Clara Bog: An ombotrophic groundwater dependant terrestrial ecosystem (Submitted)

Comparison of flow duration curves for a weir draining an undrained raised peat with those generated 20 years previously reveal that more recent curves reflect to be flatter with a lower Q95/Q5 ratio. Comparison of the bog topography for the same period revealed that although marginal drainage/peat reclamation had resulted in desiccation of peat around the bog margin and more frequent intense runoff, the central part of the bog had subsided to form an enclosed basin ,resulting in the creation of newly formed lakes that gave the central part of the bog an improved capacity to store, and more slowly discharge, water. Interrogation of groundwater monitoring data revealed a net decline in groundwater levels of up to three metres in the glacial tills underlying the bog associated with deepening and expansion of a marginal drain network which penetrated the base of the peat. Comparing organic carbon levels in peat the central part of the bog over a ten year period revealed an overall increase, with changes being most marked in deeper fen peat layers. These findings suggest that the decline in groundwater levels in the peat substrate resulted in an increase in effective stress in the peat causing greater subsidence in the central part of the bog due to greater overall thickness. Study results highlight how the hydrology of apparently isolated obotrophic raised bog ecosystems may be influenced by groundwater pressures in deeper deposits, and how marginal drains may have the capacity to impact areas at significant distances.

Muriel Rukeyser, America, and the “Melville Revival”

Whilst Muriel Rukeyser's poetic affinity with Walt Whitman is generally acknowledged, the close relation of her work and poetic sensibility to the thought and writing of Herman Melville has somehow gone relatively unnoticed, and almost wholly unexamined. In 1918, Van Wyck Brooks called for the creation of a usable past that would energize America by recasting its cultural tradition. His plea addressed the need to rebuild a national heritage via the rediscovery of culturally “great” figures. By the late 1930s, many scholars and writers had answered the call, and the new discipline of American studies was beginning to take shape, aided by a reclamation of one of the country's greatest, most neglected, writers – Herman Melville. This was also the period in which Rukeyser “came of age”; a time when political and international conflicts and economic crises generated both the stark, documentary representation of present social realities and the drive to retrieve or reconstruct a more golden age that might mobilize a dislocated nation. The following article examines the importance of Melville to Rukeyser's work, and situates her within the “Melville revival” as an important figure in the movement throughout the first half of the twentieth century to reconstruct an American cultural character.

Autoecological Approaches to Resolve Subjective Taxonomic Divisions within Arcellacea

Arcellacea (testate lobose amoebae) are important lacustrine environmental indicators that have been used in paleoclimatic reconstructions, assessing the effectiveness of mine tailings pond reclamation projects and for studying the effects of land use change in rural, industrial and urban settings. Recognition of ecophenotypically significant infra-specific ‘strains’ within arcellacean assemblages has the potential to enhance the utility of the group in characterizing contemporary and paleoenvironments. We present a novel approach which employs statistical tools to investigate the environmental and taxonomic significance of proposed strains. We test this approach on two identified strains: Difflugia protaeiformis Lamarck strain ‘acuminata’ (DPA), characterized by fine grained agglutination, and Difflugia protaeiformis Lamarck strain ‘claviformis’ (DPC), characterized by coarse grained agglutination. Redundancy analysis indicated that both organisms are associated with similar environmental variables. No relationship was observed between substrate particle size and abundance of DPC, indicating that DPC has a size preference for xenosomes during test construction. Thus DPC should not be designated as a distinct strain but rather form a species complex with DPA. This study elucidates the need to justify the designation of strains based on their autecology in addition to morphological stability.

The Aran jumper: Crafting a Transatlantic Heritage

The garment we now recognise as the Aran jumper emerged as an international symbol of Ireland from the twin twentieth century transatlantic flows of migration and tourism. Its power as a heritage object derives from: 1) the myth commonly associated with the object, in which the corpse of a drowned fisherman is identified and claimed by his family due to the stitch patterns of his jumper (Pádraig Ó Síochain 1962; Annette Lynch and Mitchell Strauss 2014); 2) the meanings attached to those stitch patterns, which have been read, for example, as genealogical records, representations of the natural landscape and references to Christian and pre-Christian ‘Celtic’ religion (Heinz Kiewe 1967; Catherine Nash 1996); and 3) booming popular interest in textile heritage on both sides of the Atlantic, fed by the reframing of domestic crafts such as knitting as privileged leisure pursuits (Rachel Maines 2009; Jo Turney 2009). The myth of the drowned fisherman plays into transatlantic migration narratives of loss and reclamation, promising a shared heritage that needs only to be decoded. The idea of the garment’s surface acting as text (or map) situates it within a preliterate idyll of romantic primitivism, while obscuring the circumstances of its manufacture. The contemporary resurgence in home textile production as recreation, mediated through transnational online networks, creates new markets for heritage textile products while attracting critical attention to the processes through which such objects, and mythologies, are produced. The Aran jumper’s associations with kinship, domesticity and national character make it a powerful tool in the promotion of ancestral (or genealogical) tourism, through marketing efforts such as The Gathering 2013. Nash’s (2010; 2014) work demonstrates the potential for such touristic encounters to disrupt and enrich public conceptions of heritage, belonging and relatedness. While the Aran jumper has been used to commodify a simplistic sense of mutuality between Ireland and north America, it carries complex transatlantic messages in both directions.

Dublin 1916: theatre of revolt

In his essay, Anti-Object, Kengo Kuma proposes that architecture cannot and should not be understood as object alone but instead always as series of networks and connections, relationships within space and through form. Some of these relationships are tangible, others are invisible. Stan Allen and James Corner have also called for an architecture that is more performative and operative – ‘less concerned with what buildings look like and more concerned with what they do’ – as means of effecting a more intimate and promiscuous relationship between infrastructure, urbanism and buildings. According to Allen this expanding filed offers a reclamation of some of the areas ceded by architecture following disciplinary specialization:

‘Territory, communication and speed are properly infrastructural problems and architecture as a discipline has developed specific technical means to deal with these variables. Mapping, projection, calculation, notation and visualization are among architecture’s traditional tools for operating at the very large scale’.

The motorway may not look like it – partly because we are no longer accustomed to think about it as such – but it is a site for and of architecture, a territory where architecture can be critical and active. If the limits of the discipline have narrowed, then one of the functions of a school of architecture must be an attempt occupy those areas of the built environment where architecture is no longer, or has yet to reach. If this is a project about reclamation of a landscape, it is also a challenge to some of the boundaries that surround architecture and often confine it, as Kuma suggests, to the appreciation of isolated objects.

M:NI 2014-15
We tend to think of the motorway as a thing or an object, something that has a singular function. Historically this is how it has been seen, with engineers designing bridges and embankments and suchlike with zeal … These objects like the M3 Urban Motorway, Belfast’s own Westway, are beautiful of course, but they have caused considerable damage to the city they were inflicted upon.

Actually, it’s the fact that we have seen the motorway as a solid object that has caused this problem. The motorway actually is a fluid and dynamic thing, and it should be seen as such: in fact it’s not an organ at all but actually tissue – something that connects rather than is. Once we start to see the motorway as tissue, it opens up new propositions about what the motorway is, is used for and does. This new dynamic and connective view unlocks the stasis of the motorway as edifice, and allows adaptation to happen: adaptation to old contexts that were ignored by the planners, and adaptation to new contexts that have arisen because of or in spite of our best efforts.

Motorways as tissue are more than just infrastructures: they are landscapes. These landscapes can be seen as surfaces on which flows take place, not only of cars, buses and lorries, but also of the globalized goods carried and the lifestyles and mobilities enabled. Here the infinite speed of urban change of thought transcends the declared speed limit [70 mph] of the motorway, in that a consignment of bananas can cause soil erosion in Equador, or the delivery of a new iphone can unlock connections and ideas the world over.

So what is this new landscape to be like? It may be a parallax-shifting, cognitive looking glass; a drone scape of energy transformation; a collective farm, or maybe part of a hospital. But what’s for sure, is that it is never fixed nor static: it pulses like a heartbeat through that most bland of landscapes, the countryside. It transmits forces like a Caribbean hurricane creating surf on an Atlantic Storm Beach: alien forces that mutate and re-form these places screaming into new, unclear and unintended futures.

And this future is clear: the future is urban. In this small rural country, motorways as tissue have made the whole of it: countryside, mountain, sea and town, into one singular, homogenous and hyper-connected, generic city.

Goodbye, place. Hello, surface!

MNI: Motorway Notation Network

In his essay, Anti-Object, Kengo Kuma proposes that architecture cannot and should not be understood as object alone but instead always as series of networks and connections, relationships within space and through form. Some of these relationships are tangible, others are invisible. Stan Allen and James Corner have also called for an architecture that is more performative and operative – ‘less concerned with what buildings look like and more concerned with what they do’ – as means of effecting a more intimate and promiscuous relationship between infrastructure, urbanism and buildings. According to Allen this expanding filed offers a reclamation of some of the areas ceded by architecture following disciplinary specialization:

‘Territory, communication and speed are properly infrastructural problems and architecture as a discipline has developed specific technical means to deal with these variables. Mapping, projection, calculation, notation and visualization are among architecture’s traditional tools for operating at the very large scale’.

The motorway may not look like it – partly because we are no longer accustomed to think about it as such – but it is a site for and of architecture, a territory where architecture can be critical and active. If the limits of the discipline have narrowed, then one of the functions of a school of architecture must be an attempt occupy those areas of the built environment where architecture is no longer, or has yet to reach. If this is a project about reclamation of a landscape, it is also a challenge to some of the boundaries that surround architecture and often confine it, as Kuma suggests, to the appreciation of isolated objects.

M:NI 2014-15
We tend to think of the motorway as a thing or an object, something that has a singular function. Historically this is how it has been seen, with engineers designing bridges and embankments and suchlike with zeal … These objects like the M3 Urban Motorway, Belfast’s own Westway, are beautiful of course, but they have caused considerable damage to the city they were inflicted upon.

Actually, it’s the fact that we have seen the motorway as a solid object that has caused this problem. The motorway actually is a fluid and dynamic thing, and it should be seen as such: in fact it’s not an organ at all but actually tissue – something that connects rather than is. Once we start to see the motorway as tissue, it opens up new propositions about what the motorway is, is used for and does. This new dynamic and connective view unlocks the stasis of the motorway as edifice, and allows adaptation to happen: adaptation to old contexts that were ignored by the planners, and adaptation to new contexts that have arisen because of or in spite of our best efforts.

Motorways as tissue are more than just infrastructures: they are landscapes. These landscapes can be seen as surfaces on which flows take place, not only of cars, buses and lorries, but also of the globalized goods carried and the lifestyles and mobilities enabled. Here the infinite speed of urban change of thought transcends the declared speed limit [70 mph] of the motorway, in that a consignment of bananas can cause soil erosion in Equador, or the delivery of a new iphone can unlock connections and ideas the world over.

So what is this new landscape to be like? It may be a parallax-shifting, cognitive looking glass; a drone scape of energy transformation; a collective farm, or maybe part of a hospital. But what’s for sure, is that it is never fixed nor static: it pulses like a heartbeat through that most bland of landscapes, the countryside. It transmits forces like a Caribbean hurricane creating surf on an Atlantic Storm Beach: alien forces that mutate and re-form these places screaming into new, unclear and unintended futures.

And this future is clear: the future is urban. In this small rural country, motorways as tissue have made the whole of it: countryside, mountain, sea and town, into one singular, homogenous and hyper-connected, generic city.

Goodbye, place. Hello, surface!