Processing: Creative Coding and Computational Art

PROCESSING: CREATIVE CODING AND COMPUTATIONAL ART
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I hope that helps; it will come in time if it’s still a bit fuzzy. If you’re anything like me, It just
takes some time to restart the brain after years of turpentine exposure and bad TV. When
you get stuck on a programming problem, it really does help to write out a simple algorithm.
Later on, when you begin cranking out thousands of lines of dense code, creating
algorithmic roadmaps before you start coding might even eventually begin to feel like
conceptual brainstorming or preliminary sketching—of course, by then you will also be a
certifiable geek.
Happy coding mistakes
After my diatribe about algorithms, how can a coding mistake be seen as happy? Well, I
don’t mean “computer bug” when I write “mistake.” A bug is usually not happy. Bugs are
when stuff happens that is not very interesting and usually annoying. Bugs are the things in
software—such as missing semicolons, misspelled variable names, or infinite loops—that
can drive you insane and make you try to physically impale your keyboard. Happy coding
mistakes, on the other hand, are nonfatal things that happen, often revealing unforeseen
possibilities. As a painter, it took me a long time to be comfortable with my mistakes
(which were many). I wanted to control the paint—which of course is pretty much impossible.
In time, I began to realize that the so-called mistakes I was making were often the
best parts of the paintings. This phenomenon occurs in all creative pursuits, as somehow
our unconscious mind seems to assert itself when we least expect it. Arguably, this is also
where our inspiration lies. I think more experienced artists just learn how to better utilize
this capability as well as gain the ability to more selectively recognize the happy accidents
from the bugs. Coding is a creative process, and thus code art can benefit from these
happy mistakes. However, because the process of coding involves many more rigid rules
than painting, it is not as easy to understand the concept of happy coding mistakes. In
addition, when starting out coding, it is easy to get caught up in the technical aspects or
craft of coding and lose sight of its power as an expressive medium.
There is a macho aspect to coding, as well as to painting. You begin to feel powerful and
capable of describing all kinds of interesting behaviors; plus, you have access to a secret
language that most people don’t understand. Coding can become like a giant, multidimensional
crossword puzzle, and you can easily get consumed in these really dense,
abstract worlds—losing site of expressive possibilities or what you need to say (in an artistic
sense). You need craft in coding; the more mastery you have of your medium, the wider
the scope or range of your work. You also need a creative vision; without it, coding can
become an analytical quagmire. I can’t say that I always navigate clear of the quagmire
myself, as I often get caught in trying to solve these endless, albeit interesting, technical
problems. But when I let myself play with the code and let things happen that are not
completely in my control, I often have more fun and even experience the same kind of
(warning; new-agey phrase coming) transcendent feeling I get when I am in the flow of
painting. I also think the work is more original and expressive. Ultimately, I think it is about
finding flow in the coding process that takes you to new places and allows you to turn
your so-called mistakes into new and fertile investigations.
OK, let’s assume you buy some of this; a logical question for a new coder to ask is “How
do you begin to find or embrace happy coding mistakes when you don’t even know the
fundamentals (or basic craft) of programming?” I think the answer is to always try to find