Machines and Art – Jasia Reichardt - Computer Arts Society

Machines and Art
Author(s): Jasia Reichardt
Source: Leonardo, Vol. 20, No. 4, 20th Anniversary Special Issue: Art of the Future: The
Future of Art (1987), pp. 367-372
Published by: The MIT Press
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1578534
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Machines and Art
Jasia Reichardt
Abstract-Since there is no cure for progress, we may assume that machines will play an
increasingly significant role in every area of our lives. Artists have celebrated machines since
they came into existence, first by depicting them and more recently by using them as tools and
assistants. What will happen when machines make their own art? Will we recognise it and will we
accept it?
In one version of Sentimental Education,
Flaubert introduces an idea for a heroic
picture which will represent the republic,
or progress, or civilisation, or all three. It
will depict the figure of Christ surmounting
a locomotive which drives over a
virgin forest; here the machine will sweep
through the world under the auspices of
the highest authority. This image of the
machine as an unstoppable force is
prophetic of our contemporary world.
Today, its status and influence, its surge
through the 'virgin forest', have become
gauges of our society's progress. Recognition
of the machine's importance is
demonstrated in the existence of an
expanding generation gap (what the
young know and the old do not); in new
toys (unfamiliar to anyone whose childhood
was more than 10 years ago); in
science fiction; in what and how people
study; in what and how writers write and,
of course, in art.
Artists have contributed significantly
to the current image and meaning of the
machine and have even anticipated some
of its developments. Their approaches to
the subject have ranged from reactionary
distaste, to empathetic ingenuity, to
romantic and celebratory bravado. The
machine's role as a metaphor for labour
has been largely ignored by artists.
Rather, it has become a metaphor for the
world itself and one that has flowered
through a greater variety of interpretations
than in any other field of our
culture. The Futurists' rapturous endorsement
of the machine is part of
history. Among other celebrated characterisations
the machine has appeared as
a nostalgic object, as an instrument of
erotic longing and as an emblem of
human transgressions.
In the world of the imagination, the
Jasia Reichardt (writer), 12 Belsize Park Gardens,
London NW3 4LD, U.K.
Received 15 September 1986.
(A) Contact with Outer Wori(l.
O)ther Planets.
Futulre.
Women.
A QUIET LUNCH AT HOME.
(H) Communication
India.
NeNws.
Law ('ouirts.
(c) Wireless Broadcast Liglit Screens.
withl U.S.A. and
A i r Transport.
Submarine Transport.
I lternational Parliamenet.
Fig. 1. A.M. Low, A Quiet Lunch at Home, 1925. This room of the future was devised by the English
inventor and writer A.M. Low. Presumably the food is in liquid form since the man in the armchair is
sucking at a pipe coming out of the wall. The room contains everything that the leisured classes of the
future might be expected to require: a large TV screen and the means of contacting the outer world
including other planets, the international parliament and, somewhat surprisingly, women. The garage
contains a machine that is something between a helicopter and a submarine. Note that there is no art in
this room.
machine can and often does remain 'an ture, it has been everything from a robot
elusive, half-defined presence. In litera- to a shapeless thing with fictitious
? 1987 ISAST
Pergamon Journals Ltd.
Printed in Great Britain.
0024-094X/87 $3.00+0.00
LEONARDO, Vol. 20, No. 4, pp. 367-372, 1987

functions. Pataphysical machines [1]
would be difficult to reconstruct since
nobody knows precisely how they do
what they do, or what that is anyway. The
comparatively concrete form of machines
in art does not mean that they have been
any more conventional, predictable or
comprehensible. Take, for example,
Francis Picabia's Amorous Parade (1917)
or Girl Born without a Mother (c. 1916-
1918). Referring to Picabia, Paul B.
Haviland wrote in 1915:
Man made the machine in his own
image. She has limbs which act; lungs
which breathe; a heart which beats; a
nervous system through which runs
electricity. The phonograph is the
image of his voice; the camera the
image of his eye. The machine is his
'daughter without a mother' [2].
Picabia himself wrote that very year:
The machine has become more than a
mere adjunct of life. It is really a part of
human life ... perhaps the very soul. In
seeking forms through which to
interpret ideas or by which to expose
human characteristics I have come at
length upon the form which appears
most brilliantly plastic and fraught with
symbolism. I have enlisted the
machinery of the modern world, and
introduced it into my studio [3].
Others transformed the machine more
radically. There are, after all, no laws
governing the machine in art, no logic.
Who is to say what the machine should
be?
Marcel Duchamp's Large Glass: The
Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors,
Even (1915-23) was a thoroughly
organised affair, a machine-cum-metaphor
for efficiently controlled passion.
With Max Ernst the machine was given
visibly, rather than functionally, human
attributes-she became a beautiful and
mysterious android. She contained all the
insignia of machine essence (typical of the
nineteenth rather than the twentieth
century): cogs and wheels, pendula,
pistons, motors, electrical valves. In the
majority of images the machine represented
or symbolised a human being,
but in the works of George Grosz and
John Heartfield it stood for power, for
the blind force of dictatorship. Other
works, like those of Cesar Domela
Nieuwenhuis, were compared to machines
because, like them, they too could be
assembled and taken apart. These had
nothing to do with the machine as a
metaphor. The Purists claimed that
painting is a machine for the transmission
of feelings, but their critics hastened to
dismiss this heroic claim and to compare
Fig. 2. Martin Riches, Rotater, walking machine constructed of mixed media, 35 cm high, 1978.
Riches, an Englishman living in Berlin, is a maker of machines that walk, paint, play music and provide
bursts of percussion. They are elegant and witty and sometimes mimic human movements and sounds.
This walking machine moves with gentle, delicate steps.
their works to machines that have not reckoned with. Its passionate defender,
even been started up.
Lewis Mumford, believed that "in art it
Whatever the point of view, the was to extend and deepen man's original
machine was discussed fervently by all functions and institutions". He went
those who recognised it as a force to be on:
368
Reichardt, Machines and Art

Fig. 3. Martin Riches, Four-Piece Percussion Installation, mixed media, 2 m high, 1984. When
installed, the assembly occupies a space measuring 7 x 7 m-too large for an average domestic interior.
Our capacity to go beyond the machine
rests upon our power to assimilate the
machine. Until we have absorbed the
lessons of objectivity, impersonality,
neutrality, the lessons of the mechanical
realm, we cannot go further in our
development towards the more richly
organic, the more profoundly human
[4].
Mumford felt that the essential qualities
of the machine-precision, calculation,
flawlessness, simplicity and economycould
add emphasis to human instinctive
desire for order and organisation. In his
view it was Constantin Brancusi, rather
than either Duchamp or Ernst, who gave
the machine its most brilliant interpretation-in
his use of form, method and
respect for materials. To Mumford,
Brancusi's bird had the perfection of a
piston.
The prototypical, classical, efficient,
mechanical machine was contradicted
not only by the surrealists but also by the
majority of artists who were to follow. Its
role became twofold. On the one hand, it
became the means of expression, a heroic
piece of extravaganza in its own right, a
celebration of machine-hood. On the
other hand, it replaced the artists' tools.
In this first instance, as in the work of
Jean Tinguely, it provided the form that
encapsulated the very meaning of the
work-a machine made of machine parts.
Today, the emphasis tends to be different.
The prototypical contemporary machine
does not lend itself to an imaginative
pictorial treatment because it is ultimately
a black box. Today, many artists working
with machines use them not for what they
are but for what they can do. That is why
the most impressive, and the most
notorious, prototypical art machine of
the twentieth century (in this first
'expressive' category) is still Tinguely's
Homage to New York, which set itself
alight and shook itself to pieces outside
the Museum of Modern Art in 1960. Its
spectacular demise accompanied by
explosions and fireworks came to an
untimely end within 28 minutes through
the intervention of the fire brigade.
Tinguely called it 'metallic suicide'. None
of his numerous spectacular machines
made since then have done anything so
drastic. The emphasis has been more on
the production of machine-painted
pictures or on machines that play ball
with visitors or go through routines of
energetic movements to the accompaniment
of clanging and whirring-a visual
and an acoustic synthesis.
All of Tinguely's vivacious machines
are constructed of used metallic parts.
They are sharp in every sense of the
word. By contrast, Claes Oldenburg's
machines seem lazy and rounded.
Tinguely invents new machines, Oldenburg
emasculates existing ones. Oldenburg's
machines are recognisable as
machines from the real world, but they
consist of kapok-filled shiny plastic. Soft
telephones and soft plugs were followed
by a typewriter pie, soft toaster, soft light
switch, soft fan and soft mixer. All these
are literally soft. Softness is not a
prerogative of kapok-some machines
have a soft character. Edward Kienholz's
Friendly Grey Computer (1965) is a soft
machine-a spiritually soft machineeven
though its exterior belies its
paradoxical character. This computer-a
square box-sits on a rocking-chair base
and answers YES and NO to questions
from the public if it is not too tired or if it
is not sulking. Rocking the computer is
advised to restore its energy and good
humour.
Clearly Kienholz does not envisage
machines, especially intelligent machines,
as reliable, predictable or useful, and
there are plenty of precedents for his
attitude. Nor did the makers of the largest
and the most famous exhibition robot
(the giant Electro) at the New York
World's Fair in 1939 think of the machine
as utilitarian. The robot demonstrated a
new range of activities available to the
modern machine. He smoked, sang,
counted and danced. Electro was never
depicted behind a desk or in a factory. He
became an advocate of leisure like the
new automated kitchen in which nobody
had to do anything, shown at the same
Reichardt, Machines and Art 369

Fig. 4. Richard Kriesche, World Model, two industrial robots which repeat identical movements in turn, 1986. (Photo: Jasia Reichardt) There are many
parallels between the actions of the robots and human actions, and Kriesche's metaphor is highly apposite.
Fair. This new kitchen was demonstrated
in all its automatic detail to the
amazement of one and all, but it was
never manufactured. Its true utilitarian
possibilities were also ultimately limited.
The kitchen was a machine in its own
right: like a sculpture by Tinguely, it
represented the fantasy of its makers; but
rather than an object or a sculpture, it was
an environment. Everything in the
kitchen was timesaving and fully automated.
The idea was that the lady of the
house need do no more than press a few
buttons. There were buttons for selecting
a recipe, for mixing the ingredients, for
cooking them, etc. Prepared food was not
shown, but the sounds issuing from
various parts of the room suggested that
something was happening. The newsreel
commentary about the kitchen made it
clear that no cooking skills were
necessary and that the hostess, who wore
a cocktail dress, had no need of an apron.
The price of the kitchen included a parttime
salary for an engineer, and maybe
this, finally, was the reason the kitchen
was never built. Interestingly enough,
though there were other comparable
futuristic environments, none included
any art, as if their electronic complexity
was in itself sufficient to stimulate the
mind and to stir the spirit. In the best
avant-garde tradition, they were new and
experimental works of art in their own
right.
In 1925, the English inventor and
writer A.M. Low published a book on the
future [5] in which he included a picture
of a comprehensively furnished room
depicting a man and a child at leisure. The
picture is entitled A Quiet Lunch at Home
(Fig. 1). The man is sitting in a deep
armchair and sucking at a tube which
issues from a wall. The boy, crouching on
the floor, wears a helmet and watches a
Fig. 5. Harold Cohen's program AARON is capable of producing series of varied but related drawings,
reminiscent of Cohen's own paintings of the early 1960s. This drawing was produced in 1983, when
AARON was 10. (Photo: Becky Cohen)
370
Reichardt, Machines and Art

Fig. 6. AARON, Black and White Drawing, Indian ink on paper, 22 x 30 in, 1986. (Photo: Becky
Cohen) AARON is now 14. His new drawings are more figurative, like this one. He is still deeply
influenced by Harold Cohen, his creator and teacher.
mechanical cat chasing a mechanical
mouse. The room, judging by the
positions of the two humans, is extremely
small for a futuristic fantasy-no larger
than 10 X 15 feet, with a television screen
occupying one entire wall. Other objects
in the room include a clock, a gramophone,
a ventilator and several communications
panels which not only
facilitate contact with the outer world,
other planets and international parliament
but also with 'the future' and
'women'! The interior is decidedly
crowded. Forty years later, pictures in
the popular and architectural press
showed futuristic environments more
sparsely furnished-one piece of furniture
might have been a bed as well as a settee
and a light source-and these interiors
tended to have curved walls. They too
had consoles with buttons to be pressed
for projecting images, playing music and
external communications. Unlike in the
room by A.M. Low, there were no toys,
no children and nobody over the age of
35. Again there was no art and there were
no books, but the difference between
1925 and 1965 was that the habitats
depicted in 1965 were designed by artists
and architects and not by builders or
inventors. Art and non-art seemed to
become increasingly interchangeable, and
so there seemed little point in incorporating
art into something that in so
many ways already was a work of art.
This suggests an interesting problem. If
future environments have no art, where
should future art be housed? One assumes
that future art would involve technologies
similar to those of the environments
themselves and would inevitably include
machines.
The only obvious conclusion is that
machine art must be destined for the
museum because futuristic interiors have
made no provision for it. The walking
and music-playing sculptures of
Englishman Martin Riches will have to
confine themselves either to galleries or to
the stage. The personalities with which
they are endowed suggest that they
belong to a generation after Tinguely's
machines. They produce their own music,
which they sometimes play together with
human musicians. For this they require a
spacious and a neutral setting. They
include percussion installations, music
machines, drawing machines and walking
machines. Each category is distinctive.
One walking machine, the Rotater, has a
body that revolves around its own axis
and takes small delicate steps (Fig. 2).
Another moves forward like a person on
crutches and still another like a caterpillar.
The music machines do not always
play melodies. One, for instance, is a
clicking machine with ratchet wheels
which provide 16 rhythmic possible
combinations. The machine selects seven
at random with each change announced
by a loud click. The final click is followed
by a coda.
The machine-sculptures by Martin
Riches are like performers (Fig. 3);
Richard Kriesche's machine-sculpture
WorldModelis like a metaphorical clock.
It consists of two industrial robots which
alternately perform identical tasks (Fig.
4). As each robot completes a series of
movements, it presses a button which
activates the second robot which, in turn
launches into the same routine. This
continues indefinitely. WorldModel refers
to two things. First, the activity is without
visible purpose. Second, Kriesche reminds
us through the repetitive actions of the
robots that life is made up of the same
rituals, endlessly repeated. They appear
different because they are done by
different groups of individuals and
because the memory of those who
theoretically could remember blurs with
time.
Most art machines are the artists'
assistants and must perform in a manner
prescribed by their makers. In the case of
Harold Cohen, the machine changes its
status by becoming a student with his/her
own incipient ideas. In this instance, it is
the machine, or rather the program, that
is learning to produce works of art.
Cohen's program, AARON, has passed
through various developments during the
past 14 years and is now capable of
producing drawings, one after another, of
considerable variety and interest (Fig. 5).
While a pen-holding cart manoeuvres
about a large sheet of paper, its position
and information about the placing of
lines are continuously fed back to the
computer. The program assesses what
has been done and either continues or
finishes the drawing. Each picture has a
discernible character in the disposition of
forms as well as in their complexity and
their density. Sometimes AARON's
pictures are crowded, sometimes they are
surprisingly sparse. The program incorporates
information about the laws of
perspective and various technical constraints,
e.g. that a line/shape hidden
behind another shape must be invisible.
AARON's output is clearly recognisable
as the work of an individual producing a
series of variations on a theme. AARON
is young-only 14-but, even though 14
years is a long span in machine-time, he is
so far the sole exponent of the group that
could be said to be producing its own
pictures. To my knowledge, no other art
students exist in this category.
AARON's pictures are made according
to human aesthetic criteria. Some of them
are almost figurative (Fig. 6). Whatever
his future, AARON is still entirely under
the influence of his professor and what is
currently the lingua franca in Western
late twentieth-century art. We can only
assume that in due course machines may
decide to produce their own machine art,
and incorporating images of machines or
their programs could be the first sign of
Reichardt, Machines and Art 371

their self-interest. Taking this possibility
to a logical conclusion, humans face a
problem. How will they be able to
recognise what, among all the machineproduced
works, is a real work of art
according to machine criteria? M.J.
Rosenberg has given some considerable
thought to this problem in his book The
Cybernetics of Art: Reason and the
Rainbow [6]. His solution is that one
would have to get another similar
machine to evaluate the products of the
first machine which claims to be
producing works of art. The first machine
must not be aware that it is being assessed
by the second lest it try to please by
producing works of the sort that might be
thought fashionable or indulge in some
jokes that the human observers may not
understand. In these circumstances, it
would be best for humans to become
meta-observers and solely to watch the
reactions of the second machine. This
procedure would enable humans to
discover if the works of the first machine
were indeed works of art. The author of
this thesis does not discuss the possibility
that the second machine could either lie
when making its evaluation or assure us
that something is art when it is not, for
fear of being misunderstood or of causing
disappointment to its human audience.
Machines too may have problems in
deciding where art ends and environment
starts. They too may have to adjust their
criteria to social pressures. One hundred
machine generations hence, when
machines no longer work because nothing
more remains to be done, it might be
possible to assume that all works done by
all machines are works of art whether
good, bad or indifferent. What else could
they be? It will then be time for some new
incumbent to start making art as distinct
and separate from anything and everything
else. Naturally, the problems of
recognition would start all over again.
REFERENCES AND NOTES
1. Pataphysics is the science of imaginary
solutions, as defined by Alfred Jarry.
2. Paul B. Haviland, Statement in 291, Nos.
7-8 (September-October 1915).
3. Francis Picabia, "French Artists Spur
On American Art", The New York Times
(24 October 1915).
4. Lewis Mumford, Technics and Civilization
(New York: Harcourt, 1934) p. 363.
5. A.M. Low, The Future (London:
Routledge, 1925).
6. M.J. Rosenberg, The Cybernetics of Art:
Reason and the Rainbow (New York:
Gordon and Breach, 1983).
Call for Papers
Visual Art and Robotics
The editors of Leonardo invite artists and others to submit manuscript proposals on work
involving robots and contemporary art for publication consideration.
Work should involve the use of actual robots and machines, or use of robots to produce
visual art, sculpture, or performance art. Scientists and engineers are also invited to
submit articles describing developments in artificial intelligence, robotics, telematics,
control theory, and other technical fields which may be of interest to artists. Art historians
and theoreticians may submit articles tracing the role of the machine in art.
Manuscript proposals should be less than two pages and include up to two illustrations to
give the editors concrete information on the proposed manuscript.
Editorial guidelines may be found on the outside back cover of the journal. Additional
information may be obtained from the main editorial office: Leonardo, 2020 Milvia St.,
Berkeley, CA 94704, U.S.A.
Articles published in Leonardo in this area include:
* NORMAN ANDERSEN: Phonic Sculpture in Mechanically Activated Musical Instruments
in a Sculptural Context, 19, No. 2, 99 (1986).
* LEONARD HUTCHINSON with ROBERT CLEMENTS: Viewer Sensitive Electronically
Controlled Clay Sculpture, 19, No. 2, 127 (1986).
* TIMOTHY RICHARDS: Performing Objects: Technology Without Purpose, 17, No. 4,
237 (1984).
* STEPHEN WILSON: Environment-Sensing Artworks and Interactive Events: Exploring
Implications of Microcomputer Developments, 16, No. 4, 188 (1983).
* JACK VAN ARSKY: Animated Sculptures: Figuration and Movement, 15, No. 4, 306
(1982).
* CHARLES ALEXANDER: Sculpture: Science Fiction Machines, 9, No. 2, 119 (1976).
Copies of these articles or any articles published in Leonardo are available at a nominal
cost by writing to ISAST, P.O. Box 421704, San Francisco, CA 94142, U.S.A.
372
Reichardt, Machines and Art