Data Culture

In class on Tuesday, we discussed different forms of online mourning, and concluded that digital spaces enable affected individuals to connect with the deceased-and with other living people-on an equal plane. Whereas funerals occur once, take place in a set location, and are often closed ceremonies, digital memorial sites (whether Facebook pages, Legacy.com, or online archives) can be constantly revisited and revised. One of these places we explored, “Our Marathon,” resonated with me especially because I am from Boston and have experienced spectating at the Marathon both before and after the events of 2013.

Should mourning be contained by boundaries?

I have my “JFK Moment” from when I heard about the bombing; I was in the Chic-Fil-A in Huntersville and had just ordered a sandwich when a New York Times notification appeared on my phone. I first checked with my friends at home who would have likely been at the race to make sure they were okay. Thankfully, they all were. I did not know any of the four people who died from the bombing, nor did I directly know anybody who was injured, outside of mutual friends. Yet I felt some sort of attachment to the story and still do. Today, the site is relatively unmarked. The two explosion locations have been cleaned, and makeshift memorials have been placed in city archives. “Our Marathon” thus becomes a place where mourning lives on. I was affected by the event, but never would have been invited to the funerals of any of the victims. Thus, private grieving would be closed to me. Nevertheless,  I still feel connected to what happened; to think that someone from New Mexico or France wouldn’t be as connected as be simply because of their area code is shortsighted. Such platforms allow the plane of grief to be leveled between all people. Tragedies bring people together; how can media help unite differences in times of happiness as well?

During our class discussion about online versus offline mourning, my table came across a post on the 9/11 memorial website in which someone claimed that their three year old son was very much impacted by the fall of the World Trade towers, since just a day before he had built two towers out of food cans. This strange posting on the website led to discussion at our table about the lengths people seem to go to in order to connect themselves to a tragic event during times of mourning, and how online mourning can facilitate this desire.

Several months ago, one of my high school classmates was killed by another of my high school classmates. The event certainly shocked many people of the community, including not only those who were close friends with the victim, but also acquaintances who may have only met him a few times. His Facebook page became a type of memorial, where people posted about the great guy he was and memories they shared with him. It was strange to see people who barely knew the victim making long, mournful posts on his Wall. I even remember pondering whether I too should post something. Though I had not spoken to him for several years, I felt that I wanted to be a part of mourning. Ultimately, Facebook provided a platform for me to publicly be apart of this shocking community event even though I barely had any kind of connection to it.

This summer, I saw a documentary on Netflix called The Woman Who Wasn’t There about a woman who desperately wanted to be a part of not only the 9/11 mourning, but also the event itself. Though most of the story took place in an offline environment, I feel that this documentary captures the feelings I have attempted to express in this post. I found it a fascinating tale, and would highly recommend it. Below, I have embedded the movie trailer.

Database visualization seems to be particularly relevant to discussion about life and death represented through digital media. Nick Gagnon made an interesting observation through his analysis of Jonathan Harris’ Whale Hunt. Gagnon notes that he was initially inclined to interpret the way the data were visualized to represent excitement in the photo series or death of the whale, only to realize after investigation that “spikes” in the visualization connoted frequency of photos over time.

Gagnon’s observations highlight how subjective observation and experience of database representation can be. In class, we touched on the fact that that Adobe’s Flash standard is used to codify the digital information of Harris’ work. Because users are asked to install Flash software to properly compile and represent the work they are able to see it largely as Harris intended, but viewed critically one could call Harris only one “reader” of his own work in the post-structuralist tradition. He can say that his narrative can only be represented in one way, but one can argue that if his work is understood of as a database, it can be represented in many ways.

Flash rendering: narrative? database?

Source code: narrative? database?

Is the source code for a program a valid representation for the data therein? If a programmer can visualize the code in her mind’s eye, does that constitute a narrative? These questions remind us that representation is a multifaceted process with many layers; equally important to the form of a work is its function.

In this post, I would like to respond briefly to Richard Hendrix’s Disintermediated Existence. The presence of internet creates public and private spaces for people to share experience, thoughts and emotions. It is truly the process of accumulating memories which are stored in digital form. People are free to participate the discussion about life and death, but meanwhile, they are creating their own memories, perspectives or personalities. In this process of disintermediation and de-aggregation of information, people are making their own “democratized creation” in various ways.

Another great example is Jonathan Harris’s The Whale Hunt. The entire week’s record constructed with photos can be a database itself. But through the narrator’s point of view and the clear time-line, it also tells a story and represents a collection of memories of many others. Does it objectively reflect what has happened during that week? Or at least, the point-of-view of the narrator? Since the representation of things happen in real life can be deemed as certain forms of productions, how do we define or differentiate what is genuine and true from what is embellished or even fabricated? It is certainly very interesting that someone brought this up in class today.

After all, how people interpret the information provided just like how they judge things around with their own values. This resonates with Ryan’s perspective of the social norm on the internet. The question that Ryan asks at the end is thought-provoking,

“Are the things you read on the internet really expressing both sides to the story or is the content inhibited by social norms?”

I also want to raise a question: do the things people put down to represent their perspectives online really represent what they are?

Picture: http://www.newbreedmarketing.com/blog/marketing/blog-ideas-besides-blogging