“Ongoing Construction Along Trail”
Miriam Powell
The sign reads “Ongoing Construction Along Trail,” proceeding to inform observers that “Path to remain open during construction,” and requesting that readers “Please respect construction barrier,” before finally offering a polite “Thank you.” Red text presents a vague sense of risk or potential danger, though a lack of exclamation points, and sparing use of capital letters, seems to indicate a more stable setting. The sans-serif font appears similar to the nearly ubiquitous Helvetica, perhaps in effort to draw attention away from individual letters and towards the message that the sign aims to convey. Still, the details are crucial. Someone had to make that decision. The state’s Occupational Safety and Health Agency notes that “signs must meet design requirements set by other organizations, such as the American National Standards Institute (ANSI).”[1] ANSI is “a private, not-for-profit organization dedicated to supporting U.S. voluntary standards and conformity assessment system and strengthening its impact, both domestically and internationally.”[2] ANSI sells standards through a web store that promises to help you “Find your Perfect Solution for Access to Standards.”[3] “Access” and “standards” might indicate transparency under other circumstances, but here their deployment seems vague and opaque. The sign, too, speaks of universals but in a highly particularized manner. The sign presumes that its audience reads English, and perhaps that this audience has some basic familiarity with public safety in regards to ongoing construction. Speaking to this audience, the sign seems to convey, “I am here for you.” In its benign but stern tone, it directs, “Move along, nothing to see here.” The barrier of which the sign speaks is not an aggressor, but an invitation to comply. It is not an imposition, but rather an agreement.
In reading the sign, one might imagine its voice; however, it is difficult to discern whose voice this is. There is no official seal or trade-marked logo to suggest the involvement of local government or private corporation. The sign speaks as if for an autonomous presence. In providing such a detailed topographic map of the site, around which the barrier has been constructed, the sign seems to imply that it has given us all of the information. There will be no need for further questioning. In accepting the changes underway as already complete, the sign begins to naturalize the presence of the active construction site, to welcome this built environment as a new feature in the landscape. Through its detailed reproduction of the plans for this new feature, the sign acknowledges movement across the barrier even while discouraging its audience from attempting such. With the map we can imagine what lies beyond the barrier, even as we are excluded from it. The diagram, over which has been printed “Caution: Active Construction Zone,” signals the expansive and diverse systems of distribution upon which the site—and thus the sign—depends. Markers like “Elec. Vault and Utility Stubs,” “Fire Hydrant FM-7,” and “8’ Water Service w/ Marker Post,” designate the presence of private utilities and public services, which are achieved through distribution. Electricity generated elsewhere travels through copper wires—propped up on poles, or buried underground—until it reaches the site where it will be consumed. Water, though abundant in the nearby river, must flow through treatment plants and complex plumbing networks before it is channelled through this yet-to-be built environment. These connection points defy the sign’s presentation of the construction barrier as impenetrable. The barrier is permeable. Its exclusions, then, are selective—sanctioned bodies may move freely while those unaccounted for are barred from entry.
In obfuscating the porosity of the chain-link fence, the sign itself serves as a kind of barrier. The sign presents a paradox not uncommon to distribution systems. As Matthew Haag and Winnie Hu note, the increasing distribution of packages throughout New York City, not only impacts the movement of goods across broad distances, but also complicates, stalls, and sometimes stops movement within the city.[4] Distribution is then not predicated solely on the ease of movement, but also on inconvenience, adjustment, and redirection. In the first instance, the sign facilitates ease of movement, as it directs people away from a potentially dangerous site. In the second, however, the sign obstructs movement. The sign itself is immovable. Heavy metal wires punch through its plastic facade to fix it on two sturdy posts. These posts in turn puncture the surface of the earth and extend underground to keep the sign from being easily uprooted. Though apparently immovable, the sign’s materiality indicates impermanence. This is not your typical road sign. It is not a piece of painted steel, bolted into place. It will last a while, sure, but it may be taken up one day. Presumably construction will one day end, and the sign will no longer be necessary. While its lightweight plastic will be easy to remove, it will not easily disintegrate or decompose—destined to send mixed messages in some far away landfill. So long as the sign remains in place, however, wind, raindrops, rabbits, and earthworms, alike, must adjust their movement so as to accommodate its commanding presence. For larger mammals, humans among them, the sign may pose less of an impediment. Nonetheless, its directions restrict movement through space.
While significant in and of themselves, these characteristics of the sign do not take into account the specific type of construction that is actively occurring behind its path-side announcement. The sign is a few hundred feet from a Google Data Center in The Dalles, Oregon. The “Active Construction Zone” depicted on the sign will host thousands of servers, facilitating the flow of information across the planet. The expansive footprint of Google’s operation in The Dalles brings to mind the totalizing presence of Amazon in Baltimore.[5] Both cities reflect the extent to which the deceptively immaterial internet depends on reshaping material environments across the planet. The image of the sign included here participates in both immaterial and material registers of digital communication. This photo may even have travelled through The Dalles itself, as web-based applications, such as Google Docs, depend on off-site storage facilities, that is, Google’s data centers. While the sign itself is fixed and static, this representation of the sign can move freely—freely, that is, among the prescribed pathways and material infrastructures through which the internet operates—negotiating always between the ability of infrastructure to both facilitate and obstruct.
[1] “Oregon Occupational Safety and Health : Signs and Signals : State of Oregon.” Oregon Department of Consumer and Business Services. Web. https://osha.oregon.gov/Pages/topics/signs-and-signals.aspx
[2] “About ANSI.” American National Standards Institute. Web. https://www.ansi.org/about_ansi/overview/overview?menuid=1
[3] “ANSI Webstore.” American National Standards Institute. Web. https://webstore.ansi.org/
[4] Haag, Matthew and Winnie Hu. “1.5 Million Packages a Day: The Internet Brings Chaos to N.Y. Streets.” The New York Times. 28 October 2019. Web. https://www.nytimes.com/2019/10/27/nyregion/nyc-amazon-delivery.html
[5] Shane, Scott. “Prime Mover: How Amazon Wove Itself Into the Life of an American City.” The New York Times. 30 November 2019. Web. https://www.nytimes.com/2019/11/30/business/amazon-baltimore.html