76 Chapters
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Medium 9780253010469

8 Passing Through: Historic Preservation in Pike County’s Patoka Bottoms

Nancy R Hiller Quarry Books ePub

Edith Sarra

The place was, and still is, south of where county roads 300 West and 200 South intersect, approximately eleven miles below Petersburg in Pike County, Indiana. If you were to turn west from State Road 57 onto County Road 200 South, just north of the Gibson County line, and follow that road until you reach the first crossroads, you could turn again, south this time, and find yourself, as I did ten years ago, on what the late nineteenth-century histories of Pike and Gibson Counties call “the old state road.”

The origin of this road is difficult to pinpoint. A survey of Pike County Commissioners Reports (1817–1826) suggests it may have been constructed as early as 1825. For more than a century, until it was bypassed in 1936 by State Road 57, it served as the main route between Petersburg, the Pike County seat, and what is now Oakland City in eastern Gibson County. Follow this road south and it will plunge you soon enough into a wide floodplain flanked on either side by crop fields. An old set of oil well storage tanks stands off to the left here, just beyond where the road makes a short switchback along the bluff as it drops into the broad valley of the Patoka River’s South Fork.

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5 - Organicist Modern and Super-Natural Organicism

Fehérváry, Krisztina Indiana University Press ePub

THE IDEAL OF modern, urban apartment living was, almost from the start, complemented by ownership of a summer cottage (nyaraló) or weekend getaway (hétvégi ház), sometimes called a víkend ház.1 In the early 1960s, the state amended the “one-family, one-house” rule to allow additional ownership of a small, unheated cottage on a plot of land. Such cottages could not be used as a permanent home address and, unlike the primary residence, were subject to a small property tax. Members of Dunaújváros's professional class acquired tiny summer cottages by Lake Balaton or little weekend houses near the Danube, where Budapest's gentry used to have summer villas. Some had plumbing, others only an outhouse. Many working-class city dwellers bought vegetable plots further from the river as a source of extra cash or to supplement their household diets. These “hobby gardens” (hobbi kert) might have a tiny cottage on them, but just as often they had only a toolshed and some cooking utensils.

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1 Depopulation, Demolition, and Repopulation of the Village Sites

Noga Kadman Indiana University Press ePub

ON THE EVE of the violent events of 1948, the Arab population of British Mandatory Palestine amounted to 1.2 million, of them 850,000 within the borders of what is today recognized as the State of Israel proper; they constituted the great majority of the population of that area. Arab-Palestinian society of the time was largely agricultural, with some two-thirds of the Palestinian population before the war living in villages. Most of the Arab workforce in 1947 in Palestine worked in agriculture.1 On their land the Arab villagers cultivated nearly ten thousand acres of orchards, mostly citrus fruit (on the coastal plain) and olives (in the mountainous areas), as well as figs, grapes, deciduous fruits, and bananas. In the rest of the cultivated area the villagers grew vegetables, legumes, and grains.2

Most of the residents of Arab villages in Palestine were Sunni Muslim, with Christian, Druze, and Shi‘ite minorities present. The majority of the villages stood on hilltops, often built on top of, or in continuation of, much older settlements. In the mountain areas the houses were usually made of stone, and in the coastal plain houses were often constructed of mud.3 In the twentieth century, with the citrus boom, quality of life in the plain improved, and more modern houses began to appear. Every village typically had public structures for religious and social purposes, and later on schools were set up, usually in the largest building in the village.4

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2 A “Curious” Minaret: Sacred Place and the Politics of Islam

Sandy Prita Meier Indiana University Press ePub

While stone architecture in general is important in local worldviews, only one type of masonry structure is essential for creating sacred place on the Swahili coast: a mosque. Port cities, such as Mombasa, Lamu, and Zanzibar, can claim being true stone towns precisely because their histories begin with the building of stone mosques. For example, Mombasan origin stories recount how founding father Shehe Mvita constructed the first stone mosque on Mombasa Island with the help of three mysterious men from “the North.” Their help came in the form of a new building material: lime mortar, the binding agent that makes stone masonry possible.1 The earliest written documentation of this event presents lime as miraculous matter: “The lime which the three strangers presented to Shehe was sufficient for building a mosque in a few days, whereupon these remarkable persons departed and constructed mosques in other places.”2 Transforming the architectonic order of Mombasa from earthen impermanence to stone permanence marks the beginning of Islamic time on Mombasa Island.

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Medium 9780253011428

6. “Art, Memory, and the City” In Bogotá: Mapa Teatro's Artistic Encounters with Inhabited Places

Edited by Arijit Sen and Lisa Silverman Indiana University Press ePub

KAREN E. TILL

A young woman wearing a pink formal gown walks through a recreated bedroom. Candles and spotlights illuminate her figure as she steps atop a bed and begins jumping on a mattress. Rather than speak lines, her performance—part of a collective interpretation of Heinrich Müller's Prometheus titled Project Prometeo: Acts I & II—is an embodied one.1 Her body is framed by her live-time performance as projected upon one of two very large screens (more than three-stories high); on the other screen we see historical and contemporary images and listen to sound recordings of the neighborhood that once existed upon the empty fields where she performs (figure 6.1). She continues climbing up and down off of the bed as other performers begin or continue to enact their own interpretations of the myth. We see a married couple sitting at a dining room table playing cards, a clown performing in a playroom, a man sitting at an imagined doorway lighting matches.

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Medium 9780253337566

Complexity in Architectural Time

Henry Glassie Indiana University Press ePub

Temporal mixing characterizes the buildings called vernacular. The English parish church, a world wonder of architectural creativity, carries the vernacular idea deeply into time. If vernacular buildings tick with many clocks, changing different components at different rates to display continuity and change at once, then they contrast with buildings that belong perfectly to one moment in time. Nonvernacular buildings are wholly original, new in every detail. Here we have come prematurely to an important conclusion. No building is entirely new. If it were, it would be utterly incomprehensible. Rejecting every old convention, lacking windows and doors, serving no function of shelter or social division, the thing might be sculpture, but it would not be a building. No matter how grandiose or revolutionary the creation, there must be some tradition, some presence of the common and continuous — of the qualities called “folk”— or people would not be able to understand it or use it. In their mixing of the old and the new, all buildings are vernacular, the products of real people in real situations. But within practice, attitudes differ.

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4 Naming and Mapping the Depopulated Village Sites

Noga Kadman Indiana University Press ePub

What is the name of this place? A few years ago there was a place and it had a name. The place is lost and the name is lost. What is left? At first, a name torn out of a place. Soon, that, too, is erased. Neither place nor name. . . .

—S. Yizhar, “The Silence of the Villages,” Stories of a Plain

NAMING A PLACE and presenting it on a map is an acknowledgment of its presence in the landscape, its historical importance, and its cultural significance. Most of the sites of depopulated Palestinian villages were never granted an official name in Israel, even though the traces of many still remain in the landscape, and despite the Israeli pretension of naming any geographical object in sight, including ruins. Even where names were given to village sites, in most cases the Arab name was not recognized: if the Arab name preserved a biblical name, that earlier name was restored as the official name; in other cases, village sites were given Hebraized names, which usually ignored the content of the Arab names and the cultural world that they reflect. Sometimes the new names were even devoid of any meaning in Hebrew.

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4. Eating Ethnicity: Spatial Ethnography of Hyderabad House Restaurant on Devon Avenue, Chicago

Edited by Arijit Sen and Lisa Silverman Indiana University Press ePub

ARIJIT SEN

In 2006 an item in the Chicago Tribune announced the closing of Hyderabad House, an ethnic restaurant located on Devon Avenue, a popular and crowded retail street on the northern edge of the metropolis. The heart of a diverse and ever changing immigrant community, Devon Avenue is well known for its Indian, Pakistani, and Bangladeshi stores. Frequent visitors know that ethnic restaurants appear and disappear with regularity on this retail strip, so the only remarkable thing about the Tribune's report was its vivid description of the health hazards in the establishment:

A restaurant on Devon Avenue, a stretch well-known for its global cuisine, was closed Thursday after inspectors found insects, mouse droppings and food held at dangerous temperatures.

The city's Dumpster Task Force visited the Hyderabad House, 2225 W. Devon Ave., after receiving complaints about rodents, but soon found it was a “minefield” of food safety problems, said Matt Smith, spokesman for the Department of Streets and Sanitation.

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Medium 9780253006875

2. Ghostly Stories: Interviews with Artists in Dakar and the Productive Space around Absence

Joanna Grabski Indiana University Press ePub

JOANNA GRABSKI

Do we cite merely to repeat the words of the other, or do we do so in order to enact or reenact an inimitable gesture, a singular way of thinking, a unique manner of speaking? If the latter, then the quotation would in each case mark a limit, the place where the inimitable gesture of the dead friend becomes inscribed, and thus repeatable, comparable to other gestures…. Each time, citation would mark the beginning of a unique and singular life as well as its brutal interruption.

—PASCALE-ANNE BRAULT AND MICHAEL NAAS, “TO RECKON WITH THE DEAD”

Since the late 1990s, I have made several research trips to Dakar, where I re-encounter the people who have made this space meaningful and purposeful for me. Just as our re-encounters are shaped by who is present, they inevitably involve exchanges about who is absent. I have come to think of absence as an increasingly significant, if not defining, theme in my research with artists in Dakar. While an artist's absence is often attributable to travel for exhibitions or workshops, what I am talking about primarily is absence due to an artist's death.1 During one stay in Dakar, I was struck by the various ways that such absence was registered and represented in exchanges with friends and colleagues: Abdoulaye Ndoye showed me the portrait silhouette he made of the late Moustapha Dimé (Figure 2.1); Fodé Camara wore a T-shirt dedicated to memorializing Djibril Diop Mambety (Figure 2.2); Oumou Sy called for a moment of silence to honor all those no longer with us during her opening remarks for the Semaine Internationale de la Mode de Dakar; and Germaine Anta Gaye displayed the ex-voto boxes she made in homage to the late Ousmane Sembene. I take these examples to illustrate absence as a productive space that generates representational and interpretive practices. Insomuch as artists produce visual work reckoning absence, they also talk about and around it.

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Conclusion Trading Places

Sandy Prita Meier Indiana University Press ePub

Today ornate doorways such as the one in figure 5.1 are often celebrated in the west as emblems of local authenticity and Swahili identity. Yet from a local perspective, and much to the discomfort of Africanist art historians, they give material form to the circulatory networks of the Indian Ocean. Their design program was originally meant to evoke a faraway place. Carvers were constantly changing their compositions by incorporating the latest styles and patterns of ornament from objects being imported from overseas. Yet, they did not simply produce copies, but masterfully transformed exotic forms to create works that exist at the edge of stylistic categories, such as African, Asian, and European. For example, the design of this door is typical of nineteenth-century innovations and fashions. This was a time when the tradition of carving doors reached new heights of intricacy and delicacy. As can be seen, carvers cultivated an Indian-inflected style, often preferring the lush ornamentation of British Raj woodwork. The pediment and central post feature minimalist rosettes and abstracted pineapples, their repeating forms creating a rhythmic movement along the horizontal and vertical planes of the massive doorway. Especially the restrained linearity of the floral motifs exemplifies the way local carvers created strikingly innovative works.1

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3 Ode to a Bungalow

Nancy R Hiller Quarry Books ePub

Teresa Miller

As I sit writing, I look out the west window through a curtain of lace, slatted wooden blinds, and mullions. My gaze moves on through the boughs of two century-old firs standing guard over the dignified front porch of the neighboring house. Additional trees provide a tracery of branches in winter and a comforting green canopy in summer. My view stops at the historic Dunning House, beautifully proportioned with twin porches flanking a two-story brick central structure. Toward dusk the sky changes color – first, from bright cerulean to a dusty, smoky blue. As the sun lowers, the light reflects off the bottoms of the clouds in colors ranging from lavender to pink, perhaps with bit of ochre. The changes in cloud form and color may be subtle or striking, but they are always beautiful at that magic moment of early evening. It is a view that evokes a past of tree-lined streets, graceful buildings, and a slower-paced life. How did I come to be so fortunate as to be able to sit in my study and enjoy such a sweet view?

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3 - Socialist Modern and the Production of Demanding Citizens

Fehérváry, Krisztina Indiana University Press ePub

IN 1963, THE Dunaújváros newspaper published a particularly strident article on home décor, part of a nationwide campaign to convince residents moving into new apartments to rid themselves of their old, heavy furniture and adopt more appropriate tastes for their new surroundings. The author begins with “What there should not be!” She denounces the complete bedroom set, the permanent dining room, the display cabinet, and the “monstrous wardrobe” (Bars 1963). In the “apartment of today,” she proclaims, “furnishings cannot be monofunctional display items but must be useful objects.” They cannot have “useless decorations, carved angels, and twirled columns…. The fashion is clean lines, low sizes…easy to use and clean.” To create the all-important open room plan, “furniture is placed against the wall so that the center is left free…allowing space for movement, work, comfort, hominess.” One multifunctional room, the writer insists, will “better suit the family's time together and the working person's needs,” as long as the residents “avoid all that is superficial.” She concludes by assuring readers that “lighter, brighter forms and colors will satisfy the modern person's demands (igény) for a home.”

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Pattern in Time

Henry Glassie Indiana University Press ePub

My argument is done. Architecture provides a prime resource to the one who would write a better history. I will contrive a conclusion with a summary. Our history breaks into three great periods. Its dynamic depends upon impurity.

First is the period of the village, a time of compressed housing and dispersed fields. The great creation of the period was the largest, most permanent, most lavishly adorned building of the community. Collective resources were banked and the collective will was materialized in a sacred edifice that was built to last, when houses were not. It should humble us some that the religious buildings of this period are the world’s greatest architectural creations: the parish churches of England, the stave churches of Norway, the earthen mosques of West Africa, the towering temples of India — Chartres Cathedral, the Selimiye at Edirne, the Todaiji at Nara.

Urnes stave church. Sogn, Norway. 1995

San José. Trampas, New Mexico. 1987

In the beginning, there was the village, a neolithic invention, and in the beginning, there was enclosure. Valiant people carved farms out of the waste and built longhouses to shelter themselves and their stock against wolves and cattle raids. Enclosure expanded steadily, chewing away the wilderness on the margins, but it was blocked on the fat lowlands where enterprise was entangled in intricate webs of rights and obligations. Village people wanted to prosper, but no more than they wanted to live in confidence among their neighbors. Their cooperative arrangements worked economically, and their religion gave them a vision of unity. They wanted to prosper, but they understood that an appetite for worldly goods than ran beyond necessity was avarice — a sin as deadly as gluttony or fornication. The aim of life was sufficiently clarified by Christ’s message that it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than it is for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.

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6 Industrial Muncie

Nancy R Hiller Quarry Books ePub

Cynthia Brubaker

As preservationists, we are always looking for what a building can become at the same time as we are investigating what it once was. For that reason, industrial buildings present an especially compelling challenge. Once hubs of extensive and productive activity, when found abandoned or underused they stand as memorials – to the products manufactured inside their walls, to those who sought to create fortunes through those products, and, not least, to those who came to work each day and went back to their families at night. But they also stand as opportunities to connect with their communities today in re-imagined ways of working.

Muncie, Indiana, sixty miles northeast of the state capital, is typical of many small industrial cities in the Northeast and Midwest – once powerhouses that have lost big industry to the South and overseas, yet retain the infrastructure and workforce to recreate themselves in new ways. Incorporated in the mid-nineteenth century, the city had the good fortune to lie within a 2,500-square-mile natural gas field that was discovered in 1876 by coal miners laboring fifteen miles to the north. By 1886 this gas field promised seemingly unlimited fuel for industry.

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1 Historic Preservation

Nancy R Hiller Quarry Books ePub

Henry Glassie

Historic preservation is a natural aspect of human existence, an inevitable result of our being creatures of memory and intention. We select and protect things to locate ourselves in time, in space, in society. The old woman on a green hill in Ireland washes weekly and displays daily her precious collection of plates; each was a gift and together they map her connections to family and friends, both living and dead. The young Turkish woman in a rocky mountain village folds into a studded chest her gathering of textiles, embroidered or woven by her grandmother, her aunt, her beloved sister. The Chinese potter fills his cramped apartment with antique crocks and jars that heal the rupture of the Cultural Revolution and provide him models for creation. The old soldier polishes his granddaddy’s sword. The jazz master still has the trombone he played in the high school band. I have the family Bible, inscribed in different hands between the testaments with the dates of births and deaths running back to the eighteenth century. The things we save position us in the flow of time, helping us remember the past and imagine the future, keeping us balanced for contingency, sane and ready.

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