Modest Witness a Painter's Collaboration with Donna Haraway de Lynn Randolph

3/13/2015 Modest Witness: A Painter's Collaboration with Donna Haraway

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Modest WitnessA Painter's Collaboration with Donna Haraway

By Lynn Randolph

When I read Donna Haraway's Manifesto for Cyborgs in 1989, I was intrigued and inspired. Here was a piecethat resonated with my political, feminist and moral values. Haraway was getting up close, magnifying andfocusing on science, technology and socialistfeminism while contesting the "old world order." Her workbrought to mind Robert Hooks’ first look through a microscope and William Blake’s painting of a flea. DonnaHaraway was creating new ways to approach Nature/Culture. She insisted that we find new relationships tonature besides possession and reflection, and that we converse with wily coyotes. We are not innocentplayers and we must assume responsibility for constructing alternative cultures within our own specificenvironment. It’s a curiously hopeful view. Haraway drew on metaphors and narratives and deconstructedmyths to envision the alternatives. She recommended blasphemy, irony and humor as the means toward acomprehensive subversion of the cultural practices surrounding science, technology, and socialistfeminism asshe dismantled and reassembled their codes. She offered pleasure, pleasure in becoming competent in theuse of new technoscientific tools and the opportunities they presented. Some of her tools, particularly thefactual detail and heightened metaphoric language, as well as the use of narratives, were a central part of myrepertoire.

The figure she proposed for this salvation was a cyborg, a hybrid of machines and organisms. The cyborgcould contain incompatible truths. The cyborg might change our perceptions of reality and alter old beliefs.Cyborgs are both real and fictional. We are all cyborgs in that we rely on various chemicals andcommunication technologies to see us through each day.

Along with the cyborg figure, Haraway pointed to contemporary science fiction writers such as Octavia Butlerand John Varley, who use technosurreal cosmic scapes, vehicles, and time warps to gain perspective.Octavia Butler contests with the borders and boundaries of race, class, and gender. Butler and Varley havebeen part of the scarce contingent of artists who offer a new or different vision in a culture caught up insimulations and appropriations and the linear patterns that modernism promoted. Haraway recognized thatthey were creating speculative futures informed by transnational technoscience and that they had opened up aspace where they could intervene and tinker with critical social, political, and ethical concepts. In Butler’sXenogenesis Trilogy, her "aliens" view the earth from deep outer space. The Oankali and Ooloi (the Aliens)know we are inferior because we are eaten up with a bad case of the "hierarchies." They are gene tradersand think our cancer cells could be useful, so during a period of nuclear and ecological annihilation on Earth,they capture a group of humans and "pod" them. The rescued and awakening earthlings have to confronttotally other creatures and begin to renegotiate life. In their desire to survive, the humans overcome thedifficulty in mating in a tripartite scheme with physically repugnant aliens. These strategies fit well with mysurrealist tendencies to juxtapose images of real people, places and things into potent fusions and newcouplings, to subvert the old order, transgress boundaries, make the marginal central, dream others dreamsand recode the representations of woman in U.S. cultural life.

In 1989 I left Houston (where I still reside) for a year in Cambridge, Massachusetts. I had been given apainting fellowship at the Bunting Institute (now the Radcliffe Center for Advanced Studies) for my project, aseries of paintings entitled " A Return to Alien Roots: Painting Outside Mainstream Western Culture." Justbefore leaving Houston, I read Haraway’s manifesto. When I arrived at the institute, I participated in manydiscussions of the piece with the Bunting Fellows. Several found it baffling and the writing difficult; others likemyself were completely knocked out. Many of the colloquia given that year mentioned this article. Harawaygave a presentation at Harvard that fall. Within the university there was both great excitement about and greatresistance to her approach.

Haraway's description of Asian women with nimble fingers, working in enterprise zones for very littleremuneration stuck in my head. I had recently met a young Chinese woman, Grace Li, who was one of my



late husband’s sociology students at the University of Houston. We were particularly concerned for her thatspring because her parents lived only a few miles from Tiananmen Square. I asked Grace if she would posefor me and she agreed. Personal computers were still relatively young in the technological revolution and Icould clearly see their potential for empowerment.

So I placed my humancomputer/artist/writer/shamans/scientist in the centerand on the horizon line of a new canvas. I put the DIPswitches of the computerboard on her chest as if it were a part of her dress. A giant keyboard sits in frontof her and her hands are poised to play with the cosmos, words, games,images, and unlimited interactions and activities. She can do anything. Thecomputer screen in the night sky offers examples. There are three images thatgraphically display different aspects of the same galaxy, using new hightechnological imaging devices. Another panel exhibits a diagram of a gravitywell. The central panel offers mathematical formulas, one from Einstein and theother a calculation found in chaos theory. In the same panel a game of tictactoe has been played using the symbols for male and female and the womanhas won. The foreground is a historical desert plain replete with pyramids,implying that the cyborg can roam across histories and civilizations andincorporate them into her life and work. Finally I placed the shamanicheaddress of a white tigress spirit on her head and arms. The paws and limbs

of the tigress reveal its skeleton. They both look directly at the viewer. The underlying intent was to create afigure that could visually do what Haraway was describing as the potential for refiguring our consciousness.

Shortly after completing my cyborg painting I sent a slide to Donna Haraway. She had recently begunteaching at the University of California at Santa Cruz, History of Consciousness program. She called me atthe Bunting Institute to ask if she could use the Cyborg painting for the cover of her new book Simians,Cyborgs and Women: The Reinvention of Nature. She explained that it had already gone to press and thatthere would be no accompanying text. I was delighted. We talked about the painting and I felt that shecompletely understood my effort. She asked to see other work that I’d done and I began regularly sending herslides of completed work. A year or so later she wrote asking if she could use a blackandwhite print of theCyborg painting as the final image in her essay, "The Promises of Monsters."1 Her essay included adescription of the painting. She put into words everything I was trying to articulate in the painting. She mademe aware of the way I had used skeletons as an organizing tool. "The painting maps the articulations amongmany cosmos, animal, human, machine, and landscape in their recursive sidereal, bony, electronic, andgeological skeletons," she wrote, "The mathematics and the games are like logical skeletons." Haraway'sdescription helped me talk about the painting when I presented it to others. Our dance had begun.

"The Promises of Monsters" expanded my thinking. At that moment the cultural landscape seemed flat. Withfew exceptions, cultural workers were creating a mosaic of simulations of the past. I was attracted toHaraway's attempt to find a different space, a place from elsewhere, where the sacred images of commodityproduction and the deadly images of the same were no longer present. This is not a fantasy place, but onethat is present and available and where we might find new meanings and different values.

I am an imagist. I believe that the closest we ever get to a provisional "truth" is through metaphors and I thinkof my paintings as metaphoric realism. More than forty years ago I set a course in opposition to mainstreamWestern painting, resisting modernism’s nearly exclusive concern for the sequencing of differences in linearillusions of progress (the avant garde) and formalism (art about art). I rebelled when abstraction triumphedover the figure and when, in pursuit of the sublime, empty universalism (transcendentalism) was elevated overearthly evidences of the human spirit. The art world today is much more pluralistic, but it seems to me to becommodity–driven and committed to aesthetisizing the banal. I remain committed to painting particular people,places and things. In going from the specific physical object to the metaphysical, via the metaphoricalarrangements and juxtapositions of objects, the content or subject will bind itself to the structure and forms inwhich it occurs.

Metaphoric realism is a literary term and describes a kind of text. I use the word real to mean resembling thereal, feeling real, not naturalistic. Images can often do more than words, and more efficiently. Images canconstitute metaphors that can be read/interpreted. There are antecedents for this kind of reading in premodern art in Native American sand paintings, Hindu religious miniatures, and nineteenthcentury Mexican



retablos, to name a few. This language of images requires a different kind of participation from the viewer thanmuch of modern art. It asks to be interpreted or apprehended, not just appreciated. Visual metaphors arehybrids, they call upon the beholder to combine and synthesize experience that analysis has fragmented ordissected. Metaphors can be a powerful means of communicating the rationally ungraspable. They are both amode of persuasion and a catalyst for change. However, we should never shrink from asking: Whosemetaphors?

The connection between visible surface and invisible depth is crucial, particularly for me as a painter. Theinarticulate relationships of interior to exterior, idea to form, private pathos to public patterns, from local eventsto global ramifications, and the sacred metaphors that draw on outward and visible signs of inward andspiritual grace, all remind us that visual and verbal skills and critical thinking are necessary to artist and vieweralike.

I like the idea of engagement and being in informed touch with multiple fields of knowledge. Underneath awork of art are traces of what shaped it: the artist’s values, knowledge, psychological make up and spiritualforce. Art, allied with its various sources, can serve as a vibrant shaper of thought.

The connection I felt with Haraway’s work was not just limited to her exciting metaphors and narratives andher ideas. It was strongly linked to her process of thinking and writing. Her use of hypertext as a metaphor forreading and writing practices relates to my own way of making the connections that form my paintings2.

"Hypertext," she writes, "both represents and forges webs of relationships. Hypertext actively producesconsciousness of the objects it constitutes."… "Hypertext is a computer mediated indexing apparatus thatallows one to craft and follow many bushes of connections among the variables internal to a category, …Helping users hold things in materialsymbolicpsychic connection, hypertext is an instrument forreconstructing common sense about relatedness…Perhaps most important, hypertext delineates possiblepaths of action in a world for which it serves simultaneously as a tool and metaphor. Making connections is theessence of hypertext. Hypertext can inflect our ways of writing fiction, conducting scholarship, and buildingconsequential networks in the world of humans and nonhumans."(2)

The conversation with Donna Haraway continued. In 1990 she wrote of our creative relationship, "Somehowwe ended up with crosslinked religious, political, and psychological imagery!" I wholeheartedly agreed. In1991 she wrote "Where did you get such a biologic imagination?"

During the early 1990s I was working on a series of paintings I called the Ilusas (the deluded women). Theyare representations of women who are out of bounds. I was interested in the questions about female sexualityand pornography that were being contested and I wanted to add spirituality to the equation. I was groundedby the work of my late husband William Simon (see Postmodern Sexualities 1996)3 as well as JessicaBenjamin's text The Bonds of Love,4 1988 and Margaret Miles’ book Carnal Knowing5 1989. Luce Irigaray’spiece "La Mysterique" in Speculum of the Other Woman6 1985 was particularly exciting to me. The firstperson accounts of the mystic saints may have been the earliest recorded by women of their spiritual /sexualexperiences.

One of the paintings to emerge out of all this reading, thinking, and visioning is entitled Venus. It is an image ofa contemporary woman (and friend) who is pregnant. She is not a goddess in the classical sense of acontained figure. She is an unruly woman, actively making a spectacle of herself, queering Botticelli, leaking,projecting, shooting, milk, transgressing the boundaries of her body. Botticelli’s shell has been turned upsidedown, and it is raining. Hundreds of years have passed since Botticelli painted his Venus and we are stillengaged in a struggle for interpretive power over our bodies in a society where they are marked as abattleground by the church and state in legal and medical skirmishes.7 I sent Haraway a slide of Venus andshe included it in Modest Witness. In the essay she wrote for an exhibition of my work at Arizona StateUniversity Art Museum,8 she stated: “In Modest Witness, I used one of Randolph’s descriptive women toframe a double argument about the female body in technoscientific visual culture and the terms ofreproductive freedom for woman linked in unequal transnational circuits of milk and diarrhea in the strugglesover infant death and breast feeding.”

After completing about ten of these small Ilusas paintings that dealt mostly with spiritual/erotic constructions, Istarted to enlarge their context to include more social and political concerns. Technoscience became a



dominant theme. I felt as though I were living with DonnaHaraway’s work and interests, and they had became a partof me. In 1992 I painted one I call La Mestiza Cosmica, aversion of the Virgin of Guadalupe who is not represented asa mother. Rather she is related to the Virgin of theApocalypse, who crushes the serpent and possesses theheavens, the place from which she protects her chosenpeople. She is still revered in Mexico as a symbol of rebellionagainst the upper classes. She unites races and mediatesbetween humans and the divine, the national and thetechnological. In my painting, a Mestiza stands with one footin Texas and one foot in Mexico. Although she doesn’tdescribe any particular text, she was born from the belly ofDonna Haraway’s pregnant monsters. The figure in LaMestiza Cosmica is taming a diamondback rattlesnake with

one hand and manipulating the Hubble telescope with the other. There are twoadditional hands coming out of the cosmos and the four together echo a giant sculpted image of the Aztecgoddess Coatilique. She seems to me more relevant today as we deal more intently with borders, fences, freetrade, the deaths of many (some say over 300) young women working in the maquiladoras and stores andrestaurants that proliferated in Juarez after the NAFTA agreement. My Mestiza knows how to straddle theborder, tame the rattlesnakes, and enjoys manipulating technoscientific apparatuses.

In 1994 Haraway sent me a draft of “Mice into Wormholes: A TechnoscienceFugue in Two Parts.”9 It was an implosion of science and technology loaded withimages. I loved the visual possibilities of what she referred to as “startling hybridsof the human and unhuman in technoscience. “ Shaping technoscience is a highstakes game, she wrote, “a form of life.” I was captivated by her description of theherbicideresistant crops and genetically engineered plants. It was hard to resistcombining a tomato and a flounder in a painting. But the image that lingered wasof poor little OncoMouse, the first patented life form. After many months of runningvarious images across the screen in my head, I saw her sitting in front of me. Shehad human arms and legs and little breasts. Her hand was tucked up under hermouse chin and she looked rather annoyed and resigned to her fate. I gave her acrown of thorns to acknowledge, as Haraway had, her passion, and placed her ina laboratory box, one where the eyes of the world were watching to see if shewould save us, if she would be a rich commodity. I sent Haraway a slide and shewrote back: “ I am in love with ‘The Laboratory or The Passion of OncoMouse!’ It

is playful and moving all at once, she is a perfect human/animal hybrid of technoscience, in the optic chamberof the lab and a superb FemaleMan!” I was thrilled by her response and gave her the painting. After receivingit, she wrote to me, ‘Your OncoMouse and the other potent images lets me tell people what figuration meansin a critical theory of technoscience. Your painting has become part of my soul and part of my analysis, when Ishow your slides in my talks, people love them for themselves and also understand what I am trying to dobetter. Last week in Europe, I used the Laboratory in lectures I gave from my paper ‘Mice into Wormholes’.There is no question that audiences felt and thought differently because of the splicing of our work…We havebuilt a dialogue in our work that neither of us imagined in advance. Our dialogic visual and verbal troping hasbecome deeply synergistic.”

At this point we recognized that something extraordinary was goingon. In that same letter she included an outline of her new book andrequested that ten images be woven into the text. Besides “Venus”“The Laboratory” and “La Metiza Cosmica,” Haraway ultimatelyselected six more.

“Immeasurable Results” (1994) is an image of a woman entering a magnetic resonance imaging (MRI)machine, one of the new medical imaging devices that promised so much. She is a response to our noninnocent resistance to the domination of technoscience in life and death decisions. The diagnostic film abovethe figure reveals more than a medical condition. A tiny red demon is pounding on her skull, repeating the loudnoise the machine expels, a clock without hands but external crab claws hangs in anticipation, a calavera



(skeleton) figure with a spear also awaits the crucial decision. Anopenmouthed mermaid and a floating penis and testicles all attest tothe immeasurable fears and desires in this woman’s head.

“Millennial Children”(1992) was painted inpreparation for theRepublican NationalConvention inHouston. Two youngsisters (mygranddaughters)kneel on the banks ofBuffalo Bayou atnight, surrounded byflames, like littleRenaissance figures praying in purgatory. Behind themdowntown Houston is burning and vultures perch in a treeawaiting their carrion. In the distance the towers of the South

Texas nuclear power plant are smoking away, an oil field is blazing, and a stealth bomber is diving to theground. The bayou on the right is polluted and the fish have bellied up. On the left, four large African wild dogsare stalking the girls. In the middle ground, a dancing demon with an image of George H. W. Bush in his bellyrejoices in the havoc. It is a dystopian vision. Each child has a small guardian angel. The girls see the reality,but that may not be enough to save them from the apocalypse that engulfs the world in the new millennium.

“Selfconsortium” (1993) portrays a young woman (my niece) and her cloned android ortransindividual. They move inside and outside inner and outer space with a largeserpentine strand of DNA. This young woman is like the Spider Woman, who spins herweb out of her own body. The clone flaunts her electronic bioconstructedness. Shegrew out of Haraway’s work and many scifi novels. She crosses borders while doublingher power with new body codes. She will be able to negotiate a new world order.

“Transfusions” (1995). Haraway sentme a copy of “Universal Donors in aVampire Culture: It’s All In TheFamily, Biological Kinship Categoriesin the Twentieth Century UnitedStates”10 in 1995. I was immediatelytaken with the possibility of painting a vampire, and not justany vampire. It had to be Max Schreck, the actor whoplayed Count Orlaf in the original Nosferatu, F.W. Murnau’s1928 silent film. I rented a copy and started drawing. Thevampire sits in a teleoperating cubicle using his clawlikehands to manipulate the joysticks that control the activity ofsome dancing vampire bats as they penetrate the neck of aconsensual woman laid out in black space. A medical standwith a blood bag and tubing is attached to her. The blood is

moving from human to animal to machine to unhuman. It is a strange mating ritual in the night, a nonphallicfusion. It exemplifies the trafficking of vital substances across gender, race, species, and machines. Bloodlinesare no longer pure. Racists beware!

“Diffraction” (1992). This painting alludes not to a specific text, but rather Haraway’s metaphoric use of avisual phenomenon that interferes with light. Diffraction does not reflect or displace light, but changes itsdirection. She uses diffraction as a metaphor for a place where change occurs and new meanings take place.In my painting an image of a powerful man stands behind the central figure of a young woman. He is ascreened memory, one that marks a site of diffraction. The shifts that occur with age and psychictransformations, the multiple selves incorporated in one body are presented in the figure with its two heads,multiple fingers and the metaphysical space in between. Diffraction occurs at a place at the edge of the future,



before the abyss of the unknown, the space occupied by the young woman in mypainting. I’m trying to create bodies that matter. By imagining a woman’s realty in ascifi world, a place composed of interference patterns, we might becomesomething different, something inappropriate, deluded, unfitting, and magical,something that might make a difference. I believe we need to be active about this,not removed, transcendental and clean, but finite, real (not natural) and soiled bythe messiness of life.

“The Annunciation of the Second Coming” (1996).This was the last painting I did for our collaboration.Except for her transparent wings, the angel on theleft was roughly modeled after one of Botticelli’spaintings of the Annunciation. His angel calmlyannounces the coming of Christ and is very differentfrom her postmodern sister, who is issuing awarning: life as we’ve known it is changing. Theethers of the past have escaped like the large strand of DNA that forms agalaxy on the right. The angel gestures toward the electronically constructedGalatea, a goddess who has left her pedestal and controlling creator. They aremoving into the future through a sort of 15th–century colonnade with acomputer circuit board for flooring. The wired goddess is shaped like a Greekstatue, but the surface of her body is entirely digitalized. We see a collision ofsocial fabrics from different eras and cultures. There is a danger here of

becoming absorbed in the dreams and fantasies of a technological transcendence of the body and todemands for extenders of life beyond the possible and to becoming a technophilliac. Nevertheless, there arenew technological devices that have enhanced lives, created freedoms and a sense of well being for many.And there is pleasure in becoming competent to manipulate them. Still, as Haraway writes in Modest Witness,“the classical and statuesque electronic goddess carries in her troubling body both a threat and a promise; sheis a matrix, one who is pregnant with the contradictions, emergences, delusions and hopes of collidingsociotechnical worlds.”11

The collaboration between Donna Haraway and me culminated in the book,Modest_Witness@Second_Millennium.FemaleMan©_ Meets_OncoMouse™. It is a dialogue between imagesand words that embodies ideas that we both were passionate about and reflects our dialogue with each other.Before the publication of Modest Witness in October 1996, Haraway sent me a letter in which she said “Asyou know, I feel like your paintings and my words are parts of a braided argument as well as a shared critical,hopeful, narrative and dreamscape about knowledge, politics and bodies of many kinds.”

There is an epilogue to our collaboration. In 1997 Haraway wrote a catalogue essay for a onepersonexhibition I was having at Arizona State University Museum. She has a highly developed visual sense. Herability to read visual language from cartoons, advertisements, charts, graphs, movies and paintings is acute.Haraway doesn’t just write using references to references or text upon text, she incorporates images andnarratives from a broader world into her imaginative “Cyborg Surrealism.”12 Her talent for seeing and thentranslating the visual to the verbal would stand up with the best art critics and writers anywhere. She sees thevariation and repetitions of forms and colors and how they shape an idea.

In the catalogue essay, “Living Images, Conversations with Lynn Randolph,” she begins a conversation withthe paintings, but along the narrative path, the paintings began talking to each other and the viewers. Readingit astonished me.

In an interview with Thyrza Nichols Goodeve, Haraway talked about our collaboration. Here are some of herresponses. “ I feel about Octavia Butler much the same way that I feel about Lynn Randolph. Octavia Butlerdoes in prose science fiction what Lynn does in painting and I do in academic prose. All three of us live in asimilar kind of menagerie and are interested in processes of xenogenegis, i.e., of fusions and unnaturalorigins. And all three of us are dependent on narrative. Lynn is a highly narrative painter, Octavia Butler is anarrator, and, as you mentioned, the use of certain kinds of mythic and fictional narrative is one of mystrategies.” And at another point in the interview, Haraway defends what Goodeve refers to as my use “ofgarish hyperealism to literalize the imagery and arguments.” Haraway replies, “I just don’t agree with your



interpretation of Randolph’s realism. I think she is committed to certain ‘realist’ conventions and narrativepictorial content in order to foreground the joining of form and content. She takes up a resistance to theimperatives of abstract formalism as the only way to paint.” To which Goodeve replies, “which is what shemeans by ‘metaphoric realism?’ Haraway says, “Yes and for her, and me, this metaphoric realismor cyborgsurrealismis the grammar we may be inside of but where we may, and can, both embody and exceed itsrepresentations and blast its syntax.”13

After Modest Witnesswas published and my Arizona exhibition was over, we relaxed into occasional emailupdates. Although we haven’t continued our intense collaboration, her work remains an integral part of theway I see and think about the world.

Ours has been a dialogue between words and images that embodied ideas that we both were passionateabout. These ideas bore witness to the dangers and pleasures of life on the earth at the end of the secondmillennium. Our words and images were not captions or illustrations of each other’s ideas. They were inspiredby one another’s efforts and by the urgent social, cultural, and political practices we wanted to interrupt.

Ours was a feminist process. It was not a Socratic dialogue in any argumentative way, nor were wecompleting each other’s sentences. Rather we were two partners creating something new: a dialogue thatrecognizes parallels and differences. It was a relationship between word and image, one where word doesn’tdominate, where the two converge and both are ideas in there own realm. It was an embrace.

My collaboration with Donna Haraway began as a dance, not the close embrace of the tango, but one wheretwo different figures entered the stage from opposite locations. Haraway, who moves through words, set thetheme, and a slow pas de deux began. We were improvising, each expressing herself in her own way, butalso in conversation with the other’s performance. Neither dancer led nor followed. There was no setchoreography. The imagemaker occasionally took flight, changing the lighting and movement, where uponthe poetic partner embraced the colors and initiated her own riff. We seemed to amaze and delight each otheras we moved harmoniously. When the ideas and spirit of one reached a finely honed image or text, the otherdrew inspiration and was spurred to greater heights. Thus we continued together and separately, searchingand improvising until we found our groove, and together became modest witnesses to many worlds.

Notes1. Donna J. Haraway, “The Promises of Monsters,” in Cultural Studies by Lawrence Grossberg, Cary

Nelson and Paula Treichler, Routledge, 1992, page 328.2. Donna J. Haraway, Modest_Witness@Second_Millennium.FemaleMan©_ Meets_OncoMouse™,

Routledge, NewYork and London, 1997, pp 125126.3. William Simon, Postmodern Sexualities, Routledge, London and New York, 1996.4. Jessica Benjamin, The Bonds of Love, Psychoanalysis, Feminism, and the Problem of Domination,

Pantheon Books, New York, 1988.5. Margaret R.Miles, Carnal Knowing Female Nakedness and Religious Meaning in the Christian West,

Beacon Press, Boston, 1989.6. Luce Irigaray, Speculum of the Other Woman, translated by Gillian C. Gill, Cornell University Press,

1985.7. I’ve used portions of descriptions of several paintings from an unpublished paper, “The Ilusas (deluded

women), Representations of Women Who Are Out of Bounds,” presented November 30, 1993 for TheSociety of Institute Fellows of the Bunting Institute. Donna Haraway quoted from the same paper inModest Witness. The paintings so described are “Venus,” “SelfConsortium,” and “Diffraction.”

8. Donna J. Haraway, “Living Images: Conversations with Lynn Randolph,” essay in Millennial MythsPaintings by Lynn Randolph, 1998, Arizona State University.

9. Donna J. Haraway, “Mice into Wormholes: A TechnoScience Fugue in Two Parts,” Modest Witness,page 47.

10. Donna J. Haraway, “Universal Donors in a Vampire Culture,” Modest Witness, page 21311. Modest Witness , cover description for paperback edition, 1997.12. Donna J. Haraway, How Like A Leaf, An Interview with Thyza Nichols Goodeve, Routledge, NewYork,

London, 2000, page 120.13. How Like A Leaf, pp 120122.



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Modest Witness a Painter's Collaboration with Donna Haraway de Lynn Randolph