ‘native’ (being the first era of cultural expressions from Australian-born residents). Pioneer life and achievements are celebrated. ‘Along the road to Gundagai’, for instance, was about an iconic Australian country town and depicted sheep droving along rustic trails with overhanging eucalypts. Male figures are either absent, or are depicted in situ as lone drovers in the archetypal ‘shepherd’ image, behind their flocks of sheep (Figure 1). Figure 1: No. 1 Magpie Ballads – The Pioneer (c1900) and Along the road to Gundagai (1923). Further colonial ruralities developed in Australia from the 1910s to 1940s, when agrarian values grew in the promotion of Australian agricultural exports. Australia ‘rode on the sheep’s back’ to industrialisation, and governments promoted rural development and inland migration. It was a period in which rural lifestyles were seen as superior to those in the crowded inner city, and government strategies sought to create a landed proletariat through post-war land settlement and farm allotment schemes. National security was said to rely on populating the inland with those of European descent, developing rural industries, and breeding a healthier and yet compliant population (Dufty), from which armies of war-ready men could be recruited in times of conflict. Popular culture served these national interests, and thus during these decades, when ‘hillbilly’ and other North American music forms were imported, they were transformed, adapted and reworked (as in other places such as Canada – see Lehr). There were definite parallels in the frontier narratives of the United States (Whiteoak), and several local adaptations followed: Tex Morton became Australia’s ‘Yodelling boundary rider’ and Gordon Parsons became ‘Australia’s yodelling bushman’. American songs were re-recorded and performed, and new original songs written with Australian lyrics, titles and themes. Visual imagery in sheet music built upon earlier folk/bush frontier themes to re-cast Australian pastoralism in a more settled, modernist and nationalist aesthetic; farms were places for the production of a robust nation. Where male figures were present on sheet music covers in the early twentieth century, they became more prominent in this period, and wore Akubras (Figure 2). The lyrics to John Ashe’s Growin’ the Golden Fleece (1952) exemplify this mix of Australian frontier imagery, new pastoralist/nationalist rhetoric, and the importation of American cowboy masculinity: Go west and take up sheep, man, North Queensland is the shot But if you don’t get rich, man, you’re sure to get dry rot Oh! Growin’ the golden fleece, battlin’ a-way out west Is bound to break your flamin’ heart, or else expand your chest… We westerners are handy, we can’t afford to crack Not while the whole darn’d country is riding on our back Figure 2: Eric Tutin’s Shearers’ Jamboree (1946). As in America, country music struck a chord because it emerged “at a point in history when the project of the creation and settlement of a new society was underway but had been neither completed nor abandoned” (Dyer 33). Governments pressed on with the colonial project of inland expansion in Australia, despite the theft of indigenous country this entailed, and popular culture such as music became a means to normalise and naturalise the process. Again, mutations of American western imagery, and particular iconic male figures were important, as in Roy Darling’s (1945) Overlander Trail (Figure 3): Wagon wheels are rolling on, and the days seem mighty long Clouds of heat-dust in the air, bawling cattle everywhere They’re on the overlander trail Where only sheer determination will prevail Men of Aussie with a job to do, they’ll stick and drive the cattle through And though they sweat they know they surely must Keep on the trail that winds a-head thro’ heat and dust All sons of Aussie and they will not fail. Sheet music depicted silhouetted men in cowboy hats on horses (either riding solo or in small groups), riding into sunsets or before looming mountain ranges. Music – an important part of popular culture in the 1940s – furthered the colonial project of invading, securing and transforming the Australian interior by normalising its agendas and providing it with heroic male characters, stirring tales and catchy tunes. Figure 3: ‘Roy Darling’s (1945) Overlander Trail and Smoky Dawson’s The Overlander’s Song (1946). ‘Country Music’ Becomes a (Globalised) Genre Further growth in Australian country music followed waves of popularity in the United States in the 1940s and 1950s, and was heavily influenced by new cross-media publicity opportunities. Radio shows expanded, and western TV shows such as Bonanza and On the Range fuelled a ‘golden age’. Australian performers such as Slim Dusty and Smokey Dawson rose to fame (see Fitzgerald and Hayward) in an era when rural-urban migration peaked. Sheet music reflected the further diffusion and adoption of American visual imagery: where male figures were present on sheet music covers, they became more prominent than before and wore Stetsons. Some were depicted as chiselled-faced but simple men, with plain clothing and square jaws. Others began to more enthusiastically embrace cowboy looks, with bandana neckerchiefs, rawhide waistcoats, embellished and harnessed tall shaft boots, pipe-edged western shirts with wide collars, smile pockets, snap fasteners and shotgun cuffs, and fringed leather jackets (Figure 4). Landscapes altered further too: cacti replaced eucalypts, and iconic ‘western’ imagery of dusty towns, deserts, mesas and buttes appeared (Figure 5). Any semblance of folk music’s appeal to rustic authenticity was jettisoned in favour of showmanship, as cowboy personas were constructed to maximise cinematic appeal. Figure 4: Al Dexter’s Pistol Packin’ Mama (1943) and Reg Lindsay’s (1954) Country and Western Song Album. Figure 5: Tim McNamara’s Hitching Post (1948) and Smoky Dawson’s Golden West Album (1951). Far from slavish mimicry of American culture, however, hybridisations were common. According to Australian music historian Graeme Smith (300): “Australian place names appear, seeking the same mythological resonance that American localisation evoked: hobos became bagmen […] cowboys become boundary riders.” Thus alongside reproductions of the musical notations of American songs by Lefty Frizzel, Roy Carter and Jimmie Rodgers were songs with localised themes by new Australian stars such as Reg Lindsay and Smoky Dawson: My curlyheaded buckaroo, My home way out back, and On the Murray Valley. On the cover of The square dance by the billabong (Figure 6) – the title of which itself was a conjunction of archetypal ‘country’ images from both America and Australia – a background of eucalypts and windmills frames dancers in classic 1940s western (American) garb. In the case of Tex Morton’s Beautiful Queensland (Figure 7), itself mutated from W. Lee O’Daniel’s Beautiful Texas (c1945), the sheet music instructed those playing the music that the ‘names of other states may be substituted for Queensland’. ‘Country’ music had become an established genre, with normative values, standardised images and themes and yet constituted a stylistic formula with enough polysemy to enable local adaptations and variations. Figure 6: The Square dance by the billabong, Vernon Lisle, 1951. Figure 7: Beautiful Queensland, Tex Morton, c1945 source: http://nla.gov.au/nla.mus-vn1793930. Conclusions In country music images of place and masculinity combine. In music, frontier landscapes are populated by rugged men living ‘on the range’ in neo-colonial attempts to tame the land and convert it to productive uses. This article has considered only one media – sheet music – in only one country (Australia) and in only one time period (1900-1950s). There is much more to say than was possible here about country music, place and gender – particularly recently, since ‘country’ has fragmented into several niches, and marketing of country music via cable television and the internet has ensued (see McCusker and Pecknold). My purpose here has been instead to explore the early origins of ‘country’ mythology in popular culture, through a media source rarely analysed. Images associated with ‘country’ travelled internationally via sheet music, immensely popular in the 1930s and 1940s before the advent of television. The visual elements of sheet music contributed to the popularisation and standardisation of genre expectations and appearances, and yet these too travelled and were adapted and varied in places like Australia which had their own colonial histories and folk music heritages. Evidenced here is how combinations of geographical and gender imagery embraced imported American cowboy imagery and adapted it to local markets and concerns. Australia saw itself as a modern rural utopia with export aspirations and a desire to secure permanence through taming and populating its inland. Sheet music reflected all this. So too, sheet music reveals the historical contours of ‘country’ as a transnational discourse – and the extent to which ‘country’ brought with it a clearly defined set of normative values, a somewhat exaggerated cowboy masculinity, and a remarkable capacity to be moulded to local circumstances. Well before later and more supposedly ‘global’ media such as the internet and television, the humble printed sheet of notated music was steadily shaping ‘country’ imagery, and an emergent international geography of cultural flows. References Arango, Tim. “Cashville USA.” Fortune, Jan 29, 2007. Sept 3, 2008, http://money.cnn.com/magazines/fortune/fortune_archive/2007/01/22/8397980/index.htm. Cloke, Paul, Marsden, Terry and Mooney, Patrick, eds. Handbook of Rural Studies, London: Sage, 2006. 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