I have decided to use this opportunity (my second blog post) to talk about an instrument without which my experiment would have been impossible – a stereoscope. To be honest, until 2 weeks ago its mechanism was a bit of a mystery for me but that quickly changed when I had to disassemble and assemble it again. Luckily, Abi Lee, the PhD student, who made it was around and was able to give me a hand.

Before we talk about a stereoscope, we need to understand the term ‘stereoscopic vision’. Taken literally, it means ‘solid sight’ and refers to the visual perception of the 3D structure of the world. This type of vision is possible due to monocular and binocular mechanisms, that require the use of one and two eyes, respectively. Some of the monocular cues are perspective, image overlap and shading. There are two binocular cues:

1. Binocular disparity – the brain uses the difference in image location of an object seen by the left and right eyes to extract depth information.
2. Convergence – the effort by the eye’s muscles to focus on a close-up object gives a clue to the brain about an object’s depth.

So far we have discussed our natural ability to see the world in 3D but it isn’t the only way we can perceive depth. Most of us will be familiar with a stereoscopic instrument that allows to us to recreate this perception. 3D glasses are, in fact, a stereoscopic instrument in which each lens has a filter of an opposite colour (usually red and cyan). These filters match the filters of two superimposed on each other images, resulting in each eye receiving a stereoscopic image. This image is then fused by the visual cortex of the brain into the perception of a 3D scene. 

First stereoscope made by Charles Wheatstone in 1838. Image source: Smithsonian Magazine.

A stereoscope also allows our brain to fuse two 2D images into one 3D image but with one important difference in comparison to 3D glasses. Instead of two superimposed on each other images, we are shown a pair of separate images, depicting left-eye and right-eye views of the same scene. In other words, a stereoscope artificially stimulates binocular disparities that are naturally present when viewing a real 3D scene with two eyes. Our natural ability to perceive depth through binocular disparity works well if the combination of eye convergence and focus required is natural. On the contrary, the images shown through a stereoscope often involve an unnatural combination. In fact, you might be able to see depth without a stereoscope with practice but this process can take a long time and cause some eye strain.

I would like to thank Lord Laidlaw for providing these exciting research and leadership opportunities for two summers (and time in between as I had to think about my second summer’s project). Also a big thank you to the Laidlaw team and my amazing supervisor Prof. Harris!

References:

Howard, I. P., & Rogers, B. J. (1995). Binocular vision and stereopsis. New York: Oxford University Press.

Papathomas, T.V., Morikawa, K., Wade, N. Bela Julesz in Depth. Vision 2019, 3, 18.

Rosas H., Vargas W., Cerón A., Domínguez D., Cárdenas A. (2007) Psychophysical Approach to the Measurement of Depth Perception in Stereo Vision. Shumaker R. (eds) Virtual Reality. ICVR 2007. Lecture Notes in Computer Science, 4563.

The world has become such a fast-paced environment that it feels like we can’t succeed if we’re not constantly moving in some sort of direction. In the craze of trying to keep up, we often lose sight of the big picture and instead of reaching our desired destination, we end up lost. What we often forget is that stopping every once in a while, is just as important. Giving ourselves a moment to pause and reflect is paramount to success in every meaning of the word. The same thinking applies when undertaking a research project. I was so excited about my Laidlaw project and had such big aspirations for what I wanted to do and it was very difficult to stay focused on the end goal because I kept getting so many ideas and went on so many tangents about my research that it got overwhelming. In fact, I’ve had to redefine my research project on a couple of occasions because it just got too much for me to take on for the purposes of the scholarship. What has allowed me to stay relatively on task, however, is the simple task of reflection.

Image Source: http://tozalionline.com/self-reflection/

As a student studying medicine, we are expected to write a reflection after almost every major activity that we do and, although it does become tedious at times, it has really helped me to track my progress. I decided to do something similar with my research. I am not a big fan of writing and so I try and find other ways of reflecting on my work, namely by talking. My supervisor, Dr. Frank Sullivan, has done a brilliant job of guiding me on my very first project and he has made the process so much easier for me. The chats I have with him on a weekly basis force me to consolidate all my work and see my progress from the last meeting. In our chats, we are obviously discussing the finer details of my project, but we also talk about my overall project goal. We often come back to talking about why I am doing my project. I truly feel that reflecting on your reasoning behind a major project is vital for the proper development of it. It’s crucial that you remember what your end goal is, what the big picture is, because if you don’t know why you are doing something, then you may as well not do it at all. Dr. Sullivan keeps my passion for the research alive and in check so as to make sure I don’t bite off more than I can chew. Apart from him, I also discuss with my family and close friends about my project and they offer a different perspective onto it all that really affects me and allows me to keep that passion going. There are days where I am frustrated with everything and just want to stop it all, and that’s where these close friends and family come in to help me relax and rejuvenate my fervour for my work. Talking to them reminds me of my excitement for the research and sparks my curiosity once again, allowing me to dive right back in with the same energy. By forcing myself to stop every once in a while, I allow myself the opportunity to go further than I normally would have.

I would like to thank my supervisors Dr. Frank Sullivan and Dr. Ross Upshur for their guidance on my project, as well as Dr. Derek Sloan for his ever so helpful insights. I would also like to thank my family and friends for their support along the way. Last but not least, I would like to thank Lord Laidlaw for giving the opportunity to students like me to follow their passions.

Both research and leadership concentrations of the Laidlaw program heavily promote self-direction, entrepreneurship, and self-reliance. In short, Laidlaw is an exercise in independence. That said, reflecting on my summer’s experience, I appreciate that while research and leadership are inherently self-driven activities, they are not activities that must be completed by one’s self. For all the focus on independence, Laidlaw showed me the dependence present (and needed) in research and leadership.  

Five weeks in the St. Andrean summer, spending eight hours a day reading ancient epics and historiographies alone in coffee shops led me to rethink my self-identification as an introvert. To overcome the challenges accompanying the loneliness of independence, I depended on forging relationships with my fellow Laidlaw scholars. 

St. Andrews out of term time is a hotbed for golfers, seagulls, and academics immersing themselves in work. Initially, other Laidlaw scholars appeared to be loving the solitude research permitted. I feared I alone struggled with being constantly alone. However, as I formed friendships and met regularly with the others in the cohort, I realized that few of us had escaped the occasional disillusionment with independent research. I am grateful for the time spent with my cohort – especially the Friday afternoons we met to eat cake and check in on each other. Towards the end of the five weeks we met for more social activities outside of Laidlaw as well. However, I believe that every scholar could have benefitted still from more cohort cohesion. The action learning sets were a break from solitude, as were leadership lunches. That said, more institutional aid in gathering the cohort is needed. Many scholars — high achieving bunch that we are — felt guilty to take time in the research day to spend time with each other. This is unfortunate because as I learned, we depend on each other to understand the triumphs and challenges of independent research. 

(Fellow scholars, Lottie Doherty and Geraint Morgan, one Cake Friday)

I could not reflect on the work I produced this summer without acknowledging my dependence on my supervisors, Dr. Alice König and Dr. Nicolas Wiater, and the gratitude I owe them. Applying under a predetermined Laidlaw project title, I joined Dr. König and Dr. Wiater’s established research project: ‘Visualising War.’ As an International Relations (IR) student, I was drawn to their project’s analysis of war – particularly, its exploration of the interplay between the differences and similarities in the depictions and discourse surrounding war. The problem was, their research was in a department completely foreign to me. Dr. König and Dr. Wiater are Classics professors. 

The interdisciplinary nature of my research resulted in a relationship of mutual dependence between my supervisors and I. Dr. König and Dr. Wiater relied on my unique background in IR to deliver fresh insight and research directions to their project. In a way, their clear dependence on me for this task promoted my own independence. Treated as an expert, I was allowed free rein to explore issues I found important and offer suggestions for their project to include more IR theory. 

Meanwhile, I depended on their expertise to guide me through unfamiliar Classics territory. Dr. König and Dr. Wiater brought me up to date on their past research to promote synthesis between my interests in IR with Visualising War. As my research evolved, I relied on my supervisors to introduce me to relevant materials, authors, and histories of the ancient Mediterranean. We met weekly in an excited dialogue of offering new ideas and resources to one another. My research stimulated theirs just as their stimulated mine. This summer has revealed how research is cooperative. 

Finally, I would like to reflect on how my research and leadership development depended on the Laidlaw scholarship. I was heavily considering entering academia after university. But with my many commitments during term time, I found it difficult to research either independently or as an undergraduate assistant; I had never had the opportunity to see if research was an avenue worth continuing. With Lord Laidlaw’s scholarship and the faculty members I met at St. Andrews, I was gifted the time and money to test my capacity for research and leadership. I also depended on the leadership lessons from the CAPOD team at St. Andrews. And as I reflect now on my summer experience, I find I am more intrigued by the leadership and management aspect of Laidlaw than the research. I am grateful for such an opportunity to be exposed to both fronts.

 I could have written this about my experiences with independence this summer. About how through research I learned how to plan and subsequently change plans. About how to honour my own intellect and prioritise information. How I cooked for myself for the first time. But I think I saw all of those coming. What I was most surprised about was the delicate balance between dependence and independence in research that I experienced through Laidlaw.

As I near the end of my second year as a Laidlaw scholar, it seems like a good time to reflect upon how the program has helped me develop over the past year. This blog post is directed to anyone thinking of applying but unsure if they are ‘good enough’ or in their first year of Laidlaw and struggling with either the research or leadership component – hopefully there’s something to relate to in here! 

Past 

There’s a lot of great things to attract students to the Laidlaw program; the opportunity for independent research, a network of like minded ambitious students, generous funding and a whole team of people supporting your leadership development. Once you’re ‘in’ however, it can be pretty daunting – at least that’s how I felt arriving at our first leadership weekend. As I looked around me I got this panicked feeling, later identified as ‘Imposter Syndrome’. I didn’t belong here with all these other students who were so intelligent, put together and sure of themselves. I got through the weekend having a lot of fun but feeling like I was a bit of a fraud. Maybe leadership wasn’t my thing but at least there was the research component – that’s where I would come into my element, it would be a breeze. Except it wasn’t. Summer research was an introduction into a completely different way of working compared to coursework and exams. Organising logistics, applying for funding, working closely with academics who are experts in their field and throughout it all encountering setbacks and hurdles. If I was feeling like a failure in both the leadership and research elements what was I doing here as a Laidlaw scholar?

Present 

This summer, things have felt different. Along with my Laidlaw research, I carried out five weeks of dissertation fieldwork and spent two weeks working as a research assistant. And it’s not that I haven’t encountered any problems this time, I have (including unsuccessful visa applications, rejected funding, denied access to data, and a few unwanted encounters with snakes!), it’s that the experiences over last summer prepared me to deal with setbacks in a different way. Action learning sets in which other students shared relatable problems and insecurities helped me feel less isolated. Guest speakers who talked about just how scary leadership and responsibility can be, helped normalise fear of failure. 

The Laidlaw program is no longer this big scary thing, but instead an exciting opportunity and support system. So if anything I have talked about so far is relatable to you, then here are some major points that continue to help me; 

• Whenever something goes wrong (and it happens to everyone!) don’t be too hard on yourself or spend too long feeling sorry for yourself either, instead focus on finding a solution – and ASK for help.
• Communication is so important, and while it can be intimidating to email your supervisor or to collaborate with academics from other institutions it’s good practice to get comfortable doing this now – most people are friendlier than you might expect.
• Taking on responsibility is scary and if you screw up it can feel embarrassing, but it’s much worse to let opportunities pass you by and never try at all.

“Undertaking dissertation fieldwork in Namibia with fellow MGeol students”

Future

While the Laidlaw program hasn’t transformed me into a polished, excellent leader or researcher, I do feel I have developed a mindset and confidence that push me to keep taking on opportunities, better myself, try to become more self aware. In hindsight this is all I could really ask for when I first applied for the Laidlaw scholarship and the experiences I have gained will continue to influence my actions and behaviors as I finish my final year of university and begin thinking about my next steps.

Acknowledgment

I would like to thank everyone on the Laidlaw team, in CAPOD, my supervisor Dr Tim Raub and all fellow Laidlaw scholars whose support and encouragement have been invaluable. I would also like to thank Lord Laidlaw for providing such a great opportunity.

I’ve had nearly a month now to reflect on my first five weeks of research and appreciate the winding dusky forest path that academic research takes. I am undertaking a History of Science project with a background in Pure Mathematics and no past experience in academic History at all. My research into the increasing development and use of experimental curve plotting in the mid 1800s has therefore been entirely new land for me to explore. As well as an excellent opportunity to try a new discipline and practise different academic skills.

Curve plotting is a way of visually representing collected data by plotting points on an axis and then putting a ‘line of best fit’ through those points to show the trend they follow. In science this is now an indispensable way of analysing and presenting results of experiments. It shows clear relationships between different variables which could not be seen from raw data and, as I shall discuss later, allows for the easy physical interpretation of numbers. However, before the mid 19th century it was a rare, eccentric, esoteric method with very few practitioners. My first week of research was spent burying deep into the secondary literature (not simply to learn about my area of history but also to understand the aims, methods and style of academic History papers). Much of this was focused on the use of curve plotting, but I also studied writing on the history of changes in representation culture, the state of science education in the UK at that time and, of course, biographies of the scientists whose work I was interested in. All these topics were recommended to me by my supervisor and it quickly became clear how specialist this discipline really is, and how novice I really was. From my reading, I learned that by the 18th century the mathematical tools for graphs were well understood but they were still rare and unfashionable; with the exception of J.H.Lambert (who produced many a sophisticated graph) and a follower of his. Despite Lambert’s successful use of graphs the method did not catch on and disappeared after his death. By the 1830s, graphs were starting to appear again in the work of British scientists. There are many reasons posited for the explosion of use of graphs for analysis in science at this time which need investigating. Some of these are the availability of graph paper, the use of automatic recording instruments and a change in visual culture in science (and society as a whole). Automatic recording instruments (machines which note experimental results without a person present) are particularly interesting because, due to their nature, they often output a curve of sorts. However, the scientists would usually then look at the curves and pick particular data points to read off and make a table from them – such was the culture!

My own research for my first summer focussed on J.D.Forbes and his part in the progress of curve plotting. He was Professor of natural philosophy at Edinburgh University for most of his career and one of the most important scientists in Scotland at the time. His papers are in the St Andrews archives and so he is the focus of much History of Science research here. In my second week of the project I started looking at the vast Forbes collection. I discovered that there is much diversity in the kinds of documents we have to study an academic like Forbes. He wrote travel and research journals, scientific papers, articles, lecture notes, and thousands upon thousands of letters. Knowing how to find what you’re looking for is not an innate skill and must be learned by extensive experience. I looked at thousands of pages of letters without being able to read them particularly well (handwriting is another difficulty with History of Science research and complaining about it is the primary way to break the ice when meeting fellow academics) and found very little at all of use. I also studied the syllabuses he wrote and many of his journals, only finding hints of what I was looking for. These are significant findings of course. The fact that he didn’t spontaneously draw curves during field work or have curves as a topic of his teachings shows that they weren’t as essential in experimentation as they are nowadays. As good as a discovery of absence is, it was disappointing and demoralising for me at the time. It wasn’t until my 4th week of the project that I started looking in the right part of the collection for my findings. From my discoveries here I’m going to relate some of the ones I found from his  work on Meteorology, since I found them particularly exciting. Indeed, in what I believe are a set of lecture notes, Forbes writes, ‘The graphical mode of representing facts early applied to meteorology.’ This sentence is somewhat ambiguous because, although it likely means that graphical representation was used early in the development of meteorology, it could potentially be a way of saying that one of the first uses of the graphical mode of representing facts was in meteorology. Forbes’ papers on meteorology make use of and discuss many different curves. For example: he suggests a method for calibrating a thermometer using an ‘interpolating curve’ through data of the difference between the new thermometer and one known to be correct against the temperature shown. He looks at two curves of temperatures in different places and states that they are similar except for in three ways and goes on to analyse these differences and their physical implications. He explains how you can change the temperature scale you are looking at by moving a curve up and down on its axis (and he explained this as if it would be novel to his readers – showing how unfamiliar the scientific community was with experimental graphs). Forbes sums up why he has started using experimental curves in a rather beautiful quote: “The examination of these curves furnishes us with some data of the most important kind for Meteorology which it is best in the first place to state, and afterwards to consider how we can explain.” His stating so carefully that such curves are to be used to analyse results from an experiment to find trends and peculiarities that need to be explained clearly shows that curves were novel to his audience. He is also giving the method his highest possible praise, which would have made a strong impression on his audience in view of his important position in Scottish science and the large number of correspondences he had with the most prominent leaders of the scientific community in his day. 

These findings are compelling evidence that Forbes was part of the culture change that lead to curve plotting’s central position in our scientific handbook. Next summer I would like to study this shift further by investigating lecture notes and student notebooks from the mid 19th century from other Scottish universities as well as the work being done during this time by other scientists who have been identified as being early adopters of graphs. The educational sources are particularly interesting to me because when a method is being taught generally it must have a wide acceptance in the academic community. Therefore it would be an excellent indicator of when the use of graph became normalised. I will also be studying the secondary literature more broadly to gain enough knowledge of this time and the practices of academics in this field, with a view of writing a publishable article on my findings.

I would like to give many thanks to my supervisor, Isobel Falconer, for her amazing insight and help during these first 5 weeks of my project and I look forward to next summer.

[1] Tilling, L. (1975). Early Experimental Graphs. The British Journal for the History of Science, 8(3), 193–213. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007087400014229

[2] Hankins, T. L. (2006). A “Large and Graceful Sinuosity”: John Herschel’s Graphical Method. Isis, 97(4), 605–633. https://doi.org/10.1086/509946

[3] Forbes, James David (1809–1868), physicist and geologist | Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. (n.d.). https://doi.org/10.1093/ref:odnb/9832

[4] Phases of physics in J. D. Forbes’ Dissertation Sixth for the Encyclopaedia Britannica (1856) – Isobel Falconer, 2018. (n.d.). Retrieved June 18, 2019, from https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/0073275318811443

[5] St Andrews Archives: Special collections. Books with class marks : MS Q113.F88, MS Q113.F82, MS Q113.F85, MS Q113.F89.

The second summer of my Laidlaw research took me to South Africa, where a small piece of the Earth’s crust provides a window into what Earth was like 3.5 billion years ago. During that time there was no oxygen in the atmosphere, the sun’s UV rays were incredibly dangerous, and the ocean was quite acidic. Yet, even though this environment appears almost inhospitable, the coastlines and floodplains were teeming with life. Small microbes produced a sticky slime like substance, which formed microbial mats all over the ancient surface. With no animals to eat them, they were incredibly prolific and dominated the environment.

“These green wrinkles are the fossilized remains of the microbial mats that once covered the shorelines many billions of years ago.”

Cut to Mars between 3.5 and 4 billion years ago, during its Noachian age (“age of Noah”). During this time, the common thought is that Mars had large amounts of water on its surface, rivers flowing and scarring the surface forming large canyons, and long coastlines around a sea in its northern hemisphere. There was also no significant amount of oxygen in its atmosphere, and surface conditions on Mars were probably comparable to the Earth at the time. If the conditions were so similar, could life also have dominated its coastlines and floodplains?

This is the great question we still do not have an answer to. My project was aimed at imaging the fossil traces of the microbes that lived at this time through a camera identical to what the European Space Agency is sending up to Mars next year. The Close-Up Imager (or CLUPI) does exactly what its name describes. CLUPI can take pictures of rocks near it and will send back a high-resolution image of what it sees. I wanted to know what information we could gather through the CLUPI camera, and provide scientists with a catalogue of what microbial mats look like through CLUPI for the thousands of pictures they will receive once the rover is in action.

“This picture was taken with CLUPI, notice how you can see the green wrinkles split and rejoin and drape over bigger pebbles.”

Who knows what images we will receive in the next few years? Maybe this time we will find the evidence that we were not alone, and make us question just how common life in the universe really is!

Girona town square offers a flavour of the atmosphere within the pro-independence camp in Catalonia – defiance and protest. Sun-faded images of Catalan politicians who are imprisoned or on trial adorned apartment balconies and placards reading ‘Llibertat Presos Politicos’ (liberate the political prisoners) were everywhere. The small square in front of the city hall was awash with Catalan flags, protest placards and yellow ribbons, tied to every balcony, printed on every bollard and graffitied onto the sides of buildings. The town hall itself had a huge sign which read, in English, ‘Self-determination is a right, not a crime’. This is indeed how many pro-independence Catalans feel about their sorry political situation – they believe they have not been allowed to decide their own futures.

Spanish flag, attacked (Barcelona)

After landing in Barcelona, I hopped on the metro and immediately noticed a key difference to a trip last summer to Spain – Spanish was not the primary language. All of the warning signs, directions and public information came first in Catalan, second in Spanish and lastly in English. Of course, English is spoken as the global language of commerce, diplomacy and tourism, and Spanish is the official language of twenty countries across the world; but Catalan belongs to the Catalan people. A pro-independence activist and supporter of the revolutionary-socialist CUP party remarked to me that ‘our language, it is a weapon’. The sense of ownership in suggesting a language to be ‘ours’ is striking and is central to the concept of Catalan-ness. Even more striking is the way this language is often framed by Catalans – it is a symbol of their historic resistance to General Franco, the Spanish dictator from 1939 until 1975. It helps to bind Catalans together as a nation and plays a huge role in their modern-day politics.

Official symbols such as street signs are defaced (Barcelona)

My research trip to Catalonia took place over the first two weeks of June this summer and involved making stops in the four major Catalan cities and every province. Starting off in a less-touristic neighbourhood in Barcelona, I travelled north to the heavily pro-independence province of Girona. Next, I visited the more industrial region of Lleida in the west and a city less in favour of independence in the south called Tarragona, before returning to Barcelona. I spoke with pro-independence activists and local politicians, some neutral local people who tended to support the right to a referendum but were unsure which way they might vote, and journalists who have covered the Catalan political rollercoaster over the last few years.

Yellow ribbons, Catalan flags and images of jailed leaders (Girona)

My visit to Catalonia has completely changed my conception their political situation. From a neutral researcher’s point of view, it is a beautifully complicated situation which mixes history, identity, emotion, economics, infrastructure, language and political science. Many Catalans believe the situation to be very simple – it is Catalonia’s destiny to be an independent country. A significant proportion of the population are ‘reluctant remainers’ who see the impracticalities of independence but seem like they could be convinced. A smaller, but still important, group are fundamentally opposed to breaking away from Spain and see the separatist movement as a political manoeuvre by Catalan political parties. The complexifying factor is that within each of these three groups are a multiplicity of factions, viewpoints and priorities.

My research will attempt to draw together these varying discourses, using a poststructuralist approach, to help better explain, understand and resolve the deadlock and polarisation in Catalan political discourse. This will not be particularly easy for a variety of reasons, but my research trip to Catalonia has challenged my preconceptions of independence movements, activists and the importance of finding answers to the questions posed by separatism. Whether that answer is ‘independence’ will vary from situation to situation. My experience in Catalonia was invaluable and I hope to produce interesting and useful research as a result.

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I would like to thank my supervisor, Dr Jeffrey Murer, for his support and advice throughout my project so far and the Laidlaw Scholarship team in St Andrews for this fantastic opportunity.

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