Journal articles on the topic 'IoT has become a popular term in technology industries'

<em>Industry 4.0 has become a popular term in recent years which is a great initiative introduced by the German government in 2011. The objective of this fourth industrial revolution is to transform industrial manufacturing through information and technology and exploitation of the advantages of newly invented technologies and concepts. Thus an Industry production system is more flexible as well as smart and enables industries to produce more customized products with high efficiency. The target of this study is to present and facilitate an understanding of Industry 4.0 concepts, its components and the investigation of challenges of implementing it in a developing country like Bangladesh. It has been found through survey that there are some factors that are working as barrier to implement Industry 4.0. Some of those factors are weak infrastructure, availability of cheap labor, costly installation of technologies, possible lack of government policy and supports and most importantly lack of knowledge. Finally, some solutions have been depicted to overcome these challenges. Also the benefits of implementing Industry 4.0 in Bangladesh have been described specially in garments sector which is one of the most valuable exporting sectors of Bangladesh.</em>

Present conceptual research paper based on technological education system in our Indian Music. Today, everyone enjoys the convenience of technological devices such as cell phones, computers, i-pads, i-pods, notebooks, and faxes etc. which allow us to communicate globally within seconds. However, internet is the most popular form of communication at present in society due to its ability to interact globally from any location. The internet has changed broadcasts media in a most intriguing way. It has enabled everyone to create produce and share ones opinions, music, videos, thoughts etc. Technology should, however, not become the master; it should rather serve as a servant. Formerly known as IIMP, Music Database covers a broad cross-section of music periodical sources, from the most scholarly studies to the latest trends, including classical music, pop and popular music, rock, rap and hip-hop, blues, jazz, traditional and folk music, world music, music equipment and technology, recording techniques and technology, and the music, radio, and music video industries. On-line Conferencing Systems, sometimes referred to as Electronic Meeting Systems (EMS), are Internet-based services offering a virtual environment for real-time remote meetings between geographically dispersed participants. EMS are part of the broader field of Collaborative Internet Systems that encompasses the use of computers and Web technologies to support coordination and cooperation of two or more people attempting to perform a task or solve a problem together. The musical communication is the process of imparting/interchanging of thoughts and opinions through various Medias e.g. textual, audio, video, images etc. Communication is a constant process thought our lives both professionally and personally. The most important part of the internet is that it has made all these mediums readily available twenty four hours as long as one has internet connection. It seems to be taking over broadcast media in term of popularity and effective communication. The present paper focused on the study of Role of Information and Communication Technology (ICT) in Indian Music and Role of Teacher with prime objectives are (i) To understand the concept of ICT and Music in Education. (ii) To discuss the Role of Teacher in ICT Music in Education. (iii) To discuss the Self-Learning Resources (SLR) related to Musical Education. The methodology of the research is a different type involving an interpretative, conversation, observation and study secondary sources, like books, articles, journals, thesis, university news, expert opinion, and websites, etc.

Issues of digital technology intensification during COVID-19 are becoming increasingly popular. The COVID-19 pandemic has given new impetus to efforts to provide ample connectivity and access to key digital services &ndash; from education to finance and health &ndash; to communities around the world. The purpose of the article is to identify problematic issues and identify key prerequisites for digital development in the context of the COVID-19 pandemic as a socio-economic aspect. The digitalization of all spheres of society today provides with the help of information and communication technologies a unique opportunity to combine intellectual potential, scientific developments, research results in the fight against the pandemic and solving major problems of world development. However, the problem of ensuring effective digital development in the world during the COVID-19 pandemic remains unresolved. One of the highlights of the current pandemic is the accelerated introduction of digital technologies in various industries. The development of this area speaks not only of the urgent need, but also of the created material base for the widespread use of digital technologies. The main trends associated with the accelerating transition to the digital economy: remote operation and use of communication technologies, the negative impact on some digital platforms, changing consumer habits. Most digital solutions are offered and supported by a small number of the largest platforms created in the United States or China. One of the most notable consequences of the COVID-19 crisis has been the widespread use of technological solutions to gather information on the spread of the virus and the physiological state of citizens. This has become possible due to cheaper and, consequently, widespread use of smartphones by citizens, which collect data on the lifestyle of their owners. During the crisis caused by the spread of COVID-19, there was a leap in the use of technologies to track social contacts. Artificial intelligence technologies are also widely used in the fight against coronavirus. In China, medical institutions use tomogram systems based on artificial intelligence, which allows you to quickly distinguish ordinary pneumonia from pneumonia caused by 2019-nCoV. Public transport in Chinese cities is equipped with intelligent thermometers and masked face recognition systems. Police officers in Shanghai and other Chinese cities were issued AR helmets (helmets using augmented reality technology), developed by Kuang-Chi Technology. Education is still not associated with a significant profit, at least compared to health care, where many new drugs and treatments are invented and produced. There are fears that investment in education may be insufficient to develop funds and resources to improve it. A phenomenally new phenomenon in the context of the COVID-19 pandemic has been the real use of digital opportunities to manage the masses of the population in megacities, to monitor and correct the behavior of specific individuals. Within society, digitalization can be a threat to the transformation of man from the subject of social relations to the object of rigid electronic digital management. A developed civil society capable of preventing this, which in the conditions of digitalization receives unprecedented opportunities to influence the government, business, and turn public opinion into a powerful tool for defending the interests of society. During the pandemic, the relocation of employees to remote work using ICTs gained unprecedented proportions and stimulated change in consumer behavior, and the duration of the pandemic launched a long-term process of introducing new ICT goods and services and the availability of key digital services from education to finance and health &ndash; for communities around the world.

The Internet of Things (IoT) has emerged as a transformative technology, connecting billions of devices and generating an unprecedented volume of data. This data, primarily time-stamped, poses unique challenges in storage, retrieval, and analysis. Time Series Databases (TSDBs) have become the cornerstone for managing this type of data, offering specialized capabilities such as high-throughput ingestion, efficient querying, and long-term trend analysis. These databases are critical for enabling real-time decision-making and predictive analytics across industries such as healthcare, energy, agriculture, and smart cities. This paper delves into the core features of TSDBs, their application in IoT ecosystems, and the evolving advancements that address scalability, security, and edge computing challenges. By examining both opportunities and challenges, this study provides insights into the future potential of TSDBs in driving IoT innovation.

Internet of Things (IoT) conception has become a popular trend among industries. Many have already adopted the technology and put it into practice. IoT can incentive and change the way people conduct business in the construction industry. The objective of the research is to figure out the impact factors that influence practitioners’ willingness to adopt IoT in Taiwan’s construction industry. The hypothesis was developed based on a comprehensive literature review and the concept of the Unified Theory of Acceptance and Use of Technology (UTUAT). The UTUAT framework and hypotheses developed included 5 main hypotheses, 6 aspects and 33 stems. A pilot study aimed at experienced practitioners in the industry was carried out before the full-scale survey to adjust the stems. The adjusted questionnaire including 31 stems belonging to 7 aspects was then distributed to practitioners. A total of 282 valid questionnaires distributed were collected and 6 types of analysis (descriptive statistics, reliability, validity, t-test, one-way of variance, and structural equation modelling). The findings including (1) anticipated benefits significantly affect the users’ willingness to adopt IoT; (2) anticipated efforts significantly affect the users’ willingness to adopt IoT; (3) societal expectations significantly affect the users’ willingness to adopt IoT.

Abstract Digital transformation is a term that has recently become more popular in all industries such as economics, financial fields, and engineering. The development of the Internet of Things, smart sensor systems, and cloud computing is the basis for forming effective solutions in construction monitoring from cyclic monitoring and post-processing to real-time monitoring and processing; from physical storage systems to virtual systems, and connecting every component in the project. This article presents a study and application of advanced devices including GNSS, acceleration sensors and IoT solutions in bridge construction monitoring. The research aims to apply smart devices and IoT to build real-time monitoring modules for bridge projects following the digital transformation trend. The study uses a GNSS N3 Comnav receiver with a sampling interval of 1Hz, an MPU 6050 acceleration sensor with a sampling frequency of 250 Hz, and an ESP Wi-Fi module. The result of the research is a real-time wireless monitoring system that operates effectively and economically and initially processes data with GNSS and high-frequency acceleration sensors.

&lt;abstract&gt; &lt;p&gt;Internet of Things (IoT) is a terminology used for a mixed connection of heterogeneous objects to the internet and to each other with the employment of recent technological and communication infrastructures. Its incorporation into engineering systems have gradually become very popular in recent times as it promises to transform and ease the life of end users. The use of IoT in smart energy systems (SES) facilitates an ample offer of variety of applications that transverses through a wide range of areas in energy systems. With the numerous benefits that includes unmatched fast communication between subsystems, the maximization of energy use, the decrease in environmental impacts and a boost in the dividends of renewable energies, IoT has grown into an emerging innovative technology to be integrated into smart energy systems. In this work, we have provided an overview of the link between SES, IoT and Internet of Energy (IoE). The main applications of IoT in smart energy systems consisting of smart industries, smart homes and buildings, and smart cities are explored and analyzed. The paper also explores the challenges limiting the employment of IoT technologies in SES and the possible remedies to these challenges. In addition, the future trends of this technology, its research direction and reasons why industry should adopt it are also addressed. The aim of this work is to furnish researchers in this field, decision and energy policy makers, energy economist and energy administrators with a possible literature outline on the roles and impacts of IoT technology in smart energy systems.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;/abstract&gt;

Introduction: The internet of Things has become more popular as a new technology since the advent of wire less technology , and attracted attention from supply chain management promoters. This study aimed to identify and analyze IoT applications in the pharmaceutical supply chain agility in the post -COVID -19 era Method: We first review previous studies in appl ications of IoT in pharmaceutical supply chain agility and identified the findings through qualitative content analysis. Then, the identified factors were given to 20 management and information technology experts to confirm and validat e. Results: The resu lts showed that IoT applications on the pharmaceutical supply chain agility in 9 components and 50 indicators. First of all, the most important factor is faster communication with other stakeholders (suppliers, manufacturers, distributors, and customers) u sing the IoT in the supply chain . Secondly, the use of IoT for drug production; manufacturers invest in technologies that lead to lower operating costs in the long term, because network devices and sensors do not make mistakes, do not need rest and trainin g, and do not take vacations. Therefore, they increase the agility of the production process and are a reliable and cost -effective alternative for productivity in production. Conclusion: The wide applications of the proposed model indicate the need to cons ider the use of the IoT in the pharmaceutical industry supply chain in order to improve overall supply chain performance and focus on supply chain agility.

The Internet of Things (IoT) has become one of the most popular technologies in recent years. Advances in computing capabilities, hardware accessibility, and wireless connectivity make possible communication between people, processes, and devices for all kinds of applications and industries. However, the deployment of this technology is confined almost entirely to tech companies, leaving end users with only access to specific functionalities. This paper presents a framework that allows users with no technical knowledge to build their own IoT applications according to their needs. To this end, a framework consisting of two building blocks is presented. A friendly interface block lets users tell the system what to do using simple operating rules such as “if the temperature is cold, turn on the heater.” On the other hand, a fuzzy logic reasoner block built by experts translates the ambiguity of human language to specific actions to the actuators, such as “call the police.” The proposed system can also detect and inform the user if the inserted rules have inconsistencies in real time. Moreover, a formal model is introduced, based on fuzzy description logic, for the consistency of IoT systems. Finally, this paper presents various experiments using a fuzzy logic reasoner to show the viability of the proposed framework using a smart-home IoT security system as an example.

The term Internet of Things (IOT) has become one of the most familiar and popular expressions in recent times, due to the solutions, it offers in classroom management and easy access information which can contribute to ensure the quality of education by applying IOT technology, the education process can be better. The truth is that educational institutions need to develop educational technologies and performance evaluation methods through which the educational process becomes significantly more efficient and fruitful, and the continuous development of this sector, as programmatic accreditation in academic circles is a major tool for improving the quality of education, and also ensures the achievement of standards, which gives the academic university confidence in the existence of a strong accreditation system that meets the requirements. In this regard, the researcher conducted descriptive research to identify aspects of the Internet of Things and how to apply them to support some indicators that can achieve the standards of educational programs within the accreditation program. In this context, the advantages of IOT applications will be applied to bring about fundamental changes in educational programs and their quality. The research discusses the most important safety points that can be used to avoid risks and confront the challenges that limit the use of such technology. In general, this work is directed to develop the educational process, ensuring quality, and maintaining continuous improvement.

Purpose With the development and innovation of IoT technologies, both domestic and international people in the industry believe the development of IoT are the new points of technological innovation and economic growth. But it is becoming more and more prominent that the industries are difficult to connect and the IoT technologies are not standardized. The purpose of this paper is to promote the further development of IoT technology and industry, technology standardization of IoT has become the focus of all concerned parties. Technology standardization, as a technological innovation and development process of the “pruning shears,” has been embedded into the various aspects of innovation activities. Design/methodology/approach Based on many previous theories, the authors establish a matrix of the patterns of technology standardization. The authors use the relative state of the highest level of technology of the enterprise and The degree of independent technological innovation as the two dimensions of the model. At the same time, the authors divide the competitive behaviors into two categories and match them with the technology standardization model. Findings The authors explain the short-term competitive behaviors in the same enterprise and among different enterprises by using the theories of mutualism and competition among species in biology, and make an analogy between the phenomenon of base pairing in DNA double helix structure and the corresponding relationship of two kinds of innovation abilities and two kinds of competitive behaviors in the process of technology standardization. Originality/value Combined with previous theories, explain that innovation capability plays a mediating role in the process in which the combinations of the patterns of technology standardization and competitive behaviors are transformed into the enterprise innovation performance, and the uncertainty of external environment play a regulatory role in the process. Finally, the authors established the final conceptual model for providing theoretical basis for the later research, and put forward the conclusions and prospect at the end of the paper.

Smart city is a concept of urban development that integrates information and communication technology (ICT) to enhance efficiency, quality of life, and environmental sustainability. The implementation of smart city has become increasingly popular in the last five years, with many countries developing smart city initiatives, such as the "Smart City Pilot" program in China and the development of smart city applications and platforms in the United States. In Indonesia, several major cities have started developing various digital applications and platforms to improve public service efficiency and encourage economic growth. However, there are still some challenges that need to be addressed, such as inadequate ICT infrastructure, lack of supportive regulations and policies, and insufficient active participation from the community. The use of IoT in smart city plays an important role in collecting real-time data from various connected sensors and devices, allowing for more accurate and timely decision-making. In the long term, this can help improve the overall quality of life of the community. In Indonesia the smart city movement is being intensively implemented by the government with the aim of creating 100 smart cities, so there needs to be efforts made to increase the development of smart cities in Indonesia.

Nanotechnology has eventually and strongly engaged in the field of drug delivery. It makes use of the specific properties of the substance at the Nano scale. Their primary goal is to increase therapeutic effects while reducing adverse effects. Due to their improved goods, nanotechnology has become more popular across a variety of industries. The term “Nano medicine” is used to denote the application of nanotechnology in medicine. This Nano medicine is essential for drug delivery, antibacterial, vaccine development, wearable technology, diagnostic and imaging tools, implants, high throughput screening platforms, etc. It makes use of biological, biomimetic, no biological, or hybrid materials. To attain logical drug delivery, it is important to understand the interlink age between nanoparticles and the biological environment, drug release, and targeting cell-surface receptors. We can control disease progression by using nanomaterial including peptide-based nanotubes to prey the vascular endothelial growth factor (VEGF) receptor. Also, the use of herbal medicine has been used since ancient times. The supply of active compounds is shown by the effectiveness of various species of herbal medicine. The essential requirements for extending novel nanotechnology-based medication delivery systems are highlighted in this review.

Digital transformation has become imperative for organizations across industries seeking to enhance operational efficiency, innovate customer experiences, and maintain competitive advantage in a rapidly evolving digital landscape. This paper explores strategic approaches that enable successful digital transformation in project management, addressing key challenges and leveraging opportunities for growth and sustainability. In the current business environment, digital transformation in project management encompasses the adoption of advanced technologies, integration of digital tools, and reengineering of processes to optimize project delivery and outcomes. Organizations are increasingly leveraging cloud computing, artificial intelligence, big data analytics, and Internet of Things (IoT) to streamline project workflows, enhance decision-making capabilities, and facilitate real-time collaboration among stakeholders. Successful digital transformation initiatives in project management are underpinned by strategic planning and leadership commitment. Alignment of digital transformation goals with organizational objectives ensures clarity of purpose and enhances stakeholder engagement throughout the transformation journey. Moreover, fostering a culture of innovation and continuous learning enables teams to adapt to technological advancements and embrace change effectively. Challenges in achieving successful digital transformation include legacy system integration, data security concerns, skill gaps among team members, and resistance to cultural change. Addressing these challenges requires proactive risk management, investment in training and development programs, and collaboration with technology partners to navigate complexities and ensure seamless implementation. Case studies illustrate diverse approaches to digital transformation in project management, highlighting best practices and lessons learned across various industries. Organizations that successfully navigate digital transformation not only achieve operational efficiencies and cost savings but also create value through enhanced customer experiences and improved competitive positioning. Looking forward, the strategic adoption of emerging technologies and agile methodologies will continue to shape the future of digital transformation in project management. Organizations must remain adaptable and responsive to market dynamics, leveraging digital tools to drive innovation, accelerate time-to-market, and sustain long-term growth in an increasingly digital-first world. In conclusion, strategic approaches to digital transformation in project management empower organizations to harness the full potential of digital technologies, driving efficiencies, fostering innovation, and achieving sustainable success across industries.

Over the past two decades, leading statesmen of the Russian Federation have emphasized that they are building a social state that has great economic security and puts the quality of life of citizens at the forefront. This is supported by the development and implementation of national projects for the development of the country in priority areas, which are planned and implemented in the form of a number of programs at different administrative levels. At the same time, the history of the world economy has shown that the development of large infrastructure projects and a number of smaller, but very long-term and non-profitable ones, turns out to be impossible without the involvement of the state as an investor or guarantor in their financing. The role of the state especially increases when it is necessary to develop the country during periods of economic downturns and exit from them. In this case, various mechanisms and tools for organizing processes and their financing can be used. One of the well-established ways of implementing state programs for the development of territories and industries is public-private cooperation. However, it is necessary to approach it from the standpoint of complexity, identifying the most popular and promising areas and forms for the implementation of specific activities in various sectors, taking into account the socio-economic situation within a particular region. It is also important to determine the most effective level of implementation of public-private cooperation projects. Based on the complexity of projects, their cost and funding opportunities in modern Russia, they have become a regional level. It is at this level that the largest number of territorial and sectoral development projects are implemented, industry clusters are created, technology parks and other points of economic growth appear. At the same time, one of the leading regions in the field of public-private partnership over the past few years has been the Samara region. The article examines the evolution of public-private partnership, the current conditions in which the mechanism of public-private partnership is developing, and also suggests directions for its further development in the Samara region.

IoT has become a popular term in technology industries, which defines the network of different objects with any kind of sensors, software, and other technologies. Through IOT, things or object can exchange generated data over the internet. Cohesive Objects generates massive volume of data. Though we have many conventional methods of data management,they are not sufficient to accomplish all aspects of IOT. A new technology technique called Quantum Block Chain has emerged in the last few days.Blockchain technology uses quantum information theory and quantum computation to create a distributed database that is decentralized, encrypted.This paper will present utility of blockchain system with IOT.

The term digital is now becoming the prefix for everything done traditionally. With technology continuing to advance, it is likely that it will become an increasingly important part of many industries. However, it is important to consider the potential consequences of technology and automation and take steps to mitigate them. This paper portrays the demerits in metro system which is designed to provide efficient and convenient service to its passengers. However, a limitation has been observed in the ticketing machines, where multiple people can pass through with just one ticket. In this paper, we propose a solution to this problem by implementing a body count sensor to ensure only one person can pass through with each ticket. This solution has the potential to significantly improve the experience of commuters and could serve as a model for similar transportation systems in other cities. We also done some survey on students with IT background to see how much of the generation is aware of technology and to get insights about future of IOT.

The term digital is now becoming the prefix for everything done traditionally. With technology continuing to advance, it is likely that it will become an increasingly important part of many industries. However, it is important to consider the potential consequences of technology and automation and take steps to mitigate them. This paper portrays the demerits in metro system which is designed to provide efficient and convenient service to its passengers. However, a limitation has been observed in the ticketing machines, where multiple people can pass through with just one ticket. In this paper, we propose a solution to this problem by implementing a body count sensor to ensure only one person can pass through with each ticket. This solution has the potential to significantly improve the experience of commuters and could serve as a model for similar transportation systems in other cities. We also done some survey on students with IT background to see how much of the generation is aware of technology and to get insights about future of IOT.

In the current era of technological advancement, Internet of Things (IoT) has become a technology that is frequently adopted in all industries. The IoT concept that allows multiple devices to interact with each other over an increasingly popular internet connection is used in everyday applications automatically as well as for monitoring and security purposes. Ornamental plants, vegetables and herbs that can be grown in or around the house that are often left for working residents can apply this IoT system. Residents not only get the view of green and fresh air, but they can also produce fast and fresh food from their own pots with the help of automatic monitoring and planting systems. An efficient irrigation process can be achieved with an IoT approach as it ensures that the plant or plants get the right amount of water to grow well. Therefore, an automated planting system based on the Internet of Things is proposed to solve problems related to the need to irrigate plants when necessary and monitor plant conditions remotely.

Abstract With the rapid growth of informatics systems’ technology in this modern age, the Internet of Things (IoT) has become more valuable and vital to everyday life in many ways. IoT applications are now more popular than they used to be due to the availability of many gadgets that work as IoT enablers, including smartwatches, smartphones, security cameras, and smart sensors. However, the insecure nature of IoT devices has led to several difficulties, one of which is distributed denial-of-service (DDoS) attacks. IoT systems have several security limitations due to their disreputability characteristics, like dynamic communication between IoT devices. The dynamic communications resulted from the limited resources of these devices, such as their data storage and processing units. Recently, many attempts have been made to develop intelligent models to protect IoT networks against DDoS attacks. The main ongoing research issue is developing a model capable of protecting the network from DDoS attacks that is sensitive to various classes of DDoS and can recognize legitimate traffic to avoid false alarms. Subsequently, this study proposes combining three deep learning algorithms, namely recurrent neural network (RNN), long short-term memory (LSTM)-RNN, and convolutional neural network (CNN), to build a bidirectional CNN-BiLSTM DDoS detection model. The RNN, CNN, LSTM, and CNN-BiLSTM are implemented and tested to determine the most effective model against DDoS attacks that can accurately detect and distinguish DDoS from legitimate traffic. The intrusion detection evaluation dataset (CICIDS2017) is used to provide more realistic detection. The CICIDS2017 dataset includes benign and up-to-date examples of typical attacks, closely matching real-world data of Packet Capture. The four models are tested and assessed using Confusion Metrix against four commonly used criteria: accuracy, precision, recall, and F-measure. The performance of the models is quite effective as they obtain an accuracy rate of around 99.00%, except for the CNN model, which achieves an accuracy of 98.82%. The CNN-BiLSTM achieves the best accuracy of 99.76% and precision of 98.90%.

AbstractInnovative research works in the healthcare sector keep on advancing every day. As the “Internet of Things (IoT)” keeps on evolving, the application of IoT in the medical field is prominent these days. Utilizing IoT devices, alert messages can be sent directly to medical professionals in case of an emergency. So, monitoring the health condition of an individual using IoT technology has become a popular and beneficial method in today's contemporary medical field. With the help of mobile IoT medical equipment, the technology of smart Healthcare Monitoring System (HMS) is proliferating. By utilizing deep learning and IoT technology, the medical diagnosis system has evolved from direct face‐to‐face visits to the hospital to remote telemedicine method. Most of the data generated by the IoT wearable sensors are highly correlated and may consist of outliers. The extraction of the essential attributes from these data is a complicated task. So, “deep learning and machine learning” techniques are adapted to determine the most relevant and appropriate feature required for efficient diagnosis from the unstructured data produced by the IoT devices and thus help in minimizing the redundancy of unnecessary data. Fusing deep learning methods with healthcare IoT made only the essential details to be available for diagnosis. Therefore, a deep learning‐oriented IoT‐based HMS is executed in this work. With the support of several wearable healthcare devices, the required data are acquired. The encryption of the data acquired from standard sources using Optimal Key‐based Advanced Encryption Standard (OK‐AES) is carried out next to assure the security of the sensitive medical data. The keys for AES encryption are optimally chosen with the aid of the Enhanced Heap‐Based Optimizer Algorithm (EHBOA). The encrypted data is transferred to the “cloud platform” for data storage. Once there is a need for the data, then the encrypted data is initially downloaded from the cloud platform. Then using the same AES scheme, the decryption of the data to attain the original data is carried out. From the retrieved data, the extraction of the crucial attributes is carried out. The extracted features are chosen in an optimized manner and are concatenated with the tuned weights to form the weighted feature matrix. This formulated weighted feature matrix is provided as input to the “Adaptive Dilated Transformer Bidirectional Long Short‐Term Memory (Bi‐LSTM) with Gated Recurrent Unit (GRU) (ADTBi‐LSTM‐GRU) model.” The variables in the ADTBG are optimized using the EHBOA for providing an accurate classification outcome. The classified disease outcome is obtained from the deployed ADTBi‐LSTM‐GRU model. Simulations are done to verify the efficiency and reliability of the implemented deep learning and IoT‐based HMS.

Agriculture is the most valuable term and becomes a necessity of human beings. Agriculture is a kind of producing that is responsible for farming or clearly on food and feed, fiber and other items with the help of cultivation of certain plants; however, in broader context agriculture also means as domestic animals. The cultivation and agricultural process in the recent past has changed rapidly and there are many tools, technologies being incorporated for a healthy agricultural process. The Applications of Information and Communication Technologies led the advanced agricultural systems. And these are called as Smart Agriculture. In general, the application of IT and Computing in Agriculture field is called Agro Informatics. With the development of Agro Informatics, the recent concept of Smart Agriculture or Farming has arrived. These various advanced and modern technologies are using for enhancing the quantity as well as the quality of agricultural systems, cultivation and ultimately the products. In the recent past, the cultivators of modern age are associated with modern technologies like GPS, soil scanning, websites, cloud based data management services, basic internet and also Internet of Things based technologies. Adapting modern strategy, now the farmers can increase the effectiveness huge manner as far as pesticides and fertilizers are concerned. On the other hand, Smart farming techniques also help in indirect operations in agriculture including the monitor of agricultural products and individual animals. In the recent past, the scenario of IT and Computing applications has radically changed and Agro Informatics has also become a field of study. Among the latest technologies, IoT or Internet of Things becomes popular and important in a different context. This paper is conceptual in nature and deals with various aspects of Smart Agriculture with special reference to the IoT applications in Agro field.

When George Orwell encountered ideas of a technological utopia sixty-five years ago, he acted the grumpy middle-aged man Reading recently a batch of rather shallowly optimistic “progressive” books, I was struck by the automatic way in which people go on repeating certain phrases which were fashionable before 1914. Two great favourites are “the abolition of distance” and “the disappearance of frontiers”. I do not know how often I have met with the statements that “the aeroplane and the radio have abolished distance” and “all parts of the world are now interdependent” (1944). It is worth revisiting the old boy’s grumpiness, because the rhetoric he so niftily skewers continues in our own time. Facebook features “Peace on Facebook” and even claims that it can “decrease world conflict” through inter-cultural communication. Twitter has announced itself as “a triumph of humanity” (“A Cyber-House” 61). Queue George. In between Orwell and latter-day hoody cybertarians, a whole host of excitable public intellectuals announced the impending end of materiality through emergent media forms. Marshall McLuhan, Neil Postman, Daniel Bell, Ithiel de Sola Pool, George Gilder, Alvin Toffler—the list of 1960s futurists goes on and on. And this wasn’t just a matter of punditry: the OECD decreed the coming of the “information society” in 1975 and the European Union (EU) followed suit in 1979, while IBM merrily declared an “information age” in 1977. Bell theorized this technological utopia as post-ideological, because class would cease to matter (Mattelart). Polluting industries seemingly no longer represented the dynamic core of industrial capitalism; instead, market dynamism radiated from a networked, intellectual core of creative and informational activities. The new information and knowledge-based economies would rescue First World hegemony from an “insurgent world” that lurked within as well as beyond itself (Schiller). Orwell’s others and the Cold-War futurists propagated one of the most destructive myths shaping both public debate and scholarly studies of the media, culture, and communication. They convinced generations of analysts, activists, and arrivistes that the promises and problems of the media could be understood via metaphors of the environment, and that the media were weightless and virtual. The famous medium they wished us to see as the message —a substance as vital to our wellbeing as air, water, and soil—turned out to be no such thing. Today’s cybertarians inherit their anti-Marxist, anti-materialist positions, as a casual glance at any new media journal, culture-industry magazine, or bourgeois press outlet discloses. The media are undoubtedly important instruments of social cohesion and fragmentation, political power and dissent, democracy and demagoguery, and other fraught extensions of human consciousness. But talk of media systems as equivalent to physical ecosystems—fashionable among marketers and media scholars alike—is predicated on the notion that they are environmentally benign technologies. This has never been true, from the beginnings of print to today’s cloud-covered computing. Our new book Greening the Media focuses on the environmental impact of the media—the myriad ways that media technology consumes, despoils, and wastes natural resources. We introduce ideas, stories, and facts that have been marginal or absent from popular, academic, and professional histories of media technology. Throughout, ecological issues have been at the core of our work and we immodestly think the same should apply to media communications, and cultural studies more generally. We recognize that those fields have contributed valuable research and teaching that address environmental questions. For instance, there is an abundant literature on representations of the environment in cinema, how to communicate environmental messages successfully, and press coverage of climate change. That’s not enough. You may already know that media technologies contain toxic substances. You may have signed an on-line petition protesting the hazardous and oppressive conditions under which workers assemble cell phones and computers. But you may be startled, as we were, by the scale and pervasiveness of these environmental risks. They are present in and around every site where electronic and electric devices are manufactured, used, and thrown away, poisoning humans, animals, vegetation, soil, air and water. We are using the term “media” as a portmanteau word to cover a multitude of cultural and communications machines and processes—print, film, radio, television, information and communications technologies (ICT), and consumer electronics (CE). This is not only for analytical convenience, but because there is increasing overlap between the sectors. CE connect to ICT and vice versa; televisions resemble computers; books are read on telephones; newspapers are written through clouds; and so on. Cultural forms and gadgets that were once separate are now linked. The currently fashionable notion of convergence doesn’t quite capture the vastness of this integration, which includes any object with a circuit board, scores of accessories that plug into it, and a global nexus of labor and environmental inputs and effects that produce and flow from it. In 2007, a combination of ICT/CE and media production accounted for between 2 and 3 percent of all greenhouse gases emitted around the world (“Gartner Estimates,”; International Telecommunication Union; Malmodin et al.). Between twenty and fifty million tonnes of electronic waste (e-waste) are generated annually, much of it via discarded cell phones and computers, which affluent populations throw out regularly in order to buy replacements. (Presumably this fits the narcissism of small differences that distinguishes them from their own past.) E-waste is historically produced in the Global North—Australasia, Western Europe, Japan, and the US—and dumped in the Global South—Latin America, Africa, Eastern Europe, Southern and Southeast Asia, and China. It takes the form of a thousand different, often deadly, materials for each electrical and electronic gadget. This trend is changing as India and China generate their own media detritus (Robinson; Herat). Enclosed hard drives, backlit screens, cathode ray tubes, wiring, capacitors, and heavy metals pose few risks while these materials remain encased. But once discarded and dismantled, ICT/CE have the potential to expose workers and ecosystems to a morass of toxic components. Theoretically, “outmoded” parts could be reused or swapped for newer parts to refurbish devices. But items that are defined as waste undergo further destruction in order to collect remaining parts and valuable metals, such as gold, silver, copper, and rare-earth elements. This process causes serious health risks to bones, brains, stomachs, lungs, and other vital organs, in addition to birth defects and disrupted biological development in children. Medical catastrophes can result from lead, cadmium, mercury, other heavy metals, poisonous fumes emitted in search of precious metals, and such carcinogenic compounds as polychlorinated biphenyls, dioxin, polyvinyl chloride, and flame retardants (Maxwell and Miller 13). The United States’ Environmental Protection Agency estimates that by 2007 US residents owned approximately three billion electronic devices, with an annual turnover rate of 400 million units, and well over half such purchases made by women. Overall CE ownership varied with age—adults under 45 typically boasted four gadgets; those over 65 made do with one. The Consumer Electronics Association (CEA) says US$145 billion was expended in the sector in 2006 in the US alone, up 13% on the previous year. The CEA refers joyously to a “consumer love affair with technology continuing at a healthy clip.” In the midst of a recession, 2009 saw $165 billion in sales, and households owned between fifteen and twenty-four gadgets on average. By 2010, US$233 billion was spent on electronic products, three-quarters of the population owned a computer, nearly half of all US adults owned an MP3 player, and 85% had a cell phone. By all measures, the amount of ICT/CE on the planet is staggering. As investigative science journalist, Elizabeth Grossman put it: “no industry pushes products into the global market on the scale that high-tech electronics does” (Maxwell and Miller 2). In 2007, “of the 2.25 million tons of TVs, cell phones and computer products ready for end-of-life management, 18% (414,000 tons) was collected for recycling and 82% (1.84 million tons) was disposed of, primarily in landfill” (Environmental Protection Agency 1). Twenty million computers fell obsolete across the US in 1998, and the rate was 130,000 a day by 2005. It has been estimated that the five hundred million personal computers discarded in the US between 1997 and 2007 contained 6.32 billion pounds of plastics, 1.58 billion pounds of lead, three million pounds of cadmium, 1.9 million pounds of chromium, and 632000 pounds of mercury (Environmental Protection Agency; Basel Action Network and Silicon Valley Toxics Coalition 6). The European Union is expected to generate upwards of twelve million tons annually by 2020 (Commission of the European Communities 17). While refrigerators and dangerous refrigerants account for the bulk of EU e-waste, about 44% of the most toxic e-waste measured in 2005 came from medium-to-small ICT/CE: computer monitors, TVs, printers, ink cartridges, telecommunications equipment, toys, tools, and anything with a circuit board (Commission of the European Communities 31-34). Understanding the enormity of the environmental problems caused by making, using, and disposing of media technologies should arrest our enthusiasm for them. But intellectual correctives to the “love affair” with technology, or technophilia, have come and gone without establishing much of a foothold against the breathtaking flood of gadgets and the propaganda that proclaims their awe-inspiring capabilities.[i] There is a peculiar enchantment with the seeming magic of wireless communication, touch-screen phones and tablets, flat-screen high-definition televisions, 3-D IMAX cinema, mobile computing, and so on—a totemic, quasi-sacred power that the historian of technology David Nye has named the technological sublime (Nye Technological Sublime 297).[ii] We demonstrate in our book why there is no place for the technological sublime in projects to green the media. But first we should explain why such symbolic power does not accrue to more mundane technologies; after all, for the time-strapped cook, a pressure cooker does truly magical things. Three important qualities endow ICT/CE with unique symbolic potency—virtuality, volume, and novelty. The technological sublime of media technology is reinforced by the “virtual nature of much of the industry’s content,” which “tends to obscure their responsibility for a vast proliferation of hardware, all with high levels of built-in obsolescence and decreasing levels of efficiency” (Boyce and Lewis 5). Planned obsolescence entered the lexicon as a new “ethics” for electrical engineering in the 1920s and ’30s, when marketers, eager to “habituate people to buying new products,” called for designs to become quickly obsolete “in efficiency, economy, style, or taste” (Grossman 7-8).[iii] This defines the short lifespan deliberately constructed for computer systems (drives, interfaces, operating systems, batteries, etc.) by making tiny improvements incompatible with existing hardware (Science and Technology Council of the American Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences 33-50; Boyce and Lewis). With planned obsolescence leading to “dizzying new heights” of product replacement (Rogers 202), there is an overstated sense of the novelty and preeminence of “new” media—a “cult of the present” is particularly dazzled by the spread of electronic gadgets through globalization (Mattelart and Constantinou 22). References to the symbolic power of media technology can be found in hymnals across the internet and the halls of academe: technologies change us, the media will solve social problems or create new ones, ICTs transform work, monopoly ownership no longer matters, journalism is dead, social networking enables social revolution, and the media deliver a cleaner, post-industrial, capitalism. Here is a typical example from the twilight zone of the technological sublime (actually, the OECD): A major feature of the knowledge-based economy is the impact that ICTs have had on industrial structure, with a rapid growth of services and a relative decline of manufacturing. Services are typically less energy intensive and less polluting, so among those countries with a high and increasing share of services, we often see a declining energy intensity of production … with the emergence of the Knowledge Economy ending the old linear relationship between output and energy use (i.e. partially de-coupling growth and energy use) (Houghton 1) This statement mixes half-truths and nonsense. In reality, old-time, toxic manufacturing has moved to the Global South, where it is ascendant; pollution levels are rising worldwide; and energy consumption is accelerating in residential and institutional sectors, due almost entirely to ICT/CE usage, despite advances in energy conservation technology (a neat instance of the age-old Jevons Paradox). In our book we show how these are all outcomes of growth in ICT/CE, the foundation of the so-called knowledge-based economy. ICT/CE are misleadingly presented as having little or no material ecological impact. In the realm of everyday life, the sublime experience of electronic machinery conceals the physical work and material resources that go into them, while the technological sublime makes the idea that more-is-better palatable, axiomatic; even sexy. In this sense, the technological sublime relates to what Marx called “the Fetishism which attaches itself to the products of labour” once they are in the hands of the consumer, who lusts after them as if they were “independent beings” (77). There is a direct but unseen relationship between technology’s symbolic power and the scale of its environmental impact, which the economist Juliet Schor refers to as a “materiality paradox” —the greater the frenzy to buy goods for their transcendent or nonmaterial cultural meaning, the greater the use of material resources (40-41). We wrote Greening the Media knowing that a study of the media’s effect on the environment must work especially hard to break the enchantment that inflames popular and elite passions for media technologies. We understand that the mere mention of the political-economic arrangements that make shiny gadgets possible, or the environmental consequences of their appearance and disappearance, is bad medicine. It’s an unwelcome buzz kill—not a cool way to converse about cool stuff. But we didn’t write the book expecting to win many allies among high-tech enthusiasts and ICT/CE industry leaders. We do not dispute the importance of information and communication media in our lives and modern social systems. We are media people by profession and personal choice, and deeply immersed in the study and use of emerging media technologies. But we think it’s time for a balanced assessment with less hype and more practical understanding of the relationship of media technologies to the biosphere they inhabit. Media consumers, designers, producers, activists, researchers, and policy makers must find new and effective ways to move ICT/CE production and consumption toward ecologically sound practices. In the course of this project, we found in casual conversation, lecture halls, classroom discussions, and correspondence, consistent and increasing concern with the environmental impact of media technology, especially the deleterious effects of e-waste toxins on workers, air, water, and soil. We have learned that the grip of the technological sublime is not ironclad. Its instability provides a point of departure for investigating and criticizing the relationship between the media and the environment. The media are, and have been for a long time, intimate environmental participants. Media technologies are yesterday’s, today’s, and tomorrow’s news, but rarely in the way they should be. The prevailing myth is that the printing press, telegraph, phonograph, photograph, cinema, telephone, wireless radio, television, and internet changed the world without changing the Earth. In reality, each technology has emerged by despoiling ecosystems and exposing workers to harmful environments, a truth obscured by symbolic power and the power of moguls to set the terms by which such technologies are designed and deployed. Those who benefit from ideas of growth, progress, and convergence, who profit from high-tech innovation, monopoly, and state collusion—the military-industrial-entertainment-academic complex and multinational commandants of labor—have for too long ripped off the Earth and workers. As the current celebration of media technology inevitably winds down, perhaps it will become easier to comprehend that digital wonders come at the expense of employees and ecosystems. This will return us to Max Weber’s insistence that we understand technology in a mundane way as a “mode of processing material goods” (27). Further to understanding that ordinariness, we can turn to the pioneering conversation analyst Harvey Sacks, who noted three decades ago “the failures of technocratic dreams [:] that if only we introduced some fantastic new communication machine the world will be transformed.” Such fantasies derived from the very banality of these introductions—that every time they took place, one more “technical apparatus” was simply “being made at home with the rest of our world’ (548). Media studies can join in this repetitive banality. Or it can withdraw the welcome mat for media technologies that despoil the Earth and wreck the lives of those who make them. In our view, it’s time to green the media by greening media studies. References “A Cyber-House Divided.” Economist 4 Sep. 2010: 61-62. “Gartner Estimates ICT Industry Accounts for 2 Percent of Global CO2 Emissions.” Gartner press release. 6 April 2007. ‹http://www.gartner.com/it/page.jsp?id=503867›. Basel Action Network and Silicon Valley Toxics Coalition. Exporting Harm: The High-Tech Trashing of Asia. Seattle: Basel Action Network, 25 Feb. 2002. Benjamin, Walter. “Central Park.” Trans. Lloyd Spencer with Mark Harrington. New German Critique 34 (1985): 32-58. Biagioli, Mario. “Postdisciplinary Liaisons: Science Studies and the Humanities.” Critical Inquiry 35.4 (2009): 816-33. Boyce, Tammy and Justin Lewis, eds. Climate Change and the Media. New York: Peter Lang, 2009. Commission of the European Communities. “Impact Assessment.” Commission Staff Working Paper accompanying the Proposal for a Directive of the European Parliament and of the Council on Waste Electrical and Electronic Equipment (WEEE) (recast). COM (2008) 810 Final. Brussels: Commission of the European Communities, 3 Dec. 2008. Environmental Protection Agency. Management of Electronic Waste in the United States. Washington, DC: EPA, 2007 Environmental Protection Agency. Statistics on the Management of Used and End-of-Life Electronics. Washington, DC: EPA, 2008 Grossman, Elizabeth. Tackling High-Tech Trash: The E-Waste Explosion &amp; What We Can Do about It. New York: Demos, 2008. ‹http://www.demos.org/pubs/e-waste_FINAL.pdf› Herat, Sunil. “Review: Sustainable Management of Electronic Waste (e-Waste).” Clean 35.4 (2007): 305-10. Houghton, J. “ICT and the Environment in Developing Countries: Opportunities and Developments.” Paper prepared for the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development, 2009. International Telecommunication Union. ICTs for Environment: Guidelines for Developing Countries, with a Focus on Climate Change. Geneva: ICT Applications and Cybersecurity Division Policies and Strategies Department ITU Telecommunication Development Sector, 2008. Malmodin, Jens, Åsa Moberg, Dag Lundén, Göran Finnveden, and Nina Lövehagen. “Greenhouse Gas Emissions and Operational Electricity Use in the ICT and Entertainment &amp; Media Sectors.” Journal of Industrial Ecology 14.5 (2010): 770-90. Marx, Karl. Capital: Vol. 1: A Critical Analysis of Capitalist Production, 3rd ed. Trans. Samuel Moore and Edward Aveling, Ed. Frederick Engels. New York: International Publishers, 1987. Mattelart, Armand and Costas M. Constantinou. “Communications/Excommunications: An Interview with Armand Mattelart.” Trans. Amandine Bled, Jacques Guot, and Costas Constantinou. Review of International Studies 34.1 (2008): 21-42. Mattelart, Armand. “Cómo nació el mito de Internet.” Trans. Yanina Guthman. El mito internet. Ed. Victor Hugo de la Fuente. Santiago: Editorial aún creemos en los sueños, 2002. 25-32. Maxwell, Richard and Toby Miller. Greening the Media. New York: Oxford University Press, 2012. Nye, David E. American Technological Sublime. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1994. Nye, David E. Technology Matters: Questions to Live With. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. 2007. Orwell, George. “As I Please.” Tribune. 12 May 1944. Richtel, Matt. “Consumers Hold on to Products Longer.” New York Times: B1, 26 Feb. 2011. Robinson, Brett H. “E-Waste: An Assessment of Global Production and Environmental Impacts.” Science of the Total Environment 408.2 (2009): 183-91. Rogers, Heather. Gone Tomorrow: The Hidden Life of Garbage. New York: New Press, 2005. Sacks, Harvey. Lectures on Conversation. Vols. I and II. Ed. Gail Jefferson. Malden: Blackwell, 1995. Schiller, Herbert I. Information and the Crisis Economy. Norwood: Ablex Publishing, 1984. Schor, Juliet B. Plenitude: The New Economics of True Wealth. New York: Penguin, 2010. Science and Technology Council of the American Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. The Digital Dilemma: Strategic Issues in Archiving and Accessing Digital Motion Picture Materials. Los Angeles: Academy Imprints, 2007. Weber, Max. “Remarks on Technology and Culture.” Trans. Beatrix Zumsteg and Thomas M. Kemple. Ed. Thomas M. Kemple. Theory, Culture [i] The global recession that began in 2007 has been the main reason for some declines in Global North energy consumption, slower turnover in gadget upgrades, and longer periods of consumer maintenance of electronic goods (Richtel). [ii] The emergence of the technological sublime has been attributed to the Western triumphs in the post-Second World War period, when technological power supposedly supplanted the power of nature to inspire fear and astonishment (Nye Technology Matters 28). Historian Mario Biagioli explains how the sublime permeates everyday life through technoscience: "If around 1950 the popular imaginary placed science close to the military and away from the home, today’s technoscience frames our everyday life at all levels, down to our notion of the self" (818). [iii] This compulsory repetition is seemingly undertaken each time as a novelty, governed by what German cultural critic Walter Benjamin called, in his awkward but occasionally illuminating prose, "the ever-always-the-same" of "mass-production" cloaked in "a hitherto unheard-of significance" (48).

Spurred by global institutions and treaties such as the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT) and its’ bantling the World Trade Organisation (WTO), the past three decades have seen many nations of the world develop an economic interconnectedness that parallels the great free trade movement of the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries. Free trade and the resultant economic ‘globalisation’ have had mixed results for many countries and groups within countries and has incited a complex, inarticulate, and sometimes contradictory debate across all segments of our society. Some groups and geographical locales have benefited handsomely from the structural changes that we generally understand as globalisation, whilst other groups and geographical regions have become economically marginalised through disconnectedness from global flows of money and goods and services. Rural and regional Australia, for instance, has experienced a steady decline in recent years and in fact in rural Victoria, a gloomy report from the Bureau of Statistics, suggests that not one new full-time job has been created in more than thirteen years (Colbatch). In other parts of the country, particularly Sydney and Melbourne, things could not seem better; property values have doubled, unemployment is at record lows, and the new middle classes cram the cafés of the gentrified inner-cities. Wages have risen by up to fifty percent in many of Australia’s inner cities during the late 1990s (Birnbauer and Gurrera). By the end of the 1990s, in response to some of the inequalities of globalisation—particularly between developed and developing countries—a large globally-linked protest movement arose out of Seattle in the United States. The movement formed as a protest against the policies of the WTO and was an eclectic arrangement of political groups who believed that free trade was not the answer to a more equitable world. The problem was that some of the leading thinkers of the movement—in a movement that claimed to have no leaders—were far too short-sighted to see beyond the popular zeitgeist of the time. The turn of the century zeitgeist was based on a well-meaning utopian-libertarian vision of a frictionless and equitable world. The problem was that this vision had no place for nations and thus citizen-based democratically elected national governments. There had apparently been a coup and governments were now captured by shoe manufacturers. One of the best-known authors of the turn of the century globalisation protest movement was the inner-city Canadian journalist Naomi Klein with her popularly acclaimed book No Logo (Klein). Although shrewdly timed, there was nothing particularly ground-breaking about Klein’s work; anxieties about corporate power, exploited workers, and the power of the ideologically potent media industries have for most of the Twentieth Century been the focus of relations between governments and the private sphere everywhere. The book relied heavily on the popular journalistic branding of the time, the ‘new economy’, which was believed to be represented by the industries of the Information and Communication Technology (ICT) sector, advertising, and shoe manufacturers. The new economy never existed; it was merely a popularly accepted business-journalism term that perhaps described parts of the more complex corpus of work on ‘post-industrialism’. Many thinkers have been attempting to understand issues of equity and post-industrialism for more than three decades; perhaps one the best-known authors in Australia is the ex-Labor minister Barry Jones with his celebrated 1982 book Sleeper Wake; Technology and the Future of Work (Jones). The turn of the century globalisation protest movement was in essence a utopian-libertarian movement and even at times claimed to be ‘natural’ and ‘leaderless’. Pithily, the WTO could also be described as ‘utopian-libertarian’ as much of its post-war ideological base stems from the belief that national borders are a hindrance (and the world would be better without them), and national governments should not interfere with its ‘natural’ globalisation schema. The ‘global’ just like the ‘nation’ is an unwieldy meta-structure and can be interpreted in many ways and for many ends. The minimal working definitions of globalisation, or dare I say ‘globalism’, circulate around the processes in which complex interconnections are said to be rapidly developing between societies, institutions, cultures, collectives, and individuals worldwide. These connections are believed to be between cultural, political, and economic practices that are local, national, technological, and corporate. And if there really is such a thing as globalisation, then it is far from a ‘natural’ process, but has developed as the direct result of strategic choices by governments and corporations in the past thirty years. In Australia, our engagement with the dominant form of globalisation was exacerbated by the Hawke/Keating Labor governments (1984-1996) that deregulated large portions of the economy, floated our currency, and embraced the all-trade-is-good mantra of global economic policy. Not surprisingly, the rich countries define the dominant ideologies of globalisation and corporations are the main catalyst (Everend). Many corporations are involved in cultural production thus creating their own world culture and value system. This value system is based on consumerism (like buying sports shoes) and the triumph of individual consumer agency over collective economic practices (like free education). The end of the east-west logic of the Cold War ended the eighty-year ideological wrestle between centralised state economic planning and market driven models. Eric Hobsbawn, in his masterful empirical history, The Age of Extremes, claims that what we understand as the Twentieth Century ended in 1991 with the collapse of the Soviet Union (Hobsbawn). What we are left with is a world with only one major superpower, one major economic model, and one major Liberal ideology that is increasing the wealth gap between and within societies everywhere (Landes). We do need to urgently understand the forces beyond the nation state, but this should not be at the expense of a political engagement with the democratic processes that make up the nation state. The utopian-libertarian critique of the turn of the century globalisation protest movement was far too simplistic. The Twentieth Century often disastrously taught us that ideas of the nation can be interpreted in many ways, and likewise, ideas of ‘the global’ are contested meta-structures that can be multifariously interpreted. There are no effortless solutions to understanding globalisation processes and those that tell us what the ‘global’ is largely control what it is. This is similar to the history of Australia. Historically Australia has had different ways to see ourselves based on what group has been in power and the particular requirements of this group. The requirements of an elite group of Australians at the moment is perhaps no government at all so that ‘the people’ can consume in peace and not have bothersome local governments do nasty ‘state-authoritarian’ things like build kindergartens or repair street lights. If ‘the people’ loose faith in citizen based democracy then we undermine the only real power that we have as individuals. The simple act of many activists to communicate between various countries and exchange ideas and strategies is not end in itself; it is merely one component of a significant beginning. If we don’t have a major war, or an economic catastrophe, globalisation will probably further arrive over the next few decades. And we need to have representative, fair, collective and geographically specific processes to deal with this. Most of the collective institutional solutions we already have, and it is up to a new generation to take control of their democratic inheritance (like every other generation before us) rather than conjure one-dimensional utopian-libertarian visions that are oppressively close to those of the WTO. Works Cited www.milkbar.com.au Birnbauer, William and Guerrera, Orietta “Rich Shun Easter Suburbs for Inner City” in The Age, Melbourne, June 18. 2002, &lt;http://www.theage.com.au/articles/2002/06/17/1023864403482.php&gt; (Accessed 11 May, 2003) Colbatch, Tim “Part-time work spawns rural underclass” in The Age, 26 April 2003, &lt;http://www.theage.com.au/text/articles/2003/04/25/1050777401... ...309.htm&gt; (Accessed 27 April, 2003) Everand, Jerry Virtual States: The Internet and the Boundaries of the Nation State,Routledge, London, 2000. Hobsbawn, Eric Age of Extremes: The short Twentieth Century 1914-1991, Abacus, London, 1994. Jones, Barry Sleepers Wake: Technology and the Future of Work, Oxford University Press, Melbourne, 1982. Klein, Naomi No Logo, Flamingo, London, 2000. Landes, Richard S The Wealth and Poverty of Nations, WW Norton, New York, 1999. Links http://www.milkbar.com.au http://www.theage.com.au/articles/2002/06/17/1023864403482.html http://www.theage.com.au/text/articles/2003/04/25/1050777401309.htm Citation reference for this article Substitute your date of access for Dn Month Year etc... MLA Style Bellamy, Craig. "Post-Logo " M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture&lt; http://www.media-culture.org.au/0306/13-postlogo.php&gt;. APA Style Bellamy, C. (2003, Jun 19). Post-Logo . M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture, 6,&lt; http://www.media-culture.org.au/0306/13-postlogo.php&gt;

As interest in tourism and conservation grows worldwide, whale-watching has become a popular means of educating the public about wildlife conservation. The short-term impact of ecotourism industries on observed species has been widely studied with findings that indicate responses are most often behavior alterations or avoidance. Close vessel interactions with beluga whales (Delphinapterus leucas) are a major draw for whale-watching ecotourism in Churchill, Manitoba, Canada. As the Churchill River estuary and surrounding waters are assessed for a Marine Protected Area, information on the response of belugas to vessels are needed to inform management. To assess this, an oblique time-lapse camera system with a 5-minute photo interval was set up overlooking a section of the Churchill River estuary that is shared by belugas and tourist vessels. Measurements calculated from photos were used to compare the distance between belugas and kayaks, paddleboards, motorboats, and Zodiac whale-watching vessels. These distances were compared to an expected distribution generated from locations of belugas in photos without the presence of vessels. We found evidence that belugas are attracted to kayaks, avoid paddleboards, and are neutral regarding motorboats and Zodiacs. This is the first study to quantify the behavioral response of cetaceans to tourist vessels using a camera system and a distance-based analysis. Results could inform the development of a site-specific management system that accounts for beluga-vessel relationships.

If I find out that you have bought a $90 red light sabre, Tara, well there's going to be trouble. -- Kevin Brabazon A few Saturdays ago, my 71-year old father tried to convince me of imminent responsibilities. As I am considering the purchase of a house, there are mortgages, bank fees and years of misery to endure. Unfortunately, I am not an effective Big Picture Person. The lure of the light sabre is almost too great. For 30 year old Generation Xers like myself, it is more than a cultural object. It is a textual anchor, and a necessary component to any future history of the present. Revelling in the aura of the Australian release for Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, this paper investigates popular memory, an undertheorised affiliation between popular culture and cultural studies.1 The excitement encircling the Star Wars prequel has been justified in terms of 'hype' or marketing. Such judgements frame the men and women cuing for tickets, talking Yodas and light sabres as fools or duped souls who need to get out more. My analysis explores why Star Wars has generated this enthusiasm, and how cultural studies can mobilise this passionate commitment to consider notions of popularity, preservation and ephemerality. We'll always have Tattooine. Star Wars has been a primary popular cultural social formation for a generation. The stories of Luke Skywalker, Princess Leia, Han Solo, Chewbacca, Darth Vader, Yoda, C-3PO and R2D2 offer an alternative narrative for the late 1970s and 1980s. It was a comfort to have the Royal Shakespearian tones of Alec Guinness confirming that the Force would be with us, through economic rationalism, unemployment, Pauline Hanson and Madonna discovering yoga. The Star Wars Trilogy, encompassing A New Hope, The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi, was released between 1977 and 1983. These films have rarely slipped from public attention, being periodically 'brought back' through new cinematic and video releases. The currency of Star Wars is matched with the other great popular cultural formations of the post-war period: the James Bond series and Star Trek. One reason for the continued success of these programmes is that other writers, film makers and producers cannot leave these texts alone. Bond survives not only through Pierce Brosnan's good looks, but the 'Hey Baby' antics of Austin Powers. Star Trek, through four distinct series, has become an industry that will last longer than Voyager's passage back from the Delta Quadrant. Star Wars, perhaps even more effectively than the other popular cultural heavyweights, has enmeshed itself into other filmic and televisual programming. Films like Spaceballs and television quizzes on Good News Week keep the knowledge system and language current and pertinent.2 Like Umberto Eco realised of Casablanca, Star Wars is "a living example of living textuality" (199). Both films are popular because of imperfections and intertextual archetypes, forming a filmic quilt of sensations and affectivities. Viewers are aware that "the cliches are talking among themselves" (Eco 209). As these cinematic texts move through time, the depth and commitment of these (con)textual dialogues are repeated and reinscribed. To hold on to a memory is to isolate a moment or an image and encircle it with meaning. Each day we experience millions of texts: some are remembered, but most are lost. Some popular cultural texts move from ephemera to popular memory to history. In moving beyond individual reminiscences -- the personal experiences of our lifetime -- we enter the sphere of popular culture. Collective or popular memory is a group or community experience of a textualised reality. For example, during the Second World War, there were many private experiences, but certain moments arch beyond the individual. Songs by Vera Lynn are fully textualised experiences that become the fodder for collective memory. Similarly, Star Wars provides a sense-making mechanism for the 1980s. Like all popular culture, these texts allow myriad readership strategies, but there is collective recognition of relevance and importance. Popular memory is such an important site because it provides us, as cultural critics, with a map of emotionally resonant sites of the past, moments that are linked with specific subjectivities and a commonality of expression. While Star Wars, like all popular cultural formations, has a wide audience, there are specific readings that are pertinent for particular groups. To unify a generation around cultural texts is an act of collective memory. As Harris has suggested, "sometimes, youth does interesting things with its legacy and creatively adapts its problematic into seemingly autonomous cultural forms" (79). Generation X refers to an age cohort born between the mid-1960s and the mid-1970s. Finally cultural studies theorists have found a Grail subculture. Being depthless, ambivalent, sexually repressed and social failures, Xers are a cultural studies dream come true. They were the children of the media revolution. Star Wars is integral to this textualised database. A fan on the night of the first screening corrected a journalist: "we aren't Generation X, we are the Star Wars generation" (Brendon, in Miller 9). An infatuation and reflexivity with the media is the single framework of knowledge in which Xers operate. This shared understanding is the basis for comedy, and particularly revealed (in Australia) in programmes like The Panel and Good News Week. Television themes, lines of film dialogue and contemporary news broadcasts are the basis of the game show. The aesthetics of life transforms television into a real. Or, put another way, "individual lives may be fragmented and confused but McDonald's is universal" (Hopkins 17). A group of textual readers share a literacy, a new way of reading the word and world of texts. Nostalgia is a weapon. The 1990s has been a decade of revivals: from Abba to skateboards, an era of retro reinscription has challenged linear theories of history and popular culture. As Timothy Carter reveals, "we all loved the Star Wars movies when we were younger, and so we naturally look forward to a continuation of those films" (9). The 1980s has often been portrayed as a bad time, of Thatcher and Reagan, cold war brinkmanship, youth unemployment and HIV. For those who were children and (amorphously phrased) 'young adults' of this era, the popular memory is of fluorescent fingerless gloves, Ray Bans, 'Choose Life' t-shirts and bubble skirts. It was an era of styling mousse, big hair, the Wham tan, Kylie and Jason and Rick Astley's dancing. Star Wars action figures gave the films a tangibility, holding the future of the rebellion in our hands (literally). These memories clumsily slop into the cup of the present. The problem with 'youth' is that it is semiotically too rich: the expression is understood, but not explained, by discourses as varied as the educational system, family structures, leisure industries and legal, medical and psychological institutions. It is a term of saturation, where normality is taught, and deviance is monitored. All cultural studies theorists carry the baggage of the Birmingham Centre into any history of youth culture. The taken-for-granted 'youth as resistance' mantra, embodied in Resistance through Rituals and Subculture: The Meaning of Style, transformed young people into the ventriloquist's puppet of cultural studies. The strings of the dancing, smoking, swearing and drinking puppet took many years to cut. The feminist blade of Angela McRobbie did some damage to the fraying filaments, as did Dick Hebdige's reflexive corrections in Hiding in the Light. However, the publications, promotion and pedagogy of Gen X ended the theoretical charade. Gen X, the media sophisticates, played with popular culture, rather than 'proper politics.' In Coupland's Generation X, Claire, one of the main characters believed that "Either our lives become stories, or there's just no way to get through them." ... We know that this is why the three of us left our lives behind us and came to the desert -- to tell stories and to make our own lives worthwhile tales in the process. (8) Television and film are part of this story telling process. This intense connection generated an ironic and reflexive literacy in the media. Television became the basis for personal pleasures and local resistances, resulting in a disciplined mobilisation of popular cultural surfaces. Even better than the real thing. As the youngest of Generation Xers are now in their late twenties, they have moved from McJobs to careers. Robert Kizlik, a teacher trainer at an American community college expressed horror as the lack of 'commonsensical knowledge' from his new students. He conducted a survey for teachers training in the social sciences, assessing their grasp of history. There was one hundred percent recognition of such names as Madonna, Mike Tyson, and Sharon Stone, but they hardly qualify as important social studies content ... . I wondered silently just what it is that these students are going to teach when they become employed ... . The deeper question is not that we have so many high school graduates and third and fourth year college students who are devoid of basic information about American history and culture, but rather, how, in the first place, these students came to have the expectations that they could become teachers. (n. pag.) Kizlik's fear is that the students, regardless of their enthusiasm, had poor recognition of knowledge he deemed significant and worthy. His teaching task, to convince students of the need for non-popular cultural knowledges, has resulted in his course being termed 'boring' or 'hard'. He has been unable to reconcile the convoluted connections between personal stories and televisual narratives. I am reminded (perhaps unhelpfully) of one of the most famous filmic teachers, Mr Holland. Upon being attacked by his superiors for using rock and roll in his classes, he replied that he would use anything to instil in his students a love of music. Working with, rather than against, popular culture is an obvious pedagogical imperative. George Lucas has, for example, confirmed the Oprahfied spirituality of the current age. Obviously Star Wars utilises fables, myths3 and fairy tales to summon the beautiful Princess, the gallant hero and the evil Empire, but has become something more. Star Wars slots cleanly into an era of Body Shop Feminism, John Gray's gender politics and Rikki Lake's relationship management. Brian Johnson and Susan Oh argued that the film is actually a new religion. A long time ago in a galaxy far far away -- late 1970s California -- the known universe of George Lucas came into being. In the beginning, George created Star Wars. And the screen was without form, and void. And George said, 'Let there be light', and there was Industrial Light and Magic. And George divided the light from the darkness, with light sabres, and called the darkness the Evil Empire.... And George saw that it was good. (14) The writers underestimate the profound emotional investment placed in the trilogy by millions of people. Genesis narratives describe the Star Wars phenomenon, but do not analyse it. The reason why the films are important is not only because they are a replacement for religion. Instead, they are an integrated component of popular memory. Johnson and Oh have underestimated the influence of pop culture as "the new religion" (14). It is not a form of cheap grace. The history of ideas is neither linear nor traceable. There is no clear path from Plato to Prozac or Moses to Mogadon. Obi-Wan Kenobi is not a personal trainer for the ailing spirituality of our age. It was Ewan McGregor who fulfilled the Xer dream to be the young Obi Wan. As he has stated, "there is nothing cooler than being a Jedi knight" (qtd. in Grant 15). Having survived feet sawing in Shallow Grave and a painfully large enema in Trainspotting, there are few actors who are better prepared to carry the iconographic burden of a Star Wars prequel. Born in 1971, he is the Molly Ringwall of the 1990s. There is something delicious about the new Obi Wan, that hails what Hicks described as "a sense of awareness and self- awareness, of detached observation, of not taking things seriously, and a use of subtle dry humour" (79). The metaphoric light sabre was passed to McGregor. The pull of the dark side. When fans attend The Phantom Menace, they tend to the past, as to a loved garden. Whether this memory is a monument or a ruin depends on the preservation of the analogue world in the digital realm. The most significant theoretical and discursive task in the present is to disrupt the dual ideologies punctuating the contemporary era: inevitable technological change and progress.4 Only then may theorists ponder the future of a digitised past. Disempowered groups, who were denied a voice and role in the analogue history of the twentieth century, will have inequalities reified and reinforced through the digital archiving of contemporary life. The Web has been pivotal to the new Star Wars film. Lucasfilm has an Internet division and an official Website. Between mid November and May, this site has been accessed twenty million times (Gallott 15). Other sites, such as TheForce.net and Countdown to Star Wars, are a record of the enthusiasm and passion of fans. As Daniel Fallon and Matthew Buchanan have realised, "these sites represent the ultimate in film fandom -- virtual communities where like-minded enthusiasts can bathe in the aura generated by their favourite masterpiece" (27). Screensavers, games, desktop wallpaper, interviews and photo galleries have been downloaded and customised. Some ephemeral responses to The Phantom Menace have been digitally recorded. Yet this moment of audience affectivity will be lost without a consideration of digital memory. The potentials and problems of the digital and analogue environments need to be oriented into critical theories of information, knowledge, entertainment and pleasure. The binary language of computer-mediated communication allows a smooth transference of data. Knowledge and meaning systems are not exchanged as easily. Classifying, organising and preserving information make it useful. Archival procedures have been both late and irregular in their application.5 Bocher and Ihlenfeldt assert that 2500 new web sites are coming on-line every day ("A Higher Signal-to-Noise Ratio"). The difficulties and problems confronting librarians and archivists who wish to preserve digital information is revealed in the Australian government's PADI (Preserving Access to Digital Information) Site. Compared with an object in a museum which may lie undisturbed for years in a storeroom, or a book on a shelf, or even Egyptian hieroglyd on the wall of a tomb, digital information requires much more active maintenance. If we want access to digital information in the future, we must plan and act now. (PADI, "Why Preserve Access to Digital Information?") phics carve The speed of digitisation means that responsibility for preserving cultural texts, and the skills necessary to enact this process, is increasing the pressure facing information professionals. An even greater difficulty when preserving digital information is what to keep, and what to release to the ephemeral winds of cyberspace. 'Qualitative criteria' construct an historical record that restates the ideologies of the powerful. Concerns with quality undermine the voices of the disempowered, displaced and decentred. The media's instability through technological obsolescence adds a time imperative that is absent from other archival discussions.6 While these problems have always taken place in the analogue world, there was a myriad of alternative sites where ephemeral material was stored, such as the family home. Popular cultural information will suffer most from the 'blind spots' of digital archivists. While libraries rarely preserve the ephemera of a time, many homes (including mine) preserve the 'trash' of a culture. A red light sabre, toy dalek, Duran Duran posters and a talking Undertaker are all traces of past obsessions and fandoms. Passion evaporates, and interests morph into new trends. These objects remain in attics, under beds, in boxes and sheds throughout the world. Digital documents necessitate a larger project of preservation, with great financial (and spatial) commitments of technology, software and maintenance. Libraries rarely preserve the ephemera -- the texture and light -- of the analogue world. The digital era reduces the number of fan-based archivists. Subsequently forfeited is the spectrum of interests and ideologies that construct the popular memory of a culture. Once bits replace atoms, the recorded world becomes structured by digital codes. Only particular texts will be significant enough to store digitally. Samuel Florman stated that "in the digital age nothing need be lost; do we face the prospect of drowning in trivia as the generations succeed each other?" (n. pag.) The trivia of academics may be the fodder (and pleasures) of everyday life. Digitised preservation, like analogue preservation, can never 'represent' plural paths through the past. There is always a limit and boundary to what is acceptable obsolescence. The Star Wars films suggests that "the whole palette of digital technology is much more subtle and supple; if you can dream it, you can see it" (Corliss 65). This film will also record how many of the dreams survive and are archived. Films, throughout the century, have changed the way in which we construct and remember the past. They convey an expressive memory, rather than an accurate history. Certainly, Star Wars is only a movie. Yet, as Rushkoff has suggested, "we have developed a new language of references and self-references that identify media as a real thing and media history as an actual social history" (32). The build up in Australia to The Phantom Menace has been wilfully joyful. This is a history of the present, a time which I know will, in retrospect, be remembered with great fondness. It is a collective event for a generation, but it speaks to us all in different ways. At ten, it is easy to be amazed and enthralled at popular culture. By thirty, it is more difficult. When we see Star Wars, we go back to visit our memories. With red light sabre in hand, we splice through time, as much as space. Footnotes The United States release of the film occurred on 19 May 1999. In Australia, the film's first screenings were on 3 June. Many cinemas showed The Phantom Menace at 12:01 am, (very) early Thursday morning. The three main players of the GNW team, Paul McDermott, Mikey Robbins and Julie McCrossin, were featured on the cover of Australia's Juice magazine in costumes from The Phantom Menace, being Obi-Wan, Yoda and Queen Amidala respectively. Actually, the National Air and Space Museum had a Star Wars exhibition in 1997, titled "Star Wars: The Magic of Myth". For example, Janet Collins, Michael Hammond and Jerry Wellington, in Teaching and Learning with the Media, stated that "the message is simple: we now have the technology to inform, entertain and educate. Miss it and you, your family and your school will be left behind" (3). Herb Brody described the Net as "an overstuffed, underorganised attic full of pictures and documents that vary wildly in value", in "Wired Science". The interesting question is, whose values will predominate when the attic is being cleared and sorted? This problem is extended because the statutory provision of legal deposit, which obliges publishers to place copies of publications in the national library of the country in which the item is published, does not include CD-ROMs or software. References Bocher, Bob, and Kay Ihlenfeldt. "A Higher Signal-to-Noise Ratio: Effective Use of WebSearch Engines." State of Wisconsin Department of Public Instruction Website. 13 Mar. 1998. 15 June 1999 &lt;http://www.dpi.state.wi.us/dpi/dlcl/lbstat/search2.php&gt;. Brody, Herb. "Wired Science." Technology Review Oct. 1996. 15 June 1999 &lt;http://www.techreview.com/articles/oct96/brody.php&gt;. Carter, Timothy. "Wars Weary." Cinescape 39 (Mar./Apr. 1999): 9. Collins, Janet, Michael Hammond, and Jerry Wellington. Teaching and Learning with Multimedia. London: Routledge, 1997. Corliss, Richard. "Ready, Set, Glow!" Time 18 (3 May 1999): 65. Count Down to Star Wars. 1999. 15 June 1999 &lt;http://starwars.countingdown.com/&gt;. Coupland, Douglas. Generation X. London: Abacus, 1991. Eco, Umberto. Travels in Hyper-Reality. London: Picador, 1987. Fallon, Daniel, and Matthew Buchanan. "Now Screening." Australian Net Guide 4.5 (June 1999): 27. Florman, Samuel. "From Here to Eternity." MIT's Technology Review 100.3 (Apr. 1997). Gallott, Kirsten. "May the Web Be with you." Who Weekly 24 May 1999: 15. Grant, Fiona. "Ewan's Star Soars!" TV Week 29 May - 4 June 1999: 15. Hall, Stuart, and Tony Jefferson, eds. Resistance through Rituals. London: Hutchinson, 1976. Harris, David. From Class Struggle to the Politics of Pleasure: the Effects of Gramscianism on Cultural Studies. London: Routledge, 1992. Hebdige, Dick. Hiding in the Light. London: Routledge, 1988. Hopkins, Susan. "Generation Pulp." Youth Studies Australia Spring 1995. Johnson, Brian, and Susan Oh. "The Second Coming: as the Newest Star Wars Film Illustrates, Pop Culture Has Become a New Religion." Maclean's 24 May 1999: 14-8. Juice 78 (June 1999). Kizlik, Robert. "Generation X Wants to Teach." International Journal of Instructional Media 26.2 (Spring 1999). Lucasfilm Ltd. Star Wars: Welcome to the Official Site. 1999. 15 June 1999 &lt;http://www.starwars.com/&gt;. Miller, Nick. "Generation X-Wing Fighter." The West Australian 4 June 1999: 9. PADI. "What Digital Information Should be Preserved? Appraisal and Selection." Preserving Access to Digital Information (PADI) Website. 11 March 1999. 15 June 1999 &lt;http://www.nla.gov.au/padi/what.php&gt;. PADI. "Why Preserve Access to Digital Information?" Preserving Access to Digital Information (PADI) Website. &lt;http://www.nla.gov.au/padi/why.php&gt;. Rushkoff, Douglas. Media Virus. Sydney: Random House, 1994. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Tara Brabazon. "A Red Light Sabre to Go, and Other Histories of the Present." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2.4 (1999). [your date of access] &lt;http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9906/sabre.php&gt;. Chicago style: Tara Brabazon, "A Red Light Sabre to Go, and Other Histories of the Present," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2, no. 4 (1999), &lt;http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9906/sabre.php&gt; ([your date of access]). APA style: Tara Brabazon. (1999) A red light sabre to go, and other histories of the present. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2(4). &lt;http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9906/sabre.php&gt; ([your date of access]).

&#x0D; &#x0D; &#x0D; Ever since the spread of cheap sampling technology in the 1980s, popular music has incorporated direct quotations from other songs. This trend reached its zenith in the “mash-up,” that genre of popular music which has emerged in the last 5 or 6 years. Most famously, DJ Dangermouse distributed his “Grey Album,” a concept that mashed together the a Capella vocals from Jay-Z’s Black Album with the music from the Beatles’ White Album. Distribution of the project was swiftly met with a Cease and Desist order from the Beatles’ label EMI, leading to the Grey Tuesday online protest in which many websites distributed the album for free in the name of free expression. As the name suggests, “mash-ups,” sometimes also called bootlegs, mash together two or more already released songs. This use of the term ‘bootlegs’ should not to be confused with bootleg recordings of albums or concerts, which are merely illegal copies sold for profit. Both mash-ups and bootlegs are new pieces of art, almost always unable to be bought from stores. In their most basic form, mash-ups take the vocal from one song and the instrumental from another—what bootleggers call an A+B. This has taken ever more elaborate forms, for instance, San Francisco’s DJ Earworm’s “Stairway to Bootleg Heaven” mashes together Dolly Parton, the Beatles, Art of Noise, Pat Benatar, the Eurythmics, and Laurie Anderson. By now, the history of mash-ups and illegal sampling in general has been well covered by many journalists (See, for instance, Sasha Frere Jones and Pete Rojas). The question, then, is not so much what mash-ups are so much as what they do. Many theories of consumer reception have often reductively posited a passive audience impelled by little more than the desire to consume. When it comes to popular culture in modernity, Frankfurt School theorist Theodor Adorno, both in his own writing and with Horkheimer, made the hugely influential argument that the only cultural work it can do is in the service of hegemonic capitalism. Adorno argued, “the entire practice of the culture industry transfers the profit motive naked onto cultural forms” (232). Painting his argument in rather stark terms, Adorno said that “the categorical imperative of the culture industry no longer has anything in common with freedom. It proclaims: you shall … conform to that which exists anyway” (236). As philosopher Jane Bennett points out, Adorno and Horkheimer construct a passive audience consuming the derivative, repetitious pleasures of mass culture, under the thrall of the fetishised commodity “as if it was alive” (Bennett 123). Horkheimer and Adorno’s influential work denies the “possibility of an affective response to commodities able to challenge the socioeconomic system that generates it” (Bennett 121). Adorno damns the modern culture industries, but in an interesting way he also elevates their power, for his theory privileges the producer of the text, not its consumer. The question presents itself, therefore, what happens when subjects are both consumers and producers? The makers of mash-ups are clearly both. Arguably, mash-ups are a fannish re-appropriation in the manner that Henry Jenkins uses to describe slash fan-fiction in Textual Poachers (Jenkins). Like slash writers, mash-up artists take a common popular culture (music in this case) and appropriate it for their own desires and creative impulses. Rather than a purely passive audience, mash-ups show there exists at least a segment of an engaged audience, able to deconstruct and rework popular culture. Jenkins argues that “fandom celebrates not exceptional texts but exceptional readings” (284), a facet clearly exemplified in mash-ups use of not only the rock canon but “disposable” pop and chart R&amp;B. What makes a mash-up interesting is not that it uses quality critically-approved materials, but that it re-works its materials into new contexts. Bootlegs as a whole can embody the “dissonant possibilities” of the commodity (Bennett 127)—as disruption of the normative reading of songs, as a critique of postmodern capitalism, as an affirmation of consumption, as a critique of the pop auteur cult that privileges certain acts as “art” and not others, as frivolous party music, and more. Most obviously, of course, mash-ups illuminate Fredric Jameson’s thesis that postmodern art is an art of pastiche (Jameson). Mash-ups often take disparate elements, songs from different genres, and make songs that shouldn’t belong together somehow work. Freelance Hellraiser’s classic “Stroke of Genius” bootleg took then band du jour The Strokes and overlayed pop muppet Christina Aguilera’s “Genie in A Bottle” vocals into a surprisingly soulful new song, showing in the process that the gap between “manufactured” pop artist and “authentic” rock artist may not be as far as some would imagine. Alternatively, artists can mash together songs that are basically the same, pointedly noting their lack of originality—for instance, the mash-up from which this article takes its name, San Francisco bootlegger Party Ben’s “Boulevard of Broken Songs,” which takes Green Day’s recent “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” and shows its uncanny similarity to Oasis’s “Wonderwall,” as well as other songs by Travis, Coldplay and Aerosmith. Like any commodity, mash-ups are in some ways implicated in a hegemonic capitalist economy. They are an object to be consumed, and are reliant on the consumption of other texts. In a practical sense for its makers, making mash-ups requires the software to make music, often the Sony-owned ACID program, whose loop based lay-out lends itself to the use of sampled materials. Given their general immersion in technology, it is questionable whether bootleggers necessarily purchase these programs, given the availability of “cracked” software on peer-to-peer downloading programs and Bit-Torrent. Similarly, making mash-ups might require the purchase of CDs or mp3s, although again this is far from certain, given the easy accessibility of “illegal” mp3s downloadable on the internet (but of course that requires the money for an internet connection, as does the hosting of mp3s on individual mash-up sites). Compared to the money needed to “legitimately” release songs, though, mash-ups are a relatively inexpensive way to create “new” music. Most mash-up artists post their work with a disclaimer with words to the effect of “I don’t own these songs, I will take these songs down if asked by the copyright owners, don’t sue me.” Songs are usually available to download for free, and the selling of mash-up CDs on E-bay is highly frowned-upon. While this is partly an attempt to avoid being sued by copyright holders, it also suggests an opting-out of a capitalistic system—art for art’s sake. The most obvious critique of capitalism occurs in the form of the “cut-up,” which sees songs or speeches sampled and reassembled to form different meanings. This may be political, for example, the cut-up by RX that re-assembled George W Bush’s speeches into U2’s anti-war song “Sunday Bloody Sunday.” Australian readers may remember the satirical Pauline Pantsdown single “I Don’t Like It” which re-arranged right-wing One Nation politician Pauline Hanson’s voice into nonsensical sayings about shopping trolleys and discos. Like the slash that Jenkins applauds, this may also take the form of a rupture of the heteronormative surface of most pop music. One good example is Bristol mash-up artist Andrew Herring’s “Blue Cheese mix” which cut together Avril Lavigne’s “Sk8r Boi” into a homoerotic love song (“He was a boy/he was a boy/can I make it anymore obvious?”), over the top of such queer-friendly songs as Sylvester’s “You Make Me Feel Mighty Real” and Placebo’s “Nancy Boy.” This is not to suggest that queer sexuality is outside of a capitalistic economy, but rather that queer re-readings take popular music culture into new contexts less frequently taken by the largely heteronormative music industry. But while some mash-up culture exhibits a decidedly anti-capitalist out-look, a few mash-up artists have made the leap from bootlegger to major-label sanctioned artist. The press coverage for the aforementioned Dangermouse got him a production gig with the Gorillaz and the leverage to release his much-hyped Gnarls Barkley project with Cee-Lo (of course, it rather helped that he already had a record deal with rapper Gemini). Richard X’s bootlegs landed him a number one UK single when the Sugababes re-recorded his “Freak Like Me” mash-up, and a number of mash-ups have been licensed by the labels of the original artists and released officially (French bootleggers Loo &amp; Placido’s “Horny Like A Dandy,” English bootleggers Phil &amp; Dog’s “Dr Pressure”). Particularly in the first flush of the mash-up hype in the UK in 2001, there has been the potential at least for a few bootleggers to break into the music industry. Thus, one should not consider mash-ups as an unambiguous refusal of late capitalism, for many bootleggers would like nothing better than to become part of the system from which they currently pilfer. However, given the nature of the medium, its commercial co-option is far from assured, since the clearance fees for many bootlegs render them un-releasable. In their re-appropriations of popular music culture, though, mash-ups embody the contradictions inherent in late capitalism—fun and serious, nihilist and political, anti-capitalist and marked by hyper-consumption. Immersed in pop culture, but not quite of it, the liminal place of mash-ups on the edge of the culture should continue to make them of interest to critics of media culture. References Adorno, Theodor W. “Culture Industry Reconsidered.” In The Adorno Reader. Ed. Brian O’Connor. Oxford: Blackwell, 2000. 230-239. Bennett, Jane. The Enchantment of Modern Life. Princeton: Princeton UP, 2001. Jameson, Fredric. Postmodernism, or, the Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism. London: Verso, 1991. Jenkins, Henry. Textual Poachers: Television Fans &amp; Participatory Culture. New York: Routledge, 1992. Jones, Sasha Frere. “1 + 1 + 1 = 1: The New Math of Mash-Ups.” The New Yorker 10 Jan. 2005. 22 Sep. 2006 http://www.newyorker.com/critics/music/?050110crmu_music&gt;. Rojas, Pete. “Bootleg Culture.” Salon 1 Aug. 2002. 22 Sep. 2006 http://dir.salon.com/story/tech/feature/2002/08/01/bootlegs/index.html?pn=1&gt;. &#x0D; &#x0D; &#x0D; &#x0D; Citation reference for this article&#x0D; &#x0D; MLA Style&#x0D; McAvan, Em. "“Boulevard of Broken Songs”: Mash-ups as Textual Re-appropriation of Popular Music Culture." M/C Journal 9.6 (2006). echo date('d M. Y'); ?&gt; &lt;http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0612/02-mcavan.php&gt;. APA Style&#x0D; McAvan, E. (Dec. 2006) "“Boulevard of Broken Songs”: Mash-ups as Textual Re-appropriation of Popular Music Culture," M/C Journal, 9(6). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?&gt; from &lt;http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0612/02-mcavan.php&gt;. &#x0D;

Introduction Sharing food is central to culture. Indeed, according to Montanari, “food is culture” (xii). Ways of sharing knowledge about food, such as the exchange of recipes, give longevity to food sharing. Recipes, an important cultural technology, expand the practice of sharing food beyond specific times and places. The means through which recipes, and information about food, is shared has historically been communicated through whatever medium is available at the time. Cookbooks were among the first printed books, with the first known cookbook published in 1485 at Nuremberg, which set a trend in which cookbooks were published in most of the languages across Western Europe by the mid 16th century (Mennell). Since then, recipe collections have found a comfortable home in new and emerging media, from radio, to television, and now, online. The proliferation of cookbooks and other forms of food-related media “can be interpreted as a reflection of culinary inexperience, if not also incompetence—otherwise why so much reliance on outside advice?” (Belasco 46). Food-related media has also been argued to reflect both what people eat and what they might wish they could eat (Neuhaus, in Belasco). As such, cookbooks, television cooking shows, and food websites help shape our identity and, as Gallegos notes, play “a role in inscribing the self with a sense of place, belonging and achievement” (99). Food writing has expanded beyond the instructional form common to cookbooks and television cooking shows and, according to Hughes, “has insinuated itself into every aspect of the literary imagination” (online) from academic writing through to memoir, fiction, and travel writing. Hughes argues that concerns that people are actually now cooking less that ever, despite this influx of food-related media, miss the point that “food writing is a literary activity […] the best of it does what good writing always does, which is to create an alternative world to the one you currently inhabit” (online). While pragmatic, this argument also reinforces the common perception that food writing is a professional pursuit. It is important to note that while cookbooks and other forms of food-related media are well established as a means for recipes to be communicated, recipes have a longer history of being shared between individuals, that is, within families and communities. In helping to expand recipe-sharing practices, food-related media has also both professionalised and depersonalised this activity. As perhaps a reaction to this, or through a desire to re-establish communal recipe-sharing traditions, blogging, and specifically food blogging, has emerged as a new and viable way for people to share information about food in a non-professional capacity. Blogging has long been celebrated for its capacity to give “ordinary” people a voice (Nilsson). Due to their social nature (Walker Rettberg) and the ability for bloggers to create “networks for sharing ideas, trends and information” (Walker Rettberg 60), blogs are a natural fit for sharing recipes and information about food. Additionally, blogs, like food-related media forms such as cookbooks, are also used as tools for identity building. Blogger’s identities may be closely tied to their offline identity (Baumer, Sueyoshi and Tomlinson), forged through discussions about their everyday lives (Lövheim) or used in a professional capacity (Kedrowicz and Sullivan). Food blogs, broadly defined as blogs primarily focused on food, are one of the most prominent means through which so-called “ordinary” people can share recipes online, and can be seen to challenge perceptions that food writing is a professional activity. They may focus specifically on recipes, restaurant reviews, travel, food ethics, or aesthetic concerns such as food styling and photography. Since food blogs began to appear in the early 2000s, their number has steadily increased, and the community has become more established and structured. In my interview with the writer of the popular blog Chocolate &amp; Zucchini, she noted that when she started blogging about food in 2003 there were perhaps a dozen other food bloggers. Since then, this blogger has become a professional food writer, published author, and recipe developer, while the number of food bloggers has grown dramatically. It is difficult to know the precise number of food blogs—as at July 2012, Technorati ranked more than 16,000 food blogs, including both recipe and restaurant review blogs (online)—but it is clear that they are both increasing in number and have become a common and popular blog genre. For the purposes of this article, food blogs are understood as those blogs that mostly feature recipes. The term “recipe blog” could be used, but food bloggers make little distinction between different topic categories—whether someone writes recipes or reviews, they are referred to as a food blogger. As such, I have used the term “food blog” in keeping with the community’s own terminology and practices. Recipes published on blogs reach a wider audience than those shared between individuals within a family or in a community, but are not as exclusive or professional, in most instances, as traditional food-related media. Blogging allows for the compression of time and space, as people can connect with others from around the world, and respond and reinvigorate posts sometimes several years after they have been written. In this sense, food blogs are more dynamic than cookbooks, with multiple entry points and means for people to discover them—through search engines as well as through traditional word of mouth referrals. This dynamism allows food bloggers to form an active community through which “ordinary” people can share their passion for food and the pleasures of cooking, seek advice, give feedback, and discuss such issues as seasonality, locality, and diet. This article is based on research I conducted on food blogs between 2010 and 2012, which used an ethnographic, cultural studies approach to online community studies to provide a rich description of the food blogging community. It examines how food blogging provides insight into the eating habits of “ordinary” people in a more broad-based manner than traditional food-related media such as cookbooks. It looks at how food blogging has evolved from a subcultural activity to an established and recognised element of the wider food-related media ecology, and in this way has been transformed from a hobbyist activity to a cottage industry. It discusses how food blogs have influenced food-related media and the potential they have to drive food trends. In doing so, this research does not consider the Internet, or online communities, as separate or distinct from offline culture. Instead, it follows Richard Rogers’s argument for a new approach to Internet studies, in which “one is not so much researching the Internet, and its users, as studying culture and society with the Internet” (29). A cultural studies approach is useful for understanding food blogs in a broader historical and cultural context, since it considers the Internet as “a rich arena for thinking about how contemporary culture is constituted” (Hine et al. 2). Food Blogging: From Hobbyist Activity to Cottage Industry Benkler argues that “people have always created their own culture” (296); however, as folk culture has gradually been replaced by mass-produced popular culture, we have come to expect certain production values in culture, and lost confidence in creating or sharing it ourselves, for fear of it not meeting these high standards. Such mass-produced popular culture includes food-related media and recipes, as developing and sharing recipes has become the domain of celebrity chefs. Food blogs are created by “ordinary” people, and in this way continue the tradition of community cookbooks and reflect an increased interest in both the do-it-yourself phenomena, and a resurgence of a desire to share and contribute to folk culture. Jenkins argues that “a thriving culture needs spaces where people can do bad art, get feedback, and get better” (140-1). He notes that the Internet has drastically expanded the availability of these spaces, and argues that: "some of what amateurs create will be surprisingly good, and some artists will be recruited into commercial entertainment or the art world. Much of it will be good enough to engage the interest of some modest public, to inspire someone else to create, to provide new content which, when polished through many hands, may turn into something more valuable down the line" (140-1). Food blogs provide such a space for amateurs to share their creations and get feedback. Additionally, some food bloggers, like the artists to whom Jenkins refers, do create recipes, writing, and images that are “surprisingly good”, and are recruited, not into commercial entertainment or the art world, but into food-related media. Some food bloggers publish cookbooks (for example, Clotilde Dusoulier of Chocolate &amp; Zucchini), or food-related memoirs (for example, Molly Wizenberg of Orangette), and some become food celebrities in their own right, as guests on high profile television shows such as Martha Stewart (Matt Armendariz of mattbites) or with their own cooking shows (Ree Drummond of The Pioneer Woman Cooks). Others, while not reaching these levels of success, do manage to inspire others to create, or recreate their, recipes. Mainstream media has a tendency to suggest that all food bloggers have professional aspirations (see, for example, Phipps). Yet, it is important to note that, many food bloggers are content to remain hobbyists. These food bloggers form the majority of the community, and blog about food because they are interested in food, and enjoy sharing recipes and discussing their interest with like-minded people. In this way, they are contributing to, and engaging with, folk culture within the blogging community. However, this does not mean that they do not have a broader impact on mainstream food-related media. Food-Related Media Response As the food blogging community has grown, food-related media and other industries have responded with attempts to understand, engage with, and manage food bloggers. Food blogs are increasingly recognised as an aspect of the broader food-related media and, as such, provide both competition and opportunities for media and other industries. Just as food blogs offer individuals opportunities for entry into food-related media professions, they also offer media and other industries opportunities to promote products, reach broader audiences, and source new talent. While food bloggers do not necessarily challenge existing food-related media, they increasingly see themselves as a part of it, and expect to be viewed as a legitimate part of the media landscape and as an alternative source of food-related information. As such, they respond positively to the inclusion of bloggers in food-related media and in other food-related environments. Engaging with the food blogging community allows the wider food-related media to subtly regulate blogger behaviour. It can also provide opportunities for some bloggers to be recruited in a professional capacity into food-related media. In a sense, food-related media attempt to “tame” food bloggers by suggesting that if bloggers behave in a way that they deem is acceptable, they may be able to transition into the professional world of food writing. The most notable example of this response to food blogs by food-related media is the decision to publish blogger’s work. While not all food bloggers have professional aspirations, being published is generally viewed within the community as a positive outcome. Food bloggers are sometimes profiled in food-related media, such as in the Good Weekend magazine in The Sydney Morning Herald (Karnikowski), and in MasterChef Magazine, which profiles a different food blogger each month (T. Jenkins). Food bloggers are also occasionally commissioned to write features for food-related media, as Katie Quinn Davies, of the blog What Katie Ate, who is a regular contributor to delicious magazine. Other food bloggers have been published in their own right. These food bloggers have transitioned from hobbyists to professionals, moving beyond blogging spaces into professional food-related media, and they could be, in Abercrombie and Longhurst’s terms, described as “petty producers” (140). As professionals, they have become a sort of “brand”, which their blog supports and promotes. This is not to say they are no longer interested in food or blogging on a personal level, but their relationship to these activities has shifted. For example, Dusoulier has published numerous books, and was one of the first food bloggers to transition into professional food-related media. However, her career in food-related media—as a food writer, recipe developer and author—goes beyond the work of a petty producer. Dusoulier edited the first English-language edition of I Know How To Cook (Mathiot), which, first published in 1932 (in French), has been described as the “bible” of traditional French cookery. Her work revising this classic book reveals that, beyond being a high-profile member of the food blogging community, she is a key figure in wider food culture. Such professional food bloggers achieve a certain level of celebrity both within the food blogging community and in food-related media. This is reflective of broader media trends in which “ordinary” people are “plucked from obscurity to enjoy a highly circumscribed celebrity” (Turner 12), and, in this way, food bloggers challenge the idea that you need to be an “expert” to talk publicly about food. Food Blogging as an Established Genre Food blogs are often included alongside traditional food-related media as another source of food-related information. For example, the site Eat your books, which indexes cookbooks, providing users with an online tool for searching the recipes in the books they own, has begun to index food blogs as well. Likewise, in 2010, the James Beard Foundation announced that their prestigious journalism awards had “mostly abolished separate categories based on publishing platforms”, although they still have an award for best food blog (Fox online). This inclusion reflects how established food blogging has become. Over time, food blogs have co-evolved and converged with food-related media, offering greater diversity of opinion. Ganda Suthivarakom, a food blogger and now director of the SAVEUR website, says that “in 2004, to be a food blogger was to be an outsider in the world of food media. Today, it couldn’t be more different” (online). She argues that “food blogs leveled the playing field […] Instead of a rarefied and inaccessible group of print reviewers having a say, suddenly thousands of voices of varying skill levels and interests chimed in, and the conversation became livelier” (Suthivarakom online). It is worthwhile noting that while there are more voices and more diversity in traditional food-related media, food blogging has also become somewhat of a cliché: it has even been satirised in an episode of The Simpsons (Bailey and Anderson). As food blogging has evolved it has developed into an established and recognised genre, which may be nuanced to the bloggers themselves, but often appears generic to outsiders. Food blogging has, as it were, gone mainstream. As such, the thousands of voices are also somewhat of an echo chamber. In becoming established as a genre, food blogs reflect the gradual convergence of different types of food-related media. Food blogs are part of a wider trend towards user-generated, food-related online content. It could also be argued that reality shows take cues from food blogs in terms of their active audiences and use of social media. MasterChef in particular is supported by a website, a magazine, and active social media channels, reflecting an increasing expectation of audience participation and interactivity in the delivery of food-related information. Food bloggers have also arguably contributed to the increasingly image-driven nature of food-related media. They have also played a key role in the popularity of sharing photos of food through platforms such as Instagram and Pinterest. Food Blogs and Food Trends Food blogs, like cookbooks, can be seen to both reflect and shape culture (Gallegos). In addition to providing an archive of what “ordinary” people are cooking on a scale not previously available, they have potential to influence food trends. Food bloggers are essentially food enthusiasts or “foodies”. According to De Solier, “most foodies see themselves as culturalists rather than materialists, people whose self-making is bound up in the acquisition of cultural experiences and knowledge, rather than the accumulation of material things” (16). As foodies, food bloggers are deeply engaged with food, keen to share their knowledge and, due to the essential and convivial nature of food, are afforded many opportunities to do so. As such, food blogs have influence beyond the food blogging community. For example, food bloggers could be seen to be responsible, in part at least, for the current popularity of macarons. These sweet, meringue-based biscuits were featured on the blog A la cuisine! in 2004—one of the earliest examples of the recipe in the food blogging community. Its popularity then steadily grew throughout the community, and has since been featured on high-profile and popular blogs such as David Lebovitz (2005), The Traveller’s Lunchbox (2005), and La Tartine Gourmand (2006). Creating and posting a recipe for macarons became almost a rite of passage for food bloggers. At a food blogging conference I attended in 2011, one blogger confided to me that she did not feel like a proper blogger because she had not yet made macarons. The popularity of macarons then extended beyond the food blogging community. They were the subject of a book, I Love Macarons (Ogita), first published in Japanese in 2006 and then in English in 2009, and featured in a cooking challenge on MasterChef (Byrnes), which propelled their popularity into mainstream food culture. Macarons, which could have once been seen as exclusive, delicate, and expensive (Jargon and Passariello) are now readily available, and can even be purchased at MacDonalds. Beyond the popularity of specific foods, the influence of food bloggers can be seen in the growing interest in where, and how, food is produced, coupled with concerns around food wastage (see, for example, Tristram). Concerns about food production are sometimes countered by the trend of making foods “from scratch,” a popular topic on food blogs, and such trends can also be seen in wider food culture, such as with classes on topics ranging from cheese making to butchering (Severson). These concerns are also evident in the growing interest in organic and ethical produce (Paish). Conclusion Food blogs have demonstrably revitalised an interest in recipe sharing among “ordinary” people. The evolution of food blogs, however, is just one part of the ongoing evolution of food-related media and recipe sharing technologies. Food blogs are also an important part of food culture, and indeed, culture more broadly. They reflect a renewed interest in folk culture and the trend towards “do-it-yourself”, seen in online and offline communities. Beyond this, food blogs provide a useful case study for understanding how our online and offline lives have become intertwined, and showcase the Internet as a part of everyday life. They remind us that new means of sharing food and culture will continue to emerge, and that our relationships to food and technology, and our interactions with food-related media, must be continually examined if we are to understand the ways they both shape and reflect culture. References Abercrombie, Nicholas, and Brian Longhurst. Audiences: A Sociological Theory of Performance and Imagination. London: Sage, 1998. Armendariz, Matt. Mattbites. 21 Apr. 2013 ‹http://mattbites.com/›. Bailey, Timothy, and Mike B. Anderson. “The Food Wife.” The Simpsons. 2011. 13 Nov. Baumer, Eric, Mark Sueyoshi, and Bill Tomlinson. "Exploring the Role of the Reader in the Activity of Blogging." ACM Conference on Human Factors in Computing Systems. 2008. Belasco, Warren. Food: The Key Concepts. Oxford: Berg, 2008. Benkler, Yochai. The Wealth of Networks: How Social Production Transforms Markets and Freedom. New Haven: Yale U P, 2006. Byrnes, Holly. "Masterchef's Macaron Madness." The Daily Telegraph (2010). 6 Jul. ‹http://www.dailytelegraph.com.au/entertainment/masterchefs-macaroon-madness/story-e6frewyr-1225888378794%3E. Clement. “Macarons (IMBB 10).” A La Cuisine!. 21 Nov. 2004. 21 Apr. 2013 ‹http://www.alacuisine.org/alacuisine/2004/11/macarons_imbb_1.html›. DeSolier, Isabelle. "Making the Self in a Material World: Food and Moralities of Consumption." Cultural Studies Review 19.1 (2013): 9–27. Drummond, Ree. The Pioneer Woman Cooks!. 21 Apr. 2013 ‹http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/›. Dusoulier, Clotilde. Chocolate and Zucchini. 21 Apr. 2013. ‹http://chocolateandzucchini.com/›. Fox, Nick. "Beard Awards Will Not Distinguish between Online and Print Journalism." New York Times (2010). 14 Oct. ‹http://dinersjournal.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/10/14/beard-awards-will-not-distinguish-between-online-and-print-journalism/%3E›.. Gallegos, Danielle. "Cookbooks as Manuals of Taste." Ordinary Lifestyles: Popular Media, Consumption and Taste. Eds. Bell, David and Joanne Hollows. Maidenhead: Open University Press, 2005. 99–110. Hine, Christine, Lori Kendall, and Danah Boyd. "Question One: How Can Qualitative Internet Researchers Define the Boundaries of Their Projects?" Internet Inquiry: Conversations About Method. Eds. Baym, Nancy K. and Annette N. Markham. Los Angeles: Sage, 2009. 1-32. Hughes, Kathryn. "Food Writing Moves from Kitchen to Bookshelf." guardian.co.uk (2010). 19 June ‹http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2010/jun/19/anthony-bourdain-food-writing. Jargon, Julie, and Christina Passariello. "Mon Dieu! Will Newfound Popularity Spoil the Dainty Macaron?" Wall Street Journal. 2 March (2010). 21 April 2013 ‹http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748704269004575073843836895952.html›. Jenkins, Henry. Convergence Culture: Where Old and New Media Collide. New York: New York U P, 2008. Jenkins, Trudi. "Blog File." MasterChef Magazine 2010: 20. Karnikowski, Nina. "Eat, Cook, Blog." Good Weekend 18 Feb. 2012: 29–33. Kedrowicz, April Ann, and Katie Rose Sullivan. "Professional Identity on the Web: Engineering Blogs and Public Engagement." Engineering Studies 4.1 (2012). Lebovitz, David. David Lebovitz. 21 Apr. 2013. ‹http://www.davidlebovitz.com›. Lebovitz, David. “French Chocolate Macaron Recipe.” David Lebovitz. 26 Oct. 2005. 21 Apr. 2013. ‹http://www.davidlebovitz.com/2005/10/french-chocolat/›. Lövheim, Mia. "Young Women's Blogs as Ethical Spaces." Information, Communication &amp; Society 14.3 (2011): 338–54. Mathiot, Ginette. I Know How to Cook. Trans. Forster, Imogen. UK ed. London: Phaidon Press Limited, 2009. Melissa. “The Mighty Macaron.” The Traveller’s Lunchbox. 27 Sep. 2005. 21 April 2013. ‹http://www.travelerslunchbox.com/journal/2005/9/27/the-mighty-macaron.html Mennell, Stephen. All Manners of Food. 2nd ed. U of Illinois P, 1996. Montanari, Massimo. Food Is Culture. Trans. Albert Sonnenfeld. New York: Columbia U P, 2006. Nilsson, Bo. "Politicians’ Blogs: Strategic Self-Presentations and Identities." Identity: An International Journal of Theory and Research 12.3 (2012): 247–65. Ogita, Hisako. I Love Macarons. San Francisco: Chronicle Books LLC, 2009. Paish, Matt. "Ethical Food Choices Influencing Product Development, Research Finds." Australian Food News 21 Dec. 2011. ‹http://www.ausfoodnews.com.au/2011/12/21/ethical-food-choices-influencing-product-development-research-finds.html›. Peltre, Béatrice. “Macarons or Victim of a Food fashion—Les macarons ou victime d’une mode culinaire.” La Tartine Gourmande. 10 Dec. 2006. 21 Apr. 2013. ‹http://www.latartinegourmande.com/2006/12/10/macarons-or-victim-of-a-food-fashion-les-macarons-ou-victime-dune-mode-culinaire/›. Phipps, Catherine. "From Blogs to Books." The Guardian (2011). 6 June ‹http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/wordofmouth/2011/jun/06/from-blogs-to-books›. Quinn Davies, Katie. "Brunch Time." delicious. 2012: 98–106. Rogers, Richard. The End of the Virtual: Digital Methods. Inaugural Lecture: Delivered on the Appointment to the Chair of New Media &amp; Digital Culture. 8 May 2009. Vossiuspers UvA. Severson, Kim. "Don't Tell the Kids." The New York Times. 2 Mar. 2010. sec. Dining &amp; Wine. Suthivarakom, Ganda. "How Food Blogging Changed My Life " Saveur. 9 May 2011. Technorati. "Blog Directory / Living". 2012. 22 Jul. 2012. ‹http://technorati.com/blogs/directory/living/food/%3E. Tristram, Stuart. Waste: Uncovering the Global Food Scandal. London: Penguin, 2009. Turner, Graeme. Ordinary People and the Media: The Demotic Turn. Theory, Culture &amp; Society. Ed. Featherstone, Mike. London: Sage, 2010. Walker Rettberg, Jill. Blogging. Digital Media and Society Series. Cambridge: Polity, 2008. Wizenberg, Molly. Orangette. 21 Apr. 2013. ‹http://orangette.blogspot.com.au/›.

The theme for this issue of M/C is 'renew'. This is a term that could be approached in numerous ways: as a cultural practice, in terms of broader dynamics of change, in terms of the future of the journal. In this piece, however, I'd like to narrow the focus and think about renewal in the context of the concept of 'media' and media theory. This is not to diminish the importance of looking at media in relation to changing technologies, and changing cultural contexts. Indeed, most readers of M/C will no doubt be aware of the dangers of positing media outside of culture in some kind of deterministic relationship. Indeed, the slash in the title of M/C -- which since its first editorial both links and separates the terms 'media' and 'culture' -- is interesting to think about here precisely because the substitution of the 'and' opens up a questioning of the relation between the two terms. While I too want to keep the space between media / culture filled with possibility, in this piece I want to look mainly at one side of the slash and speculate on renewal in the way we relate to ideas of media. Since its first editorial the slash has also been a marker of M/C's project to bridge academic and popular approaches, and work as a cross-over journal. In the hope of not stretching the cross-over too far, I'd like to bring contemporary philosophy into the picture and keep it in the background while thinking about renewal and the concept of 'media'. A key theme in contemporary philosophy has been the attempt to think difference beyond any opposition of the One and the Many (Patton 29-48; Deleuze 38-47). In an effort to think difference in its own terms, philosophers like Gilles Deleuze and Jacques Derrida have resisted seeing difference as something dependant on, derivative or secondary to a primary point of sameness and identity. In this brief piece, and out of respect of M/C's project, my intention is not to summarise this work in detail. Rather, I want to highlight the existence of this work in order to draw a contrast with the way in which contemporary thinking about media often seems caught up in a dynamic of the One and Many, and to pose the question of a different path for media theory. Having mentioned philosophy, I do want to make the point that 'One or Many Media' is not just an abstract formulation. On the contrary, the present day is a particularly appropriate time to look at this problem. Popular discussion of media issues itself oscillates between an idea of Media dominance (the One) and an idea of multiple media (multimedia). Discussions of convergence frequently invoke a thematics of the One arising out of the Many, or of the Many arising from the One. Medium, Media, the Media. Which one to use? We need only to list these three terms to begin see how the tension between the One and the Multiple has influenced contemporary thinking about media. An obvious tension exists on the level of grammar. 'Media' is the plural of 'Medium'. That is, until we use the term 'the Media' which can be used to refer to the singularity of (a specific area of) the Press. Walter Ong dubs 'medium' "the fugitive singular" to describe this phenomenon (175). To compensate for the increasing use of 'the media' as a singular it is becoming more common to see the term 'mediums' instead of 'media'. A second tension exists on the level of the senses. 'The media', and in some senses a 'medium', conveys the notion of a media form distinct from the senses. As Michael Heim notes, Medium meant conceptual awareness in conjunction with the five senses through which we come to understand things present before us in the environment. This natural sense of media was gradually dissipated during the modern period by man-made extensions and enhancements of the human senses ... . Electronic media gave new meaning to the term. We not only perceive directly with five senses aided by concepts and enhanced by instrumentation, but also are surrounded by a panorama of man-made images and symbols far more complex than can be assimilated directly through the senses and thought processes. Media in the electronic sense of acoustic-optic technology ... appear to do more than augment innate human sensory capacities: the electronic media become themselves complex problems; they become facts of life we must take into account as we live; they become, in short, the media. (47) In this passage, Heim shows how through extension and instrumentation 'the media' comes to occupy a different register of existence. 'The media' in this account are distinct from any general artefact that can serve as a means of communication to us. On this register, 'the media' also develops into the idea of the mass media (see Williams 169). In popular usage this incorporates print and broadcasting areas (usually with a strong journalistic emphasis), and is often personified around a notion of 'the media' as an agent in the contemporary political arena (the fourth estate, the instrument of a media baron). This brings us to a third tension, to do with diversity. The difference between the terms 'Medium', 'Media', 'the Media', is clearly bound up with the issue of diversity and concentration of media. Sean Cubitt argues that a different activation of interactive media, intermedia, or video media, is crucial to restoring an electronic ecology that has been destroyed by the marketplace (207). What the work of theorists like Cubitt reveals is that the problem of diversity and concentration has a conceptual dimension. Framed within an opposition between the One and the Multiple, the diversity in question -- of different senses and orders of media -- is constrained by the dominant idea of the Media. Many theorists and commentators on 'the Mass media' barely acknowledge the existence of video media unless it is seen as a marketplace for the distribution of movies. This process of marginalisation has been so thorough that the contemporary discussion of the Internet or interactive digital media often ignores previous critical discussion of the electronic arts -- as if McLuhan had no connection with Fluxus, or convergence had no links to intermedia experimentation. In a different example, it is becoming common to discuss 'personal media' like laptops and intelligent jewellery (see Beniger; Kay and Goldberg). But if media theory has previously failed to look at T-shirts and other personal effects as media then this is in part due to the dominance of the idea of the mass media in conceptual terms. This dominance leads Umberto Eco to propose an idea of the "multiplication of the media" against the idea of mass media, and prompts him to declare that "all the professors of theory of communications, trained by the texts of twenty years ago (this includes me) should be pensioned off" (149). It could be argued that rather than represent a problem the sliding between these terms is enabling not disabling. From this perspective, the fact that different senses of media collapse or coalesce with one another is appropriate, since (as I hope I've shown) different senses of media are often grounded in other senses. Indeed, we can agree with this argument, and go further to suggest that renewing our relationship to concepts of media involves affirming the interplay of different senses of media. What needs careful consideration here, however, is how we think of different senses of media. For it is very often the case that this question of difference is blocked from discussion when an order of media is used to secure a territory or a foundation for a particular idea of how things should work. From this foundation particular ideas of One-ness/Same-ness or Many-ness can emerge, each of which involves making assumptions about differences between media, and the nature of difference. Examples might include notions of mainstream and alternative, professional and non-professional, 'industry' and 'artistic' ways of working.1 In each case a dominant idea of the media establishes itself as an order against which other practices are defined as secondary, and other senses of media subordinate. Surveying these tensions (grammatical, sensory and diversity) between the terms 'Medium', 'Media', 'the Media', what becomes apparent is that neither of them is able to stand as 'the' primary conceptual term. Attempting to read contemporary developments in light of the One of the mass media means that theory is often left to discuss the fate of an idea, broadcasting, that represents only one way of organising and articulating a medium. Certainly, this approach can yield important results on the level of audience studies and identity politics, and in respect to government policy. Jock Given's work on broadcasting as a "set of technologies, social and cultural practices, cultural forms, industries, institutional forms, words and an idea" usefully contests the idea that broadcasting is dying or has no place in the digital future (46). However, research of this kind is often constrained by its lack of engagement with different orders of media, and its dependence on an idea of the One medium that is now under erasure.2 Attempting to read contemporary developments in light of the One of the mass media means that theory is often left to discuss the fate of an idea, broadcasting, that represents only one way of organising and articulating a medium. Certainly, this approach can yield important results on the level of audience studies and identity politics, and in respect to government policy. Jock Given's work on broadcasting as a "set of technologies, social and cultural practices, cultural forms, industries, institutional forms, words and an idea" usefully contests the idea that broadcasting is dying or has no place in the digital future (46). However, research of this kind is often constrained by its lack of engagement with different orders of media, and its dependence on an idea of the One medium that is now under erasure.2 Exploring the potential of 'Medium' as a primary term leads again into the problem of the One and the Many. The content of every medium may be, as McLuhan said, another medium (8). But we should search for the hidden One that binds together the Many. Indeed, multimedia can precisely be seen in this way: as a term that facilitates the singularising of multiple media. In a historically significant 1977 paper "Personal Dynamic Media" by Alan Kay and Adele Goldberg, we read that the essence of a medium is very much dependent on the way messages are embedded, changed, and viewed. Although digital computers were originally designed to do arithmetic computation, the ability to simulate the details of any descriptive model means that the computer, viewed as a medium itself, can be all other media if the embedding and viewing methods are sufficiently well provided. (255) It is following this passage that Kay and Goldberg use the term "metamedium" to describe this system, which effectively seals the Many into the One, and compromises any sense that 'multimedia' can fully live up to the idea of multiple media. Situating the term 'media' as a primary term is interesting primarily because Heim deems it the "natural sense of media". There is some value in re-asserting the most general understanding of this idea, which is that any artefact can serve to communicate something to the senses. That said, any exploration of this kind needs to keep a critical eye not just on the McLuhanesque extension of the senses that Heim mentions, but also the imperative that these artefacts must mediate, and function as a means of communication. In other words, any celebration of this conception of media needs to be careful not to naturalise the idea that communication is the transmission of ideal contents. As Derrida's work shows, a complex system is required for a media to work in this way. It is only via a particular system of representation that a medium comes to serve as a vehicle for communication (311-2). As such, we should be wary of designating this idea of media as 'natural'. There are of course other reasons to be cautious with the use of the term 'natural' in this context. Contemporary usage of 'media' show that the human sensorium has already entered a complex cyborg future in which human actions, digital files, data, scripts, can be considered 'media' in a performance work or some other assemblage. Contemporary media theory resolves some of the problems of the terms 'Medium', 'Media', 'the Media' serving as a primary conceptual figure by reading them against one another. Thus, the mass media can be criticised from the point of view of the broader potential of the medium, or transformations in a medium can be tracked through developments in interactive media. Various critical or comparative approaches can be adopted within the nexus defined by these three terms. One important path of investigation for media theory is the investigation of hybrid mixed forms of media as they re-emerge out of more or less well defined definitions of a medium. A concern that can be raised with this approach, however, is that it risks avoiding the problem of the One or Many altogether in the way it posits some media as 'pure' or less hybrid in the first instance. In the difficult process of approaching the problem of One or Many media, media theory may find it worthwhile listen in on discussion of the One or Many opposition in contemporary philosophy. Two terms that find a prominent place in Deleuze's discussion of the multiplicity are "differentiation" and "actualisation". I'd want to suggest that both terms should hold interest for media theorists. For example, in terms of the problem of One or Many Media, we can note that differentiation and actualisation have not always been looked at. Too often, the starting point for theories of media is to begin with a particular order of media, a conception of the One, and then situate multiple practices in relationship to this One. Thus, 'the media' or 'mass media' is able to take the position of centre, with the rest left subordinate. This gesture allows the plural form of 'media' to be dealt with in a reductive way, at the expense of an analysis of supposed plurality. (It also works to detach the discussion of the order of media in question from other academic and non-academic disciplines that may have a great deal to say about the way media work.) A different approach could be to look at the way this dominant order is actualised in the first place. Recognition that a multiplicity of different senses of media pre-exists any single order of media would seem to be a key step towards renewal in media theory. This piece has sought to disturb the way a notion of the One or Many media often works in the space of media theory. Rather than locate this issue in relation to only one definition of media or medium, this approach attempts to differentiate between different senses of media, ranging from those understandings linked to the human sensorium, those related to craft understandings, and those related to the computerised manipulation of media resources. The virtue of this approach is that it tackles head on the issue that there is no one understanding of media that can function as an over-arching term in the present. The human senses, craft, broadcasting, and digital manipulation are all limited in this respect. Any response to this situation needs to engage with this complexity by recognising that some understandings of media exceed the space of a medium. These other understandings can form useful provisional points of counter-actualisation.4 Footnotes Recent Australian government decisions about the differences between digital television and datacasting would be interesting to examine here. In relation to Given's work I'd suggest that a fuller examination of media's digital future needs to elaborate on the relationship between 'the media' and alternative understandings of the term in computing, for example, such as Kay and Goldberg's. In this way, the issue of future conceptions of media can be opened up alongside the issue of a future for the media. Monaco's, "Mediography: In the Middle of Things" is a rare example. In the section 'Levels of the Game' Monaco usefully distinguishes between different orders of media. My thanks to the anonymous M/C reviewers for their useful comments, and also Anna Munster for her suggestions. References Beniger, James R. "Personalisation of Mass Media and the Growth of Pseudo-Community." Communication Research 14.3 (June 1987): 352-71. Cubitt, Sean. Videography: Video Media as Art and Culture. London: Macmillan, 1993. Deleuze, Gilles. Bergsonism. Trans. Hugh Tomlinson and Barbara Habberjam. New York: Zone, 1991. Derrida, Jacques. Margins of Philosophy. Trans. Alan Bass. Brighton, Sussex: Harvester, 1986. Eco, Umberto. "The Multiplication of the Media." Travels in Hyper-Reality. Trans. William Weaver. London: Pan, 1986. 145-50. Given, Jock. The Death of Broadcasting: Media's Digital Future. Kensington: U of New South Wales P, 1998. Heim, Michael. Electric Language: A Philosophical Study of Word Processing. New Haven and London: Yale UP, 1987. Kay, Alan, and Adele Goldberg. "Personal Dynamic Media." A History of Personal Workstations. Ed. Adele Goldberg. New York: ACM/Addison-Wesley, 1988. 254-63. McLuhan, Marshall. Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1964. Monaco, James. "Mediography: In the Middle of Things." Media Culture. Ed. James Monaco. New York: Delta, 1978. 3-21. Ong, Walter. Orality and Literacy: The Technologising of the Word. London: Methuen, 1982. Patton, Paul. Deleuze and the Political. London: Routledge, 2000. Williams, Raymond. Keywords: A Vocabulary of Culture and Society. London: Fontana, 1976. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Steven Maras. "One or Many Media?" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3.6 (2000). [your date of access] &lt;http://www.api-network.com/mc/0012/many.php&gt;. Chicago style: Steven Maras, "One or Many Media?" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3, no. 6 (2000), &lt;http://www.api-network.com/mc/0012/many.php&gt; ([your date of access]). APA style: Steven Maras. (2000) One or many media? M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3(6). &lt;http://www.api-network.com/mc/0012/many.php&gt; ([your date of access]).

Digital transformation has become a buzzword across many industries, and the dental field is no exception. Based on electronic health data, digital transformation is acknowledged as one of the biggest game-changers of the twenty-first century, tackling both current and future challenges in dental and oral healthcare. A novel method for addressing today’s major healthcare issues, such as an ageing population with a higher incidence of chronic diseases and higher lifetime treatment costs, is offered by the utilization of digital tools and apps. Health care providers may improve patient satisfaction, develop loyalty and trust, and streamline operations with the aid of digitalization. The trend of digitalization has also been influenced and nurtured by the social and cultural habits of civilised society in industrialised nations. These behaviours include urbanism, centralization, mobility, and constant accessibility through the use of smartphones, tablets, and the internet of things (IoT). In order to ensure transparency for all parties involved—including patients, healthcare providers, universities and research institutions, the medtech industry, insurance, the public media, and state policy— digital dentistry necessitates managing expectations in a more pragmatic and realistic manner. It is not to be construed that digital smart data technology will eventually take the place of people who can provide dental competence and patient empathy. The dental team in charge of digital applications is still crucial to patient care and will always be so. Many difficulties arise in the process of gathering, storing, and analysing digital biological patient data. Safeguarding patient data for optimal safety requires not just technical considerations for managing massive volumes of data, but also adherence to globally established norms and ethical guidelines.1 There are four main categories that best describe the advantages of digital dental technologies in Prosthodontics. The first and foremost is improved communication. Dental laboratory staff, patients, dentists, and other stakeholders may all communicate clearly with the help of computerized patient records. Furthermore, digital radiographs and pictures depicting intraoral conditions improve the information exchange between medical professionals and patients. One of the main benefits of integrated electronic patient records is error-free, real-time communication. Enhanced record keeping, data fidelity, workflow efficiency, and therapeutic outcomes are among the benefits of increased quality. Real-time clinical improvement is made possible by intraoral scanning of tooth preparations that are examined in highly contrasted, magnified fields on a computer screen while the patient is in direct view. Data archiving for specific patients is the third benefit. The following are some benefits of using 3-D archived diagnostic casts: a) long-lasting images without causing damage or loss to the original casts; b) allowing the images to be interfaced with other images for analysis using cutting-edge analytical and design tools; c) removing human error; and d) reduced costs for storage. The fourth and most significant advantage of digital technology in Prosthodontics is its favourable effect on patient satisfaction. More advanced treatment plans are driven by the enhanced diagnostic data. Several factors, such as time constraints, IT support costs, a lack of basic computer skills, disruptions to workflow, privacy and security concerns, interprofessional and intersystem connections, and technical and expert support, are impeding the adoption of digital technology in Prosthodontics.2,3 Several digital processes for production processing in Prosthodontics have already been incorporated into treatment procedures, particularly in the quickly expanding fields of rapid prototyping (RP) and computer-aided design/computer-aided manufacture (CAD/ CAM). Artificial intelligence (AI) and machine learning (ML) have created new opportunities for automated processing in radiological imaging. Furthermore, the technology underlying the superimposition of various imaging files to create virtual dentistry patients and non-invasive simulations comparing various outcomes before any clinical intervention is known as augmented and virtual reality, or AR/VR. These exciting new technologies—whose potential applications are still up in the air—have been made conceivable by increased IT capability.1,2,3 The process of rapidly and autonomously creating three-dimensional (3D) models of a finished product or a component of a whole using 3D printers is known as rapid prototyping. Complex 3D geometries can be produced at a reasonable cost with minimal material waste, thanks to the additive manufacturing technique. The workpiece is virtually sliced into multiple two dimensional layers. The tool-path is then generated by the AM machine in both the x and y dimensions. A three-dimensional component is formed by sequentially depositing each material layer on top of the other. The foundation of this novel approach is the slicing of a three-dimensional CAD model into numerous thin layers, which are then built one after the other by manufacturing machinery using the geometric data. Dental technology can benefit greatly from RP’s mass manufacture of dental models and its ability to fabricate implant surgical guides. Large-scale, simultaneous production in a repeatable, standardized manner is highly advantageous from an economic perspective.4 Augmented reality, or AR, is an interactive technology that uses computer-animated perceptual data to enhance a real-world experience. Stated differently, augmented reality is the addition of virtual content to the physical world. Usually, it involves superimposing extra digital data on real-time pictures or movies. In contrast, virtual reality relies solely on artificial, non-reality-connected computerized settings. Every imaginable form of sensation, primarily visual, aural, and haptic, can be employed alone or in any combination, depending on the technique. In addition to several fascinating advancements for patients and healthcare professionals, AR/VR technologies are currently finding a growing number of applications in the field of Prosthodontics as a whole.5,6 Artificial Intelligence has come a long way in the last ten years. The field of Prosthodontics is about to benefit from the most intriguing AI applications that are just around the corner. Though AI is developing quickly, it will never be able to fully replace human intelligence, skill, or capacity to make decisions. Artificial Intelligence (AI) in prosthodontics is growing exponentially. The implementation’s results are on par with, and sometimes even better than, those of humans. AI can be seen as a potential tool in every area, including the identification of marginal lines, the classification of denture fixtures and maxillofacial prosthesis, and the reduction of human error in implant cementation. Furthermore, AI cannot take the role of human knowledge, skill, or treatment planning; it can only support clinicians in carrying out their responsibilities in a professional manner. AI is generally recognized as a great tool for Prosthodontists, despite the fact that there are still obstacles to be addressed, including data collection, interpretation, computing power, and ethical issues. With careful design and long-term clinical validation, AI can be transparent, unbiased, repeatable, and user-friendly.7,8 Future research should emphasize the connection between oral and general health in order to concentrate on patient-centered outcomes and personalized therapy. Research in Prosthodontics ought to be useful to society in this context. It shouldn’t only produce papers for scientific journals; instead, it should aim to improve clinical protocols. Research and development in material science and related technical applications aim to preserve tooth structures with early diagnosis, repair of dental conditions to attain aesthetics, function with high degree of predictability, along with fewer appointments. Digital technology has a significant impact on patient motivation, clinical aspects, laboratory procedures, student training, practice management, and research.

Introduction Music scholarship across genres is often concerned with music's metaphysical and ephemeral effects on individuals, communities, and society. These scholarly framings constitute a concept that we refer to here as “the magic of music”. Using this framing, this article addresses the ways that the magic is undermined by a range of worldly, non-magical realities, using the case study of the COVID-19 pandemic lockdowns and their devastating effects on the previously thriving live music industry in Naarm/Melbourne, Australia. The magic of music includes such aspects as the intangible sounds of music, the mysterious practice of creative music-making, and the transformative effects on audiences and others who participate in music culture. We begin with a broad discussion of the sonic properties of music as a form of magic—a common rhetoric that has been used across the world regardless of genre or cultural origin. Next, we turn to the social contexts surrounding music, such as live music settings. De Jong and Lebrun argue that “the power of music” can create “moments of rare, intense and direct interactions between individuals” that are often described as magical, and that “magic is, in this sense, understood as a perfectly natural and plausible, and not supernatural, experience, even if its intensity and rarity in one's life makes it extra-ordinary” (4). We use this framing of “music as magic” in our consideration of the specific context of Australia’s music industry from 2020 to the present. We posit that the devastating effects of the COVID-19 pandemic, alongside government-sanctioned lockdowns, cultural shifts such as an increased focus on poor working conditions and risk in music work, and detrimental arts funding policies worked together to effectively break the spell of “music as magic” for industry and patrons. Finally, we draw on key examples from popular music studies, industry reports and new government policies, to call attention to recent proposals to rehabilitate the magic through a re-enchantment of music and the music industry. Feels like Magic: The Social Context of Music Music is a form of organised sound and silence that people across cultures, history, and places, have articulated as possessing magical properties (Nettl). Music is not only sound waves but also a social category, thus the notion of magic extends beyond sound into everyday discourse in the social realm of music, which will be the focus of this article. Audiences/listeners may describe their own response to music as a magical feeling, stemming from the performer’s ability to convey emotion and provide a performance that “mirrors the performer’s [own] deep connection to the music” (Loeffler 19). Such ‘magical moments’ of deep connection among audience members and between audiences and performers may be elicited in various ways. Examples include the sense of emotional self-recognition found via personal lyrics, resonance with unique vocal timbres, or the shared sense of belonging that develops with fellow audience members, including strangers, during musical events (Anderson). For the latter, the magic (or “magick”, a spelling associated with stagecraft) of ritualised music performance is a common element of Paganism in music performance, with some popular music artists implicitly “appropriat[ing] the Pagan subculture's symbols for artistic inspiration and commercial gain”, presenting themselves as contemporary conduits that reconnect audiences to old magics (Sweeney Smith 91; see also Weston). When it comes to these sorts of ideas about magic and music, performers and audiences routinely make claims about magical musical powers such as “talent”, an idea deployed to describe the skills and charisma of certain musicians, and “creativity”, a “magic ingredient” (see McRobbie) that people who write or produce music are supposed to possess in order to perform their craft (Gadir 61–4; Gross and Musgrave 10, 22; see also Nairn). Music of all forms can provide profound affective experiences, regardless of how it is made and who plays it. There is also a magical discourse present in popular music that has reached millions of people in a globalised musical world dominated by recordings. For as long as music has had a mass market, its magic properties (as articulated in multiple ways across history) have been a selling point for musicians, records, and concerts. The recorded music industry’s very selection process is rooted in the idea that “creativity is based on ‘little bits of magic’ and that success is down to luck and timing” (Gross and Musgrave 140). Music writing (scholarly, criticism, journalism) tends to focus on these magical properties: from the sublime nature of a musical work and its form to the phenomenology of sound and affective experience of music, and even the inexplicable, elusive ‘talent’ of particular musicians. Jimi Hendrix labelled his music work “completely, utterly a magic science” (Clarke 195), while Joni Mitchell “consistently referred to Charles Mingus, Wayne Shorter, and Jaco Pastorius as ‘magicians’ and ‘shamans,’ thereby conferring a susceptibility to the miraculous upon the musicians she most respected” (Lloyd 124). As we show below, this conflation of magical and religious concepts is evident elsewhere in discourse on the intangibility of musical talent. Some genres of music have emphasised the idea of music as magic more than others. For example, scholarship on electronic dance music (EDM) has embraced the concept of “DJ as shaman” (Brewster and Broughton 19; Luckman 133; Rietveld “Introduction” 1; Rietveld This Is Our House) and the nightclub as a “pseudo-religious pilgrimage site” (Becker and Woebs 59), extending Benjamin’s argument for art’s origins in service of ritual (24). Miller has further alluded to a mystical DJ craft, both as a performer quoted in music media (Gallagher) and in his own academic writing: “gimme two records and I’ll make you a universe” (DJ Spooky That Subliminal Kid 127; Miller 497). Shamanism is also explored in rock music discourse (see Kennedy 81–90). Notions of musical magic extend beyond performances and personalities into the recording studio. Music mastering is commonly labelled a “dark art” (Hepworth-Sawyer and Golding 241; Hinksman 13; Nardi 211), and the music studio as a site where magic is made (Anthony 43, 194). Rolling Stone magazine has even deployed a recurrent editorial phrase—“the magic that can set you free”—to distinguish the authenticity of rock from pop music (Frith 164–5). We argue that two key ruptures of the last few years—namely, widespread lockdown policies during the COVID-19 pandemic, and emerging discussions on poor working conditions and harms in the music industries—have had the effect of breaking the magic spell of music. There has been a groundswell of musicians, commentators, and scholars pausing to query (and in some cases overturn entirely) some of the illusions that the music industry constructs around musicians. We use the city of Naarm/Melbourne in Australia to draw out some of these trends. When the Magic Dies: Breaking the Spell of the Music Industry The COVID-19 pandemic resulted in lengthy lockdowns in the city of Naarm/Melbourne. In total, over a two-year period, the city spent 262 days in home confinement under strict orders from the government, with limited travel and no access to the usual amenities of the city, including all public in-person entertainment (Jose). This had a profound effect on the state’s musicians and the music industries that service them. It completely closed the city’s music venues for an extended period, driving musicians into alternative, virtual modes of performance (Vincent) and driving other music workers into non-music-related employment. For a city often touted as “the live music capital of Australia” (see Homan et al.), the lockdowns effectively broke the spell of music as a key employer and as a driver of arts practice and social experience in Melbourne. Quite suddenly, the lockdown periods revealed the precarious lives of musicians away from the stage. Once stripped of the “magical” quality of live performance, musicians’ work and practice appeared both more complex and more routine. The COVID-19 pandemic broke the spell of music that takes place in social settings. At the start of 2020, live music was one of the first activities to be banned. Live music relies on people being near one another, often in enclosed spaces. It often involves people on stage and in the crowd singing, an activity identified early in the pandemic as an effective method of spreading the virus. These attributes, together with its status as “entertainment” rather than as an essential activity, meant that live music gatherings became entirely illegal (Strong and Cannizzo). Even as lockdowns were lifted, live music was one of the last activities to be reinstated, albeit with access restricted in various ways. People continued to engage with music via other means, for example, through virtual live-streamed performances and platform-based audio streaming. Globally, there was an increase in people listening to older, nostalgic music (Yeung)—an indicator that music was still being used for its magical self-soothing capacities, alleviating the worst pandemic anxieties. However, the closure of the Victorian live music sector drew attention to the material conditions of music making in new ways (“Losses Continue”). Many musicians and music workers could not take advantage of government schemes to support workers who had lost their income during the pandemic (Triscari). This highlighted what was already known to music industry workers: that their work was insecure. It also revealed the contradictions within government music policies: on the one hand, music’s utility for city branding, on the other, little regard for what support and resources are required for it to take place. As more and more musicians used the pandemic to draw attention to their already existing labour conditions, the precarious and mundane aspects of music-making became foregrounded in broader discussions (see Strong and Cannizzo). These included the overall degree to which musicians are exploited (see Nairn), whether musicians can earn a living wage, pay their rent, or receive other workplace benefits including safe working environments. These problems exist in stark contrast to the historically mythologised portrayals of musicians as concerned about their art and Dionysian social experience above all else, regardless of their physical or material conditions. In reality, live music work has always included mundane activities and routine labour. The historical mythology of the “star”, regardless of genre, tends to depict the lives of performers as exotic and removed from everyday life. In this sense, performers are perceived as magical as much as the music they make. The everyday world, within this mythology, is something akin to “a fearful, life-threatening condition that could ensnare you in its grasp … as relentless routine and the marker of social distinction” (Highmore 16). Audiences tend to view musicians as committed to alternative ways of being, and music performance as an escape from the everyday, wherein work becomes interchangeable with leisure and touring provides a nomadic lifestyle. However, in recent years, popular music studies research, together with musicians, fans, and media, have called these ideas into question. A career in live music performance appears to offer no escape from responsibility—something at the heart of fearful representations of everyday life. Inside of a music practice, new responsibilities emerge. Leisure becomes labour with all its attendance downsides. Close-knit familial-style relationships are formed, often based on financial and creative partnerships, including the risk of gender-based abuse that exists within such relationships (Fileborn et al.). The nomadic life of a performer involves its own cramped and confining aspects (a life of group transit and service entrances). This combines with an already in-progress push towards making the vicissitudes of this work more visible—afforded by social media, cultural formations such as #MeToo, and a significant upswing in research showing the harms of music work (Gross and Musgrave; Strong and Cannizzo)—to significantly undermine the myth of live music’s magical properties. In Naarm/Melbourne, prior to the pandemic, this myth was brittle. After years of lockdown, it arguably shattered. The emotional devastation wrought by an abrupt and almost complete cessation of live music activities also had flow-on effects on recorded music. For example, it prevented activities such as tours that support album releases, recording sessions, or rehearsing new musical material. Already existing mental health issues in the music industry were highlighted and amplified by these circumstances (Brunt and Nelligan). Together with the aforementioned financial disadvantage experienced by musicians, research had already shown for years before the pandemic that mental health was poor in this sector (Gross and Musgrave). Such mental health issues are due in part to the relationship between music work and conceptions of self and identity, where success or failure are felt as intensely personal (a by-product of the idea that music possesses magical qualities). Mental health problems are also associated with exclusion, bullying and harassment, which are not only widespread but have been normalised and even celebrated for decades. Pre-existing pressures such as these were exacerbated dramatically by the pandemic lockdowns, which spurred on further discussions about them (Strong and Cannizzo). During the pandemic, the magic of music had been disrupted in several ways: the ability of music to connect people to one another in live settings had been curtailed or removed, and the narratives of the creation of music being magical had been replaced with a vision of mundanity, hardship, and underappreciation. If the magic did not set musicians or music workers free, why should they return to long working hours for little pay in an industry that was frequently unsafe and that left them feeling bad—especially when they discovered that when the chips were down, they would be left out of the support offered to others? Re-Enchanting Music: Conjuring a Different Kind of Magic Weber used the term “enchantment” as a means of explaining the magic within worldly (empirical) phenomena. By contrast, he argued that disenchantment was the removal of magical experience from the real world and that this was the result of replacing the “supernatural” exclusively with rationality and calculation (Koshul 9). The easing of lockdown conditions heralded what we call here the “re-enchantment” of the music industry. An industry that is re-enchanted refers to a world which is “susceptible again to redemption” and is “reimbued not only with mystery and wonder but also with order [and] purpose” (Landy and Slalor 2). During the early post-lockdown period, the aim of government, patrons, and the entertainment industry was to rekindle the pre-COVID levels of audience engagement with live music. Audiences themselves were eager to return to live music and were prepared to spend money on concert tickets and music festivals, according to findings from the Australia Council’s Audience Outlook Monitor (Patternmakers). However, this report also showed that restrictions, fears of further outbreaks, and lockdowns were still looming in the minds of audiences and event organisers. This was compounded by a lack of investment in the creative industries broadly by the Australian Federal government during lockdowns and a staggered reopening, particularly in the state of Victoria, where lockdowns continued well into 2021. The road back to ‘normality’ would require putting audiences, industry, and, indeed, the government, back under the spell of music. Reaffirming the idea that music has a fundamental value in society and culture was the first step. The election of a federal Labor government in 2022 started this process, after a decade of conservative Liberal leadership that had actively worked to devalue and defund the arts. The new government quickly launched a consultation process around the arts in Australia, and launched the resulting policy, titled Revive: Australia's Cultural Policy for the Next Five Years, in mid-2023. This policy not only reaffirmed the central place of the arts, including music, in Australia's social life, but went further than any previous government in acknowledging some of the disenchantment in the industry. They committed to establishing Music Australia (Creative Australia) as a body dedicated to ensuring the prominence of music in arts activities, and the Centre for Arts and Entertainment Workplaces, a body that would, among other things, deal with complaints around workplace misconduct of various types. This later body was created partly in response to the Raising Their Voices report documenting widespread bullying and sexual harassment in music spaces. In addition to this, Australian state governments implemented various measures to encourage the re-normalisation of concert attendance. For example, the Victorian State Government’s Always Live funded programme was launched with a regional, one-off gig by the Foo Fighters. Initiatives such as these on the state and federal level served to bolster the struggling industry. An initially slow return to live shows, followed by a spate of visually spectacular, large-scale, sold-out shows by Harry Styles and Taylor Swift, indicate a return to a form of ‘business as usual’ for top-tier international touring artists. Although top-down policy can send a message that music work is valued, much of the ‘magic’ of music is created by communities and within grassroots spaces. In Naarm/Melbourne, the announcement that the iconic live music venue the Tote Hotel was being put up for sale has provided a flashpoint moment. The venue’s current owners have become emblematic of the problems in the industry, reportedly failing to provide proper benefits to their staff over a long period (Marozzi). The owners of the Last Chance Rock and Roll Bar have since announced a fundraiser for three million dollars to buy the Tote, which they have framed in terms of protecting the value of music to the Naarm/Melbourne community. The owners promised to not only protect music-making on the site but also to “leave the Tote to the bands and future generations for the rest of time” by “putting the building into a trust that will legally protect the Tote from being anything other than a Live Music Venue” (“Last Chance to Save the Tote”). References to the (dark) magic of this situation is visible in the designs for the t-shirts given out for contributors to the funding campaign: two zombies crawling from the grave of the Tote, beers in hand, ready to keep on rockin’. The zombies are indicative of a venue risen from the dead through the Naarm/Melbourne music community’s magical effort. The response of the public and commentators that have followed the achievement of this fundraising goal is akin to the wonderment of an audience seeing a magician perform an impressive trick. Notably, the community-led and community-focussed approach of the Tote draws on the magic of connection built around music scenes, not only corporate interests. This includes exploring how venues can be owned by the communities that use them (Wray), schemes that provide artists with a universal basic income (Caust), and “safer spaces” strategies that work to increase the accessibility of music for everyone (Hill et al.). Conclusion In this article, we have outlined the ways that Naarm/Melbourne, which has been celebrated as one of the world’s best live music cities, temporarily lost the magical allure of its musical life in the eyes of many, and subsequently started to regain it through a fragile process of rejuvenation. Traces of ideas about live music’s ineffable magic can clearly be found in recovery stories that now circulate. Moreover, such stories are articulated against a backdrop of new mythologies forming around the city’s music branding and practice. The especially long pandemic lockdown period in Naarm/Melbourne has brought into sharper focus the hard realities of music-making and performance—as labour, local culture, and policy. The post-COVID city is now tasked with selectively rebuilding itself as a music city, unifying the magical potency of the old with a more clear-eyed, unromantic analysis of the present. References Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London: Verso, 1991 [1983]. Anthony, Brendan. Music Production Cultures: Perspectives on Popular Music Pedagogy in Higher Education. Milton: Taylor and Francis, 2022. Australian Government. Revive: Australia's Cultural Policy for the Next Five Years. Canberra: Department of Infrastructure, Transport, Regional Development, Communications and the Arts, 2023. &lt;https://www.arts.gov.au/publications/national-cultural-policy-revive-place-every-story-story-every-place&gt;. Becker, Tim, and Raphael Woebs. “‘Back to the Future’: Hearing, Rituality and Techno.” The World of Music 41.1 (1999): 59–71. Benjamin, Walter. “The Work of Art in the Age of Its Technological Reproducibility: SECOND VERSION.” The Work of Art in the Age of Its Technological Reproducibility, and Other Writings on Media. Eds. Michael W. Jennings, Brigid Doherty, E.F.N. Jephcott, and Thomas Y. Levin. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 2008. 19–55. Brewster, Bill, and Frank Broughton. Last Night a DJ Saved My Life: The History of the Disc Jockey. New York: Grove, 2006. Brunt, Shelley, and Kat Nelligan. “The Australian Music Industry’s Mental Health Crisis: Media Narratives during the Coronavirus Pandemic.” Media International Australia 178.1 (2021): 42–46. Caust, Jo. “Australia Should Have a Universal Basic Income for Artists. Here’s What That Could Look Like.” The Conversation, 2 May 2022. &lt;https://theconversation.com/australia-should-have-a-universal-basic-income-for-artists-heres-what-that-could-look-like-182128&gt;. Clarke, Paul. “‘A Magic Science’: Rock Music as a Recording Art.” Popular Music 3 (1983): 195–213. “Creative Australia, Music Australia and Creative Workplaces Now Law.” Minister for the Arts, 16 June 2023. &lt;https://minister.infrastructure.gov.au/burke/media-release/creative-australia-music-australia-and-creative-workplaces-now-law&gt;. De Jong, Nanette, and Barbara Lebrun. “Introduction: The Notion of Magic in Popular Music Discourse.” Popular Music 38.1 (2019): 1–7. DJ Spooky That Subliminal Kid. Rhythm Science. Cambridge: Mediawork/MIT Press, 2004. Fileborn, Bianca, Rosemary L. Hill, and Catherine Strong. Unsilenced: Women Musicians after Sexual Abuse in the Popular Music Industries. New York: Bloomsbury, forthcoming 2024. Frith, Simon. “‘The Magic That Can Set You Free’: The Ideology of Folk and the Myth of the Rock Community.” Popular Music 1 (1981): 159–168. Gadir, Tami. “Forty-Seven DJs, Four Women: Meritocracy, Talent, and Postfeminist Politics.” Dancecult 9.1 (2017): 50–72. Gallagher, Hugh. “Gimme Two Records and I'll Make You a Universe: DJ Spooky, the Subliminal Kid.” Wired, Aug. 1994: 86. Gross, Sally Anne, and George Musgrave. Can Music Make You Sick? Measuring the Price of Musical Ambition. London: U of Westminster P, 2020. Hepworth-Sawyer, Russ, and Craig Golding. “The Mastering Session.” What Is Music Production. Eds. Russ Hepworth-Sawyer and Craig Golding. Burlington: Focal, 2011. 241–253. Highmore, Ben. The Everyday Life Reader. London: Routledge, 2002. Hill, Rosemary Lucy, Desmond Hesmondhalgh, and Molly Megson. “Sexual Violence at Live Music Events: Experiences, Responses and Prevention.” International Journal of Cultural Studies 23.3 (2020): 368–384. Hinksman, Alexander. “The Mastering Engineer – Manipulator of Feeling and Time.” Riffs – Experimental Writing on Popular Music 1.1 (2017): 11–18. Homan, Shane, Seamus O’Hanlon, Catherine Strong, and John Tebbutt. Music City Melbourne: Urban Culture, History and Policy. New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 2022. Jose, Renju. “Melbourne Readies to Exit World’s Longest COVID-19 Lockdown.” Reuters, 21 Oct. 2021. &lt;https://www.reuters.com/world/asia-pacific/melbourne-readies-exit-worlds-longest-covid-19-lockdowns-2021-10-20/&gt;. Kennedy, Victor. Strange Brew: Metaphors of Magic and Science in Rock Music. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2013. Koshul, Basit Bilal. The Postmodern Significance of Max Weber’s Legacy: Disenchanting Disenchantment. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005. Landy, Joshua, and Michael Saler. “Introduction: The Varieties of Modern Enchantment.” The Re-Enchantment of the World: Secular Magic in a Rational Age. Eds. Joshua Landy and Michael Saler. Redwood City, CA: Stanford Scholarship Online. “Last Chance to Save the Tote.” 2023. Pozible campaign. 10 July 2023 &lt;https://www.pozible.com/project/the-last-chance-to-save-the-tote&gt;. Lloyd, Brian. “Gender, Magic, and Innovation: The Musical Artistry of Joni Mitchell.” Rock Music Studies 7.2 (2020): 114–131. Loeffler, Zachary. “‘The Only Real Magic’: Enchantment and Disenchantment in Music's Modernist Ordinary.” Popular Music 38.1 (2019): 8–32. “Losses Continue.” 2021. I Lost My Gig – Australia, 12 Sep. 2023. &lt;https://ilostmygig.net.au/latest-news/f/losses-continue&gt;. Luckman, Susan. “Doof, Dance and Rave Culture.” Sounds of Then, Sounds of Now: Popular Music in Australia. Eds. Shane Homan and Tony Mitchell. Hobart: ACYS Publishing, 2008. 131–150. Marozzi, Matilda. “Owners of Iconic Music Venues The Tote, Bar Open, Fail to Pay Superannuation a Second Time.” ABC News, 9 Aug, 2021. &lt;https://www.abc.net.au/news/2021-08-09/tote-bar-open-not-paying-superannuation-melbourne-music-venues/100348276&gt;. McRobbie, Angela. Be Creative: Making a Living in the New Culture Industries. Cambridge: Polity, 2016. Miller, Paul D. “Algorithms: Erasures and the Art of Memory.” Audio Culture: Readings in Modern Music. Rev. ed. Eds. Christoph Cox and Daniel Warner. New York: Bloomsbury, 2017. 497–503. Nairn, Angelique. “Chasing Dreams, Finding Nightmares: Exploring the Creative Limits of the Music Career.” M/C Journal 23.1 (2020). 1 Aug. 2023 &lt;https://journal.media-culture.org.au/index.php/mcjournal/article/view/1624&gt;. Nardi, Carlo. “The Shifting Discourse on Audio Mastering.” Mastering in Music. Eds. John-Paul Braddock, Russ Hepworth-Sawyer, Jay Hodgson, Matthew Shelvock, and Rob Toulson. Milton: Taylor and Francis, 2020. 211–225. Nettl, Bruno. “Music.” Grove Music Online. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2001. 14 Sep. 2023 &lt;https://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/grovemusic/view/10.1093/gmo/9781561592630.001.0001/omo-9781561592630-e-0000040476&gt;. Patternmakers. “Audience Outlook Monitor: Live Attendance Outlook – March 2022.” Australia Council for the Arts, 2022. &lt;https://australiacouncil.gov.au/wp-content/uploads/2021/08/AOM_March2022_National_Snapshot_Report.pdf&gt;. Rietveld, Hillegonda C. This Is Our House: House Music, Cultural Spaces and Technologies. Abingdon: Routledge, 1998. ———. Introduction. DJ Culture in the Mix: Power, Technology and Social Change in Electronic Dance Music. Eds. Bernardo Alexander Attias, Anna Gavanas, and Hillegonda C. Rietveld. New York: Bloomsbury, 2013. 1–14. Sweeney Smith, Erin. “Conjuring Some Magic: Paganism and the Musical and Visual Aesthetics of Florence the Machine and Bat for Lashes.” Popular Music 38.1 (2019): 90–104. Strong, Catherine, and Fabian Cannizzo. “Pre-Existing Conditions: Precarity, Creative Justice and the Impact of the COVID-19 Pandemic on the Victorian Music Industries.” Perfect Beat 21.1 (2021): 10–24. Triscari, Caleb. “New Figures Show Arts and Recreation Businesses Hit the Hardest during Coronavirus Pandemic.” NME, 2020. 12 Sep. 2023 &lt;https://www.nme.com/en_au/news/music/arts-and-recreation-businesses-hit-the-hardest-during-coronavirus-pandemic-2642911&gt;. Vincent, Caitlin. “The Impacts of Digital Initiatives on Musicians during COVID-19: Examining the Melbourne Digital Concert Hall.” Cultural Trends 32.3 (2023): 247-263. Weston, Donna. “Paganism and Popular Music.” The Bloomsbury Handbook of Religion and Popular Music. Eds. C. Partridge and M. Moberg. London: Bloomsbury, 2017. 184–197. Wray, Daniel. “‘We Don’t Want Money Going to Private Landlords’: UK Music Venues Turn to Community Ownership.” The Guardian 20 July 2022. &lt;https://www.theguardian.com/music/2022/jul/20/we-dont-want-money-going-to-private-landlords-uk-music-venues-turn-to-community-ownership&gt;. Yeung, Timothy Yu-Cheong. “Did the COVID-19 Pandemic Trigger Nostalgia? Evidence of Music Consumption on Spotify.” COVID Economics, 25 Aug. 2020. 14 Sep. 2023 &lt;https://cepr.org/node/390595&gt;.

Introduction Wooden toys have been a staple in many family homes. Even LEGO's iconic plastic building blocks had humble beginnings as wooden toys (Lauwaert). Arguably, the materiality of wooden toys evokes normative feelings of nostalgia for a simpler past, where the uncomplicated nature of the wooden product provided the space for all sorts of imaginative play. It is through this lens that we find the adaptation of wooden toys into playsets that emulate particular vocations, like a doctor's kit and a carpenter's toolbox, an interesting entry point to consider the boundary of what is an acceptable toy within the contemporary wooden toy genre. And it is the blurry nature of this boundary, as exemplified by public outcry regarding a wooden vlogger set that had a ringlight, which is the subject of this article. In Australia in May 2022, global supermarket chain Aldi released a set of wooden toys for children aged 3+ based on various technologies used in contemporary jobs in the creative industries (Wannis). These ‘futuristic’ role-play toy sets (Kanna)—which sat alongside more ‘traditional’ vocation sets about transport, cooking, and manufacturing—included a wooden laptop set, a DJ set, and a vlogger set. The vlogger set came with a rope-like ringlight on a tripod, a wooden point-and-shoot camera, mobile phone device, and remote microphone with a receiver (see fig. 1 &amp; 2). The wooden vlogger set replicates the real-life experience of using a ringlight, a round, donut-like light that often attaches to a recording device or a tripod to create an even lighting effect. The ringlight has become a symbol of content creation on social media and the Influencer industry—a cultural practice and line of work that often evokes negative connotations (Abidin, "Aren’t These"). And we see these negative connotations evidenced through an instance of public criticism on social media about the wooden vlogger set, which stands as a proxy for more significant concerns about children and digital media. Fig. 1 &amp; 2: Outer box of wooden vlogger set, sold at Aldi in May 2022. (Photo by authors.) First shared as a story on Instagram by a private account, a follower and journalist then re-shared an image of the box for the wooden vlogger set to Twitter with the caption ‘it’s a no for me’. Many public comments under this tweet agreed with the original poster’s sentiment, calling the toy ‘exploitative’ and ‘dire’, exclaiming ‘wtf [what the fuck]’ and ‘absolutely not’. Other comments mocked the toy by joking ‘like and subscribe’ and rebranded it as ‘my little influencer’; a take on the popular 1980s toy series My Little Pony. This public opposition to the wooden vlogger set stands out as an interesting case study to interrogate how the convergence of wooden toys with contemporary technologies (re)surfaces moral panic regarding children and digital media. The wooden vlogger set, and specifically the symbolism of the toy ringlight, forms the basis of a case study into how digital technologies provoke moral panic about children’s (future) media practices. We highlight in this article that while moral panic about young people and their relationship with new media is a longstanding practice, the development of new media technologies—including the ringlight which is used to aid digital media production—evokes what Marwick calls technopanic, that is, exaggerated fears about young people's online practices which result in the denial or removal of access to said technologies. While we take the stance that content creation on social media is a valid and valuable practice, in this article we highlight how toys like the wooden vlogger set continue to be met with trepidation from some adults due to their connections with taking selfies and the Influencer industry on social media—as evidenced by the social media comments mentioned above. Furthermore, we argue in this article that these technopanics, evidenced by the public outcry on social media to the wooden vlogger set, obscure the opportunity that toys that replicate digital media technologies can afford, such as developing media literacy through playful, offline, and analogue ways. In the first section of the article, we argue that the toy ringlight acts as a proxy for media practices that endorses young children spending time online in ways that some consider problematic. We argue that these fears are an illustration of technopanic. In the second section of the article, we argue how the toy ringlight offers children a way to connect with imagined futures (and the present) by mimicking the everyday media practices they see elsewhere—through their families, media consumption, and popular culture. Studies have shown how children’s play can sometimes be based on popular culture, including television programs (Marsh and Bishop). We argue that as children today watch content creators on YouTube Kids and their parents use technology, they are learning about everyday media practices. The wooden vlogger set offers a way for children to explore those practices. We conclude the article by advocating that opposition to the wooden vlogger set is misdirected energy, as the critical skills of media literacy can be nurtured precisely through play with toys like the ringlight and wooden vlogger set. Won’t Somebody Please Think of the Children! The public outcry over this wooden vlogger set is another example of moral panic regarding children and their participation with the media. Moral panic is defined as an overreaction to a perceived social problem; they are often temporal, in the sense of being short-lived, and the media are known as a driving factor that reproduces and compounds the supposed concerns (Critcher; Hall). Historical illustrations of moral panics are known to involve youths and youth culture with the example of ‘mod and rockers’ in the 1960s (Cohen), ‘youth gangs’ in the 1980s (Zatz), and more recently, the ‘Tide-Pod Challenge’ that conjured panic about youths eating dishwashing pods for clout on social media (Sleight-Price et al.). By framing public opposition to the wooden vlogger set as an example of moral panic, we aim to draw attention to the media ecology which this toy signifies, and critically unpack the ways in which it plays into longstanding concerns about children and new media. To critically examine the moral panic about the vlogger set, we first draw attention to the vocation imitated through the wooden toy: a vlogger. The term ‘vlogger’ stands for ‘video-blogger’, a dominant form of user-created content shared on social media platforms like YouTube, that centres on recording the ‘ordinary’ aspects of one's life (Burgess and Green). It is important to underscore that engaging in practices of vlogging does not inherently mean that this is one's vocation, as a person can vlog as a hobby or creative outlet. But the more contemporary term associated with being a vlogger, that is, an ‘Influencer’, muddles the conception of what it means to vlog due to the increasing platformisation of cultural production (Duffy et al.). An Influencer is an ordinary Internet user who has accumulated “a relatively large following on blogs and social media through the textual and visual narration of their personal lives and lifestyles” who then “monetise their following by integrating advertorials into their blog or social media posts” (Abidin, "Aren’t These" 3). Advertorials—a term that combines ‘advertising’ and ‘editorial’—are the “highly personalised, opinion-laden promotions of products/services that Influencers personally experience and endorse for a fee” (Abidin, "Micro­microcelebrity" par. 3). The increasing commercialisation of content creation on digital media platforms has been met with criticism regarding the erosion of authenticity (Arriagada and Bishop). This is because Influencers are seen to adapt their media practices, and arguably part of themselves, to fit the logics of the platform, such as producing particular types of content to increase views, like taking ‘selfies’. One of the key signifiers of vlogging or being an Influencer on social media is ‘the selfie’, a self-made image of oneself, for which the ringlight plays a central role. Ringlights are used “to take brighter, clearer, high-resolution photographs” or videos, wherein the “even” lighting avoids casting “unsightly shadows” on faces and bodies (Abidin, "Aren’t These" 12). It is this utility of the ringlight that evokes conceptions that dismiss posting selfies as “frivolous and self-absorbed” (Tiidenberg and Gómez Cruz 78). Selfies have been argued as promoting “negative feminine stereotypes” such as “feminine vanity and triviality” as they are seen to be performative of particular conceptions around beauty (Burns 1716-1718). As such, Abidin argues in “‘Aren’t These Just Young, Rich Women Doing Vain Things Online?’: Influencer Selfies as Subversive Frivolity”, drawing on the work of Dobson and Coffey, that selfies anchor moral panics over the safety and wellbeing, particularly of women, online. Again, while we take the stance that no value judgement ought to be cast towards the use of ringlights in touching up appearances, as lighting is often used as a tool in both everyday and commercial media production, we argue that the toy ringlight brings forth these anxieties around vanity for some adults. The toy ringlight manifests these grievances about Influencers and, specifically, child influencers. Controversy about child influencers or ‘kidfluencers’ continues to fuel debate about the presence and exploitation of children in online media entertainment. A media practice known as “sharenting”, where parents share footage of their children as they grow up online (Blum-Rose), means that children can amass large followings on social media and become “micro-microcelebrities” (Abidin, "Micromicrocelebrity"). Notably, one of the public comments in opposition to the wooden vlogger set situated their grievance in the fact that the toy is designed for children aged 3+; as though the toy advocates for the notion of kidinfluencers—a prospect framed in the comment as inherently problematic. While the existence of kidfluencers is complex in nature—as both rewarding and challenging outcomes surmount from the practice—concerns about children’s privacy and online exploitation experiences dominate the issue. The problematic nature of child influencers is exemplified through notorious cases such as YouTube channel DaddyOFive, where the children’s reactions to ‘pranks’ were exploited for views (Leaver and Abidin). And issues regarding children promoting products or services online are raised through examples such as child unboxing videos on YouTube (Craig and Cunningham). Concerns regarding child influencers understandably call for greater consideration of how children participate with online media practices. It is essential to critically examine exploitative commercialisation practices and champion children’s right to privacy (Livingstone et al.; Verdoodt et al.). At the same time, it is important to remember that not all media produced by children, or by parents with children, are inherently harmful. The notion that children have this innate innocence that needs protection from the media is an established trope known to spur moral panic. Panic around mass media and their ‘bad’ influence on youth and youth culture, including children, is not a new phenomenon (Springhall). For example, media theorist Neil Postman famously argued in the 1980s that the “new media environment, with television at its centre, is leading to the rapid disappearance of childhood” (286). It is an argument that suggests that children’s increasingly mediated lives through communication technologies ‘force’ them to live in an ‘adult’s world’; thus eroding their childhood. We argue that the toy ringlight in the wooden vlogger set stimulates this same type of thinking, as though playing with the toy will ‘force’ children into the ‘adult world’ of social media production—which is not exclusively true. Through this lens, we also extend our argument that the opposition to the toy is not only a moral panic but, specifically, a technopanic. Panics occur when adults begin to be excluded from the ways young people engage with the media (Leick). The toy ringlight—as a proxy to ‘unsavoury’ new media practices—thus taps into a generational concern. A concept that helps explain this phenomenon is what Marwick calls a technopanic. Technopanics relies on the idea that harm will come to children through the use of new media technologies, and thus a justification is made to restrict access. In this way, the potential benefits of engaging with new media technologies, like the toy ringlight, are ignored in favour of focussing on the negative and exaggerated harms the media cause (Buckingham). This opposition fails to recognise that as technologies and media practices emerge, there are new risks but also new opportunities for children (Livingstone). Developing Media Literacy through the Toy Ringlight Ringlights are now prolific, not only among Influencers or those involved in social media production. Interest in ringlights has grown considerably since the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, with searches for the term rising dramatically in March 2020 (Google Trend for ‘Ring Light’). Although the toy ringlight in the wooden vlogger set is not digital, in that there are no electronic components and it does not connect to any networks, there are opportunities for the toy to help children develop digital media literacy understandings from an early age through playful exploration. Above, we have discussed how adults perceive the toy ringlight and how it mirrors the everyday and commercial media practices of adults, which can be confronting for some. Here, we examine how children could explore the toy ringlight through play. Children learn about technology through everyday familial practices (Plowman and Stevenson). Those children without access to a ringlight in their everyday life will likely treat the toy differently from what the toy creators anticipated. However, children who share technology practices with their families (e.g. seeing parents use a ringlight for Zoom meetings) or learn these through popular culture (e.g. seeing ringlights used by their favourite content creators on YouTube Kids) will have a different set of practices more closely aligned to the intended use of a toy ringlight to play and experiment with. Ringlights are part of the fabric of everyday life for many people and their use is not inherently positive or negative. Instead, they contribute to our increasingly complex media practices. Toys and everyday tools provided across different aspects of children’s lives offer ways to engage with and transfer knowledge of cultural and everyday experiences (Sheina et al.). The ringlight as an object can provide opportunities for children to play with the material practices of media production in ways that reflect the cultural experiences and practices they are part of. Bird contends that technologies, including non-working technologies such as old keyboards and phones, provide children with opportunities to engage with concepts related to the digital, as they bring to life experiences they have observed through imaginative play. We argue that the toy ringlight is situated within the concept of converged play, where the boundary between digital and non-digital play has blurred significantly (Marsh; Wood et al.). The material and the digital can be attended to when we consider how young children engage in play (Marsh et al.). Through play with material objects, like the wooden vlogger set and the toy ringlight, children engage with their worlds and learn the processes, practices, and concepts of media production. Pretend play can support children’s exploration of digital ideas (Vogt and Hollenstein) as they learn to communicate and tell stories. In a media production sense, Buckingham says that children and young people can deepen their understanding of the media by imitating media forms and styles. Playing with technology can serve similar purposes to playing with traditional toys (Robb and Lauricella). Similarly, we argue that children playing with toys that replicate social media production, such as the wooden vlogger set, are also developing early understandings of media literacy. As young children tell stories, play, and communicate with friends through new digital technologies, they develop an understanding of the media. Media literacy, the ability to critically engage with the media in our everyday lives (Australia Media Literacy Alliance), develops over time (Potter). The toy ringlight does not have to be positioned as problematic as per the technopanic we described earlier. Instead, it offers opportunities for children to explore and reflect on the key concepts of media literacy: technologies, institutions, representations, languages, audiences, and relationships. There are two scenarios where the concept of technologies could be central to children's play using the wooden vlogger set and toy ringlight. Firstly, the toy has multiple components that work together. Children can explore how the camera, light and lapel microphone connect to the device. They can consider if they need all these components and play the different roles required to operate the technology. Secondly, by incorporating the toy into their play, children can develop understandings of the role of digital technology in their lives and how it impacts or shapes media practices. Technologies allow or prevent certain choices from being made (Lüders; Williamson). The wooden vlogger set operates similarly, although children can use the toy outside of these constraints, resulting in forms of disruption. The practices of engaging with media technologies can be bound socially and culturally (du Gay et al.), and through materials (Burnett and Merchant); as children, the wooden vlogger set, and their context come into relation with each other. While the technology is visible to children and adults in this case, working in conjunction with the notion of using technology is the idea of how we use technology to distribute or share our media productions. This refers to the concept of institutions, which offers a lens for how to examine the business of the media and who benefits from media production and distribution—including media platforms—politically, socially, and economically (Alvarado). The inclusion of the small device that looks like a mobile phone in the wooden vlogger set hints at the toy privileging sharing and distribution practices. The various app icons painted on the wooden toy phone provide an opportunity for children to play with the idea of sharing their productions with others. Some children might play with ideas of uploading their productions to YouTube or other social media platforms if that is something they have been exposed to, integrating the digital and non-digital. Media productions do not exist in a technological vacuum. We use media technologies to communicate meaning and tell stories—we (re)present people, places, events, and ideas for a range of purposes (Masterman) through the construction of codes and conventions (Buckingham). Through incorporating the wooden vlogger set into their play, children can experiment with different media forms and representations, where they might, for instance, depict characters (e.g. heroes or villains), locations (e.g. school, the supermarket or space), events (e.g. going to the hairdresser or making food), and simple ideas (e.g. it is cold in winter). While some children may create imaginative worlds where the toy ringlight is part of a wider dramatic story, as per the examples just provided, there are also opportunities for children to act out and produce different forms of media, for example a television show. Children often draw on popular culture understandings to practise and re-enact scenarios (Gillen et al.; Merchant). In doing this, children play with the part of a narrative and consider how media texts are constructed, an important aspect of media languages. As they play with media production ideas, children can decide who might view their content and how they can ensure their audience understands their message—essentially playing with how to encode and decode texts (Morley). As they engage in dramatic play, children might also show different understandings of popular culture texts they enjoy, offering insights into how children understand media productions aimed at their age group, including those produced by child influencers. The wooden vlogger set, most importantly, is a material through which children can consider the relationships between media producers and their audiences (Dezuanni). This brings us to the crux of where we believe the outrage about the wooden vlogger set and toy ringlight lies. The toy ringlight normalises ideas around children developing relationships through and with the media—perhaps as an Influencer or perhaps as a casual vlogger. But the toys of today may not even prepare children for the cultural practices of tomorrow. Thus, while the outcry towards the wooden vlogger set and toy ringlight is just another cycle of moral panic about youth and emerging technologies, we hope that by positioning the toy as an opportunity for media literacy education, the discussion can move forward. Acknowledgement This research was supported by the Australian Research Council Centre of Excellence for the Digital Child through project number CE200100022. References Abidin, Crystal. "Micromicrocelebrity: Branding Babies on the Internet." M/C Journal 18.5 (2015). 25 Apr. 2023 &lt;https://doi.org/10.5204/mcj.1022&gt;. ———. “‘Aren’t These Just Young, Rich Women Doing Vain Things Online?’: Influencer Selfies as Subversive Frivolity.” Social Media and Society 2.2 (2016). 25 Apr. 2023 &lt;https://doi.org/10.1177/2056305116641342&gt;. Abidin, Crystal, and Tama Leaver. “When Exploiting Kids for Cash Goes Wrong on YouTube: The Lessons of DaddyOFive.” The Conversation, 2 May 2017. 25 Apr. 2023 &lt;https://theconversation.com/when-exploiting-kids-for-cash-goes-wrong-on-youtube-the-lessons-of-daddyofive-76932&gt;. Alvarado, Manuel. "Television Studies and Pedagogy." The Screen Education Reader: Cinema, Television, Culture. 1993. 191-206. Arriagada, Arturo, and Sophie Bishop. "Between Commerciality and Authenticity: The Imaginary of Social Media Influencers in the Platform Economy." Communication, Culture and Critique 14.4 (2021): 568-586. Australia Media Literacy Alliance. “Media Literacy Framework – Media Literacy.” Media Literacy, 7 Apr. 2022. 25 Apr. 2023 &lt;htps://medialiteracy.org.au/media-literacy-framework&gt;. Bird, Jo. “‘You Need a Phone and Camera in Your Bag before You Go Out!’: Children’s Play with Imaginative Technologies.” British Journal of Educational Technology 51.1 (2020): 166–76. 25 Apr. 2023 &lt;https://doi.org/10.1111/bjet.12791&gt;. Blum-Rose, Alicia. “‘Sharenting’: Parent Bloggers and Managing Children’s Digital Footprints.” Parenting for a Digital Future, 29 Oct. 2019. 25 Apr. 2023 &lt;https://blogs.lse.ac.uk/parenting4digitalfuture/2015/06/17/managing-your-childs-digital-footprint-and-or-parent-bloggers-ahead-of-brit-mums-on-the-20th-of-june&gt;. Brunsdon, Charlotte, and David Morley. “The Nationwide Television Studies.” Routledge eBooks, 2005. 25 Apr. 2023 &lt;https://doi.org/10.4324/9780203983362&gt;. Buckingham, David. Media Education: Literacy, Learning and Contemporary Culture. John Wiley &amp; Sons, 2013. Burgess, Jean, and Joshua Green. "The Entrepreneurial Vlogger: Participatory Culture beyond the Professional-Amateur Divide." The Youtube Reader. 2009. 89-107. Burnett, Cathy, and Guy Merchant. Undoing the Digital: Sociomaterialism and Literacy Education. Routledge, 2020. Burns, Anne. "Selfies | Self(ie)-Discipline: Social Regulation as Enacted through the Discussion of Photographic Practice." International Journal of Communication 9 (2015): 1716–1733. Cohen, Stanley. Folk Devils and Moral Panics: The Creation of the Mods and Rockers. Psychology Press, 1980. Craig, David, and Stuart Cunningham. “Toy Unboxing: Living in a(n Unregulated) Material World.” Media International Australia 163 (2017): 77–86. 25 Apr. 2023 &lt;https://doi.org/10.1177/1329878x17693700&gt;. Critcher, Chas. Moral Panics and the Media. McGraw-Hill Education, 2003. Dezuanni, Michael. Peer Pedagogies on Digital Platforms: Learning with Minecraft Let’s Play Videos. MIT Press, 2020. Dobson, Amy, and Julia Coffey. “A Feminist Response to Moral Panic around Girls’ ‘Boner Garage’ Instagram Selfies." TASA Youth, 2015. Duffy, Brooke Erin, et al. “Platform Practices in the Cultural Industries: Creativity, Labor, and Citizenship.” Social Media and Society 5.4 (2019). 25 Apr. 2023 &lt;https://doi.org/10.1177/2056305119879672&gt;. Du Gay, Paul, et al. Doing Cultural Studies: The Story of the Sony Walkman. Sage, 2013. Gillen, Julia, B. Accorti-Gamannossi, and C. A. Cameron. "Pronto, chi parla? (Hello, Who Is It?): Telephone as Artefacts and Communication Media in Children’s Discourses." 2004. 146. “Google Trend for ‘Ring Light.’” Google Trends, 2023. 25 Apr. 2023 &lt;https://trends.google.com/trends/explore?date=today%205-y&amp;q=ring%20light&gt;. Hall, Stuart. Policing the Crisis: Mugging, the State, and Law and Order. MacMillan, 1978. Kanna, Ella. “Aldi’s New Futuristic Toy Range!” Mix 102.3 Adelaide, 25 May 2022. 25 Apr. 2023 &lt;https://www.mix1023.com.au/lifestyle/aldis-new-futuristic-toy-range&gt;. Lauwaert, M.G.E. “Playing Outside the Box – on LEGO Toys and the Changing World of Construction Play.” History and Technology 24.3 (2008): 221–37. 25 Apr. 2023 &lt;https://doi.org/10.1080/07341510801900300&gt;. Leick, Karen. Parents, Media and Panic through the Years: Kids Those Days. Springer, 2018. Livingstone, Sonia. Children and the Internet. John Wiley and Sons, 2013. Livingstone, Sonia, Mariya Stoilova, and Rishita Nandagiri. “Children's Data and Privacy Online: Growing Up in a Digital Age: An Evidence Review.” London School of Economics and Political Science, 2019. Lüders, Marika. “Conceptualizing Personal Media.” New Media &amp; Society 10.5 (2008): 683–702. 25 Apr. 2023 &lt;https://doi.org/10.1177/1461444808094352&gt;. Marsh, Jackie, ed. Popular Culture, New Media and Digital Literacy in Early Childhood. Psychology Press, 2005. Marsh, Jackie, et al. “Under Threes’ Play with Tablets.” Journal of Early Childhood Research 19.3 (2021): 283–97. 25 Apr. 2023 &lt;https://doi.org/10.1177/1476718x20966688&gt;. Marsh, Jackie, and Julia A. Newton Bishop. “We’re Playing Jeremy Kyle!’ Television Talk Shows in the Playground.” Discourse 35.1 (2014): 16–30. 25 Apr. 2023 &lt;https://doi.org/10.1080/01596306.2012.739464&gt;. Marwick, Alice E. “To Catch a Predator? The MySpace Moral Panic.” First Monday (May 2008). 25 Apr. 2023 &lt;https://doi.org/10.5210/fm.v13i6.2152&gt;. Masterman, Len. Teaching the Media. Routledge, 2003. Merchant, Guy. “Barbie Meets Bob the Builder at the Workstation.” Popular Culture, New Media and Digital Literacy in Early Childhood. London: RoutledgeFalmer, 2005. 183-201. Plowman, Lydia, and Olivia Stevenson. “Exploring the Quotidian in Young Children’s Lives at Home.” Home Cultures 10.3 (2013): 329–47. &lt;https://doi.org/10.2752/175174213x13739735973381&gt;. Potter, John. “Embodied Memory and Curatorship in Children's Digital Video Production.” English Teaching: Practice and Critique 9.1 (2010): 22-35. Postman, Neil. "The Disappearance of Childhood." Childhood Education 61.4 (1985): 286-293. Robb, Michael B., and Alexis R. Lauricella. "Connecting Child Development and Technology: What We Know and What It Means." Technology and Digital Media in the Early Years. Routledge, 2014. 70-85. Sheina, E.A., et al. “The Developmental Potential of Toys and Games.” Routledge eBooks, 2017. 305–12. 25 Apr. 2023 &lt;https://doi.org/10.4324/9781315735290-28&gt;. Sleight-Price, Camille, Daisy Ahlstone, and Michelle W. Jones. "Forbidden Foodways: Tide Pods, Ostensive Practice, and Intergenerational Conflict." Contemporary Legend 8 (2018): 86-114. Springhall, John. Youth, Popular Culture and Moral Panics: Penny Gaffs to Gangsta-Rap, 1830-1996. MacMillan, 1998. Tiidenberg, Katrin, and Edgar Gómez Cruz. “Selfies, Image and the Re-making of the Body.” Body &amp; Society 21.4 (2015): 77–102. 25 Apr. 2023 &lt;https://doi.org/10.1177/1357034x15592465&gt;. Verdoodt, Valerie, Simone van der Hof, and Mark Leiser. "Child Labour and Online Protection in a World of Influencers." The Regulation of Social Media Influencers. Edward Elgar Publishing, 2020. 98-124. Vogt, Franziska, and Lena Hollenstein. “Exploring Digital Transformation through Pretend Play in Kindergarten.” British Journal of Educational Technology (2021). 25 Apr. 2023 &lt;https://doi.org/10.1111/bjet.13142&gt;. Wanis, Belinda. “Aldi Releases Surprising New Range of Role-Play Toys.” Yahoo! News, 31 May 2022. 25 Apr. 2023 &lt;au.news.yahoo.com/aldi-targets-modern-kids-with-dj-vlogger-and-gamer-role-play-toys-223353703.html&gt;. Williamson, Ben. “Learning in the ‘Platform Society’: Disassembling an Educational Data Assemblage.” Research in Education 98.1 (2017): 59–82. 25 Apr. 2023 &lt;https://doi.org/10.1177/0034523717723389&gt;. Wood, Elizabeth, et al. "Young Children’s Digital Play in Early Childhood Settings: Curriculum, Pedagogy and Teachers’ Knowledge." The Routledge Handbook of Digital Literacies in Early Childhood. Routledge, 2019. 214-226. Zatz, Marjorie S. "Chicano Youth Gangs and Crime: The Creation of a Moral Panic." Contemporary Crises 11 (1987): 129-158.

"If people don't trust their information, it's not much better than a Marxist-Leninist society." -- Orville Schell Dean, Graduate School of Journalism, UC Berkeley "Most people aren't very discerning. Maybe they need good financial information, but I don't think people know what good information is when you get into culture, society, and politics." -- Steven Brill,Chairman and Editor-in-chief, Brill's Content Once upon a time, not very long ago, advertisements were easy to recognise. They had simple personalities with goals not much more complicated than selling you a bar of soap or a box of cereal. And they possessed the reassuring familiarity of old friends or relatives you've known all your life. They were Pilgrims who smiled at you from Quaker Oats boxes or little tablets named "Speedy" who joyfully danced into a glass of water with the sole purpose of giving up their short life to help lessen your indigestion from overindulgence. Yes, sometimes they could be a little obnoxious but, hey, it was a predictable annoyance. And once, not very long ago, advertisements also knew their place in the landscape of popular culture, their boundaries were the ad space of magazines or the commercial time of television programs. When the ads got too annoying, you could toss the magazine aside or change the TV channel. The ease and quickness of their dispatch had the abruptness of slamming your front door in the face of an old door-to-door salesman. This all began to change around the 1950s when advertisements acquired a more complex and subtle personality and began straying outside of their familiar media neighborhoods. The social observer Vance Packard wrote a best-selling book in the late 50s called The Hidden Persuaders which identified this change in advertising's personality as coming from hanging around Professor Freud's psychoanalysis and learning his hidden, subliminal methods of trickery. Ice cubes in a glass for a liquor ad were no longer seen as simple props to help sell a brand of whiskey but were now subliminal suggestions of female anatomy. The curved fronts of automobiles were more than aesthetic streamlined design features but rather suggestive of a particular feature of the male anatomy. Forgotten by the new subliminal types of ads was the simple salesmanship preached by founders of the ad industry like David Ogilvy and John Caples. The word "sales" became a dirty word and was replaced with modern psychological buzzwords like subliminal persuasion. The Evolution of Subliminal Techniques The book Hidden Persuaders made quite a stir at the time, bringing about congressional hearings and even the introduction of legislation. Prominent motivation researchers Louis Cheskin and Ernest Dichter utilised the new ad methods and were publicly admonished as traitors to their profession. The life of the new subliminal advertising seemed short indeed. Even Vance Packard predicted its coming demise. "Eventually, say by A.D. 2000," he wrote in the preface to the paperback edition of his book, "all this depth manipulation of the psychological variety will seem amusingly old- fashioned". Yet, 40 years later, any half-awake observer of popular culture knows that things haven't exactly worked out the way Packard predicted. In fact what seems old-fashioned today is the belief that ads are those simpletons they once were before the 50s and that products are sold for features and benefits rather than for images. Even Vance Packard expresses an amazement at the evolution of advertising since the 50s, noting that today ads for watches have nothing to do with watches or that ads for shoes scarcely mention shoes. Packard remarks "it used to be the brand identified the product. In today's advertising the brand is the product". Modern advertising, he notes, has an almost total obsession with images and feelings and an almost total lack of any concrete claims about the product and why anyone should buy it. Packard admits puzzlement. "Commercials seem totally unrelated to selling any product at all". Jeff DeJoseph of the J. Walter Thompson firm underlines Packard's comments. "We are just trying to convey a sensory impression of the brand, and we're out of there". Subliminal advertising techniques have today infiltrated the heart of corporate America. As Ruth Shalit notes in her article "The Return of the Hidden Persuaders" from the 27 September 1999 issue of Salon magazine, "far from being consigned to the maverick fringe, the new psycho- persuaders of corporate America have colonized the marketing departments of mainstream conglomerates. At companies like Kraft, Coca-Cola, Proctor &amp; Gamble and Daimler-Chrysler, the most sought-after consultants hail not from McKinsey &amp; Company, but from brand consultancies with names like Archetype Discoveries, PsychoLogics and Semiotic Solutions". Shalit notes a growing number of CEOs have become convinced they cannot sell their brands until they first explore the "Jungian substrata of four- wheel drive; unlock the discourse codes of female power sweating; or deconstruct the sexual politics of bologna". The result, as Shalit observes, is a "charmingly retro school of brand psychoanalysis, which holds that all advertising is simply a variation on the themes of the Oedipus complex, the death instinct, or toilet training, and that the goal of effective communications should be to compensate the consumer for the fact that he was insufficiently nursed as an infant, has taken corporate America by storm". The Growing Ubiquity of Advertising Yet pervasive as the subliminal techniques of advertising have become, the emerging power of modern advertising ultimately centres around "where" it is rather than "what" it is or "how" it works. The power of modern advertising is within this growing ubiquity or "everywhereness" of advertising rather than the technology and methodology of advertising. The ultimate power of advertising will be arrived at when ads cannot be distinguished from their background environment. When this happens, the environment will become a great continuous ad. In the process, ads have wandered away from their well-known hangouts in magazines and TV shows. Like alien-infected pod-people of early science fiction movies, they have stumbled out of these familiar media playgrounds and suddenly sprouted up everywhere. The ubiquity of advertising is not being driven by corporations searching for new ways to sell products but by media searching for new ways to make money. Traditionally, media made money by selling subscriptions and advertising space. But these two key income sources are quickly drying up in the new world of online media. Journalist Mike France wisely takes notice of this change in an important article "Journalism's Online Credibility Gap" from the 11 October 1999 issue of Business Week. France notes that subscription fees have not worked because "Web surfers are used to getting content for free, and they have been reluctant to shell out any money for it". Advertising sales and their Internet incarnation in banner ads have also been a failure so far, France observes, because companies don't like paying a flat fee for online advertising since it's difficult to track the effectiveness of their marketing dollars. Instead, they only want to pay for actual sales leads, which can be easily monitored on the Web as readers' click from site to site. Faced with the above situation, media companies have gone on the prowl for new ways to make money. This search underpins the emerging ubiquity of advertising: the fact that it is increasingly appearing everywhere. In the process, traditional boundaries between advertising and other societal institutions are being overrun by these media forces on the prowl for new "territory" to exploit. That time when advertisements knew their place in the landscape of popular culture and confined themselves to just magazines or TV commercials is a fading memory. And today, as each of us is bombarded by thousands of ads each day, it is impossible to "slam" the door and keep them out of our house as we could once slam the door in the face of the old door-to-door salesmen. Of course you can find them on the matchbook cover of your favorite bar, on t-shirts sold at some roadside tourist trap or on those logo baseball caps you always pick up at trade shows. But now they have got a little more personal and stare at you over urinals in the men's room. They have even wedged themselves onto the narrow little bars at the check-out counter conveyer belts of supermarkets or onto the handles of gasoline pumps at filling stations. The list goes on and on. (No, this article is not an ad.) Advertising and Entertainment In advertising's march to ubiquity, two major boundaries have been crossed. They are crucial boundaries which greatly enhance advertising's search for the invisibility of ubiquity. Yet they are also largely invisible themselves. These are the boundaries separating advertising from entertainment and those separating advertising from journalism. The incursion of advertising into entertainment is a result of the increasing merger of business and entertainment, a phenomenon pointed out in best-selling business books like Michael Wolf's Entertainment Economy and Joseph Pine's The Experience Economy. Wolf, a consultant for Viacom, Newscorp, and other media heavy-weights, argues business is becoming synonymous with entertainment: "we have come to expect that we will be entertained all the time. Products and brands that deliver on this expectation are succeeding. Products that do not will disappear". And, in The Experience Economy, Pine notes the increasing need for businesses to provide entertaining experiences. "Those businesses that relegate themselves to the diminishing world of goods and services will be rendered irrelevant. To avoid this fate, you must learn to stage a rich, compelling experience". Yet entertainment, whether provided by businesses or the traditional entertainment industry, is increasingly weighted down with the "baggage" of advertising. In a large sense, entertainment is a form of new media that carries ads. Increasingly, this seems to be the overriding purpose of entertainment. Once, not long ago, when ads were simple and confined, entertainment was also simple and its purpose was to entertain rather than to sell. There was money enough in packed movie houses or full theme parks to make a healthy profit. But all this has changed with advertising's ubiquity. Like media corporations searching for new revenue streams, the entertainment industry has responded to flat growth by finding new ways to squeeze money out of entertainment content. Films now feature products in paid for scenes and most forms of entertainment use product tie-ins to other areas such as retail stores or fast-food restaurants. Also popular with the entertainment industry is what might be termed the "versioning" of entertainment products into various sub-species where entertainment content is transformed into other media so it can be sold more than once. A film may not make a profit on just the theatrical release but there is a good chance it doesn't matter because it stands to make a profit in video rentals. Advertising and Journalism The merger of advertising and entertainment goes a long way towards a world of ubiquitous advertising. Yet the merger of advertising and journalism is the real "promised land" in the evolution of ubiquitous advertising. This fundamental shift in the way news media make money provides the final frontier to be conquered by advertising, a final "promised land" for advertising. As Mike France observes in Business Week, this merger "could potentially change the way they cover the news. The more the press gets in the business of hawking products, the harder it will be to criticize those goods -- and the companies making them". Of course, there is that persistent myth, perpetuated by news organisations that they attempt to preserve editorial independence by keeping the institutions they cover and their advertisers at arm's length. But this is proving more and more difficult, particularly for online media. Observers like France have pointed out a number of reasons for this. One is the growth of ads in news media that look more like editorial content than ads. While long-standing ethical rules bar magazines and newspapers from printing advertisements that look like editorial copy, these rules become fuzzy for many online publications. Another reason making it difficult to separate advertising from journalism is the growing merger and consolidation of media corporations. Fewer and fewer corporations control more and more entertainment, news and ultimately advertising. It becomes difficult for a journalist to criticise a product when it has a connection to the large media conglomerate the journalist works for. Traditionally, it has been rare for media corporations to make direct investments in the corporations they cover. However, as Mike France notes, CNBC crossed this line when it acquired a stake in Archipelago in September 1999. CNBC, which runs a business-news Website, acquired a 12.4% stake in Archipelago Holdings, an electronic communications network for trading stock. Long-term plans are likely to include allowing visitors to cnbc.com to link directly to Archipelago. That means CNBC could be in the awkward position of both providing coverage of online trading and profiting from it. France adds that other business news outlets, such as Dow Jones (DJ), Reuters, and Bloomberg, already have indirect ties to their own electronic stock-trading networks. And, in news organisations, a popular method of cutting down on the expense of paying journalists for content is the growing practice of accepting advertiser written content or "sponsored edit" stories. The confusion to readers violates the spirit of a long-standing American Society of Magazine Editors (ASME) rule prohibiting advertisements with "an editorial appearance". But as France notes, this practice is thriving online. This change happens in ever so subtle ways. "A bit of puffery inserted here," notes France, "a negative adjective deleted there -- it doesn't take a lot to turn a review or story about, say, smart phones, into something approaching highbrow ad copy". He offers an example in forbes.com whose Microsoft ads could easily be mistaken for staff-written articles. Media critic James Fallows points out that consumers have been swift to discipline sites that are caught acting unethically and using "sponsored edits". He notes that when it was revealed that amazon.com was taking fees of up to $10,000 for books that it labelled as "destined for greatness", its customers were outraged, and the company quickly agreed to disclose future promotional payments. Unfortunately, though, the lesson episodes like these teach online companies like Amazon centres around more effective ways to be less "revealing" rather than abstention from the practice of "sponsored edits". France reminds us that journalism is built on trust. In the age of the Internet, though, trust is quickly becoming an elusive quality. He writes "as magazines, newspapers, radio stations, and television networks rush to colonize the Internet, the Great Wall between content and commerce is beginning to erode". In the end, he ponders whether there is an irrevocable conflict between e-commerce and ethical journalism. When you can't trust journalists to be ethical, just who can you trust? Transaction Fees &amp; Affiliate Programs - Advertising's Final Promised Land? The engine driving the growing ubiquity of advertising, though, is not the increasing merger of advertising with other industries (like entertainment and journalism) but rather a new business model of online commerce and Internet technology called transaction fees. This emerging and potentially dominant Internet e-commerce technology provides for the ability to track transactions electronically on Websites and to garner transaction fees. Through these fees, many media Websites take a percentage of payment through online product sales. In effect, a media site becomes one pervasive direct mail ad for every product mentioned on its site. This of course puts them in a much closer economic partnership with advertisers than is the case with traditional fixed-rate ads where there is little connection between product sales and the advertising media carrying them. Transaction fees are the new online version of direct marketing, the emerging Internet technology for their application is one of the great economic driving forces of the entire Internet commerce apparatus. The promise of transaction fees is that a number of people, besides product manufacturers and advertisers, might gain a percentage of profit from selling products via hypertext links. Once upon a time, the manufacturer of a product was the one that gained (or lost) from marketing it. Now, however, there is the possibility that journalists, news organisations and entertainment companies might also gain from marketing via transaction fees. The spread of transaction fees outside media into the general population provides an even greater boost to the growing ubiquity of advertising. This is done through the handmaiden of media transaction fees: "affiliate programs" for the general populace. Through the growing magic of Internet technology, it becomes possible for all of us to earn money through affiliate program links to products and transaction fee percentages in the sale of these products. Given this scenario, it is not surprising that advertisers are most likely to increasingly pressure media Websites to support themselves with e-commerce transaction fees. Charles Li, Senior Analyst for New Media at Forrester Research, estimates that by the year 2003, media sites will receive $25 billion in revenue from transaction fees, compared with $17 billion from ads and $5 billion from subscriptions. The possibility is great that all media will become like great direct response advertisements taking a transaction fee percentage for anything sold on their sites. And there is the more dangerous possibility that all of us will become the new "promised land" for a ubiquitous advertising. All of us will have some cut in selling somebody else's product. When this happens and there is a direct economic incentive for all of us to say nice things about products, what is the need and importance of subliminal techniques and methods creating advertising based on images which try to trick us into buying things? A Society Without Critics? It is for these reasons that criticism and straight news are becoming an increasingly endangered species. Everyone has to eat but what happens when one can no longer make meal money by criticising current culture? Cultural critics become a dying breed. There is no money in criticism because it is based around disconnection rather than connection to products. No links to products or Websites are involved here. Critics are becoming lonely icebergs floating in the middle of a cyber-sea of transaction fees, watching everyone else (except themselves) make money on transaction fees. The subliminal focus of the current consultancies is little more than a repackaging of an old theme discovered long ago by Vance Packard. But the growing "everywhereness" and "everyoneness" of modern advertising through transaction fees may mark the beginning of a revolutionary new era. Everyone might become their own "brand", a point well made in Tim Peters's article "A Brand Called You". Media critic James Fallows is somewhat optimistic that there still may remain "niche" markets for truthful information and honest cultural criticism. He suggests that surely people looking for mortgages, voting for a politician, or trying to decide what movie to see will continue to need unbiased information to help them make decisions. But one must ask what happens when a number of people have some "affiliate" relationship with suggesting particular movies, politicians or mortgages? Orville Schell, dean of the Graduate School of Journalism at the University of California at Berkeley, has summarised this growing ubiquity of advertising in a rather simple and elegant manner saying "at a certain point, people won't be able to differentiate between what's trustworthy and what isn't". Over the long run, this loss of credibility could have a corrosive effect on society in general -- especially given the media's importance as a political, cultural, and economic watchdog. Schell warns, "if people don't trust their information, it's not much better than a Marxist-Leninist society". Yet, will we be able to realise this simple fact when we all become types of Marxists and Leninists? Still, there is the great challenge to America to learn how to utilise transaction fees in a democratic manner. In effect, a combination of the technological promise of the new economy with that old promise, and perhaps even myth, of a democratic America. America stands on the verge of a great threshold and challenge in the growing ubiquity of advertising. In a way, as with most great opportunities or threats, this challenge centres on a peculiar paradox. On the one hand, there is the promise of the emerging Internet business model and its centre around the technology of transaction fees. At the same time, there is the threat posed by transaction fees to America's democratic society in the early years of the new millennium. Yes, once upon a time, not very long ago, advertisements were easy to recognise and also knew their place in the landscape of popular culture. Their greatest, yet silent, evolution (especially in the age of the Internet) has really been in their spread into all areas of culture rather than in methods of trickery and deceit. Now, it is more difficult to slam that front door in the face of that old door-to-door salesman. Or toss that magazine and its ad aside, or switch off commercials on television. We have become that door-to-door salesman, that magazine ad, that television commercial. The current cultural landscape takes on some of the characteristics of the theme of that old science fiction movie The Invasion of the Body Snatchers. A current advertising campaign from RJ Reynolds has a humorous take on the current zeitgeist fad of alien abduction with copy reading "if aliens are smart enough to travel through space then why do they keep abducting the dumbest people on earth?" One might add that when Americans allow advertising to travel through all our space, perhaps we all become the dumbest people on earth, abducted by a new alien culture so far away from a simplistic nostalgia of yesterday. (Please press below for your links to a world of fantastic products which can make a new you.) References Brill, Steven. Quoted by Mike France in "Journalism's Online Credibility Gap." Business Week 11 Oct. 1999. France, Mike. "Journalism's Online Credibility Gap." Business Week 11 Oct. 1999. &lt;http://www.businessweek.com/1999/99_41/b3650163.htm&gt;. Packard, Vance. The Hidden Persuaders. Out of Print, 1957. Pine, Joseph, and James Gilmore. The Experience Economy. Harvard Business School P, 1999. Shalit, Ruth. "The Return of the Hidden Persuaders." Salon Magazine 27 Sep. 1999. &lt;http://www.salon.com/media/col/shal/1999/09/27/persuaders/index.php&gt;. Schell, Orville. Quoted by Mike France in "Journalism's Online Credibility Gap." Business Week 11 Oct. 1999. Wolf, Michael. Entertainment Economy. Times Books, 1999. Citation reference for this article MLA style: John Fraim. "Friendly Persuasion: The Growing Ubiquity of Advertising, or What Happens When Everyone Becomes an Ad?." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3.1 (2000). [your date of access] &lt;http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/0003/ads.php&gt;. Chicago style: John Fraim, "Friendly Persuasion: The Growing Ubiquity of Advertising, or What Happens When Everyone Becomes an Ad?," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3, no. 1 (2000), &lt;http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/0003/ads.php&gt; ([your date of access]). APA style: John Fraim. (2000) Friendly Persuasion: The Growing Ubiquity of Advertising, or What Happens When Everyone Becomes an Ad?. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3(1). &lt;http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/0003/ads.php&gt; ([your date of access]).

Introduction Artificial intelligence (AI) and its applications, such as large language models and generative AI, have become some of the most hotly debated technologies of our time. While they are often seen as harbingers of progress, they also evoke fear and uncertainty regarding their potential societal impacts. Mass media, especially journalism, play a pivotal role in shaping public opinion on these technologies. In democratic societies, journalism is tasked with educating and informing the public, contributing to collective understanding and opinion formation. Brause et al. state that “media coverage of Al technologies is an important indicator of the central issues, actors, frames and evaluations attached to technology, and a critical arena where stakeholders negotiate future pathways for Al and its role in societies” (277). However, how key technologies like AI are visually represented in editorial media remains an underexplored topic in current research. Which photos and/or illustrations are used to accompany news articles about this technology and its impact on society? This is of high importance to the overall understanding of the media representation of AI—a question at the intersection of visual studies, cultural studies, and communication studies. Previous research has shown that how new technologies are depicted (and not only how they are described) can significantly shape public discourse at multiple levels (Zeller et al.; Kelly). For instance, studies of nanotechnology, a topic whose societal debate parallels some aspects of the current discourse about AI, reveal that media stories about these debates are often illustrated with rather stereotypical elements. Lösch notes that they are “frequently illustrated in mass media publications with futuristic science-fiction images” (255). This trend—depicting real technologies and their (as yet uncertain) societal consequences using visual tropes from science fiction, such as robots, androids, code, and futuristic models—can also be observed in recent discussions around AI, particularly in journalistic descriptions of the potential dangers posed by AI systems to society and humanity. This article aims to examine how selected articles from German quality media (a definition of the term can be found in Meier and in Arnold), published between January and September 2024, visually illustrate the topic of “AI risks and dangers”. Rather than analysing the content of these articles, the focus will be on their visual accompaniment, exploring how images are used to shape public understanding of AI risks, often with a highly artificial appeal and Anmutung (impression). The Representation of Technology in German Mass Media Germany is sometimes perceived as a country that approaches digital technologies with caution, particularly regarding data protection and privacy rights. This is also partly true for the debates around artificial intelligence. Köstler and Ossewaarde argue that “it is a discourse that is marked by a certain alarmism about the future of the German economy” (250). Digitalisation and automation are perceived ambivalently by the German population (Störk-Biber et al. 30). On one hand, there are expectations of increased convenience; on the other hand, these are countered by risks, primarily related to perceived susceptibility to disruptions and threats to individual autonomy (30). Germany has comprehensive data protection laws at both federal and state levels, covering public and private sectors alike. Germans show strong public interest in privacy, as seen in widespread opposition to data retention laws and a strong support of privacy, illustrated for example by the fact that “240,000 persons in Germany have opted out of Google Street View“ (Schwarz 289). Researchers sometimes attribute this rather sceptical attitude towards digital technologies to Germany’s historical experiences with authoritarian regimes, describing a “climate of fundamental mistrust of the state, its security agencies and the new possibilities of data collection” (Knorre 17). This mistrust has resulted in a rather negative view of Big Data applications in Germany, and perpetuates a “narrative of the machine taking on a life of its own, which is associated with the term artificial intelligence” (Knorre 29). However, it has also been noted that Germany “takes a middle position in terms of attitudes toward digitalization in a European comparison” (Störk-Biber et al. 30), but that “there are also growing concerns about pressures, risks, and dependencies, whose responsible management is expected not only from the government and associations but also from companies” (31). This study does not conduct a textual framing analysis, which has already been extensively applied in other contexts, such as the portrayal of digitalisation processes in German media (Zeller et al.). Instead, it focusses on visual communication and how it contributes to popular perceptions of the technology. That the selection of images plays an important role in journalism has been widely demonstrated (Sargent 705). Furthermore, it has been shown that articles without accompanying imagery get shared less often on social media, underlining the “importance of images in driving news consumption” (Keib 202). Kelly highlights the significant role mass media play in the adoption of new technologies: “technology is rarely adopted on its merits alone; social forces both constrain and encourage adoption. Mass media is a significant influence, along with other social forces, in all stages of adoption” (34). By looking at photos and illustrations, this study seeks to examine the visual culture surrounding AI by showcasing a sample of such imagery and making it accessible for academic discourse, and thus, helping to validate the often expressed notion that “science fictional tropes abound in news coverage of A.I.” (Goode). Given the pressures of time, budget, and labour that often accompany journalistic production, even within the realm of quality journalism, the selection of images should not be over-interpreted. Nonetheless, these visual representations provide valuable insight into the motifs frequently used to depict AI risks, offering a glimpse into how the media visually communicate complex technologies. Accordingly, the research question (RQ1) for this study was: What are the visual elements of journalistic coverage of the potential risks of artificial intelligence in German news media from January to September 2024? Methodology This study uses the method of qualitative content analysis (Mayring), which aims to “conceptualize the process of assigning categories to text passages as a qualitative-interpretive act, following content-analytical rules” (10). The qualitative content analysis method with inductive category development was chosen as the most suitable for this study. Since there is little existing research on the visual representation of AI risks in the media, the inductive method provides the flexibility needed to develop new categories from the image data, without being constrained by pre-existing theories or hypotheses. To gain access to the data for further analysis, an Internet search was conducted using Google News with the keywords “KI Gefahr” (AI danger) and “KI Warnung” (AI warning) from 1 January to 1 September 2024, focussing exclusively on German-language media. Only articles from quality journalism outlets were considered, to exclude non-journalistic trade publications, advertising, and public relations-driven articles. Only visual accompaniments, such as illustrations and photos, were included in the analysis. Videos and preview images for videos were excluded. This timeframe was chosen because it represents an era where artificial intelligence has been established as a main interest after the initial hype surrounding the first publication of OpenAI’s ChatGPT Model in late 2022. A cursory content analysis was conducted to ensure that only articles taking a critical stance on AI were included in the dataset, and no mislabelling took place. The final dataset consists of 21 images drawn from quality journalism sources, defined by their adherence to journalistic standards such as accuracy, independence, and balance, and came from the following outlets (in alphabetical order): Deutsche Welle, Deutschlandfunk, FAZ, Frankfurter Rundschau, Handelsblatt, NZZ, SRF, SWR, Tagesspiegel, WDR, Welt, ZDF. The study uses QCAmap software, designed specifically for qualitative content analysis, to systematically code and structure the visual material. This approach ensures that the process of category development remains transparent and iterative, allowing for the emergence of unexpected patterns and visual trends within the media portrayals of AI risks. Following the rules of qualitative content analysis, the categories were revised after coding 30% of the material, with minor adaptions in the categories being made. In total, 12 categories (RQ1-1 – RQ1-12)—some of them clustered into subcategories—emerged from the data. Results The qualitative content analysis of 21 illustrative images using QCAmap with inductive category formation revealed significant trends in the visual depiction of artificial intelligence (AI) and its associated risks in German quality media. The analysis identified six major categories, which accounted for the recurring themes and motifs used in these visual representations. In terms of sources of the visual elements, it can be said that some images come from established sources like Deutsche Presse Agentur or stock photo sites; others were created using generative AI. Below are the key findings from each main category. The analysis of visual representations of artificial intelligence (AI) in German quality media has revealed several recurring categories and subcategories, each contributing to a broader understanding of how AI risks are visually framed. These categories reflect both stereotypical and evolving approaches to depicting AI and its implications for society. By identifying these categories, we can better understand the media’s role in shaping public perceptions of AI, often using simplified imagery that may obscure the technology’s complexity. The following categories emerged from the data: Depiction of Anthropomorphic Robots (RQ1-1, RQ1-2) emerged as a significant category, appearing in 13% of the total images and present in 39% of the analysed material. Subcategories included Anthropomorphic Robots in Interaction with Humans (RQ1-1) and Anthropomorphic Robots without Interaction with Humans (RQ1-2). These subcategories highlight the persistent portrayal of AI as humanoid robots, either interacting with humans or existing independently. This simplification of AI as a physical, human-like entity reflects a popular science fiction trope, where AI is depicted as embodied in mechanical figures. Although AI is primarily an abstract and non-physical technology, the media continue to reinforce the stereotype of AI as robots, reducing the complexity of the technology to something tangible and relatable. The relatively high frequency of these depictions points to a strong cultural association between AI and humanoid robots, which oversimplifies its potential societal roles. Depiction of Humans and/or Human Body Parts (RQ1-3, RQ1-4, RQ1-5, RQ1-7, RQ1-11) was the most prevalent category, accounting for 35% of the total images and appearing in 78% of the analysed visual elements. This category included subcategories such as Human Brain Merged with Technical Elements (RQ1-3) and Human Head Merged with Technical Elements (RQ1-4), which visually merge human and machine elements. Other common subcategories included Depiction of Hands (RQ1-5) and Depiction of Eyes (RQ1-7), both of which suggest a focus on human interaction with technology. The subcategory Abstraction of Humans (RQ1-11) highlights more generalised representations of humans in abstract form. These images evoke AI’s direct impact on human life, highlighting the merging of human capabilities with technological enhancement. The dominance of these visuals in the dataset suggests that media coverage of AI is focussed primarily on the relationship between humans and AI, reflecting societal concerns about AI’s integration into everyday life and its potential to augment or replace human capabilities. Blue/Grey Colour Scheme (RQ1-6) was another prominent category, representing 18% of the total images and appearing in 52% of the material studied. This aesthetic choice conveys neutrality, coldness, and futuristic detachment, reinforcing the idea of AI as a distant, clinical, and impersonal force. The widespread use of this colour palette reflects a broader cultural association between technology and these detached tones, further distancing AI from its human impacts. The prevalence of this colour scheme suggests that media frequently frame AI in a way that emphasises its technical and inhuman characteristics, contributing to public perceptions of AI as something beyond ordinary human control. Depiction of Computers (RQ1-8, RQ1-10) was another significant category, appearing in 23% of the total images and 47% of the analysed material. The subcategories included Depiction of (Pseudo-)Computer Code (RQ1-8) and Depiction of Computers/Computer Components (RQ1-10). These images emphasise AI’s technical foundation and its association with computing systems, underscoring its computational origins. The frequent use of computer-related visuals suggests that media outlets focus heavily on the technical aspects of AI, reinforcing the perception of AI as a machine-driven entity rather than a social or creative tool. An especially intriguing category was AI-Generated Images (RQ1-9), which accounted for 7% of the total images and appeared in 21% of the material. This subcategory, Image Created by AI (by the Article Author) (RQ1-9), highlights the growing irony in media production: articles about AI risks, including fears of job losses, were illustrated with AI-generated images. This not only exemplifies the immediate impact of AI on the creative industries but also underscores the irony that AI is already displacing professional illustrators, even in media discussing the dangers of AI to the job market. The prevalence of this category reflects a significant shift in media production processes, where AI is increasingly being used as both the subject and the tool of visual representation. Finally, the category No Relevant Category / Other Depictions (RQ1-12) represented only 1% of the total images, appearing in 4% of the visual accompaniments. This small subset of images that did not fit into any established categories suggests that, while certain visual themes have become standardised in media representations of AI, there remains occasional variability, indicating a level of experimentation and adaptation as the discourse on AI continues to evolve. In conclusion, these categories reflect the media’s reliance on familiar and sometimes clichéd visual motifs to depict AI. The anthropomorphisation of AI as robots, the merging of human and machine imagery, and the use of AI-generated images all reveal the complexities and contradictions inherent in how AI is framed in public discourse. The dominance of human-AI interaction depictions and the frequent use of technical imagery indicate that media representations are shaped by both cultural anxieties and the need for clear, engaging visuals. Conclusion Representing complex social and digital phenomena presents a significant challenge for journalists, particularly in an era where visual media often dominate communication (Shifman). This difficulty becomes especially pronounced in the depiction of technological innovations and their potential risks. While innovations are frequently hailed as engines of progress and economic growth, media portrayals tend to simplify and aestheticise these developments, often masking the intricate and ambivalent realities inherent to technological and societal change. In contemporary visual culture, there is an increasing demand for imagery that not only informs but also evokes emotional responses and captures attention. Consequently, the media often resort to stereotypical and reductive representations in an effort to communicate the complexity of these phenomena. However, such portrayals risk distorting the perception of reality by reinforcing stereotypes and potentially overshadowing the positive dimensions of innovation. They also underline the abstract nature of the technology, hinting at components of the “blackbox” that was described by Luhmann in the 1980s and is currently the subject of much interdisciplinary research (Geitz et al.) This study is based on a relatively small sample and a limited timeframe, covering articles published between January and September 2024. Due to the narrow scope of the research, the findings should not be seen as broadly generalisable or indicative of all media representations of AI. Rather, this analysis serves as an initial inventory of how AI risks are visually depicted in a specific context. As such, it highlights trends that require further exploration, and future research should expand on these results with a larger dataset and over an extended period to develop more comprehensive conclusions. The analysis has shown that German media frequently rely on clichéd visuals, which ultimately reinforce a narrow and fear-inducing portrayal that fails to capture the full complexity of these phenomena. They include the Depiction of Anthropomorphic Robots, the Depiction of Humans and/or Human Body Parts, the use of a Blue/Grey Colour Scheme, and the Depiction of Computers, all of which are well-established visual codes for innovation and their potential risks, showing evidence of what Goode calls an “emergent entity that sits uneasily between a (Western) dichotomy of life and non-life, one that appears capable of harbouring an apocalyptic capacity to overturn human life as we know it“ (203). Perhaps the most ironic and thought-provoking category is AI-Generated Images. In a striking twist, some articles discussing the dangers of AI, including fears of job losses, were illustrated with AI-generated images by the authors of the very same text—quite literally replacing the job of a professional illustrator. This irony adds another layer of meaning to the analysis, as the very technology being criticised for its potential to replace human labour is already doing so in the production of the articles themselves. It raises questions about the ethics and implications of AI in creative industries and demonstrates the immediate, real-world impact of AI on human employment. The study has also highlighted the challenges of communicating intricate and rapidly evolving technological issues. The fragmented and fast-paced nature of contemporary media, along with the contextual nature of meanings attributed to technology, complicates the task of presenting a balanced and nuanced view (Sturdee et al.) Overall, this research has underscored the need for more differentiated and realistic visual representations in media coverage of technological innovations. By moving beyond stereotypical imagery, the media could provide a more accurate portrayal of the complexities surrounding these advancements. While these visuals help communicate the abstract concept of AI to a broad audience, they may also reinforce stereotypes that oversimplify the technology and its societal implications. The study highlights the need for more nuanced and accurate portrayals of AI in the media, to foster a more informed and comprehensive public understanding of this rapidly evolving field. Outlook This research could be extended in several meaningful ways. One approach would be to expand the analysis to other countries, particularly those in the Anglo-American world, which are often described in research as more optimistic about technological advancements (Gerybadze). Additionally, a combined approach of textual analysis, examining the interaction between visual elements and the narrative content of written texts, could be promising for identifying potential discrepancies. Furthermore, conducting guided interviews with the editors responsible for visual content selection could provide valuable insights into the reasoning behind these choices, as well as a deeper understanding of the messages and meta-messages conveyed through the use of specific visual motifs. References Arnold, Klaus. “Qualität des Journalismus.” Handbuch Journalismustheorien. Eds. Martin Löffelholz and Lutz Rothenberger. Wiesbaden: Springer, 2016. 551–563. Brause, Saba Rebecca, et al. “Media Representations of Artificial Intelligence: Surveying the Field.” Handbook of Critical Studies of Artificial Intelligence. Ed. Simon Lindgren. Cheltenham: Edward Elgar, 2023. 277–88. Geitz, Eckhard, et al. “Einleitung: Black Boxes: Bausteine und Werkzeuge zu ihrer Analyse.” Black Boxes – Versiegelungskontexte und Öffnungsversuche. Eds. Eckhard Geitz et al. Berlin: De Gruyter, 2020. 3–18. Gerybadze, Alexander. “Technology and Innovation Management in a Global Perspective.” Managing Innovation in a Global and Digital World. Eds. Rajnish Tiwari and Stephan Buse. Wiesbaden: Springer Gabler, 2020. 207–225. Goode, Luke. “Life, But Not as We Know It: A.I. and the Popular Imagination.” Culture Unbound 10.2 (2018): 185–207. Meier, Klaus. Journalistik. 4th ed. Stuttgart: Utb Verlag, 2018. Keib, Courtney, et al. “Picture This: The Influence of Emotionally Valenced Images on Attention, Selection, and Sharing of Social Media News.” Media Psychology 21.2 (2017): 202–221. Kelly, John Paul. “Not So Revolutionary after All: The Role of Reinforcing Frames in US Magazine Discourse about Microcomputers.” New Media &amp; Society 11.1-2 (2009): 31–52. Knorre, Susanne. “Big Data im öffentlichen Diskurs: Hindernisse und Lösungsangebote für eine Verständigung über den Umgang mit Massendaten.” Die Big-Data-Debatte. Eds. Susanne Knorre, Harald Müller-Peters, and Florian Wagner. Wiesbaden: Springer Fachmedien, 2020. 1–62. Köstler, Lea, and Ringo Ossewaarde. “The Making of AI Society: AI Futures Frames in German Political and Media Discourses.” AI &amp; Society 37.1 (2022): 249–263. Lösch, Andreas. “Visuelle Defuturisierung und Ökonomisierung populärer Diskurse zur Nanotechnologie.” Frosch und Frankenstein. Eds. Bernd Hüppauf and Peter Weingart. Bielefeld: Transcript, 2009. 255–280. Mayring, Philipp. Qualitative Content Analysis: Theoretical Foundation, Basic Procedures and Software Solution. Klagenfurt: Open Access Repository, 2014. Sargent, Stephanie Lee. “Image Effects on Selective Exposure to Computer-Mediated News Stories.” Computers in Human Behavior 23.1 (2007): 705–726. Schwartz, Paul M. “Systematic Government Access to Private-Sector Data in Germany.” International Data Privacy Law 2.4 (2012): 289–301. Shifman, Limor. Memes in Digital Culture. Cambridge: MIT P, 2014. Störk-Biber, Constanze, et al. “Wahrnehmung von Technik und Digitalisierung in Deutschland und Europa: Befunde aus dem TechnikRadar.” HMD Praxis der Wirtschaftsinformatik 57 (2020): 21–32. Sturdee, Miriam, et al. “Designing for AI: Communicating the Complexities of AI Technology to Broader Audiences.” Journal of Visual Communication 30.2 (2021): 67–90. Zeller, Frank, et al. “Framing 0/1: How the Media Represents ‘Digitalization of Society.’” Media &amp; Kommunikationswissenschaft 58.4 (2010): 503–524.

Since the mid-eighties, personality and mood have undergone vigorous surveillance and repair across new populations in the United States. While government and the psy-complexes 1 have always had a stake in promoting citizen health, it is unique that, today, State, industry, and non-governmental organisations recruit consumers to act upon their own mental health. And while citizen behaviours in public spaces have long been fodder for diagnosis, the scope of behaviours and the breadth of the surveyed population has expanded significantly over the past twenty years. How has the notion of behavioural illness been successfully spun to recruit new populations to behavioural diagnosis and repair? Why is it a reasonable proposition that our personalities might be sick, our moods ill? This essay investigates the cultural promotion of a 'script' that assumes sick moods are possible, encourages the self-assessment of risk and self-management of dysfunctional mood, and has thus helped to create a new, adjustable subject. Michel Foucault (1976, 1988) contended that in order for subjects to act upon their selves -- for example, assess themselves via the behavioural health script -- we must view the Self as a construction, a work in progress that is alterable and in need of alteration in order for psychiatric action to seem appropriate. This conception of the self constitutes an extreme theoretical shift from the early modern belief (of Rousseau or Kant) that a core soul inhabited and shaped being, or the moral self.2 Foucault (1976) insisted that subjects are 'not born but made' through formal and informal social discourses that construct knowledge of the 'normal' self. Throughout the 19th century and the modern era, as medical, juridical, and psychiatric institutions gained increasing cultural capital, the normal self became allegedly 'knowable' through science. In turn, the citizen became 'professionalised' (Funicello 1993) -- answerable to these constructed standards, or subject to what Foucault termed biopower. In order to avoid punishments wrested upon the 'deviant' such as being placed in asylum or criminalised, citizens capitulated to social norms, and thus helped the State to achieve social order. 3 While 'technologies of power' or domination determined the conduct of individuals in the premodern era, 'technologies of the self' became prominent in the modern era.4 (Foucault, 'Technologies of the Self') These, explained Foucault, permit individuals to act upon their 'bodies, souls, thoughts, conduct and ways of being' to transform them, to attain happiness, or perfection, among other things (18). Contemporary psychiatric discourses, for example, call upon citizens to transform via self-regulation, and thus lessened the State's disciplinary burden. Since the mid-twentieth century, biopsychiatry has been embraced nationally, and played a key role in propagating self-disciplining citizens. Biopsychiatric logic is viewed culturally as common sense due to a number of occurrences. The dominant media have enthusiastically celebrated so-called biotechnical successes, such as sheep cloning and the development of better drugs to treat Schizophrenia. Hype has also surrounded newer drugs to treat depression (i.e. Prozac) and anxiety (i.e. Paxil), as well as the 'cosmetic' use of antidepressants to allegedly improve personality.5 Citizens, then, are enlisted to trust in psychiatric science to repair mood dysfunction, but also to reveal the 'true' self, occluded by biologically impaired mood. Suggesting that biopsychiatry's 'knowledge' of the human brain has revealed the human condition and can repair sick selves, these discourses have helped to launch the behavioural health script into the national psyche. The successful marketing of the script was also achieved by the diagnostic philosophy encouraged by revisions of Diagnostic and Statistical Manual or Mental Disorders(the DSM; these renovations increased the number of affective (mood) and personality diagnoses and broadened diagnostic criteria. The new DSMs 6 institutionalised the pathologisation of common personality and mood distresses as biological or genetic disorders. The texts constitute 'knowledge' of normal personality and behaviour, and press consumers toward biotechnical tools to repair the defunct self. Ian Hacking (1995) suggests that new moral concepts emerge when old ones acquire new connotations, thereby affecting our sense of who we are. The once moral self, known through introspection, is thus transformed via biopsychiatry into a self that is constructed in accordance with scientific 'knowledge'. The State and various private industries have a stake in promoting this Sick Self script. Promoting Diagnosis of the Sick Self Employing the DSM's broad criteria, research by the National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH), contends that a significant percentage of the population is behaviourally ill. The most recent Surgeon General report on Mental Health (from 1999) which also employed broad criteria, argues that a striking 50 million Americans are afflicted with a mental illness each year, most of which were non-major disorders affecting behaviour, personality and mood.7 Additionally, studies suggest that behavioural illness results in lost work days and increases demand for health services, thus constituting a severe financial burden to the State. Such studies consequently provide the State with ample reason to promote behavioural illness. In predicting an epidemic in behavioural illness and a huge increase in mental health service needs, the State has constructed health policy in accordance with the behavioural sickness script. Health policy embraces DSM diagnostic tools that sweep in a wide population by diagnosing risk as illness and links diagnosis with biotechnical recovery methods. Because criteria for these disorders have expanded and diagnoses have become more vague, however, over-diagnosis of the population has become common . 8 Depression, for example, is broadly defined to include moods ranging from the blues to suicidal ideation. Yet, the Sick Self script is ubiquitously embraced by NGO, industry, and State discourses, calling for consumer self-scrutiny and strongly promoting psychopharmaceuticals. These activities has been most successful; to wit: personality disorders were among the most common diagnoses of the 80's, and depression, which was a rare disorder thirty-five years ago, became the most common mental illness in the late 90's (Healy). Consumer Health Groups &amp; Industry Promotions Health institutions and drug industries promote mood illness and market drug remedies as a means of profit maximisation. Broad spectrum diagnoses are, by definition, easy to sell to a wide population and create a vast market for recovery products. Pharmaceutical and insurance companies (each multibillion dollar industries), an expanding variety of self-help industries, consumer health web sites, and an array of psy-complex workers all have a stake in promoting the broad diagnosis of mood and behavioural disorders. 9 In so doing, consumer groups and the health and pharmaceutical industries not only encourage self-discipline (aligning themselves with State productivity goals), but create a vast, ongoing market for recovery products. Promoting Illness and Recovery So strong is the linkage between illness and recovery that pharmaceutical company Eli Lilly sells Prozac by promoting the broad notion of depression, rather than the drug itself. It does so through depression brochures (advertised on TV) and a web page that discusses depression symptoms and offers a depression quiz, instead of product information. Likewise, Psych Central, a typical informational health site, provides consumers standard DSM depression definitions and information (from the biopsychiatric-driven American Psychiatric Association (APA) or the NIMH, and liberal behavioural illness quizzes that typically over-diagnose consumers. 10The Psych Central site also lists a broad range of depression symptoms, while its FAQ link promotes the self-management of mood ailments. For example, the site directs those who believe that they are depressed and want help to contact a physician, obtain a diagnosis, and initiate antidepressant treatment. Such web sites, viewed as a whole, appear to deliver certified knowledge that a 'normal' mood exists, that mood disorders are common, and that abiding citizens should diagnosis and treat their mood ailment. Another essential component of the behavioural script is the suggestion that the modern self's mood is interminably sick. Because common mood distresses are fodder for diagnosis, the self is always at risk of illness, and requires vigilant self-scrutiny. The self is never a finished product. Moreover, mood sickness is insidious and quickly spirals from risk to full-blown disorder. 11 As such, behavioural illness requires on-going self-assessment. Finally, because mood sickness threatens social productivity and State financial solvency, a moral overtone is added to the mix -- good citizens are encouraged to treat their mood dysfunctions promptly, for the common good. The script thus constructs citizenship as a motive for behavioural self-scrutiny; as such, it can naturally recommend that individuals, rather than experts, take charge of the surveillance process. The recommendation of self-determined illness is also a sales feature of the script, appealing to the American ethic of individualism -- even, paradoxically, as the script proposes that science best directs us to our selves. Self-Managed Recovery Health institutions and industries that deploy this script recommend not only self-diagnosis, but also self-managed treatment as the ideal treatment. Health information web sites, for example, tend to displace the expert by encouraging consumers to pre-diagnose their selves (often via on-line quizzes) and to then consult an expert for formal diagnosis and to organise a treatment program. Like governmental heath organisation's web sites, these commonly link consumer-driven, broad-spectrum diagnosis to psycho-pharmaceutical treatment, primarily by listing drugs as the first line of treatment, and linking consumers to drug information. Unsurprisingly, pharmaceutical companies support or own many 'informational' sites. Depression-net.com, for example, is owned by Organon, maker of Remeron, an SSRI in competition with Prozac.12 Still, even sites that receive little or no funding tend to display drugs prominently; for example, Internet Mental Health, which accepts no drug funding lists drugs immediately after diagnosis on the sidebar. This trend illustrates the extent to which drugs are viewed by consumers as a first step in addressing all types of mood sicknesses. Consumer health sites, geared toward Internet users seeking health care information (estimated to be 43% of the 120 million users) promote the illness-recovery link more aggressively. Dr.koop.com, one of the most visited sites on the Internet, describes itself as 'consumer-focused' and 'interactive'. Yet, the homepage of this site tends to include 'news' stories that relay the success of drugs or report on new biopsychiatric studies in depression or mental health. Some consumer sites such as Consumer health sites, geared toward Internet users seeking health care information (estimated to be 43% of the 120 million users) promote the illness-recovery link more aggressively. Dr.koop.com, one of the most visited sites on the Internet, describes itself as 'consumer-focused' and 'interactive'. Yet, the homepage of this site tends to include 'news' stories that relay the success of drugs or report on new biopsychiatric studies in depression or mental health. Some consumer sites such as WebMD prominently display links to drugstores, (such as Drugstore.com), many of which are owned in part or entirely by pharmaceutical companies.13 Similar to the common practices of direct-to-consumer advertising, both informational and consumer sites by-pass the expert, promote recovery via drugs, and direct the consumer to a doctor in search of a prescription, rather than health care advice. State, informational and consumer web sites all help to construct certain populations as at-risk for behavioural sickness. The NIMH information page on depression -- uncanny in its likeness to consumer health and pharmaceutical sites -- utilises the DSM definition of depression and recommends the standard regime of diagnosis and biotechnical treatments (highlighting antidepressants) most appropriate for a diagnosis of major, rather than minor, depression. The site also elaborates the broad approach to mood illness, and recommends that women, children and seniors -- groups deemed at-risk by the broad criteria -- be especially scrutinised for depression. By articulating the broad DSM definition of depression, a generalisable 'self' -- anyone suffering common ailments including sadness, lethargy or weight change -- is deemed at risk of depression or other behavioural illness. At the same time, at-risk groups are constructed as populations in need of more urgent scrutiny, namely society's less powerful individuals, rather than middle-aged males. That is, society's decision-makers--psychiatric researchers, State policy-makers, pharmaceutical CEO's, (etc) are considered least at risk for having defunct selves and productivity functioning. Selling Mood Sickness These brief examples illustrate the standard presentation of behavioural illness information on the Web and from traditional resources such as mailings, brochures, and consumer manuals. Presenting the ideal self as knowable and achievable with the help of bio-psychiatric science, these discourses encourage citizens to self-scrutinise, self-define, and even self-manage the possibility of mood or behavioural dysfunction. Because the individual gathers information, determines her pre-diagnosis, and seeks out a recovery technology, the many choices involved in behavioural scrutiny make it appear to be a free and 'democratic' activity. Additionally, as individuals take on the role of the expert, self-diagnosing via questionnaires, the highly disciplinary nature of the behavioural diagnosis appears unthreatening to individual sovereignty. Thus, this technology of the self solves an age-old problem of capitalist democracy -- how to simultaneously instill citizen's faith in absolute individual liberty (as a source of good government), and, at the same time, the need to achieve the absolute governance of the individual (Miller). Foucault contended that citizens are brought into the social contract of citizenship not simply through social and governmental contracts but by processes of policing that become embedded in our notions of citizenship. The process of self-management recommended by the ubiquitous behavioural script functions smoothly as a technology of surveillance in this era, where the ideal self is known and repaired through biopsychiatric science, the democratic responsibility of a good citizen. The liberal contract has always entailed an exchange of rights for freedoms -- in Rousseau's terms 'making men free by making them subjects.' (Miller xviii) When we make ourselves subjects to ongoing behavioural scrutiny, the resulting Self is not freed, rather it is constrained by a perpetual sickness. Notes 1 This term is used in a Foucaultian sense, to refer to all those who work under and benefit or profit from the dominant biological model of psychiatry dominant since the 1950's in the U.S. 2 For more discussion, see Ian Hacking, Rewriting the Soul; Multiple Personality and the Sciences of Memory. (1995) 3 In his essay 'Technologies of the Self' (1988) Foucault outlines the four major types of technologies that function as practical reason and entice citizens to behave according to constructed social standards. Among these are technologies of production (that permit us to produce things), technologies of sign systems (permitting us to use symbols), and the technologies of power and self mentioned in the above text. Through these technologies, operations of individuals become highly regulated, some visible and some difficult to perceive. The less visible technologies of the self became essential to the smooth functioning of society in the modern era. 4 'Technologies' is used to refer to mechanisms and actions of institutions or simply social norms and habits, that work, ultimately, to govern the individual, or create behaviour that serves desires of the State and dominant social bodies. 5 Peter Kramer, author of the best-selling book Listening to Prozac (1995) contends that his patients using Prozac often credited the drug with helping their true personalities to surface. 6 The two revisions occurred in 1987 and 1994. 7 Of that group, only five percent of that group suffers a 'severe' form of mental illness (such as schizophrenia, or extreme form of bipolar or obsessive compulsive disorder), while the rest suffer less severe behavioural and mood disorders. Similar research (also based on broad criteria) was published throughout the 90's suggesting an American epidemic of behavioural illness; it was claimed that 17% of the population is neurotic, while 10-15% of the population (and 30-50% of those seeking care) was said to possess a personality disorder. (Hales and Hales, 1995) 8 The most widely assigned diagnoses in this category today are: depression, multiple personality, adjustment disorder, eating disorders and Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), which have extremely broad criteria, and are easily assigned to a wide segment of the population. 9The quizzes offered at these sites are standard in psychiatry; the difference here is that these are consumer-conducted. Lilly uses the Zung Self-Assessment Tool, which asks 20 broad questions regarding mood, and overdiagnoses individuals with potential depression. By responding to vague questions such as 'Morning is when I feel the best', 'I notice that I am losing weight', and 'I feel downhearted, blue and sad' with the choice of 'sometimes', individuals are thereby pre-diagnosed with potential depression. (https://secure.prozac.com/Main/zung.jsp) Psych central uses the Goldberg Inventory that is similarly broad, consumer-operated, and also tends to overdiagnose. 10 The DSM and other psychiatric texts and consumer manuals commonly suggest that undiagnosed depression will lead, eventually, to full-blown major depression. While a minority of individuals who suffer ongoing episodes of major depression will eventually suffer chronic major depression, it has not been found that minor depression will snowball into major depression or chronic major depression. This in fact, is one of the many suspicions among researchers that is referred to as fact in psychiatric literature and consumer manuals. A similar case in point is the suggestion that depression is a brain disorder, when in fact, research has not determined biochemistry or genetics to be the 'cause' of major depression. 11 Increasingly, Pharmaceutical sites are indistinguishable from consumer sites, as in the case of Bristol-Meyers Squibb's depression page, (http://www.livinglifebetter.com/src/htdo...) offering a layperson's depression definition and, immediately thereafter, information on its antidepressant Serzone. 12 Like the informational and State sites, these also link consumers to depression information (generally NIMH, FDA or APA research), as well as questionnaires. References American Psychiatric Association. Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. 4th ed. Washington, D.C: American Psychiatric Press, Inc., 1994. Cruikshank, Barbara. The Will to Empower: Democratic Citizens and Other Subjects. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1999. Foucault, Michel. Madness and Civilization; A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason. New York: Vintage, 1961. - - - . The Order of Things; An Archaeology of the Human Science., New York: Vintage, 1966. - - - . The History of Sexuality; An Introduction, Volume I. New York: Vintage, 1976. - - - . 'Technologies of the Self', Technologies of the Self; A Seminar with Michel Foucault. Ed. Luther Martin, Huck Gutman, and Patrick H. Hutton. Amherst: University of Amherst Press, 1988. 16-49. Funicello, Theresa. The Tyranny of Kindness; Dismantling the Welfare System to End Poverty in America. New York: Atlantic Monthly Press, 1993. Hales, Dianne R. and Robert E. Hales. Caring For the Mind: The Comprehensive Guide to Mental Health. New York: Bantam Books, 1995. Healy, David. The Anti-Depressant Era. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 1997. Kramer, Peter D. Listening to Prozac; A Psychiatrist Explores Antidepressant Drugs and the Remaking of the Self. New York: Viking, 1993. Miller, Toby. The Well-Tempered Self; Citizenship, Culture and the Postmodern Subject. Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press, 1993. - - - . Technologies of Truth: Cultural Citizenship and the Popular Media. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1998. Office of the Surgeon General. Mental Health: A Report of the Surgeon General. 1999. &lt;http://www.surgeongeneral.gov/library/me...&gt; Rose, Nickolas. Governing the Soul; The Shaping of the Private Self. London: Routledge, 1990. Links http://www.drugstore.com http://psychcentral.com/library/depression_faq.htm http://www.wikipedia.com/wiki/DSM-IV http://www.nimh.nih.gov/publicat/depression.cfm http://www.livinglifebetter.com/src/htdocs/index.asp?keyword=depression_index http://my.webmd.com http://www.mentalhealth.com http://www.surgeongeneral.gov/library/mentalhealth/home.html http://www.prozac.com http://my.webmd.com/ http://www.a-silver-lining.org/BPNDepth/criteria_d.html#MDD http://psychcentral.com/depquiz.htm Citation reference for this article Substitute your date of access for Dn Month Year etc... MLA Style Gardner, Paula. "The Perpetually Sick Self" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5.5 (2002). [your date of access] &lt; http://www.media-culture.org.au/mc/0210/Gardner.html &amp;gt. Chicago Style Gardner, Paula, "The Perpetually Sick Self" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5, no. 5 (2002), &lt; http://www.media-culture.org.au/mc/0210/Gardner.html &amp;gt ([your date of access]). APA Style Gardner, Paula. (2002) The Perpetually Sick Self. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5(5). &lt; http://www.media-culture.org.au/mc/0210/Gardner.html &amp;gt ([your date of access]).

Troubled visions of white ash and concrete-grey powder water-logged my mind. Just as I had ‘understood’ and ‘contextualised’ the events of September 11, I witnessed Jules and Gedeon Naudet’s 9/11, the documentary of the events, as they followed the firefighters into Tower One. Their cameras witness death, dense panic and ashen fear. I did not need to see this – it was too intimate and shocking. But it was the drained, grey visage – where the New York streets and people appeared like injured ghosts walking through the falling ruins of a paper mill – that will always stay with me. Not surprisingly I was drawn (safely?) back in time, away from the grey-stained New York streets, when another series of images seismically shifted by memory palate. Aberfan was the archetypal coal mining town, but what made it distinct was tragedy. On the hill above the village, coal waste from the mining process was dumped on water-filled slurry. Heavy rain on October 20, 1966 made way for a better day to follow. The dense rain dislodged the coal tip, and at 9:15, the slurry became a black tidal wave, overwhelming people and buildings in the past. There have been worse tragedies than Aberfan, if there are degrees of suffering. In the stark grey iconography of September 11, there was an odd photocopy of Aberfan, but in the negative. Coal replaced paper. My short piece explores the notion of shared tragedy and media-ted grief, utilising the Welsh mining disaster as a bloodied gauze through which to theorise collective memory and social change. Tragedy on the television A disaster, by definition, is a tragic, unexpected circumstance. Its etymology ties it to astrology and fate. Too often, free flowing emotions of sympathy dissipate with the initial fascination, without confronting the long-term consequences of misfortune. When coal slurry engulfed the school and houses in Aberfan, a small working class community gleaned attention from the London-based media. The Prime Minister and royalty all traveled to Aberfan. Through the medium of television, grief and confusion were conveyed to a viewing public. For the first time, cameras gathered live footage of the trauma as it overwhelmed the Taff Valley. The sludge propelled from the Valley and into the newspapers of the day. A rescue worker remembers, “I was helping to dig the children out when I heard a photographer tell a kiddie to cry for her dear friends, so that he could get a good picture – that taught me silence.” (“The last day before half-term.”) Similarly, a bereaved father remembers that, during that period the only thing I didn’t like was the press. If you told them something, when the paper came out your words were all the wrong way round. (“The last day before half-term.”) When analyzed as a whole, the concerns of the journalists – about intense emotion and (alternatively) censorship of emotion - blocked a discussion of the reasons and meaning of the tragedy, instead concentrating on the form of the news broadcasts. Debates about censorship and journalistic ethics prevented an interpretative, critical investigation of the disaster. The events in Aberfan were not created by a natural catastrophe or an unpredictable or blameless ‘act of God.’ Aberfan’s disaster was preventable, but it became explainable within a coal industry village accustomed to unemployment and work-related ‘accidents.’ Aberfan was not merely a disaster that cost life. It represented a two-fold decline of Britain: industrially and socially. Coal built the industrial matrix of Britain. Perhaps this cost has created what Dean MacCannell described as “the collective guilt of modernised people” (23). Aberfan was distinct from the other great national tragedies in the manner the public perceived the events unfolding in the village. It was the disaster where cameras recorded the unerring screams of grief, the desperate search for a lost – presumed dead – child, and the building anger of a community suffering through a completely preventable ‘accident.’ The cameras – in true A Current Affair style – intruded on grief and privacy. A bereaved father stated that “I’ve got to say this again, if the papers and the press and the television were to leave us alone in the very beginning I think we could have settled down a lot quicker than what we did” (“The last day before half-term.”). This breach of grieving space also allowed those outside the community to share a memory, create a unifying historical bond, and raised some sympathy-triggered money. To actually ‘share’ death and grief at Aberfan through the medium of television led to a reappraisal, however temporary, about the value and costs of industrialisation. The long-term consequences of these revelations are more difficult to monitor. A question I have always asked – and the events of September 11, Bali and the second Gulf War have not helped me – is if a community or nation personally untouched by tragic events experience grief. Sympathy and perhaps empathy are obvious, as is voyeurism and curiosity. But when the bodies are simply unidentified corpses and a saddened community as indistinguishable from any other town, then viewers needs to ponder the rationale and depth of personal feelings. Through the window of television, onlookers become Peeping Toms, perhaps saturated with sympathy and tears, but still Peeping Toms. How has this semiotic synergy continued through popular memory? Too often we sap the feelings of disasters at a distance, and then withdraw when it is no longer fashionable, relevant or in the news. Notions about Wales, the working class and coal mining communities existed in journalists’ minds before they arrived in the village, opened their notebook or spoke to camera. They mobilised ‘the facts’ that suited a pre-existing interpretation. Bereaved parents digging into the dirt for lost children, provide great photographs and footage. This material was ideologically shaped to infantilise the community of Aberfan and, indirectly, the working class. They were exoticised and othered. It is clear from testimony recorded since the event that the pain felt by parents was compounded by television and newspaper reportage. Television allowed “a collective witnessing” (McLean and Johnes, “Remembering Aberfan”) of the disaster. Whether these televisual bystanders actually contributed anything to the healing of the tragedy, or forged an understanding of the brutal work involved in extracting coal, is less clear. There is not a natural, intrinsic sense of community created through television. Actually, it can establish boundaries of difference. Television has provided a record of exploitation, dissent and struggle. Whether an event or programme is read as an expression of unequal power relations or justifiable treatment of the ‘unworthy poor’ is in the hands of the viewer. Class-based inequalities and consciousness are not blinked out with the operation of a remote control. Intervention When I first researched Aberfan in the 1980s, the story was patchy and incomplete. The initial events left journalistic traces of the horror and – later – boredom with the Aberfan tragedy. Because of the thirty year rule on the release of government documents, the cause, motivation and rationale of many decisions from the Aberfan disaster appeared illogical or without context. When searching for new material and interpretations on Aberfan between 1968 and 1996, little exists. The release of documents in January 1997 triggered a wave of changing interpretations. Two committed and outstanding scholars, upon the release of governmental materials, uncovered the excesses and inequalities, demonstrating how historical research can overcome past injustice, and the necessity for recompense in the present. Iain McLean and Martin Johnes claimed a media profile and role in influencing public opinion and changing the earlier interpretations of the tragedy. On BBC radio, Professor McLean stated I think people in the government, people in the Coal Board were extremely insensitive. They treated the people of Aberfan as trouble makers. They had no conception of the depth of trauma suffered (“Aberfan”). McLean and Johnes also created from 1997-2001 a remarkable, well structured and comprehensive website featuring interview material, a database of archival collections and interpretations of the newly-released governmental documents. The Website possessed an agenda of conservation, cataloguing the sources held at the Merthyr Tydfil and Dowlais libraries. These documents hold a crucial function: to ensure that the community of Aberfan is rarely bothered for interviews or morbid tourists returning to the site. The Aberfan disaster has been included in the UK School curriculum and to avoid the small libraries and the Community Centre being overstretched, the Website possesses a gatekeepping function. The cataloguing work by the project’s research officer Martin Johnes has produced something important. He has aligned scholarly, political and social goals with care and success. Iain McLean’s proactive political work also took another direction. While the new governmental papers were released in January 1997, he wrote an article based on the Press Preview of December 1996. This article appeared in The Observer on January 5, 1997. From this strong and timely intervention, The Times Higher Education Supplement commissioned another article on January 17, 1997. Through both the articles and the Web work, McLean and Johnes did not name the individual victims or their parents, and testimony appears anonymously in the Website and their publications. They – unlike the journalists of the time – respected the community of Aberfan, their privacy and their grief. These scholars intervened in the easy ‘sharing’ of the tragedy. They built the first academic study of the Aberfan Disaster, released on the anniversary of the landslide: Aberfan, Government and Disasters. Through this book and their wide-ranging research, it becomes clear that the Labour Government failed to protect the citizens of a safe Labour seat. A bereaved husband and parent stated that I was tormented by the fact that the people I was seeking justice from were my people – a Labour Government, a Labour council, a Labour-nationalised Coal Board (“The last day before half-term”). There is a rationale for this attitude towards the tragedy. The Harold Wilson Labour Governments of 1964-70 were faced with severe balance of payments difficulties. Also, they only held a majority in the house of five, which they were to build to 96 in the 1966 election. While the Welfare State was a construction ‘for’ the working class after the war, the ‘permissive society’ – and resultant social reforms – of the 1960s was ‘for’ middle class consumers. It appeared that the industrial working class was paying for the new white heat of technology. This paradox not only provides a context for the Aberfan disaster but a space for media and cultural studies commentary. Perhaps the most difficult task for those of us working in cultural and media studies is to understand the citizens of history, not only as consumers, spectators or an audience, but how they behave and what they may feel. We need to ask what values and ideas do we share with the ‘audiences,’ ‘citizens’ and ‘spectators’ in our theoretical matrix. At times we do hide behind our Foucaults and Kristevas, our epistemologies and etymology. Raw, jagged emotion is difficult to theorise, and even more complex to commit to the page. To summon any mode of resistive or progressivist politics, requires capturing tone, texture and feeling. This type of writing is hard to achieve from a survey of records. A public intellectual role is rare these days. The conservative media invariably summon pundits with whom they can either agree or pillory. The dissenting intellectual, the diffident voice, is far more difficult to find. Edward Said is one contemporary example. But for every Said, there is a Kissinger. McLean and Johnes, during a time of the Blair Government, reminded a liberal-leaning Labour of earlier mistakes in the handling of a working-class community. In finding origins, causes and effects, the politicisation of history is at its most overt. Path of the slag The coal slurry rolled onto the Welsh village nearly thirty-seven years ago. Aberfan represents more than a symbol of decline or of burgeoning televisual literacy. It demonstrates how we accept mediated death. A ‘disaster’ exposes a moment of insight, a transitory glimpse into other people’s lives. It composes a mobile, dynamic photograph: the viewer is aware that life has existed before the tragedy and will continue after it. The link between popular and collective memory is not as obvious as it appears. All memory is mediated – there is a limit to the sharing. Collective memory seems more organic, connected with an authentic experience of events. Popular memory is not necessarily contextually grounded in social, historical or economic formations but networks diverse times and spaces without an origin or ending. This is a post-authentic memory that is not tethered to the intentions, ideologies or origins of a sender, town or community. To argue that all who have seen photographs or televisual footage of Aberfan ‘share’ an equivalent collective memory to those directly touched by the event, place, family or industry is not only naïve, but initiates a troubling humanism which suggests that we all ‘share’ a common bank of experience. The literacy of tragedy and its reportage was different after October 1966. When reading the historical material from the disaster, it appears that grieving parents are simply devastated puppets lashing out at their puppeteers. Their arguments and interpretation were molded for other agendas. Big business, big government and big unions colluded to displace the voices of citizens (McLean and Johnes “Summary”). Harold Wilson came to office in 1964 with the slogan “13 wasted years.” He promised that – through economic growth – consensus could be established. Affluence through consumer goods was to signal the end of a polarisation between worker and management. These new world symbols, fed by skilled scientific workers and a new ‘technological revolution,’ were – like the industrial revolution – uneven in its application. The Aberfan disaster is situated on the fault line of this transformation. A Welsh working class community seemed out of time and space in 1960s Britain. The scarved women and stocky, strong men appeared to emerge from a different period. The television nation did not share a unified grief, but performed the gulf between England and Wales, centre and periphery, middle and working class, white collar and black collar. Politics saturates television, so that it is no longer possible to see the join. Aberfan’s television coverage is important, because the mend scar was still visible. Literacy in televisual grief was being formed through the event. But if Aberfan did change the ‘national consciousness’ of coal then why did so few southern English citizens support the miners trying to keep open the Welsh pits? The few industries currently operating in this region outside of Cardiff means that the economic clock has stopped. The Beveridge Report in 1943 declared that the great achievement of the Second World War was the sharing of experience, a unity that would achieve victory. The People’s War would create a People’s Peace. Aberfan, mining closures and economic decline destroyed this New Jerusalem. The green and pleasant land was built on black coal. Aberfan is an historical translator of these iconographies. Works Cited Bereaved father. “The last day before half-term.” 1999. 6 April 2003 &lt;http://www.nuff.ox.ac.uk/politics/aberfan/chap1.htm&gt;. Bereaved husband and parent. “The last day before half-term.” 1999. 6 April 2003 &lt;http://www.nuff.ox.ac.uk/politics/aberfan/chap1.htm&gt;. MacCannell, Dean. Empty Meeting Grounds. London: Routledge, 1992. McLean, Iain. “Aberfan.” 6 April 2003 &lt;http://news.bbc.co.uk/olmedia/980000/audio/_983056_mclean_ab... ...erfan_21oct_0800.ram&gt;. McLean, Iain, and Martin Johnes. Aberfan: Government and Disasters. Cardiff: Welsh Academic Press, 2000. McLean, Iain, and Martin Johnes. “Remembering Aberfan.” 1999. 6 April 2003 &lt;http://www.nuff.ox.ac.uk/politics/aberfan/remem.htm&gt;. McLean, Iain, and Martin Johnes. “Summary of Research Results.” 1999. 6 April 2003 &lt;http://www.nuff.ox.ac.uk/politics/aberfan/eoafinal.htm&gt;. Naudet, Jules, Gedeon Naudet, and James Hanlon. 9/11. New York: Goldfish Pictures and Silverstar Productions, 2001. Rescue worker. “The last day before half-term.” 1999. 6 April 2003 &lt;http://www.nuff.ox.ac.uk/politics/aberfan/chap1.htm&gt;. Links http://news.bbc.co.uk/olmedia/980000/audio/_983056_mclean_aberfan_21oct_0800.ram http://www.nuff.ox.ac.uk/politics/aberfan/chap1.htm http://www.nuff.ox.ac.uk/politics/aberfan/chap1.htm.(1999 http://www.nuff.ox.ac.uk/politics/aberfan/eoafinal.htm http://www.nuff.ox.ac.uk/politics/aberfan/home.htm http://www.nuff.ox.ac.uk/politics/aberfan/remem.htm Citation reference for this article Substitute your date of access for Dn Month Year etc... MLA Style Brabazon, Tara. "Black and Grey" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture&lt; http://www.media-culture.org.au/0304/07-blackandgrey.php&gt;. APA Style Brabazon, T. (2003, Apr 23). Black and Grey. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture, 6,&lt; http://www.media-culture.org.au/0304/07-blackandgrey.php&gt;

Introduction: Doctor Who's “Wilderness Years”1989 saw the cancellation of the BBC's long-running science fiction television series Doctor Who (1965 -). The 1990s were largely bereft of original Doctor Who television content, leading fans to characterise that decade as the “wilderness years” for the franchise (McNaughton 194). From another perspective, though, the 1990s was an unprecedented time of production for Doctor Who media. From 1991 to 1997, Virgin Publishing was licensed by the BBC's merchandising division to publish a series of original Doctor Who novels, which they produced and marketed as a continuation of the television series (Gulyas 46). This series of novels, Doctor Who: The New Adventures (commonly referred to as “the Virgin New Adventures” by fans) proved popular enough to support a monthly release schedule, and from 1994 onwards, a secondary "Missing Adventures" series.Despite their central role in the 1990s, however, many fans have argued that the Doctor Who novels format makes them either less "canonical" than the television series, or completely "apocryphal" (Gulyas 48). This fits with a general trend in transmedia properties, where print-based expansions or spin-offs are generally considered less official or authentic than those that are screen-based (Hills 223). This article argues that the openness of the series to contributions from fan writers – and also some of the techniques and approaches prioritised in fan fiction - resulted in the Virgin range of Doctor Who novels having an unusually significant impact on the development and evolution of the franchise as a whole when compared to the print-based transmedia extensions of other popular series’. The article also argues that the tonal and stylistic influence of the New Adventures novels on the revived Doctor Who television series offers an interesting counter-example to the usually strict hierarchies of content that are implied in Henry Jenkins's influential model of transmedia storytelling. Transmedia StorytellingJenkins uses the term “transmedia storytelling” to describe the ways in which media franchises frequently expand beyond the format they originate with, potentially encompassing television series, films, games, toys, comics and more (Jenkins “Transmedia 202”). In discussing this paradigm, Jenkins notes the ways in which contemporary productions increasingly prioritise “integration and coordination” between the different forms of media (Jenkins Convergence Culture 105). As Jenkins argues, “most discussions of transmedia place a high emphasis on continuity – assuming that transmedia requires a high level of coordination and creative control and that all of the pieces have to cohere into a consistent narrative or world” (Jenkins “Transmedia 202”). Due to this increased emphasis on continuity, the ability to decide which media will be considered as “canonical” within the story-world of the franchise becomes an important one. Where previously questions of canon had been largely confined to fan discussions, debates and interpretive readings of media texts (Jenkins Textual Poachers 102-104), the proprietors of franchises in a transmedia economy have an interest in proactively defining and policing the canon. Designating a particular piece of media as a “canonical” expansion or spinoff of its parent text can be a useful marketing tool, as it creates the expectation that it will provide an important contribution. Correspondingly, declaring that a particular set of media texts is no longer canonical can make the franchise more accessible and allow the authors of new material more creative freedom (Proctor and Freeman 238-9).While Jenkins argues that a reliance on “one single source or ur-text” (“Transmedia 101”) is counter to the spirit of transmedia storytelling, Pillai notes that his emphasis on cohesiveness across diverse media tends to implicitly prioritise the parent text over its various offshoots (103-4). As the parent text establishes continuity and canon, any transmedia supplements are obligated to remain consistent with it, but this is often a one-sided and hierarchical relationship. For example, in the Star Wars transmedia franchise, the film series is considered crucial in establishing the canon; and transmedia supplements are obliged to remain consistent with it in order to be recognised as authentic. The filmmakers, however, are largely free to ignore or contradict the contributions of spin-off books.Hills notes that the components of transmedia franchises are often arranged into “transmedial hierarchies” (223), where screen-based media like films, television series and video games are assigned dominance over print-based productions like comics and novels. This hierarchy means that print-based works typically have a less secure place within the canon of transmedia franchises, despite often contributing a disproportionately large quantity of narratives and concepts (Guynes 143). Using the Star Wars Expanded Universe as an example, he notes a tendency whereby “franchise novels” are generally considered as disposable, and are easily erased or decanonised despite significantly long, carefully interwoven and coordinated periods of storytelling (143-5). Doctor Who as a Transmedia FranchiseWhile questions of canon are frequently debated and discussed among Doctor Who fans, it is less easy to make absolutist distinctions between canonical and apocryphal texts in Doctor Who than it is in other popular transmedia franchises. Unlike comparable transmedia productions, Doctor Who has traditionally lacked a singular authority over questions of canon and consistency in the manner that Jenkins argues for in his implicitly hierarchical conception of transmedia storytelling (Convergence Culture 106). Where franchises like Star Wars, Star Trek or The X-Files have been guided by creator-figures who either exert direct control over their various iterations or oblige them to remain broadly consistent with their original vision, Doctor Who has generally avoided this focus; creative control has passed between various showrunners and production teams, who have been largely free to establish their own style and tone.Furthermore, the franchise has traditionally favoured a largely self-contained and episodic style of storytelling; and different storylines and periods from its long history often contradict one another. For these reasons, Booth suggests that the largely retroactive attempts on the part of fans and critics to read the entire series as the type of transmedia production that Jenkins advocates for (i.e. an internally consistent narrative of connected stories) are counter-productive. He argues that Doctor Who is perhaps best understood not as a continuing series but as a long-running anthology, where largely autonomous stories and serials can be grouped into distinct “periods” of resemblance in terms of style and subject matter (198-206).As Britton argues, when appreciating Doctor Who as franchise, there is no particular need to assign primary importance to the parent media. Since its first season in 1965, the Doctor Who television series has been regularly supplemented by other media in the form of comics, annuals, films, stage-plays, audio-dramas, and novelisations. Britton maintains that as the transmedia works follow the same loosely connected, episodic structure as the television series, they operate as equally valid or equally disposable components within its metanarrative (1-9). Doctor Who writer Paul Cornell argues that given the accommodating nature of the show’s time-travel premise (which can easily accommodate the inconsistencies that Jenkins argues should be avoided in transmedia storytelling), and in the absence of a singular revered creator-figure or authority, absolutist pronouncements on canon from any source are unnecessary and exclusionary, either delegitimising texts that the audience may value, or insisting on familiarity with a particular text in order for an experience of the media to be considered “legitimate”. The Transmedia Legacy of the Virgin New AdventuresAs the Virgin Doctor Who novels are not necessarily diminished by either their lack of a clear canonical status or their placement as a print work within a screen-focused property, they can arguably be understood as constituting their own distinct “period” of Doctor Who in the manner defined by Booth. This claim is supported by the ways in which the New Adventures distinguish themselves from the typically secondary or supplemental transmedia extensions of most other television franchises.In contrast with the one-sided and hierarchical relationship that typically exists between the parent text and its transmedia extensions (Pillai 103-4), the New Adventures range did not attempt to signal their authenticity through stylistic and narrative consistency with their source material. Virgin had already published a long series of novelisations of story serials from the original television series under its children’s imprint, Target, but from their inception the New Adventures were aimed at a more mature audience. The editor of the range, Peter Darvill-Evans, observed that by the 1990s, Doctor Who’s dedicated fan base largely consisted of adults who had grown up with the series in the 1970s and 1980s rather than the children that both the television series and the novelisations had traditionally targeted (Perryman 23). The New Adventures were initially marketed as being “too broad and deep for the small screen” (Gulyas 46), positioning them as an improvement or evolution rather than an attempt to imitate the parent media or to compensate for its absence.By comparison, most other 1990s print-based supplements to popular screen franchises tended to closely mimic the style, tone and storytelling structure of their source material. For example, the Star Wars "Expanded Universe" series of novels (which began in 1991) were subject to strict editorial oversight to ensure they remained consistent with the films and were initially marketed as "film-like events" as a way of emphasising their equivalence to the original media (Proctor and Freeman 226). The Virgin New Adventures were also distinctive due to their open submission policy (which actively encouraged submissions from fan writers who had not previously achieved conventional commercial publication) alongside work from "professional" authors (Perryman 24). This policy began because Darvill-Evans noted the ability, high motivation and deep understanding of Doctor Who possessed by fan writers (Bishop) and it proved essential in establishing the more mature approach that the series was aiming for. After three indifferently received novels from professional authors, the first work from a fan author, Paul Cornell’s Timewyrm: Revelation (1991) became highly popular, due to its more grounded, serious and complex exploration of the character of the Doctor and their human companion. Following the success of Cornell’s novel, the series began to establish its own distinctive tone, emphasising gritty urban settings, character development and interpersonal drama, and the exploration of moral ambiguities and social and political issues that would have not been permissible in the original television series (Gulyas 46-8).Works by previously unpublished fan authors came to dominate the range to such an extent that the New Adventures has been described as “licensing professionally produced fan fiction” (Perryman 23). This trajectory established the New Adventures as an unusual hybrid text, combining the sanction of an official license with the usually unofficial phenomenon of fan custodianship. The cancellation of a television series (as experienced by Doctor Who in 1989) often allows its fan community to take custodianship of it in a variety of ways (McNoughton 194). While a series is being broadcast, fans are often constructed as elite but essentially ”powerless” readers, whose interpretations and desires can easily be contradicted or ignored by the series creators (Tulloch and Jenkins 141). With cancellation and a diminishing mass audience, fans become the custodians of the series and its memory. Their interpretations can no longer be overwritten, and they become the principle market for official merchandise and transmedia extensions (McNoughton 194-6).Also, fans can explore and fulfil their desires for the narrative direction and tone of the series, through the “cottage industries” of fan-created merchandise (196) and “gift economies” of fan fiction (Flegal and Roth 258), without being impeded or overruled by official developments in the parent media. This movement towards fan custodianship and production became more visible during the 1990s, as digital technology allowed for rapid communication, connection and exchange (Coppa 53). The Virgin New Adventures range arguably operated as a meeting point between officially sanctioned commercial spin-off media and the fan-centric industries of production that work to prolong the life and memory of a cancelled television series. Indeed, the direct inclusion of fan authors and the techniques and approaches associated with fan fiction likely helped to establish the deeper, more mature interpretation of Doctor Who offered by the New Adventures.As Stein and Busse observe, a recurring feature of fan fiction has been a focus on exploring the inner lives of the characters from its source media, and adding depth and complexity to their relationships (196-8). Furthermore, the successful New Adventures fan authors tended to offer support and encouragement to each other via their informal networks, which affected the development of the series as a transmedia production (Perryman 24). Flegal and Roth note that in contrast to often solitary and individualistic forms of “professional” and “literary” writing, the composition of fan fiction emerges out of collegial, supportive and reciprocal communities (265-8). The meeting point that the Virgin New Adventures provided between professional writing practice and the attitudes and approaches common to the types of fan fiction that were becoming more prominent in the nineties (Coppa 53-5) helped to shape the evolution of Doctor Who as a franchise.Where previous Doctor Who stories (regardless of the media or medium) had been largely isolated from each other, the informal fan networks that connected the New Adventures authors allowed and encouraged them to collaborate more closely, ensuring consistency between the instalments and plotting out multi-volume story-arcs and character development. Where the Star Wars Expanded Universe series of novels ensured consistency through extensive and often intrusive top-down editorial control (Proctor and Freeman 226-7), the New Adventures developed this consistency through horizontal relationships between authors. While Doctor Who has always been a transmedia franchise, the Virgin New Adventures may be the first point where it began to fully engage with the possibilities of the coordinated and consistent transmedia storytelling discussed by Jenkins (Perryman 24-6). It is notable that this largely developed out of the collaborative and reciprocal relationships common to communities of fan-creators rather than through the singular and centralised control that Jenkins advocates.While the Virgin range of Doctor Who novels ended long before the revival of the television series in 2005, its influence on the style, tone and subject matter of the new series has been noted. As Perryman argues, the emphasis on more cohesive story-arcs and character development between episodes has been inherited from the New Adventures (24). The 2005 series also followed the Virgin novels in presenting the Doctor’s companions with detailed backgrounds and having their relationships shift and evolve, rather than remaining static like they did in the original series. The more distinctly urban focus of the new series was also likely shaped by the success of the New Adventures (Haslop 217); its well-publicised emphasis on inclusiveness and diversity was likewise prefigured by the Virgin novels, which were the first Doctor Who media to include non-Anglo and LGBQT companions (McKee "How to tell the difference" 181-2). It is highly unusual for a print-based transmedia extension to have this level of impact. Indeed, one of the most visible and profitable transmedia initiatives that began in the 1990s, the Star Wars Expanded Universe novels (which like the New Adventures was presented as an officially sanctioned continuation of the original media), was unceremoniously decanonised in 2014, and the interpretations of Star Wars characters and themes that it had developed over more than a decade of storytelling were almost entirely disregarded by the new films (Proctor and Freeman 235-7). The comparably large influence that the New Adventures had on the development of its franchise indicates the success of its fan-centric approach in developing a more relationship-driven and character-focused interpretation of its parent media.The influence of the New Adventures is also felt more directly through the continuing careers of its authors. A number of the fan writers who achieved their first commercial publication with the New Adventures (e.g. Paul Cornell, Gareth Roberts, Mark Gatiss) went on to write scripts for the new series. The first showrunner, Russell T. Davies, was the author of the later novels, Damaged Goods (1997), and the second, Steven Moffat, had been an active member of Doctor Who fan communities that discussed and promoted the Virgin books (Bishop). As the former New Adventures author Kate Orman notes, this movement from writing usually secondary franchise novels to working on and having authority over the parent media is almost unheard of (McKee “Interview with Kate Orman” 138), and speaks to the success of the combination of fan authorship and official licensing and support found in the New Adventures. As Hadas notes, the chief difference between the new series of Doctor Who and its classic version is that former and long-term fans of the series are now directly involved in its production, thus complicating Tullouch and Jenkin’s assessment of Doctor Who fans as a “powerless elite” (141). ConclusionThe continuing influence of the nineties New Adventures novels can still be detected in the contemporary series. These novels operate with regard to the themes, preoccupations and styles of storytelling that this range pioneered within the Doctor Who franchise, and which developed directly out of its innovative and unusual strategy of giving official sanction and editorial support to typically obscured and subcultural modes of fan writing. The reductive and exclusionary question of canon can be avoided when considering the above novels. These transmedia productions are important to the evolution and development of the media franchise as a whole. In this respect, the Virgin New Adventures operate as their own distinctive, legitimate and influential "period" within Doctor Who, demonstrating the creative potential of an approach to transmedia storytelling that deemphasises strict hierarchies of content and control and can readily include the contributions of fan producers.ReferencesBishop, David. “Four Writers, One Discussion: Andy Lane, Paul Cornell, Steven Moffat and David Bishop.” Time Space Visualiser 43 (March 1995). 1 Nov. 2018 &lt;http://doctorwho.org.nz/archive/tsv43/onediscussion.html&gt;.Booth, Paul. “Periodising Doctor Who.” Science Fiction Film and Television 7.2 (2014). 195-215.Britton, Piers D. TARDISbound: Navigating the Universes of Doctor Who. London: I.B. Tauris and Company, 2011.Coppa, Francesca. “A Brief History of Media Fandom.” Fan Fiction and Fan Communities in the Age of the Internet. Eds. Karen Hellekson and Kristina Busse. Jefferson NC: McFarland and Company, 2009. 41-59.Cornell, Paul. “Canonicity in Doctor Who”. PaulConell.com. 10 Feb. 2007. 30 Nov. 2018 &lt;https://www.paulcornell.com/2007/02/canonicity-in-doctor-who/&gt;.Doctor Who. British Broadcasting Corporation, 1965 to present.Flegal, Monica, and Jenny Roth. “Writing a New Text: the Role of Cyberculture in Fanfiction Writers’ Transition to ‘Legitimate’ Publishing.” Contemporary Women’s Writing 10.2 (2016): 253-270.Gulyas, Aaron. “Don’t Call It a Comeback.” Doctor Who in Time and Space: Essays on Themes, Characters, History and Fandom, 1963-2012. Ed. Donald E. Palumbo and C.W. Sullivan. Jefferson NC: McFarland and Company, 2013. 44-63.Guynes, Sean. “Publishing the New Jedi Order: Media Industries Collaboration and the Franchise Novel.” Star Wars and the History of Transmedia Storytelling. Eds. Sean Guynes and Dan Hassler-Forest. Amsterdam: Amsterdam UP, 2017. 143-154.Hadas, Leora. “Running the Asylum? Doctor Who’s Ascended Fan-Showrunners.” Deletion. 23 June 2014. 30 Nov. 2018 &lt;http://www.deletionscifi.org/episodes/episode-5/running-asylum-doctor-whos-ascended-fan-showrunners/&gt;.Haslop, Craig. “Bringing Doctor Who Back for the Masses: Regenerating Cult, Commodifying Class.” Science Fiction Film and Television 9.2 (2016): 209-297.Hills, Matt. “From Transmedia Storytelling to Transmedia Experience: Star Wars Celebration as a Crossover/Hierarchical Space.” Star Wars and the History of Transmedia Storytelling. Eds. Sean Guynes and Dan Hassler-Forest. Amsterdam: Amsterdam UP, 2017. 213-224.Jenkins III, Henry. Textual Poachers: Television Fans and Participatory Culture. New York: Routledge. 1992.———. Convergence Culture: Where Old and New Media Collide. New York: New York UP, 2006.———. “Transmedia Storytelling 101.” Confessions of an Aca-Fan. 22 Mar. 2007. 30 Nov. 2018 &lt;http://henryjenkins.org/blog/2007/03/transmedia_storytelling_101.html&gt;.———. “Transmedia Storytelling 202: Further Reflections.” Confessions of an Aca-Fan. 1 Aug. 2011. 30 Nov. 2018 &lt;http://henryjenkins.org/blog/2011/08/defining_transmedia_further_re.html&gt;.McKee, Alan. "How to Tell the Difference between Production and Consumption: A Case Study in Doctor Who Fandom." Cult Television. Eds. Sara Gwenllian-Jones and Richard M. Pearson. University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis, 2004: 167-186.———. “Interview with Kate Orman: Dr Who Author.” Continuum 19.1 (2005): 127-139. McNaughton, Douglas. “Regeneration of a Brand: The Fan Audience and the 2005 Doctor Who Revival.” Ruminations, Peregrinations, and Regenerations: A Critical Approach to Doctor Who. Ed. Christopher J. Hansen. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2010. 192-208.Perryman, Neil. “Doctor Who and the Convergence of Media: A Case Study in ‘Transmedia Storytelling’.” Convergence: The International Journal of Research into New Media Technologies 14.1 (2008): 21-39.Pillai, Nicolas. “’What Am I Looking at, Mulder?’ Licensed Comics and the Freedoms of Transmedia Storytelling.” Science Fiction Film and Television 6.1 (2013): 101-117.Porter, Lynnette. The Doctor Who Franchise: American Influence, Fan Culture, and the Spinoffs. Jefferson NC: McFarland and Company, 2018.Procter, William, and Matthew Freeman. “’The First Step into a Smaller World’: The Transmedia Economy of Star Wars.” Revisiting Imaginary Worlds: A Subcreation Studies Anthology. Ed. Mark J.P. Wolf. New York: Routledge. 2016. 223-245.Stein, Louisa, and Kristina Busse. “Limit Play: Fan Authorship between Source Text, Intertext, and Context.” Popular Communication 7.4 (2009): 192-207.Tullouch, John, and Henry Jenkins III. Science Fiction Audiences: Watching Star Trek and Doctor Who. New York: Routledge, 1995.

On 17 January 2013, Wired chose the smart contact lens as one of “7 Massive Ideas That Could Change the World” describing a Google-led research project. Wired explains that the inventor, Dr. Babak Parviz, wants to build a microsystem on a contact lens: “Using radios no wider than a few human hairs, he thinks these lenses can augment reality and incidentally eliminate the need for displays on phones, PCs, and widescreen TVs”. Explained further in other sources, the technology entails an antenna, circuits embedded into a contact lens, GPS, and an LED to project images on the eye, creating a virtual display (Solve for X). Wi-Fi would stream content through a transparent screen over the eye. One patent describes a camera embedded in the lens (Etherington). Another mentions medical sensing, such as glucose monitoring of tears (Goldman). In other words, Google proposes an imagined future when we use contact lenses to search the Internet (and be searched by it), shop online, communicate with friends, work, navigate maps, swipe through Tinder, monitor our health, watch television, and, by that time, probably engage in a host of activities not yet invented. Often referred to as a bionic contact, the smart contact lens would signal a weighty shift in the way we work, socialize, and frame our online identities. However, speculative discussion over this radical shift in personal computing, rarely if ever, includes consideration of how the body, acting as a host to digital information, will manage to assimilate not only significant affordances, but also significant constraints and vulnerabilities. At this point, for most people, the smart contact lens is just an idea. Is a new medium of communication started when it is launched in an advertising campaign? When we Like it on Facebook? If we chat about it during a party amongst friends? Or, do a critical mass of people actually have to be using it to say it has started? One might say that Apple’s Macintosh computer started as a media platform when the world heard about the famous 1984 television advertisement aired during the American NFL Super Bowl of that year. Directed by Ridley Scott, the ad entails an athlete running down a passageway and hurling a hammer at a massive screen depicting cold war style rulers expounding state propaganda. The screen explodes freeing those imprisoned from their concentration camp existence. The direct reference to Orwell’s 1984 serves as a metaphor for IBM in 1984. PC users were made analogous to political prisoners and IBM served to represent the totalitarian government. The Mac became a something that, at the time, challenged IBM, and suggested an alternative use for the desktop computer that had previously been relegated for work rather than life. Not everyone bought a Mac, but the polemical ad fostered the idea that Mac was certainly the start of new expectations, civic identities, value-systems, and personal uses for computers. The smart contact lens is another startling start. News of it shocks us, initiates social media clicks and forwards, and instigates dialogue. But, it also indicates the start of a new media paradigm that is already undergoing popular adoption as it is announced in mainstream news and circulated algorithmically across media channels. Since 2008, news outlets like CNN, The New York Times, The Globe and Mail, Asian International News, United News of India, The Times of London and The Washington Post have carried it, feeding the buzz in circulation that Google intends. Attached to the wave of current popular interest generated around any technology claiming to be “wearable,” a smart contact lens also seems surreptitious. We would no longer hold smartphones, but hide all of that digital functionality beneath our eyelids. Its emergence reveals the way commercial models have dramatically changed. The smart contact lens is a futuristic invention imagined for us and about us, but also a sensationalized idea socializing us to a future that includes it. It is also a real device that Parviz (with Google) has been inventing, promoting, and patenting for commercial applications. All of these workings speak to a broader digital culture phenomenon. We argue that the smart contact lens discloses a process of nascent posthuman adaptation, launched in an era that celebrates wearable media as simultaneously astonishing and banal. More specifically, we adopt technology based on our adaptation to it within our personal, political, medial, social, and biological contexts, which also function in a state of flux. N. Katherine Hayles writes that “Contemporary technogenesis, like evolution in general, is not about progress ... rather, contemporary technogenesis is about adaptation, the fit between organisms and their environments, recognizing that both sides of the engagement (human and technologies) are undergoing coordinated transformations” (81). This article attends to the idea that in these early stages, symbolic acts of adaptation signal an emergent medium through rhetorical processes that society both draws from and contributes to. In terms of project scope, this article contributes a focused analysis to a much larger ongoing digital rhetoric project. For the larger project, we conducted a discourse analysis on a collection of international publications concerning Babak Parviz and the invention. We searched for and collected newspaper stories, news broadcasts, YouTube videos from various sources, academic journal publications, inventors’ conference presentations, and advertising, all published between January 2008 and May 2014, generating a corpus of more than 600 relevant artifacts. Shortly after this time, Dr. Parviz, a Professor at the University of Washington, left the secretive GoogleX lab and joined Amazon.com (Mac). For this article we focus specifically on the idea of beginnings or genesis and how digital spaces increasingly serve as the grounds for emergent digital cultural phenomena that are rarely recognized as starting points. We searched through the corpus to identify a few exemplary international mainstream news stories to foreground predominant tropes in support of the claim we make that smart contacts lenses are a startling idea. Content producers deliberately use astonishment as a persuasive device. We characterize the idea of a smart contact lens cast in rhetorical terms in order to reveal how its allure works as a process of adaptation. Rhetorician and philosopher, Kenneth Burke writes that “rhetorical language is inducement to action (or to attitude)” (42). A rhetorical approach is instrumental because it offers a model to explain how we deploy, often times, manipulative meaning as senders and receivers while negotiating highly complex constellations of resources and contexts. Burke’s rhetorical theory can show how messages influence and become influenced by powerful hierarchies in discourse that seem transparent or neutral, ones that seem to fade into the background of our consciousness. For this article, we also concentrate on rhetorical devices such as ethos and the inventor’s own appeals through different modes of communication. Ethos was originally proposed by Aristotle to identify speaker credibility as a persuasive tactic. Addressed by scholars of rhetoric for centuries, ethos has been reconfigured by many critical theorists (Burke; Baumlin Ethos; Hyde). Baumlin and Baumlin suggest that “ethos describes an audience’s projection of authority and trustworthiness onto the speaker ... ethos suggests that the ethical appeal to be a radically psychological event situated in the mental processes of the audience – as belonging as much to the audience as to the actual character of a speaker” (Psychology 99). Discussed in the next section, our impression of Parviz and his position as inventor plays a dramatic role in the surfacing of the smart contact lens. Digital Rhetoric is an “emerging scholarly discipline concerned with the interpretation of computer-generated media as objects of study” (Losh 48). In an era when machine-learning algorithms become the messengers for our messages, which have become commodity items operating across globalized, capitalist networks, digital rhetoric provides a stable model for our approach. It leads us to demonstrate how this emergent medium and invention, the smart contact lens, is born amid new digital genres of speculative communication circulated in the everyday forums we engage on a daily basis. Smart Contact Lenses, Sensationalism, and Identity One relevant site for exploration into how an invention gains ethos is through writing or video penned or produced by the inventor. An article authored by Parviz in 2009 discusses his invention and the technical advancements that need to be made before the smart contact lens could work. He opens the article using a fictional and sensationalized analogy to encourage the adoption of his invention: The human eye is a perceptual powerhouse. It can see millions of colors, adjust easily to shifting light conditions, and transmit information to the brain at a rate exceeding that of a high-speed Internet connection.But why stop there?In the Terminator movies, Arnold Schwarzenegger’s character sees the world with data superimposed on his visual field—virtual captions that enhance the cyborg’s scan of a scene. In stories by the science fiction author Vernor Vinge, characters rely on electronic contact lenses, rather than smartphones or brain implants, for seamless access to information that appears right before their eyes. Identity building is made to correlate with smart contact lenses in a manner that frames them as exciting. Coming to terms with them often involves casting us as superhumans, wielding abilities that we do not currently possess. One reason for embellishment is because we do not need digital displays on the eyes, so the motive to use them must always be geared to transcending our assumed present condition as humans and society members. Consequently, imagination is used to justify a shift in human identity along a future trajectory.This passage above also instantiates a transformation from humanist to posthumanist posturing (i.e. “the cyborg”) in order to incent the adoption of smart contact lenses. It begins with the bold declarative statement, “The human eye is a perceptual powerhouse,” which is a comforting claim about our seemingly human superiority. Indexing abstract humanist values, Parviz emphasizes skills we already possess, including seeing a plethora of colours, adjusting to light on the fly, and thinking fast, indeed faster than “a high-speed Internet connection”. However, the text goes on to summon the Terminator character and his optic feats from the franchise of films. Filmic cyborg characters fulfill the excitement that posthuman rhetoric often seems to demand, but there is more here than sensationalism. Parviz raises the issue of augmenting human vision using science fiction as his contextualizing vehicle because he lacks another way to imbricate the idea. Most interesting in this passage is the inventor’s query “But why stop there?” to yoke the two claims, one biological (i.e., “The human eye is a perceptual powerhouse”) and one fictional (i.e. Terminator, Vernor Vinge characters). The query suggests, Why stop with human superiority, we may as well progress to the next level and embrace a smart contact lens just as fictional cyborgs do. The non-threatening use of fiction makes the concept seem simultaneously exciting and banal, especially because the inventor follows with a clear description of the necessary scientific engineering in the rest of the article. This rhetorical act signifies the voice of a technoelite, a heavily-funded cohort responding to global capitalist imperatives armed with a team of technologists who can access technological advancements and imbue comments with an authority that may extend beyond their fields of expertise, such as communication studies, sociology, psychology, or medicine. The result is a powerful ethos. The idea behind the smart contact lens maintains a degree of respectability long before a public is invited to use it.Parviz exhumes much cultural baggage when he brings to life the Terminator character to pitch smart contact lenses. The Terminator series of films has established the “Arnold Schwarzenegger” character a cultural mainstay. Each new film reinvented him, but ultimately promoted him within a convincing dystopian future across the whole series: The Terminator (Cameron), Terminator 2: Judgment Day (Cameron), Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines (Mostow), Terminator Salvation (McG) and Terminator Genisys (Taylor) (which appeared in 2015 after Parviz’s article). Recently, several writers have addressed how cyborg characters figure significantly in our cultural psyche (Haraway, Bukatman; Leaver). Tama Leaver’s Artificial Culture explores the way popular, contemporary, cinematic, science fiction depictions of embodied Artificial Intelligence, such as the Terminator cyborgs, “can act as a matrix which, rather than separating or demarcating minds and bodies or humanity and the digital, reinforce the symbiotic connection between people, bodies, and technologies” (31). Pointing out the violent and ultimately technophobic motive of The Terminator films, Leaver reads across them to conclude nevertheless that science fiction “proves an extremely fertile context in which to address the significance of representations of Artificial Intelligence” (63).Posthumanism and TechnogenesisOne reason this invention enters the public’s consciousness is its announcement alongside a host of other technologies, which seem like parts of a whole. We argue that this constant grouping of technologies in the news is one process indicative of technogenesis. For example, City A.M., London’s largest free commuter daily newspaper, reports on the future of business technology as a hodgepodge of what ifs: As Facebook turns ten, and with Bill Gates stepping down as Microsoft chairman, it feels like something is drawing to an end. But if so, it is only the end of the technological revolution’s beginning ... Try to look ahead ten years from now and the future is dark. Not because it is bleak, but because the sheer profusion of potential is blinding. Smartphones are set to outnumber PCs within months. After just a few more years, there are likely to be 3bn in use across the planet. In ten years, who knows – wearables? smart contact lenses? implants? And that’s just the start. The Internet of Things is projected to be a $300bn (£183bn) industry by 2020. (Sidwell) This reporting is a common means to frame the commodification of technology in globalized business news that seeks circulation as much as it does readership. But as a text, it also posits how individuals frame the future and their participation with it (Pedersen). Smart contacts appear to move along this exciting, unstoppable trajectory where the “potential is blinding”. The motive is to excite and scare. However, simultaneously, the effect is predictable. We are quite accustomed to this march of innovations that appears everyday in the morning paper. We are asked to adapt rather than question, consequently, we never separate the parts from the whole (e.g., “wearables? smart contact lenses? Implants”) in order to look at them critically.In coming to terms with Cary Wolf’s definition of posthumanism, Greg Pollock writes that posthumanism is the questioning that goes on “when we can no longer rely on ‘the human’ as an autonomous, rational being who provides an Archimedean point for knowing about the world (in contrast to “humanism,” which uses such a figure to ground further claims)” (208). With similar intent, N. Katherine Hayles formulating the term technogenesis suggests that we are not really progressing to another level of autonomous human existence when we adopt media, we are in effect, adapting to media and media are also in a process of adapting to us. She writes: As digital media, including networked and programmable desktop stations, mobile devices, and other computational media embedded in the environment, become more pervasive, they push us in the direction of faster communication, more intense and varied information streams, more integration of humans and intelligent machines, and more interactions of language with code. These environmental changes have significant neurological consequences, many of which are now becoming evident in young people and to a lesser degree in almost everyone who interacts with digital media on a regular basis. (11) Following Hayles, three actions or traits characterize adaptation in a manner germane to the technogenesis of media like smart contact lenses. The first is “media embedded in the environment”. The trait of embedding technology in the form of sensors and chips into external spaces evokes the onset of The Internet of Things (IoT) foundations. Extensive data-gathering sensors, wireless technologies, mobile and wearable components integrated with the Internet, all contribute to the IoT. Emerging from cloud computing infrastructures and data models, The IoT, in its most extreme, involves a scenario whereby people, places, animals, and objects are given unique “embedded” identifiers so that they can embark on constant data transfer over a network. In a sense, the lenses are adapted artifacts responding to a world that expects ubiquitous networked access for both humans and machines. Smart contact lenses will essentially be attached to the user who must adapt to these dynamic and heavily mediated contexts.Following closely on the first, the second point Hayles makes is “integration of humans and intelligent machines”. The camera embedded in the smart contact lens, really an adapted smartphone camera, turns the eye itself into an image capture device. By incorporating them under the eyelids, smart contact lenses signify integration in complex ways. Human-machine amalgamation follows biological, cognitive, and social contexts. Third, Hayles points to “more interactions of language with code.” We assert that with smart contact lenses, code will eventually govern interaction between countless agents in accordance with other smart devices, such as: (1) exchanges of code between people and external nonhuman networks of actors through machine algorithms and massive amalgamations of big data distributed on the Internet;(2) exchanges of code amongst people, human social actors in direct communication with each other over social media; and (3) exchanges of coding and decoding between people and their own biological processes (e.g. monitoring breathing, consuming nutrients, translating brainwaves) and phenomenological (but no less material) practices (e.g., remembering, grieving, or celebrating). The allure of the smart contact lens is the quietly pressing proposition that communication models such as these will be radically transformed because they will have to be adapted to use with the human eye, as the method of input and output of information. Focusing on genetic engineering, Eugene Thacker fittingly defines biomedia as “entail[ing] the informatic recontextualization of biological components and processes, for ends that may be medical or nonmedical (economic, technical) and with effects that are as much cultural, social, and political as they are scientific” (123). He specifies, “biomedia are not computers that simply work on or manipulate biological compounds. Rather, the aim is to provide the right conditions, such that biological life is able to demonstrate or express itself in a particular way” (123). Smart contact lenses sit on the cusp of emergence as a biomedia device that will enable us to decode bodily processes in significant new ways. The bold, technical discourse that announces it however, has not yet begun to attend to the seemingly dramatic “cultural, social, and political” effects percolating under the surface. Through technogenesis, media acclimatizes rapidly to change without establishing a logic of the consequences, nor a design plan for emergence. Following from this, we should mention issues such as the intrusion of surveillance algorithms deployed by corporations, governments, and other hegemonic entities that this invention risks. If smart contact lenses are biomedia devices inspiring us to decode bodily processes and communicate that data for analysis, for ourselves, and others in our trust (e.g., doctors, family, friends), we also need to be wary of them. David Lyon warns: Surveillance has spilled out of its old nation-state containers to become a feature of everyday life, at work, at home, at play, on the move. So far from the single all-seeing eye of Big Brother, myriad agencies now trace and track mundane activities for a plethora of purposes. Abstract data, now including video, biometric, and genetic as well as computerized administrative files, are manipulated to produce profiles and risk categories in a liquid, networked system. The point is to plan, predict, and prevent by classifying and assessing those profiles and risks. (13) In simple terms, the smart contact lens might disclose the most intimate information we possess and leave us vulnerable to profiling, tracking, and theft. Irma van der Ploeg presupposed this predicament when she wrote: “The capacity of certain technologies to change the boundary, not just between what is public and private information but, on top of that, between what is inside and outside the human body, appears to leave our normative concepts wanting” (71). The smart contact lens, with its implied motive to encode and disclose internal bodily information, needs considerations on many levels. Conclusion The smart contact lens has made a digital beginning. We accept it through the mass consumption of the idea, which acts as a rhetorical motivator for media adoption, taking place long before the device materializes in the marketplace. This occurrence may also be a sign of our “posthuman predicament” (Braidotti). We have argued that the smart contact lens concept reveals our posthuman adaptation to media rather than our reasoned acceptance or agreement with it as a logical proposition. By the time we actually squabble over the price, express fears for our privacy, and buy them, smart contact lenses will long be part of our everyday culture. References Baumlin, James S., and Tita F. Baumlin. “On the Psychology of the Pisteis: Mapping the Terrains of Mind and Rhetoric.” Ethos: New Essays in Rhetorical and Critical Theory. Eds. James S. Baumlin and Tita F. Baumlin. Dallas: Southern Methodist University Press, 1994. 91-112. Baumlin, James S., and Tita F. Baumlin, eds. Ethos: New Essays in Rhetorical and Critical Theory. Dallas: Southern Methodist University Press, 1994. Bilton, Nick. “A Rose-Colored View May Come Standard.” The New York Times, 4 Apr. 2012. Braidotti, Rosi. The Posthuman. Cambridge: Polity, 2013. Bukatman, Scott. Terminal Identity: The Virtual Subject in Postmodern Science Fiction. Durham: Duke University Press, 1993. Burke, Kenneth. A Rhetoric of Motives. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1950. Cameron, James, dir. The Terminator. Orion Pictures, 1984. DVD. Cameron, James, dir. Terminator 2: Judgment Day. Artisan Home Entertainment, 2003. DVD. Etherington, Darrell. “Google Patents Tiny Cameras Embedded in Contact Lenses.” TechCrunch, 14 Apr. 2014. Goldman, David. “Google to Make Smart Contact Lenses.” CNN Money 17 Jan. 2014. Haraway, Donna. Simians, Cyborgs and Women: The Reinvention of Nature. London: Free Association Books, 1991. Hayles, N. Katherine. How We Think: Digital Media and Contemporary Technogenesis. Chicago: University of Chicago, 2012. Hyde, Michael. The Ethos of Rhetoric. Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 2004. Leaver, Tama. Artificial Culture: Identity, Technology, and Bodies. New York: Routledge, 2012. Losh, Elizabeth. Virtualpolitik: An Electronic History of Government Media-Making in a Time of War, Scandal, Disaster, Miscommunication, and Mistakes. Boston: MIT Press. 2009. Lyon, David, ed. Surveillance as Social Sorting: Privacy, Risk and Digital Discrimination. New York: Routledge, 2003. Mac, Ryan. “Amazon Lures Google Glass Creator Following Phone Launch.” Forbes.com, 14 July 2014. McG, dir. Terminator Salvation. Warner Brothers, 2009. DVD. Mostow, Jonathan, dir. Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines. Warner Brothers, 2003. DVD. Parviz, Babak A. “Augmented Reality in a Contact Lens.” IEEE Spectrum, 1 Sep. 2009. Pedersen, Isabel. Ready to Wear: A Rhetoric of Wearable Computers and Reality-Shifting Media. Anderson, South Carolina: Parlor Press, 2013. Pollock, Greg. “What Is Posthumanism by Cary Wolfe (2009).” Rev. of What is Posthumanism?, by Cary Wolfe. Journal for Critical Animal Studies 9.1/2 (2011): 235-241. Sidwell, Marc. “The Long View: Bill Gates Is Gone and the Dot-com Era Is Over: It's Only the End of the Beginning.” City A.M., 7 Feb. 2014. “Solve for X: Babak Parviz on Building Microsystems on the Eye.” YouTube, 7 Feb. 2012. Taylor, Alan, dir. Terminator: Genisys. Paramount Pictures, 2015. DVD. Thacker, Eugene “Biomedia.” Critical Terms for Media Studies. Eds. W.J.T Mitchell and Mark Hansen, Chicago: Chicago Press, 2010. 117-130. Van der Ploeg, Irma. “Biometrics and the Body as Information.” Surveillance as Social Sorting: Privacy, Risk and Digital Discrimination. Ed. David Lyon. New York: Routledge, 2003. 57-73. Wired Staff. “7 Massive Ideas That Could Change the World.” Wired.com, 17 Jan. 2013.

Introduction Almost all industries in Australia today have adopted digital media in some way. However, uses in large scale activities such as mining may seem to be different from others. This article looks at mining practices with a media studies approach, and concludes that, just as many other industries, mining and media have converged. Many Australian mine sites are adopting new media for communication and control to manage communication, explore for ore bodies, simulate forces, automate drilling, keep records, and make transport and command robotic. Beyond sharing similar digital devices for communication and computation, new media in mining employ characteristic digital media operations, such as numerical operation, automation and managed variability. This article examines the implications of finding that some of the most material practices have become mediated by new media. Mining has become increasingly mediated through new media technologies similar to GPS, visualisation, game remote operation, similar to those adopted in consumer home and mobile digital media. The growing and diversified adoption of digital media championed by companies like Rio Tinto aims not only ‘improve’ mining, but to change it. Through remediating practices of digital mining, new media have become integral powerful tools in prospective, real time and analytical environments. This paper draws on two well-known case studies of mines in the Pilbara and Western NSW. These have been documented in press releases and media reports as representing changes in media and mining. First, the West Angelas mines in the Pilbara is an open cut iron ore mine introducing automation and remote operation. This mine is located in the remote Pilbara, and is notable for being operated remotely from a control centre 2000km away, near Perth Airport, WA. A growing fleet of Komatsu 930E haul trucks, which can drive autonomously, traverses the site. Fitted with radars, lasers and GPS, these enormous vehicles navigate through the open pit mine with no direct human control. Introducing these innovations to mine sites become more viable after iron ore mining became increasingly profitable in the mid-2000s. A boom in steel building in China drove unprecedented demand. This growing income coincided with a change in public rhetoric from companies like Rio Tinto. They pointed towards substantial investments in research, infrastructure, and accelerated introduction of new media technologies into mining practices. Rio Tinto trademarked the term ‘Mine of the future’ (US Federal News Service 1), and publicised their ambitious project for renewal of mining practice, including digital media. More recently, prices have been more volatile. The second case study site is a copper and gold underground mine at Northparkes in Western NSW. Northparkes uses substantial sensing and control, as well as hybrid autonomous and remote operated vehicles. The use of digital media begins with prospecting, and through to logistics of transportation. Engineers place explosives in optimal positions using computer modelling of the underground rock formations. They make heavy use of software to coordinate layer-by-layer use of explosives in this advanced ‘box cut’ mine. After explosives disrupt the rock layer a kilometre underground, another specialised vehicle collects and carries the ore to the surface. The Sandvik loader-hauler-dumper (LHD) can be driven conventionally by a driver, but it can also travel autonomously in and out of the mine without a direct operator. Once it reaches a collection point, where the broken up ore has accumulated, a user of the surface can change the media mode to telepresence. The human operator then takes control using something like a games controller and multiple screens. The remote operator controls the LHD to fill the scoop with ore. The fully-loaded LHD backs up, and returns autonomously using laser senses to follow a trail to the next drop off point. The LHD has become a powerful mediator, reconfiguring technical, material and social practices throughout the mine. The Meanings of Mining and Media Are Converging Until recently, mining and media typically operated ontologically separately. The media, such as newspapers and television, often tell stories about mining, following regular narrative scripts. There are controversies and conflicts, narratives of ecological crises, and the economics of national benefit. There are heroic and tragic stories such as the Beaconsfield mine collapse (Clark). There are new industry policies (Middelbeek), which are politically fraught because of the lobbying power of miners. Almost completely separately, workers in mines were consumers of media, from news to entertainment. These media practices, while important in their own right, tell nothing of the approaching changes in many other sectors of work and everyday life. It is somewhat unusual for a media studies scholar to study mine sites. Mine sites are most commonly studied by Engineering (Bellamy &amp; Pravica), Business and labour and cultural histories (McDonald, Mayes &amp; Pini). Until recently, media scholarship on mining has related to media institutions, such as newspapers, broadcasters and websites, and their audiences. As digital media have proliferated, the phenomena that can be considered as media phenomena has changed. This article, pointing to the growing roles of media technologies, observes the growing importance that media, in these terms, have in the rapidly changing domain of mining. Another meaning for ‘media’ studies, from cybernetics, is that a medium is any technology that translates perception, makes interpretations, and performs expressions. This meaning is more abstract, operating with a broader definition of media — not only those institutionalised as newspapers or radio stations. It is well known that computer-based media have become ubiquitous in culture. This is true in particular within the mining company’s higher ranks. Rio Tinto’s ambitious 2010 ‘Mine of the Future’ (Fisher &amp; Schnittger, 2) program was premised on an awareness that engineers, middle managers and senior staff were already highly computer literate. It is worth remembering that such competency was relatively uncommon until the late 1980s. The meanings of digital media have been shifting for many years, as computers become experienced more as everyday personal artefacts, and less as remote information systems. Their value has always been held with some ambivalence. Zuboff’s (387-414) picture of loss, intimidation and resistance to new information technologies in the 1980s seems to have dissipated by 2011. More than simply being accepted begrudgingly, the PC platform (and variants) has become a ubiquitous platform, a lingua franca for information workers. It became an intimate companion for many professions, and in many homes. It was an inexpensive, versatile and generalised convergent medium for communication and control. And yet, writers such as Gregg observe, the flexibility of networked digital work imposes upon many workers ‘unlimited work’. The office boundaries of the office wall break down, for better or worse. Emails, utility and other work-related behaviours increasingly encroach onto domestic and public space and time. Its very attractiveness to users has tied them to these artefacts. The trail that leads the media studies discipline down the digital mine shaft has been cleared by recent work in media archaeology (Parikka), platform studies (Middelbeek; Montfort &amp; Bogost; Maher) and new media (Manovich). Each of these redefined Media Studies practices addresses the need to diversify the field’s attention and methods. It must look at more specific, less conventional and more complex media formations. Mobile media and games (both computer-based) have turned out to be quite different from traditional media (Hjorth; Goggin). Kirschenbaum’s literary study of hard drives and digital fiction moves from materiality to aesthetics. In my study of digital mining, I present a reconfigured media studies, after the authors, that reveals heterogeneous media configurations, deserving new attention to materiality. This article also draws from the actor network theory approach and terminology (Latour). The uses of media / control / communications in the mining industry are very complex, and remain under constant development. Media such as robotics, computer modelling, remote operation and so on are bound together into complex practices. Each mine site is different — geologically, politically, and economically. Mines are subject to local and remote disasters. Mine tunnels and global prices can collapse, rendering active sites uneconomical overnight. Many technologies are still under development — including Northparkes and West Angelas. Both these sites are notable for their significant use of autonomous vehicles and remote operated vehicles. There is no doubt that the digital technologies modulate all manner of the mining processes: from rocks and mechanical devices to human actors. Each of these actors present different forms of collusion and opposition. Within a mining operation, the budgets for computerised and even robotic systems are relatively modest for their expected return. Deep in a mine, we can still see media convergence at work. Convergence refers to processes whereby previously diverse practices in media have taken on similar devices and techniques. While high-end PCs in mining, running simulators; control data systems; visualisation; telepresence, and so on may be high performance, ruggedised devices, they still share a common platform to the desktop PC. Conceptual resources developed in Media Ecology, New Media Studies, and the Digital Humanities can now inform readings of mining practices, even if their applications differ dramatically in size, reliability and cost. It is not entirely surprising that some observations by new media theorists about entertainment and media applications can also relate to features of mining technologies. Manovich argues that numerical representation is a distinctive feature of new media. Numbers have always already been key to mining engineering. However, computers visualise numerical fields in simulations that extend out of the minds of the calculators, and into visual and even haptic spaces. Specialists in geology, explosives, mechanical apparatuses, and so on, can use plaftorms that are common to everyday media. As the significance of numbers is extended by computers in the field, more and more diverse sources of data provide apparently consistent and seamless images of multiple fields of knowledge. Another feature that Manovich identifies in new media is the capacity for automation of media operations. Automation of many processes in mechanical domains clearly occurred long before industrial technologies were ported into new media. The difference with new media in mine sites is that robotic systems must vary their performance according to feedback from their extra-system environments. For our purposes, the haul trucks in WA are software-controlled devices that already qualify as robots. They sense, interpret and act in the world based on their surroundings. They evaluate multiple factors, including the sensors, GPS signals, operator instructions and so on. They can repeat the path, by sensing the differences, day after day, even if the weather changes, the track wears away or the instructions from base change. Automation compensates for differences within complex and changing environments. Automation of an open-pit mine haulage system… provides more consistent and efficient operation of mining equipment, it removes workers from potential danger, it reduces fuel consumption significantly reducing greenhouse gas (GHG) emissions, and it can help optimize vehicle repairs and equipment replacement because of more-predictable and better-controlled maintenance. (Parreire and Meech 1-13) Material components in physical mines tend to become modular and variable, as their physical shape lines up with the logic of another of Manovich’s new media themes, variability. Automatic systems also make obsolete human drivers, who previously handled those environmental variations, for better or for worse, through the dangerous, dull and dirty spaces of the mine. Drivers’ capacity to control repeat trips is no longer needed. The Komatsu driverless truck, introduced to the WA iron ore mines from 2008, proved itself to be almost as quick as human drivers at many tasks. But the driverless trucks have deeper advantages: they can run 23 hours each day with no shift breaks; they drive more cautiously and wear the equipment less than human drivers. There is no need to put up workers and their families up in town. The benefit most often mentioned is safety: even the worst accident won’t produce injuries to drivers. The other advantage less mentioned is that autonomous trucks don’t strike. Meanwhile, managers of human labour also need to adopt certain strategies of modulation to support the needs and expectations of their workers. Mobile phones, televisions and radio are popular modes of connecting workers to their loved ones, particularly in the remote and harsh West Angelas site. One solution — regular fly-in-fly out shifts — tends also to be alienating for workers and locals (Cheshire; Storey; Tonts). As with any operations, the cost of maintaining a safe and comfortable environment for workers requires trade-offs. Companies face risks from mobile phones, leaking computer networks, and espionage that expose the site to security risks. Because of such risks, miners tend be subject to disciplinary regimes. It is common to test alcohol and drug levels. There was some resistance from workers, who refused to change to saliva testing from urine testing (Latimer). Contesting these machines places the medium, in a different sense, at the centre of regulation of the workers’ bodies. In Northparkes, the solution of hybrid autonomous and remote operation is also a solution for modulating labour. It is safer and more comfortable, while also being more efficient, as one experienced driver can control three trucks at a time. This more complex mode of mediation is necessary because underground mines are more complex in geology, and working environments to suit full autonomy. These variations provide different relationships between operators and machines. The operator uses a games controller, and watches four video views from the cabin to make the vehicle fill the bucket with ore (Northparkes Mines, 9). Again, media have become a pivotal element in the mining assemblage. This combines the safety and comfort of autonomous operation (helping to retain staff) with the required use of human sensorimotor dexterity. Mine systems deserve attention from media studies because sites are combining large scale physical complexity with increasingly sophisticated computing. The conventional pictures of mining and media rarely address the specificity of subjective and artefactual encounters in and around mine sites. Any research on mining communication is typically within the instrumental frames of engineering (Duff et al.). Some of the developments in mechanical systems have contributed to efficiency and safety of many mines: larger trucks, more rock crushers, and so on. However, the single most powerful influence on mining has been adopting digital media to control, integrate and mining systems. Rio Tinto’s transformative agenda document is outlined in its high profile ‘Mine of the Future’ agenda (US Federal News Service). The media to which I refer are not only those in popular culture, but also those with digital control and communications systems used internally within mines and supply chains. The global mining industry began adopting digital communication automation (somewhat) systematically only in the 1980s. Mining companies hesitated to adopt digital media because the fundamentals of mining are so risky and bound to standard procedures. Large scale material operations, extracting and processing minerals from under the ground: hardly to be an appropriate space for delicate digital electronics. Mining is also exposed to volatile economic conditions, so investing in anything major can be unattractive. High technology perhaps contradicts an industry ethos of risk-taking and masculinity. Digital media became domesticated, and familiar to a new generation of formally educated engineers for whom databases and algorithms (Manovich) were second nature. Digital systems become simultaneously controllers of objects, and mediators of meanings and relationships. They control movements, and express communications. Computers slide from using meanings to invoking direct actions over objects in the world. Even on an everyday scale, computer operations often control physical processes. Anti-lock Braking Systems regulate a vehicle’s braking pressure to avoid the danger when wheels lock-up. Or another example, is the ATM, which involves both symbolic interactions, and also exchange of physical objects. These operations are examples of the ‘asignifying semiotic’ (Guattari), in which meanings and non-meanings interact. There is no operation essential distinction between media- and non-media digital operations. Which are symbolic, attached or non-consequential is not clear. This trend towards using computation for both meanings and actions has accelerated since 2000. Mines of the Future Beyond a relatively standard set of office and communications software, many fields, including mining, have adopted specialised packages for their domains. In 3D design, it is AutoCAD. In hard sciences, it is custom modelling. In audiovisual production, it may be Apple and Adobe products. Some platforms define their subjectivity, professional identity and practices around these platforms. This platform orientation is apparent in areas of mining, so that applications such as the Gemcom, Rockware, Geological Database and Resource Estimation Modelling from Micromine; geology/mine design software from Runge, Minemap; and mine production data management software from Corvus. However, software is only a small proportion of overall costs in the industry. Agents in mining demand solutions to peculiar problems and requirements. They are bound by their enormous scale; physical risks of environments, explosive and moving elements; need to negotiate constant change, as mining literally takes the ground from under itself; the need to incorporate geological patterns; and the importance of logistics. When digital media are the solution, there can be what is perceived as rapid gains, including greater capacities for surveillance and control. Digital media do not provide more force. Instead, they modulate the direction, speed and timing of activities. It is not a complete solution, because too many uncontrolled elements are at play. Instead, there are moment and situations when the degree of control refigures the work that can be done. Conclusions In this article I have proposed a new conception of media change, by reading digital innovations in mining practices themselves as media changes. This involved developing an initial reading of the operations of mining as digital media. With this approach, the array of media components extends far beyond the conventional ‘mass media’ of newspapers and television. It offers a more molecular media environment which is increasingly heterogeneous. It sometimes involves materiality on a huge scale, and is sometimes apparently virtual. The mining media event can be a semiotic, a signal, a material entity and so on. It can be a command to a human. It can be a measurement of location, a rock formation, a pressure or an explosion. The mining media event, as discussed above, is subject to Manovich’s principles of media, being numerical, variable and automated. In the mining media event, these principles move from the aesthetic to the instrumental and physical domains of the mine site. The role of new media operates at many levels — from the bottom of the mine site to the cruising altitude of the fly-in-fly out aeroplanes — has motivated significant changes in the Australian industry. When digital media and robotics come into play, they do not so much introduce change, but reintroduce similarity. This inversion of media is less about meaning, and more about local mastery. Media modulation extends the kinds of influence that can be exerted by the actors in control. In these situations, the degrees of control, and of resistance, are yet to be seen. Acknowledgments Thanks to Mining IQ for a researcher's pass at Mining Automation and Communication Conference, Perth in August 2012. References Bellamy, D., and L. Pravica. “Assessing the Impact of Driverless Haul Trucks in Australian Surface Mining.” Resources Policy 2011. Cheshire, L. “A Corporate Responsibility? The Constitution of Fly-In, Fly-Out Mining Companies as Governance Partners in Remote, Mine-Affected Localities.” Journal of Rural Studies 26.1 (2010): 12–20. Clark, N. “Todd and Brant Show PM Beaconsfield's Cage of Hell.” The Mercury, 6 Nov. 2008. Duff, E., C. Caris, A. Bonchis, K. Taylor, C. Gunn, and M. Adcock. “The Development of a Telerobotic Rock Breaker.” CSIRO 2009: 1–10. Fisher, B.S. and S. Schnittger. Autonomous and Remote Operation Technologies in the Mining Industry: Benefits and Costs. BAE Report 12.1 (2012). Goggin, G. Global Mobile Media. London: Routledge, 2010. Gregg, M. Work’s Intimacy. Cambridge: Polity, 2011. Guattari, F. Chaosmosis: An Ethico-Aesthetic Paradigm. Trans. Paul Bains and Julian Pefanis. Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1992. Hjorth, L. Mobile Media in the Asia-Pacific: Gender and the Art of Being Mobile. Taylor &amp; Francis, 2008. Kirschenbaum, M.G. Mechanisms: New Media and the Forensic Imagination. Campridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 2008. Latimer, Cole. “Fair Work Appeal May Change Drug Testing on Site.” Mining Australia 2012. 3 May 2013 ‹http://www.miningaustralia.com.au/news/fair-work-appeal-may-change-drug-testing-on-site›. Latour, B. Reassembling the Social: An Introduction to Actor-Network-Theory. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Maher, J. The Future Was Here: The Commodore Amiga. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 2012. Manovich, Lev. The Language of New Media. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 2001. McDonald, P., R. Mayes, and B. Pini. “Mining Work, Family and Community: A Spatially-Oriented Approach to the Impact of the Ravensthorpe Nickel Mine Closure in Remote Australia.” Journal of Industrial Relations 2012. Middelbeek, E. “Australia Mining Tax Set to Slam Iron Ore Profits.” Metal Bulletin Weekly 2012. Montfort, N., and I. Bogost. Racing the Beam: The Atari Video Computer System. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 2009. Parikka, J. What Is Media Archaeology? London: Polity Press, 2012. Parreira, J., and J. Meech. “Autonomous vs Manual Haulage Trucks — How Mine Simulation Contributes to Future Haulage System Developments.” Paper presented at the CIM Meeting, Vancouver, 2010. 3 May 2013 ‹http://www.infomine.com/library/publications/docs/parreira2010.pdf›. Storey, K. “Fly-In/Fly-Out and Fly-Over: Mining and Regional Development in Western Australia.” Australian Geographer 32.2 (2010): 133–148. Storey, K. “Fly-In/Fly-Out: Implications for Community Sustainability.” Sustainability 2.5 (2010): 1161–1181. 3 May 2013 ‹http://www.mdpi.com/2071-1050/2/5/1161›. Takayama, L., W. Ju, and C. Nas. “Beyond Dirty, Dangerous and Dull: What Everyday People Think Robots Should Do.” Paper presented at HRI '08, Amsterdam, 2008. 3 May 2013 ‹http://www-cdr.stanford.edu/~wendyju/publications/hri114-takayama.pdf›. Tonts, M. “Labour Market Dynamics in Resource Dependent Regions: An Examination of the Western Australian Goldfields.” Geographical Research 48.2 (2010): 148-165. 3 May 2013 ‹http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/j.1745-5871.2009.00624.x/abstract›. US Federal News Service, Including US State News. “USPTO Issues Trademark: Mine of the Future.” 31 Aug. 2011. Wu, S., H. Han, X. Liu, H. Wang, F. Xue. “Highly Effective Use of Australian Pilbara Blend Lump Ore in a Blast Furnace.” Revue de Métallurgie 107.5 (2010): 187-193. doi:10.1051/metal/2010021. Zuboff, S. In the Age of the Smart Machine: The Future of Work and Power. Heinemann Professional, 1988.

The Australian Government has been actively evaluating how best to merge the functions of the Australian Communications Authority (ACA) and the Australian Broadcasting Authority (ABA) for around two years now. Broadly, the reason for this is an attempt to keep pace with the communications media transformations we reduce to the term “convergence.” Mounting pressure for restructuring is emerging as a site of turf contestation: the possibility of a regulatory “one-stop shop” for governments (and some industry players) is an end game of considerable force. But, from a public interest perspective, the case for a converged regulator needs to make sense to audiences using various media, as well as in terms of arguments about global, industrial, and technological change. This national debate about the institutional reshaping of media regulation is occurring within a wider global context of transformations in social, technological, and politico-economic frameworks of open capital and cultural markets, including the increasing prominence of international economic organisations, corporations, and Free Trade Agreements (FTAs). Although the recently concluded FTA with the US explicitly carves out a right for Australian Governments to make regulatory policy in relation to existing and new media, considerable uncertainty remains as to future regulatory arrangements. A key concern is how a right to intervene in cultural markets will be sustained in the face of cultural, politico-economic, and technological pressures that are reconfiguring creative industries on an international scale. While the right to intervene was retained for the audiovisual sector in the FTA, by contrast, it appears that comparable unilateral rights to intervene will not operate for telecommunications, e-commerce or intellectual property (DFAT). Blurring Boundaries A lack of certainty for audiences is a by-product of industry change, and further blurs regulatory boundaries: new digital media content and overlapping delivering technologies are already a reality for Australia’s media regulators. These hypothetical media usage scenarios indicate how confusion over the appropriate regulatory agency may arise: 1. playing electronic games that use racist language; 2. being subjected to deceptive or misleading pop-up advertising online 3. receiving messaged imagery on your mobile phone that offends, disturbs, or annoys; 4. watching a program like World Idol with SMS voting that subsequently raises charging or billing issues; or 5. watching a new “reality” TV program where products are being promoted with no explicit acknowledgement of the underlying commercial arrangements either during or at the end of the program. These are all instances where, theoretically, regulatory mechanisms are in place that allow individuals to complain and to seek some kind of redress as consumers and citizens. In the last scenario, in commercial television under the sector code, no clear-cut rules exist as to the precise form of the disclosure—as there is (from 2000) in commercial radio. It’s one of a number of issues the peak TV industry lobby Commercial TV Australia (CTVA) is considering in their review of the industry’s code of practice. CTVA have proposed an amendment to the code that will simply formalise the already existing practice . That is, commercial arrangements that assist in the making of a program should be acknowledged either during programs, or in their credits. In my view, this amendment doesn’t go far enough in post “cash for comment” mediascapes (Dwyer). Audiences have a right to expect that broadcasters, production companies and program celebrities are open and transparent with the Australian community about these kinds of arrangements. They need to be far more clearly signposted, and people better informed about their role. In the US, the “Commercial Alert” &lt;http://www.commercialalert.org/&gt; organisation has been lobbying the Federal Communications Commission and the Federal Trade Commission to achieve similar in-program “visual acknowledgements.” The ABA’s Commercial Radio Inquiry (“Cash-for-Comment”) found widespread systemic regulatory failure and introduced three new standards. On that basis, how could a “standstill” response by CTVA, constitute best practice for such a pervasive and influential medium as contemporary commercial television? The World Idol example may lead to confusion for some audiences, who are unsure whether the issues involved relate to broadcasting or telecommunications. In fact, it could be dealt with as a complaint to the Telecommunication Industry Ombudsman (TIO) under an ACA registered, but Australian Communications Industry Forum (ACIF) developed, code of practice. These kind of cross-platform issues may become more vexed in future years from an audience’s perspective, especially if reality formats using on-screen premium rate service numbers invite audiences to participate, by sending MMS (multimedia messaging services) images or short video grabs over wireless networks. The political and cultural implications of this kind of audience interaction, in terms of access, participation, and more generally the symbolic power of media, may perhaps even indicate a longer-term shift in relations with consumers and citizens. In the Internet example, the Australian Competition and Consumer Commission’s (ACCC) Internet advertising jurisdiction would apply—not the ABA’s “co-regulatory” Internet content regime as some may have thought. Although the ACCC deals with complaints relating to Internet advertising, there won’t be much traction for them in a more complex issue that also includes, say, racist or religious bigotry. The DVD example would probably fall between the remits of the Office of Film and Literature Classification’s (OFLC) new “convergent” Guidelines for the Classification of Film and Computer Games and race discrimination legislation administered by the Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission (HREOC). The OFLC’s National Classification Scheme is really geared to provide consumer advice on media products that contain sexual and violent imagery or coarse language, rather than issues of racist language. And it’s unlikely that a single person would have the locus standito even apply for a reclassification. It may fall within the jurisdiction of the HREOC depending on whether it was played in public or not. Even then it would probably be considered exempt on free speech grounds as an “artistic work.” Unsolicited, potentially illegal, content transmitted via mobile wireless devices, in particular 3G phones, provide another example of content that falls between the media regulation cracks. It illustrates a potential content policy “turf grab” too. Image-enabled mobile phones create a variety of novel issues for content producers, network operators, regulators, parents and viewers. There is no one government media authority or agency with a remit to deal with this issue. Although it has elements relating to the regulatory activities of the ACA, the ABA, the OFLC, the TIO, and TISSC, the combination of illegal or potentially prohibited content and its carriage over wireless networks positions it outside their current frameworks. The ACA may argue it should have responsibility for this kind of content since: it now enforces the recently enacted Commonwealth anti-Spam laws; has registered an industry code of practice for unsolicited content delivered over wireless networks; is seeking to include ‘adult’ content within premium rate service numbers, and, has been actively involved in consumer education for mobile telephony. It has also worked with TISSC and the ABA in relation to telephone sex information services over voice networks. On the other hand, the ABA would probably argue that it has the relevant expertise for regulating wirelessly transmitted image-content, arising from its experience of Internet and free and subscription TV industries, under co-regulatory codes of practice. The OFLC can also stake its claim for policy and compliance expertise, since the recently implemented Guidelines for Classification of Film and Computer Games were specifically developed to address issues of industry convergence. These Guidelines now underpin the regulation of content across the film, TV, video, subscription TV, computer games and Internet sectors. Reshaping Institutions Debates around the “merged regulator” concept have occurred on and off for at least a decade, with vested interests in agencies and the executive jockeying to stake claims over new turf. On several occasions the debate has been given renewed impetus in the context of ruling conservative parties’ mooted changes to the ownership and control regime. It’s tended to highlight demarcations of remit, informed as they are by historical and legal developments, and the gradual accretion of regulatory cultures. Now the key pressure points for regulatory change include the mere existence of already converged single regulatory structures in those countries with whom we tend to triangulate our policy comparisons—the US, the UK and Canada—increasingly in a context of debates concerning international trade agreements; and, overlaying this, new media formats and devices are complicating existing institutional arrangements and legal frameworks. The Department of Communications, Information Technology &amp; the Arts’s (DCITA) review brief was initially framed as “options for reform in spectrum management,” but was then widened to include “new institutional arrangements” for a converged regulator, to deal with visual content in the latest generation of mobile telephony, and other image-enabled wireless devices (DCITA). No other regulatory agencies appear, at this point, to be actively on the Government’s radar screen (although they previously have been). Were the review to look more inclusively, the ACCC, the OFLC and the specialist telecommunications bodies, the TIO and the TISSC may also be drawn in. Current regulatory arrangements see the ACA delegate responsibility for broadcasting services bands of the radio frequency spectrum to the ABA. In fact, spectrum management is the turf least contested by the regulatory players themselves, although the “convergent regulator” issue provokes considerable angst among powerful incumbent media players. The consensus that exists at a regulatory level can be linked to the scientific convention that holds the radio frequency spectrum is a continuum of electromagnetic bands. In this view, it becomes artificial to sever broadcasting, as “broadcasting services bands” from the other remaining highly diverse communications uses, as occurred from 1992 when the Broadcasting Services Act was introduced. The prospect of new forms of spectrum charging is highly alarming for commercial broadcasters. In a joint submission to the DCITA review, the peak TV and radio industry lobby groups have indicated they will fight tooth and nail to resist new regulatory arrangements that would see a move away from the existing licence fee arrangements. These are paid as a sliding scale percentage of gross earnings that, it has been argued by Julian Thomas and Marion McCutcheon, “do not reflect the amount of spectrum used by a broadcaster, do not reflect the opportunity cost of using the spectrum, and do not provide an incentive for broadcasters to pursue more efficient ways of delivering their services” (6). An economic rationalist logic underpins pressure to modify the spectrum management (and charging) regime, and undoubtedly contributes to the commercial broadcasting industry’s general paranoia about reform. Total revenues collected by the ABA and the ACA between 1997 and 2002 were, respectively, $1423 million and $3644.7 million. Of these sums, using auction mechanisms, the ABA collected $391 million, while the ACA collected some $3 billion. The sale of spectrum that will be returned to the Commonwealth by television broadcasters when analog spectrum is eventually switched off, around the end of the decade, is a salivating prospect for Treasury officials. The large sums that have been successfully raised by the ACA boosts their position in planning discussions for the convergent media regulatory agency. The way in which media outlets and regulators respond to publics is an enduring question for a democratic polity, irrespective of how the product itself has been mediated and accessed. Media regulation and civic responsibility, including frameworks for negotiating consumer and citizen rights, are fundamental democratic rights (Keane; Tambini). The ABA’s Commercial Radio Inquiry (‘cash for comment’) has also reminded us that regulatory frameworks are important at the level of corporate conduct, as well as how they negotiate relations with specific media audiences (Johnson; Turner; Gordon-Smith). Building publicly meaningful regulatory frameworks will be demanding: relationships with audiences are often complex as people are constructed as both consumers and citizens, through marketised media regulation, institutions and more recently, through hybridising program formats (Murdock and Golding; Lumby and Probyn). In TV, we’ve seen the growth of infotainment formats blending entertainment and informational aspects of media consumption. At a deeper level, changes in the regulatory landscape are symptomatic of broader tectonic shifts in the discourses of governance in advanced information economies from the late 1980s onwards, where deregulatory agendas created an increasing reliance on free market, business-oriented solutions to regulation. “Co-regulation” and “self-regulation’ became the preferred mechanisms to more direct state control. Yet, curiously contradicting these market transformations, we continue to witness recurring instances of direct intervention on the basis of censorship rationales (Dwyer and Stockbridge). That digital media content is “converging” between different technologies and modes of delivery is the norm in “new media” regulatory rhetoric. Others critique “visions of techno-glory,” arguing instead for a view that sees fundamental continuities in media technologies (Winston). But the socio-cultural impacts of new media developments surround us: the introduction of multichannel digital and interactive TV (in free-to-air and subscription variants); broadband access in the office and home; wirelessly delivered content and mobility, and, as Jock Given notes, around the corner, there’s the possibility of “an Amazon.Com of movies-on-demand, with the local video and DVD store replaced by online access to a distant server” (90). Taking a longer view of media history, these changes can be seen to be embedded in the global (and local) “innovation frontier” of converging digital media content industries and its transforming modes of delivery and access technologies (QUT/CIRAC/Cutler &amp; Co). The activities of regulatory agencies will continue to be a source of policy rivalry and turf contestation until such time as a convergent regulator is established to the satisfaction of key players. However, there are risks that the benefits of institutional reshaping will not be readily available for either audiences or industry. In the past, the idea that media power and responsibility ought to coexist has been recognised in both the regulation of the media by the state, and the field of communications media analysis (Curran and Seaton; Couldry). But for now, as media industries transform, whatever the eventual institutional configuration, the evolution of media power in neo-liberal market mediascapes will challenge the ongoing capacity for interventions by national governments and their agencies. Works Cited Australian Broadcasting Authority. Commercial Radio Inquiry: Final Report of the Australian Broadcasting Authority. Sydney: ABA, 2000. Australian Communications Information Forum. Industry Code: Short Message Service (SMS) Issues. Dec. 2002. 8 Mar. 2004 &lt;http://www.acif.org.au/__data/page/3235/C580_Dec_2002_ACA.pdf &gt;. Commercial Television Australia. Draft Commercial Television Industry Code of Practice. Aug. 2003. 8 Mar. 2004 &lt;http://www.ctva.com.au/control.cfm?page=codereview&amp;pageID=171&amp;menucat=1.2.110.171&amp;Level=3&gt;. Couldry, Nick. The Place of Media Power: Pilgrims and Witnesses of the Media Age. London: Routledge, 2000. Curran, James, and Jean Seaton. Power without Responsibility: The Press, Broadcasting and New Media in Britain. 6th ed. London: Routledge, 2003. Dept. of Communication, Information Technology and the Arts. Options for Structural Reform in Spectrum Management. Canberra: DCITA, Aug. 2002. ---. Proposal for New Institutional Arrangements for the ACA and the ABA. Aug. 2003. 8 Mar. 2004 &lt;http://www.dcita.gov.au/Article/0,,0_1-2_1-4_116552,00.php&gt;. Dept. of Foreign Affairs and Trade. Australia-United States Free Trade Agreement. Feb. 2004. 8 Mar. 2004 &lt;http://www.dfat.gov.au/trade/negotiations/us_fta/outcomes/11_audio_visual.php&gt;. Dwyer, Tim. Submission to Commercial Television Australia’s Review of the Commercial Television Industry’s Code of Practice. Sept. 2003. Dwyer, Tim, and Sally Stockbridge. “Putting Violence to Work in New Media Policies: Trends in Australian Internet, Computer Game and Video Regulation.” New Media and Society 1.2 (1999): 227-49. Given, Jock. America’s Pie: Trade and Culture After 9/11. Sydney: U of NSW P, 2003. Gordon-Smith, Michael. “Media Ethics After Cash-for-Comment.” The Media and Communications in Australia. Ed. Stuart Cunningham and Graeme Turner. Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 2002. Johnson, Rob. Cash-for-Comment: The Seduction of Journo Culture. Sydney: Pluto, 2000. Keane, John. The Media and Democracy. Cambridge: Polity, 1991. Lumby, Cathy, and Elspeth Probyn, eds. Remote Control: New Media, New Ethics. Melbourne: Cambridge UP, 2003. Murdock, Graham, and Peter Golding. “Information Poverty and Political Inequality: Citizenship in the Age of Privatized Communications.” Journal of Communication 39.3 (1991): 180-95. QUT, CIRAC, and Cutler &amp; Co. Research and Innovation Systems in the Production of Digital Content and Applications: Report for the National Office for the Information Economy. Canberra: Commonwealth of Australia, Sept. 2003. Tambini, Damian. Universal Access: A Realistic View. IPPR/Citizens Online Research Publication 1. London: IPPR, 2000. Thomas, Julian and Marion McCutcheon. “Is Broadcasting Special? Charging for Spectrum.” Conference paper. ABA conference, Canberra. May 2003. Turner, Graeme. “Talkback, Advertising and Journalism: A cautionary tale of self-regulated radio”. International Journal of Cultural Studies 3.2 (2000): 247-255. ---. “Reshaping Australian Institutions: Popular Culture, the Market and the Public Sphere.” Culture in Australia: Policies, Publics and Programs. Ed. Tony Bennett and David Carter. Melbourne: Cambridge UP, 2001. Winston, Brian. Media, Technology and Society: A History from the Telegraph to the Internet. London: Routledge, 1998. Web Links http://www.aba.gov.au http://www.aca.gov.au http://www.accc.gov.au http://www.acif.org.au http://www.adma.com.au http://www.ctva.com.au http://www.crtc.gc.ca http://www.dcita.com.au http://www.dfat.gov.au http://www.fcc.gov http://www.ippr.org.uk http://www.ofcom.org.uk http://www.oflc.gov.au Links http://www.commercialalert.org/ Citation reference for this article MLA Style Dwyer, Tim. "Transformations" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture &lt;http://www.media-culture.org.au/0403/06-transformations.php&gt;. APA Style Dwyer, T. (2004, Mar17). Transformations. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture, 7, &lt;http://www.media-culture.org.au/0403/06-transformations.php&gt;

Orvell noted that despite the evolution of society, imitation and authenticity function as “compass points” that guide meaning-making and retain potency as humans continue to negotiate the real and the unreal in society (ix). Describing the natural and the artificial, Birnbacher contended that, simply put, it is the difference “between what has ‘become’ and what has been ‘made’” (2): the view is that if something exists independent of human intervention, then that would make it a natural entity. Of course, he noted such a definition was not straightforward, citing examples of products manufactured by non-human beings as clear instances when such a delineation was open to interpretation and contention. For example, much debate is posed over whether the museum experience is real or artificial (Latham); if reality television can be truly authentic (Rose and Wood); whether there is value in chemical additives in food production (Carocho et al.); and how digital twins can be used to personalise medical treatment (Padoan and Plebani). These are but a few of the plethora of occasions where the natural and the artificial are debated. Significantly then, the concept of artificiality remains contested—often viewed as unnatural, human-made, and unreal, carrying connotations of being synthetic, imitative, or insincere. These critiques persist despite the tangible benefits artificial developments offer in areas such as environmental sustainability, food technology, biology, and aesthetics. Popular culture, too, reflects our fascination with the artificial, from films like The Matrix and Blade Runner to novels like Klara and the Sun and the immersive realms of virtual and augmented gaming. Given the breadth of attention on the artificial, we approached this issue from the position that the line between the natural and the artificial has grown increasingly indistinct with the rise of advanced technologies, synthetic materials, and immersive virtual environments. Artificial intelligence, for instance, has captured the imagination of media and communication scholars, heralded for its transformative potential. To this end, this issue dives into the expansive concept of the artificial, exploring its essence, diverse applications, and profound implications for society, culture, ethics, media, and the environment. In the featured article, "Artificial Companions, Real Connections? Examining AI's Role in Social Connection", Savic explores the role of AI companions in addressing social connection amid growing concerns about loneliness and isolation. Using the Ethics of Care framework, Savic examines the implications of human-AI interactions, focussing on platforms like Replika as a case study. The analysis highlights AI’s potential to provide emotional support while raising ethical concerns about emotional dependency, commodification of care, and impacts on human social skills. The article calls for proactive regulation and thoughtful design to balance AI’s benefits with risks, ensuring these technologies complement rather than replace human relationships and safeguard emotional and social well-being. The next two articles consider the artificial as it pertains to the environment. First, Crosby et al. consider the role of visual communication in understanding artificial urban wetlands, focussing on Sydney Park’s award-winning wetland system in their article "Visually Communicating Artificial Urban Wetlands". Using photo diagramming, the study highlights the park’s dual function as green infrastructure and a socioecological contact zone. It explores how artificial wetlands challenge traditional notions of “nature” by blending engineered systems with ecological processes. By situating Sydney Park within its colonial history and engaging with concepts such as queer ecologies and picturesque design, the article argues for a deeper appreciation of urban wetlands as interconnected systems on unceded Aboriginal land, essential for sustainability, biodiversity, and socioecological connection in urban environments. Secondly, Gulliver, in the article "The Fossil Fuel Façade: Unmasking an Artificially Constructed Reality", shows how the fossil fuel industry constructs and perpetuates an artificial reality, masking its role in climate change. Drawing on parallels with tactics from other harmful industries, it explores narrative control, greenwashing, policy influence, and state alliances to maintain societal dependence on fossil fuels. Using longitudinal lobbying data and case studies, the analysis highlights the psychological and cultural mechanisms enabling societal complicity, including moral disengagement and identity capture. By dismantling the industry's narrative and systemic entrenchment, the article advocates for coordinated collective action to confront fossil fuel hegemony and build pathways to a sustainable, climate-conscious future. The following eight articles discuss the artificial in entertainment and digital media. For Glitsos et al., the viral Skibidi Toilet phenomenon permits the exploration of monstrous digital aesthetics, and in so doing the article reflects on the cultural significance of the Web series for Gen Alpha. By analysing its bizarre humanoid characters and dystopian landscapes, "Nightmare Fuel: Skibidi Toilet and the Monstrous Digital" contends that Skibidi Toilet offers insights into contemporary anxieties about surveillance, ecological degradation, and humanity's evolving relationship with technology. The series’ chaotic world, populated by hybrid figures like Cameraheads, embodies fears of merging with media technologies and surveillance culture. Positioned within Gen Alpha’s mediated existence, Skibidi Toilet serves as both a creative expression and critique of the socio-political and environmental crises shaping their generation, offering a unique lens on the ambivalence of digital life. In "'I felt the borders of my self blur': Artificial Bodies and Worlds in Signalis and Citizen Sleeper", Sedzielarz and Liu examine the interplay between artificiality, embodiment, and identity in the video games Signalis and Citizen Sleeper. Their article explores how these games incorporate players into artificial worlds and surrogate bodies, prompting reflection on selfhood and the construction of identity. Their analysis highlights the reciprocal relationship between players and game environments, using concepts like incorporation, hypermediacy, and the "game body" to uncover how artificiality facilitates self-discovery. They argue that, through their recursive narratives and emphasis on memory, both games illustrate the mutual construction of player experience and gameworld, offering profound insights into the nature of identity in mediated, artificial spaces. "Looking Down Not Up: Designing for Wandering" by Gibbons critiques colonial ideologies embedded in video game design and explores alternatives that foster environmental care and reciprocal engagement. Focussing on Walking the Face of my Dead Grandfather, a virtual environment designed for wandering, Gibbons examines how non-linear, intuitive exploration shifts players’ interactions with artificial landscapes from extraction to collaboration. By integrating principles of Indigenous environmental stewardship and encouraging attentiveness through slowed movement and minimal direction, the project demonstrates how virtual spaces can cultivate care and respect for environments. This design framework challenges colonial modes of domination in virtual environments, proposing a paradigm of collaborative co-becoming between players and spaces. In "'A Little Limited': Artificial Aesthetics and the Cultural Politics of Julio Torres’ Fantasmas", Blackwood and Juliff examine Fantasmas (2024), HBO’s surreal sketch comedy by Julio Torres, through the lens of artificial aesthetics and the cultural politics of Latin identity. It argues that Fantasmas reflects tensions of displacement, exile, and neoliberal subjectivity through ghostly motifs and constructed artifice. Drawing on Derrida’s “hauntology” and Latin diasporic trauma, the show critiques identity commodification, subjectivity under capitalism, and selfhood’s fluidity in a hyper-mediated world. According to the authors, Torres’s avant-garde comedic style, rooted in a subversive immigrant and queer ethos, interrogates absence, presence, and unresolved histories of Latin exile, memory, and invisibility. Kennedy’s article "'THESE VLOGS AREN’T REAL': Managing Authenticity and Privacy as Family Influencers" examines how British family vloggers The Michalaks navigate authenticity and privacy while producing commercially successful YouTube content. Kennedy analyses their use of highly stylised, cinematic "Silkeys" within raw family vlogs. These montages balance creative expression, sponsored revenue, and privacy protection, particularly for their son, Grayson. Kennedy finds that, to maintain authenticity—a critical factor for audience and brand engagement—The Michalaks employ two strategies: explicit transparency about the constructed nature of Silkeys and active viewer participation in content decisions. The study reveals how these techniques safeguard authenticity while addressing ethical concerns about children’s privacy in the influencer economy. In "The Photograph, the Archive and 'Reinterpreting' the Past in a Time of Civil War", Aung Thin and May examine how the Reinterpret Myanmar’s History project and its resulting exhibition, Rethink, shape belonging in Myanmar during civil war. By engaging with archival photographs through creative reinterpretation, the project challenges state-controlled historical narratives. Drawing on Verne Harris's concept of "decolonising the archive" and Hal Foster's "archival art", the article explores how imaginative, personal, and even fictional approaches to archival material can uncover obscured histories and foster a sense of connection. Reflecting on the roles of "real" and "artificial" narratives, the authors also question the ownership, legitimacy, and decolonisation of archives amidst ongoing conflict. Klotz explores Sonic Dreams, a structured improvisation by Vanessa Tomlinson, as a form of speculative utopian art inspired by José Esteban Muñoz's concept of hope as a methodology, in the article "Vanessa Tomlinson's Sonic Dreams: Improvising Utopia". The work tasks performers with imagining the sounds of extinct or critically endangered species, challenging the linearity of time and dominant narratives of climate despair. Using speculative and collaborative processes, Sonic Dreams fosters collective resistance to environmental crises and opens possibilities for alternative futures. By troubling binaries of artificial and legitimate, Klotz argues that Tomlinson’s piece reconfigures loss into hope, offering a profound act of listening and world-making. "Curating Christmas: Comparing Eclecticism on User- and Spotify-Created Playlists" by Cole and Robinson considers the interplay of personal and algorithmic music curation through an analysis of Christmas playlists on Spotify in Norway. Combining user interviews, playlist data, and network mapping, it explores the linguistic diversity and personalisation of user-generated and Spotify-created playlists. Their findings reveal that while user playlists demonstrate greater linguistic diversity and individuality, Spotify's curated playlists promote Norwegian-language music, supporting cultural preservation. By contextualising these insights within theories of streaming, nostalgia, and identity, the article highlights how digital platforms mediate personal expression, collective identity, and national culture, challenging distinctions between “real” and “artificial” curation. Closing off the articles on the theme of artificial and digital media is Piatti-Farnell’s conceptual piece "Constructions of Luxury in Digital Visual Culture: Brands, Social Identities, and the Plurality of Uniqueness". Here Piatti-Farnell explores the evolving concept of luxury in the digital age, focussing on its representation and dissemination through visual culture and social media platforms like Instagram. She considers the interaction between tangible and imaginary aspects of luxury, highlighting how curated online narratives and imagery contribute to identity formation and consumer appeal. Through concepts like the "third realm" of luxury, she investigates the tension between authenticity and artificiality in digital luxury branding. By analysing the role of visual storytelling, digital platforms, and social media influencers, she demonstrates how luxury has become democratised, performative, and integral to self-representation. The final group of articles all hinge on discussions of artificial intelligence across creative and communicative practice. Srdarov and Leaver’s article "Generative AI Glitches: The Artificial Everything" begins the grouping by focussing on the glitches and refusals of generative AI (GenAI) tools, highlighting their potential to disrupt cultural norms and provoke critical reflection. Analysing images generated from prompts about Australian identity, childhood, and family, the authors explore how AI perpetuates stereotypes while producing unexpected, nonsensical outputs. These “glitches” are framed not as errors but as opportunities to challenge rigid notions of identity, gender, and cultural narratives. The authors argue that GenAI, through its failures and inaccuracies, generates new ways of thinking about the boundaries between reality and artificiality, revealing both its limitations and subversive potential. Next, Binns investigates the aesthetic, narrative, and cultural implications of AI-generated media and simulations, examining how they challenge traditional notions of storytelling, immersion, and authenticity in the article "The Allure of Artificial Worlds: Aesthetic and Narrative Implications of AI Media and Simulations". Framing AI outputs as composite "artificial worlds", Binns explores their uncanny allure and their potential to provoke visceral, embodied reactions. Binns analyses AI-generated video works and simulative systems, highlighting their power to construct immersive experiences and influence perceptions of reality. The article concludes that these machinic imperfections, far from undermining their appeal, enhance the immersive and fantastical qualities of AI media, creating a seductive tension between control, chaos, and hyperreal engagement. In their article "The Actotron: Envisioning the Future of Virtual Actors and Digital Storytelling", contributors Matthews and Nairn explore the transformative potential of the "Actotron", a cutting-edge AI-driven virtual actor capable of delivering dynamic, autonomous performances. Using methodologies from Future Studies and Futurecasting, Matthews and Nairn examine the implications of Actotron technology on storytelling, creativity, and the entertainment industry. Synthesising advancements in CGI, deepfakes, and modular AI systems, the Actotron challenges traditional notions of artistry while enabling cost-effective, real-time digital performances. The study considers ethical, legal, and societal impacts, emphasising the technology's potential to democratise filmmaking and reshape digital storytelling. Envisioning future scenarios, they highlight the Actotron's role in redefining creative practices in the digital age. "Robots and Code: A Case Study on the Depiction of Artificial Intelligence in German News Media" by Krause investigates how German quality news media visually depict artificial intelligence and its risks, focussing on the role of imagery in shaping public perceptions. Analysing 21 images from January to September 2024, the study identifies recurring visual motifs, including anthropomorphic robots, human-technology fusions, and technical elements such as code, often presented in blue-grey tones. It highlights the frequent reliance on stereotypical and science fiction-inspired visuals, alongside the growing use of AI-generated images. Through qualitative content analysis, the study emphasises the media’s role in reinforcing simplified and fear-inducing narratives, underscoring the need for more nuanced portrayals of AI’s societal implications. Rounding out the issue is "On the Use of the Term Philosophy" by D’Aloia, which considers the use of the term 'philosophy' in the context of language, artificial intelligence, and meaning-making, exploring how large language models (LLMs) challenge traditional philosophical frameworks. Drawing on Wittgenstein, Heidegger, and Derrida, it critiques the reduction of language to computational logic, raising questions about the temporal and affective nature of meaning. The study underscores the limitations of current AI systems in replicating philosophical inquiry and human reasoning while addressing the risks of oversimplification and utilitarianism. Through philosophical and theoretical analysis, it advocates for a deeper understanding of language’s evolving role in shaping thought and experience. We would like to extend a big thank you to everyone involved in the issue, and particularly those who reviewed for us. Thank you also to our contributors for all their hard work in helping to make this bumper issue the exciting offering it has become. References Birnbacher, Dieter. Naturalness: Is the "Natural" Preferable to the "Artificial"? University Press of America, 2014. Carocho, Márcio, et al. "Adding Molecules to Food, Pros and Cons: A Review on Synthetic and Natural Food Additives." Comprehensive Reviews in Food Science and Food Safety 13.4 (2014): 377–399. Latham, K.F. "What Is 'the Real Thing' in the Museum? An Interpretative Phenomenological Study." Museum Management and Curatorship 30.1 (2015): 2–20. Orvell, Miles. The Real Thing: Imitation and Authenticity in American Culture, 1880-1940. U of North Carolina P, 1989. Padoan, Andrea, and Mario Plebani. "Dynamic Mirroring: Unveiling the Role of Digital Twins, Artificial Intelligence and Synthetic Data for Personalized Medicine in Laboratory Medicine." Clinical Chemistry and Laboratory Medicine 62.11 (2024): 2156–2161. Rose, Randall L., and Stacy L. Wood. "Paradox and the Consumption of Authenticity through Reality Television." Journal of Consumer Research 32.2 (2005): 284–296.

Al Gore brought climate change into … our living rooms. … The 2008 oil price hikes [and the global financial crisis] awakened the world to potential economic hardship in a rapidly urbanising world where the petrol-driven automobile is still king. (Mouritz 47) Six hundred million cars (Urry, “Climate Change” 265) traverse the world’s roads, or sit idly in garages and clogging city streets. The West’s economic progress has been built in part around the success of the automotive industry, where the private car rules the spaces and rhythms of daily life. The problem of “automobile dependence” (Newman and Kenworthy) is often cited as one of the biggest challenges facing countries attempting to combat anthropogenic climate change. Sociologist John Urry has claimed that automobility is an “entire culture” that has re-defined movement in the contemporary world (Urry Mobilities 133). As such, it is the single most significant environmental challenge “because of the intensity of resource use, the production of pollutants and the dominant culture which sustains the major discourses of what constitutes the good life” (Urry Sociology 57-8). Climate change has forced a re-thinking of not only how we produce and dispose of cars, but also how we use them. What might a society not dominated by the private, petrol-driven car look like? Some of the pre-eminent writers on climate change futures, such as Gwynne Dyer, James Lovelock and John Urry, discuss one possibility that might emerge when oil becomes scarce: societies will descend into civil chaos, “a Hobbesian war of all against all” where “regional warlordism” and the most brutish, barbaric aspects of human nature come to the fore (Urry, “Climate Change” 261). Discussing a post-car society, John Urry also proffers another scenario in his “sociologies of the future:” an Orwellian “digital panopticon” in which other modes of transport, far more suited to a networked society, might emerge on a large scale and, in the long run, “might tip the system” into post-car one before it is too late (Urry, “Climate Change” 261). Amongst the many options he discusses is car sharing. Since its introduction in Germany more than 30 years ago, most of the critical literature has been devoted to the planning, environmental and business innovation aspects of car sharing; however very little has been written on its cultural dimensions. This paper analyses this small but developing trend in many Western countries, but more specifically its emergence in Sydney. The convergence of climate change discourse with that of the global financial crisis has resulted in a focus in the mainstream media, over the last few months, on technologies and practices that might save us money and also help the environment. For instance, a Channel 10 News story in May 2009 focused on the boom in car sharing in Sydney (see: http://www.youtube.com/watch? v=EPTT8vYVXro). Car sharing is an adaptive technology that doesn’t do away with the car altogether, but rather transforms the ways in which cars are used, thought about and promoted. I argue that car sharing provides a challenge to the dominant consumerist model of the privately owned car that has sustained capitalist structures for at least the last 50 years. In addition, through looking at some marketing and promotion tactics of car sharing in Australia, I examine some emerging car sharing subjectivities that both extend and subvert the long-established discourses of the automobile’s flexibility and autonomy to tempt monogamous car buyers into becoming philandering car sharers. Much literature has emerged over the last decade devoted to the ubiquitous phenomenon of automobility. “The car is the literal ‘iron cage’ of modernity, motorised, moving and domestic,” claims Urry (“Connections” 28). Over the course of twentieth century, automobility became “the dominant form of daily movement over much of the planet (dominating even those who do not move by cars)” (Paterson 132). Underpinning Urry’s prolific production of literature is his concept of automobility. This he defines as a complex system of “intersecting assemblages” that is not only about driving cars but the nexus between “production, consumption, machinic complexes, mobility, culture and environmental resource use” (Urry, “Connections” 28). In addition, Matthew Paterson, in his Automobile Politics, asserts that “automobility” should be viewed as everything that makes driving around in a car possible: highways, parking structures and traffic rules (87). While the private car seems an inevitable outcome of a capitalistic, individualistic modern society, much work has gone into the process of naturalising a dominant notion of automobility on drivers’ horizons. Through art, literature, popular music and brand advertising, the car has long been associated with seductive forms of identity, and societies have been built around a hegemonic culture of car ownership and driving as the pre-eminent, modern mode of self-expression. And more than 50 years of a popular Hollywood film genre—road movies—has been devoted to glorifying the car as total freedom, or in its more nihilistic version, “freedom on the road to nowhere” (Corrigan). As Paterson claims, “autonomous mobility of car driving is socially produced … by a range of interventions that have made it possible” (18). One of the main reasons automobility has been so successful, he claims, is through its ability to reproduce capitalist society. It provided a commodity around which a whole set of symbols, images and discourses could be constructed which served to effectively legitimise capitalist society. (30) Once the process is locked-in, it then becomes difficult to reverse as billions of agents have adapted to it and built their lives around “automobility’s strange mixture of co-ercion and flexibility” (Urry, “Climate Change” 266). The Decline of the Car Globally, the greatest recent rupture in the automobile’s meta-narrative of success came about in October 2008 when three CEOs from the major US car firms (General Motors, Ford and Chrysler) begged the United States Senate for emergency loan funds to avoid going bankrupt. To put the economic significance of this into context, Emma Rothschild notes “when the listing of the ‘Fortune 500’ began in 1955, General Motors was the largest American corporation, and it was one of the three largest, measured in revenues, every year until 2007” (Rothschilds, “Can we transform”). Curiously, instead of focusing on the death of the car (industry), as we know it, that this scenario might inevitably herald, much of the media attention focused on the hypocrisy and environmental hubris of the fact that all the CEOs had flown in private luxury jets to Washington. “Couldn’t they have at least jet-pooled?” complained one Democrat Senator (Wutkowski). In their next visit to Washington, most of them drove up in experimental vehicles still in pre-production, including plug-in hybrids. Up until that point no other manufacturing industry had been bailed out in the current financial crisis. Of course it’s not the first time the automobile industries have been given government assistance. The Australian automotive industry has received on-going government subsidies since the 1980s. Most recently, PM Kevin Rudd granted a 6.2 billion dollar ‘green car’ package to Australian automotive manufacturers. His justification to the growing chorus of doubts about the economic legitimacy of such a move was: “Some might say it's not worth trying to have a car industry, that is not my view, it is not the view of the Australian government and it never will be the view of any government which I lead” (The Australian). Amongst the many reasons for the government support of these industries must include the extraordinary interweaving of discourses of nationhood and progress with the success of the car industry. As the last few months reveal, evidently the mantra still prevails of “what’s good for the country is good for GM and vice versa”, as the former CEO of General Motors, Charles “Engine” Wilson, argued back in 1952 (Hirsch). In post-industrial societies like Australia it’s not only the economic aspects of the automotive industries that are criticised. Cars seem to be slowly losing their grip on identity-formation that they managed to maintain throughout “the century of the car” (Gilroy). They are no longer unproblematically associated with progress, freedom, youthfulness and absolute autonomy. The decline and eventual death of the automobile as we know it will be long, arduous and drawn-out. But there are some signs of a post-automobile society emerging, perhaps where cars will still be used but they will not dominate our society, urban space and culture in quite the same way that they have over the last 50 years. Urry discusses six transformations that might ‘tip’ the hegemonic system of automobility into a post-car one. He mentions new fuel systems, new materials for car construction, the de-privatisation of cars, development of communications technologies and integration of networked public transport through smart card technology and systems (Urry, Mobilities 281-284). As Paterson and others have argued, computers and mobile phones have somehow become “more genuine symbols of mobility and in turn progress” than the car (157). As a result, much automobile advertising now intertwines communications technologies with brand to valorise mobility. Car sharing goes some way in not only de-privatising cars but also using smart card technology and networked systems enabling an association with mobility futures. In Automobile Politics Paterson asks, “Is the car fundamentally unsustainable? Can it be greened? Has the car been so naturalised on our mobile horizons that we can’t imagine a society without it?” (27). From a sustainability perspective, one of the biggest problems with cars is still the amount of space devoted to them; highways, garages, car parks. About one-quarter of the land in London and nearly one-half of that in Los Angeles is devoted to car-only environments (Urry, “Connections” 29). In Sydney, it is more like a quarter. We have to reduce the numbers of cars on our roads to make our societies livable (Newman and Kenworthy). Car sharing provokes a re-thinking of urban space. If one quarter of Sydney’s population car shared and we converted this space into green use or local market gardens, then we’d have a radically transformed city. Car sharing, not to be confused with ‘ride sharing’ or ‘car pooling,’ involves a number of people using cars that are parked centrally in dedicated car bays around the inner city. After becoming a member (much like a 6 or 12 monthly gym membership), the cars can be booked (and extended) by the hour via the web or phone. They can then be accessed via a smart card. In Sydney there are 3 car sharing organisations operating: Flexicar (http://www.flexicar.com.au/), CharterDrive (http://www.charterdrive.com.au/) and GoGet (http://www.goget.com.au/).[1] The largest of these, GoGet, has been operating for 6 years and has over 5000 members and 200 cars located predominantly in the inner city suburbs. Anecdotally, GoGet claims its membership is primarily drawn from professionals living in the inner-urban ring. Their motivation for joining is, firstly, the convenience that car sharing provides in a congested, public transport-challenged city like Sydney; secondly, the financial savings derived; and thirdly, members consider the environmental and social benefits axiomatic. [2] The promotion tactics of car sharing seems to reflect this by barely mentioning the environment but focusing on those aspects which link car sharing to futuristic and flexible subjectivities which I outline in the next section. Unlike traditional car rental, the vehicles in car sharing are scattered through local streets in a network allowing local residents and businesses access to the vehicles mostly on foot. One car share vehicle is used by 22-24 members and gets about seven cars off the street (Mehlman 22). With lots of different makes and models of vehicles in each of their fleets, Flexicar’s website claims, “around the corner, around the clock” “Flexicar offers you the freedom of driving your own car without the costs and hassles of owning one,” while GoGet asserts, “like owning a car only better.” Due to the initial lack of interest from government, all the car sharing organisations in Australia are privately owned. This is very different to the situation in Europe where governments grant considerable financial assistance and have often integrated car sharing into pre-existing public transport networks. Urry discusses the spread of car sharing across the Western world: Six hundred plus cities across Europe have developed car-sharing schemes involving 50,000 people (Cervero, 2001). Prototype examples are found such as Liselec in La Rochelle, and in northern California, Berlin and Japan (Motavalli, 2000: 233). In Deptford there is an on-site car pooling service organized by Avis attached to a new housing development, while in Jersey electric hire cars have been introduced by Toyota. (Urry, “Connections” 34) ‘Collaborative Consumption’ and Flexible, Philandering Subjectivities Car sharing shifts the dominant conception of a car from being a ‘commodity’, which people purchase and subsequently identify with, to a ‘service’ or network of vehicles that are collectively used. It does this through breaking down the one car = one person (or one family) ratio with one car instead servicing 20 or more people. One of Paterson’s biggest criticisms concerns car driving as “a form of social exclusion” (44). Car sharing goes some way in subverting the model of hyper-individualism that supports both hegemonic automobility and capitalist structures, whereby the private motorcar produces a “separation of individuals from one another driving in their own private universes with no account for anyone else” (Paterson 90). As a car sharer, the driver has to acknowledge that this is not their private domain, and the car no longer becomes an extension of their living room or bedroom, as is noted in much literature around car cultures (Morris, Sheller, Simpson). There are a community of people using the car, so the driver needs to be attentive to things like keeping the car clean and bringing it back on time so another person can use it. So while car sharing may change the affective relationship and self-identification with the vehicle itself, it doesn’t necessarily change the phenomenological dimensions of car driving, such as the nostalgic pleasure of driving on the open road, or perhaps more realistically in Sydney, the frustration of being caught in a traffic jam. However, the fact the driver doesn’t own the vehicle does alter their relationship to the space and the commodity in a literal as well as a figurative way. Like car ownership, evidently car sharing also produces its own set of limitations on freedom and convenience. That mobility and car ownership equals freedom—the ‘freedom to drive’—is one imaginary which car firms were able to successfully manipulate and perpetuate throughout the twentieth century. However, car sharing also attaches itself to the same discourses of freedom and pervasive individualism and then thwarts them. For instance, GoGet in Sydney have run numerous marketing campaigns that attempt to contest several ‘self-evident truths’ about automobility. One is flexibility. Flexibility (and associated convenience) was one thing that ownership of a car in the late twentieth century was firmly able to affiliate itself with. However, car ownership is now more often associated with being expensive, a hassle and a long-term commitment, through things like buying, licensing, service and maintenance, cleaning, fuelling, parking permits, etc. Cars have also long been linked with sexuality. When in the 1970s financial challenges to the car were coming as a result of the oil shocks, Chair of General Motors, James Roche stated that, “America’s romance with the car is not over. Instead it has blossomed into a marriage” (Rothschilds, Paradise Lost). In one marketing campaign GoGet asked, ‘Why buy a car when all you need is a one night stand?’, implying that owning a car is much like a monogamous relationship that engenders particular commitments and responsibilities, whereas car sharing can just be a ‘flirtation’ or a ‘one night stand’ and you don’t have to come back if you find it a hassle. Car sharing produces a philandering subjectivity that gives individuals the freedom to have lots of different types of cars, and therefore relationships with each of them: I can be a Mini Cooper driver one day and a Falcon driver the next. This disrupts the whole kind of identification with one type of car that ownership encourages. It also breaks down a stalwart of capitalism—brand loyalty to a particular make of car with models changing throughout a person’s lifetime. Car sharing engenders far more fluid types of subjectivities as opposed to those rigid identities associated with ownership of one car. Car sharing can also be regarded as part of an emerging phenomenon of what Rachel Botsman and Roo Rogers have called “collaborative consumption”—when a community gets together “through organized sharing, swapping, bartering, trading, gifting and renting to get the same pleasures of ownership with reduced personal cost and burden, and lower environmental impact” (www.collaborativeconsumption.com). As Urry has stated, these developments indicate a gradual transformation in current economic structures from ownership to access, as shown more generally by many services offered and accessed via the web (Urry Mobilities 283). Rogers and Botsman maintain that this has come about through the “convergence of online social networks increasing cost consciousness and environmental necessity." In the future we could predict an increasing shift to payment to ‘access’ for mobility services, rather than the outright private ownerships of vehicles (Urry, “Connections”). Networked-Subjectivities or a ‘Digital Panopticon’? Cars, no longer able on their own to signify progress in either technical or social terms, attain their symbolic value through their connection to other, now more prevalently ‘progressive’ technologies. (Paterson 155) The term ‘digital panopticon’ has often been used to describe a dystopian world of virtual surveillance through such things as web-enabled social networking sites where much information is public, or alternatively, for example, the traffic surveillance system in London whereby the public can be constantly scrutinised through the centrally monitored cameras that track people’s/vehicle’s movements on city streets. In his “sociologies of the future,” Urry maintains that one thing which might save us from descending into post-car civil chaos is a system governed by a “digital panopticon” mobility system. This would be governed by a nexus system “that orders, regulates, tracks and relatively soon would ‘drive’ each vehicle and monitor each driver/passenger” (Urry, “Connections” 33). The transformation of mobile technologies over the last decade has made car sharing, as a viable business model, possible. Through car sharing’s exploitation of an online booking system, and cars that can be tracked, monitored and traced, the seeds of a mobile “networked-subjectivity” are emerging. But it’s not just the technology people are embracing; a cultural shift is occurring in the way that people understand mobility, their own subjectivity, and more importantly, the role of cars. NETT Magazine did a feature on car sharing, and advertised it on their front cover as “GoGet’s web and mobile challenge to car owners” (May 2009). Car sharing seems to be able to tap into more contemporary understandings of what mobility and flexibility might mean in the twenty-first century. In their marketing and promotion tactics, car sharing organisations often discursively exploit science fiction terminology and generate a subjectivity much more dependent on networks and accessibility (158). In the suburbs people park their cars in garages. In car sharing, the vehicles are parked not in car bays or car parks, but in publically accessible ‘pods’, which promotes a futuristic, sci-fi experience. Even the phenomenological dimensions of swiping a smart card over the front of the windscreen to open the car engender a transformation in access to the car, instead of through a key. This is service-technology of the future while those stuck in car ownership are from the old economy and the “century of the car” (Gilroy). The connections between car sharing and the mobile phone and other communications technologies are part of the notion of a networked, accessible vehicle. However, the more problematic side to this is the car under surveillance. Nic Lowe, of his car sharing organisation GoGet says, “Because you’re tagged on and we know it’s you, you are able to drive the car… every event you do is logged, so we know what time you turned the key, what time you turned it off and we know how far you drove … if a car is lost we can sound the horn to disable it remotely to prevent theft. We can track how fast you were going and even how fast you accelerated … track the kilometres for billing purposes and even find out when people are using the car when they shouldn’t be” (Mehlman 27). The possibility with the GPS technology installed in the car is being able to monitor speeds at which people drive, thereby fining then every minute spent going over the speed limit. While this conjures up the notion of the car under surveillance, it is also a much less bleaker scenario than “a Hobbesian war of all against all”. Conclusion: “Hundreds of Cars, No Garage” The prospect of climate change is provoking innovation at a whole range of levels, as well as providing a re-thinking of how we use taken-for-granted technologies. Sometime this century the one tonne, privately owned, petrol-driven car will become an artefact, much like Sydney trams did last century. At this point in time, car sharing can be regarded as an emerging transitional technology to a post-car society that provides a challenge to hegemonic automobile culture. It is evidently not a radical departure from the car’s vast machinic complex and still remains a part of what Urry calls the “system of automobility”. From a pro-car perspective, its networked surveillance places constraints on the free agency of the car, while for those of the deep green variety it is, no doubt, a compromise. Nevertheless, it provides a starting point for re-thinking the foundations of the privately-owned car. While Urry makes an important point in relation to a society moving from ownership to access, he doesn’t take into account the cultural shifts occurring that are enabling car sharing to be attractive to prospective members: the notion of networked subjectivities, the discursive constructs used to establish car sharing as a thing of the future with pods and smart cards instead of garages and keys. If car sharing became mainstream it could have radical environmental impacts on things like urban space and pollution, as well as the dominant culture of “automobile dependence” (Newman and Kenworthy), as Australia attempts to move to a low carbon economy. Notes [1] My partner Bruce Jeffreys, together with Nic Lowe, founded Newtown Car Share in 2002, which is now called GoGet. [2] Several layers down in the ‘About Us’ link on GoGet’s website is the following information about the environmental benefits of car sharing: “GoGet's aim is to provide a reliable, convenient and affordable transport service that: allows people to live car-free, decreases car usage, improves local air quality, removes private cars from local streets, increases patronage for public transport, allows people to lead more active lives” (http://www.goget.com.au/about-us.html). References The Australian. “Kevin Rudd Throws $6.2bn Lifeline to Car Industry.” 10 Nov. 2008. &lt; http://www.theaustralian.news.com.au/business/story/ 0,28124,24628026-5018011,00.html &gt;.Corrigan, Tim. “Genre, Gender, and Hysteria: The Road Movie in Outer Space.” A Cinema Without Walls: Movies, Culture after Vietnam. New Jersey: Rutgers University Press, 1991. Dwyer, Gwynne. Climate Wars. North Carlton: Scribe, 2008. Featherstone, Mike. “Automobilities: An Introduction.” Theory, Culture and Society 21.4-5 (2004): 1-24. Gilroy, Paul. “Driving while Black.” Car Cultures. Ed. Daniel Miller. Oxford: Berg, 2000. Hirsch, Michael. “Barack the Saviour.” Newsweek 13 Nov. 2008. &lt; http://www.newsweek.com/id/168867 &gt;. Lovelock, James. The Revenge of Gaia: Earth’s Climate Crisis and the Fate of Humanity. Penguin, 2007. Lovelock, James. The Vanishing Face of Gaia. Penguin, 2009. Mehlman, Josh. “Community Driven Success.” NETT Magazine (May 2009): 22-28. Morris, Meaghan. “Fate and the Family Sedan.” East West Film Journal 4.1 (1989): 113-134. Mouritz, Mike. “City Views.” Fast Thinking Winter 2009: 47-50. Newman, P. and J. Kenworthy. Sustainability and Cities: Overcoming Automobile Dependence. Washington DC: Island Press, 1999. Paterson, Matthew. Automobile Politics: Ecology and Cultural Political Economy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007. Rothschilds, Emma. Paradise Lost: The Decline of the Auto-Industrial Age. New York: Radom House, 1973. Rothschilds, Emma. “Can We Transform the Auto-Industrial Society?” New York Review of Books 56.3 (2009). &lt; http://www.nybooks.com/articles/22333 &gt;. Sheller, Mimi. “Automotive Emotions: Feeling the Car.” Theory, Culture and Society 21 (2004): 221–42. Simpson, Catherine. “Volatile Vehicles: When Women Take the Wheel.” Womenvision. Ed. Lisa French. Melbourne: Damned Publishing, 2003. 197-210. Urry, John. Sociology Beyond Societies: Mobilities for the 21st Century. London: Routledge, 2000. Urry, John. “Connections.” Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 22 (2004): 27-37. Urry, John. Mobilities. Cambridge, and Maiden, MA: Polity Press, 2008. Urry, John. “Climate Change, Travel and Complex Futures.” British Journal of Sociology 59. 2 (2008): 261-279. Watts, Laura, and John Urry. “Moving Methods, Travelling Times.” Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 26 (2008): 860-874. Wutkowski, Karey. “Auto Execs' Private Flights to Washington Draw Ire.” Reuters News Agency 19 Nov. 2008. &lt; http://www.reuters.com/article/newsOne/idUSTRE4AI8C520081119 &gt;.

Introduction In a 2019 report for the International Journal of Communication, Baym et al. positioned distributed blockchain ledger technology, and what would subsequently be referred to as Web3, as a convening technology. Riffing off Barnett, a convening technology “initiates and serves as the focus of a conversation that can address issues far beyond what it may ultimately be able to address itself” (403). The case studies for the Baym et al. research—early, aspirant projects applying the blockchain concept to music publishing and distribution—are described in the piece as speculations or provocations concerning music’s commercial and social future. What is convened in this era (pre-2017 blockchain music discourse and practice) is the potential for change: a type of widespread, broadly discussed, reimagination of the 21st-century music industries, productive precisely because near-future applications suggest the realisation of what Baym et al. call dreams. In this article, we aim to examine the Web3 music field as it lies some years later. Taking the latter half of 2021 as our subject, we present a survey of where music then resided within Web3, focussing on how the dreams of Baym et al. have morphed and evolved, and materialised and declined, in the intervening years. By investigating the discourse and functionality of 2021’s current crop of music NFTs—just one thread of music Web3’s far-reaching aspiration, but a potent and accessible manifestation nonetheless—we can make a detailed analysis of concept-led application. Volatility remains throughout the broader sector, and all of the projects listed here could be read as conditionally short-term and untested, but what they represent is a series of clearly evolved case studies of the dream, rich precisely because of what is assumed and disregarded. WTF Is an NFT? Non-fungible tokens inscribe indelible, unique ledger entries on a blockchain, detailing ownership of, or rights associated with, assets that exist off-chain. Many NFTs take the form of an ERC-721 smart-contract that functions as an indivisible token on the Ethereum blockchain. Although all ERC-721 tokens are NFTs, the inverse is not true. Similar standards exist on other blockchains, and bridges allow these tokens to be created on alternative networks such as Polygon, Solana, WAX, Cardano and Tezos. The creation (minting) and transfer of ownership on the Ethereum network—by far the dominant chain—comes with a significant and volatile transaction cost, by way of gas fees. Thus, even a “free” transaction on the main NFT network requires a currency and time investment that far outweighs the everyday routines of fiat exchange. On a technical level, the original proposal for the ERC-721 standard refers to NFTs as deeds intended to represent ownership of digital and physical assets like houses, virtual collectibles, and negative value assets such as loans (Entriken et al.). The details of these assets can be encoded as metadata, such as the name and description of the asset including a URI that typically points to either a file somewhere on the Internet or a file hosted via IPFS, a decentralised peer-to-peer hosting network. As noted in the standard, while the data inscribed on-chain are immutable, the asset being referred to is not. Similarly, while each NFT is unique, multiple NFTs could, in theory, point to a single asset. In this respect ERC-721 tokens are different from cryptocurrencies and other tokens like stable-coins in that their value is often contingent on their accurate and ongoing association with assets outside of the blockchain on which they are traded. Further complicating matters, it is often unclear if and how NFTs confer ownership of digital assets with respect to legislative or common law. NFTs rarely include any information relating to licencing or rights transfer, and high-profile NFTs such as Bored Ape Yacht Club appear to be governed by licencing terms held off-chain (Bored Ape Yacht Club). Finally, while it is possible to inscribe any kind of data, including audio, into an NFT, the ERC-721 standard and the underpinning blockchains were not designed to host multimedia content. At the time of writing, storing even a low-bandwidth stereo audio file on the ethereum network appears cost-prohibitive. This presents a challenge for how music NFTs distinguish themselves in a marketplace dominated by visual works. The following sections of this article are divided into what we consider to be the general use cases for NFTs within music in 2021. We’ve designated three overlapping cases: audience investment, music ownership, and audience and business services. Audience Investment Significant discourse around NFTs focusses on digital collectibles and artwork that are conceptually, but not functionally, unique. Huge amounts of money have changed hands for specific—often celebrity brand-led—creations, resulting in media cycles of hype and derision. The high value of these NFTs has been variously ascribed to their high novelty value, scarcity, the adoption of NFTs as speculative assets by investors, and the lack of regulatory oversight allowing for price inflation via practices such as wash-trading (Madeline; Das et al.; Cong et al.; Le Pennec, Fielder, and Ante; Fazil, Owfi, and Taesiri). We see here the initial traditional split of discourse around cultural activity within a new medium: dual narratives of utopianism and dystopianism. Regardless of the discursive frame, activity has grown steadily since stories reporting the failure of Blockchain to deliver on its hype began appearing in 2017 (Ellul). Early coverage around blockchain, music, and NFTs echoes this capacity to leverage artificial scarcity via the creation of unique digital assets (cf Heap; Tomaino). As NFTs have developed, this discourse has become more nuanced, arguing that creators are now able to exploit both ownership and abundance. However, for the most part, music NFTs have essentially adopted the form of digital artworks and collectibles in editions ranging from 1:1 or 1:1000+. Grimes’s February 2021 Mars NFT pointed to a 32-second rotating animation of a sword-wielding cherubim above the planet Mars, accompanied by a musical cue (Grimes). Mars sold 388 NFTs for a reported fixed price of $7.5k each, grossing $2,910,000 at time of minting. By contrast, electronic artists Steve Aoki and Don Diablo have both released 1:1 NFT editions that have been auctioned via Sotheby’s, Superrare, and Nifty Gateway. Interestingly, these works have been bundled with physical goods; Diablo’s Destination Hexagonia, which sold for 600 Eth or approximately US$1.2 million at the time of sale, proffered ownership of a bespoke one-hour film hosted online, along with “a unique hand-crafted box, which includes a hard drive that contains the only copy of the high-quality file of the film” (Diablo). Aoki’s Hairy was much less elaborate but still promised to provide the winner of the $888,888 auction with a copy of the 35-second video of a fur-covered face shaking in time to downbeat electronica as an Infinite Objects video print (Aoki). In the first half of 2021, similar projects from high-profile artists including Deadmau5, The Weekend, Snoop Dogg, Eminem, Blondie, and 3Lau have generated an extraordinary amount of money leading to a significant, and understandable, appetite from musicians wanting to engage in this marketplace. Many of these artists and the platforms that have enabled their sales have lauded the potential for NFTs to address an alleged poor remuneration of artists from streaming and/or bypassing “industry middlemen” (cf. Sounds.xyz); the millions of dollars generated by sales of these NFTs presents a compelling case for exploring these new markets irrespective of risk and volatility. However, other artists have expressed reservations and/or received pushback on entry into the NFT marketplace due to concerns over the environmental impact of NFTs; volatility; and a perception of NFT markets as Ponzi schemes (Poleg), insecure (Goodin), exploitative (Purtill), or scammy (Dash). As of late 2021, increased reportage began to highlight unauthorised or fraudulent NFT minting (cf. TFL; Stephen), including in music (Newstead). However, the number of contested NFTs remains marginal in comparison to the volume of exchange that occurs in the space daily. OpenSea alone oversaw over US$2.5 billion worth of transactions per month. For the most part, online NFT marketplaces like OpenSea and Solanart oversee the exchange of products on terms not dissimilar to other large online retailers; the space is still resolutely emergent and there is much debate about what products, including recently delisted pro-Nazi and Alt-Right-related NFTs, are socially and commercially acceptable (cf. Pearson; Redman). Further, there are signs this trend may impact on both the willingness and capacity of rightsholders to engage with NFTs, particularly where official offerings are competing with extant fraudulent or illegitimate ones. Despite this, at the time of writing the NFT market as a whole does not appear prone to this type of obstruction. What remains complicated is the contested relationship between NFTs, copyrights, and ownership of the assets they represent. This is further complicated by tension between the claims of blockchain’s independence from existing regulatory structures, and the actual legal recourse available to music rights holders. Music Rights and Ownership Baym et al. note that addressing the problems of rights management and metadata is one of the important discussions around music convened by early blockchain projects. While they posit that “our point is not whether blockchain can or can’t fix the problems the music industries face” (403), for some professionals, the blockchain’s promise of eliminating the need for trust seemed to provide an ideal solution to a widely acknowledged business-to-business problem: one of poor metadata leading to unclaimed royalties accumulating in “black boxes”, particularly in the case of misattributed mechanical royalties in the USA (Rethink Music Initiative). As outlined in their influential institutional research paper (partnered with music rights disruptor Kobalt), the Rethink Music Initiative implied that incumbent intermediaries were benefiting from this opacity, incentivising them to avoid transparency and a centralised rights management database. This frame provides a key example of one politicised version of “fairness”, directly challenging the interest of entrenched powers and status quo systems. Also present in the space is a more pragmatic approach which sees problems of metadata and rights flows as the result of human error which can be remedied with the proper technological intervention. O’Dair and Beaven argue that blockchain presents an opportunity to eliminate the need for trust which has hampered efforts to create a global standard database of rights ownership, while music business researcher Opal Gough offers a more sober overview of how decentralised ledgers can streamline processes, remove inefficiencies, and improve cash flow, without relying on the moral angle of powerful incumbents holding on to control accounts and hindering progress. In the intervening two years, this discourse has shifted from transparency (cf. Taghdiri) to a practical narrative of reducing system friction and solving problems on the one hand—embodied by Paperchain, see Carnevali —and ethical claims reliant on the concept of fairness on the other—exemplified by Resonate—but with, so far, limited widespread impact. The notion that the need for b2b collaboration on royalty flows can be successfully bypassed through a “trustless” blockchain is currently being tested. While these earlier projects were attempts to either circumvent or fix problems facing the traditional rights holders, with the advent of the NFT in particular, novel ownership structures have reconfigured the concept of a rights holder. NFTs promise fans an opportunity to not just own a personal copy of a recording or even a digitally unique version, but to share in the ownership of the actual property rights, a role previously reserved for record labels and music publishers. New NFT models have only recently launched which offer fans a share of IP revenue. “Collectors can buy royalty ownership in songs directly from their favorite artists in the form of tokens” through the service Royal. Services such as Royal and Vezt represent potentially massive cultural shifts in the traditional separation between consumers and investors; they also present possible new headaches and adventures for accountants and legal teams. The issues noted by Baym et al. are still present, and the range of new entrants into this space risks the proliferation, rather than consolidation, of metadata standards and a need to put money into multiple blockchain ecosystems. As noted in RMIT’s blockchain report, missing royalty payments … would suggest the answer to “does it need a blockchain?” is yes (although further research is needed). However, it is not clear that the blockchain economy will progress beyond the margins through natural market forces. Some level of industry coordination may still be required. (18) Beyond the initial questions of whether system friction can be eased and standards generated without industry cooperation lie deeper philosophical issues of what will happen when fans are directly incentivised to promote recordings and artist brands as financial investors. With regard to royalty distribution, the exact role that NFTs would play in the ownership and exploitation of song IP remains conceptual rather than concrete. Even the emergent use cases are suggestive and experimental, often leaning heavily on off-chain terms, goodwill and the unknown role of existing legal infrastructure. Audience and Business Services Aside from the more high-profile NFT cases which focus on the digital object as an artwork providing a source of value, other systemic uses of NFTs are emerging. Both audience and business services are—to varying degrees—explorations of the utility of NFTs as a community token: i.e. digital commodities that have a market value, but also unlock ancillary community interaction. The music industries have a longstanding relationship with the sale of exclusivity and access tailored to experiential products. Historically, one of music’s most profitable commodities—the concert ticket—contains very little intrinsic value, but unlocks a hugely desirable extrinsic experience. As such, NFTs have already found adoption as tools of music exclusivity; as gateways into fan experiences, digital communities, live events ticketing and closed distribution. One case study incorporating almost all of these threads is the Deathbats club by American heavy metal band Avenged Sevenfold. Conceived of as the “ultimate fan club”, Deathbats is, according to the band’s singer M. Shadows, “every single thing that [fans] want from us, which is our time, our energy” (Chan). At the time of writing, the Deathbats NFT had experienced expected volatility, but maintained a 30-day average sale price well above launch price. A second affordance provided by music NFTs’ ability to tokenise community is the application of this to music businesses in the form of music DAOs: decentralised autonomous organisations. DAOs and NFTs have so far intersected in a number of ways. DAOs function as digital entities that are owned by their members. They utilise smart contracts to record protocols, votes, and transactions on the blockchain. Bitcoin and Ethereum are often considered the first DAOs of note, serving as board-less venture capital funds, also known as treasuries, that cannot be accessed without the consensus of their members. More recently, DAOs have been co-opted by online communities of shared interests, who work towards an agreed goal, and operate without the need for leadership. Often, access to DAO membership is tokenised, and the more tokens a member has, the more voting rights they possess. All proposals must pass before members, and have been voted for by the majority in order to be enacted, though voting systems differ between DAOs. Proposals must also comply with the DAO’s regulations and protocols. DAOs typically gather in online spaces such as Discord and Zoom, and utilise messaging services such as Telegram. Decentralised apps (dapps) have been developed to facilitate DAO activities such as voting systems and treasury management. Collective ownership of digital assets (in the form of NFTs) has become commonplace within DAOs. Flamingo DAO and PleasrDAO are two well-established and influential examples. The “crypto-backed social club” Friends with Benefits (membership costs between $5,000 and $10,000) serves as a “music discovery platform, an online publication, a startup incubator and a kind of Bloomberg terminal for crypto investors” (Gottsegen), and is now hosting its own curated NFT art platform with work by the likes of Pussy Riot. Musical and cross-disciplinary artists and communities are also exploring the potential of DAOs to empower, activate, and incentivise their communities as an extension of, or in addition to, their adoption and exploration of NFTs. In collaboration with Never Before Heard Sounds, electronic artist and musical pioneer Holly Herndon is exploring ideological questions raised by the growing intelligence of AI to create digital likeness and cloning through voice models. Holly+ is a custom voice instrument that allows users to process pre-existing polyphonic audio through a deep neural network trained by recordings of Holly Herndon’s voice. The output is audio-processed through Holly Herndon’s distinct vocal sound. Users can submit their resulting audio to the Holly+ DAO, to whom she has distributed ownership of her digital likeness. DAO token-holders steward which audio is minted and certified as an NFT, ensuring quality control and only good use of her digital likeness. DAO token-holders are entitled to a percentage of profit from resales in perpetuity, thereby incentivising informed and active stewardship of her digital likeness (Herndon). Another example is LA-based label Leaving Records, which has created GENRE DAO to explore and experiment with new levels of ownership and empowerment for their pre-existing community of artists, friends, and supporters. They have created a community token—$GENRE—for which they intend a number of uses, such as “a symbol of equitable growth, a badge of solidarity, a governance token, currency to buy NFTs, or as a utility to unlock token-gated communities” (Leaving Records). Taken as a whole, the spectrum of affordances and use cases presented by music NFTs can be viewed as a build-up of interest and capital around the technology. Conclusion The last half of 2021 was a moment of intense experimentation in the realms of music business administration and cultural expression, and at the time of writing, each week seemed to bring a new high-profile music Web3 project and/or disaster. Narratives of emancipation and domination under capitalism continue to drive our discussions around music and technology, and the direct link to debates on ecology and financialisation make these conversations particularly polarising. High-profile cases of music projects that overstep norms of existing IP rights, such as Hitpiece’s attempt to generate NFTs of songs without right-holders’ consent, point to the ways in which this technology is portrayed as threatening and subversive to commercial musicians (Blistein). Meanwhile, the Water and Music research DAO promises to incentivise a research community to “empower music-industry professionals with the knowledge, network and skills to do more collaborative and progressive work with technology” through NFT tokens and a DAO organisational structure (Hu et al.). The assumption in many early narratives of the ability of blockchain to provide systems of remuneration that musicians would embrace as inherently fairer is far from the reality of a popular discourse marked by increasing disdain and distrust, currently centred on NFTs as lacking in artistic merit, or even as harmful. We have seen all this talk before, of course, when jukeboxes and player pianos, film synchronisation, radio, recording, and other new communication technologies steered new paths for commercial musicians and promised magical futures. All of these innovations were met with intense scrutiny, cries of inauthentic practice, and resistance by incumbent musicians, but all were eventually sustained by the emergence of new forms of musical expression that captured the interest of the public. On the other hand, the road towards musical nirvana passes by not only the more prominent corpses of the Digital Audio Tape, SuperAudio, and countless recording formats, but if you squint and remember that technology is not always about devices or media, you can see the Secure Download Music Initiative, PressPlay, the International Music Registry, and Global Repertoire Databases in the distance, wondering if blockchain might correct some of the problems they dreamed of solving in their day. The NFT presents the artistic and cultural face of this dream of a musical future, and of course we are first seeing the emergence of old models within its contours. While the investment, ownership, and service phenomena emerging might not be reminiscent of the first moment when people were able to summon a song recording onto their computer via a telephone modem, it is important to remember that there were years of text-based chat rooms before we arrived at music through the Internet. It is early days, and there will be much confusion, anger, and experimentation before music NFTs become either another mundane medium of commercial musical practice, or perhaps a memory of another attempt to reach that goal. References Aoki, Steve. “Hairy.” Nifty Gateway 2021. 16 Feb. 2022 &lt;https://niftygateway.com/marketplace/collection/0xbeccd9e4a80d4b7b642760275f60b62608d464f7/1?page=1&gt;. Baym, Nancy, Lana Swartz, and Andrea Alarcon. "Convening Technologies: Blockchain and the Music Industry." International Journal of Communication 13.20 (2019). 13 Feb. 2022 &lt;https://ijoc.org/index.php/ijoc/article/view/8590&gt;. Barnett, C. “Convening Publics: The Parasitical Spaces of Public Action.” The SAGE Handbook of Political Geography. Eds. K.R. Cox., M. Low, and J. Robinson. London: Sage, 2008. 403–418. Blistein, Jon. "Hitpiece Wants to Make Every Song in the World an NFT. But Artists Aren't Buying It." Rolling Stone 2022. 14 Feb, 2022 &lt;https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/hitpiece-nft-song-controversy-1294027/&gt;. Bored Ape Yacht Club. "Terms &amp; Conditions." Yuga Labs, Inc. 2020. 14 Feb. 2022 &lt;https://boredapeyachtclub.com/#/terms&gt;. Carnevali, David. "Paperchain Uses Defi to Speed Streaming Payments to Musicians; the Startup Gets Streaming Data from Music Labels and Distributors on Their Artists, Then Uses Their Invoices as Collateral for Defi Loans to Pay the Musicians More Quickly." Wall Street Journal 2021. 16 Feb. 2022 &lt;https://www.wsj.com/articles/paperchain-uses-defi-to-speed-streaming-payments-to-musicians-11635548273&gt;. Chan, Anna. “How Avenged Sevenfold Is Reinventing the Fan Club with Deathbats Club NFTs”. NFT Now. 2021. 16 Feb. 2022 &lt;https://avengedsevenfold.com/news/nft-now-avenged-sevenfold-reinventing-fan-club-with-deathbats-club/&gt;. Cong, Lin William, Xi Li, Ke Tang, and Yang Yang. “Crypto Wash Trading.” SSRN 2021. 15 Feb. 2022 &lt;https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3530220&gt;. Das, Dipanjan, Priyanka Bose, Nicola Ruaro, Christopher Kruegel, and Giovanni Vigna. "Understanding Security Issues in the NFT Ecosystem." ArXiv 2021. 16 Feb. 2022 &lt;https://arxiv.org/abs/2111.08893&gt;. Dash, Anil. “NFTs Weren’t Supposed to End like This.” The Atlantic 2021. 16 Feb. 2022 &lt;https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2021/04/nfts-werent-supposed-end-like/618488/&gt;. Diablo, Don. “Destination Hexagonia.” SuperRare 2021. 16 Feb. 2022 &lt;https://superrare.com/artwork-v2/d%CE%BEstination-h%CE%BExagonia-by-don-diablo-23154&gt;. Entriken, William, Dieter Shirley, Jacob Evans, and Nastassia Sachs. “EIP-721: Non-Fungible Token Standard.” Ethereum Improvement Proposals, 2022. 16 Feb. 2022 &lt;https://arxiv.org/abs/2111.08893&gt;. Fashion Law, The. “From Baby Birkins to MetaBirkins, Brands Are Facing Issues in the Metaverse.” 2021. 16 Feb. 2022 &lt;https://www.thefashionlaw.com/from-baby-birkins-to-metabirkins-brands-are-being-plagued-in-the-metaverse/&gt;. Fazli, Mohammah Amin, Ali Owfi, and Mohammad Reza Taesiri. "Under the Skin of Foundation NFT Auctions." ArXiv 2021. 16 Feb. 2022 &lt;https://arxiv.org/abs/2109.12321&gt;. Friends with Benefits. “Pussy Riot Drink My Blood”. 2021. 28 Jan. 2022 &lt;https://gallery.fwb.help/pussy-riot-drink-my-blood&gt;. Gough, Opal. "Blockchain: A New Opportunity for Record Labels." International Journal of Music Business Research 7.1 (2018): 26-44. Gottsegen, Will. “What’s Next for Friends with Benefits.” Yahoo! Finance 2021. 16 Feb. 2022 &lt;https://au.finance.yahoo.com/news/next-friends-benefits-204036081.html&gt;. Heap, Imogen. “Blockchain Could Help Musicians Make Money Again.” Harvard Business Review 2017. 16 Feb. 2022 &lt;https://hbr.org/2017/06/blockchain-could-help-musicians-make-money-again&gt;. Herndon, Holly. Holly+ 2021. 1 Feb. 2022 &lt;https://holly.mirror.xyz&gt;. Hu, Cherie, Diana Gremore, Katherine Rodgers, and Alexander Flores. "Introducing $STREAM: A New Tokenized Research Framework for the Music Industry." Water and Music 2021. 14 Feb. 2022 &lt;https://www.waterandmusic.com/introducing-stream-a-new-tokenized-research-framework-for-the-music-industry/&gt;. Leaving Records. “Leaving Records Introducing GENRE DAO.” Leaving Records 2021. 12 Jan. 2022 &lt;https://leavingrecords.mirror.xyz/&gt;. LePenne, Guénolé, Ingo Fiedler, and Lennart Ante. “Wash Trading at Cryptocurrency Exchanges.” Finance Research Letters 43 (2021). Gottsegen, Will. “What’s Next for Friend’s with Benefits?” Coin Desk 2021. 28 Jan. 2021 &lt;https://www.coindesk.com/layer2/culture-week/2021/12/16/whats-next-for-friends-with-benefits&gt;. Goodin, Dan. “Really Stupid ‘Smart Contract’ Bug Let Hacker Steal $31 Million in Digital Coin.” ARS Technica 2021. 16 Feb. 2022 &lt;https://arstechnica.com/information-technology/2021/12/hackers-drain-31-million-from-cryptocurrency-service-monox-finance/&gt;. Grimes. “Mars.” Nifty Gateway 2021. 16 Feb. 2022 &lt;https://niftygateway.com/itemdetail/primary/0xe04cc101c671516ac790a6a6dc58f332b86978bb/2&gt;. Newstead, Al. “Artists Outraged at Website Allegedly Selling Their Music as NFTS: What You Need to Know.” ABC Triple J 2022. 16 Feb. 2022 &lt;https://www.abc.net.au/triplej/news/musicnews/hitpiece-explainer--artists-outraged-at-website-allegedly-selli/13739470&gt;. O’Dair, Marcus, and Zuleika Beaven. "The Networked Record Industry: How Blockchain Technology Could Transform the Record Industry." Strategic Change 26.5 (2017): 471-80. Pearson, Jordan. “OpenSea Sure Has a Lot of Hitler NFTs for Sale.” Vice: Motherboard 2021. 16 Feb. 2022 &lt;https://www.vice.com/en/article/akgx9j/opensea-sure-has-a-lot-of-hitler-nfts-for-sale&gt;. Poleg, Dror. In Praise of Ponzis. 2021. 16 Feb. 2022 &lt;https://www.drorpoleg.com/in-praise-of-ponzis/&gt;. Purtill, James. “Artists Report Discovering Their Work Is Being Stolen and Sold as NFTs.” ABC News: Science 2021. 16 Feb. 2022 &lt;https://www.abc.net.au/news/science/2021-03-16/nfts-artists-report-their-work-is-being-stolen-and-sold/13249408&gt;. Rae, Madeline. “Analyzing the NFT Mania: Is a JPG Worth Millions.” SAGE Business Cases 2021. 16 Feb. 2022 &lt;https://sk-sagepub-com.ezproxy.lib.rmit.edu.au/cases/analyzing-the-nft-mania-is-a-jpg-worth-millions&gt;. Redman, Jamie. “Political Cartoonist Accuses NFT Platforms Opensea, Rarible of Being 'Tools for Political Censorship'.” Bitcoin.com 2021. 16 Feb. 2022 &lt;https://news.bitcoin.com/political-cartoonist-accuses-nft-platforms-opensea-rarible-of-being-tools-for-political-censorship/&gt;. Rennie, Ellie, Jason Potts, and Ana Pochesneva. Blockchain and the Creative Industries: Provocation Paper. Melbourne: RMIT University. 2019. Resonate. "Pricing." 2022. 16 Feb. 2022 &lt;https://resonate.is/pricing/&gt;. Rethink Music Initiative. Fair Music: Transparency and Payment Flows in the Music Industry. Berklee Institute for Creative Entrepreneurship, 2015. Royal. "How It Works." 2022. 16 Feb. 2022 &lt;https://royal.io/&gt;. Stephen, Bijan. “NFT Mania Is Here, and So Are the Scammers.” The Verge 2021. 15 Feb. 2022 &lt;https://www.theverge.com/2021/3/20/22334527/nft-scams-artists-opensea-rarible-marble-cards-fraud-art&gt;. Sound.xyz. Sound.xyz – Music without the Middleman. 2021. 14 Feb. 2022 &lt;https://sound.mirror.xyz/3_TAJe4y8iJsO0JoVbXYw3BM2kM3042b1s6BQf-vWRo&gt;. Taghdiri, Arya. "How Blockchain Technology Can Revolutionize the Music Industry." Harvard Journal of Sports &amp; Entertainment Law 10 (2019): 173–195. Tomaino, Nick. “The Music Industry Is Waking Up to Ethereum: In Conversation with 3LAU.” SuperRare 2020. 16 Feb. 2022 &lt;https://editorial.superrare.com/2020/10/20/the-music-industry-is-waking-up-to-ethereum-in-conversation-with-3lau/&gt;.

IntroductionThree broad stages of Australia’s arts and culture sectors may be discerned with reference to the Northern Hemisphere. The first is in Australia’s early years where artists travelled to the metropoles of Europe to learn from acknowledged masters, to view the great works and to become part of a broader cultural scene. The second is where Australian art was promoted internationally, which to some extent began in the 1960s with exhibitions such as the 1961 ‘Survey of recent Australian painting’ at the Whitechapel gallery. The third relates to the strong promotion and push to display and sell Indigenous art, which has been a key area of focus since the 1970s.The Allure of the NorthFor a long time Australasian artists have mostly travelled to Britain (Britain) or Europe (Cooper; Frost; Inkson and Carr), be they writers, painters or musicians for example. Hecq (36) provides a useful overview of the various periods of expatriation from Australia, referring to the first significant phase at the end of the twentieth century when many painters left “to complete their atelier instruction in Paris and London”. Many writers also left for the north during this time, with a number of women travelling overseas on account of “intellectual pressures as well as intellectual isolation”(Hecq 36). Among these, Miles Franklin left Australia in “an open act of rebellion against the repressive environment of her family and colonial culture” (37). There also existed “a belief that ‘there’ is better than ‘here’” (de Groen vii) as well as a “search for the ideal” (viii). World War I led to stronger Anglo-Australian relations hence an increase in expatriation to Europe and Britain as well as longer-term sojourns. These increased further in the wake of World War II. Hecq describes how for many artists, there was significant discontent with Australian provincialism and narrow-mindedness, as well as a desire for wider audiences and international recognition. Further, Hecq describes how Europe became something of a “dreamland”, with numerous artists influenced by their childhood readings about this part of the world and a sense of the imaginary or the “other”. This sense of a dream is described beautifully by McAuliffe (56), who refers to the 1898 painting by A.J. Daplyn as a “melancholic diagram of the nineteenth-century Australian artist’s world, tempering the shimmering allure of those northern lights with the shadowy, somnolent isolation of the south”.Figure 1: The Australian Artist’s Dream of Europe; A.J. Daplyn, 1898 (oil on canvas; courtesy artnet.com)In ‘Some Other Dream’, de Groen presents a series of interviews with expatriate Australian artists and writers as an insight into what drove each to look north and to leave Australia, either temporarily or permanently. Here are a few examples:Janet Alderson: “I desperately wanted to see what was going on” (2)Robert Jacks: “the dream of something else. New York is a dream for lots of people” (21)Bruce Latimer: “I’d always been interested in America, New York in particular” (34)Jeffrey Smart: “Australia seemed to be very dull and isolated, and Italy seemed to be thrilling and modern” (50)Clement Meadmore: “I never had much to do with what was happening in Melbourne: I was never accepted there” (66)Stelarc: “I was interested in traditional Japanese art and the philosophy of Zen” (80)Robert Hughes: “I’d written everything that I’d wanted to write about Australian art and this really dread prospect was looming up of staying in Australia for the rest of one’s life” (128)Max Hutchison: “I quickly realised that Melbourne was a non-art consuming city” (158)John Stringer: “I was not getting the latitude that I wanted at the National Gallery [in Australia] … the prospects of doing other good shows seemed rather slim” (178)As the testimony here suggests, the allure of the north ranges from dissatisfaction with the south to the attraction of various parts of the world in the north.More recently, McAuliffe describes a shift in the impact of the overseas experience for many artists. Describing them as business travellers, he refers to the fact that artists today travel to meet international art dealers and to participate in exhibitions, art fairs and the like. Further, he argues that the risk today lies in “disorientation and distraction rather than provincial timidity” (McAuliffe 56). That is, given the ease and relatively cheap costs of international travel, McAuliffe argues that the challenge is in adapting to constantly changing circumstances, rather than what are now arguably dated concepts of cultural cringe or tyranny of distance. Further, given the combination of “cultural nationalism, social cosmopolitanism and information technology”, McAuliffe (58) argues that the need to expatriate is no longer a requirement for success.Australian Art Struggles InternationallyThe struggles for Australian art as a sector to succeed internationally, particularly in Britain, Europe and the US, are well documented (Frost; Robertson). This is largely due to Australia’s limited history of white settlement and established canon of great art works, the fact that power and position remain strong hence the dominance of Europe and North America in the creative arts field (Bourdieu), as well as Australia’s geographical isolation from the major art centres of the world, with Heartney (63) describing the “persistent sense of isolation of the Australian art world”. While Australia has had considerable success internationally in terms of its popular music (e.g. INXS, Kylie Minogue, The Seekers) and high-profile Hollywood actors (e.g. Geoffrey Rush, Hugh Jackman, Nicole Kidman), the visual arts in particular have struggled (O’Sullivan), including the Indigenous visual arts subsector (Stone). One of the constant criticisms in the visual art world is that Australian art is too focussed on place (e.g. the Australian outback) and not global art movements and trends (Robertson). While on the one hand he argues that Australian visual artists have made some inroads and successes in the international market, McAuliffe (63) tempers this with the following observation:Australian artists don’t operate at the white-hot heart of the international art market: there are no astronomical prices and hotly contested bidding wars. International museums acquire Australian art only rarely, and many an international survey exhibition goes by with no Australian representation.The Push to Sell Australian Cultural Product in the NorthWriting in the mid-nineties at the time of the release of the national cultural policy Creative Nation, the then prime minister Paul Keating identified a need for Australia as a nation to become more competitive internationally in terms of cultural exports. This is a theme that continues today. Recent decades have seen several attempts to promote Australian visual art overseas and in particular Indigenous art; this has come with mixed success. However, there have been misconceptions in the past and hence numerous challenges associated with promoting and selling Aboriginal art in international markets (Wright). One of the problems is that a lot of Europeans “have often seen bad examples of Aboriginal Art” (Anonymous 69) and it is typically the art work which travels north, less so the Indigenous artists who create them and who can talk to them and engage with audiences. At the same time, the Indigenous art sector remains a major contributor to the Australian art economy (Australia Council). While there are some examples of successful Australian art managers operating galleries overseas in such places as London and in the US (Anonymous-b), these are limited and many have had to struggle to gain recognition for their artists’ works.Throsby refers to the well-established fact that the international art market predominantly resides in the US and in Europe (including Britain). Further, Throsby (64) argues that breaking into this market “is a daunting task requiring resources, perseverance, a quality product, and a good deal of luck”. Referring specifically to Indigenous Australian art, Throsby (65) reveals how leading European fairs such as those at Basel and Cologne, displaying breath-taking ignorance if not outright stupidity, have vetoed Aboriginal works on the grounds that they are folk art. This saga continues to the present day, and it still remains to be seen whether these fairs will eventually wake up to themselves.It is also presented in an issue of Artlink that the “challenge is to convince European buyers of the value of Australian art, even though the work is comparatively inexpensive” (Anonymous 69). Is the Rite of Passage Relevant in the 21st Century?Some authors challenge the notion that the rite of passage to the northern hemisphere is a requirement for success for an Australian artist (Frost). This challenge is worthy of unpacking in the second decade of the twenty-first century, and particularly so in what is being termed the Asian century (Bice and Sullivan; Wesley). Firstly, Australia is far closer to Asia than it is to Europe and North America. Secondly, the Asian population is expected to continue to experience rapid economic and population growth, for example the rise of the middle class in China, potentially representing new markets for the consumption of creative product. Lee and Lim refer to the rapid economic modernisation and growth in East Asia (Japan to Singapore). Hence, given the struggles that are often experienced by Australian artists and dealers in attempting to break into the art markets of Europe and North America, it may be more constructive to look towards Asia as an alternative north and place for Australian creative product. Fourthly, many Asian countries are investing heavily in their creative industries and creative economy (Kim and Kim; Kong), hence representing an opportune time for Australian creative practitioners to explore new connections and partnerships.In the first half of the twentieth century, Australians felt compelled to travel north to Europe, especially, if they wanted to engage with the great art teachers, galleries and art works. Today, with the impact of technology, engaging with the art world can be achieved much more readily and quickly, through “increasingly transnational forms of cultural production, distribution and consumption” (Rowe et al. 8). This recent wave of technological development has been significant (Guerra and Kagan), in relation to online communication (e.g. skype, email), social media (e.g. Facebook, Twitter) as well as content available on the Web for both informal and formal learning purposes. Artists anywhere in the world can now connect online while also engaging with what is an increasing field of virtual museums and galleries. For example, the Tate Gallery in London has over 70,000 artworks in its online art database which includes significant commentary on each work. While online engagement does not necessarily enable an individual to have the lived experience of a gallery walk-through or to be an audience member at a live performance in an outstanding international venue, online technologies have made it much easier for developing artists to engage from anywhere in the world. This certainly makes the ‘tyranny of distance’ factor relevant to Australia somewhat more manageable.There is also a developing field of research citing the importance of emerging artists displaying enterprising and/or entrepreneurial skills (Bridgstock), in the context of a rapidly changing global arts sector. This broadly refers to the need for artists to have business skills, to be able to seek out and identify opportunities, as well as manage multiple projects and/or various streams of income in what is a very different career type and pathway (Beckman; Bridgstock and Cunningham; Hennekam and Bennett). These opportunity seeking skills and agentic qualities have also been cited as critical in relation to the fact that there is not only a major oversupply of artistic labour globally (Menger), but there is a growing stream of entrants to the global higher education tertiary arts sector that shows no signs of subsiding (Daniel). Concluding RemarksAustralia’s history features a strong relationship with and influences from the north, and in particular from Britain, Europe and North America. This remains the case today, with much of Australian society based on inherited models from Britain, be this in the art world or in such areas as the law and education. As well as a range of cultural and sentimental links with this north, Australia is sometimes considered to be a satellite of European civilisation in the Asia-Pacific region. It is therefore explicable why artists might continue this longstanding relationship with this particular north.In our interesting and complex present of the early twenty-first century, Australia is hampered by the lack of any national cultural policy as well as recent significant cuts to arts funding at the national and state levels (Caust). Nevertheless, there are opportunities to be further explored in relation to the changing patterns of production and consumption of creative content, the impact of new and next technologies, as well as the rise of Asia in the Asian Century. The broad field of the arts and artists is a rich area for ongoing research and inquiry and ultimately, Australia’s links to the north including the concept of the rite of passage deserves ongoing consideration.ReferencesAnonymous a. "Outposts: The Case of the Unofficial Attache." Artlink 18.4 (1998): 69–71.Anonymous b. "Who’s Selling What to Whom: Australian Dealers Taking Australian Art Overseas." Artlink 18. 4 (1998): 66–68.Australia Council for the Arts. Arts Nation: An Overview of Australian Arts. 2015. &lt;http://www.australiacouncil.gov.au/workspace/uploads/files/arts-nation-final-27-feb-54f5f492882da.pdf&gt;.Beckman, Gary D. "'Adventuring' Arts Entrepreneurship Curricula in Higher Education: An Examination of Present Efforts, Obstacles, and Best Practices." The Journal of Arts Management, Law, and Society 37.2 (2007): 87–112.Bice, Sara, and Helen Sullivan. "Abbott Government May Have New Rhetoric, But It’s Still the ‘Asian Century’." The Conversation 2013. &lt;https://theconversation.com/abbott-government-may-have-new-rhetoric-but-its-still-the-asian-century-19769&gt;.Bourdieu, Pierre. Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste. Routledge &amp; Kegan Paul, 1984.Bridgstock, Ruth. "Not a Dirty Word: Arts Entrepreneurship and Higher Education." Arts and Humanities in Higher Education 12.2–3 (2013,): 122–137. doi:10.1177/1474022212465725.———, and Stuart Cunningham. "Creative Labour and Graduate Outcomes: Implications for Higher Education and Cultural Policy." International Journal of Cultural Policy 22.1 (2015): 10–26. doi:10.1080/10286632.2015.1101086.Britain, Ian. Once an Australian: Journeys with Barry Humphries, Clive James, Germaine Greer and Robert Hughes. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1997.Caust, Josephine. "Cultural Wars in an Australian Context: Challenges in Developing a National Cultural Policy." International Journal of Cultural Policy 21.2 (2015): 168–182. doi:10.1080/10286632.2014.890607.Cooper, Roslyn Pesman. "Some Australian Italies." Westerly 39.4 (1994): 95–104.Daniel, Ryan, and Robert Johnstone. "Becoming an Artist: Exploring the Motivations of Undergraduate Students at a Regional Australian University". Studies in Higher Education 42.6 (2017): 1015-1032.De Groen, Geoffrey. Some Other Dream: The Artist the Artworld &amp; the Expatriate. Hale &amp; Iremonger, 1984.Frost, Andrew. "Do Young Australian Artists Really Need to Go Overseas to Mature?" The Guardian, 9 Oct. 2013. &lt;https://www.theguardian.com/culture/australia-culture-blog/2013/oct/09/1https://www.theguardian.com/culture/australia-culture-blog/2013/oct/09/1, July 20, 2016&gt;.Guerra, Paula, and Sacha Kagan, eds. Arts and Creativity: Working on Identity and Difference. Porto: University of Porto, 2016.Heartney, Eleanor. "Identity and Locale: Four Australian Artists." Art in America 97.5 (2009): 63–68.Hecq, Dominique. "'Flying Up for Air: Australian Artists in Exile'." Commonwealth (Dijon) 22.2 (2000): 35–45.Hennekam, Sophie, and Dawn Bennett. "Involuntary Career Transition and Identity within the Artist Population." Personnel Review 45.6 (2016): 1114–1131.Inkson, Kerr, and Stuart C. Carr. "International Talent Flow and Careers: An Australasian Perspective." Australian Journal of Career Development 13.3 (2004): 23–28.Keating, P.J. "Exports from a Creative Nation." Media International Australia 76.1 (1995): 4–6.Kim, Jeong-Gon, and Eunji Kim. "Creative Industries Internationalization Strategies of Selected Countries and Their Policy Implications." KIEP Research Paper. World Economic Update-14–26 (2014). &lt;https://ssrn.com/abstract=2488416&gt;.Kong, Lily. "From Cultural Industries to Creative Industries and Back? Towards Clarifying Theory and Rethinking Policy." Inter-Asia Cultural Studies 15.4 (2014): 593–607.Lee, H., and Lorraine Lim. Cultural Policies in East Asia: Dynamics between the State, Arts and Creative Industries. Springer, 2014.McAuliffe, Chris. "Living the Dream: The Contemporary Australian Artist Abroad." Meanjin 71.3 (2012): 56–61.Menger, Pierre-Michel. "Artistic Labor Markets and Careers." Annual Review of Sociology 25.1 (1999): 541–574.O’Sullivan, Jane. "Why Australian Artists Find It So Hard to Get International Recognition." AFR Magazine, 2016.Robertson, Kate. "Yes, Capon, Australian Artists Have Always Thought about Place." The Conversation, 2014. &lt;https://theconversation.com/yes-capon-australian-artists-have-always-thought-about-place-31690&gt;.Rowe, David, et al. "Transforming Cultures? From Creative Nation to Creative Australia." Media International Australia 158.1 (2016): 6–16. doi:10.1177/1329878X16629544.Stone, Deborah. "Presenters Reject Indigenous Arts." ArtsHub, 2016. &lt;http://www.artshub.com.au/news-article/news/audience-development/deborah-stone/presenters-reject-indigenous-arts-252075?utm_source=ArtsHub+Australia&amp;utm_campaign=7349a419f3-UA-828966-1&amp;utm_medium=email&amp;utm_term=0_2a8ea75e81-7349a419f3-302288158&gt;.Throsby, David. "Get Out There and Sell: The Visual Arts Export Strategy, Past, Present and Future." Artlink 18.4 (1998): 64–65.Wesley, Michael. "In Australia's Third Century after European Settlement, We Must Rethink Our Responses to a New World." The Conversation, 2015. &lt;https://theconversation.com/in-australias-third-century-after-european-settlement-we-must-rethink-our-responses-to-a-new-world-46671&gt;.Wright, Felicity. "Passion, Rich Collectors and the Export Dollar: The Selling of Aboriginal Art Overseas." Artlink 18.4 (1998): 16.

In mid-2001, in a cultural policy discussion at Arts Queensland, an Australian state government arts policy and funding apparatus, a senior arts bureaucrat seeking to draw a funding client’s gaze back to the bigger picture of what the state government was trying to achieve through its cultural policy settings excused his own abstracting comments with the phrase, “but then I might just be a policy ‘wank’”. There was some awkward laughter before one of his colleagues asked, “did you mean a policy ‘wonk’”? The incident was a misstatement of a term adopted in the 1990s to characterise the policy workers in the Clinton Whitehouse (Cunningham). This was not its exclusive use, but many saw Clinton as an exemplary wonk: less a pragmatic politician than one entertained by the elaboration of policy. The policy work of Clinton’s kitchen cabinet was, in part, driven by a pervasive rationalist belief in the usefulness of ordered policy processes as a method of producing social and economic outcomes, and, in part, by the seductions of policy-play: its ambivalences, its conundrums, and, in some sense, its aesthetics (Klein 193-94). There, far from being characterised as unproductive “self-abuse” of the body-politic, policy processes were alive as a pragmatic technology, an operationalisation of ideology, as an aestheticised field of play, but more than anything as a central rationalist tenant of government action. This final idea—the possibilities of policy for effecting change, promoting development, meeting government objectives—is at the centre of the bureaucratic imagination. Policy is effective. And a concomitant belief is that ordered or organised policy processes result in the best policy and the best outcomes. Starting with Harold Lasswell, policy theorists extended the general rationalist suppositions of Western representative democracies into executive government by arguing for the value of information/knowledge and the usefulness of ordered process in addressing thus identified policy problems. In the post-war period particularly, a case can be made for the usefulness of policy processes to government—although, in a paradox, these rationalist conceptions of the policy process were strangely irrational, even Utopian, in their view of transformational capacities possibilities of policy. The early policy scientists often moved beyond a view of policy science as a useful tool, to the advocacy of policy science and the policy scientist as panaceas for public ills (Parsons 18-19). The Utopian ambitions of policy science finds one of their extremes in the contemporary interest in whole-of-government approaches to policy making. Whole-of-governmentalism, concern with co-ordination of policy and delivery across all areas of the state, can seen as produced out of Western governments’ paradoxical concern with (on one hand) order, totality, and consistency, and (on the other) deconstructing existing mechanisms of public administration. Whole-of-governmentalism requires a horizontal purview of government goals, programs, outputs, processes, politics, and outcomes, alongside—and perhaps in tension with—the long-standing vertical purview that is fundamental to ministerial responsibility. This often presents a set of public management problems largely internal to government. Policy discussion and decision-making, while affecting community outcomes and stakeholder utility, are, in this circumstance, largely inter-agency in focus. Any eventual policy document may well have bureaucrats rather than citizens as its target readers—or at least as its closest readers. Internally, cohesion of objective, discourse, tool and delivery are pursued as a prime interests of policy making. Failing at Policy So what happens when whole-of-government policy processes, particularly cultural policy processes, break down or fail? Is there anything productive to be retrieved from a failed fantasy of policy cohesion? This paper examines the utility of a failure to cohere and order in cultural policy processes. I argue that the conditions of contemporary cultural policy-making, particularly the tension between the “boutique” scale of cultural policy-making bodies and the revised, near universal, remit of cultural policy, require policy work to be undertaken in an environment and in such a way that failure is almost inevitable. Coherence and cohesions are fundamental principles of whole-of-government policy but cultural policy ambitions are necessarily too comprehensive to be achievable. This is especially so for the small arts or cultural offices government that normally act as lead agencies for cultural policy development within government. Yet, that these failed processes can still give rise to positive outcomes or positive intermediate outputs that can be taken up in a productive way in the ongoing cycle of policy work that categorises contemporary cultural governance. Herein, I detail the development of Building the Future, a cultural policy planning paper (and the name of a policy planning process) undertaken within Arts Queensland in 1999 and 2000. (While this process is now ten years in the past, it is only with a decade past that as a consultant I am in apposition to write about the material.) The abandonment of this process before the production of a public policy program allows something to be said about the utility and role of failure in cultural policy-making. The working draft of Building the Future never became a public document, but the eight months of its development helped produce a series of shifts in the discourse of Queensland Government cultural policy: from “arts” to “creative industries”; and from arts bureaucracy-centred cultural policy to the whole-of-government policy frameworks. These concepts were then taken up and elaborated in the Creative Queensland policy statement published by Arts Queensland in October 2002, particularly the concern with creative industries; whole-of-government cultural policy; and the repositioning of Arts Queensland as a service agency to other potential cultural funding-bodies within government. Despite the failure of the Building the Future process, it had a role in the production of the policy document and policy processes that superseded it. This critique of cultural policy-making rather than cultural policy texts, announcements and settings is offered as part of a project to bring to cultural policy studies material and theoretical accounts of the particularities of making cultural policy. While directions in cultural policy have much to do with the overall directions of government—which might over the past decade be categorised as focus on de-regulation, out-sourcing of services—there are developments in cultural policy settings and in cultural policy processes that are particular to cultural policy and cultural policy-making. Central to the development of cultural policy studies and to cultural policy is a transformational broadening of the operant definition of culture within government (O'Regan). Following Raymond Williams, the domain of culture is broadened to include the high culture, popular culture, folk culture and the culture of everyday life. Accordingly, in some sense, every issue of governance is deemed to have a cultural dimension—be it policy questions around urban space, tourism, community building and so on. Contemporary governments are required to act with a concern for cultural questions both within and across a number of long-persisting and otherwise discrete policy silos. This has implications for cultural policy makers and for program delivery. The definition of culture as “everyday life”, while truistically defendable, becomes unwieldy as an imprimatur or a container for administrative activity. Transforming cultural policy into a domain incorporating most social policy and significant elements of economic policy makes the domain titanically large. Potentially, it compromises usual government efforts to order policy activity through the division or apportionment of responsibility (Glover and Cunningham 19). The problem has given rise to a new mode of policy-making which attends to the co-ordination of policy across and between levels of government, known as whole-of government policy-making (see O’Regan). Within the domain of cultural policy the task of whole-of-government cultural policy is complicated by the position of, and the limits upon, arts and cultural bureaux within state and federal governments. Dedicated cultural planning bureaux often operate as “boutique” agencies. They are usually discrete line agencies or line departments within government—only rarely are they part of the core policy function of departments of a Premier or a Prime Minister. Instead, like most line agencies, they lack the leverage within the bureaucracy or policy apparatus to deliver whole-of-government cultural policy change. In some sense, failure is the inevitable outcome of all policy processes, particularly when held up against the mechanistic representation of policy processes in policy typical of policy handbooks (see Bridgman and Davis 42). Against such models, which describe policy a series of discrete linear steps, all policy efforts fail. The rationalist assumptions of early policy models—and the rigid templates for policy process that arise from their assumptions—in retrospect condemn every policy process to failure or at least profound shortcoming. This is particularly so with whole-of-government cultural policy making To re-think this, it can be argued that the error then is not really in the failure of the process, which is invariably brought about by the difficulty for coherent policy process to survive exogenous complexity, but instead the error rests with the simplicity of policy models and assumptions about the possibility of cohesion. In some sense, mechanistic policy processes make failure endogenous. The contemporary experience of making policy has tended to erode any fantasies of order, clear process, or, even, clear-sightedness within government. Achieving a coherence to the policy message is nigh on impossible—likewise cohesion of the policy framework is unlikely. Yet, importantly, failed policy is not without value. The churn of policy work—the exercise of attempting cohrent policy-making—constitutes, in some sense, the deliberative function of government, and potentially operates as a force (and site) of change. Policy briefings, reports, and draft policies—the constitution of ideas in the policy process and the mechanism for their dissemination within the body of government and perhaps to other stakeholders—are discursive acts in the process of extending the discourse of government and forming its later actions. For arts and cultural policy agencies in particular, who act without the leverage or resources of central agencies, the expansive ambitions of whole-of-government cultural policy makes failure inevitable. In such a circumstance, retrieving some benefits at the margins of policy processes, through the churn of policy work towards cohesion, is an important consolation. Case study: Cultural Policy 2000 The policy process I wish to examine is now complete. It ran over the period 1999–2002, although I wish to concentrate on my involvement in the process in early 2000 during which, as a consultant to Arts Queensland, I generated a draft policy document, Building the Future: A policy framework for the next five years (working draft). The imperative to develop a new state cultural policy followed the election of the first Beattie Labor government in July 1998. By 1999, senior Arts Queensland staff began to argue (within government at least) for the development of a new state cultural policy. The bureaucrats perceived policy development as one way of establishing “traction” in the process of bidding for new funds for the portfolio. Arts Minister Matt Foley was initially reluctant to “green-light” the policy process, but eventually in early 1999 he acceded to it on the advice of Arts Queensland, the industry, his own policy advisors and the Department of Premier. As stated above, this case study is offered now because the passing of time makes the analysis of relatively sensitive material possible. From the outset, an abbreviated timeframe for consultation and drafting seem to guarantee a difficult birth for the policy document. This was compounded by a failure to clarity the aims and process of the project. In presenting the draft policy to the advisory group, it became clear that there was no agreed strategic purpose to the document: Was it to be an advertisement, a framework for policy ideas, an audit, or a report on achievements? Tied to this, were questions about the audience for the policy statement. Was it aimed at the public, the arts industry, bureaucrats inside Arts Queensland, or, in keeping with the whole-of-government inflection to the document and its putative use in bidding for funds inside government, bureaucrats outside of Arts Queensland? My own conception of the document was as a cultural policy framework for the whole-of-government for the coming five years. It would concentrate on cultural policy in three realms: Arts Queensland; the arts instrumentalities; and other departments (particularly the cultural initiatives undertaken by the Department of Premier and the Department of State Development). In order to do this I articulated (for myself) a series of goals for the document. It needed to provide the philosophical underpinnings for a new arts and cultural policy, discuss the cultural significance of “community” in the context of the arts, outline expansion plans for the arts infrastructure throughout Queensland, advance ideas for increased employment in the arts and cultural industries, explore the development of new audiences and markets, address contemporary issues of technology, globalisation and culture commodification, promote a whole-of-government approach to the arts and cultural industries, address social justice and equity concerns associated with cultural diversity, and present examples of current and new arts and cultural practices. Five key strategies were identified: i) building strong communities and supporting diversity; ii) building the creative industries and the cultural economy; iii) developing audiences and telling Queensland’s stories; iv) delivering to the world; and v) a new role for government. While the second aim of building the creative industries and the cultural economy was an addition to the existing Australian arts policy discourse, it is the articulation of a new role for government that is most radical here. The document went to the length of explicitly suggesting a series of actions to enable Arts Queensland to re-position itself inside government: develop an ongoing policy cycle; position Arts Queensland as a lead agency for cultural policy development; establish a mechanism for joint policy planning across the arts portfolio; adopt a whole-of-government approach to policy-making and program delivery; use arts and cultural strategies to deliver on social and economic policy agendas; centralise some cultural policy functions and project; maintain and develop mechanisms and peer assessment; establish long-term strategic relationships with the Commonwealth and local government; investigate new vehicles for arts and cultural investment; investigate partnerships between industry, community and government; and develop appropriate performance measures for the cultural industries. In short, the scope of the document was titanically large, and prohibitively expansive as a basis for policy change. A chief limitation of these aims is that they seem to place the cohesion and coherence of the policy discourse at the centre of the project—when it might have better privileged a concern with policy outputs and industry/community outcomes. The subsequent dismal fortunes of the document are instructive. The policy document went through several drafts over the first half of 2000. By August 2000, I had removed myself from the process and handed the drafting back to Arts Queensland which then produced shorter version less discursive than my initial draft. However, by November 2000, it is reasonable to say that the policy document was abandoned. Significantly, after May 2000 the working drafts began to be used as internal discussion documents with government. Thus, despite the abandonment of the policy process, largely due to the unworkable breadth of its ambition, the document had a continued policy utility. The subsequent discussions helped organise future policy statements and structural adjustments by government. After the re-election of the Beattie government in January 2001, a more substantial policy process was commenced with the earlier policy documents as a starting point. By early 2002 the document was in substantial draft. The eventual policy, Creative Queensland, was released in October 2002. Significantly, this document sought to advance two ideas that I believe the earlier process did much to mobilise: a whole-of-government approach to culture; and a broader operant definition of culture. It is important not to see these as ideas merely existing “textually” in the earlier policy draft of Building the Future, but instead to see them as ideas that had begun adhere themselves to the cultural policy mechanism of government, and begun to be deployed in internal policy discussions and in program design, before finding an eventual home in a published policy text. Analysis The productive effects of the aborted policy process in which I participated are difficult to quantify. They are difficult, in fact, to separate out from governments’ ongoing processes of producing and circulating policy ideas. What is clear is that the effects of Building the Future were not entirely negated by it never becoming public. Instead, despite only circulating to a readership of bureaucrats it represented the ideas of part of the bureaucracy at a point in time. In this instance, a “failed” policy process, and its intermediate outcomes, the draft policy, through the churn of policy work, assisted government towards an eventual policy statement and a new form of governmental organisation. This suggests that processes of cultural policy discussion, or policy churn, can be as productive as the public “enunciation” of formal policy in helping to organise ideas within government and determine programs and the allocation of resources. This is even so where the Utopian idealism of the policy process is abandoned for something more graspable or politic. For the small arts or cultural policy bureau this is an important incremental benefit. Two final implications should be noted. The first is for models of policy process. Bridgman and Davis’s model of the Australian policy cycle, despite its mechanistic qualities, is ambiguous about where the policy process begins and ends. In one instance they represent it as linear but strictly circular, always coming back to its own starting point (27). Elsewhere, however, they represent it as linear, but not necessarily circular, passing through eight stages with a defined beginning and end: identification of issues; policy analysis; choosing policy instruments; consultation; co-ordination; decision; implementation; and evaluation (28–29). What is clear from the 1999-2002 policy process—if we take the full period between when Arts Queensland began to organise the development of a new arts policy and its publication as Creative Queensland in October 2002—is that the policy process was not a linear one progressing in an orderly fashion towards policy outcomes. Instead, Building the Future, is a snapshot in time (namely early to mid-2000) of a fragmenting policy process; it reveals policy-making as involving a concurrency of policy activity rather than a progression through linear steps. Following Mark Considine’s conception of policy work as the state’s effort at “system-wide information exchange and policy transfer” (271), the document is concerned less in the ordering of resources than the organisation of policy discourse. The churn of policy is the mobilisation of information, or for Considine: policy-making, when considered as an innovation system among linked or interdependent actors, becomes a learning and regulating web based upon continuous exchanges of information and skill. Learning occurs through regulated exchange, rather than through heroic insight or special legislative feats of the kind regularly described in newspapers. (269) The acceptance of this underpins a turn in contemporary accounts of policy (Considine 252-72) where policy processes become contingent and incomplete Policy. The ordering of policy is something to be attempted rather than achieved. Policy becomes pragmatic and ad hoc. It is only coherent in as much as a policy statement represents a bringing together of elements of an agency or government’s objectives and program. The order, in some sense, arrives through the act of collection, narrativisation and representation. The second implication is more directly for cultural policy makers facing the prospect of whole-of-government cultural policy making. While it is reasonable for government to wish to make coherent totalising statements about its cultural interests, such ambitions bring the near certainty of failure for the small agency. Yet these failures of coherence and cohesion should be viewed as delivering incremental benefits through the effort and process of this policy “churn”. As was the case with the Building the Future policy process, while aborted it was not a totally wasted effort. Instead, Building the Future mobilised a set of ideas within Arts Queensland and within government. For the small arts or cultural bureaux approaching the enormous task of whole-of government cultural policy making such marginal benefits are important. References Arts Queensland. Creative Queensland: The Queensland Government Cultural Policy 2002. Brisbane: Arts Queensland, 2002. Bridgman, Peter, and Glyn Davis. Australian Policy Handbook. St Leonards: Allen &amp; Unwin, 1998. Considine, Mark. Public Policy: A Critical Approach. South Melbourne: Palgrave Macmillan, 1996. Cunningham, Stuart. "Willing Wonkers at the Policy Factory." Media Information Australia 73 (1994): 4-7. Glover, Stuart, and Stuart Cunningham. "The New Brisbane." Artlink 23.2 (2003): 16-23. Glover, Stuart, and Gillian Gardiner. Building the Future: A Policy Framework for the Next Five Years (Working Draft). Brisbane: Arts Queensland, 2000. Klein, Joe. "Eight Years." New Yorker 16 &amp; 23 Oct. 2000: 188-217. O'Regan, Tom. "Cultural Policy: Rejuvenate or Wither". 2001. rtf.file. (26 July): AKCCMP. 9 Aug. 2001. ‹http://www.gu.edu.au/centre/cmp&gt;. Parsons, Wayne. Public Policy: An Introduction to the Theory and Practice of Policy Analysis. Aldershot: Edward Edgar, 1995.Williams, Raymond. Key Words: A Vocabulary of Culture and Society. London: Fontana, 1976.

In Ireland today, we eat more pigmeat per capita, approximately 32.4 kilograms, than any other meat, yet you very seldom if ever see a pig (C.S.O.). Fat and flavour are two words that are synonymous with pig meat, yet scientists have spent the last thirty years cross breeding to produce leaner, low-fat pigs. Today’s pig professionals prefer to use the term “pig finishing” as opposed to the more traditional “pig fattening” (Tuite). The pig evokes many themes in relation to cuisine. Charles Lamb (1775-1834), in his essay Dissertation upon Roast Pig, cites Confucius in attributing the accidental discovery of the art of roasting to the humble pig. The pig has been singled out by many cultures as a food to be avoided or even abhorred, and Harris (1997) illustrates the environmental effect this avoidance can have by contrasting the landscape of Christian Albania with that of Muslim Albania.This paper will focus on the pig in Irish cuisine and culture from ancient times to the present day. The inspiration for this paper comes from a folklore tale about how Saint Martin created the pig from a piece of fat. The story is one of a number recorded by Seán Ó Conaill, the famous Kerry storyteller and goes as follows:From St Martin’s fat they were made. He was travelling around, and one night he came to a house and yard. At that time there were only cattle; there were no pigs or piglets. He asked the man of the house if there was anything to eat the chaff and the grain. The man replied there were only the cattle. St Martin said it was a great pity to have that much chaff going to waste. At night when they were going to bed, he handed a piece of fat to the servant-girl and told her to put it under a tub, and not to look at it at all until he would give her the word next day. The girl did so, but she kept a bit of the fat and put it under a keeler to find out what it would be.When St Martin rose next day he asked her to go and lift up the tub. She lifted it up, and there under it were a sow and twelve piglets. It was a great wonder to them, as they had never before seen pig or piglet.The girl then went to the keeler and lifted it, and it was full of mice and rats! As soon as the keeler was lifted, they went running about the house searching for any hole that they could go into. When St Martin saw them, he pulled off one of his mittens and threw it at them and made a cat with that throw. And that is why the cat ever since goes after mice and rats (Ó Conaill).The place of the pig has long been established in Irish literature, and longer still in Irish topography. The word torc, a boar, like the word muc, a pig, is a common element of placenames, from Kanturk (boar’s head) in West Cork to Ros Muc (headland of pigs) in West Galway. The Irish pig had its place in literature well established long before George Orwell’s English pig, Major, headed the dictatorship in Animal Farm. It was a wild boar that killed the hero Diarmaid in the Fenian tale The Pursuit of Diarmaid and Gráinne, on top of Ben Bulben in County Sligo (Mac Con Iomaire). In Ancient and Medieval Ireland, wild boars were hunted with great fervour, and the prime cuts were reserved for the warrior classes, and certain other individuals. At a feast, a leg of pork was traditionally reserved for a king, a haunch for a queen, and a boar’s head for a charioteer. The champion warrior was given the best portion of meat (Curath Mhir or Champions’ Share), and fights often took place to decide who should receive it. Gantz (1981) describes how in the ninth century tale The story of Mac Dathó’s Pig, Cet mac Matach, got supremacy over the men of Ireland: “Moreover he flaunted his valour on high above the valour of the host, and took a knife in his hand and sat down beside the pig. “Let someone be found now among the men of Ireland”, said he, “to endure battle with me, or leave the pig for me to divide!”It did not take long before the wild pigs were domesticated. Whereas cattle might be kept for milk and sheep for wool, the only reason for pig rearing was as a source of food. Until the late medieval period, the “domesticated” pigs were fattened on woodland mast, the fruit of the beech, oak, chestnut and whitethorn, giving their flesh a delicious flavour. So important was this resource that it is acknowledged by an entry in the Annals of Clonmacnoise for the year 1038: “There was such an abundance of ackornes this yeare that it fattened the pigges [runts] of pigges” (Sexton 45). In another mythological tale, two pig keepers, one called ‘friuch’ after the boars bristle (pig keeper to the king of Munster) and the other called ‘rucht’ after its grunt (pig keeper to the king of Connacht), were such good friends that the one from the north would bring his pigs south when there was a mast of oak and beech nuts in Munster. If the mast fell in Connacht, the pig-keeper from the south would travel northward. Competitive jealousy sparked by troublemakers led to the pig keepers casting spells on each other’s herds to the effect that no matter what mast they ate they would not grow fat. Both pig keepers were practised in the pagan arts and could form themselves into any shape, and having been dismissed by their kings for the leanness of their pig herds due to the spells, they eventually formed themselves into the two famous bulls that feature in the Irish Epic The Táin (Kinsella).In the witty and satirical twelfth century text, The Vision of Mac Conglinne (Aisling Mhic Conglinne), many references are made to the various types of pig meat. Bacon, hams, sausages and puddings are often mentioned, and the gate to the fortress in the visionary land of plenty is described thus: “there was a gate of tallow to it, whereon was a bolt of sausage” (Jackson).Although pigs were always popular in Ireland, the emergence of the potato resulted in an increase in both human and pig populations. The Irish were the first Europeans to seriously consider the potato as a staple food. By 1663 it was widely accepted in Ireland as an important food plant and by 1770 it was known as the Irish Potato (Mac Con Iomaire and Gallagher). The potato transformed Ireland from an under populated island of one million in the 1590s to 8.2 million in 1840, making it the most densely populated country in Europe. Two centuries of genetic evolution resulted in potato yields growing from two tons per acre in 1670 to ten tons per acre in 1800. A constant supply of potato, which was not seen as a commercial crop, ensured that even the smallest holding could keep a few pigs on a potato-rich diet. Pat Tuite, an expert on pigs with Teagasc, the Irish Agricultural and Food Development Authority, reminded me that the potatoes were cooked for the pigs and that they also enjoyed whey, the by product of both butter and cheese making (Tuite). The agronomist, Arthur Young, while travelling through Ireland, commented in 1770 that in the town of Mitchelstown in County Cork “there seemed to be more pigs than human beings”. So plentiful were pigs at this time that on the eve of the Great Famine in 1841 the pig population was calculated to be 1,412,813 (Sexton 46). Some of the pigs were kept for home consumption but the rest were a valuable source of income and were shown great respect as the gentleman who paid the rent. Until the early twentieth century most Irish rural households kept some pigs.Pork was popular and was the main meat eaten at all feasts in the main houses; indeed a feast was considered incomplete without a whole roasted pig. In the poorer holdings, fresh pork was highly prized, as it was only available when a pig of their own was killed. Most of the pig was salted, placed in the brine barrel for a period or placed up the chimney for smoking.Certain superstitions were observed concerning the time of killing. Pigs were traditionally killed only in months that contained the letter “r”, since the heat of the summer months caused the meat to turn foul. In some counties it was believed that pigs should be killed under the full moon (Mahon 58). The main breed of pig from the medieval period was the Razor Back or Greyhound Pig, which was very efficient in converting organic waste into meat (Fitzgerald). The killing of the pig was an important ritual and a social occasion in rural Ireland, for it meant full and plenty for all. Neighbours, who came to help, brought a handful of salt for the curing, and when the work was done each would get a share of the puddings and the fresh pork. There were a number of days where it was traditional to kill a pig, the Michaelmas feast (29 September), Saint Martins Day (11 November) and St Patrick’s Day (17 March). Olive Sharkey gives a vivid description of the killing of the barrow pig in rural Ireland during the 1930s. A barrow pig is a male pig castrated before puberty:The local slaughterer (búistéir) a man experienced in the rustic art of pig killing, was approached to do the job, though some farmers killed their own pigs. When the búistéirarrived the whole family gathered round to watch the killing. His first job was to plunge the knife in the pig’s heart via the throat, using a special knife. The screeching during this performance was something awful, but the animal died instantly once the heart had been reached, usually to a round of applause from the onlookers. The animal was then draped across a pig-gib, a sort of bench, and had the fine hairs on its body scraped off. To make this a simple job the animal was immersed in hot water a number of times until the bristles were softened and easy to remove. If a few bristles were accidentally missed the bacon was known as ‘hairy bacon’!During the killing of the pig it was imperative to draw a good flow of blood to ensure good quality meat. This blood was collected in a bucket for the making of puddings. The carcass would then be hung from a hook in the shed with a basin under its head to catch the drip, and a potato was often placed in the pig’s mouth to aid the dripping process. After a few days the carcass would be dissected. Sharkey recalls that her father maintained that each pound weight in the pig’s head corresponded to a stone weight in the body. The body was washed and then each piece that was to be preserved was carefully salted and placed neatly in a barrel and hermetically sealed. It was customary in parts of the midlands to add brown sugar to the barrel at this stage, while in other areas juniper berries were placed in the fire when hanging the hams and flitches (sides of bacon), wrapped in brown paper, in the chimney for smoking (Sharkey 166). While the killing was predominantly men’s work, it was the women who took most responsibility for the curing and smoking. Puddings have always been popular in Irish cuisine. The pig’s intestines were washed well and soaked in a stream, and a mixture of onions, lard, spices, oatmeal and flour were mixed with the blood and the mixture was stuffed into the casing and boiled for about an hour, cooled and the puddings were divided amongst the neighbours.The pig was so palatable that the famous gastronomic writer Grimod de la Reyniere once claimed that the only piece you couldn’t eat was the “oink”. Sharkey remembers her father remarking that had they been able to catch the squeak they would have made tin whistles out of it! No part went to waste; the blood and offal were used, the trotters were known as crubeens (from crúb, hoof), and were boiled and eaten with cabbage. In Galway the knee joint was popular and known as the glúiníns (from glún, knee). The head was roasted whole or often boiled and pressed and prepared as Brawn. The chitterlings (small intestines) were meticulously prepared by continuous washing in cool water and the picking out of undigested food and faeces. Chitterlings were once a popular bar food in Dublin. Pig hair was used for paintbrushes and the bladder was occasionally inflated, using a goose quill, to be used as a football by the children. Meindertsma (2007) provides a pictorial review of the vast array of products derived from a single pig. These range from ammunition and porcelain to chewing gum.From around the mid-eighteenth century, commercial salting of pork and bacon grew rapidly in Ireland. 1820 saw Henry Denny begin operation in Waterford where he both developed and patented several production techniques for bacon. Bacon curing became a very important industry in Munster culminating in the setting up of four large factories. Irish bacon was the brand leader and the Irish companies exported their expertise. Denny set up a plant in Denmark in 1894 and introduced the Irish techniques to the Danish industry, while O’Mara’s set up bacon curing facilities in Russia in 1891 (Cowan and Sexton). Ireland developed an extensive export trade in bacon to England, and hams were delivered to markets in Paris, India, North and South America. The “sandwich method” of curing, or “dry cure”, was used up until 1862 when the method of injecting strong brine into the meat by means of a pickling pump was adopted by Irish bacon-curers. 1887 saw the formation of the Bacon Curers’ Pig Improvement Association and they managed to introduce a new breed, the Large White Ulster into most regions by the turn of the century. This breed was suitable for the production of “Wiltshire” bacon. Cork, Waterford Dublin and Belfast were important centres for bacon but it was Limerick that dominated the industry and a Department of Agriculture document from 1902 suggests that the famous “Limerick cure” may have originated by chance:1880 […] Limerick producers were short of money […] they produced what was considered meat in a half-cured condition. The unintentional cure proved extremely popular and others followed suit. By the turn of the century the mild cure procedure was brought to such perfection that meat could [… be] sent to tropical climates for consumption within a reasonable time (Cowan and Sexton).Failure to modernise led to the decline of bacon production in Limerick in the 1960s and all four factories closed down. The Irish pig market was protected prior to joining the European Union. There were no imports, and exports were subsidised by the Pigs and Bacon Commission. The Department of Agriculture started pig testing in the early 1960s and imported breeds from the United Kingdom and Scandinavia. The two main breeds were Large White and Landrace. Most farms kept pigs before joining the EU but after 1972, farmers were encouraged to rationalise and specialise. Grants were made available for facilities that would keep 3,000 pigs and these grants kick started the development of large units.Pig keeping and production were not only rural occupations; Irish towns and cities also had their fair share. Pigs could easily be kept on swill from hotels, restaurants, not to mention the by-product and leftovers of the brewing and baking industries. Ed Hick, a fourth generation pork butcher from south County Dublin, recalls buying pigs from a local coal man and bus driver and other locals for whom it was a tradition to keep pigs on the side. They would keep some six or eight pigs at a time and feed them on swill collected locally. Legislation concerning the feeding of swill introduced in 1985 (S.I.153) and an amendment in 1987 (S.I.133) required all swill to be heat-treated and resulted in most small operators going out of business. Other EU directives led to the shutting down of thousands of slaughterhouses across Europe. Small producers like Hick who slaughtered at most 25 pigs a week in their family slaughterhouse, states that it was not any one rule but a series of them that forced them to close. It was not uncommon for three inspectors, a veterinarian, a meat inspector and a hygiene inspector, to supervise himself and his brother at work. Ed Hick describes the situation thus; “if we had taken them on in a game of football, we would have lost! We were seen as a huge waste of veterinary time and manpower”.Sausages and rashers have long been popular in Dublin and are the main ingredients in the city’s most famous dish “Dublin Coddle.” Coddle is similar to an Irish stew except that it uses pork rashers and sausage instead of lamb. It was, traditionally, a Saturday night dish when the men came home from the public houses. Terry Fagan has a book on Dublin Folklore called Monto: Murder, Madams and Black Coddle. The black coddle resulted from soot falling down the chimney into the cauldron. James Joyce describes Denny’s sausages with relish in Ulysses, and like many other Irish emigrants, he would welcome visitors from home only if they brought Irish sausages and Irish whiskey with them. Even today, every family has its favourite brand of sausages: Byrne’s, Olhausens, Granby’s, Hafner’s, Denny’s Gold Medal, Kearns and Superquinn are among the most popular. Ironically the same James Joyce, who put Dublin pork kidneys on the world table in Ulysses, was later to call his native Ireland “the old sow that eats her own farrow” (184-5).The last thirty years have seen a concerted effort to breed pigs that have less fat content and leaner meat. There are no pure breeds of Landrace or Large White in production today for they have been crossbred for litter size, fat content and leanness (Tuite). Many experts feel that they have become too lean, to the detriment of flavour and that the meat can tend to split when cooked. Pig production is now a complicated science and tighter margins have led to only large-scale operations being financially viable (Whittemore). The average size of herd has grown from 29 animals in 1973, to 846 animals in 1997, and the highest numbers are found in counties Cork and Cavan (Lafferty et al.). The main players in today’s pig production/processing are the large Irish Agribusiness Multinationals Glanbia, Kerry Foods and Dairygold. Tuite (2002) expressed worries among the industry that there may be no pig production in Ireland in twenty years time, with production moving to Eastern Europe where feed and labour are cheaper. When it comes to traceability, in the light of the Foot and Mouth, BSE and Dioxin scares, many feel that things were much better in the old days, when butchers like Ed Hick slaughtered animals that were reared locally and then sold them back to local consumers. Hick has recently killed pigs for friends who have begun keeping them for home consumption. This slaughtering remains legal as long as the meat is not offered for sale.Although bacon and cabbage, and the full Irish breakfast with rashers, sausages and puddings, are considered to be some of Ireland’s most well known traditional dishes, there has been a growth in modern interpretations of traditional pork and bacon dishes in the repertoires of the seemingly ever growing number of talented Irish chefs. Michael Clifford popularised Clonakilty Black Pudding as a starter in his Cork restaurant Clifford’s in the late 1980s, and its use has become widespread since, as a starter or main course often partnered with either caramelised apples or red onion marmalade. Crubeens (pigs trotters) have been modernised “a la Pierre Kaufman” by a number of Irish chefs, who bone them out and stuff them with sweetbreads. Kevin Thornton, the first Irish chef to be awarded two Michelin stars, has roasted suckling pig as one of his signature dishes. Richard Corrigan is keeping the Irish flag flying in London in his Michelin starred Soho restaurant, Lindsay House, where traditional pork and bacon dishes from his childhood are creatively re-interpreted with simplicity and taste.Pork, ham and bacon are, without doubt, the most traditional of all Irish foods, featuring in the diet since prehistoric times. Although these meats remain the most consumed per capita in post “Celtic Tiger” Ireland, there are a number of threats facing the country’s pig industry. Large-scale indoor production necessitates the use of antibiotics. European legislation and economic factors have contributed in the demise of the traditional art of pork butchery. Scientific advancements have resulted in leaner low-fat pigs, many argue, to the detriment of flavour. Alas, all is not lost. There is a growth in consumer demand for quality local food, and some producers like J. Hick &amp; Sons, and Prue &amp; David Rudd and Family are leading the way. The Rudds process and distribute branded antibiotic-free pig related products with the mission of “re-inventing the tastes of bygone days with the quality of modern day standards”. Few could argue with the late Irish writer John B. Keane (72): “When this kind of bacon is boiling with its old colleague, white cabbage, there is a gurgle from the pot that would tear the heart out of any hungry man”.ReferencesCowan, Cathal and Regina Sexton. Ireland's Traditional Foods: An Exploration of Irish Local &amp; Typical Foods &amp; Drinks. Dublin: Teagasc, 1997.C.S.O. Central Statistics Office. Figures on per capita meat consumption for 2009, 2010. Ireland. http://www.cso.ie.Fitzgerald, Oisin. "The Irish 'Greyhound' Pig: an extinct indigenous breed of Pig." History Ireland13.4 (2005): 20-23.Gantz, Jeffrey Early Irish Myths and Sagas. New York: Penguin, 1981.Harris, Marvin. "The Abominable Pig." Food and Culture: A Reader. Eds. Carole Counihan and Penny Van Esterik. New York: Routledge, 1997. 67-79.Hick, Edward. Personal Communication with master butcher Ed Hick. 15 Apr. 2002.Hick, Edward. Personal Communication concerning pig killing. 5 Sep. 2010.Jackson, K. H. Ed. Aislinge Meic Con Glinne, Dublin: Institute of Advanced Studies, 1990.Joyce, James. The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, London: Granada, 1977.Keane, John B. Strong Tea. Cork: Mercier Press, 1963.Kinsella, Thomas. The Táin. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1970.Lafferty, S., Commins, P. and Walsh, J. A. Irish Agriculture in Transition: A Census Atlas of Agriculture in the Republic of Ireland. Dublin: Teagasc, 1999.Mac Con Iomaire, Liam. Ireland of the Proverb. Dublin: Town House, 1988.Mac Con Iomaire, Máirtín and Pádraic Óg Gallagher. "The Potato in Irish Cuisine and Culture."Journal of Culinary Science and Technology 7.2-3 (2009): 1-16.Mahon, Bríd. Land of Milk and Honey: The Story of Traditional Irish Food and Drink. Cork:Mercier, 1998.Meindertsma, Christien. PIG 05049 2007. 10 Aug. 2010 http://www.christienmeindertsma.com.Ó Conaill, Seán. Seán Ó Conaill's Book. Bailie Átha Cliath: Bhéaloideas Éireann, 1981.Sexton, Regina. A Little History of Irish Food. Dublin: Gill and Macmillan, 1998.Sharkey, Olive. Old Days Old Ways: An Illustrated Folk History of Ireland. Dublin: The O'Brien Press, 1985.S.I. 153, 1985 (Irish Legislation) http://www.irishstatutebook.ie/1985/en/si/0153.htmlS.I. 133, 1987 (Irish Legislation) http://www.irishstatuebook.ie/1987/en/si/0133.htmlTuite, Pat. Personal Communication with Pat Tuite, Chief Pig Advisor, Teagasc. 3 May 2002.Whittemore, Colin T. and Ilias Kyriazakis. Whitmore's Science and Practice of Pig Production 3rdEdition. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2006.

The National Cultural Policy Discussion Paper—drafted to assist the Australian Government in developing the first national Cultural Policy since Creative Nation nearly two decades ago—envisages a future in which arts, cultural and creative activities directly support the development of an inclusive, innovative and productive Australia. "The policy," it says, "will be based on an understanding that a creative nation produces a more inclusive society and a more expressive and confident citizenry by encouraging our ability to express, describe and share our diverse experiences—with each other and with the world" (Australian Government 3). Even a cursory reading of this Discussion Paper makes it clear that the question of impact—in aesthetic, cultural and economic terms—is central to the Government's agenda in developing a new Cultural Policy. Hand-in-hand with the notion of impact comes the process of measurement of progress. The Discussion Paper notes that progress "must be measurable, and the Government will invest in ways to assess the impact that the National Cultural Policy has on society and the economy" (11). If progress must be measurable, this raises questions about what arts, cultural and creative workers do, whether it is worth it, and whether they could be doing it better. In effect, the Discussion Paper pushes artsworkers ever closer to a climate in which they have to be skilled not just at making work, but at making the impact of this work clear to stakeholders. The Government in its plans for Australia's cultural future, is clearly most supportive of artsworkers who can do this, and the scholars, educators and employers who can best train the artsworkers of the future to do this. Teaching Artsworkers to Measure the Impact of Their Work: The Challenges How do we train artsworkers to assess, measure and articulate the impact of what they do? How do we prepare them to be ready to work in a climate that will—as the National Cultural Policy Discussion Paper makes clear—emphasise measuring impact, communicating impact, and communicating impact across aesthetic, cultural and economic categories? As educators delivering training in this area, the Discussion Paper has made this already compelling question even more pressing as we work to develop the career-ready graduates the Government seeks. Our program, the Master of Creative Industries (Creative Production &amp; Arts Management) offered in the Creative Industries Faculty at Queensland University of Technology in Brisbane, Australia, is, like most programs in arts and cultural management in the US, UK, Europe and Australia, offering a three-Semester postgraduate program that allows students to develop the career-ready skills required to work as managers of arts, cultural or creative organisations. That we need to train our graduates to work not just as producers of plays, paintings or recordings, but as entrepreneurial arts advocates who can measure and articulate the value of their programs to others, is not news (Hadley "Creating" 647-48; cf. Brkic; Ebewo and Sirayi; Beckerman; Sikes). Our program—which offers training in arts policy, management, marketing and budgeting followed by training in entrepreneurship and a practical project—is already structured around this necessity. The question of how to teach students this diverse skill set is, however, still a subject of debate; and the question of how to teach students to measure the impact of this work is even more difficult. There is, of course, a body of literature on the impact of arts, cultural and creative activities, value and evaluation that has been developed over the past decade, particularly through landmark reports like Matarasso's Use or Ornament? The Social Impact of Participation in the Arts (1997) and the RAND Corporation's Gifts of the Muse: Reframing the Debate about the Benefits of the Arts (2004). There are also emergent studies in an Australian context: Madden's "Cautionary Note" on using economic impact studies in the arts (2001); case studies on arts and wellbeing by consultancy firm Effective Change (2003); case studies by DCITA (2003); the Asia Pacific Journal of Arts and Cultural Management (2009) issue on "value"; and Australia Council publications on arts, culture and economy. As Richards has explained, "evaluation is basically a straightforward concept. E-value-ation = a process of enquiry that allows a judgment of amount, value or worth to be made" (99). What makes arts evaluation difficult is not the concept, but the measurement of intangible values—aesthetic quality, expression, engagement or experience. In the literature, discussion has been plagued by debate about what is measured, what method is used, and whether subjective values can in fact be measured. Commentators note that in current practice, questions of value are still deferred because they are too difficult to measure (Bilton and Leary 52), discussed only in terms of economic measures such as market share or satisfaction which are statistically quantifiable (Belfiore and Bennett "Rethinking" 137), or done through un-rigorous surveys that draw only ambiguous, subjective, or selective responses (Merli 110). According to Belfiore and Bennett, Public debate about the value of the arts thus comes to be dominated by what might best be termed the cult of the measurable; and, of course, it is those disciplines primarily concerned with measurement, namely, economics and statistics, which are looked upon to find the evidence that will finally prove why the arts are so important to individuals and societies. A corollary of this is that the humanities are of little use in this investigation. ("Rethinking" 137) Accordingly, Ragsdale states, Arts organizations [still] need to find a way to assess their progress in …making great art that matters to people—as evidenced, perhaps, by increased enthusiasm, frequency of attendance, the capacity and desire to talk or write about one's experience, or in some other way respond to the experience, the curiosity to learn about the art form and the ideas encountered, the depth of emotional response, the quality of the social connections made, and the expansion of one's aesthetics over time. Commentators are still looking for a balanced approach (cf. Geursen and Rentschler; Falk and Dierkling), which evaluates aesthetic practices, business practices, audience response, and results for all parties, in tandem. An approach which evaluates intrinsic impacts, instrumental impacts, and the way each enables the other, in tandem—with an emphasis not on the numbers but on whether we are getting better at what we are doing. And, of course, allows evaluators of arts, cultural and creative activities to use creative arts methods—sketches, stories, bodily movements and relationships and so forth—to provide data to inform the assessment, so they can draw not just on statistical research methods but on arts, culture and humanities research methods. Teaching Artsworkers to Measure the Impact of Their Work: Our Approach As a result of this contested terrain, our method for training artsworkers to measure the impact of their programs has emerged not just from these debates—which tend to conclude by declaring the needs for better methods without providing them—but from a research-teaching nexus in which our own trial-and-error work as consultants to arts, cultural and educational organisations looking to measure the impact of or improve their programs has taught us what is effective. Each of us has worked as managers of professional associations such as Drama Australia and Australasian Association for Theatre, Drama and Performance Studies (ADSA), members of boards or committees for arts organisations such as Youth Arts Queensland and Young People and the Arts Australia (YPAA), as well as consultants to major cultural organisations like the Queensland Performing Arts Centre and the Brisbane Festival. The methods for measuring impact we have developed via this work are based not just on surveys and statistics, but on our own practice as scholars and producers of culture—and are therefore based in arts, culture and humanities approaches. As scholars, we investigate the way marginalised groups tell stories—particularly groups marked by age, gender, race or ability, using community, contemporary and public space performance practices (cf. Hadley, "Bree"; Gattenhof). What we have learned by bringing this sort of scholarly analysis into dialogue with a more systematised approach to articulating impact to government, stakeholders and sponsors is that there is no one-size-fits-all approach. What is needed, instead, is a toolkit, which incorporates central principles and stages, together with qualitative, quantitative and performative tools to track aesthetics, accessibility, inclusivity, capacity-building, creativity etc., as appropriate on a case-by-case basis. Whatever the approach, it is critical that the data track the relationship between the experience the artists, audience or stakeholders anticipated the activity should have, the aspects of the activity that enabled that experience to emerge (or not), and the effect of that (or not) for the arts organisation, their artists, their partners, or their audiences. The combination of methods needs to be selected in consultation with the arts organisation, and the negotiations typically need to include detailed discussion of what should be evaluated (aesthetics, access, inclusivity, or capacity), when it should be evaluated (before, during or after), and how the results should be communicated (including the difference between evaluation for reporting purposes and evaluation for program improvement purposes, and the difference between evaluation and related processes like reflection, documentary-making, or market research). Translating what we have learned through our cultural research and consultancy into a study package for students relies on an understanding of what they want from their study. This, typically, is practical career-ready skills. Students want to produce their own arts, or produce other people's arts, and most have not imagined themselves participating in meta-level processes in which they argue the value of arts, cultural and creative activities (Hadley, "Creating" 652). Accordingly, most have not thought of themselves as researchers, using cultural research methods to create reports that inform how the Australian government values, supports, and services the arts. The first step in teaching students to operate effectively as evaluators of arts, cultural and creative activities is, then, to re-orient their expectations to include this in their understanding of what artsworkers do, what skills artsworkers need, and where they deploy these skills. Simply handing over our own methods, as "the" methods, would not enable graduates to work effectively in a climate were one size will not fit all, and methods for evaluating impact need to be negotiated again for each new context. 1. Understanding the Need for Evaluation: Cause and Effect The first step in encouraging students to become effective evaluators is asking them to map their sector, the major stakeholders, the agendas, alignments and misalignments in what the various players are trying to achieve, and the programs, projects and products through which the players are trying to achieve it. This starting point is drawn from Program Theory—which, as Joon-Yee Kwok argues in her evaluation of the SPARK National Mentoring Program for Young and Emerging Artists (2010) is useful in evaluating cultural activities. The Program Theory approach starts with a flow chart that represents relationships between activities in a program, allowing evaluators to unpack some of the assumptions the program's producers have about what activities have what sort of effect, then test whether they are in fact having that sort of effect (cf. Hall and Hall). It could, for example, start with a flow chart representing the relationship between a community arts policy, a community arts organisation, a community-devised show it is producing, and a blog it has created because it assumes it will allow the public to become more interested in the show the participants are creating, to unpack the assumptions about the sort of effect this is supposed to have, and test whether this is in fact having this sort of effect. Masterclasses, conversations and debate with peers and industry professionals about the agendas, activities and assumptions underpinning programs in their sector allows students to look for elements that may be critical in their programs' ability to achieve (or not) an anticipated impact. In effect to start asking about, "the way things are done now, […] what things are done well, and […] what could be done better" (Australian Government 12).2. Understanding the Nature of Evaluation: PurposeOnce students have been alerted to the need to look for cause-effect assumptions that can determine whether or not their program, project or product is effective, they are asked to consider what data they should be developing about this, why, and for whom. Are they evaluating a program to account to government, stakeholders and sponsors for the money they have spent? To improve the way it works? To use that information to develop innovative new programs in future? In other words, who is the audience? Being aware of the many possible purposes and audiences for evaluation information can allow students to be clear not just about what needs to be evaluated, but the nature of the evaluation they will do—a largely statistical report, versus a narrative summary of experiences, emotions and effects—which may differ depending on the audience.3. Making Decisions about What to Evaluate: Priorities When setting out to measure the impact of arts, cultural or creative activities, many people try to measure everything, measure for the purposes of reporting, improvement and development using the same methods, or gather a range of different sorts of data in the hope that something in it will answer questions about whether an activity is having the anticipated effect, and, if so, how. We ask students to be more selective, making strategic decisions about which anticipated effects of a program, project or product need to be evaluated, whether the evaluation is for reporting, improvement or innovation purposes, and what information stakeholders most require. In addition to the concept of collecting data about critical points where programs succeed or fail in achieving a desired effect, and different approaches for reporting, improvement or development, we ask students to think about the different categories of effect that may be more or less interesting to different stakeholders. This is not an exhaustive list, or a list of things every evaluation should measure. It is a tool to demonstrate to would-be evaluators points of focus that could be developed, depending on the stakeholders' priorities, the purpose of the evaluation, and the critical points at which desired effects need to occur to ensure success. Without such framing, evaluators are likely to end up with unusable data, which become a difficulty to deal with rather than a benefit for the artsworkers, arts organisations or stakeholders. 4. Methods for Evaluation: Process To be effective, methods for collecting data about how arts, cultural or creative activities have (or fail to have) anticipated impact need to include conventional survey, interview and focus group style tools, and creative or performative tools such as discussion, documentation or observation. We encourage students to use creative practice to draw out people's experience of arts events—for example, observation, documentation still images, video or audio documentation, or facilitated development of sketches, stories or scenes about an experience, can be used to register and record people's feelings. These sorts of methods can capture what Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi calls "flow" of experience (cf. Belfiore and Bennett, "Determinants" 232)—for example, photos of a festival space at hourly intervals or the colours a child uses to convey memory of a performance can capture to flow of movement, engagement, and experience for spectators more clearly than statistics. These, together with conventional surveys or interviews that comment on the feelings expressed, allow for a combination of quantitative, qualitative and performative data to demonstrate impact. The approach becomes arts- and humanities- based, using arts methods to encourage people to talk, write or otherwise respond to their experience in terms of emotion, connection, community, or expansion of aesthetics. The evaluator still needs to draw out the meaning of the responses through content, text or discourse analysis, and teaching students how to do a content analysis of quantitative, qualitative and performative data is critical at this stage. When teaching students how to evaluate their data, our method encourages students not just to focus on the experience, or the effect of the experience, but the relationship between the two—the things that act as "enablers" "determinants" (White and Hede; Belfiore and Bennett, "Determinants" passim) of effect. This approach allows the evaluator to use a combination of conventional and creative methods to describe not just what effect an activity had, but, more critically, what enabled it to have that effect, providing a firmer platform for discussing the impact, and how it could be replicated, developed or deepened next time, than a list of effects and numbers of people who felt those effects alone. 5. Communicating Results: Politics Often arts, cultural or creative organisations can be concerned about the image of their work an evaluation will create. The final step in our approach is to alert students to the professional, political and ethical implications of evaluation. Students learn to share their knowledge with organisations, encouraging them to see the value of reporting both correct and incorrect assumptions about the impact of their activities, as part of a continuous improvement process. Then we assist them in drawing the results of this sort of cultural research into planning, development and training documents which may assist the organisation in improving in the future. In effect, it is about encouraging organisations to take the Australian government at its word when, in the National Cultural Policy Discussion Paper, it says it that measuring impact is about measuring progress—what we do well, what we could do better, and how, not just success statistics about who is most successful—as it is this that will ultimately be most useful in creating an inclusive, innovative, productive Australia. Teaching Artsworkers to Measure the Impact of Their Work: The Impact of Our Approach What, then, is the impact of our training on graduates' ability to measure the impact of work? Have we made measurable progress in our efforts to teach artsworkers to assess and articulate the impact of their work? The MCI (CP&amp;AM) has been offered for three years. Our approach is still emergent and experimental. We have, though, identified a number of impacts of our work. First, our students are less fearful of becoming involved in measuring the value or impact of arts, cultural and creative programs. This is evidenced by the number who chooses to do some sort of evaluation for their Major Project, a 15,000 word individual project or internship which concludes their degree. Of the 50 or so students who have reached the Major Project in three years—35 completed and 15 in planning for 2012—about a third have incorporated evaluation into their Major Project. This includes evaluation of sector, business or producing models (5), youth arts and youth arts mentorship programs (4), audience development programs (2), touring programs (4), and even other arts management training programs (1). Indeed, after internships in programming or producing roles, this work—aligned with the Government's interest in improving training of young artists, touring, audience development, and economic development—has become a most popular Major Project option. This has enabled students to work with a range of arts, cultural and creative organisations, share their training—their methods, their understanding of what their methods can measure, when, and how—with Industry. Second, this Industry-engaged training has helped graduates in securing employment. This is evidenced by the fact that graduates have gone on to be employed with organisations they have interned with as part of their Major Project, or other organisations, including some of Brisbane's biggest cultural organisations—local and state government departments, Queensland Performing Arts Centre, Brisbane Festival, Metro Arts, Backbone Youth Arts, and Youth Arts Queensland, amongst others. Thirdly, graduates' contribution to local organisations and industry has increased the profile of a relatively new program. This is evidenced by the fact that it enrols 40 to 50 new students a year across Graduate Certificate / MCI (CP&amp;AM) programs, typically two thirds domestic students and one third international students from Canada, Germany, France, Denmark, Norway and, of course, China. Indeed, some students are now disseminating this work globally, undertaking their Major Project as an internship or industry project with an organisation overseas. In effect, our training's impact emerges not just from our research, or our training, but from the fact that our graduates disseminate our approach to a range of arts, cultural and creative organisations in a practical way. We have, as a result, expanded the audience for this approach, and the number of people and contexts via which it is being adapted and made useful. Whilst few of students come into our program with a desire to do this sort of work, or even a working knowledge of the policy that informs it, on completion many consider it a viable part of their practice and career pathway. When they realise what they can achieve, and what it can mean to the organisations they work with, they do incorporate research, research consultant and government roles as part of their career portfolio, and thus make a contribution to the strong cultural sector the Government envisages in the National Cultural Policy Discussion Paper. Our work as scholars, practitioners and educators has thus enabled us to take a long-term, processual and grassroots approach to reshaping agendas for approaches to this form of cultural research, as our practices are adopted and adapted by students and industry stakeholders. Given the challenges commentators have identified in creating and disseminating effective evaluation methods in arts over the past decade, this, for us—though by no means work that is complete—does count as measurable progress. References Beckerman, Gary. "Adventuring Arts Entrepreneurship Curricula in Higher Education: An Examination of Present Efforts, Obstacles, and Best pPractices." The Journal of Arts Management, Law, and Society 37.2 (2007): 87-112. Belfiore, Eleaonora, and Oliver Bennett. "Determinants of Impact: Towards a Better Understanding of Encounters with the Arts." Cultural Trends 16.3 (2007): 225-75. ———. "Rethinking the Social Impacts of the Arts." International Journal of Cultural Policy 13.2 (2007): 135-51. Bilton, Chris, and Ruth Leary. "What Can Managers Do for Creativity? Brokering Creativity in the Creative Industries." International Journal of Cultural Policy 8.1 (2002): 49-64. Brkic, Aleksandar. "Teaching Arts Management: Where Did We Lose the Core Ideas?" Journal of Arts Management, Law and Society 38.4 (2009): 270-80. Czikszentmihalyi, Mihaly. "A Systems Perspective on Creativity." Creative Management. Ed. Jane Henry. Sage: London, 2001. 11-26. Australian Government. "National Cultural Policy Discussion Paper." Department of Prime Minster and Cabinet – Office for the Arts 2011. 1 Oct. 2011 ‹http://culture.arts.gov.au/discussion-paper›. Ebewo, Patrick, and Mzo Sirayi. "The Concept of Arts/Cultural Management: A Critical Reflection." Journal of Arts Management, Law and Society 38.4 (2009): 281-95. Effective Change and VicHealth. Creative Connections: Promoting Mental Health and Wellbeing through Community Arts Participation 2003. 1 Oct. 2011 ‹http://www.vichealth.vic.gov.au/en/Publications/Social-connection/Creative-Connections.aspx›. Effective Change. Evaluating Community Arts and Community Well Being 2003. 1 Oct. 2011 ‹http://www.arts.vic.gov.au/Research_and_Resources/Resources/Evaluating_Community_Arts_and_Wellbeing›. Falk, John H., and Lynn. D Dierking. "Re-Envisioning Success in the Cultural Sector." Cultural Trends 17.4 (2008): 233-46. Gattenhof, Sandra. "Sandra Gattenhof." QUT ePrints Article Repository. Queensland University of Technology, 2011. 1 Oct. 2011 ‹http://eprints.qut.edu.au/view/person/Gattenhof,_Sandra.html›. Geursen, Gus and Ruth Rentschler. "Unravelling Cultural Value." The Journal of Arts Management, Law and Society 33.3 (2003): 196-210. Hall, Irene and David Hall. Evaluation and Social Research: Introducing Small Scale Practice. London: Palgrave McMillan, 2004. Hadley, Bree. "Bree Hadley." QUT ePrints Article Repository. Queensland University of Technology, 2011. 1 Oct. 2011 ‹http://eprints.qut.edu.au/view/person/Hadley,_Bree.html›. ———. "Creating Successful Cultural Brokers: The Pros and Cons of a Community of Practice Approach in Arts Management Education." Asia Pacific Journal of Arts and Cultural Management 8.1 (2011): 645-59. Kwok, Joon. When Sparks Fly: Developing Formal Mentoring Programs for the Career Development of Young and Emerging Artists. Masters Thesis. Brisbane: Queensland University of Technology, 2010. Madden, Christopher. "Using 'Economic' Impact Studies in Arts and Cultural Advocacy: A Cautionary Note." Media International Australia, Incorporating Culture &amp; Policy 98 (2001): 161-78. Matarasso, Francis. Use or Ornament? The Social Impact of Participation in the Arts. Bournes Greens, Stroud: Comedia, 1997. McCarthy, Kevin. F., Elizabeth H. Ondaatje, Laura Zakaras, and Arthur Brooks. Gifts of the Muse: Reframing the Debate about the Benefits of the Arts. Santa Monica: RAND Corporation, 2004. Merli, Paola. "Evaluating the Social Impact of Participation in Arts Activities." International Journal of Cultural Policy 8.1 (2002): 107-18. Muir, Jan. The Regional Impact of Cultural Programs: Some Case Study Findings. Communications Research Unit - DCITA, 2003. Ragsdale, Diana. "Keynote - Surviving the Culture Change." Australia Council Arts Marketing Summit. Australia Council for the Arts: 2008. Richards, Alison. "Evaluation Approaches." Creative Collaboration: Artists and Communities. Melbourne: Victorian College of the Arts, University of Melbourne, 2006. Sikes, Michael. "Higher Education Training in Arts Administration: A Millennial and Metaphoric Reappraisal. Journal of Arts Management, Law and Society 30.2 (2000): 91-101.White, Tabitha, and Anne-Marie Hede. "Using Narrative Inquiry to Explore the Impact of Art on Individuals." Journal of Arts Management, Law, and Society 38.1 (2008): 19-35.

A common criticism of the rhythm video games genre — including series like Guitar Hero and Rock Band, is that playing musical simulation games is a waste of time when you could be playing an actual guitar and learning a real skill. A more serious criticism of games cultures draws attention to the degree of e-waste they produce. E-waste or electronic waste includes mobiles phones, computers, televisions and other electronic devices, containing toxic chemicals and metals whose landfill, recycling and salvaging all produce distinct environmental and social problems. The e-waste produced by games like Guitar Hero is obvious in the regular flow of merchandise transforming computer and video games stores into simulation music stores, filled with replica guitars, drum kits, microphones and other products whose half-lives are short and whose obsolescence is anticipated in the annual cycles of consumption and disposal. This paper explores the connection between e-waste and obsolescence in the games industry, and argues for the further consideration of consumers as part of the solution to the problem of e-waste. It uses a case study of the PC digital distribution software platform, Steam, to suggest that the digital distribution of games may offer an alternative model to market driven software and hardware obsolescence, and more generally, that such software platforms might be a place to support cultures of consumption that delay rather than promote hardware obsolescence and its inevitability as e-waste. The question is whether there exists a potential for digital distribution to be a means of not only eliminating the need to physically transport commodities (its current 'green' benefit), but also for supporting consumer practices that further reduce e-waste. The games industry relies on a rapid production and innovation cycle, one that actively enforces hardware obsolescence. Current video game consoles, including the PlayStation 3, the Xbox 360 and Nintendo Wii, are the seventh generation of home gaming consoles to appear within forty years, and each generation is accompanied by an immense international transportation of games hardware, software (in various storage formats) and peripherals. Obsolescence also occurs at the software or content level and is significant because the games industry as a creative industry is dependent on the extensive management of multiple intellectual properties. The computing and video games software industry operates a close partnership with the hardware industry, and as such, software obsolescence directly contributes to hardware obsolescence. The obsolescence of content and the redundancy of the methods of policing its scarcity in the marketplace has been accelerated and altered by the processes of disintermediation with a range of outcomes (Flew). The music industry is perhaps the most advanced in terms of disintermediation with digital distribution at the center of the conflict between the legitimate and unauthorised access to intellectual property. This points to one issue with the hypothesis that digital distribution can lead to a reduction in hardware obsolescence, as the marketplace leader and key online distributor of music, Apple, is also the major producer of new media technologies and devices that are the paragon of stylistic obsolescence. Stylistic obsolescence, in which fashion changes products across seasons of consumption, has long been observed as the dominant form of scaled industrial innovation (Slade). Stylistic obsolescence is differentiated from mechanical or technological obsolescence as the deliberate supersedence of products by more advanced designs, better production techniques and other minor innovations. The line between the stylistic and technological obsolescence is not always clear, especially as reduced durability has become a powerful market strategy (Fitzpatrick). This occurs where the design of technologies is subsumed within the discourses of manufacturing, consumption and the logic of planned obsolescence in which the product or parts are intended to fail, degrade or under perform over time. It is especially the case with signature new media technologies such as laptop computers, mobile phones and portable games devices. Gamers are as guilty as other consumer groups in contributing to e-waste as participants in the industry's cycles of planned obsolescence, but some of them complicate discussions over the future of obsolescence and e-waste. Many gamers actively work to forestall the obsolescence of their games: they invest time in the play of older games (“retrogaming”) they donate labor and creative energy to the production of user-generated content as a means of sustaining involvement in gaming communities; and they produce entirely new game experiences for other users, based on existing software and hardware modifications known as 'mods'. With Guitar Hero and other 'rhythm' games it would be easy to argue that the hardware components of this genre have only one future: as waste. Alternatively, we could consider the actual lifespan of these objects (including their impact as e-waste) and the roles they play in the performances and practices of communities of gamers. For example, the Elmo Guitar Hero controller mod, the Tesla coil Guitar Hero controller interface, the Rock Band Speak n' Spellbinder mashup, the multiple and almost sacrilegious Fender guitar hero mods, the Guitar Hero Portable Turntable Mod and MAKE magazine's Trumpet Hero all indicate a significant diversity of user innovation, community formation and individual investment in the post-retail life of computer and video game hardware. Obsolescence is not just a problem for the games industry but for the computing and electronics industries more broadly as direct contributors to the social and environmental cost of electrical waste and obsolete electrical equipment. Planned obsolescence has long been the experience of gamers and computer users, as the basis of a utopian mythology of upgrades (Dovey and Kennedy). For PC users the upgrade pathway is traversed by the consumption of further hardware and software post initial purchase in a cycle of endless consumption, acquisition and waste (as older parts are replaced and eventually discarded). The accumulation and disposal of these cultural artefacts does not devalue or accrue in space or time at the same rate (Straw) and many users will persist for years, gradually upgrading and delaying obsolescence and even perpetuate the circulation of older cultural commodities. Flea markets and secondhand fairs are popular sites for the purchase of new, recent, old, and recycled computer hardware, and peripherals. Such practices and parallel markets support the strategies of 'making do' described by De Certeau, but they also continue the cycle of upgrade and obsolescence, and they are still consumed as part of the promise of the 'new', and the desire of a purchase that will finally 'fix' the users' computer in a state of completion (29). The planned obsolescence of new media technologies is common, but its success is mixed; for example, support for Microsoft's operating system Windows XP was officially withdrawn in April 2009 (Robinson), but due to the popularity in low cost PC 'netbooks' outfitted with an optimised XP operating system and a less than enthusiastic response to the 'next generation' Windows Vista, XP continues to be popular. Digital Distribution: A Solution? Gamers may be able to reduce the accumulation of e-waste by supporting the disintermediation of the games retail sector by means of online distribution. Disintermediation is the establishment of a direct relationship between the creators of content and their consumers through products and services offered by content producers (Flew 201). The move to digital distribution has already begun to reduce the need to physically handle commodities, but this currently signals only further support of planned, stylistic and technological obsolescence, increasing the rate at which the commodities for recording, storing, distributing and exhibiting digital content become e-waste. Digital distribution is sometimes overlooked as a potential means for promoting communities of user practice dedicated to e-waste reduction, at the same time it is actively employed to reduce the potential for the unregulated appropriation of content and restrict post-purchase sales through Digital Rights Management (DRM) technologies. Distributors like Amazon.com continue to pursue commercial opportunities in linking the user to digital distribution of content via exclusive hardware and software technologies. The Amazon e-book reader, the Kindle, operates via a proprietary mobile network using a commercially run version of the wireless 3G protocols. The e-book reader is heavily encrypted with Digital Rights Management (DRM) technologies and exclusive digital book formats designed to enforce current copyright restrictions and eliminate second-hand sales, lending, and further post-purchase distribution. The success of this mode of distribution is connected to Amazon's ability to tap both the mainstream market and the consumer demand for the less-than-popular; those books, movies, music and television series that may not have been 'hits' at the time of release. The desire to revisit forgotten niches, such as B-sides, comics, books, and older video games, suggests Chris Anderson, linked with so-called “long tail” economics. Recently Webb has queried the economic impact of the Long Tail as a business strategy, but does not deny the underlying dynamics, which suggest that content does not obsolesce in any straightforward way. Niche markets for older content are nourished by participatory cultures and Web 2.0 style online services. A good example of the Long Tail phenomenon is the recent case of the 1971 book A Lion Called Christian, by Anthony Burke and John Rendall, republished after the author's film of a visit to a resettled Christian in Africa was popularised on YouTube in 2008. Anderson's Long Tail theory suggests that over time a large number of items, each with unique rather than mass histories, will be subsumed as part of a larger community of consumers, including fans, collectors and everyday users with a long term interest in their use and preservation. If digital distribution platforms can reduce e-waste, they can perhaps be fostered by to ensuring digital consumers have access to morally and ethically aware consumer decisions, but also that they enjoy traditional consumer freedoms, such as the right to sell on and change or modify their property. For it is not only the fixation on the 'next generation' that contributes to obsolescence, but also technologies like DRM systems that discourage second hand sales and restrict modification. The legislative upgrades, patches and amendments to copyright law that have attempted to maintain the law's effectiveness in competing with peer-to-peer networks have supported DRM and other intellectual property enforcement technologies, despite the difficulties that owners of intellectual property have encountered with the effectiveness of DRM systems (Moore, Creative). The games industry continues to experiment with DRM, however, this industry also stands out as one of the few to have significantly incorporated the user within the official modes of production (Moore, Commonising). Is the games industry capable (or willing) of supporting a digital delivery system that attempts to minimise or even reverse software and hardware obsolescence? We can try to answer this question by looking in detail at the biggest digital distributor of PC games, Steam. Steam Figure 1: The Steam Application user interface retail section Steam is a digital distribution system designed for the Microsoft Windows operating system and operated by American video game development company and publisher, Valve Corporation. Steam combines online games retail, DRM technologies and internet-based distribution services with social networking and multiplayer features (in-game voice and text chat, user profiles, etc) and direct support for major games publishers, independent producers, and communities of user-contributors (modders). Steam, like the iTunes games store, Xbox Live and other digital distributors, provides consumers with direct digital downloads of new, recent and classic titles that can be accessed remotely by the user from any (internet equipped) location. Steam was first packaged with the physical distribution of Half Life 2 in 2004, and the platform's eventual popularity is tied to the success of that game franchise. Steam was not an optional component of the game's installation and many gamers protested in various online forums, while the platform was treated with suspicion by the global PC games press. It did not help that Steam was at launch everything that gamers take objection to: a persistent and initially 'buggy' piece of software that sits in the PC's operating system and occupies limited memory resources at the cost of hardware performance. Regular updates to the Steam software platform introduced social network features just as mainstream sites like MySpace and Facebook were emerging, and its popularity has undergone rapid subsequent growth. Steam now eclipses competitors with more than 20 million user accounts (Leahy) and Valve Corporation makes it publicly known that Steam collects large amounts of data about its users. This information is available via the public player profile in the community section of the Steam application. It includes the average number of hours the user plays per week, and can even indicate the difficulty the user has in navigating game obstacles. Valve reports on the number of users on Steam every two hours via its web site, with a population on average between one and two million simultaneous users (Valve, Steam). We know these users’ hardware profiles because Valve Corporation makes the results of its surveillance public knowledge via the Steam Hardware Survey. Valve’s hardware survey itself conceptualises obsolescence in two ways. First, it uses the results to define the 'cutting edge' of PC technologies and publishing the standards of its own high end production hardware on the companies blog. Second, the effect of the Survey is to subsequently define obsolescent hardware: for example, in the Survey results for April 2009, we can see that the slight majority of users maintain computers with two central processing units while a significant proportion (almost one third) of users still maintained much older PCs with a single CPU. Both effects of the Survey appear to be well understood by Valve: the Steam Hardware Survey automatically collects information about the community's computer hardware configurations and presents an aggregate picture of the stats on our web site. The survey helps us make better engineering and gameplay decisions, because it makes sure we're targeting machines our customers actually use, rather than measuring only against the hardware we've got in the office. We often get asked about the configuration of the machines we build around the office to do both game and Steam development. We also tend to turn over machines in the office pretty rapidly, at roughly every 18 months. (Valve, Team Fortress) Valve’s support of older hardware might counter perceptions that older PCs have no use and begins to reverse decades of opinion regarding planned and stylistic obsolescence in the PC hardware and software industries. Equally significant to the extension of the lives of older PCs is Steam's support for mods and its promotion of user generated content. By providing software for mod creation and distribution, Steam maximises what Postigo calls the development potential of fan-programmers. One of the 'payoffs' in the information/access exchange for the user with Steam is the degree to which Valve's End-User Licence Agreement (EULA) permits individuals and communities of 'modders' to appropriate its proprietary game content for use in the creation of new games and games materials for redistribution via Steam. These mods extend the play of the older games, by requiring their purchase via Steam in order for the individual user to participate in the modded experience. If Steam is able to encourage this kind of appropriation and community support for older content, then the potential exists for it to support cultures of consumption and practice of use that collaboratively maintain, extend, and prolong the life and use of games. Further, Steam incorporates the insights of “long tail” economics in a purely digital distribution model, in which the obsolescence of 'non-hit' game titles can be dramatically overturned. Published in November 2007, Unreal Tournament 3 (UT3) by Epic Games, was unappreciated in a market saturated with games in the first-person shooter genre. Epic republished UT3 on Steam 18 months later, making the game available to play for free for one weekend, followed by discounted access to new content. The 2000 per cent increase in players over the game's 'free' trial weekend, has translated into enough sales of the game for Epic to no longer consider the release a commercial failure: It’s an incredible precedent to set: making a game a success almost 18 months after a poor launch. It’s something that could only have happened now, and with a system like Steam...Something that silently updates a purchase with patches and extra content automatically, so you don’t have to make the decision to seek out some exciting new feature: it’s just there anyway. Something that, if you don’t already own it, advertises that game to you at an agreeably reduced price whenever it loads. Something that enjoys a vast community who are in turn plugged into a sea of smaller relevant communities. It’s incredibly sinister. It’s also incredibly exciting... (Meer) Clearly concerns exist about Steam's user privacy policy, but this also invites us to the think about the economic relationship between gamers and games companies as it is reconfigured through the private contractual relationship established by the EULA which accompanies the digital distribution model. The games industry has established contractual and licensing arrangements with its consumer base in order to support and reincorporate emerging trends in user generated cultures and other cultural formations within its official modes of production (Moore, "Commonising"). When we consider that Valve gets to tax sales of its virtual goods and can further sell the information farmed from its users to hardware manufacturers, it is reasonable to consider the relationship between the corporation and its gamers as exploitative. Gabe Newell, the Valve co-founder and managing director, conversely believes that people are willing to give up personal information if they feel it is being used to get better services (Leahy). If that sentiment is correct then consumers may be willing to further trade for services that can reduce obsolescence and begin to address the problems of e-waste from the ground up. Conclusion Clearly, there is a potential for digital distribution to be a means of not only eliminating the need to physically transport commodities but also supporting consumer practices that further reduce e-waste. For an industry where only a small proportion of the games made break even, the successful relaunch of older games content indicates Steam's capacity to ameliorate software obsolescence. Digital distribution extends the use of commercially released games by providing disintermediated access to older and user-generated content. For Valve, this occurs within a network of exchange as access to user-generated content, social networking services, and support for the organisation and coordination of communities of gamers is traded for user-information and repeat business. Evidence for whether this will actively translate to an equivalent decrease in the obsolescence of game hardware might be observed with indicators like the Steam Hardware Survey in the future. The degree of potential offered by digital distribution is disrupted by a range of technical, commercial and legal hurdles, primary of which is the deployment of DRM, as part of a range of techniques designed to limit consumer behaviour post purchase. While intervention in the form of legislation and radical change to the insidious nature of electronics production is crucial in order to achieve long term reduction in e-waste, the user is currently considered only in terms of 'ethical' consumption and ultimately divested of responsibility through participation in corporate, state and civil recycling and e-waste management operations. The message is either 'careful what you purchase' or 'careful how you throw it away' and, like DRM, ignores the connections between product, producer and user and the consumer support for environmentally, ethically and socially positive production, distribrution, disposal and recycling. This article, has adopted a different strategy, one that sees digital distribution platforms like Steam, as capable, if not currently active, in supporting community practices that should be seriously considered in conjunction with a range of approaches to the challenge of obsolescence and e-waste. References Anderson, Chris. "The Long Tail." Wired Magazine 12. 10 (2004). 20 Apr. 2009 ‹http://www.wired.com/wired/archive/12.10/tail.html›. De Certeau, Michel. The Practice of Everyday Life. Berkeley: U of California P, 1984. Dovey, Jon, and Helen Kennedy. Game Cultures: Computer Games as New Media. London: Open University Press,2006. Fitzpatrick, Kathleen. The Anxiety of Obsolescence. Nashville: Vanderbilt UP, 2008. Flew, Terry. New Media: An Introduction. South Melbourne: Oxford UP, 2008. Leahy, Brian. "Live Blog: DICE 2009 Keynote - Gabe Newell, Valve Software." The Feed. G4TV 18 Feb. 2009. 16 Apr. 2009 ‹http://g4tv.com/thefeed/blog/post/693342/Live-Blog-DICE-2009-Keynote-–-Gabe-Newell-Valve-Software.html›. Meer, Alec. "Unreal Tournament 3 and the New Lazarus Effect." Rock, Paper, Shotgun 16 Mar. 2009. 24 Apr. 2009 ‹http://www.rockpapershotgun.com/2009/03/16/unreal-tournament-3-and-the-new-lazarus-effect/›.Moore, Christopher. "Commonising the Enclosure: Online Games and Reforming Intellectual Property Regimes." Australian Journal of Emerging Technologies and Society 3. 2, (2005). 12 Apr. 2009 ‹http://www.swin.edu.au/sbs/ajets/journal/issue5-V3N2/abstract_moore.htm›. Moore, Christopher. "Creative Choices: Changes to Australian Copyright Law and the Future of the Public Domain." Media International Australia 114 (Feb. 2005): 71–83. Postigo, Hector. "Of Mods and Modders: Chasing Down the Value of Fan-Based Digital Game Modification." Games and Culture 2 (2007): 300-13. Robinson, Daniel. "Windows XP Support Runs Out Next Week." PC Business Authority 8 Apr. 2009. 16 Apr. 2009 ‹http://www.pcauthority.com.au/News/142013,windows-xp-support-runs-out-next-week.aspx›. Straw, Will. "Exhausted Commodities: The Material Culture of Music." Canadian Journal of Communication 25.1 (2000): 175. Slade, Giles. Made to Break: Technology and Obsolescence in America. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 2006. Valve. "Steam and Game Stats." 26 Apr. 2009 ‹http://store.steampowered.com/stats/›. Valve. "Team Fortress 2: The Scout Update." Steam Marketing Message 20 Feb. 2009. 12 Apr. 2009 ‹http://storefront.steampowered.com/Steam/Marketing/message/2269/›. Webb, Richard. "Online Shopping and the Harry Potter Effect." New Scientist 2687 (2008): 52-55. 16 Apr. 2009 ‹http://www.newscientist.com/article/mg20026873.300-online-shopping-and-the-harry-potter-effect.html?page=2›. With thanks to Dr Nicola Evans and Dr Frances Steel for their feedback and comments on drafts of this paper.

In 2019, Mattel introduced a series of Barbie dolls in connection with National Geographic which included a Polar Marine Biologist, an Entomologist, a Wildlife Photojournalist, and a mostly "made from recycled ocean-bound plastic" Barbie ("Mattel Launches Barbie Loves the Ocean") followed in 2021. One year later, the company issued an "Eco-Leadership Team" composed of a Conservation Scientist, a Renewable Energy Engineer, Chief Sustainability Officer, and Environmental Advocate. This can be understood as an attempt to introduce children to the urgency of ecological issues and communicating to them the importance of research into climate change in an age-appropriate manner. Yet, despite the pedagogical opportunities the dolls might offer, I argue that their introduction and presentation primarily represents an instance of greenwashing, "the act or practice of making a product, policy, activity, etc. appear to be more environmentally friendly or less environmentally damaging than it really is" (Merriam-Webster). In order to support my thesis, I will analyse four issues: first, I will have a closer look at the way in which the four "Eco-Leadership" dolls express ecological concerns. I will then turn to the material Barbie is made of, plastic, and examine its environmental impact together with Mattel's "The Future of Pink Is Green" campaign. Next, I will discuss the conspicuous consumption Barbie models, focussing on the Malibu Dream House. I will address how this is entangled with settler colonialism in the fourth and final part. Eco-Leadership Barbie? The "Eco-Leadership" set, billed as "2022 Career of the Year" collection, consists of four dolls. They come in a cardboard box so that the toys are not immediately visible, and their accessories are stored in a paper bag inside. On the one hand, this makes the dolls less appealing, depriving the potential consumers of visual pleasure. On the other hand, this generates an element of suspense, much like a wrapped present. In keeping with Mattel's slogan "The Future of Pink Is Green", the colour pink is toned down, even though each doll sports at least one accessory in this colour. The toys are sold as a team, thus perhaps suggesting that "eco-leadership" is a collaborative project, which departs from the emphasis on individualism otherwise suggested by Barbie packaging. In their promotional material, Mattel mentions that all of the professional fields the dolls represent are male-dominated ("Barbie Eco-Leadership Team"). The combination of the careers featured makes a telling statement about Mattel's framing of ecological issues. First, there is a Conservation Scientist with binoculars and a notebook, implying that she is undertaking research on larger animals, presumably endangered species. Such a focus on mammals tends to downplay structural issues and the "slow violence" that affects ecological systems, as Arno Hölzer has argued (65). She is joined by a Renewable Energy Engineer with a solar panel, referencing the least controversial form of "green energy". Significantly, this is the classic blond Barbie. Together, these two dolls suggest that science and technology will find solutions to current ecological crises, global warming, et cetera (not that such issues are explicitly mentioned). The third doll is advertised as Chief Sustainability Officer. "She works with a company or organization to make sure their actions and products are economically, environmentally and socially sustainable", as Mattel puts it ("Barbie Eco-Leadership Team"). Here, businesses are portrayed not as the source of environmental pollution, but as part of the solution to the problem. While this is not entirely false, this particular approach to environmental issues is severely limited, firmly remaining within a neoliberal, capitalist ideology. It reflects what Dan Brockington and Rosaleen Duffy, following Sklair, term "mainstream conservation", which "proposes resolutions to environmental problems that hinge on heightened commodity production and consumption" (4). In this context, a company's promotion of "ethical consumption" "achieves its ethically positive results by not counting various aspects of the production and consumption of its commodities" (9). Finally, there's the Environmental Advocate – not activist (the term was probably too controversial). She is always mentioned last. Her poster reads: "Barbie loves the earth", possibly the most inane ecological slogan ever devised. It is made of plastic. Acquainting children with ecological issues in an age-appropriate manner is an important task. Playing environmental advocate, or scientist, might certainly be more educational in terms of ecological issues than many of the other career options the "I can be anything" series features. But the absence of a politician in the set, for instance, speaks volumes. The "recipe" for sustainability the dolls embody only requires a heavy dose of science and technology, whipped up by well-meaning entrepreneurship, with a little love for the planet sprinkled on top. One gets a prettier picture if one looks at the toys from different perspectives. The group is rather diverse, with a Black Conservation Scientist, an Environmental Advocate of Asian descent, and a Chief Sustainability Officer that might be Latinx, and "curvy". Again, though, there is a glaring omission. Indigenous people are not included, despite the fact that, due to environmental racism, they are among the communities most dramatically affected by environmental pollution. Benjamin F. Chavis Jr., who coined the term "environmental racism," defined it as racial discrimination in environmental policy-making, enforcement of regulations and laws, the deliberate targeting of communities of color for toxic waste disposal and the siting of polluting industries … , [and] the history of excluding people of color from the mainstream environmental groups, decision-making boards, commissions, and regulatory bodies. (Chavis 3) The consequences for Native Americans were and are severe. By 1999, Winona LaDuke notes, 317 reservations … [were] threatened by environmental hazards … . Reservations have been targeted as sites for 16 proposed nuclear waste dumps [and] [o]ver 100 … toxic waste [sites] … . There have been 1,000 atomic explosions on Western Shoshone land in Nevada, making the Western Shoshone the most bombed nation on earth. (LaDuke 2-3) The absence of an Indigenous doll in the Barbie "Eco-Leadership Team" is also noteworthy considering the long history of Native American and First Nations resistance to habitat destruction and environmental degradation, from nineteenth-century Lakota Little Thunder and Anishnaabe leader Wabunoquod (LaDuke 3, 5) to the #NoDAPL movement (Gilio-Whitaker 1-13). Following Robin Wall Kimmerer, one could even argue that sustainability, or "beneficial relations between people and the environment", are integral to Native (here: Potawatomi) culture (Kimmerer 6). On a very different note, any ecological consideration of Barbie dolls must also address their material properties. According to Mattel, the four dolls "are made from recycled plastic … , wear clothing made from recycled fabric and are certified CarbonNeutral® products" ("Barbie Eco-Leadership Team"). This does not apply to the heads and the hair, however – arguably the most distinctive parts of the toys. This had already been the case with the "Barbie Loves the Ocean" series ("Mattel Launches Barbie Loves the Ocean") – apparently, this is not an issue that can easily be fixed. In other words, only some components of the dolls are manufactured from recycled plastic. Further, in 2022, over 175 different Barbie dolls circulated, of which at least 166 were not made from recycled plastic (Google). To speak of "eco-leadership" is thus rather misleading. To further examine this, I want to have a closer look at the materials the dolls consist of. Life in Plastic… For a while now, it has become common knowledge that "life in plastic" might not be so "fantastic" after all, Aqua's song notwithstanding. Plastic pollution of the oceans is a huge problem, killing birds, whales, and other seaborne animals; so are non-biodegradable plastic landfill, neo-colonial waste export, the detrimental health effects of phthalates in plastic, and so on (Moore, Freinkel). But what James Marriott and Mika Minio-Paluello call the uneven "distribution of violence" during the transformation of fossil fuel into plastic is less well known. Oil production and transport are frequently militarised, they show, with company interests taking precedence over human rights (173-74, 176). Heavily guarded pipelines cut through traditional grazing and farming areas, endangering people's livelihoods as well as local ecosystems (Marriott and Minio-Paluello 176, 178-79). To the consumers who buy the plastic produced from this oil, such violence is invisible, not least because production processes and their environmental consequences are actively screened from view by fossil fuel companies and local governments (173-74). "Although these social and environmental impacts are inherent within its constitution, the plastic product in its uniformity is seemingly wiped clean of all that violence and disruption", the authors conclude (181). Where these matters have rarely been discussed in academic research on Barbie, they garnered significant public interest around the time the movie was released in 2023. That the film itself received the Environmental Media Association (EMA) gold seal (Plastic Pollution Coalition) did not lay such concerns to rest. "After the movie frenzy fades, how do we avoid tonnes of Barbie dolls going to landfill?", Alan Pears asked in The Conversation. Waste Online highlighted the "Not-So-Pretty Side of Plastic Toys", Tatler headlined "How Barbie is making climate change worse", and in Medium, Eric Young even aimed to show "How To Save The World from the Toxicity of Barbie!" (with an exclamation rather than a question mark). Based on a 2022 study by Sarah Levesque, Madeline Robertson, and Christie Klimas, Pears noted that "every 182 gram doll caused about 660 grams of carbon emissions, including plastic production, manufacture and transport" (Pears 2). According to Duke Ines, CEO of Lonely Whale, a campaign devoted to protecting the oceans, "80% of all toys end up in a landfill, incinerators, or the ocean" (Mendez 3). Discarded toys make up around 6% of all plastic in landfills (Levesque et al. 777). There are estimates that, by 2030, in the US emissions from plastic production will supersede those from coal (Pears 2). Mattel seems to have recognised the problem. In 2021, the company announced its "The Future of Pink Is Green" campaign as part of its "goal to use 100% recycled, recyclable or bio-based plastic materials and packaging by 2030" ("Mattel Launches" 2). The efforts include educational vlogger episodes and Mattel PlayBack, a toy return program aimed at recycling materials in toy production. With Barbie, this is difficult, though. As Dorothea Ruffin and others have noted, the dolls are composed of different kinds of plastics. The heads consist of hard vinyl, with water-based spray paint used for the eyes; the torso is manufactured from ABS (acrylonitrile butadiene-styrene), the arms of EVA (ethylene-vinyl acetate), and the legs of polypropylene and PVC (polyvinyl chloride) (Ruffin 2). This makes recycling difficult, perhaps even unfeasible. So in effect, I agree with environmental educator Kristy Drutman that Mattel's eco-friendly self-presentation currently qualifies as greenwashing (Mendez 2). With Lyon's and Maxwell's description of the practice as "selective disclosure of positive information about a company's environmental or social performance, without full disclosure of negative information on these dimensions, so as to create an overly positive corporate image" (9) as reference point, it becomes clear that Mattel's strategy perfectly fits this pattern. Their recycling efforts concern only a small number of the Barbie dolls they produce, and even those are only partly fashioned from salvaged material. Both the release of the "Eco-Leadership" set and the "The Future of Pink Is Green" campaign seem designed primarily to bolster the company's reputation. Conspicuous Consumption and the Malibu Dream House A central component of the problem is the scale of plastic toy consumption, as Levesque et al. observe. Mattel sells around 60 million Barbies annually (Ruffin 2). This amounts to over one billion dolls since 1959 (ETX Daily UP 2). What the scientists call "the overproduction and purchase of toys" (Levesque et al. 791) testifies to the continued centrality of "conspicuous consumption", the demonstrative, wasteful squandering of resources which, as Thorstein Veblen already noted in 1899, signifies and produces social distinction (Veblen 53; cf. 43-72). As he argued, "an unremitting demonstration of ability to pay" (Veblen 54) was and is central for upholding not only one's social standing, but also one's self-esteem. This is at the core of Mattel's business model: stimulating repeated purchases by issuing and marketing ever-new, "must-have" dolls, clothing, and other accessories. These tend to normalise an upper-class lifestyle, as Barbie's sports car, horse, and dream house attest. The Malibu Dream House, part of the Barbie universe since 1962, plays a specific role in this context. It symbolises fun, conspicuous leisure, and glamour. With its spectacular beaches, its exclusiveness, and its proximity to Hollywood celebrity culture, Malibu represents the apex of social aspiration for many people. Houses are also sexy, as Marjorie Garber observes in Sex and Real Estate. "Real estate today has become a form of yuppie pornography. … Buyers are entering the housing market with more celerity (and more salaciousness?) than they once entered the marriage market" (Garber 3, 4). The prominence of the house in the Barbie movie is thus not incidental. Malibu is among the most expensive locations in the US. The median property value is US$4.25m. Due to its beachfront location, its "iconic design" and "cultural value", local brokerage Ruby Home estimated that "the price of the doll's DreamHouse [could be] an eye-watering $10 million" (McPherson). With the understatement typical of the profession, the author of the article writes: "unsurprisingly, Barbie’s home would only be available to high-net-worth buyers". This does more than reinforce classism. The richest segment of the global population also has an inordinately large carbon footprint and overall negative impact on climate change. According to Oxfam, the richest 1% produced 16% of global consumption emissions in 2019. The propagation of Malibu Dream House living thus does not exactly rhyme with "eco- leadership". Barbie and Settler Colonialism The wasteful, environmentally detrimental lifestyle of the very wealthy is part and parcel of US settler colonialism. Unlike other forms of colonialism, settler colonialism attempts to replace the Indigenous population. The term does not only signify a devastating past but names an ongoing process, since Native people have not in fact "disappeared". Lorenzo Veracini puts it succinctly: "settler colonialism is not finished" (Veracini 68-94). As Patrick Wolfe famously wrote, "'settler-colonial state' is Australian [and US] society's primary structural characteristic rather than merely a statement about its origins… . Invasion is a structure not an event" (163). Malibu is traditional Chumash territory. The name derives from the Ventureño Chumash word Humaliwo, meaning "where the surf sounds loudly" (Sampson). The Chumash were forcibly deprived of their land by the Spanish Mission system in the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Deborah A. Miranda has movingly detailed the traumatic effects of this violence in her memoir Bad Indians. But the Chumash are not gone. In fact, the Wishtoyo Chumach Foundation, whose mission it is to "protect and preserve the culture, history, and lifeways of Chumash and Indigenous peoples, and the environment everyone depends on", runs Chumash Village, "with a goal of raising awareness of Chumash people's historical relationship and dependence upon the natural environment as a maritime people", right in Malibu (Wishtoyo Chumach Foundation). None of this is mentioned by Mattel or the Greta Gerwig movie, which does not only signal a missed opportunity to demonstrate "eco-leadership". Rather, such an omission is typical for settler colonial culture. In order to buttress their claim to the land, settlers try to write Indigenous people out of North American history through a strategy White Earth Ojibwe scholar Jean O'Brien has called "firsting", that is, claiming the European settlers were there first, they "discovered" something, etc. The opening of the movie is a classic example. To the voiceover of "since the beginning of time – since the first little girl ever existed", it shows not Native inhabitants, but European American children in vaguely historical, possibly nineteenth century settler clothing. At other points, Barbie's and Ken's cowboy outfits, their glaring whiteness, references to Davy Crockett and, as Stentor Danielson mentioned in their presentation on "Barbieland's Fantasy Ecology: Terra Nullius on the Pink Beach" at the conference "'You Can Be Anything': Imagining and Interrogating Barbie in Popular Culture", to the Black Hills aka Mount Rushmore, clearly mark them as settlers. J.M. Bacon has coined the term "colonial ecological violence" to reference the ways in which environmental degradation and settler colonialism are inextricably intertwined (59). Effectively combatting environmental pollution thus also requires addressing settler colonial economic, social, and cultural structures. As Dina Gilio-Whitaker has forcefully argued, the success of environmental justice movements in the US, especially vis-à-vis the fossil fuel industry, may depend on building coalitions with Indigenous activists. Some of the most promising examples actually come from California, where beaches have been protected from corporate development because sacred Native sites would have been negatively affected (148). "It may well be that organizing around Native land rights holds the key to successfully transitioning from a fossil-fuel energy infrastructure to one based on sustainable energy", Gilio-Whitaker concludes (149). "Effective partnerships with allies in the environmental movement will provide the best defence for the collective well-being of the environment and future generations of all Americans, Native and non-Native alike" (162). This is a far cry from any policy Mattel has so far advertised, not to mention implemented. Conclusion In different respects, the promise of "Eco-Leadership" Barbies rings hollow. Not only do they suggest an extremely limited understanding of environmental concerns and challenges, Mattel's breezy pronouncements are clearly at odds with its simultaneous boosting of conspicuous consumption, let alone the focus on financial profit generally characteristic for its managerial decisions. In light of the enormous environmental problems generated by the manufacturing and disposal of the dolls, the waste-intensive upper-class lifestyle Barbie outfits and accessories promote, and finally the de-thematising of capitalism and settler colonialism both in Mattel's Barbie discourses and the 2023 Barbie movie, the company's attempts to project an ecologically conscious image seem primarily designed to capitalise on an increasing awareness of ecological problems in Mattel's target audience, rather than constituting a serious reconsideration of its unsustainable corporate strategies. References Bacon, J.M. "Settler Colonialism as an Eco-Social Structure and the Production of Colonial Ecological Violence." Environmental Sociology 5.1 (2019): 59-69. Brockington, Dan, and Rosaleen Duffy. "Introduction: Capitalism and Conservation: The Production and Reproduction of Biodiversity Conservation." In Capitalism and Conservation, eds. Dan Brockington and Rosaleen Duffy. Wiley Online Books, 2011. &lt;https://doi.org/10.1002/9781444391442.ch&gt;. Chavis, Benjamin F., Jr. “Foreword." In Confronting Environmental Racism: Voices from the Grassroots. Ed. Robert Bullard. Boston: South End P, 1993. 3–5. Checker, Melissa. Polluted Promises: Environmental Racism and the Search for Justice in a Southern Town. New York: New York UP, 2005. Danielson, Stentor. "Barbieland's Fantasy Ecology: Terra Nullius on the Pink Beach." Presentation at the conference "'You Can Be Anything': Imagining and Interrogating Barbie in Popular Culture", University of New England, 26 Mar. 2024. ETX Daily UP. "How Barbie Is Making Climate Change Worse." Tatler Asia, 7 Aug. 2023. 16 Feb. 2024 &lt;https://www.tatlerasia.com/power-purpose/sustainability/barbie-plastic-waste&gt;. Freinkel, Susan. Plastic: A Toxic Love Story. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2011. Garber, Marjorie. Sex and Real Estate: Why We Love Houses. New York: Pantheon Books, 2000. Gilio-Whitaker, Dina. As Long as Grass Grows: The Indigenous Fight for Environmental Justice, from Colonization to Standing Rock. Boston: Beacon P, 2019. Google. "How Many Different Barbies Are There 2022?" 11 May 2022. 17 May 2024 &lt;https://www.google.com/search?client=firefox-b-d&amp;q=Barbie+how+many+2022+releases%3F&gt;. Gordon, Noah. “Barbie and the Problem with Plastic.” Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 20 July 2023. 16 Feb. 2024 &lt;https://carnegieendowment.org/2023/07/20/barbie-and-problem-with-plastic-pub-90241&gt;. Merriam-Webster. “Greenwashing.” N.d. 5 May. 2024 &lt;https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/greenwashing&gt;. Hölzer, Arno. "Aesthetic Strategies of the WWF – Reinforcing the Culture-Nature Dichotomy." MA thesis. Berlin: Humboldt University, 2018. Kimmerer, Robin Wall. Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teaching of Plants. Milkweed Editions, 2013. LaDuke, Winona. All Our Relations: Native Struggles for Land and Life. Chicago: Haymarket Books, 1999. Levesque, Sarah, Madeline Robertson, and Christie Klimas. “A Life Cycle Assessment of the Environmental Impact of Children's Toys.” Sustainable Production and Consumption 31 (2022): 777–93. Lyon, T.P., and A.W. Maxwell, "Greenwash: Corporate Environmental Disclosure under Threat of Audit." Journal of Economics and Management Strategy 20 (2011): 3-41. Marriott, James, and Mika Minio-Paluello. “Where Does This Stuff Come From? Oil, Plastic, and the Distribution of Violence.” Accumulation: The Material Politics of Plastic. Eds. Jennifer Gabrys, Gay Hawkins, and Mike Michael. London: Routledge, 2013. 171–83. Mattel. "Barbie Eco-Leadership Team (2022 Career of the Year Four Doll Set)." Product Description. N.d. 28 Jan. 2024 &lt;https://creations.mattel.com/products/barbie-eco-leadership-team-2022-career-of-the-year-four-doll-set-hcn25&gt;. ———. "Barbie Sustainability / The Future of Pink Is Green." 11 Apr. 2024. 29 Jan. 2024 &lt;https://shop.mattel.com/pages/barbie-sustainability&gt;. ———. "Mattel Launches Barbie Loves the Ocean; Its First Fashion Doll Made from Recycled Ocean-Bound* Plastic." 10 June 2021. 16 Feb. 2024 &lt;https://corporate.mattel.com/news/mattel-launches-barbie-loves-the-ocean-its-first-fashion-doll-collection-made-from-recycled-ocean-bound-plastic&gt;. ———. "The Future of Pink Is Green: Barbie Introduces New Dr. Jane Goodall and Eco-Leadership Team Certified CarbonNeutral® Dolls Made from Recycled Ocean-Bound Plastic." 12 July 2022. 29 Jan. 2024 &lt;https://corporate.mattel.com/news/the-future-of-pink-is-green-barbie-introduces-new-dr-jane-goodall-and-eco-leadership-team-certified-carbonneutral-dolls-made-from-recycled-ocean-bound-plastic&gt;. McPherson, Marian. "Barbie's Malibu DreamHouse Would Command $10M — If It Was Real." Inman Select, 5 July 2023. 2 Mar. 2024 &lt;https://www.inman.com/2023/07/05/barbies-malibu-dreamhouse-would-command-10m-if-it-was-real/&gt;. Méndez, Lola. “There’s a Recycled Barbie Now, But Are Plastic Toys Really Going Green?” Live Kindly 2024. 16 Feb. 2024. &lt;https://www.livekindly.com/plastic-toys/&gt;. Miranda, Deborah A. Bad Indians: A Tribal Memoir. Berkeley, CA: Heyday, 2013. Moore, Charles, and Cassandra Phillips. Plastic Ocean: How a Sea Captain's Chance Discovery Launched a Determined Quest to Save the Oceans. New York: Avery, 2011. O'Brien, Jean. Firsting and Lasting: Writing Indians Out of Existence in New England. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 2010. Oxfam International. “Richest 1% Emit as Much Planet-Heating Pollution as Two Thirds of Humanity.” 20 Nov. 2023. 28 Feb. 2024 &lt;https://www.oxfam.org/en/press-releases/richest-1-emit-much-planet-heating-pollution-two-thirds-humanity&gt;. Pears, Alan. “In a Barbie World … after the Movie Frenzy Fades, How Do We Avoid Tonnes of Barbie Dolls Going to Landfill?” The Conversation 17 July 2023. 16 Feb. 2024 &lt;https://theconversation.com/in-a-barbie-world-after-the-movie-frenzy-fades-how-do-we-avoid-tonnes-of-barbie-dolls-going-to-landfill-209601&gt;. Ruffin, Dorothea. “Is Life in Plastic Recyclable after All?” Plastic Reimagined 3 Aug. 2023. 26 Mar. 2024 &lt;https://www.plasticreimagined.org/articles/is-life-in-plastic-fantastic-after-all-the-aftermath-of-barbie&gt;. Sampson, Mike. ''Humaliwo: Where The Surf Sounds Loudly.'' California State Parks, n.d. 5 May 2024 &lt;https://www.parks.ca.gov/?page_id=24435&gt;. Veblen, Thorstein. The Theory of the Leisure Class. New York: Dover Publications, 1994 [1899]. Veracini, Lorenzo. The Settler Colonial Present. Hampshire: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015. Waste Online. “From Pink Paint to Landfills: Barbie's Blockbuster Movie and the Not-So-Pretty Side of Plastic Toys.” 10 Aug. 2023. 16 Feb. 2024 &lt;https://wasteonline.uk/blog/barbies-blockbuster-movie-and-the-not-so-pretty-side-of-plastic-toys/&gt;. Wishtoyo Chumash Foundation. 2022. 28 Feb. 2024 &lt;https://www.wishtoyo.org/&gt;. Wolfe, Patrick. Settler Colonialism and the Transformation of Anthropology: The Politics and Poetics of an Ethnographic Event. London: Cassell, 1999. Young, Eric. “How to Save The World from the Toxicity of Barbie!” Medium 18 July 2023. 16 Feb. 2024 &lt;https://medium.com/@eric3586young/how-to-save-the-world-from-the-toxicity-of-barbie-5a09f02d4438&gt;.

Depending on your perspective, Non-Fungible Token (NFT) artworks are inaugurating an exciting new chapter in the history of art, or a dangerous new chapter in the history of online market bubbles. NFTs index artworks, and are typically strings of characters stored on a blockchain such as Ethereum. NFTs are not exclusively used to index artworks, and have been used to index a range of collectibles, but it is the sale of NFTs associated with artworks that has launched the phenomenon into public consciousness. Perhaps the most famous example of this is the digital artist Beeple’s sale of an NFT for the equivalent of $69 million (Krastrenakes). For some, such staggering prices suggest NFTs are poised to become the next Beanie Babies—i.e., commodities without utility that sell at vastly inflated prices. Despite such cynicism, some argue that NFTs have revolutionary technical import, such that they could overturn many common and unequal practices within the contemporary art market (Rennie et al.). Chief among these is the supposed disposability of digital artworks, which are viewed as difficult to sell, resell, and protect from piracy. Such issues are thought to be ameliorated by NFTs, since they function as a token that is understood to stand as a “definitive indicator of ownership” of digital artworks (Mackenzie and Bērziņa 2). Or, as Rachel O’Dwyer has summarised, NFT art auctions like the Ethereal Summit held in New York in 2018 allow individuals to bid for the “ownership and provenance details of the works of art encrypted in the Ethereum blockchain and represented by a token” (O’Dwyer). Unlike a more conventional artwork, such as a painting, NFT artworks typically take the form of JPEGs or GIFs, and therefore circulate the Internet widely, regardless of who owns the token that designates ownership. While reproductions and printed documentations of traditional artworks are commonplace—e.g., art gallery giftshops will often sell relatively low-cost posters of masterpieces like Picasso’s Guernica, or coffee table books showcasing the masterworks of influential movements like post-impressionism—there are obvious material differences between the reproduction and the original. In the case of the typically digital NFT artworks, this distinction does not apply. Accordingly, the academic and popular discussions that surround NFT artworks have reignited theoretical questions around the ontological status of artworks, and the source of their economic value. For some, the NFT market is a financial bubble and the prices attracted by particular NFT-linked artworks have no underlying value (BBC News). For others, the value of NFTs can be explained through an appeal to the value subjectively attributed to the image or animation by the purchaser (Nguyen), while for others the value of NFTs should be understood in terms of digital scarcity and provenance (Rennie et al.; Joselit) or as a technological means for artists to maintain a greater share of their artwork’s value (Kugler). While the NFT market is novel, and is worthy of study in terms of its specific technological and economic forms, this article will argue that NFTs can be placed in a longer history of the emergence of what Luc Boltanski and Arnauld Esquerre have called the “enrichment economy”. In their Enrichment: A Critique of Commodities, Boltanski and Esquerre argue that, since at least the last quarter of the twentieth century, a new site of valorisation has emerged in post-industrial economies. According to Boltanski and Esquerre, globalisation and deindustrialisation provoked many economies to embrace tourism, luxury good production, and the commodification of heritage and culture as new sites of extraction. As the viability of the mass production of commodities has receded, the production of unique commodities and transient yet “unforgettable” experiences have become more economically significant. For Boltanski and Esquerre, enrichment refers both to the often-discursive refining and redefining of existing commodities—such that they fetch greater prices—and a greater emphasis on an economy for those with disposable income—such as tourists, art collectors, and the wealthy more generally (3-4). Often, Boltanski and Esquerre argue, the enrichment economies of art and luxury tend to mine and exploit the “underlying substratum that is purely and simply the past” (2). For this reason, the enrichment economy requires the production of new forms of authenticity, “aura”, and belief, such that the overlooked or taken-for-granted objects of the past can be reframed as unique and worthy of investment or consumption. The interesting question, then, is not necessarily that of why someone would pay a large sum of money to own a piece of code on a blockchain, but, instead, that of how a particular piece of contemporary art or an NFT comes to be “enriched” with authenticity and aura. While a thoroughgoing discussion of this topic would require a longer piece, this article will nevertheless attempt to open up connections between art history, debates around the production of artistic value during and after Modernism, and the newly emerging NFT art market. While many have declared that NFTs are “disrupting the art market” (Tripathi)—supposedly evinced by the staggering growth of the NFT market, and emerging institutional recognition, such as ArtReview’s decision to place an NFT at the top of their Power 100 List for 2021—this article seeks to locate the NFT explosion within a slightly longer timeframe, one in which NFTs would feature as a continuation—albeit a non-linear one—rather than a disruption of ongoing cultural and economic logics. Value and Void Despite the incredulity that commonly meets NFT artworks, the contemporary art market similarly flaunts conventional understandings of aesthetic and economic value. While many would surely agree with journalist Amy Castor’s claim that “it’s hard to justify that a Bored Ape NFT is worth $300,000 based on the art” (quoted in Artnet), almost identical criticisms have been raised around the contemporary artist Maurizio Cattelan’s 2019 work Comedian. Released in an edition of three, Comedian consisted of a banana duct-taped to a wall, with two of the three selling for $120,000 each. As Sara Callahan puts it, works like Comedian reignited debates around “what makes something a high-priced artwork when another, seemingly identical, object is not?” (Callahan). While NFTs are reawakening interest in the question of artistic value, the financialisation of cheaply made and mass-produced artworks has a much longer history. Indeed, by the 1960s, a booming secondary art market that traded in increasingly expensive, yet cheap-to-produce avant-garde works—often requiring relatively small amounts of time and inexpensive materials—raised suspicions that art was becoming indistinguishable from more traditional financial assets. In response, in 1968 the influential art critic Leo Steinberg argued that, “avant-garde art, lately Americanized, is for the first time associated with big money. … Another decade, and we shall have mutual funds based on securities in the form of pictures held in bank vaults” (quoted in Beech 300). As Dave Beech has shown, in the ensuing period, “art’s relationship to finance capital has outstripped Steinberg’s worst fears” (Beech 301). By the 1980s, banks allowed individuals to borrow large sums of money against the value of their art collections, and investment in artworks became a normal practice of portfolio diversification (Beech 299–300). When interest rates are low, investments in productive capital offer low levels of liquidity, and international markets appear vulnerable to shocks, artworks—whether physical or in the form of an NFT—offer a means of hedging against future losses. Furthermore, in both the contemporary art market and the NFT market, purchases of artworks at inflated prices often allow an individual to prevent “the bottom from falling out of a market they have already invested in” (O’Dwyer). The fact that artworks could hold a value well in excess of the cost of the materials or labour time required to produce them, was not solely recognised by art collectors and investors. Instead, this period saw a great number of artists explicitly playing with the aporia that had emerged around art’s economic value—insofar as ready-made artworks could now fetch prices typically reserved for laboriously produced and unique masterpieces. Take, for example, Yves Klein’s project Zones of Immaterial Pictorial Sensibility, which he developed over the late 1950s and early 1960s. In these works, Klein offered collectors the opportunity to purchase a void or “immaterial zone” for varying quantities of gold, with “20 grams (3/4 ounce) of pure gold for the Zones of series no. 1, the least expensive, to 1,280 grams (27/8 pounds) for those of series no. 7, the most expensive” (Cras 24). In exchange for the gold, the void-owner would receive a receipt as proof of purchase. However, for the work to be completed, Klein requested that the receipt be burned by the collector, and in response Klein would throw half of the received gold into the river Seine (Cras 24). By destroying the proof of purchase, and by releasing some of the gold into the river, the collector would receive “the full authentic immaterial value of the work” (Klein quoted in Cras 24). We see some resemblances here between Klein’s Zones and NFTs—and here Klein is no exception, since, as Cras has documented, the 1960s were replete with artists experimenting with the production of artworks as novel financial assets. For Cras, it was a time in which “the problem of attaching a price to works of art and offering them for sale, traditionally considered to be external to creation in this domain, was now incorporated in artistic practice” (Cras 3). If artists were increasingly embracing the artwork’s status as an asset, and if the price of artworks became divorced from luxurious materials or skilled production, how were artworks able to assert themselves as valuable and worthy of collection and investment? How is that, rather than the decoupling of artworks from some secure material base of value diminishing their market value, such decoupling has instead led to immense growth in the art market? In order to pursue this question, in the next section we will turn to Beech’s rethinking of the Marxist labour theory of value in the context of the art market. Value and Labour Here, it is worthwhile to turn to Beech’s distinction between the price of the artwork and the value of the artwork. For Beech, an artwork’s price is whatever sum of money it can be exchanged for in the market. Most neoclassical economists treat price and value as being synonymous, and, from this position, it makes no sense to ask if an artwork is worth—or if its value is equivalent—to its current price. As Beech writes, “neoclassical economics claims to be able to treat the sale of artworks as a standard transaction with prices determined entirely by demand and the subjective perception of utility by wealthy purchasers” (Beech 291). Against this view, Beech offers a Marxist interpretation of artistic value, one that emphasises labour-time in the production of artistic reputation. Reputation is key here, as Beech dismisses the notion that an increase in artistic labour-time increases the value of an artwork. Against neoclassical economists, Beech (311) writes that “the increase or decrease in the price of artworks is not ‘a floating crap game’, but is determined by the changing circumstances of the artwork itself vis-à-vis the esteem it is held in by the art community”. Accordingly, Beech states that the prices of artworks are seriously affected—perhaps even driven—by the non-purchasing “consumers” of art, namely academics, commentators, and other artists, who determine the general reputation of artworks. Accordingly, if we want to understand the prices of artworks at the marketplace, we need to focus our attention on art’s evaluative discourses, the production of knowledge, and the practices of producing objects that provide an assessment and legacy for a work or body of work, such as photographic reproductions and monographs. Artistic value as reputation is not only expressed through the economic consumption of products, but in the activities of learning from them, asking questions of them, reconfiguring them in new products, combining them and rejecting them. The high prices of art derive from the high status of the work within the discourses of art (Beech 312). Whereas the conventional Marxist labour theory of value focusses on the socially necessary labour time for the production of a commodity, Beech emphasises the labour of the consumer rather than that of the producer. As we have shown, an artwork that takes very little time to produce—such as Cattelan’s Comedian—can attract a much larger price than a painting by a lesser-known artist who spends months in the studio. Nevertheless, Beech argues that the greater the labour time of the non-purchasing consumers of art, the greater the artwork’s value. By maintaining a distinction between price—the quantity of money an artwork can be exchanged for—and value—the total of labour-time expended in discussing, viewing, and reproducing an artwork—Beech provides us with a framework for understanding how prices emerge, without exaggerating the predictive powers of such a framework. If an artist’s work is priced relatively low, but the discourse around their work is expanding rapidly, there is the potential to make a purchase below value, even if this investment is still speculative. By contrast, the neoclassical perspective renders this approach to the price/value relationship unthinkable. What, then, distinguishes artistic—or artworld—discourse from marketing? Beyond the simple observation that marketing teams are directly employed by capitalists in order to push a message that is directly related to increasing surplus-value, Beech argues that “it is a condition of the contribution of art discourse to the inflation of the value of art that it is independent from the economic interests at stake” (Beech 313). Though Beech does not put it this way, we could argue that the gap between artistic discourse and those who stand to financially benefit from the inflation of an artwork’s value produces the “aura” of the artwork. Coca-Cola’s marketing team is unlikely to change its opinion about its famous product, whereas art discourse is produced—for the most part—by a decentralised “artworld” of curators, critics, museologists, historians, philosophers, artists, and viewers, all of whom gravitate towards certain works at certain times—and it is arguably the uncertainty and uncoordinated nature of these shifts in reputational favour that make certain works feel miraculous. While, in the short term, a Bored Ape, and an artwork like Comedian, can attract a high price, it is unlikely that these artworks will maintain that price overtime—for this to happen, one would have to imagine an ongoing process of enrichment, one that would find new conversations to have about such works beyond the novelty of their unlikely price tags. Enriching the Blockchain While recent years have seen the publication of impressive and sophisticated quantitative studies of the NFT market, such studies have focussed on the quantifiable aspects of value and reputation (Vasan et al.; Nadini et al.). While such research has shown that connection to prominent collectors, and visibility on popular crypto-platforms, is an indicator of the expected price of an NFT, Beech’s research suggests that a range of difficult-to-quantify factors must be taken into consideration. While quantifiable forms of influence are of course important, the capacity for an artwork—linked to an NFT or not—to be discursively enriched, such that its status as historically and culturally significant appears independent from the testimony of those who would financially benefit from its revaluation, appears vital for its long-term enrichment and accrual of value. Some have attempted to articulate the emerging value of the NFT market in such terms. For example, Paul Dylan-Ennis claims that in order to understand CryptoPunks—one of the older artistic series to be linked to NFTs, and which can sell for up to $1.6 million—we must appreciate that they “are sought after because of their age, like blockchain antiques” (Dylan-Ennis). For Dylan-Ennis, NFTs like Cryptopunks are valuable insofar as they are “the oldest NFTs”, and, accordingly, it is “their ‘metadata’” or their “longevity on the blockchain” that is desired (Dylan-Ennis). In Dylan-Ennis’s account, NFTs are worth investing in because their past will one day be historically significant, hence his injunction for us to “look past the art and look at the medium to get what is going on” (Dylan-Ennis). But rather than looking at the medium, perhaps it is more fruitful to look to the institutional forms that nurture, generate, and circulate the reputational discourses that modify artistic value. In doing so, we will not only avoid the conservative move of denouncing NFT artworks on the basis of an arbitrary aesthetic standard, but also the utopian move of associating NFTs with the fantasy of a future “in which the subject is free from coercive mediating institutions, the state chief among them, wielding data certainty as a means of freedom and social transformation” (Jutel 4). Rather than NFTs freeing the digital artist from the problems imposed by ease of reproduction, we can see that the reputational value of the artwork linked to a non-fungible token requires the fungibility of reproduction, circulation, commentary, and discussion. NFT boosters have been quick to critique the institutions that have traditionally provided the training that fosters such discourse and expertise—in the form of the non-purchasing consumers discussed by Beech— as gatekeepers that exploit artists. While we should acknowledge the gross inequities of the artworld and academia, such institutions have nevertheless been relatively historically successful in their attempt to produce large audiences that can participate in the enrichment of past objects, and the connection of new objects to that past. The challenge that the cryptoworld will face, is whether, like the artworld, it can marshal similar long-term discursive labour in the process of enrichment. If it cannot, we may ironically see the same “gatekeeping” institutions of the artworld invoked to bolster the value of the NFT market. References Artnet. “‘They’ve Created Perceived Value Out of Thin Air’: The Whole Bored Ape Yacht Club Phenomenon, Explained.” 8 April 2022 &lt;https://news.artnet.com/multimedia/the-art-angle-podcast-bored-ape-yacht-club-2094073&gt;. BBC News. “What Are NFTs and Why Are Some Worth Millions?” 23 Sep. 2021. &lt;https://www.bbc.com/news/technology-56371912&gt;. Beech, Dave. Art and Value: Art’s Economic Exceptionalism in Classical, Neoclassical and Marxist Economics. Leiden: Brill, 2015. Boltanski, Christian, and Arnauld Esquerre. Enrichment: A Critique of Commodities. Trans. Catherine Porter. London: Polity, 2020. Callahan, Sara. “The Value of a Banana: Understanding Absurd and Ephemeral Artwork.” The Conversation 8 Oct. 2020. &lt;https://theconversation.com/the-value-of-a-banana-understanding-absurd-and-ephemeral-artwork-147689&gt;. Cras, Sophie. The Artist as Economist: Art and Capitalism in the 1960s. Trans. Malcolm DeBevoise. Massachusetts: Yale UP, 2019. Dylan-Ennis, Paul. “NFT Art: The Bizarre World Where Burning a Banksy Can Make It More Valuable.” The Conversation 6 Mar. 2021. &lt;https://theconversation.com/nft-art-the-bizarre-world-where-burning-a-banksy-can-make-it-more-valuable-156605&gt;. Krastrenakes, Jacob. “Beeple Sold an NFT for $69 Million.” The Verge 11 Mar. 2021. &lt;https://www.theverge.com/2021/3/11/22325054/beeple-christies-nft-sale-cost-everydays-69-million&gt;. Kugler, Logan. “Non-Fungible Tokens and the Future of Art.” Communications of the ACM 64.9 (2021). DOI: 10.1145/3474355. Mackenzie, Simon, and Diāna Bērziņa. “NFTs: Digital Things and Their Criminal Lives.” Crime Media Culture (2021). DOI: 10.1177/17416590211039797. Nadini, Matthieu, et al. “Mapping the NFT Revolution: Market Trends, Trade Networks, and Visual Features.” Scientific Reports 11.20902 (2021). DOI: 10.1038/s41598021000538. Nguyen, Terry. “The Value of NFTs, Explained by an Expert: How Emotional Attachment to Certain Items and Gifts Could Affect Our Understanding of Value.” Vox 31 Mar. 2021. &lt;https://www.vox.com/the-goods/22358262/value-of-nfts-behavioral-expert&gt;. O’Dwyer, Rachel. “A Celestial Cyberdimension: Art Tokens and the Artwork as Derivative.” Circa Art Magazine 3 Dec. 2018. &lt;https://circaartmagazine.net/a-celestial-cyberdimension-art-tokens-and-the-artwork-as-derivative/#_ftn21&gt;. Joselit, David. “NFTs, or the Readymade Reversed.” October 175 (2021): 3–4. Jutel, Olivier. “Blockchain Imperialism in the Pacific.” Big Data &amp; Society (2021). DOI: 10.1177/2053951720985249. Rennie, Ellie, et al. “Provocation Paper: Blockchain and the Creative Industries.” RMIT, 2019. &lt;https://apo.org.au/sites/default/files/resource-files/2019-11/apo-nid267131.pdf&gt;. Tripathi, Smita. “How NFTs Are Disrupting the Art World.” Business Today 20 Feb. 2022. &lt;https://www.businesstoday.in/magazine/luxury-lifestyle/story/how-nfts-are-disrupting-the-art-world-321706-2022-02-15&gt;. Vasan, Kishore, et al. “Quantifying NFT-Driven Networks in Crypto Art.” Scientific Reports 12.2769 (2022). DOI: 10.1038/s41598-022-05146-6.