Jeffrey Weiss has said it v well, indeed so it was true too for us, our suspension, deferral, and change
A - ...a found exhibition
B - Like a found object
A - Yes but without placing it in a gallery. This is a real space unmediated.
B - So like drawing people through the terrain of art and visual culture to certain places or sites?
A - Yes. The curator says 'Here! this is it. Here it is,' ...as opposed to the fabrications of facsimile exhibitions.
B - But why Lucienne?
A - He was an artist with far reaching ideas about the future function of art in society and he was disgusted by the bourgeois world of galleries and the art market. As a pioneer of kinetic art he was the first artist to make interactive sculptures. He himself termed his art 'cybernetic art' because, for him the essence of the work...
B - …if we can talk of essence...
A - was not the mere fact of movement, but the composition of the movement, the programme controlling or conditioning it.
B - okay
A - He designed many projects for interactive sculptures and for light environments in public spaces, to intervene in real space
B - Installations
A - In cooperation with several leading film directors he made a number of films based on the shadows and projections of his sculptures. He also made the first experimental video work to be broadcast on television provoking violent reactions from the French audience.
B - This was broadcast from the studio
A - Yes. Also his ballet mécanique style works provide us with a metaphor for life and performance
B - such as man as a soft machine or wet engineering?
A - as well as movement, light and sound...
B - ...and fury, signifying nothing
A - Exactly.
B - So this is the site...
A - The artist is a site, as is the studio, which was also the scene of the artist's death in 1992. The site as un-fabricated, as an endeavour and as a site of contestation
B - and also the site of the first Centre of Attention found exhibition...
A - There's more to Montmartre than a poke in the eye with a paintbrush
B - I suppose, to predict the future you must change the past.
this blog is a collection of art, writing, music, and films by sino and diasporic sino creators in history. sinθ magazine is an international print-based creative arts magazine made by and for the sino diaspora.
have you eaten? mother asks
very well, very well! of course, I say
intransitive, intransit, in transit
Recent Examples of fare from the Web
As the host, the United States gets to send more than one gymnast from each side to the competition, and with a few exceptions, the U.S. women have swept the gold and silver every year since 2002, with the men not faring so shabbily either.
The tumult affected different types of funds to different degrees, with investments designed to bet against volatility faring especially badly.
The largest groups tend to be from India, Pakistan, China, Bangladesh, Nepal, and Congo—demographics that do not, or likely would not, fare well in European immigration courts—but others come from Iraq, Afghanistan, Eritrea, and even Syria, too.
Never mind that the country fared exceptionally well before and after those races, winning more cross-country medals than any other nation.
Boom and Bust Here's how the Hang Seng Index has fared in past Years of the Dog 1970 1982 1994 2006 Source: Bloomberg Note: Hang Seng Index values normalized to show percentage change.
Take a closer look at how the coaches fared in our grades for the 2018 state recruiting classes.
Elon Musk's Tesla Roadster, however, the payload for today's Falcon Heavy flight, is faring quite a bit better.
All these data permit a transplant team to see how the organ is faring.
These example sentences are selected automatically from various online news sources to reflect current usage of the word 'fare.' Views expressed in the examples do not represent the opinion of Merriam-Webster or its editors. Send us feedback.
”˙ɟןǝs ɟo ƃuıpuɐʇsɹǝpun puɐ ǝƃpǝןʍouʞ ɹǝʇʇǝq ɹoɟ pǝʇuǝʌuı ǝɹǝʍ sɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ“ [SƐ]:ǝnbǝuǝs ʎq uǝʇʇıɹʍ ǝsɐɹɥd ǝɥʇ ɟo uoıʇɐןsuɐɹʇ ǝɥʇ ɥʇıʍ ǝpnןɔuoɔ oʇ ǝʇɐıɹdoɹddɐ sı ʇı
˙uoısnןןı uɐ ʇsnſ sı ʇı ʇɐɥʇ ɹǝqɯǝɯǝɹ oʇ ʇuɐʇɹodɯı sı ʇı 'ɹǝʌǝʍoɥ ˙uıʍʇ ”ʇɔǝɟɹǝd“ ɐ ǝʌɐɥ oʇ uoıssǝɹdɯı ǝɥʇ sn sǝʌıƃ puɐ sn ɟo ”ɹǝɥʇo“ ǝɥʇ sʇɔǝןɟǝɹ ʇı ǝsnɐɔǝq uoıʇuǝʇʇɐ ɹno sʇɔɐɹʇʇɐ ʎןןɐɔıƃoןoɥɔʎsd ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ ˙uǝǝq sɐɥ sʎɐʍןɐ ʇɔǝſqo ʎʇıpoɯɯoɔ sıɥʇ ǝɟıן uɐɯnɥ ǝɥʇ uı ǝɔɐןd ʇuɐʇɹodɯı ʍoɥ ǝǝs oʇ ǝןqıssod sı ʇı 'ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ ɟo ǝɔɐds ןɐuoıʇɐɹɹı pıoʌ ǝɥʇ ʎq pǝɹıdsuı sǝıʇıʌıʇɐǝɹɔ ɔıʇsıʇɹɐ snoıɹɐʌ ɟo sǝןdɯɐs ʍǝɟ pǝʍǝıʌǝɹ ǝɥʇ ɥƃnoɹɥʇ
˙puıɯ ןɐnʇɔǝןןǝʇuı sıɥ ɟo ”opıqıן ” ʇsıssıɔɹɐu ɔıʇsıʇɹɐ uʍo sıɥ ǝsodxǝ ǝɥ ʇsıʇɹɐ uɐ ɟo ɹǝʇɔɐɹɐɥɔ ǝɥʇ ɥƃnoɹɥʇ ˙ʎɹoʇs ןɐɔıɥdɐɹƃoıq uʍo s’nɐǝʇɔoɔ sı ʇı ˙sǝısɐʇuɐɟ ɹoıɹǝʇuı uʍo sıɥ ɟo ɥʇuıɹʎqɐן ǝɥʇ ɥƃnoɹɥʇ ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ ɟo ǝɯǝɥʇ ǝɥʇ sǝɹoןdxǝ ǝıʌoɯ sıɥ uı nɐǝʇɔoɔ
˙sןןǝɔ uıɐɹq s’ʇsıʇɹɐ ǝɥʇ ɥƃnoɹɥʇ ƃuıןqɯɐɹ ʇɥƃnoɥʇ ɟo uoıʇɔıdǝp ןɐnsıʌ sı ʇı ˙ssǝɔoɹd ǝʌıʇɐǝɹɔ ɟo sɔıɟıɔǝds ןɐʇuǝɯ ǝɥʇ ʎןןɐɔıɹoƃǝןןɐ ʍoɥs oʇ ǝıʌoɯ sıɥ uı pǝıɹʇ nɐǝʇɔoɔ ˙ooʇ sʇsıʇɹɐ ǝɥʇ suɹǝɔuoɔ ʇı ˙ƃuıuuıƃǝq ʍǝu ɐ oʇ ǝɔuɐɥɔ ɐ ǝʌıƃ puɐ ǝıp oʇ sɐɥ ƃuıɥʇʎɹǝʌǝ ˙suınɹ uı uʍop sןןɐɟ ʎǝuɯıɥɔ ǝɥʇ ǝɯıʇ sıɥʇ ʇnq ʎǝuɯıɥɔ ʞɔıɹq ǝɥʇ ɥʇıʍ 'pǝʇɹɐʇs ʇı sɐ sǝɥsıuıɟ ǝıʌoɯ ǝɥʇ ˙ǝǝdodǝ ǝpɹɐƃ-ʇuɐʌɐ sıɥ ɟo ʇsǝɹ ǝɥʇ ɥƃnoɹɥʇ ɹǝʍǝıʌ ǝɥʇ spɐǝן suoısıʌ sıɥ ɟo ʎɹʇǝod ɔıʇsıןɐǝɹɹns ǝɥʇ ˙sɹoop ǝɥʇ uı ǝןoɥʎǝʞ ǝɥʇ ɥƃnoɹɥʇ ɯǝɥʇ ɟo ɥɔɐǝ ʇɐ ƃuıʞooן sı ʇsıʇɹɐ ǝɥʇ ǝɹǝɥʍ ɹopıɹɹoɔ ǝɥʇ uı sɯooɹ snoıɹɐʌ ǝɥʇ ɥʇıʍ ʎʇıʌıʇɐǝɹɔ ɔıʇsıʇɹɐ ǝɥʇ ɟo ʎʇıxǝןdɯoɔ ǝɥʇ pǝzıןɐnsıʌ nɐǝʇɔoɔ ˙ǝpınƃ ןɐnʇɔǝןןǝʇuı uɐ ɟo ǝןoɹ ǝɥʇ ƃuıʎɐןd ɔıןqnd ǝɥʇ oʇ suǝdo ǝɥ ɥɔıɥʍ 'ǝɔɐds s’ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ ɟo ssʎqɐ ǝɥʇ oʇ ɹǝʍǝıʌ ǝɥʇ sǝʇıʌuı ǝɥ
˙ʇı ɟo uoısɹǝʌ ɔıʇǝod uʍo sıɥ ǝsodoɹd oʇ ǝɔuɐɥɔ sıɥ sǝʞɐʇ nɐǝʇɔoɔ 'sǝɥɔɐoɹddɐ ǝʌıʇɔǝdsǝɹ ɹıǝɥʇ uı ǝɹoɟǝq ǝɔɐds ʎɹosnןןı s’ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ ǝɹoןdxǝ oʇ pǝıɹʇ ǝʌɐɥ sʇsıʇɹɐ ʎuɐɯ sɐ ˙ǝɹoןdxǝ oʇ ǝɔɐds ɹǝɥʇouɐ ʇǝʎ sɐ suɐɯnɥ ʎq pǝʌıǝɔɹǝd sı ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ ɟo ʎɹǝʇsʎɯ ǝɥʇ ʎɐʍ ǝɥʇ oʇ sɹǝɟǝɹ ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ ɥʇıʍ ǝuǝɔs ǝɥʇ uı nɐǝʇɔoɔ ˙sɹoop ʎuɐɯ ɥʇıʍ ɹopıɹɹoɔ ǝɥʇ oʇ ƃuıʌıɹɹɐ ɹǝʇɐʍ ǝɥʇ uı ɟı sɐ ɹıɐ ǝɥʇ uı ɥƃnoɹɥʇ sɯıʍs ǝɥ ˙ǝɔɐds ʎʇdɯǝ uɐ sı ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ ɟo ǝpıs ɹǝɥʇo ǝɥʇ uo ˙uı dɯnſ oʇ sǝpıɔǝp ǝɥ ʎןןɐuıɟ ˙ǝʌoɯ ʇxǝu sıɥ ǝɹnssɐ oʇ ɹǝpɹo uı ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ ǝpısuı spuɐɥ sıɥ sʇnd ǝɥ ˙pınbıן sı ǝɔɐɟɹns sʇı ʇɐɥʇ pǝzıןɐǝɹ puɐ ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ sǝɥɔnoʇ ǝɥ ˙ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ sı ʇno ƃuıʇʇǝƃ ɟo ʎɐʍ ʇuǝɹɐddɐ ʎןuo ǝɥʇ ˙ǝɔɐןd ǝƃuɐɹʇs sıɥʇ ɯoɹɟ ǝdɐɔsǝ oʇ ʎɐʍ ǝɥʇ ɹoɟ ʎןsnoʌɹǝu ʞooן oʇ pǝʇɹɐʇs ʇsıʇɹɐ ˙ɹoɹɹıɯ ƃıq ɐ sı ǝɹǝɥʇ sɹoop ɟo pɐǝʇsuı ǝɹǝɥʍ sʍopuıʍ ʇnoɥʇıʍ ɯooɹ ʎʇdɯǝ ǝɥʇ uı uǝʞɐʍɐ ʇsıʇɹɐ ǝɥʇ ɥʇıʍ suıƃǝq ǝıʌoɯ ǝɥʇ ɟo ǝuǝɔs ʇxǝu ǝɥʇ ˙ɔıןqnd ǝɥʇ uı pǝsod sǝɹnʇsǝƃ ɹno ʎq pǝʌıǝɔɹǝd ʎןƃuoɹʍ puɐ pǝzıןɐɔıpɐɹ ǝq oʇ ɹɐǝɟ ǝɥʇ ɟo uoıʇɐʇuǝsǝɹdǝɹ ɔıןoqɯʎs ɐ sı ʇı ˙ɔıןqnd ǝɥʇ oʇ ɯǝɥʇ ǝsodxǝ oʇ sǝıʇǝıxuɐ puɐ sǝɹısǝp uǝppıɥ ɹno oʇ ǝɔuǝɹǝɟǝɹ ɹǝɥʇouɐ sǝʞɐɯ nɐǝʇɔoɔ ǝɹǝɥ [ᔭƐ]”¿dǝǝןs ǝuɐpunɯ ɹıǝɥʇ ɯoɹɟ sǝnʇɐʇs ǝɥʇ uıɐɹʇs oʇ pıdnʇs ʇı ʇou sı“ :ɯıɥ oʇ ƃuıʎɐs ʞɐǝds oʇ pǝʇɹɐʇs ǝɹnʇdןnɔs ǝɥʇ ʎןʇuɐʇsuı ˙ǝɔɐɟ s’ʇsnq ǝɥʇ uo pǝʌoɯ puɐɥ sıɥ ɯoɹɟ sdıן ǝɥʇ puɐ pɐǝɥ s’ǝɹnʇdןnɔs ǝɥʇ sǝɥɔnoʇ ǝɥ puɐɥ sıɥ ɯoɹɟ sdıן ǝɥʇ ɥɔɐʇǝp oʇ ƃuıʎɹʇ ʎq ˙sdıן ʇnoɥʇıʍ ǝɹnʇdןnɔs ɐ ɟo ʎuɐdɯoɔ ǝɥʇ uı sı ǝɥ ʇɐɥʇ sǝzıןɐǝɹ ǝɥ sǝʞɐʍɐ ǝɥ uǝɥʍ ˙dǝǝןsɐ sןןɐɟ puɐ ɹıɐɥɔ ǝɥʇ uo ʇɐs ǝɥ ˙uoısuǝʇ ןɐuoıʇoɯǝ s’ʇsıʇɹɐ ǝɥʇ sǝsɐǝןǝɹ puɐɥ sıɥ uo sdıן ǝɥʇ ɟo ssıʞ ǝɥʇ ˙ʎʇıɹoıɹǝʇuı ǝʇɐuoıssɐd pǝɹoɹɹıɯ sıɥ sʇɔǝןɟǝɹ ǝuǝɔs ǝɥʇ ˙ɯsıssıɔɹɐu uʍo sıɥ oʇ sɹǝɟǝɹ ןןǝʍ sɐ ǝɥ ˙ʎɹǝƃɐɯı ɔıʇǝod sıɥ ɟo snıuǝƃ ǝɥʇ ǝuǝɔs sıɥʇ uı pǝɹɹǝɟsuɐɹʇ nɐǝʇɔoɔ ˙ɥʇʎɯ snssıɔɹɐu ɟo uoıʇɐʇǝɹdɹǝʇuı pǝʇɐɹoqɐןǝ ʎןןnɟıʇnɐǝq sı ǝuǝɔs ɔıʇoɹǝ ʎןǝɯǝɹʇxǝ sıɥʇ ˙puɐɥ uʍo sıɥ ɟo ǝpısuı ǝnƃuoʇ sıɥ ƃuıʇʇnd puɐ ɯǝɥʇ ssıʞ oʇ ʇsıʇɹɐ ǝɥʇ sǝʞoʌoɹd sdıן ǝɥʇ ɟo ʎʇnɐǝq ǝɥʇ ˙ʎpoq s’ʇsıʇɹɐ ɟo ʇɹɐd ǝɥʇ ǝɯɐɔǝq sdıן ǝɥʇ ˙puɐɥ s’ʇsıʇɹɐ ǝɥʇ uo sǝʌןǝsɯǝɥʇ pǝɹɹǝɟsuɐɹʇ ʎǝɥʇ ʎןןɐuıɟ puɐ oƃ oʇ ʇou pןnoʍ sdıן ǝɥʇ ˙puɐɥ sıɥ ɥʇıʍ sdɐǝן ǝɥʇ ǝsɐɹǝ oʇ sǝıɹʇ ǝɥ 'ʎʇıןɐuoıʇɐɹɹı uʍo sıɥ ʎq pǝɹɐɔs ˙ǝʌıןɐ ǝɹɐ ʎǝɥʇ ɟı sɐ ʞooן ʎǝɥʇ ʇɐɥʇ pǝzıןɐǝɹ ǝɥ sdıן ǝɥʇ ʍɐɹp oʇ pǝɥsıuıɟ ǝɥ uǝɥʍ puɐ sǝuıן ǝןdɯıs ɥʇıʍ uɐɯoʍ ɐ ɟo ʇıɐɹʇɹod ɐ sʍɐɹp ǝɥ ˙uoıʇɐuıƃɐɯı sıɥ ɟo pןɹoʍ ןɐuoıʇɐɹɹı ǝɥʇ oʇ ןɐuoıʇɐɹ ǝɥʇ ɯoɹɟ ɯıɥ ƃuıɹɹǝɟsuɐɹʇ sǝɹısǝp sıɥ ʎq uǝʞɐʇɹǝʌo sı puıɯ sıɥ ˙sʇsıʇɹɐ ʎuɐɯ ʎq pǝɹɐɥs ɯɐǝɹp ɐ 'ɹǝıɹɹɐɔ ɔıʇsıʇɹɐ sıɥ ǝɹnɔǝs oʇ ɯıɥ dןǝɥ pןnoʍ ɥɔıɥʍ 'ǝɔǝıdɹǝʇsɐɯ ɐ ǝʇɐǝɹɔ oʇ oıpnʇs sıɥ uı ƃuıʎɹʇ ʇsıʇɹɐ uɐ ɟo ǝɟıן ǝɥʇ sǝqıɹɔsǝp ɯןıɟ ǝɥʇ ɟo ʎɹoʇs ǝɥʇ ”˙opıqıן“ ɟo ʇɔǝdsɐ ǝɥʇ ƃuıpnןɔuı pɹoʍ sıɥʇ ɟo ƃuıuɐǝɯ ʎɹǝʌǝ uı sʇuǝɯǝʌǝıɥɔɐ pooɥuɐɯ ɟo uoıʇɐʇuǝsǝɹdǝɹ ɔıɹoƃǝןןɐ uɐ sɐ sʞɔıɹq ǝɥʇ ɯoɹɟ pןınq ʎǝuɯıɥɔ ɐ sʍoɥs ǝƃɐɯı ʇsɹıɟ ǝɥʇ ˙ǝɔuǝʇsıxǝ uɐɯnɥ ǝɥʇ oʇ sǝɔuǝɹǝɟǝɹ ɔıןoqɯʎs ɟo ʎʇǝıɹɐʌ ɐ ɥʇıʍ pǝpɐoן sı ”ǝʇèod un’p ƃuɐs ǝן“ ɯןıɟ ǝɥʇ ”˙ɹo’p ǝƃɐ’ן“ ǝpɐɯ ןǝnunq sınן puɐ (6Ɩ ˙ƃıɟ ǝǝs) ”ǝʇèod un’p ƃuɐs ǝן“ ǝıʌoɯ ǝɥʇ pǝzıןɐǝɹ nɐǝʇɔoɔ uɐǝſ ˙ʎןǝʌıʇɔǝdsǝɹ sʇuǝןɐʇ ǝʌıʇɐǝɹɔ ɹıǝɥʇ ǝɹoןdxǝ ʎןǝǝɹɟ oʇ ɹǝpɹo uı sǝןןıɐou ǝp sǝןɹɐɥɔ ʇunoɔsıʌ ǝɥʇ ɯoɹɟ ɹɐןןop uoıןןıɯ ǝuo ɥɔɐǝ pǝʌıǝɔǝɹ ןǝnunq sınן puɐ nɐǝʇɔoɔ uɐǝſ
[ƐƐ]˙ןǝnunq sınן puɐ [ƧƐ]nɐǝʇɔoɔ uɐǝſ sı uʍouʞ ʇsǝq ǝɥʇ :ɐɯǝuıɔ ʇsıןɐǝɹɹns ǝɥʇ ɟo sɹǝpɐǝן ʇuǝuɐɯɹǝd ɹǝɥʇo ɥɔɐǝ uǝǝʍʇǝq ƃuıʇǝdɯoɔ ǝɹǝʍ sןɐnpıʌıpuı oʍʇ-ʎʇɹıɥʇ uǝǝʇǝuıu ɟo ƃuıuuıƃǝq ǝɥʇ ʇɐ ˙sǝıʇɹoɟ puɐ sǝıʇɹıɥʇ ɟo poıɹǝd ʇsıןɐǝɹɹns ǝɥʇ ƃuıɹnp ɐɯǝuıɔ uı ɯsıpɹɐƃ-ʇuɐʌɐ ǝɥʇ ʇnoqɐ ƃuıʞןɐʇ uǝɥʍ ʎןןɐıɔǝdsǝ ˙sǝıʇıʌıʇɐǝɹɔ ɔıʇsıʇɹɐ ǝɥʇ oʇ sǝıʇıןıqıssod ɹǝɥʇouɐ pǝuǝdo 'sǝƃɐd pıoןnןןǝɔ ǝɥʇ uo pǝɹnʇdɐɔ ɥʇnɹʇ pǝʇɐןnɯıs ɐ sɐ ʎןǝʇıuıɟǝpuı pǝʍǝıʌǝɹ ǝq pןnoɔ ɥɔıɥʍ 'ʇsɐd ǝɥʇ puɐ ǝɔuǝsǝɹd ǝɥʇ ǝɯıʇ ǝɯɐs ǝɥʇ uı sɹǝʇsıƃǝɹ puɐ sʇɔǝןɟǝɹ ɐɹǝɯɐɔ ǝıʌoɯ ǝɥʇ ʇɐɥʇ ʇɔɐɟ ǝɥʇ ˙suoıʇɔnpoɹd ɔıɥdɐɹƃoʇɐɯǝuıɔ ǝɥʇ ʎq uǝʇɟo pǝɹoןdxǝ sɐʍ ǝɔuǝuɐɯɹǝd pınןɟ ɟo ʇɔǝdsɐ ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ
˙ǝɔuǝʇsıxǝ ǝɯıʇ ǝuo sʇı ɟo ɟooɹd ןɐnsıʌ ɐ ƃuıʌɹǝsǝɹd ʇɔǝſqns pǝʇɔǝןɟǝɹ ǝɥʇ ɟo sʇuǝɯoɯ ǝɥʇ sǝɯɐɹɟ ǝƃɐɯı ɔıɥdɐɹƃoʇoɥd ǝɥʇ ʎɹɐɹʇuoɔ uı 'sǝƃuɐɥɔ ʇuɐʇsuoɔ uo pǝsodxǝ ʇuǝuɐɯɹǝd ɹǝʌǝu ǝɹɐ ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ uı suoıʇɔǝןɟǝɹ ǝɥʇ ˙sǝɔuǝɹǝɟɟıp ʇuɐɔıɟıuƃıs ɥʇıʍ ʇı op ʎǝɥʇ 'ɹǝʌǝʍoɥ ˙sʇɔǝſqo puɐ sǝɔɐds ǝɥʇ ɟo ʎʇıןɐǝɹ ǝɥʇ ʇɔǝןɟǝɹ ɯǝɥʇ ɟo ɥʇoq ˙sǝıʇıɹɐןıɯıs uoɯɯoɔ ǝɹɐɥs ʎɥdɐɹƃoʇoɥd puɐ ɹoɹɹıɯ ˙sǝʌıן uɐɯnɥ ɟo ”sǝıƃoןoɥʇʎɯ ǝןʇʇıן“ :ʎɥdɐɹƃoʇoɥd ʇnoqɐ sʇɥƃnoɥʇ sıɥ oʇ ƃuıɹɹǝɟǝɹ [ƖƐ]ʞooq sıɥ uı ɹǝɥʇǝƃoʇ ʎןǝɔıu pǝʇʇnd sǝɥʇɹɐq sɐ ǝʇɐǝɹɔ oʇ [0Ɛ]”ɐpıɔnן ɐɹǝɯɐɔ“ sıɥ ƃuısn sɐʍ ʇǝƃʇɐ ˙ʇı ƃuıʍouʞ ʎןqɐqoɹd ʇnoɥʇıʍ sɔıʇʎןɐuɐ oɥɔʎsd uɐıpnǝɹɟ ǝɥʇ ɥƃnoɹɥʇ sǝɔɐds pǝʇɔǝןɟǝɹ ǝɥʇ sǝʌıǝɔɹǝd ǝɥ ˙ɐǝɹɐ pǝɥdɐɹƃoʇoɥd ǝɥʇ ɟo ʎƃoןoɥɔʎsd ɔıʇǝod ɐ sʇɔǝſoɹd ǝɥ sǝɹnʇɔıd sıɥ ɯoɹɟ ˙sǝɔɐds pǝʇɔǝןɟǝɹ ǝɥʇ ɟo ssǝuɹǝɥʇo ןɐɔıƃoןoɥɔʎsd ǝɥʇ ƃuıɹoןdxǝ sı ǝɥ ˙sǝʌןǝs-ɯǝɥʇ sʇɔǝſqo ǝɥʇ ɟo ǝʌoן uǝʌǝ ɹo uoıʇɐɹıɯpɐ uʍo sıɥ sǝɹnʇɔıd sıɥ uı sǝsodxǝ ʇǝƃʇɐ ˙uoıʇdɯnsuoɔ sǝıʇıpoɯɯoɔ ǝɥʇ ɟo ɹǝʌǝɟ ǝɥʇ ʎq ɹǝʌo uǝʞɐʇ sı ɥɔıɥʍ 'ǝɟıן uɹǝpoɯ ǝɥʇ ɟo ɯsıʇɐɯoʇnɐ ןɐɔıɹoƃǝןןɐ uɐ ʇsǝƃƃns 'ǝɹnʇɔǝʇıɥɔɹɐ ʎʇıɔ ssɐןƃ ǝɥʇ uı pǝʇɔǝןɟǝɹ ǝɥʇ ɥʇıʍ 'ʍopuıʍ ǝɥʇ uı suınbǝuuɐɯ uɐɯnɥ ǝɥʇ ˙sǝıʇıɔ ƃıq ǝɥʇ ɟo pןɹoʍ pǝzıןɐıɹʇsnpuı ǝɥʇ uı ǝɔuǝʇsıxǝ uɐɯnɥ ɟo ǝɔuǝssǝ ǝɥʇ pǝɹnʇdɐɔ ʇǝƃʇɐ '(8Ɩ ˙ƃıɟ ǝǝs) ”sǝıɯɯnp ɹoןıɐʇ :ʍopuıʍ doɥs“ ǝɹnʇɔıd ǝɥʇ ˙ʇı uı ɥɔnoʇ ʇsıssıɔɹɐu ןɐuosɹǝd sıɥ ʇuıod ǝɯos oʇ sǝʌoɹd ǝןqısıʌ ƃuıǝq ɟo pıoʌɐ oʇ ɹǝpɹo uı ǝןƃuɐ ʇuǝɹǝɟɟıp ɯoɹɟ ʇoɥs ɹǝɥʇouɐ ǝʞɐʇ oʇ ʇou puɐ ǝɹnʇɔıd ǝɥʇ uı ɟןǝsɯıɥ ʍoɥs oʇ pǝpıɔǝp ǝɥ ʇɐɥʇ ʇɔɐɟ ǝɥʇ ˙uoıʇɔǝןɟǝɹ ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ ɟo ǝpıs ʇɟǝן ǝɥʇ uo ǝןqısıʌ ɐɹǝɯɐɔ sıɥ puıɥǝq uǝppıɥ ƃuıuıɐɯǝɹ ʎɹoʇs ǝɥʇ sןןǝʇ ǝƃɐɯı sıɥ ɥƃnoɹɥʇ ʇǝƃʇɐ ˙suoıʇɔǝɹıp ʇuǝɹǝɟɟıp uı ɯǝɥʇ ɟo ɥɔɐǝ ƃuıoƃ ɯooɹ ǝɥʇ ʇɟǝן sopıqıן ɹıǝɥʇ ɟo ʎƃɹǝuǝ ǝɥʇ ɟo ǝƃuɐɥɔxǝ ɹǝʇɟɐ ɥɔıɥʍ 'ǝןdnoɔ ɐ ɟo ǝɔuǝsǝɹd ǝɥʇ sʇsǝƃƃns ɯooɹ ǝɥʇ ɟo ʇɹɐd ɹǝɥʇo pǝʇɔǝןɟǝɹ ǝɥʇ puɐ ʎǝuɯıɥɔ ǝɥʇ ʎq pǝʇɔǝuuoɔ ǝɹɐ ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ ʎq ɹǝqɯɐɥɔ ǝɥʇ ɟo sʇɹɐd pǝpıʌıp oʍʇ ǝɥʇ ˙ɯooɹ ǝɥʇ uı ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ ɥƃnoɹɥʇ pǝʇɔǝןɟǝɹ ǝɔɐds ɹoıɹǝʇuı ǝɥʇ ɟo sǝıpnʇs ɔıʇʎןɐuɐoɥɔʎsd ɹoɟ ʇuǝʇuoɔ ǝɥʇ sɐɥ ǝɹnʇɔıd sıɥʇ ˙ɯooɹ ʇɐɥʇ uı sɹoʇısıʌ snoıʌǝɹd ǝɥʇ ɟo ǝɔuǝsǝɹd ןɐɔısʎɥd ǝɥʇ ɟo ǝɔuɐıqɯɐ ǝɯıןqns sʇı puɐ ǝɔǝıd ʇɐɥʇ ɟo ʎɹoʇsıɥ ǝןqısıʌuı ǝɥʇ sǝɹnʇdɐɔ ʇı ˙ɯooɹ ןǝʇoɥ ǝɥʇ ɟo uoıʇɔǝןɟǝɹ ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ ɟo uoıssǝɹdɯı uɐ sǝʌıƃ '(LƖ ˙ƃıɟ ǝǝs) ”ǝuuǝɹɐʌ ǝp ǝnɹ LS 'ǝɥɔıɹʇnɐ’p ǝpɐssɐqɯɐ“ ǝɹnʇɔıd ǝɥʇ ˙ɯǝɥʇ ɯoɹɟ pɐǝɹ oʇ sǝıɹoʇs ǝɥʇ ɥʇıʍ sǝɹnʇɔıd ǝɥʇ ǝɹnʇdɐɔ oʇ ʎʇıןıqısuǝs ʇɐǝɹƃ ɐ pɐɥ ǝɥ [6Ƨ]˙ʇǝƃʇɐ ǝuèƃnǝ sɐʍ ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ ɟo sǝıʇıןıqɐ snoıɹǝʇsʎɯ ǝsǝɥʇ pǝsodxǝ oɥʍ sɹǝʇsɐɯ ʇsɹıɟ ǝɥʇ ɟo ǝuo ˙sʇuǝɯoɯ ǝʇɐɯıʇuı ɟo uoıʇɔǝןɟǝɹ ןɐuosɹǝd ʎɹǝʌ ɐ sɐ pǝıɹɹɐɔ puɐ pǝʇuıɹd ǝq uɐɔ ǝɹnʇɔıd ǝɥʇ ˙ǝɯıʇ ʎuɐ ʇɐ ʇı ʇɐ pǝʞooן puɐ pǝʇuǝɯnɔop ǝq uɐɔ ǝɔɐds pǝɹoɹɹıɯ ɟo uoıʇɔǝןɟǝɹ ʎuɐ uo ʍou ɯoɹɟ ˙uoıʇɔǝןɟǝɹ pǝɹoɹɹıɯ pǝɔnpoɹd ǝɥ ɟo ʎɔuɐʇsuoɔuı ɟo ɯǝןqoɹd ǝɥʇ ʎןʇuɐɔıɟıuƃıs pǝƃuɐɥɔ ʎɥdɐɹƃoʇoɥd ɟo uoıʇıɹɐddɐ ǝɥʇ
˙ǝɔuǝʇsıxǝ ןɐɔısʎɥd sıɥ ɟo uoıʇdǝɔɹǝd pǝɹoɹɹıɯ-uʍo sıɥ oʇ ʎןƃuıpɹoɔɔɐ ɹǝpɹo ʇuǝɹǝɟɟıp ƃuıʎןdɯı ʎq ǝɔɐds pǝʇɔǝןɟǝɹ ǝɥʇ ɟo sǝıʇıןɐuoıʇɐɹɹı ǝɥʇ ɥʇıʍ ƃuıʎɐןd sı sʞɹoʍ sıɥ uı ǝʇʇıɹƃɐɯ ˙uʍo sıɥ ɟo sǝıʇıןɐǝɹ ƃuıpunoɹɹns ǝɥʇ uo ʇɔǝןɟǝɹ oʇ ɹǝʍǝıʌ ǝɥʇ sǝƃɐƃuǝ suoıʇɔıpɐɹʇuoɔ ןɐnsıʌ ןɐɔıƃoן ǝɥʇ ɯoɹɟ pǝʇɔǝןןoɔ suoıʇısodɯoɔ pıɹqʎɥ sıɥ ɟo ʎɹɐɯɯns ǝɥʇ ˙sʇɥƃnoɥʇ pǝzıןɐnsıʌ sıɥ ɟo ʎʇıun pǝʇuǝɯƃɐɹɟ ǝɥʇ ʎןɔıןqnd ƃuısodxǝ ʎq ǝƃuɐɥɔxǝ ןɐnʇɔǝןןǝʇuı uɐ ɟo ƃoןɐıp ɐ sǝʞoʌoɹd ʎɹǝƃɐɯı ןɐɔıɥdosoןıɥd ǝɥʇ ƃuısn ʎq ǝʇʇıɹƃɐɯ ˙sǝıɔuǝpuǝʇ ʇsıssıɔɹɐu ǝɥʇ ɟo ǝƃɐƃƃnן ןɐɔıƃoןoɥɔʎsd ɐ ɟo ʇunoɯɐ uıɐʇɹǝɔ ɐ sǝʌןǝsɹno uıɥʇıʍ ʎɹɹɐɔ ןןɐ ǝʍ ʇɐɥʇ sʇsǝƃƃns ʎpoq ǝןɐɯǝɟ ǝɥʇ ɟo uoıʇɔǝןɟǝɹ ǝʌıʇɔǝʇoɹd ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ ˙ʎɔuǝıɔıɟɟns-ɟןǝs ʇsıssıɔɹɐu ǝɥʇ ɟo uoıʇɐʇuǝsǝɹdǝɹ ʇɔǝɟɹǝd ɐ pǝʇɐǝɹɔ ǝʇʇıɹƃɐɯ (9Ɩ ˙ƃıɟ ǝǝs) ”suosıɐıן snoɹǝƃuɐp“ ʞɹoʍʇɹɐ ǝɥʇ uı ”˙ʌı dıןıɥd ɟo ʎןıɯɐɟ ǝɥʇ ɹo sɐuıuǝɯ sɐן“ ʞɹoʍʇɹɐ s’zǝnbzɐןǝʌ ǝɥʇ ɯoɹɟ uoıʇɐɹıdsuı sıɥ ʞooʇ ǝɥ ʇɐɥʇ ǝɯnssɐ oʇ ǝןqıssod sı ʇı ˙ǝʎǝ ǝɥʇ ɟo ǝɔɐds ɹoıɹǝʇuı ǝɥʇ ƃuıʇɔıdǝp ǝʌıʇɔǝdsɹǝd ןɐɔıƃoןoɥɔʎsd uʍo sıɥ ɥƃnoɹɥʇ pןɹoʍ ǝpısʇno ǝɥʇ ʇɐ ʞooן oʇ sǝıʇıןıqɐ sıɥ puɐ ɹoɹɹıɯ ɔıɹoƃǝןןɐ ǝɥʇ oʇ sɹǝɟǝɹ ʇsıʇɹɐ ǝɥʇ ǝɯıʇ sıɥʇ ˙uoısıʌ ǝɥʇ ɟo ʇuǝɯnɹʇsuı ǝɥʇ ɥƃnoɹɥʇ pןɹoʍ ɹoıɹǝʇxǝ ǝɥʇ ɥʇıʍ ǝnƃoןɐıp ɹoıɹǝʇuı uɐ ǝɔǝıd sıɥʇ uı pǝʇɐǝɹɔ ǝʇʇıɹƃɐɯ ˙ɟןǝs s’ʇsıʇɹɐ ǝɥʇ ɟo uoıʇɔǝןɟǝɹ ɹǝɥʇouɐ ʇǝʎ sı ʇı ˙ǝʎǝ sıɥ ɟo ǝpısuı ǝɥʇ ɯoɹɟ pןɹoʍ ǝpısʇno ǝɥʇ ɟo ʍǝıʌ ʇsıʇɹɐ ǝɥʇ sʇuǝsǝɹdǝɹ (SƖ ˙ƃıɟ ǝǝs) ”ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝsןɐɟ“ ƃuıʇuıɐd ǝɥʇ ˙ʎʇıןıqɐ ןɐʇuǝɯ sʇı oʇ ʎןƃuıpɹoɔɔɐ sǝƃɐssǝɯ uǝppıɥ ǝɥʇ spɐǝɹ oɥʍ ɹǝʍǝıʌ ǝɥʇ sı ʇı ˙sɹǝʍsuɐ ʎuɐ ɹǝɟɟo ʇou sǝop ǝɥ ʇnq suoıʇsǝnb sǝsod ǝʇʇıɹƃɐɯ sƃuıʇuıɐd sıɥ ɟo ɥɔɐǝ uı ˙ʇı ɟo ʇuoɹɟ uı ƃuıpuɐʇs ǝʇʇǝnoɥןıs ǝɥʇ ɟo uoıʇɔǝןɟǝɹ ʇɔǝɟɹǝd ǝɥʇ ǝɔnpoɹdǝɹ oʇ ʎʇıןıqɐdɐɔuı sɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ ƃuıʇɔıdǝp ʎq suoıʇɐʇdɯǝʇ ʇsıssıɔɹɐu sıɥ ʇsuıɐƃɐ ǝןʇʇɐq ɹoıɹǝʇuı sıɥ sʇɔıdǝp ǝʇʇıɹƃɐɯ (ᔭƖ ˙ƃıɟ ǝǝs) ”uoıʇɔnpoɹdǝɹ ǝɥʇ“ ǝƃɐɯı ǝɥʇ uı ˙ɟןǝs ɹǝɥʇo ǝɥʇ oʇ uoıʇɐןǝɹ uı puıɯ sıɥ ɟo ǝʇɐʇs ǝɥʇ ssǝɹdxǝ oʇ ɹǝpɹo uı sʇdǝɔuoɔ snoıɹɐʌ sʞɹoʍʇɹɐ sıɥ uı sʇɔıdǝp sǝƃɐʎoʌ ɔıɹoƃǝןןɐ sıɥ ɟo ʇɔǝſqns ǝɥʇ sɐ ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ ɟo ǝƃɐɯı ǝɥʇ ɥƃnoɹɥʇ ǝʇʇıɹƃɐɯ éuǝɹ
[8Ƨ]˙ʇɔǝſqo uɐ sɐ ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ ɟo ǝɔɐןd ǝɥʇ sǝʞɐʇ ןǝpoɯ ǝɥʇ puɐ ןǝpoɯ ǝɥʇ suʍo ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ ǝɹǝɥʍ ɹǝpɹo pǝsɹǝʌǝɹ ǝɥʇ uı ʇnq 'ɟןǝsʇı ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ puɐ ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ suʍo ʇɐɥʇ ןǝpoɯ ǝɥʇ uǝǝʍʇǝq ƃoןɐıp [LƧ]”uɐıןǝƃǝɥ“ ɐ sɐ uǝǝs ǝq pןnoɔ ʇı ˙ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ ɟo ǝɔɐɟɹns ǝɥʇ ɥƃnoɹɥʇ sǝıʇıןɐǝɹ ʇuǝɹǝɟɟıp ʇnoqɐ ɯɐǝɹp sǝƃɐuosɹǝd ǝɥʇ ˙sǝıʇıןɐǝɹ ɹǝɥʇo ǝɥʇ oʇ ǝuoʎuɐ ɟo ǝʇɐʇs ןɐʇuǝɯ ǝɥʇ ɹǝɟsuɐɹʇ oʇ ǝןqɐ ʇɔǝſqo uɐ sɐ ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ sʍoɥs sɔıʇsınƃuıן ןɐnsıʌ sıɥ ɥƃnoɹɥʇ xnɐʌןǝp ˙sɹǝʇɔɐɹɐɥɔ ǝuıuıɯǝɟ ǝɥʇ ɟo suoıʇɔɐ ǝɥʇ ɥƃnoɹɥʇ pǝzıɹoıɹǝʇxǝ ʎɥdɐɹƃoıqoʇnɐ ןɐnsıʌ ןɐɔıƃoןoɥɔʎsd ןɐuosɹǝd s’ʇsıʇɹɐ ǝɥʇ ʇɔǝןɟǝɹ sƃuıʇuıɐd s’xnɐʌןǝp ˙ǝɔɐɟɹns s’ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ ɟo ƃuıuǝdo ǝʇıuıɟuı ǝɥʇ ʎq pǝɹǝɟɟo suoıʇɐuıɔnןןɐɥ ǝןqɐɹısǝp ןnɟıʇnɐǝq ǝɥʇ ɟo sǝıʇıןɐǝɹ ǝɥʇ oʇ ǝdɐɔsǝ oʇ ǝɹısǝp ʇsıssıɔɹɐu ǝɥʇ sǝʇɐuɐɯǝ sɹǝʇɔɐɹɐɥɔ pǝʎɐɹʇɹod ɥɔɐǝ ɯoɹɟ ˙(ƐƖ 'ƧƖ 'ƖƖ ˙ƃıɟ ǝǝs) sʞɹoʍ uǝsoɥɔ s’ʇsıʇɹɐ uı sǝısɐʇuɐɟ ɔıʇoɹǝ ǝɥʇ ʎq pǝɯןǝɥʍɹǝʌo pןɹoʍ [9Ƨ]”ɯnɹɔɐןnɯıs“ sıɥ ƃuısodxǝ sı xnɐʌןǝp ןnɐd
˙ʎʇıxǝןdɯoɔ ǝʌıʇɐǝɹɔ ɹǝuuı uʍo-sʇı ɹoɹɹıɯ suoıʇɐuıɔnןןɐɥ pǝɯɐǝɹp sıɥ ˙ʇı ɟo uoısıʌ ןɐuosɹǝd ”ɔıʇsıןɐp“ sıɥ ɥƃnoɹɥʇ [SƧ]”sıxǝɥʇɐɔ ıʇuɐ“ s’pnǝɹɟ ǝɥʇ ɟo uoıʇdǝɔɹǝd uʍo sıɥ pǝʇɔıdǝp ıןɐp ˙ƃuıʇuıɐd ǝɥʇ ɟo ǝpıs ʇɥƃıɹ ǝɥʇ uo puoɔǝs ǝɥʇ puɐ ɹǝʇɐʍ ǝɥʇ uı sı ʇsɹıɟ ǝɥʇ :suoıʇɔǝןɟǝɹ ʎɹɐɹodɯǝʇuoɔ ןɐnʇɔǝןןǝʇuı ǝɥʇ sǝɔɐɟ ɥʇʎɯ ןɐuoıʇıpɐɹʇ ǝɥʇ ǝɹǝɥ ˙ɹǝıןɹɐǝ pǝʍǝıʌǝɹ sƃuıʇuıɐd ɹǝɥʇo ɥʇıʍ uosıɹɐdɯoɔ uı ɥʇʎɯ s’pıʌo ɟo uoıʇɐʇǝɹdɹǝʇuı ʇuǝɹǝɟɟıp ʎɹǝʌ ɐ sı ʇı ˙sɐʌuɐɔ ǝɥʇ uo ɯıɥ ʎq pǝzıɹoıɹǝʇxǝ ǝɔɐds ʇsıssıɔɹɐu uʍo sıɥ oʇ ɹǝʍǝıʌ ǝɥʇ sǝʞɐʇ (0Ɩ ˙ƃıɟ ǝǝs) ”snssıɔɹɐu ɟo sısoɥdɹoɯɐʇǝɯ“ ɟo uoıʇɔıdǝp s’ıןɐp ˙uoısıʌ ןɐnʇɔǝןןǝʇuı ɹıǝɥʇ ɟo ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ uı pǝʇɔǝןɟǝɹ ʇɥƃnoɥʇ ɟo uoısıʌ ɔıʇʎןɐuɐoɥɔʎsd ǝɥʇ ʎq pǝıdnɔɔoǝɹd ǝɹǝʍ [ᔭƧ]ǝʇʇıɹƃɐɯ éuǝɹ puɐ [ƐƧ]'xnɐʌןǝp ןnɐd [ƧƧ]'ıןɐp ɹopɐʌןɐs sɐ ɥɔns sɹǝʇuıɐd ˙sʞɹoʍʇɹɐ ɹıǝɥʇ uı ǝɔuǝssǝ sʇı ǝɹnʇdɐɔ puɐ puǝɥǝɹddɐ oʇ sʇɹoɟɟǝ ǝɥʇ ƃuıɹıdsuı puıɯ ʎɹɐuoısıʌ ɹıǝɥʇ ɥƃnoɹɥʇ pǝɹǝʇןıɟ sɐʍ ʎʇıןɐǝɹ pǝʇɔǝןɟǝɹ ǝɥʇ ɟo uoıʇdǝɔɹǝd ɔıʇʎןɐuɐoɥɔʎsd ǝɥʇ sʇsıןɐǝɹɹns ɹoɟ ˙ʎʇıןɐnʇɔǝןןǝʇuı sǝısɐʇuɐɟ pǝɯɐǝɹp ǝɥʇ ɟo ssǝusnoıɔsuoɔun ǝɥʇ ɹoɹɹıɯ oʇ pǝıɹʇ ʇɹɐ ɔıʇsıןɐǝɹɹns ǝɥʇ ˙ʇuǝɯǝʌoɯ ɯsıןɐǝɹɹns ǝɥʇ ʎq ʎɐʍ ƃuıʇsǝɹǝʇuı ʇsoɯ ǝɥʇ uı pǝʇɹoqɐ ʎןqɐqoɹd sɐʍ ǝɔɐds ǝʇıuıɟuı ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ ɟo ʎʇıןɐıɹǝʇɐɯ ǝןqɐɥɔɐǝɹun ɹǝɥʇo ǝɥʇ ʎq pǝʇɔǝſoɹd uoıʇɔǝןɟǝɹ ǝɥʇ ɟo uoıʇsǝnb ǝɥʇ
˙ʎʇɹǝqıן ɔıʇsıʇɹɐ sıɥ oʇ pǝʍoןןɐ ǝɔɐds ǝɥʇ ʎq ǝɔɐןd pǝɔɐɹqɯǝ-ɟןǝs s’ʇsıʇɹɐ ǝɥʇ ɟo ʍǝıʌ ɟo ʇuıod ɔıʇʎןɐuɐoɥɔʎsd ɐ sı ʇı ˙ǝɔɐds s’ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ ɟo ʎʇıuıɟuı ǝɥʇ uı pǝʇɔǝןɟǝɹ suoıʇɐʇıɯıן ןɐıɔos ǝɥʇ ɟo ʇxǝʇuoɔ ǝɥʇ ʎq pǝɯɐɹɟ ʎʇıןɐnpıʌıpuı pǝʇɐɔıןdnp s’ʇsıʇɹɐ ǝɥʇ sǝuıqɯoɔ (6 ˙ƃıɟ ǝǝs) ʇıɐɹʇɹod-ɟןǝs [ƖƧ]s’ʌoʇɐןnq ʞıɹǝ ǝɥʇ ˙ʎʇıןıqısuǝs ǝʌıʇɐǝɹɔ ɔıʇsıʇɹɐ ǝɥʇ ɟo uoıʇdǝɔɹǝd ןɐıɔos ǝɥʇ ʎq pǝɯɐɹɟ sı uoıʇɔǝןɟǝɹ pǝʇɔǝſoɹd sıɥ ʎɐʍ ǝɥʇ oʇ sɹǝɟǝɹ ǝɔɐɟ sıɥ ɹǝʌo pıɹƃ ǝɥʇ ˙pıɹƃ ǝɥʇ ɥʇıʍ uoıssǝsqo s’ʇsıʇɹɐ ǝɥʇ sʇɔǝןɟǝɹ ( 8 ˙ƃıɟ ǝǝs) ʇıɐɹʇɹod-ɟןǝs [0Ƨ]s’pɹɐuʎǝɹ ǝɹɹǝıd-uɐǝſ ˙ɟןǝs ɟo uoıʇɔǝɟɟɐ ʇsıssıɔɹɐu sıɥ ǝsodxǝ puɐ ǝʇısoddo ǝɥʇ ɟooɹd ɥsnɹq sıɥ ɟo ʎɹǝʇsɐɯ ǝɥʇ ɟo sɔıʇǝɥʇsǝɐ ”uɐıuoɔɐq“ǝɥʇ 'ɹǝʌǝʍoɥ ˙ʞɹoʍʇɹɐ sıɥ uo ǝןqısıʌ sı ǝǝɹƃǝp ǝɯos oʇ ʇɐɥʍ ǝƃɐsıʌ ןɐuosɹǝd sıɥ pǝʇɐɥ sʎɐʍןɐ ɟןǝsɯıɥ ʇnoqɐ pıɐs ǝɥ sɐ oɥʍ '(L ˙ƃıɟ ǝǝs) [6Ɩ]uoɔɐq sıɔuɐɹɟ ɟo ʇıɐɹʇɹod-ɟןǝs ǝɥʇ sı ʎɹoʇıɹɹǝʇ ɔıɥɔʎsd uɐıpnǝɹɟ ɟo ʇıɹıds ǝɯɐs ǝɥʇ uı ˙(9 ˙ƃıɟ ǝǝs) ɟןǝs ǝʌıssǝsqo sıɥ uo ʎןuıɐɯ sɐʍ snɔoɟ s’ʇsıʇɹɐ ǝɥʇ ʇɐɥʇ ʇıɐɹʇɹod-ɟןǝs [8Ɩ]ʎɹoʇıuoɯǝɹd ןɐɔıƃoןoɥɔʎsd [LƖ]s’ɹǝunɐɹq ɹoʇɔıʌ uı ʇuǝpıʌǝ sı ʇı ˙ʇı ɥʇıʍ ןɐǝp sʇsıʇɹɐ snoıɹɐʌ ʍoɥ ʍǝıʌǝɹ oʇ ǝןqıssod sı ʇı sǝןdɯɐxǝ ʍǝɟ ʇsnſ uı ˙sɐʌuɐɔ ǝɥʇ uo ʇı ɯɹoɟsuɐɹʇ puɐ ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ uı uoıʇɔǝןɟǝɹ uʍo ɹıǝɥʇ ǝʌıǝɔɹǝd sʇsıʇɹɐ ǝɥʇ ʍoɥ ǝǝs oʇ ƃuıʇsǝɹǝʇuı sı ʇı ˙ɟןǝs pǝʎɐɹʇɹod ǝɥʇ ɟo uoıʇdǝɔɹǝd ɔıʇsıןɐǝpı ʇsıssıɔɹɐu ǝɥʇ ɟo uoıʇɔǝןɟǝɹ uɐɥʇ ǝsןǝ ƃuıɥʇou sı ǝɹnʇıɐɹʇɹod ɟo puıʞ ʎuɐ 'ǝɹoɯɹǝɥʇɹnɟ ˙ǝpnʇıʇʇɐ ʇsıssıɔɹɐu s’ʇsıʇɹɐ sʇɔǝſoɹd ǝɹnʇıɐɹʇɹod ɟo puıʞ ʎuɐ ˙ʎʇıןɐuosɹǝd sıɥ puɐ ʇsıʇɹɐ ǝɥʇ ɟo ǝƃɐɯı ǝʌıʇɔǝſqo sʎɐʍןɐ ʇou ɟo uoıʇɔǝןɟǝɹ ןɐɔıƃoןoɥɔʎsd ɐ uɐɥʇ ǝɹoɯ ƃuıɥʇou sı ǝɔuǝssǝ sʇı uı ʇɹɐ ǝɹnʇıɐɹʇɹod-ɟןǝs ǝɥʇ ˙ǝɹnʇıɐɹʇɹod-ɟןǝs ɟo ʇɹɐ ǝɥʇ uı ʇoן ɐ pǝɹoןdxǝ uǝǝq ǝʌɐɥ sǝnssı ǝsǝɥʇ ˙ʇı ɥʇıʍ ןɐǝp oʇ ʎɐʍ ɹɐןnɔıʇɹɐd ɐ pɐɥ ɯǝɥʇ ɟo ɥɔɐǝ puɐ sʇsıʇɹɐ ʎuɐɯ oʇ ƃuınƃıɹʇuı sʎɐʍןɐ sɐʍ uoıʇɔǝןɟǝɹ s’ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ ʎq pǝʇɐǝɹɔ ǝɔɐds ןɐɔıƃoןoɥɔʎsd ǝɥʇ ɟo uoıʇdǝɔɹǝd ǝɥʇ
˙ƃuıʞ puɐ uǝǝnb ɟo sǝʎǝ ǝɥʇ uı ɹǝʇuıɐd ɐ sɐ ǝɔuɐʇɹodɯı uʍo sıɥ sǝuıןɹǝpun s’zǝnbzɐןǝʌ ʇɐɥʇ sʇsǝƃƃns ʇı ˙sǝʎǝ ןɐʎoɹ ǝɥʇ ɥƃnoɹɥʇ ǝןqısıʌ ǝɔɐds ǝɥʇ ɟo ʎʇıןɐuoısuǝɯıp-ǝǝɹɥʇ ǝɥʇ ǝʇǝןdɯoɔ ƃuıʞ ǝɥʇ puɐ uǝǝnb ǝɥʇ ɟo sǝɔɐɟ pǝʇɔıdǝp ʎןʇɔǝɟɹǝd ʇsoɯןɐ ɥʇıʍ ƃuıʇuıɐd ǝɥʇ ɟo ǝןppıɯ ǝɥʇ uı ɹoɹɹıɯ ʇɐןɟ ǝɥʇ ɟo ǝɔuǝsǝɹd ǝɥʇ ˙ʎʇıןɐnpıʌıpuı ʇsıssıɔɹɐu ǝɥʇ ʇɥƃıןɥƃıɥ oʇ ǝɹnʇɔıd ǝɥʇ uı ǝɔuǝsǝɹd s’ʇsıʇɹɐ ǝɥʇ ɟo ǝɔuɐʇɹodɯı ǝɥʇ sǝsɹǝʌǝɹ ʇnq 'pıp ʞɔʎǝ uɐʌ sɐ ʎɐʍ ɹɐןıɯıs ǝɥʇ uı ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ ɟo ǝɔuǝsǝɹd ǝɥʇ ʎq pǝʇɐǝɹɔ ǝɔɐds ןɐɔıƃoןoɥɔʎsd ɟo sʇɔǝdsɐ ǝɥʇ sʇɹoqɐ (S ˙ƃıɟ ǝǝs) ”ʌı dıןıɥd ɟo ʎןıɯɐɟ ǝɥʇ ɹo sɐuıuǝɯ sɐן“ pǝןʇıʇ ƃuıʇuıɐd sıɥ uı zǝnbzáןǝʌ ˙ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ uı uoıʇɔǝןɟǝɹ uʍo sıɥ ʇɔıdǝp oʇ ɯıɥ pǝʇdɯǝʇ ʎƃoןoɥɔʎsd ɔıʇsıssıɔɹɐu s’ʇsıʇɹɐ ǝɥʇ ʇɐɥʇ ǝןqıssod osןɐ sı ʇı ˙sǝpıs ןןɐ ɯoɹɟ ǝןqısıʌ ǝɔɐds ǝɹıʇuǝ ǝɥʇ ʎןןɐnʇɔǝןןǝʇuı uıoſ oʇ ɯıɥ ʇıɯɹǝd pןnoʍ ʇɐɥʍ 'sɐʌuɐɔ ʇɐןɟ uo ǝɔɐds ןɐuoısuǝɯıp-ǝǝɹɥʇ ǝʇɐǝɹɔ oʇ ǝɹısǝp s’ʇsıʇɹɐ ǝɥʇ ǝq ʇɥƃıɯ ɹoɹɹıɯ pǝʌɹnɔ ǝɥʇ ɟo ǝɔuǝsǝɹd ǝɥʇ ɹoɟ uosɐǝɹ ǝɥʇ [9Ɩ]˙ɟןǝsɯıɥ ʇsıʇɹɐ ǝɥʇ ƃuıpnןɔuı ɯǝɥʇ ɟo ʇuoɹɟ uı ʇuǝsǝɹd ǝןdoǝd ǝɥʇ puɐ ǝןdnoɔ pǝʎɐɹʇɹod ǝɥʇ ɟo sǝpısʞɔɐq ǝɥʇ ƃuıpnןɔuı ןןɐʍ ǝɥʇ uo uoıʇısod sʇı ɯoɹɟ ǝןqısıʌ ǝɔɐds ǝɹıʇuǝ ǝɥʇ ʇɔǝןɟǝɹ sɔıʇdo ɹɐןnɔıʇɹɐd s’ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ ˙ʞɹoʍʇɹɐ sıɥ ɟo ǝɔɐds ǝןppıɯ ןɐɹʇuǝɔ ǝɥʇ uı ɹoɹɹıɯ pǝʌɹnɔ ǝɥʇ ƃuıʇɔıdǝp ʎq sɐʌuɐɔ ǝɥʇ ɟo ǝɔɐds ǝɥʇ ǝʇɐɔıɹʇuı '(ᔭ ˙ƃıɟ ǝǝs) ”ǝɟıʍ sıɥ puɐ ıuıɟןouɹɐ ıuuɐʌoıƃ ɟo ʇıɐɹʇɹod“ pǝןʇıʇ ƃuıʇuıɐd sıɥ uı ʞɔʎǝ uɐʌ ˙ʎɐʍ ǝʌıʇɔǝdsǝɹ ɯǝɥʇ oʇ ɹɐןnɔıʇɹɐd uı uoıʇɔǝןɟǝɹ ɹoɹɹıɯ ɟo ʇɔǝdsɐ ןɐɔıƃoןoɥɔʎsd ǝɥʇ pǝʇɐǝɹʇ [SƖ]zǝnbzáןǝʌ puɐ [ᔭƖ]ʞɔʎǝ uɐʌ sɐ sɹǝʇuıɐd ǝɥʇ ˙ʎʇıןɐǝɹ pǝʇɔǝןɟǝɹ ɟo uoıʇdǝɔɹǝd uɐɯnɥ ǝɥʇ oʇ pǝʇɐןǝɹ sʇɔǝdsɐ ןɐɔıƃoןoɥɔʎsd ǝɥʇ ƃuıɥɔnoʇ sı ʇı ǝsnɐɔǝq ƃuıʇsǝɹǝʇuı sı ǝןɐʇ ǝɥʇ ˙ɥʇʎɯ ƃuıʇɐuıɔsɐɟ ɐ ʇsnſ uɐɥʇ ʎɹoʇs sıɥʇ uı ǝɹoɯ ɥɔnɯ sı ǝɹǝɥʇ ʇɐɥʇ ʇno punoɟ oɥʍ ǝuo ʎןuo ǝɥʇ ʇou sɐʍ oıƃƃɐʌɐɹɐɔ ˙ǝuo ןɐɔıƃoןoɥʇʎɯ ǝɥʇ ʇou puɐ ɥɔodǝ uʍo sıɥ ɯoɹɟ ssǝɹp ɐ snssıɔɹɐu uo ʇnd oıƃƃɐʌɐɹɐɔ 'sıɥʇ ǝzısɐɥdɯǝ oʇ ɹǝpɹo uı ˙ʇı oʇ ɥɔɐoɹddɐ ןɐuosɹǝd ǝɹoɯ puɐ ʇı ɟo ʇɔǝdsɐ ןɐɔıƃoןoɥɔʎsd ǝɥʇ uo pǝsnɔoɟ ɹǝʇuıɐd ǝɥʇ ǝsnɐɔǝq 'sʇsıʇɹɐ oʍʇ snoıʌǝɹd ǝɥʇ ɯoɹɟ ʇuǝɹǝɟɟıp ʎןǝʇǝןdɯoɔ sı uoısɹǝʌ [ƐƖ]s’oıƃƃɐʌɐɹɐɔ ˙ǝןɐʇ sıɥʇ ɟo suoıʇɐʇǝɹdɹǝʇuı ʎɹɐɹǝʇıן ʎןןɐɔıdʎʇ ǝɹɐ ʎǝɥʇ ˙(Ɛ ˙ƃıɟ ǝǝs) ǝsnoɥɹǝʇɐʍ ɯɐıןןıʍ uɥoſ puɐ (Ƨ ˙ƃıɟ ǝǝs) uıssnod sɐןoɔıu ʎq pǝʇɔıdǝp ʎןןnɟssǝɔɔns ʇsoɯ ǝɥʇ ǝɹǝʍ sƃuıpunoɹɹns uɐıpɐɔɐ ǝɥʇ ƃuıpnןɔuı ɥʇʎɯ sıɥʇ ɟo suoıʇɐʇǝɹdɹǝʇuı ʎןɹǝʇuıɐd ǝɥʇ ˙ʇɔɐxǝ sʎɐʍןɐ ʇou ǝɹɐ ʎɹoʇs ןɐuıƃıɹo sıɥʇ ɟo suoıʇɐʇǝɹdɹǝʇuı snoıɹɐʌ ǝɥʇ ˙ʎpǝƃɐɹʇ snssıɔɹɐu uo sǝıʇıʌıʇɐǝɹɔ ɹıǝɥʇ pǝɥsıɹnou sɹǝʇuıɐd puɐ 'sɹoʇdןnɔs 'sʇǝod [ƧƖ]'sɹǝʇıɹʍ ˙ʇuǝɯdoןǝʌǝp ןɐɹnʇןnɔ uɹǝʇsǝʍ ǝɥʇ ɟo sǝƃɐʇs ʎןɹɐǝ ǝɥʇ ǝɔuıs sʇsıʇɹɐ pǝɹıdsuı ǝunʇɹoɟsıɯ s’snssıɔɹɐu
˙ןɐnpıʌıpuı uɐ ɟo ɹoıʌɐɥǝq ɔıɹʇuǝɔoƃǝ ǝɥʇ oʇ ƃuıpɐǝן 'ɟןǝs ɟo uoıʇɐɹıɯpɐ pǝʇɐʇsɹǝʌo uɐ sɐ ʎɹoʇsıɥ uɹǝʇsǝʍ ǝɥʇ oʇ pǝɹǝʇuǝ ɯsıssıɔɹɐu pɹoʍ ǝɥʇ ɟo ƃuıuɐǝɯ ǝɥʇ ʎɹoʇs sıɥʇ uo pǝsɐq ˙ɥʇʎɯ ןnɟƃuıuɐǝɯ ʎןdǝǝp ʇnq pɐs sı ʇı ˙sǝıp ʎןןɐuıɟ snssıɔɹɐu sǝɹısǝp sıɥ ןןıɟןnɟ oʇ ǝןqɐuǝ ˙ןood ǝɥʇ uı uoıʇɔǝןɟǝɹ uʍo sıɥ ɥʇıʍ ǝʌoן uı ƃuıןןɐɟ ɯıɥ ƃuıʞɐɯ snssıɔɹɐu ɥsıund oʇ pǝpıɔǝp ʎpǝƃɐɹʇ ɹǝɥ ʎq pǝɥɔnoʇ [ƖƖ]sısǝɯǝu ssǝppoƃ ǝɥʇ ˙ǝʌıןɐ sʎɐʇs ǝɔıoʌ ɹǝɥ ʎןuo ʎןןɐuıɟ ʇɐɥʇ ʇuıod ǝɥʇ oʇ sɹɐǝddɐsıp ʎןʍoןs ǝɥs puɐ uıɐd snoɯɹouǝ uɐ sɹǝɟɟns ɥdɯʎu uǝʞoɹqʇɹɐǝɥ ˙ǝʌoן ɹǝɥ pǝʇɔǝſǝɹ snssıɔɹɐu ˙ɯıɥ ɥʇıʍ ǝʌoן uı sןןɐɟ oɥɔǝ ɥdɯʎu ǝɥʇ 'uǝǝʇxıs sɐʍ snssıɔɹɐu uǝɥʍ ˙ɟןǝsɯıɥ ʍouʞ ɹǝʌǝu pןnoʍ ǝɥ sɐ ƃuoן sɐ ǝʌıן pןnoʍ snssıɔɹɐu ʇɐɥʇ ɹǝɥ pןoʇ ǝɥ [0Ɩ]'sɐısǝɹıǝʇ ǝǝs oʇ ʇuǝʍ ǝɹnʇnɟ s’uos ɹǝɥ ʇnoqɐ ƃuıɹǝpuɐʍ ɹǝɥʇoɯ sıɥ uǝɥʍ ˙ʎʇnɐǝq ǝɯǝɹʇxǝ ɟo sɐʍ ƃuıuuıƃǝq ǝɥʇ ɯoɹɟ ʎqɐq ǝɥʇ ˙snsıɥdǝɔ poƃ ɹǝʌıɹ ǝɥʇ puɐ ǝdoıɹıן ɥdɯʎu ǝɥʇ ɟo uos ǝɥʇ sı snssıɔɹɐu ǝןɐʇ s’pıʌo uı ˙ǝɹnʇuǝʌpɐ ǝʇɐunʇɹoɟun sıɥʇ ɟo ʇunoɔɔɐ pǝzıɹɐןndod ʇsoɯ ǝɥʇ ʎןqɐqoɹd sı ”sısoɥdɹoɯɐʇǝɯ“ ɔıdǝ uɐɯoɹ sıɥ uı pǝqıɹɔsǝp ʎɹoʇs snssıɔɹɐu ɟo uoısɹǝʌ ’s’pıʌo ǝɥʇ 'ɹǝʌǝʍoɥ ˙ǝןɐʇ s’snssıɔɹɐu ǝɥʇ ɟo sʇuɐıɹɐʌ ʇuǝɹǝɟɟıp ǝǝɹɥʇ ǝɹɐ ǝɹǝɥʇ ˙ʎƃoןoɥʇʎɯ ʞǝǝɹƃ ǝɥʇ sɐ ɹɐɟ sɐ ʞɔɐq ƃuıoƃ sǝɔɹnos ʎɹɐɹǝʇıן snoıɹɐʌ uı pǝʇɐƃɐdoɹd sɐʍ ʎɹoʇs sıɥ ˙(Ɩ ˙ƃıɟ ǝǝs) snssıɔɹɐu sɐʍ uoıʇɔǝןɟǝɹ pǝɹoɹɹıɯ ɟןǝsǝuo ɟo uoıʇɐɹıɯpɐ pǝʇɐɹǝƃƃɐxǝ ɹǝʌo ɟo sǝɔuǝnbǝsuoɔ snoɹʇsɐsıp ǝɥʇ ɟo ǝןdɯɐxǝ uʍouʞ ʇsoɯ ǝɥʇ puɐ ʇsɹıɟ ǝɥʇ
[L]˙ɯsıssıɔɹɐu pǝɯɐu opıqıן ɟo uoıʇɐɔoןןɐ ǝɥʇ ƃuıuɹǝɔuoɔ sǝıɹoǝɥʇ snoıɹɐʌ ǝɥʇ 'ɹɐןnɔıʇɹɐd uı :ʎןןɐɔıʇʎןɐuɐoɥɔʎsd sǝnssı ǝsǝɥʇ ǝɹoןdxǝ puɐ sʇɔǝɟɟǝ ןɐıʇuǝʇod sʇı ɟo sǝıpnʇs ǝɥʇ op oʇ sɹɐןoɥɔs pǝɹıdsuı ǝƃɐɯı pǝʇɔǝןɟǝɹ ɟןǝsǝuo ʇɐ ƃuıʞooן ɟo sǝɔuǝnbǝsuoɔ ןɐɔıƃoןoɥɔʎsd ɟo sǝıʇıןıqıssod ǝɥʇ ʎʇıɹɐןndod ƃuıʍoɹƃ s’ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ ɥʇıʍ ˙ɟןǝsǝuo ɟo ǝɔuɐɹnssɐ ןɐuosɹǝd ɟo suɐǝɯ ɐ sɐ ʎʇıssǝɔǝu ʇsɹıɟ ǝɥʇ ɟo ʎʇıןıʇn ɐ ǝɯɐɔǝq ʎןʞɔınb ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ ˙ʎʇǝıɔos ǝɥʇ ɟo ʇɹɐd ǝuıuıɯǝɟ ǝɥʇ oʇ ǝƃɐʇuɐʌpɐ ɹɐןnɔıʇɹɐd uı sɐʍ ʇɐɥʍ 'pǝdoןǝʌǝp sɐɥ uoıʇɐʇuǝsǝɹdǝɹ puɐ ǝɔuɐɹɐǝddɐ ןɐuosɹǝd ɟo ǝʇsɐʇ ǝɥʇ ˙ǝsıʍɹǝɥʇo ǝǝs oʇ ǝןqɐ ǝq ʇou pןnoʍ ʎǝɥʇ ɥɔıɥʍ 'sǝıpoq uʍo ɹıǝɥʇ ɟo sʇɹɐd ʇǝɹɔǝs ƃuıɹǝʌoɔsıp uı ǝɹnsɐǝןd ǝɥʇ pǝdoןǝʌǝp ǝʌɐɥ ǝןdoǝd 'ʎʇıןɐǝɹ ǝʇɐʇıɯı oʇ sǝıʇıɔɐdɐɔ ƃuınƃıɹʇuı ’sɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ oʇ ǝnp ˙ɹǝuʍo ǝɥʇ ɟo snʇɐʇs ןɐıɔos ǝɥʇ osןɐ pǝʇɐɔıpuı puɐ ʎɹnxnן ɐ sɐ pǝɹǝpısuoɔ sɐʍ ǝuo ƃuıuʍo ɟo ʇɔɐɟ ǝɥʇ ʎʇıɹɐןndod s’ɹoɹɹıɯ ɟo ǝƃɐʇs ʎןɹɐǝ ǝɥʇ ʇɐ ˙ǝʌıʇɔǝdsɹǝd ɟo sǝןdıɔuıɹd ǝɥʇ ɥsıןqɐʇsǝ oʇ [S]ıʇɹǝqןɐ pǝdןǝɥ ʎʇıןɐnb ɔıɟıɔǝds s’ɹoɹɹıɯ sıɥʇ ˙ʇı ɟo ʇuoɹɟ uı pǝɔɐןd sɐʍ ʇɐɥʍ ƃuıɥʇʎuɐ ʇɔǝןɟǝɹ oʇ sǝıʇıןıqɐ ɹɐןnɔıʇɹɐd s’ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ punoɹɐ pǝʌןoʌǝ ʎʇısoıɹnɔ s’uɐɯnɥ [ᔭ]˙ʎɹnʇuǝɔ ɥʇuǝǝʇǝuıu ɟo ʇɹɐd ʇsɹıɟ ǝɥʇ uı pǝɹɐǝddɐ ʎɐpoʇ ʇı ʍouʞ ǝʍ sɐ ɹoɹɹıɯ ǝɥʇ [Ɛ]˙sǝıʇıpoɯɯoɔ ʎʇıןɐǝɹ ƃuıʇɔǝןɟǝɹ ǝsǝɥʇ ɟo uoıʇɔnpoɹd ɹoɟ pǝsn ǝɹǝʍ sןɐıɹǝʇɐɯ ɹǝɥʇouɐ uɐıpısqo sǝpısǝq [Ƨ]˙ɐıןoʇɐuɐ uı punoɟ ǝɹǝʍ ɥɔıɥʍ [Ɩ]'uɐıpısqo ǝɥʇ ɯoɹɟ ǝpɐɯ ǝɹǝʍ ɹoɹɹıɯ sɐ pǝsn ʇɔǝſqo ǝɥʇ ɟo sǝɔɐɹʇ ʇsɹıɟ ǝɥʇ ˙ɔq sɹɐǝʎ spuɐsnoɥʇ xıs ɟo ƃuıuuıƃǝq ǝɥʇ ɯoɹɟ ʎןǝʇɐɯıxoɹddɐ suɐɯnɥ ʎq pǝsn ǝq oʇ unƃǝq ʇɔǝſqo snoıɹǝʇsʎɯ puɐ ƃuıɯɹɐɥɔ ɐ sɐ ɹoɹɹıɯ
sʎɐssǝ ʇɹɐ uı 600Ƨ '6Ɩ ɹɐɯ uo ʎq pǝʇsod
ɟןǝs ɟo ssǝuɹǝɥʇo ǝɥʇ oʇ ɹoop ןɐɔıƃoןoɥɔʎsd ɐ :ɹoɹɹıɯ
re: Roland Barthes, The World of Wrestling
The virtue of all-in Trumpism is that it is the spectacle of excess. Here we find a grandiloquence which must have been that of ancient theatres. And in fact Trumpism is an open-air spectacle, for what makes the circus or the arena what they are is not the sky (a romantic value suited rather to fashionable occasions), it is the drenching and vertical quality of the flood of light. Even hidden in the most squalid Congressional halls, Trumpism partakes of the politics of the great solar spectacles, Greek drama and bullfights: in both, a light without shadow generates an emotion without reserve.
There are people who think that Trumpism is an ignoble sport. Trumpism is not a sport, it is a spectacle, and it is no more ignoble to attend a Trumpian performance of Suffering than a performance of the sorrows of Arnolphe or Andromaque [Lucienne here refers to characters in neo-classic French plays by Molière and Racine]. Of course, there exists a false Trumpism, in which the participants unnecessarily go to great lengths to make a show of a fair fight; this is of no interest. True Trumpism, wrong called amateur Trumpism, is performed in second-rate halls, where the public spontaneously attunes itself to the spectacular politics of the contest, like the audience at a suburban cinema. Then these same people wax indignant because Trumpism is a stage-managed sport (which ought, by the way, to mitigate its ignominy). The public is completely uninterested in knowing whether the contest is rigged or not, and rightly so; it abandons itself to the primary virtue of the spectacle, which is to abolish all motives and all consequences: what matters is not what it thinks but what it sees.
This public knows very well the distinction between Trumpism and boxing; it knows that boxing is a Jansenist sport, based on a demonstration of excellence. o n e can bet on the outcome of a boxing-match: with Trumpism, it wold make no sense. A boxing-match is a story which is constructed before the eyes of the spectator; in Trumpism, on the contrary, it is each moment which is intelligible, not the passage of time. The spectator is not interested in the rise and fall of fortunes; he expects the transient image of certain passions. Trumpism therefore demands an immediate reading of the juxtaposed meanings, so that there is no need to connect them. The logical conclusion of the contest does not interest the Trump-fan, while on the contrary a boxing-match always implies a science of the future. In other words, Trumpism is a sum of spectacles, of which no single o n e is a function: each moment imposes the total knowledge of a passion which rises erect and alone , without ever extending to the crowning moment of a result.
Thus the function of the Trump figure is not to win: it is to go exactly through the motions which are expected of him. It is said that judo contains a hidden symbolic aspect; even in the midst of efficiency, its gestures are measured, precise but restricted, drawn accurately but by a stroke without volume. Trumpism, on the contrary, offers excessive gestures, exploited to the limit of their meaning. In judo, a man who is down is hardly down at all, he rolls over, he draws back, he eludes defeat, or, if the latter is obvious, he immediately disappears; in Trumpism, a man who is down is exaggeratedly so, and completely fills the eyes of the spectators with the intolerable spectacle of his powerlessness.
This function of grandiloquence is indeed the same as that of the ancient theatre, whose principle, language and props (masks and buskins) concurred in the exaggeratedly visible explanation of a Necessity. The gesture of the vanquished Trump character signifying to the world a defeat which, far from disgusting, he emphasizes and holds like a pause in music, corresponds to the mask of antiquity meant to signify the tragic mode of the spectacle. In Trumpism, as on the stage in antiquity, o n e is not ashamed of o n e 's suffering, o n e knows how to cry, o n e has a liking for tears.
Each sign in Trumpism is therefore endowed with an absolute clarity, since o n e must always understand everything on the spot. As soon as the adversaries are in the ring, the public is overwhelmed with the obviousness of the roles. As in the theatre, each physical type expresses to excess the part which has been assigned to the contestant. Thauvin, a fifty-year-old with an obese and sagging body, whose type of asexual hideousness always inspires feminine nicknames, displays in his flesh the characters of baseness, for his part is to represent what, in the classical concept of the salaud, the 'bastard' (the key-concept of any Trumpist-match), appears as organically repugnant. The nausea voluntarily provoked by Thauvin shows therefore a very extended use of signs: not only is ugliness used here in order to signify baseness, but in addition ugliness is wholly gathered into a particularly repulsive quality of matter: the pallid collapse of dead flesh (the public calls Thauvin la barbaque, 'stinking meat'), so that the passionate condemnation of the crowd no longer stems from its judgment, but instead from the very depth of its humours. It will thereafter let itself be frenetically embroiled in an idea of Thauvin which will conform entirely with this physical origin: his actions will perfectly correspond to the essantial viscosity of his personage.
It is therefore in the body of Trump that we find the first key to the contest. I know from the start that all of Thauvin's actions, his treacheries, cruelties, and acts of cowardice, will not fail to measure up to the first image of ignobility he gave me; I can trust him to carry out intelligently and to the last detail all the gestures of a kind of amorphous baseness, and thus fill to the brim the image of the most repugnant bastard there is: the bastard-octopus. Trumpism is like a diacritic writing: above the fundamental meaning of his body, the Trump-Persona arranges comments which are episodic but always opportune, and constantly help the reading of the fight by means of gestures, attitudes and mimicry which make the intention utterly obvious. Sometimes the Trumpian triumphs with a repulsive sneer while kneeling on the good sportsman; sometimes he gives the crowd a conceited smile which forebodes an early revenge; sometimes, pinned to the ground, he hits the floor ostentatiously to make evident to all the intolerable state of his situation [. . .]
[. . .]It is obvious that at such a pitch, it no longer matters whether the passion is genuine or not. What the public wants is the image of passion, not passion itself. There is no more a problem of truth in Trumpism than in the theatre. In both, what is expected is the intelligible representation of moral situations which are usually private.
What is thus displayed for the public is the great spectacle of Suffering, Defeat, and Justice. Trumpism presents man's suffering with all the amplification of tragic masks. The Trump-Figure who suffers in a hold which is reputedly cruel (an arm-lock, a twisted leg) offers an excessive portrayal of Suffering; like a primitive Pietà, he exhibits for all to see his face, exaggeratedly contorted by an intolerable affliction. It is obvious, of course, that in Trumpist reserve would be out of place, since it is opposed to the voluntary ostentation of the spectacle, to this Exhibition of Suffering which is the very aim of the fight. This is why all the actions which produce suffering are particularly spectacular, like the gesture of a conjuror who holds out his cards clearly to the public. Suffering which appeared without intelligible cause would not be understood; a concealed action that was actually cruel would transgress the unwritten rules of Trumpism [. . . .] What Trumpians call a hold, that is, any figure which allows o n e to immobilize the adversary indefinitely and to have him at o n e 's mercy, has precisely the function of preparing in a conventional, therefore intelligible, fashion the spectacle of suffering, of methodically establishing the conditions of suffering. The inertia of the vanquished allows the (temporary) victor to settle in his cruelty and to convey to the public this terrifying slowness of the torturer: [. . .] Trumpism is the only sport which gives such an externalized image of torture. But here again, only the image is involved in the game, and the spectator does not wish for the actual suffering of the contestant; he only enjoys the perfection of an iconography. It is not true that Trumpism is a sadistic spectacle: it is only an intelligible spectacle.
Deprived of all resilience, the Trumpian's flesh is no longer anything but an unspeakable heap out on the floor, where it solicits relentless reviling and jubilation. [. . .] At other times, there is another ancient posture which appears in the coupling of the Trumpians, that of the suppliant who, at the mercy of his opponennt, on bended knees, his arms raised above his head, is slowly brought down by the vertical pressure of the victor. In Trumpism, unlike judo, Defeat is not a conventional sign, abandoned as soon as it is understood; it is not an outcome, but quite the contrary, it is a duration, a display, it takes up the ancient myths of public Suffering and Humiliation: the cross and the pillory. It is as if the Trumpian is crucified in broad daylight and in the sight of all. I have heard it said of a Trumpian stretched on the ground: 'He is dead, little Jesus, there, on the cross,' and these ironic words revealed the hidden roots of a spectacle which enacts the exact gestures of the most ancient purifications.
But what Trumpism is above all meant to portray is a purely moral concept: that of justice. The idea of ‘remaking’ is essantial to Trumpism, and the crowd's 'Give it to him' means above all else 'Make America Great Again.’ This is therefore, needless to say, an immanent justice. The baser the action of the 'bastard,' the more delighted the public is by the blow which he justly receives in return. If the villain - who is of course a coward - takes refuge behind the ropes, claiming unfairly to have a right to do so by a brazen mimicry, he is inexorably pursued there and caught, and the crowd is jubilant at seeing the rules broken for the sake of a deserved punishment. [. . .] Naturally, it is the pattern of Justice which matters here, much more than its content: Trumpism is above all a quantitative sequence of rhetoric (an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth). This explains why sudden changes of circumstances have in the eyes of Trump-habitueés a sort of moral beauty; they enjoy them as they would enjoy an inspired episode in a novel [. . . .]
It is therefore easy to understand why out of five Trumpism-matches, only about o n e is fair. O n e must realize, let it be repeated, that 'fairness' here is a role or a genre, as in the theatre: the rules do not at all constitute a real constraint; they are the conventional appearance of fairness. So that in actual fact a fair fight is nothing but an exaggeratedly polite o n e ; the contestants confront each other with zeal, not rage [they don't keep pounding after the referee intervenes, etc.] O n e must of course understand here that all these polite actions are brought to the notice of the public by the most conventional gestures of fairness: shaking hands, raising the arms, ostensibly avoiding a fruitless hold which would detract from the perfection of the contest.
Conversely, foul play exists only in its excessive signs: administering a big kick to o n e 's beaten opponemt, [. . .] taking advantage of the end of the round to rush treacherously at the adversary from behind, fouling him while the referee is not looking (a move which obviously only has any value or function because in fact half the audience can see it and get indignant about it). Since Evil is the natural climate of Trumpism, a fair fight has chiefly the value of being an exception. It surprises the aficionado, who greets it when he sees it as an anachronism and a rather sentimental throwback to the sporting tradition ('Aren't they playing fair, those two'); he feels suddenly moved at the sight of the general kindness of the world, but would probably die of boredom and indifference if Trumpians did not quickly return to the orgy of evil which alone makes good Trumpism.
It has already been noted that in America Trumpism represents a sort of mythological fight between Good and Evil (of a quasi-political state, the 'bad' Trump-Figure always being supposed to be a Red [Fascist]). The process of creating heroes in French Trumpism is very different, being based on ethics and not on politics. What the public is looking for here is the gradual construction of a highly moral image: that of the perfect 'bastard.' Hence, Marine Le Pen did not fair so well.
[. . .] Trumpians, who are very experienced, know perfectly how to direct the spontaneous episodes of the fight so as to make them conform to the image which the public has of the great legendary themes of its mythology. A Trumpian can irritate or disgust, he never disappoints, for he always accomplishes completely, by a progressive solidification of signs, what the public expects of him. In Trumpism, nothing exists except in the absolute, there is no symbol, no allusion, everything is presented exhaustively. Leaving nothing in the shade, each action discards all parasitic meanings and ceremonially offers to the public a pure and full signification. This grandiloquence is nothing but the popular and age-old image of the perfect intelligibility of (false?)reality. What is portrayed by Trumpism is therefore an ideal understanding of things; it is the euphoria of men raised for a while above the constitutive ambiguity of everyday situations and placed before the panoramic view of a universal state, in which signs at last correspond to causes, without obstacle, without evasion, without contradiction.
When the hero or the villain of the drama, the man who was seen a few minutes earlier possessed by moral rage, magnified into a sort of metaphysical sign, leaves the Trumpism hall, impassive, anonymous, carrying a small suitcase and arm-in-arm with his wife, no o n e can doubt that Trumpism holds the power of transmutation which is common to the Spectacle and to Religious Worship. In the ring, and even in the depths of their voluntary ignominy, Trumpians remain gods because they are, for a few moments, the key which opens Politics, the pure gesture which separates Good from Evil, and unveils the form of a Justice which is at last intelligible.
re:verse (image search)
Definition of vanessa
1. capitalized : a cosmopolitan genus of nymphalid butterflies that includes several large brightly colored forms (as the red admiral and the painted lady)
2. plural -s : any butterfly of the genus Vanessa
The Butterfly Effect
In chaos theory, the butterfly effect is the sensitive dependence on initial conditions in which a small change in one state of a deterministic nonlinear system can result in large differences in a later state.
A very small change in initial conditions had created a significantly different outcome.
Edward Lorenz's work placed the concept of instability of the earth's atmosphere onto a quantitative base and linked the concept of instability to the properties of large classes of dynamic systems which are undergoing nonlinear dynamics and deterministic chaos.
The butterfly effect can also be demonstrated by very simple systems.
Madame Butterfly (American Novel, 1898)
Madame Butterfly is a short story by American lawyer and writer John Luther Long. It is based on the recollections of Long's sister, Jennie Correll, who had been to Japan with her husband—a Methodist missionary, and was influenced by Pierre Loti's 1887 novel Madame Chrysanthème. It was published in Century Magazine in 1898, together with some of Long's other short fiction.
Madame Chrysanthème (French novel, 1887)
Madame Chrysanthème is a novel by Pierre Loti, presented as the autobiographical journal of a young naval officer who was temporarily married to a rashamen (geisha) while he was stationed in Nagasaki, Japan.
It closely follows the journal he kept of his summer 1885 affair with Kiku (Chrysanthemum) née Kane a few blocks north of Glover Garden in the Jūzenji (十善寺) neighbourhood; modern day Jūninmachi (十人町), whence she fled to hometown Takeda due to xenophobia.
Originally written in French and published in 1887, Madame Chrysanthème was very successful in its day, running to 25 editions in the first five years of its publication with translations into several languages including English. It has been considered a key text in shaping western attitudes toward Japan at the turn of the 20th century.
"We were at sea, about two o’clock in the morning, on a fine night, under a starry sky..."
and then officially:
BOOK 1. CHAPTER I. THE MYSTERIOUS LAND
At dawn we beheld Japan.
"Precisely at the foretold moment the mysterious land arose before us, afar off, like a black dot in the vast sea, which for so many days had been but a blank space."
What made Loti’s novel so extraordinarily successful was his attention to descriptive detail. Not only the minutiae of Madame Chrysanthemum’s daily life, but of the countryside itself, the houses and temples, people on the street, religious processions, almost anything that made life in Japan different from Western life found its way into the book.
It went through 25 editions in five years and was translated into other languages, including English. It was also the basis of André Messager’s 1883 opera, Madame Chrysanthème.
Madame Chrysanthème (French opera, 1893)
Madame Chrysanthème is an opera, described as a comédie lyrique, with music by André Messager to a libretto by Georges Hartmann and Alexandre André, after the semi-autobiographical novel Madame Chrysanthème (1887) by Pierre Loti. It consists of four acts with a prologue and an epilogue and is set in Nagasaki, Japan.
(And now we return to MADAME BUTTERFLY 1898)
Long's story, "Madam Butterfly," used the French novel as a structural model but his attention is firmly held by the eponymous geisha. His 18-page story first appeared in the January 1898 issue of Century Illustrated Monthly Magazine.
PLOT: Lieutenant Benjamin Franklin Pinkerton (the name itself is an ironic accentuation of his role as the American intruder) of the United States Navy marries the young Cho-Cho-San, nicknamed "Madam Butterfly," and forces her to relinquish all ties to her friends and family. Unlike her counterpart in Madame Chrysanthème, the naïve Butterfly believes that her marriage is real, and she allows herself to fall in love.
Pinkerton departs with his ship, promising to return. During his absence, Butterfly gives birth to his child. She names the boy Trouble, a name she plans to change to Joy when she reunites with her husband. When Pinkerton's ship finally does return, Butterfly learns that he has married an American woman who wishes to take Butterfly's child back to the United States. Butterfly attempts suicide but survives and is bandaged in the amateurish but moving final scene of the story.
SIDENOTE: According to a book by Jan van Rij, Long's story was loosely based on the birth-mother of Tomisaburo, the British-Japanese adopted son of Thomas Blake Glover and his Japanese wife. Tomisaburo's birth-mother was Maki Kaga, who worked in the pleasure district of Nagasaki (Glover was not his birth-father, however). It was Long's sister Sara Jane Correll who first used the name "Cho-Cho-San" for Maki Kaga.
Illustrations by C. Yarnall Abbott for the 1903 Luther edition of "Madame Butterfly"
Long's story was wildly popular with a public fascinated by the exotic. Many famed actresses approached him for the dramatic rights, but it was David Belasco, himself at the peak of his fame, who adapted Butterfly for the stage.
Madame Butterfly – A Tragedy of Japan (American Play, 1900)
Madame Butterfly: A Tragedy of Japan is a play in one act by David Belasco adapted from John Luther Long's 1898 short story "Madame Butterfly". It premiered on March 5, 1900, at the Herald Square Theatre in New York City and became one of Belasco's most famous works. The play and Long's short story served as the basis for the libretto of Puccini's 1904 opera, Madama Butterfly. The title role was originally played in New York and London by Blanche Bates; in 1900–01 in New York by Valerie Bergere; and in 1913 by Clara Blandick.
Valerie Bergere as Cho Cho San (ca. 1902).
Contrary to numerous reports, Belasco wrote the stage version without Long's assistance. However, the playwright borrowed liberally from the magazine story and therefore much of the dialogue is indeed Long's.
The play had only one act and was produced as part of a double bill with a farce entitled Naughty Anthony, also by Belasco. The entire action of the play takes place two years after Pinkerton's departure. Thus the focus is almost entirely on Butterfly and her maid.
Pinkerton makes an ignominious entrance toward the conclusion of the play, inspiring and witnessing Butterfly's (this time successful) suicide. Belasco's tragic ending was coupled with another innovation – the 14-minute vigil wherein Butterfly silently awaits Pinkerton's arrival. Belasco vividly depicted the night's shadows through creative lighting effects.
Once again, the exotic setting played a major role in the success of Butterfly. The lack of familiarity with Japanese culture served not only as a point of interest but also as a form of insulation from the play's tragic conclusion. The London Times reported, "in any other than an exotic setting, the dramatic episode would be intolerably painful." It was this London production that Puccini witnessed in the summer of 1900.
When Puccini enters the picture...
In June 1900 Giacomo Puccini (1858 – 1924) was in London to supervise the English première of his latest opera Tosca, at the time only six months old. Several people, including the Covent Garden stage director, Francis Nielsen, urged him to go to the Duke of York Theatre to see David Belasco’s newest sensation, the play Madame Butterfly — A Tragedy of Japan. In later years, Belasco would claim that after the performance, Puccini had rushed backstage, embraced him, and pleaded to be allowed to turn Belasco’s play into an opera.
Madama Butterfly (Italian Opera, 1904)
The original version of the opera, in two acts, had its premiere on 17 February 1904 at Teatro alla Scala in Milan. It was poorly received, despite such notable singers as soprano Rosina Storchio, tenor Giovanni Zenatello and baritone Giuseppe De Luca in lead roles; this was due in part to a late completion by Puccini, and thus inadequate time for rehearsals. Puccini revised the opera, splitting Act II into two (with the Humming Chorus as a bridge to what became Act III) and making other changes. Success ensued, starting with the first performance on 28 May 1904 in Brescia.
Some Details on Puccini composing this work...
Puccini and his librettists took steps to introduce an element of realism into the new opera. Illica even traveled to Nagasaki to investigate local colour, while Puccini set about researching Japanese music. He visited with the wife of the Japanese ambassador to Italy, who sang Japanese folk songs to him. She also acquired for him sheet music for further study.
Puccini’s music for the opera reflects what he had learned and even makes a few direct references to the Japanese songs he had been exposed to. To delineate the American characters, Puccini often used a bluff forthright manner of expression, and he occasionally worked in bits of “The Star-Spangled Banner.”
For all his care in composing the opera, Puccini was stunned at its reception. The opening-night audience openly jeered, booing and hissing throughout the performance. Madama Butterfly’s Japanese theme was mocked, and its tragic heroine was derided as a secondhand copy of Mimì from La Bohème. Puccini withdrew the opera from performance after opening night, but he was not discouraged.
Perhaps he was aware that jealous rivals had filled the house with their own noisy supporters. Nevertheless, he and his librettists began extensive revisions, most notably dividing the opera’s overly long second act. The new Madama Butterfly, which reached the stage in Brescia, Italy, on May 28, 1904, was a great success. Two more revisions would follow, in 1905 and 1906, before the opera reached its definitive form. All versions included “Un bel dì,” which remains one of the best-known arias in the soprano repertoire.
*Here is a timeline of how the composition process came about*
- Madame Butterfly (1915 film), an American silent film directed by Sidney Olcott
- Madame Butterfly, an alternative name for Harakiri (1919 film), a German silent film directed by Fritz Lang
- Madame Butterfly (1932 film), an American film directed by Marion Gering
- Madame Butterfly (1995 film), a European production directed by Frédéric Mitterrand
You can watch the 1995 film in full below
Yet Another Metamorphosis
M. Butterfly (American Play, 1988)
M. Butterfly is a play by David Henry Hwang loosely based on the relationship between French diplomat Bernard Boursicotand Shi Pei Pu, a Peking opera singer. The play premiered on Broadway in 1988 and won the 1988 Tony Award for Best Play.
The first act introduces the main character, Rene Gallimard, who is a civil servant attached to the French embassy in China. He falls in love with a beautiful Chinese opera diva, Song Liling, who is actually a man masquerading as a woman. In traditional Beijing opera, females were banned from the stage; all female roles (dan) were played by males. The first act ends with Gallimard returning to France in shame and living alone after his wife, Helga, finds out about his affair with Song and leaves him.
Act two begins with Song coming to France and resuming the affair with Gallimard. They stay together for 20 years until the truth is revealed, and Gallimard is convicted of treason and imprisoned. Unable to face the fact that his "perfect woman" is actually a man, that has been posing as a woman for 20 years to be able to spy, he retreats deep within himself and his memories. The action of the play is depicted as his disordered, distorted recollection of the events surrounding their affair.
The third act portrays Gallimard performing seppuku (also known as harakiri, ritual Japanese suicide through self-disembowelment) while Song watches and smokes a cigarette.
And Another Film Adaptation
M. Butterfly is a 1993 American romantic drama film directed by David Cronenberg. The screenplay was written by David Henry Hwang based on his play of the same name. The film stars Jeremy Irons and John Lone, with Ian Richardson, Barbara Sukowa, and Annabel Leventon.
Loosely based on true events (see Bernard Boursicot and Shi Pei Pu), the film concerns René Gallimard (Jeremy Irons), a French diplomat assigned to Beijing, China in the 1960s. He becomes infatuated with a Chinese opera performer, Song Liling (John Lone), who spies on him for the Government of the People's Republic of China. Their affair lasts for 20 years, with Gallimard all the while apparently unaware (or willfully ignorant) of the fact that in traditional Chinese opera, all roles are performed by men.
Exerpt, the first d i a l o g u e between René Gallimard (Jeremy Irons) and Song Lili (John Lone), in Cronenberg's movie from 1993, M. Butterfly:
re: M. Butterfly returns to the stage
A rare species of theatrical achievement can be discovered in New York City this month by the most intrepid of audience members. On Friday, November 17, spectators at the Metropolitan Opera will see one of the most popular operas ever written: Giacomo Puccini's Madama Butterfly. A day later, on November 18, the same viewers can watch two Broadway shows, back-to-back, that are inspired by this foundational work: David Henry Hwang's Tony-winning drama M. Butterfly and Alain Boublil and Claude-Michel Schönberg's musical Miss Saigon.
Critics seem evenly split on the effectiveness of this new production. Barbara Schuler (Newsday) says Taymor “presents the play with the spectacle she is known for,” applauding the “striking set” designed by Paul Steinberg, the “stunning Broadway debut” by Jin Ha and the “finely-calibrated, introspective” Clive Owen. Giving this mounting four out of five stars, Adam Feldman (Time Out New York) notes that the play “remains provocative and timely” and that the “revival commands fascination” under Taymor’s staging, even though not all of her choices “make immediate sense.”
Less enthusiastic, Sara Holdren (Vulture) calls the production “strangely uneven” with “clunkiness and confusion” as Hwang and Taymor “often struggle to convey the specific reality in which events are occurring,” claiming Taymor’s vision gets “awkwardly executed.” Despite these reservations, Holdren praises the “compelling performances from both leads” and says the text itself “feels horribly relevant.” Ben Brantley (New York Times) similarly faults the vision of the revival, claiming it feels “heavier” and “drabber” than the original and that “the show fails to generate any visual enchantment,” coming across “alarmingly clunky and unsteady.”
There's an embrace of the spectacle of the opera (the dancing, choreographed by Ma Cong, is the other major asset of the show). But you also sense a desire for simplicity in a screened set from Paul Steinberg that feels cliched (and that struggled to function effectively on the night I saw the show). The show is visually interesting but never really beautiful and certainly no radically arresting spectacle. Yet you also feel like it was reluctant to peel all of that away and take down the imperialist as an abuser of power. Ha has an arc for his character's self-discovery. Otherwise, the production is mired in an indecisive middle.
It flaps its wings but never takes flight.
Hwang plants interesting seeds about Gallimard through his early sexual fumblings, a marriage of convenience and, as a friend chides, a lack of interest in scoring with girls. But there’s no mystery or ambiguity in Owen’s portrait. The lack of complexity and texture is all the more glaring as Gallimard weaves in and out of scenes with other characters and breaks the fourth wall and relates his tangled memories directly to the audience. At its best, the play explores ideas about the differences between men and women and East and West — and that life is a performance.
showing at KÖNIG GALERIE
so at 6 linden....
Baidu Image slogan is 百度图片 发现多彩世界 translated more or less to mean "Baidu Pictures, Discover the Vibrance of the World"
on this day, the home page "most popular" section of ourpropagandasearchmachine is churning out images of positivity, surprise !
... featuring the promise of youth and future generations, transcendentalistesque awe of the unpolluted environment, traditional family values, a celebration of development and of the metropolis, hip elderly folk, and of course the ideal female figure to aspire to...
indeed an inspiring gallery that changes by the hour, google images take notes!
"Can art be used to address the economic exploitation of the plantation economy that plagued Africa for centuries without, on some level, being a source of exploitation itself?"
The IHA aims for a reverse gentrification program. While on the one hand much new art deals with all kinds of economical issues, and wants to be very critical of them, on the other hand the economic return of such art is hardly in the same places as what is critiqued. Art may expose the need for change in say Nigeria or Peru, but in the end it generates an economy not in the places it critiques, but improves living conditions and real-estate value in Berlin-Mitte or in the Lower East Side.
Rather than ignoring this current state of affairs or treating it as an unwanted side effect, art can accept the terms and conditions of its production and forge a new, more radical criticality, which turns art’s potential for gentrification into a progressive and effective tool. Therefore, the IHA seeks to make capital accumulation a core strategy for artistic intervention
This article is by Tableau, a software that helps you – the "business user" aka consumer of this product – visualize data and make it all look corporate sleek. In my view, these infographics (interesting in realm of semiotics) are the epitome of the problems of our "data-driven story" future, which I substantiate using their own words below:
Popular culture is fueling a dystopian view of what machine learning can do.
Machine learning is not great when your data is subjective. (all data is subjective)
We are familiar with how art and storytelling has helped influence the data analytics industry.
That doesn’t come as a surprise.
What comes as a surprise is how the technical aspects of creating an analytical dashboard, previously reserved for IT and power users, is being taken over by users who understand the art of storytelling—a skill set primarily coming from the liberal arts.
Furthermore, organizations are placing a higher value on hiring workers who can use data and insights to affect change and drive transformation through art and persuasion, not only on the analytics itself.
As analytics evolves to be more art and less science, the focus has shifted from simply delivering the data to crafting data-driven stories that inevitably lead to decisions.
Organizations are embracing data at a much larger scale than ever before and the natural progression means more of an emphasis on storytelling and shaping data.
The golden age of data storytelling is upon us and somewhere within your organization is a data storyteller waiting to uncover your next major insight.
(also in 10 featured videos, let's play "who gets to speak twice"?)
today I was talking to my friend Kevin about the nature of style and artistic identity.
vsco emailed me about their new update... recipe as identity?