(Cross-posted from the Scholars’ Lab blog. I introduce our new Praxis Program here.)

Our goal in the Scholars’ Lab Praxis Program is to address methodological training in the humanities not just through workshops and courses, but by involving graduate students in digital projects from the ground up. This means learning by creating something — together — with all that entails: paying attention both to vision and detail; building facility with new techniques and languages not just as an academic exercise, but of necessity, and in the most pragmatic framework imaginable; acquiring the softer skills of collaboration (sadly, an undiscovered country in humanities graduate education) and of leadership (that is, of credible expertise, self-governance, and effective project management). All this also involves learning to iterate and to compromise — and when to stop and ship.

To do this, our Praxis team needed a project. We wanted it to be a fresh one, something they could own. It was important to us that the project only be in service to the program — that its intellectual agenda was one our students could shape, that they set the tone for the collaboration, and that — as much as possible — it be brand-spanking-new, free from practices and assumptions (technical or social) that might have grown organically in a pre-existing project and which we might no longer recommend.

In this inaugural year of the Praxis Program, the Scholars’ Lab, in consultation with some colleagues from UVa’s College of Arts and Sciences, is providing the central idea for the project. It’s just too much to ask that students new to digital humanities work invent a meaningful project from whole cloth on Day 1 of the program — especially one that, we hope, will make a meaningful intervention in the current scene of DH research and practice. That said, by the end of this year, our current Praxis team plans to have conceptualized a second project (or perhaps an extension of this one) to pass on to next year’s group.

Here endeth the preamble. What are we up to now?

This year, the Praxis Program is building a web-based framework, codenamed “Prism,” for collective marking of texts according to small and constrained (but flexible) interpretive vocabularies. Prism will enable visualization of those marks — made by many users on the same document — as zoomed-out, rainbow-like spectra. It will also (should we get so far!) allow for comparison and analysis of the results of users’ activity (that is, their collective attention paid to certain passages of text, and the categorizations they make of those passages) by treating them as input for the data-mining techniques we can apply against large corpora of digitized texts. In other words, Prism will be a blunt but very interesting and user-friendly tool for crowd-sourcing humanities interpretation.

The basic concept of Prism is, for me, an old one. It stems from conversations on categories of textual interpretation which I had as a graduate student at SpecLab and a post-doc working with Jerome McGann, and more recent discussions with Alison Booth in the context of her project to define and mark narrative structures in biographies of women. It also stems from a fond memory of some markup games I invented nearly a decade ago for my Media Studies students and my colleagues at SpecLab. These games and discussions fed into McGann’s “Marking Texts of Many Dimensions,” and Jerry and I spoke about our experiences of them last year, in response to a Scholars’ Lab talk on “N-dimensional Archives” by Julie Meloni. At SpecLab, we called this (quite complicated) thing “the ‘Patacritical Demon.”

The version of the Demon I presented to the Praxis team last week as an inspiration for Prism is simpler in scope and beholden more to the material and pedagogical than to the text-theoretical. I’ll say no more here than that the original game involved shared, Xeroxed page images, transparent overlays, dry-erase markers, a common interpretive prompt, and a moment in which somebody yelled “Stop!” and the transparencies were stacked up for discussion.

Members of the Praxis team will be describing their vision for the user interface of Prism in more detail as the weeks and months progress. In our early conversations, the whole team has seemed energized by the potential of the tool for classroom use. But it’s important to say that we’re not just replicating an offline pedagogical exercise in the browser.

Prism updates the concept in some important — and we think timely — ways, some of which are meant as interventions in the current scene of DH project development and conceptualization:

• We recognize that there’s a huge vogue for “crowd-sourcing” in the digital humanities right now, but have been feeling like there’s potential for much more interesting work in this domain. We don’t want to treat the “crowd” only like robots or mechanical turks — asking for transcription labor, or refinement of OCR output, as valuable as those products may be. What would happen if we could systematize, capture, and build collective interpretive energy — on shared understandings and unexpected disagreements?
• We also feel ready to build on design lessons from citizen-science/citizen-scholar projects, like those created by the Zooniverse group, to create a DH tool that appeals to the general public and is easy and fun and effective for pedagogical use. We’d like to be able to use Prism as a laboratory exercise for thinking about design and development in the public humanities, and on the relation of audience and user communities to the questions we can ask in DH research.
• Finally, in an era of mass digitization, we’re keen to engage with big data in the humanities. Once the basic framework for Prism is established, we want to be able to experiment with the flow between user-friendly input and “easy” and attractive visualizations (like our spectra) and the deeper questions that can be asked and harder information design problems that are encountered when we move into computational linguistics & text mining techniques such as sentiment analysis.

This is a tall, tall order — but neither the Scholars’ Lab staff nor our Praxis students are the sort to be attracted to an unambitious project. We hope you’ll follow along this year as we see just how far we can get, and what we can learn along the way.

Last year on Ada Lovelace Day, when we celebrate women in technology, I wrote about two inspiring friends: Johanna Drucker, who taught me letterpress printing (foundational to my thinking about design and the digital humanities in the context of evolving technologies of the book) and Bess Sadler, then of Scholars’ Lab R&D and now at Stanford, who had just released Blacklight into the world as a step toward making library research more joyful. This year, I got Ada’d my own self (thanks, Julie!), with a picture from a recent workshop that confirmed my desire to write about the amazing Leah Buechley.

Leah Buechley’s work speaks to everything I hold dear about the digital humanities: that it interprets, operates within, and both impacts and reflects the experienced world — of messy, embodied, personal, subjective, aesthetic, poetic, cyborgic, enveloping life. In other words, Buechley does high-touch as well as high-tech.

She brings a strong background in physics and computer science and an amazing design sensibility to her position as assistant professor of the MIT Media Lab‘s newly-formed High-Low Tech group, an interdisciplinary band of makers who situate computation “in new cultural and material contexts… by developing tools that democratize engineering.”

From their site:

We believe that the future of technology will be largely determined by end-users who will design, build, and hack their own devices, and our goal is to inspire, shape, support, and study these communities. To this end, we explore the intersection of computation, physical materials, manufacturing processes, traditional crafts, and design.

Since Buechley has been at MIT, she’s taught courses on the New Textiles and on Design for Empowerment (hooray!), and her students have created beautiful and inspiring work with interactive wallpaper and electronic pop-up books.

Buechley herself is the creator of the Lilypad Arduino, a miniaturized microprocessor and set of sensors, power sources, and other parts and pieces designed to be sewable, wearable, washable, tolerably aesthetic in design, and hacked together by YOU. She and her students have since expanded the concept to the Teardrop, a kit that allows you to paint functional devices on paper. You can watch a 2009 lecture by Buechley here, or get a sense of her research group’s work in this fun video. And if you really want to delve into the theory and practice of smart crafting, find some inspirational projects, or see how it relates to teaching and learning (where, for instance, it’s being used as a great way to re-energize girls’ engagement with science, engineering, and math), you could check out our Soft Circuitry Zotero Group — and even add some resources of your own!

This isn’t the first tribute to Leah Buechley, and I’m sure it won’t even be the last on Ada Lovelace Day — but I just want to say thanks. Thanks for reminding us — women and men, boys and girls — that we’re capable of fashioning our worlds.

The publication of Johanna Drucker’s new book, SpecLab: Digital Aesthetics and Projects in Speculative Computing, has sent me back to my notebook of drawings from our SpecLab and ARP days, the period from roughly 2000 – 2006 when, first as a grad student and then as a post-doc, I worked closely with Johanna and Jerry McGann on the lunatic fringe of digital humanities. (Jerry and I had gone down the rabbit hole some years earlier with the Rossetti Archive as well.)

These are a few of my sketches for the last iteration of the Ivanhoe Game, the one that’s still available for play. I must confess — as much as I loved the design process in all its stages — that I haven’t played a really good game of Ivanhoe since we moved away from the more prosy and simple interfaces of the Turn of the Screw game (undertaken when Geoffrey Rockwell was a visiting scholar at UVA and I wrote moves like this) and the Haruki Murakami / D. G. Rossetti games I played in the wee hours of the night with my first baby sleeping in my arms. (The Rossetti one, on Jenny, in which I imagined a company specializing in flesh-bot reproductions of Victoriana, was re-printed by Laura Mandell at Romantic Circles and in Jerome McGann’s Like Leaving the Nile.)

These images were done mostly after the process Johanna describes in her Ivanhoe chapter — although you can see, in JD’s book and in the Java application online, the on-screen rendering of some of the icons and navigation elements sketched below. A couple of the wackier ones — stemma trees that reach up to a starry sky of Ivanhoe moves — were never entirely realized. I’ll leave them without annotation.

The SpecLab years — our over-hummused, thoroughly pita’d luncheon-club heady think-tank days — were the most amazing moment in my working life as a digital humanist.  Steve Ramsay, Worthy Martin, Andrea Laue, Nathan Piazza, Shane Liesegang, Ben Cummings, David Patch, Jim Allman, Geoff Rockwell, my old friends, will we see their like again?

I’m touched more than I can say that Johanna has dedicated her book to Jerry and me.