Using Google Earth, I “flew” to Tempelhof Airport in Berlin. Once I hovered at a certain vertical distance above the airport (1.16 km), I captured this still image. A friend wanted to view the architecture aerially in order to see its outline that appears to be an eagle.

Although this architectural likeness to a mighty bird is well known, I still cannot see it in this image, or even in others, such as this from
Wikipedia.

To be more precise, I do see it, but where is the eagle’s head? In the following post, I will focus on the virtual mapping medium, Google Earth, with keen attention to the ways in which this medium attempts to capture its audience. More precisely, I will argue that the creators of Google Earth want their audience—their customers—to believe that the medium itself accounts for reality and requires no imagination. However, I will demonstrate that instead, Google Earth actually relies on the audience’s imagination in order to see certain images from an aerial perspective. Finally, I will briefly discuss the possibility that the audience may not be prepared to imagine in a medium that is itself predicated on virtual (near, approximate) reality.
In the example of the Tempelhof’s architectural simulation of an eagle, I want to see the bird’s head; I have an expectation that all bodily parts will be present. In other words, when viewing this image, I am not prepared to use my imagination--the image, I think to myself, must be self evident. Jonathan Crary writes of capital's effect on the image and one's imagination. "Capitalist modernization had several major consequences: one of these was the marginalization of the sense of the image as interior, as the mental product or creation of an individual. The sweeping devaluation and incapacitation of a human ability to generate one's own images (or imagination) is inseparable from the ascendency of already manufactured external images, which increasingly become the impersonal raw material of psychic life and determine the formal conditions of all so-called mental images" (
New Keywords, 178-79). To put this in the context of Google Earth, has my reliance on media forms, which are saturated with images, actually retooled my ability to imagine? To see an image of the world from a certain aerial perspective is a relatively new phenomenon for me, given that I am not a pilot, an aerial photographer, a bomber for the military, an engineer at NASA, and so on. To what extent has this form of modernization in capital--after all, it is
Google Earth and, even though I occupy none of the positions listed above, I can spend a few minutes downloading a simple program--affected the faculty of my imagination?
When I sent my friend this image, I used the email command directly in Google Earth. My email program opened automatically, attached the still shot of the airport
and this paragraph:
Google Earth streams the world over wired and wireless networks enabling users to virtually go anywhere on the planet and see places in photographic detail. This is not like any map you have ever seen. This is a 3D model of the real world, based on real satellite images combined with maps, guides to restaurants, hotels, entertainment, businesses and more. You can zoom from space to street level instantly and then pan or jump from place to place, city to city, even country to country.
Get Google Earth. Put the world in perspective.
Instantly, I became a broker for Google Earth with my email turned advertisement. The words that accompany this medium must be read closely in order to understand how this medium attempts to capture its audience. The split infinitive “to virtually go” punctures the act of going, traveling, or simply moving, with virtuality, or with the time of the immediate and the space of the approximate. For virtual signifies the proximate or near, the almost, and technologies that traffic in the virtual rely on the possibility of ceaseless updating. “To virtually go” thus inserts the virtual and immediate into the processual act of going. The grammatical error suggests, perhaps unintentionally, that we can only almost go anywhere—in other words, we cannot go everywhere, even with Google Earth.
The virtuality of going seems to belie Google Earth’s call to “put the world in perspective," an act which, in some ways, is about containment. The imperative of course cites the cliché used to describe a situation in which someone has lost touch with reality, or perhaps exaggerated a situation and needs to be brought back to ‘earth.’ To put something in perspective is also to relate it to an external object or situation in order to see it more clearly; perspective and orientation are, therefore, relational. The phrase also signifies the possibilities of actually putting the world in a certain perspective by accessing its combination of satellite images and 3D models. The epigraph charges the user to believe that one can view the “real” world through Google Earth, even though it is one compiled by inherently past 3D models, satellites, maps and guides to capital exchange. Moreover, we “put the world in perspective” by viewing a radically off scale rendering. The possibilities that Google Earth affords are at once astounding and also utterly banal and limiting. While it can feel exhilarating to view the world aerially, the depth of field or perspective that the user inhabits in Google’s earth is only a reproduction of dominant human perceptive modes; moreover, these modalities exist on a human scale: from “space to street level.” Why does the technology not allow us to see the universe at once, or even the world from an insect’s perspective?
Landscape, as a concept and a topographical form, is rendered virtual, even
imaginary, by the mediating technologies of the computer screen and this is how my experience of Tempelhof's image gets more complicated. Through its own virtuality, the technology of online mapping systems—including Google Earth—has created the illusion that people can choose to experience topographies in two ways: directly, viscerally, naturally; or indirectly, virtually, aerially. In other words, Google Earth constructs a binary relationship to the landscape, and the result of which is that users or navigators in virtual space might actually come to believe that n/Nature exists in a pure state. The virtual fabricates the real. This move is evident in the advertisement for Google Earth, which is insistent on topographical “realness,” “real world, based on real satellite images.” Except, in the very first sentence, we learn that users “virtually go anywhere on the planet.” Google Earth purports that simultaneously and instantly, one may converge, what at one time would have been only imagined, with the real—jumping from country to country in seconds, for example. However, zooming, jumping and panning are not instantaneous acts—they are in fact gradual processes linked to technology.
Google Earth is caught in the tension between reality and virtuality. Google Earth allows people to visit almost real spaces in almost real time. With the first line from the epigraph, we might be tempted to believe in the instantaneity of the technology because Google Earth streams the world. In the strictest sense, streaming refers to technology that allows for a rapid transmission of data—namely audio and video—across the Internet, without the user having to download and save large multimedia files on their local drive. The temporality of streaming is important to consider in this context: the technology allows users to begin listening or viewing before the entire file is transmitted. The first line, “Google Earth streams the world” is quite inaccurate because we only view images with this mapping system—there is no audio or video to stream.
Unsurprisingly, the apparent “streaming” of the data on Google Earth is always uneven, with permutations of different images from different times, some recent, some ten years old. This suggests ideological decision-making at work: which spaces are worthy of updating and which ones are not? Or, for which spaces does updating pose a threat and are thus deliberately kept in the past? The topographic images in Google Earth are kept for one to three years before being updated. The company admits that “The information in Google Earth is collected over time and is not ‘real time’ in nature.” The word choice here reminds us that, in fact, the real of time and space for the Google User is computing—not flying over, jumping between, or traversing vast landforms. The topographies we experience most viscerally are in fact those of the screen, the manipulations of a mouse, the contours of the keyboard with its letters, numbers, and arrows. With Google Earth, then, we do not experience real time in natural streams. And yet, all time is “real,” so that even with Google Earth’s concession of temporal drag, we can imagine streaming a bit differently than the technical definition I provided above. Data streams, whether live and up-to-date, from five minutes ago or five years ago, are always in almost but not quite real time. In other words, there is always a remove from the present that allows for a gap—a space or tension—that is necessarily in between the moment of viewing and the site or subject being viewed.
Google Earth actually is a technology in which the user never does intersect with the real of time or space, despite its insistence on reality. Although Google Earth allows ‘travelers’ to speculate—to explore, find new territories, to gamble on, to theorize—via the work of the imagination, it codifies the user into stale, out-of-date topographies and synthetic 3D images. Google Earth holds the real in reserve and we never quite intersect with it, but instead we explore what a house looks like from above, but two, three, or four years ago in some cases. A New Yorker cartoon parodies the seduction of aerial viewing.

The screen has replaced the mirror. But even the joke gets it wrong because neither the technology itself, nor the temporality of the technology allows for viewing the top of one’s head, for we would not be able to see the “real” head in “real” time. Google Earth’s perceptual drag actually (and ironically) reveals itself in the insistence on streaming and realness—the repetition of the “real” uncovers an anxiety about its virtuality. As the potential audience of Google Earth, the man with the new haircut and I must simply imagine.