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From the Kaveri river to the West, back and forth: a museum born out of a translocated Hindu deity of origins

Virginie Olivier, Charlotte Schmid, Edmond de Taillac

I felt the time had come to collect all such mutilated and neglected pieces of art in stone and bronze and house them in a safe place in a palace at Tanjore [Thanjavur] in order to protect and preserve the remnants of our artistic inheritance from the ravages of time and the hands alike of the irreverent vandal and the unscrupulous pedlar in art-ware

T. K. Palaniappan 1982 (1953)

In 1951, a Chola dynasty museum, the “Thanjavur Art Gallery and Museum,” was born in the heart of the Tamil country, out of a striking statue spotted in a suburb of the city (Fig. 1). The size and refinement of this four-faced, four-armed god statue suggested a glorious past that was romanticized in the story of its discovery. The statue, which stopped being worshipped under unknown circumstances, was rescued from a canal in which the Kaveri river flowed; the valley of the latter defined the territory of the most famous dynasty of the Tamil country, the Cholas, in whose honor the museum was created. This representation of a rather peculiar deity was thus spared exile and became a catalyst for a museum offering neglected or stolen works of art the chance of a new life, as suggested by R. Davis (2018).

When the statue’s rediscovery sparked the interest of the North Indian Calcutta museum, local resistance prompted the then District Collector, T. K. Palaniappan, to propose a Thanjavur museum for housing high-quality, abandoned works of such type. Both the account of the discovery and local advocacy played a key role in instigating the creation of a museum around a statue that remains enigmatic even today and retains its unique aura.

The statue stands today at the centre of the Thanjavur Art Gallery and Museum’s central hall (Fig. 1), and is surrounded by 9th-13th century Chola sculptures. The label of the museum identifies it as “Brahma (the creator with four faces);” its faces turned in the four cardinal directions are actually apt to mark the birth of a place, and to symbolise the splendour of Chola art. However the scattering, since 1926, of pieces with the same iconography and workmanship, all from Thanjavur’s vicinity, have imbued this statue with emblematic significance far beyond its physical attributes (Figs. 2-5). The history of those pieces reveals complex dynamics, which combine colonial and post-colonial ties with the West, regional tensions within the young Indian nation, and the role of a French “comptoir,” namely Pondicherry, in amplifying the statue’s value. The latter clearly derived from the financial and symbolic prestige that translocation, as defined by Bénédicte Savoy (2024, p. 11-12), has conferred on the members of the group to which it belongs, a set of ten statues identified so far.

Fig. 1. The Brahmā-Śiva at the Thanjavur Art Gallery (no. 16), photo by Babu (N. Ramaswamy).

This group of ten from Thanjavur, carved from the same granite, exhibits a unique 9th-10th century style and iconography (Figs. 1–5). The four-headed, four-armed god sits on a lotus-throne, holding a lotus and rosary, with one hand in a fearlessness gesture and the other resting on his thigh. While the attributes suggest Brahmā, a third eye on the multiple foreheads of the statue is characteristic of Śiva (Fig. 2). Its presence raises identification questions, leading us to refer to these statues as Brahmā-Śiva.

Fig. 2. Detail of two of the heads of the Brahmā-Śiva of Kaṇṭiyūr, today exhibited in front of the old building of the District Collector Office, photo by V. Olivier.

This iconographic ambiguity has captivated Western audiences, reinforcing stereotypes of Eastern mysticism. Today, only five of the original group remain in India. Two are in Thanjavur: one in the Thanjavur Art Gallery and Museum (Fig. 1) and another in front of the District Collector’s colonial building (Fig. 2), originating from nearby Kaṇṭiyūr. A third Brahmā-Śiva is worshipped in Kaṇṭiyūr (Fig. 3), while a fourth stands in Centalai’s temple courtyard, one more settlement close to Thanjavur. The fifth, acquired by the National Museum in New Delhi in 1969, has an unclear provenance, but curator C. Sivaramamurti likely played a role in its transfer, given his earlier attempt to claim a similar statue for Calcutta’s museum.

Fig. 3. The Brahmā-Śiva of the temple of Kaṇṭiyūr, photo by C. Schmid.

The New Delhi Brahmā-Śiva reflects C. Sivaramamurti’s ongoing fascination with these statues, likely stimulated by Western interest. As curator of India’s pioneering museums in Madras and Calcutta, which were opened during the colonial period, and as director of the National Museum in New Delhi established after independence, Sivaramamurti would have known that five similar statues had been acquired by Western museums starting as early as 1926.

That very year, two sculptures were exported from India through a partnership between Gabriel Jouveau-Dubreuil (1885–1945), a French archaeologist living in Pondicherry and relying on a local Indian network based on his former students at the Colonial College in Pondicherry, as recently demonstrated by Edmond de Taillac, and Ching Tsai Loo (1880–1957), a Chinese art dealer based in Paris and New York. They collaborated with Joseph Hackin (1886–1941), a curator at the Musée Guimet, in a venture that blurred the lines between scientific research, colonial plunder, and exotic art trade – ensuing transactions were neither fully licit, nor completely illicit. This trio played a significant role in cultivating Western interest in Indian art, with Jouveau-Dubreuil becoming Loo’s acquisition agent for “des pièces (…) tout à fait exceptionnelles” (absolutely exceptional pieces) in 1924 (Letter from C. T. Loo to G. Jouveau-Dubreuil, dated July 9, 1924).

In the following years, the collaboration between Jouveau-Dubreuil, Hackin, and Loo led to a significant buildup of Indian art collections at the Musée Guimet and in the West, particularly in the United States, where the Chinese dealer operated a branch since 1915. Jouveau-Dubreuil would regularly ship sculptures from India to Paris, where Hackin would select pieces for the Musée Guimet or receive commissions of approximately one-third of revenues. C. T. Loo sold the other pieces to collectors and museums in the West.

In the second half of 1926, a batch including two Brahmā-Śiva reached Paris. “Nous avons eu successivement une épidémie de mères – puis une épidémie de Sivas à 4 têtes,” (we successively got an epidemic of mothers, followed by one of four-headed Sivas) writes G. Jouveau-Dubreuil to J. Hackin and C. T. Loo, on January 4, 1928.

None of the four-headed statues was selected for Guimet; and the pair of Brahmā-Śiva continued their journey to the United States, where the Albright-Knox Art Gallery in Buffalo, New York (Fig. 5), and the Metropolitan Museum of Art acquired them in 1927. The Detroit Institute of Arts bought a third Brahmā-Śiva in 1928. Mrs John D. Rockfeller donated a fourth one to the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston in 1942 (Fig. 4) ; the Worcester Art Museum bought a fifth from a New York Asian art dealer in 1964. The Brahmā-Śiva that can be admired today at the Cleveland Museum of Art (Fig. 5) illustrates how these sculptures’ westward journey from the Chola capital had dramatically increased their value—if only in financial terms. This is the statue initially acquired by the Buffalo Museum. It was auctioned in 2007 for $4 million-plus dollars, a price rarely attained by any Indian sculpture.

Fig. 4. The Brahmā-Śiva in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts (42.120), photo by C. Schmid.
Fig. 5. Brahmā-Śiva, 9th-10th c., Tamil Nadu. Cleveland Museum of Art, 2007.155. Leonard C. Hanna Jr. Fund, this work was accepted in honor of Stanislaw Czuma in recognition of his long service to the CMA. © Cleveland Museum of Art.

The Brahmā-Śiva who welcomes the visitor in the Thanjavur Art Gallery showcases the Chola dynasty’s global reach far beyond its native land. In the 1930s, the great historian K. A. Nilakanta Sastri, writing a history of the Cholas, emphasised the colonisation of South-East Asia, which the dynasty claimed to have instigated. Faced with a British colonising power, he highlighted the Indian colonial impact on the area. Thanks to him, but also thanks to the translocation of Chola statues, facilitated by more or less conscious or willing agents like Gabriel Jouveau-Dubreuil, “corsaire archéologique pour la France,” (archaeological raider for France) as the man characterised himself in a letter to Joseph Hackin dated May 28, 1931, and with the help of a well-organised Indian network, the art dealer C. T. Loo, museum curators and private collectors, galleries and auction houses, Chola art’s reputation spread worldwide. The translocation of the Brahmā-Śiva has, in turn, heightened awareness and appreciation of a unique heritage.

Sources

Archives du musée national des arts asiatiques-Guimet:

Gabriel Jouveau-Dubreuil, Correspondance 1926, 1927, 1928, file Gabriel Jouveau-Dubreuil.

Photographic archives, box titled: “Inde du Sud,”” Inde du Centre,” “Sculptures isolées.”

Références

Richard H. Davis, “New lives for Returned Images: The Family of Icons from Sripuranthan,” Marg 69, 2018, no. 3, p. 64–77.

Virginie Olivier, « Les Brahmā-Śiva de la région de Tanjore : un syncrétisme singulier aux origines inexpliquées », Arts Asiatiques 75, 2020, p. 5–26.

T. K. Palaniappan,  “A Year of Progress,” in The Divine Bronzes. The Thanjavur Art Gallery Bronze Sculptures, S. Rathnasabapathy (ed.), Thanjavur: Thanjavur Art Gallery Administration, 1982.

Bénédicte Savoy, À qui appartient la beauté, Paris : La Découverte, 2024..

The American Trunk and the Return Journey of Greek Migrants in the Early 20th Century

Giota Tourgeli

The travel trunk emerged as a powerful symbol of transatlantic migration at the turn of the twentieth century. Among the more than 400,000 Greeks who immigrated to the United States by the 1920s – many intending only temporary sojourn – the trunk became a preeminent material object associated to their eventual return to the homeland. Notably, approximately 40% of these migrants returned to Greece, often carrying trunks that symbolized the material benefits accrued through their mobility. Unlike suitcases, which primarily facilitated the transport of their essential belongings (Fig. 1), the trunk served as a protective container for a diverse range of objects accumulated over time. These items addressed personal needs and were often intended as gifts for family members, functioning as a kind of remittance. The ritual of packing and unpacking these trunks reaffirmed enduring familial and communal bonds, offering symbolic compensation for prolonged physical absence.

Fig. 1. Anonymous, Ready to return for Balkan War, c. 1912. (The Library of Congress, Bain News Service). About 40,000 Greek migrants returned to Greece during the Balkan Wars. They travelled “light”, planning to defend their country and then come back to the United States.

Undoubtedly, the American trunk represented more than a mere travel item; it was a material marker of the migrant’s metamorphosis. The transformation was first signaled by the migrant’s return as a second-class – if not first-class – passenger on an ocean liner. Secondly, it was reflected in the quality and quantity of his baggage and, by extension, in the nature of the goods he carried. Greek peasants, who initially departed as steerage passengers, transported their modest possessions in baskets, betel bags, cloth bundles or, at best, in inexpensive cardboard suitcases purchased in port markets. The objects included their first “European” costume, a blanket, a migrant guide and some dry food for the trip.

In contrast, upon their return, migrants often arrived with multiple elegant suitcases and steamer trunks, filled with carefully selected items chosen for their utility, emotional value or the prestige they provided. Some of these were everyday objects –often second-hand, acquired in the workplace– that nonetheless seemed fabulous within the context of rural Greek communities. These included fashionable clothing, textiles and linens, agricultural tools, kitchen utensils, and popular books from Greek-American publishers. Particularly impressive were Western industrial goods and technological innovations –many purchased with installment plans– such as toys, clocks, firearms and musical instruments, gramophones and records. The contents of these overloaded trunks testified to the migrants’ economic power, and the material lifestyle fostered by their mobility. They also skillfully concealed the frugality and hardships they had endured to acquire such items. The presentation of these goods served to craft a narrative of success, masking the difficult realities of migrant life abroad.

Long-distance travel across borders imbued trunks with significant symbolic value, marking them as special objects. The colorful travel stickers – bearing the logos of the railroad and steamship companies – not only charted the long journey but also attested that they had come from elsewhere. These stickers narrated aspects of the complex bureaucratic process encountered while travelling. The carriage of the baggage to the port of New York, its disinfection and loading onto liners, customs clearance at the ports of Patras and Piraeus, transshipment via domestic steamers, transportation to mountain villages, and final delivery to migrants’ families depended upon a dense transnational logistical network consisting of travel agents, boatmen, porters, carters and muleteers. However, this transnational journey was shaped not only by the organized services and economic interests of transport entrepreneurs but also by the opportunistic activities of petty crooks and bandit gangs. The large, heavy trunks – emblems of distance and perceived wealth – contributed to the reputation of returning migrants as affluent men. Consequently, these migrants and their families often became targets of attacks in port zone, along transit zones, and even in their own homes.

The migrant trunk, as a container of exotic commodities, promoted the “American Dream” itself and contributed to the emergence of a migration culture. It served as a condensed representation of the “American world” and provided tangible evidence of the economic disparity between life “abroad” and “at home.” The baggage, often transported on mules, sent messages of conspicuous consumption, making the migrant’s homecoming triumphant. The size, weight, sturdiness and decorative elements of the trunk impressed all those gathered in the communities of origin to welcome the migrant, whereas the metallic lock further ignited curiosity and speculation about its valuable contents. The ritualized opening of the trunk and the distribution of its objects to family and friends had a profound impact on the mental mobility of young people in particular. Objects enclosed within disseminated images of wealth, fashion and Western modernity, shaping local perceptions of life in the United States. These objects inspired aspirations and reinforced the desire among many to pursue their fortunes abroad, thereby contributing to the perpetuation of migration flows.

Upon delivery, the American trunk was transformed from a travel object and personal possession into a valued family asset. Although its physical journey had ended, its symbolic biography continued to evolve. Like many other migration objects travelling to the Greek provinces, the trunk’s afterlife acquired new layers of meaning. Imbued with the glamour of the golden land, it was regarded as an extraordinary object and prominently displayed in the main room of houses built with the American earnings. It stood alongside other prized possessions brought from America – such as the gramophone and the Singer sewing machine. Much more than a decorative element, it attested to the family’s migration history and rising social status. The inscriptions it bore, with the owner’s name and the American manufacturing company, alluded to an exclusivity, enhancing the symbolic capital of its owners. As an object of distinction, the trunk served to connect the migrant family’s past to its envisioned future, reinforcing its elevated status within the local community.

However, in the materially impoverished setting of the Greek countryside, the trunk’s functional role persisted. As one of the few substantial furnishings in a peasant household, it was repurposed for the storage of dowry clothing or to conceal valuable family possessions. Even the sturdy ropes that had bound it during its transatlantic journey found new utility in agricultural work. These practical adaptations contributed to the trunk’s preservation, safeguarding it from decay. Over time, many trunks underwent further transformations (Fig. 2).

American trunk

Fig. 2. American trunks exhibited at the local folklore museum in Stefani in eastern Corinthia (Peloponnese, Greece). Curated by the Educational and Cultural Association of Stefani. Photographs by the author.

 

 

Retrieved from attics and cellars – if not ending up in antique stores – they were reappropriated as mnemonic objects by later generations and local heritage associations. Regaining a prominent place in the home as family heirlooms, or featured as central exhibits in local heritage museums, these trunks became tangible links to the past. Alongside migrants’ photographs and records from the Ellis Island passenger database, they document the “American past” of the Greek countryside  serving as enduring witnesses to a complex history of migration and cultural memory.

Further reading

Paul Basu and Simon Coleman, “Introduction: migrant worlds, material cultures,” Mobilities 3, no. 3, 2008, p. 313-330.

Hans Peter Hahn and Hadas Weis, “Introduction: biographies, travels and itineraries of things,” in Hans Peter Hahn and Hadas Weis (eds.), Mobility, meaning and transformations of things: Shifting contexts of material culture through time and space, Oxford and Oakville: Oxbow Books, 2013, p.1-14.

Igor Kopytoff, “The cultural biography of things: Commoditization as process,” in Arjun Appadurai (ed.), The social life of things: Commodities in cultural perspective, New York: Cambridge University Press, 1986, p. 64-92.

Giota Tourgeli, Οι Μπρούκληδες. Έλληνες Μετανάστες στην Αμερική και Μετασχηματισμοί στις Κοινότητες Καταγωγής 1890-1940 [The Brooklidhes: Greek immigrants in the United States and the transformations of origin communities, 1890-1940], Athens: National Centre for Social Research (EKKE), 2020 (e-book).

Les pérégrinations méditerranéennes et orientales de la Tazza Farnese

Christian Mazet

Une vitrine du Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli conserve l’une des œuvres gréco-romaines les plus raffinées de l’ingéniosité artistique de l’Antiquité : la Tazza Farnese, ou Tasse Farnèse, considérée comme le plus grand camée du monde. Cette agate sardonique incisée et sculptée, produite dans les ateliers de glyptique d’Alexandrie vers la fin du IIe siècle avant notre ère, était probablement destinée dans l’Antiquité à une fonction symbolique, peut-être à la pratique rituelle de la libation comme laisse suggérer sa forme évoquant la phiale des Anciens (figure 1). Elle représente sur une face, qui correspond à la vasque du vase, une scène nilotique sujette à de multiples interprétations, sans doute une allégorie divine de la famille régnante d’Alexandrie, les Ptolémées, et de l’abondance de l’Égypte hellénistique. Au revers du vase se déploie le visage féminisé de Méduse, figure mythologique d’altérité, en un gorgonéion ailé, à la chevelure peuplée de serpents, exécuté à l’intaille. Jouant avec la translucidité des quatre strates de pierre qui constituent le monumental camée, les figures se révèlent ou disparaissent en fonction des jeux de lumière, en de profondes nuances colorées. La Tazza Farnese devait en tout cas constituer un bien particulièrement précieux, performatif et chargé de sens, pour ses premiers propriétaires, utilisateurs et spectateurs. La perforation au centre de l’objet serait moderne.

Figure 1 : Tazza Farnese. Vase en agate sardonique, production alexandrine de la fin du IIe siècle av. J.-C. Ht. 20 cm. Naples, Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli, inv. 27611. Source : MANN

Les chemins successifs qui ont mené le camée d’Alexandrie au IIe siècle avant notre ère à Naples de nos jours sont multiples, et les hypothèses sont nombreuses. Initialement produit et utilisé dans le Delta du Nil, faisant probablement partie du trésor de la cour royale ptolémaïque, l’objet prestigieux aurait pris, à la suite de la conquête romaine de l’Égypte en 31 av. J.-C. par Octave (le future empereur Auguste), la route vers la péninsule italique, entrant à Rome au sein du trésor impérial, suivant ensuite celui-ci à Constantinople jusqu’au début du XIIIe siècle, où il a vraisemblablement été volé lors de la première croisade en 1204. En 1239, en effet, la Tazza semble être en possession de l’empereur des Romains Frédéric II de Suède, un document d’archive le prouve, suggérant que ce dernier aurait acheté à deux marchands un « magnum scutellam de Onichio ». L’objet serait ainsi retourné une première fois en Italie, en Sicile ou en Italie du Sud, avant d’être sans doute revendu en 1253 par l’héritier du trône, Conrad IV de Hohenstaufen, à un seigneur oriental. Autre hypothèse : la Tazza Farnese n’aurait jamais quitté l’Orient. Elle aurait été pillée à Alexandrie en 88 avant notre ère par Mithridate VI du Pont, grand amateur d’art. La dynastie parthe d’Arménie aurait hérité du trésor jusqu’en 637, date à laquelle des troupes musulmanes se sont emparé des richesses de Ctésiphon, cité commerciale située sur la rive gauche du Tibre. Passé par Damas puis entreposé à Bagdad, alors sous le contrôle des Abbassides, le trésor parthe aurait été encore une fois pillé par le conquérant turco‑mongol Tamerlan, en 1393 ou en 1401.

Figure 2 : Dessin persan de la Tasse Farnèse, signé par le calligraphe Muhammad al-Khayyam, vers 430-450. Berlin Staatsbibliothek, Diez-Album – Diez A fol-72, p. 3, n°2.

On retrouve en tout cas la trace du camée dans les décennies 1430-1450, dans la cour timouride de Samarcande, d’Hérat ou Tabriz, où il est reproduit par un dessinateur persan (figure 2). Ensuite, en l’espace de quelques décennies seulement, la Tazza passe de mains en mains. En 1458, elle appartient au roi des Deux-Siciles Alphonse V d’Aragon. Le peintre Agnolo Poliziano, qui la voit et la décrit à Naples, nous apprend que le monarque l’avait achetée pour une somme jugée dérisoire, 2000 ducats, à un marchand génois ou vénitien, qui n’avait su, des mots du monarque « ni la donner, ni la vendre ». A-t-elle été acquise par ce marchand à Constantinople, au moment de la chute de l’Empire romain d’Orient en 1453 ? Ou bien ce marchand était-il un ambassadeur, Alphonse d’Aragon entretenant de longue date des liens diplomatiques avec les cours orientales ? Elle est revendue ou offerte peu de temps après au cardinal vénitien Ludovico Trevisan, qui transmet sa collection à Pietro Barbo, grand collectionneur de gemmes, qui devint pape sous le nom de Paul II en 1464. Elle entre de la sorte dans les collections pontificales avant d’être donnée en 1471 par son successeur, Sixte IV, à Laurent le Magnifique qui en relate l’arrivée dans les collections florentines dans ses Ricordi. Pièce majeure du collectionnisme Renaissance, on dit même que sa face gorgonéenne inspira Léonard de Vinci ains que le Caravage, tous deux ayant traité en peinture le thème de la tête décapitée de Méduse. En 1492, le camée, toujours dans la cour des Médicis, est évalué à 10 000 florins. Il passe successivement dans les collections de la maison Farnèse par le biais de Marguerite d’Autriche, fille de Charles Quint, épouse en premières noces, pour un an seulement, d’Alexandre de Médicis, alors maître de la ville de Florence qui meurt assassiné en 1537. La duchesse de Toscane est rapidement remariée avec le neveu du pape Paul III, Ottavio Farnese. Contrairement à une idée répandue, la Tazza n’a probablement jamais été présente entre les murs du Palais Farnèse de Rome avec l’importante collection médicéenne de sculptures antiques : les premiers inventaires du studiolo de Fulvio Orsini, érudit au service de Ranuccio et Alessandro Farnese, ne la mentionnent pas. Mais elle est cependant attestée à Ortona en 1586, au palais de la famille De Sanctis où Marguerite d’Autriche avait élu résidence, puis à Parme, en 1632, parmi les pièces de la guardarobba ducale.

En 1736 elle quitte le duché de Parme pour être transférée à Naples avec la quasi-totalité de la Collection Farnèse, héritage maternel du duc de Parme et de Plaisance, roi de Naples et de Sicile, Charles III de Bourbon, futur roi d’Espagne, fils ainé de Philippe V et d’Elisabetta Farnese. Un temps au palais de Capodimonte, elle est déplacée en 1777 avec d’autres antiquités du « museo Farnesiano » au palazzo degli Studi qui est alors le siège de l’Università dei Regi Studi, constituant le premier noyau d’un musée royal en devenir. Elle voyage à Palerme entre 1806 et 1817, suivant Ferdinand IV face à l’arrivée des Français et la prise de pouvoir de Joachim Murat, avant de revenir à Naples où elle devient une pièce majeure des collections du jeune musée archéologique, inauguré un an auparavant sous le nom de Real Museo Borbonico.

Déplacée d’Alexandrie à Rome, puis à Constantinople, Palerme peut-être, Samarcande ou Hérat, Naples, puis Rome, Florence, Ortona, Parme, Naples et Palerme encore, et finalement de retour dans la cité parthénopéenne, la Tazza Farnese a connu bien des pérégrinations qui ont considérablement enrichi sa biographie sociale et l’ont érigée comme une œuvre emblématique de l’histoire de l’art, entre Orient et Occident. Si l’exceptionnalité de sa facture lui a permis de survivre à l’évolution des goûts antiquaires, toujours préservée, elle a aussi accompagné sur le temps long divers moments-clés de l’histoire politique méditerranéenne. Présentée en 2022 dans l’exposition temporaire Recycling beauty de la Fondazione Prada à Milan, la merveilleuse Tazza à l’histoire rocambolesque continue de voyager, loin de l’Alexandrie ptolémaïque qui l’a vu naître.

 

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Barreto, Joana, « Dialogues artistiques dans la Méditerranée de la Renaissance : la ‘Tazza Farnese’ de Hérat à Naples », dans D’une rive à l’autre de la méditerranée occidentale. Hier, aujourd’hui et demain, Nîmes, 2017, p. 174-179.

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Pannuti, Ulrico, « Formazione, incremento e vicende dell’antica raccolta glittica medicea », dans Il tesoro di Lorenzo il Magnifico. Repertorio delle gemme e dei vasi, Florence, 1980, p.7-8.

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Simon, Erika, « Alexandria-Samarkand-Florenz-Rom : Stationnen der Tazza Farnese », dans Helmut Altrichter (dir.), Bilder erzählen Geschichte, Fribourg, 1995, p. 15-28.

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