A point of departure
In 1975, the engineered forms of the US Apollo module and the USSR Soyuz joined in a symbolic end of the space race and intergalactic détente. Imagine the cultural, political, scientific, and historical forces wrapped up in the moment when the hatch opens, and three American astronauts join their two cosmonaut colleagues. It is a moment of historical significance, taking place in a physical space that has been engineered for a specific purpose—safe and economical spaceflight—and not diplomatic relations. In the tight tube of an air lock, representatives of two enemy people unite in a handshake, as their spacecraft have united in orbit. This occurrence is more frequent than not, the reuse of space beyond the intent of its design.

The astronaut and the farmer
Wheel charts are performative ephemera. Their stacked discs suggest dynamism, even when the chart’s information is fixed and predictable. In spite of infinite symmetry, the wheel chart requires a certain amount of asymmetry in order to function. The wheel chart’s information may be rigorous and expansive; the junction of kitsch and tactility make the information digestible and portable. Wheel charts, like space craft themselves may be immutable; the ephemeral life they lead is not.

The rocket scientist is also a missile designer, while the outer space mission planner must juggle schedules, orbital rhythms, and planetary cycles. It is a discipline the farmer, obsessed with the weather, the length of the day, and the phase of the moon, could appreciate. The slide rule employed by the mission planner a more complex version of the wheel chart used by the farmer to time his heifer’s menstrual cycle.