194 resultados para Cartographic Genre
Resumo:
This project involved writing Turrwan (great man), a novel set in Queensland in the nineteenth century, and an investigation into the way historical novels portray the past. Turrwan tells the story of Tom Petrie, who was six when he arrived with his family at the notorious Moreton Bay Penal Colony in 1837. The thesis examines historical fiction as a genre with particular focus on notions of historical authenticity. It analyses the complexities involved in a non-Indigenous person writing about the Australian Aboriginal people, and reflects on the process of researching, planning and writing a historical novel.
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Current media attention on the crossover novel highlights the increasing permeability of the boundaries between young adult and adult fiction. This paper will focus upon some of the difficulties around definitions of young adult fiction before considering the fiction of football, or soccer as it is more commonly known in Australia. The football genre exhibits a number of discrete and identifiable differences between young adult and adult readerships including, for example, the role of the protagonist, and the narrative’s distance from the game. This paper will use Franco Moretti’s Mapping as Distant Reading model of abstraction to highlight and unpack these and other characteristic differences in the narratological and stylistic techniques employed across adult and young adult texts. Close reading analysis of the adult football fiction Striker (1992) by Hunter Davies and young adult football fiction Lucy Zeezou’s Goal (2008) by Liz Deep-Jones’ will further illustrate the range of tensions and divergences as they are reflected across those readerships. The texts have been selected because they speak to themes of fear and safety; Joe Swift (Striker) is driven by a need to move away from childhood poverty and insecurity, while Lucy Zeezou shelters a homeless friend. With both protagonists being kidnapped for ransom for example, the texts have also been selected for their striking similarities in form and content.
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The news media industry has changed dramatically into a global business with ever-increasing attention being devoted to entertainment and celebrity across the last 10–20 years. There has also been a growing reliance on images produced by citizens (citizen photojournalism), by media outlets and publishers. It is widely acknowledged that in tandem these changes have shrunk publication opportunities for professional photographers undertaking editorial projects. As a result, photographers are increasingly relying on non-government organisations (NGOs) to gain access to photographing issues and events in developing countries and to expand their economic and portfolio opportunities. This increase in photographers working for and alongside NGOs has given rise to a new genre of editorial photography which I call NGO Reportage. By way of a case study, an exploration of this new genre reveals important issues for photographers working with NGOs and examines the constructed narratives of images contained within these emerging practices.
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The writing of award winning tartan noir author, Denise Mina, “crime queen of Glasgow” has been identified with “explicitly feminist politics,” and Mina herself claims, as a feminist, she wants to use crime fiction to present a “narrative about very disempowered people becoming empowered.” This paper explores how Mina’s avowed stance on feminism plays out in her novel, The Field of Blood (2005), and examines whether her concerns are reflected in the embodied actions of her young protagonist, would-be investigative journalist, Paddy Meehan. It asks whether Mina has succeeded in working against entrenched patriarchal codes of crime fiction’s dominant narrative construction or whether her feminist intentions have been undermined by traditional stereotypical conventions of the genre.
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If Danny Wallace is a yes man, I am most certainly a no woman. No, I will not agree to anything and everything in an attempt to make my life “more interesting”. No, I do not believe that on “one fateful day a mystery man on a late night bus” will change my life forever. I hate the bus. In fact, I don’t even catch public transport. Wallace’s recent film tie-in Yes Man reeks of such cheesy optimism. The book’s premise is simple and indeed, even alluring at first. When a stranger on the bus tells Danny to “say yes more” (9), his life takes a dramatic turn on the roundabout of possibility. Sad, single, and staying inside a lot, Danny signs himself up for a year of mishap and misadventure, accepting every request, suggestion and invitation offered to him by both friends and strangers.
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Young adult (YA) literature is a socialising genre that encourages young readers to take up particular ways of relating to historical or cultural materials. The first decade of the twenty-first century witnessed a boom in Sherlockian YA fiction using the Conan Doyle canon as a context and vocabulary for stories focused on the Baker Street Irregulars as figures of identification. This paper reads YA fiction’s deployment of Conan Doyle’s fictional universe as a strategy for negotiating anxieties of adolescent masculinity, particularly in relation to literacy and social agency.
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This paper compares costuming practices in Baz Luhrmann’s Australia (2008) and John Hillcoat’s The Proposition (2005) and argues that high production values, such as in the blockbuster Australia, are not neutral mechanisms of production, but powerful prescriptive elements which do not result in a successful representation of cultural specificity. Australia is a typical blockbuster, it employs a large number of extras, it features compelling landscape shots, has been shot across four different locations and sets, and, importantly, is an international production with the 20th Century Fox. The film’s costumes were designed by Catherine Martin, who received an Oscar nomination in 2009. While global exposure of fashion in film and through celebrities’ endorsements has consolidated a historical synergy between the fashion industry and Hollywood, the Australian film and fashion industries have had a very limited exchange. Baz Luhrmann’s film is Australia’s first instance of promo-costuming and use of tie-in labels (Ferragamo, R.M.Williams, Prada, Paspaley). Catherine Martin thoroughly researched 1930s women’s wear, indigenous and stockmen’s clothing, and set up to make all costumes with a large team of costumiers and seamstresses, striving for authenticity. The Proposition won its costume designer Margot Wilson an AFI in 2005 for best costume, but compared to Australia the story, location and costumes are far harsher. Filmed around Winton in far west Queensland, the director John Hillcoat and Director of Photography Benoit Delhomme were insistent about realism, and emphasising the harshness of the Australian landscape. The realism of the costumes was derived from the fabrics and manufacturing, as well as the way they were shot, with the actors often wearing two or three layers of heavy wool during days of shooting in 50 degree heat, and the details of making and breaking down. The implication is that both films are culturally specific as they both deal with an Australian story. However, Australia is clearly produced according to a Hollywood blockbuster model, and closely matches Hollywood’s narrative and aesthetic characteristics, while The Proposition is a more modest film that eschews these conventions of beauty and glossed history. Despite its western genre-orientation, The Proposition is more successful than Australia when it comes to costuming, because its costumes are not only functional to the narrative, but, in Roland Barthes’ words, they also fulfil a prestation. This prestation highlights the social and cultural conflicts on which colonial Australia was founded, instead of gilding, and gliding, over them.
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"This work forms part of a much larger collaborative album project in progress between Tim Bruniges, Julian Knowles and David Trumpmanis which explores the intersections between traditional rock instrumentation and analogue and digital media. All of the creative team are performers, composers and producers. The material for the album was thus generated by a series of in studio improvisations and performances with each collaborator assuming a range of different and alternating roles – guitars, electronics, drums, percussion, bass, keyboards production. Thematically the work explores the intersection of instrumental (post) rock, ambient music, and historical electro-acoustic tape composition traditions. Over the past 10 years, musical practice has become increasingly hybrid, with the traditional boundaries between genre becoming progressively eroded. At the same time, digital tools have replaced many of the major analogue technologies that dominated music production and performance in the 20th century. The disappearance of analogue media in mainstream musical practice has had a profound effect on the sonic characteristics of contemporary music and the gestural basis for its production. Despite the increasing power of digital technologies, a small but dedicated group of practitioners has continued to prize and use analogue technology for its unique sounds and the non-linearity of the media, aestheticising its inherent limitations and flaws. At the most radical end of this spectrum lie glitch and lo-fi musical forms, seen in part as reactions to the clinical nature of digital media and the perceived lack of character associated with its transparency. Such developments have also problematised the traditional relationships between media and genre, where specific techniques and their associated sounds have become genre markers. Tristate is an investigation into this emerging set of dialogues between analogue and digital media across composition, production and performance. It employs analogue tape loops in performance, where a tape machine ‘performer’ records and hand manipulates loops of an electric guitar performer on ‘destroyed’ tape stock (intentionally damaged tape), processing the output of this analogue system in the digital domain with contemporary sound processors. In doing so it investigates how the most extreme sonic signatures of analogue media – tape dropout and noise – can be employed alongside contemporary digital sound gestures in both compositional and performance contexts and how the extremes of the two media signatures can brought together both compositionally and performatively. In respect of genre, the work established strategies for merging compositional techniques from the early musique concrete tradition of the 1940s with late 60s popular music experimentalism and the laptop glitch electronica movement of the early 2000s. Lastly, the work explores how analogue recording studio technologies can be used as performance tools, thus illuminating and foregrounding the performative/gestural dimensions of traditional analogue studio tools in use."
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The usual postmodern suspicions about diligently deciphering authorial intent or stridently seeking fixed meaning/s and/or binary distinctions in an artistic work aside, this self-indulgent essay pushes the boundaries regarding normative academic research, for it focusses on my own (minimally celebrated) published creative writing’s status as a literary innovation. Dedicated to illuminating some of the less common denominators at play in Australian horror, my paper recalls the creative writing process involved when I set upon the (arrogant?) goal of creating a new genre of creative writing: that of the ‘Aboriginal Fantastic’. I compare my work to the literary output of a small but significant group (2.5% of the population), of which I am a member: Aboriginal Australians. I narrow my focus even further by examining that creative writing known as Aboriginal horror. And I reduce the sample size of my study to an exceptionally small number by restricting my view to one type of Aboriginal horror literature only: the Aboriginal vampire novel, a genre to which I have contributed professionally with the 2011 paperback and 2012 e-book publication of That Blackfella Bloodsucka Dance! However, as this paper hopefully demonstrates, and despite what may be interpreted by some cynical commentators as the faux sincerity of my taxonomic fervour, Aboriginal horror is a genre noteworthy for its instability and worthy of further academic interrogation. (first paragraph)
Resumo:
This paper provides a first look at the acceptance of Accountable-eHealth systems, a new genre of eHealth systems, designed to manage information privacy concerns that hinder the proliferation of eHealth. The underlying concept of AeH systems is appropriate use of information through after-the-fact accountability for intentional misuse of information by healthcare professionals. An online questionnaire survey was utilised for data collection from three educational institutions in Queensland, Australia. A total of 23 hypothesis relating to 9 constructs were tested using a structural equation modelling technique. A total of 334 valid responses were received. The cohort consisted of medical, nursing and other health related students studying at various levels in both undergraduate and postgraduate courses. The hypothesis testing disproved 7 hypotheses. The empirical research model developed was capable of predicting 47.3% of healthcare professionals’ perceived intention to use AeH systems. A validation of the model with a wider survey cohort would be useful to confirm the current findings.
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A great football novel is like a perfectly executed bicycle-kick goal, like players such as Argentine legends Diego Maradona and Lionel Messi; they come along once in a generation. Against the accumulated volume of non-fiction football literature (some people still call it soccer), which could fill and spill out of a World Cup Stadium, football novels are comparatively rare. That said, football or soccer fiction is a genre with a very real and important historical longevity...
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Part of the Next Wave MEMBRANE Project, Great Expectations draws attention to the parallels between our expectations of art and new technology to make the world a better place. The theme of the 2008 Next Wave Festival, ‘Closer Together’, refers to the way society is ― for the better or for the worse ― becoming increasingly connected by media and communication technologies. Sceptical of the acclaimed social achievements of new technologies, Boxcopy: Contemporary Art Space, a Brisbane-based artist-run initiative, explores the futility of human activities, including art production and consumption, with a collection of works created by young and emerging Brisbane artists. Works for this project include: Early machines such as the Commodore 64 were tape-based, and hence had their games distributed on ordinary cassettes (2009) by Tim Kerr & Extra Features (2008) by Tim Woodward; Spine (2008), Joseph Briekers; Whiteout (2008), Channon Goodwin; Explosive Revelations (2008), Daniel McKewen.
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"What is Bluebird AR? Bluebird AR was the ABC's alternate reality drama set around the leak of Bluebird, a clandestine geoengineering initiative created by eco-billionaire Harrison Wyld. Proposing a fictional scenario set against a backdrop of real world possibilities, Bluebird AR took some of the conventions of the well-established alternate reality game (ARG) genre and pulled them into the relatively new area of online drama, to create a hybrid entertainment form best described as 'participatory drama'. With Bluebird AR's interactive narrative centred on the experimental science of geoengineering, the deliberate manipulation of the Earth's atmosphere to counteract global warming, the events and characters in the Bluebird story were entirely fictional but fused with reality online. Inhabiting a mixture of third party social media spaces and websites created by the ABC, the story incorporated real online articles, scientific journals, media and debate around geoengineering. In an Australian first, ABC Innovation launched Bluebird AR on 27 April 2010, with a 6 week live phase. Audience members were invited to play collectively to help 'unlock the drama' and push forward the emerging narrative, or passively watch the story unfold in real-time across the internet. Bluebird AR subverted ARG conventions with the high quality of its production and assets, and raised the stakes for online drama with its level of audience participation." © 2014 ABC "Introduction One of the most exciting creative challenges of producing Bluebird AR was formulating the broad array of visual styles and treatments required for the project's diverse range of content. Many assets also needed to translate well not only online but across other media, including television and print. With the project's producers keen to create a visually rich narrative with high production values from the outset, inspiration for the production design for various aspects of the Bluebird story began in the earliest pitching phase in September 2008. Particular visual treatments and styles for Bluebird's characters, their web spaces and real world possessions were formulated concurrently with the creation of their profiles. Ideas around how various clues and gameplay spaces might look and feel were also explored at this early stage. Bluebird AR's small but tight creative team produced 7 website designs and brands, motion graphics for title sequences and logo animations, rotoscope animation, 3D compositing and animation, 3D wireframes and schematics, countless Photoshop composites, and a vast array of character assets for the DC (including Kyle's Bluebird Labs security pass and resignation letter, Kruger's American and Russia passports and birth certificate, Harrison's divorce papers, and more)…" © 2014 ABC
Resumo:
The textual turn is a good friend of expert spectating, where it assumes the role of writing-productive apparatus, but no friend at all of expert practices or practitioners (Melrose, 2003). Introduction The challenge of time-based embodied performance when the artefact is unstable As a former full-time professional practitioner with an embodied dance practice as performer, choreographer and artistic director for three decades, I somewhat unexpectedly entered the world of academia in 2000 after completing a practice-based PhD, which was described by its examiners as ‘pioneering’. Like many artists my intention was to deepen and extend my practice through formal research into my work and its context (which was intercultural) and to privilege the artist’s voice in a research world where it was too often silent. Practice as research, practice-based research, and practice-led research were not yet fully named. It was in its infancy and my biggest challenge was to find a serviceable methodology which did not betray my intentions to keep practice at the centre of the research. Over the last 15 years, practice led doctoral research, where examinable creative work is placed alongside an accompanying (exegetical) written component, has come a long way. It has been extensively debated with a range of theories and models proposed (Barrett & Bolt, 2007, Pakes, 2003 & 2004, Piccini, 2005, Philips, Stock & Vincs 2009, Stock, 2009 & 2010, Riley & Hunter 2009, Haseman, 2006, Hecq, 2012). Much of this writing is based around epistemological concerns where the research methodologies proposed normally incorporate a contextualisation of the creative work in its field of practice, and more importantly validation and interrogation of the processes of the practice as the central ‘data gathering’ method. It is now widely accepted, at least in the Australian creative arts context, that knowledge claims in creative practice research arise from the material activities of the practice itself (Carter, 2004). The creative work explicated as the tangible outcome of that practice is sometimes referred to as the ‘artefact’. Although the making of the artefact, according to Colbert (2009, p. 7) is influenced by “personal, experiential and iterative processes”, mapping them through a research pathway is “difficult to predict [for] “the adjustments made to the artefact in the light of emerging knowledge and insights cannot be foreshadowed”. Linking the process and the practice outcome most often occurs through the textual intervention of an exegesis which builds, and/or builds on, theoretical concerns arising in and from the work. This linking produces what Barrett (2007) refers to as “situated knowledge… that operates in relation to established knowledge” (p. 145). But what if those material forms or ‘artefacts’ are not objects or code or digitised forms, but live within the bodies of artist/researchers where the nature of the practice itself is live, ephemeral and constantly transforming, as in dance and physical performance? Even more unsettling is when the ‘artefact’ is literally embedded and embodied in the work and in the maker/researcher; when subject and object are merged. To complicate matters, the performing arts are necessarily collaborative, relying not only on technical mastery and creative/interpretive processes, but on social and artistic relationships which collectively make up the ‘artefact’. This chapter explores issues surrounding live dance and physical performance when placed in a research setting, specifically the complexities of being required to translate embodied dance findings into textual form. Exploring how embodied knowledge can be shared in a research context for those with no experiential knowledge of communicating through and in dance, I draw on theories of “dance enaction” (Warburton, 2011) together with notions of “affective intensities” and “performance mastery” (Melrose, 2003), “intentional activity” (Pakes, 2004) and the place of memory. In seeking ways to capture in another form the knowledge residing in live dance practice, thus making implicit knowledge explicit, I further propose there is a process of triple translation as the performance (the living ‘artefact’) is documented in multi-facetted ways to produce something durable which can be re-visited. This translation becomes more complex if the embodied knowledge resides in culturally specific practices, formed by world views and processes quite different from accepted norms and conventions (even radical ones) of international doctoral research inquiry. But whatever the combination of cultural, virtual and genre-related dance practices being researched, embodiment is central to the process, outcome and findings, and the question remains of how we will use text and what forms that text might take.