Identity & assemblage

I’ve stumbled on three clusters of ideas over the last couple of years that all seem to point in similar directions but which belong in different domains of study. On the one hand, I find these ideas really useful when thinking about the evocation of self in reminiscence and visual art activities. On the other hand, I could be mixing up ideas that shouldn’t be. (It’s my blog and I’ll write epistemologically unsound things if I want to.)

All three (sets of) ideas talk about assemblages. The first comes from ethnography. There’s a lovely paper by Bailey & Biggs (2012) looking at community identity amongst older adults in North Cornwall. I came across the paper whilst trying to get my head around the ideas of community and belonging. In the paper, Bailey and Biggs (citing an earlier paper by Crang & Cook, 2007) state that “a person’s identity can be understood as an assemblage of thoughts, feelings, memories, ways of doing things, possessions and so forth which does not fit together in a dedicated pattern but is always a compromise, always pragmatic, always in flux and never pure.” In a sense this is not anything new but the clarity and succinctness of the statement is great. In this case, Bailey and Biggs are talking both about a person’s understanding of their own identity, the ways that they perform their identity in public and the ways that they sustain that identity through material culture.

{They also go on, “conversations [are] active, creative exchanges: ‘Just like memory, the narrative itself is not a fixed text and depository of information, but rather a process and a performance… in orality, we are not dealing with finished discourse but with [dialogic discourse in the making].’” This speaks to my current bug-bear of unifying reminiscence and creativity but that’s a digression.}

The next set of ideas I’ve mentioned in previous posts is about the way that identity is represented mentally. It emerges out of the field of cognitive semantics and the work of Struiksma, Noordzij & Postma (2009). Their work indicates that the idea of an object (technically the spatial relationships between two objects but we can extend this to objects and people) can be made up of multiple elements drawing on different perceptual modalities, affective states and propositional information. The idea that the idea of a thing contains draws on different modalities is fairly uncontentious but there is little consensus over whether the representation is actually amodal, modal or supramodal (see also Harley, 2013; Shallice & Cooper, 2011). The fine detail is fascinating but not essential, our representation of another person’s identity can be thought of as an assemblage of elements which is open to, and enriched by, our experiences with that person (Taylor & Zwaan, 2013). If this is correct then there should be some correlation between the content of our identity-assemblage of another person and that person’s performative assemblage of identity, though they exist in completely different registers.

Just recently, I’ve been trying to get my head into phenomenology. It’s already become clear that there are multiple schools of phenomenology (Pernecky, 2016) and this next bit is typed with trepidation. Thus far, I’ve spent most time with an introductory text by Sokolowski (1999), who identifies himself with an ‘East Coast’ (American) interpretation of phenomenology and what follows is my reading of Sokolowski. For Sokolowski, phenomenology undertakes to overcome the cognitive turn in psychology by positing that consciousness is always consciousness of a thing which is beyond ourselves. The world and the things in it are given to us and we are “the datives of manifestation” (I love this phrase!). What comes across clearly is that the idea of an object is not singular but, rather, the identity is a rich (potentially, ever-unfolding) manifold. Sokolowski takes a strong position that the identity does not exist as an idea in our head but is outside of us and, in some register, is a property of the object. Other approaches are, I suspect, available (Pernecky, 2016). What appeals to me about Sokolowski’s phenomenology is that it (a) identity in manifold expresses in a more nuanced way something of the identity-assemblage I was trying to get at earlier and (b) seems to offer a bridge between performative and cognitive identity assemblages.

This is a bit of work-in-progress but I find that it offers a way to talk about the richness of human (& object) encounters that museums staff and researchers are variously facilitating and studying. It allows me to think about how, for example, carers read so much from the behaviour of the person they are caring for whilst they are engaged in art activities. I’ve definitely not got the phenomenological angle pinned down yet but there is mileage in it.


Bailey, J. and Biggs, I. (2012) ‘“Either Side of Delphy Bridge”: A deep mapping project evoking and engaging the lives of older adults in rural North Cornwall’, Journal of Rural Studies, 28(4), pp. 318-328.

Harley, T.A. (2013) The psychology of language: From data to theory. Hove, UK: Psychology Press.

Pernecky, T. (2016) Epistemology and metaphysics for qualitative research, London: Sage Publications Ltd

Shallice, T. and Cooper, R. (2011) The organisation of mind. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press.

Sokolowski, R. (1999) Introduction to phenomenology, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press

Struiksma, M.E., Noordzij, M.L. and Postma, A. (2009) ‘What is the link between language and spatial images? Behavioral and neural findings in blind and sighted individuals’, Acta Psychologica, 132(2), pp. 145-156.

Taylor, L.J. and Zwaan, R.A. (2013) ‘Fault-tolerant comprehension’, in Coello, Y. and Bartolo, A. (eds) Language and action in cognitive neuroscience. Hove, UK: Psychology Press, pp. 145-158.

Posted in art, Cognition, identity, reminiscence | Leave a comment

Magical Poppies

Ages ago, I wrote a blog post about ‘Magical Touching‘. It was based on Carolyn Korsmeyer’s excellent paper exploring people’s affective experience of genuine objects and how this is shaped by their beliefs of them. Just recently, I attended a seminar at Media, Culture, Heritage by Dr Joanne Sayner and Dr Jenny Kidd about their work on the Field of Blood poppy installation at the Tower of London and the subsequent touring exhibitions ‘Wave’ and ‘Weeping Window’. Amongst other things, Joanne touched on the use of the poppy as a brand by the Royal British Legion as part of their endeavour to raise more funds for their charitable work.

These two threads came together when a letter from the Royal British Legion came through my post containing this little snippet…

Advert for ‘Passchendaele 100’ Poppy Pin

This is fascinating!

All the things that Korsmeyer wrote about are put to work in this product: a pin hammered out of brass fuses from shells used during the battle at Passchendaele, soil from battlefield worked into the enamel. All of this presumably designed to evoke those affective reactions from people who get emotionally engaged in the touch of the genuine and encounters with things from the past. And, again presumably, someone must have identified a potential market for whom this experience of the genuine will be appealing. Otherwise, why make them to raise money?

Of course, the sense of the genuine is being manufactured. This irony, which is inherent in so much heritage, is palpable here.



Korsmeyer, C. (2012) ‘Touch and the Experience of the Genuine’, British Journal of Aesthetics, 52(4): 365-377

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Wanted! A Grand Unifying Theory

I want a grand unifiying theory. Not one for physics (that would be too easy!) but one for the sorts of work that museums do with older people. I want a theoretical grounding that can underpin (and give value to): reminiscence work, creative activities, holistic (cognitive) stimulation, tours of stores with tea & cake. All of it.

When a colleague from Jamtli & I gave a talk at a conference in London, we got some well-mannered grief from a few people for focusing on reminiscence. There is, I think, a turn away from reminiscence in some quarters and towards creative activities. Part of this is motivated by a desire to forget memory and focus on who people are now. ‘Forget Memory’ is a book by Ann Basting. Basting’s work is fantastic – humane, compassionate, insightful and inspiring. Her work has changed people’s lives for the better as well as exploring the potential for creativity as therapeutic tool. I feel churlish arguing with all of this – but I’m going to.

I want to argue with the notion that we can be entirely in the moment and I want to argue that there is no disconnect between reminiscence and creativity.

A recent article in The Psychologist magazine (April 2017) drew on the hypothesis that the human capacity for autobiographical memory emerges out of our capacity to imagine future possibilities. The authors used this to draw memory and creativity much more closely together. Thus, thinking about the future and thinking about the past are both imaginative acts. I also want to argue, along with others, that if recalling autobiographical memories is actually an act of reconstruction, which is responsive to the audience, then it should be seen as a form of storytelling. However, I also want to draw on work that sees narrative as something that incorporates more than just words but remains open to the embodied nature of human being and doing.

From the other side, as I read through data about creative activities with older people, I see people drawing on their past in order to be in the present. Participants recall their past working lives or holidays they went on as a way of understanding and giving meaning to the activity in hand. More fundamentally, and more speculatively, I would argue that most people already have an understanding of what it means to do art and that shapes what they understand of what they are being invited to do in a session. (Gadamer’s notion of ‘games’, at least in the way that Risatti described it, may be helpful here.)

So… that’s the argument I’m going to make. Now all I have to do is write/edit the book!

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Confessions of an object obsessive

A friend of mine runs Curiosity Creative, a centre for digital storytelling in the North East of England. She invited me to attend a workshop to create a story but the theme of the workshop was stories about the history of Newcastle and I realised that I wanted to try and tell a (sort of) story that used objects to explore why I’m fascinated by objects. So thought I would try to put it in a blog instead.

This is ‘Overheard in Doi Saket’ an album of field recordings from Thailand by Kate Carr. I bought it when it came out in 2014. It is the first (and, so far, only) album that I’ve bought which comes on a Micro SD card.

Overheard in Doi Saket by Kate Carr

I am a sucker for quirky experiments in format. The label is handwritten and the text on the booklet which unfolds out is so small I could feel my eyes straining to focus on it. (Thankfully, the album comes with a pdf of the the booklet.)

The first albums that I bought were on cassette. Sleeve notes were, in retrospect, larger though my eyes would have been younger. I am wary of the idea that objects have agency, instead I prefer Chemero’s (2003) version of affordances. He argues that affordances emerge out of relationships between the capacities of the individual and the physical [and social] qualities of the environment. So, creating new technology changes the nature of the environment and, combined with my ageing eyes, new affordances emerge. Cassettes came with their own affordances and practices. I probably took it all for granted when I was a teenager but it came to light in recent years as I watched my eldest child grapple with this unfamiliar technology.

“So.. do I have to turn the tape over?”, he asked


“How do I do that?”


Cue an explanation of which buttons to press and the most timorous example of lifting a cassette out of the player and turning it round then before putting it back in.

There is an on-going cassette music scene and it is possible that my children will get all retro on me, but it seems unlikely that they will ever need a pencil to listen to music. Nor will they sit by the radio to record their favourite singles. Or, sadly, wander down to the library to explore whatever musical randomness they have there. I am running the risk of getting all nostalgic but I think that all these experiences shape the way that we receive the music. The most obvious is the way that cassettes and records constrained our listening to 20, 30 or 45 minute chunks before forcing an interlude on us. This is something that my kids really don’t have to experience… apart from at tea-time when I generally choose the music. They also won’t get the dubious pleasure of walking into a dodgy, bootleg music store (like the one that used to exist on Oxford Road in Manchester) to order really rough recordings of concerts made on concealed tape recorders smuggled into the venue. However, what they probably will get is the emotional link with music and they will probably find, when they look back on their lives, how the music is nestled in a wider network of associated memories which give that music a deeper personal meaning.

I started buying records around the age of 16. One of the first records that I bought was ‘Gone to Earth’ by David Sylvian. Everything about it was fabulous to me. The artwork was abstract and gorgeous. It was a double-vinyl album and the songs on the second record were all instrumental and unlike most music that I had hitherto encountered.

Front cover of ‘Gone to Earth’ by David Sylvian.

Inner gatefold sleeve of ‘Gone to Earth’ with ‘Overheard at Doi Saket’ for comparison.










I am a sucker for the tiny, daily rituals that cohere around things. Take, for example, all the faff that comes with making an espresso. (No coffee pods for me!) Maybe the rituals create order, maybe they enforce a slower pace of doing things – I don’t know, but I relish them. Records came with lots of ritual especially the second-hand ones that I hunted down in record fairs: All that holding them up to the light to look for scratches and careful reading of sleeve notes, all that wiping down of the record surface before playing the album: I love it.

Again, I only really became aware of all of this through my kids. I moved on to CDs, like most people did, from 1990 onwards. But with the resurgence of records in the last 5 years or so, I dug out my record player and some of my old records. Initially ‘the playing of the record’ was like a whole-family event. The kids gathered round to watch this strange ritual take place. They were slightly bewildered by the click-clack sound of the record player stopping and the need to turn the record over. But the records themselves were also changed by their sojourn in the loft or, rather, their sleeves were.  The inner sleeves on ‘Gone to Earth’ now smell like an old library. This does not make me sad.

The new focus on records is slightly different to when records were ‘normal’. There is a stronger focus on the physicality of the object. Stickers emphasise that the records are made with heavyweight vinyl and the contrast between the weight and solidity of records being made now compared to when they were mass-produced objects is palpable.

Feel the weight…

(This all probably makes me sound like some grouchy, middle-aged man afflicted by a grumbly nostalgia. I don’t think I am. Over the years, I have worked my way through a succession of mp3 players and, each time one breaks down, I find it difficult to get rid of them. Their portability means that they occupy a place my life that I value and that records and record players never could.)

Back to ‘Overheard in Doi Saket’, the album of field recordings. I got into field recordings after stumbling upon Framework Radio, via Resonance FM. Field recording attends to aspects of our experience of the environment that is often overlooked (oh, the joy of metaphor). The attention to the sonic environment and how that shapes our experience of place seemed to dovetail with my interest in how we experience objects and how they evoke memory. Framework Radio is produced by Patrick McGinley, who also produces field recordings and compositions under the name of ‘murmer’. His own work often focuses on this network of associations between sounds, physicality and memory. The Framework 500 album contains sounds of the album sleeves being made in McGinley’s local paper factor.

Framework 500 – handmade and lovely.

His own latest album is also an embodiment of these ideas. The thick paper sleeve is embossed with skeletons of leaves, enhancing its tactility. Each album comes with a fragment from abandoned noted books that McGinley found in a nearby ruined mill. The found objects reflect the found sounds used in the compositions on the album. Memory is alluded to throughout the object and the music.

‘Songs for Forgetting’ by murmer (with its very own forgotten fragment).

This is the heart of my fascination with objects – they are ubiquitous and rich in meaning but, being unobtrusive, our interactions with them shape our daily life-experience in ways we don’t often reflect on unless, of course, you have children who oblige you to look at life anew.


Chemero, A. (2003). An Outline of a Theory of Affordances. Ecological Psychology, 15(2), 181-195.

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A plethora of perspectives

It’s been a while (10 months!) since I last posted on this blog. I’ve been studying, and writing a dissertation for, a MSc in Psychology. There were some fascinating potential tangents to explore along the way but it was too much (for me) to try and construct coherent pieces of writing that weren’t work or study. The dissertation has been submitted and I am trying to find the space to read, think and write in a slightly less focused way.

I did the MSc for a variety of reasons. Part of it was simply to gain a piece of paper which showed that I knew stuff. Bourdieu (1986, 2011) observed that the knowledge of the autodidact is always open to question and that qualifications work as a culturally accepted way of vouchsafing a person’s knowledge base. I read this after I started the MSc but recognised it’s pertinence to my own situation. A more positive reason for doing the MSc was that it allowed me to consolidate my knowledge of Psychology (which it definitely did) and, finally, it gave me a chance to explore a topic I’m interested in through my dissertation. Essentially, I was paying to do the research of my own choosing.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, I chose to focus on people and objects for my dissertation. But dissertations are funny things: you have to focus down really quickly. Most Masters students start out with questions that are too big for a dissertation and would probably struggle to fit in a PhD. So I knew I needed to be specific.

Subject disciplines represent a way of looking at, and exploring, the world. A lot of researchers start from a particular disciplinary perspective and concomitant methodology and ask: what questions can I usefully address from this perspective? The challenge with starting from a topic is that there are multiple disciplinary perspectives that could usefully be applied to it. So, I was interested in the way that people interact with each other and with objects. In principle, this could be approached from: anthropology; (cognitive) archaeology; consumer studies; design & ergonomics; ethnography; material culture studies; sociology to name a few possibilities. But, of course, I was doing a Psychology dissertation and this sets the terms of what methods and epistemologies are acceptable and what are not. It has been observed that your methods represent your licence to speak to a particular academic community (Suri, 2013). Similarly, compliance with those methods is part of the process of learning in order to be associated with that community. Hence most of the methods associated with that list of disciplines were simply not open to me. In a similar way, certain concepts were also just not allowable. Hope’s (2016) notion of practitioner-researchers who know through working and practice towards a resolution was (sadly) out of the window. The idea that objects have agency, as in Actor-Network Theory, was also clearly out of bounds but I have real issues with this notion so that wasn’t such a problem.

Then there was the issue of whether or not to do something that fell into the category of experimental cognitive research. I did consider doing a study where I showed people images of unfamiliar and familiar objects and measured their responses using an EEG. (It turned out that someone has already done something similar using fMRI.) The (ex-)engineer in me found this deeply appealing but, actually, I was interested in work that reflected daily practices in museums and which could potentially inform ideas of good practice. Furthermore, if you accept that people’s behaviour is shaped by the social situation and by the actions of others then looking at objects in isolation in a lab just won’t be the same as looking, handling and talking about objects with others in a gallery setting.

All this filtering to get to the point where I was sure that I was going to watch people handling unfamiliar, contemporary craft objects. Sorted!! But then how was I going to interpret the data? Cue the familiar experience of wandering innocently into a topic and then discovering all the debates that I was blissfully unaware of. Slowly I began to discover the differences between Conversation Analysis and Pragmatics; the implications of considering gesture as a communicative tool; the emerging fields on the fringes of Psychology which try to hold in balance social and cognitive processes in (embodied) social interaction. Needless to say each of these fields involves academics who, if you put them in a room together would have a polite but fearsome debate about methodologies and epistemologies and (after a few drinks) probably ontologies too. I just wanted to fashion a space that worked for me!

In the end, what I did sat on the fringes of Psychology. It was thoroughly qualitative. I took the [dyad + object] as my unit of study and not the individual. I focused on observational data but followed others who saw interaction emerging out of the interplay of social and cognitive factors. I endeavoured to treat interaction as an embodied process. I tried to hold the tension between Pragmatics (language as meaningful) and Conversation Analysis (interaction as achieving social goals). There was (is) considerably more in the data than I could handle within the constraints of a dissertation. There was (is) also considerably more for me to learn. So, hopefully, I will carve out the time to unpick the data and pursue the topic some more. If I’m really lucky, I might get paid to do it.


Bourdieu, P. (2011). The forms of capital. (1986). Cultural theory: An anthology, 81-93.

Hope, S. (2016) Bursting paradigms: a colour-wheel of practice-research. Cultural Trends, 25(2), 74–86

Suri, H. (2013). Epistemological pluralism in research synthesis methods. International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 26(7), 889–911.


Posted in Cognition, embodiment, object handling, Objects, qualitative methods, research methodology, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Brain dump – knowing and sharing

I tried to sit down and read a paper but I’m still banging my head against this idea of different ways of knowing and I couldn’t settle down so I’m going to off-load onto text.

Skinner (him of behaviourism, pigeons, boxes and food pellets) wrote in a paper back in the 60s that you didn’t need statistics. The need for statistics, he argued, was a side-effect of working with the construct of ‘mind’, which was a bad idea from start to finish as far as he was concerned. Skinner didn’t need statistics because he didn’t try to investigate mind. Instead, Skinner researched behaviour. Skinner went on to argue that he knew he was right because he could predictably control behaviour. The proof was in the eating of the pudding rather than in an analysis of the ingredients.

Now,  Skinner’s rants against mind and his expectation of the dawning day when we all gave up on mind and just studied behaviour sound like the ravings of an ill-fated prophet for a doomed ideology. But I like this essay because there is an important idea lurking within it (apart from dismissing statistics): What constitutes valid forms of knowing? And, who are we knowing at?

Deciding who gets to define what is a valid form of knowledge is a form of politics, an exercise in power and in determining which voices are allowed to be heard. I know… this is nothing new. But how do you go about negotiating places at the table? And how do you get people go value and accept other forms of knowledge.

Much of the work on using the arts as a form of creative engagement with older people posits that the arts are an alternative way of communicating and (implicitly) of knowing. Hope’s paper ( which I discussed in the previous blog post) posits practice as a form of tacit knowledge. How do we put these on a par (equal in status but different in other ways) to the ways of knowing that are so familiar and comfortable to those that often have the purse strings (statistical and biological ways of knowing, for instance). How do we de-familiarise those ways of knowing to those knowers so that they become more aware of their own assumptions?

The other question that is bugging me comes back to this idea of sharing practice. If practice is a form of tacit knowledge and if (as according to Collins) tacit knowledge arises as practices are shared in social settings. Then surely the way to share practice is actually through some form of public rehearsal of that practice. Isn’t it?

This brain-dump was prompted by a workshop that I attended yesterday. Before it began I had a lovely chat with a pair of artists about how we went about thinking through stuff. We contrasted my academic scaffold of knowledge with their, more practice based, ways of knowing. The workshop itself included 3sessions that tried very different approaches.

The first, led by the took a much more experiential approach. It was a creative or, at least, meditative session. We were , led to reflect on our experience and you got a sense of how the facilitators go about their practice. It was lovely and insightful. I don’t think we could all go away afterwards and do the same but we might know which direction we needed to head in.

The second took a traditional approach, sharing about their practice but not really conveying any sense of how they do what they do. At the end of it we had a sense of outcomes but you’d have no inkling of how to go about it. (Maybe that was the intention.) Actually, I ended up grinding my teeth as the presenter rolled out the old left brain, right brain, analytical, creative nonsense – I was the epitome of restraint. Mostly.

The third opted for a ‘middle way’ of opening with some experiential work, with us as participants rather than facilitators, followed by some academic scaffolding.

I think that there might be a another option,  which might involve reviewing videos of good practice and thinking together about what works and why. But there are a host of practical issues and ethical hurdles to make that work.

(And breathe…) There, now that’s done I can go back to reading papers rather than staring at them furiously.

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Is this me (us)?

I feel that I ought to open with a disclaimer. I am sometimes an educator and sometimes a researcher. One of the things I like about being an educator is the balance of control and improvisation. I am a bodger of makeshift solutions to immediate and temporary problems; an improviser of responses to unforeseen questions. I shy away from the term, ‘creative’. I am not an artist.

So, I was slightly bewildered to experience a sense of recognition when reading a paper on arts practice as research. ‘Bursting paradigms: a colour wheel of practice-research’ (Hope, 2016) looks at the different ways that arts practice and research intersect. She expands the (apparently) traditional distinctions of research into, through and as (for) arts practice into a six-fold spectrum of possibilities.

Hope is looking at arts practices as a research paradigm in the UK and the issues that people have been wrestling with over the last couple of decades. “When framing practice as research there is a tendency to foreground the process. How and why am I going about this and how does it relate to other processes of trying things out in a similar way?” One of the challenges with this is that it foregrounds certain ways of knowing and of communicating that knowledge that don’t necessarily fit well with the academic focus on the written word.

The point where I started to recognise myself, and the work of other museums staff, was where Hope starts to talk about the way that artist-researchers work. “A common thread that perhaps [runs] through practice-research is one where methodologies emerge because of the practice, rather than prior to it. […] [When research starts with practice] questions and methodology emerge through making, doing, and testing things out. Searching might therefore be iterative, improvised, and intuitive resulting in cyclical or reciprocal research dynamics rather than always focusing on searching for the answers to a predefined question.” Later, Hope notes that “practitioner-researchers “do not merely ‘think’ their way through or out of a problem, but rather they ‘practice’ to a resolution””. This last bit feels like a lot of education work – iterating round to a working solution when faced with new challenges or new audiences.

Doesn’t this describe the work that museums’ staff are engaged in as they explore how to work with people with dementia?

I’ve had a couple of lovely conversations with staff at the Royal Albert Memorial Museum in Exeter about their on-going work in this area. This feels like a good description of what they are doing. And the Active Ageing Officers at Beamish. And, almost certainly, others.

Hope goes on to discuss research paradigms. A research paradigm underlies the ontology, epistemology, and methodology that a researcher might sign up to. It gives clues as to where, philosophically, the researcher is coming from, defined as a shared set of “beliefs and values, laws, and practices which govern a community of practitioners”. […]  “Existing research paradigms include a positivist worldview, which implies research is scientifically verifiable and can be proved or disproved, [and] a non-positivist understanding, implying situated knowledge that acknowledges subjectivity of the researcher and the significance of context. […] How a researcher relates to these different ways of viewing the world will depend on the discipline they are coming from and the focus of their research. Practice-research is often aligned to a non-positivist tradition that uses a qualitative methodology.”

It has to be said that communities of researchers and communities of educators are perhaps less reflexive of their own ontologies and epistemologies than they might be. (Though, to be fair, I usually have to get my dictionary out to make sure I understand what epistemologies are, before I work up to reflecting on my own.) I also find this personally challenging as I was initially trained in a positivist worldview and am trying to cross-over into a non-positivist tradition. (Painful!) However, as Hope notes, while “ontologies might be distinct, approaches, discoveries, and research questions might overlap and interweave.”

It seems that arts-based research paradigms still face various challenges. One is how to establish validity. Another is that, in some cases, “the practice becomes the research itself, rather than a description or illustration of the research”, which means that interested others must engage “with the practice not just a writing-up of the practice.” This is something else I’m trying to get my head around at the moment – how do you effectively share good, creative practice when so much of that practice is based on tacit knowledge? Finally, Hope finds that “practice is not trusted [within academia] […] the dominant paradigms remain intact with a polite nod to alternative ways of working.” I suspect that the same could be true of the various funding and political agencies that museums work with in order to support their work.

On the whole though, it strikes me that this idea of the practitioner-researcher is something that I can usefully appropriate for my own work and one which helpfully re-frames a lot of the work that I see going on in the museums sector, nationally & internationally.


Hope, S. (2016) Bursting paradigms: a colour-wheel of practice-research. Cultural Trends, 25(2), 74 – 86

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