B E T W E E N S AY I N G A N D D O I N G L I E S THE OCEAN by Paolo Nespoli

Flying in space is very unique and you forge relationships with some people that last a lifetime. Cady Coleman is one of those people. In 2016, five years after our flight, Cady, who had witnessed my photographic exploits, contacted me about a project proposal that would require an astronaut to work collaboratively with a photographer to document the interior of the ISS. She thought it would be an interesting project that I would love.

In December, I contacted the proposer of the project, Roland Miller, to better understand his idea. He told me that his project, Interior Space, would require taking photographs of the interior of the ISS from an aesthetic and documentary perspective. He also talked about an interesting concept: “space archaeology.” The project seemed to be pretty straightforward; take some pictures inside the space station. Roland said he would have loved to take the pictures himself, but since this was not possible, he thought the best way was to direct an astronaut on the station in real time. Roland hoped he could have things arranged so that he would have control of the framing and all technical parameters from the ground—much like directing a rover on a faraway planet. What’s so complicated? With today’s technology, it should be possible to establish a two-way audio and video link between the station and a lab on the ground, right?

I immediately realized it would be hard to get Roland’s project approved. While apparently the project did not ask for much, it required two of the most precious resources of the ISS: astronaut time and real-time communication links. I knew that from a practical point of view, astronaut time is the most difficult resource to obtain on the station. In fact, mission managers always caution us to pay extreme attention to the timeline because not being able to complete an experiment in the allotted time or not doing it properly so that it needs to be repeated may mean greatly delaying it, if not cancelling it altogether—all of this just for lack of astronaut time. Therefore, I knew that requesting a considerable chunk of astronaut time for a project such as this would be a problem. On top of that, it required real-time audio/video/telemetry communication links, probably the second most difficult operational resource to obtain on the station. This is because the available links are always fully utilized by scientific experiments or operational activities. Last, but not least, the two resources would have to be provided simultaneously. And since when NASA officially sponsors a project it has to assure the availability all of the resources needed to make it successful, I thought the chances that this would happen were close to zero, especially given that this was not exactly a scientific project.

At that point I was busy in the middle of training for a launch planned for mid-2017, deeply focused on the technical aspects of flying the Soyuz spacecraft, learning how to maintain and operate the Space Station, and preparing for the experimental program. Even though this was an incredibly busy point in our preparations, I also knew that this would be my last chance to fly in space, as a professional astronaut at least, and I felt the urge to identify my goals for it. Of course, the main goal is always to be the best astronaut you can be: complete all the experiments and station tasks in the best possible way, go the extra mile in all the work you do. At the same time, I was thinking about what I could do in my “free time” to make this opportunity even more significant. I had several ideas for personal projects to be carried out, and I thought that this could be one of them, particularly because it resonated with some of the things that are dear to me: photography and art, plus I was intrigued by the concept of space archaeology. It was all of these things that were appealing to me: making appropriate use of an opportunity while I am in space, working on a worthy project, and addressing several areas of the humanities that interest me.

I told Cady I would think about it; I just needed to figure out a way to do it without impinging on station resources and not requiring any official astronaut time. It should be said that on the ISS the Duty Day is 12 hours, roughly between 7:30 a.m. and 7:30 p.m. If, from the remaining 12 hours of the day, we subtract three hours for meals and personal hygiene, that leaves us nine hours of personal time. Of course, the majority of those hours are dedicated to sleep, for which I had already figured out I needed six hours. For the remaining three hours, it’s not that you can go out to dinner or to a movie with family or friends. You’re in space, in an isolated and confined environment!

Nevertheless, I knew already that there would be many things that would easily eat up those three hours: talking to family and

friends via the on-board phone, reading and writing emails, engaging in social media activities, making video messages, and taking pictures of Earth.

To me, this made the challenge of agreeing to participate to Roland’s project even more intriguing, since I knew I’d need to carve out some personal time: I calculated that if I took about 50 pictures and it took me 10 minutes each, I would use a total of about eight and half hours. Not peanuts, I thought, but surely feasible if I distributed this throughout my five months in space.

So, I discussed with Roland a new approach: the “autonomous astronaut” versus his “remotely piloted astronaut.” We would need to start by discussing his intentions for the project so that I could understand them and fulfill them in space at the best of my capabilities. This would also allow me to take into account the local conditions, a factor that was an unknown in Roland’s original plan. We agreed that he would prepare a kind of storyboard with reference images that I would use to guide me through the various shots. We understood that I would take the pictures during my free time. We agreed that it would be better if he could see at least some initial shots so that he could suggest corrections. That meant I should be able to send Roland some samples from space and I should be able to receive his comments while still in space so that I could take corrective actions. We agreed that this was a good plan and agreed to push it through the system for approval.

Even framed in this way, with no need to use station resources and me volunteering my free time, it is always difficult to get any “side projects” approved. NASA, the European Space Agency (ESA), and the Italian Space Agency (ASI) all needed to be in sync with the approval process. They are hesitant in approving additional projects since they don’t want astronauts stressing themselves too far beyond the already rigorous workload that is expected. Also, there was the need to ensure that we were not doing something that might jeopardize the safety of the crew or the station, and that we were not breaking any rules. After some initial discussions with NASA and the ESA, it was determined that since I was an Italian astronaut flying in space with an Italian flight opportunity, the project should be worked through the Italians (ASI). By then it was already the beginning of June 2017, less than two months prior to the launch date, an impossible time frame to have any agreement signed. As luck would have it, by then ASI had assigned to Houston a Mission Manager, Claudio Sollazzo, Italian engineer and former ESA staff member, who for several years served as a Flight Director at the European Control Center in Munich, Germany—the perfect person for the job of managing the mission and getting things done. Besides being a competent engineer with vast experience, he knew personally and was respected by everybody in Houston Mission Control for his competence, calm, and accommodating manners. He could get things done that others could only dream about. The “Agreement Between Roland Miller and Agenzia Spaziale Italiana (ASI)” was signed in a record time on June 19, 2017. We had a green light.

Working on the Project

There is an Italian proverb that recites: “Tra il dire e il fare c’è di mezzo il mare,” or “Between saying and doing lies the ocean.” The English equivalent is “There is many a slip between cup and lip.” That is what happened when I was in space.

Taking a few pictures here and there seems easy, but working on Interior Space proved to be a real challenge, mostly because of the technical differences between the photographic approach Roland desired and the typical day-to-day photography we do on the ISS.

As soon as I started taking pictures, just a couple of weeks into the mission, I immediately realized that I was using much more time than planned, something like a factor of six to 10, and I wasn’t sure that I’d be able to complete the work. The camerawork for Interior Space was not typical of the photography done on a daily basis on the ISS, where normally we just grab one of the dozen available cameras, turn on the flash and quickly snap the required picture. The pictures would need to be made in a documentary style that needed to be done correctly in both its technical and aesthetical approach. These two aspects would need to work synergistically. From a technical standpoint, Roland requested that I not use an electronic flash for the photography. The exception to this was when balancing the interior lighting inside the station with daylight outside—as in photographs made from the Cupola. Normally, since the interior of the station is relatively dark, most photo-

graphs are made with a flash to keep the image sharp. Conversely, most of the images made looking out of any of the windows were made without an electronic flash. The flash is not needed because what you are interested in is outside the window, already in full daylight or at night—and in both cases the flash is of no use, not to mention that if you use it, its light will be reflected on the glass and other surfaces and bounce back at the camera.

Following Roland’s desired techniques meant that I would be shooting inside the station with a relatively long exposure time, practically impossible to do when hand-holding the camera. Thank heavens that contrary to old film cameras, modern cameras have pretty sophisticated sensors that can allow to push their sensitivity pretty high with minimum artifacts.

Unfortunately, the camera model we had on the station at that time had a very nice sensor but not the latest. While the camera’s sensor would produce very decent pictures for our routine work on the station, the number of image artifacts it created would be intolerable for Roland’s standards at any setting above the minimum sensitivity. Therefore, Roland requested me to use the lowest sensitivity possible, effectively forcing me to use a long exposure time, on the order of a couple of seconds, a fact that made it impossible to shoot hand-held photos without blurring the images. It should be noted that it is impossible to stand perfectly still in microgravity for two seconds: the heart beating is enough to move you around with a small but significant quivering.

Most people would have a similar problem on the ground, and that’s why in this situation we would use a tripod. Unfortunately, there are no tripods in space since with no weight to hold itself down, the tripod and the camera would simply float away. We have instead a series of articulated arms that we use to support laptop computers, floating mini desks, cameras and other equipment. The arm is actually a unipod that we call “Bogen arm” with a clamp at one end so that it can be secured to one of the available handrails, and a standard station adapter on the other. All station equipment is fitted with the adapter so that it can be connected to the Bogen arm. Because of the mechanics of this articulated arm, when you put a mass at the end of it and touch it, it shakes for quite a long time, in a manner barely visible to the eye but important enough to impact the sharpness of the image. Add to this the fact that the ISS itself vibrates due to its size and the speed it travels, and the Bogen arm, with this single anchoring point, also tends to pick up and transfer this minute vibration to the camera, shaking it even more. Because of these conditions, I found it impossible to obtain the crystal-clear images that Roland needed.

After scratching my head for a couple of days, I came up with the idea of building a “bipod” using two of the articulated arms so that I could have two fixed points on station and stabilize the whole contraption. This seemed a good solution, except that the camera had only one female adapter and could interface only with one Bogen arm. So, I had to find a way to scavenge for an additional female adapter (I took it from an old unused piece of equipment) and found a creative way to attach it to the camera. That finally worked, except that for every shot I had to find two free handrails separated just about the right distance so that the two Bogen arms would form a convex angle, otherwise the stabilizing effect would not take place. Most of the handrails on station are movable, and that helped. What did not help, is that most of the handrails were already in use and I had to do a lot of shuffling back and forth before I could find the right geometry, take the picture, and put back things the way they were. In any case, I was happy; the problem was solved, at least I thought.

After the first few pictures, I realized that some cameras were better than the others. In fact, like the astronauts onboard the ISS, the sensors in the digital cameras are exposed to cosmic radiation that damages the photosites—the light receptors on the CMOS chip. This in turn affects the pixels created in the image file to the point that the “burned” pixels are a severe nuisance in the picture. That’s the reason cameras on the ISS are replaced about every year. With Roland’s help, we determined which were the more damaged cameras, and I avoided using them. Another problem was that since I was using reference images Roland had captured from the “Google Street View of the ISS” and not his sample photos of the ISS mockup in Houston (as we had originally planned), he couldn’t tell me which focal length lens to use for each specific photograph. This meant I had to experiment with different focal length lenses and points of view to match the sample screen cap-

ture images. The problem was exacerbated by the fact that the maximum distance to the opposite wall was just about two meters, and I needed to get as close as I could to the opposite wall to be able to frame as much as possible, still leaving enough room behind the camera to compose the image through the viewfinder. I would have loved to be able to use a 100mm lens to reduce distortions, but the limited spaces forced me to use a 35mm, 24mm, or even wider lens, a fact that introduced some kind of distortion on the image. Because the station racks and other elements of the ISS are rectangular, this distortion becomes very obvious if you are not precise in the composition with these wide-angle lenses.

Complicating things even further was the fact that I couldn’t make these photographs during the day, even on the weekends. Other astronauts are floating around, moving, and doing their work. I had to take the photographs at night when everyone was quiet or asleep and I could have the modules to myself.

If it wasn’t enough, I quickly understood that lighting was also complicated. The recently installed LED lights are very bright and while the lighting at the center of the module is quite even, any objects near the light themselves are excessively illuminated. There was nothing I could do about it, and I decided it would be up to Roland to correct for this contrast in lighting when he processed the image files. Finally, the station is both a house and a laboratory filled to the brim with equipment and anything you can find in an office, plus a couple of electrical and mechanical shops, plus a dozen of crazy science laboratories. The bottom line being that in some places, it could look very chaotic. Therefore, before taking most of the pictures, I needed to tidy up a bit by coiling cables, storing items, and generally straightening up things. Taking all these factors into consideration meant that it could easily take an hour to take just one image. In fact, after a month of work, I had shot a batch of a dozen pictures or so and had sent them to Roland, who had sent me back some comments and suggestions. After that, though, I took a long break, mainly because my free time had been taken by two other projects that Houston wanted me to give priority. I was shooting video scenes for the National Geographic Channel’s documentary One Strange Rock, and I spent quite some time fixing the malfunctioning cinematography camera used in this production. I also spend a good deal of my time shooting time-lapse photographic sequence for a special NASA project.

I also knew that brand new cameras with immaculate sensors were just about to arrive on the station, and I knew that these would be of a newer model with a sensor that could be used at a higher ISO with lower impact on image noise. This would allow me to expedite my photography for Interior Space. Just about a month before the end of the mission, a Cignus cargo ship arrived at the station with all sort of equipment—including the new cameras. But Houston sent us a priority list for equipment retrieval that did not include the cameras. We were very busy with science experiments, and the cameras had low priority. These may have stayed inside the cargo spacecraft for several weeks (possibly until our departure) until the required astronaut time to retrieve them could be found. How could we let this happen? Of course, we volunteered our personal time to retrieve the cameras, configure them and exchange all the old cameras. Finally, with just a few days to go and very little free time, I was ready to take more pictures. And so, I did, bringing the total to 128 unique pictures, the best of which you will find in this volume.

I should mention that, while the walls on the ISS are conventionally identified as starboard (right wall), zenith/overhead (ceiling), port (left wall), nadir/deck (floor), in microgravity we quickly learn to disregard this convention and situate ourselves in the most convenient position for working. When putting together this book, we experimented with the same philosophy and rotated some photographs to match their aspect ratio with the page format. After all, we reasoned that, like the space station, for this book, there is not a mandated vertical. You, the reader, have the power to simply rotate the book for optimal viewing. Welcome to space!

Today, looking through this book, I finally understand what “space archaeology” means: it’s a documentation of what we, the human species, have been capable of achieving in space not only from a technological point of view, but also from a human point of view. Just look at the complexity and intricacy of this high-tech marvel along with all the little signs we have dispersed around it to make it cozy, livable, and civilized. It’s a perfect documentation of what we are: thoughtful beings, humans.

T H E G E O M E T R Y A N D T H E U N C A N N Y I N T H E I N T E R I O R O F T H E I N T E R N A T I O N A L S P A C E S T A T I O N

by Alice Gorman

As befits an archaeologist, I’m going to start not with the present, but with the past. Skylab was a US space station that orbited Earth from 1973 until 1979, when it famously re-entered the atmosphere in a flaming spectacle over Western Australia. It was the first time the US had made a spacecraft intended as a living space rather than a transit vehicle. 1 To create this orbiting house, a balance had to be struck between the familiarity of the terrestrial house and the novel opportunities offered by microgravity in designing interior space.

This tension between familiarity and unfamiliarity—a constant in space—is also a theme in the archaeology of the contemporary past. 2 To apply archaeological techniques to everyday objects around us requires making familiar things appear unfamiliar to our gaze, looking at them with new eyes. This takes effort on Earth, but in the microgravity environment of the International Space Station, it must become a way of life. It’s no coincidence that the questions most frequently asked of astronauts concern daily activities around personal hygiene and maintenance—washing, eating, using the toilet. Every unthinking routine is now challenging. The fascination and concern of the public demonstrate the anxieties that arise in the incision between familiar and unfamiliar. 3

Another theme of the archaeology of the contemporary past is how the past in fact is never truly submerged. The present is formed from the accumulation of past moments and objects, creating the surface on which we live. The past is a ghostly presence haunting the house. It seems to me that there is something to be said about this in relation to space stations, so in this essay I delve into the deeper past of houses in human and off-Earth spaces, seeking a new lens to illuminate the interior world of the orbiting house. The Concept of the House

An anthropologist once told me that defining the house is hardly possible, it is so complex and nebulous a concept. Houses operate across many registers: material, social, and symbolic. For the archaeologist, the house is material culture, which we typically recreate from the traces it leaves, such as post-holes, crumbled walls, cement, and mortar. The architectural lineaments are clues to social conceptions of space, and the artifacts found within the walls reveal the habits of those who discarded them.

Houses are also situated within environments and encapsulate their own microenvironments with distinctive flora and fauna: bedbugs, spiders, possums in the roof, swallows nesting in the eaves. The structure is designed to regulate temperature: hotter when it is cold outside, cooler when hot. Dust particles, which permeate the solar system from interstellar, interplanetary, and terrestrial sources, accumulate in dark corners and in cracks; dust is out of place in the order of the house and yet an integral part of the microenvironment.

As an agent of socialization 4 , the house structures how and where to eat, to perform hygiene, to sleep, to talk, what is private, what is public. In this sense it is an extension of the person: “like an extra skin, carapace, or second layer of clothes, it serves as much to reveal and display as it does to hide and protect. House, body, and mind are in continuous interaction . . .” 5

The anthropologist Pierre Bourdieu proposed that the house serves as a mnemonic device which the body “reads” as it walks through rooms and corridors. The house is an ordered space for the formation of habits and repeated actions in time and space. 6 But more than individual behaviours, the house constitutes societies. In “sociétés à maison” or house societies, social rela