Month: March 2026

Palladio is a great new tool for me to explore the dataset in a more interactive and visual way than reading a spreadsheet directly. For example, the network graph clearly shows how participants were connected to specific tracks through edges. This made it easy to identify which songs were more central (Johnny B. Goode, Flowing Streams, etc), based on the number of connections, and which songs appeared on the edges with fewer links. Also, the modularity grouping feature is helpful in automatically clustering participants based on shared selections. This helped me recognize “communities” of similar choices, something that would have been very difficult to identify manually. In this sense, Palladio is strong because it allows users to move between data and visualization, supporting comparison and pattern analysis.

However, as I tried to take my analysis further, I began to see the tool’s limits. At one point, I attempted to analyze participants’ last names and wondered whether I could infer their cultural or linguistic origins, hoping this would help explain the patterns I saw in the clusters. While Palladio allowed me to filter and highlight specific nodes, I realized that this approach was not very meaningful. A last name may suggest a possible origin, but it does not accurately represent a person’s identity, background, or experiences. Even though the visualization made these names visible, it did not provide enough context to support deeper connections. This made me realize that I was trying to use the tool to answer questions that the data itself could not support.

This activity helped me better understand what Palladio actually does. It is effective at showing relationships (edges), frequency (degree of connections), and clusters (modularity groups), but it does not explain the reasons behind. For example, I could see that some tracks were highly connected and others were more isolated, but I could not determine why participants made those choices. The tool also highlights what is present in the dataset but does not show what is missing, such as songs that were not selected or the personal reasoning behind each decision. In my own case, my selection process was guided by specific criteria, including nature, emotion, cultural diversity, and human creativity. I personally resonate with classical music as a cellist, but I paid attention to my preference and tried to balance it with traditional and modern music. More importantly, I imagined humans in the future rediscovering Earth, so I wanted the music to reflect how humans once lived in harmony with nature and with each other. These personal intentions and meanings shaped my decisions, but Palladio reduces all of this into simple connections between nodes. 

This led me to think more critically about digital tools in general. Palladio demonstrates one of the internet’s strengths: the ability to organize, connect, and visualize complex data quickly. It allows users to interact with data through filtering and highlighting. Because the graph appears structured and complete, it can give the impression that it fully represents reality. In fact, it reflects only the data that has been entered and the relationships that can be measured. The humanities are not just data points that can be easily simplified and analyzed with graphs like this. Human culture, emotions, and experiences are complex and cannot be fully captured by connections and patterns alone. While tools like Palladio help organize and visualize information, they cannot represent the depth and meaning behind human expression. This also reminds me why digitizing books and texts is important. Unlike data visualizations, books can preserve context, stories, and perspectives which allow us to understand human culture in a more complete and meaningful way. Therefore, it is important to use powerful digital tools critically, recognizing both what they show clearly and what they cannot represent.

When I started thinking about this activity, my first question was how the original 27 pieces on the Golden Record were selected. Since I cannot fully know their criteria, I tried to think about it from another perspective, using Carl Sagan’s idea that the Voyager Record may still speak for us a billion years from now. Therefore, instead of choosing music for aliens, I choose them for ourselves, the ways humans want the Earth to be presented in the future if the human race loses memory of it. Based on this idea, I selected pieces that represent nature (the Earth itself), emotion (a fundamental part of human life), harmony between nature and humans, cultural diversity, and human creativity. I tried to include different cultures, emotions, and time periods while maintaining a balance among classical, traditional, and modern music. Because I play the cello, I personally resonate with classical music, but I also wanted to include music from other cultures, such as Chinese, Indigenous, African, and South American. The overall goal was to show how humans once lived in harmony with nature and with each other, and how music reflects human culture.

My idea connects to Rumsey’s video about digitization and cultural preservation. In the video, she explains that when we digitize cultural materials, we are not simply storing information but also making decisions about what aspects of human culture are worth preserving for the future. In this sense, the Voyager Golden Record can be understood as an early form of cultural archiving. The selection of music serves to preserve important elements of human culture across time and space. However, I recognized that my choices may reflect my own bias. When selecting the pieces, I noticed that I tended to choose music that felt more familiar or emotionally understandable to me, while music that sounded unfamiliar was more likely to be eliminated. This made me realize that curating cultural archives is never completely neutral, because personal experience and cultural background can influence what we consider to represent humanity. As Rumsey discussed in the video, decisions about digitization and preservation always involve human judgment and values. 

1. Bach: Brandenburg Concerto No. 2

Human artistic creativity, the complexity of classical music. 

2. Azerbaijani: Ugam

Cultural diversity, the Caucasus region’s musical culture. 

3. Mozart: Queen of the Night Aria (The Magic Flute)

Dramatic human emotion, human vocal ability, and artistic creativity of opera. 

4. Chinese Guqin: Flowing Streams (Liu Shui)

Harmony between humans and nature, the Chinese philosophical worldview, and cultural diversity. 

5. Navajo Night Chant

Indigenous cultural traditions, human community.  

6. Georgian Chorus: Tchakrulo

Human vocal ability, cultural diversity, and community traditions.

7. Blind Willie Johnson: Dark Was the Night, Cold Was the Ground

Deep human emotion and spirituality. 

8. Senegalese Percussion

African rhythm traditions and celebration. 

9. Peruvian Wedding Song

Social traditions and music play an important role in the human community and cultural rituals.

10. Chuck Berry: Johnny B. Goode

Modern popular music and youth culture, and human creativity.

In my original “What’s in my bag” post, I described the contents of my bag in writing. The objects appeared meaningful in themselves: the notebook symbolized reflection, the temple charm carried cultural memory, and the small practical items suggested preparedness and adaptability. The bag seemed to support who I am in the process of becoming.

For the second part of the assignment, I redesigned the task using a calendar format. Instead of describing the objects, I mapped when and how often they are actually used throughout the week. This shifted the semiotic mode from narrative to spatial and temporal. According to the New London Group (1996), meaning is shaped through design, through how we arrange and use available resources. By analyzing my bag through space and time, I changed what the bag could say about me. 

What emerged was not richness, but emptiness. Although my schedule is busy: studying, playing the cello, caring for three children, attending sports, planning the daily routine of the household, most objects in my bag are rarely used. The calendar exposed a gap between presence and use. Although the bag travels everywhere, it remains materially quiet. In contrast to my original post, where objects appeared expressive, the calendar showed that many of them are inactive. However, the notebook and pen remain constant. Even when unused, they are always present. Whenever I use a smaller bag, even the notebook does not fit, I fold loose paper and bring it “just in case.” Sometimes, their presence feels less practical than symbolic, representing my readiness to think, reflect, and become. According to New London Group (1996), tools like this function as available designs that support my ongoing process of identity formation. They anchor a version of myself that I am still building, someone who writes, studies, and slows down enough to give thought physical form.

But the calendar made me question something new: perhaps objects do not represent us simply by existing in our bags. Perhaps meaning comes from how we use them and the intention behind carrying them. In my first post, the objects seemed to define my identity. In the redesigned calendar, identity did not appear as clear in the new mode; it instead emerged through patterns of time, like when I study, when I care for my children, when I practice cello, and when I pause. The emptiness of the calendar does not mean a lack of identity, but rather suggests that identity is formed through repeated actions and commitments rather than possessions.

Through this redesign, I realized that my bag does not fully represent who I am becoming. Instead, it quietly supports the process of becoming. The objects inside may be simple, but their meaning lies in how I activate them. Identity, like literacy, is not stored in objects. It is designed through practice.