From the clean rooms where satellites are built to the Rubik's cube a European astronaut carried into space, Edgar Martins's photo series Rehearsal of Space is a vast photographic chronicling of the facilities, programs, and technology used by the European Space Agency and its affiliates.

Martins has taken great pains to make the photos more than just documentary. They're meant to ignite the imagination, like a good sci-fi movie. His task was to imbue inanimate objects with meaning in a larger statement about humanity’s interest in space. He also wanted to convey the dazzling complexity and breadth of a space agency’s operations.

"My focus from the very beginning was to try to bring an audience that wouldn’t normally have access to the ESA facilities or ESA culture or their programs," he says, "and because of that I needed to find an approach that really went beyond the traditional documentary approach."

Rehearsal of Space documents 15 different facilities across the globe, from England to French Guyana, France to Kazakhstan, and Holland to Russia. The test centers, robotics and propulsion departments, simulators, launch sites and astronaut training centers were shot over an 18-month period that finished in November. In addition to a photo book, the images will be included in traveling seminars, exhibitions and discussion forums.

It’s no secret that scientists and artists influence one another — the imaginary worlds painted by sci-fi filmmakers and authors inspire scientists and engineers. The innovations those scientists come up with inspire the next generation of artists. Martins hopes to keep that exchange alive.

“I realized the sort of visions that inspired the space race were really drawn from artists and writers,” Martins says. “In more recent times the gulf between the space community and the arts has drifted a little bit apart.“

The idea for the project came to Martins while surfing the web one evening. He sent a lengthy email to the ESA that night. His pitch was ambitious, proposing “the most comprehensive survey ever assembled about a leading scientific and space exploration organization and its programs.”

That included the agency's telecommunications, navigation, biological, microgravity, lunar and Mars exploration programs, to name a few. Among the objects and trappings of these programs, he hoped to portray the humanity beneath it all, our shared awe for the cosmos. “I also mentioned to them that it was important that the work wasn’t seen as a marketing campaign for ESA,” he says.

With the exception of dealing with photographers, as all space agencies do, ESA lacks any real framework for working with artists. Martins felt his proposal represented a nice middle ground – a creative visual document of ESA’s work that wouldn’t be too far beyond its comfort zone.

The often awkward institutional relationship between scientific endeavors and artists isn't unique to the ESA. Modest artist residency programs at NASA have been met with resistance or simply canceled, although SETI and CERN have such programs. Still, NASA's successful use of artists and media has set a precedent for engaging the public that can't be disregarded by its successors. “NASA has always promoted its image through the arts, particularly cinema, so I think ESA realized what a wonderful platform this was to connect to an audience that it would not ordinarily reach.”

The freedom and access afforded to Martins was essentially unparalleled, but required working out many of the ground rules as he went. “Even though I had the green-light from the higher echelons of ESA,” he says, “There was a constant need to engage with people at a grassroots level, and explain what I was doing, why I needed to do things in a specific way."

Other difficulties were purely practical. His large-format plate camera is bulky and takes long exposures. In French Guyana, administrative miscommunications created delays. Clean rooms proved especially tricky. “I sterilized my equipment every night before I went into these clean rooms, but I still have to bring a focusing cloth with me and its impossible not to have the odd hair stick on that.“

The high-maintenance camera created a way to connect with his high-tech hosts. “In some ways, it’s almost completely antithetical to what goes on there, in the sense that it’s a camera that could’ve been used a hundred years ago,” he says. “For them to see people still having to use a focusing cloth, and sort of an image still upside down, and so on, and using a plate film, it became a source of curiosity and that really helped to break the ice.”

His access allowed him to return to various sites to get the right picture, and the ability to experiment and evolve allowed the project to grow with a life of its own. It also meant that Martins himself came away with a new understanding.

“Once I was able to engage with people I really went out of my way to do it," he says. "I knew that was the only way I could document the facilities properly. There’s only so much you can know as an outsider, however much research you do.“

Photos: Edgar Martins