On Art & Science in Web Cartography

Question: Have the roles that art and science play in the creation of cartographic products shifted in recent years and over new media types?

In many ways, this is a silly debate that is predicated on a number of problematically subjective concepts. First among these concepts is a set of perceived definitions of broad terms. “Art”, for example, is a vague word, referring to anything from evil magic (Dark Arts) and military strategy (The Art of War) to food preparation (Culinary Arts) and walking while playing a saxophone (Marching Arts). “Science” is similarly difficult to pin down, and indeed can be taken to mean the same thing as “Art”. (OED definition I1 for Art: “Skill in doing something, esp. as the result of knowledge or practice.” OED definition 2b for Science: “Trained Skill.”) When considering pursuits in “computer science” and “web cartography” with respect to “art” and “science,” the definitions blur even more. After all, web cartography cannot exist without the science behind the web, right? And what on earth does “web cartography” really mean?

To clear up my opinions on this debate, I offer the following (admittedly idiosyncratic) definitions, each defined solely in the context of the field of cartography.

Art. The human element of cartographic production. Art enables the creation of maps with a personal, emotional, unique and (to varying degrees) unpredictable lens on the world. The implementation of art in cartographic production results directly in the subjective aesthetic appeal of the resulting image—and, by extension, the viewer’s impressions of the space it depicts. While artistic application in cartographic production may rely on some level of repetition or iteration, it does not blindly rely on templates or presets. “Artistic” maps may be influenced by “fine art” (which is increasingly conflated with and/or compressed into the technology-driven field of 20th century graphic design). Examples of maps that are likely to be influenced by art include one-off manuscript maps, cognitive and mental maps, psychogeographical maps, maps of emotional landscapes, &c.

Science. The mechanical element in cartographic production. Science enables the mass production of maps in all non-handmade media. Science in cartography refers to the technology behind the pen a cartographer uses, as well as his software, hardware and all of the formulas and algorithms that reside therein. Science drives the modern notion of “push-button cartography”. Humans cannot draw or walk in a straight line; the science in cartography “fixes” this (through simplification and generalization algorithms) and gives us the impression that we can and have walked routes straight as a (carbon-fiber) arrow. Examples of maps with high potential to be influenced by science include classed choropleth maps, maps based on remotely sensed data, maps of algorithmically interpolated data, &c.

Web Cartography. Any spatial representation existing on—and intended in some way for—the Web. The largest subset of maps which this definition excludes can be found in digital archives of analog maps, as they were not originally intended for the Web. Web cartography runs the gamut from custom and canned locator maps (and bizarre combinations thereof) to mapping platforms offered up by multi-billion dollar corporations and federal agency geoportals. While the concept of web cartography is often accompanied by images of animated and interactive maps, these are but a subset of all maps served up in this medium.

Spark. This debate (at least recently and insularly) was sparked by my somewhat pessimistic view of art and science as they relate to web cartography. I illustrated this view in a series of deliberately cryptic paper-bag style Venn diagrams, which I posted yesterday. My intention when creating these images was to offer a visual editorial on the way science (or, really, digital technology) has boxed out the ability for would-be cartographers to be truly artistic in the process of map-making for the web. The first diagram showed “hacks” overlapping with “science” and left “art” next to (but not overlapping) either; thus implying that “art” is still in the room, but slightly out of reach. To give this diagram a bit of context, I created another, where I showed the location of manuscript, print and web cartography on sets of two overlapping spheres of “art” and “science”. In this series, manuscript cartography resides near the center of “art” and on the edge of “science”; print cartography includes equal parts of “art” and “science”; and web cartography resides near the heart of “science” and on the edge of “art”. To clarify this standpoint for Venn-diagram-purists, I created a third version, where a circle of “cartography” is added to the mix.

After creating these diagrams and sorting through some much-appreciated feedback, I created yet another Venn diagram (above). In this version, it is not the influence of art or science on cartography that is changing; it is the natures of art, science and cartography that change from medium to medium. I have also removed the thick lines that bounded these three concepts, hinting at the lack of concrete definitions for each.

Before you dismiss this as a cop-out, consider the following: this entire debate is predicated on the assumption that cartography (in some form and at some time) was located at the intersection of art and science. But no matter what form or in what era, this assertion is problematic because there may be no such singular place. If it does exist, what does this intersection of art and science look like? Is it a fork in the road? Is there a blinking yellow light (White 2011)? To base a debate on a place and space that may or may not exist, and that is somewhat difficult to imagine (at least for me), makes the entire debate–if you’ll pardon the euphemism—pointlessly academic.

Opinion. I suggest that if we can agree that cartography existed at an intersection of art and science at some point, it may well still be “there” (or at least in the neighborhood). What has changed are the ways in which art and science are being employed in the creation of cartographic products. Therein lies the source of my frustration. As I mentioned in a reply to Daniel Huffman’s comments on the original Venn diagrams, it is clear that “artistic decisions” can be made quite easily while creating a map for the Web. (How much should I generalize this line? What colors should I use for this polygon? What typeface should I use for these water features?) But in other forms of cartography, the actions that follow these decisions are also artistic—hand v. algorithmic generalization, personal v. “brewed” color choices, hand-lettering v. selecting a preset font. In web cartography, the process is often complete when the initial decision is made.

Not to put too fine a point on it, in closing, I offer a final comparison. Imagine for a moment the analog art of painting a line. The paint colors are determined by the ingredients the artist mixed, the width of the line is relative to the artist’s brush and the amount of pressure exerted upon it, and the route the line takes is an artistic representation of a cognized concept of “line” (which, as mentioned above, will certainly not be perfectly straight). In the digital version of this scenario, the process of drawing a line has been distilled to a set of decisions based on software presets (digital brush, stroke weight, color, transparency, &c.), all accomplished with the click of a mouse. The choices made within these presets can certainly be “artistic”, but we have to admit that some of the “art” that was fundamental in the first scenario is unattainable in the second.

If the science behind the software we use makes these artistic choices possible, is the implementation of the choices more science than art? This is a difficult question to answer, and in the end, it may not be worth answering. Because ultimately, I believe that the intersections (as well as extent and influence) between of art, science and cartography are constantly changing. Perhaps the GeoWeb and new design tools will allow web cartography to move forward in increasingly artistic and personal ways. Or perhaps, we can bring more art back into the mix by refuting black-box, whizzbang tools and returning to manual techniques. Either way, I am not claiming that the art in cartography is “dead” (I’m not that inflammatory, nor do I believe it to be true). I am simply voicing my frustration with the amount of science masquerading as art in cartography.

Call. There it is, my opinion on the state of art in web cartography. And it is only that: an opinion. So, I call on anyone who happens to read this who has an opinion on the matter to write a response. If you have a blog, post it up. Or feel free to submit a comment to this post. Either way, I would love to hear from everyone who has thoughts on this. Heck, make your own Venn diagram or some other visualization.

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Written responses: Andy Woodruff, Daniel Huffman, Daniel Reynolds. (thanks, guys!)

Venn diagrammatic responses: Tom Auer, Rob Roth. (thanks, guys!)

Stay tuned: I have also received some interest from Zach Johnson and Rich Donohue. I will post up links to their responses as they roll in.

Further reading: Cartographic Perspectives 53, special issue on Art and Cartography.

A bit of context (some recent thoughts via Bostonography): Boston’s Sketchy Appeal, Boston’s Designed Locations

Blatant art in web cartography: Stamen, Fathom, mta.me, &c.

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Pushpins: What do(n’t) they mean?

Sketches from Original Pushpin Patent Application (1899)

A little background.

I’m in the process of preparing a short talk for next month’s NACIS.  That’s right, it’s about pushpins.  Love them or hate them, they are everywhere.  Physical pushpins hold maps, photos and to-do lists to cork boards everywhere.  Meanwhile, digital renderings of pushpins are out of control.  Their use as a Web 2.0 graphic is widespread and varied.  They seem to indicate just about anything (with particularly frequent use in the context of user-generated/driven content).  Wordpress uses the image of a pushpin as an icon for editing posts.  Google Chrome invokes a pushpin on a button that allows users to retain a specified page on their “most visited” list.  Most of us are also familiar with the pushpin symbols available to users of Google Maps and Google Earth.  The list goes on…

Wordpress Edit Post Icon

Chrome (pushpin top left)

Google Maps Pushpins

In the spirit of keeping this simple, I will concentrate on map pushpins here.  There has been increasing buzz about digital pushpins and pushpin maps over the last few years.  Many cartographers believe they are more or less terrible as point symbols.   “Map tacks”, “map pins” and “pushpins,” have all been dismissed as emotionally inappropriate. Pushpin cartography has taken on a connotation of rank amateurism.  The pushpin on a paper map generally indicates something specific (home, research location, storms, etc.).  These pushpins are also clearly separate from the maps on which they were placed.

Physical Pushpin Map

But digital pushpins often have no immediate deducible meaning.  If were are to consult some basic classifications in semiotics, as point symbols they are neither iconic (except when indicating the location of a pushpin) nor associative (except when indicating the location of… an office supply store?).

Digital Pushpin Map

Unless the pushpins are the only point symbol and their meaning is in the title or legend of the map, the map-reader will have some serious decoding to do.  If the clearest maps do not need a legend… if the idea behind a good icon or point symbol on a map is to make it intuitive and easy to read (to limit the need for translation), digital pushpins tend to fail.  But does this matter?  Are pushpins really about making beautiful maps or are they simply a tool for indicating the location of… well, anything?  Pushpins may fail as a readable graphic, but I would assert that they excel as a universally recognizable tool for mapping.  Who doesn’t know what to do with a pushpin and a map?

A little history.

We all understand – pushpins have been used for a long, long time on physical maps.  Some form of pin or tack has been around for longer than can likely be traced (at least here).  And for as long as there have been pins and tacks, it is fair to assume they could have been used to indicate points of interest on a map.  The earliest map at the Library of Congress that has a record of a pin being placed in it is from American Revolution; it was used during the Treaty of Paris to delineate boundaries for the new United States with a series of red lines which were likely run between geographic features first marked with some sort of pin (n.b. it has been brought to my attention since initially writing this post that there is no hard evidence that this map was ever pinned.  However, we do have evidence of Napoleon using custom pin maps in nearly the same era).  In 1878, an inventor named JD McFarland cited the long-time use of map tacks by the United States Government Signal Service who mapped meteorological phenomena with them.  McFarland pitched an invention that used map tacks to indicate points of interest in a map:

The devices by which I indicate the positions desired on said map are pointed instruments—as, for example, a tack or a pin. In connection with said tacks or pins I use a head on the same, said head being fixed or adjustable, and bearing a certain color or shape, or number, or combination of shapes, colors and numbers, or combination of colors and shapes, colors, and numbers, numbers and shapes, or either or all of them; or any other indicating devices or forms may be attached to said tacks or pins.

The pushpin as we now know it was an improvement of similar pins that were in use in the 1800′s.  They consisted of  ”a wooden body in which is held a projecting pin, said pin being clamped in position by means of a metallic collar about the wooden body” (Original Pushpin Patent).  These proto-pushpins were considered unsatisfactory by Edwin Moore, inventor of the modern pushpin.  Moore was frustrated by the proto-pushpin’s tendency to corrode and by the frequency with which his fingers slipped whilst pushing these pins into wood or cork.  He patented this new pushpin in 1899.  By 1910, his pushpins were so wildly popular that he invented a unit specifically for storing them.  Yes, that’s right, it was designed to look like an enormous pushpin.

Pushpin-shaped Pushpin Cabinent (1910)

The application of pins in maps and charts continued to rise.  By the 1920′s, it was so widespread that the Moore Push-Pin Company had expanded their line of fastening devices to include map-specific tacks, a product they still sell today.  These were in such high demand that they found it necessary to patent a “device for inserting map tacks“.  This invention was for saving the “cartopinographer” from sore fingers and to allow many pins to be placed in close proximity to one another (a problem that was approached by Willard Brinton in his 1914 work Graphic Methods for Presenting Facts – head to Making Maps for an excellent discussion of this work.)

Device for Inserting Map Tacks (1922)

A little guesswork.

Moore’s map pins were a success and they continued to be for decades.  Roadside restaurants put pushpin maps in their entryways for patrons to be both impressed by their widespread clientèle and – here’s the key – eagerly mark the location of their own home.  Who doesn’t like to be the first to place a pin directly through the label for their home on the map.  I struggle to think of a voluntary act of mapping that has such broad appeal – people (if you’ll pardon the alliteration) literally pine to pin.  So, the ubiquity of pushpins on web maps makes a whole lot of sense to me.  If the developers and designers want to call out a desire to contribute to a map in their users, what is a more appropriate symbol than the pushpin?

If you walked up to a map on a cork board with a sign above it saying, “Where will you travel next?” what would you rather map with?  A sticker?  A pen or highlighter?  Stencil? Decal? Rubber stamp? Apostille?  Glitter glue?

Nope… a pushpin.  And that – at least to my mind – is why they are everywhere.

S0…

It turns out that I quite like the use of digital pushpins, especially to encourage volunteer and public participation mapping efforts.  But I should be clear; I completely understand the frustrations with them.  Mapping drone attacks with pushpins, for example, is pretty far in lightheartedness from a restaurant wall map.  And the extent to which the pushpin image has infiltrated the graphic vocabulary of  the GeoWeb is astounding.  But I think the issues surrounding the use of digital pushpins will work themselves out in the coming years.  People are already hyper-aware of how ludicrous they can be (map marker death, digital to analogue pushpin art, pushpin coasters, alternate reality pushpin art, lost/dead pushpins, pushpin lanterns, etc.).  Commentary on the pushpin will wax and wane.  My plan is to keep on laughing when used comically and questioning when used inappropriately.  Path dependence has spoken though; the pushpin is here to stay.

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