A photo in this weekend’s Globe and Mail caught my eye: US First Lady Michelle Obama and French First Lady Carla Bruni-Sarkozy were standing at attention with their husbands in the foreground during the NATO summit in Strasbourg. My attention was fixed not on the content, but on the exposure of the photograph. Ms. Obama was dressed in a rather dark dress, and Ms. Sarkozy was in white. The extreme dynamic range of the scene required a decision: do we expose for the black woman, or the white woman? And in this case, the black woman took precedence, resulting in a totally washed-out Ms. Sarkozy. Continue reading Are Photojournalists Stopping Up?→
When I was a boy of 7, Friday was my favourite day of the week for two reasons: first of all, that morning was garbage collection, and for taking in the empty garbage cans, I earned an allowance of a dime, and second, it was the day of the week that the latest edition of TIME magazine was delivered to our house.
I loved looking at the covers, which, in the early 1960’s, were almost always hand illustrated. Some were sombre, some were funny and others were crazy, almost fearsome.
But what I most enjoyed were the maps and visualizations by Jerry Donovan, V. Puglisi and R.M. Chapin, Jr. I saved some of these in a scrapbook, and they are shown below. I’ve not been able to discover much about the three; I’ve managed to find nothing on V. Puglisi. Jerry Donovan is mentioned in an article from the AIGA on “The (Mostly) True Story of Helvetica and the New York City Subway“: Donovan was one of the judges of the 1964 system map competition. That’s pretty much everything I could find about him. There’s more on R.M. Chapin, including an account about how he had created a map of Yuri Gagarin’s space flight from liftoff to landing, without being told where the landing took place…the secretive Soviets kept the location of the landing site to themselves, but Chapin, an experienced cartographer, correctly calculated the spot from the orbit angles, time of the flight and the earth’s rotation during that time.
These maps and visualizations gave me an appetite for science, technology and politics. As a boy, during the summer breaks, I made my own maps and documented them with a narrative from events in my young life. These images have stayed with me and, I’m sure, influenced me in my educational and career choices.
In 1966, a change in advertising regulations forced Time to stop distributing its Canada edition. Not long after that, the subscription lapsed, and that part of my life was over.
In the 1970’s, when I was a fine art student at the University of Guelph, the work of these great illustrators came back into my remembrance when Paul Hess (now an Associate Professor at Emily Carr) mentioned J. Donovan in a conversation in the Printshop in the basement of Zavitz Hall. For an instant I wondered how Paul could have known about him—these names had been internalized in such a way as to make it seem that I had dreamt-up the whole thing.
When I go to China to interview students who are applying to NSCAD’s Master of Design program, I look at their portfolios and I talk to them. What I’m looking for is what I call “intellectual curiosity.” But when I tell them that this is the quality that will best determine their success in this program, they give me the old ‘thousand-yard stare.’ It just isn’t a concept that most students have grasped in their English instruction.
So I went to Google Translate, and typed in “intellectual curiosity.” It came back with the Chinese characters. When I translated it back, it returned “thirst for knowledge.” Well, it’s not exactly what I’m looking for, but it’s certainly better than I expected.
Character by character, 求 means “seek,” 知 means “know,” and 欲 means “appetite,” “longing,” or “wish.”
How did I know if it was a correct translation? I asked my Chinese friends:
…I am not sure if this is exactly what I want, because a designer looks at the world differently than, maybe, a scientist. A scientist is happy to know things, while a designer is happy to get approximate answers. Maybe for a designer, it is a “thirst to ask questions”?…
Is this translation accurate, or is there a better way to express it?
Faye Wong wrote:
In Chinese there are also different feelings in one word.
I do not think “thirst for knowledge” is a good translation for 求知欲. 求知欲 is kind like curiosity, and kind of like a desire of “why”…
Carol Chen wrote:
… I think google has given you a right answer. 求知欲 means “thirst for knowledge”, and it also express that one’s eager to learn something new, or someone desire to learn some knowledge. These are my thoughts, and you might also look at others to make sure.
Song Keyu wrote:
“求知欲” is not an accurate translation of “intellectual curiosity”, considering to the exact reason that you talked about. But I couldn’t come up with a better one at this moment, at least not a wildly-used one like this.
But there are some good qualities about this phrase that make it closer to to what you want to say than other translations:
It is an ancient Chinese expression, which actually feels “intellectual”. (Ancient intellectuals were not scientists.)
Though the word “知” means “knowledge” nowadays, but in the past, it equaled to the word “智”, which means “intellectual” and “wisdom”.
It is so widely used that the meaning expands to a very large range, so when people say it, they are not specifically focusing on the a scientific respect.
It is very percise and beautiful.
I should add that Song asked her father, a noted novelist in Hunan, about this question:
My dad didn’t find a better word either. He agrees with me maybe you should use that one. We discussed some new sayings of that meaning, which are literal translations, but they are all kind of lame.
Our system takes a different approach: we feed the computer billions of words of text, both monolingual text in the target language, and aligned text consisting of examples of human translations between the languages. We then apply statistical learning techniques to build a translation model. We’ve achieved very good results in research evaluations.
And where did they get those billions of words of text that are translation correlations? According to Reuters, they went to the United Nations and the European Union. Both of these institutions have armies of translators that convert text from English and French to other languages, resulting in hundreds of thousands of laws, reports, and legal judgements. Google obtained as many different documents as possible and ran them through their translation software. Somewhere in a UN document is the phrase “intellectual curiosity,” and some wise apparatchik has skillfully translated it into Mandarin.