The Knowledge
Artemis II crew brought a human eye and storytelling vision to the photos they took on their mission
Artemis II crew: Artemis II’s astronaut photos show how human perspective and storytelling make space imagery feel authentic—especially in an era of AI-generated visuals.
Christye Sisson, Rochester Institute of Technology
In early April 2026, the Artemis II mission captivated me and millions of people watching from across the world. The crew’s courage, skill and infectious wonder served as tangible proof of human persistence and technological achievement, all against the mysterious backdrop of space.
People back on Earth got to witness the mission through remarkable photos of space captured by astronauts. Images created and shared by astronauts underscore how photography builds a powerful, authentic connection that goes beyond what technology alone can capture.
As a photographer and the director of the Rochester Institute of Technology’s School of Photographic Arts and Sciences, I am especially drawn to how these photographs have been at the center of the public’s collective experience of this mission.
In an era when image authenticity is often questioned and with the capabilities of autonomous, AI-driven imaging, NASA’s choice to train astronauts in photography has placed meaning over convenience and prioritized their human perspectives and creativity.
Capturing space from the crew’s perspective
Photography was not originally placed as a high priority in NASA’s Apollo era. The astronauts only took photographs if they had the chance and all their other tasks were complete.
Thanks largely in part to public response to those images from Apollo, including “Earthrise” and the “Blue Marble” being widely credited for helping catalyze the modern environmental movement, NASA shifted its approach to utilize photography to help capture the public’s imagination by training their astronauts in photographic practices.
The Artemis II mission’s photographs have helped cut through the increasing volume of artificially generated images circulating on social media. NASA’s social media releases of the crew’s photographs have garnered thousands of shares and comments.
This excitement could be explained by the novelty of photos from space, but these images also distinguish themselves as products of astronauts experiencing these sights and interpreting them through their photographs. These differences require an important distinction around where technology ends and humanity begins.
Human perspective versus AI tools
Photography has long integrated AI-powered software and data-driven tools in a variety of ways: to process raw images, fill in missing color information, drive precise focus and guide image editing, among others. These modern technological assists help human photographers realize their vision.
Artificial intelligence is also increasingly capable of operating machinery competently and autonomously, from cars to drones and cameras.
And AI can generate convincing, realistic images and videos from nothing more than a text prompt, using readily available tools.
Researchers train AI to mimic patterns informed by millions of sample images, and the algorithm can then either take or create a photograph based on what it predicts would be the most likely version of a successful, believable image.
Human-created photos are rooted in direct observation, intent and lived experience, while AI images – or choices made by AI-driven tools – are not. While both can produce compelling and believable visuals, the human photographs carry emotional power because the photographer is drawing from their experiences and perspective in that moment to tell an authentic story.
Artemis II photographs resonate, not only because they are historic, but because they reflect the deliberate choices and intent of a human being in that specific moment and context. The exposure, camera setting, lens choice and composition are all dictated by the astronaut’s vision, skill, perspective and experience. Each image is unique in comparison with the others. These choices give the images narrative power, anchoring them in human perspective.
Images to tell a story
Photographers choose what to include in the final version of their image to tell a story. In the Artemis II images, this human perspective comes out. In the “Earthset” photo, you see a striking juxtaposition of the Moon’s monochromatic, textured surface in the foreground against a slivered, bright Earth.
The choice to include both in the frame contrasts these objects literally and figuratively, inviting comparison. It creates a narrative where Earth is contrasted against the Moon – life is contrasted against the absence of it.
Another photo shows the nightside of the whole Earth, featuring the Sun’s halo, auroras and city lights. The choice to include the subtle framing of the window of the capsule in the lower left corner reminds the viewer where and how this image was captured: by a human, inside a capsule, hurtling through space. That detail grounds the photograph in the human perspective.
Both photos are reminiscent of Earthrise and the Blue Marble. These past images hold a place in the global collective consciousness, shaped by a shared historical moment.
The Artemis II photographs are anchored in this collective moment of lived human experience, yet also shaped by each astronaut’s viewpoint. The crew’s unique perspectives exemplify photography’s transformative power by inviting viewers to engage emotionally and intellectually with their journey. These photographs share the astronauts’ awe and wonder and affirm the value of human creativity and its ability to connect us in a captured moment.
Christye Sisson, Professor of Photographic Sciences, Rochester Institute of Technology
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
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The Knowledge
As Route 66 turns 100, what is it that we’re actually celebrating?
As Route 66 nears its 100th anniversary, a historian asks what we’re really honoring: the real 2,448-mile highway that reshaped towns and travel, or the mythic “Mother Road” nostalgia that often overlooks segregation, exclusion, and the communities the interstate era left behind.
Daniel Milowski, Arizona State University
Working in concert, the American Association of State Highway Officials and the Bureau of Public Roads adopted a uniform highway numbering system and corresponding map on November 11, 1926. The numbering system and map replaced the confusing patchwork of highways and trails, like the Lincoln Highway or the Old Trails Road, with an official network of numbered highways sanctioned by federal and state highway authorities.
Since then, a small group of these highways have attained the status of cultural icon. There’s Route 1, which snakes all the way from Maine to Florida. Route 101 is celebrated for its majestic views of the Pacific Ocean, while Route 6 was immortalized in “On the Road,” Jack Kerouac’s classic novel.
The most famous, though, is arguably Route 66, nicknamed the “Main Street of America” and the “Mother Road.”
Yet as the towns that dot the highway prepare to celebrate its centennial, I’ve found myself wondering what it is, exactly, that’s being celebrated.
As a historian of Route 66, I’ve written about how there are really two versions of this 2,448-mile (3,940-kilometer) stretch of pavement.
There’s the actual highway, which reflected the 20th-century expansion of the nation’s infrastructure. Then there’s the mythic highway – a cultural icon imbued with nostalgia for a specific, 20th-century idea of romance, adventure, freedom and the American West.
There was almost no 66
As state highway commissioners in the 1920s wrangled over the specifics of the nation’s new highway system, they prized highway numbers that ended in zero, since they indicated a cross-country route. The thinking went that these routes would get the most traffic and, with it, the most business.
Oklahoma State Highway Commissioner Cyrus Avery had been a big booster for a Chicago-to-Los Angeles road in order to juice highway traffic through the Midwest. He suggested calling it Route 60, claiming a coveted cross-country number.
But commissioners from Kentucky and Virginia objected, noting that Avery’s proposed road didn’t go from coast to coast. As an alternative, they suggested 62. Avery countered with a number that he thought had a better ring to it: 66.
With the numbering controversy settled, the map of America’s first highway system was approved. But another 12 years would pass before Route 66 was fully built out, making it the first U.S. highway to be paved end to end.
Adventure, redemption and reinvention
While it took over a decade for the full, physical stretch of road to be completed, the making of the Route 66 myth began almost immediately.
Construction of the road had barely begun when Avery, John T. Woodruff and other prominent civic leaders along the highway’s path convened in January 1927 to form the U.S. Highway 66 Association to promote travel along the route.
The association began advertising Route 66 as the best West Coast travel route and even trademarked a slogan for the road, “The Main Street of America.” The association also sponsored spectacles like the Trans-American Footrace to help publicize Route 66.
The race, which started on March 4, 1928, in Los Angeles, received widespread media coverage. Reporters breathtakingly described the epic struggles of the racers, coupled with vivid descriptions of the Southwest landscape. The effect was a marriage of Route 66 to ideas of adventure and romance in America’s collective subconscious.
During the Great Depression and Dust Bowl years, thousands of migrants from the Great Plains and Midwest traveled west along Route 66, hoping to rebuild their lives in California.
Author John Steinbeck dubbed Route 66 the “Mother Road” in “The Grapes of Wrath,” likening it to an umbilical cord that delivered Oakie refugees fleeing the Dust Bowl in the Oklahoma Panhandle to a new life in California. Working for the New Deal-era Farm Security Administration, photographer Dorothea Lange documented the same Oakies fictionalized by Steinbeck. Her 1938 photograph “Family on the Road” captured a husband, wife and their two young children hitchhiking on Route 66 near Weatherford, Oklahoma, after losing their farm.
Together, Steinbeck and Lange helped imbue Route 66 with new layers of meaning tied to loss and redemption. Then, after World War II, Route 66 came to mythologize the postwar boom.
Bobby Troup’s 1946 song “(Get Your Kicks) on Route 66,” first recorded by the Nat King Cole Trio, cast the road as a postwar rite of passage. Millions of Americans went on to take family vacations to the American Southwest via Route 66, staying at roadside mom-and-pop motels, grabbing burgers at neon-lit diners and posing beside oversized roadside landmarks.
Myth versus reality
But the iconic imagery and myths of Route 66 are often at odds with the reality of the road.
I’ve come to see Troup’s song as encapsulating the tension between these two versions of Route 66.
In 1946, when Nat King Cole recorded “(Get Your Kicks on) Route 66,” Cole and his band were unable to get their own “kicks” on Route 66. That’s because few businesses located along Route 66 were willing to serve them. Jim Crow-era copies of the Green Book – a directory of businesses that would accommodate Black road trippers – show just how few options there were.
It would take passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 – and subsequent enforcement efforts by the Justice Department – for the travel amenities and services along Route 66 to be equally available to all Americans, regardless of their race.
Yet by the time the highway’s motels, diners, auto repair shops and gas stations were open to all travelers, Route 66’s downturn had already begun.
The 1956 Federal Aid Highway Act turbocharged the construction of new, limited-access interstate highways. These new postwar highways prioritized fast travel between major cities and their suburbs, where Americans were flocking to in large numbers.
Fast travel, however, came at the expense of small towns bypassed by the new highways, depriving many Route 66 businesses of the customers they needed to survive.
In contrast to older mom-and-pop businesses, national corporate chain motels, restaurants and gas stations dominated the new interstate highway exits. Rather than risk exposing themselves to Justice Department Civil Rights scrutiny, they made it known that they welcomed all travelers, further enticing drivers away from older establishments.
Now, as Route 66 turns 100, there’s a gap between how the road is remembered by some and how it functioned for most. Free and easy travel on the road and “getting your kicks” were limited to white Americans. Much of Route 66’s iconography emerged from early highway association marketing efforts aimed at white Americans. Few African American or Latino travelers likely feel the same nostalgia.
Today, a lot of Route 66 nostalgia has a “back to the 1950s” vibe that celebrates pre-Civil Rights America as a purer, simpler, more authentic era. This faux-authentic America better reflects the place some Americans today wish they could live in – a less complicated, less diverse land of adventure, romance and opportunity, rather than the nuanced, complicated America they actually inhabit today.
Daniel Milowski, Adjunct Professor of History, Arizona State University
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
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Forgotten Genius Friday
When people think about space exploration, they often remember the astronauts who traveled beyond Earth. But behind every mission are engineers, scientists, and inventors who create the technology that makes those journeys possible.
One of those innovators is Ellen Ochoa — an engineer, inventor, and astronaut whose work helped advance optical technology and opened new possibilities for space exploration.
Her story is not only about reaching the stars. It is about creating the tools that help humanity understand the world around us.
A Curiosity for Science and Discovery
Born on May 10, 1958, in Los Angeles, California, Ellen Ochoa developed an early interest in learning and problem-solving. She studied physics at San Diego State University before earning advanced degrees in electrical engineering from Stanford University.
Her path was shaped by curiosity, determination, and a passion for using science to solve real-world challenges.
Before becoming an astronaut, Ochoa was already making history as an engineer.
The Technology Behind the Vision
Ochoa specialized in optical systems — technology that allows machines to analyze and interpret images.
Her research led to inventions involving optical inspection systems designed to improve how computers process visual information. These technologies helped with tasks such as detecting defects, analyzing patterns, and improving automated systems.
Through her work, Ochoa became a co-inventor on several patents related to optical technology.
Her inventions demonstrated an important idea: exploration is not only about traveling farther — it is also about developing better ways to observe, measure, and understand.
Breaking Barriers at NASA
In 1990, Ellen Ochoa was selected as an astronaut candidate by NASA.
Three years later, she made history aboard the Space Shuttle Discovery mission, becoming the first Latina to travel into space.
During her NASA career, Ochoa completed four space missions and spent nearly 1,000 hours in orbit. Her missions focused on scientific research, Earth observation, and advancing our understanding of space.
She became a symbol of possibility for future generations of scientists, engineers, and explorers.
Leading the Next Generation of Space Exploration
Ochoa’s impact continued after her astronaut missions. She later became the first Latina to serve as director of NASA’s Johnson Space Center, helping guide one of the world’s most important space organizations.
Her leadership helped inspire new generations to pursue careers in science, technology, engineering, and mathematics.
A Legacy Beyond the Stars
Ellen Ochoa’s journey reminds us that innovation can come from many places. Sometimes the greatest discoveries begin with a question, an idea, or a new way of looking at a problem.
She did not just travel into space — she helped create the technology that made discovery possible.
For Forgotten Genius Friday, Ellen Ochoa represents what the series celebrates: the innovators whose brilliance changed the world, even before many people knew their names.
Her inventions helped us see the future. Her journey helped others believe they could reach it.
Learn More About Ellen Ochoa
- NASA – Ellen Ochoa Biography
- NASA Johnson Space Center
- National Women’s History Museum – Ellen Ochoa
- Encyclopaedia Britannica – Ellen Ochoa
- NASA STEM Education
- Google Patents – Search Ellen Ochoa’s Patents
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The Earth
Cement has a climate problem — here’s how geopolymers with add‑ins like cork could help fix it
Portland cement drives ~8% of global emissions. Learn how low-carbon geopolymers—enhanced with add-ins like cork—could cut concrete’s footprint.
Alcina Johnson Sudagar, Washington University in St. Louis
Concrete is all around you – in the foundation of your home, the bridges you drive over, the sidewalks and buildings of cities. It is often described as the second-most used material by volume on Earth after water.
But the way concrete is made today also makes it a major contributor to climate change.
Portland cement, the key component of concrete, is responsible for about 8% of global greenhouse gas emissions. That’s because it’s made by heating limestone to high temperatures, a process that burns a large amount of fossil fuels for energy and releases carbon dioxide from the limestone in the process.
The good news is that there are alternatives, and they are gaining attention.
Portland cement: A greenhouse gas problem
Cementlike substances have been used in construction for thousands of years. Architects have found evidence of their use in the pyramids of Egypt and the buildings and aqueducts of the Roman Empire.
The Portland cement commonly used in construction today was patented in 1824 by Joseph Aspdin, a British bricklayer.
Modern cement preparation starts with crushing the excavated raw materials limestone and clay and then heating them in a kiln at around 2,650 degrees Fahrenheit (about 1,450 degrees Celsius) to form clinker, a hard, rocklike residue. The clinker is then cooled and ground with gypsum into a fine powder, which is called cement.
About 40% of the carbon dioxide emissions from cement production come from burning fossil fuels to generate the high heat needed to run the kiln. The rest come as the heat converts limestone (calcium carbonate) to lime (calcium oxide), releasing carbon dioxide.
In all, between half a ton and 1 ton of greenhouse gas is released per ton of Portland cement. Cement is a binding agent that, mixed with water, holds aggregate together to create concrete. It makes up about 10% to 15% of the concrete mix by weight.
Alternative technologies can lower emissions
As populations, cities and the need for new infrastructure expand, the use of cement is growing, making it important to find alternatives with lower environmental costs.
Some techniques for reducing carbon dioxide emissions include substituting some of the clinker – the hard residue typically made from limestone – with supplementary materials such as clay, or fly ash and slag from industries. Other methods reduce the amount of cement by mixing in waste sawdust or recycled materials like plastics.
The long-term solution for reducing cement’s emissions, however, is to replace traditional cement completely with alternatives. One option is geopolymers made from earthen clay and industrial wastes.
Geopolymers: A more climate-friendly solution
Geopolymers can be made by mixing claylike materials that are rich in aluminum and silicon minerals with a chemical activator through a process called geopolymerization. The activator transforms the silicon and aluminum into a structure that will look like cement. All of this can happen at room temperature.
The major difference between cement and geopolymer is that cement is mainly made of calcium, whereas geopolymers are made of silicon and aluminum with some possible calcium in their structure.
These geopolymers have been found to possess high strength and durability, including resilience in freeze-thaw cycles and resistance to heat and fire, which are important requirements in construction. Studies have found that some geopolymers can provide comparable if not better strength than traditional cement and, because they don’t require heat the way clinker does, they can be produced with significantly lower greenhouse gas emissions.
Geopolymers can also be produced from a variety of raw materials rich in aluminum and silicon, including earthen clays, fly ash, blast furnace slag, rice husk ash, iron ore wastes and recycled construction brick waste. Geopolymer technology can be adapted depending on the clay or industrial waste locally available in a region. https://www.youtube.com/embed/NOj3p6m9M7Q?wmode=transparent&start=0 A brief history of cement and geopolymers. Geopolymer International.
An added advantage of geopolymers is that changes to the mixture can produce a range of features.
For example, I and my co-researchers at the University of Aveiro in Portugal added a small amount of cork industry waste – the leftovers from creating bottle corks – to clay-based geopolymer and found it could improve the strength of the material by up to twofold. The cork particles filled the spaces in the geopolymer structure, making it denser, which increased the strength.
Similarly, additives such as sisal fibers from the agave plant, recycled plastic and steel fibers can change geopolymer properties. The additives do not participate in the geopolymerization process but act as fillers in the structure.
The structure of geopolymers can also be designed to act as adsorbents, attracting toxic metals in wastewater and capturing and storing radioactive wastes. Specifically, incorporating materials like zeolite that are natural adsorbents in the geopolymer structure can make them useful for such applications as well.
Where geopolymers are used now
Geopolymers have been used in many types of construction, including roads, coatings, 3D printing, coastal environmental protection, the steel and chemical industries, sewer rehabilitation and building radiation shielding and rocket launchpad and bunker infrastructure.
One of the earliest examples of a modern geopolymer concrete project was the Brisbane West Wellcamp airport in Australia.
It was built in 2014 with 70,000 metric tons of geopolymer concrete, which was estimated to have reduced the project’s carbon dioxide emissions by as much as 80%.
The geopolymer market is currently estimated to be between US$7 billion and $10 billion, with the largest growth in the Asia-Pacific region.
Analysts have estimated that the market could grow at a rate of 10% to 20% per year and reach about $62 billion by 2033.
In several countries, greenhouse gas regulations and green-building certifications are expected to support the continued growth of geopolymers in the construction industry.
Expanding the use of cement alternatives
The advantage of using industrial wastes in geopolymers is a double-edged sword, however. The composition of industrial wastes varies, so it can be difficult to standardize the processing methods. The geopolymer components need to be mixed in particular ratios to achieve desired properties.
Producing the activator for the geopolymer, typically done in chemical facilities, can raise the cost and contribute to the carbon footprint. And the long-term data about these materials’ stability is only now being developed given their newness. Also, these geopolymers can take longer to set than cement, though the setting time can be sped up by using raw materials that react quickly.
Developing cheaper, naturally available activators like agricultural waste rice husk with sustainable supply chains could help lower the costs and environmental impact. Also, printing the recipe on the raw material packaging could help simplify the job of determining the mixing ratio so geopolymers can be more widely used with confidence.
Even though geopolymer technology has some drawbacks, these low-carbon alternatives have great potential for reducing emissions from the construction sector.
Alcina Johnson Sudagar, Research Scientist in Chemistry, Washington University in St. Louis
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
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