University Press of New England

This series, sponsored by Dartmouth College Press, develops and promotes the study of visual culture from a variety of critical and methodological perspectives.Its impetus derives from the increasing importance of visual signs in everyday life, and from the rapid expansion of what are termed "new media."The broad cultural and social dynamics attendant to these developments present new challenges and opportunities across and within the disciplines.These have resulted in a trans-disciplinary fascination with all things visual, from "high" to "low, " and from esoteric to popular.This series brings together approaches to visual culture-broadly conceivedthat assess these dynamics critically and that break new ground in understanding their effects and implications.For a complete list of books that are available in the series, visit www.upne.com

Cet article examine le naufrage en 1710 de la Nottingham Galley qui était l'incident le mieux connu dans la vie de John Deane. L'auteur explique comment les récits, publiés au XVIIIème siècle par Deane et son frère en justification de leurs actions face à un compte publié par deux membres d'équipage qui ont accusé les Deane d'intention criminelle et de négligence, ont servi de toile de fond pour un roman populaire en 1956. L'histoire a gagné un public élargi dans les années 90 quand l'auteur a organisé la récupération sous-marine de canons en fer découvert près de l'Île Boon, dans le Maine, où le naufrage a eu lieu. Il décrit ce travail et la recherche qui démontre que les canons sont venus de l'épave de 1710.

The performance space at Franklin Furnace never stopped looking like the ordinary basement it was. Exposed pipes. Clip-on lights. Then, 75 people on hard folding chairs. (So Martha Wilson described the audience [Wilson 1997].) At the back a couple of windows opened on an airshaft, where the occasional intrepid performer entered the so-called stage. (There wasn't one.) The sink and refrigerator were occasionally incorporated into a piece, while the cement floor and brick walls never got an upgrade even to rec-room ambience. Yet this basement was the opposite of nothing special. This was rare. This was an autonomous zone. Since it closed in 1990, it hasn't been replaced on the New York performance scene, and may never be. The Furnace accommodated artists the way a gallery does, but like the East Village clubs, the space was funky and impervious, the attitude holds barred. Here an audience could see that part of the performance art spectrum that is not about theatre, though there was that too: a first show for Eric Bogosian, for example, in 1977. Here an artist could also choose to work all week on an installation, then perform in it, or live in it. Galleries may support such a project for someone who's established, but not for the emerging artists served by the Furnace. Even at other edgy downtown venues, you had to strike the set every night. The Furnace helped fill in some very important cracks, by supporting artists who might have otherwise fallen through them. Tehching Hsieh, for example, created world-renowned year-long ordeals in the late '70s and early '8os, but had no gallery, no funding, no actual toehold in the art world. In 1981/82, he did a piece in which he lived on the street, never entering a building, subway, tent, or other shelter. The Furnace arranged to display the artifacts-the maps he made every day to show where he'd been, his greasy

Within a short time after this raid but in what seems an immeasurable cultural distance, Rowlandson would be sewing shirts for and declining tobacco from the Wampanoag sachem Metacom, whom the English called King Philip. King Philip's War erupted in June 1675 and was followed by a series of surprise raids like this February 10 one by Narragansett Indians on the frontier settlement of Lancaster. A number of southern New England tribes had joined with Metacom's Wampanoags to resist the eVects of growing Euro-American hegemony in the region, including diminished land, contests over political power, and property disputes. 2 But because the Indians typically took English captives away with them after skirmishes such as the Lancaster one, the conXict between these two cultures was often represented in terms of another kind of property: human property. Captives served as tools of economic negotiation and as Wgures of political and religious signiWcance as they circulated between the New England tribes and the New England colonists. The body of the captive, exchanged as an unusual sort of commodity between two social and military antagonists, consequently told a history in which often contradictory economic, cultural, and religious signs were articulated.

IN MODERN AFRICA there are many examples ofthe explicit use of Christianity, traditional indigenous religions and Islam to promote nationalism. 1 In the 1 950s in the Ivory Coast, for instance, many inhabitants of the coastal region viewed the separatist Harrist Church as a 'national religion'.2 Similarly, in the Zimbabwean liberation war a close relationship developed between the nationalist guerrillas and many traditional Shona spirit mediums, drawing on the belief that the ancestral spirits were the defenders of the land,3 while in northern Nigeria, Ahmadu Bello constantly stressed the relationship between his brand of nationalism and his role as a crusader for Islam.4 Southern Nigeria, with its competitive nationalist politics, many separatist churches, and long tradition of missionary work,5 is especially suitable for

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