Information Technology Reference
In-Depth Information
This first result occurred at the very beginning of computer art. It is, of course,
of no surprise to any graphic artist. He has experienced the same in his daily work:
with simple technical means he achieves complex aesthetic results. The rediscovery
of such a generative principle in the domain of algorithmic art is remarkable only
insofar as it holds.
However, concerning the issue of creativity, some observers of early algorithmic
experiments in the visual domain immediately started asking where the “generative
power” (call it “creativity”, if you like) was located. Was it in the human, in the
program, or even in the drawing mechanism? I have never understood the rationale
behind this question: human or machine—who or which one is the creator? But
there are those who love this question.
If you believe in the possibility of answering such a question, the answer depends
on how we first define “creative activity”. But such a hope usually causes us to
define terms in a way that the answer turns out to be what we want it to be. Not an
interesting discussion.
When Georg Nees had his first show in February 1965, a number of artists had
come to the opening from the Stuttgart Academy of Fine Art. Max Bense read his
text on projects of generative aesthetics, before Nees briefly talked about technical
matters of the design of his drawings and their implementation. As he finished, one
of the artists got up and asked: “Very fine and interesting, indeed. But here is my
question. You seem to be convinced that this is only the beginning of things to
come, and those things will be reaching way beyond what your machine is already
now capable of doing. So tell me: will you be able to raise your computer to the
point where it can simulate my personal way of painting?”
The question appeared a bit as if the artist wanted to give a final blow to the pro-
grammer. Nees thought about his answer for a short moment. Then he said: “Sure,
I will be able to do this. Under one condition, however: you must first explicitly tell
me how you paint.” (The artists appeared as if they did not understand the subtlety
and grandeur, really: the dialectics of this answer. Without saying anything more,
they left the room under noisy protest.)
When Nietzsche, as one of the earliest authors, experienced the typewriter as a
writing device, he remarked that our tools participate in the writing of our ideas.
9
I read this in two ways. First, in a literal sense. Using a pencil or a typewriter in
the process of making ideas explicit by formulating them in prose and putting this
in visible form on paper, obviously turns the pencil or typewriter in my hand into
a device without which my efforts would be in vain. This is the trivial view of the
tool's involvement in the process of writing.
The non-trivial view is the observation that my thinking and attitude towards the
writing process and, therefore, the content of my writing is influenced by the tool
I'm using. My writing changes not only mechanically, but also mentally, depending
on my use of tools. It still remains
my
writing. The typewriter doesn't write anything.
9
Friedrich Kittler quotes Nietzsche thus: “Unser Schreibzeug arbeitet mit an unseren Gedanken.”
(Our writing tools participate in the writing of our thoughts.) (Kittler
1985
), cf. Sundin (
1980
).