Antarctic Animation: Gestures and lines describe a changing environment

By Lisa Roberts

A thesis submitted for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy

College of Fine Arts, The University of New South Wales.

October 2010 Dedication

I dedicate this work with love to my children Josef and Katherine, grandchildren Joshua and Benjamin, and to my teachers Lenton Parr, Simon Pockley and Kathryn Yeo.

i Abstract

The need to engage the public with accurate information about climate change is urgent. Antarctica has become the focus of research for scientists and artists who seek to understand the complex forces at work. Different perceptions of Antarctica are surveyed. These perceptions are expressed through data sets, art works, dances, words, tones of voice and gestures. An iconography of primal gestural forms is iden- tified that has been used since pre-history to make visible expressions of connection to the natural world. The primary research methodology is practice-based. Interviews with expedi- tioners, online responses and improvised movement workshops are used as sources for animations and art works. Animated forms arise from circling, spiraling, and crossing gestures. These ancient choreographies describe the dynamic structures that shape the Antarctic ecosystem and reflect structures within the body through which they are generated. Animations are presented at international conferences and exhibitions of Antarc- tic arts and sciences. An online log is used to display the animations and invite responses. The responses are evaluated. Archetypal gestural forms are found to expand the meaning of climate change data. Recognition of these primal forms (as body knowledge) is found to add a dimension of meaning to scientific information that is an essential component of accurate communication.

ii Contents

Dedication i

Abstract ii

Acknowledgments vi

Declaration vii

How to read the thesis viii

Chapter 1. Introduction 1 Imagining a different view 1 Problems of perception 7 An animated response 7 Overview of the study 8

Chapter 2. Perceptions 9 Aesthetic balance 9 Believing is seeing 11 Icons of place and time 14 Images of deception 18 Relationships laid bare 22 Arctic reflections 27 Planar and global geometries 30

Chapter 3. ...towards an iconography 32 We are ourselves nature 33 Desperate flows of methane 36 Changes in the ocean 38 Beauty and biomass 40 Satellite views 43 The body draws lines 47 Imagined space 49 Mapping relationships 58 Oceanic views 59

Chapter 4. Gesture and line 62 Elemental forms 62 Whole making 68 Dual resonance 75 Spontaneous forming 77

iii Table of Contents

Chapter 5. Methodology and methods 82 Interviews 84 Online interactions 85 Movement workshops 87 Drawing 92 Direct observations 92 Scientific reflections 94 Artistic reflections 96 Animation 99 Animation interfaces 102 Art works 103

Chapter 6. Antarctic Animation 108 Insights 108 Energies 110

Chapter 7. Discussion 119 Everything and nothing 120 Connectivity 123 Improvised movement 123 Improvised animation 129 Beauty of the data 133 Depths of wonder 137 Reading the ice 140

Chapter 8. Conclusion 145 Reciprocity 145 Impact of the animations 147 Shared insights 151 Next steps 155 Postscript: The journey home 156

Glossary 158

Appendix 160

Appendix 1: Interviews 161 A: Fred Elliott and Jack Ward 161 B: Pamen Pereira 165 C: Dominic Hodgson 167 D: Siobhan Davies 173 E: Steve Nicol 180 F: Jo Whittaker 181

Appendix 2: Science notes 191

Appendix 3: Foundation work 194 A: Beware of Pedestrians 194

iv Table of Contents

B: Roget’s Circular 198 C: A Little Skiting on the Side 202

Appendix 4: Effort actions 206

Appendix 5: Movement workshop scores 207

Appendix 6: Production process 210

Appendix 7: Animation interfaces 212

List of Figures 221

List of Tables 230

Bibliography 231

v Acknowledgments

This project was supported by an Australian Postgraduate Award and admin- istered by the College of Fine Arts, University of New South Wales. Foundation work that led to the project was supported by an Australian Antarctic Division Arts Fellowship and funding from the Australia Council for the Arts. I am grateful to my supervisors, Simon Pockley and John Hughes, who inspired and encouraged me. Technical assistance in all aspects of the project was most gratefully received from my partner Ken Wilson, Antarctic expeditioner and tireless explorer of less- known places. His encouragements and challenges helped to make the work more achievable and meaningful. To my family and friends I owe deep thanks for understanding my need to focus fully on the project. I wholeheartedly thank those who contributed: Scientific data and other information: Australian Antarctic Divi- sion: Cathy Bruce, Barbara Frankel, Nicholas Gales, Gómez-Gutiérrez, So Kawaguchi, Rob King, Steve Nicol, Nick Lovibond, David Watts, Peter Wiley; British Antarc- tic Survey: Nerilie Abram, Athena Dinar, Dominic Hodgson; Instituto Antkr- tico Argentino: Rodolfo del Valle; Bernadette Hince, Rob Jung, George Murphy, Cameron Smith, Mark Taylor, Ken Wilson; Artistic insights: Lorraine Beaulieu, Karin Beaumont, Philippe Boissonnet, Bill Burch, Michael Burton, David Carter, Jan Chaffey, Colin Christiansen, Jack Colwell, Rena Czaplinska, Phil Dadson, Andrew Davidson, Siobhan Davies, Aidan Davis, Rodolfo del Valle, Athena Dinar, Stephen Eastaugh, Fred Elliott, Yoris Ev- eraerts, Larysa Fabok, Noel Gieleghem, Michaela Gleave, Gómez-Gutiérrez, Lisa Goren, Peter Gormley, Mircalla Havier, Kim Holten, Hobart Hughes, Tod Iolovski, Megan Jenkinson, Andrea Juan, Bronwyn Judge, Jenna Kelly, Anthony Lucas, Meredith Lucy, Alasdair McGregor, Christine McMillan, Catherine Magill, Bill Manhire, George Murphy, Steve Nicol, Diane Patterson, Pamen Pereira, Cather- ine Ryan, Jonathan Sinatra, John Smith, Rupert Summerson, Hilton Swan, Coral Tulloch, Jack Ward, Joanne Whittaker, Peter Wiley; Peer responses: Carmel Bird, Maxine Blackburn, Margaret Brooks, Sylvia Chard, Peter Charuk, Nina Colossi, Nicholas Dawkins, Arthur Desrues, Dillon Cole- man, Siobhan Davies, Jennifer de Leon, Bryan Fricker, Valerie Grieg, Casey Hand- mer, Caroline Huff, Denis Kelynack, Ben McInnes, Kimberley McIntyre, Sharon Pittaway, Vikki Quill, Elaine Russell, Juanita Sherwood, Robert Stephenson, Kathryn Yeo.

vi Declaration

ORIGINALITY STATEMENT I hereby declare that the work in this thesis is my own work and that to the best of my knowledge it contains no materials previously published or written by another person, or substantial proportions of material which have been accepted for the award of any other degree or diploma at UNSW or any other educational institution, except where due acknowledgment is made in the thesis. Any contribution made to the research by others, with whom I have worked at UNSW or elsewhere, is explicitly acknowledged in the thesis. I also declare that the intellectual content of the thesis is the product of my own work, except to the extent that assistance from others in the project’s design and conception or in style, presentation and linguistic expression is acknowledged.

Signed Date

COPYRIGHT STATEMENT I hereby grant the University of New South Wales or its agents the right to archive and to make available my thesis or dis- sertation in whole or part in the University libraries in all forms of media, now or here after known, subject to the provisions of the Copyright Act 1968. I re- tain all proprietary rights, such as patent rights. I also retain the right to use in future works (such as articles or books) all or part of this thesis or dissertation. I also authorise University Microfilms to use the 350 word abstract of my thesis in Dissertation Abstract International (this is applicable to doctoral theses only). I have either used no substantial portions of copyright material in my thesis or I have obtained permission to use copyright material; where permission has not been granted I have applied/will apply for a partial restriction of the digital copy of my thesis or dissertation.

Signed Date

AUTHENTICITY STATEMENT I certify that the Library deposit digital copy is a direct equivalent of the final officially approved version of my thesis. No emendation of content has occurred and if there are any minor variations in formatting, they are the result of the conversion to digital format.

Signed Date

vii How to read the thesis

The work submitted for examination consists of animations and an exegesis. Inside the back cover of this text you will find a data CD that contains 46 ani- mations, associated material and a .pdf of the exegesis. Icons in the margins (for example, the foot prints to the right of these words) will refer you to the same iconography on the CD. The exegesis needs to be read alongside the animations. A computer with a CD slot is essential for accessing the data disk. To view the animations: • Insert the CD into the CD slot • Open the CD (double-click) • Open the folder, ‘animations’ • Open ‘index.html’ Your browser will open the .html file even if your computer has no access to the internet. However, because the CD includes links to website pages, internet access is needed. Most of the material submitted for examination was developed online through the website, http://antarcticanimation.com. While this material is available online, and some links to it are included on the CD, the website itself is not being submitted for examination. The website provides an insight into the complex interactions between people that occurred to develop the thesis. The Adobe Flash Player plug-in and a web browser (preferably Firefox) are needed to access the animations from both the CD and website. If these are not already installed, free versions that are compatible with your system can be selected and downloaded from: http://get.adobe.com/flashplayer/otherversions/ http://www.downloadfirefoxbrowser.com/ Speakers or headphones will be needed to hear sound. Unless indicated ‘(Silent)’, all the animations have sound. Sound levels vary, so the volume control on your computer may need to be adjusted accordingly. The volume control on most com- puters is located on the menu bar of the Desktop or on the keyboard and is usually indicated by an icon that resembles a loud speaker. By clicking on this icon you can access a mute button (which should be unselected) and a slider to control sound levels. Animations vary in size. This means that some will take longer to load than others. Unless indicated, all animations are less than one minute long. However, because computers process data at different speeds, the timing of animations will vary. Animations are set to play as repeating loops.

viii CHAPTER 1

Introduction

‘We ourselves are nature.’ (Drury in Gooding, 2007, p.2)

Imagining a different view

During the summer of 2001-2002 I worked as an Arts Fellow with the Australian Antarctic Division (AAD) on the seventh voyage (V7) of that season. Like other artists before me, I went to experience Antarctica and to communicate something of that through my practice. Like the scientists who work in Antarctica, I proposed a programme for research. The main research programme for V7 was to measure chemical changes in the water around the Amery Ice Shelf, where Antarctica’s largest glacier, the Lambert, meets the sea. The aim was to collect data from instruments in the region, to understand what changes happening in the ice relate to sea levels rising (Church and Rintoul, 2005). My proposal was to gather material with which to make art works to raise public awareness of Antarctica. Works that were made included drawings, paint- ings, prints, assemblages, an animated interactive CD-ROM, called 42 Days and a sequential version of this, called Imagining a Different View (Roberts, 2003b). Before departing with V7, my most recent knowledge of Antarctica had come from veteran whale observer, Debra Glasgow, whom I met on Flinders Island. I met Debra while working on A Little Skiting on the Side (Apps and Kelly, 2000) (Appendix 3C). Her photos of Antarctica had surprised me by their energy and movement. They contradicted the vision I had, until then, of Antarctica as remote and still. Debra’s images of delicate patterned ice, shaped by wind and changing temperatures, reflected a strong connection to natural forces closely seen and felt. They reflected a sense of how Antarctica is shaped. These were the images that moved me to go to Antarctica, even though I was unconscious of this impulse at the time. I arrived in Antarctica in February 2002, on the day that George Bush refused to ratify the Kyoto Protocol. Expressions of disbelief on the faces of the scientists on board stirred me to find out how they saw Antarctica. But they had come to work on their research programs, not mine. Although they shared some fragments of their knowledge, there was no time to get a sense of what they were observing. The journey would be the catalyst for future work.

1 Chapter 1: Introduction Imagining a different view

In Antarctica I collected plankton from a frozen lake with a biologist and scram- bled over rocks with a geologist to see an elephant seal wallow. I stood with fellow expeditioners to watch water reflecting up to the sky (water skies) (Figure 1.1) and charged solar particles fluorescing gas in the upper atmosphere (auroras). I studied the varying surface textures of water, shaped by wind and currents (waves) (Figure 1.2). Each day I drew, painted, wrote, animated and practiced Tai Chi. I experienced a heightened sense of the forces that martial artist Paul Crompton describes as ‘merging’: Moving slowly, . . . breathing, it seems, in time with a gentle breeze; merging with Nature itself . . . Head, shoulders, arms, trunk, legs and feet move as one; continuously, smoothly and restfully; as if swimming into a new, all-pervading element; a different time, a different space (Crompton, 1992, p.vi).

Figure 1.1. Lisa Roberts, Lens (Water sky), Pencil on notebook paper (detail) (2002)

Visual observations were preceded by bodily, or kinaesthetic, sensations. These sensations varied in quality and intensity. Figure 1.2 shows drawings that were made while standing on the bridge of the ship. High above the hull, the pitching and rolling motion of the sea beneath was amplified. Lines that were drawn while observing the waves from this position recorded my amplified motion with the ship through the water. A more visceral connection to the sea was felt when working below deck, closer to the swell of the sea, where I had set up a studio in a small science lab. Figure 1.3 shows the result of placing pools of ink and water on paper, to trace patterns of our motion through a storm. Like a seismograph that measures the force of an earthquake, a pool of ink and water traces forces of the sea. One mark was recognised as a creature. I imagined it screaming with the high pitched sound of the ship’s stabilisers. The mark describes the motion of the ship and a feeling of being a part of that motion. Pools of ink and water could objectively record and, at the same time, express a sensation of movement. I selected from these marks those that most resonated with my feelings.

2 Chapter 1: Introduction Imagining a different view

Figure 1.2. Lisa Roberts, Watery Calligraphy (Waves), Pen and ink on notebook paper (detail) (2002)

Figure 1.3. Lisa Roberts, ‘Change’ (42 days, Day 09 2002), Digital print (Detail) (2002)

Other methods were used to describe body connections to Antarctica (Figure 1.4). For example, a method of body-motion drawing was developed. While holding a pen as still as possible over paper, I allowed the motion of my body to govern the forms of the lines. Lines trace body motion governed by the force of a storm. This way of drawing is completely opposite, but in many ways similar, to a seismograph’s capturing of Earth motions. On the third day of the journey, high winds blew over crests of waves, breaking them up into frothy white forms. Figure 1.5 shows how these forms were described in paint and ink as profusions of curly lines. Tracings of these lines were used to make small ‘wave’ animations, which were later included in Imagining a Different View. Waves appear to draw and re-draw themselves, over the original lines that were made in the journal. The cyclic motions of waves forming and re-forming add a gestural quality. Their fluid lines resemble a kind of calligraphy. Like the animated signature of Hannah Brown, in Roget’s Circular (Appendix3B), animated lines trace an internal, empathic response to the environment.

3 Chapter 1: Introduction Imagining a different view

Figure 1.4. Lisa Roberts, Trace of body motion through the Southern Ocean, 31 Jan 2002, Pen and ink on notebook paper (2002)

Figure 1.5. Lisa Roberts, Drawing in Imagining A Different View, Digital animation on CD-ROM (2003)

I refer to this technique, of animating drawings made directly from life, to simulate the gestures made to draw them, as simulated-drawing. This method was later used to watch and draw live krill and to trace gestures and drawings made by other artists. On the eighth evening of the voyage, a green dot appeared on a radar screen that was tracking for ice that could damage the ship. Dense ice forms called growlers, that drift below the sea surface, are dangerous to ships (Hince, 2000, p.6). A glow- ing white form emerged from darkness and mist. It was an ice berg that resembled a castle. While drawing its worn, ethereal form, I experienced contradictory sensa- tions of closeness and distance. For no apparent reason, drawing this form brought to mind the moment I drew my mother as she was dying. Figure 1.6 shows how the image, ‘Berg’ (Day 08, 2002), combines this drawing with the sound form of the spoken word, ‘berg’ (Roberts, 2003a). A sound form is a digital visualisation of sound; it is aural data. The lines within the data connect to the lines that describe the mist through which the ice emerged. Vertical

4 Chapter 1: Introduction Imagining a different view

Figure 1.6. Lisa Roberts, ‘Berg’ (Day 08, 2002), Digital print (2003) and horizontal lines, placed to resemble a cross, describe paradoxical feelings of closeness and distance, that were remembered in the moment of drawing. Body memories of drawing my mother were recognised through the gestures I made to draw the ice. Perhaps this icy environment evokes a primal sense of mortality. These memories of first seeing an ice berg helped me to empathise with other people who struggle with words to describe deeply felt personal experiences. It made it easy for me to understand how Antarctic ice may appear to have a life of its own. Although we may only be able to speak of the surface of ideas and feelings that we see in the ice, something more primal can be felt within it. As the ship approached Antarctica, everything in sight became silent and still. Ice bergs and sea ice dominated the view. Scientists explained that sea ice damp- ens the turbulence of the sea by its massive weight. This mechanical explanation deepened my understanding of what I was sensing. On the bridge of the ship I observed a scientist writing poetry. He talked about the poetry of the ice. He read his poems to me. This made me wonder what depths of understanding seasoned expeditioners might have of Antarctica. Further conversations with scientists and other expeditioners prompted the idea that if their voices could be recorded, animations could be made to reflect their knowledge. After days of grey stormy seas, the white expanse of ice appeared ethereal and calm. To capture the subtle changes in the skies and passing ice forms, I drew more swiftly. The lines became simpler, stronger and more flowing. As the views became more elemental, more subtleties could be discerned. The drawing of sea ice made on day thirteen (Figure 1.7) reflects subtle variations in shapes and tones within the ice and sky. After days of intense drawing, it seemed possible to trace the choreography of this moving world. Sensations that were to become body memories of Antarctica were laid down by moving through it and from drawing. The body memories added a sense of moving through a space that was at the same time being measured and expressed as data. Paradoxically, the sense of Antarctica as an elusive moving form heightened after arriving on land. Climbing Mount Henderson, which pokes up through the ice sheet inland from Mawson station, I could imagine its massive height by imagining 5 Chapter 1: Introduction Imagining a different view

Figure 1.7. Lisa Roberts, Day 13, 2002, 42 Days, Animated interactive CD-ROM (2003) the depth of rock hidden beneath. Looking around from its summit, the world appeared wider. Horizons at the poles physically extend further than at any other places on Earth; like an orange that has been squashed gently at both ends, the poles are flattened by centripetal forces that spin the world around (Fox, 2007). A sense of scale can be measured according to our senses. The day I climbed Mt Henderson (Figure 1.8), the air was, I was later told, unusually clear and still. The silence seemed to free my mind. I imagined the time it took to form this massive structure and for crystals of snow to gather over it. I felt grounded by solid, ice-bound rock and uplifted by clear sky. Blood pumping through my head seemed to cry, ‘I am part of this living world’. Lines drawn in that moment record this brief sensation, of being somehow balanced between space and time, within an infinite void.

Figure 1.8. Lisa Roberts, ‘katabatic’ (Day 31, 2002), Digital print (2003)

6 Chapter 1: Introduction An animated response

Problems of perception

Antarctica is extreme, remote and inaccessible. Although changes within Antarc- tica can be clearly discerned and measured, this place is notoriously difficult to describe from lived experience. It is possibly the place that offers humans the least number of sensory stimuli and yet our senses can be heightened there. Artists strug- gle to represent a place that many people perceive as empty. Scientists struggle to explain how it works as an ecosystem and to engage the public with what they un- derstand. Although Antarctica is remote from everyday experience, it is vital that its changes be understood. Evidence has been found in Antarctica that implicates human behaviour in the disruption of the natural cycles of global climate change. Animations offer scientists other ways of knowing that are not easily available to them. Artistic and scientific knowledge of Antarctica is usually presented in separate conferences, exhibitions and online repositories. When combined, however, depths of meaning can be added to these different ways of knowing. Scientific data sets are often compiled using methods that require a degree of separation from the subject of investigation. Data sets alone provide no sense of how people experience the world. They have become disembodied measurements. In this time of confusion about what changes are actually happening in Antarctica, the insights of scientists need to be combined with those of artists in order to make their data more accessible to the public. An elemental language of gesture and line has been used by humans since an- cient times to embody a primal understanding of our place in the world. This accords with Indigenous and Gaia world views, that we are part of a living Earth. By Indigenous I mean a way that humans relate to the environment that is shaped by common elemental structures. By Gaia I refer to the hypothesis that Earth maintains conditions that are suitable for life, through a dynamic balance of inter- acting physical and biological forces.

An animated response

The research question is, can animation be used to combine scientific data with subjective responses to Antarctica? My aim is to make animations that com- bine scientific perceptions with bodily responses using gesture and line in order to communicate accurate information about climate change. By ‘gesture’ I mean a movement performed consciously or unconsciously through the body. By ‘line’ I mean a trace form, described by a gesture, that is visible as a mark made in physical form, or that can be imagined in the space used to perform the gesture. ‘Trace forms’ are lines that describe energy flows between the human body and the environment. These energy flows are also referred to as ‘lines of force’. My use of gesture is not be confused with forms of anthropomorphism that ascribe social attributes of humans to other living forms. I have used a lexicon of primal gestural forms that, when recognised, promotes a form of deep understanding associated with body knowledge.

7 Chapter 1: Introduction Overview of the study

The circle, spiral and cross describe structures within the Antarctic ecosystem and the forms that are most naturally traced by human gestures. Gesture is as- sumed to predate writing as our first language (Corballis, 1999). The symbols of the circle, spiral and cross have been identified as trace forms of primal gestures. These symbols are traced naturally by virtue of our anatomical structure: the arm pivots at the shoulder to draw a circle; a spiral traces circular motion as it increases or decreases in energy; a looping ‘infinity’ sign traces a swinging gesture that crosses at the centre (Watts, 1977, p.13). These forms have been recognised, in drawings of children and Great Apes, as ‘fundamental’ (Watts, 1977, p.10). They are known as ‘semantic primitives’ that are used in all forms of language (Fricker, 2010). Cir- cling, spiraling and crossing forms appear in both scientific and artistic responses to Antarctica. Our senses provide knowledge about our environment that allows us to move safely through it (Fox, 2000, p.46);(Lovelock, 2009, p.125). A sense of being part of a global environment comes through the kinesphere (Fox, 2000, p.46). The ‘kinesphere’ is the extent of an imaginary space that is described by the reach of the body. Within the kinesphere we use all the senses that make us aware of our use of energy and our place in space and time (Exiner and Lloyd, 1977, p.4). Scientific and aesthetic knowledge can be combined to give a sense of the beauty of Antarctica as a unified system that is vital to the natural balance of Earth as a dynamic whole.

Overview of the study

In Chapters 2 and 3 different perceptions of Antarctica are reviewed. An iconog- raphy of primal gestural forms is identified that communicates a sense of human presence in Antarctica. Chapter 4 is a review of ways that gesture and line have been used since pre- history to make visible expressions of connection to the natural world. Chapter 5 is a discussion of how I developed animations from interviews, online interactions, movement workshops and my practice of drawing and movement. In Chapter 6 the animations Insights and Energies are discussed in relation to a lexicon of primal gestural forms. Chapter 7 is a critical appraisal of the value of gesture and line in the animations to make sense of scientific data. Chapter 8 is a conclusion. Responses to the animations (from different com- munities) are compared and next steps are identified. Chapter 8 is followed by a Glossary of terms, an Appendix, a list of Figures, a list of Tables and a Bibliography.

8 CHAPTER 2

Perceptions

Aesthetic balance

Considerations of symmetry led the ancient Greeks ‘to postulate another land mass under the southern celestial pole to balance the land masses of the North- ern Hemisphere’ (Law and Béchervaise, 1957, p.xi). The map in Figure 2.1, The Western Hemisphere in the World, depicts Antarctica as a geometric construct (Monachus, 1529). Poet Bill Manhire explains the Ancient Greek notion of Antarc- tica as ‘an aesthetic hypothesis’, drawn before it was known to satisfy a need for harmonic design (Manhire, 2004b, p.9). To what extend the wiggly and straight lines represent known and unknown regions is uncertain. Perhaps the wiggly lines represent known regions because they are close to inhabited land (Chile). The straight lines could represent regions that were speculated or imagined. Simple lines may represent the unknown.

Figure 2.1. Franciscus Monachus, The Western Hemisphere in the World, Map (1529)

Philosopher of science Alexandre Koyré explains the Ancient Greek world view by contrasting it with the Copernican view that overthrew it in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries (Koyré, 1957, p.viii). Koyré describes the paradigm shift between the views as the destruction of the cosmos and the geometrization of space . . . the replacement of the Aristotelian conception of space - a differentiated set of inner-worldly places - by that of Euclidean geometry - an essentially infinite and homogeneous extension - from now on considered as identical to the real space of the world. For the Ancient Greeks, the word Cosmos referred to ‘order, ornament, world or universe’ (Shorter Oxford Dictionary, 1985, p.433). This accords with the idea of aesthetic beauty as harmonic design perceived through the senses. This early map reflects a primal sensory connection.

9 Chapter 2: Perceptions Aesthetic balance

Writer William Fox notes that Maps not only plot the surface of the land but, seen in historical sequence, also show us how our attitudes have imposed changing conceptions of landscape on that same land. Sometimes these landscapes are more mental than physical - a national territorial claim is just a line on a piece of paper . . . (Fox, 2007, p.45). Indigenous peoples traditionally define space and place in terms of their relation- ships to land. So place is important, and how we describe it . . . ceremony brings us together so that we occupy the same space. . . . I think that [the] Indigenous concept of place is that there is that same kind of relation between humans and our environment. So the distance or relationship between ourselves and the environment is sacred, and so you do ceremonies to bridge that space or that distance (Lewis in Wilson, 2009b, p.86-87). Ceremonies communicate Indigenous knowledge that ‘All forms of living things are to be respected as being related and inter connected’ (Wilson, 2009b, p.60). Knowledge of connection between land and human forms is primal. ‘The measure of the land and the measure of our bodies are the same’ (Chief Joseph in Wilson, 2009b, p.60). Indigenous knowledge of land is based not on abstract considerations of symmetry but on the naturally symmetrical form of the human body, through which every body can know that land is another word for place, environment, your reality, the space you’re in . . . Indigenous is another word for human be- ing . . . following not cultural norms but following foundational structures that are common to each other like the circle . . . the Indigenous world view [is] egalitarian, it’s relational, it’s a struc- ture that supports an inclusion, a wholeness (Lewis in Wilson, 2009b, p. 92, 88). When the meaning of Indigenous is expanded to include people who behave in accordance with the forces that shape structures that are common to both our bodies and environment, Indigenous ways of knowing are available to everyone. Perhaps there is an Indigenous way of knowing Antarctica. Scientist James Lovelock promotes the idea that Earth is in a constant state of dynamic equilibrium: ‘a stable planet made up of unstable parts’ (Lovelock, 2000, p.x-xi). Its circular, dynamic form has meaning as an icon of climate change. For some the icon of greatest meaning is that blue-white vision of the East first seen from space by astronauts. That icon is undergoing subtle changes as the white ice fades away, the green forest and grassland fades into the dun of desert, and the oceans lose their blue-green hue and turn a purer, swimming-pool blue as they too become desert (Lovelock, 2009, p.1).

10 Chapter 2: Perceptions Believing is seeing

Within a simple finite form, infinitely complex systems of energy are contained. Ar- chetypal structures (or icons) such as the circle are used to express Indigenous and Gaia ways of knowing. Indigenous knowledge comes from lived experience of surviv- ing in the world since prehistory. The Gaia view reflects scientific understandings and has become associated (by name) with the Greek Earth Goddess. By now [around 1968] a planet-sized entity, albeit hypothetical, had been born, with properties which could not be predicted from the sum of its parts. It needed a name. Fortunately the author William Golding was a fellow-villager. Without hesita- tion he recommended that this creature be called Gaia, after the Greek Earth Goddess also known as Ge, from which root the sciences of geography and geology derive their names. In spite of my ignorance of the classics, the suitability of this choice was obvious. . . . I also felt that in the days of Ancient Greece the concept itself was probably a familiar aspect of life, even if not formally expressed (Lovelock, 2000, p.10). The view of Earth as a fellow creature invites a relationship to it that defies the formalities of rational argument. Regardless of beliefs that people may attach to Gaia, it is useful as an icon because it appeals to memories of our own lived ex- perience. It makes sense to relate the records of change found on Earth to our own body structure if we seek to connect people to accurate information about climate change. Icons are useful for bridging the gaps between what is known and unknown. When combined with observations and measurements they can add profound (pre-verbal) meanings to information. However, when these same forms are used primarily to map Antarctica as part of a system of belief, people may be misled from questioning the verifiable (scientific) evidence. Examples are ‘oth- erworldly’ maps of Antarctica made by Athanius Kircher (1602-1680) and John Cleaves Symmes (1780-1829) (Godwin, 1993, p.106-112).

Believing is seeing

Antarctic scholars Paul Simpson-Housley and Francis Spufford each examine how the metaphors used by polar explorers reflected their perceptions (Simpson- Housley, 1992);(Spufford, 1996). From his studies of diaries and poems of Antarctic explorers and of Coleridge’s poem, the Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Simpson- Housley examined how perceptions and misconceptions of the Antarctic were cre- ated and propagated (Coleridge, 1798);(Simpson-Housley, 1992, p.69). Perceptions of explorers were shaped by prior training, experiences and expectations. Early mis- conceptions included the existence of Antarctic islands (e.g. Bouvelot Island) that were charted and named after they were discovered, but were subsequently unable to be located. It is likely that these islands were ice bergs. For Simpson-Housley, Perception is a learned process, and not simply a response to a stimulus. People often see in an object what they anticipate rather than what is actually there. It is not so much that seeing is believing but rather that believing is seeing (Simpson-Housley, 1992, p.xv). 11 Chapter 2: Perceptions Believing is seeing

To test his proposal, Simpson-Housley recorded individual responses to such natural phenomena as ‘the aurora australis, the effects of the sun and moon, im- pressive mountains and their associated glaciers, and the beauty of atmospheric phenomena and mirages’ (Simpson-Housley, 1992, p.90). Examining the written responses of some early explorers, he identifies a connection between ice and lone- liness, which he speculates is evidence of prior knowledge of the same connection made by Coleridge in his Rime. The albatross features in both the Rime and the accounts of explorers, suggesting that ‘[b]oth poets and explorers desired the omniscience of gods and freedom to soar’ (Simpson-Housley, 1992, p.99). Spufford’s comparison of language used in Cook’s utilitarian accounts and Co- leridge’s poetry reveals vastly different world views (Spufford, 1996, p.46). Spufford cites Cook apologising for his ‘plain style’ and his warning that ‘the Public must not expect from me the elegance of a fine writer’. However, Spufford proposes, Cook’s apology and warning in fact ‘gave his readers something like a guarantee that the extraordinary things he related were reliable’. He observes that Coleridge drew on Cook’s journal of his second (1772-1775) voyage to give a degree of veracity to his imagined icy world. ‘The ice, mast-high that floated by, green as emerald,was probably fused together from Cook’s and other descriptions’. Spufford argues that thanks to such literature, polar exploration became ‘a subject for debate, a resource for metaphor and slang, and a powerful mobiliser of emotion: All these are signs that a domain had been found for it in here as well as out there’ (Spufford, 1996, p.46). Space was found for Antarctica within the public imagination. Simpson- Housley identifies such familiar metaphors as the ice and the bird as iconographic connectors to an unfamiliar place. Both utilitarian and poetic world views were necessary to imagine Antarctica. New Zealand writer Ken McAnergney tells his story, ‘In My Mind I am Going to Antarctica’. He uses direct observations and symbolic word pictures passed down through his Maori heritage (McAnergney, 2008). McAnergney flew by aeroplane to McMurdo Sound and, according to legend, his ancestors sailed there by boat. As he told his story, he shifted between English and his native Maori language to emphasise the relationship between the journeys. The migratory lunar patterns of the moon bird (mutton bird) form a connection between the present and the timeless reality of ancestral spirits. The ancestors returned from their voyage and described a great white smoking mountain. When McAnergney emerged from the aeroplane in Antarctica he was able to recognise Mount Erebus. Knowledge of personal experience combined with ancestral knowledge had been passed on through story. The actual encounter follows a deeply spiritual connection. The legend of the great white smoking mountain assumes a timeless presence when combined with direct experience. Scientist and expeditioner Phillip Law speculates that Hui-te-Rangiora, a Poly- nesian man, was possibly the first to set eyes on Antarctica and that in about 750 AD he reached as far south as the pack ice (Law and Béchervaise, 1957, p.xi). Historian Stephen Martin agrees, although some details (e.g. dates) vary in his account.

12 Chapter 2: Perceptions Believing is seeing

In about AD 650, he built a large canoe, the Te Ivi-O-Atea in which he made great voyages across the Pacific. Ui-ti-rangiora [sic] sailed south from Fiji past New Zealand into a foggy, dark sea with monstrous waves. In this place things like rocks grow out of the sea and their bare summits pierce the skies. He named this sea Tai-uka-aoia, meaning ‘the sea with foam like arrowroot’, a common white substance in Polynesia. Ui-ti-rangiora and his crew may have been the first people to see Antarctic seas (Mar- tin, 1996, p.33). Martin’s account confirms the idea that ‘People often see in an object what they anticipate rather then what is actually there’ (Simpson-Housley, 1992, p.xv). Ice- bergs are described as ‘rocks’ with ‘bare summits’ growing out of the sea and pack ice is the ‘foam’ of arrowroot. The struggle to describe Antarctica resorts to the language of the known. A report from the 1912 voyage of Japanese explorer Nobu Shirasi describes a first sighting of Antarctica’s Great Ice Barrier. At 2 A.M. we made out a faint pale grey line on the horizon to port, which we thought must either be a mountain or a cloud. Not until 4 A.M. did we see that it was actually the undulating wall of the Great Ice Barrier itself. As we drew nearer we could see it more and more clearly. At first sight it appeared as a sweeping crescent of ice about 150 shaku high; it was like a series of pure white folding screens, or perhaps a gigantic white snake at rest (Spufford, 2007, p.74-75). Antarctic scholar Ben McInnes suggests that this report is unlikely to have been written by Shirase because such poetic language was unusual for him (McInnes, 2008). McInnes describes Shirase as more of a ‘boy’s own adventurer’ than a poet. However, uncharacteristic responses can be evoked by deeply felt encounters with the natural environment. Antarctic explorers frequently resort to poetry to reflect their responses. Regardless of how out of character these words may be for Shirase, they add depth to what was ‘actually’ seen, ‘more and more clearly’ as the ship approached the ice. Not everyone is familiar with arrowroot, or with folding paper screens. More metaphors and symbols are needed to describe Antarctica. Expeditioner Jack Ward spent a year in Antarctica in the 1950’s. He describes Antarctica as elemental. The pleasure there is in being here, is hard to define. I tried to draw it as an absence of petty limitations, non-ordinariness of everyday things; a more elemental living . . . Certainly you miss people, or rather the different aspects of people met in city life. Mental stimulus is lacking . . . (Ward, 1955, 13 Nov). When reduced to eating his dogs, the early Antarctic explorer Douglas Mawson dreamed about a confectioner’s shop, describing the food that he hungered for as ‘decidedly grand and apparently opulent’ (Mawson, 2002, p.175). Another kind of hunger is reflected in Ward’s description of crevasses.

13 Chapter 2: Perceptions Icons of place and time

They are merely long orderly gutters in the ice; sometimes made evident by snow piled higher than on the ice and sometimes by slumped whiteness. Where the ice is pressed between protruding mountains, they narrow and look snaky and venomous. I went back carefully and saw that the slot was deep, not well filled with snow, and radiantly blue below and felt inclined to worship it - the hungry depth of wonderful colour (Ward, 1955, 2 May). Ward’s pleasure in the ice is described as both elemental and sensory. Mawson’s dream images reflect desires that contrast with deprivations actually experienced. The senses can be sharpened in elemental conditions.

Icons of place and time

Perceptions of Antarctica have been strongly influenced by the people who have shaped its history. In 1957, the Director of the Antarctic Division in Australia Phillip Law cate- gorised eras of Antarctic history as Maritime, Heroic, Developmental and Mecha- nized (Law in Law and Béchervaise, 1957, p.xii-xxiv). According to Law, the Maritime Era (1820-1900), which followed Cook’s reports of abundant seals and whales in the Southern Ocean, was identified by intensive British and American sealing that began in the area south of Cape Horn. Names of expeditioners of this time include Weddell, Biscoe, Kemp, Balleny, Dumont d’Urville, Wilkes and Ross. No one had yet spent a year in Antarctica. Images that shaped contemporary perceptions of Antarctica include scientific illustrations, seascapes and scrimshaw carvings. Law characterised The Heroic Era (1900-1916) by the exploration of the surface of the continent mainly by sledge. Names associated with this era are: Robert Fal- con Scott, Otto Nordenskjold, Ernest Shackleton, Roald Amundsen and Douglas Mawson. Iconography was deliberately constructed by the photographers and film makers Herbert Ponting and Frank Hurley, who accompanied expeditions to pub- licise heroic deeds (Hurley and Law, 1963). Stories that characterise perceptions of this era are the race between Amundsen and Scott to reach the South Pole and Mawson’s lone sledge journey. Flags were hoisted. Speeches were read. Territories were named and claimed. Antarctica was promoted as wild terrain. The lesser known eras named by Law were the eras of Development and Mech- anization. The Development Era (1918-1939) was the period between the two world wars. It was characterised by extensive use of radio and aircraft and the intensive (specula- tive) collection of scientific data. Scientific research in meteorology, geomagnetism, geology, biology, oceanography and the aurora was undertaken by the 1911-1914 expedition of Douglas Mawson. Mawson also charted inland Antarctica and the whaling magnate Lars Christensen charted parts of the continental coast line. Antarctica’s first permanent research stations, such as Mawson, were built dur- ing the Mechanized Era (1944-1958). Aeroplanes were used to make the first aerial maps of the Antarctic coastline.

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The first international Antarctic research programmes were begun as part of the International Geophysical Year (IGY) of 1957-58, to map the entire Antarctic continent. Law explains that Geophysics is a general term embracing a number of sciences concerned with the study of the physical properties of the Earth and its atmosphere. For most of these subjects it is essential that data be obtained from all regions of the Earth and consequently the Arctic, the Antarctic and the great oceans of the world have constituted large gaps in the world network of observatories (Law in Law and Béchervaise, 1957, p.xii-xxiv). The perception of Antarctica rapidly expanded from being a site of international scientific research to an ‘Eldorado’ to be exploited. The mining ores [in Antarctica] will present no great difficulty but the transport of the material back to other continents will be a major problem . . . it seems certain that man will continue to pit his brains and ingenuity against the forces of Nature until he has overcome the difficulties which at present delay the full exploitation of Antarctica (Law in Law and Béchervaise, 1957, p.xii-xxiv). This perception of Antarctica brings to mind the issue of Terra Nullius. Terra nullius, the Latin term for ‘land belonging to no-one’, was misused by the British to describe Australia when they came to exploit its resources (Cavanaugh and Fisher, 1999, Unit 2, p.12 ). People have lived in Australia for more than 40,000 years (Bowler, 2002). No people lived in Antarctica until very recently. The people who have lived there (albeit briefly), and come to identify strongly with it, may be justified in calling themselves Indigenous Antarcticans.1 Alongside his expressions of eagerness to exploit Antarctica, Law also displayed strong feelings of connection to it. These feelings are displayed through a singu- larly potent image. When appointed as the first director of what later became the Australian Antarctic Division (AAD), Law commissioned a logo for the new organi- sation. The logo features concentric circles (Law and Béchervaise, 1957, Title page) (Figure 2.2). Lines describe Antarctic life forms around the outer circle. These im- ages frame an inner circle of lines of longitude that meet at the South Pole.2Unlike the current AAD logo (a generic Australian government crest), Law’s logo served as an icon of connection to the natural world. Although the AAD currently pro- motes regulated exploitation of natural resources and its motto is that Antarctica is ‘valued, protected and understood’ (Antdiv, 2010), without an icon inspired by lived experience, these words are in danger of losing meaning. The naming and

1 This idea emerged in conversation with expeditioner Fred Elliott (in Melbourne, 19 September 2010), when he described Mawson station, which he helped to build (in 1945-55), as the place where he felt most ‘at one’ with the forces of the world as a whole. 2 ANARE man Bill Storer, who worked for Law in the 1950’s, attributes the image to Law’s wife, Nell, who worked as an artist in Antarctica. Law conceived of the idea for a logo on his return from Heard Island in 1947 and invited his wife to design it. It was, however, considered at the time as ‘too artistic’ for use as a logo on aircraft and other vehicles (In conversation with Bill Storer, 13 April 2010).

15 Chapter 2: Perceptions Icons of place and time

Figure 2.2. Nell Law, First emblem for the Australian National Research Expeditions (ANARE) (1947) claiming of Antarctica has created a dynamic interconnection between the icons of place and time from which perceptions are formed. Icons of more recent eras of Antarctic history are suggested by the writer William Fox, who identifies stages in the Age of the Anthropocene. The Age of the Anthropocene means the Age of Humans, starting around 1790, when we have begun to burn so much fossil fuel and put so much carbon up in the air that we have actually been laying down a new geological strata around the world, and that qualifies as a new epoch . . . all reflected in the art record all around the world and specifically in the Antarctic because, as far as I know, the polar regions are very sensitive to changing environmental conditions (Fox, 2010). Fox identifies three stages in this epoch. First, around 1790, when ‘the idea of electricity suddenly becomes viable, we start digging up lots and lots of coal’. The light bulb seems an obvious (and ironic) icon for this era, when digging up coal seemed like a good idea at the time. This is when the European tradition of landscape art is used to represent Antarctica (in painting and photography) as ‘a stage . . . where human history is going to take place’. This view can be seen in the art of the Maritime and Heroic Eras (See Figures 2.5 and 2.4), where Antarctica is represented as a new frontier to exploit. Fox identifies the second stage of the Anthropocene as ‘the great acceleration’, when, in the 1950s (after the second world war), vast amounts of fossil fuels were being used to power urban expansionism. He offers Al Gore’s scissor lift, from the film, An Inconvenient Truth, as an icon for this era (Figure 4.17).3 He cites the painting, Mawson (Figure 2.3), by Jan Senbergs, to show how humans impacted on Antarctica at this time (Boyer and Kolenberg, 1988, p. 35, Illus.). As Fox observes,

3 In the film, Al Gore’s ladder extends to reach a dramatically rising line on a graph that shows the projected levels of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere (Wowkodos, 2007). 16 Chapter 2: Perceptions Icons of place and time this painting brings to mind ‘this little animal that is sort of holding onto itself, protecting itself from the winds . . . it’s a view of our sprawl, living in Antarctica. This kind of aesthetic is talking about what is actually there, us and our stuff’. This view of Mawson station brings to mind a primal collective gesture of self-protection against a hostile environment. It also brings to mind a malignant growth that endangers a living body (Earth and its creatures); the malignant growth may be our own uncontrolled population.

Figure 2.3. Jan Senbergs, Mawson, Acrylic on canvas, 1987 (Boyer and Kolenberg, 1988, p.26, Illus.)

‘Right at the end of the 1990s’, says Fox, ‘we become aware that we are part of the process [of changing our own environment]’. He cites examples of Antarctic art that communicate this awareness. I’m looking at what are very very modest gestures in a way, and yet they are bringing us pictures of the Antarctic that are absolutely alive. It’s not the big sterile place. It’s a place that is absolutely full of life and a place that is vulnerable to the things that we are doing to the planet . . . we have these artists who are dealing with other artists and scientists to make these very elaborate and layered works . . . Now [in the third stage of the Anthropocene] we’re really trying to interpret where our place in the world is and how we’re affecting things, and we’re dealing directly with the earth as the medium for the art object and for the story of art (Fox, 2010). By ‘we’ I understand Fox to mean himself and other observers of Antarctic art and science who accept that human actions are changing natural patterns of global climate change. Examples of art works that he cites include some that I review in this thesis and animations that I made to communicate perceptions expanded by Antarctic art and science. Missing from Fox’s account of the Anthropocene Age is reference to Indigenous peoples’ shaping of the environment and their icons of 17 Chapter 2: Perceptions Images of deception connection to it. However, when he presented this account, Fox was in the process of researching for a book and so such ideas may still be evolving. Unlike Law, who wrote with the advantage of hindsight, we can only imagine what our era will look like to future observers. Fox proposes that ‘We all have things to learn from all the eras of Antarctic exploration’ and from the many ways that Antarctica is represented by artists and scientists (Fox, 2010). Fox’s view accords with that of Law’s cohort John Béchervaise, who suggests that In one sense all Antarctic explorers are contemporary, for the continent they visit does not change in man’s scale of time; and our modern mastery over space often seems merely to make more comprehensible the vastness and lonliness of the antarctic plateau and the polar seas (Béchervaise, 1961, p.9). Perceptions may be expanded by attending to the insights of people from many times and places. Although Antarctica remains a uniquely remote and inaccessible place within which to reflect upon our place within infinite scales of time and space, myths have arisen that perpetuate certain perceptions of Antarctica.

Images of deception

A central assumption in the frontier myth was that the romantic beauty of a wild landscape had the power to move people into a transcendence of their ordinary selves. The frontier myth was also about the remarkable human capacity to survive in hostile and relentless environments (Hains, 2002, p.78). Scott’s torn sleeping bag, Wilson’s first aid kit and the page of Scott’s diary entry before his death, are just some of the artefacts at the Scott Polar Research Institute (SPRI) that are used to perpetuate the frontier myth. Now, more than ever, the public craves transcendent experiences and the recog- nition that humanity can survive in a hostile environment. Ships that bring tourists to Antarctica choreograph their arrivals at featured destinations to simulate dis- covery of a pristine world.4 Tourists are offered exposure to a hostile environment without actually being endangered. Whereas the iconography of Law’s eras was anchored in the reality of place and time, Antarctica is now marketed to tourists as an historic site of pristine wilderness. Once powerful images are now used as an iconography of the past. Ponting’s and Hurley’s classic images of giant icebergs and tiny ships, sleds, dogs and men dwarfed by giant cliffs, and men pitch- ing themselves against the elements, comprise an iconography of Antarctica (Noble and Sullivan, 2007, p.4). Photographs by Ponting and Hurley dominate the marketing of Antarctica in books, galleries, private photo collections and on Antarctic Internet sites, depicting ‘ide- alized’ images of ‘virgin wilderness’, connected to stories of heroism and adventure (Noble and Sullivan, 2007, p.4) (Figure 2.4).

4 This was confirmed by Denyse Hooke, who recently traveled to Antarctica as a tourist (In con- versation, Apollo Bay, 21 March 2010).

18 Chapter 2: Perceptions Images of deception

Figure 2.4. Herbert Ponting, A Grotto in an Iceberg, Photo- graph (Ponting in Ponting, 2001, p.68, Illus.)

Not all Antarctic experiences are constructed. Antarctic scholar, Stephen Pyne expresses contradictory responses to Antarctica. On the one hand he identifies with the ice through its movement, where The berg is both substance and symbol. ‘Everything is in it’, as Conrad wrote of the human mind, ‘all the past as well as all the future.’ The journey of the ice from core to margin, from polar plateau to open sea, narrates an allegory of mind and matter (Pyne, 2004, p.2). On the other hand, he expresses estrangement from Antarctica by identifying hu- mans as the great anomaly in the Antarctic ecosystem. In some respects - notably their migratory and seasonal habits - they resemble typ- ical Antarctic organisms. But in other ways they are ill-adapted aliens who find the Antarctic as disruptive as the Antarctic biota find them (Pyne, 2004, p.55). When in substance and symbol the ice is perceived to signify our past and fu- ture, an Indigenous perspective is suggested. But Pyne’s view is at the same time disconnected. The ice can embody, or mirror, complex human conditions. In 1757 Edmund Burke proposed the notion of the ‘sublime’ to describe a response to extreme conditions in the natural world. Whatever is fitted in any sort to excite the ideas of pain, and danger, that is to say, whatever is in any sort terrible, or is con- versant about terrible objects, or operations in a manner anal- ogous to terror, is a source of the sublime . . . When danger or pain press too nearly, they are incapable of giving any delight,

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and are simply terrible; but at certain distances, and with cer- tain modifications, they may be, and they are delightful, as we everyday experience (Burke, 2008a, p.39-40). Spufford explains that Burke’s idea arose while watching the Liffey river surge through Dublin in 1746, when the ‘elements came to town’ (Spufford, 1996, p.16). Essential to Burke’s idea is to be at a safe distance from the elements, which, Spufford argues, is an essentially selfish, self-absorbing perspective (Spufford, 1996, p.19). An experience can be identified as sublime in different ways. For example, A. C. Bradley proposes that We cannot apprehend an object as sublime while we apprehend it as comparably, measurably, or finitely great. . . . all sublimity, and not only that in which the idea of infinite greatness or of the Infinite emerges, is an image of infinity (Bradley, 1950, p.60-61). Bradly explains that ‘the beautiful’ is also an image of infinity. However, in ‘beauty’, that which appears in a sensuous form seems to rest in that form, to be wholly embodied in it; it shows no tendency to pass beyond it, and intimates no reserve of force that might strain or break it. So that the ‘beautiful’ thing is a whole complete in itself (Bradley, 1950, p.62). I recognise my experience on Mount Henderson as sublime. There I felt part of an in- finitely powerful presence (Earth), poised within infinite space and time. Beautiful images can offer glimpses of what are essentially nameless sensations and thoughts. Animated gestures can offer empathic connections to experiences of the sublime. A sense of continuity with elemental forces can be heightened in an extreme en- vironment (Elliott and Ward, 2007);(Davies, 2008). Burke’s perspective is opposite Ward’s experience of ‘elemental living’ in Antarctica (Ward, 1955, 13 Nov). Ward’s understanding of elemental forces comes from fifteen months of lived experience. For Burke, the sublime is an aesthetic experience of extreme opposites: extreme pleasure is found close to extreme danger; the sense of everyday order is reversed. This sensibility, Spufford observes, lent itself to Antarctica because Antarctica was already a reversal of the everyday (Spufford, 1996, p.20). The perspective promoted by Burke maintains a separation between the observer and the environment. Burke’s perspective seems to reflect a covetous delight in what nature can ‘give’. A self-seeking perspective goes some way to explain the motives behind early Antarctic voyages of discovery. We can see this view in a painting of the time (Figure 2.5), attributed to William Hodges, an artist who traveled on James Cook’s 1773 expedition to Antarctica (Martin, 1996, p.77). In Ice islands with Ice Blink, stark contrasts can be seen between darkness and light and vast ice forms and tiny boats (Attributed to Hodges in Martin, 1996, p.77, Illus.). While the illusion of safety is created by conventions of landscape art (the scene is observed from an elevated vantage point), the picture presents Antarctica as dangerous. We view the scene as if through a window. A single view point presents a foreground, middle ground and background. Evident in the structure is use of the Golden Mean, or

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Golden Section. This was ‘used by the Greeks to achieve, what was to them, the ideally proportioned rectangle’ (Churcher, 1973, p.110). These proportions can be seen in the positions of the picture’s major elements. The large iceberg on the left has been placed within the horizontal plane at a point dividing it into the ‘golden’ 8:13 ratio. The skyline is similarly positioned within the vertical plane.

Figure 2.5. Attributed to William Hodges, Ice Islands with Ice Blink, Painting (1773)

Despite its harmonious composition within a 2D picture plane, the placement of its parts is disturbing. In defiance of Newtonian laws of physics, a huge iceberg stands impossibly upright. Tiny ships and men set amongst looming ice forms evoke fear and insignificance. While there is some sense of movement flowing between the parts, it is the sense of tension between these parts that holds the picture together. According to art historian, Kenneth Clarke, the history of European art sug- gests that humanity has expressed its relationship to nature in cycles that oscillate between connection and separation. Landscape painting marks the stages in our conception of nature. Its rise and development since the middle ages is part of a cycle in which the human spirit attempted once more to create a harmony within its environment (Clark, 1966, p.17). Although Clarke refers only to European conceptions of nature, he implies the exis- tence of an original, or Indigenous, sense of harmony. Landscape art is a European way of visualising nature that reflects changing human relationships to it, but that essentially separates the observer. Betty Churcher asserts that ‘It was the Dutch painters of the seventeenth century who first turned their attention towards the poetry and beauty of landscape as a thing to be seen in its own right’ (Churcher, 1973, p.48). The sublime landscape image is an aesthetic ideal, separate from the experience of moving through a place. The Heroic image represents Antarctica as separate and threatening. Our continuity with nature is relational; a body knows its relationship

21 Chapter 2: Perceptions Relationships laid bare to its environment through kinesthetic senses (all senses combined). Body knowl- edge conveys a sense of a place as an experience. Art that is generated from such knowledge of a place can provide a sense of moving through it. It can invite a relationship to its parts through which to grasp a sense of the whole. Anne Noble’s photographic work, Wilhelmina Bay, Antarctica (2005) (Noble in McIntyre, 2005, p.24, Illus.) (Figure 2.6), shows a tourist’s view that brings us to question the perception of Antarctica as pristine. Tourist ships pollute.

Figure 2.6. Anne Noble, Wilhelmina Bay, Antarctica, Pigment print on paper (2005)

Noble’s image reflects Pyne’s feeling that humans have no natural connection to Antarctica. A picture-post-card view is presented through a foreground of plastic chairs and tables on a ship. The chairs and tables can be read as metaphors for Antarctica’s colonisation by the tourist trade. Their presence mocks the popular view of Antarctica as a wilderness. Framing Antarctica like this is as distancing and fragmenting as the sublime images of deception captured by the tourist cameras. The work provides a perspective where ‘fact and fiction, reality and illusion collide, as Antarctica is an abstract space - open to the imagination’ (McIntyre, 2005, p.4). Elena Glasberg observes that Noble’s exhibition, Antarctic Shopping Party (2008) (Figure 2.7), parodies the Antarctic merchandising market with its ‘Antarctica shaped (iced) cakes and cookies, a continent-shaped jigsaw puzzle and CDs and video tapes branded with the image of the continent - all for sale at the gallery’ (Glasberg, 2008). Glasberg suggests that ‘As beautiful and enjoyable as Noble’s Antarctic objects may be for an audience, their appreciation is innately linked to a sense of loss of the object of Antarctica, here so complexly represented’ (Glasberg, 2008). These may be icons of loss of connection to Antarctica and its people.

Relationships laid bare

People who have worked in Antarctica have attached high value to the close relationships they develop with fellow creatures, machines and the elemental forces that shape the environment. 22 Chapter 2: Perceptions Relationships laid bare

Figure 2.7. Anne Noble, Maps (Biscuit, 1950’s board game, balloon) (2008) Online images

Fred Elliott worked in Antarctica as a weather observer and photographer dur- ing its Mechanized Era (Law and Béchervaise, 1957). One story that identifies this time is that of the missing weasels (Dover in Antdiv, 2006);(Law, 1954).5 Accord- ing to Elliott and fellow expeditioner, Jack Ward, comparing the performances of huskies with the machines that were brought in to replace them was a continuing topic of conversation in the 1950’s (Elliott and Ward, 2007). Mechanical failures and accidents lost weasels to the ice and snow drifts would cover them from view. Interconnecting stories of attempts to rescue weasels perpetuate a saga (Figure 2.8). It seems that the weasels had lives of their own and that, for some men, their relationships with machines were as strong as their relationships with fellow living beings.

Figure 2.8. Phillip Law, ANARE Weasel No 2 on the sea ice alongside the Kista Dan, Photograph (1954) Online image

Like the heroic images of Hurley and Ponting (Figure 2.4), Elliott’s landscape, Fearn Hill, Masson Range, Antarctica 1955 (Figure 2.9), contrasts a tiny party of expeditioners and their weasel with vast Antarctic space (Elliott, 1997a). The small party can only just be be seen to the left of the central rock formation (see arrow). The tiny forms merge with the abstract forms of rock, ice and sky. Unlike in Figure 2.8, it is difficult to get a sense of scale. The drawing contrasts with ‘sublime’ and Heroic images that represent the struggle of men pitted against the elements 2.5;2.4. From a high vantage point, the party is shown moving through a

5 A weasel is a ‘tracked snow vehicle designed to float, and extensively used in Antarctica from the late 1940s until the 1990s. Weasels were generally enclosed, but some had open cabins’ (Hince, 2000, p.371). 23 Chapter 2: Perceptions Relationships laid bare

Figure 2.9. Fred Elliott, Fearn Hill, Masson Range, Antarctica, Photolithograph, 1955 (1997a) place with no sense of struggle against elemental forces. Elliott explains that ‘[t]he black and white conveys the harshness of Antarctica and the beauty of the line. I also wanted people to read their own thoughts into the images’ (Elliott, 2009). Elliott’s comfortable relationship with Antarctica came from walking many times through remote Australian places. I was just so used to being where there were no tracks, that I found it perfectly natural to be in such places. It’s been like that as long as I can remember. I think that Antarctic landscape is more apparent; easier to understand than a lot of Australian landscapes. Sure, Nullarbor is an exception, where the sky comes down to your bootstraps (as they say) and, like the Antarctic plateau, you are never too sure whether it is hollow or not under your boots (Appendix 1A). Elliott’s naturally grounded relationship is dramatised in his image, Fearn Hill, Masson Range, Antarctica 1955 (Elliott, 1997a). Lines trace great forces that sweep through ice and sky. The weight of the ice sheet moving past rock is suggested by darkly drawn slots (crevasses). Lines and forms balance opposing forces. There is a sense of suspended animation that seems to echo the dynamic forces that shape life

24 Chapter 2: Perceptions Relationships laid bare itself. The men and their machines provide a sense of the vast scale of the place. Elliott’s drawing, Masson Range, Antarctica (Figure 2.10), was inspired by a rock formation (Elliott, 1997a). His annotations on a copy of this drawing indi- cate his knowledge of geology and a desire to trace evidence of human presence in Antarctica (Elliott, 2007).

Figure 2.10. Fred Elliott, Photograph of Masson Range, Antarc- tica, Photograph and Masson Range, Antarctica, 1955, Annotated drawing (Elliott, 1955);(Elliott, 2007)

Elliott observed a massive twisted rock that reminded him of a condition of the hand, Dupuytren’s contracture, whereby shortened tendons curl and twist the palm and fingers. It was the feeling of tremendous forces and heat moulding this dramatic part of the range that attracted me to it . . . Note that the downward sweep of the rock has been emphasised to enhance the twisting in the central patch of snow . . . The shape of the snowdrift has been altered to lead the eye into the picture . . . I invented a lead up from the foreground ice to the centre of the crux of the twisting . . . (Elliott, 2007). By creating a lead, or path, along which to imaginatively climb the rock, Elliott expressed his relationship to rock that had never been touched by humans.

25 Chapter 2: Perceptions Relationships laid bare

Elliott describes Antarctica as a uniquely elemental, dynamic environment that is ‘all laid bare’, where There’s nothing hiding the ice. The rock is bare, and the ice flowing around it opens and shuts as it makes its way down to the coast. The mountains absorb heat from the un-setting summer sun and melt the ice and snow lying on or next to them. These form melt-water streams which gurgle their way down the plateau ice towards the coast. The sound of water tinkling over ice is a delight to the ear. Boulders, fallen from the mountains, also sweep off downhill along the flow-lines of the plateau ice. The air in the wind blowing out from the plateau, the gra- dient wind, was once tropical air, drawn up high by the great heat-pump of the sun, and descending in the polar regions where it forms a huge high pressure region from which it too, flows out to ocean. As well, there is an additional wind, the katabatic, caused by the cold, denser, ice-cooled air rolling down off the plateau, thus augmenting the gradient wind. In winter, the sea-ice covers an area as big as the Antarctic itself, yet the huge moon-driven force of the tides raises and lowers this huge weight. Where the ice meets the coast is the tide-crack, where one can hear, on a still day, the creaking of the ice as it rises and falls with the tide. That is what I mean by, ‘It’s all laid bare’ (Appendix 1A). Elliott describes Antarctica, in words and pictures, as a physical system that he perceived through all his senses. His lines invite viewers to place themselves within the space to find their own sense of place within it. As well as relationships that have been formed between people and the Antarc- tic environment, profound relationships have been made in Antarctica between people. Elliott remarked, at the end of an interview, One of the things we have left out [in the discussion] is the people in the Antarctic. To me, they are more important than the actual . . . than to everything else (Appendix 1A). The same thought is echoed by geoscientist, Jo Whittaker, who reflected that, when working in Antarctica, you do have time to sit around and talk with other people, spe- cially at the end of an expedition, and you’re waiting to go home, and you’re there for a few days and everyone’s talking about how their trip went. And we ended up chatting to this biologist who was looking at fish, and all kinds of different people - a diver, and people measuring ice crystals - and all kinds of strange things that I’d never thought of before. But it seems a lot of the re- search down there is ultimately related to climate, or the effects of climate, so it’s kind of interesting to see how people are ap- proaching it from all different ways. It’s nice to think about

26 Chapter 2: Perceptions Arctic reflections

science as this sort of organic body that’s ultimately working towards one course, because you get so caught up in your own little piece of it that everybody sort of does their bit and, yeah, and it all sort of accumulates, doesn’t it ? . . . But maybe, you know, but maybe that one piece of data that you take out can be a really crucial piece of a puzzle (Appendix 1F). Relationships between people can raise awareness of different ways that we mea- sure, experience and describe the environment. Relationships between scientific and artistic researchers can generate new ways of perceiving.

Arctic reflections

Just as complex physical forces interconnect the poles, so the polar arts are interconnected. In the late eighteenth century, for example, Coleridge adopted Gothic iconography from the Arctic to represent Antarctica in his Rime of the Ancient Mariner (Coleridge, 1798). Artist Joyce Campbell’s image, Ice Ghoul (2007) (Figure 2.11), is a direct response to a Gothic form sculpted by the elements in Antarctica (Campbell in McCredie, 2007, p.24, Illus.). Campbell recognised and photographed a grotesque human face in the ice (Jerram, 2007, p.10). Sophie Jerram recognises in Campbell’s image a potent metaphor for the threat of climate change. Having watched it [global warming] emerge out of industrial so- ciety like an amorphous Frankenstein, we now recognise the signs of the monster’s self-propulsion and find that we have lost the thermostat’s remote control. Campbell uses a Victorian Gothic aesthetic to exploit our fears that nature may indeed have some grand plan - that is, to shake us off the planet now we have proven ourselves unworthy of it (Jerram, 2007, p.10). Mary Shelley’s Gothic novel, Frankenstein, closes with the words ‘darkness and distance’ (Shelley, 1999, p.170). The novel’s narrator, Walton, describes an Arctic scene into which a monster created by a scientist is ‘borne away’. His words express the despair of Frankenstein and the grotesque monster he created. When I reflected on the work I had completed, no less a one than the creation of a sensitive and rational animal, I could not rank myself with the herd of common projectors. But this thought, which supported me in the commencement of my career, now serves only to plunge me lower in the dust (Shelley, 1999, p.161). Frankenstein’s monster reveals to Walton that Some years ago, when the images which this world affords first opened upon me, when I felt the cheering warmth of summer, and heard the rustling of the leaves and the warbling of the birds, and these were all to me, I should have wept to die; now it is my only consolation. Polluted by crimes, and torn by the bitterest remorse, where can I find rest but in death (Shelley, 1999, p.170)?

27 Chapter 2: Perceptions Arctic reflections

Figure 2.11. Joyce Campbell, Ice Ghoul, Daguerreotype (Campbell in McCredie, 2007, p.24, Illus.)

Both the scientist and his creation struggle to reconcile contradictory feelings of connection and distance. The darkness of the ice reflects their distance from the natural world and humanity. The Arctic is used as a metaphor for the human mind as it would be described by Freud, as a site of conflict between conscious reason and unconscious desire (Freud, 1946). Siv Jansson suggests that the novel ‘defies a single interpretation, engaging instead with some of the crucial social and public questions of the period’ (Jansson, 1999, p.viii). Among these questions was the influence on humans of the Industrial Revolution, of the progress of technology for its own sake. Jansson cites Levine (1979) declaring that the monster has become ‘a metaphor for our own cultural crisis’ (Levine in Jansson, 1999, p.vii). Frankenstein, he proposes, remains a potent source of imagery that warns of the consequences of ‘aspiration for its own sake’. Campbell explains that ‘In approaching Antarctica, I knew I needed to draw my audience into the physicality of that very strange, distant and otherworldly place’ (Campbell in Jerram, 2007, p.10). In Ice Ghoul, Campbell combines Shelley’s imagined inner landscape of the Arctic with the reality of Antarctica’s changing environment. As a centre of scientific and artistic research, Antarctica represents a place of convergence between different perspectives. As more artists and scientists meet in both the Arctic and Antarctica, deeper relationships between the poles may be described. Antarctica, which is centered on land and opposite the Arctic in position and condition, may be a metaphor for harmony. Different perspectives are brought together by artist David Buckland whose Cape Farewell Project (Buckland, 2006a, p.5) takes artists to ‘witness, understand

28 Chapter 2: Perceptions Arctic reflections and react to the rapidly changing Arctic environment’. Siobhan Davies, a choreog- rapher who worked with him says, It is the high Arctic, which physically has an effect on you every second of the day . . . it’s also an emotional knowledge. So although the scientists were terrific, and I benefited enormously from simply experiencing other people’s knowledge succinctly and intelligently put forward. That was just wonderful. In the end I think it was the emotional experience and knowledge which has been the greatest . . . I was going to use the word fire . . . an engine for a different kind of energy (Appendix 1D). Davies produced the video installation, Endangered Species (2006) (Buckland, 2006a, p.93, Illus.) (Figure 2.12), in which a female dancing form is projected at smaller than human scale within a small cabinet, or museum vitrine.

Figure 2.12. Siobhan Davies, Endangered Species, Video instal- lation, 2006 (Davies in Buckland, 2006a, p.93, Illus.)

The dancer is presented as part-human and part-insect, performing a cyclic dance within a blackened space. Clothed in a white skin-tight body suit with leggings that fade to black, she appears to emerge from another dimension. Long white flexible rods attached to her body resemble the ‘theoretical rods’ devised by Polycleitus. The rods define points of the human anatomy that ‘show the physical potential of an athlete’ (Hedgecoe, 2005). The rods in Endangered Species, however, describe more than theoretical movement. They extend and exaggerate the cyclic dance of a living body. They reach within and beyond the space that surrounds it. Dance analyst, Rudolf Laban, describes this space as the ‘kinesphere’ (Laban in Watts, 1977, p.7). Here the amplified gestures of the dancer suggest that humanity is reaching beyond its natural limits. Sounds of the rods, as they touch each other, evoke the rhythmic cycles of Earth motion that drive the glacial and interglacial cycles (Crowley, 2002). When perceived as timed to reflect scientific data, rhythmic gestures can connect us to cycles of change at a kinaesthetic level. Some scientists propose that natural cycles of climate change, between glacial and interglacial periods, can herald speciation or the evolution of new species (Barnosky, 2005, p.247). The choreographic process that Davies used, to replicate from a single simple movement, reflects these cyclic patterns of evolution. Listening

29 Chapter 2: Perceptions Planar and global geometries to scientists enabled Davies to connect her experience of the Arctic to the actuality of climate change at home and to convey her body knowledge through dance. In our day-to-day lives, she says, you forget that you are, that your mind and your body are made up of matter and that the place that you live in is made up of matter and that you are, each part of you is just moleculed, or remoleculed up into different ways. And by truly recognising that - not in a poetic sense, not in a . . . any other sense than IT IS. There it is! It’s what you have to deal with, what you have to understand (Appendix 1D). As a dancer and choreographer, Davies says that she has experienced a gradual understanding of a lack of boundary between herself and where she exists.

Planar and global geometries

Fox describes the difficulty of accurately mapping the polar region through which he has moved, where ‘everything is bent into wedges as longitude lines con- verge toward the pole’ (Fox, 2007, p.27). The globe, the sextant and the pencil and point compass are still useful for navigation (Wilson, 2008), but a polar projection, centred on the South Pole, provides the most accurate representation of Antarctica. Art historian, Kenneth Clark, proposes that ‘All art is to some degree symbolic and the readiness with which we accept symbols as real depends, to a certain extent, on familiarity’ (Clark, 1966, p.18). Artist Stephen Eastaugh agrees that there is indeed a relationship between art and cartography as they both attempt to make meaning of the world or communicate information. The similarities between maps and art both revolve around attempting to give information. Turning the unfamiliar into the familiar. It is presumed that the first scribblings in the dirt by humans were maps (Eastaugh, 2007b). Fox proposes that underlying all maps is ‘the presumption that we can impose a systematic geometry upon the planet, a belief founded on both the construction of the world itself and our biology’ (Fox, 2007, p.45). He offers this as a reason for the dominance of a dualistic world view. Because we have left and right hands, legs, brain hemispheres and a top and a bottom and a front and a back, he says, We are, in a sense, polar by nature . . . We are constructed the way the universe itself is because our biology obeys the laws of physics - and in turn, because we are a bilaterally symmetrical species, we conceive of the universe in terms of dualistic princi- ples (Fox, 2007, p.45-46). While Fox proposes a tendency among humans to classify things in terms of right and wrong and black and white, to make sense of the ‘otherwise chaotic dissonance of reality’, he also proposes that we have a global view of our surroundings, a three-dimensional kine- sphere. This is our sense of personal space, which changes shape 30 Chapter 2: Perceptions Planar and global geometries

and size according to circumstance and dictates how comfort- able we are with other objects, especially other people near us . . . Thus humans embody, literally, both dualistic and spheri- cal geometries in (and of) the world - which is apparent in the history of cartography (Fox, 2007, p.46). It may seem that perceptions of Antarctica have come full circle, with expressions of harmony now being made that relate to Indigenous and Ancient Greek world views. Yet there coexist responses to Antarctica that suggest conflicting thoughts and feelings. In the extreme conditions of Antarctica, bodily sensations and thoughts can become confused, or they can become heightened. They can work together to propel actions that are needed to survive. Global and planar ways of knowing co-exist within us. We sense the physical world through the (spherical) kinesphere through which we move. We draw (planar) maps as mental constructs to guide how we think, rather than sense, our way through it. These ways of knowing are available to everyone. Artistic and scientific explorers of Antarctica have developed an iconography that reflects these different ways of knowing.

31 CHAPTER 3

...towards an iconography

Indigenous cultures have long established languages of gestures and line draw- ings with ‘performance flows’ that correlate with ‘the vitality of the shapes, sounds and movements in and of the landscape’ (Magowan, 2005, p.62). Gestures and lines can be used to communicate intelligence of forces at work in Antarctica and a primal sense of connection to those forces. The practice of artist Jorg Schmeisser seems closely aligned to an Indigenous perspective. His painted lines trace a primal response to the environment. To ex- plain his approach to painting in Antarctica, Schmeisser cites the advice he received from a teacher. Now imagine you are in a little boat, put on an island; the big ship leaves in three-quarters of an hour. You have to draw the things that are important to you, and there has to be a clarity in what you do, of what you see or feel about it (Schmeisser in Andrews, 2007, p.228). In Schmeisser’s painting, I Am Leaving (2002) (Schmeisser in Andrews, 2007, p.239, Illus.) (Figure 3.1), a large swift brush stroke that bleeds colour into paper embodies an empathic response to an ice berg. The painted line appears to trace the flows of energy that shaped it.

Figure 3.1. Jorg Schmeisser, I Am Leaving, Water colour, 2002 (Schmeisser in Andrews, 2007, p.239, Illus.)

Just as a dancer can use her body to trace lines of force within her kinesphere, a visual artist can use pencil and paint to trace lines that are similarly perceived. Through the kinesphere that surrounds us we can sense being a part of a whole complex system. The word environment means ‘[t]he action of environing; the state of being environed . . . the conditions or influences under which any person or thing lives or is developed’ and the verb, to environ, is defined as meaning ‘To form a ring around, surround, encircle . . . to go around in a circle’ (Shorter Oxford Dictionary, 1985, p.667). The circle is a primal trace form of movement towards completion

32 Chapter 3: ...towards an iconography We are ourselves nature or wholeness. Circular motifs symbolise unity. Paleo-botanist, Mary E. White describes Earth as a whole system, where The Biosphere works on cause and effect, action and reaction, because it is an intricately connected system like a huge machine. But it is a machine that is almost beyond human comprehension. It is the Biosphere that ultimately sets the rules for the survival of individual organisms of all sorts, including us, here and now (White, 2003, p.xiv). The image of the world in her book, Earth Alive! From Microbes to Living Planet (White, 2003, p.xvi, Illus.) (Figure 3.2) is presented as a symbolic object: the im- age of Earth is ‘green-tinted because it runs on photosynthesis, floats in an ocean of viruses and bacteria, symbolising the importance of microbes in maintenance of Life-friendly conditions’ (White, 2003, p.xvi ). The unifying form of the circle con- tains the conflation of macro and micro scales to provide an icon of our relationship to the Earth as part of its whole living system.

Figure 3.2. Mary E. White, The Living Earth, Digitally en- hanced satellite photograph (White, 2003, p.xvi, Illus.)

We are ourselves nature

Explosions in glacial ice bounce back sound waves that are registered by an instrument to produce echograms (Figure 3.3) (Appendix 1F). The undulating lines of echograms are used to measure changes in the global climate over time (Hodgson, 2008a). The same lines resemble the flowing motion of glacial ice. An aesthetic reading of an echogram can provide a sense of Antarctica as a dynamic system. In Chris Drury’s art work, Explorers at the Edge of the Void (2007) (Figure 3.4), words have been written by hand on an echogram (Drury in Gooding, 2007, p.32, Illus.). Between the lower lines of the image are names of scientists and explorers, written and re-written: Roald Amundsen, the first man to reach the South Pole; astronomer Robert Woodrow Wilson, who led the way to the Big Bang theory of

33 Chapter 3: ...towards an iconography We are ourselves nature the origin of the universe; physicist Max Planck, founder of the quantum theory; quantum physicist David Bohm, who made significant contributions in the fields of theoretical physics, philosophy and neuropsychology. Above the layers of names, are written the words ‘nothing’, ‘everything’, ‘theory of everything’ and ‘theory of nothing’, repeated over and over. Above everything is an obscure jumble of mathematical symbols.

Figure 3.3. Jo Whittaker, Seismic image of Antarctic ice at McMurdo Sound (Whittaker in Roberts, 2010c)

Figure 3.4. Chris Drury Explorers at the Edge of the Void, Ink on inkjet print from an echogram (detail), 2007 (Drury in Gooding, 2007, p.32, Illus.)

34 Chapter 3: ...towards an iconography We are ourselves nature

Lines of an echogram describe geological time and evoke human presence. Ac- cording to arts writer Mel Gooding, Chris Drury is foremost among those artists who have realised that the human organism, and the social systems that sustain human culture in every sense of that word, and which are served by instrumental science and technology, constitute a reality con- tinuous with the wider ecosystem of the earth as a whole; the human and the natural are not separable from each other, but are each part of the other (Gooding, 2007, p.2). ‘We ourselves are nature’, Drury writes (Drury in Gooding, 2007, p.2). He explains this perspective in terms of the strange Zen-like world of particle physics, which puts man and his thinking as part of the equation, rather than outside it. This is something which has always intrigued me and it struck me that this century of research into the smallest and largest Universes went hand in hand with the exploration of the last uncharted place on Earth: Antarctica. Planck, Scott and Shack- leton were all contemporary explorers (Drury in Gooding, 2007, p.30-31). Drury’s photographic work, Wind vortex (2007) (Figure 3.5), shows how wind is forced into spiral forms by nunataks (Drudy in Gooding, 2007, p.22, Illus.). A nunatak is the top of a mountain that protrudes from the ice (Hince, 2000, p.243). Drury drew a spiral in the ice by driving a skidoo (snowmobile) over lines that were plotted on a map and then transferred to a GPS (Drury in Gooding, 2007, p.23). ‘Afterwards’, he explains, ‘I parked the skidoo and climbed the side of the nunatac to take photos. By the following day the drawing had gone with the wind’. Gooding describes this and similar works that Drury made in Antarctica, as ‘evocative, necessarily temporary, interventions’ in the landscape (Gooding, 2007, p.6). He identifies these drawings as ‘ancient signs that register human presence’. In Wind Vortex, the spiral traces lines of force within an energy system; the flow of katabatic winds from the central ice plateau. The word katabatic comes from the Greek word ‘descending’. Drury’s spiral describes both an actual force and a subjective sense of it. By tracing a line from a plotted graph, Drury used planar and global geometries to transform a space into a site of primal iconic engagement. The spiral is recognised by Indigenous scholar of linguistics Bryan Fricker, as one of the ‘semantic primitives’ (Fricker, 2010). ‘The circle, spiral and cross’, he explains, are the ‘irreducible building blocks of all communication, in gestural, visual and written language’. Drury’s instinct had led him to Antarctica to seek ‘an absolute connection of the inner energies and forms of the body to those that govern ultimate systems’ (Drury in Gooding, 2007, p.5). Drury had anticipated that his experience in Antarctica ‘could act as a kind of bench mark of the macrocosm to which I could compare and link my findings in the microcosm: flow patterns and processes in the body . . . I needed this experience to enter my very bones’.

35 Chapter 3: ...towards an iconography Desperate flows of methane

Figure 3.5. Chris Drury, Wind Vortex, Ink jet print, 2007 (Drury in Gooding, 2007, p.22, Illus.)

Desperate flows of methane

Andrea Juan’s performance installation, Methane (2005) (Figure 3.6), inter- prets the untimely release of methane gas from Antarctic ice due to sea levels rising (Juan, 2006, p.93-98). Earth scientist Rodolfo del Valle had explained to Juan that Through the increase of the greenhouse effect gasses, we are caus- ing the temperature to rise too much and just in the middle of a rising cycle - this might break the cycle. I believe this additive interference is already dangerous. Nature might be unable to restore the balance (del Valle in Juan, 2006, p.95). Juan combines a scientist’s insights with her sensory knowledge, of Fog, inaccessibility, the loneliness of that frozen geography in- vaded by the fluorescent emanations of toxic gasses which des- perately flow into its surface (Juan, 2006, p.101). In his presentation at the 2008 Sur Polar conference of Antarctic art and science in Buenos Aires, del Valle used line drawings and a gestural metaphor to describe changes happening in Antarctica (del Valle, 2008);(del Valle in Juan, 2008b). His drawings (Figure 3.7) explain that as the sea warms and rises, ice melts, allowing methane gas to escape from previously frozen soil. Like frames for an animation sequence, del Valle’s images represent change and transformation. They demonstrate that simple lines can describe a complex process.

36 Chapter 3: ...towards an iconography Desperate flows of methane

Figure 3.6. Andrea Juan, Metano (Methane), Performance in- stallation, Primera Bienal del Fin del Mundo, Ushuaia, Antarctic 2005 (Juan, 2008a) Online image

Figure 3.7. Rodolfo del Valle, Geopaleo y Cambio Global (Pa- leogeology and Global Change), Presentation image, Sur Polar exhibition-conference, Buenos Aires (del Valle, 2008)

In Juan’s, Methane, lines of tulle between performers and the ice metaphorically connect the actions of humans to the process of climate change (Juan, 2008a). Figure 3.8 shows the process of change through a choreography of dancers within tulle shaped by wind. The wavy line is a trace form evident in the echograms (Figure 3.3), the wind in the tulle and the scientist’s drawing.

37 Chapter 3: ...towards an iconography Changes in the ocean

Figure 3.8. Andrea Juan, Metano (Methane), Performance in- stallation, Primera Bienal del Fin del Mundo, Ushuaia, Antarctica, 2005 (Juan, 2008a) Online image

Juan’s art provides a sense of the idea expressed by del Valle, that Man is part of nature. Everything is natural, we are all natural we are not extra or supernatural. Whatever man does is natural since he himself is a product of nature, but he still has to learn how to live in harmony with it (del Valle in Juan, 2006, p.97). To explain the impact of our actions on natural climate change cycles, del Valle uses the metaphor of a father swinging his child in a hammock, where He swings the kid cyclically, with a certain rhythm, not at ran- dom - otherwise, the hammock would twist, the child would fall . . . and the game would be over. I believe there’s more and more evidence that we are ‘twisting the chain of the hammock’ (del Valle in Juan, 2006, p.95). For del Valle, art is an essential part of human life. Life has always evolved and was able to overcome adversity. Life is the planet itself; all planet Earth means life. We are all rooted and adjusted. We need the Earth, we need ice, air, pure water. We need all that on which we live, for we also live on art, on music - everything is part of life (del Valle in Juan, 2006, p.98).

Changes in the ocean

Marine biologist Karin Beaumont makes art as a way to raise awareness of Antarctica’s threatened marine life forms (Beaumont, 2008). She is ‘aware of changes in the ocean such as ocean acidification affecting the health of some species such as the sea-butterfly, or pteropod’ (Beaumont in Roberts, 2007c). Her jewelery piece, Cocco Cone Argentina (2008) (Figure 3.9), describes the circular, repeating forms that characterise an endangered plankton.

38 Chapter 3: ...towards an iconography Changes in the ocean

Figure 3.9. Karin Beaumont, (Left) Coccolithophorid, Pierced brooch, Sterling silver, 2008. (Right) Cocco Cone Argentina, Ster- ling silver, 2008 (Beaumont in Roberts, 2008m, Illus.)

Beaumont explains that Coccolithophorids are calcareous plankton. The shells of these plankton formed sedimentary layers that created the ‘White Cliffs of Dover’. These plankton exist in our oceans today. However, like many marine plankton, their existence is threatened by cli- mate change due to excess carbon dioxide acidifying our oceans. The acid erodes the calcareous scales of these plankton (Beau- mont in Roberts, 2008m). White reports that ‘Astronomical numbers’ of these forms, ‘contribute to sea floor deposits that tie up carbon in sediments’ (White, 2003, p.179). These are ‘likely to be the largest single carbonate sink in marine biogeochemical cycles . . . ’ (White, 2003, p.39). The circular forms of coccolithophorid scales and the spherical form of the creature as a whole, contributed to the development of an animated icon of inter- connection. Beaumont’s bracelet, Masked minutae Illusion (2007), reminiscent of Ice ghoul (Figure 2.11), includes black and white images of diatoms (Beaumont, 2010, Illus.). Diatoms are one of many kinds of microscopic marine algae (White, 2003, p.20). Contrasts within the black and white images reflect Beaumont’s sense of Antarctica as a land of contrasts and contradictions largely due to the ex- tremes of weather: the changes in the quality of the light within a day; the clear blue skies contrasting with the grey/whiteout of a blizzard. The silence and stillness versus the howling winds and blowing snow (Beaumont in Roberts, 2007c). These contrasts can be seen in Figure 3.10. The resemblance of these images to human masks suggests something hidden. By embedding photos within Acrylic, Beaumont’s aim was to give depth to the images as if viewed from the surface of the ocean. When viewed from an angle, the image is slightly dis- torted, similar to the distortion of objects viewed through water (Beaumont, 2007).

39 Chapter 3: ...towards an iconography Beauty and biomass

Figure 3.10. Karin Beaumont, Masked minutae Illusion, Acrylic, sterling silver, 2007

The title and appearance of Masked minutae Illusion invites metaphorical readings. That the masks are black and appear human, suggests that things may not be as they should be. The circular form of the bracelet suggests the force of the circumpolar current, similar forms within the Antarctic ecosystem and a sense of a whole system. The art work reflects a scientist’s deep concern about the health of the environment.

Beauty and biomass

At the 2008 conference on Antarctic arts, Imagining Antarctica, marine scientist Steve Nicol lamented the decline in recent years of images that depict krill as living creatures (Nicol, 2008). Nicol’s presentation appealed to the senses through pictures and stories. ‘The word krill’, he explained, ‘supposedly comes from the sound that a school makes when skittering across the water’s surface’. Nichol provided an eye-witness account, reported by F. D. Ommaney in 1938, as an example of early perceptions of krill as beautiful creatures. The ‘krill’ is a creature of delicate and feathery beauty, reddish brown and glassily transparent. It swims with that curiously intent purposefulness peculiar to shrimps, all its feelers alert for a touch, tremulously sensitive, its protruding black eyes set for- ward like lamps (Ommaney in Nicol, 2008). Not all scientists today are blind to the beauty of their subjects. Figure 3.11 shows a photograph of a krill taken by marine scientist Uwe Kils. His image fits Ommaney’s poetic description (Kils, 1982, Illus.). However, Nicol argued that most scientists today describe krill in terms of their biomass, warning that ‘[t]he inability to recognize krill as individual, autonomous, macroscopic animals means that their conservation might be jeopardised’. The well-being of Krill may be threatened by the limitations of scientific perceptions. A purely utilitarian perspective may promote a perception of Antarctica, not as a living environment, but as an ecological terra nullius for human exploitation.

40 Chapter 3: ...towards an iconography Beauty and biomass

Figure 3.11. Uwe Kils, Antarctic krill, Euphausia superba, Pho- tograph, 1982 (Kils, 1982, Illus.)

Figure 3.12 illustrates Nicol’s point that The most distinctive aspect of an organism is often its behaviour. This is difficult to observe once the animal is removed from its environment, artificially amalgamated with a group of dissimilar organisms and then preserved in formalin (Nicol, 2008).

Figure 3.12. Steve Nicol, Krill in formalin, Photograph (2008) (Nicol, 2008, Illus.)

While full colour photographs may provide more visual information, simple lines that describe the beauty of krill movement are actively engaging. Kils took underwater photographs from which he traced lines that identify the swimming motions of krill (Kils, 1982, Illus.). One of his data sets (Figure 3.13) shows that krill appendages move with soft, medium, and intense beats. As well as commu- nicating information about krill motion, these data sets resemble the gestures of a human swimming. When human gestures are recognised within data sets, primal connections can promote deeper understanding.

41 Chapter 3: ...towards an iconography Beauty and biomass

Figure 3.13. Uwe Kils, Pleopod beat time series. Lateral view during soft beat, medium beat (middle) and intense beat (below) of krill, Diagram in online PhD thesis, 1982 (Kils, 1982, Illus.)

To arrive at his diagrams of krill motion, Kils used a dark field illumination system: living krill were gently squeezed between two glass plates underwater to fix the animal in space, while they continued with pleopod [appendage] movements. Dur- ing the movement the position of the bristles was recorded by a very short flashlight . . . [on] high resolution film material with precision optics - the setup was especially ray-traced, corrected and constructed for this Antarctic mission (Kils, 1982). Rather than setting up a computer to ray-trace filmed motion, similar qualities of line can be achieved by tracing by hand over individual frames of video recordings. Although greater accuracy may be achieved with ray tracing, more of a sense of life can be achieved through hand-drawing. Marks that result from hand-tracings register the gestures of the hand. Kils produced images that show changes in the flow of water around krill as they swim using different degrees of energy. ‘The length of the arrows is a measure for the flowing speed’ (Kils, 1982, Illus.). The diagrams (Figure 3.14) represent krill as part of a marine system. Arrows trace flows of energy produced by krill moving through water that indicate that krill actively shape the environment. Most Antarctic life forms exist within the marine environment. This makes them difficult to observe. Nicol argues that biologists can more easily observe connections between animals and their terrestrial environments to obtain a ‘big picture’ overview, whereas marine biologists are reliant on sampling tools that most often provide us with a more remote impression of marine communities, and most often produce homogenised samples of dead animals from which we have to try to reconstruct living ecosystems (Nicol, 2003, p.199).

42 Chapter 3: ...towards an iconography Satellite views

Figure 3.14. Uwe Kils, Flow field of a soft pleopod beat (left) of an intense beat (right), Diagram, 1982 (Kils, 1982, Illus.)

Although work has begun on a global census of marine life (Tre Crist and Harding, 2008), there is still much that needs to be done to obtain an overview of the oceans. A sense of the whole needs more than scientific diagrams and graphs of biomass. It needs a communication medium that engages the senses. Kils’s images of krill motion may be unique within the field of marine biology. The beauty of krill is in some way dependent on our recognition of the gestural qualities of their movement without anthropomorphic bias. Drawings of live krill and drawings traced from video recordings can also be combined with other data sets to visualise what is known of their relationships to other elements that shape Antarctica.

Satellite views

Satellite images of Earth are potent icons of forces at work in Antarctica. Figure 3.15 shows a large hole in the ozone layer over Antarctica (NASA, 2009). Although ozone forms a ‘tiny trace element in the Earth’s atmosphere’, its presence is ‘vital for our survival’ (Barrow, 2008, p.163). As well as showing the delicate ozone layer, the shape of Antarctica resembles a fragile embryo. This confluence of forms makes Antarctica a potent icon of humanity’s relationship to Earth.

Figure 3.15. NASA Earth Observatory, Antarctic Ozone Hole, Satellite images, 1979-2008 (On-line images in NASA, 2009)

43 Chapter 3: ...towards an iconography Satellite views

The mathematician John D. Barrow recognises the power and importance of satellite images of the Earth’s sur- face from nearby space. For the first time in human history we have the capability to evaluate the impact of global effects around the Earth’s surface in real time (Barrow, 2008, p.165). Although it took some years before scientists worked out the significance of what they were measuring, ‘international bans on CFCs and related chemicals were ne- gotiated by the United Nations in 1996 (Barrow, 2008, p.164-165). This image may have contributed to people acting to reverse the damaged ozone layer. The hole became an icon of a fragile Earth. The size of the hole was simply frightening. The simple image of the hole was easy to understand. This made the image believable. It is likely that this image reawakened public awareness of Antarctica. Following the Heroic Era there had been a lull in interest. Figure 3.16 shows an online interactive interface produced by scientists at the Australian Antarctic Division (AAD) (Antdiv, 2004c).1 Data sets in various com- binations show relationships between the movements of species within the sub- antarctic region of Heard Island. From the 15th December 2003 to 13th February 2004, satellite data was gathered from tracking devices deployed on a range of ani- mal species so that researchers could analyse the predatory food web in the region (Gales and Constable, 2005).

Figure 3.16. Australian Antarctic Division Data Centre, Heard Island Deployment 2003/04 (2004) Interactive interface (Antdiv, 2004c)

The interactive interface, Heard Island Deployment 2003/04, can be read at a glance as a jumble of coloured lines. Closer inspection reveals a legend that explains which lines track the movements of particular species. Data selection options are

1 See Bibliography to access this image online to view it more clearly (from the AAD Data Centre).

44 Chapter 3: ...towards an iconography Satellite views provided to reveal or hide different tracks. Display options reveal or hide layers of other information, including lines of latitude and longitude and place names. Computer programmer Dave Watts, who helped develop the interface, explains that The general public can look at that and say, ‘Oh wow’. But really, to get the impression of how the sea ice is changing and where the animals are going, and what they interact with, is relatively hard to do when you’ve got raw data. So by combining them all together you can actually do something. And if you have that quite big you can actually work out things like how far the penguins are away from the ice edge, or other useful hot spots, at any particular point in time (Watts, 2009). Lines of data represent interactions. A non-scientist may make sense of this data at a purely visual level. We may imagine ourselves moving along the lines as we would when tracking our journey on a map. During my journey to Antarctica I had traced the motion of my body relative to the ship by holding a pen on a sheet of paper (Figure 1.4). The trace forms on the paper closely resemble the movement of animals around Heard Island. While this resemblance can be open to challenge, the recognition of patterns in seemingly unrelated situations can prompt unexpected insights. For example, connections may be recognised between ways that humans and machines perceive and measure. This kind of response to data seems intuitive. It relates to the aesthetic appeal of fractal images of structures that appear to be similar at different scales of magnification (Barrow, 2008, p.381). See Figure 3.17.

Figure 3.17. The Mandelbrot set ‘is the black region and has an infinitely intricate boundary. Copies of the whole structure can be found on any scale of the boundary, no matter how small’ (Barrow, 2008, p. 380, Illus.).

Such images as this can lead us to imagine structural similarities at all scales of the known world. They may lead us to seek order within what may first appear as chaotic gestures and lines. Studies of complex systems have led to poetic images such as the beating of a butterfly’s wings, ‘flapping somewhere over the Pacific Ocean, that sets off a thunderstorm on the other side of the world’ (Cotterell and Pettifor, 2000, p.34).

45 Chapter 3: ...towards an iconography Satellite views

From studies of Earth as a complex system of interacting parts, the gestural form of a small flying creature has arisen as an icon of our sensitively balanced global ecosystem. In Figure 3.18, satellite images show Antarctica as a whole dynamic entity. These United States Geological Survey (USGS) data sets show an annual cycle of sea ice expanding and contracting around the Antarctic continent (United States Geological Survey, 1991). The satellite data tracks annual changes in sea ice extent. When these images are viewed as a sequence, a breath-like rhythmic pattern can be recognised. Removed from its geophysicality as an abstract form of regular pulse and rhythm, Antarctic sea ice becomes an icon for the pulse of life.

Figure 3.18. United States Geological Survey, Sea Ice During 1991, Satellite images (United States Geological Survey, 1991)

In Werner Herzog’s film, Encounters at the End of the World (2007), geophysi- cist Douglas R. MacAyeal is interviewed in front of a time lapse sequence of satellite images of Antarctic ice bergs, where he says, Unlike Scott and Shackleton, who viewed the ice as this sort of static monster that had to be crossed to get to the South Pole, we scientists now are able to see the ice as a dynamic living entity that is sort of producing change, like the icebergs that I study (MacAyeal in Herzog, 2007). MacAyeal overgeneralises. Heroic-Era expeditioner Morton Moynes describes the continent as ‘a slow-brained sentient being . . . Deceptively solid and lifeless, but actually full of movement and change, with a low, amoebic vitality . . . I could think of it as something alive’ (Moyes, 1964, p.20). In Herzog’s film, MacAyeal describes a dream in which he is again walking across the top of B15 [the name given to the huge iceberg that calved from the Ross Ice Shelf in 2000] . . . Below my feet I can feel the rumble of the iceberg. I can feel the change, the cry of the iceberg’. . . . Now our comfortable thought about Antarctica, as static, is over. Now we’re seeing it as a living being. It’s dynamic. It’s producing change – change that it’s broadcasting to the rest of the world, possibly in response to what the world is broadcasting down to Antarctica. Certainly on a gut level it’s going to be frightening to watch what happens to these babies [the icebergs] (MacAyeal in Herzog, 2007). It has been observed that in written English, when several adjectives are used to describe a thing, these are naturally ordered from subjective to objective (Cotte, 46 Chapter 3: ...towards an iconography The body draws lines

1996, p.136). It seems that we intuitively describe how a thing makes us feel before we describe its physical form. This phenomenon can be observed in the report of Nobu Shirasi’s first report of sighting of the Antarctic ice barrier, which was initially described as ‘like a series of pure white folding screens, or perhaps a gigantic white snake at rest’ (Spufford, 2007, p.74-75). Making sense of patterns in data is not restricted to satellite sensing. By looking up at the southern sky, astronomer Peter Lancaster-Brown created his own iconog- raphy. Between 1952 and 1953 he worked on Heard Island, where he recorded the appearance of Antarctic auroras, or Southern Lights (Lancaster Brown, 1957, p.36). He developed what he called a ‘language of symbols’ to describe his observations. Visual evidence of this has yet to be found, but he describes in words what he saw. (Evening 1) First of all a dull glow on the south-eastern horizon - a mere suspicion - until it gradually spread across the sky like the pale dawn light. Then quite suddenly, at the zenith, a mass of tinted lights exploded into view like a gigantic fireworks display. Reds, purples, greens - almost every colour of the rainbow. Great streamers of light - curtains of fire - shimmered in the frosty heavens. As quickly as possible, in the faint light of a torch, I recorded their details in a language of symbols; the sky was literally ablaze with coloured lights. Yet within five minutes all was quiet again save for a dull glow that persisted in the southern horizon . . . (Evening 2) I had little opportunity to enjoy the display as such. The constantly changing forms kept me busy at the instru- ment, recording their characteristics in the notebook. How dull my notes would appear to a layman - a jumble of hieroglyphics - pure facts for scientific analysis. Then quite abruptly the display ended; the dancing southern lights shrinking to a diffuse glow on the eastern horizon (Lancaster Brown, 1957, p.36). The last sentence demonstrates the order of impressions, from subjective to objec- tive: dancing, shrinking, diffuse, glow [of the aurora]. Lancaster-Brown’s hurried gestures can be imagined as he drew to capture the fleeting ‘streamers’ and ‘fire- works’. That he assumed these lines would appear ‘dull’ to a lay person suggests he was not consciously drawing an aesthetic response.

The body draws lines

Dancers describe flows of energy through their kinespheres and into the phys- ical environment. Choreographer Bronwyn Judge composed the dance, Circulus Antarcticus (2003), in response to her experience of Antarctica. The work was made for both live performance and video. Its title and choreography evoke unity and wholeness.

47 Chapter 3: ...towards an iconography The body draws lines

In the outdoor rehearsal photograph (Figure 3.19), a dancer reaches down through her spine and head, as if grounding her body deep into the earth. An- other dancer reaches through her upper body to the sky. The two bodies appear to move as one. Even in stillness, their body lines describe dynamic flows of energy.

Figure 3.19. Bronwyn Judge, Circulus Antarcticus, Choreog- raphy (2003) Rehearsal photograph courtesy of the artist (Judge, 2003)

In the video version of Circulus Antarcticus (Figure 3.20), a digital mirroring effect was used to extend and duplicate whole body gestures of a single dancer. The duplication amplifies a sense of unity between her moving body parts. Lines of force are extended from a single body into an otherworldly space. The duplication gives the sense of a new species evolving, or of human perceptions expanding into new dimensions. The blue-green costume exaggerates the colours that emanate from glaciers. Panels of fabric that trail from the body suggest continuity with the ice.

Figure 3.20. Bronwyn Judge, Circulus Antarcticus, Video in- stallation recorded on DVD (2003)

48 Chapter 3: ...towards an iconography Imagined space

As in Davies’s work, Endangered Species (Figure 2.12), gestures open and close in cyclic patterns through space and time. Like the ‘chanting’ lines of words re- peated in Drury’s Explorers at the Edge of the Void (Figure 3.4), Judge’s dancer describes repeating lines. Like Drury’s lines drawn in ice and erased by the ele- ments, her body appears and disappears. Antarctica is an elusively ever-changing form. Appearing and disappearing forms reflect Judge’s experience of the ‘nothing- ness’ of Antarctica; of the world itself seeming to vanish. Because of the silence, weather seemed to quietly come upon you. One minute there was cloud on the horizon and the next mist swirling in a disorientating fog about one so it was difficult to distinguish land from sky. The world disappeared (Judge, 2009). A symmetrical choreography was digitally enhanced. The mirroring is my attempt to reflect the feeling of perfection that the Antarctic landscape projects. The dance becomes a per- fectly symmetrical design. Also lighting became paramount in importance. The light was such in the Antarctic that almost ev- erything became transformed into something visually beautiful. It was so clear and intense (Judge, 2009). The mirroring of clear body lines work as a metaphor for sharpened perceptions. An actual duet can work to mirror responses between people. Judge’s dancer dances with herself in an otherworldly space. This creates an impression of intense iso- lation; of being alone. And yet, as if from within the isolation, connection to the environment seems extended. The beauty and perfection of these otherworldly ges- tures seem to contain (unify) lived experience of the seemingly infinite space of Antarctica.

Imagined space

Compared to Circulus Antarcticus, which communicates the wholeness of a lived experience, Maresa von Stockert’s Antarctic ballet, Glacier (2008) seems frag- mented. Figure 3.21 contains stills from the Ice Floe2 scene from that work, where men and women perform duets to a Tango rhythm (von Stockert, 2008). Each pair of dancers in the Ice Floe scene maneuvers polystyrene blocks that resemble pieces of sea ice. The movements of the dancers are sudden rather than flowing, as they drag, throw and lie upon the blocks. This may be explained by von Stockert’s approach to choreography. I like working a lot with objects and dancers . . . I got bored seeing people move in the same way. I think an object actually makes you move in a different way. We think the only way is from your own movement, and how you can relate to something else,

2 An ice floe is ‘A piece of free-floating sea ice, usually not much raised above the sea surface unless hummocked’ (Hince, 2000, p.134) A hummock is sea ice that has been ‘forced into rough mounds by pressure’ (Hince, 2000, p.171).

49 Chapter 3: ...towards an iconography Imagined space

Figure 3.21. Maresa Von Stockert, Ice Floe scene from the bal- let, Glacier (2008)

rather than thinking how your own body moves. How can you make something that’s everyday, that maybe looks uninteresting to the outside, eye look suddenly interesting and become the focus of attention (von Stockert, 2007). In Glacier, Antarctica is represented as a place detached from the dancers. Perhaps this was intended, to offer a critical view of humans in Antarctica. Von Stockert’s choreography may work to heighten a sense of connection to the material (everyday) world in a general sense. Judge’s choreography, by contrast, focuses attention on qualities that are unique to the Antarctic environment. As far as I know, von Stockert has not been to Antarctica. This work demonstrates that artists need not have experienced Antarctica in order to feel moved to communicate their responses to it. The choreography of Glacier invites connections to Antarctica to be made through gestures that that question how we relate to our everyday environment. Larysa Fabok’s animation, Breath (2007) (Figure 3.22), presents Antarctica as an imagined abstract place that reflects a profound response. When asked to describe the metaphors she uses in her work, Fabok wrote, Do I know where the metaphors come from? The Void. Form- lessness and void, where all creation came from. They come out of my hands. My art. The things that I am able to cre- ate. Pictures, paintings, drawings. I am starting to think that Antarctica was a place that seemed to be the ‘Most’ Inacces- sible place that I could think of. If it was so far away, then I would give up trying to go there. But from what I understand of shamanism, then there is nothing that I am not connected to. So Antarctica has become a lens for me also for my own perception of the inaccessible (Fabok, 2008). Elemental forms in Breath reach out as if to touch the void. Fabok’s ‘creature of fire’ brings to mind Davies’s ‘engine’ that drove her response to climate change (Appendix 1D). Fabok’s abstract imagery unifies rock, ice and water through sim- ple gestures. The spare precision of digital animation can effectively describe an elemental environment. Being an imagined space, the work is more closely aligned to science fiction where ideas can be explored without having to be anchored in verifiable data.

50 Chapter 3: ...towards an iconography Imagined space

Figure 3.22. Larysa Fabok, Breath, Digital animation (2007)

Astrophysicist Michael Burton explains that at the South Pole You don’t have that normal sensory stimulus. You can’t judge distance. You simply cannot judge distance. It’s just devoid of markers. It’s the closest thing to being in space without going into space (Burton, 2008). After working on Antarctica’s inland plateau for weeks at a time, glaciologist David Carter remarked on ‘the nothingness that is Antarctica’ (Carter in Roberts, 2008j). Poet Stephen Wallace described Antarctica as ‘the nothingness that is not there and the nothing that is’ (McIntyre, 2005, p.3). Poet Rod Mallory uses the word ‘Antarctic’ to describe its topsy-turvy nature. The Antarctic, So unarctic, So Antarctic (Mallory in Hince, 2000, p.vii). After two months of working as an artist in Antarctica, Chris Drury wrote, ‘I have tried to find ways of talking about the absolute nothingness of various experiences deep in Antarctica. In a sense this nothingness contains everything’ (Drury in Gooding, 2007, p.5). Fox describes Antarctica as an environment where human desire for landscape is most evident because it is a void (Fox, 2007, p.253). He observes that some artists have transformed space into place there by cataloguing, abstracting and physically placing objects into Antarctic space itself (Fox, 2007, p.253). The human form is used as a measure of human presence. Elena Glasberg describes Herbert Ponting’s image, Adelie Penguin and Sled Tracks Crossing (1911) (Figure 3.23), as a ‘paradoxical gesture’ and ‘singular’ amongst his oeuvre of dramatic scenes of heroic men carefully arranged in a land- scape, remarking that This perfectly composed image is a play on composition itself, on the (cultural and geophysical) blankness of Antarctica, and on the problem of depicting it. . . . ‘X’ is a paradoxical gesture that calls its fundamentals into question: it is superbly modern in the way that Antarctica itself is not (Glasberg, 2007, p.21).

51 Chapter 3: ...towards an iconography Imagined space

Figure 3.23. Herbert Ponting, Adelie Penguin and Sled Tracks Crossing, Photograph (1911) (Ponting in Glasberg, 2007, p.21, Il- lus.)

Still largely un-shaped by modern men and women, there is little in Antarctica that reflects human presence. This image implies that the ‘X’ that marks the spot in this ‘nothingness’ was made by a cross formed by both human and penguin passage. The marks have equal significance, or insignificance, in defining the space as a place. What is significant is that Ponting, like Campbell, recognised and photographed an elemental primal form. Recognising such forms helps to make a place for Antarctica in our imaginations. Primal forms contribute to an iconography that prompts questions about the forces that have shaped these forms in our environment. Figure 3.24 shows some pages in Bea Maddock’s 1991 artist book, To the Ice (Andrews, 2007, p.167);(Maddock in Andrews, 2007, p.173, Illus.).

Figure 3.24. Bea Maddock, Photocopies of pages 1-4 in the 1991 artist book, To the Ice (1991) Courtesy of the artist (2008)

52 Chapter 3: ...towards an iconography Imagined space

Artist and scholar Lynne Andrews explains that Each day was represented by a number of horizontal and vertical strokes, which referred to the stages of the journey. The first has 40 horizontal strokes, mid-journey there are 20 horizontals and at the end there are 40 verticals (Andrews, 2007, p.167).

Figure 3.25. Bea Maddock, To the Ice, Artist’s book of 123 pages, cibachrome photograph, relief etching, intaglio, letterpress on paper (1991) (Maddock in Andrews, 2007, p.173, Illus.)

On one level, To the Ice can be read as a catalogue of passing days and on another as an imagined space within which is assembled an elemental icon of trans- formation. Its format resembles a flip-book. When the pages are flipped the lines appear to change a static planar space into a dynamic representation of the passage of time. Changing orientations of lines, from horizontal to vertical, may reflect a personal transformation. As an object, the stack of pages resembles the layers of an ice core (Figure 3.25). By being closed, the book hides evidence (the lines) of human impact, as if the ice still awaits discovery. This reading may reflect Mad- dock’s inability to physically reach the ice sheet after a tragic accident soon before she reached the continent (Andrews, 2007, p.167). Iconography similar to Maddock’s was observed in responses of other expedi- tioners to the Antarctic ice sheet. When glaciologist, David Carter, described the ‘nothingness’ of inland Antarctica (Carter in Roberts, 2008j), his back straight- ened, his eyes looked up and he extended his arms horizontally. His body formed a cross. In his 2007 catalogue, Finding yourself lost (Eastaugh, 2007a, Illus.) (Figure 3.26), artist Stephen Eastaugh writes that ‘Locating oneself in this white wilderness is highly important and rather tricky’ (Eastaugh in Roberts, 2010e). Eastaugh’s drawing of a cross with arrows seems to hold contradictory thoughts and feelings in balance, of being at once lost and found in Antarctica. The icon of the cross balances opposing forces. His painting, Intimate slots (2000b) (Figure 3.27), combines signs of the cross with a line that charts a human heart beat, or electrocardiogram (ECG). 53 Chapter 3: ...towards an iconography Imagined space

Figure 3.26. Stephen Eastaugh, Finding Yourself Lost, Draw- ing (2007) (Eastaugh in Eastaugh, 2007a, Illus.)

Figure 3.27. Stephen Eastaugh, Intimate Slots, Mixed media (2000b)

Above the two crosses, opposing conditions of life and death are expressed by one jagged line. The line simultaneously represents sign of life (ECG) and slots (crevasses). Eastaugh’s iconography can also be read to mean the emotional ups and downs that can be experienced in Antarctica. The humourous title of the work suggests an intimate relationship between the pair of crosses in the ice. This refers particularly to the closeness that develops between people who work together in this dangerous environment. Writer Carmel Bird explains the metaphorical power of the cross. Metaphor is a powerful force in human behaviour and meaning. For example, why Christianity has such a strong hold on our imaginations is because the cross is central in our human physical structure. The symbol of the cross superimposed over the human heart reverberates into our psyche. It was a brilliant gesture of Christ to get up on the cross. It was like driving a stake through all our hearts (Bird, 2009). Eastaugh recognised and developed such iconic forms as this in Antarctica. One of Eastaugh’s early Antarctic works, Casey Base (2000a) (Figure 3.28), is a visual catalogue of man-made structures around the station of Casey. The images serve as icons of human colonisation of ‘nothingness’.

54 Chapter 3: ...towards an iconography Imagined space

Figure 3.28. Stephen Eastaugh, Casey Base, Ink on Tarpaulin (2000a)

Fox argues that the ice people - those technicians and scientists who return to the continent year after year to perform their work - will have as much to do with shaping that part of its visual culture as the visiting artists and writers, if not more (Fox, 2007, p.253). Cataloguing is a mapping strategy used by artists to familiarise themselves with a new space (natural and man-made). This progression from embedding images of the place within a grid-like pattern - a mapping format often used by artists travel- ing to unfamiliar places - to embedding art itself in the landscape creates a cognitive feedback loop: by placing cultural objects that enhance familiarity and memorize our presence, we refash- ion the land physically into a landscape that we desire (Fox, 2007, p.253). The feedback loop resembles the natural system described by scientist Steve Nicol, in which plants and animals shape the environment to suit their needs (Nicol in Roberts, 2010b). Artists may progress from cataloguing images to transforming the space they perceive. We can see Eastaugh’s artistic engagement with Antarctica transformed from cataloguing to developing an Antarctic sculpture garden (Fox, 2007, p.253). Eastaugh set out to create an Antarctic sculpture garden by tempting others to construct more totems. The idea is to create some other vertical structures in this environment besides the antennas, flagpoles and windsocks situated all about the station (Antdiv, 2003a). When working at Davis as artist-in-residence in 2002, Eastaugh was inspired by the totem, Man Sculpted by Antarctica (Eastaugh in Antdiv, 2003b), that had been carved in 1977 by a carpenter known simply as Hans.

55 Chapter 3: ...towards an iconography Imagined space

The head was carved in wood to be sculpted by the elements to become a token of our humanity in an environment that we have only just arrived in. He is a work in progress! . . . The Africans say that you leave a part of yourself, your spirit, in each place you camp, hence the searching looks as we leave the campsite even when we have nothing to leave. The head holds my spirit of that stay. He looks out to the forests I left behind me (Hans in Smith, 2003). As shown in Figure 3.29, the wooden totem is sculpted by the elements. The weathered appearance of Hans’s totem is a metaphor for the fleeting presence of humans in Antarctica. It resembles the ancient totems of Easter Island and may be read as a warning.

Figure 3.29. Hans, Man Sculpted by Antarctica, Carved oregon timber (1977) Photograph courtesy Ian Phillips, 2007 (Hans in Roberts, 2010f, Illus.)

This primal form, known affectionately as Fred the Head, prompts expeditioners to express deep feelings. Personally I think Fred has mystic powers above and beyond mere mortals and was a gift from the gods. Long may he reign in the sculpture garden . . . He is the true father of the sculpture garden and should remain as a tribute to patience, winterers, sentinels, waiters, watchers, and direction pointers. It’s not ALL rocks, ice and machinery, Fred is there too, just because (Bernie K. in Antdiv, 2003b).

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Figure 3.30. Stephen Eastaugh, Head Home (2003) Photograph courtesy Ian Phillips, 2007 (Eastaugh in Roberts, 2010f, Illus.)

Eastaugh’s response to Man shaped by Antarctica was to make his own totem, shown in Figure 3.30: ‘The first totem made was a mini sleeping container (let’s call it a ‘bonsai donga’) with a rather rough head-like appearance’ (Eastaugh in Antdiv, 2003a). By building more totems near this work, Eastaugh not only progresses his creative practice but also encourages that of Antarctica’s temporary local residents. Eastaugh explains his work, Head Home (2003) (Eastaugh in Roberts, 2010f, Illus.), in terms of questions. Can home be situated in one’s head? As a person who has led a contemporary nomadic lifestyle for many years I certainly hope so. Internally is where I have stored my lack of posses- sions and often I have luxuriated in a cozy private time-out place somewhere behind my eyeballs. Travel has somehow turned into dwelling after twenty years of jumping from place to place. Home has drastically shrunk: transformed into a fluid concept that’s easy to move (Eastaugh in Roberts, 2010f). These are questions that other expeditioners ask of each other when their paths cross in Antarctica. ‘And how does it happen’, asks film maker, Werner Herzog, ‘that we encounter each other here at the end of the world?’ (Herzog, 2007). Philosopher and Forklift Driver Stefan Pashov replies, I think that it’s a logical place to find each other because this place works almost as a natural selection for people who have this intention to jump off the margin of the map. And we all meet here, where all the lines of the map converge. There is no point that is south of the South Pole (Pashov in Herzog, 2007).

57 Chapter 3: ...towards an iconography Mapping relationships

Mapping relationships

A major work to come from Bea Maddock’s Antarctic experience is Terra spir- itus: a darker shade of pale (1998). Figure 3.31 shows a fragment from the online presentation of the whole work.3 Terra spiritus is a complete panorama of Tasma- nia’s coastline, conceived on the journey home.4 It comprises 50 images that art historian Jonathan Holmes says ‘has to be imagined as if it has been depicted on the outside of a cylinder. Its forces are centrifugal [moving inwards] rather than centripetal [moving outwards]’ (Andrews, 2007, p.174). Its vast circular form ki- naesthetically attracts. As you physically move around it you can imaginatively enter into it.

Figure 3.31. Bea Maddock, Terra spiritus: a darker shade of pale, First of 50 drawings: LOW.WON.TUME.ME.TER (Lake Pedder region) LINE.NE.LOOM.MA (Low country Cox Bight) LOIN.NE.KUM.ME (Arthur Range) KRIB.BIG.GER.RER (Country of Cox Bight) (1998) (Online image)

Like Antarctica itself, the vast scale of the work is physically compelling. Geo- logical time is evoked by lines that describe bare rocks of a possible past and future ice-free Antarctica. The lines resemble those of early panoramas drawn by expedi- tioners to name and claim territories. Topographic features are named in parallel lines. Aboriginal names are written in flowing cursive script. The softly rounded forms of the hand writing evoke sounds of a lost language. Beneath the Aboriginal names are names assigned to places by Europeans, smaller in size and typeset into the paper. Maddock ‘meticulously calculated all the visual details’ (Andrews, 2007, p.174). In a similar way that Elliott’s lines describe Antarctic rock as ’laid bare’ (Figure 2.10), Maddock’s lines lay bare an ancient Australian geology. Before knowing she would go to Antarctica, Maddock had expressed an interest in Indigenous language, writing in her journal, Have been absorbed in the Aboriginal culture, looking at the QV [Queen Victoria] museum exhibition [Launceston] several times and hearing a talk there - Also reading ‘Dreamings’. Our only

3 The title includes Aboriginal and English place names of landforms that are represented in the drawing. See Bibliography to view the complete work online and to view it more clearly than is possible with this image (downloaded from the site). 4 In conversation with Bea Maddock, Launceston, Tasmania 1996

58 Chapter 3: ...towards an iconography Oceanic views

hope for any culture or spirituality here is back in the land. The only roots left in the ‘kingdom of nothingness’.5 Will have to try to make some sense of this existence (31 July 1990, Maddock in Butler, 1992, p.110). It seems clear that Maddock’s interest in Aboriginal culture influenced her percep- tion of Antarctica and suggested ways to make sense of our relationship to land. Elemental lines that describe bare rock evoke the voices of the land itself. They appeal to our senses at a primal level to accurately communicate geological data.

Oceanic views

‘It is not easy to deal scientifically with feelings’ (Freud, 1946, p.9). Freud recorded evidence of people expressing an ‘oceanic’ feeling as ‘indissoluble connec- tion, of belonging inseparably to the external world as a whole’. Freud says, ‘I cannot discover this oceanic feeling in myself’. However, he concedes that this does not mean that these feelings do not exist in other people. Artists Pamen Pereira, Philippe Boissonnet and Lorraine Beaulieu have mapped Antarctica in ways that may be described as oceanic. Inspired by three days alone on a glacier, Pereira drew with smoke on velvet to compose Vistas isometricas del continente (Isometric views of the Antarctic con- tinent from the Weddel Sea)(Pereira in Juan, 2008b, p.15, Illus.) (Figure 3.32). Smoke suggests the burning of fossil fuels. Undulating lines symbolise energy flows. Lines resembling dykes of black dolerite slice through views of the Antarctic conti- nent as if they were frames of an animation. We are shown Antarctica as a dynamic changing form.

Figure 3.32. Pamen Pereira, Vistas isometricas del continente (Isometric views of the Antarctic continent from the Weddel Sea), Smoke drawing on fabric (2006) (Pereira in Juan, 2008b, p.15, Illus.)

For Pereira, Antarctica is a place that lends itself to knowing one’s ‘relation- ship with the mysterious forces of Nature and the subtle energies connected with consciousness’ (Pereira, 2008).

5 ‘Kingdom of Nothingness’ is the title of Chapter 11 in Manning Clark’s book, A History of Australia (1962), in which he compares early Australian education policies unfavorably against those of other places.

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Pereira’s objective was to interpret the interior shape of a landscape that shows opposites simultaneously - void and plenitude, finite and infinite, freezing and boiling, visible and invisible, light and darkness. To reach its internal structure and to understand the relationship between the immanence and transcendence of the consciousness through matter and its divine resonance (Pereira, 2008). Exaggerated tones and contours describe heights and depths of Antarctic rock and depths of feeling about it. As if to mimic the iconography of statistical measure- ment, this imagined space resembles a display of data. Philippe Boissonnet and Lorraine Beaulieu use the human body as a canvas on which to project topographic data within its primal gestures. Boissonnet positions a map of Antarctica on a man’s bowed head, as an icon of human accountability for climate changes. Boissonnet explains his image, Earth Mother is becoming Earth Child (En perdre le nord) (2008) (Figure 3.33), as ‘a metaphorical representation of the way in which the traditional image of the Earth- Mother is becoming an Earth-Child in our collective conscience’ (Boissonnet in Roberts, 2008d). Structural similarities can be seen between the human brain and the Antarctic continent.

Figure 3.33. Philippe Boissonnet, Earth Mother is becoming Earth Child (En perdre le nord), Digital photographic installation (detail), Museo de la Universidad Nacional de Tres de Febrero, Buenos Aires (2008)

Beaulieu’s work Drapeaux (flags) is ‘a symbol of the planetary community and as a rallying sign . . . searching to suggest that north and south poles are not so far from each other [and that] as human beings, we are linked together to this fun- damental necessity: clear WATER’ (Fragility entry, Antarctic thesaurus, Roberts,

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2009e);(Beaulieu in Juan, 2008b, p.57). As shown in Figure 3.34, Drapeaux repre- sents Antarctica on three flags, as a female nude curled up like an embryo, a bag of human waste and as rock when all the Antarctic ice has melted.

Figure 3.34. Lorraine Beaulieu, Drapeaux (flags), Cyanotype fabric installation, Museo de la Universidad Nacional de Tres de Febrero, Buenos Aires (2008) (Fragility entry, Antarctic thesaurus, Roberts, 2009e)

Artists and scientists have experienced and measured the forces at work in Antarctica. Both communities have made gestures and lines that communicate their knowledge. When combined, their iconographies can connect us at a primal level to accurate information. Gestures and lines invite a deeply visceral response.

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Gesture and line

Elemental forms

The looping gesture of a Great Ape traces a cross in the sand. An ‘X’ marks his spot (Figure 4.1).

Figure 4.1. Lisa Roberts, Drawing of Great Ape Gesture, Pencil on notebook paper (2007)

Arts educator and researcher John Sydney Matthews has identified marks and gestures of Great Apes and children as possible early intentional expressions of personal space (Sydney Matthews, 2007). He observed and recorded Great Apes performing a swinging gesture with their arms that traces a looping form in the sand. After studying the gestures used by apes and children as they draw, arts re- searcher Elizabeth Watts observes that Movement is the means by which marks are made and at this very basic level of spontaneous mark-making the pleasing move- ment sensations probably motivate the early marks and remain at least as important as the marks themselves to both ape and child for some time (Watts, 1977, p.10). As well as being pleasurable in its own right, awareness of movement sensations has been vital for human survival since ancient times. ‘As every predator knows, movement is revealing’ (Lovelock, 2009, p.125). Cognitive neuroscientist, Michael Corballis, proposes that ‘[m]anual gestures are perhaps the ancestors of human spoken languages’ (Corballis, 1999). If this form of body knowledge precedes mark-making and spoken language, meanings conveyed by gestures can add depths of understanding to symbols and words. John D. Barrow proposes that The infinity sign has a dual resonance. It combines the mystic attraction of the great unknown and unknowable with the cold precision of mathematics and the desire to describe the unimag- inable. The ribbon like figure of the figure-eight on its side is an ancient symbol, a shadow of the ancient ourobos symbol of the snake eating its tail . . . it provided the mysterious cross of St Boniface in early Christian tradition (Barrow, 2008, p.339). The infinity sign can convey profound meanings that transcend logical description. Like the cross drawn by Eastaugh (Figure 3.26), it resonates with objective and

62 Chapter 4: Gesture and line Elemental forms subjective references. Visceral levels of connection can occur when mystery is at- tached to symbols. If earliest knowledge of our environment is through gesture, then this knowledge may tap in to what Freud identified as the ‘archaeology of the mind’ (Freud in Burke, 2008b). As arts researcher Janine Bourke explains, Freud was eager to compare the process of psychoanalysis to archaeology, telling Pankejeff [one of Freud’s patients], ‘the psy- choanalyst, like the archaeologist, must uncover layer after layer of the patient’s psyche, before coming to the deepest, most valu- able treasures’ (Burke, 2008b, p.4-6). Perhaps the archaeology of the mind is continuous with the archaeology of the body. From her observations of visual forms emerging in drawings of very young children, Watts explains that ‘[c]ertain marks made by the child in the early experimental stages recur through the physical structure of the human body’ (Watts, 1977, p.12). Arms pivot at the shoulder joint and the ability of the fore-arm to roll inwards and outwards produces ‘curved lines which may become loops or circles . . . [that] either meet or cross themselves’. According to Watts, four fundamental trace forms, identified by Laban, appear in the early drawings of young children, in drawings made by apes and by adults of ‘primitive cultures’ (Watts, 1977, p.13). Drawings ‘begin in movement’, she explains, ‘and these movements form the basis of dance gestures also’. Figure 4.2 represents these forms. The trace form ‘Droit’ (straight) describes the first and last gestures that are made to draw a cross. The ‘Tortille’ (twisted) gesture may be used to draw an infinity sign, or loop, that crosses at its centre. ‘Ouvert’ (opening curve) may reflect an opening spiraling gesture. ‘Ronde’ (closing curve), may reflect an inward spiral, or close to form a circle. Dance and movement analyst Rudolf Laban explains that Form is produced by the limbs of the body and is governed by their anatomical structure which permits only certain move- ments to be made arising from the functions of stretching, twist- ing and combinations of these (Laban in Watts, 1977, p.14).

Figure 4.2. Lisa Roberts, Elemental trace forms, Pencil draw- ing on notebook paper, from Watts, 1977, p.13: The Four Funda- mental Movement Trace Forms: Droit (straight), Ouvert (opening curve), Ronde (closing curve) and Tortille (twisted) (2009)

Our bodies express themselves within a restricted movement vocabulary because our gestures are restricted by anatomical structures. If such a movement vocabulary exists, meanings may be read into particular gestures.

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However, dance analyst and historian Laurence Louppe warns that Though it may be analyzed or qualified, it [dance] can never coalesce from a determined stock of lexical elements which would furnish its texture or definition . . . the miracle of dance is to transcend the gestural glossary through the poetic emanation of an event, unique in colour and intensity (Louppe et al., 1994, p.2). According to Watts, when we observe a gesture, we can ‘understand something of the feelings expressed in those movements because we are able to see what we ourselves have felt (by means of visual/kinaesthetic recall) (Watts, 1977, p.66). As ‘sensitive observers’, we can identify the cause or intention of some gestures as ‘practically universal - inviting, rejecting, pleading, with-holding, embracing, aspiring, submitting’ (Watts, 1977, p.66). Neuroscientist Giacomo Rizzolatti has identified ‘mirror neurons’ that may ex- plain our capacity for visual/kinaesthetic recall, explaining that Action performed by one person can activate motor pathways in another’s brain responsible for performing the same action. The second understands viscerally what the first is doing because this mirror mechanism lets her experience it in her own mind (Rizzolatti, 2006). Clearly there are links between body and brain structures and our ability to read gestures. If gestures can be recognised by people who observe them and meanings can be read into these, animations that trace human gestures can convey something of the meanings that impelled them. Our ability to empathetically read gestures is a valuable form of reflective lis- tening, because All observation is accomplished by means of kinetic empathy. Naturally we perceive motion through our eyes, but unless we let this perception flow on into the body so that we experience it kinetically, we cannot identify with it (Exiner and Kelynack, 1994, p.43). Since ancient times, Indigenous cultures have used gesture and line to describe forces that are felt through the body (Magowan, 2005);(Quill, 2008). Scholar of Aboriginal dance Fiona Magowan describes Indigenous knowledge of land in terms of its impact on the senses, meaning that Rushing water, trickling streams, gurgling tributaries, rustling leaves, crunching stones underfoot and sliding sand hills are all ways in which it [the land] sensually engages and extends its impact upon the human body (Magowan, 2005, p.67). In his painting, Singing Up Country (2007), Figure 4.3, Indigenous Australian artist Arone Meeks describes elements within land as dynamically connected.

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In the dreaming, the landscape was flat and featureless . . . An- cestors came out of the land and began singing. As they did they sung up waterholes, mountains, people, animals, vegetation and country. When they had finished they lay down to become part of the landscape. This is how a person knows their country – through song. The raft is a vehicle back to the dreaming (Meeks in Brown, 2007). Tiny dots combine to represent people and land as connected. The moon appears like an anchor to steady a flow between interacting parts. Moving through country is vital for Indigenous people to maintain connections with land and to pass on knowledge (Magowan, 2005).

Figure 4.3. Aaron Meeks, Singing Up Country, Acrylic on can- vas (2007)

Calligrapher Vikki Quill uses movement (Figure 4.4). I approach the paper as if it was a three-dimensional space and with brush charged, I engage all my senses to bring the word to life. I imagine these fibres as lines of thought, conveying forms through ink onto paper. There is continuity between the word, the body and the mark. Dots as a way of building mass is one way I approach both the lines of calligraphy and the bridge between ink and blood (Quill, 2008). Quill uses an ancient visual language of elemental forms. As she explains, ‘long before words as we know them were written, expressions of harmony with the environment were made with points and lines engraved into bones and turtle shells’ (Quill, 2008). The earliest Chinese characters were conceived as representations

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Figure 4.4. Vikki Quill demonstrates her method of calligraphy at the College of Fine Arts, University of New South Wales, 2008. of the three dimensional world. Points and lines, as marks most easily engraved, formed the characters used for divination, known in English as the Oracle Bone script.1 Quill’s image, Earth (2005) (Figure 4.5), is an interpretation of the oracle bone script meaning Earth. Her calligraphic process combines planar and global ge- ometries through which humans naturally know the world (Fox, 2007, p.45-46). Fox proposes that two-dimensional symbols are used to make sense of the body’s knowledge of three-dimensional experience. For Quill, the hairs of the brush are conceived as extensions of muscle fibres in the arm and the paper is conceived as three-dimensional space. In Earth, a circle describes the world through a gesture performed in three-dimensional space. Her line has a thickness and depth that reflects a kinaesthetic experience.

Figure 4.5. Vikki Quill, Earth, Ink on paper (2005) (Quill in Quill, 2008, Illus.)

1 In conversation with Vikki Quill, Sydney March 2010

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The circle is a fundamental symbol used to make sense of physical experience. According to Jungian analyst, M. L. von Franz, the circle, or sphere, is a symbol of the self, expressing the ‘totality of the psyche in all its aspects, including the relationship between man and the whole of nature’ (von Franz in Jaffe, 1978, p.266). Arts theorist Rudolf Arnheim explains that The circle is the simplest possible shape available in the picto- rial medium. Until shape becomes differentiated, the circle does not stand for roundness, but for any shape at all and none in particular (Arnheim in Watts, 1977, p.60). A circle can represent anything experienced through the body. Whatever thing is represented, the self is a part of that. Dance historian Lillian B. Lawler explains that the ancient Greeks designated as a dance ‘the rhythmic movements of animals, of fish, of birds, of trees and flowers in the wind, of rivers, of boats on the waters’ (Lawler, 1978, p.11). She cites Euripides, in his Bacchae, declaring that ‘All the earth will dance’. As shown in Chapter 2, this harmonic view is reflected on the first known map of Antarctica, drawn in the time of the Ancient Greeks (Figure 2.1). These harmonic, relational views resonate with Leonardo’s idea that While man has within himself bones as a stay and framework for the flesh, the world has stones which are the supports of the earth. While man has within him a pool of blood wherein the lungs as he breathes expand and contract, so the body of the earth has its ocean, which also rises and falls with the breathing of the world . . . (Leonado in Teknoart, 2009). In 1785, the geologist, James Hutton, ‘compared the global cycling of water with the blood circulation of an animal’ (Hutton in Lovelock, 2000, p.xviii). In 1857, John Ruskin advised students of landscape art to look for ‘leading or governing lines’ that reflect ‘vital truth’, explaining that these chief lines are always expressive of the past history and present action of the thing . . . They show in a mountain, first, how it was built or heaped up; and secondly, how it is now being worn away, and from what quarter the wildest storms strike it (Ruskin, 2006, p.70). Ruskin’s view suggests a kind of geological choreography. His poetic explanation of natural forces of change reflects the scientific explanation (again poetic) of pale- oecologist, Dominic Hodgson, who says, I use natural records left behind in the environment to try and find out how the climate and the environment were organised in the past. And we do that by drilling into lake sediments and we do it by drilling into polar ice and looking at cores and we do it by drilling into marine sediments. So, pretty much like a book, the natural world (Appendix 1C).

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Ruskin and Hodgson use different words to express similar processes of change. Ruskin personifies the energy flows of nature through superlatives. A mountain is struck by the wildest storms. The scientist’s metaphor of the book accentuates a linear perspective. However, as we saw in Maddock’s artist’s book (Figure 3.25), this metaphor also lends itself to expressions of connection. Pages in a book embody layers of meaning. Hodgson uses elaboration and repetition to explain Earth changes, when There’s lots of things being deposited out of the atmosphere and washed into lakes and snow falling on ice, things dying in the ocean and falling to the bottom of the ocean. And all these things build up, layer on layer on layer, making deposits that are laid down year on year (Hodgson, 2008a). Rhythmic qualities of elaboration and repetition invite a kinaesthetic engagement with the scientific explanation. When describing how sediments form, ‘layer upon layer upon layer’, Hodgson drew interleaving lines in the air with his hands. This spontaneous making of trace forms reflects his knowledge of how the environment is shaped through movement. Such gestural and verbal alliterations and repeti- tions can be animated to reflect the choreography that scientists perceive in the environment.

Whole making

Laban Movement Analysis (LMA), provides a symbolic language for under- standing, observing, describing and notating all forms of movement (Laban, 1973). Adaptations of Laban’s theories have been used in many fields, including physical theatre, dance therapy, 3D character animation and software development(Bogart and Landau, 2005);(Exiner and Kelynack, 1994);(Bishko, 2008b);(Bishko, 2008a). Dance critic and writer, A. V. Coton explains that Beginning with studies of ballet, of the work of Delsarte, of many kinds of folk dance, of the laws of mathematics and geometry, he [Laban] evolved a means of ‘dissecting out’ the basic elements which create and control every kind of movement of which the human anatomy is capable (Coton, 1978, p.11). Laban believed that ‘Dance helps man to relate to the rhythms and forces of nature’ (Laban in Hodgson, 2001, p.126). His three-dimensional model, the Space Harmony Crystal (Figure 4.6), was conceived as a mental construct within which dancers kinaesthetically connect to structures within and beyond their bodies (Hodgson, 2001). The Space Harmony Crystal was conceived ‘as an aid for spatial orientation and as a kind of model for the design and practice of his choreutic dance sequences, or [harmonic] scales’ (Maletic, 1987, p.157). Maletic explains that Laban draws close analogies between the proportions of the icosahe- dron (one of the five regular Platonic solids) and those of the human body, which, as found by Pythagoras as well as Leonardo, are constructed according to the Golden Section (Maletic, 1987, p.157).

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Figure 4.6. Lisa Roberts, Laban’s Space Harmony Crystal (2008), Pencil on notebook paper. From Jean Newlove and John Dalby (2004)

Figure 4.7 shows the ‘eight’ swing of Laban’s Dimensional Scale, choreographed to be performed within this model. Here a whole body traces a crossing looping form like that traced by a Great Ape’s arm gesture (Sydney Matthews, 2007) (Figure 4.1).

Figure 4.7. The Dimensional Scale with an Eight Swing resem- bles the elemental looping gesture of a Great Ape (Laban in Win- earls, 1978, p.98, Illus.)

Figure 4.8 shows a drawing by Laban of one of his scales (Laban in Louppe et al., 1994, p.80, Illus.). Lines describe how flows of energy extend from within the moving body into its kinesphere. According to Exiner and Kelynack, Laban identified eight ‘action drives’ as the basis of all human movement (Laban in Exiner and Kelynack, 1994, p.68) (Appendix 4). No feelings, intents or beliefs, are attached to the words that describe these movements. Action drive words identify qualities of energy that flow through space and time: Float and Punch, Glide and Slash, Dab and Wring, Flick and Press. Exiner and Kelynack explain that Laban refers to dance as the language of action, and postulates that every movement, such as an extension or contraction, is an experience in itself and does not need to have expressive conno- tations (Exiner and Kelynack, 1994, p.40).

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Figure 4.8. Rudolf Laban, from Sketches of the ’Scales’, Laban Centre Archives, no date (Laban in Louppe et al., 1994, p.80, Illus.)

Spontaneous responses are not always present. However, dance can convey the immediacy of the moment of creation and the flows of energy that were used to shape new forms. Dancer and choreographer Martha Graham explains that Spontaneity is essentially dependent on energy, upon the strength necessary to perfect timing. It is the result of perfect timing to the Now. It is not essentially intellectual or emotional, but is nerve reaction. That is why art is not to be understood,aswe use the term, but is to be experienced (Graham, 1977, p.136). Graham proposes that balancing plasticity and tension, freedom and discipline, can ‘awaken memory of the race through muscular memory of the body’ (Graham, 1977, p.136). The balance of energy flow through the body has been the essence of dance through the ages. An extension of Laban’s Space Harmony theory is his Harmonic Human Move- ment Choir (Laban in Maletic, 1987, p.157). Here, dancers move as a united body, while as the same time sharpening their sense of themselves as individuals. De- nis Kelynack explains a score for a Movement Choir that he in his practice as a psychotherapist. The dance begins as your body weight stirs, and gradually shifts from one foot to the other. You are gently touched by the ground through your feet. Then slowly slowly, more and more strongly, your weight bears down and you start to lift your feet and you pick up a rhythm and you start to stamp! Stamp to a loud strong beat. Take time to recognize, in your movements, the suggestion of a particular animal. Your animal is one of a herd or flock, but it is also unique in its own patterns of existence. Explore its individual patterns of movement until you feel clear what they

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are, and gradually let the creature go. And rest. What pleasure did you experience in the dance? What patterns in your life can you recognize in the patterns you found in the creature? Can you draw it (Kelynack, 2008)? Drawings made immediately following dancing can reflect strong body memory. Drawing gesture (Figure 4.9), was made by the artist Rena Czaplinska immediately after performing an improvised dance (Czaplinska in Roberts, 2010d). The lines appear swiftly drawn, as if made to trace an immediate body memory. They suggest flows of energy that radiate from a central core. The core is framed by larger circles and arcs that appear like some kind of creature. A range of experiences are reflected in the strong/heavy and light/soft lines. Complex contrasting qualities are unified through the central circular form.

Figure 4.9. Rena Czaplinska, Drawing gesture, Ink and charcoal on paper (2007) (Czaplinska in Roberts, 2010d)

Exiner and Lloyd’s circular Movement Dial (Figure 4.10) was devised, like La- ban’s Space Harmony Crystal, as a framework within which to observe and describe flows of human energy (Exiner and Lloyd, 1977, p.4). Like the Human Movement Choir, The Dial can be used to improvise dances to balance a sense of individual and collective identity and used as a score for endless variations on the theme of connectivity. Like layers of an onion, internal and external aspects of the dancer are conceived as layers within a sphere. These layers include inner attitudes, relation- ships to others and to sounds within the environment. The purpose of presenting all the topics in dial form is ‘to establish, at the outset, that they should always be seen as one’ (Exiner and Lloyd, 1977, p.5). Dance scholar Karin Bond recognises the Movement Dial as an icon of Exiner’s philosophy. I now see this as an early graphic representation of her phi- losophy of dance education and therapy . . . Hanny’s fascina- tion with the body-mind problem and the possibility of ‘whole- making’ through dance occupied much of her thinking over the two decades (Bond, 2008, p.28).

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Figure 4.10. Johanna Exiner and Phillis Lloyd, Movement Dial, 1977 (Exiner and Lloyd, 1977, p. 4, Illus.)

Indigenous Australian artist Elaine Russell, explains that concentric circles symbol- ise stories that connect people, by representing watering holes and other meeting places (Russell, 2010). They are, she reflects, ‘like the lines that ripple out from a stone thrown into water, circles have no beginning and no end’. In her children’s book, The Hairy One, people gather in a circle to share a ghost story (Russell and Notely, 2009) (Figure 4.11). Like frames for an animation, her pictures show people moving closer together as a story about the unknown unfolds.

Figure 4.11. Elaine Russell, The Hairy One (Russell and Notely, 2009, p.11, Illus.)

Antarctic scholar Vanessa Collingridge explains that concentric circles, called ‘cup and ring marks’ (Figure 4.12), were engraved into rock in Kilmartin (in Ar- gyllshire, Scotland) to mark ‘limnal zones’ between known and unknown regions (Collingridge, 2008a). These circles are believed to represent some kind of attempt by early humans to put their world into order. They are carved on stones which are found in border- lands . . . in this case between the known coastal fringe and the

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unknown forests that lie inland. They are believed to mediate between the two (Collingridge, 2008b).

Figure 4.12. Vanessa Collingridge, Cup and ring marks in Kilmartin, Argyllshire, Scotland, 2006. Photograph courtesy Collingridge, 2008. (Working photograph in Roberts, 2010d)

Explorations into unknown regions of the mind parallel the first known inland Antarctic expeditions. In 1909, when Freud first lectured in psychoanalysis, Edge- worth David, Douglas Mawson and Alistair McKay reached the South Magnetic Pole (Freud, 1931);(Allen et al., 1998, p.296). Not long after, Carl Jung developed his theory of a universal, collective, unconscious mind, through which humanity is linked through a language of archetypal symbols (Freund, 1964, p.71). According to Henderson, Jung identified the spiral as a symbol of transcen- dence, through which a sense of completeness is achieved through a union of the con- sciousness with the unconscious contents of the mind. Out of this union arises what Jung called ‘the transcendent function of the psyche’, by which a man can achieve his highest goal: the full realization of the potential of his individual Self (Jung in Henderson, 1964, p.146). The spiral is a symbol of exploration, including explorations to connect subjective sense with objective analysis. Figure 4.13 illustrates my reading of a portrait of Sigmund Freud by the artist Salvador Dali (Dali, 1938). The ‘Ouvert’ (opening curve) of a spiral in Freud’s head suggests a conscious mind opening up to recognise unconscious thoughts and feelings. The same form may describe Dali’s own journey, exploring Surrealist art. When I drew this image from Dali’s portrait, the idea arose that a spiral could be used in animation to connect a human head with a brain shaped like Antarctica. This idea resonates with a similar thought, visualised by Boissonnet (Figure 3.33). An uncoiling spiral could add energy to an icon for human conscience. An animated spiral emerging from a head could add meaning (by association) to other uses of this form to express connectivity.

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Figure 4.13. Lisa Roberts, Spiral in the head of Freud, from Dali, Pencil on notebook paper (2008)

Figure 4.14 shows how the spiral has been used to represent the geological history of Earth (United States Geological Survey, 2008). Earth is shown evolving through what seems infinite scales of space and time. In medieval times, ‘the circle, or ring, dance, in particular, was seen as an earthly counterpart of the heavenly dance of the angels, which was itself a celebration of the Resurrection’ (Jonas, 1992, p.44). There is also the tradition of physically tracing the spiral maze by finger or step, as a metaphor for life’s journey and the mandala as a path to enlightenment.

Figure 4.14. United States Geological Survey, The geological history of Earth over 4.5 billion years (2008) (United States Geo- logical Survey, 2008)

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Dual resonance

Around 1913, artists and scientists first used film to describe the reality of change (Lawder, 1975, p.14). Philosopher Henri Bergson had recently proclaimed, there is no feeling, no idea, no volition which is not undergoing change every moment: if a mental state ceased to vary, its dura- tion would cease to flow (1998, translated from Bergson’s 1911 text). Film appealed to Cubist and Futurist artists in the early 1900s. They found in film a working model for Bergson’s theory of ‘fluid time and the perception of form’ (Lawder, 1975, p.20). According to arts writer, William Flemming, a remark made by philosopher Heraclitus (circa 535–475 BC) is said to have inspired Bergson’s view (Flemming, 1974, p.352). Heraclitus once said that you cannot step into the same river twice. Flemming proposes that Bergson often cited the motion picture as an example of what he meant by the perception of duration. The pictures in themselves are static, but through mobility the separate states are melted together by the mind into a continuous flow (Flemming, 1974, p.359). A chronophotograph was made by Jules-Etienne Marey in 1885, from simultaneous rather than sequential film images (Marey in Lawder, 1975, p.9, Illus.) (Figure 4.15). Marey’s images are thought to have provided a model for such artists as Marcel Duchamp and Giacamo Balla (Lawder, 1975, p.9-10).

Figure 4.15. Jules-Etienne Marey, Diagram of a Jumping Fig- ure. From a Chronophotograph (c.1885) (Marey in Lawder, 1975, p.9, Illus.)

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Figure 4.16 shows images from a film made in 1910 by the physiologist Jean Commandon, to capture the motions of live bacteria and microbes. In 1912 the film was described by one viewer as ‘startling to such a degree as to be incredible’ (Lawder, 1975, p.14). These early films, Lawder speculates, no less than the pre-war paintings of Kandinsky, must have been experienced by sensitive minds as profound and uniquely mod- ern revelations of an unknown world - images of organic forms in movement recalling the telescopic views of swirling galaxies, full of the flux and flow of life itself, touching at the core of secret meanings of the universe, and, at the same time, para- doxically, palpably real, that is, objectively verified by moving photographic images of a biological, if not spiritual, inner life (Lawder, 1975, p.14).

Figure 4.16. From F. A. Talbot, Moving Pictures, London (1912) (Lawder, 1975, p. 16, Illus.)

The paradox is that objectively verified views can inspire spiritual awe when they are simultaneously perceived at an aesthetic (sensory) level. Such responses can be useful for connecting us to the awesome issue of climate change. In her report of the conference, Creating a Climate for Change, environmental scientist, Susanne Moser, proposes that generating emotional responses to climate change information is vital ‘to engage people in envisioning a future worth fighting for’ (Moser, 2007,

76 Chapter 4: Gesture and line Spontaneous forming p.75). However, she warns of ‘the danger of unhampered and unattended emotions’ (Moser, 2007, p.67). At worst it can lead to ‘psychic numbing or apathy’ (Moser, 2007, p.68). Figure 4.17 shows a key moment in the film, An Inconvenient Truth, when ex-US president, Al Gore, positions himself within the climate change data that he presents (Gore in Wowkodos, 2007).2 When standing between scientific graphs that correlate rising temperatures with levels of CO2 in the atmosphere, Gore gestures an invitation with his hands to attend to this visual evidence. He physically rises in a scissor lift to reach the point in the graph that shows where levels of CO2 are predicted to reach in less that 50 years. This highly choreographed and potent gesture speaks to us at a visceral level.

Figure 4.17. Al Gore, An Inconvenient Truth, Images from Gore’s presentation (2006) (Gore in Wowkodos, 2007, Illus.)

Spontaneous forming

Improvisation can be used in animation to simulate the seemingly spontaneous forming and reforming of the Antarctic environment. Helmi Vent and Helma Drefke define a process of choreography based on improvisation as a means of exploration and ‘spontaneous forming’ of dance compositions: Playful searching, experimenting, collecting of experiences and impressions with/through various possibilities of action and ex- pression in movement finding (out), inventing and ‘retaining’ committing to mem- ory of movement forms, motives and short sequences repeating, practicing, in certain circumstances improving of movement forms discovered through exploration/improvisation . . . during which improvised and reproduced segments alternate, interweave and compliment one another varying and combining of the found and selected movement motives and themes 2 To view this online image more clearly (and others from the some event), see Bibliography for the URL.

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composing/forming of the processed movement material with intentional consideration of compositional criteria reproducing, repeating, reinforcing of one’s movement com- position (Vent and Drefke in Exiner and Kelynack, 1994, p.84) As early as 1908, artist Emil Cohl had used improvisation techniques to animate his film, Fantasmagorie (1908). Figure 4.18 shows how simple lines appear to spontaneously form from beneath the artist’s hand, which appears and disappears as a story unfolds. The artist’s hand is revealed as part of the action. Attention is focused on the act of creation as much as on the lines being drawn. This sets up a resonance between what is real and imagined. The line between the creator and creation is merged.

Figure 4.18. Emile Cohl, Fantasmagorie, Animated film (1908), (Cohl in Leslie, 2002, p.3, Illus.)

Animation is a compelling medium. It can convey sensations that defy logical explanation. For animator Norman McLaren, Cohl’s technique of metamorphosis was a revelation. Here was animation at its purest and best. It seemed like the quintessence of animation, unadulterated and un- affected by ideas and methods of other media and earlier times. It rejoiced in the fact that it was drawn with a line and that the line could move. It breathed with this knowledge and it followed the logic of it (McLaren in McWilliams, 1991). McLaren recognised the non-linear logic of the unconscious dreaming mind. He also found, in Sergei Eisenstein’s films, methods that represent human perception. Cutting from one thing to another is rather like the mental pro- cess of the human being. It’s instantaneous . . . In the sudden juxtaposition of two things very different from each other, as in a dream, the spirit is able to jump around with extreme rapidity, in spite of the laws of logic (McLaren in McWilliams, 1991). McLaren identified his own artistic approach in Surrealism, which he defined as ‘cutting down the conscious control of what was happening’. His improvisation methods included painting directly onto clear movie film (Figure 4.19), where the subconscious plays a very important role. It perhaps has the whole thing pretty well formed from start to finish. It’s a matter of the consciousness not knowing that form, but creating it (McLaren in McWilliams, 1991).

78 Chapter 4: Gesture and line Spontaneous forming

Figure 4.19. Norman McLaren working at the National Film Board of Canada (1944, Illus.)

McLaren combined landscape and human forms in his animation, Landscape (McLaren in McWilliams, 1991) (Figure 4.20). Landscape presents a European scene as if spontaneously forming through geological time. Transformations between human and land forms are dream-like, gentle, diffused and gradual. They describe our continuing primal connections.

Figure 4.20. Norman McLaren, Landscape (no date) (McLaren in McWilliams, 1991)

Figure 4.21 shows animator, Len Lye’s image, Drawing (Sea) (c.1930). It il- lustrates his ‘fascination with the sea as a mysterious and primal underworld’ (Len Lye in Cann and Curnow, 2009, p.xiv, Illus.). Both McLaren and Lye animated with spontaneously formed drawings. Lye also recognised similarities between his spontaneously formed lines and scientific representations of physical and biological systems.

79 Chapter 4: Gesture and line Spontaneous forming

Figure 4.21. Len Lye, Drawing (Sea), Pencil on paper (c.1930) (Len Lye in Cann and Curnow, 2009, p.xiv, Illus.)

For arts writers Cann and Curnow, Lye found connections between his early drawings and scientific representations of cellular and cosmological processes. In these likenesses he suspected a form of intuition that connected all human knowledge from the beginning of time, which he called the ‘old brain’ (Cann and Curnow, 2009). The ‘old brain’ is Lye’s term for the unconscious contained within the genetic code and the evo- lutionarily older reaches of the brain governing the body. Lye believed this ‘mental link to the whole bodily matrix of our make- up’ was accessible through art-making techniques that subvert the conscious, rational ‘new brain’ (Cann and Curnow, 2009, p.162). Lye made his first animation, Tusalava (Just the Same) in 1929, ‘trying to imagine the kind of film that might have been conceived by an ancient Aboriginal artist’ (Lye in Brett, 2009, p.50). Figure 4.22 shows Lye’s meticulously hand-drawn dots and lines that express celestial motions, biological and physical systems, components of a machine. Tyler Cann notes that Lye’s work displays a preoccupation with ‘conflating the biological and the geological, the mechanical and the sexual’ (Cann, 2009, p.67). In the final scene of Tusalava, centrally placed concentric circles lead the eye inwards, as if on a mandala. Two figures emerge, transform and envelop each other. Like the ‘people and things at war with each other’ in Cohl’s Fantasmagorie (Fig 4.18), Lye’s forms appear engaged in some kind of ancient combat ritual. The feeling of division is sharpened by the contrast between black and white. Yet the forms also merge, evolve and emerge as new forms through membranes that once divided them. They separate and reintegrate as if to perpetuate complex cycles of change within a whole unified system.

80 Chapter 4: Gesture and line Spontaneous forming

Figure 4.22. Len Lye, Tusalava (Just the Same), Animated film (1929) (Cann and Curnow, 2009, p.69, Illus.)

The forms of the circle, spiral and cross, arise naturally when we draw. They are trace forms of primal gestures that are governed by the structure of our body. These primal forms are recognised in our environment and we know that they are shaped by complex forces that are beyond our present understanding. However, conflations of land and human forms express body knowledge of primal connections. This kind of knowledge arises from empathic kinesthetic rapport and can be accessed through body memories. Animated conflations of primal forms appeal to knowledge of our body as a system of energy that is part of a larger whole. Animations can be made to make visible the forces that transform our environment. In order to communicate accurate information about climate change, gestures and lines can be used in animations to combine scientific data and subjective re- sponses to Antarctica.

81 CHAPTER 5

Methodology and methods

The primary methodology has been practice-based research. My practice as an animator is to use improvised movement, drawing and assemblage to make visible responses to what is just on the edge of understanding. I then develop a lexicon of gestural forms from which to compose discrete works. For examples, see Beware of pedestrians (Appendix 3A), Roget’s Circular (Appendix 3B) and A little skiting on the side (Appendix 3C). The methods used to develop the material to support the thesis were anchored in a relational world view. Such a view holds that life on earth is maintained through dynamic relationships between physical and biological systems. This view was identified in Indigenous research methodology as described by Shawn Wilson and in the Gaia view of the world as a whole living entity, as promoted by the scientist, James Lovelock (Wilson, 2009b);(Lovelock, 2000). My understanding is that Earth is a system that maintains its life by regulating flows of energy between its parts and that our lives are part of this system and therefore subject to its regulation. As an artist-scholar with Indigenous and non-Indigenous ancestry, I sought common elements in views that could reconcile what are usually held as opposing ways of knowing. I am part of an Antarctic research community and a community of artists who work with various media. People who were willing to share their practice (in art and/or science) were invited to participate in the project. Networks were established within the Antarctic community by • working with the Australian Antarctic Division (AAD) as an arts fellow in Antarctica and as a digital media librarian at the AAD headquarters in Kingston, Tasmania • joining the Australian National Antarctic Research Expeditions (ANARE) Club in New South Wales • participating in Antarctic arts and science conferences and exhibitions in Hobart, Sydney, Christchurch, Canada, and Buenos Aires • studying at the Scott Polar Research Institute (SPRI) and the British Antarctic Survey (BAS) in Cambridge • studying at the University of New South Wales (UNSW) in Sydney • attending exhibitions of Antarctic arts and sciences in Australia, New Zealand and the UK • drawing on family connections

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Networks were established within art and dance communities by • working as artist in residence in educational institutions and other com- munities in Australia • teaching at the Victorian College of the Arts (VCA), the University of Tasmania (UTAS), and in secondary schools and private practice in Mel- bourne, Sydney and Launceston • studying at the VCA, the Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology (RMIT), Eora Aboriginal College (Sydney), UNSW and in dance studios in Europe, the UK, the US and Australia • joining the Dance Therapy Association of Australia (DTAA) Ethics approval was obtained to conduct interviews and workshops. Twenty-seven expeditioners and thirty-eight artists formally agreed to participate. Other people participated informally through conversations, emails and an online research log. Artists were invited to contribute words, images and sounds. Scientists were asked for copies of their papers, data sets and other texts relevant to the knowledge that they shared. Antarctica provided many points of connection with expeditioners. Although there were differences between our knowledge and experience, there were feelings of connection that helped to establish empathy and trust. I established rapport easily with other artists and dancers. Unlike visual artists, who often work in isolation, dancers tend to work together. Because they work in groups and share similar experiences, they often articulate shared knowledge. The urge towards expression through Movement seems to be inherent in man today as much as in the past and its repression will have damaging effects on the mind and body. Yet our social structure does not provide us with opportunities for expressing in movement what we experience in our work and everyday life (Exiner and Lloyd, 1977, p.2). Methods used to make the animations are discussed in sequence. Figure 5.1 shows the interactions that occurred between people, Antarctica and the animations them- selves. An animated display of these interactions through time can be seen in the Chronovenn view of the research log (Tey, 2008). Methods used to collect information were: interviews, online interactions, move- ment workshops, drawing, animating gestures and lines and making art works. Interviews were unstructured and improvised. Online interactions were arranged within a controlled space. Methods used in workshops were adapted from those of dance theorist, Rudolph Laban and dance educator, Johanna Exiner (Laban, 1973);(Exiner and Kelynack, 1994). Animations were made by accurate line trac- ing of data and the improvised (straight-ahead) techniques developed by Norman McLaren and Len Lye (McLaren, 1944);(Len Lye in Horrocks, date). Digital media were used to combine scientific data with gestures and line drawings. Art works were made to give physical form to ideas.

83 Chapter 5: Methodology and methods Interviews

Figure 5.1. Flows of interactions that shaped the animations

Interviews

Methods were adapted from those used by Mackay. Mackay had used ‘non- directive group discussions and unstructured personal interviews’ to reflect the ‘mood’ of Australians in the 1990’s (Mackay, 1993, p.312). Guided by his method, direct questions such as ‘What moved you to work in Antarctica?’ were avoided when seeking information about feelings. As Mackay explains, ‘All such questions assume that there’s a reason for doing those things, yet we do many things for no reason at all (at least, for no logical or easily-explained reason)’ (Mackay, 1993, p.310). Direct questioning is also avoided in Indigenous research, but for other reasons. Direct questioning can be considered disrespectful. Information is part of an exchange (it goes both ways). Informa- tion is part of a relationship. . . . Being indirect (circuitous) is often the best way, especially with important personal matters. It’s rude to rush people. It’s often rude to make direct eye con- tact. People should have time to think about things, especially

84 Chapter 5: Methodology and methods Online interactions

important things: sometimes this means silence. Sometimes this means waiting for a later time to find something out (Sheridan and Tranter, 2000, Unit 3 p.12). Meetings with participants were devised in ways that were in themselves ‘non- rational, non-linear and non-structured, in order to match more closely the nature of the material being investigated’ (Mackay, 1993, p.312). Direct questions were found useful for finding out about scientific knowledge, but were avoided when seeking information about aesthetic (sensory) responses. Mackay’s group discussion technique involves natural, existing social groups, meeting in their ‘natural habitat’ (Mackay, 1993, p.312). Meetings with scientists and other expeditioners were conducted in their homes and work places. Explana- tions were made about the purpose and procedure of the research. A ‘Zoom’ digital sound device was used to record conversations. Recordings were transcribed and words were selected to accompany online displays of animations. Mental notes were made of tones of voice and gestures. For example, the voice of expeditioner, Colin Christiansen, seemed to arc through space as he described birds calling from the far side of Atlas Cove, Heard Island (a Sub-Antarctic island). The imagined arc was drawn and animated to combine the shape of the cove with the form of a head. Transcripts of interviews were returned to participants for verification and com- ment. Corrections, afterthoughts and additional comments were received through the online log, letters, emails and telephone calls. An example of this is when Fred Elliott corresponded while Building Mawson was being made. As he watched the animation evolve online, it seemed to trigger memories that he had forgotten in our interview. Selected transcripts of key interviews that demonstrate these methods are pro- vided in Appendix 1. More details about them can be read throughout Chapter 7: Discussion.

Online interactions

The website, www.antarcticanimation.com, was initially set up (early 2007) in order to display animations. First I built a structure for a thesaurus. This was to contain, organise and display information about Antarctica. There were other areas on the site that were experiments. Some of these were discontinued. For example, I began to describe my own and other peoples’ journeys and to use animation as a way to map Antarctica. These spaces were components of what was to become a research diary. The most successful component of this diary was the blog, which I call the Log. Wordpress software was used to build the log. The first posting was on 21 March 2007. This recorded my visit to the Sydney Nolan Antarctic exhibition and my first encounter with veteran expeditioner, Jack Ward (See Appendix 1A). This post can be accessed online by inserting ‘Nolan: Antarctic journey’ in the search field of the log.

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Initially, responses received by email and letter were cut and pasted into the site. But the process was soon automated by the Wordpress software. All responses were approved before they were made public. The website allowed me to have a public conversation with myself about the project and to receive and categorise responses. Categories evolved from recurring themes. As the categories multiplied over time, some were renamed or deleted. This process gave me a birds-eye view of how my ideas were developing. One of the shortcomings of blogging software is that it lacks a view of the di- mensions of the information space. RMIT Masters student, Robert Tey, allowed me to use his prototype programme, Chronovenn, to display the relationships be- tween blog posts through windows in time. The Chronovenn interface (Figure 5.2) displays coloured dots that serve as links to the Wordpress posts. Titles of posts can be viewed by using the mouse to hover over the dots. The dots are arranged in circles. As in a Venn diagram, the circles indicate categories of information. At the start-up of the programme, the dots appear on screen in chronological order. This order is indicated by a time line that moves from left to right beneath them. When the mouse is used to hover over names of categories (placed within each circle), connections between ideas expressed in the posts are made visible as lines.

Figure 5.2. Robert Tey, Chronovenn (2008) Colours have been inverted for readability in print form.

Online interactions were integral to the process of developing ideas for ani- mations. They allowed me to make and maintain relationships with communities of Antarctic scientists, expeditioners and other artists. For example, scientist, So Kawaguchi, responded to the first stages of How do krill grow?. Kawaguchi was leading a research project at the Australian Antarctic Division (AAD) to investigate how krill were coping with increasing ocean acidification. He provided information about normal krill development that I needed to complete the work. The follow- ing thread from the log illustrates the importance of this form of engagement. So

86 Chapter 5: Methodology and methods Movement workshops

Kawaguchi (scientist), Rena Czaplinska (artist) and I comment as the animation is being made. So Kawaguchi Says: February 12th, 2009 at 9:57 pm Hi Lisa, That’s really good. There are 2 points that I would like to make. 1) Wiggling of the eggs looks perfect, however, it should be upside down given the direction they hatch out. 2) I just realised that from furcilia onwards, the order of stages are wrong and adult is appearing in the middle and ending up with one still showing larval feature. The animation is a bit too fast so I cannot exactly advice you the right order, but it should be corrected. Otherwise, great! # Lisa Says: February 14th, 2009 at 2:52 pm Hi So, Thanks for your further advice. I can turn the wiggling of the eggs around the other way, to match the direction they hatch out. I had a feeling there was one image out of sequence towards the end. I will fix these things. # Rena Czaplinska-Archer Says: February 16th, 2009 at 3:32 pm Lovely, great music, so much joy in this curious creature! # So Kawaguchi Says: February 19th, 2009 at 12:24 pm Hi Lisa, That’s great. You may be able to make a couple more im- provements, if you like: 1) I think ‘developmental ascent’ rather than ‘diurnal migration’ is accurate. If you like you may put ‘developmental descent’ for the period before they hatch out. 2) Yes, you are missing Furcilia VI and another one if you are to finish up with adult krill. This correspondence set in train further interactions with Kawaguchi’s colleagues at the AAD. The correspondence was pivotal to the creation of the major work, Energies and its screening at international science conferences and presentations (See Chapter 8: Conclusion/Impact of the animations).

Movement workshops

As Mackay had explained, when conducting research with other people, There will be leaders and followers; those who are dominant and those who are submissive; agreements and disagreements; side- tracking and wise-cracking (Mackay, 1993, p.312). Unlike Mackay, who ‘played no active part in the discussion’, I was actively involved in workshops. For example, a group activity was useful as an ice breaker.

87 Chapter 5: Methodology and methods Movement workshops

Movement improvisation was chosen as a method to generate responses to Antarctica because deep connections can be accessed through body movement (Magowan, 2005; Quill, 2008). Following my participation in workshops led by Tony Osborne, Kimberley McIntyre, Vikki Quill and Mircalla Havier (Sydney); Al Wunder and Peggy Hack- ney (Melbourne) and Gill Clarke (London) (Roberts, 2008c,g,k,e,h, 2007b, 2008b), a series of workshops were held. The workshops I attended had shared the same purpose: to stimulate body awareness through connections to the spaces through which we moved. During these workshops, I danced, observed and drew. I made drawings that traced flows of energy. Figure 5.3 shows how, in the drawing, Osborne dancers, a tortille, or twisted, line connects the gestures of three dancers. The dotted line traces the movement of my eye as it scanned for similarities in shapes within the body lines. A key process used to conflate scientific data with human and other an- imal gestures was to observe similarities between physical and biological structures. Drawings like these were used to animate danced responses to Antarctica.

Figure 5.3. Lisa Roberts, Osborne dancers, Pencil on paper (2008)

Drawings were scanned and traced to simulate moments of observing and draw- ing. The technique, which I call simulated-drawing, has been discussed in the In- troduction. The drawing technique that Jorg Schmeisser describes (Figure 3.1) to capture the dynamic nature of Antarctica, equally describes the process of drawing dancers in motion: You have to draw the things that are important to you and there has to be a clarity in what you do, of what you see or feel about it (Schmeisser in Andrews, 2007, p.228). Schmeisser’s method relates closely to dancing ‘what you see or feel about’. Clarity in drawn and danced gestures comes from being moved by what is most important. What is most important in movement improvisation is sensing and expressing kinaesthetic connections. As Laban had demonstrated, through his Space Harmony Crystal (Figure 4.6), structures within the moving body can connect to external 88 Chapter 5: Methodology and methods Movement workshops structures within the environment (Hodgson, 2001). Moving and drawing are ways to feel and describe energy as it flows through these structures. During the workshop series, Eye to Eye, led by Al Wunder in Melbourne (2003), I drew (as he described in words and gestures) relationships between Internal, Pe- ripheral and External spaces. Figure 5.4 shows how this image is simpler than the ‘onion skin’ form of Exiner’s Movement Dial (Figure 4.10) and Laban’s many-sided Space Harmony Crystal (Figure4.6).

Figure 5.4. Lisa Roberts, Internal, Peripheral and External spaces, Pencil drawing on notebook paper (2003)

With just two lines, spaces within and beyond a body can be imagined; two lines make an image that is easy to hold in the mind and body. With less words and lines to remember, it is also simpler to work with. Exiner and Lloyd use no specific word to refer to catalysts (or inspirations) for movement improvisations (Exiner and Lloyd, 1977). Wunder defines a set of parameters within which to improvise, within varying degrees restraint, as a score (Wunder, 2006, p.144-165). I use the word score to include a range of catalysts and refer to extremes between degrees of restraint within parameters as ‘open’ and ‘closed’. For example, when I interviewed choreographer Siobhan Davies (Appendix 1D), she suggested these two kinds of scores to generate gestures for animating: First, words, drawings, rhythms and second, moving to a particular rhythm for a particular period of time. Her first suggestions are scores with open boundaries. Her second suggestion is a score with close boundaries. A simple score of ‘opening and closing’ was used in a workshop led by Gill Clarke at the Siobhan Davies Studios. As a score with close boundaries, just two words provided the focus within which subtle variations in gesture and line could be discerned. Variations in the body’s use of space, time and energy were easily felt when performing to this score. Figure 5.5 shows a drawing I made that combines body memories with direct observations of another dancer moving to the same score. Varying weights of line reflect varying sensations between tension and relaxation. Gestures generated by scores with close boundaries can be experienced, observed 89 Chapter 5: Methodology and methods Movement workshops and drawn with clarity. Gestures generated in this way can be recorded onto video and traced to make animations that communicate body memories of motion.

Figure 5.5. Lisa Roberts, Trace form of dancer ‘opening and closing’, Pencil on paper (2008)

The closed score, ‘Without moving your feet explore opening, closing and main- taining the space between yourself and your partner . . . heightens the awareness and enjoyment of smaller movements and elicits more precise and playful use of tim- ing to create sustained interest’ (Wunder, 2006, p.146). Gestures made in response to a visually restrained (real and imagined) can be traced as lines that communi- cate shared knowledge of moving through it. Animated lines that accurately trace subjective responses to Antarctica can be combined with scientific data to appeal to people to read these with more ‘sustained interest’ than when these are presented on their own. Early training with Exiner had involved raising awareness of connections be- tween moving body parts, the body as a whole and external stimuli within the sur- rounding space (kinesphere). Figure 5.6 shows notes I made as part of my training with Exiner. They describe plans for lessons conducted as field work as a begin- ning teacher. The first lesson aims ‘to explore the different movement and gesture possibilities of different body parts’. The score for the first lesson was modelled on Exiner’s classes: 1. Concentrating on specific body parts, extend movement of each as much as possible. Individually, students try different things, then a few movements are chosen and repeated by every- one: head and neck craning, circling, twisting, pulling in; hands shaking, flexing (remind of contrasting movements) . . . [and so on, to activate all body joints] (Figure 5.6). 90 Chapter 5: Methodology and methods Movement workshops

Figure 5.6. Lisa Roberts, Extract of lesson plans for Body Awareness workshop (27 May, 1979)

Exiner’s notes, written in green ink over mine, underline my words, ‘then a few movements are chosen’ and she advises, ‘You can then choose those which activate a maximal number of body parts’. This advice reflects her philosophy of dance as a way to experience connectivity through the body (Exiner and Lloyd, 1977, p.4). Her other comments reflect the value of clear focus and simplicity, such as her suggestion to ask, Is everyone aware of the purpose of all these tasks? . . . set yourself specific objectives and, in the course of a lesson ensure, as far as possible, that each student comes close to that objective or objectives. In dance improvisation a few simple gestures can activate a maximal number of body parts. A few simple lines and gestures can be used in animation to empathetically activate many senses. The workshops I had attended valued connectivity between internal (bodily) and external (environmental) spaces. However, most workshop leaders used scores that were too open to generate the clear gestures I needed to make simple line animations. For example, when sounds with no clear rhythm were used as scores for dance and no clear boundaries for movement were defined, it was easy for the mind and body to wander. Although fluid gestures can be generated through such stimuli, they can appear amorphous and unfocused. Without a clear structure it is easy to become lost in oceanic feelings. When I asked Siobhan Davies to suggest some scores for making Antarctic animations, she said, maybe it’s like a collection of things. If it’s text and drawing, rhythm. I think to keep to a particular rhythm - this is choreo- graphically, not anything to do with climate change - to be clear about a rhythm is an incredibly good discipline. To be clear about certain timings gives you a structure and a discipline, so

91 Chapter 5: Methodology and methods Drawing

you don’t wander off and make phrase after phrase after phrase after phrase. One phrase begins to erase out if you’re not careful (Appendix 1D). Scores with varying degrees of close and open boundaries were used. Close bound- aries tended to generate more defined gestures. Open boundaries tended to generate more fluid gestures. A range of scores was used to match the abilities and inclina- tions of the artists involved. Recorded gestures were selected to animate a range of responses to Antarctica. Twenty workshops were conducted in 2008. The artists made gestures and drawings that were mostly purposeful and clear. Their gestures were easily drawn from direct observation and clear to trace from video recordings. Their drawings were traced and animated to reflect a heightened awareness of their bodies in space. Prior knowledge of art and dance was assumed, but no assumptions were made about a knowledge of Antarctica. No material relating to Antarctica was provided in the first workshops. Antarctic texts were introduced later to stimulate impro- vised movement and drawn responses. Some scores were planned before workshop sessions. Others were improvised to accommodate differences in capabilities and experience. Unpredictable changes in conditions included holes in the ceiling, noisy intrusions and people coming and going. Scores were designed to generate connec- tions between the uncluttered studio spaces that we used and a purely imagined Antarctic space. Examples of scores used in movement workshops can be found in Appendix 5.

Drawing

Observations of Antarctica had been recorded in a body of art works made in various media (See Introduction). The basis of these works were line drawings that were made in a journal that I took to Antarctica.1 The Australian Antarctic Division exhibited prints that I made from these drawings at Old Parliament House in Canberra (Antdiv, 2002). Drawings, paintings and prints remain on permanent display at their headquarters in Kingston (Tasmania). Many employees there are expeditioners: scientists and support personnel who work in a variety of trades and professions. Drawings were made as source texts for animations. Drawing provided ways to connect to Antarctica. As artist Frances Temple explains, When gathering resources for working, the first thing I do is draw. Drawing is knowing. It enables me to internalise the subject so that I can use my intuition as well as my knowledge (Temple Sebasta, 2009).

Direct observations. Direct observations were made through body-motion, contour and motion-memory drawing. These internalised visceral (bodily) sensa- tions. Accurate tracings were also made of data sets and digital recordings of

1 The original journal was photocopied by the Australian Antarctic Division in 2003 and lodged in their Library at Kingston (Tasmania). The original was donated to the Tasmanian State Library in Hobart in the same year.

92 Chapter 5: Methodology and methods Drawing gestures and line drawings. Drawings were made during conversations with sci- entists and other expeditioners, in movement workshops with other artists and independently in my studio and other locations. I had used body-motion drawing before, to register my response to being in Antarctica (See Introduction). This method was adapted for use with the simple forms of the circle and spiral, to show how aberrations from these forms reflect bodily responses (Figure 8.29). I drew this way to register a sense of moving through different places and as a warm-up activity in workshops. Spirals were drawn to connect to similar structures within the Antarctic en- vironment, such as tiny marine life forms and the great system of bottom water circulation. Motion-drawn spirals were traced and animated to combine with sci- entific data and to convey a sense of moving through the environment. Contour drawing is a technique I used to record observations ‘with the right side of the brain’ (Edwards, 1981, p.84). Neuroscientist Jill Bolte Taylor explains, To the right mind, no time exists other than the present moment and each moment is vibrant with sensation . . . our perception and experience of connection with something that is greater than ourselves occurs in the present moment. To our right mind, the moment of now is timeless and abundant (Bolte Taylor, 2008, p.30). Contour drawings were made with attention fully focused on the object observed, rather than on composing a drawing. When contour drawing, no conscious attention is paid to constructing a composition on paper. Instead, lines trace eye movements (like a seismic reading) as they scan for patterns in structures and movement quali- ties (Figure 5.3). My sense of connection between gesture and drawn line had been heightened by my experience of calligraphy workshops led by Vikki Quill (Figure 4.4). I made contour drawings while observing live krill (Figure 5.7), fur seals and dancers. This method was used because it can convey a sense of immediate connec- tion. Like body-motion drawing, contour drawing registers a spontaneous bodily response. But rather than describing abstract forms, contour lines trace observa- tions of visible reality. Like calligraphy, a visceral connection can be made between the gesture and the drawn line. A high attrition rate comes with this method. Only the trace forms that appear to have a life of their own are kept. These can (when recognised) communicate a sense of seeing and feeling for the first time. Circling dancer (Figure 5.8) is another example of contour drawing. It was made while watching a girl dancing with a hoop. A continuous line traces the form of a hoop and the girl’s circling motion. Like the continuous line in the pentagram designed by Lenton Parr (Figure 8.7) to represent unity and interrelation, a single line traces connections perceived through all the senses, between a body, a hoop and the ground over which they move. In 2004 I drew marine life forms that had yet to be named by scientists. I drew from observing (video) data the scientists had just collected from a camera that they towed beneath the icebreaker, RSV Aurora Australis, during a voyage to Heard Island. The drawing, Antarctic benthos: sea

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Figure 5.7. Lisa Roberts, Antarctic krill: Euphausia superba Pencil on notebook paper (2009)

floor life (Figure 5.9) is one of many drawings that represent circular and spiral forms.

Figure 5.8. Lisa Roberts, Circling dancer (2008)

Scientific reflections. Drawings were sometimes made with scientists dur- ing interviews. Simple lines were drawn to describe complex systems and to clarify verbal explanations. Annotated drawings were made with scientists to validate the meaning of what they said. For example, when explaining the difference between sea ice and glacial ice, marine biologist, Steve Nicol, drew. Figure 5.10 shows that we annotated his drawing together, with words and arrows to clarify its meaning. The drawing helped me understand key forces that shape the Antarctic ecosystem.

94 Chapter 5: Methodology and methods Drawing

Figure 5.9. Lisa Roberts, Antarctic benthos: sea floor life, Pen- cil on notebook paper (2004)

Figure 5.10. Lisa Roberts with Steve Nicol, How Antarctic ice works, Drawing on notebook paper (2009)

I later wrote what I understood about these forces, with editorial assistance from another marine biologist, Jaime Gómez-Gutiérrez: Sea ice drives bottom water circulation through the Southern Ocean. Unlike the ice sheet that inches seawards from inland Antarctica and from which ice bergs break away, sea ice forms from sea water that surrounds the Antarctic continent. When sea ice melts during the southern hemisphere spring and sum- mer, cold, salt-dense water sinks down to deeper layers. From there it moves outwards and upwards in a spiraling motion from east to west. This is known as the Conveyor belt, or thermoha- 95 Chapter 5: Methodology and methods Drawing

line circulation, where water circulation is driven by changes in salinity and temperature that determine its density. This mo- tion shapes the planet’s climate through a feedback interaction between the ocean and the atmosphere. Through this complex mechanism, bottom water spirals outwards and northwards to join the circumpolar current, (ACC), or West Wind Drift (Ap- pendix 2). The spiraling motion of cold bottom water circulation is particularly complex. I described this motion through a whole body gesture which was later recorded on video, traced and then animated (Figure 5.18). Sometimes drawings were made after interviews with scientists, to help me physically connect to ideas they talked about. The drawing, Eccentricity (Figure 5.11), was made after listening to paleoecologist, Dominic Hodgson (Appendix 1C). He had explained that the sun is in the centre of the solar system, ‘or the way humans describe the solar system’ and that ‘on a 100,000 year time scale the earth’s orbit cycles between circular and elliptical. When Earth is closer to the sun, a warm interglacial period occurs. When it’s further away from the sun, there’s less energy, so the earth freezes up, in a glacial period. This is known as the eccentricity cycle of Earth’s orbit around the sun’. The cycle of eccentricity is one of three cycles proposed by Milankovtich (Crowley, 2002).

Figure 5.11. Lisa Roberts, Eccentricity, Pencil on notebook pa- per (2008)

Artistic reflections. Drawings were also made as ways to connect to how artists have described Antarctica. The drawing, Masson Range from Elliott (Figure 5.12), reflects lines and tones used by Fred Elliott (Figure 2.9). While drawing in response to his work I recognised my experience. His light subtle lines against stark dark tones resonated with me. Responding to his image through drawing brought to consciousness forgotten kinesthetic sensations. I could imagine myself in the place his lines described. Elliott’s drawings influenced my decision to use black and white in the animations. Some drawings were made spontaneously and seemed to guide ideas for ani- mations. For example, I made drawings at a retrospective exhibition of the artist Sydney Nolan, at the Art Gallery of New South Wales (Nolan, 2008). The exhibi- tion included a painting, Boy and the Moon (c. 1940) and sketches for the ballet, Icarus (1934-1940). There was something about Nolan’s use of lines that attracted me. Only later, when making animations, did I recognise these as primal forms 96 Chapter 5: Methodology and methods Drawing

Figure 5.12. Lisa Roberts, Masson Range from Elliott, Pencil on notebook paper (2007) that could express the sense of continuity that I had experienced in Antarctica. One of these forms is the circle and the sense of continuity comes from Nolan’s use of conflation. The word conflation can mean ‘The fusion of two readings into a composite reading’ (Shorter Oxford Dictionary, 1985, p.396). In Boy and the Moon, one circular line fuses the forms of the moon and man’s head so that these can be read as elements of a whole. Gallery signage described ‘a rising yellow moon conflated with the shape of his [Nolan’s] friend Sinclaire’s head’. I drew, Boy Moon and Icarus (bottom left of Figure 5.13), to show how Nolan may have observed a full moon behind Sinclaire’s head to work out what may have been the catalyst for his painting.

Figure 5.13. Lisa Roberts, Boy moon and Icarus, Pencil draw- ing on journal page (2007)

I came to recognise this phenomenon in many animations that I made, as a way of fusing objective and subjective responses. For example, the simple shape of the human head, in Heard lull, represents a mind intensely listening. The figures in Nolan’s designs for Icarus are a fusion of human and unknown life forms. These forms kept popping up in my work. The drawing, Antarctic head (from Boissonnet) (Figure 5.14), was made in re- sponse to Boissonnet’s work, En perdre le nord (Boissonnet, 2008) (Figure 3.33). Boissonnet had imposed a map of Antarctica on the top of a shaven man’s head.

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Using this as the impetus, I drew and animated the form that describes Antarc- tica as a brain inside the head of a human (discussed in Chapter 3: Towards an iconography/Oceanic views).

Figure 5.14. Lisa Roberts, Antarctic head (from Boissonnet) (2009)

While traveling by plane at night over the Pacific Ocean, I drew as I read Coleridge’s Rime of the Ancient Mariner, ‘The sun came up upon the left, Out of the sea came he! And he shone bright and on the right went down into the sea’ (Coleridge, 1798). Figure 5.15 shows the sun circling Earth, the ship crossing the globe and the albatross shot by the mariner’s cross bow. From the air, the ocean below had appeared black against land lit up by many cities. Coleridge’s image of the circular earth brought to mind its unity and whole- ness. The cross of the ship and the bird that was shot brought to mind human in- difference. These drawings were the catalyst for the animation, Ancient Mariners, in which the Earth breathes and marine life forms dance with the circle and cross.

Figure 5.15. Lisa Roberts, Ancient mariner (from Coleridge), Pencil on notebook paper (2008)

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Animation

Moving images naturally attract attention. Animation is the visual language of change and transformation. Animations were formed by combining digital-tracing with hand-drawn straight-ahead improvisation. Digital-tracing is a consciously controlled animation method (Figures 5.16 and 5.17). Digital-tracings were made in two ways. First, prints of visual data sets and pencil drawings were placed on a drawing tablet and traced within digital image and animation programmes. Second, the drawing tablet was used to trace over picture files that had been imported into the image and animation programmes. Rather than trace lines over paper, lines were traced over digital images by moving the cursor on screen. The first method was used for simulated-drawing and simulated- writing. This is where lines are animated to simulate the gestures originally made to draw them. The second method was used to trace video footage.

Figure 5.16. Digitally tracing data sets of sea levels rising

Figure 5.17. Digitally tracing drawings of krill

Digital tracing over video frames is a form of rotoscoping, ‘a technique that consists of filming the action with a model and then having the animator retrace the contour of the figure’ (Wells and Hardstaff, 2008, p.109). This method was used to trace a gesture performed to describe bottom water circulation. Stills were taken from a video sequence and dots were placed at pivot points on the body. 99 Chapter 5: Methodology and methods Animation

Figure 5.18. Lisa Roberts, Stills from video recording of bottom water circulation gesture (2008)

The dots were then joined by lines on screen (Figure 5.18). When motions are complex and multidimensional, such gestures can sometimes describe them more clearly than through line drawings on paper. Stop-motion animation was used to record movements that lent themselves more naturally to physical rather than digital manipulation. Stop-motion animation is a method whereby a camera is mounted over objects which are manually moved and photographed frame-by-frame. This method was used to animate the complex interactions that occur between water molecules as sea ice forms and melts. Gum nuts were placed and moved frame-by-frame under a rostrum camera. Each change in position was photographed frame by frame and then digitally traced. Improvised straight-ahead animation was based on the methods of McLaren and Lye and combined with choreographic methods of Vent and Drefke (McLaren, 1940; Lye, 1929);(Exiner and Kelynack, 1994, p.84). As Lye explains, ‘You doodle about’, ‘to isolate some feeling out of yourself’ (Lye in Horrocks, date). This involves playing around with materials until the feeling is recognised. Making art is a dialogue between the art maker and the materials. Responses are made to the work itself, as it evolves a life of its own. Intuitive, improvised, connections could be made between gestures and lines as they were being animated. Len Lye’s practice of freeing his ‘old brain’ to produce automatic ‘doodlings’ was used to draw, elaborate and animate the feelings associated with life forms that were yet to be named. Vent and Drefke’s ‘spontaneous forming’ choreographic methods were adapted to combine such gestures and lines into integrated animated works. These methods involve: • playful searching, experimenting • finding out, inventing, retaining memory of visual symbols and movement motifs • repeating, varying, combining symbols and motifs • composing by spontaneously forming the parts to make a whole These methods were used to animate flows of energy through the Antarctic ecosys- tem and the human form: • sea ice freezing and melting and the rhythmic flow of human breath • spiraling bottom water circulation and a spiraling foetal gesture 100 Chapter 5: Methodology and methods Animation

• the circumpolar current and a ship circling the globe (Exiner and Kely- nack, 1994, p.84) Through the improvisation process, . . . every now and again one sees some little unexpected or meaningful juxtaposition of shapes and this in some way gener- ates an idea . . . there is the satisfaction of having abstracted from the world something that was there, that perhaps no one else had seen. Some kind of redevelopment of vision occurs sim- ply by this process of abstraction and reinterpretation (Parr in Sturgeon et al., 1984, p.44). By improvising with a lexicon of primal gestural forms, known structures in the world could be identified and described in new and unexpected ways. Decisions on where to place dots and lines were made intuitively. Gestures and lines with similar qualities were grouped in rhythmic patterns. A time-based form of visual alliteration was evolved. For example, in Bubbles in ice, swinging motions of lines that represent swings between glacial cycles, were placed over similar lines that trace the form of an improvising dancer (Figure 5.19). Rhythms observed in data sets were visualised

Figure 5.19. Lisa Roberts, Bubbles in the ice, Digital animation (2008) in abstract form to connect to rhythms familiar to bodily sensations. In Glacial cycles, the data set that describes the Milankovitch hypothesis (that is used to explain the swings between glacial cycles) was literally represented. However, in Measuring carbon, the same rhythms were abstracted and used as a score for a dance of circles. Colours of circles change through cycles governed by numbers of frames that were rounded off to reflect the cycles of the Earth’s motion round the sun: Eccentricity (200 frames), obliquity (80 frames) and precession (40 frames). The drawing, Cardiograph (Figure 5.20), is a tracing of my heart beat. It was animated to represent spent energy of people who have died in the ice and forces in the ice into which they have fallen. The line combines with the poet Bill Manhire’s response to a tragic plane crash into Mount Erebus (Antarctica): his poem, Erebus Voices (Manhire, 2004a), where the people and the mountain are given voices.

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Figure 5.20. Lisa Roberts, Cardiograph, Digital drawing (2008)

The animations have found audiences in conferences of Antarctic art and sci- ence, in university programmes of animation and design and at climate change art events (See Discussion: Impact of the animations). They have been presented di- rectly from the website and from files loaded onto computers. As vector graphic files playing from the web or disk, the animated lines appear sharp at all scales of projection. However, these formats are not yet accommodated by standard pre- sentation software (such as PowerPoint). In order for the animations to be shared and re-used in standard presentations tools, they currently need to be encoded as .MOV or .AVI files. However, this greatly diminishes their quality. To maintain quality and avoid problems with online access, the solution for the moment is to play the animation files directly from a data disk or a computer hard drive. A summary of the production processes used make the animations is provided in Appendix 6.

Animation interfaces

Online interfaces were designed to test different ways to display the animations. These evolved from an Antarctic Thesaurus that worked primarily as a holding bay for information rather than an effective display space. Interfaces are: Insights, En- ergies, Elements, Encounters, Thesaurus, INDEX. These experiments are discussed in Appendix 7. As the project evolved, the online animation interfaces became increasingly con- nected. Like cycles of stories retold, lexical elements appear and reappear through- out them, to be read again wholly and in part. As English teacher Kathryn Yeo commented, It is not through one single image or story that the experience is understood, but through the collection, the build up, the layers, the retelling that an experience is shared - the focus shifts (none of the stories are forgotten because of the new telling) with each addition to the story being told, so the story itself becomes an experience (Yeo, 2008). Animation interfaces provided different contexts for reading the animations. How- ever, platform and software dependencies created an environment where display is not consistent. To create a consistent experience for the purpose of this thesis, the animations were transferred to CD, where they can be accessed through a browser. Nevertheless, the web has proven to be a globally accessible display space in spite

102 Chapter 5: Methodology and methods Art works of its constraints. Without the website and its log, it would not have been possible to interact with participants and receive responses to the work as it evolved.

Art works

My arts practice is not limited to animation. While the development of art works is often integral to the animation process, the works themselves stand alone. The works include drawings, paintings, art objects and installations. An index of art works is on the website and the data CD that accompanies this thesis. The drawing of the dancer with the hoop (Figure 5.8) became the icon to this link. As animations evolved, I made art works. Dots and lines that were used to make digital animations were given physical form. The drawings, Ice turning and Ice mirror (Figure 5.21) are results of early experiments in stop-motion animation that evolved into art works in their own right. The drawings represent the idea that our actions shape our environment, which in turn shapes us. These are two of many drawings that resulted from repeatedly drawing shadows of moving bodies cast onto paper and then filming their changing shapes, frame by frame. Ice turning was drawn in response to the animation, Ice sound, which in turn was inspired by words from Jack Ward’s 1955 diary (Ward, 1955). Dots and lines visualise bird calls that he imagined emerging from ice.

Figure 5.21. Lisa Roberts, (Left) Ice turning and (Left) Ice mirror, Mixed media works on primed fire paper (2009)

A number of art works evolved from drawings that were made to develop ideas. These works range from small drawings in notebooks to larger works in various media. Engravings were made into Perspex and glass to bring the gestural forms off the screen and into objects to be held. Lines engraved into Perspex and glass

103 Chapter 5: Methodology and methods Art works gain definition by holding light. They can be illuminated naturally by the sun or by LED lights. Cool me cocco (Figure 5.22) represents an endangered plankton that is abun- dant in Antarctica. Coccolithophorids sequester carbon from the atmosphere. Their vast concentrations mean they are vital for maintaining equilibrium of the ocean’s acidity. Increasing acidity of the marine environment is distorting their forms and endangering their existence. The thermometer in the bottle references the link between rising human impacts, global warming and acidification.

Figure 5.22. Lisa Roberts, Cool me cocco, Engraved glass bottle with thermometer (recycled) (2010)

Core images 01 (Figure 5.23) represents imaginary marine life forms. The forms inspired by Nolan’s drawings (Figure 5.13) appear here as primal feelings trapped in ice. They reference the Greek myth that inspired Nolan. In the Greek 104 Chapter 5: Methodology and methods Art works

Figure 5.23. Lisa Roberts, Core images 01, Engraved Perspex (2009) myth, Icarus flew too close to the sun and lost his wings. This work refers to the environmental consequences of unsustainable ambition. It also references the idea that humans once returned to live as creatures of the sea (Hardy, 1960). The word ‘core’ in the title has a double meaning: body memories of ancient ancestors that reside in the core of our being and the ancient history of the Earth recorded in cores of ice. Figure 5.24 shows lines that were made from tracings of graphs of sea levels rising. In the animation, Sea levels are rising, the lines were used in order to combine scientific data with a sense of the motion of the sea over time. Lines were then engraved into sheets of Perspex and joined together to make the object, Sea levels rising 01. Here, lines that plot the data resemble a more familiar view of the sea, where wavy lines resemble the rising of a swell. Additionally, the repetition of the line (on two sheets of Perspex) gives physical depth to the data that expands the temporal experience of the animation. You may imagine yourself within the data (in the sea). Antarctica registers changes (Figure 5.25) combines graphs of sea levels rising with the part human, part plankton forms inspired by Nolan. Placed beneath the rising line of the sea, they reference primal feelings that arise from what Len Lye had referred to as our ‘old brain’ (Cann and Curnow, 2009).

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Figure 5.24. Lisa Roberts, Sea levels rising 01, Engraved Per- spex (2007)

The art works provided ways to reflect on key ideas that emerged from ani- mations, when scientific data connected most strongly with subjective responses. They provide a durable record of insights that were gained through the animation process. When displayed at conferences, exhibitions and other events, they serve as icons that embody fleeting moments of connection. A more detailed discussion of the use of these works can be found in Chapter 7: Discussion/Reading the ice and Chapter 8: Discussion/Impact of the animations.

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Figure 5.25. Lisa Roberts, Antarctica registers changes, En- graved Perspex (2009)

107 CHAPTER 6

Antarctic Animation

The animations have been presented at international Antarctic art and science events: Sur Polar: Arte en Antartida, Buenos Aires and Mexico (March 2008); the Third GLOBEC (Global Ocean Ecosystems Dynamics) Open Science Meeting, Victoria, Canada (June 2009); Polar Palooza, Australian Maritime Museum, Syd- ney (November 2009). All the animations are available online. For further details about how the animations were received, see Chapter 8: Discussion/Impact of the animations. Most of the animations that were made are discussed throughout the thesis in the context of the ideas that shaped them. Forty-four short animations were made that became a lexicon of primal gestural forms. The most resolved combinations of these forms can be seen in the two animations entitled Insights and Energies. Both Insights and Energies can be found on the CD directly above the link to the list of 44 lexical forms (Animation Index). Experiments were made in arranging the animations on various online inter- faces, to allow for serendipitous connections to fragments of information. The aim was to reflect how knowledge of the environment accumulates as we move through it. Some of these experiments are described in Appendix 7.

Insights

Insights is the most abstract animation made with simplest gestures and lines. It was designed to be easily read by the eye and held within body memory. Insights was made to encapsulate the key idea that emerged from the project, that the circle, spiral and cross describe structures within the Antarctic ecosystem and the forms that are most naturally traced by human gestures. A circle describes the clock-wise path of the circumpolar current, a spiral de- scribes the motion of cold bottom water circulation and a cross represents the one solid place around which Earth spins. Insights begins with a thick line that spirals outwards to form a circle (Figure 6.1).

Figure 6.1. Lisa Roberts, Insights, Digital animation (2009)

Lines of similar thickness appear to draw themselves over the spiral to form a cross. As this image fades, fine lines repeat the spiraling and crossing choreography. Now, however, the cross radiates from the centre.

108 Chapter 6: Antarctic Animation Insights

The first sequence simulates a drawing made by hand, the second by machine or instruments. Two ways of describing Antarctica are presented as gestural forms that can be easily remembered. The first appeals to body memories of drawing primal forms, or ‘semantic primitives’ (Fricker, 2010) that are made spontaneously by Great Apes and young children. The second appeals to body memories of composing and responding to technology (even remote sensors) to perceive and measure. The second drawing appears with these words beneath it: Antarctica is animated. Cold bottom water from sea ice spirals north ...... drawn around by the circumpolar current. It replenishes life. A cross marks a place ...... to meet and reflect. Over a human head with a brain shaped like Antarctica (Figure 6.2), the number 350 appears to draw itself. This number represents the parts per million of CO2 in the atmosphere that is promoted as safe for human life (350.org, date). The number is hand-drawn to appeal to body memories of drawing numbers and to make it easy hold in the mind. The number can be remembered as a gesture and an image. The primal gestures add depths of meaning to the scientific information.

Figure 6.2. Lisa Roberts, 350, Digital animation (2009)

Veteran Antarctic scientist Bill Birch commented in the log, Loved the idea of putting the Antarctic ‘tadpole’ as a brain inside the head. Then animating the 350, representing a realisable goal of 350 parts per million of carbon dioxide (we’re currently sitting at 385 I think). Setting goals in terms of measurable quantities makes for a better focus for action (Burch in Roberts, 2009a). The 350 logo slowly fades, leaving only the head with the Antarctic brain and the words, ‘Antarctica is melting’. But is it?

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Another veteran Antarctic scientist questions: Owen Holmwood Says: October 26th, 2009 at 3:21 pm Lisa, Your graphic is great, but is the ice really melting in Antarctica? Rupert Murdoch’s media say no, others say yes. http://www.news.com.au/story/0,27574,25348657-401,00.html http://www.theage.com.au/environment/antarctic-ice-melting-faster- than-expected-20090405-9t9v.html Who knows? Owen Holmwood (Holmwood in Roberts, 2009a). A line of thought pressed recently by The Australian newspaper is that climate change scientists have no consensus on global warming (Gordon Crovitz, 2010). However, my understanding (from attending to scientists) is that our massive burn- ing of fossil fuel has upset the natural cycles of climate change and that it is im- possible to accurately predict the consequences of our actions. Antarctica is both freezing and melting.1 Rising temperatures are raising humidity which increases snow fall on its ice cap, and also increases the number of ice bergs that are calving from its edges. Like the freezing and melting of sea ice and glacial ice, processes of change in Antarctica are complex. They are still not fully understood. Further responses to this and other animations can be read in Chapter 8: Con- clusion/Impact of the animations.

Energies

Energies is the longest (10 mins 30 secs) and most developed animation to evolve from the project. The animation was made at the suggestion of marine biologist, Jaime Gómez-Gutiérrez, to screen at the Third GLOBEC Open Science Meeting (June 2009). Gómez-Gutiérrez had been shown the animations, How do krill grow? and Krill watching, by fellow scientists, Steve Nicol and So Kawaguchi. They had suggested these animations be screened at the conference to add interest in their presentations on krill research (Gómez-Gutiérrez, 2009a). Gómez-Gutiérrez invited me to prepare more animations to accompany these. Energies was inspired by seeing the birth of a krill, hearing the insights of scientists who breed them and drawing krill from life. Because krill are central to the food web through which all Antarctic life forms connect, it made sense for krill to be a central focus. The circular form of a krill egg resembles the structure of Antarctica and the world (Figure 6.3). The circle symbolises wholeness and connectivity. Nicol’s argument that biologists can more easily observe connections between animals and their terrestrial environments, to obtain a ‘big picture’ overview (Nicol, 2003, p.199), challenged me to visualise the Antarctic environment that is invisible to most people.

1 In conversation with veteran Antarctic glaciologist, David Carter, 25 March 2010.

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Figure 6.3. (Left) Jaime Gómez-Gutiérrez, Video capture of krill egg (Gómez-Gutiérrez, 2002). (Right) Lisa Roberts, Ener- gies: Turning cycle, Digital animation (2009)

When Gómez-Gutiérrez shared his insights about parasites of krill, I was further intrigued by the forces that shape Antarctica that are beyond human perception: It is amazing how there are small worlds of organisms inside and on the surface of such small animals, even parasites of parasites, can you believe it (Gómez-Gutiérrez, 2009a)? His editorial assistance with the notes I wrote to accompany the animation at the conference confirmed my understanding of his view that Antarctica is shaped through interactions between minute biological forms and immense physical systems of energy (Appendix 2). Energies represents physical and biological forces that interact to shape Antarc- tica. The shorter animations served as a lexicon of gestural forms that could be com- bined to represent connections between diatoms, krill, sea butterflies (pteropods), seals, humans, sea ice, bottom water circulation, the circumpolar current, ice melt- ing and sea levels rising. Krill became a focal point for combining gestures and lines to represent a whole interconnected system. A central visual focus was maintained in the screen space to reinforce the idea of unity. Energies begins in silence with a melting, overturning iceberg (Figure 6.4). The iceberg was used to symbolise change and transformation.

Figure 6.4. Lisa Roberts, Energies: Berglife, Digital animation (2009)

As the ice berg melts, your eye is led from the vastness of the ocean to a tiny krill emerging from its egg (Figure 6.5). 111 Chapter 6: Antarctic Animation Energies

Figure 6.5. Lisa Roberts, Energies: How do krill grow?, Digital animation (2009)

The melting ice berg completes a transformation; the birth of a krill begins an- other. Words from the email messages between me and the scientist, So Kawaguchi, are written beside animated diagrams of normal krill development. They are writ- ten like speech bubbles to suggest the voices of the scientist and the krill. Piano music improvised by an 11 year-old girl, Sophie Green, conveys a feeling of child- hood wonder. The representation of krill now changes from ‘talking’ data sets to drawings made from life (Figure 6.6). Contour drawn lines describe the energetic motion paths of live adult krill, reflected in their curvaceous structures. One krill appears to draw itself with the lines that were made from direct observation.

Figure 6.6. Lisa Roberts, Energies: Krill watching, Digital an- imation (2009)

Figure 6.7 shows drawings that were traced from the Australian Antarctic Divi- sion’s Krill cam (Antdiv, 2010). Krill dance across the screen from corner to corner to describe crosses. Krill cross the centre of the screen to maintain the central focus established at the start. Tiny particles are shown (Figure 6.8) as if drawn up by the motion of water, caused by many krill swimming together to the surface. The particles represent krill and diatoms. Their clockwise motion echoes the westerly winds around Antarctica.

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Figure 6.7. Lisa Roberts, Energies, Digital animation

Figure 6.8. Lisa Roberts, Energies, Digital animation (2009)

Figure 6.9. Lisa Roberts, Energies, Digital animation (2009)

The sound of a shakuhachi (Japanese flute) evokes the solitude of inland Antarc- tica.2 Diatoms (a form of phytoplankton) appear as breathing forms, changing their patterns to a cyclic rhythm (Figure 6.10).

2 Scientist Rupert Summerson worked for many months in inland Antarctica and played this instrument during these times. He allowed recordings of his music to be made for use in the animations (In conversation, Christchurch, New Zealand 2008).

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The diatom’s gesture refers to our connection to these invisible forms through breath: Take one deep breath, pause . . . breathe out and another in, pause and contemplate that that [sic] last breath was a life-giving gift from organisms many of us have never heard of. Phytoplank- ton, those tiny plants floating around in the vast openness of the oceans, tirelessly working and giving their lives so that we hu- mans and every other animal on earth can breathe comfortably (van der Merwe and Lannuzel, 2010).

Figure 6.10. Lisa Roberts, Energies: Diatoms, Digital anima- tion (2009)

Antarctica appears to breathe as its sea ice freezes and melts (Figure 6.11).

Figure 6.11. Lisa Roberts, Energies: Sea Ice, Digital animation (2009)

The movement patterns of CO2 molecules and satellite images were synchro- nised with human breath. Human forms dance to imagined flows of energy through water (Figure 6.12). Dots that mark the joints of a human form accumulate and disperse like molecules of water. A mirroring dance of dots represents self-reflection. Deep sounds evoke the unknown depths of the ocean. 3 Water molecules perform a cyclic dance of freezing and melting (Figure 6.13). Their symmetry resembles reflections in mirrors of water and ice. Perfect symmetry reflects the ideal of Antarctica as pristine. Sea ice freezing and melting circulates nutrient-rich bottom water through the Southern Ocean.

3 Sound artist Jon Hizzard contributed music he had composed that combines sound recordings made in Antarctica with sounds recorded on Flinders Island, Tasmania (2003). 114 Chapter 6: Antarctic Animation Energies

Figure 6.12. Lisa Roberts, Energies: Water energy, Digital an- imation (2009)

Figure 6.13. Lisa Roberts, Energies: Water energy, Digital an- imation (2009)

At the centre of a massive circle (the circumpolar current), a human form spirals. Figure 6.14 presents as a powerhouse of energy and replenisher of new life.

Figure 6.14. Lisa Roberts, Energies: Bottom water circulation, Digital animation (2009)

The Antarctic convergence is a circling field of energy where nutrients are drawn up towards the ocean surface. A perpetually dynamic field of energy, the Antarctic convergence draws predators and prey together into a battle for survival (Figure 6.15). A data set of rising sea levels appears above a dying krill (Figure 6.16). The krill that had drawn itself earlier is now erased before our eyes. This refers to the reality that increasing ocean acidity is endangering krill and many other life forms in the sea. A human form (Figure 6.17) unravels the spiral that had formed itself earlier (the symbol of connectivity). 115 Chapter 6: Antarctic Animation Energies

Figure 6.15. Lisa Roberts, Energies: Diatoms, Digital anima- tion (2009)

Figure 6.16. Lisa Roberts, Energies: Sea levels are rising, Dig- ital animation (2008)

Figure 6.17. Lisa Roberts, Energies: Wind gathering, Digital animation (2009)

The unraveling of the spiral and an inward spiraling gesture signify inner ten- sions and deep concerns. The inward spiraling gesture also refers to a potential loss of energy that could result from the disruption of regular cycles of sea ice forma- tion. The regular formation of sea ice around Antarctica is threatened by global warming. The sound of the icebreaker, RSV Aurora Australis, introduces the final scenes (Figure 6.18). The sudden appearance of a man-made structure shatters the illusion of Antarctica as pristine. The depth and strength of the ship’s horn represents the collective energy consumed by humans. The flows of energy between humans, seals, sea butterflies and water molecules, are suggested by a mirroring dance (Figure 6.19). A sea butterfly (pteropod) ap- pears beside a human form as it falls from the ship to the sea (Figure 6.20).

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Figure 6.18. Lisa Roberts, Energies: Finale, Digital animation (2009)

Human scale constantly shifts. Expanding water molecules are followed by a data set that shows the effects of oceans warming over the past 80 years (Figure 6.21).

Figure 6.19. Lisa Roberts, Energies: Finale, Digital animation (2009) (2009d)

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Figure 6.20. Lisa Roberts, Energies: Finale, Digital animation (2009)

Figure 6.21. Lisa Roberts, Energies: Sea levels are rising, Dig- ital animation (2009)

118 CHAPTER 7

Discussion

Antarctica is animated. Ice forms and disappears. Bits fall off, things get lost at such a rate that it becomes difficult to describe. Familiar words can lose their meanings. Veteran expeditioner Jack Ward wrote, ‘You feel the word lives for the first time, estranged as soon as it is spoken’ (Ward, 1955). ‘It’s all, it’s all just so simple’ was how glaciologist David Carter described the ‘nothingness that is Antarctica’ (Carter, 2008). Antarctica is a place of extremes and contradictions. Like the earliest circle drawn by a child (Arnheim in Watts, 1977, p.60), it can be anything we imagine and it can be a void. Metaphors that use images, sounds, textures and smells, familiar from other places, may help to describe aspects of Antarctica, but to get a sense of the whole of this most elusive and remote continent, a language of expression that draws on deeper, more elemental forms is required. My research question, can animation be used to combine scientific data with subjective responses to Antarctica, uncovered these elemental forms. I found many scientists and artists who shared the view that Antarctica is uniquely difficult to describe and that changes happening there in response to global warming are com- plex and not fully understood. Although climate change was not the initial focus of the project, I found that Antarctic expeditioners expressed deep feelings about the changes. A place laid bare to the elements allows for measurements of climate change to be made (on the ground and remotely) without the usual physical distractions. Such a place also inspires elemental feelings of connection. Climate change skep- tics may deny it, but Antarctic scientists have published data sets that correlate global climate change with human behaviour. Artists who have attended to these scientists and experienced Antarctica, have contributed to an iconography of global climate change with Antarctica as the focus. This project contributes to their efforts to combine perspectives only recently made available through science. Antarctic artists and scientists share an awareness of being on the edge of the unknown. As the project evolved, it became clear that gesture and line can be used in animation to combine scientific and artistic ways of knowing. Animations were made that reflect new and ancient knowledge: • The circle, spiral and cross are trace forms that reflect the structure of the human body in motion • These ancient choreographies can be found in energy systems that shape the natural environment • These forms can be expressed by animating the gestural qualities of sci- entific data • Responses to animations can expand dimensions of perception

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• Recognition of these primal forms adds a dimension of meaning that is an essential component of accurate communication The Antarctic ecosystem is a structure that is unseen by most people and yet its health is vital to the dynamic balance of the whole living Earth. People who attend to Antarctica know that the health of our planet (including us) is endangered. Elemental trace forms of gestures can communicate a sense of balance between extreme physical and psychological conditions that can be measured and felt. These forms align with Indigenous knowledge and the Gaia world view, of Earth as a living whole of which we are a part. A sense of balance can allow for considered decisions to be made about how we relate to our environment.

Everything and nothing

After returning from Antarctica, I revisited some art works that Bea Maddock had made after her Antarctic voyage and found new depths of meaning in her lines. I recognised my brief but profound experience on Mount Henderson where I was balanced in a void between space and time. In Maddock’s Terra Spiritus (Figure 3.31), hand-written lines of Indigenous language flow over lines that describe Australian land devoid of signs of life. When I first saw the work, the lines brought to mind the continuity of Indigenous knowledge and the time when Australia was a part of Antarctica. The work now aroused in me a sense of land embodying memories of human impact. I read the lines as if they had been sung into being by the land itself. My experience of Antarctica had changed my perception. When I first saw the vertical and horizontal lines in the pages of Maddock’s artist book, To the ice (Figure 3.25), I read them as evidence of physical changes in the ice and as signs of a personal transformation. Now they reminded me of the gesture made by a scientist to describe the ‘nothingness’ of inland Antarctica (Carter, 2008). His arms had reached out sideways from his uplifted chest in a cross formation that resembled the crossing arrows in Eastaugh’s drawing, Finding yourself lost (Figure 3.26). A cross that marks a spot can also express tension within. A cross can hold in balance contradictory conditions. The circle provides a focus for attending to the complex Antarctic environment and a form within which to balance feelings that oscillate between extremes. The circle expresses a sense of unity that has been felt between elements that combine to form Antarctica. For example, repeating circles in Beaumont’s art work, Cocco Cone Argentina (Figure 3.9), bring to mind cycles of energy within the Antarctic ecosystem, such as the great circumpolar current that draws up nutrients from beneath the ocean to feed life forms such as those she references in her art. The circular logo that was first used by the Australian Antarctic Division (Figure 2.2) communicates this intelligence with great force. Flowing line drawings of Antarctic life forms encircle lines that cross at the South Pole. As an icon inspired by lived experience, this icon was used to add depths of meaning scientific understandings of Antarctica.

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The spiral form has been linked to experiences of personal transformation (Jung in Henderson, 1964, p.146) (Figure 4.13). The spiral in Drury’s Wind vortex (Fig- ure 3.5) has been described as an ancient sign that ‘registers human presence’ in Antarctica (Drury, 2007);(Gooding, 2007, p.6). This icon connects the great spi- raling system of Antarctic bottom water circulation to the delicate spiral structure of minute life forms that this massive system drives to sustain. The circle, spiral and cross express a primal sense of connection to the natural world that we are still only on the edge of understanding. Danced and drawn lines trace flows of energy that are perceived by the moving, sensing body. Lines of force through the body can be felt as they flow through the kinesphere to connect to lines of force perceived in the environment. Choreographies of elements perceived in the environment are reflected in dances and drawings that arise from primal responses. In Judge’s dance work, Circulus Antarcticus (Figure 3.19), similar lines flow through the bodies of dancers moving together to describe Antarctica. Broad flow- ing brush strokes in Schmeisser’s painting, I am leaving (Figure 3.1), describe flows of energy perceived in ice sculpted by Antarctic wind and water. Undulating lengths of tulle, in Juan’s performance, Methane (Figure 3.8), reflect an empathic response to scientific knowledge of greenhouse gasses leaching through ice. The flowing lines of ice and tulle echo undulating forms in Pereira’s maps, Vistas isometricas del Continent (Figure 3.32), that embody ‘mental substance’ through which she felt, in Antarctica, being a part of the whole living Earth (Pereira, 2008). Human forms have been recognised in structures formed by Antarctic rock and ice. Lines in Elliott’s drawing, Masson Range, Antarctica, 1955 (Figure 2.9), con- nect the twisting forces that shape Antarctic rock to the human hands that hold it. Elemental lines in Fabok’s animation, Breath (Figure 3.22), reach out to the ice like nerve endings. Campbell’s photograph, Ice Ghoul (Figure 2.11), gives a human face to the forces that are warming Antarctica (Campbell in McCredie, 2007, p.24, Illus.). Expressions of bodily connections to Antarctica relate to the view, shared by Leonardo and Ruskin, that the purpose of drawing is to describe flows of energy in the physical world that connect to those within the human body (Leonardo in Teknoart, 2009);(Ruskin, 2006). They relate to Laban’s proposal that there is ‘a relationship between the perception of harmony and bodily structure’ (Laban in Maletic, 1987, p.157) and to the view shared by Lovelock and other scientists, that humans are a part of the global ecology that dynamically balances Life (Lovelock, 2000). I read Antarctic texts (including data sets and art works) through what Watts describes as ‘visual/kinaesthetic recall’ (Watts, 1977, p.66). I read meanings into their gestures and lines through kinesthetic senses. These readings provided stimuli for animations. Flows of feeling were perceived within Antarctic art works that I relate to flows of energy that shape Antarctica. Flows of feeling expressed through gestures and lines were recognised in responses to Antarctica that were made by expeditioners and other artists in interviews and workshops. I recognised gestural 121 Chapter 7: Discussion Everything and nothing forms that relate to my body memory of Antarctica. As I write these words I reflect on some ideas I heard discussed yesterday on the radio. Patrick White’s book, The Solid Mandala, was discussed (Gallacher, 2009). The word mandala means circle. Main characters in White’s book are twins whose characters reflect opposing aspects of White’s own nature: one pragmatically objective, the other imaginatively subjective. The two aspects of character are not reconciled in the story. Each twin dies before connecting to the other. The story brings to life the struggle between people unable to connect. Moments in the story teeter towards connection, yet connection is never made. White dramatises the consequences of our choices between recognition and denial of natural (blood) relationships. I read this as a parable of dissociation from the environment that in reality connects us. We choose between empathic connection and destructive dissociation. A recurring image in the story is a circle, embodied in the form of a glass marble. The marble appears and reappears, as if the possibility of unity is always present. The circular form gives readers something to hold on to, like hope of reconciliation. White warns that we may die before achieving harmony between opposing aspects of ourselves. Following this radio discussion was a reading from Jenny Diski’s book, Skating to Antarctica. Hearing her words while still contemplating White’s Mandala, an- other connection came to mind. It had been observed in the discussion that The Solid Mandala reveals White’s fear of madness - that White may have associated madness with creativity. Diski’s book is similarly autobiographical. It similarly reveals anxieties about mental instability. However, through an Antarctic journey, Diski finds the space she was seeking within herself, to reconcile opposing forces. Her story is told through a dynamic balance between linear thought and circular (repeating) archetypal expressions of feeling. White sheets and white ice appear and reappear throughout her story as symbols of emotion. Gradually a line of pure thought spirals outwards from a circling series of white images. Diski returns where she had begun, with her daughter in a flat in London. Through the journey her state of dark inner tension had transformed into a state of peace and clarity. When I asked Antarctic expeditioner Ken Wilson what the circle, spiral, and cross meant to him, he explained that Physical laws push things into circles, lines and spirals. Unless acted upon by external forces, a drop of water will tend to circu- lar and an object in motion will tend to a straight line. A spiral is a circular orbit where an object is either gaining or losing en- ergy. Inwardly spiraling objects are losing energy. Outwardly spiraling objects are gaining it (Wilson, 2009a). Reflecting on this scientific explanation and Diski’s poetic response convinced me of the role of primal gestural forms in bridging these ways of understanding.

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This project has been characterised by such serendipitous connections. As well as being open to chance events, improvisation was consciously used in movement workshops and in my animation practice. As animator Len Lye explains it, ‘You doodle about, to isolate some feeling out of yourself’ (Lye in Horrocks, date).

Connectivity

Improvised movement. Several movement workshops were conducted. The one discussed here demonstrated most clearly the value of improvisation for generating responses to Antarctica. It was conducted early in the project. No information about Antarctica was provided. Gestures, drawings and words were generated as individual responses to an imagined place. The animation, Connec- tivity, was made from these responses. Christine McMillan (visual artist), John Smith (performance artist and health practitioner), Kim Holten (visual artist) and Yoris Everearts (sculptor and arts therapist) had volunteered to participate. They were interested to explore ways of working that might extend their own practices. Their explorations fed back into my practice as an animator. First names are used to refer to participants. This reflects the familiarity of relationships that developed. Christine, John and Yoris knew each other from working in similar workshops that I had conducted before the project was begun. Kim is an Aboriginal artist I had met at UNSW. This was her first experience of improvised movement. Connectivity was made using only the drawings and words that were generated in this workshop. This made it easy to assess what animation added to these responses. We gathered in a cold basement room. The concrete floor was cold under our bare feet. Yoris said, ‘It’s like being in Antarctica’. We all laughed and agreed. So we knew Antarctica was cold and hard. What else? Everyone was given a soft lead pencil, sheets of white paper and a small drawing board to work on. I asked everyone to put down their immediate thoughts, in words and/or images, that came to mind when they imagined Antarctica. I asked that this be done quickly, without talking to each other, or looking at each other’s work. Except for Kim, who began straight away, everyone gazed into the distance for a while before putting pencil to paper. Words that were written within three minutes were: Space, hostile, beauty, relationships, melting, lacking man made culture (Christine); collage of impressions entirely through the media and 2nd or 3rd hand, desolation, strange feelings that arise when you are out of the mainstream (John); frozen mem- ory, body, matter, purity - white (Yoris); timeless cellular mem- ories, layers of history, parallels oral traditions, needs deeper understanding (Kim). All these words described Antarctica as I knew it. Specially interesting was John’s view of Antarctica as a ‘collage of impressions [made] entirely through the media

123 Chapter 7: Discussion Connectivity and 2nd or 3rd hand’. What are these impressions of Antarctica known entirely through the media? Satellite photos of the hole in the ozone layer had shown Antarctica to the world in 2002 as exposed and vulnerable (Barrow, 2008, p.162, Illus.) (Figure 3.15). Recent satellite photographs have revealed the collapse of the Larsen Ice Shelf (National Snow and Ice Data Center, 2002). The impression is that Antarctica is melting. Artists who have worked in Antarctica have connected their experience to what they have learned from scientists working there. Andrea Juan’s performance, Methane, for example (Figure 3.6), gives artistic voice to scientific knowledge of greenhouse gas escaping from ice on the Antarctic peninsular (Juan, 2006, p.93). In the cold basement room in Sydney, I observed four artists imagining Antarc- tica. Some described Antarctica in terms of what it is not. Antarctica, wrote Chris- tine, is ‘lacking man made culture’. By ‘culture’ she meant ‘a long period of human history that shapes a place’. Her word ‘space’ suggests a lack of visible features, such as those in familiar landscapes. I read her word ‘space’ to mean an external, objective place, devoid of human interpretation. Her word ‘hostile’ suggests an extreme lack of emotional warmth and even anger. Some of the artists grouped their words in ways that suggest contradictory feelings. Christine’s words ‘melting’ and ‘relationships’, for example, could mean the opposite of ‘hostile’ and ‘lacking man made culture’. ‘Warmth’ could reflect the tender connections that people can make with each other when living in close quarters in a dangerous place. ‘Melting’ could mean emotional surrender or release. By combining these words I could imagine Antarctica in new ways. Kim and Yoris wrote that Antarctica has ‘memories’ that are ‘cellular’ and ‘frozen’. These words poetically describe Antarctica as a sentient being. These ideas echo the thoughts I had when revisiting Maddock’s Terra Spiritus (Figure 3.31). The ice was described as an entity with knowledge of its own past - an entity that ‘needs deeper understanding’. These responses echo words of Antarctic scientist, Bill Burch: ‘. . . it’s the ancient air bubbles trapped in the ice which allow us to chart Gaia’s atmosphere going back millions of years’ (Burch, 2007). These responses accord with my own experience and to the Gaia hypothesis that Earth is a whole living entity (Lovelock, 2000). Some of the artists drew images alongside their words. Others wrote words as pictures. Christine combined words with symbols (Figure 7.1) by drawing them with layers of lines. Her layered lines lines echo Kim’s phrase, ‘layers of history’. The star-shaped form, Christine explained, represents ‘being connected with everything beyond Antarctica and how Antarctica is linked to us’. Christine said she drew the words as images to reflect these meanings. Multiple lines in the writing were drawn, she explained, to express depths of meaning beyond the page. Her lines suggest meanings that are unconscious or unknown (beyond logical understanding). Kim drew a coil (Figure 7.2) which she explained represents all things in the world connecting. Her spiral form reflects Christine’s word, ‘relationships’, by which she meant ‘relationships you would have in Antarctica, with the buildings and land around you’. 124 Chapter 7: Discussion Connectivity

Figure 7.1. Christine McMillan, Connecting to everything and An edge to the meanings of words, Pencil on paper (2008)

Figure 7.2. Kim Holten, Connectivity, Pencil on paper (2008)

Both Christine and Kim imagined the same place with different lines used to express similar meanings. Such a strong correlation between ways of responding, in people who have not worked together before, was unexpected. Antarctica can mean similar things to different people. After sharing responses and noting similarities and differences, I moved with the group to an improvisation score. We moved to a score aimed to generate awareness of changing shapes of spaces within and beyond our our moving bodies - in spaces that we shape in relation to the room and each other. We began by simply walking to the haunting music of Max Eastley, which he composed from sounds he had recorded in the Arctic (Eastley, 2007).1Although not Antarctic, many tracks on the CD sound similar to those that can be heard in Antarctica. I spoke the score slowly, with long pauses ( . . . ) between sentences to allow time for people to respond at their own pace: With eyes closed, stand still . . . Gradually explore ways to feel your weight through the floor. . . . Push your weight down through bended knees. Imagine, as you rise from bending, the top of your head reaching to the sky. Then, with eyes slowly opening, describe the line of an Antarctic horizon, using your arms and torso. . . . Extend your gaze along that plane. . . . Move towards and away from the limits of the room and each

1 On the recommendation of Siobhan Davies (See Appendix 1D), I acquired a copy of Max Eastley’s CD for this purpose. I received this from David Buckland, director of the Cape Farewell Project, London. Davis, Eastley and Buckland had traveled together as part of this project in 2005, to work as artists in the Arctic.

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other. . . . Explore straight and curving pathways through the space. Find a way to end your dance in stillness. Because most of the artists had moved with scores before, the words ‘near, far, curved, straight’ may have worked just as well to achieve the same aim. However, because Kim had no experience of movement improvisation, this more extended score, was used. It provided a guided visualisation with a familiar narrative struc- ture. I spoke the score like a story, with a beginning, middle and end. Immediately after moving, everyone was invited to draw lines to reflect how they had moved within the spaces they had shaped and imagined. With no hesitation this time, everyone drew. Movement creates body memories through which thoughts and feelings can spontaneously flow. Most people made several drawings in rapid succession, using many sheets of paper. Christine said she enjoyed exploring the variations in pressure she found when using a soft pencil. This reflected, she said, the feeling of her body weight pressing through her feet into the floor. She said that when drawing these lines she had remembered another workshop (which I had led before the project began) which involved feeling body weight through the soles of the feet. She said she was wanting to draw differently now, to break away from those remembered patterns, to explore other possibilities. Christine’s dance had raised her awareness of a body memory of another move- ment experience. She sensed that lines she drew were similar to lines she had drawn before. This memory had triggered a conscious decision to move differently now. Now her lines reflected qualities she observed within the space. Renovation work was happening in the room above us as we moved. Light was streaming down through slots in the ceiling. Patterns of light cast through long beams of wood are reflected in her drawing, Architectural response (Figure 7.3). Movement improvisations and lines drawn from this experience, embodied and combined qualities that were sensed within a particular place and body memories of moving through other places. John explained that his drawings represent curved and straight pathways that he made as he moved along the floor. As he danced I had observed his fluid, continuous movement and recognised these qualities in his lines. John had used various body parts to lead himself through the space. I identified a sense of the use of peripheral gestures (lead by head, hands, feet) in one of his drawings that resembles a totem (Figure 7.4). Yoris made many drawings on many sheets of paper. His lines reflect discrete gestures that were punctuated by stillness. This was evident in one drawing in particular (Figure 7.5). Each line in his dance and drawing was defined by a clear beginning and end point. His lines appear sculpted, or constructed. John’s and Yoris’s drawings both reminded me of the totem carved by Hans the carpenter at Davis station, Antarctica (Figure 3.29). This totem has been recognised by an itinerant resident of Antarctica as ‘a tribute to patience, winterers, sentinels, waiters, watchers and direction pointers’ (Bernie K. in Antdiv, 2003b). Like Antarctica itself, the totem is an elemental form.

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Figure 7.3. Christine McMillan, Architectural response, Pencil on paper (2008)

Figure 7.4. John Smith, Totem, Pencil on paper (2008)

Throughout the workshop, Kim used only one sheet of paper (Figure 7.6), as if all the marks worked together to reflect a whole experience. After the movement and drawing score, Kim added the words: connectedness, unison, fusion, oneness, layers, space, wax/wane, levels, heart, breath. The drawings Kim made reflect her explorations of the room, moving through straight and curved pathways and moving her whole body. A vortex of dots and lines, in the bottom left hand side of her drawing, she explained as reflecting her awareness of spaces that were shaped through her movement between people. A physical connection is represented by three sets of concentric circles joined together with straight lines.

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Figure 7.5. Yoris Everaerts, Dance gestures 01, Pencil on paper (2008)

Figure 7.6. Kim Holten, Connectedness fusion oneness, Pencil on paper (2008)

The clarity of forms in Kim’s drawings reflect the clarity of her movement. She seemed at ease explaining her lines in words. Her page of responses reflects a balance between her thinking and feeling about Antarctica. Within a single hour of improvising, Kim had created a view of Antarctica such as I sought to achieve through hours of animating. This convinced me that simple lines can be used in dance, drawing and animation, to communicate primal knowledge. The resemblance of Kim’s drawings to other Aboriginal art works validated the view that prior knowledge can strongly shape perceptions. As Christine’s responses demonstrated, this is often expressed as body knowledge. In their danced and drawn responses to a particular place and time, the gestural forms that the artists described are universal. These gestural forms (like the spiral and totem) can express connections between present and past body knowledge that

128 Chapter 7: Discussion Connectivity may otherwise remain unconscious.

Improvised animation. I approached animating Connectivity as I would an improvised dance. I worked from a position of not knowing a final outcome. I composed the animation in the same way the artists had composed their gestures, words and drawings. Connectivity is my response to what happened in a room in Sydney between some people who imagined Antarctica. Composing an animation through improvisation is a slower process than danc- ing. To find a direction for the animation, I began by working as quickly as pos- sible on its overall construction. Without questioning ideas as they came to mind, I followed those that suggested themselves as most immediately important. Ideas emerged through the placement of elements in space and time. These elements were images, words, gestures and sound. I used the same sound for Connectivity that I had used in the workshop (Eastley, 2007, track 8). Just as dancers position themselves in a space, so placement of lines on a screen sets up dialogues between them. Paradoxically, hours of slow work can be involved in tweaking the timing and positioning of a single line to communicate the freshness of a fleeting moment. Words and images that seemed to resonate most immediately to simulate how gestures and lines were originally composed were animated first. Marks that each artist had made were animated with varying timings to reflect the qualities of movement I witnessed. I traced and animated their drawings to suggest the vary- ing rhythms that are involved in the act of moving pencil on paper. Tracing the marks as closely as possible to those of the originals, I became aware of gestural qualities that were different from my own mark making. This was an interesting and unexpected aspect of working with other people’s responses. This was kinaes- thetic evidence of how differently we gesture in drawing as well as in dance. Tracing other people’s marks, I felt shifts away from habitual patterns. This feeling opened up new ways of thinking about Antarctica. For example, while tracing lines that Christine drew, that conflated architectural features in the room with her sense of Antarctica, I could think about Antarctic ice as an architectural form. Christine’s response reminded me of an Antarctic scene described by Jack Ward in his 1955 diary, of ancient ice resembling ancient buildings: . . . deep blue veins and shadows of the fissures in the plateau ice; the more ancient than Mayan feel of the pinnacles of a domed mountain. It all is enticing and threatening; disorientating. The warm brown rock of the ice tinged mountain surreal against the deathly white of the ice plain (Ward, 1955, 3 August). Perhaps influenced by this passage of Ward’s, new readings of animated marks suggested themselves readily. The ancient totemic quality observed in John’s drawing was accentuated by laying over it a mirrored version of itself (Figure 7.7). This created a symmetrical form that dramatically exaggerated its totemic nature. It created impressions of bodily structures: eye sockets in the head, rib bones in the chest, elbows and wrists, buttocks and knees, a womb, or a vagina. The idea of a totem in Antarctica

129 Chapter 7: Discussion Connectivity resonates with Ward’s idea that Antarctica is at once enticing and threatening. A sign of human presence there may be enticing. At the same time, a strange ancient form emerging as if from nowhere may be threatening.

Figure 7.7. (Left) John Smith, Totem, Pencil on paper (2008) (Right) Lisa Roberts, Connectivity, Digital animation (2008)

While moving John’s words, ‘strange feelings’, down below this totemic form, a new meaning for this sequence came to mind: When moving from a place of not knowing, in improvised dancing or drawing, strange feelings can emerge as connections are made, that seem to come from nowhere. The image of the totem fades and is then re-redrawn above Kim’s words, ‘cellu- lar memories’. I was interested to see how the meaning of the totem might change. Now I saw the totem as a sentient being, comprised of cells that each assumed a life of its own. The internal shapes of the totem now resembled internal cell struc- tures. This made the totem appear more solid, more embodied. Kim’s words had suggested a new meaning for John’s image. This sense of solidity slowly fades. By rotating and tilting the form (Figure 7.9) and floating it off screen, the totem is now revealed as two dimensional.

Figure 7.8. Lisa Roberts, Connectivity, Digital animation (2008)

No longer grounded, the totem floats as an icon free to find new connections. Its sideways floating gesture suggested the next move. As the totem angles through 130 Chapter 7: Discussion Connectivity space and fades away, its gesture is mirrored by an incoming cell-like form drawn by Kim. As if they share cellular memories, the forms dance together to the same spatial design and rhythmic pattern. Like one of myriad forms of ice that can be found in Antarctica, this totem can mean different things. Depending on its relationship to surrounding elements, it can mean anything or nothing. Like the ever-changing environment of Antarctica, this can feel disorientating or threatening.

Figure 7.9. Lisa Roberts, Connectivity, Digital animation (2008)

Kim’s cellular form then descends, as if to join John’s words, ‘strange feelings’ (Figure 7.9). Crossing over Kim’s form are Christine’s downward flowing lines. Her layers of lines, that reflect relationships, move together as if towards some deep and unseen place. The word, ‘relationships’, appears to write itself on screen as if following ‘connectedness’ and Kim’s spiral form (Figure 7.10). Even though words and images fade from view, they remain connected in the viewer’s mind.

Figure 7.10. Lisa Roberts, Connectivity, Digital animation (2008)

Yoris’s discrete sculptural forms now appear (Figure 7.11). The spiraling exten- sion of the top of his totem echoes Kim’s ‘connecting’ spiral. Yoris’s word, ‘matter’, appears and then fades as it descends. As I animated the fading, descending forms, the idea arose that we return to the Earth and are transformed into energy sources (such as oil) to power future forms of life. The ‘straight-ahead’ improvised animation method lends itself to free associa- tions of ideas. How to end the animation suggested itself through a different reading 131 Chapter 7: Discussion Connectivity

Figure 7.11. Lisa Roberts, Connectivity, Digital animation (2008) of Kim’s word, ‘breath’. I now moved her word up, to suggest the atmosphere we breathe. This movement connects life forms (including us), whose atmosphere is regulated by unseen marine life forms. Connectivity took three days to make. Eastley’s music was added last. The sound unified our responses. What was the value of this workshop and the animation that resulted from it? A dialogue occurred between some artists who reflected on Antarctica. The animation reflects something of the tenderness and delicacy of interactions between people moving through a space, attending to the meaning of Antarctica. The anima- tion reflects a certain tentativeness about entering unknown territory, improvising in a space that was new to all of us. A resolution was found through a gradual unfolding of connecting thoughts and feelings, symbolised by the word ‘breath’. Participants recognised that the animation traced thoughts and feelings that were shared through the process of improvisation. Weeks after this workshop, Kim said she had been moved by this experience to further her idea of cellular memories. She was interested, she said, to explore what it meant in terms of her own identity. Yoris said there is value in this kind of work in his field of arts therapy. Improvisation, he said, is good for releasing feelings and opening up new possibilities for creative expression. The animation was displayed on the then newly forming website. A link was made to the online log that invited comments about it. Christine wrote, I like the way you have picked up the quality of line, in my marks. I was very aware of experimenting with the pencil to try and explore its range of marks. Love the variety of line you picked up, the contrast between each of our marks, then the joining of all out work together. Your addition of fade and the movement, the growing of the line, the creation, is great. It leaves lines in my mind. Something of the subtlety of Christine’s lines is reflected in a response from Simon Pockley: I have the sound of the animation in the background. It reminds me of being cold and on watch at 2:00am on a small semi-disabled

132 Chapter 7: Discussion Beauty of the data

yacht in the Atlantic with the wind mounting and the others asleep. I like the way the marks overlap like things barely seen through mist and rain or even tears. Connectivity demonstrated that simple line animations can connect people to Antarc- tica through association. Animated responses can evoke familiar experiences that may become attached to an unfamiliar place.

Beauty of the data

Data sets that provided stimuli for animations included: • graphs of Milankovitch Cycles (Hodgson, 2008a) • satellite images of sea ice extent (United States Geological Survey, 1991) • graphs of sea levels rising (Church, 2007) • video footage of life on the Antarctic sea floor (benthos) (Antdiv, 2004b) • diagrams of normal development of krill (Kirkwood, 1982) • electron scanning images of coccolithophorids (White, 2003, p.163, Illus.) • a cardiograph of a human heart (Roberts, 2008f) Gestural qualities were perceived within the data sets that suggested ways to com- municate their beauty and their meaning. Data (plural) is defined in terms of datum (singular), which is ‘something known or assumed as fact and made the basis of reasoning or calculation . . . Out of what Data arises the knowledge’ (Shorter Oxford Dictionary, 1985, p.396). Aesthetic qualities are those that are ‘perceptible by the senses . . . as opposed to things thinkable or immaterial’ (Shorter Oxford Dictionary, 1985, p.32. These qualities are commonly associated with beauty. When scientist Dominic Hodgson saw the animation, Glacial cycles, which represents the Milankovitch cycles, he wrote, ‘I am glad you are seeing the beauty in the scientific data’ (Hodgson, 2008b). I took this to mean that he saw the animation as appealing the senses. How this appeal works cannot be explained through logic. Metaphors can help. Glacial cycles is a literal translation of lines on a flat paper graph into an animation time line (Figure 7.12). Like the drawings that were animated in Con- nectivity, lines on the graph appear to draw themselves (Figure 7.13). Lines on a flat paper graph are expanded through animation into the dimensions of space and time. The movement of the lines on the graph lead your eye through time, from our geological past towards our future. Beneath these lines are animated models that give a sense of Earth moving through space. Blue and yellow bands were drawn to emphasise how the forces of these cycles of Earth motion have resulted in a pattern of glacial and interglacial periods over the last 800,000 years (Figure 7.14).

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Figure 7.12. Lisa Roberts, Glacial cycles, Digital animation (2008a)

Figure 7.13. Lisa Roberts, Glacial cycles, Digital animation (2008)

Hodgson observed: From these graphs one can really see that Earth is mostly in a glacial state and that the interglacial in which we now live is a relatively unusual event; one that has allowed our civilisation to flourish (Hodgson, 2008b). With its narrative structure, Glacial cycles relates the scientific data to human experience. Lines were traced from data sets (Figure 7.15) that Hodgson emailed to me (Hodgson, 2008c). To an eye untrained in reading scientific graphs, this ani- mation may more clearly communicate our relationship to past climatic conditions. Rhythmic patterns in satellite image sequences of annual changes in Antarctic sea ice were recognised as similar to the rhythmic cycles of human breath (United States Geological Survey, 1991). When placed centre screen as a recurring motif in Energies, this breathing gesture works as a point of balance; it provides a focus for meditation. A 2002 satellite image of Antarctica provided the world with a view of the hole in the ozone layer (Barrow, 2008, p.162 Illus.). Perhaps this image influenced public perceptions of Antarctica. The shape of Antarctica could now be seen by many people to resemble a fragile embryo or a human brain. The convergence of the forms, of continent, embryo and brain, was recognised by Boissonnet and expressed in his photograph, Earth Mother is becoming Earth Child (En perdre le nord) (Bois-

134 Chapter 7: Discussion Beauty of the data

Figure 7.14. Lisa Roberts, Glacial cycles, Digital animation (2008)

Figure 7.15. Wikipedia, Milankovitch cycles, Data set referred by Dominic Hodgson (Hodgson, 2008c) sonnet, 2008) (Figure 3.33). This recognition can also been seen in Beaulieu’s fab- ric work, Drapeaux (Fragility entry, Antarctic thesaurus, Roberts, 2009e) (Figure 3.34).Beaulieu’s foetal-woman form appears, in Turning cycle, within the gesture of Antarctic sea ice ‘breathing’. Here the whole image turns as it pulsates. This rotation shows Antarctica as the one solid pivot point of Earth’s spinning. In En- ergies, this pulsating form is centrally aligned and conflated with a tiny krill egg. From this circular form and the rhythm of human breath, emerge gestural forms that describe the circumpolar current and bottom water circulation. Boissonnet’s idea of Antarctica as a brain was re-presented in Detachment. Here Antarctica emerges as the brain in the head of a human form, who in turn has emerged from the ‘breathing’ Antarctic sea ice. By conflating human gestures with lines of force that shape the Antarctic ecosystem, Energies conforms to the recommendation of writer, Ian McEwan, to

135 Chapter 7: Discussion Beauty of the data bring the subject of climate change ‘to human scale’ (McEwan in Hinton and Buck- land, 2006). How do krill grow? responds to the suggestion of poet, Bill Manhire, that ‘Perhaps some kind of comedy, even, may be possible’ to connect the public to Antarctica (Manhire, 2004b, p.28 ). The humour of How do krill grow? is in its reversal of perspectives: A krill emerges from its egg and asks a scientist to describe the event. Animated with diagrams drawn by scientists to identify normal krill development (Kirkwood, 1982), the animation adds a child-like sense of wonder to the data. The questioning krill is like a questioning child. This references the reality that as much as a scientist may remove himself from an experiment, he is part of the system that he observes. Data sets of motions of krill appendages, composed by marine scientist, Uwe Kils (Kils, 1982), resemble human swimming actions. Recognising this movement helped to communicate the knowledge that krill behaviour contributes to shaping the marine environment. Similar gestures were used when animating a response to the poem, Erebus voices, by Bill Manhire. These gestures embody knowledge that actions of creatures impact on the environment. In Manhire’s poem, people who died fall into the ice, to each become a part of Antarctica. They return to the Earth from whence all life emerges. To explain changes happening in the Antarctic environment, earth scientist, Rodolfo del Valle, used the metaphor of a swinging hammock thrown out of kilter (del Valle in Juan, 2008b, p.95). This metaphor reflects an empathic sensory re- sponse to changes happening to natural cycles of climate change. A sense of this disruption from a natural oscillation is communicated in Erebus voices. The irreg- ular line that traces an actual heart beat also represents crevasses and the sudden disruption of the lives of people who die in the ice. In Herzog’s film, Encounters at the end of the world, geologist, Douglas R. MacAyeal, explains how perceptions of Antarctica have changed since the advent of satellite imagery: ‘we scientists now are able to see the ice as a dynamic living entity that is sort of producing change, like the icebergs that I study’ (MacAyeal in Herzog, 2007). MacAyeal describes a dream he had in Antarctica: ‘Below my feet’, he exclaims, ‘I can feel the rumble of the iceberg; I can feel the change, the cry of the iceberg’. MacAyeal’s response to ice accords with that of retired radio operator, Jack Ward, who wrote, ‘A long whine, almost a horse’s whinny, comes from the ice and at times strangely like a bird call’ (Ward, 1955). The animation, Ice sound,was made silent to allow viewers to imagine their own sound. Many responses to Antarctica are reflected in Energies. Thoughts and feelings expressed by scientists, support personnel and other artists, were combined. Al- though not all responses reflect knowledge of climate change, they raise awareness of Antarctica that may lead to deeper understandings. Communicating the knowledge and experience of many people is closely aligned with recommendations made by environmental scientist, Susanne C. Moser.

136 Chapter 7: Discussion Depths of wonder

After her research into how to create ‘a climate for change’, Moser recommends that a ‘grand positive vision’ is needed, that may well be something that no one creates but eventually emerges out of a myriad of images, stories, and on-the-ground efforts in developing alternatives (lifestyles, technologies, behaviours, en- vironments, communities, institutions, etc.) (Moser, 2007, p.75). Although not representing ‘lifestyles, technologies, behaviours, environments, com- munities, institutions, etc.’, animations emerged out of ‘a myriad of images, stories, and on-the-ground efforts’ of people who shared their knowledge of Antarctica. An- imations contribute to building a ‘grand positive vision’ in the public imagination. The natural world is presented as dynamic, whole and a beautiful environment worth maintaining.

Depths of wonder

Some of the expeditioners that I interviewed had preconceived ideas that I would mainly be seeking information about their aesthetic responses. This was understandable because the consent form that I asked participants to sign informed them that, I hope to learn how Antarctic base workers have observed and recorded of changes in the landscape, from scientific and/or imag- inative perspectives and how these can be interpreted through animation. I had prepared this form before realising that calling Antarctica a landscape may predispose people to mainly describing their aesthetic perceptions. Antarctic scholar Brigid Hains describes the ‘frontier myth as the romantic beauty of a wild land- scape [that] had the power to move people into a transcendence of their ordinary selves’ and suggests that this myth may predispose people to heroic self percep- tions (Hains, 2002, p.78). My feeling was that applying the idea of landscape to Antarctica may also favour this perception. I made it clear to participants, at the start of all interviews, that I was interested to know about their experience of Antarctica. I asked what work they did there and listened and watched for clues about what impact the environment may have had on them. Although many expeditioners referred to Antarctica as a landscape, none identified themselves as heroes. Most expressed humility about being fortunate to work there. Some scientists spoke at length about their feelings for Antarctica, but refused to participate in recorded interviews. Others were happy to talk about anything but Antarctica. However, participants were mostly articulate and passionate about their science programs and were also willing to talk about their experience in the ice.

137 Chapter 7: Discussion Depths of wonder

Marine biologist, Steve Nicol, expressed a perception that is both aesthetic and scientific: I think that in order to do the sorts of things that we do, we have to have some sort of appreciation for what goes on out there, some sort of feel for it. But there is also an understanding that you have to in some way detach yourself from the natural world in order to study it. So when you’re setting up a laboratory experiment you try and avoid introducing bias into it through what you’re doing, and so there is that deliberate attempt to remove yourself from the experiment (Appendix 1E). Human interests do, of course, play a part in all research. These interests can be commercial and aesthetic. The abundance of krill in Antarctica, for example, is of commercial interest (as a valuable source of food). That representations of krill have changed in recent years, ‘from beautiful creatures to particles’ may well serve the interests of those who perceive krill only as a resource. The story that Nicols tells, of his first sighting of live krill, demonstrates his feelings about krill as beautiful creatures (Nicol, 2009). His story adds emotional depths of meaning to his presentations of scientific and practical information about them (Nicol, 2008). It was no surprise to hear him say that, as well as being beautiful, krill are delicious to eat. Some scientists promote the consumption of krill as an alternative to the larger species of marine life forms that are more endangered.2 The Aboriginal belief, of living forms as totems, serves the utilitarian purpose of maintaining a food supply. Spiritual knowledge supports practical knowledge of how food supplies can be maintained. Totemic forms provide a focus for reflecting on our connections to the land. Perhaps if our perceptions of the world are more balanced, we may care more about maintaining it. Hearing the feeling within the voices of scientists when they described their knowledge was sometimes the impetus for making animations. Nicol’s story of watching live krill was the impetus for animating Krill watching. The drifting layered lines of its choreography refer to the continuity between krill and the envi- ronment that he described. Animated drawings that I later made from observing live krill dance to Nicol’s voice telling the story that inspired his scientific career. The unified perspective conveyed in this animation, does not, it seems, reflect how most scientists perceive krill. This may be because the scientists who study them do not have the time to observe them directly. Marine biologist, Rob King, said that I probably saw more of krill than he ever has, during all the years he has worked with them (Roberts, 2010a). As a krill scientist, he said, he is busy with experiments and data analysis; there is no time to observe krill behaviour. The krill animations I made from direct observations were of value, he said, for helping connect people to his scientific presentations. King screened How do krill grow? to audiences around Australia during his presentations

2 In separate conversations with marine scientists Jaime Gómez-Gutiérrez and Rob King, Sydney 2009.

138 Chapter 7: Discussion Depths of wonder with the climate change road show, Polar Palooza (Polar Palooza, 2009). He said they were well received, particularly by school teachers and students. Scientists may understand that krill are part of larger systems of energy, but the scientific method only allows them to observe and describe fragments of these systems. Animations offer scientists ways of knowing their subjects in ways that are not easily available to them. Some scientists who were interviewed said that their views were objective, yet subjective feelings about the environment were evident in the ways they spoke about it. Sometimes this was detected in tones of voice. Sometimes it was ob- served in gestures. Dominic Hodgson had explained that he was too busy working in Antarctica to ‘indulge’ in feelings about it (Appendix 1C). However, when he described the threats to rare Antarctic breeding grounds when new research sta- tions are built in Antarctica, strong feelings were identified in his tone of voice and gestures. Working scientists did not seem to express their feelings as freely as those who had retired, but there were exceptions. Mexican marine biologist, Jaime Gómez-Gutiérrez, expressed high excitement about the dynamic systems of energy within the Antarctic ecosystem and recognised these in the animations. He exclaimed, ‘I am carry myself over excited with your work’ (Gómez-Gutiérrez, 2009b);(Gómez-Gutiérrez, 2008a). Veteran expeditioners, Fred Elliott and Jack Ward, most freely shared their feelings about Antarctica. They joked, in our first meeting, that this was because they were ‘not very manly’ (Appendix 1A). Elliott and Ward had been part of the all-male community that helped define Antarctica’s Mechanical era and cautioned that their aesthetic views were not typical of expeditioners of that time. At least, they qualified, such feelings were not expressed. Elliott described an ‘out of body experience’ in which he floated above himself, as if he were a part of the great forces that shape Antarctica. Ward described the sound of Antarctic wind as having a life of its own and sang softly to mimic its ‘breath’. Retired radio operator, Colin Christiansen, described a lull in the wind on Heard Island. Although his words describe an objective observation, strong feelings of attachment to the place can be heard in his voice in Heard lull. Retired glaciologist, David Carter, freely expressed feeling about the ‘noth- ingness that is Antarctica’ (through gesture) and revealed that he continues to evoke that experience to relieve a ‘frenetic sense that gets out of control sometimes’ (Carter, 2008). When heard together at the Imagining Antarctica and Sur Polar conferences, voices of artists and scientists offered depths of understanding to both disciplines. More opportunities to share knowledge across disciplines may result in more art work that combines different views. Although some expeditioners (scientists and artists) were proprietorial about their data and imagery, when the aim of the project was made clear, their concerns dissipated. The reticence of some scientists to express the very feelings that drive their research indicates there is room for artists to communicate these feelings for them.

139 Chapter 7: Discussion Reading the ice

Reading the ice

Utterly isolated here, as on another planet from what we see about us . . . and the silence is accentuated by the scene, and the scene intensifies the silence. You feel estranged. The word lives for the first time, as soon as it is spoken. A long whine, almost a horse’s whinny comes from the ice and at times strangely like a bird call (Ward, 1955). Antarctica is possibly the place perceived through the least number of senses. Ward’s unexpected metaphors describe the unexpected sound of ice moving through silence. His words were the impetus for an animation and an engraved Perspex art work. His words were read, drawn and danced in improvisation workshops, and a poem was composed by another artist in response to the animation. When first seeing Ward’s words and reading them aloud, I imagined high- pitched cries of ice slicing through snow. Ward’s words prompted a complex mixture of thoughts and feelings. To animate this response, thin straight lines were moved through a mass of tiny dots, as if piercing through profusions of ice crystals. Dots were made to dance with high, free-flowing energy, to change direction and move with what Laban describes as a Slash Effort Action (Laban in Exiner and Kelynack, 1994, p.68). Slowly the dots were combined (Figure 7.16). With a Glide Effort Action, the dots were moved together directly through the space and cut through by straight horizontal lines.

Figure 7.16. Lisa Roberts, Ice Sound, Digital animation (2007)

I used Laban’s terms to think about the choreographies of gestural forms as they evolved in animations. They helped to make visible my sense of Antarctica as a place, not a landscape encumbered with familiar associations. Using Laban’s 140 Chapter 7: Discussion Reading the ice neutral words helped to bring to life (animate) Ward’s elemental Antarctica. Once this sense was recognised and embodied, neither Ward’s nor Laban’s words were needed. There came a point when my unconscious body memories of Antarctica surfaced. Ice Sound was choreographed with long, thin horizontal lines and slow, sus- tained gestures. The lines and gestures embody the vast breadth and depth of Antarctic space. Ice Sound reappears in the Ice sequence within the Elements interface (Appendix 7), where it plays below Elliott’s words: . . . the effect on the oceans of the moon’s force of gravity caused this vast ice sheet over the sea to move up and down with the oceanic tides (Appendix 1A). Ward and Elliott experienced Antarctica together. Each described the effects of the motion of ice. Ward described it through the metaphor of bird sound. Elliott described it as a statement of fact. When viewed beside Elliott’s words, Ice Sound evokes the gravitational pull between the earth and moon or possibly a bird call. As the teacher Kathryn Yeo had explained, ‘It is not through one single image or story that the [Antarctic] experience is understood, but through the collection, the build up, the layers, the retelling, that an experience is shared’ (Yeo, 2008). In response to watching Ice Sound, Yeo’s student Aiden Abeni-Davis wrote a poem, Iceberg (Davis, 2007). Davis’s words are similarly arranged in horizontal lines with a hard edge on one side and jagged on the other. When viewed on its side, rotated to the right, the poem resembles two tabular, or flat-topped, icebergs.

Raw untamed Thoughts contained Within shapes, products of the imagination, restricted by the confines of language, words. The true purity of unsubjected thought hidden. Behind carefully deranged symbols and punctuation Complete communication of pure thought is impossible.

The global warming of thoughts into language. Smoothing Edges and creases into a homogeneous disembodied thought, now easily manipulated within the confines of language. Single streams of once pure thoughts, now linear, unrecognisable.

Metaphors and rhythms in Davis’s poem express internal sensory impulses that defy translation through the linear logic of words. Davis describes icebergs as both ‘ethereal’ and ‘buoyant’, or light and solid. Thoughts, which the icebergs symbolise, are described as ‘untamed’ and ‘contained’. Through the confines of linear thought,

141 Chapter 7: Discussion Reading the ice or ‘language’, his poem argues, the true meaning of Antarctic ice is impossible to describe. Language is used to smooth over the reality of global warming. Davis’s response to the animation reflects my reading of Ward’s words and my experience of Antarctica. His response demonstrated that a choreography of simple dots and lines can communicate a sense of what Antarctica means to many people. To physically embody Davis’s poetic response, his words were engraved into Perspex (Figure 7.17). Engraved in cursive script, like the Aboriginal language in Maddock’s Terra Spiritus (Figure 3.31), the lines of his poem flow as if through water. Appearing through transparent layers, the lines resemble his streams of ‘pure thoughts’ frozen within glacial ice. The ‘pure thoughts’ that Davis describes are not fleeting emotions, but the ‘feeling’ explained by the poet, Vincent Buckley, as something through which a person becomes attached to actuality (Buckley in Exiner and Kelynack, 1994, p.31).

Figure 7.17. Lisa Roberts, Oceanic Minds, Engraved Perspex sheets and acrylic thread (2007)

Ice Sound communicates the meaning of the ‘ice cap’ experience described by glaciologist, David Carter, in the animation, Nothingness. Lines engraved in the art work, Sounds like bird calls come from the ice (Figure 7.18), combine these thoughts and feelings about ice with my memories of looking down slots (crevasses) in Antarctica. Vertical lines and ethereal blue are my memories of their depth. These memories were further deepened by reading Ward’s story of his experience of a crevasse: I went back carefully and saw that the slot was deep, not well filled with snow, and radiantly blue below and felt inclined to worship it - the hungry depth of wonderful colour (Ward, 1955, 2 May). The colours of Antarctica are difficult to describe. This Perspex work was one of many that were made to be lit from beneath with LED lights. The lights project an ethereal glow that emanates through glacial ice. Dots and lines trace the slow streaming motion of a glacier. The cross form of the small figure below the lines refers to Elliott’s out of body experience. Suspended above the vast ice plateau,

142 Chapter 7: Discussion Reading the ice

Figure 7.18. Lisa Roberts, Sounds like bird calls come from the ice, Engraved Perspex with acrylic inlay (2009)

Elliott described witnessing ‘a dispassionate view of being one very small part of a vast powerhouse’ (Appendix 1A). A sense of being part of the flow of natural forces can be found in the work of artist Pamen Pereira. The objective of her work, Vistas isometricas del continente (Isometric views of the Antarctic continent from the Weddell Sea), was to . . . interpret the interior shape of a landscape that shows op- posites simultaneously - void and plenitude, finite and infinite, freezing and boiling, visible and invisible, light and darkness. To reach its internal structure and to understand the relationship between the immanence and transcendence of the consciousness through matter and its divine resonance (Pereira, 2008). When I first encountered Pereira’s work I felt confronted by its intensity. I recog- nised its ‘oceanic’ feeling (Freud, 1946, p.9), which neuroscientist Bolte Taylor explains as a right brain activity: Moments don’t come and go in a rush, but rather are rich with sensations, thoughts, emotions, and often, physiological responses. Information processed in this way allows us to take an immedi- ate inventory about the space around us and our relationship to that space . . . The present moment is a time when everything and everyone are connected together as one (Bolte Taylor, 2008, p.30). Such extreme expressions challenged my desire for balance between equally im- portant ways of knowing: through bodily sense and linear thought. A sense of balance was achieved by extending my arts practice to accurately trace data sets and combine these with trace forms of improvised subjective responses.

143 Chapter 7: Discussion Reading the ice

Stephen Muecke had observed that the natural environment ‘does not have an inherent meaning’ (Muecke, 1984, p.12). Rather, ‘the meanings . . . are constructed in language, that is, in dialogues which have a certain purpose or direction based on the sorts of signs, appropriate to their knowledge, which different people see in the country’. Dialogues with Antarctic expeditioners, scientists and other artists, revealed an iconography expressive of their knowledge: scientific data sets, statements, verbal and visual metaphors, tones of voice and gesture. Signs of meaning were recognised, recorded and animated to form a lexicon of primal gestural forms. These forms were combined to communicate accurate information through a language of gestures and lines that appeals to our kinesthetic senses. ‘While the empathic kinaesthesia can be explained, it is something with po- tential to reach both dancer and audience that is beyond words’ (de Leon, 2009). Animations that communicate scientific data with gestural forms can (like dances) reach an audience at a primal (pre-verbal) level.

144 CHAPTER 8

Conclusion

Reciprocity

The animations and art works have not yet been embedded in the Antarctic environment. To date they have been accessed through conferences, exhibitions, websites and other publications in the fields of Antarctic arts and sciences. Unexpectedly, the animations have provided the impetus for further artistic responses. This mutual action and reaction, between the animations and artistic responses, is a form of reciprocity. Fox refers to this phenomenon as a ‘cognitive feedback loop’ (Fox, 2007, p.253). He noted it in the work of artist, Stephen Eas- taugh, who moved from visually cataloguing objects in Antarctica to placing his own art objects among them. Eastaugh had intended that his objects provide the impetus for other people to create Antarctic totems (Eastaugh in Antdiv, 2003b). As well as inspiring Davis’s Iceberg poem, animations prompted other creative works. For example, artist Christine McMillan composed a poem in response to Insights and posted it as a comment in the online log (McMillan in Roberts, 2008e):

growth cycling aim heavy attention to centre wide line soft on edges joining fading fine line, is it the same repeated? oh darker + distorts changes spiral focus words make spiral a symbol is it a circle it closes stops focuses. oops fading yes I can see circle breathing slowed beginning of spiral breathing fast breathing slows towards the end

McMillan’s words reflect the even rhythm of transformations that she saw, between circling, crossing and spiraling lines. Her words resonate with the feeling that I had when composing the animation. Like Davis’s poem, her response is evidence that visceral connections to Antarctica can be conveyed through animated elemental gestures. During the movement workshops, other artists had made dances, drawings and poetic written responses, based on how they imagined Antarctica, and from their

145 Chapter 8: Conclusion Reciprocity readings of Antarctic texts. More material was produced from workshops than was possible to work into animations. Each artist’s response convinced me that visceral responses to Antarctica can be generated with greater ease when words and drawings are made after movement improvisation experiences. The greatest challenge I found when working with other artists was to maintain the focus of the workshops and at the same time to recognise the value of sponta- neous insights that arose through expressions of extreme emotion. Rena Czaplinska had asked to be involved in the workshops because, she said, she was ‘passionate’ about dance, drawing and Antarctica. She would dance and draw within bound- aries, push these to extremes and then discuss her emotional associations with the process. I needed to work with simple scores with clear boundaries in order to record and trace clear gestures. I needed to find a balanced way of working. The solution was to work alone with Rena, to allow more time for personal expression before approaching the more restricted scores. This allowed more time for her to move and talk about her feelings and for me to connect with her insights. The process provided depths of meaning to the animations that may not have otherwise been possible. This experience helped me to attend more to the needs of partici- pants and to balance these needs with my own. Research methods may be designed and planned, but in the end, relationships with people can evolve unpredictably and become more reciprocal. The spiral form of Rena’s body is the closing gesture of a dance that she improvised while imagining a crevasse. Intense feelings are expressed through the line of her inwardly spiraling body. At the other extreme, outwardly spiraling lines in her body-motion drawing trace continuous changes in form and direction. Her lines reflect the gestures of an artist pushing boundaries. These gestures and lines (Figure 8.1) were accurately traced to communicate her powerful extremes of feeling. Rena’s spiraling gesture contributed to the lexicon. It appears in Energies to signify loss of energy within a system threatened by global warming.

Figure 8.1. Rena Czaplinska, Gesture and drawing, made dur- ing movement improvisation workshops (2008)

146 Chapter 8: Conclusion Impact of the animations

At the start of the project, the Thesaurus had been built to contain informa- tion about Antarctica. Information of most interest then was about its changing environment and about how working there can change people. Although much in- formation was gathered about Antarctica’s physical changes, evidence of how people are changed from working there was more difficult to identify. For this reason, the question soon shifted to asking expeditioners how they describe Antarctica. The more simple open question led to observing tones of voice and the gestures of peo- ple as they described their observations and experiences. This led to the idea of communicating these observations through animation. Animated gestures could convey the sense of what they said. Movement workshops resulted in combining these responses with those of other artists. Responses of other people to Antarctica and to my animations sharpened my perceptions. Over time it was possible to identify the recurring forms of the circle, spiral and cross and to animate these to communicate expanded perceptions. The foundation work, Beware of Pedestrians, provided the model with which to animate gestures through which to connect Antarctic and human structures (Appendix 3A). Its sparse open form evoked the sparse open space of Antarctica. Circling, crossing and spiraling gestures had been identified as ‘semantic primitives’ (Fricker, 2008). These observations led to exploring how these forms could be used most economically. Compared to earlier, more representational animations, Insights is highly symbolic. Fox had predicted: As the Antarctic becomes more familiar to us, more within our cognitive grasp, the art made about it, whether on the ice or elsewhere, will include more symbolic works (Fox, 2007, p.253). After three years of attending to ways Antarctica is described, I observed that such abstract expressions can combine many perspectives. The website progressed from a site within which to catalogue descriptions of Antarctica to a site within which to embed ‘cultural objects that enhance familiarity and memorize our presence’ in Antarctica (Fox, 2007, p.253).

Impact of the animations

Marine scientist, Jaime Gómez-Gutiérrez, confirmed my observations that Scientists easily recognise their knowledge and experience in ani- mations that were made, sometimes feeling a strong sentimental connection with the natural forces portrayed. . . . [and that] circles and spirals that trace gestures arising from our physi- cal human structure reflect similar structures that exist in the Antarctic environment (Appendix 2). By ‘scientists’ I meant Gómez-Gutiérrez and his colleagues at the Australian Antarc- tic Division (AAD) krill nursery, who had responded enthusiastically to animations of krill. He later confirmed, by email and as co-author of a report in the GLOBEC International newsletter (Peterson, 2009, p.40), that Energies was well received at the conference (Figure 8.2).

147 Chapter 8: Conclusion Impact of the animations

Figure 8.2. The 3rd GLOBEC Open Science Meeting (GLOBEC) in Canada, June 2009. Photo courtesy Jaime Gómez- Gutiérrez (Gómez-Gutiérrez in Roberts, 2009f, Illus.)

Energies was presented to scientists from around the world both during the plenary meeting and poster sessions (Gómez-Gutiérrez, 2008b);(Peterson, 2009). The aim of the conference was to provide . . . a new mechanistic understanding of the functioning of the marine ecosystem, in order to develop predictive capabilities and propose a framework for the management of marine ecosystems in the era of global change (GLOBEC, 2009). The GLOBEC Newsletter included a report on the inclusion of Energies in the conference, with an image (Figure 8.3) from the animation that was adopted by conference organisers for use as their ‘krill logo’ (Peterson, 2009, p.40 ).

Figure 8.3. Lisa Roberts, Krill logo, Digital drawing (Peterson, 2009, Illus. p.40)

Animations contributed an aesthetic dimension to the mechanistic understand- ings presented at the conference. The GLOBEC Newsletter report of the conference states: . . . there is abundant evidence that the Antarctic waters are warming and that the ice sheet is melting, two processes that are certain to impact on krill but in ways that we can only guess (Peterson, 2009, p.10). These are the understandings aesthetically expressed in Energies. An article on current krill research at the AAD, published in their magazine, Antarctic, included a report on How do krill grow?, with an image from that work (Pyper, 2009, p.9). A link to the website, http://www.antarcticanimation.com, was provided in both online and hard copy versions of the article and on their 148 Chapter 8: Conclusion Impact of the animations online update of my activities as one of their Arts Fellows. The Fellowship update included a a report on the animation, Insights (Antdiv, 2004a). Additionally, a link to Energies appeared on the entry for ‘Krill’ on Wikipedia (Wikipedia, 2009). These positive responses from the scientific community provide strong evidence that the animations are useful for communicating scientific information. They were recognised as representing the Antarctic environment and valued for the aesthetic impact they add to presentations of scientific data. Evidence of the impact of the animations on another field entirely is the in- clusion of the Thesaurus in the online Taxonomy Share Space Registry (Roberts in Taxonomyspace, 2010). This open access website contains information about vocabularies of all kinds and encourages their sharing and reuse. The Thesaurus is presented (with a link to the website) as ‘a visual language of gestures and lines’. Before Energies was conceived, the animations I had made and presented at conferences and exhibitions had been recognised by other Antarctic researchers. When screened at Antarctic conferences and exhibitions, animations had attracted further material with which to work. On the recommendation of scientist and artist, Karin Beaumont, who had seen the animations and art works online, I was invited to participate in the event, Sur Polar: Arte en Antartida (South Pole: Art of Antarctica) (Juan, 2008b). This was an exhibition of Antarctic art curated by Andrea Juan, an artist who had worked in Antarctica on scientific expeditions. Sur Polar was staged at the MUNTREF (Museo de la Universidad Nacional de Tres de Febrero), in Buenos Aires (2008) and later toured to Mexico City (2009). The ex- hibition opened with an all-day conference of public presentations by international scientists and artists. Scientists and artists who had worked in Antarctica projected images of their work and spoke in Spanish, French or English. I presented Cycles of change, Diatoms, Estranged, Pteropod and Sea levels are rising and explained how they reflected responses to Antarctica that other people had shared. Sound artist, Phil Dadson (Figure 8.4), improvised music with Antarctic rocks and bowls of water, with a projection of video footage he had taken in Antarctica. His performance convinced me further of the power of improvisation to reconnect people to the natural environment. After mounting our works for exhibition, Dadson volunteered that the lines in my animations and art works were similar to Len Lye’s doodles (Dadson in Roberts, 2008i). One work he referred to was Fleuro Zooplankton 01 (Figure 8.5). This work was an improvised response to scientific diagrams I had studied in the manual, Guide to zooplankton (Ritz, 2003);(Roberts in Juan, 2008b, p.29, Illus.). Dadson and I recognised similarities in each other’s work. We abstracted and improvised in ways that appeal to primal rhythms and forms. This recognition was later reflected in two animations. First, Old brain, which combined drawings from my art works with the sound of Dadson’s voice describing Lye’s ideas (Dadson in Roberts, 2009c, Old brain) and second, Mental substance, in which drawings I made of people and art works in the streets of Buenos Aires were combined with a recording of Dadson’s conference performance (Dadson in Roberts, 2009c, Mental substance).

149 Chapter 8: Conclusion Impact of the animations

Figure 8.4. Phil Dadson improvised with sounds of Antarctic rock and water at the Sur Polar conference presentation, Buenos Aires (2008)

Figure 8.5. Lisa Roberts, Fleuro Zooplankton 01, 2007, En- graved fluorescent Perspex (Roberts in Juan, 2008b, p.29, Illus.)

Other artists at Sur Polar viewed the animations and agreed to contribute to the project. Sounds of Beaumont’s metallic Shining stars (Figure 3.9), that tinkled at her touch, became the sound of ice in the Ancient mariners animation (Beaumont in Juan, 2008b, p.45, Illus.);(Beaumont in Roberts, 2009c, Ancinet mariners). Artists Beaulieu, Beaumont, Boissonnet, Dadson, Pereira, Morales and Juan, each contributed images that were included in the Thesaurus and in animations. The scientist, Del Valle, contributed data sets that were combined with Juan’s images for the Thesaurus entry, ‘methane’ (Juan and del Valle in Roberts, 2009e, methane).

150 Chapter 8: Conclusion Shared insights

Figure 8.6. (Left) Karin Beaumont, Shining stars, Sur Polar installation, Buenos Aires (2008) (Beaumont in Juan, 2008b, p.45, Illus.) (Right) Lisa Roberts, Ancient mariners, Digital animation (2008)

I later presented these animations at the conference, Imagining Antarctica,at the University of Canterbury, Christchurch, New Zealand (2008). Although the focus of the conference was Antarctic arts, some scientists also presented. This was where I met scientists Steve Nicol and Rupert Summerson, who contributed significantly to the project. Nicol contributed his story about observing live krill and scientific insights into the reciprocity between biological and physical systems. Summerson contributed music that was used in many animations. As animations were made with contributed material, links to these were emailed to contributors for comment. Most were satisfied with how their material was com- bined. However, one scientist asked that his voice be removed from an animation that was to be screened at a scientific conference. The quality of his voice in the animation reflected a sensitive response to the natural environment. It seems that the scientific community is not ready for expressions of sensitivity.

Shared insights

Once the first draft of Insights was made it was presented online for comment. This method of gathering information was the opposite of that used in the workshop that resulted in Connectivity (See Chapter 7: Discussion / Connectivity). In the workshop, no image of Antarctica had been provided. Now I sought comments on a work that visualised a key insight that had emerged from the project: that the circle, spiral and cross could be animated to describe the forces that shape Antarctica. I wanted to find out if the lexicon of gestural forms could communicate to others. Although comments had been received about other animations, responses to Insights most clearly indicated that the elemental forms were communicating. The log post where comments on this work can be read includes an explanation of my intention: The spiral represents dynamic forces that drive biological and environmental change. It also represents growth and transfor- mation. The circle represents the Antarctic environment as a

151 Chapter 8: Conclusion Shared insights

meeting place for sharing knowledge. As a continent of science, Antarctica attracts many nations to explore our place in the world. The cross marks the one grounded pivot point of the spinning Earth. It also represents a convergence of ideas. It rep- resents the convergence of different kinds of knowledge that com- bine to reveal Antarctica as a conveyor of global change (Roberts, 2009b). To read online comments in this post, enter the words, ‘Animated insights’ in the search tool of the log. Performance artist, Ellin Krinsky, wrote, Your spiral, pulsing and subtle, drew me into a feeling state. Static as the cross is, it always distances my sense of feeling, which seeks movement. The two qualities of the spiral/cross, in bold and fine [lines], do open up the dynamics and feelings of opposites which manifest themselves in what you are writing about. Dance therapist, Jane Guthrie, also recognised these opposing qualities: I like the idea of the spiral representing ‘dynamic forces that drive biological and environmental change’ and/or ‘representing growth and transformation’. A spiral, in movement terms, is the most advanced form of Shaping/relationship available to us all, as opposed to the straight line which is the most simplistic. Jane’s comment validated my feeling that the spiral can communicate more com- plex ideas than the straight line. Depending on whether energy is diminishing or increasing in a body, a spiraling form can reflect feelings of desolation or elation. The spiral form is a connector of extreme conditions (physical and psychological). Dance performer and therapist, Jennifer de Leon, wrote, With the final words (‘Antarctica is melting’) I could imagine (I wished to see) a figure dancing behind them, curving forward, bowing to the inevitability, strong at her centre for as long as the core rock remains. Her suggestion of a human form ‘bowing to the inevitability’ in the last frames would have changed the focus of the animation. This made me think more consciously about my decision to end with the image of Antarctica. It helped me realise that Antarctica was the image I wanted viewers to hold in their minds. However, that Jennifer held a human form in her mind suggested that the animation worked to connect her to Antarctica at a kinaesthetic level (through the body). American educator and scholar, Bethe Hagens, identified the animation with her personal journey: Lisa, I only realized a few months ago that I had been living what I had been trying to discover in bullroarers–consciousness as spiraling-spinning intelligent energy.

152 Chapter 8: Conclusion Shared insights

Then, I discovered an old book by D. A. Mackenzie, The Migration of Symbols, and found a treasure trove of spiral and cross symbols across human existence. You are awakening an archetypal giant with this project. I am using massive spiraling sea and air currents in my book draft, though I did not use Antarctica! I love the idea that it might just be a midbrain! And am including whirlpools sucking tiny animals. All of the powerful creative energies–tornadoes, whirlwinds, the spin- ning of Earth or the Milky Way, the growth of vines, the call of the bullroarers . . . I have a list now of at least a hundred spirals–manifest the same propelling energy of conscious intelli- gence. I try not to put ‘good’ or ‘bad’ on it, because the energy is in many ways so mechanically predictable. Your cross-hairs of a rifle analogy really got to me. Almost the way a swastika is also the cross of Calvary or the heart of a labyrinth. Thanks so much for this imagery. Bethe Australian teacher and dramaturge, Sharon Pittaway, wrote, ‘This is a work that has piqued my interest in the wider issues into which you delve so fearlessly’. I was surprised by Bethe’s and Sharon’s strong responses. The archetypal forms had triggered memories of profound experiences. They suggested that a sense of human energy was communicated through the gestural forms. Some comments were particularly helpful in suggesting ways to clarify the sense I wanted viewers to be left with. Sharon added, The poignancy of your final line ‘Antarctica is melting’ and then the image fading away is a powerful way to conclude. Is it possi- ble for the image to fade more slowly? A sense of hope perhaps?? When I changed the animation to fade the image of Antarctica more slowly, I could see how a simple change in timing might communicate a sense of hope. Sharon’s comment reflects her skill and experience in theatre, where timing is all important. Physicist, Cameron Smith, wrote, My only critique is that if someone didn’t have a caption, it would be hard to work out that it relates to Antarctica. I wonder if there could be some experimentation with the spiral to map out the continent’s shape. I had taken for granted that viewers would recognise Antarctica, assuming that the animation would be seen within the context of the website. Cameron reminded me that art works need to speak for themselves. After reading this comment I added the shape of Antarctica that slowly fades at the end of the animation. I realised that the best way to present the animations is within a relevant context, such as with a scientific conference paper or as part of a science conference logo. This animation was screened and well received at the ‘Antarctic Visions’ conference (Hobart 2010).

153 Chapter 8: Conclusion Shared insights

Written comments in the log provided durable time-stamped evidence of re- sponses. I could refer to the comments and reflect on what was working (or not) in the animations. There were, however, limitations to this process. Responses from people who communicate more easily by talking, drawing or dancing, for example, were more fleeting, and although as important, were often lost. Writer Carmel Bird, who had responded to the animations by email since the project began, wrote about the power of the metaphor of the cross. Metaphor is a powerful force in human behaviour and meaning. For example, why Christianity has such a strong hold on our imaginations is because the cross is central in our human physical structure. . . . Why the Pedestrian form [Appendix 3A] works well to connect with how we feel is because its cross structure is so clearly revealed (Bird, 2009). Not everyone, however, was so immediately responsive to the value of subjective responses to Antarctica. For example, paleoecologist, Dominic Hodgson, declared in an interview, . . . when I saw your website, what struck me was . . . there were some comments on there of people actually being in the Antarctic environment and having these sort of experiences and feelings. And I have to say my first reaction was, when I arrive in the Antarctic environment, I never have that (Appendix 1C). He said he was too busy, when working in Antarctica, to ‘indulge’ in feelings. How- ever, after viewing the animation, Glacial cycles, which was made from information that he had supplied, Hodgson expressed feelings about ‘the beauty of the scien- tific data’. Perhaps the rhythmic patterns of the animation added an aesthetic dimension to his unconscious understanding of the changing global environment. A balance between emotions and cognition was recognised as important for gaining a big picture overview of Antarctica. Environmental scientist, Susanne Moser reported, in More bad news: the risk of neglecting emotional responses to climate change information: In situations where the threat is not (yet) directly perceived - as in the case of climate change - we may misleadingly be- lieve that there is no danger at all. Thus, emotionally under- or overreacting without the help of our cognitive facilities will lead to inappropriate responses. According to Davidson (2000: 91), ‘Cognition would be rudderless without the accompaniment of emotion, just as emotion would be primitive without the partic- ipation of cognition’ (Moser, 2007). Cotte’s study of English language provided evidence that adjectives used to de- scribe the environment are typically ordered from subjective to objective (Cotte, 1996, p.136). Subjective responses precede objective understanding. Emotional responses must be distinguished from those governed by primal feeling. Emotional responses are temporary, whereas feelings that are continuous are attached to ac- tuality (Exiner and Kelynack, 1994, p.31). A feeling response can be primal and

154 Chapter 8: Conclusion Next steps vital for survival. Primal feeling responses may be vitally important for our under- standing of hard data. By the end of the project I recognised my own view as Indigenous and Gaia. I recognised that knowledge arises through relationships. Indigenous doctoral can- didate, Bryan Fricker, at Monash University, said that these symbols reflect how ancient knowledge flows between people and land (Fricker, 2010). Indigenous Amer- ican Indian scholar, Bethe Hagen, commented, ‘You are awakening an archetypal giant with this project’ (Hagan in Roberts, 2009b). Australian Aboriginal artist, Elaine Russell, identified the simplicity of the animated lines as a powerful way to convey this kind of knowledge to the public. ‘Simple lines work best’, she said, ‘to tell our stories’ (Russell, 2010).

Next steps

There is much work to be done to engage the public with accurate information about climate change and to promote a more naturally balanced environment. Methods that were used to make the animations will be applied to other projects that aim to make sense of scientific data and to communicate research findings to the public. Drawing and animating will be used as ways to interpret new data being analysed by Antarctic scientists. New ways of communicating climate change in- formation will continue to be explored by building on relationships with people and institutions that grew and strengthened as a result of this project. For example, animations will be made in order to communicate results of new scientific research that is presently being conducted at the Australian Antarctic Division (AAD) to measure the impacts of global warming on Antarctic life forms. Increasing levels of CO2 in the atmosphere are predicted to further increase acidification of the oceans that is already threatening the health of many creatures such as Antarctic krill (Euphausia superba). Gestures and lines will be animated to describe structural changes that are being measured in Antarctic life forms as they experience chang- ing conditions. Data sets from recent studies of benthos (ocean floor life) will be animated in ways that suggest what scientists know about how these newly discov- ered forms interact with other elements within the global ecosystem. Fragments of information collected by scientists will be animated in order to communicate a sense of unity between the parts that form a whole system. Methods used in the workshops can be adapted to promote new ways of draw- ing and moving as ways of relating to the environment. It is common knowledge that drawing and movement have inherent value as self-expression for individuals. However, there are few opportunities for people to develop a deeper understanding of the body as system of energy that has a reciprocal relationship to the environ- ment. A practice that balances kinesthetic sensing with conscious understanding is needed. There is much work for artists to explore new ways of communicating informa- tion about our changing climate. It is vitally important to reverse the confusion about global warming that is currently promoted in mainstream media. The great- est challenge is to stir people into action to reverse the imbalances in our ecosystem

155 Chapter 8: Conclusion Postscript: The journey home to which we all (perhaps unconsciously) contribute. Accurate expressions of infor- mation provided by scientists are needed to engage our senses to give depth to our understanding.

Postscript: The journey home

On the day of the first lunar landing, 20 July 1969, I walked past TVs in shop windows that showed pictures of the first men on the moon. I entered the National Gallery School of Art in Melbourne, where my great-grandfather, the painter Tom Roberts, had studied. The old school felt like home ground. I attended life drawing classes and used the same easels he would have known. Then suddenly everything changed. The school was moved and renamed. Under the leadership of the sculptor Lenton Parr, the school was transformed to become the heart of the emergent Victorian College of the Arts (VCA). After years of directing the Australian Antarctic Division, Phillip Law guided this project as Chairman of the Victorian Institute of Colleges (VIC) (Sturgeon et al., 1984, p.25). Law and Parr shared a vision that Parr expressed in the emblem that he designed for a new institution (Figure 8.7). Training in the various disciplines of art would be integrated to form a new college so that art could become more a part of the community than was possible through ‘single discipline’ institutions. At the VCA I worked with other students to make experimental films that combined drawing, dance and animation. Lectures were given that related the arts to other fields of knowledge. As a sculptor who worked with metal, Parr shared with us his deep understanding of earthly forces that provided the physical and aesthetic sources for his work. We were introduced to geology through art. The artist Bea Maddock soon joined the VCA as a teacher. Years after I left the college she traveled as an artist to Antarctica. She said that going there was like going to the moon. Since going to Antarctica and then working with scientists and other artists, my perceptions have expaned. I relate to my home ground differently. I more deeply perceive and understand Earth as a delicately balanced system that we are just on the edge of knowing. I understand the depths of meaning that our senses can bring to scientific information. The words of a cosmonaut accord with my view that our senses are essential for understanding climate change data in ways that can stir us to maintain the health of our home planet: They say if you have experiments to run, stay away from the window. For me, preoccupied with the Drop Dynamics Module, it wasn’t until the last day of our flight that I even had a chance to look out. But when I did, I was overwhelmed. A Chinese tale tells of some men sent to harm a young girl who, upon seeing her beauty, became her protectors rather than her violators. That’s how I felt seeing the Earth for the first time. ‘I could not help but cherish her’ (Taylor Wang, China/USA, in Kelly, 1988, p.60).

156 Chapter 8: Conclusion Postscript: The journey home

Figure 8.7. Lenton Parr, Emblem of the Victorian College of the Arts, 1972 .

The emblem of the Victorian College of the Arts is a form of pentagram, a traditional symbol for the five senses. It thus refers to the various modes of perception and, by implication, to their aesthetic functions in the various arts. The five principle curves comprising the figure are in reality a single continuously interweaving band (Sturgeon et al., 1984, p.73).

157 Glossary data: things known or assumed as facts acidification: increased levels of atmospheric carbon dioxide (CO2) dissolv- ing in the ocean benthos: organisms which live on, in, or near the bottom of the sea biomass: a measure of the total mass of living matter in a particular habitat or area conflate: to combine two texts into a composite text that can be read more than one way dual resonance: a quality attributed to a text that can be read two ways, that expands its impact and meaning dynamic equilibrium: a balance of forces that maintains life through flows of energy between physical and biological systems such a planet or human body, where the whole is made up of unstable parts ecosystem: a community of organisms that interacts as an ecological unit elemental: pertaining to fundamental forces of nature such as animate air, fire, rock, ice, water and biological systems energy systems: physical and biological entities that work together to shape an ecosystem environment: conditions, influences and forces under which any person or thing is shaped fundamental trace form: a line generated by a gesture, such as circling, that is governed by the anatomical structure of the human body Gaia: the hypothesis that Earth is a living entity of which we are a part and that Earth maintains conditions suitable for life through a dynamic balance of physical and biological forces gesture: movement performed, consciously and unconsciously, through iso- lated body parts and by the body as a whole Indigenous: a way that humans relate to the environment in accord with elemental structures shaped by forces that are common to each; expanded from characteristics of first people who occupy a particular region or coun- try kinaesthetic: the use of all the senses to experience knowledge of the envi- ronment kinesphere: an imaginary spherical space that surrounds a person through which a sense of the environment is perceived landscape: an art genre that evolved in Europe to visualise the environ- ment, that has, through the ages reflected changing human relationships

158 Glossary

to it line: a form traced by a human gesture that appears as a mark made in physical material, or that can be imagined in the space where the gesture is performed primal: earliest known experiences that are held (usually unconsciously) within body memory subjective response: conscious and unconscious, mental and sensory, knowl- edge of the environment gained through the senses that cannot be objec- tively verified text: a human communication of meaning on any theme or topic, that can include gesture, image, sound, the spoken and written word trace form: a line traced by a gesture that is most naturally performed by virtue of our anatomical structure; a line that is drawn to describe energy that flows between the human body and the environment; a line of force visceral: gut feeling

159 Appendix Appendix 1: Interviews

The following interviews with Antarctic expeditioners and other artists were conducted between 2007 and 2009.

A: Fred Elliott and Jack Ward

Interview: Carlton, Victoria, Australia 2007

Figure 8.8. Lisa Roberts with Jack Ward (left) and Fred Elliott, Melbourne, Photos by Elliott and Ward (2007)

Fred Elliott and Jack Ward are veteran Antarctic expeditioners (Figure 8.8). In 1954, Fred Elliott worked in Antarctica as a weather observer and photographer and helped to build Mawson station. The following year he returned to Mawson and worked alongside radio operator, Jack Ward. Fred and Jack joined an expedition led by John Bérchevais to chart the mountainous regions inland from Mawson. I met Jack at an exhibition of Sydney Nolan’s Antarctic paintings (Nolan in James, 2007). I had observed him study, with unusual intensity, the brush marks in a corner of a picture. His whole body stooped forwards as if to more fully enter into the scene. I asked if he was an expeditioner. ‘How did you know that?’ he asked. I didn’t really know what to say. His blue eyes had an intensity I had seen before in people who have worked in Antarctica. His whole body had seemed totally engaged with the Antarctic picture. When I asked if the paintings reflected his experience, he pointed to the flag in Nolan’s painting, Antarctic camp (Figure 8.9) (Nolan in James, 2007, p.40). In the painting, a flag and a face appear equally torn by Antarctic wind. In the eyes of the man in the painting, I recognised the far-away look in Jack’s. However, unlike the harsh, masked figure in the painting,

161 Appendix 1: Interviews A: Fred Elliott and Jack Ward

Jack’s demeanor was gentle. It was the flag of the British Empire that Jack was pointing out. He puzzled about the meaning of the flag in Antarctica.

Figure 8.9. Sydney Nolan, Antarctic camp, Oil on composition board, 1964 (Nolan in James, 2007, p. 40)

When I explained that I was making animations to describe Antarctica, Jack said he would introduce me to Fred. Fred was the person I should listen to, he said, ‘because Fred is an artist’. Some months after this first meeting in the art gallery, the three of us met for afternoon tea at Jack’s place. As I tested my sound recorder, Jack and Fred spontaneously burst into song (unfortunately not recorded). This was what they used to do, they said, when they worked together in Antarctica. Their impromptu performance set the tone for the next few hours. This was the first of several conversations with Jack and Fred, which continued through email, letters, telephone and face-to-face meetings. Fred began the conversation by explaining how fortunate he was, when he was still a schoolboy, to have started off hiking with the explorer John John Bérchevais: Fred: I was just so used to being where there were no tracks, that I found it perfectly natural to be in such places. It’s been like that as long as I can remember. I think that Antarctic landscape is more apparent; easier to understand than a lot of Australian landscapes. Sure, Nullarbor is an exception, where the sky comes down to your bootstraps (as they say) and, like the Antarctic plateau, you are never too sure whether it is hollow or not under your boots. Jack: It’s strange.

162 Appendix 1: Interviews A: Fred Elliott and Jack Ward

Fred: I was also thinking, as I was coming to see you, about the night we camped on the top of Mount Woodroffe. With just another young man (a white man), and three young Pitjantjatjara men (from the Musgrave Ranges). And the whole of Central Aus- tralia seemed to be laid out before us, with a brilliant sort of sky, and the boys singing corroboree songs and so forth in their high pitched voices. And that was just to say, well, you know, that’s right. But in Australia, a lot of Australia is sort of more clothed with vegetation. You can’t really see the bare things. But in the Antarctic it’s sort of all laid bare and sort of all run by physics. Almost. Lisa: What do you mean, all laid bare? Fred: There’s nothing hiding the ice. The rock is bare and the ice is flowing round the rock and cracking and shutting up again and boulders fall down onto the ice and they stream away down from the mountains and you get little streams, although the temperature’s below freezing, the rock warms up in 24 hours of sunlight and melts the snow and ice alongside and it goes running across (this is in summer time) and the wind that blows out from the high pressure area, originally it would come up from the equa- torial regions and would flow up with the great thermal, pull of the sun and then flowed back down and to the Pole and then come out again. Flowed out again. And you got that coming and going. And the ice underneath flowing out. And on top of that you’ve got the wind where the air gets very cold and gets into valleys, just like water it rolls down. That’s your catabatic in fact. And then In winter time, the sea ice is stretching out in an area as big as the Antarctic itself, and it’s all hinged and the huge power of the tide which is the pull of the moon on the earth taking it up and down and you can hear if you’re out by yourself on a still night the creaking of the ice of the tide crack as it goes up and down. This is what I mean by ‘It’s all laid bare’. Lisa: You mentioned physics. Fred: Well it is physics, Yes. But it’s nature, natural physics. Lisa: You described it with a mixture of the artist and the meteorologist. Fred: (laughing) Yes, we shouldn’t need to differentiate. Wil- son, he was a good artist. I was just looking at his books again. I love the place [the Antarctic continent]. Heard Island I think I like even more. It was grand. It really was in those days. But rotten weather. The glaciers [on Heard Island] now have lost a lot of ice and snow. Jack: Well I have a feeling that the immensity of the continent dampens your emotional aesthetic responses to the scenery. It is just so bloody huge, so extensive, and also, if you happen to be out 163 Appendix 1: Interviews A: Fred Elliott and Jack Ward

any distance from the base (50 miles) then at night the immensity of it comes to you, not so much visually, but in the sense of the stillness, the cold, and the caprice of the wind which will suddenly, from nothing, come up with a (soft, eerie) ‘hoooo’, like, you know, a disembodied spirit of tremendous force. And often that doesn’t last long but I remember waking up several times to this palpitation of the wind which scared me stiff, I must admit, because it gives you a sense of what the wind can do which is almost unlimited. But it was incredibly beautiful at evening when the sky of the setting sun took on unusual hues, and at morning. And watching the sunlight creep over the ice was really quite delicious. Jack: But I believe, I don’t know that Fred agrees with me . . . I believe that most people who went there were either intimidated by the place so that they didn’t really look at it as a visual expe- rience or, in the case of scientists, they had so much to do, and I know this from a close friend who was a cosmic ray physicist, that their minds never came off their work. For instance on Macquarie Island we had quite an emotional upset in the camp which threat- ened to disrupt it deeply and this scientist (I let him see my diary on it) said ‘look, I just never noticed that’. He was so busy with his cosmic ray work. And they were. They were terribly busy, and with the aurora work. And I think this applied to the vision of the place too. We have a regular lunch meeting called, very unoriginally, The Chelsea Pensioners, once a month and I never hear any of them talking about the aesthetics, the delight of the place. And recently, like you, I went again to see the Nolans and I said to a small group, that I’d heard the Chelsea Pensioners say ‘God, aren’t they terrible. They’re nothing like it! He wouldn’t know how to paint it.’ They were quite offended that he’d taken their concept away from them, or if not that, he hadn’t realised how important was their concept. Well, you know, I could only gasp at that. I don’t know that the Nolans were a perfect representation of the continent. I’m sure they weren’t, but they were extraordinarily, at times powerful and interesting and imaginative. A few of them were not. But anyway that was their reaction. I was stunned by it. But I never heard any of them say anything, or be excited about, the appearance [of Antarctica]. Our conversation closed with the following lines: Fred: A lot of people wouldn’t say if they were [excited about the appearance of Antarctica] . . . Jack: Mmmm. Fred: . . . Because it would be unmanly. Jack: Oh, come off it.

164 Appendix 1: Interviews B: Pamen Pereira

Fred: No, no. It’s right, I reckon. Lisa: Mmmm. I was going to ask about that. You two don’t seem to have any inhibitions about waxing lyrical. Jack (dead pan): We’re not very manly. Fred (laughing): We’ve got hairs on our chests haven’t we Jack? Jack (laughing): I used to. Fred: One of the things we have left out is the people in the Antarctic. To me, they are more important than the actual . . . than to everything else. You meet someone like Jack and you have to put up with them for twelve months (both laugh).

B: Pamen Pereira

Interview: Buenos Aires, Argentina 2008

Figure 8.10. Pamen Pereira, Buenos Aires. Photo by Lisa Roberts (2008)

Pamen Pereira is a visual artist based in Spain. We met at the exhibition and conference, Sur Polar, in Buenos Aires (Juan, 2008b). During her conference presentation, Pamen had spoken in her native language, Spanish. She spoke some English and so, as we traveled by bus from the conference to our hotel, I asked her what she had said. But it was noisy on the bus, so we agreed to again in a quiet place. Although an English transcript of her talk was available, I was interested to see the gestures that she used to describe her response to Antarctica. The next day we sat cross-legged on the floor of the gallery (Figure 8.10) and talked: Lisa: I was hoping you might explain to me that experience that you described to me on the bus. Pamen: Yes. When I arrived in Antarctica I was looking for a solitary experience. I am a solitary person. When I arrived I must be with a lot of people - I didn’t hope - expect? - this. One day I went up to climb the glacier and I did see a little Refugio - how do you say? 165 Appendix 1: Interviews B: Pamen Pereira

Lisa: Refuge? Pamen: Refuge. Little house in the - Refugio, yes. Then I said, I want be here. This is that I want. And the people say, Oh no, you go to see someone. I said, Oh, no, I don’t need - nothing - only I will want to work, I only stay here - what I see from the door is enough. And I convince the chief in the station - I can go to the glacier - for three days. Is the most great experience for me. The silence was there. I thought if I’m quiet I can hear the blood in my veins. The sound of the (mouthing) - saliva - the noise of the body was (breathes deeply in) - I can’t explain really (long pause - enormous! Very big noise. The noise of the clothes (mouths the sound of clothes against the body). Everything - remember the here and now. There is not another thing. The world is normal. Here, the world is struggling. The world is only one. Is no different - is the same thing - in Antarctica, in everywhere. But in Antarctica, is more easy to take a conscience of this. Lisa: An awareness? Pamen: Awareness? Lisa: To feel it. Pamen: To feel it? Lisa: To feel the internal connected to the external? Pamen: Si. The feelings interiors and the sensations exteriors are one thing. No I am here (gesturing one place), and you are here (gesturing another place). In Antarctica is more easy to see. You see? Lisa: I understand. Pamen: (to) feel this . . . Lisa: Connection? Pamen: This connection. yes. Because there are not interfer- ences - distractions. I went to the station at the time when the people go to take me. I went to the station, and I must change my vision. Lisa: Your purpose? Pamen: Yes. In the station you’re always with people. Always. For breakfast, for dinner, for lunch. For me is difficult - I am sociable. I like people. Is difficult for me to be always with people - little tension. However. I can feel another thing that - I got, a new experience, that I think was very important, for me - my concept about the life around the universe. Sometimes one thing that you draw are yours. But I could feel that, this is No. No true. No. There are mental substances. Substances of mind, mental substances, that is the Big trouble, around (gesturing all around us). Lisa: So outside us. Pamen: Yes. 166 Appendix 1: Interviews C: Dominic Hodgson

Lisa: Beyond you. Pamen: Yes. The universe is a thing with no life - that can’t think for itself. Life is here, in people. Lisa: I’m seeing you wave your arms above your head, as if to describe the troubles that we feel are within us are actually out here. Pamen: Yes. Lisa: And this is what you said to me in the bus? Pamen: Yes. Si. Lisa: And then you said something about how we all connect to those . . . Pamen: Yes. Lisa: each individual person . . . Pamen: Yes. Lisa: connected . . . Pamen: Yes. Lisa: to this trouble. Pamen: Yes. Yes. Each person use little fragment, or little piece, of this huge, enormous substance of mind. Lisa: You know C G Jung’s idea of universal consciousness that is beyond all of us , that we all have a connection with? Pamen: Si Si. Yes. Exactly that. Lisa: And this is what you felt in Antarctica? Pamen: Yes. When you come, you always think about some- thing. But when you observe the situation, you can feel this is no your drawing. And it is possible to connect with people. Because only speak with words. People speak with heart or with mind. Lisa: Or with images, pictures . . . Pamen: Yes. Claro, claro. Lisa: or with music . . . Pamen: with films . . .

C: Dominic Hodgson

Interview: Cambridge, UK 2008 Unlike my chance encounter with Jack Ward, the meeting with the scientist Dominic Hodgson was planned. I had emailed the British Antarctic survey (BAS) to ask if any scientists would be willing to talk with me about their observations and experiences. Dominic emailed me directly and we arranged to meet in a quiet room in the BAS library. He seemed eager to share information about Antarctica. He used gestures and line drawings to describe some of the processes involved in climate change. Because the drawings he made were mislaid after the interview, I since re-drew them from memory. Dominic introduced himself as ‘partly paleoecologist, partly quaternary scien- tist’:

167 Appendix 1: Interviews C: Dominic Hodgson

Figure 8.11. Lisa Roberts, Eccentricity, Pencil on notebook pa- per (2009). Drawn from remembering drawings made by Dominic Hodgson

Dominic: It’s like environmental archaeology - forensic science, if you like. We use a lot of similar tools and technologies and we’re trying to find out what the natural deposits can tell us about what the world was like in the past. It’s like a history book in time. As well as using metaphors, such as ‘archaeology’, and ‘book’, knowledge of Antarc- tica was also conveyed, through gestures and a rhythmic use of words. For example, when explaining how sediments on the ocean floor accumulate, ‘layer upon layer upon layer’, he laid his hands over each other to the rhythm of his words. Layering and repetition were qualities that could be used in animation to communicate the process he described. Dominic: I focus on the last 12,000 years, so it’s not big geological time scales. It’s about 12,000 years, so it’s focused mainly on the present interglacial in which we’re living now - so our environment - our geological sort of heritage in terms of our interglacial situation, that’s allowed our civilizations to develop as they are today. So it’s important to focus on that part, because all the tiny variability in climate, just in this interglacial period, has led to rises and falls in entire civilizations. And these are just small little blips in the record. And before that, you’ve got huge jumps – glacial-interglacial jumps – and those would have had massive effects on civilizations, and globally affect the successive humans in whole latitudinal belts, not just certain civilizations in Africa, or north America, or south America. The big ice sheet of the northern hemisphere extended all the way down through north America, past the Great Lakes, and beyond. It extended down all of northern Europe and it stopped roughly between the Severn River and the Thames. So, a huge ice sheet, kilometers thick, completely covered these landscapes. There were no humans living there. They were driven south into southern Europe in order to find enough food in order to survive. And that meant that human population size was much restricted at that time because there simply weren’t the resources.

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And so, after those glaciers retreated, things started warming up, civilization spread out a bit, they got more resources. It’s only when you’re over resourced that parts of the human population have got free time, and it’s that free time in which you develop what we sort of know as civilization, as opposed to being an animal that needs to find food. And when you’ve got that free time, that’s when you get all the major great civilizations that we learn of in our school history lessons. All those civilizations are emerging, and that’s because there’s an abundance of a resource, either in your own territory, or because you’ve annexed someone else’s territory to get it. Lisa: I was going to say war. Dominic: It’s part of human nature. When resources are tight we have war and when resources are abundant we have war, just to get more. That’s greed, isn’t it. Lisa: And survival. Dominic: And survival. Well, I’ve tied the two together really. Lisa: So before this present glacial period we had these other very long periods? Dominic: Typically, a whole glacial-interglacial cycle, in the last 400,000 years, has taken about 100,000 years each. So there have been four of them. And then before that they were more frequent. They were every 40,000 years or so. And that’s driven by variations in the way the earth’s and the sun’s orbits interact. So sometimes, on 40,000 year cycles, there’s a movement of the earth relative to the sun that means that the earth is actually nearer the sun and then further away, on 40,000 year periodicities, and so that drives the 40,000 year ice ages. And for the 1000,000 years, there’s this thing called eccentricity, which is where the sun is moving in an ellipse, if you like, relative to the earth, rather than a circle, and so there are periods when it’s further away and periods when it’s closer to the sun, and that drives those glacial cycles. Lisa: So the Earth is moving around the sun in an elliptical orbit? Dominic: Yes. Lisa: You can draw a picture if you like. Dominic: (drawing) The sun’s in the centre of the solar system, or the way we sort of describe the solar system. And that’s what the earth does on a 100.000 year time scale. So here and here it’s closer to the sun, and so that would be an interglacial. And here and here it’s further away from the sun, so there’s less energy, so the earth freezes up in a glacial period. So that’s the eccentricity, the 100,000 year [cycle].

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Figure 8.11 shows the drawings I made from my memory of his. Dominic: And then you’ve got precession, which is a tilt of the earth. Lisa: (tilting my body sideways) This movement? Dominic: Yes. So instead of being upright and spinning on an axis that’s steady, it actually moves from side to side like that [drawing] and you get a tilt. And so you get points at which the northern hemisphere is closer to the sun, or further away. And that actually triggers glaciations. That’s quite complex, because it triggers off glaciations by freezing up the ice across the Arctic and then once that happens, the world’s ocean circulation changes, and that can trigger a glaciation in the Antarctic. But there are also theories saying that the Antarctic is driving the northern cir- culation initially, so it’s a process that starts in one polar region and then transfers to the rest of the earth. Lisa: So both poles are part of the mechanism of change? Dominic: Yes. They’re linked because both of them have very important roles in ocean circulation. And so the Antarctic pushes out cold dense water into the rest of the world’s oceans. In the Arc- tic, warm water is sinking down and cold water is also upwelling. And so there’s this complex interaction. But basically the earth is connected by the ocean conveyor. And if you cool down either pole it will have an influence on the opposite pole simply through that conveyor system. So that’s why we study marine sediment, to get that element of the story out. Lisa: The marine sediments? Dominic: The marine sediments will record what ocean cur- rents have been flowing in certain areas of the ocean, north or south, from grain orientation. But also you can tell whether they’re warm or cold, from looking at the isotope composition of marine shells. So marine shells will form different ratios of carbon isotopes when they’re in warm water as opposed to cold water. And you can study diatoms, the microscopic plants associated with different water masses. All sorts of little clues are available in the sediment record. You sort of assemble lots of these clues together until grad- ually lots of these lines of evidence will start agreeing. And then you know that’s your most likely explanation of what’s going on. Lisa: So you’d be pretty close to the information that’s per- suading us that climate change is really happening? Dominic: It is, yes, because the concentration of carbon diox- ide is now higher than at any other time in the last 850,000 years. We know that absolutely for a fact because we can measure the trapped bubbles in the ice. And those trapped bubbles go back 850,000 years. There’s an ice core called Dome C. You simply get

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those bubbles out. You measure the composition of the gasses in those bubbles. You measure how much C02 there is. So we know that even with these massive swings in climate, between glacial and interglacial states, the C02 level has never gone beyond the level which it is today, that we’ve introduced into the atmosphere. You can look at the glacial-interglacial cycles, but you can also look at . . . well you can look at methane and carbon dioxide - they’re the two major greenhouse gasses - and how they naturally vary over glacial-interglacial cycles. And both of those are now beyond the range in which they would naturally occur in the last 850,000 years. And it’s very difficult to conceive of any other ex- planation than our massive burning of fossil fuels being the cause of that rise in C02 in particular. You can measure the other sources. You know, there’s C02 gasses from volcanoes in the ocean, and there are instruments all round the world measuring these things, and there’s instruments in cities. There’s a whole network of in- struments. So all the measurements are being taken and it’s the burning of fossil fuels which is the unusual component in this sys- tem, which hasn’t been there before the first part of the 1800’s, on this scale. Lisa: What was unique about working in Antarctica? Dominic: You’ve got really an open book. It also means you’re more ignorant. You know much less. There’s much less work gone before you. So you really sometimes are having to look at the landscape and try and read it for the first time in some ways, and figure out what was going on. And you get it wrong as well, so . . . we’re all critical of each other, and gradually we progress through that criticism and learn a little bit more each time. Lisa: Is there anything else you want to say? Dominic: Well one of the things, when I saw your website, that struck me . . . there were some comments on there of people actually being in the Antarctic environment and having these sort of experiences and feelings. And I have to say my first reaction was, when I arrive in the Antarctic environment, I never have that. I very rarely have time to sort of indulge in my sensibilities in a sense, because I’m involved in moderately complex drilling, and then I’ve got several tons worth of equipment, and thousands and thousands of parts. And going through my head, is usually, ‘Have I remembered this? How am I going to approach this situation? What do the maps show us about the sea ice in this area in this time of year?’ It’s all about getting the job done in my head, and I guess the only sense I get of . . . the only reaction I get to the landscape is usually that this is – this task we’ve set ourselves – is actually going to be a lot more difficult that we initially envisaged, because this landscape is . . . you know, these crevasses are big, 171 Appendix 1: Interviews C: Dominic Hodgson

you know, this ice shelf’s difficult to cross, we can’t land in an area we thought we were going to land in, and having to adapt because the landscape’s forcing itself onto my pre-conceived plans. I probably get most reaction if I get time when I’ve finished, going home, or we’ve been delayed somewhere, you know, and I’ve finished my work. And that’s a nice time to reflect. And when you look at your photographs when you come back. In many ways, that’s the time when you really sort of appreciate what you’ve seen. And when you show your photographs to other people, and they’re sort of blown away by some of the things that we’ve seen, and for me, you’ve sort of taken that in your stride as you go along. But to other people, it’s really something quite extraordinary and remarkable. And you have to remember that, ‘cause it is a privi- leged job in a way. I mean you have to work hard to get it, and do it. But it is a privilege to work in the Antarctic. I’m lucky to have had so much of my career working in such a nice environment, and not spending 2 or 3 hours a day commuting and suffering in a city, which wouldn’t suit me at all. Lisa: Do you see Antarctica as a sort of symbol of hope for many, for the ability of humans to work together, and co-operate and share knowledge and work for a better future? Dominic: I think in an idealistic way it’s nice to hold onto it as that. Right now I feel that’s under a lot of threat, more so than it has been. With the territorial claims being expanded in the Arctic at the moment, Russians putting down flags, Canadians extending their activity . . . everyone’s trying to define their territory in the Arctic, and that activity’s going on in the Antarctic just as much, but in a slightly more covert way, under the shady auspices of the edges of the Antarctic Treaty. I’m pretty unhappy with some of the enforcement of environmental protection in the Antarctic. Ba- sically, the committee for environmental protection in the Antarc- tic has limited powers to actually enforce anything. It just makes recommendations. So for example, in your own backyard, in the Larseman Hills, the Indians are about to build a base. They’ve got plans to build a base on a completely pristine peninsular. There aren’t that many parts of Antarctica that are ice free left, without human impacts. And I think we really have to treat those larger ice free areas very seriously in terms of their future protection. And I don’t personally think we’re doing a very good job at that at the moment. So I think for some people it is a place used as an example for great international co-operation. And the Antarctic Treaty is operating as that. But it’s a very very B-team treaty. It’s completely over-ruled by trade agreements, agreements for military use. Countries aren’t going to disagree with each other on an 172 Appendix 1: Interviews D: Siobhan Davies

Antarctic Treaty matter if it’s going to influence other areas of their politics that they perceive to be more important. It works at the moment because the issues are relatively minor. As soon as the issues become major, then I think it will be under real threat, I’m afraid to say. It’s the perverse thing, you know, if you take the Arctic as an example, the Arctic ice is melting, and so oil companies and mineral companies are scrabbling to gain access to new areas that are de-glaciating and that are now accessible for the first time. So we’re going to burn more carbon, ‘cause we’re going to dig up more coal. And that will make the problem worse. But for them it makes the problem better. They’ve got new reserves opening to them. So it’s a sort of perverse thing, and although the Antarctic margins aren’t deglaciating to the extent that huge new mineral deposits are becoming exposed, you know, on a sort of yearly basis, it’s inevitable that the oil reserves there, and some of the mineral reserves there, will be seen as being exploitable within the next decades. And then there will be an intensification of our interest in the Antarctic I think. Which is a shame. But that’s the way I think it will go unfortunately. Unless we’re really robust about enforcing this vision of a world park, or a place for peace and science which is what it’s banners have been in the past. Hopefully that’s how it will stay.

D: Siobhan Davies

Interview: London, UK 2008

Figure 8.12. Siobhan Davies, Endangered Species, Video instal- lation, 2006 (Davies in Buckland, 2006a, p.93, Illus.)

Siobhan Davies is a choreographer who worked as an artist in the Arctic. Siob- han traveled to the Arctic with the Cape Farewell artist residency project, led by a world leader in climate change art, David Buckland (Buckland, 2006a). The video installation, Endangered Species, was her response to that experience (Davies, 2006). In 2006 I had seen this work in the exhibition, The Ship: The Art of Cli- mate Change (Buckland, 2006b). In 2008 I heard her speak at the climate change 173 Appendix 1: Interviews D: Siobhan Davies forum, Poison and Antidote, at Whitechapel Gallery in London (Roberts, 2008l), after which we arranged to meet and talk. A few days later I attended a dance workshop in her London studio, and afterwards we met in her office: Lisa: Was your awareness of the changes that you experienced, perhaps witnessed, or certainly learnt about, from scientists who were there . . . did that knowledge enhance this feeling of ‘inter- connectedness’ that you expressed on Saturday [at the the Poison and Antidote forum], of no line between your body and the envi- ronment? Siobhan: I don’t think in all honesty I witnessed change. One, I didn’t know what it looked like before. And two, I think I witnessed and experienced an extreme set of physical responses because I was in a dangerous - in quote - situation. In other words, it is not central London. It is the high Arctic, which physically has an effect on you every second of the day. So the knowledge is that I come back here, and I know I am being physically affected every second of the day. But now I’m more aware of it because I was put in that extreme situation up there. And it’s also an emotional knowledge. So although the scien- tists were terrific, and I benefited enormously from simply expe- riencing other people’s knowledge succinctly and intelligently put forward. That was just wonderful. In the end I think it was the emotional experience and knowledge which has been the greatest . . . I was going to use the word fire, but somehow it’s the wrong Arctic word for . . . an engine for a different kind of energy. And then the experience of gradually understanding this lack of line between myself and where I exist, that’s been ongoing as choreo- graphic and dance artist - (pauses) research. I mean, It doesn’t need to be research, because it’s a fact. But funnily enough it’s sometimes very (pause) - you don’t always work with the facts. You forget that it’s a fact. So you have to go back and work with it, as a fact again. Lisa: From what I understand of what you talked about on Saturday, it’s like another one of those inconvenient truths. Siobhan: Yes. Yes, you just, you forget that you are, that your mind and your body are made up of matter and that the place that you live in is made up of matter and that you are, each part of you is just moleculed, or remoleculed up into different ways. And by truly recognising that - not in a poetic sense, not in a (pause) - any other sense than IT IS. There it is! It’s what you have to deal with, what you have to understand. Because IT is understanding itself. Because it’s a fact. Lisa: So when you came back, was your value of dance as a way of us connecting with ourselves, with each other and with the

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environment, even further enhanced? Siobhan: I don’t know if I would use those words, I’ve . . . (pauses, eye closed) - This is going to be difficult for me to put in words. I don’t necessarily think of myself as poetic. It’s not that I BELIEVE in dance, although I do. It is that dance IS. And I hold onto that is-ness as a form of learning. So, as a form of learning I try to allow it (pause) - I try to let it use me. And I was incredibly daunted that I should be asked to make a piece that would in any way be able to give an image, an understanding, a reason for engaging with climate change (pause) - and I came up with something, and I was glad about it. And if I could find something else to make, I would. But I don’t want (pause) - I’m also very aware that I don’t think this is the time or place to overcrowd our imagination with things that could be unnecessary. In other words, I think (pause) - that to find something, ideally you need to find something that would really work. Lisa: I notice you have Tufte’s book [Envisioning Information] on the floor (Tufte, 2003). Siobhan: It’s fantastic. Lisa: It is. I’ve been referring to that and his other books. And I was very interested to hear you use the word accuracy in your talk, which is something I’m grappling with. How can art be accurate? Siobhan: Yes, we’re all, I think we’re all grappling with that, and I’m not, you know I certainly wouldn’t say I am accurate, but I think there is the pursuit of trying to find the right movement in the right time in the right place, or the right word - is what we endeavor to do. And we miss it an enormous amount of the time. Lisa: What I find accurate in Endangered Species is how it resonates with my own experience of the Antarctic, through its succinct use of line and sharp contrast between the black and the white, and so, just through the visual language, for me, it was an accurate representation of something I experienced, and from speaking with other artists who have been to the Antarctic, it resonates with their experience as well. But they’ve come up with different images . . . Siobhan: Were these dance artists? Lisa: No. You’re the first moving person I’ve met, which is why I’m interested. Siobhan: So that’s quite hard. I mean even the other artists on the boat were looking at me going, ‘What the hell is she going to do?’ Because most of us (pause) - the movement that you could do was walk. And walking was tremendously enjoyable, partly because it took you out into this extraordinary landscape. And partly because it kept you warm. And (pause) - I don’t think 175 Appendix 1: Interviews D: Siobhan Davies

one felt as one with the landscape, but it did take you out into it, the act of walking. And the act of walking became incredibly important. And I was left with that when I came home. Lisa: That’s really interesting, because you talk about there being no division between yourself and the landscape, and yet you say that in the Arctic you didn’t feel at one. Did you feel it more at home here, when you returned? Siobhan: I don’t think, I mean I know we are one, (laughs) so, I KNOW we are one, I mean I know this idea of matter. And the strength that that gives me is that (pause) - oh gosh, this is so difficult (pause) - We have to constantly remind ourselves that we are not the dominant partner, dominant (long pause) . . . Lisa: Force? Siobhan: The dominant force. Good. But we - it, it - and yet at the same time, there we are, behaving as if we are, and achieving an enormous amount as a form of dominant force. So our dominance is that we are achieving a change, in the climate. So in one way we are a dominant force, but when it finally gets down to it, the planet will survive in some form and we won’t. So at that moment we will realise that we have tipped the balance, and everything will have gone. So psychologically I suppose we’re - and culturally, and politically - we are - and socially - we are trying to deal with this the entire time, when we’re making a mess of it. So it’s recognising that. And recognising that a lot of the time - the reason I went out into the cold and was not at one with it is that I was extraordinarily aware that should any of my support team go, I would die out there. And it’s that. So in one way you are at one with it, because you’d die in it, and that would be it. But all your psychological strengths would come to bear and go ‘How am I going to survive this?’ Lisa: So our force, our energy as humans on the planet, has allowed us to go to the poles . . . Siobhan: It has. Lisa: in our ships, and in our amazing outfits, which separate us... Siobhan: Yes. But if we didn’t have that separation we would - I mean, I think what I’m saying is that I recognise all the complex- ities. I’m sure I don’t recognise all of them - I see myself within - I see myself warts and all - With all the problems that I have. I’m at least in the situation where I’m recognising the complexity. And there are no simple answers. And in a mosaic-like way, artists will plant a seed, a work, out there. And that will magnetise a certain amount of people towards that image, towards that idea, towards that energy, which hopefully will feed them to become part of that increasing mosaic of people with energy, with ideas, with images, 176 Appendix 1: Interviews D: Siobhan Davies

with solutions, with activities. And that’s really what one’s aiming for. Lisa: Yes. And I think it’s [Endangered Species] been very successful in that. Siobhan: Mmm. People say what has art got to do with it. Well art is THE human activity. It is one of the things that sep- arates us out, not made out of matter, but it does, so let’s use it. I’m very conscious of the idea of propaganda, and with a lot of artists we’ve discussed many many conflicting ideas about (pause) - as an artist, what is this idea that we’re sending out? And that’s where one uses the word accuracy. So you’re shifting away from the idea of propaganda, because in its accuracy it becomes a proper thing in itself. And then if someone uses that energy because it has given them information about climate change, or anything else that you want to use your particular work for, then that’s the thing, rather than you nec- essarily feel you have to endeavour to find - ah - what is it - a representation. I imagine as an artist you’re trying to make what I call the thing to have the IS-ness, to have the accuracy to stand on its own feet and then be used. Lisa: When it achieves that point where it doesn’t need you any more. Siobhan: Yes. Lisa: It has a life of its own. Siobhan: Yes. It has a life of its own and it is recognisable. But you know I have spoken to Dan Harvey and Heather Ackroyd who are in the [Cape Farewell] film (Buckland, 2006a), who I think are extraordinary artists and I think occasionally I’ve heard Heather say, ‘Why not be a propagandist for this? This is so incredibly important. Let’s not worry about words like that’. And I took on what they said. And at the same time you might have another artist who turns around and says, ‘I think my work has to be what it is, and then within that, does it have a particular kind of force, or idea’. And then you speak to an author like Ian McEwan who I think would like, in one way, to makea-towrite something about climate change, but won’t until he knows that the thing he’s going to write is a real thing. Lisa: Yes. I totally agree. Siobhan: I’m sorry for all these Things and Its and Is-nesses, which are not brilliant use of language. And yet, it’s very impor- tant for all of us not to become, not to be pretentious, not to feel smug, not to feel we have a knowledge that other people don’t have. And, to use Alex Hartley’s piece, to have intrigue and hu- mour when being able to generate an idea that is really going to grab hold of more people. 177 Appendix 1: Interviews D: Siobhan Davies

L. Exactly. Yes, it’s connecting with people. I totally agree. There is a perception that people who have been to the poles are some sort of secret society. So there’s a response, usually negative, in that regard immediately from some. So it’s important to break that down. Siobhan: Yes. I feel unbelievably privileged that I went there. Lisa: Another thing that I find - I can use the word accuracy - in relation to your work [Endangered Species] this remarkable clarity of line. It’s just too sharp and too perfect, too pure. And you use that same visual language from the environment. And the other thing was the dark and the light. There are only two seasons at the poles. There’s winter and summer. So people who know that would may see that in your use of black and white. So many people use lots of colours. If you’re only there for the summer it’s all very beautiful but it’s a little oceanic and there’s nothing tangible or clear to grasp. So that’s what works for me in your work. Yes, it’s a personal - a response to a personal moment - but when I see it I also see insects. I see the species and I think of Darwin . . . Siobhan: Yes. Lisa: . . . and all that that brings. And then I see the ice, so it’s grounded here (left arm extends) and there (right arm extends), and in the middle is this dancer, this human flesh and blood. And so it goes beyond the personal into the world. So that really excited me. Siobhan: That’s good. It was extraordinary going into the Natural History Museum. And again, I was slightly pole-axed about what to do. But when I was there I saw these extraordinary wooden specimen boxes. And within the specimen boxes were quite often a species that had gone. They mostly looked a bit mouldy. And I found that very moving. I found looking at the fossils, which are the imprints, and are very linear, very clear, calligraphic marks of a creature gone but left in stone. And I found that very focusing. And I found that idea of Victorian collection - that we collect things to observe. I don’t know what else to say about that, but that idea of collecting to observe. Lisa: Well it was an obsession, a Victorian obsession. People collected more stuff than they could make sense of. Which is why it’s so beautiful that you’ve made this one piece, this one thing that looks like a part of a huge collection. Siobhan: Yes. And it’s only one. It’s a nice way of putting it. Lisa: It’s your contribution to what Heather Ackroyd, and other artists are doing, to this raising of awareness. That’s how I see it.

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Siobhan: Yeah. Well I think it is. You just put your - the idea that you think is the thing - the best thing that you can produce, and you put it out there. And I’m glad that it’s had the response that it has. In the main I think it’s had quite a good response. Lisa: I was going to ask you, and I don’t know if I need to now. But - this is my last question. When I get back to Australia, I have a group of other artists and dance therapists and art thera- pists, who have agreed to work with me in moving and drawing in response to some Antarctic texts. Siobhan: Drawing will be very useful to you. Lisa: Yes. I’ve done some preliminary work in that and I’ve found it very powerful. My question was, given your experience in the Arctic, and as a dancer, a teacher, and choreographer, are there any scores you might suggest? Siobhan: I thought about that yesterday. Max Eastley, who was the composer who went up there, has all these sound scores. And you could probably get one of those even if you went to the Cape Farewell Office at the South Bank. Because he was here yesterday . . . Lisa: Sorry, I - That’s a musical score. I was thinking of a score for movement improvisation. Siobhan: Oh, those kind of scores (laughs). Lisa: But that’s a brilliant idea that I hadn’t thought of. Siobhan: It’s just that he (pause) - it’s the sound of the Arctic. Lisa: Beautiful. And I saw his sculpture, with the ice. Siobhan: Yes, that’s it. And he’s made a sort of whole Arctic symphony. An hour long. Lisa: So if I go to the Cape Farewell office . . . Siobhan: I think it’s quite good if you make your own score [for improvising responses]. I think text is always useful. I think maybe it’s like a collection of things. If it’s text and drawing, rhythm. I think to keep to a particular rhythm - this is choreographically, not anything to do with climate change - to be clear about a rhythm is an incredibly good discipline. To be clear about certain timings gives you a structure and a discipline, so you don’t wander off and make phrase after phrase after phrase after phrase. One phrase begins to erase out if you’re not careful. So, use your word accurate, try and find - Sorry I’m being . . . Lisa: Please go on! Siobhan: OK I might as well go for it. Give yourself a disci- pline. Say ‘OK I’m going to do something for a certain amount of time’. And make the time very short. And then do it a certain amount of time again on the score. So the score gives you timing, imaginative idea, geographic idea. And then, get on with it. Lisa: That’s brilliant! 179 Appendix 1: Interviews E: Steve Nicol

Siobhan: Ha! (laughs, claps hands) Lisa: That’s all I needed to be told. Siobhan: I’m sure you knew that. But I think we all know that, and sometimes we just need to be told again. Lisa: And sometimes we just forget. It’s very easy to lose ourselves in that oceanic feeling . . . Siobhan: Oh yes.

E: Steve Nicol

Interview: Kingston, Tasmania, Australia 2008 Steve Nicol is a marine biologist and Program Leader of Antarctic Marine Liv- ing Resources at the Australian Antarctic Division (AAD) in Kingston, Tasmania.

We first met at the Imagining Antarctica conference in 2008, where he pre- sented a paper, From Beautiful Creatures to Particles - How Scientific Terminology and Methodology Significantly Affects our Perception of Marine Animals (Nicol, 2008);(University of Tasmania, 2008). During his presentation he told a story about how his view of krill changed for ever after seeing them in their native habi- tat. Now, in his office in Tasmania, he retold the story. Tapping his hand on his desk as he spoke seemed to emphasize its significance. Rhythmic qualities in his gestures and voice suggested ways to use animation to combine his knowledge of how krill relate to their environment, and his subjective response to these ‘beautiful creatures’. Steve’s story is set in the Bay of Fundy in Canada, where he went in a small boat with a local fisherman: I remember that first day we went out. It was a mirror calm day, and you could detect where the swarms of krill were by where the birds were landing on the water. So we followed the birds. You could see the water changing texture as the swarms of krill touched the surface. Occasionally they jumped out, and, as they swam around with their antennae on the surface, they caused their own little ripples in the water. There was something odd going on, and we stopped the boat to try and sample some of these swarms. We saw a little school of krill swimming along past the boat, and one of the krill just broke away, and came over towards us. It just sort of sat there, with his antennae sitting on top of the water, with its big black eyes, just looking at us. I looked at it, and it looked at me, and the old fisherman looked at it, and looked at me, and we all looked at each other. Then the little krill decided it had checked us out enough and quickly scurried off across the water to join the rest of the school. Now it was at that point that I realised these are really ani- mals, and that they actually have lots of interesting behaviours.

180 Appendix 1: Interviews F: Jo Whittaker

This was really different to what we had been taught at uni- versity, where they had been referred to as bugs. We had bug counters, and towed nets through the water to estimate how many there were. From that moment, in the Bay of Fundi, the way I looked at krill changed completely. I realised that almost everything that you we about krill is affected by the way that they behave, and that you can’t just treat them like passive particles in the water, or physical objects. I still think that. And that was 30 years ago. After telling his story, Steve opened Alister Hardy’s book of water-colours (Hardy, 1956) and showed me examples of krill depicted as ‘beautiful creatures’. He led me downstairs to see the krill nursery where masses of krill were swimming around in open tanks. I met scientists who were studying their normal growth pattern, in preparation for future research into how this may change in response to increasing ocean acidity. Just as I was leaving, there was great excitement in the room A live krill appeared on a large video monitor, emerging from its egg. The following day, as I drew many healthy live adult krill in the nursery, I remembered Steve’s story and I saw them as beautiful creatures.

F: Jo Whittaker

Interview: Sydney, Australia 2008

Figure 8.13. Jo Whittacker at McMurdo, Antarctica (2005)

Geoscientist, Jo Whittaker, was in the final stages of her PhD when we met at the University of Sydney. I had simply walked into the Geology department at the University of Sydney, near where I live, to see if any scientists who had worked in Antarctica were free to talk with me, and was directed to Jo, who was delighted to explain her work. Jo’s research interests were plate tectonics, geophysics, and geology. We sat in her office and talked:

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Jo: (drawing legs up to sit cross-legged in her office chair) It’s just so nice, when you’re that tired, and you’re warm and snug and you can see out the window, and all you can see is whiteness, and oh, you think, thank goodness I’m not out there, you know, it’s really good to be in the warm, and people are bringing me tea and biscuits . . . it’s really great. Lisa: So do you think this has something to do with what people mean when they say it’s a landscape of extremes? Jo: I think so. It probably is, yeah. You have . . . because it can change so much. Like one day it can be beautiful and sunny, and you’ll be having a great time and everything is relatively easy. And then you know, a few hours later you can be battling to make it 4 metres to go to the bathroom. Yes, it can change so much in quite a short space of time. And it is so beautiful, but so harsh, and, if something goes wrong it can go wrong in a major way, and I guess you’ve always got that in the back of your mind,that it can flip really quickly. You don’t have the support mechanisms that you would have normally, in daily city life. Lisa: But you have each other. Jo: Yeah, people have very intense experiences in Antarctica and form good groups of friends in a very short period of time. I still keep in contact with quite a few people I went down with, because you feel that you really know people, because you’re all in there together, and you have to look after each other, you know, and you can’t just wander off and hang out with some other people because there’s no one you can do that with. You’re stuck with the people you’re with, and so yeah, you form these really strong bonds I think, which is really nice actually, and maybe something that’s lacking from modern society. Lisa: What were some of the challenges for you personally, living in such close quarters with other people? Jo: I don’t mind the close quarters. I like company. I actually found major challenges were not showering for three weeks. That was not very good. And I didn’t really realise how bad it was until we got back in the Hagglands, you know the big warm vehicles, to drive all the way back to base on the last day, and you know, everyone warms up, and starts taking clothes off, and you kind of (drawing breath), take in deep breaths and you know, like ‘Oh dear, someone really smells’, and you kind of get a bit closer to yourself and you’re like, ‘Ooh, could be me actually!’ (laughs) Lisa: Do you think the sense of smell is heightened in that environment, because there are no, or very few other smells, unless you are close to a penguin colony for example?

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Jo: Maybe. Maybe you notice the smells so much because when you’re out on the ice you don’t really notice that many smells because there aren’t any. Lisa: So what was the most enjoyable physical experience that you remember having? Jo: I think riding along in the skidoos. It feels really liberating. You got this vast expanse, and you can’t hear anybody else, you’ve got, you know, ear muffs on to keep you ears warm, and it’s just you and the skidoo, out thee, and it’s exhilarating, because you can go reasonably fast on those roads. But it’s also very peaceful, because you’re on your own, and you’re sort of taking in the scenery and you’re heading off, and specially when you’re going out into the field areas you’re going somewhere new, and you don’t know what’s ahead, and you lose that sense of space as well; it’s very hard to tell the distance - you know, how far you’re going, and how far the distances is between you and those mountains over there. You feel so free and open and just you, hanging out, in the centre of it all. Lisa: So you had the experience of being together with people, and were enjoying that, but you (also) had the extreme opposite of that. Jo: Yes, I had that on the boat as well I think, sitting on the top of the - what do they call it - the watch tower, the out-house, or whatever, at the top of the boat, and just sitting up there on my own, looking out, over, at all the icebergs, and all the ocean, and Mount Erebus, and having the same sort of feeling of being, well, just peaceful with yourself and looking, and taking in all the scenery and yet there were all these people, really close by, that you can hang out with. So, feeling secure, I guess, but also, yeah, I don’t know, taking in the environment I guess. Lisa: What was the thing that most excited you in terms of knowing Antarctica from the perspective of a scientist? Were there any surprises? Was there anything in the work that you did that suddenly came together for you? Or did you see what you were working on from another perspective perhaps? Jo: Definitely on the ship, when we got on, as a student, I had people explain to me how collecting the data, how collecting seismic and magnetics and that sort of stuff worked, theoretically, you know, shown on pictures, or diagrams or whatever, but it’s not until you actually - it wasn’t until I was actually on the boat, and saw the instruments go in the water, and the cable get reeled out, and actually see the air gun go off, that I actually understood how it was all working, and you know, exactly how everything was laid out, and it just sort of made it so much easier to understand how it work. And then that feeds into being able to understand 183 Appendix 1: Interviews F: Jo Whittaker

what can go wrong, and why you might get certain anomalies, or problems with your data, because you can sort of visualise how it’s all happening and what’s going on, much much better I think . . . Lisa: If you’ve been physically there? Jo: If you’ve been physically there, and physically involved in putting out the equipment. You know what can go wrong. And it’s the same on the ice. You know that sometimes ice is too actually hard, so you get the equipment in the ground, and you have to maybe drill a hole to try to get it in, a bit, and so you know certain things can go wrong, and maybe you’ve got signal loss in certain cases because of high wind, or really hard ground, or something like that. It just makes you sort of more associated with the data, or something. I guess it’s not like getting data from someone else. I mean, now, I get a lot of data. It just turns up, as a file, and I use it, and that’s great. But you don’t know the ins and outs of the data, and what’s happened to it, and also the lengths that some people have gone to to get it, because I think you forget, when you just get given data, that collecting data is sometimes really difficult, and really is a lot of work for what maybe looks like a small amount of data. But maybe, you know, but maybe that one piece of data that you take out can be a really crucial piece of a puzzle . . . you never know what you’re going to get! Lisa: One of the purposes of my study is to help people connect with the Antarctic landscape, through the work of scientists, so I’m really interested to hear about the way you physically connected with the landscape in a way that gave more depth, if you like, to the data - your data in particular, and then by inference to other people’s data, as it came in, since you had that experience - that appreciation, I suppose, of the human, physical connection with the landscape, that’s necessary for collecting this kind of information. Jo: I guess the scope of - I mean because you can talk about going to the ice caps, and how they affect - because I’m interested in sediment and how it accumulates - I mean you can talk about how ice caps and stuff move sediment around and can wane and flow and affect the amount of sediment that is deposited in the oceans nearby Antarctica - neighbouring seas. But you don’t really get the scale of it, I guess maybe, until you get there? And maybe when you’re flying in - because I flew in both times with the Kiwis - and flying in and seeing just - it just stretches for ever. You can really start to - maybe you can’t really get an understanding of it - but at least you could at least start to get an understanding - of just how enormous it is. And if you have climactic changes, or just changes in the ice sheet - the distribution patterns or, climatically, its extent, you can understand that would have a big impact then on the sediments deposited just off-shore, because, you know, the 184 Appendix 1: Interviews F: Jo Whittaker

advance and retreat of those glaciers and ice caps, yes it’s just so big it really would have a big effect. And maybe you wouldn’t appreciate that so much if you hadn’t seen it, I think, maybe . . . Lisa: . . . brought it to a more human scale? Jo: I think so. Yeah, you think, wow, this is such an enor- mous process, and it must have such major implications for what’s going on and how everything fits together and explains what I’m seeing in these, you know, what are essentially x-rays, of sediment underneath the sea floor that we collect. Lisa: So listening to the sensors, or the explosions, and then reading the sensors, did you get a heightened sense of the age of the place, given that it take so much time for this ice shelf to build up, to be that thick? Did being there deepen your appreciation of the age of Antarctica? Jo: I don’t know about the age, but definitely of the hostility of the environment to getting, to collecting data, because where we were, the ice shelf sits on top of, actually, ocean, and the sea bed’s underneath that, and so you have ice shelf, like 100 metres thick ice shelf, and then you’ve got the ocean and then you’ve got the sea bed, which is what we were trying to get at. And to get at that, it’s really difficult because the ice shelf actually dampens the signal of your explosive, essentially, when you blow it up. It’s supposed to go down, go through all the layers, go through the ice shelf, go through the water and into the sediments, and show you all the different layers of the sediment. You have to go through quite a lot of processing afterwards to try to get rid of the signal of the ice, to actually get to the data. We weren’t looking at data that was particularly old. We were trying to look at data, in that case, that was up to 5 million years old, in a channel round Mount Erebus. Lisa: As opposed to 40 million years. Jo: Yeah, that’s right. Lisa: Oh, nothing, that’s nothing (both laugh) Jo: Yeah, well, I mean you have to understand that the re- constructions that I’ve been doing, like in this [research] paper I looked at reconstructing Australia moving away from Antarctica between 80 and 50 million years [ago]. So, yeah (laughing), I’ve got maybe a slightly warped perception of old and young. It’s all relative. Lisa: Now,I’m interested that you are doing two forms of study - one is the rifting - or rafting? Jo: Rifting, yes. Lisa: . . . between the Australian and Antarctic continents? Jo: Yes. Australia and Antarctic used to be connected. Lisa: Yes. 185 Appendix 1: Interviews F: Jo Whittaker

Jo: Yep. Lisa: . . . and the other is the roughness of the ocean floor. What’s that about? Jo: It’s just happened that way. My thesis was a kind of hodge-podge of, It’s not. I mean, all these things are connected, but it’s kind of like I do one thing, and then I start doing some- thing new, and there’s this small connection, and I think, that’s really interesting, and so, as you’re supposed to do in a PhD, you sort of follow that through and it turns into this whole new topic that is kind of related, but maybe a bit of a side track to what you were doing before. And so these two are fairly different. I mean the main connecting feature there is the mid-ocean ridges. So the mid-ocean ridges are the way the new crust of the world, essentially, is formed. As two plates move apart you get up welling magma that solidifies when it reaches the surface and attaches it- self to each plates as they move apart - in our case Australia and Antarctica. And depending on how fast the plates move apart or what direction, or what that underlying mantle is composed of - the differences in the composition - it can affect the roughness of the crust. It just effects how it solidifies and what it looks like, essentially. Lisa: So it’s a bit elastic for a while, is it, and is shaped by certain forces? Jo: It’s not really. It’s just that it up wells at different rates and the crust, and the crust sort of fractures and moves at different rates. It’s not really elastic so much as - if you’ve got a lot of material coming up, it solidifies in a much easier, uniform manner, whereas when it’s slow, it tends to be episodic, so you’ll get a burst of magma activity, and then nothing, and so then it sort of fractures and breaks up, and you get another bit and it tends to be much more jumbled and rougher. Lisa: This obviously fascinated you enough to divert you. Jo: The roughness stuff, the sea floor roughness stuff is really interesting actually. Don’t know if you can see the map on the back there (both turn to look at a large map resting on the back wall of the office). You can see that the sea floor is really rough ... Lisa: Yes! Jo: . . . and not in a uniform way. Lisa: No, things cross over. Jo: Yeah, there’s all kinds of interesting stuff going on, so there’s obviously a few different parameters are involved in creating those different forms. Lisa: It’s like looking up into the sky and seeing the different levels of the clouds. 186 Appendix 1: Interviews F: Jo Whittaker

Jo: Yeah, yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Lisa: It’s beautiful. Jo: Yeah, there are some really quite nice images from the marine data sets. Lisa: I’m interested in the fact that you did this work with the sensors on the sediment on an Antarctic ice shelf. Is that because you can’t do it further north, where I would expect there to be more evidence of the rifting between the two continents to be. Is it just an ideal place for you to work with this equipment to get the sort of information that you’re after? Jo: So the two - those two scientific problems are somewhat different. For the rifting, we tend not to use seismics much. We tend to use magnetics and gravity, and it tends to be even further off-shore than what we did on the ice shelf. So you tend to use - or if you need to go south, to Antarctica - you use icebreakers. Most of the time you can just use normal vessels in the rest of the world. And whereas the seismics are for looking at the sediment. It was an entirely different project and we were interested in trying to look at climate in Antarctica and see if there has been - you know, what climate changes thee have been in the pas 5 million years, because getting a sediment record for Antarctica, of the recent past - the past 5 million years, is actually quite difficult, because you constantly get the ice sheets coming over, and any sediment that’s deposited in a warm period can then just be eroded and removed by a subsequent cold period where the ice shelf goes up further. So you need to find a place where there’s been subsidence. And because Mount Erebus is next to the Ross Sea, and (is) a whopping great volcano, it actually depresses the surface of the Earth, essentially, and makes a little gap just sort of in a ring around Erebus, where the recent sediment has collected as it’s - as that crust has sort of sunk around Erebus. So it makes a very nice place to collect that sort of data if you want the past 5 million years record. Lisa: So it gathers, it gathers sediment, and is uninterrupted by the glacial actions? Jo: Yeah. You could think of it, you know, when you stand on a trampoline, and you end up with that depression all around you. If it was all filling up with sand you’d get the oldest stuff at the bottom, then if someone hosed you down or something, you might lose that top layer, but the stuff underneath would remain, and you’d have quite a nice neat record there - essentially is the theory behind it. And it worked quite well, apparently, ’cause after I left Victoria University and they said everything worked out pretty well, ’cause we’d made some estimates about what age we thought things were going to be, from when I went on the boat, we made 187 Appendix 1: Interviews F: Jo Whittaker

some estimates of ages of layers (of sediments) and apparently we weren’t that too far out, so that was good. They drew on that later as part of ANDRILL - they drilled those sediments. Lisa: What about an aesthetic experience of Antarctica. Did you, were there any particular moments that you enjoyed for their aesthetic value - the look and feel . . . Jo: Sure, heaps I think (laughing). I think maybe that’s a hard question to ask. Lisa: Mmm Jo: . . . ’cause you can’t really . . . it’s hard to pull those apart, and separate out one particular moment that you really remember above all the rest of them. I mean I can think of lots of examples where you sit, and you’re like, wow, this is, you know, this is amazing, looks beautiful. Am I allowed to say drinking beer back at Scott Base, and looking out the window, and watching the sun get closer to the horizon, and just feeling relaxed, and... yeah, it was beautiful. Actually another time, on maybe on another emotional level . . . We were one of the last groups to leave Scott Base at the end of the season, just before wintering over, and they actually had a changing of the flag ceremony, where the old staff were leaving and the new staff were getting ready to winter over. And the three of us went to that changing over ceremony. And that was quite moving, because obviously it was the changing of the guard of the staff at the base, and they were quite emotional about it. And it was really nice to just be included in that. Because obviously we weren’t staffers, or scientists down there. Yes, I remember that quite clearly. It was quite an interesting moment. Lisa: I’ve heard that before, that this changeover time is very emotional, and people can get quite upset. Jo: It does seem that way. If people have wintered over there for 10 months, or whatever it is, and sad to leave, and the new people may be fearful - nervous about what’s going to happen over their winter coming up, and - I guess, and it’s hard to let (go) . . . ’cause I think, as we spoke about before, you make those really strong bonds. And it must be a hundred times more for the people who have wintered over and spent - you know, Scott Base has only 15 or something of them over the winter - so for them to break up and go home and enter normal life again must be quite difficult. Lisa: And also, connecting with the place itself? Jo: Mmm. You must become very attached to the place, yeah, over the winter. Lisa: Did any of that happen for you, in your time there. I know you were there for, what, 6 weeks?

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Jo: Yeah. Not really. Oh, ’don’t know, I mean, I really enjoyed the closeness of the people, but I don’t know if it was so much the place as the sense of community. I know that’s brought about by place. And you only get that sense of community because of the isolation of where you are, and the conditions that you’re in. I didn’t necessarily feel, you know, emotionally attached to the landscape, as more to the people, and sense of community I think. Lisa: It’s not a friendly landscape, is it? Jo: Not particularly, but it’s very beautiful. But maybe it’s a bit like the Australian outback. It’s very beautiful, but it’s not really - you can’t just ease into it, and take it for granted, can you? Lisa: No. Lisa: Did you get a sense at all about how your science fits in with other science programmes, when you were down there? Jo: Yeah, it’s really nice because you do have time to sit around and talk with other people, specially at the end of an expedition, and you’re waiting to go home, and you’re there for a few day and everyone’s talking about how their trip went. And we ended up chatting to this biologist who was looking at fish, and all kinds of different people - diver, and people measuring ice crystals - and all kinds of strange things that I’d never thought of before. But it seems a lot of the research down there is ultimately related to climate, or the effects of climate, so it’s kind of interesting to see how people are approaching it from all different ways. It’s nice to think about science as this sort of organic body that’s ultimately working towards one course, ’cause you get so caught up in your own little piece of it that everybody sort of does their bit and, yeah, and it all sort of accumulates, doesn’t it? It’s good, that, about science. I love it. Lisa: Mmm Well I was an artist amongst scientists, and I - that was a real bonus to me to be in on those sorts of conversations, and to just learn and see other people learning. Everyone grew. Jo: Yeah, you learn so much when you hang out with a whole lot of other scientists and artists, and all these people who are down there, because everyone knows something different, and has a slightly different perspective on how every thing’s growing, and what’s happening. Lisa: How old were you when you went down? Jo: I went down in 2004 and 2005 so I would have been 24 and 25. Lisa: And do you think the experience changed you in some way? Jo: Yeah, I think it really did. Yeah, I don’t know if I could tell you a definite thing that it changed, but I certainly thought more about community and what’s important. It’s really important for 189 Appendix 1: Interviews F: Jo Whittaker

me to have a network, a close network of friends and I think that was emphasised, and I really recognised it in myself in Antarctica, and that was what I really really enjoyed about being down there. Yeah, maybe it helped me grow up and be a bit more mature. One can only hope! (both laugh) Lisa: Thank you. Jo: No problem Is that OK? Lisa: Oh, yes. I’ll give you a copy of that. Jo: Ah, OK. Lisa: Well, it might be interesting in the future.

190 Appendix 2: Science notes

Figure 8.14. The 3rd GLOBEC Open Science Meeting (GLOBEC) in Canada, June 2009. Photo courtesy Jaime Gómez- Gutiérrez (Gómez-Gutiérrez in Roberts, 2009f, Illus.)

Notes were written to accompany the screening of Energies at the 3rd GLOBEC Open Science Meeting, Victoria, Canada, 22-26 June 2009 (GLOBEC, 2009). En- ergy systems represented in the animation are indicated by bold type. These notes were written with the guidance of marine biologist Jaime Gómez-Gutiérrez. Diatoms are single celled, or unicellular, organisms that are at the base of our complex food web. They appear in the film to metaphorically represent the complete microalgae community. Encased within intricate cell walls made of silica, diatoms live in pelagic1 and benthic Antarctic regions.2 Fossil evidence suggests they originated around the early Jurassic Period. Scientists believe that some phytoplankton cells and planktonic organisms, particularly coccolithophorids and pteropods with calcareous cells, may be eroding due to carbon dioxide (CO2) in- creasing ocean acidity (King in Roberts, 2010a);(Beaumont in Roberts, 2007c). Carbon dioxide (CO2) is the most commonly known greenhouse gas contribut- ing to global warming, but carbon monoxide (CO), methane (NH4) among other gasses are also contributing to human induced global warming. The atmospheric concentration of CO2 is now higher than at any other time in the last 850,000 years. A consequence of the greenhouse effect is global warming. As temperatures rise, the oceans expand (due to thermal expansion) and the ice coverage of polar regions contracts. Together with water from glaciers melting into the sea, thermal expansion is a major reason for sea levels rising (Church, 2007).

1 The term Pelagic is derived from the Greek word ‘pelagos’, meaning ‘open sea’. The pelagic ecosystem is very large and interacts most directly with the atmosphere and extensive sea ice that forms during the Antarctic winter (CAML, dateb). 2 The term benthos is derived from the Greek, meaning ‘depths of the sea’ and refers collectively to organisms which live on, in, or near the bottom of the sea. The benthic community includes of a wide range of plants, animals and bacteria (CAML, datea).

191 Appendix 2: Science notes

Antarctic sea ice freezes and melts in a rhythmic seasonal cycle, within an inter annual cyclic pattern of less regular change. This motion and coverage of sea ice determines if and when life forms can breed and feed.3 Global warming means that ice is melting more rapidly than normal. Scientists do not yet understand the complex mechanism to be able to predict the full impact global warming will have on marine organisms and humans. Sea ice drives bottom water circulation through the Southern Ocean. Unlike the ice sheet that inches seawards from inland Antarctica and from which ice bergs break away, sea ice forms from sea water that surrounds the Antarctic continent. When sea ice melts during the southern hemisphere spring and summer, cold, salt- dense water sinks down to deeper layers. From there it moves outwards and upwards in a spiraling motion from east to west. This is known as the Conveyor belt, or thermohaline circulation, where water circulation is driven by changes in salinity and temperature that determine its density. This motion shapes the planet’s climate through a feedback interaction between the ocean and the atmosphere. Through this complex mechanism, bottom water spirals outwards and northwards to join the circumpolar current, (ACC), or West Wind Drift. Vital to the well being of Antarctic wildlife is the force of the Antarctic conver- gence. This is the border or transition zone separating the colder, less salty water around Antarctica from the warmer, relatively more salty waters further north. This circling field of energy draws nutrients upwards towards the ocean surface. The circumpolar current offers a rich feeding ground for fish, marine birds, and mammals. As a perpetually dynamic zone of energy that draws predators and prey together, it can be imagined as a moving feast and natural battle field for survival. Just as the energy of the Southern Ocean influences the motion of its wildlife, so the energies of marine life forms influence motion of ocean waters (Yen et al., 2003). Like the whales and seals, krill individuals and schools mix the ocean waters as they go about their daily lives. Krill move vertically along the water column every day, being usually near the surface during the night and in deeper waters during the day. Their continuous biological motion circulates nutrients that feed the diatoms upon which they feed. For this reason, marine scientist and krill expert Steve Nicol describes krill as ‘farmers of the ocean’ (Nicol, 2009). More observations are needed to comprehend the mechanisms involved, but scientists agree that reciprocity appears to operate among all organisms and their environments. 3

Each year sea ice extends to cover over 10% of the world’s oceans, which around Antarctica is 20 million km2. The sea ice microalgae are thought to contribute between 25% and 50% of the total primary productivity. With global warming reducing the extent of Antarctic sea ice, it is likely that the capacity of the Southern Ocean to support its large biomass of whales, seals and seabirds will reduce (McMinn, 2003).

192 Appendix 2: Science notes

Key findings of the research, Antarctic Animation: • Scientists easily recognise their knowledge and experience in animations that were made, sometimes feeling a strong sentimental connection with the natural forces portrayed. • Circles and spirals that trace gestures arising from our physical human structure reflect similar structures that exist in the Antarctic environment. • People who have not experienced Antarctica can connect to the insights of its research community through drawing, dance, and animation.

193 Appendix 3: Foundation work

A: Beware of Pedestrians

Beware of Pedestrians was conceived as an animated improvised dance. Its aim was to explore the expressive potential of human gesture through the medium of animation. A digital human form was made for manipulating gestures. Its design was adapted from the model in Figure 8.15, which was developed for use in osteopathy to observe lines of force as they move through the body (Parsons and Marcer, 2006, Illus.).

Figure 8.15. Lines of force moving through the body can be represented by polygons (shapes) and vectors (lines of force). Jon Parsons and Nicholas Marcer, Modeling the effects of the polygons of force (Parsons and Marcer, 2006, Illus.)

In Osteopathy, This ability to look and actually see is one of the most important skills . . . The looking is not to impose any of these models . . . but to see inside the body, to see what pattern it is expressing (Parsons and Marcer, 2006, p.68). From an osteopathic, biomechanical and anatomical perspective, these points are significant in maintaining structural balance, and are key points for fluid homeosta- sis within the body (Dawkins, 2010). As can be seen in Figure 8.16, the Pedestrian form is linear, and much like the osteopathic model in form. Red dots mark the three main points through which lines of force within the body cross. First, on the lower spine between the hips,

194 Appendix 3: Foundation work A: Beware of Pedestrians

Figure 8.16. Three points within the body (red dots) are sig- nificant in maintaining structural balance. Lisa Roberts, Digi- tal model constructed for Beware of Pedestrians, 1995 (Roberts, 1995a);(Working drawing in Roberts, 2010d) second, on the upper spine between the shoulders, and third, where the head pivots at the top of the spine. When one point in the model is moved, changing lines of force can be observed through the body as a whole. Manipulating these central points allowed for complex human, kinaesthetic ges- tures to be described. Peripheral gestures were made by moving points within the arms, legs, and head which correlated to the joints of the limbs. The gestures ranged between balanced and unbalanced and were based on flexion, extension, side-bending and rotation movements. Transitions between these gestures were an- imated to express emotions associated with the six main directions of body motion, as defined by Watts: high, deep (release and bondage); narrow, wide (doubt, trust); backwards, forwards (antipathy, sympathy) (Watts, 1977, p.102). Both manual and computer manipulations were used to construct and choreo- graph this form. It was constructed in a 2D animation programme as polymorphic (‘tweenable’) shape that could be moved like a jointed puppet. A series of poses were shaped and placed into an animation time line to serve as key frames. Transi- tional gestures between these poses were rendered by the computer. This resulted in smooth, controlled motions. Poses were formed through spontaneous manual manipulations. Movement was achieved through computer-controlled calculation. In the same way that McLaren intuitively drew lines onto movie film, a set of poses were intuitively arranged to express a range of emotions (McWilliams, 1991). These figures were placed in seemingly infinite combinations along a time- line. As the animation plays, the appearance and reappearance of repeating poses conveys the illusion of an underlying order within an otherwise chaotic world. The improvisation process used in Beware of Pedestrians was adapted to convey a sense of Antarctica that is more grounded in the physical world. A repertoire of gestures and line drawings was choreographed to express connections between

195 Appendix 3: Foundation work A: Beware of Pedestrians humans and other physical and biological elements. Gestures of feeling were made to conflate with physical structures within the environment. As in Len Lye’s Tusalosa, the palette in Beware of Pedestrians is restricted to black and white. Figure 8.17 shows how contrasting tones dramatise a similar dance, of two beings transforming through warring with each other. As in Lye’s animation, two forms evolve, transform, and interact, as if exploring different ways to inhabit and affect a shared space.

Figure 8.17. As if to explore different ways to inhabit and affect a shared space, two forms evolve, transform, and interact. Lisa Roberts, Beware of Pedestrians, Digital animation transferred to 16mm film (1995a)

Feelings of tension within the two bodies in Figure 8.19 can be identified by contradictory lines of force that flow within and between them. The lines convey a range of complex emotions through the human form to the viewer.

Figure 8.18. Lisa Roberts, Beware of Pedestrians, Digital ani- mation transferred to 16mm film (1995a)

The figure on the left bends both towards, and away from its partner, conveying conflicting expressions of sympathy and antipathy. The figure on the right stands high and held back, in opposition to the partner, suggesting intent to release itself from bondage. The conveyance of complex feelings through this simple manipulation of the human form suggested that the model could be used to convey complex feelings that people have expressed about Antarctica. About two thirds of the way through making the film, the computer-rendered gestures became joined by hand-drawn lines that were improvised frame-by-frame. These lines move with spontaneous gestures that change the rhythm of the film. 196 Appendix 3: Foundation work A: Beware of Pedestrians

Slow-even human gestures are replaced by fast-irregular abstract lines. Ges- tures that reflect calculated thought are overtaken by gestures that reflect pure feeling. This transition occurred unconsciously, through the process of improvising. Abstract gesturing lines were later recognised as ‘shadow movements’ (Exiner and Kelynack, 1994, p.43): . . . in movement behaviour people give two types of signals: those that are intentional, to underline the spoken word, for instance, and those which are unintentional, in response to un- conscious experiences . Shadow forms (Figure 8.19) unexpectedly emerged, while animating, between two white-clothed models. They embody contradictory feelings and hold them in bal- ance.

Figure 8.19. Lisa Roberts, Beware of Pedestrians, 16mm Ani- mated film (1995a)

I had been struggling with a difficult personal decision. A resolution emerged in the form of a large expanding spiral (8.20). The human form became a spiral that I recognised as a personal transformation. Creating the spiral had brought forward consciousness feelings of confusion. The conscious awareness of these diffi- cult feelings enabled a decision to be made, allowing an actual transformation. The recognition of inner confusion in the spiral caught me by surprise. It convinced me of the power of symbolic forms to raise unconscious feelings to the conscious mind.

Figure 8.20. Lisa Roberts, Beware of Pedestrians, Digital ani- mation transferred to 16mm film (1995a)

By constantly shifting the Pedestrian model’s three major points of balance, my attention became focussed and sharply alert. This allowed for a heightened awareness of thinking and feeling as a whole organism.

197 Appendix 3: Foundation work B: Roget’s Circular

Exiner and Kelynack explain (Exiner and Kelynack, 1994, p.3): The word organism encompasses our totality, our unity. Within ourselves we are finely differentiated yet we are whole . The Pedestrian model can be used to express internal body knowledge that relates us to our ‘stable planet made up of unstable parts’ (Lovelock, 2000, p.x-xi). Beware of Pedestrians is ‘a procession, a parade, a march, an architectural ballet of shapes and non-gender figures moving left to right across a black screen’ (Roberts, 1995b). As shown in Figure 8.21, the animation closes with abstract forms dancing freely as if released from a cage.

Figure 8.21. Lisa Roberts, Beware of Pedestrians, Digital ani- mation transferred to 16mm film (Roberts, 1995a)

Five key ideas emerged from reviewing Beware of Pedestrians: (1) Points of balance within the Pedestrian model can be manipulated to communicate a sense of dynamic equilibrium. (2) A sense of balance, perceived in animations, between heightened sensory awareness, and clarity of mind and thought about the implications at- tached to those feelings, may allow for considered decisions to be made about relationships within the actual environment. (3) The Pedestrian model can be adapted to conflate gestures of feeling with lines that describe dynamic structures within the physical world. (4) Centrally positioned circles and spirals can balance attention between heightened feeling and lucid thought. (5) Beware of Pedestrians is the subjective response of an individual. To combine scientific data with subjective responses to Antarctica requires the representation of more than one perspective.

B: Roget’s Circular

Roget’s Circular (Roget) is an interactive animated work that combines the responses of two artists to some places in Australia and Europe (Roberts and Smith, 2001). In collaboration with Melissa Smith, images, words, sounds, and animations, were developed. Roget was displayed as a touch screen installation in a suitcase, surrounded by drawings, paintings, and other associated material (Figure 8.22).

198 Appendix 3: Foundation work B: Roget’s Circular

Figure 8.22. Lisa Roberts and Melissa Smith, Roget’s Circu- lar, Animated interactive touch screen in a suitcase installation, Gallery 101, Melbourne, 2001

Roget was integrated with the Macquarie Library’s first electronic edition of their thesaurus and dictionary (Macquarie, 2001). This integration was the orig- inal impetus for building the Antarctic Thesaurus and combining this with the Antarctic Dictionary (Roberts, 2009e);(Hince, 2000). Roget also provided a model for combining and presenting digital animations, art works, and written texts on various interfaces. Roget is an elaborate improvisation. It represents the separate journeys of me and Melissa as well traveled around Australia and Europe. We composed and col- lected words and images that caught our eye and then emailed these to each other. On our return to Tasmania, we placed the media elements within an interactive structure. The structure (Figure 8.23) had been designed for a previous work, Terra Incognita(Roberts, 2000). Its maze-like site map was conceived as a visual display of the serendipitous nature of the creative process. The structure resembles Laban’s Space Harmony Crystal, and Exiner’s Move- ment Dial, which both use circles within circles to represent the space within which human movement occurs (Exiner and Lloyd, 1977);(Maletic, 1987). It also resem- bles the Chronovenn blog visualisation tool that was used with the research Log (Tey, 2008). The site map for Terra Incognita displays circles within the larger circle to represent screens with lines between these to represent links. In Roget’s Circular, the maze structure is invisible. Viewers move instead between hyper-linked words, images, and animated lines that appear as journal

199 Appendix 3: Foundation work B: Roget’s Circular

Figure 8.23. Lisa Roberts, Terra Incognita, Interactive site map (2000) entries. Yet because of its internal circling structure, a sense of circling through a maze can be felt. The circles invite kinaesthetic engagement. Although viewers may construe meaningful connections between journal entries, no connections were consciously intended. Roget reveals places according to how they were experienced at the time they were encountered. In January 1999, while visiting her father-in-law in Ararat, Victoria, Melissa captured something of his mood in her drawing of the land surrounding his house. She combined her drawing with the words, ‘Long days spent looking out at that view, wondering what was to come’ (Figure 8.24).

Figure 8.24. Lisa Roberts and Melissa Smith, Roget’s Circular, Journal entry, 12 January 1999 (Screen shot) (Roberts and Smith, 2001)

The meaning of her word, ‘long’, resonates with the wide panoramic format of her drawing, and is further emphasised by her hand-written words beneath that extend along its length. The image could be a slice from a more extensive panorama. Drawn and written lines describe the unfolding of a life lived close to the land. By contrast, my journal entry for the same month expresses ill ease (Figure 8.25).

200 Appendix 3: Foundation work B: Roget’s Circular

Figure 8.25. Lisa Roberts and Melissa Smith, Roget’s Circular, Journal entry, 26 January 1999 (Screen shot) (Roberts and Smith, 2001)

At the same time that Melissa visited Ararat, I chanced upon a book by Humphrey Repton. Repton, I was told by the owner, was an English landscape gardener who compiled what were known as ‘Red Books’. These books contain ‘before’ and ‘after’ drawings of natural Australian scenes alongside idealised Eng- lish landscapes that were designed to replace them. I photographed one page and wrote that these drawings were ‘like the transformation scene paintings of Victorian pantomimes’. Immediately after seeing this image, I drove from Adelaide to Melbourne, past Ararat. The European landscape image struck me as static compared to my ex- perience of moving through the actual land. I imagined the struggle my English forbears must have had, making sense of Australia. I imagined how my mater- nal great grandmother, Hannah Brown, would have known this country differently. Hannah had lived near Ararat (Deep Lead) near where I was driving at this time. Hannah was an Aboriginal woman. In my entry in Roget, her signature, ‘H’, appears to draw itself over Repton’s lines, as if to reclaim her place in the land. I used an animation method to simulate the gestures that Hannah would have originally made to draw her lines. I traced the lines from her signature on her mar- riage certificate. The lines were then animated to connect viewers to the moment of her thinking and feeling. Melissa and I observed and responded in different ways. Although our journeys did not physically connect, there were serendipitous moments of recognition. This convinced me further of the value of improvisation as a process through which unconscious meanings can be uncovered. It convinced me of the value of working with other people as a way to recognise different ways to perceive the same place. Different views of Antarctica, I imagined, could be read through a similar thesaurus structure. However, although the circling maze structure worked to reflect the loose con- nections made by two artists, a different structure would be needed to combine scientific data with subjective responses.

201 Appendix 3: Foundation work C: A Little Skiting on the Side

Social scientist, Stephen Muecke, discusses the idea of ‘reading’ country, and proposes that the Australian outback . . . does not have an inherent meaning, nor is it heavily sign- posted so that visitors can be quite clear where they are and which way they should go to fulfill their purposes. Rather, the meanings . . . are constructed in language, that is, in dialogues which have a certain purpose or direction based on the sorts of signs, appropriate to their knowledge, which different people see in the country. So, generally, the botanist reads the country in terms of its plant life, the tourist in terms of its beauty, and so on (Muecke, 1984, p.12). Melissa and I had dialogues with places that generated signs appropriate to our knowledge. Our signs were line drawings and words that were combined as if by chance, and yet meanings were found within these. Muecke argues that the process of reading ‘is not a perfectly natural activity which once mastered becomes automatic’ (Muecke, 1984, p.12). He suggests instead that reading is somewhere between ‘breathing’ and ‘judging’. These are visceral and cerebral conditions that may be unconscious. Two main ideas emerged from reviewing Roget’s Circular: (1) Animated interfaces can be used to display and compare different re- sponses. (2) Ways of working with more than one person would be needed to gather and record how people describe Antarctica.

C: A Little Skiting on the Side

Many artists live and work within the predominantly farming community of Flinders Island, just to the north of Tasmania. I was invited to work as an ani- mator and interactive author to identify Flinders Island through ‘visual arts, craft, precious objects, poems, drumming, and natural island sounds’ (Ryan, 2006, p.135). My role was to generate and gather material with which to animate, and to place these animations within an interactive structure. The interactive CD-ROM, A Little Skiting on the Side, was the result (Apps and Kelly, 2000). Meetings with Flinders Islanders were made in places where they worked and played, using ‘non-directive group discussions and unstructured personal interviews’ (Mackay, 1993, p.312). At the first meeting, held at the local school, the interactive structure was devised. We agreed that within three horizontal spaces different com- binations of words, images, and animations could be placed to resemble a picture post card. I coded the work (using Macromedia Director 6) to work in two ways: as a continuous looping sequence, and as an interactive interface. An animated sequence was programmed to play continuously unless interrupted by a mouse click. Mouse buttons were designed to trigger a range of events, including extra animations and sounds. Animation workshops with children and adults produced work that revealed strong connections to their man made and natural environments. Artist Phil Kelly 202 Appendix 3: Foundation work C: A Little Skiting on the Side composed sound tracks for the work as a whole, from recordings that he made around the island. In an animation made with photos Kelly took while working as a builder, a house appears to assembles itself to the rhythmic beat of a nail gun. Figure 8.26 shows a photos of the circular form of the building. This was one of many that were placed along an animation time line to visually represent the cyclic patterns that I identified in Kelly’s nail gun sound composition.

Figure 8.26. Annabel Apps, Phil Kelly and Lisa Roberts,A Little Skiting on the Side, Animated interactive CD-Rom (Apps and Kelly, 2000)

As shown in Figure 8.27, prints and drawings made in sand by children were photographed and arranged within the animation interface. The images were made to dissolve between each other, to the sounds of water lapping. Concentric circles and a cross, made by hands pressed in sand, were placed beside images of local shells and rocks. These forms evoke the Indigenous history of Flinders Island. By playing with the placement of these images and sounds, within screens and the time line, I made patterns that suggest connections between their circling and cyclic forms. Kelly’s combinations of man-made and natural sounds evoke a sensory experi- ence of the environment. Music made with sounds recorded in Antarctica were later contributed by Flinders Island musicians for use in animations to evoke Antarctica. Participants were eager to contribute material that would communicate their feelings about their place. Contributions often came from collections of photos and other memorabilia that was shown to me in their homes. We often met in groups, and played with ways to combine their material as we spoke. In group meetings, people shared their feelings with each other in ways that perhaps they had not done before. This experience convinced me of the value of meeting with project participants in their homes and work places, and of conducting workshops with existing groups of artists. Animations made for Skiting reflect qualities of movement that were observed within the arts of Flinders Island residents and from walking and climbing with them through places that held special significance for them. Photographs and art

203 Appendix 3: Foundation work C: A Little Skiting on the Side

Figure 8.27. Annabel Apps, Phil Kelly and Lisa Roberts,A Little Skiting on the Side, Animated interactive CD-Rom (Apps and Kelly, 2000) works that people contributed reflect a community very much at ease in their work and play, fishing, telling stories, and making art from materials at hand. Cultural researcher, Robin Ryan, also recognised rhythms in music and dance as important in identifying the Flinders Island community. Her research aimed . . . to account for dance/music-culture as a lively social force . . . focusing on local environment as a motivation for participants and audience for whom the movement of dance and the sound of music evokes special cultural meanings in communal life (Ryan, 2006, p.129). For a time I was part of the Flinders Island community. The finished work evolved through relationships that were formed with the people and their place. Beware of Pedestrians expresses extreme emotions. A Little Skiting on the Side expresses a balanced sense of connection to a place. A Little Skiting on the Side identified a unique environment. Copies of Skiting (on CD-ROM) are marketed by the Flinders Island community as a representation of their place. It may be argued, however, that because not all residents chose to participate, the work does not fully represent Flinders Island. Admittedly there will always be more dialogues that can made that will reveal other signs of knowledge. Yet a sense of the environment as a whole can be grasped by identifying connections between the works many expressions of connection to it.

204 Appendix 3: Foundation work C: A Little Skiting on the Side

Skiting was screened and played like a musical instrument by the Flinders Island’s band, Road Kill. They plated it at the Flinders Island community hall and as part of the science conference, the Bass Strait Forum, in Launceston (Marine and Coastal Community Network 2000). Skiting was included in the conference to add impact to scientific presentations about the impact of global warming on the marine environment of Bass Strait. One key idea emerged from reviewing A little Skiting on the Side: (1) Animation can be used to combine and communicate expressions of deep connection to a shared environment.

205 Appendix 4: Effort actions

A table of words to describe the Eight Effort Actions identified in human move- ment by Rudolf Laban was compiled by Johanna Exiner and Dennis Kelynack for us in dance therapy (Exiner and Kelynack, 1994, p.68).

SPACE TIME ENERGY-FLOW Punch: direct sudden high-free Slash: indirect sudden high-free Press: direct sustained high-bound Wring: indirect sustained high-bound Dab: direct sudden low-bound Flick indirect sudden low-bound Glide: direct sustained low-free Float: indirect sustained low-free Table 8.1. Eight Effort Actions adapted from Laban (Exiner and Kelynack, 1994, p.68)

206 Appendix 5: Movement workshop scores

The following scores were used by artists during movement improvisation work- shops to generate gestures and line drawings for use in animations. The scores are starting points for improvisations. They can be varied and developed in myriad ways. Word stimulus: Put down words or images that come imme- diately to mind when you think about Antarctica, Figure 8.28. Do this quickly and work alone.

Figure 8.28. Kim Holten, Words written while imagining Antarctica (2008)

Close boundary: Walk around the room while drawing a spiral with pencil on paper. As shown in Figure 8.29, lines may not cross, but may change in response to changes experienced within your body. Like a seismograph that records the movement of the earth, a pencil line records body motion through a space. Allow connections to be felt between energy within your body and the energy you impress upon the paper with your pencil. Rhythm stimulus: Move to the cyclic rhythm of water slowly turning to ice and returning to melt as water. Cooling water molecules slow down, move apart from each other, and join to- gether to float as ice. Warming water molecules speed up and move closer together, to flow rapidly in curving pathways in all directions. Draw your dance. Word stimulus: As demonstrated in Figure 8.30, work in groups of three and take turns to read, move and draw to the words (Ward, 1955): The cold transparent blue of the ice plateau has become a softer blue opalescence. Clefts and hollows in the ice have lost the glowing almost radiant blueness and become dark shadows. Image stimulus: Here is a drawing by Fred Elliott, Figure 2.9, who worked in Antarctica. Observe the contrasts between light

207 Appendix 5: Movement workshop scores

Figure 8.29. Lisa Roberts, Connecting spiral 01, Pencil on pa- per (2008)

Figure 8.30. Yoris Everaerts, Rena Czaplinska and Christine McMillan take turns to read, dance, and draw. College of Fine Arts, University of New South Wales, Sydney (2008)

and dark, large and small, far and near, height and depth, wide and narrow. Focus on one element from the image as your score (such as rock or ice) and explore contrasts within this through your body. Texts that had been collected from interviews, such as Ward’s diary and Elliott’s drawing, were used as scores to generate gestures and drawings. Video recordings were made of gestures and spoken words. Drawings and written words were scanned. Texts that were generated in workshops were used to make animations.

208 Appendix 5: Movement workshop scores

Figure 8.31. Fred Elliott, Fearn Hill, Masson Range (1997b)

209 Appendix 6: Production process

Drawings and stop-motion sequences were recorded as digital picture files (.jpg). Gestures were recorded and saved in digital video format (.avi). Voices were recorded in digital sound formats (.wav and .mp3). As much as possible, open source operating systems and programmes were used. Image editing programmes used were Gimp, Inkscape, Image Magik (Linux Ubuntu 8.4), and Photoshop (Win- dows XP). Sound Forge (Windows XP) was used to edit sound. 2D digital anima- tions were made using Inkscape (Linux Ubuntu 8.4), Pivot (Windows XP), and Flash MX 2004 (Windows XP and Mac). A Wacom drawing tablet and stylus were used for digital drawing and tracing. The model that was built for Beware of Pedestrians (Appendix 3A) was adapted for the more openly elemental environment of Antarctica (Figure 8.32).

Figure 8.32. (Left) Lisa Roberts, Model built for Beware of Pedestrians, Animated film (1995); (Centre and Right) Models built for Estranged and Erebus voices, Digital animations (2007; 2008)

The original model could not be used because it had been constructed in an ob- solete animation programme, Autodesk Animator Pro (Windows 3.1). Pivot (Win- dows XP) was chosen as the most appropriate software to rebuild and animate this polymorphic form. Image sequences generated in Pivot can be imported into Flash. Bitmap image sequences can be traced by using the Flash ‘trace bitmap’ function to convert them to vector graphic forms. These forms can then be combined with other animations created within, or imported into, the Flash environment. Polymorphic forms can be constructed in Pivot with dots and lines. This means that dots that join lines can be moved to manipulate the model to create key frames for animating with tweens. Tweens are the frames between key frames that create the illusion of movement. Tweens are automatically generated in Pivot

210 Appendix 6: Production process and in Flash. Tweening creates clean-cut lines appropriate to representing elemental forces. Clarity of gesture and line allows for clear representations of energy flows through space and time. The lines can be used to reveal correlations between internal structures of the human form and structures within the ecosystem. Output options. Completed animations are exported as Shockwave files (.swf), for online display, as movie files (.avi) for presentation software, and as picture se- quences (.jpg) for video editing and print. Technical summary. Computer operating systems used are Linux Ubuntu, Windows XP, and Macintosh G4. Equipment used includes a rostrum digital cam- era, a hand-held digital video camera, a Wacom digital drawing tablet, a A4 flatbed scanner, a digital Zoom sound recorder, and various computers. Traditional draw- ing materials used are pencils, ink and paper. Technical terms. Digital-drawing: Drawing directly into image or animation programmes. Although usually achieved by using a drawing tablet and stylus, a common mouse can be used. Digital-tracing: Tracing art work on paper directly into an image or within animation programmes, and frame-by-frame line tracing over real-time video footage. Although usually achieved by using a drawing tablet and stylus, a mouse can be used. This method is also known as rotoscoping. Tweening: The process of drawing images between key frames in an anima- tion time-line. This can be achieved by Digital drawing frame-by-frame or rendered automatically by using tweening tools within animation software programmes. Straight-ahead: Animations made through improvised, spontaneous, un- planned drawings, made frame-by-frame, or manipulation of objects pho- tographed frame-by-frame. This method was highly developed in works of Norman McLaren and Len Lye (McLaren, 1940);(Lye, 1929). Stop-motion: Animations made through manipulations of objects photo- graphed frame-by-frame. Objects are moved in small increments between individually photographed frames. Scanning: A4 flatbed scanner is used to generate and import digital images for use in animation software. Simulated-drawing: Lines are animated to simulate the gestures that have originally been used to draw. To achieve the illusion of a drawing being made, lines of the drawing are erased frame by frame, and then the order of the animation frames is reversed (backwards animating). Simulated-writing: Lines are animated to simulate the gestures that have originally been used to write. To achieve the illusion of hand writing, words are erased frame by frame, and then the order of the frames is reversed (backwards animating).

211 Appendix 7: Animation interfaces

When opening the home page of the website, www.antarcticanimation.com, you see what may at first look like randomly moving forms. These are water molecules performing a cyclic dance of freezing and melting. As the molecules freeze they slowly attach to each other to form patterns. As they warm they speed up and move apart. (This sequence is used to introduce Energies.) Combined with this view of water and ice are footprints of a penguin that appear as if see from beneath. They could also be footprints viewed from above. A visualisation of sea ice forming is combined with the mark of a creature who traces its presence in the ice. Scientific data is combined with a gesture (standing on ice) that invites an empathic response. Like all the animations presented on the site, the sequence of still and moving images invites different readings. The orderly arrangement of links (on the left hand side) belies the complex web of interactions that helped to shape the website and the animations (Figure 5.1). The Chronovenn view of the research log provides an animated display of these interactions through time (Tey, 2008). As you enter the link to Animations human footprints appear to tread on ice. The prints appear as if seen by creatures that swim beneath, like those in Herzog’s film, Encounters at the end of the world (Herzog, 2007). Sound, by artist Jon Hizzard, evokes an ancient ritual. Bells echo the rhythm of slow treading feet. A sense of human presence, in Antarctic space and time, seems to be held between each note. As the white space fades to black, plucked stringed instruments evoke melting crystals of ice. Particles spiral and circle like mandalas. Spiraling circling particles represent key micro and macro elements within the Antarctic ecosystem. Experiments were made in ways to display animations online. Designs for screen layouts began as drawings on paper and were then coded in Hyper Text Markup Language (HTML), using the open source software, Bluefish. Interfaces display various arrangements of animations: • Insights • Energies • Elements • Encounters • Thesaurus • INDEX Apart from INDEX, the list of interfaces that appears when the link to Animations is opened reflects their evolution from the Thesaurus. Between the Thesaurus and Insights, interfaces display arrangements of increasing coherence, depth, and focus.

212 Appendix 7: Animation interfaces

The INDEX is an alphabetical list of animations from which the interfaces were composed. Insights is a silent animation that stands alone as an interface (Figure 8.33).

Figure 8.33. Lisa Roberts, Antarctic Insights, Animation inter- face (2009)

Energies is the most developed interface (Figure 8.34).

Figure 8.34. Lisa Roberts, Lisa Roberts, Antarctic Energies, Animation interface (2009)

213 Appendix 7: Animation interfaces

Lexical icons link to displays of the animation as a whole or as individual scenes. The whole animation runs for ten minutes. While animating Energies, the circle, spiral and cross emerged as trace forms that connect the human structure to similar structures within the Antarctic ecosystem. This animation is discussed in detail in the Chapter 6, Antarctic Animation. In Elements, six sequences of animations represent six elements of the natural environment: Life, Air, Fire, Rock, Ice, Water. Animations from Encounters, and others specially made, were combined to create the sequences and present them online (Figure 8.35). This experiment lacks the sense of unity that was achieved in Energies. However, in order to be transparent about the creative process, it has been kept publicly accessible to indicate the sequential development of the more unified view that followed.

Figure 8.35. Lisa Roberts, Antarctic Elements, Animation in- terface (2007-2010)

Each sequence in Elements is accompanied by words of scientists and other expeditioners The words were included to suggest different meanings to the anima- tions. The animation CO 2 (Figure 8.36) was specially made for the Elements inter- face. It appears in Life and Air. This pulsing gestural form represents the dynamic

Figure 8.36. Lisa Roberts, CO 2, Digital animation (2008) structure of a carbon dioxide molecule. One grey carbon atom is attached to two red atoms of oxygen. It’s motion was made slower than naturally occurs, to connect

214 Appendix 7: Animation interfaces to the rhythm of human breath. When viewed with different texts, this form can be read in different ways. For example, when viewed with words by marine scientist, Steve Nicol (Ap- pendix 1E), the form may be understood as a scientific model, with its pulsing suggesting human presence. When viewed words by Ward, the same gesture may be read to mean reverberations of sound: I did a lot on the physics of sound . . . and I suppose that helped make me conscious of the nature of sound and the things which produce sound, the reverberations that develop . . . in a way made me interested in the winds of the Antarctic. Depending where they came from, they had different tones and styles, short of the absolutely frightening crashing roar of the blizzards . . . (Ward, 2007). Encounters is an interface for displaying animations that reflect how expeditioners, scientists, and other artists have responded to Antarctica (Figure 8.37). Animations are identified by iconography and arranged more or less according to when they were begun. The iconography has been carried over into the Animation Index, and throughout the exegesis (in print and on CD). Encounters animations are arranged on the website within a linear, narrative structure. Information screens behind each animation display their provenance. By clicking on forwards buttons (>) that appear with the animations, lines from a prose poem can be read in sequence. The poem combines insights that were shared by Antarctic expeditioners, scientists, and other artists:4

Oceans warm, water expands. Sea levels rise. Ice falls through gusts of wind: thoughts of Antarctica. Antarctica is a place of extremes, contrasts, and contradictions. People are self-contained and move from place to place. The wind clutches your breath away and snow streams into your mouth. The wind blows all the time. But now and again it stops. You feel the word lives for the first time, estranged as soon as it is spoken. Bitumen beneath fast cars conceals Gondwanan fossils. Earth history is archived in Antarctic ice. Oceans warm. Diatoms die. Their skeletons sink. Layer upon layer they sequester carbon dioxide. There is more CO2 in the air than they can deal with. Sea butterflies cannot escape the hazard of the acids. Melting glaciers pour into the burdened sea. Sounds like bird calls come from the ice. 4 Editorial assistance with the prose poem was received from Kathryn Yeo.

215 Appendix 7: Animation interfaces

Rock evokes tremendous forces. Mountains may not be solid things. They may be bodies of cells; masses of communicating dots. Glaciers scraped smooth the rock that plays host to Mawson station. Antarctica registers changes in the world. I let myself go and imagine myself a creature of the sea. Sounds of Antarctica converge in a city. Always: landscape electric with human desire and oceanic need to survive. Microscopic life forms dance. Ancient bubbles of air trapped in ice cores are measured for chemical changes. The concentration of carbon dioxide is now higher than at any other time in the last 850,000 years. Len Lye had this concept of the Old Brain: trapped in the core of our minds are ancient remnants of knowledge. I am glad you are seeing the beauty in the scientific data. Lines of motion reflect the rhythms of the Milankovitch cycles: eccentric orbit of Earth around sun; oblique tilt of Earth on its axis; precessional wobble around it. Body motion evokes cellular memories. ‘There’s something about this little figure that reminds me of Antarctica.’ ‘Yes, isn’t she lovely, sailing along there.’ ‘She could be me,’ we said, from other sides of the world. Spiraling lines trace my dance. A long whine comes from the ice. I find balance. And there is humour. The cross is the core of our human form. ‘Earth-Mother’ is becoming an ‘Earth-Child’ in our collective conscience. What happens when our central core is thrown out of kilter? We drift towards things we cannot posses. What if Antarctica was in your mind? It’s all, it’s all just so simple . . . with some sort of feel for it. Once upon a time . . . we broke apart. Yet we are here . . . and we are whole.

216 Appendix 7: Animation interfaces

Figure 8.37. Lisa Roberts, Encounters, Animation interface (2007-2010)

Beside each Encounters animation, an icon, ‘i’ (Figure 8.38) links to information about provenance.

Figure 8.38. Icon for information screens

Links from information screens invite viewers to comment through the research log. For example, as Estranged evolved, an Information screen explains that the drawings and words in the animation were made by other artists in response to hearing words read from an expeditioner’s diary. Ward’s words, ‘You feel the word lives for the first time, estranged as soon as it is spoken’, provided the stimulus for gestures and drawings that appear as key frames in the animation. Credits are also displayed. The Comments link to the log was emailed to participants and peers, to invite responses to the animation. For example, artist, Peter Charuk wrote, The animation evokes a human (?) presence rising out of the ice of Antarctica but the figure is transformed into a primordial anthropomorphic wind creature giving birth to icicles, wind and other objects (Charuk in Roberts, 2007a). Expeditioner and artist, Fred Elliott, wrote, . . . the animation reminds me that Antarctica is made up largely of flowing ice, air and water. . . . I believe that the description of a subject in art should have a great deal of intrinsic value which springs from the artist’s own vision/thinking. . . . I sat running your animation through and through many times and, apart from the music which I found a bit distracting, I found it 217 Appendix 7: Animation interfaces

a mesmerising experience in its own right, as well as telling me something of your personal Antarctica. Sensuous, I think is a good word with maybe a touch of sensuality as well (Elliott in Roberts, 2007a). After reading Fred’s comment I realised that the sound did need to be changed to more closely match my response. Such an interactive process was integral to the development of the animations. Since the start of the project, information had been gathered and arranged in alphabetical order in order to build an Antarctic Thesaurus (Figure 8.39). As a research tool, the purpose of the thesaurus was twofold. First, to catalogue texts from which to select to develop animations. Second, to display animations alongside source texts as another way to combine scientific and subjective responses. Although the thesaurus works more as a holding bay than an effective display space, it does allow for serendipitous connections to be made between the animations and other Antarctic texts. Throughout the thesaurus, animations are linked to related texts. For example, under ‘a’, information about acidification, atmosphere, Aqualux (Charuk, 2005), aurora, and Aurora are brought together through the animation, Finale.

Figure 8.39. Lisa Roberts, Antarctic Thesaurus, Animation in- terface (2007-2010)

Figure 8.41 shows scientific data (See thesaurus link, ‘acidification’) that visu- ally represents changes happening to coccolithophorids due to ocean acidification. After reading the scientific text, the downward-flowing lines in the animation may be seen to mean carbon dioxide falling into the sea to upset the chemical balance. The animated gestures and lines connect the data to the viewer through their senses.

218 Appendix 7: Animation interfaces

Figure 8.40. Peter Charuk, Still from the immersive video in- stallation, Aqualux II (2005), where ‘two diverse video sequences provide an editing ‘gestalt’ between the two stereo views of the image - a seal morphs into one of the scientists’ (in conversation with Charuk, 2010).

Figure 8.41. (Left) Shell plate development of the coccol- ithophorid, Emiliania huxleyi, under current atmospheric carbon dioxide levels. (Right) Incomplete shell plate growth under higher carbon dioxide concentrations. J. Cubillos, Electron scanning pho- tographs, 2009 (Cubillos in Antdiv, 2009)

Key texts used throughout the thesaurus are word definitions from the Antarctic Dictionary (Hince, 2000) and texts in various media contributed by artists and scientists. Figures 8.40, 8.41 and 8.42 show gestures and lines that are used by both communites to appeal to our senses in order to connect us to scientific information about our changing environment. The Antarctic Thesaurus will continue to evolve to reflect perceptions that are expanded through the art and science of climate change research. Antarctic Animation interfaces are displays of animations that combine gestures and lines used by artists and scientists to decribe a changing environment. Further work is planned to develop an animated interface that displays connections between fragments of information about climate change gleaned from Antarctica and other places. 219 Appendix 7: Animation interfaces

Figure 8.42. Karin Beaumont, Cocco Pins, Powder-coated cop- per (2008). Beaumont is a scientist and an artist who understands that ‘Coccolithophorids are calcareous plankton [that] exist in our oceans today. However, like many marine plankton, their existence is threatened by climate change due to excess carbon dioxide acid- ifying our oceans. The acid erodes the calcareous scales of these plankton’ (Beaumont in Roberts, 2008m).

220 List of Figures

1.1 Lisa Roberts, Lens (Water sky), Pencil on notebook paper (detail) (2002) 2 1.2 Lisa Roberts, Watery Calligraphy (Waves), Pen and ink on notebook paper (detail) (2002) 3 1.3 Lisa Roberts, ‘Change’ (42 days, Day 09 2002), Digital print (Detail) (2002) 3 1.4 Lisa Roberts, Trace of body motion through the Southern Ocean, 31 Jan 2002, Pen and ink on notebook paper (2002) 4 1.5 Lisa Roberts, Drawing in Imagining A Different View, Digital animation on CD-ROM (2003) 4 1.6 Lisa Roberts, ‘Berg’ (Day 08, 2002), Digital print (2003) 5 1.7 Lisa Roberts, Day 13, 2002, 42 Days, Animated interactive CD-ROM (2003) 6 1.8 Lisa Roberts, ‘katabatic’ (Day 31, 2002), Digital print (2003) 6

2.1 Franciscus Monachus, The Western Hemisphere in the World, Map (1529) 9 2.2 Nell Law, First emblem for the Australian National Research Expeditions (ANARE) (1947) 16 2.3 Jan Senbergs, Mawson, Acrylic on canvas, 1987 (Boyer and Kolenberg, 1988, p.26, Illus.) 17 2.4 Herbert Ponting, A Grotto in an Iceberg, Photograph (Ponting in Ponting, 2001, p.68, Illus.) 19 2.5 Attributed to William Hodges, Ice Islands with Ice Blink, Painting (1773) 21 2.6 Anne Noble, Wilhelmina Bay, Antarctica, Pigment print on paper (2005) 22 2.7 Anne Noble, Maps (Biscuit, 1950’s board game, balloon) (2008) Online images 23 2.8 Phillip Law, ANARE Weasel No 2 on the sea ice alongside the Kista Dan, Photograph (1954) Online image 23 2.9 Fred Elliott, Fearn Hill, Masson Range, Antarctica, Photolithograph, 1955 (1997a) 24 2.10 Fred Elliott, Photograph of Masson Range, Antarctica, Photograph and Masson Range, Antarctica, 1955, Annotated drawing (Elliott, 1955);(Elliott, 2007) 25 2.11 Joyce Campbell, Ice Ghoul, Daguerreotype (Campbell in McCredie, 2007, p.24, Illus.) 28

221 List of Figures

2.12 Siobhan Davies, Endangered Species, Video installation, 2006 (Davies in Buckland, 2006a, p.93, Illus.) 29

3.1 Jorg Schmeisser, I Am Leaving, Water colour, 2002 (Schmeisser in Andrews, 2007, p.239, Illus.) 32 3.2 Mary E. White, The Living Earth, Digitally enhanced satellite photograph (White, 2003, p.xvi, Illus.) 33 3.3 Jo Whittaker, Seismic image of Antarctic ice at McMurdo Sound (Whittaker in Roberts, 2010c) 34 3.4 Chris Drury Explorers at the Edge of the Void, Ink on inkjet print from an echogram (detail), 2007 (Drury in Gooding, 2007, p.32, Illus.) 34 3.5 Chris Drury, Wind Vortex, Ink jet print, 2007 (Drury in Gooding, 2007, p.22, Illus.) 36 3.6 Andrea Juan, Metano (Methane), Performance installation, Primera Bienal del Fin del Mundo, Ushuaia, Antarctic 2005 (Juan, 2008a) Online image 37 3.7 Rodolfo del Valle, Geopaleo y Cambio Global (Paleogeology and Global Change), Presentation image, Sur Polar exhibition-conference, Buenos Aires (del Valle, 2008) 37 3.8 Andrea Juan, Metano (Methane), Performance installation, Primera Bienal del Fin del Mundo, Ushuaia, Antarctica, 2005 (Juan, 2008a) Online image 38 3.9 Karin Beaumont, (Left) Coccolithophorid, Pierced brooch, Sterling silver, 2008. (Right) Cocco Cone Argentina, Sterling silver, 2008 (Beaumont in Roberts, 2008m, Illus.) 39 3.10 Karin Beaumont, Masked minutae Illusion, Acrylic, sterling silver, 2007 40 3.11 Uwe Kils, Antarctic krill, Euphausia superba, Photograph, 1982 (Kils, 1982, Illus.) 41 3.12 Steve Nicol, Krill in formalin, Photograph (2008) (Nicol, 2008, Illus.) 41 3.13 Uwe Kils, Pleopod beat time series. Lateral view during soft beat, medium beat (middle) and intense beat (below) of krill, Diagram in online PhD thesis, 1982 (Kils, 1982, Illus.) 42 3.14 Uwe Kils, Flow field of a soft pleopod beat (left) of an intense beat (right), Diagram, 1982 (Kils, 1982, Illus.) 43 3.15 NASA Earth Observatory, Antarctic Ozone Hole, Satellite images, 1979-2008 (On-line images in NASA, 2009) 43 3.16 Australian Antarctic Division Data Centre, Heard Island Deployment 2003/04 (2004) Interactive interface (Antdiv, 2004c) 44 3.17 The Mandelbrot set ‘is the black region and has an infinitely intricate boundary. Copies of the whole structure can be found on any scale of the boundary, no matter how small’ (Barrow, 2008, p. 380, Illus.). 45

222 List of Figures

3.18 United States Geological Survey, Sea Ice During 1991, Satellite images (United States Geological Survey, 1991) 46 3.19 Bronwyn Judge, Circulus Antarcticus, Choreography (2003) Rehearsal photograph courtesy of the artist (Judge, 2003) 48 3.20 Bronwyn Judge, Circulus Antarcticus, Video installation recorded on DVD (2003) 48 3.21 Maresa Von Stockert, Ice Floe scene from the ballet, Glacier (2008) 50 3.22 Larysa Fabok, Breath, Digital animation (2007) 51 3.23 Herbert Ponting, Adelie Penguin and Sled Tracks Crossing, Photograph (1911) (Ponting in Glasberg, 2007, p.21, Illus.) 52 3.24 Bea Maddock, Photocopies of pages 1-4 in the 1991 artist book, To the Ice (1991) Courtesy of the artist (2008) 52 3.25 Bea Maddock, To the Ice, Artist’s book of 123 pages, cibachrome photograph, relief etching, intaglio, letterpress on paper (1991) (Maddock in Andrews, 2007, p.173, Illus.) 53 3.26 Stephen Eastaugh, Finding Yourself Lost, Drawing (2007) (Eastaugh in Eastaugh, 2007a, Illus.) 54 3.27 Stephen Eastaugh, Intimate Slots, Mixed media (2000b) 54 3.28 Stephen Eastaugh, Casey Base, Ink on Tarpaulin (2000a) 55 3.29 Hans, Man Sculpted by Antarctica, Carved oregon timber (1977) Photograph courtesy Ian Phillips, 2007 (Hans in Roberts, 2010f, Illus.) 56 3.30 Stephen Eastaugh, Head Home (2003) Photograph courtesy Ian Phillips, 2007 (Eastaugh in Roberts, 2010f, Illus.) 57 3.31 Bea Maddock, Terra spiritus: a darker shade of pale, First of 50 drawings: LOW.WON.TUME.ME.TER (Lake Pedder region) LINE.NE.LOOM.MA (Low country Cox Bight) LOIN.NE.KUM.ME (Arthur Range) KRIB.BIG.GER.RER (Country of Cox Bight) (1998) (Online image) 58 3.32 Pamen Pereira, Vistas isometricas del continente (Isometric views of the Antarctic continent from the Weddel Sea), Smoke drawing on fabric (2006) (Pereira in Juan, 2008b, p.15, Illus.) 59 3.33 Philippe Boissonnet, Earth Mother is becoming Earth Child (En perdre le nord), Digital photographic installation (detail), Museo de la Universidad Nacional de Tres de Febrero, Buenos Aires (2008) 60 3.34 Lorraine Beaulieu, Drapeaux (flags), Cyanotype fabric installation, Museo de la Universidad Nacional de Tres de Febrero, Buenos Aires (2008) (Fragility entry, Antarctic thesaurus, Roberts, 2009e) 61

4.1 Lisa Roberts, Drawing of Great Ape Gesture, Pencil on notebook paper (2007) 62

223 List of Figures

4.2 Lisa Roberts, Elemental trace forms, Pencil drawing on notebook paper, from Watts, 1977, p.13: The Four Fundamental Movement Trace Forms: Droit (straight), Ouvert (opening curve), Ronde (closing curve) and Tortille (twisted) (2009) 63 4.3 Aaron Meeks, Singing Up Country, Acrylic on canvas (2007) 65 4.4 Vikki Quill demonstrates her method of calligraphy at the College of Fine Arts, University of New South Wales, 2008. 66 4.5 Vikki Quill, Earth, Ink on paper (2005) (Quill in Quill, 2008, Illus.) 66 4.6 Lisa Roberts, Laban’s Space Harmony Crystal (2008), Pencil on notebook paper. From Jean Newlove and John Dalby (2004) 69 4.7 The Dimensional Scale with an Eight Swing resembles the elemental looping gesture of a Great Ape (Laban in Winearls, 1978, p.98, Illus.) 69 4.8 Rudolf Laban, from Sketches of the ’Scales’, Laban Centre Archives, no date (Laban in Louppe et al., 1994, p.80, Illus.) 70 4.9 Rena Czaplinska, Drawing gesture, Ink and charcoal on paper (2007) (Czaplinska in Roberts, 2010d) 71 4.10 Johanna Exiner and Phillis Lloyd, Movement Dial, 1977 (Exiner and Lloyd, 1977, p. 4, Illus.) 72 4.11 Elaine Russell, The Hairy One (Russell and Notely, 2009, p.11, Illus.) 72 4.12 Vanessa Collingridge, Cup and ring marks in Kilmartin, Argyllshire, Scotland, 2006. Photograph courtesy Collingridge, 2008. (Working photograph in Roberts, 2010d) 73 4.13 Lisa Roberts, Spiral in the head of Freud, from Dali, Pencil on notebook paper (2008) 74 4.14 United States Geological Survey, The geological history of Earth over 4.5 billion years (2008) (United States Geological Survey, 2008) 74 4.15 Jules-Etienne Marey, Diagram of a Jumping Figure. From a Chronophotograph (c.1885) (Marey in Lawder, 1975, p.9, Illus.) 75 4.16 From F. A. Talbot, Moving Pictures, London (1912) (Lawder, 1975, p. 16, Illus.) 76 4.17 Al Gore, An Inconvenient Truth, Images from Gore’s presentation (2006) (Gore in Wowkodos, 2007, Illus.) 77 4.18 Emile Cohl, Fantasmagorie, Animated film (1908), (Cohl in Leslie, 2002, p.3, Illus.) 78 4.19 Norman McLaren working at the National Film Board of Canada (1944, Illus.) 79 4.20 Norman McLaren, Landscape (no date) (McLaren in McWilliams, 1991) 79 4.21 Len Lye, Drawing (Sea), Pencil on paper (c.1930) (Len Lye in Cann and Curnow, 2009, p.xiv, Illus.) 80

224 List of Figures

4.22 Len Lye, Tusalava (Just the Same), Animated film (1929) (Cann and Curnow, 2009, p.69, Illus.) 81

5.1 Flows of interactions that shaped the animations 84 5.2 Robert Tey, Chronovenn (2008) Colours have been inverted for readability in print form. 86 5.3 Lisa Roberts, Osborne dancers, Pencil on paper (2008) 88 5.4 Lisa Roberts, Internal, Peripheral and External spaces, Pencil drawing on notebook paper (2003) 89 5.5 Lisa Roberts, Trace form of dancer ‘opening and closing’, Pencil on paper (2008) 90 5.6 Lisa Roberts, Extract of lesson plans for Body Awareness workshop (27 May, 1979) 91 5.7 Lisa Roberts, Antarctic krill: Euphausia superba Pencil on notebook paper (2009) 94 5.8 Lisa Roberts, Circling dancer (2008) 94 5.9 Lisa Roberts, Antarctic benthos: sea floor life, Pencil on notebook paper (2004) 95 5.10 Lisa Roberts with Steve Nicol, How Antarctic ice works, Drawing on notebook paper (2009) 95 5.11 Lisa Roberts, Eccentricity, Pencil on notebook paper (2008) 96 5.12 Lisa Roberts, Masson Range from Elliott, Pencil on notebook paper (2007) 97 5.13 Lisa Roberts, Boy moon and Icarus, Pencil drawing on journal page (2007) 97 5.14 Lisa Roberts, Antarctic head (from Boissonnet) (2009) 98 5.15 Lisa Roberts, Ancient mariner (from Coleridge), Pencil on notebook paper (2008) 98 5.16 Digitally tracing data sets of sea levels rising 99 5.17 Digitally tracing drawings of krill 99 5.18 Lisa Roberts, Stills from video recording of bottom water circulation gesture (2008) 100 5.19 Lisa Roberts, Bubbles in the ice, Digital animation (2008) 101 5.20 Lisa Roberts, Cardiograph, Digital drawing (2008) 102 5.21 Lisa Roberts, (Left) Ice turning and (Left) Ice mirror, Mixed media works on primed fire paper (2009) 103 5.22 Lisa Roberts, Cool me cocco, Engraved glass bottle with thermometer (recycled) (2010) 104 5.23 Lisa Roberts, Core images 01, Engraved Perspex (2009) 105 5.24 Lisa Roberts, Sea levels rising 01, Engraved Perspex (2007) 106

225 List of Figures

5.25 Lisa Roberts, Antarctica registers changes, Engraved Perspex (2009) 107

6.1 Lisa Roberts, Insights, Digital animation (2009) 108 6.2 Lisa Roberts, 350, Digital animation (2009) 109 6.3 (Left) Jaime Gómez-Gutiérrez, Video capture of krill egg (Gómez- Gutiérrez, 2002). (Right) Lisa Roberts, Energies: Turning cycle, Digital animation (2009) 111 6.4 Lisa Roberts, Energies: Berglife, Digital animation (2009) 111 6.5 Lisa Roberts, Energies: How do krill grow?, Digital animation (2009) 112 6.6 Lisa Roberts, Energies: Krill watching, Digital animation (2009) 112 6.7 Lisa Roberts, Energies, Digital animation 113 6.8 Lisa Roberts, Energies, Digital animation (2009) 113 6.9 Lisa Roberts, Energies, Digital animation (2009) 113 6.10 Lisa Roberts, Energies: Diatoms, Digital animation (2009) 114 6.11 Lisa Roberts, Energies: Sea Ice, Digital animation (2009) 114 6.12 Lisa Roberts, Energies: Water energy, Digital animation (2009) 115 6.13 Lisa Roberts, Energies: Water energy, Digital animation (2009) 115 6.14 Lisa Roberts, Energies: Bottom water circulation, Digital animation (2009) 115 6.15 Lisa Roberts, Energies: Diatoms, Digital animation (2009) 116 6.16 Lisa Roberts, Energies: Sea levels are rising, Digital animation (2008) 116 6.17 Lisa Roberts, Energies: Wind gathering, Digital animation (2009) 116 6.18 Lisa Roberts, Energies: Finale, Digital animation (2009) 117 6.19 Lisa Roberts, Energies: Finale, Digital animation (2009) (2009d) 117 6.20 Lisa Roberts, Energies: Finale, Digital animation (2009) 118 6.21 Lisa Roberts, Energies: Sea levels are rising, Digital animation (2009) 118

7.1 Christine McMillan, Connecting to everything and An edge to the meanings of words, Pencil on paper (2008) 125 7.2 Kim Holten, Connectivity, Pencil on paper (2008) 125 7.3 Christine McMillan, Architectural response, Pencil on paper (2008) 127 7.4 John Smith, Totem, Pencil on paper (2008) 127 7.5 Yoris Everaerts, Dance gestures 01, Pencil on paper (2008) 128 7.6 Kim Holten, Connectedness fusion oneness, Pencil on paper (2008) 128 7.7 (Left) John Smith, Totem, Pencil on paper (2008) (Right) Lisa Roberts, Connectivity, Digital animation (2008) 130 7.8 Lisa Roberts, Connectivity, Digital animation (2008) 130 7.9 Lisa Roberts, Connectivity, Digital animation (2008) 131 7.10 Lisa Roberts, Connectivity, Digital animation (2008) 131

226 List of Figures

7.11 Lisa Roberts, Connectivity, Digital animation (2008) 132 7.12 Lisa Roberts, Glacial cycles, Digital animation (2008a) 134 7.13 Lisa Roberts, Glacial cycles, Digital animation (2008) 134 7.14 Lisa Roberts, Glacial cycles, Digital animation (2008) 135 7.15 Wikipedia, Milankovitch cycles, Data set referred by Dominic Hodgson (Hodgson, 2008c) 135 7.16 Lisa Roberts, Ice Sound, Digital animation (2007) 140 7.17 Lisa Roberts, Oceanic Minds, Engraved Perspex sheets and acrylic thread (2007) 142 7.18 Lisa Roberts, Sounds like bird calls come from the ice, Engraved Perspex with acrylic inlay (2009) 143

8.1 Rena Czaplinska, Gesture and drawing, made during movement improvisation workshops (2008) 146 8.2 The 3rd GLOBEC Open Science Meeting (GLOBEC) in Canada, June 2009. Photo courtesy Jaime Gómez-Gutiérrez (Gómez-Gutiérrez in Roberts, 2009f, Illus.) 148 8.3 Lisa Roberts, Krill logo, Digital drawing (Peterson, 2009, Illus. p.40) 148 8.4 Phil Dadson improvised with sounds of Antarctic rock and water at the Sur Polar conference presentation, Buenos Aires (2008) 150 8.5 Lisa Roberts, Fleuro Zooplankton 01, 2007, Engraved fluorescent Perspex (Roberts in Juan, 2008b, p.29, Illus.) 150 8.6 (Left) Karin Beaumont, Shining stars, Sur Polar installation, Buenos Aires (2008) (Beaumont in Juan, 2008b, p.45, Illus.) (Right) Lisa Roberts, Ancient mariners, Digital animation (2008) 151 8.7 Lenton Parr, Emblem of the Victorian College of the Arts, 1972 . 157

8.8 Lisa Roberts with Jack Ward (left) and Fred Elliott, Melbourne, Photos by Elliott and Ward (2007) 161 8.9 Sydney Nolan, Antarctic camp, Oil on composition board, 1964 (Nolan in James, 2007, p. 40) 162 8.10 Pamen Pereira, Buenos Aires. Photo by Lisa Roberts (2008) 165 8.11 Lisa Roberts, Eccentricity, Pencil on notebook paper (2009). Drawn from remembering drawings made by Dominic Hodgson 168 8.12 Siobhan Davies, Endangered Species, Video installation, 2006 (Davies in Buckland, 2006a, p.93, Illus.) 173 8.13 Jo Whittacker at McMurdo, Antarctica (2005) 181

8.14 The 3rd GLOBEC Open Science Meeting (GLOBEC) in Canada, June 2009. Photo courtesy Jaime Gómez-Gutiérrez (Gómez-Gutiérrez in Roberts, 2009f, Illus.) 191

227 List of Figures

8.15 Lines of force moving through the body can be represented by polygons (shapes) and vectors (lines of force). Jon Parsons and Nicholas Marcer, Modeling the effects of the polygons of force (Parsons and Marcer, 2006, Illus.) 194 8.16 Three points within the body (red dots) are significant in maintaining structural balance. Lisa Roberts, Digital model constructed for Beware of Pedestrians, 1995 (Roberts, 1995a);(Working drawing in Roberts, 2010d) 195 8.17 As if to explore different ways to inhabit and affect a shared space, two forms evolve, transform, and interact. Lisa Roberts, Beware of Pedestrians, Digital animation transferred to 16mm film (1995a) 196 8.18 Lisa Roberts, Beware of Pedestrians, Digital animation transferred to 16mm film (1995a) 196 8.19 Lisa Roberts, Beware of Pedestrians, 16mm Animated film (1995a) 197 8.20 Lisa Roberts, Beware of Pedestrians, Digital animation transferred to 16mm film (1995a) 197 8.21 Lisa Roberts, Beware of Pedestrians, Digital animation transferred to 16mm film (Roberts, 1995a) 198 8.22 Lisa Roberts and Melissa Smith, Roget’s Circular, Animated interactive touch screen in a suitcase installation, Gallery 101, Melbourne, 2001 199 8.23 Lisa Roberts, Terra Incognita, Interactive site map (2000) 200 8.24 Lisa Roberts and Melissa Smith, Roget’s Circular, Journal entry, 12 January 1999 (Screen shot) (Roberts and Smith, 2001) 200 8.25 Lisa Roberts and Melissa Smith, Roget’s Circular, Journal entry, 26 January 1999 (Screen shot) (Roberts and Smith, 2001) 201 8.26 Annabel Apps, Phil Kelly and Lisa Roberts, A Little Skiting on the Side, Animated interactive CD-Rom (Apps and Kelly, 2000) 203 8.27 Annabel Apps, Phil Kelly and Lisa Roberts, A Little Skiting on the Side, Animated interactive CD-Rom (Apps and Kelly, 2000) 204

8.28 Kim Holten, Words written while imagining Antarctica (2008) 207 8.29 Lisa Roberts, Connecting spiral 01, Pencil on paper (2008) 208 8.30 Yoris Everaerts, Rena Czaplinska and Christine McMillan take turns to read, dance, and draw. College of Fine Arts, University of New South Wales, Sydney (2008) 208 8.31 Fred Elliott, Fearn Hill, Masson Range (1997b) 209

8.32 (Left) Lisa Roberts, Model built for Beware of Pedestrians, Animated film (1995); (Centre and Right) Models built for Estranged and Erebus voices, Digital animations (2007; 2008) 210

8.33 Lisa Roberts, Antarctic Insights, Animation interface (2009) 213

228 List of Figures

8.34 Lisa Roberts, Lisa Roberts, Antarctic Energies, Animation interface (2009) 213 8.35 Lisa Roberts, Antarctic Elements, Animation interface (2007-2010) 214 8.36 Lisa Roberts, CO 2, Digital animation (2008) 214 8.37 Lisa Roberts, Encounters, Animation interface (2007-2010) 217 8.38 Icon for information screens 217 8.39 Lisa Roberts, Antarctic Thesaurus, Animation interface (2007-2010) 218 8.40 Peter Charuk, Still from the immersive video installation, Aqualux II (2005), where ‘two diverse video sequences provide an editing ‘gestalt’ between the two stereo views of the image - a seal morphs into one of the scientists’ (in conversation with Charuk, 2010). 219 8.41 (Left) Shell plate development of the coccolithophorid, Emiliania huxleyi, under current atmospheric carbon dioxide levels. (Right) Incomplete shell plate growth under higher carbon dioxide concentrations. J. Cubillos, Electron scanning photographs, 2009 (Cubillos in Antdiv, 2009) 219 8.42 Karin Beaumont, Cocco Pins, Powder-coated copper (2008). Beaumont is a scientist and an artist who understands that ‘Coccolithophorids are calcareous plankton [that] exist in our oceans today. However, like many marine plankton, their existence is threatened by climate change due to excess carbon dioxide acidifying our oceans. The acid erodes the calcareous scales of these plankton’ (Beaumont in Roberts, 2008m). 220

229 List of Tables

8.1 Eight Effort Actions adapted from Laban (Exiner and Kelynack, 1994, p.68) 206

230 Bibliography

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