I’m not fond of doing more of the same, albeit, strictly speaking that’s actually impossible. Anyway, the point here is that I’ve addressed this before in an earlier essay. In that essay I pointed out that I can’t remember what it is that pushed me to this direction, what made me cross a threshold to think of it, but I guess that’s hardly important anyway. What is important is that since that essay, meant as a sort of a companion piece to a presentation, elaborating certain aspects in greater detail than there’s time in a presentation, I simply did more background work on the topic, landscape and darkness. It was by no means an easy task to find more research on the topic, but, as it tends to be the case, one text lead to another and so on. Once I found some good texts, I was able to trace others, to get a better overall picture of it all. Before getting into this, as a heads up, unlike in the previous essay on this, I won’t go into details pertaining to photography in the dark, something that is, in short, very difficult in the absence of light. If you are interested in that, do consult that essay.
You might be wondering why I’m returning to this topic? Well, so far I’ve kept it all to myself. It’s been a sort of a side project that I never imagined would lead to anything, beyond it being a topic for a whimsical one-off presentation that I ended up doing just to challenge myself, not even knowing anything about it before. Anyway, for some reason, at some point in time, it appeared to me that, huh, there isn’t much on landscapes in, let’s say, non-ideal conditions. While I’m getting a bit off topic already, but I’ll include this here, if for nothing else but amusement, David Lowenthal (88) characterizes how we tend to conceive the landscapes most dear to us:
“[I]n a heritage landscape it never rains[.]”
This is from his book ‘The Heritage Crusade and the Spoils of History’, first published in 1996. The pagination is from the 1998 edition here, in case you want to look it up. As you might object to this, he (88) quickly counters his own statement, or rather part of it, by adding that:
“[E]xcept for desert-dwelling Navajo Indians, for whom ‘back then everything was in harmony and it rained all the time[.]’”
Now, you could replace the Navajo by any group of people known for living in the desert. That’s not exactly relevant here. Instead, what’s relevant here, and why I’m bringing this up, is that when we think of landscapes, they are ideal. For most people rainy days are hardly ideal, unless you happen to live in arid conditions. This is the point made by Lowenthal. We are in the habit of hoping for good weather, that is to say sunshine and warmth, not rain. I realize that I’m getting all opinionated here but I reckon rain gets a bad rap and it’s somewhat unwarranted. I’m not saying that I celebrate rain unlike others, far from it, but that people make too much of a fuss of it. Just dress accordingly and you’ll be fine. If it’s really coming down, well, yeah, sure, what I can I say, take cover and wait for it to pass. Okay, fair enough, it’s going to be far from ideal if it results in flooding. There’s that, granted. Then again, this is actually something I encountered when I was investigating news coverage on disasters while working abroad in Canada, for some reason, people are up in arms about flooding, when it’s sort of obvious that the area is prone to flooding. I don’t know how it elsewhere, but at least in Finland it is, or at least used to be, a thing not to build by the river, because, well, the risks involved, risks that might not actualize in one lifetime but eventually catching up on others. Anyway, in general, the only place where rain might be seen as fitting is in Regensburg, Germany.
So, what was the point of that tangent? To amuse you, yes, but also to point out that when we think of landscapes, we are in the habit of imagining them in ideal conditions. That’s why the weather is always ideal. This can also be extended to lighting conditions. We are in the habit of depicting landscapes in ideal or rather idealized lighting conditions. Who doesn’t like sunshine? Aye, people in arid conditions might be the exceptions here, but in general, I reckon, most people are quite fond of sunshine, a nice, warm, bright day. To make it even more ideal, to push it a bit, it’s not the midday sun that we like. It’s either before or after it, it’s when the colors come out, soft and diffuse, having that warmth that’s just not there in the midday sun. This is perhaps getting too artsy already, mulling over what one considers ideal in terms of lighting conditions. So, fair enough, we can disregard the question of what’s ideal in terms of the appearance, whether we prefer this or that, a bit softer or harsher sunshine, more pronounced or subdued colors, yet, when it comes to research, we still take daylight as the default lighting condition. What is meant by daylight conditions is, of course, a tricky thing as lighting conditions change each day, week, month, and they are also affected by the weather conditions. What I’m on about here is that we are in the habit of ignoring difference. This applies to both landscape and linguistic landscape research.
In ‘The Production of Space’, Henri Lefebvre (319-320) addresses how we come to understand space, dividing it by use and users, creating certain zones of inclusion and exclusion based on certain criteria, for example by parceling it “into spaces for work and spaces for leisure[.]” Particularly importantly for this essay, he (320) adds that space is also divided “into daytime and night-time spaces.” He (320) elaborates that what is not permitted in daytime may be permitted during night-time. His (320) examples have to do with “body, sex and pleasure[.]” It’s worth emphasizing that he (320) is not saying that once the sun goes down the impermissible simply becomes permissible. He (320) notes that while darkness is thus a counter-space, making it possible to engage in all kinds of transgressions of norms, darkness itself is countered by illumination, by the presence of artificial lighting. As a result, when the lights come on, transgressions end up being regulated and to certain extent exploited for profit, as explained by Lefebvre (320):
“[I]n a brightly illuminated night the day’s prohibitions give way to profitable pseudo-transgressions.”
As indicated in the title already, ‘The Production of Space’ deals mainly with space. It’s not that it doesn’t deal with time, as evident from the segments covered here already, but that his later work pays more attention to it, how it is that time, or rather our perception of it, affects the production of space. His last book, a rather short one, published posthumously, ‘Elements of Rhythmanalysis: An Introduction to the Understanding of Rhythms’, addresses this in particular. He (30) emphasizes that we shouldn’t think the issue at hand, the topic of this essay, night and day, as a mere matter of night and day, as polar opposites, as binaries, but rather as having to do with darkness modifying our rhythms of everyday life, slowing them down. He (30-31) goes on to clarify that it’s not merely a matter of the day being done once the sun goes down as the world is still very much in operation, even if no one is around to witness it:
“[E]ven at three or four o’clock in the morning, there are always a few cars at the red light. Sometimes one of them, whose driver is coming back from a late night, goes straight through it. Other times, there is no-one at the lights, with their alternating flashes (red, amber, green), and the signal continues to function in the void[.]”
I don’t know how it was, two, three decades ago, but at least nowadays, at least in Finland, the traffic lights don’t actually do that by themselves, regulating non-existing traffic. I’m not an expert on how they work and worked back in the day, but at least nowadays they stay one way, I reckon green for the direction that has the most traffic, but quickly switch if there’s no traffic when a vehicle approaches the intersection from the other direction. They have sensors for that these days. Of course that doesn’t change much. The lights still operate in the dark, as if someone is around.
It’s worth adding here that if the world simply went dark after the sun goes down, as it does if there are no lights that are switched on, then, as argued by Nina Morris in ‘Night walking: darkness and sensory perception in a night-time landscape installation’, a 2011 article in Cultural Geographies, it might not “be appropriate to even label it a landscape, given that this term has embedded within a notion of the scene and that which is visible.” However, Morris is actually referring to rural conditions, as expressed by Robert MacFarlane (30), a mountaineer and outdoor enthusiast, in ‘The Wild Places’ (pagination here from ‘Noctambulism’, as included in ‘The Way of Natural History’):
“The sensorium is transformed. Associations swarm out of the darkness. You become even more aware of landscape as a medley of effects, a mingling of geology, memory, movement, life. New kinds of attention are demanded of you, as walker, as human. The landforms remain, but they exist as presences: inferred, less substantial, more powerful. You inhabit a new topology.”
In short, the world appears very different once the light goes out. That said, as noted by him (31), we don’t exactly end up in total darkness when the sun goes down, unless we happen to be somewhere remote enough where that does apply. It used to be the case that when the sun went down everything was indeed different. You needed to either adapt to the darkness, which takes a fair bit of time, or come up with a source of light, such as a torch or a candle. These days we obviously don’t have to resort to such. We have plenty of permanent light fixtures to take care of that. Just look outside from your window and you’ll see, unless you happen to live somewhere remote enough for that not to apply that is.
Robert Williams examines space and landscape in his article ‘Night Spaces: Darkness, Deterritorialization, and Social Control’. He (517) argues that to understand night better, what implications it has “for societal order and disorder, for stability and change”, “[w]e must spatialize time … and temporalize space[.]” Following Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari in ‘A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia’, he (517) proposes that we start from their concept of territorialization. In summary, he (517) states that territory is typically understood as a stable entity, having distinct boundaries and being governed by a recognized official authority. To be more specific, he (517) clarifies that the territory entails sovereignty and legitimacy of the authority, as well as the loyalty or docility of those who inhabit the jurisdiction, the territory. However, he (517) is not content on this definition because it is very much a static understanding of territory. In other words, as expressed by him (517), it presumes stability and authority, assuming that people behave in orderly fashion. It’s not that they don’t behave orderly, but what’s missing here is time. Therefore he (517) argues that:
“We should be alerted to the importance of time of day because in the dark of night, spaces are often approached and appropriated differently than during the light of day.”
This is a key thing in the article. We are in the habit of thinking everything in daylight conditions. Making use of the concept of territorialization, he (518) clarifies how darkness works in society:
“Because of its transgressive meanings and societally harmful uses, darkness threatens to deterritorialize the rationalizing order of society. Darkness serves to deterritorialize society when it obscures, obstructs, or otherwise hinders the deployment of the strategies, techniques, and technologies that enforce the rationalizing order of society, thereby allowing potentially transgressive behaviors to occur under a veil of anonymity.”
I couldn’t have put that better myself. If you are not familiar with the concept of deterritorialization, the point is that societies tend to function around daylight conditions. When the sun goes down, people go to sleep, only to wake up when the sun comes up. If we go back in time enough, people were very much limited by this. You couldn’t work properly when the sun went down and you started working once the sun came up, just so that you could get the best out of the day. It tends to be fairly hazardous to do anything arduous in the dark. Okay, fair enough, you could have torches, candles and later on oil lamps, but they are not exactly comparable to contemporary electric lighting, the static fixtures you can find wherever there’s infrastructure. That said, darkness does offer certain advantages, ones that pertain to the human dependence on vision. Simply put, darkness makes it harder to be detected. Sure, that also includes criminal acts, as noted by Williams (518). Then again, as also noted by him (518-519), it’s not limited to criminal acts, but also includes acts that are deemed as inappropriate, immoral or unwanted, such as lovers meeting and political gatherings.
As I pointed out, permanent fixtures of lighting are a fairly new thing. Paraphrasing Gaston Bachelard (34-35) in ‘The Poetics of Space’, Wolfgang Schivelbusch (96) argues in ‘Disenchanted Night: The Industrialization of Light in the Nineteenth Century’ that a source of light, such as a lantern, marks two-way surveillance:
“[Bachelard] goes on to describe the process of surveillance, counter-surveillance and mutual surveillance that is set in motion when a lantern is lit.”
Moreover, he (96) adds, this time, if I understood correctly, in reference to Bachelard’s book ‘The Flame of a Candle’, that:
“Anyone who is in the dark and sees a light in the distance feels that he or she is being observed, because ‘this lantern in the distance is not ‘sufficient unto itself’. It constantly strives outwards. It watches so unflaggingly that it watches over things.’”
Now, it’s worth noting here that we are to assume that the person feeling observed, the one seeing a lantern, also has a lantern. Schivelbusch (96) continues:
“Someone who feels observed in this way tries to turn the tables. He extinguishes his own lantern so that he is not exposed defenceless to the gaze of the other, who he can now observe without himself being observed.”
If you’ve ever been somewhere properly dark, say, countryside, you may be quite familiar with how this works. It’s quite easy to spot someone carrying a light source, such as a flashlight, in the dark. It’s highly unlikely that the source of light is not carried or put into place by a human. There are some creatures of the night that do emit light, the ones able of bioluminescence, but that’s a rare exception, one that doesn’t bear much relevance here. Also, if you’ve ever been to the military, or, to mention something more common, played capture the flag at night, you should be aware of how carrying a source of light yourself exposes your location in the dark. So, in summary, as explained by Schivelbusch (96-97), light has this “dual function as an instrument of surveillance and a mark of identification that exposes one to the surveillance of others.”
You might now be wonder if this lantern business will actually get anywhere? Well, yes, it will. Schivelbusch (97) explains that in the middle ages there were regulations that made it mandatory to carry a light source when venturing outside at night. Of course, this is still far from how things are these days and it was, rather obviously, easy not to adhere to such regulations. You just opted not to. However, that’s not the case when instead of necessitating everyone to carry light with them light is made a permanent fixture in the society. Now you simply cannot ignore the rules. Schivelbusch (97) comments on this:
“People submitted to [the state monopoly on light] because it promised to guarantee stability and security.”
There’s that and one should acknowledge that. It is true that light makes it safer to go on about our everyday lives. For example, it’s less likely that you get hit by a car if there’s plenty of light. It’s also easier to stay on the road if you can see where you are going. This is, more or less, why vehicles have lights on them. However, that’s not the end of the story. Schivelbusch (97) is quick to add that:
“But although public lighting was welcomed as holding out the promise of security, it was also a police institution and, as such, attracted all the hostility traditionally directed at the police.”
What he (97) means by this is that, as silly as it may seem now, people actually violently resisted this development, literally going after the light fixtures on streets. As noted by him (97), it was simply more cost effective to put up lanterns than to have plenty of police on the street at night. Apparently, as indicated by him (97), at least in Paris street lighting was part of the police budget. He (98) characterizes how people took objection to their newly lit surroundings, smashing lanterns with sticks and when the lanterns were put up higher, people went after the ropes that held the lantern up high. I honestly never really thought about the height of lighting fixtures before, but it does make sense to put them fairly high, not necessarily because people go after them, but in case they do. Later on, he (120) does, however, add that one of the reasons for the high placement of electric light has to do with keeping them outside the normal field of view, that is to say to avoid being dazzled, as well as to get most out of the lights, to make the area lit by one light source as large as possible. Actual flood lights, such as the ones used on football stadiums are good examples of this logic. Schivelbusch (116-136) actually provides some fascinating reading on the flood light concept, how for a brief period of time, the plan was not only to light streets as we do these days, but whole districts and cities from a central point or points. It’s really interesting reading, but perhaps this is enough of it here. Anyway, apparently, at first, part of going after lanterns was motivated by the pleasure it gave to people, but later on it evolved in the a whole movement of lantern smashing, going after not only one or two of them, here or there, but all of them, everywhere, as explained by Schivelbusch (98-105). More importantly, Schivelbusch (106) states that, at least in the French context, “[l]antern smashing was above all a practical strategy in street fighting against the forces of the state.”
It would be exaggeration to state that even then street lighting had much importance, beyond its symbolic importance, of course. Schivelbusch (114-115) states that prior to the 1800s outdoor lighting was not particularly common nor did it illuminate much beyond the light source itself. He (115) adds that as technology improved, importantly moving from oil lamps to gas lamps and finally to electric lamps, and more light sources were put in place in distance from one another, the scene changed radically, merging separate pools of light into a sea of light. You only have to wander outside when the sun goes down to see how intense street lighting is and how they do not only create pockets of light, here and there, but seamlessly merge into one another, into a sea of light, as Schivelbusch puts it. On top of that, the lights are bright alright, lighting up not only the street directly underneath them, but also the vicinity. If you happen to live right next to a street, the odds are that you don’t even need to put the lights on at night too see what’s what indoors.
Right, back to Williams (519) who goes on to provide examples of contemporary disorderly conduct that occurs in the night-time. As acknowledged earlier on already, these may well be criminal acts, even acts of violence, but it should also be noted that many things once illegal are these days not illegal. Among his examples are sale and consumption of alcohol, think of prohibition in the 1920s and 1930s, as well as sexual and racial relations. For example, Valdemar Melanko’s book ‘Puistohomot: raportti Helsingin 1960-luvun homokulttuurista’ (translating into English, along the lines of, ‘Park Gays: A Report on Gay Culture in 1960s Helsinki’) elaborates how homosexuality, once explicitly illegal, was something that was, at the time, expressed at night-time, for rather obvious reasons. It’s also very telling that Melanko actually studied this back in the day, decades, no, wait, nearly half a century before it got published. I guess it would have done more harm than good to publish it at the time, so that’s probably why it took so long to have it published.
If you are familiar with territorialization, as defined by Deleuze and Guattari in ‘A Thousand Plateaus’, then you’ll be aware that deterritorialization is coupled with reterritorialization. In summary, what has been explained so far, darkness offers the possibility to deterritorialize social order, as elaborated by Williams, as well landscape, as elaborated by Morris. However, as argued by Williams (521-522), this is not exactly in the interest of everyone and therefore this deterritorialization must be countered, not in opposition of it, but rather steering it in order to reterritorialize it, “with the intent to reinforce some semblance of conventional order and regularity in the darkness” and “to create an expectation of safety and security by re/asserting social order on the landscape at night.” This is, in a way, a sort of a if you can’t beat them, join them moment, albeit while simultaneously appropriating it. Williams (521-522) explains how this is done via three modalities of reterritorialization. He (522) elaborates the first one:
“The modality of channeling directs activities and desires into the socially ‘appropriate’ places. [It] typically involves the technologies of illumination and advertising as well as those discourses stipulating the appropriate places to be at night.”
To exemplify this, he (522) points to what has already been covered quite a bit already, the illumination of roads between places of particular importance, “like home, work, and sports of consumption[.]” Also, as already mentioned a number of times, he (522) adds that not only they facilitate travel between these places, they also act to facilitate surveillance, deemed as necessary in order to protect people and property. So, as he (522) makes note of it, it’s should be of no surprise to us which properties are lit and which aren’t, not to mention why that is. In summary, as suggested by the label chosen for this modality, channeling functions to channel, make people do this and/or that, as well as to prohibit them from doing this and/or that.
Williams (521-522) argues that channeling is particularly important for businesses as they seek to attract customers. To put it in terms used by Deleuze and Guattari, Williams (522) characterizes channeling as “includ[ing] the intentional focusing of the consuming gaze so as to continually make and remake us into ‘desiring machines’[.]” I’m not exactly sure why Williams uses the terminology from the ‘Anti-Oedipus’ here, instead of speaking of assemblages, how we come to engage with machinic assemblages of desire and collective assemblages of enunciation. Then again, it’s of little consequence here. What’s important is, as explained by Williams (522), that it is in the interest of advertisers to channel our desires, which, if you’ve read Deleuze and Guattari, are not something subjective and voluntary but rather bubbling under. This is of particular interest to me, as it’s something that is not only hard to miss, but also particularly relevant in studying the linguistic and/or semiotic components in landscapes. Williams (522) characterizes how businesses make use of the lack of ambient light, arguing that it matters not if it’s garish as there’s rationale to it:
“The brighter the lights or the more vivid the hues, the better to attract potential customers. Gaudy neon points the way to conspicuous and inconspicuous consumption. Even after stores are closed, the illumination and advertising reminds us, should we chance to look, that their brands exist and that the consumption places are still there, ready for us on the dawning of the next business day. Businesses, especially in highly competitive times, cannot afford to let us forget them or their particular brands even for a moment[.]”
Take a walk in the dark, preferably in an urban area, and it shouldn’t take too long for you to run into the first sign that demands your attention and engages with you. Sure you see the street lights and what is visible underneath them, typically road signs and traffic lights. They are quite hard to miss in an urban environment. That said, they pale in, sorry, I can’t just help but to use the word, contrast to brightly lit signs. Well lit big billboards stand out particularly well, but the ones that really stand out are the ones that are illuminated from within the sign itself, including but not limited to what we call neon signs. The contrast of an illuminated sign and darkness just makes them pop out, making them very hard to miss. In comparison, in daylight conditions they have to compete with all the other signs, not only a handful of road signs, but also the ones that are hardly legible or visible in the dark. Of course, large illuminated signs cost money to make and maintain, but that’s the price business are willing to pay, to get that competitive edge, as pointed out by Williams (522).
The second modality defined by Williams (522) is marginalization:
“[I]t creates and reinforces subordinate places for the so-called ‘demi-monde’. Its effects is to categorize groupings of people as somehow socially inferior, dangerous, or both – and thereby to spatially segregate them[.]”
This is the point also made by Lefebvre (319-320), how we come to understand space, dividing it by use and users, creating certain zones of inclusion and exclusion based on certain criteria, as noted earlier on already. Williams (523) elaborates that this is typically achieved by zoning, marking certain areas for certain uses, for example as residential or commercial areas, which then restricts what is permissible in these areas. He (523) notes that, for example, zoning areas as residential can prevent certain businesses and services from operating in the area, which, in turn, may prevent the people from using the said services. In other words, to clarify this, as a result, some people may end up living too far to use the services, only because zoning. He (523) also adds that it doesn’t even have to pertain to formal codes, such as zoning, as it can also pertain to informal codes, what is generally deemed as permissible in what area. His (523) example is how you can simply be in the supposedly wrong neighborhood in the wrong time of the day, as judged by, among other factors, your “race, ethnicity, and/or gender[.]”
The third modality defined by Williams (523) is exclusion:
“It creates superordinate places of security or consumption, even within marginalized areas. Like marginalization, the modality of exclusion is a type of spatial segregation, but here the goal is to be walled in, erecting barriers to create a protected enclave.”
So, in others, simply put, this has to do with gated communities. I’m not sure this needs plenty of elaboration, but, as discussed by Williams (523-524), they tend to be marked by physical barriers, typically walls, possibly with razor wire on top, access keys, alarms systems, guards and flood lights. This is, however, not the only way to create exclusion. Walls and fences are indeed meant to keep people out while securing those inside, except when it comes to prisons and prison camps, but Williams (524) adds that exclusion can also be economic. To be more precise, he (524) states that it’s possible to create exclusivity by outpricing people. Also, linked to the second modality, he (524) adds that people can also be socially excluded by setting up certain criteria that only certain people can meet, for example, at the door to a night club.
After defining and elaborating the three modalities of reterritorialization, Williams (524) states that it is important to realize that they are not mutually exclusive. Therefore they can reinforce one another. It’s hardly surprising if marginalization and exclusion happen to go hand in hand. I’d be surprised if they didn’t. Williams (524) states that by no means are they limited to involving only certain actors at a time, be they governments, corporations, communities or individuals. They can also influence and reinforce one another. Williams (524) adds that the modalities can also end up contradicting one another. For example, marginalization can be bad for business, hence contradicting channeling. This can also be the other way around. Channeling business into certain areas may end up depriving products and services from people who live afar, thus marginalizing them. Williams (525) warns not to think of the modalities as inherently stable, meaning that what ends up happening is not exactly predetermined and therefore certain night-time spaces may end up being transgressive or nearly so. He (525) argues that society and private businesses may not necessarily have the resources to reterritorialize all night-time spaces, thus resulting in pockets of spaces that are not reterritorialized. This is what Lefebvre (320) means when he speaks of “profitable pseudo-transgressions” that occur in the night-time, people coming up with all kinds of innovative and lucrative arrangements that are “illegal or immoral”, as characterized by Williams (525). This also opens them up for contestation, as argued by Williams (525).
In summary, as indicated already, once or twice, darkness deterritorializes how we construct reality. To be more specific, it deterritorializes landscape as it relies on vision, as explained by Morris. It also deterritorializes the social order in general, as elaborated by Williams. As expressed by Lefebvre, when darkness falls, a counter-space is created. This is, however, particularly problematic to public and private interests. There isn’t much anything you can do about the sun going down, unless some ludicrous plan to illuminate entire cities or neighborhoods with floodlights is put into action. The problem is twofold. Firstly, darkness is particularly problematic in terms of visibility and identification. All kinds of mischief may take place in the darkness and employing people to counter such is prohibitively expensive. It’s much cheaper to illuminate all the properties that are of importance, that is to say economic importance, and set up an optical surveillance system. To put it more bluntly, those properties rely on visual surveillance and therefore they require light. To make this very simple, try taking video in the dark and then do the same after switching the lights on. It makes a world of difference. There are, of course, certain benefits to illumination. It is indeed handy to see where you are going and where others are going, but that is, of course, also the downside of it, as pointed out already. Secondly, darkness is bad for business. Well, that’s not exactly true. Darkness is only bad for business if you can’t afford to be seen, if you don’t have the money to have your advertising illuminated. If you do have the money to be seen, then it’s actually even better than in the day time as darkness limits the attention of cons… sorry passers-by only to the illuminated areas in the landscape. In other words, if you have the money, then you can use darkness as a competitive edge against those who don’t have the required assets to do so. In summary of this summary, it’s evident that it is in the interest of public and private entities to illuminate the world in the dark.
I think this is enough of this topic, for now. I’ll probably return to this in the future, but I won’t make any promises. This will do for a complementary piece to a presentation that I’m giving at a conference next week. It’s worth emphasizing that is complementary to the presentation as the content of my presentation will not be exactly the same as what’s discussed here. This fleshes out much of what I will be presenting on, but also leaves out a bit of this and that, here and there, in order to avoid repetition (if that’s conceptually even possible). For example, I didn’t feel like explaining how I understand landscape here. If you are not familiar with it, then, well, feel free to read my other essays. My recommendation is, however, to look up the relevant plateau in ‘A Thousand Plateaus’.
References
- Bachelard, G. ([1958] 1964). The Poetics of Space (M. Jolas, Trans.). New York, NY: Onion Press.
- Bachelard, G. ([1961] 1988). The Flame of a Candle (J. Caldwell, Trans.). Dallas, TX: The Dallas Institute Publications.
- Deleuze, G., and F. Guattari ([1980] 1987). A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia (B. Massumi, Trans.). Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press.
- Lefebvre, H. ([1974/1984] 1991). The Production of Space (D. Nicholson-Smith, Trans.). Oxford, United Kingdom: Basil Blackwell.
- Lefebvre, H. ([1992] 2004). Elements of Rhythmanalysis: An Introduction to the Understanding of Rhythms (S. Elden and G. Moore, Trans.). London, United Kingdom: Continuum.
- Lowenthal, D. ([1996] 1998). The Heritage Crusade and the Spoils of History. Cambridge, United Kingdom: Cambridge University Press.
- Macfarlane, R. ([2007] 2008). The Wild Places. New York, NY: Penguin.
- Macfarlane, R. ([2007] 2011). Noctambulism. In T. L. Fleischner (Ed.), The Way of Natural History (pp. 29–41). San Antonio, TX: Trinity University Press.
- Melanko, V. (2012). Puistohomot: raportti Helsingin 1960-luvun homokulttuurista. Helsinki, Finland: SKS Kirjat.
- Morris, N. J. (2011). Night walking: darkness and sensory perception in a night-time landscape installation. cultural geographies, 18 (3), 315–342.
- Schivelbusch, W. (1988). Disenchanted Night: The Industrialization of Light in the Nineteenth Century (A. Davies, Trans.). Berkeley, CA: The University of California Press.
- Williams, R. W. (2008). Night Spaces: Darkness, Deterritorialization, and Social Control. Space and Culture, 11 (4), 514–532.