I took a picture of this June Bug (or Beetle, depending on what you may have learned its colloquial name as) where it was perched right outside my door at work.
Many of my students jerked back in disgust and fear (Ahh! A big bug! Kill it!) as they walked past it into class; I insisted on taking a picture to capture the iridiscent beauty of this beetle. They did not care that it was harmless–many said they would smash it if given half a chance.
I did not give them one.
While I was at work today, I was fortunate enough to take be able to take some pictures of the solar eclipse as it passed overhead.
Where I am located, it was only a partial eclipse. However, it was still amazing to witness and to take pictures of; knowing how rare they are, I had to take every advantage of this once in a lifetime opportunity.
These were freehand shot through wielder’s glass that one of my colleagues provided (hence the green tint to the eclipse), using a Nikon D610 with a 50mm 1.8 lens.
My great-grandfather died decades ago, before I was even out of high school. I was given one of his old Bibles, full of marginalia and notes, at his service. I negotiated with my cousins to keep a box that was filled with his old sermon and Bible study notes–one of those typical document or file size boxes you see in offices, closets, or garages.
Yet, for years, I have been stumped. Other than let them sit in my closet and move with me from apartment to apartment, I had absolutely no idea what to do with them.
I considered scanning all of them, but that would be a lot of time. And, quite frankly, people still wouldn’t take the time to read them, even in digital format.
I considered some kind of art collage, photo collage, or shadowbox as gifts for family members, but I couldn’t think of anything. Many in my family are artistic people that are well-versed in physical mediums; I am not. I am far more comfortable with digital mediums, like the photography I have posted about before.
Then, one day, I suddenly remembered a data visualization program called Gephi. The first time that I had seen it in action was a few years ago, when someone mapped out a web of all the influential thinkers on Wikipedia. I tracked it down, and I found a great explanation of how the data was found and used in a post by Brendan Griffen here.
So, I decided that I would use Gephi to map out the data in my great-grandfather’s notes.
I have a few goals with this project:
The general method that I follow is to analyze one set of notes for data points (called nodes), and record them in one spreadsheet. These include the following:
After that, I go back through the sermon and record how all of those nodes are connected in a second spreadsheet. If one OT reference is connected to two the supporting point, I record those connection. This is how the lines (called edges) in the web are formed.
I decided against recording chapter AND verse for the references, because it seemed there would have been a profusion of nodes with only one or two connections. Rather than have to manage granular detail of that sort, I opted for keeping them at the chapter level.
Sometimes, those connections may be to a passage or point from a previous set of notes, which is how the webs become interconnected.
It took me a few attempts before I achieved my first success. The failures came down to a technical problem, since the version of Numbers I have auto-adds highlighted heading sections in every new spreadsheet.
I solved this by exporting empty spreadsheets from the Gephi program and using those instead.
So, after analyzing just 3 sermon/study notes, I arrived at the web to the right.
The Gephi program can color code items that are most connected to each other. So in the image to the right, each of the 3 sets of sermon notes are a different color of the palette (which is completely customizable).
Additionally, one of the settings in Gephi will resize the nodes based on the number of connections that it has. With this project, that will often be the topics of each sermon, since they are connected to everything else from that sermon.
For this first data web, that would be the nodes for Virgin Birth, Jesus’ Birth, and Justification.
Yet, as you can see, some of the other circles are a medium size as well, like Miracles and Matthew 1.
Here you can see the next set of data, which only includes two more sermons.
It should be immediately obvious that the web of data has increased in complexity, which comes from just two more sets of notes.
Those notes, however, were a two-part series about Putting Away Sin and instead focusing on the peace of God, which is why it takes up most of the middle to bottom of the data web.
What is fascinating, to me at least, is that some of the larger nodes now, like Personal Savior and Bear world’s sins (please excuse the grammar error) were tiny in the previous data web. Yet, their connection to this new data has changed their relative importance, size, and location, as well as providing a link between the previous data sets and the new additions.
Ever since I read Jurassic Park as a teenager and learned about fractals in math classes, I have been fascinated by the repetition of patterns, how one small change in that pattern creates more and more differences, and the way that complexity can be shown visually.
I find that same fascination here. I keep wondering how the addition of new data will change the complexity of what is shown, rearrange and resize the nodes, and otherwise provide insight into my great-grandfather.
Again, the data web has evolved and changed as new data has been entered. There are more nodes now, and the connections have changed as well.
One of the aspects of the Gephi program that I mentioned earlier, but which can really be seen now is the color palette choices for the different clusters of data. This project had led to a small realization for me: data can be beautiful.
I mean, I always knew that photographs or light or sound was our brain interpreting data and stimuli around us.
I also always knew that data could be the behind-the-scenes framework for something creative and beautiful, like hexadecimal codes for colors, or the data that goes into a computer game’s god-rays or other lighting effects.
I had not, however, really thought about how data itself could be rendered beautiful.
The more data that I put into this, the more it looks like a map of the galaxies in the universe or a star-chart. In some ways, I guess it is. It is a map to the guiding thoughts (stars, if you will) of my great-grandfather’s faith and beliefs and thoughts.
In some ways, these are the make-up of the spiritual and mental and metaphysical universe that his mind occupied.
I have a few goals and thoughts moving forward from where I am now:
If you have any thoughts, comments, or tips, you can go to the contact tab on my blog or comment below. Thanks!
I recently saw some mallards. Slowly and successfully over the course of 15-20 minutes, I managed to move down the long side of the pool, ending up about 4-5 ft. from the mallards before they took wing.
It is amazing to me how, on a random afternoon during the short trek between car and door, you can encounter something beautiful and unexpected.
I grew up in the stores of REI. For those of you that have never heard of this company, it sells outdoor gear. Anything from camping tents to rock climbing gear to snowboards and everything in between, it is a great place for people that love the outdoors.
Even better than the constantly changing gear and member sales is that REI is a member owned co-op. You buy a lifetime membership, and forever after you are a member, which means that you begin to receive dividends each March and can access members-only sales. The dividends equal 10% of your purchases from the previous year. It is a system that encourages you to come back later and buy something else, find another reason to head outside.
Yet, one reason that I respect the company as a company is #OptOutside. Today, on Black Friday, America’s day to trample people to death and fight over consumerism, materialism, and cheap deals, REI did something different. They could have made a lot of money on sales today. Rather, they closed every single store, gave every single employee the day off, and encouraged millions of other people to celebrate Nature instead of the worst aspects of humanity and capitalism.
I find it easier to travel and head outdoors the weekend before Thanksgiving (and much cheaper), so I went to Yosemite last weekend. However, instead of shopping, I will be enjoying the company of family and friends today.
And I will be thankful for companies like REI that focus more on a life well-lived than on mere profits.
You can see my attempts at trying to describe the experience of being in Yosemite Valley for the first time here in my previous post. I can empathize with why people like Ansel Adams spent years photographing Yosemite.
Here is more photography from the trip:
This past weekend, I had the chance to visit the Yosemite Valley for the first time. I had never been there, not as far as I can remember (although I have heard stories about a family trip when I was very young).
Before the trip, I knew a lot of facts about the Yosemite Valley.
None of these things prepared me for actually being in Yosemite and walking the valley floor.
I have written and rewritten this post multiple times, each time trying to accurately describe the feelings and thoughts I had while there. The size of Yosemite beggars description, and elicits overwhelming feelings of awe, wonder, and humility. I have come to accept that I won’t be able to.
It is . . . beautiful. And magical. Not in the sense of Harry Potter, where I can wave a wand about and make things levitate. More in the sense of The Chronicles of Narnia–where you can instantly find yourself in a whole new world, separate from this one. It is really easy to forget about the outside world–politics, election results, poverty, suffering–it all disappears while inside Yosemite.
It is easy to hear the call, the same call Ansel Adams or John Muir must have felt. The call to leave “civilized” life and wander the mountains and forests, to admire the giant sequoias, the granite mountains, the high lonely places. The call to wander and contemplate Nature in her glory, to feel one with it, in all its beauty, majesty, and severity. Why does mankind ever think we can possible control Nature, to control this? I can’t think of any other response than awe and humility–awe that I can still be a part of Nature and be so close to its wonders, humility that I can see a herd of deer and a regal buck and stand so close to them and be such a part of nature.
And immense shame that my species would be so hellbent on trying to destroy these wonders.