Literatura científica selecionada sobre o tema "Time telling itself"

Nick Joaquin (1917–2004) is often regarded as the greatest Filipino writer in English, yet he remains largely unknown outside his country. He published widely in all genres and was awarded the National Artist Award, yet he dropped out of high school and spent much of his youth holed up in libraries and walking Manila’s streets. He wrote some of his most powerful stories between the end of US colonial rule and the beginning of the postcolonial era, at a time when the very craft of storytelling was itself endangered. And he did so in another language, American English, which required setting aside his mother tongue, Tagalog, and an inherited tongue, Spanish. This article explores some of these contradictions, looking at the relationship between language and literature exemplified in Joaquin’s writings and situating him as a storyteller in the wake of Manila’s utter destruction by colonial wars and the uneven recovery from postcolonial strife. This article also asks how Joaquin sought to rescue not just the memory of the city but also the very faculty of remembering itself as well as the remembering self.

Abstract The present study focuses on an episode attested only in Proclus’ summary of the now-lost epic poem Cypria, a suggestively erotic ‘rendezvous’ between Achilles and Helen that appears to heighten the hero’s appreciation of her as a driving force, convincing him to persist in the war for her sake. This most prominently contradicts Homer’s portrayal of an Achilles whose choices are fundamentally motivated by his quest for personal honour. As this paper argues, however, the story, though probably post-Homeric in itself, still has a traditional basis in the way it depicts Achilles’ susceptibility to eros. On the other hand, and more importantly, Homer does seem to tacitly acknowledge this less standardised aspect but at the same time agonistically suppresses it, thus achieving an advantageously idiosyncratic coalescence between tradition and individuality.

Nancy Huston's Danse noire (2014) is a formidably complex novel: multilingual, composed throughout of three connected but separately told stories, highly self-reflexive in its intra-diegetic presentation of the narrative as film scenario and its use of capoeira as framing device and analogy. Some critics and readers have found this intricate structure excessive and confusing. This article, on the other hand, situates the novel within Huston's distinctive project as a contemporary French novelist who is as committed to immersive story-telling as she is to self-aware celebration of narrative form. It argues that Danse noire demonstrates fiction's power to carry us in imagination through space and time and into the subjective worlds of others, even as it invites awareness of narrative form itself. Moreover, this combination of entrancing story-telling and self-reflexivity is central to what Huston convincingly maintains is the ethical function of the novel.

In this article, I analyze a painting by Modoc/Klamath artist Peggy Ball through a Native feminist reading methodology. The painting, Vanport, is named after a city that disappeared in a flood in 1948. The artist survived that flood, and displacement as did thousands of others. The painting is a rememory map of dislocations and hauntings and disappearances. The painting remaps gentrified dislocations, telling stories that focus on the relationship of the present to the past and the past to the future. The painting itself is a Native feminist practice. The travel to places gone, to places that will reappear again; by people gone as well as by people presently alive; into times that existed, that never existed, that will exist again; to times made contemporaneous by time traveling dogs; with people co-present through desire—at the heart of all this time travel is recognition and survivance.

AbstractThe use of a metaphorical approach in a time limited group for children whose parents are separating/divorcing is explored. Drawing, “naming the group”, and structured exercises are used metaphorically to help the children tell their own “story”, not their parents version. The metaphorical processing of the media is what counts not the media itself. Every way of using media tells a story and moves children from story telling to story experiencing. When children are able to share feelings, they have taken a step forward.

This article uses an evocative autoethnographic approach to explore the experience of being an insider-researcher in a community-based participatory research setting. Taking a holistic perspective and using the form of narrative story-telling, I examine the dynamics between the typically marginalizing (but sometimes empowering) experience of being an autistic woman and the typically privileging (but sometimes oppressive) experience of being an engineering professional, during a time of career upheaval. Themes of motivations and mentors, adversity from social services and the academy, belonging, the slipperiness of intersectional positioning, feedback cycles of opportunity, dichotomies of competence and inadequacy, heightened stakes, and power and resistance are explored through the narrative. While primarily leaving the narrative to speak for itself per the qualitative approach taken, the article concludes with a discussion of how the personal experiences described relate both to the broader work of insider-researchers within disability-related fields, and to misconceptions about self-reflection and capacity for story-telling in individuals on the autism spectrum.

The present paper is part of a larger case study of a 5 1/2 year old Korean boy, Colwyn, with his mother, Dr. Bae. Dr. Bae interviewed Colwyn twice, about 2 months apart; the first interview was audiotaped, the second videotaped. The present paper is based primarily on the second interview where Colwyn tells several wildly imaginative stories of himself like a superhero “protecting mom and dad.” Our aim is to communicate a sense of Colwyn’s “feeling, consciousness, state” when he is telling these “stories”, using the portraiture philosophy of Lawrence-Lightfoot and Davis and the “Participant-as-ally - Essentialist portraiture” approach of Witz and his students. The paper suggests that Colwyn’s “telling stories” in that Interview involves a highly self-actualized way of “being involved with his ‘I’”, which was apparently prompted by Interview 1 and is expressed in the drawing in Fig. 1. (In Interview 2 he constantly comes back to this drawing and uses it as a jumping off point for ideas in the stories). In addition, when he is telling a story, his whole being (feeling and mind) is “as if flowing in a direct channel,” manifesting as a constant stream of inspiration (creativity), ideas and diverse kinds of energy which is coming from within him, and that is carried on a powerful undercurrent of moral feeling of “being good.” At the same time telling the story represents a state of “subjectively being in a unity with” his mother’s feelings of appreciation and love. These things represent intense genuine spiritual engagement that at the same time manifests itself as creative expression in painting and in verbal interaction, already at this young age. This conclusion is supported by various additional data available.

In Geography and the Human Spirit, Buttimer argues that the history of geographical concern is marked by cyclical time, which is distinguished by three phases: Phoenix, Faust, and Narcissus, By taking a longer look at one of these myths, Narcissus, it is possible to suggest that Buttimer bases her account on some problematic assumptions. Thus, the figure of Echo, absent from Buttimer's telling of the myth, can return to disrupt her story. This mytho-poetic assessment reveals something of the way in which ‘others’ are constituted in her story: I take this erasure to be symptomatic of an ‘othering’ humanism, which is predicated on the other, but considers itself self-grounded and thereby distances itself from others. The conclusion questions Buttimer's universalism, her concept of cyclical time, and her sense of a liberation cry of humanism, I suggest that an emancipatory geography cannot rely on undisclosed and marginalized ‘others’, in this case represented by the figure of Echo.

The issues that challenge the stewardship of Pasifika’s peoples are as complex and diverse as the Pacific itself. We have our own conceptual tools that help us understand these complex issues. Our problem has been that we have a hard time using the tools of others and we end up with somewhat distorted understanding of our own issues. No wonder we have problems sometimes in communicating our issues to the people we serve. Telling our own stories, in our own language, with our own conceptual tools, so that we can construct meaning and bring understanding is the aim of Pacific journalism.

Abstract This essay examines, from a position within Classics, different angles on critiques of historicism and the turn to anachronism in History, Art History, Medieval Studies, and Queer Theory before proposing the idea of ‘kairological history’, on the model of the artist Paul Chan’s ‘kairological art’. On this analysis, ‘kairological history’ engages the critical and creative resources of anachronic thinking alongside tools of historicism (e.g. empiricism, successionism, periodization, alterity) in making choices about ‘telling time’. These choices reflect a critical understanding of how temporality shapes the valuation of the past, particularly in relation to a ‘classical’ past; the negotiation of identity and difference between past and present; and the kinds of communities that history aims to support. The second half of the essay examines two instances of anachronism within the history of anatomy, one from Galen and one from the early twenty-first century. Both cases represent problems that historicism can correct. But the modality of correction, in itself, is anaemic and risks the very teleology that linear history is so often faulted for. The essay therefore explores what gets lost and what gets found when temporality is aligned with linearity, as well as non-linear modes of telling time.

La smartfiction est un récit à lire et à jouer sur son smartphone. Reprenant les codes techniques, esthétiques, sociaux et culturels du smartphone pour les réinvestir dans le cadre d’une fiction, la smartfiction repose sur une dimension réflexive par rapport au smartphone. En exploitant les conventions des pratiques ordinaires du smartphone, l’utilisateur d’une smartfiction doit se projeter en tant qu’utilisateur de smartphone lorsqu'il lit, interprète et joue un récit de vie fictionnel. En effet, le propre du récit est de raconter une vie qui n’est plus la mienne ou qui n'est pas la mienne. « Moi » écoutant, je coïncide avec un temps racontant qui me projette sur le temps raconté. L'écriture et les dispositifs font du temps racontant une construction du « Moi » lisant. Dans le cadre des smartfictions, ce jeu sur le temps repose notamment sur la discussion instantanée (chat fictionnel) et les notifications (que je nomme notifictions pour désigner des notifications fictionnelles). Ainsi, l’utilisateur dispose d’un cadre pour se fondre dans le temps du récit en l’articulant à un temps de lecture. Mais ce récit, il l’interprète comme un acteur interprète un rôle au théâtre. En incarnant le rôle qui lui est attribué, l’utilisateur vit le temps du récit comme un temps joué à la première personne. Pour ce faire, il doit aborder son rôle comme s’il jouait une partie et ainsi transformer le temps du récit en un temps de jeu. Il doit « jouer le je.u ». Récit, théâtre et jeu sont alors trois modalités temporelles du temps vécu qui sont reconfigurées par la smartfiction : une histoire que l’on joue et que l’on incarne. La smartfiction relève donc d'un double statut, phénoménologique et sémiotique. En effet, le lecteur-acteur-joueur interagit avec la smartfiction et synchronise son flux de conscience avec les différents objets la composant pour vivre l’expérience de lecture à la première personne. Il synchronise son temps vécu au temps de la fiction. Cette synchronisation est rythmée par l'interaction avec les codes propres à l'utilisation d'un smartphone, qui devient le cadre sémiotique et pragmatique de la smartfiction. Ce cadre permet à la fois la contextualisation de la smartfiction et fonctionne comme une défamiliarisation du smartphone. L'étude, qui repose sur un corpus de onze smartfictions, articule ainsi une double approche phénoménologique et sémiotique. La smartfiction est un récit sur smartphone qui est arrivé à quelqu'un, un récit qui est un jeu dans lequel l’utilisateur joue comme un acteur. Avec la smartfiction, nous assistons à la naissance d’un format, voire d'un genre. L’émergence d’un nouveau genre invite à s'interroger sur son articulation aux genres existants, voire à leurs reconfigurations : la smartfiction correspond-elle à une autre manière de raconter, une autre forme de mise en scène, une autre pratique de jeu ? Ces questions renvoient également au rôle des dispositifs, rôle qui se révèle dans ces formes créatives. En particulier, la smartfiction invite à objectiver le rôle d'un smartphone dans le cadre d'un récit. La smartfiction est donc un laboratoire pour l’analyse des genres créatifs et la compréhension du rôle des supports et des dispositifs
A smartfiction is a story to be read and played on the smartphone. Taking the technical, aesthetic, social and cultural codes of the smartphone to reinvest them in the framework of a fiction, smartfiction relies on a reflexive dimension in relation to the smartphone. By using the conventions of ordinary smartphone practices, the user of a smartfiction must project themself as a smartphone user when reading, interpreting and acting out a fictional life story. Indeed, the very nature of the story is to tell a life that is no longer mine or that is not mine. Me listening, I coincide with a telling time which projects me in the told time. The writing of the story and the devices make the telling time a construction of the reading self. Within the framework of the smartfictions, this game on time relies in particular on the instant (fictional) chat and the notifications (which I name notifictions to indicate fictional notifications). That way, the user has a framework for blending into the time of the story by articulating it to a reading time. But they interpret this story as an actor interprets a role in the theater. By embodying the role assigned to him, the user lives the time of the story as a time played in the first person. To do this, they must approach their role as if they were playing a game and thus transform the time of the story into a time of play. They must “play the ga.Me”. Narrative, theater and game are then three temporal modalities of the lived time that are reset by the smartfiction : a story that one plays and that one incarnates. A smartfiction has thus a double status, phenomenological and semiotic. Indeed, the reader-actor-player interacts with the smartfiction and synchronizes their flow of consciousness with the different objects composing it in order to live the experience of reading in the first person. They synchronize their living time with the time of the fiction. This synchronization is punctuated by the interaction with the specific codes related to the use of a smartphone, which becomes the semiotic and pragmatic framework of the smartfiction. This framework allows both the contextualization of the smartfiction and functions as a defamiliarization of the smartphone. The study, based on a corpus of eleven smartfictions, thus articulates a double phenomenological and semiotic approach. A smartfiction is a story on a smartphone that happened to someone, a story that is a game in which the user plays as an actor. With the smartfiction, we witness the birth of a format, even of a genre. The emergence of a new genre invites us to question its articulation with existing genres, or even their reconfiguration: does smartfiction correspond to another way of telling, another form of staging, another practice of acting? These questions also refer to the role of the device which stands out in these creative modes. In particular, smartfiction invites us to objectify the role of a smartphone in a narrative. Smartfiction is thus a laboratory for the analysis of creative genres and for the understanding of the role of the medium and the devices

Alumina to Zirconia is a history of the CSIRO Division of Mineral Chemistry, and tells the story of a significant part of Australia's mineral heritage. This history draws on the authors' long associations with the Division, anecdotal material, scattered records and photographs. What unfolds is a fascinating history of the Division of Mineral Chemistry, from its war-time origins as the Minerals Utilization Section in 1940, through several organisational changes under the guidance of four chiefs, until the end of 1987, when the name of the Division was changed to Mineral Products. In telling the story, Dr Joy Bear and her co-authors outline many of the main projects undertaken, highlight the achievements as well as the difficulties encountered in both the scientific and technological research itself, and in the commercialisation of newly developed processes. They also acknowledge the vital contributions of support staff, and acknowledge the close association of the Division with, and the contribution to research by, the Australian minerals industry. This is a story of scientific and technological achievement of the highest order. Alumina to Zirconia is essential reading for all those interested in the history of Australian science and its role in supporting the development of Australia's world class minerals industry.

For all their unquestionable importance, the Holocaust and the founding of the State of Israel now loom so large in modern Jewish history that we have mostly lost sight of the fact that they are only part of—and indeed reactions to—the central event of that history: emancipation. This book seeks to reorient Jewish history by offering the first comprehensive account in any language of the process by which Jews became citizens with civil and political rights in the modern world. Ranging from the mid-sixteenth century to the beginning of the twenty-first, the book tells the ongoing story of how Jews have gained, kept, lost, and recovered rights in Europe, North Africa, the Middle East, the United States, and Israel. Emancipation, the book shows, was not a one-time or linear event that began with the Enlightenment or French Revolution and culminated with Jews' acquisition of rights in Central Europe in 1867–71 or Russia in 1917. Rather, emancipation was and is a complex, multidirectional, and ambiguous process characterized by deflections and reversals, defeats and successes, triumphs and tragedies. For example, American Jews mobilized twice for emancipation: in the nineteenth century for political rights, and in the twentieth for lost civil rights. Similarly, Israel itself has struggled from the start to institute equality among its heterogeneous citizens. By telling the story of this foundational but neglected event, the book reveals the lost contours of Jewish history over the past half millennium.

Cnemon meets Calasiris who appears for the first time in the novel. The episode is replete with literary references (Homer, Plato, Achilles Tatius). It also contains narratological paradoxes, establishing within Heliodorus’ own tale a scene of story-telling, in which Cnemon is eager to listen and Calasiris to speak. Heliodorus inventively reverses and enriches the expected developments of the dramatic situation and manages to establish the scene of the reading of his book inside the book itself. As Calasiris enters the story, many questions arise about him. They create a genuine suspense which is a powerful motive for reading on the novel.

This chapter examines some terminology and definitions of prophecy. It explores scholarly definitions from Classics, Ancient Philosophy, Jewish Studies, and early Christian studies before turning more specifically to Greek philosophical definitions, early Christian definitions, Origen’s own definitions, and scholars’ interpretations of Origen’s views on prophecy. It argues that while insights from various fields are relevant for understanding Origen, his definition of prophecy is highly unusual and focuses not just on future-telling, but revelation of mystic truths as well as understanding of time and the cosmos. The chapter concludes by demonstrating that previous scholarship on Origen’s view of prophecy has tended to limit itself to specific features rather than taking a wide-angled view of the topic as this book does.

Telling one’s identity is a strategy on which public and private companies have begun to invest for a long time. If storytelling has always been understood as a means of interpreting and transmitting the corporate values, we are now moving to storytelling intended as a tool for realizing the identity of the company itself, and this identity is read as a fluid narrative that develops through the stories of its employees and stakeholders. Besides, storytelling is the oldest form of communication between individuals, and it can date back to the origin of our social life: humanity has always made meaning through narration. This paper, starting from theoretical studies on storytelling and the narrative thinking, investigates some samples of organizational storytelling in order to understand what are the advantages of a narrative approach over the reality of those who do business.

Otherization has been executed in both Orientalism and Occidentalism for a long time. People have always been expected to choose either side in a binary opposition such as “mother or father,” “male or female,” “destiny or coincidence,” “pasta or pizza,” “Fenerbahce or Galatasaray,” etc. However, the human itself is the balance of those binary oppositions such as “good and bad,” “normal and abnormal,” “optimistic and pessimistic,” etc. In this respect, this chapter offered a new term, “medientalism,” indicating advertizing as a possible alternative medium to mediate between otherized opposites such as gender, race, ideology, lifestyle, religion within the fame of the opposition between Orientalism and Occidentalism. As a result, transmedia storytelling, a persuasive multiplatform strategy to reach the audience by telling stories, was suggested as a functional tool to employ in spreading the idea of mediation between otherized opposites.

An ethnography of Cacavei, a rural subsistence community in eastern Timor-Leste, provides a case study for theorizing customary connection to land. When the community was displaced during the period of Indonesian occupation, forms of customary connection to land—including ritual practice, gardening, burial, and story-telling—were a source of resilience in the face of enormous change and suffering. In Cacavei, and in other communities where customary forms of sociality endure, people and land are mutually constitutive. Customary sociality privileges embodied, face-to-face encounters, but in the emphasis placed on genealogical continuity across time it also accords importance to relationships with the dead, with spirits, and with the yet-unborn. Connection to land plays a key role in mediating the abstraction of physical death, with relations to ancestors and other disembodied kin embedded in the land itself, and thus given material form. The capacity to negotiate abstraction underpins the resilience and negotiability of customary systems.

This chapter continues the ethnographic account of the private university known as ‘MGU’ introduced in the previous chapter. It starts by explaining the most major reform project undertaken at MGU in the mid-2000s: the establishment of a graduate law school. It sets this story in the context of the history of law education in Japan and outlines the system of new graduate law schools introduced in 2004 before telling the story of the establishment and disestablishment of the MGU Law School itself. It gives an outline of the new graduate law schools and then tells the story of the establishment and disestablishment of the MGU Law School. It concludes that in the case of MGU, it was almost certainly better institutionally that the university had opened a law school rather than it had not, even though it closed after only a few years. The rest of the chapter looks at the other reforms which MGU introduced from the mid-2000s. These included reductions in admissions quota, full-time staff and fees, and the rationalization of facilities. Teaching and the student experience were taken much more seriously by the academic staff. Changes were also made in courses and course names. These and other reforms aside, there was also a significant generational shift within MGU’s owning family, as a new generation emerged and as the family itself sought to lead by example in the reform process. Overall, these responses helped MGU to survive the severe challenges it had faced in the mid-2000s and set if on an apparently stable course for the 2020s.

Abstract This chapter seeks to establish connections between the way that film directors and cinematographers stitch their stories together in narrative films, and the way that visual information is parceled out and managed by writers of ancient epic. The visual workings of three passages from Homer’s Iliad and Virgil’s Aeneid are reframed in terms of common practices of cinematic “suture,” that is, seen as versions of what film directors do in stitching one shot to the next in order to establish not only “who sees,” but to produce illusions of spatial wholeness and continuity in the story itself. The main argument throughout is that the poets’ visual evocations do far more than enliven the story-telling by lighting things up and adding splashes of color and sound. Rather, they do serious narrative work of their own by structuring lines of sight, both visual and emotional, and shifting them about. Through these important (but commonly overlooked) means, epic writers tell us not just who is watching, but who is most engaged with what is there to be seen at any given time. In so doing, they tell us things about characters, their interests, emotional states, and motivations, etc., that we would otherwise not know.

Abstract Hindustan Times—the very name itself exudes a subtle hue of intoxicating patriotism, and so has been its journey (quite peculiar, to say the least) on the path of truth telling, all through the 20th-century British Raj up until the political scenario of today. As the author analyses the genesis of this behemoth which began as a Delhi-centric paper by the Akalis in 1924, and recognized the presence of Sikh patriotism, following its trail which leads into 2019, she realizes that the organization has undergone a sea of changes, which are nothing short of revolutionary. The idea behind the start of the paper was to rouse the nationalistic sentiments among the masses through its writing. The Akalis also wanted to propagate the ideals of Sikhism through the paper to draw strength and inspiration from the ideals of Sikhism, so that they stayed motivated to fight for the cause of freedom. To reflect upon this and its subsequent effects, she looks into how the media house worked as a vehicle for change that sought to loosen the iron grip of the colonizers, and how it successfully soldiered on with its rousing words until India gained independence. No one could have predicted at the time that Hindustan Times was to become one of India’s most popular English dailies. The Hindustan Times changed ownership multiple times to finally stabilize under the patronage of the Birlas, who have since been the owners of the HT Group of companies. Post-independence, the chapter chronologically follows the changing patterns the organization undertook, as audience interests became important in a market that was fast moving from a social to a monetary field. Also mentioned at length are the motivations and inspiring stories of the people at HT, who derived from the past, and managed the group’s businesses in information, education, and entertainment in print (both newspapers and magazines), radio, and digital mediums, leading them to exponential growth and multifaceted diversification. The group has grown to establish a longstanding empire that has seen innumerable changes in various segments, and the author decodes this entire process by evaluating these changes in view of including design, layout, content, ownership, distribution, circulation, technology, geo-political launches, pricing strategies, visionary leadership, and changes in ownership. Additionally, the chapter talks about the impact of digitization on Hindustan Times and how they have adapted to it by modifying their growth and business models, making references to their annual reports and financial reviews. The author, in this book, seeks to analyse this roller coaster of a journey that has been undertaken by the HT Group after talking to Shobhana Bhartia, listing down her observations regarding the same. In presenting a holistic development map of Hindustan Times to her readers, the author gives them a glimpse of how India itself has progressed over the years.

A mirror is a strange device. Stand in front of one and what comes back is not the you that you know. Rather, it is you, turned about and shown to you in a crazy literal way. You see the exact reverse of what others see when they look at you. If a photographer hands you a picture (taken in just the right way) of me standing before a mirror, you might have a hard time telling which is the reflection and which is the reality. Mirrors put us off balance by being both literal and subtle at the same time. When I call our technologies mirrors of ourselves I do not do so lightly. An alien looking at Earth for the first time would certainly seek to know us by gazing upon our reflection in our machines. Indeed, that is what anthropologists do when they examine the alien skeletons of our ancient forebears. Before anthropologists identify a particular primate skull as human, they search the area where they found it for evidence of toolmaking. The very word technology helps us understand this process. The Greek word Tεχνη (or techne) describes art and skill in making things. Tεχνη is the work of a sculptor, a stonemason, a composer, or an engineer. The suffix -ology means the study or the lore of something. Technology is the knowledge of making things. Some people have argued that we should not call our species Homo sapiens, “the wise ones,” but rather Homo technologies, “they who use Tεχνη,” for that is who we are. There is more to Tεχνη+ology than that. We freed our hands by walking on our hind legs before we took up toolmaking, and we made our earliest stone tools some 2.4 million years ago, while our skulls still accommodated a relatively small brain. Our capacity for thought began to grow as we created increasingly sophisticated implements. Technology has driven our brains. Our expanded physical capabilities made technology—extended toolmaking—inevitable. Technology has, in turn, expanded our minds and fed itself. At first, the notion that technology drives our minds may be surprising.

Circulation of the blood is so familiar that one can hardly imagine a time when it was not fully understood. Indeed, the ancients knew about the pulse and the flow of blood. They recognized, too, the vital importance of the heartbeat and nourishment. Yet the concept of a complete blood circuit emerged only in the early 1600s, largely owing to investigations by William Harvey (Figure 23.1). Harvey has since earned renown as one of biology’s great heroes. But what guided Harvey to his landmark discovery? According to many popular accounts, Harvey’s genius was reflected in his remarkable ability to deduce circulation without being able to observe the capillaries that ultimately close the circuit between arteries and veins. Moreover, Harvey’s reasoning was so powerful, they contend, that he was able to confidently predict the presence of the tiny blood vessels without ever seeing them. Only later did others confirm his insightful prediction. That triumph, tragically too late for Harvey himself to appreciate, seems to vividly demonstrate the importance of deduction and prediction in Harvey’s work—and in science generally. However, these stories do not measure up to historical evidence very well. Nonetheless, the widespread error is itself telling. Probing the erroneous stories more deeply, one can gain an even deeper appreciation of scientific myth-conceptions and how they foster misconceptions about the nature of science (essay 21). Most important to understanding Harvey’s discovery, perhaps, is his adoption of the renewed spirit of experimentation in the early 1600s: an eagerness to tinker with and actively probe nature (essay 1). Rather than read books, he dissected animals. He cut open fish, frogs, and other creatures to observe their beating hearts. His unexpected observations led him to new conclusions, which he published in 1628 in De Motu Cordis et Sanguinis, or On the Motion of the Heart and the Blood.

This text comprises an excerpt of the Doctoral research completed in 2021, developed in the Line of Poetics and Processes of Performance in Arts (PPGARTES-UFPA), which will present a conceptual reflection about the creative process that unfolded poetically from the appropriation of an old family photo album. The album in question began to be observed as a place of overlapping time and space, triggering an internal movement of belonging by presenting itself as a place of poetic power due to the physical evidence that emerged from it. Through Augmented Reality, the empty spaces left by the time were occupied, following the tracks and telling another narrative through visual, textual, and sound layers, thus reconfiguring the album, which expanded and became a living space of memory activated by the cybrid experience. The way of facing the presence of absence and at the same time the absence of presence provoked me an inner movement of wanting more and more to belong to that space. There were countless times I approached this album and I was always worried about its gaps and emptiness in its narrative. And, by a sudden feeling of belonging to that space, I began to fill its “silence” and become part of that place. I have been calling this act the movement of self-fiction poetic. This concept is widely discussed in the book Essays on self-fiction, organized by Jovita Maria Gerheim and crossed my research, which I appropriated and used as an operative concept, thus comprising a movement that took place through the appropriation of an object, intervening in a poetic way, from which I became a character manifesting myself subjectively in the fictional narrative. Therefore, I articulated myself between the photographic language and other operational resources that mobile devices made possible, to recreate the space in mixtures with the past and the contemporary in a movement of mixing memories. The album presented itself as a space deconstructed by the action of time and subjects and through the poetic movement, I triggered a series of events, overlapping different times and spaces by inserting photographic files, video, text, and sound that activated this place as a living organism, revealing a new experience with memory. The reconfiguration process of this space was triggered exclusively by digital means. The idea of the movement of self-fiction poetic arose precisely because I brought photographic productions of my own in a mix with the photographs already present in the album. This intersection of authorship that unfolded in the presentation of another narrative, which includes me sometimes as a present character, sometimes as a hidden agent, allowed me to travel through the chain of memory and feel myself belonging to that space-time. By wanting to penetrate a past that was not mine, triggering subjective layers of information produced in the interstice of reality and fiction that photography allowed me, I was able to perceive the album beyond a memory space, but as a place of experience that opened and was available for interventions.