Trial by space; in memory of my mother

Project Mimique London

Trial by space; in memory of my mother

The memorable is that which can be dreamed about a place. In this place that is a palimpsest, subjectivity is already linked to the absence that structures it as existence and makes it 'be there', Dasein. But [...] this being-there acts only in spatial practices, that is, in ways of moving into something different. It must ultimately be seen as the repetition, in diverse metaphors, of a decisive and originary experience, that of the child's differentiation from the mother's body. It is through that experience that the possibility of space and of a localisation (a 'not everything') of the subject is inaugurated. (Michel de Certeau, Walking in the City, in The Practice of Everyday Life, 1984, p 109).
I

Mourning through metaphor

It was the art critic Victor Burgin who first suggested it, speaking at c3 in Budapest during the summer of 1997. The internet is your mother, he told the audience. That's why people get angry when they can't access their email, or when the system crashes. It's a question of demand. I found the idea engaging, things invariably refer back to my own mother having lost her at the age of eight. But the city was my subject, space my fixation. Could the city -- Budapest -- stand in for my mother? And how?

This essay is an act of rectification. Most importantly, in reparation to my mother, Merriel, a Freudian advocate, who I refused to visit all but once in hospital. I was only young, and I simply wanted her home. But it's too late, and the sadness still overwhelms me. My father blamed her death on this refusal. I also need to revisit my relationship to Budapest and the exile I hung onto for eight painful years. Can such a metaphor aid the despair of pathological mourning? And what status should be accorded to milieu in the pathology of mental illness? In his book The Psychotic, Andrew Crowcroft (after J. and C. Cumming) states that: "I believe that [...] the 'environment itself can be the primary treatment as well as supporting or complementing other treatment'". Which suggests that a theory of space can contribute to the development of an anti-psychiatry.

On the surface, my experience of place was peculiar to the expatriate. For the subject cut off from a linguistic context, the city becomes a producer of heterogenous images; visual, tactile and acoustic sensation (aspects of the Freudian sign) are foregrounded as communication is foreclosed. This is the terrain of Julia Kristeva's marvellous construction, the semiotic chora, a space produced by discontinuities in voices, colours and gestures, and marked provisionally in semiotisable material by the resistances and facilitations of the Freudian drives, according to the pleasure principle. The chora precedes, but is grouped with, the thetic positionality of the mirror phase. It is rupture (it irrupts), a provisional articulation (rhythm); it precedes evidence, verisimilitude, spatiality and temporality; it gives rise to a geometry. The semiotic chora is intimately bound up with the mother, and for the infant, the mother's body mediates symbolic law organising family and social structures which constrain and arrange the drives; the mother's body becomes the chora's organising principle. The drives of the semiotic chora, with the mirror phase, are deeply implicated in the displacement of the object (mother), an initial process of extreme and traumatising loss. The mirror phase itself is credited with the founding of spatial intuition (a byproduct) and is said to underly figuration.

As I mentioned above, cut off from language, the exile lives in the ambit of chromatic saturation and intensity, vocal intonation and the subtleties of urban sound, a generosity of social nuance. This experience of the chora is reproduced in the consumption of film, again when language is constrained, or more accurately as it is a non-linear medium, television. Beverle Houston locates such an environmental acuity in emergent sexuality:

[I]n its endless flow of text, (television) suggests the first flow of nourishment in and from the mother's body, evoking a moment when the emerging sexual drive is still closely linked to -- propped on -- the life and death urgency of the feeding instinct (Skirrow, 1986, p 123). This flow is suggestive of an abundance, an inexhaustible supply. Burgin observes:

In so far as the somatic experience of satisfaction survives, it does so as a constellation of visual, tactile, kinaesthetic, auditory and olfactory memory- traces.[...] This is to say that there has been a metonymical displacement from 'milk' to 'breast' and a metaphorical shift from 'ingestion' to 'incorporation'[...] (1996, p 69), and he quotes Jean Laplanche:

is it on the side this time of that which eats, or of that which is eaten?

The subject sexualised is, quite literally, consumed by social space.

In the Fort/Da game recounted by Freud, Little Hans projected his dependency on his mother and acquired the symbol[1]. Introjection-expulsion-projection, the triad describes a work of mourning in process. The city became my mother, in this second scenario, lack projected (expelled) onto the city as Other; a figure of release. Strangely, for something so distressing, Rosalind Coward and John Ellis describe this separation from the mother as "a production of pleasure" (1977, p 140), and implicate the process of symbolisation again in the construction of desire:

Thus it is the movement of projection which gives the outside (the Other) the possibility of holding signification and therefore raises the subject from maternal dependency: "this expenditure poses an object separated from the body itself, and at the very moment of separation fixes it as absent: as sign [...]" (Kristeva). The child invests in the symbol, the 'stand-in' for the object in order to be able to demand the return of the mother. We have seen here how this produces desire, which is the sense of something amiss producing the continuous metonymic movement of the subject towards an object, impossibly designated with the task of satisfying that lack (1977, p 142). Desire is an interesting word, unsatisfied longing, a yearning for unity. And the impossibility of such a project. As Burgin notes: "narrative investments come to fill in the intervening spaces between actually observed images" (p 232). Such was my relation with Budapest, although not in a way that you might expect.

Budapest for me was above all soothing -- of the terrors of poverty as much as the labours of despair -- and the fabric of the city, in a state of chronic disrepair, exuded an empathy with my psychological condition. There was, perhaps, a sense of something indistinct but uplifting -- of hope -- which I attached to my environment. At the beginning of Civilisation and its Discontents, Freud attributes such a feeling (which he describes as the origin of a religious attitude, a consolation, an appeal to the Father) to a residue of infantile helplessness, a "way of disclaiming the danger which the ego recognises as threatening it from the external world". An approach to the sublime in the absence of God. Despite a persistent psychosis which began in 1999, I feel that I have regained my good health, that is, I have completed my mourning.

II

Reflection, a space in between

The mirror discloses the relationship between me and myself, my body and the consciousness of my body -- not because the reflection constitutes my unity qua subject, [...] but because it transforms what I am into the sign of what I am. This ice-smooth barrier, itself merely an inert sheen, reproduces and displays what I am -- in a word signifies what I am -- within an imaginary sphere which is quite yet real. A process of abstraction then -- but a fascinating abstraction. In order to know myself, I 'separate myself out from myself' (Henri Lefebvre, The Production of Space, 1991, p 185). Psychosis makes one acutely aware of the fragilities of memory. Intensive recollections of my mother, intact until my mental breakdown, now exist merely as tiny, distorting fragments. I have lost her once again.

My mother was beautiful, articulate and elegant, a talented actress, artist, a supporter of black civil rights and also the Baader-Meinhof group ("They are formal like myself", she said). There was the time we were chased by cows on Callows Hill and she lost her Scholl sandal. Her desire to train for social work, her defence of me at school, and the time I rejected her in the playground because she brought in my recorder. A photo of myself, mouth uncertain and in a short dress, thighs distorted by camera angle so that I look as if I suffer from rickets, reminds me of her shrill laughter as the shutter clicks. I remember her rage at me chancing upon her preoccupied with voices in her head, her later depression, and the neighbours who cut her off for obtruse reasons. There was her dark olive woollen suit, bought for a trip to Vienna with my father, which she wore when she left that last time. She did not say goodbye. A history here, and tragedy: her own mother departed in a similar fashion, but ostensibly to marry another man, and never returned. Only years later did my mother learn of her death. What became of her father she never knew.

For any child, the recognition of absence is a pivotal moment. Jacques Lacan's mirror phase revolves around such an event, and there is a sense that the schizophrene is trapped within this enclosure, forever resolving its processes in a more heightened form than those who have not lost their primal, significant other.

Lack, gap, splitting is a mode of being, foregrounded:

Its recognition of lack signals an ontological rift with nature or the Real. This gap will propel it into seeking an identificatory image of its own stability and permanence (the imaginary), and eventually language (the symbolic) by which it hopes to fill the lack. The child loses the 'pure plenitude' of the Real and is now constituted within the imaginary (i.e. the order of images, representations, doubles and others) in its specular identifications (Grosz, 1990, p 35). Visual space is critical to this process, Lacan's conception is brutally perpectival, the body is positioned as a nodal point in this spatial field. Through the mirror phase, the child becomes capable of separating itself from the outside world, and of distinguishing inside from outside, subject from object, self from other, processes disrupted in episodes of more acute schizophrenia. Grosz comments "Lacan posits a divided vacillating attitude that is incapable of final resolution [...] the [mirror] image both is and is not an image of itself" (p 40). Crucially,

[t]he subject, to be a subject at all, internalises otherness as its condition of possibility. [Ego] is thus radically split, unconscious of the process of its own production, divided by lack and rupture (Grosz, p 43). The mirror phase is a "dialectic between alienation and identification" (Burgin, p 49), "a stadium in which the battle of the human subject is permanently being waged" (ibid, p 257), and "symbolises the mental permanence of the I" (Lacan, 1977/2001, p 3)[2]; for the schizophrene 'I' represents a parallel, internalised, 'other', a decentring that one can build on in more regular moments. Lacan's explication of the mirror phase dwells on function. Even for those that can resolve the mirror phase, it

manufactures for the subject, caught up in the lure of spatial identification, the succession of phantasies that extends from a fragmented body-image to a form of its totality that I shall call orthopaedic -- and lastly to the assumption of the armour of an alienating identity, which will mark with its rigid structure the subject's entire mental development. Thus to break out of the circle of the Innenwelt into the Umwelt generates the inexhaustible quadrature of the ego's verifications (ibid, p 5). I am particularly taken with the idea that, even for ordinary mortals, the mirror "situates the agency of the ego [...] in a fictional direction" (ibid, pp 2-3), that is, toward a misrecognition.

The space of the mirror itself, a space analogous to the process of memory, I dedicate to my mother, a third spatiality peculiar to the narcissist that late capitalism has enjoined us all to become.

Henri Lefebvre suggests that the mirror presents "the most disjunctive relationship between form and content", that here bodies are "transitional", that "the mirror introduces a truly dual spatiality [into social space]: a space which is imaginary with respect to origin and separation, but also concrete and practical with respect to coexistence and differentiation" (ibid, p 186). And he invokes an anti-mirror effect, with reference to the surrealists. Yet the mirror remains just that, a refractory alienation.

The mirror is a surface at once pure and impure, almost material yet virtually unreal; it presents the Ego with its own material presence, calling up its counterpart, its absence from -- at the same time its inherence in-- this other space. [...] 'other' merely represents 'Ego' as an inverted image in which left appears at the right, as a reflection which yet generates an extreme difference, as a repetition [...] Here what is identical is at the same time radically other, radically different -- and transparency is equivalent to opacity (ibid, pp 184-185). Maurice Merleau-Ponty (1945/1958) demonstrates another principle of the mirror with an experiment by a psychologist known only as 'Wertheimer', who sought to prove that the visual field can impose an orientation which is not that of the body. He held a mirror at 45 degrees to the vertical of the experimental subject, who reported a slantwise distortion which righted itself after a few minutes. In an accurate description of virtual reality, Merleau-Ponty concludes:

After a few minutes, provided that he does not strengthen his initial anchorage by glancing away from the mirror, the reflected room miraculously calls up a subject capable of living in it. The virtual body ousts the real one to such an extent that the subject no longer has the feeling of being in the world where he actually is, that instead of his real legs and arms, he feels that he has the legs and arms he would need to walk and act in the reflected room: he inhabits the spectacle [...] The perceptual field corrects itself and at the conclusion of the experiment I identify it without any concept because I live in it, because I am borne wholly into the new spectacle and so to speak, transfer my centre of gravity into it (ibid, pp 291-293). For the subject, "even if he has his eyes shut", the mirror becomes "a possible habitat".

Guy Debord and his collaborators, as everybody knows, took the spectacle -- "a social relation among people, mediated by images" -- for itself. The plagiarist technique is subtle in its cunning. Merleau-Ponty states earlier that the spatiality of the body is a spatiality of situations (p 114).

III

The Malevich Manoeuvres

1997, and a scandal on the internet. Alexander Brener, a Russian performance artist, had just defaced a picture by K. S. Malevich in the Stedelijk Museum, Amsterdam, and had been arrested. To the internet criticals, the scandal was that he'd been arrested. Miran Mohar described the damage as "an act of consistent artistic [...] expression", and in an articulate defence, continued:

Only contemporary art [has created] a value system and language of integral individuality, first spread throughout European culture regardless of political and social borders. During the Cold War, this first autonomous and independent language of early avant-garde art became the official value system of Western democracies, and therefore one of the most sophisticated ideologies [that] ever existed. The end of [the] [C]old [W]ar brought out many unresolved questions and conflicts of the past. Among other things, it raised the question of the historical roots of Western economic supremacy, which plays a major role in adding market value to the symbolic values of global civilisation. The picture defaced was Suprematism 1922-1927, a white cross on a white background. Brener had painted a green dollar sign across the cruciform and ended up spending several months in a Dutch prison, receiving a fine of 15,000 guilders. Poor man. My own sensibility rushed to Malevich's defence. The 1915 black square on the white background (Black Square) had long captured my imagination: pure feeling, absolute zero, space (the Hungarian word 'tér' means both square and space, "the square gives and receives space" -- Rebay, 1982); an icon in geometry and a nihilist statement. Alternatively: "[s]pirit begins where materialism [ceases]" (ibid, p 145).

The Malevich Manoeuvres grew out of this action, a scenario for the internet design company I was in the process of leaving. The photographic series set out to interrogate the surface of the city in its animating principle, a search for a luminous geometry refracted from its iconic structures. Lefebvre's illusion of transparency, an innocence of space, accentuated with the technique of the extended moment[3]. Aesthetically, it referenced the angular cinematography of Robert Krasker (The Third Man), played out among Budapest's more subtle landmarks: the Gozsdu udvar (a series of six interlocking courtyards, then in ruins), the fairground, the interior of the Basilica, and Szabadság híd (an ironwork bridge, linking two of the main arteries of Buda and Pest). For one shot we also used my flat. A central (Catholic) protagonist, in confrontation with the absolute, grounded the filmic sequence, populated with extras from the company and willing flatmates. The new firm was to be named p-k4, an opening gambit in chess. The square/space conjuncture, what could be more apposite? "You'll find yourself chasing light," warned the photographer. But light found us, in spectacular ways.

For Merleau-Ponty, the zero point in any space is the subject immersed in that space (I live in it from the inside; I inhabit it), moving through space, or perhaps in this scenario, the camera tracing the actor. The space then takes on the aspect of a topology. Hadley and I made two startling discoveries. A flickering moment in the Gozsdu udvar when light inverts, when all that is bright turns to shadow and vice versa, a distinct sensation in the enclosure of the stark, square, deserted archways. And a light/space conjuncture of the spring equinox in the Basilica, where a shaft of sunlight hit the centre of the nave cross. Divine truth (resurrection) harnessed to the morality of the urban bourgeoisie. And this when Malcolm, director of the firm, gamely playing the leading role in the drama, was kneeling upright, illicitly and in mortal fear, in the middle of the the main aisle facing the altar. The symbol ignites in such circumstances, momentarily foregrounded.

Light for Malevich himself was a means to fragmentation -- the body-in-bits-and-pieces -- a "decomposition in pictorial space" (Markus, p 4). Witness his set and lighting effects for the 1913 opera Victory Over the Sun. The black square featured as backdrop of the final scene (and also at Malevich's state funeral in 1935). Malevich claimed Victory Over the Sun as the birthplace of Suprematism.

The light was used to express the new Futurist language of 'Zaum', which means 'beyond-mind'. Kruchenykh described 'Zaum' as "chopped up words, half words and their whimsical intricate combination". Malevich aimed to achieve the same fragmentation by breaking the forms and the space with effects of light: the set and costumes were painted as if they were made of many geometrical parts, each in another shape and colour. Thus, every time an identical colour of the set and the costume clashed, that part of the body disintegrated into the set and disappeared. By using spotlights Malevich could reveal only small parts of the body or the set, and by alternating coloured filters on the projectors he could change the colours of costumes and set components, or even blacken some -- by a combination of adding or subtracting colours (ibid). There is a sense that our sequence, by highlighting the city's refractions, captured a process of continual spatial decomposition as the sun's position shifted. Malevich's later Suprematist pictures, colours often far richer than black and a riot of fractured geometry, depicted the moments before zero was reached.

Suprematism was resolutely urban. Malevich depreciated the romantic tendency in Russian figurative painting as provincial. He ascribed a leading role to what he termed the 'superconscious' mind in transforming elements of the city, and credited architecture as "static Suprematism". In 1921, he announced to INKhUK "I want to recreate the world according to a non-objective system", and devoted his time to producing planity or arkhitektony, "accretions of rectangular forms" representing buildings and housing settlements. His use of the construction 'non-objective' rather than 'abstract' is interesting, suggesting an engagement with mental space ("the topological space of thoughts and utterances" -- Lefebvre), or as with 'Zaum', a beyond-mind, as opposed to geometric form per se. Unbuildable, but not yet deconstruction.

The ascent to the heights of non-objective art is arduous and painful...but it is nevertheless rewarding. The familiar recedes ever further and further into the background...The contours of the objective world fade more and more and so it goes, step by step, until finally the world -- "everything we loved and by which we have lived" -- becomes lost to sight (Malevich, Suprematism, p 342). Zero point for Lefebvre, after Roland Barthes, is the "neutralisation and disappearance of symbols" (Lefebvre, 1984, p 184). Here another Malevich painting comes into view, White on White, a picture El Lissizky regarded as the last image, making architecture the next logical step, "the next thing that needed to be cycled down" (Aiello, p 3.12), and also the picture that Brener defaced, Suprematism 1922-1927. Lefebvre has a different conception of zero point to Merleau-Ponty, one that does not involve a topology:

Zero point is a neutral state (not an act or a situation) characterised by a pseudo-presence, that of a simple witness, and therefore of a pseudo-absence [...] Zero point is a transparency interrupting communication and relationships just at the moment when everything seems communicable because everything seems both rational and real and then there is nothing to communicate (Lefebvre, 1984, ibid). For Brener: in the fluxions of the market place, zero was redefined. Miran Mohar laid down this challenge: did Brener's action negate the picture's monetary value or enhance it?

IV

Loss:Lost

'Mother', "like the cry which makes silence come into view as silence" (Tavor Bannet, 1989, p 28), "the signifier already considers the subject as dead" (Lacan, ibid). Is it at the moment when we are nothing that we become human? Suicide was never far from my mother's mind, and she died, near the grounds of the asylum, just before Christmas 1972. I was not taken to the funeral.

Life is a stubborn detour, in itself transitory, decaying, lacking all meaning. This life of which we are captive, a life which is essentially alienated, ex- sisting, life in the other, is as such conjoined to death. It always returns to death, and is drawn into larger and more circuitous detours (Lacan, Sem II 271-2, quoted by Tavor Bannet, p 37). For Lacan, "the non-existence of the subject always accompanies the living ego, giving life and ego their form and value" (ibid, p 36).

Such a loss is uncommunicable. One cannot talk to the bereaved because they suffer from the closures of their own distress, which states its magnitude. The non-bereaved hold loss in contempt, as self-indulgent. The medics focus on symptoms alone. The upshot is that, outside of therapy, one is never allowed to speak. A situation which shows no sign of diminishing. Mourning, therefore, can be something that is latent rather than worked through, taking decades, and demands a loneliness, an extended solitude, the present resignifying - - in my own case, often through the body -- an unsymbolised past (deferred action, apres coup -- Bleichmar et al). One needs to mourn or one is lost. Heidegger talks of a clearing (Lichtung) which both "limits and opens up what can show up and what can be done", an absence of metaphysics (Dreyfus). My contention is that a self-imposed 'exile' -- "a process rather than a singular state" (Kaminsky in Allatson & McCormack, 2005), "the freedom of disconnection and the pleasures of interstitial subjectivity" (Kaplan, ibid), or conversely, a waiting-to-die -- can enable such a space.

For Melanie Klein, 'healthy' mourning, "[t]he pining for a lost loved object implies dependence on it, but dependence of a kind which becomes an incentive to reparation [...] It is creative because it is dominated by love" (Crowcroft, p 96), yet Lacan regards creativity as something alien to the individual. "Creation remains the act of others and like the symbolic order itself always belongs to the other" (Tavor Bannet, p 41). With mourning blocked, for myself, any reparative drawings bordered on the obsessional, images repeated over and over again: a timbered house from Whizzer and Chips (killed off in a similar fashion on an art course, age 15), neo-functionalist suburbs planned with wavy roads. My father lives in such an enclave now. How to sublimate a block? Repetition and mimesis, quotation. One needs to learn to transform the copy, to apply a preexistent form to new circumstance: the principle of the plagiarist aesthetic. It remains a critical experiment, and very hard work. The path to 'autonomous' expression -- exploration of the mother's body -- is as closed as society until something breaks. One needs to find 'circuitous detours' to fend off annihilation.

The poetic encounter with urban space, notably in the technique of the drift or dérive, promoted by Dada, the Letterist International and the Situationists, but derived from schizophrenia, is one such deviation. The ability to move in space is critical. In my mother's day, access to the outside was a punitive grace, patients threatened with medication if they needed fresh air. But we need to walk. Space begins with the body and motion -- one might very well assert that good health begins with space -- not in a determinist or behaviourist configuration, but in the sense that a diversity of spatial enclosures/exposures, of scales, of textures , etc., is invigorating and enhances curiosity. Aldo van Eyck's Amsterdam Children's Home (1958- 1960) is a paradigmatic instance of a curious space; built on a cybernetic or recursive principle, the building exerted a significant influence on place-making in the 1960s.

To walk, to drift, is to lack a place, it produces nowhere:

It is the indefinite process of being absent and in search of a proper. The moving about that the city multiplies and concentrates makes the city itself an immense social experience of lacking a place -- an experience, that is, to be sure, broken up into countless tiny deportations (displacements and walks), compensated for by the relationships and intersections of these exoduses that intertwine and create an urban fabric, and placed under the sign of what ought to be, ultimately the place but is only a name, the City (de Certeau, p 103). Drifting creates "dislocated metonymic structures whose meaning cannot be pinned down" (Emig, 1995, p 82), and away from the comforts of linearity, it "eludes legibility", "it remains daily and indefinitely other" (de Certeau, p 93). "To practice space is thus to repeat the joyful and silent experience of childhood; it is, in a place, to be other and to move towards the other" (ibid, p 109).

There is also the question of the ability to modify space. Marx suggested that this was necessary to our humanity, but ways open to the ordinary mortal -- flyposting ("new and changeable decors" -- Chtcheglov), graffiti ("the wandering semantic" -- de Certeau) are limited and, it has to be said, illegal. Arrest is the last thing a schizophrene needs. In the absence of decriminalisation, art therapy might be extended to cover urban interventions. But I feel that the institutional context is unhelpful. We need a private resolution to our grief, and the liberty of aleatory expression needs to be asserted.

Any 'social existence' aspiring or claiming to be 'real', but failing to produce its own space, would be a strange entity, a very peculiar kind of abstraction unable to escape from the ideological or even the 'cultural' realm (Lefebvre, 1991, p 53). Lefebvre is right. The spaces of schizophrenia are imposed from within, created for us, or rely on the interpretations of others. One thinks of the heterotopias of psychosis, the neon intensities of the material world, or, lupus in fabula, the "glass cabinet of the present tense" (Pilinsky, 1992). We are imprisoned by both ideology and culture. Our space and time have been hijacked so often as an analogy for the tendencies of postmodernity, that we are in danger of being occluded in the discussion. Certainly, David Harvey (1989) relegates schizophrenia to a murderous tendency while bleeding Frederic Jameson's more insightful observations.

Key to the drift is the imperative of getting lost. The Barbican, taken in the right frame of mind, is an exemplar for the psychogeographer. The Image of the City, Kevin Lynch's 1959 research report on urban legibility, highlights a series of elements which work to bemuse the pedestrian. Lynch's respondents reported that interruptions in spatial continuity threw them off their direction. "The sudden and particularly indiscernible shift of one grid system to another grid system or a non-grid was very confusing" (Lynch, p 62). Other misanthropic aspects included subtle misleading curves (p 56), paths lacking identity, paths branching, confused intersections (p 58), sharp separation of path from surrounding elements (p 56), and for the driver, one way streets (p 60).

Carolyn Smith
February 27, 2008, revised August 11, 2008

Footnotes
1. This is Freud's own interpretation. Lacan proposes that the game represents Little Hans' entry into language as a differential system.
2. Lefebvre is at some pains to point out the variance in their respective theories. In a footnote on page 185 of The Production of Space, he states: "For Lacan, the mirror helps to counteract the tendency of language to break up the body into pieces, but it freezes the Ego into a rigid form rather than leading it towards a transcendence in and through a space which is at once practical and symbolic (imaginary)".
3. The series relied totally on the skill and artistry of the photographer, Hadley K. A good friend for many years, I shall always remember her with gratitude. My sincere thanks also go out to the staff and management of iSYS Hungary, and Hadley's flatmate (whose name sadly, I have forgotten), without whom, this process of discovery would not have been possible.

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