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History in the present

’...once again I saw the live tableau with the Rose Queen and the little boy carrying her train at her side. Yet hard as I tried ..., I could not recollect myself in the part. I did recognize the unusual hairline running at a slant over the forehead, but otherwise all memory was extinguished in me by an overwhelming sense of the long years that had passed. I have studied the photograph many times since, [...] I examined every detail under a magnifying glass without once finding the slightest clue. And in doing so I always felt the piercing, inquiring gaze of the page boy who had come to demand his dues, who was waiting in the grey light of dawn on the empty field for me to accept the challenge and avert the misfortune lying ahead of him.’ [1]

In this passage from W.G. Sebald's novel, Austerlitz comes face to face with the photographic evidence of his genealogy and the childhood that had been, until then, lost to him. Yet, even at that moment, when presented with his younger self captured just before the events that were to sever his early childhood from his adult consciousness, the photograph as evidence only removes him further from owning and inhabiting his identity. The lacunae in his memory, the erasure of those earlier moments, is marked by the ghostly presence of the dead wandering aimlessly over his already feint sense of self, blurring the differences of the past and the present in a paralysis of time. Sebald's novel has become a powerful literary commentary on memory and history and the impossibility of securing a stable sense of identity after Auschwitz.[2]

The collapse between then and now haunts Austerlitz and makes present the cultural amnesia that can swamp our collective consciousness, whereas the historical contingency of the present is everywhere in the Ghosting series of commissions, initiated by Picture This. Season (2003) by Ansuman Biswas, Being Mammy (2004) by Harold Offeh and Persistent Visions (2005) by Erika Tan, emerge from the artists' research into public archives of artefacts and audio-visual material capturing the past in the patina of age. We are shown the faded grains of 16mm black and white footage of rural workers making silage, and the earliest stages of mechanisation in images of factory workers bottling milk in the South West of England. We view the high colour contrasts of 1950s Kodak film captured in Super 8 footage of European tourists mounting camels against the backdrop of Egyptian pyramids. And we experience gesticulating mammies caught in the glare of the theatrical spotlight and footlights; the combination of lighting marks the moment of the vaudeville stage pre its absorption into Hollywood and the 'archive' of modernity.[3]

In Sebald's novel the archive is not only in the documents that allow the central character, a Czech émigré, Austerlitz, to trace his surviving family, it is also in the series of coincidences and chance events, the hallucinations and dreams that gradually burst through the brick wall of his forgetting. Similarly, the archive in these artists' works lies in the attention to the residues of time. These residues accumulate in the auratic force of the image so that it reverberates between the evidential of the documentary, the photograph as an actual document and the aporia of the specular, the affective dimension of the image as spectacle. This reverberation may be due in part to the nature of the 'primary' material taken from these archives. Even when the subject of travel as an elsewhere and the exoticism of 'natives' is at the forefront, it is the proximity between this ethnography and its object, its presence within the borders of a Eurocentric psyche rather than its outer regions, that makes this body of work stand out. Whether Hollywood memorabilia, home movies shot by English officials in the colonies amongst family and friends, or documentary films recording the first moments of mechanisation of agricultural processes, these films are marked by the practices of everyday life, not the formal rhetoric of the state or colonial authority.

The emphasis on the microcosms of lived experience draws attention to a wider cultural history evident in the reference to objects, artefacts and footage taken or collected between the 1920s and the 1970s. This period straddling the Second World War and the explosion of the mass media in the post-war era is arguably the moment of an expanded democracy in the UK that also bore witness to immense upheavals in Britain's fortunes as an empire and leading world power. The economic logic of colonial exploitation in the 19th century was tied to domestic social conflict created partly by population excess that in turn exacerbated levels of poverty.[4] The subsequent emergence of an imperialist ideology in late 19th century Britain was encapsulated for Lenin by Colin Rhodes' comment in 1895: 'The Empire, as I have always said, is a bread and butter issue. If you want to avoid civil war, you must become imperialists.'[5] From the 1920s that imperialist ideology became a neo-colonial one, the success of Independence movements brought with it the reality that economic power remained with the former Imperialists.[6] The complex nature of this logic can be seen in examples of the archive that are brought to public awareness in these commissions. In the microcosms of individual experiences, the desires, pleasures and pride of a Eurocentric world-view unaware of its own contingent nature, offer a particular sense of modernity that is both nostalgic and, in its myopic vision, deeply compelling. These essentially artistic responses to ethnographic fieldwork in the archive of colonialism as it was lived and inhabited by the populace, emerge as an aesthetic experienced as temporality in which rhythm and movement enable the spectator to navigate multiple modes of address.

This is particularly evident in Biswas' Season a four-screen installation projected onto suspended cloth screens. Its spatial arrangement encourages the spectator to move into and around the four looped sequences. These sequences are four separate films, Birth running for a duration of 17 minutes, Sraddha, 43 minutes, Rhythm, 18 minutes and Devon, 24 minutes. Shown on alternate surfaces, they create a series of rhythmic correspondences that weave between acoustic and visual registers. The sound is carefully manipulated throughout to allow certain sequences to become more audible and others to fade, bringing the corresponding filmed images with them. If at first the sounds of spices being pounded in Bengal seem to clash with those of an industrial grinder in England, they do so to force our attention on the contrasting images. The first footage is a close up shot of spices produced using digital technology in the contemporary moment and the other is a faded black and white image of the actions of the uniformed worker from the archive. The latter appears somehow more alien and unfamiliar; it is as if the passing of time is a greater obstacle than geographical distance. The installation is a careful orchestration of a cacophony of sounds; chickens crowing, a priest reciting funeral rites, Bengali farmers thrashing rice onto bamboo woven screens, men in Devon making silage in a huge vat - their arms linked as they jump up and down. We find ourselves oscillating between the two and attempting to make correspondences that to some extent lie in a more complex history. The dissonance of these images is gradually synchronised through the use of sound, and we are left wondering whether we have made the sequences coalesce to overcome the persistent alienation of their aural collision.

The archive in Season is located in the various aliases for the poet Rabindranath Tagore, whose role in the emergence of Indian independence is overshadowed by Ghandi's legacy. Tagore's legacy as an important catalyst in the history of Indian independence included the establishment of Santiniketan: a school and research establishment founded in West Bengal, that reflected his philosophy directed along spiritual and ecological lines in which the rural culture of India played a seminal role. This history is now at the margins of contemporary India, evident in the appropriation by the Hindu right of rural life as a cultural and spiritual symbol suggesting the urgency of remembering its roots in this earlier revolutionary politics. The founding of Dartington Hall by Leonard and Dorothy Elmhirst is perhaps the closest connection to this history. The then ecological values are documented in their home movies that capture everyday events on the estate and in a school for the poor. The Elmhirsts initiated a rural reconstruction of an otherwise depressed agricultural community. Their pride in these efforts can be seen in films that document an emerging modernity through the mechanisation of previously rural and agrarian methods.[7] Biswas' choice of archival footage is directed by a disappearing link with agrarian traditions; their renewal in India formed part of the country's resistance to colonialism. In the process they become complex aliases for Tagore, found in the rhythmic correspondences between image and sound, between the thrashing of the rice, and the dances of new mechanisation that were about to destroy the same rural existence in the South West of England.

Biswas makes history dance to the rhythm of dissonant harmonies created by the peasants as poet musicians, and the shock of mechanisation returns us to the celebration of folk and vernacular traditions that lie behind the Santiniketan educational enterprise and its satellite in Dartington Hall. The use of acoustic and visual correspondences to evoke dance and music is important to the significance of Season as a commentary on the archive and memory as it forces the spectator to continually seek meanings in the gaps and spaces between visual acoustic patterns. It can also be found in the corpse of Biswas' grandmother whose reputation as a storyteller in the village was, for the artist, the closest connection to the significance of an agrarian past that was part of Tagore's cultural legacy.

Biswas' decision to incorporate both his own footage of his grandmother's funeral in a Bengali village, with clips from a 1970s educational film of a mother in labour at Watford Hospital, suggests a synchrony between the home and the world that follows a particular line and history of migration; its patterns echo themes of the particular and the universal, of death alongside birth. The rhythmic nature of the object in movement that emerges in these patterns of migration within Biswas' installation can in a sense also be found in Homi Bhabha's writings. There is also a sense of alienation in this footage that renders the process of birthing as mechanised as that of bottling milk, evident in the medical uniforms and masked faces that appear excessive acts of removing the emotional and spiritual associations tied to the ritual of giving birth. Its pedagogical status implying the need to impose rational distance between the viewer and the experience of the mother.

The rhythms of universals and particulars that draw Dartington and this Bengali village together present a form of modernity known as 'worlding'. This term invented by Homi Bhabha to identify an act of writing the world is taken from Toni Morrison's description of the relationship between ghosts, the hauntings of the slave past, and the political reality in her novel Beloved (1987). This 'worlding' of an otherwise unhomely aspect of the narrative in Beloved emerges in an essay whose title Bhabha borrows from Tagore's well-known novel Ghare Baire (1916) translated as The Home and the World (1919). Bhabha cites the Bengali author's description of Bimala, one of the central characters in the novel, as "home-made”, "the product of the confined space" and refers to the zenana, the women's quarters. Bimala's subsequent entry into the political violence of Bengal in 1905, "ablaze with Swadeshi or Home Rule movement", is cited by Bhabha as an example of historical memory as the trauma of violent dislocation creating a dialectical play between the home and the world. The significance of this essay to Season and the other commissions for Ghosting lies in Bhabha's proposed model of the aesthetic in terms of temporality. Historical memory is the contested terrain of modernity that eschews the deadening effects of form and truth to materials that resides in the art object's object-hood, he argues:

"I want to suggest that the aesthetic process introduces into our reading of social reality not another reified form of mediation - the art object - but another temporality in which to signify the 'event' of history. [...] The present that informs the aesthetic process is not a transcendental passage but a moment of 'transit', a form of temporality that is open to disjunction and discontinuity and that sees the process of history engaged, rather like art, in a negotiation of the framing and naming of social reality - not what lies inside or outside reality, but where to draw (or inscribe) the 'meaningful' line between them.”[8]

Persistent Visions, by contrast, is a three-screen installation in which Erika Tan's resuscitation of the colonial white male gaze, seen through numerous home movies taken in various parts of the Empire, draws attention to its concealment in the inner folds of contemporary collective consciousness. However, her decision to present this footage instead of government propaganda films or missionary documentaries also inflects the silent montage she has created. In numerous scenarios we see English travellers, settlers and officers, crossing bridges, riding camels, travelling through grand mountainous landscapes, walking through ancient ruins in historic sites. However, Tan has eliminated the numerous different narratives and the accented nature of her subjects. Three screens run continuously and are synchronised to play the same scene simultaneously. The repetition of certain scenes becomes compulsive in the flow of images as though the mind's eye has become fixated on one memory to which our collective unconscious obsessively returns. The silence of these images reflects an awareness of the overwhelming nature of the acous-mètre, the voice in cinema that provides an authoritative agent that directs our understanding of the images. Michel Chion identifies two aspects of the manifestation of the acous-mètre: the disembodied voice-over that seems to float in an indeterminate space and thus occupy an acoustic parallel to the sovereign eye, and its location in the body of a specific individual that sometimes degrades its authority.[9] Tan silences her male, white camera-men who create the inter-subjective space we inhabit with the many colonial settlers. In a sense Tan replaces the language of the white male authorial subject with a rhythmic babble that is perhaps much more lyrical, sensual and playful. It is a rhythm that the spectator makes anew each time she pursues an image across the series of silent but repeated Super 8 images projected across the three screens.

Tan's choice of clips and their multiplicity evoke an obsessive need by their original authors to record and fix the colonial encounter. Many of these movies retain the format of landscape compositions familiar to the postcard or the panoramic images of the late 19th century; or scenes of everyday life filtered by the representational frame of movies like African Queen (1952) or Mogambo (1953). The categories of the 'savage' and 'civilised' are mediated and confused by the possessiveness of the camera's eye and in the range of shots. The panoramic view of a long winding road snaking through a mountain- side caught in black and white, and the aerial view of the unloading of a cargo ship are within the sequential logic of the installation. The montage of images is however, disrupted by camera tilts focused on the white male camera-man's wife and then on a 'native’. For Tan these different camera angles complicate the inflection of the personal encounter with the mediated cinematic lure. One might argue they express the complexity of making present certain power relations that, in the personal space of the home movie, and of intimacy between couples, is exposed as the instability of an unknowing. In other words, the complex affiliations and contaminations between the desiring eye and the colonial spectacle, as modes of engagement simplified as 'encounter’, expose in their reproduction of modes of representation, a lack of self-knowledge that such specular images create. This is perhaps what makes her found footage so compelling and also presents certain ethical dilemmas.

The British Empire & Commonwealth Museum, as the repository of these movies, is indicative of the silent but nonetheless living memory of colonial power amongst an older generation whose conspicuous absence from the public spaces of British identity in a global age colludes with the wilful amnesia of a managerial approach to questions of difference. It gives force to Paul Gilroy's view in the aftermath of the Stephen Lawrence enquiry that the failure to address racism in contemporary Britain comes partly from a postcolonial melancholia; a desire to return to the moment before the end of the Second World War when Britain retained its global political and cultural eminence.[10] Erasing their language Tan replaces it with a rhythm and movement of form created through repetition and the pulsating surface of film. Seen in a darkened environment this encourages us to pursue fleeting fragments of a gesture, a pattern, a distant horizon, to create our own narratives over this once all too vocal historical memory.

In a rather different manner, patterns of migration as forms of musicality infiltrate Harold Offeh's interpretation of the black face of minstrelsy that is part of his exploration of the mammy character in western popular culture. Offeh's exploration of the life of Hattie McDaniel who played the mammy character in Gone with the Wind . (1939) was conditioned partly by an awareness of the popularity of black and white minstrels on British television as recently as the early 1980s. The artist's emulation of blackface objects draws attention to the wider cultural resonance of the mammy figure as a relic of slavery, evident in the nostalgia amongst some white southern Americans for the antebellum era of the slave years. These objects are still available as tourist souvenirs in parts of Louisiana in the United States. Offeh's appropriation of them draws out their status as cultural forms that attest to the function of the slave as object. Ornate Sambos designed as clocks, or mass-produced plastic bottles of syrup fashioned to appear like Aunt Jemima that can be squeezed, are only some of the examples of such objects. Those that are prized by collectors are embellished by the skills of the craftsmen to bring together the value of the blackface as entertainers with their origins in slavery as objects of possession that become literally containers of desire. Offeh's replicas of these objects often take on the function of domestic display in their allusion to an interiorised world of fantasy. As Susan Stewart argues: "Through narrative the souvenir substitutes a context of perpetual consumption for its context of origin. It represents not the lived experience of its maker but the 'second-hand' experience of its possessor/owner."[11]

Offeh's objects as replicas from a collective archival memory of the slave past testify to the sinister nature of this perpetual consumption: wooden spoons decorated with decapitated black heads, to stir or eat with, fly swats with grotesquely exaggerated lips that can be slapped against a wall or a table-top, and hand puppets, with staring white eyes begging us to insert our hands inside them. In a sense these objects draw out the sadism of lynching of black men popular amongst white southerners in the US that accelerated during the 1920s and '30s.[12] The pleasure in transforming the black body into an object that can be dismembered and tortured at length was captured in the many photographic souvenirs of these events that were in wide circulation. The desire to manipulate, dismember and hence possess the black body is tied up with a need to tame its 'savagery' and hence its terrifying beauty. The existence of these many blackface collectibles in private collections indicates the importance of making servants, entertainers and minstrels into miniatures, that affects a similar need to possess and tame them as objects. These stereotypes were also directed by nostalgia for the ante-bellum era of slavery and the plantation as the site of a picturesque rural America.

Stewart argues that the exotic souvenir sold to tourists: "offers an authenticity of experience tied up with notions of the primitive as child and the primitive as an earlier and purer stage of contemporary civilization”.[13] Though her model is the kind of object to be found by western tourists in 'exotic' locations, it can be applied to these collectibles and particularly the dolls of the mammy character created by Offeh that allude to childhood and the significance of the mammy role as a hyper-maternal restoration of the trauma of history embodied in the abolition of slavery as a loss of mastery. Again Stewart offers a useful account of this:"The authenticity of the exotic object arises not in the conditions authored by the primitive culture itself but from an analogy between the primitive/exotic and the origin of the possessor's own childhood."

This analysis can be applied to a cultural context so that the ante-bellum era is seen as the moment of innocence of the collective American self, hence the popularity of Margaret Mitchell's novel and later the film. One might argue that these collectibles appear as substitutes for the middle-classes and elites who either could never afford slaves or can no longer possess them. Their wider circulation as objects of mass consumption for example in the tube of Aunt Jemima's maple syrup allowed this promise of mastery to be disseminated amongst consumers. Offeh's objects draw out their inherently sinister nature that exposes the nonchalance of these everyday objects transformed into grotesque images of the black body. Offeh's performance dressed in a similar manner to the mammy character from Gone with the Wind activates the archive and transforms these souvenirs from static objects to living agents; in the process the slippage between blackface collectibles as literal objects of possession and their manifestation in the minstrel figure, which is deeply problematic is made visible.

In his account of a modernism specific to African American vernacular culture Houston A. Baker Jr. cites the deformation and mastery of the form of the mask in minstrelsy as an instance of 'black' sounding. Baker argues that the African American vernacular emerges in language, gesture and movement but its performative status in minstrelsy is often lost on white America that mis-hears it as 'black' sounding, in other words as the authentic voice of the 'Negro'.[14] The numerous instances of white entertainers blacking up like Al Jolson in The Jazz Singer (1927) are just such examples of this appropriation. The mimicry inherent in Hattie McDaniel's tragic condition of being trapped behind the mask is precisely the dilemma that Baker argues has resulted in the confusion of vernacular aspects of 'black' expressivity with the theatrical exaggerations of the minstrel on the stage. For the white audiences of the latter there was no distinction between the mastery of the deformation of language and the illocution of the dim- witted 'negro'. The collection of Hollywood memorabilia in the Bill Douglas Centre located in the University of Exeter contains some items that are a material residue of an otherwise almost forgotten aspect of Britain's complex alliance with the transatlantic slave trade. The post-war explosion of US popular culture in the UK marked the latter's decline as an imperial power and the reversal of fortunes between the US and the UK. In the temporality of performance Offeh inhabits the guise of the mammy as a mask through which to observe the awkward responses to this forgotten history in the UK; the short films that Offeh produced in which he appears as a black face minstrel and mammy shot in the light of the stage are also significant in this respect. The figure is seen awkwardly lip-synching to the sounds of sharecroppers' songs recorded by ethnologists in the 1930s, even as many African Americans were either being lynched or were desperately fleeing this fate to migrate to the northern cities in which such vernacular forms were translated into swing and Be-bop. There is then a reverberation between the deadening effects of the static object, the blackface as a souvenir that depends on the picturesque associations with the image of the happy slave, and the activation of this object's status as a mask, that relies on its animation in the moving image.

Biswas, Offeh and Tan are not ethnographers rummaging in the dusty attic of cultural memory but artists. This factor marks their practices with a particular kind of aesthetic in which temporality replaces the Kantian roots of a modernist formalism of truth to materials or medium specificity, characteristic of the static object of art. The history of the artist as ethnographer working in museum collections has not altered the power relations between the institutions of taste and a Eurocentric world view partly because the sociological validation of these practices does not challenge the dominance of these institutions but reinforces them. If we consider Biswas', Tan's and Offeh's commissions from the perspective of the 'archive' of the western canon in Picture Atlas by the art historian Aby Warburg, important factors come to light that place pressure on art history as a Eurocentric discipline engaged in connoisseurship and taste with its historical roots in the rise of the museum and the collection.

The rise of time-based art practices forces a reconsideration of how we evaluate artists' projects that use found images and objects to evoke temporality, rhythm and movement. Biswas', Tan's and Offeh's appropriation of disparate moments in time suggest a reconsideration of montage, away from the alienation of the spectator dominant in the historical avant-garde and towards an allegorical use; but where Craig Owens defined this 'allegorical impulse' in postmodernism through language as the paradigm for historical revision as writing, these works use rhythm and movement as their primary expressive forms. However, the connotation of dance and rhythm is problematic for diaspora artists as it can all too easily resemble the marketing of ethnicity in our globalised culture that reinforces the kinds of essentialist notions of identity that these artists are attempting to challenge. It is therefore vital to reconsider how these works commissioned by Picture This alter the ways in which we evaluate the aesthetic in art.

Recent historical revisions of Warburg's legacy have focused on his trip to New Mexico and Arizona in 1895 that led him to study the Serpent ritual dance amongst the Native Indians of the Pueblo Region in North America.[15] They have established important connections between the otherwise Eurocentric discipline of art history, with its focus on the subjective and the affective aspects of the image and cultural studies' focus on memory and ethnography. Warburg's conception of art history emerges in the montage-like connections established between static objects and disparate images.[16] One might argue that a similar focus on conveying history through the showing of images and the movement between them is evident in the rhythmic dynamism of these artists' projects. My insistence on this continuity of expressive form is based on Biswas, Offeh and Tan's shared epistemological approach to the interrogation of identity and cultural difference as the index of their mode of engagement with forgotten aspects of Britain's imperial past. Without wishing to find some redemptive value in Warburg's otherwise historically conditioned view of the 'primitive' as essentially different in his 'mentality' to the civilised,[17] I would like to suggest that the rhythmic dynamism conveyed by Biswas, Offeh and Tan's explorations of the moving archive, draw out the importance of movement - in Warburg's Picture Atlas. Reading Warburg's strategy of archiving history through their respective artistic projects, allows us to draw out an aesthetic located in the duration of time as historical unfolding with important implications for how we evaluate quality and a revision of the canon of western art.

[1] W.G.Sebald, Austerlitz (2001), Anthea Bell, trans., (London and New York: Penguin Books, 2002), p.260.

[2] The narrator’s voice and that of the central character are often confused, prompting the view that the novel is as much an autobiography as fiction, with its many digressions on history and architectural design it evokes a meandering quality at odds with the genre.

[3] The South West Film and Television Archive, Plymouth is the repository of film footage from the region used by Biswas during a residency at Dartington: The Bill Douglas Centre at Exeter University holds Hollywood ephemera, some of which was referenced by Offeh; Tan’s interest in colonial encounters took her to archives in the British Empire & Commonwealth Museum, Bristol.

[4] Robert J.C.Young, Postcolonialism: An Historical Introduction, (Oxford: Blackwell, 2001), p.22.

[5] V.I.Lenin, Imperialism, The Highest Stage of Capitalism: A Popular Outline [1917], (Peking: Foreign Languages Press, 1965), pp.93-94.

[6] Robert J.C.Young, op. cit., p.45.

[7] Leonard Elmhirst met Tagore in the U.S. in the early 20s and returned to India with the poet in 1921. He acted as his secretary until 1925, when with Tagore’s advice he founded Dartington Hall in Devon as an experiment in rural and cultural reform funded by a wealthy North American widow Dorothy Straight who was to become his wife. See Michael Young, The Elmhirsts of Dartington, The Creation of a Utopian Community, (London and New York: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1982).

[8] Homi Bhabha, ‘The World and the Home’ in Dangerous Liaisons, Gender, Nation, & Postcolonial Perspectives. Anne McClintock, Aamir Mufti, and Ella Shohat, eds., (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1997), pp.447-448.

[9] Michel Chion, The Voice in Cinema, ed. and trans. Claudia Gorbman, (New York: Columbia University Press, 1998).

[10] Paul Gilroy, Joined-Up Politics and Postcolonial Melancholia, (London: Institute of Contemporary Arts; Pamphlet, 1999).

[11] Susan Stewart, On Longing, Narratives of the Miniature, the Gigantic, the Souvenir, the Collection, (Durham and London: Duke University Press, 1993), p.135.

[12] James Allen, Hilton Als et al. Without Sanctuary, Lynching Photography in America, (Santa Fe: Twin Palms, 2000).

[13] Susan Stewart, op. cit., p.146

[14] Houston A.Baker Jr., Modernism and the Harlem Renaissance, (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1987), pp.16-21.

[15] Aby Warburg, Images from the Region of Pueblo Indians of North America (1923) trans. with interpretive essay by Michael P.Steinberg, (Ithaca, New York and London: Cornell University Press, 1995). Margaret Iversen offers a ‘feminine’ appropriation of Warburg’s method that is important for my argument, see Iversen, ‘Retrieving Warburg’s Tradition’ (1993) in The Art of Art History: A Critical Anthology, Donald Preziosi, ed., (New york, Oxford: Routledge, 1998), pp.215-225).

[16] In a similar manner Philippe-Alain Michaud traces the residues of a moving archive in Warburg’s Picture Atlas as parallel to the rise of early cinema as a form of ethnography of the western subject and hence essentially cinematic. See Michaud, Aby Warburg and the Image in Motion, trans. Sophie Hawkes, foreword by Georges Didi-Huberman, (New York: Zone Books, 2004).

[17] See Matthew Rampley’s contextual essay in Art History as Cultural History: Warburg’s Projects (Critical Voices in Art, Theory, and Culture), Richard Woodfield, ed., (Amsterdam: G & B Arts International, 2001).

Amna Malik
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