Did you ever stop to think that maps aren't just about plotting the solid ground we walk on every day? What if they could plunge into the hidden underworld of caves, rocket into the starry expanse above, or even dissect the bizarre ways humans try to twist the weather to their will? That's the thrilling twist at the heart of the David Rumsey Map Center's latest showcase, Above & Below: Cartography Beyond Terrain, which boldly explores cartography that breaks free from the Earth's surface—and it's guaranteed to challenge everything you thought you knew about maps.
Published on November 2, 2025, at 11:08 p.m., with a minor update at 11:09 p.m., this exhibition at Stanford's Green Library (accessible via their events page: https://events.stanford.edu/event/above-below-cartography-beyond-terrain) proves that mapping goes far beyond traditional landscapes. Launched on October 8 in tandem with the fifth biennial Barry Lawrence Ruderman Conference on Cartography, the display features contributions from nine experts who shared their work at the event. These collections, all centered on innovative, non-traditional approaches to mapmaking, are now housed in the center, offering a fresh perspective on how we visualize the world—or worlds—beyond our feet.
Assistant curator Kristina Larsen, who led the project, explains that what ties all these pieces together is their departure from standard surface-level terrain mapping. 'They're all connected by the fact that they do not have traditional surface terrain cartography,' she notes, 'but they all approach this topic from a pretty different angle.' For newcomers to cartography—the art and science of creating maps—this means diving into representations that aren't about roads, rivers, or elevation on the ground. Instead, they explore realms that are harder to see and measure, making the exhibit a great entry point for beginners who might not realize how maps can illuminate invisible or otherworldly domains.
True to its title, some sections of the exhibit and the accompanying conference talks venture beneath the surface, revealing the mysteries of the seafloor and subterranean caves. Take, for instance, historian Johannes Mattes from the Austrian Academy of Sciences, whose collection, 'The Limits of Early Modern Vision,' gathers ancient cave maps from regions like Slovakia, Hungary, and Russia. These maps contain precise details that could help explorers navigate the twisting tunnels inside the caves, but they also include imaginative elements. As Larsen points out, 'All of these cave maps have accurate information in them that’s useful for navigating inside of the caves, but all of it’s got an element of invention to it because they didn’t know how deep they were.' It's as if the cartographers sketched what they experienced firsthand, rather than relying on the precise measurements we use in modern cartography. This blend of reality and creativity highlights how early maps were more like personal stories than scientific tools—fascinating for anyone curious about history, but also a reminder of how our understanding of depth has evolved with technology.
But here's where it gets controversial—what if those 'inventions' in old maps were more than just artistic flair? Could they have misled adventurers into dangerous situations? And this is the part most people miss: how these early mappings reflect the limits of human perception, sparking debates about whether accuracy should always trump ingenuity in cartography. It's a point that might divide opinions—do we celebrate the creativity, or criticize the potential for error?
Shifting gears to look skyward, other collections soar above, examining celestial wonders. Colorado School of Mines professor Angel Abbud-Madrid's exhibit, 'The Evolving View & Mapping from Above,' showcases historical lunar maps alongside actual samples of simulated moon dust. Intriguingly, these maps label the moon's darker areas as 'mare'—meaning 'sea' in Latin—and the brighter parts as 'terra,' or 'land.' These terms are still in use today for moon soil, connecting ancient astronomy to modern science. Larsen highlights the intrigue: 'His talk was interesting because it was about how we’ve made images of space objects, including the moon, and how those views have changed over time. It was like a long view of people looking at the sky.' For beginners, imagine how our ancestors gazed at the moon and pieced together maps from what they saw, much like modern astronomers use telescopes to create detailed charts. This evolution shows cartography as a bridge between past and present, inviting us to ponder how our views of the universe have transformed—and whether we might still be inventing elements in today's space maps, just like those cave explorers did.
Then there's the truly provocative collection from historian Lucas Schultz, titled 'Mapping Anthropogenic Weather,' which blends visuals of contrails (those white streaks left by airplanes) and nuclear fallout with a peculiar 19th-century Alpine tradition. In that era, villagers fired cannons at approaching storm clouds, believing they could control the weather and prevent hail or rain from ruining crops. Schultz's map analyzes this belief, revealing how the landscape's natural features might have made it seem like the cannons worked. As Larsen describes, 'This diagram is basically about how this idea that they had seemed to be supported by the way the weather behaved but that it was all because of the topography in the area. They were shooting things at them and then cherry-picking evidence in support of the idea that this was working.' In simpler terms, the mountains and valleys created illusions that the cannon blasts were effective, leading people to select only the 'proof' that fit their theory—a classic example of confirmation bias. This raises eyebrows and sparks controversy: Is this just harmless folklore, or does it echo modern debates about pseudoscience, like claims that certain activities can 'control' climate change today? Subtly, it challenges us to question our own beliefs—could similar cherry-picking be happening in contemporary environmental mapping?
Niles Dorn, the center's specialist in cartographic collections and technology, praises the exhibit's diversity as its standout feature. 'Since all of the different sections of the exhibition are drawn from or created from the different talks from the conference, there’s really a whole range of topics and ideas,' he says. 'You might find one that you don’t find interesting and look two feet to the right and there’s something that you think is really cool.' This variety ensures something for everyone, from space enthusiasts to history buffs, and underscores how non-traditional maps can make abstract concepts tangible.
Visitors like Paulo Moriconi, who toured with his son, echo this sentiment. 'The people here are very, very good,' he shared. 'They gave us a lot of information.' Their enthusiasm highlights how the staff's passion enhances the experience, turning a gallery visit into an engaging conversation.
To catch Above & Below yourself, plan a trip during opening hours: Wednesday and Thursday afternoons from 1 p.m. to 5 p.m., or Friday mornings from 9:30 a.m. to 5 p.m. Guided tours (bookable at https://events.stanford.edu/event/david-rumsey-map-center-tour) are available at 2 p.m. on select Fridays, offering deeper insights. As Larsen emphasizes, 'We cater towards people who have never thought about maps before and try to get people excited to share our own enthusiasm about maps, both contemporary and historic. [The exhibition] should be written at a level where it’s pretty understandable to people, even if they don’t have a lot of prior knowledge about these topics.' It's designed to be accessible, perhaps inspiring you to explore cartography in your own way—maybe even creating a simple map of your neighborhood's hidden spots.
In wrapping up, this exhibition isn't just about maps; it's about reimagining how we see the world, from underground mysteries to cosmic views and human follies. But what sparks the most debate is whether these unconventional maps enrich our understanding or complicate it with potential inaccuracies and biases. Do you agree that cartography should evolve beyond traditional terrains, or do you believe sticking to proven, surface-level facts is safer? And here's a thought-provoking twist: Could the 'inventions' in these maps be a form of artistic expression that science sometimes overlooks? I'd love to hear your take—do you side with the innovators or the traditionalists? Drop your opinions in the comments and let's discuss!
