Waypoint – June 2010

During the course of this year I feel that I have moved forward a great deal, this tells me that my decision to take 2009 away from formal study and work instead on my art practice in isolation was a good one. At the start of this year my theory was extremely rusty, to the extent that I was barely conversant the concepts that I had been working with during my last study in 2008. This necessitated that I re-search for this information. In my researching I found that these concepts combined with the matters that I’d been thinking about during 2009 (mainly linguistic analysis) made up a coherent system of thinking of my practice, this in turn led to my taking the time out to work out the essential why’s and wherefores of my practice as it stands to date.

What I have come to realise is that my practice is fundamentally quite simple – I have always had my mind on the question, “Where do I fit in?”, I have researched this in a number of ways over the years, over the last few years this investigation has been photographic, which I feel makes the most inherent sense of any media that I have used to date. My realisation that tied these threads together earlier this year started from the concept of the centralisation of privilege, which is a fairly complex, and yet simple concept.

I had heard, and even been using the term privilege for some time, in the sense of male/hetero/cis/white/whatever I took to mean – the privilege that society as a whole confers to those who are in a demographic that has a dominant position in the power structure of society, which is true to a degree (not universally, rather by statistical likelihood), but it is rather too easy to reduce to a binaristic structure(something which I have long disavowed in many things, preferring instead scales of latitude) . However I recently had a dawning realisation that the supposed binaristic structure is better described in terms of a three or four dimensional sphere (3 plus time = 4) where the position of privilege is centralised.

I feel that privilege works in a manner where the center is not interrogated, but rather that which deviates is, The central position essentially becomes invisible and can only be described in opposition to that which deviates, yet the converse is not true in describing the positions that deviate from center, these positions can be mapped in terms of activity, culture, role, or suchlike. This mode of centralisation and decentering is described in passing in some theories, most concisely in feminist ‘accentric’ gender theory ( Lindemann 1997?), but most of these theories seem limited in scope and scale to the authors subject at hand, and do not begin to look at societal structure, which seems odd, especially given the scope of common turns of phrase which are used to describe the phenomenon of centrism in society.

This concept that privilege is center stands up to investigation at an informal linguistic level pretty well, there is a lot of language around privilege and societal expectations that is geographic in manner. Terms such as “knowing your place”, “deviant”, or “outsider”, describing a person who is calm and in control as “centered”, or describing someone ‘put’ outside of society as “abjectified” – when I look at these terms closely it leads me to suspect that this ‘accentric’ theory of social acceptance/dismissal is something that is quite commonly instinctively taken as being true, but people very seldom talk about it in terms of it being a valid theory, As a theory it’s seemingly too obvious for people to consider deconstructing.

This concept of centrality operates not only as a passive phenomena to describe ones relation to center, but also as ‘decentering’, which is a re/positioning where those people who do not conform to social stereotypes are pushed outwards from center into more marginal positions, to privilege (as a verb – often seen in circles of social activism) is the centering of ones own experience in a manner that negates or silences those who do not share ones personal history, to a degree everyone does it, even if it is just miscommunication, but of course its effect has more power the closer the ‘speaker’ is to the ‘ideal’ central position in society.

Of course it is possible for groups who are decentralised to gather together and form a locus that centralises their own experience, thus they have a centralised identity within a marginalised community, and these locus’s (loci?) can and do move with time, hence my earlier reference to a four dimensional sphere, a persons position within this sphere of influence (nice common term, no?) can thus be centric (centered), accentric (decentered), excentric (removed from influence utterly), or even eccentrically accentric (variably accentric over time), as you can see, this is somewhat more complex than the banal description of privilege being a binaristic structure that one does or does not have. Instead I believe that privilege is in fact conferred variably to individuals according to ones relationship to the centralised position and not purely in terms of man versus woman, or suchlike, This raises an important point, which is that privilege is not automatically individually assigned to those people traditionally assumed to have privilege (though it usually is), and further, it can be taken away by dint of decentering a persons social position.

The term “sphere of influence” is axiomatically appropriate, especially in terms of excentric positions in as much as it implies that the further from center one is positioned the more faintly ones voice is heard, conversely in this structure the people who are closer to ‘center’ have the greatest speaking privileges, which has led to another realisation on my part, that is, that to have societal speaking rights is to have ‘write access’ to the social/cultural/historical archive (of post/modernist fame).

This concept of ‘write access’ to the cultural archive also reifies the marginality of decentered people in that their voices, experiences, and opinions are less common in the cultural/historical archive to a degree reflecting their marginalisation within society. If a person is close to center in society then the archive will hold their experience as being more normalised than a person whose experience is less centered, and thus, in drawing from the same archive a more centered person will see a marginalised persons position as being ‘correct’ in terms of their position and input as described by the archive. This is somewhat similar to the adage that “history belongs to the victor”, only in this case we are most all, to a greater or lesser degree, losers.

This realisation that the cultural/historical archive functions as a structure which reifies marginality in those people who’s position in society is accentric has led me to a far more fundamental realisation that what I was in fact looking for, upon realising this I had to reassess my method of operating within my own artistic practice, I found that my method of inquiry was failing to adequately allow for my own marginality in as much as I was looking (somewhat uncritically) to art theory, linguistics, and sociology as a conceptual means of discovering and defining my place in the world. These theories and structures of course being a reflection of the cultural strata which had been fed into the very archive I was drawing from, thus the archive I was perusing was essentially marginalising me even as I searched for a place within it in which my position was not marginal.

In this I realised that I needed to essentially create my own archive, and to be critically selective in my choices of what to bring into it. My ‘practice of production’ (or the geography of my practice) on the other hand is quite nicely positioned for this mode of archiving, to such a degree in fact that I’m faintly surprised I hadn’t realised these things sooner. Photography is an essentially archival medium when you get right down to it (in the sense of archive as verb rather than assumed longevity), and much of the other ‘stuff’ that I do has a strong element of collecting, replicating, and categorising.

I find myself at this point beginning to look back to post-structural theorists I have read in the past and considering their words again, only this time with a critical awareness that comes from having a position to work from, rather than being in a position of seeking a place. I still have not found a place for myself in the world, however, I have found a critical position to occupy, and thus my practice is in essence is beginning to develop strategically rather than just tactically (De Certeau 1984).

At this point some of these concepts and avenues of research have not yet been implemented due to this realisation having come quite recently, the inquiries around the concept of the archive in particular are largely unscratched, though I am aware that Forcault and Heidegger have both discussed around the topic. I have also come to a realisation that there are ways I could better present my work given the concepts I am considering, however, this is, as the title suggests a waypoint – and not a finalised presentation.

Em Davidson – 27 May 2010

(1.) Davis Kathy (ed.) (1997). Embodied Practices, Feminist perspectives on the body. – London, Sage Publications. ( pp 73-90)

(2). De Certeau, Michel (1984). The Practice of everyday life. California: University of California press.


More maps –

More from; 
The Map as Art: Contemporary Artists Explore Cartography ~ Katharine Harmon. Publisher: Princeton Architectural Press; 26,5 cm x 23,5 cm edition (September 23, 2009) ISBN-13: 978-1568987620

Urbanograph No. 5: Stuttgart: Kleiner Schlossplatz 1794-1855-1975-2005
Urbanograph No 4: Stuttgart Kleiner Schlossplarz 1794-1855-1975-2005
Andric is an artist, architect, and film scenographer in Stuttgart Her series of Urbanographs depicts the structural changes of locations in Stuttgart, Gerrnany, and Sandburg, Austria Each shows a specific place at multiple periods, going back to medieval times, revealin ‘an urban palimpsest. .. of building and destroying, of continuity and changed Andric studied historic city plans and, using a sheet of paper for each, cut away the spokes of buildings standing at each time period. She then careful layered the lacy cutouts atop a black desk to indicate three pieces of information: gray tones shoe subdural overlaps, black areas indicate where buildings have always stood, and white spaces show where open span have persisted. At a glance we see the process of change in the urban landscape.
I like the way that Andric’s maps show both the structure and the changing useage of the environment, they’re complex maps initially, but upon study that become quite straight forward to read.

legend 29, 2007
From the series legend Oil on map 6x 5.5 in.
To make his darkened legend pieces, Bly eliminates from maps all areas where characters or numbers appear. “The works are not intended to be hidden messages of location and travel, or topographic brainteasers,” he says. “Ultimately, these drawings are meant to be somewhat beautiful fields of color, pattern, and shifting planes-albeit a beauty derived from a recipe intended to challenge conventional notions of aesthetic tecision-making.”
I love the idea of deterritorialising common space in this manner, I’ve been playing with similar concepts with some of my clear and traced maps.

Selected prints from Mappa Mundi, a 2007-8 residency at Seattle Art Museum.
Kosaka is a Los Angeles-based visual artist and designer of crosscultural performance pieces. He also happens to be a Buddhist priest and master of Zen archery. He considers his art projects to be an active part of his “ministry,” and throughout his career Kosaka has collaborated with and supported the efforts of many other artists. In recent years he has undertaken a series of collaborative mapping projects in various locales, called Ruin Maps. Kosaka invites participants-often Japanese American elders who were forcibly removed from their neighborhoods and interned during World War Two-to draw memory maps of prior communities. He enlarges
selected drawings, makes a woodcut print of each on mulberry paper, and displays them as a collection of shared and personal memories. For a Seattle Art Museum residency, Kosaka broadened the scope of his project, calling it Tampa Mundi and inviting participants of all backgrounds to share their memories and reflect on the city’s changing neighborhoods. Museum visitors from all or the world-twenty-one countries in five continents-contributed maps. her Kosaka, the woodblock medium makes sense: “Cutting onto a surface of wood is similar, I think, to the way memories wet ingrained in these people’s minds.”
The memory of communities made real again in a passing way – this comes very close to the landscapes conjured up by storytellers and writers. cartographies of oral tradition.


Tabula 3, 1993
From the series Tabula
linocut on kozo paper 48 x36 in.
Thib’s art uses images of the body-typically, individual parts imbued with various associations-as canvases for social commentary. She combines body segments with cultural objects and documents as allusions to “the human desire to leave a mark, to alter the terrain, to create, organize, and understand” Tabula is a series of images of five hands (one of which is shown here) overlaid with interpretive systems-historical and contemporary maps, wilderness survival tips, body camouflage patterns, and garden designs-that explore human relationships to the wilderness.
The relationship between body and place is one that has intrigued me for years, the scars we leave on the environment, and those the environment leaves on us. Also expecially nice use of linocut as a medium.

Place, a short introduction. Sexuality out of place.

From ‘Place, a short introduction.’ By Tim Creswell (Pub Massachusetts: Blackwell Publishing – c2005)

I am interested in one particular chapter of Creswells book, that is the chapter titled; ‘Sexuality out-of-place.’ It runs as follows;

(This article has been entered using OCR – some spelling issues may remain)



Sexuality out-of-place

We term sexuality refers to the social identities that are built around different forms of sexual desire. Sexualities, in other words, are not just signifiers of different kinds of sexual practice but forms of complicated social and cultural relations. At first glance many people do not see a link between sexuality and place. But like any other form of social relation ~class, gender, race, etc. it is constituted, in part, geographically. It is fairly common-place for instance, to hear people suggest that gay sexuality is fine just so long as it does not occur in public places. To back up this argument it might be claimed that heterosexuality belongs ‘at home’ or ‘in the bedroom’ so homosexuality does too.

Much of the work on sexuality in geography has sought to show how such claims are absurd. Heterosexuality occurs everywhere (Duncan 1996). Straight people feel free to kiss in public or walk down the street hand in hand. Public spaces such as law courts and government offices formally institutionalise hetero-relations while making gay relationships illegal. Everywhere we look straight sexuality is accepted as normal and is thus invisible to straight people. Gay people, on the other hand, see heterosexuality everywhere and through this experience their own sexuality as radically ‘out-of-place’. All it takes is for a gay couple to kiss in a public place for hetero-outrage to come to the fore. The geographer Michael Brown has studied the spatiality of gay sexuality at length. His book Closet Space examines the ways in which gay sexuality is marginalised and made invisible at all scales Brown (2000). He describes a scene on a bus in which these tensions and expectations are made dramatically clear.

The Seattle Metro bus no. 7 stopped abruptly to pick up two very wet people just at the crest of Capital Hill on a rainy Tuesday afternoon. The sudden braking caught everyone’s attention, and broke the passionate soul


Kissing of a man and woman sitting just across from me. Since I was sitting towards the rear of the dingy bus, I had a long view of a slender, trendy woman making her way purposefully down the aisle. Behind her, I heard her companion before I could see him. We all could, because he was speaking so loudly. With a mixture of aplomb and hubris our new rider proclaimed, ‘That’s right, people, I’m swinging my hips as I walk on by. And if you don’t like it, you can kiss my beautiful queer ass!’ With regal camp he sashayed down the aisle, past my seat, never once breaking his stare forward. On the other side of the aisle, the young heterosexual couple ‘tsked’, huffed and ‘Oh, Gawwwwd’-ed this young gay man audibly enough to make their revulsion clear to those of us in the back of the bus. ‘Who said that?’ the gay man demanded loudly.

Everyone on the bus began to grow visibly uncomfortable. After all, this was Seattle. ‘I did,’ the woman stated loud and dear, but without turning to face him. Then she whispered something inaudible to her boyfriend and they both laughed. ‘Well if you don’t like it, girlfriend what the hell you doin’ up on Capitol Hill in the first place!’ (Brown 2000, 27)

As Brown observes there is a complicated set of interactions between the performance of sexuality and expectations about place in this event. To the heterosexual couple all space is straight space. Places such as the city and the bus sustained heteronormativity- the idea that heterosexuality is normal, natural and appropriate. They felt that they could kiss passionately in public. The gay man, to them, was acting out-of-place – disturbing the unspoken rules of sexuality. To the gay man, however, this was Capitol Hill, a gay area in Seattle. To him the straight couple were ‘out-of-place’ and should consider keeping their sexuality, and certainly their homophobia -‘in the closet’. The idea of the closet is a complicated one which acts at act scales ‘from the body to the globe’ The subtitle of Brown’s books. This metaphorical closet is a certain kind of place that is both a place of secrecy and a place of autonomy and safety. The closet is a place where a person can keep their sexuality entirely to themselves or it can, more literally, become a building or an area of the city where it is safe to be gay. It can also be a confining prison.

This issue of the closet and heteronormative space has become central to the geographical analysis of sexuality. Geographers have asked why some places seem to be safe places for certain sexualities to be performed while other places pressure gays, lesbians and bisexuals to keep their sexualities to themselves. The work of Gill Valentine has been central to this line of thinking. She has shown how lesbians have had to consistently conceal their sexuality in certain kinds of places – particularly home and work- in order to avoid discrimination and hatred. The women she has interviewed reveal incredibly complicated


daily lives of concealment in some places and being ‘out’ in others. Some of them had to travel miles to feel comfortable away from both family (parents and siblings) and workmates (Valentine 1993).

There are many different identities gay, lesbian and bisexual people can choose to perform, just as there are many identities straight people can perform (hell’s angel, ‘new man’, power-dresser, etc.). David Bed, John Binnie, Julia Cream and Gill Valentine explore two of these identities the ‘gay skinheads and the ‘lipstick lesbian’s in their paper ‘All hyped up and no place to go’.

Through the deployment of the ‘gay skinhead’ and ‘lipstick lesbian’ and the places they produce and occupy, we hope to illuminate the ‘unnaturalness’ of both heterosexual everyday space and masculine and feminine heterosexual identities associated with them. The exposure of the fabrication of both seamless heterosexual identities and the straight spaces they occupy should shatter the illusion of their just being, of simply naturally occurimg. Bell et al. 1994, 32 emphasis in original)

A ‘lipstick lesbian’ is a lesbian who dresses in a hyper-feminine way thus challenging the popular conception of lesbian women as masculine figures. The figure of the lipstick lesbian, to some people, mocks heterosexual expressions of femininity in a way that is more subtle than the hutch drag of other lesbians. Their appearance, it is claimed, ‘undermines a heterosexuals ability to determine whether feminine women in everyday spaces are lesbian or heterosexual’ (Bell et al. 1994, 42). This uncertainty, created by images of femininity in heterosexual places, means that straight people can no longer assume the accepted codes of everyday life and thus heterosexual places are undermined. In a twist to the tale, though, the authors acknowledge that this subversion depends on straight people being aware of the existence of lipstick lesbians in the first place. Since most straight people assume the normal and natural condition of heteronormativity it seems likely that most of them are unaware of the subversions going on around them. To wake them out of their slumber they are more likely to be provoked by the gay man on Brown’s bus in Seattle.

A transgressive act that was definitely noticed was the Greenham Common Women’s Peace Camp in the early 198Os. Women camped outside the US Air Force base from 1981 onwards to protest the cruise missiles that were being based there. In their view the cruise missiles, armed with nuclear warheads, were ‘out-of-pace’ in the United Kingdom. Soon local residents of nearby Newbury, Berkshire began to object to the peace camp. Government figures and the media, for a period of several years, used every metaphor they could think of to

( p107)

describe the women as ‘out-of-pace’. These included obligatory references to dirt, disease, madness and, of-course, sexuality (Cresswell 1994).

The Sun (19 November 1983) claimed that the women ‘are not people – they’re all burly lesbians’. News reports frequently suggested that the fact that this was an all women’s camp automatically meant that the vast majority of the protesters were lesbians. The fact that they dressed in ‘masculine’ clothes and were frequently dirty only seemed to confirm this impression. The Daily Mail (13 January 1983) paints a picture of multiple transgression:

And there’s Eve breastfeeding by the fire, a vague, arguable, ever smiling lesbian mother from Islington who’s camping here with her two children, aged eight and six months by different fathers, one of them West Indian.(quoted in Cresswell 1994, 49)

Eve is clearly a figure ‘out-of-place’ here. She is breastfeeding in a public place, she is a lesbian and she has children oath multiple fathers including one (we must assume) who is black.

[H]alf the women I lived among at Greenham were lesbians, striding the camp with their hutch haircuts, boots and boilersuits. They flaunt their sexuality, boast about it, joke about it. And some take delight in proclaiming their loathing of men … I was shocked on my first day when two peace women suddenly went into passionate embrace in full view of everyone … And gradually I became annoyed at the way doting couples sat around the camp fire kissing and caressing . . . A lot of women ‘go gay’ after arriving at We camp. With no men around they have to turn to each other for comfort

(quoted in Cresswell 1994, 50)

Here, the Daily Express’s undercover investigator, Sarah Bond, acts in same way as the woman on the bus described by Brown. She sees women kissing in a place she considers inappropriate and is disgusted – she described it as flaunting. Do straight people ‘flaunt’ their sexuality when they kiss in a public place? Bond is arguing that this kind of activity should be put back in to the closet – should be replaced. To Bond, lesbian sexuality is ‘out-of-place’ at Greenham Common. The reference to the absence of men at the end of the extract implies that women only turn to each other in places without men. Behind this lies the missing place of ‘home’ where husbands would undoubtedly be available for ‘comfort’.

The understanding of sexualities-out-of-place should not be restricted to supposedly marginal sexualities. Ignoring heterosexuality only serves to reinforce the notion that heterosexuality IS normal and


thus invisible (Hubbard 2000). For the most part heterosexual activity and the wider sense of identity that surrounds it remains the norm by which other forms of sexuality are implicitly and explicitly judged. The idea of ‘home’ for instance – the ideal place – is quite clearly heteronormative. Recent research has shown how the idea of home and actual homes themselves are constructed as places for traditional families. Homeliness does not properly arrive until the children arrive (Valentine 1993). It is this heterosexual home that lies behind many of the descriptions of the Greenham Women as ‘out-of-pace’.

Some of the most interesting work on sexuality and place has been on heterosexual prostitution. Research has shown how prostitution is seen as ‘out-of-pace’ in some places while it is almost acceptable in others Hubbard 1998~. Philip Hubbard has outlined a number of arguments about the ‘place’ of prostitution in England. He notes that there is a generally recognised distinction between ‘high class’ prostitutes who work in ‘private’ spaces and ‘lower class’ prostitutes who work on the street and in public space. While the former is usually ignored due to the assumption that sexuality gets expressed in private spaces (an illusion shown to be false by queer theorists in particular) the latter has been the object of considerable moral panics in British cities such as Birmingham and Bradford where local residents’ groups have enacted pickets of prostitutes in order to kerb what they see as a public nuisance.

The law in Britain seeks to make prostitution in public places less visible but, as Hubbard argues, ‘dominant moral geographies appear to dictate this visibility is more acceptable in some spaces than others’ (Hubbard 1997, 133~. These spaces where prostitution is deemed to be ‘in-place’ are commonly known as red-light districts. These places are typically in economically marginal spaces of the city and can, in Hubbard’s terms be seen as ‘a part of a continuing (but contested process involving the exclusion of disorderly prostitution from orderly sexuality for “bad girls” from “good girls”, removing prostitutes from areas where they would stand out as unnatural or deviant, potentially “polluting” civilised society’ (Hubbard 1997, 135). Hubbard reveals how policing strategies often overlook prostitution in designated areas or ‘toleration zones’ in order that they might better exclude prostitutes from elsewhere. Thus places of abjection are created and tolerated on the margins of city centres.

In work on the geography of sexuality the word ‘place’ is often used interchangeably with the word ‘space’. It is important to bear in mind, therefore, the specific analytical qualities of place that make it important in these studies. the idea of being ‘out-of-place’ or ‘in place’ is admittedly a simple one, but one that nonetheless conveys a


sense of the way segments of the geographical world are meaningful and how those meanings both produce and are reproduced by people and their practices. A saying from Sri Lanka states; ‘The fish don’t talc about the water’. What this means is that we rarely explicitly become aware of and tank about that which we take for granted. To a fish the water is their taken-for-granted world. People have environments too – environments made up of meaningful places. What the geographers of sexuality have shown us is that these places more often than not contribute to the invisible and unstated normalisation and naturalisation of particular kinds of sexuality. Other kinds of sexuality – gay, lesbian, bisexual, commercial – threaten the links between space, meaning and practice that make up ‘place’ and suggest other ways of being- other possible meaning; – new kinds of place.

My thoughts.

In a way this discussion of compulsory heterosexuality is very much like an argument that I heard recently that androgynous people are typically gendered male due to a the fact that in society, male implies a lack of social gender.

What I took from this point of view (and how they seemed to explain it in passing) was that male is the norm that all other genders are compared to and as such it is default to the point of invisibilisation – male being defined as not female or not not male whereas female can be defined by other means. Male is the gender to which all others are compared. It is not to say that biologically or socially males do not have gender, but rather to say that they are the yard stick against which ‘deviant/other gender’ is compared. You do not measure a ruler, you use it to measure ‘other things’.

In the same way that masculinity is assumed for all but specifically gendered roles eg. nurse (though there are male nurses) or seamstress – A police officer for instance is assumed to be male unless designated police woman – it is the female that it marked and the male assumed. So too heterosexuality is the assumed norm that society uses as a yardstick to measure ‘deviant sexualities’ – In fact ‘Male Sexuality’ is the norm, for female sexuality is also frowned upon – as shown by the cultural stereotypes about ‘loose women’ or ‘sluts’. Women are not (traditionally) meant to have sexuality beyond that ‘actively engaged’ unto them by men.

This overwhelming presence of the condition of ‘compulsory heterosexuality’ is a self perpetuating paradigm, Because it is expected, it is seen, and something is expected, it will proliferate. The persistence in history of placing ‘those/other’ outside of the framework of ‘normal’ society has let to a paradigm where ghettoized communities are also considered normal (or as normal as the unsullied ‘central’ community).

This abjection of alternate identities creates a situation where objectification and exotification, both positive and negative can flourish unchallenged – this has been seen again and again in history, the most obvious examples being the treatment of ethnic minorities in times of upheaval (such as WW11), this process is very much still with us in the manner that society operates now, people such as ‘queer’ or transgendered people are often forced into small social circles which provide mutual protection, but from which they cannot challenge commonly (societal) held views about them.

The concept that sexuality other than hetero male sexuality ‘belongs placed’ hence is self perpetuating, if all other societal viewpoints than those considered ‘center’ are placed away from center where they do not have ‘write access to the archive’ then the ‘centered center’ will remain centered and unchallenged.

Artists Refs.

Trying something new – I’m putting my artist refs in here – I tend to digitally edit the pics anyhow, and this will probably make retrieval easier. These are from;

The Map as Art: Contemporary Artists Explore Cartography ~ Katharine Harmon (Author)
Publisher: Princeton Architectural Press; 26,5 cm x 23,5 cm edition (September 23, 2009)
ISBN-13: 978-1568987620

Leila Daw

Lake trail (top L) Jetty (top R)

Highway Topography (bottom L) Lycian City (bottom R)

The compass roses in these paintings are left intentionally blank, not just for aesthetic purposes, but to remind the viewer that maps are always subjective representations of the world. Daw asks “How can we know where we are in the world when what we’re looking for determines what we see?”

I am fascinated by one particular contextual element, which is the compass roses, Until the invention (of the function of) magnetic compasses Most maps in the European world were based on the presupposition that the top of the map (the modern day north of the compass rose) was in fact oriented to the East – the direction that the sun (and of course stars) rose in. In Northern china most maps were oriented south – the direction that summer came from – south being warm, vibrant, and life giving (red) – as opposed to north which was considered to be cold, sterile and life taking (white) – these beliefs are still codified to this day in the practice of Feng Shui.

I spent a while earlier this year trying to work out how to situate a map that I was constructing, and as a response to this I came up with the idea of ‘psychologic north’ being an orientation that is arbitrary and varies from person to person – the view down a valley, the lie of the land, the direction that a loved one lives in – surely these are just as valid to a person who lives on the ground and only navigates by foot as an invisible force that pulls a magnet.

Yumi Janairo Roth

I’m intrigued by the fact that the artist asks people to mark her body with these maps the territory is placed onto her – but she then removes or displaces (by means of a camera) it, archives it, reproduces from that archive and then uses it to ask people to help her to place her body within the map – it’s an interesting re/de territorialisation of both the body and the archive – a bodily detournement after a fashion.


Site 22: Mao Zedong Temple

Site 18: Hongyuan Grasslands

In 2002, participants in the ‘Long March Project’ began a “Walking Visual Display” along the route of China’s historic, six-thousand-mile Long March (1934-36). As the team undertook the arduous journey, Beijing-based artist Qin kept in close contact with them and tracked the groups route with needle and ink, on a tattooed map on his back. Three years later, Qin continued the trek where the original marchers had left off. He was accompanied by three cameramen Who recorded their movements over unremittingly demanding terrain-from snow-covered Himalayan peaks to swampy grasslands-and a tattoo artist, who continually updated the groups progress on Qin’s back. The tattooed map is the physical embodiment of this personal journey, and the individual and collective experiences of thousands who previously endured the march or died in the process. In cartography, extreme human hardship can be reduced to a simple line. Qin’s map is more complicated; it was laboriously and painfully made, and challenges any reductive legacy of the original Long, March.

I like this use of the artists body as a canvas for the transcription of a journey into a map, given that his body has been to these places which are “reduced to a simple line” gives that supposedly simple line a far greater degree of semiotic complexity than a mere line on paper would. The map, in this case, has made the journey, rather than just describing it.

Mariele Neudecker

The Air We Breathe is invisible, 1992-96
Photo album, glue, carved map of the English Channel and glass 4.75 x1 4 x 16.5 in.

I like this work, the idea of mapping that which is invisible, or ineffable appeals to me – it’s also a nice use of materials.