Spatial metaphor as spatial technique in the work of Michel Foucault

This essay argues that the deployment of spatial metaphor in the writing of Michel Foucault is indivisible from his spatial politics. Beginning with his 1967 essay "Of Other Spaces," the development of Foucault's spatial politics and his growing awareness of the importance to his work of spatial (particularly geographic) metaphors can be charted. The focus here is not the concretisation of Foucault's early spatial obsessions—particularly with regard to the concept of "heterotopia"—into a theory or model. Rather, I am concerned with the way in which those obsessions inform Foucault's major works, in particular The Archaeology of Knowledge and Discipline and Punish. These works, I argue, do not develop a theory of space, but instead perform, through their rhetoric, a kind of spatial praxis. In this sense, Foucault's metaphors become "spatial techniques" for the practice and production of power–knowledge.

Pulping affirmation : Danny Wallace’s Yes Man!

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.

Practical Advice for Entrepreneurs

I am interested in the psychology of entrepreneurship—how entrepreneurs think, decide to act, and feel. I recently realized that while my publications in academic journals have implications for entrepreneurs, those implications have remained relatively hidden in the text of the articles and hidden in articles published in journals largely inaccessible to those involved in the entrepreneurial process. This book is designed to bring the practical implications of my research to the forefront. I decided to take a different approach with this book and not write it for a publisher. I did this because I wanted the ideas to be freely available: (1) I wanted those interested in practical advice for entrepreneurs to be able to freely download, distribute, and use this information (I only ask that the content be properly cited), (2) I wanted to release the chapters independently and make chapters available as they are finished, and; (3) I wanted this work to be a dialogue rather than a one-way conversation—I hope readers email me feedback (positive and negative) so that I can use this information to revise the book. In producing the journal articles underpinning this book, I have had the pleasure of working with many talented and wonderful colleagues—they are cited at the end of each chapter. I hope you find some of the advice in this book useful.

Narratives of possession : reading for saga authorship

The aim of this thesis is to show how character analysis can be used to approach conceptions of saga authorship in medieval Iceland. The idea of possession is a metaphor that is adopted early in the thesis, and is used to describe Icelandic sagas as works in which traditional material is subtly interpreted by medieval authors. For example, we can say that if authors claim greater possession of the sagas, they interpret, and not merely record, the sagas' historical information. On the other hand, tradition holds onto its possession of the narrative whenever it is not possible for an author to develop his own creative and historical interests. The metaphor of possession also underpins the character analysis in the thesis, which is based on the idea that saga authors used characters as a vehicle by which to possess saga narratives and so develop their own historical interests. The idea of possession signals the kinds of problems of authorship study which are addressed here, in particular, the question of the authors' sense of saga writing as an act either of preservation or of creation. While, in that sense, the thesis represents an additional voice in a long-standing debate about the saga writers' relation to their source materials, I argue against a clear-cut distinction between creative and non-creative authors, and focus instead on the wide variation in authorial control over saga materials. This variation suggests that saga authorship is a multi-functional activity, or one which co-exists with tradition. Further, by emphasising characterisation as a method, I am adding to the weight of scholarship that seeks to understand the sagas in terms of their literary effects. The Introduction and chapter one lay out the theoretical scope of this thesis. My aim in these first two sections is to inform the reader of the type of critical questions that arise when authorship is approached in relation to characterisation, and to suggest an interpretive framework with which to approach these questions. In the Introduction this aim manifests as a brief discussion of the application of the term "authorship" to the medieval Icelandic corpus, a definition of the scope of this study, and an introduction to the connections, made throughout this thesis, between saga authors, the sagas' narrative style, and the style of characterisation in the sagas. Chapter one is a far more detailed discussion of our ability to make these connections. In particular, the chapter develops the definition of the analytical term "secondary authorship" that I introduce in order to delineate the type of characterisation that is of most interest in this thesis. "Secondary authorship" is a literary term that aims to sharpen our approach to saga authors' relationship to their characters by focusing on characters who make representations about the events of the saga. The term refers to any instance in which characters behave in a manner that resembles the creativity, interpretation, and understanding associated with authorship more generally. Character analysis cannot, however, be divorced from socio-historical approaches to the saga corpus. Most importantly, the sagas themselves are socio-historical representations that claim some degree of truth value. This claim that the sagas make by implication about their historicity is the starting point of a discussion of authorship in medieval Iceland. Therefore, at the beginning of chapter one I discuss some of the approaches to the social context of saga writing. This discussion serves as an introduction to both the culture of saga writing in medieval Iceland and to the nature of the sagas' historical perspective, and reflects my sense that literary interpretations of the sagas cannot be isolated from the historical discourses that frame them. The chapter also discusses possession, which, as I note above, is used alongside the concept of secondary authorship to describe the saga authors' relationship with the stories and characters of the past. At the close of chapter one, I offer a preliminary list the various functions of saga authorship, and give some examples of secondary authorship. From this point I am able to tie my argument about secondary authorship to specific examples from the sagas. Chapter two examines the effect of family obligations and domestic points of view in the depiction of characters' choices and conception of themselves. The examples that are given in that chapter - from Gisla saga Súrssonar and Íslendinga saga - are the first of a number of textual analyses that demonstrate the application of the concepts of secondary authorship and possession of saga narratives. The relationship between narratives about national and domestic matters shows how authorial creativity in the area of kinship obligation provides the basis for the saga's development of historical themes. Thus, the two major case studies given in chapter two tie authorial engagement with characters to the most influential social institution in early and medieval Iceland, the family. The remaining chapters represent similar attempts to relate authorial possession of saga characters to central socio-historical themes in the sagas, such as the settlement process in early Iceland and its influence on the development of regional political life (chapter three). Likewise, the strong authorial interest in an Icelander's journey to Norway in Heimskringla is presented as evidence of the author's use of a saga character to express an Icelandic interpretation of Norwegian history and to promote a sense that Iceland shared the ownership of regal history with Norway (chapter four). In that authorial engagement with the Icelander abroad, we witness saga characterisation being used as a basis for historical interpretation and the means by which foreign traditions and influence, not least the narratives of royal lives and of the Christianisation, are claimed as part of medieval Icelanders' self-conception. While saga authors observe the conventions of saga narration, characters are often subtly positioned as the authors' interpretive mirrors, especially clear than when they act as secondary authors. Nowhere is this more apparent than in Brennu- Njáls saga, which contains many characters who voice the author's claim to interpret the past. Even Hrútr Herjólfsson, through his remarkable perception of events and his conspicuous comments about them, acts as a secondary author by enabling the author to emphasise the importance of the disposition of characters. In Laxdœla saga and Þorgils saga ok Hafliða, authorial interest in characters' perception is matched by the thematising of learning, from the inception of knowledge as prophecy or advice to complete understanding by saga characters (chapter six). In Þorgils saga skarða, a character's inner development from an excessively ambitious and politically ruthless youth to a Christian leader killed by his kinsman allows the author to shape a political life into a lesson about leadership and the community's ability to moderate and contain the behaviour of extraordinary individuals. The portrayal draws on methods of characterisation that we can identify in Grettis saga Ásmundarson, Fóstbrœðra saga, and Orkneyinga saga. A comparison of the characterisation of figures with intense political or military ambitions suggests that saga authors were interested in the community's ability to balance their strength and ability with a degree of social moderation. The discussion of these sagas shows that character study can be used to analyse how the saga authors added their own voice to the voices passed down to medieval Icelanders in traditional narratives. Authorial engagement with characters allowed inherited traditions about early Norway and Iceland and records of thirteenth century events to be transformed into sophisticated historical works with highly creative elements. Through secondary authorship, saga authors took joint-possession of narratives and contested the power of tradition in setting the interpretive framework of a saga.

Optimism : what it is and its relevance in the school context

"For myself, I am an optimist - it does not seem to be much use to be anything else". Winston Churchill Optimism has its modern roots in philosophy dating back to the 17th century in the writings of philosophers such as Descartes and Voltaire (Domino & Conway, 2001). Previous to these philosophical writings, the concept of optimism was revealed in the teaching of many of the great spiritual traditions such as Buddhism and Christianity (Miller, Richards, & Keller, 2001). In the 20th century, optimism became defined in juxtaposition to pessimism, sometimes conceptualized as a bipolar unidimensional construct and by others as two related but separate constructs (Garber, 2000). Contemporary models (Scheier & Carver, 1985; Seligman, 1991) have increasingly focused on distinguishing optimism-pessimism as a general dispositional orientation, as described by expectancy theory, and as an explanatory process, described by explanatory style theory.

Writing Indigenous vampires: Aboriginal gothic or Aboriginal fantastic?

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)

Grading : A Workbook of Manual Land Grading Techniques [Revised Edition]

Grading is basic to the work of Landscape Architects concerned with design on the land. Gradients conducive to easy use, rainwater drained away, and land slope contributing to functional and aesthetic use are all essential to the amenity and pleasure of external environments. This workbook has been prepared specifically to support the program of landscape construction for students in Landscape Architecture. It is concerned primarily with the technical design of grading rather than with its aesthetic design. It must be stressed that the two aspects are rarely separate; what is designed should be technically correct and aesthetically pleasing - it needs to look good as well as to function effectively. This revised edition contains amended and new content which has evolved out of student classes and discussion with colleagues. I am pleased to have on record that every delivery of this workbook material has resulted in my own better understanding of grading and the techniques for its calculation and communication.

In pursuit of an architecture realism

The noble idea of studying seminal works to ‘see what we can learn’ has turned in the 1990s into ‘let’s see what we can take’ and in the last decade a more toxic derivative ‘what else can’t we take’. That is my observation as a student of architecture in the 1990s, and as a practitioner in the 2000s. In 2010, the sense that something is ending is clear. The next generation is rising and their gaze has shifted. The idea of classification (as a means of separation) was previously rejected by a generation of Postmodernists; the usefulness of difference declined. It’s there in the presence of plurality in the resulting architecture, a decision to mine history and seize in a willful manner. This is a process of looking back but never forward. It has been a mono-culture of absorption. The mono-culture rejected the pursuit of the realistic. It is a blanket suffocating all practice of architecture in this country from the mercantile to the intellectual. Independent reviews of Australia’s recent contributions to the Venice Architecture Biennales confirm the malaise. The next generation is beginning to reconsider classification as a means of unification. By acknowledging the characteristics of competing forces it is possible to bring them into a state of tension. Seeking a beautiful contrast is a means to a new end. In the political setting, this is described by Noel Pearson as the radical centre[1]. The concept transcends the political and in its most essential form is a cultural phenomenon. It resists the compromised position and suggests that we can look back while looking forward. The radical centre is the only demonstrated opportunity where it is possible to pursue a realistic architecture. A realistic architecture in Australia may be partially resolved by addressing our anxiety of permanence. Farrelly’s built desires[2] and Markham’s ritual demonstrations[3] are two ways into understanding the broader spectrum of permanence. But I think they are downstream of our core problem. Our problem, as architects, is that we are yet to come to terms with this place. Some call it landscape others call it country. Australian cities were laid out on what was mistaken for a blank canvas. On some occasions there was the consideration of the landscape when it presented insurmountable physical obstacles. The architecture since has continued to work on its piece of a constantly blank canvas. Even more ironic is the commercial awards programs that represent a claim within this framework but at best can only establish a dialogue within itself. This is a closed system unable to look forward. It is said that Melbourne is the most European city in the southern hemisphere but what is really being described there is the limitation of a senseless grid. After all, if Dutch landscape informs Dutch architecture why can’t the Australian landscape inform Australian architecture? To do that, we would have to acknowledge our moribund grasp of the meaning of the Australian landscape. Or more precisely what Indigenes call Country[4]. This is a complex notion and there are different ways into it. Country is experienced and understood through the senses and seared into memory. If one begins design at that starting point it is not unreasonable to think we can arrive at an end point that is a counter trajectory to where we have taken ourselves. A recent studio with Masters students confirmed this. Start by finding Country and it would be impossible to end up with a building looking like an Aboriginal man’s face. To date architecture in Australia has overwhelmingly ignored Country on the back of terra nullius. It can’t seem to get past the picturesque. Why is it so hard? The art world came to terms with this challenge, so too did the legal establishment, even the political scene headed into new waters. It would be easy to blame the budgets of commerce or the constraints of program or even the pressure of success. But that is too easy. Those factors are in fact the kind of limitations that opportunities grow out of. The past decade of economic plenty has, for the most part, smothered the idea that our capitals might enable civic settings or an architecture that is able to looks past lot line boundaries in a dignified manner. The denied opportunities of these settings to be prompted by the Country they occupy is criminal. The public realm is arrested in its development because we refuse to accept Country as a spatial condition. What we seem to be able to embrace is literal and symbolic gestures usually taking the form of a trumped up art installations. All talk – no action. To continue to leave the public realm to the stewardship of mercantile interests is like embracing derivative lending after the global financial crisis.Herein rests an argument for why we need a resourced Government Architect’s office operating not as an isolated lobbyist for business but as a steward of the public realm for both the past and the future. New South Wales is the leading model with Queensland close behind. That is not to say both do not have flaws but current calls for their cessation on the grounds of design parity poorly mask commercial self interest. In Queensland, lobbyists are heavily regulated now with an aim to ensure integrity and accountability. In essence, what I am speaking of will not be found in Reconciliation Action Plans that double as business plans, or the mining of Aboriginal culture for the next marketing gimmick, or even discussions around how to make buildings more ‘Aboriginal’. It will come from the next generation who reject the noxious mono-culture of absorption and embrace a counter trajectory to pursue an architecture of realism.

“My hands are plunged in oranges”…: an experiential account of a working process

This presentation incorporated the live performance throughout, by the author, of movement from “The All Weather Project” by Liz Roche. Movement sections are indicated by italics. “I am going to start by dancing for you… Movement: Live performance of solo approximately 10 minutes in duration This is the introduction... Through my PhD research, I am examining the choreographic process from the perspective of the independent contemporary dancer, through embodying this role as a researcher/participant. My methodological frameworks, which utilise video documentation and journal writing, could be characterised as ethnographic, multi-modal embodied theorising, leading to “multi-dimensional theorising” (I adopt this term from Susan Melrose). In this way, I am unwinding the embodied practice of dancing, through the co-existent layers of experience, towards forming a theoretical understanding of the issues that arise for the dancer. The issues that I have identified as relevant to my research are those relating to the dancer’s ‘moving identity’ or way of moving, as a mutable and adaptable form that must alter and re-adjust to each different choreographic engram or movement vocabulary, that she/he encounters. I am examining this interplay between stability and change. I also reflect on the impact of destabilisation and flux on the dancer’s identity in a wider sense, as she/he relates outwardly to signifying factors within the social strata. Today I am going to bring you through a reflection on the working process of a dance piece as experienced from the inside. By doing so, I hope to capture and elucidate the multi-dimensional layers which existed for me within this process. Through displaying these fragments together, I endeavour to invoke the ‘totality’ of the experience...

Learn to love thy neighbour

A travel article about touring in New Zealand. ‘What’s the best thing about England?’ asked the Englishman next to me, quite suddenly, as we came out of a tunnel. ‘Well?’ I didn’t know. ‘Answer,’ he said, ‘is France.’ Here was the thing. My companion was a tennis pro, and these days he divided his time between London and Paris. Because you could. ‘Nothing big, which suits me: I am only moderately successful. Mainly rich ladies, if you know what I mean. Much prefer the French side, if you know what I mean.’ I think I knew what he meant...

Sweden of the Sagas

In this paper, I discuss the representation of Sweden and Swedes in the Íslendingasögur, with an emphasis on identifying patterns across the works, both in terms of narrative structure and content. The aim in doing so is to shed light on modes of representing non-Icelanders in the Íslendingasögur, as well as on medieval Icelandic conceptions of Sweden as a distinct region within Scandinavia. I also aim here to add to a longer-term project that examines the place of foreign visitors to Iceland in the saga corpus more generally. As the scope of this paper is limited to Swedish characters, I am cautious about drawing broad conclusions about their representation – observations given here will need to be framed by a wider study, and one that reads for the characterisation of Swedes in the context both of other genres of saga literature and representations of characters from other regions beside Sweden. However, it is clear that some similarities exist in saga episodes involving Swedish characters: in four of the Íslendingasögur, Swedes are given roles as intruders or outsiders who threaten the community of the saga and whose deaths bring about a change in the for- tunes of their killers.

Economic Analysis and Policy moves forward

As Editor of Economic Analysis and Policy (EAP) I am delighted to announce that EAP is now published by Elsevier. EAP is the journal of the Economic Society of Australia (Queensland branch). As a result of this move, four issues of EAP will be published per year instead of the current three. This will include special issues. EAP will now receive wider coverage in the relevant abstracting and indexing services...

Crime in rural Australia

As an academic who has spent a quarter of a century living, lecturing and researching in a rural community, I am often impressed by the discrepancies between the reality of rural life and its image in the public consciousness. At least two aspects of this are the most striking. First, there is often - especially, but not exclusively in English-speaking societies - the idea that rural communities represent the "real" or "true" aspects of a society's culture. For example, judging by the representations of rural Australia in the media, rural life is where we find the true Australian, the laconic, taciturn, but decent everyday man and woman, the "battlers", who are not corrupted by urban life. Such an attribution of genuineness to rurality is especially interesting given that the vast majority of contemporary Australians live in cities and that Australia is one of the most urbanised countries in the world. Second, and following from the first point, is the idea that rural areas remain somewhat behind the times, that somehow they are not quite part of the contemporary world. This is a mixed image as it combines both the negative idea of backwardness with the more positive one of a society that has not lost the virtues of stability and civility that we often feel is missing in the city. Both of these ideas combine in the popular image of rural communities as safe places in an increasingly dangerous world. In the popular mind it seems that there is an idea that whatever rural communities may lack in conveniences and sophistication, they remain places where you might walk down the street safely, leave your doors unlocked at night and raise your children confident that they will not be exposed to drugs, gangs and violence. Unfortunately, all of these ideas are fantasies. There is no reason to believe that the residents of rural communities are anymore the truer representations of Australian culture than the average suburbanite.

Starting with strengths : an Indigenous early years intervention

Aboriginal protocol usually links the right to tell a story with a declaration of involvement or connection to the story. I am Aboriginal . . . I am a woman, daughter, sister, aunty and wife. I am also a mother to three beautiful children aged 6, 4 and 2 years. To my children at this point in their lives, I am their provider, nurturer, teacher, cook, taxi driver, mediator, stylist, Elder, slave, and expert on all there is to know in the world. Being the centre of the universe to three impressionable young minds is a role that I cherish deeply, and I take the responsibilities of it very seriously. I love the job of parenting. As any parent would agree, it is the most challenging and difficult job of all, but the opportunity to bring a life into the world and shape and mould a little person into a big person brings rewards that no career can.

Slippage: Reclaiming personal family history through contemporary photomedia

This paper addresses the role of photography as a documentary medium and how this forms a basis for my practice-led studio investigations. In it, I will explore how photography is used to create histories and sustain specific notions of ‘legacy’ within the context of the family photo album. Family history is often based on stories to which the photo album provides a visual point of reference. Despite the ostensible ‘objectivity’ of the family photograph though it is nonetheless as subjective as the stories that surround it. In this way, the photo album perpetuates a hegemony of truth that obscures the fragmentary and highly selective nature of these documents and stories. The result is that every photo album implicitly documents the gaps or voids present in understandings of our own histories. Homi Bhabha refers to these kinds of voids as ‘disjunctive historical spaces’ – spaces of slippage that create the opportunity for new narratives and understandings to occur. Using Bhabha’s ideas as a chief point of reference, I will explore how these voids or gaps in information – and the opportunities for re-examination that they open up - can be explored through contemporary photomedia. Digital technologies such as camera phones and scanners generate a space in which photography’s own documentary conventions can be turned in on themselves to create a subterfuge. My current studio-based research involves using the scanner to navigate through my family’s sometimes-‘occulted’ history, in order to explore, document and recover my connection to this narrative. I am primarily interested in the scanner as a tool for capturing not simply surfaces, but objects, moments or movements in time. Objects or moments captured by the scanner can often be simultaneously distorted and consolidated, blurred and sharpened. This paper will propose that this ‘slippage’, literally expressed in the disruption of the pixelated field, can be used to create a space in which alternative readings or understandings of past events can be explored and new narratives produced.