Journal articles on the topic 'Tactile cartographic communication model'

Abstract The identity of cartography is determined by the manner of defining and interpreting the concept of “map”. However, the term has not been unequivocally articulated as yet. There are many different definitions of maps available in literature – from those viewing map as a scaled-down, planar, graphic representation of geographical space, to those that equate a map to a specific model that is independent of the form of its presentation. Interestingly enough, the basis of such universal treatment of the map concept can be found already in the scientific works from the 1960s. Although contemporary definitions do not limit a map to a single form of presentation, such over-simplification still persists. The issue has become very relevant given the rapidly increasing number of diverse geospatial applications designed to access spatial data and present it in diverse forms. So far, however, there are no clear rules for categorizing a given representation as cartographic or non-cartographic. And this often gives rise to various misconceptions, e.g. regarding the role and responsibilities of cartography as science and practical activity. According to the authors of the article, a map is an ordered informational structure shaped by the years of practical experience and research in the field of cartography. Map arising in the process of cartographic modelling is understood as one of many possible models of the portrayed space. The model is formed in the course of thought processes, including abstraction and generalization in particular. Creation of the model involves the use of symbolism that can be decoded by the recipient. This does not mean, however, that the process of symbolization is limited exclusively to graphical representations. Map is also a tool for presenting spatial information in a visual, digital or tactile way. Therefore, the essence of map is determined by its “model” nature rather than the format of the cartographic message. The authors have assumed that map is formed in the process of cartographic modelling and certain properties of the process can be defined, that distinguish it from other methods of spatial modelling. The properties recognized as characteristic for cartographic modelling include space portraying that enables identification of types of objects and phenomena, describing spatial relationships between objects, as well as their positioning in the applied reference system. In the authors’ opinion, properties of cartographic modelling include also the intentional application of a specific level of generalization determined by the objective of the map, aware authorship of the message, unambiguity of communication and symbolization based on knowledge. The proposed approach should facilitate the classification of different products designed to represent space.

There is a large public interest in topics such as the Large Hadron Collider and the Higgs boson, primarily communicated to school children and the wider public using visual methods. As a result, visually impaired audiences of all ages often have difficulty accessing the scientific communication and may not be culturally involved in the scientific process. Tactile Collider aims to address this issue and has developed new methods of engaging visually impaired children and adults in science by the creation of the Tactile Collider model. This model has been developed with visual impairment (VI) experts and consultations, and implemented in a national touring event called Tactile Collider, visiting VI schools and centres around the country between 2017 and 2019. This paper describes the model and its development, and the use of the model to curate Tactile Collider events in 2017 and 2018. We present a quantitative and qualitative analysis of three 2018 events, showing the effectiveness of the approach and the engagement of the audience. The broader applicability is discussed.

Ink-jet technology is a novel method for rapid deposition of accurately measured material with high precision. Consequently it has been used for applications such as, deposition of light emitting polymers and more recently for fabricating 3D objects and micro-mechanical structures. Ink-jet technology is also being applied to produce tactile maps for the visually impaired. The efficiency of the tactile maps, as outlined by psychophysical and cartographic studies of haptics, depends on its 3D features. To comprehend and control these features, detailed understanding of interaction amongst micro-drops, which are typically 50μm in diameter, is imperative. Multiphase interaction takes place between each liquid drop at impact with liquid or solid cured drops (deposited previously) and the solid substrate in an envelop of air. The behavior of micro-drops with regards to surface tension, drop coalescence among liquid and solid drops, drop impact kinetics, wettability, surface energy and drop spread has been analyzed using a computational model.

Enabling haptic communication as well as voice and data over the future 5G cellular system has become a demand. Tactile Internet is one of the main use cases of the 5G system that will allow the transfer of haptic communications in real time. Latency, availability, reliability, and security are the main design challenges of the tactile Internet system and haptic based bilateral teleoperation systems. An end-to-end latency of 1 ms remains the main challenge toward tactile Internet system realization, not only for the processing and coding delays but mainly for the limitations of light. In this work, we analyze the key solutions to overcome the light limitations and enable the tactile Internet over any distances with the required latency. Building a virtual model or model mediated for the remote environment at the edge cloud unit near to the end user is the main solution. By means of AI, the virtual model can predict the behavior of the remote environment and thus, the end user can interact with the virtual environment with a high system experience. This literature review covers the existing work of the model mediated bilateral teleoperated systems and discusses its availability for the tactile Internet system. Furthermore, the security issues of tactile Internet system and the effect of model mediated system on the required security level of tactile Internet applications are discussed. Finally, a structure for the tactile Internet system, with the deployment of model mediation, is suggested.

<p><strong>Abstract.</strong> The rapid progress of communication and information technology, as well as geospatial technology in the last decades, has noticeably altered the manner in which spatial information about disasters is accessed, stored and disseminated. The Internet broadcasts static maps and interactive mapping about natural hazards, in which as a consequence, the public is now flooded by vast amounts of this cartographic information. However, there are a little theoretical or empirical study concerns how individuals accept online hazard maps as a source of information or a medium of risk communication. As an initial step of further research about the issue, this study, therefore, aims to conduct a systematic review on relevant prior research that can help to construct a model to define how individuals accept and intend to continue using this web-based cartographic communication medium. As a next step, we will extend this model to explain how the acceptance and intention might increase one's awareness of the risks of natural hazards as it subsequently affects decision making on risk reduction behavioral responses. We begin the analysis by reviewing the Protective Action Decision Model (PADM) as the foundational framework for risk communication. As acceptance and usage intention is commonly described by Technology Acceptance Model (TAM) and Expectation-Confirmation Theory (ECT), we then comprehensively review selected literature on these notions. Various studies conducted within hazard maps, the Internet and risk communication context were evaluated to identify factors have not been incorporated into prior acceptance and usage models. The result of this study contributes to the theoretical novelty and helps to identify gaps of existing literature in the domains of user acceptance and intention of continue usage of online hazard maps in risk communication.</p>

Abstract. Map is an effective communication means. It carries and transmits spatial information about spatial objects and phenomena, from map makers to map users. Therefore, cartography can be regarded as a communication system. Efforts has been made on the application of Shannon Information theory developed in digital communication to cartography to establish an information theory of cartography, or simply cartographic information theory (or map information theory). There was a boom during the period from later 1960s to early 1980s. Since later 1980s, researcher have almost given up the dream of establishing the information theory of cartography because they met a bottleneck problem. That is, Shannon entropy is only able to characterize the statistical information of map symbols but not capable of characterizing the spatial configuration (patterns) of map symbols. Fortunately, break-through has been made, i.e. the building of entropy models for metric and thematic information as well as a feasible computational model for Boltzmann entropy. This paper will review the evolutional processes, examine the bottleneck problems and the solutions, and finally propose a framework for the information theory of cartography. It is expected that such a theory will become the most fundamental theory of cartography in the big data era.

Research subject. Communication network architecture 2030, delay compensation mechanisms. Objective. Consider the architecture of communication networks with intelligent edge computing, propose mechanisms for compensating network latency for tactile Internet applications based on predictive analytics. Core results. Scientific publications and specifications from open sources were analyzed, on tactile Internet topics, delay compensation mechanisms, intelligent boundary computing. A model of 2030 network architecture and a method of minimizing delay based on machine learning are proposed. Main conclusions. Modernization of the network architecture and software package will significantly increase the efficiency of communication networks, implement new models and methods of data processing, and will also have a significant impact on the digital economy.

Visually impaired people (VIP) feel a lack of aid for their facilitated urban mobility, mainly due to obstacles encountered on their routes. This paper describes the design of AudioMaps, a prototype of cartographic technology for mobile devices. AudioMaps was designed to register the descriptions and locations of points of interest. When a point is registered, the prototype inserts a georeferenced landmark on the screen (based on Google Maps). Then, if the AudioMaps position is next to (15 or 5 m from) the previously registered point, it sends by audio the missing distance and a description. For a preview, a test area located in Monte Carmelo, Brazil, was selected, and the light poles, street corners (name of streets forming the intersections), and crosswalks were registered in AudioMaps. A tactile model, produced manually, was used to form the first image of four sighted people and four VIP, who completed a navigation task in the tested area. The results indicate that both the tactile model and the audiovisual prototype can be used by both groups of participants. Above all, the prototype proved to be a viable and promising option for decision-making and spatial orientation in urban environments. New ways of presenting data to VIP or sighted people are described.

<p><strong>Abstract.</strong> The majority of information has a spatial context that can be represented on the map, while maps are presenting the real world in the simplified and generalised way, focusing on the key features or specific topic. For some kinds of users, the map as the representation of the real spatial context is not only the possibility but also the necessity. Among these people belong people with visual impairments.</p><p> The number of visually impaired people increases every year and to their full-fledged integration into society is devoted considerable attention. But People with visual impairments are the target group with specific user needs, and the conventional map is insufficient for them. Along the growing number of visually impaired people importance of tactile cartography is increasing.</p><p> Currently, there are many technologies used for creating tactile maps, including very primitive and cheap solutions as well as advanced methods. The simplest way is drawing on the hand which brings only the real-time perception which needs to memorise for next uses. Another technique of hand embroidery consists of thick fibre placed on the cardboard or different paper type. More accurate is drawing on a special paper for blind or using dense colour gels. Also, some kinds of machinery producing technologies are used, e.g: shaping carton, plastic or metal. Braille printers can produce not very complicated tactile maps using 3D dots. Similar results can be obtained using serigraphy. Very popular is printing on heat-sensitive paper as mentioned before in the case of haptic maps by Mapy.cz. Another possibility is to use rubberized colours and nowadays popular technology of 3D printing (Vozenilek and Ludikova, 2010).</p><p> At the Department of Geoinformatics, Faculty of Science, Palacký University Olomouc, Czechia, the research team developed prototypes and methodology for the creation of the modern type of 3D tactile maps, linkable with mobile devices (Barvir et al., 2018).Interactive tactile maps connectable with mobile devices bring new opportunities to develop tactile map production. The prototypes have been verified in practice in cooperation with educational centres for people with visual impairment and blind people, and special schools. It is comprehensive research focusing a lot of scientific challenges. The contribution would like to summarise the most significant findings of the research.</p><p> The developed TouchIt3D technology is based on linking 3D objects, such as tactile maps, 3D models, controls, etc., with a mobile tablet or mobile phone using a combination of conductive and non-conductive filament. Each model is linked to an individual mobile application layout that initiates a pre-action based on user suggestions done within touching the model. For example, such an action may be a vibration or a speech command when the person with visual impairment touch inappropriate map symbol. As example can be introduced a listing of current public transport departures after the user touches the bus-stop map symbol on the 3D transport terminal plan. Data can be acquired in real time via Internet as the tablet can be connected to WiFi or cellular network. TouchIt3D technology is primarily focused on the presentation of spatial data and navigation for the public, people with visual or other impairment.</p><p> There are two ways how to create such tactile map. The first way is to prepare all the data manually. Another approach is the semi-automatic workflow. This approach is significantly different from previous workflows of producing maps for people with visual impairment. The solution based on the open-source and free software and data together with sharing electronic part of the map in the form of tablet dramatically lowered costs of tactile maps production. The designed scripts and models also reduced the time necessary to spend by map designing up to a minimum. User testing provided all data required for the improvement, and maximal adaptation of the cartographic visualisation methods to the target user needs. Nevertheless, maps partly automatically done and based on crowdsourcing data cannot bring the same quality as individually made tactile maps.</p><p> The main aim of the research is to find a workflow of interactive tactile maps creation using the TouchIt3D technology. The research also deals with setting appropriate parameters of the map, e.g. the map scale, cartographic symbol size, map content etc. This optimisation is done to fit the needs of people with visual impairment as much as possible on the one hand and taking into account the limitations of the map creation possibilities.</p><p>This research is implemented within the project <i>Development of independent movement through tactile-auditory aids</i>, Nr. TL01000507, supported by the Technology Agency of the Czech Republic.</p>

Introduction: a spatial development reference skeleton model is proposed for solving problems of settlement development. The model is necessary for improving rural settlement planning, renovation and reforming. Constituents of the territorial settlement reference skeleton were considered. The research aims at the practical approval of a rural settlement skeleton integrated assessment. Materials and methods: open cartographic sources, territorial planning documents, information from the National Statistical Committee of the Republic of Belarus were studied. The methodological basis of the research consists of such general scientific methods as a system approach and comparative analysis method as well as a particular interdisciplinary method of cartographic simulation using geographic information systems. Results: features of Mahilyow region reference skeleton were revealed. The reference skeleton includes the historical and cultural, natural and ecological, transport and communication, and settling constituents. The necessary and sufficient criteria for obtaining the integrated assessment of rural settlement reference skeleton are substantiated. That allows determining the strategic directions of sustainable territorial development. Based on the integrated assessment, the cartogram of the settlement potential of Mahilyow region of the Republic of Belarus was compiled. Generalization of the obtained results allows formulating some recommendations for town planning to determine the strategic lines of Mahilyow region sustainable development subject to the rural settlement prospects. Conclusions: the research shows that the application of system approach and a cartographic modelling of the territorial settlement reference skeleton is a useful tool for assessing the rural settlement skeleton. Further research is conceived in the development of prospective models of settling, natural and ecological, historical and cultural, transport and communication skeletons. Acknowledgement. The research was supported by RAACS under the fundamental research plan of the Ministry of Construction, Housing and Utilities of the Russian Federation (2018).

Tactile abnormalities are severe and universal in preschool children with autism. They respond well to treatment with a daily massage protocol directed at tactile abnormalities (QST massage for autism). Treatment is based on a model for autism proposing that tactile impairment poses a barrier to development. Two previous randomized controlled trials evaluating five months of massage treatment reported improvement of behavior, social/communication skills, and tactile and other sensory symptoms. This is the first report from a two-year replication study evaluating the protocol in 103 preschool children with autism. Parents gave daily treatment; trained staff gave weekly treatment and parent support. Five-month outcomes replicated earlier studies and showed normalization of receptive language (18%,P=.03), autistic behavior (32%,P=.006), total sensory abnormalities (38%,P=.0000005), tactile abnormalities (49%,P=.0002), and decreased autism severity (medium to large effect size,P=.008). In addition, parents reported improved child-to-parent interactions, bonding, and decreased parenting stress (44%,P=.00008). Early childhood special education programs are tasked with addressing sensory abnormalities and engaging parents in effective home programs. Until now, they have lacked research-based methods to do so. This program fulfills the need. It is recommended to parents and ECSE programs (ages 3–5) at autism diagnosis.

We present and evaluate the concept of FeelMusic and evaluate an implementation of it. It is an augmentation of music through the haptic translation of core musical elements. Music and touch are intrinsic modes of affective communication that are physically sensed. By projecting musical features such as rhythm and melody into the haptic domain, we can explore and enrich this embodied sensation; hence, we investigated audio-tactile mappings that successfully render emotive qualities. We began by investigating the affective qualities of vibrotactile stimuli through a psychophysical study with 20 participants using the circumplex model of affect. We found positive correlations between vibration frequency and arousal across participants, but correlations with valence were specific to the individual. We then developed novel FeelMusic mappings by translating key features of music samples and implementing them with “Pump-and-Vibe”, a wearable interface utilising fluidic actuation and vibration to generate dynamic haptic sensations. We conducted a preliminary investigation to evaluate the FeelMusic mappings by gathering 20 participants’ responses to the musical, tactile and combined stimuli, using valence ratings and descriptive words from Hevner’s adjective circle to measure affect. These mappings, and new tactile compositions, validated that FeelMusic interfaces have the potential to enrich musical experiences and be a means of affective communication in their own right. FeelMusic is a tangible realisation of the expression “feel the music”, enriching our musical experiences.

Abstract Advertisement call is the most common signal used by anurans for intraspecific communication. However, some species have lost the ability to emit these vocalizations and are denoted as mute. Alternatively, these species may communicate by visual, tactile and chemical signals. The lack of advertisement call could be explained by the high background noise of breeding microhabitats. A model group to study alternative communication tactics is the genus Megaelosia, which is composed by seven mute species that inhabit noisy streams, and for which no information on intraspecific communication is available. We monitored a population of M. apuana and described its visual signalling during aggressive interactions between males. This interaction included visual signalling, physical combat, and the retreat of the smaller individual. No audible sound was detected during the whole aggressive interaction, reinforcing the genus muteness. This is the first report of any communication behaviour for the genus Megaelosia.

This article describes three collaborative projects designed to explore tactile and haptic encounters with visual art. As a blind person, the author takes advantage of touch tours offered in many of the world’s museums. As rewarding as these can be, she often leaves feeling that there is something missing. She is aware that people who witness a touch tour for blind people, both companions who might be with them and strangers who might observe it, are curious, even envious. It seems only right that she, and other blind people who enjoy this privilege, have a responsibility to share the experience as a way to expand cultural knowledge about art. The projects described here enable her to begin to establish a taxonomy and vocabulary of tactile and haptic aesthetics, and model tactile descriptions of art that can benefit anyone. She does this both to reciprocate for the privilege cultural institutions bestowed on her, as well as to show that touch is not merely a poor substitute for sight, but rather a different mode of inquiry and appreciation. She hopes this work will support challenges to the ocularcentrism of the museum sector by showing how art can engage the full human sensorium. These projects all took place in the years leading up to the Covid-19 global pandemic and were a small part of initiatives at arts institutions to promote equity and inclusion by drawing on the knowledge and expertise of members of marginalized communities. As these institutions reopen post-pandemic and restructure their staff and programming, it remains to be known if they will continue the progress toward greater inclusion or return to previous models designed to serve only normative audiences. In her conclusion, the author speculates on the kind of systematic changes that will need to happen to continue to diversify museum audiences and increase multisensory access to art.

In military operations, commanders gather information in real-time from multiple sources. Their immediate communication is primarily through audio and/or visual devices. At the same time, most of their tasks rely heavily on the visual modality. Together with the need to execute tasks rapidly, cognitive overload and decreased performance may occur. It has been shown that in operational settings tactile alerts can enhance performance and improve information transfer in terms of cognitive workload and interruptions management. We aim to transfer sub-primary information to the commander via tactile alerts in order to improve awareness to accumulation of new relevant information. A field examination introduced this concept of alerts for the case of squad disconnections (separation of squad member from the team) and was aimed at providing information to commanders via visual or tactile modalities. Eighteen infantry soldiers took part in this examination. The participants were divided into three squads. Each squad consisted of one commander and 5 soldiers. All participants were military reserve soldiers who have been on active duty in the year prior to the study. Each commander wore two tactile bracelets, one on each forearm, which were used to transfer the tactile alert. The visual alerts were activated through a regular smartphone and the alert appeared visually on the phone's screen (without audio or vibration). The experiment included an urban navigation task from one waypoint to another. The duration of each experiment was 75 minutes and the pace of the navigation was set at an operational pace of 3-4 km/h. During the navigation task, the commander was required to detect targets on route and mark them on a map and at same time to ensure that there are no separations between squad members. The route was split into three sections: in the first section the commander received tactile alerts for disconnection, in the second section he received visual alerts and the third section was a baseline condition with no alerts. The third section simulated the current and common practice in armies today. The experimental findings focused on commanders' performance: navigation abilities, and target detection and response time to the separation/cutoff events. Each one of the commanders had one navigation error, i.e., wrong turn. For each one of the three participants, this error occurred in the visual alert condition, i.e. when they received alerts through the visual interface. With regards to target detection, the experimental results indicated a slight advantage for the tactile alerts condition (with a 73% success rate) compared to visual alerts or the baseline condition (with an average of 67% success for both cases). Regarding the response time to the separation/cutoff events, all three commanders identified and reported all 9 disconnection events that occurred during their experiment, which is quite expected as they are experienced Infantry commanders. A linear mixed model (LMM) was used on the log of the response time. The time until detection of disconnection with tactile alerts was approximately 9 times shorter than the detection time in the case of visual alerts and no alerts. Although the visual display condition had no significant statistical difference than the baseline, shorter response times were seen in the visual condition section. Results revealed that using tactile alerts during a mission decreased commanders’ response time to mission critical events compared to visual alerts or no alerts. Commanders' subjective opinions of tactile devices were highly supportive. Future research should include the effect of integration of tactile alerts and tactile communications on commanders and soldiers in operational environments.

The High Resolution Stereo Camera (HRSC) on the Mars Express orbiter (Neukum et al. 2004) is a multi-line pushbroom scanner that can obtain stereo and color coverage of targets in a single overpass, with pixel scales as small as 10&amp;thinsp;m at periapsis. Since commencing operations in 2004 it has imaged ~&amp;thinsp;77&amp;thinsp;% of Mars at 20&amp;thinsp;m/pixel or better. The instrument team uses the Video Image Communication And Retrieval (VICAR) software to produce and archive a range of data products from uncalibrated and radiometrically calibrated images to controlled digital topographic models (DTMs) and orthoimages and regional mosaics of DTM and orthophoto data (Gwinner et al. 2009; 2010b; 2016). Alternatives to this highly effective standard processing pipeline are nevertheless of interest to researchers who do not have access to the full VICAR suite and may wish to make topographic products or perform other (e. g., spectrophotometric) analyses prior to the release of the highest level products. We have therefore developed software to ingest HRSC images and model their geometry in the USGS Integrated Software for Imagers and Spectrometers (ISIS3), which can be used for data preparation, geodetic control, and analysis, and the commercial photogrammetric software SOCET SET (® BAE Systems; Miller and Walker 1993; 1995) which can be used for independent production of DTMs and orthoimages. <br><br> The initial implementation of this capability utilized the then-current ISIS2 system and the generic pushbroom sensor model of SOCET SET, and was described in the DTM comparison of independent photogrammetric processing by different elements of the HRSC team (Heipke et al. 2007). A major drawback of this prototype was that neither software system then allowed for pushbroom images in which the exposure time changes from line to line. Except at periapsis, HRSC makes such timing changes every few hundred lines to accommodate changes of altitude and velocity in its elliptical orbit. As a result, it was necessary to split observations into blocks of constant exposure time, greatly increasing the effort needed to control the images and collect DTMs. <br><br> Here, we describe a substantially improved HRSC processing capability that incorporates sensor models with varying line timing in the current ISIS3 system (Sides 2017) and SOCET SET. This enormously reduces the work effort for processing most images and eliminates the artifacts that arose from segmenting them. In addition, the software takes advantage of the continuously evolving capabilities of ISIS3 and the improved image matching module NGATE (Next Generation Automatic Terrain Extraction, incorporating area and feature based algorithms, multi-image and multi-direction matching) of SOCET SET, thus greatly reducing the need for manual editing of DTM errors. We have also developed a procedure for geodetically controlling the images to Mars Orbiter Laser Altimeter (MOLA) data by registering a preliminary stereo topographic model to MOLA by using the point cloud alignment (<i>pc_align</i>) function of the NASA Ames Stereo Pipeline (ASP; Moratto et al. 2010). This effectively converts inter-image tiepoints into ground control points in the MOLA coordinate system. The result is improved absolute accuracy and a significant reduction in work effort relative to manual measurement of ground control. <i>The ISIS and ASP software used are freely available; SOCET SET, is a commercial product.</i> By the end of 2017 we expect to have ported our SOCET SET HRSC sensor model to the Community Sensor Model (CSM; Community Sensor Model Working Group 2010; Hare and Kirk 2017) standard utilized by the successor photogrammetric system SOCET GXP that is currently offered by BAE. In early 2018, we are also working with BAE to release the CSM source code under a BSD or MIT open source license. <br><br> We illustrate current HRSC processing capabilities with three examples, of which the first two come from the DTM comparison of 2007. Candor Chasma (h1235_0001) was a near-periapse observation with constant exposure time that could be processed relatively easily at that time. We show qualitative and quantitative improvements in DTM resolution and precision as well as greatly reduced need for manual editing, and illustrate some of the photometric applications possible in ISIS. At the Nanedi Valles site we are now able to process all 3 long-arc orbits (h0894_0000, h0905_0000 and h0927_0000) without segmenting the images. Finally, processing image set h4235_0001, which covers the landing site of the Mars Science Laboratory (MSL) rover and its rugged science target of Aeolus Mons in Gale crater, provides a rare opportunity to evaluate DTM resolution and precision because extensive High Resolution Imaging Science Experiment (HiRISE) DTMs are available (Golombek et al. 2012). The HiRISE products have ~&amp;thinsp;50x smaller pixel scale so that discrepancies can mostly be attributed to HRSC. We use the HiRISE DTMs to compare the resolution and precision of our HRSC DTMs with the (evolving) standard products. <br><br> We find that the vertical precision of HRSC DTMs is comparable to the pixel scale but the horizontal resolution may be 15&amp;ndash;30 image pixels, depending on processing. This is significantly coarser than the lower limit of 3&amp;ndash;5 pixels based on the minimum size for image patches to be matched. Stereo DTMs registered to MOLA altimetry by surface fitting typically deviate by 10thinsp;m or less in mean elevation. Estimates of the RMS deviation are strongly influenced by the sparse sampling of the altimetry, but range from <thinsp;50thinsp;m in flat areas to ~&amp;thinsp;100thinsp;m in rugged areas.

In the field of safety and communication of human-robot interaction (HRI), using large-scale electronic skin will be the tendency in the future. The force-sensitive piezoresistive material is the key for piezoresistive electronic skin. In this paper, a non-array large scale piezoresistive tactile sensor and its corresponding calibration methods were presented. Because of the creep inconsistency of large scale piezoresistive material, a creep tracking compensation method based on K-means clustering and fuzzy pattern recognition was proposed to improve the detection accuracy. With the compensated data, the inconsistency and nonlinearity of the sensor was calibrated. The calibration process was divided into two parts. The hierarchical clustering algorithm was utilized firstly to classify and fuse piezoresistive property of different regions over the whole sensor. Then, combining the position information, the force detection model was constructed by Back-Propagation (BP) neural network. At last, a novel flexible tactile sensor for detecting contact position and force was designed as an example and tested after being calibrated. The experimental results showed that the calibration methods proposed were effective in detecting force, and the detection accuracy was improved.

An innovative program for teaching orientation and mobility (O&M) to students with severe sensory and cognitive impairments in the New York City public schools was developed on the premise that these students do not have to master prerequisite concepts and techniques to learn O&M. It incorporated tactile and tangible communication systems to teach O&M and was structured so mobility education was embedded in the students’ daily activities in school and at home. This article examines the traditional model of O&M and the assumptions about how such students learn to be mobile, describes the evolution of this innovative program, and presents guidelines for planning and implementing similar programs in other educational and rehabilitation settings.

Complex geographical atlases represent geosystems of different hierarchical rank, complexity and diversity, scale and connection. They represent a set of large number of different pieces of information about geospace. Also, they contain systematized, correlative and in the apparent form represented pieces of information about space. The degree of information revealed in the atlas is precisely explained by its content structure and the form of presentation. The quality of atlas depends on the method of visualization of data and the quality of geodata. Cartographic visualization represents cognitive process. The analysis converts geospatial data into knowledge. A complex geographical atlas represents information complex of spatial - temporal coordinated database on geosystems of different complexity and territorial scope. Each geographical atlas defines a concrete geosystem. Systemic organization (structural and contextual) determines its complexity and concreteness. In complex atlases, the attributes of geosystems are modeled and pieces of information are given in systematized, graphically unique form. The atlas can be considered as a database. In composing a database, semantic analysis of data is important. The result of semantic modeling is expressed in structuring of data information, in emphasizing logic connections between phenomena and processes and in defining their classes according to the degree of similarity. Accordingly, the efficiency of research of needed pieces of information in the process of the database use is enabled. An atlas map has a special power to integrate sets of geodata and present information contents in user - friendly and understandable visual and tactile way using its visual ability. Composing an atlas by systemic cartography requires the pieces of information on concrete - defined geosystems of different hierarchical level, the application of scientific methods and making of adequate number of analytical, synthetic and complex maps. The essence of each database is its model. The selection of model - the organization of database is very important.

: The article focusses on the working principle of devising a display board and introduction to a working model of a single unit of a novel prototype of a computer display board for blind people. Objective: The developed prototype is aimed at converting a conventional computer screen to a braille screen based tactile display board. The arrangement will enable the blind people to accesses soft data as a converted braille language text. In addition, the position of the write-up will also be recognizable by the blind. Methods: The system employs six number of micro linear actuators providing haptics feedback. Results: The ABCD display unit was tested with the blind and was found to be received well by the community. According to the survey, this raised dot mechanism is very effective for blind communication.

This article describes a stitch-based research project that took place in 2016 in Manchester. It involved the Ahmed Iqbal Ullah Race Relations Archive, Burnage Academy for Boys and a professional embroiderer. Central to the enquiry is a signature cloth – a textile made up of hand-sewn autographs – used as a vehicle to explore young male identity and stereotypes about embroidery. The investigation signposts the flexibility of the signature that is utilized in the research to locate accessible activities and processes. In so doing, it formulates new avenues to access historical textile artefacts and illuminates their significance and contemporary relevance. The enquiry also outlines some of the tensions and dilemmas that permeate socially engaged practice(s) and offers new insights into the stitch-based collaborative/participatory process, in which the production of the tactile artefact is but one element; for alongside the stitch workshops a commemorative banner was a second outcome, made to memorialize a pupil killed in the school in a racially motivated crime in 1986. Shedding light on embroidery as a form of social engagement, the investigation also provides evidence of its applicability as an alternative, tactile means of communication. It similarly reveals and elucidates the dynamics inherent in this stitch-based community collaboration and draws attention to some of the planned and unexpected outcomes that emerge. The methodology offers a transparent model for those who may engage in similar practices and highlights its applicability to different audiences.

Information communication technologies are widely used to support sustainable development. As both nature and society exist and develop in the geographic space, a good decision making can hardly be imagined without a prior thorough analysis of spatio‐temporal distribution and spatial correlation of diverse ecological, economical and social parameters. Wherever such geospatial relationships are concerned, the methods of geography as of a geographic information science are commonly applied, among which cartography is the most efficient information communication method. Different levels of representation of geographic information, such as databases, geographic information systems (GIS), maps, atlases and Spatial Data Infrastructures can be easily and conveniently used for different steps of planning. More than that, maps have a hidden potential to reveal unknown spatial patterns and trends and the process does not require any specific technological skills from the user. Therefore it is very important to include geographic/cartographic dimension into regional and national sustainable development strategies, so that spatial structures, diversities, similarities and geographic determination are always taken into account. To facilitate the process of geographic decision making, we develop a uniform model of description of geographic methods that could be used online and provide suggestions on which of the known methods could be efficiently applied. Santrauka Tvarioji plėtra nebūtų įmanoma be informacijos komunikavimo priemonių ir technologijų. Ir gamta, ir visuomenė egzistuoja ir vystosi erdvėje, tad neįmanoma įsivaizduoti tinkamu planavimo sprendimų, kurie nebūtų pagristi išankstine išsamia dalykinės srities erdvės ir laiko ryšių analize, neįvertintų erdvinių sąsajų tarp ekologinių, ekonominių ir socialinių parametrų. Visur, kur svarbus objektų išsidėstymas ir jų tarpusavio ryšiai geografinėje erdvėje ir laike, yra taikomi geografinės informacijos mokslo (šiuolaikines geografijos) metodai. Vienas efektyviausių yra kartografinis metodas, leidžiantis intuityviai pastebėti erdvinius ryšius. Galima nagrinėti skirtingus geografines informacijos organizavimo lygmenis, tokius kaip duomenų bazes, geografines informacijos (GIS) sistemos, žemėlapiai, atlasai bei erdvinių duomenų infrastruktūros. Visas šias sistemas galima patogiai ir nesunkiai naudoti įvairiuose planavimo etapuose. Be to, žemėlapiai turi paslėpta potencialą atskleisti iš anksto nežinomus erdvinius ryšius bei tendencijas. Šis procesas yra intuityvus ir nereikalauja iš naudotojo jokiu specialių technologijų žinių ar įgūdžiu. Todėl labai svarbu į nacionalines ir regionines plėtros strategijas įtraukti ir geografini/kartografini matmenį, atsižvelgti į erdvinio išsidėstymo struktūras, skirtumus, panašumas ir galimus geografinius apribojimus. Straipsnio autoriai pasiūlė ir šiuo metu Vilniaus universitete plėtoja universalų geografinių uždavinių aprašymu modelį, kuris padėtu geografines informacijos naudotojams be specialiu žinių pasirinkti tinkama sprendimų seką ir metodus.

<p><strong>Abstract.</strong> This presentation presents a dialectical approach for the analysis and synthesis of geovisual communication systems using the graphic variables of Jacques Bertin as the primary analytical structure. This approach to studying geovisual communication accounts for its dynamics and interaction. It builds primarily on semiotic concepts advanced by Roland Barthes and Umberto Eco that emphasize the interactions between author and reader and the cultural circulation of knowledge. It relies on a Kantian critical epistemology to move beyond an instrumental description of a graphics-based system of communication. The visual system of affordances made and understood with a geovisualization produces situative meaning involving signification and interpretation, which is neither static nor discrete, but transforms what is known and what can be known. These conclusions lead to theoretical insights related to prior discursive concepts of visual communication and raise some questions for future research about the socio-cognitive affordances of cartographic visualization. A practical example shows the empirical approach and initial validation.</p><p>Visual Variables Structure Communication</p><p>The seminal contributions of Roland Barthes point to the process of embedding visual meaning regarding sign, signifier, signified, sign and concept as an extension to Saussure's dyadic approach as two semiological systems, which accounts for the importance of Saussure's bar in the communication of meaning. The two systems code the knowledge of communication, accounting for the situatedness of meaning and its discursive making that connects a sign to a cultural context. Umberto Eco goes beyond Pierce’s icon, index, and symbol trichotomy of a sign through an ongoing chain of interpretative referrals. This approach starts with an active collaboration between creator and reader. It can involve multiple circumstances, cultural aspects and evolve. Visual variables structure communication in an ongoing process.</p><p>The signification of a visual variable is analogous to an atom in a communication process. The analysis of the visual variables of a graphic element in a communication systems sense commences with an analysis of these visual variables related to individual elements and complex symbols. Barthes’ functions, actions, and narrative offer a valuable framework. A synthesis follows that considers the epistemological aspects of a partial system and what its functions purport to do and what they actually do. The analytically determined relationships can be synthesized into webs of explicit and implicit meanings associated with Barthes' structure. This combination and visual intermingling of graphic representations in a geovisualization broaden then to consider their interactions and associations with creator and reader. The visual encompasses the semiotic communication of meaning. The dialectical and critical consideration of the relations and the structure of the communication leads to an improved comprehension of the affordances manifest in the graphical communication system. It also begins to account for mental aspects of perception.</p><p>A model of geovisual communication?</p><p>The theory and methods of this semiotic approach involve considering Bertin’s graphical variables as elements of a model that corresponds to the communication system. Further, the structure of the geovisualization can be modeled symbolically to take up the questions how coding and decoding take place and made reliable given the dynamics of communication and the reliance on conventions in most cartography. This presentation closes with a summary of the benefits of a semiotic approach to the analysis and teaching of geovisual communication.</p>

The development of the land relations system in agriculture depends on forming its elements' interrelationships; its needs a complete and objective understanding of the existing features of subsystem management. When extracting data in the process of modeling the system, problematic situations arise that can be eliminated by the introduction of modern digital technologies. The research is focused on identifying effective tools for structuring useful information. The advantages of performing remote diagnostic studies, compiling cartographic materials, using special applications in the implementation of agricultural land use are established. The use of a multifunctional program made it possible to exhibit a tendency to reduce the size of agricultural land unused by commodity producers in the Saratov region, unregistered or leased. The analysis of changes in the area of unregistered unused lands made it possible to predict a decrease in this indicator in 2020. Improvement of the agricultural land market functioning as one of the components of the land relations system provides for applying information and communication tools in accordance with the priority areas of the Strategy for Scientific and Technological Development of the Russian Federation. To improve the efficiency of the market infrastructure, a model of an electronic portal has been developed that provides access to distributed resources and composite services.

El estudio del cerebro humano permite comprender algunos aspectos de la relación que el lenguaje establece entre la mente y el mundo, como órgano transicional en los procesos de la materia. Se propone así una indagación neurológica en los orígenes acústicos del signo lingüístico, dentro de un modelo evolutivo y táctil que integra la oralidad con la letra impresa, aplicado en este trabajo a la semiología de los trastornos de la lectura.The study of the human brain allows us to understand some aspects of the relationship that language establishes between the mind and the world, as a transitional organ in the processes of matter. A neurological investigation is proposed in the acoustic origins of the linguistic sign, within an evolutionary and tactile model that integrates orality with written letter, applied in this work to the semiology of reading disorders.

BackgroundSince 2007, Gaza Palestine has been subject to blockade affecting over 1.9 million people. This denies health professionals access to continuing professional development (CPD). In Gaza, family physicians are scarce, and their level of training does not meet the needs of United Nations Relief and Works Agency’s (UNRWA) Family Health Team (FHT) model for better population health.AimThis study sought to develop a postgraduate training programme for Gazan doctors via a Diploma in Family Medicine (FM PG), and evaluate its impact on physicians and patients.Design & settingA mixed-methods evaluation of a postgraduate diploma in Gaza Palestine.MethodThe programme was delivered over 1 year, to 15 primary care doctors. The impact was evaluated through focus group discussions and patient feedback questionnaire survey comparing FM PG graduate doctors and doctors without the FM PG Diploma.ResultsAll participating doctors graduated successfully and found the experience extremely positive. Trainees felt that the Diploma helped them take more individualised approach to patients; have a better understanding of psychosocial elements affecting patient health; feel more inclined towards team-working and collaborative approaches to health care; and more insight into non-verbal communication such as active listening and tactile gestures. Statistical analysis of patients’ feedback showed significantly improved patient-reported outcomes and satisfaction when treated by course diplomates compared to non-diplomates.ConclusionWhere there are limited training opportunities, investment in a structured postgraduate diploma training programme can improve quality of health service delivery. UNRWA’s experience in Gaza demonstrates the value of a scalable model in resource-limited settings.

AbstractThe late critical geographer Brian Harley forewarned that modern cartography had come to control and even ‘imprison’ spatial understandings of the earth. Where does this leave international lawyers when they encounter a quintessential ‘World Map’? Quite bluntly: tied to an inscriptive institution that has embodied the modern legibility and visualization of earth space. When speaking about the global arrangements of economic and political power constituted through law, what emerges, therefore, is the need for an expanded spatial literacy among international lawyers that critically engages the graphic legacy and influence of the geometric map. To enhance that literacy, I reach beyond the doctrinal field to engage a powerful spatial critique that has thus far encompassed scholarship across geography, international relations (IR) and sociology. A critique that took impetus over 20 years ago with John Agnew's assertion that modern social science had become captured by a ‘territorial trap’. The article attempts to enrich that critique with Mark Salter's insight on material power, Marshall McLuhan's emphasis on the medium of communication, and Bruno Latour's critique of cartographic naturalism. Specifically, I introduce the concept of cartogenesis as a way of underlining the deeper legacy and consequence of modern cartography, and specifically how the map medium should be grasped as a historical actant that has inscribed a particular ‘ground map’ of international authority. Lastly, the article looks at how geometric mapping now confronts new inscriptive ordering in the forms of transnational lists and contracts, which assert a growing scale of authority over earth space to an extent not seen since the Mercator Projection was recognized as an overriding geographic model.

Purpose – The purpose of this paper is to investigate how electronic components can be utilized and integrated into polymeric optical fibre (POF) textiles to refine the design aesthetic, tactile quality and initiate the interaction of textiles with the users; and to study the design process of interactive products by using a novel design process model. Design/methodology/approach – Fashion and textile design methods, textile technology are used in combination with modern technologies such as laser engraving, sensing, short-distance communication technology, throughout the entire process of development of interactive photonics creations. Findings – The results of evaluation indicate that the engineered prototypes can enhance the interactive function of interior furnishing. The usability of interactive POF cushions is optimized by innovative design methods considering both design and technology. Originality/value – This research explores to combine knowledge from different disciplines, including textile, electronics, sensor and laser to create interactive soft furnishings. The inter-disciplinary research provides a new perspective on how POF fabric can be utilized as a new media to change the way people interact with their living surroundings. The interior soft furnishings are no longer unresponsive to people, but can react to them, adapt to their behaviors, change color according to their preferences and therefore merge into our daily life. The developed prototypes reshape interior soft furnishing, and therefore have both theoretical and practical significance.

Speech is a perceptuo-motor system. A natural computational modeling framework is provided by cognitive robotics, or more precisely speech robotics, which is also based on embodiment, multimodality, development, and interaction. This paper describes the bases of a virtual baby robot which consists in an articulatory model that integrates the non-uniform growth of the vocal tract, a set of sensors, and a learning model. The articulatory model delivers sagittal contour, lip shape and acoustic formants from seven input parameters that characterize the configurations of the jaw, the tongue, the lips and the larynx. To simulate the growth of the vocal tract from birth to adulthood, a process modifies the longitudinal dimension of the vocal tract shape as a function of age. The auditory system of the robot comprises a “phasic” system for event detection over time, and a “tonic” system to track formants. The model of visual perception specifies the basic lips characteristics: height, width, area and protrusion. The orosensorial channel, which provides the tactile sensation on the lips, the tongue and the palate, is elaborated as a model for the prediction of tongue-palatal contacts from articulatory commands. Learning involves Bayesian programming, in which there are two phases: (i) specification of the variables, decomposition of the joint distribution and identification of the free parameters through exploration of a learning set, and (ii) utilization which relies on questions about the joint distribution. Two studies were performed with this system. Each of them focused on one of the two basic mechanisms, which ought to be at work in the initial periods of speech acquisition, namely vocal exploration and vocal imitation. The first study attempted to assess infants’ motor skills before and at the beginning of canonical babbling. It used the model to infer the acoustic regions, the articulatory degrees of freedom and the vocal tract shapes that are the likeliest explored by actual infants according to their vocalizations. Subsequently, the aim was to simulate data reported in the literature on early vocal imitation, in order to test whether and how the robot was able to reproduce them and to gain some insights into the actual cognitive representations that might be involved in this behavior. Speech modeling in a robotics framework should contribute to a computational approach of sensori-motor interactions in speech communication, which seems crucial for future progress in the study of speech and language ontogeny and phylogeny.

<p><strong>Abstract.</strong> Since its establishment in 1807, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration’s (NOAA) Office of Coast Survey has provided nautical charts to support safe shipping, national defence, and the delamination of maritime boundaries. The mission of the office is to provide navigation products and services that ensure safe and efficient maritime commerce on America’s oceans and coastal waters, and in the Great Lakes. The Office of Coast Survey employs cartographers, hydrographers, physical scientists, managers and administrative staff in order to fulfil its mission. Until recently, training in nautical cartography at the office of Coast Survey was conducted at the branch level and differed based on level of employee seniority (i.e., Entry, Intermediate and Advanced) and the processing branch of the employee. Over the past two years, NOAA has established a Coast Survey CAT B program that is intended to train and educate to up to 13 cartographers per year in nautical cartography, through a combination of lectures, hands-on chart production experience, details to various branches within the Coast Survey, and field trips to working hydrographic survey vessels through six training modules spread over a one-year period, spread over six courses that include:</p><ul><li><i>Refresher course</i> that provides a review of the basic math, computer and communication technology, marine geography, hydrography, and geodetic topics. The goal of this course is to ensure that students have a sufficient academic background to succeed in the subsequent CAT-B program courses and other activities.</li><li><i>Introduction to Cartography course</i> that reviews elements of cartography, specifically scale, design, and data manipulation techniques. Students will gain an appreciation for maps and map-making, including manual techniques. This introductory course will include hands-on use of computer graphics tools.</li><li><i>Map Design course</i> that reviews the various styles and techniques associated with cartographic design. The course will require the student to: 1) analyse chart design parameters, 2) compile thematic cartographic projects, and 3) experiment with map design.</li><li><i>GIS and Spatial Analysis course</i> that provides students with a comprehensive understanding of spatial analysis methods and they will learn practical skills in using GIS and spatial analysis. The class covers the methods of spatial analysis including measuring aspects of geometric features and identifying spatial patterns of geospatial objects that are represented as point, line, network, areal data, and 3-D surfaces.</li><li><i>GIS and Spatial Modelling course</i> that provides the students a foundation and understanding of various issues related to modelling and simulation in the GIS. It will address the concepts, tools, and techniques of GIS modelling (vector- and raster-based modelling). In addition, it will present modelling concepts and theory as well as provide opportunities for hands-on model design, construction, and application.</li><li><i>NOAA training project and internship program course</i> that includes: 1) a detailed review of many of the activities conducted by the branches in NOAA’s Marine Chart Division and 2) a training project that demonstrates the student’s ability to implement the knowledge gained during the certification.</li></ul><p>This paper presents a newly established CAT B certificate program in Standards of Competence for Nautical Cartographers that is conducted at NOAA’s main campus in Silver Spring, Maryland, USA. The CAT B certificate program provides NOAA a mechanism to both enhance building capacity within the organization and recognizing NOAA cartographers for their capabilities and efforts. In addition, such a program at NOAA can also be used to recruit new employees and help to build capacity in sister organizations.</p>

<p>Our built environment is nowadays considered as a dynamic complex, stretching and transforming across space and time, with the interaction of human, social and economic dimensions. It needs to be safeguarded as living places for the future taking into account such complexity. The general aim of this work is to contribute to the comprehension of landscape values, enhancing participation processes by tourists and local communities, considering the built environment as a system: the sum of natural transformation, ancient artefacts stratification and human activities, partially covering the tangible traces, and functioning as a vehicle for the comprehension of intangible values. Multi-temporal, multi-scale and geospatial datasets can play an important role in such knowledge transfer processes by means of narratives and immersive experiences in a multimedia museum approach. In particular, the cartographic heritage, in the form of metric and non-metric maps, can be progressively used as a source of information for innovative narratives. Virtual Museums (VMs)are additional "channels" to disseminate content and to provide knowledge about cultural heritage; they have emerged from the crossbreeding process between museums and digital technologies. Investigating how digital storytelling may support communication and understanding of complex systems, such as the built environment and landscape, it is relevant because cultural awareness may foster the sense of belonging and identity construction of which Europe is thirsty, contributing to the safeguarding of fragile sites. The paper provides useful information for museums that would like to follow this pathway. It retraces the main steps of storytelling production and presents interesting examples of immersive narrative models based on geospatial data and a virtual hub, helping people to retrieve and access information and to recognize places of memory mostly unknown. Moreover, it offers an evaluation of existing tools that can be adopted for this purpose. Eventually, by virtue of the research carried out for the case study of the Virtual Museum of Como Lake Landscape, the paper aims at ascertaining which kind of stories and experiences can be designed, the potential of these tools and possible weaknesses or constraints that deserve future researches.</p><p><strong>Highlights:</strong></p><ul><li><p>Investigation of a narrative approach to develop a theoretical model of virtual museums that can support communication and understanding of built environment and landscape.</p></li><li><p>Integration of multi-temporal, multi-scale cartography and geospatial datasets, as a narrative base and information to facilitate the landscape values comprehension by non-expert users.</p></li><li><p>Use of low-cost techniques (panoramic photos, 360° videos, 3D models) to design immersive experiences that can increase the interest of people in discovering the built environment.</p></li></ul>

Introduction. Today, one of the main requirements of the Federal State Educational Standard of Preschool Education is to ensure the speech development in children, which means mastering them of free, coherent dialogue and monologic speech skills as a means of communication with adults and peers. The indicators of successful speech development are skills to build different types of coherent statements. This requirement fully applies to children with minor speech delays. However, in modern speech therapy, the development of coherent speech is made dependent on the elimination of the shortcomings of unformed language structures and involves the use of reproductive techniques, including mainly constant repetitions of speech patterns. Children are simply asked to copy stereotypical schemes when making their own statements, but the attention is not paid to the process of formulating rules and peculiarities of description texts, the understanding of which is very important to be prepared for school. Thus, it is significantly important to revise well-established techniques to learn oral monologue speech when teaching children with serious speech disorders.The aim of the present article is to discuss the conditions for effective development of coherent descriptive speech in preschool children with speech underdevelopment problems.Methodology and research methods. The methodological framework of the research is based on the theory of speech activity and the theory of developmental education, as well as the systematic analysis of the peculiarities of verbal communication skills in children and modern ideas of correctional pedagogy about the structure of speech defects. In the course of the research, empirical research methods and a pedagogical experiment were employed.Results and scientific novelty. Children aged 5–6 years old (n = 60) with the logopedic report “general underdevelopment of speech of the 3 rd –4 th levels” took part in the experimental research. It was proved that it is necessary to teach preschool children with speech disorders not only to speak by analogy and model structures, but also to formulate detailed meaningful descriptive statements. The entry test demonstrated that most respondents have insufficient formation of coherent descriptive speech: 40% – medium level, 38% – low level. More than half of preschool children in the experimental group (53,6%) improved their results through the targeted and comprehensive correctional work, in the course of which they learned practical description skills. While working on description skills, children learned how to highlight and compare essential features of a subject, to combine individual phrases into a consistent message. The priority areas were identified in each speech task to ensure the greatest impact of its performance. The conducted classes influenced not only speech, but also cognitive development of children. Also, the classes stimulated children’s speech and thought activities, contributed to the activation of visual, auditory and tactile perception, memory, attention and observation.Practical significance. The research materials provide a new direction to determine the technologies for the development of coherent speech in children of senior preschool age with speech underdevelopment.

<p><strong>Abstract.</strong> This paper presents part of the results obtained by a master’s research entitled “Teaching of Geography to visually impaired students: new methodologies to discuss the concept of landscape”. The data collected was the result of 8 years’ experience in teaching Geography to visually impaired students at the Benjamin Constant Institute (IBC), a school in Rio de Janeiro specialized in teaching blind and visual impaired students for over 150 years. This study was motivated by the difficulty such students face during the learning process of geographic concepts.</p><p>The hypothesis raised during the research was that the use of didactic materials, which include the senses other than sight, mitigate such difficulties by enabling alternative sensorial paths. We chose the topic <i>landscapes</i> and the representation forms of such an important category in Geography.</p><p>Three visually impaired students (blind) were asked to represent the landscapes they find during their daily trip to school, highlighting their own perceptions, and how the other senses collaborate to the apprehension of the landscape. Each student drew and described his route. According to Kozel (2007, p.120), “the concept of lived world, brought by phenomenology, works as meaningful input to understand mental maps”. Therefore, these maps represent the world, in which the students are inserted.</p><p>Student 1 – Lives in Japeri, state of Rio de Janeiro, 84km far from the Institute. In his drawing, he chose to depict streets close to his house, the Institute, the train service line Central do Brasil and the beaches. He did not place the items in correct order: the drawings were placed side-by-side.</p><p>Student 2 – Lives in Honório Gurgel, a neighborhood in the north region of the city of Rio de Janeiro, 33km far from the Institute. He walks to the train station in Honório Gurgel. He states that he can apprehend and identify the surroundings of his house and the changes that occur throughout the day. In his drawing, he chose to depict the entire path from his house to school, including all details he was able to apprehend. His notion of laterality, space and distance is very keen. This means he understands well the spatial organization of his neighborhood and his path to the Institute.</p><p>Student 3 – Lives in Duque de Caxias, 33km far from the Institute. He wakes up daily at 4h30. He also apprehends the silence and the small number of people and cars on the streets. When he leaves home, he has his mental map ready, indicating how he must proceed, in order to get to the Institute. “When I leave home, I already have my mental map analyzed and planned”. He chose to draw the main points of his path, starting with the train station Central do Brasil, where he arrives by bus, followed by the beaches Aterro do Flamengo, and finally the Institute. He arranged all places according to his commuting.</p><p>The development of the research showed the importance of mental maps for the spatial organization of people with disabilities. It also showed how they use other senses to apprehend their surroundings. After the activity, it was possible to build a model with texture and sound, so that the students could compare their own perceptions with the representation of the path from their houses to the Institute. It is important to use multisensorial didactic materials elaborated according to tactile cartographic techniques, so that visually impaired students have quality throughout their learning process.</p></p>

<p><strong>Abstract.</strong> Maps and visual representations in general are powerful tools of propaganda and construction of the “other” that perpetrators of genocide employ in different ways and in different contexts and depending on audience, purpose, and stage of genocide. Maps and visual representations are also powerful tools to denounce genocide and are used by the victims to relate, remember, and communicate their experience. These topics will be discussed in the context of the Holocaust and focusing specifically on cartographic design. The role of propaganda, semiotics, the concept of “myth,” and iconography will be briefly discussed to frame the theoretical context of the presentation.</p><p> These topics are part of a broader research agenda on the geographies and cartographies of genocide that I have been engaged in for several years. In particular, I am interested in how cartography, geography and GIScience may contribute to defining, studying, and understanding past genocides, and, hopefully, help preventing future ones. As the majority of my past and current research has been on the Holocaust, the examples discussed in my presentation are relative to that specific genocide. To start with, it is useful to review and define what genocide is and who its perpetrators are.</p><p> Genocide has been defined in various ways. According to the United Nations (1951), genocide means any of the following acts committed with intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group, as such: (a) killing members of the group; (b) causing serious bodily or mental harm to members of the group; (c) deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or in part; (d) imposing measures intended to prevent births within the group; (e) forcibly transferring children of the group to another group. This definition stresses the physical destruction of the group targeted by direct or indirect methods, such as the prevention of births by members of the group or the forcible transfer of children from the targeted group to another group. Harff and Gurr (1988) highlight the role of the State and the policy dimensions of genocide: "by our definition, genocide… is the promotion and execution of policies by a state or its agents which result in the deaths of a substantial portion of a group.” Katz (1994) remarks the fact that it is the perpetrator that defines who the targeted victims and groups: “...the actualization of the intent, however successfully carried out, to murder in its totality any national, ethnic, racial, religious, political, social, gender or economic group, as these groups are defined by the perpetrator, by whatever means.”</p><p> However defined, genocide is carried out in stages that may vary temporally and geographically, as well as in the methods used to commit it, and this is especially the case when acts of genocide are committed over a long period of time and over a large area, as the Holocaust as well as the Armenian genocide, on which I have also worked, show well. Hampton (1986) has proposed a model of the stages of genocide &amp;ndash; later modified and redefined, by Stanton (2013) and others &amp;ndash; that identifies eight steps, more or less in succession, that include <i>classification</i> (“us vs them”), <i>symbolization</i> (“Jews”, “Germans”, “Tutsi”, swastikas, yellow stars), <i>dehumanization</i> (one group denies the humanity of members of another group and calls them “vermin,” rats,” or “cockroaches”), <i>organization</i> (as a group crime, as opposed to an individual act, genocide needs to be organized, usually by the State), <i>polarization</i> (this is when rhetoric is ramped up, legislation is introduced, extremists emerge, and political moderates are silenced), <i>preparation</i> (victims are forced to wear identifying symbols, lists are made, victims separated from rest of population, for example in ghettos), <i>extermination</i> (words such as “extermination” or “cleansing” are typically used since the victims are explicitly defined as not fully humans by the perpetrators), and <i>denial</i> (this is always present and starts as soon as during and immediately after the extermination stage, and can outlive the perpetrators themselves; denial includes the destruction of evidence, the destruction of the reputation and credibility of the survivors or witnesses, the claim that deaths were due to famine, migration, disease or, as in the Armenian genocide, all of the above plus the effects of WW1, and &amp;ndash; as an ultimate insult &amp;ndash; the blaming of the victims themselves).</p><p> Once genocide is defined and its stages are identified, a third element is crucial to its understanding: why people commit genocide. Doing so is needed to determine what role maps play in genocide from the perspective of both perpetrators and victims. Several models have been proposed to try and explain why seemingly normal individuals engage in genocide, and models have even been proposed to estimate the likelihood of genocide happening in a given society at a certain time. Waller’s model (2005) is perhaps the most influential and, in my opinion, the most convincing. I will discuss Waller’s work in more detail during my presentation; here, let just say that the model identifies “ultimate influences” (human nature) as well as “proximate influences” as the reasons why people commit genocide. Most interesting in the context of my research are the “proximate influences,” which include the cultural construction of worldviews, the psychological construction of the “other,” and the social construction of cruelty. In turn, these “proximate influences” are historicized, i.e., they take different forms in different places at different times depending on the specific context. Thus, the indoctrination of SS members during the Holocaust included collectivistic values, authority orientation, and social dominance (<i>cultural influences</i>); “us vs. them” mentality, moral disengagement, and the blaming of the victims (<i>psychological influences</i>); professional socialization, group identification, and the identification of binding factors for the group (<i>social influences</i>). Maps, and images in general (including posters, paintings, movies and other forms of mass communications), can and do play a role in all of the “proximate stages” in Waller’s model. In my presentation, as an illustration and for brevity, I will show examples of psychological proximate influences, including the construction of the “other,” and in particular I will discuss strategies for the definition, communication, and mass diffusion of an “us vs. them” mentality, the gradual construction and spreading of “moral disengagement” among the perpetrators, and, also among the perpetrators (but also among the bystanders of genocide), the gradual development of a “blaming the victim” mentality to justify active participation, or at least acquiescence, to genocide. In general, to understand the role maps play in this context it is useful to refer to the literature on propaganda and on semiotics, and cartographers have traditionally written about these topics. Perhaps less studied, although not less useful general and specifically in the context of genocide and the definition of the “other,” is an iconographical (or iconological) approach; borrowed from art history, this is an especially complex and difficult technique to apply to the interpretation and study of maps, but a promising one. In my presentation I will touch on semiotics, propaganda, and iconography as well as reference and discuss Roland Barthes and his definition of the concept of “myth,” which I believe play a central role, one that overlaps all “proximate influences” as defined above, to explain how maps and images relate to genocide.</p><p> In the final part of my presentation, I will show examples of the use of maps by perpetrators and victims of genocide. From the perpetrators’ perspective, myth and propaganda work together in the service of the State; crucial to the effectiveness of genocide, propaganda and the creation of myths have to be monopolies of the State or they will not work effectively. Nazi Germany was especially effective and efficient from this point of view, with a body of work that I will introduce that include both images and writings from Nazi leaders and propagandists. Referring back to the stages of genocide discussed above, I will make the case that different cartographic design principles are applied for the first six stages (<i>classification, symbolization, dehumanization, organization, polarization, and preparation</i>) of genocide &amp;ndash; as well as the psychological construction of the “other” &amp;ndash; as opposed to the seventh (<i>extermination</i>) stage. Interestingly, from the point of view of cartographic design, there is a distinct similarity between the maps and images produced by the victims and those produced by the perpetrators, at least as far as the first six stages of genocide are concerned. As I will show in the presentation, this argument is better made via examples, tables, and direct comparisons of design elements, but to briefly summarize my point, depending on their purpose and audience, genocide maps are intended to be alternatively unambiguous or euphemistic, for the masses or for the military and/or political elites, impressionistic or emotional rather than rational and scientific, for public consumption or for private and secret use. In terms of specific elements of design, it is possible to identify the intended audience, purpose, and genocide stage in terms of the use of muted vs. saturated colors, the presence or absence of a legend, the use or not use of graduated symbols and arrows, the scale of the map, how visual contrast is employed to highlight certain elements, the use of black and white, etc.</p><p> As concerns more specifically the seventh stage of genocide &amp;ndash; <i>extermination</i> &amp;ndash; this is when the application of the methods and tools of scientific cartography become the urgent preoccupation of the perpetrators, as many examples from the Nazi archives prove; hence, the search for accuracy and precision in the representation of places, times, and themes, including the insistence on the exactness of measurements, the standardization of design elements, and in general the teaching and application of clear, unambiguous, and replicable designs and methods to make maps. Briefly put, maps produced for the extermination of the victims are characterized as the triumph of denotation and technology, while in the previous six stages connotation and the creation of “myth” are guiding principles by which maps are designed and produced, and their effectiveness is measured.</p><p> In my conclusions, I will remark on the fact that as much as maps (and, by extension and in the present time, GIS) have been used and will continue to be used to commit genocide, they can also be effectively used to counteract and denounce genocide. To do so, one should learn how to exploit propaganda techniques and how to use the theories of semiotics and iconography and the idea of myth to counter-map and resist genocide.</p>

<p><strong>Abstract.</strong> The paper considers three scientific approaches and outlines a new concept of systematic cartography.</p><p>The first approach &amp;ndash; systems theory</p><p>Systems theory has long been concerned with the study of complex systems (in recent times, complexity theory and complex systems have also been used as names of the field). Complex systems are present in the research of various disciplines, including geosciences, economics, social studies and technology. Recently, complexity has become a natural domain of interest in real-world socio-cognitive systems and emerging systemics research. Complex systems tend to be high-dimensional, non-linear, and challenging to study. Organised complexity is the degree of both the organisation and complexity of a system. When organisation and complexity are not part of the same system they each undoubtedly can occur naturally, but when both organisation and complexity are found in the same system, the odds of their occurring drop considerably, and the more of both that a system has, the less probable it becomes.</p><p>It is often useful to consider spatial problems through a general systems approach. A general system is a group of fundamental elements bound together by specific linkages. Systems may be open or closed and may change through time. The earth is an open system in which there are inputs, outputs, and flow-through mechanisms. The linkages, or connections, that bind entities together into a system are paths through which matter, energy, ideas, and people pass from one element to another. General Systems Theory is useful to any approaches describing the earth &amp;ndash; cartography is one of them.</p><p>Cartography employs systems to develop analytical models with which they seek to understand and explain spatial patterns and interactions. Cartographers use the systems model, for example, to examine human migration patterns, the diffusion of ideas, and the spread of information. Moreover, research about maps relies on understanding the systems in which information and communication processes operate. Cartographers are interested in identifying, explaining, and predicting information flows in maps. They also seek to identify, describe, and explain cycles and patterns in both maps and map collections.</p><p>The second approach &amp;ndash; atlases</p><p>Atlases are, probably, the best known and the most flexible of popular cartographic products. Atlases are used to address different issues and to target different audiences. Historically, atlases have played different roles &amp;ndash; from instruments of power, in the Renaissance to a current decision and planning support tools. Atlases are used for general reference, education, research and business. As they evolved, atlases were produced in different ways, from the initial manual compilation to current computer-generated processing. Atlases have experienced many changes in the way they are conceived, produced, disseminated and used.</p><p>Many definitions of an atlas exist, and all of them involve words “systematic collection” or similar expression that an atlas is not a set of map randomly chosen maps and their random arrangement as a book. After a rapid ICT development provides fast map compilations, it seems that atlas cartography is much more comfortable. Various types of atlases can be distinguished by the region, theme, dissemination concept, presentation medium and interaction with users. All these kinds of atlases share the overall objective to communicate geographic knowledge and facilitate new insight into geographic phenomena.</p><p>The third approach &amp;ndash; Tobler's first law of geography</p><p>The Tobler's first law of geography was introduced into the geographical literature in an article that Waldo Tobler (1930&amp;ndash;2018) published in the journal Economic Geography in 1970. He described a simulation of population growth in Detroit and invoked the law: “everything is related to everything else, but near things are more related than distant things.”</p><p>It considers the following questions for cartographers: Can the Tobler's law be applied in cartography when we replace objects with maps? How can “near” and “distant” be measured in an atlas? Is it right for Euclidean and network space?</p><p>A concept of systematic cartography</p><p>Systematic cartography is a set of interrelated approaches for visualising a wide range of spatial data sources by various techniques. A traditional field of systematic geovizualisation is the atlas production. At present, advanced display techniques and distributed spatial data sources multiply the possibilities and range of visualization outputs. A theoretical systematic approach plays a crucial role for content, designing, compilation and symbology of any atlas. This calls for the implementation of system theory into an atlas conceptualisation.</p><p>Can atlas be described as a system? If a system consists of elements and relationships between them, then an atlas consists of maps and relationships between them. As a system has a structure and behaviour, an atlas has a structure and usage. In the system theory, a system has a language (information is passed through the information channels). In systematic cartography, an atlas passes spatial information through map language. If we describe an atlas as a system we might measure atlas and then to improve it, redesign it, reuse it etc.</p><p>If an atlas is a system according to the theory of systems (a system universum A involves maps, symbols, map elements, graphs, texts, etc. and a system characteristics R involves all relationships between them) it make us possible to measure “a rate of systematization”, and make atlas taxonomy better. It will also provide a view into an atlas structure and tools for its imporving. And it is really worth!</p><p>Maps in atlases are organized gradually (i) from simple analytical maps (of the main theme components), (ii) to the complex and synthetic maps, (iii) the content of the thematic atlas is arranged like a storybook, (iv) from simple to complex, (v) from basic information to the culmination as the main message in sense of spatial synthesis (typology and regionalization). The relationships relate to map language either in map series, in atlas structure and design and between maps vs. graphs, tables and figures.</p>

Any understanding of social and cultural change is impossible without a knowledge of the way media work as environments. —Marshall McLuhan. What is visible and tangible in things represents our possible action upon them. —Henri Bergson. Introduction: Subjective Maps as ‘Contact Zones’ Maps feature heavily in a variety of media; they appear in textbooks, on television, in print, and on the screens of our handheld devices. The production of cartographic texts is a process that is imbued with power relations and bound up with the production and reproduction of social life (Pinder 405). Mapping involves choices as to what information is and is not included. In their organisation, categorisation, modeling, and representation maps show and they hide. Thus “the idea that a small number of maps or even a single (and singular) map might be sufficient can only apply in a spatialised area of study whose own self-affirmation depends on isolation from its context” (Lefebvre 85–86). These isolations determine the way we interpret the physical, biological, and social worlds. The map can be thought of as a schematic for political systems within a confined set of spatial relations, or as a container for political discourse. Mapping contributes equally to the construction of experiential realities as to the representation of physical space, which also contains the potential to incorporate representations of temporality and rhythm to spatial schemata. Thus maps construct realities as much as they represent them and coproduce space as much as the political identities of people who inhabit them. Maps are active texts and have the ability to promote social change (Pickles 146). It is no wonder, then, that artists, theorists and activists alike readily engage in the conflicted praxis of mapping. This critical engagement “becomes a method to track the past, embody memories, explain the unexplainable” and manifest the latent (Ibarra 66). In this paper I present a short case study of Bangalore: Subjective Cartographies a new media art project that aims to model a citizen driven effort to participate in a critical form of cartography, which challenges dominant representations of the city-space. I present a critical textual analysis of the maps produced in the workshops, the artist statements relating to these works used in the exhibition setting, and statements made by the participants on the project’s blog. This “praxis-logical” approach allows for a focus on the project as a space of aggregation and the communicative processes set in motion within them. In analysing such projects we could (and should) be asking questions about the functions served by the experimental concepts under study—who has put it forward? Who is utilising it and under what circumstances? Where and how has it come into being? How does discourse circulate within it? How do these spaces as sites of emergent forms of resistance within global capitalism challenge traditional social movements? How do they create self-reflexive systems?—as opposed to focusing on ontological and technical aspects of digital mapping (Renzi 73). In de-emphasising the technology of digital cartography and honing in on social relations embedded within the text(s), this study attempts to complement other studies on digital mapping (see Strom) by presenting a case from the field of politically oriented tactical media. Bangalore: Subjective Cartographies has been selected for analysis, in this exploration of media as “zone.” It goes some way to incorporating subjective narratives into spatial texts. This is a three-step process where participants tapped into spatial subjectivities by data collection or environmental sensing led by personal reflection or ethnographic enquiry, documenting and geo-tagging their findings in the map. Finally they engaged an imaginative or ludic process of synthesising their data in ways not inherent within the traditional conventions of cartography, such as the use of sound and distortion to explicate the intensity of invisible phenomena at various coordinates in the city-space. In what follows I address the “zone” theme by suggesting that if we apply McLuhan’s notion of media as environment together with Henri Bergson’s assertion that visibility and tangibility constitutes the potential for action to digital maps, projects such as Bangalore: Subjective Cartographies constitute a “contact zone.” A type of zone where groups come together at the local level and flows of discourse about art, information communication, media, technology, and environment intersect with local histories and cultures within the cartographic text. A “contact zone,” then, is a site where latent subjectivities are manifested and made potentially politically potent. “Contact zones,” however, need not be spaces for the aggrieved or excluded (Renzi 82), as they may well foster the ongoing cumulative politics of the mundane capable of developing into liminal spaces where dominant orders may be perforated. A “contact zone” is also not limitless and it must be made clear that the breaking of cartographic convention, as is the case with the project under study here, need not be viewed as resistances per se. It could equally represent thresholds for public versus private life, the city-as-text and the city-as-social space, or the zone where representations of space and representational spaces interface (Lefebvre 233), and culture flows between the mediated and ideated (Appadurai 33–36). I argue that a project like Bangalore: Subjective Cartographies demonstrates that maps as urban text form said “contact zones,” where not only are media forms such as image, text, sound, and video are juxtaposed in a singular spatial schematic, but narratives of individual and collective subjectivities (which challenge dominant orders of space and time, and city-rhythm) are contested. Such a “contact zone” in turn may not only act as a resource for citizens in the struggle of urban design reform and a democratisation of the facilities it produces, but may also serve as a heuristic device for researchers of new media spatiotemporalities and their social implications. Critical Cartography and Media Tactility Before presenting this brief illustrative study something needs to be said of the context from which Bangalore: Subjective Cartographies has arisen. Although a number of Web 2.0 applications have come into existence since the introduction of Google Maps and map application program interfaces, which generate a great deal of geo-tagged user generated content aimed at reconceptualising the mapped city-space (see historypin for example), few have exhibited great significance for researchers of media and communications from the perspective of building critical theories relating to political potential in mediated spaces. The expression of power through mapping can be understood from two perspectives. The first—attributed largely to the Frankfurt School—seeks to uncover the potential of a society that is repressed by capitalist co-opting of the cultural realm. This perspective sees maps as a potential challenge to, and means of providing emancipation from, existing power structures. The second, less concerned with dispelling false ideologies, deals with the politics of epistemology (Crampton and Krygier 14). According to Foucault, power was not applied from the top down but manifested laterally in a highly diffused manner (Foucault 117; Crampton and Krygier 14). Foucault’s privileging of the spatial and epistemological aspects of power and resistance complements the Frankfurt School’s resistance to oppression in the local. Together the two perspectives orient power relative to spatial and temporal subjectivities, and thus fit congruently into cartographic conventions. In order to make sense of these practices the post-oppositional character of tactical media maps should be located within an economy of power relations where resistance is never outside of the field of forces but rather is its indispensable element (Renzi 72). Such exercises in critical cartography are strongly informed by the critical politico-aesthetic praxis of political/art collective The Situationist International, whose maps of Paris were inherently political. The Situationist International incorporated appropriated texts into, and manipulated, existing maps to explicate city-rhythms and intensities to construct imaginative and alternate representations of the city. Bangalore: Subjective Cartographies adopts a similar approach. The artists’ statement reads: We build our subjective maps by combining different methods: photography, film, and sound recording; […] to explore the visible and invisible […] city; […] we adopt psycho-geographical approaches in exploring territory, defined as the study of the precise effects of the geographical environment, consciously developed or not, acting directly on the emotional behaviour of individuals. The project proposals put forth by workshop participants also draw heavily from the Situationists’s A New Theatre of Operations for Culture. A number of Situationist theories and practices feature in the rationale for the maps created in the Bangalore Subjective Cartographies workshop. For example, the Situationists took as their base a general notion of experimental behaviour and permanent play where rationality was approached on the basis of whether or not something interesting could be created out of it (Wark 12). The dérive is the rapid passage through various ambiences with a playful-constructive awareness of the psychographic contours of a specific section of space-time (Debord). The dérive can be thought of as an exploration of an environment without preconceptions about the contours of its geography, but rather a focus on the reality of inhabiting a place. Détournement involves the re-use of elements from recognised media to create a new work with meaning often opposed to the original. Psycho-geography is taken to be the subjective ambiences of particular spaces and times. The principles of détournement and psycho-geography imply a unitary urbanism, which hints at the potential of achieving in environments what may be achieved in media with détournement. Bangalore: Subjective Cartographies carries Situationist praxis forward by attempting to exploit certain properties of information digitalisation to formulate textual representations of unitary urbanism. Bangalore: Subjective Cartographies is demonstrative of a certain media tactility that exists more generally across digital-networked media ecologies and channels this to political ends. This tactility of media is best understood through textual properties awarded by the process and logic of digitalisation described in Lev Manovich’s Language of New Media. These properties are: numerical representation in the form of binary code, which allows for the reification of spatial data in a uniform format that can be stored and retrieved in-silico as opposed to in-situ; manipulation of this code by the use of algorithms, which renders the scales and lines of maps open to alteration; modularity that enables incorporation of other textual objects into the map whilst maintaining each incorporated item’s individual identity; the removal to some degree of human interaction in terms of the translation of environmental data into cartographic form (whilst other properties listed here enable human interaction with the cartographic text), and the nature of digital code allows for changes to accumulate incrementally creating infinite potential for refinements (Manovich 49–63). The Subjective Mapping of Bangalore Bangalore is an interesting site for such a project given the recent and rapid evolution of its media infrastructure. As a “media city,” the first television sets appeared in Bangalore at some point in the early 1980s. The first Internet Service Provider (ISP), which served corporate clients only, commenced operating a decade later and then offered dial-up services to domestic clients in the mid-1990s. At present, however, Bangalore has the largest number of broadband Internet connections in India. With the increasing convergence of computing and telecommunications with traditional forms of media such as film and photography, Bangalore demonstrates well what Scott McQuire terms a media-architecture complex, the core infrastructure for “contact zones” (vii). Bangalore: Subjective Cartographies was a workshop initiated by French artists Benjamin Cadon and Ewen Cardonnet. It was conducted with a number of students at the Srishti School of Art, Design and Technology in November and December 2009. Using Metamap.fr (an online cartographic tool that makes it possible to add multimedia content such as texts, video, photos, sounds, links, location points, and paths to digital maps) students were asked to, in groups of two or three, collect and consult data on ‘felt’ life in Bangalore using an ethnographic, transverse geographic, thematic, or temporal approach. The objective of the project was to model a citizen driven effort to subvert dominant cartographic representations of the city. In doing so, the project and this paper posits that there is potential for such methods to be adopted to form new literacies of cartographic media and to render the cartographic imaginary politically potent. The participants’ brief outlined two themes. The first was the visible and symbolic city where participants were asked to investigate the influence of the urban environment on the behaviours and sensations of its inhabitants, and to research and collect signifiers of traditional and modern worlds. The invisible city brief asked participants to consider the latent environment and link it to human behaviour—in this case electromagnetic radiation linked to the cities telecommunications and media infrastructure was to be specifically investigated. The Visible and Symbolic City During British rule many Indian cities functioned as dual entities where flow of people and commodities circulated between localised enclaves and the centralised British-built areas. Mirroring this was the dual mode of administration where power was shared between elected Indian legislators and appointed British officials (Hoselitz 432–33). Reflecting on this diarchy leads naturally to questions about the politics of civic services such as the water supply, modes of public communication and instruction, and the nature of the city’s administration, distribution, and manufacturing functions. Workshop participants approached these issues in a variety of ways. In the subjective maps entitled Microbial Streets and Water Use and Reuse, food and water sources of street vendors are traced with the aim to map water supply sources relative to the movements of street vendors operating in the city. Images of the microorganisms are captured using hacked webcams as makeshift microscopes. The data was then converted to audio using Pure Data—a real-time graphical programming environment for the processing audio, video and graphical data. The intention of Microbial Streets is to demonstrate how mapping technologies could be used to investigate the flows of food and water from source to consumer, and uncover some of the latencies involved in things consumed unhesitatingly everyday. Typographical Lens surveys Russell Market, an older part of the city through an exploration of the aesthetic and informational transformation of the city’s shop and street signage. In Ethni City, Avenue Road is mapped from the perspective of local goldsmiths who inhabit the area. Both these maps attempt to study the convergence of the city’s dual function and how the relationship between merchants and their customers has changed during the transition from localised enclaves, catering to the sale of particular types of goods, to the development of shopping precincts, where a variety of goods and services can be sought. Two of the project’s maps take a spatiotemporal-archivist approach to the city. Bangalore 8mm 1940s uses archival Super 8 footage and places digitised copies on the map at the corresponding locations of where they were originally filmed. The film sequences, when combined with satellite or street-view images, allow for the juxtaposition of present day visions of the city with those of the 1940s pre-partition era. Chronicles of Collection focuses on the relationship between people and their possessions from the point of view of the object and its pathways through the city in space and time. Collectors were chosen for this map as the value they placed on the object goes beyond the functional and the monetary, which allowed the resultant maps to access and express spatially the layers of meaning a particular object may take on in differing contexts of place and time in the city-space. The Invisible City In the expression of power through city-spaces, and by extension city-texts, certain circuits and flows are ossified and others rendered latent. Raymond Williams in Politics and Letters writes: however dominant a social system may be, the very meaning of its domination involves a limitation or selection of the activities it covers, so that by definition it cannot exhaust all social experience, which therefore always potentially contains space for alternative acts and alternative intentions which are not yet articulated as a social institution or even project. (252) The artists’ statement puts forward this possible response, an exploration of the latent aesthetics of the city-space: In this sense then, each device that enriches our perception for possible action on the real is worthy of attention. Even if it means the use of subjective methods, that may not be considered ‘evidence’. However, we must admit that any subjective investigation, when used systematically and in parallel with the results of technical measures, could lead to new possibilities of knowledge. Electromagnetic City maps the city’s sources of electromagnetic radiation, primarily from mobile phone towers, but also as a by-product of our everyday use of technologies, televisions, mobile phones, Internet Wi-Fi computer screens, and handheld devices. This map explores issues around how the city’s inhabitants hear, see, feel, and represent things that are a part of our environment but invisible, and asks: are there ways that the intangible can be oriented spatially? The intensity of electromagnetic radiation being emitted from these sources, which are thought to negatively influence the meditation of ancient sadhus (sages) also features in this map. This data was collected by taking electromagnetic flow meters into the suburb of Yelhanka (which is also of interest because it houses the largest milk dairy in the state of Karnataka) in a Situationist-like derive and then incorporated back into Metamap. Signal to Noise looks at the struggle between residents concerned with the placement of mobile phone towers around the city. It does so from the perspectives of people who seek information about their placement concerned about mobile phone signal quality, and others concerned about the proximity of this infrastructure to their homes due to to potential negative health effects. Interview footage was taken (using a mobile phone) and manipulated using Pure Data to distort the visual and audio quality of the footage in proportion to the fidelity of the mobile phone signal in the geographic area where the footage was taken. Conclusion The “contact zone” operating in Bangalore: Subjective Cartographies, and the underlying modes of social enquiry that make it valuable, creates potential for the contestation of new forms of polity that may in turn influence urban administration and result in more representative facilities of, and for, city-spaces and their citizenry. Robert Hassan argues that: This project would mean using tactical media to produce new spaces and temporalities that are explicitly concerned with working against the unsustainable “acceleration of just about everything” that our present neoliberal configuration of the network society has generated, showing that alternatives are possible and workable—in ones job, home life, family life, showing that digital [spaces and] temporality need not mean the unerring or unbending meter of real-time [and real city-space] but that an infinite number of temporalities [and subjectivities of space-time] can exist within the network society to correspond with a diversity of local and contextual cultures, societies and polities. (174) As maps and locative motifs begin to feature more prominently in media, analyses such as the one discussed in this paper may allow for researchers to develop theoretical approaches to studying newer forms of media. References Appadurai, Arjun. Modernity at Large: Cultural Dimensions of Globalisation. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1996. “Bangalore: Subjective Cartographies.” 25 July 2011 ‹http://bengaluru.labomedia.org/page/2/›. Bergson, Henri. Creative Evolution. New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1911. Crampton, Jeremy W., and John Krygier. “An Introduction to Critical Cartography.” ACME: An International E-Journal for Critical Geography 4 (2006): 11–13. Chardonnet, Ewen, and Benjamin Cadon. “Semaphore.” 25 July 2011 ‹http://semaphore.blogs.com/semaphore/spectral_investigations_collective/›. Debord, Guy. “Theory of the Dérive.” 25 July 2011 ‹http://www.bopsecrets.org/SI/2.derive.htm›. Foucault, Michel. Remarks on Marx. New York: Semitotext[e], 1991.Hassan, Robert. The Chronoscopic Society: Globalization, Time and Knowledge in the Networked Economy. New York: Lang, 2003. “Historypin.” 4 Aug. 2011 ‹http://www.historypin.com/›. Hoselitz, Bert F. “A Survey of the Literature on Urbanization in India.” India’s Urban Future Ed. Roy Turner. Berkeley: U of California P, 1961. 425-43. Ibarra, Anna. “Cosmologies of the Self.” Elephant 7 (2011): 66–96. Lefebvre, Henri. The Production of Space. Oxford: Blackwell, 1991. Lovink, Geert. Dark Fibre. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2002. Manovich, Lev. The Language of New Media Cambridge: MIT Press, 2000. “Metamap.fr.” 3 Mar. 2011 ‹http://metamap.fr/›. McLuhan, Marshall, and Quentin Fiore. The Medium Is the Massage. London: Penguin, 1967. McQuire, Scott. The Media City: Media, Architecture and Urban Space. London: Sage, 2008. Pickles, John. A History of Spaces: Cartographic Reason, Mapping and the Geo-Coded World. London: Routledge, 2004. Pinder, David. “Subverting Cartography: The Situationists and Maps of the City.” Environment and Planning A 28 (1996): 405–27. “Pure Data.” 6 Aug. 2011 ‹http://puredata.info/›. Renzi, Alessandra. “The Space of Tactical Media” Digital Media and Democracy: Tactics in Hard Times. Ed. Megan Boler. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2008. 71–100. Situationist International. “A New Theatre of Operations for Culture.” 6 Aug. 2011 ‹http://www.blueprintmagazine.co.uk/index.php/urbanism/reading-the-situationist-city/›. Strom, Timothy Erik. “Space, Cyberspace and the Interface: The Trouble with Google Maps.” M/C Journal 4.3 (2011). 6 Aug. 2011 ‹http://journal.media-culture.org.au/index.php/mcjournal/article/viewArticle/370›. Wark, McKenzie. 50 Years of Recuperation of the Situationist International, New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 2008. Williams, Raymond. Politics and Letters: Interviews with New Left Review. London: New Left, 1979.

Communication relies on good understanding. Humans relate to each other through visual, audible and tactile communication. It is imperative that the audible communication message reaches the receiver in good conditions, in order to keep a healthy, smooth and understandable speech. There are some disturbances in human speech and communication when hearing damage is present. Nowadays, hearing loss is a frequent injury, caused by noise pollution, daily stress or noisy workplaces. Yet, it can be treated by several ways. This project consists in developing a tool that captures the emitter's voice audible spectrum, filters the noise and other frequencies, and compensates the message, enabling the listener/receiver understanding. The purpose of this research is not aimed to substitute nor compete with hearing aids in the market, which are well-developed, certified and prescribed by Otorhinolaryngology clinicians. The focus of this study is to identify the issues of human hearing loss and to develop an algorithm for hearing compensation by using filtering techniques in a simulated environment applied to a hearing model.

<p><em>Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) is a developmental disorder that has communication disorders as its characteristic. Greenspan introduced the DIR Floortime model which is proven to be able to improve the communication circles of ASD child and teens. This study aims to see the role of DIR Floortime in improving two-way communication of adolescent with ASD. With single-subject experimental design, this study consisted of 10 pre-intervention sessions, 20 intervention sessions and 10 post-intervention sessions, 2 sessions in 1 day with 20 minutes duration. Two-way communication capability is measured using Functional Assessment Scale and number of communication circles during the session. Based on an assessment of JW, a 14-year-old teenager with Autism Spectrum Disorder, it is found: JW has a dominant sensory-seeking in the tactile and auditory areas. JW mental age is equal to 6 year-old child. JW has reached the third development milestone, two-way purposeful communication, but JW is not optimal yet in this milestone. From the results, the DIR Floortime is able to improve two-way purposeful communication significantly in adolescent with Autism Spectrum Disorder. In addition, DIR Floortime is also able to increase circles of communication significantly in adolescent with Autism Spectrum Disorder. Specifically, there is an increase in the quantity and also improvement in the quality of opening the communication circles. While the ability to close the communication circles is only improved in quality. JW is able to respond the researcher with series of behavior after the DIR Floortime intervention is given.</em></p><p><strong><em>Keywords: </em></strong><em> </em><em>DIT Floortime, two-way communication, circle of communication, autism spectrum disorder, adolescent</em></p>

AbstractAnthropogenic disturbance is a major cause of the biodiversity crisis. Nevertheless, the role of anthropogenic substrate vibrations in disrupting animal behavior is poorly understood. Amphibians comprise the terrestrial vertebrates most sensitive to vibrations, and since communication is crucial to their survival and reproduction, they are a suitable model for investigating this timely subject. Playback tests were used to assess the effects of substrate vibrations produced by two sources of anthropogenic activity– road traffic and wind turbines– on the calling activity of a naïve population of terrestrial toads. In their natural habitat, a buried tactile sound transducer was used to emit simulated traffic and wind turbine vibrations, and changes in the toads’ acoustic responses were analyzed by measuring parameters important for reproductive success: call rate, call duration and dominant frequency. Our results showed a significant call rate reduction by males of Alytes obstetricans in response to both seismic sources, whereas other parameters remained stable. Since females of several species prefer males with higher call rates, our results suggest that anthropogenically derived substrate-borne vibrations could reduce individual reproductive success. Our study demonstrates a clear negative effect of anthropogenic vibrations on anuran communication, and the urgent need for further investigation in this area.

In 1975, Colwyn Trevarthen first presented his groundbreaking explorations into the early origins of human intersubjectivity. His influential model dictates that, during intimate and playful spontaneous face-to-face protoconversations, the emotions of both the 2–3-month-old infant and mother are nonverbally communicated, perceived, mutually regulated, and intersubjectively shared. This primordial basic interpersonal interaction is expressed in synchronized rhythmic-turn-taking transactions that promote the intercoordination and awareness of positive brain states in both. In this work, I offer an interpersonal neurobiological model of Trevarthen’s intersubjective protoconversations as rapid, reciprocal, bidirectional visual-facial, auditory-prosodic, and tactile-gestural right brain-to-right brain implicit nonverbal communications between the psychobiologically attuned mother and the developing infant. These co-constructed positive emotional interactions facilitate the experience-dependent maturation of the infant’s right brain, which is in an early critical period of growth. I then address the central role of interpersonal synchrony in intersubjectivity, expressed in a mutual alignment or coupling between the minds and bodies of the mother and infant in face-to-face protoconversations, as well as how these right brain-to-right brain emotional transmissions generate bioenergetic positively charged interbrain synchrony within the dyad. Following this, I offer recent brain laterality research on the essential functions of the right temporoparietal junction, a central node of the social brain, in face-to-face nonverbal communications. In the next section, I describe the ongoing development of the protoconversation over the 1st year and beyond, and the co-creation of a fundamental energy-dependent, growth-promoting social emotional matrix that facilitates the emergence of the highly adaptive human functions of mutual play and mutual love. In the final section, I discuss the clinical applications of this interpersonal neurobiological model of intersubjectivity, which has a long history in the psychotherapy literature. Toward that end, I offer very recent paradigm-shifting hyperscanning research that simultaneously measures both the patient and therapist during a psychotherapeutic interaction. Using the Trevarthen’s two-person intersubjective model, this research demonstrates changes in both brains of the therapeutic dyad and the critical role of nonverbal communications in an emotionally-focused psychotherapy session. These studies specifically document interbrain synchronization between the right temporoparietal junction of the patient and the right temporoparietal junction of the clinician, a right brain-to-right brain nonverbal communication system in the co-constructed therapeutic alliance. Lastly, I discuss the relationship between the affect communicating functions of the intersubjective motivational system and the affect regulating functions of the attachment motivational system.

Abstract Background In Camponotus sericeus (Fabricius), foraging ants are recruited mostly as individuals but occasionally as small groups that move in a single file. We studied the structure and organization of these small foraging groups and attempted to understand the process through which the cohesiveness of the moving file is maintained. Results The recruited group moves in a single file as if steered by a leader at the moving tip. Ants in the group were found to exhibit certain fidelity to their respective positions in the file, despite the occasional breakdown of the cohesiveness due to disturbance and or obstructions on their path. This fidelity decreases from both ends towards the middle part of the file. Accordingly, three segments could be recognized in the moving file: (a) the leading ant that almost always maintains its position and steers the group, (b) a short tail part with a few ants that always trail the file and, (c) the mid part that binds the group; ants in this segment always tend to follow the leader through a cascading chain of tactile communication. If the leader ant is removed, entire group loses its orientation and enters into a chaotic search state. But removing any other ant does not affect the cohesiveness; rather it’s position is occupied by the member preceding it and thus maintains the link in the group. Conclusions The cohesiveness of the moving group appeared to result from (a) regulation of the movement of the group by the leading ant, and, (b) an interactive process among the rest of the ants. Based on these two elements, a simple automated model of the group’s movement was developed that could effectively mimic the observed pattern. We also provide evidence to suggest that recruitment of groups occurs in the direction of, and in response to, the information received by the colony on, the resource rich patches.

IntroductionSupermarkets are functionally challenging environments for people with vision impairments. A supermarket is likely to house an average of 45,000 products in a median floor-space of 4,529 square meters and many visually impaired people are unable to shop without assistance, which greatly impedes personal independence (Nicholson et al.). The task of selecting goods in a supermarket is an “activity that is expressive of agency, identity and creativity” (Sutherland) from which many vision-impaired persons are excluded. In response to this, a number of proof of concept (demonstrating feasibility) and prototype assistive technologies are being developed which aim to use smart phones as potential sensorial aides for vision impaired persons. In this paper, I discuss two such prototypic technologies, Shop Talk and BlindShopping. I engage with this issue’s list theme by suggesting that, on the one hand, list making is a uniquely human activity that demonstrates our need for order, reliance on memory, reveals our idiosyncrasies, and provides insights into our private lives (Keaggy 12). On the other hand, lists feature in the creation of spatial inventories that represent physical environments (Perec 3-4, 9-10). The use of lists in the architecture of assistive technologies for shopping illuminates the interaction between these two modalities of list use where items contained in a list are not only textual but also cartographic elements that link the material and immaterial in space and time (Haber 63). I argue that despite the emancipatory potential of assistive shopping technologies, their efficacy in practical situations is highly dependent on the extent to which they can integrate a number of lists to produce representations of space that are meaningful for vision impaired users. I suggest that the extent to which these prototypes may translate to becoming commercially viable, widely adopted technologies is heavily reliant upon commercial and institutional infrastructures, data sources, and regulation. Thus, their design, manufacture and adoption-potential are shaped by the extent to which certain data inventories are accessible and made interoperable. To overcome such constraints, it is important to better understand the “spatial syntax” associated with the shopping task for a vision impaired person; that is, the connected ordering of real and virtual spatial elements that result in a supermarket as a knowable space within which an assisted “spatial practice” of shopping can occur (Kellerman 148, Lefebvre 16).In what follows, I use the concept of lists to discuss the production of supermarket-space in relation to the enabling and disabling potentials of assistive technologies. First, I discuss mobile digital technologies relative to disability and impairment and describe how the shopping task produces a disabling spatial practice. Second, I present a case study showing how assistive technologies function in aiding vision impaired users in completing the task of supermarket shopping. Third, I discuss various factors that may inhibit the liberating potential of technology assisted shopping by vision-impaired people. Addressing Shopping as a Disabling Spatial Practice Consider how a shopping list might inform one’s experience of supermarket space. The way shopping lists are written demonstrate the variability in the logic that governs list writing. As Bill Keaggy demonstrates in his found shopping list Web project and subsequent book, Milk, Eggs, Vodka, a shopping list may be written on a variety of materials, be arranged in a number of orientations, and the writer may use differing textual attributes, such as size or underlining to show emphasis. The writer may use longhand, abbreviate, write neatly, scribble, and use an array of alternate spelling and naming conventions. For example, items may be listed based on knowledge of the location of products, they may be arranged on a list as a result of an inventory of a pantry or fridge, or they may be copied in the order they appear in a recipe. Whilst shopping, some may follow strictly the order of their list, crossing back and forth between aisles. Some may work through their list item-by-item, perhaps forward scanning to achieve greater economies of time and space. As a person shops, their memory may be stimulated by visual cues reminding them of products they need that may not be included on their list. For the vision impaired, this task is near impossible to complete without the assistance of a relative, friend, agency volunteer, or store employee. Such forms of assistance are often unsatisfactory, as delays may be caused due to the unavailability of an assistant, or the assistant having limited literacy, knowledge, or patience to adequately meet the shopper’s needs. Home delivery services, though readily available, impede personal independence (Nicholson et al.). Katie Ellis and Mike Kent argue that “an impairment becomes a disability due to the impact of prevailing ableist social structures” (3). It can be said, then, that supermarkets function as a disability producing space for the vision impaired shopper. For the vision impaired, a supermarket is a “hegemonic modern visual infrastructure” where, for example, merchandisers may reposition items regularly to induce customers to explore areas of the shop that they wouldn’t usually, a move which adds to the difficulty faced by those customers with impaired vision who work on the assumption that items remain as they usually are (Schillmeier 161).In addressing this issue, much emphasis has been placed on the potential of mobile communications technologies in affording vision impaired users greater mobility and flexibility (Jolley 27). However, as Gerard Goggin argues, the adoption of mobile communication technologies has not necessarily “gone hand in hand with new personal and collective possibilities” given the limited access to standard features, even if the device is text-to-speech enabled (98). Issues with Digital Rights Management (DRM) limit the way a device accesses and reproduces information, and confusion over whether audio rights are needed to convert text-to-speech, impede the accessibility of mobile communications technologies for vision impaired users (Ellis and Kent 136). Accessibility and functionality issues like these arise out of the needs, desires, and expectations of the visually impaired as a user group being considered as an afterthought as opposed to a significant factor in the early phases of design and prototyping (Goggin 89). Thus, the development of assistive technologies for the vision impaired has been left to third parties who must adopt their solutions to fit within certain technical parameters. It is valuable to consider what is involved in the task of shopping in order to appreciate the considerations that must be made in the design of shopping intended assistive technologies. Shopping generally consists of five sub-tasks: travelling to the store; finding items in-store; paying for and bagging items at the register; exiting the store and getting home; and, the often overlooked task of putting items away once at home. In this process supermarkets exhibit a “trichotomous spatial ontology” consisting of locomotor space that a shopper moves around the store, haptic space in the immediate vicinity of the shopper, and search space where individual products are located (Nicholson et al.). In completing these tasks, a shopper will constantly be moving through and switching between all three of these spaces. In the next section I examine how assistive technologies function in producing supermarkets as both enabling and disabling spaces for the vision impaired. Assistive Technologies for Vision Impaired ShoppersJason Farman (43) and Adriana de Douza e Silva both argue that in many ways spaces have always acted as information interfaces where data of all types can reside. Global Positioning System (GPS), Radio Frequency Identification (RFID), and Quick Response (QR) codes all allow for practically every spatial encounter to be an encounter with information. Site-specific and location-aware technologies address the desire for meaningful representations of space for use in everyday situations by the vision impaired. Further, the possibility of an “always-on” connection to spatial information via a mobile phone with WiFi or 3G connections transforms spatial experience by “enfolding remote [and latent] contexts inside the present context” (de Souza e Silva). A range of GPS navigation systems adapted for vision-impaired users are currently on the market. Typically, these systems convert GPS information into text-to-speech instructions and are either standalone devices, such as the Trekker Breeze, or they use the compass, accelerometer, and 3G or WiFi functions found on most smart phones, such as Loadstone. Whilst both these products are adequate in guiding a vision-impaired user from their home to a supermarket, there are significant differences in their interfaces and data architectures. Trekker Breeze is a standalone hardware device that produces talking menus, maps, and GPS information. While its navigation functionality relies on a worldwide radio-navigation system that uses a constellation of 24 satellites to triangulate one’s position (May and LaPierre 263-64), its map and text-to-speech functionality relies on data on a DVD provided with the unit. Loadstone is an open source software system for Nokia devices that has been developed within the vision-impaired community. Loadstone is built on GNU General Public License (GPL) software and is developed from private and user based funding; this overcomes the issue of Trekker Breeze’s reliance on trading policies and pricing models of the few global vendors of satellite navigation data. Both products have significant shortcomings if viewed in the broader context of the five sub-tasks involved in shopping described above. Trekker Breeze and Loadstone require that additional devices be connected to it. In the case of Trekker Breeze it is a tactile keypad, and with Loadstone it is an aftermarket screen reader. To function optimally, Trekker Breeze requires that routes be pre-recorded and, according to a review conducted by the American Foundation for the Blind, it requires a 30-minute warm up time to properly orient itself. Both Trekker Breeze and Loadstone allow users to create and share Points of Interest (POI) databases showing the location of various places along a given route. Non-standard or duplicated user generated content in POI databases may, however, have a negative effect on usability (Ellis and Kent 2). Furthermore, GPS-based navigation systems are accurate to approximately ten metres, which means that users must rely on their own mobility skills when they are required to change direction or stop for traffic. This issue with GPS accuracy is more pronounced when a vision-impaired user is approaching a supermarket where they are likely to encounter environmental hazards with greater frequency and both pedestrian and vehicular traffic in greater density. Here the relations between space defined and spaces poorly defined or undefined by the GPS device interact to produce the supermarket surrounds as a disabling space (Galloway). Prototype Systems for Supermarket Navigation and Product SelectionIn the discussion to follow, I look at two prototype systems using QR codes and RFID that are designed to be used in-store by vision-impaired shoppers. Shop Talk is a proof of concept system developed by researchers at Utah State University that uses synthetic verbal route directions to assist vision impaired shoppers with supermarket navigation, product search, and selection (Nicholson et al.). Its hardware consists of a portable computational unit, a numeric keypad, a wireless barcode scanner and base station, headphones for the user to receive the synthetic speech instructions, a USB hub to connect all the components, and a backpack to carry them (with the exception of the barcode scanner) which has been slightly modified with a plastic stabiliser to assist in correct positioning. Shop Talk represents the supermarket environment using two data structures. The first is comprised of two elements: a topological map of locomotor space that allows for directional labels of “left,” “right,” and “forward,” to be added to the supermarket floor plan; and, for navigation of haptic space, the supermarket inventory management system, which is used to create verbal descriptions of product information. The second data structure is a Barcode Connectivity Matrix (BCM), which associates each shelf barcode with several pieces of information such as aisle, aisle side, section, shelf, position, Universal Product Code (UPC) barcode, product description, and price. Nicholson et al. suggest that one of their “most immediate objectives for future work is to migrate the system to a more conventional mobile platform” such as a smart phone (see Mobile Shopping). The Personalisable Interactions with Resources on AMI-Enabled Mobile Dynamic Environments (PRIAmIDE) research group at the University of Deusto is also approaching Ambient Assisted Living (AAL) by exploring the smart phone’s sensing, communication, computing, and storage potential. As part of their work, the prototype system, BlindShopping, was developed to address the issue of assisted shopping using entirely off-the-shelf technology with minimal environmental adjustments to navigate the store and search, browse and select products (López-de-Ipiña et al. 34). Blind Shopping’s architecture is based on three components. Firstly, a navigation system provides the user with synthetic verbal instructions to users via headphones connected to the smart phone device being used in order to guide them around the store. This requires a RFID reader to be attached to the tip of the user’s white cane and road-marking-like RFID tag lines to be distributed throughout the aisles. A smartphone application processes the RFID data that is received by the smart phone via Bluetooth generating the verbal navigation commands as a result. Products are recognised by pointing a QR code reader enabled smart phone at an embossed code located on a shelf. The system is managed by a Rich Internet Application (RIA) interface, which operates by Web browser, and is used to register the RFID tags situated in the aisles and the QR codes located on shelves (López-de-Ipiña and 37-38). A typical use-scenario for Blind Shopping involves a user activating the system by tracing an “L” on the screen or issuing the “Location” voice command, which activates the supermarket navigation system which then asks the user to either touch an RFID floor marking with their cane or scan a QR code on a nearby shelf to orient the system. The application then asks the user to dictate the product or category of product that they wish to locate. The smart phone maintains a continuous Bluetooth connection with the RFID reader to keep track of user location at all times. By drawing a “P” or issuing the “Product” voice command, a user can switch the device into product recognition mode where the smart phone camera is pointed at an embossed QR code on a shelf to retrieve information about a product such as manufacturer, name, weight, and price, via synthetic speech (López-de-Ipiña et al. 38-39). Despite both systems aiming to operate with as little environmental adjustment as possible, as well as minimise the extent to which a supermarket would need to allocate infrastructural, administrative, and human resources to implementing assistive technologies for vision impaired shoppers, there will undoubtedly be significant establishment and maintenance costs associated with the adoption of production versions of systems resembling either prototype described in this paper. As both systems rely on data obtained from a server by invoking Web services, supermarkets would need to provide in-store WiFi. Further, both systems’ dependence on store inventory data would mean that commercial versions of either of these systems are likely to be supermarket specific or exclusive given that there will be policies in place that forbid access to inventory systems, which contain pricing information to third parties. Secondly, an assumption in the design of both prototypes is that the shopping task ends with the user arriving at home; this overlooks the important task of being able to recognise products in order to put them away or to use at a later time.The BCM and QR product recognition components of both respective prototypic systems associates information to products in order to assist users in the product search and selection sub-tasks. However, information such as use-by dates, discount offers, country of manufacture, country of manufacturer’s origin, nutritional information, and the labelling of products as Halal, Kosher, containing alcohol, nuts, gluten, lactose, phenylalanine, and so on, create further challenges in how different data sources are managed within the devices’ software architecture. The reliance of both systems on existing smartphone technology is also problematic. Changes in the production and uptake of mobile communication devices, and the software that they operate on, occurs rapidly. Once the fit-out of a retail space with the necessary instrumentation in order to accommodate a particular system has occurred, this system is unlikely to be able to cater to the requirement for frequent upgrades, as built environments are less flexible in the upgrading of their technological infrastructure (Kellerman 148). This sets up a scenario where the supermarket may persist as a disabling space due to a gap between the functional capacities of applications designed for mobile communication devices and the environments in which they are to be used. Lists and Disabling Spatial PracticeThe development and provision of access to assistive technologies and the data they rely upon is a commercial issue (Ellis and Kent 7). The use of assistive technologies in supermarket-spaces that rely on the inter-functional coordination of multiple inventories may have the unintended effect of excluding people with disabilities from access to legitimate content (Ellis and Kent 7). With de Certeau, we can ask of supermarket-space “What spatial practices correspond, in the area where discipline is manipulated, to these apparatuses that produce a disciplinary space?" (96).In designing assistive technologies, such as those discussed in this paper, developers must strive to achieve integration across multiple data inventories. Software architectures must be optimised to overcome issues relating to intellectual property, cross platform access, standardisation, fidelity, potential duplication, and mass-storage. This need for “cross sectioning,” however, “merely adds to the muddle” (Lefebvre 8). This is a predicament that only intensifies as space and objects in space become increasingly “representable” (Galloway), and as the impetus for the project of spatial politics for the vision impaired moves beyond representation to centre on access and meaning-making.ConclusionSupermarkets act as sites of hegemony, resistance, difference, and transformation, where the vision impaired and their allies resist the “repressive socialization of impaired bodies” through their own social movements relating to environmental accessibility and the technology assisted spatial practice of shopping (Gleeson 129). It is undeniable that the prototype technologies described in this paper, and those like it, indeed do have a great deal of emancipatory potential. However, it should be understood that these devices produce representations of supermarket-space as a simulation within a framework that attempts to mimic the real, and these representations are pre-determined by the industrial, technological, and regulatory forces that govern their production (Lefebvre 8). Thus, the potential of assistive technologies is dependent upon a range of constraints relating to data accessibility, and the interaction of various kinds of lists across the geographic area that surrounds the supermarket, locomotor, haptic, and search spaces of the supermarket, the home-space, and the internal spaces of a shopper’s imaginary. These interactions are important in contributing to the reproduction of disability in supermarkets through the use of assistive shopping technologies. The ways by which people make and read shopping lists complicate the relations between supermarket-space as location data and product inventories versus that which is intuited and experienced by a shopper (Sutherland). Not only should we be creating inventories of supermarket locomotor, haptic, and search spaces, the attention of developers working in this area of assistive technologies should look beyond the challenges of spatial representation and move towards a focus on issues of interoperability and expanded access of spatial inventory databases and data within and beyond supermarket-space.ReferencesDe Certeau, Michel. The Practice of Everyday Life. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984. Print.De Souza e Silva, A. “From Cyber to Hybrid: Mobile Technologies As Interfaces of Hybrid Spaces.” Space and Culture 9.3 (2006): 261-78.Ellis, Katie, and Mike Kent. Disability and New Media. New York: Routledge, 2011.Farman, Jason. Mobile Interface Theory: Embodied Space and Locative Media. New York: Routledge, 2012.Galloway, Alexander. “Are Some Things Unrepresentable?” Theory, Culture and Society 28 (2011): 85-102.Gleeson, Brendan. Geographies of Disability. London: Routledge, 1999.Goggin, Gerard. Cell Phone Culture: Mobile Technology in Everyday Life. London: Routledge, 2006.Haber, Alex. “Mapping the Void in Perec’s Species of Spaces.” Tattered Fragments of the Map. Ed. Adam Katz and Brian Rosa. S.l.: Thelimitsoffun.org, 2009.Jolley, William M. When the Tide Comes in: Towards Accessible Telecommunications for People with Disabilities in Australia. Sydney: Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission, 2003.Keaggy, Bill. Milk Eggs Vodka: Grocery Lists Lost and Found. Cincinnati, Ohio: HOW Books, 2007.Kellerman, Aharon. Personal Mobilities. London: Routledge, 2006.Kleege, Georgia. “Blindness and Visual Culture: An Eyewitness Account.” The Disability Studies Reader. 2nd edition. Ed. Lennard J. Davis. New York: Routledge, 2006. 391-98.Lefebvre, Henri. The Production of Space. Oxford, UK: Blackwell, 1991.López-de-Ipiña, Diego, Tania Lorido, and Unai López. “Indoor Navigation and Product Recognition for Blind People Assisted Shopping.” Ambient Assisted Living. Ed. J. Bravo, R. Hervás, and V. Villarreal. Berlin: Springer-Verlag, 2011. 25-32. May, Michael, and Charles LaPierre. “Accessible Global Position System (GPS) and Related Orientation Technologies.” Assistive Technology for Visually Impaired and Blind People. Ed. Marion A. Hersh, and Michael A. Johnson. London: Springer-Verlag, 2008. 261-88. Nicholson, John, Vladimir Kulyukin, and Daniel Coster. “Shoptalk: Independent Blind Shopping Through Verbal Route Directions and Barcode Scans.” The Open Rehabilitation Journal 2.1 (2009): 11-23.Perec, Georges. Species of Spaces and Other Pieces. Trans. and Ed. John Sturrock. London: Penguin Books, 1997.Schillmeier, Michael W. J. Rethinking Disability: Bodies, Senses, and Things. New York: Routledge, 2010.Sutherland, I. “Mobile Media and the Socio-Technical Protocols of the Supermarket.” Australian Journal of Communication. 36.1 (2009): 73-84.

Partaking of theatrical events is something that hearing and seeing members of the community can largely take for granted. In Australia, this is still not accessible to all. Crossbow Production’s 2009 staging of William Gibson’s The Miracle Worker offered the opportunity not only to explore the issues of the play, but this issue of accessibility for whom the protagonist can be considered the exemplary role-model. Crossbow’s aim was to introduce a mainstream audience to some of the world experience of those living with disabilities. This was achieved through the exploration of objects apart from their contexts, emphasising the senses of touch, taste and smell, and through the discourse of marginalisation as an integral part of the staging of this theatrical event. Sign language interpreters were given centre-stage and techniques were used to, at times, marginalise the largely non-signing audience. Post-performance discussions were held which privileged the comments of the deaf and the blind audience members. This paper argues, through the example and evidence of this theatrical event that a way needs to be found to increase access to theatrical events for the deaf.“Accessibility for all” is one of the marketing phrases employed by major events companies. In contemporary society where wheelchair access, audio description and assistance dogs are advertised as part of accessibility, it is surprising how many Australian state theatre companies provide very little if any real access for the deaf. In the United States, it would be atypical to attend a large public event, be it a theatre production, a church service or a public event that was not sign language interpreted or open captioned for the deaf, at least in large cities. One of the few theatre companies in Australia that offers interpretation for the deaf is Sydney Theatre Company. Yet only one performance of four plays in a season of 13 plays is interpreted. In a progressive incentive, Melbourne Theatre Company invest $40 000 a year towards accessibility for those living with disabilities. Similar to Sydney Theatre Company, one performance in each production is open captioned for the deaf. Queensland Theatre Company provides access to one performance only in a yearly season of 255 performances. Access for the deaf to attend mainstream theatre productions in Australia is relatively restricted if not totally denied.Crossbow Productions is an independent, not-for-profit professional theatre company which presented a production that engaged with these issues. William Gibson’s The Miracle Worker was staged at the Brisbane Powerhouse in June 2009. The play explores issues of marginalisation, communication and empowerment. Helen Keller (1880 – 1968) was a deaf-blind author, activist and outspoken speaker who become a world famous inspirational presenter and author. She grew up in an influential family in post-civil war Alabama and was struck deaf and blind after contracting (likely) scarlet fever at eighteen months. Determined to find help, her mother appealed to many high-profile doctors and educators, including Alexander G. Bell. Annie Sullivan then became Helen’s governess, teacher and life-long companion. The Miracle Worker explores Annie’s beleaguered attempts to communicate with Helen and concludes with an epiphany for Helen as she learns the significance of words, and eventually how to speak. It asks the audience to confront the issues faced by the deaf and the blind and questions the audience’s perceptions of the sensory world. Crossbow’s production at the Powerhouse included elements to construct a sensory world for the audience. As a concession to hearing and seeing audience members, saturated colours were chosen for each scene and live music was a feature. The senses of smell, taste and touch, however, were particularly emphasised. This gave audience members a sense of Helen’s world and how rich it can be without reliance on sight and sound for information and experience. To introduce fragrance, large arrangements of live scented flowers were placed on the stage. Two hot meals were served. Food emerged as a language in itself: as both a communicative tool to pacify Helen and as a reward to access her latent intelligence. Touch was an integral part of the production with fabric textures, a variety of materials and objects’ shapes explored by Helen and was emphasised from the commencement of the rehearsal process. The actor playing Helen, Louise Brehmer, was blindfolded and wore earplugs for much of the rehearsal period. Immersed in a dark and soundless world she discovered how to read situations, people and objects by touch. This translated into the performances. The audience vicariously experienced discoveries of explored objects with Helen. As Helen explored found objects such as the contents of a suitcase, the audience was confronted with the Heideggerian question: what is a thing? In Helen’s predicament things could be examined apart from their function, accepted meaning or name. This was emphasised by Helen exploring the form and material of each new object and thinking less about their function or context. Annie Sullivan’s glasses became “that hard thing”, her scarf “that soft, light thing”, her suitcase “that cube-like thing.” People may often miss out on the richness of objects’ attributes because they are placed in a functional context quickly. Helen’s discovery of found objects asked the audience to consider their unexamined assumptions about what a suitcase or a flower was (Heidegger 49-50). It is interesting to note that Brehmer’s acclaimed performance was so convincing that many audience members thought that she was indeed deaf and blind. The sensory discourses of the play forced hearing audiences to question their perceptions. The following excerpt from a post-performance discussion illustrates this: I thought I would be thinking more about sight and hearing. But it was actually touch and smell that intrigued me. But even more than that, I found myself trying to conceive of the timeframe. What time must have meant: a totally different dimension of time. I was dwelling on that quite a bit through the play: Helen was floating in her own individual time.And to add to that gentleman’s comment: what stimulates the mind, in those blank times when there is no tactile, no communication with reality: what keeps the mind alive?The most important addition to the production of The Miracle Worker was the inclusion of “shadow-signing” a process in which a signer closely follows actors playing certain characters. Sign interpretation was not a part of Gibson’s play. The added signing exemplified a central issue of this production: sign interpreters are usually “marginalised” by being placed at the sides of the events they are interpreting. This becomes a metaphor for the continued marginalisation of those living with disabilities. In The Miracle Worker they were placed onstage and were part of the production’s narrative. Furthermore, the signers interpreted the emotional states of the characters they were shadowing through facial and body expression. At times they stood beside the characters and other times they sat together on the edge of the stage in conversation. The addition of interpreter/actors added new layers of meaning for the audience. In theatrical performances, layers of meaning are carried to the audience through various texts or public discourses (Knowles 91): the written text, music, lighting, staging, actors’ movements and characterisation and so forth. By being placed on stage, the signing became a text in itself rather than merely a means of interpreting a text unavailable to deaf people. Signers use their body and facial expression as signifiers of meaning. This was used artistically on stage. Signing is an expressive drama in itself, emphasising movement and expression. At times, for example, the signers were sitting close together on the edge of the stage, at others they were far apart at the back, and at other times they would offer a commentary on the action of the play through their body language and positioning. This was extended to the non-signing characters: each character had their own kinesics. The actor playing Annie was directed to use her hands a lot to express herself. Conversely, the actor playing Helen’s mother was directed to use her hands less and be “held together” when it came to non-verbal expression. This carried various meanings to the audience over and beyond the meaning of the words themselves. As the Australian version of the language of signing, Auslan, grew out of the work of Annie Sullivan and her attempts to communicate with Helen, this language of signing was integral to the core issues of the play.In addition to bringing deaf issues centre-stage, the sign interpretation was used to give the mainstream audience, unused to experiencing marginalisation in the theatre, an understanding of exclusion. The play opened and closed with the interpreters signing to the audience. As this was not underscored by any spoken dialogue the non-signers did not understand what was communicated. This gave some audience members a sense of displacement. An audience member commented: I thought how you started and finished the play with sign language was very powerful. It really raised my awareness of people that feel marginalised. Because I, as a hearing person, couldn’t understand the signing and felt left out. It just opened my eyes, just a little bit to what it must be like. (Heim 2)At one matinee performance, episodes occurred in which the entire hearing audience experienced exclusion. The number of deaf people came close to equalising the hearing. In this performance a number of elements worked to marginalise the hearing audience. The actors playing Helen and Annie were scripted to sign words to each other. During these moments, the words were signed before they were spoken or they were not spoken at all. Deaf audience members understood the meaning of the lines before, or to the exclusion of, the hearing audience. Some of these communications were humourous. The deaf audience would break into laugher while the hearing audience sat bewildered. One of the most significant aspects of this particular performance was the relative abandonment of accepted theatre etiquette strictures. In contemporary theatre, audience behaviour is regulated to laughter and applause in appropriate moments (Kershaw 140, 151). During this performance many deaf audience members, having never attended a theatre performance before, laughed in “inappropriate” places, applauded during the performance, wept out loud and spoke back to the actors on stage or to each other. This was a theatrical event enjoyed as if in the nineteenth century when audience members laughed, cried, stamped, sang and spoke (Blackadder 120) through performances. Not only enjoyed by the audience, the actors found this particular performance one of their most heightened experiences in the theatre. In a significant inversion, the hearing mainstream audience was marginalised and the deaf audience privileged. Interestingly, in a post-performance discussion, one audience member suggested a complete inversion: “Did you think of just having the main actors act and sign at the same time?” (Heim 3). Post-performance discussions also raised hearing audience member’s awareness of those living with disabilities. Discussions were held where the audience was given an opportunity to discuss their stories. A large variety of issues were discussed by the hearing and deaf participants such as the genuine struggles faced in a household with a deaf person, sibling rivalry and communication issues. Comments ranged from “I could relate to Helen’s family. It was like that in my family with me growing up deaf. The frustration is enormous. There were tantrums and fights. Families need to learn signing, after all, it is our first language” (Heim 2) to “I think everyone is still drying their eyes. Very moving. Very, very moving” (Heim 1). In one discussion Penny Harland, a blind and deaf educator was introduced and spoke to the audience. A question was asked by a hearing member that worked to further marginalise the mainstream audience: “What did you think of in those moments when you couldn’t understand or communicate anything of the world?” (Heim 4). Harland refused to answer the question and instead described a moment from the play where Helen was discovering a suitcase and explained how inaccurate the actor was in her “discovery.” Heidegger’s concept of the difference in “experiencing” objects was painfully exposed (49, 50). Comments from post-performance discussions emphasised the great need for more accessibility. As one participant commented: “I’m deaf and we should be able to go to anything, and you’ve done that for us” (Heim 1). Others complained that not every word was interpreted. Because of budget restrictions, Crossbow hired actors that could sign and were willing to perform and interpret for a small fee. The actors were not confident enough as interpreters to sign the whole production. Comments such as “We appreciated the signing, but we wanted more” (Heim 1) and “we were disappointed the whole thing wasn’t signed. There were words going on we didn’t understand” (Heim 4) were frequent. As there were also tactile tours of the set before each performance for the blind, one blind audience member commented: As a blind person, I got a great deal from it. I found it extremely moving and it has motivated me to read more about miraculous stories. The opportunity to have the tactile tour before the show did help me to visualise better what was going on, so that was a very welcome innovation as well. So I found the night thoroughly moving and worthwhile and I’ll certainly agree with the comment that there should be a thousand or so in the audience rather than a hundred so that everyone can experience it. (Heim 3)These comments and many more from both the discussions and emails to the Powerhouse after the production emphasised not only the gratefulness of the deaf community but more importantly the need for more accessibility to theatre events. The response to The Miracle Worker from the deaf community was significant. Over 250 deaf people attended and 70 of these had never been to a theatrical production before. Deaf Services Queensland and Vision Australia were both supportive offering in-kind assistance, promotion and assistance with signing. For its future plays, Crossbow Productions will continue to give tactile tours and, due to cost factors, will sign one performance only using Auslan sign language interpreters. The fee is significant for an independent theatre company: over $1000 to sign a single performance. The response to the staging by Crossbow Productions of William Gibson’s The Miracle Worker strongly suggests that there is significant demand for increased access for deaf audiences at theatrical events. Rather than merely reducing marginalisations, their stories and journeys can be presented and explored in such a way as to enrich the theatrical experience of the mainstream and the marginalised. Exploring objects, emphasising the senses of touch, taste and smell and including signing added to the richness of the theatrical experience. Significantly, the experience of marginalisation of the mainstream in this production also added to the meaning of the theatrical experience. It was hoped that this fostered the appreciation in audience members that the need to increased access for all can be more than worth the cost.ReferencesBlackadder, Neil. Performing Opposition: Modern Theatre and the Scandalised Audience. Westport: Praeger, 2003. Heidegger, Martin. What Is a Thing? Trans. W.B. Barton, Jr., and Vera Deutsch. Chicago: H. Regnery, 1967.Heim, Caroline. Transcript of Post-Performance Discussions of “The Miracle Worker.” By William Gibson, dir. Christian Heim. Visy Theatre, Brisbane Powerhouse, Brisbane, 7-17 June 2009. Kershaw, Baz. “Oh for Unruly Audiences! Or, Patterns of Participation in Twentieth Century Theatre.” Modern Drama 42.2 (2001): 133-54. Knowles, Ric. Reading the Material Theatre. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2004.

As I round the corner from Church Street onto Vesey, I am abruptly met with the façade of St. Paul’s Chapel and by the sudden memory of two things, both of which have not yet happened. I think about how, in a couple of decades, the area surrounding me will be burnt to the ground. I also recall how, just after the turn of the twenty-first century, the area will again crumble onto itself. It is 1759, and I—via my avatar—am wandering through downtown New York City in the videogame space of Assassin’s Creed: Rogue (AC:R). These spatial and temporal memories stem from the fact that I have previously (that is, earlier in my life) played an AC game set in New York City during the War for Independence (later in history), wherein the city’s lower west side burns at the hands of the British. Years before that (in my biographical timeline, though much later in history) I watched from twenty-something blocks north of here as flames erupted from the twin towers of the World Trade Center. Complicating the situation further, Michel de Certeau strolls with me in spirit, pondering observations he will make from almost this exact location (though roughly 1,100 feet higher up) 220 years from now, around the time I am being born. Perhaps the oddest aspect of this convoluted and temporally layered experience is the fact that I am not actually at the corner of Church and Vesey in 1759 at all, but rather on a couch, in Virginia, now. This particular type of sudden arrival at a space is only possible when it is not planned. Prior to the moment described above, I had finished a “mission” in the game that involved my coming to the city, so I decided I would just walk around a bit in the newly discovered digital New York of 1759. I wanted to take it in. I wanted to wander. Truly Being-in-a-place means attending to the interconnected Being-ness and Being-with-ness of all of the things that make up that place (Heidegger; Haraway). Conversely, to travel to or through a place entails a type of focused directionality toward a place that you are not currently Being in. Wandering, however, demands eschewing both, neither driven by an incessant goal, nor stuck in place by introspective ruminations. Instead, wandering is perhaps best described as a sort of mobile openness. A wanderer is not quite Benjamin’s flâneur, characterised by an “idle yet assertive negotiation of the street” (Coates 28), but also, I would argue, not quite de Certeau’s “Wandersmünner, whose bodies follow the thicks and thins of an urban ‘text’ they write without being able to read it” (de Certeau 93). Wandering requires a concerted effort at non-intentionality. That description may seem to fold in on itself, to be sure, but as the spaces around us are increasingly “canalized” (Rabinow and Foucault) and designed with specific trajectories and narratives in mind, inaction leads to the unconscious enacting of an externally derived intention; whereas any attempt to subvert that design is itself a wholly intentional act. This is why wandering is so difficult. It requires shedding layers. It takes practice, like meditation.In what follows, I will explore the possibility of revelatory moments enabled by the shedding of these layers of intention through my own experience in digital space (maybe the most designed and canalized spaces we inhabit). I come to recognise, as I disavow the designed narrative of game space, that it takes on other meanings, becomes another space. I find myself Being-there in a way that transcends the digital as we understand it, experiencing space that reaches into the past and future, into memory and fiction. Indeed, wandering is liminal, betwixt fixed points, spaces, and times, and the text you are reading will wander in this fashion—between the digital and the physical, between memory and experience, and among multiple pasts and the present—to arrive at a multilayered subjective sense of space, a palimpsest of placemaking.Before charging fully into digital time travel, however, we must attend to the business of context. In this case, this means addressing why I am talking about videogame space in Certaudian terms. Beginning as early as 1995, videogame theorists have employed de Certeau’s notion of “spatial stories” in their assertions that games allow players to construct the game’s narrative by travelling through and “colonizing” the space (Fuller and Jenkins). Most of the scholarship involving de Certeau and videogames, however, has been relegated to the concepts of “map/tour” in looking at digital embodiment within game space as experiential representatives of the place/space binary. Maps verbalise spatial experience in place terms, such as “it’s at the corner of this and that street”, whereas tours express the same in terms of movement through space, as in “turn right at the red house”. Videogames complicate this because “mapping is combined with touring when moving through the game-space” (Lammes).In Games as Inhabited Spaces, Bernadette Flynn moves beyond the map/tour dichotomy to argue that spatial theories can approach videogaming in a way no other viewpoint can, because neither narrative nor mechanics of play can speak to the “space” of a game. Thus, Flynn’s work is “focused on completely reconceiving gameplay as fundamentally configured with spatial practice” (59) through de Certeau’s concepts of “strategic” and “tactical” spatial use. Flynn explains:The ability to forge personal directions from a closed simulation links to de Certeau’s notion of tactics, where users can create their own trajectories from the formal organizations of space. For de Certeau, tactics are related to how people individualise trajectories of movement to create meaning and transformations of space. Strategies on the other hand, are more akin to the game designer’s particular matrix of formal structures, arrangements of time and space which operate to control and constrain gameplay. (59)Flynn takes much of her reading of de Certeau from Lev Manovich, who argues that a game designer “uses strategies to impose a particular matrix of space, time, experience, and meaning on his viewers; they, in turn, use ‘tactics’ to create their own trajectories […] within this matrix” (267). Manovich believes de Certeau’s theories offer a salient model for thinking about “the ways in which computer users navigate through computer spaces they did not design” (267). In Flynn’s and Manovich’s estimation, simply moving through digital space is a tactic, a subversion of its strategic and linear design.The views of game space as tactical have historically (and paradoxically) treated the subject of videogames from a strategic perspective, as a configurable space to be “navigated through”, as a way of attaining a certain goal. Dan Golding takes up this problem, distancing our engagement from the design and calling for a de Certeaudian treatment of videogame space “from below”, where “the spatial diegesis of the videogame is affordance based and constituted by the skills of the player”, including those accrued outside the game space (Golding 118). Similarly, Darshana Jayemanne adds a temporal element with the idea that these spatial constructions are happening alongside a “complexity” and “proliferation of temporal schemes” (Jayemanne 1, 4; see also Nikolchina). Building from Golding and Jayemanne, I illustrate here a space wherein the player, not the game, is at the fulcrum of both spatial and temporal complexity, by adding the notion that—along with skill and experience—players bring space and time with them into the game.Viewed with the above understanding of strategies, tactics, skill, and temporality, the act of wandering in a videogame seems inherently subversive: on one hand, by undergoing a destination-less exploration of game space, I am rejecting the game’s spatial narrative trajectory; on the other, I am eschewing both skill accrual and temporal insistence to attempt a sense of pure Being-in-the-game. Such rebellious freedom, however, is part of the design of this particular game space. AC:R is a “sand box” game, which means it involves a large environment that can be traversed in a non-linear fashion, allowing, supposedly, for more freedom and exploration. Indeed, much of the gameplay involves slowly making more space available for investigation in an outward—rather than unidirectional—course. A player opens up these new spaces by “synchronising a viewpoint”, which can only be done by climbing to the top of specific landmarks. One of the fundamental elements of the AC franchise is an acrobatic, free-running, parkour style of engagement with a player’s surroundings, “where practitioners weave through urban environments, hopping over barricades, debris, and other obstacles” (Laviolette 242), climbing walls and traversing rooftops in a way unthinkable (and probably illegal) in our everyday lives. People scaling buildings in major metropolitan areas outside of videogame space tend to get arrested, if they survive the climb. Possibly, these renegade climbers are seeking what de Certeau describes as the “voluptuous pleasure […] of ‘seeing the whole,’ of looking down on, totalizing the most immoderate of human texts” (92)—what he experienced, looking down from the top of the World Trade Center in the late 1970s.***On digital ground level, back in 1759, I look up to the top of St. Paul’s bell tower and crave that pleasure, so I climb. As I make my way up, Non-Player Characters (NPCs)—the townspeople and trader avatars who make up the interactive human scenery of the game—shout things such as “You’ll hurt yourself” and “I say! What on earth is he doing?” This is the game’s way of convincing me that I am enacting agency and writing my own spatial story. I seem to be deploying “tricky and stubborn procedures that elude discipline without being outside the field in which it is exercised” (de Certeau 96), when I am actually following the program the way I am supposed to. If I were not meant to climb the tower, I simply would not be able to. The fact that game developers go to the extent of recording dialogue to shout at me when I do this proves that they expect my transgression. This is part of the game’s “semi-social system”: a collection of in-game social norms that—to an extent—reflect the cultural understandings of outside non-digital society (Atkinson and Willis). These norms are enforced through social pressures and expectations in the game such that “these relative imperatives and influences, appearing to present players with ‘unlimited’ choices, [frame] them within the parameters of synthetic worlds whose social structure and assumptions are distinctly skewed in particular ways” (408). By using these semi-social systems, games communicate to players that performing a particular act is seen as wrong or scandalous by the in-game society (and therefore subversive), even when the action is necessary for the continuation of the spatial story.When I reach the top of the bell tower, I am able to “synchronise the viewpoint”—that is, unlock the map of this area of the city. Previously, I did not have access to an overhead view of the area, but now that I have indulged in de Certeau’s pleasure of “seeing the whole”, I can see not only the tactical view from the street, but also the strategic bird’s-eye view from above. From the top, looking out over the city—now The City, a conceivable whole rather than a collection of streets—it is difficult to picture the neighbourhood engulfed in flames. The stair-step Dutch-inspired rooflines still recall the very recent change from New Amsterdam to New York, but in thirty years’ time, they will all be torched and rebuilt, replaced with colonial Tudor boxes. I imagine myself as an eighteenth-century de Certeau, surveying pre-ruination New York City. I wonder how his thoughts would have changed if his viewpoint were coloured with knowledge of the future. Standing atop the very symbol of global power and wealth—a duo-lith that would exist for less than three decades—would his pleasure have been less “voluptuous”? While de Certeau considers the viewer from above like Icarus, whose “elevation transfigures him into a voyeur” (92), I identify more with Daedalus, preoccupied with impending disaster. I swan-dive from the tower into a hay cart, returning to the bustle of the street below.As I wander amongst the people of digital 1759 New York, the game continuously makes phatic advances at me. I bump into others on the street and they drop boxes they are carrying, or stumble to the side. Partial overheard conversations going on between townspeople—“… what with all these new taxes …”, “… but we’ve got a fine regiment here …”—both underscore the historical context of the game and imply that this is a world that exists even when I am not there. These characters and their conversations are as much a part of the strategic makeup of the city as the buildings are. They are the text, not the writers nor the readers. I am the only writer of this text, but I am merely transcribing a pre-programmed narrative. So, I am not an author, but rather a stenographer. For this short moment, though, I am allowed by the game to believe that I am making the choice not to transcribe; there are missions to complete, and I am ignoring them. I am taking in the city, forgetting—just as the design intends—that I am the only one here, the only person in the entire world, indeed, the person for whom this world exists.While wandering, I also experience conflicts and mergers between what Maurice Halbwachs has called historical, autobiographical, and collective memory types: respectively, these are memories created according to historical record, through one’s own life experience, and by the way a society tends to culturally frame and recall “important” events. De Certeau describes a memorable place as a “palimpsest, [where] subjectivity is already linked to the absence that structures it as existence” (109). Wandering through AC:R’s virtual representation of 1759 downtown New York, I am experiencing this palimpsest in multiple layers, activating my Halbwachsian memories and influencing one another in the creation of my subjectivity. This is the “absence” de Certeau speaks of. My visions of Revolutionary New York ablaze tug at me from beneath a veneer of peaceful Dutch architecture: two warring historical memory constructs. Simultaneously, this old world is painted on top of my autobiographical memories as a New Yorker for thirteen years, loudly ordering corned beef with Russian dressing at the deli that will be on this corner. Somewhere sandwiched between these layers hides a portrait of September 11th, 2001, painted either by collective memory or autobiographical memory, or, more likely, a collage of both. A plane entering a building. Fire. Seen by my eyes, and then re-seen countless times through the same televised imagery that the rest of the world outside our small downtown village saw it. Which images are from media, and which from memory?Above, as if presiding over the scene, Michel de Certeau hangs in the air at the collision site, suspended a 1000 feet above the North Pool of the 9/11 Memorial, rapt in “voluptuous pleasure”. And below, amid the colonists in their tricorns and waistcoats, people in grey ash-covered suits—ambulatory statues; golems—slowly and silently march ever uptown-wards. Dutch and Tudor town homes stretch skyward and transform into art-deco and glass monoliths. These multiform strata, like so many superimposed transparent maps, ground me in the idea of New York, creating the “fragmentary and inward-turning histories” (de Certeau 108) that give place to my subjectivity, allowing me to Be-there—even though, technically, I am not.My conscious decision to ignore the game’s narrative and wander has made this moment possible. While I understand that this is entirely part of the intended gameplay, I also know that the design cannot possibly account for the particular way in which I experience the space. And this is the fundamental point I am asserting here: that—along with the strategies and temporal complexities of the design and the tactics and skills of those on the ground—we bring into digital space our own temporal and experiential constructions that allow us to Be-in-the-game in ways not anticipated by its strategic design. Non-digital virtuality—in the tangled forms of autobiographical, historic, and collective memory—reaches into digital space, transforming the experience. Further, this changed game-experience becomes a part of my autobiographical “prosthetic memory” that I carry with me (Landsberg). When I visit New York in the future, and I inevitably find myself abruptly met with the façade of St Paul’s Chapel as I round the corner of Church Street and Vesey, I will be brought back to this moment. Will I continue to wander, or will I—if just for a second—entertain the urge to climb?***After the recent near destruction by fire of Notre-Dame, a different game in the AC franchise was offered as a free download, because it is set in revolutionary Paris and includes a very detailed and interactive version of the cathedral. Perhaps right now, on sundry couches in various geographical locations, people are wandering there: strolling along the Siene, re-experiencing time they once spent there; overhearing tense conversations about regime change along the Champs-Élysées that sound disturbingly familiar; or scaling the bell tower of the Notre-Dame Cathedral itself—site of revolution, desecration, destruction, and future rebuilding—to reach the pleasure of seeing the strategic whole at the top. And maybe, while they are up there, they will glance south-southwest to the 15th arrondissement, where de Certeau lies, enjoying some voluptuous Icarian viewpoint as-yet unimagined.ReferencesAtkinson, Rowland, and Paul Willis. “Transparent Cities: Re‐Shaping the Urban Experience through Interactive Video Game Simulation.” City 13.4 (2009): 403–417. DOI: 10.1080/13604810903298458.Benjamin, Walter. The Arcades Project. Trans. Howard Eiland and Kevin McLaughlin. Ed. Rolf Tiedmann. Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press, 2002. Coates, Jamie. “Key Figure of Mobility: The Flâneur.” Social Anthropology 25.1 (2017): 28–41. DOI: 10.1111/1469-8676.12381.De Certeau, Michel. The Practice of Everyday Life. Translated by Steven Rendall. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984.Flynn, Bernadette. “Games as Inhabited Spaces.” Media International Australia, Incorporating Culture and Policy 110 (2004): 52–61. DOI: 10.1177/1329878X0411000108.Fuller, Mary, and Henry Jenkins. “‘Nintendo and New World Travel Writing: A Dialogue’ [in] CyberSociety: Computer-Mediated Communication and Community.” CyberSociety: Computer-Mediated Communication and Community. Ed. Steve Jones. Thousand Oaks: Sage, 1994. 57–72. <https://contentstore.cla.co.uk/secure/link?id=7dc700b8-cb87-e611-80c6-005056af4099>.Golding, Daniel. “Putting the Player Back in Their Place: Spatial Analysis from Below.” Journal of Gaming & Virtual Worlds 5.2 (2013): 117–30. DOI: 10.1386/jgvw.5.2.117_1.Halbwachs, Maurice. The Collective Memory. New York: Harper & Row, 1980.Haraway, Donna. Staying with the Trouble: Making Kin in the Chthulucene. Durham: Duke University Press Books, 2016.Heidegger, Martin. Existence and Being. Chicago: Henry Regnery Company, 1949.Jayemanne, Darshana. “Chronotypology: A Comparative Method for Analyzing Game Time.” Games and Culture (2019): 1–16. DOI: 10.1177/1555412019845593.Lammes, Sybille. “Playing the World: Computer Games, Cartography and Spatial Stories.” Aether: The Journal of Media Geography 3 (2008): 84–96. DOI: 10.1080/10402659908426297.Landsberg, Alison. Prosthetic Memory: The Transformation of American Remembrance in the Age of Mass Culture. New York: Columbia University Press, 2004.Laviolette, Patrick. “The Neo-Flâneur amongst Irresistible Decay.” Playgrounds and Battlefields: Critical Perspectives of Social Engagement. Eds. Martínez Jüristo and Klemen Slabina. Tallinn: Tallinn University Press, 2014. 243–71.Manovich, Lev. The Language of New Media. Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press, 2002.Nikolchina, Miglena. “Time in Video Games: Repetitions of the New.” Differences 28.3 (2017): 19–43. DOI: 10.1215/10407391-4260519.Rabinow, Paul, and Michel Foucault. “Interview with Michel Foucault on Space, Knowledge and Power.” Skyline (March 1982): 17–20.

Released in 2012 as an Android only open-beta, Ingress is an alternate-reality game for mobile devices. Developed by Niantic Labs, a subsidiary of Google, Ingress now has 7 million users worldwide (Ingress) on both Android and Apple operating systems. Players are aligned to one of two opposing factions, the Resistance (Blue) and the Enlightened (Green). Working on behalf of their faction, individual players interact with “portals” in order to establish dominance over material environments. Portals are located at places of educational or historical value, public artworks, “hyper-local” locations, public libraries, and also places of worship (Google, “Candidate Portal Criteria”). Players take on the role of portal creators, submitting potential portals to the game developers after confirming their location in the game (Google, “New Portal Submissions”).Portals become the primary point of interaction for players, bridging the digital world of the game with the players’ surrounding material environments. Players may gain inventory by hacking portals in order to destroy and (re)claim portals. Territories are claimed by forging links between fully developed portals in order to establish control fields. Portals play an important part not only of the game but in situating the practice of play within the larger sociocultural and material framework of the urban environment. Players navigate their material environment, using portals and digital representations of such spaces alongside their existing knowledge of local environments, to engage with their immediate location as efficiently as possible. While numerous public landmarks are currently used as portals, the primary interest of this paper is the role street art plays within the game, and within the larger practice of curating the city. This paper addresses the practice of playing Ingress as a form of situated play—that is, the notion that play is underscored by sociocultural and material circumstance, while simultaneously contributing to a new shared understanding of what constitutes urban play and the conditions that underscore it. In doing so, this paper firstly addresses the notion of play as a situated practice, mobilising concepts from the field of human–computer interaction as well as cultural studies analyses of games and gaming culture. This framework is applied to the practice of playing Ingress with specific focus on the role street art has in the practice of playing. The discussion of urban play as a means of exhibiting street art is extended to discuss the cultural practice of street art itself, with both occupying the liminal space struggle over the functionality of public space. Both practices occupy this liminal space between subversive use of urban environments and a form of legitimate art—a debate which has been central to forms of urban gaming. By focusing on the role of street art in urban mobile gaming, this paper addresses the cultural function of both practices, while addressing larger questions of curatorship within the urban environment. That is: how can the practice of play, as informed by the practice of street art, be thought of as a means of curating urban spaces? This paper goes on to argue that the practice of urban play may be viewed as a form of curation via the practice of re-reading, re-mixing, and re-mediating urban environments—establishing a new shared understanding of street art, urban environments, and urban play. In this paper I argue that urban mobile games such as Ingress are best thought of as a situated practice. The idea of situated practice is drawn from the fields of game studies and human–computer interaction, and the concept of situated learning. Firstly, situated practice draws from the concept of situated gaming, a term established by Yates and Littleton to understand the cultural niches in which video gaming takes place. For Yates and Littleton, these cultural niches arise from an interaction between gaming, gamers, and gaming culture—all of which are discursively constructed and culturally relative practices. Apperley (Gaming) expands on these ideas to define situated gaming as, firstly, an inclusion of the materiality of embodied gaming experiences and, secondly, an intersection of local gaming cultures and a larger global gaming ecology. Drawing from Suchman’s concept of situated actions, such interactions with technology must be understood as contextualised within specific sociocultural and material circumstances. Dourish expands on Suchman’s work and suggests thinking less about these contexts and more on the practice of technological engagement, of making meaning out of our interaction with technology. This use of “practice” is influenced by the work of Lave and Wenger, who situate learning within a social setting, what they term a “community of practice”. In short, then, the act of playing Ingress is not only an interaction with underlying sociocultural and material circumstance which constitute the urban and play but also a process of generating a shared understanding of both the urban and play within this specific context.Fig. 1: A view of Ingress’s map showing nearby portal using navigation function.Playing with Street Art Ingress functions foremost as a form of urban play; it is a mobile game with location-aware capabilities. The practice of playing games within urban environments is often compared to historically situated forms of urban exploration, such as the Situationist International practice of dérive—a form of urban drifting that is often compared to contemporary forms of mobile-mediated urban play (de Souza e Silva and Hjorth; Flanagan; Stevens). Ingress players, in their creation and constant interaction with portals, assist in the mapping of material environments—benefiting both communities of play and the game’s designers, Niantic Labs and parent company Google. Players are able to submit portals to the game’s developers if their proposed portal meets the satisfaction of the developer’s portal requirements. Portals may be erected at “a location with a cool story, a place in history or educational value … a cool piece of art or unique architecture … a hidden gem of hyper-local spot” (Google, Candidate Portal criteria). A large number of public marks form the basis of Ingress portals, alongside plaques and prominent signage. Significantly, through their submission of portals players are participating in legitimising the history of a number of locations, ensuring up-to-date mapping of locations and landmarks. While a number of other landmarks form the basis of Ingress’s dense map of material environments, this paper is primarily concerned with the role public art plays in the practice of urban play and the curatorial possibilities of urban play. Given the portal criteria put in place by the game’s developers, Ingress pays a certain amount of attention to the historical, sociocultural, and material circumstance which constitute specific locations. As a mobile game, Ingress occupies a certain place within the history of playing in urban environments. Such historical practices have been previously discussed at length, drawing comparisons between practices of urban mobility which are themselves situated in specific historical and sociocultural movements (de Souza e Silva and Hjorth; Flanagan; Stevens). Ingress, via its inclusion of street art as a potential anchor for digital portals, draws on this historical struggle over urban environments and the inherent questions of functionality and organisation which emerge from this struggle. For Stenros, Montola, and Mäyrä (262), pervasive gaming, a form of urban mobile gaming, occupies a similar cultural space to that of street art or graffiti. They argue that both practices are located within a larger struggle over public space—a struggle grounded in urbanisation, legislation, and cultural norms. Drawing comparisons between more contemporary forms of urban mobility, such as the practice/sport of parkour or skateboarding, and the historically situated flâneur or urban stroller, the authors suggest that pervasive forms of gaming and play occupy a similar liminal space and are grounded in questions of urban functionality. Similarly, the urban space may become a gallery or canvas, a space that may be subject to curatorship that is not bound to institutional bodies. The organisation and experience of urban environments then becomes deeply involved in a contested ownership and questions of functionality that are at the heart of urban play.Within the context of Australia, the struggle over the legitimacy of both street art and video games has been subject to ongoing legal discourses. The liminal relationship between gaming and street art is perhaps best illustrated by the 2006 game Marc Ecko’s Getting Up: Contents Under Pressure. The game was granted an MA15+ rating under the existing model of video game regulation but was later refused classification due to its depiction of antisocial behaviour. The game’s rating was appealed by the Queensland Local Government Association. Apperley (“Video”) provides further details on this issue, situating the legislative decision within the historical and political context of Australia at the time, and offering insight into the means in which Getting Up represented street art as a legitimate art form. The game’s narrative, a dystopian future where graffiti is mobilised as a form of social protest against authoritarian bodies, is similar to that of the 2002 game Jet Set Radio Future. However, unlike Jet Set, Getting Up was grounded in a detailed representation of graffiti subcultures. Getting Up’s refused classification is symbolic of the later Australian landscape in which video games and street art occupy a liminal space between art form and artistic practice. The key issue, that of antisocial behaviour, links to the notion of cultural norms and the functionality, organisation, and representations within urban spaces and, moreover, within spaces of play. This struggle for legitimacy is key to understanding the relationship between street art and urban play. Despite the struggle to overcome the functionality of urban environments, street art retains levels of value as a form of cultural heritage. Both Merrill and MacDowall discuss the cultural functions of graffiti and street art, focusing on what Merrill terms a turn towards “post-graffiti”—a shift from the historical and cultural roots of street art and the practice of tagging (373). Such a turn is exemplified by an increased public interest: a legitimisation of artistic practices. Perhaps the most notable figure of such a shift is the Bristol artist Banksy, who is most famous for stencil based art. Graffiti and street art have arguably moved beyond their function as a subversive and subcultural movement, occupying a more legitimate space within urban environments and general public discourse. Within the context of Ingress, street art holds the potential to exist as a digital node of equal value to historical plaques, public libraries, or large commissioned public artworks. This shift, argues Merrill (385) allows for street art and graffiti to be viewed as a form of alternative heritage to urban environments and cultural movements within specific locations. For MacDowell (476), graffiti may be viewed as a form of folk art, subject to new-found romanticism within the context of this “post-graffiti” turn. That is, as a form of alternative heritage, graffiti and street art signify historically situated sociocultural movements and the roots of the practice itself. Games such as Ingress, then, not only legitimate street art as a form of cultural heritage via their inclusion in a non-hierarchical network alongside longstanding institutionalised buildings and artworks but also allow players to participate in an archiving of street art through interactive cartography. The practice of playing Ingress, then, is not only a means of viewing and exploring existing street art but also a direct process in achieving and curating historically situated works of art. Fig. 2: Portal information illustrating possible actions, portal level, and resonator information. Urban Play and “the New Curatorship”Having considered the role of graffiti or street art within urban play as a form of cultural heritage, as a means of linking to the roots of the practice itself and signifying a struggle over the urban environment as a space of predetermined functions, the question then is: what role does the practice of curatorship have within this mesh of interconnected practices? For Bennett and Beudel, the work of the curator, as a caretaker of cultural heritage, is often institutionalised. Within the context of the city, such institutionalisation is itself a symptom of the city as a spectacle. The authors argue that there is the potential for art to be present on a range of surfaces within the urban environment, and call into question the role of the curator within this process.As Groys notes, since Duchamp, the ontological division between the labour of making art and displaying art has collapsed. Public urban spaces, as designed spaces regulated by institutional bodies, are subject to the changing practice of audiences. That is, those who inhabit and experience the urban environment itself now have the possibility to participate or subvert traditional curatorial structures. Drawing on the etymology of the word “curate” as related to “cure,” Groys (53) suggests that the exhibition practice is thus a cure to the powerlessness of the image—a contextualisation of the image within new institutionalised frameworks for a viewing public. Who, then, in the network of relations that is urban play, constitutes this public? Ingress players function as one faction of a public who view, inhabit, move through, and experience the urban environment and any subsequent street art within. As such, they have the potential to take on a curatorial role within the organisation of street art—recontextualising such artworks and generating a new shared understanding of the sociocultural and material conditions which contribute to a broad understanding of the urban and urban play. As such, these forms of digitally mediated urban play blur boundaries between production, consumption, and play. Players, regardless of whether they had a hand in submitting portals to the game’s developers, are articulating a collectively organised database of public art. The practice of curation, as described by Potter, is essential for contemporary digital gaming practices. Players are constantly participating in transmedia landscapes, articulating their literacies through the practice of arranging, assembling, cataloguing, collecting, distributing, and disassembling digital media (Apperley “Glitch” 240; Potter 175). Within Apperley’s example of Minecraft, play unites creativity and the curatorial as one activity. Within the context of Ingress, the practice of play brings together the practice of cartography and of the curatorial. Players, as individuals and as larger localised or global factions, participate in a global mapping of material space, expanding Google’s already extensive collection of cartographic data. Players are more concerned with exploring and territorialising within the context of local spaces, at the level of the national or regional. Such practices are an articulation of localised bodies of knowledge and often of local histories and contexts. Street art forms an integral part of this sociocultural and material fabric which underscores the practice of play. Thus, urban spaces are not subject to a transformative process, but rather to a collective curatorship whereby street art, and its embedded cultural heritage, form a key foundation of how play is performed within urban environments. Through the practice of arranging, assembling, cataloguing, collecting, distributing, and disassembling, the practices of urban play may be thought of as what Potter terms “new curatorship.” Potter’s notion of curatorship is grounded in the identity formation of young children through their use of social media and articulation of digital literacy practices. With playful urban practices such as Ingress, this practice is an articulation of urban literacies: of understanding the rich cultural heritage of specific locations, and of constituting the player’s identity as tied to these specific locations. Players no longer perform merely as an audience for existing forms of urban or street art. Alongside the technological infrastructures put in place by the game’s developers, Niantic Labs and Google, players may be viewed as actively participating in a curatorial process. Players, in their articulation of complex systems and archives of street art, through the ability to constantly update, document, and construct urban narratives with street art at their core, may be viewed as co-curating urban environments. Working together with developers, street artists, and urban planners, players are constantly re-developing and sharing a new shared understanding of urban environments and the complex network of relations which constitutes the urban environment and the practice of urban play.Fig. 3: Players may vote on and contribute new photographs to maintain accurate records of art.Conclusion To play Ingress is to participate in a situated practice of play. Here, play is grounded in material and sociocultural circumstance, with street art and graffiti representing just one of many practices which inform contemporary urban play. Within the context of Ingress, street art is played with as an object within the game (a portal), but it also occupies a similar liminal space. Both urban games and street art have been subject to ongoing debates about the functionality of urban spaces and appropriate behaviour within these spaces. Ingress also taps into street art as a form of cultural heritage; it represents shifts in power dynamics, local histories, and a range of other significant local histories. To play with street art is to acknowledge its roots, both on an international and local level. With the ability to digitally archive these histories and locations, as well as engage in the cartographic practice of urban play, Ingress players can thus be thought of as curators of the city. Through the lens of new curatorship, urban play can be thought of as a form of re-reading of urban environments, as a process of exhibiting a new-found shared understanding of specific locations and public artworks. Street art and graffiti are just one of many sociocultural and material circumstances which inform the practice of urban play. During play, there is a critical reflection on the role street art has, not only during the current context of play but also more broadly as a key component of contemporary urban landscapes. Street art functions as a form of cultural heritage, as an element of urban exploration, and as a point of reference for navigating city spaces. Ingress brings together these interrelated forms of organising and sharing experiences of urban environments, through the practice of curation. Such practices are reflexively intertwined with playing urban mobile games as such Ingress. As such, the act of playing Ingress is, in essence, a form of urban literacy, as a practice of understanding the rich and complex sociocultural conditions which contribute to our understanding of urban environments. It is a practice of collecting, assembling, and exhibiting a range of locations. The practice of playing Ingress is a collective curation of city spaces on a global scale.References Apperley, Thomas. “Glitch Sorting: Minecraft, Curation, and the Post Digital.” Postdigital Aesthetics: Art, Computation and Design. Ed. David M. Berry and Michael Dieter. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015. 232–44.———. “Video Games in Australia.” The Video Game Explosion: A History from PONG to Playstation and Beyond. Ed. Mark J.P. Wolf. USA: Greenwood P, 2008. 22–29.———. Gaming Rhythms: Play and Counterplay from the Situated to the Global. Amsterdam: Institute of Network Cultures, 2009.Bennett, Jill, and Saskia Beudel. Curating Sydney: Imagining the City’s Future. Sydney: UNSW P, 2014.De Souza e Silva, Adriana, and Larissa Hjorth. “Playful Urban Spaces: A Historical Approach to Mobile Games.” Simulation & Gaming 40.5 (2009): 602–25. Dourish, Paul. “What We Talk about When We Talk about Context.” Personal Ubiquitous Computing 8.1 (2004): 19–30.Flanagan, Mary. Critical Play: Radical Game Design. Cambridge, MA: MIT P, 2009.———. “Locating Play and Politics: Real World Games & Activism.” Leonardo Electronic Almanac 16.2–3 (2008). 5 June 2015 ‹http://www.leonardo.info/LEA/perthDAC/MFlanagan_LEA160203.pdf›.Groys, Boris. Going Public. Ed. Julieta Aranda, Brian Kuan Wood, and Anton Vidokle. Berlin: Sternberg Press, 2010.Google. “Candidate Portal Criteria.” 2015. 5 June 2015 ‹https://support.google.com/ingress/answer/3066197?hl=en›. ———. “New Portal Submissions.” 2015. 5 June 2015 ‹https://support.google.com/ingress/answer/2808254?hl=en›. Lave, Jean, and Etienne Wenger. Situated Learning: Legitimate Peripheral Participation. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1991.MacDowall, Lachlan. “In Praise of 70K: Cultural Heritage and Graffiti Style.” Continuum 20.4 (2006): 471–84.Merrill, Samuel. “Keeping It Real? Subcultural Graffiti, Street Art, Heritage and Authenticity.” International Journal of Heritage Studies 21.4 (2015): 369–89.Niantic Labs. Ingress. Android Mobile Application. 2012.Potter, John. Digital Media and Learner Identity: The New Curatorship. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012.Stenros, Jaakko, Markus Montola, and Frans Mäyrä. “Pervasive Games in Media Culture.” Pervasive Games: Theory and Design. Eds. Markus Montola, Jakko Stenros, and Annika Waern. Amsterdam: CRC P, 2009.Stevens, Quentin. The Ludic City: Exploring the Potential of Public Spaces. New York: Routledge, 2007.Suchman, Lucy. Human-Machine Reconfigurations: Plans and Situated Actions. 2nd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2006.———. Plans and Situated Actions: The Problem of Human-Machine Communication. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1987.Yates, Simeon J., and Karen Littleton. “Understanding Computer Game Cultures: A Situated Approach.” Information, Communication & Society 2.4 (1999): 566–83.

There is, in our sense of place, little cognisance of what lies underground. Yet our sense of place, instinctive, unconscious, primeval, has its own underground: the secret spaces which mirror our insides; the world beneath the skin. Our roots lie beneath the ground, with the minerals and the dead. (Hughes 83) The-Home-and-Away-Game Imagine the earth-grounded, “diagrammatological” trajectory of a footballer who as one member of a team is psyching himself up before the start of a game. The siren blasts its trumpet call. The footballer bursts out of the pavilion (where this psyching up has taken place) to engage in the opening bounce or kick of the game. And then: running, leaping, limping after injury, marking, sliding, kicking, and possibly even passing out from concussion. Finally, the elation accompanying the final siren, after which hugs, handshakes and raised fists conclude the actual match on the football oval. This exit from the pavilion, the course the player takes during the game itself, and return to the pavilion, forms a combination of stasis and movement, and a return to exhausted stasis again, that every player engages with regardless of the game code. Examined from a “diagrammatological” perspective, a perspective Rowan Wilken (following in the path of Gilles Deleuze and W. J. T. Mitchell) understands as “a generative process: a ‘metaphor’ or way of thinking — diagrammatic, diagrammatological thinking — which in turn, is linked to poetic thinking” (48), this footballer’s scenario arises out of an aerial perspective that depicts the actual spatial trajectory the player takes during the course of a game. It is a diagram that is digitally encoded via a sensor on the footballer’s body, and being an electronically encoded diagram it can also make available multiple sets of data such as speed, heartbeat, blood pressure, maybe even brain-wave patterns. From this limited point of view there is only one footballer’s playing trajectory to consider; various groupings within the team, the whole team itself, and the diagrammatological depiction of its games with various other teams might also be possible. This singular imagining though is itself an actuality: as a diagram it is encoded as a graphic image by a satellite hovering around the earth with a Global Positioning System (GPS) reading the sensor attached to the footballer which then digitally encodes this diagrammatological trajectory for appraisal later by the player, coach, team and management. In one respect, this practice is another example of a willing self-surveillance critical to explaining the reflexive subject and its attribute of continuous self-improvement. According to Docker, Official Magazine of the Fremantle Football Club, this is a technique the club uses as a part of game/play assessment, a system that can provide a “running map” for each player equipped with such a tracking device during a game. As the Fremantle Club’s Strength and Conditioning Coach Ben Tarbox says of this tactic, “We’re getting a physiological profile that has started to build a really good picture of how individual players react during a game” (21). With a little extra effort (and some sizeable computer processing grunt) this two dimensional linear graphic diagram of a footballer working the football ground could also form the raw material for a three-dimensional animation, maybe a virtual reality game, even a hologram. It could also be used to sideline a non-performing player. Now try another related but different imagining: what if this diagrammatological trajectory could be enlarged a little to include the possibility that this same player’s movements could be mapped out by the idea of home-and-away games; say over the course of a season, maybe even a whole career, for instance? No doubt, a wide range of differing diagrammatological perspectives might suggest themselves. My own particular refinement of this movement/stasis on the footballer’s part suggests my own distinctive comings and goings to and from my own specific piece of home country. And in this incessantly domestic/real world reciprocity, in this diurnally repetitive leaving and coming back to home country, might it be plausible to think of “Home as Capital of the Region”? If, as Walter Benjamin suggests in the prelude to his monumental Arcades Project, “Paris — the Capital of the Nineteenth Century,” could it be that both in and through my comings and goings to and from this selfsame home country, my own burgeoning sense of regionality is constituted in every minute-by-minutiae of lived experience? Could it be that this feeling about home is manifested in my every day-to-night manoeuvre of home-and-away-and-away-and-home-making, of every singular instance of exit, play/engage, and the return home? “Home, Capital of the Region” then examines the idea that my home is that part of the country which is the still-point of eternal return, the bedrock to which I retreat after the daily grind, and the point from which I start out and do it all again the next day. It employs, firstly, this ‘diagrammatological’ perspective to illustrate the point that this stasis/movement across country can make an electronic record of my own psychic self-surveillance and actualisation in-situ. And secondly, the architectural plan of the domestic home (examined through the perspective of critical regionalism) is used as a conduit to illustrate how I am physically embedded in country. Lastly, intermingling these digressive threads is chora, Plato’s notion of embodied place and itself an ancient regional rendering of this eternal return to the beginning, the place where the essential diversity of country decisively enters the soul. Chora: Core of Regionality Kevin Lynch writes that, “Our senses are local, while our experience is regional” (10), a combination that suggests this regional emphasis on home-and-away-making might be a useful frame of reference (simultaneously spatiotemporal, both a visceral and encoded communication) for me to include as a crucial vector in my own life-long learning package. Regionality (as, variously, a sub-generic categorisation and an extension/concentration of nationality, as well as a recently re-emerged friend/antagonist to a global understanding) infuses my world of home with a grounded footing in country, one that is a site of an Eternal Return to the Beginning in the micro-world of the everyday. This is a point John Sallis discusses at length in his analysis of Plato’s Timaeus and its founding notion of regionality: chora. More extended absences away from home-base are of course possible but one’s return to home on most days and for most nights is a given of post/modern, maybe even of ancient everyday experience. Even for the continually shifting nomad, nightfall in some part of the country brings the rest and recreation necessary for the next day’s wanderings. This fundamental question of an Eternal Return to the Beginning arises as a crucial element of the method in Plato’s Timaeus, a seemingly “unstructured” mythic/scientific dialogue about the origins and structure of both the psychically and the physically implaced world. In the Timaeus, “incoherence is especially obvious in the way the natural sequence in which a narrative would usually unfold is interrupted by regressions, corrections, repetitions, and abrupt new beginnings” (Gadamer 160). Right in the middle of the Timaeus, in between its sections on the “Work of Reason” and the “Work of Necessity”, sits chora, both an actual spatial and bodily site where my being intersects with my becoming, and where my lived life criss-crosses the various arts necessary to articulating a recorded version of that life. Every home is a grounded chora-logical timespace harness guiding its occupant’s thoughts, feelings and actions. My own regionally implaced chora (an example of which is the diagrammatological trajectory already outlined above as my various everyday comings and goings, of me acting in and projecting myself into context) could in part be understood as a graphical realisation of the extent of my movements and stationary rests in my own particular timespace trajectory. The shorthand for this process is ‘embedded’. Gregory Ulmer writes of chora that, “While chorography as a term is close to choreography, it duplicates a term that already exists in the discipline of geography, thus establishing a valuable resonance for a rhetoric of invention concerned with the history of ‘place’ in relation to memory” (Heuretics 39, original italics). Chorography is the geographic discipline for the systematic study and analysis of regions. Chora, home, country and regionality thus form an important multi-dimensional zone of interplay in memorialising the game of everyday life. In light of these observations I might even go so far as to suggest that this diagrammatological trajectory (being both digital and GPS originated) is part of the increasingly electrate condition that guides the production of knowledge in any global/regional context. This last point is a contextual connection usefully examined in Alan J. Scott’s Regions and the World Economy: The Coming Shape of Global Production, Competition, and Political Order and Michael Storper’s The Regional World: Territorial Development in a Global Economy. Their analyses explicitly suggest that the symbiosis between globalisation and regionalisation has been gathering pace since at least the end of World War Two and the Bretton Woods agreement. Our emerging understanding of electracy also happens to be Gregory Ulmer’s part-remedy for shifting the ground under the intense debates surrounding il/literacy in the current era (see, in particular, Internet Invention). And, for Tony Bennett, Michael Emmison and John Frow’s analysis of “Australian Everyday Cultures” (“Media Culture and the Home” 57–86), it is within the home that our un.conscious understanding of electronic media is at its most intense, a pattern that emerges in the longer term through receiving telegrams, compiling photo albums, listening to the radio, home- and video-movies, watching the evening news on television, and logging onto the computer in the home-office, media-room or home-studio. These various generalisations (along with this diagrammatological view of my comings and goings to and from the built space of home), all point indiscriminately to a productive confusion surrounding the sedentary and nomadic opposition/conjunction. If natural spaces are constituted in nouns like oceans, forests, plains, grasslands, steppes, deserts, rivers, tidal interstices, farmland etc. (and each categorisation here relies on the others for its existence and demarcation) then built space is often seen as constituting its human sedentary equivalent. For Deleuze and Guatteri (in A Thousand Plateaus, “1227: Treatise on Nomadology — The War Machine”) these natural spaces help instigate a nomadic movement across localities and regions. From a nomadology perspective, these smooth spaces unsettle a scientific, numerical calculation, sometimes even aesthetic demarcation and order. If they are marked at all, it is by heterogenous and differential forces, energised through constantly oscillating intensities. A Thousand Plateaus is careful though not to elevate these smooth nomadic spaces over the more sedentary spaces of culture and power (372–373). Nonetheless, as Edward S. Casey warns, “In their insistence on becoming and movement, however, the authors of A Thousand Plateaus overlook the placial potential of settled dwelling — of […] ‘built places’” (309, original italics). Sedentary, settled dwelling centred on home country may have a crust of easy legibility and order about it but it also formats a locally/regionally specific nomadic quality, a point underscored above in the diagrammatological perspective. The sedentary tendency also emerges once again in relation to home in the architectural drafting of the domestic domicile. The Real Estate Revolution When Captain Cook planted the British flag in the sand at Botany Bay in 1770 and declared the country it spiked as Crown Land and henceforth will come under the ownership of an English sovereign, it was also the moment when white Australia’s current fascination with real estate was conceived. In the wake of this spiking came the intense anxiety over Native Title that surfaced in late twentieth century Australia when claims of Indigenous land grabs would repossess suburban homes. While easily dismissed as hyperbole, a rhetorical gesture intended to arouse this very anxiety, its emergence is nonetheless an indication of the potential for political and psychic unsettling at the heart of the ownership and control of built place, or ‘settled dwelling’ in the Australian context. And here it would be wise to include not just the gridded, architectural quality of home-building and home-making, but also the home as the site of the family romance, another source of unsettling as much as a peaceful calming. Spreading out from the boundaries of the home are the built spaces of fences, bridges, roads, railways, airport terminals (along with their interconnecting pathways), which of course brings us back to the communications infrastructure which have so often followed alongside the development of transport infrastructure. These and other elements represent this conglomerate of built space, possibly the most significant transformation of natural space that humanity has brought about. For the purposes of this meditation though it is the more personal aspect of built space — my home and regional embeddedness, along with their connections into the global electrosphere — that constitutes the primary concern here. For a sedentary, striated space to settle into an unchallenged existence though requires a repression of the highest order, primarily because of the home’s proximity to everyday life, of the latter’s now fading ability to sometimes leave its presuppositions well enough alone. In settled, regionally experienced space, repressions are more difficult to abstract away, they are lived with on a daily basis, which also helps to explain the extra intensity brought to their sometimes-unsettling quality. Inversely, and encased in this globalised electro-spherical ambience, home cannot merely be a place where one dwells within avoiding those presuppositions, I take them with me when I travel and they come back with me from afar. This is a point obliquely reflected in Pico Iyer’s comment that “Australians have so flexible a sense of home, perhaps, that they can make themselves at home anywhere” (185). While our sense of home may well be, according to J. Douglas Porteous, “the territorial core” of our being, when other arrangements of space and knowledge shift it must inevitably do so as well. In these shifts of spatial affiliation (aided and abetted by regionalisation, globalisation and electronic knowledge), the built place of home can no longer be considered exclusively under the illusion of an autonomous sanctuary wholly guaranteed by capitalist property relations, one of the key factors in its attraction. These shifts in the cultural, economic and psychic relation of home to country are important to a sense of local and regional implacement. The “feeling” of autonomy and security involved in home occupation and/or ownership designates a component of this implacement, a point leading to Eric Leed’s comment that, “By the sixteenth century, literacy had become one of the definitive signs — along with the possession of property and a permanent residence — of an independent social status” (53). Globalising and regionalising forces make this feeling of autonomy and security dynamic, shifting the ground of home, work-place practices and citizenship allegiances in the process. Gathering these wide-ranging forces impacting on psychic and built space together is the emergence of critical regionalism as a branch of architectonics, considered here as a theory of domestic architecture. Critical Regionality Critical regionalism emerged out of the collective thinking of Liane Lefaivre and Alexander Tzonis (Tropical Architecture; Critical Regionalism), and as these authors themselves acknowledge, was itself deeply influenced by the work of Lewis Mumford during the first part of the twentieth century when he was arguing against the authority of the international style in architecture, a style epitomised by the Bauhaus movement. It is Kenneth Frampton’s essay, “Towards a Critical Regionalism: Six Points for an Architecture of Resistance” that deliberately takes this question of critical regionalism and makes it a part of a domestic architectonic project. In many ways the ideas critical regionalism espouses can themselves be a microcosm of this concomitantly emerging global/regional polis. With public examples of built-form the power of the centre is on display by virtue of a building’s enormous size and frequently high-cultural aesthetic power. This is a fact restated again and again from the ancient world’s agora to Australia’s own political bunker — its Houses of Parliament in Canberra. While Frampton discusses a range of aspects dealing with the universal/implaced axis across his discussion, it is points five and six that deserve attention from a domestically implaced perspective. Under the sub-heading, “Culture Versus Nature: Topography, Context, Climate, Light and Tectonic Form” is where he writes that, Here again, one touches in concrete terms this fundamental opposition between universal civilization and autochthonous culture. The bulldozing of an irregular topography into a flat site is clearly a technocratic gesture which aspires to a condition of absolute placelessness, whereas the terracing of the same site to receive the stepped form of a building is an engagement in the act of “cultivating” the site. (26, original italics) The “totally flat datum” that the universalising tendency sometimes presupposes is, within the critical regionalist perspective, an erroneous assumption. The “cultivation” of a site for the design of a building illustrates the point that built space emerges out of an interaction between parallel phenomena as they contrast and/or converge in a particular set of timespace co-ordinates. These are phenomena that could include (but are not limited to) geomorphic data like soil and rock formations, seismic activity, inclination and declension; climatic considerations in the form of wind patterns, temperature variations, rainfall patterns, available light and dark, humidity and the like; the building context in relation to the cardinal points of north, south, east, and west, along with their intermediary positions. There are also architectural considerations in the form of available building materials and personnel to consider. The social, psychological and cultural requirements of the building’s prospective in-dwellers are intermingled with all these phenomena. This is not so much a question of where to place the air conditioning system but the actuality of the way the building itself is placed on its site, or indeed if that site should be built on at all. A critical regionalist building practice, then, is autochthonous to the degree that a full consideration of this wide range of in-situ interactions is taken into consideration in the development of its design plan. And given this autochthonous quality of the critical regionalist project, it also suggests that the architectural design plan itself (especially when it utilised in conjunction with CAD and virtual reality simulations), might be the better model for designing electrate-centred projects rather than writing or even the script. The proliferation of ‘McMansions’ across many Australian suburbs during the 1990s (generally, oversized domestic buildings designed in the abstract with little or no thought to the above mentioned elements, on bulldozed sites, with powerful air-conditioning systems, and no verandas or roof eves to speak of) demonstrates the continuing influence of a universal, centralising dogma in the realm of built place. As summer temperatures start to climb into the 40°C range all these air-conditioners start to hum in unison, which in turn raises the susceptibility of the supporting infrastructure to collapse under the weight of an overbearing electrical load. The McMansion is a clear example of a built form that is envisioned more so in a drafting room, a space where the architect is remote-sensing the locational specificities. In this envisioning (driven more by a direct line-of-sight idiom dominant in “flat datum” and economic considerations rather than architectural or experiential ones), the tactile is subordinated, which is the subject of Frampton’s sixth point: It is symptomatic of the priority given to sight that we find it necessary to remind ourselves that the tactile is an important dimension in the perception of built form. One has in mind a whole range of complementary sensory perceptions which are registered by the labile body: the intensity of light, darkness, heat and cold; the feeling of humidity; the aroma of material; the almost palpable presence of masonry as the body senses it own confinement; the momentum of an induced gait and the relative inertia of the body as it traverses the floor; the echoing resonance of our own footfall. (28) The point here is clear: in its wider recognition of, and the foregrounding of my body’s full range of sensate capacities in relation to both natural and built space, the critical regionalist approach to built form spreads its meaning-making capacities across a broader range of knowledge modalities. This tactility is further elaborated in more thoroughly personal ways by Margaret Morse in her illuminating essay, “Home: Smell, Taste, Posture, Gleam”. Paradoxically, this synaesthetic, syncretic approach to bodily meaning-making in a built place, regional milieu intensely concentrates the site-centred locus of everyday life, while simultaneously, the electronic knowledge that increasingly underpins it expands both my body’s and its region’s knowledge-making possibilities into a global gestalt, sometimes even a cosmological one. It is a paradoxical transformation that makes us look anew at social, cultural and political givens, even objective and empirical understandings, especially as they are articulated through national frames of reference. Domestic built space then is a kind of micro-version of the multi-function polis where work, pleasure, family, rest, public display and privacy intermingle. So in both this reduction and expansion in the constitution of domestic home life, one that increasingly represents the location of the production of knowledge, built place represents a concentration of energy that forces us to re-imagine border-making, order, and the dynamic interplay of nomadic movement and sedentary return, a point that echoes Nicolas Rothwell’s comment that “every exile has in it a homecoming” (80). Albeit, this is a knowledge-making milieu with an expanded range of modalities incorporated and expressed through a wide range of bodily intensities not simply cognitive ones. Much of the ambiguous discontent manifested in McMansion style domiciles across many Western countries might be traced to the fact that their occupants have had little or no say in the way those domiciles have been designed and/or constructed. In Heidegger’s terms, they have not thought deeply enough about “dwelling” in that building, although with the advent of the media room the question of whether a “building” securely borders both “dwelling” and “thinking” is now open to question. As anxieties over border-making at all scales intensifies, the complexities and un/sureties of natural and built space take ever greater hold of the psyche, sometimes through the advance of a “high level of critical self-consciousness”, a process Frampton describes as a “double mediation” of world culture and local conditions (21). Nearly all commentators warn of a nostalgic, romantic or a sentimental regionalism, the sum total of which is aimed at privileging the local/regional and is sometimes utilised as a means of excluding the global or universal, sometimes even the national (Berry 67). Critical regionalism is itself a mediating factor between these dispositions, working its methods and practices through my own psyche into the local, the regional, the national and the global, rejecting and/or accepting elements of these domains, as my own specific context, in its multiplicity, demands it. If the politico-economic and cultural dimensions of this global/regional world have tended to undermine the process of border-making across a range of scales, we can see in domestic forms of built place the intense residue of both their continuing importance and an increased dependency on this electro-mediated world. This is especially apparent in those domiciles whose media rooms (with their satellite dishes, telephone lines, computers, television sets, games consuls, and music stereos) are connecting them to it in virtuality if not in reality. Indeed, the thought emerges (once again keeping in mind Eric Leed’s remark on the literate-configured sense of autonomy that is further enhanced by a separate physical address and residence) that the intense importance attached to domestically orientated built place by globally/regionally orientated peoples will figure as possibly the most viable means via which this sense of autonomy will transfer to electronic forms of knowledge. If, however, this here domestic habitué turns his gaze away from the screen that transports me into this global/regional milieu and I focus my attention on the physicality of the building in which I dwell, I once again stand in the presence of another beginning. This other beginning is framed diagrammatologically by the building’s architectural plans (usually conceived in either an in-situ, autochthonous, or a universal manner), and is a graphical conception that anchors my body in country long after the architects and builders have packed up their tools and left. This is so regardless of whether a home is built, bought, rented or squatted in. Ihab Hassan writes that, “Home is not where one is pushed into the light, but where one gathers it into oneself to become light” (417), an aphorism that might be rephrased as follows: “Home is not where one is pushed into the country, but where one gathers it into oneself to become country.” For the in-and-out-and-around-and-about domestic dweller of the twenty-first century, then, home is where both regional and global forms of country decisively enter the soul via the conduits of the virtuality of digital flows and the reality of architectural footings. Acknowledgements I’m indebted to both David Fosdick and Phil Roe for alerting me to the importance to the Fremantle Dockers Football Club. The research and an original draft of this essay were carried out under the auspices of a PhD scholarship from Central Queensland University, and from whom I would also like to thank Denis Cryle and Geoff Danaher for their advice. References Benjamin, Walter. “Paris — the Capital of the Nineteenth Century.” Charles Baudelaire: A Lyric Poet in the Era of High Capitalism. Trans. Quintin Hoare. London: New Left Books, 1973. 155–176. Bennett, Tony, Michael Emmison and John Frow. Accounting for Tastes: Australian Everyday Cultures. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1999. Berry, Wendell. “The Regional Motive.” A Continuous Harmony: Essays Cultural and Agricultural. San Diego: Harcourt Brace. 63–70. Casey, Edward S. The Fate of Place: A Philosophical History. Berkeley: U of California P, 1997. Deleuze, Gilles and Félix Guattari. A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Trans. Brian Massumi. Minneapolis: U of Minneapolis P, 1987. Deleuze, Gilles. “The Diagram.” The Deleuze Reader. Ed. Constantin Boundas. Trans. Constantin Boundas and Jacqueline Code. New York: Columbia UP, 1993. 193–200. Frampton, Kenneth. “Towards a Critical Regionalism: Six Points for an Architecture of Resistance.” The Anti-Aesthetic: Essays on Post-Modern Culture. Ed. Hal Foster. Port Townsend: Bay Press, 1983. 16–30. Gadamer, Hans-Georg. “Idea and Reality in Plato’s Timaeus.” Dialogue and Dialectic: Eight Hermeneutical Studies on Plato. Trans. P. Christopher Smith. New Haven: Yale UP, 1980. 156–193. Hassan, Ihab. “How Australian Is It?” The Best Australian Essays. Ed. Peter Craven. Melbourne: Black Inc., 2000. 405–417. Heidegger, Martin. “Building Dwelling Thinking.” Poetry, Language, Thought. Trans. Albert Hofstadter. New York: Harper and Row, 1971. 145–161. Hughes, John. The Idea of Home: Autobiographical Essays. Sydney: Giramondo, 2004. Iyer, Pico. “Australia 1988: Five Thousand Miles from Anywhere.” Falling Off the Map: Some Lonely Places of the World. London: Jonathon Cape, 1993. 173–190. “Keeping Track.” Docker, Official Magazine of the Fremantle Football Club. Edition 3, September (2005): 21. Leed, Eric. “‘Voice’ and ‘Print’: Master Symbols in the History of Communication.” The Myths of Information: Technology and Postindustrial Culture. Ed. Kathleen Woodward. Madison, Wisconsin: Coda Press, 1980. 41–61. Lefaivre, Liane and Alexander Tzonis. “The Suppression and Rethinking of Regionalism and Tropicalism After 1945.” Tropical Architecture: Critical Regionalism in the Age of Globalization. Eds. Alexander Tzonis, Liane Lefaivre and Bruno Stagno. Chichester, West Sussex: Wiley-Academy, 2001. 14–58. Lefaivre, Liane and Alexander Tzonis. Critical Regionalism: Architecture and Identity in a Globalized World. New York: Prestel, 2003. Lynch, Kevin. Managing the Sense of a Region. Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT P, 1976. Mitchell, W. J. T. “Diagrammatology.” Critical Inquiry 7.3 (1981): 622–633. Morse, Margaret. “Home: Smell, Taste, Posture, Gleam.” Home, Exile, Homeland: Film, Media, and the Politics of Place. Ed. Hamid Naficy. New York and London: Routledge, 1999. 63–74. Plato. Timaeus and Critias. Trans. Desmond Lee. Harmondsworth: Penguin Classics, 1973. Porteous, J. Douglas. “Home: The Territorial Core.” Geographical Review LXVI (1976): 383-390. Rothwell, Nicolas. Wings of the Kite-Hawk: A Journey into the Heart of Australia. Sydney: Pidador, 2003. Sallis, John. Chorology: On Beginning in Plato’s Timaeus. Bloomington: Indianapolis UP, 1999. Scott, Allen J. Regions and the World Economy: The Coming Shape of Global Production, Competition, and Political Order. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998. Storper, Michael. The Regional World: Territorial Development in a Global Economy. New York: The Guildford Press, 1997. Ulmer, Gregory L. Heuretics: The Logic of Invention. New York: John Hopkins UP, 1994. Ulmer, Gregory. Internet Invention: Literacy into Electracy. Longman: Boston, 2003. Wilken, Rowan. “Diagrammatology.” Illogic of Sense: The Gregory Ulmer Remix. Eds. Darren Tofts and Lisa Gye. Alt-X Press, 2007. 48–60. Available at http://www.altx.com/ebooks/ulmer.html. (Retrieved 12 June 2007)

Introduction: How Do We Learn What We Know? “Deaf.” How do we learn what we know about being deaf and about deafness? What’s the difference between “being deaf” and “deafness” as a particular kind of (non) hearing? Which would you rather be, deaf or blind: children commonly ask this question as they make their early forays into imagining the lives of people different from them. Hearing people cannot know what it is like to be deaf, just as deaf people cannot know what it is like to hear ... or can they? Finally, how can we tell fresh and authentic stories of “being deaf” and the state of “deafness” that disrupt our familiar—perhaps even caricatured—patterns of understanding? In this special “deaf” edition of M/C Journal we wanted to create a body of work in which deaf writers and thinkers would have their say. Mindful that "Deaf history may be characterized as a struggle for Deaf individuals to 'speak' for themselves rather than to be spoken about in medical and educational discourses" (Bauman 47), we were particularly keen to place the contributions of deaf writers and thinkers alongside the mainstream hearing culture. This is why we have chosen not to identify each writer in this edition as deaf or hearing, preferring to leave that biographical auditory detail to the writers themselves. We already knew that "there isn't a large body of literature about the deaf by the deaf" (Henry Kisor 3). Thomas Couser writes that "this should not be surprising, for a number of factors militate against deaf autobiography ... making them unlikely and rare entities" (226). And so we welcomed the diversity of topics and range of genres to this edition: they included a playful ficto-critical exploration of deafness; personal reflections on deafness (ranging from regarding it as a condition of hearing loss to a state of being); poetry; a filmography; and several fresh analyses of representations of deafness, hearing technology and deaf people’s lives in theatre, film and television (this was a particularly popular theme); the poetics of embodiment (indeed, embodiment was a recurring theme across many of the submissions); a commentary on the role of interpreters in deaf-hearing relationships; and an analysis of the role of the Web 2.0 and other technology in deaf people’s communications. However, we noted that most of the uncommissioned submissions in response to our call for papers came from hearing people. We had to seek out contributions from deaf writers and thinkers and wondered why this was so. Mainstream publication avenues for writing by deaf people on the topic of deafness are rare in Australia: perhaps deaf writers lack the necessary confidence or belief that they would be read? In this edition, they certainly reveal that they have much to say ... and inspire us to lean in and think carefully about their words. A Deaf Knowingness In writing her poem “The Triton”, Sandra Hoopman was inspired by her frequent visits to her deaf grandmother at her old Lambert Street, Kangaroo Point home, where she had a huge triton on her wrought iron veranda. Her grandmother would put the triton up to her ear and show Sandra how to 'listen' to it so that she could ‘hear’ the sea. Her poetry recalls to mind Robert Panara's most-quoted poem, “On His Deafness”, in which he imagined that he might even hear 'the rustle of a star!' Following Sandra Hoopman’s poem, we are pleased to feature the essay “Body Language” by Jessica White, shortlisted for the ABR 2010 Calibre Prize, and Sydney Morning Herald Best Young Novelist for 2008 for her first novel A Curious Intimacy (Penguin 2008). In her essay, Jessica playfully explores the idea of not having a singular fixed identity by traversing a dialogue between the imagination and the character of Jessica, showing different selves at play and in conversation, and again in conversation with others at the ficto-critical room and with the ideas articulated by different authors. As with post-structuralist explorations, the essay emphasises the active and formative nature of language, story and ideas, which help us to deconstruct and reformulate versions of our lives and its possibilities. Play is a device that enables people to move beyond the confines of the social world. The joyful spirit of White’s essay is signalled when she writes: For example, there are still immense possibilities thrown up by theorising a jouissance, or pleasure, in the disabled body. As Susan Wendell points out, “paraplegics and quadriplegics have revolutionary things to teach us about the possibilities of sexuality which contradict patriarchal culture’s obsessions with the genitals” (120). Thus if there were more of a focus on the positive aspects of disability and on promoting the understanding that disability is not about lack, people could see how it fosters creativity and imagination. White’s essay is a ‘picaresque’, following a traveller who narrates her adventures and encounters. It is a wonderful model for narratives of difference as it departs, refreshingly, from mainstream Hollywood-style plot conventions, i.e of progress through conflict towards a climax and resolution. Instead, the picaresque allows for a variety of roles, settings and pathways for the wanderer, multiple characters and illuminating dialogues. It demonstrates literally as well as figuratively, productive encounters with the Other, jolting us into new understandings, ways of knowing and possibilities of being. In this way, White’s essay “Body Language” sets a thematically rich tone for this special “deaf” issue of M/C Journal. Through her essay and the following narratives, commentaries, articles and essays, we are immersed in the theme of the importance (and liberating possibilities) of contesting fixed and limited images, disrupting the representations and labels that are so readily assigned to the deaf or deafness. Different strategies and styles are employed, from figurative creative writing or life narrative to the critical essay or media analysis. Yet all contributions emphasise shifting perceptions, commence from a position of not being comfortable with the given representations or ideas that surround deaf identity. The personal narratives and essays assert a strong sense of disjuncture between deaf reality and common representations and ideas of deafness. Reading these contributions, we gain an acute sense of not being at one with the image or idea of a deaf person, not being at one with the social world, not being any one thing but rather many different and varying things and roles. The conditions of possibility are touched upon in the personal reflective pieces, resonating with the critical essays in their exploration of the possibilities of destabilizing hegemonic representations. For example, in “Becoming Deaf”, Karen McQuigg’s personal reflective essay, she describes several stages of the deaf experience. Her description of her son’s responses and adaptations is moving, and Karen mines a range of emotional responses to deafness. She shares with the reader the advice and support she received from other people: some readers will remember with affection the role of Elizabeth Hastings and John Lovett in the Australian Deaf community. McQuigg’s reflections sharply highlight the fluid nature of our individual experience and understanding of deafness. She (and we do too) shifts from what was experienced and understood initially as a blank, a not-comprehending—a ‘blank’ that is linked with loss and constraints, grief, suffering and isolation—to a discovery of how those views and experiences can change, along with changing environment and opportunities. This comes across also in Christy L Reid’s piece “Journey of a Deaf-Blind Woman”: possibilities are linked with where the narrator is living, with life events as varied as training and job opportunities, changes in health, marriage, the birth and development of children, child rearing, and of personal triumphs. Michael Uniacke’s personal essay “Fluid Identities: A Journey of Terminology” has much in common with Jessica White’s essay as he too engages playfully with his ideas. He uses language and figurative play to challenge the reader’s understandings of deaf identity, and to demonstrate the fluid and multiple nature of identity. For example, his opening anecdote about the Hearing Impaired Businessman plays to an embodiment of the idea that many people have, through categories and labels, of a deaf person, as Other, a caricature figure with no interiority or humour or nuanced life. Uniacke engages with this figure in a kind of dialogue, making him surreal, highlighting his typecast nature. By the end of his essay, Michael has shown us how identity can be context-specific and composed of many parts. In “Interpreters in Our Midst”, Breda Carty takes us on a jaunty, personal and engaging commentary that provokes the reader into taking a fresh look at the role of interpreters in mediating/translating relationships between deaf and hearing people. She asks, ‘When interpreters are in our midst, whose interests are they representing? And why are those interests not always clear to the observer?’ Originally written as a short piece for the Australian Sign Language Interpreters' Association (ASLIA), the article is informed by Breda’s immersion in particular professional and personal communities and experiences. While the tone of her commentary is light-hearted, using film screen representations of interpreters to illustrate her points, Breda nevertheless succeeds in politicizing the subject of interpretation and interpreters. She makes us aware of the social assumptions and hierarchies that structure our understanding of interpreting, which, if left unexamined, might seem a neutral and apolitical practice. Rebecca Sánchez makes an exciting contribution to the field of poetry. In her paper “Hart Crane's Speaking Bodies: New Perspectives on Modernism and Deafness”, Rebecca writes about looking for ideas about deafness in unexpected places, namely the poetry of hearing modernist Hart Crane. Taking up the theme of embodiment, evident in several other papers in this edition, Rebecca offers an interesting connection between a poetics of embodiment—Crane was influenced by Walt Whitman, a trail-blazer in embodied language in American poetry—and the more literal embodiment of manual languages. Although Hart Crane was not writing about deafness per se, his work explores the potential of embodied languages to alter the ways in which we interact with one another. When asked to define deafness, most people’s first response is to think of levels of hearing loss, of deficiency, or disability. By contrast, Crane’s non-literal approach provides a more constructive understanding of what communicative difference can mean, and how it can affect our und,erstanding of language itself. Rebecca’s essay's strength arises from its demonstration of Crane's desire to imagine the possibility of a language that lives within the body as rich and enabling, as are manual languages. Miriam Nathan Lerner’s professional training as a librarian is evident in her filmography “The Narrative Function of Deafness and Deaf Characters in Film”. During 2010, she is collaborating with a technical support faculty member at the Rochester National Technical Institute of the Deaf to design a website with quick-time windows so that the reader can click on and watch film clips of the works she references in her filmography. A lively, chatty introduction to some forty-three films with deaf characters and deafness, in which she provides her admittedly quirky approach to categorisation, Miriam Lerner’s filmography will one day be recognised in the same breath as Jonathon Miller’s “Rustle of a Star: An Annotated Bibliography of Deaf Characters in Fiction.” (Miller was also a librarian: they obviously possess the requisite skills of categorisation!) Pamela Kincheloe’s article “Do Androids Dream of Electric Speech? The Construction of Cochlear Implant Identity on American Television and the ‘New Deaf Cyborg’” offers an important analysis of popular (mis)conceptions of deafness and ‘assistive technologies’ as is evident from American television representations of deaf people with Cochlear Implants. She notes the prevalence of cochlear implants in television drama, identifies a couple of very limited narrative frames that dominate such representations, and discusses their implications. In her discussion of the ‘abject’ horror associated in television series with the cochlear implant recipient (often already a corpse) Kincheloe asserts that the Cochlear Implant technology is increasingly used in such narratives to convey intensified anxieties, not only about the deaf Other, but also about technology and the emergent ‘cyborgs’, humans modified by technology. Sharon Pajka-West’s well-researched article “Deaf Characters in Adolescent Fiction”, excerpted from her doctorate thesis, originated in a request from a young deaf reader for a book with which she could connect. Pajka-West takes us on her pursuit to fulfil this request, giving us many fascinating insights along the way. Her blog is essential reading not only for anyone interested in the field of adolescent literature, but also for those who understand the significance of providing young deaf readers access to literature in which the multiple possibilities for deaf lives, deaf identities, and deafness are canvassed. In her article “Marginalising the Mainstream: A Signed Performance of The Miracle Worker”, Caroline Heim places deaf issues centre-stage. Her thesis is that a way needs to be found to increase access to theatrical events for the deaf. She tackles this by viewing a Crossbow Production performance of The Miracle Worker (the story of the teaching relationship between Helen Keller and Annie Sullivan from different perspectives: accessibility, funding, plot construction and actors’ interpretation, the detail of production design (sound, colour and tactile) and the use of theatrical device, and post performance discussion. Arguably, Heim’s article might have benefited from more focus on the concept of inclusion, rather than exclusion. The claim that not enough money is given to providing ‘access’ for the deaf to mainstream productions may be difficult to uphold as a stand-alone argument when the budget of the majority of Australian theatre companies would highlight the fiscal difficulty they have just getting productions on the stage. All the same, Heim’s article provokes us, the reader, into investigating the many layered meanings of ‘access’ and also reminds us, yet again, of theatre’s potential magic in engaging audiences across all spheres of life. In her essay “Looking across the Hearing Line”, Nicole Matthews has written a stimulating paper on youth, Deaf people, and new media. Her paper is especially interesting as an exploration of the intersection between disability and Web 2.0 technologies. In particular, Matthews picks up a thread of Web 2.0 technologies relating to visual communication and expression to provide some insights into the emerging, complex nature of Deaf users’ engagement with digital media in contrast with the continuing problems of inaccessibility and exclusion in the mainstream world. Conclusion: Learning Our Knowingness from What We Don’t Know This special “deaf” issue of M/C Journal is not a “project”, in the Modern sense of that word, i.e. a unified collective effort to define identity, in this case deaf identity, or to consolidate and express a unique world view. Nor does it seek to enlighten the public about what it is to be deaf. Such a totalising project would inevitably suppress heterogeneity and the specificities of people’s lives. Rather, this collection offers many different particular and localised accounts - some personal and poetic, some analytical, some working through critique - which explore the conditions of possibility for human subjects, and in particular, people who are deaf. The contributions highlight in very different ways the complex and shifting fields within which people’s lives and experiences are formed. These works give us insight into the varied and changing social and environmental conditions that not only shape our lives but are in turn shaped by who we are and by our practices and choices. The constraints and possibilities of people’s lives change significantly and differ widely. They are linked inextricably with where people are, in terms of geography or location, and with the circumstances they find themselves in or create for themselves: circumstances of gender, family, social networks, economics, education, work, lifestyle, health or illness, physical abilities, differences and limitations. These works stress the highly contingent nature of human social development and the fluidity of deaf experience rather than identity. Identity shifts and takes on meaning in relation to others and situations; we come to know who we are through a process of differentiating ourselves from others and from identities that we do not feel comfortable with. In almost all of these accounts here experiences of deafness are not the same those conjured up by labels or stereotypes. This act of disassociation from the usual notions of deafness, highlights that our received language and labels do not give us knowledge. Disavowal reminds us that we do not know, except through some disruptive encounter with the Other, whether that is the otherness of our own deafness or the deafness of others. These writings that demonstrate the particularity and detail of deaf people’s experiences, enable us to know the limits and inaccuracies of the labels and identities so commonly assigned to deafness and the deaf. Thus, we come back to the beginning and find our equivocal, tentative answers to the question, ‘how do we learn what we know about being deaf and deafness?’ We learn what we know in various ways, yet hearing or deaf, we are exposed to particular ideas of deafness, limiting labels and assumptions that reinforce ‘ableist’ values. These writings have demonstrated the proliferation of limited stereotypes; they recur in narratives, news stories, television and films, and have power regardless of their disconnection from the real, and from the lived experience of deafness. It is a significant starting point to recognise the limitations of what we think we already know, through our media and social institutions, of deafness. These essays and writings represent a different epistemology; they explore not what deafness is or how it can be defined, but different ways of knowing deafness. References Couser, G. Thomas. “Signs of Life: Deafness and Personal Narrative” Ch. 6 in Recovering Bodies: Illness, Disability, and Life Writing. Wisconsin: University of Wisconsin Press, 1997. Bauman, H-Dirksen L. “Voicing Deaf Identity: Through the ‘I’s’ and Ears of an Other.” In S. Smith, and J. Watson, eds., Getting a Life: Everyday Uses of Autobiography. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1989. 47-62. Kisor, Henry. What’s That Pig Outdoors? A Memoir of Deafness. New York: Hill and Wang, 1990.