Journal articles on the topic 'Scourge (Ship)'

This research paper proposes the use of empirical equations to estimate the temporal maximum scour that is induced by twin-propeller ( ε t w i n = Ω t [ l n ( t ) ] Γ t ) when acting over non-cohesive bed materials. A purpose built experimental apparatus is used to obtain the measurement data required for the calculation of the empirical constants. The output from rigorous experimental investigations demonstrates that the maximum scour depth produced from the operation of twin-propeller ( ε t w i n ), within the confines of a harbour basin, varies as a logarithmic function of time. A dimensional analysis of the standard single propeller configuration is used as the foundation upon which the scour equation is postulated. This is extended to include the influence of the operating distance between the twin-propeller configurations for the first time. The division of scours by twin-propeller and single-propeller ( ε twin / ε m ) enables the establishment of mathematical relation to calculate C1, C2, A, and B. The constants are C 1 = 366.11, C 2 = 0.3376, A = 0.859, and B = 0.1571. The proposed scour equation is more reliable within the time zone up to two hours based on the experimental data.

In maritime trade, from all over the world, transportation performed over the seas has been rapidly increasing due to high technological improvements leading the ships to have huge power and high speeds. The approach of even the big ships to the piers is now done by using the ship’s own engine power without the help of tugs because of the operation and economic reasons. However; this has been observed to cause local scour around the piers. Local scour commonly defined as the scour which is occurred in the immediate vicinity of the hydraulic structures due to the direct impact of the structure on the flow. It is very important to reduce local scour caused by ships propeller jets. A thorough understanding of the erosion of the bed due to local scour remains a challenge since it is associated with a highly turbulent flow field. The propeller jet has 3D flow area and high velocities. The erosion problem around the berthing structures due to propeller jet can occur in three ways. These are; a) On a slope, b) At the bottom of vertical wall, c) Around piles. In this study, propeller jet flow was considered to investigate scour formations around piles with non-cohesive sediment bed. The scour mechanism induced by propeller jet with and without pile conditions were investigated experimentally and their comparisons were made. Because there was not enough study for the scouring process for pile type berthing structures under propeller jet flow in the literature.

The highly turbulent flow induced by ship propellers has a great potential to scour the alluvial bottom of navigational rivers and canals. Characterization of the complex flow field behind propellers is essential for forecasting the scouring action. In this study the velocity field and scour induced by two standard arrangements of propeller, nozzle and rudder from inland vessels are investigated experimentally with a ship model on a scale of 1:16. There are two objectives: first, to identify the influence of the ship stern on the flow field, and second, to assess induced scour depths in relation to maximum current velocities close to the bottom. It is found that the equilibrium scour depths for the two propeller arrangements are of the same order of magnitude, but that the time development of scour is different. The differences can be explained by the converging trend of the flow velocities at the bottom level for the two situations, when the vertical distance between the propeller and the bottom is high. It is also shown that existing relations for the velocity field require amendment when the propeller is ducted, and for adequately considering the effect of the ship stern and rudder type.

In recent years, dramatically increases in ship dimensions and installed engine power, introduction of new type of special purpose ships and use of roll-on/roll-of, ferries, container ships can cause damage which in many cases threatens to undermine berth structures. Vessel jets of these types of ships can change flow area and cause erosion and scour around foundation of berth structures. Due to the damages in berth structures maintenance and repair cost may increase and also cause management losses. For this reason vessel jet induced the flow area around the berth structures during ships berthing and un-berthing operations are extremely important factor for the port structure design. This study is related with investigation of the flow characteristics at the sea bed around the pile, experimentally. Vessel jets were simulated both as circular wall jet and also propeller jet. The objective of this study is to determine the sea bed shear stress and velocity profiles along the jet axis for open type wharf structures (around a cylindrical piles and also on the slopes). Hot film anemometers were used to measure the magnitude of the bed shear stresses. The results from propeller jet experiments explained the erosion over the slopes. Bed shear and velocity profile measurements were carried out on the rigid bed conditions.

Ship’s propeller wash induced scour is a well-known engineering problem for port structures along the shoreline. However, insufficient recorded data makes it difficult to justify that ship’s propeller wash induced scour is taking place in Malaysia’s major ports. This study reported the seabed condition of the two wharves in Penang Port using Single Beam Echo Sounder (SBES) data. The presence of seabed scour due to ship manoeuvring is investigated based on seabed data. The results showed that Penang Port is experiencing a severe siltation problem instead of ship’s propeller wash induced scour impacts.

Single and twin ship propeller jets produce scour holes with deposition dune. The scour hole has a maximum depth at a particular length downstream within the propeller jet. Existing equations are available to predict maximum scour depth and the corresponding scour length downstream. Experiments conducted with various physical propeller models, rotational speeds, propeller-to-propeller distances and bed clearances are presented. The measurements allowed a better understanding of the mechanism of temporal scour and deposition formation for scour caused by single-propeller and twin-propeller. Results show that the propeller jet scour profiles can be divided into three zones, which are the small scour hole, primary scour hole and deposition dune. An empirical 2D scour model is proposed to predict the scour profile for both a single-propeller and twin-propeller using a Gaussian normal distribution.

The increase in marine traffic during the last decades has led to important changes in ship designs. These changes have been directly affecting harbor structures designed to host smaller and less powerful ships. One of the most important consequences is the erosion of the seafloor close to the toes of the docking infrastructures which affects their stability. The World Association for Waterborne Transport Infrastructures published a guideline resuming the most used equations to solve the scouring problem (PIANC 2015). However most of the proposed formulas are empirical based using single propellers. Other common propulsion systems, such as the twin propeller, have been barely studied so far. Moreover, the propeller scouring action by a free developing jet has received much more attention in comparison with confined scour studies, i.e. nearby marine structures. Indeed, only one reference (Mujal-Colilles et al. 2018) with experiments on the effects of twin propeller in a confined scenario is found nowadays, although it is known that most of the ro-ro and ferry ships use this propulsion system when maneuvering near closed quays. This contribution aims to provide new insights about the effects that twin propeller propulsion system has over the seabed through a set of experiments with mobile sand bed. The effects of the propeller pitch ratio are also evaluated in an attempt to better reproduce the behaviour of ferry ships, since most of them use a Controllable Pitch Propeller (CPP) system.Recorded Presentation from the vICCE (YouTube Link): https://youtu.be/zx7-kKUZ7HU

Experiments were conducted to investigate the seabed scour holes due to the interaction between the twin-propeller jet and quay wall. Vertical quay wall was modelled by using a polyvinyl chloride (PVC) plastic plate in a water tank. The relationship between the positions of the propeller and the vertical quay wall was designed according to the actual working conditions of a ship entering and leaving a port. Propeller-to-wall distance and rotational speed were changed to observe the various scour conditions. The scour depth was measured by using an Acoustic Doppler Velocimeter (ADV). Primary scour hole was found within the jet downstream and secondary scour hole occurred beneath of the propeller. Third scour hole was found close to the quay wall due to horseshoe vortices. The maximum scour position of this third scour hole was found at the jet centre near the quay wall. Temporal formation of scour holes can be divided into three stages: axial scour formation, obstructed scour expansion and equilibrium stages. The quantitative relationships for six characteristic parameters of the scour pit were established including the maximum scour depth (εmax,q), maximum scour depth position (Xm,q), maximum scour width (Wm,q), length of main scour pit (XS,q), maximum deposition height (ZD,q), and location of maximum deposition height (XD,q).

Ship wave is one of the key factors that affect slope stability of inland waterway because of scour and corrosion. In this paper, the investigations on the softening index, the residual strain and the shear strength with cyclic loading of saturated clay were carried out through cyclic triaxial shear tests in conditions of three different ambient pressures in Naji area on the upper reaches of You River in Guangxi. The relationship between softening index and vibration times, the relationship between residual strain and vibration times as well as the shear strength discounting ratio curve varying with cyclic loading were obtained. Based on the tests, the finite element model of inland waterway slope was founded to analyze the stability of inland waterway slope under effect of ship wave.

Increasing ship dimensions in recent years cause structural instability due to the scouring problem during berthing and unberthing maneuver of the vessels. The propeller jet has 3D flow area and high velocities that may cause erosion problem around the berthing structures in three ways. These are; a) On a slope, b) At the toe of vertical wall, c) Around piles. In general scour problems are investigated by using physical modeling. Propeller jet induced the scour in front of the wall has been well studied in the past (Hamill et al. (1999), Ryan et al. (2013(a)), Ryan et al. (2013(b))). In this study, propeller jet flow was considered to investigate the seabed scour mechanism with and without vertical quay wall conditions and their comparisons were made. Three different distances of the propeller from the wall at Xw=0.7 m, 0.35 m and 0.175 m were tested for different clearances at G=0.1 m and 0.15 m on sand bed of d50=0.052 mm to give an extensive definition for scour depth estimation.

Offshore wind turbine supporting structure long term works in the harsh marine environment, suffering from a variety of negative factors such as the seawater corrosion, marine growths, water scour, collision of sea ice and ship, etc.. Through numerical analysis software SACS and ANSYS, the marine environment impacts on the supporting structure and protective measures were put forward. The study found that such adverse environmental factors might easily result in a whole or partial component damage of the foundation support structure, and eventually lead to the reduction of security and durability. Reasonable preventive measures to ensure the security of the offshore wind turbine supporting structure were proposed and theoretical guidance for the design of future offshore foundation was provided.

The inherited courses of some hay-port ship channels take them through tidal inlets along courses running across dominant directions of strong current movement and scour, or on courses that upset the natural tidal regimes. Such discordance may make necessary excessive maintenance dredging. Geological study of a section of the Texas coast shows that, in a unit coastal environment, there may he a predictable stahle position of a tidal inlet and a common stahle orientation for its channel which might better have been used for the ship channel outlet. Among probable damages to the natural environment resulting from a wrong orientation is excessive sedimentation in the inlet channel. Engineering studies are needed to determine the economics of reorientation and relocation of misfit channels of the type described. The tidal inlet or "pass" is the central channel of a tidal delta. The delta is an enlargement of a barrier sand island at a gap where tidal and other flow into and out of large inland water bodies forms a strong local field of force with a longshore sediment drift and current. Engineering works in this field of force should utilize its characteristics, not fight them. As the coastal section studied here is only one of many, extension of the geologic study, with accompanying engineering studies, should be made to permit general laws of inlets, tidal deltas and barrier islands to be set up for both geology and engineering.

In the early years of the Gold Rush, the food carried by clipper ships sustained and shaped San Francisco. At first, clippers that could reach the city in less than a hundred days helped to save the burgeoning community of tents and shanties from hunger. Later, they Americanized its cuisine—and made fabulous profits—by carrying butter, hams, whiskey, and other Eastern staples to restaurants built in the holds of abandoned ships. The food served to sailors was often less exalted than that carried in the holds just below their feet, with simple dry biscuit and dry salted beef relieved only by the boiled puddings of flour and apples known as duff. The crews themselves were remarkably diverse, with Lascars and Scandinavians served dried peas and greasy “scouse” by African American or Chinese cooks who prepared meals in tiny, freestanding deckhouses. In later years, the clippers' influence on American food reversed itself, as they carried humble guano to rejuvenate depleted eastern agricultural land. But in their prime, the clippers were a unique confluence of necessity, engineering excellence, and beauty, as valued for the sight of their towering moonraker sails as for the food they carried.

The need to study the problem of seabed local scour near offshore platforms has arisen in Russian Federation in connection with the activation of oil and gas production from fields located in coastal areas of seas (in accordance with the Energy Strategy for the period up to 2030, approved by the Government of the Russian Federation on November 13, 2009, No1715-p). Operation of offshore platforms is characterized by a number of features: shallow water areas; severe storm conditions; large transverse dimensions of structures that cause waves diffraction; the variety of used structure forms; the way of platform mounting on the seabed. During platform operation in the shallow waters, its basement soil is under an intense impact of sea waves, currents, as well as jets from engine of coming and berthing ships. The structure disturbs the natural wave flow. Near the platform, flow velocity increases, there are vortexes breakaway from platform corner edges. Scour holes appear and progress near platform foundation. Their location and measure depend on the parameters of external impacts, on the water depth, on the shape and dimensions of the foundation block.

In recent years, widespread use of scanning sonars for acoustic imaging of the seabed surface can be observed. These types of sonars are mainly used with tripods or special booms, or are mounted onboard remotely operated or unmanned vehicles. Typical scanning sonar applications include search and recovery operations, imaging of underwater infrastructure, and scour monitoring. The use of these sonars is often limited to shallow waters. Diver teams or underwater remotely operated vehicles (ROV) are commonly used to inspect shipwrecks, port wharfs, and ship hulls. However, reduced underwater visibility, submerged debris, and extreme water depths can limit divers’ capabilities. In this paper, a novel, nonstandard technique for use of a scanning sonar is proposed. The new application for scanning sonar technology is a practical solution developed on the Polish Navy’s search and rescue ship “Lech.” To verify the effectiveness of the proposed technique, the author took part in four different studies carried out in the southeastern Baltic Sea. The tests were performed using the MS 1000 scanning sonar. The results demonstrate that the proposed technique has the potential to provide detailed sonar images of the seabed and underwater objects before the descent of divers. The divers get acquainted with the underwater situation, which undoubtedly increases the safety of the entire operation. Scanning sonars are unlikely to completely replace the work of divers but may reduce the number and duration of dives. The sonar use technique turned out to be useful when rescuing a crew of a submarine that crashed and settled on the sea bottom as part of a naval exercise. The sonar data obtained during four experimental tests performed in the Baltic Sea prove the validity, usefulness, and significance of the proposed technique, especially from the standpoint of safety of underwater work.

Tunaozi reach is one of the three famous sediment depositing reach on the Sichuan section of Yangtze River. It’s on the fluctuation backwater area when the Three Gorges Project is operated at the level of 135 m. According to the measured data before and after impoundment, this paper analyzes and calculates the sediment of the reach, and discusses the variation of silting and scouring of the reach after impoundment. Thus, this paper will have a study on the reason that silting and scouring lead to channel condition change. The result as follow: after impoundment, the bank-up water level of the reach has been head up 2 m during the flood season, sediment deposition becomes heavier than before impoundment; in post-flood season, the water level is 139m in November, it has been head up 7 m, compared with low water level in natural, current slowly flow further, the silt lack of enough scour in flood season, it leads to cumulative deposition. Until December 2005, thalweg plane position move left 200 m after impoundment. The maximum silting height of the thalweg longitudinal section is 30 m. The prime channel has been basically silted flat, year. Since the Three Gorges reservoir began to store water for three years, in low water level periods, ship tank is out of shallow, some timely dredging measure should be taken and make sure the smooth channel.

Theory and experiments are used to investigate the water and sediment motion induced along a sea bed by travelling plane jets. Steadily moving jets are considered, and represent an idealization of the tools mounted on ships and remotely operated vehicles (ROVs) for injection dredging and trenching. The jet-induced turbulent currents simultaneously suspend sand from the bed and entrain water from the ambient. To describe these processes, a shallow-flow theory is proposed in which the turbulent current is assumed stratified into sediment-laden and sediment-free sublayers. The equations are written in curvilinear coordinates attached to the co-evolving bed profile. A sharp interface description is then adopted to account rigorously for mass and momentum exchanges between the bed, current and ambient, including their effects on the balance of mechanical energy. Travelling-wave solutions are obtained, in which the jet-induced current scours a trench of permanent form in a frame of reference moving with the jetting tool. Depending on the operating parameters, it is found that the sediment-laden current may remain supercritical throughout the trench, or be forced to undergo an internal hydraulic jump. These predictions are confirmed by laboratory experiments. For flows with or without jump in which the current remains attached to the bed, bottom profiles computed by the theory compare favourably with imaging measurements.

Scouring and sedimentation effects on the seabed induced by ship propellers during ship manoeuvring near harbour structures affect both structure stability and ship manoeuvring capabilities. This contribution proposes solutions at an operational level using the automatic identification system (AIS) and a bridge simulator. Two new alternative manoeuvres were designed and tested on a bridge simulator to obtain expected maximum scour depth and the results were compared with that of real manoeuvres (i) using mooring lines, and (ii) with tug assistance. A total of 42 test scenarios combining several manoeuvres and meteorological conditions were reproduced. Results confirmed a clear reduction in erosion depth with the alternative manoeuvres, with total reduction when using the tugboat. The presented methodology can be very useful to port authorities to prevent the effects of ship erosion on harbour infrastructures.

Recently, the combination of larger bow-thrusters installed with vessels have created higher levels of bed scour action affecting the berthing structure and its overall stability. Therefore, the bed near a quay wall structure must have sufficient strength by placing a bed protection which may cause the cost of the project to rise. This research is carried out to investigate experimentally the effect of modifying the geometry of the quay wall surface on minimizing bed scour. This is done by inserting flow deflectors within the longitudinal direction of the wall surface in order to deflect/minimize the water jet affecting the bed near the quay wall. Experimental tests had been carried out for single and triple deflectors. The results showed that the use of flow deflectors achieved a reduction in bed eroded area in front of quay wall face by about 63%, and causes the start point of erosion to move far away from it; this may improve the stability of quay walls. Therefore, the importance of the present study is testing a new possible measure to improve the stability of quay walls by minimizing the scour in front of the wall and to decrease the cost of bottom protection.

Footsteps mark the land as people walk through the north eastern Queensland tropics. Here, in the mid-1800s, botanical explorers from the survey ship HMS Rattlesnake scour their newly encountered environment for species that will be sent as specimens to the growing collections in London. Local Aboriginal people walk with them, perhaps as guides, possibly interpreters. The narratives for this voyage refer to some individual Aboriginal people who accompanied the Europeans as cotaiga, companion – a word from one of the Cape York Peninsula languages. Meetings and encounters between these voyagers and the local people take place around conversations and communications concerning local environmental knowledge. In this paper I look more closely at these ‘knowledge encounters’, to consider the complex poetics of entanglements between local Indigenous knowledges and Western modes of knowledge and representations of the local environment. Interrogating the voyaging narratives for their depictions of these encounters-in-place, my paper will meditate upon philosophies of movement, of walking and being in place, and of place making in the tropics. The paper will also ask questions about the role of historical representations of entangled tropical knowledge formations in present day concerns about climate and environmental change.

Abstract. This study discusses the social history and development of Shiite groups in Manado. It is known in Manado that there are Shi'ite religious groups with various organizations. This study wants to answer the question: how come and the development of Shi'ite followers in Manado. Start when it comes and develops. Who are the characters, and how they relate to similar flow groups in Indonesia. Through the method of observation and in-depth interviews with various parties involved in Manado and surrounding areas, this research found several important things including: the understanding or ideological thinking of the Shi'a sect has basically been accepted since the development of Islamic activism which was rolled out after the 1979 Iranian revolution. became a religious organization along with the opening of the taps of political reform in Indonesia, precisely in 2005 when the Shiite-based study groups began to develop in Manado. The acceptance of this group is mainly due to emotional closeness both in terms of kinship or other social relations between the group figures and their followers. The acceptance of this group is also due to the phenomenon of "curiosity" about the new flow that is opposed but it actually makes new followers get a new "interesting" understanding in religion. Meanwhile, the refusal of the sect was due to unbalanced information from actual Shiite sources. The Shi'a sect in Manado is not in an extreme Shia category that infiltrates, opposes and spread hatred towards other Islamic groups. With these findings, this study recommends that the Shiite sect is not a scourge or threat to Muslims in North Sulawesi. In fact, they must be embraced to cooperate in advancing Muslims in this region. Differences in furu or non-fundametal understandings should not be used as an excuse to marginalize this group of Muslims in Manado, North Sulawesi.. Keywords: Syiah, Manado. Abstrak. Penelitian ini mendiskusikan tentang sejarah sosial dan perkembangan kelompok Syiah di Manado. Diketahui di Manado terdapat aliran kelompok keagamaan Syiah dengan berbagai organisasinya. Penelitian ini ingin menjawab pertanyaan: bagaimana datang dan berkembangnya penganut aliran Syiah di Manado. Mulai kapan datang dan berkembang. Siapa tokoh-tokohnya, dan bagaimana keterkaitannya dengan kelompok aliran serupa di Indonesia. Melalui metode observasi dan wawancara mendalam dengan berbagai pihak yang terkait di Manado dan sekitarnya, penelitian ini menemukan beberapa hal penting di antaranya : pemahaman atau pemikiran ideologis aliran Syiah pada dasarnya sudah diterima sejak berkembangnya aktivisme islam yang di gulirkan pasca revolusi Iran 1979. Namun baru berkembang menjadi organisasi keagamaan bersamaan dengan dibukanya kran reformasi politik di Indonesia, tepatnya tahun 2005 saat mulai berkembangnya kelompok-kelompok pengajian berpaham Syiah di Manado. Penerimaan yang terjadi terhadap kelompok ini utamanya karena kedekatan emosi baik secara kekerabatan atau hubungan sosial lainnya antara figur-figur kelompok tersebut dengan para pengikutnya. Penerimaan terhadap kelompok ini juga karena fenomena “penasaran” terhadap aliran baru yang ditentang tapi justru membuatpengikut baru mendapatkan pemahaman baru yang “menarik” dalam beragama. Sementara itu, penolakan-penolakan terhadap kelompok aliran ini lebih disebabkan karena informasi yang tidak seimbang dari sumber-sumber Syiah yang sebenarnya. Kelompok aliran Syiah di Manado bukan dalam kategori syiah ekstrim yang mengkafirkan, memusuhi, dan menyebarkan kebencian terhadap kelompok Islam lainnya. Dengan temuan ini, penelitian ini merekomendasikan agar kelompok aliran Syiah tidak dijadikan momok atau ancaman bagi umat Islam di Sulawesi Utara. Bahkan harus dirangkul untuk bekerja sama dalam memajukan umat Islam di Wilayah ini. Perbedaan pemahaman yang bersifat furu atau bukan fundametal janganlah dijadikan alasan unntuk meminggirkan kelompok ini dari bagian umat Islam di Manado Sulawesi Utara. Keywords: Syiah, Manado.

It is January 1930 and the restless Southern Ocean is heaving itself up against the frozen coast of Eastern Antarctica. For hundreds of kilometres, this coastline consists entirely of ice: although Antarctica is a continent, only 2% of its surface consists of exposed rock; the rest is buried under a vast frozen mantle. But there is rock in this coastal scene: silhouetted against the glaring white of the glacial shelf, a barren island humps up out of the water. Slowly and cautiously, the Discovery approaches the island through uncharted waters; the crew’s eyes strain in the frigid air as they scour the ocean’s surface for ship-puncturing bergs. The approach to the island is difficult, but Captain Davis maintains the Discovery on its course as the wind howls in the rigging. Finally, the ship can go no further; the men lower a boat into the tossing sea. They pull hard at the oars until the boat is abreast of the island, and then they ram the bow against its icy littoral. Now one of the key moments of this exploratory expedition—officially titled the British, Australian, and New Zealand Antarctic Research Expedition (BANZARE)—is about to occur: the expedition is about to succeed in its primary spatial mission. Douglas Mawson, the Australian leader of the expedition, puts his feet onto the island and ascends to its bleak summit. There, he and his crew assemble a mound of loose stones and insert into it the flagpole they’ve carried with them across the ocean. Mawson reads an official proclamation of territorial annexation (see Bush 118-19), the photographer Frank Hurley shoots the moment on film, and one of the men hauls the Union Jack up the pole. Until the Australian Flags Act of 1953, the Union Jack retained seniority over the Australian flag. BANZARE took place before the 1931 Statute of Westminster, which gave full political and foreign policy independence to Commonwealth countries, thus Mawson claimed Antarctic space on behalf of Britain. He did so with the understanding that Britain would subsequently grant Australia title to its own Antarctican space. Britain did so in 1933. In the freezing wind, the men take off their hats, give three cheers for the King, and sing “God Save the King.” They deposit a copy of the proclamation into a metal canister and affix this to the flagpole; for a moment they admire the view. But there is little time to savour the moment, or the feeling of solid ground under their cold feet: the ship is waiting and the wind is growing in force. The men row back to the Discovery; Mawson returns to his cabin and writes up the event. A crucial moment in Antarctica’s spatial history has occurred: on what Mawson has aptly named Proclamation Island, Antarctica has been produced as Australian space. But how, exactly, does this production of Antarctica as a spatial possession work? How does this moment initiate the transformation of six million square kilometres of Antarctica—42% of the continent—into Australian space? The answer to this question lies in three separate, but articulated cultural technologies: representation, the body of the explorer, and international territorial law. When it comes to thinking about ‘turf’, Antarctica may at first seem an odd subject of analysis. Physically, Antarctica is a turfless space, an entire continent devoid of grass, plants, land-based animals, or trees. Geopolitically, Antarctica remains the only continent on which no turf wars have been fought: British and Argentinian soldiers clashed over the occupation of a Peninsular base in the Hope Bay incident of 1952 (Dodds 56), but beyond this somewhat bathetic skirmish, Antarctican space has never been the object of physical conflict. Further, as Antarctica has no indigenous human population, its space remains free of the colonial turfs of dispossession, invasion, and loss. The Antarctic Treaty of 1961 formalised Antarctica’s geopolitically turfless status, stipulating that the continent was to be used for peaceful purposes only, and stating that Antarctica was an internationally shared space of harmony and scientific goodwill. So why address Antarctican spatiality here? Two motivations underpin this article’s anatomising of Australia’s Antarctican space. First, too often Antarctica is imagined as an entirely homogeneous space: a vast white plain dotted here and there along its shifting coast by identical scientific research stations inhabited by identical bearded men. Similarly, the complexities of Antarctica’s geopolitical and legal spaces are often overlooked in favour of a vision of the continent as a site of harmonious uniformity. While it is true that the bulk of Antarctican space is ice, the assumption that its cultural spatialities are identical is far from the case: this article is part of a larger endeavour to provide a ‘thick’ description of Antarctican spatialities, one which points to the heterogeneity of cultural geographies of the polar south. The Australian polar spatiality installed by Mawson differs radically from that of, for example, Chile; in a continent governed by international consensus, it is crucial that the specific cultural geographies and spatial histories of Treaty participants be clearly understood. Second, attending to complexities of Antarctican spatiality points up the intersecting cultural technologies involved in spatial production, cultural technologies so powerful that, in the case of Antarctica, they transformed nearly half of a distant continent into Australian sovereign space. This article focuses its critical attention on three core spatialising technologies, a trinary that echoes Henri Lefebvre’s influential tripartite model of spatiality: this article attends to Australian Antarctic representation, practise, and the law. At the turn of the twentieth century, Scott, Shackleton, and Amundsen trooped over the polar plateau, and Antarctic space became a setting for symbolic Edwardian performances of heroic imperial masculinity and ‘frontier’ hardiness. At the same time, a second, less symbolic, type of Antarctican spatiality began to evolve: for the first time, Antarctica became a potential territorial possession; it became the object of expansionist geopolitics. Based in part on Scott’s expeditions, Britain declared sovereignty over an undefined area of the continent in 1908, and France declared Antarctic space its own in 1924; by the late 1920s, what John Agnew and Stuart Corbridge refer to as the nation-state ontology—that is, the belief that land should and must be divided into state-owned units—had arrived in Antarctica. What the Adelaide Advertiser’s 8 April 1929 headline referred to as “A Scramble for Antarctica” had begun. The British Imperial Conference of 1926 concluded that the entire continent should become a possession of Britain and its dominions, New Zealand and Australia (Imperial). Thus, in 1929, BANZARE set sail into the brutal Southern Ocean. Although the expedition included various scientists, its primary mission was not to observe Antarctican space, but to take possession of it: as the expedition’s instructions from Australian Prime Minister Bruce stated, BANZARE’s mission was to produce Antarctica as Empire’s—and by extension, Australia’s—sovereign space (Jacka and Jacka 251). With the moment described in the first paragraph of this article, along with four other such moments, BANZARE succeeded; just how it did so is the focus of this work. It is by now axiomatic in spatial studies that the job of imperial explorers is not to locate landforms, but to produce a discursive space. “The early travellers,” as Paul Carter notes of Australian explorers, “invented places rather than found them” (51). Numerous analytical investigations attend to the discursive power of exploration: in Australia, Carter’s Road to Botany Bay, Simon Ryan’s Cartographic Eye, Ross Gibson’s Diminishing Paradise, and Brigid Hains’s The Ice and the Inland, to name a few, lay bare the textual strategies through which the imperial annexation of “new” spaces was legitimated and enabled. Discursive territoriality was certainly a core product of BANZARE: as this article’s opening paragraph demonstrates, one of the key missions of BANZARE was not simply to perform rituals of spatial possession, but to textualise them for popular and governmental consumption. Within ten months of the expedition’s return, Hurley’s film Southward Ho! With Mawson was touring Australia. BANZARE consisted of two separate trips to Antarctica; Southward Ho! documents the first of these, while Siege of the South documents the both the first and the second, 1930-1, mission. While there is not space here to provide a detailed textual analysis of the entire film, a focus on the “Proclamation Island moment” usefully points up some of the film’s central spatialising work. Hurley situated the Proclamation Island scene at the heart of the film; the scene was so important that Hurley wished he had been able to shoot two hours of footage of Mawson’s island performance (Ayres 194). This scene in the film opens with a long shot of the land and sea around the island; a soundtrack of howling wind not only documents the brutal conditions in which the expedition worked, but also emphasises the emptiness of Antarctican space prior to its “discovery” by Mawson: in this shot, the film visually confirms Antarctica’s status as an available terra nullius awaiting cooption into Australian understanding, and into Australian national space. The film then cuts to a close-up of Mawson raising the flag; the sound of the wind disappears as Mawson begins to read the proclamation of possession. It is as if Mawson’s proclamation of possession stills the protean chaos of unclaimed Antarctic space by inviting it into the spatial order of national territory: at this moment, Antarctica’s agency is symbolically subsumed by Mawson’s acquisitive words. As the scene ends, the camera once again pans over the surrounding sea and ice scape, visually confirming the impact of Mawson’s—and the film’s—performance: all this, the shot implies, is now made meaningful; all this is now understood, recorded, and, most importantly, all this is now ours. A textual analysis of this filmic moment might identify numerous other spatialising strategies at work: its conflation of Mawson’s and the viewer’s proprietary gazes (Ryan), its invocation of the sublime, or its legitimising conflation of the ‘purity’ of the whiteness of the landscape with the whiteness of its claimants (Dyer 21). However, the spatial productivity of this moment far exceeds the discursive. What is at times frustrating about discourse analyses of spatiality is that they too often fail to articulate representation to other, equally potent, cultural technologies of spatial production. John Wylie notes that “on the whole, accounts of early twentieth-century Antarctic exploration exhibit a particular tendency to position and interpret exploratory experience in terms of self-contained discursive ensembles” (170). Despite the undisputed power of textuality, discourse alone does not, and cannot, produce a spatial possession. “Discursive and representational practices,” as Jane Jacobs observes, “are in a mutually constitutive relationship with political and economic forces” (9); spatiality, in other words, is not simply a matter of texts. In order to understand fully the process of Antarctican spatial acquisition, it is necessary to depart from tales of exploration and ships and flags, and to focus on the less visceral spatiality of international territorial law. Or, more accurately, it is necessary to address the mutual imbrication of these two articulated spatialising “domains of practice” (Dixon). The emerging field of critical legal geography is founded on the premise that legal analyses of territoriality neglect the spatial dimension of their investigations; rather than seeing the law as a means of spatial production, they position space as a neutral, universally-legible entity which is neatly governed by the “external variable” of territorial law (Blomley 28). “In the hegemonic conception of the law,” Wesley Pue argues, “the entire world is transmuted into one vast isotropic surface” (568) upon which law acts. Nicholas Blomley asserts, however, that law is not a neutral organiser of space, but rather a cultural technology of spatial production. Territorial laws, in other words, make spaces, and don’t simply govern them. When Mawson planted the flag and read the proclamation, he was producing Antarctica as a legal space as well as a discursive one. Today’s international territorial laws derive directly from European imperialism: as European empires expanded, they required a spatial system that would protect their newly-annexed lands, and thus they developed a set of laws of territorial acquisition and possession. Undergirding these laws is the ontological premise that space is divisible into state-owned sovereign units. At international law, space can be acquired by its imperial claimants in one of three main ways: through conquest, cession (treaty), or through “the discovery of terra nullius” (see Triggs 2). Antarctica and Australia remain the globe’s only significant spaces to be transformed into possessions through the last of these methods. In the spatiality of the international law of discovery, explorers are not just government employees or symbolic representatives, but vessels of enormous legal force. According to international territorial law, sovereign title to “new” territory—land defined (by Europeans) as terra nullius, or land belonging to no one—can be established through the eyes, feet, codified ritual performances, and documents of explorers. That is, once an authorised explorer—Mawson carried documents from both the Australian Prime Minister and the British King that invested his body and his texts with the power to transform land into a possession—saw land, put his foot on it, planted a flag, read a proclamation, then documented these acts in words and maps, that land became a possession. These performative rituals and their documentation activate the legal spatiality of territorial acquisition; law here is revealed as a “bundle of practices” that produce space as a possession (Ford 202). What we witness when we attend to Mawson’s island performance, then, is not merely a discursive performance, but also the transformation of Antarctica into a legal space of possession. Similarly, the films and documents generated by the expedition are more than just a “sign system of human ambition” (Tang 190), they are evidence, valid at law, of territorial possession. They are key components of Australia’s legal currency of Antarctican spatial purchase. What is of central importance here is that Mawson’s BANZARE performance on Proclamation Island is a moment in which the dryly legal, the bluntly physical, and the densely textual clearly intersect in the creation of space as a possession. Australia did not take possession of forty-two percent of Antarctica after BANZARE by law, by exploration, or by representation alone. The Australian government built its Antarctic space with letters patent and legal documents. BANZARE produced Australia’s Antarctic possession through the physical and legal rituals of flag-planting, proclamation-reading, and exploration. BANZARE further contributed to Australia’s polar empire with maps, journals, photos and films, and cadastral lists of the region’s animals, minerals, magnetic fields, and winds. The law of “discovery of terra nullius” coalesced these spaces into a territory officially designated as Australian. It is crucial to recognise that the production of nearly half of Antarctica as Australian space was, and is not a matter of discourse, of physical performance, or of law alone. Rather, these three cultural technologies of spatial production are mutually imbricated; none can function without the others, nor is one reducible to an epiphenomenon of another. To focus on the discursive products of BANZARE without attending to the expedition’s legal work not only downplays the significance of Mawson’s spatialising achievement, but also blinds us to the role that law plays in the production of space. Attending to Mawson’s Proclamation Island moment points to the unique nature of Australia’s Antarctic spatiality: unlike the US, which constructs Antarctic spatiality as entirely non-sovereign; and unlike Chile, which bases its Antarctic sovereignty claim on Papal Bulls and acts of domestic colonisation, Australian Antarctic space is a spatiality of possession, founded on a bedrock of imperial exploration, representation, and law. Seventy-four years ago, the camera whirred as a man stuck a flagpole into the bleak summit rocks of a small Antarctic island: six million square kilometres of Antarctica became, and remain, Australian space. Works Cited Agnew, John, and Stuart Corbridge. Mastering Space: Hegemony, Territory and International Political Economy. London: Routledge, 1995. Ayres, Philip. Mawson: A Life. Melbourne: Melbourne UP, 1999. Blomley, Nicholas. Law, Space, and the Geographies of Power. New York: Guilford, 1994. Bush, W. M. Antarctica and International Law: A Collection of Inter-State and National Documents. Vol. 2. London: Oceana, 1982. Carter, Paul. The Road to Botany Bay: An Essay in Spatial History. London: Faber, 1987. Dixon, Rob. Prosthetic Gods: Travel, Representation and Colonial Governance. Brisbane: UQP, 2001. Dodds, Klaus. Geopolitics in Antarctica: Views from the Southern Oceanic Rim. Chichester: Wiley, 1997. Dyer, Richard. White. London: Routledge, 1997. Ford, Richard. “Law’s Territory (A History of Jurisdiction).” The Legal Geographies Reader. Ed. Nicholas Blomley and Richard Ford. Oxford: Blackwell, 2001. 200-17. Gibson, Ross. The Diminishing Paradise: Changing Literary Perceptions of Australia. Sydney: Sirius, 1984. Hains, Brigid. The Ice and the Inland: Mawson, Flynn, and the Myth of the Frontier. Melbourne: Melbourne UP, 2002. Imperial Conference, 1926. Summary of Proceedings. London: His Majesty’s Stationary Office, 1926. Jacka, Fred, and Eleanor Jacka, eds. Mawson’s Antarctic Diaries. Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 1988. Jacobs, Jane. Edge of Empire: Postcolonialism and the City. London: Routledge, 1996. Pue, Wesley. “Wrestling with Law: (Geographical) Specificity versus (Legal) Abstraction.” Urban Geography 11.6 (1990): 566-85. Ryan, Simon. The Cartographic Eye: How the Explorers Saw Australia. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1996. Tang, David. “Writing on Antarctica.” Room 5 1 (2000): 185-95. Triggs, Gillian. International Law and Australian Sovereignty in Antarctica. Sydney: Legal, 1986. Wylie, John. “Earthly Poles: The Antarctic Voyages of Scott and Amundsen.” Postcolonial Geographies. Ed Alison Blunt and Cheryl McEwan. London: Continuum, 2002. 169-83. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Collis, Christy. "Australia’s Antarctic Turf" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture <http://www.media-culture.org.au/0403/02-feature-australia.php>. APA Style Collis, C. (2004, Mar17). Australia’s Antarctic Turf. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture,7,<http://www.media-culture.org.au/0403/02-feature australia.php>

1. Make a list of things to do2. Copy list of things left undone from previous list3. Add items to list of new things needing to be done4. Add some of the things already done from previous list and immediately cross off so as to put off the feeling of an interminable list of never accomplishable tasks5. Finish writing list and sit back feeling an overwhelming sense of listlessnessIt started so well. Get up: make list: get on. But lists can breed listlessness. It can’t always be helped. The word “list” referring to a sequence of items comes from the Italian and French words for “strip”—as in a strip of material. The word “list” that you find in the compound “listlessness” comes from the old English word for pleasing (to list is to please and to desire). To be listless is to be without desire, without the desire to please. The etymologies of list and listless don’t correspond but they might seem to conspire in other ways. Oh, and by the way, ships can list when their balance is off.I list, like a ship, itemising my obligations to job, to work, to colleagues, to parenting, to family: write a reference for such and such; buy birthday present for eighty-year-old dad; finish article about lists – and so on. I forget to add to the list my necessary requirements for achieving any of this: keep breathing; eat and drink regularly; visit toilet when required. Lists make visible. Lists hide. I forget to add to my list all my worries that underscore my sense that these lists (or any list) might require an optimism that is always something of a leap of faith: I hope that electricity continues to exist; I hope my computer will still work; I hope that my sore toe isn’t the first sign of bodily paralysis; I hope that this heart will still keep beating.I was brought up on lists: the hit parade (the top one hundred “hit” singles); football leagues (not that I ever really got the hang of them); lists of kings and queens; lists of dates; lists of states; lists of elements (the periodic table). There are lists and there are lists. Some lists are really rankings. These are clearly the important lists. Where do you stand on the list? How near the bottom are you? Where is your university in the list of top universities? Have you gone down or up? To list, then, for some at least is to rank, to prioritise, to value. Is it this that produces listlessness? The sense that while you might want to rank your ten favourite films in a list, listing is something that is constantly happening to you, happening around you; you are always in amongst lists, never on top of them. To hang around the middle of lists might be all that you can hope for: no possibility of sudden lurching from the top spot; no urgent worries that you might be heading for demotion too quickly.But ranking is only one aspect of listing. Sometimes listing has a more flattening effect. I once worked as a cash-in-hand auditor (in this case a posh name for someone who counts things). A group of us (many of whom were seriously stoned) were bussed to factories and warehouses where we had to count the stock. We had to make lists of items and simply count what there was: for large items this was relatively easy, but for the myriad of miniscule parts this seemed a task for Sisyphus. In a power-tool factory in some unprepossessing town on the outskirts of London (was it Slough or Croydon or somewhere else?) we had to count bolts, nuts, washers, flex, rivets, and so on. Of course after a while we just made it up—guesstimates—as they say. A box of thousands of 6mm metal washers is a homogenous set in a list of heterogeneous parts that itself starts looking homogenous as it takes its part in the list. Listing dedifferentiates in the act of differentiating.The task of making lists, of filling-in lists, of having a list of tasks to complete encourages listlessness because to list lists towards exhaustiveness and exhaustion. Archives are lists and lists are often archives and archived. Those that work on lists and on archives constantly battle the fatigue of too many lists, of too much exhaustiveness. But could exhaustion be embraced as a necessary mood with which to deal with lists and archives? Might listlessness be something of a methodological orientation that has its own productivity in the face of so many lists?At my university there resides an archive that can appear to be a list of lists. It is the Mass-Observation archive, begun at the end of 1936 and, with a sizeable hiatus in the 1960s and 1970s, is still going today. (For a full account of Mass-Observation, see Highmore, Everyday Life chapter 6, and Hubble; for examples of Mass-Observation material, see Calder and Sheridan, and Highmore, Ordinary chapter 4; for analysis of Mass-Observation from the point of view of the observer, see Sheridan, Street, and Bloome. The flavour of the project as it emerges in the late 1930s is best conveyed by consulting Mass-Observation, Mass-Observation, First Year’s Work, and Britain.) It was begun by three men: the filmmaker Humphrey Jennings, the poet and sociologist Charles Madge, and the ornithologist and anthropologist-of-the-near Tom Harrisson. Both Jennings and Madge were heavily involved in promoting a form of social surrealism that might see buried forces in the coincidences of daily life as well as in the machinations and contingency of large political and social events (the abdication crisis, the burning of the Crystal Palace—both in late 1936). Harrisson brought a form of amateur anthropology with him that would scour football crowds, pub clientele, and cinema queues for ritualistic and symbolic forms. Mass-Observation quickly recruited a large group of voluntary observers (about a thousand) who would be “the meteorological stations from whose reports a weather-map of popular feeling can be compiled” (Mass-Observation, Mass-Observation 30). Mass-Observation combined the social survey with a relentless interest in the irrational and in what the world felt like to those who lived in it. As a consequence the file reports often seem banal and bizarre in equal measure (accounts of nightmares, housework routines, betting activities). When Mass-Observation restarted in the 1980s the surrealistic impetus became less pronounced, but it was still there, implicit in the methodology. Today, both as an on-going project and as an archive of previous observational reports, Mass-Observation lives in archival boxes. You can find a list of what topics are addressed in each box; you can also find lists of the contributors, the voluntary Mass-Observers whose observations are recorded in the boxes. What better way to give you a flavour of these boxes than to offer you a sample of their listing activities. Here are observers, observing in 1983 the objects that reside on their mantelpieces. Here’s one:champagne cork, rubber band, drawing pin, two hearing aid batteries, appointment card for chiropodist, piece of dog biscuit.Does this conjure up a world? Do we have a set of clues, of material evidence, a small cosmology of relics, a reduced Wunderkammer, out of which we can construct not the exotic but something else, something more ordinary? Do you smell camphor and imagine antimacassars? Do you hear conversations with lots of mishearing? Are the hearing aid batteries shared? Is this a single person living with a dog, or do we imagine an assembly of chiropodist-goers, dog-owners, hearing aid-users, rubber band-pingers, champagne-drinkers?But don’t get caught imagining a life out of these fragments. Don’t get stuck on this list: there are hundreds to get through. After all, what sort of an archive would it be if it included a single list? We need more lists.Here’s another mantelpiece: three penknives, a tube of cement [which I assume is the sort of rubber cement that you get in bicycle puncture repair kits], a pocket microscope, a clinical thermometer.Who is this? A hypochondriacal explorer? Or a grown-up boy-scout, botanising on the asphalt? Why so many penknives? But on, on... And another:1 letter awaiting postage stamp1 diet book1 pair of spare spectacles1 recipe for daughter’s home economics1 notepad1 pen1 bottle of indigestion tablets1 envelope containing 13 pence which is owed a friend1 pair of stick-on heels for home shoe repairing session3 letters in day’s post1 envelope containing money for week’s milk bill1 recipe cut from magazine2 out of date letters from schoolWhat is the connection between the daughter’s home economics recipe and the indigestion tablets? Is the homework gastronomy not quite going to plan? Or is the diet book causing side-effects? And what sort of financial stickler remembers that they owe 13p; even in 1983 this was hardly much money? Or is it the friend who is the stickler? Perhaps this is just prying...?But you need more. Here’s yet another:an ashtray, a pipe, pipe tamper and tobacco pouch, one decorated stone and one plain stone, a painted clay model of an alien, an enamelled metal egg from Hong Kong, a copper bracelet, a polished shell, a snowstorm of Father Christmas in his sleigh...Ah, a pipe smoker, this much is clear. But apart from this the display sounds ritualistic – one stone decorated the other not. What sort of religion is this? What sort of magic? An alien and Santa. An egg, a shell, a bracelet. A riddle.And another:Two 12 gauge shotgun cartridges live 0 spread Rubber plantBrass carriage clockInternational press clock1950s cigarette dispenser Model of Panzer MKIV tankWWI shell fuseWWI shell case ash tray containing an acorn, twelve .22 rounds of ammunition, a .455 Eley round and a drawing pinPhoto of Eric Liddell (Chariots of Fire)Souvenir of Algerian ash tray containing marbles and beach stonesThree 1930s plastic duck clothes brushesLetter holder containing postcards and invitations. Holder in shape of a cow1970s Whizzwheels toy carWooden box of jeweller’s rottenstone (Victorian)Incense holderWorld war one German fuse (used)Jim Beam bottle with candle thereinSol beer bottle with candle therein I’m getting worried now. Who are these people who write for Mass-Observation? Why so much military paraphernalia? Why such detail as to the calibrations? Should I concern myself that small militias are holding out behind the net curtains and aspidistra plants of suburban England?And another:1930s AA BadgeAvocado PlantWooden cat from MexicoKahlua bottle with candle there in1950s matchbook with “merry widow” cocktail printed thereonTwo Britain’s model cannonOne brass “Carronade” from the Carron Iron Works factory shopPhotography pass from Parkhead 12/11/88Grouse foot kilt pinBrass incense holderPheasant featherNovitake cupBlack ash tray with beach pebbles there inFull packet of Mary Long cigarettes from HollandPewter cocktail shaker made in ShanghaiI’m feeling distance. Who says “there in” and “there on?” What is a Novitake cup? Perhaps I wrote it down incorrectly? An avocado plant stirs memories of trying to grow one from an avocado stone skewered in a cup with one “point” dunked in a bit of water. Did it ever grow, or just rot? I’m getting distracted now, drifting off, feeling sleepy...Some more then – let’s feed the listlessness of the list:Wood sculpture (Tenerife)A Rubber bandBirdJunior aspirinToy dinosaur Small photo of daughterSmall paint brushAh yes the banal bizarreness of ordinary life: dinosaurs and aspirins, paint brushes and rubber bands.But then a list comes along and pierces you:Six inch piece of grey eyeliner1 pair of nail clippers1 large box of matches1 Rubber band2 large hair gripsHalf a piece of cough candy1 screwed up tissue1 small bottle with tranquillizers in1 dead (but still in good condition) butterfly (which I intended to draw but placed it now to rest in the garden) it was already dead when I found it.The dead butterfly, the tranquillizers, the insistence that the mantelpiece user didn’t actually kill the butterfly, the half piece of cough candy, the screwed up tissue. In amongst the rubber bands and matches, signs of something desperate. Or maybe not: a holding on (the truly desperate haven’t found their way to the giant tranquillizer cupboard), a keeping a lid on it, a desire (to draw, to place a dead butterfly at rest in the garden)...And here is the methodology emerging: the lists works on the reader, listing them, and making them listless. After a while the lists (and there are hundreds of these lists of mantle-shelf items) begin to merge. One giant mantle shelf filled with small stacks of foreign coins, rubber bands and dead insects. They invite you to be both magical ethnographer and deadpan sociologist at one and the same time (for example, see Hurdley). The “Martian” ethnographer imagines the mantelpiece as a shrine where this culture worships the lone rubber band and itinerant button. Clearly a place of reliquary—on this planet the residents set up altars where they place their sacred objects: clocks and clippers; ammunition and amulets; coins and pills; candles and cosmetics. Or else something more sober, more sombre: late twentieth century petite-bourgeois taste required the mantelpiece to hold the signs of aspirant propriety in the form of emblems of tradition (forget the coins and the dead insects and weaponry: focus on the carriage clocks). And yet, either way, it is the final shelf that gets me every time. But it only got me, I think, because the archive had worked its magic: ransacked my will, my need to please, my desire. It had, for a while at least, made me listless, and listless enough to be touched by something that was really a minor catalogue of remainders. This sense of listlessness is the way that the archive productively defeats the “desire for the archive.” It is hard to visit an archive without an expectation, without an “image repertoire,” already in mind. This could be thought of as the apperception-schema of archival searching: the desire to see patterns already imagined; the desire to find the evidence for the thought whose shape has already formed. Such apperception is hard to avoid (probably impossible), but the boredom of the archive, its ceaselessness, has a way of undoing it, of emptying it. It corresponds to two aesthetic positions and propositions. One is well-known: it is Barthes’s distinction between “studium” and “punctum.” For Barthes, studium refers to a sort of social interest that is always, to some degree, satisfied by a document (his concern, of course, is with photographs). The punctum, on the other hand, spills out from the photograph as a sort of metonymical excess, quite distinct from social interest (but for all that, not asocial). While Barthes is clearly offering a phenomenology of viewing photographs, he isn’t overly interested (here at any rate) with the sort of perceptional-state the viewer might need to be in to be pierced by the puntum of an image. My sense, though, is that boredom, listlessness, tiredness, a sort of aching indifference, a mood of inattentiveness, a sense of satiated interest (but not the sort of disinterest of Kantian aesthetics), could all be beneficial to a punctum-like experience. The second aesthetic position is not so well-known. The Austrian dye-technician, lawyer and art-educationalist Anton Ehrenzweig wrote, during the 1950s and 1960s, about a form of inattentive-attention, and a form of afocal-rendering (eye-repelling rather than eye-catching), that encouraged eye-wandering, scanning, and the “‘full’ emptiness of attention” (Ehrenzweig, The Hidden Order 39). His was an aesthetics attuned to the kind of art produced by Paul Klee, but it was also an aesthetic propensity useful for making wallpaper and for productively connecting to unconscious processes. Like Barthes, Ehrenzweig doesn’t pursue the sort of affective state of being that might enhance such inattentive-attention, but it is not hard to imagine that the sort of library-tiredness of the archive would be a fitting preparation for “full emptiness.” Ehrenzweig and Barthes can be useful for exploring this archival mood, this orientation and attunement, which is also a disorientation and mis-attunement. Trawling through lists encourages scanning: your sensibilities are prepared; your attention is being trained. After a while, though, the lists blur, concentration starts to loosen its grip. The lists are not innocent recipients here. Shrapnel shards pull at you. You start to notice the patterns but also the spaces in-between that don’t seem to fit sociological categorisations. The strangeness of the patterns hypnotises you and while the effect can generate a sense of sociological-anthropological homogeneity-with-difference, sometimes the singularity of an item leaps out catching you unawares. An archive is an orchestration of order and disorder: however contained and constrained it appears it is always spilling out beyond its organisational structures (amongst the many accounts of archives in terms of their orderings, see Sekula, and Stoler, Race and Along). Like “Probate Inventories,” the mantelpiece archive presents material objects that connect us (however indirectly) to embodied practices and living spaces (Evans). The Mass-Observation archive, especially in its mantelpiece collection, is an accretion of temporalities and spaces. More crucially, it is an accumulation of temporalities materialised in a mass of spaces. A thousand mantelpieces in a thousand rooms scattered across the United Kingdom. Each shelf is syncopated to the rhythms of diverse durations, while being synchronised to the perpetual now of the shelf: a carriage clock, for instance, inherited from a deceased parent, its brass detailing relating to a different age, its mechanism perpetually telling you that the time of this space is now. The archive carries you away to a thousand living rooms filled with the momentary (dead insects) and the eternal (pebbles) and everything in-between. Its centrifugal force propels you out to a vast accrual of things: ashtrays, rubber bands, military paraphernalia, toy dinosaurs; a thousand living museums of the incidental and the memorial. This vertiginous archive threatens to undo you; each shelf a montage of times held materially together in space. It is too much. It pushes me towards the mantelshelves I know, the ones I’ve had a hand in. Each one an archive in itself: my grandfather’s green glass paperweight holding a fragile silver foil flower in its eternal grasp; the potions and lotions that feed my hypochondria; used train tickets. Each item pushes outwards to other times, other spaces, other people, other things. It is hard to focus, hard to cling onto anything. Was it the dead butterfly, or the tranquillizers, or both, that finally nailed me? Or was it the half a cough-candy? I know what she means by leaving the remnants of this sweet. You remember the taste, you think you loved them as a child, they have such a distinctive candy twist and colour, but actually their taste is harsh, challenging, bitter. There is nothing as ephemeral and as “useless” as a sweet; and yet few things are similarly evocative of times past, of times lost. Yes, I think I’d leave half a cough-candy on a shelf, gathering dust.[All these lists of mantelpiece items are taken from the Mass-Observation archive at the University of Sussex. Mass-Observation is a registered charity. For more information about Mass-Observation go to http://www.massobs.org.uk/]ReferencesBarthes, Roland. Camera Lucida. Translated by Richard Howard. London: Fontana, 1984.Calder, Angus, and Dorothy Sheridan, eds. Speak for Yourself: A Mass-Observation Anthology 1937–1949. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1985.Ehrenzweig, Anton. The Psychoanalysis of Artistic Vision and Hearing: An Introduction to a Theory of Unconscious Perception. Third edition. London: Sheldon Press, 1965. [Originally published in 1953.]---. The Hidden Order of Art. London: Paladin, 1970.Evans, Adrian. “Enlivening the Archive: Glimpsing Embodied Consumption Practices in Probate Inventories of Household Possessions.” Historical Geography 36 (2008): 40-72.Highmore, Ben. Everyday Life and Cultural Theory. London: Routledge, 2002.---. Ordinary Lives: Studies in the Everyday. Abingdon: Routledge, 2011.Hubble, Nick. Mass-Observation and Everyday Life: Culture, History, Theory, Houndmills and New York: Palgrave, 2006.Hurdley, Rachel. “Dismantling Mantelpieces: Narrating Identities and Materializing Culture in the Home.” Sociology 40, 4 (2006): 717-733Mass-Observation. Mass-Observation. London: Fredrick Muller, 1937.---. First Year’s Work 1937-38. London: Lindsay Drummond, 1938.---. Britain. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1939.Sekula, Allan. “The Body and the Archive.” October 39 (1986): 3-64.Sheridan, Dorothy, Brian Street, and David Bloome. Writing Ourselves: Mass-Observation and Literary Practices. Cresskill, New Jersey: Hampton Press, 2000.Stoler, Ann Laura. Race and the Education of Desire: Foucault’s History of Sexuality and the Colonial Order of Things. Durham and London: Duke UP, 1995. Stoler, Ann Laura. Along the Archival Grain: Epistemic Anxieties and Colonial Common Sense. Princeton: Princeton UP, 2009.