Adapted Re-use and Regeneration: Shifts and Expansions in American Landscape Theory and Practice.

Summary: Here, I will selectively trace the historical evolution of adapted re-use of polluted and private industrial sites into public amenities and parks. This movement had its genesis in the creation of Seattle’s Gas Works Park. After twenty dormant years the idea of healing and honoring an industrialized past instead of rejecting it was revived by Peter and Annalise Latz in their design of Landschaftspark in Duisburg Nord, Germany. Finally I look at how these concepts returned to the United States and evolved into a new model for landscape design, the “regenerative landscape”, exemplified by the creation of AMD&ART Park in Vintondale, Pennsylvania.

Gas Works Park

The early 1970’s were watershed years for landscape thought in the United States. By the 1970’s the era of heavy industry was ending, plants were shutting down, and the economy was plagued by unemployment and inflation. The once-proud industrial landscapes which had represented progress and productivity in previous decades now stood derelict- monolithic symbols of decline and decay that served both as blighted reminders of a naïve and prosperous past and to delineate the loci of magnitudes of toxic waste. Counties and municipalities went bankrupt and many public spaces were no longer maintained. Predating and paralleling the landscape and economic crises of this time were cultural movements that sought to alter traditional perceptions of beauty on many fronts. A couple of examples of this are the Black Pride movement looking to Africa as an antidote to hegemonic Anglo-centric fashion and John Cage questioning accepted musical form most famously in his work 4’33”, a piece in three movements in which not a single note is played. This confluence of economic and social factors set the stage for Richard Haag’s Gas Works Park in Seattle, Washington, a park that “generate(d) a full-blown, emotionally debated, front-page controversy centered on the philosophy of design governing a park master plan”(1).

Gas Works Park is a 19.1-acre former industrial site on the north shore of Lake Union in Seattle’s Wallingford neighborhood with a commanding view of downtown Seattle and Mount Rainer. Lake Union, in Seattle’s center, is a busy, industrial lake characterized by houseboats, seaplane landings, freighter maintenance garages, and the like. The lake is noisy, active, and often described as a “working” lake. From 1906 until 1956 the Seattle Gas Company maintained a coal gasification plant on its shores. The plant, which dominated the shoreline, converted coal into natural gas while belching enormous amounts of smoke into the atmosphere and leaking volumes of toxins into the soil and lake. In 1962 the city announced plans to buy the

recently closed plant and convert the land into a park. Washington Natural Gas agreed to sell for $1.3 million, about half of the property’s value, to be paid for over ten years culminating in a deed transfer. In 1968 the citizens voted to approve a bond that would make the remainder of the acquisition payments as well as pay for the first phase of development of the site.

Richard Haag and Associates were hired by the Seattle Department of Parks in the fall of 1970 to create a report and master plan. Haag immediately persuaded the Natural Gas Company, still owners of the site, to allow him to convert a blacksmith shop on the property into his office. He moved in in January of 1971 for the research and analysis part of his investigation. His analysis included studies of “existing and proposed parks, land forms and soils, population and zoning, open space, history of the gas plant, including functions of each structure, surface covers, microclimate, plant life, and visual experiences” (2.)

Initially, everyone, Haag included, had assumed a typical English romantic-style landscape treatment for the park. As Haag’s investigations proceeded he realized that Seattle was well-served by such parks and that the gas plant site required a more active approach. The site, a peninsula jutting into the lake, was noisy and exposed with boat, freeway, and seaplane traffic. Haag conceived the park, rather than providing another

locus of passive recreation, might instead serve to reflect the multifarious uses and activities that were occurring on Lake Union. Additionally, the soil was laced with hydrocarbons and criss-crossed by underground pipes. The water table was high and tar often bubbled up onto the surface of the soil. The sort of mass soil excavation that the expected romantic garden would demand would be prohibitively expensive and would release unacceptable levels of sequestered toxins into the lake. The site also had its own sort of romantic “beauty”, for those who were open to it, with hulking industrial structures in warm rusting hues and a wild field of brave flowering plants. Architecture students at the University of Washington were regularly sent to draw the structures. Finally, as Haag haunted the site, he began to have dreams. He would dream at night of the vast structures of the gas works, and he began to receive a vision of what the park could be, he realized he had to save the existing structures and incorporate them as part of the park.
This was a revolutionary stance at the time, and it initially met with strong resistance. In the early 1960’s, when the city announced that the land would be purchased for a park, a student design competition was held. Of the 130 entries not one called for saving a single structure. Fifty contained versions of the Sydney Opera House, which was then being built on a similar peninsular site. At the time Haag admits he didn’t “catch the importance of the omission. ‘It just seemed logical to me to do something to the place. It never occurred to me that we could do something with it’ “. (3)
As soon as Haag realized what must be done, he had to move quickly. The bill of sale called for the demolition of all the plant structures before the property transferred to the city. He began a tireless community outreach campaign. He went on local radio shows, appeared at every community meeting that would have him. He cleared out the blacksmith shop, had the structures painted, and bought forty gallons of wine to have a “coming out” party for the structures so that local politicians could see them for the first time without the layers of accumulated grime. He developed and tirelessly presented a humorous slide show which alternated slides of the gas plant with sculptures by Picasso and Osaka ’70 Expo Architecture. He began to

win support for the idea amongst the masses but continued to experience resistance from Seattle’s “old money” residents. One woman, who amassed much support among Seattle’s powerful elite, insisted that native forest be planted on the site. In response, Haag had backhoes dig fifteen holes around the site to expose “this huge layer-cake of industrial afterbirth”. (4) This quieted the talk of replanting a “forest primeval”. What eventually saved his vision was when he discovered that the original deed of sale to the city stated that the site must be returned to its original condition. He calculated the cost of removing all of the contaminated soil and replacing it with clean fill and the city predictably balked at the enormous expense. He had the local Ashcan sculpture school on his side; he had the historic preservationists (although Haag himself was more interested in reappropriating the structures than in merely preserving them); he had the hippies. Through tireless effort he eventually won over most of the city government. The mayor finally capitulated when he saw that he was boxed in, a lone dissenter in a concord of approval.
In the design of the park, Haag used his signature move of selective editing to highlight the heroic monumentality of the Gas Works. Former industrial sheds have been converted to picnic shelters and the pipes and gears within painted bright colors. Kite Hill, which looms above the otherwise flat peninsula, was a pile of industrial waste that Haag covered with clean fill.

He sculpted it into a sensual landform and topped it with a sundial, a reference to processes, to time, most likely an oblique allusion to the possibility that the pollutants may or may not dissipate over time. In fact, his design is more about indeterminacy than resolution. Elizabeth K. Meyer, in her essay “Seized by Sublime Sentiments: Between Terra Firma and Terra Incognita” argues that the park invokes the awe of the sublime when sublime is recognized as the awe of the terror of death mitigated by the knowledge that the possibility for death is mediated by space or time. The insidious toxins that ooze from the groundwater at Gas Works can kill- but not today. This assuaged danger, along with the wondrous view, instills the visitor with a deep sense of awe; the fear of death heightens the experience of being alive.

Besides pioneering the adapted re-use of industrial relics, Haag also pioneered as-yet-unnamed and mostly unheard of bioremediation techniques, mixing compost, sawdust, and sewage into the soil and testing bioaccumulators — plants that remove heavy metals and other pollutants. Mel Chin, known for his outdoor bioremediation installations starting in 1990 made the technique popular, and is sometimes credited with its invention. Richard Haag experimented with bioremediation at Gasworks twenty years earlier and possibly named the practice. 
Not all of Richard Haag’s dreams for the site were realized. Later phases of planned park development were cancelled due to deep budget cuts in the economically recessed decade. While two of the original sheds were retained

as picnic shelters, the bulk of the remaining monumental works, closest to the lake, was also intended to be adapted for recreational use. Haag was particularly invested in the plan to convert one of the large cylindrical towers into a camera obscura, reflecting the downtown skyline and Mount Rainer. None of these plans were realized, and after an unfortunate incident in which a child fell after attempting to scale the plant remnants, the remaining structures were encased in a fence topped with barbed wire.
Thirty-five years later, the chain link fence does little to diminish the haunting beauty of the immense structures, though one wonders what might have been. The site continues to be heavily polluted, with viscous toxic substances oozing towards Lake Union at glacial pace. Still, they may be oozing more quickly than the bacteria can digest them, nobody can say for sure. There was an incident in the early 1980’s, when a tar-like substance began to bubble up from the grassy surface during an especially rainy winter. There was an outcry, the closing of the park was discussed, and eventually the tar subsided and the debate did too. Gas Works Park had so endeared itself to the people of Seattle that the danger posed by the “industrial afterbirth” seemed to be a reasonable price to pay for such a stunning amenity. Besides, an attempt to remove the pollutants, because of the high water table and proximity of the lake, would surely bring about immediate and significant lake contamination.

Today the Seattle Department of Parks and Recreation, at Haag’s suggestion, mows the ruderals and does not attempt the turf monoculture prevalent in most city parks. The grass is not watered during the dry season to discourage toxic migration, which results in seasonal changes made legible, a unique and poetic quality in today’s built environment. Maintenance on the park, as in all Seattle Parks, has degraded over time. The picnic shelters, once the place of birthday parties, “happenings”, and dance performances, are sometimes colonized by homeless people who need shelter. Many visitors

don’t linger too long. Other than the shelters in the park’s northwest corner Gas Works Park is heavily used and loved by the people of Seattle. The great monumental earth sculpture, now known as “Kite Hill”, is a favorite place for city views and for flying kites. Richard Haag’s seminal vision and tenacious commitment have created a new kind of sublime, a new vision for landscape that challenges accepted precepts of what can and should be considered beautiful.
Haag’s vision was so new, and so controversial, that regardless of his receiving the American Society of Landscape Architects President’s Award of Design Excellence in 1981 (the premier year the award was offered), his ideas sat dormant for several years, and were not revived until the early 1990’s with Latz and Partners design for Landschaftpark Duisburg-Nord in the Rhone region of western Germany.

Landschaftspark Duisburg-Nord

The Rhone Valley region, which attracted immigrants from over 140 countries during the height of the Industrial Revolution, is the fifth largest metropolitan area in Europe. As the large coke, iron and steel plants began to decline in the early 1970’s, millions of workers became unemployed and the region’s tax base all but disappeared. In 1989, the municipality of Westphalia chartered the IBA (International Building Exhibition, or Internationale Bauausstellung) Emscher Park, an independent planning corporation charged with planning for the future of the Ruhr Valley Region by creating an interconnecting series of large-scale parks on derelict terrain. The IBA’s goals included the ecological, industrial, economic and social reconstruction of over eight hundred square kilometers along the Emscher River within the industrial Ruhr region. Based on IBA Berlin, the IBA Emscher Park created written guidelines for the regeneration of the region, a sort of zoning ordinance book on steroids. A 1999 Architectural Review article by Ingerid Helsing Almaas explains it best:
The IBA Emscher Park projects range from re-naturalization of watercourses to building new housing, business parks and research centres. The IBA administers no project funds of its own: all its projects make use of existing private and public funding available through regional, national and inter-European subsidy programmes. The IBA also has no direct influence over local developers and municipalities. IBA staff may suggest projects to the local authorities, or a municipality will apply for one of their own initiatives to become an IBA project, the incentive being that the Land North Rhine-Westphalia will give an IBA project funding- and administrative priority. To accept a project, the IBA has to make certain that it reaches a certain level of quality in respect of their overall aims, which include social, aesthetic and ecological criteria, and a contract is signed to ensure that the required level of quality is achieved. At the end of the 10-year project period, around 5 billion DM will have been channelled through IBA projects in the region. (5)

This innovative approach has proven exceptionally effective, and so far its example has been largely ignored in the United States. 
The IBA’s first major initiative was a design competition for a former steel mill in the north of Duisburg. The competition was won by Latz and Partners, who conceived of the 568-acre site as a series of stories: stories of workers lives, of natural processes, of Germanic legends and Gothic ruins.

Walkways were constructed through the derelict blast furnaces; ruderals permitted to cover the giant slag heaps; the existing buildings were left standing and reclaimed for multiple community uses. Peter Latz, passionate about erasing the nature/culture divide, looked to Richard Haag’s Gas Works Park and expanded upon his seminal ideas. Latz created a park thirty times larger than Gas Works, was able to fully realize the adapted reuse potential of the industrial remnants where Haag had been stymied, and expanded upon the idea of the regenerative landscape: using selective insertions and natural processes to reduce contamination and foster ecological and social tilth.

Most importantly, twenty years after Gas Works Park, the world, at least the European world, was largely ready for innovations in landscape design that had spawned such bitter controversy in the 1970’s. Widespread attitudes were beginning to revise. Out of this ideological milieu, back in the United States, another post-industrial project emerged; without the benefit of significant funding or extensive government support; tweaking, adapting, expanding, and contracting the nascent leitmotifs of the regenerative landscape.

AMD&ART Park (Vintondale Reclamation Park)

From 1993 until 1998, the historian T. Allan Comp was working as a Heritage Resources Manager for the Southwestern Pennsylvania Heritage Preservation Commission, when he began to cast about for ways to initiate a collaborative approach for holistic renewal of the poverty-stricken Appalachian communities who had been summarily discarded when area collieries closed in the decades after World War II. These mass closings left behind many problems, least of all the problem of Acid Mine Drainage, or AMD. What eventually emerged from his intention was an innovative

grassroots “regenerative park”. While Gas Works Park and Landschaftpark Duisburg Nord both emphasize natural regenerative processes that address degraded conditions, AMD&ART Park, a thirty-five acre park in Vintondale, Pennsylvania named for AMD (the problem) and ART (the solution), conceives the legible intersection of grassroots empowerment and ecological

processes as its primary raison d’etre. As T. Allan Comp explains on the AMD&ART website: 
Beginning our work in Vintondale, Pennsylvania, in 1994, we’ve established a model of holistic renewal that brings the perspective of history to mix with the discipline of science, the delight of innovative design, and the energy of community engagement. For me as Founding Director, each of these perspectives or disciplines is necessary — but none is sufficient. Our strength is in our interdisciplinary approach and in our determination to give art-full form to community aspirations. (6)

Acid Mine Drainage, an unstable, aqueous solution with a pH between 2.9 and 4.5, is the result of unregulated mining. Coal is a fairly non-permeable; “a bad aquifer” is how hydrogeologist Bob Deason puts it. (7) Before mining came to Appalachia, coal deposits would stop the flow of water and AMD was not a significant problem. In abandoned mines the ground water flows freely, reacting with pyrite and oxygen, creating sulfuric acid. The acid created then dissolves minerals as it trickles through earth, primarily iron and aluminum. When the solution emerges from the ground and reacts with air, iron oxide is created, giving AMD its distinctive bright orange color. The AMD coats streambeds, eliminating the bottom of the food chain and killing all aquatic life. It is Appalachia’s most devastating ecological problem and flows through 2,500 miles of streams in Pennsylvania alone. The only use that Vintondale residents were able to find for their AMD-contaminated Blacklick Creek was to baptize their dogs in it. The AMD worked wonderfully for killing fleas.

T. Allan Comp began in 1994 by bringing together teams humorously referred to as SPLASH for Sustainable Partnership of Landscape Architects, Scientists, and Historians. Each team was assigned one of three potential sites where acid mine drainage was a problem with Comp and hydrogeologist Deason on every team. There was the Hughes Borehole site, an AMD geyser surrounded by a bright orange “dead zone” (7), later disqualified because it was privately owned and the owner refused to collaborate. There was Dark Shade Watershed, a multi-source discharge. The Dark Shade received a brownfield grant, disqualifying it for the artful, experimental techniques of the team. The third site was the Vinton colliery site, a small single-point source discharging between sixty and three hundred gallons per minute of AMD. The Vintondale team, besides Comp and Deason, consisted of Stacy Levy, a Pennsylvania artist, and Julie Bargmann, professor of landscape architecture at the University of Virginia and principal of D.I.R.T. studio, which stands for, alternately, Design Initiatives Reclaiming Terrain and Dump It Right There. 
Vintondale, Pennsylvania, in the heart of Appalachia coal country, was a company town from 1906 until 1956. The Vinton Colliery Company established the mine, recruited the workers, built housing, employed the town, ran the only store permitted to do business in town, and functioned as the de facto government. Workers daily risked their lives for little pay to

create the fuel that powered industry. When the company shut down the mine and abandoned the town, it sealed the mine portals, tore down the coke ovens and other structures, and left behind environmental and economic devastation. The store closed, the Pennsylvania Railroad line, which transported coal out and goods and passengers in, stopped running overnight, and the entire town came to a standstill. Today, 528 residents remain, most descendents of coal miners. The per capita income is $11,689.00, and a mere 4% of the population has a college degree. 
The former colliery closed in 1956. In the 1960’s the portal to mine number six, the Vintondale mine, was blasted shut for safety. In the 1970’s a flood wiped out the remaining dilapidated buildings. In the early 1980’s, a Rural Abandoned Mineland Project covered the site with 70,000 tons of bony, or waste coal. The former town center had been reduced to a polluted dumping ground, a place that neither honored the past nor offered any hope for the future. This was the state of affairs when Comp arrived.

The Vintondale team, which became known as the Vintondale Four, began with the idea of a series of passive cleaning pools, powered by gravity. The pools were to be the functional and aesthetic center of the park, and were collectively known as the Sequential Alkaline Producing System, or SAPS. The team thought that this type of system, besides using little energy, provided opportunities for community involvement, education, and empowerment. They also came up with a mission statement: “artfully transforming environmental liabilities into community assets”. 
In 1996 the Vintondale Four held their first community meeting. The Hungarian Church, adjacent to the south branch of Blacklick Creek, which bordered the southern and eastern edges of the future park, offered its services as a community center and AMD&ART headquarters. The miners’ descendents covered the giant maps with notes, ideas and comments. The next day the team met and Comp declared: “We’re not leaving here until every one of these issues is addressed.”(8) Comp also came up with what he called “the golden rule” for the team: “Accommodate, never compromise.”(9)
Soon after, Stacy Levy and Julie Bargmann hammered out the basic design for the SAPS treatment pools. They were to consist of a series of six trapezoidal pools, accessible to visitors, in which the cleansing process would be evident by the changing color of the fluid as it transformed from AMD into clear water. The transformation would be reiterated by an adjacent “litmus garden”, where thirteen species of native trees would echo, with gradational hues of fall foliage, the metamorphosis. Each pool would also feature a plaque, bolted on a cement block reclaimed from the wastes and laid on the ground, explaining the process.

The first pool, a holding pond for the AMD before treatment, was particularly important to the designers. This pool would not be included in a traditional treatment system, and, while it does function to slow down the flow of AMD, its primary purpose is to make the process evident to non-scientists. A commonality that runs through Bargmann’s work is zealotry for challenging traditional concepts of beauty. For Haag and Latz, this meant celebrating existing remnants of a post-industrial site. In Vintondale, where structural remnants had been nearly erased, ideas of traditional beauty are questioned by celebrating the haunting splendor of

the bright orange-hued AMD in pool number one. The shocking “unnaturalness” of the orange is further accentuated by the presence of fluorescent green algae, the only organism that can grow in AMD.

Pools two, three and four are wetland pools. Here, photosynthesis creates thick sediment as cattails and other wetland plants die back in winter.

The pools then exploit acid reducing microbes that live in the sediment. The plants also slow the flow of water and allow metals, particularly aluminum, to settle out. 
Pool five is known as a “vertical flow pond”. The floor is lined with a thick layer of compost positioned above several feet of limestone. As the AMD flows through the compost, the decaying organic matter uses the oxygen. The now-anaerobic AMD percolates through the layers of alkaline rock,

further raising the pH. The anaerobic state is necessary to prevent the limestone being coated with iron oxide and rendering it ineffective.
After the water (for it can now be called water) exits pool five, it is pumped through an aerator and into a final settling pool. Exposure to oxygen allows

remaining minerals to precipitate out. As the clean water, now with a pH between six and 6.5 exits the pond, it passes over the “clean slate” art installation and into the “history wetlands”.

The history wetlands, the site of the former colliery buildings, were buried under 70,000 tons of bony when the project began. The initial plan was to demarcate the foundations of the ammonia plant and washery with red maples and the line of 152 coke ovens with mounding shrubs. As removal of the bony proceeded, the original foundations, to everyone’s surprise, were revealed. They are now visible and provide a haunting reminder of what was. Adam Regn Arvidson, in his 2005 article for Landscape Architecture, “Coming Clean”, describes the history wetlands this way:

The long stone foundation lines rise up out or the sedges and cattails, looking almost natural, but too rectilinear to be the work of mere geology. They are the actual foundations of the community — the foundations of the mining that built Vintondale. I realized this is intended to be neither a sanitized park space nor a transformed grand ruin like Seattle’s Gas Works Park or Germany’s Duisburg — Nord. Rather, it is a whisper of what was here. These are not the bones of history, but the ghosts. (10)

Two other artworks in the park hold deep meaning for the people of Vintondale. The first, “Mine Portal #6”, recalls the old mine opening in the exact location of the former entryway. This miners’ memorial, by artist Anita Lucero, is a six-by-twelve-foot slab of black rock with a life-size image of

miners, taken from a 1938 home movie of a shift change, engraved on it. It is a source of pride for the community. The other artwork, known as the “Great Map” overlooks the site as visitors approach from the Ghost Town Rail Trail, the converted former railroad line. Today, 70,000 people a year hike the trail. As visitors approach the park from the trail, they encounter a nine-by-fifteen-foot mosaic interpretation of a 1923 Sanborn map, illuminating the location of the former colliery buildings. The map is surrounded by granite tiles, fifty-four of which are etched with newspaper articles, community images, and the word “hope” in the twenty-six languages once spoken in town.

Arvidson’s 2005 article for Landscape Architecture, evaluating whether or not the park is successful ten years later, is conflicted. It bothers him that after ten years the park is still “incubating”, with no clearly defined circulation, no footbridge across the creek into the center of town, and still no money to build the baseball diamond (the soccer field had been complete for several years, thanks to a grant from the U.S. Soccer Association; the baseball diamond has since been completed.). He also questions whether using thirty-five acres to treat, what is, for Appalachia, a relatively small amount of AMD is really a viable solution; though he does acknowledge that models for treating much larger discharge points were developed for Hughes Borehole and the Dark Shade Watershed. T. Allan Comp, who scraped and begged for every cent that created the project, has a different understanding, “Buying someone a Cadillac in coal country serves no purpose.”(11) He defends the long time frame and the creative search for funding, which trickled in incrementally over ten years, as necessary to ensure community investment and future stewardship. One of Comp’s goals

from the beginning was to create a model that could be used by other communities. To this end, every funding source is exhaustively detailed on the AMD&ART website (www.amdandart.org) with links to organizations that provided support. One can’t help but wonder what could be if there was an American equivalent to the German IBA. Still, the people of Vintondale are ecstatic. One resident told Arvidson, “Why Vintondale? Why did we get so lucky? I mean there are mining towns all over the place.”(12)
Towards a Landscape of Meaning
This “new wave” of American landscape theory and practice, still in its infancy, is one of palimpsestic meaning — and a way to move forward for a profession that has too often sought to erase the past in favor of non-contextual romantic or modernist interventions. These ideas are still controversial, although in some ways they are not so different from Lancelot Brown’s obsession with working with the natural capabilities of the land. In the aftermath of the industrial revolution, the potentials and capabilities of the land have changed. Brown, in his selective editing, edited the peasants who had previously worked the land right out of the landscape in the service of the robber barons who were his employers. Today, as exemplified by Vintondale’s AMD&ART Park, the workers, and the contribution they made to this country, are honored and celebrated. The idea of the “regenerative” landscape, a term favored by D.I.R.T.’s Julie Bargmann, is not to “restore” some fixed and imagined American wilderness ideal from the distant past, but to introduce processes with the potential to catalyze social, economic, and environmental health while honoring history of place. The regenerative practice, as it emerges in the United States, is one inseparable from meaningful community involvement and investment. Regeneration also implies a multi-disciplinary approach, with community, scientists, artists, designers, historians, and others working in teams where Comp’s golden rule of “accommodate, never compromise” is taken to heart.

Endnotes:
1. Craig Campbell, “Seattle’s Gas Plant Park”, Landscape Architecture, July 1973, p. 339.
2. Ibid. P.340
3. Grady Clay and Norma Johnson, “Tireless Teacher, Civic Preacher: Rich Haag”, Landscape Architecture, September 1981, p.544
4. Ibid. p. 546
5. Ingerid Helsing Almaas, “Regenerating the Ruhr- IBA Emscher Park project for the regeneration of Germany’s Ruhr region”, The Architectural Review, February 1999, http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m3575/is_1224_205/ai_54172205
6. T. Allan Comp, AMD&ART website, http://www.amdandart.org/projectindex.html
7. Adam Regn Arvidson, “Coming Clean”, Landscape Architecture, October, 2005, p. 105
8. Ibid. P. 104
9. Ibid. P.105.
10. Ibid. P.106.
 11. Ibid. p. 111.
 12. Ibid. p. 112.
 13. Ibid. p. 115.