Journal articles: 'Grainne Mulvey' – Grafiati (2024)

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AbstractA zero-order turbulence closure model of a dry granular dense flow is proposed, with the boundary considered an energy source and sink of the turbulent kinetic energy of the grains. Muller-Liu entropy principle is carried out to derive the equilibrium closure relations, with their dynamic responses postulated from the experimental calibrations. A gravity-driven flow with incompressible grains down an inclined moving plane is studied to investigate the influence of velocity slip near solid boundary on the turbulent features of the flow. While the calculated mean porosity and velocity correspond to the experimental outcomes, increasing velocity slip on the boundary tends to enhance the turbulent dissipation nearby. The distribution of the turbulent dissipation shows a similarity with that of conventional Newtonian fluids in turbulent boundary layer flows. Boundary as an energy sink is more apparent in the zero-order model.

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The segregation of impurities to grain boundaries in metals and alloys has been known for some time to make changes in ductility. Examples of this effect are the embrittlement of copper by the addition of bismuth and the ductilization of Ni3Al by boron impurities. The mechanism by which these dramatic changes in mechanical properties arise is still largely unknown. It has been suggested that embrittling elements draw charge from neighbouring metal atoms while impurities that enhance ductilty act in the opposite way. Changes in the electronic states can be detected as changes in the energy loss spectrum when a small probe in a FEG STEM is moved across the boundary. Recent work by Muller has shown significant differences between the Ni L3 spectrum from grain boundaries in Ni3Al with and without boron. Bruley has shown that a “white line”, indicative of empty Cu d states, appears in the Cu L3 edge from Cu atoms near boundaries where bismuth has segregated.

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Non-starch polysaccharides (NSP) which have been linked to antinutritional activity through elevated viscosity of intestinal contents may be found in greater amounts in certain regions of the cereal grain specifically the endosperm cell wall (Forrest & Wainwright 1977; Mulder, Hotten et al 1991).The current series of experiments was designed to investigate whether different levels of barley fractions contained within standard diets would influence the viscosity of broiler digesta and to examine the NSP content of the fractions and digesta supernatants.

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Non-starch polysaccharides (NSP) in cereals which have been linked to antinutritional activity through elevated viscosity of intestinal contents, vary in concentration in different regions of the grain, but are particularly rich in the endosperm cell wall (Forrest & Wainwright 1977; Mulder, Hotten et al 1991). The current trial investigated the degree to which increasing inclusion levels of an exogenous β-glucanase with different barley fractions, from either a hulled or known high viscosity producing hulless variety, would influence the viscosity of broiler digesta and if, as in rye (Bedford & Classen 1991), reductions in carbohydrate molecular weight were obtained.

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The paper examines the dependency between sediment transport rate, q, and grain size, D, (i.e. q∝Dp) in the swash zone. Experiments were performed using a dam break flow as a proxy for swash overtopping on a mobile sediment beach. The magnitude and nature of the dependency (i.e. p value) is inferred for different flow parameters; the initial dam depth (or initial bore height), do, the integrated depth averaged velocity, ∫u3 dt, and against the predicted transport, qp using the Meyer-Peter Muller (MPM) transport model. Experiments were performed over both upward sloping beds and a horizontal bed. The data show that negative dependencies (p0) are obtained for ∫u3 dt. This indicates that a given do and qp transport less sediment as grain size increases, whereas transport increases with grain size for a given ∫u3 dt. The p value is expected to be narrow ranged, 0.5≤ p≤-0.5. A discernible difference observed between the measured and predicted transport on horizontal and sloping beds suggests different modes of transport. The incorporation of a pressure gradient correction, dp/dx, using the surface water slope (i.e. piezometric head), in the transport calculation greatly improved the transport predictions on the horizontal bed, where dp/dx is positive. On average, the incorporation of a pressure gradient term into the MPM formulation reduces qp in the uprush by 4% (fine sand) to 18% (coarse sand) and increases qp over a horizontal bed by 1% (fine sand) to two orders of magnitude (coarse sand). The measured transport for fine and coarse sand are better predicted using MPM and MPM+dp/dx respectively. Poor predictions are obtained using Nielsen (2002) because the pressure gradient in the uprush is of opposite sign to that inferred from velocity data in that paper. It is suggested that future swash sediment transport models should incorporate the grain size effect, partly through the pressure gradient, although the dp/dx influence is small for fine sands because of the grain size scaling contained in the stress term.

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AbstractActive metamorphism of fine grained sandstone in the c.16000 year old Salton Sea geothermal system has produced a suite of chemically equilibrated coexisting authigenic alkali feldspars and re-equilibrated detrital feldspars in the 250–360°C temperature range. At c.335°C the average compositions, 2 Vs, and (t1o+t1m) and Z ordering parameters of coexisting authigenic feldspars are [Or0.52Ab97.40An2.08, 2Vx = 91.3±4.8, (t1o + t1m) = 0.89±0.05, Z = 0.79±0.09], and [Or94.42 Ab5.10An0.48, 2Vx = 70, (t1o + t1m) = 0.90, Z = 0.81]. At c.360°C authigenic albite becomes more An-rich and less ordered [Or1.21Ab92.83An5.97, 2Vx = 87.5±3.4, (t1o + t1m) = 0.85±0.03, Z = 0.70±0.07] and K-feldspar is no longer stable. Detrital plagioclase (An up to 40%) is preserved metastably to temperatures up to c.190°C in strongly carbonate-cemented sandstone which forms part of a geothermally produced permeability cap. It undergoes rapid alkali exchange at temperatures near 200°C, and by 250°C no plagioclase with An-content over 12% is observed. At > 250°C authigenic and most detrital alkali feldspar compositions are in excellent agreement with the Bachinski and Muller (1971) microcline-low-albite solvus.

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Using ArcGIS, this article maps the narrative locations of French cinema's box office successes and César du meilleur film winners against a self-consciously international version of prestige, the French submission for best foreign language film at the Oscars from 1976 (when the Césars began) to 2012. Mapping domestic consumption and prestige against the for-American-consumption vision of prestige and possible box office appeal will identify the settings that are associated with domestic and international locations of Frenchness. Do films that succeed at the box office connect themselves to France's main population centers—Paris, Lyon, Marseille, Lille—or to less-populated and economically vibrant regions, as with Bienvenue Chez les Ch'tis (2008) in Bergues? To what extent do prestige films seek out marginalized areas in which to set their stories, as in the Paris banlieues of La Haine (1996) or Sète in La Graine et le mullet (2008)? Do the films that France proposes to the Oscar voters address an imagined American preference for one part of France—Paris—over another, or do they turn to other, less globally-integrated locations? Where are the overlaps among these three categories? And where are the empty spaces that neither box office nor prestige address? This article will be a spatial history, drawing on Franco Moretti's ‘distant reading’ approach to groups of films to demonstrate the critical potential for mapping narrative locations as a way to conceive of the multiple nations—in this case France—that cinema imagines for its domestic and international audiences.

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<p>Sedimen dasar sungai yang terbawa oleh aliran akan membentuk geometrik sungai. Kekasaran ukuran sedimen dan bentuk butiran bahan yang membentuk luas penampang basah akan menimbulkan efek hambatan terhadap aliran. Sampel yang digunakan adalah ukuran geometrik aliran sungai dan sedimen dasar pada pias-pias sungai yaitu di Meunasah Punti, Jembatan Meunasah Pange, Jembatan Lhoksukon dan Landing. Penelitian material dasar menggunakan analisis saringan yang mengacu pada <em>grain size analysis </em>(ASTM 422-63). Dalam menentukan kekasaran aliran ada beberapa macam pendekatan atau formulasi yang umum digunakan, yaitu : koefisien kekasaran Manning, koefisien kekasaran Anderson, koefisien kekasaran Jarret, koefisien kekasaran Raudkivi, koefisien kekasaran Subramaya, koefisien kekasaran Meyer dan<strong> k</strong>oefisien kekasaran Muller. Butiran tanah halus (d £ 0,150 mm) pada tengah penampang tidak sempat mengendap, sedangkan pada bagian pinggir sungai kecepatan lebih kecil sehingga butiran tanah halus terjadi pengendapan. Hubungan Karakteristik material dasar sungai terhadap geometriknya menunjukkan bahwa pada bagian tengah sungai mempunyai kandungan terbanyak adalah tanah berbutir kasar (d ³ 0,150 mm) sedangkan pada bagian pinggir sungai mempunyai kandungan terbanyak adalah tanah berbutir halus (d £ 0,150 mm). Berdasarkan hasil perhitungan koefisien kekasaran dengan berbagai formula diperoleh. Pada formulasi kekasaran Manning diperoleh nilai kekasaran minimum sebesar 0,0299 dan untuk koefisien kekasaran maksimum sebesar 0,0395 dengan nilai rata-rata 0,0347, sedangkan pada tabel Manning dengan tipe saluran alam berkelok-kelok, bersih, berceruk dan bertebing diperoleh nilai minimum 0,033 sedangkan nilai maksimum 0,045</p><strong><em></em></strong>

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We have shown previously (Mulvaney and others, 1988; Wolff and others, 1988) that some of the impurities in ice are localised. For samples from Dolleman Island in the Antarctic Peninsula, sulphuric acid was found at very high concentrations at the triple junctions (where three grains meet). No such localisation was found for sea salt elements, which are the other major soluble impurity. We believe that the acid is sufficiently concentrated at ice-sheet temperatures to remain liquid, forming a network of sub-micron veins through the ice. We used a scanning electron microscope (SEM) fitted with an X-ray microanalysis system and a cold stage that holds samples below −160°C. Located at the University of Lancaster, the instrument allows frozen samples to be investigated with elemental analysis carried out at a resolution of the order of 1 micron. Further experiments have yielded similar results for other samples from the same ice core. However, we have not yet found a method of cutting and cooling the samples that gives quantitatively reproducible data, so that it is too early to say what proportion of the acid in the sample is at the triple junctions. Nonetheless, we have now also seen S at several triple junctions in ice from Site G in central Greenland. The sample includes part of the material from the 1783 Laki volcanic eruption. We have still to look at samples from other sites, but are reassured that the positive result is not confined to one ice core. This work, still at a formative stage, has posed some important questions: (1) For us there is the technical question of how we obtain reproducible quantitative results. (2) How widespread is the phenomenon, and how much of the acid is at triple junctions? This is the next phase of studies at Lancaster, and is likely to include a study of older ice, and of temperate ice. (3) Why is the acid at triple junctions, and why is sea salt not found there? This must be due to processes in the atmosphere or snowpack, and is likely to be related to the eutectic temperatures of impurity/water mixtures. Thus the distribution may influenced by changes in climate or chemistry. For instance, Wisconsin-age ice in Greenland is neutral, any acid having reacted with alkali dusts. How did this affect the impurity distribution? (4) If the distribution does change as a result of a changed environment, does this affect the physical properties of the ice itself? In particular, is the presence or absence of liquid at the junctions a contributory factor to the changes in rheology between Wisconsin and Holocene ice? We are far into the realms of speculation here, but this does have the potential to be an interesting long-timescale feedback to climatic and environmental changes.

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We have shown previously (Mulvaney and others, 1988; Wolff and others, 1988) that some of the impurities in ice are localised. For samples from Dolleman Island in the Antarctic Peninsula, sulphuric acid was found at very high concentrations at the triple junctions (where three grains meet). No such localisation was found for sea salt elements, which are the other major soluble impurity. We believe that the acid is sufficiently concentrated at ice-sheet temperatures to remain liquid, forming a network of sub-micron veins through the ice.We used a scanning electron microscope (SEM) fitted with an X-ray microanalysis system and a cold stage that holds samples below −160°C. Located at the University of Lancaster, the instrument allows frozen samples to be investigated with elemental analysis carried out at a resolution of the order of 1 micron.Further experiments have yielded similar results for other samples from the same ice core. However, we have not yet found a method of cutting and cooling the samples that gives quantitatively reproducible data, so that it is too early to say what proportion of the acid in the sample is at the triple junctions.Nonetheless, we have now also seen S at several triple junctions in ice from Site G in central Greenland. The sample includes part of the material from the 1783 Laki volcanic eruption. We have still to look at samples from other sites, but are reassured that the positive result is not confined to one ice core.This work, still at a formative stage, has posed some important questions:(1) For us there is the technical question of how we obtain reproducible quantitative results.(2) How widespread is the phenomenon, and how much of the acid is at triple junctions? This is the next phase of studies at Lancaster, and is likely to include a study of older ice, and of temperate ice.(3) Why is the acid at triple junctions, and why is sea salt not found there? This must be due to processes in the atmosphere or snowpack, and is likely to be related to the eutectic temperatures of impurity/water mixtures. Thus the distribution may influenced by changes in climate or chemistry. For instance, Wisconsin-age ice in Greenland is neutral, any acid having reacted with alkali dusts. How did this affect the impurity distribution?(4) If the distribution does change as a result of a changed environment, does this affect the physical properties of the ice itself? In particular, is the presence or absence of liquid at the junctions a contributory factor to the changes in rheology between Wisconsin and Holocene ice? We are far into the realms of speculation here, but this does have the potential to be an interesting long-timescale feedback to climatic and environmental changes.

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Can Gio mangrove forest (CGM) is located downstream of Ho Chi Minh City (HCMC), situated between an estuarine system of Dong Nai - Sai Gon river and a part of Vam Co river. The CGM is the largest restored mangrove forest in Vietnam and the UNESCO’s Mangrove Biosphere Reserve. The CGM has been gradually facing to numeric challenges of global climate change, environmental degradation and socio-economic development for the last decades. To evaluate sediment quality in the CGM, we collected 13 cores to analyze for sediment grain size, organic matter content, and trace element concentration of Cd, Cr, Cu, Ni, Pb, Zn. Results showed that trace element concentrations ranged from uncontaminated (Cd, Cu, and Zn) to very minor contaminated (Cr, Ni, and Pb). The concentrations were gradually influenced by suspended particle size and the mangrove plants.ReferencesAnh M.T., Chi D.H., Vinh N.N., Loan T.T., Triet L.M., Slootenb K.B.-V., Tarradellas J., 2003. 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No período gestacional, a mulher deve ser incentivada a ter mais conhecimento sobre a saúde do bebê, pois os hábitos de higiene adquiridos na infância podem permanecer durante toda a vida. O objetivo deste estudo foi avaliar o conhecimento das gestantes acompanhadas em Unidades Básicas de Saúde no município de Quixadá-CE sobre a saúde bucal do bebê. Esta pesquisa respeita as normas da resolução 466/12 do CNS e foi submetido e aprovado pelo Comitê de Ética e Pesquisa da Unicatólica. O estudo foi realizado no período de agosto a setembro de 2017, em três unidades Básicas de Saúde pertencentes à zona urbana do município de Quixadá-CE. A coleta de dados se deu através de um questionário estruturado elaborado, composto de perguntas objetivas relacionadas com a transmissibilidade da cárie dentária, os cuidados básicos com a saúde bucal e a Odontologia na 1° Infância que foi preenchido por cada gestante. A amostra englobou 43 gestantes do 1° ao 3° trimestre de gestação. Entre as participantes, 74,4% (n=32) nunca receberam orientações sobre cuidados com a higiene oral do bebê. No entanto, 52% (n=26) souberam responder corretamente sobre a época em que deve se iniciar os cuidados com a higiene oral do bebê (quando o bebê nasce). Quanto aos métodos que podem ser utilizados para a realização dessa higiene, 58,1% (n= 25) responderam com gaze ou fralda embebida com água, e quanto à frequência que se deve ser realizada, 58,1% (n=25) disseram após toda mamada, como também, em relação à quantidade ideal de pasta para a escovação da boca do bebê com dentes, 46,5% (n=2) responderam que deve ser do tamanho de um grão de arroz seco. Pôde-se observar que apesar da maioria delas ter apresentado um razoável conhecimento sobre a importância da higiene bucal e os efeitos nocivos do uso de chupetas, poucas delas receberam algum tipo de assistência e orientação sobre saúde bucal do bebê durante o período pré-natal. Ressalta-se a importância da inclusão do profissional de odontologia nesse período de modo a repassar informações e esclarecer eventuais dúvidas que surgirem sobre a saúde bucal do bebê. KNOWLEDGE OF PREGNANT WOMEN ON ORAL HEALTH. ABSTRACT In the gestational period, the woman should be encouraged to seek more knowledge about the health of the baby, as the hygiene habits acquired in childhood can remain throughout life. The objective of this study was to evaluate the knowledge of the pregnant women monitored at the Basic Health Units in the city of Quixadá-CE on the oral health of the baby. This research complies with the norms of CNS resolution 466/12 and was submitted and approved by the Unicatólica Ethics and Research Committee. The study was conducted in the period from August to September 2017, in three Basic Health Units belonging to the urban area of the municipality of Quixadá-CE. Data were collected through an elaborate structured questionnaire, composed of objective questions related to the transmissibility of dental caries, the basic care with oral health and Dentistry in the 1st Childhood that was filled by each pregnant woman. The sample included 43 pregnant women from the 1st to the 3rd trimester of gestation. Among the participants, 74.4% (n = 32) never received guidance on caring for the baby's oral hygiene. However, 52% (n = 26) were able to answer correctly about the time when the baby's oral hygiene care should begin (when the baby is born). Regarding the methods that can be used to perform this hygiene, 58.1% (n = 25) responded with gauze or diaper soaked with water, and as to the frequency to be performed, 58.1% (n = 25) ) reported that after feeding, as well as the ideal amount of toothpaste for toothbrushing, 46.5% (n = 2) answered that it should be the size of a dry rice grain. It was observed that although most of them had a reasonable knowledge about the importance of oral hygiene and the harmful effects of pacifiers, few of them received any kind of assistance and guidance on the baby's oral health during the prenatal period. It is important to include the dental professional in this period in order to pass on information and clarify any doubts that may arise regarding the oral health of the baby.

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ABSTRACTAs Bednorz and Muller noted in their original publication reporting on the discovery of high temperature superconductivity, their oxides present many of the features of granular superconductors. This behavior was first primarily ascribed to poor connectivity of the grains in the bulk ceramic samples. but later studies have pointed out to more fundamental reasons for these similarities. We will discuss them after first reviewing the well established properties of low Tc granular superconductors.

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1. Make a list of things to do2. Copy list of things left undone from previous list3. Add items to list of new things needing to be done4. Add some of the things already done from previous list and immediately cross off so as to put off the feeling of an interminable list of never accomplishable tasks5. Finish writing list and sit back feeling an overwhelming sense of listlessnessIt started so well. Get up: make list: get on. But lists can breed listlessness. It can’t always be helped. The word “list” referring to a sequence of items comes from the Italian and French words for “strip”—as in a strip of material. The word “list” that you find in the compound “listlessness” comes from the old English word for pleasing (to list is to please and to desire). To be listless is to be without desire, without the desire to please. The etymologies of list and listless don’t correspond but they might seem to conspire in other ways. Oh, and by the way, ships can list when their balance is off.I list, like a ship, itemising my obligations to job, to work, to colleagues, to parenting, to family: write a reference for such and such; buy birthday present for eighty-year-old dad; finish article about lists – and so on. I forget to add to the list my necessary requirements for achieving any of this: keep breathing; eat and drink regularly; visit toilet when required. Lists make visible. Lists hide. I forget to add to my list all my worries that underscore my sense that these lists (or any list) might require an optimism that is always something of a leap of faith: I hope that electricity continues to exist; I hope my computer will still work; I hope that my sore toe isn’t the first sign of bodily paralysis; I hope that this heart will still keep beating.I was brought up on lists: the hit parade (the top one hundred “hit” singles); football leagues (not that I ever really got the hang of them); lists of kings and queens; lists of dates; lists of states; lists of elements (the periodic table). There are lists and there are lists. Some lists are really rankings. These are clearly the important lists. Where do you stand on the list? How near the bottom are you? Where is your university in the list of top universities? Have you gone down or up? To list, then, for some at least is to rank, to prioritise, to value. Is it this that produces listlessness? The sense that while you might want to rank your ten favourite films in a list, listing is something that is constantly happening to you, happening around you; you are always in amongst lists, never on top of them. To hang around the middle of lists might be all that you can hope for: no possibility of sudden lurching from the top spot; no urgent worries that you might be heading for demotion too quickly.But ranking is only one aspect of listing. Sometimes listing has a more flattening effect. I once worked as a cash-in-hand auditor (in this case a posh name for someone who counts things). A group of us (many of whom were seriously stoned) were bussed to factories and warehouses where we had to count the stock. We had to make lists of items and simply count what there was: for large items this was relatively easy, but for the myriad of miniscule parts this seemed a task for Sisyphus. In a power-tool factory in some unprepossessing town on the outskirts of London (was it Slough or Croydon or somewhere else?) we had to count bolts, nuts, washers, flex, rivets, and so on. Of course after a while we just made it up—guesstimates—as they say. A box of thousands of 6mm metal washers is a hom*ogenous set in a list of heterogeneous parts that itself starts looking hom*ogenous as it takes its part in the list. Listing dedifferentiates in the act of differentiating.The task of making lists, of filling-in lists, of having a list of tasks to complete encourages listlessness because to list lists towards exhaustiveness and exhaustion. Archives are lists and lists are often archives and archived. Those that work on lists and on archives constantly battle the fatigue of too many lists, of too much exhaustiveness. But could exhaustion be embraced as a necessary mood with which to deal with lists and archives? Might listlessness be something of a methodological orientation that has its own productivity in the face of so many lists?At my university there resides an archive that can appear to be a list of lists. It is the Mass-Observation archive, begun at the end of 1936 and, with a sizeable hiatus in the 1960s and 1970s, is still going today. (For a full account of Mass-Observation, see Highmore, Everyday Life chapter 6, and Hubble; for examples of Mass-Observation material, see Calder and Sheridan, and Highmore, Ordinary chapter 4; for analysis of Mass-Observation from the point of view of the observer, see Sheridan, Street, and Bloome. The flavour of the project as it emerges in the late 1930s is best conveyed by consulting Mass-Observation, Mass-Observation, First Year’s Work, and Britain.) It was begun by three men: the filmmaker Humphrey Jennings, the poet and sociologist Charles Madge, and the ornithologist and anthropologist-of-the-near Tom Harrisson. Both Jennings and Madge were heavily involved in promoting a form of social surrealism that might see buried forces in the coincidences of daily life as well as in the machinations and contingency of large political and social events (the abdication crisis, the burning of the Crystal Palace—both in late 1936). Harrisson brought a form of amateur anthropology with him that would scour football crowds, pub clientele, and cinema queues for ritualistic and symbolic forms. Mass-Observation quickly recruited a large group of voluntary observers (about a thousand) who would be “the meteorological stations from whose reports a weather-map of popular feeling can be compiled” (Mass-Observation, Mass-Observation 30). Mass-Observation combined the social survey with a relentless interest in the irrational and in what the world felt like to those who lived in it. As a consequence the file reports often seem banal and bizarre in equal measure (accounts of nightmares, housework routines, betting activities). When Mass-Observation restarted in the 1980s the surrealistic impetus became less pronounced, but it was still there, implicit in the methodology. Today, both as an on-going project and as an archive of previous observational reports, Mass-Observation lives in archival boxes. You can find a list of what topics are addressed in each box; you can also find lists of the contributors, the voluntary Mass-Observers whose observations are recorded in the boxes. What better way to give you a flavour of these boxes than to offer you a sample of their listing activities. Here are observers, observing in 1983 the objects that reside on their mantelpieces. Here’s one:champagne cork, rubber band, drawing pin, two hearing aid batteries, appointment card for chiropodist, piece of dog biscuit.Does this conjure up a world? Do we have a set of clues, of material evidence, a small cosmology of relics, a reduced Wunderkammer, out of which we can construct not the exotic but something else, something more ordinary? Do you smell camphor and imagine antimacassars? Do you hear conversations with lots of mishearing? Are the hearing aid batteries shared? Is this a single person living with a dog, or do we imagine an assembly of chiropodist-goers, dog-owners, hearing aid-users, rubber band-pingers, champagne-drinkers?But don’t get caught imagining a life out of these fragments. Don’t get stuck on this list: there are hundreds to get through. After all, what sort of an archive would it be if it included a single list? We need more lists.Here’s another mantelpiece: three penknives, a tube of cement [which I assume is the sort of rubber cement that you get in bicycle puncture repair kits], a pocket microscope, a clinical thermometer.Who is this? A hypochondriacal explorer? Or a grown-up boy-scout, botanising on the asphalt? Why so many penknives? But on, on... And another:1 letter awaiting postage stamp1 diet book1 pair of spare spectacles1 recipe for daughter’s home economics1 notepad1 pen1 bottle of indigestion tablets1 envelope containing 13 pence which is owed a friend1 pair of stick-on heels for home shoe repairing session3 letters in day’s post1 envelope containing money for week’s milk bill1 recipe cut from magazine2 out of date letters from schoolWhat is the connection between the daughter’s home economics recipe and the indigestion tablets? Is the homework gastronomy not quite going to plan? Or is the diet book causing side-effects? And what sort of financial stickler remembers that they owe 13p; even in 1983 this was hardly much money? Or is it the friend who is the stickler? Perhaps this is just prying...?But you need more. Here’s yet another:an ashtray, a pipe, pipe tamper and tobacco pouch, one decorated stone and one plain stone, a painted clay model of an alien, an enamelled metal egg from Hong Kong, a copper bracelet, a polished shell, a snowstorm of Father Christmas in his sleigh...Ah, a pipe smoker, this much is clear. But apart from this the display sounds ritualistic – one stone decorated the other not. What sort of religion is this? What sort of magic? An alien and Santa. An egg, a shell, a bracelet. A riddle.And another:Two 12 gauge shotgun cartridges live 0 spread Rubber plantBrass carriage clockInternational press clock1950s cigarette dispenser Model of Panzer MKIV tankWWI shell fuseWWI shell case ash tray containing an acorn, twelve .22 rounds of ammunition, a .455 Eley round and a drawing pinPhoto of Eric Liddell (Chariots of Fire)Souvenir of Algerian ash tray containing marbles and beach stonesThree 1930s plastic duck clothes brushesLetter holder containing postcards and invitations. Holder in shape of a cow1970s Whizzwheels toy carWooden box of jeweller’s rottenstone (Victorian)Incense holderWorld war one German fuse (used)Jim Beam bottle with candle thereinSol beer bottle with candle therein I’m getting worried now. Who are these people who write for Mass-Observation? Why so much military paraphernalia? Why such detail as to the calibrations? Should I concern myself that small militias are holding out behind the net curtains and aspidistra plants of suburban England?And another:1930s AA BadgeAvocado PlantWooden cat from Mexico*kahlua bottle with candle there in1950s matchbook with “merry widow” co*cktail printed thereonTwo Britain’s model cannonOne brass “Carronade” from the Carron Iron Works factory shopPhotography pass from Parkhead 12/11/88Grouse foot kilt pinBrass incense holderPheasant featherNovitake cupBlack ash tray with beach pebbles there inFull packet of Mary Long cigarettes from HollandPewter co*cktail shaker made in ShanghaiI’m feeling distance. Who says “there in” and “there on?” What is a Novitake cup? Perhaps I wrote it down incorrectly? An avocado plant stirs memories of trying to grow one from an avocado stone skewered in a cup with one “point” dunked in a bit of water. Did it ever grow, or just rot? I’m getting distracted now, drifting off, feeling sleepy...Some more then – let’s feed the listlessness of the list:Wood sculpture (Tenerife)A Rubber bandBirdJunior aspirinToy dinosaur Small photo of daughterSmall paint brushAh yes the banal bizarreness of ordinary life: dinosaurs and aspirins, paint brushes and rubber bands.But then a list comes along and pierces you:Six inch piece of grey eyeliner1 pair of nail clippers1 large box of matches1 Rubber band2 large hair gripsHalf a piece of cough candy1 screwed up tissue1 small bottle with tranquillizers in1 dead (but still in good condition) butterfly (which I intended to draw but placed it now to rest in the garden) it was already dead when I found it.The dead butterfly, the tranquillizers, the insistence that the mantelpiece user didn’t actually kill the butterfly, the half piece of cough candy, the screwed up tissue. In amongst the rubber bands and matches, signs of something desperate. Or maybe not: a holding on (the truly desperate haven’t found their way to the giant tranquillizer cupboard), a keeping a lid on it, a desire (to draw, to place a dead butterfly at rest in the garden)...And here is the methodology emerging: the lists works on the reader, listing them, and making them listless. After a while the lists (and there are hundreds of these lists of mantle-shelf items) begin to merge. One giant mantle shelf filled with small stacks of foreign coins, rubber bands and dead insects. They invite you to be both magical ethnographer and deadpan sociologist at one and the same time (for example, see Hurdley). The “Martian” ethnographer imagines the mantelpiece as a shrine where this culture worships the lone rubber band and itinerant button. Clearly a place of reliquary—on this planet the residents set up altars where they place their sacred objects: clocks and clippers; ammunition and amulets; coins and pills; candles and cosmetics. Or else something more sober, more sombre: late twentieth century petite-bourgeois taste required the mantelpiece to hold the signs of aspirant propriety in the form of emblems of tradition (forget the coins and the dead insects and weaponry: focus on the carriage clocks). And yet, either way, it is the final shelf that gets me every time. But it only got me, I think, because the archive had worked its magic: ransacked my will, my need to please, my desire. It had, for a while at least, made me listless, and listless enough to be touched by something that was really a minor catalogue of remainders. This sense of listlessness is the way that the archive productively defeats the “desire for the archive.” It is hard to visit an archive without an expectation, without an “image repertoire,” already in mind. This could be thought of as the apperception-schema of archival searching: the desire to see patterns already imagined; the desire to find the evidence for the thought whose shape has already formed. Such apperception is hard to avoid (probably impossible), but the boredom of the archive, its ceaselessness, has a way of undoing it, of emptying it. It corresponds to two aesthetic positions and propositions. One is well-known: it is Barthes’s distinction between “studium” and “punctum.” For Barthes, studium refers to a sort of social interest that is always, to some degree, satisfied by a document (his concern, of course, is with photographs). The punctum, on the other hand, spills out from the photograph as a sort of metonymical excess, quite distinct from social interest (but for all that, not asocial). While Barthes is clearly offering a phenomenology of viewing photographs, he isn’t overly interested (here at any rate) with the sort of perceptional-state the viewer might need to be in to be pierced by the puntum of an image. My sense, though, is that boredom, listlessness, tiredness, a sort of aching indifference, a mood of inattentiveness, a sense of satiated interest (but not the sort of disinterest of Kantian aesthetics), could all be beneficial to a punctum-like experience. The second aesthetic position is not so well-known. The Austrian dye-technician, lawyer and art-educationalist Anton Ehrenzweig wrote, during the 1950s and 1960s, about a form of inattentive-attention, and a form of afocal-rendering (eye-repelling rather than eye-catching), that encouraged eye-wandering, scanning, and the “‘full’ emptiness of attention” (Ehrenzweig, The Hidden Order 39). His was an aesthetics attuned to the kind of art produced by Paul Klee, but it was also an aesthetic propensity useful for making wallpaper and for productively connecting to unconscious processes. Like Barthes, Ehrenzweig doesn’t pursue the sort of affective state of being that might enhance such inattentive-attention, but it is not hard to imagine that the sort of library-tiredness of the archive would be a fitting preparation for “full emptiness.” Ehrenzweig and Barthes can be useful for exploring this archival mood, this orientation and attunement, which is also a disorientation and mis-attunement. Trawling through lists encourages scanning: your sensibilities are prepared; your attention is being trained. After a while, though, the lists blur, concentration starts to loosen its grip. The lists are not innocent recipients here. Shrapnel shards pull at you. You start to notice the patterns but also the spaces in-between that don’t seem to fit sociological categorisations. The strangeness of the patterns hypnotises you and while the effect can generate a sense of sociological-anthropological hom*ogeneity-with-difference, sometimes the singularity of an item leaps out catching you unawares. An archive is an orchestration of order and disorder: however contained and constrained it appears it is always spilling out beyond its organisational structures (amongst the many accounts of archives in terms of their orderings, see Sekula, and Stoler, Race and Along). Like “Probate Inventories,” the mantelpiece archive presents material objects that connect us (however indirectly) to embodied practices and living spaces (Evans). The Mass-Observation archive, especially in its mantelpiece collection, is an accretion of temporalities and spaces. More crucially, it is an accumulation of temporalities materialised in a mass of spaces. A thousand mantelpieces in a thousand rooms scattered across the United Kingdom. Each shelf is syncopated to the rhythms of diverse durations, while being synchronised to the perpetual now of the shelf: a carriage clock, for instance, inherited from a deceased parent, its brass detailing relating to a different age, its mechanism perpetually telling you that the time of this space is now. The archive carries you away to a thousand living rooms filled with the momentary (dead insects) and the eternal (pebbles) and everything in-between. Its centrifugal force propels you out to a vast accrual of things: ashtrays, rubber bands, military paraphernalia, toy dinosaurs; a thousand living museums of the incidental and the memorial. This vertiginous archive threatens to undo you; each shelf a montage of times held materially together in space. It is too much. It pushes me towards the mantelshelves I know, the ones I’ve had a hand in. Each one an archive in itself: my grandfather’s green glass paperweight holding a fragile silver foil flower in its eternal grasp; the potions and lotions that feed my hypochondria; used train tickets. Each item pushes outwards to other times, other spaces, other people, other things. It is hard to focus, hard to cling onto anything. Was it the dead butterfly, or the tranquillizers, or both, that finally nailed me? Or was it the half a cough-candy? I know what she means by leaving the remnants of this sweet. You remember the taste, you think you loved them as a child, they have such a distinctive candy twist and colour, but actually their taste is harsh, challenging, bitter. There is nothing as ephemeral and as “useless” as a sweet; and yet few things are similarly evocative of times past, of times lost. Yes, I think I’d leave half a cough-candy on a shelf, gathering dust.[All these lists of mantelpiece items are taken from the Mass-Observation archive at the University of Sussex. Mass-Observation is a registered charity. For more information about Mass-Observation go to http://www.massobs.org.uk/]ReferencesBarthes, Roland. Camera Lucida. Translated by Richard Howard. London: Fontana, 1984.Calder, Angus, and Dorothy Sheridan, eds. Speak for Yourself: A Mass-Observation Anthology 1937–1949. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1985.Ehrenzweig, Anton. The Psychoanalysis of Artistic Vision and Hearing: An Introduction to a Theory of Unconscious Perception. Third edition. London: Sheldon Press, 1965. [Originally published in 1953.]---. The Hidden Order of Art. London: Paladin, 1970.Evans, Adrian. “Enlivening the Archive: Glimpsing Embodied Consumption Practices in Probate Inventories of Household Possessions.” Historical Geography 36 (2008): 40-72.Highmore, Ben. Everyday Life and Cultural Theory. London: Routledge, 2002.---. Ordinary Lives: Studies in the Everyday. Abingdon: Routledge, 2011.Hubble, Nick. Mass-Observation and Everyday Life: Culture, History, Theory, Houndmills and New York: Palgrave, 2006.Hurdley, Rachel. “Dismantling Mantelpieces: Narrating Identities and Materializing Culture in the Home.” Sociology 40, 4 (2006): 717-733Mass-Observation. Mass-Observation. London: Fredrick Muller, 1937.---. First Year’s Work 1937-38. London: Lindsay Drummond, 1938.---. Britain. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1939.Sekula, Allan. “The Body and the Archive.” October 39 (1986): 3-64.Sheridan, Dorothy, Brian Street, and David Bloome. Writing Ourselves: Mass-Observation and Literary Practices. Cresskill, New Jersey: Hampton Press, 2000.Stoler, Ann Laura. Race and the Education of Desire: Foucault’s History of Sexuality and the Colonial Order of Things. Durham and London: Duke UP, 1995. Stoler, Ann Laura. Along the Archival Grain: Epistemic Anxieties and Colonial Common Sense. Princeton: Princeton UP, 2009.

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Lorri Neilsen, whose feature article appears in this edition of M/C Journal, is Professor of Education at Mount Saint Vincent University in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. Neilsen has been teaching and researching in literacy studies for more than four decades. She is internationally recognised as a poet and as an arts-based research methodologist specialising in lyric inquiry. In the latter half of this last decade she was appointed for a five year term to be the Poet Laureate for Nova Scotia. As an academic, she has published widely under the name of Lorri Neilsen; as a poet, she uses Lorri Neilsen Glenn. In this article I refer to her as Neilsen. This article reflects specifically on the poetics and the politics of the work of poet-scholar Lorri Neilsen. In doing so, it explores the theme of catastrophe in several senses. Firstly, it introduces the reader to the poetic articulations of the everyday catastrophes of grief and loss found in Neilsen’s recent work. Secondly, it uses Neilsen’s work on grief and loss to draw attention to a rarely recognised scholarly catastrophe: the catastrophe of the methodological divide between the humanities and the social sciences that runs the risk of creating, for the social sciences, a limiting and limited approach to research project design, knowledge production, and relationships between researchers and subjects, to which Lorri Neilsen’s ground-breaking use of lyric inquiry is a response. And thirdly, it alerts us to the need to fight to retain the arts and humanities within universities, in order to avoid a scholarly catastrophe of a different order. In undertaking this exploration, the article uses several terms with which some readers of M/C Journal might not be familiar. Research literacies is a term used to signal capacity and fluency in the understanding and use of research methodologies. Arts-based inquiry is the umbrella term used by researchers using their creative practice in the arts—in writing, theatre performance, visual arts, music, dance, movement—to lead them into new insights into the topic under investigation. This work is frequently embodied and sensuous. So, for example, the understanding of anorexia might be deepened by a dance performance or a series of paintings or a musical score devised in response to work with research participants; or, as I argue here, understandings of the everyday catastrophes of grief and loss might be deepened by the writing of poetry or expressive prose that uncovers nuance and sheds light in ways not possible using the more traditional research methodologies available to social scientists. Lyric inquiry, a sub-set of arts-based inquiry, is Neilsen’s own term for a research methodology that uses writing itself as the research tool, and whose hallmark is embodied language expressed as poem, song, or poetic prose, to “create the possibility of a resonant, ethical, engaged relationship between the knower and the known” (Handbook 94).This article, then, reflects on the research work of Lorri Neilsen. In this article I use Neilsen’s responses to grief and loss as the starting point to follow her journey from the early days of her involvement in literacy research to her present enchantment with arts-based inquiry in literacy and social science research. I outline her writing on research literacies, explore her notion of lyric inquiry as a crucial facet of arts-based research, and conclude with examples of her poetry born of creative reflection on what we might call everyday catastrophes. Ultimately I argue the need to avoid a scholarly catastrophe of a different order from those Neilsen explores, through the continued recognition of the crucial place of the arts in academic institutions.I open with excerpts from a piece in Lorri Neilsen’s collection, Threading Light, published in 2011. This piece, The Sea, written out of the grief of losing her aged mother, is one I find most moving. It begins: Days later—a week, a month, hard to tell—sun comes out of drizzle and ice and fog and snow showers, ripping open a bright day. Snow-mounded. If you were a kid, you’d look for your sled. He is sure the box of wrenches is in the cabin, and you know a drive to the country is better than another day in bed with Kleenex and a hacking cough, hiding a flayed heart, and pouring CBC into your ears around the clock. (104) The two figures in the piece, he and she, head south to their seaside cabin. They take a walk beside an ice-covered seashore.Today, you step carefully because of ice, and what you find catches your breath. For a brief moment you have escaped the grizzly claws of grief ripping at your chest. You are kneeling on the ice, touching the frosted edges of kelp and weeds, slimy umber and sienna, and putrid green growths that slurp in and out most of the year, but here, now, are stunned, immobile, impaled on the rocks by the cold. Desire is a feral animal; let it loose, it will seek beauty. You point out to each other tableaus: rimming white, translucent blues and greens, coppered plants flash-frozen, fringed by crystalline tatters. A Burtynsky, you think, but not man-made. This is life’s ebb, as Tu Fu wrote. The ocean’s winter verge. Death’s magnificent intaglio. Your fingers follow the lines of kelp: these things once lived, and moved. Take the long view, maybe they still do. You pause to sit on a cold rock and look at the sky; for a moment you are back beside her body, that last morning, your fingers on cooling flesh. Then, water, the sound of waves. Presence. You look up. He has found one periwinkle fused to a rock, then another. Several more. He places them in your hand, one by one, each dark brown ball with its own scurf of ice that gives off the smallest breath of mist as it touches the heat of your palm. Each a small jolt. This is what the sea creates while you are busy with your own tides: precise cups of glossy perfection with curves like a blues howl that open your heart, craning for light. (Threading Light 104–5)One of the things I appreciate most about Lorri Neilsen’s lyric work is her capacity to hold the miniscule simultaneously with the universal; a flash of insight under the arc of a timeless sky. “Smaller than small; larger than large,” write the Hindu prophets (Upanishads). “This is what the sea creates while you are busy with your own tides,” she writes, and in that moment of reading I am jolted into an awareness of the contours of grief that no amount of social scientific observation could provide: an awareness of the nature of self-absorption and inward focus so intense that even the most inevitable of natural rhythms—the ocean’s tides—are forgotten: forgotten, that is, until the protagonist is shaken awake again, by exquisite beauty, into a new kind of response-ability to the world. Lorri Neilsen’s feature article in this edition of M/C creates layer upon layer of insights exploring the notion that loss, an everyday catastrophe, involves a turning inside-out, a jolting into a new sense of self, or a propulsion out of an old, restrictive one; and that inevitably it propels us headlong into a state of living in the moment, of being present to what is, rather than distantly taking stock of what we have. As I ponder this experience, as a reader of her work, I re-experience that moment of stasis:physiologically we all know that experience of time suspended after shock, time inexplicably, irrationally, standing still. But what Neilsen has done so successfully as a poet-scholar, in my view, is not simply find words to express this turning inside out as poetry. Additionally, she has claimed the moment of poetic insight as a crucial form of knowledge-making that has a central and necessary place in illuminating our social worlds. This claim has far-reaching political significance for social science researchers, introducing, as it does, a re-invigorated understanding of the very concept of research:Research [she tells us] is not only the creation of products to market at the academic fair; research is the process of learning through the words, actions and revisionings of our daily life. […] Research is the attuned mind/body working purposefully to explore, to listen, to support, to transgress, to gather with care, to create, to disrupt, to offer back, to contribute, sometimes all at once […] Inquiry is praxis that cannot be boxed up and delivered: it is a story with no ending. (Knowing 264) Neilsen’s particular fascination is with lyric inquiry which she claims as political, poetic, and sustaining of the individual and the larger world: It has the capacity to develop voice and agency in both researcher and participant; it foregrounds conceptual and philosophical processes marked by metaphor, resonance and liminality; and it reunites us with the vivifying effects of imagination and beauty – those long-forgotten qualities that add grace and wisdom to public discourse. (Knowing 101)So what has led her here, to that place where lyric inquiry forms the basis of her engagement with the knowledge-making endeavour in the academy and beyond? As a feminist scholar fascinated by biography, by life writing and story, I find myself drawn as much towards the story of Neilsen’s evolution as a poet-scholar as to the work itself. How has she come to an awareness of the need to create new ways of doing research? What has she uncovered here about the ethics and the politics of doing research in the social world? As I read her work I become aware that her current desire to dance at the edge of the conventional research world has been driven as much by a series of professional catastrophes as by an underpinning desire for methodological innovation. Neilsen herself explores these issues in her 1998 collection of academic essays, called Knowing Her Place: Research Literacies and Feminist Occasions. There are several threads weaving their way through this account of a young academic researcher and scholar finding her way into a larger, wiser, more resonant space: there’s the story of the young graduate student learning the language of and experiencing the perpetual isolation of disembodied fact-finding statistically resonant research into literacy; there’s the story of the young mother juggling academic life and research and parenting, wanting to make sense to the teaching research participants she is working with, wanting to close the gap between the public and the private worlds, wanting to spend time with her partner and her two sons, especially her second son whose birth could have been a catastrophe but whose gentle ways of being in the world gifted them all with the desire to slow down, to see afresh; and, later, there’s the story of the mature woman whose impulse is to community and to solitude, to living with a generosity of spirit that takes seriously the intertwining of her poetic life and her academic and everyday worlds. Interwoven with these stories is the story of writing itself: here we find the formal disembodied writing of Western scientific research practices; here now is collectivist writing generated at kitchen tables, in community centres, in schools; here now is every mode of writing that evokes nuance and explores the senses; and here now too is the research writing that privileges response-ability, scholartistry, bodily sensation, reciprocity, engagement with the world.Neilsen’s account of this journey begins when, as a young postgraduate student doing research into literacy, she learned the language of statistical significance to measure syntactic complexity, noting, as she wrote up her MA, the distance between the language she had learned and the everyday language of the classroom teachers the research was meant to inform. The emphasis of this early research was on removing language from its context, isolating components of language for scrutiny, making findings that were replicable. In time she came to see this kind of knowledge-making as dry, limited, rule-bound, androcentric. From this disengaged, disembodied place she moved, over decades, into a space where compassion, wisdom, humility, and wonder combine to locate her as researcher who understands, alongside researcher David Smith, that “writing is a holy act, an articulation of limited understanding” (qtd. in Neilsen, Knowing 119). In an echo of Luce Irigaray’s insistence that the research and writing we do as fully alive feminist scholars will link the celestial and the terrestrial, the horizontal, and the vertical, and in a further echo of Helene Cixous’ claim that when writing from the body, “an opera inhabits me” (Cixous 53), Neilsen writes unabashedly of the metaphysical nature of her research world: Artful living, artful writing, connecting with a purpose to help each other transcend and grow through inquiry. Connection, embodiment, transformation, transcendence. All these expressions tap spiritual chords […] But if inquiry is to transcend the destructive circ*mstances of our lifeworlds, if its purpose is to make a difference, not a career, we cannot avoid using words such as vision, spirit, humanity, soul. Interest in metaphysical perspectives is not new in feminist circles, but is IS new in conventional research communities where the intangible, the deeply disturbing and consciousness-awakening dimensions of life are compartmentalized, reserved […] for a walk by the ocean, for the rare meditative times of our lives, if we find them at all […] But (she concludes) the awareness that we know when we live in the eternal present […] is an awareness full of tremendous power, and, ultimately, hope. (Knowing 280)In the final chapter of this 1998 text outlining her journey into research literacies, called Notes on Painting Ghosts and Writing the Poetry Report: Some Things I know But Not For Certain, Lorri Neilsen writes confidently against the grain of what she sees as the limits of androcentric research practices: Everything we know is at once out there and in here […] My place is to apprentice myself to the world, to paraphrase Merleau-Ponty, not in subservience and compliance, as the androcentric practices we have followed would keep me, but in reciprocity, curiosity and response-ability. What we must seek are the transgressive experiences and the fresh words which reveal us, in Annie Dillard’s words, ‘startlingly to ourselves as creatures set down bewildered’. (qtd. in Neilsen, Knowing 261)And in a gesture that I find heartwarming, she writes of the impact of being scooped up into a collective research-making endeavour, of belonging to a community of scholars (including poet-sociologists Laurel Richardson and Trinh T. Minh-ha) whose research agenda is to expand the ways we might know, to reflect the fullness and richness and complexity of the research endeavour itself, and, in so doing, of human experience: Time and enculturation have combined to make inquiry a terrain where I live, rather than a place I visit on occasion.Inquiry is less a stance and more an intentional gesture, a re-bodied approach to working with people, particularly women, on projects which matter to them locally and globally. Inquiry is a conspiracy, a breathing together, for which we need the conditions of being together and sharing a climate, or air, for breathing. Inquiry values difference, rather than fearing it, sees contiguity or complementarity as necessary for working together without suppressing our diversity. (Knowing 262) Hers is no airy-fairy disengaged mood-making endeavour. It is decidedly political: the inclination is to openness and growth, to take risks, to create critical spaces[…] When we make the assumptions of the norms of research problematic, we make the assumptions and the norms of life together on this planet problematic as well. We begin to dismantle the Western knowledge project, and we begin to learn a fundamental humility. Expanding our research literacies keeps us full of wonder, in spite of the shakey ground and the shadows. We can learn more when our pen is a tool of discovery, not domination.And her focus is ever on the artistry of research practices: The ontological and epistemological waters in which these [research] literacies continue to develop are social, political, ecological [...] Re-imagining inquiry is re-imagining ways to work with people and ideas which keep us, like the painter, the dancer, and the performance artist, watchfully poised, momentarily still, and yet fluidly in motion. (Knowing 263)In summary, then, the kind of writing that accompanies the research methodology that Lorri Neilsen has created cuts across the notion of knowledge as product, commodity, trump card. Knowing [for Neilsen] is an experience of immersion and expression rather than one of gathering data only to advance an argument […] A reader does not take away three key points or five examples. A reader comes away with the resonance of another’s world…our senses stimulated, our spirit and emotions affected. (Knowing 96) This kind of writing emerges from her desires to create a resonant, embodied, ethical, activist, feminist-honouring, and collaborative way to grapple with the nuance of human experience. This she calls lyric inquiry. Lyric inquiry sits on the margins, inhabits the liminal spaces, “places where we perceive patterns in new ways, find sensuous openings into new understandings, fresh concepts, wild possibilities” (Knowing 98). In her chapter on lyric inquiry in the 2008 Sage Handbook of the Arts in Qualitative Research, Neilsen argues that lyric inquiry leans on no other mode of enquiry: it stands on its own, resonant and expressive, inviting fresh ways to see, read, consider experience. Unlike the narrative enquiry that currently popularly accompanies much social science research in order to bolster an argument, or illustrate a point being made in policy formulation or discussion (Hopkins), lyric inquiry adopts its own mode, its own performative spaces. It’s a heady concept and, I would argue, a brave contribution to the repertoire of qualitative arts-based research methodologies.For me Lorri Neilsen’s stance as poet, writer, researcher, woman, is beautifully captured in her piece from Threading Light which she has titled Writing has always felt like praying. Here we glimpse the lives of four figures: the Buddha, Muhammad, Jesus Christ, and the poet herself, each responding to catastrophe of sorts: Gotama saw the face of his infant son and sleeping wife,shaved his head and beard, put on his yellow robe, andleft without saying good-bye. Duties, possessions,ties of the heart: all dustweighing down his soul. He walked and walked,seeking a life wide open, complete and pure as polished shell.In a cave away from the fray of Mecca, vendettas,and a world soured by commerce, Muhammadshook as the words of a new scripturecame to him. Surrendered himselfto its beauty, singing and weeping verse by verse, year by yearfor twenty-one years.Of course you remember the man from Galileewho carried on his back the very wood on whichhis blood was spilled. How he pushed back the rockfrom the front of the cave and – this is gospel –ascended, emptied of self and full of god, returningnow in offerings of bread and wine.I pace back and forth on a cliff above the unknowable, luredby slippery and maverick tales that call forth terror, crackthe earth, shatter my bones with light. I have no needto verify old brown marks of stigmata, translate Coptic fragments.A burlap robe on display in the cold stone air of the Church of Santa Croceis inscrutable: it tells me only that my body is a ragged garmentand will be discarded too.But here, now, I am ready as a tuned stringto witness what is ravenous, mythic. Here I am holy, misbegotten,gossip on the lips of the gods, forgotten by the time the cupsare washed and put away. So I start as I start every day,cobbling a makeshift pulpit, casting for truths as they are given me:Man, woman, child, sun, moon, breath, tears,Stone, sand, sea. (Threading Light 102–3) It is ironic that the kind of research that Neilsen advocates, research that draws specifically on the arts to create new methodologies for the uncovering of topics traditionally explored by the social sciences, is being developed at precisely that moment when university arts departments around the world are being dismantled, and their value questioned (See Cohen, NY Times; Donoghue, Chronicle of Higher Education; Kitcher, Republic). As I indicated at the beginning of the article, I use this homage to Lorri Neilsen and her work to make the broader point that we lose the arts and the humanities in our universities at our peril. It’s not just that the arts are a pleasant addition, a ruffle on the edge of the serious straight-tailored cut of the research garment: rather, as Neilsen has argued throughout her research and writing career, the arts are central to our survival as a response-able, interactive, creative, thoughtful species. To turn our back on the arts in contemporary research practices is already a dangerous erosion, a research and knowledge-making catastrophe which Neilsen’s lyric inquiry seeks to address: to lose the arts from universities altogether would be a catastrophe of a much higher order. References Cohen, Patricia. “In Tough Times, the Humanities Must Justify Their Worth”. New York Times. 24 Feb. 2009. Cixous, Helene. Coming to Writing and Other Essays. Ed. Deborah Jensen. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1991.Dillard, Annie. The Writing Life. New York: Harper & Row, 1993. Donoghue, Frank. “Can the Humanities Survive the 21st Century?” The Chronicle of Higher Education. 5 Sep. 2010. Hopkins, Lekkie. “Why Narrative? Reflections on the Politics and Processes of Using Narrative in Refugee Research.” Tamara Journal for Critical Organisation and Inquiry 8.2 (2009): 135-45.Irigaray, Luce. “Sexual Difference.” The Irigaray Reader. Ed. Margaret Whitford. Oxford: Blackwell, 1987. 165-77. Kitcher, Philip. “The Trouble with Scientism”. New Republic. 4 May 2012.Muller, M. (trans.). The Upanishads. Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1879.Neilsen Glenn, Lorri. Threading Light. Explorations in Loss and Poetry. Regina, SK: Hagios Press, 2011. Neilsen, Lorri. “Lyric Inquiry.” Handbook of the Arts in Qualitative Research. Eds. J. Gary Knowles and Ardra Cole. Thousand Oaks: Sage, 2008. 88-98. Neilsen, Lorri. Knowing Her Place: Research Literacies and Feminist Occasions. San Francisco: Caddo Gap Press, and Halifax, NS: Backalong Books, 2008. Richardson, Laurel. “The Consequences of Poetic Representation: Writing the Self and Writing the Other.” Investigating Subjectivity: Windows on Lived Experience. Eds. Carolyn Ellis and Michael Flaherty. Newbury Park: Sage, 1992. 125-140. Richardson, Laurel. “Writing: A Method of Inquiry.” Handbook of Qualitative Research. Eds. Norman K. Denzin and Yvonna. S. Lincoln. Thousand Oaks: Sage, 1994. 959-978.Trinh, T. Minh-ha. Woman, Native, Other. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1989.