Category: Industrial & Technological art

Things They Took To War, 1915

JF Ptak Science Books Post 923

The 27 Feb 1915 issue of The Illustrated London News is remarkable. Yesterday’s post was generated by an image appearing in it of sappers mining under a battlefield to create an underground attack on the enemy’s trench lines. A few pages into the issue shows a series of pictures describing the regulation issue for an enlisted man headed into combat—simple, scary, and heartrending. And of course a true measure of the courage and fortitude of these millions of men who marched to the Front with all what today looks to be not-adequate material. It is hard for me to imagine going off to conquer your enemy and your own fear with these sorts of supplies, marching along with all of these slight bits jangling and clanging to each of my steps.

[All of the images are expandable.]

The images themselves are, I think, unintentionally spectacular for their design and arrangement, not the least of which is the fact that all of the materiel is suspended from rope or wire.

There is no way for me to know what of this material was instantly discarded (if any), or what was thrown into ditches because they didn’t make sense or were too heavy or cumbersome or got in the way. Or what of these supplies were actually carried into battle. Given the nature of the fighting, perhaps all of it was carried in and out.

Basically though the pictures just make me uneasy, nervous; so many things look so slight and needy. The canteen looks tiny; there’s only two pair of socks (!?) but two pipes; the “grocery ration” looks inadequate; the ammunition pouches look stingy. But the “housewife” looks useful, and its always good to have scissors, and a handkerchief. I’m not so sure about the purse.

It just seems to me an amazing display of the stuff that the British soldier was given to haul into the future with him.

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Bad Places to Be Dept., #1:Fighting Underground in Sub-Trench Warfare, 1915

JF Ptak Science Books Post 922

“Johnny, get your gun, get your gun, get your gun.

Take it on the run, on the run, on the run.
Hear them calling you and me,
Every Son of Liberty.
Hurry right away, no delay, go today.
Make your Daddy glad to have had such a lad.
Tell your sweetheart not to pine,
To be proud her boy’s in line.”
–Opening of George M. Cohan’s “Over There”

It is difficult to think of soldiers fighting one another across hedgerows or trenches, hiding behind earth, creating a death-vacuum on the land in between–but worse yet would be fighting in these scenarios underground.

Finding this large double-page illustration in The Illustrated London News¹gave me a physical reaction like the one I get when thinking about the discarded Dalton Trumbo’s² anti-war novel, Johnny Got His Gun. The novel’s main character (Joe Bonham) is virtually encased in his own mind, having lost his arms, legs and face in an explosion on a WWI battlefield—the story is told from his bedridden perspective; dark, bandaged, alone, his mind and brain functioning, and with little means of communication or control over his body. .Among other obvious things, it makes me feel a peculiar stuffy coldness. [The two sets of four images following should be viewed as two-parts of one long image, the bottom part being on the right.]

And so too when I look at these soldiers tunneling under a dead battlefield, working their way slowly—a foot an hour—towards the enemy trenches, desperately trying to blow a hole in an immovable object resistant to infantry and artillery. The soldiers—sappers—were sent in to do a job that could no longer be accomplished above the ground.

This sort of warfare is extremely old, though the name is not, being about 150 years old. These soldiers were forward combat engineers, and had training across a number of different areas—they were responsible for many technical chores, like building (and blowing up) bridges, laying/clearing minefields, general demolition, defense construction, and, of course, fighting. It could be a tremendously difficult job, unimaginable.

The “sapp” part of “sapper” comes from the French “sappe”, which refers to the other main part of their job during WWI, which was digging advancing trenches, a zigzag construction of a long horizontal half-hole which allowed an infantry force to slowly advance towards an enemy’s entrenched position. Another part was to tunnel under the enemy’s lines, and then blow them to smithereeens so that a successful attack could be launched into the weakened position.

Here’s what I think about when I think about these men doing this job: that two teams, British and German, start to tunnel towards each other’s lines, and somehow, in the middle of the battlefield, somehow manage to dig directly towards one another, their tunnels literally colliding. Hand-to-hand combat through the opening connecting the two sapper tunnels, then gunfire. Alerted, the artillery from each side zero-in on what is suspected to be the opening end of the tunnels, pummel them, destroying the access. So now, both sets in what is now virtually one tunnel, are fighting in the dark. Even though the topside is only two feet away, any hole would open into the killing zone, making it impossible to escape that way. It would be a bad place to be.

Notes

1. The issue is 27 Feb 1915. The illustration is entitled “They Sent us in front with a Fuse an’ a Mine’, Sapping and Mining Under the Enemy’s Trenches”. The first half of the title is from Kipling’s “Sappers”: They send us in front with a fuse an’ a mine , To blow up the gates that are rushed by the Line…

2. Trumbo has an interesting history, to put it mildly. An old Communist, he once gave up his old associates to the FBI at the start of WWII–an act he later thought of as being stupid and wrong. It also had the opposite effect for him–he thought he was being patriotic, but the FBI was more interested in him than his information. He would get eaten up by McCarthyist operatives and denied HUAC any information on any of the famous “Hollywood Ten”. He got a year in jail and was blacklisted, booted out of LA. He came back–mostly under someone else’s name (see the link above for his screenwriting credits, which are substantial)–and acknowledged shortly before he died.

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Cross-Sections — History of Goodbye — History of Holes — Industrial & Technological art — Technology, History of
Flying Wing Aircraft, 1930

JF Ptak Science Books LLC Post 919

What can I say? I just like the flying wing. Also I should point out that the Illustrated London News is an excellent resource for schematic cut-aways like this–I think that I have 125 or so of them here for the 1910-1945 period.

Junkers built this fabulous flying (“inhabited”) “wing only”
aircraft, sending it up for commercial service in 1929 as the largest airplane
in the world. Only two were built (though a Japanese military knock-off ran to a production quantity of six), and I imagine that it was quite expensive making the Berlin-London flight, cruising in around at 109 mph.

I would like to know what the artist was thinking about when he decided to draw a standing man in the sleeping compartments. Not only that, the fellow is looking straight at the artist…perhaps it is a sly, tiny self-portrait?

Notes

1. Plane specifications:

Crew: Seven (including a full-time engineer who could
service the plane’s four engines from inside the plane).

Capacity: between 30 and 34 passengers, depending upon
variation of the aircraft.

Length: 75 ft

Wingspan:
144 ft

Height: 23 ft

Wing area: 3,122 sq ft

Empty weight: 32,893 lbs

Loaded weight: 52,900 lb

Max takeoff weight: 46,826 lb

Maximum speed: 140 mph

Cruising speed: 109 mp

Range: 2,150 miles

Service ceiling: 12,100 ft

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A Mile-High Pile of Wood–Graphical Display of Quantitative Data.

JF Ptak Science Books LLC Post 913

Continuing
a long, developing thread on the graphical display of quantitative data–and
especially that which uses man-made objects for comparison—is this interesting
bit from a Romanian mining publication from 1933.

The
huge mound next to the Eiffel Tower shows the consumption of wood in Romania over a
ten year period, a stack of wood 700 metres long and 1500 metres high. Evidently this wall has only the most rudimentary depth of a metre, as the legend reads that the volume of the woodpile is 1,050,000 metres cubed, which is the same as its square area. So somebody missed something, here, though the artist did supply some nice shadowing.

Just
above it appeared this comparison for the amount of oil consumed over the same
ten year period

I’m
not sure why this comparison was being made.
This does come in the interwar period which saw a great expansion in
Romanian territory and a vast modernization effort following the country’s devastating
experience in WWI. Maybe it was illustrating modernization from wood-burning power/heating sources to oil-based. I really don’t know–I just liked the Eiffel Tower being dwarfed by a massively tall and impossibly skinny woodpile.

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Advanced Utopian Martian Communities, 1911

JF Ptak Science Books LLC Post 904

This futuro-Utopian homage to
ET-civilizations and space travel was written just too early to have been
sucked up by period-appropriate Hollywood
script raptors. Reading it is a little
out of the question and left to the domain of sci-fi archaeologists; the book
is stuffy and dry and very stiff
(brittle !) without being terribly interesting and doesn’t stop for the right
word when four will do. (See below for an example of the writing.) The ideas though lurking beneath the surface
though are pretty good for its time, though they are hardly the great undertow
that rips you away and out of the clutches of the stuff that make this a pretty
object rather than a book.

To Mars via the Moon, an
Astronomical Story. written by Mark Wicks
and published in 1911, left the Moon quite behind in its literary assault on a
super-advanced civilization that the space travelers find on the red
planet. Wicks owes a big nod (and gives
it) to the astronomer and faded theorist Percival Lowell and his Mars as
an Abode of Life (1908)1. Wicks’ Mars is enormously advanced
techno-superpower filled with telepaths and mega intelligence, as well as a
reincarnated version of his own dead son.

Okay, enough. I’m really just stopping here because of the noble
outsider-like Martian city/landscape, a circular city with canal2-like
connectors. It’s a busy environment, with the perspective-challenged city
looking vaguely bathed in a holy halo, car-like objects skimming along the
canal-roads, and “pre-flying saucers” in the air. It is lovely in its own way—certainly the
publishers thought so, as they incorporated the design right on the spine of
the book.

Notes

1.Lowell’s
hypothesis was rounding criticized by many, including Alfred Russell Wallace’s Is
Mars Habitable?.

2. Giovanni Schiaparelli reported these features
first, in 1877, referring to them as canali in his native Italian, which means something more
like naturally-occurring grooves or channel; English-speakers like Lowell
stopped just short with the word, lopping of the final “I” and going with
“canals”, with its overt implications of
intelligent design. And thus are
religions born.

The entire book can be found on the
Gutenberg site: http://www.gutenberg.org/files/2763/27633-8.txt

The sample of the writer’s ware is below, the final two paragraphs of the book: the penultimate paragraph being one long run-on sentence including four embedded exclamation points, and the final two sentences of the final graph ending in an exclamation point and a dot dot dot question mark:

“Yes, we are doing well–there is no doubt about that; but,
notwithstanding my present very satisfactory circumstances and the certainty of a brilliant future if I stay here, ideas have long and persistently been running in my mind that it would be far better for me to go back to Mars, and–by Jove! strange indeed that I never thought of it before!–perhaps those very persistent ideas are actually the outcome of Martian influences!!”

“The wonderful music I heard upon Mars still rings in my ears; and, at times, so thrilling and peculiar is its effect upon me, that I feel as though I were being almost irresistibly impelled to return to that planet. Well, I should very much like to see the dear old Professor and Merna again, and also my many Martian friends. Then there’s Siloni, whom I can never forget, for mentally her image is ever before me. What a nice girl she was! If I were to return to Mars, I wonder whether…?”

First edition spine source: http://www.sumnerandstillman.com/Catalog/sumner.cgi/9691

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Unintentional Absurdist Art: Flying Boats with Bucket Feet, 1745

JF Ptak Science Books LLC Post 901

This
treadmill-powered French pontoon dredge, printed around 1745, looks for all the
world as though it is floating in mid-air, propelling itself along with two
bucket-ended legs, elegantly and impossibly moving its miracle-y-balanced self
forward against all forms of reason and logic, a clunky 18^th century
non-transforming Transformer. The
profile actually and simply shows a dredge at work and just fails to show the water in which it
floats.

The
boat’s dredge is powered by four humans in two treadmills which would move the buckets
back and forth, scraping up the river silt and then emptying it into the shuttle
launch aft. Simple and ingenious—except when
taken out of context, where it begins to look like some advanced Age of Reason floating
boat which, although awkward-looking, is not without its charm.

Source: Charles Singer, History of Tecnology, volume IV,
pg. 634. Singer loftily notes that this machine
“is reminiscent of Goethe’s poem Der Zauberlehring
which inspired Paul Dukas’s well known symphonic poem L’apparenti sorcier” and which would be better known to most folks as
Mickey’s Sorcerer’s Apprentice gig in Fantasia.

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Representation of Quantitative Data: Tree Diagrams

JF Ptak Science Books LLC Post 563

I’m fond of images of trees, but
mostly if they are forensic or employed to display relationships between ideas
or data. One of my favorites for the
former is this great image from Peter Guillet’s
Timber Merchant’s Guide. Also, a Table, Whereby, at One View, May Be
Seen the Solid and Superficial Measure of Any Square or Unequal Hewed Logs or
Plank…¹ (printed
in Baltimore by
J. Longrove in 1823). Guillet was basically
a tree dissector, a harvester of wood for the construction of naval ships. His book shows how to make the best—the most
efficient—use of various varieties of trees, displaying how to employ different
sections of trees for different parts of a ship. The book must’ve been an
indispensable handbook down at the mill.
At the every least, it certainly introduced a novel way of looking at
trees.

This tree² was a figure drawn by biologist and eminent
Darwinian Ernst Haeckel³ (1834-1919), the branch spaces relating to intervals
which were unrepresented in the fossil record. The image was perhaps the most
popularly successful part of his two-volume double-wristbender—it was a
difficult book, not well written or presented, with Charles Darwin himself finding
it “impossible to read”.

The second tree, offered by Haeckel in his The
Evolution of Man (1879): shows the general evolutionary progress of
living things culminating in man, the hopeful and suspected end (or height, or
crowning achievement) of the process of evolution. Which is a little odd, come to think of it,
to have there be nothing above man, not even a space for unimaginable improvement,
not even a single unused branch to express the possibility of supra-human
development.

By far the most complex of the tree of life series is the
tree ring of life, an exploding and explodably adaptable image generated by the
Life Website which begins at the beginning, with “life” itself.⁴

The coal tree of life is a particularly confusing image. Even though this is a simple classification scheme, and a
very-well designed graphic at that, the use of the tree describing the genealogy
of coal by-products just seems, well, wrong. The use of the tree in defining a visual phylogenic interrelatedness of
living things appears pretty much for the first time in the first edition of the
Origin of Species in 1859, and it is the only diagram that
appears in the
book. (And by this I mean the use of the tree-scheme for scientific
purposes: the tree of life of course has been used for many, many
centuries, the philosophical design woven into the fabrics and incised
into the stone of many cultures. It sort of appears in print in
classification usage at least by the wily and polymathic Athansius
Kircher, who used it to display the elements in a Kabbalistic Tree of
Life some 350 years ago.)

The Verkaufsvereinigung fuer
Teererzeugnisse (of Essen) used this idea in
1922, publishing the ad for their company in the Illusrtriete Zeitung (Leipzig). The great tree spring from a bed of coal (“kohle”)
exhibiting the “stammbaum der nebenerzeugnisse” (roughly the “pedigree of our
product”), with the trunk being gas, branching out into tar, coke and cyan and
so on. Even though it’s the lifeblood of
the continuing industrial revolution, and even though we’re hundreds of years into
a deep need with the products, the use of the tree just seems antithetical to it
all on all levels of recognition, especially now.

Then of course there’s the Darwin tree, an incredible diagram from his notebooks, prefaced with the extraordinary understatement, “I think”.

There will be more of these tree to come, shortly, including a tree of dermatological disease and some Kabbalisitc trees of life, but they’ll have to wait for right now.

Notes:

1. The full title, as follows: Timber Merchants’ Guide. Also, a table,
whereby, at one view, may be seen the solid and superficial measure of any
square or unequal hewed logs or plank, from one to forty-seven inches. Also,
plates representing the figures of the principal pieces of timber, used in
building a seventy-four gun ship of the line, in standing trees.

Also, Guillet had some interesting ideas on the conservative use of forest
lands (from Franklin Hough’s Report upon Forestry, a government document
printed in 1876):

Individuals wishing to make
the most of their woodlands will find it very profitable to cut their timber by
sections, sparing to t very acre ten or twelve of the most promising size white
oaks or pines, whichsoever the soil will produce best; range the order of their
lands so as to cut a section every year. For example, say a man has 200 acres of
woodland divided into sections of 10 acres each, then, by cutting one section
every year, he would have young timber twenty years old, which makes excellent
firewood, and I should say that in common lands wood of twenty years’ growth
would yield 15 or 20 cords of firewood per acre, besides fencing-timbor
sufficient to always keep in good repair an inclosure of 200 acres. Then the 10
or 12 trees growing in reserve will, at the end of 80 or 100 years, furnish
timber fit to make shipping or staves. Where land has become useless from long
cultivation, a little trouble only is necessary to make it productive and
profitable to the owner. By inclosing it for a few years and encouraging the
growth of the most promising younj* trees, which will generally spring np
spontaneously, all the advantages above described will be derived from it,
which is certainly the best way that worn-out or sterile land can be disposed
of. Such a course recommended to and adopted by individuals wonld not only be
to their own private gain, but also of great public utility.1

2. “Monophyletischer
Stambaum der Organismen” from ‘Generelle Morphologie der Organismen’ (1866).

3. Wiki biography
of Haeckel http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ernst_Haeckel

4. Explanation of the second diagram, as follows from Discover Life: “Phylogeny
is the organizing principle of modern biological taxonomy, and a guiding
principle of modern phylogeny is monophyly: a monophyletic group is considered
to be one that contains an ancestral lineage and all of its descendants. Any
such a group can be extracted from a phylogenetic tree with a single cut. The
tree shown here provides a guide to the relationships among the major groups of
the extant (living) organisms in the Tree of Life as we have presented them
throughout this book. We do include three groups that are not believed to be
monophyletic; these are designated with quotation marks.”   See also HERE for a different view of this diagram.

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The Importance of Bridges in the Invisible Evolution of Meat

JF Ptak Science Books LLC Post 794 Blog Bookstore

I wonder when it was that humans developed the extra senses that were able to “intuitively” determine (1) when
something is missing, and (1.5) when something is just wrong? I’m sure that these blood-bumpers were developed
soon after the recognition that the face in the primordial goo staring back at
its owner wasn’t something drowning.

This fast-forwards us through Wilberforces ultradense 6,000 years to the
near-present: when looking at the explosively chromaticized picture of the progress
of meat, brought to you by the invisible packing empire of Armour & Co. (of
Chicago, of course), one gets the ancient immediacy of something being missing
and just plain wrong.

The cows being herded from their pastures are being led to the Armour bridge
of Meat Evolution, where by some miracle the process of turning cows into
packaged goods—like Leda and the swan—takes place over the “A” in Armour, three-quarters
of the way over the bridge. This process
is wholesome in its invisibility, the walking product on the one side of the
bridge getting ready for transubstantiation for the nested humanity on the
other side.

The picture of the packer weighing the elements of the mysterious
gold-plated market rams this invisibility home as well: the “producer” and “consumer” columns behind
him are prettily illustrated with referential scenes, while the “packer” column
just gets a single slab of color. A
singularity of nothingness in regards to what goes on behind the packer’s head
is all the consumer would want, then and now, ‘cause certainly nobody wanted to
know what the hell was going on in the packer’s den to hasten the evolution of
cows from muddy hooves to the dinner table–especially in 1926, when this
pamphlet was printed. The vast
conspiracy of people not-wanting-to-know-what-happens-at-the-packing-house continues.

I can’t leave this short post without a nod to another extraordinary image
from the Armour pamphlet: the butcher
waving off the drover and his herd because of a glutted market. The “good old days” here doesn’t look very
much like the 1870’s to me: I can’t
recall a single drover/cowboy image in my very long experience that showed a cow
sniffing a fire hydrant. Plus everything
else in the picture is pure 1920’s, except for the drover, who—although wearing
skins in the city for some unknown reason—at least looks mostly like he should
and isn’t packing an endlessly bouncing-on-your-thigh revolver. Sorta.

The horse looks embarrassed and surprised at the same time. Is there an English word for that?

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Pig Iron vs. Eiffel Tower: Visualizing Difficult Numbers and Concepts

JF Ptak Science Books Quick Post

Several years ago I wrote about some triumphantly unusual images (plus one on the 1891 10-ton Eiffel Tower bullet) of the Eiffel Tower–today I’d like to add another, a queer image which manages to loose the Eiffel Tower (and the Great Pyramid) in representations of pig iron production.

I love comparison like this (which appeared in the Illustrated London News for 1910), representing big, hard-to-associate numbers of something against another quantity that can be instantly understood–the relationship between the two might be tenuous and complex, but at least it can give you some sort of handle on what would normally be an inaccessible, stand-alone number. Plus, any time that you can show what an ungraspable concept might “look like” and be explainable to a 10-year-old, well, you’ve got something.

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Big Mathematics 1816: Manuscript Notes and Found Math Art

JF Ptak Science Books LLC Post 757 Blog Bookstore

In my science bookstore business one of my principle interests is antique manuscript notebooks in the sciences. It is a pleasure to see someone working through a problem, or finding what the writer thought to be the most interesting point in a lecture on a particular subject, and to read the occasional doodles and see the timely gloss every now and then. I’ve had notebooks from an advanced and very careful student for a course given by the great Robert Bunsen that was filled with hundreds of pages of what the master was trying to communicate to his pupils.

There’s also a series of notebooks from the spectacular period of Cornell physics history (1948-1949), including 6 notebooks of classes with Richard Feynman, including several hundred pages from his 1948/9 course in advanced quantum mechanics, which included (a very early) use of the Feynman diagrams. The thing that makes these observant, advanced notes taken during Feynman’s classes have more than a pedagogical interest (which is substantial and enough on its own)—they have a capacity to show the logic behind the man’s thinking and how he presented his ideas over a period of some months. Also, and curiously, notebooks like these seem to have not survived.

Then there’s the notebooks taken by the team of Charlotte and Fritz John when they were pursing doctoral degrees at Goettingen (1929-1933), until forced to leave with the enforcement of the Nazi laws against non-Aryans. Goettingen happened (and happens) to be the seat of a long, great mathematical heritage, home of Felix Klein, Emmy Noether, David Hilbert and Bernhard Riemann (among many others). The notebooks—some two linear feet of them—represented four years of advanced interactions with some of the finest mathematical minds in Germany. I was told by Mrs. John that they were required to take such full notes—but let me tell you, these notebooks were typed transcriptions of the daily handwritten notes, compiled over the course of a class, and then bound. They are beautiful, and go far beyond my concept of “required”. Mrs. John told me the story of the class notes that she and Dr. John took while taking a course with the great Hermann Weyl (who had taken his doctorate under the iconic David Hilbert, and who was also forced to flee Goettingen because his wife was Jewish): everyone of course was required to take extensive notes during the day and work on them during the night, turning them in the following day for appraisal. She told me that she still vividly remember placing their notes on a long wooden table at the front of the class, and then picking that set of note up the next day. After a month of this, she, said, they became convinced that Weyl was not looking at the notes at all, as everything seemed always to be in the spot that they left it in. One week they decided to see if the notes were being moved, and placed a hair carefully on the interior page, reasoning that if the notes were reviewed, the hair would be gone. For a week, the hairs stayed in place. “And so, what did that mean to you?”

Mrs. John replied that it really didn’t mean anything, and that they continued to do the notes as they would, and leave them on the long wooden table. They never slacked off (which I can fully imagine). She said that they did it for themselves, of course, but also they did it for Dr. Weyl, fully expecting that the day that they missed handing in their notes would be the day that they were looked for by Dr. Weyl. Plus they were studying with a famous and fabulous thinker, and did not want to disappoint themselves or their instructor.

I do enjoy the historic or significant material like this, but I also quite the naïve, homegrown, elementary manuscript attempts by children at doing math or understanding physics. Cipher books have always been a little hard to find in my field, wit many of them (I think) winding up in the genealogy area), and they just don’t seem to be very much on the findable side of things anymore.

The example I’ve reproduced here are from an anonymous (but dated 1818) work on different elementary areas of mathematics. What makes this special to me is the precision of the penmanship and the extreme effort that is being used for a simple display of division. It would certainly convey the message if the author had used two five-figure numbers to display division rather than these enormous, never-to-be-encountered numbers.

Surely there were pages and pages of scrap used to get to this point as the operator machined his numbers down, showing us the result rather than the real process. But what is left to us in this effort is a thing of considerable beauty—the found art of practicing elementary math.

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