The spectrum is like a conversation the universe is having with itself.
From a laboratory in Munich, a young astrophysicist named Sarah Pappert is helping to build the eyes through which humanity will one day read the oldest light in the universe. Working on MICADO — the first instrument for the world's largest telescope — she pursues the ancient question of how galaxies and their invisible engines came to be, while also turning her gaze earthward to show young women that the cosmos belongs to them too. Her work is a reminder that the grandest scales of existence are often unlocked by the smallest human hands, and that who gets to ask the questions shapes which answers we find.
- The universe's most violent and formative processes — black holes sculpting entire galaxies, galaxies colliding and merging — remain poorly understood, and the instruments to study them are still being built.
- Pappert works at the intersection of two urgent frontiers: developing millimeter-scale optical components for a 39-meter telescope, and decoding the light of galaxies billions of light-years away before that knowledge slips another generation into the future.
- Her search for rare dual supermassive black hole systems — relics of galactic collisions — represents one of astronomy's most elusive targets, requiring both new technology and new analytical methods.
- Named among only 16 women globally to receive the 2026 Zonta Women in STEM Award, she is leveraging that recognition as a platform to make women's presence in science visible, normal, and expected.
- In school visits and Girls' Day events, she has watched students push her to the edge of her own knowledge — a sign that the talent is there, waiting only for the invitation to emerge.
Sarah Pappert is a Ph.D. candidate in astrophysics at the Technical University of Munich, working at the Max Planck Institute for Extraterrestrial Physics under two of the field's most distinguished researchers. Her contribution to MICADO — the first camera to be mounted on the Extremely Large Telescope in Chile — is a specialized optical system for high-resolution spectroscopy. The principle is elegant: light that has traveled billions of years can be broken into its component wavelengths, the way a prism splits white light into a rainbow, and that spectrum reveals what a distant galaxy is made of, what surrounds it, what it has passed through. It is, she says, a way of reading the universe's autobiography.
What strikes people is the contrast of scales. The ELT's primary mirror spans 128 feet, yet the optical components she handles are millimeters across. The telescope's entire purpose is to concentrate the faint signal of a galaxy billions of light-years away onto these impossibly small points. When she first held one of these components, she could barely believe it was real.
Her research pursues two questions. The first is how supermassive black holes and their host galaxies form and evolve together — the prevailing theory holds that black holes are not parasites but architects, shaping how galaxies grow and die. The second is rarer: she searches for galaxies harboring two supermassive black holes, thought to be the aftermath of galactic collisions, offering a window into one of the universe's most violent processes.
Beyond the lab, Pappert has become an advocate for girls considering science. She gives school presentations, brings retired detector equipment to show students, and fields questions that sometimes push her back to technical documentation. One student's relentless curiosity about a detector drove Pappert to the edge of her own knowledge — a moment that clarified something: outreach is not only about inspiration. It is about finding talent that might otherwise never know it was there.
In 2026, she was named one of only 16 women worldwide to receive the Zonta Women in STEM Award. She understands the recognition as a platform. When young people see women doing this work, she says, it stops being a strange exception and becomes a possible future. She intends to use that visibility to tell girls that their curiosity belongs in a field that has too long been shaped by only half the world's talent.
Sarah Pappert sits in a lab at the Max Planck Institute for Extraterrestrial Physics, surrounded by the unglamorous machinery of modern astronomy. She is a Ph.D. candidate in astrophysics at the Technical University of Munich, working under Reinhard Genzel and Frank Eisenhauer, two of the field's most accomplished researchers. Her work centers on something most people find incomprehensible: the invisible engines at the hearts of galaxies, and the instruments that will let us see them.
The instrument she helps develop is called MICADO—the first camera to be mounted on the Extremely Large Telescope in Chile, a 39-meter mirror that will be the world's largest when it comes online. Her specific contribution is a specialized optical system for high-resolution spectroscopy. The work sounds abstract until she explains it: light travels billions of years to reach us, and by breaking that light into its component wavelengths, the way a prism separates white light into a rainbow, she can read the story written in it. The spectrum tells her what a distant galaxy is made of, what gases surround it, what dust clouds the light has passed through. It is a way of reading the universe's autobiography.
What surprises people most, she says, is the disconnect between the scale of the telescope and the scale of the work. The ELT's primary mirror spans 128 feet. Yet the optical components she handles are millimeters across. The telescope's entire purpose is to focus the light it collects onto these impossibly small points, concentrating the faint whisper of a galaxy billions of light-years away into something measurable. When she first held one of these components, she could barely believe it was real.
Her research pursues two questions that keep her awake. The first is how galaxies and the supermassive black holes at their centers form and evolve together. The prevailing theory holds that black holes are not parasites in their host galaxies but architects—that they shape how galaxies develop, how they grow, how they die. By observing galaxies at different stages of their evolution, she and her colleagues are building a timeline of this relationship. The second question is rarer: she searches for galaxies with two supermassive black holes at their centers. Such systems are thought to be the aftermath of galaxy collisions, and they offer a window into one of the universe's most violent processes.
What makes this work compelling to her is not the answers but the questions. The field is advancing rapidly, yet fundamental mysteries remain unsolved. She is young enough to believe she might help solve them.
Beyond the lab, Pappert has become a voice for girls and young women considering science. She gives school presentations, brings retired detector equipment to show students, answers questions that sometimes send her back to technical documentation. One moment stays with her: a student asked so many detailed questions about a detector that Pappert realized the student had pushed her to the edge of her own knowledge. That moment crystallized something for her—these outreach events are not just about inspiring young people, though they do that. They are about finding talent, about recognizing the spark in someone who might otherwise never know it was there.
Recently, at a Girls' Day event at the Max Planck Institute, she watched participants become so absorbed in a discussion about the Big Bang that their questions exhausted the knowledge in the room. She remembered being in their seats, thinking: That is what I want to do. She had become the role model she once needed.
In 2026, Pappert was named one of only 16 women scientists worldwide to receive the Zonta Women in STEM Award, recognition of her research and her commitment to opening the field to others. She understands the award as a platform. Visibility matters, she says. When young people see women doing this work, it stops being a strange exception and becomes a possible future. She intends to use her voice—amplified now by this recognition—to tell girls that their curiosity is not a liability, that their questions matter, that they belong in a field that has too long been shaped by only half the world's talent.
Notable Quotes
By breaking light down into its different wavelengths, we can trace where it comes from and what it has encountered on its journey to us.— Sarah Pappert, on spectroscopy
Visibility is an important step toward normalization: The more diverse the role models we see in science and research, the more natural it becomes for young people to see themselves in these roles.— Sarah Pappert, on women in STEM
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
When you break light into its wavelengths, what are you actually looking for in that spectrum?
The chemical fingerprints. Every element absorbs and emits light at specific wavelengths. So when I see a particular pattern in the spectrum, I know what's there—hydrogen, oxygen, iron. And I can tell how fast it's moving, whether it's moving toward us or away. The spectrum is like a conversation the universe is having with itself.
You mentioned that the optical components are only millimeters across, despite the telescope being 39 meters. How is that even possible?
The telescope's entire job is to gather light and focus it. Imagine a funnel the size of a building concentrating everything down to a point you could hold in your hand. That's what we're doing. The bigger the mirror, the tighter the focus. It's elegant, really.
When you search for dual black hole systems, what would you actually see?
We wouldn't see the black holes themselves—they're invisible. We'd see the signatures they leave. Two distinct sources of light and energy, both at the center of a single galaxy. It tells us that two galaxies collided and merged, and their black holes haven't yet spiraled into each other. It's a snapshot of a cosmic collision in slow motion.
That moment with the student asking detailed questions—did you realize then that you wanted to do outreach?
Not consciously. But it showed me something I hadn't expected: that these conversations go both ways. The student taught me something about my own work. I realized I didn't have all the answers, and that was okay. That's when outreach stopped being an obligation and became something I actually wanted to do.
What does visibility mean to you in the context of women in science?
It means that when a girl looks around a room of scientists, she sees herself reflected back. Right now, she doesn't. If the only women in science are exceptions, then girls think they have to be exceptional just to belong. But if they see women doing ordinary, everyday science—struggling with problems, asking questions, making mistakes—then it becomes normal. That's the shift we need.