Chapter 1 Interfaces for the Anthropocene

What Is an Interface?

An interface can be defined in more or less specific terms. Our contemporary, everyday understanding tends to associate it with the digital such that an interface is “a mediating structure that supports behaviors and tasks” and that “disciplines, constrains, and determines what can be done in a digital environment” (Drucker, Graphesis, 138–39). To develop knowledge for the Anthropocene, however, it is useful to step back and see how interfaces are a key feature of infrastructures in general, and more specifically of the subcategory of infrastructures that science and technology studies (STS) scholars have defined as “knowledge infrastructures.”

Therefore, while the digital is currently a predominant object of concern when studying contemporary knowledge infrastructures, I extend this definition to other settings, defining an interface as a space of interaction between a system and an agent. While interfaces are often assumed to act as information spaces that show, they are also action spaces that enable doing. While this definition shares the inclusive approach to a diversity of interfaces also embraced by writers such as Alexander Galloway, it remains grounded in the analysis of design and the materiality of interfaces rather than focusing on an “effect.” In addition, while an interface is often treated as a site that enables the connection of entities that have different powers—typically, humans and computers (Cramer and Fuller)—my approach is informed by STS. “Agent” should be understood here as a category open to humans, more-than-humans, and technologies, as well as hybrid forms of these. “Interaction” should also be understood as a layered, performative concept. In both cases, “interface situates us in a mediating relation to information, communication, and experience. It also provides a platform for interpretative work in knowledge production” (Drucker, Visualization, 92). To understand how interfaces matter for knowledge, therefore, we must consider how what we are shown (and/or what we can do) in this space is shaped by material, symbolic, and time-bound elements, as well as how interfaces are rendered meaningful through actual use by skilled agents.

Interfaces are linked to wide-ranging technologies that vary from mundane to high-tech, and analog to digital—think of a volume dial on a transistor radio or a programmable setting on an electron microscope. The complexity of interfaces further increases when interfaces are connected to infrastructures since they constitute the space of action that links agents to entire suites of technologies. In the context of knowledge infrastructures, as defined in STS (Beaulieu, Revealing Relations; Edwards), interfaces rely on multiple layers of conventions and protocols that articulate the relations among the components of an infrastructure and shape what can be shown or done. This layering makes such interfaces potentially powerful, but it also constrains the range of possibilities of interaction since interfaces must remain aligned with the infrastructural components.

A focus on interfaces is especially helpful to start thinking differently about infrastructures because we associate interfaces with possibility, potential, and dynamic realization. We come to interfaces with the expectation that they are a site for activity. In contrast, infrastructures tend to fall into the background, to be experienced as neutral enablers, and we are able to see them as performative only through infrastructural inversions that require deep analysis (Bowker and Star; Brown et al.). While there are very different takes on what it means to interact with an interface, there is an important contrast between how we experience interfaces and how we tend to experience infrastructures—as invisible, stable, monolithic, or just there. We feel much more engaged by interfaces and experience our encounters with them as active and normative, whether judged as user-friendly or not. We are also increasingly becoming aware that interfaces read us, gathering data about our search terms, patterns, and life rhythms (Beaulieu and Leonelli). This contrast is one of the elements that makes interfaces productive in rethinking knowledge for the Anthropocene. Interfaces could be the thin end of the wedge, helping to clarify and modulate how infrastructures function as a “generative matrix” that constitutes routines, subjects, and relations (Povinelli, 150; Jensen and Morita). This is what makes interfaces especially potent sites to start rethinking and redoing infrastructures.

In what follows, I sketch out how we can study and develop interfaces as specific encounters between systems and agents that are situated and rely on specific conditions and skills. Rethinking interfaces is part of a project that aims to find effective ways to question and stop reproducing an architecture of universalism and frictionless circulation of knowledge, an architecture that furthermore hides the uneven distribution of violence and profit. Starting from interfaces, we can articulate knowledge infrastructures that help us construct liveable futures. Concretely, interfaces that show rather than elide the connection of knowledge to its context and process of production—such as those discussed later in this chapter around the SVALUR project—form essential contributions.

Approaches to Interfaces

A vast body of work focuses on understanding and designing interfaces. While several other fields are also concerned with interfaces, by contrasting human-computer interaction (HCI) and digital humanities, we can better situate dominant paradigms of interface design, implemented in the great majority of digital environments, and show how digital humanities can be a source of inspiration for the potential of interfaces.

At the root of HCI is the goal-oriented approach of helping humans get things done, whether in a military or industrial context (Harrison, Sengers, and Tatar), and more recently in the context of ubiquitous computing in a wealth of everyday, mundane settings. Despite this range of settings, the elements of requirements elicitation and evaluation based mainly on usability and efficiency have remained core concerns in HCI. These serve the aim of enabling people to work effectively, using systems designed around their needs. A core assumption underlying the elicitation of requirements and evaluation according to usability and efficiency involves the definition and stabilization of users and technologies as separate actions. The project of creating interfaces, therefore, remains one of optimization, of seeking the best fit between human and machine, of enabling efficient information exchange, and, with ubiquitous computing, of supporting situated action. These approaches yield interfaces as discrete technologies. Importantly, this engineering approach aligns knowledge infrastructures with infrastructures elaborated for mobility, communication, or energy needs.

In contrast, approaches to interfaces informed by digital humanities have revealed the interface as a site of creation, at times focused on novel relations and actions (Hookway; Cramer and Fuller) or on the effects of the interfaces and digital technologies in terms of the materiality of text (Lenoir) or code (Mackenzie). Rather than seeing interfaces as a technology to be optimized, interfaces have been conceptualized as a space of world-making (Holtrop) or as a site of aesthetic production worthy of critical attention (Ulrik and Pold). Also, in contrast to HCI approaches, the constitution of the agent, rather than servicing its needs, is made central to inquiry and design.

Digital humanities research also indicates the importance of the metaphor of surface to the shaping of interfaces, which affects not only the space of interaction but also the knower and what can be known. The flatness of most interfaces, without a vanishing point, tends to elide historical and cultural situatedness (Drucker, Visualization). This is also true for spatial situatedness since digital interfaces tend to define location not in terms of place but rather in relation to Cartesian coordinates that render spaces equivalent—but at the cost of erasing historical, cultural, and place-based understandings (Beaulieu, “A Space for Measuring Mind”).

Finally, digital humanities propose a route to better interfaces through an examination of how different epistemic values might be inscribed in interfaces, enabling (but not determining) different interactions. Drucker (but see also Jue and McGillivray et al.) insists across her oeuvre on the need to inscribe ambiguity, complexity, and multiplicity of viewpoints to serve the interpretative agenda of the humanities. For her part, Brown stresses the need to consider how design fundamentally matters since it affects whether resources are considered useful and are actually used (Brown). Others have gone so far as to argue that argument and interface design are inseparable (Andrews and van Zundert).

This brief sketch provides some context to understand the contrast between interpretations of interfaces that foreground representation, immediacy, abstraction, and standardization to enable calculability and scalability, and interpretations that foreground the generative attributes of interfaces and support human attentiveness to embodiment, vitality, and materiality. The latter interpretations foreground interpretation and transformation, and correspondingly different approaches to interface design. Scholars have set out how the epistemic values of the humanities need to be supported through reflexive and critical infrastructure development (Liu, “Toward Critical Infrastructure Studies”; Drucker, Visualization) or how infrastructures can best serve diversity (Liu, “Towards a Diversity Stack”) and access in digital humanities (Pawlicka-Deger). I contend that such reconfigurations are crucial, not only for the sake of providing better tools for the important work of the humanities, but also as a way to support a different relationship to the environment and enable liveable futures.

Digital Interfaces in the Anthropocene

Interfaces matter for the Anthropocene, for example in relation to growing datafication and digitization. To articulate new kinds of accountability and thereby stimulate more efficient supply chain logistics and carbon accounting, Paul Edwards suggests expanding how data exhaust is taken into account. Other lines of work argue that changing the scope of knowledge infrastructures (Beaulieu, Revealing Relations) and considering how more-than-humans are essential to the functioning of many knowledge infrastructures (Eren and Beaulieu) can offer new possibilities for knowledge for the Anthropocene. The multiplication of geolocation applications, such as radio frequency identification (RFID), tagged animals, and a wealth of other sensors, as well as the portability of screens, also mean that the digital and the natural are increasingly entwined in our tools and conceptualizations (Gabrys), a phenomenon sometimes labeled the “digital Anthropocene” (McLean). The design of better digital environments matters for modes of engagement with the living world and are relevant for wider lay audiences (Whitelaw and Smaill).

To simplify this complex discussion, rather than focus on specific technological implementations that may rapidly become obsolete, I identify core values to guide novel interfaces. First, there is a strong sense that moral order can be felt in the material state of the world and in the ontologies on which we elaborate in our knowledge systems (Tsing, The Mushroom; Bellacasa; Conty). This involves both a decentering of humans (Cielemęcka and Daigle) and renewed attention to how we position the material world ontologically and epistemologically. “New materialists” therefore argue for renewed attention to materiality as an alternative to the politics of representation. The resulting materialization of relations of knowing contrasts with narratives of commodification, scaling, and virtualization that have shaped digital technologies. It also draws into question the seamless and frictionless interface. If materiality matters, very literally, then interfaces that do justice to these sensibilities would make work, engagement, and friction prominent, radicalizing the current paradigm of tangible user interfaces where users are not merely presented with flat screens and surfaces or with sensors that disappear, but also are invited to engage with objects that have complex materiality and spatiality.

Another dimension of the kinds of relations needed for liveable futures questions the affectively neutral, detached interface. Detachment—of course also a form of affect—enables calculation (Turnhout and Purvis; Tichenor et al.), commensurability (Espeland and Stevens; Dijck, Poell, and Waal), aggregation (Alaimo and Kallinikos), and standardization (Beaulieu, “Voxels in the Brain”). So far, attempts to explore affect in relation to interfaces have been predominantly in the service of aggregation (the algorithmic treatment of “likes”) or sentiment analysis (natural language processing of user-generated posts). While affective computing increases the range of interfaces, it views emotions as conduits of information by emphasizing multimodal interfaces, thereby aligning with the criterion of efficiency discussed in relation to HCI.

Clearly, if affective dimensions are to be integrated in our relationships to the world, be they care (Bellacasa) or curiosity (Lorimer, Wildlife in the Anthropocene), then a more radical approach to interfaces will be needed. Agostinho (2) asks how visualization might be rethought to enhance “dignity, ethical responsibility and care for what is not known.” In addition, recent work on mediation in DH suggests that a focus on volumes and duration (rather than surface and immediacy) could also open our registers to affective interactions in the Anthropocene and, especially, expand our vocabulary for environmental justice (Jue).

While there are important differences in starting points and politics between scholars, the need for situated knowledges is prominently argued across many analyses. The consequences of lack of situatedness have been elaborated in relation to colonial practices of access to land (Liboiron); to bodies, populations, and their data (Murphy; Couldry and Mejias; Ruppert and Isin); and to history (Povinelli); as well as in relation to epistemic injustice with regard to indigenous knowledge (Todd; Turnbull). Across this work, the consequences of landless, bodiless, ahistorical, and abstracted knowledge are exposed as dispossession, genocide, and environmental degradation, and the often-undisputed desirability of access is problematized (Christen). If the erasure of provenance, context, and a variety of forms of ownership (besides economic) is implicated in the crisis of the Anthropocene, it makes sense to pursue a more situated and accountable way of knowing. This pleads for interfaces that would insist on assigning meaningful location, situation, and embodiment to data.

In critiques of modernist knowledge infrastructures, the dominance of individualized, discrete objects is also prominent (Christen; Bigo, Isin, and Ruppert). In contrast, many analysts plead for more attention to be paid to interactions and the importance of the relational for knowledge production for liveable futures. For example, if we shift the focus from nature as an external object and make relations to it central (Schroer), then to do justice to these relationships, interfaces should encourage composing practices within a preexisting and shifting web of relations (Arola). Interfaces that allow information seeking through “generous interfaces” (Whitelaw) or browsing (Ruecker, Radzikowska, and Sinclair), rather than solely retrieval systems based on “search,” would contribute to better relations.

Yet another angle on the relational in terms of interfaces would be to enrich attempts at personalization and customization beyond a current focus on what is relevant for supporting transactions and consumption. Interfaces could allow for the enactment of a much wider range of relationships based on critical reflection. This could take the shape of interfaces designed to display relations for serendipitous discovery rather than information retrieval, as the Huni project aims to do (Verhoeven).3 Or, if interfaces are also seen to have a duration (Jue), they could better support transformative encounters, spread over time, or closely entwined through digital copresence and liveness (Turnbull, Searle, and Adams). More attention to the relations of knowers to knowledge, therefore, could be a way to combat both testimonial and hermeneutic injustice (Fricker, 176–79). Since knowledge infrastructures, just like archives, rely on and reproduce particular socialities (Povinelli, 149), more attention to the social relations that undergird knowledge as collectively generated in infrastructures (Beaulieu and de Rijcke) also supports a less individualistic and atomistic sociality.

Finally, issues of scale are also powerfully identified across different analyses. When the Anthropocene is articulated as massive and planetary, the dynamics of globalization are reactivated (Tsing, Friction; Chakrabarty; Murphy) and contribute to the sense of “emergency” that may suspend the rights and freedoms of those already most disenfranchised, as we have seen in the recent responses to the Covid pandemic (Mattar et al.; Powers et al.). Again, ontology, epistemology, and politics of knowledge can be reconfigured by seeking to interface with issues of scale in mind. Interfaces that are oriented toward humility of intervention (Murphy) and support small-scale, intimate, and community-level developments would be invaluable.

These core values of interface design could contribute to better knowledge for the Anthropocene. They are relevant to developing a way of being in and knowing about the world that moves us beyond gesturing toward looming environmental and societal crises that our tools are insufficient to handle. They also enable us to avoid acting as accountants of death (who carefully monitor decline, as detached observers) and instead take more responsibility for the knowledge that we produce. Such interfaces could powerfully and iteratively connect knowledge to the possibility of identification, engagement, and meaningful action.

Interfacing Arctic Knowledge

This chapter has engaged with a wide range of scholarship and connected different kinds of concerns. It has set out many ambitions, calling for different ontologies, politics, and aesthetics that tangibly integrate attention to material, affective, situated, relational, and small-scale work for better interfaces. To explore how the current repertoire of interfaces can be related to these ambitions, I turn to a specific project focused on Svalbard, a Norwegian archipelago in the Arctic Ocean. This remote area of the world has a unique form of governance and welcomes a wide range of residents and visitors, both human and more-than-human, who immigrate or migrate to the archipelago. Many of these flows can be traced back over centuries, such that Svalbard is historically an important passage point for the exploitation of natural resources (e.g., hunting, mining) and the geopolitics of globalization (terra nullius, neutrality of trade). It is an area of intense interest for scientific research, being the object of a monitoring project called the Svalbard Integrated Arctic Earth Observing System (SIOS). Like so many other knowledge infrastructures, one of the driving principles of SIOS is to bring technologically mediated measurements together into a coherent and integrated observation and monitoring program.4 The work of SIOS is informed by a natural science–based, Earth system approach. It monitors a wealth of factors, ranging from land and sea temperatures to snow depth, salinity, and ocean currents, to name but a few types of data. SIOS has a very thorough review and support structure that ensures that the data collected and consolidated demonstrates a high level of standardization, documentation, and interoperability. Analyses of how such values and practices shape knowledge have been elaborated on previously and will not be repeated here, but it is crucial to note the overarching paradigm of monitoring via abstraction that organizes this data on and about Svalbard—a paradigm touted and recognized by funders, researchers, and many agencies as the core strength of the initiative.

SIOS serves explicitly as a foil to a much smaller but very intensely pursued project, Understanding Resilience and Long-Term Environmental Change in the High Arctic: Narrative-Based Analyses from Svalbard (nicknamed SVALUR).5 SVALUR seeks to examine the importance of narrative forms and of local and experiential knowledge in relation to the constitution and circulation of measurements, observations, and monitoring. It is fueled by the idea that important knowledge about Svalbard is elided by mainstream scientific knowledge, which the project terms detached understanding. Echoing the calls for different ways of knowing reviewed previously, SVALUR is concerned that in times of climate crisis, local communities of humans and nonhumans might not be optimally served by SIOS knowledge. The project initially set out to address this point by collecting accounts and interpretations of environmental change in context—namely, interviews, diaries, and testimonies mediated and preserved as audio recordings and their transcriptions. During the project, the SVALUR team also actively sought to remain in dialogue with SIOS through consultation and participation in SIOS events—unsurprisingly with varying degrees of success. Late in the project, as a member of SVALUR joined the Knowledge Infrastructures Department of Campus Fryslân, which I lead, a few members of the department started collaborating with the SVALUR team.

The work of SVALUR reveals much about dominant modes of interfaces and how they contrast with the aspirations of the SVALUR researchers. Two registers are repeatedly explored by these researchers as they seek to generate knowledge and engage others in it: experiencing and making visible. These registers are used in various subprojects to develop interfaces for SVALUR and serve here to make clear the epistemic tensions that arise around what can count as legitimate knowledge.

A first set of efforts in SVALUR sought to combine the epistemic strengths of SIOS (monitoring data) with the experience of generating this data and knowledge of the field, which is essential to properly understand it. Experiential and field knowledge is strongly elided from SIOS interfaces, although it is articulated by researchers in other settings and now is gathered by SVALUR team members. In seeking to order and make visible these other aspects, the project has engaged with Maptionnaire, an interface that uses maps to evoke data from participants and link it to specific coordinates.6 Maptionnaire therefore makes room for experience and field knowledge through a mapping interface that situates, but also makes it possible to commensurate (make measurable by a common standard) with, the effect of rendering value (in all senses of the term) comparable. The space of the map is then the common denominator that coordinates input and potentially links the narratives of SVALUR and the observations of SIOS (see Figure 1.1). This is a way of turning experience into a format that is compatible with monitoring so these different types of data become potential layers to be integrated through reliance on a Cartesian space that becomes the universal translator for integration of wide-ranging data.7 While this approach does make visible a wider range of types of knowledge, it typically does so by placing them next to each other as independent layers that can be clicked on and off. As such, it does not make visible the interdependence of these elements and elides the importance of experiential and embodied knowledge for the production and understanding of monitoring data. This interface does part of the job of bringing other modes of knowing into the realm of monitoring data, but because it does so through a logic of commensurability, making stories and measurements comparable, it comes at the cost of inserting the SVALUR narratives into a universalizing epistemology.

SVALUR researchers are committed to demonstrating how embodiment and field experience, as undocumented elements that affect measurements, are important for SIOS and for better knowing Svalbard. But this relationship is challenging to make visible. Members of the SVALUR team experienced different interfaces as reinforcing a dichotomy by pairing experience with narrative and empirical truth with numerical measurement data. To avoid subsuming what the team sees as valuable knowledge to a framing of experience as independent (if not completely extraneous) to monitoring, it has turned to an entirely different set of interfaces to foreground experience: artistic encounters on Svalbard and workshops at scientific conferences, along with opinion pieces in scientific journals. The hope is that these forms better convey the complexity, interplay, entanglement, and fluidity of field experience and its relationship to monitoring data. While these interfaces enable more intimate and coherent interactions among modes of knowing, the project team saw them as a different kind of output: opinion pieces were positioned at a somewhat different level than the empirical publications; satellite workshops at conferences were not viewed as being quite as weighty as presentations in the main program; and live events were less enduring than digital infrastructure. To do justice to the entwinement of narrative and measurement, other formats seemed necessary, but they were felt to be outside the mainstream.

In a third line of work, researchers in SVALUR examine their own knowledge production by expanding the range of interfaces that they work with. The team has experimented with the use of Obsidian to document the research process, led by one member’s interest in this note-taking tool. Obsidian is designed to highlight connections among items and to map out complex sets of relations, and it is descended from knowledge systems that have index cards at their heart.8 It supports a multiplicity of sources and relations and makes both searching and browsing possible via both textual and graphical interfaces. In that sense, the platform welcomes the range of formats that SVALUR wants to embrace and supports the creation of limitless relations among all objects. Obsidian can also display information in countless ways that are not predetermined, and the platform’s software is open to enable further design improvements. But this openness and malleability also give rise to uncertainty about what Obsidian makes visible, as researchers struggle to make sense of how to use this extensive source of documentation. They see the risks: sharing so much of the workflow of the project can lead to user overload or lead to overexposure of the cracks in the project. Obsidian is known as a personal knowledge management tool, or more colloquially as a “second brain”—qualifications that stress the intimate, personal purpose of the platform. Sharing interdependence and complexity can make projects and researchers vulnerable, even as it showcases precious insights about the entwinement of experience and outcomes of research.

Each of these lines of work has particularities that require tailored approaches, resulting in SVALUR struggling with the overarching logics of interfaces that impose strong divides: public and private/personal, time/space, specific/generalizable, observation/experience, and measurement/account. In developing the project, the team has felt a tension between stories and data and sought not to repeat that problem, based on the conviction that monitoring is also full of experiential knowledge and inscribed in a particular set of narratives common to environmental data collection.

Two elements are worth noting here. First, the data of SIOS would not make sense without strongly internalized—and externally broadcast—narratives about the value of mechanical objectivity, data sharing, disciplined observation, empiricism, and long-term monitoring. The unearthing and critique of these dominant but unmarked narratives may be necessary to arrive at interfaces that do justice to a reconfiguration of knowledge that troubles the alignment of data-scientific-global and experience-narrative-local. Second, as increased diversity of knowledge is on every agenda, from posthuman and new materialist (Conty) to Earth system approaches (Anderies, Mathias, and Janssen), this may be achieved only through intense attention to novel design practices since existing supports and platforms tend to reinscribe the status quo. A pilot project called Contaminating Encounters, in whose development I participated, explores such alternatives (see Figure 1.2). As Tomás Sánchez Criado formulates it, any real attempt at “creating a lasting epistemic transformation in these contexts of asymmetric knowledge politics—so those neglected knowledges can matter—would explicitly require an immense experimental investment in forms of designing careful conditions” (67). As discussed in relation to SVALUR, the challenge should not be underestimated, but interfaces are a good starting point to move toward the kinds of knowledge needed for the Anthropocene.

The challenge of developing the knowledge needed for the Anthropocene does not lie in acquiring more data, but in engaging in different relations. This is why interfaces are a good place of intervention and why digital humanities can be such a powerful source of inspiration, know-how, and conceptual innovation for the formalizations needed for production (van Zundert et al.). With regard to interfaces specifically, digital humanities expertise can help create better interfaces that instantiate and support other relations to data beyond search, retrieval, and computation. They can enable a focus on meaning in relation to measurements of objects, on topologies rather than location, and on possibility and potential rather than calculation and probability. These are neither interesting but trivial design tweaks, nor the addition of enriching layers, but rather deeply transformative ways of looking at interfaces and knowledge infrastructures. If we take seriously these alternative relations while developing interfaces, this approach can help us relate to data in a mode that is problematizing (“speculative”) rather than declarative (“truth-claiming”) (Johansson and Stenlund, 74). Finally, interfaces where different models of agency that would enhance awareness of collectivities as constitutive of our selves and our material worlds would open different ways of knowing and acting on pollution, soil health, or land use.

This is not an easy project, and there are difficulties to be expected. For example, we should expect to fight those who claim that there is no viable alternative (TINAs). In this battle, having a good set of exemplars can help, and the present volume contains a wealth of successful and sustainable projects that can serve this purpose. There will also be organizational and material consequences in developing new kinds of interfaces, on both the front and back end—think of relations between client and servers and the alignment of hardware and infrastructures to serve different interfaces, as well as the implications for the materials and energy needed to run these infrastructures.9 At present, these are aligned to search logics, and our current World Wide Web is optimized for retrieval based on search.

New ways of designing interfaces will require different skills (Whitelaw) and the ability to interact in even more diverse teams. This is no small task, and anyone having worked in inter/multi/transdisciplinary projects in universities can testify to the misalignment of administrative and reward structures to such ways of working. At the same time, there are many lines of work and activism that can fuel the project described here. Allies are essential and can be sought in movements for openness, public internet, digital literacy, and leadership, and in the strong currents of science policy, development work, and citizen science that seek and support alternatives to a regime of monitoring and indicators.

Notes

1. 1. I would like to thank the members of the Knowledge Infrastructures Department, the members of the SVALUR team, and in particular the reviewers and editors of this volume for valuable feedback on this text.

2. 2. This term is rightly criticized along different axes: its anthropocentrism (Brannen) and its flattening of the huge differences in the relation, responsibility, and vulnerability of different parts of Anthropos (Chakrabarty; Haraway; Todd and Davis). Also see Lorimer, “The Anthropo-Scene,” for an insightful overview of different lines of work that use Anthropocene as a label.

3. 3. On HuNI, see also chapter 12 in this volume by Verhoeven, Jones, Burrows, and Borda.

4. 4. https://sios-svalbard.org/.

5. 5. https://www.slu.se/svalur/.

6. 6. https://www.maptionnaire.com/.

7. 7. See efforts to redesign map interfaces specifically in the Iigliinit project (Gearheard et al. 2011).

8. 8. https://obsidian.md/.

9. 9. On the energy requirements of information technology (IT), see chapter 7 in this volume by Cha and Miller.

Bibliography