Samantha Fallon

The study of vacuums has fascinated chemists, engineers, physicists, and the general public since the dawn of science and observation. To wonder about matter is inherently to wonder about the absence of it. Scientific development has pushed us to create progressively ideal vacuums, yet we have not, and will not, achieve perfection. A perfect vacuum (one without the presence of any matter) is only theoretically possible due to pesky protons inhabiting space. In the face of this impossibility, scientists and researchers continue to pursue proximity to the unmanageable with fervor. 

Despite these advancements, the vacuum we encounter most is not the biggest vacuum in the world (The Space Power Facility at NASA Glenn Research Center’s Plum Brook Station with over 800,000 cubic feet of space) or the one that cleans your carpets. The greatest man-made vacuum must be the one we have imposed upon ourselves - A divorce of the humanities from natural sciences. As a student of both disciplines, I have seen firsthand the systemic and forced separation between these fields. From the battle for funding and representation to the physical division of North and South campus (much greater than a measly 800,000 cubic feet) it appears as though art and science are constantly at odds. The injustice of this boundary creates future professionals who are stuck in boxes and unwilling to expand their portfolio.

Despite the difficulty of bridging this gap, we all embody the arts and sciences in our daily lives. Each brushstroke of an artist can be simplified to the electrical impulses of their body and each research paper written can, in some way, be considered an artistic expression. To branch out instead of existing in a singularity is against the wishes of a societal vacuum, but in perfect alignment with natural forces. Branching out can often appear a matter of infiltrating a sterile space as a proton infiltrates a scientist’s matter-free chamber but know in a short time you will not exist alone.