Hazel Lee annotates the map of Russia. From “Advanced Geography.“ (1899)

Hole cut in the map. From “Advanced Geography.“ (1899)

Type borders: Torn, curled, damaged paper effect fonts. (1897)

Map: Township 40, Hamilton County, NY (1900)

“With monstrous head and sickening cry and ears like errant wings.” Image from page 49 of The Year’s at the Spring; An Anthology of Recent Poetry (1920)

Map: Races of Man (1848)

Map: Calves Slaughtered Under Federal Inspection 1920-21.

Map: Bee Colonies on Farms. (1920)

Map: Watermelons Grown. (1919)

Image from page 503 of “Transactions of the American Climatological and Clinical Association.” (1914)

Image from page 473 of “Illinois as it is” (1857)

Image from page 4 of “The Germania and Agricola of Tacitus” (1850)

German propaganda poster, 1920.

Variation of Road Widths and Sections to Suit Traffic: The above road sections show the variation in the width of roads proposed to be permitted under a Town Planning scheme of Great Yarmouth in England. (1917)

Sunlight Curves in Streets. (1917)

Junk found while searching for stuff for the 3rd edition of Making Maps: A Visual Guide to Map Design for GIS. Out late Spring 2016.

New York City: Map of New Track Capacity. (1914)

Image from page 983 of “A system of instruction in X-ray methods and medical uses of light, hot-air, vibration and high-frequency currents.” (1902)

Map: Saloons in San Francisco. (1901)

Map: Saloons of Buffalo, 1901

Map of Saloons: New York, Jewish Quarter, 1894

Image from page 427 of “Journal of electricity” (1917)

Sprayed apples, Image from page 584 of “Annual report, New York State Museum” (1902)

Fire tests on building columns. (1917)

Map: US Cantaloupe Shipments, 1914.

Typography specimen: Social Dang Germans (1897)

Typography specimen: House Dogs (1897)

Image from page 176 of “The Maule seed book for 1922” (1922)

Map: Kafir Acreage in Kansas, 1912.

Junk found while searching for stuff for the 3rd edition of Making Maps: A Visual Guide to Map Design for GIS. Out late Spring 2016.

Image from page 86 of “Scenes from every land, second series. (1909)

Map of Malarial Mosquito breeding areas, Carbondale, Illinois (1918)

Image from page 93 of “Elizabeth City State Teachers College Catalog” (1909)

Map: To show distribution of 17 scaled Kraits — Ventrals 194-237, subcaudals 43-52 (From records of 19 specimens in my note books). Implies uncertain limits. (1913)

Map: Port Natal, Harbor (1911)

Full map download PNG. Source: Natal Province: Descriptive Guide and Official Hand-book by A.H. Tallow (1911)

Image from page 351 of “Natal province : descriptive guide and official hand-book” (1911)

Egg shapes, 1920

Sketch Map of Elizabethan London (1908)

Poisons for little children (1916)

Image from page 63 of “Physical culture” (1899)

Electrical conduit standards charts. (1914)

X-ray handshake map. (1917)

Junk found while searching for stuff for the 3rd edition of Making Maps: A Visual Guide to Map Design for GIS. Out late Spring 2016.

Simple suggestions for ring laying. (1913)

Simple Suggestions for Block Laying. (1913)

Map of United States Showing Relation of Depth of Pipes to Temperature. (1909)

Organized desk (1918)

Map: Land tenure, peasants, Shirokij Log, Russia (1913)

Map: Land tenure, peasants, Novoselok, Northern Russia (1913).

“Bird children, the little playmates of the flower children” (1912)

Map: United States – Airways, 1921.

Image from page 50 of “The street railway review” (1891)

Image from page 262 of “Local and regional anesthesia (1920)

Map showing operation of Map and Tack system for planning and routing salesman (1921)

Image from page 30 of “Osteopathic first aids to the sick: written for the sick people” (1906)

Junk found while searching for stuff for the 3rd edition of Making Maps: A Visual Guide to Map Design for GIS. Out late Spring 2016.

Child Street Arrests, New York, 1915.

Map: Line of Deposition. (1904)

Aniline Black. (1874)

Map: Goiter Distribution, Washington. (1917)

The Melting Points of Fire Brick. (1912)

Image from page 1026 of “Essai philosophique concernant l’entendement humain : ou l’on montre quelle est l’extendue de nos connaissances certaines, & &c la maniere dont nous y parvenons” (1723)

Map: Annual lumber consumption for the manufacture of boxes, crates, fruit and vegetable packages. (1921)

Goethe, Zur Farbenlehre. (1810)

World Map, Population, 1917.

Colors: Table of Greens and Russets (1871)

Image from page 102 of “Three essays : On picturesque beauty; On picturesque travel; and On sketching landscape : with a poem, on landscape painting. (1825)

Seismographic record of the 1906 earthquake at the Chabot Observatory, Oakland California (1906)

Ontario Sessional Papers, No.31-35. (1907)

Image from page 16 of “Transactions of the American Ceramic Society.” (1907)

Junk found while searching for stuff for the 3rd edition of Making Maps: A Visual Guide to Map Design for GIS. Out late Spring 2016.

Map: Illinois Praries, Woods, Swamps and Bluffs (1857)

Image from page 412 of “Traité théorique et pratique de l’impression des tissus” (1846)

Chromatic Pin Map (1915)

Image from page 424 of “Traité théorique et pratique de l’impression des tissus” (1846)

Seaweed (1846)

Seaweed (1846)

Image from page 359 of “A pronouncing gazetteer and geographical dictionary of the Philippine Islands, United States of America with maps, charts and illustrations” (1902)

Image from page 60 of “A new elucidation of colours, original, prismatic, and material : showing their concordance in three primitives, yellow, red, and blue, and the means of producing, measuring, and mixing them” (1809)

Map: Glaciers, Ymesfield, Norway. (1853)

Image from page 43 of “Water & sewage works” (1913)

Image from page 24 of “Open air crusaders; a story of the Elizabeth McCormick open air school, together with a general account of open air school workin Chicago and a chapter on school ventilation” (1911)

The Economic Value of the Starling (1921).

Noses. (1890)

Simultaneous contrast. (1895)

Color: Harmonious arrangement of twenty five of the most useful pigments. (1871)

“The above cut represents Abe Lazy, the old original tramp, the man who served for half a century as a terror to women and children and a living demonstration that the world owes every man a living. He is dead now, died in the insane asylum at Harrisburg a short time ago, not that he was insane, but because no one wanted to care for him anymore.” Snyder County Annals (1895)

Junk found while searching for stuff for the 3rd edition of Making Maps: A Visual Guide to Map Design for GIS. Out late Spring 2016.

Vogel’s Scale of Urine Tints (1879)

Image from page 69 of “Die Heilgymnastik in der Gynaekologie : und die mechanische Behandlung von Erkrankungen des Uterus und seiner Adnexe nach Thure Brandt” (1895)

Bird’s eye view of White Sulfur Springs, Virginia (1859).

Comparison of red blood cells. (1892)

Image from page 88 of “Di͡e͡tskai͡a͡ ėnt͡s͡iklopedīi͡a͡” (1913)

Image from page 135 of “Mechty i zvuki poezii” (1842)

Image from page 830 of “North Carolina Christian advocate” (1894)

Map: Manhattan Building Height and Area Restrictions (1920).

Image from page 362 of “American journal of physiology” (1898)

Kite designs (1908).

The European spider spins it’s iron web over all the world (1900).

Map: Maximum Deaths, Connecticut, 1906

Junk found while searching for stuff for the 3rd edition of Making Maps: A Visual Guide to Map Design for GIS. Out late Spring 2016.

Image from page 86 of “Bulletin de la Société nationale d’acclimatation de France” (1896)

Image from page 108 of “Our search for a wilderness; an account of two ornithological expeditions to Venezuela and to British Guiana” (1910)

Pocket Gopher distribution (1895).

Graph: Titanic survivors / lost (1912).

Horse model infrastructure (1902).

Population density map of the Middle East (1876).

Comparison of general causes underlying desertion and absence without leave. (1921)

Map comparing irrigation amounts in the Western US with foreign countries.

Bread, 1917.

Bread, 1917.

Bread, 1917.

A Geological Map of New York or Manhattan Island. (1843)

Legend for A Geological Map of New York or Manhattan Island. (1843)

Junk found while searching for stuff for the 3rd edition of Making Maps: A Visual Guide to Map Design for GIS. Due Spring 2016.

Wire model of a mental number form (1903).

Image from page 232 of “Notes of sites of Huron villages in the township of Tiny, Simcoe County, and adjacent parts.” (1899)

Map: Mer de Glace (1911).

Lion from above (1902).

Steer from above (1902).

Water movement. (1863)

Color spools (1913)

Horizontal eddies in running water (1863).

Image from page 92 of “Water & sewage works” (1913)

Model casting (1902).

Junk found while searching for stuff for the 3rd edition of Making Maps: A Visual Guide to Map Design for GIS. Out late Spring 2016.


Mapping Deeply by Denis Wood

This is a description of an avant la lettre deep mapping project carried out by a geographer and a number of landscape architecture students in the early 1980s. Although humanists seem to take the “mapping” in deep mapping more metaphorically than cartographically, in this neighborhood mapping project, the mapmaking was taken literally, with the goal of producing an atlas of the neighborhood. In this, the neighborhood was construed as a transformer, turning the stuff of the world (gas, water, electricity) into the stuff of individual lives (sidewalk graffiti, wind chimes, barking dogs), and vice versa. Maps in the central transformer section of the atlas were to have charted this process in action, as in one showing the route of an individual newspaper into the neighborhood, then through the neighborhood to a home, and finally, as trash, out of the neighborhood in a garbage truck; though few of these had been completed when the project concluded in 1986. Resurrected in 1998 in an episode on Ira Glass’ This American Life, the atlas was finally published, as Everything Sings: Maps for a Narrative Atlas, in 2010 (and an expanded edition in 2013).

Deep maps, deep mapping…

Yes, yes, but such a strange name for the practice. A practice that so often delivers far, far less than it promises. Especially maps. So many instances of deep mapping lack any at all.

Why mapping? Why not…thick description? Oh. Maybe because deep mapping is about place, while thick description is about…behavior? But aren’t the two all mixed up together? Isn’t that what deep mapping is supposed to be about—at least one of the things it’s supposed to be about—the unfolding of human life here, the mutual relations of people and soil and plants and animals and…go on, you name it…here in this…place?

Well, obviously I’m just trying to figure out why they call it deep mapping, when mapping isn’t what they are about, at all. They’re storytellers mostly, which is great, but mostly they’re not mappers. I’m talking about almost all of them, from William Least Heat-Moon to the most recent anthology of work on spatial narratives.

Not that you can’t tell stories with maps. You can. In fact, every map tells a story, stories actually, many of them. Even maps that people who don’t know much about maps call thin maps tell stories, ordinary, taken-for-granted maps, like highway maps, like the state highway map of North Carolina that John Fels and I spent fifty pages writing about back in 1986, and whose surface we barely scratched [1,2]. Thin maps…

Maps are models of concision, especially the ordinary taken-for-granted ones, cramming so many layers—so much history—into each line, into this line, for instance, this county border, the border of Wake County, first drawn in 1771 when the county was laid out of from parts of previously existing counties, but redrawn in 1787, 1881 and 1911, and named after Margaret Wake in 1771, the wife of William Tryon, then the colonial governor of North Carolina. All of this and so much more are caught up in that line that looks so simple but is anything but. And there’re a hundred counties on this highway map of North Carolina, which also sports state borders, coasts, highways, roads, cities, towns, parks, reservations, military bases, forests and other things. This map is not simple, this map. It’s not thin. It’s deep and thick. Most maps are like this.

A lot of them wield power too, great power. We think about maps as being representations of the world, but they’re not. They’re arguments about the world, and many of these arguments are serious. “High court to hear map challenge in August” reads the headline to an article on the second page of yesterday’s News and Observer [3]. A couple of days earlier, the lead editorial had been headed: “Rule on maps: the N.C. Supreme Court must quickly resolve a challenge to redistricting maps.” [4]. These maps are about who gets to vote in which districts, that is, are about whether Democrats or Republicans will reign in state government. This has huge consequences for the distribution of wealth, education, health, you name it.

Let’s not even think about the problems with immigration caused by the lines called national borders; or about the lines that bound school districts.

Some have more power than others, but all maps have it.

1. My Fight with Maps

My fight with maps, actually with cartography, was ignited by their rejection of modernism. As modernism was noisily turning its back on the failed rationalities, on the empty harmonies, on the make-believe coherences of Enlightenment, of Victorian thinking, cartography was clutching them ever more tightly to its breast. Painters may have been deconstructing pictorial space, composers shredding inherited tonalities, architects stripping walls of pilasters, cornices, and dentil moldings, poets following Pound’s cry to “Make it new”, and novelists indulging a self-consciousness that was all but the hallmark of the age, but cartographers, they were content to hone, to polish, to extend inherited forms.

Cartography exalted its unreflective empiricism as its raison d’être. It cherished the graphic conventions it had laid down in the 19th century. Even today, few maps acknowledge the 19th century’s over. This, despite the fact maps were never what they were claimed to be, never what the map themselves claimed to be: veridical and value-free pictures of reality. They were always arguments about the way the maps’ makers—or about the way those who paid the maps’ makers—thought the world should be.

With modernism came a predisposition for resistance and smashing traditional forms, for going someplace stripped down, someplace essential, someplace real, for asking, Why not? I long felt around for a new map that wasn’t of the same old subjects, that didn’t have the same old forms, that looked and felt modern. Schoenberg wanted to emancipate the dissonance. Arp wanted to destroy existing modes of making art. Fifty years later, I wanted to destroy the existing ways of making maps through which millions were subjugated, herded, and all too often killed. I wanted to emancipate dream and desire as subjects of the map.

Hard to do in geography: it was nearly as hidebound as cartography.

But when I found myself teaching landscape architecture studios in the School of Design at North Carolina State University, I found my opportunity. I knew nothing about landscape architecture. I knew less about studios, about how they worked, about what they were supposed to do. However, I figured landscape architects needed to know something about the environment in which they were working, and I figured that making maps might be a good way to learn—to discover—what it was they needed to know. So I set the first studio I taught—well, I set the students—the task of mapping a nearby neighborhood. The thing was, these were design students. They were undergraduate design students.

They had had little professional training (they weren’t hidebound). They were wildly creative (which is why they had entered the School of Design). They knew nothing about the conventions of making maps (they were blank slates). So when I set them tasks like mapping sounds, or making maps from the perspective of bees, or constructing maps out of food they leaped at them like, like frolicking gazelles! They were all over these projects. They made the most amazing things.

I kept none of the maps. I mean, there were always more studios, more students, more maps. However, in a studio I co-taught with Robin Moore in the spring of 1982, we decided to make an atlas, a neighborhood atlas, an atlas we could reproduce on a copy machine, that we could distribute to the neighbors when we had finished. This meant the work had to make sense in black and white (in the early 1980s, color copy machines barely existed, and landscape architecture students loved to use colored markers), and it had to make sense to the neighbors (and so not be completely off-the-wall). This did not mean it had to be mapmaking the way these grad students had come to know it (and they were much more hidebound than the undergrads). That I was adamant about. But it didn’t matter what they were mapping: I couldn’t get them to leave the streets off their maps.

I was trying to get them to map the way the land smelled, the way it felt in their legs when they walked it, the way twilight made all the difference. I wasn’t sure what the streets had to do with any of these, but the streets were an irreducible subject in the eyes of these students, the whatever-it-was that made the neighborhood a neighborhood. If you’re going to be laying out subdivisions, which a lot of these students would be doing professionally, streets are really all you have to play with. I got that, but at the same time, the streets did seem to inhibit the other qualities I was trying to draw the students’ attentions to. No matter how far into the background they intended the streets to recede, somehow they always stood out front.

Then, once when we were working on a map of streetlights, we just kept paring away the non-streetlights. We dumped the map crap (the neat line, the scale, the north arrow), the neighborhood boundaries, and the topography. Finally, we dumped the streets: first the scaled streets, then a schematic grid of the streets, finally even a hint of a grid of the streets. Daylight went too—that default daylight that most maps take for granted—so that we were fooling around with circles of white on a black background. That’s when it became clear that the map wasn’t about lamp posts, but about lamp light, and light was something we weren’t sure how to deal with. Certainly, the uniform white circles we’d been drawing caught nothing of the way the light was fringed by the trees; and one night, armed with a camera, we scaled a fence and climbed a radio tower on the edge of the neighborhood hoping to catch the night lights on film. What a disappointment. The view from above was nothing like walking in and out of the pools of dappled light on the streets below. But I had a pochoir brush at home and when Carter Crawford—who had put himself in charge of atlas graphics—used it to draw the circles, it was magical (Figure 1). Nothing but blotches of white: that was the way it felt to be walking the streets at night.

Screen Shot 2015-08-11 at 10.35.14 AM

The usual “efficient” map would have located everything on the street onto a single sheet—that is, different marks for lamp posts, fire hydrants, street signs, trees. Our inefficient map concentrated on a single subject and rather than lamp posts, it brought the pools of light into view. No legend, no north arrow, no neat line, none of the usual apparatus. At last: a modernist feel! Maybe even a sense of poetry, something imagistic, a little like Pound’s “The apparition of these faces in the crowd;/Petals on a wet, black bough” [6] or Williams’s red wheel barrow, but as it might manifest on a map, a map attentive to the experience of place [7].

That’s when I knew we could write poems in maps. That’s when I began thinking seriously about a poetics of cartography.

2. Making Maps

Once we got to this point, we started wanting to map everything. …

…Continue reading & footnotes & sources: PDF of article (here) and at Humanities — Open Access Journal (here – full text link on upper left)