<nettime> Software Art After Programming

["Richard" <richard@dig-lgu.demon.co.uk>]

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Software Art After Programming

Richard Wright, April 2004.

First published in MUTE magazine, no. 28, Autumn 2004
http://www.metamute.com/look/article.tpl?IdLanguage=3D1&IdPublication=3D1=
&NrIssue=3D28&NrSection=3D10&NrArticle=3D1397


The history of computing in arts practice is littered with the mental =
debris of its half-forgotten debates, unresolved problems and anxieties, =
and questions that have now become as obsolete as the Commodore 64s and =
VAX mainframes that accompanied them. Who can remember the art and =
technology projects of the sixties when the question of 'Can the =
computer make art?' allowed a generation of isolated computer artists to =
position themselves as a team of intrepid explorers setting out to cross =
a new continent without first waiting to find out whether it could =
support life. Under what conditions was the question ever first =
considered worthy of posing in the first place? Did the computer offer =
input into specific art issues, such as arts relation to other forms of =
scientific knowledge, to language, representation or the abandonment of =
the object? Or was it just intuitively realised that 'computer art' was =
at the forefront of a slow, inexorable computerisation of twentieth =
century society which would eventually demand access to every facet of =
human culture?

As computer hardware and the programming skills needed to operate it =
became more accessible, the question 'Can the computer make art?' was =
asked less and less often. By the beginning of the '80s artists were =
using the first personal computers to produce more varied kinds of work =
until, with all this activity growing, the question of whether art was =
possible on a computer lost all sense. There was a moment when the =
parameters of the question were redrawn, from 'Can the computer make =
art?' to 'Can a computer be an artist?', redirecting it into issues of =
simulated creativity and artificial intelligence. It was at this point =
that the first cracks of a coming schism in the community of computer =
artists became noticeable; this would go on to form the next stage in =
the debate. It seemed to a growing number of artists that as the =
complexity of software increased, so many new possibilities for the =
human artist were appearing that the prospect of deferring to a machine =
artist seemed almost indicative of a lack of imagination.

Although the computer seemed to have made its case as a machine of =
creative potential, there now emerged the question of how to efficiently =
leverage all this creativity. By the late eighties, the interactive =
interfaces and simplified menu commands of personal desktop systems that =
had helped to cause this ground swell of activity had firmly refocused =
questions on the artists themselves. Were the pre-packaged functions, =
options and parameters of the new art applications sufficient to cover =
all artistic fields of inquiry, all aesthetic nuances, all personal =
idioms? Or would it always be necessary to have recourse to the =
precision and particularities of programming languages in order to =
ensure that no desire was left uncatered for? 'Do artists need to =
program?' became the burning question at SIGGRAPH panel sessions and =
electronic art festivals.

To some extent this divergence between programmers and program users =
masked the fact that they had become two sides of the same coin. As the =
argument went, the artist-programmer would regard '.software not as a =
functional tool on which the "real" artwork is based, but software as =
the material of artistic creation', as the Transmediale Software Art =
jury statement would phrase it much later in 2002. On the other hand, =
for program users, programming was only ever a means to an end. Yet it =
was their fixation on this end that hastened their acquiescence to the =
means of their programs and the reconfiguration of their practice by =
programmers. 'Is the computer a medium or a tool?' Yes, it was true that =
some artists were only interested in software 'tools' that were totally =
subservient to their subjectivity, but it was a subjectivity that was =
now mapped onto minutely variable parameter lists and option check =
boxes, mirroring the remoteness of the artist's precious and peculiar =
visions by burying its origins deep within the recesses of multiple menu =
layers. Aided by the runaway success of packages like Amiga's Deluxe =
Paint, Adobe Illustrator and Photoshop, software manufacturers were =
redefining the creative process as a decision making process converging =
towards a predetermined ideal goal.=20

The problem was also attacked from the opposite direction by a top-down =
system design employing pre-sets, wizards, helpers, macros and plug-ins =
that pre-empted the creative process by offering a one button solution =
to achieve those essential lens flares, ripples, rollovers and drop =
shadow effects. The users of programs now found themselves programmed by =
their very own favourite artistic effects, expressed as a suite of easy =
to use software extensions. In the end, both artist programmers and =
artist program users produced artwork that was about the software that =
had produced it. Both became caught up in a wider move to rewrite =
society in terms of information processing.

By the early '80s the artist Harold Cohen had developed software to =
automate his own personal artistic style. A former successful gallery =
painter, Cohen still works on a suite of artificial intelligence =
programs called AARON that seek to encode his earlier painting practice. =
Cohen had always insisted that the content of his work was the software =
itself, and always exhibited the entire process in the form of a live =
computer connected up to a mobile painting device or 'turtle' that would =
scuttle over his canvases. As he told his students, 'Don't ask what you =
can do with the software, ask what the software can do.' But Cohen's =
work now seems to function more as evidence of a historical transition =
that occurred over his working life and reached its culmination during =
the '90s. While we have been watching Cohen's computer prove it can =
recreate art, other computers have been recreating our whole society in =
their own image. But this new image is not the image of the expressive =
subject that is simulated in Cohen's work. It is the image of the =
subject as a node, a switching station for providing feedback to =
calibrate the central processing system, the individual's expressive =
utterances only called upon to ensure their movements are correctly =
synchronised. The artist programmer of today exists in relation to a =
whole culture that has the computer as its central organising =
technology. The pervasive quality of software culture and the resultant =
normalisation of computer use have made it impossible to maintain the =
conceptual categories that underpinned previous debates. In a world =
where artists use software to write software that will be seen by virtue =
of other software, questions about the 'aesthetics of the code' become a =
symptom of not being able to see the wood for the trees. Programming is =
not only the material of artistic creation, it is the context of =
artistic creation. Programming has become software.

One interesting example of the end game of the debate on 'Computer Art' =
is a piece of artist's software called Auto-Illustrator. Written by =
Adrian Ward around the year 2000, Auto-Illustrator was the prize winner =
of the first competition for Software Art organised by Berlin's =
Transmediale media art festival in 2001. Ward describes the work as a =
parody of commercial art and design packages like Adobe Illustrator, =
specifically of their pretensions to provide functionality and user =
control. In contrast, Ward fills his package with 'generative art' tools =
that explicitly try to automate the drawing process. The appearance of =
Auto-Illustrator when running is much like a typical menu driven art and =
design package with the exception that the tool palette and effects =
filters incorporate generative algorithms. For instance, the Pencil tool =
adds wiggles or sweeps to your strokes, while the Oval tool will use =
settings like 'childish' or 'adult' to control a sprinkling of little =
faces. Some tools like Brush seem entirely random in operation, while =
some filters like 'Instant Mute Design' will reproduce an entire =
iconography designed to appeal to the Digerati generation.=20

In fact, many of these generative techniques are strikingly reminiscent =
of various experiments in computer art from over the last thirty years. =
The line tools generate scribbles using algorithms almost certainly =
related to the stochastic perturbations of Frieder Nake or Peter Beyls =
while the 'bug' tool roves around the screen using the same principles =
as Harold Cohen's turtle graphics engine. Even the icons of the 'Instant =
Mute Design' effect are almost identical to Edward Zajec's permutations =
of cubic modules. In this way, Auto-Illustrator is like a compendium of =
classic computer art programs but now presented as a list of menu =
options with conveniently editable parameters. Presented in this =
context, the individual aesthetics of each of these venerable pioneering =
practices are erased, leaving us with more of a confusion of =
idiosyncratic styles. From this viewpoint, Auto-Illustrator's =
'generative tools' actually pastiche the chaotic 'feature mountain' of =
bloated modern software systems, as they are commonly disorganised by =
the superabundance of toolbars, drop-down lists and floating inspectors. =
Instead of defining a drawing function, it might have been more relevant =
for Ward to have his 'bug' tunnelling into the dizzying depths of =
cascading sub-menus and option boxes to find that single cherished =
function with which the user nurtures their unique individual style. =
Ward actually states that wider issues such as interface design are of =
no interest to him and describes 'consumer-based application software' =
as his chosen medium. Auto-Illustrator is successful in its intention to =
parody the functionality-as-expression of mainstream software design, =
but only at the level of coding. By not addressing the wider user =
experience it is unable to think outside of the window box in which this =
functionality is now defined.

Since Auto-Illustrator's release there has been at least one attempt to =
account for a contemporary digital aesthetic with reference to the =
design of a family of software packages and related technologies. In =
2002 the theorist Lev Manovich published 'Generation Flash', an essay in =
which he tried to characterise a then prevalent cultural sensibility. =
Manovich referred to the prevailing visual style of Flash, Shockwave and =
Java based multimedia as 'soft modernism', a reaction against the =
clutter of postmodern eclecticism that returns to an elemental =
'rationality of software'. Aesthetic motifs are defined by Manovich in =
terms of technologically motivated processes: instead of appropriation =
we simply have the sample, a basic operation in the new mode of cultural =
production. Another cultural building block is the network, and =
therefore also one of the terms of a new critical language. These =
operations (networking, sampling) are applied in new modes of expression =
like data visualisation. This can be seen, for instance, in =
Futurefarmer's They Rule project in which the directors of the USA's top =
corporations are cross referenced to purportedly reveal a web-like =
pattern of interrelated allegiances. For Manovich this kind of work =
replaces older forms of authored representation by giving us the tools =
to objectively analyse raw data and deduce the necessary conclusions.

Although Manovich's detailed analysis of the structural basis of new =
media adds an absolutely essential dimension to new critical tools, the =
approach risks being interpreted as a form of technological determinism =
once we lose sight of a specifically cultural perspective. For example, =
our understanding of the workings of the corporate world order do not =
arise automatically out of its most common data visualisations, such as =
the stock market fluctuations diagrammatically portrayed on the =
Financial Times website. Not all visualisations are equal. At one point =
Manovich argues that the 'neo-minimalism' of the Flash style arises =
quite naturally from the practice of programming - the pixel thin grid =
lines, restricted colour palettes, abstracted symbols 'ALWAYS happens =
when people begin to generate graphics through programming and discover =
that they can use simple equations, etc' (Manovich's emphasis). This is =
indeed the case where programming is taught within a certain computer =
science tradition, but it is now impossible to discount the influence of =
scripting environments such as Flash. Not all programming practices are =
equal.

Other discussions of Flash have merely tended to shift the technological =
focus, such as whether the limited bandwidth of the web was the most =
significant reason for the linear aesthetic of vector graphics. At other =
times it moved on to question the 'openness' of the Flash graphics =
standard, whether Macromedia would ultimately allow programmers to =
leverage the full potential of its functionality. However, the =
'functionality', 'rationality' or 'potential' of software will always be =
strictly unknown. It is the 'user experience' of software, the values =
generated by the way it is meant to be used, how it gives shape to a =
practice, how easily a technical 'potential' can be perceived and =
engaged with that should form the basis of software critique. It is =
possible to trace many formative influences on the Flash style not to =
the code itself, but to the conditions in which it is written. =
Programming is now often practised in the form of 'scripting' languages =
that are integrated into mainstream art and design software =
applications. This makes artist programmers and program users both =
subject to the same philosophies of system design that hold sway in =
point-and-click style desktop packages. By examining these environments =
we can find many ways in which they funnelled Flash Actionscript or =
Director Lingo programming practice into nourishing certain wider =
cultural sensibilities during this period.

Multimedia scripting languages like Flash Actionscript tend to differ =
from conventional programming languages by offering access to a library =
of functions that are specific to that particular multimedia =
application. This easy access to a set of predefined 'events' such as =
mouse clicks, drag actions and rollovers is somewhat analogous to the =
way a software user's practice is structured in terms of the predefined =
configuration of menu commands, option boxes and plug-in effects. These =
library functions that populate the programmers imagination with a =
readymade vocabulary of discrete interactive 'behaviours' can be coded =
up and attached to individual multimedia objects - button triggers, =
sprite actions, sound effects, linkages, etc. Actionscript therefore =
tended to differ from typical program development environments by =
identifying code with graphical and other concrete entities that would =
become principle actors in the interactive scenario. This also tended to =
discourage the writing of long passages of control logic and instead led =
to the writing of terse mathematical expressions to manipulate an =
object's properties, movements and relationships to other objects. When =
combined with the instancing abilities of the Object Orientated =
Programming philosophy, Actionscript became very efficient at applying =
these code segments to multiple copies of 'semi-automated' graphic =
elements, sprites, movie clips and sounds. As implemented in multimedia =
authoring software like Flash, Object Orientated Programming actually =
fostered an 'object orientated' approach to interactive art and =
animation.

The point here is to look at Flash at the moment at which its patterns =
of techniques and processes re-emerge as motifs that can enter =
consciousness and practice on an aesthetic level. To start with we have =
an authoring system that orientated the user towards the replication (or =
'birthing') of multitudes of objects and orchestrating complex yet =
concise interactions between them. It is even possible to identify the =
most common form of mathematical expression that was used to regulate =
this interaction during the millennial Flash period. There is a single =
line of code that appears over and over again, a simplified expression =
that produces a distinctive dampening effect on a moving object before =
it finally comes to rest. It was easy for Flash users to apply this =
expression to any or all of ones objects and events until it produced =
the classic Flash 'wobble'. A Flash site became a constellation of =
rippling, bobbing, trembling buttons, icons, eyeballs, legs and rollover =
items as if someone had poured a bucket of water into your computer =
monitor. In the open source spirit, the Flash community ensured that =
such expressions were quickly disseminated until they became an almost =
universal kinetic attribute.

The Flash style was integrated, via its web browser plug-in, to other =
desktop based work and leisure patterns of activity. By keying into the =
internet gold rush fever, Flash art was turned into a highly visible =
design component of the dotcom boom era. This new informal space imbued =
Flash art with the role of a distraction, a demo or toy, making any more =
demanding appreciation of its fluid stylistic and tactile qualities =
unnecessary. The net culture of the time also provided a preexisting =
discourse in which it's visual aesthetic could be interpreted and =
flourish. Echoing the ubiquitous net-cultural meme of the 'digital Gaia' =
- an ecological interpretation of the web of globally interconnected and =
independent agents - foremost Flash designer Joshua Davis commented: =
'.our work should reflect the nature of a fern and be comprised of tiny =
little objects that all talk to each other. The more we add these little =
objects, the more complex and intense the nature of our work becomes.'=20

There are many more factors that could be marshalled to 'explain' the =
Flash style. But as far as practising artists are concerned, how can we =
get a handle on such a deluge of widely different factors, some of which =
seek to align us with a particular model of subjectivity and others =
which just seem like arbitrary collections of protocols? How can we =
forge a path through layer after layer of designed information to form =
ways of working not pre-empted by the predicates of current software =
culture?

There are some emerging ideas that might help. One of these is the =
'techno-aesthetic' - different motifs that permeate these technological, =
social and cultural levels. The idea is rooted in materialist notions of =
social process, but a society now constituted through IT. The emphasis =
is on how specifically cultural forces can form technology into a means =
of expression that is able to exceed its most obvious properties and =
structures. One software art example of this in action is Mongrel's =
often-cited Linker project of 1999. Developed to support a series of =
story telling workshops for the non-expert computer user, the software =
is a highly stripped down system that simply allows users to load and =
make connections between a collection of digital elements - images, =
text, video, sounds. For a start, this transfers an emphasis on the =
practice of the software to the practice of the user. Compared to the =
other examples, Linker coheres around a figure that unites its levels of =
thought and construction yet retains an open space in which imagination =
can breathe. As theorist Matthew Fuller described Linker, 'It relies on =
the simple function of doing exactly what the name says it does - link =
things. Here, the poetics of connection forms a techno-aesthetic and =
existential a priori to the construction of a piece of software.' This =
aesthetic is made explicit when the software is first launched - it =
displays a map image of its three by three grid of interconnected =
regions. Linker is constructed around this image of itself that =
communicates and instantiates its underlying algorithmic structure, =
creative use and conceptual model. It is this figuration of itself as an =
idea that makes Linker art as well as software.

The debate about Linker was unfortunately always limited to its mode of =
production and the social constituency of its intended user group as =
though it had been designed as a tool of social engineering, ready to =
arise fully formed out of a sub-menu check-box list of community =
'needs'. But discussions of DIY empowerment, Open Source and the =
'sociability' of software are presumptuous without any attention to the =
context in which imaginative ideas can grow. When we look at the kinds =
of applications that have actually resulted from Linux we simply see =
copies of standard Microsoft functionality. The Open Source model of =
production is a dead end without an equivalent 'model of creativity', =
defaulting instead to a wannabe culture. Instead we should look for =
inspiration in practices that could nourish a poetics of data =
'copyability' such as plagiarism and detournement, as noted by writer =
Josephine Berry. But unfortunately free software developers do not =
prioritise this aesthetic context which is what has the power to =
determine whether software will enable or restrain its user's =
perceptions and mode of action.=20

It is not a matter of the different technical abilities of software or =
of how much it costs, but of how easily a technical potential can be =
perceived by the user in a way that motivates engagement. When software =
is written, choices must be made about which data fields carry value, =
how the display of information forms contours of meaning, how the =
modelling of the interface moulds the subjectivity of the user. The =
question of whether artists should learn to program is replaced by the =
question of what kind of programming. Which programming practice has the =
most 'open aesthetic', capable of making software that is not just the =
product of an arbitrary confluence of techniques or a slavish mimicry =
but is aware of all its possible formative cultural and philosophical =
categories and values.

For the first generation of artist programmers there was hardly any =
information society in existence, certainly not one within reach. In the =
early eighties during a period when the launch of the personal computer =
marked a radical shift in computer culture, artist Harold Cohen stressed =
the importance of asking the right questions. Now that we live in a =
world in which his AARON program is downloadable as a screen saver it is =
time for us to extend his question - 'Don't ask what the software can =
do, ask what it can do to other software.'

URLS:
Auto-Illustrator: www.auto-illustrator.com
Joshua Davis: www.joshuadavis.com
Linker & 9: www.linker.org.uk, 9.waag.org
AARON screensaver: www.kurzweilcyberart.com

Acknowledgement
This article was based on research supported by a grant from the Arts =
and Humanities Research Board.


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