In reading through many different sources sharing best practices digital collections, I was struck by the specificity of standards across multiple different sources. The VRA core lists out specific syntax to use when building digital collections. These readings emphasized the importance of high-quality, detailed, and consistent metadata. I had not previously considered the importance of tagging collection items consistently across multiple platforms, as even slight augmentations in the metadata of a digital object can completely transform its accessibility within the digital space.
Paige Morgan, in “How To Get Your Digital Humanities Project Off the Ground” (2014), emphasized the importance of understanding copyright laws and regulations before starting your project. The significance of having knowledge about copyright law, and being able to follow these guidelines in your work, is another aspect of digital humanities work I had not previously considered. I was highly interested in the concept of fair use exemptions, especially what is considered fair use, what is not, and where this line can become ambiguous. Teaching and productive use (changing the work for a new utility) is generally within fair use. I suppose most digital collections would fall under this category as many digital exhibitions are created for educational purposes. I imagine uncertainty arises when objects and images are re-used for teaching and entertainment or profits simultaneously.
Scalar is one platform for digital scholarship and exhibitions. It has a book-like format that allows authors to publish long-form writing and include multi-media elements.
Scalar seems to be highly flexible and adaptable to your specific project. There are options to display content linearly through the book-like, ordered format, or nonlinearly through their tagging system. The advanced flexibility of its grouping and sequence technology seems to distinguish it from other platforms. “Paths can contain other paths, and tags can reference other tags, making both hierarchical and rhizomatic structures possible.”
Scalar also has an open API where you can combine Scalar with other data sources. Using its built-in API you can create your own visualizations or custom interfaces. Additionally, there are many opportunties for aesthetic customization throughout your digital project.
Scalar seems less image-centric than other platforms such as Omeka. If you are wanting to make a digital exhibition centered around images, Scalar is not as useful. Although the tagging aspect of the software does allow for some non-linear explorations of Scalar sites, I think the book-like format can be restrictive. The book-like format does not encourage 3-dimensional interaction with the digitized space. I wish there were multiple ways to engage with the content besides clicking through linearly or through tags.
Digitization has become particularly important for cultural institutions to document and preserve objects. With this new tool, museums can share their collections online. Archives and libraries can share their manuscripts with the public. Most of the cultural institutions are using facsimiles to reach their audiences electronically. While this tool opens opportunities for more projects to document objects, specialists still struggle with the limitations of digitization.
Emma Stanford reflected in her book chapter on how digitalization has increasingly been used in museums and art institutions. Her chapter aims to explain the limitations of digitization and offers a guide for creating high-quality digital images. [1]She pointed out how many institutions, such as the British Museum and Metropolitan Museum of Art, took advantage of the recent technology and could share their collections online. Many museums were indeed able to digitize most of their collections and share them with the public. On the other hand, many museums, like museums in the Middle East and North Africa, cannot do the same because of the lack of funding.
A critical question Stanford raised was which objects should be digitized. This question is a debate between cultural heritage preservation professionals. They always ask themselves which object needs to be digitized or preserved for the next generation. The answer is that each piece of history is essential and should be digitized. Digitization is a tool to share objects with the public and scholars and saves objects for future generations. In case we lose an object in the future, at least this would allow cultural institutions to share it with the public and scholars. One example to support this point is a historical manuscript called “Description of Egypt.” The book was written by French scientists in 1809. Unfortunately, the book was burned on 25 January 2011. It was the only copy, and humankind has lost it forever.
One of the other problems of digitization is the visual size of an object. Stanford points out that digitization sometimes differs from actual objects, and I agree with her. I have seen this problem in many museums, like the Egyptian Museum in Cairo Khufu’s statue, which is only 4 cm (about 1.57 in) but looks more significant than that in the image. Of course, this is one of the limitations, but I think with better interpretation and description of an object, this problem would be resolved. Another problem is the quality and the resolution of an image. I believe with the rapid progress of technology; this problem will also be resolved.
Now, cultural heritage organizations tend to share their digital images internationally with other organizations instead of digitizing new images, which will reduce their budget for digital projects. I believe in saving funding for more digital projects, and institutions should collaborate to ensure no overlapping of digitizing. For example, instead of digitizing the same objects twice, other objects can be digitized to save effort and money and allow more objects to be digitized. Many objects are still not digitized and need to be digitized. One example is a collection at storage in Middle Egypt. Digitization will introduce audiences to new collections hidden in storage and protect these objects from being stolen.
An example was an object was found in Abydos, Egypt. The director of the team digitized the objects after she excavated them. After a few years, she found those objects online for sale and was able to identify them and bring them back to the Egyptian government. The digitization and share collection will expand the audience and protect these projects from theft.
Of course, the budget has been one of the main problems museums and cultural institutions have dealt with for decades. Now, with the age of digitization, these institutions struggle to find funding to fund their digital humanities projects. Stanford argues that cultural institutions are working hard to secure digital project funding. We can see that many government institutions and nonprofits are more likely interested in funding digital projects than other projects. For example, the National Endowment of Humanities offers different funds for digital projects.
Digitization has increased the number of scholars because scholars can now study the site without visiting museums or sites. Stanford made a great argument about the benefit of digitization and how to make art history more accessible to the public. Also, digitization software offers new methods for visualization, like 3D models and showing objects closer to the original state. Her chapter is beneficial for those who are interested in the study of digital humanities. However, she focused her arguments on the United States, Europe, and Japan; these countries are significantly developed in digital use. I wish she could emphasize the role of digitization in other countries like India and Egypt and how big institutions like MET or BM can help museums in these countries to digitize their collections.
In addition, Stanford ignored the role digitization plays in protecting cultural heritage. I hope she can light this point in her chapter and explain it in depth for the reader to understand how this tool offers sources to preserve the past for the audiences. Before this tool, humankind had lost many artifacts. For example, the government of Libya lost a storage collection at the Bank of National Libya. During the Arab Spring, those collections were stolen, and because the Libyan government did not have any images from the collection, they could not find it and bring it back to Libya.
Overall, I want to say the reading this week helped me better understand digitization. Digitation for cultural heritage sites was interesting to me as a public historian. I believe these tools would allow me to expand my audience and open the door for more projects to protect cultural heritage.
[1] Emma Stanford, “A Field Guide to Digital Surrogates: Evaluating and Contextualizing a Rapidly Changing Resource,” Routledge Companion, pp. 203-214.
“The changing research practices of the art historian” seems akin to saying “the changing color of white paint on my walls”. Art history defined by Matthew Long and Roger C. Shonfeld as “a broad field that can be defined in ways that include or exclude certain specializations and proximate disciplines” is not a field that can be thought of as particularly dynamic (Long and Shonfeld). Although this is a generalization that does not include all art historians, the reader can imagine my surprise at Long and Shonfeld’s choice of title.
Particularly in a digital humanities context, art historians have traditionally shied away from “overusing” (read: incorporating in any meaningful way) technology into their practice. LIDAR, digital archives, 3D modeling, or AI seem like library sciences — or worse, archaeology– rather than art history. Despite the identity problems of the art historian, Long and Shonfeld make compelling arguments for the practicality and usefulness of digital practices in art history.
Creating exhibitions, museum publications, and special collections are all examples of ways in which art historians can benefit from a digital presence. We consider ourselves to be interdisciplinary by cherry picking practices and interests to support our own arguments, but we forget that it is a two way street. Long and Shonfeld suggest that incorporating digital practices into the discipline can act as supplementary material to other disciples.
Despite the supposed unwillingness of art historians to incorporate digital art history into their studies, Paul Jaskot suggests that art historians have been using digital avenues for quite some time (Jaskot). He identifies four primary methodological areas in digital art history: digital storytelling, text-based approaches, network analysis, and spatial analysis. Social network analysis and spatial analysis have been particularly influential as well due to their ability to handle large datasets and address complex historical questions. The importance of coordination and collaboration among researchers to gather a larger body of evidence is crucial to creating more complex and fruitful databases for social art history. Increasing data alone does not lead to more accurate conclusions, drawing a parallel to the historical debate between Ernst Gombrich and Arnold Hauser regarding the relationship between art and social structures. The inclusion of the Gombrich/Hauser debate would not be lost on any classically-trained (read: uppity) art historian. By speaking the language of the people who have historically been disinterested in progress, Jaskot seems to say, “look, you can have both! The old masters and the new ways can actually coexist, rather than in conflict.”
However, my biggest takeaway from Jaskot’s reading was that by including another dimension for our studies, we can actually enrich our understanding of the objects. Maps, 3D models, and VR make buildings seem like, well, buildings; rather than a flat image on a projector. We forget all too often that people walk in and around these spaces, voices carry, and floors creak. Considering Chartres Cathedral as a “French gothic cathedral which finished in 1252 with a cross-plan and a rich sculptural program on the portals” is accurate, but reductive. People were baptized, married, fought, dutifully attended church, city meetings and more for the last 800ish years. Art historians are constantly on the hunt to see the object for what it is, and digital humanities can assist in bridging the gap between then and now. I think that the pedagogical benefits of incorporating digital art history are the most interesting aspects of digital humanities, but the possibilities are endless.
The Image:
Rosina Ferrara, Head of a Capri Girl, John Singer Sargent
1878, Sargent capture Rosina with such a delicate clarity that has solidified this drawing as one of my all time favorites. The Google Arts and Culture app had a feature where users could upload a seflie and it would find their art doppleganger. This was mine, and it’s location at the Denver Art Museum felt all too prophetic. It’s not wholly academic, curatorial, or archival, rather a fun possibility of what digital art history can accomplish.
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:John_Singer_Sargent_-Rosina_Ferrara,_Head_of_a_Capri_Girl-_Google_Art_Project.jpg
In How to Curate Your Digital Identity as an Academic Kelli Marshall writes about how to carve out, or claim, a digital identity that accurately reflects your academic and professional life. This is their core thesis, and the article serves as a kind of how-to that is specifically directed to academics that don’t have tenure or a long list of published works.
Marshall earned her PhD in Interdisciplinary Humanities so it seems they are especially invested in drawing cross discipline connections. Marshall has 12 years of experience as a college professor teaching on a broad range of topics that generally fall under the umbrella of media studies. It seems like her interest in more traditional modes of media like film and literature eventually lead her to teach and write about new media like social media, web design and functionality, and web presence. After learning her academic background and teaching experience, it’s not a surprise that she wrote an article focusing on digital identity and it seems she is well qualified to write about this topic.
I’ve struggled with ideas around my own digital identity, but more from a work-life balance point of view. I’ve been thinking a lot about whether there is a way to carve out strong digital identities to reflect all the facets of who I am or who I want to show the world that I am. Sometimes I don’t want my digital identity to only portray that I’m a graduate student, academic, archivist/librarian – maybe I want to lead with my more personal, creative sides. I acknowledge that one of Marshall’s first suggestions, a personal website, could be a way around or through this issue. A personal website leaves room for sections that are more academically driven and others that are more personal in focus but I still kick around the idea that, unlike in real life, we can’t choose to reveal or conceal aspects of ourselves so easily. We have to curate – that word choice is so accurate and appropriate.…
Most digital cultural collections demand a query – that is, if you don’t know what you are looking for these digital sources are practically unusable . Mitchell Whitelaw writes, “as our cultural heritage is increasingly networked and digital, the life land use of that heritage will increasingly be conditioned by the forms in which it reaches us.”
We must create user interfaces that encourage browsing, especially for visitors without a background in art history or the humanities. Our current digital collections are centered around search engines and keywords. While this might be an effective model for finding random information on Google, it quickly becomes ineffective when used for digital collections and archives.
Whitelaw helps us recognize the usability issues with our current digital interfaces through a thought experiment –
Imagine you are at an art museum, in a new city that you know nothing about. You enter the building and the only way to access the collection is by writing down an item or question on a slip of paper and handing it to an attendant. Museum employees will then bring out a few items that relate to your query which you can view from the lobby. What if the items they pull to show you are not what you are looking for? What if you didn’t enter looking for anything in particular or any knowledge of the collection at all?
I imagine a world where browsing an archive or a museums digitized collection is like online shopping – you can find something you like just by browsing, even without any preconceived notions of what you might want. Whitelaw emphasizes the need to display an naviagable overview of collections while giving opportunities for more detailed exploration when the user would like to know more.
Review of The Barnes Foundation Digital Collection
The Barnes Museum, located in Philadelphia, PA, is an art collection that highly emphasizes education. Their online collection is one of the most navigable museum websites I have visited.
If you click on the “Our Collection” in the top right. Upon clicking, you are immediately presented with a gallery of auto-populated random images. If you scroll your mouse over an image, it displays the artist and title. At the top you can sort by color, line, light, or space. I have never seen abstract search filters such as these on a collection website. For lines, you can sort by vertical, horizontal, diagonal, or curvy. For space you can drag your cursor along a gradient from shallow to deep.
Another option is the “search collection” tab where you can filter by Culture, Year, Category, Room, Copyright, and Artist.
Under the artist tab, it lists all artist options (with options to sort alphabetically or by frequency).
The Barnes seems to balance overview and detail as Whitelaw suggested for generous browsing. The ability to search abstractly caters towards all audiences and encourages browsers without a background art history.
Kidding. Well, not so much – I am grateful every day for the chances I have to study here. Yet, as technology and digital concerns are increasingly prevalent in everyday life and discourse, it is incredibly discouraging to see that the academy in both art history and musicology are so behind when it comes to embracing digital method and digital scholarship and its validity. Ayers notes in “Does Digital Scholarship Have a Future?” how the academy and path to tenure has not changed, despite huge changes in the technological world around us. This is not necessarily encouraging. Sidni Dunn echoes these concerns in ” Digital Humanists: If You Want Tenure, Do Double the Work,” an article in the Chronicle of Higher Education.
This is especially difficult as the scholarly community is developing online in ways it doesn’t in person. Musicology and digital humanities scholars have very active twitter platforms, where scholars critique, promote, and discuss new scholarship. Not only that, but they are finding their voices in critiquing the state of academic life and the issues inherent to the structures of the academy.
More than that, I have found Twitter in particular to be a great way to guage interest in ideas, test the waters, and announce fellowships. This community building is incredibly important for scholars. Just last week, a couple students in a seminar I’m in sent out the word on the results of a group project we had done. This reader, a History of Musicology, was our updated and modern approach to addressing a historically very elitist field by highlighting interventionary texts in the discourse. People responded quickly and with great excitement! One person’s post had 253 likes, 93 retweets, and 70 comments, while another had over 100 likes, retweets, and comments. That is incredibly overwhelming feedback from a community of scholars that rivals that of a conference presentation or paper.
The means through which we communicate with each other are changing. Actually, I’d venture to say they have already changed permanently.
The publishing has changed significantly, as well, as more blogs and strictly online repositories and archives are gaining MLA classification and repudiation. More importantly, scholars are just using these sources more often. They get the foot traffic of left clicks. They have people’s interest and ease of access (sometimes). And, scholars such as Joan Fragaszy Troyano are working to publish guides like “Discovering Scholarship on the Open Web: Communities and Methods” so that this new world of online publication and research is supported, ethically sound, reputable, and trustworthy.
But how long will it take us to reach that point? How long will we sit in acquiescence while we are keeping up with one world of new technology while still conforming to the monographic tenure approval process?
I have no idea. Because really, we can talk all we want about the issue but never actually fix the problem. I’ve never had a conversation about this privately or in class that has produced viable solutions or suggestions for alleviating this incredible pressure on young scholars to be hip and new yet also continue the time-honored tradition of working alone in a dark room, driving yourself crazy writing a book you don’t know if you care about in order to have some job security and maybe buy a home or start a family.
All this in perspective, though, there are worse things to have to deal with in order to have a job and get paid. I don’t mean to complain. I’m merely throwing my opinion out into the ether while hypocritically offering no solution other than that we need a solution (or two. or three).
This week, as we tackle crowdsourcing in digital art history projects, I’m still at a loss for how the crowd mentality can work in musicology. As most academics in msuicology who need transcriptions do them themselves or pay someone else, I’m unfamiliar with cases of widespread public textual transctiption for msuicological purposes. Moreover, musical transcription should be something all musicologists are trained in, and transcription of aural events to written notation (while problematic) is usually done by the resarcher, as it’s not ususally done for large-scale projects.
Crowdsourcing sheet music, I believe, has been done before, like through Sheet Music Consortium, though I’m not sure how that quite relates to art history. Certainly, the crowdsourcing of songs themselves has been a version of ethnomusicolog, with ethnographeric research practices originating from anthropology. So, while crowdsourcing in ethnomusicology exists, and like in many other crowdsourcing projects, the people helping aren’t always properly credited. There might not be a comparable situation to transcription projects’ crowdsourcing in digital art history projects.
The issue and opportunity with crowdsourcing is more prevalent in DAH (digital art history) projects, I think. The Tate and Smithsonian museums have already implemented crowdsourcing as part of their projects. Many of these have come in the form of audiences participating in photo or object contribution and transcription. This can be used as a way to circumvent issues of hegemony in museum display work. This way, broader audiences are represented and reached through information in part curated by their peers. There are issues with this, however, as crediting these contributors is important, and it is also difficult to make sure that people who are experts with or without degrees in these fields have a chance to contribute and organize in such a way that it can be useful for their CV’s. While I don’t like the idea of experts being possessive over their work as a form of elitism, I do support the valuing of experts for the work they do and the unique experience and perspective they bring. The notion, though, that experts are the only ones who can contribute valuable and informed information, seems incredibly exclusionary to me. I think that embracing crowdsourcing as a means of not only getting interested people involved but also embracing a multiplicity of perspectives is incredibly valuable.
This segues into what I think is a mroe practical form of crowdsourcing for musicology projects – edit-a-thons for wikipedia or other online public knowledge sites. Wikipedia is the best example I have of this, as it has become ubiquitous for nearly everyone who uses the internet on a regular basis. Wikipedia also has a couple ways in which it tries to get informaiton from experts on its bibliographic pages. Contributing to GLAMwiki or edit-a-thons is a good way for academics to get involved. After all, if professors know their students will go to the wiki page, they might as well take advantage of the fact that they themselves can help control what’s on those pages!
While the art library at UNC has edit-a-thons, I haven’t seen such opportunities in the music library. Though, I’m sure this opportunity could be very exciting for those who love music! GLAMwiki is also an exciting opportunity for scholars and institutions to propose and execute projects which contribute to public knowledge of a subject. The GLAMwiki initiative – an acronym for “galleries, libraries, archives, and museums,” is a great place for “cultural professionals” and “wikimedians” to contribute published research, images, artworks, biographies, video/audio archival objects, and bibliographic references. GLAM events include edit-a-thons and other events where contributors are encouraged to participate in curating this online information.
Since wiki bios have to be about people notable enough to ahve a bio, I would love to see an edit-a-thon for female composers that includes uploading lots of archival proof of their achievements, so that their work is highlighted and used as evidence of their relevance.
Overall, I think that I need to brainstorm more ways in which crowdsourced transcription will either help or hurt musicological research.
This week, I write of nodes, edges, centrality, bimodes, and more – these new concepts for me are particularly confusing, to be honest. So, I’d take my analysis with a teaspoon of salt. My previous experience with networks include “what’s your wifi network password?” and “social networking is a strange form of delicious evil,” so needless to say, I’m a new-bie. This doesn’t mean, though, that I can’t find ways to engage with network theory and digital humanities projects, so hold on to your hats, folks, it’s going to be a bumpy ride with no in-flight wi-fi.
To start, I’ll cover some key concepts – the first of which is a node. In networks, nodes are points of information which often are shown connecting to each other. Nodes connected to more often have more centrality. Centrality increases when more instances of it occur in the data. This does not necessarily mean that centrality means something is more important, though – just that it has more connections to other nodes.
The visual connections between nodes are called edges. Contrary to what I thought, edges aren’t just connections – they themselves are a type of data. For example, if you were onnecting Tolstoy (node type 1 – author) to War and Peace (node type 2 – book), the edge would mean “is author of”. But, if you were connecting Audrey Hepburn (node 1 – actor) with War and Peace (Film)(node 2 – film), the edge would mean “stars in.” Connecting two types of information, stars to movies, authors and books, etc, means a network is bimodial – the “bi” prefix meaning 2 kinds of nodes. This understanding of networks as many living pieces is new to me – and helps me see them as livingorganisms as opposed to confusing, static visuals.
A challenge with these visuals is embracing the living aspect of them without sacrificing complexity – something that the nature of nodes necessitates, notes Weingart in his article, “Demystifying Networks.” I recommend this article to other in the humanities grappling with the uncertain nature of our data and the certainty that forms of analysis like these require.
This week, as I worked with both Palladio and Gephi, my concerns about relaying uncertainty and my desire to capture the action colored my interactions with both the software and the networking examples I analyzed.
Palladio is certainly fun to use. It creates connections similarly to Tableau, though it seems helpful with the mapping and timeline features and graphs, and is more intuitive than Tableau, which is also a little less refined looking. You cannot recolor or resize in Palladio, which is a feature I’d have liked to see. You can download the results of your network analysis – what you are downloading is a screenshot of part of your network. Since you don’t have to have an account, it is user friendly at first, access-wise, but you cannot save it for later, which is a considerable downfault, in my opinion.
Gephi is far more complicated than Palladio, but you have more control. To begin, open Gephi, open graph file, and get to work! When you make the graph, you’ll have circles and lines and can have different colors. These nodes and edges are moveable, depending on the theme and the tightness you give the overall network. It is extremely not user friendly – to change appearance, for example, you must click partition, modulatory class, palletes, generate new pallete, and move even further from there – and none of those titles are terms I, as a non-expert, would be able to associate with changing pink to blue. Not that I could do that anyway – the color variations do not offer a wide variety.
Gephi, as I have said is not intuitive, but great for editing specifics. You can spread things out more in layout – the Reingold layout makes the network into a pretty ring and spreads it out, which is actually quite beautiful. But getting your data into Gephi is a whole process and very complicated, so if you want your pretty data ring, be prepared to work hard for it.
The one redeemer for Gephi’s difficult interface is the online user manual – they have a lot of information in the online manual that is very specific and useful for anyone hoping to use Gephi. You can save Gephi projects, which is a step up from Palladio, but to present in a presenation at a conference you’d likely need to screenshot the static network, which is the same process as Palladio. As it is not based online, it’s unlikely that you’d be able to embed it as an interactive network within a presentation.
Now, I must admit: I am very excited about 3D modelling. As a person who lvoes 3D printing, I was very excited this week to dip a toe into the process of scanning a real object, making it digital, and then setting it up with the potential to be 3D printed! My dreams can become a reality! As a musicologist, there aren’t a lot of ways I can immediately find this useful, as 3D printed instruments tend to work questionably at best and I don’t know of any other solid objects closely related to musicology. For art history, however, I can see so many ways in which this could be useful! As a method of complicating discussions surrounding aesthetics and historical reproduction, 3D scanning and modeling can certainly act as a research tool.
Briefly, Though, I would like to describe my experience using scanning technology. The program itself is fairly intuitive, which is something that pleasantly surprised me. With our former work on networks showing us some complicated software interfaces, my hopes weren’t high. But, as the software frays out sections you don’t need at the beginning, I found that very helpful. I’m easily overwhelmed by tons of options ad buttons with no clear usage, so this was intuitive for me. Uploading the images of the side of Person Hall on the UNC campus was straightforward, and the software walks you through uploading th eimages, creating preliminary dots, and expanding that to more dots anbd mesh, and finally creating the 3D model in rudimentary and later, more advanced detail. Even putting the texture back on the model was relatively easy! Most of these steps took just a few clicks. I’m very pleased with the finished product. Once a project is finished, it can be exported to PDF for presentational use, which I also found helpful.
The Agisoft Photoscan software worked alright for my own personal project, but not as well as the demo we did in class. I had a really difficult time figuring out how to get it to recognize all of the photos even though there was overlap. I sectioned out parts and removed them from the picture to eliminate confusing shadows that might mess with the software, but did not have much luck. Regardless of if I had an all-white or all-black background, the program still would not recognize about half of my pictures, at best. I spent a while trying to figure out these issues, to no avail. Below is the best that I could do with the antique pencil sharpener I used as my object. I followed the directions as best as I could, and still wound up with a sharpener that looks more like shrapnel.
Directions:
No wide or fisheye lenses, JPG is fine
Send photos in orginial resolution to your phone
Avoid smooth, shiny, mirror, or transparent objects – hair too
Avoid unwanted foregrounds
Avoid moving objects within the scene
Avoid flat objects or scenes. Don’t edit the photos
Take as many pictures as you can. Try doing entire circle high, straight on, and low
Object should take up entire area possible
Overcast days are great for this – if you can’t get soft light, get golden hour. No flash
Keep camera straight on for the object, which means you do the moving
SjarpenerDownload
I’m interested to learn the next steps that take it from 3D model to printed object – from what I understand, there are quite a ew more steps to get it to that stage in meshlab or another software. That in and of itself is daunting, but I’m very excited and up to the challenge. My biggest concern for 3D modeling is understanding the implications of 3D images as research and pedagogical tools. I’m so excited to use and create with this software, and I feel like my need for creativity is making me so excited that it’s crowding my ability to be critical of 3D modeling on a higher level. I think that will come with more time and experience!
