Search

When Edward Said spoke of an 'imaginative geography', it was both to question the geographic positions adopted as part of colonial accounts and to posit the role of imagination itself in the construction of geographies. For Said, the 'dramatic boundaries' of imaginative geography are at once abstract and mobile, and yet might constitute 'a form of radical realism'. The discourse is thus at once about perspective, position and the empirical (and imperial) imposition of that which is speculative, literary and fluid. But it is also about the unmediated engagements of radical realism and a form of geography we can only imagine. This article turns to the imaginative geography of islands and takes three islands as its departure point. The first is the island of Gilles Deleuze's article 'Desert islands' (2004), an island 'toward which one drifts'. The second is the island of absent subjectivity that is explored in Jean Baudrillard's extended essay Why Hasn't Everything Already Disappeared? (2009). The third island upon which this article fixates is perhaps more archipelago than island. It is the spomeniki that are dotted over the landscape of the former Yugoslavia. These monuments were largely commissioned by Josip Broz Tito and built across the 1960s and 1970s and into the early 1980s to mark the places where the battles of the National Liberation War (Second World War) had occurred and where concentration camps had once stood. These monuments sit as odd and haunting gestures. Many sculptors and architects were involved. Some spomeniki are anchored and sit heavy on the landscape, as one might expect of memorials, and others appear to launch themselves towards elsewhere. Some are small and unimposing, and others at a scale well beyond the human body. Some are well tended, and others have faded into oblivion. This article turns specifically to the spomenik at the Valley of Heroes, Tjentište, designed by the sculptor Miodrag Živović and completed in 1971. Like all the spomeniki, this monument has endured further war since its erection. This magnificent fractal concrete form marks the Battle of Sutjeska, but rather than fixate upon a singular geo-historical moment, it appears more likely to take flight. I will argue that this magnificent sculpture is perhaps engaged in what Baudrillard calls 'the art of disappearance'. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

The article discusses various reports published within the issue, including one by Stephen Kite on John Ruskin's tidal flow in Venice, another by Maria Fedorchenkos on flows of architectures, and another one by Cathy Smith on spaces of architecture.