Argument:
An MMO RPG is a strong contemporary example of a library, archive (and museum?) and IS coming together to create a universe within which a user operates & interacts with both the content and other users to create a unique experience grounded in a functioning universe with its own set of rules, ethics, moral codes, vocabularies, languages and forms of personal expression.
And:
We know this model works/functions in a concrete example: there are "cultural centers" which incorporate a library, archive and museum all in the same physical building in order that the activities of one "institution" are supported by (or support) the activities of one or both of the other two.
Question:
To what extent does the model actually work in real life? Are there statistics that support the argument that this model is better than the stand alone version of an archive, library or museum?
Question:
In what ways can a study of an MMO RPG through the lens of an information professional offer new perspectives on fairly old concepts of information management, i.e. librarianship and archiving. (N.B. this assumes that the only real advances in the management of information in libraries and archives (and museums?) has been the implementation of database systems, both relational and 'flat file', which alone have arguable positive influences on how any of these institutions functions within the breadth of society. Example: as the book ceases to be physical and continues to move toward the digital, how are libraries dealing with new opportunities, if they even know they exist? Could MMO RPGs offer perspectives that would enable the understanding of new opportunities?)
Monday, September 21, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
Archival irony - pt 1
Digital is everywhere. The book is no longer a physical object, and print, while not yet dead (imagines a faint British accent crying out "I'm not dead yet! I'm gettin' bettah!") has most definitely seen better days. Where does the future of archives fit into all this mess?
On the one side, global economies are in flux which means old markets have to be streamlined and re-vamped, while new markets have to be discovered and allowed blossoming time. Niche markets are where archives are headed, whether they realize it or not. Film archives, photograph archives, digital archives, culturally/ethnically/religously/genre-oriented archives... utilizing one central concept as a source of strength is certainly a reasonable marketing stragety.
Consider, though, how each and every archive operates, in one way or another, completely independantly from all the rest. The most important individualizing characteristic: budget. "Its our money, ergo we'll spend it how and where we like." This is a reasonable statement.
And yet, I am left wondering, what happens to all of the unifying historical information and data that is segregated and celled in separate locations, with separate governing policies, separated by staff, by priviledge, and by geography.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Within the history of archival arrangement - photography has lead an interesting life. When photographic documents were first beginning to be treated seriously as a readable document, the archival profession was not all in agreement as to how these new records should be dealt with. Where would they be stored? Their physical and chemical make-up was identified to be different enough from textual documents, as were the skills needed to read/interact with these documents. These differences were enough to warrant strong arguments for different preservation tactics and methodologies.
Due to this argument, a trend developed wherein all material that was identified as photographic in nature was physically separated from its context and surrounding content, and placed within the context of other similar documents. Arguments were very strong from within the professional, practicing community that photographic documents must be treated with the same attention and care and resources as textual material; unfortunately the argument at the time strongly favoured physical separation with no consideration to intellectual control. In reflection, best practices and standards for archives now incorporate a sensibility for the duality of that paradigm: upholding format-based preservation duties means a constant awareness for and maintenance of the original context.
Reflecting now upon that approach, I am curious how some of the same patterns will emerge, and how will they affect efforts to approach new media, in particular video games, such as mmorpg's. By approaching the format as something that is 'new' instead of approaching an evolving technology with a particular sensibility for previous reactions to new or evolving technologies, what patterns are going re-emerge that the archival community has previously encountered, analyzed and ... shelved?
By approaching a new media as though it is 'different' or 'segregated' and therefore requires whole new paradigms and critical analyses, is a dis-service being done to previous scholarly work as well as to future archival holdings?
Due to this argument, a trend developed wherein all material that was identified as photographic in nature was physically separated from its context and surrounding content, and placed within the context of other similar documents. Arguments were very strong from within the professional, practicing community that photographic documents must be treated with the same attention and care and resources as textual material; unfortunately the argument at the time strongly favoured physical separation with no consideration to intellectual control. In reflection, best practices and standards for archives now incorporate a sensibility for the duality of that paradigm: upholding format-based preservation duties means a constant awareness for and maintenance of the original context.
Reflecting now upon that approach, I am curious how some of the same patterns will emerge, and how will they affect efforts to approach new media, in particular video games, such as mmorpg's. By approaching the format as something that is 'new' instead of approaching an evolving technology with a particular sensibility for previous reactions to new or evolving technologies, what patterns are going re-emerge that the archival community has previously encountered, analyzed and ... shelved?
By approaching a new media as though it is 'different' or 'segregated' and therefore requires whole new paradigms and critical analyses, is a dis-service being done to previous scholarly work as well as to future archival holdings?
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Dungeons and Dragons archive?
I've recently stumbled across the open-source System Reference Documents for v3.5 DnD. After the recent lecture I attended at my Alma Mater Studorium (see last post), this has really got my thinking. DnD is a paper-based game, always has been. Where is the DnD archive? What has the DnD archive done to preserve internet-based documents?
(note: this was drafted in February 2009)
(note: this was drafted in February 2009)
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Thoughts on a recent lecture I attended
I recently attended a lecture at my Alma Mater Studorium which was given by a Megan Wignet who is currently working on her PhD at the University of Texas, Austin. Her general focus is on video-game archiving.
What follows is a combination of two things:
1) My notes as I was interpreting and scribbling during the lecture (in bold)2) My reactions to the notes I made, as well as the gist of the lecture (in italics)
I am writing out these things here because I hope to spill out some ideas and potentially encourage discussion, there is no other goal.
Thoughts on Megan Winget presentation January 28, 2009
Topic: Challenges & Current Practices in Game-Related Collections
Video game as: Cultural Artifact; Significant cultural industry; Entertainment medium
Also – social network medium; hobby (non-social activity) ?
Having an impact on cultural output by changing the nature of society – but I ask how?
Is it really changing the nature of society , or are the tools we use to shape culture and society evolving such that the old rules/standards/practices no longer are sufficient for applications to new media – such as video games, film, music
Digital Preservation – General Strategies:
Viewing problem – Migration; Emulation
Documentation issue (metadata)
What about issues of:
Confidence/privacy affecting abilities to gather statistics
I am curious what the history of archiving games looks like – and how would a review of this history affect/impact efforts to archive video games?
How will this perspective affect the theory and practice of archives?
Are we going to start saving every document simply by fact that it is extant?
In response to the statement “We have noticed that the concept of ‘fun’ has changed [over the past 10 years of gaming]” (as an example of the rapid changes occurring in the industry/media): I would argue that the concept of “fun” has not changed that significantly over the past thousands of years of human thought; similarly the concept of a game is one of the oldest recorded forms of social interaction. I would argue instead that the speed, rules and playability of games are now bound and limited by technology in ways we do not yet fully understand or are able to describe/see the full repercussions of – leaving me to wonder, is there a new media paradigm shift that has not yet been perceived?
So in my mind the question is not how has fun changed, but how has technology’s ability to represent games/concepts/events/etc affected social and cultural behaviour? Which games are then the benchmarks for these social/cultural/behavioural changes? Is it the game or is it the technology? This question seems to be critical – there are countless examples of ways in which technology has impacted upon culture/history/society so as to shape it in some way – are there examples of a game having the same affect?
Take the ball game for example – this is a sport that was played by an ancient Central American culture (shame I can’t remember which one at the moment). Sadly, most of the rules of the game are gone, and the intricacies of how to play as well as evidence of the experience is long lost to this world – and yet those who study the culture of these particular people are very aware of the significance this game had in their culture and society because representations of the game have survived.
Take choose-your-own-adventure books for example – the purpose of the book is to create an experience out of what is essentially a product. Are librarians charged with recording every version of the experience?
So where is this leading the theoretical/practical aspects of the profession – what can be reflected back upon our methods in an effort to change/improve/evolve?
Are we going down the path of assumption that simply because a document exists it is worth preserving? If document creation is a default by-product of contemporary tech-based media, are archivists responsible for documenting every single one?
An interesting observation was made regarding the natural dichotomy in the concepts of art and intent, and the new technological necessity that the two are somehow married – end result is incredibly curious for, if art is intent, then defining the intent is to re-define the art, or to nullify the true meaning of the conceptual piece. Again, this, to me, hints to the fact that the affects of the paradigm shift are not yet comprehensively appreciated.
There seems to be a universal media archive issue: dealing largely with popular culture means answering to questions about placing significant cultural/social/historical value in the context of something so young, evolving and baring the stigma that is somehow inherently peripheral to other significant forms of expression such as films, museums exhibitions, etc perhaps due to its firm grasp within cult/minority cultures. Thus the issue: how do we deal with this? What new methods must be developed? Old solutions will not universally apply to new problems.
Friday, December 12, 2008
One of the joys of my job is the constant discovery of things that aren't there, and how telling that can be. Sounds ludicrous, I know. Allow me to digress...
One of our collections contains the original production files for a small variety of film productions. We have anything from a couple to close to a dozen boxes for each title, and the contents of the boxes does generally produce a similar set of file titles - camera reports, cast/crew list, daily production reports, script drafts, production scripts, editors scripts, continuity files, etc. To any student or professional in the field of film, television, or advertising production, these titles will sound extremely familiar to the setting of a motion picture production.
As a student of languages and art history (2D still images primarily), most of these titles were quite foreign to me when I began listing the files of said collection, but after going through a relatively small percentage of the film production files a familiar set of titles was prominent in almost every box. Almost. One particular film falls directly in the 'genre' (if there is one) of contemporary blaxploitation insomuch as the all the elements of the film (plot, characters, dialogue, music) produce a purely stereotype representation of black people regardless of the target audience. The production files for this particular film totaled 3 bankers boxes - which within the context of the rest of the collection is on par with what would be expected of a B-rated film produced by said collection's company. In the boxes were files with the same titles as I expected to find by the time I was listing it - but they were much thinner than I expected. Further investigation revealed that in a number of those files, there were merely a few blank photocopies of forms whose titles matched those of the files (i.e blank daily production report forms were found in the daily production reports file).
I pose this next question will full understanding and awareness that I have no experience with motion picture production, merely the archiving of it: How can you expect to make a film that isn't a total piece of cultural trash without keeping some kind of record of what everyone is doing?
So where's the discovery, you're asking. Get to the freaking point already, you're saying, if you've managed to get this far at all. I'm close I promise.
According to accepted archival best practices and standards, it is generally a wise idea to purge those 'things' in our collections which have no unique information on them (space is and always will be a premium, alas). These blank forms have nothing on them that isn't recorded elsewhere, in fact some of these forms are an industry standard so they will be in every other box of film production records and documents that we have. Logically, what would be the point in keeping these blank files as no researcher in their right mind would go searching for 'the' prime examples of industry standard film production forms in the files of a production they've either never heard of or would rather they hadn't? If all the files in the boxes were just blank forms why keep them at all? Technically there is almost no record of the production of this particular film. Almost.
The two largest quantities of records in the boxes were continuity Polaroids and product placement files. Ah, the product placement files. In this case, these particular files were overstuffed with legal agreements with large product-driven companies. The continuity Polaroids capture images of mostly female cast members* in skimpy clothes or snapshots of portions of a scene where a particular product would be placed. Without a doubt, these are worth keeping, and their value is heightened by the sheer lack of anything other usable record of the production. And there is the discovery.
The blank files were kept, along with the rest of the Polaroids and product placement files. They will "forever" remain together - so that somewhere else down the line, the discovery is there for someone else to make.
*footnote - Whether the images of girls in skimpy outfits being the predominant still image record of the cast during production is a reflection of marketing/production values or is merely a reflection of the main cast's ownership over their own images, I do not know.
One of our collections contains the original production files for a small variety of film productions. We have anything from a couple to close to a dozen boxes for each title, and the contents of the boxes does generally produce a similar set of file titles - camera reports, cast/crew list, daily production reports, script drafts, production scripts, editors scripts, continuity files, etc. To any student or professional in the field of film, television, or advertising production, these titles will sound extremely familiar to the setting of a motion picture production.
As a student of languages and art history (2D still images primarily), most of these titles were quite foreign to me when I began listing the files of said collection, but after going through a relatively small percentage of the film production files a familiar set of titles was prominent in almost every box. Almost. One particular film falls directly in the 'genre' (if there is one) of contemporary blaxploitation insomuch as the all the elements of the film (plot, characters, dialogue, music) produce a purely stereotype representation of black people regardless of the target audience. The production files for this particular film totaled 3 bankers boxes - which within the context of the rest of the collection is on par with what would be expected of a B-rated film produced by said collection's company. In the boxes were files with the same titles as I expected to find by the time I was listing it - but they were much thinner than I expected. Further investigation revealed that in a number of those files, there were merely a few blank photocopies of forms whose titles matched those of the files (i.e blank daily production report forms were found in the daily production reports file).
I pose this next question will full understanding and awareness that I have no experience with motion picture production, merely the archiving of it: How can you expect to make a film that isn't a total piece of cultural trash without keeping some kind of record of what everyone is doing?
So where's the discovery, you're asking. Get to the freaking point already, you're saying, if you've managed to get this far at all. I'm close I promise.
According to accepted archival best practices and standards, it is generally a wise idea to purge those 'things' in our collections which have no unique information on them (space is and always will be a premium, alas). These blank forms have nothing on them that isn't recorded elsewhere, in fact some of these forms are an industry standard so they will be in every other box of film production records and documents that we have. Logically, what would be the point in keeping these blank files as no researcher in their right mind would go searching for 'the' prime examples of industry standard film production forms in the files of a production they've either never heard of or would rather they hadn't? If all the files in the boxes were just blank forms why keep them at all? Technically there is almost no record of the production of this particular film. Almost.
The two largest quantities of records in the boxes were continuity Polaroids and product placement files. Ah, the product placement files. In this case, these particular files were overstuffed with legal agreements with large product-driven companies. The continuity Polaroids capture images of mostly female cast members* in skimpy clothes or snapshots of portions of a scene where a particular product would be placed. Without a doubt, these are worth keeping, and their value is heightened by the sheer lack of anything other usable record of the production. And there is the discovery.
The blank files were kept, along with the rest of the Polaroids and product placement files. They will "forever" remain together - so that somewhere else down the line, the discovery is there for someone else to make.
*footnote - Whether the images of girls in skimpy outfits being the predominant still image record of the cast during production is a reflection of marketing/production values or is merely a reflection of the main cast's ownership over their own images, I do not know.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Finder of lost gems
I love to find things for other people. The look on people's faces when they see something they were searching for - the sense of recognition, obvious elation and the reflection of the memories across someones face as they begin to interact (perhaps once more?) with whatever it was they asked me to find.
I have a precious early memory of this very experience involving my grandmother. I would spend most of my afternoons with her as my parents worked late. Tutu (grandmother in Hawai'ian and the way she preferred to be referenced) would pick me up and take me to her house where I'd get to snack on coke and M&Ms while watching the almighty cable television networks. In the evenings we'd play cards together.
Well Tutu had a lot of jewelery, as I suppose lots of grandmothers will tend to do. One day when she picked me up, she was quite upset. She had lost something and spent all day searching for it. It was a pair of diamond earrings, with two sets of 'jacks' (one a ring of emeralds and the other three diamonds that hung vertically). She could remember exactly what they looked like, and even the exact size, shape and colour of the box she kept them in but for all of her efforts she couldn't find these earrings anywhere. What distressed her the most was that these earrings had been in the family for a generation or two, so losing them was akin to disrespecting ancestors.
I was known to go pawing through all of my Tutu's jewelery drawers, with her permission of course. She had some really great stuff from big baubles to gaudy plastics to fine gold chains to costume jewelery that made me look like a princess. And I always put everything back exactly where I had found it, that was the deal. I could look at any of Tutu's jewelery as long as I put it back right where I found it. This was an incredibly special relationship for me because unlike my parents, she never hovered over me or constantly reminded me to be careful. It was assumed I knew how to be gentle, and all she requested was that I respect her order when I moved things about. That was the only way she could find them later, if I put them back right where I found them.
But for all of my previous permitted snooping, I had never seen these earrings and had no clue what she was talking about. No image was coming to mind. I had never seen 'jacks' for earrings and only knew that somehow they 'attached' to the single diamond studded posts. I felt awful because I couldn't help her in any way, and of anyone I was in the best position to do so.
So fast forward a couple of days and its another lovely afternoon when I should be outside but I'm inside watching cable and sipping on a coke out of a Strawberry Shortcake tumbler. This afternoon, Tutu came to me with a request I'd gotten before: she wanted me to open one of her safes so she could get at something. She had two, and both were low on the ground and in less-than-optimal lighting. Kneeling was difficult for her at this point in her life and her eyes were not great, so it was a snap for me to help her and I was happy to do it. Plus how often to kids to get open safes? Big fun!
There I am, on my knees in front of this little safe, and just as she's trying to tell me the numbers and direction to turn the dial, I spot something under a chair close by. Its a small, brown, velvet box... a classic jewelery box. I snapped it up and having never seen it before, turned to my Tutu and said, "Tutu, what's this?"
"OH MY GAWD" she said in a voice that I can still hear if I close my eyes. It was the diamond posts, and the 'jacks' too. They had been in the very safe I was trying to open, and must have fallen out a week or so before while she was searching for something else. In the dim light, she never saw them hiding in the shadows, practically in plain sight.
I saw how happy she was to know these earrings were safe. I vividly remember a sense of relief that came over her instantly. I also remember the stories she started to tell me about these earrings, stories she had never told me before probably because the object in question was never in sight to remind her of them.
Its not a great story by any means, but it is a truly precious memory to me. It is the first memory I have of being helpful by doing what I love to do and tend to do best: finding things. Its important to me to recall that memory at times when I feel incredibly bogged down by the basic, technical work that I'm faced with lately. Too much lifting boxes, building boxes, transferring material from one box to another, listing that material, fixing the old listing of that material... it makes me frustrated and leaves me feeling incredibly lonely. I think of my Tutu when work drags me down because I am happy to know that I'm helping someone. I will never see the faces of the people I'm helping, but I can remember my Tutu's booming voice and sincere smile. Someday, it will be the booming voice of someone else, and think of the stories they will tell then!
I have a precious early memory of this very experience involving my grandmother. I would spend most of my afternoons with her as my parents worked late. Tutu (grandmother in Hawai'ian and the way she preferred to be referenced) would pick me up and take me to her house where I'd get to snack on coke and M&Ms while watching the almighty cable television networks. In the evenings we'd play cards together.
Well Tutu had a lot of jewelery, as I suppose lots of grandmothers will tend to do. One day when she picked me up, she was quite upset. She had lost something and spent all day searching for it. It was a pair of diamond earrings, with two sets of 'jacks' (one a ring of emeralds and the other three diamonds that hung vertically). She could remember exactly what they looked like, and even the exact size, shape and colour of the box she kept them in but for all of her efforts she couldn't find these earrings anywhere. What distressed her the most was that these earrings had been in the family for a generation or two, so losing them was akin to disrespecting ancestors.
I was known to go pawing through all of my Tutu's jewelery drawers, with her permission of course. She had some really great stuff from big baubles to gaudy plastics to fine gold chains to costume jewelery that made me look like a princess. And I always put everything back exactly where I had found it, that was the deal. I could look at any of Tutu's jewelery as long as I put it back right where I found it. This was an incredibly special relationship for me because unlike my parents, she never hovered over me or constantly reminded me to be careful. It was assumed I knew how to be gentle, and all she requested was that I respect her order when I moved things about. That was the only way she could find them later, if I put them back right where I found them.
But for all of my previous permitted snooping, I had never seen these earrings and had no clue what she was talking about. No image was coming to mind. I had never seen 'jacks' for earrings and only knew that somehow they 'attached' to the single diamond studded posts. I felt awful because I couldn't help her in any way, and of anyone I was in the best position to do so.
So fast forward a couple of days and its another lovely afternoon when I should be outside but I'm inside watching cable and sipping on a coke out of a Strawberry Shortcake tumbler. This afternoon, Tutu came to me with a request I'd gotten before: she wanted me to open one of her safes so she could get at something. She had two, and both were low on the ground and in less-than-optimal lighting. Kneeling was difficult for her at this point in her life and her eyes were not great, so it was a snap for me to help her and I was happy to do it. Plus how often to kids to get open safes? Big fun!
There I am, on my knees in front of this little safe, and just as she's trying to tell me the numbers and direction to turn the dial, I spot something under a chair close by. Its a small, brown, velvet box... a classic jewelery box. I snapped it up and having never seen it before, turned to my Tutu and said, "Tutu, what's this?"
"OH MY GAWD" she said in a voice that I can still hear if I close my eyes. It was the diamond posts, and the 'jacks' too. They had been in the very safe I was trying to open, and must have fallen out a week or so before while she was searching for something else. In the dim light, she never saw them hiding in the shadows, practically in plain sight.
I saw how happy she was to know these earrings were safe. I vividly remember a sense of relief that came over her instantly. I also remember the stories she started to tell me about these earrings, stories she had never told me before probably because the object in question was never in sight to remind her of them.
Its not a great story by any means, but it is a truly precious memory to me. It is the first memory I have of being helpful by doing what I love to do and tend to do best: finding things. Its important to me to recall that memory at times when I feel incredibly bogged down by the basic, technical work that I'm faced with lately. Too much lifting boxes, building boxes, transferring material from one box to another, listing that material, fixing the old listing of that material... it makes me frustrated and leaves me feeling incredibly lonely. I think of my Tutu when work drags me down because I am happy to know that I'm helping someone. I will never see the faces of the people I'm helping, but I can remember my Tutu's booming voice and sincere smile. Someday, it will be the booming voice of someone else, and think of the stories they will tell then!
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