Beyond its simple valorisation as a symbol of knowledge and progress in
post-Enlightenment narratives, light was central to the visual politics and
imaginative geographies of empire. Empires of Light describes how imperial
designations of ‘cities of light’ and ‘hearts of darkness’ were consonant with
the dynamic material culture of light in the nineteenth-century
industrialisation of light (in homes, streets, theatres, etc.) and its
instrumentalisation through industries of representation. Empires of Light
studies the material effects of light as power through the drama of imperial
vision and its engagement with colonial India. It evaluates responses by the
celebrated Indian painter Ravi Varma (1848–1906) to claim the centrality of
light in imperial technologies of vision, not merely as an ideological effect
but as a material presence that produces spaces and inscribes bodies.
This book examines the role of political likenesses in a half-century that was crucial for the political modernisation of Britain, a two-party system that began to take shape and politicians became increasingly accountable and responsive to public opinion. Political language, especially electoral rhetoric, has been accorded considerable weight by recent studies in building broad coalitions of political support in popular and electoral politics. The book studies political likenesses, the key mode of visual politics at this time, as part of a nuanced analysis of contemporary political culture and the nature of the representative system. It examines a diverse range of material including woven silk portraiture, oil paintings, numismatics and medals, banners, ceramics, statuary and memorials as well as items printed on paper or card. After an analysis of the visual culture spawned by the reform bills of 1831-1832, the book shows how Conservative and Liberal/Reformer identities were visualised through semi-official series of portrait prints. The pictorial press, photographs and portrait testimonials, statues and memorials, MPs were venerated as independent representatives and champions of particular localities, trades, interests or issues, and not party hacks. Depictions of Lord Palmerston and his rivals, including Lord John Russell and Lord Derby, in the 1850s and 1860s often underplayed in pictorial representations to emphasise physical and political vigour. The role of political portraits and cartoons in the decade after the passing of the 1867 Representation of the People Act is also discussed.
the MP films inaugurated the visualpolitics of what historian of
international affairs Michael Barnett has called ‘the age of
neo-humanitarianism’, the period from the end of the Second World War up
to the end of the Cold War. This period was characterised by a new
‘architecture of humanitarianism’, dominated at large by the patterns
established by the United States during the Second World War, which were
choice of destinations, recreational and
holiday opportunities and even the character of the group captured on
camera, the visualpolitics of representation discloses the interplay of
gender, age, physical well-being and ethnicity. Status, whether in familial
terms or as a figure of authority within civic, occupational or
associational setting, either at home or abroad, contributed to how, where
and when filmmakers were able to
There is no soundtrack is a specific yet expansive study of sound tactics deployed in experimental media art today. It analyses how audio and visual elements interact and produce meaning, drawing from works by contemporary media artists ranging from Chantal Akerman, to Nam June Paik, to Tanya Tagaq. It then links these analyses to discussions on silence, voice, noise, listening, the soundscape, and other key ideas in sound studies. In making these connections, the book argues that experimental media art – avant-garde film, video art, performance, installation, and hybrid forms – produces radical and new audio-visual relationships that challenge and destabilize the visually-dominated fields of art history, contemporary art criticism, cinema and media studies, and cultural studies as well as the larger area of the human sciences. This book directly addresses what sound studies scholar Jonathan Sterne calls ‘visual hegemony’. It joins a growing body of interdisciplinary scholarship that is collectively sonifying the study of culture while defying the lack of diversity within the field by focusing on practitioners from transnational and diverse backgrounds. Therefore, the media artists discussed in this book are of interest to scholars and students who are exploring aurality in related disciplines including gender and feminist studies, queer studies, ethnic studies, postcolonial studies, urban studies, environmental analysis, and architecture. As such, There Is No Soundtrack makes meaningful connections between previously disconnected bodies of scholarship to build new, more complex and reverberating frameworks for the study of art, media, and sound.
Portland, OR, Irish Academic Press, 2000, p. vi. An 1890s’
photograph showing the Sikh guns in the rotunda of the Dublin Museum
of Science and Art is in the Lawrence Collection, National
Photographic Archive, National Library of Ireland, Dublin.
For Wheatley’s paintings see Fintan Cullen,
VisualPolitics. The Representation of
-class narrative is conveyed by the visualpolitics of the tea table. Medium shots framing the family around the table in the centre of the room offer a spectacle of working-class life as expressing ‘respectability’ and engaging with the possibilities of the modern home. Towards the end of the scene, as a horn in the distance sounds to mark the beginning of work hours, Sally and Harry leave for work and a static shot once more frames Mrs Hardcastle at the bright white table. The sequence dissolves to a close-up of gravel outside and the chattering of the town’s women visiting
Maryclaire Moroney, ‘The Sweetness of Due Subjection: John Derricke’s
Image of Irelande (1581) and the Sidneys’, Sidney Journal
29:1–2 (2011), pp. 141–65, at pp. 146–8, and Iammarino, Chapter 14 in this volume.
Fintan Cullen, VisualPolitics: The Representation of Ireland,
1750–1930 (Cork: Cork University Press, 1997), p. 7.
Liam Miller, ‘Preface’, in Quinn (ed.), Image of
Irelande , pp. ix–xv, at p. x; Kinsella ( Chapter
Counter-power in photography from slavery to Occupy Wall Street
unresolved climate debt. In Detroit, Ferguson,
Istanbul and many other places, we have learned that each and every one of us
has the right to look and the right to be seen. And in Hong Kong in 2014, we were
asking: how can a city be different from an empire? What does that change look
like? Let’s go and find out.
1 This is a work-in-progress around the concept of the visual commons. My thanks go to
the editors for their interest in publishing it in that format.
Abel, Elizabeth. 2010. Signs of the Times: The VisualPolitics of Jim Crow. Berkeley
The episode of Guzmán’s enthronement with an
improvised baldachin and coat of arms offers a crude replica of the portrait
of Philip II seen earlier, and it takes place to the musical accompaniment
of the recercada by Diego de Ortiz (a further variation on a theme
that is musical, visual, political, etc.). But after this absurd act of
protocol – in the middle of the jungle! – the harshness of
reality imposes itself: there