Alex McLean

The striated and the smooth

Digital means discrete, and analog means continuous. Digital and analog support each other, as
Deleuze and Guattari put it:

… in the case of the striated, the line is between two points, while in the smooth, the point is between two lines.

When we speak, we articulate our vocal tracts in analog movements, creating discontinuities that the listener is able to segment into the digital phonemes, diphones and words of language.  Language is digital, as is clear when we write it with a typewriter.  The analog arrangement of ink on paper is woven into a perfectly discrete sequence of symbols, as our eyes saccade across them.  But we reconstruct the analog movements of speech when we read; even when we read silently, we add paralinguistic phrasing in our heads to aid processing of the text.  This analog phrasing is important, for example modulating the tone of voice with slight sarcasm tone can completely negate the meaning of what is said.  Prosody can convey far subtler emotional feeling that this.

A great deal of what is called `digital art’ is not digital art at all, and it seems many digital artists seem ashamed of the digital.  In digital installation art, the screen and keyboard are literally hidden in a box somewhere, as if words were a point of shame.  The digital source code behind the work is not shown, and all digital output is only viewable by the artist or a technician for debugging purposes.  The experience of the actual work is often entirely analog, the participant moves an arm, and observes an analog movement in response, in sight, sound or motor control.  They may choose to make jerky, discontinuous movements, and get a discontinuous movement in response, but this is far from the complexity of digital language.  This kind of installation forms a hall of mirrors.  You move your arm around and look for how your movement has been contorted.

This is fine, computers allow abstractions away from particular perceptual modes and senses, and so are quite good at translation between modes.  But computers really excel as machines for formal language, and so I hope the practice of hiding linguistic computation in `digital art’ will be a short lived fashion.

Ian Bogost has an interesting argument that computer languages are not languages,  but systems.

He starts off arguing that learning a programming language shouldn’t meet a curricular requirement for learning a natural language.  That’s a fair argument, except he does so on the basis that computer languages are not languages at all.

”the ability to translate natural languages doesn’t really translate (as it were) to computer languages”

It clearly does translate.  You can either translate literally from C to Perl (but not really vice-versa), or idiomatically.  It’s straightforward to translate from C to English, but difficult to translate from English to C.  But then, it’s difficult to translate a joke between sign and spoken language; that doesn’t mean that sign language isn’t a language, indeed sign languages are just as rich as spoken ones…  The experience of signing is different from speaking, and so self-referential jokes don’t translate well.

We can approach translating from English to C in different ways though.  We can model the world described in a narrative in an object oriented or declarative fashion.  A human can get the sense of what is written in this language either by reading it, or perhaps by using it as an API, to generate works of art based on the encoded situation.  Or we could try to capture a sense of expectation in the narrative within temporal code structure, and output it as music.

From the comments:

”If we allow computer languages, we should allow recipes. Computer codes are specialized algorithms. So are recipes.”

This seems to be confusing utterances with languages.  Recipes are written in e.g. English.  Computer programs are written in e.g. C.

“[programming code is] done IN language, but it ISN’T language”

You could say the same of poetry, surely?  Poetry is done in language, but part of its power is to reach beyond language in new directions.  Likewise code is done in language, but you can also do language in code, by defining new functions or  parsing other languages.

The thing is that natural languages develop with a close relationship with the speaker, words being grounded in the human experience of their body and environment, and movements and relationships within it.  Computer languages aren’t based around these words, but we can still use the same symbolic references by using those words in the secondary notation of functions names and variables, or even by working with an encoded lexicon such as wordnet as data.  In doing so we are borrowing from a natural language, but we could just have easily used an invented language such as Esperanto.  Finally the language is grounded in the outside world when it is executed, through whatever modality or modalities its actuators allow, usually vision, sound and/or movement.

… replacing a natural language like French with a software language like C is a mixed metaphor.

Discussing computer language as if it were natural language surely isn’t a mixed metaphor, if anything it’s just a plain metaphor.  But both have strong family resemblances, because both are languages.

The claim that computer languages are not languages reads as an attempt to portray computer languages as somehow not human.  Get over it, digital computation is something that humans do with or without electronic hardware, we can do it to engage fully with all of our senses, and we can do it with language.  Someone (who I keep anonymous, just in case) said this on a mailing list recently:

“Having done a little bit of reading in Software Studies, I was surprised by just how many claims are invalidated with a single simple example of livecoding.”

I think that this is one of them.

At least in my world, it has become normal and expected for deadlines to be extended by around a week. The only explanation given is something like ‘numerous requests by authors’. However I get the strong impression that the paper committees always intended to extend the deadline, and built it into their only schedules. So many conferences do this now that it is expected; I suspect that if a conference didn’t, they would get very few submissions.

There are particular conference seasons, and so often deadlines fall around the same date. This uncertainty can cause a lot of scheduling problems. It can also annoy those organised folks who work to original deadlines.

Most recently, a Monday deadline extension to the following Friday wasn’t announced until the Friday before. Until it was announced, I was wondering how much time I would be able to spend with my family over that weekend. To get around this kind of thing a couple of times, I have written to paper chairs a week or so before a deadline, politely asking whether their deadline will be extended, saying I have a tricky schedule. This worked once, although the other time I didn’t get a reply (unsurprisingly, the workload of a paper chair is unenviable).

So I propose a different approach; that deadline extensions are announced alongside the original deadlines, in the original call for proposals.

Obviously this makes no sense, but we (Nick Collins, Thor Magnusson and I) are trying it anyway in our call for video submissions, and it’ll be interesting to see how well it works. By pre-announcing the extension but being vague about what it will be, hopefully people will put the original deadline in their calendars and work to that. However while doing tricky scheduling they’ll be able to keep the extension in mind and avoid unwarranted stress…