For Valentine’s Day, 91̽»¨News asked 12 91̽»¨ researchers to share their love stories: What made them decide to pursue their career paths? Scroll down or click on the links below to see their responses.

Lakeya Afolalu | Katya Cherukumilli | Stephen Groening | June Lukuyu | Jennifer Nemhauser | Zoe Pleasure | Kira Schabram | Bára Šafářová | Adam Summers | Timeka Tounsel | Kendall Valentine | Navid Zobeiry

, Assistant professor of language, literacy and culture, College of Education

What do you study at the UW?Ìý

My research explores how immigration, race, language, literacy and identity intersect in the lives of Nigerian immigrant and transnational youth. Unlike in many West African countries, race is the most salient identifier in the United States, often overlooking the diverse ethnic, cultural and linguistic identities of youth of African origin. This often affects how immigrant youth make sense of their identities in this country. My research examines how Nigerian youth use multilingualism, literacy and digital literacies to construct and negotiate their identities across home, school and digital environments in the U.S.

What made you fall in love with your research area?

My mother is African American. My father is Nigerian. So, growing up, I often felt like I was split between both cultures. There were also so many societal and familial expectations about what it meant to be “Black,” “African American” and “Nigerian.”

Growing up, my family members and friends in Detroit called me by my African American name, “Lakeya.” But when my sisters and I spent summers and holidays in Queens, New York, with our Nigerian family, the moment I crossed over the threshold of the door I was called by my Nigerian name, “Iyore.”

Honestly, I’d say I set out very early in life to define my life’s path and to be intentional about how I wanted to make myself known to the world — my identity. It was not — and even as an adult Black woman in America, it still is not always — comfortable to defy identity expectations. But what other way is there to live? To be a shell of what others, or society, believe we should be? Is that living? It is not.

As a teenager, I had less confidence in being bold and being my true self. I loved reading novels. I’d go to the bookstore and buy books to read, but I hid this practice from my friends because of some unwritten rule that one can’t be Black, cool and smart. Adolescent peer pressure was a real issue. That’s also how I fell in love with writing. Often feeling misunderstood, I resorted to the pages of my journals where I could be myself and dream of my future self. I continue to keep a journal.

My Aunt Darcelle says I’ve been asking profound questions since I learned to speak. That hasn’t changed. So, it’s no surprise that I’ve committed to a career in research. My research is not just research, though. It’s the story and lives of so many young people who feel wedged between other people’s and society’s ideas of who they should be and what they should become. Sometimes, these expectations can come from those closest to us who have well-meaning intentions — parents, family members, close friends. I understand this feeling well.

There are many times when I’m writing a manuscript or analyzing data, and I draw on memories of my own schooling experiences to interpret interview transcripts from the Nigerian youth in my study. Or I remember similar instances from West African seventh-grade students in Harlem, which guided me to draw on theoretical frames that align best with the Nigerian youth experience.

My research is truly about shifting the narrative about what it means to be Black, Nigerian and African. Why? Well, because Blackness is so rich, diverse and multifaceted. So is Nigerianness and Africanness. As I engage in my research to illustrate the rich diversity of Nigerian youth’s languages, literacies and identities, I also aim to contribute to dismantling rigid identity structures, creating greater freedom for all young people who find themselves in environments that are structured by prescribed identities that conflict with how they desire to be known.

My research is a contribution to freedom — a freedom that transcends into adulthood. My feet may be in the academy, but my heart and hands always have been and always will be in the communities that mirror mine. It’s truly an honor to do this heart work.

I also want to touch on how I decided to pursue this career path. Growing up, I always wanted to play school and take on the role of the teacher. In fact, I cried whenever my sisters and cousins wouldn’t play school with me. For Christmas and my birthday, I would ask my mother to buy me dry-erase boards, markers and other office items so that I could set up my “classroom” in the house.

I fell in love with teaching because my early elementary teachers were some of the first people who made me feel seen. For instance, my first-grade teacher, Mrs. Schave, would let me choose and read books to the whole class on Fridays. My second-grade teacher, Mrs. Korn, at Fitzgerald Elementary on the west side of Detroit, would invite me to the writer’s table in the classroom whenever I finished my work early. At that table, I realized how powerful and freeing the art of writing is.

While I had these great school experiences, they were also starkly different from my cousins’ experiences. They lived and attended public schools in Auburn Hills, in the suburbs outside of Detroit. I often visited them on the weekends and noticed that they read the same books that I read at my elementary school, except that we had the abridged version in basal textbooks while they had the full chapter books. That struck something within me, and I realized very early in life that your ZIP code — where you lived — determined the quality of your education. It felt unfair. I didn’t have the words to describe it then, but I now know that it was an equity issue — not just educationally but also in terms of economic and social mobility.

So, I decided around the age of 7 that I wanted to become a teacher. I made an internal promise to myself, a commitment, that children who grow up in communities like mine — the beautiful west side of Detroit — would have access to a quality education no matter what. Since that commitment, I’ve taught elementary and middle school in Newark, New Jersey, Detroit, and Harlem.

Thinking back to the connection with my research on identity, I had many conversations with my Nigerian father, who wanted me to pursue a career in finance. In Nigerian culture, there’s often the idea that doctor, lawyer and engineer are the only three career choices, but I was less interested in the money and prestige. I was committed to a career in education.

Today, as an assistant professor and the founder of a that supports the identities and well-being of youth of color, I have small moments when I think back to little Lakeya and smile. I’m doing exactly what she set out to do and more. She would be proud.

What advice would you give to your younger self?Ìý

It’s okay to be misunderstood. It’s okay not to fit in. In fact, not fitting in is what makes you beautifully unique. I know that none of your identity and educational experiences may make sense now, but they will later. Trust me, it will make sense — not just for you but for many youths who find themselves making sense of their identities. In fact, you’ll dedicate your career to speaking, writing and doing community-based work about these topics. Finally, I know you’re looking for that example like yourself, with your dreams and who lives between multiple cultural worlds, but in time, you will become the example you’re looking for. Hold on. It’s going to be a beautiful roller coaster of a ride.

For more information, contact Afolalu at lafolalu@uw.edu.

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, Assistant professor, Department of Human Centered Design & Engineering

What do you study at the UW?

My research group, the Safe Water Equity and Longevity Lab, aims to bridge gaps between scientific discovery, technology design and safe water provision. We integrate methods from human-centered design and environmental engineering to investigate barriers that limit safe water access and to develop usable water quality monitoring and treatment technologies. Specifically, we use data science, experiments, hardware prototyping and community-engaged research methods to design collaborative tools that improve safe water management and mitigate exposure to chemical contaminants in water supplies.

What made you fall in love with your research area?

From a young age, I always felt a deep connection to our planet. I loved spending most of my time outdoors exploring the natural world. I was very curious and talkative as a child, wanting to solve riddles, play games and learn about how everything worked. My curiosity led me down a winding path of research adventures that allowed me to study geology and supercontinents, climate change and alpine plant ecology, fuel-efficient cookstoves, wastewater irrigation and, eventually, safe drinking water.

When I reflect on how I ended up choosing to research access to drinking water, I think about the different places I have lived: south India, Florida, California and Washington. Each region has a uniquely different way of life, cultural traditions and natural environments. A common thread in each of the places I have called home was proximity to the coastline and easy access to fresh springs, rivers and lakes. I have always found myself drawn by an invisible force to the nearest body of water.

I am grateful that my career allows me to address environmental health challenges while also considering the human experience, to reflect on and reconcile inequities and injustices, and to collaboratively solve complex puzzles with brilliant students, colleagues and community partners.

What advice would you give to your younger self?

Don’t be scared to do what you love every day, follow your heart and never stop speaking your mind. You’ll eventually find your way and realize it was the journey that mattered in the end.

For more information, contact Cherukumilli at katyach@uw.edu.

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, Associate professor, Department of Cinema & Media Studies

What do you study at the UW?

I am a media historian who specializes in the sociocultural aspects of media technologies. This includes researching and writing about devices themselves, the implications of the introduction and widespread adoption of these devices and how people use them. For example, my first book was . I have also published research on cell phones, , 16 mm training films, and the use of television screens in the family minivan.

What made you fall in love with your research area? Ìý

I was 7 when I was stuck on a Pan Am 747 for five hours on the tarmac at London Heathrow and boy, was it exciting when they finally played the movie on the big screen at the front of the cabin!

After that, I lived in Poland under a military dictatorship, which profoundly shaped my media experience growing up. For example, we used to watch Hollywood films played on a 16 mm projector in our living room — both the films and projector were provided through the U.S. Armed Forces. The range of films could be odd. I remember watching “Sophie’s Choice,” “Heartbeeps,” “Terms of Endearment,” “Raiders of the Lost Ark,” “Going Ape!,” “Sleeper,” “Fire and Ice,” “The Towering Inferno,” “City on Fire,” “When Time Ran Out,” “Three Days of the Condor,” “Hannah and Her Sisters” and “Krull” — not exactly .

At the same time, we were watching Polish television (mostly the animated shows “Pszczółka Maja” and “Bolek i Lolek”). Occasionally, a Hollywood film would be aired on TV, over-dubbed in Polish in such a way that the English language dialogue was still audible. I have distinct memories of watching “The Poseidon Adventure” and hearing the first few words of a line in English before the Polish translation came in on top of the dialogue. It wasn’t until a decade or so later that I learned this is not the standard technique for making alternate language versions of films.

We sometimes had access to U.S. television shows from other American diplomats who would return from home leave. They would bring videotape recordings, so I got to watch “Hogan’s Heroes,” “M*A*S*H” and “Gilligan’s Island” months after air date, complete with commercials (which I found both profoundly perplexing and compelling — As I type right now, I am singing the ). I even got to see “Roots” and “The Day After” on Betamax (we did not have what was then thought of as the inferior VHS format).

I would say that those media experiences — in-flight film, 16mm home exhibition, watching films on television in multiple languages — sparked my interest in our mediated mass culture. Until relatively recently, film studies was marked by a bias toward theatrical exhibition of feature films (with the occasional nod to experimental films shown in art galleries) and media studies was concerned with the effective transmission of messages to audiences. The forms of media encounter that are unforeseen and often unintended at the moment of production often get treated as accidental and inconsequential and yet, for many people that is the primary mode of encounter. Because of my experience, I know that all media forms, devices and their contents are contingent on a particular and fortuitous set of circumstances. So I find myself curious about those circumstances and their history.

What advice would you give to your younger self?

If I had known I would become an academic, I might have told my 8-year-old self to take better notes and told my undergraduate self to spend more time in faculty office hours asking about academia. Knowing what I know now, I would have told myself 10 years ago to stop worrying what others might think and just write the damned book.

For more information, contact Groening at groening@uw.edu.

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, Assistant professor, Department of Electrical & Computer Engineering

What do you study at the UW?

My research centers on using transdisciplinary approaches to develop solutions for creating sustainable, inclusive and integrated energy solutions for underserved communities. My expertise supports policymakers and practitioners seeking equitable, community-centered energy transitions that combine technical and socioeconomic perspectives.

What made you fall in love with your research area?

I grew up in a small community outside Nairobi, Kenya. From an early age, I saw firsthand the challenges of unreliable power: frequent outages, power surges and a system that did not always meet the needs of the people it served. When the lights went out, my family, like many in the area, was often left scrambling to preserve our food or finish homework assignments in candlelight. It was not just an inconvenience — it was a reminder of how something as essential as electricity could hold communities back. I knew from then that I wanted to do something about it, but at the time, I did not quite know how.

When I was in high school, I applied to colleges in the U.S. and was accepted to Smith College on a full scholarship. There, I pursued engineering science, but what really sparked my love for the field was not just the technical challenges — it was how energy systems intertwined with society. At Smith, I was not just solving equations. I was also exploring how power affects everything from education to health care to human development. My engineering courses were paired with courses in psychology, economics and sociology, and that blend of disciplines opened my eyes to a new way of thinking: Energy wasn’t just a technical problem to solve, it was a societal one.

The more I learned, the more I realized that fixing energy systems in underserved communities couldn’t be as simple as just adding more power or building bigger grids. It had to be about understanding the people who needed that power. I wanted to create systems that responded to real needs, that didn’t just drop in solutions, but considered the community’s culture, environment and existing infrastructure. After graduating, I had a job developing software to estimate the cost of power systems, but I kept thinking about how we could rethink energy to make it more sustainable, more inclusive and more connected to the social fabric of the places it served.

That thinking led me to pursue a master’s in renewable energy systems at Loughborough University in the United Kingdom and then a doctorate at the University of Massachusetts Amherst, where my research focused on finding ways to develop energy systems that were as much about community as they were about technology. I didn’t just want to create another power system that might fail because it didn’t align with how people lived or how societies worked. Instead, I wanted to design systems that were responsive to local contexts and to the needs of communities they intended to serve, systems that people could rely on for the long haul.

In 2023, I joined the 91̽»¨ as an assistant professor, where I founded the IDEAS (Interdisciplinary Energy Analytics for Society) research group. Our work is all about creating energy systems that work for the people who use them. It’s a mix of developing sustainable technology, social understanding and deep collaboration with communities. We’re working on projects in Africa, Southeast Asia, the Pacific Islands and even here in the U.S., always with the goal of creating solutions that are both sustainable and tailored to the specific needs of each community.

What I love most about my research is that it’s not just about the science — it’s about the people. Every project is a chance to dive into a new community, understand its challenges and design solutions that truly fit. I’m passionate about making sure that when we think about energy, we’re thinking about people, not just power. And now, teaching and mentoring the next generation of engineers at 91̽»¨gives me a chance to pass on that mindset — to inspire others to think beyond the technical and ask, “How does this system help the people who need it most?”

It’s been a winding journey, from a small town outside Nairobi to researching sustainable and inclusive energy solutions at a major university. But the core of it has always been the same: a desire to make a difference, to solve real-world problems with technology and to ensure that everyone, no matter where they are, has access to the energy they need to thrive.

What advice would you give to your younger self?

I’d tell my younger self not to worry so much about fitting into a mold or following a traditional path. Every experience, even the ones that seem unrelated or uncertain, contributes to your journey. Embrace the uncertainty, because it often leads to the most interesting places.

I’d also remind myself to be patient and kind with the process. Progress isn’t always linear. There were times when I felt overwhelmed or unsure of my next step. It’s okay to feel that way — it’s part of learning and growing. The setbacks, the challenges and even the moments of doubt are just as important as the successes. They shape you and teach you valuable lessons.

Finally, I’d tell myself to take more risks — to seek out the scary opportunities, the ones that seem daunting or unfamiliar. You never know where a seemingly small decision or unexpected twist in the road might take you. Sometimes, the things that seem out of reach are the ones worth pursuing most. So, trust yourself, stay curious and keep pushing forward, even when the path isn’t always clear. The journey will be worth it.

For more information, contact Lukuyu at jlukuyu@uw.edu.

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, Professor, Department of Biology

What do you study at the UW?

We use plant, yeast and human cells to understand and engineer the molecular interactions that allow organisms to process information during development and stress responses.

What made you fall in love with your research area?

When I was a little girl, I attended a Montessori school in Los Angeles. This was the 1970s, and the teachers embraced the philosophy of letting a child’s interest direct their learning. I had one teacher that I really bonded with, named Dr. Pillai. He introduced me to the process of science research, rewarding my seemingly insatiable curiosity with thoughtful responses and sharing just the right book or model or experiment to help me dig deeper into any topic that caught my interest. He made me feel like asking a million questions was a wonderful quality (something not everyone agreed with, then or now!).

The pure joy of learning about the natural world through experimentation struck a deep chord. While the road was quite twisty between those early years and my decision to pursue science as a career, I am sure that I would not be here today without that early encouragement.

What advice would you give to your younger self?

Be nicer to your dad when he is helping you with your math homework!

For more information, contact Nemhauser at jn7@uw.edu.

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, Doctoral student, Department of Health Systems & Population Health, School of Public Health

What do you study at the UW?

My research focuses on understanding how people make decisions about their sexual and reproductive health care while navigating the multi-level influences that shape our current societal structure. In my research, I use mixed methods to analyze more traditional data sources, such as qualitative interviews and surveys, and newer data sources, such as TikTok videos, Reddit posts and electronic health record notes, to understand what type of information people seek out about sexual and reproductive health, their motivations behind decision-making and their care interactions with providers. I seek to examine how people with different lived experiences (for example: chronic disease, young people, veterans) may have different decision-making motivations and informational needs to make autonomous reproductive health decisions.

What made you fall in love with your research area?

I first became passionate about sexual and reproductive health while taking the class Sex, Gender and the Brain as a neuroscience undergraduate at Emory University. My final project focused on how anti-choice groups attempted to limit reproductive autonomy by promoting erroneous interpretations of neuroscience data to argue that oral contraceptives are dangerous. The class demonstrated to me how scientists could meld science with feminist theory and, more specifically, how the intentional distribution of misinformation online provides another tool to limit bodily autonomy.

Earlier in my educational career, teachers often framed my biology, chemistry and physics classes as apolitical or unbiased by societal structures. I now know that is not true. This class was one of the first classes where we were asked to name the specific orientation or lens of a research paper or study and describe who and what was left out.

I quickly dropped my neuroscience focus after this class and instead focused on policy-relevant, public –health-informed research that aims to improve access to and the equity and quality of sexual and reproductive health care and information. While earning a master’s of public health, I started working at the Guttmacher Institute, a leading sexual and reproductive health policy and research organization based in New York City. There, I started working on research projects that directly studied ways to improve access to sexual and reproductive health services.

What advice would you give to your younger self?

I would advise my younger self to think critically about the lessons that are available in all academic classes, including English, dance, and history, and to think about how these lessons can be used to become a better public health researcher and writer.

For more information, contact Pleasure at zoep2@uw.edu.

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, Assistant professor of management, Foster School of Business

What do you study at the UW?

My two primary topics of inquiry are meaningful work and employee sustainability. My research examines how to support employees who want to make a positive difference through their work in ways big and small, ranging from employees who view work as a calling — not just a paycheck but as a source of personal, social or moral significance — to those engaging in everyday acts of helping, kindness and compassion. I study the challenges that impede these activities to determine how employees can conduct their work more sustainably.

What made you fall in love with your research area?

I fell into academia. In 2007, I was working for the largest animal shelter in North America and I enrolled in a part-time master’s program in business because I had aspirations of one day rising into a leadership position in animal welfare.

In 2008, the Great Recession hit and I lost my job, but I also learned that professors in my master’s program did research (who knew!). At the time, research on meaningful work was in its infancy and focused primarily on the positive aspects (for example: showing that employees doing meaningful work have greater engagement and satisfaction). I saw this among my co-workers in the animal shelter, but I also saw so much frustration, burnout and resignation. Every day, employees who wanted to save animals’ lives were in the corner crying because of their inability to do so.

I applied to 10 doctoral programs and got into one, where I was lucky that my supervisors encouraged me to join the burgeoning wave of research looking at meaningful work as a double-edged sword and what to do about it. The rest is history.

What advice would you give to your younger self?

This is less advice for my younger self and more gratitude to all the people who helped me along the way. Early in your career, you do not yet know how anything works: how research works, what journals are appropriate outlets, how to develop the ability to know where to dedicate our efforts: what research projects are not only novel but important. Until then, senior mentors are invaluable guides. What makes for a successful career is all the people who generously offer their time and guidance along the way. I did many, many things wrong in my early career, but one thing I did right was to seek out and show my appreciation for any and all help. I would not be here if it wasn’t for the thousands of hours invested in me by others in the field and I hope I am paying that forward in a small part.

For more information, contact Schabram at schabram@uw.edu.

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, Assistant professor, School of Urban Studies, 91̽»¨Tacoma

What do you study at the UW?

ÌýMy research is primarily on housing segregation, but I have also become an expert on the overlap of and its relationship with the greening of cities in times of climate change and rising inequality.

What made you fall in love with this new research area?

ÌýI happened to fall into this area in the middle of the night a couple months into my architecture doctoral program. It was early spring. I had moved to College Station, Texas, and was living in a relatively old timberstick house. It was about 1 a.m. when I jumped into my bed and then yelped out from a sharp pain in my lower back.

My first thought: a snake bite?! I leapt up, squeezed my back as if I could prevent any poison from getting in, turned on the light and scanned the bed for a snake. Nothing. Instead I saw a bug — a flat dark bug, not even an inch long. I scooped it up in a jar, let go of my “poisoned skin” and sighed in relief.

Then I thought, could this be a risky bug? I had just moved to the U.S. from Europe and I didn’t know the local fauna at all. To resolve this in a rational way, I settled on eliminating worst-case scenarios. I Googled: “most dangerous insects in Texas.” I checked the bug in the jar for unique characteristics and compared it to a ranking of… JESUS! The third bug on the list was exactly the same bug that was staring at me from the jar: A Kissing bug… a bite from which can lead to Chagas disease… Deadly… No cure… Organs disintegrate in several decades.

My heart was pounding. My hand was back on the bite site. I was skimming the internet frantically. It was so late, and I had no one to call at that hour. I thought of calling people in Europe, but what would they know? I forced myself to read slowly and make a plan.

The message became clear: There is no cure for Chagas disease and the only symptom (sometimes) occurs the following morning: the swelling of one eyelid on the side closer to the bite site. Even if I went to the hospital, this seemed to be an under-studied disease and tests were limited. I resolved to just sleep it off and go to the doctor in the morning.

I woke up early. My face was symmetrical. Phew. I took the jar to the clinic right as they opened. Someone in the waiting room told me about getting bit by a brown recluse. “Oh well,” I thought, giving up on life a little.

The doctor took one look at the bug and said “Yes, that is a Kissing bug. There’s no cure. No test. Just move on, sorry!”

Perplexed, but also assured by the lack of urgency, I left the clinic. Over the next few days, my worries slowly faded as there apparently was nothing to do about this. I tossed the bug.

Two weeks later I saw an announcement on the university homepage from , then a doctoral student studying biomedical sciences. She was asking about any Kissing bug sightings and .

I immediately wrote to Rachel and reported what happened. She was super excited and asked me to bring her the bug. I said I threw it out, but had photos and I found a similar one — I had lots of bugs in my old house. We met over coffee. Rachel informed me that the bug was NOT a Kissing bug and that I should not worry. She could test me, but it was not necessary.

She explained the science of how the parasite behind Chagas disease, Trypanosoma cruzi, . It’s quite the process: After the bug bites you, it poops. The parasites are in infected bugs’ poop, which means that the poop has to get smudged into the bite site for you to get infected.

Then Rachel asked about my doctoral research and I told her I was studying housing in the colonias that line the border of Texas and Mexico. Her eyes lit up because she was looking to get samples from there. Thanks to the bug bite and my coffee with Rachel, a whole team formed and we started a pilot project that combined our research interests. This study became my master’s thesis, and six years later in the prestigious Habitat International journal.

What advice would you give to your younger self?

Talk to doctoral students from many more disciplines!

For more information, contact Šafářová at bsafar@uw.edu.

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, Professor, Department of Biology and School of Aquatic and Fishery Sciences

What do you study at the UW?

I am a natural historian who applies physics, math and engineering concepts to living systems to understand how they work. My research is driven by both the evolutionary implications of function and the possibility of bio-inspired design.

What made you fall in love with your research area?

From my earliest childhood I spent three seasons in downtown Manhattan and summer in the north woods of Ontario, Canada. The contrast between the most urban environment and a place without utilities or indoor plumbing was formative. Fishes, whether in tanks, on lines, or through my SCUBA mask, were my constant and most interesting companions. No detail was too obscure, and no species too drab to escape my attention.

I left fish behind when I got to college. Instead, it was a constant joy of mathematics and engineering, with a liberal arts sprinkling of art history, economics and German. After college I tried many things: I started a business, taught in the NYC public school system and attempted a career in photography. But I wasn’t willing to persist when things were hard or no fun. Then I went to Australia to become a SCUBA instructor. There I met my first biologist. I was smitten with the idea of making a living trying to understand animals.

On my return to New York, I immersed myself in biology, particularly the natural history of fishes, reptiles and amphibians. Spending hours in the field closely observing animals and their environment was one avenue of inspiration. The other was investigating animals’ shape, or morphology, with an electron microscope. The link between form and function was how my weeks passed — looking at microstructure, then wading in temporary ponds for larval salamanders. I fell completely in love with both areas and have made my career at that interface.

What advice would you give to your younger self?

Treasure your mentors in the moment. They are gone too soon and you will never feel like you made it clear enough how much they affected you and your career.

For more information, contact Summers at fishguy@uw.edu.Ìý

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, Associate professor, Department of Communication

What do you study at the UW?

I am a critical-cultural studies scholar who focuses on race, gender, and sexuality in the media. Specifically, I study how Black people negotiate mass media as marginalized subjects whose status as citizens is always precarious. I’m especially interested in the stories that circulate about Black women, both external narratives and the stories that Black women craft about themselves.

What made you fall in love with your research area?

I sometimes think of myself as an accidental academic. I pursued a degree in magazine journalism and international relations in college with the intention of becoming a magazine editor. But everything changed the summer I landed an internship at my dream magazine, . At the time, many publications were closing their doors or downsizing their staff in the wake of the 2008 financial crisis. All of a sudden, pursuing a career in magazines began to feel like a much larger risk than I was comfortable with. Aside from the industry woes, I also realized that I had just as much fun studying magazines (and other media) for class projects as I did working for one.

At Essence, the assignments that my editor gave me reflected a particular image of Black womanhood and assumptions about Blackness, femininity and masculinity that were key to the magazine’s brand. When I returned to school for my last year of college, I took a Black feminist theory course where I wrote essays exploring the questions that had popped into my mind during my internship – questions that I couldn’t shake, questions that played in the background of my mind whenever I was walking through the magazine aisle at the grocery store, or watching television or a movie. This taste of how deeply satisfying a life of the mind could be was a turning point. By the end of the feminist theory course I had decided to apply to graduate school.

My first book, “,” was a full-circle moment. In the book I offer a cultural history of Essence magazine and position it as a predecessor to contemporary commercial representations of Black womanhood realized in the 2010s through hashtags like #BlackGirlMagic and advertising campaigns, such as Proctor and Gamble’s “.” It was an amazing feeling to follow my curiosity and return to the questions that first captivated my mind as an intern. During the writing process I realized that the seeds of these questions had started even earlier, when I was a little girl sitting in a Black beauty shop with dozens of issues of Ebony, Jet and Essence magazines. Long before I was old enough to fully comprehend the articles, the images in these magazines captivated me, beaconing me to explore further.

The thing that most fills my heart about the scholarly path that I’ve chosen is being able to document and amplify the brilliance and beauty of Black women. There’s so much that’s problematic in the stories that society tells about Black women, but the brightest moments in my teaching and research are connected to the dope narratives that Black women craft about themselves.

What advice would you give to your younger self?

Lean into the questions that captivate you and the subject areas that awaken your passion and curiosity. This will point you in the direction of your most fulfilling research projects and your very best writing.

For more information, contact Tounsel at timeka@uw.edu.

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, Assistant professor, School of Oceanography

What do you study at the UW?

ÌýI’m a coastal ecogeomorphologist, which means I study how ecology, geology and physics change the landscape on the coast. A lot of my work focuses on how biology (plants, microbes) alters how mud moves around coastal systems and changes what our coastlines look like. I am particularly interested in marshes and mudflats. I go into the field to measure what is really happening on the coast, and then develop numerical computer models to predict how these processes will change in the future.

What made you fall in love with your research area?

When I was 5 years old, my family went on vacation to Cape Cod National Seashore. We attended an educational program at the Salt Pond Visitor Center, and I knew I was in love. The stinky, muddy marsh felt like home to me immediately, and I still remember talking to the volunteer scientist about how marshes work. At that time, however, I had no idea that you could study marshes and mud as your job!

That formative memory never left me, even though, as I continued in school and focused on science, I intended to become a medical doctor. In my world, if you were good at math and science, the logical career path was to become a medical doctor.

I went to college at Boston University, where I planned to major in chemistry. But for every class project, I ended up focusing on oceans and coastlines. I had a wonderful TA who noticed this trend and mentioned to me in passing that my university had a marine science program and that maybe I should consider taking a class in that program to see if I liked it. I enrolled in a class called “Estuaries” and I’ve never looked back. The first week of the class, we took a field trip to collect data in a marsh and I was instantly transported back to my 5-year-old self, loving the marsh. I was the first student who jumped into the mud to collect data, and I didn’t want to leave. Within a few weeks I was working in that professor’s lab, and I really haven’t left the marsh since.

I also started developing so many questions about how things worked — and how everything tied together, from the mud to the birds — that I quickly realized that research and teaching in the field was what I needed to do with my life. My research has expanded a lot since then to encompass many different types of coasts, but my love for the rotten-egg-smelling, squelching mud drives a lot of what I choose to do. Being out in nature and seeing the processes happen in real time inspires me to understand coastal systems and help make a more resilient future for our planet and for people.

What advice would you give to your younger self?

I am incredibly lucky to have a job that I absolutely love, and I would encourage my younger self to pursue what makes me happy. Sometimes my work hardly feels like work because I am so engaged and excited by what I am discovering and the students I get to work with. While every day isn’t always amazing (I have bad work days too!), at the end of the work week I’m always thankful for what a great job I have. I hope that everyone is able to find something they are passionate about in their life.

I would also say: Believe in yourself and don’t compare yourself to others. Just keep doing what you love and what you think is important and helpful to others, and everything will work out okay.

For more information, contact Valentine at kvalent@uw.edu.

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, Associate professor, Department of Materials Science & Engineering

What do you study at the UW?

My research team integrates materials science, data science and advanced manufacturing with primary applications in aerospace. We focus on three main areas:

1. Smart material testing methods, using physics-informed machine learning to control the testing parameters.
2. Smart manufacturing that leverages automation, sensing and machine learning. The goal is to develop AI for autonomous and self-aware manufacturing systems.
3. Smart engineering approaches to accelerate aerospace design and certification. We use a combination of machine learning, automated testing and physics-based numerical simulations techniques.

What made you fall in love with your research area?

According to my parents, my first word was “hot.” Looking back, it seems like a fitting start to a life deeply intertwined with the principles of heat transfer. My fascination with heat and materials began early and found a natural outlet in my love for cooking. I enjoy experimenting with different cooking techniques, all of which benefit immensely from an understanding of heat transfer. This passion even led me to publish a cookbook a few years ago.

After earning my doctoral degree, I began working at a research center in Canada, where I collaborated with various companies to solve their manufacturing challenges. Over time, I worked with a wide range of materials — concrete, wood, polymers, metals and composites. As I delved deeper into manufacturing, I started noticing fascinating parallels between it and cooking. Both require precise control of variables like temperature and pressure to transform materials into something new.

For instance, making aerospace composite parts in an autoclave is essentially pressure-cooking a layered material. Similarly, tempering chocolate to achieve its perfect microstructure, texture and snap is strikingly similar to controlling the crystallinity of thermoplastics to optimize their performance. Recognizing these connections allowed me to combine my personal passion for cooking with my professional love for materials science and engineering.

This love for exploring the science behind materials was paired with my lifelong interest in mathematics, which naturally led me to integrate machine learning and AI into my research. These tools provided a way to unlock deeper insights and bring innovation into material design and manufacturing. For example, my very first project as a professor at the 91̽»¨ was a collaboration with Boeing, where we developed AI for manufacturing aerospace composites. It was akin to creating a smart oven that can monitor the temperature of various parts and autonomously adjust the controls — a direct parallel to advanced cooking techniques.

What advice would you give to your younger self?

As you explore different options for your career, focus more on what you truly love to do. Don’t be afraid to combine your personal passions with your professional goals — start doing this earlier. The joy and fulfillment you’ll find in aligning your personal interests with your career will open doors to creative opportunities and unique solutions you might not have imagined. Trust the process and follow what excites you most.

For more information, contact Zobeiry at navidz@uw.edu.

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—Ìýan artist, 91̽»¨alumna and lecturer —Ìýspent three months in 2016 as a part-time . On Feb. 3, Cowie will to share her experiences and help spread the word about the benefits both she and Nemhauser see in their unusual partnership.

“This was such an insightful and creative experience,” said Cowie, who earned a graduate degree in printmaking from 91̽»¨and has taught at the university since 1999. “I hope that by sharing this story and describing the residency program, we can inspire other collaborations between scientists and artists.”

By her own admission, Nemhauser wanted to host an artist in the lab “for years.” She was motivated in part by a longstanding desire for new and creative ways to move science out of the lab and into the public sphere.

“I feel strongly that scientists, as public servants, must engage with the community in meaningful ways,” said Nemhauser. “And many artists are already operating in the public sphere. Art and design have tremendous influence on how we communicate ideas.”

Nemhauser also feels that scientists could benefit from the perspective that artists bring —Ìýespecially in creative processes and abstract thought. She made her case to the National Science Foundation, which provided funds to host three artists in the lab over three years. Cowie worked with Nemhauser to sort out the details of the inaugural residency, and Nemhauser expects to use a similar format for the remaining two residencies, which will take place in 2017 and 2018 with different artists.

“We wanted to maximize Claire’s time in the lab, giving her ample opportunities to observe and interact with us,” said Nemhauser.

For 10 weeks, Cowie spent one day a week in the Nemhauser lab. She shadowed scientists as they performed experiments, talked with them about their research, learned some basic laboratory techniques and got to know every member of the group. She also attended the lab’s weekly meetings, during which members discuss their experimental results and offer suggestions to one another.

These experiences gave Cowie perspective on the similarities and differences in how scientists and artists communicate.

“Science seems driven by a quest for specificity, for details, and I was immediately struck at how that specificity extends to communication —Ìýthe words that scientists use,” said Cowie. “Details are also important in artistic technique, but the ideas we communicate can be so much more open-ended.”

Science’s specificity is necessary to keep interpretation of experiments accurate and rigorous. But, said Nemhauser, it can also hamper scientists if they cannot think creatively or abstractly about their results, consider alternative explanations, and communicate their findings to peers and the general public.

Cowie and Nemhauser explored these concepts further through courses each was teaching during Cowie’s residency. One day, they combined Cowie’s screenprinting class with Nemhauser’s plant development course and had the biology and art students work together in small groups on simple printmaking projects.

“They loved it, and it was challenging and rewarding for both sets of students,” said Nemhauser. “Each one had to articulate and share concepts with someone who wasn’t from their field of study, their course, their ‘bubble’ —Ìýwhich really makes you step back and consider how you think, process ideas and communicate.”

Back in the lab, Cowie’s experiences in the Nemhauser lab launched her own printmaking, drawing and glass projects. She drew inspiration from everything from Petri dishes to plant anatomy. She has shared some works on , and others are on display in Hitchcock Hall ahead of Cowie’s presentation.

“But these are just the beginning,” said Cowie. “This will continue to fuel my projects for years to come.”

Nemhauser said that the same is true for both her and her lab. She is preparing to host her second artist-in-residence later this year, and will incorporate Cowie’s work into her Introductory Biology class this spring.

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For more information, contact Nemhauser at jn7@uw.edu and Cowie at cmcowie@uw.edu.

Cowie’s presentation is at noon on Friday, Feb. 3 in Hitchcock 132.

Grant number: IOS-1539834.

You read that right. Plants have hormones.

Hormones are small signaling molecules that travel between cells and deliver messages to switch on and off specific genes — affecting behavior, environmental responses and growth. Human hormones include testosterone, insulin and the aptly named growth hormone. Plant hormones are an entirely different set of chemical messengers, which modulate activities such as stem growth, leaf and flower production, root patterning and coping with environmental disruption.

These are just the sorts of tasks that plant biologists seek to understand with precision as the pressure increases to feed a growing population amid unchecked climate change. But hormones in plants affect such a wide variety of genes and plant activities that the fine details of hormone responses are — at best — murky.

Researchers at the 91̽»¨ have developed a novel toolkit based on modified yeast cells to tease out how plant genes and proteins respond to , the most ubiquitous plant hormone. Their system, described in published Sept. 19 in the , allowed them to decode auxin’s basic effects on the diverse family of genes that plants utilize to detect and interpret auxin-driven messages.

“Auxin has different messages in different contexts,” said senior author and 91̽»¨biology professor . “One cell responds to auxin one way, while its neighbor does the exact opposite — two different responses from the same chemical. What inside these cells is happening to deliver opposite messages?”

As the most widespread plant hormone, auxin affects nearly every aspect of plant biology, including growth, development and stress response. Biologists have long known that auxin acts on stretches of DNA, called promoters, to turn nearby genes on or off. But auxin doesn’t simply turn all nearby genes on or off. With auxin, some genes turn on, others are switched off and even more nuanced responses are possible. Plant proteins mediate these varied responses by binding to auxin and then to promoters. Some proteins decrease gene expression, while others do the opposite.

“There is a large amount of cross-communication between proteins, and plants have a huge number of genes that are targets for auxin,” said Nemhauser. “That makes it incredibly difficult to decipher the basic auxin ‘code’ in plant cells.”

So Nemhauser’s team switched from plant cells to — a single-celled fungus and popular laboratory tool. The researchers engineered yeast cells to express proteins that responded to auxin, so they could measure how auxin modified the on/off state of key plant genes that they also inserted into the cells. In essence, they jury-rigged yeast to respond to auxin. To Nemhauser, this was a simple shift in approach with a potentially huge payoff.

“We changed the perspective of this problem,” said Nemhauser. “By taking the question of auxin response out of plants and reconstructing it — piece by piece — in yeast, we were able to find out the parts that matter most.”

Nemhauser’s team could introduce different auxin-response proteins into the modified yeast cells, each time measuring how they modified gene expression in the presence of auxin. Their experiments revealed the basic “code” of auxin signaling — how specific combinations of repressing or activating proteins can bind to auxin, DNA and one another to affect cellular behavior. For example, their yeast experiments show that the gene-activating protein ARF19 must bind to an identical protein to fully switch on genes. On the other hand, many gene-silencing proteins don’t need a partner to switch off genes.

These and other simple rules were only shown clearly in the yeast system developed by Nemhauser’s team. They shed light on the complex interplay within cells that produces clear auxin-mediated messages.

“These are a complicated combination of factors within cells that, when interpreted through this interplay, yield sophisticated output signals — like ‘Should this plant invest energy into making leaves or roots?'” said Nemhauser. “And it all begins with this complex dance between auxin and auxin-responding proteins.”

Nemhauser hopes this yeast-based tool, which she developed with 91̽»¨electrical engineering professor , will reveal more details of auxin’s actions in plant cells. And she hopes that knowledge will empower both farmers and plant geneticists in their quest to increase crop yields and resilience in the face of droughts and climate change.

“These tools could do so much, because biological systems are more complex than anything we could engineer,” said Nemhauser. “And with the right tools and knowledge of these hormone-signaling pathways, we will know exactly which changes — minimal and targeted — will produce desired traits in crops.”

Lead author on the paper is Edith Pierre-Jerome, who earned her doctorate in biology at 91̽»¨and is now a postdoctoral researcher at Duke University. Other co-authors are former 91̽»¨postdoctoral researcher and current Whitman College assistant professor Britney Moss, molecular and cellular biology graduate student Amy Lanctot and research technician Amber Hageman, who is now a 91̽»¨biology graduate student. The work was funded by the Paul G. Allen Family Foundation, the National Institutes of Health and the National Science Foundation.

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For more information, contact Nemhauser at 206-543-0753 and jn7@uw.edu.

Grant numbers: MCB-1411949, R01-GM107084

Amid a decline in funding for scientific research, is partnering with the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation and the Simons Foundation to launch a new Faculty Scholars program. by HHMI, the of early career scientists includes five faculty members from the 91̽»¨.

The Faculty Scholars program, which is distinct from the HHMI , is intended to support scientists in their initial years as research faculty. With dwindling grant opportunities, early and mid-career research scientists may feel more pressure to shelve innovative yet risky projects in favor of “safe,” more conventional alternatives. According to its , HHMI intends for this support to provide faculty members freedom and flexibility to pursue more innovative or risky projects — endeavors which have greater potential for scientific advancements but also less certainty for success.

The 84 scholars will share $84 million in funds over five years, broken down into $600,000 to $1.8 million for each recipient. Scholars are based at 43 institutions across the United States.

Three HHMI Faculty Scholars have primary appointments at the 91̽»¨ or the College of Arts & Sciences.

: associate professor of genome sciences

Dunham uses comparative genomics and experimental evolution techniques to investigate how yeast genomes evolve over spans of a few weeks to millions of years. Her research informs therapies that counter the evolution of drug resistance in fungal and bacterial pathogens, viruses and cancer.

: professor of biology

Nemhauser studies plant signaling pathways to learn how multicellular organisms develop and respond to their environment. She gleans information about molecular networks in natural systems and then synthetically programs these core functions into yeast cells to measure the effect of evolved and engineered changes. Her ultimate aim is to develop technologies that support farmers and foster global health.

: associate professor of immunology

Stetson studies how our cells detect infection by a virus. Sensors of foreign DNA and RNA are essential for activating immune responses to viruses, but they can also cause autoimmune disease if not properly regulated. Stetson’s lab explores this dichotomy of protective immunity and autoimmunity activated by the same antiviral sensors.

In addition, two scholars based at the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center have joint appointments as 91̽»¨faculty members.

: assistant member at the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center and 91̽»¨affiliate associate professor of genome sciences and microbiology

Bloom studies the evolution of proteins and viruses. He develops experimental and computational techniques to understand the forces that shape evolution at the molecular level. This work provides insight into how viruses such as influenza can rapidly change to evade immune system defenses.

: associate member at the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center and 91̽»¨affiliate associate professor of statistics

Matsen is developing computational algorithms to analyze large sets of genetic data from an evolutionary perspective. He also is working to improve the accuracy of analyses used by biologists to infer evolutionary relationships between species or individual organisms.

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Portions of this post were adapted from provided by HHMI.

For more information, contact James Urton in the 91̽»¨Office of News & Information at 206-543-2580 or jurton@uw.edu.

For centuries, humans have been playing with yeast. But these simple fungal cells usually do their jobs — making bread rise or converting sugar into alcohol — without having to communicate or work together.

Now, a team of 91̽»¨ researchers has engineered yeast cells () that can “talk” to one another, using a versatile plant hormone called auxin. In a June 23 in the American Chemical Society’s journal , the researchers describe a novel cell-to-cell communication system that enables one yeast cell to regulate the expression of genes and influence the behavior of an entirely separate yeast cell.

It’s a basic step in understanding the communication and cooperative processes that might lead to synthetic stem cells that could grow into artificial organs or organisms that require different types of cells to work together.

“Until you can actually build a multicellular organism that starts from a single cell, you don’t really understand it. And until we can do that, it’s going to be hard to do things like regrow a kidney for someone who needs it,” said senior author , a 91̽»¨associate professor of electrical engineering and of bioengineering.

It might also enable engineered yeast to perform complicated behaviors that coordinated multicellular systems such as our immune system can pull off, like recognizing an invading pathogen and mounting a response. If so, one might program those cells to collaboratively diagnose the flu or malaria: just add saliva to a packet of yeast and see if it changes color.

For now, though, the team spearheaded by lead authors , a 91̽»¨doctoral student in bioengineering, and , a 91̽»¨doctoral student in electrical engineering, simply wanted to see if it could induce one yeast cell to send a signal that sets off a cascade of changes in another cell.

In the initial experiment, they used the plant hormone auxin — which yeast cells don’t normally recognize or respond to — to “turn off” a target gene in another cell. In this case, the gene that was switched off was an inserted jellyfish gene that turned the yeast fluorescent green.

“This project was to find out whether we could use auxin to make the cells talk to each other in a really simple way,” said Klavins. “We’re not sending complicated messages yet. One cell is saying ‘hello?’ and the other cell says ‘I can hear you.’ Eventually they’ll say ‘I’m this kind of cell. What are you? Let’s work together.’ But for now it’s pretty much ‘hi.'”

Synthetic biologists, who assemble genetic parts in new ways with the goal of popping them into an organism to produce reliable behaviors, have struggled to build modules that enable cell-to-cell communication in organisms that don’t naturally do it.

The 91̽»¨team overcame this hurdle by engineering a suite of novel — proteins that control whether a specific gene inside a cell’s DNA is expressed or not — with varying sensitivities to auxin. That “tunability” offers important control in regulating cell behavior.

With co-author and 91̽»¨associate biology professor , the 91̽»¨team figured out how to make a “sender” yeast cell produce auxin, a versatile hormone that controls everything from where a plant’s roots develop to how effectively they fight off pathogens. Through trial and error, the team learned an enzyme borrowed from a soil bacterium can induce yeast to convert a commonly available chemical into auxin.

In the “receiver” yeast cells, the researchers inserted the new transcription factor — which was assembled from so many different genetic parts that they call it the “Frankenfactor” – and engineered it to activate the jellyfish gene that turned the cell green.

When the sender cell released auxin, additional proteins that the researchers introduced in the receiver cell were able to degrade the Frankenfactor and switch off the gene that turned the receiver cell green.

That type of simple communication forms the bedrock of multicellular organisms in which different types of cells collaborate to carry out complicated tasks. As a next step, the 91̽»¨team plans to test whether auxin can induce more complex behaviors in yeast cells, such as forming patterns or cooperatively computing basic functions.

Since auxin is a plant hormone, mammalian cells also ignore it, making auxin a potentially useful tool in designing gene therapies or other applications without adverse reactions in humans. The 91̽»¨method, which uses a “guide RNA” to target the gene of interest, could be adapted to produce a number of genetic or behavior changes.

“If you ask someone in computer science what they can do with a programming language, they’ll laugh and say they can do anything with it,” Klavins said. “If we can figure out the programming language of life, we can do anything that life does — except in a more controllable, reliable way.”

The research was funded by the National Science Foundation and the Paul Allen Family Foundation.

For more information, contact Klavins at klavins@u.washington.edu.

NSF grant numbers: 1411949, 1137266 (EFRI-MKS), 1317653