Thursday, January 04, 2018

My mama told me never trust a space engineer

My recent space girl dance research led me to this cruisy number by The Imagined Village. (Lyrics underneath).

Space Girl

My mama told me I should never venture into space
But I did, I did, I did
She said no terran girl could trust the martian race
But I did, I did, I did

A rocket pilot asked me on a voyage to go
And I was so romantic, and I couldn't say no
That he was just a servo robot how was I to know?
So I did, I did, I did

She told me never venture out among the asteroids
But I did, I did, I did
And she said that the Milky Way was something to avoid
So I did, I did, I did
She said that Venus was too hot and Saturn not much fun
And bug-eyed monsters tended to be just a trifle dumb
She said I'd need a blaster and I'd need a freezer gun
And I did, I did, I did

My mama told me never trust a space engineer
And yes, I did, I did, I did
She said freefall and superdrive would surely cost me dear
And yes, they did, they did, they did
I've been as far in hyperspace as anybody can
I've travelled through the time warp in the Psycho Plan
They say a gal must travel for to find her superman
And yes, I did, I did, I did
And yes, I did, I did, I did
Oh, I did, I did, I did

Tuesday, January 02, 2018

Space girl dance

Marko Lulic is a Viennese artist who created a three minute video called Space-Girl Dance, which was exhibited at the Sydney Biennale in 2014. I wish I had been there to see it!

Image: Marco Lulic and Gabriele Senn Galerie, Vienna

Sadly, the dance did not take place on Cockatoo Island (where it was screened). It was filmed in the garden of German sculptor Eric Hauser. The garden contains spacey stainless steel sculptures, which form the setting for the dance.

Image: Marco Lulic and Gabriele Senn Galerie, Vienna

The dance and video were inspired by a segment in the 1970 US television series Raquel!, starring Raquel Welch. The background for Raquel's Space-Girl Dance was a set of sculptures commissioned to commemorate the 1968 Mexican Olympic Games, called the Ruta de la Amistad (Friendship Road). Now, many of the sculptures have been vandalised and are in poor condition.

Here is one of the spacey sculptures on the Ruta de la Amistad.

Image from

According to the Biennale notes, Lulic was interested in the relationship between the copy and the original, but also
the relation of the body to space, movement to stillness, human to monumental, and the man-made to the natural world.

I feel a Dr Space Junk Dance coming on.

Thursday, December 28, 2017

Space haiku: afternoon constellation

Afternoon constellation
Data from space
Drowns in my teacup

Illustration by Dr Space Junk


I was challenged to write a haiku about space on Twitter, by @spacejake_, - and no inspiration came. Some days later I was sitting in the 4th South Australian Space Forum, and a speaker mentioned the afternoon constellation of satellites. A couple of minutes later he said something about data from space, and the first two lines of this poem fell into my head.

Afternoon constellation made me think of afternoon tea, sitting at a kitchen table with a cup of tea and the afternoon light falling through the windows. I imagined satellite signals falling unperceived with them, the data lost in milky tea. Signals are no good unless you're listening for them, with the right instrument.

It's probably not a technical haiku, just short lines evoking that form, but close enough is good enough as far as I'm concerned.

I drew a picture to go with it because that's what I think my space poetry hero, @tychogirl, would have done.

Monday, December 04, 2017

The right stuff: how archaeologists come to be.

Am I an archaeologist because I'm interested in the stuff? Or am I interested in the stuff because I'm an archaeologist? Which came first?

Some time ago, I was talking with the erudite Dr Duncan Wright about how common it was for archaeologists to have been collectors as children. I collected fairly ordinary things - shells, stamps, feathers, and tram tickets, and had hoards of apricot stones stashed in hollows of trees. Nothing more exotic than that. Today, I have a possibly unhealthy interest in lids, pencil cases, tiny spoons, and the fairies-on-sticks that you buy at agricultural and horticultural shows. (There's a whole cabinet at the Pitt Rivers Museum full of tiny tiny spoons for removing ear wax! Oh the splendour! And there is nothing more satisfying than a well-fitting lid, not a screw-top like on a jar, but a tea pot lid, for example). Healthier collecting interests are space things (obviously), icons, fans, gloves and hats, 1960s tea cups and other ceramics, and stone tools. (This feels a bit confessional. Don't judge me).

The tactile and aesthetic qualities of things are important. I think I like tiny spoons because of the scale; perhaps this a child's interest in the miniature. Gaston Bachelard has a whole chapter on the miniature in The Poetics of Space.

With the 1960s tea cups, it's the asymmetric ones that appeal; they seem subversive and space age-y.  And they are lovely to drink from too.

Fans and gloves are elegant (Dr Space Junk is all about elegance) and old-fashioned; but they are also bloody useful things to own in hot or cold weather, so I love that they can be both beautiful and functional. The mark of a perfect fan is how silent it is when you use it. 

Pencil cases partake of that too, and they are of course receptacles for treasured pencil stubs and beautiful pens that are a pleasure to write with. These days I store assorted USB sticks in my pencil case as well.

So perhaps I was interested in the stuff first.  Perhaps that's why I'm an archaeologist, apart from, as Heather Burke says, being nosy.

I guess what I'm getting at here is partially the difference between history and archaeology.  Would I be content to just read about places and things? I remember the experience of being at the Centre Spatial Guyanais at Kourou, and my delight and satisfaction at placing my palm flat on the surface of an Ariane 5 rocket booster, leaving an invisible hand print of bacteria and oils. The physicality of things, the materiality, does matter to me. I want to touch them. (The continual temptation of art galleries and museums).

In historical archaeology, one of the underlying principles is that the artefacts and places can tell the stories of people who get left out of histories, often the oppressed and poor. So it has a political dimension of giving forgotten people a voice through the material traces they leave behind. It's not just stuff any more; it's stuff that speaks.

Thursday, November 23, 2017

Space-themed money boxes

This charming photo of vintage Commercial Bank of Australia moneyboxes was sent to me by Stephen Muller. It's a little blurry but I still think they're awesome.

Sunday, November 19, 2017

Apollo 8: the shadow diaries

Mapping the shadows

Shadows on the Moon have many scientific implications, from temperature to the electrostatic properties of lunar dust. I'm more interested in the cultural and social aspects of lunar shadows, however, while noting that the lines are often blurred between these distinctions.

I've considered shadows as part of the fabric of the Apollo landing sites. In another post I looked at Apollo mission photographs in which the photographer is present only as a shadow. Here, I'm thinking about shadows cast by 'natural' features; light, perspective, and movement. 

This is a series of images taken by the Apollo 8 mission in 1968. (All these images are from the NASA archives). Apollo 8 was the first US human spaceflight mission to orbit the Moon. People usually remember this mission for the famous snap of Earthrise, claimed to be one of the most influential images of all time.

Over 20 hours, the Apollo 8 spacecraft with its three crew orbited the Moon 10 times. The aim was to map the lunar surface, supplementing data from the Lunar Orbiter in 1964. 

This wasn't all, though. The crew were scoping out possible future landing sites, and shadows were a factor. A little way into their sixth orbit, one of the astronauts says:
The sun angles that we see now from the first IP, second IP, and P 1 are just right, I think, for landing conditions. The shadows aren't too deep for you to get confused, but the land is - has texture to it, and there are enough shadows to make everything stand out.
Not too much shadow, but not too little either. So now let's look at the shadows as seen by Apollo 8.

A shadow sequence

I've chosen these images from different points in the magazine 17C roll to show how shadows change as the spacecraft flew over the surface from lunar day to lunar night. 

Figure 1: AS08-17-2813

The surface of the Moon is a bright mirror against the black of space (Figure 1).

Figure 2: AS08-17-2761

With a different camera angle, the brightness fills the entire screen. We can see even brighter white markings (Figure 2). If you didn't know this was the moon, it could almost be the surface of a stone tool under a Scanning Electron Microscope, the changes in colour representing incipient fractures too small for the naked eye to detect.

As the Apollo 8 spacecraft injected itself into lunar orbit and prepared to take the first photographs, the astronauts commented on the lack of shadows.

Figure 3: AS08-17-2704

The details start to be resolved. It's no longer a flat surface with markings or fissures; it's a raised surface where faint shadows give it depth and texture (Figure 3).

Here, we're moving away from the subsolar point where the sun is overhead. The angle of light does not produce shadows, much as on Earth.

Figure 4: AS08-17-2686

Now we see more detail, and gradations of shadows, as the Apollo craft heads towards the terminator. The craters look like footprints in deep sand interspersed with those of smaller animals and worms, such as you might see on the surface of a beach still wet from the retreating water of the tide. In fact, astronaut Jim Lovell compared the texture of the surface to greyish beach sand.

In each major depression there are two or three shades of shadow, with the deepest black on the left hand edge.

Figure 5: AS08-17-2674

The shadows are deeper and darker as Apollo 8 approaches the evening side of the Moon. They convey a sense of late afternoon with an oblique sun. At the base of the craters, the shadows are deep black and even a little sinister (Figure 5). There are surfaces on the Moon that are permanently shadowed, never exposed to sunlight.

Figure 6: AS08-17-2664

The proportion of light and dark is now starting to reverse. The shadows are taking over the craters, leaving a miniature new moon sliver of brightness on the right side (Figure 6). These are deep holes, perhaps the lair of a lunar worm waiting to propel itself towards the spacecraft with a snap and swallow it whole.

Figure 7: AS08-17-2660
It is night on the Moon and all lies in shadow. Only the rim of the craters catch residual sunlight - or is it Earthlight?

During the voyage, Bill Anders said 'There's not as much detail, of course, as in the sunlight, but you can see the - the large craters quite distinctly, and you can see the albedo contacts quite distinctly. And also, the - there's a good three-dimensional view of the rims of the large craters'.

In the debrief following their return Anders commented that 'night landing or landing on the moon in an earthshine condition would be acceptable from a visibility standpoint'.

Anders raised another interesting point in the official debrief:
I thought that the shadows were not nearly as black as there [sic] appeared to be in the simulations that I've seen on earth, particularly the Boeing simulation. We could even see the features that were on the shadowside of some rills and rims. So, although it's dark, it's not a complete black and white situation. 
Naturally I'm taken with the concept of the shadow simulation. These would have used images from the Lunar Orbiter, which was orbiting at a higher altitude. 

Shadow [moon] lander

So what's my point? These are so different to the shadows cast by the accoutrements of robotic and human landing missions on the Moon. All the ones I've shown here have a circular geometry, and they're mostly about 'bumps and holes', as one of the astronauts said (from the transcripts it's sometimes hard to tell who said what). There's a peculiar feature of these bumps and holes which is shared with microscope views: sometimes it's hard to tell which one it is. Depressions and hollows can look like hills and protruberances, and you have to 'get your eye in' to see them properly. It's a sort of optical illusion, I guess, but one in which the shadows are critical.

Most of the cultural shadows on the Moon are cast by objects resting on the surface rather than depressions into the surface (although there are some of those too). They're frequently angular or linear. More recently, the Lunar Reconnaissance Orbiter has used these shadows to identify features of the Apollo sites.

Shadows are a critical feature of the visual experience of the Moon, at least for the astronaut. I'm not sure whether we can see lunar shadows from the Earth with the naked eye, though. Light and dark areas are caused by the reflectance properties of different geologies (selenologies?), known as albedo features. I don't think we can see the movement of shadows as the light of the sun or the phases of the moon change. With a telescope, though, it's different. The elongation of shadows near the terminator can be seen and photographed. 

There's something about scale and distance here, and about technology and vision. I guess what I really want to say is that shadows aren't incidental to our experience of the Moon. They're signs that we can read, and translate into science, and into poetry too.


A patch of the Moon
flanked by shadows: trembling sense
we shouldn’t be here.

Image and poem by @tychogirl

Monday, October 16, 2017

A gallery of shadow astronauts Part 1

For the last few years, I have been playing with the idea of shadows as part of a site's fabric. It's not just about the hard materials. It's about the soft, the fleeting, the ephemeral, and the symbolic: about the interplay of darkness and light, presence and absence, loneliness and companionship.

Apollo 11. Shadow: Neil Armstrong. NASA

Apollo 12. Shadow unknown. NASA

Apollo 12. Shadow: Pete Conrad. NASA

Apollo 14. Body + shadow: Alan Shepard. Shadow: Edgar Mitchell. NASA

Apollo 14. Astronaut shadow unknown. NASA

Apollo 15. Shadows: Dave Scott and Jim Irwin. NASA
In these images, I'm interested in the astronaut who is not in the picture, whose presence is revealed by their shadow. It's also about the insubstantial shadow in relation to the hard and solid objects. In the image immediately above, it looks like the shadow of Jim Irwin is attempting to capture the solid stick-insect shape of the tripod with a shadow net. 

There's a pattern of elongated legs. The bodies are distorted, and also cyborg: in the shadow, flesh and camera meld into one amorphous shape.

The photos are silent, although we do have a beepy staticky soundtrack to them in our heads, implanted by the Apollo 11 television footage. Somehow the shadows accentuate the silence.

I particularly like Pete Conrad's shadow cast in the crater as he stands on the edge looking down. The angle of his body makes the shadow appear as if in profile, creeping silently along a shadow ridge to what end we cannot know. It has a dream-like quality.

We could say that of all the shadows, perhaps. Were they not caught in the photograph like a fly in amber, they would have vanished without trace in seconds, as evanescent as the dream on waking.