CRITICISM - Andrea Wiarda, Some histories and a brief reflection on the work of Kristina Norman – A Prior magazine # 17, 2008


Have you noted the current tendency of authors to start their essays with a casual anecdote, “last summer in the Belgian countryside…” ( interview with Lou Cope in A Prior 16), or “travelling back from Kassel after the opening of documenta 12…” (ref. Els Roelandt in A Prior 16) or, “sitting in a cafe in a forgotten republic of the former Soviet Union…” (ref. Anders Kreuger in A Prior 16) to name but a few instances closest at hand? In film, this tropemay be called: setting the scene. In some sort of ultimate attempt to position oneself, if not to ‘cover’ oneself, or to explain one’s metaphorical point of view as rooted in a trivial, accidental encounter, summarised as a poignant, literal and physical situation, all these authors wished to acknowledge the fact that, in another situation, at another moment, things might have been different.


Let us consider the following scene, before we get to the anecdotal part: a large object moves steadily through outer space towards Earth, passing the moon and finally closing in on earth. The object heads straight for north eastern Europe; coming in from the east (the future?), passing the Russian border at Ivangorod over the river Narva and the Estonian border, it continues along the coast until the skyline of Tallinn, capital of the (ex-Soviet) Republic of Estonia appears and lights up, punctuated by the bright flash, as the camera movement slows down and closes in on a sad face—that of a Soviet Soldier cast in bronze. The camera then slowly moves around zooming out to show us the completemonument in the centre of Tallinn. This is the first scene of Kristina Norman’s ‘Monolith’, 2007, a 15minute pseudo-documentary consisting of animation, found footage and her own documentation of the tumultuous events surrounding the plans for and eventual relocation of the Soviet soldier monument.1

The clear reference to Stanley Kubrick’s 1968 film 2001, ‘A Space Oddysey’ —at the outset reinforced by the sound of Johan Strauss’ ‘An der Schönen Blauen Donau’ and the sight of the sun rising over the earth, as it rises over the moon—continues in subsequent scenes of various ‘happenings’ at the site of the Monument. There is the clash of two rival communities: The Russian speaking community whose ancestors fought in the Red Army and, following glorious victory, were summarily transported to Estonia to work in the heavy soviet industry, on the one hand, and the indigenous (genetic) Etonians, on the other. There is a celebration of Victory Day by the Russian community, extolling the liberation of Estonia from the Nazi occupation in 1944. A group of men sing heroic Estonian songs about freeing themselves of (any) occupation, including the one by the Soviet Union, immediately following the Second World War.2 We than see the Estonian Flag being hoisted up a high pole on the large round Tall Herman Tower of the Medieval Order Castle, which currently houses the Estonian Government. This is followed by a clip of Russian president Putin giving a speech lamenting: “The break-up of the Soviet Union was the biggest disaster of the 20th Century; it became a drama for the Russian people. Compatriots suddenly discovered that they live outside the Russian border….” The scenes continue to alternate with elaborate speed, showing: brief fragments of TV-discussions, contributions by the Russian (speaking) and Estonianmedia; coverage of and ‘live’ interviews with the protesters on the streets; and animated sequences created by the artist to illustrate what cannot be documented or visualised directly.3 This metaphorical level emerges in the first extraterrestial scene described above, but also in the bones of Soviet soldiers buried, not directly under, but on the edge of the site of the monument, restlessly turning over in their graves in disgust at the events above their heads; cut to one of the bones being launched up in the air, turning around wheightlessly in the air in slowmotion, though rather thanmatching Kubrick’s famous ‘match cut’, Norman slides in another image slowly superimposing the flying bone against the still sad face of the Soviet solder, the recurring image of the monolith who is viewed as the source of the clashes.4

Having seen the bronze soldier lifted out of his boots on an iron chain and disappear into the air, in another animated sequence of Norman’s film, we then watch live scenes of riots and vandalism on the streets of Tallinn—testimony to the increasing tensions are the fragments of various media channels ‘amplifying’ the events and the increasing politicisation and polarisation of the issue and of the ethnic communities living in Estonia.We hear calls for a boycot of Estonian produce by the Russian Prime Minister, while from the Estonian side Russians are described as criminals and murderers; all layers of society contribute to what can hardly be called a debate any longer. A fragment of Estonian TV mentioning that “the soldier had become the object of manipulation for another country” and should therefore be removed is countered in a fragment from a Russian TV Channel that “A souvereign Estonia lacks a real and legal basis” shows us the continuous attempts of Russia to interfere in what it formerly considered its own territory and to keep trying to resistwhat it calls the West’s (read U.S.A.’s) containment strategy towards Russia.5

Interestingly, it is not always entirely clear which scene or event represents which communty’s or which entity’s point of view; that is, to the viewer who is not familiar with the Russian or Finno-Ugric languages, it probably matters little. The point lies in the ‘absurdity’ (not humourous by any intention) of the cacophony of opinions, visions, and positions which emerge in the fight over the fate of the monument, over history and collective memory, over rethorics and media power.

The impossibility of summarising, or making sense of the events, must be met with an altogether different approach than a plain documentary registration of the events. It requires distance and perspective, a different construction of the story, of unfolding events and incompatible realities. And somehow it also needs simplification: two communities rivalling for a single stone. Monolith was initially meant to become a more standard documentary registration of events, following up on Norman’s previous research into the pluriform realities of the second Republic of Estonia.6

Towards the film’s end, we hear Strauss again accompanied by a composition of bones, radios, laptops and TV’s flying through the air, followed by a deluge and Tallinn’s skyline sinking into the sea—suggesting that only a natural disaster may resolve the hostilities and that hopefully, one day, this episode will have become history. An alien (babylike) creature puts on the boots of the soldier that has remained on Earth and takes themback up into the sky—suggesting possibly that theymay recur somewhere, sometime. And we end up much as we do at the end of the 2001, Space Oddysey, without a real clue what happened and what will happen next.

Travelling to Tallinn

When I arrived in Tallinn last January, Kristina Norman was waiting for me with a paper sign stating my name, in her hand. Indeed, we had never met before, only a short e-mail exchange and one phonecall preceded my travel, aimed at discussing Norman’s contribution to A Prior #17. On the plane, I had been reading Anders Kreuger’s essay, ‘Continental Unconscious’ on contemporary art and the culture from the Finno-Ugric world—a culture, and a set of languages and traditions, hardly known to the world of global developments and national/local obsessions, that he suggests, may be interpreted as the geo-political unconscious of these forces. The Finno-Ugric people are in fact closely related to the Estonians and Kreuger is preparing an exhibition on that topic in Tallinn’s Kumu Art Museum, which opens in March 2008. The essay made me consider what I actually knew about Tallinn (i.e. little except that it is a former Soviet Republic and part of the Baltics—which I remembered from topography exams in highschool—ànd that, according to more recent hearsay, last year it had experience riots caused by the relocation of a Soviet monument). Kristina had offered me to stay at her place. I would stay for two days, for lack of daily flights between Milan and Tallinn, and be introduced to the city and its very many facets and histories by both Kristina Norman and filmmaker Meelis Muhu.

Estonia has officially been an independent sovereign republic for a total of only about 37 years (from 1918–1939; and from 1991–present) with long periods of self-government under Swedish and German (Lübeck) rule. Still, it has a very strong sense of identity, which throughout history has been repeatedly renewed. The Tallinn Product Manual 2006 (published before events surrounding the planned relocation of the Bronze Soldier Monument from the centre of Tallinn to the cemetary on the outskirts of the city, escalated into a struggle for the ‘rights to the monument’ by various politicalmovements related to ethnic communities in Estonia, ahead of elections later that year) is a fancy A4 size magazine marketing Estonia, and more specifically Tallinn as amodern, well organised, clean, forward (and west-ward) looking city. It catalogues Tallinn’s highlights, must-see’s, do’s and don’ts, Estonian arts and crafts and cultural events or highlights. Even Estonia’s past as a Soviet Republic has already been commodified into consumable history; the former KGB Headquarters, for example, is suggested as a stop during a guided tour, a ‘Kodak moment’ during a visit to the centre of town, which is introduced with a plaque reading in Estonian: “This building housed the organ of repression of the Soviet occupational power. Here began the road to suffering for thousands of Estonians.” In fact the very recent history of Soviet occupation has left many marks, a good part of which have not been resolved and still very much defines daily life and politics in Estonia.

The Product Manual further details the history of Tallinn, harking back to when it was still called Reval and was occupied by the Danes, Livonian knights, Germans, Swedes and Russians. And it has a special chapter on historically organised tourist highlights. On the cover, we see a fresh young girl, confidently smiling into the camera, her head slightly tilted forward: ready to face the modern world. Inside, the first four pages show Kristina visiting her favourite spots in and around town, each time accompanied by a short quote. Beside images of the site of the current Kumu Art Museum, located on the top of the gardens that Peter the Great had developed for his wife Catherine I of Russia, and beyond the Kadriog Palace, that used to be one of Tsar Peter I’s residences, but is now home of Estonia’s president, a quote strikes me in particular:
When I was little this place seemed like the end of the world. My mother and I would
get off the tram at the end of the line to go watch the swans in the castle pond. At the
end of the street there were these big trees and a limstone cliff rising up like a wall.
Now they’re building a new art museum in the cliff.
You can climb up
the stairs and see
What’s behind there …

The Pribalts, or looking over borders

Norman makes films and drawings, often combining the two in the animated sections of her various documentaries. Before ‘Monolith’ she put together a one hour ‘experimental documentary’, ‘Pribalts’ (2006) as well as a short video project ‘Kontakt ‘(2005). During a workshop on political art at the Estonian Academy of Art, in 2005, Norman was challenged to think of a work with more ‘social content’, from a personal situation.

In Kontakt a young professional of Russian descent, born and raised in Estonia, reads out the rights and duties of aliens in Estonia—aliens are those who have Estonian nationality, but do not speak the Estonian language sufficiently to pass the exam, or do not wish to obtain full Estonian citizenship—but, clearly, does not understand a single word he is saying, even if all words, juridically, are applicable specifically to him.

Norman is an Estonian artist, born in Tallinn in 1979, into a mixed family of Russian ancestors whomoved to Estonia and Estonian ancestors, part of whom had moved to Russia during the tzarist time when they could buy land on Russian soil. She went through the Russian school systemin Tallinn and the library at home was largely filled with Russian books, although both Estonian and Russian were spoken equally at home.

It is only at the Estonian Academy of Art that she learned a more profound and literary version of the Estonian language which allows her to integrate into the Estonian community. Years after she decided to take the examto exchange her alien’s passport for an Estonian one.7 Being fluent in both Russian and Estonian and being part of both communities—and of neither at the same time—gives her an exceptional position, making it easier, perhaps logical, for her not to take sides, even unconsciously, but to view what happens simultaneously from the inside and the outside.8

The language issue and the parallel realities/communities it has engendered, in terms of understanding one’s individual identity, is further explored in what Norman calls her ‘experimental documentary’, ‘Pribalts’. Having grown up in a Russian environment, and subsequently attending Estonian higher education, Norman had not seen her highschool friends for more than a decade. Filming Kontakt made her wonder what had happened to her Russian-speaking classmates and she set out to investigate.9 ‘Pribalts’ is the Russian term which refers to the Russian speaking population of the Baltics—either as an ethnical entity or a cultural community, often both.

Pribalts’ was filmed over a very short time, about onemonth, just before the situation around the Bronze Soldier escalated.10 Speaking with her former teachers, and four former classmates (two of whom have succesfully integrated into Estonian society and two others who are still living in a doubleworlds, one in Moscow and another in Tallinn), ‘Pribalts’ also documents the first time Norman visits Russia (Moscow to be precise). Upon arrival she gets stuck in a metro accident, caused by a construction pole coming through the ceiling of the subway tunnel ànd the train. Norman, having filmed everything, is later seen to sell her material to Russian TV that is eventually broadcast all around Russia. In Moscow, she visits the Estonian-born Sergei, who wants to become a famous actor in the theatre. She wonders whether he feels at home in Russia, his ethnic homeland, or whether he is just asmuch an alien over there: is he happy? She wants to know howmuch the knowledge of the Estonian language has influenced her friends’ lives. And how the Russian media cover Estonian news and developments. The documentary was the result of many personal questions and was eventually edited as a montage; Norman wrote down all spoken text, all interviews, including her own voice, and cut them up and reorganised them according to notions such as Estonia(n), nostalgia, Russia(n), work, propaganda/media, theatre, friends and family, dreams, memory, etc. She then organised the visuals accordingly, often associating, overlapping and unexpectedly linking and documenting life’s sudden turns and changes and demonstrating the construction of separate communities, or rather, the becoming of parallel realities.11 Narrative linearity is nowhere to be found, Norman’s film has nothing to do with telling a story of travel, or jokingly recalling childhoodmemories, but rather with individual experience and with the complex and pluriform reality of communities in post-soviet republics. The documentary starts with the following children’s song which underscores an animated sequence of old school photographs:

There is a simple fairy-tale
Maybe not quite a fairy-tale
And maybe not that simple
That we would like to tell you

We remember it from childhood
Maybe not quite from childhood
Maybe we don’t remember it at all
And are starting to recall it only now

History reconsidered

The city of Tallinn reads like a history book. Sitting on the Northern shore of Estonia on the Finnish Gulf of the Baltic Sea, its skyline—with gothic towers, medieval castles and fortifications of Danish and German origin, Tsarist palaces and Orthodox churches and, last but not least, the Tallinn TV tower that is an impressive example of Soviet engineering is its major trademark—procures evidence of its historical development. The city itself also breathes history: traditional wooden buildings and houses, flanked by apartment blocs, residential and public structures of various soviet rulers (of which the Stalinist neo-classical, or ‘St. Petersburg empire-‘ style is most stereotypical), followed by Art Nouveau buildings from the First Estonian Republic set besides the skyscrapers built fromthe 1980s onwards. A super imposition of ‘time frames’ give the city its very strong ‘historic’ atmosphere, and the visitor a sense of history unfolding, yet never a sense that implies a unidirectional linearity or chronology.

Norman’s earlier works, including her first documentary film (which she actually calls a ‘mocumentary’) entitled ‘Field of Genius’ (2003), take their cue from an altogether different source: physics and scientific theories of nature. ‘Field of Genius’ develops and presents a genealogy of Einstein’s genius, his mythical brain.12 It is based on the Wheeler-Feynman theory of time symmetry.13 The theory implies that, not only do past events have an impact on present and future events, but also vice versa, or also the way a particle acts now depends on how it behaves in the future. In the video, we see a set-up of a classroom situation where a dia-film, an old-fashioned apparatus which demands that a viewer manually turns from frame to frame (and on which Norman first learned about the soviet nuclear submarine in her childhood) is shown to a group of students. It explains in great detail how Einstein’s potential, and scientific ancestors, are part of themagnetic field he radiates in time in both directions.

The supposed ancestors than of Einstein prepare the field for him to nearly discover the key to universe, as it were back to the future, while receiving simultaneously (forward to the past) radiation from the gravitational field emanating from Einstein himself. Apart from re-calling such pseudo-scientific ideas as time travel or Morphic Resonance—where thoughts travel via certain wavelengths, and so once something has been thought, it may soon be picked up by others, as it’s already in the air—the educational show further claims—and here, please allow for a quick peep into the depths and dimensions of physical science—that the (electromagnetic) activity of every individual particle cannot be separated fromthat of the entire universe, that it “seeks to link the local and the global in a network of influences, and suggests that we may understand individual physical systems only by proper reference to the whole.”14 And, rather than actually trying to understand, or visualise, this, we may abstract from or metaphorically interpret this to mean that the dynamics of people, places and events are inextricably connected; and as these various constitutive elements are not equal for any of us, our reality and our understanding of our past, present and future differs as well, so that, much like physicists, we shall only start to really understand our universe once we have found that uncanny unifying conceptual framework—and, in the meantime, we should rather keep believing.

Prior to making the film, Norman had found a book entitled ‘Superforce’, by the English (popular) physicist Paul Davies. It was published in Russian and sat on a shelf in a tiny Estonian bookshop, where no one bought it for years. In the book, Davies sets out “what could be the greatest triumph yet of the new physics: a complete theory of the universe, including its origin,” a GUT (Grand Unified Theory) explaining everything!15 What fascinates Norman most in these theories which she has always been drawn to, is the option of plurality, multiplicity, the suggestion of parallel universes in a multiverse, the possibility that there are other options and that, in another life, in a parallel universe, things may work out differently. At the same time, she wishes to destabilize the “illusion of reality”, or a truthfulness “created by authority.” As is exemplified by the multitude of supposedly valid, sometimes also contradictory, scientific theories and laws of nature in physics, a multitude of equally valid theories may coexist. This is what Norman sets out to develop with ‘Field of Genius’ as well as her drawing series ‘Mysterious Radio’, which is devoted to the two supposed inventors of Radio: one Russian, Popov, and the other Italian, Marconi.


The notion of parallel realities re-emerges in Norman’s later documentary works, wherein the artist is forced to understand an immediate reality, between two communities with different interpretations and expectations of their surroundings. The city of Tallinn, which has been a battlefield formuch of its history, and has thereby existed as a reality in-between realities, is juxtaposed with the contemporary (as well as the historical) political reality of contradictory ideologies and rhetorics—especially now with the nearing Russian elections.
Norman combines the various concepts of propaganda cumeducational instruments, physics and scientific theories with humour and a twist of irony. She positions herself as a researcher, modelled on the figure of the physicist who is not afraid to pose and investigate big questions or to observe patiently and search for major answers; nor does she hesitate to propose or explore a wacky alternative theory.16 She is convinced that close and concentrated observation, a hint of humour and irony, an alternate perspective and openness will eventually reveal all of life’s secrets.

The construction of parallel realities, or histories that do not necessarily repeat but happen simultaneously may help us to understand a kind of relativity. What Norman’s work leads us to see is that the ‘present’ has an influence (as our present position, our personal experiences and knowledge inform how we interpret history, what we understand as good or evil, what we value(d) and consider morally just) on history. Clearly historical emphasis and signification change as viewpoints, personal experience, and memory shift, it changes even with language. Refering back to our prologue: one’s position determines what one sees Norman takes this notion as a starting point, acknowledging that paradoxical status of reality as its simultaneous conceptual framework. Using the notion of setting the scene again,metaphorically. In film of course a set is an artificial place that creates the illusion of being another place—real, imagined, unknown—a set may than also be a real place meant to refer to another real, imagined or unknown place….

In her all-inclusive approach to image making, Norman does not assume a fixed stance, she refuses to choose sides as they are all equally absurd to her—except perhaps when it comes to the mechanics of propaganda and politics, and the general absurdity of the political, and other, rhetorics, which she may be seen to stand against. After her various, pseudo- and experimental documentary films Norman is now working on a feature length documentary about the development and erection of a new monument in the centre of Tallinn: a huge glass collumn with lights emanating from inside and a cross on top. Norman has been looking into other proposed designs for the monument, into the composition of the jury and into the concurrent political climate. She has delved into other urban renovation plans,media coverage of the process and has filmed the celebrations of Victory Day and Independence Day. The rapid cut-and-paste editing, the use of handheld camera for live documentation, the animated sequences and hidden ironies shall once againmatch the various loose ends of dominant rethorics, as she simultaneously takes a step back, puts things into perspective, relativises and relates it to other myths, illusionary realities, claimed truths and authoritarian explanations, destabilising them all and considering each outside existing conceptual frameworks. Her message to us might be that there is no such thing as a grand unifying theory, and there may never be. Perhaps paradoxes built reality.

Estonia’s most famous animator, Priit Parn is a true hero, who has long held a mirror up to Estonian society (whether dominated by Russia, Soviet Union or Estonian middle class). According to the animator, a caricature is not a funny image but a metaphor of pure absurdity. Trained in the surrealist and absurdist traditions, and a one-time participant in the development of both thesemovements, he states that Estonian films have humour and irony and get their strength from their diversity—of the lack of a school or a single collective movement.17 And although I have refrained from placing the work of Norman in any kind of tradition, discourse or box, her own individuality certainly places her here. As Pärn would say: “films shouldn’t preach; a person thinking differently is enough of a message.”


1. Anders Kurg’s text ‘Whose Monument’? Published in this issue of A Prior as part of Kristina Norman’s artist’s project analyses and explains the events in detail and in the context of the Estonian general elections later that year.
2. The occupation in Russia’s Western border region was called the ‘Great Patriotic War and became a significant part of the Soviet Union’s propaganda machine and rhetoric of greatness. In Estonia however, Nazi terror and Russian terror are conceived equally.
3. ‘Monolith’ by Kristina Norman was co-edited by Erik Noorkroos; animation by the artist in collaboration with: Urmans Jõemees, Timo Karindi, Riho Unt, Margus Lõvi; sound by Raul Keller.
4. The most famous example of a ‘match cut’, a film technique where one scene is linked to the next with matching compositional elements, is the one Kubrick’s 2001, ‘A Space Oddyssey’ where the image of a bone, launched up into the air by the leader of one of the primitive types is cut to the image of a similarly shaped space ship in orbit. Norman however reinforces the simultaneity of narratives and events by superimposing images and bringing the quick flow to a halt at the bronze soldiers face, the monolith from outer space, and the cause of the struggle.
5. This strategy, also known as the Truman Doctrine, of course initiated during the early decades of the Soviet Union’s existence.Together with the Great PatrioticWar rethorics (many Russian’s are convinced the Red Army in fact won WWII rather than the U.S.A. or the allied forces) the issue of theWest’s aim to contain Russia are the core pillars of a propagandamachine which actually still seems in use—indispensable probably in a country as vast as Russia. The issue has recently become even more actual with Kosovo’s declaration of independence and the upcoming elections in Russia, as well as the current ‘democratic’ presidential elections in Russia.The BBC website among many other news outlets, offers an overview of articles and analysis of present and historical events in Russia: entitled Resurgent Russia:
6. Her previous ‘experimental documtary’ ‘Pribalts’ (2006) which explores the present situation of Russian speaking Estonians, is discussed later on.
7. Norman wanted an Estonian passport, and describes the whole process as an idiotic situation, having to prove she was ‘pure Estonian’ with real Estonian blood and genes, the nationalist policies just after independence in 1991 demanded that she finds the birth certificates from her Estonian ancesters who were born in Estonian villages on Russian soile. The papers were lost during WWII and so she had to take the exam.This was mid-1990’s, the exam has now become easier—even if the Estonian government has become more rightwing—being part of the European Union it is hard to explain that a large part of your country’s population possesses an Alien’s Passport!
8. It is interesting to realise in this context that the Estonian language, of which the first written record dates from the 13th Century, and first mention of it was made in the 1st century BC, has been nearly completely updated, even renewed, at the beginning of the 20th century. Due to the many occupiers of Estonia—Scandinavians, Germans and Russians—the Finno-Ugric roots of the language had all but shriveled. During the National Awakening in the 19th Century, when nationalist sentiments grew and the Estonian Language became more and more reinserted into daily life and ‘high culture’.The Estonian linguist Johannes Aavik, set out a language reform campaign and succesfully added new words and restructured the language with the help of Estonia’s intellectual elite. The new words were often based on their phonetic association with what is signified, whereas the sentence structure became extremely flexible; words may be put in which ever order and will still mean the same thing. See also:
9. Hanno Soans succinctly describes ‘Kontakt’ as a ‘video sketch’ in a short essay accompanying the ‘Pribalt’s’ screening at MOMA, Oxford in 2006 as the Estonian contribution of “Arrivals, New Art from EU”, together with a work by Raul Keller. Soans also discusses the ‘Pribalts’ in more detail.
10. The germs for the events had started the year before with a monument set up in a small village by Estonian nationalists, to honour the estonian war dead, with a bas-relief of a nazi uniform, without all the symbols and swastika’s (of course, Estonians joined the German army to fight the Red Army that had already caused terror and trauma, yet currently it is officially considered that Soviet terror and Nazi terror are equal) to counter the bronze soviet soldier in Tallinn. Eventually, the governement decided to take it away.This is when people started harrassing the bronze soldier, painting it, and insulting it. In fact many people claimed that the last chance to avoid these kinds of problems was lost in the beginning of the 1990’s when most of the Soviet monuments were removed from Estonia. Norman explains as follows: “And in spring last year it was clear that there was no solution to the monument problem. If it wasn’t removed, the Estonian nationalists would have continued to attack themonument, the police would have maybe put some of them to jail, the Russian propaganda would say that there is a huge problem with the Nazis in Estonia, as the police even started to put people to jail, etc etc…”
11. Edited in collaboration with artist Raul Keller.
12. Cfr. Barthes, R., The Brain of Einstein, in: “Mythologies”, english translation by Vintage 1993, London. pp. 68–70.
13. Technically this is how it goes: The Action of Electric Charge A on electric charge B is coupled to an equal, and opposite in time reaction of charge B, back on charge A. – This is a closed loop inside space-time. – If charge A acts on charge B forward in time, then charge B reats on charge A backward in time. cfr:
14. Davies, P., Superforce, p. 218–219. he than also continues to explain retarded and advanced waves emitted on a radio frequency travel in (backwards) in time only to be re-bounced or echoed by matter. A piste also explored imaginatively by Raimundas Malasauskas when he produced the booklet: How William Blake saved Documenta (through a radio transmitter), a prior magazine extra#02, April 2007.
15. Davies, P., Superforce, The Search for a Grand Unified Theory of Nature, Simon & Schuster inc., 1985, first published by Glennister Gavin ltd. In 1984. Other titles by this author include such ambitious undertakings as: God and the New Physics; How to Build a Time Machine (2001); The Mind of God (1992). In the introduction he states: “The recent surge of public interest in fundamental physics is on of themore unusual social developments of our time.What is it about physics with its impenetrable formulae and esoteric technical jargon, that attracts a wider audience? The answer, I believe, lies with its immense power to explain the world, together with the deep mystical element that characterises much of ‘the new physics’. Alone among the sciences, physics claims to be an all-encompassing discipline, its subject matter the whole universe.Through physics, all parts of the cosmos, from the elementary particles within atoms to the largest astronomical structures, can be incorporated into a single conceptual framework.The ability of physics to unify the strange and bewildering world about us cannot fail to be profoundly inspiring.” Note that this was first published in 1984 (before those other all-encompassing theories
of nature, such as stringtheory or the multiverse were merely formulated) and that the reference to a single conceptual framework, the mystical and esoteric elements (probably even the formulae and technical jargon) adhere to other all-encompassing conceptual frameworks such as religion for example.
16. Max Tegmark, theorist of the multiverse allowes himself to write one wacky paper, every 10 mainstream papers he produces:
17. From Pärnography, a documentary on Priit Pärn and his work, by Hardi Volmer produced in 2005—on the cover it is stated: “estonia was liberated via animation!”. (AcubaFilm collection).