Article

Rethinking the geographies

of cultural objects through
digital technologies: Interface,
network and friction

Progress in Human Geography

118
The Author(s) 2015
Reprints and permission:
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DOI: 10.1177/0309132515580493
phg.sagepub.com

Gillian Rose
The Open University, UK

Abstract
This paper addresses how geographers conceptualize cultural artifacts. Many geographical studies of cultural
objects continue to depend heavily on an approach developed as part of the new cultural geography in the
1980s. That approach examined the cultural politics of representations of place, space and landscape by
undertaking close readings of specific cultural objects. Over three decades on, the cultural field (certainly in
the Global North) has changed fundamentally, as digital technologies for the creation and dissemination of
meaning have become extraordinarily pervasive and diverse. Yet geographical studies of cultural objects have
thus far neglected to consider the conceptual and methodological implications of this shift. This paper argues
that such studies must begin to map the complexities of digitally-mediated cultural production, circulation
and interpretation. It will argue that, to do this, it is necessary to move away from the attentive gaze on stable
cultural objects as formulated by some of the new cultural geography, and instead focus on mapping the
dynamics of the production, circulation and modification of meaning at digital interfaces and across frictional
networks.
Keywords
digital media, friction, interface, methodology, network, new cultural geography

I Introduction: The cultural object

and the new cultural geography
Cultural geography as a subdiscipline has long
argued for the importance of cultural artifacts
of many kinds in mediating human experiences
of place, space and landscape. Much of this
work continues to be shaped by concepts
developed as part of what was called the new
cultural geography. As is well-known, the
new cultural geography emerged in the second
half of the 1980s, when influential arguments
were made for a more theoretically-engaged
and more critical cultural geography. A number of geographers drew on various forms of

British Marxist cultural theory, particularly

work of Raymond Williams, Stuart Hall and
John Berger, to insist that culture is not a
residual category . . . it is the very medium
through which social change is experienced, contested and constituted (Cosgrove and Jackson,
1987: 95). Other theorists were soon enrolled
into the project too, including anthropologists
such as Geertz, postcolonial writers such as

Corresponding author:
Gillian Rose, Department of Geography, The Open
University, Walton Hall, Milton Keynes, MK7 6AA, UK.
Email: [email protected]

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Bhabha, Said and Spivak, feminists such as bell

hooks, Irigaray and Haraway, psychoanalysts
such as Fanon, Freud and Lacan, and social theorists such as Foucault, Baudrillard and Derrida
(Anderson et al., 2003; Atkinson et al., 2005;
Blunt et al., 2003; Cook et al., 2000; Crang,
2004; Duncan et al., 2004; Johnson et al.,
2013; Oakes and Price, 2008; Shurmer-Smith,
2002; Thrift and Whatmore, 2004). As its theoretical reference points multiplied, so too did
empirical studies of maps of meaning (Jackson, 1989), across a large number of geographys subdisciplines. The new cultural
geography thus diversified and dispersed
almost as soon as it emerged; it was hardly surprising that complaints were soon heard about
both its lack of theoretical clarity and the dilution of its Marxist critique (Barnett, 2004;
Mitchell, 2000).
This paper focuses specifically on the legacy
of those new cultural geographers who were
concerned to interpret cultural objects. In books
like Cosgroves Social Formation and Symbolic
Landscape (1984) and Duncans The City as
Text (1990), geographers took cultural objects
to be representations of the world which articulated, sustained and/or resisted social power
relations: such objects were understood as offering, to quote Jackson, a preferred reading of the
material world, with prevailing social relations
mirrored in the depiction of physical space
(1989: 186). So, for example, the traditional
geographical concept of landscape was given
sustained attention in early new cultural geography, with Cosgrove (1984) arguing that the very
idea of landscape as it emerged in 15th-century
Europe was inextricably bound into the changing ways in which land was being materially
appropriated by an emerging propertied class.
Cosgrove made his argument looking at a range
of sources, from written texts to surveys, maps,
plans and landscape paintings. He argued that
all of these different forms of cultural objects
were devices that enabled visual control over
the countryside which legitimated the private

ownership of land (Cosgrove, 1984: 221). Others elaborated the ways in which the landscape
painting genre in particular came to represent
specific forms of national identity (Daniels,
2011; Matless, 1998), and feminist and postcolonial critics pointed to the ways in which such
paintings also affirmed specific gendered and
racialized power relations (Rose, 1993).
This strand of the new cultural geography
thus gave careful attention to a particular form
of cultural object: one that might be described
as auratic. According to Hansen (2008), aura
was understood by Benjamin as the experience
offered by single, beautiful, crafted objects. It
is the effect of an authentic original. An original
that might be reproduced, of course, hundreds or
millions of times, by printing or by films and
photographs, and Benjamin himself reflected
at length on the cultural and political consequences of the age of mass reproduction
(1973). Nonetheless, the new cultural geography emerged at a historical moment when the
vast majority of cultural objects could be traced
back to an original: an original manuscript, a
building, a reel of film, a map. And the conceptual tools for interpreting such objects offered
by the new cultural geography took such auratic
objects the original, as it were, a canvas, a
novel, a film, a photograph, a building and,
treating it as an inert, stable object, approached
it as a text to be interpreted through various
forms of close reading. For Barnes and Duncan
(1992), cultural objects were to be interpreted in
relation to other texts and discourse; for Cosgrove and Daniels (1989), this sort of reading
was best described as a form of iconography.
Either way, close attention was paid to the form
and structure of the cultural object, in order to
unpack the meaning of each of its constituent
symbolic parts.
These were relatively rich and sophisticated
methodological discussions, and they have
produced powerful and subtle readings of many
forms of cultural texts. In some ways, then, its
perhaps not surprising that much of the cultural

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geography that examines cultural objects continues to cleave to this method: close readings
of cultural texts, with the aim of construing their
implicit meanings and analysing how those
meanings affirm or challenge power relations.
In other ways, though, the continuing hegemony of this particular approach to understanding cultural artefacts is very surprising
indeed. For in the three decades or so since the
emergence of the new cultural geography, both
cultural objects and the technologies and practices in which they are embedded have altered
significantly. Over the past 30 years there have
been profound changes in the processes and
practices of cultural production, in the circulation and display of cultural objects, and in the
processes of audiencing, participation and critique. These changes have been enabled by a
wide range of digital technologies, yet cultural
geographers have had almost nothing to say
about their implications for the creation of
meaningful places, spaces and landscapes.1
This silence, I will suggest, is in large part a
consequence of the methodological orientation
bequeathed by certain parts of the new cultural
geography specifically its focus on stable
cultural objects which is increasingly inadequate for engaging with much making of cultural meaning in the contemporary moment.
The next section of this paper argues that
since the creation of so many cultural objects
though certainly not all, and not everywhere
is digitally mediated now, the stable cultural
object is currently the rare exception rather than
the rule. Digital objects are not stable, but
rather are mutable, multimedial and mass. Geographers interested in cultural objects therefore
require some new tools to be able to continue to
offer robust interpretations of digital cultural
expressions, and the third section of this paper
offers three concepts which might help towards
that end: interface, network and friction. Interface is the key term here, which embeds the
content of a text, sound or image file via particular software and devices into specific social

practices of meaning-making. To understand

the interface requires a certain spatiality, however, and the notions of network and friction
describe that spatiality. This is the space of digital cultural objects, a spatiality that is not only
visible in many digital images, but is also the
geometry through which they must be understood as, in part, no longer objects at all. The
fourth section offers some brief thoughts on the
methodological implications of this shift.

II The challenge of digital cultural

activity: Mutable, multimedial,
mass
Since the 1980s, a very wide range of digital
technologies has saturated everyday life, certainly in the Global North, and geographers
have been at the forefront in describing and conceptualizing these changes. Graham and Marvin
(2001), Thrift (Thrift and French, 2002; Thrift,
2014) and Kitchin and Dodge (2011) have all
made important contributions to understanding
how specific combinations of hardware and
software control urban infrastructure and thus
the spatial organization of cities. The emphasis
in this work is on software in particular as a
form of automated management (Kitchin and
Dodge, 2011: x) which operates without human
intervention to generate data and trigger automated responses, from traffic light signals to
advertising mailshots (see also Dodge and
Kitchin, 2009; Kitchin, 2014). An extensive
body of work is also emerging that explores
locative technologies of many kinds and their
mediation of places and landscapes (see Boulton and Zook, 2013; Brighenti, 2010; Crampton,
2013; de Souza e Silva and Frith, 2012; Dodge
et al., 2009; Kitchin et al., 2013; Leszczynski,
2014; Wilson, 2011, 2014a). It is also the case
that cultural activity of most kinds is being
transformed by digital technologies. Fundamental shifts in many forms of cultural production,
distribution and audiencing have been enabled
by these technologies. Not only do most

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creative professionals now use digital hardware

and software from artists to special effects
visualizers to architects but digital devices
like computers, scanners, digital cameras,
ebook readers and smartphones, and online distribution platforms such as YouTube, Flickr,
Vimeo, Instagram, Snapchat, Photobucket, Pinterest and Facebook, along with innumerable
software packages and apps, have enabled many
more people to engage in their own forms of
creative cultural production. Images, for example, from the very simple to the highly complex,
can be created, copied, repurposed, shared and
modified by anyone with a smartphone and a
computer, while the comment box, the like
button, and the blog are distributing the role of
the critic much more widely. Because of the
high levels of participation that these various
innovations have unleashed, few of the scholars
who have followed these changes speak of producers and audiences as two distinct groups
and activities: the preferred term is user (Hartley, 2012; Jenkins, 2008; Livingstone, 2005).
It is easy to fall into a vague and inflated
rhetoric when discussing new technologies
(Crang et al., 1999b; Kinsley, 2010). This section will therefore focus on a case study of a particular type of digital image, in order to specify
empirically the challenges that this new form of
cultural object poses to the toolkit offered by
the new cultural geography: digital visualizations of new urban developments, which are
intended to show developers, architects, planners and the inhabitants of urban public spaces
what a new development will look and feel
like when it is complete (see Figure 1). The
digital visualizations to be discussed were made
as part of the design and marketing of a largescale redevelopment project in Doha, Qatar, and
they might thus be seen as representations of a
place (Degen et al., 2015; Rose et al., 2014). The
thousands of visualizations made as part of this
development include 42 created to persuade the
developer to invest in the project, and if those 42
are studied, it is obvious that they represent the

new development in very particular ways.2

They display a leisured and family-centred lifestyle, with people strolling, shopping, relaxing
and playing in a range of beautiful urban scenes.
Their visual qualities are striking: they have
a heightened definition, a scintillating glow,
jewel-like colours; the sun flares around buildings, shafts of light fall into mosques and shopping malls, and dusk is often used to create
gorgeous light effects. Ash (2010, 2012, 2015)
has explored in detail the work that goes into the
affective design of computer games in order to
retain the engagement of players, and similarly
a great deal of labour went into creating these
seductive images. They are particularly effective at inventing, costuming and intensifying
new urban spaces, and as such they exemplify
the glamour and atmosphere which, as
Bohme (1993, 2003) and Thrift (2008) among
others have pointed out, is so crucial to selling
commodities now.
Exploring these visualizations production,
circulation and use also indicates some of the
fundamental ways in which cultural objects
are now changing form. The first of these is the
mutability of these visualizations, which is typical of digital images more generally. Digital
images can be changed endlessly by their users.
This was true in our case study of the visualizations that accompanied the Msheireb Downtown redevelopment project. As one of the
visualizers who worked on that project
remarked, you can change [digital] content a
lot more easily than you can change a physical
thing. There was an extensive process of commentary and discussion between the architects,
the visualizers and the developer in order to
achieve the right atmosphere in each visualization (see Degen et al., 2015), and visualizations
were also altered as the design of the development evolved. Alterations in the visual content
encoded in the image file are not the only way
in which these visualizations were mutable,
however. Not only are all digital images on
screens also transitory images that need to be

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Figure 1. A digital visualisation of a new housing development, February 2014, Cambridge UK.
Source: author.

constantly refreshed by the scanning electron

beam that forms an image on the screen
(Hayles, 2004: 74), but an image file itself has
gone through multiple software transitions in
order to become visible on a screen: source code,
executable application and runtime experience
(Galloway, 2010). Human meaning-making, and
the software and hardware through which it is
expressed, thus interact to create an inherently
unstable, changing cultural object.3 This mutability of digital images is one of the key characteristics of digital visual culture, then.
The instability of digital cultural objects
is also a result of a second characteristic of
digital images, again evident in the digital
visualizations of Msheireb Downtown, which
is that any digital file can be, and very often

is, materialized in very different ways (and

in different places). As well as on hoardings
around the building site, the same visualizations appeared on the developers website,
YouTube channel and Facebook page; in the
pages of various kinds of promotional literature produced by the developer; and as framed
prints in the developers offices. Some became
large printed backdrops on the construction site,
in front of which various hard landscaping and
planting were placed in order to test their appropriateness. Others were printed and pinned up
next to coffee machines in architects offices
to encourage discussion about the design, and
the architects own websites carried visualizations of their Msheireb Downtown buildings.
The visualization studios that worked on the

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project showcased their work on their websites

too. Both the architects and the visualizers used
printouts of the visualizations as proof that a
certain amount of design work had been completed and that they were due payment from
Msheireb Properties. And finally, many of the
visualizations appeared in an exhibition in London in 2013 (see Rose et al., 2015). As that
catalogue of the various material forms taken
by the digital visualizations of Msheireb Downtown suggests, not only do such visualizations
take on different material qualities (hard copy
of different kinds, various screens), they were
also materialized in specific forms in order to
be put to very different uses: for example, to
enhance the design process; to promote professional design expertise; and to sell the development to investors.
As well as their mutability, then, the multimediality of these digital images challenges any
notion of a stable cultural object. Because the
qualities of an image change depending on the
specific qualities of its transient content and
materializations, there is no original object
to be found. A further quality of digital images
that challenges the new cultural geographys
approach to cultural objects is the sheer number
of them that are made, again obvious in the
Msheireb Downtown project. It should be evident from the discussion of the 42 visualizations mutability and multimediality that there
are many, many versions of those 42. Moreover,
creating a visualization is in itself an iterative
process, as layers of colour, texture and photographic images are added to a modified version
of the architects Computer Aided Design
model; and the discussions of the Msheireb
Downtown visualizations between the architects and visualizers and the developer led to
multiple revisions. The 42, then, were just a tiny
proportion of the total number of visualizations
that were created as part of this project.
Massive numbers of images are also typical
of many contemporary forms of digital cultural
activity. A hundred hours of video are uploaded

to YouTube every minute. Sixty million photographs are uploaded to Instagram every day,
which is dwarfed by the 350 million uploaded
onto Facebook and the 400 million sent to SnapChat.4 Such photos are most often taken frequently and casually, posted at once or edited,
tagged and uploaded later, glanced at on a Facebook page or a Twitter feed or a Snapchat
screen, liked or not before the user moves
on: these are images whose numbers indicate a
practice that neither expects nor enables close,
attentive reading.
Digital images, then, like many forms of
digital cultural production, have three characteristics that are very different from the cultural objects on which parts of the new
cultural geography built their arguments more
than 30 years ago. They are mutable; they are
materialized in multiple media; and their numbers are massive. This presents at least two
challenges for cultural geographers now. The
first is the difficulty in identifying a stable cultural object. Because of their mutability and
multimediality, which are consequences of both
what the technologies enable and what people
do with them, digital cultural objects are inherently unstable. Although it is also true that many
auratic artworks also change over time, as paint
fades and plastics become brittle (Rubio, 2014),
the materialities of digital creation and circulation are fundamentally more mutable. In order
for a digital image to become visible, electronic
pulses of code must be translated through combinations of multiple softwares and device;
digital images are materialized in quite different forms, and they are put to quite different
purposes, including modification of their content. This makes identifying a single, inert object
for close reading very difficult, if not impossible.
The second challenge is how to deal with the
massiveness of digital cultural production. The
close reading of individual texts simply does
not work when the texts to be analysed are
made to be glanced at and exist in collections not
of a few dozen but of a few million.

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III Three concepts for engaging

with digital cultural production:
Network, interface, friction
The previous section argued that the close reading of stable cultural objects is ill-equipped to
engage with the defining characteristics of contemporary, digitally-mediated cultural activity.
Once cultural production and reproduction goes
digital, that object both dissolves and disperses.
How should cultural geographers interested in
images and other cultural artifacts respond to
this change?
This section will propose three conceptual
terms that might enable cultural geography to
grasp the particular qualities of digital cultural
activity while also retaining its founding commitment to the importance of culture as an
analytical category. These terms are interface,
network and friction. Together, they modify a
focus on stable objects by understanding digital
cultural objects (and that term will shortly be
replaced) as structured by a kind of immersive
spatiality that is distinctively digital.
Several geographers have remarked on the
importance of the spatialities through which
cyberspace or virtual geographies are conceptualized, and this paper concurs (Crang
et al., 1999b; Doel and Clarke, 1999; Graham
et al., 2013; Kinsley, 2014). So what is this distinctively digital spatiality? Elsaesser (2013:
240) describes the new default value of digital
vision as immersive. It is a fluid, threedimensional space into and through which
movement is expected. It is exemplified by the
42 visualizations made as part of the Msheireb
Downtown project. While there is one aerial
view and several at a distance among the 42,
most draw the viewer into their scenes with low
points of view of small, almost intimate scenarios carefully composed to suggest that you are in
the space, not just looking at it from a distance
as an audience. Several scholars have noted
that, in contrast to the fixed point of view of
geometric perspective and its visual control

over space, so effectively diagnosed in relation

to landscape paintings by new cultural geographers like Cosgrove, the spatiality created by
visualization software is not tethered to a fixed
point. Instead, it invites movement through its
three dimensions, just as the Msheireb Downtown visualizations invite us to enter their urban
scenarios. This space is fluid, scaleable and malleable; rather than offer a fixed viewpoint to its
user, it invites navigation (Verhoeff, 2012) by
doing away with horizons, suspending vanishing points, seamlessly varying distance, unchaining the camera and transporting the observer
(Elsaesser, 2013: 237; Hayles, 2012; Uricchio,
2011). In images, it is enabled by a wide range
of digital visualization softwares that are now
used to create everything from advertisements
to movie special effects to artworks to computer
games to architectural visualizations, all of which
are designed by combining different elements in
an onscreen, animated, three-dimensional space
(Manovich, 2013).
This invitation to navigate proposes a different understanding of cultural objects than that
assumed by the new cultural geography. Instead
of a printed paper map proffering the signs on its
surface for attentive reading, in a Google map
we move from map to satellite view, zoom in
and scale back, look at a photo of a street and
return; instead of reading a painting or a photograph that does not change its form as we do so,
in an online archive we scroll, zoom, crop,
download, follow links, share. Digital images
very often invite not contemplation but action,
navigation into the larger mass of images of
which they are a part, keeping an eye out for
where to move or what do to next (Verhoeff,
2012: 13; and see Ash, 2015; Casetti, 2013;
Elsaesser, 2013). (This is another way in which
audiences are increasingly users.) This is the
immersive spatiality that we can see in the digital image. It is also the spatiality through which
the image has to be understood.
This claim can be theorized through the concepts of interface, network and friction. An

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interface is defined by Hookway (2014: 4) in

the most general terms as
that form of relation which is defined by the
simultaneity and inseparability of its processes
of separation and augmentation, of maintaining
distinction while at the same time eliding it in a
mutualism that may be viewed as an entity in its
own right, with its own characteristics and behaviours that cannot be reduced to those of its constituent elements.

In the context of this discussion, an interface

is where three kinds of biological and inorganic
entities converge to create an interface performatively: human practices, hardware devices,
and software code (Ash, 2015; Drucker, 2013;
Kinsley, 2014; Leszczynski, 2014; Verhoeff,
2012). For example, much attention has been
given to a particular interface that is an interaction between people, devices and softwares in
very many places now: the screen. As Verhoeff
(2012) and others have pointed out, everyday
spaces, particularly in the Global North, are
saturated with screens, and they describe a similar scenario that exemplifies this saturation: an
urban street scene, where large screens carry
advertisements and television programmes,
smaller screens display ads and information,
other screens are used to order food and pay for
goods, kids play on consoles and smartphones
are ubiquitous. What is visible on any one
screen is a combination, or what Ash (2015)
calls an ecology, of hardware (the screen, its
casing, its other physical components), the software code that makes things visible (the image
file but also, for example, the app through which
that image is being seen and the operating system of the device), and how it is being looked
at by its user/s. The latter point is crucial (Bingham, 1996). Not only is the agency of digital
hardware and software at work at interfaces, but
so too is the agency of the people using it, which
is shaped by the soft/hardware of the interface
but can also interpret it actively. It is the interface as an intersection of these agencies that

should now replace the notion of a stable cultural object.

The mutual constitution of human practice,
digital hardware and software code creates what
is visible on a screen the interface, an entity in
its own right, a specific instantiation of a digital
files multimediality lets say, a Twitter feed
on a mobile, being checked by someone in a coffee shop. As an interface, this entity cannot be
understood as an inert object: it is a transitory
pulsing of electrons, temporarily convened on
a phone screen, a consequence of relations
between and among hardware, software and
practices, showing a few of millions of other
messages and snaps that reside on Twitters servers, all the images poached from other devices/
actions/software, being glanced at, scrolled
along, tapped, retweeted by its user. Understanding the meaning of that Twitter feed, then,
requires not only paying attention to that temporary interfacial entity of what the screen shows
(as Grace [2014] also insists; and see Elwood
and Leszczynski [2013]). It also requires being
attentive to both the human practices in which
it is embedded, and to the hardwares and softwares that enable it.
That hardware and software extends well
beyond the Twitter-screen-entity just conjured.
An interface should not be understood as a
screen that hides or obscures that extension;
rather, it must be conceptualized as a junction
between such extensions. As theorists of digital
cultural meaning, we must accept the screens
invitation to navigate its spatiality, and enter the
innards of the digital interface (Thrift quoted
in Boulton and Zook, 2013: 438). To repeat, the
immersive spatiality visible in digital images
must also be the spatiality used to understand
these images. This is an argument being made
by several geographers examining locative
media. Boulton and Zook (2013: 438), for
example, insist that we need to probe the
behind-the-scenes processes that mediate
apparently straightforward engagements with
locative media. An interface is itself part of a

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whole range of software operations that are

often not evident but of which the interface is
inextricably a part, just as it is also part of the
complex human practices that shape and are
shaped by engagements with interfaces. The
Twitter-feed-on-a-phone interface is not a
screen that should hide things, then, but is rather
a complex junction of components which must
be explored in all directions.
It is here that the second concept necessary
for cultural geography to grasp the form of digital cultural not-objects becomes evident: network. The conceptualization of network that
can address the three-fold agency of interfaces
hardware, software and humans is that
developed by Law (2002). He argues that a network is articulated in both physical space and
also through the work that is done by various
actors to make things move or pause (for a fuller
discussion, see Rose et al., 2014; and see Jazeel,
2010). In describing the networks that digital
interfaces open onto, there is clearly an extensive and complex material infrastructure that
stretches and locates digital cultural activity in
physical space: cables, servers, drives, processors, exchanges, screens, keyboards and so on.
All these objects are agents that work to circulate code. They all also need code to operate;
code runs systems as well as carries data, and
it has its own agency too. As Hartley (2012) and
many other new media scholars point out, platforms like Facebook and Google depend on
internal algorithms that sift their data in order
to structure what their users see in quite particular ways: for example, by offering advertising
that corresponds to what users talk about in
email messages, or, in Google Maps, by prioritizing in search results locations that have
received most likes (Graham et al., 2013).
Boulton and Zook (2013) describe this as the
duplicity of code, suggesting that the invisibility of the software code and its algorithms
allows such structured results to appear natural and obvious. Here we can see how the
concepts of interface and network enable a focus

on those patterns that structure the mass of digital cultural activity now.
There are also a whole range of human actors
whose practice constitutes this network, working within and beyond what its hardware and
software allow: developers who program, visualizers who create advertising campaigns, factory
workers assembling hardware (Grace, 2014),
engineers laying cabling, as well as all those
people who use all sorts of interfaces in their
everyday work and leisure. (Indeed, we might
also consider the labour of those who mine the
materials required by hardware manufacture,
and those who scavenge and recycle discarded
hardware.) Again, the notion of a network performed in part by human labour guides attention
to its diversity of forms of work, including different ways of seeing. A photo taken to be
uploaded to SnapChat for an eight-second view
before autodestructing invites a very different
way of seeing from the intense engagement
insisted on by big-budget computer games (on
the latter, see Ash, 2015). The notion of network
also emphasizes spatial divisions of human (and
other) labour. For example, the digital visualizations made of Msheireb Downtown only travelled between Europe and the USA as they
were being made (bar trips to cheap render farms
in China), which demonstrates the highly skewed
global distribution of this kind of creative expertise (McNeill, 2008; Ren, 2011). We also noticed
many of the architects and visualizers in our case
study doing discursive work to assert the creativity of European and US design professionals in
contrast to immature Gulf clients and Chinese
renderers who dont get colour. Network is
thus a useful term for sensitizing analysis to complex relations between different actors in contemporary digital culture.
For in a culture where the tools of production
and distribution of visual materials are much
more dispersed than they ever have been, the
enactment of different kinds of agency is highly
complex, as signalled by the notion of a convergence culture:

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convergence represents a paradigm shift a move
from medium-specific content towards content
that flows across multiple media channels,
toward the increased interdependence of communications systems, toward multiple ways of
accessing media content, and toward ever more
complex relations between top-down corporate
media and bottom-up participatory culture.
(Jenkins, 2008: 254)

In our case study, for example, the specific

creative expertise of US and European-based
visualizers and architects was challenged by the
Qatari client who had very clear ideas about
how the redevelopment project should express
a specific vision of Qatari cultural identity, and
the money to insist on those ideas being taken
seriously. Understanding the meanings of the
visualizations thus has to engage with these dispersed actors and their diverse forms of cultural
power and agency. Network is therefore an
important term for analysing the highly uneven
distribution of different kinds of digital cultural
work, its power geometry, if you like (Massey,
1993; and see Graham et al., 2013; Leszczynski,
2012; Sparke, 2013).
The final conceptual term this section will
discuss is friction. Galloway argues that friction
is inherent to interfaces: an interface is an
autonomous zone of interaction . . . concerned
as much with unworkability and obfuscation
as with connectivity and transparency (Galloway, 2012: 120). In short, interfaces dont
always work smoothly. This is an important
critical point, when digital interfaces are so pervasive and so many are complicit with the
smooth and glossy aesthetic economy of late
capitalism (Bohme, 1993). The Msheireb
Downtown images, for example, encountered
many hitches in their circulation, and a lot of
work was required to resolve the various difficulties (Rose et al., 2014): office computers that
couldnt open the huge image files of complex
digital renders; confusion over what version of
a visualization was to be worked on; instructions on how a visualization had to be altered

not being understood when received. Different

kinds of friction affect the different components
of the interface and network. Crashes are
caused by failure in some part of the networks
material infrastructure: a ruptured cable, a
power outage, a smartphone in a trouser pocket
in a washing machine. Sometimes the software
glitches from software rot or data rot, digital
decay, file incompatibilities, viruses and bugs
(Newman, 2012; Nunes, 2011). And sometimes the human labour that also constructs
digital images disrupts a specific ecology. The
labour that has created an image or a device
may become visible where it is not expected:
for example, when the human figures that are
cut-and-pasted from photographs into digital
visualizations of urban development projects
have wonky edges and the wrong lighting
(Rose et al., 2015), or when a worker in an
iPhone factory leaves a photograph of herself
on a phone that she is packing, to be found by
the phones buyer on the other side of the world
(Grace, 2014). And, of course, as images circulate, pausing and materializing in specific
places with specific people, cultural meanings
are encountered, interpreted, ignored, lost,
liked, resisted and deleted. All this is friction.
This section has argued that, in order to move
away from a methodology that understands
meaning as contained in stable cultural objects
which can be subject to close reading, geographers concerned with digital cultural artifacts
should work with three terms: interface, network and friction. Each is constituted by multiple kinds of hardware, software and human
practice. The interface is a specific and temporary entity created by the convergence of multiple forms of all three: the family photo
displayed on a smartphone screen being shared
during a workplace coffee break, a digital visualization being revised on a screen in a visualizers office. The notion of the interface thus
addresses the multimediality of digital cultural
activity. Every interface, however, is less a
screen that obscures and more a portal that

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opens out into the extensive, uneven networks

of hardware, software and other practices. Interfaces are
transit hubs for the images that circulate in our
social space. They serve to capture these images,
to make them momentarily available for someone, somewhere perhaps even in order to rework
them before they embark again on their journey.
Therefore screens function as the junctions of a
complex circuit, characterized both by a continuous flow and by localized processes of configuration or reconfiguration of the circulating images.
(Casetti, 2013: 17)

Networks, then, are one way to address the

mutability of digital cultural work. The task
now is surely to occupy those junctions, and
to navigate the practices, hardware and software
that circulate through them in all directions.

IV Some methodological
implications
Which raises the question: what methods might
enable that navigation?
There will be many different answers to that
question, and I can only offer a few preliminary
thoughts here (see also Elwood, 2011; Kitchin
et al., 2013; Morrow et al., 2014; Wilson,
2014b). Certainly established methods are by
no means obsolete: Ashs (2015) account of
computer games entails, in part, close readings
of particular moments in specific games (and
see Blok and Pedersen, 2014; Elwood and
Leszczynski, 2013, Grace, 2014), and exploring
the production of the Msheireb Downtown
visualizations depended in large part on a
multi-sited workplace ethnography, as have
studies of computer game production (Ash,
2015; ODonnell, 2011).
However, it is also the case that new methods
are needed that can engage in some way with the
massiveness and the networks of digital cultural
production, and in particular with the huge number of images on image-sharing and social

media platforms. Hayless (2012) work suggests that identifying meaning as it emerges
from a mass of images requires a shift from
close, diagnostic reading of individual items to
what she describes as hyper-reading: readings
that are fast, casual, scanning, skimming. Such
a form of reading, at scale, will have to be computational: that is, it will have to use the processing power of computers to analyse huge
numbers of images in some way. There are in
fact already a number of software packages that
can retrieve large numbers of images automatically, and others, mostly commercial, that can
recognize patterns in the visual content of very
large numbers of image files. The Software
Studies Initiative has also made software available to allow the analysis and visualization of
large numbers of images (Manovich and Douglass, 2011).5 However, as Hall (2013) argues,
the methodological challenge is not simply one
of scale which simply requires bigger and faster
forms of content analysis. Instead, methods are
required that can explore the processes and
forms through which these huge numbers of
images are organized. Without this, any new
method will be unable to address the power
geometry which shapes the creation and circulation of digital images. It is important, therefore, that new methods engage with both the
scale and the distribution of contemporary cultural production.
Grace (2014) and Hartley (2012), for example, understand the vast numbers of unstable
cultural objects now being created by huge
numbers of people making, modifying and sharing images, among other things, as a new form
of mass expression, possessing its own patterns
and structures of innovation (Grace, 2014: 14).
For them, it follows that significant meaning
emerges from those patterns; it does not reside
in specific individual contributions but rather
results from the generalized sphere of expression created by their cumulative effects (Grace,
2014: 17). We need to understand cultural,
creative, and knowledge-systems across whole

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populations, insists Hartley (2012: 54); we

need to focus on probabilities in large-scale systems (e.g. what can I find on YouTube?)
rather than on essences found in single texts
(e.g. the signed work of art in a museum) (p.
57). Image-rich online platforms such as Instagram or Facebook are more than the sum of their
individual pictures; quite apart from the written
text that accompanies them, they are shared
through specific routes (to followers or
friends, for example), and they become visible
according to particular criteria (such as being
tagged as public or the most favourite or the
editors pick). That is, there are uniquely digital
often but not always algorithmic procedures
that sift, sort and select how images are differentially made visible on a platform. Rogers (2013)
argues that examining those procedures must
therefore entail using specifically digital forms
of enquiry: tracing links, for example, coding
queries addressed to Application Programming
Interfaces, analysing the tags attached to images
(Highfield and Leaver, 2014).
There are some significant problems to be
overcome before such digital methods can
achieve the task of examining both the content
and the networks of massive numbers of online
images, however. There are significant technical challenges. As Kitchin (2014: 105) points
out, image files are designed for display and
storage, not content and search. Many imagerich platforms do not allow access to their API,
and neither Facebook nor Instagram permit
their images to be downloaded. There are significant technical issues in analysing any text
related to an image, other than that held in a
files metadata, so examining how images have
been commented on is not easy. Nor is it clear
how such methods might address the interfaciality of the images they analyse. All of these
issues, particularly the latter, means that many
researchers argue that a mixed methods
approach might be better than a complete reliance on quantitative and/or computational
methods. Graces (2014) study of mobile

phone images messaged between migrant

workers in Hong Kong, for example, combines
ethnographic analysis of sharing practices with
close readings of the images sent, the quantitative analysis of 9000 images and also Graces
own familiarity with that image population.
And all methods, new and old, should be alert
to various forms of friction (see, for example,
ODonnell, 2011).
Projects experimenting with such methods
are already under way; perhaps one of the most
exciting things about the present moment is precisely that this question of methods is so open.6

V Conclusion
This paper has argued that the making of cultural meaning has changed fundamentally over
the past 30 years. It is now difficult to imagine
any form of cultural practice entirely untouched
by digital technologies. The changes wrought
with those technologies are very diverse, of
course. An artist committed to canvas and oil
paint may only use a website to gain commissions, for example. However, much cultural
practice is now created, distributed, displayed
and circulated entirely online; the conventions
of established art forms like cinema and
architecture are being remediated by new technologies (Bolter and Grusin, 1999); and moreor-less new forms of cultural production have
emerged, such as computer games, digital art,
selfies and memes. This paper, using the specific example of digital visualizations of an
urban redevelopment project, has argued that
there are three characteristics shared by very
many of these new forms of cultural production:
mutability, multimediality, and massiveness.
Digital cultural production is changeable; it
materializes in different forms; and it is massive, not only because of its mutability and multimediality but also because digital technologies
have enabled a huge extension in the numbers of
people who can create, share, modify and critique digital cultural works.

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This paper has argued that this shift poses a

fundamental challenge to scholarship that
depends on a broadly semiological analysis of
relatively stable, relatively few cultural objects.
For sure, cultural production in the pre-digital
era also always created different versions of the
final object drafts, sketches, rehearsals and
the finished product usually circulated to different audiences in different places, in the form
either of the original object or as copies of various kinds; and some new cultural geographers
have examined both of these processes. But the
sheer amount of cultural production now a
result of both its constantly changing content
and materialization and the massive numbers
of its producers is new.
Moreover, algorithmic interventions between
the viewing subject and the object viewed (Uricchio, 2011: 25) are now pervasive. There is good
reason to think that they are changing both forms
of contemporary subjectivity and the geometry
of contemporary spatiality (Ash, 2015; Crogan
and Kinsley, 2012; Wilson, 2011), and there are
important questions to be asked of both these
shifts about the meanings and power relations
embedded in them. What are the implications
of online subjectivity and, for example, the
data-generation, idiocy and thoughtfulness of the
maps of meaning that are made through them
(Goriunova, 2013; Leszczynski, 2012; Wilson,
2011)? Is that giddying, digital spatiality simply
another iteration of the all-seeing god-trick, or
does it hold possibilities for provisional, multiple interventions (Steyerl, 2012)? These are
crucial questions to be asked of the current
moment, too important to be left to those uninterested in human agency.
The paper has therefore suggested three
terms that might contribute towards re-orienting
the new cultural geography to the present
cultural moment. It began with the interface,
where the agencies of hardwares, softwares
and humans meet to create a temporary entity
(the entity formerly known as a cultural object)
assembled from code, gadgetry and practices.

Requesting more or less insistently on being

navigated, these interfaces are not inert; they
are junctions in extended networks enacted
by hardwares, softwares and practices. They
are composed by different forms of work
that keep them connected: the materiality of
cables and servers; the patterns created by
software algorithms; and all the complex work
done by humans staring, swiping, glancing,
writing. The geometry of these networks shows
clearly the power dynamics that they constitute, as certain forms of agency shape these
undulating constellations more than others. In
this immersive geometry, meaning becomes
distributed, diverse and driven as much by
hardware and software as by human reflection,
creativity and routine. All of this is vulnerable
to the frictions of crashes, glitches and error.
And it is these agencies and their effects on
the representations of places, spaces and landscapes to which new cultural geographers
interested in cultural production must now pay
attention.
This argument has various implications,
several of which the paper has already touched
on. One is the need for a richer analytical vocabulary for the power relations performed
through this convergent network than that of
power and resistance (Barnett, 2004; Hartley, 2012). Another implication is that, as well
as engaging with the emerging canon of digital
art forms, cultural geographers should plunge
into the popular and the mass, looking at both
big-budget cultural productions like many
computer games (Ash, 2015) but also at the
popular, the prosaic and the silly of everyday
digital cultural production (Goriunova, 2013;
Hartley, 2012; Kingsbury and Jones III, 2009).
A further implication is that to do so, cultural
geographers must invent some new methods that
can address the distinctive qualities of digital cultural production: its mutability, its multimediality, its massiveness and in particular the uneven
spatiality and dynamics of its interfacial, frictional networking.

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Progress in Human Geography

Finally, an implication that this paper has not

directly addressed: what happens to the usefulness of representation in networks of cultural
interfaces? For Hartley (2012: 3), the answer is
a move from representation to productivity.
Cultural meanings are no longer represented by
cultural objects, but are produced at multiple
sites and interfaces, between hardware, software
and humans. They are emergent across distributed networks and they move and mutate
between sites and over time. Extended, spreadable (Jenkins et al., 2013) and multiple, meaning
is performed and materialized at specific sites; it
is accessed, made to travel, searched for, modified, patched and laboured over in an uneven,
variable and frictional network held together by
diverse forms of work which do not always succeed in making meaning move. The contemporary
task of the cultural scholar, then, must surely be
not to read an object but to navigate that productive network in all its multiple generativity.

2.
3.

4.

5.

6.

Acknowledgements
I am grateful for feedback on this paper at events
organized by OpenSpace Research Centre at The
Open University and by the Nordic Network on Digital Visuality, as well as for comments from referees.
I would like to thank everyone who responded to my
appeal for references on cultural geographies of the
digital on Twitter and my blog. Finally, it was an
honour to have been asked to deliver the Progress
in Human Geography lecture at the RGS/IBG conference in 2014, on which this paper is based.

Funding
The case study was funded by a grant from the UK
Economic and Social Research Council RES-06223-3305 and was undertaken with Dr Monica Degen
and Dr Clare Melhuish; we are grateful to Msheireb
Properties for giving access to their Msheireb Downtown project, and to the architects, designers and managers who allowed us to observe and interview them

Notes
1. Since the time of two early projects (Crang et al.,
1999a; Bingham et al., 1999, 2001; Holloway et al.,
2000), the sum total of cultural geographers exploring

digital technologies seems to be Davidson (2008),

Jazeel (2010), Longhurst (2013), Mclean and Maalsen
(2013), Parr (2002) and Parr and Davidson (2008).
The visualizations can be viewed at: http://mdd.
msheireb.com/default.aspx.
It is perhaps useful at this point to flag my continuing
commitment to notions of human meaning-making,
albeit always mediated through (many kinds of) technologies. Non-representational theory has engaged
with both cultural objects (see, for example, Anderson, 2004; Latham and McCormack, 2004) and the
agency of the digital (Thrift, 2014); this papers commitment to culture as a category, in contrast, is a commitment to Geertzs (1973: 4) definition of culture as
webs of significance spun by humans agency.
See: https://www.youtube.com/yt/press/en-GB/statistics.
html; http://instagram.com/press/; http://www.digital
trends.com/social-media/comes-photo-uploads-snapchat-facebook-beat/; all accessed 10 September 2014.
See: http://lab.softwarestudies.com/. This project is led
by Lev Manovich, who also created the Selfie City project at http://phototrails.net/. He describes his work as
cultural analytics.
Such experiments include the Phototrails project
(http://phototrails.net/), the Contagion project (http://
contagion.org.uk/), and the Visual Social Media project
(http://visualsocialmedialab.blogspot.co.uk/). Digital
methods for analysing texts are more advanced than
those analysing images, in part because the analysis
of text by digital code is relatively simpler than the
analysis of images.

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