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The unprecedented increase in lesbian representation over the past two decades has, paradoxically, coincided with queer theory’s radical transformation of the study of sexuality. In Lesbian Cinema after Queer Theory, Clara Bradbury-Rance argues that this contradictory context has yielded new kinds of cinematic language through which to give desire visual form. By offering close readings of key contemporary films such as Blue Is the Warmest Colour, Water Lilies and Carol alongside a broader filmography encompassing over 300 other films released between 1927 and 2018, the book provokes new ways of understanding a changing field of representation. Bradbury-Rance resists charting a narrative of representational progress or shoring up the lesbian’s categorisation in the newly available terms of the visible. Instead, she argues for a feminist framework that can understand lesbianism’s queerness. Drawing on a provocative theoretical and visual corpus, Lesbian Cinema after Queer Theory reveals the conditions of lesbian legibility in the twenty-first century.

The overlap of marginalised race and sexuality is highlighted in the 1990 documentary "Paris is burning" which depicts the life of New York's black and Latino drag queens. The author offers an analysis of the social circumstances that gave birth to this culture which originated in 1980s Harlem.

Encounters on Contested Lands analyzes films, plays, visual art, and protest marches by Indigenous artists in Québec, Canada, to explore the performance of cultural identity, sovereignty, and nationhood in Québec's independence movement

What could a history of game studies be from the perspective of a queer Chickasaw feminist scholar? Should this be a disciplining manifesto, a polemical call to arms for radical transformation, a survey of the existing scholarship that has thus far framed games ludologically as fun, as sportsmanship, as design, or as epic struggles for political power where the player rather ominously wins or dies? I’m a bit of an interloper as a recent arrival from Indigenous studies to video-game studies, a field that represents both the end of history and the ahistoricity of pop-culturally–oriented archives that are presentist at best, and at worst, complicit with an industry derived from settler militaristic technologies and platforms and compelled by niche markets to innovate faster and faster to saturate more and more households at the structural level of occupation. And then there is the problem of what the history of game studies has been: Greco-Roman, European, cis white male, heterosexual, orientalist, algorithmic, and code driven with the techno-optimism of Silicon Valley alongside Jane McGonigal’s fundamental belief that games have and will save the world once they unite the collective brain power of all the gamers and bend them to a single task—and if not all that, then peak 1980s geekery with a hint of liberal multiculturalism thrown in, if Ernest Cline’s Ready Player One is anything to go by. It is as if the history of game studies has only ever been an imperial read-only memory to be mined, played, and spatialized within the conscriptions of conquistador archives already known and yet to be discovered.

As a teenager during my first internship at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, a diversity initiative for inner-city youth, the education curator enthusiastically asked, “Who here would like to be an art historian!?” Like all the other Black and Brown inner-city kids, I laughed inside. My response was not due to a lack of art appreciation; I grew up in a family of refugees who were all self-taught artists back home in El Salvador, who taught me to draw before I learned to read. Nor was my response rooted in apathy for creative expression, for I was involved in art and theater from my elementary through my high school years. Art was such a natural part of my life that the idea of studying it seemed wasteful to me. The truth was, the internship was one of two jobs I was working to financially help my family and pay for my first year of community college. Hidden even deeper, though, I believed the museum world was not my world. I was a guanaca (the appellative given to people from El Salvador) whose family fled war and remained invisible in mainstream US Latinx history and culture. I was also from the hood—in my case Compton, California, a city made notorious by gangsta rap and police brutality. I believed that people like me guarded the art on the museum walls, cleaned the floors and bathrooms for visitors, and served the food at the high-priced café. People who looked like me, who came from where I did, did not determine what art could be, nor could we afford to buy it. We certainly did not write the history of art, for if we had, we would see ourselves represented on the walls.

Ce mémoire cherche à dresser l'historiographie de l'artiste anishnabé Nadia Myre. Il s'agit d'une analyse à la fois qualitative et quantitative de près de 200 textes récoltés au sujet de l'artiste du début de sa carrière (1995) jusqu'en 2016. En plus d'offrir une visualisation de l'accomplissement de celle-ci avec la création d'une feuille de calcul, le présent mémoire cherche aussi à analyser les différents propos des auteur.es au sujet de la pratique d'une artiste autochtone en territoire appelé Canada. Les œuvres les plus marquantes de l'artiste sont également analysées en profondeur.

When E. Carmen Ramos organized Our America: The Latino Presence in American Art (2013) at the Smithsonian American Art Museum in Washington, DC, art holdings of Latinx artists at the institution were minimal and unbalanced. The museum lacked works by foundational figures; entire groups like Dominican Americans were missing, as were genres like abstract art; and with a collection dominated by colonial and folk art and work by Mexican Americans, it was impossible to produce any comprehensive exhibition of contemporary Latinx art, much less one that represented the diversity of artists and trends. Ramos was one of the few Latinx curators hired in the aftermath of the infamous 1994 “Willful Neglect” report documenting a historical pattern of discrimination at the Smithsonian Institute and calling for the hiring of Latinx curators to help direct the Smithsonian’s priorities in research, collections, and exhibitions.1 Twenty-five years later, this pattern of exclusion continues apace. In 2018, a study by UCLA’s Chicano Studies Research Center found that while the Smithsonian’s Latinx workforce grew from 2.5 percent to 10.1 percent, this growth falls short of representing the growth of the Latinx population, which since 1994 has doubled to 17.8 percent of the total population. In sum, the task of putting a dent in a mostly white canonical art history and collection was a daunting one, and whatever Ramos did would be a politically charged intervention. This would be the first major scholarly survey exhibition of Latinx art, a statement to insert it as central to US art history, and the first major show of its type in a major North American museum in decades.

Depuis quelques décennies, certains artistes colombiens cherchent à repenser ce que peut être aujourd’hui l’identité colombienne, et plus concrètement celle de l’artiste. Au-delà du stéréotype de ce qu’est le « Colombien » vu de l’extérieur, au-delà d’une histoire coloniale – et toutes ses problématiques – commune aux pays d’Amérique latine, ainsi que d’une histoire récente plus particulière connue pour son extrême violence, nous pouvons affirmer que l’identité colombienne est le résultat d’identités multiples, diverses et variées. Par ailleurs, il existe un dénominateur commun qui peut la définir car elle s’est construite durant ces deux derniers siècles à partir d’un concept : celui de « l’hybridité ».

Stemming from Grosfoguel’s decolonial discourse, and particularly his enquiry on how to steer away from the alternative between Eurocentric universalism and third world fundamentalism in the production of knowledge, this article aims to respond to this query in relation to the field of the art produced by Latin American women artists in the past four decades. It does so by investigating the decolonial approach advanced by third world feminism (particularly scholar Chandra Talpade Mohanty) and by rescuing it from—what I reckon to be—a methodological impasse. It proposes to resolve such an issue by reclaiming transnational feminism as a way out from what I see as a fundamentalist and essentialist tactic. Following from a theoretically and methodological introduction, this essay analyzes the practice of Cuban-born artist Marta María Pérez Bravo, specifically looking at the photographic series Para Concebir (1985–1986); it proposes a decolonial reading of her work, which merges third world feminism’s nation-based approach with a transnational outlook, hence giving justice to the migration of goods, ideas, and people that Ella Shohat sees as deeply characterizing the contemporary cultural background. Finally, this article claims that Pérez Bravo’s oeuvre offers the visual articulation of a decolonial strategy, concurrently combining global with local concerns.

Qualifié parfois de « dixième art », après que les jeux de rôles sur table (comme Donjons & Dragons) eurent commencé à céder du terrain dans les loisirs de la jeunesse à partir du mil…

The widespread popularity of sandbox games, and Minecraft in particular, may be a recent phenomenon, but their appeal may be much older. Rather than representing a wholly new development in gaming, these games may participate in a larger media ecology that flatters a neoliberal worldview. This research calls for greater attention to the coercive economic assumptions encoded in gamemechanics. Drawing on scholarship in ludology, postcolonial studies, and phenomenology, it suggests that sandbox games like Minecraft habituate players to myths of empire and capital that rationalize political and economic inequality. More than simply offering a blank slate for player creation, Minecraft rewards players for assuming their entitlement to the world’s resources and thus their superiority over other inhabitants of the game world.

Publié en 2000, le livre de Boaventura de Sousa Santos — un sociologue émérite portugais — intitulé Critique de la raison indolente a eu un grand impact au Brésil comme dans le reste de l’Amérique Latine (De Sousa Santos, 2000/2003). Il y développait ce qu’il a appelé « les Épistémologies du Sud » global en opposition aux « Épistémologies du Nord », global également. De Sousa Santos entendait par « Épistémologies du Sud » les connaissances, théories et savoirs qui réfléchissent avec créativit...

The article provides a comparative account of two paradigms of independent videogame production: the Japanese dojin (doujin) games and the increasingly global indie games. Through a multilayered analysis, it expounds the conceptual metaphors associated with indie and d jin games, traces the two movements respective histories, situates them in wider media environments, and compares their characteristic traits.

Résumé livre : 4e de couv.: Les mutations qui se sont amorcées à partir de la fin de la Seconde Guerre mondiale et qui connaissent une accélération rapide avec les crises sociales, culturelles, économiques et environnementales contemporaines ont transformé le paysage muséal et les visions dont les musées se soutiennent et qu'ils entretiennent. La plupart des travaux produits au cours de ces années ont été portés par ces transformations et y contribuent : la recherche en muséologie s'est elle-même dissociée de la recherche dans les musées dans les années 1980. De plus, quelque chose s'est noué entre un tournant communicationnel dans les musées et un développement de la réflexion théorique et critique sur la communication. Dans une approche résolument pluridisciplinaire, cet ouvrage se propose d'analyser ces évolutions dans leurs dimensions institutionnelles, culturelles, communicationnelles, historiques, patrimoniales. Les perspectives réunies ici contribueront, sans aucun doute, à mettre au jour les mouvements de fond actuels, les tendances qui travaillent les institutions elles-mêmes, et le poids de ces changements dans la formulation des enjeux théoriques en muséologie.

Depuis quelques années, les artistes samis font l’objet d’une attention croissante, que ce soit en Scandinavie ou à l’échelle internationale, et ils ont porté l’art sami sur le devant de la scène artistique contemporaine. Nous pourrions ainsi citer la récente participation de certains d’entre eux à la documenta 14 (Cassel ; Athènes, 2017), ou des expositions comme Sámi Stories (New York ; Anchorage, 2014-2015), Let the River Flow (Oslo ; Stockholm, 2018-2019), ou encore l’actuelle Histories: ...

In this article I argue that the structural conditions of global capitalism and postcolonialism encourage game developers to rearticulate hegemonic memory politics and suppress subaltern identities. This claim is corroborated via an application of Edward Herman and Noam Chomsky’s propaganda model to the Japanese-developed video game Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain. This case study highlights that the hegemonic articulations of colonial histories are not exclusive to Western entertainment products where instead modes of production matter in the ‘manufacturing of mnemonic hegemony’. I also propose that the propaganda model, while instructive, can be improved further by acknowledging a technological filter and the role of the subaltern. Thus, the article furthers the understanding of the relation between production and form in contemporary technological phenomena like video games and how this relation motivates hegemonic articulations of the past in contemporary mass culture.

Many of today's most commercially successful videogames, from Call of Duty to Company of Heroes, are war-themed titles that play out in what are framed as authentic real-world settings inspired by recent news headlines or drawn from history. While such games are marketed as authentic representations of war, they often provide a selective form of realism that eschews problematic, yet salient aspects of war. In addition, changes in the way Western states wage and frame actual wars makes contemporary conflicts increasingly resemble videogames when perceived from the vantage point of Western audiences.This interdisciplinary volume brings together scholars from games studies, media and cultural studies, politics and international relations, and related fields to examine the complex relationships between military-themed videogames and real-world conflict, and to consider how videogames might deal with history, memory, and conflict in alternative ways. It asks: What is the role of videogames in the formation and negotiation of cultural memory of past wars? How do game narratives and designs position the gaming subject in relation to history, war and militarism? And how far do critical, anti-war/peace games offer an alternative or challenge to mainstream commercial titles?

There was no meaningful attempt to counter the black aesthetic with conceptual criteria for creating and evaluating art which would simultaneously acknowledge its ideological content even as it allowed for expansive notions of artistic freedom. To re-open the creative space that much of the black aesthetic movement closed down, it seems vital for those involved in contemporary black arts to engage in a revitalized discussion of aesthetics. In part, a radical aesthetic acknowledges that the people are constantly changing positions, locations, that their needs and concerns vary, that these diverse directions must correspond with shifts in critical thinking. Innovative African-American artists have rarely documented their process, their critical thinking on the subject of aesthetics. Certainly many of the revolutionary, visionary critical perspectives on music that were inherent to John Coltrane’s oppositional aesthetics and his cultural production will never be shared because they were not fully documented.