lecturer in digital media and culture at the University of Manchester, UK.
A great post by Vanessa Quirk at Arch Daily on the effect of apartheid on South Africa’s towns and cities. She sets the tone with the claim that by:
Aggressively wielding theories of Modernism and racial superiority, South Africa’s urban planners didn’t just enforce Apartheid, they embedded it into every city – making it a daily, degrading experience for South Africa’s marginalized citizens.
A link to it is here.
The Guardian are running another one of their guardianwitness assignments, following up from the one on walls, that ended with a fabulous interactive article on the ‘walled world’.
This time the assignment in question asks: “what do maps mean to you?” It only has 4 days left, and has garnered 53 contributions so far. The blurb for the article goes:
Whether it’s a beautifully illustrated treasure map, something scrawled on the back of an envelope, a conceptual brainstorm or even a palm reading, share your maps with us. We don’t want to you to share photos of OS maps or AA road atlases – rather, we’d like to see your own maps that help you navigate and place yourself in your surroundings. We will make a gallery of some of our favourites…
There are contributions from cyclists, postgraduate students, artists, environmental workers, geologists, metalsmiths and more.
Daksha has an ongoing interest both in scientific, medical practices and visualization. Noise + Signal is an attempt at investigating this relationship and the title of the project is a reference to the negotiation, perception and interpretation required of medical professionals when bodily data is visualized, in order to establish ‘signal’ from ‘noise’. Although we might presume that the very many technological aids used in the medical world routinely present a kind of objective, concrete truth, faithfully rendering brains, bones, tissue, blood vessels and bodily electrical waves ‘as they really are’, in fact, scientific visualizations are situated, partial representations of the human body. Their deployment requires the careful training of would-be practitioners. Their normalized, aesthetic quality provides a shared space for both clinicians and patients to understand the otherwise invisible and mysterious internal workings of the body; bringing the inside outside. Moreover, they do not work in isolation, but are part of a great network of visual and practical performances that, together, combine to offer medical professionals assurances on the nature of a bodily illness, injury or condition. They are nothing more and nothing less than perceptive aids. X-rays, for example, cannot be taken as unerringly truthful (visual) objects, but must be coded in reference to patient questioning, prior knowledge(s), doctor-doctor discussion and direct bodily sensing (touch, sight etc.).
Daksha’s project, then, allows two particular insights to be explored. Firstly, through artistic representation, to question the fixity of the categories of ‘noise’ and ‘signal’ in biosensed data by taking them out of a strict, standardized medical arena. And secondly, through the tracing of a ‘live’ feed, to interrogate the interpretative practice of visualizing the body both through digital and analogue media. Practically, she achieves this courtesy of a number of technological devices and softwares. The resulting artwork is a product of these various mediations and modulations, tweaked in order adhere to these two explorative aims, and enhance their understanding.
Participants were first invited to wear a skin galvanometer. These tiny devices measure the electrical conductivity of the skin to gauge emotional responses. They are commonly used as part of polygraph tests, used to determine levels of arousal in response to questioning. In Daksha’s case, they were utilized in order to measure bodily responses to environmental stimuli. So for example, how the various spaces within the Cornerhouse affected participant’s arousal levels. Say, in how ordering a coffee, reading a magazine, staring out of the window onto the street, or talking to a friend on the phone variously stimulated the body. Fastened around the fingertips, the metal pads of the galvanometer attach to thin, white wires that snake down to a power-pack and circuit board hidden in a bumbag. Data is then transmitted from the device for further processing.
However, this is not the only biosensing technology incorporated into the project. Daksha also wears an electroencephalograph (EEG) headset that records electrical activity through the scalp. It, in essence, measures brain activity. In clinical use, the EEG is comprised of multiple electrodes attached all over the head. In Daksha’s case a commercial headset was used comprising of a single electrode attached to the forehead. Such headsets can be purchased for around £60-70, and are currently being marketed as educational, gaming tools for ‘brain training’ in much the same way that the Nintendo’s famous ‘Dr Kawashima’ series is. Of course, the main difference being that the headset directly measures brain activity and feeds this data back to the individual. It is an example of the ‘quantified self’ movement, typified in the consumer domain by fitness applications like Nike+ FuelBand, Runtastic and RunKeeper. In each case the user’s movements, speed and heart rate are all monitored in order for individuals to train, measure and motivate effectively and accurately. But the critical element of Noise + Signal is that the skin galvanometer readings coming from the participants are mediated by Daksha’s EEG responses. The measurements are then routed to a specially coded piece of desktop software ready to be prepared for the final visual stage.
The next step involves converting this otherwise continuous stream of bodily response data from (mere) code to something perhaps more aesthetically pleasing, and also more commonly interpretable. The desktop computer is connected to a digital projector showing any images onto the white walls of the exhibition room – the Annex. As a backdrop to the resulting visualizations, Daksha has used an architectural blueprint or ‘base map’ to shape the pulse and flow of the data. As responses flash up onto the projected surface they mould, drip and slide along some classic architectural forms. For example, in such drawings, doors are represented by the arced movement they create. Other features such as walls and windows are also represented in their own unique ways, further providing a kind of spatial structure to the otherwise abstract data. In fact, EEG readings are usually displayed in a simple linear format flowing from left to right (search for ‘EEG’ on any image engine for evidence). In routing this data to a building plan, Daksha has married the environmentally-attuned nature of the readings with the visual form – providing a contextual landscape for both herself and observers. As a result, the flashes and flows that project onto the wall of the Cornerhouse Annex come to life as tracings of everyday, human movement.
Although visually stimulating, the constant pulses fed through the software and projected onto the wall are not stored; do not leave a residue, and cannot be replayed. They are otherwise lost remnants of ongoing action. However, and this is the central point of the project, Daksha responds to these flashes of white light and marks onto an overlain surface (of transparent, tracing paper-style material) with a marker pen. As multiple lines and traces take over the canvas, Daksha has to react quickly. Even then, the flow of data is too agile and too unpredictable to be able to capture and log every movement. Some provide more enchanting inscriptions than others, too. The wide, repetitive arcs along the multiple door openings of the architectural base map look intriguing. Diagonal bolts that span the width of the material appear out of nowhere, and long, lava-like responses ooze down the wall. Even in the transitional period between participants, when the skin galvanometer is being re-attached, thanks to Daksha’s EEG headset, the data keeps on flowing.
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Each time an individual took part it was possible to register and code their responses. Some took phone calls that stimulated the mind; the flows were long, slow and continuous. Easy to draw. Others used the time to rest and contemplate; the visuals sped up and provided scant opportunity for Daksha to capture and draw. My own experience was split between three endeavors. Firstly, I took to the bookshop. I scanned the shelves for something of interest and found the Secret Footballer Book. I flicked through a couple of the pages, a little more conscious of my being than usual. I knew the bookshop attendant was aware of the experiment and that she had been told to expect people wearing this strange apparatus. I then took to the art, architecture and music magazines on the other side. I picked up a copy of Wire. I stroked a couple more of the thick, expensive titles. I then left, only to catch a copy of another thick, matte magazine out of the corner of my eye. A photograph of the bold, bright Mecanoo-designed Library of Birmingham on the cover drew my attention.
I then returned to the bookshop and leafed carefully through the rather cumbersome pages, perusing the headline story. Then I set off again, making my way to the ground floor cafe area. I toyed with sitting by the window but instead chose to sit with my back to the central wall, side on, facing a large part of the space. Four friends were sat on a table to my left – they sounded like they were from out of town – and another two to my right on another small, round table. I was perched on a bench seat casually flicking through the Cornerhouse film guide. Again, I took little notice of the detail within, choosing instead to remain attentive to the environment. I began to feel the tiny pulses feeding through the metal pads attached to my fingertips. I took a couple of pictures of them as evidence of their form (see below).
I then moved to the window, where there is a row of stools perched underneath a long, wooden top. I still sat in earshot of the first group of friends, listening to them talk about booking train tickets on their phones. One mentioned the popular ‘trainline’ application. Another claimed they rarely used theirs for anything other than calls. I panned across the view in front of me. The window looks out onto Oxford Road. The iconic and imposing Palace Hotel stands across the road. There is a steady stream of people, cars, bikes and buses going both ways. Inside, the cafe is quiet. It is lunchtime and I feel hungry. I then return to the Annex having estimated that I’ve probably expended my allotted time with the device. I unwrap the velcro from my fingers, unclip the bumbag from my waist, and hand the equipment back to the gallery assistant. Daksha then proceeds to explain my data readings to me, suggesting that my ‘zen-like state’ proved difficult for her to capture. I tell her my time was spent reading, listening to adjacent conversation, and contemplating the outside world.
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Noise + Signal is a wonderful exploration of the body, resultant biodata, scientific knowledge, artistic interpretation and digital sensing and visualization. It provided the space for thinking about the rise of the quantified self and the shift of technologies from the clinical sphere to the public arena. Other recent work by Daksha along similar lines include Fat Drawing (2013); commissioned for MOSI’s Brains: The Mind as Matter in which goose fat was employed to create an evolving, seeping and flowing image of the brain, and Route Map (2010); shown as part of Abandon Normal Devices and Daksha’s residency at the Christie Hospital. Her reinterpretation of Manchester’s road, rail and river routes as ‘angiograms’ or blood vessel x-rays literally re-casts them as ‘arterial’ routes.
Or, “Game of War” was Guy Debord’s attempt at a strategy war game. In his own words it “embodie[s] the dialectic of all conflict”.
McKenzie Wark has a fascinating piece from Cabinet Magazine on ‘Debord as Strategist’ from a few years ago. It situates his work in opposition to Constant and his New Babylon project. Alexander Galloway designed an online version 6 years ago but ran into some legal difficulties (see the ‘more information’ tab in the link) with Debord’s estate. Michael Stevenson has some details of a presentation Galloway gave on that project, here.
I’ve recently purchased the game and accompanying book (see photo above!) and will be playing it with colleagues in the next few weeks. I’ll report back when we do.
Sam Kinsley’s ahead-of-print article entitled “The matter of ‘virtual’ geographies” (subs. required) is online at Progress in Human Geography now. Like all Progress articles are meant to be, Sam’s is a ‘state of play’-type piece built around the problematic notion of ‘the virtual’. Although he is right to note that most geographers have ceased to write explicitly about ‘cyberspace’, ‘cyber-geographies’ and the like, the spectre of the virtual still haunts much digital work in the discipline.
He proceeds in three sections, detailing the three main ‘camps’ that geographers have operated in to understand the digital, notably through:
His constructive criticism of work under the first banner is that there are (relatively) few empirical studies of how automatic productions of space do work in the world. Under the second, there have been far fewer studies of non-state actors involved in the calculative dynamics of spatial control, with an overwhelming emphasis on state actors. For the third, Kinsley simply suggests – pace Kitchin and Dodge – that continued work in geography needs to focus on the ‘increasing transductive agency of the digital in everyday life’ in order to negotiate the ‘ongoing reformulation of what it is to be human’ (p.7).
In the final chapter Kinsley suggests a future research focus that can help develop deeper thinking on the materiality of the digital. He does this through an appeal to the notion of ‘technicity’ (a term popularized by Stiegler), as well as building upon the previously introduced term ‘transduction’ (brought into geography by Kitchin and Dodge via Adrian Mackenzie). Towards the end of this section, in order to provide readers with a helping empirical hand, Kinsley then considers the ‘transduction that takes place in the sending of a text message’ (p. 12) to ground the more theoretical discussion thus far:
[R]ather than being an ‘immaterial’ process, there is a significant network of matter and energy upon which this ‘virtual’ activity is predicated. A device, usually a phone, is used to input the message. The physical functions of that device are contingent upon a wealth of highly processed materials, often with complicated origins, enmeshed into complex chemical arrangements and interdependent components. For example, a capacitative touch screen, made from glass and electrically conductive materials, uses the body’s electrical capacitance to sense the point of touch (Greenstein, 1997: 1318). This is often processed via one of many Application-Specific Integrated Circuit chip in the device, feeding data to other components that process software, which in turn changes the electrical charge within different areas of the screen (pixels) to display images. To ‘send’, the software engages the modem of the device to communicate with the network, translating data into modulated pulses in particular frequencies of the electromagnetic spectrum. (p. 12)
Further, that the phone network infrastructure; of transceiver towers, copper cables, exchange points, device protocols and server centres all take a central part in the sending of a simple text message. Although we might not be able to comprehend that this vast, disparate infrastructure is required for the transmission of such an everyday thing, as geographers we must be attentive to the ongoing rematerializations that take hold of our apparently ‘virtual’ worlds.
Whilst Kinsley is essentially making a very modest suggestion – “we need to pay attention to the inseparability of technology and humanity” – it is a suggestion that many have yet to take seriously at a predominantly empirical level within the field of human geography.
Sam Hind 