<< preface

this blog is nina wenhart's collection of resources on the various histories of new media art. it consists mainly of non or very little edited material i found flaneuring on the net, sometimes with my own annotations and comments, sometimes it's also textparts i retyped from books that are out of print.

it is also meant to be an additional resource of information and recommended reading for my students of the prehystories of new media class that i teach at the school of the art institute of chicago in fall 2008.

the focus is on the time period from the beginning of the 20th century up to today.

>> search this blog

2008-07-17

>> Paul Sermon, "Telematic Dreaming", 1992

























http://www.hgb-leipzig.de/~sermon/dream/


Telematic Dreaming is an installation that exists within the ISDN digital telephone network. Two separate interfaces are located in separate locations, these interfaces in themselves are dynamic installations that function as customized video-conferencing systems. A double bed is located within both locations, one in a blacked out space and the other in an illuminated space. The bed in the light location has a camera situated directly above it, sending a live video image of the bed, and a person ("A") lying on it, to a video projector located above the other bed in the blacked out location. The live video image is projected down on to the bed with another person ("B") on it. A second camera, next to the video projector, sends a live video image of the projection of person "A" with person "B" back to a series of monitors that surround the bed and person "A" in the illuminated location. The telepresent image functions like a mirror that reflects one person within another persons reflection.

"Telematic Dreaming" deliberately plays with the ambiguous connotations of a bed as a telepresent projection surface. The psychological complexity of the object dissolves the geographical distance and technology involved in the complete ISDN installation. The ability to exist outside of the users own space and time is created by an alarmingly real sense of touch that is enhanced by the context of the bed and caused by an acute shift of senses in the telematic space. The users consciousness within the telepresent body is controlled by a voyeurism of its self. The cause and effect interactions of the body determine its own space and time, by extending this through the ISDN network, the body can travel at the speed of light and locate itself wherever it is interacting. In "Telematic Dreaming" the user exchanges their tactile senses and touch by replacing their hands with their eyes.

The celibacy of the machine brings about the celibacy of "Telematic Man". Exactly as he grants himself the spectacle of his brain and of his intelligence as he sits in front of the computer or word-processor, the "Telematic Man" gives himself the spectacle of his fantasies and of a virtual "jouissance" as he sits in front of his "minitel rose". He exorcises "jouissance" or intelligence in the interface with the machine. The Other, the sexual or cognitive interlocutor, is never really aimed at - crossing the screen evokes the crossing of the mirror. The screen itself is targeted as the point of interface. The machine (the interactive screen) transforms the process of communication, the relation from one to the other, into a process of commutation, ie. the process of reversibility from the same to the same. The secret of the interface is that the Other is within it virtually the Same - otherness being surreptitiously confiscated by the machine."

Jean Baudrillard "Xerox and Infinity" pages 5. 6. ISBN 0-33701-88-9 Touchepas. Originally published as Le Xerox et L´Infini, Paris 1987





for a recent study on audience experience with Paul Sermon's "Telematic Vision", see: http://creativetechnology.salford.ac.uk/paulsermon/vision/tv_a.html, Master Thesis and interview with Paul Sermon by Rolf Wolfensberger, 2009

>> Christa Sommerer + Laurent Mignonneau, "Life Spacies I + II", 1997, 1999 + "Life Writer", 2007


Life Spacies I (1997)
http://www.interface.ufg.ac.at/christa-laurent/WORKS/FRAMES/FrameSet.html

Concept:

"Life Spacies" is an interaction and communication space, where remotely located visitors can interact with each other through evolutionary forms and images.

"Life Spacies" enables visitors to integrate themselves into a 3 dimensional complex virtual world of artificial life organisms that react to the visitors body movement, motion and gestures. The artificial life creatures also communicate with each other and so create an artificial universe, where real and artificial life are closely interrelated through interaction and exchange.

A "Life Spacies" web page allows people all over the world to interact with the system as well: by simply typing and sending an email message to the "Life Spacies" web site, one can create one's own artificial creature. The creature will then starts to live in the "Life Spacies" environment at the ICC's museum, where the on-site visitors directly will interact with it.

Artificial Life Species:

The artificial creatures are created in two different ways:

a) by the incoming international email messages, which are translated into the genetic code for the various creatures

- one message is one creature

- complex messages create complex creatures

- different levels of complexity represent different species

b) by the creatures themselves through reproduction and genetic exchange

- reproduction helps the creatures to propagate their genotype in the system and can help to form groups of different species

Evolutionary Design:

"Life Spacies" is based upon the idea of evolutionary design, which means that the artists did not pre-design creatures, but the design of the creature really depends on the interaction of the visitors and the evolutionary process itself: the messages sent from people all over the world and the reproduction and evolution of the creatures themselves will decide how the creatures will look.

Thus one can not really predict how the creatures will evolve and what kind of creatures will appear in "Life Spacies". It will all depend on how many people will send messages, how complex these messages will be and how the creatures will reproduce among themselves in the "Life Spacies" environment at the ICC Museum. As the exhibition will last one year, the commission of "Life Spacies for the ICC Museum is therefore a great chance to see how the piece and the species will evolve over time.

Non-Deterministic and Multi-Layered Interaction

"Life Spacies" is a system, where interaction, interrelation and exchange happens on a human-human, human-creature, creature-creature and human-environment, creature-environment and life-artificial life level.

There are two types of human interaction with "Life Spacies":

a) Creating creatures on-line:

users all over the world send email messages, which then build the genetic code for the creatures

b) Interacting with the creatures at the ICC Museum:

By touching the creatures with ones hands, one can interact with them.The creatures are basically shy and one needs to look for them carefully as they hide in the branches of the vegetation. Once the creatures are disturbed, they will come out of their nests and move around in space.

Cloning a creature:

When a person is alone in his/her interaction space, he/she can clone a creature by catching it with his/her hand. When the creature got caught, it will make a perfect copy of itself, a clone. After the cloning process the creatures try to escape again.

Mating two creatures:

If two remotely located people are in the same virtual space, they each can catch a creature with their hands at the same time and then watch these two creatures mating. If the creatures mate, they will produce an offspring which is the genetic mix of its parents.After the mating process the three creatures will try to escape again into the branches of the virtual plants.

the on-site visitors gestures and body movements will be tracked and will influence the creatures behavior: once

As the interaction rules are non-deterministic and multi-layered, an open system is created where each entity, whether real life or artificial life, whether real present (at the ICC Museum) or virtually present (the users on the net, or the creatures as code) is regarded as an equally important entity of a complex life-like system.

"Art as a Living System"

The universe according to Bohr is a indivisible dynamic whole who's parts are essentially interrelated on a subatomic level. Significant is the duality character of the subatomic particles; they are two complementary descriptions of reality, where both of them are partly true.

Based upon the insight that interaction per se and the interrelation between entities are the driving forces for the structures of life, Sommerer and Mignonneau as artists are investigating the interaction and the creative process as such. Creation is not any more understood as expression of the artists inner creativity or "ingenium"(according to Hegel), but becomes itself an intrinsically dynamic process, that is based upon the interaction between the human observer, his/her consciousness and the evolutionary dynamic and complex image processes of the work, which themselves are based upon principles of artificial life, evolution and dynamic non-local interrelations (= "Art as a Living System").



Life Spacies II (1999)
http://www.interface.ufg.ac.at/christa-laurent/WORKS/FRAMES/FrameSet.html

Concept:

"Life SpaciesII" was originally developed for the ICC InterCommunication Museum in Tokyo as part of the museum's permanent collection. It is an artificial life environment where remotely located visitors on the Internet and the on-site visitors to the installation at the ICC Museum in Tokyo can interact with each other through evolutionary forms and images. Through the "Life SpaciesII" web page, people all over the world interact with the system; by simply typing and sending an email message to the "Life SpaciesII" web site (http://www.ntticc.co.jp/~lifespacies), one can create one's own artificial creature.

We developed a special text-to-form coding system that enables us to use written text as genetic code and translate it into visual creatures. In a way similar to the genetic code in nature, letters, syntax and sequencing of the text is used to code certain parameters in the creature's design functions. Form, shape, color, texture and the number of bodies and limbs are influenced by the text parameters. As there is a great variation in the texts sent by different people, the creatures themselves also vary greatly in their appearance.

As soon as a message is sent, the produced creature starts to live and move around in the "Life SpaciesII" environment. Depending on the complexity of the written text message the creatures body design and its ability to move is determined. Some creatures might move very fast whereas others might be slower. Creatures also look for food and aim to eat text characters that can be interactively released by the visitors: creatures always eat the same characters as contained in their genetic code. For example "John" creature will only eat "J", "o", "h" and "n". Since other creatures might want to eat the same characters as well, competition among creatures for certain types of food will occur. Creatures also might starve and die if they do not succeed to catch enough text characters. On the other hand if a creature has eaten enough food (=text characters) it will look for a mating partner and bear a child. Offspring creatures will then carry the genetic code of the parent creatures and live and interact with the other creatures in "Life SpaciesII."


"Art as a Living Process"

Based upon the insight that interaction per se and the interrelation between entities are the driving forces for the structures of life, we are investigating the interaction and creative process as such. Creation is not any more understood as expression of the artists inner creativity or "ingenium," but instead becomes itself an intrinsically dynamic process that is based upon the interaction parameters and the evolutionary image processes of the work.

Publication:

C. Sommerer and L. Mignonneau, "VERBARIUM and LIFE SPACIES: Creating a Visual Language by Transcoding Text into Form on the Internet," in IEEE Symposium on Visual Languages (VL'99) Conference Proceedings, (Tokyo, 1999), pp. 90-95.




Life Writer (2007)
http://www.interface.ufg.ac.at/christa-laurent/WORKS/FRAMES/FrameSet.html


Text as Genetic Code

In 1997 we produced Life Spacies for the NTT-ICC InterCommunication Museum in Tokyo as part of their permanent collection. It is an interaction and communication environment where remotely located visitors on the Internet and the on-site visitors to the installation at the NTT-ICC Museum in Tokyo can interact with each other through artificial creatures. Artificial creatures are created by on-line participants through writing email messages to the Life Spacies web page. Each text message is encoded into the genetic code for a creature, our in-house text-to-form editor allows us to translate text into 3D shapes. When a text is written into the Life Spacies web site GUI an email message is generated and an artificial creature starts to live in the interaction environment at the NTT-ICC Museum..

Our text-to-form editor links the characters and syntax of the written text to specific parameters in the creature’s design. The default form of a creature is a body made up by a sphere consisting of 100 vertices, 10 rings with 10 vertices each. All vertices can be modified in x, y and z axes to stretch the sphere and create new body forms. Several bodies can also be attached to each other and several limbs can be generated through the text as well.

According to the sequencing of the characters in the text, the parameters of x, y and z for each of the 100 vertices can be stretched and scaled, the color values and texture values for each body and limb can be modified, the number of bodies and limbs can be changed and new locations for attachment points of bodies and limbs can be created. In translating the characters of the text message into these design function values, we assign an ASCII value for each character. This is done according to the standard ASCII table. When messages are sent, the incoming text modifies and “sculpts” the default module by changing its form, size, color, texture, number of bodies/limbs, copying parts and so forth. Depending on the complexity of the text, the body and limbs of the creature become increasingly shaped, modulated and varied. As there is usually great variation among the texts sent by different people, the creatures themselves also vary greatly in appearance, thus providing a personal creature for each author of a text. As soon as this message is sent to the server in Tokyo, the creature starts to live in its virtual environment and the author of the text receives a picture of his or her creature in return. When more complex messages with more characters, words and varied syntax are sent, more elaborate creatures with more bodies, limbs and variation in body form, texture, size and color can be created.

The interaction setup in Tokyo consists of two independent interaction sites that are linked together via a data line, allowing visitors at remote locations to be displayed and interact in the same virtual three-dimensional space. On-site visitors in Tokyo can directly interact with the creatures through touching and catching them in the immersive environment. Users see themselves integrated into the 3D environment on the screens and they can play with the creatures through gesture-based interaction. If a visitor for example catches a creature it makes a perfect copy of itself, but if two remotely located visitors each catch a creature, these two creatures mate and create an offspring creature. In this case, the offspring inherits the genetic code of the parent creatures; this is done through cross-over of the parents’ codes with some minimal mutation. A creature’s default life span is 24 hours, but as the life span is also a function from the design function table it will be updated and changed through the values of the specific characters in the text. When the creature has died, a report is given to it's author, telling him or her how long the creature lived and how many children and clones it produced.

Life Spacies is thus a system where interaction and exchange happens between real life and artificial life on human-human, human-creature and creature-creature levels. The system is multi-modal as it combines a gesture-based interface and a keyboard-based interaction. The use of the system is very intuitive as users need only to move around in the 3D environment and play with the creatures by catching them through their hand gestures. A detailed description of the system and its follow-up system Life Spacies II is provided in literature [2].

Life Writer

Life Writer consits of an old-style type writer that evokes the area of analogue text processing. In addition a normal piece of paper is used as projection screen and the position of the projection is always matched with the position of the type writer roll. When users type text into the keys of the type writer, the resulting letters appear as projected characters on the normal paper. When users then push the carriage return, the letters on screen transform into small black and white artificial life creatures that appear to float on the paper of the type writer itself. The creatures are based on genetic algorithms where text is used as the genetic code that determines the behaviour and movements of the creatures. The algorithms were developed for one of our previpus works called Life Spacies [2] and here the text functions as genetic code for the creation of artifical life creatures.

As in the Life Spacies system the artificial creatures created by the act of typing can be faster or slower depending on their genetic code and body shape. All of the artificial life creatures also need to eat text in order to stay alive and when users type a new text the creatures will quickly try to snap up these characters from the paper in order to get energy. Once creatures have eaten enough text they can also reproduce and have off-spring so eventuelly the screen can become very full when creatures a fed well.

The user can also push the creatures around when using the scroll of the typing machines cylinder. She can for example push the creatures back into the machine which will crush them or scroll the creatures off the screen alltogether, making new place for new creatures.

By connecting the act of typing to the act of creation of life, Life Writer deals with the idea of creating an open-ended artwork where user-creature and creature-creature interaction become essential to the creation of digital life and where an emergent systems of life-like art emerges on the boundaries between analog and digital worlds.

References:

[1] Sommerer, C. and Mignonneau, L. 1997. "Interacting with Artificial Life: A-Volve," In: Complexity Journal. New York: Wiley, Vol. 2, No. 6, pp. 13-21.

[2] Sommerer, C., Mignonneau, L. and Lopez-Gulliver, R. 1999. "LIFE SPACIES II: from text to form on the Internet using language as genetic code," In: Proceedings of the 9th International Conference on Artificial Reality and Tele-Existence (ICAT'99), Tokyo: Virtual Reality Society, Dec. 1999, pp. 215-220.

>> Karl Sims, "Artificial Evolution for Computer Graphics", 1991

http://www.karlsims.com/papers/siggraph91.html

1 ABSTRACT

This paper describes how evolutionary techniques of variation and selection can be used to create complex simulated structures, textures, and motions for use in computer graphics and animation. Interactive selection, based on visual perception of procedurally generated results, allows the user to direct simulated evolutions in preferred directions. Several examples using these methods have been implemented and are described. 3D plant structures are grown using fixed sets of genetic parameters. Images, solid textures, and animations are created using mutating symbolic lisp expressions. Genotypes consisting of symbolic expressions are presented as an attempt to surpass the limitations of fixed-length genotypes with predefined expression rules. It is proposed that artificial evolution has potential as a powerful tool for achieving flexible complexity with a minimum of user input and knowledge of details.


(that was to get a general idea, if you are interested in the history of artificial life then go on reading here:)


2 INTRODUCTION

Procedural models are increasingly employed in computer graphics to create scenes and animations having high degrees of complexity. A price paid for this complexity is that the user often loses the ability to maintain sufficient control over the results. Procedural models can also have limitations because the details of the procedure must be conceived, understood, and designed by a human. The techniques presented here contribute towards solutions to these problems by enabling ``evolution'' of procedural models using interactive ``perceptual selection.'' Although they do not give complete control over every detail of the results, they do permit the creation of a large variety of complex entities which are still user directed, and the user is not required to understand the underlying creation process involved.

Many years ago Charles Darwin proposed the theory that all species came about via the process of evolution [2]. Evolution is now considered not only powerful enough to bring about biological entities as complex as humans and consciousness, but also useful in simulation to create algorithms and structures of higher levels of complexity than could easily be built by design. Genetic algorithms have shown to be a useful method of searching large spaces using simulated systems of variation and selection [23][7][6][5]. In The Blind Watchmaker, Dawkins has demonstrated the power of Darwinism with a simulated evolution of 2D branching structures made from sets of genetic parameters. The user selects the ``biomorphs'' that survive and reproduce to create each new generation [4][3]. Latham and Todd have applied these concepts to help generate computer sculptures made with constructive solid geometry techniques [28][9].

Variations on these techniques are used here with the emphasis on the potential of creating forms, textures, and motions that are useful in the production of computer graphics and animation, and also on the potential of using representations that are not bounded by a fixed space of possible results.

2.1 Evolution

Both biological and simulated evolutions involve the basic concepts of genotype and phenotype, and the processes of expression, selection, and reproduction with variation.

The genotype is the genetic information that codes for the creation of an individual. In biological systems, genotypes are normally composed of DNA. In simulated evolutions there are many possible representations of genotypes, such as strings of binary digits, sets of procedural parameters, or symbolic expressions. The phenotype is the individual itself, or the form that results from the developmental rules and the genotype. Expression is the process by which the phenotype is generated from the genotype. For example, expression can be a biological developmental process that reads and executes the information from DNA strands, or a set of procedural rules that utilize a set of genetic parameters to create a simulated structure. Usually, there is a significant amplification of information between the genotype and phenotype.

Selection is the process by which the fitness of phenotypes is determined. The likelihood of survival and the number of new offspring an individual generates is proportional to its fitness measure. Fitness is simply the ability of an organism to survive and reproduce. In simulation, it can be calculated by an explicitly defined fitness evaluation function, or it can be provided by a human observer as it is in this work.

Reproduction is the process by which new genotypes are generated from an existing genotype or genotypes. For evolution to progress there must be variation or mutations in new genotypes with some frequency. Mutations are usually probabilistic as opposed to deterministic. Note that selection is, in general, non-random and is performed on phenotypes; variation is usually random and is performed on the corresponding genotypes [See figure 1].

Figure 1: Phenotype selection, genotype reproduction.

The repeated cycle of reproduction with variation and selection of the most fit individuals drives the evolution of a population towards higher and higher levels of fitness.

Sexual combination can allow genetic material of more than one parent to be mixed together in some way to create new genotypes. This permits features to evolve independently and later be combined into a single individual. Although it is not necessary for evolution to occur, it is a valuable practice that can enhance progress in both biological and simulated evolutions.

2.2 Genetic Algorithms

Genetic algorithms were first developed by Holland [11] as robust searching techniques in which populations of test points are evolved by random variation and selection. They have become widely used in a number of applications to find optima in very large search spaces [23][7][6].

Genetic algorithms differ from the examples presented in this paper in that they usually utilize an explicit analytic function to measure the fitness of phenotypes. Since it is difficult to automatically measure the aesthetic visual success of simulated objects or images, here the fitness is provided by a human user based on visual perception. Some combinations of automatic selection and interactive selection are also utilized.

Population sizes used for genetic algorithms are usually fairly large (100 to 1000 or more) to allow searching of many test points and avoiding only local optima. At each generation, many individuals survive and reproduce to create the next generation. For the examples presented in this paper, the success of a solution is dependent on human opinion, therefore there is no single global optimum. Many local optima are potentially interesting solutions. For this reason, and also because of user interface practicality, a smaller population size has been used (20 - 40), and only one or two individuals are chosen to reproduce for each new generation.

Genotypes used in genetic algorithms traditionally consist of fixed-length character strings used by fixed expression rules. This is appropriate for searching predefined dimensional spaces for optimum solutions, but these restrictions are sometimes limiting. Koza [13][12] has used hierarchical lisp expressions as genotypes such that the dimensionality of the search space itself can be extended to successfully solve problems such as artificial ant navigation and game strategies. Discovery systems, such as AM, Eurisko, and Cyrano, also utilize a form of mutating lisp programs [14][8]. The examples of evolving images, volume textures, and animations presented here also use genotypic representations composed of lisp expressions, although the set of functions used includes various vector transformations, noise generators, and image processing operations, as well as standard numerical functions.

In the next section, techniques for using artificial evolution to explore samples in parameter spaces are discussed. In section 4, examples of evolving images, volume textures, and animations which utilize mutating symbolic expressions as genotypes are presented. Finally, results, suggestions for future work, and conclusions are given in the last three sections.

3 EXPLORING PARAMETER SPACES

Procedural models such as fractals, graftals, and procedural texturing allow a user to create a high degree of complexity with relatively simple input information [25][21][19][18]. One method of procedural structure creation involves a set of N input parameters each of which has an effect on a developmental process which assembles the structure. The set of possible structures corresponds to the N-dimensional space of possible parameter values. Consider an array of knobs, each controlling one parameter, that can be experimentally turned to adjust the results. As more options are added to the procedure for more variation of results, the number of input parameters grows and it can become increasingly difficult for a user to predict the effects of adjusting particular parameters and combinations of parameters, and to adjust the knobs effectively by hand.

An alternative approach is to sample randomly in the neighborhood of a currently existing parameter set by making random alterations to a parameter or several parameters, then inspect and select the best sample or samples of those presented. This allows exploration through the parameter space in incremental arbitrary directions without requiring knowledge of the specific effects of each parameter. This is artificial evolution in which the genotype is the parameter set, and the phenotype is the resulting structure. Selection is performed by the user picking preferred phenotypes from groups of samples, and as long as the samples can be generated and displayed quickly enough, it can be a useful technique.


(to continue reading, visit the url posted above)

>> Karl Sims, "Particle Dreams", 1988 + "Panspermia", 1990

http://www.karlsims.com/

Particle Dreams

1988, 1:30

This piece contains a collection of dream sequences created using 3D particle systems techniques. Behavior rules are applied to thousands of individual particles to model complex phenomena such as an explosion, a snowstorm, a tumultuous head, and a waterfall. Data-parallel computation was us

ed to perform physical simulations on thousands of particles simultaneously, one processor for each particle.







Software and Animation: Karl Sims
Sound: Robert Moore, BLC Sound
Hardware: Connection Machine CM-2





Panspermia
1990, 2:08

Panspermia is the name for the theory that life exists and is distributed throughout the universe in the form of germs or spores. This piece places the viewer in the middle of a virtual world of an aggressively reproducing inter-galactic life form, and depicts a single life cycle of this unusual self propagating system.

Original software was used to create and animate forests of 3D plant structures. "Artificial evolution" techniques were used to interactively select from random mutations of plant shapes until a variety of interesting structures emerged. The subject matter of the piece suggests the underlying biological methods that were used to efficiently create an unusual level of complexity. Dynamic simulations and particle systems were also employed to achieve motions that are calculated automatically.


Attempts were made to bring together several concepts: chaos, complexity, evolution, self propagating entities, and the nature of life itself. This botanical form of life, reproducing itself from planet to planet through space, is in many ways analogous to other self replicating systems including organisms, entire species, or even ideas. A window into this system, replicating on a grander scale, is meant to increase awareness of self propagating systems in general, as well as inspire thoughts about our entire planet of life as a whole entity.




Software and Animation: Karl Sims
Sound: David Atherton, David Grimes, Steve Blake, Target Productions
Thanks to: Lew Tucker, Jim Salem, Carl Feynman, Dave Sheppard, David Marvit, JP Massar, Gary Oberbrunner, & Danny Hillis
Hardware: Connection Machine CM-2

>> phonesthesia

from: http://www.arts.gla.ac.uk/SESLL/EngLang/LILT/phonaes.htm

Phonaesthesia occurs when certain sounds become associated with certain meanings, even though they do not attempt to imitate the sound (as in onomatopoeia). For example, it could be argued that is a phonaesthetic combination of sounds (or phonaestheme) in English in words such slip, slippery, slide, slither, sloppy, slimy, sleazy. The meanings are associated with wetness or greasiness, and gradually take on unpleasant connotations. You could probably add more words to the list (but you could also think of words, such as slant, which do not share this feature).
Notes


1. Writers such as Charles Dickens sometimes exploit phonaesthesia in the names they give their characters, such as Scrooge. Are there other names of characters in literature which predispose the reader to like or dislike the character? It is also exploited in names for products such as breakfast cereals.

2. Extended examples are given in David Crystal, The English Language (1988).



Concept
Phonaesthesia is generally thought to be specific to particular languages. Related languages may exploit the same patterns, but there are also differences.



Figures of speech
See also Onomatopoeia

>> Erkki Huhtamo, "Elements of Screenology", 2001

from: http://lizard.artun.ee/~raivo/imke/texts/huhtamo_WRO%2001Elements%20of%20Screenology.htm

A covered framework, partition, or curtain, either movable or fixed, which serves to protect from the heat of the sun or of a fire, from rain, wind, or cold, or from other inconvenience or danger, or to shelter from observation, conceal, shut off the view, or secure privacy; as, a fire-screen; a folding-screen; a window-screen, etc.; hence, such a covered framework, curtain, etc., used for some other purpose; as, a screen upon which images may be cast by a magic lantern; in general, and shelter or means of concealment.

Definition of 'screen', The Century Dictionary and Cyclopedia, 1911 (1889)

Considering the centrality of screens in contemporary media culture, there have been surprisingly few attempts to define their "essence". True, in spite of their ubiquitous presence screens are strangely evasive, hard to grasp. They are constantly metamorphosing, appearing in new places and new forms. There are "Big Screens" and "Small Screens". Some are flat, some fat, attached to a box. Some are like the sun - active, radiating "life" of their own - while others are like the moon, passive, reflecting light projected at them. There are screens observed from a distance, and others touched and interacted with, held in one's hand. How to formulate a definition that would embrace them all? Does it even make sense to ask such a question?

This article is a preliminary investigation toward a historical phenomenology of the screen, or what I call "screenology". My treatment of the topic is based on one main premise: in spite of their ubiquity, screens have a history, which should be traced. Although there has been work done on specific areas (for example Siegfried Zielinski's research on the relationship between cinema and television and Lev Manovich's studies on the archaeology of the computer screen) the general history remains largely unwritten.[1] However, simply writing a chronicle of different kinds of screens would not make much sense. Screens should not be studied in isolation of the apparata they are part of. The notion of apparatus comes from cinema studies: it comprises not only the technical system, but also the elements of the viewing situation, including the relationship between the screen and the viewer, which is both physical and imaginary.[2] The viewer is physically related to the screen in the (viewing) space, and simultaneously mentally related to the space on the screen. The notion of the screen changes in time, and so does this relationship.

For historical reception studies the viewing experience has usually been a difficult challenge. Save in some rare cases, we don't have documented evidence about what went on in the viewers' heads in front of the screen. The viewers' attitudes have to be reconstructed indirectly, through secondary source material, as Miriam Hansen has demonstrated in her studies about early film spectatorship.[3] Although we cannot enter the individual viewer's head, we can at least try to understand the general conditions that prevailed in different situations and influenced each viewing experience. We can, for example, look at the constitution of the apparatus itself, including the design of its elements, for hints about the kinds of experiences it may have triggered. We can also use "projective" material, like literary texts, popular cartoons and other forms of ephemera to provide more clues and to verify our hypotheses. Still, the aim is to reconstruct "frameworks of possibilities", rather than try to determine the actual readings by individual viewers and audiences.

The ultimate goal is the history of "screen practice(s)", to adopt a concept used by Charles Musser in his studies of early and pre-cinema.[4] Such a history should comprise not only the evolution of different kinds of screens and the interconnections between them, but also account for their uses as part of different media apparata and within changing cultural, social and economic settings. This article provides a first step toward such a synthesis by identifying and discussing some of the key ingredients of such a history. The basic questions are simple, but the answers are difficult: how were our 20th century notions of the screen anticipated in earlier times? What connections, if any, are there between these "screens" from different times and places? As should be clear by now, this article does not look for an immutable "essence" of the screen; if the screen has an essence, it lies only in the sum total of all the historical manifestations of different screen practices, not beyond them like some Platonic idea.

Two litle Skrenes

According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the foremost authority on the history of the English vocabulary, the word "screen" first appears in texts from the 14th and the 15th centuries, but its etymological origins remain unclear.[5] In the 16th century, and probably earlier, it was used to refer to a "contrivance for warding off the heat of fire or a draught of air". The screen meant, above all, a floor-standing piece of furniture, consisting of a sheet of lighter, often translucent material (paper, some kind of fabric, etc.) stretched in a wooden frame. There were also smaller handheld versions for ladies; a text from 1548 speaks about "Two litle Skrenes of silke to hold against the fier".[6] In addition to their main purpose, the often richly decorated hand-screens were also objects of fashion, aesthetic pleasure, and erotic play. Gradually the screens gained new connotations. Beside the natural elements, they were said to provide protection from "other inconvenience or danger, or to shelter from observation, conceal, shut off the view, or secure privacy", as the Century Dictionary and Cyclopedia (1911, orig. 1889) stated.[7] Whether from heat, cold or an intruding gaze, the screen was above all seen as a surface that protects a person by creating a barrier against something uncomfortable or threatening.

It was during the early 19th century that the word "screen" began to attain meanings that anticipated its current uses within media culture as a means of displaying and transmitting images. The earliest such occurrence recorded in the Oxford English Dictionary comes from 1810 and reads: "To make Transparent Screens for the Exhibition of the Phantasmagoria". This represents a clear departure from the domestic sphere and entry into the world of public entertainment. Phantasmagoria was a show, which enjoyed great popularity around the turn of the 18th and 19th century. It was a variant of the older magic lantern projections, but with its own characteristics. In Phantasmagoria the audience was shown images projected from behind the screen with a highly mobile magic lantern (often mounted on wheels and moving along rails). One of the aims was to create a total sensory experience. This goal was served by the hidden technology. Phantasmagoria showmen did their best to keep their machinery secret; they pretended that their show had nothing to do with the old magic lanterns. They even made efforts to hide the presence of the screen itself by plunging the audience in total darkness and opening the curtains only then. The projected figures were presented as "apparitions" flying freely through the hall. To achieve this, inventing ways to make the screen semi-transparent - the easiest of which was making it wet - was crucial.

Of course, such an explanation of the emergence of the screen as a projection surface is too simplistic. The word may not have been used in such a meaning before 1810 (I have some doubts about this), but "screen practice" as a phenomenon goes certainly much further back in time. Phantasmagoria was based on earlier traditions of showmanship involving screens. Not only was it a further development of the travelling magic lantern show, it also built on the shadow show. Although shadow theatre seems to have originated in Asia (found in many places from Turkey to India, China and Indonesia), it became popular in Europe in the 17th and 18th centuries.[8] Most versions of the shadow theatre were based on essentially similar arrangements of the apparatus as Phantasmagoria. The audience sits in front of the screen, while the performers operate their shadow puppets behind it, between the screen and the light source.[9] The audience only sees the moving shadows on the screen, not the "machinery" creating them. In Phantasmagoria the use of shadow puppets was replaced by "fantascopes" (special magic lanterns) and projected lantern slides.[10]

In the magic lantern shows given by travelling showmen from the late 17th century on, the apparatus had been arranged differently: the audience frequently gathered around the showman and his magic lantern, which was placed fairly close to the screen. This arrangement was partly necessitated by the weakness of the illuminants available (candles or simple oil lamps), but it also emphasized the traditional role of the showman as a storyteller, who illustrated his stories with projected images. For people not familiar with such shows the presence of the mysterious "projection box" hardly diminished the "magic" of the event. Indeed, it may have served as an extra attraction. In similar fashion, early film audiences often admired the cinematograph as a technological marvel as much as the moving pictures it produced. Such a novelty easily wears off. By hiding the magic lantern behind the screen the Phantasmagoria showmen managed to re-create the lost mystery, utilizing to the full the possibilities of the new Argand lamp, a greatly improved oil illuminant. Yet in time also the Phantasmagoria lost its appeal, and the magic lantern became visible and attractive again, re-designed as a gorgeous instrument, a marvel of Victorian science.

Eliza on the Screen

During the 19th century the connection between magic lantern shows and projection screens became semantically well established. As just one example among many, a text from 1846 stated: "Magic lantern is a species of lucernal microscope, its object being to obtain an enlargened representation of figures, on a screen in a darkened room." (1846)[11] Throughout the 19th century the size of the screen, the auditorium and the projected image grew larger. This was made possible by the development of new, more powerful illuminants (oxy-hydrogen limelight, electric carbon-arc), yet the social force motivating this development was the increasing demand for entertainment and visual instruction among the new mass audiences, particularly in cities. In the late 19th century, especially in America, the magic lantern was even taken outside to project huge advertisements and election results on public buildings, now re-defined as gigantic projection screens.[12] In less than a century, the word screen had taken on totally new meanings, in line with the emergence of the urban, technological media society. If it had been a thing that protected a single person from something unwanted, it now exposed a whole group of people to the visual extravaganza of capitalist commodity culture.

Against this background it is anything but surprising that the word "screen" was assimilated into the early film culture. As a screen practice, early silent film showmanship was in many ways (although not exclusively) a continuation of the magic lantern show. Until well into the 1910s (and even later) most film presentations were actually hybrid forms of films, lantern slides, phonograph concerts and live stage performances. As film production and exhibition consolidated their roles as major new entertainment industries from the 1910s on, the other attractions gradually faded to the background: the center was reserved to the pleasures of the screen. With this development, the word often came to be used metonymically, meaning the film culture itself, written with capital letters: The Screen. Already in 1910 the Moving Picture World wrote that "people like to see on the screen what they read about", referring to their film preferences. And when Mrs. P. Campbell stated in 1920 that she felt "much too aged for Eliza on the Screen", she of course referred to acting in the movies, working in the film industry.

At some point the word "Big" was added in front of the "Screen". When and why this happened needs some further research. I suspect it had something to do with the appearance of new competing screen practices after the Second World War, particularly the television. The "Small Screen" promised to bring "the events as they happened" directly into the living room. As a response to this challenge, the film industry promised even more magnificent spectacles. Stretching the cinema screen to gigantic dimensions was the solution offered by Cinerama, Todd-AO, Cinemascope and various other systems in the 1950s. The most extreme form was the curved giant screen of the Cinerama, on which films were projected from three projectors simultaneously. With Cinerama, the expansion of the screen reached a paradoxical conclusion: by covering the spectators' total field of vision the screen in a sense disappeared; there was no sense of frame marking the border between the real and the imaginary. The screen turned into an environment which enveloped the audience completely. This anticipated more recent spectacles like IMAX theatres and virtual reality. Something similar had been, however, already achieved by the panorama, another large scale visual entertainment, a hundred years earlier.

Moonlight transparencies

What about the Small Screen? Can we locate its etymological origins? The answer remains more speculative than in the case of the big screen. First of all, one might want to recall the fact that from early on the fire-screens were often embellished with images. During the Victorian era the large folding screens used at homes for various purposes often became real collages of all kinds of printed images, recalling the countless "scrap books" created by women and children as their pastime (and even the contemporary habit of covering the door of the refrigerator with postcards, photos and little magnets). Although the images served primarily a decorative function, such screens anticipated the future development of media culture by displaying the enormous proliferation of cheap mass produced images in the 19th century, made possible by advances in printing and image reproduction technologies (lithography, photography, etc.). Indeed, the habit of decorating screens with images became so common, that mediocre artworks were sometimes compared by critics with such banal screens.

Already in the late 18th century the idea of the fire-screen was adapted to the purpose of displaying transparent paintings in new and stunning ways. Such paintings, "moonlight transparencies" or "diaphanoramas", like those by the Germans Georg Melchior Kraus and Franz Niklaus König, were mounted on floor-standing wooden frames.[13] They really only came to their right when illuminated from behind, glowing in brilliant colours. In the 19th century forms of such back-lighted images proliferated, ranging from "lithophanes", porcelain images displayed on lamp-shades or in decorative wooden or metal frames, to domestic viewing machines like the massive Megalethoscope, designed for the viewing of large albumen photographs with hand-coloured filters attached to the backside.[14] Peering into a viewing "hood" and simultaneously opening a door at the back of the device, the black and white photographs were transformed into fabulous coloured spectacles. These, and many other kind of "screens" anticipated the future role and placement of the television screen, although their potential for transmitting visual information or depicting movement was limited.

Going through dictionaries, we also find other meanings that have connected small screens with media images. In the 19th century the word was used to refer to upright frames for displaying photographs, both privately and in public exhibitions. In 1888, for example, a person wrote about "some of the most delightful panel screens for photographs I ever set eyes on".[15] More interesting, however, is the connection with the photographic camera itself. The "focusing screen", or the "screen of ground-glass" (1879) was defined as "a flat piece of glass on which the image formed by a camera lens is focused prior to making the exposure".[16] This common principle was actually inherited from an earlier device, the camera obscura, which anticipated the photographic camera and influenced its construction. In the camera obscura, known already in the middle ages, an image of the outside world is formed inside a darkened box, by means of rays of light entering it through a tiny hole.[17]

Especially since the Renaissance, after one had learned to place a lens into the "pinhole" for sharper image, camera obscuras became widely used both as artists' tools and as popular pastime. From the point of view of the development of the small screen this device is extremely interesting, although very few observers have noted the relationship so far, probably because the camera obscura is merely seen as a primitive precedessor of the (still) photographic camera. In smaller camera obscuras the image was often directed by means of an internal mirror (45 degrees) to a ground glass on top of the device. By placing a transparent sheet of paper on the ground glass, the artist was able to sketch the outline of the landscape. There were also room-sized camera obscuras, often situated at well-known tourist locations, by the seaside or on hilltops. The image of the outside world was directed by means of a lens and a mirror from the top of the room onto a horizontal table in its center. Visitors stood around the table and admired the moving scenery from the outside, often pointing at details with their finger. Both the ground-glass and the table functioned essentially as framed screens.

Screen-Plays

It is important to remember that all kinds of camera obscuras transmitted a live image and displayed it on a framed surface. Although technically simple and involving neither electronics nor antennas, they clearly anticipated the principle of the television, defined in 1926 by Nature: "Every possessor of a 'televisor' will be in a position to see on his screen the performers in operas and plays as well as hearing them."[18] Indeed, in 1879 a cartoonist working for the British magazine Punch and envisioning the tele-vision technology of the future, captioned his creation as "an electric camera obscura", purportedly invented by Thomas Edison.[19] The visionary cartoon showed a panoramic flat screen, mounted on the wall above a fireplace - a situation which has not been realized yet, although plasma screen technology now finally promises to fulfill the expectations. The screen in Punch also provided two-way communication, another fantasy which has never been fully made its breakthrough, in spite of innumerable predictions (and working prototypes!). Most screens still serve one-way traffic, although the proliferation of the computer screen is quickly changing the situation.

Beside its resemblance to television, the camera obscura also anticipated the computer screen by encouraging a tactile relationship. The image of the camera obscura was not meant to be just observed from a distance - it could be touched, by the tip of the pen or simply by one's finger. In its time, this created an ontologically interesting and novel situation: a kind of tele-touching, caressing living and moving entities from a distance, by means of a technical apparatus. Although this situation seems alien to the television spectatorship, it was encouraged in the 1950s in one of the early experiments of interactive television, the American series Winky Dink and You. Children were encouraged to draw on the television screen (actually on a sheet of transparent plastic attached to the screen) by "Magic Pens" according to the instructions given by the host John Barry while the program was running. The activity of the child in this situation is not all that different from that of an 18th century artist sketching a landscape with the help of his camera obscura. The spectatorial model proposed by Winky Dink and You never became a standard in the rigid world of TV broadcasting, but it has been in a way been realized by the introduction of paint programs and edutainment multimedia for personal computers.[20]

This article has not been meant as an exhaustive treatment of the history of screen practices. Rather, it has only hinted at the wealth of material and approaches available. Connections need to be established and new data uncovered, especially about the metaphorical uses of the word. As the Oxford English Dictionary demonstrates, the word screen has been given a large number of meanings, only a few of which have been dealt with here. How are these meanings connected? Is there any meaningful link between an 18th century fire-screen and a 20th century cathode-ray tube, other than the fact that both are "lighted" or "heated" from behind? Wasn't the traditional screen meant to isolate the person, to protect him/her from heat or a gaze, to increase his/her comfort and privacy? Isn't the function of the television screen the opposite, to expose the viewer to the "heat" and "obscenity" of commercial media culture, and to invite the public sphere to invade the private? It might be claimed, however, that the relationship between issues like private/public is never so clear-cut. While blocking from view, the traditional screens also raised curiosity and desire towards the other side (best demonstrated by the countless Japanese wood-block prints showing people observing the shadows of others cast on the paper screens serving as walls). The television screen also provides privacy by offering a safe voyeuristic vantage point to observe the event "on the other side". While exposing it also protects.

There would be other intriguing parallels not mentioned in this article. For example the history of the mirror and the discourses surrounding it should be taken into consideration. Observed from a cultural and mental historical point of view, the mirror has never been seen merely as a device reflecting your own image here and now; for centuries, it has been a vehicle for intricate spatial, poetic and erotic "screen-plays". In literature and in pictorial traditions it has often been treated as a kind of screen - a fantastic communication device capable of telling visual stories, displaying the future or virtually uniting people separated by physical distance. It is enough to think about a well-known fairytale like the Beauty and the Beast with its enchanted mirrors - this connection did not escape the attention of Jean Cocteau, whose film La Belle et le Bete (1946) used mirrors as information and communication screens in poetic and imaginative ways. A history of screen practices should not overlook such fantasies and discourses, which are often intertwined with more "real" - meaning: more material, more tangible - phenomena in strange ways. So perhaps it was not a coincidence, after all, that Cocteau's film appeared on the "Big Screen" exactly at the moment when television broadcasting was beginning its triumphal march into the living room.

Å  Erkki Huhtamo 2001


1. See Siegfried Zielinski: Audiovisions. Cinema and Television as entr'actes in history, translated by Gloria Custance, Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 1999 (orig. in German 1989); Lev Manovich: "Towards an Archaeology of the Computer Screen", Cinema Futures: Cain, Abel or Cable? The Screen Arts in the Digital Age, edited by Thomas Elsaesser and Kay Hoffmann, Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 1998, pp. 27-43.

2. See The Cinematic Apparatus, edited by Teresa de Lauretis and Stephen Heath, London and Basingbroke: Macmillan, 1980.

3. Miriam Hansen: Babel & Babylon. Spectatorship in American Silent Film, Cambridge and London: Harvard University Press, 1991.

4. See particularly Charles Musser: The Emergence of Cinema. The American Screen to 1907, New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1990. It should be noted that in the title of his book Musser uses the word "Screen" as synonymous with the institution of the cinema, which reflects an actual historical usage.

5. Much the same goes for the French "écran", which most dictionaries, including The Oxford English Dictionary, see as "closely corresponding with" the history and the meanings of"screen". All references to the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) are to the II edition, edited by J.A. Simpson and E.S.C. Weiner, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989.

6. OED, vol XIV, "screen".

7. The Century Dictionary and Cyclopedia (CDC), New York: The Century Co, revised and enlarged edition, 1911 (orig. 1889), Vol VIII, "screen".

8. See Olive Cook: Movement in Two Dimensions, London: Hutchinson, 1963.

9. An interesting exception was late 19th century "Ombromanie", the art of hand shadows. Here the shadow artist stood in front of the screen and revealed his "machinery" (his own hands) to the audience. Demonstrating the skill and mastery of the performer was as important as the end result.

10. Although the shadow theatre was imported to Europe from the East, by late 18th century it enjoyed widespread popularity. Its influence can be felt in certain aspects of Phantasmagoria, and some shadow showmen are known to have experimented with the magic lantern as well. The true synthesis of these screen practices, however, took place in Japan. The Japanese Utsushi-e show, which emerged in the early 19th century, is an original form of popular media theatre, in which hand-held, highly mobile magic lanterns have taken the role of shadow puppets.

11. OED, vol XIV, "screen".

12. Such projections were often pictures on the front pages of popular newspapers like Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper (see f.ex. Nov. 23, 1872 and Oct. 25, 1884).

13. For examples, see Sehsucht. Das Panorama als Massenunterhaltung des 19. Jahrhunderts, Bonn: Kunst- und Ausstellungshalle der Bundesrepublik Deutschland & Stroemfeld/Roter Stern, 1993, pp.198-199.

14. Massive public spectacles like Daguerre's and Bouton's Diorama, which displayed gigantic slowly transforming paintings by means of manipulated back-lighting, were based on similar principles. All kinds of tiny toy versions, like the French Polyorama Panoptique, were also made.

15. OED, vol XIV, "screen".

16. Item.

17. The most complete history of the camera obscura is John Hammond: The Camera Obscura. A Chronicle, Bristol: Adam Hilger Ltd., 1981.

18. OED, vol XIV, "screen".

19. See Émmanuelle Toulet: Cinématographe, invention du siecle, Paris: Decouvertes Gallimard & Reunion des musees nationaux, 1988.

20. One reason why Winky Dink and You failed may have been the simple fact that children who did not own the magic pens and the drawing screen began to draw directly on the cathode ray tube, obviously destroying the TV set!

>> Golan Levin, "Dialtones", 2001

from the project's website: http://www.flong.com/storage/experience/telesymphony/index.html

Dialtones ented sonic phenomena and musically interesting structures. Moreover, by directing our attention to the unexplored musical potential of a ubiquitous modern appliance, Dialtones inverts our understandings of private sound, public space, electromagnetic etiquette, and the fabric of the communications network which connects us.

Dialtones was presented in two consecutive concerts in September, 2001, as a co-production of Golan Levin and the Ars Electronica Festival, and in seventeen performances in May/June 2002 at the Swiss National Exposition.

Dialtones begins with a brief preparation phase prior to its performance, during which the members of the audience register their wireless telephone numbers at a cluster of secure Web kiosks. In exchange for this information, the participants receive seating assignment tickets for the concert venue, and new "ringtones" are then automatically downloaded to their handsets. During the concert itself, the audience's mobile phones are brought to life by a small group of musicians, who perform the phones en masse by dialing them up with a specially designed, visual-musical software instrument. Because the audience's positions and sounds are known to the Dialtones computer system, the performers can create spatially-distributed melodies and chords, as well as novel textural phenomena like waves of polyphony which cascade across the crowd; these musical structures, moreover, are visualized by a large projection system connected to the performers' interfaces. Towards the end of its half-hour composition, Dialtones builds to a remarkable crescendo in which nearly two hundred mobile phones peal simultaneously. It is hoped that the experience of Dialtones can permanently alter the way in which its participants think about the cellular space we inhabit.


ARTISTS' STATEMENT

Wireless telephony has quickly become an indispensable aspect of modern life. Today, one out of ten people on the planet possesses a mobile phone; over the next three years, according to the industrial analysis firm The Gartner Group, this market is expected to increase by almost a billion new users [1]. Ironically, the astonishing eagerness with which we have adopted mobile phones is matched by our almost equal repulsion on the occasion of a cell phone's ringing. Mobile p
hones now infuse our theaters and public spaces with the least welcome details of our neighbors' intimacies, and perforate our private lives with the sonic machinery of electronic commerce. Our emotional reactions to these interjections can even outstrip the veneer of our professional identities: when ringing mobile phones interrupted keynote speakers at a recent telecommunications conference in Finland, the conference manager became enraged and threatened to get a radio-frequency scrambler to silence the din [2]. Caught between adoration and irritation, we have come to regard our intimate communications apparel with a deep ambivalence.

In the hype, hate and hypnosis surrounding the mobile phone, its potential as an ingredient of art has been largely overlooked. As with the proverbial fish who would never discover water, we take for granted that we are immersed in cellular space, our imaginations dulled by the extraordinary ubiquity of our wireless devices. Announcers at every modern-day concert command us to turn off our cell phones, but what Cagean aesthetic possibilities might we discover in leaving them on? What deranged beauty might we find, or what might we learn about our interconnected selves, in their high, pure tones? The mobile phone's speakers and ringers make it a performance instrument. The butt
ons make it a keyboard and remote control. Its programmable rings make it a portable synthesizer. Yet, although no sacred space has remained unsullied by the interruptions of mobile phone ringtones, there is no sacred space, either, which has been specifically devoted to their free expression. In the context of this lack, and in the context of our society's contradictory attitudes towards wireless communication technologies, Dialtones is proposed.

If our global communications network can be thought of as a single communal organism, then the goal of Dialtones is to indelibly transform the way we hear and understand the twittering of this monumental, multicellular being. One of Dialtones's strategies for doing so is the musical reification of this organism's sprawling and enveloping omnipresence. By placing every participant at the center of a massive cluster of distributed speakers, Dialtones makes the ether of cellular space viscerally perceptible. In a rejoinder to the eminent electronic composer Iannis Xennakis— who once complained that all electronic music sounded alike, because it would inevitably emanate from the same pair of speakers —Dialtones's radical surround-sound is at once musically and phenomenologically unique.

In an appropriate acoustic environment, the sporadic triggering of calls to mobile phones can evoke the placid chirps and trills of crickets, cicadas, frogs and birds. If hundreds or even thousands of mobile phones were to ring simultaneously, by contrast, the result would be an unimaginably seething, engulfing cacophony. Between these two textural extremes lies an enormous terrain of more musically familiar possibilities: gently shifting diatonic chord progressions, distributed and aggregate melodies, roving clouds of spatialized sound-clusters, and pointillistic hyper-polyphonies. Over the course of its half-hour duration, Dialtones explores sequences and combinations of each of these possibilities, scaffolded throughout by a set of recurring harmonic themes and slowly-evolving melodic phrases. Ultimately, the exact composition of Dialtones is a function of both the scored performance produced by the project's staff, and the specific settings of the phones brought by the concert's attendees.

In Dialtones, the phones, and not their owners, speak to one another. By summoning a communication between communications technologies in which there is no interlocutor, Dialtones invites its participants to perceive an order in what is otherwise disorganized public noise, and ratify it as a chorus of organized social sound. Thus the overdetermination of the world of Work is countered with an equally determined Play, as the ringing of mobile phones—ordinarily, the noise of business, of untimely interruptions, of humans enslaved to technology—is transformed into a sound of deliberate expression, startling whimsy, and unconventional beauty.

TECHNICAL REALIZATION

Dialtones' technical realization is broadly divided into three distinct software subsystems: (A) the means by which the audience's mobile phones were registered (prior to the performance) into a networked database; (B) the means by which the audience's cell phones were computationally dialed (and thereby performed) during the concert itself; and (C) the telephony middleware which communicated the dialing requests from the performance system to the infrastructure of the local Mobile Switching Center. In addition, two special optical subsystems added visual and diagrammatic dimensions to the performance: (D) a vertical video projection system, in which spots of light were cast from above onto actively ringing audience members; and (E) an assembly of autonomous miniature lights which visually augmented the audience's highly-localized cellular activities. In this section, each of these mechanisms is treated in turn.

A. Prior to the Dialtones concert, audience participants register their mobile phone numbers (and model numbers) at special Web-based terminals placed outside and around the performance venue. ASP-based CGI scripts are used to store this information in a SQL database. At the same time, the scripts also use a ticketing algorithm to issue the audience member an assigned seat in the concert auditorium. Depending on the make and model of the participant's phone, it can be possible to programmatically modify its ringtone at this time; if so, a specially-composed ringtone is encoded in the RTTTL (ringtone text transmission language) data format and transmitted to the user's phone as an SMS message. The Dialtones staff composed more than 100 customized ringtones for the concert, wrote special software to convert these ringtones from MIDI sequences into RTTTL, and created a special CGI system to transmit these tones automatically to the audience's phones. In the Linz performances, a small number of preconfigured phones were also available as temporary loans for phoneless participants.

B. After the participants' phone numbers and models have been collected and stored in a database, Dialtones itself is performed live on a custom software instrument which makes use of this database. This performance system consists of an interactive graphical software interface, which represents each mobile phone in the audience as a spatialized cell in a visual grid. During the performance, the performers place "animated paint" into specific cells in the visual grid; these actions trigger the ringing of the corresponding mobile phones in the audience. It is important to emphasise that all of the phone dialings are executed "by hand"; that is, they are set into motion by the direct action of a human performer. The performance instrument is implemented as an OpenGL-based Windows application.

C. The Windows-based performance software transmits dialing requests over a TCP/IP LAN to a nearby Linux-based telephony server. This machine uses an Aculab telephony card to convert these requests into actual phone calls. The Aculab card transmits the phone calls over two dedicated E1 lines (primary-rate 2Mbit ISDN connections), directly into the Mobile Switching Center (MSC) of the local mobile service provider (in Linz, A1 Mobilkom Austria; at the Swiss National Exposition, Swisscom Mobile). The local Base Transceiver Station (BTS, or cell antenna) in the location of the concert venue was specially modified by the provider in order to allow at least 60 simultaneous signalling channels.

D. The audience-orchestras at the two Linz performances each consisted of 200 participants, who were arranged in a 20x10 seating grid. The performers' grid-based graphical interface is projected onto the audience from above, and carefully registered with their seats. As a result, each participant is lit up by a personal spot of light whenever their handset is rung. The concerts performed in Linz used a 12000 ANSI Lumen Barco ELM R12, with a special wide-angle lens, for the projection of these spotlights.

In order to more clearly show how the spots of light play across the audience— indicating which people are ringing at any instant— a very large, multi-panel Mylar mirror (6x12 meters) is erected at an angle above the crowd.

Of the 200 participants in Linz—whose phones hailed from 13 different countries—as many as sixty could be dialed at any one instant. Each performance lasted approximately 28-30 minutes, and entailed the placement of more than 5000 phone calls. The seventeen concerts presented at the Swiss National Exposition used orchestras of 99 participants [9x11], of whom any 60 could be dialed simultaneously.

E. The last visual subsystem consisted of a set of two hundred small keychain lights, which were distributed to the audience-participants at the time of their pre-concert registration. These inexpensive and autonomous devices, which are sensitive to energy in the 800-1900 mHz radio band, illuminate a small red LED when they are within one meter of a ringing mobile phone. Despite their small size, the darkness of the concert hall made it possible to observe the flashing of these lights, which were also reflected in the large suspended mirror.

Generally speaking, these keychain lights would flash about two seconds prior to the ringing of a nearby mobile phone, while the overhead video projection system would typically enable its corresponding spotlight within half a second after the phone had begun to ring. These minute differences in timing
had the effect of diffusing events over time, creating micro-anticipations and multilayered syncopations between the light and sound of the performance.

The combined effect of the telephone rings with their synchronized visual phenomena was to render each participant as an audio-visual pixel, a twinkling particle in an audio-visual substance—and the visitors, as a group, could at once be audience, orchestra and (active) score.




THE COMPOSITION

The Dialtones composition consists of three major subsections, or "movements", each approximately ten minutes long. The first section is produced entirely through the ringing of the mobile phones of the 200-person audience; these phones were completely unamplified by any means. The second section, a "solo" movement, is performed by Dialtones staff member Scott Gibbons on ten amplified (but otherwise unmodified) mobile phones. In the third section, the soloist plays together with the ensemble.

The goal of Dialtones' three-part structure is to introduce the contrasting aesthetic possibilities of virtuosic real-time cellphone performance ("mobile phone jockeying") on the one hand, with coordinated-ensemble handheld-music on the other. In addition to yielding a variety of sonic contrasts, this structure also allows for the exploration of a broad range of musical interaction-models: from the deeply practiced (e.g. Gibbons' solo performance), to the entirely visual (e.g. the graphical interface controls used by Levin and Shakar to interactively perform the audience phones), to a lightweight model of consumer participation (e.g. through one's selection/purchase of a phone model, negotiation of its ringtone, and manner of displaying it during the performance).

Within each of the three movements, the composition is structured as a sequence of sound-textures. These texture-segments are realized as interestingly distinct combinations of ringtones; while the sound of one texture resembles a forest full of twittering birds, another consists of pure drones, and recalls the sound of a pipe organ. There are about fifteen sound-textures in all, each approximately two minutes long. Although the order and duration of these sound-textures is explicitly scored, the moment-to-moment details within each texture are left to the improvisation of the Dialtones performers.

The final movement of the Dialtones concert concludes with a climactic crescendo involving both orchestra and soloist. During the course of this section, the Dialtones soloist Scott Gibbons initiates the "ringing" of a phone's vibrator, transduced by a flat piezoelectric microphone and amplified by a subwoofer. At the same time, increasingly greater numbers of phones are introduced until the maximum possible number of simultaneous rings (60) is achieved. At this point, louder phones are swapped with quieter ones, and the selection of rings shifted around the orchestra until, within the space of a few seconds, all 200 of the audience phones have been triggered.

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... is a Media Art historian and researcher. She holds a PhD from the University of Art and Design Linz where she works as an associate professor. Her PhD-thesis is on "Speculative Archiving and Digital Art", focusing on facial recognition and algorithmic bias. Her Master Thesis "The Grammar of New Media" was on Descriptive Metadata for Media Arts. For many years, she has been working in the field of archiving/documenting Media Art, recently at the Ludwig Boltzmann Institute for Media.Art.Research and before as the head of the Ars Electronica Futurelab's videostudio, where she created their archives and primarily worked with the archival material. She was teaching the Prehystories of New Media Class at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago (SAIC) and in the Media Art Histories program at the Danube University Krems.