M74 Spiral Galaxy photo by Simon Dye (Cardiff University) overlaid with Shri Yantra Mandala.

Humanity’s search for knowledge, in its many forms, has always fascinated me. Spanning geographies, cultures, faiths, and generations, the enduring pursuit of truth and insight into the diverse realms of human experience has yielded some of the greatest works of science and art — from the sequencing of the human genome to Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel ceiling. Each school of thought or path of study carries its own distinct challenges, “great questions” and intellectual rewards, but it is the same mind that is driven to find answers.

Several months ago, I had read a New York Times article about Carl Jung’s Red Book, a hauntingly personal collection of writings and paintings exploring the depths of his unconscious. Despite the little knowledge I have of Jung’s work (I admit), I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see this long-lost treasure up close at the Rubin Museum of Art. When I finally made it to the museum over Christmas vacation, I decided to start at the top floor and take a quick walk through the other exhibits first, saving the “best” for last on the bottom floor (surely, I thought, some trippy mandala paintings and multi-limbed Hindu deity sculptures couldn’t hold my attention for very long, fascinating though they may be).

I was quickly proven wrong.

Almost every exhibit blew me away, but one resonated with me the strongest: “Visions of the Cosmos: From the Milky Ocean to an Evolving Universe,” up until May 10, 2010. Here’s a Flickr photo set of the exhibit.

While perspectives shifted greatly from spiritual to conjectural to empirical, the quality of execution and level of diligence in constructing coherent visual narratives were remarkably on par across all works. Metaphor and symbolism were as vital as brush and ink in depicting Buddhist and Hindu cosmologies; the artists behind these works employed the tools of design to depict the interrelationships between physical and ethereal planes with such compelling clarity as to affirm their reality. Turning to the early Western astronomers, meticulous drawings of their observations with the naked eye and with simple telescopes helped demystify the heavens and bring humankind’s grasp of the world beyond Earth within reach, religious controversy aside.

Rounding out the survey of astronomical study was a series of typically dazzling photographs of distant nebulae and galaxies marking our present level of achievement. A projected Powers of 10-style video of The Known Universe flaunted the astonishing accuracy with which we now claim to know the universe and our place in it. On the same wall as the projection but directly above was a giant mandala painting (part of the exhibit “Mandala: The Perfect Circle”). I don’t know if the juxtaposition on the same wall was intentional, but graphically and thematically, the two images made perfect sense together.

Reflecting back on that day, I realized that it is the same quest for knowing that links the devotional artist, the scientist, and the modern information designer. The content, the context, and the methods may be different, but all of these individuals share the same purpose: to model reality — be it physical, spiritual, or otherwise — for human understanding and enlightenment. (Even Jung, in working through his inner turmoil, used art and writing to make sense of what he experienced. Psychological information design?)

Today, the skill of modeling reality has been professionalized into many discrete roles, including information designer, infographic illustrator, data visualization expert, CG artist, et cetera. Technology continues to enhance our understanding of the world and expand the means by which we can communicate. Slowly, what our brains actually do is still evolving: how we perceive what is and conceive of what could be, as well as how we construct understanding. I wonder what a “Visions of the Cosmos” exhibit might look like in 50, 100, or 1,000 years from now. What new models will we create? What new understanding will we reach? What will our universe look like then? Will it still be a “universe”?

(Along the lines of how we know what we know, the Rubin Museum of Art is running a pretty amazing event series called Brainwave 2010. I wish I could attend every session!)

Photo: Jacob Dingel / PGC Photo

Yep, it’s Groundhog Day. I’ve never been sure if it’s an actual holiday or some sort of day of observance, but just the thought of there being a “Groundhog Day” on our national calendar has always seemed odd to me. No doubt it must confound poor little Punxsutawney Phil as well, what with the throngs of fans gathering around him every year, anxiously awaiting his verdict on the arrival of an early spring. Then there’s the Inner Circle, Phil’s very own Knights Templar in top hats, sworn to uphold tradition and protect the oversized squirrel for future “prognostications.” How can anyone keep a straight face?

Time to get to the bottom of all this. As it turns out, February 2 is the midpoint between the start of winter and the start of spring, thus signaling the change of seasons and return of warmer weather. Originally called Imbolc by the Gaels and then St. Brigid’s Day and Candlemas by the early Christians, it is also a day of celebration, rich with the symbolism of fire and new life. As a further sign of the coming spring, animals such as snakes, bears and badgers (and later groundhogs in North America) would come out of hibernation. But what seems odd is the connection of a groundhog seeing its shadow and 6 more weeks of winter: wouldn’t not seeing its shadow mean more dreary, overcast weather? Of course, wouldn’t anyone be able to see or not see their own shadow and draw their own conclusion?

I think the concept of what we now call Groundhog Day is nothing more than good old fashioned fun — a folksy way of breaking the monotony of winter while preserving a piece of the past. Phil’s predictions aren’t even all that credible: according to one source, Phil has a success rate of only 39%. Phil’s internal clock, which is set for hibernation and mating according to his local winter/spring cycle, must already be thrown out of whack if he’s living in captivity. As for Phil’s cousins living in the wild in other areas, there’s climate change to contend with.

Much like the white bunny and baby chick that have come to represent Easter and springtime, the groundhog will remain the furry mascot of seasonal change.