Published in 3 different nights, recurring, IMMA, Dublin, ISBN: 978-1-909792-15-9
The following is extracted from a series of conversations between Grace Weir and Rachael Thomas, Senior Curator: Head of Exhibitions, which took place in Dublin and Dromahair, October 2015.
Hello Grace, it’s really good to see you in your studio in Dromahair in County Leitrim. The show you are currently preparing for the Irish Museum of Modern Art will be your first overview exhibition, containing works from 1999 to a number of new pieces. I’m struck when considering the range of these artworks by your continuing examination of different theories of time and how we experience time. As it is something you repeatedly explore it, appropriately enough, brought to my mind Friedrich Nietzsche’s concept of the ‘eternal return’, the idea that there is infinite time and a finite number of events, so eventually these events will recur again and again. Could we start by talking about time and this idea of the eternal return as possible motifs in your work?
Time became increasingly of interest to me the more I worked in film or video. Time is intrinsic to film-making. The Russian film director Tarkovsky called making films ‘sculpting in time’. It was through working in this medium that led me to approach a physicist in order to understand time better. I had made a film called Distance AB, which is based on a paragraph from Einstein’s book on relativity and I approached Ian Elliott and asked him if we could talk about relativity. We had a two hour cup of coffee followed by an eighteen month period of meeting up in my studio every two to three weeks. And at one point I understood relativity and it’s implications and it was a shocking, profound and sublime moment which I never really recovered from.
Relativity is hard to hold on to it as it is counterintuitive. James Lunney from the School of Physics in Trinity told me he learns it anew each year when he teaches it to the first year students. I remain interested in the dynamical relationship between time and space. In how everything depends on the way you understand the passage of time, that an understanding of time is intrinsic to an understanding of history or the idea of progress.
I am interested in Gilles Deleuze’s interpretation of the eternal return where he interprets it not as the notion that the same events recur endlessly, but that "the same" is a kind of consistency emerging only through the return of difference. In repetition, nothing is ever the same. Rather, there is only difference; everything is constantly changing, and reality is a becoming, not a being. "The subject of the eternal return is not the same but the different, not the similar but the dissimilar, not the one but the many . . .”1 Deleuze contrasts Nietzsche’s notion of the eternal return of the same with the eternal return of difference, or the eternal recurrence of difference.
The exhibition title 3 different nights, recurring comes from a note on an 1840’s drawing by William Parsons, of a Whirlpool galaxy. Predating astronomical photography, he repeatedly made the drawing over three nights as a form of proof of his discovery of the spiral nature of galaxies. The note reads “sketched when the paper was wet with dew but carefully compared with the original 3 different nights”. It spoke to me of the paradoxically unique but repeatable nature of time. I am interested in the alignment of a lived experience of the world with knowledge - sketching on a paper wet with dew - in how the imperfect world of direct experience plays a role in our understanding of the more theoretical concepts. It points to the idea of facts not as self evident objects in the world but as processes, towards the complicated mediations by which facts acquire their immediacy. I am drawn to both the open endedness and recurrences of everyday practice, and the levels where identity or recognisability and time coincide.
The planets of our solar system feature prominently in your work. From Here To (Pluto), 2007, exists as a digital sculpture of numbers that are constantly changing - recording the constantly changing gravitational movement of the planet Pluto in relation to Earth, and again in another piece called The Ages of the Universe, 2003 – 2012. Can you explain to us this concern with the solar system?
Well, the solar system is a dynamical system somewhat to hand! From here to (Pluto) is a continual movement or change occurring in relation to position. I see it as destabilising a sense of fixity and making an extension to the exhibition space, proposing another dynamic trajectory. Einstein’s equations made time and space dynamic by showing how they were distorted by the matter and energy present, and this distortion determines how matter moves through space. For instance, in the solar system the mass of the Sun distorts the surrounding space and causes the planets to move in elliptical orbits. Einstein showed how Newton’s time, a time that was absolute, that flowed without relation to anything external, was wrong. That time is not an independent quality but one dimension in a four-dimensional continuum called space-time.
What was particular to Einstein’s thinking was his use of thought experiments. A thought experiment is a test of a hypothesis that is performed in the mind and is useful to think about in order to clarify one’s ideas. They are often an idealisation of existing physical conditions and usually are unperformable because of practical limitations. Einstein had apparently attended a school in Switzerland that emphasised the role of visual thinking and he visualised traveling on a beam of light or falling freely inside an elevator in order to develop his theories of time and space.
In ‘The Ages of the Universe’, Ian Elliott had an idea for a gedanken to do with representing the age of the universe with the thickness of sheets of paper and we decided to try to visualise this idea. The film shows several failed attempts, through repeated takes. Again it is the alignment of experience with theory that interested me and making reference to the nature of the medium in representation.
Included in the exhibition at IMMA are three major new film works. I want to talk about one of these works in particular, A Reflection on Light, which traces the journey of the painting Let There Be Light, 1942, by the Irish cubist artist Mainie Jellett. This painting currently hangs in the School of Physics in Trinity College Dublin where you were recently based as an Artist-in-Residence. The video traverses different locations and explores different disciplines of knowledge and in doing so it considers changing historical conceptions of time, as well as exploring Cubist art. Can you expand on the relationship between Cubism and relativity and how in this work it allows you to explore the nature of space, time and light?
On one of my first days in the School of Physics as Artist-in-Residence, I saw an old brass instrument in a display case on the stairwell called a saccharometer invented by a J.H. Jellett and it being an unusual surname I wondered if he was any relation to Mainie Jellett, the Cubist painter. I asked and discovered he was her grandfather who had invented a type of prism, a half-shadow prism that was used in the saccharometer.
When I subsequently saw the painting Let There be Light by Mainie Jellett, which was donated to Trinity by her family, I was struck by its subject matter and its relationship to the physics of light. It depicts a hand breaking a ray of white light into a sequence of circles of colour. I began researching Mainie’s ideas and reading her writings on art. In the autumn of 1923, at the birth of the new Irish Free State, Mainie Jellett exhibited Decoration at the Society of Dublin Painters Group Show. It was the first abstract painting shown in Ireland and was met with an onslaught of criticism. This abstract painting could be considered to date the start of Modernism in Ireland.
I became interested in Jellett’s relationship with Albert Gleizes, one of the founders of Cubism, and the technique they developed closely together of ‘translation and rotation’, terms borrowed from Physics. Gleizes wrote of an epiphany he had “Suddenly, while I was looking at the canvasses still sitting on their easels…. a ray of light passed through me. It ricocheted against the canvasses as they were scattered in front of my eyes….Translation and rotation were certainly the principles which I had evoked to realise my 'painting-objects'. But I had only touched on rotation….There was something fundamental that was missing, and I was now able to have a glimpse of what it was. It was movement itself, in which the modulated interweaving of the colours would be able to come to a conclusion.”2 I wondered to what extent Mainie’s painting was making reference to these ideas and not the title’s more obvious religious connotations. Her nephew Michael Purser told me she was very unconcerned with titles. Riann Coulter has discussed how Mainie’s choice of religious subjects was a way of linking modern art to the sensibilities of her predominantly Catholic audience within Ireland.
In Cubism, the subject matter of an artwork was no longer considered from a specific point of view at a moment in time but built following a selection of successive viewpoints, i.e., as if viewed simultaneously from numerous angles. Cubism demonstrated how we know an object conceptually, rather than perceptually. Cubism is an art concerned with the interaction between solids and the spaces around them; between structure and movement. The Cubists created in art the possibility of revealing processes instead of static states of being, representing time as well as space.
I also researched her grandfather J.H. Jellett and found he was the only member of Trinity’s Board to support the admission of women when this was first mooted in the early 1870s. His greatest contribution to physics was perhaps in editing a book ‘The Collected Works’ of James MacCullagh, a physicist from County Tyrone. Though unrecognised at the time, MacCullagh’s formulation of the equations of light led directly to James Clark Maxwell’s electromagnetic theory of light. Maxwell is famous for developing a theory of light that demonstrated that electricity, magnetism and light are all manifestations of the same phenomenon, what we call light is the part of the electromagnetic radiation that is visible to the human eye.
MacCullagh's ideas were revived and extended very significantly by Mainie’s uncle George Fitzgerald, another important physicist who married her aunt Harriette Mary. He was born in Lower Mount Street in Dublin in 1851. At the time, a famous series of experiments by Albert A. Michelson and Edward W. Morley had been carried out to try to detect the motion of the Earth through the ether, and had failed to do so. In a short but important paper ‘The Ether and the Earth's Atmosphere’3 from 1889, George Fitzgerald proposed that if all moving objects were foreshortened in the direction of their motion, it would account for the curious null-results of the Michelson-Morley experiment; that at the speed of light, space contracts. The subsequent Fitzgerald-Lorentz Contraction was a major step towards Einstein's theory of relativity.
It is no coincidence that both Cubism and Relativity, two paradigm shifting movements which changed their respective fields, emerged around the same time. In 1905, Einstein proposed that instead of following George FitzGerald and others who focused on the ether as an “absolute” property of nature around which to construct the laws of nature, it is the speed of light which is constant. Central to the theory of relativity is this: there is no privileged frame of reference, there is no true stillness against which all other things are measured to move or be still. Einstein wrote about how we cannot simply identify the time sequences of events with the time sequences of experiences:“Every reference body has its own particular time; unless we are told the reference-body to which the statement of time refers, there is no meaning in a statement of the time of an event.”4
But what is particularly interesting is that at this time, the first global time signal was sent out into the world. In 1884, representatives from twenty-five countries determined the exact length of the day and divided the earth into twenty-four time zones, one hour apart. But the world was slow to adopt the system, and it was actually the railroad companies and not the governments that were the first to begin to institute it. Before this, each city had a local time taken from solar readings. Finally at 10 o’clock on July 1st 1913, the first global time signal was transmitted around the world from the Eiffel Tower, for the purposes of time keeping. Just as Einstein showed how Newton’s time, a time that was absolute, that flowed without relation to anything external, was wrong, the world set its clocks to an agreed time.
It brought an immediate sense of connectivity, the same time everywhere, all people at once and in so doing triggered a debate as to what time actually was. Concepts of the great distance of space were reduced; thinking about "succession” gave way to concepts of “simultaneity.”
In the field of philosophy, Henri Bergson was very influential in the early part of the twentieth century. People from a variety of fields in Paris frequented Bergson’s lectures which were filled to overcapacity at his college. He published a book in 1907 called ‘Creative Evolution’, developing concepts of time which influenced modernist thinkers such as Marcel Proust. Proust was actually Bergson’s best man when he married Proust’s cousin. Bergson thought relativity involved a conception of time which it didn’t itself bring out, but which it was up to philosophy to construct. He believed that immediate experience and intuition are more significant than rationalism and science for understanding reality. In their 1912 book ‘Du Cubisme’ Albert Gleizes and Jean Metzinger explicitly related the sense of time to multiple perspective, giving symbolic expression to the notion of ‘duration’ proposed by Bergson according to which life is subjectively experienced as a continuum, with the past flowing into the present and the present merging into the future.
It is believed that the mathematician Maurice Princet apparently gave Picasso a copy of a book by Esprit Jouffret which popularised the mathematician Henri Poincaré’s work. Poincaré is considered to be one of the founders of the field of topology. Topology is the study of the properties of things which remain the same despite repeated deformations; the study of spatial relations unaffected by continuous change. Michel Serres, a French writer who studied mathematics and philosophy, talks about the void between the hard sciences and the humanities, believing that everything depends on the way you understand the passage of time. Along with being inspired by chaos theory, Serres takes part of his theory of time from topology. Serres explains topology by describing two points marked on a handkerchief; when laid flat they may be far apart, but when the handkerchief is scrunched up in his pocket these two points may become close together. He positions time as a nonlinear disorder in which the experience of presentness may contain past events regardless of how temporally distant they are from one another.
In A reflection of light, I was interested in the painting as a kind of constant and the context around it changing. The film opens in Mainie Jellett’s former house in Dublin, which is still occupied by her family, and in her former studio, which is currently a photography studio. The film’s second location is in the Irish Museum of Modern Art during the takedown of the exhibition Analysing Cubism, which included her painting Let there be light (1938). The final location is in the School Of Physics in Trinity College Dublin which is the painting’s final home. The film is woven as a continuous thread through the different locations and histories, throughout which these different concepts of time and space and art are introduced. It was made as a kind of filmic continuum through which the different multi-perspectival strands of thought could be articulated.
I was thinking about the simultaneity of events that brought her work as an artist to this School of Physics with my own. In many ways it’s the initial thought on the stairs, what is the connection here?
As well as your time as Artist-in-Residence at the School of Physics in Trinity College Dublin, you also worked previously with the astrophysicist Ian Elliott. Could you talk about your experiences of collaborating with scientists and why you find the process valuable?
I’m also struck by the undertaking of scientific experiments that prevails throughout your work, and its potential for revelation - the conclusion of the evidence that the experiment gleans. Is this physical approach and documentation process a fundamental element of your practice?
I take a transdisciplinary approach, not for the sake of it but by simply following a particular train of thought. This is what has brought me in contact with other disciplines. I am not for collaboration just for its own sake. I am for the autonomy of art and I am for the autonomy of mathematics. However what really interests me is dialogue, a discourse not a dialectical stance. When you suspend prejudice, you can learn a great deal from another’s methodologies and mythologies if only to more fully realise what your own are!
There is a space I like to be in with someone, which is a space of experimentation or enquiry when you are not really concerned with whether this is art or science or philosophy. It’s the space before definition, before things are resolved into those entities.
I think that a lot happens in the making of something, be it a fact, an image, a definition of some kind, and things get left aside. Michel Serres writes about how we are fascinated by the unit, “only a unity seems rational to us.”5 We attach the status of ‘being’ to the groupings of this world. But there is not a lot to be attained by pitting one generality like science against another like art.
When I first worked with the astrophysicist Ian Elliott, we were drawing diagrams, and for the purposes of documentation I thought I should film it. But this rapidly changed, while working with Ian, from documentation to a more cinéma vérité approach. This was the first time I started to put myself into my films, moving from behind the camera to in front of the camera: filming, making and thinking through the camera at the same time. This was a big step in my practice, a step which brought together many of the different issues I was exploring.
The relationship between the observer and the observed is critical in science, as it is in art. Janna Levin the physicist says, “this interference between the observer and observed is truly profound. We are part of the system: as austere and distant and objective as we try to be in our scientific investigations, there is a theoretical limit to how precisely we can remove ourselves from our object of investigation”6
Your work is equally as involved with the medium and structure of photography and filmmaking. Underpinning this exhibition is an appraisal of the idea of the photograph and materialisation. Can you expand on these regarding your early (photographic) work?
Also, these concepts that are central to your work - time, light, colour and space – are the basic elements of film, the medium you principally work in, as well as being associated with your interest in contemporary physics and astronomy.
The poet John Milton, who in works such as ‘Paradise Lost’ created one of the great imaginary cosmographies in literature, once wrote, “We boast our light, but if we look not wisely on the Sun itself, it smites us into darkness… The light which we have gained, was given us, not to be ever staring on, but by it to discover onward things more remote from our knowledge.”7
I had not worked directly with photography for a while, though the interest was there in early shows such as Man on Houston St, which developed from a snapshot of a chance encounter where the exhibition was a kind of expanded form of the photograph.
I did a Masters in Interactive Digital Media where there was a lot of discussion- this was back in 1997- about the issue of closure in interactive media or online. The idea that you could click and choose your own path through material was a big issue. We were being taught by a novelist who talked about closure, how do you call an end to a story when there is no defined route? The end of the story was understood as what made sense of what had happened before, bringing things to fruition, creating an outcome. It was while thinking about these issues that I realised I was much more interested in the middle of the story as a site, in ideas about immersion and withdrawal, in prioritising the in-between, in valuing the process as opposed to an outcome. I also liked Paul Virilio’s idea of conclusion by exhaustion as opposed to any logic.
As I began working in film and digital video, I became interested in the specific nature of the media itself. The cinematic image addresses the time in which something is being actualised, the time it takes for something to happen. Around the time that I read Einstein’s theory of relativity and understood its implications for time, I began reading Deleuze’s books about cinema and the time-image. I think I read these different worlds as one in my mind. Deleuze discusses a central shift after the Second World War from a cinema that defined itself primarily through motion or action to one that concerned itself more directly with time. Movement and time are two of the most important concepts that he identifies in his film analysis stating, for instance, that “cinema does not give us an image to which movement is added, it immediately gives us a movement-image.”8 This emphasis on motion leads Deleuze to a formulation of film as another example of ‘becoming’. He suggests that we should see cinema as allowing an inhabitation of the real and think about film as enabling a realisation of this mode of being. The cinema ‘is’ before it means or signifies.
When I filmed Dust defying gravity, I was interested in the dynamic between space and time and how in film the past-ness of the recorded event is fused with the present=ness of its viewing. I wanted to prioritise the bodily experience of time over a narrative coding, to think about the mapping of one time onto another. The camera traces out a path past clocks to an orrery on a table - from time to space - where the dust in the air becomes visible. But the viewer is at rest, no longer an instrument of action; watching the camera tracing through space becomes instead the developer of time.
I made a number of circular works around that time questioning closure - The Clearing, Around now, Déjà vu - which looked at ideas about the dynamic of time and space, and movements of their in-between through and with the medium of film. Déjà vu for example speaks to an audience through a cinematic language that references brief encounters as much it references theories of time and space. But closure and issues of temporality can be recast also in consideration of more traditional media such as photography.
The history of light (Betelgeuse), is series of photograms made directly with the light from a dying star. Only comparatively recently have we realised that when we gaze at the stars we’re looking at the past. The star Betelgeuse, in the constellation Orion, appears to be in a late stage of stellar evolution. As it takes the light from the star six hundred and forty years to reach us, there exists the possibility that the star has already died and is no longer visible, but we do not know it yet, as the light we see from it is ‘out of date’.
I constructed a camera, basically a meter long plastic tube with a wooden box at one end, that had a sheet of photographic film inside, and attached it to a device that maintained the same rotation as the Earth. I wanted to allow the photographic film to remain fixed on the star for long exposure times. Each photogram in the series was exposed over the course of one night, tracking the star as the Earth rotated beneath it. The photograms are dated according to the duration it took for the photons to leave the star Betelgeuse, travel across space, reach and fall down the tube and make an image, c. 1374 - 19th Dec 2014 for example.
I was trying to make the opposite to a snapshot, a long-shot of the light from a dying star, an archive of the light from the past, the film as a boundary between what is present and what is past. Photographs as an index of light, which may or may not be formed by a lens into something recognisable. I was also interested in the gap between the negative and the print and wanted to show the exposed film with prints made from them as a kind of binary of differing temporalities.
A reflection on history also weaves its way into the exhibition quite subtly and at times quite startlingly. An example of this is in the video entitled Darkroom, a new work filmed in Mary Rosse’s original darkroom in Birr Castle, emptied of its contents. Prompted by her and William Parsons’ desires in photographing both the Moon and the giant telescope she used to view the solar systems, the filming of the reconstructed darkroom in the Science Centre on the castle’s grounds shows Rosse as a pioneer of photography. Can you tell me more about this work?
By chance when in Birr for other reasons, I was invited to see Mary Rosse’s original darkroom in Birr Castle. It had been closed off in the early 1900’s and had lain untouched for over eighty years. I took a quick photograph while there with a borrowed camera. Later, when I contacted Alison Rosse to see if I could come back and photograph it properly, I found it was in the process of being dismantled prior to being relocated in an exact reconstruction to the visitor centre. I think partly prompted by a sense of loss I returned to the room where the darkroom originally was and filmed a sequence of video shots within the emptied room.
Mary Rosse was a pioneer in photography in Ireland in the 1850s. To put that in context, you have to remember that 1839 is generally considered the year when photography was invented, through the work of Louis Daguerre and William Henry Fox Talbot. She was the first woman to win the Silver Medal Award of the Royal Photographic Society for her work in the 1850s. Her interest in photography began at a time when photography was more akin to chemistry and the highly stable emulsions which are common today had not yet been invented.
Later I asked if I could back and film in the reconstruction of the darkroom, where the entire contents had been moved and reconstructed by conservators. I had been thinking about the relationship between reconstruction and photography, as both attempt to fix a moment. I began thinking about the unique properties of photography. I was interested in an oscillation that occurs between the harmony and dissonance of memory and its mediation through photography. I reconstructed my earlier shoot but this time exposing the camera as a device, its framing and focus pulling, filming the activity of photographing these reconstructed shots within the reconstruction. In Darkroom the two different streams, one filmed in the original space and one in the reconstructed space, are shown side by side, forming a kind of ambiguous entity whose lucidity and strangeness in terms of the activity comes in and out of clarity. I had a moment when I placed the snapshot I took of the original darkroom in her developing dish in the reconstruction. I was not sure what was real or representation at that point or what strange loop in time I was making! When I was editing the work, I was at Cowhouse Studios in Wexford and was literally working above a darkroom, which prompted me to develop the original photograph again: making another seeming repetition by the copying through analogue means of an original digital image.
Colour is used intentionally as a form to resist or succumb to representation, as we see it in the new video work Black Square. Could you expand on your response to colour?
In Black Square, I was interested to look at the edge of representation. I wanted to try to make an image of a black hole in a black sky. These holes are one of the last unknowns in physics. I wanted to go to the edge of comprehension, reaching the limits of our ability to both understand and to represent something.
Black Square takes a documentative approach, filming the crew and myself as we journey across the Atacama Desert in Chile to the telescopes at the top of Cerro Paranal, where the astronomy team are at work making an image of the black hole that lies in the exact centre of the Milky Way Galaxy. The trajectory of the film dissolves into limitations, both physical and conceptual, exploring the dynamic between what can be understood and what cannot, a mobile threshold where intuition meets calculation. Reaching the limits of the resolution of the telescope, the film ends with the crew and astronomers staring at the black pixel on a screen that contains the black hole, a place where the digital and the physical realm overlap at their boundaries.
Blackness speaks of the relationship between darkness and perception. Black holes negate our understanding or representations of nature and have implications for all our futures. A black hole is defined as a region of space and time you may enter but there is no escape once one go in. One hundred years ago Kazimir Malevich set out to forever change the idea of painting to represent reality- the painting Black Square was radically non-representational, as his square of black paint negated nature in favour of abstraction; art reached an edge and painting became an end in itself.
I think the colour works, the Future Perfect series, came from working on the three new films at the same time. I was thinking about the process of photography when filming Darkroom and the ‘snapshot’ as an accepted slice of time. In the Future Perfect series, the inks are photography retouching inks and have different levels of lightfastness, some quite short and others a hundred years.
While working on the film A reflection on light, I was thinking about the recurrence of the painting in the film over time in different contexts. And I was thinking about the term ‘passage’ within Cubism. The idea of the overlapping and interpenetration of planes, where colour moves across the canvas, escaping confinement in any one object.
In relation to Black Square, I was thinking about the pixel and ideas about resolution as being a limitation, both technically and metaphorically. The word ‘pixel’ derives from the words ‘picture’ and ‘element’. Whereas vector images operate independently of image resolution, they are not made of pixels but of outlines whose shapes are described mathematically. Pixels and vectors are at the basis of nearly every image format in current two-dimensional image files. In thinking about the difference between them, I was interested in the possibility of making a movement within an image, in tracing a trajectory and the differing end points. I wanted to keep this movement abstract. Reza Negarestani describes abstraction as “the concurrent organization of matter by the force of thought, and the reorientation of thought by material forces.”9
In the Future Perfect series, the colours within the individual works are named and dated from when they are painted, and they will be individually dated again as they fade away. Some colours are not named- the ones formed by the dynamic between the colours and the overlapping planes, seemingly overlooked in the process of establishing something. I was interested in the idea of the temporal dimension of the image, that at no point is there a resolved perfect image, just one at different stages. The material gives way to the temporal, time forms the work, freeing colour from the medium that holds sway over it.
1—G Deleuze, Difference and repetition (United Kingdom: Bloomsbury Academic, 2014) p. 160.
2—http://www.peterbrooke.org.uk/a&r/gltexts/1934 Accessed November 2015.
3—G Fitzgerald,‘The ether and the earth’s atmosphere’, Science, ns-13 (328)(1889), pp. 390–390. doi: 10.1126/science.ns—13.328.390.
4—A Einstein, Relativity, the Special and the General Theory (Princeton University Press, 2015) p. 38.
5—B Herzogenrath (ed.), Time and History in Deleuze and Serres (New York: Bloomsbury USA Academic, 2011) p. 32.
6—J Levin, How the universe got its spots: Diary of a nite time in a nite space. 1st edn. (New York: Anchor Books, 2003) p. 64.
7—J Milton, I. Prose works (London: H.G. Bohn, 1844) p. 115
8—G Deleuze, Cinema I: The movement-image (United Kingdom: Bloomsbury Academic, 2013) p. 3.
9—Quotation from R Negarestani, Torture Concrete—Jean-Luc Moulène and the Protocol of Abstraction, Sept 2014, NY: Sequence Press, p. 5.