wet paint and the visibility of process

I've been seeing "wet paint" signs all over the place lately. Just this morning on our way to class we passed a few men with rollers and brushes re-painting the fence around the high school. Chalked warnings all along that side of the walkway warned pedestrians about the paint, marking a distance between foot traffic and the work-in-progress. In Edinburgh, too, there were placards placed outside several storefronts. I failed to take any photographs of them, so all I can give you are brief descriptive sketches of plain sandwich boards propped up under glossy window grates or simple laminated sheets of paper zip-tied onto open window shutters, all declaring "wet paint" and implying "please don't touch or smudge or disturb this area."

In Cockburn Street there was a man on a ladder, with bucket and brush, putting in a few lines of bright pink detailing behind the words "Pie"and "Sky" above a shop door. He was not accompanied (when I saw him at least) by any printed "wet paint" notice. His presence (and the ladder's) was enough of a warning, and perhaps the height of his hand-painted sign would exempt it from the need of any other.

Perhaps it is the few days of sun we had that's prompted so much repainting? Or maybe this kind of small-scale maintenance goes on constantly, and it's anyone's guess what's prompted me to notice it. The wet paint signs are a subtle and temporary form of redirection/crowd control. I am noticing plenty of other methods, less subtle, but presumably almost as temporary, for reasons beyond paint--airport hallways halved by plywood enclosures, whole streets closed off and walkways blocked by aluminum fences or orange cones. During my time in Manchester, a sidewalk diversion over/around a new tramway construction site seemed to shift several feet every time we walked back that way. There were men in orange vests and hard hats milling about, posted signs instructing cyclists to dismount and take care, and make-shift ramps from the existing pavement to the level where all this work was being done. Having recently read and written about Shapin and Schaffer's Leviathan and the Air-pump: Hobbes, Boyle, and the Experimental Life, I started breaking all of these situations down using three technological categories: material (the fences, the ramps, ladder, paintbrush, the strewn-about tools), social (our training in walkways, the significance of orange vests and brawny workmen, our polite obedience to posted notices), and literary (the language and color of the posted signs themselves) tech.

Along with this, I thought about processes, and our tendencies to overlook them in favor of finishedness. We are often asked to overlook works in progress. Don't stop here--you might get paint on your sleeves. A tourist is not supposed to notice the unbuilt, unfinished sections of a city.

Well okay, a man on a ladder hand-painting a quaint pie-shop sign might add to the quaint ambiance of a place like old-town Edinburgh, but scaffolding around the grand, crumbly old castle will always be unsightly and unfortunate, right? We of course accept it as a necessary side-effect of preservation efforts and hope it'll all be finished and out of the way when we visit next time. It's a sort of trade-off.

If we are lucky, the construction scaffolding will be decorated with a pretty skin. This one (pictured above and below) around the National Library of Scotland caught my eye while we were in Edinburgh this week. Mixed in with the apologetic explanations for the building's state are little visual vignettes about the library's contents. It's a little bit advertising, a little bit educational, a little bit quirky entertainment, all sharing one lovely blue background.

The workmen probably didn't expect this tourist to be taking such intrusive photos of their worksite and its shell. This is not the main attraction; it's an underbelly, meant to stay as much behind the curtain as possible.

Are there material, social, and literary technologies mixed in here, as well? Sure. They are everywhere. Technical and professional writing (and yes, I count the doodles on this scaffold-cover as technical writing--don't you?) seem to combine them all in the most diverse ways whenever machines/tools/material tech + groups of audiences all need to work together using language and rhetoric.

Our class had the privilege of learning about and observing the work-in-progress of a new Forth road bridge, plus the interesting historical and technical details of the trio it will complete when it is finished. I was struck by both the grand, plodding pace of it all and by the deep, unpredictable necessity of engineering adaptations that have had to happen as part of the bridge-building process.

We didn't see any "wet paint" signs or their equivalent surrounding the new bridge site. We were specially invited into the education center to notice and bear witness to this set of spaces, despite their unfinishedness. There weren't any apologies for the state of things; rather, there was pride and confidence surrounding the project's huge arms and legs and lifespan. The histories and futures of the bridges were presented beautifully. 

Our role in such a space isn't like the role of the tourist confronted with a scaffold-wrapped monument. Our job is not to spend money and send postcards home anymore. I'm not sure what it is exactly. Not quite tourism, not quite school field trip, or something. Our invitation to the Firth of Forth this week did not come without conditions. We were invited so far, and no further. We were only allowed so much. In some ways the educational center and its staff managed our movements just like wet paint signs, aluminum fencing, and orange cones do with touristy foot traffic.

Who knows if this will become a theme for me or not, but I am very interested in where all these boundaries tend to fall and why. The lines (or do I want to call them grades or levels or spectrums instead?) between allowed and not-allowed, between unfinished and finished, between open-access and top-secret... how do they compare to the line between wet paint and dry paint?

Paris Maker Faire 2014: A Post-Industrial Journey

Update: For more pictures from the Paris Maker Faire, see my Flickr album
For videos, check out my YouTube playlist

Last weekend (June 21 and 22), I attended a Maker Faire in Paris as part of my thesis research on maker communities. Maker Faires are physical sites where makers--anyone who creates physical things--of all types come together to showcase what they have made, and to share technical knowledge with other makers and broader publics. These events emphasize learning how to make through play and other tangible interactions with tools, technologies, techniques, and people. Of course, learning through play can be challenging when the game is played in a language you don't understand.

As I discovered upon arrival, not quite everyone at the Maker Faire spoke English. I had been nervous about the potential language barrier (see tweet below), but had the privilege of assuming that most people would speak some English.

@jtsherri welcome on board ! Don't be nervous : we all speak english (why not use an arduino to de-code french ? #translate-hacking )
— Maker Faire Paris (@MakerFaireParis) April 25, 2014

While most of the makers who attended did make humbling efforts to accommodate my lack of spoken French literacy (for which I am extremely thankful), I was almost kicked out of the faire within 10 minutes of entering. Upon arrival, I had purchased a ticket as the Paris Maker Faire website had instructed, received my map of the faire, and was wished a good visit. Just after taking some pictures of the Make robot, a security guard started assertively directing me in French. I understood something about "no entrance... security" as he pointed toward my wrists. Meanwhile, I wondered "Wtf is going on?" I showed the guard my ticket, while pointing toward the table where I bought it only minutes before, fruitlessly trying to explain my situation in English. "No speak English" was the guard's response. He radioed something in French and shouted across the hall to another guard, trying to get the attention of someone in power who would understand my garbled nonsense. I continued holding up my ticket and pointing, as we repeated the same conversation, eventually walking down to the ticket table. Apparently, I had needed an all-important wristband to enable my physical access to the faire. Fortunately, it was as simple as showing my ticket and holding out my arm.

With my new blue wristband equipped, I strode past the guard, taking a moment to feel smug, and then I recognized that all the signs at the faire were in French. Unintimidated by my lack of written French literacy, I assumed the first maker I talked to might speak eloquent and effortless English. Not so much. We didn't make it past "bonjour." Next table, same process. By that point, I was feeling that my power-granting wristband wasn't so powerful afterall, and that maybe I had made a huge mistake by planning my entire day around an event where I couldn't even communicate. "Maybe I should leave. I'll take a walk around and see what's here, take a picture of everything, and then leave; go explore Paris, see the Eiffel Tower, maybe. I could take a bus if I leave now..."
"No. You came here for research, and that's what you're going to do. Enjoyable or not, you're here, John. And you're not giving up yet."
"Maybe I can just walk around and not talk to anybody for a while. That will be easier. That will feel safer. Maybe I got more out of the Cincinnati Mini Maker Faire than I will from this one."
"If it's challenging your spirits, and what you know, do it, even when it's hard. You came because you wanted this. It's a game, and you're new here. You're supposed to be bad at this for the first level. That's how research happens. Why are you feeling uncomfortable? What about this situation is making me feel this way?"

I decided to walk the faire for a while and see what caught my eye. I snapped a few photos, and then found a giant 3D printer printing chairs. The printer by Drawn was something I could understand easily, and sitting in a 3D printed chair was pretty cool. That alone gave me the confidence to roam around and explore a bit further.

While there were many exciting sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and textures at the Maker Faire, I quickly understood that within international maker communities, it's relatively easy to learn the mechanics behind a machine or the process behind making an object. For example, I successfully soldered a Make robot pin with LED eyes, despite having instructions written in French, a few notes in English, the ability to watch people around me, and no experience of soldering things together rather than de-soldering. Granted, it took me three tries to get it right, but I managed, and could explain the process to someone else. However, the nuances of the instructions were lost. The how and why explanations too. The same could be said for building almost anything.

In a post-industrial economy, in which a critical mass of makers have access to fundamental components and tools, nuances of how and why explanations behind designs become very important. For example, the primary distinction between trains in the U.K. and trains in the U.S.A. is not the technology of the train itself. Rail companies in countries around the world can purchase the same electric locomotive, the same rails, the same equipment and essential components. What separates them are the configurations of those components, as well as the fit of those configurations to different contexts. The trains here in Scotland run very quietly, and there is little difference in volume between riding in an open field or riding through a tunnel. In Chicago, on the other hand, the distinctively deafening roar of a train rushing through a tunnel is part of what defines that particular line. If one were to attempt the same configuration in Chicago, users might resist and find it ill-fitting. Thus, there is a significant rhetorical component to post-industrial configurations of technology.

And although there were many interesting things I learned from my journey to Paris, and some unforgettable experiences, the most surprising outcome was how visiting Paris and the Maker Faire changed my perspective on Dundee. What only a week ago seemed unfamiliar, with foreign accents and winding roads, now feels comforting; homely even, compared with Paris. Here, at least I can ask for a burger without wondering whether anyone will understand my request. The configurations of the systems may be different here than in the U.S., but I can communicate about both the components and the rationale behind the configurations.

Week Two: an Idea and a Theme

This week has slowly helped me to develop my study theme, so now that I’ve got a better handle on what I want to study it should be simpler to follow.

It’s already become apparent that without a car, walking has become much more important. My irritation with busses has led to a vague sense of preference for walking, at least for small trips. I walked just under five miles to pick up some cheap colored pencils the other day without any hesitation. On average, I’m walking an average of at least four miles a day, in addition to running.

That alone speaks to the casual emphasis on fitness here. In the States, everything is much more spread out, thus making it more difficult to walk from place to place. The hub of activity in the city isn’t surrounded by nearly as much urban sprawl as it is in the states, meaning that the city is more condensed and the countryside is emptier.

I’ve also noticed that public transportation isn’t looked at in the same way. It’s taken very frequently by students and businesspeople, as well as families going on outings. Not only is this true for Dundee, but also for Edinburgh. I’ve noticed that public transit in, say, Chicago, is fairly different and much more difficult to navigate. The ease of navigation and low cost here make it both affordable and simple. Well…as long as you don’t think about the exchange rate.

Monday I met up with the Tayside Running Sisters, a running group for women of all ages. To begin, they’re an incredible group of women. They were welcoming and friendly, even though I was new and could hardly remember who was who. I got to know a few of them on the run, and it was fantastic to be able to talk to a group of locals again. One of the women, at 70 years old, had just completed a marathon a few weeks previously and is going to be carrying the Queen’s Baton for the Commonwealth Games as it comes through Dundee (6/27/14).

On one of the women’s recommendation, I’m going to be doing a 5k Saturday at Camperdown Park. It’s a timed run, although not an official race. There are results that allow runners to compare their times to others in their age groups, meaning that I should be able to see where I land in comparison. Then again, I’m not a highly trained short distance runner, so it’s not going to be pretty. Regardless, I’m excited to get out and meet people again, and especially excited to be able to practice a race start and determine where I prefer to hang out at a start. The TM was good, but I stayed on the sides in order to avoid the worst of the mud at the start. If I’m seriously considering longer races this year, I should get the practice on shorter races. More updates on how it goes next week.

In addition to the more apparent presence of casual fitness I’ve seen in the city, there are also many examples that can be seen in the countryside. The accessibility of the land seems to make it much more appealing to go out for a long walk, and so I plan to investigate the when and why of hiking over the next few weeks.

Sitting and relaxing in the park or taking laps in the park has also proved to be useful. It’s possible to sit and watch people in the park without being observed, which means nobody changes their actions based on the fact that they’re being observed (I swear, it’s so much less creepy in real life). Exercise patterns are in evidence both in young and old people, although middle aged people definitely seem to be lacking. Younger people, who I would say are probably college aged or younger, are often playing sports, whereas older people are often walking.

So far, much of what I'm gathering is merely through comparative observation. We'll see where it leads.

Seeing Words Differently

One of the challenges of living in a post-industrial economy is that new industries and new configurations of ideas simultaneously merge with, and emerge from, existing systems of regulations and standards. While most new yearly vehicle models use standard sized metric or AES nuts and bolts, shifting away from fossil fuel toward electric vehicles also means moving away from a choice between regular, mid-grade, or premium gasoline, toward the charging speed of an electrical outlet. The impact of these shifts in perspective range from jarring to refreshing. For designers, as these shifts occur, it is important not only to consider what reactions users have, but to consider the choice of medium that leads to varying reactions (e.g. smelling a cookie vs. seeing or tasting one vs. seeing one on a sign). One way to draw our attention to medium is through traveling. To illustrate this concept, I will discuss several images that focus on linguistic differences and confusions between everyday American English and U.K. English as they relate to daily life as a graduate student in the U.S. and in the U.K.

The images I have chosen below, and the linguistic differences they highlight, stem from my interactions with Pakistani and Indian friends who have traveled to America. In particular, my closeness with one Pakistani individual has drawn my attention to small, everyday words that many might overlook or not pause to consider. Furthermore, this closeness has helped me understand some of the complex colonial baggage that often comes with intercultural (technical) communication, which may be easy to overlook from an American, white, male perspective. Though I do not claim to be an authority on colonialism by any means, these several images stood out to me because of their perceived concreteness as written, rather than spoken, words. Additionally, as a Michigander with a mid-western accent, I've noticed myself preferring to read, view, and write more than listening and speaking. One reason for my preference is a mutual difficulty in understanding accents between locals and myself. Another is the camera frequently hanging from my neck here in Scotland, pulling my attention more to visuals than to sounds, smells, etc. And perhaps I understand my encounters with words for everyday objects and tasks in the U.S. as oral because the visual has become too familiar, seemingly invisible. Keeping this consciousness in mind, one of the first linguistic differences I encountered in Scotland, after hearing many striking Scottish accents, was at the grocery store.

Before I even entered Morrison's, (the U.K. equivalent of Kroger, Glen's, etc.) I noticed the corral of grocery transportation devices. Aside from requiring a rental fee, the sign above the human-powered basket wagons read "trolleys" (unfortunately I didn't have my camera at the time to take a picture). I had known before leaving the U.S. that "carts" are called "trolleys," from being asked, "Can I put my cheese in your trolley?" Because Britain was a former colonizer of much of South Asia, my Pakistani and Indian friends also referred to carts as trolleys, and were very aware that this construction was British. Similarly, after visiting Verdant Works (a former jute mill) in Dundee, it was clear that Scotland had not escaped from the colonization process, but it was also clear that significant cultural exchange had happened.

Indian restaurants, stores, and shops are found all over Dundee. The one above is an interesting mix, however. Lahore is the capital of the Punjab province in Pakistan, a country that gained independence from India only within the last century. Consequently, it's odd to find an Indian restaurant claiming to be "Lahori," when it would seem logical to call it a Pakistani restaurant. And a look at their menu reveals an even more complicated situation. Where are the owners from? What histories does this restaurant have? I think the only way to research this is to go there, eat, and ask questions.

At another research site on the University of Abertay's campus, I noticed another tangible connection with my friends back home: the library. The sign above has nothing to do with a support group for avid readers. Rather, it is the U.K. equivalent of a book "checkout." Interestingly, there seems to be some leeway when it comes to renting a book from the library, as I noticed on a tour of Ninewells Hospital. During our tour, the guide referred to "checking out" books, though this may also have been because we were an American audience. This highlights one affordance of oral communication as well: signs are (generally) concrete, spoken words are (generally) flexible. But, both leave room for confusion, as the last image below illustrates.

When someone says, "I need to use the shank," most Americans would curl their faces in confusion. I did, the first few times I heard this phrase. "You need to what? Are we in prison? You're going to shank me?" Nope. Toilet.

While there are many more examples of colonially loaded terms appearing as linguistic differences, hopefully the images above have given you a small taste of the cultural complexity of even everyday sights in Scotland. In short, what I've taken from this experience so far is that not only should good technical communicators collaborate with users in participatory design processes. And not only should good technical communicators be attentive to cultural values and differences. But that good technical communicators should also interact with users from diverse subject positions (whether that position is based on gender, sexuality, race, age, ability, class, education, geographic location, etc.) in order to move beyond creating something that works, toward creating something that works on behalf of many users. Furthermore, communicating through multiple media may help draw attention to different aspects of a particular situation as well. While I first encountered linguistic differences orally, they were made more concrete by existing as tangible signs. Perhaps this speaks as well to the permanency we grant to written text and printed documents or painted signs that we don't give to spoken words, which is why I've written this post, but know that it becomes more valuable through conversation.