Category: English

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Daisy Fancourt, Associate Professor Psychobiology and Epidemiology, UCL

Vincent van Gogh sliced off his ear with a knife during a psychotic episode. Ballet dancer Vaslav Nijinsky developed schizophrenia and spent the last 30 years of his life in hospital. Virginia Woolf lived with bipolar disorder, eventually taking her own life as she felt another deep depression beginning.

Many famous creative artists have lived with severe mental illness. Catherine Zeta-Jones, Mariah Carey, Demi Lovato, Jean-Claude Van Damme and Mel Gibson have all reported diagnoses of bipolar disorder. Yayoi Kusama, Sylvia Plath, Kurt Cobain and Syd Barrett spoke about experiences of psychosis. Speculation abounds about whether Amy Winehouse, Marilyn Monroe and Ernest Hemingway lived with borderline personality disorder.

The concept of the “mad creative genius” harks back to antiquity. Artists in the Renaissance and Romantic periods would sometimes assume eccentric personalities to distinguish themselves as extraordinary individuals who had made Faustian bargains for their talents.

Edvard Munch, the Norwegian painter, described his “sufferings” as “part of myself and my art … their destruction would destroy my art.” Poet Edith Sitwell, who experienced depression, reportedly used to lie in an open coffin to inspire her poetry.

In 1995, a study of 1,005 biographies written between 1960 and 1990 even proposed that people in the creative professions had a higher rate of severe psychopathology than the general population.

So how does this square with the fact that artistic expression is beneficial for our mental health? As I explain in my new book Art Cure: The Science of How the Arts Transform Our Health, there is a wealth of scientific evidence on these benefits.

However, the reality for professional artists can be a bit different. While they tend to report enhanced overall wellbeing, the life of an artist can be psychologically challenging. They have to endure everything from precarious careers to professional competition.

Additionally, fame brings stress, challenging lifestyles, an increased risk of substance abuse, and an inevitable but unhealthy focus on oneself. In a 1997 study, scientists analysed the number of first-personal pronouns – I, me, my, mine and myself – in songs by Cobain and Cole Porter (who himself had bouts of severe depression). As their fame increased, both saw a statistically significant increase in their use of these pronouns.

Linking artistry and severe mental illness

But what about artists who developed mental illness before becoming famous, or even before becoming artists? Genetics research has uncovered some shared genes that may underlie severe mental illness and creativity.

A variation in the gene NRG1 is associated with both increased risk of psychosis and higher scores on questionnaires that measure people’s creative thinking. Variations in dopamine-receptor genes have been linked with both psychosis and various creative processes like novelty seeking and decreased inhibitions. It’s a mixed bag of findings, however – not all studies show such links.

Beyond genetics, there are also some personality traits that can be common both to mental illness and creativity, including openness to experience, novelty-seeking and sensitivity. It’s possible to see how such research could provide a lens for viewing artists like Van Gogh, Nijinsky and Woolf.

Yet creativity and mental health difficulties can act against one another. For instance, Woolf described her depressive episodes of bipolar disorder as a well: “Down there, I can’t write or read.” So while some people with severe mental illnesses may make art, not everyone can all the time.

What’s more, when we look for signs of a link between severe mental illness and creative pursuits at a population level, the evidence isn’t clear-cut. In 2013, a Swedish study tracked over 40 years of data from 1.2 million people in national patient registers, including medical records of diagnoses, mental health treatments and cause of death.

The researchers found that people with schizophrenia, schizoaffective disorder, anxiety disorders and unipolar depression were actually less likely than the average person to be in creative professions. The only slight exception was bipolar disorder, where people had around 8% higher odds of being in a creative profession.

But this study also found something arguably more intriguing: the parents and siblings of people with schizophrenia, schizoaffective disorder and bipolar disorder were more likely to be in creative professions. It’s not hard to think of examples amongst famous artists: James Joyce’s daughter and David Bowie’s half-brother both had schizophrenia. Why might this pattern exist?

People who are genetically susceptible to severe mental illness but don’t develop the full conditions may instead have milder versions. Minor hypomania, for instance, involves elevated moods but not with the intensity of bipolar disorder. Schizotypy involves divergent thinking and heightened emotion without the severity of schizophrenia.

These conditions have been associated with creative processes like reduced inhibitions, defocused attention and neural hyperconnectivity (the ability to make cross-sensory associations like hearing colours or tasting musical notes).

Perhaps the siblings and parents of people with mental illness tend to be more likely to have such conditions, and this explains why they choose creative professions. Having said that, not all creative people work in a creative profession – for many, creative hobbies are their outlet away from work.

Essentially, the science suggests there may be some shared processes between severe mental illness and creative processes like the arts. But it’s not the clear linkage that anecdotes might lead us to believe. The myth of the “mad creative genius” is overly simplistic. It also risks perpetuating stigma rather than understanding, so it’s perhaps better put to bed.

It seems more productive to focus on the value that creative engagement can bring to support our mental health. Whether people have a mental illness or are just dealing with day-to-day moods and emotions, there are more studies emerging every week that are building our understanding of the tangible, meaningful benefits the arts can have. This research is revealing how artists, clinicians and communities can work together to build safe, accessible, inclusive opportunities to enjoy the arts.

This article features references to books that have been included for editorial reasons, and contains links to bookshop.org. If you click on one of the links and go on to buy something from bookshop.org, The Conversation UK may earn a commission.

Daisy Fancourt receives funding from Wellcome, UK Research and Innovation, the Prudence Trust, and Bloomberg Philanthropies.

– ref. Why the mad artistic genius trope doesn’t stand up to scientific scrutiny – https://theconversation.com/why-the-mad-artistic-genius-trope-doesnt-stand-up-to-scientific-scrutiny-272841

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Anna Grimaldi, Lecturer in Politics and International Relations, University of Leeds

The Cuban capital of Havana, where we are currently on a research trip, woke to an unfamiliar silence on January 5. As we drove through the city, no music drifted from open windows and shops and restaurants were shuttered. The streets were almost deserted.

It was the first day of national mourning for the 32 Cuban soldiers killed during the US operation to capture Venezuelan leader Nicolás Maduro in Caracas two days earlier. For 48 hours, Cubans observed a duelo (period of grief), honouring what some describe as the “heroes who resisted the aggressors”.

Apart from the eerie quiet, little else in Havana has changed. Street vendors still try to lure tourists with half‑price cigars and last‑minute excursions. The general hospital’s neon lights flicker under the strain of power cuts. And the once‑grand, now crumbling, facades of buildings in central Havana remain coated in a thick film of dust, while passers-by dodge the occasional falling piece of concrete.

The US government says Cuban officials should be scared of becoming their next target. At a news conference on January 3, secretary of state Marco Rubio said: “If I lived in Havana and I was in the government, I’d be concerned.” President Donald Trump has since urged Cuba to “make a deal” with his government or face consequences.

But no one seems particularly troubled by the possibility that the US attack on Caracas might be repeated here. “They have always underestimated us,” says Antonio, our taxi driver, as he steers through the empty streets. He speaks with the matter‑of‑fact pride common among Cubans, quick to recall the fiasco of the failed Bay of Pigs US invasion in 1961. “It won’t happen here, Cubans are different.”

He points to Venezuela’s history of political betrayals, from the conspiracies against independence leader Simon Bolívar in the early 19th century to the attempted coup against former president Hugo Chávez in 2002 and now the removal of Maduro, apparently betrayed by someone close to him. Antonio insists Cubans remain loyal to their ideals of revolution and sovereignty: “The US can try to strangle us with sanctions, but they won’t break us.”

While much of the world reacts with alarm to Trump’s escalating threats against Mexico, Colombia, Iran and even Greenland, Cubans have barely flinched. Hostility from the US is nothing new, and there is general confidence in the country’s longstanding preparation for any potential escalation with what they see as an old adversary. “We’ve been getting ready for this war for more than 65 years,” one resident remarked.

Trump insists that, when Cuba finally collapses, a better future awaits it – an argument that has been amplified by mainstream international media. But this strikes many Cubans as detached from their lived reality. We spoke to Alejandro, a 20‑year‑old law student, who dismissed this idea as wishful thinking: “They’re wrong if they think they know what’s best for us.”

Cuba is living through one of its most difficult periods since the 1990s. Power cuts, water shortages, scarce foreign currency, falling tourism and rising prices shape daily life for most people.

Sanctions imposed after the socialist revolution in 1959 – and later tightened under Trump following a brief thaw under the presidency of Barack Obama – have intensified these hardships. However, there is little sign that Cubans are waiting for Trump’s help.

Cuba’s stoic resilience

Many western analysts say the halt in Venezuelan oil imports will be devastating for Cuba, arguing that the island has no real alternatives. Cubans seem to think otherwise. “We’ll get oil from the Middle East, from Mexico – we don’t rely on Venezuela as much as they say,” says Yadira, a housekeeper.

Still, the reality is more nuanced. While Mexico has now overtaken Venezuela as Cuba’s main oil supplier, providing nearly half of the island’s crude oil in 2025, it also has to deal with increasing pressures from Washington to align with US foreign policy goals in the region. These pressures forced the Mexican president, Claudia Sheinbaum, to clarify on January 7 that, while oil exports to Cuba are continuing, they will not increase.

Losing Venezuelan imports alone may not cause Cuba to collapse, but the impact will be serious and uneven. Cities, which depend heavily on fuel-intensive transport and electricity, will suffer most. And as past crises show, distribution can break down even when food is available.

“During COVID, all I could get hold of in Havana was mangoes and spring onions,” says Sophie, a British expat. Cuba’s vulnerability lies less in total isolation and more in the fragility of its internal systems – especially those that keep urban life functioning.

Beneath the surface of stoic resilience, subtle cracks are beginning to show. Albeit timidly, some Cubans point to internal governance failures.

“If I told you what I really think, I’d be arrested,” says a tour guide who told us he would prefer to remain anonymous. A trained engineer, he never managed to achieve the prosperity promised by the government’s provision of free education for all Cubans.

Like many young people, his children emigrated to Spain and, for him, Cuba’s current situation feels increasingly unsustainable. “Nothing works,” he says. “There are no medicines, no supplies, and the repression is getting worse.”

So, while Trump may not be the answer many seek, his threats underscore a broader truth for Cubans: change must come one way or another. Foreign rule is far from a solution to Cuba’s problems, yet some see it as one of the few paths left when no other way forward seems possible.

Cubans do not expect an invasion, but they do expect their lives to grow harder. They are not calling for regime change imposed from outside, but what they seem to want is the chance to build a future at home.

As the situation in Venezuela unfolds, Cubans will watch closely – not because they expect the same to happen on their island, but because they know that events elsewhere in the region have a way of washing up on their shores.

The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. What Cubans want – and what they are bracing for, following Trump’s threats – https://theconversation.com/what-cubans-want-and-what-they-are-bracing-for-following-trumps-threats-272857

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Narmin Nahidi, Assistant Professor in Finance, University of Exeter

When Hurricane Delta hit Mexico’s Caribbean coast in 2020, insurance payouts were released within days – not to rebuild hotels or roads, but to repair coral reefs.

In the Mexican state of Quintana Roo, reefs are insured and restoration is taken care of by a local trust. After storms, payouts fund rapid restoration so reefs can keep doing their job: breaking up waves so they don’t erode the shore, reducing flooding, protecting tourism jobs and lowering insurance losses.

Nature is treated as part of the economic infrastructure. This idea is spreading, as it directly affects costs, risks and financial stability.

Until recently, sustainable or “green” finance has focused almost entirely on carbon emissions, net zero targets and climate-related investments. But these climate-only measures miss something basic. The economy doesn’t just depend on temperature; it depends on living systems.

In my field of sustainable finance and financial stability, research shows that when ecosystems fail, the costs show up in rising food prices, insurance bills and public finances. The health of the planet affects everyday costs.

Read more:
The UK’s food system is built on keeping prices low – but this year’s droughts show up its failings

Take food. Around three-quarters of our leading food crops benefit at least partly from animal pollination, including by bees. When pollinator numbers fall, harvests shrink. That pushes up food prices, drives inflation and squeezes household budgets.

Or consider flooding. Wetlands, forests and mangroves absorb water and slow storms. When they’re destroyed, floods cause more damage. Insurers pay out more, premiums rise or cover disappears. Governments often step in, using public money to deal with the fallout.

These aren’t niche environmental problems, they are economic shocks. In many parts of finance, climate risk is now being modelled. But nature loss is only starting to be treated in the same way.

From carbon to nature

In finance, the term “greenium” refers to the lower borrowing costs enjoyed by companies or governments seen as safer environmental bets. When the idea first emerged in the late 2010s, it was almost entirely about carbon emissions. But that’s starting to change.

Investors are beginning to recognise that destroying forests, reefs or soils increases future losses. Where risk rises, returns have to rise too. Where ecosystems are protected, financing becomes cheaper.

Read more:
Your essential guide to climate finance

Change is already happening in three key areas: government debt, insurance schemes and regulation.

In 2021, for example, Belize refinanced part of its national debt in a deal linked to ocean protection. In return for protecting marine habitats, the country received debt relief. For investors, this wasn’t charity: healthy oceans support tourism, fisheries and long-term growth – all of which matter for a country’s ability to repay its debts.

The reef insurance scheme in Mexico isn’t alone any more. Similar ideas are being explored for mangroves and wetlands, especially in storm-prone regions such as the Caribbean and parts of southeast Asia. These ecosystems reduce damage before disasters happen. For insurers, that means fewer claims. For households and businesses, it can mean lower premiums and better access to cover.

Regulators are paying attention too. Central banks and financial supervisors are increasingly asking how nature loss makes other risks worse. A degraded ecosystem can turn a heatwave into a food crisis, or a storm into a fiscal emergency. From this perspective, biodiversity loss isn’t an ethical issue – it’s a risk amplifier.

Research highlights that focusing only on climate misses important economic channels. Carbon metrics tell us about long-term warming, but say much less about near-term shocks.

Ecosystem damage often hits faster than long-term climate consequences, through crop failures, floods and disaster costs – and these shocks don’t stay local. They affect inflation, strain government budgets and ripple through financial markets. When nature is degraded, the economy becomes more fragile.

If ecosystems fail, food costs more. Insurance becomes harder to afford, and governments spend more on responding to disasters. These costs are shared across society.

Seeing nature as part of the economic system isn’t radical, it’s realistic. The sooner finance reflects that reality in everyday financial decisions, the more resilient our ecosystems and economies will be.

Don’t have time to read about climate change as much as you’d like?

Get a weekly roundup in your inbox instead. Every Wednesday, The Conversation’s environment editor writes Imagine, a short email that goes a little deeper into just one climate issue. Join the 47,000+ readers who’ve subscribed so far.

Narmin Nahidi does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. The economics of climate risk ignores the value of natural habitats – https://theconversation.com/the-economics-of-climate-risk-ignores-the-value-of-natural-habitats-272769

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Paul Hough, Lecturer Sport & Exercise Physiology , University of Westminster

Lack of time is often the main reason people don’t exercise regularly. But a type of interval workout recently popularised by actress Jessica Biel could be the solution – with research showing it can improve fitness faster than traditional, steady-pace workouts, such as jogging or cycling.

The Norwegian 4×4 workout has traditionally been used by athletes. It’s a form of high-intensity interval training (Hiit) that involves four-minute sets of very intense cardio exercise, followed by three minutes of very light exercise. A typical training session includes a five-minute warm-up, four high-intensity intervals and a five-minute cool-down.

The 4×4 workout format follows the same format as other Hiit workouts, which alternate periods of high-intensity exercise with periods low-intensity exercise (or rest). Most Hiit workouts involve work intervals that last anything from ten seconds up to a couple of minutes. In contrast, the 4×4 workout employs four minute work periods, which raises your heart rate for longer than most Hiit protocols.

Decades of research has shown that regular Hiit workouts are often more effective than moderate-intensity workouts (such as running or cycling at a steady pace continuously) in improving cardiovascular fitness and other health outcomes (such as improving blood sugar and cholesterol levels). Hiit is even effective for improving health in adults with type 2 diabetes and cardiovascular disease.

Hiit also offers these benefits with less training time than traditional endurance training. A 2008 study showed that as few as six Hiit sessions over two weeks improved the muscles’ endurance capacity.

Several studies have also explored the benefits of the 4×4 protocol. For example, an eight-week study showed that the 4×4 workout produced greater aerobic fitness improvements than 45-minute moderate-intensity running sessions.

The reason the 4×4 workout specifically is so effective for improving cardiovascular fitness is because the four-minute intervals are intense enough to maximally challenge your heart and lungs while minimising muscle fatigue. This helps improve your maximum oxygen uptake (or VO₂ max), which is the highest rate at which your body can take in, transport and use oxygen during intense exercise.

Read more:
VO₂max: the gold standard for measuring fitness explained

VO2 max is considered the gold standard measure of cardiovascular fitness. Higher VO₂ max values are associated with reduced risk of cardiovascular disease and premature death, and better overall health.

During a 4×4 workout you’ll spend roughly 16 minutes close to you maximum heart rate. This means that it can improve VO2 max more effectively than longer duration, moderate-intensity workouts.

Choosing the right workout

For people with busy schedules, Hiit is a time-efficient option because it offers the same health and fitness benefits as longer workouts with less training time. However, a 4×4 Hiit session still lasts between 35–40 minutes, which might be too long for some people.

For those seeking a shorter workout option, the 10×1 Hiit protocol is a suitable alternative as it can be completed in just 30 minutes – including warm-up and cool-down periods.

This involves doing ten one-minute intervals of intense exercise. Each minute of hard work is followed by a minute of light exercise or complete rest.

But while this protocol also improves VO₂ max, the shorter work periods must be performed at a much higher intensity than the four-minute intervals to challenge the cardiovascular system. This could make it difficult to pace yourself consistently during each interval.

Another Hiit workout option is sprint interval training. This involves exercising as hard as possible for ten to 20 seconds – followed by three minutes of recovery. These sprints can be done running, cycling or even rowing.

One 12-week study found that participants who performed three, 20-second sprints (followed by three-minute recovery periods) just three times a week significantly improved their cardiovascular fitness compared to those doing longer, steady-state workouts. However, the 4×4 workout has been shown to produce better gains in aerobic fitness than sprint interval training.

Although most research shows that Hiit produces rapid health and fitness benefits, it’s difficult to know exactly how effective it is in the real world because most studies use specialised equipment and are supervised by researchers. As such, study results may not reflect what happens when people train on their own.

The very demanding nature of Hiit may also make it less enjoyable for some people – particularly those who aren’t used to intense exercise. This is important, because lower enjoyment is linked to poorer motivation and lower likelihood of sticking to a workout programme.

Also, while Hiit is often promoted as exciting and time efficient, its novelty may wear off. What feels new and motivating at the start may become tiring or repetitive, especially without variety or support. As a result, some people may struggle to stick with a workout programme after a few weeks.

Long-term fitness improvements come from training consistently. For that reason, it’s essential to choose a form of exercise that you enjoy.

If Hiit is less appealing to you than alternatives, such as steady jogging, cycling or weightlifting, it may be more effective to focus on workouts you’re more likely to stick with.

You don’t always have to push yourself to the limit to improve your health and fitness. Even consistent activity, such as accumulating around 7,000 steps a day, can still lead to meaningful physical and mental health benefits.

The Norwegian 4×4 protocol is just the latest popular Hiit workout. While it can offer many health and fitness benefits for you in a short period of time, it might not suit your needs – so be sure to pick a workout that best suits your goals and schedule.

Paul Hough does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. The Norwegian 4×4 Hiit workout is a favourite among athletes and actress Jessica Biel – here’s why it’s so beneficial – https://theconversation.com/the-norwegian-4×4-hiit-workout-is-a-favourite-among-athletes-and-actress-jessica-biel-heres-why-its-so-beneficial-271560

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Nathan Waddell, Professor of Twentieth-Century Literature, University of Birmingham

Like many of us, George Orwell saw January as a month to be endured rather than enjoyed. You can picture him steeling himself against its cold, gloom, rain, frost and wind.

And not only because of his ailing, vulnerable body, which was ravaged for so many years by respiratory malfunction. But also because grimacing defiance is the posture January tends to bring out in people. Orwell wasn’t an exception. His attitude to January is soothingly familiar yet peculiarly his own.

At one point in Orwell’s novel Keep the Aspidistra Flying (1936), the protagonist Gordon Comstock meets his girlfriend Rosemary under some railway arches on “a horrible January night”. There’s “a vile wind” that screeches round corners and flings dust and torn paper into their faces.

In Animal Farm (1945), January’s “bitterly hard weather” makes the earth “like iron” and stops the creatures from working in the fields.

Nineteen Eighty-Four (1949) transposes these imagined Januaries to other points on the calendar. It begins on a “bright cold day in April”.

As in Keep the Aspidistra Flying, a “vile wind” whirls dust and scraps of paper into the air. The sameness between the books isn’t mere repetition. On the contrary, I think that it subtly evidences January’s tenacious impact on Orwell’s mind.

One of Nineteen Eighty-Four’s concluding episodes takes place on “a vile, biting day in March” when the grass seems dead and the earth is “like iron”, just as it is in Animal Farm. These are moments following long, hard winters, and it’s no accident that the protagonist of Nineteen Eighty-Four, Winston Smith, suffers through a long period of torture in the Ministry of Love in the year’s coldest, bleakest months.

Writing about the weather for the Evening Standard newspaper in 1946, Orwell noted that January and February are particularly difficult to bear – at least for those in colder regions. This is when rooms get chilly and pipes tend to freeze and burst. Remove January and February from the calendar, he claimed, and where the weather is concerned the English “should have nothing to complain about”.

Nevertheless, Orwell knew that winter was an indispensable adversity, the rest of the year depending on its burdens. Tasty fruit and scrumptious vegetables need “rain-sodden soil” and the slow arrival of spring to develop their flavours, just as England’s ordinary flowers – primroses, wallflowers and daffodils – thrive after frost and cold.

Take away the contrast between the months and they become less special. There’s a time for chilblains and noses that run endlessly in chilly weather, Orwell insisted, and heat and sweat have their place, too. We need January to enjoy July (and, for some, vice versa).

The arrival of spring

In his brilliantly titled essay Some Thoughts on the Common Toad (1946), Orwell reflected on the ostensibly “miraculous” arrival of spring after the bitter winters of the preceding five years – a time during which the climatic afflictions of January, February and March were made harder still by the burdens of the second world war.

It had been difficult to believe that spring would come, and it had been near-impossible to think that the conflict would end. And yet: hostilities ceased, spring arrived.

Orwell thought that January could be “beastly”, as he put it in his novel Coming Up for Air (1939), but he also argued that winter is a necessary trial: a time of temporary retreat ahead of release and recuperation. The war could have gone either way.

Spring, however, is not so fickle. The broader miracle is not that spring delivers warm weather and hope, Orwell claimed, but that nature’s rhythms guarantee their advent. The predictability of January’s beastliness matters because it points to the cyclical logic of the seasons themselves.

The shift from January into February and then into March and April is a progression that in Orwell’s view reveals an absolute limit to authoritarian power. “The atom bombs are piling up in the factories,” he wrote in Some Thoughts on the Common Toad, “the police are prowling through the cities, the lies are streaming from the loudspeakers, but the Earth is still going round the sun, and neither the dictators nor the bureaucrats, deeply as they disapprove of the process, are able to prevent it”.

It matters to feel the chill, in other words, because in feeling it we glimpse a structure in nature that remains away and apart from human influence. In an unexpected manner, the revolving seasons prove that those who’d like to bring the world to heel are themselves subject to natural laws they cannot change, and which make them forever inferior to a cosmos indifferent to their arrogant cravings.

Orwell never wanted to be sentimental about nature, or about the seasons. But he did think that seasonal cycles tell us important things about our dreams, complicating our myths of power and control.

Can January be wished away? No. And for Orwell it’s precisely because it can’t be wished away that it means something good. He never quite put it in these words, but he meant to say that January is our friend.

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This article features references to books that have been included for editorial reasons, and may contain links to bookshop.org. If you click on one of the links and go on to buy something from bookshop.org The Conversation UK may earn a commission.

Nathan Waddell does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. What January taught George Orwell about control and resistance – https://theconversation.com/what-january-taught-george-orwell-about-control-and-resistance-272860