How the Mysteries of the Vatican Secret Archives Are Being Revealed by Artificial Intelligence


Some­where with­in the Vat­i­can exists the Vat­i­can Secret Archives, whose 53 miles of shelv­ing con­tains more than 600 col­lec­tions of account books, offi­cial acts, papal cor­re­spon­dence, and oth­er his­tor­i­cal doc­u­ments. Though its hold­ings date back to the eighth cen­tu­ry, it has in the past few weeks come to world­wide atten­tion. This has brought about all man­ner of jokes about the plot of Dan Brown’s next nov­el, but also impor­tant news about the tech­nol­o­gy of man­u­script dig­i­ti­za­tion. It seems a project to get the con­tents of the Vat­i­can Secret Archives dig­i­tized and online has made great progress crack­ing a prob­lem that once seemed impos­si­bly dif­fi­cult: turn­ing hand­writ­ing into com­put­er-search­able text.

In Codice Ratio is “devel­op­ing a full-fledged sys­tem to auto­mat­i­cal­ly tran­scribe the con­tents of the man­u­scripts” that uses not the stan­dard method of opti­cal char­ac­ter recog­ni­tion (OCR), which looks for the spaces between words, but a new way that can han­dle con­nect­ed cur­sive and cal­li­graph­ic let­ters. Their method, in the lin­go of the field, “is to gov­ern impre­cise char­ac­ter seg­men­ta­tion by con­sid­er­ing that cor­rect seg­ments are those that give rise to a sequence of char­ac­ters that more like­ly com­pose a Latin word. We have designed a prin­ci­pled solu­tion that relies on con­vo­lu­tion­al neur­al net­works and sta­tis­ti­cal lan­guage mod­els.”

This is a job, in oth­er words, for arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence, but in part­ner­ship with human intel­li­gence, a sel­dom-tapped source of which the sci­en­tists behind In Codice Ratio have har­nessed: that of high-school stu­dents. Their spe­cial OCR soft­ware, writes the Atlantic’s Sam Kean, works by “divid­ing each word into a series of ver­ti­cal and hor­i­zon­tal bands and look­ing for local minimums—the thin­ner por­tions, where there’s less ink (or real­ly, few­er pix­els). The soft­ware then carves the let­ters at these joints.” But the soft­ware “needs to know which groups of chunks rep­re­sent real let­ters and which are bogus,” and so “the team recruit­ed stu­dents at 24 schools in Italy to build the projects’ mem­o­ry banks,” man­u­al­ly sep­a­rat­ing the let­ters the sys­tem had prop­er­ly rec­og­nized from those over which it had stum­bled.

And so the stu­dents became the sys­tem’s “teach­ers,” improv­ing its abil­i­ty to extract the con­tent of hand­writ­ing, and not just hand­writ­ing but vast quan­ti­ties of archa­ic hand­writ­ing, with every click they made. The encour­ag­ing results thus far mean that it prob­a­bly won’t be long before large por­tions of the Vat­i­can Secret Archives (which, con­trary to its awk­ward­ly trans­lat­ed name, is such a non-secret it even has its own offi­cial web site) will final­ly become easy to browse, search, copy, paste, and ana­lyze. So they may, in the full­ness of time, prove a fruit­ful resource indeed to writ­ers of Catholi­cism-cen­tric thrillers like Brown — who, after all, has already gone pub­lic with his enthu­si­asm for man­u­script dig­i­ti­za­tion.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Explore 5,300 Rare Man­u­scripts Dig­i­tized by the Vat­i­can: From The Ili­ad & Aeneid, to Japan­ese & Aztec Illus­tra­tions

Behold 3,000 Dig­i­tized Man­u­scripts from the Bib­lio­the­ca Palati­na: The Moth­er of All Medieval Libraries Is Get­ting Recon­struct­ed Online

3,500 Occult Man­u­scripts Will Be Dig­i­tized & Made Freely Avail­able Online, Thanks to Da Vin­ci Code Author Dan Brown

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Dozens of M.C. Escher Prints Now Digitized & Put Online by the Boston Public Library

In addi­tion to the icon­ic scene in Jim Henson’s Labyrinth, or appear­ances in ani­mat­ed TV shows and video games, M.C. Escher’s work has adorned the cov­ers of albums like Mott the Hoople’s 1969 debut and the spec­u­la­tive fic­tion of Ita­lo Calvi­no and Jorge Luis Borges. A big hit with hip­pies and 1960s col­lege stu­dents, writes Heavy Music Art­work, his mind-bend­ing prints became asso­ci­at­ed with “ques­tion­ing accept­ed views of nor­mal expe­ri­ence and test­ing the lim­its of per­cep­tion with hal­lu­cino­genic drugs.” While he appre­ci­at­ed his cult fol­low­ing, Esch­er “did not encour­age their mys­ti­cal inter­pre­ta­tions of his images.” Reply­ing to one enthu­si­as­tic fan of his print Rep­tiles, who claimed to see in it an image of rein­car­na­tion, Esch­er replied, “Madame, if that’s the way you see it, so be it.”

Rather than illus­trate high­er states of con­scious­ness or meta­phys­i­cal enti­ties, Bruno Ernst writes in The Mag­ic Mir­ror of M.C. Esch­er, the artist intend­ed to cre­ate prac­ti­cal, “pic­to­r­i­al rep­re­sen­ta­tion of intel­lec­tu­al under­stand­ing.” Illus­tra­tions, that is, of philo­soph­i­cal and sci­en­tif­ic thought exper­i­ments. The son of a civ­il engi­neer, Esch­er began his stud­ies in archi­tec­ture before mov­ing to draw­ing and print­mak­ing.

The chal­lenge of cre­at­ing built environments—even seem­ing­ly impos­si­ble ones—always seemed to occu­py his mind. Along with themes from the nat­ur­al world, a high per­cent­age of his works cen­ter on buildings—inspired by for­ma­tive ear­ly years in Rome and his admi­ra­tion for Islam­ic art and Span­ish archi­tec­ture.

In the 50s and 60s Escher’s art piqued the inter­est of aca­d­e­mics and math­e­mati­cians, an audi­ence he found more con­ge­nial to his vision. He cor­re­spond­ed with sci­en­tists and incor­po­rat­ed their ideas into his work, mean­while claim­ing to be “absolute­ly inno­cent of train­ing or knowl­edge in the exact sci­ences.” In the 50s, Esch­er “daz­zled” the likes of math­e­mati­cians like Roger Pen­rose and HSM Cox­eter. In turn, notes Maev Kennedy, he “was inspired by Penroses’s per­spec­ti­val tri­an­gle and Coxeter’s work on crys­tal sym­me­try.”

For all the excite­ment he cre­at­ed among math­e­mati­cians, it took a bit longer for Esch­er to get noticed in the art world. When Penrose’s uncle showed Escher’s ver­sion of the per­spec­ti­val tri­an­gle to Picas­so, “Picas­so had heard of the British math­e­mati­cian but not of the Dutch artist.” Escher’s fame spread out­side of the sci­ences in part through the inter­ests of the coun­ter­cul­ture. He may have shrugged off mys­ti­cal and psy­che­del­ic read­ings of his prints, but he had an innate pen­chant for the mar­velous­ly weird (see his copy of a scene, for exam­ple, from Hierony­mus Bosch, above, or his sur­re­al print Grav­i­ty, below).

See the prints pic­tured here and a few dozen more dig­i­tized in high res­o­lu­tion at Dig­i­tal Com­mon­wealth, cour­tesy of Boston Pub­lic Library, who scanned their Esch­er col­lec­tion and made it avail­able to the pub­lic. Zoom into the fine details of prints like Inside Saint Peter’s, fur­ther up—a fine­ly ren­dered but oth­er­wise not-espe­cial­ly-Esch­er-like work—and the labyrinthine Ascend­ing and Descend­ing at the top. Whether—as Har­vard Library cura­tor John Over­holt con­fess­es—you’re a “nerd who loves M.C. Esch­er” for his math­e­mat­i­cal mind, an artist with a mys­ti­cal bent who loves him for his hal­lu­ci­na­to­ry qual­i­ties, or some mea­sure of both, you’ll find exact­ly the Esch­er you’re look­ing for in this dig­i­tal gallery.

via Kot­tke/John Over­holt

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Enter an Online Inter­ac­tive Doc­u­men­tary on M.C. Escher’s Art & Life, Nar­rat­ed By Peter Green­away

M.C. Esch­er Cov­er Art for Great Books by Ita­lo Calvi­no, George Orwell & Jorge Luis Borges

Watch M.C. Esch­er Make His Final Artis­tic Cre­ation in the 1971 Doc­u­men­tary Adven­tures in Per­cep­tion

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

You Could Soon Be Able to Text with 2,000 Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphs

Grow­ing up, I had a box set of Egypt­ian hiero­glyph­ic stamps from the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art. For a few weeks I used it to write cod­ed let­ters to a friend, pos­sessed of the same box set, who lived else­where in the neigh­bor­hood. Today’s smart­phone-tot­ing kids, of course, pre­fer text mes­sag­ing, a medi­um which to date has offered lit­tle in the way of hiero­glyph­ics, espe­cial­ly com­pared to the vast and ever-grow­ing qua­si-logo­graph­ic library of emo­ji, all of them approved by the offi­cial emo­ji sub­com­mit­tee of the Uni­code Con­sor­tium. But Uni­code itself, the indus­try-stan­dard sys­tem for dig­i­tal­ly encod­ing, rep­re­sent­ing, and han­dling text in the var­i­ous writ­ing sys­tems of the world, may soon expand to include more than 2,000 hiero­glyph­ics.

“Between 750 and 1,000 Hiero­glyphs were used by Egypt­ian authors dur­ing the peri­ods of the Old, Mid­dle, and then New King­dom (2687 BCE–1081 BCE),” writes Hyper­al­ler­gic’s Sarah E. Bond. “That num­ber lat­er great­ly increased dur­ing the Gre­co-Roman peri­od, like­ly to around 7,000.”

Dur­ing that time under Alexan­der the Great, the Ptolemies, and the Roman Empire, “the lan­guage grew, changed, and diver­si­fied over the course of thou­sands of years, a fact which can now be reflect­ed through its dig­i­tal encod­ing. Although Egypt­ian Hiero­glyphs have been defined with­in Uni­code since ver­sion 5.2, released in 2009, the glyphs were high­ly lim­it­ed in num­ber and did not stretch into the Gre­co-Roman peri­od.”

That sit­u­a­tion could great­ly improve if the Uni­code Con­sor­tium approves its revised draft of stan­dards for encod­ing Egypt­ian Hiero­glyphs cur­rent­ly on the table, a scroll through which reveals how much more of the visu­al (not to men­tion seman­tic) rich­ness of this ancient writ­ing sys­tem that could soon come avail­able to any­one with a dig­i­tal device. Its rich vari­ety of tools, ani­mals, icons (in both the old and mod­ern sens­es), humans, and ele­ments of human anato­my could do much for the Egyp­tol­o­gists of the world need­ing to effi­cient­ly send the con­tent of the texts they study to one anoth­er. And though I recall get­ting plen­ty com­mu­ni­cat­ed with those 24 rub­ber stamps, who dares pre­dict to what use those tex­ting kids will put these thou­sands of dig­i­tal hiero­glyph­ics when they get them at their fin­ger­tips?

via Hyper­al­ler­gic

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How the Egypt­ian Pyra­mids Were Built: A New The­o­ry in 3D Ani­ma­tion

Try the Old­est Known Recipe For Tooth­paste: From Ancient Egypt, Cir­ca the 4th Cen­tu­ry BC

The Turin Erot­ic Papyrus: The Old­est Known Depic­tion of Human Sex­u­al­i­ty (Cir­ca 1150 B.C.E.)

The Met Dig­i­tal­ly Restores the Col­ors of an Ancient Egypt­ian Tem­ple, Using Pro­jec­tion Map­ping Tech­nol­o­gy

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

A New Scientific Study Supports Putting Two Spaces After a Period … and a Punctuation War Ensues

Pho­to via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

In for­mer ages, wars erupt­ed over the fin­er points of reli­gious doc­trine, a his­tor­i­cal phe­nom­e­non that can seem per­plex­ing to mod­ern sec­u­lar­ists. We’re past such things, we think. But then let some­one bring up the Oxford com­ma or the num­ber of spaces one should put after a peri­od, and you may see writ­ers, edi­tors, and teach­ers pick sides and maybe come to blows in their defense of seem­ing­ly triv­ial gram­mat­i­cal and typo­graph­i­cal stan­dards. These debates approach the vehe­mence of Medieval argu­ments over tran­sub­stan­ti­a­tion.

I exag­ger­ate, but maybe only slight­ly. There have been times, I con­fess, when I’ve felt I would fight for the ser­i­al com­ma. I grind my teeth and feel a rush of rage when I see two spaces instead of one after the end of sen­tences. Irra­tional, per­haps, but such is the human devo­tion to ortho­doxy in the details. And so, when Skid­more Col­lege researchers Rebec­ca John­son, Becky Bui, and Lind­say Schmitt pub­lished a paper last month in Atten­tion, Per­cep­tion, & Psy­chophysics claim­ing sci­en­tif­ic sup­port for a two-space peri­od, they vir­tu­al­ly lobbed a bomb into offices every­where.

Angela Chen at The Verge par­ried with an arti­cle call­ing two spaces a “hor­ri­ble habit.” The prac­tice “remains bad,” she writes, “it’s ugly, it doesn’t help when it comes to what mat­ters most (read­ing com­pre­hen­sion), and the exper­i­ment that sup­ports its ben­e­fits uses an out­dat­ed font style.” (Don’t get me start­ed on the font wars.) What was the exper­i­ment? The paper itself hides behind a redoubtable pay­wall, but Ars Tech­ni­ca’s Sean Gal­lagher gets to the gist of the study on a cohort of 60 Skid­more stu­dents.

Hav­ing iden­ti­fied sub­jects’ pro­cliv­i­ties, the researchers then gave them 21 para­graphs to read (includ­ing one prac­tice para­graph) on a com­put­er screen and tracked their eye move­ment as they read using an Eye­link 1000 video-based eye track­ing sys­tem. “Chin and fore­head rests were used to min­i­mize the read­er’s head move­ments,” the Skid­more researchers wrote in their paper.

After the track­ing, the researchers “eval­u­at­ed the read­ing speed for each of the para­graph types pre­sent­ed in words per minute.… [they] found that two spaces at the end of a peri­od slight­ly improved the pro­cess­ing of text dur­ing read­ing.” The study’s attempt to quan­ti­fy the ben­e­fits of two spaces came after the Amer­i­can Psy­cho­log­i­cal Asso­ci­a­tion Man­u­al’s most recent edi­tion, which, for some rea­son, has changed camps to two spaces.

Gal­lagher explains the space debate as stem­ming from the major tech­no­log­i­cal shift in word pro­cess­ing: “For any­one who learned their key­board­ing skills on a type­writer rather than a com­put­er… the dou­ble-space after the peri­od is a deeply ingrained truth.” Speak­ing as such a per­son, it isn’t, but he’s right to note that typ­ing teach­ers insist­ed on two spaces. Such was the stan­dard until com­put­ers with vari­able-width fonts ful­ly phased out type­writ­ers.

So the Skid­more researchers raised the ire of Chen and oth­ers with their use of Couri­er New, a “fixed-width font that resem­bles type­writ­ten text—used by hard­ly any­one for doc­u­ments.” The blog Prac­ti­cal Typog­ra­phy ana­lyzed the two space paper and remains unim­pressed: “In sum—a small dif­fer­ence, lim­it­ed to a cer­tain cat­e­go­ry of test sub­jects, with numer­ous caveats attached. Not much to see here, I’m afraid.” (This descrip­tion might accu­rate­ly describe thou­sands of pub­lished stud­ies.)

This war will rage on—the study fuel­ing these recent skir­mish­es does not seem to jus­ti­fy two-spac­ers claim­ing vic­to­ry. And any­way, good luck get­ting the rest of us to aban­don faith in the one true space.

via The Verge

Relat­ed Con­tent:

His­tor­i­cal Plaque Memo­ri­al­izes the Time Jack Ker­ouac & William S. Bur­roughs Came to Blows Over the Oxford Com­ma (Or Not)

Cor­mac McCarthy’s Three Punc­tu­a­tion Rules, and How They All Go Back to James Joyce

Theodor Adorno’s Phi­los­o­phy of Punc­tu­a­tion

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

On Its 25th Anniversary, Hear Liz Phair’s Groundbreaking Exile in Guyville Juxtaposed Song-By-Song With the Album That Inspired It, the Rolling Stones’ Exile on Main Street

Images via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons. Liz Phair left, Mick Jag­ger right

In 1971, post-Alta­mont fias­co, the Rolling Stones went into exile… not on some dusty small town drag, but on the French Riv­iera, where the band decamped for pur­pos­es of tax eva­sion and began record­ing in Kei­th Richards’ rent­ed vil­la near Nice. Every­one knows what hap­pened next—a slop­py, soupy, ragged, glo­ri­ous hash of coun­try, blues, and coun­try-blues, fil­tered through a haze of booze and hero­in and the Stones’ devo­tion to rock and roll as macho endurance exer­cise: Exile on Main Street.

The album, with its cov­er col­lage of Amer­i­cana grotes­querie and kitsch, may have “killed the Rolling Stones,” Jack Hamil­ton argues at The Atlantic, but it launched a thou­sand imi­ta­tors in the ensu­ing decades, a thou­sand would-be Kei­th Richards get­ting strung out and mak­ing dirty, raunchy rock, “pitched per­fect­ly between earnest­ness and irony.” Four­teen years after the album’s release, dar­lings of trashy New York noise rock, Pussy Galore, cov­ered the album song-for-song. The effort “sounds like it was record­ed in the tank of a Low­er East Side toi­let,” writes Ran­dall Roberts.

Pussy Galore gui­tarist Neil Hager­ty sure­ly deserves the Richards mantle—taking sex, drugs, rock ’n’ roll, and lo-fi record­ing to absurd lengths with his lat­er project Roy­al Trux. But one of the ironies of the testos­terone-fueled Exile on Main Street’s influ­ence on these bands is that they fea­tured two of the tough­est women in under­ground music, Julie Cafritz and Jen­nifer Her­re­ma—women who labored obscure­ly in a “com­pli­cat­ed world of men with gui­tars,” as Alli­son Stew­art puts it at The Wash­ing­ton Post.

In 1993, Liz Phair stepped into this world with her career-defin­ing Exile in Guyville, “one of the sharpest, bold­est rock albums of its era, or any era,” which just hap­pens to be a song-for-song response to the Rolling Stones’ opus. Next to the Stones, the pro­duc­tion of Phair’s Exile sounds pristine—you can actu­al­ly make out the lyrics! Her explo­sive debut was a defi­ant con­ver­sa­tion, “clear­ly in a tus­sle with the sort of male-dom­i­nat­ed music scene,” she tells The New York Times.

Using the Rolling Stones’ “Exile on Main St” was sort of like using their avatar. I thought that was the quin­tes­sen­tial guy rock band, you know? So I sub­sti­tut­ed in my head the char­ac­ters from “Exile” with the char­ac­ters I knew from around the neigh­bor­hood. Sort of talk­ing to them vis-à-vis the con­ver­sa­tion I was hav­ing with the Rolling Stones.

The exer­cise began with Phair tak­ing Exile on Main Street as a text­book, of a sort: “I was a visu­al arts major and I con­coct­ed the idea that I need­ed a template—learn from the greats,” she tells Rolling Stone. After her then-boyfriend sar­cas­ti­cal­ly told her, “you should total­ly do that,” she became intent on meet­ing the chal­lenge of writ­ing her own take on the album. But Guyville was about much more than the Stones, who pro­vide an arma­ture for her explo­rations of “a mil­lion Guyvilles,” as she tells Stew­art.

“It’s in the stu­dios, where you try to get movies made and cast. It’s any­one being white-priv­i­leged, being what­ev­er it is that gives you invis­i­ble safe­ty or invis­i­ble ben­e­fits. ‘Guyville’ could be a catch­phrase for any obliv­i­ous com­mu­ni­ty that has no idea that they’re shov­ing peo­ple to the side.” Twen­ty-five years after the album’s debut, Phair’s com­men­tary seems as tren­chant as it was then, when she found her­self one of a select few women in an indus­try dom­i­nat­ed by a lot of sleazy guys: “The mar­ket forces… were gross. It was like, ‘Look hot­ter! Get more naked!’ Like as if it was a Jell‑O wrestling con­test.”

The major dif­fer­ence now, she says, is that women have a sig­nif­i­cant pres­ence in every genre: “I feel like every day on Twit­ter I find some new female band I’m inter­est­ed in, and I can have my entire music diet be female song­writ­ers and musi­cians.” Though she was then and now a reluc­tant “fem­i­nist spokesmod­el,” Phair deserves ample cred­it for help­ing to break open the music industry’s Guyville, by tak­ing on one of its most sacred objects. Exile in Guyville was re-released in a box set this month by Mata­dor. In the playlist above, you can hear the con­ver­sa­tion in full, with each song on Exile on Main Street fol­lowed by Phair’s Exile in Guyville rejoin­der.

As you lis­ten, be sure to read her inter­view at Rolling Stone, where she explains how she trans­lat­ed the ear­ly 70s clas­sic into an ear­ly 90s idiom. She also tells the sto­ry of meet­ing Mick Jag­ger, who, she says, gave her a belit­tling look that said, “Yeah, all right, I’ll let you off the hook this time for com­plete­ly mak­ing a name for your­self off our name, but don’t think I don’t know.” Her response: “I wasn’t mad. He’s Mick!”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Chrissie Hynde’s 10 Pieces of Advice for “Chick Rock­ers” (1994)

Hear the 150 Great­est Albums by Women: NPR Cre­ates a New Canon of Albums That Puts Women at the Cen­ter of Music His­to­ry

Four Female Punk Bands That Changed Women’s Role in Rock

Hear Demos of Kei­th Richards Singing Lead Vocals on Rolling Stones Clas­sics: “Gimme Shel­ter,” “Wild Hors­es” & More

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

The Cutting-Edge Science That Can Turn Everyday Objects, Like a Bag of Chips, Into a Listening Device

For decades we’ve laughed at the per­sis­tent movie and tele­vi­sion cliche of “image enhance,” where­by char­ac­ters — usu­al­ly detec­tives of one kind or anoth­er in pur­suit of a yet-unknown vil­lain — dis­cov­er just the clue they need by way of tech­no­log­i­cal mag­ic that some­how increas­es the amount of detail in a piece of found footage. But now, of course, our age of rapid­ly improv­ing arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence has brought an algo­rithm for that. And not only can such tech­nolo­gies find visu­al data we nev­er thought an image con­tained, they can find son­ic data as well: recov­er­ing the sound, in oth­er words, “record­ed” in osten­si­bly silent video.

“When sound hits an object, it caus­es small vibra­tions of the object’s sur­face,” explains the abstract of “The Visu­al Micro­phone: Pas­sive Recov­ery of Sound from Video,” a paper by Abe Davis, Michael Rubin­stein, Neal Wad­hwa, Gau­tham Mysore, Fre­do Durand, and William T. Free­man. “We show how, using only high-speed video of the object, we can extract those minute vibra­tions and par­tial­ly recov­er the sound that pro­duced them, allow­ing us to turn every­day objects — a glass of water, a pot­ted plant, a box of tis­sues, or a bag of chips — into visu­al micro­phones.” Or a lis­ten­ing device. You can see, and more impres­sive­ly hear, this process in action in the video at the top of the post.

The video just above mag­ni­fies the sound-caused motion of a bag of chips, to give us a sense of what their algo­rithm has to work with when it infers the sound present in the bag’s envi­ron­ment. In a way this all holds up to com­mon sense, giv­en that sound, as we all learn, comes from waves that make oth­er things vibrate, be they our eardrums, our speak­ers — or, as this research reveals, pret­ty much every­thing else as well. Though the bag of chips turned out to work quite well as a record­ing medi­um, some of their oth­er test sub­jects, includ­ing a brick cho­sen specif­i­cal­ly for its lack of sound-cap­tur­ing poten­tial, also did bet­ter than expect­ed.

The hid­den infor­ma­tion poten­tial­ly recov­er­able from video hard­ly stops there, as sug­gest­ed by Rubin­stein’s TED Talk just above. “Of course, sur­veil­lance is the first appli­ca­tion that comes to mind,” he says, to slight­ly ner­vous laugh­ter from the crowd. But “maybe in the future we’ll be able to use it, for exam­ple, to recov­er sound across space, because sound can’t trav­el in space, but light can.” Just one of many sci­en­tif­i­cal­ly noble pos­si­bil­i­ties, for which watch­ing what we say next time we open up a bag of Dori­tos would be, per­haps, a small price to pay.

via Kot­tke

Relat­ed Con­tent:

What Does Sound Look Like?: The Audi­ble Ren­dered Vis­i­ble Through Clever Tech­nol­o­gy

The Geom­e­try of Sound Waves Visu­al­ized

Hear What Music Sounds Like When It’s Cre­at­ed by Syn­the­siz­ers Made with Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence

Radiooooo: Dis­cov­er the Musi­cal Time Machine That Lets You Hear What Played on the Radio in Dif­fer­ent Times & Places

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Zora Neal Hurston Wrote a Book About Cudjo Lewis, the Last Survivor of the Atlantic Slave Trade, and It’s Finally Getting Published 87 Years Later

There are too many things peo­ple don’t know about Zora Neale Hurston, renowned pri­mar­i­ly for her nov­el Their Eyes Were Watch­ing God. That’s not to slight the nov­el or its sig­nif­i­cant influ­ence on lat­er writ­ers like Toni Mor­ri­son and Maya Angelou, but to say that Hurston’s schol­ar­ly work deserves equal atten­tion. A stu­dent of famed anthro­pol­o­gist Franz Boas while at Barnard Col­lege, Hurston became “the first African Amer­i­can to chron­i­cle folk­lore and voodoo,” notes the Asso­ci­a­tion for Fem­i­nist Anthro­pol­o­gy. Before turn­ing to fic­tion, she trav­eled the Caribbean and the Amer­i­can South, col­lect­ing sto­ries, his­to­ries, and songs and pub­lish­ing them in the col­lec­tions Mules and Men and Tell My Horse.

Hurston’s work in ethnog­ra­phy informed her fic­tion and opened up the field to oth­er African Amer­i­can schol­ars. It also pro­duced one of the most impor­tant works of Amer­i­can non­fic­tion in the 20th cen­tu­ry, a book that, until now, sat in man­u­script form at Howard University’s library, where only aca­d­e­mics could access it. Bar­ra­coon: The Sto­ry of the Last “Black Car­go” tells the sto­ry of Cud­jo Lewis (1840–1935), the last known sur­vivor of the Atlantic slave trade, in his own words. Hurston met Lewis—born Olu­ale Kos­so­la in what is today the coun­try of Benin—in 1927. She con­duct­ed three months of inter­views and pub­lished a study, “Cudjo’s Own Sto­ry of the Last African Slaver,” that same year.

But when she tried to pub­lish the inter­views as a book in 1931, she was told she had to change Lewis’ lan­guage. “For at least two pub­lish­ing hous­es,” writes Mea­gan Fly­nn, “Lewis’s heav­i­ly accent­ed dialect was seen as too dif­fi­cult to read.” Hurston refused. Now, the book has final­ly been pub­lished by Harper­Collins, with Lewis’s speech intact as Hurston record­ed it. Harper­Collins edi­tor Deb­o­rah Plant tells NPR, “We’re talk­ing about a lan­guage that he had to fash­ion for him­self in order to nego­ti­ate this new ter­rain he found him­self in.”

As pub­lished excerpts of the book show, his speech is not hard to under­stand. He describes the kind of bewil­der­ment all enslaved Africans must have felt after arriv­ing on alien shores and forced to toil day in and day out under threat of whip­ping or worse: “We doan know why we be bring ’way from our coun­try to work lak dis,” he says, “Every­body lookee at us strange. We want to talk wid de udder col­ored folk­ses but dey doan know whut we say.”

Lewis tells the sto­ry of his cap­ture by the King of Dahomey, whose war­riors raid­ed his vil­lage of Takkoi and sold the cap­tives to Amer­i­can Cap­tain William Fos­ter, oper­at­ing an ille­gal oper­a­tion (the slave trade had been out­lawed for almost 60 years). Forced aboard the ship Clotil­da with over 100 oth­er African men and women, Lewis was trans­port­ed to Mobile, Alaba­ma and sold to a busi­ness­man named Tim­o­thy Mea­her. “Cud­jo and his fel­low cap­tives were forced to work on Meaher’s mill and ship­yard,” Gabe Pao­let­ti writes at All That’s Inter­est­ing. “As a slave, he start­ed to go by the name ‘Cud­jo,’ a day-named giv­en to boys born on a Mon­day, as Mea­her could not pro­nounce the name ‘Kos­so­la.’”

Deb­o­rah Plant sees the rejec­tion of Hurston’s book in the 30s as akin to Lewis’s loss of his name, coun­try, and cul­ture. “Embed­ded in his lan­guage is every­thing of his his­to­ry,” she says. “To deny him his lan­guage is to deny his his­to­ry, to deny his expe­ri­ence, which is ulti­mate­ly to deny him peri­od, to deny what hap­pened to him.”

87 years after the book’s writ­ing, Lewis’s sto­ry offers a time­ly reminder of the his­to­ry of slav­ery. The book arrives just after the dis­cov­ery of what his­to­ri­ans and archae­ol­o­gists believe to be the wreck of the Clotil­da, a ves­sel owned and oper­at­ed, says AL.com reporter Ben Raines in the video above, by two already wealthy men who smug­gled slaves to prove that they could get away with it, then burned the evi­dence, the ship, to escape detec­tion.

When police arrived at Meaher’s prop­er­ty to charge him with ille­gal­ly smug­gling enslaved peo­ple, he “had hid­den away the cap­tives,” writes Pao­let­ti, “and had erased all trace of them hav­ing been there.” Thanks to Hurston, we have an invalu­able first­hand account of what it was like for one West African man who not only endured war and cap­ture at the hands of a rival tribe, but also sale at a slave mar­ket, the mid­dle pas­sage across the Atlantic, and forced labor in the deep South—and who lived through the Civ­il War, Eman­ci­pa­tion, Recon­struc­tion and well into the ear­ly 20th Cen­tu­ry.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Zora Neale Hurston Sing Tra­di­tion­al Amer­i­can Folk Song “Mule on the Mount” (1939)

Actors from The Wire Star in a Short Film Adap­ta­tion of Zora Neale Hurston’s “The Gild­ed Six-Bits” (2001)

Mas­sive New Data­base Will Final­ly Allow Us to Iden­ti­fy Enslaved Peo­ples and Their Descen­dants in the Amer­i­c­as

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

An Interactive Map Shows Just How Many Roads Actually Lead to Rome

…he went away, and pass­ing through what was called the house of Tiberius, went down into the forum, to where a gild­ed col­umn stood, at which all the roads that inter­sect Italy ter­mi­nate.”

- Plutarch, Life of Gal­ba (XXIV.4)

No one can give you exact direc­tions to Mil­liar­i­um Aureum (aka the Gold­en Mile­stone). Just a few carved mar­ble frag­ments of the gild­ed column’s base remain in the Roman Forum, where its orig­i­nal loca­tion is some­what dif­fi­cult to pin­point.

But as the image above, from inter­ac­tive map Roads to Rome, shows (view it here), the mot­to Emper­or Cae­sar Augus­tus’ mighty mile mark­er inspired still holds true.

All roads lead to Rome.

To illus­trate, design­ers Benedikt Groß and Philipp Schmitt worked with dig­i­tal geo­g­ra­ph­er Raphael Reimann to select 486,713 start­ing points on a 26,503,452 km² grid of Europe.

From there, they cre­at­ed an algo­rithm to cal­cu­late the best route from each point to Rome.

(It beats typ­ing a street address into Google Maps 486,713 times.)

From afar, the result­ing map looks like a del­i­cate piece of sea let­tuce or an ear­ly explo­ration in neu­roanato­my.

Zoom in as tight as you can and things become more tra­di­tion­al­ly car­to­graph­ic in appear­ance, names and spa­tial rela­tions of cities assert­ing them­selves. A bold line indi­cates a busy route.

In a nod to map lovers out­side of Europe, the mobil­i­ty-obsessed team came up with anoth­er map, this one geared to state­side users.

Do you know which of the Unit­ed States’ nine Romes you are clos­est to?

Now you do, from 312,719 dis­tinct start­ing points.

To help them in their labor, the cre­ative team made good use of the Graph­Hop­per route opti­miza­tion tool and the Open Street Map wiki. In their own esti­ma­tion, the project’s out­come is “some­where between infor­ma­tion visu­al­iza­tion and data art, unveil­ing mobil­i­ty on a very large scale.”

Buy a poster of the All Roads Lead to Rome map here. Or view the inter­ac­tive map here.

via Arch Dai­ly

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Lon­don Time Machine: Inter­ac­tive Map Lets You Com­pare Mod­ern Lon­don, to the Lon­don Short­ly After the Great Fire of 1666

Watch the His­to­ry of the World Unfold on an Ani­mat­ed Map: From 200,000 BCE to Today

An Inter­ac­tive Map of Every Record Shop in the World

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join her in NYC on Wednes­day, May 16 for anoth­er month­ly install­ment of her book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

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Open Culture was founded by Dan Colman.