Notes for lecture on Computer Art Practices Algorists and Algorithmic Art
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- Jean-Pierre Hébert’s physicalised Computer Art
| Notes for lecture on Computer Art Practices
1. Algorists and Algorithmic Art The Algorists are a loose affiliation computer artists who were forms which seem computer-specific rather than simply reapplying the methods and goals of traditional art media to the computer. Due to the length of time they have been working with the computer – up to twenty years in Hébert’s case, slightly shorter for Verostko – they have grown alongside their chosen programs. From Roman Verostko: By the 1980's a number of artists using original algorithms had achieved distinctive styles, each with a body of mature work. Working independently of each other, several found that they had shared similar experiences over the years. Since the 1960's artists had been creating their art with original algorithms implemented with computing power but there was no single term to identify these artists. Following the 1995 panel on "Artists and Algorithms" in Los Angeles, Jean Pierre Hebert, Ken Musgrave and I briefly discussed forming an informal group of artists who shared similar interests. Having engaged in algorithmic procedures for many years we had experienced a need to create an identity for those who shared this practice. For several months we corresponded in search of a term with possible ways to share views. Eventually we settled on the term "algorist" as proposed by JPH. This term most probably descended from the name of an Arabian mathematician who was active around 820 AD in Baghdad. It is believed that his surname, al-Khowarazmi is the source for the term algorism. The use of the term algorism appeared with various spellings in several languages and often with latinizing influence as in algorismus. In English the term algorism came to be replaced with the term algorithm which is more commonly used today. So one who employs algorithms (algorism) may be termed an algorist. […]The jewel of algorist art lies in the artist's own "form-generating algorithm", the artist's unique procedure for creating the form. From this perspective Mozart's score for a Sonata, the architects plan for the building, and Hans Dehlinger's code for a drawing are all "form-generating" algorithms.1 Paradoxically, most of the Algorists aim for a physical realisation of their work. Some, like Roman Verostko and Mark Wilson, employ plotters to render their images on paper; Helaman Ferguson sculpts in stone and bronze, guided by his computer; and Jean-Pierre Hébert has arrived at a unique method of inscribing his images in sand. This would suggest the computer is only a stage in their process and that many Algorists prefer physical materials to the limitations of the computer display. Yet, whether on paper, as sculpture or in sand, they have produced artefacts which owe their existence to computer instructions. The algorithm in art provides a procedural approach to creating art through instructions, which define the parameters for the production of the image. Verostko contends that one learns a lot about the process of drawing by writing code for a drawing procedure. He strives to establish a link between the algorithm and his own art-making: one where his own vision may be seen in the finished work. [Verostko 1994] Verostko aims to utilise the algorithm to make his art, containing a recognisable element of himself and his artistic understanding. Here is a telling comparison between the lines he drew by hand, and the lines made by his Hodos program through a plotter holding a brush: [Plate: Roman Verostko: brush used by a plotter driven by his Hodos program; a comparison of work done by Verostko’s own hand, and the results of his programming] Verostko tells us to distinguish between the artist’s creation of algorithmic procedures and the algorithmic process employed by the computer; the former is the origin of the art, the latter merely its execution. [Verostko 1994] In Verostko’s work, the algorithmic process begins with a description of the art-making procedures; for instance, by comprehending the process of drawing a line. Then other decisions about colour and character, even flow and length. “We identify the conditions of acceptable and unacceptable combinations of shape, scale, form and color” he says, and in this way arrives at a formal system which is amenable to being turned into a program. [Verostko 1988] In this sense, the “art” is distilled into the program itself, through the artist’s conception of coding to create an image. In some cases it could perhaps be executed by other means, but using the computer is the most appropriate way of making these intricate, recursive and often highly detailed pictures. There is certainly an element of eliminating drudgery, but Verostko contends this leaves the artist free to concentrate on the “creative part of the work, namely the procedure which is the algorithm.” [Verostko 1988] This is fundamental to the concept of programming to produce art. It is a conceptual creation where the resulting form is quite separate from the processes controlling it – and where the initial idea is worked out by non-visual means. Ken Musgrave, a fellow Algorist (although this group is a loose federation rather than a tightly-defined movement) explains another way of realising images through process, in the context of his virtual world-building software MojoWorld. He claims that they are illustrations, in a very direct sense, of the model he develops as a formal system he can work with: they are “verifications of some abstract idea that I was attempting to map into such a system.” [Musgrave: “Formal Logic and Self-Expression”] In this sense, the image that arises through the process of rendering art algorithmically may be an emergent property of the artist’s conception of the algoristic system. The algorithm stems from their understanding of the process, which encodes their visual approach to some degree. Thus the computer gives the Algorists a framework for their processes through programming: in a real sense, the artist and the computer have a symbiotic relationship. The procedural basis of the image also seemingly informs its final appearance, usually giving it a highly geometric form; however, Hébert points out that an “informal” appearance can also be programmed and even apparently eratic or “artistic” elements may be entered into the system. Verostko’s programmed “brushstroke” bears witness to this. I find the inherent form of Verostko’s prints fascinating because it is somehow analogous to natural structures (as Verostko notes), yet obviously stems from an artificial source. In a sense, it has built up a parallel hierarchy of form which operates on the same level as the coils of a seashell, yet originated in the mind of its creator. This is probably best illustrated by the sculpture of Helaman Ferguson, whose toruses and everted spheres are the solutions to equations he solves, and then sculpts with the aid of a computer. [Ferguson: “Artist’s Statement”] [Plate XXXV: Ferguson’s torus] Unlike the organic forms of Latham and others which set out to emulate evolution, the Algoristic form runs parallel to it. Algoristic forms arrive at this state, Latham (so it seems) strives for it. Connecting the two artforms, however, is a similar quality of fascination with growth and artificial, yet naturalistic, forms underpins the art of William Latham. The aesthetic roots of algoristic artforms are, I believe, quite separate to those arising from direct manipulation. The algoristic forms underpinned by “visually obvious” mathematical processes, ones that are made manifest by the art through its intricate geometry. By contrast, images created through the GUI often stem from an artist’s previous non-computer experience: they are underpinned by a data structure that is not made manifest in their visual form. Internal complexity results in more usable art software and a greater finesse of effect; whereas the simpler algorithmic art is an elegant result to a carefully worked-out rule. Yet Hébert feels it is more artist- than process-dependent, and points to the “continuum of complexities, awkwardness, refinement.” As a movement, the Algorists are rather loosely-related, but it is interesting to see any such group arising in the generally fragmented Computer Art scene. Their approach may best be understood by examining the work of Jean-Pierre Hébert himself, who outlines his approach to art creation from the standpoint of building and executing algorithms with specific visual consequences. Jean-Pierre Hébert’s physicalised Computer Art Now 70, Jean-Pierre Hébert was born in Calais and spent his early years in the South of France. Though his ambitions were artistic, he trained as an engineer and worked for IBM in the 1960s before becoming a financial analyst in the 1970s. Around 1976, he discovered various algorithms for generating abstract images on his plotter, and has developed forms of increasing complexity and density. This enabled him to make unique physical artworks with a computer, and he is further investigating this physical aspect in conjunction with his programming. Hébert is also notable for bringing together the Algorists as a loose alliance of similarly-minded computer artists. [Plate XXXVI: Jean-Pierre Hébert, plotter drawing, exhibited at SIGGRAPH 1999] The works Hébert has produced on his plotter are most notable for their intricacy in their physical realisation. Hébert is insistent that these pieces, which take up to three days to draw, are termed “drawings” or “renderings” rather than “prints”, except when he has made print-outs using a laser or inkjet. This is because the plotter pieces involve the gradual building up of lines and textures, producing an essentially unique artwork through the interaction of pens and paper. This unhurried rendering is quite different from the swift application of laser toner to paper, hence Hébert views his laser prints as “sketches”. He regards standard digital printing methods as: too quick and easy […] and that is why prints are so boring, leaving marks on paper that are thin, lifeless, depthless, deprived of substance, with the substrate barely marked at all (not to mention their questionable permanence). Hébert has a fascination with algorithmic forms, where the computer generates simple or complex works from sequences of commands. Yet he also possesses a countervailing appreciation of the physical qualities of ink and paper, and prefers to have his works displayed as drawings because paper allows for much larger and more intricate execution than does the computer screen. It is somewhat ironic that a work conceived on the computer is too detailed to be meaningfully shown on the 96dpi resolution monitor. The dense textures of the plotter pieces are built up very effectively from closely-spaced lines, and the geometric forms that emerge from these can either be intentionally included in the design, or simply “leap out” from the background where they emerge from looking at the image structure. These lines on paper, given substance by the variable flow of ink, are “non-computable” and for that reason add to the piece’s beauty, according to Hébert. He also deploys the play of light across embossed features in several paper reliefs he has made in an hydraulic press, pressing woodblocks against hand made paper sheets at Atelier Richard Tullis. Light and darkness also play a role in several of his larger, heavily textured works, sometimes by using two different-coloured pens to describe two layers within the image. Hébert’s pens and paper vary quite widely, and he has experimented with very thin papers, as well as canvas and a variety of handmade Chinese and Japanese papers. All differ in terms of ink diffusion and pen resistance. Also, the multi-layered designs he creates can lead to banding and ink buildup in certain areas. Moreover, a complex design runs the risk of the pen drying up in the course of a four-day plotting session, so usually the pen never leaves the surface as it draws. In other words, many of his designs represent a continuous movement from one corner of the sheet to the other, or a line spiralling out from centre. For this reason Hébert’s first show was named “Sans lever la plume” (Without Lifting the Pen). Ulysses My interest in Hébert’s work began after seeing a most intriguing artwork at SIGGRAPH ‘99. In many ways, it was the single most impressive piece of Computer Art in the exhibition attached to the main show. [Plate XXXVII: Hébert, Ulysses] This work, Sisyphus, consisted of a plinth, the top of which held a sandbox. On the sand was a little ball bearing, which was moving apparently of its own accord. The computer was placed out of immediate view, so there was no overt computer presence. One could watch the ball as it began tracing an intricate pattern in the sand, guided by some invisible hand along paths that formed these dense mathematical shapes. Sisyphus developed JPH’s fascination with algorithmic harmony in a new physical medium. Hébert works with harmonious, mathematical shapes and frequently alludes to natural processes; as he says “I ally myself with Nature”. He is not simply referring to the physical quirks of his art. He also describes the processes he invokes, the exposition of form through instructions; and the randomising effect of physical factors like sand density and quality. By using sand – his masterstroke – he gains much of the malleability of the screen without sacrificing this essential physicality. His work is the product of all these factors combining to make an impression, an image that grows before one’s eyes, a little impossibility that somehow exists in the physical world. [Plate XXXVIII: A finished Ulysses work at Jean-Pierre’s studio. The rock was added at the completion of the print; also Ulysses, view from inside his studio; Ulysses open before assembly at the Computing Commons Gallery, University of Arizona, 2001. The plotter-derived mechanism can be clearly seen.] It has a most calm and meditative presence, drawing as it does on the Zen garden for inspiration. It attracts viewers who sit for minutes, even hours, watching the image unfold; and after it has finished, JPH sets a few stones and shapes in the sandscape. As the photographs show, Ulysses sits on a wide, sculptured base made of three tiers of walnut, giving it a presence even when at rest. At SIGGRAPH the computer was not hidden from view – it was just sidelined to ensure it was not the focus of the work. At Arizona, the computer was hidden behind one of the mobile wall partitions the gallery used. Images from Ulysses can only be captured and reproduced as photographs. When his current Ulysses device is installed in his house, he photographs its sand pictures with an 8x10 plate camera in order to make large-format images which he sells through a print agency. This is currently the only way to commercialise the Ulysses output. These photographs have an interesting property of their own which was remarked upon by one of the viewers at the art gallery at Arizona State University. They are taken using a low-angled light source to illuminate the contours of the grooves in the sand, making for very dramatic prints. Due to the absence of any obvious reference points, the grooved sand takes on the appearance of dunes, and whole image looks more like a landscape. This scaling effect of the photographs gives the Ulysses image a microcosmic appeal. Perhaps this is partly due to Hébert’s interest in the Zen garden, which certainly imbues Ulysses with a peaceful and meditative atmosphere. The audience is absorbed by the slow movement of the ball gradually pushing its patterns through the sand, which is quite contrary to expectations of computer speed and spectacle. Ulysses makes physical form dynamic; by using sand (inspired by the Zen garden) Hébert has arrived at a material which can demonstrate movement and change. There is also a subtle and unspoken connection between sand and silicon, the base material for present-day computers. After each image, JPH carefully combs the sand back into a regular pattern, from edge to edge. Occasionally he brushes the surface blank with a fine-haired wide brush. This has also has a Zen-like, ritual quality. He also sets the ball bearing at the centre point of the magnets, which return to the middle of their axes. Thus the image only remains so long as the sand is undisturbed after the ball has finished its work. Of course, the underlying pattern is stored as an algorithm: a case of physical transience versus digital stability. Ulysses defeats a viewer’s expectations that computer images must be fast, violent and photorealistic. One might think of the vast chasms and the infernal Balrog depicted in the recent Lord of the Rings film, or any of its magical events that blend seamlessly with real landscapes and actors. But these demonstrations of graphical prowess are an exercise in special effects, that furthers the telling of a tale. Hébert’s art, by contrast, lies in careful understatement in a medium which is both solid and transient. Although these shapes are simply the results of algorithms, like the plotter pictures, it is their physical realisation that matters most to Hébert. Why else would he create such a large device, based on obsolescent plotter technology, and set as a sculptural feature in a mahogany plinth? It is heavy and cumbersome; I know this from experience because I helped him load his exhibition in Santa Barbara, California and take it to Tempe, Arizona. Ulysses runs counter to the “SIGGRAPH” aesthetic of graphical showmanship; it is slow and gradual, with a definite physical presence. It is not a demonstration of graphical effect, but rather allows an image to develop over time. Another factor in Ulysses’ appeal is the way that the image is not contained in a screen, but located in physical space with the viewer. Its tactile presence distinguishes it from most Computer Art. Even so, it evokes a sense of wonder in its audience because they see the ball moving apparently unaided, laying down a sequence of lines as they watch it. When Hébert’s sand-sculpture Ulysses was installed at an exhibition in Helsinki, viewers became fascinated with the slow, deliberate movements of the ball as it scored its images into the sand: sometimes they would sit for up to an hour as the drawing appeared. When Ulysses made its debut at the SIGGRAPH graphics fair, over 200 people came to see its opening performance. From my own experience, I am convinced that Ulysses exercises this fascination because it is operating in physical space, in a tactile medium. The simple actions of the ball in the sand surprise even those who are accustomed to complex computer graphics. In Hébert’s case, it seems intimately bound up with the physicality of his work. There is a magical element in seeing these images appear in physical form, without any apparent assistance – after all, the viewer only sees the sandbox, not the computer controlling it. There is also the innate fascination of the mathematical shapes it generates and, as Hébert himself acknowledges, a microcosmic appeal, akin to the Zen garden, of seeing such intricate plans on a small scale. As one admirer remarked, when the Ulysses drawings are photographed at close range, it is hard to tell whether they are lines in a sandbox or dunes in the deep desert. The documentary aspect of the print is what Hébert stresses when he refers to his laser prints as “sketches”; they are less important than the fully realized images executed over several days by his plotter. Yet such documentation is a necessary way of circumventing the problems of digital obsolescence and the febrile nature of the computer image. Some artists accord the status of “original” to that image on the screen; others bestow this title on the print itself. Sokolove sees the digital original “unpossessable”, which recognizes its digital and ephemeral existence. [Sokolove 1990:272] Hébert interests Cuba because he has combined a moving image with the process of generating a static image, and the actual image is built in physical materials before the onlooker. The piece has a mesmerising quality. Its compelling nature is shared with the time-lapse film: perhaps the appeal arises from the feeling of seeing a very gradual process speeded up in real time. In spirit, Ulysses is very close to kinetic art, but the computer gives it aesthetic purpose, since, in a sense, it is demonstrating the underlying mathematical foundations of the artform. Ulysses also proves that the material component of Computer Art need not be limited to paper, film or magnetic disks: Hébert ‘s choice of sand was inspired because it lends itself to being endlessly inscribed and erased, while remaining a very tangible and tactile medium, suitable for creating fine lines. Hébert’s aesthetic I was interested to know how Hébert first conceived of an idea for a drawing or sand etching. Did it begin as a visual notion of what it would eventually look like, or are was he so familiar with algorithms that he could formulate one in your head with an idea of its eventual effect? Because so much depends on the final quality of the rendering and the unpredictable effects of ink or sand, the image could not be determined exactly, but there must be a guiding idea that gave rise to the initial sketches. Jean-Pierre explained to me that he had two ways of working. For the most part, he would build the combination of algorithms to match his visual expectations of the image. Sometimes, though, he played with algorithms to test what he could do with them. Often he used the two approaches in turn, both planning and experimenting, to the point of being pleased by the results. Hébert said that experimentation, controlled recycling of previous efforts and intuition played as important a role as theoretical thinking. Both the final form and the underlying algorithm can evolve, either to reach his initial goal, or to perfect it. Thus Hébert collates his knowledge of algorithmic results and deploys it to create new images; unless he feels he can gain new insights by experimentation. This dual conception of the image, as both intrinsic form and the component algorithms necessary to achieve it, is characteristic of the Algorists. It demonstrates how the computer’s separation of image and material can be approached in a different way; one that takes account of the necessary programming and the eventual external realisation of the image. By concentrating on the image as (essentially) a linear form, expressed as algorithms, the Algorists take advantage of the computer’s power to organise, replicate and develop image elements in an abstract form that also recalls natural processes. When the process is animated, as with Ulysses, then the parallels between organic life and moving physical pieces become even stronger. Hébert’s work belongs in the realm of pure abstraction and is perhaps as close to “raw” Computer Art as one can get, with two-dimensional figures described with complete accuracy. It works on the contemplative level of much geometric abstract art, though the computer adds the essential qualities of movement and dynamic change Music theorist Lydia Goehr notes the distinction between the temporal structure of works, existing simultaneously, and that of their performances which unfolds over time. The temporal and spatial element in the works of Jean-Pierre Hébert is also most important. Hébert contrasts the necessity of controlling the exact shape executed by the plotter or steel ball with the imperfections that occur when the ink spreads on the paper or the sand creates an obstruction. Thus, though the program encodes the instructions for creating an exact shape, the uncertainties inherent in the physical execution are part of the final, physical artwork; indeed, Hébert aims to include them through his choice of materials and rendering process. The sand-pieces, Sisyphus, Ulysses, and Telemachus are potential solutions to the physical/digital dichotomy. Because Hébert found a material that lent itself to be endlessly inscribed and wiped clean, he managed to replicate the essential transience of digital images in a physical form. But the viewer’s fascination with the ball moving on the surface, apparently unaided, points to a quality in the work that is all its own. Instead of conveying “life” through animation, as does some Computer Art, Hébert’s pieces have a tangible and organic sensibility which is quite contrary to expectations about computer imagery. There is a magical quality to seeing a ball start moving, apparently unaided, and watching as it sketches out a pattern. Hébert has come close to resolving the paradox of Computer Art. He manages to remain in touch with the essential algorithmic nature of the digital image without sacrificing the intrinsic interest of a physical form. The somewhat disembodied nature of computer graphics tends to affect our perception of the artwork and reinforces our expectations of a flashy graphical tour de force instead of a subtle meditation on the development of algorithmic form. Hébert emphasises the linear and generative properties of computer graphics without once making it a dry exercise in geometrical transformations. Rather, he uses materials that enhance the viewer’s interest in the linear form through the tactile qualities of his materials. The physicality of Hébert’s work is shared with Verostko’s prints and Fergusson’s sculptures. The Algorists do more than just programming a series of visual outcomes; they also allow for the qualities of the materials they choose for the realisation of the work. This union of digital form and material substance goes against the grain of what one normally expects from digital images; yet in itself it is as transient as they are. The program contains the directions needed to achieve the linear form of the Algorists’ art, but the artists also conceive of it in terms of its material nature, making a qualitative assessment that is as yet beyond any computer. Even Harold Cohen’s AARON only operates independently within the limited context of its virtual canvas, and has its roots in a line-drawing program. It has been expanded to include concepts of shape, depth and colour, but all these are referenced internally with little input from the external world, except for the initial conditions of its program. By contrast, Algoristic art uses a computer to execute results in a physical medium chosen by the artist based on their knowledge of both the abilities of the computer and the characteristics of the materials they choose. They conceive of their work both formally, as a visual structure expressed as instructions, and qualitatively, as physical surface with a certain appearance and feel. In this way, the Algorists make art which is computer-driven but not computer-based. Cuba points out that an algorithm isn’t purely mathematics, since the process one simulates is more like a recipe because it is behaviour you are simulating, which amounts to a sequence of events or decisions. Cohen, for instance, postulates that drawing a straight line for an artist is about heading in one direction and constantly correcting it. Goal-directed activity is not mathematical but behavioural. Hébert’s raison d’être for using the computer is that he can exercise deep control of form as expressed in algorithms. He believes the best way to work is through programming, because of its exactitude and the ability to work with a range of images. Line and composition are very important to him and he feels that drawing through a GUI does not actually offer such fine control of the results. As a pen-and-ink draughtsman myself, I can appreciate this sentiment: not until screen resolution and graphics tablet sensitivity are greatly improved will this finesse come to the GUI. Yet, as Hébert notes, even an improved GUI would not present itself as a solution to his work, due to questions of accuracy of the hand guiding the cursor and the drudgery involved: a perfect GUI will still imply more time, patience, resilience and accuracy than I could muster for most of the pieces I have done. As Hébert remarked to me, the combination of sand resistance impeding the magnetic movement of the ball produce imperfections in the design he find artistically necessary. The depositing of ink from the plotter’s pens also has a similar effect: one can trace variations in the overall inkflow across the surface of his larger pieces. He doesn’t want it to be too perfect, which is interesting for a computer artist. This is why he prefers not to use the Iris printer which uses inkjet technology to spray the image onto the page: the pens and impact of the plotter, as a drawing device, are much more interesting to him. The Iris prints are “the transient output of what the work could have been.” Although he has produced series of Iris prints with a specific objective, JPH feels they and the laser prints do not have the “life” of plotter drawings: the physical, organic quality created by a pen moving on the surface of a sheet. Hébert also produces direct Postscript images from imagesetters, by translating the HPGL instructions into Postscript and driving them directly (which is distinct from printing a raster image). In this way, what they do is analogous to the plotter’s output, in that they are following similar instructions. He has used this to produce short runs of prints and etchings by laser printing onto mylar. The output of his pencil plotter is also very distinctive, and the quality of line in the etchings is such that JPH intends to make more use of this technique if he can get a proper transfer from the plotter – i.e. by having it engrave the plate. At present, very fine lines do not transfer very well, or at least produce a variable output. Harold Cohen seemingly prefers his images not to look too “perfect”. When writing the latest version of AARON for PC, he had it reproduce the physical effects of paints puddling together, and the gaps left by the original plotter in its colouring process. However, Cohen has moved away from using a “painting machine” to produce works on canvas because he believed too many people mistook it for AARON as the program. Hébert’s concerns remain fixed on the physical outcome of Ulysses. The critical importance of physical realisation in Hébert’s work marks a change from the often ephemeral forms associated with Computer Art. He makes use of the computer’s power to render algorithmic images and previews the results on screen, but he favours fixing them permanently on paper or transiently in sand. He pointed out to me that physicality can be a drawback because his sand device requires transportation and installation so it can function in situ as a work of art. The digital form generated by the computer is a preliminary to the sand device’s operation: it is only a schematic for the final work. The physical form is the true realisation. However, the two-dimensional images he makes are “portable” in another sense. They are amenable to production on various surfaces in different ways – sand, paper and also engraving plates. The engravings can then be reproduced a limited number of times in a format equivalent to that of the original, but of the plotter pieces and Ulysses drawings, only photographic reproductions can be made. Hébert’s interest in new materials and their effects has led him to collaborate with a printmaker, Elaine Levasseur, so that the plotter images can be etched. Currently, this is done by plotting onto mylar sheets and then transferring these to etching plates. Levasseur also plans to work with him on lithographic prints, where the important qualities are fine lines and the translucence of colour, especially when trying to get white lines on a solid background. Elaine noted the experimental phase was one of finding a colour and paper which could express the image without becoming notable in itself. For instance, a type of Chinese paper advertised its presence through its distinctive texture. This she felt would detract from the effectiveness of JPH’s images. They require an even spread of colour, keeping the surface as free from artefacts as possible. ----------------- Eventually, Hébert hopes to construct a plotter which can accommodate not only pens but brushes, pencils and burins as well, using experience gained in making Ulysses. This will enable him to make etchings directly onto plates and work with a wider variety of media than his present setup allows. 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