(The University of Tasmania, The Tasmanian College of the arts)
(citation: Coyle, Sean. 2018. ‘Wandering and Wondering in Wonderland‘. Performance of the Real Working Papers 1 (2): 1-25)
Download PDF: COYLE WONDERLAND
This media essay presents scenographic photographs, video and writing which invites you – the viewer and reader – to cruise my Wonderland. This body of creative work, produced between 2016 and 2018 as part of a PhD within the School of Creative Arts UTAS explores my concept of Wonderland as a personal model for creating performance, scenographic photography and installation that references specific ‘real’ sites of homophobic violence within Australia and New Zealand. The Wonderland works use photographed constructions of scenographic scale-models to investigate how landscapes of trauma can be memorialized and re-contextualized through art. I also question what role this practice-based creative research can have in helping to understand and communicate these specific sites of homophobic violence.
Between 1906 and 1911, in Tamarama Sydney, there existed the largest open-air amusement park in the southern hemisphere – ‘Wonderland City’. The site of this failed colonial endeavour had previously been known as ‘The Pleasure Grounds’ and was inspired by the successful amusement parks of Coney Island in the USA. Wonderland City was a family oriented theme park, and featured many significant attractions including a balloon ride that would travel up to 3800 feet high; miniature railways which would travel around the cliffs towards Bondi; a waxworks; open air ice-rink; a double decker merry-go-round; an elephant named Alice; an American style shooting gallery and a “fairy city” made up of thousands of coloured lamps. Breakdowns and safety scares on the Airem Scarem airship that tracked on a cable from cliff to cliff, coupled with an increasingly irritated population of nearby residents (who had lost access to their local beach) forced Wonderland City to close after only 5 years of operation (Docker 2013).
Moving to the mid twentieth century, and the area Wonderland City previously inhabited became famous (amongst those in the know) as a popular ‘beat’ (a site for men cruising for sex). Throughout the 1980s this space became a site for an epidemic of homophobic violence with youth gangs entertaining themselves through the blood sport of ‘poofter bashing’. During this period a number of men were thrown to their deaths from the surrounding cliffs (Feneley 2013).
In looking to this tragic past my photographic and video work’s name, Wonderland, evokes a kind of ironic utopian ideal. In essence the ‘wonder’ here can refer to either an emotional and intellectual state of awe or to an expression of enquiry. ‘Wonder’ embodies these two references simultaneously. Within my series of photographs the ‘land’ in Wonderland is fluid and permeable. It can refer to, and manifest in, multiple real geographic and historical sites – and their architectural forms and cultural signifiers – but also represent locations in the imagination: the fabrication of environments that emerge from the creative, spatial practice of scenography.
I like to think of Wonderland as a black void which, upon closer study, one realises is not totally black. Light emerges. With light there can be form. With form and structure one is able to discern my ‘scenographic photography’, which embodies my creative output from my critical and textual enquiry. Wonderland is my queer space. It is a framework to articulate my queer perspectives to the outer world.
If you have ever watched an episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race (2009-), you will be familiar with the queering of the term ‘realness’. The concept of ‘serving up realness’ is one that has infiltrated mainstream gay culture, in large part thanks to Jenni Livingstone’s 1990 documentary Paris is Burning, and RuPaul. ‘Realness’ becomes a performative construction, part-parody and part-gender performance. The realness the queens speak of on Drag Race is most often with tongue firmly and subversively in cheek and alludes to Judith Butler’s take on the politics of drag in her chapter, ‘Gender is Burning’:
Drag is subversive to the extent that it reflects on the imitative structure by which hegemonic gender is itself produced and disputes heterosexuality’s claim on naturalness and originality. (Butler 2014, p. 125).
If follow Butler and consider drag as a subversive act that parodies and challenges the hegemonic obsession with gender binaries and the ‘realness’ of our sex of birth, then the ‘real’ in drag is – like an inch long false eyelash – a heightened commedia dell’arte mask which challenges cis-heteronormativity. The drag queen exists as a distorted funhouse mirror, reflecting and perverting the way in which we see our gendered selves. When a drag queen speaks of ‘realness’ it is very different to their talk of ‘passing’ which implies they are successfully able to present / perform their non-birth gender in a way that is convincing. Drag ‘realness’ does not comply with gender binaries, rather, it alludes to a parodic airbrushing of the truth, through a recourse to camp strategies of humour, exaggeration and the subversion of hegemonic signifiers.
Within my Wonderland the (scenographic) model becomes ‘the model’, existing not just as a scaled down replica of a larger vision. The sites represented in my crafted scenographic models do exist. However, in their re-imaging through the artifice of scale modelling they become fictionalized and memorialized when the documentary element is removed through photographing the site. Removing them from the perceived ‘real’ of the documentary photograph allows for a theatricalisation to occur. The spectator is given permission to pursue their own ambiguous narratives. Like drag, the scale model exists as a conscious simulation and reinterpretation of reality. In contemporary queer speak these photographs ‘be serving up realness’.
By locating the term ‘realness’ within queer representation it is difficult to move past the politics and aesthetics of camp. The glitter and glamour of gay male performance is an ever-present trope I reimagine and subvert in Wonderland. It has been over 50 years since Susan Sontag’s pivotal ‘Notes on “Camp”’ (1964), which proved to be an initial aesthetic guidebook for camp-ness and a starting point for contextualizing a queer sensibility. While a standard reading of camp emphasizes it as style over content, and thus politically indifferent, my research looks to the queer theorists who have legitimized camp as a powerful means of aesthetically and conceptually challenging heteronormative hegemony. My Wonderland work draws on the history of camp as a means of activism and community / individual identity formation (Meyer 2010, p. 1).
In his book An Archaeology of Posing, Moe Meyer asserts that camp produces gay visibility. While this “social signification of gay identity” (ibid.) has become less urgent through a societal shift towards homo-normalisation, it is important to look passed the aesthetic of camp and focus on its importance as a distinctly queer means of political and cultural agency:
Camp reveals itself…as a social agency based on remembering and citing the bodies of gay forebears; it is a set of strategies and tactics that exist within the collective memories (the performance repertoire) of gay men. (Meyer 2010, pp. 1-2).
My Wonderland is an attempt to draw upon existing queer methodologies and find new ways of representing, what Daphne Brooks dubs in Bodies of Dissent, “the aesthetic of darkness” (2006, p. 109). For Brooks, darkness is an interpretive strategy of reading the world from a particular and dark position. I draw on Halberstam’s (2011) assertion that the queer artist works with, rather than against, failure and inhabit a darkness which becomes a crucial part of their queer aesthetic. Halberstam champions failure as a necessary by-product of queer, which does not conform (i.e. fails to conform) to Western heteronormative hegemony, with its concomitant concerns with the accumulation of capitalist wealth through heterosexual monogamy, marriage and reproduction. So, in true camp fashion, the queer artist works with failure to inhabit darkness (p. 96).
In Wonderland the dark realities, queer histories, traumas, struggles, successes and failures are subsumed, embedded within the metaphorical, symbolic, all consuming black void. Within this limitless blackness I place queer ‘illuminations’. The illuminated darkness in my work highlights the queer perspective and sensibility of the Wonderland, and draws attention to specific queer historical traumas. Over time more illuminations will be added to the constellation, further populating the Wonderland darkness.
Heather Love (2007), in Feeling Backward, Loss and the Politics of Queer History, talks of the importance of acknowledging our dark queer histories and avoiding the celebratory representations of queerness which dominate contemporary popular culture. Love talks of a strategy to explore our stories, not just from a liberal historical perspective – where progressive and improving narratives reign – but through an elaboration on a much messier past. This strategy, she suggests, emphasises that the legacies of queer failure and loneliness are the consequences of ongoing structural homophobia, racism and xenophobia.
By simply embracing the term ‘queer’ we show our willingness to acknowledge and engage with the dark, historic injury, damage and shame associated with the word. ‘Queer’ now has a positive and empowering meaning. However, its roots are embedded in a violent past. Contemporary gay identity is born from the relatively recent history of queer abjection, writes Love, where gay pride is a reverse or mirror image of gay shame (pp. 19-20).
In my practice-based research, I explored a world of damage, trauma, violence and shame. Australia and New Zealand have a dark history of homophobic and heterosexist violence. It is estimated that, from the 1970s, around eighty men were murdered in New South Wales alone because of their assumed sexual identity (Benny-Morrison 2016). In Sydney, a spate of gay-hate killings occurred, often within the queer space of the beat. The most common motive, according to the Criminology Research Council’s report into these hate-crimes, was a mix of deep, irrational homophobia and violent conceptions of heterosexual masculinity (Tomsen 2001). The perpetrators of these crimes tend to be young, male and mostly working in groups. Youths gangs would frequent beats and prey on men for sport, submitting them to often-horrific beatings. Due to the stigmatized perception of homosexuality, the perceived deviancy of cruising and a general distrust of police, many of these incidents would go unreported, which lead to a sense of invincibility among the offenders. Many have linked the spike in homophobic violence in the 1980s to the AIDS crisis. Gay men were often blamed for the spread of AIDS and, in popular media, they were reduced to representations of either subjects of ridicule or diseased, dying and dead. Gay men’s lives had little worth. The grim reaper AIDS educational commercial fuelled this collective paranoia and anger in Australia (NACAIDS 1987).
For many Australians, the grim reaper represented the gay man bent on destroying the fabric of heteronormative society. In A Queer Time and Place (2012), Halberstam talks about the 1980s as an example of ‘Queer Time’. During the AIDS epidemic, the notion of a diminishing future created an emphasis on the now – an urgency of being in the present. ‘Queer Time’ becomes not just about compression and annihilation but also allows for the potentiality of not subscribing to the heterosexual norms of traditional family, children and inheritance (whether of morals, wealth or values). During such ‘times’ queer subcultures can produce alternate temporalities where participants can create futures outside the normative life experience of birth, marriage, reproduction and death (p. 2). The Sydney’s queer community during the mid-eighties was decimated by the AIDS crisis. This created a new public visibility of what was previously a fringe, relatively invisible identity. Alongside the media barrage of dying gays made popular by the exploitative form of what is now referred to as ‘deathbed photography’, new forms of visibility were emerging from this queer time and space – most notably that of the activist and the proud queer. With increased visibility came an increased awareness and hatred of the queer community from many factions of society. This lead to a substantial increase in violent homophobic offences.
Many of the homophobic murders in Sydney were treated not as homicides, but as accidents or suicide. In particular, the cliffs around Bondi, once the route of the Wonderland railway and a known, and policed, beat since the mid twentieth century became the site of a series of homophobic bashings. In a number of cases, men were thrown off the cliffs to their deaths. Strangely, the NSW police at the time did not think that these incidents were connected or that they may be homophobic. It was only through the perseverance of victim’s families, that an inquest into these series of deaths revealed the extent and true nature of these acts of homophobic violence (McNab 2017). Given the location and historical activity of gay interaction and homophobic violence within the Wonderland and Pleasure Garden environs since their demise as a fairground, the colonial vision of Wonderland takes on a more poignant and metaphorical significance within my creative framework.
My practice-based research employs scenographic model-making and photography to investigate queer sites of trauma, as a means of activism but also as an attempt to garner societal understanding through cultural production. My work draws on Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick’s (2003) concept of ‘reparative reading’ and Susan Best’s (2016) ‘reparative aesthetics’ to propose a framework for creating work which aims to acknowledge, and begin to heal, the dark histories of various sites of queer trauma. In Reparative Aesthetics: Witnessing in Contemporary Art Photography, Best questions how art (particularly photography) highlights and heals historic shame, guilt and trauma. In an interview with Das Platform (Moody 2014) Best further elaborates her understanding of the connection between shame and witnessing in art:
I think shame is a necessary part of viewing art that exposes issues and injustices, even when the events are in the distant past. When people with a social conscience see images that recall the degradation suffered by others, most likely they will feel pity and shame. But shame can lead to a withdrawal from the issues at hand; it can block witnessing/hearing. Or worse, the denial of shame can lead to ressentiment: distancing by taking a morally superior position in the present that refuses to acknowledge the continuing operation of “our dark side” (Moody 2014 p.29)
Best draws inspiration from Sedgwick’s concept of ‘reparative reading’ as opposed to the more familiar ‘paranoid reading’ when approaching cultural artefacts. For Sedgwick, a paranoid reading works through a mode of suspicion as a means for avoiding shame and humiliation. To take a reparative approach allows the reader to be ‘surprised’ by avoiding the expected responses (Sedgwick 2002) Best explores how reparative aesthetics differ to the anti-aesthetic tradition in much political art (seen in the works of Barbara Kruger, Jenny Holzer etcetera) where ‘the message’ was explicit and left little room for divergent readings from its audience.
The act of recreating sites of historical violence in Wonderland is a political attempt at reparation (and/or a call for reparation) to increase awareness of the heteronormative structures, which covered up, minimised and/or ignored the violence perpetrated on queer communities within Australia and New Zealand.
In Wonderland, the dioramas act as summaries: they are loaded simulacra of the geographical, architectural and spatial essence of these sites of violence. I allude to the specific, tragic, narratives of the former funfair, but do not explicitly refer to the homophobic crimes which occurred there. The Wonderland photographs encourage a queer re-reading of historical instances of violence and the heteronormative inequity and injustice that still prevails.
A key element in the creation and photographic realisation of my Wonderland scenographic photographs is the reparative gesture of highlighting the sites of these narratives, which have been so easily forgotten within societal, individual and collective memory. In summarised ‘still form’, the scale models act in much the same way as a billboard (though on a far smaller scale), or a still from a documentary that highlights or signposts issue(s) that need to be brought to the public notice.
One of the reparative functions of my dioramas is their ability to act as memorials and commemorations. In exhibiting these they provide an opportunity for the public to interface with and promote discussion around homophobic violence and the casual hegemony of heteronormativity. This framework has a reparative function in much the same way as a monument that commemorates and memorialises those lost in war. War memorials act as sites of remembrance, but also as warning posts of the dangers of fascism, conflict, tyranny etcetera. My Wonderland works provide an opportunity for remembrance, homage, debate, discourse, understanding, empathy and protest. From a reparative point of view, this body of work provides a potential outlet for the celebration and affirmation of queer perspectives and the possibility of equality and societal acceptance.
Within each Wonderland work, the stories of victims are embedded in the image. For the most part my photographs are devoid of any human figures. In the case of ‘St. Sebastian’ (Figure 11), however, the presence of a male figurine acts as a queer signifier of martyrdom. This codification of site, which distances itself from the direct representation of victims and weapons used in the acts of violence, is a strategy employed to avoid any re-victimisation. I deemed the direct historical, visual re-enactment or regurgitation of material relating to the victims too risky a means for highlighting the historical events of trauma. My avoidance of re-victimisation enhances the reparative possibilities of Wonderland. I minimised the gratuitous use of traumatic imagery, which through its re-representation within the public forum, positions the person murdered or assaulted as a victim or statistic. In presenting all the facts, the direct image has less potential to move outside its limited and negative reading and is more likely to induce a feeling of shame or guilt, which limit the possibility of a reparative reading.
The high aesthetic quality of the photographic images within my Wonderland, and the surreality of the lifelike dioramas existing within a black void, is the polar opposite to the pragmatic, analytical, scientific and forensic photographs of state authorities and media. This aesthetic is borne from a photographic and scenographic practice, which harnesses the power of digital manipulation, attention to detail within the scale model construction, composition and enhancement through lighting states. Like the photographed models of James Casebere and Oliver Boberg, the aesthetic treatment of subject matter, which creates a ‘beautiful’ or pleasing and compelling image, is counter to the well-documented disparagement of ‘beauty in art’ critique, particularly photo-criticism, as Best points out:
The power of photography to aestheticise whatever it pictures is routinely viewed with suspicion….the disdain for such traditional aesthetic concerns is certainly not limited to photo-criticism; it is part of a much wider anti-aesthetic sensibility that dominates the interpretation of modern and contemporary art. (Best 2016, p. 75)
The act of creating a beautiful object from a framework of historical trauma and injustice is, in my view, a valid strategy. The scenographic photographs, in being put through a high aesthetic process, have a twofold reparative power. The heightened aesthetic quality, in being pleasing to the eye, is more likely to engage the public. It is the incongruent content, juxtaposed by its visual treatment that grants the image’s power and agency. If a public toilet in Hamilton, New Zealand (as in Figure 9), becomes a part of an engaging and desirable image through its aesthetic treatment then it has an increased chance of succeeding in its reparative and political function.
My use of scenographic models / dioramas explores the allure and fascination (wonder) inherent within the miniature. Susan Stewart (1984), in On Longing: Narratives of the miniature, the gigantic, the souvenir, the collection, explains how we search for the ‘truth’ inside objects through a discussion of postmodern culture’s fascination with the miniature. At the heart of my project, is a desire for viewers to look for meaning within my photographed miniaturised worlds whilst attempting to answer Best’s question:
How, then, do we confront shameful histories without stirring up the many defences that this potentially toxic affect can marshall? (Best 2016, p. 1).
In investigating the power and allure of the scaled down model I draw on theorists who have focused on ‘the miniature’ as an ongoing field of research.
In its tableaulike form, the miniature is a world of arrested time; its stillness emphasises the activity that is outside its borders. And the effect is reciprocal, for once we attend to the miniature world, the outside world stops and is lost to us. (Stewart 1984, p. 67).
Stewart asserts that the worlds created by miniatures rely on individual fantasy as opposed to physical circumstances for those engaging. The miniature world encourages us to disassociate ourselves from the outside ‘real’ world, as we did with abandon as children. Within my practice I consciously created these miniature worlds as islands; worlds that are contained, and float within, a black body of water. This practice fits comfortably within Stewart’s belief that:
As is the case with all models, it is absolutely necessary that Lilliput be an island. The miniature world remains perfect and uncontaminated by the grotesque so long as its absolute boundaries are maintained. (Stewart 1984, p. 68).
Within my practice, all my self-contained worlds, in model form, are partially reflected. These islands only allude to an expanse of water. The island and its small body of water are themselves contained within the black void of their square composition. The act of miniaturisation is further enhanced by the ‘universe’ within which they are placed. This universe is the expansive imaginative world of my Wonderland. This world plays with Baudrillard’s idea that it is the deception of unreality that visitors to miniature worlds find reassuring (Wells 2013, p. 131). He uses Disneyland as the ultimate example of simulacra:
Disneyland is a perfect model of all the entangled orders of simulacra. It is first of all a play of illusions and phantasms (Baudrillard 1994, p. 12).
Baudrillard sees Disneyland as a simulation of the third order, where the real is no longer real. This theory links to the historic Wonderland amusement park site, and its conceptual basis for my body of work as a means for reassuring viewers of the ‘unreality’ of the miniature worlds.
Taking inspiration from Muñoz’s (2009) Cruising Utopia – The Then and There of Queer Futurity my Wonderland works look at the spectres of queer space. Muñoz states:
“Ghosts” are useful for a queer criticism that attempts to understand communal mourning, group psychologies and the need for a politics that “carries” our dead with us into the battles for the present and future. (Muñoz 2009, p. 46).
Muñoz uses ghosts to explain the relationship between homosexuality and heteronormativity. He talks of the ‘spectre of public sex’ which is considered problematic by many in the ‘legitimate’ sectors of the queer community. These spectres, he argues, perform the illicit and help conservative queer factions to create a ‘sanitized gay world (Muñoz 2009, p. 46). In Wonderland the ghosts exist, not pictorially within the work, but as vacated presences, hidden, buried, embedded, subsumed within the model and surrounding black void. So, rather than look at the individual representations of the real people who lost their lives, I explore the collective representation of the associated trauma through photography and scenography. The photographs in Wonderland are immersive and reflective by virtue of the content and materiality of the works themselves. This potential for spectator immersion plays with the tyranny of the black void, a primal fear, the theatre of the doomed spectacle, the void for which to be subjugated, or paradoxically, an opportunity for which to emerge and be validated. This tension between commemoration and celebration of aesthetic and conceptual content is the driving mechanism and impetus of the exhibition of this body of work. Some works, especially the dioramas of actual places of homophobic violence, as with individual and collective memory, struggle for full illumination. This aesthetic struggle is significant, as illumination equals clarity and conversely the non-illuminated content signifies forces of oppression.
And so I invite you to enter my ‘Wonderland’; my radical historicizing, darkness inhabiting, post-camp world of failure where I will be serving up some post-traumatic realness.
Wonderland is the queer world of my research, imagination and creative pursuits. It is my camped, vamped, technicolour dream coat, it is my mask, it is my bear suit, my smashed open closet, thrown bouquet, scattered glitter, spilt piña colada and discarded eyeliner.
Wonderland is my library of the other, with books that hum, screech and talk in Polari, that dance, groan, lament, comment and whisper in hushed oppressive tones exclaiming and claiming a right to the whole world or to their other worlds.
Wonderland is my theatre, my art, my writing and my collaborations with the like queer minded, here to play and provide alternative worldviews.
Wonderland is not fixed in space. It is a queer cosmos and queerly infinite. This definition, whilst being egotistical and problematic, has fundamentally and unashamedly adopted the desirous form and characteristic of a utopia. The potential of this Wonderland utopia whilst fraught with the spectre of mocking failure is, I suspect, a potentially heroic pursuit and one well worth pursuing.
As I stand at the entrance I beckon you and all, welcome to Wonderland,
Come Muñoz, take a break from cruising your utopia, welcome to my wonderland, you too my literary friends – Genet, Isherwood, Baldwin, Orton, step out from those stiff white pages and play in my pleasure gardens.
And you, the unconverted mass, the ones who build cruel narrow worlds, the ones who mass produce the miserable closets for which to condemn our communities, the ones who punch, shoot, brutalise and murder, the ones who regale against us, preach hatred and legislate – Welcome to my Wonderland!!
Everyone is welcome to my Wonderland, even the passive, ignorant and or ambivalent; come play if you want, stay forever with us if you can.
Baudrillard, Jean. Simulacra and Simulation. 1981. Trans. Sheila Glaser. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1994.
Benny-Morrison, Ava. ‘Police to review 88 possible gay-hate deaths’. Sydney Morning Herald. 2016. <http://www.smh.com.au/nsw/police-to-review-88-possible-gayhate-deaths-20160519-goz7x6.html>.
Best, Susan. Reparative aesthetics: Witnessing in contemporary art photography. London: Bloomsbury academic, London, 2016.
Brooks, Daphne. Bodies in dissent: spectacular performances of race and freedom, 1850-1910. Durham: Duke University Press, 2006.
Butler, Judith. Bodies that matter: On the discursive limits of sex. London: Routledge, 2014.
Docker, Einar. ‘Where is Wonderland? – Tamarama’s secret past’. Inside the Collection. 2013. viewed August 2017, <https://maas.museum/inside-the-collection/2013/08/28/where-is-wonderland-tamaramas-secret-past/>.
Feneley, Rick. ‘Up to 80 men murdered, 30 cases unsolved’. Sydney Morning Herald. 2013. <http://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/up-to-80-men-murdered-30-cases-unsolved-20130721-2qda7.html>.
Halberstam, Jack. The Queer art of failure. Durham: Duke University Press, 2011,
————. In a Queer time and place: Transgender Bodies, Subcultural Lives. New York City: New York University Press, 2012.
Livingstone, Jennie. Paris is Burning. Film. Los Angeles: Miramax, 1991.
Love, Heather. Feeling backward: loss and the politics of queer history. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2007.
McNab, Duncan. Getting Away With Murder. Sydney: Penguin Random House, 2017.
Meyer, Moe. An Archaeology of Posing: Essays on Camp, Drag, and Sexuality. Madison: Macater Press, 2010.
Moody, A. ‘Interview: Susan Best’. Das Platforms / Contemporary Art 29 2014.
Muñoz, José Estaban. Cruising utopia: the then and there of queer futurity. New York City: New York University Press, 2009.
NACAIDS. AIDS prevention advertisement. 1987. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OJ9f378T49E>.
RuPaul’s Drag Race. Television programme. Logo / VH1, 2009-.
Sedgwick, Eve Kosofsky. Touching feeling affect, pedagogy, performativity. Durham: Duke University Press, 2003.
Sontag, Susan. ‘Notes on “Camp”’. Against Interpretation. London: Vintage, 2001 : 275-292.
Stewart, Susan. On Longing: Narratives of the miniature, the gigantic, the souvenir, the collection Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1984.
Tomsen, Stephen A. ‘Hate Crimes and Masculinity: new crimes, new responses and some familiar patterns’. Conference Paper. National Outlook Symposium on Crime in Australia. Australian Institute of Criminology. 2001.
Wells, Rachel. 2013, ‘Photography, Sculpture and Scale’, in Scale in Contemporary Sculpture: Enlargement, Miniaturisation and the Life-Size, Ashgate Publishing Ltd, Surrey.