Structural Imperative and the Origin of New Form

MEMORY AND HOPE: FOUR LOCAL MUSEUMS IN THE MILL TOWNS OF THE INDUSTRIAL NORTHEAST' BRIAN O’DONNELL, S.J. For a generation, American news media have been telling us of the passing ofindustrial regimes in old towns of the Northeast. Such stories end with a plaintive question, “With the old machinerysilent, what is this town’s future?” For a number of mill towns, the future has included recapturing the old industrial regime in the local history museum. The wellknown national park presenting the cotton textile regime of Lowell has benefited from an influx of federal dollars. However, in most cases mill town museums rely very heavily on local support, especially in maintaining operations. Part of the post-mill-shutdown story in these cities has been the people’s rallying to the support of the local museum, and finding in that museum’s exhibits a commemoration, and in part a celebration, of what previous generations had built right in that place. This review examines four such exhibits in towns located in the Hudson Valley and New England, towns once known for one or two major industries. Three of the exhibits are part of state-sponsored efforts to simultaneously celebrate local history and stimulate local development, while one is very much a homegrown project. All do an exceptional job of using artifacts, graphics, photographs, and written commentary to convey the history of local industry and en­ courage an appreciation of what remains of the built environment of the old regime. A visitor to Waterbury who makes it as far as the city’s long green will have no problem finding signs showing the way to the Mattatuck Museum. The three-story museum building, an erstwhile Masonic Dr. O’Donnell is assistant professor of the history of technology at the University of Detroit Mercy. His doctoral work focused on responses to industrial decline in the Merrimack Valley. ‘Exhibit and museums mentioned in this review: “Brass Valley: A Community History,” at the Mattatuck Museum, Waterbury, Connecticut; the museum of the Lawrence Heritage State Park, Lawrence, Massachusetts; the museum of the Lynn Heritage State Park, Lynn, Massachusetts; and the Interpretive Centers of the Troy/ Cohoes portion of the Hudson-Mohawk Urban Cultural Park in New York State.© 1996 by the Society for the History of Technology. All rights reserved. 0040-165X/96/3704-0006$01.00 817 818 Brian O’Donnell, S.J. Hall enlarged and remodeled by architect Cesar Pelli, serves as a cultural center for the city, housing an art collection and a perfor­ mance center. Six thousand square feet of the first floor are dedi­ cated to a presentation of “Brass Valley: A Community History.” From the 1820s to the 1970s America’s brass industry centered along the Naugatuck Valley, and Waterbury was at the heart of this “Brass Valley.” During the 20th century, the Mattatuck Historical Society—its name taken from the colonial designation of the Water­ bury region—collected artifacts from this industry and exhibited them in an old mansion facing the city green. In 1972, the society enhanced its outreach and education efforts, and a newly recruited corps ofvolunteers linked the museum with the community through a series of creative programs. In 1980, the museum mounted an ex­ hibit titled “Metal, Minds, and Machines: Waterbury at Work,” which focused largely on the history of the city’s then-much-declined brass industry.2 The community’s pride in the society’s work was manifest in its response to a 1983 capital campaign for a new museum: 530 local residents pledged $4 million. (Only 12 of the pledges failed to come through.) Those developing the Brass Valley exhibition benefited mightily from the advice ofJeremy Brecher and the oral histories he and his associates had compiled in their 1979-84 Brass Valley Workers History Project.3 With the help of grants from the State of Connecticut and from the National Endowment for the Humanities, the new Mattatuck Museum opened in 1986. The Brass Valley exhibit presents the Waterbury region’s history sequentially as the visitor follows a maze-like passageway that maxi­ mizes wall display area. The exhibit begins with the original Algonquian tribes and ends with a 1970s Waterbury filled...

The University of Virginia Library has received $750,000 from the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation to complete the work of establishing the Social Networks and Archival Context (SNAC) Cooperative. SNAC began as a Research and Demonstration project with funding from the National Endowment for the Humanities (2010–2012), followed by funding from the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation (2012–2015). The project demonstrated the feasibility of separating the description of persons, families, and organizations—including their social-intellectual networks—from the description of the historical resources that are the primary evidence of their lives and work. For this final phase of establishing the Cooperative, the University of Virginia Library is collaborating with the U.S. National Archives and Records Administration and 27 other cooperative members. The SNAC Cooperative aspires to improve the economy and quality of archival processing and description, and, at the same time, to address the longstanding research challenge of discovering, locating, and using distributed historical records by building a global social-document network using both computational methods and human curation.

Anti-Chinese persecution in the northern state of Sonora, Mexico, first surfaced at the turn of the twentieth century. It intensified during the violent years of the Mexican Revolution (19 1 119 17), continued sporadically during the post-revolutionary period of the 1920s, and culminated in the expulsion of the large Chinese population in 1931 with the nationalization of local commerce. As Chinese economic power increased with greater numbers, the Chinese came to dominate the greatly expanded petite bourgeoisie in this northern frontier state. Leading the fight against the numerous, ubiquitous and relatively prosperous Chinese business community were small and modest Mexican merchants, school teachers, and other middle class aspirants, with the support of some organized labor. These people basically resented the Chinese for blocking their social and economic advancement. Thus, Sonora's anti-Chinese persecution had a clear class base. In other articles, I have traced the development of the predominately petite bourgeoisie Chinese population in northern Mexico.' In this article, my purpose is to delineate and analyze the nature of the ideology that arose to justify the fundamentally economically motivated campaigns against the Chinese. EVELYN Hu-DEHART is an assistant professor of history at Washington University, St. Louis, Missouri. The research for this article was assisted by a grant from the Joint Committee on Latin American Studies of the Social Science Research Council and the American Council of Learned Societies with funds provided by the National Endowment for the Humanities, the Mellon Foundation, and the Ford Foundation.

THE NATIONAL ATOMIC MUSEUM, ALBUQUERQUE, NEW MEXICO: WHERE “WEAPON SHAPES” ARE NOT ENOUGH KENNETH ARNOLD Adobe buildings, Native American artifacts, and flat, dry land­ scapes punctuated by stubborn mesas—these are among the ele­ ments that determine one’s initial impression of northern New Mexico, and it is from them that the country gains something of its timeless quality. But our own century has had an impact here, too; after all, Los Alamos, the birthplace of atomic weaponry, is one of the larger towns in the area. And not far away is a museum devoted to these weapons, the National Atomic Museum. The National Atomic Museum is located within the confines of Kirtland Air Force Base, southeast of downtown Albuquerque. To get to it, one has to enter the base through a checkpoint cut into an imposing fence. That done, there is little danger of missing the museum, marked as it is by an outdoor display of missiles, heavy artillery, and a gigantic B-52 bomber. These details of the museum’s immediate context are not irrelevant; rather, they help in understand­ ing the tone of the exhibits inside and the virtual absence of anything beyond a strictly military context. The museum was opened in 1969 under the aegis of the Defense Nuclear Agency, then was transferred to the Department of Energy in 1976. This may explain the presence of newer exhibits treating nuclear energy in more general terms. But the museum’s core remains a display dating from the opening twenty years ago, a display of “unclassified nuclear weapon shapes.” This odd phrase, which appears in a museum flier, is striking in its aggressive neutrality. As it turns out, however, the words appear to have been chosen carefully. The exhibit’s backdrop includes photographs and brief labels, mounted on walls into which are set a number of television monitors displaying newsreels from the 1930s and 1940s. In front are the weapon shapes themselves: Little Boy, Fat Man, Lulu, Davy Crockett, Mr. Arnold, a Ph.D. candidate at Princeton University, is writing a dissertation entitled “Cabinets for the Curious: Science in English Museums, 1600—1759.”©1989 by the Society for the History of Technology. All rights reserved. 0040-165X/89/3003-0003$01.00 640 The National Atomic Museum, Albuquerque, New Mexico 641 Honest John, and some twenty-five more empty casings lie scattered about a cavernous space like minimalist sculptures. The exhibit is explicitly structured around an enumeration of unadorned facts: “Free, Factual, Fascinating,” reads the flier. Walking around the exhibit, one is bombarded with details of “system versatility,” of “physical parameters,” of “delivery methods,” of “subcritical masses,” while the weapon shapes themselves are arranged in a strict chronol­ ogy: Mark 6 follows Mark 5 and is itself followed by Mark 7. But a collection of nuclear bomb casings inevitably produces an impression larger than a simple marshaling of chronology, technical specifications, and discrete “facts.” Even if one only pays attention to the straightforward mode of succession, another tale unfolds, one with which we are already familiar from displays in natural history museums. The story is quite simply one of evolution, with each successive shape the natural descendant of the one before. To be sure, the display embodies a more nuanced tale than that: There is an opening unit on German efforts to build the bomb; there are panels on the Manhattan Project, Oak Ridge, and Hanford; there are descriptions of the shift from atmospheric to underground testing and of numerous “New Advances in Technology.” Yet this is all subsidiary to the real focus of interest, the weapon shapes themselves, especially Little Boy and Fat Man. The real fact is that these are neither sculptures nor natural history specimens. Rather, they are what instantaneously caused approximately 115,000 deaths with their combined 36 kilotons, virtually wiping out the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in the two most deadly events of human history. However, this information is presented simply as another part of the factual picture. What is not mentioned is the psychological shadow that such weapons have cast ever since 1945, the way they forever altered the concept of warfare, and what they meant in real human terms. And...

Stanley J. Stein, Walter Samuel Carpenter III Professor of Spanish Civilization and Culture and Professor of History, Emeritus, at Princeton University, is a lifelong Latin Americanist. Together with his late wife Barbara, herself an accomplished bibliographer and historian of the region, Professor Stein wrote several books and articles that put their stamp on methods of writing the social history of modern Latin America, specifically on the impact of colonialism and industrialism in Mexico and Brazil in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. It is fair to say that no one who studied Latin American history over the last 35 years would have failed to engage the slim, elegantly written synthesis, The Colonial Heritage of Latin America: Essays on Economic Dependence in Perspective (1970). Recipients of grants and fellowships from the Social Science Research Council, the Guggenheim Memorial Foundation, and the National Endowment for the Humanities, singly or together, the Steins were honored for their path-breaking studies with the CLAH Robertson and Bolton prizes, the Conference on Latin American History Distinguished Service Award (1991), and the American Historical Association Award for Scholarly Distinction (1996).

The Cover Design THE MEDIEVAL WHEELBARROW ANDREA I.. MATTHIES A history of the medieval wheelbarrow is complicated by the absence of extant examples, the confusing terminology found in archival sources, and the mystery of its origins. Because of the lack of archaeological remains and the ambiguity of archival references, contemporary manuscript illuminations, stained glass, and murals depicting scenes of building construction prove invaluable for study­ ing the development of the medieval wheelbarrow. No archaeological evidence remains, because wheelbarrows were relatively simple machines—used until repairs were no longer possi­ ble and then perhaps tossed into the fireplace. The wheelbarrow would be replaced with a version that either followed the original design or was modified by an inventive individual. According to English archival and French pictorial sources, the wheelbarrow rolled onto medieval construction sites in the early 13th century.1 Its origins are unknown. It is not mentioned in Roman architectural literature nor included in Roman artistic renderings of building construction.2 However, the wheelbarrow was known in China from at least the 3d century,3 and the basic idea may have entered Europe through Byzantium or the Islamic world.’ Such a Dr. Matthies is a medieval art and architectural historian presently working as a freelance writer and photographer. She thanks Bert S. Hall for encouragement and assistance. The original research for this project was funded in part by a Chester Dale Fellowship from the Center for Advanced Study in the Visual Arts, National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C. A grant from the University of Michigan-Dearborn made possible the purchase of additional photographs. 'J.-M. Massa, “La Brouette,” Techniques el Civilisations 2 (1952): 94. The absence of such a labor-saving machine from ancient Rome is not surprising given the enormous labor surplus, especially within the city. ’Joseph Needham, Science and Civilisation in China, vol. 4, Physics and Physical Technology, pt. 2, Mechanical Engineering (Cambridge, 1965), p. 262. ’Charles Singer et al., A History of Technology, vol. 2, The Mediterranean Civilizations and the Middle Ages (Oxford, 1956), p. 642.© 1991 by the Society for the History of Technology. All rights reserved. 0040-165X/91/3202-0001$01.00 356 The Medieval Wheelbarrow 357 movement of ideas was certainly possible, given the amount of traffic between the Middle East and Europe during the Crusades. The first archival reference is dated 1222 and specifies the purchase ofeight wheelbarrows from Canterbury for the king’s works at Dover: “Item pro viii civeris rotantibus emptis apud Cantuarium.”3 The total cost was 4λ., or 6d. each. Another wheelbarrow was purchased at Win­ chester Castle in 1258 along with five handbarrows: “In una civera empta rotarea, vijd. In quinque civeris virgeis emptis iiijd.”6 In thirty-five years either the cost of wheelbarrows had increased by 2d. or the purchase from Canterbury included a quantity discount. By 1396 at Portchester the cost had risen to 10d. and remained constant until 1507—8 at Ramsey.7 Handbarrows or stretchers remained a relative bargain at only Id. each. Although a wheelbarrow was six times more expensive than a handbarrow, only one laborer was needed to push it. Colvin has calculated that in southern England during the 13th century a laborer earned 1.5-2d. per day between 1220 and 1227 and between 1237 and 1239, with a possible increase between 1263 and 1269 to 1.5—2.5d. per day.8 With such wages being paid to laborers, a wheelbarrow would pay for itself in labor savings within three or four days. Given this fact, the infrequent archival references to the purchase of wheelbarrows is difficult to explain in purely economic terms. Perhaps the fact that one person could now carry the load of two made the wheelbarrow as popular among medieval hod and stretcher carriers as computerized newspaper presses among modern printers.9 Complicating our assessment of the archival references is the confusing terminology associated with the wheelbarrow. While the English 14th-century term, “wheelberghes,”10 remains comprehensi­ ble, the Latin is somewhat less so: civera rotaria, civera rotantibus, or senofactoriis rotalibus." The French term is more confusing than the Latin, since la brouette can also refer to a small wagon.12 This etymological confusion...

Notes on Contributors

Reviewed by: Joseph Henry: The Rise of an American Scientist * Alan Douglas (bio) Joseph Henry: The Rise of an American Scientist. By Albert E. Moyer. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1998. Pp. xii+348; illustrations, notes/references, index. $45. For a recent issue of Antenna, the newsletter of SHOT’s Mercurians, I updated a short essay on Joseph Henry’s contributions to radio, referring to his experiments of 1841–42 in which he sent and received electromagnetic signals between two floors of his laboratory and investigated the oscillatory character of the received impulses from thunderstorms as far as eight miles away. My interest was originally piqued by Henry’s own description in his articles on meteorology published in 1859. [End Page 162] When I rewrote this last year, I pulled down from my bookshelf the only two Henry biographies: the memorial volume published soon after his death in 1878, and Thomas Coulson’s Joseph Henry: His Life and Work (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1950), in hopes that they might say more. But the books held tantalizingly little detail of the technology or experimental procedures that Henry used. Had it been available then, Albert E. Moyer’s new volume would have filled in a few blanks, since it focuses on just that early part of Henry’s life, before he took control of the fledgling Smithsonian Institution. However, the book covers primarily his scientific and personal life, with little attention even to his greatest contribution to applied technology, the electromagnetic telegraph. His scientific work with electromagnets and induction is treated very thoroughly, and his disputes with Samuel F. B. Morse and Theodore Vail are described insofar as they bear on his scientific reputation, but technical or social references to the telegraph are largely lacking. Some of the Morse and Vail source material, to judge from the date of 17 March 1997 given in endnote 8 (p. 332), was a last-minute addition to Moyer’s manuscript. Coulson considered Henry’s entire life; Moyer concentrates on the first half. Coulson took a public view and chiefly used books and published papers; Moyer relies on private letters and documents and has a correspondingly deeper insight. Regrettably, for many readers of this journal at least, Moyer does not say enough about the technologies that Henry’s scientific discoveries spawned. Moyer’s nearest approaches to technological nitty-gritty come in his quotes from contemporary student notebooks, such as this one on the battery used to power Henry’s large electromagnet (p. 143): One student who had assisted Henry recalled that the professor “fairly leaped from the floor in excitement when he saw his instrument suspending and holding a weight of more than a ton and a half.” . . . Although graduates of Henry’s course would vividly recall the brute strength of his giant magnet, they also probably remembered the side effects of the large battery used to power the magnet. As one senior noted in his diary during an 1846 demonstration of the magnet, the great volume of hydrogen gas evolved by the battery caused “sneezing and coughing”—each student’s sense of smell “became tortured & wrung until everybody’s eyes became red and gave forth water.” Similarly, in a run of experiments in 1840, Henry attributed recurrent head pain, stomach upset, and even a momentary, partial loss of vision to the fumes. Other notebook entries, incidentally, record Henry’s unguarded classroom remarks on scientific credit, often at odds with his reserved or even furtive public posture. [End Page 163] What Moyer sets out to do, he does very well. And for anyone familiar only with Henry’s grumpy-walrus portrait from late in life, the cover illustration, an 1845–50 daguerreotype, is a revelation. Alan Douglas Mr. Douglas, an electrical engineer, has written three books and many magazine articles on radio and electronics history. He is with Benthos, Inc., makers of oceanographic instruments. Footnotes * Permission to reprint a review published here may be obtained only from the reviewer. Copyright © 1999 the Society for the History of Technology

What’s in the Shadows? Formal Analysis: Art History Method to Improve Interpretation Skills for Mammography and Chest Radiographs in Resident Education

Off-airport terminals have been studied by Snell and Hazen (Snell, J. E., D. C. Hazen. 1970. A first approximation satellite terminal system evaluation model—FASTSEM. Report 103, Transportation Systems Engineering, Department of Civil and Geological Engineering, Princeton University, Princeton.), who evaluated the benefits obtainable from optimally located terminals. The location of off-airport terminals was studied by Kanafani (Kanafani, A. K. 1972. Location models of off-airport terminals. Trans. Res. 6 371–379.), who proposed a number of models to optimize the travel time savings obtainable from terminals located in an idealized linear city. This paper attempts to extend the approach proposed by Kanafani and to apply the resulting models to a case study. Only the location problem is dealt with in this paper and, for that, only travel-time savings obtained by connecting the terminal to the airport with an exclusive mass transit system are considered. Poulton (Poulton, M. C. 1974. The location of off-airport terminals. PhD dissertation, University of California, Institute of Transportation and Traffic Engineering, Berkeley (Dissertation Series).) considered other benefits of off-airport terminals taking into account potential savings in airport terminal congestion.

TECHNOLOGY AND CULTURE Book Reviews 389 images by Mumford, Le Corbusier, Erich Mendelsohn, and Sigfried Giedion during the interwar years when the visual representation of the modern in architectural discourse was a terribly important issue. Essays by Casey Blake, Robert Westbrook, and Richard Fox place Mumford in the larger context of American Left intellectuals, thus establishing Mumford’s relations with the Seven Arts critics, John Dewey, and Reinhold Niebuhr, among others. Rosalind Williams uses the Mumford archives with great effect, revealing in important ways how Technics and Civilization took the form that was published. Lawrence Vale undertakes what should be done more often with architectural critics: He reconsiders Mumford’s judgment of a par­ ticular building (the United Nations) from the perspective of a later generation and after the building has either worked or not worked. The best essay is by Leo Marx, who inquires into Mumford’s principle of synthesis. The essay is itself the most synthetic in the volume. Marx begins with the quite suggestive observation that Mumford’s success as a generalist may be at least partly explained by the fields he worked. During the interwar years Mumford wrote in areas in which academic specialization was very little advanced: history of technology, urban design, American literature and art, and American studies. After thus addressing the question of Mumford’s success as a “public intellectual,” he seeks the core idea embedded in all of Mumford’s work. He finds it in what he calls Mumford’s “romantic reaction.” The dialectic of organic and mechanical, Marx argues, organizes the vast terrain of Mumford’s scholarship. It gives the criticism its power and range, but it also accounts for the sense of tedium one too often feels in reading Mumford. Thomas Bender Dr. Bender teaches American history at New York University. His books include Toward an Urban Vision (1975) and New York Intellect (1987); most recently, he edited The University and the City (1988). Divided We Stand: Re-defining Politics, Technology and Social Choice. By Michiel Schwarz and Michael Thompson. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1990. Pp. viii-f-176; bibliography, index. $29.95 (cloth); $14.95 (paper). In Divided We Stand: Re-defining Politics, Technology and Social Choice, Michiel Schwarz and Michael Thompson offer an intriguing and persuasive argument for a redefinition of the very terms of techno­ logical assessment as well as a theoretical basis for this redefinition. They claim their book is ambitious regarding technology and culture and indeed it is, for it challenges fundamental understandings and attempts to reorient an entire held. Schwarz and Thompson begin with a thoroughly sociological understanding of technology: viewing it as a social process, impossible 390 Book Reviews TECHNOLOGY AND CULTURE to disentangle from values and politics. Rather than attempt to divorce technology from its social embeddedness, they propose a “new synthesis” that recognizes and utilizes political diversity. Their analysis puts culture on center stage since it is the locus of all the connections among technology, values, and politics, and they turn to “cultural theory” for their framework. After identifying four “myths of nature,” four distinctly different political views of the world (nature benign, nature ephemeral, nature perverse/tolerant, and nature capricious), Schwarz and Thompson map these views onto anthropologist Mary Douglas’s typology of social relationships: the individualist, the egalitarian, the hierarchist, and the fatalist. They conclude that each myth is intimately connected with a certain type of institutional relationship and rationality. Those who view nature as ephemeral, for example, tend to be egalitarian groups (such as the German Greens) who have a communal and critical rationality and stress the importance of cooperation and voluntaristic relationships. Each has its own definition of the good, and each necessarily contradicts the others. Schwarz and Thompson do not aim to determine the “right” position. More interestingly, they argue that cultural pluralism is not only essential but beneficial. By acknowledging and utilizing diversity, distinctive approaches comple­ ment one another: divided we stand. Schwarz and Thompson claim that the dominant assumption of most theoretical models of public decision making is the pursuit of interest. They regard this approach as totally unsatisfactory: it fails to concern itself with the origins of interest or goal setting, it...

Giving a methodological and ontological explanation to the art history is the core thought of “a theory of /cloud/” of Hubert Damisch. It shows that there is no uniform explanation for art history. And the explanation of art history can only be placed in the framework of history. Language is the main reason for this, because it is historical, and through it the art history can be narrated and explained. As an explanatory activity, art history needs to plan a historical horizon which is different from the present, and integrate with the current horizon to explain historical events. Therefore, all art history is bound to be a historical explanation. This is the logic of why art history needs to be constantly renovated. On the other hand, because art history is inseparable from language, it must rely on linguistic methods in the specific analysis process. Taking this as his starting point, Damisch takes semiotics as the dominant method of explaining the art history. In his eyes, semiotics, as a method of combining meaning reading and characterization analysis, can effectively reconcile the contradiction between formal analysis and iconology. Not only that, the symbol as a kind of representation of representation can also make the painting back to the field of representation. Because representation is the basic purpose of painting. As a symbol, cloud precisely emphasizes that painting should pay attention to representation. And the sensibility and materiality of cloud in painting indicates that the painterly should become the mainstream of the representation. This kind of painterly is exactly what “A Theory of /Cloud/” aims to reveal. According to this, the painterly of painting should become the main focus of the writing of art history.

During my early introduction to architecture I found that I was motivated not only by matters pertaining to what architecture is, but also, to what it can do. Thus, the questions motivating this work derive from my education in architecture which, at their most rudimentary level, entail a deep fascination with the nature of space, and thus the problem of time. And, subsequently, a practical desire to understand the conditions that constituted experience, and thus perception, sensation and mind. My interest also developed from a general disposition towards others and world founded in principles of human equality and rights with respect to both freedom and responsibility. During my years practicing architecture, these questions as they were brought through the perspective of design continued to inspire me. At the same time, my interest in investigating these questions through theoretical and philosophical research persisted until my aspiration to engage in critical thought outpaced my desire to practice. Hence, a turn in career to work as an academic in the discipline of architecture and the area of architecture theory. This research may be perceived by some as situated outside the realm of architecture. However, this is not the case. My approach to architecture theory is not one that begins with a study of the object, or, for some, one might say the subject of architecture. That is, if the object is understood as the manifestation in thought, process or form of the building or built environment (real or conceived) itself; and if the subject is understood as the thought or idea emanating from the mind of the architect (as author). While there is much architecture theory advanced from this perspective lining my own bookshelves and utilized in my work as an educator. The concerns that have always called me towards thinking about architecture as the imagined and constructed world in which we live are those that query the very nature of concepts, notions, ideologies and intellectual constructions and beliefs upon which culture and society – architecture as both a cultural product and a social actor – are formed. This goes, as well, to the considerations that motivate my concern for people, not users or inhabitants as such, but as ontologically situated beings in the world. Accordingly, my work primarily deals with the content, history and effects of architecture as it relates to theories of space, time, the body, and cognition. Employing and developing theories and methods from disciplines including philosophy, cultural studies, literary theory, political, social and economic theory, cognitive psychology, and the neurosciences in the broadest sense. Admittedly, the nature of theoretical discourse has shown itself to be problematic over the past fifty-plus years; it has also proven to be transformative. Critical thinkers in the late 1960s developed a sustained critique of their philosophical predecessors – primarily in regard to Marx on one hand and Heidegger on the other – with a critique of social history and a displacement of metaphysics resulting in a repositioning of social and cultural discourse. Of course, the debate unfolded against the philosophical and aesthetic background of not only Marx and Heidegger, but also Nietzsche, Hegel and Freud on one hand, and Manet, Cézanne, Baudelaire and Mallarmé, Wagner and Debussy on the other. In architecture, the debate extended to Ruskin and Wölfflin, and to Wright and Corbusier, amongst others. This period, in itself, refers to an unprecedented artistic, scientific, economic, and technological mutation. Prevalent underpinnings remain identifiable, for instance an attack on the absolute nature of knowledge, which has brought about a fundamental rethinking of both the nature of consciousness, as well as a critique of science. As Foucault suggested, one of the great problems that arose in the 1950s was that of the political status of science and the ideological functions that it could serve. Another rebuke can be seen as the challenge to the primacy of truth as an adequation of subject to thing. This culminated in a radical critique of subjectivity resulting, some years later, in the so-called post-humanist-subject. In order to be rid of the subject itself, Foucault, in ‘Truth and Power’ (1977) argued that it was necessary to dispense with the essentialist subject both at the extremes and in-between the enlightenment’s humanist subject and its ideals of knowledge as self-constituting; as well as phenomenology’s fabrication of the subject as evolving through and embodying the course of history. Reflecting on this history, that post-war moment of theory, one cannot help but be struck by the complexity and the ambiguity of the adventure; qualities most evident in the fact that new spaces and new means of writing and drawing, of thinking and making emerged. Ideas that modified our understanding of both communication and the image, of both space and time. Discourses, when combined with a reflexivity within certain architectures and certain texts, rendered them somehow indefinitely open. In the 1960s, literary theory transformed thought on both sides of the Atlantic. For instance, Roland Barthes’s de-sanctioning of the biography-centric author, or the removal of authority from the author turned scriptor in ‘The Death of the Author’ (1967), or Julia Kristeva’s concept of intertextuality with ‘Word, Dialogue and Novel’ (1969). These works impacted our thinking on linguistic phenomena and the origin (or non-originality) of textual content and further, on the invention of new forms of writing and affective relations. Such theories informed and redirected thinking in architecture, for instance, Diana Agrest and Mario Gandelsonas’s work ‘Semiotics and Architecture: Ideological Consumption or Theoretical Work’ was published in the first issue of Oppositions, an architectural journal produced between 1973 and 1984 by the Institute for Architecture and Urban Studies in New York. With this, the influence of the French intellectual climate as well as the Italian discourse on semiotics was brought to the centre of Anglo-American discourse in architecture theory. The intellectual trajectory along which this history is traced and the terrain on which it now takes place will be recognisable to anyone familiar with the work of such thinkers as Henri Bergson, Louis Althusser, Gabriel Tarde, Walter Benjamin, Pierre Bourdieu, Michel Foucault, Jacques Derrida, Jacques Lacan, Jean-Francois Lyotard, and, of course, Félix Guattari, Gilles Deleuze, and Maurizio Lazzarato. The importance of the radically original works that emerged in the seventies and eighties cannot be overestimated, for instance: Foucault’s Discipline and Punish and his lectures at the Collège de France, The Birth of Biopolitics, and Deleuze and Guattari’s Capitalism and Schizophrenia volumes Anti-Oedipus and A Thousand Plateaus. These works, translated into English shortly after their original publication, were being read throughout many disciplines outside of philosophy including schools of architecture, and their influence can only be said to have increased. I share the above brief history so as to situate my work for those less familiar with the work of theory – whether architecture or otherwise – as this, too, is the intellectual trajectory and exploration along which my own work, as well as many of my contemporaries, travels. In my own work, the influence of the nineteenth/ twentieth-century French vitalist philosopher Henri Bergson – the great thinker of time and, as Walter Benjamin suggested, a seminal source to consult in considering the problem of experience – has quite profoundly informed my thinking and shaped its outcomes. Both with respect to time and space as well as body and brain, his influence is reflected in the title of this volume. That said, this is not a collection of chapters on Bergson’s philosophy. It is a collection on critical concepts I believe to be of importance for contemporary critique, delivered through topics that are relevant – at times directly and at others indirectly – to our current moment. This is a work of great commitment and it has sustained itself over time. It is my hope the reader finds some value in this as well.

240 Children, Youth and Environments Vol. 20 No. 2 (Fall 2010) ISSN: 1546-2250 Linking Architecture and Education: Sustainable Design for Learning Environments Taylor, Anne (2009). Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press; 451 pages. $100. ISBN 9780826334077. In Linking Architecture and Education, Anne Taylor has compiled a career of research into an extensive resource for architects, administrators, educators, and anyone else involved in the design of learning environments. Dr. Taylor founded and served as director of the Institute for Environmental Education in the School of Architecture and Planning at the University of New Mexico, where she directed research that examined the effects of the built environment on children. In this book she advocates for a series of design principles developed through years of teaching, research, and professional consultancy on the design of learning environments. The book places primary emphasis on the design of schools and schoolyards, with consideration also given to informal learning spaces such as museums and playgrounds. Aimed at providing a common language for design professionals and educators, Taylorattempts to link educational goals and learning theories to design principles through the use of numerous charts and graphics woven throughout the volume. The book is loosely organized around five key themes: philosophical foundations, organizational strategies, the building as a teaching tool or “threedimensional textbook,” future trends, and fostering ecological stewardship. The first four themes serve as the topics for the book sections, providing a sequential organization and unifying structure to the extensive literature. Stewardship is addressed in four separate chapters—one for each section of the book. The organization of the book is driven by Taylor’s aspirations to transform the educational built environment through a series of holistic-design guidelines including: design criteria that is informed by the users’ developmental needs; architectural form that evolves from curriculum and learning theory; educational spaces that are 241 flexible and modeled after the design studio; learning landscapes; community engagement through co-location, multi-use design, and the community as living laboratory; and post-occupancy user guides and evaluation. Along the way she incorporates supplemental information in the form of case studies, photographs, charts, and visual and verbal commentary from colleagues. These are organized in a brilliantly colored and graphically coded format of sidebar information, design tools, designer perspectives, and stewardship forums. At times this rich array of resources and varied perspectives disrupts the flow of the book—obscuring the points presented instead of punctuating them. But, perhaps more significantly, they also create the possibility for an alternative, nonlinear, reading of the book. Students, design and education professionals, parents, and community members may find this secondary organization helpful in using the text as a sourcebook of examples and best practices both to inform the design of new learning spaces as well as to identify opportunities to make more effective use of existing spaces. The link between pedagogy and architectural design is made clear throughout the book, with related concepts often introduced through charts and diagrams and further reinforced by case examples. In section one, for example,Taylor links philosophical theories to the roles of the learner and teacher, the curriculum, and instructional strategies. She also links these theories to the role of the architect, the design process, and the form of the physical environment. A case study of Reggio Emilia preschools inItaly then demonstrates how aspects of the building design can support the educational philosophy of the school. Stakeholders in design processes may benefit from understanding how philosophy informs practice, and Taylorjustifies combining this information into a single chart as a starting point for design discussion between disciplines. Often such diagrams in the book successfully illustrate key relationships between architecture and education, but at times the format is problematic. For example, the chart could easily be misinterpreted by the reader as a prescription for a particular design process or architectural style based on the educational philosophy of the client. In general, however, Taylor successfully relates educational and architectural concepts in clear and meaningful 242 ways. Design students and practitioners may appreciate the succinct overview of major educational theories in section two, whereas educators may find section three particularly useful for the long list of suggestions about how to use the educational facility...

Click to increase image sizeClick to decrease image size Notes 1. Jonathan Watts (Tokyo), Kamal Ahmed, and Chris Mihill, “Cartoon Causes Fits in Young Viewers,” Guardian, December 18, 1997, 1. 2. Sheryl WuDunn, “TV Cartoon's Flashes Send 700 Japanese Into Seizures,” New York Times, December 18, 1997, http://www.nytimes.com/1997/12/18/world/tv-cartoon-s-flashes-send-700-japanese-into-seizures.html?pagewanted = all&src = pm. See also “‘Pocket Monsters’ Shock TV Viewers into Convulsions,” Japan Times, December 17, 1997, http://www.japantimes.co.jp/text/nn19971217a9.html; and J. Snyder, “Cartoon Sickens Children”; and “Monster TV Cartoon Mystifies Japan,” Reuters Reports on ABC News, December 17, 1997. 3. For a comprehensive account of the physiological and cultural effects of the Pokémon episode, see Benjamin Radford and Robert E. Bartholomew, “Pokémon Contagion: Photosensitive Epilepsy or Mass Psychogenic Illness?” Southern Medical Journal 94, no. 2 (2001): 197–204. 4. “Denno Senshi Porygon” (“Computer Warrior Porygon”) Pokémon, season 1, episode 38, aired December 16, 1997. The sequence of flashes that triggered the mishap happened 20 minutes into the program. 5. Umberto Eco, “The Wolf and the Lamb: The Rhetoric of Oppression,” in Turning Back the Clock: Hot Wars and Media Populism, trans. Alastair McEwan (Orlando, FL: Harvest Books, 2008), 56–7; and Joseph Tobin, ed., Pikachu's Global Adventure: The Rise and Fall of Pokémon (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2004). 6. Watts, Ahmed, and Mihill, “Cartoon Causes Fits in Young Viewers,” 1, my emphasis. 7. Watts, Ahmed, and Mihill, “Cartoon Causes Fits in Young Viewers,” 1, my emphasis. 8. From George Grote, History of Greece, in Edward B. Tylor, Primitive Culture: Researches into the Development of Mythology, Philosophy, Religion, Art, and Custom, vol. 1, (London: John Murray, 1903), 286. 9. From George Grote, History of Greece, in Edward B. Tylor, Primitive Culture: Researches into the Development of Mythology, Philosophy, Religion, Art, and Custom, vol. 1, (London: John Murray, 1903), 286. 10. Tylor, Primitive Culture, vol. 1, 477. 11. Aby Warburg, Ae.[sthetik], Warburg Institute Archive, Zettelkasten (unnumbered); and “Grundlegende Bruchstücke zu einer monistischen Kunstpsychologie,” Warburg Institute Archive III.43, 1–3. See also Horst Bredekamp, “Du lebst und thust mir nichts: Anmerkungen zur Aktualität Aby Warburgs,” in Aby Warburg: Akten des internationalen Symposions Hamburg 1990, ed. Horst Bredekamp, Michael Diers, Charlotte Schoell-Glass, Andreas Beyer, et al (Weinheim: Acta Humaniora, 1991), 1–7. 12. Ernst Gombrich, Aby Warburg: An Intellectual Biography (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1986), 71. 13. On the role of empathy theory in Warburg's early work, see Matthew Rampley, “From Symbol to Allegory, Aby Warburg's Theory of Art,” Art Bulletin 79, no. 1 (1997): 41–55. 14. In one of his aesthetic aphorisms written on September 14, 1890, Warburg noted: “Two periods can be distinguished in man's perception of objects: 1. Anything alive is assumed to be hostile (Alles Lebende wird als feindlich angenommen) and capable of movement and pursuit, so that a position is taken up accordingly[;] 2. Anything alive is examined for the limitation of its movement, law, force. It turns out that man is not only a beast of prey but also a slothful creature.” Warburg, “Grundlegende Bruchstücke,” 39–40. Also cited in Gombrich, Aby Warburg, 76. 15. For a theoretical analysis of desire attributed to images, see W. J. T. Mitchell, What Do Pictures Want? The Lives and Loves of Images (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 2005). For a collection of essays on the artwork as a “living being,” see Ulrich Pfisterer and Anja Zimmermann, ed., Animationen/Transgressionen: Das Kunstwerk als Lebewesen (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2005). On image and speech action, see Horst Bredekamp, Theories des Bildakts (Berlin: Suhrkamp, 2010). 16. Warburg, “Grundlegende Bruchstücke,” 1. 17. For a different view of this polarity, see T. J. Clark, The Sight of Death: An Experiment in Art Writing (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2006), 235–6. Additional informationNotes on contributorsSpyros PapapetrosSpyros Papapetros is Associate Professor in the School of Architecture and the Program in Media and Modernity at Princeton University. This article draws from the introduction to my book On the Animation of the Inorganic: Art, Architecture, and the Extension of Life (University of Chicago Press, 2012). Parts of this research have been presented at conferences organized in conjunction with the exhibition Animismus (Animism), curated by Anselm Franke at the Generali Foundation in Vienna, Haus der Kulturen der Welt in Berlin, and E-flux in New York during 2011 and 2012