Is Tel Aviv’s Neve Tzedek, Too, Occupied Territory?

14 May, 2021

Neve Tzedek,

Neve Tzedek, “Red City” Tel Aviv (Pho­to: Liran Sokolovs­ki Finzi, Get­ty Images).

A Pho­to­graph­ic Inter­ro­ga­tion of the City’s Curat­ed Image

Taylor Miller

To pierce the Tel Aviv bub­ble. The excite­ment, lev­i­ty and cool­ness — the atti­tude and aes­thet­ic that is cul­ti­vat­ed and con­veyed through­out the city — abounds in Neve Tzedek. It is one of sev­er­al south­ern neigh­bor­hoods that, uti­liz­ing prac­tice-based meth­ods, I inter­ro­gate for the ways in which cul­tur­al hege­mo­ny is repro­duced and weaponized in the arts-led gen­tri­fi­ca­tion of the city; one arm of the Zion­ist set­tler colo­nial hydra that con­tin­u­al­ly dis­places, eras­es, and rein­scribes Pales­tin­ian space. 

Figure 3.9. Satellite imagery of the

Fig­ure 3.9. Satel­lite imagery of the “Red City” (Neve Tzedek) amongst the White City. The imagery is blurred because of the US Con­gress’s 1997 Nation­al Defense Autho­riza­tion Act. One sec­tion is titled, “Pro­hi­bi­tion on col­lec­tion and release of detailed satel­lite imagery relat­ing to Israel.” This is known as the Kyl-Binga­man Amend­ment, where­by NOAA’s Com­mer­cial Remote Sens­ing Reg­u­la­to­ry Affairs must con­trol the dis­sem­i­na­tion of zoomed-in images of Israel, which pro­hibits US satel­lite imagery com­pa­nies (like Google) from sell­ing pic­tures that are “more detailed or pre­cise than satel­lite imagery of Israel that is avail­able from com­mer­cial sources” (Dance, 2019). The Euro­pean Space Agency (ESA) has even poor­er res­o­lu­tion of these sites.

Inter­na­tion­al Style archi­tec­ture is not as preva­lent here as in oth­er neigh­bor­hoods in the city, but that does not mean that the impulse toward mate­r­i­al and con­cep­tu­al bor­der­ing isn’t there. While with­in the bound­aries of the “White City” (for more, see: Rot­bard, 2015), Neve Tzedek (and adja­cent Shabazi) is some­times referred to as a mini ‘Red City’ due to an abun­dance of dis­tinc­tive red roofs. These ter­ra cot­ta shin­gles were dubbed “Mar­seille tiles” (Fig. 3.9 – 3.13). Wide­ly mar­ket­ed for a time­less appear­ance — an “instant clas­sic” — it is unclear whether the roof­ing in Neve Tzedek was import­ed from Mar­seille, France, or if the replic­a­ble style was brought in from elsewhere.

From the neigh­bor­hood’s found­ing, most build­ings were only built one or two sto­ries tall along nar­row streets with tight alleys; Jugend­stil and Art Nou­veau ele­ments were paired with Inter­na­tion­al Style, and lat­er, Bauhaus-influ­enced forms. Con­tem­po­ra­ne­ous­ly, the mix­ture of archi­tec­tur­al styles makes for a dis­uni­fied if not clut­tered appear­ance. In part, this is because Tel Aviv’s north­ward sprawl through­out the 20th cen­tu­ry drew afflu­ent res­i­dents to new­ly devel­oped exclu­sive enclaves and high ris­es (such as the present-day pock­ets of Park Tza­meret and the “Old North”, the area north of Azlo­zorov Street, west of the Ayalon High­way). In the 1960s, offi­cials labeled the neigh­bor­hood a slum as it was visu­al­ly and mate­ri­al­ly incom­pat­i­ble with the sleek, bustling image of the rapid­ly glob­al­iz­ing city. Por­tions of the neigh­bor­hood were slat­ed for demo­li­tion to make room for seafront apart­ments and retail, though these plans were shelved when some of the struc­tures were placed on preser­va­tion lists. 

Men­achem Begin and the Likud Par­ty’s poli­cies, com­pound­ed by the thrum of neolib­er­al­iza­tion that con­sumed Tel Aviv in the 1980s, increas­ing­ly posi­tioned Neve Tzedek as a semi-pas­toral, pic­turesque reprieve from the sur­round­ing com­mo­tion. By decade’s end, arts-led gen­tri­fi­ca­tion ini­ti­at­ed the neigh­bor­hood’s revamp as a polestar for fash­ion, bou­tique hotels, upscale cafes and design evoca­tive of a Mediter­ranean any­where­ness. Over­grown bougainvil­lea cas­cade over col­or­ful street art and neo-Moor­ish arched win­dows. Pur­pose­ful­ly blight­ed for decades, only to be redeemed by an influx of Israeli and inter­na­tion­al cap­i­tal, it is pal­pa­ble how the his­toric built envi­ron­ment of the neigh­bor­hood is cur­rent­ly reval­ued for its sym­bol­ic and eco­nom­ic poten­tial. Although Neve Tzedek is a small neigh­bor­hood, two dis­tinct cul­tur­al clus­ters fea­ture a con­cen­tra­tion of artscapes and archi­tec­tures that are encour­ag­ing of sociospa­tial seg­re­ga­tion and overt com­mod­i­fi­ca­tion of urban space: HaT­achanah (here­after: The Sta­tion) and Shabazi Street.

Figures 3.10 & 3.11 (all photos courtesy Taylor Miller, unless otherwise noted).

Fig­ures 3.10 & 3.11 (all pho­tos cour­tesy Tay­lor Miller, unless oth­er­wise noted).

Figures 3.12 & 3.13.

Fig­ures 3.12 & 3.13.

The retail com­plex now known as “The Sta­tion” was once the ter­mi­nus for the Jaf­fa rail­way sta­tion. Inau­gu­rat­ed on May 24, 1891, the line was con­ceived to link the Mediter­ranean coast with Jerusalem. Jew­ish busi­ness­man Yosef Navon was prin­ci­pal­ly respon­si­ble for its con­struc­tion, but when he lacked the cap­i­tal to exe­cute the pro­jec­t’s com­ple­tion, the Société du Chemin de Fer Ottoman de Jaf­fa à Jérusalem et Pro­longe­ments was estab­lished in Paris to finance and build the line. Metre gauge was import­ed through the Jaf­fa Port from France and Bel­gium. Dur­ing World War I, the rail sta­tion served as a mil­i­tary head­quar­ters for the Turk­ish and Ger­man armies before the heav­ier machin­ery was moved to Jerusalem. As the British advanced north­ward in 1917, many bridges that sup­port­ed the rail­way were det­o­nat­ed. In 1918, the Pales­tine Mil­i­tary Rail­ways of the British Man­date rebuilt some of the line, includ­ing the sec­tion between Jaf­fa and Lyd­da junc­tion. After the Nak­ba, all ser­vices at the Jaf­fa sta­tion halt­ed and eras of neglect ensued. In 2004, the Tel Aviv Munic­i­pal­i­ty ini­ti­at­ed a restora­tion project (com­plet­ed in 2009) that con­vert­ed the for­mer sta­tion into a leisure and enter­tain­ment com­plex. By Feb­ru­ary 2017, con­struc­tion on the red line of the Tel Aviv light rail was under­way, with esti­mat­ed com­ple­tion in Octo­ber 2021. This line — with 33 sta­tions between Petah Tik­va (north­east of Tel Aviv) and Bat Yam (south of Jaf­fa, on the coast) — pass­es just south of The Sta­tion, inte­grat­ing por­tions of the orig­i­nal 1891 rail­way in Neve Tzedek. 

Here, the manip­u­la­tion of cul­ture is a simul­ta­ne­ous manip­u­la­tion of his­to­ry; while a hand­ful of plac­ards include Ara­bic trans­la­tions of the Jaf­fa to Jerusalem rail­way’s sto­ry, there is zero indi­ca­tion of the land’s Pales­tin­ian tenure pri­or to the train sta­tion’s arrival.

At face val­ue, The Sta­tion is noth­ing extra­or­di­nary. Much like shop­ping malls in warmer cli­mates around the Unit­ed States, a series of dis­con­nect­ed store­fronts are pieced togeth­er by an expanse of wood, stone and cement plaza. Direc­tive sig­nage — pri­mar­i­ly in Eng­lish and Hebrew — is placed to dri­ve foot traf­fic towards din­ing and shop­ping. About twen­ty design/concept stores, sev­er­al bars and restau­rants, and a scat­ter­ing of art gal­leries pop­u­late The Sta­tion’s grounds. Shade is sparse, spare sev­er­al aged euca­lyp­tus trees and the fronds of spindly palms. In my vis­its to the site, all occur­ring between May-August, the sun proves unre­lent­ing. In addi­tion to the brick and mor­tar build­ings in the com­plex, sev­er­al reha­bil­i­tat­ed train cars are posi­tioned on the now-defunct stretch of rail; relics stripped of their orig­i­nal util­i­ty and expec­ta­tion now serve as lack­lus­ter exhi­bi­tion spaces to tan­ta­lize unas­sum­ing tourists, and for dilut­ed tales of rail trav­el and nation-build­ing (Fig. 3.14 – 3.15). How­ev­er, there is much to observed in the oft over­looked inter­stices of the Israeli built envi­ron­ment, even in sites craft­ed for indul­gence and entertainment. 

Figures 3.14 & 3.15.

Fig­ures 3.14 & 3.15.

Fig­ures 3.16 – 3.24 fur­ther illus­trate how arts-led gen­tri­fi­ca­tion of The Sta­tion rep­re­sents the con­scious and delib­er­ate manip­u­la­tion of her­itage and cul­ture “in an effort to enhance the appeal of inter­est of places, espe­cial­ly to the rel­a­tive­ly well-off and well-edu­cat­ed work­forces of high-tech­nol­o­gy indus­try, but also to ‘up-mar­ket’ tourists and to the orga­niz­ers of con­fer­ences and oth­er mon­ey-spin­ning exer­cis­es” (Kearns & Phi­lo, 1993, p. 3). Here, the manip­u­la­tion of cul­ture is a simul­ta­ne­ous manip­u­la­tion of his­to­ry; while a hand­ful of plac­ards include Ara­bic trans­la­tions of the Jaf­fa to Jerusalem rail­way’s sto­ry, there is zero indi­ca­tion of the land’s Pales­tin­ian tenure pri­or to the train sta­tion’s arrival. To walk around The Sta­tion’s grounds is to expe­ri­ence both the phys­i­cal and dis­cur­sive emp­ty­ing and era­sure of Pales­tin­ian space; this vio­lence is mag­ni­fied by the shared bound­ary fence with the Israel Forces His­to­ry Muse­um. The Sta­tion could have built a sol­id wall — bet­ter delin­eat­ing this art and leisure site from com­bat-worn artillery and vehi­cles — but instead, the sim­ple chain link and barbed wire fence enables a sort of visu­al per­me­abil­i­ty and ever-present reminder of Israel’s mil­i­tary aggression.

Figures 3.16, 3.17, 3.18 & 3.19 (clockwise from upper left).

Fig­ures 3.16, 3.17, 3.18 & 3.19 (clock­wise from upper left).

Figure 3.20.

Fig­ure 3.20.

While a sol­id wall between the muse­um and The Sta­tion would not nul­li­fy the exis­tence of such a shrine to brute force, nor com­pen­sate for era­sure of Pales­tin­ian spaces and cul­tures of eras past, the delib­er­ate choice of porous fenc­ing glo­ri­fies the ongo­ing mate­r­i­al and psy­cho­log­i­cal occu­pa­tion of Pales­tine. It is a site where cul­tur­al activ­i­ties near-seam­less­ly enmesh with the residues of past wars and immi­nence of future vio­lence. The ever-present optics of cul­ture, com­mod­i­ty and con­flict entwined are exem­plary of Israeli set­tler colo­nial­ism; it is an ongo­ing project of urban usurpa­tion that does not cease.

The dis­cur­sive era­sures in Neve Tzedek — upheld by infor­ma­tion­al plac­ards and exhi­bi­tions about the Jaf­fa rail at The Sta­tion — and the phys­i­cal rein­scrip­tion of the site not only con­tribute to process­es of dis­pos­ses­sion and cleans­ing of his­tor­i­cal Pales­tin­ian cul­ture and prop­er­ty, but they con­tin­u­al­ly deny con­tem­po­rary Pales­tin­ian pres­ence in Tel Aviv and near­by Jaf­fa. The Sta­tion is space orga­nized accord­ing to set­tler-colo­nial log­ic; it is the impo­si­tion of eth­nic and reli­gious hier­ar­chy and cul­tur­al hege­mo­ny upon the land and its inhab­i­tants, and it is rein­forced through the curat­ed image con­veyed to tourists.

Figures 21 - 24.

Fig­ures 21 — 24.

Fig. 3.25.

Fig. 3.25.

The pre­ced­ing images are demon­stra­tive of the colo­nial ethos in Tel Aviv archi­tec­ture and the broad­er built envi­ron­ment. Not unlike the Etzel Muse­um across Kauf­mann Street in Charles Clore Park, there is a per­ver­sion and manip­u­la­tion of ruins, of traces of the past bespeak­ing the gen­tri­fi­ca­tion and com­mod­i­fi­ca­tion of site. The crum­bling sand­stone and Mediter­ranean seashells are mixed with shards of ter­ra­cot­ta tiles and con­crete. It is almost like arche­ol­o­gy at eye-lev­el, a pre­sen­ta­tion of palimpsest; bits and pieces of lives and liveli­hoods, skins of Jaf­fa oranges, the desire paths of Bedouin graz­ing their ani­mals, the sweat of mer­chants and rail­way work­ers and salt of the sea — of pos­si­bil­i­ty and open­ings, com­pressed into enclo­sure. Walls and new bor­ders to sep­a­rate com­mu­ni­ties, dis­tin­guish the Oth­er, des­ig­nate what’s wor­thy of mark-up and mar­ket­ing and what is swept aside (Fig. 3.25 – 3.26).

As high­light­ed in these pho­tographs, the struc­tures and spaces which were imbued with charge — the Pales­tin­ian cul­tur­al and social con­tent; the labor his­to­ries of var­i­ous com­mu­ni­ties, eco­nom­ic tri­umphs and every­day oper­a­tions in pre­vi­ous eras have been decant­ed from Neve Tzedek and its envi­rons; the emp­ty shell now refilled with the hubris of Zion­ist mythol­o­gy and cap­i­tal­ist coer­cion. The mate­ri­al­i­ty of the land­scape and built envi­ron­ment is an eye­wit­ness to past events and social inter­ac­tions, as well as those of this very moment (Till, 2005). These pho­tographs are atten­tive read­ings of the mate­ri­al­i­ty of Neve Tzedek, reveal­ing of the con­tem­po­rary set­tler colo­nial orga­ni­za­tion of space and the con­cur­rent cap­i­tal­ist deter­ri­to­ri­al­iza­tion and reter­ri­to­ri­al­iza­tion of ter­ri­to­ry (Deleuze et al., 2008), where “the removal of exist­ing sig­ni­fi­ca­tions as a pre­cur­sor to their rede­f­i­n­i­tion [is] in terms more con­ducive to cap­i­tal accu­mu­la­tion” (Leshem, 2013, p. 529). Present­ly stripped of vir­tu­al­ly all sig­ni­fi­ca­tion of Pales­tin­ian iden­ti­ty, these sites are vic­tim to the simul­ta­ne­ous hege­mon­ic acts of era­sure and reinscription. 

 The white­washed walls and over-irri­gat­ed flo­ra in this artscape are both flat­ten­ing and encour­ag­ing of Oth­er­ness: “Being noth­ing oth­er than style, [the cul­ture indus­try] divulges style’s secret: obe­di­ence to the social hier­ar­chy” (Adorno & Horkheimer, 2002, p. 104). While the con­scious styl­iza­tion of this urban space is intrin­sic to the pro­mo­tion of Neve Tzedek, and more wide­ly Tel Aviv, I believe it is the banal moments in the built envi­ron­ment — over­sights, indif­fer­ences, tak­en-for-grant­eds (tak­en-as-truths) — ren­dered more notice­able through prac­tice-based data col­lec­tion that aid in expos­ing how sociospa­tial seg­re­ga­tion is con­tin­u­al­ly repro­duced and how an aes­thet­ics of occu­pa­tion, of vio­lence against the land and its peo­ple, under­lies the cul­tur­al infra­struc­tures of the city. 

Fig. 3.26.

Fig. 3.26.

This crit­i­cal visu­al method­ol­o­gy, strength­ened in part by the work of Rose (2001), is an approach “that thinks about the visu­al in terms of cul­tur­al sig­nif­i­cance, social prac­tices and pow­er rela­tions in which it is embed­ded; and that means think­ing about pow­er rela­tions that pro­duce, are artic­u­lat­ed through, and can be chal­lenged by, ways of see­ing and imag­ing” (p. 3). It is in these heav­i­ly medi­at­ed sites of cul­tur­al con­sump­tion that attun­ing to the fringes and fis­sures work toward dis­man­tling hege­mon­ic space. This is not only the case with doc­u­men­ta­tion in and around The Sta­tion, but along Shabazi Street, the core boule­vard for artscapes in Neve Tzedek which runs the length of the neighborhood. 

A foun­da­tion­al cul­tur­al and spa­tial era­sure inher­ent in this arti­cle begins with the obfus­cat­ed his­to­ry of the neigh­bor­hood and the rein­force­ment of Tel Aviv as ter­ra nul­lius before its boom. That Neve Tzedek sprung forth from emp­ty sand; struc­tures then dete­ri­o­rat­ed with the sea breeze, as devel­op­men­t’s charge pushed north and east. But arts-led gen­tri­fi­ca­tion saved these sites: quaint, expen­sive, exclu­sive. The Mediter­ranean imag­i­nary drifts effort­less­ly in and out of restau­rants and grazes chipped stuc­co walls. Tiny gal­leries, bou­tiques and pub­lic art­works have cul­tur­al­ly “recharged” Shabazi and Neve Tzedek as a whole, rein­tro­duc­ing its poten­tial and then entic­ing urban dwellers, tourists and investors (Mom­maas, 2004). Hawari et al. (2019) cut through the mirage:

The prac­tices of pre­sent­ing and mar­ket­ing Israel to an inter­na­tion­al audi­ence, whether in the acad­e­my or to the wider pub­lic, laun­der Israel’s past and present; hid­ing the vio­lence of colo­nial dis­rup­tions and expul­sions beneath artic­u­la­tions of moral legit­i­ma­cy, nation­al long­ing and belong­ing, and the right to claim sov­er­eign­ty over ter­ri­to­ry, law and life in Pales­tine. These are then fur­ther buried beneath Israel’s glob­al ‘brand’ of high tech and entre­pre­neur­ial prowess, of gay-friend­ly street par­ties in Tel Aviv, of a ‘diverse’, ‘com­plex’, ‘mul­ti­cul­tur­al’, ‘democ­ra­cy’ (but, ‘not with­out its prob­lems’); a ‘sta­tion’ (as we read in Joseph Con­rad’s work) capa­ble of paci­fy­ing and con­nect­ing – or con­tain­ing and secur­ing – an unsta­ble, unde­mo­c­ra­t­ic and deeply inse­cure Mid­dle East, to the rest of the world. (p. 156)

Fig. 3.27.

Fig. 3.27.

Her­itage, con­ser­va­tion and restora­tion are key themes in trav­el blog­ging about Neve Tzedek whose fre­quent if not glar­ing omis­sions con­tribute to the dis­cur­sive and cul­tur­al era­sures of the neigh­bor­hood and its his­to­ry. While there aren’t brown­stone struc­tures in Neve Tzedek like in Williams­burg, Brook­lyn, for exam­ple, the Eclec­tic, Inter­na­tion­al Style and Bauhaus-inspired archi­tec­tures, as well as oth­er pre-Nak­ba ver­nac­u­lar struc­tures are sub­ject to sim­i­lar inte­ri­or ren­o­va­tions and façade facelifts. The mar­ket in this area simul­ta­ne­ous­ly demands mod­ern, upscale fin­ish­es and finesse along­side dis­tinct­ly antiqued, unique touch­es. Por­tray­als of “the past” abutted with the “mod­ern” present and promised future of the neigh­bor­hood, cre­ate new tem­po­ral cat­e­gories for and under­stand­ings of this lived space all while white­wash­ing social prob­lems and con­flict from the spec­ta­cle of the city (Till, 2005).

Of course, this begs: Whose spaces are deemed wor­thy of preser­va­tion? Whose notions of the pic­turesque are repro­duced and enshrined? An aggre­ga­tion of sym­bols, metaphors, trends and mate­ri­als com­mod­i­fied for upward­ly social­ly mobile class­es razed com­plex and con­test­ed polit­i­cal, eco­nom­ic and cul­tur­al ele­ments in recent decades as this neigh­bor­hood gen­tri­fied. Hege­mon­ic images, beliefs and whole lived social process­es that are orga­nized by dom­i­nant, pow­er-wield­ing val­ues and mean­ings are what’s col­lapsed into these notions of the pic­turesque, the bohemi­an (Williams, 1977). This cul­tur­al hege­mo­ny in Neve Tzedek and Tel Aviv more wide­ly is by no means abstract or sta­t­ic; it is lived, it is — just like the occu­pa­tion and col­o­niza­tion of Pales­tine as a whole — always ongo­ing. It does not exist as a pas­sive form of dom­i­nance; Indige­nous Pales­tin­ian cul­ture is active­ly suf­fo­cat­ed if not near­ly entire­ly erased from the space. Exam­ples of this include an absence of Ara­bic sig­nage and Pales­tin­ian cul­tur­al cen­ters; demo­graph­ic con­trol of the neigh­bor­hood (includ­ing busi­ness own­er­ship, the hotel indus­try and its clien­tele, renters and prop­er­ty own­ers), the rep­re­sen­ta­tion and attri­bu­tion of lit­er­a­ture, archi­tec­ture, cui­sine, music, and so on. It per­verts itself into all aspects of soci­ety, of the built envi­ron­ment — in mul­ti­ple dimensions.

Fig. 28.

Fig. 28.

This lived hege­mo­ny must be con­tin­u­al­ly renewed, recre­at­ed, defend­ed, and mod­i­fied in order to retain rel­e­vance and main­tain polit­i­cal, reli­gious and cul­tur­al con­trol. In this regard, Tel Aviv — with ongo­ing rein­ven­tion and rede­vel­op­ment of neigh­bor­hoods like Neve Tzedek — is a preda­to­ry city. This pre­da­tion takes many forms but can be observed in my doc­u­men­ta­tion of var­i­ous struc­tures along Shabazi Street and in near­by cor­ners. While the gen­tri­fi­ca­tion of por­tions of the neigh­bor­hood craft­ed a new visu­al regime of tidi­ness, lux­u­ry and cool, there remains struc­tures, plots and oth­er spaces that are inten­tion­al­ly blight­ed, or con­struc­tion projects paused before com­ple­tion — sites of annex­a­tion and occu­pa­tion that cur­tail pub­lic use or counter-hege­mon­ic oppor­tu­ni­ties. My doc­u­men­ta­tion of some of these struc­tures and spaces proves demon­stra­tive of polit­i­cal­ly moti­vat­ed preser­va­tion and rede­vel­op­ment in the neigh­bor­hood — a con­stel­la­tion of fac­tors and stake­hold­ers deter­mine what is wor­thy of con­ser­va­tion, and what deserves to be bull­dozed (as well as what remains in-lim­bo, and how). While any city has its share of failed projects and invest­ments going bel­ly-up, there is a high con­cen­tra­tion of pur­pose­ful dis­re­pair (in the hands of the munic­i­pal­i­ty, pri­vate investors, com­mu­ni­ty mem­bers and the like) that at once retains the “edgi­ness” of the neigh­bor­hood, hoards land for bigger/more pro­lif­ic invest­ment and impedes social and cul­tur­al progress at var­i­ous scales (Fig. 3.27 – 3.39).

In place pro­mo­tion of Neve Tzedek, the mate­ri­al­i­ty of the built envi­ron­ment is fetishized and anthro­po­mor­phized for its charm and artis­tic ener­gy. Ide­al­ized vignettes of Mediter­ranean bliss along Shabazi Street and adja­cent pock­ets are sought out by Tel Avi­vians and trav­el­ers alike. The visu­al­i­ty and mate­ri­al­i­ty of this neigh­bor­hood and oth­ers through­out Tel Aviv serve a pro­pa­gan­dis­tic func­tion to encour­age tourism and enter­prise and fur­ther bal­loon prop­er­ty val­ues. This curat­ed image of a tor­tu­ous­ly trendy space sets the bor­ders of who and what does or does not belong; con­tin­u­al­ly repro­duc­ing sociospa­tial seg­re­ga­tion in the city.

Figures 29, 30, 32 & 33.

Fig­ures 29, 30, 32 & 33.

Figures 3.34, 3.35, 3.36 & Figure 3.37 — An urban emulation of dendrochronology (2018).

Fig­ures 3.34, 3.35, 3.36 & Fig­ure 3.37 — An urban emu­la­tion of den­drochronol­o­gy (2018).

Figures 3.38 & 3.39.

Fig­ures 3.38 & 3.39.


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gentrificationOccupationPalestinepractice-basedsettler-colonialismTel Aviv

Taylor Miller is a photographer and writer based in Tucson, Arizona. She earned her Ph.D. in the School of Geography, Environment & Development at the University of Arizona, with research centered on arts-led gentrification in Marseille and Tel Aviv, and the aesthetics of occupation that underlie the cultural infrastructures of those cities. Her work has appeared in Warscapes, Kohl Journal, The Journal of the Southwest and Urban Transcripts. Her creative practice enmeshes psychogeography with vernacular mapping, with particular interest in the other-than, more-than-human impacts of colonialism, neoliberalism and the reinscription of urban space in places through which she moves.


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