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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UeYP8ssD_BM

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https://theconversation.com/the-tricky-notion-of-value-in-the-arts-20408

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There's plenty of discussion about arts funding in Australia - but are we ready to tackle tough questions around the "value" of the arts? That's a challenge that will involve scrutinising the "benefits" delivered by arts programs and rethinking some of our ideas about impact.

Recently these questions have been framed in terms of measurement - a phenomenon that has to do with an increased emphasis on what is termed the " creative " or "cultural" industries.

Welcome to the arts industry

Governments and policy makers concerned with the allocation of scarce resources, and with the demise of traditional economic drivers for development, have turned to these sectors as areas of potential growth. The word "industry" nicely moves the whole area away from anything "non-productive".

This framing of the arts as an industry has fuelled the sometimes strident debate over funding models for the arts, particularly when a funding cut has taken place.

Yet for better or worse, the arts and related cultural phenomena represent activities that now have value and benefits for government - so there will be policy delivered upon art producers regardless of the debate.

SebastianDooris

The key issues for all is defining and measuring all the possible permutations of value.

Intrinsic and instrumental benefits

Some clarification is possible if we separate instrumental benefits from intrinsic benefits.

Instrumental benefits are those that pertain to social, economic or policy outcomes. An outcome of a community-based theatre production might be to involve disadvantaged sectors of the community, thereby increasing social inclusion. Similarly, a sculpture trail might be established in an economically-depressed region, with the aim of increasing local employment.

Such benefits are increasingly cited in the conversations surrounding the impact of the arts.

The intrinsic benefits of the arts are less obvious. While not being ignored by arts organisations, and of interest to many artists, the "impact" of art on an individual, a community or on society is a nebulous concept. How did the art resonate with the viewer? Was the community intellectually stimulated? Did the art make a lasting impression? Did it increase social bonding?

Maxey

Much of the policy work done on measuring intrinsic impact is done in the performing arts.

Theatre, opera and music companies have a particular interest in measuring intrinsic impact, as their revenue streams rely on a paying audience, and indeed one that returns for future performances. Intrinsic impact factors such as audience engagement and stimulation are part of the concept of " artistic vibrancy" that the Australia Council uses as a criterion in its Artistic Reflection Kit for arts organisations.

Did the art make a difference?

There is little to guide us in understanding such issues in a broader arts context.

Certainly museums and galleries, as well as major events such as the Biennale of Sydney undertake visitor surveys. But their findings are frequently framed in relation to audience development or marketing strategy. Engagement sometimes simply means: how many people went, and where were they from?

While this sort of information is vital in a world where competition for the cultural tourist is fierce, it does not assist us in understanding the basic question of whether the art, in whatever form, made a "difference" to those that viewed it (however that may be defined) and how that might be considered a "value".

Of course, it can be argued such a question is irrelevant in an artistic sense.

Many see any measurement of artistic value as further evidence of the commodification of art. Art producers frequently reject the materialistic concept of "product" being applied to their creative output, and clearly consumer demand is not generally the primary driving force behind art and other cultural-based production.

Product-driven artists

Even so, artists do need to be product-driven. If they are not they risk their artistic integrity, the very thing that challenges their audiences. This means that conventional techniques to "sell" artistic production do not necessarily work.

For any exhibitor of challenging art this is a common problem. Do you keep churning out those room-filling blockbuster exhibitions - or curate something that your audience might potentially not actually like?

j-No

Perhaps splitting value into instrumental benefits and intrinsic benefits is actually unhelpful because it artificially separates the individual/ community/ emotional from the policy/ economic.

By this I mean that if a concert does not engage and resonate with visitors by having some intrinsic value, then any other subsequent instrumental benefit simply does not flow on. In other words, if the audience does not like the art, they will not "consume" it (buy, view, etc.).

Art for individuals and communities

For me, taking such an holistic view of artistic endeavours recognises that there is an interconnectedness between individual benefits and societal benefits that is indeed important. What benefits the individual may well benefit that individual's community - and vice versa.

Does this make impact any easier to measure? Or value any easier to define? Perhaps not immediately.

But it does provide an alternative way of conceptualising value in the arts, one that may be used to reframe a debate that tends to be weighted toward measuring instrumental benefits.

It's not just that funding bodies find it easier to measure instrumental benefits, it's that the intrinsic value of art is, by its very nature, difficult to measure.

How do you measure intellectual stimulation? Emotional engagement? Joy? Sure, there is research conducted in these areas, but it is not finding its way into the debate over the value of the arts.

And until it does the arts will continue to be valued more for its role as a driver of economic development than as a cure for the soul - or worse still, not valued at all.

Further reading:
You've got $7 billion - so how will you fund the arts?

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The tricky notion of 'value' in the arts

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There's plenty of discussion about arts funding in Australia - but are we ready to tackle tough questions around the "value" of the arts? That's a challenge that will involve scrutinising the "benefits" delivered by arts programs and rethinking some of our ideas about impact.

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Climate change and art News, Research and Analysis - The Conversation

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Browse Climate change and art news, research and analysis from The Conversation

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https://theconversation.com/au/topics/art-history-3522

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Art history News, Research and Analysis - The Conversation

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Browse Art history news, research and analysis from The Conversation

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https://www.moma.org/interactives/destination/destination.html

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http://www.coudal.com/moom/

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New art exhibitions and performances from around the world are published every day on our website and in our newsletter.

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https://www.instagram.com/tabloidarthistory/

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rzp6Ehnxq34

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https://www.ngv.vic.gov.au/exhibition/top-arts-2017/#exhi-tab-toparts-folios

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John Berger - Ways of Seeing (Episode 2)

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https://busprojects.org.au/
http://www.blindside.org.au/
http://www.gertrude.org.au/
http://www.longallery.com/
https://westspace.org.au/
https://www.fortdelta.com.au/
https://ccp.org.au/
https://neonparc.com.au/
http://vca.unimelb.edu.au/engage/margaret-lawrence-gallery
https://buxtoncontemporary.com/
https://www.tinningstreetpresents.com/
https://www.mga.org.au

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Heide Museum of Modern Art is a unique combination of art, architecture, social history and landscape just twenty minutes from Melbourne's CBD. With three galleries, stunning architecture and fifteen acres of gardens and sculpture park to explore, there is something for everyone at Heide.

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Essential Vocab Unit 1 ART 2017-2021 (2)

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https://www.moma.org/calendar/exhibitions/1154

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How artists explore identity | Modern Art & Ideas

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This video explores the Structural Frame and how it can be applied to Artmaking, Art Critcism and Art History.

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Bourgeois, nicknamed the 'Spiderwoman', quickly became notorious in the artistic sphere for her feminine structures and imposing metallic spiders, which she said represented her mother. Bourgeois, whose work has been displayed around the world was one of the first to display psychologically charged and intimate art works. Although Bourgeois is often grouped with the abstract expressionist artists, her works were far from abstract but, rather, were instilled with symbolism. From her artistic sketches in the 1940s right through to her death in 2010, she breathed life into both structure and texture in order to express themes of loneliness, vulnerability and pain.

Her largest, and most famous, sculpture, named (1999) - the affectionate French term for 'mother' - popped up in various locations around the world, causing controversy and admiration wherever it appeared. Looming at over 30ft, it even had a spell on the banks of the River Thames outside the Tate Modern, London in 2000 before taking up residence outside Guggenheim Bilbao Museoa. The sculpture was divisive in its amalgamation of the terror usually associated with arachnids and the maternal associations Bourgeois focused on. Maman, as her magnum opus, was perhaps a culmination of the theme of the arachnid that Bourgeois had first contemplated in a small ink and charcoal drawing in 1947, continuing with her 1996 sculpture Spider. The sculpture, with its seventeen marble eggs in a meshed sac hanging from the under-body cavity of the giant structure, is emotionally aggressive and alludes to Bourgeois' mother with its metaphors of spinning, weaving and protection. Talking to the Tate, she explained:

'This spider is an ode to my mother. She was my best friend. Like a spider, my mother was a weaver. Like spiders, my mother was very clever. Spiders are friendly presences that eat mosquitoes. We know that mosquitoes spread diseases and are therefore unwanted. So, spiders are helpful and protective, just like my mother.'

The prevalent theme of protection often translated into images of shelter or home, as Bourgeois blended artistic mediums with her personal conflicts and traumas. In her series Cells (1990s), installations of old doors, windows, steel fencing and found objects were meant to be evocations of her childhood, which she claimed as the psychic source of her art. She spoke publicly and freely of her early, emotionally conflicted family life: her practical and affectionate mother, who contracted influenza when Bourgeois was young; her father's domineering disposition and his marital infidelities; her childhood, which, as she infamously stated, 'never lost its magic, never lost its mystery, and never lost its drama.' The emotional investment in her work was certainly unique and groundbreaking within the art industry. Drawing on her years of psychoanalysis, Bourgeois played with art and reality with daring. Among others, contemporary art therapists and their patients owe much to Bourgeois' pioneering work.

One strand of Bourgeois' work is that of childhood distress and hidden emotion - a topic which the artist spoke about uninhibited. After Bourgeois' mother became sick with influenza, her father began having affairs with other women, most notably with Sadie, Bourgeois' English tutor. This, she has said, was the beginning of her engagement with the double standards related to gender and sexuality, which was expressed in much of her work. She recalls her father saying 'I love you' repeatedly to her mother, despite infidelity.

And indeed, sexuality is unquestionably one of the most important and prominent themes in the work of Louise Bourgeois. Though aggressive, her sculptures tend to blur themes of protection, fragility and insecurity to create deeply symbolic pieces that emphasise the relationship to the unconscious with which she was fascinated. Taking her relationship with her parents and the role sexuality played in her early family life as inspiration, she used art to remake and retell that history. Cell: You Better Grow Up (1993) - part of her Cell series - directly reflects Bourgeois' childhood trauma and the insecurity that surrounded her because of her unstable family situation. The anthropomorphic, suggestive, and often grotesque shapes that her sculptures assume - the female and male bodies are continually reshaped to be almost unrecognisable, or at least, uncanny - are charged with sexuality and innocence, and the sometimes disturbing interplay between the two. Spiral Woman (1952) combines Bourgeois' preoccupation with female sexuality and torture. Bubbling, flesh-like rolls seem to suffocate the dangling woman whose flexing leg muscles suggest that she is still alive. Bourgeois' ability to universalize her interior life into works of rubber, bronze and stone is what made her such an inspiration for future female artists. In an art world where women had been treated as second-class citizens and were discouraged from dealing with overtly sexual subject matter, Bourgeois quickly assumed an emblematic presence with her fearless work. Her sculptures were interpreted as an assertive feminist statement: her career an example of pain made art.

It was her depictions of the body, sensual but repulsive, fragmented, often androgynous, that secured Bourgeois' status as an unforgettable and unrepeatable talent. Caged cells containing mysterious but deeply relevant items; overtly sexual but worryingly androgynous sculptures in unusual and expressive media; sculptures in latex, wool, stone and bronze - Bourgeois was unafraid to shock. Among her most familiar sculptures was the much-exhibited Nature Study (1984), a headless sphinx with powerful claws and multiple breasts. Perhaps the most provocative was Fillette (1968), disturbingly translated as 'Young Girl', this large, detached latex phallus is suggestive and provocative in its interpretation of female sexuality and latent distrust of male figures which perhaps stemmed from her childhood memories of her father's affairs. Exemplary of these feelings was her nightmarish tableau of 1974, The Destruction of the Father - a psychological exploration of the power of the father. Featuring a table in a womb-like room made suggestively to resemble either a dining room or a bedroom, Destruction of the Father was the first piece in which Bourgeois used soft materials on a large scale. Made of plaster, latex, wood, fabric and dramatically lit with red lights, the installation is designed to look like the aftermath of a crime. The room hosts an arrangement of breast-like bumps, phallic protuberances and other sexually suggestive shapes in soft-looking latex that suggest the sacrifice of an overbearing father. Bourgeois suggested that the tableau's inspiration arose from a fantasy from childhood in which a pompous father, whose presence deadens the dinner hour night after night, is pulled onto the table by other family members, dismembered and gobbled up.

The career of Louise Bourgeois changed the art industry forever, having a profound effect on discussions on psychoanalysis, expression and, most crucially, the place of female artists within a predominantly male-focused industry. From first to last, Bourgeois' sculptures shared repeated themes which focused on the human body and its need for nurture and protection in a frightening world - one which affected females disproportionately. Held as one of the strongest feminist artists in history, Bourgeois' work challenged and subverted expectations, causing spectators to pause and think on issues of female sexuality and fragility as the observed her surrealist, emphatic sculptures. Eva Hesse (1936-1970) was drastically influenced by her. As one of the most renowned American artists in the abstract expressionist movement, Hesse channelled Bourgeois' fearless edge with her experimental exploration with industrial and every-day, or 'found' materials, such as rope, string, wire, rubber, and fibreglass. Just as Bourgeois invested much in the choice of textiles in her work, Hesse similarly explored how to suggest a wide range of associations, psychological moods, and what might be called proto-feminist, sexual innuendo with various textures and structures. Living American artist Lynda Benglis (b. 1941) has also openly admitted her debt to Louise Bourgeois. Renowned for her poured latex sculptures, Benglis' work has caused controversy for its sensuality and physicality, noted for its unusual confrontational messages. In 1968, Benglis smeared Day-Glo paint across gallery floors in a piece called Fallen Painting. During a period of male-dominated minimalist art work, these works disrupted and challenged the artistic norm with vibrant aggressiveness. Unashamed of her feminist message, Benglis stated in an interview in Amelia Jones's Body Art/Performing the Subject that the piece invoked 'the depravity of the "fallen" woman' or, from a feminist perspective, a 'prone victim of phallic male desire'. During the 1970s, Benglis, collaborating with Robert Morris, produced several videos in which she explored themes of self-representation and female identity - like Bourgeois, she was attracted by the freedom that mediums uncorrupted by male artists could offer. New mediums played an important role in Benglis' questioning of female identity in relation to art, pop culture, and dominant feminism movements of the 1970s and 80s.

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Louise Bourgeois | The Artist Who Brought Sexuality to the Public Eye

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Bourgeois, nicknamed the 'Spiderwoman', quickly became notorious in the artistic sphere for her feminine structures and imposing metallic spiders, which she said represented her mother. Bourgeois, whose work has been displayed around the world was one of the first to display psychologically charged and intimate art works.

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Great recourse for inspiration contemporary artists 

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Great recourse for inspiration contemporary artists 

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sydney college of the arts (college/university)

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Sydney College of the Arts: Artists Talk

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Artists Talk: Ramesh Nithiyendran Ramesh Mario Nithiyendran is a Sydney-based artist, born in Colombo, Sri Lanka. His practice is multi-disciplinary but with a central focus on ceramics. His works engage with Eastern and Western representations of the phallus; explored through the lens of religion - fertility, creation, worship and homoeroticism.

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https://www.ngv.vic.gov.au/explore/collection/

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Glossary of Art Terms

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Elements and & Principles VCE Art

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Frida, the unapologetic bitch. Frida, the disabled artist. Frida, symbol of radical feminism. Frida, the victim of Diego. Frida, the chic, gender-fluid, beautiful and monstrous icon. Frida tote bags, Frida keychains, Frida T-shirts, And also, this year's new Frida Barbie doll (no unibrow). Frida Kahlo has been subject to global scrutiny and commercial exploitation. She has been appropriated by curators, historians, artists, actors, activists, Mexican consulates, museums and Madonna.

Over the years, this avalanche has trivialised Kahlo's work to fit a shallow "Fridolatry". And, while some criticism has been able to counter the views that cast her as a naive, infantile, almost involuntary artist, most narratives have continued to position her as a geographically marginal painter: one more developing-world artist waiting to be "discovered", one more voiceless subject waiting to be "translated".

In 1938, Frida Kahlo painted Lo que el agua me dio ( What the Water Gave Me), the painting perhaps responsible for launching her international career, but also her international mistranslation. In this self-portrait of sorts, we see Kahlo's feet and calves inside a bathtub and above them, as if emanating from the steam, a collaged landscape: an erupting volcano out of which a skyscraper emerges; a dead bird resting on a tree; a strangled woman; a Tehuana dress dramatically spread out; a female couple resting on a floating cork. Kahlo was working on Lo que el agua me dio when the French surrealist André Breton arrived in Mexico for a visit. He was transfixed by it. He called Kahlo a "natural surrealist", and in a brochure endorsing her New York debut at Julien Levy's gallery in 1938, he wrote: "My surprise and joy were unbounded when I discovered, on my arrival in Mexico, that her work has blossomed forth, in her latest paintings, into pure surreality, despite the fact that it had been conceived without any prior knowledge whatsoever of the ideas motivating the activities of my friends and myself."

Though "natural surrealist" was a label that helped translate Kahlo's paintings for European and American audiences, it was one that she always rejected. To be projected as a "surrealist" in Europe helped audiences to understand her work more immediately - more palatably. She was branded as authentically Mexican, with international flair. But to be seen as a " natural surrealist" also transformed her into a kind of sauvage: unconscious of her talent, unsuspecting of her mastery. After her debut, a Time magazine critic described her work as having "the daintiness of miniatures, the vivid reds and yellows of Mexican tradition and the playfully bloody fancy of an unsentimental child."

Kahlo was hardly unsuspecting, hardly unconscious of what she was doing and who she was. She knew how to capitalise on the elements of her private life and cultural heritage, curate them carefully, and use them to build her public persona. She was a mestizo, born in Mexico City, who had adopted a traditional Zapotec-Tehuana "look". Her father, the German-born Carl Wilhelm "Guillermo" Kahlo, was a well-known photographer, and the family lived in a neocolonial mansion in Coyoacán, the famous Casa Azul. Kahlo was very much aware of the complex politics of selfhood she was creating and manipulating. In a 1939 photograph taken during the opening of Kahlo's first exhibition in Paris, she is posing in front of Lo que el agua me dio. She is wearing a Tehuana dress and her unibrow is underscored with black eyeliner: Frida representing Frida. (It is unclear which one is the artwork.)

The way Kahlo's work and persona were read in Mexico was of course very different from the way they were translated into other cultural milieux. Just as Breton had attached the category "natural surrealist" to her art and framed her work in a discourse that she herself did not embrace, many others did the same with various aspects of her public and private life.

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A post-revolutionary symbol of modernity: The casa-estudio designed for Rivera and Kahlo by Juan O'Gorman. Photograph: Pawel Toczynski/Getty Images

An interesting example of this is the house and studio in Mexico City where she and Diego Rivera lived and worked during some of their most productive years in the 1930s. It was designed by Juan O'Gorman, the young architect who was then pioneering the radical architectural changes that took place in post-revolutionary Mexico City.

Before the Mexican Revolution (1910-20), 19th-century neoclassical and colonial architecture dominated. French-influenced mansions across the city stood like lonely homages to a quickly decaying European noble class, and the family life of the Mexican bourgeoisie played out in the sumptuous and darkened stages of these interiors, with their heavy drapes and excessive ornamentation. But after the revolution new ideas about hygiene, ventilation, comfort, efficiency and simplicity made their way into the city. Houses, and with them daily life, were transformed radically and rapidly.

Attuned to the ideological and architectural changes taking place, the couple asked O'Gorman to design a studio and house for them. He created a space specifically for a couple of painters - at once separated and connected. The buildings were the first in Mexico designed for specific functional requirements: living, painting and showcasing work.

Perhaps without knowing it, the architect designed a house whose function it was to allow an "open" relationship

In 1933, a few years after Kahlo and Rivera married, they moved in. Rivera's area was larger, with more work space. Kahlo's was more "homely", with a studio that could transform into a bedroom. A flight of stairs led from her studio to a rooftop, which was connected by a bridge to Rivera's space. Beyond being a workplace, it became a space for the couple's extramarital affairs: Rivera, with his models and secretaries; Kahlo, with certain talented and famous men, from the sculptor and designer Isamu Noguchi to Leon Trotsky. Perhaps without knowing it, O'Gorman designed a house whose function it was to allow an "open" relationship.

¶

The house was an emblem of modernity and a kind of manifesto: a solitary example of a new functionalism in a city that was still trying to find a national architectural language that best suited its revolutionary programme. It did not encode traditional values or messages. It simply addressed the practical necessities of its dwellers, was materially efficient (primarily made of reinforced concrete), socially progressive and cheap.

With time, however, as neutral as the buildings may have been intended to be in their architecture, they ended up functioning as a site of Mexican cultural capital, especially one connected to indigenous Mexican craftsmanship. The couple were hosts to visitors who came to see their work and works-in-progress, as well as their collections of arts and crafts: Trotsky, Nelson Rockefeller, Pablo Neruda, John Dos Passos, Sergei Eisenstein, Breton.

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Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo. Kahlo's self-portrait, The Two Fridas (1939), hangs in the background. Photograph: Hulton Archive/Getty Images

O'Gorman gave Rivera and Kahlo a machine to live in, as Le Corbusier would have had it, but also a machine to translate in. Their home brought in foreignness as much as it served as a platform to project a particular idea of Mexico to the world. More than anything, it provided the stage for the power couple of Mexican modernity: cosmopolitan, sophisticated, well-connected and more Mexican than Mexico. The couple's ultimate oeuvre was, of course, themselves. Kahlo and Rivera were, perhaps, Mexico's first performance artists, and their casa-estudio was their very own gallery.

In 1934 the photographer Martin Munkacsi visited Mexico and copiously documented the house and studios. The pictures had been commissioned for Harper's Bazaar, the New York-based fashion magazine which was directed at an upper-class female audience, mostly American but also French and British. In Harper's July 1934 issue, a double-page spread titled "Colors of Mexico" displayed three of Munkacsi's many photographs: one of Kahlo crossing the bridge from one house to the other; one of Rivera working in his studio; and one of Frida climbing the staircase to the roof. In the centre of the layout, there is a large photograph of the couple walking beside the cactus fence; a caption explains "Diego Rivera with Señora Freida [sic] Kahlo de Rivera before the cactus fence of their Mexico City home."

The buildings were designed to embody a proletkult ideology, resembling a factory or industrial complex, with its visible water tanks, its exposed materials and raised supporting columns. The cacti fence surrounding the house, if seen in relation to it, added to the general industrial feeling. However, Harper's chose the image that best decontextualised the cacti fence and thus presented it as a folkloric, decorative element. To the right of that central image appeared a series of photographs of barefooted Mexican peasants selling crafts and riding mules.

An accompanying piece written by Harry Block - a New York editor - describes his search for the perfect Mexican sandals: "All Mexico walks on huaraches (pronounced wahratchehs and meaning sandals) ..." Juxtaposed with the portrait of Rivera and Kahlo - he, dressed like a European dandy, solid leather shoes included; she, wearing pointy black boots - Block's ode to the huarache seems rather forced.

The Harper's piece is a perfect example of how Mexico was perpetuated in such stories as a marginal space, with glimpses of modernity a rare exception to the rule. The magazine shows an utterly foreign Mexico, but in a way that also makes it easier to capture and explain to foreign audiences through its associated cliches. It is a form of translation that simplifies the complex operations that took place in the Rivera-Kahlo home.

A functionalist Mexican house that showcased post-revolutionary art? Impossible! Let's just use the picture with the cacti.

The colonising narratives go on. In 2002, Weinstein asked Salma Hayek for a more-sexy Kahlo - more nudity, less unibrow

This instance of colonising narratives in cultural translations was not the end but the beginning. In 2002, Harvey Weinstein's company distributed the film Frida, starring Salma Hayek, asked for a more-sexy Kahlo - more nudity, less unibrow - and got away with it. In a 2016 concert stunt in Mexico, Madonna pulled a Frida lookalike from the audience, said she was "so excited" to finally meet Frida, and then handed her a banana as a token.

Last Halloween, my 21-year-old niece was dragged by her friend to a New York college party. She wasn't wearing a costume, was not really in the mood. At some point, a trio of Wonder Women stumbled in: red knee-high boots, star print bikini-bottoms, strapless tops, gold headbands fastened around long blond hair.

One of the three wonders took a long swig from a bottle and almost fell back, suddenly noticing my niece, standing behind her. She turned round and looked straight into her face. She studied it up close. Like many women in my maternal family, my niece inherited a dark, robust unibrow. The Wonder Woman finally said: "Oh my god, it's Frida Kahlo!".

* Valeria Luiselli's Tell Me How It Ends is published by 4th Estate. Frida Kahlo: Making Herself Up opens at the V&A, London SW7, on 16 June.
Topics

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Frida, the unapologetic bitch. Frida, the disabled artist. Frida, symbol of radical feminism. Frida, the victim of Diego. Frida, the chic, gender-fluid, beautiful and monstrous icon. Frida tote bags, Frida keychains, Frida T-shirts, And also, this year's new Frida Barbie doll (no unibrow). Frida Kahlo has been subject to global scrutiny and commercial exploitation.

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Personal Framework

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Commissioned and Produced: 
Professor Peter Hopkins, Newcastle University - http://www.ncl.ac.uk/gps/staff/profile/peterhopkins.html

Design, Animation & Sound Design:
Stacy Bias - http://portfolio.stacybias.net

Music: 
Courtesy Kai Engel and licensed under Attribution-NonCommercial License http://freemusicarchive.org/music/Kai_Engel/Caeli/Kai_Engel_-_caeli_-_05_machinery_1506 

Special Thanks: to Newcastle University's Equality, Diversity and Inclusion Fund for providing funds to support the production of this video and to Kelechi Dibie and Vijaya Kotur for their advice and support.

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Teaching art or teaching to think like an artist? | Cindy Foley | TEDxColumbus