Are you using the map? Or the underlying data? The former will not yield easy results for you...but do you have access to the latter?

Eventually, it will behoove you to be much more specific about which parts of this massive data set you will be using. Also, I don't see an attached dataset here...have you identified for yourself which parts of the Census you can (a) gain access to and (b) know how to use?

Are you interested in how "we" visualize segregation or are you interested in visualizing that segregation itself? You can do both, but I would like you to recognize that they are two different questions with two different, but related, methodologies.

Wonderful! How will you be integrating the main tool with StoryMap to make a unified presentation? Or is that the plan? And if that isn't the plan, next iteration, I'd love to hear more about how the plan is shaping up!

True! Why do you want to do this...how, precisely, will it support your inquiry? More on this would be great.

This is excellent news...truly.

Does this match the books exactly?

Ah! How will you define representative? What is the relationship between "common" and "representative?" And, furthermore, what is the relationship between "less common" and in danger of lacking preservation?

This is also great. Is it related to the first bullet point or is it another thing altogether? If so, why so...and if not, why not?

Excellent! I do not know this work, and in an interdisciplinary context, it is always worth considering that many of your readers will not know what your citations imply unless you are more verbose. Next go-around, could you say more about why this work attracts you?

...but only insofar as these things are tracked by the gazetteers and then transposed into a database. Again, in the next iteration, do think about how you can make this more specific.

If the expanses of China are vast, why would subcultures happen in confined spaces? Do say more about what you mean here. If it is the complexity of the topography, how does that relate to the vastness?

Is this a term of art in your home field, or are you defining a new term and its context?

Why do they do this?

What does this mean? Could you be more specific, please?

What does this mean? From my point of view, this adjective could mean quite a few things from "unfunded," to "collective," to "incomplete."

How exciting! For the next iteration, I would be interested to read more about the people who produced this data, their methodology, and your understanding about how the decisions they made necessarily shape your own work. Think of it is an extended citation.

Do you mean for "everyone?" Or just to you? Why would you be skeptical of something that has years and years of scholarly practice behind it? Truly...where does your skepticism come from? Thinking that through will help you engage better, more productively, and more honestly this term, I promise!

Indeed it does! After the computer goes "ding," the work starts. :)

What work is "really" doing for you here?

Ah! There's so much more to say here on this topic. Are digital tools different from any other method in this way? How do you work with this reality when you write about Dickens, and how do you believe it will be different this term? Getting to the bottom of these perceived differences is critical for digital text analysis, as well as traditional methodologies...and it might be that having digital methods presses on the traditional methodologies to be more transparent about the interconnectedness of previous knowledge and present scholarship!

It is not yet clear why this choice would yield that result. What are your thoughts on this...and what does "better" mean in this context? It will definitely be critical for you to define success for this project in your own terms.

How does this difficulty manifest itself? It seems to me that writing essays on Dickens' work deals manageably with the problem. Could you be more specific about the issues you mean?

This is very broad too! I'd be interested to hear more about this at a level of detail that reveals more about your interests in expertise.

Yes yes yes, but to be clear, this does not mean we reject the tool...it means that we use this knowledge as a part of the tool.

This would depend on the approach you are taking. What form of "bad result" are you anticipating here?

These categories of analysis are great. Do you think you'll stick with them? On the basis of what sorts of choices did you create them?

It is indeed! But you are on the right track by acknowledging it straight away.

As a heads-up, your homepage still has some placeholder text. It would be very interesting to see what you might put there!

I'm wondering how you are taking to Scott's piece on network analysis...I suppose I will find out soon!

Excellent. It will be critical for your agenda to identify what will constitute sufficient difference for you.

Wonderful! The myth of completeness=closer to the "truth" rears its ugly head 2000-fold in the digital environment. Consider also, perhaps, the difference between "known unknowns" and "unknown unknowns," to use those benighted expressions...

It will also bear fruit, I believe, for you to also consider the fact that someone chose those filters, and with those decisions have changed your life!

To you? It seems so (and is an OK thing), I just want to ensure I understand.

I would also love to hear more about your relationship to copyright. How do you want your work to be shared? In what ways does the "copyright" interact with your vision of this future?

Fascinating. What is your relationship to prescriptiveness? What are its pros (if any), and what are the particular cons that you are currently pushing back on?

Indeed no. Excellent observation!

I'm interested that you are focused on accessibility. I am 100% sure that thinking through the components of that broad term that are of specific interest to you will help bound and shape your project in ways that are rewarding to you!

Thank you for posting this!!

This would be a clearer directive if it read "image above," for what that is worth!

Yes, this...was this fast? Was it important that it was slow?

Fascinating! Why do you think this is the case? I will be very interested to hear more about how things change (or stay the same).

Super important realization!! I will be fascinated to learn how this works for you over the course of this academic year.

Again, why is this important? You say "great benefit," but I'd like to hear more.

Why searching and not finding? I ask this in order to spur you to deeper thought.

Why faster?

You and Jane are sharing this interest this term, I would highly recommend that you two touch base about it, if you feel you both have the time (irony intended)!!

Here's a note about content and structure for you. First of all, since hyperlinks are not underlined or otherwise visibly different from the rest of the text in this post, I find it very difficult to know what I can click on and what I cannot. I would imagine others would share in this--is this a confusion you would like for us to have? I say this knowing that it is possible that you do!!!

Second, does your MPJ also have a private, narrativization of this quantified data? Or are you taking that practice to a quantitative extreme? Please do tell!

A true palimpsest, indeed.

That's the best type of blog, is it not!!! :) So glad that you've made this decision...I've hunted around a bit, and it has been a delight.

May I please be that person, and ask for your advance forgiveness? Is this even a goal that is possible???

You've hit on something here. What it is that we want to do needs to be balance with what we must do, correct? Or are you saying something else?

STOP IT! If your brain were number-averse, you could not live. Let's talk at some point about what you mean here. Do you mean that you are not interested in abstract mathematical concepts that have little to do with your own life and seem to ask for a divorce from the affective reality of your existence?? Or what?

!!!! Did you say this before and I did not hear you??? I hear you now.

I believe that this is existentially true, Jane. I need to ask, though, how do you plan to show value in slowness in this time where that is so hard to see, much less do?

So excited to see where you go with this!!

In what way is the labor of doing a digital project different from a traditional one? Do they feel different? Are they objectively different? I am excited that you seem to want delve into this more in the next iteration.

YAY!

Good question to consider: WHY do you think this is the case? What other pressures come to bear on courses besides the content that the instructors wish to/have been asked to present?

Nope. This is the way you will gain the technical knowledge you need. Don't shy away because you don't know...run towards it so you can learn.

This is key, and I won't mince words...is a lot of data/capta work.

And, are you studying the ways that these scholars ran their courses or the way you would like to run your own?

I wonder this too.

This is an amazing insight!

The text makes the chalk-prison-trenches process clearer, and yet, as before, I am brought back from my own ambiguous musings to the process of creating these artifacts. This phrase here, though…How are archaeological artifacts produced? Are they actually produced as archaeological artifacts in their interpretation? Is a landscape interpreted and produced only in the creation of a map?

In retrospect, I realize that the artists were being literal in their production of archaeological artifacts. Not ambiguous in the least. I find myself, again, caught up in my own story.

THERE. The texture. Like the marks of a painter's trowel. Painting Shows Pinterest: Bob Ross

Does the original purpose of the trowel change things materially? I feel that it does in this instance for the humans involved. The repurposing of tools from their profession within the context of this artistic expression is meaningful. From the point of view of the trowel, maybe not as much.

I cannot speak to how I may have interpreted these happenings at Æringur 2011.

But from my point of view in this space and at this time, these objects, actions, and transformations are clearly in conversation with time and space themselves, both in their original forms as well as in their representations here.

In their original forms, the impressions and marks exist above and below ground, in memories and in forgetfulness, and in the past, present, and future.

In their web-based forms, they are in photographs, they are encoded. They are in our lived experience both in 2011 and 2017, and they have marked the planet as well as the mind and memory of this reader.

My workspace. Right now.

For a while I thought we were collaborating with these objects. That white structure means a lot to me. But if it is going to turn on you...Get out, my friends, get out! You are in danger.

The scale of space. We have a tradition for representing this, of course. It has been up for debate since the beginning of this webpage. And yet...how big are those holes? How big are the objects? Where are we?

The excavation is made clear by the slashes in the ground. The incavation is less obviously represented.

The scale of time. It proceeds relentlessly. It has no clear cartographic (temporographic?) tradition. Timelines might be considered a map of time, but I don't buy it. Timelines are a map of the human experience of time. Demarcated by what we do or do not wish to remember about the past.

Cartographic maps are like that too, though. I suppose I might be wrong.

Everyone's ur-visualization comes to mind.

Charles Minard's map of Napoleon's Russian campaign of 1812

Showing both space and time together as abstractions, Minard also conflates these two properties, compromising perfect data clarity on either.

...delightfully, and possibly even presciently, by "a set of bored archaeologists, or artists, or both."

The artists' plan for a future excavation is presaged by past actions. The scale of time inherent in this piece--and perhaps by extension, archaeology--arises.

One day. One day at some time. What do maps have to tell us about the future? Can they disambiguate time as well as give scale to space? To archaeologists, is the action of burying--of incavating--objects predictive of future actions? Is excavation a likely foregone conclusion?

The image below shows the "mess" of the work involved in the original happening. The threads, the piles, the maps. I now also see this as progress, as moving towards a conclusion.

The map now posted on the shady side of the white structure, ambiguously part of the 1913 Map of 2011 Bolungarvík work, shows a region shattered by lines of red thread, each drawing attention to particular details of the landscape, a bit like drawing out blood. Pins, details, threads. Somewhere between an old-fashioned collection of butterflies, each impaled with a pin and a "crazy wall" of a contemporary (here comes the crime again) CSI drama, lies this diagram of exploding details.

Oxford Museum of Natural History

Esquire. Also, please feel free to visit the Crazy Walls Tumblr.

The crispness of the shadow on the side wall caused by the paper hanging in the air is notable. I find myself assuming this is late in the day. The power of the low sun in Iceland must be intense.

Crimes and criminality. Is it just me? Here, a bright spotlight as if, yet again, we are at a crime scene marked by harsh tones, chalk lines, and the inevitable surveillance of a prison guard.

And yet, in the corner of my eye, red. Red and the shape of Iceland. Iceland with a red dot. This is where we are.

All of these reflections could be "just me." It could all also be a question of scale.

This sentence is amazing. Naturally, a painting of roads is placed by the road. No ambiguity, and yet, why would this symbiosis be meaningful? In mapping, do things sit next to the things they represent? Or do they, instead, suggest a rupture with the lived experience?

The path of least involvement. Escape routes. I am lost. Cars? What cars? Escape how? The painting itself invokes an old architectural blueprint with its chemical odors and inherent preservation vice.

Saxman No. 2 Mine map, CONSOL Energy, Inc. Mine Maps and Records Collection, AIS.1991.16, Archives Service Center, University of Pittsburgh

The door to our dear white structure also appears in a state of decay. Why are we suddenly stopped at the side of the road? In this piece about maps, I feel decidedly unmoored.

Just here, already in the first sentence, a relentless ambiguity collides with the presentation of evidence. The authors allow their chosen media of response lie (as yet) unexplored and unrevealed, while the image below provokes guesses and anticipation of the context.

Not being an archaeologist myself --I am an art historian by training--I choose to combine the (for me) uncomfortable, insistent not-knowing of the piece as it unfolds with the authors' assertion that their artistic interventions are about the nature of archaeology--together, this suggests an archaeology that does not, or cannot, ever see the "whole picture." While a map might constitute seeing this putative "whole," a counter-map would be the inverse.

This makes a satisfying sort of empathetic sense. I could imagine finding something in an excavation that is clearly true and present, but whose crucial context is engulfed by the expanses of unexcavated land nearby.

...but decidedly less criminological.

Perhaps the archaeology of objects, meaning an archaeology produced by objects, is at hand. What ambiguities might they experience? What is their experience of scale?

This image appears again. This time transformed. I know exactly where I am. I wonder if the white square is still on the ground (the blueprint image is not). I even know the future. I know the trenches will be filled in and they will leave traces of what has happened.

I am oriented, as if using a map. I know my scale. I am comfortable with my ambiguity.

I hereby promise that I will try and use this word in my work.

I know this white structure. I know those frames. I know them from the past of this piece, and I know that they are to come. Now that they are represented at this scale, I remember them from the time-lapse. Networks of string, framed as a representation, seen only in part and obliquely. Again, is this archaeology? Seems plausible from where I sit.

I suddenly wish these annotations were a real conversation.

My experience with this formal construction is different. Dreamcatcher Wallpaper

The map has scale. The colors too are given scale. The scales are all relative to what you want to represent. Compared to digging a trench, the act of representation here seems somehow impotent.

Upon finding myself here, oh, how I wish I could see the surface of this painting. It is on display in the image as if on a wall in a museum, out of touch, out of reach...and yet here are clues to its material expression.

Later, I return, having been able to see the surface better, re-struck by its formal similarities to old-fashioned architectural blueprints at a distance. It is, among other things, a question of scale and expectations.

Roads? There are roads? Where are the roads? Hvar erum við?

I am lost in the images. The text moves me to another interpretive paradigm. I do not like it. I was content, lost in my own self-centered reflections. Ambiguity is uncomfortable to me, it would appear, only until I start my own sense-making.

In the first image of this second sequence, we move back in time yet again. Archaeological layers move from top to bottom, from the present to the past, as we are doing here.

The chalk lines are now just in a state of becoming. A human appears. The technology used to create the patterns we now expect become visible. The human appears almost as an interlper, as the objects have as yet taken center stage in this system.

In the second image of this sequence, the human becomes a mere shadow. A shadow whose originating object, for a while, eluded me. The shadow of the photographer that is made on the roof melds with the shadow of the white structure on the ground to create the impression a panoptic prison tower has been inserted into our narrative. Angles are seen, all jutting out, allowing for a sweeping view of the terrain.

Folson Prison Museum

It is a prison guard's point of view, but it is also a cartographer's. The question of scale both in the form of a silhouette and in the form of an inquirer's standpoint arises.

By the end of this sequence, distant crowds gather and time speeds on (backwards or forwards, we do not know) in a time-lapse photograph taken--we assume--within the white structure?

Later, I return to this time-lapse image, thinking..."The white structure is condemned."

In the second image of this introductory sequence--the flow of the text has defined the images' sequentiality--we have clearly moved back in time. The trenches are gone, the walls of the white structure are emptier, the working clutter at right is neater. Entropy (?) has been reversed. I find myself wondering if clutter is always a sign of the ravages of time. In archaeology, does mess suggest progress?

It becomes clear to me through this step back that the canvas of the white structure's walls are in a state of becoming.

Instead of the brown gashes of the trenches, chalk scores the earth the way that old police dramas demarcated dead bodies. Ferdy on Films

A neatly-dug trench enters like a sharp brown cut up through the grass from the bottom of the frame, its line moving the eye directly towards a white house-like structure that asks a question in a language foreign to me. The tilt of the hill and the framing of the photograph gives the structure a sense of being a sloping funhouse, an environment in which your senses are made to trick themselves, to expect level ground where there is an incline, to see solid walls dissolve unexpectedly. An experience of disorientation. Where am I?

Hvar erum við? Where are we, indeed? By these words, ambiguity slides from the text into the very makeup of the landscape represented by this photograph. A quick trip to Google Translate helps me find a bit of purchase on what I am seeing, and situates this piece textually in Iceland--something suggested, but not strictly disambiguated, by the header image.

Returning here, having finished the piece, I find that this image encapsulates for me the entirety of the story that is to come--the inverse of ambiguity.

I would like to annotate my experience of this piece by honing in on two themes: ambiguity and scale.

I cannot speak to how I may have interpreted these happenings at Æringur 2011.

But from my point of view in this space and at this time, these objects, actions, and transformations are clearly in conversation with time and space themselves, both in their original forms as well as in their representations here.

In their original forms, the impressions and marks exist above and below ground, in memories and in forgetfulness, and in the past, present, and future.

In their web-based forms, they are in photographs, they are encoded. They are in our lived experience both in 2011 and 2017, and they have marked the planet as well as the mind and memory of this reader.

My workspace. Right now.

For a while I thought we were collaborating with these objects. That white structure means a lot to me. But if it is going to turn on you...Get out, my friends, get out! You are in danger.

The scale of space. We have a tradition for representing this, of course. It has been up for debate since the beginning of this webpage. And yet...how big are those holes? How big are the objects? Where are we?

The excavation is made clear by the slashes in the ground. The incavation is less obviously represented.

The scale of time. It proceeds relentlessly. It has no clear cartographic (temporographic?) tradition. Timelines might be considered a map of time, but I don't buy it. Timelines are a map of the human experience of time. Demarcated by what we do or do not wish to remember about the past.

Cartographic maps are like that too, though. I suppose I might be wrong.

Everyone's ur-visualization comes to mind.

Charles Minard's map of Napoleon's Russian campaign of 1812

Showing both space and time together as abstractions, Minard also conflates these two properties, compromising perfect data clarity on either.

...delightfully, and possibly even presciently, by "a set of bored archaeologists, or artists, or both."

The artists' plan for a future excavation is presaged by past actions. The scale of time inherent in this piece--and perhaps by extension, archaeology--arises.

One day. One day at some time. What do maps have to tell us about the future? Can they disambiguate time as well as give scale to space? To archaeologists, is the action of burying--of incavating--objects predictive of future actions? Is excavation a likely foregone conclusion?

The image below shows the "mess" of the work involved in the original happening. The threads, the piles, the maps. I now also see this as progress, as moving towards a conclusion.

The map now posted on the shady side of the white structure, ambiguously part of the 1913 Map of 2011 Bolungarvík work, shows a region shattered by lines of red thread, each drawing attention to particular details of the landscape, a bit like drawing out blood. Pins, details, threads. Somewhere between an old-fashioned collection of butterflies, each impaled with a pin and a "crazy wall" of a contemporary (here comes the crime again) CSI drama, lies this diagram of exploding details.

Oxford Museum of Natural History

Esquire. Also, please feel free to visit the Crazy Walls Tumblr.

The crispness of the shadow on the side wall caused by the paper hanging in the air is notable. I find myself assuming this is late in the day. The power of the low sun in Iceland must be intense.

The text makes the chalk-prison-trenches process clearer, and yet, as before, I am brought back from my own ambiguous musings to the process of creating these artifacts. This phrase here, though...How are archaeological artifacts produced? Are they actually produced as archaeological artifacts in their interpretation? Is a landscape interpreted and produced only in the creation of a map?

In retrospect, I realize that the artists were being literal in their production of archaeological artifacts. Not ambiguous in the least. I find myself, again, caught up in my own story.

Crimes and criminality. Is it just me? Here, a bright spotlight as if, yet again, we are at a crime scene marked by harsh tones, chalk lines, and the inevitable surveillance of a prison guard.

And yet, in the corner of my eye, red. Red and the shape of Iceland. Iceland with a red dot. This is where we are.

All of these reflections could be "just me." It could all also be a question of scale.

This sentence is amazing. Naturally, a painting of roads is placed by the road. No ambiguity, and yet, why would this symbiosis be meaningful? In mapping, do things sit next to the things they represent? Or do they, instead, suggest a rupture with the lived experience?

The path of least involvement. Escape routes. I am lost. Cars? What cars? Escape how? The painting itself invokes an old architectural blueprint with its chemical odors and inherent preservation vice.

Saxman No. 2 Mine map, CONSOL Energy, Inc. Mine Maps and Records Collection, AIS.1991.16, Archives Service Center, University of Pittsburgh

The door to our dear white structure also appears in a state of decay. Why are we suddenly stopped at the side of the road? In this piece about maps, I feel decidedly unmoored.

Just here, already in the first sentence, a relentless ambiguity collides with the presentation of evidence. The authors allow their chosen media of response lie (as yet) unexplored and unrevealed, while the image below provokes guesses and anticipation of the context.

Not being an archaeologist myself --I am an art historian by training--I choose to combine the (for me) uncomfortable, insistent not-knowing of the piece as it unfolds with the authors' assertion that their artistic interventions are about the nature of archaeology--together, this suggests an archaeology that does not, or cannot, ever see the "whole picture." While a map might constitute seeing this putative "whole," a counter-map would be the inverse.

This makes a satisfying sort of empathetic sense. I could imagine finding something in an excavation that is clearly true and present, but whose crucial context is engulfed by the expanses of unexcavated land nearby.

...but decidedly less criminological.

Perhaps the archaeology of objects, meaning an archaeology produced by objects, is at hand. What ambiguities might they experience? What is their experience of scale?

This image appears again. This time transformed. I know exactly where I am. I wonder if the white square is still on the ground (the blueprint image is not). I even know the future. I know the trenches will be filled in and they will leave traces of what has happened.

I am oriented, as if using a map. I know my scale. I am comfortable with my ambiguity.

I hereby promise that I will try and use this word in my work.

I know this white structure. I know those frames. I know them from the past of this piece, and I know that they are to come. Now that they are represented at this scale, I remember them from the time-lapse. Networks of string, framed as a representation, seen only in part and obliquely. Again, is this archaeology? Seems plausible from where I sit.

I suddenly wish these annotations were a real conversation.

My experience with this formal construction is different. Dreamcatcher Wallpaper

The map has scale. The colors too are given scale. The scales are all relative to what you want to represent. Compared to digging a trench, the act of representation here seems somehow impotent.

THERE. The texture. Like the marks of a painter's trowel.

Painting Shows Pinterest: Bob Ross

Does the original purpose of the trowel change things materially? I feel that it does in this instance for the humans involved. The repurposing of tools from their profession within the context of this artistic expression is meaningful. From the point of view of the trowel, maybe not as much.

Upon finding myself here, oh, how I wish I could see the surface of this painting. It is on display in the image as if on a wall in a museum, out of touch, out of reach...and yet here are clues to its material expression.

Later, I return, having been able to see the surface better, re-struck by its formal similarities to old-fashioned architectural blueprints at a distance. It is, among other things, a question of scale and expectations.

Roads? There are roads? Where are the roads? Hvar erum við?

I am lost in the images. The text moves me to another interpretive paradigm. I do not like it. I was content, lost in my own self-centered reflections. Ambiguity is uncomfortable to me, it would appear, only until I start my own sense-making.

In the first image of this second sequence, we move back in time yet again. Archaeological layers move from top to bottom, from the present to the past, as we are doing here.

The chalk lines are now just in a state of becoming. A human appears. The technology used to create the patterns we now expect become visible. The human appears almost as an interlper, as the objects have as yet taken center stage in this system.

In the second image of this sequence, the human becomes a mere shadow. A shadow whose originating object, for a while, eluded me. The shadow of the photographer that is made on the roof melds with the shadow of the white structure on the ground to create the impression a panoptic prison tower has been inserted into our narrative. Angles are seen, all jutting out, allowing for a sweeping view of the terrain.

Folson Prison Museum

It is a prison guard's point of view, but it is also a cartographer's. The question of scale both in the form of a silhouette and in the form of an inquirer's standpoint arises.

By the end of this sequence, distant crowds gather and time speeds on (backwards or forwards, we do not know) in a time-lapse photograph taken--we assume--within the white structure?

Later, I return to this time-lapse image, thinking..."The white structure is condemned."

In the second image of this introductory sequence--the flow of the text has defined the images' sequentiality--we have clearly moved back in time. The trenches are gone, the walls of the white structure are emptier, the working clutter at right is neater. Entropy (?) has been reversed. I find myself wondering if clutter is always a sign of the ravages of time. In archaeology, does mess suggest progress?

It becomes clear to me through this step back that the canvas of the white structure's walls are in a state of becoming.

Instead of the brown gashes of the trenches, chalk scores the earth the way that old police dramas demarcated dead bodies. Ferdy on Films

A neatly-dug trench enters like a sharp brown cut up through the grass from the bottom of the frame, its line moving the eye directly towards a white house-like structure that asks a question in a language foreign to me. The tilt of the hill and the framing of the photograph gives the structure a sense of being a sloping funhouse, an environment in which your senses are made to trick themselves, to expect level ground where there is an incline, to see solid walls dissolve unexpectedly. An experience of disorientation. Where am I?

Hvar erum við? Where are we, indeed? By these words, ambiguity slides from the text into the very makeup of the landscape represented by this photograph. A quick trip to Google Translate helps me find a bit of purchase on what I am seeing, and situates this piece textually in Iceland--something suggested, but not strictly disambiguated, by the header image.

Returning here, having finished the piece, I find that this image encapsulates for me the entirety of the story that is to come--the inverse of ambiguity.

I would like to annotate my experience of this piece by honing in on two themes: ambiguity and scale.

I want to be able to annotate each of these images, but Hypothesis does not appear to allow me. I'm trying to make do...

"Efficiency" was a catchphrase for all that was good and right at that time...and I'm not sure that it has the same weight now. Perhaps it has morphed into the positive-value-statement "something for ALL."