Drifting through the stratosphere about 116,000-feet above the Earth, SPIDER's six cameras collected data that will enable us to look for the characteristic signature of gravitational waves generated in the early Universe.

The exact form of the thesis and the time frame in which students complete it vary a lot between departments, but in physics the process starts in the summer before senior year when students decide what topic they want to work on; whether they want to do computational, theoretical, or experimental physics; and who they want to advise them.

Looking for a candidate who enjoys hiking and camping for weeks on end (showers are monthly), who can carry tens of pounds of rocks, and who can cook a dinner resulting in leftovers that are the best kind of lunch.

Before coming to Princeton, I received an unassuming message asking me to consider a so-called Intergrated Science Curriculum (ISC). The program offered to teach physics, chemistry, biology and computer ccience together, and included a very heavy experimental component. I had recently started considering exploring the sciences, and after looking at length over the syllabus, I signed up.

Now, the first part of ISC is an intensive one-year four-course sequence that covers the typical first-year physics and chemistry curriculum, and one semester each of molecular biology and computer science. That's the equivalent of six courses in four, which should give you an idea of the expected intensity of the course.

It was one of the most academically challenging endeavors I have ever undertaken, but at the same time, it was extremely rewarding. It was also an experience unique to Princeton, made possible by the heavy focus on undergraduates, and the large amount of resources dedicated to underclassmen. We had over 20 instructors teaching the course, including a Nobel Prize winner, several members of the National Academy of Sciences, Princeton's dean of research and winners of Princeton's Distinguished Teaching Award. We even had a fully equipped laboratory exclusively for us. All for a class of about 30 people.

I am often asked if the intensity and rigor of the course was worth it, and I have always responded in the affirmative. Apart from a strong theoretical basis in all the sciences, the heavy experimental component exposed me to scientific investigation beyond the textbook. In our labs, we built our own solar cell and photometer, and even designed and executed our own experiment independently with guidance from our instructors.

Also, much of the course was focused on studying the intersection of the individual sciences, where most emerging modern research is happening. We were applying physics to biology, computation to chemistry and so on, breaking traditional boundaries followed by most freshman textbooks. In fall semester of sophomore year, I took a course on biophysics, taught by one of my instructors from ISC, to continue exploring these frontier areas, and I remain fascinated by life ever since. I may not end up studying more of biological physics, but it has redefined how I look at physics, not just as the formulation of a set of laws governing the universe, but as theories for explaining natural phenomena happening around us every day.

As a sophomore, one of the main questions facing me is which academic department I will enter as an upperclassman. Every Princeton undergraduate enters one of the 34 academic departments, almost like choosing a major in most other American colleges. The departments I am considering are physics and mathematics. The choice of a department is very significant for every Princeton student as it determines independent work and courses.

One of the main reasons I am considering physics is my experience working in CERN (The European Organization for Nuclear Research) in Geneva the past summer. I was working for Prof. Daniel Marlow in Princeton's physics department, and I was advised by David Stickland, a senior researcher at Princeton working on the Large Hadron Collider at CERN. It was a hugely enticing exposure for me to the field of high energy physics (the physics dealing with extremely high energies and extremely tiny particles), and I have been considering studying physics ever since.

Princeton has a large team at CERN working in many different aspects of the experiment. I was part of a team working on the Compact Muon Solenoid Experiment (CMS) in the Large Hadron Collider (LHC). In the LHC, scientists use extremely powerful instruments to accelerate beams of protons to near-light speeds and collide them at extremely high energies. This enables scientists to study physical phenomena only possible at such high velocities. In the CMS experiment, scientists use large muon chambers to trace the paths of elementary particles, like the Higg's Boson, which was discovered at CERN in 2012 (and which earned Peter Higgs the Nobel Prize the same year).

I was working on developing software tools to help monitor the amount of radiation generated by the collider. The high velocities of protons generate harmful radiation in the LHC tunnels, and work cannot continue on the LHC if there are harmful levels of radiation; thus the levels of radiation must be closely monitored. The software I helped build also tells us the number of collisions per second, a very vital piece of information. The team I worked with recently sent me pictures of my software in usage, and I could see directly how the tools I built were being used in the operation of the LHC.

As exciting and important as my work was, I also attended daily lectures by physicists from universities around the world on a myriad of different fields in physics and computer science. I looked forward to these lectures every morning, and they convinced me that I want to study and understand physical phenomenon better.

I was also able to visit some really amazing experiment sites at CERN, including the four big collision sites where the protons are made to collide, and several smaller experiment sites such as one studying nuclear interactions, one studying antimatter (yes, antimatter), and a linear collider (in contrast to the large circular collider of LHC).

I met lots of awesome people, especially students from around the world, and was able to travel, including a weekend trip to the French Riviera with students I met at CERN. Working at CERN was an amazing experience, and capped off the most perfect summer I could imagine!

At 185 Nassau St. stands an old elementary school. At first glance, it is mysterious. If you walk by at night—10 p.m., midnight, or even 3 a.m.—you'll see the lights are always on. Maybe you'll get a glimpse of a mysterious shadow through a 2nd floor window, or maybe you'll see lights flicker from the 4th floor attic. You'll hear weird sounds, too—the sound of an electric saw, maybe a pounding, vibrating beat. 

This building is the Lewis Center for the Arts, and home to many programs, including the Program in Visual Arts, also known as VIS, or as I like to put it, Princeton's best kept secret. Students enrolled in the Certificate and Program 2 are not only able to take studio courses, but are given their own individual studio spaces, funding for materials and individual advisers. In return, we get to make whatever we want to. It's a pretty good deal.

As a result, I've spent a good amount of time in my studio at 185. As I shape my senior thesis, a solo exhibition, it's become my second home. The building features: 

• a film theater 
• an acting studio
• multiple dance studios
• a ceramics studio
• a darkroom
• painting and drawing studios
• a sculpture shop
• digital studios (for film, photography and graphic design)
• a typography studio/printing press
• a printmaking studio

And, most important:

• Student visual arts studios

I'm constantly amazed by all of the work that my peers are doing. Our studios are spaces where we are free to explore and create whatever we want. We are able to paint, manipulate, tack things onto the floors and walls. They become our sanctuaries and the places where we make sense of the issues we are thinking about, and the questions we are asking. And accordingly, they are deeply personal, incredibly inspiring and sometimes bizarre spaces. And so, to give you all a glimpse into our lives, I decided to ask my peers for photos of their studios. Specifically, I told them to "send me something weird." Interpret as you will.

Jaime Ding '16

Amalya Megerman '16

Ben Denzer '15

You can find part of his senior thesis here. 

Louisa Wills '16

Me (Wendy Li '15)

Thursday afternoon. It was a beautiful day here at Princeton University. The leaves were changing color, the air was just breezy enough for a light jacket and there wasn’t a single cloud in sight. And there I was—huddled under dim fluorescent lights in a corner of Firestone Library, two floors underground, surrounded by stacks and stacks of books. I had finally met a fate I was dreading for three years. I was writing my thesis.

The senior thesis is a cherished (or dreaded) Princeton tradition, as previous blog posts have discussed. In my senior thesis, I’m researching how economic reforms have affected the lives and occupations of women in rural China. I chose this topic because I’m interested in how women are affected, both positively and negatively, by economic development, but also because of my own background. My father grew up in a remote village in rural China, and in the past 30 years a lot has changed. Populations have shifted. Farmland has turned into factories. Roads have been built. I go back once in a while to visit my family. My grandmother still lives on the same plot of land, while China transforms around her.

Friday afternoon. Another beautiful day. My parents were visiting campus with my grandmother, who had just arrived in the United States for the first time. As a tour guide, I’ve introduced Princeton University to visitors from around the world, from all walks of life. Yet that Friday, I was at a loss as to how I would introduce my grandmother to my Princeton life. It seemed absurd to explain having unlimited meal plans to a woman who had lived through famines, or living in Gothic castles to someone who had literally built her own house out of stone and straw.

We strolled around campus. I was proud to show my grandmother the place I call home. I pointed toward my dorm, and I showed her where I had my classes. I tried to explain some of Princeton’s history to her. I joked about the squirrels hiding in piles of leaves. She was quiet. I wasn’t sure if things were getting lost in translation, or if the institution itself confused her. And then she said something I won’t ever forget: “I’m an illiterate woman from the countryside, and I’m visiting my granddaughter at the best school in the United States.”

Something clicked for me in that moment. Just a day before, I was angsting about my research, intimidated by the blank Word document on my screen, and getting caught up on the smallest, most obscure points. But then, hearing my grandmother, everything seemed to converge. I realized something I think I had always known subconsciously: My thesis isn’t just an academic interest. It isn’t just a natural progression of the classes I’ve taken at Princeton. My thesis is a product of my own self, where the personal meets the political. When I picked my topic, I knew I wasn't just going to write about some abstract women in a country on the other side of the world, but rather I would be writing about my grandmother, my aunts and my cousins. I wanted to learn about my roots. As an immigrant growing up in the United States, I wanted to feel closer to a family history and a culture that had previously felt so far away.

I still think about what my grandmother said, every day. That revelation hasn’t resolved any of the challenges I’ve been facing in my thesis. I still have blank Word pages to fill, I still have reading to do and I still don't understand all of those econometric models, yet somehow, it doesn’t seem so dreadful anymore. Even though I'm still nervous about writing 100 pages, I know that everything I've learned these past three years, everything I've lived in the past 21 years and everything my family has been working for over the decades will inform all of it. I know there will be plenty of challenges ahead, but now,  it's more than just another grade on my transcript. This time, it's personal. 

In a previous post, I described my geological field work during June and July in Namibia. I helped a graduate student in the Department of Geosciences, Akshay Mehra, with his research, which focuses on studying the first bio-mineralizing organisms about half a billion years ago. These organisms are especially interesting because they immediately precede the earliest known animals, so they could be the direct ancestors of the first animals. Nobody really knows much about them, though, so our field work focused mainly on collecting samples of rock containing the fossilized shells of one particularly abundant species, Cloudina. We eventually collected almost 1,600 pounds of samples, which miraculously made it to Princeton. Now, with field work done, we're about to start actually getting a glimpse of these tiny, tubular creatures that lived in those half-billion year-old reefs.

But how much can you learn about a 540 million-year-old, tube-shaped organism when all you can see in the surface of a rock are cross-sections through its often poorly preserved shell? Other types of fossils are easy to extract, but in the case of Cloudina, the fossils are actually the same exact material as the rock surrounding them; there's no way to dissolve them out or anything like that. All that actually makes the fossil recognizable from the rock around it is a slight color difference resulting from mild chemical change that only affected the shells.

 

This piece of equipment is basically a machining grinder with several additions, including an 80 megapixel imaging sensor and controllers that interface it with a computer. The basic idea is that you take troublesome samples, like the ones we collected, and grind tiny layers off the sample. With each layer, you take an insanely high resolution photo of the surface, then grind again, then take another picture, and so on until the entire sample has been ground to dust. Yes, the sample is totally and literally pulverized, but what you have instead is hundreds of cross-sections through it, which you can then connect in three dimensions to create a 3D model of the sample. The magic of this technique is that you can see how the fossils look on the inside of the rock, and with a little bit of computer learning, you could even train the computer to recognize individual fossils and compute statistics about fossil density and orientation.

[embed]http://vimeo.com/72207631[/embed]

Honestly, just a year ago, I would never have guessed that I'd be looking at fossils of some of the earliest life-forms. Even beyond that, my work in the lab has taught me skills I've always wanted to know: how to interface different types of electric equipment with serial communication, all-purpose coding, and image analysis, to name a few. In just a few days we're going to attempt our first fully automated grind, which has never been done before, and it makes me proud to know I've contributed to something new in the scientific world.

 

I spent this summer working with a post-doctorate researcher in the Ecology and Evolutionary Biology Department (EEB) who is conducting a study of febrile illness in pediatric patients in Laikipia District, Kenya.