Blockchain Papers

Celia T. Bardwell-Jones

I Thank Dr. Vink for her impressive analysis of design and introducing me to another method in thinking about institutional organization. I also am deeply grateful for Dr. Vink's engagement with my work on “Placental Ethics: Addressing Colonial Legacies and Imagining Culturally Safe Responses to Health Care in Hawaiʻi” (Bardwell-Jones) and responding to the call to re-envision alternative design models in guiding institutional operations that seek community engagement. Responding to this paper helped me to think further about the work I began in that article.Dr. Vink's project carefully reflects on her experience working with communities in Canada on behalf of hospital administration. Seeking input from differently situated communities, she reflects on moments of perplexity and resistance from the community members. Working with members from an Indigenous community, she found that dominant design models “can contribute to the reproduction of coloniality and modernity.” Working with diverse communities in Toronto, she acknowledged the “hypocrisy” of participation when dominant design models failed to acknowledge the ongoing process of local design work within the community.It appears that dominant design within hospital administration understands care as best done by authority. Community members are reduced to data. The cognitive work is done by the experts, who are situated outside the community. There are risks that dominant design models, despite the good intentions motivating the inquiry, may perpetrate unconscious structural gaslighting. Drawing upon Elena Ruiz's notion of settler epistemic economies that generate structural violence, Nora Berenstain identifies the nature of structural gaslighting as forms of violence that are perpetrated by settler administrative systems and their organizing logics [which] inherently depend on what Ruíz refers to as settler epistemic economies—collections of hermeneutical resources specifically engineered to promote, uphold, and entrench colonial epistemic frameworks and forms of domination as the only possible epistemological systems and governance structures while violently foreclosing on alternative epistemologies. (743)Dominant design models go beyond merely asserting hermeneutical dominance, but in so doing enact epistemic erasure. Structural gaslighting undermines autonomous community processes and prevents them from taking shape. Ultimately, the dominant design model, which assumes that the researcher knows best, stunts the necessary resistance to undermine the dominant design models.To avoid these problems, Dr. Vink aims to transform the colonial logics involving hospital administration toward a pluralistic design model. Care, in this framework, is a community endeavor. Community members are active agents involved in all aspects of the cognitive work. The experts’ knowledge is decentralized and is positionally placed among the perspectives of the community. Within this narrow space, experts are part of the crowd and must engage with the conflicting values, the chaotic background, and the turbulence of the community. A pluralistic design model, Vink argues, encourages reflexivity or epistemic perplexity, which causes the necessary friction to unsettle one's own assumptions about care in a hospital setting. Vink points out how individual and social frameworks may elicit epistemic perplexity. First, she discusses aesthetic friction, which aims to encourage individual self-reflection. Part of the intent of the design is to change the way caregivers relate to their patients in a hospital setting. The example of the dual tubing of the stethoscope invites the patient and the caregiver to listen to the patient's heart together. The modified stethoscope aims to open up a space where the caregiver and the patient mutually develop epistemic perplexities, which might bridge diverse perspectives in health. The double stethoscope offers a context of play and experimentation in dialogue with differently situated others. An aesthetic disruption of this sort aims to decentralize the epistemic labor involved in understanding the patient's health. I find this instrument interesting as it opens up a space where the patient is able to understand their bodily health more through modern medical technology, and it allows the caregiver the opportunity to learn more about the patient's values of health through a shared experience of listening to the heartbeat of the patient at the same time.Second, Vink acknowledges the limitations of generating the necessary friction that can take place at the individual level. For José Medina, individual accountability also is not enough in addressing the harms of epistemic injustice. Social institutions embedded within particular communities play a role in perpetuating hermeneutical injustice defined by Medina as “the kind of epistemic injustice that occurs when a subject is unfairly disadvantaged in her capacities to makes sense of her experience” (90). Some examples include the Women's Movement in attempting to draw attention to “the problem that has no name.” Additionally, Indigenous peoples’ activism to protect sacred places, such as mountains, rivers, or oceans, is rendered unintelligible within settler values of progress. In the context of health care, using my placenta example conceived within the hospital's hermeneutical structure, the placenta is dogmatically understood through a biomedical approach in which these alternative epistemologies forever remain inchoate or cast as an anomaly. Vink's use of the concept of the “uncommons” captures this fundamental hermeneutical incommensurability among communities. In developing pluralistic design models, the notion of the uncommons and its accompanying acceptance of ambiguous ends seems to offer opportunities for hospital administrators to interact with the community in ways that challenge the hermeneutical hospital frameworks that may center on a dominant design model.In general, I find Dr. Vink's analysis that encourages design models to facilitate openness and a critical reflexivity important in transforming the epistemic values of hospital administration. In what follows are a few critical comments that aim to draw out theoretical implications and generate discussion.First, from the figure depicting the uncommons, it seems that there are overlapping places that signify where the communities would engage each other; however, it is not clear if the space of engagement is always productive, depending on where one stands in relationships of power. For example, in the case of the placenta, the hospital, in enforcing antiquated rules, perpetrated epistemic injustice in reducing the concept of placentas as “biological human waste.” This very ontological framework imposed on the placenta was perceived by Native Hawaiian families as a type of social and moral death. The child's moral connection to the land is obliterated. While Vink acknowledges the risk of ontological occupation in which one way of viewing things overshadows other ways, the figure may overestimate the productive possibility in these spheres of interaction. This is not to say that resistant imaginations are stifled either, but it may mean that whatever productive interactions emerge may evade dominant ontological frameworks of the institutions. For example, doctors who knew families were taking the placenta home in coolers feigned ignorance of these outlaw tactics in the face of hospital administration. The doctor need not engage the meaning of the request of the families to take the placenta home. They can simply not tell the hospital administration. I suppose I want to emphasize that the spheres of interaction in the uncommons framework may not generate the necessary friction if the hermeneutical context prevents genuine interaction.Second, which relates to the first, it's unclear how epistemic friction is generated on an individual level when the larger hermeneutical framework of hospital administration stifles genuine interactions. Part of Medina's argument is that epistemic friction is experienced as challenging the epistemic agent's authority over knowledge, the burden of knowing best. The privileged epistemic agent would have to experience a loss of control of their authority over knowledge. Vink utilizes the metaphor of the stew, which emphasizes difference and marinated connections or opportunities to stew and interact with the culturally different other. In this example, while difference of the other is recognized by the knower, it is unclear whether there is enough epistemic friction to motivate a privileged knower to recognize their loss of control or authority over knowledge. How might the resistance of the privileged knower emerge if the power dynamics of the stew deeply saturate the very makeup of the stew? Moreover, resistant imaginations in a kaleidoscopic vision tend to resist dominant narratives of control and design. In the context of hospital administration, specific individual representatives of the hospital may need to adopt a resistant vision against the institution that employs them. What would that look like? Again, I am reminded that these resistant acts tend to occur at the subaltern level in which there is no change in the dominant hermeneutical framework rendering any possible individual experience of friction to merely hit an institutional brick wall. As a side note, following Medina's analysis, I prefer Maria Lugones's notion of curdling, in which milk curdles as the water is separated from the emulsion of the milk.Third, as I mentioned earlier, the framework of the uncommons recognizes incommensurability as a starting point. Vink argues, citing a point made in Marisol de la Cadena and Mario Blaser's A World of Many Worlds, that “[t]he uncommons is a coming together of heterogeneous groups where ongoing negotiations can take place toward a commons that never fully manifests, recognizing its ever-divergent starting point” (Vink 65). The framework of the uncommons is appealing, as there is no pre-determined common that is in view. This avoids the problem of ontological occupation leaving open an ambiguous future, which is necessary in cultivating a plurality of design model. However, it seems how the coming together of heterogeneous groups cannot be fully captured by ontologies of divergence and separation. In thinking about heterogeneous groups, it is important to also recognize relationships of dependency and reciprocity that bind communities together. Institutions of care are embedded within a community, and depend on the community in rendering their very practice and profession meaningful. Grace Lee Boggs is a key figure in articulating this relationship (see Boggs). The fact of dependency reveals the precarity and vulnerability between divergent communities and that careful care and attention need to be paid in restoring and replenishing those relationships. The relationships embedded in the uncommons underlie the notion of a broader community that is flexible to adapt to the fluidity of heterogeneous groups as they shift and change. This invites communities to transform, to be willing to transform, when relationships are articulated, recognized, and respected.This brings me to my fourth point. As I mentioned in my “Placental Ethics” article, learning about another culture ought not to take place in the boardroom or a seminar room. Though I appreciate the “Iceberg metaphor” and the “story unwriting” workshops, this, to me, speaks to a dominant mode of diversity or cultural sensitivity training that includes diverse perspectives but does not actively engage. I wonder if reflexive design can be thought of in the context of home or belonging, navigating the politics of care and settlement. How does a hospital care facility establish a place in communities to care for the members of the community? This is where I believe shared projects of hospitals need to emerge within the community. Though service projects that address specific ailments, such as cancer, obesity, and so on, are important, how might these health-related issues intersect with the larger hermeneutical framework of the communities that hospitals serve? Following Manu Meyers, contexts that awaken the sensual knowledge of the environment, through engagements with nature and the land may offer out-of-the-board/training room opportunities to become open to the ontologies or cosmologies of the community. I think this is especially important when serving Indigenous communities. In my article, I wondered: What if hospital administrators established a community garden or joined community leaders in service projects in the area? What if doctors, nurses, or administrators learned the indigenous names of plants, and learned the myths of the place they live in, as well as addressing the health needs of the community? How about creating a meal in the hospital kitchen with the elders? These deeply practical activities place health administrators in actual embodied engagement with the community and may prove to be the context in which hospital administration may confront their privilege and walk humbly, prepare food humbly, or care for a garden humbly in order to sympathetically learn about the health needs/values of a community.Finally, at the heart of pluralistic design models, it is essential to define/understand what well-being means in the community, which will then guide the practices of care. Well-being is a politically contested site that is not as self-evident as hospital administration might like to think it is. I defined placental ethics as “rethinking the conditions of knowledge in hospital settings in Hawaiʻi” (Bardwell-Jones 112). However, I have come to realize that placental epistemology must be placed within a broader context of politics, or placental politics. Chamorran Indigenous scholar Christine Taitano DeLisle examines the epistemic role of the pattera, or the nurse-midwife in conducting pattera ritual practices such as burying the placenta. According to DeLisle, despite the US military's efforts in stamping out Indigenous practices of placental and umbilical cord burying, which offended Western values of hygiene and well-being, patteras resisted these efforts and insistently held on to the “old values” even while integrating modern medical approaches to childbirth. Placental politics enact epistemic resistance in hermeneutically producing generative ontological frameworks that resist the colonial logics of hospital administration.Placental politics is an example of Indigenous feminism in asserting what the very definintions of care would look like. Care, in this sense, is bound up with values of self-determination that arises not from a nation-state identity, but from the land.She argues: the political, social and cultural act of burying the placenta can be regarded as a specific form of indigenous and gendered resistance against US naval colonialism, and that furthermore, such corporeal politics of foregrounding communal relations and stewardship of lands and people can be seen as pattera assertions of cultural self-determination. (DeLisle)Placental politics as a form of Indigenous feminism serves as an alternative epistemology that relates closely to practices of well-being not only for the individual mother and her child, but the wider human and more-than-human community that animates the birthing process. Placental politics when recognized in design models can offer new ways for settler colonial health administration to transform the way well-being is understood, to establish that standards of care may not be the design model to enact, and to be willing to accept and transform hospital ontologies revolving around care.Though I appreciated the modified stethoscope as a way of aesthetically disrupting the individual knower, a more radical metaphor that aesthetically disrupts the dominant hermeneutical framework of hospital administration is the placenta. The umbilical cordage figuratively binds knowers to the land, which in turn informs what values of well-being look like and the types of caring practices that are ritualized and enacted collectively. Similar to the modified stethoscope in which the caregiver and patient share an experience of co-constituting knowledge, the placental cordage extends to the wider community, binding deep moral connections with the land, which in turn guides our values and practices of well-being, health, and care. The resistant imagination necessary for hospital administration to manifest must avoid symbolic acts of inclusion and take up a courageous political stance against asserting settler colonial, capitalistic, racist, and sexist ideologies bound up within the ontologies of the hospital administration.

Monica Dall’Asta, Alessandra Chiarini

Women's interest in found footage and compilation has been extraordinarily intense from the very beginning.1 Even the origins of this peculiar mode of film production are tied to a woman's name, that of Esfir Shub, the great director of Soviet cinema who was the first to create an essayistic feature by putting together pieces of archival footage.2 Her seminal film of 1927, Padenie Dinastii Romanovykh (The Fall of the Romanov Dynasty), depicts the collapse of the Tsarist empire from the February Revolution to the October Revolution of 1917 purely by means of a montage of preexisting footage. Followed by a handful of other films she made with the same method in subsequent years, this first experimentation in compilation film was an opportunity for Shub to demonstrate the creative power of montage, showing how even the most resistant, unyielding materials can generate an entirely new meaning from the way they are combined—as for example in the case of the numerous shots taken by the camerapeople of the Tsarist film industry, which were transformed through her editing into incontrovertible proof of the necessity of the Revolution. In a way, then, Shub's work can be considered the most advanced result of all the philosophy of the Soviet avant-garde, for her films test Lev Kuleshov's intuition about the signifying power of montage by reworking preconstituted materials that had been originally produced to respond to a completely different, and sometimes even opposite, ideological project.3Many more women after Shub have adopted compilation as their privileged approach to film production and experimentation. Once a marginal form even in the documentary field, found footage cinema is now enjoying an extremely vital phase, fostered by both the exponential growth of the audiovisual archive and the improvement of digital editing technologies that have made film images all the more usable. Up to the 1950s and through the appearance of new avant-garde movements at the end of that decade, the history of found footage cinema consists of very few names and a similarly small number of film titles. And yet, even in the first half of the twentieth century women are a notable presence in the field, not only for their sheer numbers, but also by virtue of the quality and originality of their work. In this context we need to cite at least the name of Germaine Dulac, whose archival film of 1935 anticipates many typical concerns of the contemporary debate about the historicity of the film image. Le cinéma au service de l'histoire (Cinema at the Service of History) was assembled by Dulac during a period of intensive archival research at Gaumont, where she had been employed until the previous year as coeditor of the company's newsreel, France Actualités. Her monumental film is constructed from fragments taken from Gaumont newsreels from 1905 to 1935, and presents itself as a recollection, as well as a critical assessment, of the historical experiences made by a generation, her own, that was equal in age with the cinema: the generation born during the Belle Epoque, educated in the myth of progress, and doomed to witness its ruinous dissolution in the disaster of World War I, only to find itself confronted with the advent of dictatorships and totalitarianism. Made in the political-cultural context of the Popular Front (the film was made to be screened on the occasion of the opening of an independent “all-newsreel” film venue), Cinema at the Service of History reveals a thorough confidence in the testimonial power of cinema.4 It is at once a requiem about the atrocities of war and its moral, social, political, and economic consequences, and a warning to the present about repeating the mistakes of the past.Alongside Shub and Dulac, the third female master of found footage cinema before the 1960s is no doubt Nicole Vedrès. Her innovative work on Paris 1900 (1947) combined a “classical” approach to compilation film, based on exclusive use of documentary sources, and a more definitely modern approach, which regards the products of narrative cinema as no less legitimate sources of historical knowledge than documentary materials. Vedrès's work anticipates by several decades the awareness, typical of the debate on film and history of the early 1980s, that every film, whether narrative or documentary, bears a number of specifically historical traits—or, rather, what Vedrès characterizes as a specific form of historical truth that expresses itself in a visual quality on the order of photogénie.5This early phase of the history of found footage cinema, where three women play a primary role, draws to a close at the end of the 1950s. A more critical, irreverent, and playful attitude toward archival images, and a tendency to employ the past to produce an allegory of the present, and often quite a complex one, appears in the work of diverse experimental filmmakers, including Isidore Isou, Stan VanDerBeek, Bruce Conner, and Guy Debord. Again, several women participate as well in this new moment that marks the evolution of found footage film as a major form of experimental cinema, often referred to as collage film. Though the women's names are more obscure today than the filmmakers we have just cited, their position in this shift is far from secondary in terms of their critical awareness and their innovations.Already in 1959, Jane Conger Belson Shimané's Odds and Ends offered a precocious example of a collage film that mixes outtakes of travelogues with abstract animation, both painted on the filmstrip and created with paper cutouts. Since then, the ranks of women involved in the deconstruction of the codes of contemporary culture—and often particularly of its sexist stereotypes—through the reworking of preexisting footage has not stopped growing. Filmmakers such as Anita Thacher, Chick Strand, Dara Birnbaum, Peggy Ahwesh, Michelle Citron, Abigail Child, Hito Steyerl, Angela Ricci Lucchi, Leslie Thornton, Su Friedrich, Eve Heller, Vivian Ostrovsky, Nina Fonoroff, Sabine Hiebler, and Frédérique Devaux, or, among the younger ones, Lana Lin, Naomi Uman, Deborah Stratman, Caroline Avery, Cheryl Dunye, Cathy Joritz, Barbara Meter, Louise Bourque, Magda Matwiejew, Akosua Adoma Owusu, Rebecca Baron, Meike Fehre, Meryll Hardt, and Lisa Reboulleau—and those whose work is analyzed in this issue of Feminist Media Histories: Myriam Borsoutsky, Cecilia Mangini, Cécile Fontaine, Barbara Hammer, Valentina Monti, and Alina Marazzi—make us tempted to describe found footage cinema as a field where gender parity is close to being finally attained.Yet we want to resist explaining away such a proliferation of female auteurs who choose a most difficult manner of expressing their own imagination and thought—through images created by others in different places and times—with some sort of specific or “essential” female inclination toward montage, maybe even by invoking its similarity to the tailoring operations of cutting and sewing. Such essentialist comparisons can certainly be suggestive, but they hardly help us understand the reality of women's experience in the sphere of filmmaking. Even less could we endorse a thesis that would interpret women's bent for compilation films as an ability to excel exclusively in contexts characterized by a minimum creative coefficient. On the contrary, the innovative content of cases such as those we briefly recall above should demonstrate the opposite—that is, women's extraordinary creative capacity, evidenced by their ability to extract the maximum coefficient of originality from seemingly inert materials.But this would be a simplification, too, a sterile generalization based on a purely reactive attitude. A more interesting approach begins when one considers the apparent affinity between women and the practice of found footage, on the one hand, and on the other the material conditions of film production—more precisely, the difference that exists between the labor involved in editing and researching and that involved in shooting, especially in commercial cinema. All available data show that commercial cinema, which, as everyone knows, is basically a narrative and fictional type of cinema, is a field where only a few women succeed in reaching and holding directorial roles. We are then prompted to ask whether the specific difference that is responsible for found footage cinema being such a favorable field for women's initiative should not be sought at the level of what we mean by “film directing” in the first place.Cameraless cinema does not imply “directing” in the common sense of the word. Women working in found footage do not direct actors and technicians on a film set; they do not preside over complex organizational machines from the apex of the film set's hierarchical system. If they work in a group, they do so by choosing a few close collaborators, often other women. Their work more closely resembles conducting a research project, including immersive sessions in archives and philological interrogations about the materials, than directing a film set. This amounts to saying that women, in the absence of directorial opportunities within the frame of institutional cinema, may have elected the practice of found footage as a way to build an autonomous space of creativity that allows them to transform limitations into a stylistic peculiarity.6The subtitle of this issue, “Women Without a Movie Camera,” alludes in a clearly provocative way to the objective condition of limitation that women experience in their attempts to access professional opportunities for directing in the mainstream film industry, a situation that, in our interpretive hypothesis, can explain better than any tailoring metaphor the remarkable intensity of female creativity in found footage cinema.7 More than a yen for reusing archives, the breadth of female presence in the history of films derived from found footage proves women's tenacious will to make cinema at all costs, even if it means inventing their own modes of independent production under conditions of limitation and lack of means. Clear evidence of this is that even when they leave the particular sphere of found footage and take up the camera, these filmmakers usually keep working beyond the borders of mainstream narrative cinema, that is, in the fields of documentary, experimental, or animated cinema.Put another way, if an affinity between women and found footage cinema exists, most likely it is not because the process resembles “cutting and sewing,” but because cameraless cinema appears as a utopian mode of production that can be practiced in perfect autonomy, or together with a small group of trusted collaborators, in which a lack of means can be countervailed with patience and flair. It is a cinema that, as in the case of Cécile Fontaine, can even be executed at home at the kitchen sink.The remarkable number of women filmmakers who are or were active in found footage cinema could then be taken as confirmation of the famous hypothesis advanced by Virginia Woolf in A Room of One's Own (1929), that we would now have many more female names in the history books if women had had their own rooms where they could work in peace, away from the stereotypes and performative codes of patriarchal culture. The separateness and seclusion of the editing room are more than just metaphors for Woolf's idea of the room of one's own as a space of autonomy and expressive freedom.The field at stake is obviously much larger than is possible to analyze within the limits of the present publication. Unable to cover the entire, rich spectrum of women's contributions to the history of found footage cinema, we chose a series of studies on a few individual figures who represent various different approaches.8The issue opens with a selection of articles by Esfir Shub, as yet unpublished in English, introduced and edited by Liubov Dyshlyuk. The publication of these materials drawn from Shub's autobiographical book Zhizn' moya – kinematograf (Cinema Is My Life, 1972) is a deserved homage to a figure who is regularly presented as the most influential pioneer of compilation film, but whose poetic reflections are almost completely unknown in the Western world. Dating back to the time of the making of The Fall of the Romanov Dynasty (1927), Shub's writings in this issue document her extraordinary awareness in tackling the task of assembling in a coherent montage a host of such heterogeneous materials as old newsreels, home movies, and institutional documentaries. In their rigorous as well as impassioned tone, which continuously emphasizes the political valences of filmmaking, these articles confirm the fundamental position that Shub occupies not only in the practice of, but also in reflections about, the practice of compilation cinema.Monica Dall'Asta's essay on Myriam Borsoutsky and Nicole Vedrès focuses on two French figures who are almost completely forgotten today. In the virtually perfect obscurity of Borsoutsky (better known as Myriam)—who was Sacha Guitry's editor during the 1930s, before collaborating with Vedrès on Paris 1900 and codirecting La Course de taureaux (Bullfight, 1951) alongside Pierre Braunberger—Dall'Asta finds a clue to retracing a possible female genealogy of French found footage cinema. The rediscovery, or rather the discovery, of Myriam, whose skills in editing were so outstanding as to be called “diabolical” by André Bazin, discloses a whole cultural scene that includes as many different figures as Braunberger, Henri Langlois, Alain Resnais, Chris Marker, Jacques Brunius, Denise Tual, Victoria Mercanton, and Yannick Bellon. Paradoxically, Myriam's obscurity becomes the crucial element that illuminates a gray area in film history, beginning with Vedrès's groundbreaking work.Better known for the documentaries she shot—which register, with the precision of an anthropologist's eye, the transformations of Italian society between the 1960s and the 1970s—Cecilia Mangini also belongs to the crowd of forgotten women filmmakers. Her films based on the technique of assemblage are examined in deep detail in Dalila Missero's essay. Mangini's work in the archives began with the making of All'armi siam fascisti! (To Arms! We're Fascists!, 1961–62), the film she made with her husband, Lino Del Fra, and the socialist film critic Lino Micciché, and continued with Stalin (1962–63), codirected with Lino Del Fra and the great Marxist poet Franco Fortini. As with Dulac's and Vedrès's earlier works, To Arms! We're Fascists! offers a critical reading of the historical experience of the authors' generation, born under the Fascist regime and subjected to the destructive fascinations of its ideology. To find the documentary materials for both this film and Stalin (issued in 1963 in a version reedited by the producer and disavowed by the authors), Mangini conducted research in several archives around the world, facing huge difficulties. Her interest in the meaning effects attainable through the recombination of stock footage is further documented by an intense sequence in her film of women's emancipation, Essere donne (Being Women, 1963–65), of which Missero proposes an extremely accurate analysis.Barbara Hammer's first feature, Nitrate Kisses (1992), is examined by Alessandra Chiarini as an example of a film based on the construction of a complex relationship between stock footage and original shots. In conceiving of her cinema as a means for the expression of “feeling-images,” that is, “inseparable unity of emotion and thought/idea/image and internal bodily states of excitement,” Hammer is in search of an alternative style to the linear narration of mainstream cinema.9 In the movement of thoughts and emotions that spring from the flow of images in the film, Chiarini sees a method of assemblage that is reminiscent of Maya Deren's theorizations about “vertical cinema.” In Nitrate Kisses this method is adopted to a history of the twentieth century by and footage and original shots are combined in to a critical about history that into the and of between past and present, individual and very different case is presented in essay on Cécile A French who is very of what Nicole has called a approach to found footage, the of preexisting images by way of on the film a of that in and of or of the film her on the relationship between the stylistic and and that the mode of La to the construction of The are where a with the of the film is with an to the content of the the most original of the the of footage to the that her to her from when she was a In these materials a complex whose and quite result is the of the of of film archives to create new films is the of essay. 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