Journal articles on the topic 'Antiquités Architecture Monuments'

Abstract. The appearance of the resort towns of the Caucasian Mineral Waters, formed during the 19th - 20th centuries, was determined by remarkable monuments of architecture and landscape architecture, dating back to the traditions and forms of ancient Greece and Rome. Rational, respectable and aesthetic order forms of Classicism determined its wide typological applicability and during the 19th-20th centuries they continued to form significant urban planning and park ensembles. When creating resort facilities, architectural monuments of antiquity are models for studying, repeating and interpreting the methods of organic inclusion in the natural environment. The article examines the importance of ancient forms in the process of formation of the cities of the Caucasian Mineral Waters resort. A full-scale survey of two objects selected for study, typologically and stylistically different, was carried out – the architectural structure of the mud baths in the city of Essentuki and the monument of landscape art – the park's Main Staircase of the sanatorium named after S. Ordzhonikidze. Literary sources were studied, landscape-visual and compositional analysis of objects was carried out. The first object – a mud bath in the city of Essentuki – a medical building, one of the most famous architectural monuments of the city of the eclectic period, was built according to the project of the architect Eugene Shretter. The second object is the famous Main Staircase of the sanatorium named after S. Ordzhonikidze in the city of Kislovodsk, built by the architect – constructivist Ivan Leonidov, is an object of cultural heritage of federal significance – a monument of urban planning and architecture. The analysis showed that ancient forms successfully pass the test of time, change of political systems and social conditions, are able to transform plastically and functionally under the influence of stylistic changes and today retain their attractiveness and relevance.

In the last two decades, the architecture of late antique country estates in Europe - most notably those in the northern provinces (Raetia, the two Germanias, Pannonia, Noricum, Moesia and Dacia), but also in the Iberian and Italian peninsula - has been systematically researched. Based on the typology of examined structures, numerous studies have yielded observations about evident similarities between late antique complexes from various parts of the Western Empire, which had adopted a completely new paradigm in the spatial arrangement of representative and lavish administrative buildings on the estates affected by the economic reforms of the late third century. The abundance of the variants of the universal theme of aulic architecture in country estates from the late third and during the fourth century has enabled the identification of regional varieties and patterns in the spreading of individual architectural solutions, as well as the defining and careful research of other phases of the architectural transformation of late antique estates. The question which this paper attempts to answer is where Dalmatian late antique villas belong in such an ‘international’ architecture of the late antique country estate, and whether their forms follow the trends of the neighbouring provinces. In the lack of finds, the only way towards a clarification of the outlined questions is a formal analysis which most Dalmatian late antique villas have not been subjected to, and which opens the door for the interpretation of the building considered essential from the art-historical perspective. Formal qualities of the villas suggest the provenance of their architectural elements, reveal the function of a structure and its parts and clarify the position of a villa in the developmental line of the architecture of country estates and indicate the likely time frame of its production.In this context, this paper focuses on the late antique complex discovered in the early twentieth century on the site of Prikače in the village of Strupnić (near Livno). The villa is, unfortunately, only known from the initial reports but its dimensions and layout make it stand out from other late antique complexes in Dalmatian hinterland. However, the modestly recorded ground plan and a recent reconstruction of this structure do leave considerable space for formal analysis and more precise conclusions about its date. The noted symmetrical division of the front part of the building with two apsed lateral spaces and axial arrangement of the central reception hall, which was most likely accessed from the courtyard, point to the comparisons with late third- and early fourth-century complexes in the Danube area, such as those at Kövágászölös or Keszthely-Fenékpuszta, which served as administrative centres of large estates along the Danube, and which may have drawn upon a luxurious complex near Parndorf. Symmetrically placed apses on the façade, an almost unique phenomenon in the Danube area, is doubtlessly rooted in the desire to make façades more monumental as can be seen in a number of buildings which span the end of the third and the beginning of the fourth century, when a certain revolution took place in the architecture of country estates, reflecting the socio-economic changes which transformed the European landscape through the enlargement of estates. It is a clear sign of the estate owner’s status and a clear indication of the building’s function. The villa at Strupnić, together with the examples at Ljusine and Livade, and the remains of the architectural complex at Majdan, points to a strong connection between Dalmatia and the trends which sprung up in the Danube area in the late third and during the fourth century, and clearly illustrates the direction through which late antique solutions in the architecture of country estates reached the interior of Dalmatia. Thus, we deem that it is not inopportune to place the time frame of the construction of Dalmatian late antique country estates in the same formal and chronological context of the estates in its northern neighbourhood which was, at that time, going through what Mocsy called the last age or prosperity in the Danube area. The formal connection with the mentioned estates implies that the function of Dalmatian and Danube structures complemented each other. Although the structure at Strupnić is relatively small (32,6 x 27,5 m), and is classified in the category of small country estates suchas those at Deutschkreuz, Sümeg, Csúcshegy, Majdan or Mali Mošunj, we deem that it is completely unfounded to interpret it as a journey station, i.e. an inn (mutatio), as Bojanovski suggested on a number of occasions. Considering the layout of the complex, a more luxurious nature of its form and its location, it seems more likely that it had been part of a richer estate which was administered from a central administrative-residential-economic complex, and in connection with this, it is advisable to return to Bojanovski’s earlier interpretations which identified it as one of the examples of praetorium fundi. During the third and fourth centuries, in the time of economic reforms and enlargement of estates, medium-sized estates of the social elite may have been situated in the area of Livanjsko polje, due to its good road networks and fortified transformations of architectural complexes in individual sites. The Strupnić late antique estate still represents a riddle of sorts the solving of which depends on future archaeological excavations that this structure undoubtedly deserves. In this paper, it has been an example of the amount of information that can be obtained from scarce records about a building when it is subjected to a formal and contextual analysis. The traditional definitions of the architecture of estates and the generalising approach which does not take into account individual features of a building need to be questioned, and this is confirmed by the example of Strupnić.

In 1534 the Vicentine masters, Giovanni da Porlezza and Girolamo Pittoni da Lumignano (the so-called Pedemuro masters) signed a contract with Aurelio Dall'Acqua for the construction of the main altar in the cathedral of Vicenza. Documents concerning the altar, later Dall'Acqua's funerary monument, have led scholars to attribute the design to Andrea Palladio, who began his career as a stone carver in the Pedemuro workshop. Designed following the model of a triumphal arch, the altar constitutes an extraordinary novelty in Vicenza, which was still unfamiliar with ancient models in the 1530s and 1540s. Documents show that Aurelio Dall'Acqua had connections to Venetian intellectual close to the doge, Andrea Gritti and the Franciscan theologian Francesco Zorzi, who, in those same years, wrote the program for the church of S. Francesco della Vigna and was in contact with Jacopo Sansovino. The inventory of the library of Dall'Acqua and an examination of his correspondence reveal his religious interests: that he was close to Catholic reform circles and interested in Erasmus; an expression of those interests should be considered part of the realization of the altar. Architectural analysis of the monument allows us to note in it a series of medieval and Renaissance elements from Florentine sources, direct borrowing from antique sources, and elements from Venetian architecture of the same period. Comparison of these elements with the architectural language that Palladio developed in the 1540s, after his first visit to Rome, excludes an attribution to him. In any case, the date of design is too early for him to have undertaken an autonomous project. Many of the architectural elements on the altar are to be found in the work of Jacopo Sansovino, who was invited to Vicenza in 1538 to furnish an opinion on the roofing of the tribune of the cathedral and the movement of the original altar to the end of the apse. The design for the architectural structure of the altar is attributed here to Sansovino, while the disposition of the semiprecious stones which entirely cover the altar is considered to be the work of the Pedemuro masters. Francesco Zorzi seems to have been the connecting figure between patron and architect, as he was in Sansovino's commission for the main altar and funerary monument of Cardinal Francesco Quiñones in the basilica of S. Croce in Gerusalemme, Rome.

Explanation of the purpose of early Christian martyria as places of collective memory is a complex of many different circumstances and meanings and must be observed in accordance. First of all, martyria are architectural monuments dedicated to the martyrs, historical evidences of the martyrial death of those who suffered for Christ - this is a simple explanation of their real meaning. Yet, their social role is even more important than their historical role - martyria continuously transferred an idea of Salvation among the people, becoming thus the places of collective memory. But what happen when the martyr?s relics are ?usurped? by one wealthy family? This paper aim to shed some light on what could have been the real purpose of one such example, the martyrium attached to the basilica on the necropolis in Jagodin Mala in Naissus (modern Nis).

The research of this study is dedicated to a unique iconographical scene in the territory of the Central Balkan Roman provinces, of Hercules rescuing Hesione from a sea-monster (ketos), depicted on a funerary monument found in 1931 at the site of Stojnik, in the vicinity of Belgrade, antique Singidunum, and now displayed in the lapidarium of the National Museum in Belgrade. The funerary monument was erected for the deceased, a veteran of cohors II Aurelia nova, Publius Aelius Victorinus, by his wife Aurelia Rufina and their son Publius Aelius Acutianus. The rich iconography of the monument makes it a very important example of funerary art in the period from the end of the 2nd and the beginning of the 3rd century - the eschatological symbolism of the presented scenes and motifs is more than clear and underlines not only the hope of the deceased?s family for his eternal and blessed life after death, but also the deceased?s victory over death and presents him as a symbol of courage and virtue. The architectural scheme of the monument, along with its iconography, suggests strong artistic influences from Noricum and both the Pannonian provinces, while the the mythical tale of Hercules and Hesione was chosen, it is argued, not only because Hercules was one of the most favoured gods in the Roman army, but also because he was a protector of miners and mines.

AbstractOne of the more unusual attractions in Windsor Great Park is the folly beside the lake at Virginia Water. Built in the 1820's in the form of an idealised Classical ruin, it incorporates a large collection of Roman antiquities from the site of Lepcis Magna in Libya. Considering the importance of this monument, not only as one of the most elaborate follies, but one of largest assemblages of Roman architectural fragments in the country, it has received relatively little scholarly attention. As a consequence, in the summer of 2003 a thorough survey and partial excavation of the site were undertaken. The results of this work, a detailed plan of the ruins, a catalogue of the items remaining and new evidence for the origin, construction and history of the site, are presented. The provenance of the Roman elements will be examined in greater detail in part 2.

The ruined abbeys of S. Maria di Realvalle and S. Maria della Vittoria in southern Italy attest to the use of French Gothic architecture as part of a policy of cultural and political domination over the kingdom conquered by Charles of Anjou in 1266. The Angevin registers document the king's emphasis on Frenchness in all details and provide the names of many of the French masons and sculptors who worked on royal building projects. As in the other territories that fell under French control after the middle of the thirteenth century, such as southwestern France, Gothic from the Ile-de-France was utilized in the Kingdom of Sicily to connote the authority and prestige of the new regime. In insisting not only on the adoption of French architecture at the abbeys, but also on a population of French monks, Charles envisioned the monasteries as strongholds of French culture and prestige. Yet this was a short-lived phenomenon, for the subsequent generations of monuments erected by Charles II and Robert the Wise, especially those in Lucera and Naples, are profoundly different in character, and for the most part references to French models are eliminated. The rejection of the Frenchness promoted by Charles of Anjou and the evolution of a new and distinctly different type of architecture for royal monuments in the last years of the thirteenth century perhaps reflected new attitudes of cultural adaptation that resulted from the outbreak of the War of the Vespers in 1282.

(francuski) Les grands changements dans l'histoire de Byzance en ont influenc? l'art et l'architecture. Les restaurations venant apr?s la rupture de la vie de l'empire ont renouvel? la cr?ation artistique et de construction. Les reconstructions apportent des nouveaut?s. Le dernier si?cle est en Byzance et en Serbie particulier en architecture par sa conception diff?rente, nouvelle du traitement architectonique ext?rieur. C'est le fruit de la reconstruction marqu?e comme la renaissance des Pal?ologues. Les changements ne semblent pas importants, pourtant ils exerceront une influence essentielle sur l'architecture de l'?poque tardive. Le centre de gravit? est transf?r? aux fa?ades, trait?es ind?pendamment de la structure int?rieure du monument. Les changements sont visibles aux monuments de Constantinople et ensuite ? ceux des autres centres et r?gions. La nouvelle mani?re de traiter les surfaces des fa?ades est manifest? aux monuments de Constantinople, tels que l'?glise du Christ Pantocrator, ainsi qu'aux monuments messemvriens issus de la m?me conception. La fa?ade n'est plus simplement la paroi enfermant un espace mais une image en soi. Dans l'architecture serbe leur base est celle des ?uvres de l'?poque pr?c?dente marqu?e comme l'?cole serbe-byzantine. Aux monuments moraves les bases d?velopp?es et condens?es des fa?ades sont construites de mani?re semblable en composant des zones horizontales ind?pendamment de la structure int?rieure. La d?coration ext?rieure en relief en est l'une des marques essentielles. Un des monuments cl?s, de la fin de l'?poque mo avienne, celui du monast?re Kalenic, comporte le programme d?coratif respectant l'id?e de base de la construction.Ceci exprime un retour ? l'architecture pr?c?dente, ce qui fait de Kalenic dans son ensemble le mod?le des solutions nouvelles, apport?es par l'architecture moravienne. Le travail pr?sent mentionne les dilemmes scientifiques concernant l'origine de la d?coration en relief moravienne. Les monuments de Mistra y sont ?galement mentionn?s et leurs fa?ades trait?es avec de l'ambition artistique.

<p><strong>Abstract.</strong> The aim of this paper is to demonstrate the power of the new digitization technologies and, in particular, of Virtual Reality (VR) to document and communicate the knowledge of Cultural Heritage (CH) and to shorten the distance between man and his history, enhancing architectural monuments or art masterpieces (even when they are somehow inaccessible), allowing original educational storytelling and producing innovative ways to learn and enjoy culture. The ultimate goal of this research is the virtual and interactive reconstruction of an important historical site, characterized by a great beauty as well as by a high artistic value: the complex of Santa Maria delle Grazie, in Milan. In order to test an effective digitization workflow, the experimentation focused on the areas of the convent that are closer to the church and that have been characterized by a troubled history: The Cloister of the Frogs, the Cloister of the Prior, the Old Sacristy, the Small Sacristy and the New Sacristy. These environments have been surveyed by combining photogrammetry and terrestrial laser scanning; then they have been modelled as NURBS or reconstructed in the form of meshes. In the end, the entire 3D model was imported in a game engine in order to create a realistic VR simulation, able to revive the convent’s history in a way that no written document could better explain.</p>

Russian-Serbian cultural connections in a broader sense, represented through direct parallels in Russian and Serbian sacral painting, architectural decoration, sacral interior design and phenomen? in court art canons of the last Romanov?s and Karadjordjevic?s dynasties are insufficiently researched. By using the concrete monuments, mostly in Russian style, Russian symbolism and Art Nouveau, but also the court canon at the turn of the century in Russia through the works of Russian emigrants after the October revolution in Serbia during the 1920s and 1930s, the use of Russian pictorial features and cultural models adapted to Serbian demands is going to be demonstrated.

Jan Reisner (ca. 1655-1713) was a painter and architect. He was sent by King Jan III together with Jerzy Siemiginowski to study art at St. Luke Academy in Rome. He traveled to the Eternal City (where he arrived on February 24, 1678) with Prince Michał Radziwiłł’s retinue. Cardinal Carlo Barberini, who later became the protector of Regni Poloniae, was the guardian and protector of the artist during his studies in 1678-1682. In the architectural competition announced by the Academy in 1681 Reisner was awarded the fi prize in the fi class, and a little later he was accepted as a member of this prestigious university. He was awarded the Order of the Golden Spur (Aureatae Militiae Eques) and the title Aulae Lateranensis Comes, which was equivalent to becoming a nobleman. The architectural award was conferred by the jury of Concorso Academico, composed of the Academy’s principe painter Giuseppe Garzi, its secretary Giuseppe Gezzi, and the architects Gregorio Tommassini and Giovanni B. Menicucci. In the Archivio storico dell’Accademia di San Luca, preserved are three design drawings of a church made by Jan Reisner in pen and watercolor, showing the front elevation, longitudinal section, and a projection. Although they were made for the 1681 competition, they were labelled with the date 1682, when the prizes were already being awarded. Reisner’s design reflected the complicated trends in the architecture of the 1660s and 1670s, especially in the architectural education of St. Luke’s Academy. There, attempts were made to reconcile the classicistic tendencies promoted by the French court with the reference to the forms of mature Roman Baroque. As a result of this attempt to combine the features of the two traditions, an eclectic work was created, as well as other competition projects created by students of the St. Luke’s Academy. The architect designed the Barberini temple-mausoleum, on a circular plan with eight lower chapels opening inwards and a rectangular chancel. The inside of the rotund is divided into three parts: the main body with opening chapels, a tambour, and a dome with sketches of the Fall of Angels. Inside, there is an altar with a pillar-and-column canopy. The architectural origin of the building was determined by ancient buildings: the Pantheon (AD 125) and the Mausoleum of Constance (4th century AD). A modern school based of this model was opened by Andrea Palladio, who designed the Tempietto Barbaro in Maser from 1580. In the near future, the Santa Maria della Assunzione in Ariccia (1662-1664) by Bernini and Notre-Dame-de-l’Assomption (1670-1676) in Paris by Charles Errard could provide inspiration. In particular, the unrealized project of Carlo Fontana to adapt the Colosseum to the place of worship of the Holy Martyrs was undertaken by Clement X in connection with the celebration of the Holy Year in 1675. In the middle of the Flavius amphitheatre, he designed the elevation of a church in the form of an antique-styled rotunda, with a dome on a high tambour and a wreath of chapels encircling it. Equally important was the design of the fountain of the central church in Basque Loyola (Santuario di S. Ignazio a Loyola). In the Baroque realizations of the then Rome we find patterns for the architectural decoration of the Reisnerian church. In the layout and the artwork of the facades we notice the influence of the columnar Baroque facades, so common in different variants in the works of da Cortona, Borromini and Rainaldi. The monumental columnar facades built according to Carlo Rainaldi’s designs were newly completed: S. Andrea della Valle (1656 / 1662-1665 / 1666) and S. Maria in Campitelli (designed in 1658-1662 and executed in 1663-1667), and Borromini San Carlo alle Quatro Fontane (1667-1677). The angels supporting the garlands on the plinths of the tambour attic are modelled on the decoration of two churches of Bernini: S. Maria della Assunzione in Ariccia (1662-1664) and S. Andrea al Quirinale (1658-1670). The repertoire of mature Baroque also includes the window frames of the front facade of the floor in the form of interrupted beams and, with the header made in the form of sections capped with volutes. The design indicates that the chancel was to be laid out on a slightly elongated rectangle with rounded corners and covered with a ceiling with facets, with a cross-section similar to a heavily flattened dome. It is close to the solutions used by Borromini in the Collegio di Propaganda Fide and the Oratorio dei Filippini. The three oval windows decorated with C-shaped arches and with ribs coming out of the volute of the base of the dome, which were among the characteristic motifs of da Cortona, taken over from Michelangelo, are visible. The crowning lantern was given an original shape: a pear-shaped outline with three windows of the same shape, embraced by S-shaped elongated volutes, which belonged to the canonical motifs used behind da Cortona by the crowds of architects of late Baroque eclecticism. Along with learning architecture, which was typical at the Academy, Reisner learned painting and geodesy, thanks to which, after his return to Poland, he gained prestige and importance at the court of Jan III, then with the Płock Voivode Jan Krasiński. His promising architectural talent did gain prominence as an architect in Poland, although – like few students of St. Luke’s Academy – he received all the honors as a student and graduate.

The following inscription was found at Oenoanda, an antique city in north Lycia, by the late Alan S. Hall in 1974. The text (inv. no. YÇ 1014) is inscribed on the short face of a large grey limestone statue base, found lying on its left side at the northern margin of the Upper Agora (the “Esplanade”), directly before the outer edge of the portico of the north stoa (cf. Figs. 1 and 2). Its position suggests that it has fallen forward, with other bases beside it to the west, from its original situation on the pavement of the Upper Agora, immediately fronting the podium of the stoa. There was no evidence that it had been re-used, as originally thought by Hall. Its dimensions are h. 0·73 m.; w. 0·74 m. (slightly broken to the left); th. 1·50+ m. (buried behind). Since it is unmoulded and there are no foot-holes in the top, it is probable that top and bottom sections have become detached. The large base beside it to the west, measuring h. 1·25 m.; w. 2·10 m.; th. 0·60+ m., has two sets of foot-holes and a moulded top; a connection between this and our base is perhaps not unlikely—possibly they formed part of a family monument. On architectural grounds it has been argued that the north stoa was built in either the first century B.C. or the first century A.D. Since it is reasonable to suppose that the base, which we date to the 90s B.C. for reasons that will become clear shortly, was erected after its construction, the stoa should probably be dated no later than second century B.C.

This essay describes the combination of 3D solutions and software techniques with traditional studies and researches in order to achieve an integrated digital documentation between performed surveys, collected data, and historical research. The approach of this study is based on the comparison of survey data with historical research, and interpretations deduced from a data cross-check between the two mentioned sources. The case study is the Basilica of S. Ambrogio in Milan, one of the greatest monuments in the city, a pillar of the Christianity and of the History of Architecture. It is characterized by a complex stratification of phases of restoration and transformation. Rediscovering the great richness of the traditional architectural notebook, which collected surveys and data, this research aims to realize a virtual notebook, based on a 3D model that supports the dissemination of the collected information. It can potentially be understandable and accessible by anyone through the development of a mobile app. The 3D model was used to explore the different historical phases, starting from the recent layers to the oldest ones, through a virtual subtraction process, following the methods of Archaeology of Architecture. Its components can be imported into parametric software and recognized both in their morphological and typological aspects. It is based on the concept of LoD and ReverseLoD in order to fit the accuracy required by each step of the research.

Summary The article examines Soviet memorial designs of the Great Patriotic War period (1941–1945). These monuments were unorthodox in terms of visual language, and they differed strikingly from the Stalinist neoclassical mainstream of the previous decade. Architects tried to find means of commemoration of the enormous tragedy of war that they faced. Analysis of the poetics of their designs along with the commonplaces of the respective critical discourse reveals the process whereby the memorial genre was transformed. This article discusses the monumental tradition developed by the 1940 s, the models, the sources of motifs and solutions, and some stylistic and architectural peculiarities characteristic of wartime projects. Whereas previously the Soviet architects from the early 1930s had been working on the ‘ultimate’ monument – the Palace of Soviets in Moscow – with the beginning of the war they shifted to improvising in order to ‘stretch’ the limits of genre. I examine the ways in which they broke the limits and shaped the dense, overwhelming memorial narrative to be transmitted by the monuments. New memorials were considered as a form of heroic epic, analogous to the literary epics but expressed by means of architecture and sculpture. The nationalistic sentiments typical of the war years were reflected in both the design ideology and the perception of memorials. Alongside persistent motifs (such as 'prancing' tanks) emerged new themes (the commemoration of victims along with heroes). The technique of provoking the viewer’s emotions, as well as the visual language and architectural style of some structures and particular solutions (such as massive stone cubes), demonstrate the inheritance from the post-Revolutionary Modernist architecture. This unorthodox stylistic flexibility illustrates the ‘liberation’ of architects – and the short cultural ‘liberalization’ on the wartime period.

The reroofing of a group of Early Christian basilicas on the Karpas peninsula is the subject of The First Vaulted Churches in Cyprus. Charles Anthony Stewart argues that the barrel vaults, which replaced the wooden roofs of these churches, can be dated to the late seventh or early eighth century. Mustering all the evidence now available and placing these monuments in their historical context, he confirms the consensus about dating that was reached, but not fully argued, by investigating archaeologists in the 1970s, Andreas Dikigoropoulos, Athanasios Papageorghiou, and A. H. S. Megaw. When these churches were rebuilt in the seventh and eighth centuries, Cyprus was a neutral state divided between the Arab Caliphate and the Byzantine Empire. In this environment, builders experimented with methods to erect and support heavy vaulting while maintaining the traditional basilical form. Their designs foreshadowed the later development of Romanesque architecture in the West.

The restoration of monuments: a distinctly cultural act realized by the means of architecture; thus, it is an architectural work, and as such is not independent of the prevailing architectural conception of its own age. Gyula Hajnóczi created added value by implementing his heritage restorations in a moderate and authoritative way, as one of the periods of the monument’s lifetime and history that respects the previous ones, but at the same time has its own significance measurable to them. The fact that Hajnóczi was both an archaeologist and an architect contributed to the development of his holistic approach. His oeuvre mainly focused on the conservation and restoration of archaeological monuments and ruins. Closely related to this area there are particularly challenging issues, namely the conservation/technical solutions and methods or (in addition to preserving values) the other main purpose and mission of monument restoration: presentation. Hajnóczi placed emphasis on the faithful representation of the remains from the “original” age, at the same time, he consciously applied fitting/imitating supplementation as much and to such an extent that was necessary for understanding and interpreting the monument, and/or for satisfying the physical requirements of conservation. Everything else, however, that was additional or supplemented the heritage, in particular the design of protective buildings serving the display of the mass/space of monuments was strictly realized by choosing materials and technical-aesthetic solutions typical in the restored era. Hajnóczi’s approach to heritage restoration added a new dimension to the conservation and restoration of monuments, especially Roman ruins, incorporating and further developing the experience of his predecessors’ work as well as the knowledge of international theory and practice. He had his own way in the contemporary context that was not far from the slightly dogmatic interpretation of the Venice Charter. Not contradicting the philosophy of the Charter, even carefully fulfilling its requirements of giving priority to the respect of existing values, he had the personal commitment to create restorations that not only preserved the values, but also served the understandable and experiential learning of heritage. The heritage restoration works of Gyula Hajnóczi became examples and sources of inspiration in such a way that they were incorporated into the practice of heritage restoration with quiet naturalness.A műemlék-helyreállítás meghatározóan kulturális tett, amely az építészet eszközeivel valósul meg, azaz építészeti alkotás, s mint ilyen, nem független saját korának uralkodó építészeti felfogásától. Hajnóczi Gyula hozzáadott értéket teremtett, mértéktartó és mértékadó módon valósítva meg a műemlék-helyreállításait, mint a műemlék életének, történetének egyik, a korábbiakat tiszteletben tartó, ugyanakkor azokhoz mérhető jelentőségű periódusát. Egészlátó szemléletének a kialakulásában közrejátszott, hogy régész és építész képzettséggel is rendelkezett. Munkásságának fő területe a régészeti műemlékek – romemlékek konzerválása, restaurálása. Ehhez szorosan kapcsolódnak az e területen különösen is nagy kihívást jelentő kérdések, nevezetesen a konzerválási-műszaki/technikai megoldások mikéntje és a műemlék-helyreállításnak az értékmegőrzés melletti másik fő célja és küldetése: a bemutatás. Hangsúlyos az „eredeti” korból fennmaradt részek hűséges megjelenítése, de tudatosan alkalmazza az olyan mértékű, illeszkedő-utánzó kiegészítést, amilyen és amennyi a megértéshez, értelmezéshez, és/ vagy a konzerválás fizikai követelményei miatt szükséges. Minden más viszont, ami ezen felül van, illetve ehhez kapcsolódik, így különösen a tér-tömeg megjelenítést is szolgáló védőépületek kialakítása már szigorúan a helyreállítás korában „járatos” anyaghasználattal, műszaki-esztétikai megoldással készül. Hajnóczi műemlék-helyreállító szemlélete új dimenziót jelent a műemlékek, elsősorban is a római romemlékek konzerválásában és helyreállításában, beépítve és alkotó módon továbbfejlesztve az elődök munkájának és a nemzetközi elméletnek és gyakorlatnak a tapasztalatait. A Velencei Chartában megfogalmazottak kissé dogmatikus értelmezésétől sem idegen közegben a maga útját járta. Nem ellentmondva a Charta filozófiájának, sőt, gondosan teljesítve a meglévő értékek tiszteletben tartásának elsőbbségét előíró elvárásait, kiegészítve azzal a rá jellemző törekvéssel, hogy az értékek megőrzésén túl azok érthető, átélhető, élményszerű megismerését is szolgálja. Hajnóczi Gyula műemlék-helyreállításai oly módon váltak példává, inspirációs forrássá, hogy csendes természetességgel épültek be a műemlék-helyreállítási gyakorlatba.

This article presents a set of general system characteristics used to identify the conceptual properties of agritourism. There are the results of a formalized systematic and positive analysis of known conceptual directions of system perfection of agritourism relations. Accoding to these results the author identifies the imperatives and synthesizes
 the corresponding category. The article identifies a system of agritourism as a business network of rural tourism using the convenient location of the tourist farmsteads. This network is organized by its owners and individuals influencing the development of tourism with these aims: to meet the interests of tourists in the fields of winemaking, fishing, agricultural technologies, advanced methods of management; to explore natural phenomena, crafts,
 monuments of history and architecture; to participate in folk games, festivals, folklore performances. Rural tourism develops on the basis of the family agribusiness in the conditions enabling the legal system and its initial funding. Progressive legislation contributes to effective management, to strengthening of tourism position in the territories, to
 the demonstrations and the marketing of agricultural products to the tourists, to the development of intensive farms, to the increasing incomes from tourist destinations and their products. A promising development of rural tourism requires new ways of getting income, renovation and construction of recreation facilities, gift shops, creation of
 interest collections to tourists, organisation of festivals, restoration of historical and architectural monuments. The complex business of rural tourism is a form of cluster. Maximizing business performance in rural tourism s implements optimal account of district interests. The districts of agricultural cluster are owners of tourist farms and other persons who make an independent economic activity on the market of services of rural tourism. Agritourism creates an economic base for rural development, promotes the preservation of local customs, folklore, crafts.

Interferometric radars are widely used for static and dynamic monitoring of large structures such as bridges, culverts, wind turbine towers, chimneys, masonry towers, stay cables, buildings, and monuments. Most of these radars operate in Ku-band (17 GHz). Nevertheless, a higher operative frequency could allow the design of smaller, lighter, and faster equipment. In this paper, a fast MIMO-GBSAR (Multiple-Input Multiple-Output Ground-Based Synthetic Aperture Radar) operating in W-band (77 GHz) has been proposed. The radar can complete a scan in less than 8 s. Furthermore, as its overall dimension is smaller than 230 mm, it can be easily fixed to the head of a camera tripod, which makes its deployment in the field very easy, even by a single operator. The performance of this radar was tested in a controlled environment and in a realistic case study.

Silicified granites were used to build the Romanesque monuments in the city of Ávila, Spain. The building stones comprise two types of granite based on their technical properties and colour: Bleeding Stone (Piedra Sangrante) and Ochre Granite (Caleño). They were used as a facing stone in the city´s Romanesque monuments of the 12th century (e.g. the cathedral and church of San Pedro), and the famous city walls that constitute the best example of military Romanesque Spanish architecture. During the Gothic and Renaissance periods of the 13th and 15th centuries, silicified granites were used mainly to build ribbed vaults, the voissoirs of the arches, and elements of the windows in the monuments of Ávila. Silicified granites are found in the intermediate and upper part of a complex palaeoweathering zone or mantle developed on the Iberian Hercynian Basement which underlies much of the western Iberian Peninsula. The silicification occurred during tropical conditions in the Mesozoic. The weathered mantle was truncated by Alpine tectonic movements during the Tertiary, and its remnants were unconformably overlain by more recent sediments in the western and southern part of the Duero Basin and along the northern edge of the Amblés Valley graben. The historical, and now protected, quarry is located in a village called La Colilla, about 5 km from the city of Ávila. Currently, this stone is exploited only for restoration work performed in the city, for example the Walls of Ávila, and the church of San Pedro. The resource is limited and being depleted, so the stone will be scarce in the near future. Consequently, these silicified granites should be recognized as a Global Heritage Stone Resource. The specific technical properties of these stones and their historic use, decay patterns, durability, and suitability for conservation treatments combine to support its designation as a Global Heritage Stone Resource.RÉSUMÉDes granites silicifiés ont été utilisés pour construire les monuments romans dans la ville d’Ávila, en Espagne. Les pierres de construction comprennent deux types de granite selon leurs propriétés techniques et leur couleur : Bleeding Stone (Piedra sangrante) et Ochre Granite (Caleño). Ils ont été utilisés comme pierre de revêtement de monuments romans du 12ème siècle de la ville (par exemple la cathédrale et de l'église de San Pedro), et pour les célèbres remparts de la ville qui constituent le meilleur exemple de l'architecture espagnole romane militaire. Durant les périodes gothique et Renaissance des 13e et 15e siècles, les granites silicifiés ont été utilisés principalement pour construire des croisés d'ogives, des voussoirs d’arcs et des éléments de fenêtres des monuments d’Ávila. Les granites silicifiés se trouvent dans la partie intermédiaire et supérieure d'une zone complexe de paléo-altération ou de manteau développée sur le socle ibérique hercynien qui supporte une grande partie de la péninsule ibérique occidentale. La silicification s’est produite dans des conditions tropicales au Mésozoïque. Le matériau mantélique altéré a été tronqué par des mouvements tectoniques alpins au cours du Tertiaire, et ses restes ont été recouverts en discordance par des sédiments plus récents dans la partie ouest et sud du bassin de Duero, et le long de la bordure nord de la vallée en graben d’Amblés. L’ancienne carrière, maintenant protégée, est située dans un village appelé La Colilla, à environ 5 km de la ville d’Ávila. Actuellement, cette pierre est exploitée uniquement pour les travaux de restauration effectués dans la ville, par exemple les murs d’Ávila, et l'église de San Pedro. La ressource est limitée et en voie d'épuisement, de sorte que la pierre sera rare dans un proche avenir. Par conséquent, ces granites silicifiés devraient être reconnus en tant que pierre du Patrimoine mondial des ressources en pierre. Les propriétés techniques spécifiques de ces pierres et leur valeur historique, leurs modes de désintégration, leur durabilité et leur pertinence pour la conservation patrimoniale justifient leur désignation en tant que roche du Patrimoine mondial des ressources en pierre. Traduit par le Traducteur

(francuski) Nonobstant ses modestes dimensions, l'?glise Saint-Nicolas a Prilep est consid?r?e comme un remarquable monument et, a ce titre, a souvent retenu l'attention de chercheurs s'?tant int?resses tant a son architecture qu'a sa d?coration murale. De construction relativement ?lev?e, elle offre une partie inferieure en pierre non taill?e au-dessus de laquelle s'?l?vent des fa?ades rehauss?es d'une riche d?coration c?rame-plastique. Cet aspect ext?rieur, ainsi que les restes de fresques datant de deux ?poques diff?rentes ont incite les chercheurs a conclure que la partie sup?rieure de l'?difice a ?t? ?rig?e sur les murs d'une ancienne ?glise. L'auteur de ces lignes, qui a lui aussi aborde ce point (v. note 8), s'int?resse ici plus particuli?rement aux valeurs g?n?rales de cette ?glise, et en particulier a sa finition ext?rieure et ses fa?ades qui peuvent ?tre compar?es avec celles des plus remarquables monuments de l'architecture byzantine tardive. Quant a la question de savoir s'il s'agit ici d'un ou deux ?difices successifs seules des recherches arch?ologiques pourraient lui apporter une r?ponse d?finitive. Il n'en apparait pas moins que cette ?glise, et notamment sa partie sup?rieure, relev? d'une remarquable r?alisation architecturale. Pour cette raison, outre les fresques de grande qualit? ornant ses murs, il s'agit assur?ment d'un monument qui contribue grandement a l'aspect pittoresque de la ville de Prilep. Aux fins d'illustrer au mieux ces constatations, cet article est illustre par plusieurs dessins r?alises d'apr?s l'id?e de l'auteur. .

The wooden churches from Transylvania, Romania, are a unique and representative cultural heritage asset for rural communities, both in terms of architecture and the style of painting that defines them as monuments of national heritage. These churches are in danger of degradation because rural communities are beginning to abandon them for various motives (e.g., they are too small, are expensive to maintain, or are being replaced by modern churches, built of stone and modern materials). The reason behind their accelerated degradation is that they are covered with shingles that need to be periodically changed and repaired to prevent water from reaching the inner painting layer, a process that is, in many cases, ignored. Imperial gates are the symbol of these churches and separate the nave from the narthex. They are made entirely out of wood and were sculpted and painted manually by skilled craftsmen and still represent the central element of these churches, in terms of art and aesthetics. The digital preservation of these heritage assets is an interdisciplinary undertaking, which begins with the physico-chemical analysis of the pigments in the painting layer, continues with three-dimensional (3D) digitization of the monument and of the objects of interest (such as the imperial gates), and finishes with a digital restoration of these monuments and artefacts. This paper presents a working methodology, successfully applied in digitizing and digitally restoring imperial gates from wooden churches in Transylvania, namely from the wooden church of Voivodeni, Sălaj County, Romania (Transylvania region). X-ray fluorescence and FTIR spectroscopy were used to determine the pigments in the painting layer of these artefacts, and after they were identified, they were synthesized in laboratory conditions. The resulting color was digitized and used for digitally restoring the artefact(s) to its (their) pristine condition. To popularize these cultural heritage assets, the authors make use of virtual reality to mediate the interaction between the general public and heritage objects in their current state of preservation, in a digital environment. Moreover, to showcase how these heritage objects were degraded over time, a digitally restored version of the artefact in pristine condition is presented alongside a version in its current state (as is, digitized, but not yet digitally restored).

In the International tourism parlance India is perceived as a Cultural Destination and the foreign tourists visiting India for the first time find it so fascinating that quite a few of them come again and again to enjoy the "Indian Experience". No wonder India is one such destination in the world where international tourists spend maximum days once they arrive in the country. India is replete with heritage resources in the form of art, architecture and archaeology besides other cultural expressions like performing arts, dance, drama, fairs, festivals and the like. These cultural expressions constitute potential recreation resources. These resources, coupled with heritage, contribute to the richness of any landscape which can attract innumerable tourists looking for the "cultural experience".The general conference of UNESCO adopted a resolution in 1972 creating thereby a convention concerning the protection of the world 's cultural and natural heritage. The main objective of this forum was to define the world heritage, enlist sites and monuments from the member countries, the protection of which is the concern of mankind. The convention defined world heritage and drew a list of world heritage which included 378 cultural properties / sites. In India it has identified 28 sites, which are star attractions for intemational and domestic tourist. The paper makes introspection in various managerial aspects focusing mainly on the environmental impacts and problems in conservation and preservation of the World Heritage Site of Ajanta Caves, its paintings and environment in the vicinity of the cave.

The Church of Saint Nicolas in Bari, in southern Italy, is known as a church of great renown and importance, in view of the fact that it was built to receive the remains of Saint Nicholas, which are still kept in the church?s crypt, in the part of the building from where its construction began, at the end of the XI century. This church played a highly significant role in the creation of the specific, Romanic style of architecture in this region, so several important buildings were constructed using the basic typological and stylistic characteristics of the Church of Saint Nicholas. It was built as a triple-naved basilica with a transept and a dome designed at the intersection of the main nave and the transept, and the specific rendition of the altar section, with side towers and a flat facade wall that encloses the inner apse was applied in a similar manner on several churches in Apulia. Its great renown in the Christian world is well-known, reflected both in the strong connection between the churches in Bari and Kotor, and through the donations by the medieval Serbian rulers, among which is the large icon of Saint Nicholas, a gift from Stefan Decanski, which is still preserved in the church?s crypt. The importance of this and the other churches in Apulia was undoubtedly one of the factors that have led to discussion in literature about the question of their possible influence on architectonic creation in related artistic fields, including the monuments of the Raska stylistic group, particularly in connection with the architectural and sculptural plastics on portals because of the similarity of some of the shapes and motives in the stonemasonry...

AbstractThe introduction and diffusion of Italian Renaissance forms in sixteenth-century Netherlandish art has usually been described as a process initiated by artists who travelled south, adopted the new style and reaped success after their return to the Netherlands. In giving full credit to the artists and considering this phcnomenon to be a process of artistic exchange in the modern sense, art historians have wrongly disregarded the historical circumstances that caused patrons' preference for the new style. The earliest use of Renaissance forms in the Low Countries on a large scale may be observed in the triumphal decorations of the 1515 Joyeuse Entrée of Charles of Hapsburg, the future emperor, in the town of Bruges. From that moment on, Renaissance forms were used abundantly in objects which served as a kind of propaganda for Hapsburg policy, such as church windows and chimney-pieces glorifying Charles v and the Hapsburg dynasty. Antique motifs fitted well in the imperialist visual language favoured by the Hapsburg dynasty and the Dutch nobles who supported its power politics. Derived from imperial Roman monuments, these forms unequivocally alluded to the absolute power of the ancient ancestors of the Holy Roman Emperor, thus legitimizing his authority. In the author's opinion this functional aspect is one of the main reasons for the ready acceptance and diffusion of the Renaissance style in the Low Countries. One of the first artists to travel from the Netherlands to Italy was the painter Michiel Coxcie (Malines 1499-1592). He stayed in Rome from about 1530 to 1538, painting several frescoes in Roman churches which brought him recognition among Italian colleagues. Only one example has survived: the fresco cycle in the chapel of St. Barbara in S. Maria dell'Anima, which he painted between 1532 and 1534. His mastery of the 'maniera italiana', which is evident in these paintings, is highly praised by Vasari, who met Coxcie in Rome in 1532. Vasari also states that Coxcie transferred the 'maniera italiana' to the Netherlands. Upon his return to Malines in 1539, Coxcie received several prestigious commissions, of which perhaps the most outstanding was to paint cartoons for the stained glass windows in the church of St. Gudule in Brussels, with its decoration of triumphal arches glorifying the Hapsburg dynasty. His ability to work in the high Renaissance style gained him the favour of Charles v and his sister, Mary of Hungary, governess of the Netherlands, who engaged him as a court painter. In the said series of Brussels windows, a remarkable change of style regarding the use of Renaissance forms is to be observed after Coxcie started supplying the cartoons in 1541. The windows completed between 1537 and 1540 had been made under the supervision of Bernard van Orley, allegedly Coxcie's teacher. They were rendered in an early Renaissance style characterized by the hybrid Italianate motifs that were in fashion during the 1520S and 1530s. Upon Orley's death in 1541, Coxcie was appointed his successor as cartoon painter for St. Gudule. The first window for which he was responsible, the window of John III of Portugal in the Chapel of the Holy Sacrament, exhibits a distinct caesura: the architectural decoration is high Renaissance in the Vitruvian or Serlian sense and the human faces and postures are derived directly from the examples of Raphael, Leonardo and Michelangelo. After careful perusal of the documents concerning the production of the windows and study of the stylistic differences between the windows made before and after 1541 (and the related preparatory drawings), one cannot but conclude that Michiel Coxcie was the initiator of the use of the high Renaissance style in the Brussels windows. Hitherto Bernard van Orley has been credited for this, on the assumption that he designed the whole cycle, including all its ornamental details and stylistic features. Although his contribution to the diffusion of the high Renaissance style in Netherlandish art was decisive, Michiel Coxcie's return to the Low Countries should not be regarded as the principal incentive for this process. The general predilection for this style to be found after 1540 could be a consequence of the impressive presence of Charles v and his retinue in the Netherlands during that year. The emperor, who came to quell the Ghent resurrection against the central government, brought with him the style that had been used in the triumphal decorations which accompanied his entries to Italian towns during the 1530S. The influence exercised on prevailing taste by the ephemeral monuments erected on the occasion of imperial entries must have been considerable, as the Brussels windows clearly show.

The acceleration of climate change and the increasing frequency of natural disasters mean that there is an urgent need to adapt conservation strategies for architectural heritage to the world’s new demands and situations. This is particularly relevant for the most vulnerable constructions, such as earthen structures. Because of the dramatic effect that earthquakes can have on architecture, and especially on historical monuments, they have been studied for the past 50 years. Earthquakes divide the world in two very distinct geographic areas: seismic and non-seismic. The seismic vulnerability of earthen architectural heritage, such as earthen structures and mud mortar masonry, evidences in by how weak they are when compared to structures built using other construction materials (10 to 15 times weaker). Humanity’s past experience in the conservation of architectural heritage allows us to be aware of the need to improve and eventually perfect the existing conservation charters, which were discussed and signed in Europe in the last century. These charters do not make a distinction between heritage conservation in seismic and non-seismic areas. It is imperative to address this particular issue, as seismic forces can be too strong for earthen constructions to resist, which can lead to their irreparable collapse. Inspired by the Venice Charter and China´s principles as well as by more modern documents, such as the Burra, Mexico, Zimbabwe, Lausana Charters, researchers have tried to establish adequate and resistant conservation guidelines, based on achieving the best structural performance using a minimum permanent and reversible reinforcement. Although this involves causing some impact on the architectural heritage, it also means that human lives and buildings can be protected. The paper will provide real examples to illustrate these cases and will attempt to outline the conservation principles required to protect vulnerable structures, such as those earthen constructions or mud mortar brick or stone masonry built in seismic areas.

(francuski) La premi?re grande ?glise romane ?rig?e sur le littoral adriatique oriental a ?t? l??glise Saint-Tryphon a Kotor. Cet ?difice faisait l?objet d?une grande admiration non seulement dans cette ville, mais aussi sur un bien plus vaste espace ou s?est manifeste son influence tant du point de vue spirituel qu?artistique. Son syst?me structurel avec voute d?ar?tes sur crois?e d?ogives a ainsi ?t? repris, d?j? dans les ann?es quatre-vingts du XIIe si?cle, dans la tour d?entr?e de Saint-Georges a Ras, ou une voute en cul-de-four a ?t? renforc?e d?ogives de section rectangulaire qui s??l?vent a partir de consoles en forme de prisme, tout comme celles visibles dans la cath?drale de Kotor du cote est, au-dessus du presbyterium. Quelque temps plus tard, il en a ?t? de m?me a Studenica et Zica, ou l?on a respectivement recouru aux voutes d?ar?tes sur crois?e d?ogive pour couvrir le vaste espace constitue par le narthex de Radoslav, puis, tr?s rapidement, a Zica, dans la tour de l?exonarthex. Plus nombreux encore sont les cas de formes et d?ornements repris de la d?coration sculpt?e de la cath?drale de Kotor. En l?occurrence, d?j? au cours du m?me si?cle, a ?t? ouverte dans l?abside du sanctuaire de l??glise de la Vierge a Studenica une fen?tre trilob?e de facture ext?rieure romane, ayant trouve son mod?le sur celle de Kotor. S?il a ?t? note que ces deux fen?tres trilob?es, de Kotor et Studenica, diff?rent malgr? tout dans la r?alisation m?me des ornements entrant dans la d?coration de leur cadre, la r?cente d?couverte de plusieurs fragments d?une baie g?min?e avec fronton de la cath?drale de Kotor pr?sentant une m?me finition sculpt?e et un m?me choix des motifs que certains cadres de fen?tres r?alises a Studenica, vient pleinement confirmer, si besoin ?tait, l?existence d?un lien entre les ouvertures de ces deux monuments. Et par la suite aussi, les b?tisseurs et sculpteurs de Rascie m?di?vale ont trouve leur inspiration dans les solutions appliqu?es a Kotor. A en juger par la tectonique de certains chapiteaux de l??glise du monast?re de Gradac, datant de la huiti?me d?cennie du XIIIe si?cle, et d?autres, visibles dans le catholicon, nettement post?rieur, du monast?re de Resava, ainsi qu?au vu des ornements apparaissant sur ceux-ci, leurs sculpteurs avaient connaissance de l?ornementation des chapiteaux des fen?tres trilob?es ouverte dans la galerie de la cath?drale de Kotor dont ils ont repris certains motifs. Une ?tude plus pouss?e mettrait vraisemblablement, en ?vidence de nouveaux exemples de r?alisation ayant trouve leur mod?le sur la c?l?bre cath?drale Saint-Tryphon a Kotor. D??pres les connaissances actuelles l?architecture et le syst?me structurel de ce monument ont finalement trouve leur plus fort ?cho sur l??glise de l?Ascension du Christ a Decani. Son maitre-b?tisseur, lui-m?me originaire de la ville royale de Kotor, comme il l'a fait grave sur le linteau du portail m?ridional de l'?glise de Decani, a, de toute ?vidence, fid?lement garde a l?esprit l?image de l??difice sacre le plus c?l?bre de sa ville natale.

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RESUMENLos balnearios-sauna castreños del noroeste peninsular son monumentos con horno con una arquitectura muy original, posiblemente asociada a los diversos modelos termales. Se conocen cerca de tres decenas, distribuidos por el noroeste peninsular. La arquitectura compleja de estos monumentos se organiza estructuralmente hacia posibilitar baños de sauna y baños de agua fría. Las dos áreas son divididas por una estela, monolítica, normalmente ornamentada – la pedra formosa. El papel simbólico que tendrían en el seno de la sociedad castreña de la Edad del Hierro del noroeste peninsular permanece por aclarar y envuelto en gran misticismo, fruto de una posible sacralidad. Este entorno, referido por diversos autores a lo largo de los tiempos, está posiblemente asociado al culto de los dioses de las aguas y a la sacralidad del baño purificador, medicinal, que se refleja en las decoraciones frontales de las pedras formosas, cuya maestría de los escultores que las insculpieran, tipología decorativa, interpretación simbólica y semiótica estudiamos, como objetivos primordiales, a lo largo de este trabajo de investigación.PALABRAS CLAVE: Protohistoria, monumentos con horno, decoración pétrea, interpretación simbólica / semiótica.ABSTRACTThe Iron Age sauna-baths of the northwest peninsular are monuments with an oven with very original architecture, possibly associated with the diverse thermal models. There are about three dozen known sauna-baths spread over the northwest peninsular. The complex architecture of thesemonuments is structurally organized to allow for cold water baths and sauna baths. The two areas are divided by a tectiforme stele, monolithic, usually ornamented, known as pedra formosa (beautiful stone). The symbolic role that they would have had in the heart of the Iron Age “castreña” society in the northwest peninsular remains unclear and shrouded in mysticism, the fruit of a possible sacredness. This environment, referred to by various authors throughout the ages, is possibly associated with the worship of the water gods and the sacredness of the medicinal and purifying bath, which is reflected in the frontal decorations of the pedras formosas, whose masterful sculpting, decorative typology, symbolic interpretation and semiotics we studied as primary objectives of this research work.KEYWORDS: Protohistory, monuments with oven, stone decoration, symbolic / semiotic interpretation. BIBLIOGRAFIAAlmagro-Gorbea, M. e Álvarez Sanchís, J. R. 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Dolini reke Pivke in Reke tvorita naraven prehod iz zgornjega Posavja v Tržaški zaliv in Kvarnerski zaliv. Strateška pomembnost tega prostora se je v prazgodovini odražala s številnimi gradišči–naselbinami na zavarovanih vrhovih, v kasni antiki z rimskimi obrambnimi zaporami ter v obdobju turških vpadov s protiturškimi tabori. Zaščitna arheološka sondiranja leta 1996 v območju arheološkega spomenika Tabor nad Zagorjem – Šilentabor, Arheološko najdišče, EŠD: 764, so odkrila del ostankov srednjeveške obrambne arhitekture, zlasti pa številne arheološke artefakte, ki potrjujejo v zgodovinskih virih omenjeno gradnjo in življenje znotraj grajskega kompleksa od 15. do 17. stoletja. The valleys of the Pivka and Reka rivers make a natural passage from the upper Posavje to the Trieste and Quarnero Bays. The strategic significance of this area in prehistoric times is shown in the numerous hillforts/settlements on the secured peaks of the hills in Late Antiquity with Roman defence blockades, and in the times of Turkish invasions with forts against the Turks. Rescue sample trenching in 1996 in the area of the Tabor archaeological monument above Zagorje - Šilentabor, archaeological site reference EŠD: 764, revealed part of the remains of a Middle Age defence architectural structure and numerous archaeological artifacts, which confirm construction and life within the castle complex from the 15th to 17th centuries, as mentioned in historical sources.

“The history of monuments teaches us much more about people and societies that commissioned them than the people and events for whom they were commissioned.” This is how Michael S. Cullen explained the meaning of commemorative architecture in an interview conducted by telephone, due to Corona restrictions, on 17 September 2020 (see also his introduction to Das Holocaust-Mahnmal, 18). Monuments are designed to commemorate important figures and events, but they also materialize the discussions and debates involved in their construction. Cullen should know. His work has made him the voice, perhaps even the conscience, of what is perhaps the most dialogic monument in Berlin: the Reichstag.

To Remember‘The central problem of today’s global interactions is the tension between cultural homogenisation and cultural heterogenisation.’ (Appadurai 49)While this statement has been made more than twenty years, it remains more relevant than ever. The current age is one of widespread global migrations and dis-placement. The phenomenon of globalisation is the first and major factor for this newly created shift of ground, of transmigration as defined by its etymological meaning. However, a growing number of migrations also result from social or political oppression and war as we witness the current flow of refugees from Africa or Syria to Europe and with growing momentum, from climate change, the people of Tokelau or Nauru migrating as a result of the rise of sea levels in their South Pacific homeland. Such global migrations lead to an intense co-habitation of various cultures, ethnicities and religions in host societies. In late twentieth century Giddens explains this complexity and discusses how globalisation requires a re-organisation of time and space in social and cultural life of both the host and the migrant (Giddens 14). In the host country, Appadurai terms the physical consequences of this phenomenon as the new ‘ethnoscape’ (Appadurai 51). This fact is particularly relevant to New Zealand, a country that is currently seeing an unprecedented level of immigration from various and numerous ethnic groups which is evidently influencing the makeup of its entire population.For the migrant, according to Xavier & Rosaldo, social life following migration re-establishes itself on two fronts: the first is the pre-modern manner of being present through participation in localised activities at specific locales; the second is about fostering relationships with absent others through media and across the world. These “settings for distanced relations – for relations at a distance, [are] stretched out across time and space” (Xavier & Rosaldo 8). Throughout the world, people in dis-placement reorganise their societies in both of these fronts.Dis-placement is ‘a potentially traumatic event that is collectively experienced" (Norris 128). Disaster and trauma related dis-placement as stressors happen to entire communities, not just individuals, families and neighbourhoods. Members are exposed together and it has been argued, must, therefore, recover together, (Norris 145). On one hand, in the situation of collective trauma some attachment to a new space ‘increases the likelihood that a community as a whole has the will to rebuild’ (Norris 145). On the other, it is suggested that for the individual, place attachment makes the necessary relocation much harder. It is in re-location however that the will to recreate or reproduce will emerge. Indeed part of the recovery in the case of relocation can be the reconstruction of place. The places of past experiences and rituals for meaning are commonly recreated or reproduced as new places of attachment abroad. The will and ability to reimagine and re-materialise (Gupta & Ferguson 70) the lost heritage is motivational and defines resilience.This is something a great deal of communities such as the displaced Coptic community in New Zealand look to achieve, re-constructing a familiar space, where rituals and meaning can reaffirm their ideal existence, the only form of existence they have ever known before relocation. In this instance it is the reconstruction and reinterpretation of a traditional Coptic Orthodox church. Resilience can be examined as a ‘sense of community’, a concept that binds people with shared values. Concern for community and respect for others can transcend the physical and can bind disparate individuals in ways that otherwise might require more formal organisations. It has been noted that trauma due to displacement and relocation can enhance a sense of closeness and stronger belonging (Norris 139). Indeed citizen participation is fundamental to community resilience (Norris 139) and it entails the engagement of community members in formal organisations, including religious congregations (Perkins et al. 2002; Norris 139) and collective gatherings around cultural rituals. However, the displacement also strengthens the emotional ties at the individual level to the homeland, to kinfolk and to the more abstract cultural mores and ideas.Commitment and AttachmentRecalling places of collective events and rituals such as assembly halls and spaces of worship is crucially important for dis-placed communities. The attachment to place exposes the challenges and opportunities for recollecting the spirit of space in the situation of a people abroad. This in turn, raises the question of memory and its representation in re-creating the architectural qualities of the cultural space from its original context. This article offers the employ of visual representation (drawings) as a strategy of recall. To explore these ideas further, the situation of the Egyptian community of Coptic Orthodox faith, relocated, displaced and living ‘abroad’ in New Zealand is being considered. This small community that emigrated to New Zealand firstly in the 1950s then in the 1970s represents in many ways the various ethnicities and religious beliefs found in New Zealand.Rituals and congregations are held in collective spaces and while the attachment to the collective is essential, the question to be addressed here relates to the role of the physical community space in forming or maintaining the attachment to community (Pretty, Chipuer, and Bramston 78). Groups or societies use systems of shared meanings to interpret and make sense of the world. However, shared meanings have traditionally been tied to the idea of a fixed territory (Manzo & Devine-Wright 335, Xavier & Rosaldo 10). Manzo and Perkins further suggest that place attachments provide stability and are integral to self-definitions (335-350). Image by Vioula Said.Stability and self-definition and ultimately identity are in turn, placed in jeopardy with the process of displacement and de-territorilisation. Shared meanings are shifted and potentially lost when the resultant instability occurs. Norris finds that in the strongest cases, individuals, neighbourhoods and communities lose their sense of identity and self-definition when displaced due to the destruction of natural and built environments (Norris 139). This comment is particularly relevant to people who are emigrating to New Zealand as refugees from climate change such as Pasifika or from wars and oppression such as the Coptic community. This loss strengthens the requirement for something greater than just a common space of congregation, something that transcends the physical. The sense of belonging and identity in the complexity of potential cultural heterogenisation is at issue. The role of architecture in dis-placement is thereby brought into question seeking answers to how it should facilitate a space of attachment for resilience, for identity and for belonging.A unity of place and people has long been assumed in the anthropological concept of culture (Gupta & Ferguson: 75). According to Xavier & Rosaldo the historical tendency has been to connect the realm of constructing meaning to the particularities of place (Xavier & Rosaldo 10). Thereby, cultural meanings are intrinsically linked to place. Therefore, place attachment to the reproduced or re-interpreted place is crucially important for dis-placed societies in re-establishing social and cultural content. Architectural spaces are the obvious holders of cultural, social and spiritual content for such enterprises. Hillier suggests that all "architecture is, in essence, the application of speculative and abstract thought to the non-discursive aspects of building, and because it is so, it is also its application to the social and cultural contents of buildings” (Hillier 3).To Re-ImagineAn attempt to reflect the history, stories and the cultural mores of the Coptic community in exile by privileging material and design authenticity, merits attention. An important aspect of the Coptic faith lies within its adherence to symbolism and rituals and strict adherence to the traditional forms and configurations of space may reflect some authenticity of the customary qualities of the space (Said 109). However, the original space is itself in flux, changing with time and environmental conditions; as are the memories of those travelling abroad as they come from different moments in time. Experience has shown that a communities’ will to re-establish social and cultural content through their traditional architecture on new sites has not always resurrected their history and reignited their original spirit. The impact of the new context’s reality on the reproduction or re interpretation of place may not fully enable its entire community’s attachment to it. There are significant implications from the displacement of site that lead to a disassociation from the former architectural language. Consequently there is a cultural imperative for an approach that entails the engagement of community in the re-making of a cultural space before responding to the demands of site. Cultures come into conflict when the new ways of knowing and acting are at odds with the old. Recreating a place without acknowledging these tensions may lead to non-attachment. Facing cultural paradox and searching for authenticity explains in part, the value of intangible heritage and the need to privilege it over its tangible counterpart.Intangible HeritageThe intangible qualities of place and the memory of them are anchors for a dis-placed community to reimagine and re-materialise its lost heritage and to recreate a new place for attachment. This brings about the notion of the authenticity of cultural heritage, it exposes the uncertain value of reconstruction and it exhibits the struggles associated with de-territorilisation in such a process.In dealing with cultural heritage and contemporary conservation practice with today’s wider understanding of the interdisciplinary field of heritage studies, several authors discuss the relevance and applicability of the 1964 Venice Charter on architectural heritage. Glendinning argues that today’s heritage practices exploit the physical remains of the past for useful modern and aesthetic purposes as they are less concerned with the history they once served (Glendinning 3). For example, the act of modernising and restoring a historic museum is counterbalanced by its ancient exhibits thereby highlighting modern progress. Others support this position by arguing that relationships, associations and meanings that contribute to the value of a site should not be dismissed in favour of physical remains (Hill 21). Smith notes that the less tangible approaches struggle to gain leverage within conventional practice, and therefore lack authenticity. This can be evidenced in so many of our reconstructed heritage sites. This leads to the importance of the intangible when dealing with architectural heritage. Image by Vioula Said.In practice, a number of different methods and approaches are employed to safeguard intangible cultural heritage. In order to provide a common platform for considering intangible heritage, UNESCO developed the 2003 ‘Convention for the Safeguarding of Intangible Cultural Heritage’. Rather than simply addressing physical heritage, this convention helped to define the intangible and served to promote its recognition. Intangible cultural heritage is defined as expressions, representations, practices, skills and knowledge that an individual a community or group recognise as their cultural heritage.Safeguarding intangible heritage requires a form of translation, for example, from the oral form into a material form, e.g. archives, inventories, museums and audio or film records. This ‘freezing’ of intangible heritage requires thoughtfulness and care in the choosing of the appropriate methods and materials. At the same time, the ephemeral aspects of intangible heritage make it vulnerable to being absorbed by the typecast cultural models predominant at any particular time. This less tangible characteristic of history and the pivotal role it plays in conveying a dialogue between the past and the present demands alternative methods. At a time when the identity of dis-placed people is in danger of being diminished by dominant host societies, the safeguarding of intangible cultural heritage is critically important in re-establishing social and cultural content.Recent news has shown the destruction of many Coptic churches in Egypt, through fire at increasing rates since 2011 or by bombings such as the ones witnessed in April 2017. For this particular problem of the Coptic Community, the authors propose that visual representation of spiritual spaces may aid in recollecting and re-establishing such heritage. The illustrations in this article present the personal journey of an artist of Egyptian Copt descent drawing from her memories of a place and time within the sphere of religious rituals. As Treib suggests, “Our recollections are situational and spatialised memories; they are memories attached to places and events” (Treib 22). The intertwining of real and imagined memory navigates to define the spirit of place of a lost time and community.The act of remembering is a societal ritual and in and of itself is part of the globalised world we live in today. The memories lodged in physical places range from incidents of personal biography to the highly refined and extensively interpreted segments of cultural lore (Treib 63). The act of remembering allows for our sense of identity and reflective cultural distinctiveness as well as shaping our present lives from that of our past. To remember is to celebrate or to commemorate the past (Treib 25).Memory has the aptitude to generate resilient links between self and environment, self and culture, as well as self and collective. “Our access to the past is no longer mediated by the account of a witness or a narrator, or by the eye of a photographer. We will not respond to a re-presentation of the historical event, but to a presentation or performance of it” (van Alphen 11). This statement aligns with Smith’s critical analysis of heritage and identity, not as a set of guidelines but as a performance experienced through the imagination, “experienced within a layering of performative qualities that embody remembrance and commemoration and aim to construct a sense of place and understanding within the present”(van Alphen 11). Heritage is hereby investigated as a re-constructed experience; attempting to identify a palette of memory-informed qualities that can be applied to the re-establishing of the heritage lost. Here memory will be defined as Aristotle’s Anamnesis, to identify the capacity to stimulate a range of physical and sensory experiences in the retrieval of heritage that may otherwise be forgotten (Cubitt 75; Huyssen 80). In architectural terms, Anamnesis, refers to the process of retrieval associated with intangible heritage, as a performance aimed at the recovery of memory, experienced through the imagination (Said 143). Unfortunately, when constructing an experience aimed at the recovery of memory, the conditions of a particular moment do not, once passed, move into a state of retirement from which they can be retrieved at a later date. Likewise, the conditions and occurrences of one moment can never be precisely recaptured, Treib describes memory as an interventionist:it magnifies, diminishes, adjusts, darkens, or illuminates places that are no longer extant, transforming the past anew every time it is called to mind, shorn or undesirable reminiscence embellished by wishful thinking, coloured by present concerns. (Treib 188)To remember them, Cubitt argues, we must reconstruct them; “not in the sense of reassembling something that has been taken to pieces and carefully stored, but in the sense of imaginatively configuring something that can no longer have the character of actuality” (Cubitt 77). Image by Vioula Said.Traditionally, history and past events have been put in writing to preserve their memory within the present. However, as argued by Treib, this mode of representation is inherently linear and static; contributing to a flattening of history. Similarly, Nelson states; “I consider how a visual mode of representation – as opposed to textual or oral – helps to shape memory” (Nelson 37). The unflattening of past events can occur by actively engaging with culture and tradition through the mechanism of reconstruction and representation of the intangible heritage (Said 145). As memory becomes crucial in affirming collective identity, place also becomes crucial in anchoring such experience. Interactive exhibition facilitates this act using imagery, interpretation and physical engagement while architectural place gives distinctiveness to cultural products and practices. Architectural space is always intrinsically bound with cultural practice. Appadurai says that where a groups’ past increasingly becomes part of museums, exhibits and collection, its culture becomes less a realm of reproducible practices and more an arena of choices and cultural reproduction (59). When place is shifted (de-territorilisation in migration) the loss of territorial roots brings “an erosion of the cultural distinctiveness of places, a de-territorilisation of identity” (Gupta & Ferguson 68). According to Gupta & Ferguson, “remembered places have …. often served as symbolic anchors of community for dispersed people” (Gupta & Ferguson 69).To Re-MakeIn the context of de-territorialisation the intangible qualities of the original space offer an avenue for the creation and experience of a new space in the spirit of its source. Simply reproducing a traditional building layout in the new territory or recollecting artefacts does not suffice in recalling the essence of place, nor does descriptive writing no matter how compelling. Issues of authenticity and identity underpin both of these strategies. Accepting the historical tendency to reconnect the realm of constructing meaning to the particularities of place requires an investigation on those ‘particularities of place’. Intangible heritage can bridge the problems of being out of one’s country, overseas, or ‘abroad’. While architecture can be as Hillier suggests, “in essence, the application of speculative and abstract thought to the non-discursive aspects of building” (Hillier 3). Architecture should not be reproduced but rather re-constructed as a holder or facilitator of recollection and collective performance. It is within the performance of intangible heritage in the ‘new’ architecture that a sense of belonging, identity and reconnection with home can be experienced abroad. Its visual representation takes centre stage in the process. The situation of the Egyptian community of Coptic faith in New Zealand is here looked at as an illustration. The intangibility of architectural heritage is created through one of the author’s graphic work here presented. Image by Vioula Said.The concept of drawing as an anchor for memory and drawing as a method to inhabit space is exposed and this presents a situation where drawing has an experiential nature in itself.It has been argued that a drawing is simply an image that compresses an entire experience of temporality. Pallasmaa suggests that “every drawing is an excavation into the past and memory of its creator” (Pallasmaa 91). The drawing is considered as a process of both observation and expression, of receiving and giving. The imagined or the remembered space turns real and becomes part of the experiential reality of the viewer and of the image maker. The drawing as a visual representation of the remembered experience within the embrace of an interior space is drawn from the image maker’s personal experience. It is the expression of their own recollection and not necessarily the precise realityor qualities perceived or remembered by others. This does not suggest that such drawing has a limited value. This article promotes the idea that such visual representation has potentially a shared transformative role. The development of drawings in this realm of intangible heritage exposes the fact that the act of drawing memory may provide an intimate relationship between architecture, past events within the space, the beholder of the memory and eventually the viewer of the drawing. The drawings can be considered a reminder of moments past, and an alternative method to the physical reproduction or preservation of the built form. It is a way to recollect, express and give new value to the understanding of intangible heritage, and constructs meaning.From the development of a personal spatial and intuitive recall to produce visual expressions of a remembered space and time, the image author optimistically seeks others to deeply engage with these images of layered memories. They invite the viewer to re-create their own memory by engaging with the author’s own perception. Simply put, drawings of a personal memory are offered as a convincing representation of intangible heritage and as an authentic expression of the character or essence of place to its audience. This is offered as a method of reconstructing what is re-membered, as a manifestation of symbolic anchor and as a first step towards attachment to place. The relevance of which may be pertinent for people in exile in a foreign land.ReferencesAppadurai, A. “Sovereignty without Territoriality: Notes for a Postnational Geography.” The Geography of Identity. Ed. Patricia Yaeger. Ann Arbor: U of Michigan Press, 1997. 40–58. Brown, R.H., and B. Brown. “The Making of Memory: The Politics of Archives, Libraries and Museum in the Construction of National Consciousness.” History of Human Sciences 11.4 (1993): 17–32.Clifford, James. Routes: Travel and Translation in the Late Twentieth Century. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1997.Cubitt, Geoffrey. History and Memory. London: Oxford UP, 2013.Giddens, A. The Consequences of Modernity. Stanford: Stanford UP, 1990.Gupta, A., and J. Ferguson. “Beyond ‘Culture’: Space, Identity, and the Politics of Difference.” Religion and Social Justice for Immigrants. Ed. Pierrette Hondagneu-Sotelo. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers UP, 2006.Glendinning, Miles. The Conservation Movement: A History of Architectural Preservation: Antiquity to Modernity. London: Routledge, 2013.Hill, Jennifer. The Double Dimension: Heritage and Innovation. Canberra: The Royal Australian Institute of Architects, 2004.Hillier, Bill, Space Is the Machine. Cambridge, Mass.: Cambridge UP, 1996.Huyssen, Andreas. Present Pasts, Urban Palimpsests and the Politics of Memory. Stanford: Stanford UP, 2003.Lira, Sergio, and Rogerio Amoeda. Constructing Intangible Heritage. Barcelos, Portugal: Green Lines Institute for Sustainable Development, 2010.Manzo, Lynne C., and Douglas Perkins. “Finding Common Ground: The Importance of Place Attachment to Community Participation and Planning.” Journal of Planning Literature 20 (2006): 335–350. Manzo, Lynne C., and Patrick Devine-Wright. Place Attachment: Advances in Theory, Methods and Applications. London: Routledge. 2013.Nelson, Robert S., and Margaret Olin. Monuments and Memory, Made and Unmade. Chicago: U of Chicago Press, 2003.Norris, F.H., S.P. Stevens, B. Pfefferbaum, KF. Wyche, and R.L. Pfefferbaum. “Community Resilience as a Metaphor, Theory, Set of Capacities and Strategy for Disaster Readiness.” American Journal of Community Psychology 41 (2008): 127–150.Perkins, D.D., J. Hughey, and P.W. Speer. “Community Psychology Perspectives on Social Capital Theory and Community Development Practice.” Journal of the Community Development Society 33.1 (2002): 33–52.Pretty, Grace, Heather H. Chipuer, and Paul Bramston. “Sense of Place Amongst Adolescents and Adults in Two Rural Australian Towns: The Discriminating Features of Place Attachment, Sense of Community and Place Dependence in Relation to Place Identity.” Journal of Environmental Psychology 23.3 (2003): 273–87.Said, Vioula. Coptic Ruins Reincarnated. Thesis. Master of Interior Architecture. Victoria University of Wellington, 2014.Smith, Laura Jane. Uses of Heritage. New York: Routledge, 2006.Treib, Marc. Spatial Recall: Memory in Architecture and Landscape. New York: Routledge, 2013.UNESCO. “Text of the Convention for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Human Heritage.” 2003. 15 Aug. 2017 <http://www.unesco.org/culture/ich/en/convention>.Van Alphen, Ernst. Caught by History: Holocaust Effects in Contemporary Art, Literature and Theory. Redwood City, CA: Stanford UP, 1997.Xavier, Jonathan, and Renato Rosaldo. “Thinking the Global.” The Anthropology of Globalisation. Eds. Jonathan Xavier Inda and Renato Rosaldo. Wiley-Blackwell Publishers, Oxford, 2002.

Aldo Rossi's The Architecture of the City articulates how civic space intersects with collective agency: "One can say that the city itself is the collective memory of its people, and like memory it is associated with objects and places [. . .] The collective memory participates in the actual transformation of space in the works of the collective, a transformation that is always conditioned by whatever material realities oppose it" (130). Rossi's contention—that the development, or "transformation," of urban space is accomplished by a collective deploying memory in its struggle with material reality—is the scene of Stuart Dybek's southside Chicago in, The Coast of Chicago. Where this short story cycle deals with musical improvisation it dramatizes Rossi's contention by showing how memory not only resists "material realities"—in this case the demolition of southside neighborhoods initiated by Mayor Daley—and not only preserves ethnicity—especially the Polish and Chicano diasporas Dybek writes about—but also enables what Thomas S. Gladsky has called "a trans-ethnic urban America [. . .] a diverse cultural landscape where ethnicity transcends national origins but remains vital" (117). Dybek's ethnic self is a processual subjectivity, improvisatory rather than definitive, "based [less] on national origins [than] on a shared sense of ethnicity as a condition of Americanness" (Gladsky 115). In the story "Blight" characters inhabit a neighborhood where "the city was tearing down buildings for urban renewal and tearing up streets for a new expressway, and everywhere one looked there were signs in front of the rubble reading: sorry for the inconvenience / another improvement / for a greater Chicago / Richard J. Daley, Mayor" (44). Yet it is this demolition of monuments, this assault on what Rossi calls "the Locus" ("a relationship between a [. . .] specific location and the buildings that are in it" 103), this demonstration of the materiality of civic space that allows the characters to reawaken to the transformative potential of community: "It was the route we usually took to the viaduct, but since blight had been declared we were trying to see our surroundings from a new perspective" (45). Awakening to "new perspectives" as a result of civic "improvement" Dybek's characters cast off a determinate subjectivity and realize the action of the collective in the determination of civic reality. When the characters go to the viaduct off Douglas Park and begin improvising a "blues" by "slamming an aerial or board or chain off the girders, making the echoes collide and ring [. . .] clonk[ing] empty bottles and beer cans [. . .] shouting and screaming like [. . .] Howlin' Wolf" (48) they are joined by "a train [. . .] booming overhead like part of the song" (48)and by "a gang of black kids" at the other end of the viaduct who "stood harmonizing from bass through falsetto just like the Coasters, so sweetly that though at first [the characters] tried outshouting them, [they] finally shut up and listened, except for Pepper keeping the beat" (48). The fragments of the city are used to enable collectivity, to remember what the city is for. The attempt of civic authority to wrest memory from its inhabitants by making it impermanent, fragmentary, demolished, is precisely what restores agency by giving way to a subjectivity that is the scene of salvage. In this way communities become aware of their ability to define landscape, to alter "perspective" and take possession of space, to regard ethnicity as a common instrument, as if out of material destruction it might be possible to make of memory something more powerful than memorization, defying institutional permanence—civic or ethnic—for a community that is elastic, responsive, aware of its relationships with and within the spaces it inhabits.

IntroductionThe common origin of the adjective “corporeal” and the noun “corpse” in the Latin root corpus points to the value of mortuary practices for investigating how the human body is objectified. In post-mortem rituals, the body—formerly the manipulator of objects—becomes itself the object that is manipulated. Thus, these funerary rituals provide a type of double reflexivity, where the object and subject of manipulation can be used to reciprocally illuminate one another. To this extent, any consideration of corporeality can only benefit from a discussion of how the body is objectified through mortuary practices. This paper offers just such a discussion with respect to a selection of two contrasting mortuary practices, in the context of the prehistoric past and the Classical Era respectively. At the most general level, we are motivated by the same intellectual impulse that has stimulated expositions on corporeality, materiality, and incarnation in areas like phenomenology (Merleau-Ponty 77–234), Marxism (Adorno 112–119), gender studies (Grosz vii–xvi), history (Laqueur 193–244), and theology (Henry 33–53). That is to say, our goal is to show that the body, far from being a transparent frame through which we encounter the world, is in fact a locus where historical, social, cultural, and psychological forces intersect. On this view, “the body vanishes as a biological entity and becomes an infinitely malleable and highly unstable culturally constructed product” (Shilling 78). However, for all that the cited paradigms offer culturally situated appreciations of corporeality; our particular intellectual framework will be provided by cognitive science. Two reasons impel us towards this methodological choice.In the first instance, the study of ritual has, after several decades of stagnation, been rewarded—even revolutionised—by the application of insights from the new sciences of the mind (Whitehouse 1–12; McCauley and Lawson 1–37). Thus, there are good reasons to think that ritual treatments of the body will refract historical and social forces through empirically attested tendencies in human cognition. In the present connection, this means that knowledge of these tendencies will reward any attempt to theorise the objectification of the body in mortuary rituals.In the second instance, because beliefs concerning the afterlife can never be definitively judged to be true or false, they give free expression to tendencies in cognition that are otherwise constrained by the need to reflect external realities accurately. To this extent, they grant direct access to the intuitive ideas and biases that shape how we think about the world. Already, this idea has been exploited to good effect in areas like the cognitive anthropology of religion, which explores how counterfactual beings like ghosts, spirits, and gods conform to (and deviate from) pre-reflective cognitive patterns (Atran 83–112; Barrett and Keil 219–224; Barrett and Reed 252–255; Boyer 876–886). Necessarily, this implies that targeting post-mortem treatments of the body will offer unmediated access to some of the conceptual schemes that inform thinking about human corporeality.At a more detailed level, the specific methodology we propose to use will be provided by conceptual blending theory—a framework developed by Gilles Fauconnier, Mark Turner, and others to describe how structures from different areas of experience are creatively blended to form a new conceptual frame. In this system, a generic space provides the ground for coordinating two or more input spaces into a blended space that synthesises them into a single output. Here this would entail using natural or technological processes to structure mortuary practices in a way that satisfies various psychological needs.Take, for instance, W.B. Yeats’s famous claim that “Too long a sacrifice / Can make a stone of the heart” (“Easter 1916” in Yeats 57-8). Here, the poet exploits a generic space—that of everyday objects and the effort involved in manipulating them—to coordinate an organic input from that taxonomy (the heart) with an inorganic input (a stone) to create the blended idea that too energetic a pursuit of an abstract ideal turns a person into an unfeeling object (the heart-as-stone). Although this particular example corresponds to a familiar rhetorical figure (the metaphor), the value of conceptual blending theory is that it cuts across distinctions of genre, media, language, and discourse level to provide a versatile framework for expressing how one area of human experience is related to another.As indicated, we will exploit this versatility to investigate two ways of objectifying the body through the examination of two contrasting mortuary practices—cremation and inhumation—against different cultural horizons. The first of these is the conceptualisation of the body as an object of a technical process, where the post-mortem cremation of the corpse is analogically correlated with the metallurgical refining of ore into base metal. Our area of focus here will be Bronze Age cremation practices. The second conceptual scheme we will investigate focuses on treatments of the body as a vegetable object; here, the relevant analogy likens the inhumation of the corpse to the planting of a seed in the soil from which future growth will come. This discussion will centre on the Classical Era. Burning: The Body as Manufactured ObjectThe Early and Middle Bronze Age in Western Europe (2500-1200 BCE) represented a period of change in funerary practices relative to the preceding Neolithic, exemplified by a move away from the use of Megalithic monuments, a proliferation of grave goods, and an increase in the use of cremation (Barrett 38-9; Cooney and Grogan 105-121; Brück, Material Metaphors 308; Waddell, Bronze Age 141-149). Moreover, the Western European Bronze Age is characterised by a shift away from communal burial towards single interment (Barrett 32; Bradley 158-168). Equally, the Bronze Age in Western Europe provides us with evidence of an increased use of cist and pit cremation burials concentrated in low-lying areas (Woodman 254; Waddell, Prehistoric 16; Cooney and Grogan 105-121; Bettencourt 103). This greater preference for lower-lying location appears to reflect a distinctive change in comparison to the distribution patterns of the Neolithic burials; these are often located on prominent, visible aspects of a landscape (Cooney and Grogan 53-61). These new Bronze Age burial practices appear to reflect a distancing in relation to the territories of the “old ancestors” typified by Megalithic monuments (Bettencourt 101-103). Crucially, the Bronze Age archaeological record provides us with evidence that indicates that cremation was becoming the dominant form of deposition of human remains throughout Central and Western Europe (Sørensen and Rebay 59-60).The activities associated with Bronze Age cremations such as the burning of the body and the fragmentation of the remains have often been considered as corporeal equivalents (or expressions) of the activities involved in metal (bronze) production (Brück, Death 84-86; Sørensen and Rebay 60–1; Rebay-Salisbury, Cremations 66-67). There are unequivocal similarities between the practices of cremation and contemporary bronze production technologies—particularly as both processes involve the transformation of material through the application of fire at temperatures between 700 ºC to 1000 ºC (Musgrove 272-276; Walker et al. 132; de Becdelievre et al. 222-223).We assert that the technologies that define the European Bronze Age—those involved in alloying copper and tin to produce bronze—offered a new conceptual frame that enabled the body to be objectified in new ways. The fundamental idea explored here is that the displacement of inhumation by cremation in the European Bronze Age was motivated by a cognitive shift, where new smelting technologies provided novel conceptual metaphors for thinking about age-old problems concerning human mortality and post-mortem survival. The increased use of cremation in the European Bronze Age contrasts with the archaeological record of the Near Eastern—where, despite the earlier emergence of metallurgy (3300–3000 BCE), we do not see a notable proliferation in the use of cremation in this region. Thus, mortuary practices (i.e. cremation) provide us with an insight into how Western European Bronze Age cultures mediated the body through changes in technological objects and processes.In the terminology of conceptual blending, the generic space in question centres on the technical manipulation of the material world. The first input space is associated with the anxiety attending mortality—specifically, the cessation of personal identity and the extinction of interpersonal relationships. The second input space represents the technical knowledge associated with bronze production; in particular, the extraction of ore from source material and its mixing with other metals to form an alloy. The blended space coordinates these inputs to objectify the human body as an object that is ritually transformed into a new but more durable substance via the cremation process. In this contention we use the archaeological record to draw a conceptual parallel between the emergence of bronze production technology—centring on transition of naturally occurring material to a new subsistence (bronze)—and the transitional nature of the cremation process.In this theoretical framework, treating the body as a mixture of substances that can be reduced to its constituents and transformed through technologies of cremation enabled Western European Bronze Age society to intervene in the natural process of putrefaction and transform the organic matter into something more permanent. This transformative aspect of the cremation is seen in the evidence we have for secondary burial practices involving the curation and circulation of cremated bones of deceased members of a group (Brück, Death 87-93). This evidence allows us to assert that cremated human remains and objects were considered products of the same transformation into a more permanent state via burning, fragmentation, dispersal, and curation. Sofaer (62-69) states that the living body is regarded as a person, but as soon as the transition to death is made, the body becomes an object; this is an “ontological shift in the perception of the body that assumes a sudden change in its qualities” (62).Moreover, some authors have proposed that the exchange of fragmented human remains was central to mortuary practices and was central in establishing and maintaining social relations (Brück, Death 76-88). It is suggested that in the Early Bronze Age the perceptions of the human body mirrored the perceptions of objects associated with the arrival of the new bronze technology (Brück, Death 88-92). This idea is more pronounced if we consider the emergence of bronze technology as the beginning of a period of capital intensification of natural resources. Through this connection, the Bronze Age can be regarded as the point at which a particular natural resource—in this case, copper—went through myriad intensive manufacturing stages, which are still present today (intensive extraction, production/manufacturing, and distribution). Unlike stone tool production, bronze production had the addition of fire as the explicit method of transformation (Brück, Death 88-92). Thus, such views maintain that the transition achieved by cremation—i.e. reducing the human remains to objects or tokens that could be exchanged and curated relatively soon after the death of the individual—is equivalent to the framework of commodification connected with bronze production.A sample of cremated remains from Castlehyde in County Cork, Ireland, provides us with an example of a Bronze Age cremation burial in a Western European context (McCarthy). This is chosen because it is a typical example of a Bronze Age cremation burial in the context of Western Europe; also, one of the authors (MG) has first-hand experience in the analysis of its associated remains. The Castlehyde cremation burial consisted of a rectangular, stone-lined cist (McCarthy). The cist contained cremated, calcined human remains, with the fragments generally ranging from a greyish white to white in colour; this indicates that the bones were subject to a temperature range of 700-900ºC. The organic content of bone was destroyed during the cremation process, leaving only the inorganic matrix (brittle bone which is, often, described as metallic in consistency—e.g. Gejvall 470-475). There is evidence that remains may have been circulated in a manner akin to valuable metal objects. First of all, the absence of long bones indicates that there may have been a practice of removing salient remains as curatable records of ancestral ties. Secondly, remains show traces of metal staining from objects that are no longer extant, which suggests that graves were subject to secondary burial practices involving the removal of metal objects and/or human bone. To this extent, we can discern that human remains were being processed, curated, and circulated in a similar manner to metal objects.Thus, there are remarkable similarities between the treatment of the human body in cremation and bronze metal production technologies in the European Bronze Age. On the one hand, the parallel between smelting and cremation allowed death to be understood as a process of transformation in which the individual was removed from processes of organic decay. On the other hand, the circulation of the transformed remains conferred a type of post-mortem survival on the deceased. In this way, cremation practices may have enabled Bronze Age society to symbolically overcome the existential anxiety concerning the loss of personhood and the breaking of human relationships through death. In relation to the former point, the resurgence of cremation in nineteenth century Europe provides us with an example of how the disposal of a human body can be contextualised in relation to socio-technological advancements. The (re)emergence of cremation in this period reflects the post-Enlightenment shift from an understanding of the world through religious beliefs to the use of rational, scientific approaches to examine the natural world, including the human body (and death). The controlled use of fire in the cremation process, as well as the architecture of crematories, reflected the industrial context of the period (Rebay-Salisbury, Inhumation 16).With respect to the circulation of cremated remains, Smith suggests that Early Medieval Christian relics of individual bones or bone fragments reflect a reconceptualised continuation of pre-Christian practices (beginning in Christian areas of the Roman Empire). In this context, it is claimed, firstly, that the curation of bone relics and the use of mobile bone relics of important, saintly individuals provided an embodied connection between the sacred sphere and the earthly world; and secondly, that the use of individual bones or fragments of bone made the Christian message something portable, which could be used to reinforce individual or collective adherence to Christianity (Smith 143-167). Using the example of the Christian bone relics, we can thus propose that the curation and circulation of Bronze Age cremated material may have served a role similar to tools for focusing religiously oriented cognition. Burying: The Body as a Vegetable ObjectGiven that the designation “the Classical Era” nominates the entirety of the Graeco-Roman world (including the Near East and North Africa) from about 800 BCE to 600 CE, there were obviously no mortuary practices common to all cultures. Nevertheless, in both classical Greece and Rome, we have examples of periods when either cremation or inhumation was the principal funerary custom (Rebay-Salisbury, Inhumation 19-21).For instance, the ancient Homeric texts inform us that the ancient Greeks believed that “the spirit of the departed was sentient and still in the world of the living as long as the flesh was in existence […] and would rather have the body devoured by purifying fire than by dogs or worms” (Mylonas 484). However, the primary sources and archaeological record indicate that cremation practices declined in Athens circa 400 BCE (Rebay-Salisbury, Inhumation 20). With respect to the Roman Empire, scholarly opinion argues that inhumation was the dominant funerary rite in the eastern part of the Empire (Rebay-Salisbury, Inhumation 17-21; Morris 52). Complementing this, the archaeological and historical record indicates that inhumation became the primary rite throughout the Roman Empire in the first century CE. Inhumation was considered to be an essential rite in the context of an emerging belief that a peaceful afterlife was reflected by a peaceful burial in which bodily integrity was maintained (Rebay-Salisbury, Inhumation 19-21; Morris 52; Toynbee 41). The question that this poses is how these beliefs were framed in the broader discourses of Classical culture.In this regard, our claim is that the growth in inhumation was driven (at least in part) by the spread of a conceptual scheme, implicit in Greek fertility myths that objectify the body as a seed. The conceptual logic here is that the post-mortem continuation of personal identity is (symbolically) achieved by objectifying the body as a vegetable object that will re-grow from its own physical remains. Although the dominant metaphor here is vegetable, there is no doubt that the motivating concern of this mythological fabulation is human mortality. As Jon Davies notes, “the myths of Hades, Persephone and Demeter, of Orpheus and Eurydice, of Adonis and Aphrodite, of Selene and Endymion, of Herakles and Dionysus, are myths of death and rebirth, of journeys into and out of the underworld, of transactions and transformations between gods and humans” (128). Thus, such myths reveal important patterns in how the post-mortem fate of the body was conceptualised.In the terminology of mental mapping, the generic space relevant to inhumation contains knowledge pertaining to folk biology—specifically, pre-theoretical ideas concerning regeneration, survival, and mortality. The first input space attaches to human mortality; it departs from the anxiety associated with the seeming cessation of personal identity and dissolution of kin relationships subsequent to death. The second input space is the subset of knowledge concerning vegetable life, and how the immersion of seeds in the soil produces a new generation of plants with the passage of time. The blended space combines the two input spaces by way of the funerary script, which involves depositing the body in the soil with a view to securing its eventual rebirth by analogy with the sprouting of a planted seed.As indicated, the most important illustration of this conceptual pattern can be found in the fertility myths of ancient Greece. The Homeric Hymns, in particular, provide a number of narratives that trace out correspondences between vegetation cycles, human mortality, and inhumation, which inform ritual practice (Frazer 223–404; Carney 355–65; Sowa 121–44). The Homeric Hymn to Demeter, for instance, charts how Persephone is abducted by Hades, god of the dead, and taken to his underground kingdom. While searching for her missing daughter, Demeter, goddess of fertility, neglects the earth, causing widespread devastation. Matters are resolved when Zeus intervenes to restore Persephone to Demeter. However, having ingested part of Hades’s kingdom (a pomegranate seed), Persephone is obliged to spend half the year below ground with her captor and the other half above ground with her mother.The objectification of Persephone as both a seed and a corpse in this narrative is clearly signalled by her seasonal inhumation in Hades’ chthonic realm, which is at once both the soil and the grave. And, just as the planting of seeds in autumn ensures rebirth in spring, Persephone’s seasonal passage from the Kingdom of the Dead nominates the individual human life as just one season in an endless cycle of death and rebirth. A further signifying element is added by the ingestion of the pomegranate seed. This is evocative of her being inseminated by Hades; thus, the coordination of vegetation cycles with life and death is correlated with secondary transition—that from childhood to adulthood (Kerényi 119–183).In the examples given, we can see how the Homeric Hymn objectifies both the mortal and sexual destiny of the body in terms of thresholds derived from the vegetable world. Moreover, this mapping is not merely an intellectual exercise. Its emotional and social appeal is visible in the fact that the Eleusinian mysteries—which offered the ritual homologue to the Homeric Hymn to Demeter—persisted from the Mycenaean period to 396 CE, one of the longest recorded durations for any ritual (Ferguson 254–9; Cosmopoulos 1–24). In sum, then, classical myth provided a precedent for treating the body as a vegetable object—most often, a seed—that would, in turn, have driven the move towards inhumation as an important mortuary practice. The result is to create a ritual form that makes key aspects of human experience intelligible by connecting them with cyclical processes like the seasons of the year, the harvesting of crops, and the intergenerational oscillation between the roles of parent and child. Indeed, this pattern remains visible in the germination metaphors and burial practices of contemporary religions such as Christianity, which draw heavily on the symbolism associated with mystery cults like that at Eleusis (Nock 177–213).ConclusionWe acknowledge that our examples offer a limited reflection of the ethnographic and archaeological data, and that they need to be expanded to a much greater degree if they are to be more than merely suggestive. Nevertheless, suggestiveness has its value, too, and we submit that the speculations explored here may well offer a useful starting point for a larger survey. In particular, they showcase how a recurring existential anxiety concerning death—involving the fear of loss of personal identity and kinship relations—is addressed by different ways of objectifying the body. Given that the body is not reducible to the objects with which it is identified, these objectifications can never be entirely successful in negotiating the boundary between life and death. In the words of Jon Davies, “there is simply no let-up in the efforts by human beings to transcend this boundary, no matter how poignantly each failure seemed to reinforce it” (128). For this reason, we can expect that the record will be replete with conceptual and cognitive schemes that mediate the experience of death.At a more general level, it should also be clear that our understanding of human corporeality is rewarded by the study of mortuary practices. 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Image 1: View from Geodha Sgoilt towards the sea stacks, Uig, Isle of Lewis. Image credit: George Jaramillo.IntroductionOver the cliffs of Mangerstadh on the west coast of the Isle of Lewis, is a small plot of land called Geodha Sgoilt that overlooks the North Atlantic Ocean (Image 1). On the site is a small dirt gravel road and the remnants of a World War II listening station. Below, sea stacks rise from the waters, orange and green cliff sides stand in defiance to the crashing waves. An older gentleman began to tell me of what he believed could be located here on the site. A place where visitors could learn of the wonders of St Kilda that contained all types of new storytelling technologies to inspire them. He pointed above the ruined buildings, mentioning that a new road for the visitors’ vehicles and coaches would be built. With his explanations, you could almost imagine such a place on these cliffs. Yet, before that new idea could even be built, this gentleman and his group of locals and incomers had to convince themselves and others that this new heritage centre was something desired, necessary and inevitable in the development of the Western Isles.This article explores the developing relationships that come about through design innovation with community organisations. This was done through a partnership between an academic institution and a non-profit heritage community group as part of growing study in how higher education design research can play an active partner in community group development. It argues for the use of design thinking and innovation in improving strategy and organisational processes within non-profit organisations. In this case, it looks at what role it can play in building and enabling organisational confidence in its mission, as well as, building “beyond the museum”. The new approach to this unique relationship casts new light towards working with complexities and strategies rather than trying to resolve issues from the outset of a project. These enabling relationships are divided into three sections of this paper: First it explores the context of the island community group and “building” heritage, followed by a brief history of St Kilda and its current status, and designation as a World Heritage site. Second, it seeks the value of developing strategy and the introduction of the Institute of Design Innovation (INDI). This is followed by a discussion of the six-month relationship and work that was done that elucidates various methods used and ending with its outcomes. The third section reflects upon the impacts at the relationship building between the two groups with some final thoughts on the partnership, where it can lead, and how this can represent new ways of working together within community groups. Building HeritageCurrent community research in Scotland has shown struggles in understanding issues within community capability and development (Barker 11; Cave 20; Jacuniak-Suda, and Mose 23) though most focus on the land tenure and energy (McMorran 21) and not heritage groups. The need to maintain “resilient” (Steiner 17) communities has shown that economic resilience is of primary importance for these rural communities. Heritage as economic regenerator has had a long history in the United Kingdom. Some of these like the regeneration of Wirksworth in the Peak District (Gordon 20) have had great economic results with populations growing, as well as, development in the arts and design. These changes, though positive, have also adversely impacted the local community by estranging and forcing lower income townspeople to move away due to higher property values and lack of work. Furthermore, current trends in heritage tourism have managed to turn many rural regions into places of historic consumption (Ronström 7) termed “heritagisation” (Edensor 35). There is thus a need for critical reflection within a variety of heritage organisations with the increase in heritage tourism.In particular, existing island heritage organisations face a variety of issues that they focus too much on the artefactual or are too focused to strive for anything beyond the remit of their particular heritage (Jacuniak-Suda, and Mose 33; Ronström 4). Though many factors including funding, space, volunteerism and community capability affect the way these groups function they have commonalities that include organisational methods, volunteer fatigue, and limited interest from community groups. It is within this context that the communities of the Outer Hebrides. Currently, projects within the Highlands and islands focus on particular “grassroots” development (Cave 26; Robertson 994) searching for innovative ways to attract, maintain, and sustain healthy levels of heritage and development—one such group is Ionad Hiort. Ionad Hiort Ionad Hiort is a community non-profit organisation founded in 2010 to assist in the development of a new type of heritage centre in the community of Uig on the Isle of Lewis (“Proposal-Ionad Hiort”). As stated in their website, the group strives to develop a centre on the history and contemporary views of St Kilda, as well as, encouraging a much-needed year-round economic impetus for the region. The development of the group and the idea of a heritage centre came about through the creation of the St Kilda Opera, a £1.5 million, five-country project held in 2007, led by Scotland’s Gaelic Arts agency, Proiseact nan Ealan (Mckenzie). This opera, inspired by the cliffs, people, and history of St Kilda used creative techniques to unite five countries in a live performance with cliff aerobatics and Gaelic singing to present the island narrative. From this initial interest, a commission from the Western Isles council (2010), developed by suggestions and commentary from earlier reports (Jura Report 2009; Rebanks 2009) encouraged a fiercely contentious competition, which saw Ionad Hiort receive the right to develop a remote-access heritage centre about the St Kilda archipelago (Maclean). In 2013, the group received a plot of land from the local laird for the establishment of the centre (Urquhart) thereby bringing it closer to its goal of a heritage centre, but before moving onto this notion of remote-heritage, a brief history is needed on the archipelago. Image 2: Location map of Mangerstadh on the Isle of Lewis and St Kilda to the west, with inset of Scotland. Image credit: © Crown Copyright and Database Right (2017). Ordnance Survey (Digimap Licence).St KildaSt Kilda is an archipelago about 80 kilometres off the coast of the Outer Hebrides in the North Atlantic (Image 2). Over 2000 years of habitation show an entanglement between humans and nature including harsh weather, limited resources, but a tenacity and growth to develop a way of living upon a small section of land in the middle of the Atlantic. St Kilda has maintained a tenuous relationship between the sea, the cliffs and the people who have lived within its territory (Geddes, and Gannon 18). Over a period of three centuries beginning in the eighteenth century an outside influence on the island begin to play a major role, with the loss of a large portion of its small (180) population. This population would later decrease to 100 and finally to 34 in 1930, when it was decided to evacuate the final members of the village in what could best be called a forced eviction.Since the evacuation, the island has maintained an important military presence as a listening station during the Second World War and in its modern form a radar station as part of the Hebridean Artillery (Rocket) Range (Geddes 14). The islands in the last thirty years have seen an increase in tourism with the ownership of the island by the National Trust of Scotland. The UNESCO World Heritage Organisation (UNESCO), who designated St Kilda in 1986 and 2004 as having outstanding universal value, has seen its role evolve from not just protecting (or conserving) world heritage sites, but to strategically understand sustainable tourism of its sites (“St Kilda”). In 2012, UNESCO selected St Kilda as a case study for remote access heritage conservation and interpretation (Hebrides News Today; UNESCO 15). This was partly due to the efforts of 3D laser scanning of the islands by a collaboration between The Glasgow School of Art and Historic Environment Scotland called the Centre for Digital Documentation and Visualisation (CDDV) in 2009.The idea of a remote access heritage is an important aspect as to what Ionad Hiort could do with creating a centre at their site away from St Kilda. Remote access heritage is useful in allowing for sites and monuments to be conserved and monitored “from afar”. It allows for 3D visualisations of sites and provides new creative engagements with a variety of different places (Remondino, and Rizzi 86), however, Ionad Hiort was not yet at a point to even imagine how to use the remote access technology. They first needed a strategy and direction, as after many years of moving towards recognition of proposing the centre at their site in Uig, they had lost a bit of that initial drive. This is where INDI was asked to assist by the Highlands and Islands Enterprise, the regional development organisation for most of rural Scotland. Building ConfidenceINDI is a research institute at The Glasgow School of Art. It is a distributed, creative collective of researchers, lecturers and students specialising in design innovation, where design innovation means enabling creative capabilities within communities, groups and individuals. Together, they address complex issues through new design practices and bespoke community engagement to co-produce “preferable futures” (Henchley 25). Preferable futures are a type of future casting that seeks to strive not just for the probable or possible future of a place or idea, but for the most preferred and collectively reached option for a society (McAra-McWilliam 9). INDI researches the design processes that are needed to co-create contexts in which people can flourish: at work, in organisations and businesses, as well as, in public services and government. The task of innovation as an interactive process is an example of the design process. Innovation is defined as “a co-creation process within social and technological networks in which actors integrate their resources to create mutual value” (Russo‐Spena, and Mele 528). Therefore, innovation works outside of standard consultancy practices; rather it engenders a sense of mutual co-created practices that strive to resolve particular problems. Examples include the work that has looked at creating cultures of innovation within small and medium-sized enterprises (Lockwood 4) where the design process was used to alter organisational support (Image 3). These enterprises tend to emulate larger firms and corporations and though useful in places where economies of scale are present, smaller business need adaptable, resilient and integrated networks of innovation within their organisational models. In this way, innovation functioned as a catalyst for altering the existing organisational methods. These innovations are thus a useful alternative to existing means of approaching problems and building resilience within any organisation. Therefore, these ideas of innovation could be transferred and play a role in enabling new ways of approaching non-profit organisational structures, particularly those within heritage. Image 3: Design Council Double Diamond model of the design process. Image credit: Lockwood.Developing the WorkIonad Hiort with INDI’s assistance has worked together to develop a heritage centre that tries to towards a new definition of heritage and identity through this island centre. Much of this work has been done through local community investigations revolving around workshops and one-on-one talks where narratives and ideas are held in “negative capability” (McAra-McWilliam 2) to seek many alternatives that would be able to work for the community. The initial aims of the partnership were to assist the Uig community realise the potential of the St Kilda Centre. Primarily, it would assist in enabling the capabilities of two themes. The first would be, strategy, for Ionad Hiort’s existing multi-page mission brief. The second would be storytelling the narrative of St Kilda as a complex and entangled, however, its common views are limited to the ‘fall from grace’ or ‘noble savage’ story (Macdonald 168). Over the course of six months, the relationship involved two workshops and three site visits of varying degrees of interaction. An initial gathering had InDI staff meet members of Ionad Hiort to introduce members to each other. Afterwards, INDI ran two workshops over two months in Uig to understand, reflect and challenge Ionad Hiort’s focus on what the group desired. The first workshop focused on the group’s strategy statement. In a relaxed and facilitated space in the Uig Community Hall, the groups used pens, markers, and self-adhesive notes to engage in an open dialogue about the group’s desires. This session included reflecting on what their heritage centre could look like, as well as what their strategy needed to get there. These resulted in a series of drawings of their ‘preferred’ centre, with some ideas showing a centre sitting over the edge of the cliffs or one that had the centre be an integral component of the community. In discussing that session, one of members of the group recalled:I remember his [one of INDI’s staff] interrogation of the project was actually pretty – initially – fairly brutal, right? The first formal session we had talking about strategy and so on. To the extent that I think it would be fair to say he pissed everybody off, right? So much so that he actually prompted us to come back with some fairly hard hitting ripostes, which, after a moment’s silence he then said, ‘That’s it, you’ve convinced me’, and at that point we kind of realised that that’s what he’d been trying to do; he’d been trying to really push us to go further in our articulation of what we were doing and … why we were doing it in this particular way than we had done before. (Participant A, 2016).The group through this session found out that their strategy could be refined into a short mission statement giving a clear focus as to what they wanted and how they wanted to go about doing it. In the end, drawings, charts, stories (Image 4) were drawn to reflect on what the community had discussed. These artefacts became a key role-player in the following months of the development of the group. Image 4: View of group working through their strategy workshop session. Image credit: Fergus Fullarton-Pegg (2014). The second set of workshops and visits involved informal discussion with individual members of the group and community. This included a visit to St Kilda with members from INDI, Ionad Hiort and the Digital Design Studio, which allowed for everyone to understand the immensity of the project and its significance to World Heritage values. The initial aims thus evolved into understanding the context of self-governance for distributed communities and how to develop the infrastructure of development. As discussed earlier, existing development processes are useful, though limited to only particular types of projects, and as exemplified in the Highlands and Islands Enterprise and Western Isles Council commission, it tends to put communities against each other for limited pots of money. This existing system can be innovated upon by becoming creative liaisons, sharing and co-creating from existing studies to help develop more effective processes for the future of Ionad Hiort and their ‘preferable future’. Building RelationshipsWhat the relationship with GSA has done, as a dialogue with the team of people that have been involved, has been to consolidate and clarify our own thinking and to get us to question our own thinking across several different aspects of the whole project. (Participant A, 2016)As the quote states, the main notion of using design thinking has allowed Ionad Hiort to question their thinking and challenge preconceptions of what a “heritage centre” is, by being a critical sounding board that is different from what is provided by consultants and other stakeholders. Prior to meeting INDI, Ionad Hiort may have been able to reach their goal of a strategy, however, it would have taken a few more years. The work, which involved structured and unstructured workshops, meetings, planning events, and gatherings, gave them a structured focus to move ahead with their prospectus planning and bidding. INDI enabled the compression and focus of their strategy making and mission strategy statement over the course of six months into a one-page statement that gave direction to the group and provided the impetus for the development of the prospectus briefs. Furthermore, INDI contributed a sense of contemporary content to the historic story, as well as, enable the community to see that this centre would not just become another gallery with café. The most important outcome has been an effective measure in building relationships in the Outer Hebrides, which shows the changing roles between academic and third sector partnerships. Two key points can be deemed from these developing relationships: The first has been to build a research infrastructure in and across the region that engages with local communities about working with the GSA, including groups in North Uist, Barra and South Uist. Of note is a comment made by one of the participants saying: “It’s exciting now, there’s a buzz about it and getting you [INDI] involved, adding a dimension—we’ve got people who have got an artistic bent here but I think your enthusiasm, your skills, very much complement what we’ve got here.” (Participant B, 2016). Second, the academic/non-profit partnership has encouraged younger people to work and study in the area through a developing programme of student research activity. This includes placing taught masters students with local community members on the South Uist, as well as, PhD research being done on Stornoway. These two outcomes then have given rise to interest in not only how heritage is re-developed in a community, but also, encourages future interest, by staff and students to continue the debate and fashion further developments in the region (GSAmediacentre). Today, the cliffs of Mangerstadh continue to receive the pounding of waves, the blowing wind and the ever-present rain on its rocky granite surface. The iterative stages of work that the two groups have done showcase the way that simple actions can carve, change and evolve into innovative outcomes. The research outcomes show that through this new approach to working with communities we move beyond the consultant and towards an ability of generating a preferable future for the community. In this way, the work that has been created together showcases a case study for further island community development. We do not know what the future holds for the group, but with continued support and maintaining an open mind to creative opportunities we will see that the community will develop a space that moves “beyond the museum”. AcknowledgementsThe author would like to thank Ionad Hiort and all the residents of Uig on the Isle of Lewis for their assistance and participation in this partnership. For more information on their work please visit http://www.ionadhiort.org/. The author also thanks the Highlands and Islands Enterprise for financial support in the research and development of the project. Finally, the author thanks the two reviewers who provided critical commentary and critiques to improve this paper. ReferencesBarker, Adam. “Capacity Building for Sustainability: Towards Community Development in Coastal Scotland.” Journal of Environmental Management 75.1 (2005): 11-19. Canavan, Brendan. “Tourism Culture: Nexus, Characteristics, Context and Sustainability.” Tourism Management 53 (2016): 229-43. ———. “The Extent and Role of Domestic Tourism in a Small Island: The Case of the Isle of Man.” Journal of Travel Research 52.3 (2012): 340-52. Cape, Ruth. Exploring Growth and Empowerment of Communities in the Western Isles. Stornoway, 2013. Bullen, Elizabeth, Simon Robb, and Jane Kenway. “‘Creative Destruction’: Knowledge Economy Policy and the Future of the Arts and Humanities in the Academy.” Journal of Education Policy 19.1 (2004): 3–22. Brown, Tim, and Jocelyn Wyatt. “Design Thinking for Social Innovation.” Stanford Social Innovation Review Winter (2010): 30-35. <https://ssir.org/articles/entry/design_thinking_for_social_innovation>.Briscoe, Gerard, and Mark Plumbley. 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Jacuniak-Suda, Marta, and Ingo Mose. “Social Enterprises in the Western Isles (Scotland) – Drivers of Sustainable Rural Development ?” Europa Regional 19.2011.2 (2014): 23-40. Lockwood, Joseph, Madeline Smith, and Irene McAra-McWilliam. “Work-Well: Creating a Culture of Innovation through Design.” International Design Management Research Conference, Boston, 2012. 1-11. McAra-McWilliam, Irene. “Impossible Things? Negative Capability and the Creative Imagination.” Creativity or Conformity Conference, Cardiff, 2007. 1-8. <https://www.academia.edu/1246770/Impossible_things_Negative_Capability>.McKenzie, Steven. "Opera Celebrates St Kilda History." BBC News 23 Jun. 2007. 6 Apr. 2017 <http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/scotland/highlands_and_islands/6763371.stm>.McMorran, Rob, and Alister Scott. “Community Landownership: Rediscovering the Road to Sustainability.” Lairds: Scottish Perspectives on Upland Management (2013): 20-31. 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Research and Analysis of the Socio-Economic Impact Potential of UNESCO World Heritage Site Status.” 2009. <http://icomos.fa.utl.pt/documentos/2009/WHSTheEconomicGainFinalReport.pdf>.Robertson, Iain James McPherson. “Hardscrabble Heritage: The Ruined Blackhouse and Crofting Landscape as Heritage from Below.” Landscape Research 40.8 (2015): 993–1009. Ronström, Owe. “Heritage Production in the Island of Gotland.” The International Journal of Research into Island Cultures 2.2 (2008): 1-18. Russo‐Spena, Tiziana, and Cristina Mele. “‘Five Co‐s’ in Innovating: A Practice‐Based View.” Ed. Evert Gummesson. Journal of Service Management 23.4 (2012): 527-53. “St Kilda.” World Heritage Centre. UNESCO. 6 Apr. 2017 <www.whc.unesco.org/en/list/387/>.Steiner, Artur, and Marianna Markantoni. “Unpacking Community Resilience through Capacity for Change.” Community Development Journal 49.3 (2014): 407-25.Shortall, S. “Rural Development in Practice: Issues Arising in Scotland and Northern Ireland.” Community Development Journal 36.2 (2001): 122-33. UNESCO. Using Remote Access Technologies: Lessons Learnt from the Remote Access to World Heritage Sites – St Kilda to Uluru Conference. London, 2012. Urquhart, Frank. “St Kilda Visitor Centre in Hebrides Step Closer.” People Places, The Scotsman 20 Nov. 2013. 6 Apr. 2017 <www.scotsman.com/heritage/people-places/st-kilda-visitor-centre-in-hebrides-step-closer-1-3195287>. Watson, Amy. “Plans for St Kilda Centre at Remote World Heritage Site.” People Places, The Scotsman 16 Aug. 2016. 6 Apr. 2017 <www.scotsman.com/heritage/people-places/plans-for-st-kilda-centre-at-remote-world-heritage-site-1-4204606>.

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