It’s encouraging to find proof that it’s possible to make different worlds (ok, disciplines) converge. I discovered C.W. Anderson’s work through the NiemanLab, and those who know me know how I am constantly nagging about the connections between journalism, print culture and the study of digital culture, so this article sums up many of my own interests. Here Anderson explains the rationale behind the course he will teach at CUNY (Staten Island), ”COM 230: History of Print Media,” which he is calling “a history of print culture.” He wants to explore what “print means in our digital age.” This is a question that can only be answered from many perspectives and using many methodologies at once. His syllabus is good proof Anderson knows this well. Very cool! :) Thanks to Sharon Howard for sharing the link!
Clairey Ross and I co-wrote a remixed version of the posts we had written originally for each of our blogs, and this is what came out. It was quick and fun and online! :) Thank you, Clairey, and thank you, UCLDH.
HASTAC stands for Humanites, Arts, Science and Technology Advanced Laboratory. It is one of the most exciting online academic projects out there that I know of.
Based on the medieval model of the scholarly monk, academic research can often seem and in fact be solipsistic. Often the thoroughness required for postgraduate study hyper-specialises subjects and therefore leaves scholars with little time to actually communicate to others what they are doing.
The web is of course changing this dramatically, and even in an age in which “peer review” and “publish or perish” remain the terms to know, academic culture in the humanities is being quickly transformed. Teachers, researchers, librarians, academic administrators, university students and all possible combinations and variations thereof are now continually sharing publicly what they do and when, where and how they do it.
For people studying how Internet technology affects the way we do and think about things (and who study the Internet as a way or ways of thinking too), contributing to the social construction of knowledge inside and outside the brick-and-mortar classroom and library is not just a demand of the times, it is a natural, essential part of our research. HASTAC knows this well and is indeed, conceptually and pragmatically, an ongoing exercise in 21st century scholarship, blurring the borders between the institutional and the personal, the online and the offline, etc.
Therefore I am profoundly honoured to have been nominated and selected for the HASTAC Scholars Program. I’ll be one of more than 145 scholars from around the world who will share their adventures in digital academia through blog posts, tweets and other online resources. I am really proud and happy that my colleague Claire Ross and I will be representing University College London this year.
The 21st century scriptorium has many windows. It is not a room with a view but a room with many views; views that often juxtapose themselves. The screen and the keyboard (and often the screen as keyboard) can no longer be only at one single particular place and time on campus.
We all work from a particular situation in a specific location at a given time, but simultaneously there are hundreds, thousands of others working at their own desks in different countries, languages, time zones, disciplines. Establishing connections among us is not an end in itself; it’s merely the beginning.
The Director of Digital Research & Scholarship at the University of Virginia Library and Associate Director of the Scholarly Communication Institute writes about this important topic for all of us students and scholars trying to make a living doing what we love and were trained for. Read. Share. Discuss.
This book is the result of a collective, collaborative effort. The book reflects the open, online nature of the poetic process. The genealogy of the project is reproduced in detail on its pages: blogging, email exchanges, comments on posts, etc. As a result this is as honest as poetry can get: there is no make up here, at least no extra make up: imagine a poetry anthology with behind the camera special features. Notions of authority, centrality, language, hierarchy, genre, art forms, geography are interrogated in practice in the collective creative efforts of dozens of contributors from around the world. If you are into art, digital media, social networking, blogging, electronic writing or poetry do give this little book a try. You won’t be disappointed.
I calculated the scale of the problem. Those prolific genius artists were just the start of it – I had 6ft of Fall CDs, 5ft 8in of Miles Davis, 5ft 6in of Sonic Youth and its solo spin-offs, 5ft 2in of John Coltrane, 4ft 11in of the free improviser Derek Bailey, 4ft 4in of Robert Pollard and Guided by Voices, 3ft of Bob Dylan, 2ft 8in of the Byrds and various tributaries, 2ft 6in of the Texan outsider artist Jandek and 2ft 4in of the saxophonist Evan Parker; I had 20ft of European improvised music, 20ft of jazz, 14ft apiece of British folk music, reggae, and blues, 7ft of Japanese psychedelia, and 6ft each of music from Tucson, New Zealand and 1970s Germany. Even after a massive cull, I reckon I still had 350ft of recorded sound which I imagined I needed to keep. And don’t talk to me about iPods. They haven’t built the iPod that can cope with that. And I want inlay cards, and accompanying essays and the physical contact with the physical objects and the memories they evoke.
On the print media front I had about 100ft of fiction, much of it unread; 18ft of poetry, which improves my soul; 6ft of books about stone circles; 12ft of folklore, religion and the occult, and 3ft of the forgotten Welsh mystic Arthur Machen. I’ve got 10ft of inky specialist music fanzines from the 80s and 90s Bucketful of Brains and No Depression that I needed for journalistic fact checking before Wikipedia. And I’m dragging probably 70ft of comics, which I am now saving for my son, who will come to despise them, and me for loving them.
And all this stuff, in the digital age, is literally worthless financially, and losing any value it had daily. There’s nothing here a burglar would even bother with. I’m aware I’m a social relic from an age when you walked through the shopping centre with an unbagged album under your arm to show like-minded souls who you were, and when the book as an object was quietly fetishised. Now kids stake out their personal space with knives and guns and gadgets, and working stiffs flip falsified pages of virtual books on Kindles. I’m like a character in a dystopian science-fiction novel, holed up in a cave full of cultural artefacts, waiting for the young Jenny Agutter to arrive in a tinfoil miniskirt, fleeing a poisonous cloud on the surface, to check out my stash and ask me: “Who exactly was the Quicksilver Messenger Service? Who was this Virginia Woolf? What kind of man was Jonah Hex?”