Category: Processing Posts

I am interested in the seemingly contradictory ideas of ambiguity and classification. Many of the readings this week (particularly Emily Drabinski’s piece) highlighted the idea of fluidity, or the ability for items in the archive to transcend the organizational system within they are placed, as critical in overcoming the inherent inability for a classification system to adapt well to different contexts, viewers, time periods, etc at a satisfactory level/pace. How do we design fluidity into a system that operates on the exact opposite? Although I feel Drabinski’s piece addressed the question, I don’t feel like it offered any actionable alternatives. Another idea that I see brought up throughout the readings and in the structure of both the Prelinger Library and the Cybernetics Library, is this idea of designing for serendipity. I view it as tangentially related to this question of fluidity in that they both embrace a sense of subjectivity instead of seeking unattainable objectivity. Although the Prelinger Library is technically organized by geography, I feel that the novelty of this organization principle warrants a more subjective categorization of the items in the library (in comparison to some other well-established and perhaps more granular system). But the cybernetics library is very much related to this idea of ambiguity/fluidity in that it is literally configured to change over time, and through both the actions of the librarians and the patrons.( I am still a bit unclear on the virtual component of the cybernetics library so I will leave that out of the discussion for now)

I also, had a thought about Kate Crawford’s talk when she mentions that the majority of the Faces in the Wild dataset is male and white. As someone who is neither white nor male, I’m not sure if this is a context in which I necessarily feel bad about lack of representation! My face can stay obscure haha.

This weeks readings are very interesting in thinking about last week’s topic of infrastructure. Especially in thinking about the libraries like the Prelinger and Warburg, furniture and organizing ideas are intertwined. The Warburg library infrastructure mirrors the abstract structure, and thus requires furnishing to also match. I think it’s interesting to think about this in light of BILLY bookcases. While the construction and material is quiet shoddy (i too am doubtful of butt joints), it’s accessi-BILLY-ty allows larger participation in thinking about how we think about and display ideas, and how they relate to each other. In that way, it could be understood that IKEA holds great power in what we decided to display and organize, not to mention fuels our need to do so.

As Mattern mentions, “What were, only a few days before, systematically coded wares in a miscellany of merchandise, are now individuated objects, appreciated for their distinctive functions or aesthetic values, classified and authorized, in part, through their place on the shelf.” These ideas of the thread of meaning in which is created through position and placement makes me question some of the decisions in which I have organized my own space. Our lives are constantly bombarded with objects, trinkets and materials, inspiring our minds and relinquishing our memories, but the positions they take in space are not random, but are intrinsically tied to their value and form of being. What hierarchies are created that were once invisible? I also wonder how this theory correlates to ways in which we assemble and store information from our computer desktops to our smart phone home screens? Do hierarchies of value exist, and do they matter in our means of locating, disseminating, and creating?

The intrinsic relationship between storage and subject of the xylotheque, illuminated in Laura Tarrish’s Hunter Gatherer, is a unique example of creating storage in dialogue with the very subject in which it houses. It makes me wonder how else we could engineer archival storage filing boxes to be in a direct dialogue with their specific content, thus making it easier to locate as well as reinforcing its archived interior. Suzanne Briet’s theory that a document could propel into forms of natural occurrence, when acting as evidence in support of a larger contextual fact, I began thinking about the ways ecological fieldwork could change in regards to this. If the landscape began to be described as a document, perceived as evidence of climate change, filled with documented signifiers, would it’s  handling change.

Across these readings, I’ve pulled a few different threads of thought. One being, the idea of the bookshelf or ‘open/public’ intellectual furnishing as an antithesis to the black box of digital algorithms. The very structure of the shelf can be seen as a display of the classification system at large, both out of functional need and also out of a kind of moral principle. Another thread of thought is the idea that everything can be a document. How do we ‘document-ize’ or ‘shelf’ vastly different objects/data-types? The xylotheque is an amusing example because it literally ‘book-ifies’ the tree as document. And the final thread, and perhaps of most interest to me right now, the importance of ambiguity within a system, or the ability for artifacts and information to transcend the classification system within which they are placed. (“People have a limitless capacity to shake off established categories and forge previously overlooked connections between ideas.” Springfield).

Unsurprisingly, the spatial arrangement of curiosity cabinets in centuries past aligned with a peripatetic mode of inquiry. I would contend that wandering as a form of cognitive activity continues today (my mom can spend hours on Facebook, if you call that neuronally stimulating). But, as Katherine Hayles notes, our engagement with new media seems to require “hyper” – rather than close – reading. Here, Hayles is not exclusively concerned with the immediacy in digital scholarship, but rather the vast array of challenges digital technologies pose to the humanities. I think this is something Chun points to when she says “we need to think beyond speed.”

As an artist (who no longer makes anything!), I can completely sympathize with the will to singularity. There is something about occupying a physical space that requires what Stewart calls “gestures of care which maintain the integrity of the body.” I think Google attempted to emulate something like the immersive experience of a museum in their Cultural Institute exhibition, but it’s difficult to realize this when all that’s required are one’s visual and finger mechanics.

Shannon Mattern’s “Before Billy” reminded me of one particular afternoon, I was 16 or 17, spent on Vitsoe’s online configurator, imagining my own 606 Universal Shelving System. I would save for one shelf, take it to college, then expand throughout my life — so the plan.

“You will not spend 150€ on one shelf!”, my dad said, “and besides, you’ll have to plaster the drill holes every time you move.” I bought a Billy instead.

Looking back, I’m glad I didn’t get the 606. Mattern writes, “shelves have evolved along with the walls that have supported them.” Since I moved to the US I have lived only in rooms clad in dry-wall, cheap construction making it hard to hang anything, let alone a heavy bookshelf. In New York’s tiny apartments, there isn’t much space for books elsewhere either. So I own fewer books. Perhaps it is dry wall that ‘killed print’?

The materials this week alongside our two field trips to the New York Municipal Archives and the Brooklyn Public Library provide us with particular glimpses at the sensory possibilities that infrastructure can either contribute to or deny. To take, for example, the Warburg library – much of the “poetic composition” of the library seems to be dependent on the way one moves through the physical space of the shelves, which guide the visitor along lines of an “uninterrupted association of titles, not a linear order with a beginning and an end” (Manguel, 204). Is it possible for a sensory experience to exist in a comparable manner without the aid of movement through physical space? Is it possible for the sensorial exploratory atmosphere created by the geospatial arrangement system of the shelves (Kissinger), the nearness of certain titles to others, the cross-pollinations of images and texts due to proximity, to be transferable to the digital? The question I’m trying to ask is not whether there is a sensorial exploratory aspect to digital collections, as there certainly is. Rather, I’m wondering if it is possible to digitize the original physical arrangement, and its particular sensory experience, of the collection itself. And if it is possible, the question of “should it?” remains. Should a digitized collection strive to induce the same sensory experience as the original physical collection, or can the digitized be allowed to form its own particular sensorium? I ask this in specific reference to Henry Wilhelm’s initial commentary on the Corbis Image Vault as aiming towards preservation, when he laments the deterioration of photographs. Can deterioration exist in the archive without being treated as a spiteful pest?

When I came across the quote “Every library is autobiographical” in the Manguel piece, something brought me back to our visit to the Brooklyn Public Library. In particular, the mention of “Lindsay Boxes” – the unremarkable, conventional giant box libraries that were built in the late 60’s. How could librarians craft an “autobiographical experience” in these cheap, bland spaces? Our visit saw us experience a vibrant and bustling community space, only to then become privy to the vast underpinning (literally and figuratively) below that facilitated the use of the building beyond just a public hall.

Manguel later compares the experience of librarian and viewer to that of a poet and a reader. The following pieces on the atypical categorization structures of the Warberg and Prelinger libraries offer a possible “solution” to the drab environment offered by Lindsay Box-like structures. I also wonder about non-traditional library structure with regards to novels and other fiction writing, and what messages could be encoded in their arrangement. Perhaps BookOps can see create custom curated arrangements in branch libraries (if only they had the massive amount of time and resources that would take).

The potent scent of mothballs penetrates my mind into an overbearing disembodiment, leading me instantaneously back to my grandmother’s untouched mid-century home, and further back into infinite webs of connecting thought and memory. The power of memory to ignite knowledge is fueled within the library. It is a space in which memory spreads out in all directions, curiously absorbing and reflecting the physicality of time and space that lines the walls. The temporality of the library experience, discovery, touch, scent, holds this phenomenon of recollection. But can this fade in flat, digital fields of information? Like Walter Benjamin notes in his book, The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction, authenticity is lost through the technologically reproduced image. Through digitization, the true essence of a book and photograph is pixelated. Does this refract into our mind, blurring the line between memory and knowledge?

The importance of tactility and the physical space of libraries and archives stood out to me in this week’s readings, particularly after the two field trips. It was interesting to read about Aby Warburg’s library and the Prelinger library, both organized based on the founders’ personal interests and also a reflection of how they see and understand their collections. Megan Shaw Prelinger compares the physical experience of browsing the stacks to the act of exploring a landscape. This informs the geospatial organisation of the library but also draws attention to the fact that physical research allows for connections and associations to be made that digital research currently does not.

In thinking about digital research or digital collections, the idea that the digital could incorporate or mimic the physical experience of the browsing is intriguing. Because digitisation creates greater accessibility, I think adding this element of the physical experience to the digital is worthwhile and could drastically change the process of research. As research and collecting is a subjective experience and act, how would this change the algorithmic digital space?

I came away from this week’s readings wondering what it is about ‘the digital’ that seems to preclude the “whimsical, associative order” (Manguel, 197) and “surprising juxtapositions” (Kissane) of (certain) physical libraries. Is it something inherent to the digital form? There’s also the other side of the question – Megan Shaw Prelinger argues that part of what makes the experiences of a physical library irreproducible is the immensely difficult task of digitizing physical collections, though she does not refute the possibility of creating more associative digital library experiences (Kissane). Is it merely the daunting task of digitization that has kept us from creating more surprising, whimsical digital libraries, or have we been restricted by normative assumptions about the digital and what we can do with it?

This is not simply a digital problem – it is also infrastructural. I was struck by BookOps’ suggestion that it doesn’t serve the Queens Library in part because Queens has the “furthest to come to align its systems and operations with those of the other libraries” (Mattern). As with digitizing physical collections, is the task of updating the Queens Library’s infrastructures so difficult as to be unfeasible; so extensive as to be unworthy of even incremental changes? Shouldn’t the fact that it already has the “furthest to come” make it a priority for updates? That distance will only compound with increasing speed and intensity. 

In this week’s readings I was particularly interested in how the disposition of the Warbrug and Prelinger libraries invites the visitors to explore and, almost in an accidental way, stumble upon intellectual associations that can expand our curiosity and cultivate a deeper and more complex way of understanding knowledge.

I can also see how this particular format can appeal younger readers if we take into account how algorithms, cookies and query-based searches are making our interactions with digital technologies more predictable and boring. On the other hand, interacting with analog technologies give us the power to decide and experiment.

Finally, regarding the video of the Corbis collection, I would like to address it through the lens of access and availability. While one could argue that the efforts made by Bill Gates are going to extend the life of the Bettmann archive, his actions spurred a controversial debate given the fact that many view them as a burial ceremony for analog photography. It is particularly interesting to me how, regardless of the fact that we were able to meet some of the people that work there, I felt that the built environment of the archive dehumanizes (Mattern) its content. A feeling that was corroborated by the fact that we are unable to access it even online (1, 2).

Gates here is removing images from the public sphere in the name of “safekeeping”, hindering our capacity to promote and preserve historical memory. An idea wonderfully explored by Alejandro Jaar in his piece Lament of the Images.

Can large-form public institutions that are becoming ever more consolidated reflect the processes adopted by Warburg’s or the Prelinger’s libraries?

Warburg’s library did not divide domains by just subject or chronologically, but by subjective association. His library stood as a physical representation of ideas and symbols. I believe libraries function best in this serendipitous nature, as an institution that not only provides access to knowledge but inspires it. A seemingly insignificant idea from one context can permeate and lead to an acute association, drawing a mental roadmap of tangential domains. Traditional library indexing systems don’t serve browsers in quite the same way—it is at best community oriented.

The invisible inner workings of library systems is an integral part of these browsing affordances. The interface is a derivative of the interplay of this hidden network and patron browsing habits. For instance, “floating” practices allow for a tailored local library collection, one that is informed by the needs of its community.

I ponder how library science in the age of digitization and artificial intelligence intermingle. How might libraries be more personalized? Can a constantly evolving neural network trained on personalized data learned from browsing habits produce a digital library completely organized by thought patterns? And if so, what are the ethical implications?

I was particularly pleased with this week’s readings, specially since we don’t have a strong link with public libraries in Mexico.

In Battles’s text, one of the things that caught my attention was how Panizzi, through the design of the library catalog, aimed to develop a more independent reader. I was wondering how that spirit has changed throughout the years, specially since we are used to receive information that is tailored to us depending on our online behavior. In that sense, it was no surprise to see this initiative by the Brooklyn Public Library.

After reading the strategic plan of the library and the expansion of the capabilities public libraries have across the country (Mattern), I started wondering about labor, budgets and what it means to be a librarian nowadays.

It seems to me that the role of libraries is to work as bastions of Democracy and truth, at the same time, they are being challenged with limited budgets in a time were they need to incorporate new technologies and people who know how to work with them.

• Are academic programs tackling the needs of public libraries?
• Has the role of library foundations and group of trustees become more important?
• Is the collecting of data going to affect the distribution of books and activities that are available for the public?

The BPL’s 2018 Strategic Plan lays out a comprehensive “epistemological framework” (Mattern), detailing its current and future plans for promoting learning (by providing communities with necessary resources and opportunities) and for stewarding knowledge (by fostering connections and communication between patrons, communities, librarians, branches, and other boroughs). However, BPL’s professed intention to serve “all Brooklyn residents” does not seem to square with its plans (Strategic Plan, 41-42) to construct new facilities in two of Brooklyn’s wealthiest neighborhoods (according to this map visualizing census data) nor the already completed renovation of existing facilities in wealthier neighborhoods (Brooklyn Heights, Park Slope, Kensington). Recognizing that there are other renovations planned, I wonder whether the temporal prioritization of certain neighborhoods or branches over others can be attributed to the BPL’s interest in cultivating a community-specific approach (Strategic Plan, 65) – or if there is a hierarchy of publics nested within the greater public of Brooklyn as a whole. Is “public” here merely “a vehicle for publicity” (Battles, 68)? To what extent are BPL’s branches (including their updates) “contextually-designed” (Mattern), and where do the boundaries of its contexts lie? 

Matthew Battles’ sweeping history of the library, which in turn is also the history of the organization and consumption of knowledge, provides a fascinating survey of the roles libraries had served as custodians of wisdom, status symbols, objects of conspicuous consumption, and, more recently, a space of gathering for purposes of community, literacy, and access to information.

As public libraries today become more and more what Mattern calls “a network of integrated, mutually reinforcing, evolving infrastructures — in particular, architectural, technological, social, epistemological and ethical infrastructures,” the university libraries seem to retain the elite, research-oriented quality that had characterized most libraries before the proliferation of mass-produced books. Big cities like NYC aside, most public libraries nowadays do not have very much scholarly literature at all, let alone access to academic databases. I can’t help but think that this university/public divide is very problematic as it makes independent scholarship without university affiliation much more difficult (and expensive), while the public libraries are being stretched thin to serve the community’s needs for baseline English as well as digital literacy.

The readings this week outline the structure and organization of the archives, primarily focusing on what documents might make it to the archive and which one’s fall through the selective non-uniform sieve of the archivist (An Archivist). Unlike a library catalog that categorizes by subject, the archival records are organized first by the source (who wrote it) and second by what details the record contains, including biographical and contextual information about the source and contents of the record. However, as straightforward as the Archives @ PAMA post made archival organization out to be, the other readings point to a practice of archiving that is anything but. Though records tend to follow the descriptive patterns laid out in the PAMA post, there is no universal archival cataloging process used by all archivists in the cultivation of their records.

In the examples given regarding how records reach the archive, I wonder about the how the original source might organize their own records before giving them up. Though some of the fonds might be collected by someone other than the source (am I using the word fonds correctly?), I wonder about sources that deliberately do their own DIY personal archive work before they hand their records over to someone else. For example, I am fond of writing long letters to friends, and have been considering asking them for copies so I can have a record of things I wrote years ago. Not sure what I’ll end up doing with it all, but I consider it the cultivation of my own little archive. How much can archivists account for the source’s own awareness of their documents’ possibility of being archived, and how that awareness shapes the records they produce/create/destroy/decide not to make?

The archive invokes oppositional questions. Is it about power, control of narrative, history, access, memory? All entail the question of “who” – whose power, whose control, whose absence from the record. Yet, isn’t it also “under siege” (Manoff, 13)? Should we protect it from fetishization or from quiet elimination? Derrida shows us that the apparent psychological drive to record also involves its own kind of production. Technological advances and corporate interests vie with the material demands of archive-keeping. The Peel Archive pages remind us of archivists’ work to render less obscure even the workings of the archive. We see the physical space required, the impossibility of digitizing everything, that choices have to be made by. Should those choices be automated or remain subject to human biases and error? Even those who wouldn’t describe themselves as post-modernists recognize the lack of certain objectivity of historical record. No wonder the archive is a subject of contention.

The pervasiveness of data in digital age obscures how easily it can be obliterated from record, information obsolescence is as much a problem as information saturation. It is fitting we are investigating this concept in an interdisciplinary class, these questions invoke the meaning of the boundaries between them.