Alternative Languages of LandscapeAnalysis: Visualizing Geography ThroughPhotography

David J. Keeling

ContentsIntroduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2Visual Analysis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15

AbstractIn both academic and lay geography communities, the use of imagery such asphotographs, maps, film, and other visualizations has stimulated renewed ideasabout the language of landscape analysis and interpretation. Post-millennial stu-dents especially appear to be increasingly stimulated intellectually by visualimagery, as geographic information science, memes, and creative open-sourceimage software have democratized the creation of maps and other visual imagery.This chapter explores the use of landscape photography as a visual languagethat facilitates analysis and interpretation of landscapes as palimpsests. Howdoes visual imagery help us understand landscape change over space and time,and facilitate a broader and deeper understanding of the language of place, society,and environment spoken by photographic imagery? A representative sample ofimages, drawn from a personal database of over one million digital picturescovering over 100 countries, provides the framework for a discussion of howphotographs can open up new areas of discourse about who we are and how weinteract with the landscape.

KeywordsLandscape interpretation · Imagery · Representation

D. J. Keeling (*)Department of Geography and Geology, Western Kentucky University, Bowling Green, KY, USAe-mail: david.keeling@wku.edu

# Springer International Publishing AG, part of Springer Nature 2018S. D. Brunn et al. (eds.), Handbook of the Changing World Language Map,https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-73400-2_49-1

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Introduction

AsRod Stewart (1971) famously sang, “Every Picture Tells a Story,” and geographershave a long tradition of looking at landscapes as palimpsests to understand andexplain context and change. The term “palimpsest” became an important metaphorin the humanities to show how different texts are evident on a single piece ofparchment but where traces of the original still remain (Mitin 2010). After Meinig(1979) introduced the term in geography, the language of imagery in interpretationsand representations of landscapes became an important element of “reading” place,whereby both physical and cultural fragments of the past, shaped by identities,politics, economics, and lifestyles, etc., could have myriad meanings. The realitythat contemporary spaces are constantly constructed over past foundations has broadimplications for both the observable and virtual world. Graham (2010) pointed outthat millions of places across the globe have become part of a new language of ourvirtual Earth, where both professional and lay writers, artists, bloggers, cartographers,and photographers are finding creative ways to visualize and interpret the planet.

A well-worn phrase – a picture is worth a thousand words – suggests that visualimagery as an element of communication can play a powerful role in helping us tounderstand how the world works. Heiferman (2012) argued that photography inparticular has become a universal language, with over half-a-trillion images annuallycontributing to how we see, understand, and interpret the world around us. Recentcurricula innovations in geography, for example, aim to explore this new visuallanguage by delving more deeply into how the use of photographs, maps, andillustrations can explain more fully the amazing diversity of cultural and physicallandscapes (Greiner 2014; Foresman and Strahler 2012). My own approach toanalyzing the visual language of geography in the classroom incorporates examplesfrom a personal archive of over one million digitized images collected over 40 yearsof research and exploration. Archived by year and country, and cross-indexed bylandscape theme (urban, rural, physical, cultural, transport, etc.), these images speakthe language of cultural context and change, and facilitate a more engaged approachto analysis and interpretation of peoples and places. In this essay, I have selected12 images, representing the 6 inhabited continents, as exemplars of palimpsesticlandscapes, cultural stories, and human ingenuity. Each has a physical context, issituated within a culture defined by local languages, dialects, and meanings, andprovides a story of human-environment interaction on a rapidly changing planet.

Visual Analysis

The language of geopolitics often involves the use of maps and photographs toexamine boundary issues, territorial claims, and patterns of resource availability.Comparing a map of Yugoslavia from 1990, for example, with a 2001 map ofsuccessor states after the Balkan conflicts would raise some important issues aboutthe resilience of boundaries and the nature of political identity. Figure 1 highlights astatue honoring former President Bill Clinton, and speaks to the impact of U.S. policy

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on the emergence of Kosovo as an independent country in 2008. Located along BillClinton Boulevard in the capital, Pristina, the 10-ft-high statue honors the role of theU.S. and NATO during the Kosovan war of independence fought against the forces ofthe rump state of Yugoslavia between 1998 and 1999. Described as a “humanitarian”intervention to stop the slaughter of innocent civilians caught in the cross-firebetween the Kosovo Liberation Army and the Yugoslav military, NATO bombingof strategic targets in Yugoslavia encouraged then-president Milošević to withdrawtroops from Kosovan territory. NATO peacekeeping troops entered Kosovo duringthe 1999 summer, and paved the way for the country’s independence declarationseveral years later. The statue was erected by Albanian Kosovans, the largest ethnicgroup in the newly formed republic, in recognition of Clinton’s support during thewar. This image suggests not only that the language of diplomacy is important,whether through the use of hard or soft power, but also that individuals shape thefuture in profound and often unanticipated ways. Surrounded by new apartmenttowers that house many Kosovans displaced from their rural homes by the conflict,the statue reminds us of influential leaders throughout time and space who havereshaped political and cultural landscapes in profound ways.

Another former conflict zone is represented in Fig. 2, which features a protestmural on the wall of a residence in Derry, Northern Ireland. The famous Irish rockgroup, U2, raised the issue of how people see and use their physical space and place inthe classic song “Where the Streets Have No Name,” featured on their 1987 JoshuaTree album. The song refers to the streets of Belfast, where a person’s religion andincome were evident by the street they lived on, and it posited that barriers and

Fig. 1 Statue of former U.S. President Bill Clinton in Pristina, Kosovo

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divisions between people should not exist as they do in places like Northern Ireland.Throughout the twentieth century, the murals in Northern Ireland have beeninterpreted variously as art, social commentary, and political propaganda, in additionto serving as important emotional outlets for the region’s residents. This particularimage raises questions about the language of political violence and how residentsphysically protested British policies that were viewed as anti-Catholic, designed toignore local social conditions, and to restrict economic opportunity. Catholics andothers who spoke out publicly against what they viewed as repressive policies facedviolence and, often, death, at the hands of paramilitary and other pro-Protestantgroups, so the murals were used to express these issues visually and openly.

Graffiti is a universal language of expression, protest, social commentary,and claims on the “ownership” of space. Throughout Latin America, for example,especially since the beginning of the new millennium, U.S. policies towards theregion have been viewed with ambivalence, skepticism, and some measure ofembarrassment. While the U.S. has experienced over a century of discourse withLatin America about democracy, development, trade, and identity, often shaped bythe language of neocolonialism and globalization, its rhetoric against leftist move-ments and left-leaning governments has been particularly controversial. Figure 3reflects widespread feelings in Latin America about the failure of the U.S. to under-stand the region’s needs and interests. This graffiti – Fuera Yankees de AmericaLatina: Todos Contra Bush (America out of Latin America: Everyone Against Bush)–was painted on awall in Coquimbo, Chile, and reflected sentiments at the time about

Fig. 2 Protest mural in Derry, Northern Ireland

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the lack of U.S. support for the region’s leftist-leaning presidents, such as MichelleBachelet in Chile, Néstor Kirchner in Argentina, Hugo Chavez in Venezuela, andLula da Silva in Brazil, among others. The language of engagement on myriad issuesbetween the U.S. and Latin America had shifted significantly after 2001 as events inthe Middle East and beyond, post-9/11, shaped what was viewed as a turning awayfrom useful dialogue with Latin Americans about their future.

The language of trade and resource distribution is inherently geographic,as specific locations are endowed with attributes that facilitate the production ofraw materials, agricultural products, and manufactured goods. Figure 4 highlightsone of the more significant technological changes in Mediterranean agriculturerecently – the introduction of plastic-covered greenhouses – driven by migrantlabor, an accommodating climate, and hi-tech distribution systems. The world’ssecond-largest concentration of “plasticulture” outside China can be found alongthe Andalucian coast of southeastern Spain, covering many thousands of hectaresbetween Málaga and Almería. Nicknamed the “Plastic Coast” because of its highconcentration of plasticulture along a narrow strip of coastal land, this visuallyfascinating landscape has provoked intense debate about products, markets, laborstructures, and environmental conditions (Keeling 2015). This view out over the vaststretches of plastic from the upper slopes of the coastal range raises many questionsabout the use of this landscape. Who works these farms, known locally asinvernaderos? Where does the irrigation water come from, and what are the long-term environmental consequences of this type of agriculture? Conversations withworkers in the field revealed that Maghrebian migrants traditionally have dominated

Fig. 3 Graffiti in Coquimbo, Chile, expressing distain for U.S. policies towards the region

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the greenhouse workforce, often living and working in dire conditions. Race-basedclashes between locals and migrants, and concerns by human rights organizationsabout the slum dwellings that are squeezed between the greenhouses, have dominatedmedia reports about labor rights over the years. Much like the U.S. agriculturalenvironment, domestic labor often is unwilling to take on such back-breakingwork, where greenhouse temperatures under the plastic can soar above 120 �F(48.8 �C), rest breaks are rare, and hourly wages, even with collective bargaining,barely exceed 5 euros ($7). This image also focuses attention on how the language offood production, distribution, and consumption is changing rapidly in an increasinglyglobalized marketplace. Even though there are renewed debates about the social andeconomic benefits of locally sourced products, population growth and environmentalconditions in many countries around the world do not permit some communities toavoid reliance on imported foodstuffs from places like the Plastic Coast.

About 1,000 miles to the east of the Plastic Coast lies the Valley of the Templesnear Agrigento, Sicily. Although Sicilian identity is often associated stereotypicallywith the Cosa Nostra (à la the Godfathermovies and the Mafia), subsistence agricul-ture, and waves of outmigration, the region around the temples provides a wonder-fully complex palette from which to create a composite of this complex society.Comprising eight temples built around 2,500 years ago by the Greeks, the valley isdominated by the Temple of Concordia, seen in Fig. 5, which is considered to be oneof the best-preserved Doric temples in existence. This particular view provides a greatopportunity to discuss landscape palimpsests in the classroom, to demonstrate how

Fig. 4 Agricultural landscapes of the “Plastic Coast” in southeastern Spain

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land usage changes over time, and to explain how the historical landscape can shapethe language of, and debate about, contemporary political and social identities. Whileintensive, small-scale agriculture is still practiced around the valley, much as it hasbeen for over twomillennia, modern urban sprawl now surrounds the temples and hascreated challenges for preservation, minimizing environmental damage, and the long-term mitigation of tourism impacts. The archaeological site was added to UNESCO’sWorld Heritage list in 1997, in recognition of its role as one of the most importantMediterranean cities of the period. As a result, the regional Sicilian government hasdeveloped a strategy to manage the valley and its surroundings in a more sustainablemanner. Part of this strategy is to preserve traditional methods of agricultural pro-duction and to ensure the protection of artefacts of value, with particular attention tocultural diversity, farming techniques, arboriculture, and Mediterranean gardening.

Across the Mediterranean, deep in the sands of the Sahara Desert, live approxi-mately two million Tuareg scattered across seven countries, and known colloquiallyas the Blue People because of their indigo-blue veils. The nomadic Tuareg arefrequently associated with the language of political rebellion and independence, asthey have long struggled to create an indigenous territory carved out of the existingSaharan political space they inhabit. Their political ambitions encouraged the forma-tion of Tinariwen in the 1980s, a Tuareg musical group that fuses indigenous musicalstyles and electric guitars to give voice to the Tuareg’s political and cultural causes.Festivals to celebrate Tuareg culture, art, music, and language are held regularly inboth Mali and Niger, although rebellions in the early 1990s and again in 2012–2013,along with active terrorist groups, make attendance difficult for foreigners. In 2006,I journeyed deep into the Aïr Mountains of northern Niger to attend the Festival

Fig. 5 The Valley of the Temples in Agrigento, Sicily

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Iferouane and to learn firsthand about the environmental, political, and resourcechallenges facing the Tuareg. Figure 6 shows a group of attendees intensely watchinga display of horsemanship by several Tuareg riders, while on the dusty ground behindme a group of musicians performed classic indigenous music. Traditionally, bothsongs and poetry are passed by Tuareg women orally from generation to generation,despite the existence of a written Berber language that binds different tribal groupsacross the Sahara. This oral history recounts Tuareg ancestry and clan lines, describeshow trade networks developed within and across the desert, and extols the battles forcultural survival in one of Africa’s, and the world’s, most challenging environments.However, rebellion and globalization have challenged the Tuareg to rethink howthey communicate both internally and externally. Musical groups like Tinariwen arenow committed to reinventing the verbal art by using paper, digital, and otherstrategies to communicate their traditions and ambitions. Their long-term goal is tohelp the Tuareg reimagine their culture and achieve political autonomy in a regionincreasingly influenced by foreign actors such as multinationals and groups likeAl-Qaeda and Boko Haram.

In another arid environment some 3,000 miles further east, the city of Dubai,part of the political state of the United Arab Emirates, has created a unique urbanlanguage shaped by imaginative architecture and extravagant infrastructure. Knowntongue-in-cheek as the Disneyworld in the Desert, Dubai has rewritten the wayurbanists talk about cities in post-oil economies. Although the city has severalsignature buildings or projects that exemplify its transformation into a global

Fig. 6 The Tuareg Festival Iferouane in the Aïr Mountains of Niger, Africa

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entrepôt, such as the Burj Khalifa, the Palm and World islands, Cayan Tower, andmany others, perhaps the most evocative of Dubai’s buildings is the Burj Al Arab(Fig. 7). At the time of its completion in 1999, the Burj distinguished itself as thetallest hotel in the world constructed on an artificial island, and it stretches over1,000 ft into the Dubai sky. The Burj is one of the most photographed buildings inthe world, and it has become instrumental in defining Dubai as a global city byemerging as a national icon. Its unique design and location is representative of thelanguage of architecture, which argues that architecture rather than the building itselfhas aesthetic aspirations, has the ability to stir emotions, and aims to represent what aculture deems significant (Simitch andWarke 2014). This image provides a powerfuldeparture point for conversations about urban palimpsests and how towns and citieshave transformed through time and across space in creative and distinctive ways.

In recent years, the language of environmental modification, dominated primarilyby the widely accepted science on, and debate about, climate change, has driven arethinking of economic and social practices. With issues like genetically modifiedorganisms, ocean acidification, species loss, and other threats to global sustainabilityfirmly ensconced in the current environmental lexicon, individual stories aboutenvironmental impacts on local communities often are overshadowed by these biggerissues. Although specific environmental disasters make headline news at the time,they often fade from public discourse as the conversation moves on to the disasterde jour. Figure 8 illustrates personal experience with a major environmental disasterthat, at first, was covered up by successive governments and, ultimately, led to untolddeaths and the end of a vibrant local community. The image shows an abandoned

Fig. 7 The Burj Al Arab in Dubai, United Arab Emirates

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movie theatre and café in the ghost town of Wittenoom, located in the Pilbararegion of northwestern Australia, which had emerged as an important mining townin the 1940s and 1950s producing Crocidolite (fibrous riebeckite) or blue asbestos.Migrants from around Europe were attracted to the town during its heyday due to highsalaries. My family arrived in the town from the U.K. in January 1963, and stayeduntil December 1964, before returning to England. After our return, news began toemerge of a high incidence of asbestosis diagnoses, along with heightened incidencesof mesothelioma among residents and former residents. The town was officiallyshut down in 1966 and declared an environmental disaster site, but, 50 years on,there continues to be several hundred people directly impacted by asbestosis. In myown family, four out of seven members ultimately died of cancer-related illnesses,although there is no evidence of a direct connection with asbestosis. Images oflandslides, post-tsunami destruction, earthquake damage, air pollution, and othernatural and human-induced hazards can be powerful tools in shaping the languageof environmental change and helping to put the issues in context so they become lessabstract and more relevant in our complex societies. As it does in so many instances,music can also bring attention to an issue. The Wittenoom story inspired the 1990song “Blue SkyMine” by the Australian groupMidnight Oil, whose lead singer, PeterGarrett, later pursued a political career and was ultimately appointed Australia’sMinister for the Environment, Heritage, and the Arts in 2007.

Fig. 8 The ghost town of Wittenoom, Western Australia, closed by asbestosis

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In Jared Diamond’s (2005) well-known book, “Collapse: How Societies Chooseto Fail or Succeed,” he expands the language of environmental change to explorehistorical and pre-historical examples of societal collapse. One of his case studiesfocused on Rapa Nui (Easter Island), famous for its monumental statues called moai(Fig. 9), which suffered a precipitous decline in population due primarily to theextinction of natural resources but also, after European contact, because of diseaseand further deforestation. By the end of the nineteenth century, just over 100 indig-enous Polynesians remained on the island. Rapa Nui’s story provides a fascinatinginsight into why exploration, discovery, and eventual colonization changed thelanguage of how we understand and explain identity, place, and society. How didthe Polynesians find this remote island in the southeastern Pacific Ocean? Did theyarrive from South America, as recently postulated because of widespread evidence ofthe sweet potato, or did they navigate eastward from the Gambier or Marquesasislands, according to the Polynesian Diaspora Theory? What motivated them toexhaust their limited resources to build these extraordinary statues? As no writtenand little oral history survives to explain the role andmeaning of themoai in Rapa Nuisociety, we are left to ponder the class systems and deification of ancestors thatproduced these remarkable statues. Does their existence speak a language of ritualand worship, of inter-clan rivalry, and of a symbiotic relationship between the living

Fig. 9 The moai of Rapa Nui in the southeast Pacific Ocean

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and the dead? Visitors to this fascinating island located over 2,000 miles from thewest coast of South America continue to be drawn by the enduring mystery of thiscollapsed society and by the unspoken words of the moai that look down and acrossthe landscapes that have long since buried any useful evidence of their creators.

InMedellín, Colombia, the language ofmobility and reconciliation is embedded inhow local communities have been able to recover in recent years from the violenceperpetrated by drug cartels, anti-government rebels, and grinding poverty. Betweenthe 1970s and 1990s, poor hillside communities like Comuna 13 were devastated bydrug lords such as Pablo Escobar, and by the failure of local and national governmentsto address chronic unemployment, a lack of access to opportunities, and rampantinsecurity. After the military and police swept through these poor neighborhoods inthe mid-2000s and restored some semblance of order and security, a new type oftransport infrastructure appeared on the landscape to provide access to people livingin slum conditions up the sprawling hillsides of the Andes that overlook downtownMedellín (Drummond et al. 2012). Built in 2008, Line J of the Metrocable systemconnects the four communities of San Javier, Juan XXIII, Vallejuelos, and La Aurorato the heavy-rail metro network that runs along the Medellín valley (Fig. 10). Ascable-car systems become more popular solutions to urban transport challenges incities like Medellín, Rio de Janeiro, Caracas, La Paz, and Ankara, they have encour-aged a new language of accessibility and mobility that embraces themes of social

Fig. 10 The Metrocable system in Comuna 13, Medellín, Colombia

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inclusion and exclusion, land-use impacts and pricing, youth violence, and alternativeinfrastructure. Particularly important is the need to analyze the financial and politicalmotivation for building such infrastructure, and to parse the language of governmentin terms of the goals it establishes for measuring the success and impact of such asystem. InMedellín, there is clear evidence that the daily lives of Comuna 13 residentshave been improved immeasurably by enhancing the transport network thoughconstruction of a cable-car system. Although transport is a necessary element insocioeconomic development, it is not sufficient in and of itself, and needs supportfrommyriad other elements in the development matrix, including security, education,health, and employment opportunities. Whether the people living under and aroundthe Metrocable shown in Fig. 10 continue to experience improvements to life andlivelihood will depend on the willingness of local, regional, and national govern-ments to continue to refine the language of development in ways appropriate to theindividuals impacted.

In the far southwestern corner of the Pacific sit the islands of Vanuatu, formerlythe New Hebrides until independence in 1980. This Melanesian society is famous forits “cargo cult” developed during and immediately after the impacts of industriali-zation reached the islands at the turn of the twentieth century and which peakedduring World War II. Much of the language used to explain and interpret traditionalMelanesian culture is shaped by the local Turaga movement that promotes indige-nous systems of economic exchange and forms of currency such as woven mats,pigs, and kava. About 120 miles (193 km) north of the capital, Port Vila, sits the lush,mountainous island of Pentecost, known as the spiritual home of the extreme sport ofbungee jumping. Figure 11 shows a young boy preparing to jump off a tower thatcan reach up to 100 ft (30.5 m) high as part of the Nanggol ritual (land diving). Theonly equipment used in the dive is the natural vine tied to the ankles of the diver,with villagers at the foot of the tower positioned to help after the landing. Thecultural language of the Pentecostians explains the practical and ceremonial aspectsof Nanggol, which aims to ensure a successful yam harvest, demonstrate theboldness and masculinity of the participants, and improve the strength and health

Fig. 11 A Nanggolparticipant prepares to jumpon Pentecost Island, Vanuatu

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of the divers. The ceremony takes place weekly during the months of April, May, andJune only, and it has become a popular tourist attraction, although strictly controlledby the local chiefs. In the 1960s and 1970s, the rhetoric of anti-colonialism wasused to reinvigorate the Nanggol ritual, as missionaries in the nineteenth centuryhad encouraged its abandonment as a heathen activity. Indigenous Pacific Islanderlanguage that describes cultural identity, ritual, and clan ties has incorporateddescriptions and explanations of traditional ways as a means of preserving andenhancing what it means to be a Melanesian.

Finally, no event exemplifies the profound change in the language of security,terrorism, globalization, and the limits of military power as much as the attackson the United States on September 11th, 2001. Those attacks and their aftermathare inextricably intertwined with how we see and talk about the world in the newmillennium. Figure 12 highlights the Twin Towers in New York City that haddominated lower Manhattan since their construction commenced in summer 1966.After opening in 1973, they become part of the city’s iconic landscape, along with theStatue of Liberty, the Empire State Building, the Brooklyn Bridge, and other struc-tures. New York emerged in the 1980s and 1990s as one of the primary world citiesthat drives the global economy (Knox and Taylor 1995), linking together a sophis-ticated network of people, finance, and services. World cities changed how we talkedabout, and engaged with, globalization, resource management, and environmentalchange, while September 11th changed how we talk about security, identity, culturalconflict, and threats to individual liberties and freedoms. Although a new towercomplex has risen on the site of those horrific attacks, reshaping our conversations

Fig. 12 The original New York World Trade Center towers

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about the meaning of place, the original towers remain seared into the memory ofthose who witnessed that day or who understood their broader context in an increas-ingly integrated global community.

Summary

As demonstrated by these dozen examples, the use of imagery such as photographscan be a powerful tool in reshaping and extending the language of landscape analysisand interpretation. Post-millennial students especially appear to be increasinglystimulated intellectually by visual imagery, as geographic information science,memes, and creative open-source image software have democratized the creation ofphotographs, maps, and other visualizations of life and livelihood. In exploring theuse of photography as a visual language that can facilitate analysis and interpretationof landscapes as palimpsests, my goal has been to show how images can be used aseffective tools to explain more deeply and broadly the complex structures of society.Used effectively, a well-composed photograph of a place, individual, event, orinfrastructure opens up the possibility of a rich and engaging discussion about howwe see ourselves, what changes are afoot in our habitats, and why we use particulartypes of language to explain changes in our society.

References

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virtual Earth. Tijdschrift voor Economische en Sociale Geografie, 101(4), 422–436.Greiner, A. (2014). Visualizing human geography: At home in a diverse world (2nd ed.).

New York: Wiley.Heiferman, M. (Ed.). (2012). Photography changes everything. New York: Aperture.Keeling, D. J. (2015). A picture is worth 1000 words: The Plastic Coast of Andalusia, Spain. Focus

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University Press.Meinig, D. (1979). The interpretation of ordinary landscapes. New York: Oxford University Press.Midnight Oil. (1990). Blue sky mine. Sydney: Columbia Records.Mitin, I. (2010). Palimpsest. In B. Warf (Ed.), SAGE encyclopedia of geography (pp. 2111–2112).

Thousand Oaks: Sage.Simitch, A., & Warke, V. (2014). The language of architecture. Beverly: Rockport Publishers.Stewart, R. (1971). Every picture tells a story. Chicago: Mercury Record Corporation.U2. (1987). Where the streets have no name. Dublin: Windmill Lane Studios.

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