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Reading history in wood: how tree rings became an imperial device

susanne quitmann

 
How dendrochronology — the science of reading tree rings — emerged in the early 20th-century American Southwest as a dating tool as well as an instrument of epistemic imperialism that imposed Western timelines onto Indigenous histories.

Trees and history

Trees are the material from which histories are made. Quite literally, they have long supplied the paper on which historical narratives are written (in analogue formats at least). Yet their relationship to history goes much deeper. Trees contain histories. Each year, they add a new ring to their trunks, preserving traces of the past as they grow. In the early 20th century, scientists began to study these rings to learn about the past. By measuring tree rings and comparing their patterns, scientists created long chronological records that stretched centuries — and eventually millennia – into the past. This method, known as dendrochronology, promised to date not only trees but also wooden artefacts with remarkable precision from periods when written sources did not exist. But analysing tree rings required interpretation, and the chronologies built from them were neither natural nor objective. The history of dendrochronology demonstrates that dating methods and temporal scales are powerful epistemological devices that determine what kinds of historical narratives can be constructed. In the early 20th-century, dendrochronology emerged in the United States as a scientific technique as well as a tool of imperial control. It was used to impose a Western timeline onto Indigenous history, reinforcing structures of knowledge and authority.

Fig. 1: Russell Lee, Top of yellow pine tree in Apache National Forest. Navajo County, Arizona (April 1940). Library of Congress: LC-USF34- 035913-D [P&P] LOT 652, https://lccn.loc.gov/2017786031.

Of tree rings and sunspots

To understand how tree rings became historical markers, we need to look back to the surprising origins of dendrochronology. Rather than archaeology or history, it grew out of astronomy.[1] Arizona-based astronomer Andrew E. Douglass was fascinated by sunspots and their potential relationship to our climate. Scientists had long suspected that solar activity might influence weather patterns, but proving such a connection required long records of astronomical and weather data. Here, Douglass was faced with a problem: at the time, meteorological archives for the United States dated back decades, not centuries – insufficient for studying long-term solar cycles. So, Douglass began searching for alternatives, and trees provided a solution. Every year, most trees add a new growth ring to their trunks: light and pale in spring and early summer, dense and dark in late summer and autumn. In years when rainfall is plentiful and conditions are favourable, the rings grow wide. In dry or stressful years, they grow narrow. Because these variations reflect climate conditions, tree rings serve as a natural archive of weather events and climate conditions. By measuring and comparing rings across multiple trees, Douglass could reconstruct sequences of wet and dry years stretching far back into the past.

Fig. 2: Douglass examining a core on Mt Lemmon, Tucson, Arizona in 1946 (Photograph used with permission of the Laboratory of Tree-Ring Research, University of Arizona).

A new scientific discipline

By the mid-1910s, Douglass realised that tree rings might have applications far beyond astronomical research. He first suggested in 1916 that the technique could date archaeological remains.[2] At the time, archaeologists working in the North American Southwest were excavating numerous Indigenous sites but lacked reliable methods to determine their age and their temporal relationship to one another. There were no written chronologies prior to Europeans’ arrival, leaving earlier centuries largely undated.[3] But if wooden beams from archaeological sites contained the same pattern of rings found in living trees, those beams could be dated by matching the patterns. This 'cross-dating' allowed researchers to determine the year (or period, depending on how the wood had been processed) in which the wood had been processed. Over the next 13 years, Douglass, together with anthropologists and archaeologists,  collected wood samples from ancient structures and living trees across the American Southwest. By comparing overlapping patterns from many trees and wooden beams, Douglass gradually assembled a long chronological sequence, a master timeline of ring patterns across the region inhabited by the Hopi. Eventually, this sequence stretched back roughly 2000 years. In 1929, Douglass published his landmark results.[4] For the first time, archaeologists could date wooden samples and relics from sites with remarkable precision. A new scientific discipline was born.

Fig. 3: Andrew E. Douglass, “The Secret of the Southwest Solved by Talkative Tree Rings.” The National Geographic Magazine 56 (1929): 737-70, p. 769.

Fig. 3: Andrew E. Douglass, “The Secret of the Southwest Solved by Talkative Tree Rings.” The National Geographic Magazine 56 (1929): 737-70, p. 769. The term dendrochronology – from the Greek dendron (tree) and chronos (time) – had been formally introduced by Douglass just a year earlier.[5] Over the following decade, the field flourished in the United States (and, at different times, elsewhere[6]). Researchers expanded tree-ring chronologies and applied them to archaeology, climatology and forestry. The rapid growth of the discipline in the USA only slowed as research priorities shifted during the Second World War.[7] By that point, however, the technique had already transformed several scientific disciplines. Even today, dendrochronology remains one of the most accurate dating methods available.[8]

Fig. 4: Research at the Laboratory of Tree-Ring Research (LTRR) at the University of Arizona, founded by Douglass in 1937, reflects the range of tree-ring research today, contributing to history, climate science, astronomy and more (https://ltrr.arizona.edu/, 18 March 2026; screenshot used with permission of the Laboratory of Tree-Ring Research, University of Arizona).

Universal chronology

Dendrochronology reflected modern Western understandings and organisation of time. The 19th century witnessed a dramatic expansion of temporal standardisation. Industrialisation synchronised working hours and schedules. Railroads required standardised timetables to coordinate travel. Telegraph networks enabled real-time communication across and between continents. To make this accelerated long-range travel and communication possible, states standardised time zones, aligning local clocks with global temporal frameworks. Time became precise, measurable and universal (at least on paper).[9] In this context, historians and archaeologists began striving for universal chronologies. Their goal was to align diverse temporal frameworks and forms of historical dating on a single, linear timeline. Dendrochronology offered an ideal tool for this project.

Fig. 5: Ansel Adams, Walpi, Arizona, 1941. National Archives: 519989.

Scientific time and Indigenous histories

Tree-ring dating allowed scholars in the American Southwest to connect pre-Columbian Indigenous history to the chronology of European historiography. This process of alignment was not technical or objective; it reflected deeper assumptions about history, progress and civilisation. Despite their commitment to universal chronologies, early 20th-century scholars did not believe that all societies moved through history at the same pace. Many Western intellectuals subscribed to theories of civilisational evolution, which imagined societies progressing along a developmental path from ‘primitive’ to ‘civilised’. Western industrial societies were considered most advanced, Indigenous peoples behind. Dipesh Chakrabarty famously spoke of the ‘imaginary waiting room of history’.[10] Douglass’s writings occasionally reflected these assumptions. In 1929, he described the builders of the ancient Hopi village of Hano as ‘inseparable from modern Walpi’.[11] Dendrochronology grew out of Western epistemological traditions that privileged quantification, linear time and material evidence. For archaeologists seeking recognition, precise dating methods were invaluable. Tree rings allowed them to convert archaeological remains into the numerical data modern academic culture demanded.[12] By translating Indigenous histories into the Western chronological framework, dendrochronology implicitly privileged scientific time in understanding the past. Jonas Rüegg wrote that ‘chronological time remains just one possible rendering of the relationship between past, present, and future’.[13] Many cultures conceive of time and history differently: through cycles, world-systems, genealogical narratives and spatial metaphors, for example, rather than a sequence of years.[14] Nevertheless, ‘[s]cientific time became a measure of epistemic legitimacy that eventually disempowered socially embedded modalities of historical knowledge’.[15] Western scholars dismissed other knowledge systems.

Fig. 6: Collection of samples at the LTRR (Photograph used with permission of the Laboratory of Tree-Ring Research, University of Arizona).

Dating as epistemic imperialism

In the American Southwest, this dynamic directly affected Indigenous historical knowledge. Before the precision of dendrochronology, some archaeologists had relied on oral traditions to reconstruct Indigenous histories. For example, Jesse Walter Fewkes, recorded oral narratives of the Hopi in the late 19th century that described historical events such as migrations and village foundations.[16] However, the temporal structures in oral traditions rarely match Western linear chronologies. As dendrochronology emerged in the early 20th century, these differences became increasingly problematic for scholars seeking academic recognition. Fewkes’s research and his evidence, oral traditions, were dismissed as unreliable.[17] Gradually, Indigenous perspectives were discursively marginalised.[18] More than an isolated phenomenon, this was imperial policy. The second half of the 19th century and the early 20th saw the enforced 'assimilation' of Indigenous people by the U.S. government. The past, present and future of Indigenous Americans were to be incorporated in bureaucratic and scientific structures. The U.S. government forced Indigenous children into boarding schools, replaced communal ownership with individual land allotment and took control over archaeological sites.[19] Dendrochronology was embedded in these broader power structures. In the early 20th-century USA, it helped integrate Indigenous history into imperial narratives of time and progress.

Reading trees, writing histories

This epistemic imperialism expanded a particular system of knowledge that marginalises other ways of understanding the world. Tree rings may be natural phenomena, but the meanings derived from them are shaped by interpretation. Historical methods shape what can be discovered and how the past can be imagined. Archaeologists are increasingly aware of the colonial heritage of their discipline, and many try to use more inclusive, reciprocal research models. But the legacy of colonialism and its epistemologies still looms large. In 2001, Larry Zimmermann criticised that archaeologists still practiced a form of ‘scientific colonialism’, extracting research data from Indigenous communities for the colonisers’ profit in the form of scholarly output and academic recognition.[20] George Nicholas and Julie Hollowell have identified ‘lack of standing given to alternative worldviews and ways of meaning-making’ as a major impediment to a postcolonial archaeology.[21] In many Native American cultures, the past is not separate from the present; instead ‘a present past is part of daily life and experience’.[22] In a debate about the use of human remains in archaeological research, Athabascan Ernie Turner explained: ‘Human bones are [not] able to talk to the scientists and leave them information. Culture talks to us and gives us messages from the past. Spiritual communication is not a theory, it is a fact. […] I am not sure what the bones tell of the spiritual beliefs of my people’.[23] The same could be said about trees: trees don’t talk directly to scientists. Dendrochronology is part of a larger story about knowledge, power and the many ways humans make sense of the past, the present and the future. In a way, measuring tree rings tells us more about archaeologists’ scientific culture than about the historical cultures they study. The idea that archaeologists aim at describing an objective, preexisting, completed truth, which is deeply rooted in Western ontology, is yet another instance of epistemic violence. As Zimmerman explained: The past lives in the present for Native American people and does not exist as a separate entity. When archaeologists state that the past is gone, extinct, or lost unless archaeology is done, they send a strong message that Native American people themselves are extinct. Acceptance of the past as archaeologists view it would actually destroy the Native American present.[24] However, attending to Indigenous culture, as Turner suggested, could help us re-read trees and thus re-write history. Not only do many trees have spiritual meaning for the Hopi,[25] but, structurally, trees are also a closer reflection of Indigenous concepts of the past, present and future than of Western concepts of history. A tree’s rings are its present past, not past and dead, but inseparable, living parts of its daily life.

Fig. 7: Pinus ponderosa, Bryce Canyon National Park, Cannonville, UT, USA 2021, photo taken by Caleb Catto, https://www.inaturalist.org/photos/171245457.

[Published 15.9.2026 
temporal dis:connectivity is a blog series that explores how concepts and experiences of time shape global processes across time and space. In this series, scholars from different disciplines ask what attention to temporality can reveal about globalisation, historical change, and the ways societies imagine the past, present, and future.
For the previous entry in this series on temporal dis:connectivity, click here. To read the introduction to the series, click here.]
[1] Stephen E. Nash, Time, Trees, and Prehistory: Tree-Ring Dating and the Development of North American Archaeology, 1914–1950 (Provo: University of Utah Press, 1999). [2] Hans Hermann Rump, Bäume und Zeiten: Eine Geschichte der Jahrringforschung (Berlin: Springer, 2018), 105. [3] Nash, Time, Trees, and Prehistory, ch. 1. [4] Andrew E. Douglass, 'The Secret of the Southwest Solved by Talkative Tree Rings', The National Geographic Magazine  56, 1929. [5] Andrew E. Douglass, Climactic Cycles and Tree Growth: A Study of the Annual Rings of Trees in Relation to Climate and Solar Activity, The Carnegie Institution (Washington, D.C., 1928), 5. [6] See, for example, Staffan Bergwik, 'Synchronizing Nature and Culture: Mediating Time in Geochronology and Dendrochronology, 1900–1945', in Time and the World: Interdisciplinary Studies in Cultural Transformations, ed. Anders Ekström and Staffan Bergwik (New York: Berghahn, 2022); Linlin Gao et al., 'China's growing relevance in dendrochronology and paleoclimatology', npj Climate Action 4, no. 83 (2025). doi.org/10.1038/s44168-025-00294-7. [7] Nash, Time, Trees, and Prehistory, 10. [8] Nash, Time, Trees, and Prehistory, 10. [9] Andreas Eckert, 'Zeit, Arbeit und die Konstruktion von Differenz: Über die koloniale Ordnung in Afrika', Comparativ 10, no. 3 (2000). ; On Barak, On Time: Technology and Temporality in Modern Egypt (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2013); Vanessa Ogle, The Global Transformation of Time, 1870-1950 (Cambridge, USA: Harvard University Press, 2015); Sebastian Conrad, '"Nothing is the Way it Should Be": Global Transformations of the Time Regime in the Nineteenth Century', Modern Intellectural History 15, no. 3 (2018). doi:10.1017/S1479244316000391. [10] Dipesh Chakrabarty, Provincializing Europe: Postcolonial Thought and Historical Difference (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2008), 8. [11] Douglass, 'The Secret of the Southwest', 744n. [12] Jürgen Osterhammel, The Transformation of the World: A Global History of the Nineteenth Century, trans. Patrick Camiller (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2014), 780. [13] Jonas Rüegg, 'Oceanic Knowledge and National Space-Time in Pacific History', Verge: Studies in Global Asias 10, no. 2 (2024): 111. doi.org/10.1353/VRG.2024.A934657. Emphasis added. [14] On the Hopi concept of history, see Maren P. Hopkins et al., 'Hopi Perspectives on History', in Becoming Hopi, ed. Wesley Bernardini et al. (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2021). [15] Rüegg, 'Oceanic Knowledge', 111. [16] Wesley Bernardini and Leigh Kuwanwisiwma, 'A History of Anthropological Research on the Hopi Mesas', in Becoming Hopi, ed. Wesley Bernardini et al. (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2021), 81n. [17] Bernardini and Kuwanwisiwma, 'A History of Anthropological Research', 81n. [18] Bernardini and Kuwanwisiwma, 'A History of Anthropological Research', 80n. [19] Saul L. Hedquist et al., 'A Hopi Atlas', in Becoming Hopi, ed. Wesley Bernardini et al. (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2021), 57n; Bernardini and Kuwanwisiwma, 'A History of Anthropological Research', 83; Tim Holm, The Great Confusion in Indian Affairs: Native Americans & Whites in the Progressive Era (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2005), ch. 1. [20] Larry J. Zimmerman, 'Usurping Native American Voice', in The Future of the Past: Archaeologists, Native Americans, and Repatriation, ed. Tamara Bray (New York: Garland Publishing, 2001), 169. [21] George Nicholas and Julie Hollowell, 'Ethical Challenges to a Postcolonial Archaeology: The Legacy of Scientific Colonialism', in Archaeology and Capitalism: From Ethics to Politics, ed. Yannis Hamilakis and Philip Duke (Abingdon: Routledge, 2007), 63. [22] Zimmerman, 'Usurping Native American Voice', 173. [23] Patricia J. Carmack, 'The Study of Ancient Human Skeletal Remains in Iowa', Iowa Archaeological Society Newsletter 111 (1984): 8.  From the context, it is clear that, without the added not, Turner was either misquoted or misspoke, which is also supported by Zimmerman, 'Usurping Native American Voice', 173. [24] Zimmerman, 'Usurping Native American Voice', 175. [25] Hedquist et al., 'A Hopi Atlas'.
bibliography
Barak, On. On Time: Technology and Temporality in Modern Egypt. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2013. Bergwik, Staffan. 'Synchronizing Nature and Culture: Mediating Time in Geochronology and Dendrochronology, 1900–1945'. In Time and the World: Interdisciplinary Studies in Cultural Transformations, edited by Anders Ekström and Staffan Bergwik,  New York: Berghahn, 2022:  230-56. Bernardini, Wesley and Leigh Kuwanwisiwma. 'A History of Anthropological Research on the Hopi Mesas'. In Becoming Hopi, edited by Wesley Bernardini, Stewart B. Koyiyumpetwa, Gregson Schachner and Leigh Kuwanwisiwma,  Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2021:  73-89. Carmack, Patricia J. 'The Study of Ancient Human Skeletal Remains in Iowa'. Iowa Archaeological Society Newsletter 111 (1984): 7-9. Chakrabarty, Dipesh. Provincializing Europe: Postcolonial Thought and Historical Difference. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2008. Conrad, Sebastian. '"Nothing is the Way it Should Be": Global Transformations of the Time Regime in the Nineteenth Century'. Modern Intellectural History 15, no. 3 (2018): 821-48. doi:10.1017/S1479244316000391. Douglass, Andrew E. Climactic Cycles and Tree Growth: A Study of the Annual Rings of Trees in Relation to Climate and Solar Activity. The Carnegie Institution (Washington, D.C.: 1928). ———. 'The Secret of the Southwest Solved by Talkative Tree Rings'. The National Geographic Magazine 56, 1929, 737-70. Eckert, Andreas. 'Zeit, Arbeit und die Konstruktion von Differenz: Über die koloniale Ordnung in Afrika'. Comparativ 10, no. 3 (2000): 61-73. Gao, Linlin, Tatiana Bebchuk, Xiaohua Gou and Ulf Büntgen. 'China's growing relevance in dendrochronology and paleoclimatology'. npj Climate Action 4, no. 83 (2025). doi.org/10.1038/s44168-025-00294-7. Hedquist, Saul L., Maren P. Hopkins, Stewart B. Koyiyumpetwa and T.J. Ferguson. 'A Hopi Atlas'. In Becoming Hopi, edited by Wesley Bernardini, Stewart B. Koyiyumpetwa, Gregson Schachner and Leigh Kuwanwisiwma,  Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2021:  27-71. Holm, Tim. The Great Confusion in Indian Affairs: Native Americans & Whites in the Progressive Era. Austin: University of Texas Press, 2005. Hopkins, Maren P., Leigh Kuwanwisiwma, Stewart B. Koyiyumpetewa and Wesley Bernardini. 'Hopi Perspectives on History'. In Becoming Hopi, edited by Wesley Bernardini, Stewart B. Koyiyumpetewa, Gregson Schachner and Leigh Kuwanwisiwma,  Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2021:  15-26. Nash, Stephen E. Time, Trees, and Prehistory: Tree-Ring Dating and the Development of North American Archaeology, 1914–1950. Provo: University of Utah Press, 1999. Nicholas, George and Julie Hollowell. 'Ethical Challenges to a Postcolonial Archaeology: The Legacy of Scientific Colonialism'. In Archaeology and Capitalism: From Ethics to Politics, edited by Yannis Hamilakis and Philip Duke,  Abingdon: Routledge, 2007:  59-82. Ogle, Vanessa. The Global Transformation of Time, 1870-1950. Cambridge, USA: Harvard University Press, 2015. Osterhammel, Jürgen. The Transformation of the World: A Global History of the Nineteenth Century. Translated by Patrick Camiller. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2014. Rüegg, Jonas. 'Oceanic Knowledge and National Space-Time in Pacific History'. Verge: Studies in Global Asias 10, no. 2 (2024): 111-37. doi.org/10.1353/VRG.2024.A934657. Rump, Hans Hermann. Bäume und Zeiten: Eine Geschichte der Jahrringforschung. Berlin: Springer, 2018. Zimmerman, Larry J. 'Usurping Native American Voice'. In The Future of the Past: Archaeologists, Native Americans, and Repatriation, edited by Tamara Bray,  New York: Garland Publishing, 2001: 169-184. Continue Reading

gd:c voices part II: virtuous epistemic circles

[Editor's note: this post continues the interview with our postdocs that we began last month.]  

How does your research shape the focus, and how is it shaped by the focus?

SQ: Temporality is not just an aspect of my research; it is the central object of my inquiry. In my current postdoctoral project I use trees to examine how modern societies have understood, measured and imagined time and history. Trees preserve material traces of past climates and human interventions, and they often outlive the people who study, manage and exploit them. Because they embody multiple temporal scales – biological, environmental and historical – trees reveal much about modern ideas of temporality as a constitutive feature of modernity itself.

Tree rings reflect growth and age (Photo: Susanne Quitmann)

My research focuses on the emergence of dendrochronology — the science of analysing tree-rings — in the late 19th and early 20th centuries in the United States, Germany and Sweden. Rather than writing a disciplinary history of dendrochronology as a scientific field, however, I examine how humans’ interactions with trees shaped thinking about natural, historical and social time. I am especially interested in how scientific practices, environmental knowledge and material encounters with trees cast new temporal frameworks and scales.

Wood samples at the Arizona Laboratory of Tree-Tring Research (LTRR), University of Arizona—the birthplace of dendrochronology (Photograph used with permission of the Laboratory of Tree-Ring Research, University of Arizona)

Engaging with temporalities as a research focus here at gd:c has provided a conceptual framework for approaching this history and linking it to larger questions of globalisation. Time was not a single, shared, homogenous framework; it was produced unevenly through processes of movement, exchange, circulation and rupture. Drawing on both my work on dendrochronology and my earlier research on British child migrants, and in dialogue with my colleagues at gd:c, I am developing the concept of temporal dis:connectivity as a shared analytical framework for the research focus. I hope that this concept will give researchers a shared way of thinking about temporalities along the lines of global dis:connectivity and a lasting, common language to talk about it. At the same time, our research focusses aren’t hermetically sealed. For example, I am interested in laboratories in the history of dendrochronology as sites where temporal knowledge was produced, stabilised and contested. I also welcome the opportunity to further develop the concept of temporal dis:connectivity in relation to cultural infrastructures, where time becomes a resource and where different temporal regimes intersect. AG: As an art and fashion historian, my work reveals how cultural production was structured and sustained through infrastructural frameworks and design strategies. The cultural infrastructure of the fashion system encompasses ateliers and factories for production; magazines, exhibitions, fairs and fashion shows for dissemination; and stores, markets and social media for consumption. In my current research, cultural infrastructure goes beyond spaces and events to include networks of designers and manufacturers. Particularly from the early 20th century, they were organised through various national and international associations, shaped by alliances, dependencies, connections and disconnections.  As Yuniya Kawamura has argued in Fashion-ology, designers are key figures in the production of fashion; they personify fashion, and their designs objectify fashion. I would add that the centralisation of fashion production and its associated politics become evident through the designers’ strategies, which include their own infrastructure: the concept, making and presentation of a collection at a specific venue. In addition to these artistic practices, design strategies also involve entrepreneurial ventures to establish their work globally through cultural infrastructure.

US Vogue, March 15, 1953, Photo: © Vogue Archive, Condé Nast (March 15 1953 | Vogue)

Since the early 2000s, designer councils and fashion shows outside the traditional fashion capitals (Paris, New York, London, Milan) have sought to decentralise the global fashion system and disrupt its hierarchical and Eurocentric structures. Fashion weeks in cities like Jakarta and Dakar provide alternative platforms for local designers and textile traditions.  I am examining the roots of these national fashion policies, which aimed to strengthen regional economies, enhance prestige for local and indigenous craftsmanship, and export cultural heritage worldwide. Which artistic, commercial and industrial infrastructures helped to promote national design in the 20th century? Which transnational parallels run through the strategies and motivations of different fashion institutes? How and why were these institutions and associations supported by the government? https://youtu.be/TC9gGBwISUw In the postwar period, I am especially interested in fashion (re)presentations at international events such as the Olympic Games and world's fairs. They played an important role in framing how cultures, including dress practices, are aestheticised and made legible to global audiences. Designers mobilized dresses as symbols of (national) identity to inspire their designs, without considering the risk of cultural appropriation when elements are extracted, commodified and detached from their original cultural context. I am focusing on these strategies of global visibility and export alongside the institutional promotion of national fashion through institutes, associations and individual designers.

A German fashion magazine promoting what they called 'Mexican' fashion, inspired by the 1968 Summer Olympics held in Mexico City (Photo: Aliena Guggenberger)

CF: My research has long focused on experimental spaces at the fault line between the planetary and the global. Working at the intersection of architectural and environmental history, I study how built environments and infrastructures — laboratories, observatories and simulation facilities — mediate planetary processes such as seismic wave propagation, atmospheric circulation, oceanic currents, soil formation and the limits of life in extreme environments, rendering them globally legible. Whether examining geophysical observatories around 1900 (see my Planetary Disequilibrium), or, more recently, planetary analogues, I ask how these processes are translated into architectural form, experimental protocol, and infrastructures of knowledge, and what kinds of dis:connections emerge in that translation.

ESA-DLR LUNA - Moon analogue, Cologne, Germany. (above) Rehearsal - simulated moonwalk at the LUNA facilities as preparation for future lunar surface operations. Photo: © ESA/DLR - M. Diegeler. / (below) Virtual reality (VR) model of LUNA’s main hall containing the regolith test bed area with dust chamber visible. Image: © ESA/DLR-F. Saling.

  This perspective also shapes my approach to the laboratories of dis:connectivity research focus here at gd:c. Rather than treating laboratories as bounded, local sites, I see them as mediating environments where abstract models of our planet assemble global relations. Laboratories extract signals, samples and processes from particular environments and render them comparable across distance and scale. In doing so, they connect the world through shared standards, models and datasets, while simultaneously disconnecting those abstractions from the social, ecological and political conditions that sustain them.

Concordia Station - planetary analogue, Dome C plateau in Antarctica. Operated jointly by the French Polar Institute IPEV and the Italian Antarctic Programme PNRA. Photo: © ESA/IPEV/PNRA-J. Lacrampe/N. Purvis.

These questions are at the centre of my current research project on planetary analogues. The project examines analogue environments — Antarctic research stations, lunar and Martian simulation facilities, underwater habitats and extreme desert sites — where Earth itself is reconfigured to stand in for other planets or future worlds. I approach these sites as laboratories of dis:connectivity: spaces that make planetary conditions actionable within global scientific, political, and technological regimes by selectively isolating variables, staging rehearsals and projecting futures, while unevenly displacing risk, labour and environmental exposure.
NASA JETT test series, San Francisco Volcanic Field near Flagstaff, Arizona, May 2024. The Joint Extravehicular Activity and Human Surface Mobility Program Test Team develops, integrates, and executes human-in-the-loop tests and analog missions. Drone footage of NASA astronauts Kate Rubins and Andre Doublas. Video: jsc2025m000255 © NASA/JSC. 
Thinking through the gd:c research focus has sharpened my view of these analogue sites. Approaching laboratories through dis:connectivity unearths the tension between the planetary and the global. The planetary refers to processes that exceed human scale and control, while the global names the infrastructures and institutions through which those processes are stabilised, managed and governed. Planetary analogues, understood as laboratories, sit precisely in between. They translate planetary uncertainty into global regimes of knowledge and governance, often producing new asymmetries while promising preparedness and resilience.

Digital plants laboratory showcasing global dis:connections. Sonia Sobrino Ralston and Simon Lesina-Debiasi, Run Dry: Digital Infrastructure and Landscape Loss in Mesa, Arizona, 2025, Information Plus Conference at the MIT Media Lab, Cambridge. (Images courtesy of the artists.)

  In this reciprocal way, my research shapes the research focus as a shared space of inquiry, always in dialogue with our fellows’ projects, each coming from a different disciplinary and methodological perspective. The research focus likewise continues to sharpen my understanding of laboratories as sites where the planetary and the global rarely align seamlessly, but instead meet through friction, negotiation and experimentation. This is what makes laboratories such fertile ground for research at gd:c. Continue Reading