To send content items to your account,
please confirm that you agree to abide by our usage policies.
If this is the first time you use this feature, you will be asked to authorise Cambridge Core to connect with your account.
Find out more about sending content to .
To send content items to your Kindle, first ensure email@example.com
is added to your Approved Personal Document E-mail List under your Personal Document Settings
on the Manage Your Content and Devices page of your Amazon account. Then enter the ‘name’ part
of your Kindle email address below.
Find out more about sending to your Kindle.
Note you can select to send to either the @free.kindle.com or @kindle.com variations.
‘@free.kindle.com’ emails are free but can only be sent to your device when it is connected to wi-fi.
‘@kindle.com’ emails can be delivered even when you are not connected to wi-fi, but note that service fees apply.
This chapter assesses the neoliberalization of copyright law. It begins with the historical emergence of copyright as a form of public biopolitics. It then looks at three areas where copyright has become neoliberal. The first is incentives theory, which treats all creation as an economic calculation geared toward market rewards. I outline the theory, and show how it works not just to model, but to produce a certain kind of creator, to the exclusion of other forms of creativity. The second is litigation around hip-hop sampling. Here the demand for licensing works to nudge music into commercial channels, where all cultural borrowing is mediated through market transactions. The third is the recent expansion of copyright into what scholars have termed “paracopyright”: a prohibition on circumventing copyright protection technologies, which generally function as forms of “digital rights management” (DRM). Through a detailed examination of how DRM technologies (such as the regional restrictions on DVDs) function, I show how this addition to the law clearly marks a move in the direction of copyright into training individuals that they are consumers of the products of culture.
This chapter introduces and outlines the structure of the book and its argument. It begins with an extended look at litigation between two rival religious sects – the Worldwide Church of God and the splinter group Philadelphia Church of God – over access to doctrinal texts that the WGC owned the rights to, but that it had renounced. It thus provides a good example of how intellectual property can matter even in the most basic and intimate aspects of our lives. I then situate the book in the context of current literature on the expansion of intellectual property (IP) rights. Rather than note their expansion, I argue that the kind of power expressed in IP is subtly shifting. The chapter then offers a brief synopsis of the core Foucauldian theory behind the book – that power can operate according to different logics. It concludes with an outline of the remainder of the text.
This chapter both provides a condensed case for why the analysis of intellectual property (IP) through differing regimes of power is a fruitful one, and details a couple of its implications. One is that we need to be attentive to the way IP law creates certain kinds of subjects, and to be willing to critique it on those lines. The other takes the form of a brief discussion of alternatives proposed to IP, in such areas as “low IP” zones and in creative commons-style proposals. I conclude that the degree to which these alternatives fundamentally challenge the neoliberalization of IP and its move away from public biopower, is essential in assessing the extent to which they actually are alternatives. The goal is not to be strongly prescriptive, but, in the manner of Foucault, to help figure out what are the right questions to ask.
This chapter examines ways of measuring the growth in the output of different kinds of print and, where possible, shifts in subject areas and genres. It notes that the confrontational use of print for political purposes was strongly dependent on precise context. As had been the case since the Reformation, the market potential of print did not develop in a linear way. To manage a printing business required considerable investment, as well as a good feel for reader interests and a willingness to take risks in times of crisis or repression. In those parts of Europe which had strong print markets, not just for books but also pamphlets, serials and more ephemeral outputs, we can therefore use the new history of print not only to underpin a better understanding of changing political cultures, but also to re-evaluate the complexity of political interactions outside the educated elite.
In this chapter, I argue that while the scope of copyright protection of graffiti and street art may be on the whole, fairly easily ascertainable and may offer a desirable level of protection to their authors, the rights of the public with respect to graffiti and street art remain fragmented, somewhat unclear and likely too limited. This finding gives a sobering account of the extent to which Canadian copyright law succeeds in adequately addressing competing interests, such as where allowances for communication and access between the graffiti or street artist, their work of art and the public should be at their highest. I refer to “graffiti” for writings depicted in public spaces and to “street art” as a more general term encompassing graffiti and any other form of visual art (drawing, painting, sculpture, structure, object) located in public spaces. I refer to neither graffiti or street art with a connotation of legality or illegality and I will specifically refer to their (il)legality as the context may dictate from time to time.
The airing of the documentary Style Wars on public television in 1984 was a seminal moment in the adoption of hip-hop style art by urban youth in Aotearoa New Zealand, particularly young M?ori and Pasifika men in Auckland and Wellington. Today, non-commissioned art is not the preserve of a specific ethnic or cultural group, indeed, a research paper written for the Ministry of Justice found “little evidence to suggest that graffiti writers are a distinct subgroup among young people”. Askew One (Elliot O’Donnell) is probably the best-known Auckland street artist. The works of BMD, the most prominent Wellington street artists, adorn many of the capital’s walls. Other often-encountered pseudonyms include “Component, Eeks, Ghstie and Yelz”. Kerryn Pollock observes: “Street art is male-dominated, but some women have gained recognition for their work, including Diva, Misery (Tanja Thompson), Flox (Hayley King), Erin Forsyth, Xoe Hall and Mica Still.” Yarn bombing is also common, notably in Wellington, and, because it is perceived as feminine and non-threatening, widely accepted across generations.
Currently, many cities in Colombia are starting to embrace and promote urban art even though in the recent past the police-or even worse, social-cleansing groups-have persecuted graffiti and street art artists. However, cities like Barranquilla, Valledupar, Medellin, Cali, Bucaramanga, Pereira, and Ibague have welcomed graffiti, designating places, mainly walls, for artists to express themselves via graffiti and street art. Fairs, seminars, and museum exhibitions of urban art are being held in various Colombian cities and these art forms are even boosting local tourism. Amidst this growing collection of street art, one question remains: what protection does street art-particularly lettering-based graffiti-enjoy and what kind of rights do their artists hold over them?
Street art in Australia is not only an important part of urban Australian culture but also a serious commercial business and a part of government urban planning in metropolitan areas. It is both legally recognised and encouraged by sophisticated government policies but those policies have surprisingly little to say directly about copyright. Graffiti is usually defined as unlawful because it is done on public or private property without permission and there is no general legal freedom to paint on public or private property surfaces without express or implied permission. It is discouraged by not enjoying legal protection and being the subject of considerable adverse commentary.
In this chapter I expand on whether and to what extent UK copyright law is capable of regulating street and graffiti art. There has been thus far no reported decision by British courts on copyright protection of these forms of art. This is also probably due to the fact that disputes are often settled out-of-court before a complaint is filed or a decision is reached. After all, this seems to be the rule in most cases regarding art. The chapter focuses on the following selected aspects: (i) requirements for copyright protection; (ii) authorship and ownership; (iii) moral rights; (iv) freedom of panorama exception; and (v) illegally created works.
India has a long history of murals although its street art and graffiti scene has begun to develop in a manner which would be immediately recognisable to the West only in recent years, and that too primarily in major urban centres. The impetus appears to be to engage in enjoyable work, to acquire what commissions are possible, to promote traditional arts, and to raise awareness not just about art but also about socio-political issues.
Assuming that the content in question was not socially inflammatory or illegal from the viewpoint of Indian content laws, which are spread across more than thirty statutes, and assuming that the content had not been illegally placed on a ‘high profile’ surface, addressing vandalism, though it is an offence, does not appear to necessarily be accorded a very high priority by the police. On one hand, there exist anecdotal indications that creators are not always the recipients of police beneficence or forbearance while, on the other, there are also cases where the illegal creation of works is not investigated by the police-certainly not of its own accord-which is entirely unsurprising given that its resources are often stretched
This chapter examines how South African copyright law deals with graffiti and other works of street art. In doing so, it considers both the current law and some of the provisions of the country’s proposed Copyright Amendment Bill. The chapter addresses, among others, questions of originality, the requirement of permanency of fixation, issues surrounding the propriety and illegality of such works as well as authorship and ownership. In addition, the chapter explores the scope of, on the one hand, the economic and moral rights of street artists and, on the other, the availability of exceptions and limitations for those who wish to make permission-free use of such works, including South Africa’s version of the freedom of panorama exception. The chapter concludes by emphasising the need for more empirical research in this field.
When Ezra Pound launched his writing career in London in 1908, English copyright was governed by an Act of 1844, which required registration of works at Stationers’ Hall in order for copyright to be secured. The Act was soon replaced, however, by the Imperial Copyright Act of 1911, under which copyright protection was extended to works upon creation without the need for registration. Notable among the changes effected by the Act of 1911 was the extension of the term of copyright to life plus fifty years (subject to certain exceptions). Previously, the law fixed the term of copyright at either forty-two years from first publication or the life of the author plus seven years, whichever proved the longer. Two provisions allowed for compulsory licenses as a limitation on copyright.
Street art raise interesting issues, all remain within a framework of property relations. Yet the owner of the wall and the author of the work are not the only relevant actors. People will pass these works as they walk down the street and may be moved to photograph them. The work might become so well known, through traditional or social media coverage, or so beloved that it comes to be considered part of the fabric of the local community. If the nature of that community is contested by different groups (i.e. publics), the work may itself become a site of contestation. The removal of a work may not therefore go unnoticed, whether welcome or unwelcome. In placing the author at the centre of this thinly sketched web of conflicting rights and interests amongst different actors and groups the question becomes one, most obviously, of the integrity of property: for the author it is likely to be a question of moral rights as they seek to maintain the integrity of their work.