Bibliografias temáticas: "French Textile design" – Grafiati (2024)

Resumo:

Global warming represents a major subject on all society levels including governments, economic actors and citizens. The textile industry is often considered a polluting activity. In this project, French textile manufacturers sought to quantify the carbon footprint (CF) of sold clothes and household linen using Life Cycle Assessment in France for the purpose of reducing it to meet the constraints of Paris Agreement by 2050. First, manufacturers calculated the carbon footprint of 17 clothes and household linen products and established alternative scenarios for four production routes. Secondly, they modeled the supply of the upstream sector through different countries. Based on imports of textile products, their calculated CF for one French person reaches 442 kg of CO2eq/year. Means of action to reduce this carbon footprint by a factor of 6 (74 kg of CO2eq/person/year for textiles) are calculated and are the following: installing the most energy-intensive production processes in a country with a low carbon electricity mix, avoiding unsold goods, implementing eco-design approaches and enhancing the value of end-of-life products with reuse or recycling. Therefore, CF for textiles per capita is reduced to 43 kg CO2eq/year which goes beyond the objectives of Paris Agreement and facilitates carbon neutrality in the textile sector. The first priority for reducing the French carbon footprint of clothes and household linen would be to locate textile production in countries with (i) low carbon electricity, (ii) to reduce unsold items, and (iii) to elaborate ecodesign of product including circular economy.

Resumo:

French bean [Phaseolus vulgaris (L.)] is among the leading export vegetable in Africa, mostly produced by small-scale farmers. Unfavorable environmental conditions and heavy infestations by insect pests are among the major constraints limiting production of the crop. Most French bean producers grow their crop in open fields outdoors subject to harsh environmental conditions and repeatedly spray insecticides in a bid to realize high yield. This has led to rejection of some of the produce at the export market as a result of stringent limits on maximum residue levels. Two trials were conducted at the Horticulture Research and Teaching Field, Egerton University, Kenya, to evaluate the potential of using agricultural nets (herein referred to as agronets) to improve the microclimate, reduce pest infestation, and increase the yield and quality of French bean. A randomized complete block design with five replications was used. French bean seeds were direct-seeded, sprayed with an alpha-cypermethrin-based insecticide (control), covered with a treated agronet (0.9 mm × 0.7 mm average pore size made of 100 denier yarn knitted into a mesh impregnated with alpha-cypermethrin), or covered with an untreated-agronet (0.9 mm × 0.7 mm average pore size made of 100 denier yarn knitted into a mesh not impregnated with insecticide). Alpha-cypermethrin and agronets were manufactured by Tagros Chemicals (India) and A to Z Textile Mills (Tanzania), respectively. Covering French bean with the agronets modified the microclimate of the growing crop with air temperature increased by ≈10%, relative humidity by 4%, and soil moisture by 20%, whereas photosynthetic active radiation (PAR) and daily light integral (DLI) were decreased by ≈1% and 11.5%, respectively. Populations of silverleaf whitefly [Bemisia tabaci (Gennadius)] and black bean aphids [Aphis fabae (Scopoli)] were reduced under agronet covers as contrasted with control plots. Furthermore, populations of both pests were reduced on French bean grown under impregnated agronets compared with untreated agronets, but only on three of the five sampling dates [30, 44, and 72 days after planting (DAP)] for silver leaf whitefly or at only one of the five sampling dates (30 DAP) for black bean aphid. Covering French bean with agronets advanced seedling emergence by 2 days and increased seedling emergence over 90% compared with control plots. French bean plants covered with both agronet treatments had faster development, better pod yield, and quality compared with the uncovered plants. These findings demonstrate the potential of agronets in improving French bean performance while minimizing the number of insecticide sprays within the crop cycle, which could lead to less rejection of produce in the export market and improved environmental quality.

Resumo:

AbstractDespite alefforts for a sustainable production system, many companies are still struggling to implement environmental aspects in their daily product development processes. Among the evaluation and improvement methods, life cycle assessment (LCA) is one of the most popular tools to achieve this goal. Up to date, LCA has been applied to many products, services, and industrial systems to evaluate their environmental impact aspects. However, there is a wide range of indicators available to be applied for LCA, and choosing an inappropriate indicator may lead the product designer to achieve wrong and weak results. Therefore, this paper proposes to overcome this difficulty by developing a method that can be used as a knowledge transfer to product designers and LCA practitioners in order to help them to make the most appropriate choice of LCA indicators. This method should have some characteristics, such as (a) to be adaptable to a given context and (b) to be dynamic, scalable, and easy to learn. The purpose of this paper is to present the Evaluation Method for Choosing Indicator (EMCI) developed to facilitate the learning process of LCA methods and to quickly select their most appropriate indicators. To validate the EMCI method, a case study on a French textile industry has been implemented. The focus was to evaluate how LCA indicators and methods were chosen to be integrated into the suitable eco-design LCA tool.

Resumo:

Textiles waste is relatively small in terms of weight as compared to other waste streams, but it has a large impact on human health and environment, and its rate is increasing due to the ‘fast fashion’ model. In this paper, we examine the French national programme for managing post-consumer textiles and clothing through a case study research. To date, France is the only country in the world implementing an extended producer responsibility (EPR) policy for end-of-use clothing, linen and shoes. The case highlights the benefits of using an EPR policy and provides interesting insights about the challenges faced by the textiles waste sector. For instance, the EPR policy has contributed to a threefold increase in the collection and recycling rates of post-consumer textiles since 2006. In addition, the material recovery rate of the post-consumer textiles can reach 90%, 50% of which can be directly reused. However, the ‘reuse’ stream is facing some challenges because its main market is in Africa and many African countries are considering banning the import of used textiles to encourage a competitive textiles industry locally and internationally. The EPR policy shows a great potential to identify new markets for ‘reuse’ and to improve the textiles waste sector. Such an EPR policy also could drive societies to financially support innovation and research to provide feasible solutions for fashion producers to adopt eco-design and design for recycling practices. This paper provides guidance for policy makers, shareholders, researchers and practitioners interested in diverting post-consumer textiles and clothing waste from landfills and promoting circular textiles transition.

Resumo:

This essay describes the evolution of the garment known as a blusa, worn by urban women in north-western Algeria. The blusa, a full-length dress with short sleeves, was conceived and developed in the cities of Tlemcen and Oran. It incorporates locally meaningful traditions as well as fashion styles in conjunction with different cultures. Its transformation illustrates how Algerian women resisted cultural assimilation through dress while creatively appropriating western European textiles, techniques and aesthetics in their clothing, during the French colonial period (1830–1962) and its aftermath. The exploration of the contemporary blusa variations reveals how the relationship between clothing and identity is still highly complex in Algerian cities. To date, the invention, the rituals, the design, and the production of the blusa dress has been little studied. This paper reconstitutes an historical puzzle based on recent object-based research and anthropological investigations. It seeks to interpret the blusa as an interface between tradition and modernity.

Resumo:

Abstract Shortly after opening in 1936, the Finnish interior design company Artek organized two exhibitions in Helsinki: a model apartment showroom and a display within its shop, both involving a substantial presence of Amazigh carpets from the French protectorate of Morocco. This article analyses these rugs within Artek identifying them as “colonized textiles.” This proposed concept aims to highlight textiles within the appropriation of non-Western cultural fragments by structures of imperialism and coloniality, while parallelly problematizing the inclusion of Amazigh rugs within architectural modernism. The movement of Amazigh rugs from Morocco to Finland, and their transition from Amazigh communities to European modernist interiors, are described through key events and exhibitions from the interwar era. The involvement of Artek actors and the process leading to the founding of Artek are highlighted within this context. Exhibitions are presented as a stage for the interaction of discourses on modernism and imperialism, and for the reiteration of constructed narrations directed by élite circles, supporting the appropriation and commodification of colonized textiles in Europe. Political agendas of cultural supervision within the French protectorate of Morocco are described while situating Amazigh rugs in this context. Parallelly, the relevance of textiles is highlighted within discussions on architectural modernism.

Resumo:

Inaugurated in 1740, the majestic building of the new royal palace in Copenhagen would play a key role in the introduction of new stylistic waves over the next 50 years, until the palace sadly was destroyed by a devastating fire in 1794. As the title suggests, the disappearance of these interiors has left a serious lacuna in the understanding of the period’s art and architecture. All the famous architects and artists of the time worked in the palace and from this, the central monument of eighteenth-century Denmark, new ideas spread throughout the realm. A few drawings have survived, and together with the abundance of written sources, we can get a rather good impression of the character of these interiors, even to the point where it is possible to reconstruct quite a few of them in drawings. An example of this is the bedroom of the Crown Princess Marie Sophie Frederikke from 1790, from which there furthermore exist pieces of furniture and richly embroidered textiles (fig. 12-19). At the outset, the interiors of the palace were decorated in the early rococo style (figs. 4–7) by the young architects L. de Thurah and N. Eigtved, who both had recently been on long journeys in Europe, where they had studied the newest architecture. The French sculptor L.-A. Le Clerc was responsible for the design of all the ornamental work on the building, and since the ornaments played such a vital part in the concept of the whole style, Le Clerc came to play a key role in the interior design (fig. 9). Furthermore, the well-documented use of up-to-date literature about the latest developments in French architecture as well as direct artistic contact with the Court of Versailles, ensured that the interiors lived up to the standards of the time. The early variant of the classical revival, the Louis Seize, was introduced by the French architect N.-H. Jardin and later on developed further by his pupil, C.F. Harsdorff (fig. 8), aided by the talented architect and decorator C.F. Lillie. In this article, a part of the palace’s north wing is used as an example of the development of not only style and fashion, but also the different ways in which the rooms were used over the years. Inaugurated in 1740, the majestic building of the new royal palace in Copenhagen would play a key role in the introduction of new stylistic waves over the next 50 years, until the palace sadly was destroyed by a devastating fire in 1794. As the title suggests, the disappearance of these interiors has left a serious lacuna in the understanding of the period’s art and architecture. All the famous architects and artists of the time worked in the palace and from this, the central monument of eighteenth-century Denmark, new ideas spread throughout the realm. A few drawings have survived, and together with the abundance of written sources, we can get a rather good impression of the character of these interiors, even to the point where it is possible to reconstruct quite a few of them in drawings. An example of this is the bedroom of the Crown Princess Marie Sophie Frederikke from 1790, from which there furthermore exist pieces of furniture and richly embroidered textiles (fig. 12-19). At the outset, the interiors of the palace were decorated in the early rococo style (figs. 4–7) by the young architects L. de Thurah and N. Eigtved, who both had recently been on long journeys in Europe, where they had studied the newest architecture. The French sculptor L.-A. Le Clerc was responsible for the design of all the ornamental work on the building, and since the ornaments played such a vital part in the concept of the whole style, Le Clerc came to play a key role in the interior design (fig. 9). Furthermore, the well-documented use of up-to-date literature about the latest developments in French architecture as well as direct artistic contact with the Court of Versailles, ensured that the interiors lived up to the standards of the time. The early variant of the classical revival, the Louis Seize, was introduced by the French architect N.-H. Jardin and later on developed further by his pupil, C.F. Harsdorff (fig. 8), aided by the talented architect and decorator C.F. Lillie. In this article, a part of the palace’s north wing is used as an example of the development of not only style and fashion, but also the different ways in which the rooms were used over the years.

Resumo:

Walk, walk, fashion babyWork it, move that b***h crazy — Lady Gaga, “Bad Romance” There's a brand new dance but I don't know its nameThat people from bad homes do again and againIt's big and it's bland, full of tension and fearThey do it over there but we don't do it hereFashion! Turn to the leftFashion! Turn to the right — David Bowie, “Fashion” Piece by pieceMy emotions are glued togetherYou’re a new patternSent towards one another: We have a secretive and thrilling motionOoh ooh ooh, you are my fashion — TaeYeon, “Fashion” The word ‘fashion’ conjures images of glitzy 90s supermodels stomping down a catwalk, a flock of Victoria Secret Angels flying in formation, or a crew of K-pop girl and boy bands sporting the latest looks and setting trends in hair, makeup, and fitness. In an age of Instafame and TikTok influencers, it is easy to view ‘fashion’ purely as something trivial or fleeting. We might talk of the latest fashions, or the ‘centuries old’ traditions of regional and folk garments. Fashion can mean the manner in which something is done or a fashionable way of thinking. It can also be used to discuss how things are created or fabricated, from heavy metals used in technology to lightweight garment fabrics and trims. Much of fashion studies focusses on Europe and North America, with the Fédération Française de la Couture (French Federation of Fashion and of Ready-to-Wear Couturiers and Fashion Designers) still holding sway over haute couture houses. If East Asian and South East Asian fashion is mentioned, it is usually in terms of textiles and manufacturing rather than couture or innovation. However, Japanese designer Hanae Mori (1026-2022) was the first Asian woman to be admitted as a design house to the Fédération in 1951. Mori notably had the patronage of Empress Masako, Hillary Clinton, Nancy Reagan and Grace Kelly. More recently, Chinese designer Guo Pei (b. 1967) was the first Asian designer to be invited as a guest member of the Chambre Syndicale de la Haute Couture (Trade Association of High Fashion) as part of the Fédération. We started this editorial with lyrics to pop and K-pop songs that reference fashion, but anyone familiar with Guo Pei will be aware of her rise in the popular zeitgeist when Bajan singer Rhianna attended the 2015 Met Gala in a 2008 yellow fur gown that weighed 25 kilos. However, fashion is also a place of protest and resistance. We need only look at the current protests in Iran which have seen women burn their hijabs in public after 22-year-old Mahsa Amini was arrested in September for allegedly breaking the country’s dress code, and mysteriously died in custody. At the time of writing, at least 83 people, including children, have been killed in the protests which are, above all, about a woman’s right to control her body and her clothing choices. The theme for this issue is drawn from the 2021 “Fashioning Gender in Asia” Women in Asia conference, convened by the Asian Studies Association of Australia (ASAA) Women’s Forum by Dr Emerald L. King, Dr Wendy Mee, Associate Professor Kerstin Steiner, and Associate Professor Sallie Yea. With much of the world’s textile and clothing production located in Asia, the theme for this issue lends itself to a wide interpretation of ‘fashion’ such as the slow fashion movement, garment construction, haute couture, cosplay and ‘bounding’, and gender expression through clothing. In this issue, we consider how bodies are fashioned and re-fashioned through social pressure, protest, resistance, and illness. We also consider how fashion and fashioning the body across time and space have become contested symbols not only of persona, gender, or sexualised bodies, but also of national identity or of how the nation is embodied through fashion. We begin with a feature article by Monika Winarnita, Sharyn Graham Davies, and Nicholas Herriman which looks at how Indonesian policewomen’s bodies are clothed and controlled in their role as border control and symbol of the nation. This article was based on a plenary talk by Sharyn Graham Davies for the 2021 Women in Asia Conference described above. Kathryn M. Tanaka discusses the importance of maintaining individual identity through dress and makeup in the face of institutionalisation and loss of self after a diagnosis of Hansen’s disease in turn-of-the-century Japan. Michelle Aung Thin reveals how secret fashion shoots in 70s Myanmar were an act of resistance and rebellion that is mirrored by current-day campaigners during the 2021 coup d’état. Carmen Sapunaru Tamas draws back the curtain on the glamourous world of Taisu Engeki in Japan, positing that this relatively unknown form of performance is just as valid as its more respected cousins kabuki, noh, and drag. In stark contrast, Robyn Gulliver discusses how ordinary tote bags and t-shirts have become a space of everyday protest in Australasia. Arnoud Arps looks at the performance of memory by Indonesian re-enactor groups who create modern-day interpretations of key moments during the turbulent and violent war for independence between 1943 and 1949. Megan Catherine Rose, Haruka Kurebayashi, and Rei Saionji return to Japan, where they investigate the affective potential of the ensembles created by Harajuku and decora street style practitioners. Moving from the streets of Japan to China, Amber Patterson-Ooi and Natalie Araujo look at how designers such as Guo Pei can use haute couture to interrogate and explore specific cultural imaginaries as well as the nature of gender and the socio-political climate in contemporary China. We close with an excerpt from Denise N. Rall’s 2022 edited collection, Fashion, Women, and Power: The Politics of Dress, which traverses the globe in its critique of power dressing and gender.

Resumo:

Introduction“From every kind of man obedience I expect; I’m the Emperor of Japan.” (“Miyasama,” from Gilbert and Sullivan’s musical The Mikado, 1885)This commentary is facilitated by—surprisingly resilient—oriental stereotypes of an imagined Japan (think of Oscar Wilde’s assertion, in 1889, that Japan was a European invention). During the Victorian era, in Britain, there was a craze for all things oriental, particularly ceramics and “there was a craze for all things Japanese and no middle class drawing room was without its Japanese fan or teapot.“ (V&A Victorian). These pastoral depictions of the ‘oriental life’ included the figures of men and women in oriental garb, with fans, stilt shoes, kimono-like robes, and appropriate headdresses, engaging in garden-based activities, especially tea ceremony variations (Landow). In fact, tea itself, and the idea of a ceremony of serving it, had taken up a central role, even an obsession in middle- and upper-class Victorian life. Similarly, landscapes with wild seas, rugged rocks and stunted pines, wizened monks, pagodas and temples, and particular fauna and flora (cranes and other birds flying through clouds of peonies, cherry blossoms and chrysanthemums) were very popular motifs (see Martin and Koda). Rather than authenticity, these designs heightened the Western-based romantic stereotypes associated with a stylised form of Japanese life, conducted sedately under rule of the Japanese Imperial Court. In reality, prior to the Meiji period (1868–1912), the Emperor was largely removed from everyday concerns, residing as an isolated, holy figure in Kyoto, the traditional capital of Japan. Japan was instead ruled from Edo (modern day Tokyo) led by the Shogun and his generals, according to a strict Confucian influenced code (see Keene). In Japan, as elsewhere, the presence of feudal-style governance includes policies that determine much of everyday life, including restrictions on clothing (Rall 169). The Samurai code was no different, and included a series of protocols that restricted rank, movement, behaviour, and clothing. As Vincent has noted in the case of the ‘lace tax’ in Great Britain, these restrictions were designed to punish those who seek to penetrate the upper classes through their costume (28-30). In Japan, pre-Meiji sumptuary laws, for example, restricted the use of gold, and prohibited the use of a certain shade of red by merchant classes (V&A Kimono).Therefore, in the governance of pre-globalised societies, the importance of clothing and textile is evident; as Jones and Stallybrass comment: We need to understand the antimatedness of clothes, their ability to “pick up” subjects, to mould and shape them both physically and socially—to constitute subjects through their power as material memories […] Clothing is a worn world: a world of social relations put upon the wearer’s body. (2-3, emphasis added)The significant re-imagining of Japanese cultural and national identities are explored here through the cataclysmic impact of Western ideologies on Japanese cultural traditions. There are many ways to examine how indigenous cultures respond to European, British, or American (hereafter Western) influences, particularly in times of conflict (Wilk). Western ideology arrived in Japan after a long period of isolation (during which time Japan’s only contact was with Dutch traders) through the threat of military hostility and war. It is after this outside threat was realised that Japan’s adoption of military and industrial practices begins. The re-imagining of their national identity took many forms, and the inclusion of a Western-style military costuming as a schoolboy uniform became a highly visible indicator of Japan’s mission to protect its sovereign integrity. A brief history of Japan’s rise from a collection of isolated feudal states to a unified military power, in not only the Asian Pacific region but globally, demonstrates the speed at which they adopted the Western mode of warfare. Gunboats on Japan’s ShorelinesJapan was forcefully opened to the West in the 1850s by America under threat of First Name Perry’s ‘gunboat diplomacy’ (Hillsborough 7-8). Following this, Japan underwent a rapid period of modernisation, and an upsurge in nationalism and military expansion that was driven by a desire to catch up to the European powers present in the Pacific. Noted by Ian Ferguson in Civilization: The West and the Rest, Unsure, the Japanese decided […] to copy everything […] Japanese institutions were refashioned on Western models. The army drilled like Germans; the navy sailed like Britons. An American-style system of state elementary and middle schools was also introduced. (221, emphasis added)This was nothing short of a wide-scale reorganisation of Japan’s entire social structure and governance. Under the Emperor Meiji, who wrested power from the Shogunate and reclaimed it for the Imperial head, Japan steamed into an industrial revolution, achieving in a matter of years what had taken Europe over a century.Japan quickly became a major player-elect on the world stage. However, as an island nation, Japan lacked the essentials of both coal and iron with which to fashion not only industrial machinery but also military equipment, the machinery of war. In 1875 Japan forced Korea to open itself to foreign (read: Japanese) trade. In the same treaty, Korea was recognised as a sovereign nation, separate from Qing China (Tucker 1461). The necessity for raw materials then led to the Sino-Japanese War (1894–95), a conflict between Japan and China that marked the emergence of Japan as a major world power. The Korean Peninsula had long been China’s most important client state, but its strategic location adjacent to the Japanese archipelago, and its natural resources of coal and iron, attracted Japan’s interest. Later, the Russo-Japanese War (1904–05), allowed a victorious Japan to force Russia to abandon its expansionist policy in the Far East, becoming the first Asian power in modern times to defeat a European power. The Russo-Japanese War developed out of the rivalry between Russia and Japan for dominance in Korea and Manchuria, again in the struggle for natural resources (Tucker 1534-46).Japan’s victories, together with the county’s drive for resources, meant that Japan could now determine its role within the Asia-Pacific sphere of influence. As Japan’s military, and their adoption of Westernised combat, proved effective in maintaining national integrity, other social institutions also looked to the West (Ferguson 221). In an ironic twist—while Victorian and Continental fashion was busy adopting the exotic, oriental look (Martin and Koda)—the kimono, along with other essentials of Japanese fashions, were rapidly altered (both literally and figuratively) to suit new, warlike ideology. It should be noted that kimono literally means ‘things that you wear’ and which, prior to exposure to Western fashions, signified all worn clothing (Dalby 65-119). “Wearing Things” in Westernised JapanAs Japan modernised during the late 1800s the kimono was positioned as symbolising barbaric, pre-modern, ‘oriental’ Japan. Indeed, on 17 January 1887 the Meiji Empress issued a memorandum on the subject of women’s clothing in Japan: “She [the Empress] believed that western clothes were in fact closer to the dress of women in ancient Japan than the kimonos currently worn and urged that they be adopted as the standard clothes of the reign” (Keene 404). The resemblance between Western skirts and blouses and the simple skirt and separate top that had been worn in ancient times by a people descended from the sun goddess, Amaterasu wo mikami, was used to give authority and cultural authenticity to Japan’s modernisation projects. The Imperial Court, with its newly ennobled European style aristocrats, exchanged kimono silks for Victorian finery, and samurai armour for military pomp and splendour (Figure 1).Figure 1: The Meiji Emperor, Empress and Crown Prince resplendent in European fashions on an outing to Asukayama Park. Illustration: Toyohara Chikanobu, circa 1890.It is argued here that the function of a uniform is to prepare the body for service. Maids and butlers, nurses and courtesans, doctors, policemen, and soldiers are all distinguished by their garb. Prudence Black states: “as a technology, uniforms shape and code the body so they become a unit that belongs to a collective whole” (93). The requirement to discipline bodies through clothing, particularly through uniforms, is well documented (see Craik, Peoples, and Foucault). The need to distinguish enemies from allies on the battlefield requires adherence to a set of defined protocols, as referenced in military fashion compendiums (see Molloy). While the postcolonial adoption of Western-based clothing reflects a new form of subservience (Rall, Kuechler and Miller), in Japan, the indigenous garments were clearly designed in the interests of ideological allegiance. To understand the Japanese sartorial traditions, the kimono itself must be read as providing a strong disciplinary element. The traditional garment is designed to represent an upright and unbending column—where two meters of under bindings are used to discipline the body into shape are then topped with a further four meters of a stiffened silk obi wrapped around the waist and lower chest. To dress formally in such a garment requires helpers (see Dalby). The kimono both constructs and confines the women who wear it, and presses them into their roles as dutiful, upper-class daughters (see Craik). From the 1890s through to the 1930s, when Japan again enters a period of militarism, the myth of the kimono again changes as it is integrated into the build-up towards World War II.Decades later, when Japan re-established itself as a global economic power in the 1970s and 1980s, the kimono was re-authenticated as Japan’s ‘traditional’ garment. This time it was not the myth of a people descended from solar deities that was on display, but that of samurai strength and propriety for men, alongside an exaggerated femininity for women, invoking a powerful vision of Japanese sartorial tradition. This reworking of the kimono was only possible as the garment was already contained within the framework of Confucian family duty. However, in the lead up to World War II, Japanese military advancement demanded of its people soldiers that could win European-style wars. The quickest solution was to copy the military acumen and strategies of global warfare, and the costumes of the soldiery and seamen of Europe, including Great Britain (Ferguson). It was also acknowledged that soldiers were ‘made not born’ so the Japanese educational system was re-vamped to emulate those of its military rivals (McVeigh). It was in the uptake of schoolboy uniforms that this re-imagining of Japanese imperial strength took place.The Japanese Schoolboy UniformCentral to their rapid modernisation, Japan adopted a constitutional system of education that borrowed from American and French models (Tipton 68-69). The government viewed education as a “primary means of developing a sense of nation,” and at its core, was the imperial authorities’ obsession with defining “Japan and Japaneseness” (Tipton 68-69). Numerous reforms eventually saw, after an abolition of fees, nearly 100% attendance by both boys and girls, despite a lingering mind-set that educating women was “a waste of time” (Tipton 68-69). A boys’ uniform based on the French and Prussian military uniforms of the 1860s and 1870s respectively (Kinsella 217), was adopted in 1879 (McVeigh 47). This jacket, initially with Prussian cape and cap, consists of a square body, standing mandarin style collar and a buttoned front. It was through these education reforms, as visually symbolised by the adoption of military style school uniforms, that citizen making, education, and military training became interrelated aspects of Meiji modernisation (Kinsella 217). Known as the gakuran (gaku: to study; ran: meaning both orchid, and a pun on Horanda, meaning Holland, the only Western country with trading relations in pre-Meiji Japan), these jackets were a symbol of education, indicating European knowledge, power and influence and came to reflect all things European in Meiji Japan. By adopting these jackets two objectives were realised:through the magical power of imitation, Japan would, by adopting the clothing of the West, naturally rise in military power; and boys were uniformed to become not only educated as quasi-Europeans, but as fighting soldiers and sons (suns) of the nation.The gakuran jacket was first popularised by state-run schools, however, in the century and a half that the garment has been in use it has come to symbolise young Japanese masculinity as showcased in campus films, anime, manga, computer games, and as fashion is the preeminent garment for boybands and Japanese hipsters.While the gakuran is central to the rise of global militarism in Japan (McVeigh 51-53), the jacket would go on to form the basis of the Sun Yat Sen and Mao Suits as symbols of revolutionary China (see McVeigh). Supposedly, Sun Yat Sen saw the schoolboy jacket in Japan as a utilitarian garment and adopted it with a turn down collar (Cumming et al.). For Sun Yat Sen, the gakuran was the perfect mix of civilian (school boy) and military (the garment’s Prussian heritage) allowing him to walk a middle path between the demands of both. Furthermore, the garment allowed Sun to navigate between Western style suits and old-fashioned Qing dynasty styles (Gerth 116); one was associated with the imperialism of the National Products Movement, while the other represented the corruption of the old dynasty. In this way, the gakuran was further politicised from a national (Japanese) symbol to a global one. While military uniforms have always been political garments, in the late 1800s and early 1900s, as the world was rocked by revolutions and war, civilian clothing also became a means of expressing political ideals (McVeigh 48-49). Note that Mahatma Ghandi’s clothing choices also evolved from wholly Western styles to traditional and emphasised domestic products (Gerth 116).Mao adopted this style circa 1927, further defining the style when he came to power by adding elements from the trousers, tunics, and black cotton shoes worn by peasants. The suit was further codified during the 1960s, reaching its height in the Cultural Revolution. While the gakuran has always been a scholarly black (see Figure 2), subtle differences in the colour palette differentiated the Chinese population—peasants and workers donned indigo blue Mao jackets, while the People’s Liberation Army Soldiers donned khaki green. This limited colour scheme somewhat paradoxically ensured that subtle hierarchical differences were maintained even whilst advocating egalitarian ideals (Davis 522). Both the Sun Yat Sen suit and the Mao jacket represented the rejection of bourgeois (Western) norms that objectified the female form in favour of a uniform society. Neo-Maoism and Mao fever of the early 1990s saw the Mao suit emerge again as a desirable piece of iconic/ironic youth fashion. Figure 2: An example of Gakuran uniform next to the girl’s equivalent on display at Ichikawa Gakuen School (Japan). Photo: Emerald King, 2015.There is a clear and vital link between the influence of the Prussian style Japanese schoolboy uniform on the later creation of the Mao jacket—that of the uniform as an integral piece of worn propaganda (Atkins).For Japan, the rapid deployment of new military and industrial technologies, as well as a sartorial need to present her leaders as modern (read: Western) demanded the adoption of European-style uniforms. The Imperial family had always been removed from Samurai battlefields, so the adoption of Western military costume allowed Japan’s rulers to present a uniform face to other global powers. When Japan found itself in conflict in the Asia Pacific Region, without an organised military, the first requirement was to completely reorganise their system of warfare from a feudal base and to train up national servicemen. Within an American-style compulsory education system, the European-based curriculum included training in mathematics, engineering and military history, as young Britons had for generations begun their education in Greek and Latin, with the study of Ancient Greek and Roman wars (Bantock). It is only in the classroom that ideological change on a mass scale can take place (Reference Please), a lesson not missed by later leaders such as Mao Zedong.ConclusionIn the 1880s, the Japanese leaders established their position in global politics by adopting clothing and practices from the West (Europeans, Britons, and Americans) in order to quickly re-shape their country’s educational system and military establishment. The prevailing military costume from foreign cultures not only disciplined their adopted European bodies, they enforced a new regime through dress (Rall 157-174). For boys, the gakuran symbolised the unity of education and militarism as central to Japanese masculinity. Wearing a uniform, as many authors suggest, furthers compliance (Craik, Nagasawa Kaiser and Hutton, and McVeigh). As conscription became a part of Japanese reality in World War II, the schoolboys just swapped their military-inspired school uniforms for genuine military garments.Re-imagining a Japanese schoolboy uniform from a European military costume might suit ideological purposes (Atkins), but there is more. The gakuran, as a uniform based on a close, but not fitted jacket, was the product of a process of advanced industrialisation in the garment-making industry also taking place in the 1800s:Between 1810 and 1830, technical calibrations invented by tailors working at the very highest level of the craft [in Britain] eventually made it possible for hundreds of suits to be cut up and made in advance [...] and the ready-to-wear idea was put into practice for men’s clothes […] originally for uniforms for the War of 1812. (Hollander 31) In this way, industrialisation became a means to mass production, which furthered militarisation, “the uniform is thus the clothing of the modern disciplinary society” (Black 102). There is a perfect resonance between Japan’s appetite for a modern military and their rise to an industrialised society, and their conquests in Asia Pacific supplied the necessary material resources that made such a rapid deployment possible. The Japanese schoolboy uniform was an integral part of the process of both industrialisation and militarisation, which instilled in the wearer a social role required by modern Japanese society in its rise for global power. Garments are never just clothing, but offer a “world of social relations put upon the wearer’s body” (Jones and Stallybrass 3-4).Today, both the Japanese kimono and the Japanese schoolboy uniform continue to interact with, and interrogate, global fashions as contemporary designers continue to call on the tropes of ‘military chic’ (Tonchi) and Japanese-inspired clothing (Kawamura). References Atkins, Jaqueline. Wearing Propaganda: Textiles on the Home Front in Japan, Britain, and the United States. Princeton: Yale UP, 2005.Bantock, Geoffrey Herman. Culture, Industrialisation and Education. London: Routledge & K. Paul, 1968.Black, Prudence. “The Discipline of Appearance: Military Style and Australian Flight Hostess Uniforms 1930–1964.” Fashion & War in Popular Culture. Ed. Denise N. Rall. Bristol: Intellect/U Chicago P, 2014. 91-106.Craik, Jenifer. Uniforms Exposed: From Conformity to Transgression. Oxford: Berg, 2005.Cumming, Valerie, Cecil Williet Cunnington, and Phillis Emily Cunnington. “Mao Style.” The Dictionary of Fashion History. Eds. Valerie Cumming, Cecil Williet Cunnington, and Phillis Emily Cunnington. Oxford: Berg, 2010.Dalby, Liza, ed. Kimono: Fashioning Culture. London: Vintage, 2001.Davis, Edward L., ed. Encyclopaedia of Contemporary Chinese Culture. London: Routledge, 2005.Dees, Jan. Taisho Kimono: Speaking of Past and Present. Milan: Skira, 2009.Ferguson, N. Civilization: The West and the Rest. London: Penguin, 2011.Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Trans. Alan Sheridan. London: Penguin, 1997. Gerth, Karl. China Made: Consumer Culture and the Creation of the Nation, Cambridge: East Asian Harvard Monograph 224, 2003.Gilbert, W.S., and Arthur Sullivan. The Mikado or, The Town of Titipu. 1885. 16 Nov. 2015 ‹http://math.boisestate.edu/gas/mikado/mk_lib.pdf›. Hillsborough, Romulus. Samurai Revolution: The Dawn of Modern Japan Seen through the Eyes of the Shogun's Last Samurai. Vermont: Tuttle, 2014.Jones, Anne R., and Peter Stallybrass, Renaissance Clothing and the Materials of Memory. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2000.Keene, Donald. Emperor of Japan: Meiji and His World, 1852-1912. New York: Columbia UP, 2002.King, Emerald L. “Schoolboys and Kimono Ladies.” Presentation to the Un-Thinking Asian Migrations Conference, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand, 24-26 Aug. 2014. Kinsella, Sharon. “What’s Behind the Fetishism of Japanese School Uniforms?” Fashion Theory 6.2 (2002): 215-37. Kuechler, Susanne, and Daniel Miller, eds. Clothing as Material Culture. Oxford: Berg, 2005.Landow, George P. “Liberty and the Evolution of the Liberty Style.” 22 Aug. 2010. ‹http://www.victorianweb.org/art/design/liberty/lstyle.html›.Martin, Richard, and Harold Koda. Orientalism: Vision of the East in Western Dress. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1994.McVeigh, Brian J. Wearing Ideology: State, Schooling, and Self-Presentation in Japan. Oxford: Berg, 2000.Molloy, John. Military Fashion: A Comparative History of the Uniforms of the Great Armies from the 17th Century to the First World War. New York: Putnam, 1972.Peoples, Sharon. “Embodying the Military: Uniforms.” Critical Studies in Men’s Fashion 1.1 (2014): 7-21.Rall, Denise N. “Costume & Conquest: A Proximity Framework for Post-War Impacts on Clothing and Textile Art.” Fashion & War in Popular Culture, ed. Denise N. Rall. Bristol: Intellect/U Chicago P, 2014. 157-74. Tipton, Elise K. Modern Japan: A Social and Political History. 3rd ed. London: Routledge, 2016.Tucker, Spencer C., ed. A Global Chronology of Conflict: From the Ancient World to the Modern Middle East. Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-CLIO, 2013.V&A Kimono. Victoria and Albert Museum. “A History of the Kimono.” 2004. 2 Oct. 2015 ‹http://www.vam.ac.uk/content/articles/h/a-history-of-the-kimono/›.V&A Victorian. Victoria and Albert Museum. “The Victorian Vision of China and Japan.” 10 Nov. 2015 ‹http://www.vam.ac.uk/content/articles/t/the-victorian-vision-of-china-and-japan/›.Vincent, Susan J. The Anatomy of Fashion: Dressing the Body from the Renaissance to Today. Berg: Oxford, 2009.Wilde, Oscar. “The Decay of Lying.” 1889. In Intentions New York: Berentano’s 1905. 16 Nov. 2015 ‹http://virgil.org/dswo/courses/novel/wilde-lying.pdf›. Wilk, Richard. “Consumer Goods as a Dialogue about Development.” Cultural History 7 (1990) 79-100.

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This chapter studies Judith Weir’s The Voice of Desire (2003). Weir’s music is fresh, concise, and instantly recognizable, and it successfully assimilates, within a modern idiom, the elements of traditional music and storytelling which are integral to her artistic persona. The piece sets four poems concerning the ambivalent relationships between birds and humans. As may be expected, bird calls and sounds of nature are illustrated strikingly, especially in the piano part. The selected texts provide plenty of variety in mood and character: the first and third songs are the most substantial, and the last a sublimely simple strophic ‘jingle’ which has to be delivered with understated aplomb. The vocal tessitura stays in a rewarding medium range for the most part, taking advantage of natural resonances that can penetrate the texture with ease and adapt to timbral shadings according to context. Helpful pitch-cues, including unisons, are to be found frequently in the piano part. Although originally written for mezzo, it can also be performed effectively by a counter-tenor.

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Several pedological soil classification schemes have been developed to classify soils worldwide based on morphological features, stage of weathering, and to some extent their chemical and physical properties. Three soil classification systems are commonly used as research and teaching tools in the tropics, namely, the USDA Soil Taxonomy classification, the FAO/UNESCO World Soil Legends, and the French soil classification system. Brazil, the country with the largest land area in the tropics, has its own national soil classification system. However, soil survey, classification, and interpretation are costly and time-consuming, and few countries in the tropics have completed soil maps that are at a scale detailed enough to be useful to farmers and land users. In the absence of soil information at state, county or farm level, the authors propose a simple descriptive grouping of major soils in the tropics based on clay mineralogy to facilitate discussion on soil management and plant production in the subsequent chapters of this book. Reference to the Soil Taxonomy classification will be made when such information is available. It should be pointed out that the main purpose of this technical grouping is to provide field workers, especially those who are less familiar with the various soil classification systems, with a simple framework for planning soil management strategies. It by no means replaces the national and international soil taxonomy and classification systems that are designed for communication among soil scientists and for more detailed interpretation of soil survey data and land-use planning. This technical scheme classifies major arable soils in the tropics into four groupings according to their dominant clay mineralogy. They are • kaolinitic soils • oxidic soils • allophanic soils • smectitic soils Kaolinitic soils are deeply weathered soils with a sand, loamy sand, or sandy loam texture in the surface horizon and a clayey B horizon (20-60%). Silt content is low (< 20%) throughout the profile. Kaolinite (> 90%) is the dominant mineral in the clay fraction. These soils have an effective CEC of less than 12 cmol/kg of clay in the lower B horizon. Kaolinitic soils have a relatively high bulk density, especially in the clayey subsoil horizons (> 1.40 Mg/m3). The structure of the subsoil horizons is usually massive or blocky.

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One term that has acquired a particular air of consumer suspicion in recent years is “processed food. ” Processing is seen as being something that is used to make food less fresh, less natural, and so more suspicious. However, even though we say we don’t want processed food, every food product, before it gets to your mouth, has been subjected to some form of processing and treatment that has a scientific basis. Even washing an apple, chilling sushi, or peeling a banana are forms of food processing, while the bag of salad we buy in a shop or market isn’t full of air as we might expect. All of these phenomena I will discuss in coming chapters. Before dealing with the science of food processing, it is worth discussing what exactly that highly loaded term means. To a food scientist (well, me anyway), food processing means subjecting foods or raw materials to external forces designed to cause a desirable change in the food, typically in terms of its safety and stability, and also in many cases its flavor, texture, and color. In many cases, the primary target of food processing is the resident population of contaminating microorganisms that, if not dealt with, might otherwise cause the food to spoil, or else spoil the day of consumers who finds themselves with a range of symptoms of food poisoning, up to the most lethal. The force most commonly applied in processing is temperature, whether low (refrigeration), very low (freezing), high (for example, pasteurization or cooking), or very high (canning or sterilization). Temperature is indeed probably the key physical variable of significance to food, as almost everything that happens in and to food is influenced by temperature, and most changes take place optimally in a relatively narrow band around body temperature (37 °C). If temperature is pictured as a line scale, the zone of greatest danger and likelihood is centered around that point, but food processors look far below and above that zone and have come to understand how we can work around the optimum temperatures for various reactions and biological changes in order to make our food safer and more stable.

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Madame Grès (1903-1993) worked for six decades in the exclusive world of Parisian haute couture, creating clothes as if they were living sculptures, always in search of the ideal dress.Her legacy was designs marked by a ceaseless quest for absolute beauty. Her long,draped dresses crafted with obsession and technical mastery are a profound reflection on fashion, time and memory. In its undying association with sculpture, her oeuvre encloses an inherent affirmative, solid, timeless perpetuity. Respect for the principles of design lies in Grès’s discourse with textiles; because it is a discourse, a thought that is transformed into matter, that grows pleat by pleat in a game of alternating light and shade. The couturier's folds enclose successive pain and mystery, melancholy and persistence, obsession and conviction. There can be no doubt that Grès’s gowns were designed for the female form, in the cutting and manipulation of the fabric, in a prodigious, precise technique in which nothing could be left to chance. This is why they are perfect examples of the highest calling of design.Nonetheless, it is precisely in the relationship between body and gown, the harmony and tension between the organic and inorganic, that Grès’s work goes beyond mere design. It moves naturally into the real world of creation, as the couturier’s gowns do not just dress the body; they become the body itself, in which fabric and flesh turn into a single, indivisible, absolute entity. Even though her oeuvre was much wider than the so-called “goddess dresses”, the long draped gowns, reminiscent of eternal time, became her archetype. Incontrast with the ephemeral nature of fashion, it is my goal to show in the course of this paper that precisely the opposite can be true, through the observation of the French couturier’s meticulous, emotional and innovative pleating technique, in which the role of avant-garde materials is crucial. The expressive use of pleating and drapery in all its limitless variation and fluidity along the outside is rightly considered to be Grès’ hallmark. Grès had a profound respect for the textile material, honouring its integrity, preferring not to cut it, and reducing its size through successive pleats — the amplitude of her dresses’ skirts could occasionally reach twenty metres in diameter. Grès’s work was unmistakably modern, though it did not seem to belong to a particular age. At the same time, it takes us back to a distant past and forward into the future. The evocative power of her gowns is absolutely breathtaking. It is ingrained in their materiality, the details of their construction, and the quest for perfection and for beauty. Although a woman of her time, bound by a cultural context specific to her epoch, there is a deliberate quest for timelessness at the very heart of Grès’ work, which, I argue, can be perceived in her technique. In a manual process, wrapped in an emotional dimension, each draping, rib, or pleat is worked minutely, actively taking part in the construction of the garment’s final shape. The initial width of the fabric could be reduced to a few centimetres by an exquisite pleating technique: to be kept in place the folds were sewn at the back, a sartorial innovation in the universe of Parisian haute-couture. Time seems to be suspended by this technical detail. In the light of the French philosopher Henri Bergson's theory, this suspension can be seen as durée, a moment of simultaneity, an experience of temporality based on a constant interaction between the past (the classical approach), the present (the moment of the making of the dress) and the future (the preview of the following repetitive gesture of making). In the draping of the fabric, we become conscious of the physical dimension of the hand that created the sculptural object, that carved the cloth as if it was stone, involving the body in a game of hide and seek, concealing and revealing its contours, emphasising its movements. It is this tension between the body and the fabric that brings the dresses alive, as the result of an emotional relationship between the humanity of the making process and the technical innovation of the textile material.

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Our study was designed to elucidate the chemical determinants of pectin cross-linking in developing fruits of apple and peach and to evaluate the role of breakage cross-linkages in swelling, softening, and cell separation during the ripening. Peaches cell walls soften and swell considerably during the ripening, whereas apples fruit cells maintain wall firmness but cells separate during late stages of ripening. We used a "double-reduction" technique to show that levels of non-methyl esters of polyuronic acid molecules were constant during the development and ripening and decreased only in overripe fruit. In peach, methyl and non-methyl esters increased during the development and decreased markedly during the ripening. Non-methyl ester linkages in both fruit decreased accompanied fruit softening. The identity of the second component of the linkage and its definitive role in the fruit softening remain elusive. In preliminary examination of isolated apples cell walls, we found that phenolic compounds accumulate early in wall development but decrease markedly during ripening. Quantitative texture analysis was used to correlate with changes to wall chemistry from the fresh-picked ripe stage to the stage during storage when the cell separation occurs. Cell wall composition is similar in all cultivars, with arabinose as the principal neutral sugar. Extensive de-branching of these highly branched arabinans pre-stages softening and cell-cell separation during over-ripening of apple. The longer 5-arabinans remain attached to the major pectic polymer rhamnogalacturonan I (RG I) backbone. The degree of RG I branching, as judged from the ratios of 2-Rha:2,4-Rha, also decreases, specially after an extensive arabinan de-branching. Loss of the 4-Rham linkages correlated strongly with the softening of the fruit. Loss of the monomer or polymer linked to the RG I produce directly or indirectly the softening of the fruit. This result will help to understand the fruit softening and to have better control of the textural changes in fruit during the ripening and especially during the storage. 'Wooliness', an undesirable mealy texture that is induced during chilling of some peach cultivars, greatly reduces the fruit storage possibilities. In order to examine the hypothesis that the basis for this disorder is related to abnormality in the cell wall softening process we have carried out a comparative analysis using the resistant cultivar, Sunsnow, and a sensitive one, Hermosa. We investigated the activity of several pectin- and glycan-modifying enzymes and the expression of their genes during ripening, chilling, and subsequent shelf-life. The changes in carbohydrate status and in methyl vs. non-methyl uronate ester levels in the walls of these cultivars were examined as well to provide a basis for comparison of the relevant gene expression that may impact appearance of the wooly character. The activities of the specific polygalacturonase (PGase) and a CMC-cellulase activities are significantly elevated in walls of peaches that have become wooly. Cellulase activities correlated well with increased level of the transcript, but differential expression of PGase did not correspond with the observed pattern of mRNA accumulation. When expression of ethylene biosynthesis related genes was followed no significant differences in ACC synthase gene expression was observed in the wooly fruit while the normal activation of the ACC oxidase was partially repressed in the Hermosa wooly fruits. Normal ripening-related loss of the uronic acid-rich polymers was stalled in the wooly Hermosa inconsistent with the observed elevation in a specific PGase activity but consistent with PG gene expression. In general, analysis of the level of total esterification, degree of methyl esterification and level of non-methyl esters did not reveal any major alterations between the different fruit varieties or between normal and abnormal ripening. Some decrease in the level of uronic acids methyl esterification was observed for both Hermosa and Sunsnow undergoing ripening following storage at low temperature but not in fruits ripening after harvest. Our results support a role for imbalanced cell wall degradation as a basis for the chilling disorder. While these results do not support a role for the imbalance between PG and pectin methyl esterase (PME) activities as the basis for the disorder they suggest a possible role for imbalance between cellulose and other cell wall polymer degradation during the softening process.