The Nuclear Uncanny, Hauntology and the Ethics of Ruin-Gazing in Contemporary Artists’...

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ARCHIVES FOR THE FUTURE ARCHIVES FOR THE FUTURE CONFERENCE 2014 PANEL 3: Latency and Hauntology: How the Past Haunts the Future and the Future Haunts the Past. The Nuclear Uncanny, Hauntology and the Ethics of Ruin-Gazing in Artists’ Moving Image Introduction In this presentation I will explore contemporary artists’ moving-image and sound work that deals with ruinscapes and the idea of the Nuclear Uncanny (after Masco, 2006) specifically in the British landscape; this includes Emptyset’s Trawsfynydd (2013) made in an ex-nuclear power plant in Wales, Emily Richardson’s Cobra Mist (2008) and Jane and Louise Wilson’s Blind Landing (2013), both made in Orford Ness, and Mark Fisher and Justin Barton’s Vanishing Land (2013) based on a walk on the Suffolk coastline. I will explore the concept of Landscape as one that is in flux, but onto which socio-political concerns are projected or inscribed, where spatial manifestations of fear can be seen to form a kind of ‘hauntological topos’ (after Riley, 2005), which in these works is an allusion to a post-nuclear dystopian imaginary. Albano (2013) describes how cultural relationships to fear and uncertainty have been expressed in many recurrent aesthetic forms, through tropes of the Gothic, Sublime, the Uncanny and the Eerie; Dillon (2011) notes a specific form of landscape prevalent in contemporary artists’ works are the military-industrial complex and its ruin. As an artist I have worked with landscape representations in moving-image and sound, and I will give a broad overview of research I undertook in order to explore how I both produce and consume ruinscape representations; I will try to reconcile their subjective, affective dimensions with their sociopolitical context and the ethics of their representation. These works have an aesthetic that some people may deem a retro-futuristic revival and fetishisation of Cold War aesthetics—concrete, architectonic forms in monochrome or with a limited colour palette, and atmospheric Darkwave soundtracks evoking music subcultures from the 1980s onwards; I will explore them as being more Hauntological in the sense used by Mark Fisher and Simon Reynolds (2006, after Derrida, 1993 )), 1 exploring the notion of ‘Haunted Audio’ where spectres of the past continue to ‘haunt’ the present. Joseph Masco (2006) describes the Nuclear Uncanny as existing in the ‘material effects, psychic tension and sensory confusion produced by nuclear weapons and radioactive materials’ where these works directly or indirectly explore a ‘psychic anxiety’ (ibid 2006) surrounding the presence of the nuclear and its indeterminacy; a continuing, haunting presence that has not been resolved, around the seen and the unseen, the invisible becoming visible, the concealed being revealed. Landscapes of Fear and Memory and the Nuclear Uncanny It has been noted by JJ Charlesworth (2008) that a feature of the contemporary Western cultural imaginary is ‘a vague but widespread sense of uncertainty about the state of humanity’, particularly following the 2008 economic crisis. Fear has an on-going, continuous presence in society— seemingly renewed by a sense of urgency and crisis in media narratives from political conflict to ecological disaster; yet, as Albano (2013:34) notes, it is ‘the very lack of specificity or fixity that makes fear so powerful’. Part of a response to this has been a ‘flourishing of images of catastrophe and decay’ (Dillon, 2011:10), where ruinscapes draw on, inform and perpetuate, but also alter recurring tropes of fear. These artists’ works explore the materiality of ruinscapes and how they inform sensory or phenomenological experience, but could perhaps also be seen as metaphors for other forms of ruination and decay, where Svetlana Boym (2008) notes that ruins can function as ‘existential topographies’. Concepts of a collective feeling or consciousness can be critically analysed and dispelled from a number of perspectives (such as Social Constructionism for example), but there is something culturally enduring about the notion that something seemingly primordial exists and influences our experiences. In the context of presenting this research for Mnemoscape’s ‘Archives for the Future’ conference (2014), the ruin could be seen as a kind of in situ archive, where exploration of the landscape is a means of de-archiving or retrieving information. On living in the present, but with a constant negotiation of the presence of the past. 1

Transcript of The Nuclear Uncanny, Hauntology and the Ethics of Ruin-Gazing in Contemporary Artists’...

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ARCHIVES FOR THE FUTURE CONFERENCE 2014PANEL 3: Latency and Hauntology: How the Past Haunts the Future and the Future Haunts the

Past.

The Nuclear Uncanny, Hauntology and the Ethics of Ruin-Gazing in Artists’ Moving Image

Introduction

In this presentation I will explore contemporary artists’ moving-image and sound work that deals with ruinscapes and the idea of the Nuclear Uncanny (after Masco, 2006) specifically in the British landscape; this includes Emptyset’s Trawsfynydd (2013) made in an ex-nuclear power plant in Wales, Emily Richardson’s Cobra Mist (2008) and Jane and Louise Wilson’s Blind Landing (2013), both made in Orford Ness, and Mark Fisher and Justin Barton’s Vanishing Land (2013) based on a walk on the Suffolk coastline. I will explore the concept of Landscape as one that is in flux, but onto which socio-political concerns are projected or inscribed, where spatial manifestations of fear can be seen to form a kind of ‘hauntological topos’ (after Riley, 2005), which in these works is an allusion to a post-nuclear dystopian imaginary. Albano (2013) describes how cultural relationships to fear and uncertainty have been expressed in many recurrent aesthetic forms, through tropes of the Gothic, Sublime, the Uncanny and the Eerie; Dillon (2011) notes a specific form of landscape prevalent in contemporary artists’ works are the military-industrial complex and its ruin. As an artist I have worked with landscape representations in moving-image and sound, and I will give a broad overview of research I undertook in order to explore how I both produce and consume ruinscape representations; I will try to reconcile their subjective, affective dimensions with their sociopolitical context and the ethics of their representation. These works have an aesthetic that some people may deem a retro-futuristic revival and fetishisation of Cold War aesthetics—concrete, architectonic forms in monochrome or with a limited colour palette, and atmospheric Darkwave soundtracks evoking music subcultures from the 1980s onwards; I will explore them as being more Hauntological in the sense used by Mark Fisher and Simon Reynolds (2006, after Derrida, 1993 )), 1

exploring the notion of ‘Haunted Audio’ where spectres of the past continue to ‘haunt’ the present. Joseph Masco (2006) describes the Nuclear Uncanny as existing in the ‘material effects, psychic tension and sensory confusion produced by nuclear weapons and radioactive materials’ where these works directly or indirectly explore a ‘psychic anxiety’ (ibid 2006) surrounding the presence of the nuclear and its indeterminacy; a continuing, haunting presence that has not been resolved, around the seen and the unseen, the invisible becoming visible, the concealed being revealed.

Landscapes of Fear and Memory and the Nuclear Uncanny

It has been noted by JJ Charlesworth (2008) that a feature of the contemporary Western cultural imaginary is ‘a vague but widespread sense of uncertainty about the state of humanity’, particularly following the 2008 economic crisis. Fear has an on-going, continuous presence in society— seemingly renewed by a sense of urgency and crisis in media narratives from political conflict to ecological disaster; yet, as Albano (2013:34) notes, it is ‘the very lack of specificity or fixity that makes fear so powerful’. Part of a response to this has been a ‘flourishing of images of catastrophe and decay’ (Dillon, 2011:10), where ruinscapes draw on, inform and perpetuate, but also alter recurring tropes of fear. These artists’ works explore the materiality of ruinscapes and how they inform sensory or phenomenological experience, but could perhaps also be seen as metaphors for other forms of ruination and decay, where Svetlana Boym (2008) notes that ruins can function as ‘existential topographies’. Concepts of a collective feeling or consciousness can be critically analysed and dispelled from a number of perspectives (such as Social Constructionism for example), but there is something culturally enduring about the notion that something seemingly primordial exists and influences our experiences. In the context of presenting this research for Mnemoscape’s ‘Archives for the Future’ conference (2014), the ruin could be seen as a kind of in situ archive, where exploration of the landscape is a means of de-archiving or retrieving information.

On living in the present, but with a constant negotiation of the presence of the past.1

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Artists’ landscape representations could also offer an alternative kind of ‘archive’, where the use of abstract or Haptic images—as images which synaesthetically evoke touch (Marks, 2002)—may be more evocative than a mimetic realism, to register the affect of the ruinscape ‘beyond the cognitive’ (Tim Edensor, 2005). There are many theories of the Unheimlich or the Uncanny, but to draw from Freud’s use of the description by Friedrich Schelling, it is that which ‘ought to remain hidden or secret that has come to life’ (1919). In Nuclear Borderlands (2006) Joseph Masco writes on the Nuclear Uncanny and how post-1945 the ‘invisible power’ of the risk of nuclear radiation as a colourless, odourless substance ‘engaged new psychic and cultural registers’. The nuclear arms race embodied many contradictions, with simultaneous promotion as a national security project and the normalisation of the nuclear into everyday life, and the concealment of nuclear testing and its social and environmental impacts. This secrecy displaced it into the realm of the ‘unthinkable’, acquiring qualities of the Sublime or the Uncanny, allowing its ‘proliferation in the realm of imagination’ (2006:32). To the lay public without specialist equipment nuclear radiation is hard to identify, and becomes a ‘rupture in one of the basic cognitive frames of orientation to the world’ (ibid, 2006); this is due to our inability to evaluate its risk through the bodily senses, and in the face of a new, non-localisable threat with an uncontainable global presence and a futurity beyond the human life-scale. There have been many modes of translating the nuclear into representations perceivable by the human senses, including Susan Schuppli’s research into the effects of nuclear radiation on film . The following works are not attempting to capture or translate 2

the presence of nuclear radiation itself, but more the ‘psychic anxiety’ surrounding the nuclear legacy.

Emptyset’s Trawsfynydd (2013)

Emptyset’s Trawsfynydd is a single-channel moving-image piece that was shown at Tate Britain in March 2013; it is an impressionistic, tactile exploration of the interior architecture of a former nuclear power plant, evoking a sensory disturbance that may accompany the Nuclear Uncanny

http://vimeo.com/76090188 With permission from Subtext Recordings

The viewer attempts to orientate themselves in space through fixed, grounded architectural markers, but these are continually unsettled, fragmented and jarred in the flickering and fractured images. Paul Virilio (2007) describes contemporary fear as not only a response but a constitutive part of life, forming a ‘distorted relationship with Being-in-the-world’, where Vidler (2000) describes the projection of anxieties onto built forms and landscapes as a ‘spatial warping’. Japanese photographer and theorist Chihiro Minato (2011) describes the ruin as the ‘the image of an interrupted structure’, and it is this disruption which Trawsfynydd makes visually and sonically apparent. Modern conceptualisations of the relationship between vision and knowledge within the filmic frame, and the time-space linearity of the filmic sequence, are broken. Giuliana Bruno (2003) writes about the act of filming itself as an archaeological process, where recorded moving-images or sounds have the characteristics of ‘ruins’ in also bearing traces and marks of the architectural site. Riley (2005) also mentions how image and sound recordings are phantoms that haunt the cinema (after Deleuze, 1983), combining a past of the recorded event and the present of the audience viewing it; there is also a literal dis-placement in this work from Snowdonia to the screening room at Tate Britain via the workings of the artists. As well as recalling the architectural space, the aesthetic of Trawsfynydd recalls earlier experimental cinema from Eisenstein’s montages to Optical Sound, where the graininess, glare and ‘burnout’ are reminiscent of 1960s Structuralist film-making (Emptyset, 2013). The soundtrack was composed from field recordings made at the site by projecting sounds into the former power plant building and receiving them back as a mirror or ‘mould of the space’ (Emptyset, 2013), and then re-worked. The flickering and crackling in Trawsfynydd is evocative of the effects of nuclear radiation on film, which was explored in Jane and Louise Wilson’s contemporaneously exhibited Toxic Camera (at the Whitworth, Manchester, January 2013). The sonic, like the nuclear, appears diffuse and registers that which is not locatable to the naked eye.

Schuppli has written the articles The Most Dangerous Film in the World (2010) and Radical Contact Prints 2

(2013), relating to the effects of nuclear radiation on film in Vladimir Shevchenko’s Chernobyl: A Chronicle of Difficult Weeks (1986).

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Source: http://emptyset.org.uk/index.php/trawsfynydd

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The external landscape of Trawsfynydd has similarities to historical landscape representations of the Sublime—where natural landscapes were used to invoke the divine—where this video is more suggestive of the Technological Sublime, with a nuclear power plant as a man-made landscape that evokes ‘fear, awe and terror’ (Nye, 1996). As Eshun (2013) explains of the Otolith Group’s film The Radiant (2012), there is a sense of divinity or transcendence, or ‘exceptionalism’(after Gabriel Hector) surrounding the nuclear, where it is perceived as a kind of ‘fundamental atomic force’ (Eshun, 2013). Trawsfynydd, which shut down in 1991 and is in the process of being decommissioned, may represent the failure of utopian Modernist architectural design, and the continuing risk of military and nuclear disaster (exemplified by the Fukushima disaster in 2011), as a haunting presence that has not been resolved.

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Film still from Emily Richardson’s Cobra Mist (2008)

Emily Richardson’s Cobra Mist (2008)

Emily Richardson’s Cobra Mist (2008) is a 16mm film made at Orford Ness on the Suffolk coast, the site of former laboratories of the Atomic Weapons Research Establishment, and of Cobra Mist the Anglo-American Cold War experimental radar station. The panorama and time-lapse sequence as tropes in modern cinema are here used to evoke what is absent, showing the vast stretches of coast as an abandoned, unpeopled landscape. Writer The Haunted Shoreline (2013) suggests that the coastline could be seen to represent a threshold between the conscious and unconscious, where Paddy Heazell (2010) has described Orford Ness as ‘a land of secrecy, privacy...and mystery: of curiosity, challenge, discomfort’. It is also referenced in W. G. Sebald’s The Rings of Saturn (1995), in which the protagonist explores the Suffolk coast recalling memories, and describes its structures as remnants of a post-apocalyptic, dystopian future: ‘The closer I came to these ruins, the more any notions of a mysterious isle of the dead receded, and the more I imagined myself amidst the remains of our civilization after its extinction in some future catastrophe’ (ibid, 1995). Riley (2005) in writing on Hauntological landscapes alludes to Derrida’s cryptology or code-breaking, that is as evoked in the military vestiges, half-concealed and half-revealed in Richardson’s film.

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Jane and Louise Wilson, Toxic Camera, Blind Landing Lab 4 (H-Bomb Testing Facility, Orford Ness), 2012. Commission for National Trust: Trust Art

Jane and Louise Wilson’s Blind Landing (2012-13)

Also drawing on the history of Orford Ness is the site-specific intervention Blind Landing (2012-13) by artists Jane and Louise Wilson, named after the former Blind Landing Unit nearby at RAF Woodbridge. The work comprises of a sculpture and sound installation situated in the former laboratory buildings. The sounds mimic the ‘landings’ of unspecified objects forming a soundscape of abstract metallic thuds, and a series of sculptures constructed out of aluminium ‘measuring sticks’ are placed throughout the site. The sculptures consciously address the ‘filmic’ language and appeal of the ruin, where the ‘measuring sticks’ are similar to those used on film sets to measure scale and perspective, and directs how the work is seen by the audience within the site from viewing platforms that were part of the former Laboratories; these also allude to structures of surveillance and remote viewing as a continuing theme in their work. They are also conscious of acts of historicisation, describing the site as a ‘future ruin’ (2012). The Wilson sisters have referenced other former nuclear sites in their projects including the site of Chernobyl, Ukraine in Toxic Camera (2013) and Atomgrad (Nature Abhors a Vacuum, 2010-12), and Gamma (1999) shot at Greenham Common, Berkshire, England. The Wilson Sisters draw on the films of Andrei Tarkovsky, using the soundtrack by Eduard Artemyev from Solaris (1972) in Dreamtime (2001) addressing the Cold War-era space race and Technological Sublime, and cinematographic references to Solaris in a similar levitation scene in Stasi City (1997). Tarkovsky’s metaphysical cinematic oeuvre includes reconfiguring spatio-temporal dimensions in Mirror (1975), and implying the presence of both supernatural or nuclear forces in the ‘zone’ in Stalker (1979) and Solaris. Riley (2005) looks at disorientation and the Labyrinthine as part of Hauntological aesthetics, quoting the original author of Solaris Stanislaw Lem: ‘that men explore outer worlds, but don’t explore the dark labyrinths inside themselves’ (2005). Kodwo Eshun (2013) has interpreted Stalker (1979) as a fable of the nuclear Sublime or even the nuclear Pastoral, in which there is potential to

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harness the animistic energy radiating in the ‘zone’ for positive use. However, this is undercut by the contextual knowledge that during the filming of Stalker, Tarkovsky and his film crew developed cancer from which he later died, most likely from when they were filming near a disused hydropower plant in Tallinn, Estonia according to the sound designer Vladimir Sharun.

Jane and Louise Wilson, Toxic Camera, Blind Landing Lab 1 (H-Bomb Testing Facility, Orford Ness), 2012.Commission for National Trust: Trust Art

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Jane and Louise Wilson at 303 Gallery, New York, 2013. Image: Courtesy 303 Gallery, New York

Jane and Louise Wilson Atomgrad 6 (Nature Abhors A Vacuum) 2012.C-print, Diasec mounted with aluminum and perspex Commissioned and produced by

Forma

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On Vanishing Land (2013)

On Vanishing Land (2013) is a sound piece by Mark Fisher and Justin Barton that recalls an 18 mile walk taken in 2005 from the port of Felixstowe inland to Sutton Hoo near Woodbridge. The audio-essay interweaves locations and time periods, with cultural references from H.G.Wells to a 1904 M. R. James ghost story, to Brian Eno’s 1984 album ‘Ambient 4: On Land’ (whose song titles refer to places along this coastline). The narrator reflects on the nature of the Eerie, which Adams (2013) describes as being ‘outside’ of the self, as opposed to the more anthropocentric or psychological forms of the Gothic or Uncanny. They claim that the Eerie is about being transported ‘elsewhere’, an incursion from the ‘unknown’ where ‘external forces can be encountered’ (Adams, 2013). On Vanishing Land associatively explores repressed memory and military secrecy encoded in the landscape, where Hauntology’s specific subject matter is the subjective area of memory, especially the liminal zones in which the public discreetly saturates the personal (Halciion, 2013a). This reflects Pinder’s (2001) description of landscape as a combination of internal and external, a metaphysical space that is generative, and where peripatetic rhythms conjure involuntary memories coming to light ‘as repositories of stories and specters [sic] that may suddenly be actualized in the present’ (2001). Avery Gordon has also written on the temporality of the haunted landscape, and how it ‘alters the experience of being in linear time, alters the way we normally separate and sequence the past, the present and the future’ (2011). Reynolds (2006) suggests that sound and music have a particular capacity to invoke memory, and David Toop’s Sinister Resonance (2010) contends that the intangibility and seeming unlocatability of sound already makes it seem haunting and spectral, or ‘phantasmal’ and ‘evanescent’ (Reynolds, 2006). The Eerie, or a ‘schizophonic’ alienation (after Schafer, 1977), is incurred in splitting the sounds from their source. Also featured in the piece is music from Baron Mordant of Mordant Music and Raime, both of whom could be considered part of ‘new darkwave’ or ‘new industrial’ (Halciion, 2013b), as a resurgence of Industrial and Darkwave music subcultures in the 1980s . These aesthetics still 3

resonate in a contemporary context of the post-2008 economic crisis, with Raime being described by Rory Rowan as making ‘austere music for austere times’ (2013); they have also been described as evoking both the ‘claustrophobic’ and the spectral (Rowan, 2013), with a live performance accompanying the photographic sequence of On Vanishing Land at Showroom, London in 2013. The appeal of a resurgence of aesthetics of the ‘post-apocalyptic’ and the ‘wasteland’ (Rowan, 2013), may be in the parallel between the sociopolitical conditions of economic insecurity and collective paranoia of the Cold War and recessions of the 1980s, and the current political climate post-2008. This is not to say that these are direct cultural products of a collective condition as that may be too deterministic, but they are informed by a certain set of experiences and perceptions of living in times of high-anxiety in daily life and news media narratives. These cultural expressions are part of articulating that which we feel is beyond our comprehension and control (as the abstract, alienating mechanism of global capitalism), and that despite attempts to represent it, it remains unrepresentable. Yet Reynolds (2006) also notes that there is a self-conscious effort to make the past, or signifiers of the past, feel ‘strange’ or ‘haunted’, as ‘an attempt to turn the past into a foreign country’ (referencing the author LP Hartley’s The Go Between, also mentioned in On Vanishing Land), with an emphasis on an ‘alternative heritage’ (Sexton 2012) of the obscure.

As seen by music labels Mordant Music, PAN, and Blackest Ever Black amongst others.3

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DISCUSSION:

I would like to address how certain landscape representations are produced, consumed and instrumentalised. There is a discrepancy between imaginaries of haunting and ruins as material realities, with a problematic ethics of romanticising and aestheticising military and nuclear sites, particularly if the works are then exhibited in commercial spaces and available to be sold. Masco (2006) offers the Nuclear Uncanny not only as a figurative device, but as a way to explore the political impacts of the nuclear on the US landscape, that targets marginalised communities as places to construct nuclear power plants, and for nuclear weapons design and testing such as the Los Alamos National Laboratories in New Mexico. This is part of a wider global production chain of nuclear power from Uranium mining to nuclear waste storage, that is at the core of contemporary global capitalism and growing social-environmental inequality. Julian Stallabrass (1999) coined the term Urban Pastoral as a contemporary version of the pastoral tradition of landscape paintings and the gaze of power from the land-owning class onto the ‘peasant’ class. He updated it to a contemporary urban setting to look at the relationship between the creative classes and their ‘aesthetic appreciation’ of economically deprived areas by those who are not forced to live in them. This ‘aesthetic appreciation’ inadvertently creates ‘cultural value’, which then in turn generates economic value and most likely redevelopment and gentrification. In face of the proliferation of corporate ‘non-places’ (after post-industrialisation 1995) in the urban West, do we look to ruins as evidence of ‘character’, ‘uniqueness’ and as a place where ‘natural’ i.e. unplanned processes are allowed to occur and do not succumb to the rationalist logic of town planning and landscaping? However this romanticisation can also lead to ‘Detroitism’, a term which Leary (2011) uses to describe the aestheticisation of the real, current urban crisis of post-industrialisation in the city of Detroit in the US. I am wary of the power dynamics inherent in producing landscape imagery, regarding the history of Western landscape production, and particularly in the context of this conference panel in relation to landscapes experiencing conflict in Palestine and Lebanon, and the role of Britain in political interventions in the region, and in the formation of current ‘ruins’ in places of conflict. It may also be asked what is the ethical dimension of aestheticising the nuclear, in the face of potential nuclear weapons use in Iraq and Syria, and Fukushima’s ongoing radiation leaks? Sabu Kohso claims that Fukushima symbolises the ‘end of Romanticism’ as the ‘nostalgic admiration or awe to an unknown power’, and a shift towards a recognition of the ‘dark side of being-in-the-world’ (2012). Yet even this has begun to be commodified, where there has been an increase in what the Wilson Sisters call ‘dark tourism’; for example, Chernobyl as a site of former nuclear disaster has generated its own form of ruin tourism . Perhaps more worrying than making 4

the nuclear ruin spectacular, is how the global nuclear regime is concealed in civil society and routinely ignored (Eshun, 2013). Chiharo Minato terms this as being ‘the anti-ruin’, where instead of images of abandonment or interruption, things continue as normal (Eshun, 2013). Yet, it is not the aim of these specific artists’ works to be politically didactic or highlight the risk of nuclear power, but more to be evocative and suggestive. These works speak of a futurity that may be pessimistic or bleak, but such unknowability also has the potential to be liberating. As Eshun (2013) notes in discussing his own collaborative work The Radiant (2012) as part of The Otolith Group, which explores the recent disaster at the Fukushima power plant in Japan, the artwork offers a space to explore the unknowable and the irreducible not in terms of causal and reductive relations, but to evoke an imaginary for new narratives to form.

Which can also be viewed online from the safety of your own home: http://chernobylvirtualtour.com/4

virtualtourchernobyl/?tour_id=1gHz24TJ )

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REFERENCES

Adams, T. (2013) ’On Vanishing Land’ http://notesfromthevomitorium.blogspot.co.uk/2013/03/on-vanishing-land.html

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