Poetic landscapes of the dead : shades of absence and acts of everyday killing : analysis approaching things unseen, hidden, invisible

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Poetic landscapes of the dead : shades of absence and acts of everyday killing : analysis approaching things unseen, hidden, invisible
Patin, Nicholas
Place of Publication:
Denver, CO
University of Colorado Denver
Publication Date:

Thesis/Dissertation Information

Master's ( Master of landscape architecture)
Degree Grantor:
University of Colorado Denver
Degree Divisions:
College of Architecture and Planning, CU Denver
Degree Disciplines:
Landscape architecture
Committee Chair:
Mazzeo, Tony
Committee Members:
Langhorst, Joern
Beck, Jody


Landscape architecture is unavoidably engaged in events of spatial politics. As a design field that entwines the relational economy and ecology of places and spaces, the spatial politics of landscape architecture lies in tracing lines that delimit and define what is and what is not, what is visible and what is not. What J. B. Jackson analyzes as a definitional framework of landscape, “a ‘portion of land which the eye can comprehend at a glance’”1, hinges on comprehension: that which is included in a momentary instant and at an incomplete glance; it is an act in the comprehension of events that submit calls and responses in inter-action2. Both visible and not visible objects, subjects, and forces inform landscape events. This paper seeks to draw attention to that which is unseen, hidden, and invisible, and yet which perpetually inform landscape design and experience. It is precisely these unseen, hidden, and invisible qualities, sited in the shadows of visible performances of practice, that allow counter-situations of resistance, counter-events for distributive justice, and counter-designs of spatial politics. A landscape architecture that fails to recognize its role in rendering the visible and not visible actively denies its political participation in landscape comprehension and acts of everyday killing, and is therefore complicit in acts of dominance and control.

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University of Colorado Denver
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Auraria Library
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POETIC LANDSCAPES OF THE DEAD: —SHADES OF ABSENCE AND ACTS OF EVERYDAY K ILLING — ANALYSIS APPROACHING THINGS UNSEEN, HIDDE N, INVISIBLE by NICHOLAS PATIN B.A., University of California, San Diego, 2006 A thesis submitted to the Faculty of the Graduate School of the University of Colorado in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Landscape Architecture Landscape Architecture Program 2018


ii This thesis for the Master of Landscape Architecture degree by Nicholas Patin has been approved for the Landscape Architecture Program by Tony Mazzeo, Chair, Co -Advisor Joern Langhorst, Co -Advisor Jody Beck, Co Advisor Date: July 28, 2018


iii Patin, Nicholas (MLA, Landscape Architecture Program) Poetic Landscapes of t he Dead: —Shades of Absence and Acts of Everyday Killing — Analysis Approaching Things Unseen, Hidden, Invisible Thesis directed by Senior Instructor Tony Mazzeo, Associate Professor Joern Langhorst, Associate Professor Jody Beck ABSTRACT L andscape ar chitecture is unavoidably engaged in events of spatial politics . As a design field that entwines the relational economy and ecology of places and spaces, t he s patial politics of landscape architecture lies in tracing lines that delimit and define what is and what is not, what is visible and what is not. What J. B. Jackson analyzes as a definitional framework of landscape, “a ‘portion of land which the eye can comprehend at a glance’”1, hinges on comprehension : that which is included in a momentary instant and at an incomplete glance; it is an act in the comprehension of event s that submit calls and response s in inter action2. Both v isible an d not visible objects, subjects, an d forces inform landscape event s . T his paper seeks to draw attention to that which is unseen, hidden, and invisible, and yet which perpetually inform landscape design and experience. I t is precisely these unseen, hidden, and invisible qualities, sited in the shadows of visible performances of practice, that allow counter situations of resistance, counter-events for distributive justice, and counter-designs of spatial politics. A landscape architecture that fails to recognize its role in rendering the visible and not visible actively denies its political participation in landscape comprehension and acts of everyday killing, and is therefore complicit in acts of dominance and control. The form and content of this abstract are approved. I recommend its publication. Approved: Tony Mazzeo, Joern Langhorst, Jody Beck 1 Jackson, John Brinckerhoff. “The Word Itself”. Discovering the Vernacular Landscape . New Haven: Yale University Press, 1984. 3. 2 According to Derrida (as quoted in Bennett, Jane. Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things . Duke University Press, 2009.), “Derrida points to the intimacy between being and following: to be (anything, anyone) is always to be following (something, someone), always to be in response to call from something, however nonhuman it may be.” (xiii)


iv CONTENT S CHAPTER I. PREFACE 1 II. INTRODUCTION 3 III. STAGE – CONTENT, CONTEXT, ARGUMENT 7 Content 9 Context 27 Argument 34 IV. ACT I – FRAME, RELEVANCE, RELATION 39 Frame 40 Relevance 40 Relation 73 V. ACT II – LOGIC, METHOD/METHODOLOGY, MAP 88 Logic 95 Method/Methodology 114 Map 138 VI. ACT III – CHARACTERS, DEFINITIONS, (W/T)HERE 186 Characters 188 Definitions 242 (W/T)Here 287 VII. ACT IV – WHERE, THERE, HERE 323 Where 325 There 340 Here 340 VIII. ACT V – FINDINGS, DISCUSSIONS, ASSERTIONS 361 Findings 363


v Discussions 366 Assertions 380 IX. CONCLUSION 389 BIBLIOGRAPHY 393 APPENDIX 410


1 CHAPTER I PREFACE I became involved in the performing arts between my high school junior and senior years. Although, as with most people involved in such , my initial involvement was onstage; my int erest quickly gravitated off stage. Over the 15 years that would follow, my involvement became entirely dedicated to theatrical and event production, in a support ive, design, and technical production and development for varying event performances in multiple capacities. It was not u ntil late in my twenties that I academically and professionally aligned my interests and direction of life pursuant towards landscape architecture. I grew up in a small country town in the Santa Ynez Valley north of Santa Barbara, CA, moving there when I w as five from Goleta, CA. T he county and many residents are statistically affluent and not racially diverse, and my family grew up as part of a white , modest , low to mid level middle class. Although true, I am aware of the globally proportionate privilege d life I lived. I grew up the youngest of three children and was raised in a structured RepublicanCatholic household. My mother died from a rapidly progressing cancer when I was fourteen . The psychological effects of this event are not far from my cons ciousness. The year prior to me moving away for the last three years of my undergraduate degree in history and theatre, I spent working at cemetery , not coincidentally, where too she was buried . Post college I worked in events and theatrical production until I returned to graduate school to study landscape architecture. I carried these experiences into my graduate studies and into this thesis. My experiences track into the critiques and anal yses in this forthcoming work. My exposure to landscape architecture as a subject of research and practice is almost exclusively generative from the graduate program at the University of Colorado, Denver. I took the opportunity to challenge myself while still pursuing (at times obstinately so) my research interests that my previous life experiences had raised. The scholarship and work seemed to match well, and I feel that I have gained an immense amount from my studies. My faculty have challenged and su pport ed me al l the same. Their guidance in this and my other studies is invaluable. Each of them ha s shared something integral and informative to the work, and I appreciat e their immense support in ways that I am unable express.


2 This is a version of who I am, and from what reflexive position I c onduct my research and work. The work is proudly imperfect, and has room for growth. I hope to eventually pursue it further, and truly find it a valuable subject of research not limited to the study of landscape and the practice of its architecture. It is with hope for critique and discussion that I embrace what follow s . It is with warmest gratitude that I thank my faculty and fellow classmates ’ support throughout this process. As I have already said, my facult y at large has been immensely valuable, and my thesis chairs and advisors are brilliant – it has been an honor and privilege to work with their challenges, thoughts, derailments, and supports. My family and friends scathingly hold me accountable and hones t to the work. M y partner is one of the most patient people I know – she is, overall , supportive , grounding, doubting, curious, and clarifying. Bless her for putting up with my bullshit. Note: The term ‘his’, ‘he’, etc. is used pervasively in numerous au thor’s texts this thesis sources. This form of generalization indicates a dated and gendered construction, to which I do not ascribe. Although I feel that this does not negate the worth of these author’s texts, it does open an avenue of critical discourse that this thesis does not consider. It also requires that these terms signify a specific socio cultural inequity, which has yet to be ameliorated and shall not be dismissed to the annals of ‘history’ alone. They should thereby be read, where applicable , using nongendered ‘human’ descriptors. T hroughout the work, I attempt to maintain honest to the cited authors ’ emphases. Unless otherwise noted, all italics are those of the cited authors. This is entirely true for the sources from the Oxford English Dictionary. All of which were sourced online with access from Auraria Library, and each has been further edited, while , in most cases, maintaining the overall integrity of the definition and the formatting of the onlin e web access.


3 CHAPTER II INTRODUCTION It may be said of this space that it presupposes and implies a logic of visualization. Whenever a ‘ logic ’ governs an operational sequence, a strategy, whether conscious or unconscious, is necessarily involved. So, if the re is a ‘logic of visualization’ here, we need to understand how it is formed and how applied. ... This very particular type of spatial ization ... embodies a twofold ‘l ogic ’ , which is to say a twofold strategy, in respect of the spectator. On the one h and, it embodies a metonymic logic consisting in a continual toand fro movement enforced with carrot and stick between the part and the whole. ... The second ‘logic’ embodied in this spatialization is a logic (and strategy) of metaphor or, rather, of constant metaphorization. Living bodies, the bodies of ‘ users ’ – are caught up not only in the toils or parcellized space, but also in the web of what philosophers call ‘analogons’ : images, signs and symbols. These bodies are transported out of themselve s, transferred and emptied out, as it were, via the eyes ... Any determinate and hence demarcated space necessarily embraces some things and excludes others; what it rejects may be relegated to nostalgia or it may be simply forbidden. Such a space asserts, negates and denies. It has some characteristics of a ‘ subject ’, and some of an ‘ object ’ . Consider the great power of the faade, for example. A faade admits certain acts to the realm of what is visible, whether they occur on the faade itself...or are to be seen from the faade.... Many other acts, by contrast, it condemns to obscenity: these occur behind the faade. – Henri Lefebvre1 I am an invisible man. No, I am not a spook like those who haunted Edgar Allan Poe; nor am I one of your Hollywoodmovie ectoplasms. I am a man of substance, of flesh and bone, fiber and liquids —and I might even be said to possess a mind. I am invisible, u nderstand, simply because people refuse to see me. Like the bodiless heads you see sometimes in circus sideshows, it is as though I have been surrounded by mirrors of hard, distorting glass. When they approach me they see only my surroundings, themselves, or figments of their imagination — indeed, everything and anything except me. Nor is my invisibility exactly a matter of a biochemical accident to my epidermis. That invisibility to which I refer occurs because of a peculiar disposition of the eyes of thos e with whom I come in contact. A matter of the construction of their inner eyes, those eyes with which they look through their physical eyes upon reality. I am not complaining, nor am I protesting either. It is sometimes advantageous to be unseen, although it is most often rather wearing on the nerves. Then too, you’re constantly being bumped against by those of poor vision. Or again, you often doubt if you really exist. You wonder whether you aren’t simply a phantom in other people’s minds. Say, a figure i n a nightmare which the sleeper tries with all his strength to destroy. It’s when you feel like this that, out of resentment, you begin to bump people back. And, let me confess, you feel that way most of the time. You ache with the need to convince yoursel f that you do exist in the real world, that you’re a part of all the sound and anguish, and you strike out with your fists, you curse and you swear to make them recognize you. And, alas, it’s seldom successful. –Ralph Ellison .2 1 Lefebvre, Henri. The Production of Space . Oxford, OX, UK ; Cambridge, Mass., USA: Blackwell, 1991. 98 99. 2 Ellison, Ralph. Invisible Man . Second Vintage International ed., March 1995. New York: Vintage Books div. of Random House, Inc., 1952. 3


4 In a seminal text , publis hed in 1977, analyz ing prisons and the socio historic transitions of social surveillance, control, and discipline , while aiming to develop a working theory of formations and mechanisms of knowledge/ power, Michel Foucault famously wrote , “ v isibility is a trap.”3 F or Foucault , c oncerning human relations to ‘things’ vis a vis vision, sight, light, and appearance corresponds with a form of event / action implied in a ‘trap’; implies relation s of power, contro l, and dominance tied to human relations with what i s visible or made visible; frames ambivalent human relations to ambiguous things. In 1974, Henri Lefebvre argued ( while discussing the overwhelming presence of repetitious space) in his integral text that deconstructs fetishized ideas of space and the relations of spatial production and practice , of the pertinence and the format ive , dependent role , of the visual to human life . He wrote in The Production of Space , “ t he predominance of visualization (more important than ‘spectacularization’, which is in any case subsumed by it) serves to conceal repetitiveness. People look , and take sight, take seeing, for life itself. ”4 F or Lefebvre , t he predominance of sight in relation to life and the conditions of visibility i s integral, although automatic and presum ed , to the formation of space, its contents and instantaneous conceptions and perceptions . The dupli citous condition of the visual has been a curious reality of western culture since early formations . For instance, Plato doubted what was apparent and seen in “The Allegory of the Cave”, questioning: When one was freed from his fetters and compelled to stand up suddenly and turn his head around and walk and to lift up his eyes to the light, and in doing all this felt pain and, because of the dazzle and glitt er of the light, was unable to discern the objects whose shadows he formerly saw, what do you suppose would be his answer if someone told him that what he had seen before was all a cheat and an illusion, but that now, being nearer to reality and turned tow ard more real things, he saw more truly? And if also one should point out to him each of the passing objects and constrain him by questions to say what it is, do you not think that he would be at a loss and that he would regard what he formerly saw as more real than the things now pointed out to him?5 3 Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish : The Birth of the Prison . Alan Sheridan trans. New York: Vintage Books, 1995. 200. 4 Lefebvre: 1991, 75. 5 Plato. “Republic: VII: The Allegory of the Cave.” P. Shorey, trans. Edith Hamilton, and Huntington Cairns eds.. The Collected Dialogues of Plato, Including the Letters. vol. 71., Pantheon Books, New York, 1961. 748.


5 F or Plato , t he philosophical play of reality/illusion , knowledge, meaning, and object/subject relations was tied to visibility – conception a nd perception. Taking a theatrical turn , Sophocles , in Oedipus Rex , expresses a general human concern with the visible and what is not , exploring truth, reality, and illusion through the hero’s visionbased follies. He writes the part of the blind seer Tiresias to foreshadow Oedipus’s fate due to his in ability to see : So, you mock my blindness? Let me tell you this. You with your precious eyes, you’re blind to the corruption of your life, to the house you live in, those you live with — who are your parents? Do you know? All unknowing you are the scourge of your own fl esh and blood, the dead below the earth and the living here above, and the double lash of your mother and your father’s curse will whip you from this land one day, their footfall treading you down in terror, darkness shrouding your eyes that now can see th e light!6 Vision and visibility for Sophocles was tied to human knowledge and action and with a play of perception and conception , while the inability to see to o went beyond blindness, tied to a relationship in the process of seeing. For Sophocles, the ability to see went beyond the function of eyes – truly seeing was a burden . The blind seer, on his entering line, proclaims “ how terrible — to see the truth when the truth is only pain to him who sees! I knew it well, but I put it from my mind, else I never would have come.”7 The discouraging result of the pleasurable pain associated with seeing, puts the act of seeing truth in an at once fleeting moment. Foucault and Lefebvr e, Sophocles and Plato – all suggest ambivalent roles of the visible with what is not, in production s of personal, political, social, and western cultural knowledge, meaning, space/place, and life realities. Moreover, they each suggest ambivalent construc tions of duplicitous realities contingent upon interaction with what is visible and what is not . Contentious v isibility and the visual has roots to (at least) the ancient Greeks; these roots feed trees that are obdurately present . If we take these authors arguments in agreement , each as proficient and credible scholars of different fields , then, f rom ancient sources in Western culture to current trends in critical theory, evidence finds the role of the visible as an integral component of human life and rea lity. What is also implied is 6 Sophocles et al. The Three Theban Pl ays . Translated by Robert Fagles, Introductions and notes by Bernard Knox. New York: Penguin Books, Penguin Classics, 1984. 183: 468479. 7 Ibid, 176: 359 362.


6 that, what is visible has a knotted relationship with the not visible . The relationship between the visible and the not visible is understood as a (if not , the , taking Sophocles’s depth of visibility to expand beyond functioning eyes) formidable relationship of human and life and reality. Yet , more often than not, precedence is given to the actual, mutable, and tactile visible things while trending to treat the not visible superficially . Why is this ? What is it that may be found in the not visible , and how does it inform the vis ible? What possible implications does this hold for human and nonhuman life and reality? What follows aims at constructing an operational theory of the not visible , its p resence and informative s ource of life and reality through its unseen, hidden, and invisible qualifications . It argues for greater theoretical consideration for things unseen, hidden, and invisible in their active, agentic, and emergent role in to the vis ible , while asserting that the not visible too has depth and qualities that are foremost the source and power of the mechanisms of daily visible life. More credibility and awareness of the events and actions of the unseen, hidden, and invisible , of the not visible , are central to the argument . The following holds landscape a s a comprehensive medium thing that works most exclusively with the visible and the not visible . As a result, landscape must be re framed, and the positions of landscape’s architects must be reevaluated. Th e substantive things and conventional hierarchies of every day reality stand to be reconsidered. A shattering of the visible veneer, varnish, and faade to its deconstructed interrelated elements has subversive and constructive capacities. The visible wo rld presses to be re presented. Thereby, what follows is a proposal of a theory to bring to light the power of what is not visible , to bring the subversive tools to practitioners of landscape, and to facilitate social justice , political theory, alternative realities, and re presented practic e. It is into and through what is not visible that individual, social, and cultural values are re formed, that dominating and controlling practices are dismantled, and that life/reality loosen s the bounds of its inert and captive ordering s and categorization s to emerge as changing, dynamic, and ‘infinite’ .8 8 See concept further expressed in the conclusion responding to a plate from William Blake’s The Marriage of Heaven and Hell.


7 CHAPTER III STAGE – CONTENT, CONTEXT, ARGUMENT The following composition uses a method eviden c ing stages of research and discovery. It aims to survey a broad collection of discursive formations, to delimit a theoretical, conceptual, and operational assemblage, and to express an epistemological and on tological framework. It catalogues changes, developments, and revelations unearthed in research. Much of its breadth, extents, overlaps, and contradictions owe itself to this method. The same is tru e for the time duration required to compose it. Regar dless of process, t he work need not be read linearly, although it may be useful. However , I will not pretend that latter moments do not respond to those previous. It is just that latter moments are intended to work independently from its formers , albeit differently than if read consecutively . In this sense, it revokes solely a teleological act , a lthough, teleological findings may be useful. As a ‘thing’ , the argument itself is not teleological (something taken up shortly). Its process takes on a form of stream of consciousness. I do not operate from a rigid outline, but rather a loose framework, one that, especially in the latter acts , requires change, reflection, and discovery to construct. I employ this method as how I generally write. It i s not accidental. I began the work as a landscape architecture graduate student, and I can only say that I am such a student with a historyhumanities and theatre arts background – that is all. I am no thing other, nor do I pretend to be so. Further, the comprehensions, postulations, and organization s of the world present ed are t hose I have developed in research from my privileged and educated position. I do not intend to claim a single worldview , but aim for dialogue to dissemble such (including my own) . I do argue socio politico economic relational benefits in/ from the arguments that I construct. My language is intentional and my audience is intentional, although a restructuring of which for alternate audiences is not out of the question. The followin g represents a culmination of an ambitious project, but it aims to get at something simple. At its heart, it takes as its premise, that the stuff of the world does not constitute entirely all of such stuff. It aims, at its most general state, to get at h ow things, how materials and elements of ‘reality’ come together. It aims to get at that which is not readily visible; it aims to get at the premise : that what


8 one sees i s not the world in its entirety – if nothing else, based on the general human’s inabi lity to see beyond the visible spectrum of light. However, this thesis is not really about that. To begin, the general stage and setting for the forthcoming arguments must be set, some modes of thinking and general relational dynamics must be clarified, and some general assumptions and arguments must be stated. To get to this, I rely , initially , on analogy. The H eap On the floor of Pat and Morgan’s sunny southern California apartment, there lays a pile of clothes. In a mismatched and ambiguous structur e of disparate elements, each unique in form and content, the couple amasses a pile. The pile gathers and collects. By some magnetism, attraction, or use, it, as a pile, implies a point upon which one or more things gather, regardless of the actions of P at and Morgan. On the contrary, but often as consequence of the former, the pile grows by the accumulation of proximate items in relation to the pile – the pile taking shape beyond that of an assumed shape. The pile does not have established limits, and so it grows – vertically and horizontally. Over time, it takes greater definition. It becomes a heap. And as the heap grows, it consists of other things: pet toys, belts, discarded pieces of mail, pencils, books, electrical cables, controllers, coins, and empty DVD cases, all of which becomes the heap. The pile is a heap. Although the heap does not (yet) have limits clearly or sturdily set limits, Pat and Morgan’s room ends, theoretically, at the walls. Regardless, the heap’s edge is set at each momen tous occasion, as it responds to what it accumulates. The edge of the heap in Pat and Morgan’s apartment changes, from moment to moment, from addition to addition, and from relation to relation. At times, it loosens, and at times, it solidifies. At time s, it is in fact the entire room, the apartment building, the sounds of cars passing, the smells of roasting carne asada from down the street, and setting summer sun refracting through falling rain. Moreover, the heap builds and forms, breathing, loaded w ith memory – here the workplace, here the bed, here the field, and here the kitchen. As a result, the heap is associated with multiple contexts and folded experiences. The heap breathes. It is alive; it is an assembled body, a mass of ‘strings’ spacing out the room with fluid times, spaces, and experiences. As a result, the disparate heap


9 is not entirely secure. Pat, Morgan, and the heap (as the heap) dance together – they agglomerate things, they glance at each other, they remove things, they smirk, t hey chagrin, they add... A heap is in Pat and Morgan’s apartment, and they are a part of it. The heap breathes; it is alive. The diagram of the heap: multitudinous contextual threads assembled into form s , heterogeneous in content, established in instant s – momentous edges repeatedly and differentially redefined. With structural layers and interactive components, at times metonymic, the heapdiagram attempts to get at how ‘ things ’ (in its most general form) relate and how ‘ things ’ (in its most general form) are defined. Content In “The Thing”, a chapter in Poetry, Language, Thought, Martin Heidegger writes on the definition, constitution, and relations of a ‘thing’, using ‘the jug’ as an analogue for his analysis. The seeming ly simple presents more complex . Rightly so, for this begins a series of questions and propositions to get to the ‘thing’ subject of this thesis. He writes: But what is a thing? ... The jug is a thing. What is the jug? We say: a vessel, something of the kin d that holds something else within it. The jug’s holding is done by its base and sides. ... What in the thing is thingly? What is the thing in itself? We shall not reach the thing in itself until our thinking has first reached the thing as a thing. The jug is a thing as a vessel —it can hold something.1 The following few pages identifies Heidegger and ‘the jug’ as a critical text that can help clarify the subject of this thesis. The following then comprises a working knowledge leaning on what it is understood Heidegger to mean. This understanding is painfully aware of its subsequent misgivings, misconceptions, and limitations. As a result, this proceeds only on treacherous grounds. If one questions, while pointing to a jug, ‘is that a jug?’, not many would disagree with answers affirming it is. (That is unless one is taking the Prince’s (from de Saint Exupry’s, The Little Prince2) ‘pedagogical’ reasoning for alternative answers to given assumptions to inane extremes.) If one questions on the other hand, while pointing to a jug, ‘ how is that a jug?’ responses become more complex. 1 Heidegger, Martin. “The Thing.” Poetry, Language, Thought. Albert Hofstadter, Trans. New York: Harper & Row, 1971. 165182. 166 -168. 2 Saint -Exupry, Antoine de. The Little Prince . Richard Howard, trans. San Diego, Harcourt, Inc., 1943. It is the intention in this work, though, to invoke the humble and open-minded thinking embraced by the Prince to illustrate that what we interact with is not necessarily what that constitutes.


10 (Contrary to Heidegger though, this must go beyond a strictly utilitarian or teleological response, so mething to return to shortly.) Responses, getting here towards Heidegger’s ‘thinglyness’ or the ‘thing in itself’, may take on a varied range; people may begin to answer from material production, historical construction, design and construction processes, anthropological / sociological developments, gender relations, kinesthetic changes, human evolution, archaeology, linguistics, psychoanalysis, or quantum mechanics, all to analyze and answer how . Although, these all have a role to play in how a jug is, t his thesis must meet some restrictions, set some limiting factors, and apply some distinctions/definitions. There is no desire to delve into all the mechanisms of the world and life. That would be a severe waste. Foremos t, it should be stated that the assumption here is the eye and vision are still predominant and privileged sources of western cultural knowledge and ‘truth’. As Rosalind Krauss writes, “...modernist visuality wants nothing more than to be the display of reason, of the rationalized....”3 Further, it is assumed that western culture currently, as many authors have argued, can be labeled as ‘ocularcentric’.4 Although there is a knowing lack in this thesis of the socio political historical discussions of the operations of the visual, the ey e , and ocularcentrism in different social and cultural 3 Kr auss, Rosalind E. The Optical Unconscious . Cambridge, Mass: MIT Press, 1993. 22. Rosalind Krauss argues to undermine the modernist source of visual authority, using Jacques Lacan (who will be returned to later) to, although not clear in the following, eve ntually align the visual ‘reason’ with an original miscomprehension in the child’s ego formation in ‘the mirror stage’ (see 22 -24). She writes “Lacan, it struck me, provided a key to this refusal, a way of giving it a name. Then it’s language, one might s ay, it’s text that’s the refusal of vision. It’s the symbolic, the social, the law. But that makes no sense, one would have to add, because modernist visuality wants nothing more than to be the display of reason, of the rationalized, the coded, the abstracted, the law. The opposition that pits language against vision poses no challenge to the modernist logic. For modernism, staking everything on form, is obedient to the terms of the symbolic. No problem, it would say.” 22 4 Gillian Rose outlines this argume nt in her text analyzing visual resources, methods, methodology, and social roles : “Visuality, on the other hand, refers to the way in which vision is constructed in various ways: ‘how we see, how we are able, allowed, or made to see, and how we see this s eeing and the unseeing therein’ (Foster 1988: ix). Another phrase with very similar connotations to is scopic regime. Both terms refer to the ways in which both what is seen and how it is seen are culturally constructed. For some writers, the visual is the most fundamental of all senses. Gordon Fyfe and John Law (1988: 2), for example, claim that ‘depiction, picturing and seeing are ubiquitous features of the process by which most human beings come t o know the world as it really is for them’, and John Berge r (1972: 7) suggests that this is because ‘seeing comes before words. The child looks and recognizes before it can speak.’ (Clearly these writers pay little attention to those who are born blind.) Ot her writers, however, prefer to historicize the importanc e of the visual, tracing what they see as the increasing saturation of Western societies by visual images. Many claim that this process has reached unprecedented levels, so that Westerners now interact wi th the world mainly through how we see it. Martin Ja y (1993) has used the term ocularcentrism to describe the apparent centrality of the visual to contemporary Western life. This narrative of the increasing importance of the visual to contemporary Western societies is part of a wider analysis of the shift f rom premodemity to modernity, and from modernity to postmodemity (for example, see Mirzoeff 1999: 1 -33). ... Thus it has been argued that modernity is ocularcentric. It is argued too that the visual is equally central to postmodernity; Nicholas Mirzoeff (1 998: 4), for example, has proclaimed that ‘the postmodern is a visual culture’. However, in postmodernity, it is suggested, the modern relation between seeing and true knowing has been broken. Th us Mirzoeff (1998) suggests that postmodernity is ocularcentr ic not simply because visual images are more and more common, nor because knowledges about the world are increasingly articulated visually, but because we interact more and more with totally constructed visual experiences.” Rose, Gillian. Visual Methodologies: An Introduction to the Interpretation of Visual Materials . -4.


11 formations,5 the intent here is to discuss what is lacking in the visual and eye, by arguing the informative role of the unseen, hidden, and invisible. The intent (among other things) i s to discuss wh at is lacking in the epistemology, ontology, and social interaction that assumes what is visible is the whole ‘real’ material of the world. Perhaps, one now claims that this thesis is all about the role of a ‘lens’, something that frames and effects someway of ‘gazing’ , when considering the visuality of something viewed – in this case, the jug.6 5 For texts on this see, for instance, Rose: 2007; Krauss: 1993; and largely Jay, Martin. Downcast Eyes: The Denigration of Vision in Twentieth -Century French Thought. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993. To direct one to a few of Jay’s points (some of which reiterate Rose and Krauss), he writes, “Because of the remarkable range of variability of visual practi ces, many commentators have been tempted, in ways that we will examine shortly, to claim certain cultures or ages have been ‘ocularcentric,’ or ‘dominated’ by vision. For them, what may seem a function of our physiology or evolution is best understood in histor ical terms, with the obvious conclusion often drawn that we can reverse the effects of that domination. Anthropological evidence of radical variations in the intersensory mix of different cultures has been adduced to encourage such an outcome. B ut as in so many other similar debates, the threshold between what is ‘natural’ and what is ‘cultural’ is by no means easy to fix with any certainty. For example, the psychologists Michael Argyle and Mark Cook have recently concluded that ‘the use of the gaze in huma n social behavior does not vary much between cultures: it is a cultural universal.’ But the implications of the work of another psychologist, James Gibson, suggests otherwise. Gibson contrasts two basic visual practices, which produce what he ca lls ‘the vi sual world’ and the ‘visual field.’” Idem, 3-4. Jay argues that the dominance of the visual and its dependence on the formation of knowledge that was framed in Enlightenment thought, resurfaced in the Modernist era of the early 1900’s. “...Descartes was still enough of an ontological realist with a strong correspondence theory of truth to believe that the mind’s natural geometry —its intellectual sign system, if you will— was congruent with that in the natural world. Like the Albertian perspectivalists he s o resembled, he had no qualms about naturalizing a particular visual practice and lifting it outside history. From the ‘vantage point of hindsight,’ it is easy to discern contradictions, insufficiencies, and ‘blind spots’ in Descartes’ s account of vision. ... And yet, the Cartesian contribution to the dominant ocularcentric bias of the modern era, especially in his native France, was assuredly profound. A major source of that influence, it seems probable to assume, was the very ambiguity of his argument. If , as is often claimed, Descartes could become the warrant for rationalist and sensationalist philosophies, claimed by idealists and materialists alike, he was no less able to give encouragement to both speculative and empirical concepts of vis ion. Despite his avowed dualism, the specular element in his philosophy could foster an ultimately identitarian monism. ... Cartesian dualism was, moreover, particularly influential because of its valorization of the disembodied eye —the ‘angelic eye,’ as Karsten Harrie s has called it —shared by modern science and Albertian art. In either of its guises, speculative or observational, it justified a fully spectorial rather than incarnate eye, the unblinking eye of the fixed gaze rather than the fleeting glance. ... “Incl ude d among these was the typical Cartesian gesture of refusing to listen to the voices of the past and trusting instead only to what one could ‘see with one’s eyes.’” Idem, 80 -82. He then notes how “...Descartes’s ocularcentric theory of knowledge...” changed under Voltaire (et. al.). “Like Descartes, Voltaire used ‘idea’ to refer to an internal representation in human consciousness, an image in the eye of the mind. Ideas are no longer objective realities external to the subjective mind, like the platonic Ed ios .” Voltaire thus shared with Descartes a dualism of consciousness and matter. ... Voltaire furthermore shared Descartes’s belief (although this specific passage does not explicitly say so) that ideas, if clear and distinct in the mind, can be expressed in lucid prose, especially in the language that the philosophies thought was the clearest possible: French. But unlike Descartes, Voltaire followed Francis Bacon, John Locke, and Isaac Newton and what has been called the sensationalist tradition in claimin g that only the perception of external objects and never innate intuitions or deductions are the source of our ideas. Ian Hacking aptly summarizes the difference: ‘Cartesian perception is the active rendering of the object transparent to the mind. Positivi st seeing is the passive blunting of light rays on opaque, impermeable ‘physical objects’ which are themselves passive and indifferent to the observer.’” Idem, 84. Finally, Jay writes of the reaffirmation of the visual: “still another reaction, manifest in the avant -garde visual arts themselves, was the willed return to visual lucidity and clarity, which Silver has shown accompanied a new nationalist-inflected classicism in the arts as a whole. The new mood in Paris was evident in the waning popularity of C ubism, the reevaluation of Czanne in non -Bergsonian terms, the revival of interest in Seurat’s serene canvases, and the newly sober preoccupations of artists like Robert Delaunay, Pablo Picasso, and Juan Gris. It culminated in the upcoming Purism of Amd e Ozenfant and Le Corbusier (Charles douard Jeanneret) in the late teens. Postwar reconstruction would require, they reasoned, the restoration of a unified scopic regime, which would be compatible with the disciplined collectivist society they saw emer gin g from the ashes of the conflagration.” Idem, 214-215. 6 To reiterate, and get to an understanding of ‘lens’ Rose e stablishes a definition of visuality: “Visuality, on the other hand, refers to the way in which vision is constructed in various ways: ‘how we see, how we are able, allowed, or made to see, and how we


12 At this point, someone in the field of Landscape Architecture or Geography may point to D.W. Meinig’s “The Beholding Eye” ,7 Gillian Rose’s Visual Methodologies...,8 or other texts that analyze lenses and vision and their role in apprehension / comprehension, and rightly so. Yet, this is not really only about that either, although an ‘applied’ lens, as a subject, tool, or even perhaps ‘apparatus’9 of visualization, definitely has a role to play in ‘informing’ the what and how of the ‘thing’, here, the jug. Yet, it should be noted, that, peculiar to a lens, it acts as something between two subjects, one subject viewing, and one subject viewed.10 The application here of some lens then is predetermined and pre established, as long as in so doing, one maintains a critical awareness or a direct criticism of what it does: gets in the way, taints, refracts, bends, distorts, colors, focuses, clarifies, etc. some perceived t hing. It also constructs a conceivable distance, which is utilized by both subjects as a means of comprehension. Perhaps we will return to these ideas and presumptions later on. As of now, one can at least take as a given to consider an application of some lens when asking ‘is that a jug?’ and ‘how is that a jug?’ Regardless then of the wha t and how (which will be retaken up again in this section, and later in Act II) , w hat then must be answered, and what is an imperative for this whole thesis , i s , what is meant by the general term of the jug, the term ‘ thing ’11 – the presumed generalized content of the world ? To see this seeing and the unseeing therein’.” Rose: 2007, 2. Later she writes of how John Berger discusses ‘ways of seeing’: “He uses the expression ‘ways of seeing’ to refer to the fact that ‘we never look just at one thing; we are always looking at the relation between things and ourselves’.” Idem, 8. Together then ‘visuality’ and ‘ways of seeing’ help to define the ‘lens’. 7 See Meinig, Donald W. “The beholding eye: Ten versions of the same s cene.” The interpretation of ordinary landscapes: Geographical essays. New York: Oxford University Press, Inc., 1979(a) : 33 48. 8 Rose: 2007. 9 The intent here is to invoke Foucault’s notions of the apparatus, which he uses in terms of analyzing pow er and knowledge, see Foucault: 1995. Directly here, Gillian Rose describes and analyzes the apparatus: “An institutional apparatus is the forms of power/knowledge that constitute the institutions: for example, architecture, regulations, scientific treatises, philo sophical statements, laws, morals, and so on, and the discourse articulated through all these.” Rose: 2007, 174. 10 This is not really the space for critically analyzing if one can or cannot operate without some applied lens, but the assumpt ion here is that one applies lenses with and without knowing. 11 The OED definition of ‘thing’ is, “ n.1 ... I. A meeting, or the matter or business considered by it, and derived senses. 1. A meeting, an assembly; esp . a deliberative or judicial assembly, a court, a council. Cf. Thing n.2 Obs. 2. a. A cause; spec. a matter brought before a court of law; a charge brought. Obs. b. Cause, reason, account; sake. Cf. nothing pron., n., adv. , and int. Phrases 2d. Obs . 3. a. A matter with which one is concerned (in action, speech, or thought); an affair, a business, a concern, a subject. Now usually in pl .: affairs, matters, circumstances. b. orig. U.S. With modifying noun: an activity or action suited (only) to, or particularly characteristic of, a specified group, subject , role, etc.; a situation explicable only in terms of the group, etc., specified; esp. in it’s a —thing . 4. a. That which is done or to be done; a deed, an act, a transaction. Also: that which occurs; an event, an occurrence, an incident; a fact, a circums tance, an experience. b. colloq . A significant, notable, or sensational circumstance. In later use esp. in to make a thing about (also of ) (colloq .): to preoccupy oneself greatly with (a matter); to make an issue out of, or exaggerate the importance of (so mething). Cf. something n. 4a, 4c. c. colloq. With preceding noun, noun phrase, or adjective: the matter or business which pertains to or is associated with the specified place, phenomenon, etc. d. colloq. With possessive adjective: a person's particular i nterest, speciality, or talent. Frequently in negative contexts. e. colloq . A preoccupation,


13 establish this, we rely beyond the Oxford English Dictionary definit ions of ‘thing’ (specifically definitions three through fou rteen and seventeen), and lean upon a series of concepts and theories : vibrant materiality, assemblages , edges, overdetermination, and suggestive tropes. Clearly, t his is also part of the methods/ methodology section, yet it is imperative to d efine ‘thing ’ before moving on. Moreover, as will become clear, much of the overall arguments and findings in this work rely upon the presumption of things as the generalized quality of bodies, material structures, concepts, forces, and relationships. T he obsession, or neurosis (about something); a predilection or passion for something or someone. Frequently in to have a thing about . f. colloq . A love affair, a romance; esp. in to have a thing (with a person ). 5. a. That which is stated or expressed in speech, writing, etc.; a saying, an utterance, an expression, a statement. b. That which is thought; a thought, an idea; a notion; a belief, an opinion. 6. a. a thing (without qualifying word or expression): (in indefinite sense) anything, something. Now rare (chiefly regional in later use). b. In negative contexts, following indefinite article: anything. 7. colloq . With the . a. In predicative use: the relevant o r correct thing; that which is proper, requisite, befitting, or fashionable (in later use chiefly with modifying word or phrase, as just the thing, the thing to do, etc.). Also, with reference to a person: the embodiment or epitome of stylishness, fitness (physical or otherwise), good condition, etc.; on good form, up to the mark (now somewhat arch .). Frequently in negative contexts. b. The special, important, or notable point; esp . that which is specially required; (more generally) that which is to be cons idered, the truth or the facts of the matter (esp. in the thing is (that) , used to draw attention to a following statement; also in here’s ( also that’s) the thing , drawing attention to either a preceding or a following statement. II. An entity of any ki nd. 8. That which exists individually (in the most general sense, in fact or in idea); that which is or may be in any way an object of perception, knowledge, or thought; an entity, a being. (Including persons, in contexts where personality is not signific ant.) a. In unemphatic use. Usually modified by an adjective, or other defining word or phrase. b. An attribute, quality, or property of an actual being or entity. Also: a point, a particular, a respect (chiefly in qualifying phrases, as in all things , etc.). c. Used indefinitely to denote something which the speaker or writer is not able or does not choose to particularize, or which i s incapable of being precisely described. Cf. something n. 5b. d. Chiefly Philos . That which has separate or individual exis tence (e.g. as distinct on the one hand from the totality of being, on the other from attributes or qualities). See also sense 14. e. Frequently with capital initial. A particular supernatural or other dreadful monster. Also in extended use. f. colloq . Use d vaguely, with a preceding noun used appositively or as a more general indication of the kind of object or entity in question. 9. A living organism; an animal or plant. Usually with modifying word, as living thing, growing thing, etc. 10. Used of a huma n being or person. Cf. creature n. 2a, 2c. a. Without qualification. In later use only in contempt or reproach, usually suggesting unworthiness to be called a person (cf. sense 15). Now rare . b. With modifying word or clause. In later use chiefly in contem pt, pity, or affection; formerly also in commendation or honour. 11. a. A material object, an article, an item; a being or entity consisting of matter, or occupying space. (Often used as a vague word for an object which it is difficult to denominate more exactly; see also sense 16b.) b. A material substance, usually of a specified kind; a material; a concoction, a compound; an ingredient. In later use chiefly applied to substances used as food or drink, or considered in respect of its medical, physiologica l, etc., effects. c. euphem . The genitals. 12. a. As a mass noun: that which one possesses; property, wealth, substance collectively. Obs. b. As a count noun: an item of property, an individual possession; (usually in pl .) possessions, belongings, goods; esp . ( colloq .) those which one has or carries with one at the time, e.g. on a journey. Also with possessive adjective. c. colloq . In pl . Articles of apparel; clothes, garments; (sometimes) spec. those worn over one's other clothes when going outdoors. Also with possessive adjective. d. Chiefly colloq . In pl . Implements or equipment for some special use; utensils. Frequently with preceding modifying word. 13. An individual work of literature or art, a composition; a piece of writing, music, etc. 14. An act ual being or entity as distinguished from a word, symbol, or idea by which it is symbolized or represented; that which is signified. 15. A being without life or consciousness; an inanimate object, as distinguished from a person or living creature. 16. co lloq . = thingummy n. a. With capital initial. Substituted (esp. after a title, as Mrs Thing , etc.) for the actual name of a person. Miss Thing : see miss n.2 Compounds. b. Used to denote a thing which the speaker cannot or does not care to specify precisely . 17. colloq . (orig. U.S.). A genuine phenomenon, established practice, or discernible trend. Often in questions conveying surprise or incredulity (as is that (even) a thing? ), or as an assertion, esp. responding to or pre -empting scepticism (as it’s a th ing ).” “thing, n.1.” OED Online , Oxford University Press, January 2018, Accessed 20 February 2018.


14 term ‘thing ’ is not something reductive, lazy, or merely undescribed. Instead, a ‘thing’ points to a shared quality of and in that which interrelates in the dynamic becoming of the lifeworld.12 Vibrant Materiality This thesis approaches the unseen, hidden, and invis ible as active things – considered here as physical ( and later, using Casey to include the non physical) forms, structurations, or materials that have an active component. ‘Things’ qualifies a relational range from forces, processes, organic and inorganic material substances, signs, concepts, and bound entities, etc. This thinking builds from Jane Bennett in Vibrant Matter who outlines the political role of ‘ things ’ in existence, the quality of which foremost are composed with a “vital materiality.”13 Her first chapter outlin es how a ‘vital materiality’ operates.14 Things15 have ability, presence, and being of their own, aside from human constitution, or according to Bennett, as she cites Spinoza: “...‘each thing ..., as far as it can by its own power, strives ... to persevere in its own being.’”16 Things construct their own beingness.17 Further, things are not only limited to that which is organic, “...t hing power arises from bodies inorganic as well as organic.”18 Things are active 12 See for instance Edward Casey’s work on Edges and the In-between, where it may be presumed that he argues of a theoretical ontological argument of the life world, using watercolor as an analogue. “...[T ] he relation between edges and the in -between is neither merely dyadic (i.e., a matter of indifferent pairing) nor grossly dialectical (as in Plato’s or Hegel’s senses of the term). It is a matter of dynamic Becoming – of a measureless pro -ductive interplay. Or perhaps we can say: of an intense intertanglement in which each element pervades the other in endless permutations. ...a Becoming that refuses to stagnate into Being: a continual evolution of the image of landscape, its re -presentation in an unending display of colors and shapes, at once bounded and open, setting forth an uncontainable matrix of ways of seeing the same land in different seasons and different places.” Case y, Edward S. “Edges and the in -between.” PhaenEx 3.2 (2008): 1-13. 7 -8. 13 Bennett, Jane. Vibrant Matter : A Political Ecology of Things . Duke University Press, 2009. vii. Bennett begins to outline vital and vibrant materiality on the first pages of her preface. The following combination is illustrative of her base meaning of vital materiality. “I will turn the figures of ‘life’ and ‘matter’ around and around, worrying them until they start to seem strange, in something like the way a common word when repeated can become a foreign, nonsense sound. In the space created by this estrangement, a vital materiality can start to take shape. ... By ‘vitality’ I mean the capacity of thin gs – edibles, commodities, storms, metals – not only to impede or block the will and designs of humans but also act as quasi agents or forces with trajectories, propensities, or tendencies of their own. My aspiration is to articulate a vibrant materiality that runs alongside and inside humans to see how analyses of political events might change if we gave the force of things more due.” Idem, viii. 14 Bennett cites W. J. T. Mitchell when he writes that “...things, on the other hand, ... [signal] the moment when the object becomes the Other, ... when the subject experiences the object as uncanny and feels the need for what Foucault calls ‘a metaphysics of the object....’” Idem, 2. 15 Bennett writes, “but they were all there just as they were, and so I caught a glimpse of an energetic vitality inside each of these things, things that I generally conceived as inert. In this assemblage, objects appeared as things , that is, as vivid entities not entirely reducible to the contexts in which (human) subjects set them, never entirely exhausted by their semiotics.” Idem, 5. 16 Idem, 2. 17 Thinking of Heidegger and being tied with dwelling and building, perhaps one may assume that this beingness is apparent through the construction of ‘buildings’, or what I assume to be str uctures that leave in wakes remnant forms of structuration. 18 Idem, 6.


15 and ‘vibrant’, influencing and affecting through their effect.19 She culminates this with a more tangible or, perhaps, accessible term, by writing that “ actant and operator ar e substitute words for what in a more subject centered vocabulary are called agents.”20 Things thereby ar e not passive material objects until viewed by a detached subject, but rather they have a power – active, effectual, agent ic , and always in relation. Lastly, Bennett qualifies things with ‘thing power’ in two more ways, first things characterize both human and nonhuman systems, and second, things are not transcendent in a spiritual sense.21 This thesis thus considers things present and absent, visible and not, as that which mutually affect and inform, as both object/subject (and perhaps other wise ), actively in relation as non transcendent and nontheistic material substances. T h e unseen, hidden, and invisible are forces, processes, organic and inorgani c material substances, signs, concepts, bound entities, etc. foremost present as active and effectual things . (Alternatively, concerning the object/subject relationship and said differently, the intention of ‘thing’ here also aligns with Swyngedouw’s defi nition of Latour’s or Haraway’s dialectical ‘quasi 19 Bennett leans on Latour and Deleuze to describe this, writing: “actant Bruno Latour’s term for a source of action; an actant can be human or not, or, most likely, a combination of both.” Idem, 9. Following, she finds “an actant is neither an object nor a subject but an ‘intervener,’ akin to the Deleuzean ‘quasi -causal operator.’ An operator is that which, by virtue of its particular location in an assemblage...makes the differen ce, makes things happen, becomes the decisive force catalyzing an event.” Ibid. (I intend to use the idea of ‘intervener’ not as neither object or subject as Bennett writes, but as a means of illustrating the force taken in relationship of actants. Inst ead, it illustrates the slippery and un -siloed, un-autonomous, and indistinct object/subject categorization. Actants rather are object, subject, and effect/relation at the same time, and this is what I think is meant by ‘intervener’ a thing that intervenes between, connecting, affecting, and relating.) 20 Ibid . At this point, it may bring up criticisms, which Bennett has also addressed. These mainly concern that “...the ontological divide between persons and things must remain lest one have no moral grounds for privileging man over germ or for condemning pernicious forms of human-on-human instrumentalization....” Idem, 12. Although I see this point, I’m not necessarily arguing for no hierarchy or accountability for actions, but rather a hyper direct and more transparent thereof. By noting the active and agent role of human and non-human things, connections and relationships can be traced and criticisms may be more aptly placed, although in a more shifty and slippery version of things. Bennett does r espond though with three points: “First, by acknowledging that the framework of subject verses object has indeed at times worked to prevent or ameliorate human suffering and to promote human happiness or well -being. Second, by noting that its successes come at the price of an instrumentalization of nonhuman nature that can itself be unethical and can itself undermine long -term human interests. Third, by pointing out that the Kantian imperative to treat humanity always as an end -in -itself and never merely as a means does not have a stellar record of success in preventing human suffering or promoting human well -being....” Ibid. 21 Bennett outlines these in response to Adorno’s nonidentity and negative dialectics on page 14. “ Nonidentity is the name Adorno gi ves to that which is not subject to knowledge but is instead ‘heterogeneous’ to all concepts. ...Adorno describes nonidentity as a presence that acts upon us: we knowers are haunted, he says, by a painful, nagging feeling that something’s being forgotten or left out. ...‘Negative dialectics’ is the method Adorno designs to teach us how to accentuate this discomforting experience and how to give it meaning.” Idem, 14. Her vital -materiality relates with these in that first, for her, “...the starting point of ethics is less the acceptance of the impossibility of ‘reconcilement’ and more the recognition of human participation in a shared, vital materiality. We are vital materiality and we are surrounded by it....” Ibid. Second, “Adorno struggles to describe a force that is material in its resistance to human concepts but spiritual insofar as it might be a dark promise of an absolute -to come. A vital materialism is more thoroughly nontheistic in presentation: the out -side has no messianic promise.” Idem, 16-17.


16 objects’.22 Yet, my use of ‘thing’ aligns more with Bennet’s ‘affective’, ‘actant’, and ‘agentic’ vibrant relational materiality and resists dialectical reduction.) Assemblage Rather than considering things as abstract elements existing in isolation, effectual things consist of and come together, inrelation, as assemblages (composed of hierarchies and meshworks) . This arises from concepts developed by Manuel De Landa . Specifically working with his ideas expressed in A Thousand Years of Nonlinear History , assemblages and non linear structurations, according to him, are composed of both “...self organizing meshworks of diverse elements, versus hierarchies of uniform elements.”23 Although De Landa positions these opposite each other here, ( ‘versus’ ), it is important to note that these distinctions are con joined and coconstituted.24 As conjoined and interrelated assemblages of meshworks and hierarchies, De Landa outlines distinct characteristics of each , usin g “...abstract machines (as Deleuze and Guattari call these engineering diagrams) behind the structure generating processes that yield ... specific meshworks and hierarchies.”25 De Landa uses a river to outline the sorting and cementing mechanism of the hi erarchy. 26 Whereas f or meshworks, De Landa uses “autocatalytic 22 “The production process of socio -nature embodies both material processes and the proliferating discursive and symbolic representations of nature. Therefore, if we maintain a view of dialectics as internal relations (Olman 1993; Balibar 1995; Harvey 1 996) as opposed to external recursive relationships, then we must insist on the need to transcend the binary formations of na ture and society and develop a new language that maintains the dialectical unity of the process of change as embodied in the thing itself. ‘Things’ are hybrids or quasi -objects (subjects and objects, material and discursive, natural and social) from the very beginning. By this I mean that the ‘world’ is a process of perpetual metabolism in which social and natural processes combine in a historical geographical production process of socionature, whose outcome (historical nature) embodies chemical, physical, social, economic, political, and cultural processes in highly contradictory but inseparable manners.” Swyngedouw, Erik. Social pow er and the urbanization of water: flows of power . New York: Oxford University Press, 2004. 21. 23 De Landa, Manuel. A Thousand Years of Nonlinear History . First Paperback Edition, seventh printing, 2011. Brooklyn, New York: Zone Books, 1997. 32. 24 De Landa outlines this point in at least two spots. He writes , “...meshworks and hierarchies not only coexist and interming le, they constantly give rise to one another.” Ibid. This point comes again, “ is crucial to avoid the temptation of cooking up a narrative of human history in which meshworks appear as heroes and hierarchies as villains. ... [rather they are co -joined] in specific contexts, but never about the two pure cases in isolation.” Idem, 69. 25 Idem, 59. 26 Idem, 60. De Landa provide s an explanation of the river as an abstract machine, as a “hydraulic computer” on page 60, which includes a detailed account of both the sorting and cementing mechanisms. He develops this further with species formation through 60 -61, and then applies it to social formations from 61-62. It is worthy to note that this process may seem autostratifying. Via the overdetermined contexts, catalytic effects may be required or applied, setting a process through which hierarchical stratifying processes develop.


17 loops” which have “...two general characteristics...they are dynamical systems that endogenously generate their own stable states ... and they grow and evolve by drift.”27 Hierarchies and meshworks come together in an assemblage. Bennett writes, “assemblages are ad hoc groupings of diverse elements, of vibrant materials of all sorts. Assemblages are living, throbbing confederations that are able to function despite the persistent presence of energies that confound them from within.”28 Assemblages are composed of ‘things’ (see above) which (here) Bennett considers non subjective and nonobjective ‘modes’. She clarifies that ‘modes’ have the ability “ form alliances and enter assemblages: it is to mod(e)ify and be modified by others.”29 Assemblages thus have distinct hierarch y and meshwork relational characteristics as decentralized formations with emergent effectual properties beyond that of just one of their component things.30 Furtherm ore, assemblages of hierarchies and meshworks, as autocatalytic and self generating based on contingent thing power in relation, do not deny the organization and orchestration of power, but allows for, and requires, its active play.31 Social power (outline d later) is hierarchically not only a top down ‘system’, but is rather also a bottom up ‘construction’.32 This hierarchy is not inherently or 27 Idem,62-63. These are established in a general sense before broadening the study to include the components that constitute each. This happens on the subsequent pages in that chapter. For clarity, I separate the sub-characteristics. For dynamical syst ems, these include an “articulation of superimpositions...intercalary elements...[and] stable patterns of behavior....” Idem, 64. (De Landa continues to use these three components to explain the dynamics of autocatalytic loops in rock formations, species development, and cultural relations on 64-66.) For drift, this includes “negative feedback” and “positive feedback.” Idem, 67. (The two forms of feedback are analyzed on 6769. De Landa writes that “...the principal characteristic of negative feedback is its homogenizing effect...negative feedback is ‘deviation -counteracting.’ Positive feedback on the other hand, tends to increase heterogeneity by being ‘deviation -amplifying’...” 68. Further, heterogeneity and homogeneity are argued to not be without ea ch other, and that “‘there are two ways that heterogeneity may proceed: through localization and through interweaving . In localization the heterogeneity between localities increases, while each locality may remain or become homogenous. In interweaving, h eterogeneity in each locality increases, while the difference between localities decreases’” 68. In other words, positive and negative feedback work dynamically in a meshwork forming structure.) 28 Bennett: 2009, 23-24. 29 Idem, 22. 30 “Assemblages are not g overned by any central head...[and] the effects generated by an assemblage are, rather, emergent properties, emergent in that their ability to make something distinct from the sum of the vital force of each materiality considered alone.” Idem, 24. For an outline of the combinatory (+1) dynamics of emergence see De Landa: “...certain combinations will display emergent properties , that is, properties of the combination as a whole which are more than the sum of its individual parts.” De Landa, 199 7:17. 31 Bennett suggests this in her work: what she intends to take from Spinoza and “...put to work for a vital materialism, is this : bodies enhance their power in or as a heterogeneous assemblage .” Bennett: 2009, 23. 32 Gillian Rose illustrates this point well as she outlines Foucault’s positions on knowledge/power in terms of visual resources and social role of images. She writes, “an important implication of Foucault's account of power is that power is not somethi ng imposed from the top of society down onto its oppressed bottom layers. Power is everywhere, since discourse too is everywhere. And there are many discourses, some of which clearly contest the terms of others. Foucault (1979: 95) claimed that ‘where there is power, there is resistance ... a multiplicity of points of resistance’, and by this he meant that there are many discourses that jostle and compete in their effects.” Rose: 2007, 143 -144.


18 normatively ‘bad’, but for De Landa is required, and may be a proponent of potential dynamic properties.33 One may take social power to also include the relations between nonhuman participants, for if one takes power to already be a key component in the rhetoric used by both De Landa and Bennett to describe the dynamics of assemblages, (power, implied in their quali fiers, i.e. feedback, forces, energies, power, generating, dynamical, flows etc. and autocatalytic operations in hierarchies and meshworks) then Bennett’s idea of a body enhancing its power via a ‘heterogeneous assemblage’ also includes things and assemblages in relation. This in relation evidences power then as friction based , in that things modify each other in the dynamic, generative, and emergent properties of assemblages. The structure of assemblages may require some metaphorical shape, which I term and promote as a ‘ heap ’ .34 With a relatively quick glance at the OED for both ‘heap’ and ‘assemblage’ identifies and clarifies the relationships between the terms. It also clarifies how I use the term ‘heap’. The definition of ‘assemblage’ does no t really allude to a spatial size, but rather to a size based on a numerical quantity. Yet, the definition of ‘heap’ indicates both spatial and numerical size. Both heap and assemblage operate to illustrate the coming together of disparate parts and things to create something with defined bounds, yet those defined bounds differ , with heap indicating more than assemblage. Thereby, I propose the use of the term ‘heap’ as a form of ‘assemblage,’ with the mounding height of the heap as a capacity illustrativ e of potential heterogeneous thingpower of hierarchical meshworks ‘auto formed’ by relative forces. 33 This is assuming the disruption of hierarchies by meshwork dynamics. 34 It may be important to note chosen OED definitions of ‘heap’ and ‘assemblage’. ‘Heap’ in the OED is: “ n. ... 1. a. A collection of things lying one upon another so as to form an elevated mass often roughly conical in form. (A heap of things placed regularly one above another is mor e distinctively called a pile .) ... [and] 2.a. A heaped measure of capacity. b. A pile or mass of definite size, varying with the commodity. ...” “heap, n.” OED Online , Oxford University Press, September 2016, Accessed 20 Sept ember 2016. And the verb is: “ v. ... 1. a. trans. To make, form, gather, or cast into a heap; to pile up, amass, accumulate; to pile one thing upon another so as to form a heap. Often with up , together , on . ...[and] 2.a. transf. and fig. To amass, accumu late; to add many things together or one thing to another. Often with up, together . Also asol. ...” “heap, v.” OED Online , Oxford University Press, September 2016, Accessed 20 September 2016. Connotations of heap include something that is more haphazardly brought together, rather than that distinction of a pile. The noun of which does not state anything of the action of the things brought together, but rather states that it is a collection o f things with a definite but fluid/flexible spatial size. ‘Assemblage’ in the OED is: “ n . ... 1. A bringing or coming together; a meeting or gathering; the state of being gathered or collected. 2. The joining or union of two things; conjunction. Obs. ex e. As techn. Term in various techn. Uses: the joining, putting together of parts (in Carpentry or of a machine); a collection 9e.g. of artefacts); a work of art consisting of miscellaneous objects fastened together. 3. A number of persons gathered togethe r; a gathering, concourse. (Less formal than assembly .) 4. A number of things gathered together; a collection, group, cluster. ...” “assemblage, n.” OED Online , Oxford University Press, September 2016, Accessed 20 September 2016.


19 For if assemblages consist of meshworks and hierarchies in the forms of disparate, discrete things coming together, then the upward mound of the heap does not only signify literal height but is in response to the overall size, capacity, and potential power of the assemblage. If an assemblag e has no head or apex, then it correlate s well with that of the heap. Thus, in this thesis it is useful to think of st ructures and structurations as a heap, a metaphysical spatial form of a physical assemblage. Borders, Boundaries, and Thresholds With things and assemblages interrelating, the definition and constitution of each structuration depends upon the edg es and rel ationships in and of each form. An edge is an imperative of some thing to be a thing .35 Whereas Casey distinguishes between limit and threshold, this thesis considers threshold to implicate limit.36 ( A lthough limit ‘ seems’ to not have a body, it is contended here that limit is still a thing, and as will be argued it thereby constitutes body.37) Regardless, this thesis uses Edward Casey’s borders, boundaries, and thresholds to outline the conditions and qualities of different types of thingedge s, and to illustrate physical and metaphysical interrelations of things and assemblages. Casey frames border, boundary, and threshold concepts in “Limit and Edge, Voice and Place” and “Edges and the In Between.” In reducti on , this thesis understands the se concepts as follows. Border is, as a firm and concreted physical or mental structure, which is untouched yet frames changing events; boundary is, as a pliable, porous, and loosely spaced ‘fuzziness’ that constitutes places, settlements, and the blendin g of their in betweens; threshold is, as the transition and change t hat can either be frequent 35 Casey writes, regarding the role of ‘limit’, that “A limit is either found (that is to say, given) or it is imposed as coming from the outside to circumscribe a thing or a happening. It includes an edge or edges without itself being an edge —taki ng edge to be the end point or end-phase of something, that is, where that something runs out, where it terminates from within as it were. If limit thus construed is exogenous as given or imposed, edge is endogenous as an inherent feature of that thing or event. Together, edge and limit are ‘incongruent counterparts’ (in Kant’s term for pairs of terms that call for each other, and fit together, yet are not strictly symmetrical, such as the right and the left hand).” Casey, Edward S. “Lim it and Edge, Voice and Place.” Radical Philosophy Review Vol 12. 12 (2009 (a) ): 241 248. 242. As a result, this also implies that limit is required for thing to be thing. 36 Concerning limit, “It is an extreme state whose exact location in space or time differs from case to case. It is never seen, or touched, or heard as such. Were such a limit to be available sensuously, it would no longer be the limit of what it serves to delimit. As Derrida remarks, ‘limit itself seems deprived of a body. Limit is not to be touched and does no t touch itself; it does not let itself be touched, and steals away at a touch, which either never attains it or trespasses on it forever.’ It never attains it as an extremity but it trespasses it as a threshold.” Ibid. 37 Perhaps this is outside the scope of this thesis, but as Casey uses Derrida to imply that limit is a thing without body, this thesis contends that limit still implies body, a thing -body with multiplicities of edges. For, as it will soon be noted, that ev en giving voice and/or term to some -thing implies edge, then limit itself, as a term with undefined -characteristics, limits the limit. It delimits what limit is, relationally to other things. Thus, limit is still a thing and a body of sorts. If this can not be contended or if I am in error, then ‘limit’ would surely be one of the incredibly few circumstances of a thing without a body.


20 and less remarkable and/ or revolutionary and irreversible.38 Thus, t his thesis considers these forms – border, boundary, threshold – to conditionally qualify the constitutive edges of things, structurations, and assemblages (clearly in the first two yet including all ) , while also qualifying the interrelations in between. Yet, it should be noted that while Bennett is predominantly concerned with physical things, Casey extends things to include non physical forms, structurations, or materials that have an active component. His opening paragraph qualifies that edges along with voices and places are “...limitrophic phenomenon ...[in other words] involving a limit that acts both as an extremity and a threshold for a thing or event ....”39 Where the edge of a physical object is not necessarily contentious, Casey ’s work states that nonphysical things, such as voices, also have edges.40 Moreover, this extends to include general sounds and noise, human and nonhuman.41 It is then not a great leap to extend edge and thing qualities to concepts/thoughts. Casey’s extension of Bennett’s ‘things’ includes the nonphysical with similar active qualities.42 Thus, Casey’s work defines different forms of edges, the characteristic qualities of things and assemblages, while also extending ‘things’ to the non physical. Overdetermination/Excess Th ings and assemblages, bound with ed ges (however temporary they may be), have some basis of determination, understanding , and comprehension. In efforts to generalize this point, this thesis takes into 38 For definitions of terms see the entire aforementioned (idem) text. See also, Casey : 2008. 39 “Edge, Voice, Place: these seemingly disparate notions share one thing in common, each is a limitrophic phenomenon. By “limitrophic” I mean involving a limit that acts both as an extremity and a threshold for a thing or event —something that exceeds this thing or event at a certain historical moment yet that, once surpassed, initiates a new chapter in its history. I am not talking about an ideal limit of the sort that serves for differential functions in calculus but rather about a concrete delimitation that signifies a turning point, a change in destiny, for that which moves beyond that limit.” Idem, 241. 40 “...voices could not be articulate, or even be heard, unless they had an edge and a limit. Consider my voice as I speak. My diction breaks a steady stream of sound into delimited units called ‘words,’ which in turn are constituted by sub-units termed ‘phonemes.’ Both words and phonemes are creatures of limit, whether this take the form of phonemic laws of pronunciation or se mantic structures of meaning (‘morphemes’). Such laws and structures actively delimit spoken sounds, allowing them to be discretely produced and understood. So too each articulated word has its own edge: the point where it breaks off, allowing space and ti me for the next word to occur in turn. And a gaggle of words constitutes a phrase or a sentence, which have their own characteristic edges and limits.” Idem, 245. 41 “Not just articulate, sense-making words, however, but any sounds are matters of edge, limi t, and place. This is what John Cage famously realized and set forth as ‘found music’ made from ordinary ‘noises.’ Any noise, to be that noise and not some other, has to possess its own edge and observe its own limit. ... Moreover, any set of sounds, whate ver their provenance, can find voice, or better, take voice, where ‘voice’ need not be human voice, much less stated or sung voice. This is why we speak of ‘the voice of the earth’ and even of ‘the voices from outer space.’” Ibid. 42 As Casey concludes his essay, he implies the active role of voices, specifically those on the border wall at the Mexico -U.S. border. He writes that voices inform a change, and effect: “However epiphenomenal they are in ontic status, the voices of pr otest articulate possibilitie s of liberation in a place of unconfined dissent and unframed freedom. These voices give an edge, if not a limit, to otherwise unresisted oppression —an edge that makes a difference in the desolation of indifference.” Idem, 248.


21 account concepts of overdetermination and excess. Geographer Mitch Rose outlines overdete rmination as “originally developed in psychoanalysis (see Freud, 1936, 1958; also see Derrida, 1978a,b)...” , and that it is a framework of definition and determination.43 Sourcing Freud, overdetermination appears in his The Interpretation of Dreams in rela tion to the definition, meaning, and determination of dreams: “...every element of the dream content proves to be over determined — that is, it appears several times over in the dream thoughts.”44 The complexity of the dream work and formation that Freud mines, and the overdetermined work in dreams, implies that overdetermination is similarly complexly developed, established, and ‘applied’ .45 Overdetermination, in its complexity, in the implicatio n of multiple 43 Rose, Mitch. “Landscape an d Labyrinths.” Geoforum 33, no. 4 (November 2002): 455– 67. doi:10.1016/S0016-7185(02)00030 1. 462. 44 Freud, Sigmund. The Interpretation of Dreams. Dr. A. A. Brill trans. Carlton House, Modern Library, New York, 1994. 180. This is the concluding sentence in a paragraph where Freud writes, also giving partial example: “the impression derived from this first investigation is that the elements ‘botanical’ and ‘monograph’ were taken up into the dream -content because they were able to offer the most numerous points of contact with the greatest number of dream -thoughts, and thus represented nodal points at which a great number of the dream -thoughts met together, and because they were of manifold significance in respect of the meaning of the dream. The fact upon which this explanation is based may be expressed in another form: Every element of the dream content proves to be over -determined —that is, it appears several times over in the dream -thoughts.” Ibid. 45 To get to this poin t, it is helpful to outline Freud’s development to the concept of overdetermination. In regards to the sources of dreams, the beginning kernels of Freud’s overdetermination are apparent. He writes: “experiences such as the following show us the way to an explanation: If the day has brought us two or more experiences which are worthy to evoke a dream, the dream will blend the allusion of both into a single whole: it obeys a compulsion to make them into a single whole .” Idem, 82. As (will be made apparent in a later act) dreams evidence a fulfillment of a wish, and since dreams combine multiple experiential sources, then Freud is able to suggest the overlapping meanings of dreams. “The dream often appears to have several meanings; not onl y may several wish fulfilments be combined in it, as our examples show, but one meaning or one wish-fulfilment may conceal another, until in the lower stratum one comes upon the fulfilment of a wish from the earliest period of childhood; and here a gain it may be questioned whether the word ‘often’ at the beginning of this sentence may not more correctly be replaced by ‘constantly.’” Idem, 120. As a result, Freud makes apparent the repetitive and perpetual definition and re -definition of meanings in and of dreams. Yet pre -i nterpretation of dream expression of ‘somatic sources’ further complexifies dreams and also points to the overdetermined framework. “Every somatic dream -stimulus which provokes the psychic apparatus in sleep to interpretation by the formation of illusions may evoke an incalculable number of such attempts at interpretation. It may consequently be represented in the dream content by an extraordinary number of different concepts.” Idem, 123. For Freud, having then traced his development of the theory of over determination and having thus defined it, he is able to critique, test, and re -argue its workings. “And yet the dream may reject these intensively emphasized and extensively reinforced elements, and may take up into its content other elements which are on ly extensively reinforced. This difficulty may be solved if we follow up yet another impression received during the investigation of the over -determination of the dream -content. Many readers of this investigation may already have decided, in their own mind s, that the discovery of the multiple determination of the dream elements is of no great importance, because it is inevitable. Since in analysis we proceed from the dream -elements, and register all the ideas which associate themselves with these elements, is it any wonder that these elements should recur with peculiar frequency in the thought -material obtained in this manner? While I cannot admit the validity of this objection, I am now going to say something that sounds rather like it: Among the thoughts w hich analysis brings to light are many which are far removed from the nucleus of the dream, and which stand out like artificial interpolations made for a definite purpose. Their purpose may readily be detected; they establish a connection, often a forced and farfetched connection, between the dream -content and the dream -thoughts, and in many cases, if these elements were weeded out of the analysis, the components of the dream content would not only be over determined, but they would not be sufficiently dete rmined. We are thus led to the conclusion that multiple determination, decisive as regards the selection made by the dream, is perhaps not always a primary factor in dream formation, but is often a secondary product of a psychic force which is as yet unknown to us. Nevertheless, it must be of importance for the entrance of the individual elements into the dream, for we may observe that in cases where multiple determination does not proceed easily from the dream material it is brought about with a certain ef fort. It now becomes very probable that a psychic force expresses itself in the dream work which, on the one hand, strips the elements of the high psychic value of their intensity and, on the other


22 meanings , and in its repetitious/perpetual determination and re determination, clearly sources from psychoanalysis but operates and emerges in the somatic, nonpsychological ways. Turning from psychoanalysis, Rose translates overdetermination to geography. For geography, this means that things are “...always defined by multiple operations at the same time . ...[T]hings are...determined by the multiplicity of overlapping contexts.”46 The multivalent and layered contextual implications of what d efines a thing in overdetermination, means that a thing always has more attached to it, more that informs a thing and yet is not acknowledged. This suggests that tracing of and dependence on a single context of meaning or knowing will always end up lacking. Thereby, s omething more, beyond, or what may be absent from experience or apprehension has an active role in defining a thing. Overdetermination is a framework for comprehending that which is ‘also’, or as will be apparent , ‘more’ . Since overdetermina tion addresses the definition of things also not accounted for, it requires that things are perpetually defined.47 The perpetual re definition of things in differing overlapped contexts implies the limitation of some contexts through practice. Rose writes that things are ‘always taking shape’ , a mode of things in definition/ redefinition, or instantaneous expression s of boundedness.48 hand, by means of over -determination , creates new significant values from elements of slight value, which new values then make their way into the dream -content.” Idem, 198-199. The workings and processes of overdetermination have direct implications to psychoanalysis. As Freud aims to analyze in his psychoanaly tic processes is how psychotic behaviors relate to the dream and wish fulfillment. This in turn brings overdetermination into the somatic world, with practical application, rather than the psychic or dream world. In the case of a hysteric, Freud writes t hat “But in other members of this group of wish-fulfilments — for example, in the hysterical symptoms —I know of one essential characteristic which I have so far failed to find in the dream. Thus, from the investigations often alluded to in this treatise, I k now that the formation of a hysterical symptom needs a junction of both the currents of our psychic life. The symptom is not merely the expression of a realized unconscious wish; the latter must be joined by another wish from the preconscious, which is ful filled by the same symptom; so that the symptom is at least doubly determined, once by each of the conflicting systems. Just as in dreams, there is no limit to further over -determination. The determination which does not derive from the Ucs. is, as far as I can see, invariably a thought -stream of reaction against the unconscious wish; for example, a self -punishment. Hence I can say, quite generally, that a hysterical symptom originates only where two contrary wish -fulfilments, having their source in differe nt psychic systems, are able to meet in a single expression .” Idem, 422-423. 46 Rose establishes the overdetermined framework is as follows: that “...the objects and identities we engage with are never defined by inherent properties. Rather, as Gibson-Grah am suggest, they are determined by the contexts within which they are used. ... [Furthermore,] the key to overdetermination is recognizing that the determination of an object, concept, norm, etc. , does not move sequentially from one context to the next but is always defined by multiple operations at the same time . This is the critical insight of an overdetermined framework: things are not just undetermined but literally overly determined —that is, determined by the multiplicity of overlapping contexts.” Ide m. 47 As Rose writes, “Thus, the pyramidal edifices (the systems of representation human beings care for, nurture and hold onto) that Bataille describes come to exist not through the effects of a pre-established systemising force (a hegemonic ideology or a dominant discourse) but through the active process of being given form, that is, because they are constantly, though not consistently, put to task .” Ibid. 48 As Mitch Rose writes, “...the pyramidal edifices that are repeated and nurtured in the world, are n ever a repetition of the same. Rather they are always taking shape as they are expressed differently through different practices.” Ibid.


23 Things that are overdetermined exist also beyond initial perception, in a perpetual contextual re definition. Rose applies this to an overdetermined landscape, as “...a landscape established through excess: the nurtured pyramidal systems of meaning that engender landscape appear as dominant discourses not because they are contained but precisely because they are overdetermined –– that is, because they are perpetually made to ‘mean’ and ‘do’ more.”49 This more and perpetual redefinition suggests that the excesses of landscape are evasive, with the certainty of things (beyond a current determination) always on slippery footing. As a result, this suggests that things and assemblages are always insecure , always bound to more outside of their instantaneous and momentous determination. Moreover, the meanings, definitions, and determinations of things and assemblages operate in multiple modes, always informed by excess, and always informed by both physical and nonphysical relationships and applications. Suggestive Tropes With things and assemblages defined by overdetermined contexts, it translates that each is expressed spatially, in different ways. Much of these spatial expressions apply , similarly to overdetermination, in that spatial practice defines multiple things, assemblages, and meanings constantly. Alternatively , as Michel de Certeau writes, walking out space or walkingin place “...creates shadows and ambiguities within them. It inserts its multitudinous references and citations into them...[with] encounters and occasions that constantly alter it....”50 Working with Certeau, his application o f spatial practice in the most fundamental aspect of expressing space – walking51 – and how walking actually expresses – 49 Ibid. Furthermore, excess (yet it is unclear if the intention is tied to the concept of overdetermination) is also utilized in Corner, James. “Ecology and Landscape, as Agents of Creativity.” Ecological Design and Planning. George F. Thompson and Frederick R. Steiner ed., New York: John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 1997. It is also used in Meyer, Elizabeth K. “Seized by Su blime Sentiments: Between Terra Firma and Terra Incognita.” Richard Haag : Bloedel Reserve and Gas Works Pork . William S. Saunders, ed., New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 1998. 50 Certeau, Michel de. The Practice of Everyday Life. Berkeley: Univers ity of California Press, 198 4 . 101. “The long poem of walking manipulates spatial organizations, no matter how panoptic they may be: it is neither foreign to them (it can take pla ce only within them) nor in conformity with them (it does not receive its id entity from them). It creates shadows and ambiguities within them. It inserts its multitudinous references and citations into them (social models, cultural mores, personal factors ). Within them it is itself the effect of successive encounters and occasions that constantly alter it and make it the other's blazon: in other words, it is like a peddler, carrying something surprising, transverse or attractive compared with the usual choice. Th ese diverse aspects provide the basis of a rhetoric. They can even be said to define it.” Ibid. 51 “The ordinary practitioners of the city live ‘down below,’ below the thresholds at which visibility begins. They walk an elementary form of this experience of the city; they are walkers, Wandersmnner, whose bodies follow the thicks and thins of an


24 speech52 – of space, allows Certeau to correlate walking and speech to analyze the modes which Certeau argues, it “...seems possible to g ive a preliminary definition of walking as a space of enunciation .”53 Certeau applies two main linguistic tropes54 in the enunciation of space in his section of ‘Walking rhetorics’ in his chapter “Walking the City” . He contends that these two tropes not onl y signify (similarly to overdetermination) more meaning than what is apparent, but also signifies the spatial dynamics perpetually defined spatially. Things and assemblages in Certeau are ‘ walked out’ , spaced out, in differential patterns and forms.55 He illustrates that ( at least) two linguistic tropes parallel spatial practice , and in analyz ing each, finds that their function illustrates the complexities, layers, and dynamics of spatial expression: “...a formal structure of these [spatial] practices.”56 “Synecdoche expands a spatial element in order to make i t play the role of a ‘more’ (a totality) and take its place.”57 It does this in that “ names a part instead of the whole which includes it.”58 Thus, the spatial practice of synecdoche signifies a spatial density: “ amplifies the detail and miniaturizes the whole.”59 Synecdoche steps emphasize the footfall beat . On the other hand, “ a syndeton, by elision, creates a ‘less,’ opens gaps in the spatial continuum, and urban ‘text’ they write without being able to read it.” Idem, 93. Moreover, walkers’ “...story begins on ground level, with footsteps. They are myriad, but do not compose a series. They cannot be counted because each unit has a qual itative character: a style of tactile apprehension and kinesthetic appropriation. Their swarming mass is an innumerable collection of singularitie s. Their intertwined paths give their shape to spaces. They weave places together. In that respect, pedestrian movements form one of these ‘real systems whose existence in fact makes up the city.’ ... It is true that the operations of walking on can be tr aced on city maps in such a way as to transcribe their paths (here well -trodden, there very faint) and their tr ajectories (going this way and not that). But these thick or thin curves only refer, like words, to the absence of what has passed by. Surveys of routes mis s what was: the act itself of passing by. The operation of walking, wandering, or ‘window shopping,’ that is, the activity of passers -by, is transformed into points that draw a totalizing and reversible line on the map.” Idem, 97. 52 “A comparison with the speech act will allow us to go further and not limit ourselves to the critique of graphic representa tions alone, looking from the shores of legibility toward an inaccessible beyond. The act of walking is to the urban system what the speech act is to language or to the statements uttered.” Ibid. 53 Idem, 98. To get to this ‘enunciative space’, Certeau out lines “At the most elementary level, it has a triple ‘enunciative’ function: it is a process of appropriation of the topographical system on the part of the pedestrian (just as the speaker appropriates and takes on the language); it is the spatial acting -o ut of the place (just as the speech act is an acoustic acting -out of language); and it implies relations among differentiated positions, that is, among pragmatic ‘contracts’ in the form of movements (just as verbal enunciation is an ‘allocution,’ ‘posits a nother opposite’ the speaker and puts contracts between interlocutors into action). It thus seems possible to a preliminary definition of walking as a space of enunciation.” Idem, 97-98. 54 “In introducing the notion of a ‘residing rhetoric’ (‘rhtorique ha bitante’), the fertile pathway opened up by A. Mdam and systematized by S. Ostrowetsky and J. F. Augoyard, we assume that the ‘tropes’ catalogued by rhetoric furnish models and hypotheses for the analysis of ways of appropriating places. Two postulates se em to me to underlie the validity of this application: 1) it is assumed that practices of space also corresponds to manipulations of the basic elements of a constructed order; 2) it is assumed that they are, like the tropes in rhetoric, deviations relative to a sort of ‘literal meaning’ defined by the urbanistic system.” Idem, 100. 55 As Certeau finds, “These enunciatory operations are of an unlimited diversity. They therefore cannot be reduced [simply or only] to their graphic trail.” Idem, 99. 56 Idem, 101. 57 Ibid. 58 Ibid. 59 Ibid.


25 retains only selected parts of it that amount almost to relics.”60 It does this in that it “ the suppression of linking words such as conjunctions and adverbs, either within a sentence or between sentences.”61 Thus, the spatial practice of asyndeton signifies a spatial sparsity: “ undoes continuity and undercuts its plausibility.” Asyndeton steps emphasize the pause between each footfall. These tropes, gaps , and selected remnant condensations illustrate the expressive multiplicities of spatial things and assemblages. They po int out overlapping, diverse spatial meanings, comprehensions, and definitions. These differentiations tell an alwaysemerging story of spaces and places, a syncopated story so increasingly diverse that one may be best suited to consider them as differential.62 As one practices synecdoche and asyndeton in spatial practice, she or he practices a walking out , a thing, an assemblage of spatial expression. Certeau’s suggestive tropes of practiced space indicate s the expressive character of things, assemblages of things, in relation. Moreover, the spatial practices of these suggestive tropes also indicate that space consist s of more than what is ‘walked out’. The power and impact of these present and absent things – ‘mores’ and ‘gaps’ – is integral, i n both the revealing and concealing of the urban dynamic – a process that implicates the contested dynamics of strategic power and control and tactical power and rupture .63 It is apparent that 60 Ibid. 61 Ibid. 62 As Certeau writes, “a space treated in this way and shaped by practices is transformed into enlarged singularities and separate islands. Through these swellings, shrinkings, and fragmentations, that is, through these rhetorical operations a spatial phrasing of an analogical (composed of juxtaposed citations) and elliptical (made of gaps, lapses, and allusions) type is created. For the technological system of a coherent and totalizing space that is ‘linked’ and simu ltaneous, the figures of pedestrian rhetoric substitute trajectories that have a mythical structure at least if one understands by ‘myth’ a discourse relative to the place/nowhere (or origin) of concrete existence, a story jerry -built out of elements taken from common sayings, an allusive and fragmentary story whose gaps mesh with the social practices it symbolizes.” Idem, 101 -102. Moreover, this spatial expression is perpetually changing: “figures are the acts of this stylistic metamorphosis of space. Or rather, as Rilke puts it, they are moving ‘trees of gestures.’ ... These ‘trees of gestures’ are in movement everywhere. Their forests walk through the streets. They transform the scene, but they cannot be fixed in a certain place by images.” Idem, 102. 63 One can take the power dynamics which the urban scene traditionally employs (according to Certeau) to orchestrate strategic power and control outlined in the section titled ‘An operational concept?’ on pages 94-95. Where Certeau ultimately finds “today, wh atever the avatars of this concept may have been, we have to acknowledge that if in discourse the city serves as a totalizing and almost mythical landmark for socioeconomic and political strategies, urban life increasingly permits the re-emergence of the e lement that the urbanistic project excluded. The language of power is in itself ‘urbanizing,’ but the city is left prey to contradictory movements that counterbalance and combine themselves outside the reach of panoptic power. The city becomes the dominant theme in political legends, but it is no longer a field of programmed and regulated operations.” Idem, 95. Moreover, Certeau outlines ‘strategies’ and ‘tactics’ as, “I call a ‘strategy’ the calculus of force-relationships which becomes possible when a su bject of will and power...can be isolated from an ‘environment.’ A strategy assumes a place that can be circumscribed as proper ( propre ) and thus serve as the basis for generating relations with an exterior distinct from it.... I call a ‘tactic,’ on the ot her hand, a calculus which cannot count on a ‘proper’ (a spatial or institutional localization), nor thus on a borderline disting uishing the other as a visible totality. The place of a tactic belongs to the other. A tactic insinuates itself into the other’ s place,


26 Certeau focuses on pedestrians, human walkers. As a result, hi s suggestive tropes must be relegated to the social interaction of things in motion, things walking – moreover to human things. Whether or not this can be generalized to other things in motion (varying degrees) may not be addressed here. Yet , it can be s aid that Certeau finds that space itself , enunciated as acted out, space called forth , defined, and put in motion in pedestrian participation is an active participant in spatial practice.64 Certeau’s spatial practice, his suggestive tropes, indicates the interaction of things and their practice in the moti on of walking. If active and vibrant things come together in momentous ad hoc assemblages which, with variously bound and defining edges are already overdetermined, if as James Corner writes ‘we inha bit the excess of the earth’65, and if human actions and paths are things outlining tropes illustrative of more , of fragmentarily, without taking it over in its entirety, without being able to keep it at a distance. It has at its disposal no base where it can capitalize on its advantages, prepare its expansions, and secure independence with respect to circumstances. The ‘proper’ is a victory of space over time. On the contrary, because it does not have a place, a tactic depends on time--it is always on the watch for opportunities that must be seized ‘on the wing.’ Whatever it wins it does not keep. It must const antly manipulate events in order to turn them into ‘opportunities.’ The weak must continually turn to their own ends forces alien to them. This is achie ved in the propitious moments when they are able to combine heterogeneous elements ... the intellectual synthesis of these given elements takes the form, however, not of a discourse, but of the decision itself, the act and manner in which the opportunity is ‘seized.’ Idem, xix. If one finds strategies and tactics to be modes of spatial practice, then pedestr ian ‘mores’ and ‘gaps’ are precisely the individual transgressive tactics and counter -strategies that must be enacted to rupture the place of the urban city. This is illustrated, as Certeau culminates his ‘walking rhetorics’ with the acts that a pedestria n inevitably makes to disrupt the urban order. Walking out is an act, a thing of transgression: “if it is true that forests of gestures are manifest in the streets, their movement cannot be captured in a picture, nor can the meaning of their movements be circumscribed in a text. Their rhetorical transplantation carries away and displaces the analytical, coherent proper meanings of urbanism; it constitutes a ‘wandering of the semantic’ produced by masses that make some parts of the city disappear and exaggerate others, distorting it, fragmenting it, and diverting it from its immobile order.” Idem, 102. 64 See for instance: “These heterogeneous and even contrary elements fill the homogeneous form of the story. Things extra and other (details and excesses comin g from elsewhere) insert themselves into the accepted framework, the imposed order. One thus has the very relationship between spatial practices and the constructed order. The surface of this order is everywhere punched and torn open by ellipses, drifts, a nd leaks of meaning: it is a sieve-order. The verbal relics of which the story is composed, being tied to lost stories and opaque acts, are juxtaposed in a collage where their relations are not thought, and for this reason they form a symbolic whole. They are articulated by lacunae.” Idem, 107. See also, where naming responds to the spatial material and practice that makes manifest meaning: “In the spaces brutally lit by an alien reason, proper names carve out pockets of hidde n and familiar meanings. They ‘make sense’; in other words, they are the impetus of movements, like vocations and calls that turn or divert an itinerary by giving it a meaning (or a direction) ( sens ) that was previously unforeseen. These names create a nowhere in places; they change th em into passages.” Idem, 104. See lastly, where it concerns the role that walkers play in response to the spatial ‘vocabulary’: “First, if it is true that a spatial order organizes an ensemble of possibilities (e.g., by a place in which one can move) and interdictions (e.g., by a wall that prevents one from further), then the walker actualizes some of these possibilities. In that way, he makes them exist as well as emerge. But he also moves them about and he invents others, since the crossing, drifting awa y, or improvisation of form or abandon spatial elements. ... In the same way, the walker transforms each spatial signifier into something else. And if on the one hand he actualizes only a few of the possibilities fixed by the constructed order (he goes onl y here and not there), on the other he increases the number of possibilities (for example, by creating shortcuts and detours) and prohibitions (for example, he forbids himself to take paths generally considered accessible or even obligatory). He thus makes a selection. ‘The user of a city picks of the statement in order to actualize them in secret.’ He thus creates a discreteness, whether by making choices among the sign ifiers of the spatial ‘language’ or by displacing them through the use he makes of them. ” Idem, 98 -99. 65 See Corner : 1997 , 96. The context of this is ecological in meaning, the larger portion of Corner’s quote of Robert Pogue Harrison reads “‘The word ecology names far more than the science that studies ecosystems; names the universal manner of being in the world.... We dwell not in nature but in the relation to nature. We do not inhabit the earth but inhabit the excess of


27 gaps, and of that spatial excess, then this thesis is about the very things qualified as such – composed as vibrant and active, agentic mater ialities with tendencies to self organize in emergent assemblages, bound and defined by borders/boundaries/thresholds, defined by the overdetermined threads, that excess of meaning , and the residual forms of signified structuration expressed in spatial practices of (situated as binaries) synecdoche and asyndeton – all of which source and evidence dynamics informed and made in relation to that which is unseen, hidden, and invisible. The staging content is based upon things, and throughout the rest of this wo rk, although I will attempt to further clarify throughout, the term ‘thing’ requires this aforeargued degree of consideration. The life world consists of differentially qualified and bound things . Moreover, based on these aforementioned considerations, i t is argued that the UHI are similarly and foremost, things . Context T hese are the basic proponents at hand: this project researches the things and processes, or forces, which inform other things , experiences, and designs. However, that is still too broad to discuss generally while still hop ing to have some relevan ce, or make some difference. As a result, we must go farther, more specific and more incisive – to how a thing is thing . As Heidegger again writes: ...what and how the jug is as this jug thing, is something we can never learn —let alone think properly —by looking at the outward appearance, the idea. ... Instead of “object” — as that which stands before, over against, opposite us — we use the more precise expression “ what stands forth.” In the full nature of what stands forth, a twofold standing prevails. First, standing forth has the sense of stemming from somewhere, whether this be a process of self making or of being made by another. Secondly, standing forth has the sense of the made thing ’ s standing forth into the unconcealedness of what is already present.66 With the what established, one can lean on what Heidegger gets at here – the complexity of how a thing becomes a thing, through concern for ‘what stands forth’ rather than just ‘object’. Heidegger poses t his as difference s of outward– (un) concealed appearan ce, of object – thing, of presentation –‘situation’ , of a thing the earth ’ (emphasis added [in Corner]). This relation—or network of relations —is something that people make; it is an excess (of which landscape architecture is a part) within which a culture dwells.” 66 Heidegger: 1971, 168.


28 becoming. If one is concerned about how a thing is , then she or he must get beyond appearance and into the forces and processes that construct, produce, or make – generally, infor m – the thing becoming . Before that, one must avoid the potential teleological and linear causality conceptions that Heidegger’s first fold qualifi cation of ‘standing forth’ evokes. F or now, we can get to a simplified refusal of a linear causality. Considering the jug, the processes of its being are nonlinear . I ts presence is considered rather a phase in what De Landa considers nonlinearity . As De Landa defines it, non linearity “...that is, in which there are strong mutual interactions (or feedback) between components” are those forces that inform things “...not as a linear advance up the ladder of progress but as the crossing of nonlinear criti cal thresholds (bifurcations).”67 As a result, even if a thing has a historical ‘stemming from somewhere’ the presence of that thing is just a moment, in its phases of becoming. Returning to De Landa , although he writes specifically of the (mainly) Euro centric Western socio historical transformations over the course of 1000 years (10002000), the thinking of nonlinearity appl ies to other processes. Many things have emergent68, nonlinear properties that create conditions for differential a nd increasingly complicated relations and structurations.69 The reductive invocation of De Landa ’s nonlinear emergence aims to dispel a supposed linearity, and to argue against a teleological conception suggested in a ‘stemming from somewhere’ in a thing’s ‘ standing forth’. Moreover, in the potter’s shop, the informing processes of the jug ’s construction are nonlinear. From the material locations to the actions in which it is assembled, the jug comes together from num erous different material sources and through numerous changing processes: labor, temporal, and additive (as in finishing paints/stains/etc.). From the knowledge and interpretation of its being to the historical events it activates, the jug ‘ stands forth’ in Heidegger’s second fold way as (what I term) a ‘prismic mirror’70, or as 67 De Landa: 1997, 14-15. 68 De Landa discusses emergence as “ of the combination as a whole which are more than the sum of its individual parts” idem, 17 and how the process suggests that “...analyzing a whole into parts...” is “...multiplicative...and not just a dditive.” Idem, 18. 69 These structurations pertain to all kinds of things, such as “...the mineralized infrastructure of cities th emselves; the organizations (centralized or decentralized) that live within the mineral walls; and various other cultural materials that mo ve in and out of cities or accumulate in them....” Idem, 55. The jug itself as a cultural material has potential for emergent properties. Its formation regardless, more than likely tapped into processes of emergence and nonlinearity. 70 I assume this concept exists elsewhere, yet will be discussed later using Lacan’s ‘mirror stage’, Soja’s ‘aleph’ and De Certeau’s spati al practices.


29 a changing and developing cultural product, inrelation to the temporary and perpetual contextual processes of its production. T he jug joins, relationally, the ‘unconcealedness of what is already present’ . This relational ‘standing forth’ of the jug means that certain decisions, actions, and ‘tendencies’ enabled the components (from ‘some where’) to become a jug. It is not assembled (first fold) in a single linear casual fashion (no matter how limited the knowledge is of its construction) , nor does it relationally engage (second fold) as ‘jug’ outside of the specific contextual processes, actions, and relations of its information .71 Moreover, it stands not to be determine d whether the material , component ‘ intentionality ’ was predetermined to become the jug, nor is the jug’s ‘end’ necessarily the jug thing at hand. Thus, t he teleological argument stands only on shaky grounds . The nonlinear, nonteleological, multitemporal (ephemeral and/or perpetual ), and dynamic ‘how’ qualities of the jug are rather more relevant to its becoming than a teleological ‘what’ being – even if the two (‘what’ ‘how’) are inseparable. This inseparability illustrates and informs qualifiers that in form the jug, but does not determine it as the end in some ‘progressive’ linear process. The jug becomes a jug in a process that is non linear, nonfixed, and nonconclusive. Then the question remains, from where is this so called jug ‘standingforth’? T hen one is affronted with the location, the general/specific ‘where’ of the jug – or the located action of Heidegger’s twofold ‘standing forth’. This will be revisited, but a few words here will suffice. The jug takes up, it gathers, it is, it produces, and it embodies space. The spatial position is obvious, even if the dynamics, relations, or meanings are less. Further, the position of the jug includes more than space; the jug is simultaneously in some place . T hough some may presume to collapse these, one and the same, space and place are not interchangeable, nor are they the same thing. In general (along with landscape) these are the ‘where’s’ considered in this thesis – the relations of the jug somewhere , there , and/or here. One more note to ment ion is that space and place are not passive; they act on things in a series of different relationships. F or a jug to be a jug it must also be at, in, of, by, as, with, to and/or is – different positional relations ( some location, geographical, conceptual, psychological, virtual, or philosophical ). 71 These two points, assemblage and engagement, are taken as a corollary to Heidegger’s two -fold ‘standing forth’, coming historically from somewhere and ‘presencing’ into what is already an unconcealed present.


30 For a thing to be thing , it must also be , for instance, in some place and of some space. This thesis echoes many others – space and place are different, they are non synonymous, they entail different ‘relations ’, and they imply different qualities. A nalysis of space and place (and landscape) must wait. Even then, the analysis will not be ultimately or absolutely conclusive, complete, or comprehensive. It must just suffice. This thesis concern s how a thing bec omes what a thing is: how things come together (assemble) and the location/dynamics of ‘assembling’. As things assemble, some things are inevitably left out, left behind, brushed aside, concealed, or made not apparent. Some things are unseen, hidden, and invisible. Regardless if by definition, these are linguistically ‘negatively/ inversely termed’72 (e.g. ‘un- ’, ‘in - ’), this thesis analyzes the unseen, hidden, and invisible (UHI) rather than what is generally negated or i nversed. The argument here – holds the UHI as integra l, asserting that they are as informative (or more so) as their visual counterparts , i.e. seen, apparent, and visible, seemingly poise d dialectically, although in lack of a cohesive synthesis . ( That is unless practiced ‘ reality ’ ( or things in relation, copracticing space, place, landscape) is some relative synthesis. Rather, in lack of a cohesive thesis and antithesis, this argument holds just threads of dialectics, and at this point in the argument does not claim dialectical org anization. ) Continuing this contextual sketch, and from one that c arries the torch of eighteenth and nineteenth century landscape ‘beginnings’ and traditions, one may pose two very similar questions: I s not making evident the unseen, hidden, and invisible precisely what the English Picturesque sought when deploying Roman/Greek mythological narratives, follies, and verdant Elysium pastures? And: a s the English Picturesque ’s place as a productive and generative cultural and landscape style, ideology, and aesthetic without doubt extended (extends) beyond its eighteenth and nineteenth century originations73, did not the English Picturesque work in a long tradition of revealing unseen, hidden, and invisible things 72 This concept and term foremost comes from Lefebvre’s The Production of Space . Although Lefebvre is speaking of a specific production and critique of space, his analysis still find that productions negate: “ Any determinate and hence demarcated space neces sarily embraces some things and excludes others; what it rejects may be relegated to nostalgia or it may be simply forbidden. Such a space asserts, negates and denies. It has some characteristics of a ‘subject’, and some of an ‘object’. Con sider the great power of a faade, for example. A faade admits certain acts to the realm of what is visible, whether they occur on the faade itself (on balconies, window ledges, etc.) or are to be seen from the faade (processions in the street, for example). Many other acts, by contrast, it condemns to obscenity: these occur behind the faade. All of which already seems to suggest a ‘psychoanalysis of space’. Lefebvre: 1991, 99. Simply or differently, what something is not is an inversed negative to what it is . 73 See: Herrington, Susan. “Framed Again: The Picturesque Aesthetics of Contemporary Landscapes.” Landscape Journal 25.1 (2006): 2237.


31 as different cultural relations in legi ble lands cape experience? The response is arguably (nearly irrefutably) yes. On the other hand, to pose a more ascriptive (adscriptious) question: is this work thereby that of or the very same as the English Picturesque? In response, the answer must be no. The English Picturesque , according to Susan Herrington’s arguments of a Picturesque ‘aesthetic’ and ‘style’, sought to position the human as a detached consumer employing the tools and arts of perspective surely to c ontrol (as will be evident) a ‘nature’ external to the human social world.74 T he consumption and control , on the other hand, is related to a more scathing ‘ideology’: “ a s an ideological movement, Picturesque landscapes have been described by theoreticians as attempting to ‘naturalize’ the power and wealth of their owners.”75 T hough often conceived in terms of its stylistic idyllic Arcadian qualities, P icturesque historical narratives took shape in stylistic designs , ones also relating to Herrington’s idea l and aesthetic analyses. She frames her argument towards heightening awareness on the productive and useful aesthetic qualities, ones that, in contemporary design, she argues, have not tended to fade away, where ideal and style have.76 74 Susan Herrington writes of “...the Picturesque as an aesthetic mode. This is evidenced by: (1) the primacy given to the role o f the imaginative spectator; (2) the use of artifacts that would be deemed unsightly or even ugly without picturesque aestheti cs; and (3) content in these works that is typically unfamiliar to a twenty first century, service oriented culture.” Idem, 26. She also notes of ‘style’ that paintings of, which presumably utilized learned tools of perspective, “... the Picturesque marks a wate rshed moment when the techniques, formal strategies, and subject matter of Romantic paintings informed the design of landscapes for large estates in the countryside of England and continental Europe. For example, compositional techniques, such as extending the ground plane with a series of coulisses, were borrowed directly from painting into landscape design (Crandell 1993). Likewise, these works shared distinctive formal qualities. Paintings by Claude Lorrain and landscapes designed by William Kent were characterized by curved lines, undulating terrain, rough textures, deep shadows, and filtered sunlight.” Idem, 23. Herring ton finds the controlling degree of the picturesque as “...the viewer’s ability to give shape to this experience....” Idem, 36. 75 Idem, 24. The controlling role of picturesque emanates from its ability to mask its authorship – an act that makes it appear that ‘other -than -human’ forces governed the design, when, rather it was ordered by human action. “It is argued that the winding paths, mos s -covered buildings, and rolling terrain associated with Picturesque landscapes not only blur the authorship of these works, so one might think nature itself produced the landscape, but also obscure power with the appearance of neglect. Landscapes designed for estates in the Picturesque mode were not only a testament that their owners possessed the informality that only the very rich could afford but also that this wealth was part of a natural order (Bermingham 1986, Robinson 1988).” Idem, 24-25. 76 “The obj ective of this article is to explore the basic properties of Picturesque aesthetics —the primacy given to the role of the imaginative spectator, the recycling of objects deemed unsightly without picturesque aesthetics, and the use of views unfamil iar to a t wentieth -century, service-oriented culture —and how they have resurfaced in recent park designs and landscape representations. At first glance, this might strike the mind as a contradiction. Leading critics, theorists, and designers th emselves have cited th ese recent works of landscape architecture as a refreshing alternative to the Picturesque style—a style that has been described by landscape architects like Adriaan Geuze as a ‘worn -out clich’ (1993, 38). Yet, critics are overlooking the aesthetic dimensi ons of the work, that is, the way these projects work as art. Understanding how recent works of landscape architecture operate as an aesthetic mode, rather than a style or ideological apparatus, can reveal a powerful dimension of landscape’s ab ility to sha pe human experiences.” Idem, 22. Moreover, her abstract reiterates this: “While the formal and ideological aspects of recently acclaimed design works are discernibly different from Picturesque style landscapes, the pleasures we take from them remain indebted to Picturesque aesthetics. This is an important recognition because ignoring the philosophical contribution of the Picturesque may limit discourse on landscape to a discussion of styles or its instrumentality in power relations, leaving out


32 As she concludes, this aesthetic allows something to ‘stir responses’ , inform, and reveal , presumably things unseen, hidden, or invisible, what ‘portends’ through ‘the viewer’s ability t o give shape to this experience’ .77 Yet, t his aesthetic experience is, surely, informed by style and ideal, just different ones . What stirs and what is given shape is a revelation of something through sublime experience.78 As Elizabeth Meyer writes, “ a picturesque landscape was understood through movement in space, over time. I t unfolded itself. William Gilpin, a connoisseur of landscapes, found the picturesque in landscapes of ruin as well.... As twentieth century picturesque critics...have written, th ese were landscapes of time, change, process, and ruin.”79 Ruins ( and relics in phases of ruination) indicate ghosts, hauntings, events and things that w ere once.80 Thus, soci ocultural ghosts, formations of UHI counterpoints to the picturesque, are made apparent in the ruins and relics of experience. I t is reminiscent of Heidegger’s ‘standing forth’, evident somewhere when the first fold and the secondfold come together . T emporal speculation on the rich and varied types of experiences that landscape offers. Historically, the subject of Picturesque aesthetics was landscape. Surely, if Picturesque aesthetics are at work in our appreciation of contemporary landscapes, then it is lands cape archit ecture’s territory to reclaim. ” Ibid. 77 Herrington writes, “Landscapes and their representations were central subjects of Picturesque aesthetic encounters in the eighteenth century. This demonstrates not only landscape’s enduring ability to stir responses in the viewer, but the viewer’s ability to give shape to this experience; framing the effects and the associations it portends in ways relevant to our own ti mes.” Idem, 36. 78 As Herrington notes, “many recently acclaimed works purposefully frame the lands cape to heighten its sublime qualities and awaken a chain of mental connections, sensations, and memories.” Idem, 35. 79 Meyer: 1998, 13. 80 Herrington writes regarding the experiences and designs of Duisburg Nord, “The seemingly endless succession of immens e decaying structures must be experienced by walking through and around them. Walking along the abandoned railway lines that organize movement throughout the park, one passes over huge bridges, haunted tunnels, and promontory points that frame ‘views’ of t his ruined city of iron and steel.” Herrington: 2006, 30. Furthermore, J.B. Jackson writes in his essay “The Necessity For Ruins”, that “the monument, in short, is a guide to the future: just as it confers a kind of immortality on the dead, it determines our actions in the years to come. For centuries that is what monuments and feast days had been for: to remind us of obligations, religious or political, and to keep us on the beaten path, loyal to tradition. ... We have all seen other exampl es: the anonymous Cowboy, the anonymous Newsboy, the anonymous Gloucester Fisherman. ... What is the purpose of these monuments? They do not remind us of any obligation, they suggest no particular line of conduct. They dignify certain obscure persons who had been useful and picturesque members of society, and to that extent express a very decent impulse. But I think there is more than that: I think this kind of monument is celebrating a different past, not the past which history books desc ribe, but a vernacular past, a go lden age where there are no dates or names, simply a sense of the way it used to be, history as the chronicle of everyday existence.” Jackson, John B. The Necessity for Ruins: And Other Topics. University of Massachusetts Press, Amherst, 1980. 93-95. The monumental and vernacular structures commemorating ‘ways it used to be’, evidence as ruins and source ghosts in their presence. Or, as Jackson writes: “But there has to be that interval of neglect, there has to be discontinuity; it is religiously and artistically essential. That is what I mean when I refer to the necessity for ruins: ruins provide the incentive for restoration, and for a return to origins. There has to be (in our new concept of history) an interim of dea th or rejection before there can be renewal and reform. The old order has to die before there can be a bornagain landscape. Many of us know the joy and excitement not so much of creating the new as of redeeming what has been neglected, and this excitement is particularly strong when the ori ginal condition is seen as holy or beautiful. The old farmhouse has to decay before we can restore it and lead an alternative life style in the country; the landscape has to be plundered and stripped before we can restore th e natural ecosystem; the neighborhood has to be a slum before we can rediscover it and gentrify it. That is how we reproduce the cosmic scheme and correct history.” Idem, 102. Thus, ruins indicate what was once, ruins are ghosts lurking in plain sight.


33 and dynamic ruination narratives are ‘unfolded’ in experience, as ‘shape is given’ to experiential processes in a ‘thing’ s standing forth into the unconcealedness of what is already present.’ The historic soci oc ultural ghosts , the ruins in P icturesque narrative representation and exper ience, simultan eously reveal an ideal and conceal another. Joern Langhorst writes in his essay “Representing transgressive ecologies: post industrial sites as contested terrains”, “...the resulting [picturesque] landscapes covered the gamut between the ‘ pastoral’ – inhabited rural, idyllic landscapes, emphasising the comfortable and relatively tame – and the ‘sublime’ – wild nature, vast and powerful, inspiring terror and awe.”81 Here Langhorst echoes Herrington’s analysis of Picturesque ‘style’ and ‘aest hetic’ . Yet, in its practice, the English Picturesque transplanted a space through design practice into an alienated living narrative with ruin ornamented experiences. This transplantation operates on concealed (‘insidious’) modes of control, or as Langh orst writes, “...the picturesque is not an immutable, innocuous, nostalgic and idyllic representation, but an insidious ideology involved in ‘naturalizing power’ and in ‘deifying human systems of power’.”82 The revelation of Picturesque sublime experiences operated with the simultaneous concealment of human design actions characterized by the emplacement of ruins for the purpose of transcribing and projecting an alienating narrative. If the picturesque sought to draw attention to the soci o cultural ghosts o f its age (the ruins evidencing what used to be, or the informing ‘deadalive’) , it seems to have missed a component central to its Arcadian and idyllic experience. By revealing , or in Enlightenment speech, ‘ bringing to light’ the ghosts of its age and turning a blind eye towa rds (or outright mystifying) the processes of its construction, P icturesque experience s naturali zed the very socio cultural ghosts it aimed to reveal . They nat uralized the unseen, hidden, and invisible, a s if nonhuman processes were its only participants . Although, the verdant Elysium experience that P icturesque designs sought depended also upon the dark, ‘ugly’, ‘melancholy’, and ‘grotesque’83, the overarching aim ‘emphasized the comfortable and tame’84 one that 81 Langhorst, Joern. “Re -presenting transgressive ecologies: post -industrial sites as contested terrains.” Local Environment: The International Journal of Justice and Sustainability, 19.10 (2014): 1110 -1133. 5. 82 Idem, 6. 83 Herrington: 2006 , 30: “Under the auspices of the Picturesque, the ugly, the melancholy, and the grotesque were welcomed into aesthetic experience and opened up new possibilities in the expressive content of works.”


34 depended upon an educated85 and balanced political elite .86 In other words, “ finds pleasure in [the grotesque]... because tragedy is witnessed through the frame or the art”87 of an alienated , pleasant, and comforted experience , one meant for a select social group. In this sense, human consumers were deified, whereas human processes of construction were mystified and non human processes were demonized . The revealed ghosts ( the ruins and the ‘deadalive’) were served for the consumption of Elys ium like experiences , revealed at the expense of obfuscati ng other , more ‘insidious’ ones – those ‘naturalized’ human processes. The P icturesque function ed on an unacknowledged set of concealed and removed relations . For consumers of th is e xperience, their position in Elysium was decided pre entrance and based on the consumption of a distinctly demonized nonhuman Other . For t h is P icturesque , the narratives they sourced, seem s to miss the point that since Virgil (or at least predominantly after Homer), the entrance to Elysium passed through the same gates of the dead – travelling side by side with the defiled, unrequited, and corrupt – the damned and praised was a distinction defined only after entry to the underworld.88 Herrington and Langhorst thereby outline the historic context of the UHI and its role in the long tradition of the Picturesque. This rounds out the contextual framework considered in this thesis, in which unseen, hidden, and invisible ‘things’ operate. In contextual summati on then , how a thing becomes what a thing is, i n this thesis, non teleological, non linear, and nondialectic al (although dialectics may be used). The UHI operate in a location of an active and informative space and place, positioned somewhere within the context of the English Picturesque, and inrelation to contextual production processes. Argument This work thereby functions within the P icturesque tradition, even if it is not reducible to the Picturesque itself. Even if as Lefebvre writes that space may conceal things regardless, by shifting 84 Langhorst: 2014, 5. 85 Herrington: 2006, 24. 86 Idem, 25. 87 Idem, 30. 88 “We will consider the exceptional fates of these heroes and heroines from legend, as presented by Homer and subsequent authors too, before passing on to consider post -Homeric eschatologies in which every dead mortal is ass igned a better or worse fate on the basis of a posthumous judgement.” 115; “In the late tradition, Elysion or Elysium could be used as a name for tha t special region of the Underworld, as in Vergil’s Aeneid . It hardly needs saying that the whole conception is transformed as a consequence.” Hard, Robin, and H. J. Rose. The Routledge Handbook of Greek Mythology: Based on H.J. Rose’s “Handbook of Greek Mythology.”


35 thinking towards how a thing is a thing, then the unseen, hidden, and invisible may be simultaneously demystified and remain mysterious ; the informing processes of which articulated as simultaneously established and e lusive. If taking Heidegger one more time, then it is precisely that which is not initially considered the thing at hand that is constructed . More so , regardless of a things outward appearance, that which is not initially considered the thing at hand is what matter s in th e informing processes of things . The emptiness, the void, is what does the vessel’ s holding. The empty space, this nothing of the jug, is what the jug is as the holding vessel. ... Sides and bottom, of which the jug consists and by which it stands, are not really what does the holding. But if the holding is done by the jug’ s void, then the potter who forms sides and bottom on his wheel does not, strictly speaking, make the jug. He only shapes the clay. No —he shapes the void. For it , in it , and out of it, he forms the clay into the form. From start to finish the potter takes hold of the impalpable void and brings it forth as the container in the shape of a containing vessel. The jug’s void determines all the handling in the process of making the vessel. The vessel’s thingness does not lie at all in the material of which it consists, but in the void that holds.89 Heidegger’s void is , from the point of view of outward appearances, what is left behind and left over. It is not readily apparent , not visually considered informative, nor conventionally understood as a living90 (arguabl y an implication of Heidegger’s ‘standing forth’) part of the thing . This thesis considers the void 89 Heidegger: 1971, 169. Although Heidegger’s seemin gly teleological conclusion of the use and purpose of the jug residing in its ‘void that holds’, would seem to contrast with my assertion of a non -teleological constitution of things. Yet Heidegger reminds readers that things “ not appear by means of human making. But neither do they appear without the vigilance of mortals.” Idem, 181. Thus, in this read of Heidegger, the teleology of things also lacks. It appears that, to Heidegger, thi ngs, although multiplicitous, are also fewer in number than conj ectured in this thesis. He writes: “in accordance with this ring thinging itself is unpretentious, and each present thing, modestly compliant, fits into its own being. Inconspicuously compli ant is the thing: the jug and the bench, the footbridge and the plow. But tree and pond, too, brook and hill, are things, each in its own way. Things, each thinging from time to time in its own way, are heron and roe, deer, horse and bull. Things, each thinging and each staying in its own way, are mirror and clasp, book and picture, crown and cross. But things are also compliant and modest in number, compared with the countless objects everywhere of equal value, compared with the measureless mass of men as living beings. Men alone, as mortals, by dwelling attain to the w orld as world. Only what con joins itself out of world becomes a thing.” Idem, 182. In response, my comprehension of thing aligns a conjoined simplified Heideggerian read with that of Bennett. As a result, things are much more varied than Heidegger seems to consider. Bennet considers “...these items, they shimmied back and forth between debris and thing — between, on the one hand, stuff to ignore, except insofar as it betokened human activity..., and, on the other hand, stuff that commanded attention in it s own right, as existents in excess of their association with human meanings, habits, or projects.” Bennett: 2009, 4. Thereby, things do exist beyond teleology, beyond their ‘betokened human activity’ or beyond their Hedeggerian consideration that ‘men alo ne, as mortals, by dwelling attain to the world’ so ‘what conjoins itself out of world becomes a thing’. Things also exist in, what seems to be agreement with Heidegger’s “whatever becomes a thing occurs out of the ringing of the world’s mirrorplay .” Hei degger: 1971, 182 (my italics). as the ‘stuff that commanded attention in its own right, as existents in excess of their association with human beings’. The mirror play insinuates a mutualistic reflection – as mirrors seem to also command attention. 90 By ‘living’, see the previous analysis of the living quality of assemblages: “Assemblages are living, throbbing confederations that are able to function despite the persistent presence of energies that confound them from within.” Bennett: 2009, 23-24. Furth ermore and more specifically, I mean a reduction of what Jane Bennett argues in her text Vibrant Matter . She writes of the vital, active, and affectual quality in materiality, which finds things and bodies ‘alive’ in their own. In her preface, she writes “thing -power gestures toward the strange ability of ordinary, manmade items to exceed their status as objects and to manifest traces of independence or aliveness, constituting the outside of our own experience.” Idem, xvi. This is a brief point towar ds what is generally meant by a body that is ‘alive’, beyond the conventional ‘biologically’ alive.


36 correlative with the UHI. If the void is what really matters, and in/of what the thing becomes thing, then, as a result, this thesis finds distinction with what is unseen, hidden, and invi sible, or what informs a thing . By being UHI and not conventionally understood as living things, and in regards to Greek terminology, ‘Ades’, then, in this case, the UHI are also considered a version of the visua l dead of things .91 The nonliteral ‘burial ground s ’ of these dead things that living things always keep close at hand is the realm of the unseen, hidden, and invisible. This is also the realm of echoes, ghosts, haunts, winds, whispers, concepts, etc. Perhaps (forthcoming in a future act) these things are also bodies.92 If one takes this argument, then a result finds this study precisely interested in what is dead and yet informs – what is unseen, hidden, or invisible of visual living things . The ‘void determines all the handling’ in becoming, and the ‘thingness’ lies ‘in the void’. The void, the dead , matter; it inform s the living : per petually .93 *** ...they recall or suggest phantoms (the dead who are supposed to have disappeared) that still move about, concealed in gestures and in bodies in motion; and, by naming, that is, by imposing an injunction proceeding from the other (a story) and by altering functionalist identity by detaching themselves from it, they create in the place itself that erosion or nowhere that the law of the other carves out within it.94 Objects and words also have hollow places in which a past sleeps, as in the everyday acts of walking, eating, going to bed, in which ancient revolutions slumber. ... It is striking here that the places people live in are like the presences of diverse absences. What can be seen designates what is no longer there.... There is no pl ace that is not haunted by many different spirits hidden there in silence, spirits one can “ invoke ” or not. Haunted places are the only ones people can live in...these “spirits,” themselves broken into pieces in like manner, do not speak any more than they see. ... In this place that is a palimpsest, subjectivity is already linked to the absence that structures it as existence and makes it “be there,” Dasein .95 91 Hard: 2004 also writes: “The name of the lord of the Underworld appears in various forms, as Hades in its familiar Attic guise, or as Ades or Adoneus (or a s Aidos and Aidi in the genitive and dative only, probably from Ais) in epic usage. The Greeks assumed that Ades simply means ‘the Unseen’ or ‘Invisible’ ( a -ides ; the a is privative like ‘un -‘ in English), and they may well have been correct, although th is remains an open question; for some would argue, for instance , that the name is related to aia , earth, instead.” Hard: 2004, 107 . The unseen, hidden, and invisible qualified here, as the ‘dead’ burial ground is not a stretch from Greek origins of the U nderworld and god of the Dead. The implications of researching the unseen, hidden, and invisible then elide with revealing the active dead on the forms, relations, and meanings of the living, albeit dead considered not in its literal sense. 92 This term is complex, one that evokes a series of literature, much of which is beyond the scope of this thesis. Yet in addition to Bennett’s ‘vibrant things’ a loose sketch of Deleuze’s ‘bodies without organs’ will help here. 93 Or, to say it in another way, as Englem ann writes: “Positivism holds —and this is its essence —that what we can speak about is all that matters in life. Whereas Wittgenstein passionately believes that all that really matters in human life is what, in his view, we must be silent about ...”quoted in Thrift, Nigel. “Afterwords.” Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 18.2 (2000): 213 -255. 213. This work is an attempt to visually articulate what Wittgenstein considers as ‘silent’ in terms. 94 Certeau: 1984, 105. This pertains to his analysis of the relations of naming and spatial practice. 95 Idem, 108109.


37 The UHI occupy a metaphorical burial ground , the location away where active and informative bodie s are ‘ laid to rest ’. If one requires a spatial subject of this thesis , th is is it. Although an implication suggests historical component s , this is not a strictly historical analysis.96 Why though study these things specifically? Perhaps precisely because they are UHI, dead, rendered away from sight, concealed , etc.? Not to be redundant but it needs reiteration – i f Heidegger, Wittgenstein, and Certeau are correct, then it is precisely the things of the UHI that mat ter and inform things, experience, and design of landscape. This thesis is about things unseen, hidden, and invisible, the experience of them and their informative role in the experience and design of landscape. First, I will clarify the relevance of this study to the field of landscape architecture. Second, I will present the methods and methodology of the work, many of which are already apparent. Third, I will grapple with defining the characters and c oncepts in this work. Fourth, I will appl y this wo rk to the National Western Center in Denver, Colorado, which is specifically located at the border between the Globeville and Elyria Swansea neighborhoods. Fifth, I will discuss the findings , discussions, and assertions . In conclusion, I express possible proposals and pose other questions elicited from the work . *** This is a political, experiential, and re presentational project. It derives from a confrontational position aimed to affront structures that enable emergent landscape presentations and representations of some while limiting, controlling, and relegating others. It is about inclusivity.97 Conjoined in the milieu98, relations of human and nonhuman entities enmesh in landscape, a landscape practiced as a threshold of becoming. As all of the milieu practice s landscape, the emergence 96 For historical analyses of changes affecting ‘ghosts’ of the Sioux City stockyards and their visible/invisible spatial qualit ies, see: Becherer, Richard. “Sioux City Ghosts.” CENTER 15: Divinity Creativity Complexity , Michael Benedikt, Ed., Austin: Center for American Architecture and Design at The University of Texas at Austin, School of Architecture, 2010. 112137. 97 I understand that this is a contested and complex issue. The issue may need further explanation, yet in depth analysis or consideration may also be beyond the scope of this thesis. 98 For notes on the milieu see Foucault’s discussion of the power exerted through structures of ‘security’. “The specific space of security refers then to a series of possible events; it refers to the temporal and the uncertain, which have to be inserted w ithin a given space. The space in which a series of uncertain elements unfold is, I think, roughly what one can c all the milieu. ... The milieu is a set of natural givens —rivers, marshes, hills —and a set of artificial givens — an agglomeration of individuals, of houses, etcetera. The milieu is a certain number of combined, overall effects bearing on all who live in it . It is an element in which a circular link is produced between effects and causes, since an effect from one point of view will be a cause from ano ther.


38 is complex, prismic. The uncanny dead, the unseen, hidden, and invisible actively inform landscape. Practitioners decide what lives and what dies , and regardless of this decision, things still inform. T he uncanny dead are the integral piece and relative point for that which informs practice and experience. Revealing these relationships generates change and difference s in landscape and the practice thereof , in material formations and visible consideratio ns of the world, in socio politic oeconomic relations of oppressive/ transgressive actions, and in sociocultural formations. We practice in the land of the dead , rendered instead a s some illusion; we practice to disregard the presence of the beyond, benea th, or absent . ... Finally, the milieu appears as a field of intervention in which, instead of affecting individuals a s a set of legal subjects capable of voluntary actions —which would be the case of sovereignty —and instead of affecting them as a multiplicity of organisms, of bodies capable of performances, and of required performances —as in discipline —one tries to affect , precisely, a population. I mean a multiplicity of individuals who are and fundamentally and essentially only exist biologically bound to the materiality within which they live. What one tries to reach through this milieu, is precisely the conjunction of a series of events produced by these individuals, populations, and groups, and quasi natural events which occur around them. Foucault, Michel, Michel Senellart, Franois Ewald, and Alessandro Fontana. Security, Territory, Population :Lectures at the CollG e De France, 1977 78. [in Translated from the French.] Basingstoke ; New York: Palgrave Macmillan : Rpublique Franaise, 2007. 20 -21. See also Corner’s discussion of maps and mapping, “ Milieu is a French term that means ‘surroundings’, ‘medium’ and ‘middle’. Milieu has neither beginning nor end, but is surrounded by other middles, in a field of connections, relationships, extensions and potentials. In this sense, then, a grounded site, locally situated, invokes a host of ‘other’ places, including all the maps, drawings, ideas, references, other worlds and places that are invoked during the making of a project.” Corner, James. “The Agency of Mapping: Speculation, Critique, and Invention.” Mappings . Denis Cosgrove , ed., London: Reaktion Books, Ltd. 1999. 224.


39 CHAPTER IV ACT I – FRAME, RELEVANCE, RELATATION What lies beyond the windowpane of our apprehension, says Magritte, needs a design before we can properly discern its form, let alone derive pleasure from its perception. And it is culture, convention, and cognition that makes that design; that invests a retinal impression with the quality we experience as beauty. It is exactly this kind of presumption that many contemporary landscapists find so offensive. So instead of havi ng pictorial tradition dictate to nature, they have tried hard to dissolve the artistic ego within the natural process. Their aim is to produce an anti landscape where the intervention of the artist is reduced to the most minimal and transient mark on the earth. ... So the organizing move of the artist is merely displaced from the hand on the paintbrush to the finger on the shutter. And in that split instant of framing, the old culture creatures reemerge from their lair, trailing the memories of gene rati ons behind them. –Simon Schama1 The name of the tombstone establishment was Avram Breed and Sons. As the driver talked to the salesman I wandered among the monuments — blank monuments, monuments in memory of nothing so far. I found a little institution al joke in the showroom: over a stone angel hung mistletoe. Cedar boughs were heaped on her pedestal, and around her marble throat was a necklace of Christmas tree lamps. “How much for her?” I asked the salesman. “Not for sale. She’s a hundred years old. My great grandfather, Avram Breed, carved her.” “This business is that old? “That’s right.” “And you’re a Breed?” “The fourth generation in this location.” “Any relation to Dr. Asa Breed, the director of the Research Laboratory?” “His brother.” He said h is name was Marvin Breed. “It’s a small world,” I observed. “When you put it in a cemetery, it is.” Marvin Breed was a sleek and vulgar, a smart and sentimental man. * * * “But what?” he said. “But what?” He went to the window looking out at the ceme tery gate. “But what,” he murmured at the gate and the sleet and the Hoenikker shaft that could be dimly seen. “But,” he said, “but how the hell innocent is a man who helps make a thing like an atomic bomb? And how can you say a man had a good mind when he couldn’t even bother to do anything when the best hearted, most beautiful woman in the world, his own wife, was dying for lack of love and understanding...” He shuddered, “Sometimes I wonder if he wasn’t born dead. I never met a man who was less intere sted in the living. Sometimes I think that’s the trouble with the world: too many people in high places who are stone cold dead.” –Kurt Vonnegut2 1 Schama, Simon. Landscape and Memory 2 Vonnegut, Kurt. Cat’s Cradle. 1963. First Laurel Edition, New York: A Laurel Book, 1988. 46. / 52-53. (respectively)


40 Curiosity in the mysterious work of the unseen, hidden, and invisible and its information upon the visible has a long tradition in landscape architectural practice s and theory. As argued in the introduction, the roots of the unseen, hidden, and invisible (UHI) span to ancient Greek philosophy and theatrical expression. Although one may agree with these findings, the relation of the UHI to landscape and its architecture may be more difficult to establish. In spite of this difficulty, scholarship in landscape discourse and trad ition ( as well as, via argument, in the fields of critical spatial theo ry , history, geography, psychology, and theatre) find the UHI and landscape as related . By drawing predominantly on landscape theoreticians and practitioners, arguments frame th e rela tion ship and ground the pertinence of the unseen, hidden, and invisible firmly in the tradition of landscape architecture. As will become apparent, scholarship argues that the relations of the UHI to landscape are done in distinct expressions , subjects, o r discourses of research. Authors’ research tends to focus on specific or distinct discursive formations3 (e.g. capital, power, history, etc.). By mapping a collection of scholars’ arguments o n the roles of the unseen, hidden, and invisible in disparate landscape discourses, one frame s the argument for the tradition of the UHI as a critical com ponent of landscape architectural discourse. With this frame set, one establishes the informative relevance of the unseen, hidden, and invisible upon the known and visible in landscape. This then poises the UHI as an active and agentic relational player in the negotiation of landscape and its practices . Th is work echoes a persistent relevance and tradition in landscape architecture. Frame and Relevance John Brinckerhoff Jackson As a prolific traveler and writer, geographer and landscape scholar /architect , J.B. Jackson , is well known for his work on vernacular landscape and American landscape particularity . The collection of his essays reviewed here , aim to u nderstand, critique, and develop a different conceptualization of landscape 3 This term is attributed Foucault, but described most clearly by Gillian Rose: “A discursive formation is the way meanings are connected together in a particular disco urse. Foucault (1972: 37) describes discursive formations as ‘systems of dispersion’, in that they consist of the relations between parts of a discourse. ‘Whenever’, he says, ‘one can define a regularity (an order, correlations, positions and functionings, transformations), we will say, for the sake of convenience, that we are dealing with a discursive formation ’ (Foucault 1972: 38).” Rose: 2007, 143.


41 in its multiple and varied expressions. In terms of the house or everyday landscape, v ernacular l andscape is poised in opposition to establishment landscape, or recreation in opposition to environmental.4 Although the expression of establishment or vernacular is , for Jackson, tied implicitly with class, economics, capital, and labor, the differences lie, not only in what is concealed or hidden from sight , but why or for what appearance .5 The edifice of labor, albeit mutually removed from visibility for both recreation and environmental , is done for different, apparently opposing motives or desires of appearance. Whereas the desire to appear a specific way is tied to capital , the vernacular also has a histor ical component. Jackson writes in “The Past and Future Park” that the historical expression of the vernacular is tied to “ the romantic garden or park came to be chosen as the official establishment public park [whi ch] has been neglected by historians of landscape architecture— perhaps because they are unaware that there was, and still is, a vernacular tradition in the design of places for predominantly workingclass recreation.”6 Vernacular landscape thereby has a h istoric tradition of social and cultural concealment – a strategy used by establishment forces to both conceal and appease the self concealment of capital accumulation and ordinary labor respectively. Vernacular landscape weaves together a faade of mutual concealment, while truly concealing the opposing desires of capital distinct social use. Although Jackson argues, throughout “Vernacular Gardens” the historical formation and western cultural lineage of the garden as tied to the house, capital, and social relations, the overall argument for the concealment is one of psychological desire. Since both establishment and vernacular gardens share appearance and concealment in common, “what the contemporary professionally designed garden seems to have in c ommon with the vernacular home made garden is the rejection of any suggestion (at least in 4 J.B. Jackson writes in an essay that traces the historical development and changes of the vernacular: “Th e notion that the garden is now perceived either as a microenvironment designed by a full -time ecologist and harboring endangered species, or else a place of leisure, is not easy to accept. But those are the two versions —the one establishment, the other ve rnacular —that are beginning to prevail. For there is no prototypal garden design : there is only the prototypal garden identified with house and family; and these contemporary versions will eventually take their place in landscape history.” Jackson, John B rinckerhoff. A Sense of Place, a Sense of Time . New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1994. 132. Although he is writing of specific gardens, he suggests the relation to generalized landscape throughout his chapter. See “Vernacular Gardens” in its entirety: Ibid, 118 -133. 5 “If the prosperous suburban household seeks to eliminate all evidence of work and productivity from its surroundings, it is because its ideal is environmental: the garden (or the grounds) as an oasis of untouched nature. On the other hand, the less affluent homeowner eliminates all evidence of work in order to promote an atmosphere of family leisure and recreation. ” Ibid, 131 -132. 6 Idem, 113.


42 the front yard exposed to public view) of work or productivity” the differences lie in the form of image that these two social formations wish to portray . As alread y stated these are tied to environmental and recreation/leisure wishes – implicit desire s influenced by generalized explicit capital relations. Jackson describes vernacular otherwise, in an essay en titled “Vernacular”, as rural, conventional, not glamorous or flash y, and practiced with methods pe rtinent to tradition that responds to local customs and human and nonhuman processes.7 Taken to an extent and pertaining to its American variety, Jackson writes that “a prosaic, conscientious, and reasonably sympathetic study of our wonderful profusion of vernacular architecture —a profusion that shows no signs of abating —would lead to a better understanding of many aspects of everyday America and how they came into being .”8 As a result, the vernacular attempts to understand an everyday way of being, rather than an exceptional or phenomenal one. If in agreeing with the above, then the concealment of this everyday way of being that stems from a psychological desire in social relations to capital is an important pres cription of the vernacular. Jackson reiterates his attentive view towards psychological desire i n “The Word Itself” where he outlines contestation about a common meaning and definition of landscape. He writes that the common dictionary definition “ ls us that a landscape is a ‘portion of land which the eye can comprehend at a glance.’”9 Coming from the eighteenth century ‘picturesque’, the definition emphasizes comprehension, which requires the mental faculties of understanding, knowledge, and meani ng. Moreover, this is nearly instantaneous; the glance collect s as much data as possible from something happening and mentally reorganize s them into something comprehensible. Jackson’s following sentence s suggests desire ’s role: “ a ctually when it was first introduced (or reintroduced) into English it did not mean the view itself, it meant a picture of it, an artist ’ s interpretation. It was his task to ... compose them so that they made a work of art.”10 The comprehension then is something edited, an interpretation, something that is stitched 7 Jackson, John Brinckerhoff. Discovering the Vernacular Landscape . New Haven: Yale University Press, 1984. 85. 8 Idem, 87, my italics. 9 Idem, 3. 10 Ibid.


43 together as a composed work of art. Jackson is implying that the picture, the constructed and comprehended, is interpreted desire recreated and reformed.11 Jackson threads desire with the nonvisible and revelatory role of landscape. He quotes from Kenneth Clark who writes of landscape painting and finding that the technological advances in visual perceptibility, “‘have so greatly enlarged the range of our vison,’ he writes, ‘that the snug, sensible nature which we can see with our own eyes has ceased to satisfy our imaginations....’”12 T echnological advances not only revealed more than conventionally perceived, but they also invited an imaginative eye towards what else may be experienced. This is evident in how Jackson sets up his citation of Clark, stating “...painters, they have long since lost interest in producing conventional landscapes.”13 I nsights gathered by desiring more than ‘nature which we can see with our own eyes’ captivated production s of nonconvent ional landscape through landscape painting. This practice sought inspiration and fulfillment from what was not readily perceptible, by something conceivably of more interest. This culminates in the end of Clark’s citation, when he writes, “...‘we know that by our new standards of measurement the most extensive landscape is practically the same as the hole through which the burrowing ant escapes from our sight.’”14 There is, in Clark’s (and by subsequent appropriation Jackson’s) argument, something else, something more in landscape (either desired or instigating desire) than what is perceived.15 T hese sources and analyses find that although Jackson is concerned with historical and capital forces that inform landscape, it is clear his main attention eli des with psychological desire and the unseen, hidden, and invisible role in the information of landscape. After all, it is not coincidental that the things 11 Jackson continues: “First it meant a picture of a view; then the view itself. We went into the country and discovered beautif ul views, always remembering the criteria of landscape beauty as established by critics and artists. Finally, on a modest scale, we undertook to make over a piece of ground so that it resembled a pastoral landscape in the shape of a garden or park. Just as the painter used his judgment as to what to include or omit in his composition, the landscape gardener (as he was known in the eighteenth century) took pains to produce a stylized “picturesque” landscape, leaving out the muddy roads, the plowed fields, the squalid villages of the real countrysid e and including certain agreeable natural features: brooks and groves of trees and smooth expanses of grass. The results were often extremely beautiful, but they were still pictures, though in three dimensions.” Ibi d. 12 Idem, 4. 13 Ibid. 14 Idem, 4. 15 Jackson continues to illustrate towards something more and the revelatory. Towards the end of his essay, Jackson writes, aft er deconstructing the term, “...the formula landscape as a composition of man -made spaces on the land is more significant than it first appears, for if it does not provide us with a definition it throws a revealing light on the origin of the concept.” Ide m, 7 -8. The search for landscape concept origination apparently requires something revelatory, produced by deconstructing the text to a formulaic distinction of landscape. This not only suggests that the concept of landscape has murky origins, but that the concept itself is murky.


44 omitted by the landscape painter16 are similarly concealed yet, subsequently revealed as desire in vernacular landscape. Where the efforts to conceal roads17, labor, production, and the ‘ordinary’ a re desires of both landscape painting and vernacular, they are both revealed as informative of a landscape that makes evident the wishes of appearances. James Corner Noted landscape architect James Corner , principal at Field Operations , is well known for his complex and emergent landscape designs and competition proposals. His theoretical essays and arguments are likewise pertinent to landscape discourse, and, arguably, his work aims towards m aking something visible that is otherwise not . His work on ecology, cosmology, and mapping, for instance, all pursue something revelatory in landscape. Taking these texts together, Corner’s arguments resoundingly pursues cosmological and ecological expressions of the UHI . Corner pursues the cosmological revelat ory in a set of essays that culminates in his ‘solution’ for theoretically and practically vapid designs, in a hermeneutical proposal for l andscape architectural theory and design. In “A Discourse on Theory I”, he writes of the archeological historical or igination of human place in the world and connections with the cosmos. He writes that the ancient Greek’s use of “...the term theoria refers to the continual anticipation of something unexpected, something previously unforeseen, and something that would c hange one’s life thereafter, like a revelation or vision.”18 This term clarified a mode of comprehending the world, which “...looked forward to a kind of revelatory seeing that would momentarily clarify their [the Greeks] being in the cosmos.”19 This clari fication bound revelation to landscape.20 The ‘revelatory seeing’ presumably apprehended in everyday activities with ‘artifacts’ or 16 See note 11. 17 For Jackson’s other analysis of the pertinence of roads and more ‘ordinary’ landscapes see, for instance, “The Accessible Landscape”, “Working at Home”, and “Roads Belong in the Landscape” in A Sense of Place, a Sense of Time. 18 Corner, James. “A Discourse on Theory I: ‘Sounding the Depths’ – Origins, Theory, and Representation.” Landscape Journal , 9:2. 1990. 62. 19 Ibid. 20 Corner writes that this was originally a privileged to a select group of sanctified Greeks and made apparent through the Greek theatre, argued in Corner’s assessment that “in antiquity, and later in classical philosophy, artifacts and gardens were understood as figurative representations of the theoretical world.” Ibid. An explanation for which the knowledge was revelatory, summarized on the same page, center column. This assessment of revelatory knowledge connects theat rical revelation with the theoretical potential of landscape.


45 passings in ‘gardens’ ‘w ould momentarily clarify their being in the cosmos.’ Corner thus illustrates that landscape, histor ically, w as a medium through which everyday cosmological revelation happened. Corner continues his analysis of the pertinence of revelatory knowledge uncovered in landscape, with a subsequent essay. In “A Discourse on Theory II”, Corner argues his herme neutical direction of landscape architecture and theory. He writes that “...meanings once considered disparate or antithetical can be joined to find commonality —connections between art and science, theory and practice, or humans and nature, for example. In addition to joining, metaphors also extrapolate new meaning and usage to old figures, thereby disclosing hidden and latent relationships.”21 Enlightenment and Scientific Revolution epistemologies, as predominant developments of contemporary knowledges, further coded landscape with revelatory potential.22 The uncovering of ‘hidden and latent relationships’ becomes thereby central to the role of the landscape architect to generate new meanings.23 Apparently, to Corner, ‘hidden’, ‘mute’, and ‘latent’ ‘relat ionships’ and ‘possibilities’ imbue landscape. The ‘uncovering’ of which, becomes central to both landscape and landscape architecture. Corner’s proposal for a hermeneutic landscape operates upon the uncovering and bringing to light cosmological relations. This relies on Corner’s positing , “the landscape is itself a text that is open to interpretation and transformation. It is also a highly situated phenomenon in terms of space, time, and tradition and exists as both the ground and geography of our herita ge and change.”24 To Corner, landscape construction s are viewed epistemologically and ontologically prior to linguistic delimitations, and it is not until a participant makes decisions in interaction with which, that we establish meaning.25 As a result, this implies the constant negotiation and interpretation of what we see and what we do not (or choose to not). The hermeneutical interpretation is an ontological method of constructing sense from that 21 Corner, James. “A Discourse on Theory II: Three Tyrannies of Contemporary Theory and the Alternative of Hermeneutics.” Landscape Journal , 10:2. 1991. 128. 22 These epistemologies made ‘disparat e’ and ‘antithetical’ constructions of the lived world. For analysis of Enlightenment and Scientific Revolution thinking and its effects, see Corner:1991 and Corner: 1990. 23 Corner provides that role: “the landscape architect as plotter is simultaneously critic, geographer, communicator, and maker, digging to uncover mute and latent possibilities in the lived landscape.” Idem, 129. 24 Ibid. 25 “In other words, prior to language, ‘landscape’ is a phenomenon beyond immediate comprehension; it is not until we choose a prospect and map what we see, marking some aspects, ignoring others, that the landscape acquires meaning.” Ibid.


46 with which one interacts, and that with which others have previously interacted, interpreted, and ‘marked’.26 From this analysis, Corner argues that “the textual landscape is thus a hermeneutic medium. Landscape architecture might therefore be thought of as the practice of escaping and rescapi ng our relationship to nature and the “other” through the construction of built worlds.”27 Corner’s hermeneutics is a cosmological revelatory practice that aims to make visible individual, social, and cultural meaning. This is not entirely illustrative of Corner’s drive towards the revelatory in landscape. Corner argues for the convergence of landscape and ecology to generate and make apparent creative and emergent ecological processes. He clarifies in “Ecology and Lan dscape as Agents of Creativity” that c reative ecological designs that are contingent upon human and nonhuman interactions and bent upon emergence as a mechanism of revealing ‘alternative worlds’, focuses foremost on the non visible forces of ecology.28 Thus, more than the previous analysis, whereby Corner holds cosmology as his integral subject of research, his work in this essay shifts to focus on ecology. Corner writes the following towards the end, which identifies the ecological forces and processes of the UHI , and the roles that landsca pe and its architecture play in its engagement. “Thus, a truly ecological landscape architecture might be less about the construction of finished and complete works, and more a bout the design of ‘ processes, ’ ‘ strategies, ’ ‘ agencies, ’ and ‘ scaffoldings ’ – catalytic f rameworks that might enable a diversity of relationships to create, emerge, network, interconnect, and differentiate.” In one last article, “The Agency of Mapping”, Corner outlines how one might actually ‘strip away the crust’ and ‘get behind the veneer’ (identified in the previous paragraph) to work with the nonvisual forces of landscape. He argues that t he production of specific maps works as a method for studying and 26 “Residua in this topographic palimpsest provide loci for the remembrance, renewal, and transfiguration of a culture’s relationship to the land.” Ibid. One’s interaction with this palimpsest is an inevitable process of interaction. Awareness of previous culture’s interaction thus requires an ability to ‘see’, a dedication to uncovering, and/or a knowledge base to identify the marks. 27 Ibid. 28 “Creative development in both Natural evolution and the human imagination, however, entails the realization of potential —the bringing forth of latent and previously unknown events and meanings. In the creative process of becoming, “X is equal t o what is and what is not (yet).” The revitalization of wonderment and poetic value in human relations with Nature is, therefore, dependent on the ability to strip away the crust of habit and convention that prohibits fresh sight and relationship. One mus t get behind the veneer of language in order to discover aspects of the unknown within what is already familiar. Such transfiguration is a process of finding and then founding alternative worlds. I can think of no greater raison d’etre for the landscape ar chitectural project.” Corner: 1997, 98.


47 permitting potential revelations and actions of the not visible – ‘possibil ities within a greater milieu’ with ‘potential for the unfolding of alternative events’ .29 In light of these potentials and the power of ma pping, it is clear that Corner argu es for the informative role of the UHI in landscape. Where it is also clear that Corner’s main concern focuses on cosmology and ecology, with the invocation of the map he surfaces the potential of other nonvisual forces. A key component, which will be return ed to in different contexts, is his connection of milieu and events with something revealed – relation s emphasiz ing both the UHI and the visual as an active component of meaning, knowledge, and life. Pliny the Younger, Guillaume de Lorris and Jean de Meun, Leonardo Da Vinci, William Shenstone T hese four authors depict different cosmological significations and their relations to landscape across different western culture’s social work – the Romans, medieval Catholics, Renaissance Italians, and Neoclassic English eighteenth century. These works illustrate each author’s cosmologic al concerns in the UHI , vis a vis life practice, didactic spirituality, painting and perception, and picturesque . Further, by using different writers, inventors, and poets from various historical periods, the following is a brief historiographical sketch of different cosmologies. Although, these authors touch on various discursive formations , they work foremost with cosmology. Pliny the Younger, a Roman writer, depicts two different forms of Roman cosmological relations in the Laurentine Villa and the Tuscan Villa. Excerpted from The Villas of Pliny the Younger ,30 by Helen Tanzer, Pliny depicts different villas to dep ict two different modes of Roman life practice31 – leisure and physical health and work .32 The ease at which Pliny resides at the Laurentine Villa and the healthy and 29 Corner outlines these potentials in the following: “More important is how the map permits a kind of excavation (downward) and extension (outward) to expose, reveal and construct latent possibilities within a great er milieu. The map “gathers” and “shows” things presently (and always) invisible, things which may appear incongruous or untimely but which may also harbour enormous potential for the unfolding of alternative events.” Corner: 1999, 225. It is clear that not only does Corner feel that landscape has revelatory principles, but that these principles have informative, generative and cosmological benefits for hum an and nonhuman processes. 30 Initial text and exposure from graduate class: Komara, Ann. “History of Landscape Architecture.” University of Colorado, Denver. Denver, CO. Fall, 2014. 31 Albeit this most likely pertains to senators and members of the Roman upper class, with the plebs and slaves largely excluded . 32 The leisurely aspects of the Laurentin e Villa are evident in the following, “You are surprised, you say, my dear Gallus, that I am so fond of my villa at Laurentum, but you would cease to be if you knew how pleasant the house is and how conveniently situated on the shores of the Mediterranean. ” Tanzer, Helen Henrietta. The Villas of Pliny the Younger . New York: Columbia University Press, 1924. 7. See also, “This walk is bordered with box supplemented with rosemary, for while the former grows very well where it has the protection of the house, it does not flourish under the open sky where the wind and spray can affect it.


48 working conditions Pliny gains while at the Tuscan Villa are different relationships to their contexts . Both of which are comfortable and well favored by Pliny, but are done so with different qualifications. T he letters thereby depict different relationships of human dwelling to the surroundings , yet the similar ities in which each villa rel ate s to its surroundings , either via climate, provisions, or food, are important in how the villas are used. Pliny’s letters catalogue a cosmological way of understanding Roman relationships to nature, landscape, country, and gardens . How the Romans rela ted to and engaged with nonhuman processes through life practice is a determining factor in understanding and being in different locations. L ife practices respond ed to distinct qualities of the villas and their contexts , which are both visible (e.g. vege tation, villa layout, garden components, and surrounding context) and not visible Running along the inner side of the walk is a shady path for walking barefoot soft and yielding to the foot. There are a grea t many mulberry and fig trees in the garden, for its soil is very favorable to these trees, though not so good for others. This dining room has as fine a view as if it looked out on the sea. ... Here begins a covered gallery which is used by everybody in the house. It has windows on both sides, twice as many on the side facing the sea as on the garden side. We keep them all open all the time if there is no wind, and even when it blows we keep as many open as possible. In front of the gallery is a terrace fragrant with violets. The gallery absorbs the heat of the sun and at the same time forms a protection against t he north east wind, so that whether it is hot or cold it is comfortable within. It also serves to break the south west wind, and whatever others blow from any direction. This makes it even more comfortable in summer than in winter, for in the morning the t errace is shady and in the course of the afternoon there is always a cool place in the walk or the garden close by.” Idem, 11; “The country is wonderfully well suppli ed with moisture by nature and whenever you dig down below the surface you find it wet and not in the least salty despite the nearness of the sea. The woods nearby provide us with firewood, and everything else we get from the city of Ostia. Indeed at a pinch we could find everything in the village which lies just beyond the next estate.” Idem, 13; “There are no very fine fishes in the sea, it is true, though the sole and the prawn are excellent. My estate provides everything that inland country produces, especially milk, for the cattle comedown from their grazing whenever they want water or shad e. Now don’t you think that I have sufficient reason to love my country home, even though you are too confirmed a town dweller to envy me?” Idem, 14. The physical health and working aspects of the Tuscan Villa are evident in the following, “You would beli eve that the place is healthy if you could see how many grandfathers and great grandfathers there are among the native families.” Idem, 16; “The country is wonderfully beautiful. It gives the impression of a huge natural amphitheatre, the arena is a wide plain surrounded by mountains which rise to a great height. At the summit is a forest of huge ancient trees providing excellent hunting of various kinds. B elow the forest the slopes are covered with timber woods which grow less thick as they descend the slope. There is a great deal of underbrush, and scattered through this are hillocks of very rich soil in which you will hardly find a stone, search as you ma y, and these hillocks are fully as fertile as the fields in the plain and bear as rich a harvest, thou gh somewhat later. At the foot of the hills there is a network of vines, and at the very lowest margin a vineyard forming a sort of fringe. Then come the fields and the meadows. The soil of the fields is so heavy that it has to be ploughed nine times befor e it is ready for planting though they use extremely heavy plows drawn by powerful bulls. The meadows are thickly sprinkled with clover and all other sorts of herbage which all grow fresh and tender. The whole basin is watered by never failing springs, and while there is an abundance of water there are no marshes, as the ground water drains away into the river. ... I know you would enjoy the view of this part of the country from the mountain: for as the land lies below you it looks more like a beautiful landscape painting than the real thing, it is a refreshing picture both in its variety and in its regularity.” Idem, 16 -17; “In front of the porch is a terrace laid out in beds of various shapes edged with box, and, sloping down from this, a bank bordered by rows of box at both sides in the form of animals facing one another, and on the level ground below, acanthus so soft that it almost seems to flow.” Idem, 18; “...besides the attractions which I have mentioned the greatest is the solid comfort of the place—nobody needs to bother to dress, the neighbors do not come to call, it is always quiet and peaceful —advantages as great as the healthful situation and good air. I always feel energetic and fit for anything at my Tuscan villa, both mentally and physically. I exercise my mind by study, my body by hunting. My household too flourishes better here than elsewhere: I have never lost a slave, none of those I brought up with m e, anyway, if you will pardon my mentioning it. May the gods thus continue to bless me and my house!” Idem, 26.


49 (e.g. senses of pleasure/energy/etc., corporeal response to overall villa context, use/desire/ health etc. , and the gods, these are aside from the nonvisual corporeal human s enses ). Guillaume de Lorris and Jean de Meun, thirteenth century medieval poet s, frame a cosm ological vision of medieval gardens in the poem “The Romance of the Rose” .33 De Lorris’ s vision ties human frivolity, pleasure, and enjoyment with didactic life lessons within the locked and walled ‘lover’s garden ’ .34 T his is contrasted by Jean de M e un, who carrie d on the poem where “Guillaume de Lorris...left it incomplete at line 4058. ...Jean de Meun around 1277 wrote a vast new amplification which reached its ending at line 21.780.”35 In his section, de Meun juxtaposes this ‘lover’s garden’ vision with the ‘shepherd’s garden’ vision, one that teaches human restraint to find a more true and fulfilling life.36 Associations of this garden with biblical terms ties the didactic lessons with Christian religious ideals, 33 Initial text and exposure from graduate class: Komara, Ann. “History of Landscape Architecture.” University of Colorado, Denver. Denver, CO. Fall, 2014. 34 Termed “the Lover’s garden” later in the text: Guillaume, de L., and de M. Jean. The Romance of the Rose. Harry W. Robbins, trans, Charles W. Dunn, ed. Dutton, New York, 1962. 436: 244. Otherwise, for human frivolity, pleasure, enjoyment, and didactic lessons, see for instance, “To find diversion, Mirth oft seeks these shades/W ith all his company, who live in joy/And pleasure. Certainly he’s now within,/Listening to the songs of nightingale,/Of wind thrush, and of many another bird./Here wi th his friends he joy and solace finds,/For never could he want more pleasant place/Or one where he could more divert himself./The fairest folk that you’ll find anywhere/Are Mirth's companions, whom he keeps With him.’” Idem, 14: 5463; “When once I was inside, my joyful heart/Was filled with happiness and sweet content./You may right well believe I thought the place/Was truly a terrestrial paradise,/For so delightful was the scenery/That it looked heavenly; it seemed to me/A better place than Eden for delight,/So much the orchard did my senses please.” Ibid: 7683; “Straightway I found Sir Mirt h taking his ease./With him he had so fair a company/That when I saw them I was quite amazed/To think whence such fine people could have come;/For, truly, wingd angels they did seem./No earth -born man had ever seen such folk./This noble company of which I speak/Had ordered for themselves a caroling./A dame named Gladness led them in the tune;/Most pleasantly and sweetly rang her voice.” Idem, 16: 136 -145. The didactic components include the symbolism of the characters names, actions, and accessories. 35 Id em, xiii. 36 “Now whosoe’er would make comparison/Between that garden square, whose little gate/Was closed with bars, wherein the Lover saw/Sir Mirth and all his meinie caroling,/And Fairfield Park I've just described to you/Would err as greatly if he tho ug ht them like/As one who should consider fable truth./Whoe’er might come into this paradise,/Or even glance therein, would dare assert/That garden to be nothing as compared/To this enclosure, which is not square built/But subtly round...”Idem, 430: 112. W here the garden of Mirth is described as a “ planted full of trees...” Idem, 13: 46 and “...a terrestrial paradise.. .” Idem, 14: 79, the restrained Shepherd’s Garden is depicted as “...on the slope, as though ‘twere coursing down/The hill, a littl e olive tree is seen...” Idem, 434: 163 164 and human actions are tied directly to relations with the spring: “It has a force/So marvelous that whatsoever man/Beholds it hanging there and then perceives/His face reflected in the spring below/Always, from w hatsoever side he looks,/Sees all the things contained within the park/And recognizes each for what it is,/And ever knows its worth. He who has seen/Himself reflected there at once becomes/So wise a master that he nevermore/Can be deceived by aught that ma y occur.” Idem, 436: 219-229. The more fulfilling life with Christian characteristics: “All things delightful, permanent, and true/Have those who in this park take their delight;/And right it is, for they all good imbibe/From that same spring of wealth and happiness/That is so precious, fair, and clear, and pure,/And waters all the place, a flowing brook/From which the sheep who enter Fairfield Park,/Forsaking the black flock thus to deserve/Admission to these precincts, gladly drink./Soon as they’re water ed, no more durst they have,/But live together as they will, nor feel/The blight of illness or the sung of death./In lucky hour they pass within these gates;/In lucky hour they see the Lamb of God,/Whom they may follow in the narrow path,/While the Good Shepherd guards, whose only wish/Is to purvey them harborage with Him.” Idem, 432: 74 -90.


50 arguing that tending to “Nature” will grant access into Heaven.37 The cosmological view presented ultimately align s a Christian view of the world as surpassing that of human pleasure. Christianity and salvation is associated with nature, gardens, and a didactic role for how to int eract socially. De Lorris and de Meun use juxtaposed UHI in human frivolity and Christianity and its dogma to illustrate medieval cosmology. Moreover, the normative quality dictates how and controls entrance to an UHI afterlife, the entrance to which is gained foremost through proper interaction with ‘ Nature ’ . Leonardo Da Vinci perhaps best known for his inventions, art, and insatiably inquisitive mind, also wrote on landscape and nature. His writings in the sixteenth century perhaps best qualify the Renaissance. Da Vinci’s writing s are so prolific and diverse that Edward MacCurdy writes in 1939, in the preface to The Notebooks of Leonardo Da Vinci, “What thinker has ever possessed the cosmic vision so insistently? He sought to establish the essential unity of structure of all living things, the earth an organism with veins and arteries, the body of a man a type of that of the world.”38 Pertaining specifically to landscape, Da Vinci observes its qualities relating to art, representat ion, perception, and human engagement/comprehension.39 His work in historical contexts suggests ways in which Renaissance 37 Although this is not the only way to gain access to, it is the first in a relational list suggesting that it is imperative, a s in the ‘shepherd’s garden’, through rom ancing the ‘shepherd’s garden’, one leads a life that predetermines the other qualities. Genius says, “That you more easily may keep in mind/My teaching (for the lesson in few words/Contained is that which is remembered best)/Again I will repent what you s hould do:/Honor Dame Nature; serve her by good works;/If others’ goods you hold, restore them straight/Or, if you can’t restore what you have spent,/Or lost in play, remember willingly/Your creditors when you have means again;/Keep clear of murder; let you r hands and lips/Alike be clean; be pitying and leal./Then you shall walk in that Elysian field/And follow in the footsteps of the Lamb/In everlasting life, and freely drink/The water of that spring which is so fair,/Health -giving, clear, and sweet, that n one may die/Who drink thereof, but happily they’ll walk,/Singing their everlasting songs and chants/And canzonets, upon the verdant grass./Or dancing ‘neath the olive midst the flowers.” 38 Leonardo, da V., and Edward McCurdy. “Preface.” The Notebooks of Le onardo Da Vinci. G. Braziller: New York, 1955. 14. The following selection of evidence is in no way a comprehensive presentation of Da Vinci’s writings, yet calibrates a specif ic and suggests a general cosmological view. 39 See for instance: in the chapter “Percepts of The Painter”, “And this is that if you look at any walls spotted with various stains or with a mixture of different kinds of stones, if you are about to invent some scene you will be able to see in it a resembl ance to various different landsc apes adorned with mountains, rivers, rocks, trees, plains, wide valleys and various groups of hills. You will also be able to see divers combats and figures in quick movement, and strange expressions of faces, and outlandish costumes, and an infinite numbe r of things which you can then reduce into separate and well -conceived forms. With such walls and blends of different stones it comes about as it does with the sound of bells, in whose clanging you may discover every na me and word that you can imagine.” Idem, 873-874; in the chapter “Landscape”, “The landscapes which occur in representations of winter should not show the mountains blue as one sees them in summer, and this is proved by the fourth part of this [chapter] , where it is stated that of the mountains seen at a great distance that will seem a deeper blue in colour which is in itself darker; for when the trees are stripped of their leaves they look grey in colour, and when they are with their leaves they are green, and in proportion as the green is da rker than the grey, the green will appear a more intense blue than the grey; and by the fifth part of this [chapter], the shadows of trees which are clad with leaves are as much darker than the shadows of those trees which are stripped of leaves as the trees clad with leaves are denser than those without leaves; and thus we have established our proposition. The definition of the blue colour of the atmosphere supplies the reason why landscapes are a deeper shade of blue in summer t han in winter. The shadows of trees set in landscapes do not seem to occupy the same positions in the trees on the left as in those on


51 culture understood its place in the cosmos. Moreover, the UHI relates to Da Vinci’s work, in, at first glance, less metaphysical ways and in rather more of what is physically occluded, able to be perceived due to the capacity of the eye.40 William Shenstone, well educated eighteenth century English poet and writer , was of wealthy heritage, yet also known to be ge nerous and supportive of others, which ultimately depleted much of the economic wealth of the gardened/ farmed estate at the time of his death.41 His writings depict a Neo classic eighteenth century English garden cosmological view – R omantic, mythological, and historical. In a poem titled “Rural Elegance: An ODE to the late Du s of Somerset” Shenstone the right, and this especially when the sun is on the right or the left. This is proved by the fourth which states: —opaque bodies placed between the light and die eye will show themselves entirely in shadow; and by the fifth: —the eye that is interposed between the opaque body and the light sees the opaque body all illuminated; and by the sixth: —when the eye and the opaque body are interposed between the darkness and the light the body will be seen half in shadow and half in light.” Idem, 930-931; in the same chapter, “Landscapes ought to be represented so that the trees are half in light and half in shadow; but it is bette r to make them when the sun i s covered by clouds, for then the trees are lighted up by the general light of the sky and the general shadow of the earth; and these are so much darker in their parts, in proportion as these parts are nearer to the middle of the tree and to the earth.” Id em, 934 -935; in the same chapter, “To represent landscapes, choose when the sun is at the meridian and turn to the west or the east, and then begin your work.” Idem, 940; in the chapter “Perspective”, “Perspective employs in distances two opposite pyramids , one of which has its apex in the eye and its base as far away as the horizon. The other has the base towards the eye and the apex on the horizon. But the first is concerned with the universe, embracing all the mass of the obje cts that pass before the eye, as though a vast landscape was seen through a small hole, the number of the objects seen through such a hole being so much the greater in proportion as the objects are more remote from the eye; and thus the base is formed on the horizon and the apex in t he eye, as I have said above. The second pyramid has to do with a peculiarity of landscape, in showing itself so much smaller in proportion as it recedes farther from the eye; and this second instance of perspective springs from the first.” Idem, 1000; in the chapter “Optics”, “Nature has not made a uniform power in the visual faculty but has given this faculty greater power in proportion as it is nearer to its centre, and this it has done in order not to break the law given to all ot her powers which have m ore potency in proportion as they approach nearer to this centre.” Idem, 217; in the same chapter, “No substance can be comprehended without light and shade; light and shade are caused by light. ... Since the eye is the window of the soul , the latter is always in fear of being deprived of it....” Idem, 231-232; in the same chapter, “If all the images which come to the eye met in an angle, by the definition of the angle they meet in a mathematical point which is proved to be indivisible; then all things seen in the universe would seem one and that would be indivisible, and there would be no more space from one star to another which would be reckoned in such an angle.” Idem, 247. 40 In response to: “ ‘Describe landscapes with wind and water and at the setting and rising of the sun.’ ” Da Vinci’s text states the following, which suggests the UHI as what is not seen or is just revealed (unseen), what is obscured (hidden), and what cannot be seen (invisible). Although it is clear that Da Vinci is observing and descr ibing physical elements, there is a degree of (maybe?) scientific metaphysics suggested in the text, which ultimately is best handled in painting. “Within the spaces between the ra in one sees the redness of the sun; that is of the clouds interposed between the sun and the rain. The waves interposed between the rain and the eye never reveal to the eye the image of the darkness of this rain, and this is due to the fact that the side of the wave is not seen nor does it see the rain. And the clouds are of dark purple. c.a. [Codice Atlantico – see page 55 for other abbreviations] 38 r. b Of things seen through the mist the part which is nearest to the extremities will be less visible, and so much less when t hey are more remote. c.a. 76 r. b A mountain that stre tches above a city which raises dust in the form of clouds, but the colour of this dust is varied by the colour of these clouds; and, where the rain is thickest, the colour of the dust is least visible; and, where the dust is thickest, the rain is least vi sible; and, where the rain is mingled with the wind and the dust, the clouds created by the rain are more transparent than those of the dust. And when the flames of the fire are mingled with clouds of smoke and steam this creates dark and very thick clouds . The rest of this discourse will be treated of clearly in the book of painting.” Idem, 927. 41 See Dodsley, Robert. “Preface.” printed. In two volumes, with decorations. Vol. 1, London: Printed for R. and J. Dodsley in Pall -mall, 1764. i -vii.


52 Romanticizes ‘nature’, feminizing, personi fying, and historicizing the materials or its appearance.42 Moreover, he qualifies appropriateness (values) of one’s engagement with nature and landscape as best with art and pastoral characteristics , and with personal insight and curative contemplation.43 Based on this , Shenstone’s cosmological pertinence suggest s that the material conditions of nature and landscape align more with picturesque values – pristine, sacred, and truthful – values that combine personal connectedness with the flowing design of ar t to comprehend nature and landscape .44 In contrast to Da 42 J. Dodsley, and Robert Dodsley. The Works printed. In two volumes, with decorations. Vol. 1, London: Printed for R. and J. Dodsley in Pall -mall, 1764. 105; “‘Tis nature -row hawthorn blows,/Or humble hare -bell paints the plain,/Or valley winds gh barren rock grows pregnant with delight.” Idem, the falling rill,/Or thro’ meandering mazes lead;/Or in the horrid 43 See for instance: “Why bran r h many a art ordain’d a rival feat;/There ha retreat/To mare her proud controul;/Had giv’n the robe with grace to flow,/Had taught exotic gems to glow,/And emulous of nature’s pow’r,/Mimick’d the plume, the sic war;/By Seymour’s winning influence charm’d,/In whom their gifts united -lodge, with awe -116. In “A Prefatory Essay on Elegy” Shenstone further writes of artistic, inspirational, and curative qualities of rural pastoral ‘natural’ landscape: “ The autho , as recommended ther etimes to country his own his farm part ” Idem, “A Prefatory Essay on Elegy”, 1011 (italics in source). 44 Shenstone composed numerous works, and by taking one poem alone is not substantial evidence for the cosmological connection alone. Yet, taken in conjunction with Shenstone’s essay and the preface, the poe m’s cosmological suggestions are more indicative of English eighteenth century neo-classicism. Further examination is beyond the scope of this thesis.


53 Vinci, Shenstone’s landscape art is tied less on cataloguing the representative and perceptive qualities of some external subject/object. Rather , in conjunction to this, it is tied more with a Romanticism of a didactic pastoral picture, in an externality imbued with human characteristics and subsequently alienated. The UHI is evident as that alienated ‘nature’ that has the capacity to paint idyllic and curative pictures. The brief examination of these four authors’ works illustrates different ways that each (and perhaps the sociocultural network of which they were a part) understood their relation to the world. The historiographic sketch of western culture cosmologies frames cosmology as an in tegral component of the UHI . Each author, in trying to understand their and their conceptions of humanities role in the world, subsequently relies upon (or strives to explain) what is UHI . Although the collection and analysis is cursory, it is evident th at their cosmological views , as well as how they comprehend what is not visible, of landscape, nature, gardens, and other nonhuman processes differ. Anne Spirn Landscape scholar, educator, theoretician, and writer Anne Spirn similarly discusses unseen, hidden, and invisible forces and their information of the visible. What is revelatory in landscape for Spirn emerges twofold, from a reading of landscape and from a dialogic between human and nonhuman in landscape construction. Using predominantly two texts to support these claims, it is apparent that Spirn’s main subject of interest spans parts of both J.B. Jackson’s and James Corner’s. The forces and revelatory processes of ecology and desire are Spirn’s discur sive inquiries of the UHI . In an essay, that is both titled and that discusses “The Authority of Nature”, invokes multiple meanings of ‘authority’ – both power/leadership and authorship. Her thesis probes different arguments on possible origins of leaders hip, all the while questioning those who may find it their role to speak for nature , those who speak what they read as the results of nature’s authorship.45 As she works through her 45 “Such conflicts and the confusion they engender are about competing sources of authority and conflicti ng ideas of nature: whether humans are outside or inside nature, whether human impact is inevitably destructive or potentially beneficial, whethe r one can know an objective nature apart from human values. Some believe authority comes from traditional precedent: from the way things have ‘always’ been done, or were done previously in some idealized period or exemplary models. Others derive authority from a rational system of rules or laws which can be proved or explained. Some are persuaded by the statements of a charismatic leader. Differences in basic assumptions are so fundamental that they may make it impossible to resolve the confl icts, but it is possible to clarify differences and dispel confusion. Much confusion comes from launching the debate without defining


54 essay, she challenges normative modes of ecological landscape architecture, arguing such proclamations claim to speak for a ‘nature’ and its ecological processes as if exclusively and hierarchically supreme, certain, correct, or true.46 The trea tment of ecology as the righteous view of nature fails to recognize the deeper, more evasive, non human processes.47 Yet if these are her findings, that the nature of nature is in constant need of “...a more reasoned, self critical, inclusive approach which acknowledges the plurality of human values and motives embedded in ideas of nature and authority”48 then what of the nonhuman ‘authority’ with which humans interact and/or erroneously claim to know certainly? In response to this, Spirn writes of the mutually reflective dialogic conditions that constitute nature and ( by sloppy extension ) landscape. Nature is a mirror of and for culture. Ideas of nature reveal as much or more about human society as they do about nonhuman processes and features. Even as human cultures describe themselves as reflections of nature, their ideas of nature al so mirror their culture. Lovejoy ’ s review of the words nature and natural reveals how integral ideas of nature have been to religion, politics, and beliefs about what constitutes normal or abnormal, right or wrong behavior.49 Here, the contestation of language is as much revelatory of the not visible (albeit of normative behavior) , as is the reflective quality of both nature and culture. The ‘of and for’ become pedagogic and revelatory. If, by consequence of the mirror ‘of and for’ culture, would that no t also suggest the opposite, that ‘culture is a mirror of and for nature’ , beyond what ‘ human cultures describe themselves’ ? Spirn suggests that both nature and culture are mutual reflections of each other, each informing the other , and each its terms. Anyone who invokes the authority of nature, implies that they are privileged to speak for nature. But who confers that privilege and why, and what is nature anyway?” Spirn, Anne Whiston. “The Authority of Nature: Conflict and Confusion i n Landscape Architecture.” Nature and Ideology: Natural Garden Design in the Twentieth Century . Wolschke -Bulmahn, ed., in Dumbarton Oaks Colloquium on the History of Landscape Architecture , vol. 18, Washington D.C.: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection, 1997. 249 -261. 250-251. 46 See for instance, “It is important to distinguish the insights ecology yields as a description of the world, on the one hand, from how these insights have served as a source of prescriptive principles and aesthetic val ues, on the other. The perception of the world as a complex network of relations has been a major contribution of ecology, permitting us to see humans, ourselves, as but one part of that web. There has been a tendency, however, to move directly from these insights to prescription and proscription, citing ‘ecology’ as an authority in much the same way that ‘nature’ was employed in the past to derive ‘laws’ for landscape design and to define a single aesthetic norm, in this case ‘the ecological aesthetic.’” I dem, 257. 47 “Given the many meanings and contested definitions of what is natural, appeal to nature as authority for human actions is problematic. Any approach to landscape design based on the notion that nature is singular or its meaning universal or eter nal is sure to founder. The emphasis should be on a spirit of inquiry and exploration rather than close -minded certainty.” Idem, 260 261. 48 Idem, 261. 49 Idem, 251252.


55 revealing som ething of and for the other. This dialogic relation delimits Spirn’s arguments on the authorship of nature. The dialogic relationship becomes increasingly apparent in her first chapter in T he Language of Landscape titled “Dwelling and Tongue: The Languag e of Landscape.” With her first categorical premise, “Landscape I s Language ,” Spirn codes the remain der of her chapter with a blueprint , a code tying language and landscape together into something legibly dialogic .50 That being said , Spirn makes clear that human landscape i s distinct from the nonhuman components, but also clarifies the implications of landscape and the interrelated processes of nature as still interconnected.51 According to Spirn, dialogue consists of language and a shaping and coshap ing through that language processes.52 Non human nature’s part in the dialogue then, is a coauthorship of landscape and life experience.53 Whatever processes and ecological relations of non human nature are active and informative, while indicative of forc es visible and not. After all, the comprehension that what may end due to destructive human operations is only human’s nature , acknowledges the conditions, processes, and relationships of a nature that still (to use Spirn’s language) ‘speaks’, regardless of human processes . It is indicative of a nonvisibility, a part of the concealment that landscape often constructs.54 As a result from these arguments, it is clear that Spirn is addressing the not visible as well as the visible. With the praise of the i nsights, yet critique of the frequent practice of ecology, she illustrates her 50 “The language of landscape can be spoken, written, read, and imagined. Speaking and reading landscape are by -products of living —of moving, mating, eating and strategies of survival —creating refuge, providing prospect, growing food. To read and write landscape is to learn and teach: to know the world, to express ideas and to influence others . Landscape, as language, makes thought tangible and imagination possible.” Spirn, Anne Whiston. “Dwelling and Tongue: The Language of Landscape”. The Language of Landscape. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998. 15. 51 Spirn writes of this relation, notin g human landscape inextricably depends upon nonhuman natural conditions. This is yet both part of what reveals and conceals in and through landscape. “The power to read, tell, and design landscape is one of the greatest human talents; it enabled our ance stors to spread from warm savannas to cool, shady forests and even to cold, open tundra. But, now, the ability to transform landscape beyond the capacity to comprehend it threatens human existence. Having altered virtua lly every spot on the planet, humans have triggered perturbations that threaten to change it irrevocably and dangerously. Many, as a consequence, feel control slipping, exposed for the illusion it always was. Our lives are like the plants hanging from wires at EPCOT, roots exposed, dependent upon technologies which, should they fail, will spell disaster. Some speak of the end of nature, but it is nature as we know it that is threatened, not the planet itself, not the universe.” Idem, 25. 52 “We shape landscape and language; they shape us.” Idem , 24. 53 “Dialogues make up the context of individual, group, and place. The context of life is a woven fabric of dialogues, enduring and ephemeral. Humans are not the sole authors of landscape.” Idem, 17. 54 “To see landscape as mere scenery gives precedence to appearance at the expense of habitability and risks trivializing landscape as decoration —landscaping —concealing the significance of senses other than sight and of parts hidden from view, the deep context underlying the surface.” Idem, 24.


56 focus on the ecological forces that inform landscape. Moreover, the invocation of the mirror ‘of and for’ as well as the linguistic structure of her dialogic landscape, also r eveals her concern for psychological desire. As a mirror of culture, culture constructs what it wishes, what it wants to see and be. Moreover, as the human spec ies’ survival depends for Spirn on reading the language of landscape, that reading illustrates a species desire to survive and change, desire to understand and know, and desire to connect and relate.55 In Spirn’s texts, it is apparent that the discourses of ecology and desire, at times, one in the same (as in ecological proscriptive and normative design) and , at times, opposing (as in nonhuman nature’s processes and human actions or inability to read) are her concerns regarding the UHI . Elizabeth Meyer Elizabeth Meyer is another well kn own landscape architect, theorist, historian, and academic. Her contributions to the field of landscape architecture are profound and pertinent to contemporary landscape discourse. Working with three of her essays, her arguments pursue studies in theory of a middle situated landscape architecture, in the ‘expanded field’, and in a re visioned ‘sublime’. This selection of scholarship frames both desire and history as Meyer’s discursive formations of research. Similarly to the aforementioned scholars, Meyer also writes of the revelatory in landscape, tying both practice and theory together in their historic potential of making apparent the UHI . In “Situating Modern Landscape Architecture: Theory as a Bridging, Mediating, and Reconciling Practice” Meyer wri tes of a repositioning of landscape architectural theory. One facet of her theoretical triad is that, “...theory can actively reveal the mechanisms that operate to sustain an ideology. As an activity that transforms properties that are themselves both sy mbols of class status and enablers of power relations, landscape architectural design can reveal the contradictions that underlie a given culture’s artistic, 55 “Humans’ s urvival as a species depends upon adapting ourselves and our landscapes —settlements, buildings, rivers, fields, forests —in new, life sustaining ways, shaping contexts that acknowledge connections to air, earth, water, life, and to each other, and that help us feel and understand these connections, landscapes that are functional, sustainable, meaningful, and artful. Not everyone will be farmers or fishermen for whom landscape is livelihood, but all can learn to read landscape, to understand th ose readings, and to speak new wisdom into life in city, suburb, and countryside, to cultivate the power of landscape expression as if our life depends upon it. For it does.” Idem, 26.


57 political, and economic ideologies.”56 Based on this , both theory and the practice of design conta in the power to reveal . By consequence, a s an ideology, landscape architectural design has mechanisms embedded in it that the very designs potential ly uncover. Theory is tied to practice, then, vis a vis the revelatory and uncovering potential.57 This implies that practice and theory each hold within themselves the nonvisual elements that signify mechanisms of their own operations . Moreover, both practice and theory can make apparent those mechanisms in the (seemingly disparate) other.58 To rei terate, p resuming that contextual relationships of ‘properties’ contain indicators of ‘ the mechanisms that operate to sustain an ideology’ as well as the ‘contradictions that underlie a given culture’s artistic, political, and economic ideologies’, then theory and design become tools towards making ideological forces apparent. Only after unraveling the mysteries and uncovering the contradictions, can new or fresh cultural visions, ways, or understandings arise. I n “The Expanded Field of Landscape Architect ure” Meyer explains that “once we ‘split open the closure of binary oppositions’ that have so blinded late twentieth century historians and designers from seeing the ‘spaces in between,’ alternative ways of seeing, describing, and evaluating the landscape are revealed.”59 Clearly, to Meyer, she feels that this revelation is constructive and progressive, foundational to cure social and cultural blindness brought on by Modern development.60 The historical concern for Meyer stems from Modernity’s relegation of landscape to the 56 Meyer, Elizabeth K. “Situating Modern Landscape Architecture: Theory as Bridging, Mediating, and Reconciling Practice.” Elissa Rosenberg CELA, 1992: Design + Values. 167-178. 170. 57 She clarifies her specific “...role as a feminist theorist is not primarily concerned with recovering the contribution of wom en producers of landscape archit ecture; rather feminist landscape architecture theory can be involved in the ‘simultaneous deconstruction of the discourses and practices of landscape and architectural history itself.’” Idem, 174. This emphasizes her emphasis on the combination of a theory and practice. He moreover considers herself “as a revisionist ... I hope that “the act of looking back, of seeing with fresh eyes, of entering an old text from a new critical direction” will result in a shift in the future trajectory of landscape archi tecture theory and practice.” Idem, 175. 58 She reiterates this point in a separate article by questioning, “shouldn’t landscape architectural history and theory attempt to uncover the interrelationships between a project and its surroundings?” The use of theory and history in this sense implies their interrelation with practice. Meyer, Elizabeth K. “The Expanded Field of Landscape Architecture.” Ecological Design and Planning . George F. Thompson and Frederick R. Steiner ed., New York: John Wiley & Sons, I nc., 1997. 74. 59 Idem, 51. 60 She foreshadowed this in her 1992 text writing that “the tendency of those discourses to view the relationship between the human and non-human natural world through the lens of binary categories —nature and culture man and nature, formal and informal, figure and ground—fails to accommodate the in between quality of the landscape. Theories of the object or thing must give way to theories about the relationships between things. In this respect, landscape architecture pre -figures p ost -structuralism's theoretical critique of the modern project.” Meyer, 1992: 174.


58 UHI .61 As a result, she uses historical analysis to situate landscape visibly .62 To Meyer, the inescapable fact that “landscape architecture is not a practice that can be adequately described as either this or that” requires a theory and practice that best reflects its undetermined, middle, and UHI characteristics.63 She continues , writing in “Seized by Sublime Sentiments”, her argument for progressive social and cultural understandings achieved through the landscape revelation of a new ‘eco technological sublime’. Meyer presents this in a form of friction, ambivalence, and tension .64 As a result, the tension reveals the sublime as indicative of desire and expectation. Meyer writes, “this role for sublime experiences eschews the spectacular and the desire for thrill. ...[T]his difficult mediation ... imbues sublime art and experien ce with the ‘capacity to humanize’ us as individuals and, more importantly, as members of a community.”65 This didactic role of the sublime sits within the desire to experience some thing ordinary and conventional, in spite of the spectacular and thrilling. In self reflection and argumentative example, Meyer connects her desire with the fulfillment of the sublime.66 As a result, it is not her desire that in fact drew out the sublime experience, but it was rather her unfulfilled desire and unfulfilled expect ations. Her wish to find some result resulted in an uneasy sublimity. That the sublime holds something didactic for individual and communal comprehension suggests the psychological desire and wish to learn from such an experience. That something is subl ime , couched in Romantic, beautiful, 61 “Rarely in modem architectural history is the land conceptualized as a site with its own attributes and structure. Hydrologic al order, topographic form, geological structure, and plant ecology are unseen, rendered invisible. As such the language of the modem landscape has been mute to many historians, theoreticians, and practitioners of architecture and landscape architecture.” Meyer, 1997: 48. 62 Meyer, 1997. See entire es say for picturesque, urban park, ecological, and suburban town examples used to argue her position. 63 Idem, 75. See also the following, a few sentences after what’s quoted: “If nature is a cultural construct, one that evolves as our society changes, shouldn't the field that is most concerned with shaping the land develop a shared language that reflects these hybrid relationships?” This evidences Meyer’s revelatory argument with its historical emphasis, while hinting at psychologic al desire as a subject of study. 64 This is best outlined on page 25, the ambivalence and tension is presented as situated in ‘the margins between’ a societies dialogic relationship with nature, and a nature represented in two ways. She writes: “This uneasy but inevitable relations hip ... is partially revealed from movement through, and by, the designed landscape. The movement of the body unfolds the content of the work and its relationship to its context. This unfolding through time and space affords the possibility of experienci ng the sublime.” Meyer: 1998, 25. This unfolding is an act of exposing some -thing. This some -thing is a presentation of ambivalence, which best reveals, to Meyer, as the Sublime. That exposed thing is integral to her argument that “the source of this p ostmodern sublime is the content revealed through the place, the stories it tells in fragments and whispers.” Idem, 26. 65 Idem, 24. 66 “This essay began with an account of how these two projects were linked through their histories of disturbance, and the w ays water’s movement through each site defied my desire to see that disturbance as having been healed through design. This lack o f closure and boundaries, the implication of open-endedness and indeterminacy, opened the door to a sublime experience. What in itiated this perceptual response was more direct, however.” Idem, 16.


59 and pleasing terms as based on the excerpt from Thomas Whately (quoted in Meyer, 1998: 11 )67, implies , assuming satisfaction from pleasure ( or even jouissance68) , that one wants the evoked experience.69 Although such comes from something ‘without’, to find the sublime, alludes to the unbridled experience of desire; desire to feel, find, know, share, tremble, doubt, etc. in the face of one’s own humanness. To Meyer, the revelatory in landscape is not only important to landscape architecture. S he also generalizes it – sharing some specific landscape contextual quality of experience, a pr ogressive rekeyed (re tooled) s ublime. D esire of the sublime and historical analyses, together are Meyer’s main discourses of researc h. These analyses situate her focus on the UHI , to highlight its pertinence in landscape and its active, informative role on the visual. Simon Schama, William Cronon, Richard Becherer These three scholars, a landscape historian, environmental historian, and landscape architect are well known (perhaps Richard Becherer less so) to landscape architecture. Simon Schama and William Cronon are prolific write r s. Taking a sampling of their work depicts their impacts on the scholarship of landscape. Combing the m here together is not to minimize their impacts, but to rather point to their thematic and research subject relation in history. As is immediately apparent, history is their focus and each of the author s argue its relevance to UHI forces that informs the visible. As with Schama’s quote at the beginning of this act, memory – historic cultural traditions – operate in the act of framing a view, painting a picture, and/or designing landscape. His argument points not only to the prefigur ing historic act but a lso to the prefiguring comprehension that operates at the same 67 “‘It suffices that the scenes of nature have a power to affect our imagination and our sensibility; for such is the constitut ion of the human mind, that if once it is agitated, the emo tion often spreads far beyond the occasion; ... we may be led by thought above thought, widely differing in degree, but still corresponding in character, til we rise from familiar subjects up to the subli mist conceptions, and are rapt in the contemplation of whatever is great or beautiful, which we see in nature, feel in man, or attribute to divinity.’” “Thomas Whately, Observations on Modem Gardening (1770), in John Dixon Hunt and Peter Willis, Genius of the Place: The English Landscape Garden, 1620 -1820 (Cambridge, MA.: MIT Press, 1988), 307.” Citation from footnote 12 in Meyer, 1998: 11. 68 Discussed in future acts. 69 Emerging critical issues that resurrect the sublime and that are germane to the landscape include the sublime’s ability to destroy form (key given landscape's embeddedness in the world), the representation of the invisible (parallel to recent interests in making site processes and histories visible and spatial), and the central role of the viewer in the construction of the subli me (recalli ng phenomenological and hermeneutical theories' dependence on the body, immersion in place, and subjectivity). I believe this ability to provoke the sublime has consequences for changing the collective consciousness, perhaps even engendering an environment al ethic, as well as stimulating an individual unconscious.


60 moment. Historic comprehension and understanding, prefigures the composition, yet is not itself prefigured. I n his argument, Magritte’s ‘windowpane of our apprehension’ is suggested to exist prior or even a priori to that which is designed. That would seem to discount the historic role of memory in the windowpanes’ formation. Yet, Schama clarifies that this is not the case. Instead, the windowpane and the designed ‘beyond’ are subject to historic forces : “and that is what Landscape and Memory tries to be: a way of looking; of rediscovering what we already have, but which somehow eludes our recognition and our appreciation.”70 His work is a way of looking, not a thi ng for seeing through – it is a study of historic relationships, not an a priori, immutable construct. As a result of this study of relationships, Schama’ s interests lie in what may not be otherwise known, seen, or understood – it is the UHI . He writes “at the heart of this book is the stubborn belief that this [certain, dismissive, or singular truths (narratives or metanarratives)] is not, in fact, the whole story. The conviction is not born from any wishful thinking about our past or our prospects.”71 He is aware that what may be given is not entirely the truth, what story may be given is never the whole story, and what may emerge in the study be unsettling. His role then is clear, and this gets t o the heart of history in this thesis , “that strength i s often hidden beneath layers of the commonplace. So Landscape and Memory is constructed as an excavation below our conventional sight level to recover the veins of myth and memory that lie beneath the surface.”72 Schama’s focus on the UHI is clearly one o f history. Cronon shares Schama’s historic focus. Cronon’s work on narratives illustrate that the history told is indicative of chosen events, and yet is also indicative of the UHI . Cronon writes of this in an essay, “A Place for Stories: Nature, History , and Narrative” clarifying that the narrative works by bringing to light a series of cohesive events while relegating others to the dark.73 Cronon’s personal 70 Schama: 1995, 14. 71 Ibid. 72 Ibid. 73 “It is a commonplace of modern literary theory that the very authority with which narrative presents its vision of reality is achieved by obscuring large port ions of that reality. Narrative succeeds to the extent that it hides the discontinuities, ellipses, and contradictory experiences that would undermine the intended meaning of its story. Whatever its overt purpose, it cannot avoid a covert exercise of power : it inevitably sanctions some voices while silencing others. A powerful narrative reconstructs common sense to make the contingent seem determined and the artificial seem natural.” Cronon, William. “A place for stories: Nature, history, and Narrative.” The Journal of American History 78.4 (1992): 13471376. 1349 -1350.


61 dedication to the narrative is clear.74 It is the underpinning of his essay, and is presumably integral to his other works (yet is unknown). Where the narrative has th e aforementioned potential, it s use is problematic beyond its relegating practices. The narrative tells a specific story, the results of which reify a specific series of events. This has potential compounding consequences as narratives are built up on narratives.75 Moreover, as Cronon progresses in his arguments, he comes to one of the foremost issues with narratives: “ i f the criteria we use in deciding the relative merits of historica l narratives are open to the same sorts of value judgments as the narratives themselves, then we have hardly escaped the dilemma that postmodernist theory has posed for us.”76 Value judgements work with UHI to reify (perhaps unavoidable) normative models o f the visual. Cronon provides some distinct limitations77 to assist in remedying the problematic of narrative , eventually pushing against the quandaries posed by deconstruction: refuting to “...then accept that the past is infinitely malleable, thereby app arently undermining the entire historical project”.78 Proposing that responsible and reflexive criticism may help, because d ialogue and criticism h olds the narrative accountable, he writes, “we tell stories with each other and against each other in order to speak to each other.”79 Cronon concludes with an understanding and plea to become ok with the ambivalence, the ambiguous, and uncertain, but only to comprehend the role that narrative plays in how human’s make 74 “On the one hand, I hope to acknowledge the deep challenges that postmodernism poses for those who applaud “the revival of narrative”; on the other, I wish to record my own conviction—chastened but still strong —that narrative remains essential to our understanding of history and the human place in nature.” Idem, 1350. 75 “Indeed, [Kenneth] Burke argues that a story’s actions are almost invariably consistent with its scene: ‘there is implici t in the quality of a scene,’ he writes, ‘the quality of the action that is to take place within it.’ If the way a narrator constructs a scene is directly related to the story that narrator tells, then this has deep implications for environmental history, which after all takes scenes of past nature as its primary object of study.” Idem, 1354. 76 Idem, 1371. Yet, this is due to the constitution of value within narrative. Cronon writes (including some contestable arguments) “Human interests and conflicts cr eate values in nature that in turn provide the moral center for our stories. We want to know whether environmental change is good or bad, and that question can only be answered by referring to our own sense of right and wrong. Nature remains mute about suc h matters. However passionately we may care about the nonhuman world, however much we may believe in its innate worth, our historical narratives, even those about the nonhuman world, remain focused on a human struggle over values. If these values are in ef fect the meanings we attach to judgeable human actions — nonhuman actions being generally unjudgeable by us —then the center of our stories will remain focused on human thoughts, human acts, and human values.” Idem, 13691370. 77 See, Idem, 1372 -1373 78 Idem, 1 374. 79 Idem, 1373-1374.


62 sense of their worlds.80 It is not in jest that one may find more constructive possibilities becoming amenable to a human epistemological and ontological condition that Cronon otherwise dismisse s : “We seem still to be rudderless in an endless sea of stories.”81 These consequences and problematic uses may seem lofty and ungrounded, yet Cronon argues that they have practical applications through his analysis of Dust Bowl narratives, finding the ir results to have an active and informative role in constructed its dev astating event.82 The operational forces of human narratives83 work in the historic UHI to dictate and enunciate power relations between human and nonhuman actants.84 As a result, Cronon’s main subject of research is undoubtedly history. N oting its inform ative influence upon the visible world and its dialogic consequences with human and nonhuman ‘nature’ , Cronon makes clear his dedication to the UHI in history and narrative: In choosing to assign narrative meaning to “natural” events of this sort, we face a special problem, for nature does not tell us whether a dust storm is a good or bad thing; only we can do that. Nature is unlike most other historical subjects in lacking a clear voice of its own. The very fact that Great Plains historians can ascribe to the same landscape such different meanings is one consequence of this lack of voice. Still, nature is hardly silent. No matter what people do, their actions have real consequences in nature, just as natural events have real consequences for people. Perh aps less well known, Becherer further echoes Schama and Cronon in his own historic work on the UHI . His essay “Sioux City Ghosts” studies the influence of historic forces, events, and actants 80 “Despite the tensions that inevitably exist between nature and our narrative discourse, we cannot help but embrace storytelli ng if we hope to persuade readers of the importance of our subject. As Aristotle reminded us so long ago, narrative is among our most powerful ways of encountering the world, judging our actions within it, and learning to care about its many meanings. .. .I would urge upon environmental historians the task of telling not just stories about nature, but stories about stories about nature. I do so because narratives remain our chief moral compass in the world. Because we use them to motivate and explain our actions the stories we tell change the way we act in the world.” Idem, 1375. 81 Idem, 1371. 82 See, for instan ce: “The Dust Bowl had occurred because people had been telling themselves the wrong story and had tried to inscribe that story -the frontier -on a landscape incapable of supporting it. ... In effect, bad storytelling had wreaked havoc with the balance of nature.” Idem, 13591361. See also, “In both cases [conflicting narratives], the shape of the landscape conformed to the human narratives that were set within it and so became the terrain upon which their different politics contested each oth er.” Idem, 1362 . 83 Cronon writes, in response to his own self -prodded question: “And just what is a narrative? ... Narrative is a peculiarly human way of organizing reality, and this has important implications for the way we approach the history of environmental change.” Idem, 1367. 84 Although non-human actants are players in human stories, theoretical thinking states (and is reiterated by Cronon): “Nature and the universe do not tell stories; we do. Why is this? ...” Idem, 1368. The following paragraphs outline post -str ucturalist and philosophical responses to Cronon’s question. He makes intriguing arguments, and eventually poses the latter of which to be most pertinent to his field. See, idem, 1368-1369. This thesis finds these arguments somewhat contestable, which wi ll hopefully become apparent over time.


63 otherwise hidden or not visible. He writes his thesis from his experience while standing in an abandoned meat packing plant, “in this place, as streaks of light penetrate the great room’s roof, slicing the space’s prevailing gloom with knives of light, Sioux City’s ghosts seem to take on tactile form.”85 He works with landscape architectural, historical, cartographical, and geographical conventions to construct an account of ‘ghosts’ , remnants of Sioux City’s past. He traces a lineage of change in time to discuss flows capital and history emerging to constr uct Sioux City , finding “despite the often tendentious, even teleological, economic history of Sioux City, there is a single inescapable fact about the packing industry normally left unsaid in the standard fare of Stockyard stories: meat packing here was b orn by chance. ”86 Becherer’s work reflects upon the UHI , and like Cronon, is aware of the power ful interwoven authorship that historic stor ies hold in revealing and concealing specific events.87 As a result, although he discusses the economic and social re lations embedded in the formations of Sioux City, Becherer’s work with ‘ghosts’ emphasizes his historical argument of the UHI and it s active role in the construction of the visible. Historic al change in time aims to discuss the UHI in visible constructions . Schama, Cronon, and Becherer are all clearly vocal scholars of the active role of history. Their arguments pertain to that which grapples with the UHI as a means of making sense of human relationships. Where the UHI memory, narrative, and ghost touch the forthcoming and prefigured visible, the historic contact sparks landscape events that instantaneously feedsback into the very memories, narratives, and ghosts absently present. William John Thomas (W. J. T.) Mitche ll Critical scholar W. J. T. Mitchell contribut es to a wide range of fields including landscape. Even though the focus here will be on only one of his essays on landscape , it is an essay that critically discusses the historical role of representation in t he transfer of the western landscape ideal. Landscape architecture 85 Becherer: 2010, 114. 86 Idem, 120. 87 “A story is a living thing. Like a soul, it nests in the mind of a storyteller. Like a bird, a breeze, or a breath, it migrates. It moves from place to place alighting wherever i t finds a safe harbor. It also migrates overtime, passing not just from person to person, but from generation to generation. The story, however, discloses little of such spatial or temporal indeterminacy, choosing instead to leave at least this much of its life untold. In order for the story to sing what it must, when myth calls upon it to truly resonate, the auditor is forced to fill in certain harmonic gaps imperceptibly, invisibly. As the listener adds his part to the growing chamberwork he hears, something larger and more compelling is forged. Not simply an instrument in the story, the listener suddenly becomes an active agent of the story. The new sound the mind has subvocalized makes itself heard as the listener reprises the story in the guise of story teller himself.” Idem, 125.


64 depends on modes of representation to transfer design concepts, and Mitchell’s argument leaves no room to escape the UHI role of power plays in such representations. Through his analysis of the relations between imperialism and landscape, Mitchell’s argument has pertinent consequences, beyond the European imperial era of the (roughly) 1600’s 1800’s, on current landscape architectural modes of representation and theoretical discourse. In “I mperial Landscape” Mitchell discusses the conditions of landscape in its appearances and potential to reveal. He writes in his third ‘Thesis on Landscape’ at the beginning of his essay , “like money, landscape is a social hieroglyph that conceals the actual basis of its value. It does so by naturalizing its conventions and conventionalizing its nature.”88 L andscape self conceals, as ‘it’ is the thing doing the concealing. The imperative statement suggests that landscape forms – how it is constructed and how it means – conceal other valueladen social relations implicit in landscape due to a tendency to appear , and to self state that it appears, ‘natural’. This basis of concealment illustrates th e normalizing actions of landscape appearances, while simultaneously suggesting that concealed relations, the UHI social relations, are active in spite of distractive and mesmerizing concealment . Although the connections to capital and desire are impl icit (through money and reification, the naturalization process, and the gaze (forthcoming) ), Mitchell’s m ain argument focuses on power. Remaining with his theses, the fifth through seventh state Mitchell’s imperative , specifically the relation of landsca pe power and imperialism, arguing that the European style penetrated all other global cultures.89 If this is the case, it still does little to explain how this infiltra tion happened. Rather, one must work through his essay, beyond his inquisitive argument90, to note that Mitchell is working with modes of 88 Mitchell, W. J. T. “Imperial Landscape.” Landscape and Power , 2nd ed, edited by W. J. T. Mitchell. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1994. 534. 5. 89 . Landscape is a medium found in all cultures. 6. Landscape is a particular historical formation associated with European imperialism. 7. Theses 5 and 6 do not contradict one another.” Ibid. 90 Mitchell works specifically through Dutch European practices and shifts to non-European imperial conquests. He eventually stat es his argument, albeit in an cautious way. “Landscape might be seen more profitably as something like the ‘dreamwork’ of imperialism, unfolding its own movement in time and space from a central point of origin and folding back on itself to disclose both utopian fantasies of the perfected imperial prospect and fractured images of unresolved ambivalence and unsuppressed resistance. In short, the posing of a relation between imperialism and landscape is not offered here as a deductive model that can settle the meaning of either term, but as a provocation to an inquiry. lf Kenneth Clark is right to say that ‘landscape painting was the chief artistic creation of the nineteenth century,’ we need at least to explore the relation of this cultural fact to the other ‘chief creation’ of the nineteenth century —the system of global domination known as European imperialism.” Idem, 10.


65 representation to argue these relationships. He deconstructs his third thesis writing: “we say ‘landscape is nature, not convention’ ... to erase the signs of our own constructive activity in the formation of landscape as meaning or value, to produce an art that conceals its own artifice, to imagine a representation that ‘breaks through’ representation into the realm of the nonhuman.”91 Models of representation as expressions of power are clear ly Mitchell’s argumentative method. Whereas hi s third thesis finds landscape as that which concea ls , he notes the human processes in how this happens. Yet, due to the ambiguous and nearly contrasting arguments between the human role and his third thesis, Mitchell sugg ests that there is still something happening beyond landscape, beneath the concealed artifice, that informs human relations. N aturalized representative models failed to find it; moreover, they constructed a mechanism of mystification and delusion with whi ch ‘nature’ appeared. Turning back to his theses, the fourth one states : “l andscape is a natural scene mediated by culture. It is both a represented and presented space , both a signifier and a signified, both a frame and what a fr a me conta in s , both a real place and its simulacrum, both a package and the commodity inside the package. ” Mitchell’s ‘both – and’ qualities of landscape captures a dialogic, emergent capacity of the human and nonhuman in landscape power relations. The nonhuman ‘things’ beyond t he representation, reduced to mere commodities in Mitchell’s thesis of imperial European landscape representations, still operate and inform landscape. Although these elements of the non human world are concealed in landscape representations, his fourth t hesis highlights the ambivalent response to ‘both – and’ human and non human worlds.92 It is an uncertainty in the construction of landscape , a blurred dialogic relationship highlighted between the visible representation and the concealed UHI nonhuman. Mitchell traces this ambivalence throughout his argument . 91 Idem, 16-17. 92 Mitchell gives the specific quality and distinction of ‘ambivalence towards’ this beneath, beyond, and under, and that role in the concealment of landscape. He writes that the preponderance of Enlightenment thought built on “Milton’s description of Paradise, a viewing ... framed by the consciousness of Satan, who ‘only used for prospect’ his vantage point on the Tree of L if e. The ‘dark side’ of landscape that Marxist historians have uncovered is anticipated in the myths of landscape by a recurrent s ense of ambivalence. Petrarch fears the landscape as a secular, sensuous temptation; Michelet treats it as a momentary revelati on of beauty and freedom bracketed by blindness and slavery; Milton presents it as the voyeuristic object for a gaze that wavers between aesthetic delight and malicious intent....” Idem, 12. By aligning part of the relation with a ‘Satanic’ quality, Enlightenment values sought to eradicate ambivalence from the relation, to make certain of the human role over non -human. Yet, as Mitchell points out, this simultaneously highlights ambivalence.


66 Even though he explores an ambivalent inquiry93 into the relation of landscape and imperial ism by analyzing modes of representation from various historic periods, his findings , result ing from analyse s of the Holy Land, draws less tenuous conclusions.94 Even if he shies away from certainty (presumably for its theoretical lack of efficacy), the nonvisible expression of power in landscape is unavoidable . A s Mitchell concludes , the gazing eye of desire extends an extortive, controlling, and dominating expression of power – doubly expressed in the reflection of its ‘naturalized’ convention.95 The power relations informing landscape through the gaze, the natural ized , and the nonhuman substance is thereby qualified by ambivalence. If taking a reflexive glance upon Mitchell’s argument and essay, then it becomes apparent that embracing ambivalence may make for more critical and reflexive representation s . As a result, Mitchell’s focus is clearly on power, and power relations between the representation, the human, the nonhuman, and landscape. Whereas, Mitchell’s closing line leaves open future forms of a rgumentation ,96 by highlighting power relation s as evident in the UHI of landscape, Mitchell has already laid some of the groundwork for this thesis. (Textually, in Mitchell’s organized argument and presentation of knowledge, he provides an apparently unexpected power displayed in the UHI .) Donald Mitchell , David Harvey Both Donald Mitc hell and David Harvey are critical cultural and humanistic geographers. Mitchell is a geographer and landscape scholar who has composed works on the human and cultural relations to landscape, whereas Harvey is a Marxist geographer who has written numerous texts relevant 93 Evident in Mitchell’s inquiry rather than deduction (see note 90) and the complicit accountability for landscape results (see note 94). 94 Mitchell writes, while analyzing landscape representations of Israel and the Holy Land, of the complicit dominance that correlates with representation. It is not just national imperialism that Mitchell finds insidious, but rather, also the individual ‘im perial’ act, a complicity in historical constructions from the viewing and making what one wants. He writes: “The only adequate answers seem at first glance radically contradictory: no one ‘owns’ this landscape in the sense of having clear, unquestionable title to it-contestation and struggle arc inscribed indelibly on it. But everyone ‘owns’ (or ought to own) this landscape in the sense that everyone must acknowledge or ‘own up’ to some responsibility for it, some complicity in it. This is not just a matter of geopolitics and the question of Israel as the site of big -power imperialist maneuvering; it is also a matter of a global poetics in which the Holy Land plays a historical and mythic role as the imaginary landscape where Eastern and Western cultures encounter one another in a struggle that refuses to confine itself to the Imaginary.” Idem, 29 95 “We have known since Ruskin that the appreciation of landscape as an aesthetic object cannot be an occasion for complacency or untroubled contemplation; rather, it must be the focus of a historical, political, and (yes) aesthetic alertness to the violence and evil written on the land, projected there by the gazing eye. We have known at least since Turner —perhaps since Milton —that the violence of this evil eye is inextricably connected with imperialism and nationalism. What we know now is that landscape itself is the medium by which this evil is veiled and naturalized. Whether this knowledge gives us any power is another question altogether.” Idem, 29 -30. 96 See not e 95.


67 to landscape, economics, global relations, and geography. By w orking with a couple of chapters from Mitchell’s book , Cultural Geography: A Critical Introduction, and a chapter from Harvey’s Justice, Nature and the Geography of Difference , it is clear that these authors’ analyses of capital are pertinent to landscape architectural discourse. Although Mitchell and Harvey work with multiple discursive formations , it is apparent that th e y are foremost concerned with capital, and its extensions in landscape. Mitchell’s connect ions of capital and landscape originate in his arguments that landscape is a work. In “The Work of Landscape: Producing and Representing the Cultural Scene”, Mitchell uses three case studies to outline the mutualistic way that landscape is a work and does work.97 As a result, there is a mutual ‘feedback’ of work that operates in landscape. Mitchell writes that the work of landscape is tied to the social relations of production, a move that states the ideological backing fram ing his arguments.98 By invoking Karl Marx and Carl Sauer, Mitchell clarifies the feedback of work, that labor – work – produces landscape, yet through labor relations, the laborer is , in turn , worked upon.99 O rganize d around capital, labor production, and the relations of production, produce s landscape, which, as Mitchell argues, is a specific commodity form with specific concealed relations.100 Moreover, under Marx’s capitalism, the commodity is not readily enjoyed by the laborers who produce it – Marx ’s process of alienation work 97 Mitchell writes in one of his case studies, “‘Landscape’ is best seen as both a work (it is the product of human labor and thus encapsulates the dreams, desires, and all the injustices of the people and social systems that make it) and as something that does work (it acts as a social agent in the further development of a place).” Mitchell, Donald. Cultural Geography: A Critical Introduction. Oxford: Blackwell, 2000. 94. 98 Using terms often attributed to economics and, as it concerns this argument, Marx specifically, Mitchell writes: “If landscap es are produced through specifiable social rel ations, and hence both the relations of production and the resulting product can be studied, then it is also important to remember, as the case of Johnstown shows so well, that landscape is additionally a form of ideology. It is a way of carefully selectin g and representing the world so as to give it a particular meaning. Landscape is thus an important ingredient in constructing consent and identity – in organizing a receptive audience – for the projects and desires of powerful social interests.” Idem, 99 1 00. 99 “The important point, and my reason for juxtaposing these two very different thinkers, is simply that just as landscape is a work – a product of the work of people – so too does landscape do work: it works on the people that make it. Landscape, in this sense, provides a context, a stage, within and upon which humans continue to work, and it provides the boundaries, quite complexly, within which people remake themselves.” Idem, 102. 100 In response to some of the landscapes that Sauer evokes which, seem to be devoid of human activity. Mitchell argues: “ They seem rather to just accrete over time. I do not think this is accidental. If landscape is a work of human labor then it is a peculiar work. In many respects it is much like a commodity: it actively hi des (or fetishizes) the labor that goes into its making. As Marx famously argued, commodities are objects that have to be made; they are the results of various processes of production. But t here is nothing in the form of the commodity that reveals the conditions the set of social relations that govern its production. Indeed, all traces of ‘work’ are actively effaced by the seductive charms of the object. The commodity appears fully formed and desirable, not as some product of social struggle over how it should or should not be made.” Idem, 103.


68 to separ ate the worker from landscape.101 As is apparent though, the processes of alienati on and fetishism conceal the relations of its production, but also present false appearances indicative of concealment. These appearances are apparent in landscape representation. To echo W. J. T. Mitchell, Donald Mitchell also finds the representational mode of landscape architecture to conce al the capitalistic mode of production. The representatio n, again, naturalizes labor, w hile is also indicative of capitalism’s need for mobile labor , which landscape representations fix to the ground.102 This initially raises an issue, if landscape is in fact indicative of capital relations of production. Mitchell is quick to remedy this, ar guing that processes of naturalized mystification and representative fetishi sm conceals the actual processes of reification and continuation of capitalist relations , subsequently get ting to the core of Mitchell’s focus on capital and landscape.103 For Mitch ell, l andscape representations are thus indicative of the development of an elite economic class, which correlated with the rise of European capitalist market economies. This set of historical changes signifies ways in which capital imbued landscape with its ability to construct ‘particular meaning’ via ‘consent and identity.’104 As is clear, the role of capital and its relations with landscape are unavoidable. Yet, t hrough the processes of fetishism and alienation, the reified landscape appears as a faade, a naturalized appearance. Mitchell’s next chapter “...examines the ways that we apprehend, take meaning from, and ultimately consume in and through landscapes. It also explores the reason why apprehending and taking meaning 101 “Under capitalism, for example, the products of labor rarely accrue to those who do the work. Rather, workers themselves are quite alienated from the products of their labor, whether that labor creates a specifi c commodity, or something so generalized as a landscape. The things that landscape tries to hide, in its insistent fetishization, are the relationships that go into its making. These relationships are economic and political to be sure, but they are also cl early products of struggle over issues of race, ethnicity, and gender. The relationships they present to the world through their representations are simply not to be trusted, at least not in their surface appearances.” Idem, 104. 102 “The landscape way of se eing, as one tool among many, served as an important technology for representing new orders as timeless and natural. For landscape representation to work this way it must negotiate a rather complex contradiction that def ines capitalism as a social system. On the one hand, ‘free labor’ must of necessity be quite mobile. It must be available to work when and where it is needed. Capitalism cannot work without the circulation of labor (and of course laborers). On the other hand, landscape views do their work pr ecisely by freezing those they depict to the ground, making them appear as natural parts of the scene.” Idem, 117. 103 “Landscape representation thus sought to legitimate and naturalize the emerging capitalist order by erasing many of the facts upon which it was built. If the social exploitation of labor is the defining feature of capitalism, then the purpose of landscape representation was precisely to hide that exploitation by naturalizing it. The ‘landscape idea,’ therefore, can be understood to be closely linked to an emerging ‘European elite consciousness’ of its own desired place in the world, a desire that could afford little room for those the elite exploited to retain its position (Cosgrove 1984: 1). Landscape is thus about class consciousness, ab out ideologically structuring the world so as to make one’s place in it appear just and perhaps even divinely ordained especially at times of great social transformation.” Idem, 117118. In cited text: Cosgrove, Denis E. Social Formation and Symbolic Landsc ape . Croom Helm Historical Geography Series. London: Croom Helm, 1984. 104 See note 98.


69 from landscapes is soci ally important.”105 Since landscape includes the appearances made visible and the relations concealed through capital processes, the meanings and apprehensions are informed by both visible and not visible components. Considering that representations are of ten more illusory than factual, it leads one to consider the meanings informed by the not visible social relations (fetishiz ed and alienat ed ) as more relevant.106 Moreover, if agreeing with Mitchell’s arguments about control expressed through landscape imp lies contestation and struggle. Mitchell discusses this as a contested space – the dynamic relations between landscape appearance and concealment.107 As a result of this, the UHI is positione d in a mutually attracting and repulsing loop with the visual, a magnetized ground for constant and perpetual transgression and class warfare.108 In Mitchell’s analysis of capital and its forces in landscape, the cultural politics that play out between th e cycle of transgression and naturalized appearances is precisely a re figured space for landscape architecture to position itself in reflexive and alternate ways.109 105 Idem, 120. 106 Regarding the initial case study that instigated Mitchell’s arguments, he argues that the reified appearances of landscape meaning operate to control, whic h implies control through appearances and relegated not visible social relations. “If one of the goals for planners (and for workers) in Johnstown was to make the landscape mean something, then how did those meanings develop and ‘stick’ (if they did): Whi le many cultural theorists argue that landscapes are blank screens onto which can be projected an infinite array of meaning, I suggest that one of the chief functions of landscape is precisely to control meaning and to channel it in particular directions.” Idem, 100 107 In another example, the social spaces of cities, Mitchell writes, suggesting the contestation between what is visible (the appearances of the landscape ideal) and what is concealed (the social relations of struggle removed from site). “Landscapes are always a site of struggle, a place for resistance, and a concretization of contest. That is true. But it is also true, as we have al ready seen, that the whole reason for making a place into a landscape, that is, for attempting to emplace the lands cape ideal, is precisely to staunch that struggle and to make social relations appear fully natural and timeless. Indeed, we can almost say that to th e degree a landscape is contested, it stops being a landscape and becomes something else – a contested space.” Idem, 136. 108 With the work of landscape in mind, then the conditions are met for constant action and transgression under the capitalist mode of production and its expression in landscape. “The production of a landscape, by objectifying, rationalizing , and naturalizing what is really social, can have the effect of stopping resistance in its tracks. As social values are naturalized in place, they are historically made concrete. If, as David Harvey has argued, the landscapes of capitalism are often a bar rier to further accumulation (as with Johnstown) and have to be creatively destroyed (wiping out heavy industry and sanitizing space to make it attractive to tourists, for example), it is also the case that a landscape can become a great facilitator to cap ital (since it determines the ‘nature’ of labor).” Idem, 142. 109 He writes in the conclusion of this chapter, a promising and arduous role for the cultural geographer, which I have adopted (perhaps erroneously) for the landscape architect. For if, landscap e works to normalize visual social relations, can it not operate in contrarian ways to its own historical prescriptions? “Rather, the key point is to see, and attempt to explain (to ourselv es and to others) just how it functions – to understand its role i n the culture wars that mark our lives, which, while irreducible to questions of political economy, are nonetheless inseparable from such questions. If landscape is a stage then it is a stage for many th ings: the politics of economic development and the politics of culture to name just two. And if landscape is a text, then it is so because of its very materiality – its existence as trees, shrubs, bricks, mortar, paint, canvas, and the pages of a book – not despite that materiality. But for that point to mak e more sense, it is important at this point to turn away from the explicit consideration of the landscape and to explore more deeply the cultural politics that takes place in and on the landscape, that depends on the landscape -and upon which the landscape itself unavoidably depends too for its very shape, meaning, and social function.” Idem, 144.


70 Mitchell’s focus on the forces of capital in the UHI is unavoidable. Where arguments of capital relations may evolve into discussion s of me ta narrative, it is helpful to note again that Mitchell highlights the constant relational , positional ways that landscape meaning is expressed.110 Why should the meanings derived by capital relations and stru ggles operate outside of these limitations? The depths of the UHI are always near , informing the meanings generated in landscape as much, or more, than visual appearances. David Harvey works with capital in attempting to develop an ecological discourse of human and nature that is truly radical. In his chapter “Valuing Nature”, Harvey argues the implicit faults with how nature is often viewed in ecological and Marxist discourse often relate to the ways in which nature is valued .111 After laying out forms money takes in capitalist economies and listing issues that arise from concepts that “...the total stock of assets, both humanly produced (e.g., roads and fields and factories) and given in ‘nature’ (e.g., minerals, water supplies, etc.), must remai n constant from one generation to another”112, Harvey concludes that there must be alternate means by which to judge and base money valuations, as money valuations in other relations are unavoidable.113 Harvey argues that all values nature may have, although expressed in different means, rely on human discourses.114 With this , Harvey works 110 “Given that meaning is always a product of struggle between ‘producers’ and various ‘users’ of landscape, it should be apparent, however, that just because land scapes can take on multiple meanings that does not thereby mean that all meanings are created equal. For in any contest over meaning, the key issue will always be one of power. ... The objective is to see precis ely how such potentiality is always and every where thwarted (and therefore how meaning is controlled).” Idem, 121. 111 Harvey’s opening paragraph to the chapter, before he outlines the relationships between the money form and nature establish his chapter’s structure: “The history of how human beings ha ve valued their natural world is long and intricate. The diverse arguments on the matter that now preoccupy many segments of society (and which have become the focus of much ecological thinking) form a discursive point of potential leverage from which to break our of that capitalistic -imposed pendulum -swing between optimism and pessimism of which I complained in chapter 6 [a chapter entitled “The Domination of Nature and its Discontents” outlines the Enlightenment -based ways of relating and viewing nature]. Whether it is possible to do so in part depends on coming to terms with dominant modes of valuation that were initiated practically with the development of capitalis m and discursively developed through Enlightenment political economy.” Harvey, David. Just ice, Nature and the Geography of Difference. Cambridge, Mass: Blackwell Publishers, 1996. 150. 112 Idem, 152. 113 “The conclusion is, then, rather more ambiguous than many might want to accept. First, all the time we engage in commodity exchanges mediated by money (and this proposition holds just as firmly for any prospective socialist society) it will be impossible in practice to avoid money valuations. Secondly, valuations of environmental assets in money terms, while highly problematic and seriously defective, are not an unmitigated evil. To judge how good or bad hey are presumes, however, the existence of other mo des of valuation against which money valuations can be compared and critically judged. So how else can nature be valued?” Idem, 157. 114 “This brings us to the crucial question: if values reside in nature, then how can we know what they are? The routes to such an understanding are many and varied. Intuition, mysticism, contemplation, religious revelation, metaphysics, and personal introspection have all provided, and continue to provide, paths for acquiring such understandings. On the surface, at least, these modes of approach contrast radically with scientific enquiry. Yet, I shall argue, they all necessarily share a commonality. All versions of revealed values in nature rely heavily upon particular human capacities and particular anthropocentric mediations (sometimes even upon the charismatic interventions of visionary individuals). Through deployment of highly emotive terms such


71 through the remainder of hi s chapter deconstructing other arguments to generate an alternate and more radical vision of ecology. Most of the scholars discussed in his text struggle , according to Harvey , with a great flaw in their thinking. Harvey calls this the Leibnizian conceit: “ ...the (monadic) self internalizes natural values. But through what kind of conception of ‘self’ can we, or ought we, construe our relation to t hat ‘other’ which we call ‘nature?’”115 This almost seem ing inverse of the fetish, works at such a core of scholarly thought that is oftentimes unknown.116 Harvey’s critique of Deep Ecology, a movement that makes strides to identify the need to restore the alienated connection of human and ‘nature’, still struggles with individualistic expressions of the Leibnizian conceit.117 Yet, through invoking Heidegger and his work on ‘dwelling’, Harvey notes that deep ecology arrives close to his own views on a radical ecology.118 Harvey ultimately arrives at his point, that “...the multiple languages – scientific, poetic, mythic, moral and ethical, economistic and instrumental, emotive and affective – in which ecological issues and value are typically articu lated” need each to be taken into account as heterogeneous and different discourses of value.119 As a result, although, Harvey works to express an alternate ecology, his work with and through capit al, via value (even if expressed in disparate ways) , is appa rent. as love, caring, nurturing, responsibility, integrity, beauty, and the like, they inevitably represent such ‘natural’ values in dis tinctively humanized terms, thus producing distinctively human discourses about intrinsic values.” Idem, 158. 115 Idem, 167. 116 Which taking out of context, the following illustrates this unknown: “...William Abbey (whose egotistical devotion to the Leibnizia n conceit – without knowing it – i s arrogantly transparent)...” Idem, 169. 117 “Getting away from ‘certain conceptions of the status of things’ and emancipating ourselves from ‘strong atomistic or mechanistic trends in analytical thought’ are therefore vital steps towards a redefinition of intrinsic value through a process of Self -Realization. ... The word ‘should’ suggests that value norms arise relationally with respect to the broader biotic community of which we are a part, but the means by which we discover them depend fundamentally on the human capacity for ‘Self Realization’ (as opposed to the narrower sense of ‘ego fulfillment’ or ‘self -realization’ as understood in bourgeois society). The ‘deep ecology’ literature here tacitly appeals to the notion of a ‘human essence’ or a "human potentiality’ (or in Marx’s language, a ‘species being’ whose qualities have yet to be fully realized) from which humanity has become fundamentally alienated (both actually and potentially) through separation from ‘nature.’ The desire to restore that lost connection (severed by modern technology, commodity production, a Promethean or utilitarian approach to nature, the ‘community’ of money flows, and the like) then lies at the root of an intuitive, contemplative, and phenomenolo gical search for ‘Self -Realization. ... This philosophical system rests on the individual application of the Leibnizian conceit to the understanding of the values that reside in nature .’” Idem, 167-168. 118 “The activity of place construction, precisely because that is where we can achieve our own geographical sense of belonging, here becomes of viral significance to any process of Self -Realization and, for this reason, Naess (1989: 63) argues, ‘the local community is the starting point for political delibera tion’ on ecological questions. This takes us out of the realm of the purely personal – a realm that many deep ecologists, being deeply attached to the Leibnizian conceit, seem to have difficulty escaping from – to the sociality of any project of Self -Reali zation.” Idem, 169. 119 Harvey’s claim is that ecological values of nature works socially and relationally in place, highlighted by the differential nature of how human and nonhuman participants practice place (and perhaps landscape?). “But there is also a deep reluctance to


72 Harvey’ s argument is not without problems , yet working with these problems ties discursive processes to the UHI . Much of these problems are that stating ‘heterogeneous discourses’, does not mind the confusion, heightened conflict, and political relations of social power.120 Whereas, some of these issues may be mitigated , understood as less conflictual, approaching discourses of social power with constant critical analysis , reflection , and discursive interventions clarifies not only discursive stru ggles but also power relations.121 T he complications derived from a radical ecology defined by heterogeneous discourses, ties different discourses to the UHI through the expression of value structures. Harvey acknowledges this through the internal role that these conflictual discourses of power relations stand to reveal, if not demystify, externally : the structures that express ecological order and social control.122 Resulting from this text, it is clear that Harvey focuses on capital , while touching upon ec ology, social power, and history. His arguments tie the forces and objects of capital with the active role of the UHI . The selected authors and selected works of scholarship all focus on one or two landscape discourses of the UHI – desire, cosmology, eco logy, history, power, and capital . Even if the authors do discuss other discursive formations, it is often done in support of their focus . The oftentimes disparate try to cram everything we want to say about ‘nature’ and o ur relation to it into one singular and homogeneous language. ... The heterogeneity of discourses about ‘nature’ has to be accepted as not only an inevitable but also a very constructive and creative feature of ecological argumentation, provided that it is read not as fragmented and separate modes of thought and action embedded in isolated communities, but as the internalized heterogeneity, the play of difference, which all of us surely feel and experience in our interaction with ‘others’ in both the human and nonhuman world. This is particularly apparent in the diversity of ‘values’ instantiated in nature through social action. In capitalist society these values are primarily (and necessarily) instrumental and utilitarian, dependent upon the monetary calcul us and the market. But an intuitive sense of intrinsic natural value is also widespread, partly in recognition of the idea that ‘Self -Realization’ (whether it be in a narrow, egotistical, or ‘deep’ sense) is not outside of some sort of intimate relation of self to nature. ... All of the forms of value that I earlier described are to be found at work both discursively and all of them internalize demonstrable effects within practical politics, social relati ons, and material practices.” Idem, 172 173. 120 “Yet there is in this eclecticism an omnipresent danger. Not only do different discourses lie uneasily side by side so that it becomes hard to spot the unity within the difference. But the careful analysis of the way power relations get embedded in distinctive discourses suggests that the vast conceptual muddle and cacophony of discourses is far from innocent in the reproduction of capitalism. Critical engagement with that is no trivial political task.” Idem, 173. 121 “The ‘contradictory ideologies’ may be, howeve r, less contradictory than they seem once statements are contextualized, positioned, and evaluated in relation to certain kinds of action. Discourses about ‘nature’ and the ‘natural’ become less confusing when taken as moments in a social process in which conflicting forms of social power struggle to gain command of institutions, social relations and material practices for particular purposes. ... [D]ominant systems of power can advance and protect a hegemonic discourse of efficient and rational environment al management and resource allocation for capital accumulation.... But they can also strive discursively as well as institutionally to manage the heterogeneity of discourses ... to their own advan tage. Sophisticated discursive strategies are now in place, for example, to absorb and defray the different imaginaries that typically root much of radical ecological thinking. ... The task of critical reflection and discursive interventions must surely then be to confront head on the question of how to find a lang uage to make radical ecology truly radical.” Idem, 173 -175. 122 “But this also means that discourses about nature internalize a whole range of contradictory impulses and conflictual ideas derived from all of the other moments in the social process. And from that standpoint, discussion of the discourses of nature has much to reveal, if only about how the discourses themselves conceal a concrete political agenda in the midst of highly abstra ct, universalizing, and frequently intensely moral argumentation.” Idem , 174.


73 treatment is not a fault levied, rather it finds space remain ing for critical and theoretical discourse that spans and interweaves the UHI of landscape discourse . Moreover, the selection of authors illustrates the pertinence of the UHI in such discourse and positions it in a tradition of landscape – a tradition that s pans western cultural history from the ancient Greeks through the Enlightenment, to current historic trends. Relation The aforementioned maps the tradition of the UHI through argumentations of different landscape discursive formations . This begins to sug gest a conjoined epistemol ogy of the UHI . Can we then begin to outline the UHI as a pertinent landscape epistemology? Moreover, can the required conflation of various discourses suggest its application in a singular ontology, a practice of landscape arch itecture that ties the UHI to the emergence and information of the visible? The frame and relevance of the UHI constructs the bounds of a distinct expression, subject, or epistemology/discourse of research. Yet what is the relationship of that bound to t hat which is bounded? The philosopher, artist, and landscape scholar Edward Casey discusses the relationship of the bounds with what is bounded in an essay that relies on analogy made with painting to discuss the philosophical concepts of edges and the in between. In the essay by the same name, “Edges and the In Between”, Casey writes of the power of the edge in painting, and how the edge itself has differential relational qualities to what is edged.123 From this position Casey outlines two sets of edges, “So we are here in between two sorts of edge, mental and visual – and not just between two (or more) physical edges, as we tend all too reductively to think.”124 As a result of establishing these distin ct edges in painting, Casey is able to take a stronger philosophical turn 123 A frame is a provisional structure that makes something else possible. In this capacity, the edges of a painting act not to close off but to open up possibilities for the emerging image. They act not merely to exclude further brush strokes but to expand their outreach: to give them a special energy they would otherwise lack — an energy expressing itself in several dimensions, spatial, temporal, and above all placial.” Casey: 2008, 1. 124 Idem, 2. This is in response to the two edges in painting, whe re earlier he calls them, “...edges of mental space, edges of the canvas or (in my case) cold -pressed watercolor paper: (a) edges of mental space : these are the implicit, tacit margins of mentation, where intuitively or conceptually explicit mind cedes pla ce to something that is pre -conscious in status – and where the edge between mind and body is not distinct, thanks to the prereflective status of the lived body as experienced by the body subject. (b) edges of the canvas or paper : these are spatial edges, directly in contrast with mental edges, which are pervasively temporal....” A few sentences later he rather terms the physical edge differently, “...I suggest that we substitute ‘place’ or ‘locus’ for ‘space,’ and speak rather of ‘placial edges’” due to h is conception of the limitless quality of space and limited quality of place. Idem, 1 -2.


74 towards the qualitative conditions of the edge, and in so doing, argues the in between as a simultaneous, inevitable, and coconstituted structure.125 Where the edges have structures, a mental and physical – a conceptual and perceptual (visual) structure – the in between must also have some deconstructable structure. Casey quickly gives defining parameters of both ‘between’ and ‘in’126, finally resulting on an active ‘in’, whereby “a more constructive notion of the ‘in’ of the inbetween is found in the hyphenation of this very phrase itself. The hyphen exhibits a visual link that is the typographical equivalent of a very different idea of the “in,” that which is active in experiences of in habitation or indwelling.”127 The hyphen literally denotes the relational structures of being engaged between in and between, in a measurable distance of differential things with which one actively experiences. This is how , although by more direct Hei deggerian sense128 that Casey arrives at two active notions of ‘with’ in the symbol of the hyphen, two sets of inter action – that with objects and that with others.129 The differentiation between each category apparently lies with the ‘lived body’.130 Whether or not ‘object’ , Casey’s differentiation based on ‘lived body’ , is pertinent or not is not of issue here (although this work’s position on that is becoming clear ), yet rather that that the in between qualifies a specific continual ‘withness’ of i nteraction and engagement between ‘beings’.131 125 “...first, edges themselves come in a plurality of types; second, that the between itself is not univocal but is very much a function of the edges that we negotiate in painting – and doubtless in other arenas of life. In short, when we are in the midst of any activity we are in -between edges.” Idem, 2 126 Pertaining to ‘between’: “...between signifies two things: measurable distance ... and juxtaposition.... These two s enses of the between are precisely what is not at stake in the edges of paintings, or (for that matter) in political or economic action.” Idem, 3. Pertaining to specific instances of ‘in’: “One thing is certain to start with: the in here at stake is not th e strict “in” of containership, the sense of “in” at play in Aristotle’s Physics , according to which to be in something is to be strictly surrounded by that something whose inner surface coincides with the outer surface of the item being contained.” Ibid. 127 Idem, 4 128 “...what matters now is what happens when someone (or something) ‘settles in,’ gets acquainted with a place, takes up residence there, and comes to know it from within . Heidegger reminds us that an ancient root of ‘in’ is innan , which connotes dwelling....” Ibid. 129 Casey defines ‘with’ in two ways: “There are two primary employments of the ‘with’: my body being with an object; one person being with another.” Ibid. See Casey’s analysis of these qualification in i and ii on pages 4 and 5. 130 The ‘lived body’ relationship as in: “...the lived body characteristically takes the lead in its relation with a given object: it is the praxiological agent that can carry out its own designs by realizing them through the object – and, across it, come into to uch with a network of other objects, ultimately an entire environment.” And “in every case, however, lived bodies are the effecti ve agents on both, indeed (in the case of plural relations) all, sides. Such bodies don’t operate mainly on or through objects – though these may serve to mediate human or animal relations – but with each other .” Idem, 5. 131 “In sum, just as we always find ourselves in -between a congeries of objects, so we are never not in the company of a number of other human beings and animals — not to mention the trees and rocks that populate any given landscape of which we are part . Which ways we are with each of these kinds of thing is distinctively different, but there is no doubt that we are in a comple xly configurated with -world in every i nstance. ... the intermediate realm that is composed of congeries of edges of many sorts: edges


75 Having both edges and inbetween defined, deconstructed, and analyzed, Casey is able to draw conclusions from their interaction and relation, two of which will be presented. First of all, edges and inbetween are co constitutive.132 Moreover, regardless of their constitution, they still define or structure different qualities. Casey qualifies that “edges supply BOUNDS to the in between, where by ‘bounds’ I [Casey] mean a species of boundaries , that is, porous e dges that take in as well as give out... [and] The inbetween offers a MATRIX for edges, a concrete nexus in which they are located....”133 The porous condition of bounds responds and interacts with elevated sets from a given contextual matrix. This plural izes the definitional structure of ‘things’. Which leads to a second conclusion, which combines a few of Casey’s conclusions: the bounds and matrices are pluralistic, metonymic, relative, contextual, and perpetually defined.134 In other words, t he contextu al bounds supplies qualifications to the matrix and the matrix supplies substantive qualifications of the interaction between edges. Together, bounds and matrices interact, mesh, and heap together metonymically and not, in perpetual and differential quali fications to , again and again, construct a n instantaneous world of ‘ withness ’ . The application of Casey’s text and deconstructed arguments are to construct an edge and inbetween of the UHI . A s a theory, a n UHI epistemology that correlates and combines differential discourses (edges – conceptual) with their informative structure upon the visual and not visual worlds (edges – perceptual) , the aforementioned authors construct the bounds of the UHI . The juxtapositi on and disparate employment (between) by the authors, and the relevance (in ) of the UHI , constructs the matrix for the UHI . Moreover, if Casey is outlining the bounds and matrix of the visual lived world experience of things and events and persons that together constitute the inbetween realm in which history happens: where art is created, philosophy is conceived, politica l actions emerge.” Idem, 5 -6. 132 “Edges and the in between are active presences for one another – indeed, they require each other: take away the edges and the domain in-between is undermined by being rendered wholly amorphous.12 Without edges, there is no i n between; without an in between, edges would not be able to distinguish one object or event from another. ... In the immanence of the in-between, edges clash and reconcile, limning and profiling what occurs there in the actual occasions that populate eart h and world.” Idem, 6. 133 Ibid. 134 “...there is edging out and out and out, but there is no definitive or final edge. ... The inbetween is also unending....” and ...the proliferation is more radical than with edges as such or the in-between as such: where b oth of these are essentially several (i.e., exhibiting a distinct number of kinds or types), the engendering of paintings is truly protean – openended, having no outer limit: no determinable end-state. ... the relation between edges and the in between is neither merely dyadic (i.e., a matter of indifferent pairing) nor grossly dialectical (as in Plato’s or Hegel’s senses of the term). It is a matter of dynamic Becoming – of a measureless pro -ductive interplay. Or perhaps we can say: of an intense intertang lement in which each element pervades the other in endless permutations. ... Their parameters are provided by the particularities of discrete locales and the changing character....” Idem, 7.


76 of visual becoming135, then is he not als o suggesting similar construct i on of the bounds and matrix of the not visible lived world – the unseen, hidden, and invisible? The authors’ arguments supply the frame and relevance of the UHI in the tradition of landscape architecture. As a result , they also construc t the bounds (edges) and matrix (in between) of an UHI epistemology . Where Casey posits the interaction of things in the world (withness) with the ‘openness of possibilities’ of edges in an unbounded perpetual presence (Becoming), it is clea r that Casey is talking not only of a way of knowing the world, but also of being in the world. Surely then, the bounds and matrix of the UHI is similarly so. Thus, the relational aspects of the frame and relevance of an epistemology of the UHI implies t he relational qualities of ontology. Before beginning to sketch the components of the UHI as a singular epistemology and ontology, it benefits the argument to look elsewhere, again briefly in tangential fields to see how other authors work with the UHI and its relation to landscape. Although similar to the afore argued, the following arguments work to get beyond the frame and relevance of the UHI in landscape architectural discourse, to the active role the UHI has in informing the visible – its relation al components . Working with the active , informing role directly, further sediments the role of the UHI as an epistemology and ontology worth noting. Henri Lefebvre argues that components of the UHI work as a productive force of space. His main argument, that “ (Social) space is a (social) product ”136 works in the UHI to produce space (physical, mental, lived) ; leading him, in the following section, to question how /why its production is concealed.137 135 Casey reiterates that his argument uses the analogical work of painting: “my watercolor of Stonington requires both [edges and in-between], as does any presentation or representation of the visual world.” Idem, 6. 136 Lefebvre, 1991: 26. 137 “If it is true that (social) space is a (social) product, how is this fact concealed? The answer is: by a double illusion, each side of which refers back to the other, reinforces the other, and hides behind the other. These two aspects are the illusion of transparency on the one hand and the illusion of opacity, or ‘realistic’ illusio n, on the other.” Idem, 27. See also, “1 The illusion of transparency Here space appears as luminous, as intelligible, as giving action free rein. ... The illusion of transparency goes hand in hand with a view of space as innocent, as free of traps or sec ret places. Anything hidden or dissimulated – and hence dangerous – is antagonistic to transparency, under whose reign everything can be taken in by a single glance from that mental eye which illuminates whatever it contemplates. ... 2 The realistic illusi on This is the illusion of natural simplicity – the product of a naive attitude long ago rejected by philosophers and theorists of language, on various grounds and under various names, but chiefly because of its appeal to naturalness, to substantiality. .. . The illusion of substantiality, naturalness and spatial opacity nurtures its own mythology. One thinks of the space -oriented artist, at work in a hard or dense reality delivered direct from the domain of Mother Nature. ... The illusion of transparency ha s a kinship with philosophical idealism; the realistic illusion is closer to (naturalistic and mechanistic) materialism. Yet these two illusions do not enter into antagonism with each other after the fashion of philosophical systems, which armour themselve s like battleships and seek to destroy one another. On the contrary, each illusion embodies and nourishes the other.” Idem, 2730.


77 Lefebvre’s three visions of spatial production, “spatial practice”, “representations of space”, and “representational spaces”138, conjoin and reinforce each other in the production of space.139 The production of space emerges from the dialogue between the visual and the UHI , as is evident in his example of the faade, where “ a faade admits certain acts to the realm of what is visible... [whereas] m any other acts, by contrast, it [ the faade] condemns to obscenity: these occur behind the faade.”140 From this example in context of Lefebvre’s logic of visualization, t he concealment of the production of 138 Spatial practice , which embraces production and reproduction, and the particular locations and spatial sets characteris tic of each social formation. Spatial practice ensures continuity and some degree of cohesion. ... 2 Representations of spaces , which are tied to the relations of production and to the ‘order’ which those relations impose, and hence to knowledge, to signs , to codes, and to ‘frontal’ relations. 3 Representational spaces , embodying complex symbolisms, sometimes coded, sometimes not, linked to the clandestine or underground of life, as also to art...” Idem, 33. Lefebvre further outlines these three components of space in the following ways. Spatial practice as the physical spatial composition produced in a given historical society’s social inte raction. Spatial practice The spatial practice of a society secretes that society’s space; it propounds and presupposes it, in a dialectical interaction; it produces it slowly and surely as it masters and appropriates it. From the analytic standpoint, the spatial pr actice of a society is revealed through the deciphering of its space.” Idem, 38; Representations of s pace as the conceptual spatial composition produced in a given historical society’s understanding of space and the projective thoughts that frame its work. Representations of space: conceptualized space, the space of scientists, planners, urbanists, t echnocratic subdividers and social engineers, as of a certain type of artist with a scientific bent – all of whom identify what is lived and what is perceived with what is conceived. ... This is the dominant space in any society (or mode of production).” I dem, 38-39; Representational space as the actual lived spatial composition produced in a given historical society’s action and interaction with symbolic experience, meaning, movement, performance, and practice. Representational spaces : space as directly lived through its associated images and symbols, and hence the space of ‘inhabitants’ and ‘users’, but also of some artists and perhaps of those, such as a few writers and philosophers, who describe and aspire to do no more than describe. This is the d ominated – and hence passively experienced – space which the imagination seeks to change and appropriate. It overlays physical space, making symbolic use of its objects. Thus representational spaces may be said, though again with certain exceptions, to ten d towards more or less coherent systems of non-verbal symbols and signs.” Idem, 39. 139 “If space is a product, our knowledge of it must be expected to reproduce and expound the process of production. The ‘object’ of interest must be expected to shift from t hings in space to the actual production of space ...” Idem, 36 37. “In seeking to understand the three moments of social space, it may help to consider the body. All the more so inasmuch as the relationship to space of a ‘subject’ who is a member of a grou p or society implies his relationship to his own body and vice versa. ... The perceived —conceived —lived triad (in spatial terms: spatial practice, representations of space, representational spaces) loses all force if it is treated as an abstract ‘model’. I f it cannot grasp the concrete (as distinct from the ‘immediate’), then its import is severely limited, amounting to no more than that of one ideological mediation among others. That the lived, conceived and perceived realms should be interconnected, so th at the ‘subject’, the individual member of a given social group, may move from one to another without confusion – so much is a logical necessity.” Idem, 40. 140 Idem, 99. This example is influenced from Lefebvre’s logic of visualization developed from urban skyscrapers: “This very particular type of spatialization; ... embodies a twofold ‘logic’, which is to say a twofold strategy, in respect of the spec tator. On the one hand, it embodies a metonymic logic consisting in a continual to-and -fro movement – enf orced with carrot and stick – between the part and the whole. ...ultimately, it takes on the aspect of pure logic – and hence of tautology: space contains space, the visible contains the visible – and boxes fit into boxes. ... The second ‘logic’ embodied i n this spatialization is a logic (and strategy) of metaphor – or, rather, of constant metaphorization. Living bodies, the bodies of ‘users’ – are caught up not only in the toils of parcellized space, but also in the web of what philosophers call ‘analogons ’: images, signs and symbols. These bodies are transported out of themselves, transferred and emptied out, as it were, via the eyes: every kind of appeal, incitement and seduction is mobilized to tempt them with doubles of themselves in prettified, smiling and happy poses; and this campaign to void them succeeds exactly to the degree that the images proposed correspond to ‘needs’ that those same images have helped fashion. So it is that a massive influx of information, of messages, runs head on into an inverse flow constituted by the evacuation from the innermost body of all life and desire.” Idem, 98.


78 space with illusions and abstractions, and the potential and elements of what is seen, it is argued that spatial production emanates into the visual from the UHI .141 Geographers Denis Cosgrove and Stephen Daniels outline an interpretive approach of landscape through an iconography that works from the UHI . Foremost Cosgrove argues that landscape is a way of seeing;142 a position that Cosgrove and Daniels extend that it is laden with implicit symbolism.143 This iconog raphical symbolism is contingent upon specific historical sociocultural formations144, operating 141 In analogy to explain the revelation of truth in space via a single mod e of spatial practice, Lefebvre uses the futile attempt of image to explain the entirety of that which is imaged. As a result, he outlines the potential of a truth to reveal in specif ic images, something from the UHI into the visual: “As for error and ill usion, they reside already in the artist’s eye and gaze, in the photographer’s lens, in the draftsman’s pencil and on his blank sheet of paper. Error insinuates itself into the very objects that the artist discerns, as into the sets of objects that he selects. Wherever there is illusion, the optical and visual world plays an integral and integrative, active and passive, part in it. It fetishizes abstraction and imposes it as the norm. It detaches the pure f orm from its impure content from lived time, ever yday time, and from bodies with their opacity and solidity, their warmth, their life and their death. After its fashion, the image kills. In this it is like all signs. Occasionally, however, an artist's tenderness or cruelty transgresses the limits of the image. Something else altogether may then emerge, a truth and a reality answering to criteria quite different from those of exactitude, clarity, readability and plasticity. If this is true of images, moreover, it must apply e qually well to sounds, to words , to bricks and mortar, and indeed to signs in general.” Idem, 97. Elsewhere, Lefebvre writes, regarding ‘one’s’ relation to spatial production: “This tends to turn social space into a transparent medium occupied solely by light, by ‘presences’ and influe nces. On the one hand, therefore, space contains opacities, bodies and objects, centers of efferent actions and effervescent energies, hidden – even impenetrable – places, areas of viscosity, and black holes. On the other, it offers sequences, sets of obje cts, concatenations of bodies – so much so, in fact, that anyone can at any time discover new ones, forever slipping from the non-visible realm into the visible, from opacity into transparency.” Idem, 182. And lastly, “The ‘seen’ (as opposed to appearance s) refers neither to the seer nor to the visible, but rather to a nocturnal invisibility about to be exposed m daylight.” Idem, 282. 142 “Landscape is a way of seeing that has its own history, but a history that can be understood only as part of a wider hist ory of economy and society; that has its own assumptions and consequences, but assumptions and consequences whose origins and implications extend well beyond the use and perception of land; that has its own techniques of expression, but techniques whi ch it shares with other areas of cultural practice.” Cosgrove: 1984, 1. “...[L]andscape denotes the external world mediated throug h subjective human experience in a way that neither region nor area immediately suggest. Landscape is not merely the world we see, it is a construction, a composition of that world. Landscape is a way of seeing the world.” Idem, 13. 143 “A landscape is a cultural image, a pictorial way of representing, structuring or symbolising surroundings. ... They may be represented in a variety of materials and on many surfaces – in paint on canvas, in writing on paper, in earth, stone, water and vegetation on the ground. A landscape park is more palpable but no more real, nor less imaginary, than a landscape painting or poem. Indeed the meanings of verbal, visual and built landscapes have a complex interwoven history. To understand a built landscape, say an eighteenth -century English park, it is usually necessary to understand written and verbal representations of it, not as ‘illustrations’, images standing outside it, but as constituent images of its meaning or meanings. And of course, every study of a landscape further transforms its meaning, depositing yet another layer of cultural representation. ... This essay, and t he collection which it intro duces, explicate more fully the status of landscape as image and symbol and in doing so establish common ground between practitioners from a variety of different disciplines concerned with landscape and culture.... The discussion here is structured around the fertile concept of iconography: the theoretical and historical study of symbolic imagery.” Cosgrove, Denis, and Stephen Daniels. “Introduction: iconography and landscape” The iconography of landscape: essays on the symbolic representation, design and use of past environments . Vol. 9. Denis Cosgrove and Stephen Daniels, eds. Cambridge University Press, 1988. 1 -10. 1. 144 In relating specific historical formations with a Marxist analysis, Cosgrove aligns the historical and cultural specificity o f symbolic f ormations with economic modes of production. “Within the apparently seamless habit of any social formation the economy conceived as the production of material goods, and culture conceived as the production of symbols and meaning, coexist and continuously reproduce social relations through the action of living human beings. Economy and culture, structural necessities and human actions, interpenetrate and relate dialectically, each structuring the other as it is structured by the other. Thus each must be giv en equal weight in social and historical explanation. The production of meaning, of symbols, and their material expression is complex. It includes historically and geographically specific symbolic systems....” Cosgrove: 1984, 56 .


79 through analogy145 and cultural layer ing146 to express meaning. Moreover, symbols and icons accumulate and can be read as a cultural text .147 This , by extension , renders landscape a text, a readable composition of iconographic symbols, layered with culturally specific meanings. Yet, where this may lead one to find some ‘truth’ or core meaning, the authors are quick to write “...the liberation of meaning in modern society, the freedom of intertextuality which Ruskin’s writings implicitly acknowledge, emphasises surface rather than depth.”148 Conceptualizing ‘ surface ’ as the visible and ‘ depth ’ as the UHI ( for this brief argument only as they are not synonymous ) , sti ll acknowledges that “from such a post modern perspective landscape seems less like a palimpsest whose ‘real’ or ‘authentic’ meanings can somehow be 145 In discussing different modes of logic in reference to cultural production Cosgrove writes: “Such forms are dialectical and use a form of symbolic or analogical logic in which symbols and their referents are not distinguished as different modes of existence but rather as fused together and capable of mutual alteration. In analogical thinking the identity or character of things lies primarily in the relationships they embody, and they cannot be understood outside those relationships – including of course relationships with sentient subjects. Nature is saturated by mind and, contrary to sophisticated causal thinking which would see this as a problem to be overcome, analogical thought accepts it as a reality to be embraced.” Idem, 59 -60. “The tensions between analogical thought and causal logic as they affect the understanding and representation of nature and landscape became critically important in the nineteenth century as I shall discuss in the last part of this book. For now it is suffici ent that we recognise analogical thinking as more characteristic of human relations with the environment, both historically in Europe and geographically over much of the globe today than causal logic, and that the suppression of the former in favour of the latter is in large m easure ideological, and accounts for the difficulty we have in attributing equal significance to human consciousness and symbolism as to material conditions within historical and social explanation.” Idem, 60 -61. 146 See note 143. Yet more can be grasped fr om a quick exploration of Cosgrove and Daniels’s explanation of iconography as based, predominantly on Panofsky. “...[I]conographic study sought to probe meaning in a work of art by setting it in its his torical context and, in particular, to analyse the i deas implicated in its imagery. ... Panofsky distinguished between iconography ‘in the narrower sense of the word’ and iconography ‘in a deeper sense’. ... Iconography ‘in the narrower’ sense was the identification of conventional, consciously inscribed s ymbols, say a lamb signifying Christ, or the winged lion of St Mark signifying in Venetian art the Republic and its power. Iconology probed a deeper stratum of meaning. It excavated what Panofsky called the ‘intrinsic meaning’ of a work of art ‘by ascertai ning those underlying principles which reveal the basic attitude of a nation, a period, a class, a religious or philosophical persuasion – unconsciously qualified by one personality and condensed into one work’.” Cosgrove and Daniels: 1988: 2. Yet this wa s all contingent upon what we, “As experienced observers we may grasp this ‘in a fraction of a second’ but this still involves ‘reading “what we see” according to the manner in which objects and event s are expressed by forms under varying historical condit ions’. Panofsky applied this approach of ‘reading what we see’ to built as well as to painted forms.” Idem, 3. As a result of reading what is seen, the contexts of meaning are determined by what Cassirer (as quoted in Cosgrove and Daniels) posits are symbols “... in the sense of forces, each of which produces and posits a world of its own. ... For the mind, only that can be visible which has some definite form; but every form of existence has its source in s ome peculiar way of seeing, some intellectual for mulation and intuition of meaning.” Idem, 2-3. Each socio -cultural formation, then deposits a layer of meaning which can be understood by subsequent formations. 147 As Panofsky extended the symbolic read from images to built form, “...he found it fertile to regard gothic architecture as text, not just ‘a way of seeing or rather designing’, but as a ‘mode of literary representation’, a treatise in stone, an architectural scholasticism.” Idem, 3. Based upon cultural deposits of meaning, Cosgrove and Daniels extend iconographic symbolism by invoking “Clifford Geertz’s conceptualisation of culture as a ‘text’ and his dual method of ‘thick description’ (‘setting dow n the meaning particular social actions have for the actors whose actions they are’) and ‘diagnosi s’ (‘stating as explicitly as we can manage, what the knowledge thus attained demonstrates about the society in which it is found and about social life as such’)....” to combine the built and cultural into a socio-culturally specific iconographic and symbolic textual representation. Idem, 4. Cosgrove and Daniels use Ruskin, “Landscape he treated as a text...” to make the interpretive iconographic and symbolic cultural extension to reading landscape. Idem, 5. 148 Idem, 8.


80 recovered with the correct techniques, theories or ideolog ies....”149 It still considers the multiplicities of contextual readings of space , yet also realizes the not visible forces that inform productions of meaning. T he multiplicities of contextual reads are evident in the consideration of interpretation in intertextuality.150 The intertextual field constructs alternate modes of reading and writing texts,151 the implications requires shared authorship ( ‘ de authoritization’ of the author) and produce s multiplicities of meanings. The role of i ntertextuality , as already posed in analysis of Cosgrove and Daniels and explained in Duncan and Duncan, makes way for a literary theory argument of landscape experience and reading based on reception theory.152 The authorship, or reader’s sharing thereof, multiplies meaning, takes numerous alternative contextual positions into account, and operates on the symbolic and iconographic roles of interpretation. As meaning is layered and bent between physical substance, reading, and interpretation , the outcome or comprehension of the visible is informed by multiple express ions of the 149 Ibid. 150 James Duncan and David Le y describe intertextuality in regards to hermeneutics and cultural geography, as “... the inter textual field of reference, elements culled from other texts (both theoretical and empirical) which are used in the production of the text. [extending this from production to the reader] ... The reader understands a text by situating it within two interpenetrating fields of reference the extra-textual, the reader’s experiences in the world, and the inter -textual, the context of other texts. The world in the tex t is continually compared to the worlds outside the text in order to see what the former reveals about the latter and as a ‘test’ of the plausibility of the former. ... In either case the reader (by reordering the relationship between the text , the extrat extual and the inter -textual) will produce a different interpretation of the text than that which the author intends, thereby extending the hermeneutic cycle.” Duncan, James S., and David Ley. “Introduction: Representing the place of culture.” Place/cultur e/representation . James S. Duncan and David Ley, eds. London and New York: Routledge, 2013. 1-21. 9 -10. 151 “Together these extraand inter -textual selections begin to decentre an existing mode of seeing, by fragmenting it. Such fragmentation is a creative endeavour, making room for new theoretical perspectives.” Idem, 10. In a different text, James Duncan and Nancy Duncan lean on and ultimately find some draw backs from literary theory in the construction of ‘infinite’ meanings. They argue that “by focusi ng on silences and absences in texts, the hidden intertextual nature of a text, poststructuralists have attempted to demystify the illusion of texts as unified, original creations of a Cartesian subject. T hey deny the authority of the author. In rejecting the view that texts are referential, they also reject the idea that texts are representations or reconstructions of the real world. These descriptions suit landscapes well because landscapes are usually anonymously authore d; although they can be symbolic, they are not obviously referential, and they are highly intertextual creations of the reader, as much as they are products of the society that originally constructed them. Nevertheless, there are some drawbacks in contemporary literary theory. Although it is important to recognize the instability of meaning, it is equally important to realize that this plurality is finite.” Duncan, James, and Nancy Duncan. “(Re) reading the landscape.” Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 6.2 (1988): 117-126. 120. In their conclusions, they explain this limited use, ultimately finding comfort in empirical data and positivist thinking. “Although we reject the undue emphasis on the infinitude of meanings of the poststructuralists, we acknowledge that meanings are plu ral. We draw inspiration from the idea of problematizing assumptions and the notion of deconstruction as inquiry into the enabling conditions of discourses. Although it is claimed that the poststructuralists’ project entails permanent contestation, interro gation, and subversion of interpretation, it is not clear if critique is in fact possible, given their steadfast refusal to assert a privileged vantage point from which to launch this critique. However, the relativism of this stance can be tempered with th e realist recognition that there is an empirical reality to which explanations are accountable. It may be necessary to recognize and subject to analysis the intertextual frame of reference through which one’s own interpretation of data is mediated.” Idem, 125. 152 As defined in Duncan and Duncan, “A text encourages the reader to carve it up, to rework it, to produce it. Although it canno t mean anything at all, it is a space in which the reader as writer can wander, in which signifiers play, signifieds becomin g signifiers in an endless process of deferment. Recent reader -reception theory sees the text as ‘no more than a chain of organized black marks on a page’ (Eagleton, 1983, page 76) until it is actively produced by the reader....” Idem, 119.


81 UHI – a converg ence of multiplicities of contextual writing and rewriting, of historical and cultural meaning s , and of interpretation s of signs and symbols into the comprehension of landscape. In a text that explores the relation of surface phenomenon and cerebral depth, geographer and scholar Yi Fu Tuan writes of the informative role of the UHI . His article argues for an appreciation of surface phenomenon where he otherwise finds depths taking preeminent critical scholarly concern.153 Where at first gl ance Tuan appears to fall back into binaries of surface v s depth, he ultimately strives to make not as clear a preferential statement of one over the other , understanding that in geography and anthropology mutual consideration is important .154 H is clearly argued concern for surface may be in response to a lack of academic scholarship pertaining to the surface , rather than an epistemological or ontological experiential preference.155 As a result, though, Tuan argues that both surface and depth have imperative force in geography, in comprehending human understanding s of landscape and nature.156 As in the previous two paragraphs, if one aligns surface with visible and depth with the UHI ( for this brief 153 “The tenden cy in the human sciences to expose the hidden underside of life and to offer ego-deflating explanations of aesthetic surfaces is justified, if only as cautionary tales. Humans are naturally inclined to bury unflattering aspects of themselves, and it may be that these should be brought out into the open in the name of comprehensive truth. However, it is not obvious to me why life that goes on beneath the surface or backstage should have an automatic claim to privileged status. In other words, I do not see wh y a person’s outward being and behavior are a less accurate index of who she really is —her essential nature —than are those aspects of herself and behavior that occur in private space.” Tuan, Yi – Fu. “Surface phenomena and aesthetic experience.” Annals of the Association of American Geographers 79.2 (1989): 233-241. 237 -238. 154 Of course, in order to understand surface phenomena, one has to seek underlying causes. Knowing the underlying cause or the hidden reason for things is at the heart of serious research. Contemporary geographers are therefore inclined to apologize for ‘mere description.’ Anthropologists, like geographers, are torn between ethnography and explanatory science, between ‘surface ’ and ‘depth.’ However, unlike geographers, an influential school of anthropology recognizes the value of ‘thick description’ (Geertz 1973); perhaps again unlike geographers, anthropologists know the danger of moving too quickly from the rich texture of surface life to highly abstract theories, all of which they tend to view as culturally flavored.” Idem, 233. “And as watchers we are likely to miss all but the most eye -catching shows of life unless we have learned, during retreats into the shaded havens of mind and place, how to attend. The preparation is important. The re has to be a hidden area—a backstage, which in the theater is much larger than the acting area. But it would be strange if, after all the preparation, there is no product or performance.” Idem , 239. 155 “In deliberating these questions, the greater prestig e of ‘depth’ is assumed. Scholars and scientists speak of ‘digging out’ the truth. I do not question the necessity for digging to arrive at fundamental knowledge. I do, however, believe that too quick a focusing on ‘depth’ —on the second of the paired terms given above —tends to the neglect of directly apprehensible phenomena, which have the greatest importance to human life. In this paper, I shall present the view that appearance and sensory impress ions, especially those that have a certain aesthetic appeal, merit our closest attention.” Idem, 233 -234. 156 At the end of his article, Tuan outlines five points for the geographer to understand “...What is this world like and how do we describe it”. They all illustrate some dynamic of depth and/or surface, but the first and fifth foremost outline a mutual consideration for surface and depth, but also how the forces of which inform understanding. “ We need to (1) open ourselves up to the minutiae as well as to the grand scaffoldings of a people’s world, and see that world as the product of an effort to build something fair and right (in both the aesthetic and moral sense), not merely necessitous; (2) understand why certain steps ar e taken, toward what fine grained desiderata of daily life as well as larger goals, and how; (3) know, if we can, to what degree the people are conscious of their society’s hierarchy of values and how these are maintained; (4) ponder, in one’s capacity as an outsider able to observe impersonally, to what extent a people’s aesthetic-moral edi fices are contradictory to, in conflict with, or evasive of forces and facts they do not understand, or understand but do not wish to confront; (5) consider how cultures vary in their degree of expressivity, and explore whether this expressivity, by defini tion an effort to reveal -to bring the inchoate and hidden to the surface, is also motivated by an unconscious desire to hide, for brilliance in one area can make its environs s eem all the darker.” Idem, 240.


82 argument only as they are not synonymous ) , then as the surface depicts depths157, the visible indicate s the informative qualities of the UHI . Considering instead the visual and the UHI as in formative of both surface and depth, Tuan’s discussion of the beauty and ugliness of the unseen (wh ich he aligns with depth ) furt her suggests the informative role of the UHI .158 Bernard Tschumi’s The Manhattan Transcripts is a c ritical text of architec ture that embodies a n architectural practice informed by the UHI . Tschumi clearly explains in his opening statements i n the “Foreword ” that his book aims to get to the underlying mechanisms that construct a specific reality.159 Tschumi uses a series of illustrations, ‘drawings’, rather than texts to outline an architectural inquest into 157 “I have used the words ‘surface,’ ‘sensory imp ression,’ and ‘directly apprehensible,’ but these words have come into existence and have meaning only in relation to ‘depth,’ ‘abstract understanding,’ and ‘mediated apprehension.’ Idem, 234 (my italics). If one could in fact make the alignment of surface with visible, then the apparent presence of the UHI could be argued to originate from depth. Yet the UHI also operates beyond such categories. To contrast the argumentative alignment then, Tuan argues that the UHI is present in informing both surface a nd depth through how (to him) one responds to being in ‘nature’. “One reason why we expect to find happiness in the midst of nature is that there we are more disposed to lay aside our intellectual obligatio n to delve behind surface phenomena —to probe for underlying causes and psychological motivations. Surrounded by nature, we readily yield to the sensory stimulation of agreeable forms and color, quick and graceful movement of animals, the sound of water and the fragrance of vegetation. Indeed, surrounded by nature, we may once more see that it thrives even though all its communications and exchanges have occurred unaided by any conscious awareness of reality as consisting of surfaces and depths. Animals mate and give birth, seek food and fight, establish s ocial groups, all on the basis of what their senses tell them.” Ibid. 158 For beauty, Tuan outlines the beauty of unseen orders in mathematics, aesthetics of art, or the masked appearances identified by religions. “Yet even more wonderful than such appearances is the unseen order that sustains them. Plato, more eloquently and persuasively than other thinkers, has argued for the idea of successive layers of beauty, each more abstract and splendid tha n the other, that stand behind (as it were) the sensible par ticulars. The language best suited to describing the unseen order is mathematical. ... The ideal of science is disclosure. Mathematics is used only because it makes the fullest disclosure possib le. Science renders the invisible visible, the secret public. Interestingly, such a characterization is equally well suited to the enterprise of art, which is also an attempt to render in its own way the invisible visible, the secret public. ... Plato argu es that a particular sensible beauty can lead us to something higher. Christianity embraces a similar view when it says that though the creation is good, something even better or higher lies behind it —a supernal reality and, ultimately, God Himself. I now present another way of looking at surface and depth, viz., a dull or ugly surface may hide an underlying beauty of a spiritual or moral nature. ... Again Christianity has taken up a similar position: it too discounts surface appearance, for what matters is the state of the soul, which is hidden.” Idem, 235 -236. For ugliness, Tuan outlines the ugliness of religious deception, the concealing of rough or grotesque structures, and the social/cultural impacts of ‘beautification’. “I have thus far presented three views: first, we live mostly by appearance; second, though appearances are attractive, they may hide things of even greater beauty; third, plain or ugly surfaces are deceptive, for they can hide ‘pearls of great prize.’ The second and third views are a result of reflection ; both, and especially the third, contribu te to the prestige of the unseen or of ‘depth.’ I now take up the fourth position, which is that beautiful surfaces are not trustworthy for they can hide ugliness. ... In the Western world, a major source of the view is the doctrine that humans are sinful. Handsome surfaces can mislead: if one looks deep enough—lift the pavement as it were —one may find crawling creatures of darkness and evil. Martin Luther seems to have believed that all humans carry a Satanic kernel , a root of hell, which can never be dest royed by natural means such as individual moral effort or the cosmetics of civilization. ... How do we understand the term ‘underneath?’ In a literal sense, it is what exists below the cover or facade; it is anatomy or structure, and plumbing; and I have a lready observed that it is unnatural to ignore, say, the beautiful face of one’s child and see only her skull, or the soaring majesty of Michelangelo’s dome on top of Saint Peter’s to concentrate on the rudimentary inter ior scaffolding that holds it up. .. . Exploitation is the ugliness that lurks beneath the facades of culture. ... In China, Mencius (1966, 674 -75) denounced the parks and gardens of the princes because their construction often meant the uprooting of peasants from their land and crushing hardship for the conscripted laborers. In Mencius’s view, such amenities are permissible only if the people themselves were occasionally allowed to enjoy them. A far more sophisticated modern version of this suspicion of surfa ce derives from Karl Marx.” Idem, 236237. 159 “ Books of architecture, as opposed to books about architecture, develop their own existence and logic. They are not directed at illustrating buildings or cities, but at searching for the ideas that underlie them. ” Tschumi, Bernard, and Max Protetch Gallery. The Manhattan Transcripts. London: Academy Editions; New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1981. 6.


83 reality , invoking the UHI to present what is otherw ise not in architectural drawings.160 The book relies upon a single conflict, a formulaic plot familiar to stage, film, and story.161 This clarifies the UHI in his work ; yet how it informs the visible is not yet clear . In response to this, Tschumi writes t hat the act of reading the images invokes the logic implicit in the drawings, and in the process of combining a series of disparate signs, materials, and events, the reader constructs realities of Manhattan.162 The UHI informs the visual through read ing the drawings, construct ing a reality that is emergent from the convergence of objects, movements, and events – the relation of which is based on “ ...reciprocity and conflict.”163 Reading a given interrelated set of the components in Tschumi’s work requires three possible different narrative s .164 As a result of the filmic plot, narrative line, combinations of objects/movements/events , and viewership, Tschumi present s 160 First, Tschumi states the role of the general composition of the drawings, “ As in those film books in which the illustrations are enlargements of frames from the film, the Transcripts consist of frame -by -frame descriptions of an architectural inquest. By no means do they comprise a definitive statement; they are a tool -in -the -maki ng, a work -in -progress. ... [Moreover]... the Transcripts are composed mainly of drawings, for drawings are both key means and limitations of architectural inquiries. ... [T]he logic of drawings will always differ from the logic of words. ” Ibid. Secondly, Tschumi outlines the thesis of the work: “ The Manhattan Transcripts differ from most architectural drawings insofar as they are neither real projects nor mere fantasies. They propose to transcribe an architectural interpretation of reality. To this aim, th ey use a particular structure indicated by photographs that either direct or ‘witness’ events.... Their explicit purpose is to transcribe things normally removed from conventional architectura l representation, namely the complex relationship between spaces and their use; between the set and the script; between ‘type’ and ‘program’; between objects and events. Their implicit purpose has to do with the twentieth-century city. The Transcripts are about a set of disjunctions among use, form, and social values. The non-coincidence between meaning and being, movement and space, man and object is the starting condition of the work.... Ultimately, the Transcripts try to offer a different reading of architecture in which space, movement and events are independent, yet stand in a new relation to one another, so that the conventional components of architecture are broken down and rebuilt along different axes.” Idem, 7. 161 The major event that draws out his work is a premise that works with an event that physically happens and yet remains UHI: “...they [the Transcripts ] also parallel the most common formula plot: the archetype of murder. Other phantasms are occasionally used to underline the fact that perhaps all architecture, rather than being about functional standards, is about love and death.” Ibid. 162 The architectural origin of each episode is found within a specific reality and not in an abstract geometrical figure. Manhat tan is a real place; the actions described are real actions. The Transcripts always presuppose a reality already in existence, a reality waiting to be deconstructed and eventually transformed. ... Yet the role of the Transcripts is never to represent; they are not mimetic. So, at the same time, the buildings and events depicted are not real building s or events, for distancing and subjectivity are also themes of the transcription. Thus the reality of its sequences does not lie in the accurate transposition of the out side world, but in the internal logic these sequences display. ... [I]t attempts to pl ay with the fragments of a given reality at the same time as the rational structure of abstract concepts, while constantly questioning the nature of architectural signs. ... Thre e disjoined levels of ‘reality’ are presented simultaneously in the Transcript s: the world of objects ... the world of movements ... the world of events.... At first, the respective importance of each level depends only on how each is interpreted by the view er, since each level can always be seen against the background of another. I n this sense, looking at the Transcripts also means constructing them.” Idem, 8-9. 163 “But it is the Transcripts’ contention that only the striking relationship between the three levels makes for the architectural experience. So entangled are these levels w ith one another that at any moment they are perfectly interchangeable. Thus the Transcripts never attempt to transcend contradictions between object, man, and event in order to bring them to a new synthesis; on the contrary, they aim to maintain these cont radictions in a dynamic manner, in a new reciprocity and conflict.” Idem, 9. 164 “ The Manhattan Transcripts are not a random accumulation of events; they display a particular organization. Their chief characteristic is the sequence, a composite succession of frames that confronts spaces, movements, and events, each with its own combinatory structure and inherent set of rules. The narratives implied by these composite sequences may be linear, deconstructed, or dissociated.” Idem, 10.


84 complexlyalternate Manhattan realities constructed through the experience of what is UHI .165 A s an architectural schema, Tschumi’s work can be extended to locations and spaces beyond Manhattan. With changed conditions, Tschumi’s larger argument in extension is that the UHI forces the dramatic love and death drives of architecture, the extreme even ts of acts of killing, and the underlying logics of texts and constructions that work from the UHI to inform the visual. G eographer Mitch Rose outlines the informative role the UHI has upon the visual in meaning constructed through landscape practice. In “Landscape and Labyrinths” Rose aligns ‘overdetermination’ with Deleuze and Guattari’s ‘plane of immanence’ and Bataille’s ‘pyramids’ to argue why landscape meanings matter and to “...argue that the engine for the landscape’s being is practice: everyd ay agents calling the landscape into being as they make it relevant for their own lives, strategies and projects.”166 165 “One last point: as opposed to logical transformations that proceed from rules inherent in the nature of the object, the Transcripts’ sequences often proceed from ‘subjective’ moves. Although an objective rule is given arbitrarily (compression or superposition, for example), its implementation, articulation, and final form depend upon the person who applies the rule. ... Ultimately, the spatial relationships and physical dimensions of objects that change with each viewpoint are like movie shots from above that are intercut with th ose from below: reality is made infinitely malleable, so that emotive, dramatic, or poetic attributes can change and unfold.” Idem, 12. 166 Rose: 2002, 457. For ‘overdetermination’ and ‘pyramids’: “Overdetermination is a concept that has come to centre a wi de range of poststructural projects in geography and elsewhere. ... Their endeavour begins by conceptualizing the process of wor ld making as never conclusively determined or foreclosed: ‘overdetermination can be variously (though not exhaustively) understood as signalling . . . the openness or incompleteness of every identity; the ultimate unfixity of every meaning; and the correlate possibility of conceiving an acentric . . . social totality that is not structured by the primacy of any social ele ment or lo cation’ (27). In an overdetermined world, the objects and identities we engage with are never defined by inherent properties. Rather, as Gibson Graham suggest, they are determined by the contexts within which they are used. ... The key to overdeterminatio n is recognizing that the determination of an object, concept, norm, etc., does not move sequentially from one context to the next but is always defined by multiple operations at the same time . This is the critical insight of an overdetermined framework: t hings are not just undetermined but literally overly determined––that is, determined by the multiplicity of overlapping contexts. Thus, the pyramidal edifices (the systems of representation human beings care for, nurture and hold ont o) that Bataille descri bes come to exist not through the effects of a preestablished systemising force (a hegemonic ideology or a dominant discourse) but through the active process of being given form, that is, because they are constantly, though not consistently, put to task . O verdetermination is useful for illustrating how systems of investment and care are sustained through excess. ... This is the difference between a landscape established through representation and a landscape established through excess: the nurtured pyramida l systems of meaning that engender landscape appear as dominant discourses not because they are contained but precisely because they are overdetermined ––that is, because they are perpetually made to ‘mean’ and ‘do’ more .” Idem, 462. For the ‘plane of imma nence’: “If the restrictive economy describes the vertical dimension of our being –– that which strives, creates, endeavours, risks ––the general economy describes the horizontal, a plane that Deleuze and Guattari call a ‘plane of immanence’ or ‘a plateau’: ‘ a region of intensities whose development avoids any orientation toward a culmination point or external end’ (Deleuze and Guattari, 1987, p. 22). The general economy includes that which is always emergent within practice. It accounts for what economies of explanation exclude and acknowledges the excess that is perpetually present. ... Rather than just being a response, practice is a living of life itself. While there may be a reactive element to practice, it is also mor e than that. There is always an excess that cannot be explained. ... The practices of giving ‘dramatic importance to being and life’ can only operate within the ‘empty night’ of the excess, the overwhelming potential, that ‘living matter in general’ always presents. For Bataille, acting and being only make sense when nestled in the excess of life: the plateau of immanent possibilities inspiring things to happen.” Idem, 461. For ‘pyramids’: “What Bataille calls pyramids : Babel -like summits designed to lift us out of the ongoingness of life (173). ‘The pyramid . . . is the very structure of vision, of theory that has at its summit the divine eye of being. But it is all conditional . . .’ (Hollier, 1989, p. 73). Pyramids are the devices humans invent to hold onto a world t hat always overwhelms their grasp.” Ibid.


85 For Rose, meaning is constructed through a practice that engages what is UHI in excess – overdetermined contexts. Due to the nontranscend ent actions of being in life, there is no rigid fixity to the process of definition in overdetermination. Rather the actions of life perpetually rely upon the UHI to inform the structural meanings of things and actions. Rose defines this perpetual practi ce as a ‘labyrinth’ of projective (and calling forth – almost like a dynamic mesh of magnetisms) intertwining circuitous paths situated between the nontranscendent emergent actions, ‘performances’ of materiality, and the pyramidal structures of meaning th at practice engenders from overdetermined excess.167 This complex metaphysical practice (epistemology and ontology) sketched by Rose deals nearly exclusively with the UHI . Film scholar Anna Powell outlines the theoretical work o f affect and psychogeograph y, both of which operate in the UHI . She uses the Hughes Brothers 2001 film From Hell to explain the informative role (‘affective geographies’) of the UHI , specifically for her , in the genre of gothic horror film.168 Her work necessitates Deleuze and Guattari’s bodies without organs (discussed in a future Act) to establish meaning of a ‘body’.169 From there Powell can define affect , and then extrapolate it to get to her 167 “In recognizing the plateau underneath the pyramid we recognize the operations of the labyrinth: the circulation of practice were the world and its objects are continually stretched and pulled in multiple directions at once. As the vario us edifices that stand against the world’s abundance are cultivated and nurtured –– as they are put towards greater and greater use, wider and wider tasks, further and further functions ––they create entwined circuits of space. The labyrinth is the space we extend, from the world which we care for, towards the directions we want to go. In this sense the labyrinth is dimensionless. It is a space that can never be fully accounted for because we are always creating it. As Hollier (1989) suggests, the labyrinth is both an opening (an expansion) and a passage (a continuing): ‘through the labyrinth one never enter or leaves. Door, arch . . . one never knows i n which direction one is crossing it. Above its pediment let us inscribe the two faces of Janus ... simultaneously the god who presided over beginnings and the one who watched over passages’ (62). As an expression of the desire for constancy, the labyrinth protects they pyramidal edifices that are cared for from the abundance through which it exists. ... Between t he pyramid and the plateau there is a labyrinth: a set of incongruent practices invested in the landscape and making it matter. In suggesting that the landscape exists through the labyrinth, I am suggesting that the landscape’s being is constituted through the unfolding practices that surround it. Its presence is not engendered by features in the landscape itself but by the various ways it is called forth and put to task. In this sense the only thing that the landscape ever is is the practices that make it relevant. While it appears as a definable material space, its materiality is constituted by the totality of possible performances immanent within it: th e constitutive potential of the unfolding labyrinth.” Idem, 462463. 168 “...[T]he film From Hell (the Hughes Brothers 2001) also turns bodies inside out by cinematic means. ... My exploration in this article is twofold and interstitial. Linking, but distinguishing literal and figural bodies, it moves across distinct bu t inters ecting planes: place and time, history and philosophy, fact and fantasy. I write at the junction of Deleuzian affect and the psychogeography that overtly shapes the plot and locale of From Hell , a film ostensibly based on popular crime culture and historic al events in the slums of late Victorian London. Linking philosophical theories of duration and the virtual with the work of psychogeographic writers on recognisable historical events and actual locales, I set out to explore the affective geograph ies of Go thic horror film.” Powell, Anna. “Jack the Ripper’s Bodies -without -Organs: Affect and Psychogeography under the scalpel in From Hell.” The Irish Journal of Gothic and Horror Studies 7 (2009): 3– 15. 3. 169 Powell defines BWO as, “For Deleuze and Guattari, tho ugh, a body without -organs (BWO) is never used in its literal meaning of an eviscerated corpse. They clearly state that their own term focuses not on ‘organs without bodies, or the fragmented body,’ but intends a figurative body, which may or may not be of flesh, ‘animated by various intensive movements’ in process of becoming.” Ibid. She also relates BWO to Deleuze and Guattari’s ‘plane of immanence’ discussed in Rose: “Deleuze and Guattari’s schizoid BWO is likewise an ‘affective aggregate to dissolve su bjective identity’. They deploy maps and terrains not to


86 interpretation of affect as a self reflexive perceptual pause that allo ws for the emergence of an aperceptual and pre subjective informative force. 170 Moving to psychogeography , she defines it as the hidden elements, forces, and memories that inform ones actions in experienced environments through the echoes (somewhat like h auntings ) from historical events or places.171 Both of these processes, bound in BWO s function in a warped vision of a temporality that bends beyond linear clock time, and includes an a sequential and fragmented standard vision, reframed instead by Bergson’s concept of ‘duration’.172 By encompass spatial geography but to figure the intensive motion of the abstract ‘plane of immanence’ with its own metaphysical geography of ‘poles, zones, thresholds and gradients’. This concept repudiates transcendence as ‘other’ to immanence. The plane of immanence flattens all binary divisions such as body and mind, spirit and matter in the shifting forces of ‘a powerful, nonorganic vitality’.” Idem, 9. 170 “To affect as a verb is to ‘lay hold of, imp ress, or act upon (in mind or feelings) or to ‘influence, move, touch’. Affection as noun is ‘a mental state brought about by any influence; an emotion or feeling’. Although retaining shades of these broader meanings, Deleuze and Guattari use affect in a s pecial sense that mixes body and mind via the ‘logic of sensation’. For Guattari, the aesthetic event of a potent art work is viral in its action upon us, being known ‘not through representation, but through affective contamination’.” Idem, 3. “For Bergson, perception is extensive and actual, a response triggered by external stimuli and producing external action, but affection, unextended and virtual, occurs in the temporal gap between stimulus and response. Unlike perception, which seeks to identify and quantify external stimuli, affection is qualitative, the intensive vibration of a ‘motor tendency on a sensible nerve.’ Rather than being ‘geographically’ located... affect surges in the centre of indetermin ation. Its pre -subjective processes engage a kind o f auto -contemplation that participates in the wider flux of forces, and moves in duration. ... Deleuze, like Bergson, locates affection in the evolution from external action to internal contemplation. Whils t ‘delegating our activity to organs of reaction that we have consequently liberated’ he writes, we have also ‘specialised’ specific facets as ‘receptive organs at the price of condemning them to immobility’. These immobile facets refract and absorb images, reflecting on them rather than reflecting them b ack. Deleuze offers a Bergsonian definition of the affective process as a ‘motor effort on an immobilised receptive plate’. ... Affects occupy, without filling, the interval between stimulus and response. I nternal and self -reflexive in nature, affect operates by ‘a co -incidence of subject and object, or the way in which the subject perceives itself, or rather experiences itself or feels itself ‘from the inside.’... I use the terms affect and affection, then, to sug gest a self – reflexive pause, a temporal hiatus catalytic for potential change.” Idem, 5. “Affect is imbricated in the processes of memory via which we recover the enduring past. In order to endure, consciousness is not entirely absorbed in the passing moment. Time passes, but time continues.” Idem, 10. 171 “Psychogeography sketches an occult landscape of atmospheres, histories, actions and characters impacting on actual environments.... In France, psychogeography originates both in the Baudelairian figure of the flaneur , the perambulant urban dandy, a nd Walter Benjamin’s walks around the Paris streets of the 1920s. ... Psychogeography is the hidden landscape of atmospheres, histories, actions and characters impacting on environments. After the Internationale Situationiste gathering in 1957, the term is used by Guy Debord to indicate the experiential study ‘of specific effects of the geographical environment, consciously organised or not, on the emotions and behaviour of individuals’. ... From a psychogeographical point of view, though, a virtual past is feasible only if it retains material determinants as traces of physical contact with the past. ... Psychogeography accesses cultural memory of events and places to glean present insight, often of a politically radical and an tiCapitalist nature. ... Psych ogeography seeks links to cultural memory and times past in order to gain present insight by learning from events in particular places.” Idem, 8 -11. 172 “Bergson’s concept of duration links the past, present and future in a seamless continuum, artificially divided by turning time into space. He argues that by stepping outside everyday modes of thought, the ‘deeper’ self can intuit fluid and multiple sta tes of consciousness that move in the flow of duration. He claims that the insights of ‘immediate intuition’ can show us ‘motion within duration, and duration outside space’. By intensive focus on these states, the perceiver will, in Bergson’s lyrical simile, s ee them ‘melt into one another like the crystals of a snowflake when touched for some time with the finger’. Durational continuity thus underlies the apparent distinction of clock -time. ... Like music, duration is ‘an indivisible multiplicity changing qualitatively in an ongoing movement’. It unites past and present into an ever -flowing organic stream, as ‘ when we recall the notes of a tune, melting, so to speak, into one another’. ... Memory enables the consciousness to experience its ‘full, living, potential’ as it opens itself up to duration via a state of awareness not limited by everyday egoic constrain ts. Bergson states that pure duration is ‘the form which the succession of our conscious states assumes when our ego lets itself live, when it refrains from separating its present state from its former states’. Memory returns the past to the present of consciousness, as we experience ‘full, living, potential’ in its quality of ‘pure heterogeneity’. ... By reanimating the past, we do not use it as an escape route from pres ent demands, but, rather, we become fully alive to time’s richness and complexity. Thus , we gain awareness of the nature of


87 weaving these concepts together , specifically in gothic horror films173, Powell argues that bodies (visual and UHI ) inform in time, comprehension, and experience.174 Understanding the atomic level interrelation as materiality bound together and informed in the experiential modes of affect and psychogeography, then Powell’s field of force constitutes an ever informative connection in and through the UHI . It is evident then that the working s (in either the reflexive or the occult, respectively) of affect and psychogeography in BWO , have rather temporally erratic informative characteristics on the experience and meaning in l andscape. Powell’s work directs readers (and viewers) to focus on the forces and bodies that inform in the psychological, historical, and experiential UHI . These writers, in their respective fields or in their respective subjects, all argue different ways that the UHI informs the visual. They all regard the UHI relationally to the visual components of landscape. Moreover, they also establish frames for other relevant theories – spatial production, landscape practice, living bodies, semiotics, etc. – that inform what, how, and why of land scape experiences and practices. By now, the grounds are intension ally apparent for relevant argumentation of an epistemological and ontological theory of the unseen, hidden, and invisible. The frame, relevance, and relation of the UHI mark its tradition and importance in landscape architectural discourse, and outline i ts informative role in the constructi on of meaning, experience, and design of landscape. Next, we will shift styles to focus on the methods and methodology of this work. Following that, we will begin enunciating a theory of the unseen, hidden, and invisi ble as its own epistemology and ontology, by starting with a definition of terms. D efining a system of terms, establishes a theoretical frame work and a working terminolog y of the UHI . These definitions are not conclusive – they are alive . becoming and our own participation in its affirmative potential. ... In such locales, [psychogeographically -rich locales] times past become present experience for the psychogeographer. For both Sinclair’s psychogeograph y and the Bergsonian Deleuze, time is a plurality where if we ‘give ourselves up, let go’ then the ‘dead moment only exists as we live it now’.” Idem, 10-11. 173 “On one level, Psychogeography moves extensively in specific places and historical events, whils t Deleuzian affect, as we have seen, moves intensively on the abstract, mental plane of duration. Yet, on another level, their dynamics are congruent. Whilst undertaking physical walks in the city, the Situationists sought out ‘zones of distinct psychic atmospheres’. As well as actual walks, mental journeys such those of the Surrealists are also incorporated in the psychogeographic paradigm, though they usually involves the mental projection of actual sites.” Idem, 8. “Despite the obviously divergent routes of affect and psychogeography, I have suggested that their paths cross in recent Gothic horror film. Although memory ‘imitates’ perception as it returns from duration, elements of ‘original virtuality’ will always prevent complete actualization.” Idem, 11 . 174 Powell writes twice, that “whist retaining their singularities, all bodies are interconnected at an atomic level in the BWO’s field of force. ... As well as having distinct particularities, all bodies are interconnected with each other at an atomic lev el within a larger field of force.” Idem, 11 -12.


88 CHAPTER V ACT II – LOGIC, METHOD/METHODOLOGY, MAP When each moment becomes an expectation life is deprived of fulfilment, and death is dreaded for it seems that here expectation must come to an end. While there is life there is hope — and if one lives on hope, death is indeed the end. But to the undivided mind, death is another moment, complete like every moment, and cannot yield its secret unless lived to the full — And I laid me down with a will. Death is the epitome of the truth that in each moment we ar e thrust into the unknown. Here all clinging to security is compelled to cease, and wherever the past is dropped away and safety abandoned, life is renewed. Death is the unknown in which all of us lived before birth. Nothing is more creative than death, si nce it is the whole secret of life. It means that the past must be abandoned, that the unknown cannot be avoided, the ‘I’ cannot continue, and that nothing can be ultimately fixed. When a man knows this, he lives for the first time in his life. By holding his breath, he loses it. By letting it go he finds it. Und so lang du das nicht hast, Dieses: stirb und werde, Bist du nu rein trber Gast Auf der dunklen Erde. – Alan W . Watts1 V Here we go round the prickly pear Prickly pear prickly pear Here we go round the prickly pear At five o’clock in the morning. Between the idea And the reality Between the motion And the act Falls the Shadow For Thine is the Kingdom Between the conception And the creation Between the emotion And the response Falls the Shado w Life is very long Between the desire And the spasm Between the potency And the existence Between the essence And the descent Falls the Shadow 1 Watts, Alan W. The Wisdom of Insecurit y . New York: Vintage Books, A Division of Random House. 1951. 117118.


89 For Thine is the Kingdom For Thine is Life is For Thine is the This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends Not with a bang but a whimper. – T . S . Eliot2 Seeing comes before words. The child looks and recognizes before it can speak. But there is also another sense in which seeing comes before words. It is seeing w hich establishes our place in the surrounding world; we explain that world with words, but words can never undo the fact that we are surrounded by it. * * * We never look at just one thing; we are always looking at the relation between things and ourselve s. Our vision is continually active, continually moving, continually holding things in a circle around itself, constituting what is present to us as we are. Soon after we can see, we are aware that we can also be seen. The eye of the other combines with our own eye to make it fully credible that we are part of the visible world. If we accept that we can see that hill over there, we propose that from that hill we can be seen. The reciprocal nature of vision is more fundamental than that of spoken dialogue. And often a dialogue is an attempt to verbalize this – an attempt to explain how, either metaphorically or literally, ‘you see things’, and an attempt to discover how ‘he sees things’. ... Images were first made to conjure up the appearance s of something that was absent. – John Berger3 T he organizational structure and overall underpinnings of this thesis is an appropriate location to be gin a discussion of the methods and methodology employed in this work, which up to this point has been either indirect ly or insufficient ly discussed. As already stated in the Stage section, the methods employed source a diverse selection of theories and tactics as a mode of discovery, one that is evident in the structure of the thesis overall. The theatrical organization points to the stereotypical five act play, which follows quite loosely the expositionclimax denouement structure, with the background, conflict, rising action, and falling action tracking at its own pace along the way. Furthermore, this, as will be clear in the next act, reinforces an analogy used to discuss the UHI . This theatrical structure also signals 2 Eliot, Thomas Stearns. “The Hollow Men.” Collected Poems 19091962. New York: Harcourt Brace & Company, 1963. 8182. ll. 77 -82. 3 Berger, John. (with Sven Blomberg, Chris Fox, Michael Dibb, Richard Hollis). Ways of Seeing . London: British Broadcasting Corporation and Penguin Books. 1972. 7. / 910. (respectively)


90 acknowledgement of conceptual frameworks used in landscape architectur al discourse that I interpret as adopted from as far back theatrical traditions o f the Greeks. The western historical traditions of theatre, and its possible analogical relations to this thesis’ structure, are also not beyond interpretation.4 It is also no mere coincidence that James Corner aligns the origins of theory (one he argues pertains to landscape) with theatre,5 and this work may be read as a type of theatrical, theoretical play (if you will). The methods used are diverse, and at times conflate with theories already presented. As a result, the thesis employs a ‘ collage metho d’6, or a gathering and an application of different theories and methods to re present resear ch and analysis. Similar to an assemblage (as already outlined) of assemblage theory, this the s is aims to gather up theories and methods and collage them together .7 As De Landa writes of his method in 1000 Years of Nonlinear History , his approach follows an assemblage model aiming “ bottom up as possible”8, which is similarly evident here. The theories and methods 4 For instance, see two articles by Kenneth Olwig: Olwig, Kenneth R. “Performance, aetherial space and the practice of lands cape/architecture: the case of the missing mask.” Social & Cultural Geography 12.03 (2011 (b)): 305 -318. See also, Olwig, Kenneth R. “All that is landscape is melted into air: the ‘aerography’ of ethereal space.” Environment and Planning Department: Society and Space : 29, 2011(a) . 519 532. doi:10.1068/d8409. 5 See Corner : 1990. He writes, “later, in the development of Greek philosophy, theoria was extended to astronomical and religious thinking, enabling a reconciliation between events in the immediate wo rld and the divine order of the cosmos. From the term theoria came theology (the science of being), theophany (literally god -appearance), and theater. The theatron was a stage upon which the deities would appear: the cosmos was made manifest, and a spectacle enacted in which the audience would transcend the banalities of everyday life (Figure 1). The theoriai were ancient Greek envoys who would visit distant theaters and festivals to observe and understand the ‘measured movements’ of the ‘visible Gods.’ Thr ough worldly observation, they looked forward to a kind of revelatory seeing that would momentarily clarify their being in the cosmos. The practice and explication of theoria was therefore limited to particular groups of theoreticians. Architects and gardeners, for example, were merely those who possessed technical skill, not theoretical knowledge. The ancient rites of site selection and orientation were governed by a special group of theoreticians within the priesthood.” Idem, 62. 6 Informed by Joern Langhorst in a meeting, Feb 14, 2018. 7 Manuel De Landa cites and unpacks a quote by Deleuze and Parnet to establish “the simplest definition [of assemblage and its binding relations], one involving a minimum of additional conceptual machinery: ‘What is an asse mblage? It is a multiplicity which is made up of many heterogeneous terms and which establishes liaisons, relations between them, across ages, sexes and reigns – different natures. Thus, the assemblage’s only unity is that of a co-functioning: it is a symb iosis, a ‘sympathy’. It is never filiations which are important, but alliances, alloys; these are not successions, lines of descent, but contagions, epidemics , the wind.’ In this definition, two aspects of the concept are emphasised: that the parts that ar e fitted together are not uniform either in nature or in origin, and that the assemblage actively links these parts together by establishing relations between them. The contrast between filiations and alliances gives us a clue regarding the type of relatio nships needed to hold the parts together. ... The terms ‘interiority’ and ‘exteriority’ are somewhat misleading because they suggest a spatial relation, a relation interna l or external to something. A better choice would be intrinsic and extrinsic, but the intent is clear: if a relation constitutes the very identity of what it relates it cannot respect the heterogeneity of the components, but rather it tends to fuse them together into a homogeneous whole. ... In both the social and biological cases, intrins ic relations are such because they are coded , and because the code arbitrarily selects one alternative over the rest. This suggests that the opposition between the two types of social ensembles mentioned in the previous quotation, those linked by filiation and alliance, respectively, may be captured by a single concept equipped with a variable parameter , the setting of which determines whether the ensemble is coded or decoded.” De Landa, Manuel. Assemblage Theory . Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2016. 1 3. 8 De Landa writes, “...a top -down approach to the study of complex entities needs to be complimented with a bottom -up approach: analysis needs to go hand in hand with synthesis. ... My account is bottom -up in that I make an effort not to postulate s ystematicity when I cannot show that a particular system generating process has actually occurred. ... Also, I approach entities at


91 employed in this thesis are, in ways (though not completely) due to the thesis’s overall complexity , “nonlinear”9, marked with “ self organization”10, and with “emergent properties ” .11 N ot all methods and theories were chosen or decided upon prior to the work. Rather different theories and methods (a nd the subject of research) changed, added , and augmented the original thinking, based in response to the situations, research, and guidance along the discovery . Although perhaps not wholly assemblage theory , though utilizing a collage method in its organ ization, the thesis does employ assemblage theory in arguments of the organization and structure of thingbodies and assemblage organizations. The overall collage method of this thesis organization, is affective for the complexity of the topic. The text is heavily footnoted, with extra argumentation or much larger reiteration of sources and citations. I use this method to be as transparent as possible in how the arguments are constructed. By providing a large selection of sources and citations, I hope t hat the reader will be able to follow my logic and argument, but also read the sources and perhaps construct their own argument or counterargument. I often source the Oxford English Dictionary, OED, to construct or deconstruct concepts and term definition s. I am aware that this may run a risk of an ‘ epistemological fallacy ’ , so where able, I attempted to use the term in its conventional uses. In addition, when using the OED, I attempted to maintain usage to the nonrare and nonobsolete definitions. I used the complete online dictionary version with access secured and granted by the school’s Auraria library. I am fully aware of the physical copy, and the relatively limited way in which I used the dictionary. The OED is a powerful tool. In the early pha ses of my research , I used a number of different methods to narrow and construct my concept , and to explore my overall structure. I used diagrams, discussions, Gramscian/semiotic squares, and definitional deconstructive analysis to wrap my head around the concepts in this thesis. I any given level (the level of nation -states, cities, institutions, or individual decision makers) in terms of populations of entities at the level immediately below.” De Landa: 1997, 18. 9 De Landa writes “attractors and bifurcations are features of any system in which the dynamics are not only far from equilibri um but also nonlinear, that is, in which there are strong mutual interactions (or feedback) between components.” Idem, 14. 10 In response to analysis of Arthur Iberall he writes, “...inorganic matter -energy has a wider range of alternatives for the generation of structure than just these simple phase transitions, and what is true for simple ‘stuff’ must be all the more so for the complex materials that form human cultures. In other words, even the humblest forms of matter and energy have the potential f or self -organization beyond the relatively simple type involved in the creation of crystals.” Idem, 16. 11 “In this case, certain combinations will display emergent properties, that is, properties of the combination as a whole which are more than the sum of its individual parts.” Idem, 17.


92 deconstructed an email from my advisor and used prose to outline where my interest originated and why it did so. I used collage and mapping methods on these notes. My preference in notebook was, a three columned shipping logbooks that allowed me to revisit and make extra notations in the columns. My use and connections to these notebooks were incredibly helpful and informative . I will use them again, if so be it, and will likely be more governed, rigorous, and meticulous in their use. I maintain ed a secondary notebook for more looseness and flexible notes . Perhaps , in a future use, a more diligent combination of both notebooks w ould be helpful . Select relevant copies of (most) these will be included in the appendix. I say ‘ most ’ as I lost one notebook from my research, meetings, and thoughts while shipping them back from Europe in the summer of 2017. Af ter opening multiple cases with USPS to attempt to locate my packages (the notes were only one piece lost), I acquiesced and abandoned my search. Throughout the process, I held weekly meetings with advisors during school semesters and less frequent in breaks. In full disclosure, in most meetings, I intentionally did not focus discussion solely on the work. Instead I treated the meetings very casually, discussing things about life and other seemingly ‘nonrelated’ subjects. I found that by allowing myself to be relaxed and sensitive to the conversation , this style revealed insights in analogous or tangential ways, where the y may otherwise lay mute . I consider this style to situationally hold the meeting foremost. It allows the work to transfer more fluidly, consciously (and subconsciously , yet not verbally ) , to stretch, spread, and contract inter subjectively in the meetin gs. At some point during each meeting , discussion direct ly and explicit ly concerned the work. In the same vein, aside of meetings, I tried to keep th is work consciously clo se and I found myself picking up interesting insights from random actions and conv ersations, either with me, seen, or overheard . These ‘everyday’ methods informed the overall structure of the concepts, research topics, and written work. In its overall structure then, the qualitative methods of this thesis may be considered more unstruc tured than structured. Joseph Maxwell writes that there are positive and negative qualities to both


93 research approaches, which are often left unexamined .12 Concerning unstructured approaches, they tend to “...allow the researcher to focus on the particula r phenomena studied; they trade generalizability and comparability for internal validity and contextual understanding and are particularly useful in understanding the processes that led to specific outcomes....”13 This best describes this specific thesis. F uture studies on this specific topic may benefit from more structured approaches. Maxwell also writes that the difference between structured and unstructured research has been qualified “ extensive and intensive research designs, respectively.”14 A lthough this thesis has an extensive (generalized) element to i t, it is initially, immediately intensive, as it is most concerned with a ‘particular phenomena’ . Due to the collage and assemblage method framing the process and organization of this work, t he unstructured and intensive approach is best fitting. It allows for more nonlinear and emergent properties in that they are part of the ‘ processes that led to specific outcomes’. Lastly, t o reiterate from the Stage section, this thesis is not only ab out what is UHI, but also how the UHI informs what is visible ; not only is it what is present, but also how is it present; what a thing is and how a thing is . T his raises the question of the relation between what and how . Booth et al . write that “questio ns that ask who, what, when, or where are important, but they may ask only about matters of settled fact (though not always). Questions that ask how and why are more likely to invite deeper research and lead to more interesting answers.”15 The authors lim it this relation based on a distinction of depth. What is implied as ‘thin’, whereas how tends to be ‘deep’. Yet, if by asking a question of what , one implies or invokes how , then the distinction is not only of depth but also of process. 12 Joseph Maxwell writes, “the choice between structured and unstructured methods is rarely discussed in a way that clarifies the relative advantages and disadvantages of each.” Maxwell, Joseph A. Qualitative research design: An interactive approach. Vol. 41. Thousand Oaks: Sage Publications, 2012. 64. 13 Maxwell writes of the differences between the two, “Structured approaches can help to ensure the comparability of data across sources and researchers and are thus particularly useful in answering variance questions, questions that deal with differences between things and their explanation. Unstructured approaches, in contrast, allow the researcher to focus on the particular phenomena studied; they trade generalizability and comparability for internal validity and contextual understanding and are particularly useful in understanding the processes that led to specific outcomes, what Huberman and Miles (1985/1988) call local causality. ” Ibid. 14 “Sayer (1992, p. 241ff.) refers to these two approaches as extensive and intensive research designs, re spectively.” Ibid. 15 Booth, Wayne C., Gregory G. Colomb, and Joseph M. Williams. The craft of research . Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2003. 48.


94 Maxwell considers this relation to go beyond depth and reinforces process. He rather favors the terms ‘interpretation’ and ‘description’ when he writes, “in many qualitative studies, the real interest is in how participants make sense of what has happened, and how this perspective informs their actions, rather than determining precisely what they did. (This is essentially the difference between interpretation and description....) ”16 Maxwell expands the previous distinction of depth to implicate interpret at ive qualitativ e research , while also includ ing the processual interests (i.e. how things be come and happen, or the processual whats combined that inform the what of concern) . T he goal here definitely concerns what but only if necessarily implicating how . Thus, this thesis invokes an interpret at ive qualitative approach, one that uses description as a means of qualitative processual interpretation. To add one more , somewhat colloquial thought, the role of theory (multiple different ones) is paramount in this thesis. Mor eover, theory is understood as a necessary parameter for thing existence. For if both , theory is a set of tools (thought of in the most general way)17, and (even in the ephemeral and fleeting) one cannot exist without some form of structure (s) or some form of structuration (s)18, then it leads one to question how the structure or structuration was constructed , assembled, formed, or became . If assuming that some form, som e type, or some essential bound ary of structure is a pre determining substant of any thing to exist , then how is it substant? It begs, what tool or set of tools formed, assisted in, was applied to the structure or structuration? If , as Michael Hardt is cited as writing, that practice or theory cannot exist without the other,19 then both are ne cessary predeterminants for a thing to be or 16 Maxwell: 2012, 58. 17 Insights from Tony Mazzeo. For concept, see: Nealon, Jeffrey T. The Theory Tool box : Critical Concepts for the Humanities, Arts, and Social Sciences. Lanham, Maryland: Rowman & Littlefield, 2003. 8. “To paraphrase philosopher Gilles Deleuze, we’re interested in theory as a toolbox of questions and concepts to be built and experiment ally deployed rather than as a menu of methods to be chosen and mechanically applied.” A tool in the most general way is meant as any -thing that assists or is made assistive/applied with constructing another thing . 18 Term defined in Corner: 1997, 102 where, in arguing for designs that “...construct enabling relationships between the freedoms of life...”, he cites Sanford Kwinter’s arguments on Rem Koolhaas’s works, in: Kwinter, Sanford. 1993. “Rem Koolhaas, OMA: The Reinvention of Geometry.” Assemblage 1 8: 8385. The full quotation, in which Kwinter describes Koolhaas’s recent works reads, “‘all of Koolhaas’s recent work is evolved -rather than designed-within the hyper modern event -space of complex, sensitive, dynamical indeterminacy and change. ... [The design principles display] a very dear orientation toward evolutionary, time -based processes, dynamic geometric structurations — not structures per se, but forms that follow and fill the wake of concrete yet unpredeterminable events. ... This is because, ins tead of designing artificial environments, [Koolhaas] deploys richly imbricated systems of interacting elements that set in motion rather artificial ecologies that, in turn, take on a genuine self -organizing life of their own.’” Idem, 102. 19 Michael Hardt is cited in a syllabus from Tony Mazzeo’s “Professional Practice” course: “Without theory there is no terrain on which practice can arise, just as inversely, without practice, there is no terrain for theory. Each provides the conditions f or the

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95 become. The im perative becomes not only the structure or structuration, but also of that which formed it, the tool and set of tools, i.e. theory. The following discussion will examine the specific methods us ed in and methodology of this thesis. It will segment its approach into three parts . The first will establish the overall reasoning platform and a few important theories that underlie the work, most of which have already been discussed. The second part will break down, briefly, those specific methods used. The third part will discuss the methods and plan employed in the next act. These ‘parts’ do not stand isolated, but interact (and have interacted) together in the iterative collage process of the wor k. Logic T he following section clarif ies the frame of reasoning and a few pertinent theories integral to this work. To begin with the mode of reasoning and logic used, we must address conventional logistic models. T he oft privileged positivist binary ap proaches to logic, which , in their article “Abductive reasoning in logistics research”, Gyngyi Kovcs and Karen M. Spens clarify as “ the central approaches in Western research traditions have been those of deduction and induction...” are favored for logic al reasoning and knowledge pattern production; where deduction follows the general pattern of “...conscious direction from a general law to a specific case...” and induction follows the general pattern of “...specific case or a collection of observations t o general law, i.e. from facts to theory....”20 Yet, the overall logical method fueling this thesis is considered abductive. In spite of the binary approaches, Kovcs and Spens argue that “...the development of new theories...calls for a discussion on th e concept of abduction. ”21 As a result of this, Kovcs and Spens (and other authors agree) that “the abductive approach stems from the insight that most great advances in science neither followed the existence and development of the other”. See Mazzeo, Tony. “Syllabus for Professional Practice.” Spring 2017, University of Colorado, Denver. 1. 20 Kovcs, Gyngyi and Karen M. Spens. “Abductive reasoning in logistics research.” International Journal of Physical Dist ribution & Logistics Management , 35.2 (2005): 132 -144. 132. “In line with this positivist stream, there is also a paucity of discussing different research approaches in logistics journals. The central approaches in Western research traditions have been tho se of deduction and induction (Kirkeby, 1990). Deductive research follows a conscious direction from a general law to a specific case (Alvesson and Skldberg, 1994; Andreewsky and Bourcier, 2000; Danermark, 2001; Kirkeby, 1990; Taylor et al. , 2002). Contra ry to this procedure, the inductive research approach reasons through moving from a specific case or a collection of observations to general law, i.e. from facts to theory (Alvesson and Skldberg, 1994; Andreewsky and Bourcier, 2000; Danermark, 2001; Kirke by, 1990; Taylor et al. , 2002).” Idem, 132133. 21 Idem, 133.

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96 pattern of pure deduction nor of pure induction....”22 M oreover, Kovcs and Spens trace the linguistic heritage of the terms, arguing , using Charles Sanders Peirce, that abduction stems from its own discreet reasoning category formulated by Aristotle and carried through Latin to English.23 Yet, what is abduction, how does it operate, and for what is it best suited? In examining a few articles, it will become clear that abduction is a relevant logistical methodological reasoning suiting this thesis. Abductive research, as its own discreet mode of reasoning relies on different tools to construct knowledge and research o f phenomena where inductive and deductive research may be lacking. For instance, abduction has a unique ability to rely , systematically, on creativity and intuition to reason where some theory m ay not exist.24 A bduction is thus successful at developing new theories, or explaining new phenomena.25 More precisely, as Jaakko Hintikka argues, “abduction is characterized by Peirce by the 22 “The abductive approach stems from the insight that most great advances in science neither followed the pattern of pure deduction nor of pure induction (Kirkeby, 1990; Taylor et al. , 2002).” Id em, 135 23 Kovcs and Spens write, “while most sources quote Charles Sanders (Santiago) Peirce for coining the term ‘abduction’ (see, for example, Danermark, 2001; Taylor et al. , 2002), Peirce (1931) himself traces it back to Aristotle: ‘There are in science three fundamentally different kinds of reasoning, Deduction usually translated abduction). Besides these three, Analogy (Aris Retroduction” (Peirce, 1931, p. 28, paragraph 65 – posthumous edited version of Peirce’s unpublished book “ History of Science” from 1886).’ From a linguistic perspective (all following translatio ns originate from, 2004, or Oxford Reference ense of ‘allegorical interpretation’; both encompassing the ending ‘ -agein’ or ‘to lead’. Deduction itself derives from the Latin , meaning ‘to lead’ or ‘draw down; bring away or off; establish (a colony); launch; conduct; escort; derive; compose; epagoge) means ‘to bring in’, and is further explained to mean ‘the adducing of particular examples so as to lead to a univer sal conclusion’. The Latin translates to ‘lead or conduct into; brin g in; bring (performers) into the arena, on to the stage, e translation is found for the Latin (‘to lead away; to carry of for meaning analogy: in a dictionary, a paradigm would translate to ‘to compare alongside, to show, to show side by side’; while analogy translates to ‘proportion, proportionate’.” Idem, 135136 24 Kovcs and Spens write, “a first stream of researchers sees abduction as the systematized creativity or intuition in research to develop ‘new’ knowledge (Andreewsky and Bourcier, 2000; Kirkeby, 1990; Taylor et al. , 2002). Creativity is necessary to break out of the limitations of deduction and induction, which both are delimited to establish relations between already known constructs (Kirkeby, 1990). Instead of following a logical process, advances in science are often achieved through an intuiti ve leap th at comes forth as a whole, and which can be called abductive reasoning (Taylor et al. , 2002). This intuition often results from an unexpected observation that calls for explaining an anomaly that cannot be explained using an established theory (Alvesson and Skldberg, 1994; Andreewsky and Bourcier, 2000; Dubois and Gadde, 2002). In introducing the concept of intuition into a scientific approach (Taylor et al. , 2002), abduction deviates from previous methods of scientific explanations (Danermark, 2001).” Ide m, 136137 25 They continue “The aim of this process is to understand the new phenomenon (Alvesson and Skldberg, 1994) and to suggest new theory (Kirkeby, 1990) in the form of new hypotheses or propositions (Andreewsky and Bourcier, 2000). ...[T]he primary aim of abduction is to develop the understanding of a ‘new’ phenomenon (Alvesson and Skldberg, 1994)....” Idem 139-140. They also write, “abduction also works through interpreting or re -contextualizing individual phenomena within a contextual framework, and aims to understand something in a new way, from the perspective of a new conceptual framework (Danermark, 2001; Dubois and Gadde, 2002). ... Thus, taking an abductive approach leads to new insight about existing phenomena by examining these from a new perspective.” Idem, 138.

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97 universal process of forming new hypotheses ”26 due to its ‘strate gic’ mode of inquiry .27 This strategy, although part of the overall structure of abducti on , allows insight where other forms of research lack due to, Hintikka argues, the unique ability of abductive reasoning to interrogate any phase of inquiry ,28 not becau se of any warrant or claim , but rather due to its use of implied question and answer format.29 This is a n epistemological form at used , according to Hintikka, by philosophers, from Aristotle to Gadamer.30 26 Jaakko Hintikka writes in his article “What is Abduction? The Fundamental Problem of Contemporary Epistemology” that “there is one more aspect of Peirce’s views (and statements) that can serve to highlight the epistemological si tuation. It is the notion of hypothesis. Abduction is characterized by Peirce by the universal process of forming new hypotheses. I might seem t o have departed from Peirce’s intentions when I presented abduction as the universal method of introducing new i nformation into a rational argument. The answer is that by information I do not mean necessarily true information. On the contrary, its being new information implies that it is not implied by what is already known (or at least accepted). In this sense, abd uction, as here construed, always has a hypothetical element.” Hintikka, Jaakko. “What is abduction? The fundamental problem of contemporary epistemology.” Transactions of the Charles S. Peirce Society , 34.3 (1998): 503-533. 529 530 27 Hintikka writes, “It was seen that according to Peirce an abductive method must be justified by strategic principles.” Idem, 523. See also, “As was pointed out above, the true justification of a rule of abductive inference is a strategic one.” Idem, 530. 28 Hintikka argues that interrogation is key to Pierce’s abduction “in fact, Peirce puts forward himself the interpretation of abduction as an interrogative step.” Idem, 519. The ‘any’ qualifier in this sentence relates to the ‘question and answer’ format in the next notes. Nevertheless, this raises some conflict for Hintikka, as he finds “Sometimes Peirce nevertheless relates interrogation to the ‘inductive’ testing of hypotheses rather than to the formation of hypotheses; see e.g. Eisele, editor, Historical Perspectives , vol. II, p. 899. [Yet,] this is prima facie different from what I have suggested. Yet it may not be impossible to reconcile with what I have argued. What I insist on is that the abductive part of inquiry can be conceptualized as inquiry in the sense of interro gation; I do not maintain the converse. Hence I am not denying that what Peirce calls the inductive component of inquiry also involves interrogation. On the contrary, it fits in very well with the idea that interrogative inquiry, like Peircean inquiry, is a self correcting operation.” Idem, 521522. Hintikka reconciles this in the following: “I can here discuss these points only selectively. In its general features, the interrogative logic of epistemology (‘epistemo -logic’) is strongly reminiscent of Peirce’s ideas. Consider, as an example, item (iv). In the interrogative model there are in it three different kinds of steps, viz. deductive and interrogative steps plus self -critical steps in which one of the earlier answers (or initial premises) is (at least tentatively) rejected (‘bracketed’). Naturally, allowing such bracketing steps must be accompanied by allowing their mirror images, unbracketing steps. This is strongly reminiscent of Peirce’s trichotomy of deduction, abduction and induction. In particula r, we can from this vantage point see why Peirce describes the inductive stage of inquiry as involving the testing of hypotheses rather than a series of inductive inferences. In the interrogative model, the critical stage consists in bracketin g and unbrack eting earlier answers, which are precisely the outcomes (Peirce’s ‘hypotheses’) of what on my reinterpretation are abductive steps of inquiry.” Idem, 523. 29 Hintikka argues, “as was pointed out above, the true justification of a rule of abductive inference is a strategic one. And such a strategic justification does not provide a warrant for any one particular step in the process. Such a particular step may not in any obvious way aid and abet the overall aim of the inquiry. For instance, such a step might pr ovide neither any new information relevant to the aim of the inquiry nor any new confirmation for what has already been established and yet serve crucially the inquiry, for instance by opening up the possibility of a question whose answer does so.” Idem, 530. The ‘question and answer’ format still needs more explanation. Hintikka argues that this is the unique form of inference, distinct to abduction: “as f ar as the status of abduction as a special form of inference is concerned, the basic conclusion here is: no, there is no such form of inference (in any natural sense of inference) as abduction. Abduction should be conceptualized as a question -answer step, not as an inference in any literal sense of the word. Peirce was entirely right in separating abduct ion both from deduction and from induction.” Idem, 523. Hintikka states his clarification of abduction more clearly, “thus all the new information flowing in to a fully rational argument might as well be understood as answers to the inquirer’s questions. T his, then, is my solution to the problem of abduction, which has meanwhile been generalized so as to become the problem concerning the nature of ampliative inference in general. Abductive ‘inferences’ must be construed as answers to the inquirer’s explicit or (usually) tacit question put to some definite source of answers (information). ... My solution to the abduction problem is not merely an abstract theoreti cal thesis. It has direct implications for the way epistemology and the general philosophy of scie nce is to be studied. The key to them is the general theory of questions and answer” Idem, 519. 30 “This answer is not put forward as a total novelty. In spirit, and in some cases in letter, the picture of rational inquiry w hich embodies my answer is remark ably close to the questioning method ( elenchus ) of the Platonic Socrates. The same method constitutes (I have argued) the methodology of the early (pre -syllogistic) Aristotle. Much later, Collingwood (1944) and Gadamer (1975) have likewise recommended what they call the logic of question and answer as the crucial method of inquiry.” Ibid.

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98 Regardless, the strength of abduction lies in the “. ..hypothetical character of the conclusion...” i n which “...justification lies in the abductive rule’s being conducive to the acquisition of truth.”31 In other words, s uch truth is distinct as it does not rely upon “...a process each step in which is conducive to acquiring and/or maintaining truth or closeness to truth, [but rather]... one which as a whole is apt to lead the inquirer to truth .”32 This clarifies the unique hypothetical conclusion s; abductive truth relate s to the hypothesis ‘ creatively ’ , ‘iter atively’ via questions and insights from answers , not discreet warrant s alone. In summation, a bductive reasoning works based i n a differ ent structure from inductive and deductive reasoning. Although abduction is often reduced to “ inference to the best explanation”, Hintikka opposes this conjecture in his analysis.33 This opposition is what gives rise to t he question answer format, hypothetical conclusions, and holistic truths indicative of the defining parts of the structure of abduction. The unique structure of abduction, as Kovcs and Spens write follows “... from 31 “But there is even more than that to the hypothetical character of the conclusion of an abductive inference. This character, aptly emphasized by Peirce, illustrates one of the most important things about the justification of abductive inferences. According to Peirce, this justification lies in the abductive rule’s being conducive to the acquisition of truth.” Idem, 530. Hence, this is why Kovcs and Spens find that “in a bductive reasoning, the case presents a plausible but not logically necessary conclusion, provided that its anticipated rule is correct (Danermark, 2001). An empirical event or phenomenon is related to a rule, which gives new insight (or supposition) about the event or phenomenon.” Kovcs and Spens: 2005, 138. 32 To reiterate some points already made, Hintikka explores the supposed errors of the abductive hypothetical conclusion: “many contemporary philosophers will assimilate this kind of justification to w hat is called a reliabilist one. Such reliabilist views are said to go back to Frank Ramsey who said that a belief is knowledge if it is true, certain and obtained by a reliable process . Unfortunately for the reliabilists, such characterizations are subject to the ambiguity which was pointed out above. By a reliable process, one can mean either a process each step in which is conducive to acquiring and/or maintaining truth or closeness to truth, or one which as a whole is apt to lead the inquirer to truth. Unfortunately, most reliabilists unerringly choose the wrong interpretation, namely the first one. As was pointed out above, the true justification of a rule of abductive inference is a strategic one. And such a strategic justification does not provide a w arrant for any one particular step in the process. Such a particular step may not in any obvious way aid and abet the overall aim of the inquiry. For instance, such a step might provide neither any new information relevant to the aim of the inquiry nor any new confirmation for what has already been established and yet serve crucially the inquiry, for instance by opening up the possibility of a question whose answer does so.” Hintikka: 1998, 530. 33 Hintikka analyzes multiple different approaches that propose the operational assurances of ‘inference to the best explanation’, only to disprove the reasoning behind them. He begins this (and carries it for five pages after) by writing: “before essaying my own answer, it is in order to deal with a wide spread alt ernative interpretation of abduction. According to this interpretation, abduction is an inference to the best explanation. This idea has a great deal of initial plausibility. In fact, abductive inf erence is often, perhaps typically, related to explanation. Peirce already emphasized that the new hypothesis that abduction yields should explain the available data. (See e.g. ‘Pragmatism as the Logic of Abduction’ (May 14, 1903), pp. 15 -16 in Peirce’s numbering; Kapitan 1997, p.483.) Others have later strengthened the role of explanation in the definition of abduction and identified abduction with what is known as ‘inference to the best explanation.’ This view is seriously oversimplified at best. Part of t he difficulty can be seen by asking, first, what explanati on is or, perhaps more pertinently, what explaining is. Most people who speak of ‘inferences to best explanation’ seem to imagine that they know what explanation is. In reality, the nature of explanation is scarcely any clearer than the nature of abduction .” Idem, 506 -507. See also: “hence, since the abductive reasoner does not always have at his or her disposal explanations even of the known data, the abductive inference cannot be a step to the known data to a hypothesis or theory that best explains them. ” Idem, 509. Hintikka eventually argues that, “the interpretation of abduction as an inference to the best explanation is also in conflict with what Peirce says in so many words. In the passage quoted above from 6.525 he says that in abduction one hypothe sis may be preferred over others if the preference is not based on previous knowledge. But the whole idea of inference to the best explanation is that the choice is determined by the facts that are to be explained – that the outcome is the best explanation of these particular data.” Idem, 511.

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99 rule to result to case...” functions as its own research process.34 This process starts with, the point in which prior theories and theoretical knowledges does not match with the observa ble data.35 At which point the researcher begins to apply an aforementioned “...creative iterative process...of ‘theory matching’ or ‘systematic combining’...”36 which can alternately be understood as Hintikka’s ‘interrogation’ of ‘ampli a tive reasonings’ .37 Both analyses by Kovcs and Spens, and Hintikka, outline an approach that “...starts with a deviating observation ... and concludes in H/P...”38 hypothesis and propositions.39 This unique structure functions well with specific methods, such as case studies, which require a kind of unstructured and iterative theory development and hypotheses conjecture.40 Although abduction is argued as its own discreet structure of reasoning, it shares similarities with both deductive and inductive reasoning. Sometimes , th ese similarities may be based on an interrelat ion 34 Kovcs and Spens write, “the abductive approach follows yet another process, from rule to result to case (Danermark, 2001, Kirkeby, 1990).” Kovcs and Spens: 2005, 137. 35 They continue to analyze the structure of the process itself finding that “however, a closer examination of this starting point leads to the conclusion that even if prior theories are given, abductive reasoning starts at the point at which an observation in the empirical research does not match thes e prior theories (see, for example, Dubois and Gadde, 2002; Kirkeby, 1990).” Idem, 139. 36 The differences in abduction are in evident in the process and structure, as Kovcs and Spens argue, “In this case, the theoretical framework used prior to this other wise falsifying (Popper, 1959) observation is not able to explain the anomaly of the observation itself (Andreewsky and Bourcier, 2000; Danermark, 2001). Therefore, a creative iterative process (Taylor et al ., 2002; Wigblad, 2003) of ‘theory matching’ or ‘ systematic combining’ starts (Dubois and Gadde, 2002) in an attempt to find a new matching framework or to extend the theory used prior to this observation (Andreewsky and Bourcier, 2000). The empirical starting point with an anomaly in the observation should not lead to the notion that an abductive research process can only start out with a surprise. On the contrary, the researcher can also introduce a creative element consciously by applying new theory , or a new framework, to already existing phenomena (K irkeby, 1990).” Ibid. 37 Hintikka writes, “thus the interrogative interpretation of abduction or more generally speaking the construal of all ampliative reasoning as interrogative, while in a sense vindicating Peirce’s tripartite analysis of reasoning into deductive, abductive and inductive inferences, at the same time but in a different sense reveals fundamental connections between the three.” Hintikka: 1998, 527. Yet, it is beneficial to tease apart what Hintikka means by ‘ampliative’. He writes “...that an ampliative step of reasoning brings new information to the argument.” Idem, 517. In this way, the question-answer format of abduction, which Hintikka proposes, is inherently ampliative: “this, then, is my solution to the problem of abduction, which ha s meanwhile been generalized so as to become the problem concerning the nature of ampliative inference in general. Abductive ‘inferences’ must be construed as answers to the inquirer’s explicit or (usually) tacit question put to some definite source of ans wers (information).” Idem, 519. To reiterate, the ampliative interrogative component is distinct to abduction. It is not deductive: “what is amp liative reasoning like? Purely logical (in the sense of deductive) reasoning is not ampliative. It does not gi ve me any really new information. Yet all our science and indeed our whole life depends on ampliative reasoning. But what is that reasoning really like? When we speak of the reasonings of the likes of Sherlock Holmes or Nero Wolfe as ‘deductions’ accomplis hed by means of ‘logic,’ we do not mean philosophers’ deductive logic which is not ampliative.” Idem, 506. Nor is it inductive, as Hintikka finds Pierce’s framework to hold as a premise: “abduction is different from induction. Induction is not a form of a mpliative inference (introduction of new hypotheses), let alone the only form.” Idem, 522. Thus, in a seemingly shift of argument, but rather in clarification, “, there is no such form of inference (in any natural sense of inference) as abduction. Ab duction should be conceptualized as a question -answer step, not as an inference in any literal sense of the word. Peirce was entirely right in separating abduction both from deduction and from induction.” Idem, 523. 38 “Thus, strictly speaking, abductive reasoning starts with a deviating observation (point 1 in Figure 2) and concludes in H/P in point 3 (see Figure 2).” Kovcs and Spens: 2005, 139. 39 “This ability will again lead to abduction “suggesting” general rules – hypotheses (H) or propositions (P) – o r theory (Andreewsky and Bourcier, 2000; Kirkeby, 1990).” Idem, 138. 40 Kovcs and Spens write, “it is argued that case studies and action research (Alvesson and Skldberg, 1994; Dubois and Gadde, 2002; Wigblad, 2003) use abductive reasoning very commonly. This occurs due to simultaneous data collection and theory development (Dubois and Gadde, 2002), and the theory -building element in both methods.” Idem, 139.

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100 (such as where one form of reasoning ends or begins) or a similarity of form – both of which imply some decision o n which method to use.41 Some authors have argued that the similarities are sometimes so clo se as to challenge the autonomous and discreet mode of abductive reasoning, such as where Tomis Kapitan argues “...then ‘abductive’ methods for generating and preferring hypotheses fail to be autonomous from either a logical or an epistemological point of view.”42 Yet, it should be clarified that, for Kapitan, he does not assert the lack of existence and uses of abductive inquiry , instead he simply argues that abduction is not its own discreet and ‘autonomous’ form of correct reasoning.43 Yet, since Kapitan adheres to a strict reading of Peirce and appeals to a similar or derivative ‘form’ of ‘inference to the best explanation’ ,44 which both Kovcs and Spens, and Hintikka refute, Kapitan’s arguments are still useful if not only as contrarian alone.45 Moreover , Kapitan’s ultimate appeal to an essentialness of two forms of correct and valid reasoning alone, deductive and inductive, is too rigid and limiting. Rather, this thesis finds the ‘autonomous’ reasoning of abduction in precisely what induction and deduct ion lack , the creative and intuitive question answer interrogation that generates new theory .46 41 Kovcs and Spens argue about the interrelation of the three modes of reasoning, as well, in cases, their similarities, “both induction and abduction start out with empirical observations prior to any theoretical framework given or indicated in the research process. In an inductive process, this theoretical framework is missing entirely, while an abdu ctive process can also start out with discarding a theory. On the contrary, deductive research always starts from a given theoretical framework: the hypotheses (H) or propositions (P) that should be further evaluated are already given prior to any empirica l research. Considering the aim of the different research approaches, the inductive and abductive approaches both aim at developing theory, while the deductive approach is testing or evaluating this theory (see Arlbjrn and Halldrsson, 2002). However, the primary aim of abduction is to develop the understanding of a ‘new’ phenomenon (Alvesson and Skldberg, 1994), while induction traditionally aims at generalizing findings from empirical data. Theoretical conclusions are the starting point of the deductive approach, which applies previously set H/P to empirical research. Final conclusions are drawn from the corroboration or falsification of the prior H/P (Popper, 1959). The starting point of a deductive approach can be the conclusions from inductive, or abductive reasoning. These both aim at inductively generalizing, or abductively suggesting H/P, i.e. at developing new theory. Inductive research stops here, while the abductive approach arguably includes the application of these H/P to the empirical research (Alvesson and Skldberg, 1994; Wigblad, 2003). However, this application process can itself result in new deductive research.” Idem, 140. 42 Kapitan, Tomis. “Peirce and the autonomy of abductive reasoning.” Erkenntnis, 37.1 (1992): 126. 3. 43 Kapitan write s, “if the argumentation is cogent, then Peirce’s writings provide no grounds for the existence of an irreducibly third type of argument correctness. This by no means denies the significance of his discussion nor undermines the role of abductive reasoning in scientific inquiry. The proper conclusion is that the value of Peirce’s account does derive from the alleged autonomy of abduction, rather, from its emphasis upon the overtly practical phases of scientific reasoning.” Idem, 20. 44 Albeit, the following is not directly an appeal to ‘inference to the best explanation’, it surely is a derivative thereof: “a strict reading of Peirce suggests that abductive-preference requires an explicitly ‘practical’ inferential pattern formed by adding to (F3) a second practically -oriented conclusion. What we come up with is an argument form that qualifies not as inference to a best explanation, but, as inference from the fact that a certain hypothesis is the best explanation to a directive....” Idem, 17. 45 I am not a logici an, but I assume that Kapitan’s arguments are lacking the very abductive reasoning needed to assimilate new hypotheses and inferences. 46 In their article, Kovcs and Spens conclude, “this paper draws upon two major issues called on by previous researcher s in the logistics discipline – firstly the positivist focus and the scarcity of qualitative and interpretative research; and secondly the lack of logistics research focusing on theory development. The development of new theories, in our point of view, cal ls for a discussion

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101 It is apparent then that abduction, or some form thereof, is implicit in this work. (I aim to hold to abduction as surely as I can, yet my lack of experience m ay hold me accountable.) This thesis finds dissatisfaction with theories that distinguish reality and existence solely with what is seen, apparent, and visible. There must be an alternate framework or theory that operates with the UHI. Moreover, creativ ity , intuition, and interrogation in a questionanswer format (either explicitly or implicitly) are essential to the work. Abductive reasoning also spreads into a series of theories relevant to the thesis. Feminist Theory Gillian Rose gives a critical r eflection on feminist work in her essay, “Situating knowledges: positionality, reflexivities and other tactics” on the inability to produce a complete reflexive perspective. Accordingly, f eminist scholars strive for reflexive account s “ a means of av oiding the false neutrality and universality of so much academic knowledge”47 and “...oppressive knowledges that present themselves as universal, for example, as knowledges that claim to see everything from nowhere.”48 R eflexive ly situated account s aim to s ubvert knowledges laced with insidious “power and knowledge that maintain ‘scientific and technological, late industrial, militarized, racist and male dominant societies’”.49 T o avoid such knowledges , Rose argues feminist scholars must strive “ ...‘to make one’ s position vis a vis research known rather than invisible, and to limit one’s conclusions rather than making grand claims about on the concept of abduction. The abductive approach has thus been elaborated upon and discussed in relation to the more common research approaches of deduction and induction.” Kovcs and Spens: 2005, 140141. 47 Rose writes, “but it is f air to say that the need to be reflexive has been most thoroughly explicated by feminist geographers, and the first section of this article examines their arguments. This article focuses on these feminist discussions because it see ms to me that, in their e xtensiveness, they implicitly offer rather different forms of reflexivity that have rather different effects. Reflexivity in general is being advocated by these writers as a strategy for situating knowledges: that is, as a means of avoiding the false neutr ality and universality of so much academic knowledge. Thus understood, ‘situating’ is a crucial goal for all critical geographies.” Rose, Gillian. “Situating knowledges: positionality, reflexivities and other tactics.” Progress in Human Geography , 21:3, 1997. 305320. DOI: 10.1191/030913297673302122. 306. 48 Rose argues that Donna Haraway’s work on situating knowledge aligns visibility with spatiality. “Haraway’s work has been important in theorizing this notion of ‘position’. According to her, ‘positioni ng is . . . the key practice grounding knowledge’ (Haraway, 1991: 193), because ‘position’ indicates the kind of power that enabled a certain kind of knowledge. Knowledge thus positioned, or situated, can no longer claim universality. In its use of terms like ‘position’ and ‘situated’, Haraway’s analysis is spatialized. But she also develops her understanding of situated knowledge by using what she describes as visual metaphors. S he characterizes oppressive knowledges that present themselves as universal, f or example, as knowledges that claim to see everything from nowhere. ... In contrast to the god-trick of claiming to see the whole world while remaining distanced from it, subjugated and critical knowledges work from their situatedness to produce partial perspectives on the world. They see the world from specific locations, embodied and particular, and never innocent; siting is intimately involved in sighting.” Idem, 308. 49 Situating knowledge aims to rupture totalizing knowledges: “they are situated across these specificities and differences and this critique can be directed as much at many feminist knowledges as towards the material processes of power and knowledge that maintain ‘scientific and technological, late industrial, militarized, racist and male d ominant societies’ (Haraway 1991: 188). No feminist should produce knowledge that claims to have universal applicability to all women (or men).” Idem, 307.

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102 their universal applicability’.”50 Resultantly , feminist work aims to unveil power relations and bring to light the mechanis ms that maintain order and control through illusory and concealing operations.51 For Rose, though this is not enough, as reflexivity and the impossibility of practicing a ‘transparent reflexivity’52, alone does not ensure that feminist theorists and scholar s do not actually supplant their power for what they aim to dismantle .53 As Rose argues, through the alignment of visibility and spatiality54, reflexivity often aims to achieve a complete understanding ; “this visible landscape of power, external to the rese archer, transparently visible and spatially organized through scale and distribution, is a product of a particular kind of reflexivity, what I will call ‘transparent reflexivity’.”55 For Rose, to avoid this, is to acknowledge that transparent reflexivity i s an impossibility precisely because research and knowledge extends, performs,56 and interacts in “...a much more fragmented space, webbed across gaps in understandings, saturated with power, but also, paradoxically, with uncertainty: a fragile 50 “ Doreen Mattingly and Karen Falconer -Al -Hindi (1995: 428-29) are typical in their statement that, in order to situate ourselves, it is necessary ‘to make one’s position vis a vis research known rather than invisible, and to limit one’s conclusions rather than making grand claims about their universal applicability’. Thus overgeneralizing, universalizin g claims can be countered by making one’s position known, which involves making it visible and making the specificity of its perspective clear. The assumption that to know something means in some sense to see it is pervasive in feminist geographers’ discus sions. Feminists should ‘make visible our own critical positioning within the structure of power’ (McDowell, 1992a: 413).” Idem, 308-309. 51 Rose argues, “if ‘we cannot know our world outside of our ability to name it’, it follows that ‘the language we use can both obscure and expose that which we subsequently “see” theoretically, empirically, and politically’; feminist work therefore aim s ‘to reduce illusion’ by exposing ‘unseen, gendered power relations’ (Staeheli and Lawson, 1995: 323, 335). And if to sit uate is also to sight in this ludic way, then conversely, if something is, or is made, invisible, this is seen as a sign of mystifying pow er at work. For example, we should neither ‘mask the “other”’ (McDowell, 1994: 244) nor ‘mask our own position and age ncy’ (Katz, 1992: 499). Authority should not be taken as ‘invisible’ (Staeheli and Lawson, 1995: 329); the ‘naturalizing tendencies that render certain social constructions opaque’ should be challenged (Kobayashi, 1994: 77). Feminists should ‘try and make more visible the mystery’ that is the research process, and work is criticized if its author ‘draws a veil over the implications o f her own position’ (McDowell, 1992a: 403, 407).” Idem, 309. 52 “The next section considers the impossibility of the demand for transparently reflexive positionality in more detail.” Idem, 311. 53 Rose writes, “indeed, the answers are so massive, the questions are so presumptuous about the reflective, analytical power of the researcher, that I want to say that they should be simply unanswerable: we should not imagine we can answer them. For if we do, we may be performing nothing more than a goddess -trick uncomfortably similar to the god trick. To end this section, though, I want to suggest that, in any case, like the god trick, the goddess -trick is an illusion; and many feminist geographers acknowledge this even as, perhaps for the reasons just mentioned, they advocate it.” Ibid. 54 “These demands to understand reflexively the full context of a research project are vast, but other fem inist geographers deploy two tactics that help them to analyse the terrain of power in which research takes place. I want to suggest that both these t actics work by turning extraordinarily complex power relations into a visible and clearly ordered space that can be surveyed by the researcher: power becomes seen as a sort of landscape. The first tactic is to understand power relations through the organizi ng device of scale. ... The second tactic used by some feminist geographers to survey the complexity of p ower is to use a distributional model of power. ... For some feminist geographers then, the scale and distribution are used to produce a lands cape of power that is visible and knowable to the analyst.” Idem, 310. 55 Idem, 311. 56 “Thus the authority of the r esearcher can be problematized by rendering her agency as a performative effect of her relations with her researched others. She is situated, not by what she knows, but by what she uncertainly performs.” Idem, 316.

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103 and fluid ne t of connections and gulfs.”57 As a result, feminist work requires situating knowledge precisely upon the unce rtainty of what cannot be known: “another kind of reflexivity, in fact, but one which can acknowledge that it may not be adequate since the risks of research are impossible to know.”58 Thus, feminist theory is understood as that which aims to reveal oppressive and controlling power relations . Yet, with more qualification: the aim stops not with relations that can clearly be articulated , but also i ncludes those that are impossible to articulate; those power relations that are made evident in situated knowledges based in fractures and gaps where other knowledges reign59, and the impossibilities and uncertainties of the knowledges performed60 in practi ced relations.61 A s Rose concludes, 57 Rose finds after dismantling the assure d construct of ‘transparent reflexivity’ and offering differential ways of producing and performing feminist knowledges and research that “...the landscape of power produced by transparent reflexivity is not the on ly space through which the power of the ac ademic to produce knowledge can be situated. There is also a much more fragmented space, webbed across gaps in understandings, saturated with power, but also, paradoxically, with uncertainty: a fragile and f luid net of connections and gulfs.” Idem, 317. 58 Thus, “seen from this perspective, the research process is dangerous. It demands vigilance, a careful consideration of the research process: another kind of reflexivity, in fact, but one which can acknowledge that it may not be adequate since the r isks of research are impossible to know.” Ibid. 59 In exploring alternate methods of feminist reflexivity, she finds “this is an argument which understands the imperative to situate less in terms of surveying positions in a landscape of power and more in terms of s eeing a view of power as punctured by gaps precariously bridged. The authority of academic knowledge is put into question not by self -conscious positioning but by gaps that give space to, and are affected by, other knowledges.” Idem, 315. 60 She also notes that “through our relations – conversational, textual – with research subjects – people or other actants – and with colleagues, supervisors, gatekeepers, editors, publishers, seminar audiences, friends, and so on and so on, we make gender (and class, and r ace, and sexuality, at least). In this view, research is not seen as transparently, reflexively, mirroring selves and context, since ‘there is no prior reality or unified identity to gain access to or to be created by research’ (Gibson-Graham, 1994: 214). Instead, research is seen as constitutive (if not completely so), both of the researcher and of the other involved in the research process .” Ibid . Continuing, as already cited elsewhere in truncated form, Rose considers impossibility and uncertainty to un derline feminist research practices. “Our identities do not pre-exist our performances of them; and for Butler this means that identities are profoundly uncertain. Resolutely anti -essentialist, she argues that no identity is secure in and of itself; it ma y only be made temporarily more certain (and even this is not guaranteed) by being enacted. Such claims produce quite a different approach to situating knowledge than do the notions of agency and context that structure transparent reflexivity as a situati n g strategy. Following Butler, and Gibson -Graham, there is no clear landscape of social positions to be charted by an all -seeing analyst; neither is there a conscious agent, whether researcher or researched, simply waiting to be reflected in a research p roj ect. Instead, researcher, researched and research make each other; research and selves are ‘interactive texts’ (Miles and Crush, 1 993; see also Katz, 1994). The separation of ‘inward’ and ‘outward’ reflexivity demanded by transparent reflexion vanishes in this view, along with its surveying gaze. Instead we glance uncertainly, and the fractured spaces we see -when, for example, like Smith (1996), we think of gaps between different knowledges -are also part of a fragmented self. As Gibson-Graham (1994: 2 19) say, ‘I am a unique ensemble of contradictory and shifting subjectivities’. This understanding insists that we are made through our research as much as we make our own knowledge, and that this process is complex, uncertain and incomplete. Complex, because our position is a very particular mediation of class and gender and race and sexuality and so on; uncertain, because our performances of them always carry the risk of misperforming an assigned identity (Butler, 1990); and incomplete because it is only in their repetition that identities are sustained.” Idem, 316. 61 Rose concludes, “I have suggested that these uncertainties are precisely what transparent kinds of reflexivity cannot articul ate; assuming that self and context are, even if in principle only , transparently understandable seems to me to be demanding an analytical certainty that is as insidious as the universalizing certainty that so many feminists have critiqued. So I have ch osen in this article to focus on the uncertainty that is pervasive in so many discussions of doing feminist geographical research, and I have tried to argue that in these different kinds of uncertainty lie possibilities for other strategies for situating knowled ges and for other kinds of reflexivity. In arguing this, I have tried to keep the political aim of situating academic knowledge in mind: to produce nongeneralizing knowledges that can learn from other kinds of knowledges. As I have argued, I do not think that transparent reflexivity contributes towards these aims, because of its particular understanding of agency and power.” Idem, 318.

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104 We cannot know everything, nor can we survey power as if we can fully understand, control or redistribute it. What we may be able to do is something rather more modest but, perhaps, rather more radical: to inscribe into our research practices some absences and fallibilities while recognizing that the significance of this does not rest entirely in our own hands.62 Critical T heory Martin Jay provides a historical account of the genesis, developments, and shifts of Critical Theory in his book, The Dialectical Imagination : A History of the Frankfurt School and the Institute of Social Research 19231950 .63 Without going into detail, one can find some core historical ‘ tenants’ of Critical Theory in his second chapter, “The Genes is of Critical Theory.” In the chapter’s opening pages, Jay outlines two major tenants of Critical Theory: that it resi sts closed systems of knowledge (rather it maintains an open, dynamic, and fluid articulation, process, and method) and it stems as a s eries (and continual series) of critiques of various theoretical traditions.64 Although associated with Horkheimer, Adorno, and Marcuse,65 Jay traces its originations (and struggles) with mid 1800’s German philosophy, particularly the dialectical grounds and materialisms of Hegel and Marx.66 Although sympathetic with Marxism, it would be erroneous to consider Critical Theory exclusively Marxist in an orthodox sense.67 She writes earlier in her “Failure” section that “the feminist task becomes less one of mapping difference – assuming a visible landscape of power with relations between positions ones of distance between distinctly separate agents – and more one of asking how difference is constituted, of tracing its destabilizing emergence during the research process itself. ... [Precisely because]...the self becomes less a coherent agent and more a decentred site of differences. Julie-Kathy Gibson-Graham (1994: 206) uses many of these arguments when she comments on her resistance to the assumption that she is ‘a centred and knowing subject who is present to myself and can be spoken for’. Un-centred, un -certain, not entirely present, not fully representable: this is not a self that can be revealed by a process of self -reflection. As Gibson -Graham (1994) herselves say, ‘stuffed if I know’.” Idem, 314. The incoherent self is complicit in the emergence of difference, and cannot be fully revealed. 62 Idem, 319. 63 Although the following will be a cursory and non-exhaustive account of Critical Theory, it establishes most of its major historical tenants. See the entirety for more information: Jay, Martin. The D ialectical Imagination: A History of the Frankfurt School and the Institute of Social Research, 19231950. Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1973. 64 “At the very heart of Critical Theory was an aversion to closed philosophical systems. To present it as such would therefore distort its essentially open -ended, probing, unfinished quality. ... Instead, Critical Theory, as its name implies, was expressed through a series of critiques of other thinkers and philosophical traditions. Its development was thus thro ugh dialogue, its genesis as dialectical as the method it purported to apply to social phenomena.” Idem, 41. 65 Jay expresses this, as well as other thinkers of the 1920’s and 30’s throughout his book. Explicitly so, Jay writes in the c lose of chapter pri or, “as always, their work was grounded in a social philosophy whose articulation was the prime occupation of Horkheimer, Marcuse, and to a lesser extent, Adorno, during the 1930’s. It was here that their reworking of traditional Marxi sm became crucial. It is thus to the genesis and development of Critical Theory that we now must turn.” Idem, 40. 66 Jay writes, “to trace the origins of Critical Theory to their true source would require an extensive analysis of the intellec tual ferment of the 1840’s, perhaps the most extraordinary decade in nineteenth -century German intellectual history. It was then that Hegel’s successors first applied his philosophical insights to the social and political phenomena of Germany, which was setti ng out on a course of rapid moder nization. The so-called Left Hegelians were of course soon eclipsed by the most talented of their

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105 Yet this sympath y lead s to another tenant of Critical Theory : its dedication to a dialecti cal social science68 bent upon the goal of changing society69 through aversion of absolute truth.70 Truth , for Critical Theorists , not absolute and not relative,71 was substantiated through social dialectical materialism .72 The materialism of Critical Theory differs from others in that “true materialism, Horkheimer contended, is thus dialectical, involving an ongoing process of interaction between subject and object .”73 Thus another tenant here is its processual object/subject ‘dialectical materialism’, one, H orkheimer writes , is qualifie d in a theory/practice dialectic that understands “‘truth is a moment in correct praxis ....”74 It follows that dialectical materialism does not align itself, as Hegelian/Marxian historical materialism does, with the proletariat alone. T hough it does not disregard the stratification of social classes, Critical Theory instead number, Karl Marx. ... Like that first generation of critical theorists, its members were interested in the integration of ph ilosophy and social analysis. The y likewise were concerned with the dialectical method devised by Hegel and sought, like their predecessors, to turn it in a materialist direction.” Idem, 41 42. 67 Jay outlines this in two senses, noting the philosophical developments between Hegel and Crit ical theorists, as well as Critical theorists refusal to agree with some components of strict Hegelian philosophy. See, for instance, “whereas the Left Hegelians were the immediate successors of the classical German idealists, the Frankfurt School was separated from Kant and Hegel by Schopenhauer, Nietzsche, Dilthey, Bergson, Weber, Husserl, and many others, not to mention the systematization of Marxism itself. As a result, Critical Theory had to reassert itself against a score of competitors who had driven Hegel from the field. And, of course, it could not avoid being influenced by certain of their ideas. But still more important, vital changes in social, economic, and political conditions between the two periods had unmistakable repercussions on the revive d Critical Theory.” Idem, 43. See also, “because of this and other similarities with Hegel on such questions as the nature of reason, the importance of dialect ics, and the existence of a substantive logic, it is tempting to characterize Critical Theory as no more than a Hegelianized Marxism. And yet, on several fundamental issues, Horkheimer always maintained a certain distance from Hegel. Most basic was his rejection of Hegel’s meta-physical intentions and his claim to absolute truth.” Idem, 46. 68 Critica l Theory’s distance from orthodox Hegelian ‘truth’: “instead, he argued for the possibility of a dialectical social science that would avoid an identity theory and yet preserve the right of the observer to go beyond the givens of his experience. It was in large measure this refusal to succumb to the temptations of either alternative that gave Critical Theory its cutting edge.” I dem, 48. 69 Jay finds that “underlying everything [in Critical Theory], however, was the goal of social change.” Idem, 82. 70 “To Ho rkheimer, all absolutes, all identity theories were suspect. Even the ideal -of absolute justice contained in religion, he was later to argue, has a chimerical quality.” Idem, 47. 71 Jay argues, “truth, Horkheimer and his colleagues always insisted, was not immutable. And yet, to deny the absoluteness of truth was not to succumb to relativism, epistemological, ethical, or otherwise. The dichotomy of absolutism and relativism wa s in fact a false one. Each period of time has its own truth, Horkheimer argued, al though there is none above time.” Idem, 63 72 Dialectical materialism is something specific to Critical Theory, as Jay points out, that despite Marcuse’s impact on the formation of Critical Theory, some of his work differed from Horkheimer, as evident in Ma rcuse’s text, Reason and Revolution. Jay writes, “moreover, Reason and Revolution contained no distinction between Engels’s ‘historical materialism’ and the dialectical materialism at the root of Critical Theory.” Idem, 79. 73 My italics. Idem, 54. 74 Jay argues “dialectical materialism, Horkheimer argued, also had a theory of verification based on practical, historical testing: ‘Truth is a moment in correct praxis; he who identifies it with success leaps over history and becomes an apologist for the domina nt reality.’ ‘Correct praxis ’ is the key phrase here, indicating once again the importance in the Institut’s thinking of theory as a guide to action, as well as a certain circularity in its reasoning. In the desire to unify theory and praxis, however, the distance that still necessarily separates them, Horkheimer warned, should not be hastily forgotten. This gap was [in Hegelian and Marx ists senses] most clearly shown in the relationship between philosophy and the proletariat.” Idem, 83-84.

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106 finds its role beyond strict alignments where it could become complicit in “...the proletariat’s conformist tendencies”, but rather dialectical materialism strives foremost for ‘correct praxis’: “...‘to tell the truth.’”75 Result antly the notion of ‘correct praxis’ is another tenant of Critical Theory. The qualification of ‘correct praxis’ thereby implicates theoretical ‘reason’. Praxis, together with its dialectical binary ‘reason’, always work together – never either/or – but always as an open process to tell ‘the truth.’76 Since praxis implicates theory/reaso n (and vice versa) to tell ‘the truth’, it follows other tenants of Critical Theory, namely the historical dedication to change society , via a method not philosophical or scientific (per say).77 For where other forms of theory may maintain a separation of thought and action – to reiterate, Critical Theory implicates the two in praxis.78 75 Jay clarifies this, “in fact, tension between intellectuals and workers was currently necessary in order to combat the proletariat’s conformist tendencies. Thus, Critical Theory did not see itself simply as the expression of the consciousness of one class, which indicat ed its distance from more orthodox Marxists like Lukcs, who consistently stressed class consciousness, even when ‘imputed’ from afar. Instead, it was willing to ally itself with all ‘progressive’ forces willing ‘to tell the truth.’” Idem, 84. 76 Jay argues these points (which draw together multiple tenants of Critical Theory): “ Praxis and reason were in fact the two poles of Critical Theory, as they had been for the Left Hegelians a century before. The interplay and tension between them contributed greatly to the Theory’s dialectical suggestiveness, although the primacy of reason was never in doubt. As Marcuse wrote in Reason and Revolution, speaking for the entire Frankfurt School, ‘Theory will preserve the truth even if revolutionary practice deviates from its proper path. Practice follows the truth, not vice versa.’ ... The stress on praxis accorded well with the Frankfurt School’s rejection of Hegel’s identity theory. In the spaces created by the irreducible mediations between subject and object, particul ar and universal, human freedom might be sustained. In fact, what alarmed the Frankfurt School so much in later years was the progressive liquidation of these very areas of human spontaneity in Western society. The other antipode of Crit ical Theory, the ut opian reconciliation of subject and object, essence and appearance, particular and universal, had very different connotations. ... And yet, as we have seen, even in Critical Theory there were an implicit negative metaphysics and negative anthropology – neg ative in the sense of refusing to define itself in any fixed way, thus adhering to Nietzsche’s dictum that a ‘great truth wants to be criticized, not idolized.’” Idem, 64 -65. 77 Jay finds the historical character of Critical Theory to avoid philosophical and scientific relegations. Rather , in its initial form, it sought some combination. “In his essay “Philosophy and Critical Theory,” Marcuse clarified the reasons why bourgeois philosophy had been so hermetically isolated: ‘The philosopher can only partici pate in social struggles insofar as he is not a professional philosopher. This ‘division of labor,’ too, results from the modern separation of the mental from the material m eans of production, and philosophy cannot overcome it. The abstract character of philosophical work in the past and present is rooted in the social conditions of existence.’ Critical Theory, he argued, is therefore less ambitious than traditional philosophy. It does not think itself capable of giving permanent answers to the age -old ques tions about man’s condition. Instead, it ‘means to show only the specific social conditions at the root of philosophy’s inability to pose the problem in a more comprehensive way, and to indicate that any other solution [lies] beyond that philosophy’s boundaries. The untruth inherent in all transcendental treatment of the problem thus comes into philosophy ‘from the outside’; hence it can be overcome only outside philosophy.’ If Critical The ory was not like philosophy, though preserving many of its insights, neither was it the equivalent of a science, as vulgar Marxists had assumed. ‘Scientific objectivity as such,’ Marcuse contended, ‘is never a sufficient guarantee of truth, especially in a situ ation where the truth speaks as strongly against the facts and is as well hidden behind them as today. Scientific predictability does not coincide with the futuristic mode in which the truth exists.’ Instead, Critical Theory must contain a strongly imaginative, e ven utopian strain, which transcends the present limits of reality: ‘Without fantasy, all philosophical knowledge remains in the grip of the present or the past and severed from the future, which is the only link between philosophy and the real history of mankind.’ The stress on fantasy, especially as embodied in great works of art, and the concern with praxis were thus the two cardinal expressions of Critical Theory’s refusal to eternalize the present and shut off the possibility of a transformed future. Here Marcuse, Horkheimer, Adorno, and the other members of the Institut’s inner circle were in complete agreement. In time this was to change, but during the thirties, perhaps the most fruitful decade of the Institut’s history, the integration of rational t heory, aesthetic imagination, and human action seemed at least a hope, however uncertain and fragile.” Idem, 77 -78. 78 Continuing the above, Jay writes, “if the separation of mental and physical labor could not be over -come by a philosopher’s fiat, at least there was useful theoretical work to be done to help br ing about the day when the unification of the two might occur

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107 By now, it is clear that the various historical ‘tenants’ of Critical Theory are indelibly intertwined. In spirit of the openness and reliance on its perpetual criticism, ‘historical’ is used to implicate the ‘social conditions of existence’.79 Regardless, Critical Th eory is understood reductively as a system of criti cal inquiry of specific historiosocio political relations with aims to change the social order through perpetual critical inquisitive examination and discourse. Dialectically it always implicates both, a ction and thought, “...subject and object, essence and appearance, particular and universal...”80 through its own dictum of ‘correct praxis’. As it refutes a closed and certain system of theoretical and philosophical structure, it is understood as qualifie d by a type of dynamic uncertainty, always becoming, emergent, in ‘correct praxis.’ Nonrepresentational T heory Nonrepresentational theory will be addressed in more depth in the following act; as a result, it can be briefly described here. Nonrepresentati onal Theory is often attributed to work coming out of geography and is often aligned with Nigel Thrift.81 In the first chapter of his text, Non Representational Theory: Space | politics | affect , Thrift outlines the essence of the theory. Foremost, Thrift establishes that nonrepresentational theory takes movement as the basis precondition of the text. He catalogues multiple ways in which movement is essential to human and ‘creature’ existence. For instance, it : potentially informs physiological and cogni tive structure; is unique to each being; captures the essence of living; privileges pre consciousness; opens up manifold properties to living.82 N onrepresentational theory (or perhaps to explain why it would not). Although its ultimate relevance to political action was never to be denied, Critica l Theory now had to devote itself solely to an examination of social and cultural reality. As a method of social research, however, it would have to be very different from its traditional counterpart. ... The objective of traditional theory, he asserted, ha d always been the formulation of general, internally consistent principles describing the world. ... The goal of traditional research had been pure knowledge, rather than action. If it pointed in the direction of activity, as in the case of Baconian science, its goal was technological mastery of the world, which was very different from praxis. At all times, traditional theory maintained a strict separation of thought and action. Critical Theory differed on several counts. First of all, it refused to fetishize knowledge as something apart from and superior to action. In addi tion, it recognized that disinterested scientific research was impossible in a society in which men were themselves not yet autonomous; the researcher, Horkheimer argued, was always part of the social object he was attempting to study. And because the soci ety he investigated was still not the creation of free, rational human choice, the scientist could not avoid partaking of that heteronomy. His perception was necessarily mediated through social categories above which he could not rise.” Idem, 80 -81. 79 See the note two prior. 80 Idem, 64-65 81 Paraphrase and suggestion from Prof. Casey Allen: Allen, Casey. “Lit plunge, et al.” Received by Nick Patin, 03 Jan. 2017. 82 Thrift writes “this is a book based on the leitmotif of movement in its many forms. Thus, to b egin with, it would be possible to argue that human life is based on and in movement. Indeed, it might be argued that it is the human capacity for such complex movements and the accompanying evolution of movement as an enhanced attractor that has produced the reason for much of our rhizomatic, acentred brain. Then, movement captures the animic flux of life and especially an ontogenesis which undoes a

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108 takes influences from three theoretical traditions : feminist theory, ‘ theories of pr actice ’ , and continental philosophies with particular biologic bent.83 After positing movement as a precondition of nonrepresentational theory, Thrift outlines seven tenants to reinforce that “non representational theory takes the leitmotif of movement and works with it as a means of going beyond constructivism.”84 In brief , crude summary, as Thrift expresses these more elegantly, they are as follows. The first tenant is that non representational theory aims to work with life processes of emergent becoming.85 Secondly, the theory sources an “...anti biographical and pre individual...not subject based ...material schematism in which the world is made up of all kinds of things brought in to relation with one another....”86 Thirdly, it privileges practice.87 Fou rth , the theory dependence on the preformed subject; ‘every creature, as it “issues forth” and trails behind, moves in its characteristic way’ (Ingold 2006: 15). Then again, movement captures the joy – I will not say simple – of living as a succession of luminous or mundane instants. Though it is possible, even easy, to get carried away by an emphasis on presence, closeness, an d tangibility, and by a corresponding desire to do more than simply squeeze meaning from the world, still we can think of the leitmotif of movement as a desire for a presence which escapes a consciousness -centred core of self -reference; ‘Rather than have t o think, always and endlessly, what else there could be, we sometimes seem to connect with a layer in our existence that simply wants the things of the world close to our skin’ (Gumbrecht 2004: 106). And, finally and relatedly, movement captures a certain attitude to life as potential; ‘to pose the problem is to invent and not only to dis -cover; it is to create, in the same movement, both the problem and its solution’ (Alliez 2004b: 113).” Thrift, Nigel. Non representational theory: Space, politics, affect. New York: Routledge, 2008. 5. 83 Thrift writes in the second section of his text (what also appears, with the same title, as his publication of “Afterwords” in 2000, which we will use almost exclusively in the next act), “In order to begin the task of unde rstanding, non -representational theory draws on three traditions of work which, though they are very different in certain respects, share this common concern . The first is recent developments in feminist theory, and most especially the more recent work of writers such as Bordo, Butler, Grosz, and Threadgold on a rhetorical or performative philosophy, as well as the later writings of Irigaray on space. The sec ond tradition is distributed theories of practices. Taking its cue from writers such as Wittgenstein and Heidegger, Bourdieu and de Certeau, this kind of work reaches all the way from ‘discursive’ social psychology to human geography. A recent development has been the greater emphasis on spatial distribution imported from actor -network theory. Then, ther e is a tradition which has fixed on biology for both inspiration and illustration. Drawing on writers as diverse as Von Uexkll, Bateson, and Canguilhem , as well as Heidegger’s later work, this tradition has been given renewed impetus by the current streng th of the sciences of life as represented by, for example, genetics. Thus, there is now a growing school of ‘biological philosophy’ to which writers such a s Deleuze and Serres might be said to belong (see Ansell Pearson 1997) as well as anthropological wor k on biosciences as represented by, for example, Rabinow’s recent excursions (Rabinow 1995, 1996). Needless to say, each of these three traditions can draw strength from the others.” Thrift: 2000 , 113. 84 Thrift writes, “Non -representational theory takes th e leitmotif of movement and works with it as a means of going beyond constructivism. As a way of summarizing its now increasingly diverse character, I will point to seven of its main tenets.” Th rift: 2008, 5. 85 “First, nonrepresentational theory tries to c apture the ‘onflow’, as Ralph Pred (2005) calls it, of everyday life. It therefore follows the anti-substantialist ambition of philosophies of becoming and philosophies of vitalist intuition equally – and their constant war on frozen states.” Ibid. 86 “Seco nd, as must by now be clear, non-representational theory is resolutely anti -biographical and pre -individual. It trades in modes of perception which are not subject -based. ... Instead I want to substitute a material schematism in which the world is made up of all kinds of things brought in to relation with one another by many and various spaces through a continuous and largely involuntary process of encounter, and the violent training that such encounter forces.” Idem, 7-8. 87 “Third, non-representational th eory concentrates, therefore, on practices , understood as material bodies of work or styles that have gained enough stability over time, through, for example, the establishment of corporeal routines and specialized devices , to reproduce themselves (Vendler 1995). In particular, these bodies’ stability is a result of schooling in these practices, of each actor holding the others to them, and of the brute ‘natural’ fact that the default is to continue on in most situations. These mate rial bodies are continual ly being rewritten as unusual circumstances arise, and new bodies are continually making an entrance but, if

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109 establishes equ ity amongst things, things as active, responsive, and inrelation.88 “Fifth, nonrepresentational theory is experimental” and eventual, relying on a call from events.89 Sixth, Thrift’s theory attempts to unlock and “...get in touch with the full range of registers of thought by stressing affect and sensation.”90 Lastly, nonrepresentational theory aims for an ethics of “...out of jointness...”, a strikingly uncanny set of discovery, generation, and negotiation of inter relation ships.91 Thus described, nonrepresentational theory offers a distinct operational theory of social thing interaction. (In aside , things will appear hauntingly familiar to nonrepresentational theory in the next act, as, under different circumstances, I fr ame the players, actors, definitions, and ‘wheres’ of the unseen, hidden, and invisible. Although what I propose (albeit in much less refined and crude fashion) share s similarities with these tenets , it may take the m onto a different track. W e will retur n to nonrepresentational theory, in the following act, to dismantle and describe the roles of perf ormance, practice, and event .) we are looking for something that approximates to a stable feature of a world that is continually in meltdown, that is contin ually bringing forth new hybrids, then I take the practice to be it. Practices are productive concatenations that have been constructed out of all manner of resources and which provide the basic intelligibility of the world: they are not therefore the propertie s of actors but of the practices themselves (Schatzki 2002). Actions presuppose practices and not vice versa.” Idem, 8. 88 “The mention of things brings us to the fourth tenet. The constitution of nonrepresentational theory has always given equal weight to the vast spillage of things . In particular, it takes the energy of the sense-catching forms of things seriously (Critchley 2005) – rather than seeing things as mere cladding. Things answer back; ‘not only does our existence articulate that of an object through the language of our perceptions, the object calls out that language from us, and with it our own sense of embodied experience’ (Schwenger 2006: 3).” Idem, 9. 89 “Fifth, non -representational theory is experimental. I make no apologies for this. After all, ‘no battle has ever been won without resorting to new combinations and surprising events’ (Latour 2005: 252). In particular, I want to pull the energy of the performing arts into the social sciences in order to make it easier to ‘crawl out to the edge of the cliff of th e conceptual’ (Vendler 1995: 79). To see what will happen. To let the event sing you.” Idem, 12. 90 “Thus, sixth, I want to get in touch with the full range of registers of thought by stressing affect and sensation. These are concept -percepts that are fully as important as signs and significations but that only recently have begun to receive their due. Recently, like a number of authors, I have taken an affective turn with this work, drawing on a combination of Spinoza, Freud , Tomkins, Ekman, Massumi, and a host of feminist theorists, as well as biological traditions including evolutionary theory and ethology, in order to understand affect as the way in which each ‘thing’ in acting, living, and striving to preserve its own being is ‘nothing but the actual ess ence of the thing’ (Spinosa et al. 1997).” Idem, 12-13. 91 “The aforegoing paragraphs allow me to say something, finally, about ethics. I have been painting a very faint view of human agency, to put it mildly. The classical human subject which is transparen t, rational and continuous no longer pertains. Classical ethical questions like ‘What have I done?’ and ‘What ought I to do?’ become much more difficult when the ‘I’ in these questions is so faint, when self -transparency and narratibility are such transien t features. Similarly, more modern ethical questions like what it means to be genuinely open to another human being or culture take on added layers of complexity. Clearly, becoming ethical now means becoming critical of norms under which we are asked to act but which we cannot fully choose (Butler 2005) and taking responsibility – in a sense to be specified – for the dilemmas that subsequently arise. But this hardly counts as a revelation. What I will want to argue for, in concert with Santner (2001: 6), is a generalized ethic of out of -jointness within which ‘every familiar is ultimately strange and . . . , indeed, I am even in a crucial sense a stranger to myself’. But, rather than see t his form of answerability as a problem, it can as well be thought of a s an opportunity to build new forms of life in which ‘strangeness itself [is] the locus of new forms of neighborliness and community’ (Santner 2001: 6). In turn, this ethic of novelty can be connect ed to the general theme of ‘more life’, for it suggests a particular form of boosting aliveness, one that opens us to our being in the midst of life through a thoroughly ontological involvement. For, what is clear is that all too often in our everyday life we are not open to that pressure and do not inhabit the m idst of life, and thus live everyday life as, well, everyday life, clipping our own wings because we inhabit cringes that limit our field of action.” Idem, 14.

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110 Post Structuralism Poststructuralism is understood as associated with meaning and truthformations. Or more distinctly, as Na ncy Duncan and James Duncan write, concerning Derrida, in their essay “(Re)reading the landscape”, that meanings (specifically derived from texts), “...have a web like complexity, characterized by a ceaseless play of infinitely unstable meanings.”92 It i s the uncertainty and inability (of) and to know absolutes that this thesis finds relevant of poststructuralism. In its literary formation, poststructuralism aims to focus meaning on a relational qualification, searching to disrupt singular relations capi tulating to individual or overarching meaning.93 This goes farther. The literary component strives for meaning construction in that “...the idea that all perceptions, concepts, and truthclaims are constructed in language... .”94 Yet, po ststructuralism wo rks beyond texts to disrupt what Duncan and Duncan argue are “...common sense, ‘naturalized’ conceptions of reality...[and] essential deep structures....”95 In this exchange of literarymeaning —life meaning formation s , the textual metaphor implicates a “.. .plurality of a text[s] [that] ‘does not depend upon its contents, but rather on what could be called the stereographic plurality of the signifiers that weave it’ (Barthes, 1977, page 76). Barthes goes on to stress the intertextual...” realm particularly, which, according 92 “ Poststructural thinkers, such as Derrida, presume that texts have a web -like complexity, char acterized by a ceaseless play of infinitely unstable meanings. This picture is interesting, not only from a literary standpoint, but also because it resembles landscapes in many respects. In fact, it makes the text metaphor even more convincing than tradit ional or popular notions of texts.” Duncan and Duncan: 1988 , 118. 93 Duncan and Duncan write, “under Saussure, and later among linguistic structuralists and poststructuralists, the idea that meaning is referential, that it is derived from some one-to -one co rrespondence with its objects of reference in the 'real world', has succumbed to a more relational concept of meaning, by which signs depend directly upon conventional systems of relations among signs, rather than upon any inherent, eternal, or essential f eatures of concrete objects (for general overviews and critiques see Culler, 1975; 1976; Hawkes, 1977; Jameson, 1972). Although, as Eagleton (19 83, page 107) has pointed out, ‘ one can find the seeds here of a social and historical theory of meaning ’, one m ust go beyond linguistic and literary theory in order to deal with the sociohistorical processes through which meaning arises. Furthermore, one must problematize the relations between signs, signifiers, and the real -world objects that are signified, as the se relations are by no means as insignificant or as tenuous as literary theorists suggest.” Ibid. 94 Christopher Norris, in his contribution on “post -structuralism” to The Oxford Companion to Philosophy , writes, “best understood as a Frenchinspired variant of the so-called ‘linguistic turn’, it is the idea that all perceptions, concepts, and truthclaims are constructed in language, along with the corresponding ‘subject -positions’ which are likewise (so it is argued) nothing more than transient epiphenomena of this or that cultural discourse.” Norris, Christopher. “Post -structuralism”. The Oxford Companion to Philosophy. 2nd Ed. Ted Honderich ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005. 745-746. 745. 95 “Poststructuralism not only attempts to subvert common-sen se, ‘naturalized’ conceptions of reality, it also rejects the speculative posing of essential deep structures, as an example of the futile search for a ‘transcendental signifier’. This antifoundationalism, based on the Saussurean separation of signifier, s ignified, and referent, provides the principal commonality of a highly diffuse interdisciplinary movement (Barthes, 1975; 1976; Belsey, 1980; Derrida, 1976; 1978; 1981; Kristeva, 1980) .” Duncan and Duncan: 1988, 118.

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111 to Barthes, subsumes the plurality of texts themselves, operating outside of discreet social and historical contexts ,96 thereby perpetuating a poststructuralist view of the uncertain human unknowing . The textual and intertextual component of the textual metaphor means that texts need not be read or “...viewed as linear constructions, of course, and Eagleton describes the process of reading as a complex production of meaning in which the reader attempts to build up ‘an integrated illusion’....”97 The ‘integrated illusion’ suggests a complete ‘whole’ yet the illusion suggests gaps and fractures. This sensitivity to the whole gap play is indicative of poststructuralism, a s Duncan and Duncan argue, “by focusing on silences and absences in text s, the hidden intertextual nature of a text, poststructuralists have attempted to demystify the illusion of texts as unified, original creations of a Cartesian subject. They deny the authority of the author.”98 Through the textual metaphor, texts , which ar e not representations of ‘the real world’ yet metaphorically implicate meanings of ‘the real world’, are evident , as Duncan and Duncan argue , of post structuralism’s pertinence to landscape. Although often born out of deconstruction, literary theory , and c riticism,99 poststructuralism has often been general ized as a “...diverse field of criticism ....”100 In ( vain ) efforts to branch away from the literary component alone, poststructuralism differentiates between a ‘work’ and a ‘text’. As Duncan and 96 They argue, “thus, the plurality of a text ‘does not depend upon its contents, but rather on what could be called the stereographic plurality of the signifiers that weave it’ (Barthes, 1977, page 76). Barthes goes on to stress the intertextual rather than the individual origins of the text. H e says ‘every text being the intertext of another text, belongs to the intertextual, which must not be confused with a text’s origins: to search for the sources of and ‘influence upon’ a work is to satisfy the myth of filiation. The quotations from which a text is constructed are anonymous, irrecoverable and yet already read’ (Barthes, 1977, page 77). The concept of intertextuality here is interesting, as it is a nonindividualistic concept, emphasizing the anonymit y of discourses or texts; yet it is also no nsocial in that it posits an autonomous intertextual realm of interacting texts divorced from the historical, social, and political processes by which interpretations of text are negotiated, contested, and maintained or transformed.” Idem, 119. 97 Ibid. 98 Idem, 120. They also argue that through this, “in rejecting the view that texts are referential, they also reject the idea th at texts are representations or reconstructions of the real world.” Ibid. 99 Franz Peter Hugdahl writes in “Poststructuralism: Derrida and Foucault”, his contribution to The Columbia History of Western Philosophy , “born out of the intense intellectual and political turmoil in France during the 1960’s, when the purpose and definition of academic life and discourse were being actively ch allenged, poststructuralism’s most obvious impact in the AngloAmerican community has been under the guise of deconstruction in the field of literary criticism. ... The deconstructive moment in poststructuralism occurs when, in order to remain faithful to its traditions, it must necessarily transgress them.” Hugdahl, Franz Peter. “Poststructuralism: Derrida and Foucault.” The Columbia History of Western Philosophy. Richard H Popkin, ed. New York: Columbia University Press, 1999. 737744. 738. 100 Ibid. This is such that both “...Jacques Derrida (1930-) and Michel Foucault (19261984)” are considered in the canon. “their literary styles are unapologetically defiant of analytic philosophy’s traditional conventions —and often ferociously resistant to the uniniti ated reader — but they express a profound antihumanist skepticism rooted deeply in the philosophic tradition. It is, however, consciously articulated with an uncompromisingly rigorous rhetoric that strives to expose the trappings of the tradi tion while subve rting it.” Ibid.

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112 Duncan arg ue, “the work is concrete: it occupies space on a library shelf, whereas the text is a space, a field, a site.”101 Text then is not relegated to conventional literary designations , but in poststructuralist terms implies meaning in various practices and perf ormance s . For Derrida, the application of deconstruction, a practice which “...purports to expose the problematic nature of any...discourse that relies on foundational metaphysical ideas such as truth, presence, identity, or origin to center itself”, out lines that textual meanings “...can never be stable because, he claims, the very structure of the sign is constantly in flux.”102 Moreover, this is due to the Derridian concept of “...‘ diffrance ’ (a neologism derived from the verb diffre , which can mean b oth ‘to differ’ and ‘to defer’) .”103 Deconstruction uses diffrance to illustrate the instability and uncertainty of meaning at the base of the sign itself, by “...showing that it indicates difference by separating and discriminating and also defers or delay s access to the referent by signifying something that cannot be made present.”104 Deconstruction and diffrance, although directly related to Derridian linguistics, points 101 “ The poststructural notion of the text is often contrasted with that of a ‘work’. However, the two categories are not mutually exclusive. The work is concrete: it occupies space on a library shelf, whereas the text is a space, a field, a site. A text according to Barthes ‘is experienced only in an activity, a production’ (1977, page 75). A work has meaning which must be searched for. As he says, it depends upon a hermeneutic, an interpretation. He continues: ‘a text, on the contrary, practices the infinite deferral of the signified ... the signifier’s infinitude does not refer back to some idea of the ineffable, but to the idea of play’ (Bar thes, 1977, page 76). A text encourages the reader to carve it up, to rework it, to produce it. Alth ough it cannot mean anything at all, it is a space in which the reader as writer can wander, in which signifiers play, signifieds becoming signifiers in an endless proces s of deferment.” Duncan and Duncan: 1988, 119. 102 Hugdahl argues that “those metaphysic al meanings are produced just like any other sign in the system of signification called language. They can never be stable because, he claims, the very structure of the sign is constantly in a state of flux. Deconstruction thus purports to expose the probl ematic nature of any —that is to say, all—discourses that relies on foundational metaphysical ideas such as truth, presence, identity, or origin to center itself. ... In an exceptionally eloquent letter to his Japanese translator (published as ‘Letter to a Japanese Friend’ [1987]), Derrida explains that the term ‘deconstruction’ (which he coined to translate Heidegger’s Abbau) resists both definition and translation because ‘the question of deconstruction is also through and through the question of translation and of the language of concepts, of the conceptual corpus of so-called Western metaphysics’ (p. 270). But by no means does Derrida despair of his project of the impossibilities of language; rather, it is his point of departure in developing a productive antihumanist skepticism that addresses epistemological and ontological issues with a historical and social orientation.” Hugdahl (Popkin): 1999, 740. 103 Idem, 739. Hugdahl writes, “Derrida, however, rejects Saussure’s model, which describes the sign as a structure of binary oppositions between signifier and signified. Instead, he insists that the relation is one of diffrance ’ (a neologism derived from the verb diffre , which can mean both ‘to differ’ and ‘to defer’).” Ibid. 104 Hugdahl continues: “by changi ng the ‘e’ in difference to an ‘a,’ Derrida conjoins the Saussurean notion of diacritical difference with the idea of the active production of difference through delay and deferral. Thus, Derrida characterizes the act of dissemination by a sign, showing that it indicates difference by separating and discriminating and also defers or delays access to the referent by signifying something that cannot be made present. Derrida writes: Diffrance is the systematic play of differ ences, of traces of difference, of the spacing by which elements relate to one another. The spacing is the production, simultaneously active and passive (the a of diffrance indicates this indecision as regards activity and passivity, that which cannot yet be governed and organized by that opposition), of intervals without which the ‘full’ terms could not signify, could not function.( Positions [1981], p. 27) For Derrida, the dissemination of meaning as expressed by diffrance is a constant, complex struggle of conflicting and contradictory f orces that does not lead to any resolution or synthesis, Hegelian or otherwise. Derrida’s philosophy of language asserts that language mediates all experience and ideas ineluctably and problematically, thus precludi ng any possibility of direct apprehension or understanding outside of language.” Ibid.

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113 to the fallibility of meanings in ‘that cannot be made present’ regardless of its dep endence on textual language or otherwise. Since diffrance points to some untermable thing (implied in the notion of a definitional term indicating presence, which indicates some absence), it enables poststructuralism to extend beyond the meanings generat ed by textual language (surely Thrift ’s nonrepresentational theory and its dependence on prelinguistic action would agree). This conception, although as it does not negate the seemingly pertinent dependence on language, allows a more general definition of poststructuralism. As already established, Duncan and Duncan direct readers to understand that “poststructuralism not only attempts to subvert common sense, ‘naturalized’ conceptions of reality, it also rejects the speculative posing of essential deep structures...”105 which they do by extending poststructuralism’s critique of meaning (which they ultimately similarly critique, appealing to empirical (non textual?) reality106) to textual ized landscape.107 Regardless, poststructuralism can pertain to that whic h is beyond the linguistic and textual, as Hugdahl argues , after discussing Foucault and his different nontextual poststructuralist “...antiteleological understanding of history”108, that decentering, uncertainty, and unknowing “...are the fulcrum of poststr uctural scepticism....”109 Although recognizing these limitations through an endless perpetual skepticism, “...poststructuralism, however, 105 Duncan and Duncan: 1988, 118. 106 Their main objection to poststructuralism is its proposed inability to limit meaning. They write, “although we reject the un due emphasis on the infinitude of meanings of the poststructuralists, we acknowledge that meanings are plural. We draw inspiration from the idea of problematizing assumptions and the notion of deconstruction as inquiry into the enabling conditions of discourses. Although it is claimed that the poststructur alists1 project entails permanent contestation, interrogation, and subversion of interpretation, it is not clear if critique is in fact possible, given their steadfast refusal to assert a privileged vantage point from which to launch this critique. However , the relativism of this stance can be tempered with the realist recognition that there is an empirical reality to which explanations are accountable.” Idem, 125. 107 “What are the implications of all of this for reading the landscape? As geographers, the textualized behavior that concerns us is the production of landscapes; how they are constructed on the basis of a set of texts, how they are read, and how they act as a mediating influence, shaping behavior in the image of the text. We will exemplify these p rocesses by examining a variety of texts that have become transformed into landscapes: texts which speak of religion, politics, and social class.” Idem, 120 -121. 108 Hugdahl argues that “Foucault’s scholarship demonstrates how poststructuralism has broken fr om tradition by focusing on language and displacing humanity as the center of study. His thorough critiques of reason, the individual, and truth—important ideals of humanism and enlightenment —are the results and expression of his careful investigations of historical detail. His research demonstrates and performs his antiteleological understanding of history. He rejects the idea of portraying history a s a grand scheme or master narrative without inconsistencies, ruptures, or fissures. Rather, he sees it as a highly differentiated product contingent on many small and apparently unrelated causes.” Hugdahl (Popkin): 1999, 743. 109 He writes, “whether charting the changes in systems of social discourse for genealogical analysis or unearthing the systemic precondit ions for an archeological investigation, Foucault’s pursuits betray a radical scepticism of the human subject, as well as of history and its institutions. Derrida’s textual meditations on language, literature, and philosophy express a similar scep ticism of such central concepts. One might say, that those focal ideas are the fulcrum of poststructural scepticism, whose function is ‘to operate a decentering that leaves no privilege to any center’ (Foucault, Archeology of Knowledge [1982], p. 205).” Idem, 744.

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114 does not point to the goal of ataraxia (unperterbedness)...[or] the realization of nihil scitur (that nothing is known) but rather pursued the limited, imperfect knowledge available.”110 These four theories are all integral to this thesis, and I hope it is apparent that in numerous ways, they overlap, comingle, and inform each other. It is apparent that the logic behind t his thesis implicates a series of methods relevant to research on unseen, hidden, and invisible things. The inclusion of these theories, and others addressed in the next sections, perpetuate the methods and methodological directives behind this work. The next section turns to some of the practiced methods employed in the work thus far. Method/Methodology The following will be a brief and quick outline of the various methods (mostly those not already discussed or explicitly stated). The methods used in t his work are not the only suitable options, but work well for my strengths and purposes. Most of the methods (save for a few where needed) will not be described in detail , but will rather be limited to my practice and use. Following these will be a brief note on the methodological relevance (which by now is already well upon its way) of the methods of choice. Textual analysis Although perhaps not explicitly ‘ content analysis’ , I consider the various analyses of texts to constitute textual analysis. My textual data includes essays, books, narratives, archives of oral histories, and an unstructured interview. I also construct textual data, taking the form of definitional frameworks, analysis, narrative, and analogy. With the textual data for analysis, I employ a form of deconstruction with many of the texts to break down the argument and get to the source of meaning or information. Bruce Berg, in writing of the validity of qualitative ‘content analysis’ argues for a similar method approach. He argues that qualitatively, “...‘counts’ of textual elements merely provide a means for identifying, organizing, indexing, and retrieving data. Analysis of the data, once organized according to certain content elements, 110 He continues, The scepticism of poststructuralism, however, does not point to the goal of ataraxia (unperterbedness) that Sextus Empiricus sought through scepticism. Having rejected such teleological promises and prophecies, the scepticism of the poststr ucturalists is much closer to that of Francisco Sanches, who did not abandon epistemology with the realization of nihil scitur (that nothing is known) but rather pursued the limited, imperfect knowledge available.” Ibid.

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115 should involve consideration of the literal words in the text being analyzed, including the manner in which these words are offered. ”111 This requires a degree of interpretation of the textual data, as Berg argues, to develop “...ideas about the information found in the various categories, patterns t hat are emerging, and meanings that seem to be conveyed.”112 Using this method enables the researcher to better understand the contextual situation, background, and critical perspective of the author or producer of textual data.113 Moreover, as Berg writes, “ is a passport to listening to the words of the text and understanding better the perspective(s) of the producer of these words.”114 I argue a similar approach in my deconstruction of textual data, to outline the various arguments, identify a signified meaning, and apply it to my research subject. This gets to the construction of argumentative analyses and textual data. I employ a similar method to the construction of the arguments. I source the relevant evidence and apply it to the argument in a c ontextually appropriate method. In so doing, I provide as much of the evidenced data as possible to enable the reader to gain insight into how, beyond the argument, the evidence informed my argument. At times, I leave some of the text incompletely decons tructed, fractured in a way, implicitly asking the reader to frame arguments, their own arguments (in agreement or disagreement), in spite of mine own. Another method of my textual anal ysis is an attempt a t a discourse analysis. Gillian Rose outlines two forms of discourse analysis; one focused more so upon the physical text and image of research, and the second upon the social practices involved in the production of knowledge.115 Discourse 111 Berg, Bruce L. Qualitative Resear ch Methods for the Social Sciences . 6th ed. Boston: Pearson Education, 2004. 307. 112 Berg continues, In effect, the researcher should undertake what Bogdan and Bilken (2003) call data interpretations, which involves developing ideas about the information found in the various categories, patterns that are emerging, and meanings that seem to be conveyed.” Idem, 307 -308. 113 Berg writes that “in turn, this analysis should be related to the literature and broader concerns and to the original researc h questions. In this manner) the analysis provides the researcher a means by which to learn about how subjects or the authors of textual materials view their social worlds and how these views fit into the larger frame of how the social sciences view thes e issues and inte rpretations.” Idem, 308. 114 Continuing, “from this perspective, content analysis is not a reductionistic, positivistic approach. Rather, it is a passport to listening to the words of the text and understanding better the perspective(s) of the producer of these words.” Ibid. 115 Rose writes: “I have suggested that Foucault’s work has produced two somewhat different methodological emphases, which I am calling discourse analysis I and discourse analysis II. I distinguish between them thus: • discourse analysis I. This form of discourse analysis tends to pay rather more attention to the notion of discourse as articulated through various kinds of visual images and verbal texts than it does to the practices entailed by specific discourses. As Rosalind Gill (1996: 141 ) says, it uses ‘discourse’ to ‘refer to all forms of talk and texts’. It is most concerned with discourse, discursive formations and their productivity. • discourse analysis II. This form of discourse analysis tends to pay more attention to the practices of institutions

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116 analysis is concerned with productions of power/knowledge,116 and is interested in tracing the productions (through intertextual relations117) of those knowledges into various different extents.118 It thus requires a broad selection of sources, a longer amount of time, a dedication to serendipity, and an ingenuity to pursue en ds without losing track of its relevance.119 Due to its dedication to uncover the truth about something,120 Rose argues that discourse analysis requires a researcher to be reflexiv e ,121 which some than it does to the visual images and verbal texts. Its methodology is usually left implicit. It tends to be more explicitly concerned with issues of power, regimes of truth, institutions and technologies.” Rose : 2007 , 146. 116 Rose writes, “ As Gill(1996: 143) says, ‘all discourse is organized to make itself persuasive’, and discourse analysis focuses on those strategies of persuasion. It also pays attention to the more socially constituted forms of discursive power, looking at the social con struction of difference and authority, for example. Discourse analysis is thus concerned too with the social production and effects of discourses. ... Discourse analysis thus addresses questions of power/knowledge.” Idem, 147. 117 Rose defines intertextuality: “intertextuality refers to the way that the meanings of any one discursive image or text depend not only on that one text or image, but also on the meanings carried by other images and texts.” Idem, 142. She continues to address the intertextuality in visual resources specifically, that researchers must explore the text and the intertextual relations: In terms of the critical visual methodology described in Chapter 1, the type of discourse analysis discussed in this chapter has clear strengths. It pays careful attention to images themselves, and to the web of intertextuality in which any individual image is embedded. It is centrally concerned with the production of social difference through visual imagery. It addresses questions of power as they are arti culated through visual images themselves. ... There are also some difficulties in the method, however. One of these is knowing where to stop in making intertextual connections, and another related to this is in grounding those connections empirically.” Idem, 169. 118 Rose extrudes, using a specific discourse analysis of London’s East End, “this eclecticism [of sources] is demanded by the intertextuality of discourse. As Nicholas Green (1990: 3) says, discourse is ‘a coherent pattern of statements across a ran ge of archives and sites’. In the face of the breadth of source material demanded by discourse analysis, it is useful to begin by t hinking about what sources should be selected as the starting points for your own research: the sources that are likely to be particularly productive, or particularly interesting, or ‘provide theoretically relevant results’ (Phillips and Hardy 2002: 66). This may mean you draw on sources that others have often used. Or it may mean that you need to locate and access previously unused materials. Or your key sources may already be to hand; perhaps stumbling across them was what started you off on this research in the fi rst place. However, once the more obvious starting points for a discourse analysis have been established, it is important then to widen your ‘range of archives and sites’.” Idem, 149. 119 Continuing, “ways of doing this are diverse. Those initial images and texts may well contain references to other images and texts that you can then track down. Reading what other resear chers working on the same or similar topics have said about your area of interest will produce other leads. A discourse analysis may also be able to use verbal material; you may want to cond uct interviews yourself, or to record naturally occurring talk (se e Potter 1996; Potter and Wetherell1994). And you also need to invest time in the kind of browsing research that leads to serendipitous finds. Some of the most interesting discourse analys es are interesting precisely because they bring together, in convinc ing ways, material that had previously been seen as quite unrelated. If this sounds potentially time -consuming it can be. Indeed, one of the difficulties of the discourse analytic method is knowing where to stop the data collection process. As you begin to find other texts related to the materials you started with, and then more materials related to them in tum, it becomes tricky to know when to stop without making your end points seem arbitrary.” Ibid. 120 Rose asserts that truth is an explicit and implicit source of discourse analysis. She writes, “while the Foucauldian framework of discourse analysis is giving you a certain approach to your materials, it is also crucial that you let the details of your materials guide your investigations. An important pa rt of that framework is how a particular discourse works to persuade. How does it produce its effects of truth? This is another aspect of discourse that your analysis must address. Often this entails focusing on claims to truth, or to scientific certainty, or to the natural way of things. As well as the visual and textual devices used to claim truth, however, it is useful to look for moments at which dissent from a discourse is acknowledged (even if implicitly) and dealt with. Search for ‘the work that is b eing done to reconcile conflicting ideas, to cope with contradiction or uncertainty, or to counter alternatives’ (Tonkiss 1998: 255), because this work will highlight processes of persuasion that may otherwise be difficult to detect. Idem, 161. 121 Rose addr esses reflexivity in multiple locations. For instance, in the section on reflexivity, she argues that “the social sciences are the descendants of those human sciences the truth claims of which Foucault analysed in detail. If you are writing a disco urse an alysis, then, the arguments about discourse, power and truth/knowledge must surely be just as pertinent to your work as to the materials you are analysing. Doing a discourse analysis thus demands some sort of critical reflection on your own research practi ce. For, as Tonkiss (1998: 259) says, ‘the discourse analyst seeks to open up statements to challenge, interrogate taken -for granted meanings, and disturb easy claims to objectivity in the texts they are reading. It would therefore be inconsistent to conte nd that the analyst’s own discourse was itself wholly objective, factual or generally true.’” Idem, 167 168.

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117 authors consider is an inherent and automatic component of disco urse analysis.122 As a result of the ubiquitous function s of power,123 discourse analysis must not relegate data to only wha t is visible, but must also pursue “...what is not seen or said. Absences can be as productive as explicit naming; invisibility can hav e just as powerful effects as visibility.”124 In effect, discourse analysis can be considered a tracing of the sociohistoric articulations of a discourse of apparent and covert power/knowledg es to analyze a truth and the production of some knowledge throug h the complex webbed expression of multiple discourses.125 These methods provide a basis for a relevant textual analysis in this thesis. Due to the collection and production of textual data, these methods are not relegated to a dismantling or analysis of co llected data alone, but also inform the production of the various forms of text in this thesis. With discourse theory recently addressed, we will turn to another set of methods concerning my visual analyses. Visual analysis The collection of visual resour ces and the different analyses thereof constitute the visual methods for this thesis. The visual data used consists of archived historical maps, ‘current’ maps, photographs, drawings (to be discussed in the next section), and ‘projective’ images. In resp onse to the discourse analysis just discussed, the analyses of images undergo similar scrutiny. Rose intends that discourse analysis not be limited to textual data alone, but includes an argument for discourse analysis of images. As Rose argues, the exten sion of discourse analysis to images extends 122 In the introducing pages to discourse analysis, Rose notes that “Phillips and Hardy (2002) also claim that discourse analytic methods are inheren tly reflexive. This is a controversial claim, however. Foucault himself, certainly in his early work, was not at all sympathetic to notions of ‘reflexivity’ as they are currently constituted in the social sciences. ... Phillip and Hardy’s assertion that discourse analysis is in fact reflexive depends on their argument that since discourse analysis 'involves a set of assumptions concerning the constructive effects of language’ (Phillips and Hardy 2002: 5), any discourse analysis must implicitly constit ute itself as constructed from the effects of language, or risk incoherence. Acknowledging its constructed nature is what constitut es discourse analysis's reflexivity, according to Phillips and Hardy.” Idem, 147148. 123 Rose writes of power before her explanation of discourse analysis, “an important implication of Foucault’s account of power is that power is not something imposed from the top of society down onto its oppressed bottom layers. Power is everywhere, since discourse too is everywhere. And there are many discourses, some of which dearly contest the terms of others. Foucault (1979: 95) claimed that ‘where there is power, there is resistance ... a multiplicity of points of resistance, and by this he meant that there are many discourses that jostle and com pete in their effects.” Idem, 143 144. 124 Idem, 165. 125 Rose summarizes at the end of her chapter, noting a specific discourse analysis and its seeming only interrelated link of sources in discourse: “But Gilman’s analysis does not attempt to trace such connections in any grounded way; instead, they are related in his work simply through the category of ‘discourse’. Discourse as a result seems to become a freefloating web of meanings unconnected to any social practices. The practical problem posed by this so rt of discourse analysis, then where to stop making intertextual connections can also be an analytical one how to make the intertextual connections convincingly productive.” Idem, 170.

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118 analysis to the image itself, its social production, and ‘the social modality of the image site’.126 To expand on this image analysis, Rose outlines three modes of image analysis: “...the site(s) of the production of an image, the site of the image itself, and the site(s) where it is seen by various audiences.”127 With these components (modalities) of image production, Rose provides the tools to enable one to embark on a discourse analysis of image production to tr ace knowledge analysis of images. To expand on an initial description of discourse analysis , pertaining to the image itself , Rose includes a separate discourse analysis that pertain s to a general account of Foucault’s apparatuses and technologies of powe r . These tools of power assert knowledges beyond the image itself, and based on how power is articulated in institutional structures.128 Rose uses a museum to make her case. To be clear, in this form of discourse analysis, Rose is attempting to point out that analysis is not of the image itself, (discourse analysis I) but of that which surrounds, informs, and imbricates the institution in which the image is displayed with specific knowledge/power.129 126 Rose argues, “discourse analysis can also be used to explore ho w images construct specific views of the social world, in which case, to paraphrase Tonkiss, visuality is viewed as the topic of research, and the discourse analyst is interested in how images construct accounts of the social world. This type of discourse analysis therefore pays careful attention to an image itself (as well as other sorts of evidence). Since discourses are seen as socially produced rather than created by individuals, this type of discourse analysis is especially concerned with the social mo dality of the image site.” Idem, 146. 127 To expand on this Rose outlines the three sites of production as well as modalities of the images. She writes, “interpretati ons of visual images broadly concur that there are three sites at which the meanings of an image are made: the site(s) of the production of an image, the site of the image itself, and the site(s) where it is seen by various audiences. I also want to s uggest that each of these sites has three different aspects. These different aspects I will call modalities, and I suggest that there are three of these that can contribute to a critical understanding of images: • technological. Mirzoeff (1998: 1) defines a visual tech nology as ‘any form of apparatus designed either to be looked at or to enhance natural vision, from oil paintings to television and the Internet’. • compositional. Compositionality refers to the specific material qualities of an image or visual object. When an image is made, it draws on a number of formal strategies: content, colour and spatial organization, for example. Often, particular forms of these strategies tend to occur together, so that, for example, Berger (1972) can define the Western art tradition painting of the nude in terms of its specific compositional qualities. Chapter 3 will elaborate the notion of composition in relation to paintings. • social. This is very much a shorthand term. What I mean it to refer to are the range of economic, social and political relati ons, institutions and practices that surround an image and th rough which it is seen and used. These modalities, since they are found at all three sites, also suggest that the distinctions between sites are less clear than my subsections here might imply.” Idem, 13. 128 Rose outlines these as follows: “Foucault suggest s that institutions work in two ways: through their apparatus and through their technologies. This is a distinction this chapter will use; however, Foucault was rather inconsistent in his use of thes e terms, and the distinction made here between them is cl earer than that found in his work. An institutional apparatus is the forms of power/knowledge that constitute the institutions: for example, architecture, regulations, scientific treatises, philosophical statements, laws, morals, and so on, and the discour se articulated through all these (Hall 1997b: 47). Hence Foucault described Bentham’s panopticon as an apparatus: at once an architectural design and a moral and philosophical treatise. The institutional technologies (sometimes difficult to differentiate f rom the apparatus) are the practical techniques used to practise that power/knowledge. Technologies are ‘diffuse, rarely formulated in continuous, systematic discourse ... often made up of bits a nd pieces ... a disparate set of tools and methods’ (Foucault 1977: 26). An example might be the design of the windows and blinds in the panopticon.” Idem, 174175. 129 As Rose clarifies: “this second type of discourse analysis follows Foucault in understanding visual images as embedded in the practices of institution s and their exercise of power. It thus pays less attention to visual images and objects themselves than to the institutional apparatus and technologies which surround them and which, according to this approach, produce them as particula r kinds of images and objects. This approach is thus centrally concerned with the social production and effects of visual images,

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119 Concerning apparatuses and technologies, each institution calls forth its own set of each to operate. In terms of the museum, Rose outlines the apparatuses pertaining to the particular historical culture and sciences in which the institution emerged.130 For instance, Rose finds that Tony Bennett argues museums an d prisons (in their current general articulation) emerged, generally at the same time.131 Rose also calls attention to the architecture,132 internal layout,133 and social subjectivities134 distinct to asserting the power/knowledge of the institution in “...discourses about museums and galleries but also on how those discourses are materialized in the forms of architecture and subject positions.”135 As for technologies, these consist of “...the diffuse and disparate sets of bits and pieces...” “...used to articulate particular forms of power/knowledge....”136 In the case of museums, this is articulated , and to that extent conforms to one of the criteria set out in Chapter 1 of this book for a critical visual methodology. It of fers a methodology that allows detailed consideration of how the effects of dominant power relations work through the details of an institution’s practice. However, this type of discourse analysis pays little attention to the specific ways of seeing invited by an image itself (although it can focus with care on the context of its display).” Idem, 193. 130 Rose argues that “he [Bennett] focuses on particular discourses of culture and science that shaped their design and practice, and also produced certain subject positions. Hoeper -Greenhill (1992: 176), too, is interested in the way 'new technologies and new subject positions were constituted through the adminstration [ sic ]of [a museum’s] newly acquired material’. Bennett argues that there was a specific discourse of ‘culture’ whi ch saturated the births of the museum and gallery. Using the sources mentioned in section 2, he argues that the power of museums and galleries had the same aim: both use ‘culture’ as a tool of social management. He notes that the definition of ‘culture’ us ed in the two sorts of institutions is somewhat different and that does produce some differences between them, especially in the sorts of objects they display. ... Bennett also discusses, more brie fly, a specific discourse of science that was part of the m useum's apparatus of power. In museums, he notes, objects are always classified according to what are claimed to be ‘scientific’ or ‘objective’ principles, whether they be drawn from notions of historical progress, scientific rationality or anthropological analysis.” Idem, 179 -180. 131 “Bennett points out that both prisons and modem museums were born in broadly the same historical period, and he argues that they deployed a similar disciplining surveillance.” Idem, 179. 132 Beyond the historical culture and scie nce of the time, the architecture is also a distinct apparatus of power/knowledge: “Bennett (1995) also pays much attention to the way the architecture of museums and galleries articulated these various discourses of culture, art and science. As well as th e distinction between two sorts of building the museum and the gallery there are the imposing facades and entrance halls of many nineteenth century galleries and museums, for example, which were designed to be as inspiring and uplifting as the understa nding of culture and science articulated within.” Idem, 180-181. 133 Continuing, Rose argues that “The internal layout also echoes the discourses of science and culture. In the case of galleries, for example, paintings are hung in groups in separate rooms ac cording to periods and (often national) schools, and this works to naturalize these periods, schools and nations, and also to produce a narrative of development from medieval painting to the present day (Bal’s art production in history; see also Bann 1998) .” Idem, 181. 134 Lastly, pertaining to the apparatus of museums, “as well as these architectural articulations, Bennett (1995) is especially concerned to examine the social subjectivities produced through these discursive apparatuses. The strong emphasis he places on how discourse produces social positions, and the consequences for how museums were designed and policed, distinguishes his study from many of those that rely on the type of discourse analysis examined in Chapter 7. He identifies three subject positions produced by the museum and gallery. First, there were the patrons of these new institutions. ... Secondly, there were the sci entists and curators: the technical experts, if you like, who operationalize those discourses of culture and science in the ir classifying and displaying practices .... And thirdly, there are the visitors.” Idem, 182-183. 135 Idem, 183. In extended for m , Rose clarifies, “however, the broad aims of these discussions of the institutional apparatus are I hope clear. In their explor ations of institutional apparatuses, these discourse analysts of institutional power/knowledge focus on both discourses about museums and galleries but also on how those discourses are materialized in the forms of architecture and subject positions. Their concern is always with the intersection of power/knowledge and with the production of differentiated subject positions.” Ibid. 136 Rose writes this in reverse: “Section 1 of this chapter defined institutional technologies as the practical techniques used t o articulate particular forms of power/knowledge: ‘the techniques of effecting meanings’ (Haraway 1989: 35). Foucault described

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120 according to Rose as (and subsequently entitled sections) ‘technologies of display’,137 ‘textual and visual technologies of interpretation’,138 ‘technologies of layout’,139 ‘ tactile technologies’,140 and ‘spaces behind displays’.141 This brief description of technologies illustrates the minuscule and disparate methods and tools that institutional power uses to enunciate knowledge/power. Again, as with apparatuses, technologies w ill vary as per each institution. The intent in outlining Rose’s two forms of discourse analysi s is two fold, to explain a method approached in this work, while also explaining the ways in which images (and texts), both those collected as data to be analy zed and those produced for argumentation, work within (and expressing) discourses of power. As power is ubiquitous, discourses in which knowledge is expressed require similar interrogation. In my initial attempt at discourse analysis, I aim to be as ‘tru e’ to a discourse analysis method as able. them as diffuse and disparate sets of bits and pieces, and this section will enumerate some of these bits and pieces as they work in museums and galleries.” Ibid. 137 Foremost, Rose outlines these technologies orchestrate how the content or the knowledge is delivered and received. These technologies are “...more small -scale techniques of display. These are usually accessed by research ers through visits to museums or galleries, or through historical documentation. In museums, several technologies of display are available (Lidchi 1997: 17 2): • display cases, mounted either on walls or on tables; • open display, with no protective cover; • reconstructions, which are supposedly life -like scenes. (The dioramas discussed by Haraway [1989] and Luke [2002] in the AMNH are a particular sort of reconstruction.); • simulacra: objects made by the museum in order to fill a gap in their collection. E ach of these different display techniques can have rather different effects, and their precise effects very often depend on their intersection with other technologies, especially written text.” Idem, 184. 138 Rose notes that these technologies are those which control or order ways of comprehension. Here again, Rose lists three textual technologies: “• labels and captions. These are a key way in which objects and images are produced in particular ways. For example, in a gallery, a painting will always have a caption with the name of the artist; it will almost always have the date of the painting and its title, and very often the materials it was made with. These apparently innocuous pieces of information nonetheless work to prioritize certain sorts of informat ion about paintings over others. ... In a museum, labels have similar effects: they make some aspects of the objects on display more important than others. ... • panels. Both galleries and museums often have large display panels of text in their display rooms. These often provide some sort of wider context for the objects or images on display. ... • catalogues. Most larger exhibitions, and many galleries and museums, produce catalogues for sale. These too are part of their technologies of interpretation.” I dem, 186-187. Rose also outlines visual technologies: “...Museums often use photographs as part of display panels or catalogues to show what the use of an object 'really' was, or to assert the authenticity of an object on display by showing a picture of i t, or one like it, in its original context of use. Galleries use photographs in display panels much less often, but their catalogues often have them, again usually as apparently documentary images.” Idem, 187. 139 Here she notes three ‘levels’ of technical o rganization: “first, there is the layout of an individual room. As Kevin Hetherington (1997: 215) says, ‘as classifying machines, museums have to deal with heterogeneity through the distribution of effects in space’. ...[Second, and related to the first is size:] ...Haraway considers the relation established between elements in the room, and writes to convey the effect of their combination. She emphasizes the coherence of this Hall, both in its spatial organization and in its effects. ... [Lastly,] rooms can also be decorated in particular ways, with particular effects.” Idem, 187 -188. 140 Tactile technologies are those, which control and limit how and what things are open for tactile appropriation. Rose writes, that “this is enforced in a number of ways: obj ects are placed in glass cases, ropes are placed in front of paintings, warders watch visitors. Again, the Foucauldian question must be, what kind of subjectivities does this produce? Obviously, it produces a vi sitor that looks rather than touches (again). ” Idem, 189. 141 Lastly, Rose discusses the hidden rooms, behind “the rooms in which objects are displayed [which] are of course only some of the spaces through which a museum’s or a gallery’s power/knowledge works. There are also the stores and the archives , the laboratories and the libraries, the offices and service areas. As Hooper -Greenhill (1992: 7) notes, these spaces are not open to the public (although researchers can often gain access) because they are the spaces in which the museums and galleries pr oduce their knowledges.” Idem, 189-190.

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121 This brings me to another method – photography. Rose addresses the role of photography in her first chapter on visual analysis, stating that numerous fields have depended upon photography for research and analysi s since their existence as a discipline.142 Moreover, Rose depends on the use of a photograph to argue the importance of describing the site of production, the site of the image, and the site of reception.143 It is imperative to remember that photographs , li ke other visual images, “...always make sense in relation to other things, including written texts and very often other images they are not reducible to the meanings carried by those other things.”144 Thus, I use photography to capture and analyze the rol es in which the unseen, hidden, and invisible inform what is visible. I am not a photographer – nor will I pretend to be. My photographic skills are meager at best. In spite of this I still aim to use photography in this thesis. My aim works in a way so mewhere in between the two categories that Rose distinguishes in the use of photographs for a critical methodology. She argues that photographs are often used in a research project in two ways , she writes: “the first of these I call supporting and the sec ond supplemental. ”145 This comes with a set of questions to clarify their use: “are the photos used as evidence and then reproduced as supportive of those arguments and claims? Or 142 Rose writes: “both anthropology and human geography have used visual images as research tools for as long as they have been established as academic disciplines, mostly photographs, diagrams and film in the case of anthropology, and photos, maps and diagrams in the case of geography. Visual sociology as a distinct sub-discipline is a more recent development; although the earliest sociological journals carried photographs for a short period before the First World War, it was not until the 1960s that a book by an anthropologist encouraged some sociologists to pick up their cameras again (Collier 1967).” Idem, 6. 143 Rose writes, “the following subsections will explore each site and its modalities further, and will examine some of these disagreements in a little detail. To focus the discussion, and to give you a chance to explore how these sites and modalities intersect, I will often refer to the photograph reproduced in Figure 1.3. Take a good look at it now and note down your immediate reactions. Then see how your views of it alter as the following subsections discuss its sites and modalities.” Idem, 14. 144 To expand on this, Rose writes, “in the words of Carol Armstrong (1996: 28), for example, an image is ‘at least potent ially a site of resistance and recalcitrance, of the irreducibly particular, and of the subversively strange and pleasurable’, while Christopher Pinney (2004: 8) suggests that the important question is ‘not how images “look”, but what they can “do”’. In the search for an image’s meaning, it is therefore important not to claim that it merely reflects meanings made elsewhere in newspapers, for example, or gallery catalogues. It is certainly true that visual images very often work in conjunction with other k inds of representations. It is very unusual, for example, to encounter a visual image unaccompanied by any text at all, wheth er spoken or written (Armstrong 1998; Wollen 1970: 118); even the most abstract painting in a gallery will have a written label on the wall giving certain information about its making, and in certain sorts of galleries there are sheets of paper giving a pr ice too, and these make a difference to how spectators will see that painting. So although virtually all visual images are multimod al in this way – they always make sense in relation to other things, including written texts and very often other images – they are not reducible to the meanings carried by those other things. The colours of an oil painting, for example, or what Barthes (1982) called the punctum of a photograph (see Chapter 5, section 3.3), will carry their own peculiar kinds of visual resistance, recalcitrance, argument, particularity, strangeness or pleasure.” Idem, 11 12. 145 Rose explains that her two categories of photog raphic use in the following: “in the first of these groups, photos are subordinated in some way to the researcher’s interpretations; they are worked over for what they offer in the way of evidence to answer a resarch [ sic ] question. In the second, in contr ast, they are used because they are seen as excessive to the researcher’s interpretive work. The first of these I call supporting and the second supplemental. ” Idem, 239.

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122 are the photos allowed some sort of agency, either to affirm the researcher’s argument or to exceed it?”146 For the distinguishing characteristics of how photography is used comes down to how the photos work in whatever project.147 I argue that the images (and not just the photographs) I create, will work to “...emphasize ‘the analyt ical and conceptual possibilities of visual methods’ in terms of ‘what it is that visual methods are able to achieve’ (Knowles and Sweetman 2004: 6), rather than in terms of what photographs inherently are”148 and are thus, “...evidence to be interpreted.”149 On the other hand, I argue that simultaneously the images (and not just photographs) that I create, will work to “...carry or evoke three things – i nformation, affect and reflection – particularly well ”150, which by providing “ ...more space to the photographs themselves to have their own, perhaps rather unpredictable, effects in the research process”151 I am able “ allow photographs to do work that could not be done by other means.”152 As a result of this, the photographs and images that I create must ini tially draw attention to what I argue, as evidence, sourcing and supporting my arguments. However, due to the condition of the argument, they must also do more – more that I cannot account for, yet hope and intend they do. 146 Idem, 255. 147 Rose argues that since “...Becker (2004) remarks, there is no clearly established methodological framework to discuss the uses of photography in social science research. My approach here is to create two groups of methods, distinguished by the way in which the qualities attributed to photographs are put to work in a research project.” Idem, 239. 148 Idem, 238. Rose writes in full, “this has encouraged the editors of a recent collection of essays on using visual methods for social research, Caroline Knowles and Paul Sweetman (2004), to claim that they are uninterested in theori zing exactly what photography in general is or does. Instead, they suggest that the photographs used by social science researchers are simply m eans to certain ends. They emphasize ‘the analytical and conceptual possibilities of visual methods’ in terms of ‘what it is that visual methods are able to achieve’(Knowles and Sweetman 2004: 6), rather than in terms of what photographs inherently are.” Ibid. 149 Idem, 244. In summary of the category of photographic use, Rose writes: “thus, although photodocumentati on and photoelicitation appear to be quite different methods in terms of their procedures, I am suggesting that they are similar in that they use photographs to the same ends: as evidence to be interpreted. It is that interpretation that then takes preced ence in the researcher’s argument.” Ibid. 150 Idem, 238. In arguing for the unique and valid role photography plays in research, Rose finds support in various authors. S he summarizes: “John Grady (2004: 20) agrees: ‘pictures are valuable because they encod e an enormous amount of information in a single representation’, he says. Photos are valuable too for the way they convey ‘real, flesh and blood life’, according to H oward Becker (2002: 11), making their audiences ‘bear witness’ to that life (Holliday 2004: 61). As well as providing data and evidence in this way, they also give research participants a means to reflect on aspects of their lives that they may usually give lit tle thought to (Blinn and Harrist 1991; Holliday 2004; Latham 2003). Hence photos are used by these social scientists because they can carry or evoke three things information, affect and reflection particularly well. As a result, photos can be described as ‘a more transparent representation of the life experiences of participants in [a] study’ (Dodman 2003: 294).” Ibid. 151 Idem, 245246. To start the second category on how photographs work, Rose summarizes the differences and then prefaces what she will argue: “the distinction I am making between two approaches to working with photographs as part of the research process is that, while the methods just discussed in section 2 generally use photos as evidence to be interpreted by the rese archer (often in conjunction with interviewees), the methods to be discussed now give more space to the photographs themselves to have their own, perhaps rather unpredictable, effects in the research process. I would suggest that there are two things that phot os can be asked to do: what Becker (2002) calls ‘specified generalization’; and what Latham (2003: 2 009) calls ‘texture’.” Ibid. 152 Idem, 249. In summarizing the similarities of the two methods that allow photographs to do more for the argument, Rose writes: “like Berger and Mohr (1975), Edensor (2005) is concerned to allow photographs to do work that could not be done by other means.” Ibid.

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123 So, in the site of production, e ach photograph was captured with my digital phone – Samsung G7, us ing the ‘vivid’ filter setting. Each image was further manipulated , similarly for consistency, using Adobe Photoshop (CS6). The tools used consisted of the auto contrast, autotone, autoc olor, contrast, vibrancy/saturation, and exposure tools. I then finalize d each image by appl ying a light amber color filter in aims to digitally tone back the vivacity of each image while still allowing individual colors to bleed through. Each image was then worked with in Adobe Illustrator (CS6) to create a series of drawings (to be discussed later on), where the focus of the image would be the compositional whole constructed in Adobe Illustrator. Thus, the filters and tools used in Photoshop were used to retain saturation of the image captured, while also not detracting from produced drawing as a whole . The aims were for argumentation on the role of the UHI at the specific site, the National Western Center in Denver, CO. Each image was captured in eit her February or October of 2017, or January 2018. Lastly, to wrap up the visual analysis methods, maps will play an integral role in this thesis . As noted, Rose explains the use of maps in geography, anthropology, and sociology.153 Shifting to what maps do, depict, and represent clarifies (and problematizes) the method of maps . Although the use of maps as a resource has a long tradition in academic disciplines, they work as discourses often overlooked. Foremost, it must be clarified that, as J. B. Harley rightly notes, “maps are never valuefree images....”154 F rom this premise, Harley correlates maps with Foucault’s work on power, knowledge, discourse, truth, and surveillance.155 Resultantly, maps, although understood in this 153 See aforementioned note, 1 42 . Idem, 6. 154 Harley begins his essay entitled (and similarly in examination of) “Maps, knowledge, and power”, with the theoretical framework and basic premise of his essay. He writes: “ my aim here is to explore the discourse of maps in the context of political power, and my approach is broadly iconological. Maps will be regarded as part of the broader family of value -laden images. Maps cease to be understood primarily as inert records of morphological landscapes or passive reflections of the world of objects, but are regarded as refracted images contributing to dialogue in a socially constructed world. We thus move the reading of ma ps away from the canons of traditional cartographical cri ticism with its string of binary oppositions between maps that are ‘true and false’, ‘accurate and inaccurate’, ‘objective and subjective’, ‘literal and symbolic’, or that are based on ‘scientific integ rity’ as opposed to ‘ideological distortion’. Maps are never value-free images; except in the narrowest Euclidean sense they are not in themselves either true or false. Both in the selectivity of their content and in their signs and styles of representation map s are a way of conceiving, articulating, and stru cturing the human world which is biased towards, promoted by, and exerts influence upon particular sets of social relations. By accepting such premises it becomes easier to see how appropriate they are to manipulation by the powerful in society.” Harley, J . Brian. “Maps, knowledge, and power.” The Iconography of Landscape: essays on the symbolic representation, design and use of past environments. Vol. 9. Denis Cosgrove and Stephen Daniels eds. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988. 277 -312. 278. 155 Ha rley writes that “cartography, too, can be ‘a form of knowledge and a form of power’. Just as ‘the historian paints the landscape of the past in the colours of the present’ so the surveyor, whether consciously or otherwise, replicates not just t he

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124 thesis as an invaluable re sourc es of data , require interrogation (similar to Rose’s image analysis) to uncover “... the undeclared processes of domination through maps [that] are more subtle and elusive. These [are which] provide the ‘hidden rules’ of cartographic discourse whose contour s can be traced in the subliminal geometries, the silences, and the representational hierarchies of maps.”156 Harley’s arguments that understand maps as power, requires analysis of a map’s specific historico political function, as well as how political powe r organized and represented the content as knowledge; in Harley’s words: “...the universality of political contexts in the history of mapping; the way in which the exercise of power structures the content of maps; and how cartographic communication at a symbolic level can reinforce that exercise through map knowledge.”157 Using maps as a resource thus demands understanding or, in some circumstances , clarifying analysis of the political knowledges within maps. The production and construction of maps, on the other hand, employs similar uses of knowledge and power. The production of maps as argued in “The Agency of Mapping: Speculation, Critique and Invention”, James Corner uses Deleuze and Guattari to begin his analysis by distinguish ing two acts, one of whic h is ‘tracing’ and the other ‘mapping’. The former of which “...reproduce what is already known” whereas the latter “...remakes territory over and over again, each time with new and diverse consequences.”158 In other words, mapping produces and re produce s not only the representation, but the ‘environ ment’ in some abstract sense but equally the territorial imperatives of a particular political system. Whether a map is produced under the banner of cartographic science as most official maps have been – or whether it is an overt propaganda exercise, it cannot escape involvement in the processes by which power is deployed. Some of the practical implications of maps may also fall into the category of what Foucault has defined as acts of ‘surveillance’ notably those connected with warfare, political propag anda, boundary making, or the preservation of law and order.” Idem, 279. 156 As Harley notes in his conclusion, “the cartographic processes by which power is enforced, reproduced, reinforced, and stereotyped consist of both deliberate and ‘practical’ acts of surveillance and less conscious cognitive adjustments by map makers and map -users to dominant values and beliefs. The practical actions undertaken with maps: warfare, boundary making, propaganda, or the preservation of law and order, are documented throug hout the history of maps. On the other hand, the undeclared processes of domination through maps are more subtle and elusive. These provide the ‘hidden rules’ of cartographic discourse whose contours can be traced in the subliminal geometries, the silences , and the representational hierarchies of maps. The influence of the map is channelled as much through its representational force as a symbol as through its overt representations. The iconology of the map in the symbolic treatment of power is a neglected aspect of cartographic history. In grasping its importance we move away from a history of maps as a record of the cartographer’s intention and technical acts to one which locates the cartographic image in a social world.” Idem, 303. 157 Idem, 280. “Maps as ‘ knowledge as power’ are explored here under three headings: the universality of political contexts in the history of mapping; the way in which the exercise of power structures the content of maps; and how cartographic communication at a symbolic level can reinforce that exercise through map knowledge.” Ibid. 158 James Corner clarifies what he means by this: “as a creative practice, mapping precipitates its most productive effects throu gh a finding that is also a founding; its agency lies in neither reproducti on nor imposition but rather in uncovering realities previously unseen or unimagined, even across seemingly exhausted grounds. Thus, mapping unfolds potential; it re -makes territory over and over again, each time with new and diverse consequences. Not all maps accomplish this, however; some simply

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125 actual territory mapped. In his sense, the action of mapping constructs a reality159 through a power laden practice interrelat ing “...analogue and abstraction, [which means] then, the surface of the map functions like an operating table, a staging ground or a theatre of operations upon which the mapper collects, combines, connects, marks, masks, relates and generally explores.”160 In the production and construction of maps (rather than traces), one informs a territory ( and vice versa) – as Corner eventually qualifies, a map is a component of a larger interrelated and plural ly informing milieu .161 I n the informing of the territory (and map), “...the map permits a kind of excavation (downward) and extension (outward) to expose, reveal and construct latent possibilities within a greater reproduce what is already known. These are more ‘tracings’ than maps, delineating patterns but revealing nothing new. In describing and advocating more open-ended forms of creativity, philosophers Gilles Deleuze a nd Felix Guattari declare: ‘Make a map not a tracing!’ They continue: ‘What distinguishes the map from the tracing is that it is entirely oriented toward an experimentation in contact with the real. The map does not reproduce an unconscious closed in upon itself; it constructs the unconscious. It fosters connections between fields, the removal of blockages on bodies without organs, the maximum opening of bodies without organs onto a plane of consistency ... The map has to do with performance, whereas the tr acing always involves an ‘alleged competence’. The distinction here is between mapping as equal to what is (‘tracing’) and mapping as equal to what is and to what is not yet. In other words, the unfolding agency of mapping is most effective when its capac ity for description also sets the conditions for new eidetic and physical worlds to emerge. Unlike tracings, which propagate redundancies, mappings discover new worlds within past and present ones; they inaugurate new grounds upon the hidden traces of a li ving context.” Corner: 1999, 213 214 . 159 Corner writes in his section on ‘reality’, after taking up a philosophical discussion of different writers and thinkers privi leging either the map or territory over the other: “reality, then, as in concepts such as ‘ landscape’ or ‘space’, is not something external and 'given' for our apprehension; rather it is constituted, or ‘formed’, through our participation with things: material obje cts, images, values, cultural codes, places, cognitive schemata, events and maps. ... [And yet] the still widely held assumption that maps are mute, utilitarian tools, of secondary significance to the milieu they represent, and lacking in power, agency or effects beyond simple, objective description, is to grossly misconstrue their capa city for shaping reality. Both maps and territories are ‘thoroughly mediated products’ and the nature of their exchange is far from neutral or uncomplicated.” Idem, 223. 160 Corner expands on the notions of ‘analogue’ and ‘abstraction’, arguing that it is wi thin their innate interplay that generates the agency of maps. “Mappings have agency because of the double-sided characteristic of all maps. First, their surfaces are directly analogous to actual ground conditions; as horizontal planes, they record the s urface of the earth as direct impressions. As in the casting of shadows, walks and sightings across land may be literally projected onto paper through a geometrical graticule of points and lines drawn by ruler and pen. Conversely, one can put one’s finger on a map and trace out a particular route or itinerary, the map projecting a mental image into the spatial imagination. Because of this directness, maps are taken to be ‘ true’ and ‘objective’ [not Harley here] measures of the world, and are accorded a kind of benign neutrality. By contrast, the other side of this analogous characteristic is the inevitable abstractness of maps, the result of selection, omission, isolation, distance and codification. Map devices such as frame, scale, orientation, projection, indexing and naming reveal artificial geographies that remain unavailable to human eyes. Maps present only one version of the earth’s surface, an eidetic fiction constructed from factual observation. As both analogue and abstraction, then, the surface of t he map functions like an operating table, a staging ground or a theatre of operations upon which the mapper collects, combines, connects, marks, masks, relates and generally explores. These surfaces are massive collection, sorting and transfer sites, great fields upon which real material conditions are isolated, indexed and placed within an assortment of relational structures. The analogous -abstract character of the map surface means that it is doubly projective: it both captures the projected elements off the ground and projects back a variety of effects through use.” Idem, 215. 161 ‘Milieu’ here constitutes an intersectional location of surroundings and in-betweens, in which both territory and map and user and... are interrelated. Corner defines milieu in t he following, “ m ilieu is a French term that means ‘surroundings’, ‘medium’ and ‘middle’. Milieu has neither beginning nor end, but is surrounded by other middles, in a field of connections, relationships, extensions and potentials. In this sense, then, a g rounded site, locally situated, invokes a host of ‘other’ places, including all the maps, drawings, ideas, references, other worlds and places that are invoked during the making of a project. ‘Site’ today is a multiplicitous and complex affair, comprising a potentially boundless field of phenomena, some palpable and some imaginary.” Idem, 224-225.

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126 milieu ” , one that forges perpetually differential interrelations and defies the ‘tracing’ or depiction representational qualities.162 Corner continues to provide his methods of mapping rather than tracing. In so doing, he identifies that the map differs from a plan, that the mapper has an active producing role in the map, and that the actions of “...mapping precedes the map....”163 In the construction of maps, Corner outlines three operations e ssential to the process: “...first, the creation of a field, the setting of rules and the establishment of a system; second, the extraction, isolation or ‘deterritorialization’ of parts and data; and third, the plotting, the drawingout, the settingup of relationships, or the ‘re territorialization’ of the parts.”164 The complex production of maps , then, does imply an immense set of power/kn owledges, in order to dictate, collect, and construct. The acknowledgement of the potential of the map, in Corner’s a rgument, implies a shared component of power, in that each interactor potentially re produces the territory (and map) in action. Yet, 162 Corner writes, “thus maps are in between the virtual and the real. Here, Winnicott’s question, ‘Did you find that in the world or did you make it up?’ denotes a n irrelevant distinction. More important is how the map permits a kind of excavation (downward) and extension (outward) to expose, reveal and construct latent possibilities within a greater milieu. The map ‘gathers’ and ‘shows’ things presently (and always ) invisible, things which may appear incongruous or untimely but which may also harbour enormous potential for the unfolding of alternative events. In this regard, maps have very little to do with representation as depiction. After all, maps look nothing l ike their subject, not only because of their vantage point but also because they present all parts at once, with an immediacy unavailable to the grounded individual. But more than this, the function of maps is not to depict but to enable, to precipitate a set of effects in time. Thus, mappings do not represent geographies or ideas; rather they effect their actualization.” Idem, 225. 163 These three points Corner discusses in a brief section. Each are worth brief note: “Mapping is key here for it entails proc esses of gathering, working, reworking, assembling, relating, revealing, sifting and speculating. In turn, these activities enable the inclusion of massive amounts of information that, when articulated, allow certain sets of possibility to become actual. I n containing multiple modes of spatio-temporal description, mapping precipitates fresh insights and enables effective actions to be taken. Thus mapping differs from ‘planning’ in that it entails searching, finding and unfolding complex and latent forces in the existing milieu rather than imposing a more -or -less idealized project from on high. Moreover, the synoptic imposition of the ‘plan’ implies a consumption (or extinguishing) of contextual potential, wherein all that is available is subsumed into the m a king of the project. Mapping, by contrast, discloses, stages and even adds potential for later acts and events to unfold. Whereas the plan leads to an end, the map provides a generative means, a suggestive vehicle that ‘points’ but does not overly determin e. A particularly important aspect of mapping in this regard is the acknowledgement of the maker’s own participation and engagemen t with the cartographic process. ... Actions precede conceptions; order is the outcome of the act of ordering. Thus mapping pr ecedes the map, to the degree that it cannot properly anticipate its final form. ... In other words, there are some phenomena that can only achieve visibility through representation rather than through direct experience. Furthermore, mapping engenders new and meaningful relationships amongst otherwise disparate parts. The resultant relational structure is not something already ‘ out there’, but rather something constructed, bodied forth through the act of mapping.” Idem, 228 -229. 164 In whole: “Thus we can ide ntify three essential operations in mapping: first, the creation of a field, the setting of rules and the establishment of a system; second, the extraction, isolation or ‘de -territorialization’ of parts and data; and third, the plotting, the drawing -out, t he setting -up of relationships, or the ‘re -territorialization’ of the parts. At each stage, choices and judgements are made, with the construing and constructing of the map alternating between processes of accumulation, disassembly and reassembly. By virtu e of the map maker’s awareness of the innately rhetorical nature of the map’s construction as well as of personal authorship and intent, these operations differ from the mute, empirical documentation of terrain so often assumed by cartographers.” Idem, 231 .

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127 Corner ’s arguments must be taken with the analytical criticism of Harley and Rose, to ensure a critical analysis that str ive s for more than ‘potentially’ . As Jeremy Crampton and John Krygier argue in “An Introduction to Critical Cartography” , this is the core of what they define as ‘critical cartography’.165 Crampton and Krygier establish foremost what is meant by ‘critique’ ,166 an integral component to the political and power connection in cartography, then progress through their argument, eventually establishing a few critical cartographic methods.167 One of which, ‘ counter mapping ’ is defined by Leila M. Harris and Helen D. H azen in their article, “Power of Maps: (Counter) Mapping for Conservation”, “ any effort that fundamentally questions the assumptions or biases of cartographic conventions, that challenges predominant power effects of mapping, or that engages in mapp ing in ways that upset power relations.”168 The potential of maps must retain a critical or ‘counter’ mechanism as power is imbued in 165 They argue in their opening sentences, “we define critical cartography as a one-two punch of new mapping practices and theoretical critique. Critical cartography challenges academic cartography by linking geographic knowledge with power, and th us is po litical. Although contemporary critical cartography rose to prominence in the 1990s, we argue that it can only be understood in the historical context of the development of the cartographic discipline more generally.” Crampton, Jeremy W., and John Krygier. “An introduction to critical cartography.” ACME: An International Journal for Critical Geographies, 4.1 (2005): 1133. 11. Moreover, in their conclusion, they argue for the relevance of critical cartography, writing “contemporary critical cartography is situated in this long critical tradition, is important for the intellectual history of cartography, and is a source of ideas and avenues for work in contemporary mapping.” Idem, 24. 166 They argue in the concludiong paragraph of their analysis of ‘critique’: “in sum then, the answer to the question “what is critique?” is that it is a politics of knowledge. First, it examines the grounds of our decision -making knowledges; second it examines the relationship between power and knowledge from a historical perspec tive; and third it resists, challenges and sometimes overthrows our categories of thought. Critique does not have to be a deliberate political project. If the way that we make decisions (based on knowledge) is changed, then a political intervention has bee n made. Critique can therefore be both explicit and implicit. Furthermore, the purpose of critique as a politics of knowledge, is not to say that our knowledge is not true , but that the truth of knowledge is established under conditions that have a lot to do with power .” Idem, 14. 167 The authors list five separate ways in which critical cartography is practiced, so as to ensure resistance to “Any attempt to draw definitive conclusions will only serve to close off these openings [provided by ‘critique’]. Inst ead we offer five possible areas we feel deserve further exploration in the spirit of critique. Artists continue to provide an incredibly rich and varied appropriation of mapping (Casey 2002; Cosgrove 2005; Case 2006; Krygier 2006; Schiller 2006; Varanka 2006; Wood 2006a, 2006b). ... Everyday mappings , whether performative (Krygier 2006), ludic (Perkins 2006), indigenous (Lewis 2006), affective and experiential (Cieri 2003, 2006) or narrative (Pearce 2006), creatively illuminate the role of space in people’ s lives by countering generalized and global perspectives. ... Maps as resistance , counter -mappings and participatory GIS, take up maps and politics in an explicit manner to provide alternative mappings of space not represented by official state agencies ( Sparke 1995; Cobarrubias et al. 2006). Map hacking provides a whole series of inexpensive or open source capabilities that combine spatialized knowledges in ever new ways (kanarinka 2006a, 2006b). Finally therefore, there is also a necessary role for the t heoretic critique to challenge assumptions and place matters in historical perspective.” Idem, 24 -25. 168 Hazen, Helen D., and Leila Harris. “Power of Maps: (Counter) Mapping for Conservation.” ACME: An International Journal for Critical Geographies, 4 (1) ( 2006): 99 -130. 115. See this article for more information on counter -mapping. Helen and Hazen provide a more complete definition, “in concert with our attention to mapping throughout the paper, we consider the concept of ‘counter -mapping’ a useful point of engagement to explore these issues. Peluso (1995) introduced the concept to describe the commissioning of maps by forest users in Indonesia as a way of contesting state maps of forest areas that had long undermined their interests in those resources. Th e idea of counter -mapping has since been taken up more generally to refer to efforts to contest or undermine power relations and asymmetries in relation to cartographic products or processes. We understand counter mapping as any effort that fundamentally questions the assumptions or biases of cartographic conventions, that challenges predominant power effects of mapping, or that engages in mapping in ways that upset power relations. Stylistically, we write the term as (counter)mapping to invoke its double m eaning: highlighting both the possibility of being counter, or against , mapping

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128 the political construction of mappings. For if, as Corner argues, maps operate to make visible what parts of the milieu ar e otherwise hidden,169 th en the reveal ed milieu for a nuanced and egalitarian group, sur e ly participates in retaining (and maintaining) power/knowledge for that group while simultaneously participating in a parallel o bfuscation. The intention of arguing for maps in this way, is to illustrate the critical application in their production, while also illustrating their potential. I aim to use maps precisely for their critical potential to reveal what was otherwise not. As a result, the ‘drawings’ that I suggested in the previous paragraphs will present as a mapping , with a critical cartographic or counter mapping element . I intend to utilize photography, digital aerials (from GoogleEarth, or (more likely) from the city and county of Denver’s GIS raster database), archived current and historic maps, and design conceptual drawings (and potentially other visual materials ) to construct a series of drawings/mappings to reveal the informative role of unseen, hidden, and invisible things. Taken together, this analysis of visual methods, photography and maps, functions in what I consider the visual analysis of this thesis. Moving on, we will address other methods, most of which will satisfy with a more brief analysis. Archives As previously mentioned in the visual anal ysis section, this thesis will make use of archives stored at the Denver Public Library in the ‘Genealogy, African American and Western History Resources’ in the fifth floor, specifically the Denver Historical map collections and resources. I spent the co urse of a month (from 10.21.2017 – 11.20.2017) sifting through the collected maps at the Denver Public Library, and documenting (via photograph (see above)) maps relevant to the National Western Center (or Denver Stockyards). As proportionally few focused distinctly on this location, I chose relevant maps of Denver at large, documented those, as well as zoomed in shots of the Western Center (or areas surrounding, or what for conservation (given its inherent limitations described above), as well as exploring how mapping for conservation can be pursued in ways that counter -map in the more common usage of the term —using mapping to overcome predominant power hierarchies, interspecies injustices, and other power effects.” Idem, 115 -116. 169 Corner argues “In making visible what is otherwise hidden and inaccessible, maps provide a working table for identifying and reworking polyvalent conditions; their analogous -abstract surfaces enable the accumulation, organization and restructuring of the various strata that comprise an ever -emerging milieu. ” Corner: 1999 , 225.

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129 would become – pending on year). I progressed through the collection chronologically – for the most part. The chosen maps will include bibliographic source information generated from the library’s online data catalogue (https://catalog.denverlibrary. org/) . This thesis also makes use of the vast amount of digital downloadable resources f rom the Denver Public Library’s digital collection ( . This data includes archived photographs and renderings, documented and transcribed oral histories, and historic documents pertinent to the National Western Center or Denver Stockyards. Not all of this collected data will be used, yet in the act of collection, they helped to construct and inform understanding the National Western Center and Denver Stockyards. These resources were similarly collected during the Fall of 2017. Lacanian psychoanalysis A basic understanding of Lacan’s unique vision of psychoanalysis will be addressed in the next section on Desire, this section attempts to address his work as a method. Using the model of Lacanian psychoanalysis as a meth od is based , here, on an understanding of Lacan’s work in “The Mirror Stage as Formative of the I Function”170 as well as of the psychic organization of the real, symbolic, and imaginary.171 Understanding that the psychic realm is divided into three sections ruptures an overarching dialectic structure of the psyche even if it does not disrupt a possible dialectic of desire or ego . W orking under a Lacanian framework means acknowledging that Lacan understood the ego, subject formation , and knowledge itself to be ‘paranoiac’ , or rather as Jon Mills writes “...beyond intelligible thought ( ), hence madness.”172 What precisely is paranoid has larger implications than 170 See Lacan, Jacques. “The Mirror Stage as Formative of the I Function: as Revealed in Psychoanalytic Experience.” Ecrits : The First Complete Edition in English. Bruce Fink trans., with Hlose Fink and Russell Grigg. New York: W.W. Norton & Co, 2006. 75 -81. 171 Jon Mills defines these as follows: “as a cursory definition, we might say that the Imaginary ( imaginaire ) is the realm of illusion, of fantasy, belonging to the sensuous world of perception. In contrast, the Symbolic ( symbolique ) is the formal organization of psychic life that is structure d through language and linguistic internalizations implemented as semiotic functions, thus becoming the ground of the subject; while the Real ( rel ) remains foreclosed from epistemic awareness within the abyss of unconscious desire. The real is delimited – the Ding an sich : it remains the mysterious beyond, the heart of desire.” Mills, Jon. Underworlds: Philosophies of the Unconscious from Psychoanalysis to Metaphysics. Hove, East Sussex : Routledge , 2014. 97. 172 Idem, 94. “‘Paranoia’ is derived from the Gr eek, para – outside of or beside – as in ‘ beside oneself’ – and mind ( nous thus beyond intelligible thought ( ), hence madness. It can also be said that Lacan’s splintered, disparate and often implicit theoretical structure personifies his very notion of desire: desire is beyond structure, beyond words – it is merely the unutterable, ineffable. That which remains nameless, indescribable – unknown – is surely that which haunts us; and it is ominous precisely because it is alien.” Ibid.

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130 that which is beyond intelligible ; it is rather that the ego attributes knowledge to that whi ch it knows that it does not know. Hence, Mills assessment that paranoia is reducible down to the desire to not know, exactly that one wills to not know .173 Mills writes that paranoia infiltrates each structure of the psyche: imaginary, due to an initial m isrecognition, symbolic, due to the invasively revealing structures of language, and real, due to its inaccessibility.174 Moreover, knowledge is paranoid because that it is both based on a personal ‘apprehension’ of something ‘other’ , and that it is shared from others to others.175 Paranoiac knowledge stems, according to Mills, from a desire to not know. E go formation under Lacanian psychoanalysis positions th e desire to not know as an initial error. M ore clearly, it “ a mistake ( mconnaissance ), thus it is merely an illusory projection of autonomy and control. In other words, the ego ( moi , Ich ) or ‘I’ is merely a wish – itself the product of social construction.”176 The attribution of an ego in response to the other is thereby the fundamental error of egoistic construction – it is a self attributed to self from an appropriation of the other – otherwise, the ego is always an alienated paranoiac self.177 Moreover, this alienated self is a structure of paranoiac knowledge – one built upon a struggle for rec ognition, recognition of an egoistic self in the reflected sensibility of the other.178 This is 173 Idem, 95. See next note. 174 “Developmentally, knowledge is paranoiac because it is acquired through our imaginary relation to the other as a primordial misidentification or illusory self -recognition of autonomy, control and mastery, thus leading to persecutory anxiety and self alienation. Secondarily, through the symbolic structures of language and speech, desire is foisted upon us as a foreboding demand threatening to invade and destroy our uniquely subjective inner experiences. And finally, the process of knowing itself is paranoiac because it horrifically confronts the real , namely, the unknown. Through our examination of a clinical case study, paranoiac knowledge manifests itself as the desire not to know.” Idem, 95. 175 Mills writes, “what is paranoid is that w hich stands in relation to opposition, hence that which is alien to the self. Paranoia is not simply that which is beyond the rational mind, but it is a generic process of – ‘I take thought, I perceive, I intellectually grasp, I apprehend’, and hen ce have apprehension for what I encounter in consciousness. With qualitative degrees of difference, we are all paranoid simply because others hurt us, a lesson we learn in early childhood. Others hurt us with t heir knowledge, with what they say, as do we. And we hurt knowing. ‘What will the Other do next?’ We are both pacified yet cower in extreme trembling over what we may and may not know – what we may and may not find out; and this is why our relation to knowledge is fundamentally paranoiac.” Idem, 96. 176 Idem, 101. 177 As Mills writes, “the mirror stage is the initial point of self -discovery, hence the dawn of the nascent ego insofar as the ‘I’ is discovered in the eyes of the other. From the recognition of the self through the looking glass, or through ano ther as its metaphorical representation, the emergence of self -consciousness is constituted in and through alienation.” Idem, 102. 178 Mills continues, “we all seek recognition, this is a basic human need. The ego is affirmed by the other, but not at first. There is originally the experience of inequality, whether this be the child’s relation to the parent or the servant’s relation to the master. Ultimately the desire for recognition becomes a fundamental battle for dominance and validation in which each subj ect struggles to overcome the objectification of the other. From this standpoint, the sense of one’s fundamental contingency on recognition is basically paranoiac and may regress to that paranoid state whenever one becomes acutely aware of that contingency .” Idem, 102.

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131 the mirror stage in Lacanian psychoanalysis179, and ego formation, based in paranoid knowledge is dialectically construed through the interplay of desire to full f ill the relational paranoiac gaps produced.180 To reiterate, knowledge in this sketch is derived from mconnaissance in childhood, which means that it is paranoiac, whether translated through language or that which is real beyond reflected knowledge. Yet, t his pertains not only to ego, but to all initial knowledge – a s Mills finds , Lacan was aware of this translation to all things.181 Moreover, the ego’s relation to the world , and all things thereby, must be paranoiac, pre linguistically concealed behind fort ifications that find its truths substantial,182 as the initial formations of knowledge, self knowledge, instantiates as paranoiac .183 Thus, a ‘subject ’ s’ knowledge relation to the world in Lacanian psychoanalysis, is built on a mconnaissance of that knowledg e .184 What then retains the paranoiac knowledge as the desire to not know? As Mills probes, “desire and speech by their very nature impose a command. [This reinforces the argument that] k nowledge is saturated with paranoia because it threatens to invade the subject, and it is precisely this knowledge that 179 Lacan writes: “it suffices to understand the mirror stage in this context as an identification , in the full sense analysis gives to the term: namely, the transformation that takes place in the subject when he assumes [ assume ] an image—an im age that is seemingly predestined to have an effect at this phase, as witnessed by the use in analytic theory of antiquity’s term, ‘imago .’ The jubilant assumption [ assumption ] of his specular image by the kind of being —still trapped in his motor impotence and nursling dependence —the situation the symbolic matrix in which the I is precipitated in a primordial form, prior to being objectified in the dialectic of identification with the other, and before language restores to it, in the universal, its function as subject.” Lacan: 2006, 76. 180 The mirror experience functions as the coming into being of identity, the initial formation of the self – a self that is dialectically and intersubjectively constructed through desire, as the relation of being to lack (manque ). Lacan emphasizes the ‘internal thrust’ of desire within the presupposed subject, yet desire is always caused or given over, through internalization, by the Other. As a result, desire is always characterized by absence and incompleteness. Such a void, such a hole in being clamours in ‘anticipation’ for presence, for fulfilment of its lack, facilitated by the parental imagos that the premature ego identif ies with, thus giving an illusory sense of totality and completeness. We may say that such illusory c ompleteness is fantasized, hallucinated as reality, thus the fulfilment of a wish. However, the dislocated images mirrored in the other subjected to the illusion of cohesiveness of identity, are in fact defensive processes enacted to ward off fragmentation anxiety: the genesis of ego development is the life of desire.” Mills: 2014, 103. 181 Mills assess that Lacan argues that “human knowledge is paranoiac – it torments, persecutes, cuts . This is essentially what Lacan (1953 – 1954) means when he says ‘my knowl edge started off from paranoiac knowledge’ (p. 163), because there are ‘paranoid affinities between all knowledge of objects as such’ (1955– 1956b, p. 39).” Idem, 97. 182 Mills writes, “as we have seen, Lacan’s developmental picture of the ego is clearly imbu ed with a negative dialectic: imagoes are alien and threatening, identification is formed in relation to lack, object relations are primarily aggressive and rivalr ous, and desire is always imposed. From this account, the ego is vigilant and suspicious; hence it takes a paranoid relation toward the world at large which becomes unconsciously fortified. But when the ego acquires language, paranoia takes a symbolic turn signified through the demands of speech.” Idem, 108. 183 Mills reinforces this arguing that “. ..the ego is a fantasy of self -relation defined by the Other. What this means is that all forms of epistemology are derived from external sources and are caused from without. An imaginary mode of relating to the world is fundamental to psychosis, but it i s also a general basis of self knowledge, which Lacan (1936– 1949) states always has an alienated and paranoid quality.” Idem, 98. 184 Lacan writes, “the function of the mirror stage thus turns out, in my view, to be a particular case of the function of imagos, which is to establish a relationship between an organism and its reality —or, as they say, between the Innenwelt and the Umwelt .” Lacan: 2006, 78.

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132 must be defended against as the desire not to know.”185 Defending against a paranoid knowledge is a defense against the paranoia, rather than the thing that is. Resultantly, one displays a series of “...sym ptoms or neurotic mechanisms, what functions their defences serve....”186 In Lacanian terms, one develops an affinity with their paranoia, their symptoms, as a defense network reinforcing a “...pleasure in pain, or the satisfaction individuals find in dissa tisfaction to the point that they wish not to give it up.”187 Mill’s argument of Lacanian paranoia, as desire to not know , then implicates “...the insidious structure of jouissance , namely, pleasure in pain...” complet ing the cyclical pattern instantiated b y mconnaissance .188 T he self reinforcing completed pattern reveals that knowledge and insights into its paranoid structure offer insight into apprehended perceptions – a dialectic of the imaginary and symbolic. Neither of these, though, allow insight into the real. Mill’s argues that attainment of the real is (perhaps nearly?) impossible, since it is always a subject and their perceptions (imaginary and symbolic) captured in paranoia and mconnaissance .189 Regardless of how much language may ‘ betray ’ the subject (their imaginary knowledges) and reveal their mconnaissance ,190 “the real [still] resists articulation because it is simply ‘the impossible’....”191 185 Mills: 2006, 111. 186 When discussing the role of patients and the display of their symptoms, or their symptomatic behavior, Mills finds “in Encore , Lacan (1972 – 1973) further adds that ‘the unconscious is the fact that being, by speaking, enjoys, and . . . wants to know nothing more about it’ – that is, ‘know nothing about it at all’ (pp. 104 – 105). This is why patients often resist therapy and avoid the process of self -examination and change. They have no desire to know the root of their symptoms or neurotic mechanisms, what functions their defences serve, and why they are instituted in the first place. This is why Lacan says that patients do not want to give up their symptoms because they provide familiarity and meaning: we enjoy our symptoms too much! (iek, 1992).” Ibid. 187 Ibid. This is the definition of jouissance which will be addressed in the following note. 188 Jouissance relates directly to paranoid knowledge – it defends against the pursuit of knowledge, for that knowledge may lay clear the initial paranoia of the subject to begin with. “This is the insidious structure of jouissance , namely, pleasure in pain, or the satisfaction individuals find in dissatisfaction to the point that they wish not to give it up. As Ragland (1995) asserts , ‘the inertia of jouissance . . . makes a person’s love of his or her symptoms greater than any desire to change them’ (p. 85). From this standpoint, the unconscious is first and foremost sadomasochistic: it inflicts a perverse pleasure through suffering at its own hands. There is a self -destructive element to the enjoyment of symptoms, a revelry in the realm of excess to th e point that truth or knowledge must be suspended, disavowed, or denied. This is why Lacan thinks that all knowledge of objects as such become tainted with paranoia: they threaten the subject’s jouissance , and thus must be defended against as the desire not to know.” Ibid. 189 This is implied in the negotiated consciousness and unconsciousness. Mills writes: “for Lacan, the real is that place of lim it – that which is lacking in the symbolic order: it is truly most horrific by the mere fact that it can never be known in itself. There is ultimately no safety in the unknown, and that is why the phenomenology of the lived experience carries with it the paranoiac residue of the uncertainty of the life within. The imaginary and symbolic orders interpenetrate the re al, which in turn inform how the unconscious interpenetrates consciousness. Consciousness becomes an appearance, an illusory articulation of what cannot be rightfully articulated. This is why consciousness can only reveal through images and symbolization t he differentiated and modified forms of unconscious reality.” Idem, 117. 190 Mills writes “the symbolic plays a central role in Lacan’s system, which, in my assessment, is ultimately the cause of the subject’s being. Lacan believes that the unconscious is ‘s tructured like a language’ and, indeed, he equates the unconscious with language itself (see Lacan 1955 – 56a, p. 11; 1955– 56b, p. 119; 1955– 56c, pp. 166 – 167), which is predicated on consciousness and cultural determinism. For Lacan, because the symbolic tem porally exists prior to the contingent birth of the subject, this, in

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133 So what does this all mean for a method? Ros alind Krauss identifies Lacan useful for undermining mode rnist terms of visuality . She argues t his, not based on language (which may be useful as a betrayal of the subject , but to Krauss is an ally of modernist vision192), but rather based on Lacan’s L Schema. The L Schema (a Greimasan/semiotic square illustrati ng Lacan’s ‘mirror stage’) indicates precisely that unconscious relations cut across and through the imaginary relations – always present in some way or another.193 Thus, as a method, understanding Lacanian psychoanalysis projects a transgressive line onto the L Schema – a world that is “...not conceived as a static picture, but instead as a cycle.... The relationships [of which] are in permanent circulation, continuous flow . Their dynamic is productive, producing repetition .”194 I n agreement with Krauss,195 I find that this cycle invites transgressive inquiry for “... its visualist logic is that it is perfect. ... Its frame which is a frame of exclusions is oh so easy to read as an ideological closure. ... Its transparency, the logic of its relations, turn, determines the essence of the subject. Therefore, the subject is constituted by the symbolic function. For Lacan, the s ubject is conditioned upon its ‘entrance into language’ under the symbolic Law ( E 1957, p. 148), which ultimately makes the unconscious a cultural category captured by his formula: ‘the unconscious is “ discours de l ’ Autre ” [discourse of the Other]’ ( E 1960, p. 312).” Idem, 98-99. 191 Mills concludes with the following: “the real resists articulation because it is simply ‘the impossible’, thus subjecting consciousness to the paranoid abyss of the ineffable. Freud (1900) was the first to insist on the primacy of the underworld: ‘The unconscious is the true psychica l reality; in its innermost nature it is as much unknown to us as the reality of the external world ’ (p. 613). And just as the nature of symptoms have a sense (Freud, 1916 – 1917), Lacan emphasizes the primal communication of the real as that indescribable language, that which is paranoos I who speaks; rather, It speaks in me.” Idem, 117. 192 Rosalind Krauss writes an initial reprieve from a much more arduous topic, writing “ Lacan, it struck me, provided a key to this refusal, a way of giving it a name. Th en it’s language, one might say, it’s text that’s the refusal of vision. It’s the symbolic, the social, the law. But that makes no sense, one would have to add, because modernist visuality wants nothing more than to be the display of reason, of the rationa lized, the coded, the abstracted, the law. The opposition that pits language against vision poses no challenge to the modernist logic. For modernism, staking everything on form, is obedient to the terms of the symbolic. No problem, it would say.” Krauss : 19 93 , 22. 193 In analysis of Lacan’s L Schema, reproduced on page 22, Krauss ultimately finds: “for the imaginary relation, transecting the square by crossing it diagonally with a channel of visibility, reflecting the subject back to himself in the smooth surface of its mirror, plunges the other half of the graph into darkness. The ego’s traffic with the unconscious goes on out of sight. Somet hing dams up the transparency of the graph, cuts through its center, obscuring its relations one to the other .” Idem, 24 . 194 Krauss notes, and in reiteration of the previous note, that the issues with the L Schema: “ For the L Schema is not conceived as a static picture, but instead as a cycle: first the subject, then his objects, then his ego, then . . . The relationships ar e in permanent circulation, continuous flow. Their dynamic is productive, producing repetition. And the circuit interrupts the perfect symme try of the graph. For the imaginary relation, transecting the square by crossing it diagonally with a channel of vis ibility, reflecting the subject back to himself in the smooth surface of its mirror, plunges the other half of the graph into darkness. The ego’s traffic with the unconscious goes on out of sight. Something dams up the transparency of the graph, cuts through its center, obscuring its relations one to the other. Ruskin sees the pattern in the carpet, in the sea, in the aspens. Sees their form, their “pic ture.” What he does not see, cannot see, is how he has been made a captive of their picture. ” Ibid. 195 “The optical unconscious will claim for itself this dimension of opacity, of repetition, of time. It will map onto the modernist logic only to cut across its grain, to undo it, to figure it otherwise. ... Lacan pictures the unconscious relation to reason , to t he conscious mind, not as something different from consciousness, something outside it. He pictures it as inside consciousness, undermining it from within, fouling its logic, eroding its structure, even while appearing to leave the terms of that logic a nd that structure in place.” Ibid.

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134 creates a pellucid field, all surface and no depths .”196 There is, in its absences, presence, a ‘real’ presubjective structuring . The method of Lacanian psychoanalysis then aims to depict, as Krauss argues similarly of her intentions , that in spite of the shallow su rface world depicted in the L Schema, “...that the depths are there, to show that the graph’s transparency is only seeming: that it masks what is beneath it, or to use a stronger term, represses it .” The method employs a radical skepticism and searches fo r what is repressed, concealed, and yet present, to illustrate foremost the thing, but also the historical reasoning for its repression.197 Using a Lacanian method aims to illustrate the paranoia of knowledge, to puncture the self gratifying mconnaissance – jouissance in play, to appeal to the void and gap which is falsely concealed, and to attempt to source the real which is present no matter how inaccessible it may be. Moreover, it understands that a Lacanian comprehension is not limited to a singular subject alone. Rather, it is analysis of a socio culture and their relations as ‘Other’.198 I aim to use , where able, language and a semiotic square to source this socio cultural unconscious through some projected “ onto the modernist logic [specific f or Krauss] only to cut across its grain, to undo it, to figure it otherwise .”199 Fieldwork I use a variety observational themes, which taken together constitute the fieldwork in this thesis. These methods include numerous site visits for : the collection of artefacts and photography, the construction of fieldbooks , visiting the National We stern Stock Show (winter 2018), to circumscribe the extents of the area, to sleep on site, to have various casual and unstructured conversations with patrons, 196 Krauss continues to discuss the limitiations and potentials of the L Schema: “t he advantage of the graph as a picture of modernism and its visualist logic is that it is perfect. Both a perfect descriptor and a perfect pats y. Its frame which is a frame of exclusions is oh so easy to read as an ideological closure. Nothing enters from the outside, there where the political, the economic, the social, foregather. But neither does anything rise up into the graph from below. Its transparency, the logic of its relations, creates a pellucid field, all surface and no depths. ” Ibid. 197 Krauss concludes her opening chapter with the following reasons for a Lacanian method that challenges Lacan’s schema itself: “ in so doing this relation can account for two things at once: both the structure of operations of the repressed material and the reasons within the historical period of modernism for its repression. It therefore helps to map the objects — The Master’s Bedroom , the Rotoreliefs , Suspen ded Ball , and so forth— and to explain why a hegemonic modernism had to evacuate them from its field .” Idem, 27. 198 As Mills notes “but for Lacan, there can never be an absolute self, no autonomous ‘I’ or transcendental ego that exists apart from the Other; the ‘I’ is always linked ‘to socially elaborated situations’ (1936 – 1949, p. 5) mediated by linguistic structures ontologically constituted a priori within its social facticity. Thus the I is the Other .” Mills: 2014, 103. 199 Krauss: 1993, 24.

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135 business owner s, and visitors, to participate in various stages of site practices, to have an unstructured interview to gain insight into a local resident’s perspective on the location, and to do cument its changes. I a ccessed these locations via RTD bus , personal vehic le, and bicycle . I travelled on foot and by bike – both of which offered different findings, conditional results, spatial scales, and experiential insights. Taken together t hese themes provide insight into the conditions, character, and changes of the N ational Western Center and Stockyards, and helped generate a complex web of understanding. While e ach vi sit provided different insight s , the need to be innovative with the theme use d was often the result of onsite decisions requiring that I be open to and malleable with changing circumstances. Michael Genzuk writes in his article on ethnography and its successes and difficulties as a research method and methodology that “fieldwork is a highly personal experience”, one which integrates different procedure s and personal skills.200 Moreover, successful fieldwork requires a response to the location and situation in which the study occurs.201 Although I did not use ethnography , I find fieldwork successful at collecting data and gaining insight into the National Western Center, Stockyards, and surrounding contexts. Case study This thesis aims to develop a case study of the National Western Center, addressing the unseen, hidden, and invisible things that inform its experience and design. The case study addresses a specific time in the operations of the National Western Center. Overall, the NWC is considered an ‘edge’ landscape in this thesis; an eventual landscape on the edge of fundamental change, as it is primed for major redevelopment, rebranding, reidentifying , and restructuring as a part of Denver’s Corridor of Opportunity. Resultantly, unlike other moments in the National Western Center and Denver Stockyards, 200 Michael Genzu k writes in his article on ethnography entitled “A Synthesis of Ethnographic Research”, “Fieldwork is a highly personal experience. The meshing of fieldwork procedures with individual capabilities and situational variation is what makes fieldwork a highly personal experience. The validity and meaningfulness of the results obtained depend directly on the observer's skill, discipline, and perspective. This is both the strength and weakness of observational methods.” Genzuk, Michael. “A Synthesis of Ethnographic Research.” Occasional Papers Series . Center for Multilingual, Multicultural Research Eds. Los Angeles: Center for Multilingual, Multicultural Research, Rossier School of Education, University of Southern California, 200 3. http://www Ethnographic_Research.html. 6. 201 As Genzuk notes before providing a collection of various ‘guidelines’ for fieldwork, It is difficult, if not impossible, to provide a precise set of rules and procedures for conducting fieldwork. What you do depends on the situation, the purpose of the study, the nature of the setting, and the skills, interests, needs, and point of view of the observer.” Idem, 5.

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136 this particular moment presses the NWC up against and onto an edge where its future’s stretch and span are increasingly unknown. Insidious and estranged things are at work in such conditions. A case study research method is pertinent in this thesis. As Robert Yin writes, generically, “...the case study is used in many situations, to contribute to our knowledge of individual, group, organizational, social, political, and related phenomena.”202 The case study method, specifically , “...arises out of the desire to understand complex social phenomena. [The method] allows investigators to retain the holistic and meaningful characteristics of real life events....”203 Yin expands on ‘phenomena’ and ‘real life event’ contexts , clarif ying the distinct contextual and unique conditions of the case study ’s h olistic approach , as using “ all encompassing method—cov ering the logic of design, data collection techniques, and specific approaches to data analysis.”204 Not only does case study research approach the uniqueness of the situation of study in its entirety, but case study research taps all relevant methods to en velop an encompassed, holistic like study of the phenomena. In th ese sense s , the distinct contextual situations and changes at the NWC match well with case study research. Moreover, this thesis will use a case study method as it i s pertinent to probing how and why questions, such as those established in this thesis.205 Lastly, Mark Francis argues that case study research is pertinent to studies in landscape architecture. In his report commissioned by the Landscape Architectural Foundations for the study of 202 Yin, Robert K. Case Study Research: Design and Methods, Fourth Edition. Vol. 5 Applied Social Research Methods Series. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications, 2009. 4. 203 To clarify and in longer form, Yin writes: “In all of these situations, the distinctive need for case studies arises out of the desire to understand complex social phenomena. In brief, the case study method allows investigators to retain the holistic and meaningful characteristics of real -life events —such as individual life cycles, small group behavior, organizational and managerial processes, neighborhood change, school performance, international relations, and the maturation of industries.” Ibid. 204 Yin clarifies the definition of case study research to include the following: “And just what is this logic of design? ... 1. A case study is an empirical inquiry that • investigates a contemporary phenom enon in depth and within its real -life context, especially when • the boundaries between phenomenon and context are not clearly evident. In other words, you would use the case study method because you wanted to understand a real -life phenomenon in depth, but such understanding encompassed important contextual conditions —because they were highly pertinent to your phenomenon of study (e.g., Yin & Davis, 2007). ... Second, because phenomenon and context are not always distinguishable in real -life situations, other technical characteristics, including data collection and data analysis strategies, now become the second part of our technical definition of case studies: 2. The case study inquiry • copes with the technically distinctive situation in which there will be many more variables of interest than data points, and as one result • relies on multiple sources of evidence, with data needing to converge in a triangulating fashion, and as another result • benefits from the prior development of theoretical propositions to guide data collection and analysis. In essence, the twofold definition shows how case study research comprises an all -encompassing method—covering the logic of design, data collection techniques, and specific approaches to data analysis. In this sense, the case study is not limited to being a data collection tactic alone or even a design feature alone (Stoecker, 1991).” Idem, 18 205 “In general, ‘what’ questions may either be exploratory (in which case, any of the methods could be used) or about pr evalence (in which surveys or the analysis of archival records would be favored). ‘How’ and ‘why’ questions are likely to favor the us e of case studies, experiments, or histories.” Idem, 10.

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137 case study research pertinence to landscape architecture, he finds that, currently and (promising ly ) for the future, “a case study method is a highly appropriate and valuable approach in landscape architecture. The body of research and practice in lands cape architecture is already based to some degree on a case study method.”206 According ly , “case studies have a long and well established history in landscape architecture.”207 This tradition spans and has value for landscape architectural education, practic e, theory, and criticism.208 Moreover, he argues case studies have a role in communicating the field’s pertinence to the wider spectrum of western historical practices.209 Due to their ability to coalesce multiple frames of research, Francis argues, “case st udies can both better inform practice and advance the state of the art of landscape architectural research.”210 Based on his arguments, case study research has extraordinary value for the field of landscape architecture. This thesis will explore a case stu dy method as a result. By now, it is hopefully apparent that this broad assessment of theories and methods are useful for a critical inquiry into the unseen, hidden, and invisible. Under the overarching frame of a case study using an ablative logic within feminist, critical, non representational, and post structuralist frameworks, this thesis uses textual, visual, and archived methods and data under a Lacanian psychoanalytic 206 Francis, Mark. “A case study method for landscape architecture. ” Landscape Architecture Foundation, Washington, D.C. Washington, D.C.: Landscape Architecture Foundation, 1999 . 5. Not only is it pertinent to the field of landscape architecture, but this pertinence has ramifications for the future of the field. As Fra ncis writes, “this report summarizes a research project commissioned by the Landscape Architecture Foundation (LAF) in 1997 and completed in 1998 for development of a case study method for landscape architecture. The report concludes that a case study meth od is a highly appropriate and valuable approach in landscape architecture. The body of research and practice in landscape architecture is already based to some degree on a case study method. Many past designed projects, research studies and educational curricula have utilized a case study approach. The profession lends itself especially well to this type of critical analysis. With increased rigor and funding, the case study m ethod promises to be an increasingly common and effective form of analysis and dis semination for landscape architects.” Ibid. 207 Idem, 6. 208 Francis argues that the value of case study research is imperative to Landscape architecture. “In my review of the literatur e and in interviews, several valuable benefits of case studies were identi fied, especially for landscape architects. These are summarized in six general areas: teaching, research, practice, theory building, criticism, and communication and outreach.... ” Idem, 13 209 Francis argues that due to its tradition in landscape architectur e, case study research is “ landscape architects tell stories about and inform their colleagues and the public about their work. In doing so, they establish and communicate the profession’s unique place in history. Case studies have been frequently used in landscape architecture education and research. Practitioners have also utilized them to a more limited extent. As the profession develops more of its own theory and knowledge base and communicates this more broadly, the case study method promises to be an effective way to advance the profession.” Idem, 7. 210 Based on a critique of current landscape architectural research practices, Francis assess that “empirical and critical analys is is often missing. So, too, is the use of systematic methods. There i s an opportunity through the leadership of LAF in cooperation with organizations such as the American Society of Landscape Architects (ASLA), the Council of Educators in Landscape Architecture (CELA) and others to increase the level of rigor and applicatio n of case study analysis in landscape architecture. They can show how case studies can both better inform practice and advance the state of the art of landscape architectural research. Case study analysis is one of several well -established research methods in landscape architecture. Case studies typically utilize a variety of research methods. These include experimental (Ulrich, 1984), quasi -experimental (Zube, 1984), historical (Walker and Simo, 1994), story telling/anecdotal documentation (McHarg, 1996) a s well as multimethod approaches.” Idem, 10.

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138 comprehension. I argue that this broad selection of theories and methods are applicable for the research and interrogation of the informative role played by the unseen, hidden, and invisible in the experience and design of landscape architecture. Map Moving now to the map of the work, one must spend some time in inquiry of ‘truth’. As it has already appeared in different contexts within this Act , the definition and comprehension of truth must be explored. In so doing, this thesis purports a radical proposal of truth , one of which, it is proposed, can be mapped (always inadequately) using a series of drawings proposed to examine the unseen, hidden, and invisible. This is much in the same sense that Corner considers mappings verses planning.211 In attempts to reveal the role of the unseen, hidden, and invisible, this thesis proposes and constructs a fluid and re presentational series of mappings of the milieu, ever in flux, ever becoming. The drawings in this thesis find support in the vein of landscape mapping and drawing traditions , from artists and practitioners such as James Corner , Anadura Mathur, Ian McHarg, Mark Tansey, Mark Nystrom, and CHORA . Hermeneutics The foremost premise of truth here is that, regardless of topic or subject, there is absolutely n o thing as Absolute truth. By this I mean, there is no thing that is a truth not open to critique, analysis, transgression, support, or relation. Even concerning conventional ‘truths’ such as the existence of gravity or the death of a living creature, I propose, that still these are open for analysis, critique, or some line of question or inquiry. Granted, I will not test the verifiability of gravity by jumping off the roof of the structure at 1250 14th St, Denver, CO 80202. To take this point to that extreme is to lose it along the way, and ultimately miss it . Gravity surely e xists and things ‘die’, I am not challenging that , nor am I challenging some facts. Rather, I am challenging what we know, how we know, what is, etc., the facticity of facts, all of which are open to questioning. To grant some thing the a priori of abs ol ute truth negates the social and relational role of its production – regardless if produced by human or nonhuman processes. By no absolute truth, I mean to say, that therefore, that truths are interpret at ive. 211 See the aforementioned section on James Corner’s arguments of mapping.

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139 To work with interpretation one finds it requires a thick degree of inquiry. By this, Clifford Geertz , when discussing the ro le of ethnography in cultural research in his article “Thick Description: Toward an Interpretive Theory of Culture” argues, “what defines it [ethnography] is the kind of inte llectual effort it is: an elaborate venture in, to borrow a notion from Gilbert Ryle, ‘thick description. ’”212 What qualifies ‘thick description’ for Geertz, is not simply the actions practiced or produced, such as his analysis of the blinking of eyes, but rather the intellectual rigor of “...stratified hierarchy of meaningful structures in terms of which...are produced, perceived, and interpreted, and without which they would fact exist, no matter what anyone did or didn’t do with his eyelids.”213 F or Geertz though , the role of cultural theory and analysis is precisely to extract a thick description, an ‘inscription’ of interpretative experience, and to ‘diagnose’ what the analyzed structures mean for the practitioner and culture analyzed.214 The role is to extract appropriate and relational meaning . Y et, this interpretative comprehension means following Geertz’s proposal that culture itself is a semiotic structure, one enwrapping subjects “ webs of significance...and the analysis of it to be ther efore not an experimental science in search of law but an interpretive one in search of meaning.”215 212 Geertz, Clifford. “Thick Description: Toward an Interpretive Theory of Culture.” The Interpretation of Cultures: Selected Essays. New Yo rk: Basic Books, 1973. 330. 56. To clarify, Geertz is writing about the anthropological method of ethnography in the interpretative act to understand a ‘culture’. He writes, “in anthropology, or anyway social anthropology, what the practioners do is et hnography. And it is in understanding what ethnography is, or more exactly what doing ethnography is , that a start can be made toward grasping what anthropological analysis amounts to as a form of knowledge. This, it must immediately be said, is not a matt er of methods. From one point of view, that of the textbook, doing ethnography is establishing rapport, selecting informants, transcribing texts, taking genealogies, mapping fields, keeping a diary, and so on. But it is not these things, techniques and received procedures, that define the enterprise. What defines it is the kind of intellectual effort it is: an elaborate venture in, to borrow a notion from Gilbert Ryle, ‘thick description.’” Ibid. 213 “But the point is that between what Ryle calls the ‘thin de scription’ of what the rehearse (parodist, winker, twitcher . . .) is doing (‘rapidly contracting his right eyelids’) and the ‘thick description’ of what he is doing (‘practicing a burlesque of a friend faking a wink to deceive an innocent into thinking a conspiracy is in motion’) lies the object of ethnography: a stratified hierarchy of meaningful structures in terms of which twitches, winks, fake winks, parodies, rehearsals of parodies are produced, perceived, and interpreted, and without which they would not (not even the zero -form twitches, which, as a cultural category, are as much non-winks as winks are non -twitches) in fact exist, no matter what anyone did or didn’t do with his eyelids.” Idem, 7. 214 Geertz writes that “...a view of how theory functions in an interpretive science suggests that the distinction, relative in any case, that appears in the experimental or observational sciences between ‘description’ and ‘explanation’ appears here as one, even more relative, between ‘inscription’ (‘thick descr iption’) and ‘specification’ (‘diagnosis’) — between setting down the meaning particular social actions have for the actors whose actions they are, and stating, as explicitly as we can manage, what the knowledge thus attained demonstrates about the society in which it is found and, beyond that, about social life as such. Our double task is to uncover the conceptual structures that inform our subjects’ acts, the ‘said’ of social discourse, and to construct a system of analysis in whose terms what is generic to those structures, what belongs to them because they are what they are, will stand out against the other determinants of human behavior.” Idem, 27. 215 Geertz writes, “the concept of culture I espouse, and whose utility the essays below attempt to demonstr ate, is essentially a semiotic one. Believing, with Max Weber, that man is an animal suspended in webs of significance he himself has spun, I take culture to be those webs, and the analysis of it to be therefore not an experimental science in search of law but an interpretive one in search of meaning. It is explication I am after, construing social expressions on their surface enigmatical. But this

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140 T he meanings , not laws, in the interpretative act of thick description are thereby not absolute – if the construal of meaning from an interpretative cultura l theory is to be upheld, then the twofold act of ‘inscription’ and ‘diagnosis’ are likewise to be upheld. Moreover, these two conditions are similarly not absolute; they imply conditional and relational truths. G eertz’s analysis find that of the two conditions of his theory : “ is not its own master”216 and “... it is not... predictive.”217 These conditions attribute the relational characteristics of meanings to the contexts of thick description, and determine that the theory is not alienated, a priori, or deterministic. Neither are the se meanings extracted in thick description and diagnosis, wholly personal and entirely relative. There are limitations, since “culture is public because meaning is ...[and] culture consists of socially established structu res of meaning.”218 Thus, the meanings are not such that anything goes nor are they absolute. pronouncement, a doctrine in a clause, demands itself some explication.” Idem, 5. See also when Geertz comment s on the how ethnography and anthropology, and their relation with culture is best suited: “but it is an aim to which a semiotic concept of culture is peculiarly well adapted. As interworked systems of construable signs (what, ignoring provincial usages, I would call symbols), culture is not a power, something to which social events, behaviors, institutions, or processes can be causally attributed; it is a context, something within which they can be intelligibly —that is, thickly — described.” Idem, 14. 216 Ge ertz argues, “the whole point of a semiotic approach to culture is, as I have said, to aid us in gaining access to the conceptual world in which our subjects live so that we can, in some extended sense of the term, converse with them. The tensi on between t he pull of this need to penetrate an unfamiliar universe of symbolic action and the requirements of technical advance in the theory of culture, between the need to grasp and the need to analyze, is, as a result, both necessarily great and essenti ally irrem ovable. Indeed, the further theoretical development goes, the deeper the tension gets. This is the first condition for cultur al theory: it is not its own master. As it is unseverable from the immediacies thick description presents, its freedom to shape its elf in terms of its internal logic is rather limited. What generality it contrives to achieve grows out of the delicacy of its distinctions, not the sweep of its abstractions.” Idem, 24-25. 217 Continuing, Geertz writes, “In the study of culture the signifie rs are not symptoms or clusters of symptoms, but symbolic acts or clusters of symbolic acts, and the aim is not therapy but the analysis of social discourse. ... Thus we are lead to the se cond condition of cultural theory: it is not, at least in the strict meaning of the term, predictive. The diagnostician doesn’t predict measles; he decides that someone has them, or at the very most anticipates that someone is rather likely shortly to get them. But this limitation, which is real enough, has commonly been both misunderstood and exaggerated, because it has been taken to mean that cultural interpretation is merely post facto: that, like the peasant in the old story, we first shoot the holes in the f ence and then paint the bull’s -eyes around them. ... It is true that in the clinical style of theoretical formulation, conceptualization is directed toward the task of generating interpretations of matters already in hand, not toward projecting outcomes of experimental manipulations or deducing future states of a det ermined system. But that does not mean that theory has only to fit (or, more carefully, to generate cogent interpretations of) realities past; it has also to survive —intellectually survive —realities to come. Although we formulate our interpretation of ...[ some] occurrence, sometimes long after, the theoretical framework in terms of which such an interpretation is made must be capable of continuing to yield defensible interpretations as new social phenomena swim into view. Although one starts any effort at thick description, beyond the obvious and superficial, from a state of general bewilderment as to what the devil is going on —trying to find one’s feet —one does not start (or ought not) intellectually empty handed. Theoretical ideas are not created wholly an ew in each study; as I have said, they are adopted from other, related studies, and, refined in the process, applied to new interpretive problems.” Idem, 26-27. 218 Geertz writes of the restrictions and limitations of the cultural bounds of interpretative tr uths: “culture is public because meaning is. You can’t wink (or burlesque one) without knowing what counts as winking or how, physically, to contract your eyelids, and you can’t conduct a sheep raid (or mimic one) without knowing what it is to steal a shee p and how practically to go about it. But to draw from such truths the conclusion that knowing how to wink is winking and knowing how to steal a sheep is sheep raiding is to betray as deep a confusion as, taking thin descriptions for thick, to identify winking with eyelid contractions or sheep raiding with chasing woolly animals out of pastures. The cognitivist fallacy — that culture consists (to quote another spokesman for the movement, Stephen Tyler) of ‘mental phenomena which can [he means ‘should’] be a nalyzed by normal

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141 Invoking Geertz’s analysis of cultural interpretation is intended to elide interpretative meanings to some relational , interpretative truth. It is understood th at meaning and truth are not synonymous. Yet the first OED definition of a thing’s ‘meaning’ states it is some “ ...underlying truth....”219 Moreover, Geertz argues that the cultural interpretat ive theory he promotes aims to draw conclusions derived from an iterative guessing/checking: “cultural analysis is (or should be) guessing at meanings, assessing the guesses, and drawing explanatory conclusions from the better guesses, not discovering the Continent of Meaning and mapping out its bodiless landscape.”220 The implication is to ultimately attain that which is as truthful as able , a meaning that is a truth. Geertz ’s argument appears to pertain to the difference s in an interpretative t ruth and an absolute truth. Resultantly , the interpretative meaning in Ge ertz’s wo rk eventually claims a truth, and such are conditional, contextual, and relational; in short , truths are contingent on interpretation. Geertz’s semiotic cultural theory of interpretative meanings, the intellectual search and inscription of ‘thick descriptions’ to claim some contextual and practiced truth promotes (whether out rightly or not) a hermeneutic method. As a result, in the discussion of interpretative truths, we turn next methods similar to those of mathematics and logic’ — is as destructive of an effective use of the concept as are the behaviorist and idealist fallacies to which it is a misdrawn correction. ... The generalized attack on privacy theories of meaning is, since early Husserl and late Wittgenstein so much a part of modern thought that it need not be developed once more here. What is necessar y is to see to it that the news of it reaches anthropology; and in particular that it is made clear that t o say that culture consists of socially established structures of meaning in terms of which people do such things as signal conspiracies and join them or perceive insults and answer them, is no more to say that it is a psychological phenomenon, a character istic of someone’s mind, personality, cognitive structure, or whatever, than to say that Tantrism, genetics, the progressive form of the verb, the classification of wines, the Common Law, or the notion of ‘a conditional curse’ (as Westermarck defined the concept of ‘ ar in terms of which Cohen pressed his claim to damages) is. What, in a place like Morocco, most prevents those of us who grew up winking other winks or attending other sheep from grasping what people are up to is not ignorance as to how cogniti on works (though, especially as, one assumes, it works the same among them as it does among us, it would greatly help to have less of that too) as a lack of familiarity with the imaginative universe within which their acts are signs.” Idem, 12 -13. 219 The fi rst OED definition of ‘meaning’ is, “ n.2 1. The significance, purpose, underlying truth, etc., of something.” “meaning, n.2.” OED Online , Oxford University Press, January 2018, Accessed 26 March 2018. 220 Moreover, Geertz im plies the acquisition of an appropriate and fitting meaning, thereby implying a truth through an iterative goal for correctness or appropriateness. He writes “The situation is even more delicate, because, as already noted, what we inscribe (or try to) is not raw social discourse, to which, because save very marginally or very specially, we are not actors, we do not have direct access, but only that small part of it which our informants can lead us into understanding. This is not as fa tal as it sounds, for, in fact, not all Cretans are liars, and it is not necessary to know everything in order to understand something. But it does make the view of anthropological analysis as the conceptual manipulation of discovered facts, a logical reconstruction o f a mere r eality, seem rather lame. To set forth symmetrical crystals of significance, purified of the material complexity in which they were located, and then attribute their existence to autogenous principles of order, universal properties of the human mi nd, or va st, a priori weltanschauungen is to pretend a science that does not exist and imagine a reality that cannot be found. Cultural analysis is (or should be) guessing at meanings, assessing the guesses, and drawing explanatory conclusions from the better guess es, not discovering the Continent of Meaning and mapping out its bodiless landscape.” Geertz: 1973, 20. His arguments suggest the difference between interpretative and absolute truths, or abstract and projective absolute truths, ‘landscapes’ t hat are ever ‘bodiless’.

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142 to hermeneutics. James Duncan and David Ley, in an article on di fferent modes of representation and its relation to mimesis, write that the hermeneutic method “...acknowledges the role of the interpreter and therefore rules out mimesis in the strict sense of the term. ...[ Hermeneutics ] recognizes that interpretation is a dialogue between one’s data – other places and other people – and the researcher who is embedded within a particular intellectual and institutional context.”221 The hermeneutic method implicates a web of interpretation, it also honestly implicates a spec ific western intellectual tradition in which it originates.222 In this complex interrelated web of interpret at ive data, the researcher is just one actor related with the readers and the multiple distinct categorical texts, and the represented texts. Cons idering produced texts, Duncan and Ley identify three different texts: the produced text itself, “...the extra textual field of reference, the ‘data’ used in the production of the text” and “...the inter textual field of reference, elements culled from oth er texts....”223 Taken together, the initial text that is produced “... is not a mirroring of the extra textual within the text, but rather representation , the production of something which did not exist before outside the text.”224 Moreover, in the producti on of something that did not exist prior, Duncan and Ley argue that the re presented text is always a disruptive, rupturing process of 221 Duncan and Ley: 2013, 3. “The fourth type of practice is interpretative and its basis is hermeneutics. Unlike the first two positions, it acknowledges the role of the interpreter and therefore rules out mimesis in the strict sense of the ter m. Rather than setting up a model of a universal, value -neutral researcher whose task is to proceed in such a manner that s/he is converted into a cipher, this approach recognizes that interpretation is a dialogue between one’s data – other places and other people – and the researcher who is embedded within a particular intellectual and institutional context. It is precisely the interpersonal and intercultural nature of the hermeneutic method which poses a challenge to mimesis, since a ‘perfect copy’ of the world clearly is not possible if the interpreter is present in that textual copy.” Ibid. 222 Duncan and Ley write that this is why they prefer the hermeneutic method over others, because it does not deny its role power relations of the production of kno wledge: “we would argue, therefore, that hermeneutics provides a more satisfactory form of representation than that offered by postmodern ethnography because it allows dialogue between the researcher and his or her subject and yet does not misrepresent the power relations that are structured into the Western academy.” Idem, 9. This is imperative for the hermeneutic method, one that requires the interpretation of the researcher: “Rather than attempting to ban ish the historically situated observer, hermeneut ics acknowledges the collision between the data and the interpreter (Gadamer 1986: 273 ).” Idem, 8 223 Duncan and Ley argue, “within hermeneutics one may distinguish three major components of a representation (Iser 1989). The first is the text which the acad emic produces (whether it be a journal article, a book or simply an idea which has yet to be committed to print). The second is the extra -textual field of reference, the ‘data’ used in the production of the text. The third is the inter -textual field of reference, elements culled from other texts (both theoretical and empirical) which are used in the production of the text.” Idem, 9. 224 Continuing, “what this model of academic work suggests is not a mirroring of the extra-textual within the text, but rather r e presentation, the production of something which did not exist before outside the text.” Ibid.

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143 interpretation, for in its production it sources the extra and inter textual fields yet chooses, includes, and excludes.225 The textual production, in this way, is always disruptive and transgressive. The hermeneutic reception of the text continues th e cycle. As Duncan and Ley write , “the same processes are at work in the consumption of texts as in their production”226 perpet uating the interpretat ive cycle by the invocation of differential inter/ extra textural worlds. Moreover, since the production of texts are disruptive, reader re produced text s indicate that the disrupti on is emergent, as the initial production is perpetua lly read, interpreted , and re produced, adding to the inter t extual field in which it participates through its consumption or reception.227 Thus, the consumed text is never simply the text itself, but rather the text and the re produced versions of that tex t. This implies that the text is fluid, always the meeting point of multiple forces of interpretation (and re interpretation) in the texts, their production, and consumption. The text is then always an inter pret ed truth, or as Duncan and Ley argue, t he i nterpretative cycle is always in the production of partial truths.228 And partial in spite of its “... transformation of the extra textural world ...” ;229 partial because it is a nonabsolute truth always produced via interpretation. Before continuing with her meneutics, it is beneficial to pause and briefly define ‘truth’ in this thesis. As already esta blished, this thesis purports an alternate proposal of truth . Yet, simply claiming 225 Duncan and Ley argue: “this process of academic production is essentially disruptive of the extra -textual world. The text disrupts the extra -textual field of reference, by highlighting some elements within the field and deleting others. Elements are reshuffled within the text, thereby splitting up the fields of reference through an act of selection. The basis for this sele ction and reshuffling lies largely within the inter -textual field of reference. Both the inter -textual and extra-textual fields serve as contexts for each other within the text. Each plays off the other and helps define the possibilities of interpretation. As such, the w orld within the text is a partial truth, a transformation of the extra -textual world, rather than something wholly different from it.” Ibid. 226 Ibid. Moreover, “the reader understands a text by situating it within two interpenetrating fields of reference the extratextual, the reader’s experiences in the world, and the inter -textual, the context of other texts.” Ibid. 227 Duncan and Ley outline how the reader acts in the same set of processes as the producer. “In either case the reader (by reordering the relationship between the text, the extra-textual and the inter -textual) will produce a different interpretation of the text than that which the author intends, thereby extending the hermeneutic cycle. As long as there are readers for a text its reproduction will continue. In this sense, representation is not only a collective but also an iterative process.” Idem, 10. 228 The authors outline the production of partial truths in hermeneutics as an interpreted extra textural mitigated in the text by an inter textural. “The social constr uction of knowledge is pervasive; values and valuing are integral to knowing, making any claim to objectivity untenable. How does the scholar engage such a contingent reality? One conclusion is to accept a radical relat ivism where knowing is culturally an d socially contained. More hopeful is the view of representations as partial truths, the outcome of a relation between an empirical world and a historical subject. This was the view of Karl Mannheim, one of the early contributors to the sociology of knowle dge, who contrasted an epistemology of radical relativism with what he called relationalism, a hermeneutic endeavour where interpretation problematizes the relations between the empirical world and historically situated subjects (Mannheim 1952).” Idem, 7. Also “both the inter -textual and extra-textual fields serve as contexts for each other within the text. Each plays off the other and helps define the possibilities of interpretation. As such, the world within the text i s a partial truth, a transformation of the extra-textual world, rather than something wholly different from it.” Idem, 9. 229 See previous note. Ibid.

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144 that truths are interpreted is insufficient. By examining the OED definitio n of truth and true ,230 the definitions direct the reader to understanding t ruth or true as something inrelation . As per truth, for 230 The OED definition of ‘truth’ is, “ A. n. I. Loyalty, faithfulness, etc.; cf. troth n. I. 1. The quality or character of being true to a person, principle, cause, etc.; steadfast allegiance; faithfulness, fidelity, loyalty, constancy. In later use only with to . Now somewhat rare . 2. a. (One’s) faith or loyalty as pledged in a solemn agreement or undertaking; a firm promise, an engagement, a covenant; = troth n. 3. rare (arch . and poet .) after Middle English. b. spec. In reference to marriage or (occasionally in early use) betrothal. Obs. rare (chiefly poet .) after 16th cent. 3. In early use: honesty, uprightness, righteousness, virtue, integ rity. Later: (more narrowly) disposition to speak or act truthfully or without deceit; truthfulness, veracity; sincerity. Now rare . 4. a. Faith, trust, confidence. Cf. troth n. 1a. Obs. b. Belief; (as a count noun) a statement of belief, a creed. Cf. trot h n. 1b. Obs. II. Something that conforms with fact or reality. 5. a. True statement; report or account which is in accordance with fact or reality. Chiefly in to tell ( also speak, say) the truth (also (now arch .) without the ): to speak truly, to report the matter as it really is; see also say v.1 and int . Phrases 3, speak v . 10, tell v . 10a. b. As a count noun: a true statement or proposition. c. Understanding of nature or reality; the totality of what is known to be true; knowledge. Cf. sense A. 6. d. A lso with capital initial. A game in which each participant, in turn, has to answer truthfully a question put to him or her by one of the other players or, in later ver sions of the game (typically named after the various options available to players, e.g. t ruth, dare, and promise ), fulfil an alternative requirement. See also truth or dare at Phrases 3d, truth game n . at Compounds 4. 6. a. In general or abstract sense: that which is true, real, or actual; reality; spec. (in religious use) spiritual reality a s the subject of revelation or object of faith (often not distinguishable from sense A. 8). Often in figurative contexts. b. This concept personified; (in later use sometimes) spec. the goddess of truth in ancient Egyptian mythology. 7. a. With the . The f act or facts; the actual state of the case; the matter, situation, or circumstance as it really is. Cf. sense A. 5a. b. A fixed or established principle, an axiom; a verified fact. Sometimes coloured by sense A. 6a. Cf. sense A. 5b, for a truth at Phrases 1b, of a truth at Phrases 1d. c. That which is real or genuine, as distinguished from an imitation; the genuine article. Obs . d. The intrinsic nature of something. Obs. rare. 8. a. True religious belief or doctrine; orthodoxy. Often with the , denoting a particular form of belief or teaching held to be true. Cf. sense A. 6. b. An instance of this; an article of true religious belief or doctrine. 9. Conduct or actions characteristic of devotion to God and in accordance with true religious belief; piety. Chi efly in to do the truth (formerly also to do truth ): to act or behave righteously and piously. Cf. sense A. 3. Now arch . (in later use chiefly U.S. ). III. Conformity with fact, reality, a standard, a pattern, etc. 10. a. Conformity with fact; agreement w ith reality; accuracy or correctness in a statement, thought, etc. b. The essence of some quality or characteristic. Obs. rare. c. poet . Reality, actual existence, as contrasted with the imagination, a dream, etc. Obs. 11. Agreement or conformity with a s tandard, rule, or pattern; accuracy, correctness; spec. correctness of position or alignment. Formerly also: genuineness. Cf. true adj . 6a, 6c. Now rare . 12. a. Esp. in art or literature: conformity with the reality of what is being represented; accuracy of representation or depiction; the quality of being true to life. b. Archit . Conformity between a work’s appearance and reality; absence of techniques (e.g. the use of paint or plaster to imitate stonework) which create a f alse impression of the materials or methods of construction used. IV. Technical senses. 13. Particle Physics. One of the flavours (flavour n. 5) that characterize quarks and leptons, more often termed top (top n.1 18); a quark with this flavour (also truth quark). B. adv . (and int .) Expressing assent; cf. true adj . 4b. Also as an intensifier: = in truth at Phrases 1c. Also as int. Cf. troth adv . Obs. ( arch . and poet . in later use), God’s truth n. and int . (b) at god n . and int . Compounds 2a.” “ truth, n. and adv. (and int.).” OED Onl ine , Oxford University Press, January 2018, Accessed 27 March 2018. See also , the OED definition of ‘true’ is, “ A . adj . I. Loyal, trustworthy, and related senses. 1. a. Of a person: showing unwavering support and respect for a leader, country, cause, etc.; faithful to one’s word; loyal, constant, steadfast. b. Of a personal attribute, quality, action, etc.: loyal, faithful; constant, steadfast. Obs. c. With to , unto . Loyal or faithful to a person, cause, promise, etc. Cf. to be true to oneself at Phrases 2. d. Of an object, material, or its condition: not liable to break or give way; firm; reliable; sound. Also of a colour: not liable to alter or fade; fixed. Obs. 2. Of a person, a person’s character, etc.: honourable, virtu ous, trustworthy; honest. Also of an action, feeling, etc.: sincere, unfeigned. Now somewhat arch . II. In accordance with fact or reality. 3. Of a person: telling, or disposed to tell, the truth; truthful, veracious. Also fig . Obs . 4. a. Of a statement, idea, belief, etc.: in accordance with fact; agreeing with reality; correct. b. it is true (that) (formerly also true it is (that) ): introducing a statement and emphasizing its veracity. In later use also with concessive force. c. spec. As the first eleme nt of compounds with confession, life, story , etc., used attrib . to designate a magazine containing accounts claiming to be based on real circumstances or events (despite an apparent element of fictitiousness or sensationalism), or to designate a story of this kind. III. In accordance with a standard, rule, or ideal, and related senses. 5. In accordance with or sanctioned by law; valid; rightful; legitimate. Now somewhat literary . 6. a. Of an instrument, mechanical part, etc.: accurately formed, position ed, or aligned; correctly calibrated. Also of a line or something linear: straight, accurate; without deviation. b. Suitable for a specified or implicit purpose; of the requisite standard or type; proper, appropriate, fitting. Obs . c. In accordance with a standard, pattern, or rule; accurate, exact, correct; ( Music ) correct in pitch; exactly in tune. d. Of a bearing, compass reading, direction, etc.: measured or expressed relative to true north rather than magnetic north. e. Of the wind: steady, constant, w ithout variation in direction or force. f. Of the ground or a surface prepared for ball games, esp. cricket: even, level, smooth. 7. a. Real, genuine, authentic; not false or spurious; that rightly or properly bears the name. Also: in accordance with or ap proaching an ideal example of its kind. b. spec . In reference to a classification of things (e.g. minerals, plants, animals, etc.). c. Law . Of a bill of indictment: found by a grand jury to be supported by sufficient evidence to justify the hearing of a ca se. Now hist . exc. U.S. d. Of a breed of animal or variety of plant:

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145 instance, what is truth is : ‘true to a person’,231 something ‘pledged in a solemn agreement ’,232 or ‘a particular form of belief or teaching held to be true’233; what qualifies something as truth then is a relational characteristic to something else. Neither of which are de facto truth alone or absolute, without the other; instead the relation itself is truth. Moreover, what is tru e is, for instance : ‘showing unwavering support and respect for a leader, country, cause, etc.’ ,234 ‘ of a person , a person’s character, etc.: honourable, virtuous, trustworthy ’ ,235 ‘consistent or exactly agreeing with’ ,236 ‘ without variation in one or more desir ed or characteristic traits’ ,237 or ‘expressing agreement or consent’238; what qualifies something as true is similarly relational, even to one’s self. The true thing is qualified by how the relation operates. Yet , the ‘ agreement with ’ , ‘ accordance to ’ , and ‘ conformity with ’ (etc.) riddled throughout the definitions implies more than si mply something relational. F or instance, what is truth is: something ‘which is in accordance with fact or reality’,239 an ‘ understanding of nature or reality’,240 a ‘ conformity w ith fact; agreement with reality; accuracy or correctness in a statement, thought’,241 and a ‘ conformity producing offspring whose traits vary little from those characteristic of the breed or variety, or fitting a desired ideal. C f. sense C. 5. Obs. 8. Of fiction, a fictional character, etc.: devised in accordance with reality; realistic; believable; = true to life at Phrases 3b. 9. With to . Consistent or exactly agreeing with; mindful or observant of; accurately representing. Now chiefly in true to nature , true to life , true to form , etc.: see Phrases 3. B. n. 1. a. A loyal, faithful, or trustworthy person. Obs. b. spec. With capital initial. A member of the Scottish Presbyterian or Whig party in the 17th cent. Cf. true blue adj . 2a. Obs . rare . 2. Frequently with the . Something which is v eracious or consistent with fact; truth, reality. C. adv . 1. Loyally, faithfully. Formerly also: sincerely; confidently ( obs .). Now rare and arch . 2. In accordance with a rule or standard; exactly, accurately, correctly. 3. Truthfully, veraciously; cor rectly. Now rare and somewhat arch . 4. As a sentence adverb: truly, assuredly, certainly. 5. Without variation in one or more desired or characteristic traits, esp. in to breed true . Cf. A. 7d. D. int . Expressing agreement or consent: ‘it is true’, ‘ind eed’.” “true, adj., n., adv., and int.” OED Online , Oxford University Press, January 2018, Accessed 27 March 2018. 231 “ 1. The quality or character of being true to a person, principle, cause, etc.; steadfast allegiance; faithf ulness, fidelity, loyalty, constancy. In later use only with to . Now somewhat rare .” From “ truth, n. and adv. (and int.).” My italics. 232 “ 2. a. (One’s) faith or loyalty as pledged in a solemn agreement or undertaking; a firm promise, an engagement, a coven ant; = troth n. 3. rare (arch . and poet .) after Middle English.” Idem. My italics. 233 “ 8. a. True religious belief or doctrine; orthodoxy. Often with the , denoting a particular form of belief or teaching held to be true. Cf. sense A. 6.” Ibid. My italics. 234 “ 1. a. Of a person: showing unwavering support and respect for a leader, country, cause, etc.; faithful to one’s word; loyal, constant, steadfast.” From “true, adj., n., adv., and int.” My italics. 235 “ 2. Of a person, a person’s character, etc.: honourable, virtuous, trustworthy; honest. Also of an action, feeling, etc.: sincere, unfeigned. Now somewhat arch .” Ibid. My italics. 236 “ 9. With to . Consistent or exactly agreeing with; mindful or observant of; accurately representing.” Ibid. My italics. 237 “ C 5. Wi thout variation in one or more desired or characteristic traits, esp. in to breed true . Cf. A. 7d.” Ibid. My italics. 238 “ D. int. Expressing agreement or consent: ‘it is true’, ‘indeed’.” “ true, adj., n., adv., and int.” Ibid. My italics. 239 “ 5. a. True stat ement; report or account which is in accordance with fact or reality. Chiefly in to tell ( also speak, say) the truth (also (now arch .) without the ): to speak truly, to report the matter as it really is; see also say v.1 and int . Phrases 3, speak v . 10, tel l v . 10a.” From “truth, n. and adv. (and int.).” My italics. 240 “ 5. c. Understanding of nature or reality; the totality of what is known to be true; knowledge. Cf. sense A. 6.” Ibid. My italics. 241 “ 10. a. Conformity with fact; agreement with reality; accura cy or correctness in a statement, thought, etc.” Ibid. My italics.

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146 between a work’s appearance and reality’.242 And for true, what is true is, ‘ in accordance with fact’,243 ‘ in accordance with or sanctioned by law’ ,244 someth ing ‘that rightly or properly bears the name’,245 or ‘ in accordance with a rule or standard; exactly, accurately, correctly.’246 Here, then, we get to a better comprehension of ‘how’ the r elationship is true or is truth – based not only relationally, but attr ibutively. The quality or distinguishing factor of truth and true is based on some attributive direction, force, guidance , and/or ascription, even in senses sugg esting submission or docility . As a result, t he relational components of truth and true imply that something is aligned with another thing, as in thing s in alignment . What is a truth and what is true is thereby not only relational, it is qualified by some correctness, or an alignment with and to some attributive ‘other’ thing. By this, take the f irst definition of ‘alignment’, “the result of arranging in or along a line, or into appropriate relative positions; the layout or orientation of a thing or things disposed in this way”247 or, the fourth definition of ‘align’, “to associate oneself with a pa rticular cause, movement, group, etc.; to join oneself to; to side with or support. ... To bring into agreement or alliance with a particular cause, movement, group, etc. ... To associate with a particular cause, movem ent, group, etc.; to side with .”248 In this way, true is by means of what is “...accurately formed, positioned, or aligned; correctly calibrated. ... [Something that is] straight, accurate; 242 “ 12 b. Archit . Conformity between a work’s appearance and reality; absence of techniques (e.g. the use of paint or plaster to imitate stonework) which create a false impression of the mat erials or methods of construction used.” Ibid. My italics. 243 “ 4. a. Of a statement, idea, belief, etc.: in accordance with fact; agreeing with reality; correct.” From “true, adj., n., adv., and int.” My italics. 244 “ 5. In accordance with or sanctioned by law; valid; rightful; legitimate. Now somewhat literary .” Ibid. My italics. 245 “ 7. a. Real, genuine, authentic; not false or spurious; that rightly or properly bears the name. Also: in accordance with or approaching an ideal example of its kind.” Ibid. My ita lics. 246 “ C 2. In accordance with a rule or standard; exactly, accurately, correctly. Ibid, My italics. 247 The OED definition of ‘alignment’ is, “ n. ... 1. a. The result of arranging in or along a line, or into appropriate relative positions; the layout or orientation of a thing or things disposed in this way. Also: a group of things forming a line. b. The action of arranging in or along a line, or into appropriate relative positions; the action of bringing into line; an instance of thi s. 2. Mil . Arrangement of soldiers in a line or lines; such a line or lines. 3. The route or course of a road, railway, or canal. 4. Astron . = allineation n. 2. Now rare . 5. Archaeol . A linear arrangement of three or more standing stones. 6. Chiefly Polit. The grouping of pa rties, powers, etc., on the basis of shared political or ideological goals; a group consisting of such parties or powers. Cf. align v. 4. 7. Biochem . The process of matching the residues in two or more protein or nucleic sequences, in order to identify re gions of homology; an instance of this; the result of this. Also sequence alignment .” “alignment, n.” OED Online , Oxford University Press, January 2018, Accessed 27 March 2018. 248 The OED definition of ‘align’ is, “ v. ... Chiefl y Mil . in early use. 1. trans. Hunting . Of a male animal: to copulate with (a female). Obs. rare. 2. trans . a. To arrange, place, or lay (two or more things) in or along a line; to bring into alignment. b. To bring (a thing) into alignment with something else. Also with with, to, on . c. To be in alignment with (something else). Obs. rare. 3. intr . a. To fall into line with something else; to be in alignment with . Also with on . b. Esp. of two or more things: to form a line, line up; to come into alignment. 4. a. trans . ( refl .). With with , to . To associate oneself with a particular cause, movement, group, etc.; to join oneself to; to side with or support. b. trans . To bring into agreement or alliance with a particular cause, movement, group, etc. Also with to . c. intr . To associate with a particular cause, movement, group, etc.; to side with . Also with to .” “align, v.” OED Online , Oxford University Press, January 2018, Accessed 27 March 2018.

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147 without deviation”249, as what is often used contemporarily in construction, as in ‘truing up a board’. Th us, what is ‘truth’ and what is ‘true’, is precisely how things are related, how well aligned a thing is with another thing . I t is absolutely , not Abs olute, but precisely relational, interpret at ive , and plural ; not necessarily aligned in a geometric line , per say, but correlated in ‘appropriate relative positions’, that are drawn ‘into agreement or alliance with’ and ‘associated with’, as ‘accurately formed, positioned’ and ‘without deviation’ from that relational thing. The multiplicitous or pluralistic role of a truth and multiple truths as alignment illustrates the contentious and political role of a truth and truths. In terms of hermeneutics and Duncan and Ley’s ‘partial truths’, understanding truth as an interpretative alignment, correlates text s alo ng with the extra and inter textural worlds. Turning to Hans Georg Gadamer may assist here. In his introduction, Gadamer outlines that the hermeneutic tradition is not an issue of scientific method, but is rather an investigation into knowledge and of tr uth based on understanding tradition,250 as experiences that are interpretable beyond the modern structures of scientific method.251 To Gadamer, hermeneutics is “ attempt to understand what the human sciences truly are, beyond their methodological self c onsciousness, and what connects them with the totality of our experience of world. ”252 Gadamer’s interpretative truth aims to disrupt the scientific claim to truth through an inquiry of tradition. Gadamer’s ablation is not of science alone , but rather on a mode of thinking based in the modern historical consciousness . He writes that “ the view of the truth that speaks to us from 249 “ 6. a. Of an instrument, mechanical part, etc.: accurately formed, positioned, or aligned; correctly calibrated. Also of a line or something linear: straight, accurate; without deviation.” From “ true, adj., n., adv., and int.” 250 Gadamer writes, “These studies are concerned with the problem of hermeneutics. ... Even from its historical beginnings, the problem of hermeneutics goes beyond the limits of the concept of method as set by modern science. The understanding and the interpretation of texts is not merely a concern of science, but obvio usly belongs to human experience of the world in general. The hermeneutic phenomenon is basically not a problem of method at all. It is not concerned with a method of understanding by means of which texts are subjected to scientific investigation like all other objects of experience. It is not concerned primarily with amassing verified knowledge, such as would satisfy the methodological ideal of science — yet it too is concerned with knowledge and with truth. In understanding tradition not only are texts unde rstood, but insights are acquired and truths known.” Gadamer, Hans G. Truth and Method. 2nd, revised ed. Joel Weinsheimer and Donald G. Marshall, trans. New York: The Crossroad Publishing Corporation, 1989. xxi. 251 Gadamer continues, “the following investig ations start with the resistance in modern science itself to the universal claim of scientific method. They are concerned to seek the experience of truth that transcends the domain of scientific method wherever that experience is to be found, and to inquir e into its legitimacy. Hence the human sciences are connected to modes of experience that lie outside science: with the experiences of philosophy, or art, and of history itself. These are all modes of experienc e in which a truth is communicated that cannot be verified by the methodological means proper to science.” Idem, xxii. 252 Idem, xxiii.

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148 little the traditions in which we stand are weakened by modern historical consciousness....”253 I n spite of th e modern historical consciousness, which has served “...a more radical rupture” than the slight disservices drawn from translating ancient western philosophical traditions into modern language ,254 tradition still endures . From the emergence of this consciou sness, t he western world has resultantly “...lost that nave innocence with which traditional concepts were made to serve one’s own thinking .”255 In other words, although modern historical consciousness has lost itself within itself – to Gadamer, modern wes tern philosophizing must yet still stand the dialogic exegesis within the western traditions to which it belongs , arguing his claim that tradition still endures regardless of modern disconnectedness .256 What then is the hermeneutic world in which understan ding interpretive truth of traditions exists? To clarify Gadamer’s views of tradition, the translators to his second revised edition, Joel Weinsheimer and Donald G. Marshall, rhetorically question if tradition is something that is prior to and with which we partake in automatically.257 Their point is rather that Gadamer conceives of tradition as something more active, something that requires interpretative understanding and to which necessitates the active task of interrogative inquiry.258 In a modern world that would seem to privilege the former vision of tradition, it is too easy for Gadamer to note that “...the perspectives that result from the experience of historical 253 Ibid. 254 Gadamer argues, “Despite its connection with its historical origin, philosophy today is well aware of the historical distance between it and its classical m odels. This is especially to be found in its changed attitude to the concept. However important and fundamental were the transformations that took place with the Latinization of Greek concepts and the translation of Latin conceptual language into the moder n languages, the emergence of historical consciousness over the last few centuries is a much more radical rupture.” Idem, xxiv. 255 As Gadamer continues, “since then, the continuity of the Western Philosophical tradition has been effective only in a fragment ary way. We have lost that nave innocence with which traditional concepts were made to serve one’s own thinking. Since that time, the attitude of science towards these concepts has become strangely detached, whether it takes them up in a scholarly, not to say self -consciously archaizing way or treats them as tools.” Idem, xxiv -xxv. 256 Finally, Gadamer writes, “a new critical consciousness must now accompany all responsible philosophizing which takes the habits of thought and language built up in the individual in his communication with his environment and places them before the forum of the historical tradition to which we all belong.” Idem, xxv. 257 Joel Weinsheimer and Donald G. Marshall write in the Translator’s Preface : “this ongoing conversation is berl ieferung , ‘tradition.’ English has no corresponding verb, nor any adjective that maintains the active verbal implication, nor any noun for what is carried down in ‘tradition.’ We have therefore admitted the neologism ‘traditionary text,’ and have sometimes used the phrase ‘what comes down to us from the past’ or ‘handed down from the past’ to convey the active sense of the German. We are likely to think of ‘tradition’ as what lies merely behind us or as what we take over more or less automatically.” Marshal l , Donald G. and Joel Weinsheimer . “ Translators ’ Preface ” Truth and Method , by Hans G. Gadamer . 2nd, revised ed. New York: The Crossroad Publishing Corporation, 1989. xvi. 258 They continue, “on the contrary, for Gadamer ‘tradition’ or ‘what is handed down f rom the past’ confronts us as a task, as an effort of understanding we feel ourselves required to make because we recognize our limitations, even though no one compels us to do so. It precludes complacency, passivity, and self -satisfaction with what we sec urely possess; instead it requires active questioning and self -questioning. Ibid.

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149 change are always in danger of being exaggerated because they forget what persists unseen”, or the active inquiry of tradition.259 Gadamer continues, “it is not only that historical tradition and the natural order of life constitute the unity of the world...” , but rather, due to the active role that tradition asks of participants, it is “ e way we experience one another, the way we experience historical traditions, the way we experience the natural givenness of our existence and of our world, constitute a truly hermeneutic universe....”260 In other words, it is in the active inquiry into wes tern tradition s , not the denial or willed complacency thereof, that implicates the hermeneutic universe: (to use Gadamer’s ‘we’ terms) how we understand each other, how we understand our understanding of the world, and how we understand our human situation. The ‘how’ implicates Gadamer’s ‘way’ as an experiential act that demands the active interpretation and re interpretation, differentially posed, upon a long tradition, “...the furthering of an event that goes far back.”261 Th e interpretation and re interp retation, according to Gadamer is based o n experience , what he defines under the conditions of art . According to Weinsheimer and Marshall, Gadamer uses the two separate German terms for experience incisively.262 As , “...Erlebnisse, ‘experiences,’ seen as t he enduring residue of moments lived in their full immediacy, are the material artistic genius transforms into works of art. The artwork begins in ‘experiences,’ but rises above them to a universal significance which goes beyond history.”263 Still, “ Erlebni s is something you have, and thus is connected with a subject and 259 Gadamer writes in his introduction, “things that change force themselves on our attention far more than those that remain the same. That is a general law of our intellectual life. Hence the perspectives that result from the experience of historical change are always in danger of being exaggerated because they forget what persists unseen. In modern life, our historical consciousness is constantly overly stimulated.” Gadamer: 1989, xxiv. 260 Gadamer notes that a result of the modern overstimulation of change is, “as a consequence—though, as I hope to show, it is a pernicious short circuit—some react to this overestimation of historical change by invoking the eternal orders of nat ure and appealing to human nature to legitimize the idea of natural law. It is not only that historical tradition and the natural ord er of life constitute the unity of the world in which we live as men; the way we experience one another, the way we experience historical traditions, the way we experience the natural givenness of our existence and of our world, constitute a truly hermeneutic uni verse, in which we are not imprisoned, as if behind insurmountable barriers, but to which we are opened.” Ibid. 261 Ga damer continues, getting to the point of his contention with scientific methods, “in its concern to understand the universe of understanding better than seems possible under the scientific notion of cognition, it has to try to establish a new relation to the concepts which it uses. It must be aware of the fact that its own understanding and interpretation are not constructions base d on principles, but the furthering of an event that goes far back. Hence it will not be able to use its concepts unquestioningl y, but will have to take over whatever features of the original meaning of its concepts have come down to it.” Ibid. 262 The translators write, “German has two separate words for ‘experience’: Erlebnis and Erfahrung.” Marshall and Weinsheimer: 1989, xiii. 263 Ibid.

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150 with the subjectivization of aesthetics.”264 It is thereby limited to modes of representation. Rather, where “Gadamer typically uses the term Erlebnis with a critical overtone...”,265 t he expe rience of note here is “...Erfahrung, which provides the basis in our actual lives for the specifically hermeneutic way we are related to other persons and to our cultural past, namely, dialogue and especially the dialogue of question and answer”266 (ab duct ive logic here). Erfahrung provides an experience, which allows insight into a conception of truth as an interpretative alignment. This experience is less discreet and momentous, rather it hints to an ontological mode . Apparently, Erfahrung, “ ... is not the residue of isolated moments, but an ongoing integrative process in which what we encounter widens our horizon, but only by overturning an existing perspective, which we can then perceive was erroneous or at least narrow.”267 The experience provides a r efinement, “ give us that im plicit sense of broad perspectives, of the range of human life and culture, and of our own limits that constitutes a non dogmatic wisdom.”268 Rather than objective or subjective relation s , this experience refines, as it “... is something you undergo, so that subjectivity is overcome and drawn into an ‘event’ ( Geschehen ) of meaning.”269 The interpretative event is experience of being in refinement; it is alignment – a becoming more true in interpretive experience. Hence “...Erf ahrung is normally integrative and hence singular; ‘art of experience,’ ‘art based on experience,’ or ‘aesthetics of experience’ are intended to hint a neologism, a special way of conceiving ‘experience,’ whereas the ‘experience of art’ translates Erfahrung in its range from neutral to decidedly positive .”270 Thus, through the experience of Erfahrung, one can move to Gadamer’s notions of truth in interpretative tradition to see if it also holds as an alignment. Truth, for Gadamer, is not something secondary to experience or to tradition or to knowledge. As he notes, his book does not rest at the exploration on the truth in art alone.271 Rather, Gadamer has more 264 Idem, xiii-xiv. 265 Id em, xiv. 266 Idem, xiii. 267 Ibid. 268 Ibid. 269 Idem, xiv. 270 Ibid. 271 Gadamer argues “hence the following investigation starts with a critique of aesthetic consciousness in order to defend the experience of truth that comes to us throug h the work of art against the aesthetic theory that lets itself be restricted to a scientific conception of truth. But the book does not rest content with justifying the truth of art; instead, it tries to develop from t his starting

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151 far reaching aims “ develop from this starting point [a truth in art] a conception of knowledg e and of truth that corresponds to the whole of our hermeneutic experience.”272 Whereas historical inquiry strives for truth, the difference for Gadamer is that “...our historical tradition in all its forms is certainly made the object of investigation, but at the same time truth comes to speech in it .” Truth, for Gadamer then is not an objective truth, something ascribed to it, but is something relational – one rather “...always mediates [a] truth in which one must try to share .”273 Yet, m ore explicitly, Ga damer argues in the “Foreword to the Second Edition”, that his goal is “ show that understanding is never a subjective relation to a given ‘object’ but to the history of its effect; in other words, understanding belongs to the being of that which is understood.”274 Thus, understanding or truth, is a relational quality of that which is to be understood. Any eventual discovery of truth , or the event as a moment of discovery , is a falling into alignment with the thing to be known. Thus, it stands; under Gadamer’s notion of truth, an interpretative tradition finds truth as an alignment, albeit under the argument of a tradition, that regardless of something empirical, objective, and/or Absolute, the active, interrogation of tradition sources a refining, an aligning Erfahrung. What type, though, is this alignment; is this alignment complete, entire, or whole? Gadamer argues that the whole is entirely, wholly, unwhole. Rather than these sophomoric word plays, Gadamer argues, “the whole of meaning that has t o be understood in history or tradition is never the meaning of the whole history.”275 This is both due and evident in the limits of one’s knowledge, for “the finite nature of one’s own understanding is the manner in which reality, resistance, the absurd, a nd the unintelligible assert themselves.”276 Precisely then, the limits of one’s knowledge, the bounds of the thing of knowledge and truth that is one’s interpretation, is perpetually refined in Erfahrung – an always partial point a conception of knowledge and of truth that corresponds to the whole of our hermeneutic experience.” Gadamer: 1989 , xxiii. 272 Ibid. 273 Ibid. Gadamer writes, more completely “fundamentally, the experience of historical tradition reaches far beyond those aspect s of it that can be objectively investigated. It is true or untrue not only in the sense concerning which historical criticism decides, but always mediates truth in which one must try to share .” Ibid. 274 Gadamer argues the (one of many) “...purpose of my investigation is not to offer a general theory of interpretation and a differential account of its methods 9which Emilio Betti has done so well) but to discover what is common to all modes of understanding and to show that understanding is never a subjective relation to a g iven ‘object’ but to the history of its effect; in other words, understanding belongs to the being of that which is understood.” Idem, xxxi. 275 Idem, xxxv. 276 Ibid.

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152 experience of truth (to evoke Du ncan and Ley), in which “...ideas are formed through tradition, especially through the hermeneutic circle of whole and part....”277 Yet, this does not discount the radicalness of the event, the moment of discovery, something that Gadamer cautions : “obviousl y there is a danger that the actual reality of the event, especially its absurdity and contingency [as it is sourced beyond the bounds of one’s knowledge], will be weakened and misperceived by being seen in terms of the experience of meaning.”278 Rather, it is just that the tradition, a truth with which one aligns, is “...something of the truth of remembrance: with what is still and ever again real.”279 Yet, some other thinkers contest. John Caputo aligns his thinking along the lines of Derrida, who, Caputo argues, “...does not overthrow hermeneutics but drives it into its most extreme and radical formulation, pushes it to its limits.”280 The radicalism aligns, for Caputo, along Derridian concepts of deconstruction and diffrance , “...which does not raze but r eleases and which is ready for what is difficult...[by being]able to show the diffrance [simplistically, gaps and pointings] by which things are inhabited.”281 For Caputo, its necessary for Gadam er to play a secondary role, as “ ... Gadamer’s ‘philosophical hermeneutics’ is a reactionary gesture, an attempt to block off the radicalization of 277 In its entirety, Gadamer argues “however, the fact that ideas are formed through tradition, especially through the hermeneutic circle of whole and part, which is the starting point of my attempt to lay the foundations of hermeneutics, does not necessar ily imply this conclusion.” Ibid. 278 Ibid. 279 Idem, xxxviii. Gadamer closes his foreword with the following, illustrating one’s limits, that which constricts the partiality of knowledge, as precisely what holds the event of discovery integral to Erfahrung . He writes: “what man needs is not just the persistent posing of ultimate questions, but the se nse of what is feasible, what is possible, what is correct, here and now. The philosopher, of all people, must, I think, be aware of the tension between what he claims to achieve and the reality in which he finds himself. The hermeneutic consciousness, whi ch must be awakened and kept awake, recognizes that in the age of science philosophy’s claim of superiority has something chimerical and unreal about it. But though the will of man is more than ever intensifying its criticism of what has gone before to the point of becoming a utopian or eschatological consciousness, the hermeneutic consciousness seeks to confront that will with something of the truth of remembrance: with what is still and ever again real.” Ibid. 280 Caputo, John D. Radical Hermeneutics: Repet ition, Deconstruction, and the Hermeneutic project . Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1987. 4. 281 Caputo argues that “he [Derrida] does not undo hermeneutics; he releases its more radical tendencies. Or rather, deconstruction is an ‘undoing,’ a kind of Ab -bauen , which does not raze but releases and which is ready for what is difficult, indeed ready for the worst. Deconstruction trains its sights on the insinuations of presence wherever they appear, even in ra dical thinkers like Husserl and Heidegger, and it is able to show the diffrance by which things are inhabited. With deconstruction, hermeneutics loses its innocence and in so doing becomes even more faithful to the appointed way, which, as the young Heidegger said, means to remain faithful to the d ifficulty in life. ... Derrida is the turning point for radical hermeneutics, the point where hermeneutics is pushed to the brink. Radical hermeneutics situates itself in the space which is opened up by the exchange between Heidegger and Derrida....” Idem, 5

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153 hermeneutics and to turn it back to the fold of metaphysics.”282 More directly, as Caputo welcomes a “...hermeneutics as an attempt to stick with the original difficulty of life...”,283 one that appreciates the Christian move of “taking time and the flux as its element, [with which] it puts its hand to the plow of existence and pushes ahead...”284 as a means of “... putting Being as presence in question —and by holding it there”285, is able to delve into an Aristotelian theory of kinesis , or “...a creative production which pushes ahead, which produces as it repeats, which produces what it repeats, which makes a life for itself in the midst of the difficulties of the flux.”286 Resultantly, Caputo’s radical hermeneutics does not find solace with Gadamer’s work, which for Caputo “even though it contains a useful critique of ‘method,’ the question of ‘truth’ in Truth and Method remains within the metaphysics of truth.”287 In w hich, based o n Caputo’s apparent assault on metaphysics, Gadamer can find no quarter. Caputo, along Derridian lines, posits a “...hermeneutics [that] exposes us to the ruptures and gaps, let us say, the textuality of difference, which inhabits everything we think, and do, and hope for.”288 Resultantly, it is no surprise that Caputo would deride, yet utilize Gadamer, for Gadamer’s truth is bent upon an alignment to age old interpretation s of traditions, which subsists in spite of modern historical consciousness. For Ca puto, on the other hand, the notion of a tradition, in Derridian diffrance, notes in 282 Caputo continues, “that also explains why Gadamer (and a fortiori Ricoeur) plays only a secondary role and has but a minor voice in the following study. From the point of view of radical hermeneutics, Gadamer’s ‘philosophical hermeneutics’ is a reacti onary gesture, an attempt to block off the radicalization of hermeneutics and to turn it back to the fold of metaphysics.” Ibid. 283 Caputo’s radical hermeneutics aims, to propose a “ hermeneutics [that] would try not to make things look easy, to put t he best face on existence, but rather to recapture the hardiness of life before metaphysics showed us a fast way out the back door of flux. That is the notion of hermeneutics with which I wish to begin: hermeneutics as an attempt to stick with the original difficulty of life, and not to betray it with metaphysics.” Idem, 1. 284 Caputo argues that “Christianity, on the other hand, summons up the nerve metaphysics has lost. Taking time and the flux as its element, it puts the hand to the plow of existence and pushes ahead —for eternity lies ahead, not behind—to create for itself such identity as life allows.” Idem, 2. 285 Caputo argues multiple times that hermeneutics and “philosophy must begin by putting Being as presence in question—and by holding it there. For w e have been through this before. Metaphysics always makes a show of beginning with questions, but no sooner do things begin to waver a bit and look uncertain than the question is foreclosed.” Idem, 1. 286 Caputo argues that in spite of a Constantin or Christ ian approach to becoming, “recollection is a backwards movement (because the Greeks think we have lost eternity and have to regain it), while repetition moves forward(because Christianity t hinks we have been put into this life to see if we have the mettle to earn eternity). The only exception to this, Constantin allows, is Aristotle, who had a theory of kinesis . Repetition thus is not the repetition of the same, Greek re -production, but a creative production which pushes ahead, which produces as it repeats, which produces what it repeats, which makes a life for itself in the midst of the difficulties of the flux.” Idem, 2 -3. 287 Idem, 6. Caputo continues, arguing acerbicly that “Constantin warned us about those friends of the flux who make a lot of noise about becoming, when what they have up their sleeve all along is the noiseless hush of Aufhebung.” Ibid. 288 Ibid. Moreover, Caputo is clear, “I want to show, however, that what I call here radical hermeneutics is not an exercise in nihilism, which wants to red uce human practices and institutions to rubble, but an attempt to face up to the bad news metaphysics has been keeping under cover, to the fact that Hermes is also a well -known trickster and liar.” Ibid.

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154 the crux of tradition itself, there is always a gap – some thing which cannot be termed in meaning – though there may be a traceable relation , it is fractured, punched thr ough, ultimately inconsistent and uncertain. It is difficult to disregard either position – for arguing a truth as an interpretive alignment does not necessitate the Gadamerian ‘ageold’ tradition, yet accounts for it. Further, finding solace in Caputo’s ultimate disregard of Gadamer’s notions seems to fall along the lines of what Gadamer was argu ing against in his critique of the modern historical consciousness. Returning to Gadamer, one can find a point in his arguments (at least one qualified by the t ranslators) which may make for a contestable meeting ground for he and Caputo. The translators argue that Gadamer finds truth to be beautif u lly illuminated, visible, and apparent. Via Gadamer’s argument on beauty, the translators write, “when something is ‘beautiful,’ its appearance strikes us with immediate self evidence as valid...that special validity of what is visible that we call the ‘beautiful’ (Schne ).”289 The relationship of beauty – visible – truth , whether analogically of physical visibility or mental,290 implies that which is visible and/or beautiful alone is thereby true, and that what is true and knowable is only so when it is visible. Moreover, if “what is thus ‘evident’ ( einleuchtend ) seems ‘self evident’ or ‘manifest’ (offenbar , with the r oot meaning of standing ‘in the open’) because it stands in the ‘light’ ( Licht ) or is itself a ‘shining light’ ( Leuchte ) that brings ‘enlightenment’ ( Aufklrung )” ,291 what of illusory truths, or false lights, or that which may be true but is overpowered by other truths, or that which is true but cannot be visible , or that which is true but not beautiful, etc.? The requirement of beauty – visible – truth seems too categorical , whether its revelation is controllable or not.292 Although the translators clarify t hat truth is temporally charged with the event, an agreeable position, the claim of 289 The translators write “Gadamer ends [his text] with a return to the central topic of aesthetics, namely, beauty. When something is ‘beautiful,’ its appearance strikes us with immediate self -evidence as valid. It ‘appears’ of ‘shines’ ( scheinen ), as a ‘phenomenon’ ( Erscheinung ), and even though it may be a ‘mere’ appearance, it may also have that special validity of what is visible that we call the ‘beautiful’ ( Schne ).” Marshall and Weinsheimer: 1989 , xvii. 290 The translators note, “these physical analogies are taken over in the mental ‘seeing’ we call insi ght ( Einsicht) and in phrases like, ‘you see what I’m saying.’” Idem, xviii. 291 Idem, xvii xviii. 292 They argue, “because this insight is something that is not under our control, we say it ‘happens’ ( geschehen ): an idea ‘occurs’ to us. Much of Gadamer’s argu ment is directed to showing that understanding and the kind of ‘truth’ that belongs to it has the character of an event, that is, something that belongs to the specific temporal nature of our human life.” Idem, xviii.

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155 truth being that which is beautiful and /or in the light qualifies a certainty that is all too sure of itself. This is all not to mention the beautiful and the truthful tha t are unseen, hidden, and/or invisible. Certainly there is some uncertainty in Erfahrung – for it is a process of refinement, alignment and re alignment, endlessly ‘truing up’ with always partial truths. U ncertainty is bound in the relationship – what i s alighted is always bound to some shadow created. An alignment of truth is simultaneously an alignment of undefinable truths that are not that truth. Every shadow informs light, every uncertainty informs certainty (no matter how momentous) ; Gadamer’s pr emise, qualified by the translators, is binarily categorical , regardless of the analog’s usefulness . Perhaps Caputo would agree . Yet, tracing Gadamer’s “...truth of remembrance: with what is still and ever again real”, is increasingly difficult to disreg ard.293 A version of the hermeneutic method, as an interrelated notion of texts, inter textual and extra textual data, truths, partial and whole, and interrogative inquiry of presentation /production and emergent re presentation /re production is part of the map to this thesis. Truths of alignment inevitably imply an interpretative role. Thus, a hermeneutics of perpetual interpretation , of negotiated degrees of alignments , and of eventual discovery is a method and methodological reality of this work – a cont ested terrain qualified by a mediation of a “ ...truth in which one must try to share.”294 Uncanny Th is discussion of hermeneutic r e occurrence, reproduction, and re presentation in the iterative and eventual process of Erfahrung, and the work to source the unseen, hidden, and invisible as informative things and processes evokes a discussion of the uncanny. If one find s these too far removed from each other , one need simply to recall that Freud’s initial investigation into the uncanny is based on in an inv estigation of aesthetics. S pecifically, “... aesthetics is understood to mean not merely the theory of beauty but...of the qualities of feeling . ...[More specifically, ‘uncanny’ is what aesthetic quality draws] feelings of repulsion and distress.”295 Although this may still seem a bit removed, this thesis proposes 293 Gadamer: 1989 , xxxviii. 294 Idem, xxii i. 295 Freud, Sigmund, Carrie Lee Rothgeb, and Anna Freud. “The ‘Uncanny’”. The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud. Vol. XVII. London: Hogarth Press, 1958. 219. Freud opens his essay with the following: “it is only rarely that a psycho -analyst feels impelled to investigate the subject of aesthetics, even when aesthetics is

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156 that the drawings created can source the UHI through a mapping of the uncanny. To begin, we need to establish what this thesis means in the uncanny. Starting with Freud, one gains a solid footing on this concept . After an etymological analysis of the terms heimlich and unheimlich, Freud finds that the term heimlich corresponds to a definition of its precise opposite and thereby relates under categorical slippage; that it corresponds to two differ ent concepts: “...on the one hand it means what is familiar and agreeable, and on the other, what is concealed and kept out of sight.”296 Whereas his findings for heimlich situate two seemingly polar ideas, he similarly notes, “‘ unheimlich’ is customarily us the contrary only of the first signification of ‘ heimlich’ , and not of the second.”297 This is further complexified by what Schilling argues, apparently quite unexpectedly, that “...everything is unheimlich that ought to have remained secret and hidden but has come to light.”298 Resultantly, Freud is unsatisfied, and after more investigation, he arises at the nested, relatable, and ambivalent conditions of heimlich and unheimlich , which, with Schelling’s insights at hand, eventually is essential to hi s definition of the uncanny.299 After posing a series of cases, Freud eventually comes to his working definition of the uncanny. T o point out foremost, the uncanny is not an ambiguous term, or is it generalizable to ‘what is understood to mean not merely the theory of beauty but the theory of the qualities of feeling. He works in other strata of me ntal life and has little to do with the subdued emotional impulses which, inhibited in their aims and dependent upon a host of concurrent factors, usually furnish the material for the study of aesthetics. ... The subject of the ‘uncanny’ is a province of this kind. It undoubtedly rel ated to what is frightening —to what arouses dread and horror; equally certain, too, the word is not always used in a clearly definable sense, so that it tends to coincide with what excites fear in general. Yet we may expect that a s pecial core of feeling i s present which justifies the use of a special conceptual term. One is curious to know what this common core is which allows us to distinguish as ‘uncanny’ certain things which lie within the field of what is frightening. As good as noth ing is to be found upon this subject in comprehensive treatises on aesthetics, which in general prefer to concern themselves with what is beautiful, attractive and sublime —that is, with feelings of a positive nature —and with the circumstances and the objects that call them f orth, rather than with the opposite feelings of repulsion and distress.” Ibid. 296 Freud writes: “what interests us most in this long extract is to find that among its different shades of meaning the word ‘heimlich’ exhibits on which is identical with its op posite, ‘ unheimlich’ . What is heimlich thus comes to be unheimlich. (Cf. the quotation from Gutzkow: ‘We call it ‘ unheimlich’ ; you call it ‘ heimlich’ .’) In general we are reminded that the word ‘heimlich’ is not unambiguous, but belongs to two sets of idea s, which, without being contradictory, are yet very different: on the one hand it means what is familiar and agreeable, and on the other, what is concealed and kept out of sight.” Idem, 224-225. 297 Idem, 225. 298 Freud argues, “Sanders tells us nothing concer ning a possible genetic connection between these two meanings of heimlich . [This is something catastrophically a miss for Freud.] On the other hand, we notice that Schelling says something which throws quite a new light on the concept of the Unheimlich , fo r which we were certainly not prepared. According to him, everything is unheimlich that ought to have remained secret and hidden but has come to light.” Ibid. 299 Freud writes, “thus heimlich is a word the meaning of which develops in the direction of ambiv alence, until it finally coincides with its opposite, unheimlich . Unheimlich is in some way or other a sub-species of heimlich . Let us bear this discovery in mind, though we cannot yet rightly understand it, alongside of Schelling’s definition of the Unhei mlich .” Idem, 226.

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157 frightening’.300 Rather, the uncanny is a particular form of what is frightening, a quality designated for “...what is known of old and long familiar.”301 Yet this is not sufficient, for what is it about that ‘old and long familiar’ that is frightening? Can it again be generalizable to “...something which is secretly familiar [ heimlich heimisch ], which has undergone repression and then returned from it...” with a uniquely astringent brand of anxiety?302 Freud also refutes this, “not everything that fulfils this on that acco unt uncanny.”303 There is a distinct ion in th e repression return that qualifies a fear as uncanny. Which brings one finally to Freud’s working definition of the uncanny . Freud writes that “an uncanny experience occurs either when infantile complexes whic h have been repressed are once more revived by some impression, or when primitive beliefs which have been surmounted seem once more to be confirmed.”304 The uncanny fear thus responds to repressed infantile complexes, init ial structurations of ego from id/ i d from ego constructions, which return to affront one in some event, or when historical, social, and cultural faith structures which have been overpassed, or disregarded in facticity, return as a truth structure that shakes some egoistic foundation or (eve n) dependence. T he familiarity anxiety strikes a distinct egoistic chord in terms of repression and certainty. Moreover, due to the nested conscription of heimlich in unheimlich, that homely/familiar yet conc ealed, always has some unhomely yet concealed relation. It is spectral.305 Lastly , the fear that qualifies as uncanny has perso nal and social characteristics . From this base, Anthony Vidler’s work extending the uncanny to specifically the spatial and architectural may add some clarity. From the analysis of Freud’s definition, it is clear how Vidler argues that, “linked by Freud to the death drive, to fear of castration, to the impossible desire to return to the 300 “One is curious to know what this common core is which allows us to distinguish as ‘uncanny’ certain things which lie within the field of what is frightening.” Idem, 219. 301 When outlining two different methods of approaching analysis of the uncanny, Freud writes: “I will say at once that both courses lead to the same result: the uncanny is that class of the frightening which leads back to what is known of old and lo ng familiar. How this is possible, in what circumstances the familiar ca n become uncanny and frightening, I shall show in what follows.” Idem, 220. 302 Freud argues, that “it may be true that the uncanny [ unheimlich ] is something which is secretly familiar [ heimlich heimisch ], which has undergone repression and then returned from it, and everything that is uncanny fulfils this condition. But the selection of material on this basis does not enable us to solve the problem of the uncanny.” Idem, 245. 303 Continuing, “for our proposition is clearly not convertible. Not everything that fulfils this condition —not everything that recalls repressed desires and surmounted modes of thinking belonging to the prehistory of the individual and of the race —is on that account uncanny.” Ibid. 304 Idem, 249. 305 See the entire definition of spectral in the OED, “spectral, adj.” OED Online , Oxford University Press, March 2018, Accessed 29 March 2018.

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158 womb, the uncanny has been interpreted as a dominant constituent of modern nostalgia, wi th a corresponding spatiality that touches all aspects of social life.”306 Vidler traces the uncanny in its theoretical genesis as a western “...bourgeois kind of fear: one carefully bounded by the limits of real material security...a sensation best experienced in the privacy of the interior”307, through the development of nineteenth century cities where real urban and economic forces of homelessness counterbalanced its fetishized aims,308 through two world wars,309 into its resurrection in the bourgeois modern a vant garde,310 and finally to a more contemporary vision that is “...interpreted through a theory of the uncanny that destabilizes traditional notions of center and periphery —the spatial forms of the national....”311 306 Vidler, Anthony. The Architectural Uncanny: Essays in the Modern Unhomely . Cambridge, Mass: MIT Press, 1992. x. Vidler gets to this writing, “but beyond this largely theatrical role, architecture reveals the deep structure of the uncanny in a more t han analogical way, demonstrating a disquieting slippage between what seems homely and what is definitively unhomely. As articulat ed theoretically by Freud, the uncanny or unheimlich is rooted by etymology and usage in the environment of the domestic, o r the heimlich, thereby opening up problems of identity around the self, the other, the body and its absence: thence its force in int erpreting the relations between the psyche and the dwelling, the body and the house, the individual and the metropolis. Linked by Freud to the death drive, to fear of castration, to the impossible desire to return to the womb, the uncanny has be en interpre ted as a dominant constituent of modern nostalgia, with a corresponding spatiality that touches all aspects of social life.” 307 Vidler writes, “at the heart of the anxiety provoked by such alien presences was a fundamental insecurity: that of a newly establ ished class, not quite at home in its own home. The uncanny, in this sense, might be characterized as the quintessential bourgeois kind of fear: one carefully bounded by the limits of real material security and the pleasure principle afforded by a terror t hat was, artistically at least, kept well under control. The uncanny was, in this first incarnation, a sensation best experie nced in the privacy of the interior.” Idem, 3 -4. 308 Vidler argues “but the uncanny, as Walter Benjamin noted, was also born out of t he rise of the great cities, their disturbingly heterogeneous crowds and newly scaled spaces demanding a point of reference that, while not refuting a certain instability, nevertheless served to dominate it aesthetically. ... In the context of the nineteen th -century city, the alienation of the individual expressed by writers from Rousseau to Baudelaire was gradually reinforced by the real economic and social estrangement experienced by the majority of its inhabitants. For Benjamin Constant, writing in the a ftermath of the French Revolution and Napoleonic Empire, urban estrangement was a consequence of the centralization of the state and the concentration of political and cultural power, where all ‘local customs’ and community bonds were brutally severed....” Idem, 4 309 Concerning World War I, Vidler writes that the uncanny was understood during and post -war with “themes of anxiety and dread, provoked by a real or imagined sense of ‘unhomeliness,’ seemed particularly appropriate to a moment when, as Freud noted in 1915, the entire ‘homeland’ of Europe, cradle and apparently secure house of western civilization, was in the process of barbaric regression; when the territorial security that had fostered the notion of a unified culture was broken, bringing a powerfu l disillusionment with the universal ‘museum’ of the European ‘fatherland.’ The site of the uncanny was now no longer confined to the house or the city, but more properly extended to the no man’s land between the trenches or the fields of ruins left after bombardment.” Idem, 7. For World War II, Vidler writes that “at the same time, for the modernist avant -gardes, the uncanny readily offered itself as an instrument of ‘defamiliarization’ or ostranenie; as if a world estranged and distanced from its own nat ure could only be recalled to itself by shock, by the effects of things deliberately ‘made strange.’ ... Thus historicized, t he uncanny might be understood as a significant psychoanalytical and aesthetic response to the real shock of the modern, a traum a t hat, compounded by its unthinkable repetition on an even more terrible scale during World War II, has not been exorcised from the contemporary imaginary.” Idem, 8 -9. 310 Continuing, “if, in this way, the uncanny has found its place as a way to think the two ‘postwars’ after 1919 and 1945, its reemergence as an aesthetic sensibility since the mid -sixties seems at once a continuation of its privileged position in the ‘negative dialectics’ of the modernist avant -garde —a role given double force by the self -consci ous ironization of modernism by postmodernism —and a product of the new technological conditions of cultural representation. A postmodern uncanny has been construed, the product of the rereading of Freud by Lacan and Derrida but also of the application of c ritical theory to the analysis of popular culture.” Idem, 9. 311 Finally, Vidler notes “in a perceptive reading of the postcolonial ‘nation’ in space and time, Homi Bhabha has similarly reappropriated the uncanny to speak of the return of ‘the migrants, the minorities, the diasporic’ to the city, ‘the space in which emergent identifications and new social movements of the people are played out.’ What he calls ‘the perplexity of the living’

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159 Tracing this historicity of the uncanny i n western a esthetic and spatial dimensions allows Vidler to make his argument, writing “...the theoretical elaboration of the uncanny helps us to interpret the conditions of modern estrangement, the special characteristics of architecture and urbanism as arts of spatial definition allow us to advance the argument into the domain of the tangible.”312 Albeit, though Vidler revokes any proposed argument claiming the uncanny a s an objective quality of spatial forms or characteristics,313 he is not far from it . No ting nearly typological or temporally similar representations,314 with which an uncanny “...language of architectural forms that seem, on the surface at least, to echo already used up motifs en abme ”315, Vidler simultaneously implicates a political interactio n, purpose, and task ultimately signaled by an uncanny sensation within such forms .316 For Vidler, using architecture to ground the aesthetic uncanny reveals insight into the spatial politics of modern estrangement.317 might be, in these terms, interpreted through a theory of the uncanny that destabilizes traditional notions of center and periphery —the spatial forms of the national —comprehend how ‘that boundary that secures the cohesive limits of the western nation may imperceptibly turn into a contentious internal liminality that provides a place from which to speak both of, and as, the minority, the exilic, the marginal and emergent.’” Idem, 10 -11. 312 Idem, 13. 313 Vidler argues, “...‘the uncanny’ is not a property of the space itself nor can it be provoked by any particular spatial conforma tion; it is, in its aesthetic dimension, a representation of a mental state of projection that precisely elides the boundarie s of the real and the unreal in order to provoke a disturbing ambiguity, a slippage between waking and dreaming.” Idem, 11. This m akes it “...difficult to speak of an ‘architectural’ uncanny, in the same terms as a literary or psychological uncanny; certainly no one building, no special effects of design can be guaranteed to provoke an uncanny feeling.” Ibid. Furthermore, or to rest ate, “if actual buildings or spaces are interpreted through this lens, it is not because they themselves possess uncanny properties, b ut rather because they act, historically or culturally, as representations of estrangement. If there is a single premise t o be derived from the study of the uncanny in modern culture, it is that there is no such thing as an uncanny architecture, but simply architecture that, from time to time and for different purposes, is invested with uncanny qualities.” Idem, 11 -12. 314 He continues, “but in each moment of the history of the representation of the uncanny, and at certain moments in its psychological analysis, the buildings and spaces that have acted as the sites for uncanny experiences have been invested with recognizable char acteristics. These almost typical and eventually commonplace qualities —the attributes of haunted houses in Gothic romances are the most well known —while evidently not essentially uncanny in themselves, nevertheless have been seen as emblematic of the uncan ny, as the cultural signs of estrangement for particular periods.” Ibid. Moreover, Vidler goes on to note, that currently, or in the nineteen -nineties, “...the ‘empty spaces’ appropriated or created by urbanism —the clearing of vacant or occupied territory —are paralleled on the phenomenal plane by the tabula rasa imagined by modernist utopias, to the point where both levels intersect in the commonplaces of modern urban development. The task of filling these voids —what Ernst Bloch has termed the ‘hollow spac es of capitalism’ —is given over to architecture, which is forced, in the absence of a lived past, to search for posthistorical grounds on which to base an ‘authentic’ home for society. Thus, on an even more literal level, architecture finds itself ‘repeati ng’ history, whether in traditional or avant-garde guise, in a way that itself gives rise to an uncanny sense of dj vu that parallels Freud’s own description of the uncanny as linked to the ‘compulsion to repeat.’ Idem, 13. 315 Idem, 14. 316 Vidler argues, “deployed in this way, the uncanny might regain a political connotation as the very condition of contemporary haunting; what in the sixties was so overtly a presence in theory and practice, a presence that largely denied the formal in architecture in favor of social practice, utopian or material, is now, in the nineties, apparently suppressed by an ostensibly nihilistic and self -gratifying formalism. But the political, I would argue, cannot be so easily eliminated from cultural practice, and it is precisely the point at which it reerupts within the very formal techniques of its repression that it takes on the characteristics of the uncanny. ... In the present work I would simply note that, in contemporary architecture, the incessant reference to av ant garde t echniques devoid of their originating ideological impulse, the appearance of a fulfilled aesthetic revolution stripped of its promise of social redemption, at least approximates the conditions that, in Freud’s estimation, are ripe for uncanny sensations. I f I feel a personal uncanny in the face of such a repression of the political, it is perhaps for this reason: that, within many of the

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160 Vidler’s framing of the uncanny as a theoretical western cultural concept may provide a reasonable aesthetic to source the unseen, hidden, and invisible. Moreover, its relation to landscape is unavoidable. First off, the uncanny’s relationship to the sublime, as Vidler notes, “aesthetically an outgrowth of the Burkean sublime, a domesticated version of absolute terror , experienced in the comfort of the home ...”318, the uncanny was often sourced in conditions external to the house319 – to (generally ) landscape. Noting the picturesque fascinations with landscape sublimity,320 it is difficult to understand why less interest is devoted to landscape uncanniness , especially if agreeing with conventional landscape practices that focus on the manipulation of that terrain external to the house, external to w hat is homely . projects that pretend to a radical disruption of cultural modes of expression, there still lurks the ghost of avant -garde politics, one that is proving difficult to exorcise entirely.” Ibid. 317 Vidler writes, “faced with the intolerable state of real homelessness, any reflection on the ‘transcendental’ or psychological unhomely risks trivializing or, worse, patronizing political or social action. This said, I would still want to suggest the possibility that the theme of the uncanny, considered both historically and in its post -Freudian dimensions, opens questions that are larger than their simple illustration in architectural projects, questions that have stubbornly refused solution in politics as in design and that seem still pertinent to our late twentieth -century condition. In this sense, I want to use the different connotations of the theme both suggestively and critically, understanding its various textual and architectural manifestations as problematic contributions to a yet unfinished history that pits the homely, the domestic, the nostalgic, against their ever -threatening, always invading, and often subversive ‘opposites .’” Idem, 13. 318 Idem, 3. 319 In the literal and original translations of uncanny as unhomely, the differential was placed on the inside versus the outside where the ‘outside’ would make its appearance in the ‘inside’. See Vidler’s initial arguments that the uncanny’s “...favorite motif was precisely the contrast between a secure and homely interior and the fearful invasion of an alien presence; on a psycholog ical level, its play was one of doubling, where the other is, strangely enough, experienced as a repl ica of the self, all the more fearsome because apparently the same. At the heart of the anxiety provoked by such alien presences was a fundamental insecurity: that of a newly established class, not quite at home in its own home. ... The uncanny was, in thi s first incarnation, a sensation best experienced in the privacy of the interior.” Idem, 3-4. Moreover, in Vidler’s analysis of (and eventual extension from) the house as a quintessential uncanny, he writes, “the house, we remember, was described as a hou se ‘unusual’ from the outside, and homely inside.... That is, in the terms we have been using, the house was homely inside but most unhomely outside; illustrating Freud’s intuition that from the homely house to the haunted house there is a single passage, where what is contained and safe is therefore secret, obscure, and inaccessible, dangerous and full of terrors; that ‘ heimlich is a word, the meaning of which develops toward an ambivalence until it finally coincides with its opposite, unheimlich. ’” Idem, 32. Continuing to argue this point, this time in the uncanny focus on the eye (to be addressed shortly), “a nd this would be why the outside of the house seemed unheimlich and the inside heimlich; as a blind transcription, an automatic writing of his undiv ided soul, it operated as a return route, a passage back from the uncanny to the homely.” Idem, 35. Finally, and more clearly, the house of Vidler’s analysis, “Krespel’s house, in its peculiar relationships between exterior and interior, takes its place among many uncanny houses throughout the nineteenth century. Through them, inside and outside, like heimlich and unheimlich, became the privileged to poi of the uncanny.” Idem, 36. Thus, the privileged terrain of the uncanny became the locus of whatever wa s ‘outside’ or ‘external’. 320 See Herrington : 2006. She writes of the eighteenth century picturesque style and aesthetic sharing sublime ideals, for style she writes, “added to Picturesque practices shared by painters and designers were those of writers w ho positioned the Picturesque somewhere between Edmund Burke’s Beautiful and Sublime categories (Hunt 2002; Meyer 1998).” Herington: 2006, 24. For aesthetics, “lastly, as an aesthetic theory, the Picturesque is an attempt to grasp how certain works of art form mental connections between sensations, ideas, and memories. Particular characteristics of Picturesque works can awaken associations with the sublime, quaint, rugged, and vivid dimensions of landscape.” Idem, 26. See also her assessment that more contemporary landscape architectural designs work intentionally with the sublime, “many recently acclaimed works purposefully frame the landscape to heighten its sublime qualities and awaken a chain of mental connections, sensations, and memories. In fact it is the Picturesque that allows us to enjoy the blast furnaces at Duisburg North Park or the cluster of pivot irrigators in Taking Measures. ” Idem, 35.

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161 After all, Vidler argues that, although not the same, not synonymous, the sublime and the uncanny are implicitly linked. He writes of Burke’s sublime and the uncanny: “such ‘terror,’ however, was not exactly equivalent to that prescribed by Edmund Burke; in the hierarchy of romantic genres, the uncanny was intimately bound up with, but strangely different from, the grander and more serious ‘sublime’....”321 Th e differen tial connection , though often indistinguishable thereby lending notabilit y to the uncanny,322 was similarly noted by Freud in his (already outlined) analysis of the uncanny .323 Related in this sense, Vidler not es that other authors postulate an equivalent, equal footing of the sublime and uncanny – such as Charles Nodier’s work wi th Piranesi where “the vertigo of the sublime is placed side by side with the claustrophobia of the uncanny.”324 Further, other author’s position the uncanny as foundational to the sublime – such as Schelling’s analysis of Homer’s work substantiating “ r him, among the purest examples of the sublime, Schelling proposed that they were precisely the result of an initial suppression, the civilized subjugation of mystery, myth, and the occult. ...[Thus] the Homeric sublime was founded on the repression of th e uncanny....”325 With the inter relations of sublime and 321 Vidler: 1992, 20. Continuing he evidence’s Poe’s work: “such ‘terror,’ however, was not exactly equiva lent to that prescribed by Edmund Burke; in the hierarchy of romantic genres, the uncanny was intimately bound up with, but strangely different from, the grander and more serious ‘sublime,’ the master category of aspiration, nostalgia, and the unattainable. Thus Poe, attempting to define the peculiar feeling evoked by the House of Usher, had distinguished it sharply from the more terrifying sensations normally attendant on the sublime: ‘There was an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart -an unredeemed dreariness of thought which no goading of the imagination could torture into aught of the sublime.’” Ibid. 322 Vidler finds that Burke and Kant shared an undesirability to generalize all ‘terror’ and ‘ugliness’ as sublime, “while Burke had traced the sublim e to its fundamental source in terror, he readily admitted that not everything that induced terror was sublime. By the same token, Kant’s description of a sublimity residing entirely in the mind, as it was drawn to ‘think the unattainability of nature,’ di d not apply to all ideas of things unattainable. Lurking behind all attempts to achieve sublime expression were a host of pitfalls that ranged from the bathetic to the nonsensical; ... ‘Ugliness,’ stated Burke, ‘I imagine to be consistent enough w ith an id ea of the sublime. But I would by no means insinuate that ugliness of itself is a sublime idea unless united with such qualit ies that excite a strong terror.’” Idem, 21. Vidler follows this with, “the uncanny, however, was perhaps the most subversive of a ll, not only because it was easily trivialized but also because it seemed at times indistinguishable from the sublime.” Ibid. 323 Vidler continues, “more than eighty years later, Freud recognized that the uncanny was, at least in its received connotations , a n aesthetic category that lay directly within the boundaries of ‘all that is terrible,’ that is, within the traditional sublime (U 339). But he set himself the task of identifying ‘what this particular quality is which allows us to distinguish as ‘uncanny’ certain things within the boundary of what is ‘fearful.’’” Ibid. 324 Vidler argues, “in this way Nodier distinguishes the general space of the sublime —that of height, depth, and extension, as characterized by Burke— from that of the uncanny —that of silence, solitude, of internal confinement and suffocation, that mental space where temporality and spatiality collapse. The vertigo of the sublime is placed side by side with the claustrophobia of the uncanny. Thus, imagining a palace built by Piranesi, perhaps the ‘Ampio magnifico collegio,’ Nodier contrasts the ‘imposing grandeur’ and ‘overwhelming magnificence’ of the exterior with the interior, still encumbered by the wood and masonry of construction.” Idem, 39. 325 In extended sense: “Schelling’s felicitous ‘def inition’ of the uncanny had in fact been extracted by Sanders from the Philosophie der Mythologie of 1835, Schelling’s late attempt to synthesize the history of religion with the anthropology of cults. Here Schelling had proposed an origin for the uncanny that was itself joined to the origins of religion, philosophy, and poetry. His formulation, anticipating Nietzsche, asserted the necessary existence of the uncanny as a force to be overcome, a first s tep toward the birth of poetry. Speaking of the Homeric songs, for him among the purest examples of the sublime, Schelling

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162 uncanny , it is a wonder that a practic e conventionally understood as working with the medium external to the house , is rather lacking in uncanny analysis, regardless of either uncanny or sublime prima cy. To further this relation , the uncanny fascination with the eyes, further implicates an uncanny landscape relation beyond the external internal dyad to the house/home already discussed. Vidler notes this relation to the eye is one that extends beyond , “ longer to circulate, so to speak, around the house as a metaphor, but permits us to cross over the threshold of an edifice whose structure coincides with [an aesthetic,] the mood of the story and proposes thereby a method for its interpretation.”326 Through the uncanny workings on the eye, which in Vidler corresponds with analysis of Krespel who, “can obviously see; it is rather as if he consciously represses the full faculties of sight in order to exercise others, deeper and more potent”327 and in “... Freud as the locus of the uncanny itself, ‘The Sandman’ (‘Der Sandmann’), a story where the ‘lust of the eye,’ as Walter Pater would call it, is played out in every conceivable combination”328 it becomes clear that the uncanny spans beyond the structures of inside outside. Vidler analyses three sets of eyes in the story of “The Sandman”: “...eyes that see everything clearly as it is in the world...”329, “...eyes that see beyond appearances”330, and “...eyes,... fabricated either to imitate real proposed that they were precisely the result of an initial suppression, the civilized subjugation of mystery, myth, and the occult. Like the birth of the Apollonian out of the Dionysian, and with similar effects, the Homeric sublime was founded on the repression of the uncanny.... This account of the ‘uncanny principle,’ ...summarized the idea of unheimlich as evoked by the romantics. At once a psychological and an aesthetic phenomenon, it both established and destabilized at the same time. Its effects were guaranteed by an original authenticity, a first burial, and made all the more potent by virtue of a return that, in civi lization, was in a real sense out of place. Something was not, then, merely haunted, but rather revisited by a power that was thought long dead. To such a force the romantic psyche and the romantic aesthetic sensibility were profoundly open; at any moment what seemed on the surface homely and comforting, secure and clear o f superstition, might be reappropriated by something that should have remained secret but that nevertheless, through some chink in the shutters of progress, had returned.” Idem, 26-27. 326 Vidler writes, “this characterization leads us to a final observation that condemns us no longer to circulate, so to speak, around the house as a metaphor, but permits us to cross over the threshold of an edifice whose structure coincides with the mood of the story and proposes thereby a method for its interpretation.” Idem , 32. 327 Idem, 33. 328 Ibid. Combining this note with the previous, the uncanny evidenced through the role of the eye is addressed. “...[I]n liter al terms, Krespel can obviously see; it is rather as if he consciously represses the full faculties of sight in order to exercise others, deeper and more potent. This repression of the eye will find its explanation in other uncanny stories by Hoffmann, notably that selected by Freud as the locus of the uncanny itself, ‘The Sandman’ (‘Der Sandmann’), a story where t he ‘lust of the eye,’ as Walter Pater would call it, is played out in every conceivable combination. In ‘Der Sandmann,’ Hoffmann, as Freud observed, privileges the power of the eye; indeed a quantitative reader would estimate more than sixty pairs of eyes described, not to mention the sack of eyes carried by the legendary Sandman, or the ‘myriad’ eyes figured by the flashing eyeglasses of the barometer dealer Coppola, or the incessant repetition of veiled references to eyes in gazes, glances, and visions.” Ibid. 329 Vidler writes, “on the one hand there are the eyes that see everything clearly as it is in the world, like the eyes of Klara, ‘bright’ and ‘childlike,’ which see ‘only the bright surface of the world’ (S 287). These are eyes that stop in front of a ppearance. ... The former, dear -sighted eyes are described as mirrors: they reflect the outside world, even as Klara’s eyes are ‘like a lake by Rusdael, in which the pure azure of a cloudless sky, the woodlands and flower bedecked fields, and the whole br ight and varied life of a lush landscape are reflected’ (S 290). ... Those who possess only mirrors, those of the homely eyes, however, are not afraid of losing them: the Sandman will not, Klara affirmed, ‘harm my eyes’ (S 287).” Idem, 3334.

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163 eyes...or to exte nd the powers of real eyes....”331 Thi s last set of eyes essentially reduces to reflective mirrors, changing projections, and artistic representations (all of which in Vidler either illustrate uncanny illusions, anxiety, and doubles of a veiled reality ) .332 T he eye itself provides the aesthetic gateway for the uncanny to shift (although incompletely) from internal external , with external emerging internally, to mental ascriptions of the external aligning heimlich and unheimlich on a correlative spectrum locat ed in a mind once insulated and secure, but now unsafe inside – with the exterior and interior no longer wholly divisible .333 Such is it then, in Vidler’s next chapter , “Buried Alive” , that he is able to note Freud’s insight from “The Sandman” extends “...t he uncanny as a class of morbid anxiety that c omes from something ‘ repressed which recurs. ’ Thus the phenomenon of haunting....”334 Hence, the possibility of 330 Vidler cont inues discussing these two sets of eyes interwovenly, “on the other, there are the more powerful eyes, those of the Sandman, and perhaps of Nathanael, however clouded with sand, eyes that see beyond appearances. ... The latter, dark -sighted eyes are descri bed as flashing with inner light, with fire; they project rather than reflect, thrusting inner forces onto the outside world, working on it to change and distort it. To the possessors of such potentially lethal intruments [ sic ], simple mirrors seem lifeles s: ‘‘Look at me,’ says Klara to Nathanael, ‘I have still got my own eyes’; Nathanael looked into Klara’s eyes; but it was death that, with Klara’s eyes, looked on him kindly’ (S 293). ... But those with inner, uncanny eyes are always fearful of losing thei r powers of sight; disconnected from the physical eye, the mental eye can all too easily be extinguished, or even vanquished by stronger eyes. Thus Freud will interpret the fear of losing sight as a substitute for the dread of castration, citing ‘the subst itutive relation between the eye and the male organ which is seen to exist in dreams and myths and fantasies’ (U 352).” Ibid. 331 Vidler wraps analysis of eyes with the third set: “there is in Der Sandmann, however, a third category of eyes, those mechanical copies that, fabricated either to imitate real eyes, as in the doll Olympia, or to extend the powers of real eyes, as glasses or telescopes, all seem to take on uncanny roles. The spyglass sold by Coppola to Nathanael thus possesses the abilit y to bring O lympia’s artiticial [ sic ] eyes to life: ‘As he continued to look more and more intently through the glass it seemed . . . as if the power of vision were only now starting to be kindled; her glances were inflamed with ever -increasing life’ (S 297). The spyglass has the further power to reduce real eyes to dead ones, as when, casually taking out the glass from his pocket to focus on a strange bush pointed out by Klara, Nathanael looks through it accidentally into Klara’s own eyes and is immediately transporte d to his final vision of the dismembered Olympia, the wooden doll. These mechanical eyes, then, are doubles, the products of art embellishing nature. They add to the already formidable powers of the natural eye, and more often than not they trick it. They are the veritable instruments of trompe l’oeil. Art as the double of nature, doubling the frightening double existence of man himself, an existence divided between the ego and the ego that observes itself, was a familiar theme in Hoffmann and i n romantic l iterature as a whole. ... Art, first invented to ward off the threat of extinction, as in the tracing of a lover’s shadow on the wall, is transformed into the demonic sign of death; in this way, as Freud demonstrated, art itself takes on the aspect o f the uncanny. Art is then uncanny because it veils reality, and also because it tricks. But it does not trick because of what is i n itself; rather it possesses the power to deceive because of the projected desire of the observer.” Idem, 34 -35. 332 See previous th ree notes. 333 Vidler argues this point using Kant’s thrill of terror due to some mental knowledge of ultimate safety, no longer holding val ue due to the spectral heimlich unheimlich relationship. Vidler writes in analysis of Charles Nodier’s analysis of Piranesi, “the passage from homely to unhomely, now operating wholly in the mind, reinforced the ambiguity [ sic ] between real world and dream, real world and spirit world, so as to undermine even the sense of security demanded by professional dreamers. Following Kant’s prescription for the achievement of delight through terror through certain knowledge of safety —‘provided our own position is secure, [the aspect of terrifying natural phenomena] is all the more attractive for its fearfulness’ —the aesthete of terror succeeded in barricading the walls against nature in order to indulge a taste for fear. But with the locus of the uncanny now shifted to the mind, such barriers were difficult to maintain, dissolving readily into the fabric of the dream, haunting the site of its own dread.” Idem, 41. 334 He writes in his next chapter, “Buried Alive”, that Freud’s “...long analysis of Hoffmann’s tale ‘The Sandman’ persuaded him that on one level Schelling had been correct in ascribing the feeling of the uncanny to the ret urn of ‘a hidden familiar thing that has undergone repression and emerged from it.’ In this way, the fragment —‘dismembered limbs, a severed head, a hand cut off at the wrist’ (U 366) —might be related to the castration complex, and superstition itself might be traced to the return of a primitive fear, long buried but always ready to be awakened in the psyche. In this sense, Freud reinterpreted Schelling’s definition in terms

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164 the colloquialisms of ‘haunting illusions’, ‘haunted minds’, and ‘haunted art or artifices’ (or dol ls, houses, spaces, graveyards, and tombs) , all of which are traceable back to “The Sandman” and his eyes. The eye is that which links the uncanny to landscape . For, if we take the common definitional motifs of J.B. Jackson, that “...a landscape is a ‘ portion of land which the eye can comprehend at a glance’”335 and of Denis Cosgrove that “landscape is a way of seeing...”336 it is clear that both authors , on the surface, privilege the eye. Moreover, Cosgrove correctly notes that “landscape is not merely th e world we see, it is a construction, a composition of that world. Landscape is a way of seeing the world”337, which implicates the latter two sets of eyes distinguished in “The Sandman” and analyzed by Freud and Vidler. Moreover, for those that argue lands cape as art (either representation or rerepresentation) , an art that veils ‘reality’, may also be construed in the third set of eyes. If th ese relation s are insufficient, one surely recall s that the uncanny was initially distinguished as an unhomely pre sence within, as the internal presence of something outside the house – an initial “...bourgeois kind of fear: one carefully bounded by the limits of real material security and the pleasure principle afforded by a terror that was, artistically at least, kept well under control”.338 Moreover, noting the uncanny sublime relationship, implicates landscape due to its architecture’s long standing obsession with the sublime . Further , Vidler finds , “the sublime, as defined by Kant, stemmed primarily from a feeling of inadequacy in the face of superior powers; the mental state of the uncanny, tied to the death or frustration of desire, remained both sublime and a threat to its banalization” , and thus argues that the of a recurrence of the repressed, the uncanny as a class of morbid anxiety that comes from something ‘repressed which recurs. ’ Thus the phenomenon of haunting....” Idem, 53. 335 Jackson: 1984, 3. 336 “Landscape is a way of seeing that has its own history, but a history that can be understood only as part of a wider history of economy and soci ety; that has its own assumptions and consequences, but assumptions and consequences whose origins and implications extend well beyond the use and perception of land; that has its own techniques of expression, but techniques whi ch it shares with other areas of cultural practice.” Cosgrove: 1984, 1. 337 Cosgrove writes, “...landscape denotes the external world mediated through subjective human experience in a way that neither region nor area immediately suggest. Landscape is not merely the world we see, it is a construction, a composition of that world. Landscape is a way of seeing the world.” Idem, 13. 338 Recalling from an aforementioned note 318, Vidler argues, “Its favorite motif was precisely the contrast between a secure and homely interior and the fearful invasion of an alien presence; on a psychological level, its play was one of doubling, where the other is, strangely enough, experienced as a replica of the self, all the more fearsome because apparently the same. At the h eart of the anxiety provoked by such alien presences was a fundamental insecurity: that of a newly established class, not quite at home in its own home. The uncanny, in this sense, might be characterized as the quintessential bourgeois kind of fear: one carefully bounded by the limits of r eal material security and the pleasure principle afforded by a terror that was, artistically at least, kept well under control. The uncanny was, in this first incarnation, a sensation best experienced in the privacy of the interior.” Vidler: 1992, 3 4.

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165 uncanny is perpetually enmeshed with the sublime.339 Taken together then, the unca nny is sourced in landscape, specifically in the socially and that material ly external to (alienated, repressed from) the house. Maria Kaika echoes t his social, material landscape source of the uncanny in the chapter “Nature as the Urban Uncanny” in her book City of Flows: Modernity, Nature, and the City . Kaika argues that the modern home operates through an alienating process positioning material “...nature as an externalized ‘other’ for whi ch ‘socially constructed places’ were created. ”340 Through a nature positioned as other, the domesticated modern home could essentially conceive of itself as interior, familiar, and safe through “...the social construction of bodies [made] possible, by first materially constructing ‘others ’ , in the form of natural or social processes, and then keeping them outside. ”341 In spite of modernity’s ambitious conceptualization, Kaika reiterates and clarifies the already established spectrum connection of heimlich unheimlich, exterior interior, sinc e ideologically and linguistically “...the outside always remains inside in a certain way...”342, socially “...the creation of the private space of the home fails to offer shelter from division, since its very social and material production is predicated precisely upon practices of division”343, and materially, although “...the modern home is ideologically constructed as independent and 339 Idem, 52. 340 Kaika, Maria. City of Flows: Modernity, Nature, and the City . New York: Routledge, 2005.58. Kaika argues in extension, “‘good’ nature (purified water, air conditioning, electricity, etc.) became part of (and a basic precondition for the constru ction of) the protected inside of the modern home. At the same time, the domestically metabolized ‘bad’ nature (dirty water, polluted air, sewage) became part of the outside, ‘the other’, the antipode to the comfortable, protected inside of the home. Thus, while modernity produced nature as a commodity and made it an intrinsic part of modern life, it simultaneously conceptually constructed nature as an externalized ‘other’ for which ‘socially constructed places’ were created. This double process of casting processed nature outside the modern home, while allowing controlled commodified nature inside, reinforced the ideological construction of the private sphere as the utopia of the autonomous and the protected, and of the modern private individual as clean, p ure, and free of fear and anxiety.” Idem, 57 -58. 341 Idem, 60. Kaika argues that “the dwelling places of modernity embody the material connections that make the social construction of bodies possible, by first materially constructing ‘others’, in the form of natural or social processes, and then keeping them outside.” Ibid. Moreover, “in the opening quote of this chapter, Ruskin defines the ‘true nature of home’ as ‘a shelter from anomie and division.’ Dirt, fear, and anxiety stemming from social and natura l processes are supposed to have been exiled from the isolated private space of the home and instead confined (if not relegated) to the urban space or to nature. T hus, excluding socionatural processes as ‘the other’ becomes a prerequisite for the construction of the familiar space of the home. The inside becomes safe, familiar, and independent not only by excluding rain, cold, and pollution, but also through keeping fear, anxiety, social upheaval, and inequality outside.” Idem, 61. 342 Ideologically /linguis tically, Kaika argues, “while the inside (the familiar) needs the outside (the unfamiliar) to construct and define itself as a distinct space, the excluded outside in turn functions by following the logic of the inside. In doing so, the outside always remains inside in a certain way, subject to the rules and the logic dictated by the inside: there can be no homelessness without an economic, political, and social process that produces the home as a commodity; no refugees without practices of ex ile from a cou ntry of origin; no margin without a center; no periphery without a core. As Wigley put it: ‘By being placed outside, the other is placed, domesticated, kept inside. To be excluded is to be subjected to a certain domestic violence.’” Idem, 62. 343 For social processes, Kaika argues, “thus, contrary to the first of Ruskin's claims, the creation of the private space of the home fails to offer shelter from division, since its very social and material production is predicated precisely upon practices of division. As for providing shelter from anomie (the second of Ruskin’s claims), the modern home falls short of offering this as well: not

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166 disconnected from natural processes, its function is heavily dependent upon its material connections to these very processes.. ..”344 I n awareness of this dependence, it is no wonder that the social and material relations of the familiar, the heimlich with /in the unheimlich, the unfamiliar, are, as Kaika rightly notes, “...hidden rather than ostracized altogether outside the modern home.”345 Kaika continues, “yet at times of crisis, hidden elements can surface unexpectedly, and familiar objects can behave in unusual ways”346 through which “...a revelation of its dependency on social relations of production generates a feeling of ‘not being at home in one’s own home’.”347 The feelings thus produced, or rather, revealed for Kaika , the uncanny alienated presence, absent yet present all along.348 Kaika thus indicates t he landscapeuncanny only did it fail to exclude social anomie from its interior, it also ended up reproducing fragmentation and inequality inside it. Through the process of division of labor and the allocation of different spaces to different users (stratified by gender; age , status, etc.) the social and gender inequalities, power relations and violence that were meant to be kept outside became reprod uced within the ‘ideological prison’ of the private space of the modern home.” Idem, 63. 344 For the material processes Kaika argues, “in both cases, the sense of familiarity within the modern home is predicated upon i ts material connection to the very elements and processes which are excluded ideologically. The ‘other’ in the form of natural processes or social relations of production is simultaneously inside yet outside, domestic yet unfamiliar, homely yet unhomel y. Thus, although the modern home is ideolog ically constructed as independent and disconnected from natural processes, its function is heavily dependent upon its material connections to these very processes, which are mediated through a series of networks and social power relations.” Idem, 65. 345 As Kaika notes in the conclusion to the section of her chapter, “in conclusion, it could be argued that relegating social and natural processes outside the dwelling spaces of modernity —the two cornerstones for producing a home according to Ruskin’s vision —are conditions that have been met only at an ideological (representational -visual and discursive -perceptive) level. In fact, both social and natural processes have been hidden rather than ostracized altogether outside the modern home. Representative of modernity’s inherent contradictions, the modern home, in a simultaneous act of need and denial, hosts in its guts everything it tries to keep outside. It is its connection to everything it tries to disconnect from, to the invisible material and social r elations that lie underneath its visible counterparts, that makes the modern home appear to be functioning in an autonomous way. In a subversive manner, remaining unfamiliar with the socio natural networks that produce and maintain it, is a prerequisite for feelin g familiar within one’s own home.” Idem, 66. 346 She continues with a list of material and social ruptures, making evident the uncanny within the structures of the interior i tself. “Yet at times of crisis, hidden elements can surface unexpectedly, and famil iar objects can behave in unusual ways. For example, at times of water shortage, taps fail to provide water, and during blackouts the flick of a switch no longer results in insta nt light. Such moments reveal the presence of the excluded ‘outside’ as a cons titutive part of the ‘inside’. A leakage or burst pipe (Figure 4.d) reveals a hidden and intricate system of pipes and water mains; a dry tap due to water shortages or maintenance works re fers to the complex network of production and distribution of water; and the accumulation of garbage as a consequence of municipal strikes forces the public to consider the complex process of waste collection and disposal (see Figure 4.e).” Idem, 67 68. 347 Kaika correlates this feeling with the uncanny as derived from Freud . “Such incidents produce a feeling of uneasiness, discomfort, and anxiety, which threatens to tear down the laboriously built and elaborately maintained security and safety of familiar spaces. These occurrences put the normalized character of the control and commodification of nature into question, and threaten the smooth functioning of the domestic sphere. ‘Such an exposure of the limits of domestic bliss and a revelation of its dependency on social relations of production generates a feeling of ‘not being at home in one’s own home’. This unhomely feeling within the homely was termed by Sigmund Freud as ‘the Uncanny’ [das Unheimliche]. ” Idem, 68. 348 As Kaika writes, in aims to ultimately offer alternate options than the discomfort indicated by the revelatio n of the uncanny, “...the anxiety produced by the uncanny (interpreted as the manifestation of one’s own alienation within one’s familiar space ) can be used as a political tool for the manipulation of public opinion and as a vehicle to push through specifi c political-economic agendas. The reason why the manifestation of the alienation within our most familiar environments assists in such political practices is due to the uncanniness experienced as fear of loss of the safe and the sublime. As Sibley contends , anxiety can be deepened by the creation of a false sense of security. If this holds true, then it would appear that the modernist enterprise to create binary distinctions and boundaries in order to do away with fear and anxiety, actually served to deepen the very same problem it tried to eradicate. However, as we will explore in the final section of this chapter, the unexpected surfacing of typically h idden

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167 relation, made evident in analysis of the modern home, as she concludes, “...the dwelling places of modernity are [thus] hosts of the uncanny in their very structure.”349 Resultantly, landscape is not only related to the uncanny, but rather it is the material and social sources of those things unseen, hidden , and invisible , the very ‘hosts of the uncanny.’ Through analysis in the following act of landscape, UHI things, and life/death, landscape’s uncanny bed of things becomes clearer . More so , by arguing the incum bent role of the UHI as not visible , yet act ive and informative dead, further implicates an argument that landscape and its architecture would benefit through a more thorough dedication to the uncanny, rather than its current dedication to the sublime. To conclude here , Kaika urges readers, using Heidegger, “ interrogate the familiar, since ‘the familiar carries an air of harmlessness and ease, which causes us to pass lightly over what really deserves to be questioned.’”350 Since, as Kaika continues, “familiarity can veil the complex fabric of social and spatial relations involved in its own production...[and] familiarity of the domestic space conceals the violence...dwelling in the institutions...[then] the familiar, if not interrogated, ‘alienates by masking a more fundamental alienation...’ ” one of a type of fetishism , which thrives in that it lacks questioning the comfort of the obvious.351 This interrogation of the familiar is truly a transgressive act, one which elements that brings to the foreground a recognition of the condition of alienation within the most familiar of environments, rather than being a source of fear and anxiety, has the potential to be a source of knowledge and emancipation.” Idem, 72. 349 Kaika writes, invoking Vidler, “however, the modern home does not function only as a sign or a represent ation of the uncanny, as Vidler depicts it. Going beyond the contradiction between materiality and representation, between reality and the ideal type, this chapter illustrates that the dwelling places of modernity are hosts of the uncanny in their very str ucture. Once stripped of their well-constructed clarity and familiarity, or in moments of crisis, they are revealed as being themselves objects of surrealist art, pointing at the alienation of the dweller that inhabits them, subverting the image of the dw elling as the epitome of the familiar. In a simultaneous act of need and denial, they guard in their guts and in their underbelly everything they t ry to keep outside: sewerage, pipelines, dirt, rats, pests, crime, disease, the homeless.” Idem, 75. 350 Kaika argues, “one of the reasons why anxiety and discomfort is produced by a domestic network crisis is precisely because it forces us to reflect on the existence of things and social and economic relations to which the home is connected and which, w hen disrupt ed, render the normal function of our lives anomalous and reveal that the familiarity based on the supposed autonomy of the private space is itself a form of alienation. It is for this reason that Heidegger urges us to interrogate the familiar, since ‘the familiar carries an air of harmlessness and ease, which causes us to pass lightly over what really deserves to be questioned. ’” Idem, 70. 351 As Kaika writes in extension, “familiarity can veil the complex fabric of social and spatial relations involved in i ts own production, thereby assisting in the process of commodity fetishism. The familiarity of the domestic space conceals the viole nce (in the form of social power relations) dwelling in the institutions, which make the construction and sustenance of any edifice possible. For example, the potential violence of a tap dwells within the hands of the institutions that have the power to tur n water supply on or off. By being unaware of this violence, by being trapped in a constructed domestic familiarity, we rem ain alienated in the very space that is supposed to be the most familiar to us. The bourgeois home operates as a blissful private shelter i nsofar as it is selectively sealed from the world outside. One can be lost forever inside one’s own painstakingly created familiarity, insofar as one is confined inside it. By eliminating (visually, perceptually, and discursively -ideologically) the material connections and social relations that make its existence possible, the modern home acquires the properties that Bachelard

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168 “...aims at bringing the viewer/reader face to face with their alienation experi enced within their most familiar environment and with their most familiar objects...but also because it undermines the belief in the possibility of producing a space that is totally disconnected from both social and natural processes.”352 Thus, in light of an uncanny based in “...the recurrence of a previously repressed emotional affect, transformed by repression into anxiety, ‘in reality nothing new or alien, but something which is familiar and old established in the mind and which has become alienated from it only through the process of repression’”353 the drawings to be employed here aim to interrogate the familiar, for there, the repressed uncanny of unseen, hidden, and invisible things may surely be sourced. Drawings The drawings work within a herme neutic framework, aiming to source UHI things , through an attempt to tune into, sense, and receive the uncanny of landscape. In understanding that drawings essentially (or most often) reduce – they nearly take a section cut of lived existence – the drawin gs produced aim to avoid proposing such .354 Due to this acknowledgement , the drawings must work with in the conventions of landscape architecture, and they use relatively simple and traditional techniques to argue the informative role of unseen, hidden, and invisible. They are complex and dense though. As previously stated, the following drawings aim to map an uncanny in landscape. The notion of a map is, as already discussed, complex. Essentially, the drawings aim towards a form of measurement. James Corner, in his essay “Taking Measure: Irony and Contradiction in an Age of Precision” in his book assigned to it: of both a refuge and a prison. According to Wigley, the innocence of the familiar, if not interrogated, ‘alie nates by masking a more fundamental alienation: the obviousness and self -assurance of the average ways in which things have been interpreted as such.’” Ibid. 352 Idem, 75. She writes in length, “the subversive use of the uncanny in these movements aims at bringing the viewer/reader face to face with their alienation experienced within their most familiar environment and with the ir most familiar objects. ... Thus, questioning the familiarity of our most familiar environments can be an act of subversion in itself. Not only because i t reveals the alienation within the familiar, but also because it undermines the belief in the possib ility of producing a space that is totally disconnected from both social and natural processes. ... Exposing the dysfunctionality of the private spaces where blind individualism can be practiced in isolation calls for a reflection on alternative ways of en gaging with the world. As Mary Douglas suggested, exploring the margins is important since it opens both destructive and creative possibilities. Exploring the uncan ny materiality of ‘the other’ in the form of the invisible metabolized nature or technology networks points at the social construction of the separation between the natural and the social, the private and the public. It reveals the individual, the social, and the natural, as a socio -natural continuum that disrupts the boundaries between the above socially constructed categories. Demonstrating the ideological construction of private spaces as autonomous and disconnected and insisting on their material a nd social connections calls for an end to individualization, fragmentation, and disconnectedness that are looked for within the bliss of one’s home. It calls for engaging in political and social action, which is, almost invariably, decidedly public.” Ibid. 353 Vidler: 1992, 55. 354 This concern raised and explained by Tony Mazzeo, 3.28.2018.

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169 done in collaboration with Alex MacLean, Taking Measures across the American Landscape , argues that two different distinct forms of measure have historically shaped western civilization’s conventional a nd contemporary sensibilities . He ultimately promotes a third, synthetic mode conjoining and subsuming previous modalities ; one qualified by a “...metaphoricity of measure, its ability to span across distance an d time...[where] landscape and nature would shed their things possessed by measure, and emer ge as active playful and indeterminate as they would be precise and highly structured... [in] dimensions of the precisely errant and the systematically bewildering. ”355 The prior two measure s correlate with what Corner calls traditional, privileging “...the interrelationship of labor, body and site”356 and modern, privileging objectivity, “ array of quantifiable and manipulable objects arran ged in homogeneous and absolute space...enabling humankind to assume a position of supremacy and mastery over nature.”357 Yet, this knowledge of the two measures alone is rather empty. Further examination of each measure is helpful. Primarily holing binar y positions, it is neither “...the capacity of traditional measure to imbue practical life with symbolic meaning, [where] such measures made coherent the relationships between people, place, activity, morality, and beauty”358 nor 355 Corner, Jam es. “Taking Measure: Irony and Contradiction in an Age of Precision”. James Corner and Alex S. MacLean. Taking Measures across the American Landscape . New Haven: Yale University Press, 1996. 25 37. 37. “Such an understanding may be predicated increasingly upon the metaphoricity of measure, its ability to span across distance and time. In this approach, landscape and nature would shed their status as objects, as things possessed by measure, and emerge as active agents in the unfolding of life and in the rel ating of one to an-other. As with genes and ideas, such actants would be as playful and indeterminate as they would be precise and highly structured. Only then might the taking of measure assume further dimensions to those of either tradition or the modern—dimensions of the precisely errant and the systematically bewildering.” Ibid. 356 Corner argues that “traditional units of measure therefore derived from the interrelationship of labor, body and site.” Idem, 27. Yet this is based on two distinct characteristics of traditional measure: “the first was the capacity of measure to relate the everyday world to the infinite and invisible dimensions of the universe, whether they be the movement of the planets, the rhy thm of the seasons, or the actions of heavenly d eities. ... The second characteristic of traditional measure was its development through the relationship of the human body to physical activities and materials.” Ibid. 357 Idem, 28. Yet this modern form of measure was from “...traditional measure [that] beg an to change during the scientific revolution of the seventeenth century. Following the radical developments put forth by Galileo, Bacon, Newton, and Descartes, measure assumed an increasingly autonomous and self -referential place in human knowledge, becom ing less and less connected to experiential and culturally situated origins. The Enlightenment philosophers severed, or abstracted, the world from the subject in order to dissect it for empirical study. ... Thereafter, the world came to consist of an array of quantifiable and manipulable objects arranged in homogeneous and absolute space. No longer were things qualified by their relation to a specific subject, place, or situation; instead, the various ‘parts’ of reality were objectified and rendered neutral . Consequently, measure developed into a radically autonomous practice, related not to the phenomenal and interactive world but to things as solitary and inert objects. This splitting of the objective from the subjective established, for the first time, a detached distance between the human and phenomenal worlds, enabling humankind to assume a position of supremacy and mastery over nature.” Idem, 27-28. 358 Idem, 27. “The practical and place-specific nature of traditional measure, together with its idealized , cosmographic import via geometry, meant that the traditional world was generally conceived of as an organic whole, lending a representational and socially interactive unity to life (demonstrated in this book through the Hopi and Chacoan examples, pls. 102 113). Both the phenomenal and imaginative dimensions of reality were structure through these earlier uses of measure and geometry. Owing to

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170 “...the outcome of technocra tic conventi on ... in which the universal application of measure was to become the ultimate instrument of human dominion, with the consequence that the world was reduced to a neutral stock of resources made available for profit and gain”359; neither the tra ditional or the modern, alone , suffice for Corner. Rather, Corner promotes a measure based on “...spatial and material determinations [which] are qualitatively negotiated...judgments about what is correct for a given situation,... [and] are best approximat ions rather than certainties.”360 Such a measure “...from a culturally grounded form of accuracy, a qualitative precision that is quite different from that of the [modern, provides] ... intuitive determinations of measure [that] are always peculiar to and ri ght for their contextual circumstance. ”361 Thus, his measure focuses on applied qualitative mechanisms of quantitative and mathematic forms in culturally discovered measure. As such, a qualitative, situational measure, is not simply a throwback to traditio nal forms, but is based on a “practical form of knowledge [rather] than a strictly theoretical [either traditional or modern] mode of knowing.”362 In such a promotion of “measured correctness,...[which] is less of dimensional mathematic exactitude than it i s of moral propriety and precision of judgment — attributes that are culturally acquired and practiced within given circumstances...[are deployed] in ways that are as much qualitative and situated as they are quantitative and universal.”363 Thus neither tradi tional nor modern measure alone functions well in contemporary situation al measure. the capacity of traditional measure to imbue practical life with symbolic meaning, such measures made coherent the relationships between people, place, activity, morality, and beauty.” Ibid. 359 Idem, 28. “Thus, unlike the significant measures of the past, modern measures emerged as the outcome of technocratic convention; they have no greater social or cosmographic sig nificance than the mathematical and international need for universal standards. Unwittingly, the Enlightenment philosophers heralded a new technological era in which the universal application of measure was to become the ultimate instrument of human domini on, with the consequence that the world was reduced to a neutral stock of resources made available for profit and gain.” Ibid. 360 Idem, 33. Corner comes to this point in discussing the successes of designers to delve into the anxiety of making decisions by holding specificity to a tight standard. He argues, “instead, these spatial and material determinations are qualitatively negotiated; they are the outcome of informed experience and the ‘feeling out’ of those phenomena believed to be most appropriate giv en the circumstance. Consequently, their designs are impossible to replicate elsewhere without their becoming somehow unfitting or improper. Informed by judgments about what is correct for a given situation, the measures taken by these designers are best a pproximations rather than certainties.” Ibid. 361 Ibid. Continuing, As such, they derive from a culturally grounded form of accuracy, a qualitative precision that is quite different from that of that of the technomathematical. Like Michelangelo’s ‘false tru ths’ (those artistic representations that appear to be more correct in feeling and in truth of spirit than the ‘true falsehoods’ of empiracle quantification), such intuitive determinations of measure are always peculiar to and right for their contextual ci rcumstance. Through their inventive fitting, such measures might also be understood in terms of metaphor in that their spans reaches to join and produce something new.” Ibid. 362 Ibid. 363 Corner argues, in generalizations, “by extension, to exercise ‘good measure’ in everyday life is to practice what feels right and proper, with precision, economy, and grace. Measured correctness, then, is less of dimensional mathematic exactitude than it is of moral propriety and precision of judgment —attributes that are cult urally acquired and practiced within given circumstances; they

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171 The link for Corner is the situational – through which, his arguments for a third synthetic measure takes a reconciliatory role. Working with Heidegger’s claims “...that ‘ the taking of measure is what is poetic in dwelling.’...[Or, rather] ‘In poetry there takes place what all measuring is in the ground of its being’”364 Corner argues the situational notions of “...a measure taking that is about the ‘letting appear’ of what i s right and fitting in human existence”365 promotes a sensible sensitivity of measure qualitatively determined within self and contexts. Corner continues to argue his operational framework of measure, a “...reconciliation of opposites is what is revealed by the poetic measure, the metaphor. Such measures are good and beautiful in their spanning and joining of differences, connecting things to make possible more wholesome forms of existence.”366 Lest one find Corner hiding behind theoretical indeterminates, he argues that “...this reconciliatory function of measure need not be obscure or theoretical, for people practice good and just measure in daily life.”367 Thus, Corner’s reconciliat ion is best practiced through actions, errors, and lessons brought out in eve ryday contextual life . He writes, “by extending oneself with due measure (which is what ensues in any conversation or dance), one overcomes separation and distance to construct relationship and dialogue. These social measures unite self with other.”368 On tological measure of situational reciprocity is thus enmeshed with an uncertain practice of ambivalence and agnosticism. Rather than shying from or eradicating the discomfort thereof, Corner’s measure embraces the anxiety of a being that recurs, one with the other, being one another, perpetually an other; marked in contemporary practices where “...everyday life upon the land has evolved a rich and cannot be practiced using the codes and conventions of standards and norms. As such, measure guides interpretation and action in ways that are as much qualitative and situated as they are quant itative and universal. This is more a practical form of knowledge than a strictly theoretical mode of knowing.” Ibid. 364 Idem, 34. Corner writes: “in a short, beautiful essay entitled “...Poetically Man Dwells...,” Martin Heidegger reflects upon the essent ial nature of measure. Drawing from the poetry of Friedrich Hlderlin, Heidegger proclaims that ‘the taking of measure is what is poetic in dwelling.’ He later turns this phrase around to read: ‘In poetry there takes place what all measuring is in the grou nd of its being.’” Ibid. 365 Ibid. Corner argues that Heidegger’s claims of measure are quite different from modern measure. “Clearly, the measure taking of which Heidegger and the poets speak differs from the purely calculative and instrumental. It is a m easure taking that is about the ‘letting appear’ of what is right and fitting in human existence.” Ibid. 366 Ibid. 367 Idem, 36. On the following page, in continuation of his argument on reconciliatory measure, Corner argues, again without specifics and rather presumptively, “a further understanding of this reconciliatory function of measure need not be obscure or theoretical, for people practice good and just measure in daily life. When one enters into a conversation, participates in a dance, or sits to eat with friends, a sense of what constitutes appropriate behavior and response prevails. In philosophical terms, this self awareness of measure is called ‘practical wisdom’: one is conscious of the quantities, properties, and limits of one’s being within a part icular circumstance, and is aware of how to extend and foster kinship with others.” Ibid. 368 Ibid.

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172 delirious landscape, a complex imbroglio...accrued through a kind of earthbound and inevitable errancy....”369 C orner’s measure embraces an ever differential negotiation of the situation, a perpetual uncanny being of that which recurs, emergent “ active agents in the unfolding of life and in the relating of one to another.”370 Thus, this form of measure finds f ooting in the following drawings – they aim to measure the uncanny bed of landscape, reaching towards sensing the emergent active bodies of the not visible dead, the active and alive unseen, hidden, and invisible forces and things. Yet, in brief note, alt hough the drawings themselves are flat, they have depth, and in the depth, they source a revelatory component. In Edward Casey’s book, Earth Mapping: Artists Reshaping Landscape , he argues that artists can work with more than what is visibly at hand by ev oking alternate mapping techniques to rework landscape via representational and re presentational forms.371 In one such case, Casey argues that Margot McLean’s work operates in a type of mapping he terms as “... allusive or evocative mapping . This proceeds n ot by representing that which is the case (as in conventional geographic mapping) or what will be the case (as in charting) but by alluding to that which was so.”372 369 Idem, 37. After posing some brief clarification, posing an ethic to qualify what constitutes as ‘good and just measure’ or ‘appropriate behavior’, and noti ng the ironic paradox of modern measure, Corner notes that his measure is not a smooth and flawless interrelationship. Rather, “although there are places where lines do not quite meet up, where roads are not straigh t or true, where property lines take str ange and irregular turns, and where the rectilinear order breaks down, it is the system that bends —albeit unwittingly and with little grace. Still, the point is that everyday life upon the land has evolved a rich and delirio us landscape, a complex imbrogli o of farmsteads, diners, gas stations, crop dusters, motels, floods, tornadoes, baseball, cornfields, towns, hillsides, plains, conversations, arguments, dances, sunrise, snow, and drought. This same richness, accrued through a kind of earthbound and inevi table errancy, might also describe other technological constructions upon the land.” Idem, 36-37. 370 Idem, 37. See note 355. 371 Casey gives a cursory definition of re -presentation in two separate locations of this text. See, for instance, when he writes of McLean’s work Metaphorical Forest (1989), “this ambitious piece, exhibited in Hartford, created an entire art world from materials and images borrowed from the natural world. It was not a representation of the latter, but its re -presentation : the artist pr esented again, in a very different context, the materials she had gathered from the environing world of nature.” Casey, Edwar d S. Earth -Mapping: Artists Reshaping Landscape. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2005. 31. See also in the subsequent chapter when he writes of Sandy Gellis’s work which “ not conceal their material of origin. Indeed, they make this materiality abundantly, often gloriously, clear, and they do so not by representing it but by re -presenting it. Re -presentation , a term whose meaning I have explored elsewhere, signifies not just presenting again but doing so in a transformative manner. Far from implying anything derivative or secondary, it means instead an ‘augmentation in being’ (Gadamer’s phrase). The logic of re -presen tation is thus parallel to that of re -implacement. In both cases, there is an aesthetic and ontological gain rather than a net loss. In absorbing the earth instead of being absorbed in itself, the work moves forward into the world that it brings forth, the reby producing it.” Idem, 5455. 372 Idem, 30. Casey sets this up with the following: “in other words, the materials that Margot McLean had garnered on that fateful last day in Virginia served as synedochal souvenirs : souvenirs in the literal sense of items ‘coming up to’ (i.e., sur/venir ), entering into the present from the past, and synedochal insofar as these same items stood in a pars pro toto relationship to the land from which they were taken: each item, each leaf or clump of earth, was a part of the p lot of land and thus served as a representative of the plot as a whole. Taken together, these metonymic reminders alluded to the plot —a word whose linguistic cousin is place —without explicitly referring to it, much less describing it. They make up a specia l form of mapping that we can call allusive or evocative mapping . This proceeds not by representing that which is the case (as in conventional geographic mapping) or what will be the case (as in charting) but by alluding to that which was so.” Idem, 29 -30 .

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173 This form of mapping reveals ‘ hidden presences ’ through a process of ‘ thick mapping’ which evocatively sources depth through a dense process of layering.373 For Casey, this mapping process works through the construction of a ‘double take’ “...whereby one and the same thing can be seen in two disparate ways in quick succession”374 due to an interpla y of ‘scale and level’375. This, Casey notes, is different from a nonmapping process , in which occurs simultaneously “...two takes in one perception : not a single image read in two different ways, but the perception of two parts of the same painting, each of which possesses its own autonomous level.”376 The latter of these is non mapping as “it lacks the minimal comparative mapping that occurs...wherein two levels and two scales relate to each other, however implicitly.”377 T hus, analysis of the double take with dualistic comparative scales and levels provides Casey with the argument ative core of allusive and evocative mapping – situation, field, and arena.378 373 Casey writes, “McLean’s surfaces are multilayered; embedded in her surfaces are hidden presences: concealed in certain materialities (e.g., soil, leaves) are other things that are barely glimpsed (e.g., compost). The effect is that of a rich painterly palimpsest: a (painted) map that is something other than a (cartographic) map. The result is what we can call thick mapping: a densely layered earth mapping that is evocative rather than indicative. Such mapping is especially appropriate for effecting comm emoration, which is always a remembering -through a material medium — for example, through a monument or a text. ... The directionality is at once down into the earth and under the top surface of the soil.” Ibid. 374 Idem, 32. Casey further outlines the double take as follows: “at one level, we see nothing maplike; this is the ground level of perceptual immersion, our inaugural take on this painting: our first look coming to terms with the only readily discernible objects.... These compelling foci literally dr aw out our attention and bring it to their level. ... But in a second look, something else of radically different scale and subject matter emerges. ...[I]nstead of drawing us down as before, they sink back into these enormous earth regions. The whole scene is now viewed from afar, as if the viewer were high above the earth in a satellite. We encounter here a strange situation of double perception in which a single painting yields two very different scenes. It is a matter of a Gestalt switch, whereby one and the same thing can be seen in two disparate ways in quick succession. ... In the first instance, our perceptual noses are rubbed in the rich loam of earth; in the second, we become detached viewers from afar.” Ib id. 375 Casey outlines scale and level, the a lready noted integral components of the ‘double take,’ in the following pages. For scale, “ scale can be defined as ‘the proportion used in determining the relationship of a representation to that which it represents...more generally, a system of ordered m arks at fixed intervals used as a reference standard in measurement.’” Ibid. Whereas for level, “I construe level in keeping with Merleau -Ponty’s discussion of it as the basis of my bodily orientation with the world at any given moment —the way in which I am geared into this world by means of my lived body.... In particular, it [a specific painting of McLean’s] grounds two levels of looking: the close -up view that looks into the earth -ground as a base level, or general setting, within which my body is coeva l with the world, the primary world of intimate perception; and the view from far above, the world of distantiated and discerning perception. Different as they are, each level has the effect of providing orientation to the v iewer’s glance. ...For the spati al level is something that I do not myself constitute; it is always already there as something I can fit into and take up. ... [For this reason,] as the primary witness of the perceived world, the painter provides levels into which the viewer can gear —leve ls that build on and refer to on another in accordance with the principle that each setting is ‘spatially particularized only for a previously given level.’” Idem, 33. 376 Concerning a different work, Orinoco, Casey notes the non-mapping characteristics. “No longer a modification of the level of the representational inset, its level stands on its own. The result is that our perception of the painting is not so much a d ouble take as it is two takes in one perception: not a single image read in two different wa ys, but the perception of two parts of the same painting, each of which possesses its own autonomous level. It follows that where the double take we perform upon Virginia requires a succession of at least two perceptions —as in the famous duck/rabbit Gestal t switch —we can perceive both levels of Orinoco in one comprehensive glance.” Idem, 34. 377 Ibid. 378 Casey outlines these in discussion of the process of re -presentational relocation of the painted in the flat plane of the drawing. Concerning re -presented su bjects, Casey finds that “...McLean remarks, ‘The animals in my paintings aren’t completely ‘there,’ completely visible.’ Parts of their bodies fade from visibility, and they always seem to look into the invisible: into a nonf igurative

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174 With the aforementioned dimensions and characteristics thus analyzed, Casey effectively outlines the two components of maps – differentiation and depth. As already outlined, the double take of contrasting scale and level made possible through the densely layered surfaces of arena, field, and situation , frames the basic component of differentiation379 in th is mode of mapping. Casey outlines “a second feature of any surface that is seen as a map or maplike is a peculiar depth that accrues to it. Not a depth detached from the surface, but a depth that clings to the surface itself.”380 T his depth, this measure, is of concern here, and Casey outlines four in relation to this specific form of mapping: “(i) Depth of sheer difference...(ii) Depth of regular recession...(iii) Earthen Depth...(iv) Celestial depth ....”381 Thus, distance that has an indiscernible horizon. On the other hand, the generously applied earth-red paint that surrounds them so vibrantly suggests something auspicious: at least these four animals have found a new location in the painting, a new habitat there, a ‘home away from home.’ ... The mere fact that the title names a particular place known for its ample spaces suggests that the painting offers a special kind of aegis to animals: a sheltered space where they can subsist without risk of depredation and destruction.” Idem, 3 6. This example notes the situation, field, and arena of mapping. For situation, which “ not to say that the animals in question are thereby located , if by located is meant having a precise position in homogeneous space. The animals first of all relocated from their natural habitats into the intimate space of the inset, can be considered situated, though only in relation to the underlying earth: here indeed, ‘being is synonymous with being situated.’ ... Seeing this earth from afar in contrast with v iewing the animals close -up in the insets assists the emergence of mapping in each case: the contrasting implicit viewing distances, acting in close concert with the answering contrasts in scale and level, help to constitute this very emergence. S ituation makes relocation possible by providing for this latter an effective spatial framework.” Idem, 37. Moreover, the field depends on those re -presented features which span levels. As Casey writes, “most striking for our purposes are the large masses. These are not concealed or graspable only on a Gestalt switch. They are steady presences that subtend and connect everything else in th e painting, providing a quasi -geographic basso continuo to the paining as a whole. The land masses, though not delineated in any internal detail, together compose a mappa terrarium that acts as the ‘primordial level’ for the other levels, which are modulations of this basic level and exist only in relation to it as a situational field.” Ibid. Continuing, Casey notes that the situa tion and field are not sufficient for a double take of scale and level, but rather the inclusion of an arena, some ‘tenuous though effective ’ technique of ‘reinforcement’ and ‘reminders’, a level to serve as a fluid point of reference. Casey writes, “rein forcing this maplike character are horizontal lines in the lower right that suggest parallels of latitude, while the vertical drip lines seem to allude to meridians of longitude. But these tenuous though effective lines or reinforcement act only as reminde rs of modern mapping techniques. What matters here is not a persuasive presentation of an actual map but the laying down of a level that a cts as an arena for mapping.” Ibid. 379 “Arena, field, situation: these are the basis for mapping in the sense pursued b y McLean. Each refers to a certain kind of surface; after all, mapping is minimally an internally differentiated configuration of surfaces....” Idem, 38. 380 Ibid. Casey continues to outline what the varying relevances of depth. “In mapping as in several other domains, ‘the depths are on the surface.’ Either the surface comes accompanied with numbers that indicate its metric depth (e.g., in relation to s ea level), or it is represented as having a depth of its own, as when mountains and other topographic fea tures are depicted on it, or else as a depth perceived in relation to that of an adjacent region. ... In mapping, depth is not just the ‘third dimension’ in addition to height and width; it is the most important of the three dimensions, being ‘the reversibility of all dimensions.’ For depth is always at stake not just in overtly topographic mapping...but also in many other ways of mapping as well: even those maps tha t concern mainly distances between places are in effect representing depth on land or sea: d epth across, a specifically lateral depth that contrasts with the horizontal depth of traditional Renaissance perspective.” Ibid. 381 Idem, 38-39. In extension and in regards to McLean’s painting, these are as follows: “(i) Depth of sheer difference is the minimal depth at stake in the area in which the birds are shown. In that area, we see only the bodies of the birds profiled a gainst a plain flat surface. All that we can tell is that the birds are in front of that surface, though we cannot say how far in f ront or what the nature of the surface is; yet depth is still present. (ii) Depth of regular recession is the depth that structures the inset depicting the miniature Maine landscape. The classical perspective of this monofocal view, ‘deep distance’ in Nort hern Sung nomenclature, brings with it an implicit grid with progressively smaller squares as it recedes towards the horizon; this grid affords depth, just as it makes movement toward a horizon possible. (iii) Earthen Depth is the depth of continents, not only in relation to surrounding seas, but also as integral parts of the earth understood as a sphere with its own form of depth, whic h reflects the earth’s curvature as a globe in space. Such depth is at once intercontinental and global. (iv) Celestial dep th is the most

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175 as Casey argues, “the depths are indeed on the surface —on the surface of this give to the work a multilayered character: to make it not only a painting that is composed of several layers but a painting that is in a certain manner about layering as such.”382 This layering issues forth a depth that does not say precisely what is, but rather it invokes and evokes. McLean’s mappings reveal : “ shows the traces of earlier is a matter of ‘overlay’ set forth the neglected or repressed worlds of animals, or particular lan get at the essentials of their subject matter: an epiphany on a particular plot of land, the life of animals, the earth , the sky.”383 Thus, the depths that are on the surface, along the thinned drawings and mappings, can measure , with Casey’s argued methods , what is otherwise not apparent. As Casey writes McLean’s work offers up a revelatory potential in its scale, level, and depth. She works “ honor two things in the end: the earth...and bodies on capture the eau de vie that nourishes both kinds of thing...[and to bring] their remembered past into the perceptual present of her canvas so that their collective future can become more concretely imaginable.”384 In this sense, Casey’s allusive and evocative mapping constitutes not th e past, but the past lived in the present and future. “...In a memory of that past, inhabiting that memory, responding to it even as one lives on its basis. Indeed, lives so much in it that to paint it is to commemorate it: by a mindful mapping that is tr ue to the past even as it carries the past forward imaginatively into the present and the future.”385 It evokes that which was, elusive depth dimension of all. As if to acknowledge this McLean does not paint it separately...instead, in Blackbirds she brings the sky down over the earth as if it were a transparent veil with stars as sequins. ...Celestial depth is limitless, given that the eye can see indefinitely far into the sky.” Ibid. 382 Idem, 39. 383 Idem, 39-40. This smattering of citations reads in a less truncated way: “in this respect, Blackbirds , like many other of McLean’s paintings, is a palimpsest: it shows tr aces of earlier layers of work instead of covering them over. It is a matter of ‘overlay’ (to borrow) a term from Michelle Stuart, who uses it in primarily cultural and geologic contexts). ... This commemorative effect is heightened by the use of insets to set forth the neglected or repressed worlds of animals, or particular landscapes (e.g., that of Maine) that the artist wishes to remember. ...McLean has distilled her paintings to get at the essentials of their subject matter: an epiphany on a particular plot of land, the life of animals, the earth , the sky.” Ibid. 384 Idem, 40. Casey writes of a selection of McLean’s work, “these titles are consciously restricted to three categories: places , animal names, and parts of the human body. This selection is indicative of McLean’s effort to honor two things in the end: the earth (in its many places) and bodies on earth (in animal as well as human forms). Her paintings seek to capture the eau de vie that nourishes both kind of thing, while her multilayered mapping aims to relocate animal and human bodies into the places of her work —to put these bodies, so much at risk of extinction and death, somewhere where they can be noticed anew, in a place of their own to which painting as memorial alludes.” Ibid. 385 Ibid.

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176 and yet not necessarily historically , but rather en passant, of what is absently present ; these are mappings en passant of visual absence, or the presence of UHI. Casey furthers this notion of depth in other chapters. For instance, Casey outlines the depth intimated or outright revealed in the rubbings of Michelle Stuart. In the display of Stuart’s rubbi ngs, Casey argues the wo rks indicate “ allusion to something else literally underneath the drawing...which the drawing traces out compulsively.”386 The rubbings, even as representations make evident that which is always below. Yet, rather than the surface of which is rubbed , Casey argues that “Stuart rubs not only the surface ... but also through it to capture the raw texture of what lies below, which belongs to the earth (even in the case of metal, which she also employs ).”387 Thus, the rubbing indicates the depths pulled fo rth from the thing rubbed itself – not simply its surface. As Casey continues to reiterate this, he argues, “...rubbing is not an image of something such as the earth, but it is the bringing of the earth itself into the work....”388 Thus, rubbings albeit upon the earth, transfigures the earth itself up onto the page; the thinness of the page nevertheless is indicative of the depths implicated in the drawing . Yet the rubbings are not alone; the images share in sourcing the depths. For Stuart ’ s work, Casey finds , “...there is an inner, and often hidden, affinity between the rubbing...and the images that accompany or surround them. Both take place on a paper surface...all that is required is ‘barely scratching the surface’ for the depths of the earth to come forward into visibility.”389 Thus Casey frames a nother re presentation, which reveals the depths of UHI things, finding “once more, then, the depths appear on the very surface of the work.”390 386 Of Michelle Stuart’s early rubbings, Casey writes, “but before any such flight can occur, the viewer’s look is arrested on and at the dense surface, which is (in Lawrence Alloway’s phrase) ‘a fabric of significations.’ This surface is highly tactile scene of visual traces, none of which is indexical, much less symbolic. The effect is almost that of a self absorbed icon. I say ‘almost,’ for in fact there is an allusion to something else literally under the work, which the drawing traces out compulsively.” Idem , 59. 387 Ibid. Moreover, that which is below is made apparent on the surface through the applied rubbing, “...for in fact there is an allusion to something else literally under the work, which the drawing traces out compulsively. This is rock or sand or some other hard substance —something that belongs to the natural world. Stuart rubs not only the surface of the rag paper on which she works but also through it to capture the raw texture of what lies below, which belongs to the earth (even in the case of met al, which she also employs).” Ibid. 388 Idem, 63. Casey writes that although “topographic maps and photographs of a place share a common pictoriality...[but] both contrast with the indeterminacy of a rubbing, which though highly palpable and texturally rich is still not imagistic. The rubbing is not an image of something such as earth, but it is the bringing of earth itself into the work; rather than a representation—the status of all pictographs, whether topographic or chorographic —it is sheer presentation. ” Ibid. 389 Ibid. In discussing Stuart’s use of images and rubbings and the affinity between which that compositionally make evident the depths, Casey argues, “this is not to say that the two parts of such works are altogether disparate. The common linguist ic root of photographic , pictographic , topographic , and chorographic is the same word: graphos , ‘written,’ derived from graphein, ‘to write’ qua tracing or marking, with both words being ultimately traceable to Indo -European gerebh -, ‘to scratch.’ Rubbing is akin

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177 The depths in measured drawings and mappings can reveal UHI force s, absences in presence, through the invocation of the body immersed, interrelated on earth. In Casey’s concluding chapter of the first half of his text, he promotes five distinct forms of mapping.391 The final form , Casey’s own earth mapping , is a type of the forth form – concrete mapping. Concrete mapping does not negate, avoid, or obfuscate “...the role of the mapmaker’s body as it engages itself with the materiality of the land (or sea) that it helps to map. More than helps —rather, brings into existenc e .”392 Concrete mapping, in both cartographic varietal (which evidences the particularities and nuances of stylistic authorship)393 and the physical varietal (which operates with the material at hand, the material of and in its mapping)394; implicate the body a s it is implanted in the world, a mapping of itself with the world.395 to scratching, marking, and tracing alike, and it is hardly accidental that one basic form of rubbing — that first adopted by Stuart— employs graphite , which shares the same etymology. It follows that there is an inner, and often hidden, affinity betw een the rubbing of Stuart’s paper works and the images that accompany or surround them. Both take place on a paper surface, whether by the direct pressure of hands on that surface or by the attaching of pictographic images to it. All that is required is ‘barely scratching the surface’ for the depths of the earth to come forward into visibility. Once more, then, the depths appear on the very surface of the work.” Ibid. 390 Ibid. 391 The five types are (three of which with short descriptors0, “(i) cartographic : T his mode of standard mapping is frankly representational and concerned with the accurate depiction of position and distance in accordance with a precise metric and rectangular grid. ... Like any such map, it is at once aerial and ‘objective’ (i.e., planifo rm, isometric, and strictly gridded).” Idem, 101 -102. “(ii) quasi -cartographic : By this term (to be explored further in part II) I mean merely a map that resembles something cartographic yet in the end is not is not cartographic at all. ... The detail and apparent accuracy of this work [a specific example] easily mislead one into believing that it is indeed a precise representation of archeological digs. This is a case not of trompe l’oeil but of trompe l’esprit : only the photographs that frame the map on a ll sides are trustworthy representations of the actual site. The issue in quasi cartography is not, however, that of deception per se; it is, rather ostensible versus reliable representation .” Idem, 102. “(iii) abstract : This refers to the ineluctable sel ectiveness of maps, their necessarily partial representations as well as the distance they take from what they represent in scaled formats. I also use the term with reference to Smithson, for whom abstract meant at least two things: lacking a world; and ab stracted from in such a way as to be relocated elsewhere (e.g., in a non -site, considered as an abstract three-dimensional map). The two traits fit closely with each other: a representation will be worldless if its material medium is incapable of constitut ing or even suggesting a coherent set of places: a place-world in short. ... The abstraction, then, is not just from the earth but from the body -on-earth: it is this entire latter complex that is spirited away, idealized, in those maps that leave out the d ouble -groundedness provided by earth and body.” Idem, 102-103. “(iv) concrete. ” Idem, 103. “(v) earth -maps. ” Idem, 104. 392 Idem, 103. Turning then to concrete mapping specifically, Casey writes, “concrete maps expressly acknowledge the role of the mapmaker’ s body as it engages itself with the materiality of the land (or sea) that it helps to map. More than helps —rather, brings into existence.” Ibid. 393 Casey argues, “concrete maps are of two kinds. In a first avatar, they are created on paper. Instead of the body’s action being concealed as in cartographic and quasi -cartographic maps, it is evident in the very lines and shadings of the map, in such salient items as decorative cartouches and emblems and signatures as well as in subtler ways such as the style of contour lines, the coloration of the map, the selection and representation of specific topographic features. These features not only personalize maps by rendering the idiosyncratic; they also show the cartographer’s body at work, being the traces of this body’s gestures, its psychokinetic offspring.” Ibid. 394 Continuing, “in a second instantiation, concrete maps are not just the display of the body’s formative work on paper; they ar e created from the very material they are supposedly about. Say ‘supposedly ’ about, for they are not about anything other than themselves. ... They are not about the earth but of it, and precisely in Smithson’s sense of of : ‘The pieces I do on a landscape are maps of material, as opposed to maps of paper.’ Maps of material: not j ust maps made from material (i.e., matter, not distinguished from material by Smithson), but maps that manifest the very earth from which they are made.” Ibid. 395 The base of concrete mapping is of the body’s implanted situation: “for the body is not just a n instrument, a point of application. It is the basis of my ‘implantation’ on the earth: Merleau Ponty’s metaphor draws on the biological world by

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178 On the other hand, earthmapping takes this farther. In Casey’s terms, earth mapp ing “...shows itself from its own ground. Or rather: from the surface of its ground that reveals the depths of this ground on the surface itself.”396 Whereas other mappings may be rather static, the implantation of the body, “...the concreteness is the body’s action on earth,...that of journeying amid matter, making its way in the material of the world, ans not just change in position, literal transportation, but an implementation that changes the very matter in which it moves...” via kinetic action.397 Although disregarding, or not regarding the nonambulatory, Casey continues to argue e arth mapping is a kinetic motion that aims at “...opening up the soil with the soles of its fast movingfeet. The matter is not just marked, much less represented; it is altered in its very identity.”398 Casey’ s earth mapping, is an active endeavor, where “...the map is made by the movement itself, step by step. The basic action of walking across a already, and fully, mapping”,399 and one that aims to show itself from itself400 vis vis a body’s being with earth matter in kinetic acts : “ map the earth by our very perambulation on it.”401 Earth mapping makes evident unseen, hidden, and invisible forces and things through kinetic bodily practices – the suggesting that the human body grows out of the earth and is sustained by it. Since plantare , the root of imp lant , means ‘to drive in with the sole of the foot,’ the dynamic motion of the body in relation to the earth is signified as well. If the body is i mplanted in the world, this is because it presses itself into the surface of the world’s body, into its very flesh.” Ibid. 396 Idem, 104. Moving into earth-mapping then, Casey qualifies its core as a concrete mapping of the earth: “such material maps are utterly concrete in the sense that they do not point away from themselves as conventional cartographic maps do; rather than being indicative in status, they are adumbrative or exhibitive. They show themselves from themselves, and are thus phenomena in Heidegger’s sense of ‘phenomenology’: ‘to let that which shows itself be seen from itself in the very way in which it shows itself from itself.’ What is here shown is the earth —in the very way it shows itself from its own ground. Or rather: from the surface of its ground that reveals the depths of this ground on the surface itself.” Ibid. 397 Ibid. Casey continues, argui ng “but to be exhibitive of earth in this strong sense of being concrete qua material is not just to set forth the earth as if it were an independent entity calling for disclosure. Essential to the concreteness is the body’s a ction on earth, and this actio n is that of journeying amid matter, making its way in the material world, mapping not only materially but kinetically. For the body’s action, corporeal journeying is a matter of kinesis , not of phora. Kinetic action means not just change in position, lite ral transportation, but an implementation that changes the very matter in which it moves, opening up the soil with the soles of its fast moving feet.” Ibid. 398 Ibid. 399 Ibid. In extension, “this motion is the mapping of body on earth. No longer a question of following a map, the map is made by the movement itself, step by step. The basic action of walking across a field —and ‘everything is a field or maze’ —is already, and fully, mapping.” Ibid. 400 See note 39 6 . 401 Casey resigns until the following half of his t ext, “such walking is the basis for the ‘absorptive’ mapping to be discussed in the next part. For now, let us agree that walking is the most telling way in which our moving body is in kinetic connection with the earth, another moving body. Whether we walk to scan or survey, to ruminate or relocate, this basic action puts us in touch with the earth’s surface where, like Antaeus, we gain renewed strength every time we touch base. Not just strength to do particular tasks, but strength to map the earth by our very perambulation on it.” Ibid.

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179 mappings of which defy representation, but re present thing bodies in the depths. “Concrete and material, they expose the very earth to which they make return, for in the end ‘there is no escape from matter.’”402 The set of drawings proposed, thus aim towards such a mapping – a measure of the informative qualities of the spectral uncanny UHI of/ in landscape. In hopes to source a truth, the drawings/ mappings would be served well by interpretative realignments, by a constitutive layering of interpretative aesthetic experiences of that which is not visible , into the depths , into the counter of Gadamer’s ‘standing in the lig ht’: the shadows thus and always informing. Unfortunately, in this thesis, those reiterations will be lacking for the drawings, but are rather evident in the text. The following enunciated drawings and mappings aim to source discreetly unseen, hidden, an d invisi ble things – discreetly, to acknowledge the limiting characteristics of drawing conventions, compositionally, to indicate or intimate an emergent, yet inconclusive clarity. Three drawings, and three measures – a tuner drawing, a sensor drawing, an antennae drawing – can source the shadows, the not visible but active and informative dead, the depths of matter(s), UHI things. D efinitions of unseen, hidden, and invisible things follow in the next act . As a result, that component is currently overloo ked. The drawings are analogically radio centric (or graphic) while working with typical drawing conventions . Tuner of Depth and Distance To apprehend what is unseen, to make it manifest, I suggest the use of a Tuner. I suggest a specific FineTune Adj uster of Depth or Distance. A thing unseen is an absent thing already in relation to that present. The tuner provides a mechanism for identifying the depth as such, and tuning into it to note that which is not apparent. Thus, it follows that the unseen , as present , is best apprehended in terms of scalar or relational distance or depth – relational characteristics that bring a thing into focus . An example of a Fine Tune Adjuster is something like a caliper that may be able to subsequently measure Depth and Distance, and adjust the thing to be unseen. A physical ruin, ‘ ghost ’ , group of persons, tree stand, echo, 402 Casey ends the conclusion of the first part of his text, “not imposed on the earth but fashioned from it, they are left to si nk down into the earth of which they are made and from which they are shaped by the magicomed iatorial action of the living body moving in its midst. Concrete and material, they expose the very earth to which they make return, for in the end ‘there is no escape from matter.” Ibid.

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180 historical thread etc. , all with some change over time may also qualify as unseen, as what wa s absent and made present. Things unseen are some form of structuration that still pulses , present in its bound thingbody , the components of which still generating like an earth bound pulsar. Things unseen require a tuning into or out of the thing. More examples may include fingerprints, skeletons, cat acombs, bedrocks, graves, dreams, rhythms, diseases, amputations, capital, time, and erosions. Sensor of Marks T o apprehend what is hidden, and trace its source and disappearance, I suggest the use of a Sensor. I suggest a specific form of Activated Devi ceSensor that aims to search for Marks. Similarly with what is unseen, a thing hidden is an absent thing already in relation to that present. Perceptually, marks are an indicator of substance, difference, similarity, and embellishment. Marks and markings give one insight into the quality of some thing. Hidden things, that which is or may be concealed , edify a body or relationship of marks. Thus, to sense things hidden is to sense markings (and differential markings inrelation). The Marks in question are those that are anomalous marks, indicating some act of concealment , removal, or layering . Therefore , the Marks are not only sensed ; rather they are already anomalous in relation to other Marks . Thus, anomalousness is also sensed. Through perception and observation of context, situation, and relation, t he anomalous Marks reveal a hidden thing . An example of an Activated DeviceSensor is something like infrared, sonar/radar, or some substance with a catalyst. Examples of things hidden include masks, costumes, spectacles (those event based), stains, shadows, mirrors, power, capital, projections, footprints, trails, dwellings, and overgrowths. Antenna of Shape To apprehend what is invisible and to sense its existence , I suggest the use of a Receiver a nd Transmitter. I suggest the use of an Antenna. Unlike things unseen or hidden, things invisible may or may not be an absent thing already in relation to that present. Thus, it is already, from the outset, quite different from the other two. As a thing that is invisible cannot, must not, will not, or shall not be seen, its perceptions must rely on other sources. A thing that is invisible does not imply or necessitate nonexistence. Rather, a thing invisible may (or may not) simply be neither present nor absent without

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181 sacrificing its thing body. To source the invisible is to negotiate the binary of presence and absence, sourcing the invisible is an act of making present what may or may not have been absent. An Antenna can have both receiving and tr ansmitting properties .403 Moreover, it must be conductive on its own; as in, it must be itself a thing body, active in the sense of itself as things but also active in the qualities given to it or taken up by it. In this sense, an antenna is a form of a ga teway. The component that defines an Antenna is its Shape. The Shape gives an Antenna specific characteristics, it conditions the gateway and qualifies the conduction, and as such it is qualified to Receive and/or Transmit specifically packaged, bound, a nd qualified data/information/relations/connections. The Shape then is the contingent factor. An example of a Shaped Antenna may be an artifact, compass, mark, ritual, body, medium, building (or structure), or icon. Examples of the invisible include the wind, breath, spirit, time, astral space, magnetism, forms of electricity, aether, faith, relations, pain, justice, desire, belief, deities ( and/or their respective multivalent places), and no thing (or zero). Therefore , thes e are three specific devices u sed to apprehend and measure the depths of things UHI . A Tuner of Depth and Distance, such as a caliper analog , is used for the unseen. A Sensor of Marks, such as an infrared analog , is used for the hidden. An Antenna of Shape, such as a compass analog , is used for the invisible. It is these things or forms for which this thesis will search. It is worthy to note that the temporal aspect, although seemingly connected with the unseen, is a component of each, the unseen, hidden, and invisible. Motion and change over time, or modes of ruination, emergence, and generation are imperative to each, as well as for that which is visible. Three drawings in one mapping and three measures – a tuner, a sensor, an antennae – can assist to source the ever present sh adows, the not visible but active and informative dead, the depths of matter(s), UHI things. Shadow 403 Operational information (receiving, transmitting, conductivity, sh ape, and data) about antennas from conversation with electrical engineer Josh Patin, November, 2016.

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182 By means of closing this act, in 1925, T.S. Eliot authored his famous work, “ The Hollow Men ” .404 Drawing comparisons of western cultural death motifs to qual ify a seemingly ubiquitous sense of vapid presence, even amongst those most hallowed, Eliot captures the permanent presence of that which is absent – the shadow. For, it is always (for instance) “between the idea/and the reality/between the motion/and the act/falls the Shadow”405; as a certain reminder, a priori , that the long , “in death’s dream kingdom”406, purgatorial wait “ gathered on this beach of the tumid river”407 together and alone , is fraught with a deception. For maligning the shadow , with aims toward s a life qualified by the prayer: “ For Thine is the Kingdom ”408, culminates rather in “lips that would kiss/form prayers to broken stone”409; prayers which “are quiet and meaningless/as wind in dry grass/or rats’ feet over broken glass/in our dry cellar.”410 T hose who pine for illuminated, brightly lit, and shadow eradicating presence, where “the eyes reappear/as the perpetual star/multifoliate rose/of death’s twilight kingdom”411, miss the glaringness of the depths – afforded by both light and shadow, chiaroscuro evident in “those who have crossed/with direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom...there, the eyes are/sunlight on a broken column”.412 Rather those as shallow , empty veneers “as the hollow men/the stuffed men”413 bearing the blinding thinness provided by “shap e without form, shade without colour ,/paralysed force, gesture without motion”414, seek and pine for shadowless eyes, as “the hope only/of empty men.”415 For Eliot, a remedy for the endless wait of some impossible and empty transcendent moment , the vapidness of presence, is tending to the shadow, which is always present . Carl Jung would agree. Jung associates a psychological shadow as “...the ‘negative’ side of the personality, the sum of all those 404 Eliot : 1963. 7782. Extra analysis, research, and guidance sourced from the footnotes in the following: Eliot, Thomas Stearns. “The Hollow Men by T S Eli ot.” AllPoetry . Web page not authored or dated. -Hollow -Men?page=3. Accessed: 04.16.18. 405 Eliot: 1963 , 81 82, ln 72 -76. 406 Idem, 80, ln 20. 407 Idem, 81, ln 60. 408 Idem, 82, ln 77. 409 Idem, 81, ln 5051. 410 Idem, 79, ln 7-10 411 Idem, 62-6 5. 412 Idem, 79-80, ln 1314 / ln 22 -23. 413 Idem, 79, ln 1718. 414 Ibid, ln 11 -12. 415 Idem, 81, ln 6667.

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183 unpleasant qualities we like to hide, together with the ins ufficiently developed functions and the contents of the personal unconscious. [CW 7, par. 103n] ” .416 For Jung, this is an inevitable condition of the human psyche, “everyone carries a shadow, and the less it is embodied in the individual’s conscious life, t he blacker and denser it is” in spite of its constitutive substance as one’s past, desires, impulses, or emotions.417 Thus, w orking with the shadow, i.e. self affronting the shadow, being with and aware of it, lessens its detrimental intensity. As an inevi table component of human life, the shadow cannot be eradicated , rather “ is necessary to find a way in which his conscious personality and his shadow can live together ”418 through an endless life long and arduous process of self awareness.419 T he shadow, for Jung, has shades – a form of depth. These range from the emergence of primitive emotions,420 projective qualities of a shadow cast,421 delusional or illusory self enshadowment,422 and pure evil.423 Resultantly, 416 Jung, C. G., and Anthony Storr. The Essential Jung. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1983. 87. From The Collected Works of C.G. Jung , part 7: “Two Essays on Analytical Psychology.” 417 Idem, 88. Jung writes, “Unfortunately there can be no doubt that man is, on the whole, less good than he imagines himself or wants to be. Everyone carries a shadow, and the less it is embodied in the individual’s c onscious life, the blacker and denser it is. If an inferiority is conscious, one always has a chance to correct it. Furthermore, it is constantly in contact with other interests, so that it is continually subjected to modifications. But if it is repressed and isolated from consciousness, it never gets corrected, and is liable to burst forth suddenly in a moment of unawareness. At all events, it forms an unconscious snag, blocking the most well meant attempts. We carry our past with us, to wit, the primitive and inferior man with his desires and emotions, and it is only with an enormous effort that we can detach ourselves from this burden.” Ibid. From “Psychology and Religion” The Collected Works of C.G. Jung , part 11: “Psychology and Religion: West and East. ” 418 Idem, 89. Jung continues: “if it comes to a neurosis, we invariably have to deal with a considerably intensified shadow. And if such a person wants to be cured it is necessary to find a way in which his conscious personality and his shadow can live to gether. This is a very serious problem for all those who are themselves in such a predicament of have to help sick people bac k to normal life. Mere suppression of the shadow is as little of a remedy as beheading would be for a headache. To destroy a ma n’s morality does not help either, because it would kill his better self, without which even the shadow makes no sense.” Ibid. Fr om “Psychology and Religion” The Collected Works of C.G. Jung , part 11: “Psychology and Religion: West and East.” 419 In a different part of his collected works, Jung argues, “this act is the essential condition for any kind of self -knowledge, and it therefore, as a rule, meets with considerable resistance. Indeed, self -knowledge as a psychotherapeutic measure frequently requires much painstaking work extending over a long period.” Idem, 91. From “The Shadow” The Collected Works of C.G. Jung, part 9 ii: “Aion.” 420 Jung continues, “closer examination of the dark characteristics – that is, the inferiorities constituting the shadow – reveals that they have an emotional nature, a kind of autonomy, and accordingly an obsessive or, better, possessive quality. On this lower level with its uncontrolled or scarcely controlled emotions one behaves more or less like a primitive, who is not only the p assive victim of his affects but also singularly incapable of moral judgement.” Ibid. From “The Shadow” The Collected Works of C.G. Jung, part 9 ii: “Aion.” 421 “Although, with insight and good will, the shadow can to some extent be assimilated into the cons cious personality, experience shows that there are certain features which offer the most obstinate resistance to moral control and prove almost impossible to influence. These resistances are usually bound up with projections , which are not recognized as su ch, and their recognition is a moral achievement beyond the ordinary. While some traits peculiar to the shadow can be recognized without too much difficulty as one’s own personal qualities, in this case both insight and good will are unavailing because the cause of the emotion appears to lie, beyond all possibility of doubt, in the other person . No matter how obvious it may be to the neutral observer that it is a matter of projections, there is little hope that the subject will perceive this himself. He mus t be convinced that he throws a very long shadow before he is willing to withdraw his emotionally -toned projections from their object.” Idem, 9192. From “The Shadow” The Collected Works of C.G. Jung , part 9 ii: “Aion.” 422 Jung continues, “it is often tragic to see how blatantly a man bungles his own life and the lives of others yet remains totally incapable of seeing how much the whole tragedy originates in himself, and how he continually feeds it and keeps it going. Not

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184 whether of pure evil or “...merely somewhat inferior, primitive, unadapted, and awkward; not wholly bad”,424 grappling with the shadow is (or can be) a n embellishment, a productive and transgressive human process of self consciousness that demands “considerable moral effort. To become conscious of it in volves recognizing the dark aspects of the personality as present and real.”425 Jung’s shadow, taken in its range of shades, is an absence that is present, an inevitable psychological egoistic structure, the relatability with which is an essential , yet haunting, part of human growth.426 Moreover, this pertains to larger forms of collective and cultural bodies427 – for all that is embodied thereby casts and has a shadow. Psychologically and poetically, the shadow indicates the presence of what is absent. I t qua lifies a depth of character, a vivaciousness and trueness of life qualified by the shade and one’s self knowledge. For Eliot, the shadow i ntimates , in its culturally cosmological and religious western form, also a horizontal gateway through and after whi ch the dead’s ‘ascent or descent’ is then decided. The shadow for both Eliot and Jung indicate a being that can only become: “between the desire/and the spasm/between the consciously , of course – for consciou sly he is engaged in bewailing and cursing a faithless world that recedes further and further into the distance. Rather, it is an unconscious factor which spins the illusions that veil his world. And what is being spun is a cocoon, which in the end will co mpletely envelop him.” Idem, 9293. From “The Shadow” The Collected Works of C.G. Jung , part 9 ii: “Aion.” 423 Lastly here, Jung writes, “in this it differs from anima and animus, for whereas the shadow can be seen through and recognized fairly easily, the anima and animus are much further away from consciousness and in normal circumstances are seldom if ever realized. With a little self -criticism one can see through the shadow – so far as its nature is personal. But when it appears as an archetype, one encou nters the same difficulties as with anima and animus. In other words, it is quite within the bounds of possibility for a man to recognize the relative evil of his nature, but it is a rare and shattering experience for him to gaze into the face of absolute evil.” Idem, 93. From “The Shadow” The Collected Works of C.G. Jung , part 9 ii: “Aion.” 424 Idem, 90. Jung writes “If the repressed tendencies, the shadow as I call them, were obviously evil, there would be no problem whatever. But the shadow is merely somew hat inferior, primitive, unadapted, and awkward; not wholly bad. It even contains childish or primitive qualities which would in a way vitalize and embellish human existence, but convention forbids!” Ibid. F rom “Psychology and Religion” The Collected Works of C.G. Jung , part 11: “Psychology and Religion: West and East.” 425 Idem, 91. This is due to Jung’s assertion that “the shadow is a moral problem that challenges the whole ego-personality, for no one can become conscious of the shadow without considerable moral effort. To become conscious of it involves recognizing the dark aspects of the personality as present and real.” Ibid. From “The Shadow” The Collected Works of C.G. Jung , part 9 ii: “Aion.” 426 Robert Hopcke defines the shadow in his more encyclopedic text of Jung’s work, “those unpleasant and immoral aspects of our selves which we would like to pretend do not exist or have no effect on our lives —our inferiorities, our unacceptable impulses, our shameful actions and wishes —this shadow side of our personality is difficult and painful to admit. It contradicts who we would like to see ourselves as, who we would like to seem to be in the eyes of others. Our egoistic sense of self, our autonomy, our uprightness, senses its authority challenged by this shadow and feels the shadow’s closeness as a threat, a dark brother/sister continually at our heels, awkward, nettling, anxiety -provoking, shameful.” Hopcke, Robert H. A Guided Tour of the Collected Works of C.G. Jung. Boston: Shambhala, 1989. 81. 427 Hopcke continues, with some reiteration of the prior, “Jung considered the shadow an aspect of the collective unconscious, since everyone’s ego casts a corresponding shadow within the psyche, but he also acknowledged that the character of an individual’s shadow is high ly influenced by personal and cultural factors. While the shadow’s close relationship to the ego may facilitate its integration into consciousness, true knowledge of the shadow is a task never really completed. As an archetypal figure, the shadow is not ac tually a problem to be solved but rather an inner entity to be explored, known, and recognized as a part of our psychic and communal lives.” Idem, 82-83.

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185 potency/and the existence/between the essence/and the descent/falls the Shadow/ For T hine is the Kingdom” .428 Eliot’s alt prayer intimates that the perfunctory act of disregarding, or rather unattaining to the shadow, flattens, empties, hollows out, and objectifies existence . Thereby, rendering in vain, those with hopes to attain the rapt ure without any apocalyptic revelation sourced in the depths. In Jungian terms, the se well wishers’ shadow is disavowed, rendered black as night. Their eyes are blind and empty, blind to the depths and the shadow; they are blind to being “sunlight on a broken column”.429 The aforementioned methods and methodology formulates the pragmatic and theoretic grounding of this work. It truly is an assemblage of methods and theories with ‘double take’ implications. In its breadth and research to source an interpre tative truth of uncanny shadows of landscape, this thesis must embrace a ‘heap’ of methods and theories, it must construct such a body that thereby casts its own shadow. Before attending to the drawings and mappings at hand, we move next to the definitional terms of things, forces, theories, and positions – the base of a theoretic grounding, which qualifies the inter active world of the unseen, hidden, and invisible, a landscape, as it is comprehended in this work. 428 Idem, 82, ln 8491. 429 Idem, 80, ln 23.

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186 CHAPTER VI ACT III – CHARACTERS, DEFINITIONS, (W/T)HERE The straight line of the rays which transmit through the air the form and colour of the bodies whence they proceed does not itself tinge the air nor can they tinge one another at the contact of their intersection, but they only colour the place where they lose their existence, because this place sees and is seen by the original source of these rays, and no other object that surrounds this original source can be seen from the place where this ray is cut off and destroyed, leaving there the spoil it has carried off. ... [T] he surface of every opaque body shares in the colour of surrounding objects; so we conclude that the place which by means of the ray that carries the image sees and is seen by the source of this image is tinged by the colour of this object. ... As in a point all lines pass without occupation the one of the other through their being without body, so may pass all the images of the surfaces, and as each given point faces every object opposite to it and every object faces the opposite natural point, also through this point may pass the converging rays of these images which after passing it will reform and increase again to the size of these images. ...every image intersects at the entrance of the narrow openings made in an extremely thin substance. In proportion as the opening is smaller than the shaded body by so much the les s will the images transmitted through this opening penetrate one into another. The images which pass through the openings in a dark place intersect at a point so much nearer the opening as this opening is of less width. . . . It is impossible that the imag es of bodies should be seen between the bodies and the openings through which the images of these bodies penetrate; and this is evident because where the atmosphere is illuminated these images do not become visible. When images are duplicated by mutually penetrating one another they always have double depth of tone. Windsor: Drawings 19152 r. and v. object is itself defined in the mirror but is defined by the eye which sees it within the mirror, for if you look at your face in the mirror the part rese mbles the whole, seeing that the part is all in the whole of the mirror and it is all in every part of the same mirror, and the same happens with the whole image of every object placed opposite to this mirror. –Leonardo D a V inci1 “Death is the only wise adviser that we have. Whenever you feel, as you always do, that everything is going wrong and you’re about to be annihilated, turn to your death and ask if that is so. Your death will tell you that you’re wrong; that nothing really matters outside its touc h. Your death will tell you, ‘I haven’t touched you yet.’” ... “One of us here has to change, and fast. One of us here has to learn again that death is the hunter, and that it is always to one’s left. One of us here has to ask death’s advice and drop the cursed pettiness that belongs to men that live their lives as if death will never tap them.” ... “Let me see that shadow again,” I said. “You mean your death, don’t you?” he replied with a touch of irony in his voice. ... “There is no need to see your death either. It is sufficient that you feel its presence around you.” * * * “This is not a matter of trusting anybody. This whole affair is a matter of a warrior’s struggle; and you will keep on struggling, if not under your power, then perhaps 1 Leonardo, da V. and Edward McCurdy. “Optics.” The Notebooks of Leonardo Da Vinci . New York: G.Braziller, 1955. 260-261.

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187 under the impact of a worthy opponent, or with the help of some allies, like the one which is already following you.” ... “During the day shadows are the doors of not-doing,” he said. “But at night, since very little doing prevails in the dark, everything is a shadow, including the allies....” ... “Everything I have taught you so far has been an aspect of not -doing,” ... “A warrior applies not -doing to everything in the world, and yet I can’t tell you more about it than what I have already said today. You must let your own body discover the power and the feeling of not-doing.” ... “I already know that you think you are rotten,” he said. “That’s your doing . Now in order to affect that doing I am going to recommend that you le arn another doing . From now on, and for a period of eight days, I want you to lie to yourself. Instead of telling yourself the truth, that you are ugly and rotten and inadequate, you will tell yourself that you are the complete opposite, knowing that you a re lying and that you are absolutely beyond hope.” ... “It may hook you to another doing and then you may realize that both doings are lies, unreal, and that to hinge yourself to either one is a waste of time, because the only thing that is real is the being in you that is going to die. To arrive at that being is the notdoing of the self.” –Carlos Castaneda2 In developing a working theory of the UHI , defining terms is an important step in clarification and delimitation. By delimitation, the definitions pursued here are not intended to be disingenuous to the concepts, but clarify their meanings specifically for this thesis . As a result, the following definitions aim to build off of what o ther authors have previously established. Where this thesis aims to construct a new or specific definition, the work builds from dictionary definitions (specifically from the Oxford English Dictionary) and then extrapolates from there. The structure of the following begins to interweave brief narrative -prose sections of personal experience at Denver’s National Western Center. Each narrative pre poses and briefly plays out the succeeding definitions, and ties them to the case study location discussed in Act IV. The narratives build from actual experience, yet few prose details are admittedly embellished to fit the definitional bounds and use. T he following does double work: it introduces the case study through descriptive narrative form, and ties the re lations between location and definitional term. On top of these pieces of prosenarrative, and similarly to that used in the ‘stage’ section before Act I, this Act uses two abstract analogies one at the beginning of the ‘characters’ section and one at the beginning of the ‘where’ section. The ‘definition’ section relates to both analogies less so . Each tale is a 2 Castaneda, Carlos. Journey to Ixtlan: The Lessons of Don Juan. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1973. 5557. / 238239. (respectively)

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188 diagram, with the intention to better clarify the defined concepts. The analogies are tools, diagrammatic models (in the tradition of Deleuze or De Landa), that are neither complete nor perfect, nor entirely authoritatively informed . (For instance, pertaining to the second of the two, I will not pretend to understand a bit of the scientific mechanisms of black holes beyond that from a reduced and generalized High Schoollevel conceptual physics education or what is gathered from a light collection of articles.) These diagrammatic models have gaps, holes, and problems. They are not perfect. They are hopefully ways of clarifying; they construct a diagrammatic language of the work. As a result, I will use them as models, which when explained them previously to others , as pilot studies, they were useful in translating ideas. I found people willing when affronted with analogic diagrams. Thus , I continue to use them. Characters The I slanded Theatre I went to a production last spring; I believe it was a Saturday; it was the ides of March. The shows, performed at a Castlecum -Theatre on an island in the Caribbean, were directed in a ‘modernized’ style – ‘updated’ and ‘adapted’ to fit current cultural trends, while acerbically commenting with pressing social and political criticisms. In a move that both praised and condemned cultural scaffolds, the performed versions constructed much of their relevance based on old and wornout etched inscriptions, cultural epitaphs and tombs of pieces ‘updated’ and ‘adapted’ – pieces and scaffolds already tired from so much personal, cultural, or historical trampling. (In time, we may find that these stones cannot remain unfragmented from the weight and vibrations of so much trembling.) In the north side of the Castlecum -Theatre, shaded daylong by great surrounding walls, the graveyard waits quietly for visitors – lonesome seekers, searching for knowledge in ghosts and epitaphs. It was here, this walled , quiet, exposed chamber, which the productions evoked, yet ignored. It was a space sealed by structural management behind a locked door, yet a place in which visitors and patrons could view, seen behind sealed windows of the floors above. It was a known place in which numerous famous figures rested, entombed beyond stone, wood, and glass, save a select few with keys. It was a space that called and a place that attracted visitors and patrons. Travelers arrived, year -round, globeover

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189 to attend the stage, to enter the house and soak in the ‘updates’ the ‘adaptations’, which sought to not only resurrect the dead, but to give it a costume change, facelift, spine, beating heart, and will. As a truth, the productions held fine performances: ripe and poignant acting, con templative and calculated directing, innovative and evoking design, flawless stage -management, and invisible crew. There is no real need to ask what I was doing there; I, in fact, cannot remember. The visitors, patrons and audience, were, as one can imag ine, stretched thin in years, and/or pulled backwards, weighted with fattened wallets. The visitors, administrators and facilitators, were stretched thin in time, and/or pressed forward, crisply ordered by their ticking time watch and clipboard. The visi tors, actors and crew, were stretched thin in sleep, and/or driven by service desires, masks, and invisibility of doublenight. The visitors, castle and theatre, were stretched thin on use, and/or filled with others remnants and residues, weighted by the time parceled -out in rooms. These visitors all arrived, and I included; the night was brimming, full with performance roles and theatrical practice. And as the candlelit hallways snuffed -out with the last quick wisp of a passing person leaving the house, and as black smoke painted the nightsky beyond the bounds of the house, we all presumed to perform other parts, practicing life and time, as all traced ways to some other performed ‘home’. And as the darkness raised – a cacophony of silence screaming in the corners of the stone halls, the graveyard remained – assumed and ignored. The production staged two shows – back to back – Shakespearian anchors. The producers thought it right to complement A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream with Romeo and Juliet . Apparently, the producers also sought for the audiences’ evenings to end lighthearted and uplifting as they exited the doors, and left the house. For five hours and forty five minutes (staged time), we all paused, caught in between, supported by the practice of the productions, by the practice of our performances. It is a common concept in the theatre to conceive of the audience as players. But not always also the fly master, the stage director, lighting op, follow spot, stage crew, sound op, etc. Let alone t he stage, the props, costumes, lights, and sound. And even less so, the seats, walls, structures, and foundations. For five hours and forty-five minutes though, we were all suspended in performance – in a theatrical practice. This was not a feeling; thi s was the emergent event – a concatenation of disparate practicing elements.

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190 This was the case f or five hours and forty-five minutes , save for about thirty minutes. During this time, between ‘Midsummer’s’ and ‘Juliet’, the world changed. It was an exciting bath of ruptures, where the stage became a spectacle onslaught of a secular spatial rapture. The world changed. In a mass frenzy of figures, cloaked in black, specters danced across the stage, shifting, re-ordering, re-structuring, and re-placing t he space. Technicians changed light gels, sound engineers moved mics and speakers. Loud clutter of carts rolling stacks of props and costumes clamored over the stage and through the house. It would be folly to think the audience simply sat and watched. Instead, rather, in perfect Elizabethan fashion , the audience courted the specters, mirroring their movements with impromptu gatherings, with boisterous laughing, ensured boasting, and overt/clandestine drinking. ‘Midsummer’s’ had closed, and ‘Juliet’ wo uld begin. The wood became the courtyard, the boughs – the balcony, and the glade – the room. The stage reassembled, the bells chimed twice, the house darkend, and the curtains drew; a new event began. The graveyard remained – ignored. The diagram of the theatre: dynamic forces informing a thing – the event revealed and depicted on the fluid and amorphous stage. The Greek ancient mythoi-cosmological connection employing masked forms, through which gods and society transmute through to educate, criticize, and explore in satirical and tragic transmissions, carried forward in some way or another – masks changing all the same. Regardless, other forces unseen, hidden, and invisible all work to inform the seen, apparent, and visible event. That fleeting moment of visibility moreover dismissed by the increasing recognition of those features brushed aside for the attractive and shimmering distraction of the event. *** In the stark light of coldblue winter morning, the shadows metonymically parse out the rectangular grid of pens. The horizontal and vertical bars of fences whistle a low hum in the breeze, while the chaotic wing flapping of the doves circling overhead beat a ghostly rhythm – the only tempo caught in the silence of surrounding evaporating ice. Turning a corner, a palimpsestic layering of aged advertisements, flyers, and pamphlets affixed to a splintering sheet of plywood affront the pathway, constructing a collage of rectangular squares, squares desaturating and rippling into the historical depth

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191 of the board. The notices mark the sale prices of living bodies, the varying goring rates of flesh, beef shipped alive nationwide and auctioned on display for the frivolity of viewers and the subsistence or profits of the owners. Above, a solitary line carves almost unnoticed across the rectangular sub structure: an elevated walkway that surveys the seemingly endless rectangular redundancy. From there, the metonymic pens are distinguishable each from each. From here, the metonymic image of each pen e choes in each. Their image masked in the repetitious structure. The long linear row of pens, pens that deviate ever so slightly in the parsed out layout, presses one to lose track of where she or he is. Meander ing through the maze of sameness and nuanced, relational difference, one nearly loses track while step ping over again, what surely must be the same pile of urine, feces, and rubbish intertwined alfalfa mound. The consumptivecyclical processes signal the dwe lling and circulating patterns of different groups – human, cattle, child, adult, bird, railroad, ... . With each following footstep, the wandering mimics that of those in the desert, each column and row pathway melds with the next. Seen midway down a row from a left turn, lies another plywood board? Nearly appearing the same as the previous plywood board, would it not be for a large banner that drap es from one side depicting its difference, th is plywood face is both different and the same. The banner i s torn a third of the way across. Putting it together, it harkens to another time, an ode and a celebration – ‘Welcome Cowboys to The Best of the West!’ it reads. Below that, a silhouette of a cowboy leans against a barn, a piece of straw in his mouth ‘Our Country, Working Country, God’s Country’ this one reads. It is an invitation to a nighttime sermon: “Come yee, come all! Worship our heritage, resurrect your roots, and be wildly rugged” reads the subheading. Walking past the distractions and east towards the rail line, there is a glimpse of a horizon viewed from the next intersection to the left , terminating in a darkend zone of clutter. As if exploring a land beyond mirrors, the secluded opening churns forth an interest, a deep desire. What lies beyond? The path is long, seemingly endless, and nearly the same. Eventually , arriving at the appearance of an end, beyond the redundant pens to the north, lies a collection of tired and wornout disparate parts . They rest quietly removed, deconstructed, stacked , and ordered. This Western hyperbole for an ‘island of

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192 misfit toys’ houses negated parts and supports for the rest of the National Western Center ( NWC ). Here, there are no movements; even the doves have stopped. Silence. E xplorin g j ust towards the tracks from here reveals a secret. Cut with precision, a tear, rip, and gap in the spatial structure highlights a counter use, a rupture, a break, and a ripple. Just out of quick sight, just beyond order and grid, the stockyards leak i nto the adjacent lot. This is a play of the visual and not -visual, a play of what and how, a play of memory – simultaneously recalled and projected. *** History Concerning history and its relevant role in both what is visible and what is notvisible, this thesis leans on concepts developed by Walter Benjamin and R. G. Collingwood. To begin, environmental historian William Cronon provides initial framew orks for historical studies – as a conflictual study of historical change told with narrative stories.3 Moreover, historical narratives, the human centric conclusionoriented teleological workings of historians are often employed to reflect their stories back upon readers to create change in how one understands the world.4 With this initial framework, one can 3 “Whichever of these interpretations we are inclined to follow, they pose a dilemma for scholars who study past environmental change – indeed, a dilemma for all historians. As often happens in history, they make us wonder how two competent authors looking at identical materials drawn from the same past can reach such divergent conclusions. But it is not merely their conclusions that differ. Although both narrate the same broad series of events with an essentially similar cast of characters, they tell two entirely different stories. In both texts, the story is inextricably bound to its conclusion, and the historical analysis derives much of its force from the upward or downward sweep of the plot. ... And yet scholars of environmental history also maintain a p owerful commitment to narrative form. When we describe human activities within an ecosystem, we seem always to tell stories about them.' Like all historians, we configure the events of the past into causal sequences-stories -that order and simplify those ev ents to give them new meanings. We do so because narrative is the chief literary form that tries to find meaning in an overwhelmingly crowded and disordered chronological reality. When we choose a plot to order our environmental histories, we give them a u nity that neither nature nor the past possesses so clearly. In so doing, we move well beyond nature into the intensely human realm of value. ... By writing stories about environmental change, we divide the causal relationships of an ecosystem w ith a rhetor ical razor that defines included and excluded, relevant and irrelevant, empowered and disempowered. In the act of separating story from non-story, we wield the most powerful yet dangerous tool of the narrative form. It is a commonplace of modern literary t heory that the very authority with which narrative presents its vision of reality is achieved by obscuring large portions of that reality.” Cronon: 1992, 13481349. 4 “...[P]ure and simple – we place human agents at the center of events that they themselve s may not fully understand but that they constantly affect with their actions. The end of these human stories creates their unity, the telos against which we jud ge the efficacy, wisdom, and morality of human actions. Historians and prophets share a common commitment to finding the meaning of endings. However much we understand that an ecosystem transcends mere humanity, we cannot escape the valuing process that defines our relationship to it.” Idem, 1375. “It is because we care about the consequences of actions that narratives unlike most natural processes-have beginnings, middles, and ends. Stories are intrinsically teleological forms, in which an event is explained by the prior events or causes that lead up to it. ... The difference between beginning and end gives us our chance to extract a moral from the rhetorical landscape. Our narratives take changes in the land and situate them in stories whose endi ngs

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193 embark upon a brief, yet more thorough analysis of what is meant in and by history, especially when considering “this vision of history [presented by Cronon] as an endless struggle among competing narratives and values may not seem very reassuring.”5 Yet, it remains unclear if ‘reassurance’ is (or even normatively should be) an aim of history and historical studies. Taking Cronon’s ‘stories about stories about...’ some event reveals the underlying philosophical project of history. In The Idea of Hi story, R. G. Collinwood writes in the first few pages of his introduction of a reflective and reflexive position of history – namely its philosophical constructs, which Collingwood qualifies differently from previous historico-philosophical history scholar s.6 By setting up his reflexive analysis of philosophy, Collingwood combines the philosophical with the historical, to get to his ‘philosophy of history’7, or “...a philosophical inquiry into the nature of history regarded as a special become the lessons we wish to draw from those changes. However serious the epistemological problems it creates, this commitment to teleology and narrative gives environmental history all history its moral center.” Idem, 1370. “The same is true not just of individuals but of communities and societies: we use our histories to remember ourselves, just as we use our prophecies as tools for exploring what we do or do not wish to become.” Idem, 1369. “At its best, however, historical storytelling helps keep us morally engaged with the world by showing us how to care about it and its origins in ways we had n ot done before. If this is true, then the special task of environmental history is to assert that stories about the past are bet ter, all other things being equal, if they increase our attention to nature and the place of people within it. They succeed when they make us look at the grasslands and their peoples in a new way. ... As Aristotle reminded us so long ago, narrative is among our most powerful ways of encountering the world, judging our actions within it, and learning to care about its many meanings. Because I care so much about nature and storytelling both, I would urge upon environmental historians the task of telling not just stor ies about nature, but stores about stories about nature. I do so because narratives remain our chief moral compass in the world. Because we use them to motivate and explain our actions, the stories we tell change the way we act in the world. They are not just passive accounts.... We find in such stories our histories and prophecies both, which means they remain our best path to an engaged moral life.” Idem, 1375. 5 Idem, 1370. 6 Collingwood writes: “This book is an essay in the philosophy of history. The name ‘philosophy of history’ was invented in the eighteenth century by Voltaire, who meant by it no more than critical or scientific history, a type of history, a type of historical thinking in which the historian made up his mind for himself instead of repeating whatever stories he found in old books. The same name was used by Hegel and other writes at the end of the eighteenth century ; but they gave it a different sense and regarded it as meaning simply universal or world history. A third use of the phrase is found in several nineteenth-century positivists for whom the philosophy of history was the discovery of general laws governing the course of the events which it was history’s business to recount. ... My [Collinwood’s] use of the term ‘philosophy of history’ differs from all of these.... Ph ilosophy is reflective. The philosophizing mind never simply thinks about an objec t, it always, while thinking about any object, thinks also about its own thought about that object. Philosophy may thus be called thought of the second degree, thought about thought. [ Pair this with Cronon’s ‘stories about stories’] ... Philosophy is never concerned with thought by itself ; it is always concerned with its relation to its object, and is therefore concerned with the object just as much as with the thought. ... One might put this by saying that the philosopher, in so far as he thinks about the subjective side of history, is an epistemologist, and so far as he thinks about the objective side a metaphysician ; but that way of putting it would be dangerous as conveying a suggestion that the epistemological and metaphysical parts of his work can be treated separately, and this would be a mistake. Philosophy cannot separate the study of knowing from the study of what is known. This impossibility follows directly from the idea of philosophy as thought of the second degree.” Collingwood, R. G. The Idea of History. Oxford: T. M. Knox ed. Clarendon press, 1946. 13. 7 “Thus the subject -matter of philosophy, as the organized and scientific development of self -consciousness, depends from time to time on the special problems in which, at any given time, men find special difficulties. To look at the topics specially prominent in the philosophy of any given people at any given period of their history is to find an indication of the special problems which they feel to be calling forth the whole energies of their minds. The peripheral or subsidiary topics will reveal the things about which they feel no special difficulty.” Idem, 4. “Theories of knowledge designed to account for mathematical and

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194 type or form of knowledge with a special type of object....”8 Thus, Collingwood outlines the epistemological framework from which an inquiry into historical analyses must be taken on by those who are simultaneously both ‘historian’ and ‘philosopher’.9 With the epistemological framework for a study of history, or a philosophy of history, Collingwood provides working definitions of what makes up such an inquiry of the subject/object of history. He provides a definition of history, what history studies, how it operates, and for what reason.10 These initial definitions and qualifications are helpful, yet Collingwood expands on them to derive in to the details of his historical methodology. Foremost, the science of history is for Collingwood not theological and scientific knowledge thus do not touch on the special problems of historical knowledge ; and if they offer themselves as complete accounts of knowledge they actually imply that historical knowledge is impossible. This did not matter so long as historical knowledge had not yet obtruded itself on the consciousness of philosophers by encountering special difficulties and devising a special technique to meet them. But when that happened, as it did, roughly speaking, in the ninet eenth century, the situation was that current theories of knowledge were directed towards the special problems of science, and inherited a tradition based on the study of mathematics and theology, whereas this new historical technique, growing up on all sides, w as unaccounted for. A special inquiry was therefore needed whose task should be the study of this new problem or group of problems, the philosophical problems created by the existence of organized and systomatized [ sic ] historical research. This new inquiry might justly claim the title philosophy of history, and it is to this inquiry that this book is a contribution.” Idem, 5-6. 8 Idem, 7. 9 “History, like theology or natural science, is a special form of thought. If that is so, questions about the nature, object, method, and value of this form of thought must be answered by persons ha ving two qualifications. First, they must have experience of that form of thought. They must be historians. In a sense we are all historians nowadays. All educated persons have gone through a process of education which has included a certain amount of historical thinking. But this does not qualify them to give an opinion about the nature, object, method, and value of historical thinking. ... [Rather, Collingwood suggests that a proper historian is one who] When a student in in statu pupillari with respect to any subject whatever, he has to believe that things are settled because the text -books and his teachers regard them as settled. When he emerges from that state and goes on studying the subject for himself he finds that nothing is settled. The dogmatism w hich is an invariable mark of immaturity drops away from him. He looks at so -called facts with a new eye. He says to himself: ‘My teacher and text -books told me that such and such was true ; but is it true? What reasons had they for thinking it true, and w ere these reasons adequate?’ ... The second qualification for answering these questions is that a man should not only have experience of historical thinking but should also have reflected upon that experience. He must be not only an historian but a philosopher ; and in particular his philosophical thought must have included special attention to the problems of historical thought.” Idem, 7 -8. 10 “( a ) The definition of history . Every historian would agree, I think, that history is a kind of research or inquiry. ... The point is that generically it belongs to what we call the sciences : that is, the forms of thought whereby we ask questions and try to answer them. ... It is scientifically valuable only in so far as the new arrangement gives us the answer to a question we have already decided to ask. That is why all science begins from the knowledge of our ignorance: not our ignorance of everything, but our ignorance of some definite thing.... Science is finding things out: and in that sense history is a sc ience. ( b ) The object of history . One science differs from another in that it finds out things of a different kind. What kind of things does history find out? I answer, res gestae : actions of human beings that have been done in the past. ... ( c ) How does h istory proceed? History proceeds by the interpretation of evidence: where evidence is a collective name for things which singularly are called documents, and a document is a thing existing here and now, of such a kind that the historian, by thinking about it, can get answers to the questions he asks about past events. ... ( d ) Lastly, what is history for? This is perhaps a harder question than the others ; a man who answers it will have to reflect rather more widely than a man who answers the three we have answered already. He must reflect not only on historical thinking but on other things as well, because to say that something is ‘for’ something implies a distinction be tween A and B, where A is good for something and B is that for which something is good. ... My answer is that history is ‘for’ human self knowledge. It is generally thought to be of importance to man that he should know himself: where knowing himself means knowing not his merely personal peculiarities, the things that distinguish him from other men, but his nature as man. Knowing yourself means knowing, first, what it is to be a man ; secondly, knowing what it is to be the kind of man you are ; and thir dly, knowing what it is to be the man you are and nobody else is. Knowing yourself means knowing what you can do ; and since nobody knows what he can do until he tries, the only clue to what man can do is what man has done. The value of history, then, is that it teaches us what man has done and thus what man is.” Idem, 9 -10.

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195 necessarily a ‘science of human n ature’ but really a method: history in method.11 As a result of an unavoidable relationship of human actions with things, the study of history revolves around events, or better yet, “...the object to be discovered is not [only] the mere event, but the thought expressed in it.”12 An understanding of history is tied specifically to a mode of human thinking within a given event, or thin king within a process of events. The task then of history is thereby framed: “the history of thought, and therefore all histo ry, is the re -enactment of past thought in the historian’s own mind.”13 Collingwood 11 “It seems a fair eno ugh proposal that, in setting out to understand the nature of our mind, we should proceed in the same way as when we try to understand the world about us. In studying the world of nature, we begin by getting acquainted with the particular things and partic ular events that exist and go on there ; then we proceed to understand them, by seeing how they fall into general types and how these general types are interrelated. These interrelations we call laws of nature ; and it is by ascertaining such laws that we understand the things and events to which they apply. The same method, it might seem, is applicable to the problem of understanding mind.” This does not suffice for Collingwood though, as there is something contextually and qualitatively different between human and nonhuman (see subsequent note) in terms of history, as a ‘science of human nature’. “There remains a third explanation: that the ‘science of human nature’ broke down because its method was distorted by the analogy of the natural sciences. ... Thus history occupies in the world of today a position analogous to that occupied by physics in the time of Locke: it is recognized as a special and autonomous form of thought.... And just as in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries there were material ists, who argued from the success of physics in its own sphere that all reality was physical, so among ourselves the success of history has led some people to suggest that its methods are applicabl e to all the problems of knowledge, in other words, that al l reality is historical. This I believe to be an error. ... The thesis which I shall maintain is that the science of human nature was a false attempt — falsified by the analogy of natural science—to understand the mind itself, and that, whereas the right way of investigating nature is by the methods called scientific, the right way of investigating mind is by the methods of history. I shall contend that the work which was to be done by the science of human nature is actually done, and can only be done, by history: that history is what the science of human nature professed to be...that the right method for such an inquiry is the historical, plain method.” Idem, 208209. 12 Idem, 214. “The historian, investigating any event in the past, makes a distinction betwe en what may be called the outside and the inside of the event. By the outside of the event I mean everything belonging to it which can be described in terms of bodies and their movements.... He is investigating not mere events (where by a mere event I mean one which has only an outside and no inside) but actions, and an action is the unity of the outside and inside of an event. ... His work may begin by discovering the outside of an event, but it can never end there ; he must always remember that the event was an action, and that his main task is to think himself into this action, to discern the thought of its agent. In the case of nature, this distinction between the outs ide and the inside of an event does not arise. The events of nature are mere events, no t the acts of agents whose thought the scientist endeavors to trace. ... Instead of conceiving the event as an action and attempting to rediscover the thought of its agent, penetrating from the outside of the event to its inside, the scientist goes beyond the event, observes its relation to others, and brings it under a general formula or law of nature. To the scientist, nature is always and merely a ‘phenomenon’, not in the sense of being defective in reality, but in the sense of being a spectacle presented to his intelligent observation ; whereas the events of history are never mere phenomena, never mere spectacles for contemplation, but things which the historian looks, not at, but through, to discern the thought within them. In thus penetrating to the inside of events and detecting the thought which they express, the historian is doing something which the scientist need not and cannot do.” Idem, 213-214. 13 Idem, 215. “This re -enactment is only far as the historian brings to bear on the problems all the powers of his mind an all his knowledge of philosophy and politics. It is not a passive surrender to the spell of another’s mind ; it i s a labour of active and therefore critical thinking. The historian not only re -enacts past thought, he re-enacts it in the context of his own knowledge and therefore, in re -enacting it, criticizes it, forms his own judgement of its value, corrects whatever errors he can discern it in. ... All thinking is critical thinking ; the thought which re -enacts past thoughts, therefore, criticizes them in reenacting them. It is now clear why historians habitually restrict the field of historical knowledge to human affairs. A natur al process is a process of events, an historical process is a process of thoughts. Man i s regarded as the only subject of historical process, because man is regarded as the only animal that thinks, or thinks enough, and clearly enough, to render his actions the expressions of his thoughts.” Idem, 215-216. Collingwood continues to draw apart this assertion, highlighting its contested arguments, which he carries forward to ultimately find (likely the result of available knowledge and thinking at the time and thereby requires further criticism – unable to be pursued in this work), that “there is only one hypothesis on which natural processes could be regarded as ultimately historical in character: namely, that these processes are in reality processes of action determined by a thought which is their own inner side. This would imply that natural events are expressions of thoughts, whether

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196 sheds a bit of shadow on his assertion that history is a categorical distinction of human -mind and thought, a shadow given in the event : as “ far as our scientific and historical knowledge goes, the processes of events which constitute the world of nature are altogether different in kind from the processes of thought which constitute the world of history.”14 Yet, to Collingwood, history events maintain a qualitative dif ference to other events. 15 As such, differential events interrelate to indicate processes of history as being that of the knowledge of mind. The processes of thought, then bring to light the process of historical thought specifically , and by its selfrealization as such a process, conceives of history as an essential requirement of thought.16 Co -constituted: history, thought, mind, and action evidences processes and events, worn as shells, together which reveal reality. the thoughts of God, or of angelic or demonic finite intelligences, or of minds somewhat like our own inhabiting the organic and inorganic bodies of nature as our minds inhabit our bodies. ...” Idem, 217. 14 Ibid, my italics. 15 “History, then, is not, as it has so often been mis -described, a story of successive events of an account of change. Unlike the natural scientist, the historian is not concerned with events as such at all. He is only concerned with those events which are the outward expression of thoughts, and is only concerned with these in so far as they express thoughts. At bottom, he is concerned with thoughts alone ; with their outward expression in events he is concerned only by the way, in so far as these reveal to him the thoughts of which he is in search.” Idem, 217. Yet, these events are still evident of thought and of re -acting those thoughts. “Historical knowledge is the knowledge of what mind has done in the past, and at the same time it is the redoing of this, the perpetuation of past acts in the present. Its object is therefore not a mere object, something outside the mind which knows i t ; it is an activity of thought, which can be known only in so far as the knowing mind re -enacts it and knows itself as so doing. To the historian, the activities whose history he is studying are not spectacles to be watched, but experiences to be lived through in his own mind ; they are objective, or known to him, only because they are also subjective, or activities of his own. It may thus be said that historical inquiry reveals to the historian the powers of his own mind. Since all he can know historically is thoug ht that he can re-think for himself, the fact of his coming to know them shows him that his mind is think in these ways. ... But historical knowledge is not concerned only with a remote past. If it is by historical thinking that we re -think and so rediscover the thought of...” Idem, 218219. As a result of this event -depicted thought and its play with a ‘past’ within a ‘present’, historical time collapses – abstracts to an acknowledgement of simultaneous in-time and out -of -time. “In a sense, these thoughts are no doubt themselves events happening in time ; but since the only way in which the historian can discern them is by re -thinking them for himself, there is another sense, and one very important to the historian, in which they are not in time at all.” Ide m, 217. Yet it should be noted, that in contrast to Cronon, Collingwood asserts that “the historian has no gift of prophecy, and knows it ; the historical study of mind, therefore, can neither foretell the future developments of human thought nor legislate for them , except so far as they must proceed —though in what direction we can not tell —from the present as their starting -point. Not the least of the errors contained in the science of human nature is its claim to establish a framework to which all future histor y must conform, to close the gates of the future and bind posterity within limits due not to the nature of things...but to the supposed laws of the mind itself.” Idem, 220. Yet, the historical present is (as Collingwood only hints at) precisely that in which cannot be lived, due to and regardless of ‘the perpetuation of past acts in the present’, as the historical “...body of human thought or mental activity is a corporate possession, and almost all the operations which our minds perform are operations which we learned to perform from others who have performed them already. Since mind is what it does, and human nature, if it is a name for anything real, is only a name for human activities, this acquisition of ability to perform determinate operations is the acquisition o f a determinate human nature [even though not a prophetic condition ]. Thus the historical process is a process in which man creates for himself this or that kind of human nature by re -creating in his own thought the past to which he is heir.” Idem, 226. 16 “There is not, first, a special kind of process, the historical process, and then a special way of knowing this, namely historical thought. The historical process is itself a process of thought, and it exists only in so far as the minds which are parts of it know themselves for parts of it. By historical thinking, the min d whose self knowledge is history not only discovers within itself those powers of which historical thought reveals the possession, but actually develops those powers from a latent to an actual stat e, brings them into effective existence. It would therefore be sophistical to argue that, since the historical process is a process of thought, there must be thought already present, as its presupposition, at the beginning of it, and that an account of what thought is, originally and in itself, must be a non hist orical account. History does not presuppose mind ; it is the life of mind itself, which

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197 With Collingwood’s methodological framework of history established, one finds a different approach to history working with Walter Benjamin’s historical materialism. In “Theses on the Philosophy of History”, Benjamin considers history as a temporal process linking past to future17, yet wherein historical materialism18 is endlessly positioned in battle with and opposition to historicism.19 “‘The truth will not run away from us’: in the historical outlook of historicism these words of Gottfried is not mind except so far as it both lives in historical process and knows itself as so living. The idea that man, apart from his self conscious historical life, is different from the rest of creation in being a rational animal is mere superstition. It is only by fits and starts, in a flickering and dubious manner, that human beings are rational at all. In quality, as well as in amount, their ra tionality is a matter of d egree.... Thought is therefore not the presupposition of an historical process which is in turn the presupposition of historical knowledge. It is only in the historical process, the process of thoughts, that thought exists at all ; and it is o nly in so far as this process is known for a process of thoughts that it is one. The self knowledge of reason is not accidental ; it belongs to its essence. This is why historical knowledge is no luxury, or mere amusement of a mind at leisure from more pressing occupat ions, but a prime duty, whose discharge is essential to the maintenance, not only of any particular form or type or reason, but of reason itself.” Idem, 226 228. 17 “The same applies to our view of the past, which is the concern of history. The past carries with it a temporal index by which it is referred to redemption. There is a secret agreement between past generations and the present one. Our coming was expected on earth. Like every generation that preceded us, we have been endowed with a weak Messianic power, a power to which the past has a claim.” Benjamin, Walter. “Theses on the Philosophy of History.” Illuminations: Essays and Reflections . Hannah Arendt ed. New York: Schocken Books, 1969. 253-264. 254. Benjamin illustrates that history is not an inno cent or arbitrary condition of time, but rather a contested ground of class struggle. “The true picture of the past flits by. The past can be seized only as an image which flashes up at the instant when it can be recognized and is never seen again. ... Fo r every image of the past that is not recognized by the present as one of its own concerns threatens to disappear irretrievably. (The good tidings which the histor ian of the past brings with throbbing heart may be lost in a void the very moment he opens hi s mouth.) To articulate the past historically does not mean to recognize it ‘the way it really was’ (Ranke). It means to seize hold of a memory as it flashes up at a momen t of danger. Historical materialism wishes to retain that image of the past which une xpectedly appears to man singled out by history at a moment of danger. The danger affects both the content of the tradition and its receivers. The same threat hangs over bot h: that of becoming a tool of the ruling classes. In every era the attempt must be made anew to wrest tradition away from a conformism that is about to overpower it. The Messiah comes not only as the redeemer, he comes as the subduer of Antichrist. Only that historian will have the gift of fanning the spark of hope in the past who is firmly convinced that even the dead will not be safe from the enemy if he wins. And this enemy has not ceased to be victorious.” Idem., 255. “History is the subject of a structure whose site is not homogeneous, empty time, but time filled by: the presence of the now....” Idem, 261. 18 Histo rical materialism, in Benjamin’s view is always tied to “The class struggle, which is always present to a historian influenced by Marx, is a fight for the crude and material things without which no refined and spiritual things could exist.” Idem, 254. Mor eover, historical materialism is bound to the material constructs of humanity, because as they are transferred in and indicative of class struggle. As a result, the historical materialist views such materials as ripe for criticism, rather tha n conformity. “Whoever has emerged victorious participates to this day in the triumphal procession in which the present rulers step over those who are lying prostrate. According to traditional practice, the spoils are carried along in the procession. They are called cultural treasures, and a historical materialist views them with cautious detachment. For without exception the cultural treasures he surveys have an origin which he cannot contemplate without horror. They owe their existence not only to the efforts of the great minds and talents who have created them, but also to the anonymous toil of their contemporaries. There is no document of civilization which is not at the same time a document of barbarism. And just as such a document is not free of barbarism, barbari sm taints also the manner in which it was transmitted from one owner to another. A historical materialist therefore dissociates himself from it as far as possible. He regards it as his task to brush history against the grain.” Idem , 256 -257. 19 Historicism on the other hand, aims to support progress at all costs, due to an overarching goal of constructing a homogenous, complete, and constant image of timeless -history (see following note for the aim of historicism to support a linear story of the victor). “P rogress as pictured in the minds of Social Democrats was, first of all, the progress of mankind itself (and not just advances in men’s ability and knowledge). Secondly, it was something boundless, in keeping with the infinite perfectibility of mankind. Thi rdly, progress was regarded as irresistible, something that automatically pursued a straight or spiral course. ... The concept of the historical progress of mankind cannot be sundered from the concept of its progression through a homogeneous, empty time.” 260261. “Historicism gives the ‘eternal’ image of the past.... Historicism rightly culminates in universal history. ... Universal history has no theoretical armature. Its method is additive; it musters a mass of data to fill the homogeneous, emp ty time. ... Historicism contents itself with establishing a causal connection between various moments in history.” Idem, 262263.

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198 Keller mark the e xact point where historical materialism cuts through historicism.”20 It is apparent that historical materialism and historicism operate on counter positions in battle over the temporal mode of thought – how history is understood and practiced. For Benjamin, “Not man or men but the struggling, oppressed class itself is the depository of historical knowledge.”21 Benjamin notes that in order to reify this depository of historical knowledge, the materialist must struggle against the uniform, ‘blast open the co ntinuum’ of homogenous history, the history of historicism, by claiming ownership of a present, which makes indicative the ‘presence of the now’, or the acknowledgement of a given moment in relation to multiple specifically -defined previous and future moments.22 As a result, a process of history, for the historical materialist, must be one of criticism23 and struggle, where “i n every era the attempt must be made anew to wrest tradition away from a conformism that is about to overpower it.”24 Clearly, for Ben jamin “t he puppet called ‘historical materialism’ is to win all the time.”25 Collingwood’s methodology and Benjamin’s hi storical materialism, establish definitions of history pertinent here. Dialogues between thought and thing, mind and material, being and becoming, philosophy and pragmatics mark a discourse of history in a disjointed lineage – historical thought, as a self aware and reenacted conceptua lization bent upon materially and contextually distinct moments 20 Idem, 255. The struggle is indicative of historical materialism’s task to cut and sever the ties of historicism which aims to conceal aspects of history which do not align with the story of the victor: “The nature of this sadness stands out more clearly if one asks with whom the adherents of historicism actually empathize. The answer is inevitable: with the victor.” Idem, 256. 21 Idem, 260. 22 “A historical materialist cannot do without the notion of a present which is not a transition, but in which time stands still and has come to a stop. For this notion defines the present in which he himself is writing history. ...historical materialism supplies a unique experience with the past. ... He remains in control of his powers, man enough to blast open the continuum of history. ... Materialistic historiography, on the other hand, is based on a constructive principle. Thinking involves not only the flow of thoughts, but their arrest as well. Where thinking suddenly stops in a configuration pregnant with tensions, it gives that configuration a shock, by which it crystallizes into a monad. A historical materialist approaches a historical subject only where he encounters it as a monad. In this structure he recognizes the sign of a Messianic cessation of happening, or, put differently , a revolutionary chance in the fight for the oppressed past. He takes cognizance of it in order to blast a specific era out of the homogeneous course of history —blasting a specific life out of the era or a specific work out of the lifework. ... The present, which, as a model of Messianic time, comprises the entire history of mankind in an enormous abridgment, coincides exactly with the stature which the history of mankind has in the universe. ... It became historical posthumously, as it were, through events that may be separated from it by thousands of years. A historian who takes this as his point of departure [historic al materialism and the present defined historical ‘posthumously’] stops telling the sequence of events like the beads of a rosary. Instead, he g rasps the constellation which his own era has formed with a definite earlier one. Thus he establishes a conception of the present as the ‘time of the now’ which is shot through with chips of Messianic time.” Idem, 262263. 23 “Each of these predicates [the three tenants of progress outlined in note 17] is controversial and open to criticism. However , when the chips are down, criticism must penetrate beyond these predicates and focus on something that they have in common. ... A critique of the concept of such a progression must be the basis of any criticism of the concept of progress itself.” Idem, 260261. 24 Idem, 255. 25 Idem, 253.

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199 echoes other visions of history: “ this historiography: intelligibility [what is written] is established through a relation with the other ...”26; “...the history of thought, of knowledge, of philosophy, of literature seems to be seeking, and discovering, more and more discontinuities, whereas history [presumably historicism] itself appears to be abandoning the irruption of events in favour of stable structures.”27 26 Certeau, Michel de. The Writing of History. Tom Conley trans. Columbia University Press, New York, 1988. 3. Drawing this out, on the other hand, requires a bit more from de Certeau, but will hopefully appear familiar. De Certeau outlines the basic premise of his text in relation to the formation of history as a discourse during the enlightenment. “Modern Western history essentially begins with differentiation between the present and the past . In this way it is unlike tradition...though it never succeeds in being entirely dissociated from this archaeology, maintaining with it a relation of indebtedness and rejection. T his rupture also organizes the content of history within the relations between labor and nature ; and finally, as its third form, it ubiquitously takes for granted a rift between discourse and the body (the social body). It forces the silent body to speak. It assumes a gap to exist between the silent opacity of the ‘reality’ that it seeks to express and the place where it produces its own speech, protected by the distance established between itself and its object (Gegen -stand ). The violence of the body reaches the written page only through absence, through the intermediary of documents that the historian has been able to see on t he sands from which a presence has since been washed away, and through a murmur that lets us hear —but from afar —the unknown immensity that seduces and menaces our knowledge. A structure belonging to Western culture can doubtless be seen in this historiography: intelligibility is established through a relation with the other; it moves (or ‘progresses’) by changing what it makes of its ‘other’.... Between the seventeenth and the eighteenth century, what allows the seen body to be converted into t he known body, or what turns the spatial organization of the body into a semantic organization of a vocabulary —and vice versa—is the transformation of the body into extension, into open interiority like a book, or like a silent corpse placed under our ey es. An analogous change takes place when tradition, a lived body, is revealed to erudite curiosity through a corpus of texts. Modern medicine and historiography are born almost simultaneously from the rift between a subject that is supposedly literate, and a n object that is supposedly written in an unknown language. The latter always remains to be decoded. These two ‘heterologies’ (discourses on the other) are built upon a division between the body of knowledge that utters a discourse and the mute body t hat nourishes it.” Idem, 2 -3. The practice of history then is of transcribing events as bodies, delimited vacancies, engaged in the practice of historiography. “This lacuna, a mark of the place within the text and the questioning of the place through the t ext, ultimately refers to what archeology designates without being able to put in words: the relation of the logos to an arch , a ‘principle’ or ‘beginning’ which is its other. This other on which it is based, which makes possible, is what historiography can place always ‘earlier,’ go further and further back to, or designate as what it is within the ‘real’ that legitimizes representation but is not identical to it. The arch is nothing of what can be said. It is only insinuated into the text through the labor of division, or with the evocation of death. Thus historians can write only by combining within their practice the 'other‘ that moves and mis leads them and the real that they can represent only through fiction. They are historiographers.” Idem, 14. 27 Foucault, Michel. The Archeology of Knowledge and The Discourse on Language. A. M. Sheridan Smith trans. New York: Vintage Books, 2010. 6. Foucault identifies this divergence as evident in historical practice and method. “At about the sam e time, in the disciplines that w e call history of ideas, the history of science, the history of philosophy, the history of thought, and the history of those disciplines which, despite their names, evade very largely the work and methods of the historian, attention has been turned, on the contrary, away from vast unities like ‘periods’ or ‘centuries’ to the phenomena of rupture, of discontinuity. Beneath the great continuities of thought, beneath the solid, homogeneous manifestations of a sing le mind or of a collective mentality, beneath the stubborn development of a science striving to exist and to reach completion at the very outset, beneath the persistence of a particular genre, form, discipline, or theoretical activity, one is now trying to detect the incidence of interr uptions. Interruptions whose status and nature vary considerably. ... What one is seeing, then, is the emergence of a whole field of questions, some of which are already familiar, by which this new form of history is trying to develop its own theory: how is one to specify the different concepts that enable us to conceive of discontinuity (threshold, rupture, break, mutation, transformation)? Idem, 4-5. As a result of this identification, Foucault outlines his overall aim in his text, as it relates to histor y. “An enterprise by which one tries to measure the mutations that operate in general in the field of history; an enterprise in which the methods, limits, and themes proper to the history of ideas are questioned; an enterprise by which one tries to throw off the last anthropological constraints; an enterprise that wishes, in return, to reveal how these constraints could come about. ... My aim is not to transfer to the field of history, and more particularly to the history of knowledge ( connaissances ), a st ructuralist method that has proved valuable in other fields of analysis. My aim is to uncover the principles and consequences of an autochthonous transformation that is taking place in the field of historical knowledge. ... —my aim is most decidedly not to use the categories of cultural totalities (whether world -views, ideal types, the particular spirit of an age) in order to impose on history, despite itself, the forms of structural analysis. The series described, the limits fixed, the comparisons and corr elations made are based not on the old philosophies of history, but are intended to question teleologies and totalizations; —in so far as my aim is to

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200 Establishing a working definition of history is neither simple nor clear. Rather, it might be construed as a philosophical practice, a tenuous struggle that attends to multiplicities of events aiming to understand contested knowledge, not as a cohesive linearity, but as relational perpetual analyses of relative and different, disparate and ruptured action s . Histor y operates in the realm of UHI . Conditional effects and artefactual evidence may be seen, but the operational or methodological functions in the UHI . More so, events under historical scrutiny operate previously, or like a living ‘dead’. A s Benjamin writes in his analogue of the ‘angel of history’, who, in the face of a ‘storm’ of ‘progress’, “...would like to stay, awaken the dead, and make whole what has been smashed. ... [Yet,] t his storm irresistibly propels him into the future to which his back is turned, while the pile of debris before him grows skyward.28 Capital Concerning capital and the relations of the UHI , this thesis resorts less on the proponents of capitalis m, i.e. the laissez-faire liberal theories put forth by Adam Smith, John Locke, and Herbert Spencer. Rather it leans on the critical economic canon attributed to Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels. As a result, the definitions and ideas will be derived from these thinkers, which have been expanded by those following in their stead. Donald Mitchell established some of the cursory definitions (e.g. fetishism, social relations of production, alienation) in a previous act . Although an in depth analysis of capital (or any of the subsequent epistemologies) could become a life’s work (as seems to be the role of a number of scholars), the definition here is intended to less substantial, but suitable and brief. To begin, Marx defines capital as a set of relations.29 It is a set of relations, specifically tied to “...a particular historical social define a method of historical analysis freed from anthropological theme, it is clear that the theory that I am about to outline has a dual relation with the previous studies. It is an attempt to formulate, in general terms (and not without a great deal of rec tification and elaboration), the tools that these studies have used or forged for themselves in the course of their work. ... In short, this book...belongs to that field in which the questions of the human being, consciousness, origin, and the subject emerge, inters ect, mingle, and separate off.” Idem, 15 16. 28 “This is how one pictures the angel of histor y. His face is turned toward the past. Where we perceive a chain of events, he sees one single catastrophe which keeps piling wreckage upon wreckage and hurls it in front of his feet. The angel would like to s tay, awaken the dead, and make whole what has b een smashed. But a storm is blowing from Paradise; it has got caught in his wings with such violence that the angel can no longer close them. This storm irresistibly propels him into the future to which his back is turned, while the pile of debris before him grows skyward. This storm is what we call progress.” Benjamin: 1969, 257-258. 29 “In interest -bearing capital, the capital relationship reaches its most superficial and fetishized form. Here we have M -M’, money that produces more money, self -valorizing v alue, without the process that mediates the two extremes. In commercial

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201 formation....”30 This set of relations involves both ‘things’ (meant here in the Marxian materialist sense) and commodities.31 Thing and commodity “measures” may be broken down into two sets of value relations, which are tied together, yet are socially conceived as opposing in practice.32 W hen one says commodity, they are implicitly also discussing the relational qualities of use, specifically through exchangevalues.33 Thus, when discussing commodity value in terms of capital relations, usevalue tends to fall away, often, only exchange value remains.34 This is qualified by a specific amount of human labor.35 For Marx, commodity then implies exchange-value, which implies human labor and time. The commodity form posits the relational equation of two different embodied quantities of value (as human capital, M -C-M’, at least the general form of the capitalist movement is present, even though this takes place only in the circulation sphere, so that profit appears as merely profit u pon alienation; but for all that, it presents itself as the product of a social relation, not the product of a mere thing. ... In other words, capital is not a simple quantity. It is a relation of quantities, a ratio between the principal as a given value, and itself as self valorizing value, as a principal that has produced a surplus value.” Marx, Karl. Capital. Vol. 3, David Fernbach trans. London: Penguin Books, 1981. 515. 30 “Capital, land, labour! But capital is not a thing, it is a definite social rela tion of production pertaining to a particular historical social formation, which simply takes the form of a thing and gives this thing a specific social character. Capital is not the sum of the material and produced means of production. Capital is the mean s of production as transformed into capital, these being no more capital in themselves than gold or silver are money. It is the means of production monopolized by a particular section of society, the products and conditions of activity of labour -power, which are rendered autonomous vis --vis this living labour power and are personified in capital through this antithesis. ...” Idem, 953. 31 “The commodity is, first of all, an external object, a thing which through its qualities satisfies human needs of whatev er kind. ... The diversity of the measures for commodities arises in part from the diverse nature of the objects to be measured, and i n part from convention.” Marx, Karl. Capital. Vol. 1, Ben Fowkes trans. London: Penguin Books, 1976. 125. 32 “Every useful thing, for example, iron, paper, etc., may be looked at from two points of view of quality and quantity. Every useful thing is a whole composed of many properties; it can therefore be useful in various ways. ... The usefulness of a thing makes it a use-val ue. But this usefulness does not dangle in mid-air. It is conditioned by the physical properties of the commodity, and has no existence apart from the latter. It is therefore the physical body of the commodity itself, for instanc e iron, corn, a diamond, which is the use -value or useful thing. This property of a commodity is independent of the amount of labour required to appropriate its useful qualities. When examining use -values, we always assume we are dealing with definite quantities, such as dozens of watches, yards of linen, or tons of iron. ... Use -values are only realized [verwirklicht] in use or consumption. They constitute the material content of wealth, whatever its social form may be. In the form of society to be considered here they are also the material bearers [Trger] of ... exchange-value. Exchange-value appears first of all as the quantitative relation, the proportion, in which use -values of one kind exchange for use -values of another kind. This relation changes constantly with time and place.” Idem, 125-126. German terms bracketed by translator. 33 “A thing can be useful, and a product of human labour, without being a commodity. He who satisfies his own need with the product of his own labour admittedly creates use-values, but not commodities. In order to produce the latter, he must not only produce use -values, but use -values of others, social use -value. ... In order to become a commodity, the product must be transferred to the other person, for whom it serves as a use -value, through the medium of exchange.” Idem, 131. Exchange is implicit in the term commodity. 34 “As use values, commodities differ above all in quality, while as exchange-values they can only differ in quantity, and therefore d o not contain an atom of use -value. If then we disregard the use -value of commodities, only one property remains, that of being products of labour. ... We have seen that when commodities are in the relation of exchange, their exchange -value manifests itsel f as something totally independent of their use -value. But if we abstract from their use-value, there remains their value, as it has just been defined. The common factor in the exchange relation, or in the exchange-value of the commodity, is therefore its value. The progress of the investigation will lead us back to exchangevalue as the necessary mode of expression, or form of appearance, or value.” Idem, 128. 35 “A use -value, or useful article, therefore, has value only because abstract human labour is objectified [vergegenstndlicht] or materialized in it. ... The value of a commodity is related to the value of any other commodity as the labour -time necessary for the production of the one is related to the labour -time necessary for the production of the other. ‘As exchange-values, all commodities are merely definite quantities of congealed labour -time.’ ... Now we know the substance of value. It is labour. We know the measure of its magnitude. It is labour -time. ” Idem, 129131. German terms bracketed by translator, and quote from Marx’s own works.

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202 labor), and which ultimately (apparently via “social customs”) generates the commodification of money, or the money form, which is a set standard commodity of exchange that signifies various quantities of other commodities.36 From this, one can move onto Marx’s social relations of human labor value and labor time. Marx reminds readers that the whole purpose of analyzing exchange is t o get to the hidden qualities of value, of human labor.37 In the employment of human labor, labor becomes a thing of social exchange.38 It becomes commodified in a specific mysterious/hidden form, so that in commodity relations, commodity value (as indicat ive of a quantity of human labor), is also attributed to exchanges of human labor (or human labor as a commodity, indicates a value, which is indicative of a quantity of human labor).39 The commodified labor and commodity things thereby join value and the moneyform as that which conceals and makes mysterious the social relations of humans and things.40 Lastly, the commodities themselves, 36 “The advance consists only in that the form of direct and universal exchangeability, in other words the universal equivalent form, has now by social custom finally become entwined with the specific natural form of the commodity gold. Gold confronts the other commodities as money only because it previously confronted them as a commodity. Like all other commodities it also functioned as an equivalent, either as a single equivalent in isolated exchanges or as a particular equivalent alongside other commodity -equivalents. Gradually it began to serve as universal equivalent in narrower or wider fields. As soon as it had won a monopoly of this position in the expression of value for the world of commodities, it became the money commodity, and only then... transformed into the money form. The simple commodity form is therefore the germ of the money form.” Idem, 162-163. 37 “However, let us remember that commodities possess an objective character as values only in so far as they are all expressions of an identical social substance, human labour, that their objective character as values is therefore purely social. From thi s it follows ... that it can only appear in the social relation between commodity and commodity. I n fact we started from exchangevalue, or the exchange relation of commodities, in order to track down the value that lay hidden within it.” Idem, 138139. 38 “And finally, as soon as men start to work for each other in any way, their labour also assumes a social form.” Idem, 164. As will become apparent, this leads precisely to the mysterious not -seen components of capital relations. 39 “The mystical character of the commodity does not therefore arise from its use-value. Just as little does it proceed from the nature of the determinants of value. ... Whence, then, arises the enigmatic character of the product of labour, as soon as it assumes the form of a commodity? Clearly, it arises from this form itself. ... The mysterious character of the commodity form consists therefore simply in the fact that the commodity reflects the social characteristics of men’s own labour as objective characteristics of the products of labour themselves, as the socio -natural properties of these things. Hence it also reflects the social relation of the producers to the sum total of labour as a social relation between objects, a relation which exists apart from and outside the producers. Through this substitution, the products of labour become commodities, sensuous things which are at the same time suprasensible or social. In the same way, the impression made by a thing on the optic nerve is perceived not as a subjective excitation of that nerve but as the objective form of a thing outside the eye. In the act of seeing, of course, li ght is really transmitted from one thing, the external object, to another thing, the eye. It is a physical relation between things. As against this, the commodity form, and the value -relation of the products of labour within which it appears, have absolutely no connection with the physical nature of the commodity and the material [dinglich] relations arising out of this. It is nothing but the de finite social relation between men themselves which assumes here, for them, the fantastic form of a relation between things.” Idem, 164 -165. German terms bracketed by translator. 40 “Men do not therefore bring the products of their labour into relation with each other as values because they see these objec ts merely as the material integuments of homogeneous human labo ur. ... They do this without being aware of it. Value, therefore, does not have its description branded upon its forehead; it rather transforms every product of labour into a social hieroglyphic. ... Later on, men try to decipher the hieroglyphic, to get behind the secret of their own social product: for the characteristic which objects of utility have of being values is as much men’s social product as is their language. The belated scientific discover y that the products of labour, in so far as they are val ues, are merely the material expressions of the human labour expended to produce them, marks an epoch in the history of mankind’s development.... It is however precisely this finished form of the world of

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203 which embody labor time, dictate the rates and fluctuations of designated value, which is another hidden component of capital relations.41 This suggests an optimistic realization for the laborer, in the reification and realization of the workers’ labor power.42 Finally, this gets on to two more concepts that indicate the UHI of capital relations, that of Marx’s fetishism an d alienation. Marx’s fetish is described as the tendency to remove the produced product of labor from human relations and to see commodities as distinct from, and generating their own value in, the social relations of production.43 The best example of this, and as stated so by Marx, is in interest capital, where profits (surplusvalue) is seen to selfgenerate in the form of interest, and to reproduce on its own.44 Interest is in no means the only form of the fetish, rather other f etishes are not as ‘alienating’ (to somewhat misappropriate yet foreshadow a term) as interest.45 Whereas the accumulation commodities – the money form – which conceals the social character of private labour and the social relations between individual works, by making those relations appear as relations between material objects, instead of revealing them plainly.” Idem, 166 169 41 “The value character of the products of labour becomes firmly established only when they act as magnitudes of value. These magnitudes vary continually, independently of the will, foreknowledge and actions of the exchangers. ...[M]ovement within society has for them the form of a movement made by things, and these things, far from being under their control, in fact control them. ... The determination of the magnitude of value by labour -time is therefore a secret hidden under the apparent movements in the relative values of commodities. Its discovery destroys the semblance of the merely accidental determination of the magnitude of the value of the products of labour, but by no means abolishes that determination’s material form.” Idem, 167168. 42 “In this manner, the labour objectified in the values of comm odities is not just presented negatively, as labour in which abstraction is made from all the concrete forms and useful properties of actual work. Its own positive nature is explicitly brought out, namely the fact that it is the reduction of all kinds of a ctual labour to their common character of being human labour in general, of being the expenditure of human labour power.” Noting the exchange and flow of labor power leads Marx to conclude this section, speaking on behalf of labor power, as the commodified labor controlling the rates of their own exchange through value of labor -time. “If commodities could speak, they would say this: our use -value may interest men, but it does not belong to us as objects. What does belong to us as objects, however, is our v alue. Our own intercourse as commodities proves it. We relate to each other merely as exchangevalues.” Idem, 176177. 43 “In order, therefore, to find an analogy we must take flight into the misty realms of religion. There the products of the hum an brain appear as autonomous figures endowed with a life of their own, which enter into relations both with each other and with the human race. So it is in the world of commodities with the products of men’s hands. I call this the fetishism which attaches i tself to the products of labour as soon as they are produced as commodities, and is therefore inseparable from the production of commodities.” Idem, 165. 44 “In the form of interest -bearing capital, capital appears immediately in this form, unmediated by the production and circulation process. Capital appears as a mysterious and self -creating source of interest, of its own increase. The thing (money, commodity, value) is now already capital simply as a thing; the result of the overall reproduction process appears as a property devolving on a thing itself.... While interest is simply one part of the profit, i.e. the surplus -value, extorted from the worker by the functioning capitalist, it now appears conversely as if interest is the specific fruit of capital, the ori ginal thing, while profit, now transformed into the form of profit of enterprise, appears as a mere accessory and trimming added in the reproduction process. The fetis h character of capital and the representation of this capital fetish is now complete. In M-M’ we have the irrational form of capital, the misrepresentation and objectification of the relations of production, in its highest power: the interest -bearing form, the simple form of capital, in which it is taken as logically anterior to its own repro duction process; the ability of money or a commodity to valorize its own value independent of reproduction – the capital mystification in the most flagrant form.” Marx, 1981: 516. 45 In the chapter on the “Trinity Formula”, Marx writes: “if capital originally appeared on the surface of circulation as the capital fetish, value -creating value, so it now presents itself once again in the figure of interest -bearing capital as its most estranged and peculiar form. This is why the form ‘capital-interest’, as a third in the series to ‘earth -rent’ and ‘labour -wages’, is much more consistent than capital -profit’, since profit still retains a memory of its origin which in interest is not simply obliterated but actually placed in a form diametrically opposed to this ori gin.” Idem, 968.

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204 of interest most often carries the weight of exploitation and extortion by conceiving it as removed from past sources of production, understanding it as a fetish allows for the conceptual and physical reordering of labor and time, that sees its relations with previous relations of production.46 This becomes a way of moving beyond the mystification of capital accumulation, but also becom es a mechanism of identifying and working with the UHI . Alienation is sometimes linked with fetishism, but pertains , in two ways, to the processes where an owner of produced commodities distances that product from herself/ himself (or has that product appropriated from herself/ himself ) in the appropriation of other commodities, and the processes of change that the product goes through during exchange.47 Moreover, concerning the reproduction of capital, there is an implicit struggle made apparent in the process of exchange due to the alienation brought upon the laborer.48 To say that alienation implies struggle is euphemism, as the process of 46 “The identity of surplus -value and surplus labor sets a qualitative limit to the accumulation of capital: the total working day, the present development of the productive forces and population, which limits the number of working days tha t can be simultaneously exploited. But if surplus -value is conceived in the irrational form of interest, the limit is only quantitative, and beggars all fantasy. Interest -bearing capital, however, displays the conception of the capital fetish in its consum mate form, the idea that ascribes to the accumulated product of labour, in the fixed form of money at that, the power of producing surplus -value in geometric progression by way of an inherent secret quality, as a pure automaton, so that this accumulated product of labour, ... has long since discounted the whole world’s wealth for all time, as belonging to it by right and rightfully coming its way. T he product of past labour, and past labour itself, is seen as pregnant in and of itself with a portion of present or future living surplus labour. We know however that in actual fact the preservation and thus also the reproduction of the value of products of past labour is only the result of their contact with living labour; and secondly, that the command that the products of past labour exercise over living surplus labour lasts only as long as the capital relation, the specific relation in which past labour co nfronts living labour as independent and superior.” Idem, 523524. 47 Concerning analysis of circulation, “up to this point we have considered only one economic relation between men, a relation between owners of commodities in which they appropriate the produce of the labour of others by alienating [entfremden] the produce of their own labour. Hence, for one commodity -owner to meet with another, in the form of a money -owner, it is necessary either that the product of the latter should possess by its nature the form of money, i.e. it should be gold, the m aterial of which money consist, or that his product should already have changed its skin and stripped off its original form of a useful object. ... Leaving aside its exchange for other commodities at the source of production, gold is, in the hands of every commodity -owner, his own commodity divested [entussert] of its original shape by being alienated [verussert]; it is the product of a sale or of the first metamorphosis C -M.” Marx, 1976: 203204. German terms bracketed by translator. The footnote noted by an asterisk after the ‘[verussert]’ points to another large important text of Marx’s and gives more insight into the pertinence of one form of alienation. It reads: “Cf. Grundrisse, p. 196: ‘Appropriation through and by means of divestiture [Entusserung] and alienat ion [Verussert] is the fundamental conditi on of commodity circulation.’” Ibid. 48 “On the other hand, the worker always leaves the process in the same state as he entered it – a personal source of wealth, but deprived of any means of making that wealth a reality for himself. Since, before he enters the process, his own labour has already been alienated [entfremdet] from him, appropriated by the capitalist, and incorporated with capital, it now, in the course of the process, constantly objectifies itself so that it becomes a product alien to him [fre mder Produkt]. ... Therefore the worker himself constantly produces objective wealth, in the form of capital, an alien power that dominates and exploits him; and the capital ist just as constantly produces labour -power, in the form of a subjective source of wealth which is abstract, exists merely in the physical body of the worker, and is separated from its own means of objectification and realization; in short, the capitalist produces the worker as a wage-laborer.” Idem, 716. German terms bracketed by trans lator.

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205 alienation has extortive powers that cut to the core of the workers being.49 As a result, the ground work is set f or class warfare, and though alienation is framed in extortive powers, it also constructs the worker on higher grounds (whether moral or not is unknown) than the capitalist.50 Where alienation works to remove and conceal the product of labor from the laborer in commodity exchange or capitalist extortive accumulation, it appears in the fetish.51 Alienation works in the UHI , as a means of concealing, hiding, or otherwise distancing commodities from producers. The relationships of landscape architecture and capital are already established in the analysis of Donald Mitchell’s work. Where the product of the built landscape has direct implications on the commodities produced in that landscape, or the landscape commodity itself, it also has the tendency to deploy fetishism and alienation (perhaps not in the strict Marxian sense). For instance, fetishism appears in the consumed spaces, naturalized representations, and values of western landscape ideals, and alienation appears in the material re-appropriation that operates in the built form and in naturalized representations. Landscape in the materials of ‘nature’ and capital relations operate very much in the Marxian sense of commodity production, capital appropriation, and alienation.52 Landscape tends 49 The capitalist system under accumulation produces processes that “...distort the worker into a fragment of a man, the degrade him to the level of an appendage of a machine, they destroy the actual content of his labour by turning it into a torment ; they alienate [entfremden] from him the intellectual potentialities of the labour process in the same proportion as science is incorporated in it as an independent power; they deform the conditions under which he works, subject him during the labour proc ess to a despotism the more hateful for its meanness....” Idem, 799. 50 In an appendix focusing on the “Results of the Immediate Process of Production” and capital production under surplus value, “This antagonistic stage cannot be avoided, any more than it is possible for man to avoid the stage in which his spiritual energies are given a religious definition as powers independent of himself. What we are confronted by here is the alienation [Entfremdung] of man from his own labour. To that extent the worker stands on higher plane than the capitalist from the outset, since the latter has his roots in the process of alienation and finds absolute satisfaction in it whereas right from the start the worker is a victum who confronts it as a rebel and experiences it as a process of enslavement.” Idem, 990. 51 “The objective conditions essential to the realization of labour are alienated from the worker and become manifest as fetishes endowed with a will and a soul of their own. Commodities, in short, appear as the purchasers of persons.” Idem, 1002. 52 In the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844 Marx writes in his chapter on “Estranged Labor”, “The worker can create nothing without nature, without the sensuous external world. It is the material on which his la bor is realized, in which it is active, from which and by means of which it produces. But just as nature provides labor with the means of life in the sense t hat labor cannot live without objects on which to operate, on the other hand, it also provides the means of life in the more restricted sense, i.e., the means for the physical subsistence of the worker himself. Thus the more the worker by his labor appropriates the external world, hence sensuous nature, the more he deprives himself of means of life in a double manner: first, in that the sensuous external world more and more ceases to be an object belonging to his labor — to be his labor’s means of life; and secondly, in that it more and more ceases to be means of life in the immediate sense, means for the physical subsistence of the worker. In both respects, therefore, the worker becomes a slave of his object.... Political economy conceals the estrangement inherent in the nature of labor by not considering the direct relationship between the worker (labor) and production. ... Nature is man’s inorganic body —nature, that is, in so far as it is not itself the human body. Man lives on nature — means that nature is his body, with which he must remain in continuous interchange if he is not to die. That man’s physica l and spiritual life is linked to nature means simply that nature is linked to itself, for man is a part of nature. In estranging from man (1) nature, and (2) himself, his own active functions, his life activity, estranged labor estranges the species of man. It changes for him the life of the species

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206 towards a set of capital relations, and taking Donald Mitchell’s arguments again, the practices of landscape have particularly insidious traditions, oftentimes capitalizing upon the commodification, fetishism, and alienation of the UHI to produce landscape relations. This analysis of capital does not take into account the large cannon of capital discourse, including Marxist reformations and revisioning, and especially in its neo liberal formations of current international and corporate capital relations.53 The intention is to get at defining the core terms and concepts of the social relations of capital production. Power In the dynamics of social power relations, this thesis relies foremost on Michel Foucault’s concepts of power/knowledge. Foucault is considered (l ike Marx for capital) quintessential for discussing social power relations. It would be theoretical and intellectual error to ignore his concepts. Although correct, this work also considers Michel de Certeau’s work on life practices to be informative of power relations expressed in everyday life.54 Some of the authors discussed in Act I began the discussion of Foucault and social power relations, thus already clarifying some of the work. Turning then directly to Foucault, his text Discipline and Punish begins to clarify the foundation and framework, expression and workings, of social power. Foucault likens power to social relations directly over the corporeal body, the prison of the body – punishment, knowledge, and nontheological ‘soul’.55 Establishing power in these ways first allows into a means of individual life.” Marx, Karl. Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844. Martin Milligan trans, Dirk J. Struik ed. New York: International Publishers, 1964. 109112. The worker’s alienation from the sources of his/her production is implicitly tied to the means of species life, yet where he otherwise states “Life itself appears as only a means to life.” Id em, 113. 53 See for instance: Harvey, David. “The Right to the City.” The City Reader 6, 2 008: 2340.; Harvey, David. “Notes towards a theory of uneven geographical development.” Spaces of Global Capitalism . London ; New York, NY: Verso, 2006. 71116.; Smith, Neil. “New Globalism, New Urbanism: Gentrification as Global Urban Strategy.” Antipode 34, no. 3, 2002: 42750. 54 What follows is a cursory outline of power and power relations – it is not complete nor conclusive. 55 The connections of punishment and its role over the physical body shifted in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. “Simila rly, the hold on the body did not entirely disappear in the mid-nineteenth century. Punishment had no doubt ceased to be centered on torture as a technique of pain; it assumed as its principal object loss of wealth or rights. But a punishment lik e forced l abour or even imprisonment – mere loss of liberty – has never functioned without a certain additional element of punishment that certainly concerns the body itself: rationing of food, sexual deprivation, corporal punishment, solitary confinement. Ar e these the unintentional, but inevitable, consequence of imprisonment? In fact, in its most explicit practices, imprisonment has alw ays involved a certain degree of physical pain.” Foucault: 1995, 15-16. Foucault writes of the relations of social power, punishment, and the punitive system over the human body: “Its fate is to be redefined by knowledge. Beneath the increasing leniency of punishment, then, one may map a displacement of its point of application; and through this displacement, a whole field of rec en t objects, a whole system of truth and a mass of roles hitherto unknown in the exercise of criminal justice. A corpus of knowle dge,

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207 Foucault to set out to “...write the history of this prison [‘soul’ – power], with all the political investments of the body that it gathers together in its closed architecture.”56 In a separate text of his lectures in 197 71978, Foucault clearly outlines this history of power relations from judicial (at times conflated with sovereignty), to disciplinary, and to security as a means of sketching out a more broad analysis of the human corporeal body and its constitution in biopolitical power relations.57 Power is thus sketched as techniques, ‘scientific’ discourses is formed and becomes entangled with the practice of the power to punish. This book is i ntended as a correlative history of the modern soul and of a new power to judge; a genealogy of the present scientifico-legal complex from which the power to punish derives its bases, justifications and rules, from which it extends its effects and by which it masks its exorbitant singularity.” Idem, 22 -23. Foucault writes that his study of power aims to “...try to study the metamorphosis of punitive methods on the basis of a political technology of the body in which might be read a common history of power relations and object relations. Thus, by an analysis of penal leniency as a technique of power, one might understand both how man, the soul, the normal or abnormal individual have come to duplicate crime as objects of penal intervention; and in what way a specific mode of subjection was able to give birth to man as an object of knowledge for a discourse with a ‘scientific’ status.” Idem, 24. Where it concerns power’s relation to knowledge Foucault writes: “We should admit rather that power produces knowledge (and not simply by encouraging it because it serves power or by applying it because it is useful); that power and knowledge directly imply one another; that there is no power relation without the correlative constitution of a field of knowledge, nor any knowledge that does not presuppose and constitute at the same time power relations. These ‘power knowledge relations’ are to be analysed, therefore, not on the basis of a subject of knowledge who is or is not free in relat ion to the power system, but, on the contrary, the subject who knows, the objects to be known and the modalities of knowledge must be regarded as so many effects of these fundamental implications of power -knowledge and their historical transformations. In short, it is not the activity of the subject of knowledge that produces a corpus of knowledge, useful or resistant to power, but power knowledge, the processes and struggles that traverse it and of which it is made up, that determines the forms of possible dom ains of knowledge. To analyse the political investment of the body and the micro-physics of power presupposes, therefore, that one abandons – where power is concerned – the violence-ideology opposition, the metaphor of property, the model of the contract or of conquest; that – where knowledge is concerned – one abandons the opposition between what is ‘interested’ and what is ‘disinterested’, the model of knowledge and the primacy of the subject.” Idem, 27-28. Pertaining to the relations of power and the ‘soul’, “The history of this ‘ micro -physics’ of the punitive power would then be a genealogy or an element in a genecology of the modern ‘soul’. Rather than seeing this soul as the reactivated remnants of an ideology, one would see it as the present correlative of a certain technology of power over the body. It would be wrong to say that the soul is an illusion, or an ideological effect. On the contrary, it exists, it has a reality, it is produced permanently around, on, within the body by the functioni ng of a power that is exercised on those punished – and, in a more general way, on those one supervises, trains and corrects, over madmen, children at home and at school, the colonized, over those who are stuck at a machine and supervised for the rest of t heir lives. This is the historical reality of this soul....” Idem, 29. Yet, where power in these ways seems one directional, Foucault states that power also brings the body to life, “ But let there be no misunderstanding: it is not that a real man, the object of knowledge, philosophical reflection of technical intervention, has been substituted for the soul, the illusion of theologians. The man described for us, whom we are invited to free, is already in himself the effect of a subjection much more profound than himself. A ‘soul’ inhabits him and brings him to existence, which is itself a factor in the mastery that power exercises over the body. The soul is the effect and instrument of a political anatomy; the soul is the prison of the body.” Idem, 30. 56 Idem, 30-31. Foucault extends this to clarify that what he means by prison is the ‘soul’ of the body, or power, as evidenced by text before and after his historical goal. “What was at issue was not whether the prison environment was too harsh or too ase ptic, too primitive of too efficient, but its very materiality as an instrument and vector of power; it is this whole technology of power over the body that the technology of the ‘soul’ – that of the educationalist, psychologists and psychiatrists – fails either to conceal or compensate, for t his simple reason that it is one of its tools. I would like to write the history of this prison [‘soul’ – power], with all the political investments of the body that it gathers together in its closed architecture Why? Simply because I am [Foucault] interested in the past? No, if one means by that writing a history of the past in terms of the present. Yes, if one means writing the history of the present.” Ibid. 57 Foucault writes of the forces and processes beginning from pre -enlightenment formations of power : “You are familiar with the first form, which consists in laying down a law and fixing a punishment for the person who breaks it, which is the system of the legal code with a binary division between the permitted and the prohibited, and a coupling, compri sing the code, between a type of prohibited action and a type of punishment. This, then is the legal or juridical mechanism. I will not return to the secon d mechanism, the law framed by mechanisms of surveillance and correction, which is, or course, the disciplinary mechanism. The disciplinary mechanism is characterized by the fact that a third personage, the culprit, appears within the binary system of the code, and at the same time, outside the code, and outside the legislative act that establishes the law and the judicial act that punishes the culprit, a series of adjacent, detective, medical, and psychological techniques appear which fall within the dom ain of

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208 the forces and relations expressed in the knowledge gathered, produced, and controlled by varying mechanisms and then orchestrated over and from a body or a grouping of bodies.58 For Foucault, d iscip linary power correlated with the rise of the Enlightenment project . This is evident in the rise of ‘disciplines’59, which, with abject results for humanity, extended from the physical surveillance, diagnosis, and the possible transformation of individuals. We have looked at all t his. The third form is not typical of the legal code or the disciplinary mechanism, but of the apparatus (dispositif) of secturity....” Foucault, Michel, Michel Se nellart, Franois Ewald, and Alessandro Fontana. “One: 11 January 1978”. Security, Territory, Population : Lectures at the Collge De France, 1977-78 . [in Translated from the French.] Basingstoke ; New York: Palgrave Macmillan : Rpublique Franaise, 2007. 1-27. 5 -6. In each expression of power then rests power’s relations to space: “So, first, questions of space, broadly speaking. Baldly, at first sight and somewhat schematically, we could say that sovereignty is exercised within the borders of a territo ry, discipline is exercised on the bodies of individuals, and security is exercised over a whole population. Territorial borders, individual bodies, and a whole population, yes...On the other hand, problems of space are equally common to all three. It goe s without saying for sovereignty, since sovereignty is first of all exercised within a territory. But discipline involves a spatial division, and I think security does too...” Idem, 11-12. From this, Foucault denotes the different formations, over which power historically exerts itself. “To summarize all this, let’s say then th at sovereignty capitalizes a territory, raising the major problem of the seat of government, whereas discipline structures a space and addresses the essential problem of a hierarchical and functional distribution of elements, and security will try to plan a milieu in terms of events or series of events or possible elements, of series that will have to be regulated within a multivalent and transformable framework. The specific space of security refers then to a series of possible events; it refers to the tem poral and the uncertain, which have to be inserted within a given space. The space in which a series of uncertain elements unfold is, I think, roughly what one can call the milieu.” Ide m, 20. This analysis becomes even more interesting when considering historical transformations as not ‘replacing’ one power formation over another, but adding to. Power is multiplicitous, or as Foucault writes (out of context): “So sovereignty and discipline , as well as security, can only be concerned with multiplicities.” Idem, 12. It is this mode of security, the most recent additive of power (which has in all likelihood always been present, yet not dominant) that Foucault is interested in discussing: “This ye ar I would like to begin studying something that I have called, somewhat vaguely, bio-power. By this I mean a number of phenomena that seem to me to be quite significant, namely, the set of mechanisms through which the basic biological features of the hum an species became the object of a political strategy, of a gener al strategy of power, or, in other words, how, starting from the eighteenth century, modern Western societies took on board the fundamental biological fact that human beings are a species. T his is roughly what I have called biopower.” Idem, 1. 58 See note 55, last citation. But also see, “Now, the study of this micro -physics presupposes that the power exercised on the body is conceived not as a property, but as a strategy, that its effects of domination are attributed not to ‘appropriation’, but to disposi tions, manoeuvres, tactics, techniques, functionings; that one should decipher in it a network of relations, constantly in tension, in activity, rather than a privilege that one might possess; that one should take as its model a perpetual battle ra ther tha n a contract regulating a transaction or the conquest of a territory. In short this power is exercised rather than possessed; it is not the ‘privilege’, acquired or preserved, of the dominant class, but the overall effect of its strategic positions – an ef fect that is manifested and sometimes extended by the position of those who are dominated. Furthermore, this power is not exercised simply as an obligation or a prohibition on those who ‘do not have it’; it invests them, is transmitted by them and through them; it exerts pressure upon them, just as they themselves, in their struggle against it, resist the grip it has on them. This means that th ese relations go right down into the depths of society, that they are not localized in the relations between the st ate and its citizens or on the frontier between classes and that they do not merely reproduce, at the level of individuals, bodies, gestures and beha viour, the general form of the law or government.... Lastly, they are not univocal; they define innumerable points of confrontation, focuses of instability, each of which has its own risks of conflict, of struggles, and of an at least temporary inversion of the power relations.” Idem, 26 27. 59 Foucault writes that the ‘disciplines’, as including academic fields of knowledge or study, engendered a series of methods: “Lastly, there is the modality: it implies as uninterrupted, constant coercion, supervising the processes of the activity rather than its result and it is exercised according to a codification that partitions as closely as possible time, space, movement. These methods, which made possible the meticulous control of the operations of the body, which assured the constant subjection of i ts forces and imposed upon them a relation of docility -utility, might be called ‘disciplines’. Many disciplinary methods had long been in existence – in monasteries, armies, workshops. But in the course of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries [‘Enlightenment’] the disciplines became general formulas of domination. ... The historical moment of the disciplines was the moment when art of the human body was born, which was directed not only at the growth of skills, nor at the intensification of its subjection, but at the formation of a relation that in the mechanism itself makes it more obedient as it becomes more useful, and conversely.” Foucault, 1995: 137138. Or: “The ‘Enlightenment’, which discovered the liberties, also invented the disciplines.” Idem, 222.

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209 body (per say), to include (not replace) ‘extra’ bodily drives enunciated through bodily practices.60 The physical ‘discipline’ of the body echoes in the processes of state discipline, where Foucault begins his analysis in condemnation, prisons, and torture. That human body, whereas previously tortured and punished i n full social visibility, soon found itself responding to “...the disappearance of punishment as a spectacle.”61 Yet, along with removal of punishment from sight there correlated a secondary effect, that of “...a slackening of the hold on the body.”62 Thi s ‘elimination of pain’ from physical, corporeal punishment, although at first glance seems promising, it, in actuality, allowed for the discipline and punishment of a series of nonphysical bodily actions.63 Although built on illusion and deception of tol erance, the non corporeal punishments emerge as Foucault’s ‘soul’ – the unseen, hidden, and invisible body of power, tied to the punishable in discipline. The historical process of power’s move to the visual UHI is insidious and problematic.64 Power is en abled and enables the UHI – a compounding dialogue engendering disciplinary and security power to order and control human and non-human forces. 60 Where punishment and, thereby power, was traditionally tied to physical displays of the body, the turn in the enlightenment may best be tied to Foucault’s invocation of Malby: “...‘Punishment, if I may so put it, should strike the soul rather than the body’ (Malby, 326). It was an important moment. The old partners of the spectacle of punishment, the body and the blood, gave way. A new character came on the scene, masked. It was the end of a certain kind of tragedy; comedy began, with shadow play, faceles s voices, impalpable entities. The apparatus of punitive justice must now bite into this bodiless reality. ... Certainly the ‘crimes’ and ‘offences’ on which judgement is also passed are juridical objects defined by the code, but judgement is also passed on the passions, instincts, anomalies, infirmities, maladjustments, effects of environment or heredity; acts of aggression are punished, so also, through them, is aggressivity; rape, but at the same time perversions; murders, but also drives and desires. But, it wi ll be objected, judgement is not actually being passed on them; if they are referred to at all it is to explain the actions in question, and to determine to what extent the subject’s will was involved in the crime. This is no answer. For it is these shadows lurking behind the case itself that are judged and punished. They are judged indirectly as ‘attenuating circumstances’ that introduce into the verdict not only ‘circumstantial’ evidence, but something quite different, which is not juridically codifiable: the knowledge of the criminal, one’s estimation of him, what is known about the relations between him, his past and his crime, and what might be expected of him in the future.” Idem, 16-18. 61 Idem, 8. The gravity of this historical shift in punishment: “ Punishment, then, will tend to become the most hidden pa rt of the penal process. This has several consequences: it leaves the domain of more or less everyday perception and enters that of abs tract consciousness; its effectiveness is seen as resulting from its inevitability, not from its visible intensity; it is the certainty of being punished and not the horrifying spectacle of public punishment that must discourage the crime; the exemplary mechanics of punishment changes its mechanisms. As a result, justice no longer takes public responsibility for the violence that is bound up with its practice.” Idem, 9. 62 Idem, 10. This slackening eventually results in the disappearance of pain: “The modern rituals of execution attest to this double process: the disappearance of the spectacle and the elimination of pain.” Idem, 11. 63 See note 55, especially the first quot e as it establishes the punishment of non-corporeal actions, which has bodily consequence. 64 “The condemned man was no longer to be seen. Only the reading of the sentence on the scaffold announced the crime – and that crime must be faceless. (The more monstrous a criminal was, the more he must be deprived of light: he must not see, or be seen....” Idem, 13 14. “In the end, the guillotine had to be placed inside prison walls and made inaccessible to the public..., by blocking streets leading to the prison in which the scaffold was hidden, and in which the execution would take place in secret. Witnesses who describe the scene could even be prosecuted, thereby ensuring that the execution should cease to be a spectacle and remain a strange secret between the law and those it condemns. One has only to point out so many precautions to realize that capital punishment remains fundamentally, even today, a spectacle that must actually be forbidden.” Idem, 15.

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210 For discipline to operate, it requires the pre-presence and resulting construction of ‘docile bodies.’65 In discipline’s mechanisms of the ordering and manipulation of docile bodies, might be said [then] that discipline creates out of the bodies it controls four types of individuality, or rather an individuality that is endowed with four characteristics: it is cellular (by the play of spatial distribution), it is organic (by the coding of activities), it is genetic (by the accumulation of time), it is combinatory (by the composition of forces).66 As a result, individuality is a core construction of discipline, and is indicative of power’s relations over the docile body. Yet the individual, constructed by the spatio-temporal processes of disciplinary power, must also be engaged in a series of operations in order for power to succeed.67 As a result, these 65 Foucault defines docile bodies in response to work by La Mettrie: “ the center of which reigns the notion of ‘docility’, which joins the analyzable body to the manipulable body. A body is docile that may be subjected, used, transformed and improved.” Idem, 136. Foucault writes of the consequences of docile bodies to discipline: “Thus discipline produces subjected and practiced bodies, ‘docile’ bodies. Discipline increases the forces of the body (in economic terms of utility) and diminis hes these same forces (in political terms of obedience). In short, it di ssociates power from the body; on the one hand, it turns it into an ‘aptitude’, a ‘capacity’, which it seeks to increase; on the other hand, it reverses the course of the energy, the power t hat might result from it, and turns it into a relation of strict s ubjection.” Idem, 138. 66 Idem, 167. Foucault continues on to state how this individuality is constructed: “And in doing so, it operates four great techniques: it draws up tables; it prescribes movements; it imposes exercises; lastly, in order to obtain th e combination of forces, it arranges ‘tactics’.” Ibid. Without going into the detail of each expression of the organization of individuality in disci pline, each section is characterized by three to four sub -qualities. This is otherwise beyond the scope of this thesis. For ‘cellular’ ‘spatial distributions’ see idem, 141-149, he notes “discipline sometimes requires enclosure, the specification of a place heterogeneous to all others and closed in upon itself” 141; “it does this first of all on the principle of elementary location or partitioning” 143; “the rule of functional sites would gradually, in the disciplinary institutions, code a space that architecture generally left at the disposal of several different uses” 143; “the unit is, therefore, neither t he territory (unit of domination), nor the place (unit of residence), but the rank: the place one occupies in a classification, the point at which a line and a column intersect, the interval in a series of intervals that one may traverse one after the other. For ‘organic’ ‘coding of activities’ see idem, 149 -156, he notes “the time table in an old inheritance. ... [With] its three great methods – establish rhythms, impose particular occupations regulate the cycles of repetition...” 149; “the temporal elabo ration of the act. ...a new set of restraints had been brought into play, another degree of precision in the breakdown of gestures and movements, another way of adjusting the body to temporal imperatives” 151; “...the correlation of the body and the gestur e. imposes the best relation between a gesture and the overall position of the body, which is its condition of efficiency and speed. ...the correct use of the body, which makes possible a correct use of t ime...” 152; “the body -object articulation. Discipline defines each of the relations that the body must have with the object that it manipulates” 152 153; and “exhaustive use. must seek to intensify the use of the slightest moment, as if time, in its very fragmentation, were inexhaustible or as if, at least by an ever more detailed internal arrangement, one could tend towards an ideal point at which one maintained maximum speed and maximum efficiency” 154. For ‘genetic’ ‘accumulation of time’ see idem, 156 -162, he notes (all pertaining to time) “divide duration into successive or parallel segments, each of which must end at a specific time” 157; “organize these threads [segments] according to an analytical plan – successions of elements as simple as possible, combining according to increased com plexity” 158; “finalize these temporal segments, decide on how long each will last and conclude it with an examination, which will have the triple function of showing whether the subject has reached the level required, or guaranteeing that each subject undergoes the same apprenticeship and of differentiating the abilities of each individual” 158; “draw up series of series; lay down for each individual, according to his level, his seniority, his rank, the exercises that are suited to him; common exercises have a differing role and each difference involves specific exercises” 158 -159. For ‘combinatory’ ‘composition of forces’ see idem, 162-167, he notes “the individual body becomes an element that may be placed, moved, articulated on others. Its bravery or it s strength are no longer the principal variables that define it; but the place it occupies, the interval it covers, the regularity, the good order according to which it operates its movements” 164; “the vari ous chronological series that discipline must com bine to form a composite time are also pieces of machinery” 164; “this carefully measured combination of forces requires a precise system of command. All the activity of the disciplined individual must be punctuated and sustained by injunctions whose efficacy rests on brevity and clarity; the order does not need to be explained or formulated; it must trigger off the required behavior and that is enough” 166. 67 As Foucault writes: “The success of disciplinary power derives no doubt from the use of simple ins truments; hierarchical observation, normalizing judgement and their combination in a procedure that is specific to it, the examination.” Idem, 170. Foucault spends the rest of the chapter expanding on how these operations work in disciplinary space. For ‘hierarchical

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211 operations (observation, normalized judgment, and examination) imbricate humanity into social power relations of a given social formation.68 The control and the production of individual humans, by means of power relations in discipline, de rives its origin from the UHI . Aside from the visual removal of the forms of punishment and discipline as already discussed, the deriving operations of power from the visual ly UHI is most apparent in Foucault’s chapter on “Panopticism”.69 Upon first glance, the ‘visual’ and ‘ unverifiable’ quality of the Panopticon appears to negate the assertion of power’s immanence from the UHI . Further critical study ensures that it does, hinging specifically on the ‘unverifiable’ component. Foremost, Panopticism is best understood as a observation’: “The exercise of discipline presupposes a mechanism that coerces by means of observation; an apparatus in which the techniques that make it possible to see induce effects of power, in which, conversely, the means of coercion mak e those on whom they are applied clearly visible. ... Side by side with the major technology of the telescope, the lens and the light be am, which were an integral part of the new physics and cosmology, there were the minor techniques of multiple and inters ecting observations, of eyes that must see without being seen; using techniques of subjection and methods of exploitation, an obscur e art of light and the visible was secretly preparing a new knowledge of man.” Idem, 170 -171. For ‘normalizing judgement’: “In short, the art of punishing, in the rgime of disciplinary power, is aimed neither at expiation, nor even precisely at repres sion. It brings five quite distinct operations into play: it refers individual actions to a whole that is at once a field of co mparison, a space of differentiation and the principle of a rule to be followed. It differentiates individuals from one another, in terms of the following overall rule: that the rule be made to function as a minimal threshold, as an average to be respected or as an optimum towards which one must move. It measures in quantitative terms and hierarchizes in terms of value the abilities, the level, t he ‘nature’ of individuals. It introduces, through this ‘value -giving’ measure, the constraint of a conformity that must be achieved. Lastly, it traces the limit that will define difference in relation to all other differences, the external frontier of the ab normal (the ‘shameful’ class of the cole Militaire). The perpetual penalty that traverses all points and supervises every instant in the disciplinary institutions compares, differentiates, hierarchizes, homogenizes, excludes. In short, it normalizes.” Idem, 182 183. For ‘examination’: “Finally, the examination is at the centre of the procedures that constitute the individual as effect and object of power, as effect and object of knowledge. It is the examination which, by combining hierarchical surveillance and normalizing judgment assures the great disciplinary functions of distribution and classification, maximu m extraction of forces and time, continuous genetic accumulation, optimum combination of aptitudes and, thereby, the fabrication of cellular, organic, genetic and combinatory individuality. With it are ritualized those disciplines that may be characterized in a word by saying that they are a modality of power for which individual difference is relevant.” Idem, 192. 68 “In a disciplinary rgime, on the other hand, individualization is ‘descending’: as power becomes more anonymous and more functional, those on whom it is exercised tend to be more strongly individualized; it is exercised by surveillance rather than ceremonies, by observation rather than commemorative accounts, by comparative measures that have the ‘norm’ as reference rather than genealogies givi ng ancestors as points of reference; by ‘gaps’ rather than by deeds. In a system of discipline, the child is more individualized than the adult, the patient more than the healthy man, the madman and the delinquent more than the normal and the non-delinquent. ... The moment that saw the transition from historico -ritual mechanisms for the formation of individuality to the scientifico -disciplinary mechanisms, when the normal took over from the ancestral, and measurement from status, thus substituting for the individuality of the memorable man that of the calculable man, that moment when the sciences of man became possible in the moment when a new technology of power and a new political anatomy of the body were implemented.” Idem, 193. “The individual is no doub t the fictitious atom of an ‘ideological’ representation of society; but he is also a reality fabricated by this specific technology of power that I have called ‘discipline’. We must cease once and for al l to describe the effects of power in negative terms : it ‘excludes’, it ‘represses’, it ‘censors’, it ‘abstracts’, it ‘masks’, it ‘conceals’. In fact, power produces; it produces reality; it produces domains of objects and rituals of truth. The individual and the knowle dge that may be gained of him belong to this production.” Idem, 194. 69 Although Foucault is clear that his analysis of “Bentham’s Panopticon is the architectural figure of this composition. ... The panoptic mechanism arranges spatial unities that make it possible to see constantly and to recognize immediately. In short, it reverses the principle of the dungeon; or rather of its three functions – to enclose, to deprive of light and to hide – it preserves only the first and eliminates the other two. Full lighting and the eye of a supervisor captu re better than darkness, which ultimately protected. Visibility is a trap.” Idem, 200. “In view of this, Bentham laid down the principle that power should be visible a nd unverifiable. Visible: the inmate will constantly have before his eyes the tall outlin e of the central tower from which he is spied upon. Unverifiable: the inmate must never know whether he is being looked at any one moment; but he must be sure that he may always be so.” Idem, 201.

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212 diagrammatic model of the social power relations of discipline: “The Panopticon ... must be understood as a generalizable model of functioning; a way of defining power relations in terms of everyday life. ...[I]t is the diagram of a mechanism of power reduced to its ideal form....”70 Foucault appropriates its mechanisms then for a social model of human practice rather than considering it as a unique condition of an architectural structure. The unverifiable condition of this model expresses, exerts/inserts, power precisely because it is not visible, not verifiably visible.71 The visible structure of the Panopticon then is a faade, a distraction of assurance, and a mask that conceals power formations and relations.72 Power clearly operates as a force and object of the UHI precisely due to its unverifiable condition. The UHI conditions of power is further expressed in Michel de Certeau’s work, The Practice of Everyday Life. In his text, Certeau writes of a dialogue of power between what is visual and the UHI ‘enunciated’ in walking and everyday life practices.73 The working of the UHI simultaneously produces and is produced by, the physical and figurative distance constructed by power of the visual gaze.74 The 70 Idem, 205. 71 “And, in order to be exercised, this power had to be given the instrument of permanent, exhaustive, omnipresent surveillance, capable of making all visible, as long as it could itself remain invisible. It had to be like a faceless gaze that transforme d the whole social body into a field of perception: thousands of eyes posted everywhere...” Idem, 214. 72 “Our society is one not of spectacle, but of surveillance; under the surface of images, one invests bodies in depth; behind t he great abstraction of exchange, there continues the meticulous, concrete training of useful forces; the circuits of communication are the supports of an accumulation and a centralization of knowledge; the play of signs defines the anchorages of power; it is not that the beautiful totality of the individual is amputated, repress ed, altered by our social order, it is rather that the individual is carefully fabricated in it, according to a whole technique of forces and bodies. We are much less Greeks than we believe. We are neither in the amphitheatre nor on the stage, but in the panoptic machine, invested by its power, which we bring to ourselves since we are part of its mechanism.” Idem, 217. 73 “The ordinary practitioners of the city live ‘down below,’ below the thresholds at which visibility begins. The walk —and elementary form o f this experience of the city; they are walkers Wandersmnner, whose bodies follow the thicks and thins of an urban ‘text’ they write without being able to read it. These practicioners make use of spaces that cannot be seen; their know ledge of them is as blind as that of lovers in each other’s arms. ... Escaping the imaginary totalizations produced by the eye, the everyday has a certain strangeness that does not surface, or whose surface is only its upper limit, outlining itself against the visible.” Certeau: 1984, 93. “Surveys of routes miss what was: the act itself of passing by. The operation of walking, wandering, or ‘window shopping,’ that is, the activity of passers -by, is transformed into points that draw a totalizing and reversible line on the map. They allow us to grasp only a relic set in the nowhen of a surface of projection. Itself visible, it has the effect of making invisible the operation that made it possible. These fixations constitute procedures for forgetting. The trace left behind is subst ituted for the practice.” Idem, 97. “The act of walking is to the urban system what the speech act is to language or to the statements uttered. At the most elementary level, it has a triple ‘enunciative’ function: it is a process of appropriation of the to pographical system on the part of the is a spatial acting -out of the place...and it implies relations among differentiated positions, that is, among pragmatic ‘contracts’ in the form of movements.... It thus seems possible to give a preliminary definition of walking as a space of enunciation.” Idem, 9798. 74 “...I wonder what is the source of this pleasure of ‘seeing the whole,’ [a panoptic play] of looking down on, totalizing the most immoderate of human texts. To be lifted to the summit of the World Trade Center is to be lifted out of the city’s grasp. One’s body is no longer clasped by the streets that turn and return it according to an anonymous law.... When one goes up there, he leaves behind the mass that carries off and mixes up in its elf any identity of authors or spectators. ... His elevation transfigures him into a voyeur. It puts him at a distance. It transforms the bewitching world by which one was ‘possessed’ into a text tha t lies before one’s eyes. It allows one to read it, to be a solar Eye, looking down like a god. The exaltation of a scopic and gnostic drive: the fiction of knowledge is related to this lust to be a viewpoint and nothing more. ... The panorama -city is a ‘theoretical’

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213 voyeurism and distance is only a component as Certeau’s overall work is based on the physical movements of human bodies: expressed via strategies and tactics.75 As the human body walksout its practice, it interacts with spatial and placial components – other material constructions of a ‘landscape’ as pa rticipants in a walker’s story.76 The spatial and placial expressions of power in the tactical and strategic walkings of human bodies: ‘enunciates’ a varied and relative urbanity of visual and UHI relationships.77 (that is, visual) simulacrum, in short a picture, whose condition of possibility is an oblivion and a misunderstanding of practices. The voyeur -god created by this fiction, who, like Schreber’s God, knows only cadavers, must disentangle himself from the murky intertwining daily behaviors and make him self alien to them.” Idem, 92 -93. 75 “I call a ‘strategy’ the calculus of force-relationships which becomes possible when a subject of will and power...can be isolated from an ‘environment.’ A strategy assumes a place that can be circumscribed as proper (propre ) and thus serve as the basis for generating relations with an exterior distinct from it.... I call a ‘tactic,’ on the other hand, a calculus which c annot count on a ‘proper’ (a spatial or institutional localization), nor thus on a borderline distingui shing the other as a visible totality. The place of a tactic belongs to the other. A tactic insinuates itself into the other’s place, fragmentarily, without taking it over in its entirety, without being able to keep it at a distance. It has at its disposal no base where it can capitalize on its advantages, prepare its expansions, and secure independence with respect to circumstances. The ‘proper’ is a victory of space over time. On the contrary, because it does not have a place, a tactic depends on time--it is always on the watch for opportunities that must be seized ‘on the wing.’ Whatever it wins it does not keep. It must constantly manipulate events in order to turn them into ‘opportunities.’ The weak must continually turn to their own ends forces alien to them. This is achieved in the propitious moments when they are able to combine heterogeneous elements ... the intellectual synthesis of these given elements takes the form, however, not of a discourse, but of the decision itself, the act and manner in which the opportunity is ‘seized.’ Many everyday practices (talking, rading, moving about, shopping, cooking, etc.) are tactical in character. An so are, more generally, many ‘ways of operating’: victories of the ‘weak’ over the ‘strong’ (whether the strength be that of powerful people or the violence of things or of an imposed order, etc.), clever tricks, knowing how to get away with things, ‘hunter’s cunning,’ maneuvers, polymorphic simulations, joyful discoveries, poetic as well as warlike. ... They [tacti cs] also show the extent to which intelligence is inseparable from the everyday struggles and pleasures that it articulates. Strategies, in contrast, conceal b eneath objective calculations their connection with the power that sustains them from within the stronghold of its own ‘proper’ place or institution.” Idem, xix -xx. Although many may draw a clear line in the relationship between strategies and tactics, as in ‘strategies from the top, and tactics from the bottom’, I find those conceptions to misconstr ue Certeau, and are too simplistic and reductive, not to mention always one directional in their make -up. The presumption here is that strategies and tactics overlap, intermingle, and complexify; they are difficult to distinguish and are relative. 76 “Firs t, if it is true that a spatial order organizes an ensemble of possibilities (e.g., by a place in which one can move) and interdictions (e.g., by a wall that prevents one from going further), then the walker actualizes some of these possibilities. In that way, he makes them exist as well as emerge. But he also moves them about and he invents others, since the crossing, drifting away, or improvisation of walking privilege, transform or abandon spatial elements. ... He thus creates discreetness, whether by making choices among signifiers of the spatial ‘language’ or by displacing them through the use he makes of them. He condemns certain places to inertia or disappearance and composes with others spatial ‘turns of phrase’ that are ‘rare,’ ‘accidental’ o r illeg itimate. ...the walker constitutes, in relation to his position, both a near and a far, a here and a there. To the fact that the adverbs here and there are the indicators of the locutionary seat in verbal communication —a coincidence that reinforces the par allelism between linguistic and pedestrian enunciation —we must add that this location (here —there) (necessarily implied by walking and indicative of a present appropriation of space by an ‘I’) also has the function of introducing an other in relati on to th is ‘I’ and of thus establishing a conjunctive and disjunctive articulation of places.” Idem, 98-99. 77 Concerning the enunciation of the UHI: “The long poem of walking manipulates spatial organizations, no matter how panoptic they may be: it is neither foreign to them (it can take place only within them) nor in conformity with them (it does not receive its identity from them). It creates shadows and ambiguities within them. It inserts its multitudinous references and citations in to them (social models, cultu ral mores, personal factors). ... These diverse aspects provide the basis of a rhetoric. They can even be said to define it. ...J. -F. Augoyard discerns in it two especially fundamental stylistic figures: synecdoche and asyndeton. ... Synecdoche consists in ‘using a word in a sense which is part of another meaning of the same word.’ In essence, it names a part instead of the whole which includes it. ... Asyndeton is the suppression of linking words such as conjunctions and adverbs, e ither within a sentence or between sentences. ... Synecdoche expands a spatial element in order to make it play the role of a ‘more’ (a totality) and take its place.... Asyndeton, by elision, creates a ‘less,’ opens gaps in the spatial continuum, and retains only selected parts of it that amount almost to relics. ... A space treated in this way and shaped by practices is transformed into enlarged singularities and separate islands. ... If it is true that forests of gestures are manifest in streets, their movement cannot be captured in a picture, nor can the meaning of their movements be circumscribed to a text. Their rhetorical transplantation carries awa y and displaces the analytical, coherent proper meanings of masses that make some parts of the city disappear and exaggerate other s,

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214 Power, for Certeau, then truly does operate “...below the thresholds at which visibility begins”78, or beyond the appearance of visual order/disorder based on the strategic or tactical positioning of each walker, and on the relevant structures and meanings constituted in each step, path, or w alk. Returning to Foucault to wrap up this brief definition of power, he outlines that the power of security is to “...try to plan a milieu in terms of events or series of events or possible elements, of series that will have to be regulated within a multivalent and transformable framework.”79 The milieu clarifies the material relations that are implicit in disciplinary space and also in Certeau’s walking. Where disciplinary power tends to rely upon human relations, security power includes non-human r elations.80 distorting it, fragmenting it, and diverting it from its immobile order.” Idem, 101 102. Pertaining to meanings of words and names, their role in the UHI: “In the spaces brutally lit by an alien reason, proper names carve out pockets of hidden and fami liar meanings. They ‘make sense’; in other words, they are the impetus of movements, like vocations and calls that turn or divert an itinerary by giving it a meaning (or a direction)( sens ) that was previously unforeseen. These names create a nowhere in pla ces; they change them into passages.” Idem, 104; “They can already be recognized in the functions of proper names: they make habitable or believable the place that they clothe with a word (by emptying themselves of their classifying power, they acqui re tha t of ‘permitting’ something else); they recall or suggest phantoms (the dead who are supposed to have disappeared) that still move about, concealed in gestures and in bodies in motion; and, by naming, that is, by imposing an injunction proceeding from the other (a story) and by altering functionalist identity by detaching themselves from it, they create in the place itself that erosion or nowhere that the law of the other carves out within it.” Idem, 105. Pertaining to counter -uses, power relations, and tra nsgression in the visual orderings of space/place: “By a paradox that is only apparent, the discourse that makes people belie ve is the one that takes away what it urges them to believe in, or never delivers what it promises. Far from expressing a void o r d escribing a lack, it creates such. It makes room for a void. In that way, it opens up clearings; it ‘allows’ a certain play w ithin a system of defined places. It ‘authorizes’ the production of an area of free play ( Spielraum ) on a checkerboard that analyzes and classifies identities. It makes places habitable. On these grounds, I call such discourse a ‘local authority.’ It is a crack in the system that saturates places with signification and indeed so reduces them to this signification that it is ‘impossible to breathe in them.’” Idem, 105106; “Things extra and other (details and excesses coming from elsewhere) insert themselves into the accepted framework, the imposed order. One thus has the very relationship between spatial practices and the constructed order. The surface of this order is everywhere punched and torn open by ellipses, drifts, and leaks of meaning: it is a sieve -order." 107; Within the structured space of the text, they thus produce anti -texts, effects of dissimulation and escape, possibilities of moving into other landscapes, like cellars and bushes: ‘ massifs, pluriels.’” Idem, 107. Of the role of power exerted in the actions of the UHI in place (retaken up later as well): “Objects and words also have hollow places in which a past sleeps, as in the everyday acts of walking, eating, going to bed, in which ancient revolutions slumber. ... It is striking here that the places people l ive in are like the presences of diverse absences. What can be seen designates what is no longer there: ‘you see, here there used to be ... ,’ but it can no longer be seen. Demonstratives indicate the invisible identities of the visible: it is the very definition of a place, in fact, that it is composed by these series of displacements and effects among the fragm ented strata that form it and that it plays on these moving layers. ... There is no place that is not haunted by many different spirits hidden there in silence, spirits one can ‘invoke’ or not. Haunted places are the only ones people can live in...these ‘spirits,’ themselves broken into pieces in like manner, do not speak any more than they see. This is a sort of knowledge that remains silent. Only hints of what is known but unrevealed are passed on ‘just between you and me. ... Places are fragmentary and i nward -turning histories, pasts that others are not allowed to read, accumulated times that can be unfolded but like stories held in reserve, remaining in an enigmatic state, symbolizat ions encysted in the pain or pleasure of the body.” Idem, 108. 78 Idem, 9 3. See note 73. 79 Foucault: 2007, 20. See note 57. 80 “The milieu is a set of natural givens —rivers, marshes, hills —and a set of artificial givens — an agglomeration of individuals, of houses, etcetera. The milieu is a certain number of combined, overall effects bearing on all who live in it. It is an element in which a circular link is produced between effects and causes, since an effect from one point of view will be a cause from ano ther. ... Finally, the milieu appears as a field of intervention in which , instead of affecting individuals as a set of legal subjects capable of voluntary actions —which would be the case of sovereignty —and instead of affecting them as a multiplicity of organisms, of bodies capable of performances, and of required performances —as in discipline —one tries to affect, precisely, a population. I mean a multiplicity of individuals who are and fundamentally and essentially only exist biologically bound to the materiality

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215 Foucault is aware that the non -human components also hold power, either through its control or organization, yet whether non-human components actually hold power and express power is a bit less clear.81 Yet, even on a surface level, taking that humanity is included in the equalizing terminology of the ‘milieu’ would suggest that other non-human ‘things’ also have capacities to hold and express power. Explicitly so, though, participation in the milieu requires the circulatory freedom (understood as an expression of power) of things (the ‘realities’ of human and non) as imbricated in security. Power is thus defined in this thesis as the legal, organizational, and circuitous regulations, social relations, and control inflicted on or expressed by a human or non-human (individual or population). The milieu, or ‘in -between’ series or domain of things, events, and emergencerelationships, is an integral within which they live. What one tries to reach through this milieu, is precisely the conjunction of a series of events produced by these individuals, populations, and groups, and quasi natural events which occur around them.” Idem, 21. 81 It helps to first clarify security: “I tried to show you how the territorial sover eign became an architect of the disciplined space, but also, and almost at the same time, the regulator of a milieu, which involved not so much establishing limits and frontier s, or fixing locations, as, above all and essentially, making possible, guarante eing, and ensuring circulations: the circulation of people, merchandise, and air, etcetera.” Foucault, Michel, Michel Senellart, Franois Ewald, and Alessandro Fontana. “Two: 18 January 1978”. Security, Territory, Population : Lectures at the Collge De Fr ance, 197778. [in Translated from the French.] Basingstoke ; New York: Palgrave Macmillan : Rpublique Franaise, 2007. 29 -53. 29. Foucault clarifies the aim of power under security: “But within the system of knowledge -power, within the economic technology and management, there is this break between the pertinent level of the population and the level that is not pertinent, or that is simply instrumental. The final objective is the population. The population is pertinent as the objective [of security], and individuals, the series of individuals, are no longer pertinent as the objective, but simply as the instrument, relay, or condition for obtaining something at the level of the population.” Idem, 42; of the relationship of people to population: “Here too, in this sketch that begins to outline the notion of population, we see a division being made in which the people are generally speaking those who resist the regulation of the population, who try to elude the apparatus by which the population exists, is pre served, subsists, and subsists at an optimal level.” Idem, 44. And at this point Foucault’s main concern has been human populations, which he begins to meld with the milieu towards the end of the lecture: “It seems to me that in the apparatus of security, as I have presented it, what is involved is precisely not taking either the point of view of what is prevented of the point of view of what is obligatory, but standing back sufficiently so that one can grasp the point at which things are taking place, whether or not they are desirable. This means trying to grasp them at the level of their nature, or let’s say —this word not having the meaning we now give it —grasping them at the level of their effective reality. The mechanism of security works on the basis o f this reality, by trying to use it as a support and make it function, make its components function in relation to each other. In other words, the law prohibits and discipline prescribes, and the essential function of security, without prohibiting or prescribing, but possibly making use of some instruments of prescription and prohibition, is to respond to a reality in such a way that this response cancels out the reality to which it responds —nullifies it, or limits, checks, or regulates it. I think this regulation within the element of reality is fundamental in apparatuses of security.” Idem, 46 -47. Finally then, Foucault brings the milieu and security together under the power of circulation, and a subsequent understanding of freedom; freedom of ‘the nature of things’ or the ‘freedom of each’ in the ‘physical action in the element of nature’: “More precisely and particularly, freedom is nothing else but the correlative of the deployment of apparatuses of security. An apparatus of security, in any case the one I have spoken about, cannot operate well except on condition that it is given freedom, in the modern sense [the word] acquires in the eighteenth century: no longer the exemptions and privileges attached to a person, but the possibility of movement, chang e of place, and processes of circulation of both people and things. I think it is this freedom of circulation, in the broadest sense of the term, it is in terms of this option of circulation, that we should understand the word freedom, and understand it as one of the facets, aspects, or dimensions of the deployment of apparatuses of security. The idea of a government of men that would think first of all and fundamentally of the nature of things and no longer of man’s evil nature, the idea of an administration of things that would think before all else of men’s freedom, of what they want to do, of what they have an interest in doing, and of what they think about doing, are all correlative elements. A physics of power, or a power thought of as physical action in the element of nature, and a power thought of as regulation that can only be carried out through and by reliance on the freedom of each, is, I think, something absolute ly fundamental. It is not an ideology... it is a technology of power, or at any rate can be read in this sense.” Idem, 48 -49.

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216 component in the relations of power. Power operates and exerts itself in spatial practices, expre ssions of differing conflations of knowledge practiced in complex, interwoven strategies and tactics. Transgression and control are interrelated, co -constituted relations of power. Power, like capital, is a set of relations. How power operates and the forms in which it takes, may be best considered in relative/positioned relationships of scale, edge, and instant. Bodies, apparatuses, technologies, disciplines/knowledges, circulations, milieu, etc. are all terminology associated with social power relatio ns.82 Ecology To define ecology in terms of this work, the thesis will rely upon the cousin to biology (in the discipline of science ) as well as social/political formations of ecology expressed through political ecology. James Corner gives a critical defi nition of ecology as a set of complex and nonlinear processes that work beyond human planned and structured dynamics.83 This does not mean that ecology cannot or should not be studied or depended upon for scientific data, but rather attempts to bring studies of ecology to a more complicated, relative, and uncertain/unexpected level of sensitivity to its conditional processes. As a result, this thesis aims at definitions and explanations of ecology from Daniel Botkin and Wench E. Dramstad, James D. Olson, and Richard T. T. Forman, as well as from Erik Swyngedouw. Daniel Botkin frames alternate ways of understanding and theorizing ecological processes in Discordant Harmonies . Despite his contestable uses of ‘nature’ and ‘wilderness’ – human idealisms 82 Concerning ‘apparatus’ and ‘technology’, Gillian Rose gives succinct definitions: “Foucault suggests that institutions work i n two ways: through their apparatus and through their technologies. This is a distinction this chapter will use; however, Foucault was rather inconsistent in his use of these terms, and the distinction made here between them is clearer than that found in his work. An institutional apparatus is the forms of power/knowledge that constitute the institutions: for example, architecture, regulations, scientific treatises, philosophical statements, laws, morals, and so on, and the discourse articulated through all these (Hall 1997b: 47). ... The institutional technologies (sometimes difficult to diff erentiate from the apparatus) are the practical techniques used to practise that power/knowledge. Technologies are ‘diffuse, rarely formulated in continuous, systematic discourse ... often made up of bits and pieces ... a disparate set of tools and methods’ (Foucault 1977: 26).” Rose: 2007, 174-175. 83 “The lesson of ecology has been to show how all life upon the planet is so deeply bound into dynamic, complex, and indeterminate networks of relationships that to speak of nature as a linear mechanism, as if it were a great machine that can be either intrinsically or extrinsically controlled and repaired, is simply erroneous and reductive. The ecological view; with its emphasis on temporal, interactive processes, has been further reinforced by new scientific fi ndings of nonlinearity, complexity, and chaos dynamics. While ecology speaks of a ‘harmony of nature,’ writes ecologist Daniel Botkin, it is a harmony that is at the same time ‘discordant, created from the simultaneous movements of many tones, the combinat ion of many processes flowing at the same time along various scales, leading not to a simple melody but to a symphony at some times harsh and at some times pleasing.’” Corner: 1997, 83.

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217 consumed in terminologies84 – his critiques of ecological thinking that conceives of ‘natural’ processes as ‘naturally balanced’ or ‘mechanistic’85 eventually provide the foundations for alternate ways of understanding ecology. The foundations of fault highlight ed in theoretical ideas of a ‘balanced nature’, that Botkin critiques in his analysis of growth patterns, lead Botkin to assert that the main flaw lies in preconceptions of an unchanging nature, one that inevitably resources a ‘balance’.86 Moreover, these ideals of a ‘balanced’ nature conditioned by a desire to achieve constancy, however flawed it may be, fueled theoretical and political patterns of environmentalism.87 The questions and inconsistencies in the 84 For critique on ‘nature’ see: Spirn: 1997. For critique on ‘wilderness’ and ‘nature’ see: Cronon, William. “The Trouble with Wilderness: Or, Getting Back to the Wrong Nature.” Environmental History 1, no. 1 (1996): 7-28. 85 To start, Botkin defines ecology: “The modern science that deals most directly with the ancient ques tions about human beings and nature is ecology, the study of the relationship between living things and their environment. That was the science I pursued in the work at Isle Royale, and in this book the term ecology is used to mean this science. The word has acquired other connotations connected to environmentalism, which is the social, political, and ethical movements that concern the use of the environment, and the original meaning of ecology is sometimes lost.” Bot kin, Daniel B. Discordant Harmonies : a new ecology for the twenty -first century. New York: Oxford University Press, 1990. 32. Botkin then traces a brief historical account of theoretical ecological changes: “The word ecology was coined in 1866 by the Ger man biologist Ernst Haeckel, less than ten years after the publication of Charles Darwin’s Origin of Species which, Haeckel wrote, provided the basis for his new science, and only two years after the publication in 1864 by George Perkins Marsh of Man and N ature, which was the first major modern book suggesting that human activities were leading to negative effects on the environment. From the mid -nineteenth century through the end of World War II, mechanical metaphors dominated people's ideas of beauty, pro gress, architecture, and home furnishings, even to the point of machines becoming the objects of art and the subjects of painting... Mechanical metaphors and machine models dominated the science of ecology until the early 1970s, when radical changes began to occur whose effects are only now beginning to be felt and understood. Ecology began in the latter part of the nineteenth century with three background elements: new observations of natural history, including the development and acceptance of the theory of biological evolution; prescientific beliefs about nature, including the age -old desire to find order and stability in nature; and a dependence on the physical sciences and engineering for theory, mathematical approaches, concepts, models, and metaphors.” Idem, 32 -33. As Botkin analyses: “These assertions of the ecological theory of the period are reminiscent of the old idea of a balance of nature.” Idem, 33. He then proceeds to point out threats to the concept of a ‘balanced nature’: “...there are two threats to such a balance of nature, one from within and one from without. The external threat is from the physical and chemical forces of the environment that erode and degrade: on the land, wind, storms, rain, fire, and slow chemical leaching of waters; in oceans, lakes, and ponds, the irrepressible force of gravity pulling nutrients down, away from life at the surface. ... The internal danger to a balance of nature is the same power of gr owth, the potential for exponential growth, with which the moose po pulation at Isle Royale may have threatened the island at the beginning of the twentieth century.” Idem, 34. These ‘threats’ lead Botkin to rely initially on a critique based on growth: “Although many ancient philosophers and theologians believed in an absolute balance of nature, the incredible potential for the growth of biological populations has long been recognized; if it could occur, it could disrupt any balance or harmony.” Idem, 35. Botkin thus invokes “...Malthusian growth—[which] would never be realized for a long time by any natural population, for it would soon be limited by some necessary life requirement. An exponential growth assumes that the population increases by a constant percentage in each time period, just as does money in a fixed -inte rest savings account. (It is interesting that the human population has grown faster than an exponential in recent times because since the beginning of modem medicine the rate of increase itself has increased.) Thus we arrive at the famous Malthusian statement that organisms have the potential for geometric increase, while their resources can increase only arithmetically.” Idem, 35 -36. Botkin does not rely upon Malthus for a continual critique of balance. Rather he uses Malthus to show an initial flaw and theoretical line of questioning to analyze growth patterns. 86 “When I first went to Isle Royale, it was generally accepted that animal populations in undisturbed wilderness are unchanging over time. But the evidence that was available, the evidence discuss ed in this chapter, leads to a different conclusion. The dominant ecological theory of the machine age implies and predicts that populations achieve a constant abundance or undergo exacting periodic oscillations and that the growth of populations is stable ; that is, populations return to their original constant abundances or exact predator prey cycles if disturbed. But, variation, rather than constancy, in the abundance of animal populations was evident in observations and experiments.” Idem, 48. 87 “Althoug h environmentalism seemed to be a radical movement, the ideas on which it was based represented a resurgence of prescientific myths about nature blended with early -twentieth -century studies that provided short -term and static images of nature undisturbed.” Idem, 42-43.

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218 data of ecological foundations provide Botkin with an alternative theory of ecology, one built on analogy to symphonic music, change, differential rates of change, potential and predictable risk and chance, and dynamism across multiplicities of species, scales, and human/non-human forces.88 With this cr itical theory of ecology, one can turn to Wench E. Dramstad, James D. Olson, and Richard T. T. Forman to analyze the structures used in analyzing ecological compositions, circulations, and bounds. In Landscape Ecology Principles in Landscape Architecture and Land Use Planning, the authors write that their intention is to present a language of spatial ecological principles to improve design 88 “...If one admits that some changes are acceptable, how can one reject any changes? It is also worth repeating that there are clear answers to this question, for the fact that some changes are natural and necessary does not imply that all changes, regardless of time, intensity, and rate, are desirable. There are both natural and unnatural changes, and there are natural and unnatural rates of change. To recognize that melodies and themes are made up of changing tones does not imply that any noise is music. The key to a new but wise management of nature is to accept changes that are natural in kind and in frequency, to pick out the melodi es from the noise. To understand these distinctions requires that we explore the origin and history of those beliefs that have so dominated our treatment of nature; only by doing so can we free ourselves from these myths and create a new mythology consistent with facts and science and appropriate for our time.” Idem, 70 -71. For his analysis of risk and chance, Botkin explores this in chapter 8, “The Forest in the Computer: New Metaphors for Nature”. A quick summary thereof begins with his posing: “ It is an old philosophical question whether luck, as I have just described it, really exists — whether chance or rand omness is inherent in nature, or whether there is merely an appearance of chance that results from our incomplete knowledge of causes.” Idem, 12 2 Or more clearly, Botkin strives to unpack “The argument between determinism and chance, which has begun to appear in ecology, is familiar to physicists.” Idem, 123. Using observational evidence, Botkin eventually finds that “Although this na ture of chance may seem less comforting than a clockwork world, it is the way that we find nature with our means of modem o bservation, and therefore it is the way that we must accept nature and approach the management of resources. ... Once we accept the idea that we can deal with these complexities of nature, we begin to discover that the world of chance is not so bad, tha t it is interesting and even intriguing now that we understand that chance is not chaos, that seeking the wolves at night involved some probability, predictable itself, in our finding them. Thus we must accept nature for what we are able to observe it to be, not for what we might wish it to be. Accepting this perception of nature, we discover that we have the tools to deal with it. Once we realize we have the tools, this new idea of nature takes on its own appeal, just as the game we played seeking the wolves at night became a pleasure, filling us with a sense of the wild. ... Nature as wilderness, the out -there that has played such an important role in western ideas throughout the centuries, seems now fundamentally different from what it seemed before. Wilderness is a nature of chance and complexities that we need no longer fear as unknowable or unpredictable. Strangely, that most novel of our tools, the computer, is helping us grasp what we have feared to seek.” Idem, 130-131. Botkin ensures concerned readers that “For nature that involves risk, there are three possibilities in regard to prediction, two of which lead to a well -defined kind of predictability: probabilities that are constant over time, such as those determining how dice will fall; probabilities that change over time in response to environmental conditions and are therefore predictable to some range; and probabilities that change in a random fashion and would lead to a chaotic nature from the point of view of living things. ... When the probabilit ies of birth and death change over time, the outcome is more complex. If the changes are direct responses to environmental and biological conditions, then it is possible to project what will happen.... ...better observations of the present ... better understanding of cause and effect and better ability to use that understanding to make predictions...and the ability to make predictions that involve chance. Computers help us with all three.” Idem, 128. As a result, predictions of ecological chance is possibl e, requiring situated observation, yet “Making predictions that involve chance requires not only techniques but also a change in our myths about nature. ... The acceptance of the idea that we might benefit by viewing nature as characterized by chance and randomness is a deep and unsettling change. ... [Yet also] In the past, the distinction between life and nonlife seemed simple and clear, but it is becoming obscured by modem technology. ... Thus our technology at the end of the twentieth century is blurring the distinction between living and nonliving. ...objects that we, as inheritors of the ideas of the nineteenth-century Industrial Revolution, conceive of as nonliving —rocks, mountains —are believed to be animated in their own way, as was believed in Western civilization before the machine age. Thus the blending of the ideas of life and of nonlife brings us back to a perspective more in harmony with beliefs held throughout most of human history.” Idem, 129-131.

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219 and planning practices.89 As they intend their work to apply to ‘landscape’, they first establish that landscape (to them) is foremost the dialogue of ‘nature’ and ‘culture’.90 Since it cannot escape the dialogic condition of nature – culture, the authors likewise define ‘ecology’ as “...the study of the interactions among organisms and their environment...”91 With these definitions in hand, the authors break their analysis into reduced spatial forms: ‘patches’, ‘edges’, ‘corridors’, and ‘matrices’.92 These 89 “...[T]he landscape ecology principles in this book are directly applicable and offer opportunities for wise planning, design, conservation, management, and land policy. The principles are significant from neighborhood to regional mosaics. They focus on s patial pattern, which strongly determines functioning and change. Their patch-corridor-matrix components have universality for any region. And their language enhances communication and collaboration. They will become central as society begins to seriously address the issue of creating sustainable environments.” Dramstad, Wench E., James D. Olson, and Richard T. T. Forman. Landscape Ecology Principles in Landscape Architecture and Land Use Planning . Cambridge: President and Fellows of Harvard College, 1996. 16. Yet what is not evident here, and what is an integral part of the text, are the series of images the authors use for explanation. A series of images explain the terminology, by portraying how each element works in practice an d relation with another u nder a given set of circumstances. 90 “Landscape architecture and land -use planning have a long and distinguished history of inspired accomplishments. ... A key to their brilliance is the enlightened meshing of nature and culture. The designers and planners were not amateurs in either nature or culture, but had extensive education and knowledge in both. Nature included the biological patterns and physical processes entwined in vegetation, wildlife populations, species richness, wind, water, wetlands, and aqu atic communities. Culture integrated the diverse human dimensions of economics, aesthetics, community social patterns, recreation, transportation, and sewage/waste handling.” Idem, 9 10. 91 “The term landscape ecology was used when aerial photography began to be widely available. The concept focused on specific spatial pattern in a section of a landscape, where biological communities interacted with the physical environment (Troll 193 9, 1968). Diverse definitions of the term of course have appeared over the years, hut today the primary, most widely held concept is as follows. Ecology is generally defined as the study of the interactions among organisms and their environment, and a landscape is a kilometers wide mosaic over which particular local ecosystems an d landuses recur. These concepts have proven to be both simple and operationally useful. Thus landscape ecology is simply the ecology of landscapes, and regional ecology the ecology of regions.” Idem, 12-13. 92 “The structural pattern of a landscape or reg ion is composed entirely of three types of elements. Indeed, these universal elements —patches, corridors, and matrix —are the handle for comparing highly dissimilar landscapes and for developing general principles. They also are the handle for land -use plan ning and landscape architecture, since spatial pattern strongly controls movements, flows, and changes.” Idem, 14. Edges are not included here, presumably because, to the authors, rather than being part of “the simple spatial language [that] becomes evident when considering how patches, corridors, and the matrix combine to form the variety of land mosaics on earth”, edges are meeting components of each spatial element, rather than ‘spaces’ per sa y. This is contestable. For ‘patches’: “In a densely popula ted world plant and animal habitat increasingly appears in scattered patches. ... Patches, however, do exhibit a degree of isolation, the effect and severity being dependent on the species present. Four origins or causes of vegetation patches are usefully recognized: remnants ...; introduced...; disturbance ...; and environmental resources.... Patches are analyzed below and differentiated in terms of (l) size, (2) number, and (3) location. Patches may be as large as a national forest, or as small as a single tree. Patches may be numerous in a landscape, such as avalanches or rock slides on a mountainside, or be scarce such as oases in a desert. The location of patches may be beneficial or deleterious to the optimal functioning of a landscape.” Idem, 19. For ‘edges’: “An edge is described as the outer portion of a patch where the environment differs significantly from the interior of the patch. Often, edge and interior environments simply look and feel differently. ... Whether a boundary is curvilinear or straight influences the flow of nutrients, water, energy, or species along or across it. Boundaries may also be ‘political’ or ‘administrative,’ that is artificial divisions between inside and out, which may or may not correspond to natural ‘ecologi cal’ boundaries or edges. Relating these artificial edges with natural ones is important.” Idem, 27. For ‘corridors’: “In the face of continued habitat loss and isolation, many landscape ecologists stress the need for providing landscape connectivity, par ticularly in the forms of wildlife movement corridors and stepping stones. ... Corridors in the landscape may also act as barriers or filters to species movement. Some may be population ‘sinks’ (i.e., locations where individuals of a species tend to decrea se in number). ... Finally, stream or river systems are corridors of exceptional significance in a landscape.” Increased numbers of ‘corridors’ and ‘connectivity’ is desired in response to “several dynamic processes [t hat] cause this isolation and loss ov er time. ... fragmentation... ; dissection ... ; perforation ...; shrinkage ... ; and attrition ... . For matrix, the definition is less clearly established. It appears to be a term that notes how a mosaic is organized, qualified, designated, or productive: “And the matrix is single or subdivided, variegated or nearly homogeneous, continuous or perforated, etc.” Idem, 15.

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220 elements together form a ‘mosaic’ or that which is considered a ‘landscape.’93 As a result of applying this to ‘landscape ecology’,94 these elements need examination at different scales.95 Resultantly , the authors outline a collection of ecological specific interrelated terms – patches, edges, corridors, and matrices, as well as different scalar terms – macro, meso, and m icro. At this point, one establishes a working terminology and theory of ecological processes. Yet, each of these texts seems to only consider urban and social processes, tangentially, if at all. To engage with urban/social concepts, one can turn to Erik Swyngedouw’s Social Power and the Urbanization of Water: Flows of Power . In the introductory chapter, Swyngedouw writes that his text aims to foremost outline the critical spatial water processes of urbanization to outline a framework for ‘political eco logy.’96 Although his aspirations for the text include larger arguments,97 invoking his work aims to appropriate his conceptual framework for political ecology. Swyngedouw first establishes definitions of hybrids and cyborgs (initially used synonymously, y et they are different) as mechanisms in ‘becoming’ – arguing a re 93 “The whole landscape or region is a mosaic, but the local neighborhood is likewise a configuration of patches, corridors, and matrix.” Idem, 15. The authors align with Botkin’s notions of changing (rather than stasis) ecological processes: “Like a plant cell or a human body, this living system exhibits three broad characteristics: structure, functioning, and change. Landscape structure is the spatial pattern or arrangement of landscape elements. Functioning is the movement and flows of animals, plants, water, wind, materials, and energy through the structure. And change is the dynamics or alteration in spatial pattern and functioning over time.” Idem, 14. These terms all pertain to the mosaic. On top of this, mosaics are also defined by: “The overall structural and functional integrity of a landscape can be understood and evaluated in terms of both pattern and scale. One assay of the ecological health of a landscape is the overall connectivity of the natural systems present. Corridors often interconnect with one another to form networks, enclosing other landscape elements. Networks in turn exhibit connectivity, circuitry, and mesh size. ” Idem, 41. 94 “Landscape ecology, the ecology of large heterogeneous areas, of landscapes, of regions, of portions thereof, or simply of la nd mosaics, has increasingly appeared on the palette.” Idem, 11. 95 The authors apply their ecological framework to different scales, by using examples “...selected to illustrate landscape ecological principles over a range of scales, from a macro or regional scale, to a micro or site scale. One of the powerful messages of illustrating the applications across a range of scales is that these principles are all applicable and effective independent of the size of the project. ... Macro or regional scale A regional wildlife conservation park A new suburban development project Meso or landscape scale A new road An urban park Micro or site scale A cluster of backyard gardens A wildlife movement corridor” Idem, 49. 96 He writes that his “...aim [is] to demonstrate that the circulation of water —as a physical and social process —brings to light wider political economic, social, and ecological processes. In tum, this will permit a better understanding of the political ecological processes that shape urbanization.” Swyngedouw: 2004, 2. 97 He outlines his overall structure for the book as: “In short, in what follows, I aim to reconstruct the political, social, an d economic conduits through which water flows and to identify how power relations infuse the metabolic transformation of water as it becomes urban. These flows of water that are simultaneously physical and social carry in their currents the embodiment of myriad social struggles and conflicts. The exploration of these flows narrates stories about the city's structure and develop ment. Yet these flows also carry the potential for an improved, more just, and more equitable right to the city and its water. The flows of power that are captured by urban water circulation also suggest how the question of urban sustainability is not just about achieving sound ecological and environmental conditions, but first and foremost about a social struggle for access and contro l; a struggle not just for the right to water, but for the right to the city itself.” Idem, 4.

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221 conceptualization of material structures of ‘nature’.98 With these definitions (and differences) of hybrids and cyborgs, Swyngedouw outlines metabolic urbanization processes as bound up in M arx’s analysis of labor processes, capitalist production, and appropriation of nonhuman materials.99 From this, 98 Swyngedouw first establishes a Marxian analysis of urbanization processes: “As Raymond Williams pointed out in The Country and the City (1985 (1973) ), the transformation of nature and the social relations inscribed therein are inextricably connected to the process of urbanization. The di alectic of the environment and urbanization consolidates a particular set of social relations through ‘an ecological transformation which requires the reproduction of those relations in order to sustain it’ (H arvey 1996: 94). These socio-environmental chan ges result in the continuous production of new ‘natures’, of new urban social and physical environmental conditions. ... Of course, under capitalism, the commodity relation veils and hides the multiple socioecological processes of domination/subordination and exploitation/repression that feed the capitalist urbanization process and turn the city into a metabolic socioenvironmental process that stretches from the immediate environment to the remotest corners of the globe.” Idem, 10. He then realizes his next task of re -envisioning the material of ‘nature’: “Before we can embark on outlining the dimensions of an urban political ecological enquiry, we need to consider the matter of nature in greater detail , in particu lar in light of the accelerating process by which nature become urbanized through the deepening metabolic interactions between social and ecological processes.” Idem, 11 -12. He does this by tracing the advent of ‘hybrids’: “scientific knowledge and practices fused with physical metabolic processes to produce socio-natural and socio -technical hybrid complexes” from the Enlightenment project: “In We Have Never been Modern, Latour (1993) argues how the Gordian knot that weaves together the ‘natural’ and ‘social’ has been cut through by the sword of t he purifying rituals that became encoded in the scientific enterprise of the Enlightenment. It was precisely this unruly binarization that permitted scientists and engineers to decode some of the intricacies of parts of the world (while, of course, being t otally unaware of the socially and culturally significant meanings that became scripted into their scientific explanations). More importantly, the particular knowledge of the ‘purified’ natural wor ld that was generated by the practices and gazes of the sci entists permitted precisely the proliferation of the hybrid ‘things’ mentioned above.” Idem, 13. Swyngedouw clarifies the qualities of hybrids as: “...networks of interwoven processes that are simultaneously human and natural, real and fictional, mechanical and organic. There is nothing ‘purely’ social or natural about them, even less asocial or a-natural: these ‘things’ are natural and social, real and fictional. Society and nature, representation and being, are inseparable, integral to each other, infini tely bound up. Simultaneously, these hybrid socionatural ‘things’ are full of contradictions, tensions and conflicts (Castree and MacMillan 2001). ...the existence of hybrids of the kind exemplified abov e is a constant reminder and proof of the impossibility of separating ‘representation’ from ‘being’, the sign from the signified, the discursive from the material.” Idem, 14. As a result, hybrids are inseparable things that constitute emergent definition – it is suggested through the definition that ‘things are x and y’ that the hybrid product is both things – indistinguishable. A hybrid is a combinatory thing (complex) so integrated (‘infinitely’ so) that it requires new definition (inseparability of ‘the sign from the signified’). ‘Cyborgs’, on the other hand, are used nearly synonymously in Swyngedouw’s text. Nearly, because the definition suggests an identifiable quality of the conjoined complex: “Every body and every thing is a cyborg, a mediator, part social, part natural, lacking discrete boundaries and internalizing the multiple contradictory relations that redefine and rework them. .... Although it is impossible to separate these ‘concepts’ and practices from each other in the flow of water, it does not take much to identify the profound social, cultural, political, and ecological forces, struggles and power relations at work in this perpetual metabolizing circulation process....” Idem, 18. Swyngedouw arrives at this point after further Marxian analysis. But not only does this generalize hybrids ( cyborgs here) to all bodies and things in the ecological network, due to the metabolizing processes of commodity production, but constitutes that with cyborgs, the parts are still identifiable, it is just their boundaries tha t are rather non -discrete, not immutable. Their internal mechanisms of identifiable parts require relationships to constantly identified – which reframes their overall definition. Finally, in culmination of analysis of Lefebvre’s The Production of Space, Swyngedouw finds that “hybridization is a process of production, of becoming, of perpetual transgression. Lefebvre’s insistence on temporality(ies), combined with Latour’s networked reconstruction of quasi -objects, provides a glimpse of how a reworked political ecology of the city migh t be practised.” Idem, 21. 99 For the labor process and appropriation of non-human materials: “Labouring is therefore nothing other than engaging the ‘natural’ physical and mental forces and capabilities of humans in a metabolic physical/material process wi th other human and non -human natural conditions and actors. ‘Metabolism’ is the central metaphor for Marx’s definition of labour and for analysing the relationship between human and nature... For Marx this socio natural metabolism is the foundation of and possibility for history, a socio -environmental history through which the nature of humans and nonhumans alike is transformed. To the extent that labour constitutes the universal premise for metabolic interaction with nature the particular social relations through whom this metabolism of nature is enacted shape its very form. Clearly, any materialist approach insists that ‘nature’ is an integral part of the ‘metabolism’ of social life. Social relations operate in and through metabolizing the ‘natural’ envir onment and transform both society and nature.” Idem, 15. For the capitalist production process: “Under capitalist social relations, then, the met abolic production of use -values operates in and through specific control and ownership relations and in the context of the mobilization of both nature and labour to produce commodities (as forms of metabolized socio-natures) with an eye towards the realization of the embodied exchange value.” Idem, 16. For critique and relevance of the metabolic process: “Put sim ply, the overemphasis on the social relations under capitalism that characterized much of Marxist analysis tended to abstract away from or ignore the

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222 Swyngedouw provides analytical tools (theoretical framework100) and qualities of, political ecology.101 The ecological definitions of this thesis extend to include the metabolic processes of political ecology. In culmination of these authors work, it can be noted that ecology is defined here as a process of interaction between human and non-human systems, defined by perpetual but differential chang e as per historical, contextual, or social forces and flows. Ecological processes may include, but do not require, a social or materialist approach based on metabolic processes of human labor and commodity production/consumption, and may be understood as relativist, but also cannot disregard the positioning in a set of processes. Ecological processes can be examined based on the composition and qualities of production of a given mosaic, and based on a sensitive collection of relevant forces and flows. Moreover, ecological processes work in the visual and the UHI . This is evident in the temporal processes of change that may give the impression of stasis, or the imperceptibility of species growth/decline/migration due to other processes. Although species groups and interaction results may be apparent, not all events (causes and effects) are. Moreover, labor processes of production and metabolic flows oftentimes work in the UHI (either materially or productively). Lastly, ecological relationships, metabolic relation with nature and resulted in a partial blindless [ sic ] in twentieth -century Marxism to q uestions of political ecology and socio-ecological metabolisms.” Idem, 17. 100 “1. Although we cannot escape the ‘thing’, transformative knowledges about water and the waterscape can only be gauged from reconstructing the processes of its production. 2. Ther e is no ‘thing -like’ ontological or essential foundation (social, natural, or textual), as the process of becoming and of hybridization has ontological and epistemological priority. 3. As every quasi object/cyborg/hybrid internalizes the multiple relations of its production, ‘any -thing’ can be entered as the starting point for undertaking the archaeology of her/his/its socio-natural metabolism (the production of her/his/its socio -nature). 4. This archaeology has always already begun and is never ending ... and is therefore always open, contested, and contestable. 5. Given the nonneutral and intensely powerful forces through which socionature is produced, this perspective does not necessarily lead to a relativist position. Every archaeology and its associated narratives and practices are always implicated in and consequences of this very production process. Knowledge and practice are always situated in the web of social power relations that define and produce socionature. 6. The notion of a socio-natural production transcends the binary distinctions between society/nature, material/ideological, and real/discursive. 101 “1. Environmental and social changes co-determine each other (Noorgaard 1994; O’Connor 1994). ... 2. There is nothing a priori unnatural about produced environments such as cities, lakes, or irrigated fields (Harvey 1996). ... 3. The type and character of physical and environmental change, and the resulting environmental conditions, are not independent from the specific historical social, cultura l, political, or economic conditions and the institutions that accompany them (Swyngedouw 1997; 1999). 4. All socio -spatial processes are invariably also predicated upon the transformation or metabolism of physical, chemical, or biological components (Swyngedouw 1996b). 5. These metabolisms produce a series of both enabling and disabling social and environmental conditions. ... 6. Processes of socio-environmental change are, therefore, never socially or ecologically neutral. ... 7. Particular attention, the refore, is paid to social power relations (whether material or discursive, economic, political, and/or cultural) through which socio-environmental processes take place. ... 8. Questions of socio -environmental sustainability thereby become fundamentally pol itical questions. ... 9. Political-ecological perspectives seek to unravel the nature of the social relationships that unfold between individuals and social groups and how these, in turn, are mediated by and structured throug h processes of ecological change. ... 10. It also seeks to question the actual processes of environmental reconstruction and recasting and advocates a position on sustainability that is achieved by means of a democratically controlled and organized process of socio -environmental (re-)co nstruction.” Idem, 23-24.

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223 disturb ances/remediations (violences), and successional phases work in the visual ly UHI – which are not outright visible, although they may be made visible, uncovered, or otherwise detected. Cosmology The access-granted online version of the Oxford English Dictionary defines cosmology as a science, a philosophy, a theory, an ordering, a system, and an idea of the ways in which the universe and world works.102 In short, cosmology (outside of strict astrophysics connotations) can be understood as a way of under standing human relations to the universe considered in a specific time and space.103 This basic comprehension of cosmology is a way in which a given social and cultural group relates with its material world, e.g. cities, landscape, nature, world, universe, etc. By working with a very specific ‘cosmologist’ (in the sense of the term currently described), one gathers an example of the definition of a specific socio cultural cosmological relation to the universe. Alexander von Humboldt’s five-volume Cosmos: A Sketch of a Physical Description of the Universe aims to track, understand, and account for the different ways in which western culture envisioned its relationships to ‘natural laws’ for the betterment of ‘[hu]mankind’ from the position of 1850’senlightenment thought.104 Yet, as his own definition would suggest, even his sociocultural 102 The OED definition for ‘cosmology’ is, “ n ... a. The science or theory of the universe as an ordered whole, and of the general laws which govern it. Also, a particular account or system of the universe and its laws. b. Philos . T hat branch of metaphysics which deals with the idea of the world as a totality of all phenomena in space and time.” “cosmology, n.” OED Online , Oxford University Press, January 2018, Accessed 3 February 2018. 103 Leaning on James Corner’s historical analysis of cosmology (based in theory) and practiced differently in western culture, as a way of comprehending a culture’s relationship to the universe: “The theatron was a stage upon which the deities would appear: the cosmos was m ade manifest, and a spectacle enacted in which the audience would transcend the banalities of everyday life. ... Through worldly observation, they [ancient Greeks] looked forward to a kind of revelatory seeing that could momentarily clari fy their being in the cosmos. ... The classical understanding of theory, therefore, was a means by which a culture comprehended the lebenswelt; the way in which they could escape everyday life and marvel in wonder at the cosmos; and the way in which they awaited revelatory understanding to enact change of some sort in their lives.” Corner: 1990, 62. “Gardens during this time provided a kind of cosmic ‘quarry,’ gravid with histories and myth. They were a lens through which culture could view itself and share in a collective comprehension of the cosmos. Thcoria remained very much a unifying concept of cosmic order.” Idem, 64. 104 Humboldt writes in the introduction to the first volume, “In attempting, after a long absence from my native country, to develop the physical phenomena of the globe, and the simultaneous action of the forces that pervade the regions of space.... Nature is a free domain, and the profound conceptions and enjoyments she awakens within us can only be vividly delineated by thought clothed in exalted forms of speech, worthy of bearing witness to the majesty and greatness of the creation. In considering the study of physical phenomena, not merely in its bearings on the material wants of life, but in its general influence on the intellectual advancement of mankind , we find its noblest and most important result to be a knowledge of the chain of connection, by which all natural forces are linked together, and made mutually dependent upon each other ; and it is the perception of these relations that exalts our views a nd ennobles our enjoyments. Such a result can, however, only be reaped as the fruit of observation and intellect, combined with the spirit of the age, in which are reflected all the varied phases of thought. He who can trace, through by -gone times, the str eam of our knowledge to its primitive source, will learn from history how, for thousands of years, man has labored, amid the ever -recurring changes of form, to recognize the invariability of natural laws, and has thus, by

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224 cosmological relationship, bent upon scientific order in the picturesque aesthetic,105 is by no means ‘the’ way of relating to the cosmos. Indeed, his ‘genealogical’ tracing of cosmological relationships finds differences throughout western cultural formations in the ways in which the universe, world, ‘nature’, and social life is described.106 the force of mind, gradually subdued a great portion of the physical world to his dominion. In interrogating the history of the past, we trace the mysterious course of ideas yielding the first glimmering perception of the same imago of a Cosmos, or harmoniously ordered whole, which, dimly shadowed forth to the human mind in the primitive ages of the world, is now fully revealed to the maturer intellect of mankind as the result of long and laborious observation.” Humboldt, Alexander von. Cosmos: A Sketch of a Physical Description of the Uni verse. Vol. 1. E. C. Ott, trans. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1877. Accessed 1.31.2018. 2324. 105 “In the work on the Cosmos on which I am now engaged, I have endeavored to show, as in that entitled Ansichten der Natur , that a certain degree of scientific completeness in the treatment of individual facts is not wholly incompatible with a picturesque animation of style.” Idem, ix. 106 Note the differences, for instance, between Greek, Roman, and Christian ‘descriptions of nature’ over the next collection of quotes. For Greeks: “The description of nature in its manifold richness of form, as a distinct branch of poetic literature, was wholly unknown to the Greeks. The landscape appears among them merely a s the back -ground of the picture of which human figures constitute the main subject. Passions, breaking forth into action, riveted their attention almost exclusively. An active life, spent chiefly in public, drew the minds of men from dwelling with enthusiastic exclusiveness on the silent workings of nature, and led them always to consider physical phenomena as having reference to mankind, whether in the relations of external conformation or of internal development. It was almost exclusively under such relations that the consideration of nature was deemed worthy of being admitted into the domain of poetry under the fantastic form of comparisons, which often present small detached pictures replete with objective truthfulness.” Humboldt, Alexander von. Cosmos: A Sketch of a Physical Description of the Universe. Vol. 2. E. C. Ott, trans. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1868. Accessed 1.31.2018. 22. “We must not forget that Grecian scenery presents the peculiar char m of an intimate association of land and sea, of shores adorned with vegetation, or picturesquely girt round by rocks gleaming in the light of aerial tints, and of an ocean beautiful in the play of the ever -changing brightness of its deep-toned moving waves. Although to other nations, sea and land, in the different pursuits of life to which they give rise, appeared as two separate spheres of nature, the Greeks —not only those who in habited the islands, but also those occupying the southern portion of the c ontinent —enjoyed, almost every where, the aspect of the richness and sublime grandeur imparted to the scenery by the contact and mutual influence of the two elemen ts. ... The Greek regarded the vegetable world as standing in a manifold and mythical relati on to heroes and to the gods, who were supposed to avenge every injury inflicted on the trees and plants sacred to them. Imagination animated vegetable forms with l ife, but the types of poetry, to which the peculiar direction of mental activity among the a ncient Greeks limited them, gave only a partial development to the descriptions of natural scenery. Occasionally, however, even in the writings of their tragic poets , a deep sense of the beauty of nature breaks forth in animated descriptions of scenery in the midst of the most excited passions or the deepest tones of sadness. ... All these compositions are, however, wholly wanting in that inner life —that inspired contemplation of nature —by which the external world becomes to the poet, almost unconsciously to himself, a subject of his imagination.” Idem, 2527. “In the place of the passages relating to natural scenery, which we can not venture to ascribe to Aristotle, we possess, however, a genuine fragment which Cicero has preserved to us from a lost work of Aristotle. It runs thus : ‘If there were beings who lived in the depths of the earth, in dwellings adorned with statues and paintings, and every thing which is possessed in rich abundance by those whom we esteem fortunate ; and if these beings could receive tidings of the power and might of the gods, and could then emerge from their hidden dwellings through the open fissures of the earth to the places whi ch we inhabit ; if they could suddenly behold the earth, and the sea, and the vault of heaven ; could recognize the expanse of the cloudy firmament, and the might of the winds of heaven, and admire the sun in its majesty, beauty, and radiant effulgence ; a nd, lastly, when night vailed the earth in darkness, they could be hold the starry heavens, the changing moon, and the stars rising and setting in the unvarying course ordained from eternity, they would surely exclaim, ‘there are gods, and such great things mus t be the work of their hands.’’” Idem, 29. For Romans: “That which we miss in the works of the G reeks, I will not say from their want of susceptibility to the beauties of nature, but from the direction assumed by their literature, is still more rarely to be met with among the Romans. A nation which, in accordance with the ancient Sicilian habits, evi nced a decided predilection for agriculture and other rural pursuits, might have justified other expectations ; but, with all their disposition to practical activity, the Romans, with the cold severity and practical understanding of their national character, were less susceptible of impressions of the senses than the Greeks, and were more devoted to every -day reality than to the idealizing poetic contemplation of nature. These differences in the habits and feelings of the Greeks and Romans are reflected in their literature, as is ever the case with the intellectual expression of national character.” Idem, 29 -30. “The great poem of nature, which Lucretius has so richly decked with the charms of his poetic genius, embraces the whole Cosmos. It has much affinity with the writings of Empedocles and Parmenides, the archaic diction of the versification heightening the earnest ness of the descriptions. Poetry is here closely

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225 From these manifold descriptions of the universe, Humboldt argues that the differe nces are due to different knowledges about the organization of the universe. Although he aims to outline the historical progression leading to a culmination of scientific knowledge (developed over time and handed from nation to nation) towards a science-based cosmological ‘unity of nature’,107 main sources of different interwoven with philosophy, without, however, falling into that frigidity of style which, i n contrast with Plato’s richly fanciful mode of treating nature, was so severely blamed by Menander the Rhetorician, in the sentence he pronounced on the Hymns of Nature. My brother has shown with much ingenuity the striking analogies and differences which have arisen from the amalgamation of metaphysical abstractions with poetry in the ancient Greek didactic poems, as in the works of Lucretius, and in the episode Bhagavad of the Indian Epic Mahabharata. The great physical picture of the universe by the Roman poet contrasts in its cold doctrine of atoms, and in its frequently visionary geognostic hypotheses, with his vivid and animated delineation of the advance of mankind from the recesses of the forest to the pursuit of agriculture, to the control of natur al forces, the more elevated cultivation of mind and languages, and through the latter to social civilization. When, in the midst of the active and busy l ife of the states man, and in a mmd excited by political passion, a keen susceptibility for the beauties "of nature and an animated love of rural solitude still subsists, its source must be derived from the depths of a great and noble character. Cicero’s writings t estify to the truth of this assertion.” Idem, 3031. For early Christianity: “At the period when the feelings died away which had animated classical antiquity, and directed the minds of men to a visible manifestation of human activity rather than to a passive contemplation of the external world, a new spirit arose ; Christianity gradually diffuse d itself, and, wherever it was adopted as the religion of the state, it not only exercised a beneficial influence on the condition of the lower classes by inculcating the social freedom of mankind, but also expanded the views of men in their communion with nature. The eye no longer rested on the forms of Olympic gods. The fathers of the Church, in their rhetorically correct and often poetically imaginative language, now taug ht that the Creator showed himself great in inanimate no less than in animate nature and in the wild strife of the elements no less than in the still activity of organic development. At the gradual dissolution of the Roman dominion, creative imagination, simplicity, and purity of diction disappeared from the writings of that dreary age, f irst in the Latin territories, and then in Grecian Asia Minor. A taste for solitude, for mournful contemplation, and for a moody absorption of mind, may he traced simultaneousl y in the style and coloring of the language. Whenever a new element seems to develop itself in the feelings of mankind, it may almost invariably be traced to an earlier, deep -seated individual germ. ... The ancient world is not abruptly separated from the modern, but modifications in the religious sentiments and the tenderest social f eelings of men, and changes in the special habits of those who exercise an influence on the ideas of the mass, must give a sudden predominance to that which might previously have escaped attention. It was the tendency of the Christian mind to prove from the order of the universe and the beauty of nature the greatness and goodness of the Creator. This tendency to glorify the Deity in his works gave rise to a taste for natural description. The earliest and most remarkable instances of this kind are to be met with in the writings of Minucius Felix, a rhetorician and lawyer at Rome, who lived in the beginning of the third century, and was the cotemporary of Tertullian and Philostratus. We follow with pleasure the delineation of his twilight rambles on the shore near Ostia, which he describes as more picturesque and more conducive to health than we find it in the present day. In the religious discourse entitled Octavius, we meet with a spirited defense of the new faith against the attacks of a heathen friend.” Idem, 38 -39. 107 “This three-fold view serves as a guide in defining the principal epochs that characterize the history of the science of the Cosmos. For the purpose of further illustration, I would again adduce some examples indicative of the diversity of the means by which mankind attained to the intellectual possession of a great portion of the universe. Under this head I include examples of an enlarged field of natural knowledge, great historical events, and the discovery of new organs.” Idem, 108. “From the above considerations, and the examples by which they have been illustrated, the comparative study of languages appears as an important rational means of assistance, by which scientific and genuinely philological investigations may lead to a generalizatio n of views regarding the affinity of races, and their conjectural extension in various directions from one common point of radi ation. The rational aids toward the gradual development of the science of the Cosmos are, therefore, of very different kinds, viz ., investigations into the structure of languages ; the deciphering of ancient inscriptions and historical monuments in hierogly phics and arrow -headed writing ; the greater perfection of mathematics, especially of that powerful analytic calculus by which t he form of the earth, the ebb and flow of the sea, and the regions of space are brought within the compass of calculation. To these a ids must be further added the material inventions which have procured for us, as it were, new organs, sharpened the power of our senses, and enabled men to enter into a closer communication with terrestrial forces, and even with the remote regions of spa ce. In order to enumerate only a few of the instruments whose invention characterizes great epochs in the history of civiliza tion, I would name the telescope, and its too long -delayed connection with instruments of measurement ; the compound microscope, which furnishes us with the means of tracing the conditions of the process of development of organisms, which Aristotle gracefu lly designates as ‘the formative activity, the source of being ;’ the compass, and the different contrivances invented for measuring terrestrial magnetism ; the use of the pendulum as a measure of time; the barometer; the thermometer ; hygrometric and electrometric apparatuses ; and the polariscope, in its application to the phenomena of colored polarization, in the light of the stars, or in luminous regions of the atmosphere. The history of the physical contemplation of the universe, which is based, a s we

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226 human conceptions and relations with the universe are bound up with different not necessarily sciencebased knowledges about the world.108 Humboldt’s cosmological aim, most likely fueled by enlightenment thinking, pursues an argument wedded entirely to a unity of nature founded in science, and seemingly disregards the