Computer Films

John Whitney: Composing an Image of Time

"My computer program is like a piano. I could continue to use it creatively all my life."

The  foremost  computer-filmmaker  in the  world  today,  John  Whit­ ney has for more than thirty years sought new language  through technological resources beyond human capacity. He has, however, remained  resolutely  "humanist"  in his approach,  constantly  striving to reach deep emotional awarenesses through  a medium essentially austere   and   clinical.  He  has  realized   his  goal  to  a  remarkable degree, yet he would be the first to admit that there is a long way to go. "Computer graphic  systems," he has said, "present  an opportu­ nity to realize  an art of graphics  in motion with potentials  that  are only now conceivable and have never been explored."
In his essay "Systems Esthetics," Jack Burnham  observed:  "Scien­
tists and technicians are not converted into artists, rather the artist becomes a symptom of the schism between art and technics. Pro­ gressively, the need to make ultrasensitive  judgments as to the  uses of technology  and  scientific information  becomes  'art'  in the  most literal  sense."24  Whitney  is making  those  judgments  with  a power­ ful extension of his brain.
Following   studies   at   Pomona   College   in  California,   Whitney
spent a year in Europe where he studied photography and musical composition. In 1940 he began specializing  in concrete  designs in motion,  working  with  his  brother  James  on  animated  films which won first prize at the first Experimental Film Festival  in Belgium in
1949.
Early  in  the  1950's  he  experimented  with  the   production  of
16mm. films for  television  and  in 1952  wrote,  produced, and  di­
rected  engineering   films  on  guided   missile  projects  for  Douglas Aircraft. He was a director  of animated  films at UPA in Hollywood for one year. The title sequence  for Alfred  Hitchcock's Vertigo was
24 Jack  Burnham,  "Systems Esthetics,"  Artforum  (September,  1968),   pp.
30-35.

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208   Expanded Cinema

among the  work he produced  in association with  Saul Bass during this period.  Following  that  he  directed  several  short  musical films for CBS television, and in 1957 worked with Charles  Eames  assem­ bling a seven-screen  presentation  for the  Fuller  Dome  in Moscow. Each screen was the size of a drive-in movie screen.
In 1960 Whitney  founded  Motion  Graphics  Inc.,  producing  mo­ tion-picture  and  television  title  sequences  and  commercials.  Much of  this  work  was  done   with   his  own  invention,   a  mechanical analogue computer for specialized animation with typography  and concrete design. In 1962 he was named Fellow of the Graham Foundation for Advanced Study in the Fine Arts. Finally, after approximately a decade, he found himself free once again to begin experimenting   with  less  commercial,  more  aesthetic,  problems  of motion graphics.
The analogue  computer  work gained Whitney  a worldwide  repu­
tation,  and  in the  spring  of 1966 International Business  Machines
became the first major corporation  to take an "artist in residence" to explore the aesthetic  potentials  of computer  graphics. IBM awarded Whitney  a continuing  grant  that  has resulted  in several significant developments  in the  area of cybernetic  art. Whether  working  with hand-drawn animation  cards  or highly  abstract  mathematical  con­ cepts, Whitney  has always displayed  an artist's intuition  and a tech­ nologist's discipline. He is a man of tomorrow in the world of today. The  history  of  cybernetics   reached   a  milestone  during   World War  II with the development  of guidance  and  control mechanisms for antiaircraft artillery.  Two men riding  a telescope  table  sighted enemy  aircraft   and  followed   their   penetration  into   the   battery range. Selsyn motors in the  gun-director  mechanism  automatically aimed an entire  battery  of guns while analogue  computers  set fuse times  on  explosive  shells  and  specified  true-intercept  trajectories from  data  fed  into  the  ballistics  equation  from  movements  of the
operators.
An M-5 Antiaircraft  Gun Director  provided  the  basic machinery for Whitney's  first mechanical  analogue  computer  in the late 1950's. This complex instrument  of death  now became  a tool for producing benevolent   and   beautiful   graphic   designs.   Later   Whitney   aug­ mented  the  M-5 with  the  more sophisticated  M-7, hybridizing  the machines  into  a  mammoth  twelve-foot-high  device  of  formidable

John Whitney working  with his mechanical analogue computer. Photo: Charles Eames.

210   Expanded Cinema

complexity upon   which most  of  the  business of  Motion Graphics was conducted for many  years.
Similar  to  the  analogue device built   by  Whitney's brother James for  the   production of  Lapis, but   far  more   complex, the   machine consists  of primary, secondary, and  tertiary rotating tables, cam systems,  and   other  surfaces  for   pre-programming  of  image   and motion sequences  in   a  multiple-axis environment.  Whitney's  son John,  Jr., an electronics genius  who  improved his father's device as a teen-ager by  rewiring and  implementing its  circuitry, explains the basic functions of the machine:

There's  not  one function  that  isn't  variable.  The  whole  master  table rotates and so does every part  in it, as well as moving laterally,  horizon­ tally, and in some cases vertically. The camera moves in the same way, completely independent of the rest of the machine,  or in synchronization with it. I don't  know how many simultaneous  motions can be happening at once. There  must be at least five ways  just to operate  the shutter.  The input  shaft  on the camera  rotates  at 180  rpm,  which  results in a photo­ graphing  speed  of about  8 fps. That  cycle time is constant,  not variable, but  we  never  shoot  that  fast.  It  takes  about  nine  seconds  to  shoot  one frame because the secondary  rotating  tables require  nine seconds to make one revolution. During  this nine-second  cycle the tables  are spinning  on their own axes while simultaneously  revolving around  another  axis while moving horizontally across the range of the camera, which itself may be turning or zooming up and down. During  this operation  we can have the shutter  open all the time, or just at the end for a second or two, or at the beginning, or for half of the time if we want to do slit-scanning.

The  elder  Whitney actually never  produced a complete, coherent movie  on  the  analogue computer  because he  was  continually  de­ veloping and   refining the   machine while   using   it  for  commercial work.  It remained for  his sons  John  and  Michael to  make full  crea­ tive   use  of  this   device that   had   dominated  their  childhood from earliest recollection. However, Whitney did  assemble a visual  cata­ logue   of  the   effects   he  had   perfected  over   the   years. This   film, simply  titled Catalogue, was  completed in 1961 and  proved to be of such  overwhelming beauty that  many  persons still  prefer Whitney's analogue work over his digital computer films.
The  machine, like  the  digital computer, not  only  facilitated the
quick and  effortless rendering  of  complex geometrical shapes and

Lett: Camera zoom lens (center) focusing into primary  rotating  table of Whitney mechanical analogue  com­ puter. (Photo: Charles Eames) Below: Whitney places design template  into computer table.

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John Whitney: Catalogue. 1961.16mm. Color. 7 min. "Floral patterns curl as though they were actually  organic growths  ..."

motions,  but  also  actually  helped  realize  certain  graphics  possibil­ ities that  otherwise might  not be conceivable to the  artist  untrained in mathematical concepts.  Catalogue is a brilliant  display of floral patterns  that  seem to bloom and  curl  as though  they  were  actually organic   growths   photographed  in  time-lapse.  Also  they   have   a natural  quality  quite  unlike  traditional single-frame animation  and are far  more  convincing.  Elsewhere in  the  film, neon-like  coils ex­ pand  and  contract, throwing out  bursts  of pastel  color. Dish-shaped curvilinear   disks  wobble   and   strobe,   stretch   and   contract   in  a variety  of unexpected ways. Syncretistic dot-pattern fields collect together   as  in   Lapis.  Strings   of  green   light   perform   seemingly impossible  transformations into  endless  intertwined  configurations of  baffiing  optical   complexity.   Words   assemble   and  disintegrate, defying  logic. Floral  ringlets  pop  like neon  confetti,  showering the screen with flak bursts of color.
Unlike the  digital  computer, which  requires  only  a mathematical code as its input,  the mechanical analogue  computer as used by the Whitneys  requires  some form  of input  that  directly  corresponds  to
the  desired   output. That  is,  at  least  a  basic  element   of  the  final image  we  see  on  the  screen  must  first  be  drawn,   photographed, pasted  together, or  otherwise   assembled   before  it  is fed  into  the analogue  equipment for processing.  This  means that  a great  deal of handicraft still is involved,  though  its relation  to the final output  is minimal.  The original  input  may be as simple  as a moire pattern or as  complex  as  a  syncretistic field  of  hand-painted dots-but  some form  of  handmade or  physically   demonstrable information is  re­ quired  as input  in the  absence  of conventional computer software.

GENE:   You're among  the  few  people  in the  world  working  to bring the public into a closer understanding of technology on a basis we can  relate  to-a movie,  pretty  colors,  things  that  move.  It's  very important.
JOHN:  Just  after  World  War  II  my  brother   and  I  were  constantly excited  by  a  future world.  We  sort  of  expected   it  to  happen before the 1940's were past. We thought nothing  of taking  on the formal  and  creative  problems  of  a totally  technological medium such as the cinema.  It's taken twenty  or thirty  years to realize that the  technology we  looked  upon  as  being  the  technology of  the

future   was  far  from  it.  Instead   of  being  the  camera,  the  most important  piece  of  instrumentation is  the  computer   itself.  Still ahead  is considerable disciplined  study  to gain  understanding  or control  of this kind of formal  dynamic  material  so that  it can be human.  That's  the  whole  problem.  The  light  show  people  are doing  a  lot  of  wonderful  sensory  things,  but  I  feel  there  must come  insight  into  what  is not  seen  now-an  understanding of a whole  new  area  of conceptual form.  The  light  show  people  are doing something  like an infant  pounding on the  keys of a piano. Sometimes it can be very creative  and terribly  exciting. But in the long  run,  looking at it as an  adult,  it's  just banging  away  at the piano without training. We know that someone who plays a Bee­ thoven  sonata  maybe  has  been  sharpening his  sensibilities   and manual  dexterity   with  that  one  piece  for  seven  or  eight  years. That's  the way I see the relationship between  computer  aesthetics and contemporary light shows.

GENE:    Where   would   you  place   yourself   today   concerning   what you've done and what you'd like to do?
JOHN:  In  one  sense  I'm  just beginning.  In  another  sense  my work with the digital computer  is a culmination  of all my interests  since the 1940's because  I found  myself forced  into the  techniques  and mechanisms  of cinema.  I  got to  work  with  the  digital  computer thanks to the fact that  I developed  my analogue  equipment to the point that I had. As I continued to develop  the machine  I realized it was really a mechanical  model of the electronic  computer.  Any­ one  experimenting with  the  medium   of  cinema  as  opposed   to working in the industry  is forced  into a direct  confrontation with his technology.   People  tried  all  different  techniques   of  abstract cinema,  and  it's strange  that  no one has really  invented  anything that  another  experimental filmmaker can take up and use himself. It's  starting   afresh  every  time.  Jim  and  I  were  trying  to  make something  and there  wasn't  a machine  available  for making it. So my  work  has  come  to  fruition   because  the  past  thirty  years  of search  for  instrumentation has  culminated in  the  present   avail­ ability of the computer.  On the other  hand  I'm only beginning  to use it. We all are. It's the same with those who are beginning to use the computer to compose music-they're at a very primitive  stage today.

Permutations   (see  color  plates), the  first cohesive  film to  come out of Whitney's  work with  the digital  computer,  is a dazzling  dis­ play of serial imagery  that  seems to express specific ideas  or chains of  ideas  through  hypersensitive manipulation of  kinetic  empathy. The patterns, colors, and motions dancing  before us seem to be addressing  the inarticulate conscious  with  a new  kind of language. In  fact,  Whitney   thinks  of his work  precisely  as  the  development of  a new  communicative mode.  Speaking  of  Permutations, he  ex­ plains:

The film contains various types of dot patterns which might be com­ pared to the alphabet. The patterns are constructed into "words," each having basically a two-hundred-frame or eight-second time duration. These words in tum can be fitted contextually into "sentence" structures. My use of the parallel to language is only partially descriptive; I  am moved to draw parallels with music. The very next term I wish to use is "counterpoint." These patterns are graphically superimposed over them­ selves forward and backward in many ways, and the parallel now is more with counterpoint, or at  least  polyphonic musical phenomena. Should it be called "polygraphic phenomena"?

Whatever   they're   called,  Whitney's   films are  impossible  to  de­ scribe with the archaic language  of the phonetic  alphabet. Circles, crescents,  quadrants, and  multiplex  forms  of  infinite  variety   and endless  motion  interact  serially,  and  cosmically,  until  one  is trans­ ported into a realm of expanded  consciousness that intuitively understands this  new  language.   It's  as though  the  very  essence  of the  idea  of  permutation  is  expressed  in  this  film,  as  though   the "word"  no longer  were  separate from  the  fact.  And  that's  exactly what  Whitney  has  done:  he's  merged  language with  what  it is in­ tended   to  express.  "Beautiful" seems  such  an  inadequate term  in this respect.
Before discussing  the film itself, it will be helpful  to understand
in some detail  how it was  made,  beginning  with  the  program  and
going on through the final stages  of photography and optical  print­ ing. This will be helpful  to readers  interested in  making  computer films, since  Whitney's   methods  and  working  conditions  are  those most likely  to be  available  to the  average  person-with the  excep­ tion of his own specialized film processing equipment.
Dr. Jack Citron  of IBM became  interested in Whitney's  work and
began  collaborating with  him  before  there  was  any  formal  IBM

support.  Dr. Citron  later was given formal  responsibility  for further work with Whitney under the IBM program, exploring the creative possibilities inherent  in the  IBM Model 360 computer  and the IBM
2250 Graphic  Display Console. It was Citron who wrote the original program   called   GRAF   (Graphic  Additions   to   Fortran),   which Whitney has been using since the spring of 1966.

CITRON:  One of the things  I was interested in doing was to set up a kind  of instrument which  would  buffer  the  computer  user from the  technical  details.  I  think  this  can  only  be  done  by someone who  understands both  areas.  The  line  of attack  in  my  program was to start  with  what's  in the  artist's  mind,  and  somehow  have him use a kind of mathematics which he learns by rote with a "teaching program,"  to  learn  to  express  what's  in  his  head  vis­ ually.  Once  such  a  program   is  written,   the  fact  that   the  pro­ grammer who wrote the algorithms knew what the artist needed enables  the artist to sit down and say the kind of things John says without  all  that  other  training.   I'm  very  happy  it  worked  that way. Certainly  in the future  one will need more of a mathematical­ logical  background than  artists  have  today.  But  you won't  need ten  years of schooling  in nuclear  physics.  The  thing  that  should be done is to develop  a scientific curriculum for the artist. I don't know of anyone seriously  considering  that,  but it should  be done.
WHITNEY:  Dr.  Citron  and  I talked  for some  time  before  I  actually began  working.  When  I first  began  to  realize  from  correspond­ ence  with  IBM  that  I  would  be  given  the  grant,  the  first  thing that  came to my mind was the question: would I be able to draw a free-hand line and somehow get that  into the  computer  as digi­ tal information  so I could  manipulate it?  I was presenting these ideas  in preliminary  talks  and  I was  told  that  anything  you  can define mathematically you can do with a computer  very easily. At first, having  flunked  mathematics consistently  all through  school, I was a bit horrified. And yet I began  to realize the great  breadth of elegance  in  simple  geometrical  graphics,  and  the  historic  re­ spect   geometry   has  enjoyed   as  a  graphic   form.  Slowly  these misgivings  about  having  to  define  things  in  mathematical  form died off. . . . Some people  in computer  work criticize  me for not being able to program  myself instead  of relying on someone  else.

Yet I've  used  this  one  program  for  more  than  three  years  and  I know that  it is still only fragmentarily explored.  In terms  of soft­ ware the  program  Dr.  Citron  developed  for me is like a piano.  I could continue  to use it creatively  all my life. But one program  is like one area of a total  palette.  Let's assume that  other  people  are going to develop other programs that will have another area of significance. Some of the ultimate  orchestrations to come in fifteen or twenty  years  will perhaps  involve  many  combined   programs.

The  GRAF  program  is based  on  a single  polar-coordinate equa­ tion  having  about  sixty parameters. In  preparation for  a display  of images  in  what  is called  the  "learning" stage  of  the  program,  the light  pen  is  used  to  select  numerical variables,   displayed   on  the CRT,  which  can  be  assigned  to any  of the  parameters of the  pro­ gram  to  determine a particular graphic  pattern. After  values  have been selected  for all parameters and the camera  is brought into play to record  the images,  control  of the  computer program  is by punch cards,  not  the  light  pen.  The  shutter  of the  computer camera  spe­ cially modified by Whitney and his son John is operated electrically, under   control   of  the   computer.  The   functions   of  opening   and closing  the  shutter   and   advancing  the  film  are  controlled   by  a separate program  in addition  to GRAF.
Three  types  of punch  cards are used during  filming for control  of
images,  and  are signified  as Identification Statements  (for  specify­ ing  particular curves ) , Parameter Statements (for  assigning  values to  the  curve), and  Frame   Statements  (for   control  of  successive displays). During  this  time  the  artist  interacts   with  the  computer through   the   Program   Function  Keyboard    ( PFKB),  part   of  the
2250's hardware. The  PFKB  is equipped with  thirty-six  sets of key­ switches and lights. The program  turns on light 1 as a signal to open the camera shutter.  Interface connections  between camera  and computer  include  feedback circuits  that  allow the  camera,  in effect, to respond  to computer  commands: thus  key 1 is depressed, enter­ ing 20 volts back into the computer and  pulsing  the camera  with 5.3 volts, which operates  one single frame  exposure. This is followed  by an exposure timing  loop in the program,  and subsequently light 2 is illuminated ordering the shutter  to close. Programmed logic decides whether  or  not  more  information is to be  displayed  for  this  same

frame  of film. When  the film frame  is to be advanced, light  3 goes on  and  the  next  curve  is computed and  displayed,   the  camera  is activated,  and so on.
The  35mm.  black-and-white negative  from  the  camera  is  proc­
essed normally  on  high-contrast stock  yielding  an  image  that  con­ sists of clear lines on a dense  black field. This film is threaded into the  projector  side  of  Whitney's   optical  printer,   which  has  several special  features: the  optical  axis of the  system  is vertical  with  the camera   looking  down   into  the  projector.   The   projector   itself  is mounted  on  a  compound   mill  table.  Thus  additional  translations and rotations  of a mechanical  nature  may be superimposed, and the camera  may be moved  along the  axis so as to provide  for an addi­ tional scaling  factor  of from .1 to 10. A stepping switch  circuit  and preset  frame  counter   allow  a  wide  range  of  skip-frame   ratios  to expand  editing  capabilities temporally.  For  Permutations  Whitney used little skip-framing,  but  quite  a bit of superimposition, slowing and speeding,  and forward  and backward  printing.
Set  to  a tabla  solo by  Balachander, Permutations  begins  with  a ring of white  dots  in a black  void,  with  individual white  dots  cir­ cumscribing  the  inner  circumference of the  ring. This  becomes  an oval  floral  pattern of  blue,  green,  and  pink  dots  moving  simulta­ neously clockwise and counterclockwise.
Two  factors  quickly  become  apparent: first,  the  neon-like  cold
scintillation  of the  image,  a result  of electrons  deflecting  traces  in the  cathode   phosphor   at  a  rate  of  30  cycles  per  second.  In  our fluorescent   world  of  neon  suns  and   video  eyes  this  scintillating glimmer more closely approximates daily experience than, say, the artificial arc lamp lighting of conventional movies.
Second,  is the  quite  noticeable seriality  of the  composition,  the
unified wholeness  of the statement, although  it is composed  of dis­ crete  elements.  In  defining  "serial" in this  context  I should  like to quote from art critic John Coplans:  "To paint  in series is not neces­ sarily to be serial. Neither  the number  of works nor the similarity  of theme  in  a  given  group  determines  whether   a  [work]   is  serial. Rather,  seriality  is identified  by a particular interrelationship, rigor­ ously  consistent,   of  structure  and   syntax:   serial   structures  are produced  by a single indivisible  process that  links the internal  struc­ ture of a work to that  of other  works within  a differentiated whole.

Dr. Jack Citron, IBM Los Angeles, selects numerical values for a typical  image, using the light pen at the 2250 Display Console.

While  a series may have any number  of works, it must as a precon­ dition  of seriality  have  at  least  two  . . . there  are  no  boundaries implicit   to  serial  imagery;   its  structures  can  be  likened   to  con­ tinuums   or   constellations   . . .  all   contemporary  usage   of  serial imagery. is without  either  first  or last  members.  Obviously  at  one point  there  had  to  be  a  beginning,   but  its  identity becomes  sub­ sumed   within   the   whole,   within   the   macrostructure.  The   same principle  applies  to the last member.  At any given point in time one work in a series stands  last in order  of execution,  but  its sequential identity  is irrelevant and in fact is lost immediately on the work's completion."25
It  is  this  seriality,   then,   that   identifies   Permutations   both   as
2 John Coplans, "Serial Imagery," Artforum (October, 1968), pp. 34-43.

"words" and "sentence  structures" as well as a complete  overall statement, which  is  the  meaning  of  the  title.  Whitney   speaks  of "graphic  integrity" in this  respect,  referring  to  the  mathematically
1  precise interrelationships between forms, colors, and movements.
At one point in the film there  is an exploration  of centrifugal and
centripetal  ring  movement   in  alternating  colors  and   dot-pattern fields.  This  becomes   an  extremely   dramatic  statement  in  which bright  emerald-green linear  figures sweep  the  inner  circumference of  a  white  ring  in  a  black  void.  The  action  is  asymmetrical,  not center-oriented, a fluid kind of motion  not restricted  to one point, a multiplex motion with no static elements, moving on a path  in space that approximates a trajectory.
This figure vanishes into infinity and there follows a series of superimpositions  that  fill  the  original   white   ring  with  variously­ colored  dot-pattern  fields.  Each  field  moves  into  the   ring  from different directions in the frame, rests within the ring for a moment scintillating   gently,  then  moves  out  of  the  frame  in  the  opposite direction  from which  it came, making room for another  dot-pattern field of  another  color  which  moves  in  simultaneously. Finally,  all colors  move  into  the  ring  simultaneously  from  all  sides,  forming circles  within  circles  all scintillating   smoothly  in  a floral  configu­ ration.

GENE:  You seem hesitant  or apologetic  using the  parallel  with  mu­
sical forms.
JOHN: I'm  wary  of it. I've  been  making  that  analogy  all along,  but I'm  aware  of the  pitfalls  of a lot of people  in history.  Da  Vinci talked  about  an art of color which would be dealt  with as musical tones.  Wilfred  and  Remmington  in  England   at  the  turn  of the century were building color organs. They were so hung up with parallels  with  music  that  they  missed  the  essence  of  their  me­ dium.  People  talk  about  abstraction in graphics  as being  cold or inhuman.  I  just don't  see that  at all. What  is a musical note? It's totally abstract.  That's  the essential point and that's  why I use the musical analogy.  The essential  problem  with my kind of graphics must  resemble  the  creative  problem  of melody  writing.  It is per­ haps  the  most  highly  sensitive  task  of  art,  involving  as it  does balance,  contrast,  tension,  and  resolution  all  brought   into  play

with minimum  expenditure. Music really is the  art  that  moves in time. The many statements  about  architecture being frozen music notwithstanding, here  we  are  truly  looking  at  another   art  that moves in time.  Someone  once  said  about  musical  compositions: "Time  and  tone  completely  fill each  other  . . . what  the  hearer perceives  in the  tones  and  rests of a musical  work is not simply time  but  shaped   and  organized   time  . . . so  the  conventional formula receives its final interpretation: music is a temporal  art because, shaping  the stuff of time, it creates  an image  of time." I like that  idea  very much, so I ask myself, what  can be essentially the image of time for the eye to perceive?

One such image in Permutations  involves bright  blue, green,  and red ellipses that  move in perspectival  space  from static  positions  at each side of the  frame,  growing  larger  as they  move alternately  to the center  and  back again, exchanging  positions. The feeling is pre­ cisely one of counterpoint and of temporal  experiences.
This sentence  structure becomes a white  ring spinning  rapidly  on
a  vertical  axis until  it  appears  to  be  a  group  of white  rings  in  a cagelike  configuration,  still spinning  on a polar  vertical  axis. Inside this cage appears  a similar  ring of elliptical  spheres,  emerald  green, revolving   on   a   horizontal   axis.  Finally,   the   whole  assemblage becomes   an  incredibly   beautiful   constellation   of  all  colors   and quickly runs through  all configurations  and movements  seen during the film. These  are seen moving around,  within,  and through  a total field of scintillating colors as the film ends.

GENE:  Which comes first, sound or image?
JOHN:   Image.  In  Permutations  the  sequences   and  colors  were  all done before I selected a piece of music, yet there are all these astonishing   relations  with  the  music.  That's   where   accident   is working in my favor. In many areas of art  and music it has been commonplace  for the  artist  to tell you there's  nothing  in his work that  doesn't  have  some  sort  of valid  relationship or  meaningful reason for being there. They've constantly sought to avoid arbi­ trariness-not accident: you can often  make an accident  turn  into a very wonderful  twist to new meaning. But the worst kind of arbitrariness  is when  a person thinks his own casual decisions are

great simply because  he's done it, because  he decided  to be arbi­ trary.  I expect  to  make  a lot  more  progress  in  the  direction  of having  more and  more levels of formal organization-therefore it should be more and more human and multistructured.
GENE:  In one sense you're in the forefront  of avant-garde art today, concerned  as it is with systems aesthetics,  scientific discipline, and so on. In  another  respect,  however,  you  do  seem  to  be  running against  the  grain  of a trend  toward  the stochastic  element,  espe­ cially in music, films, and theatre.
JOHN: It's a universal misunderstanding. At the Aspen Design Con­ ference in 1967, a scientist was describing  a problem scientifically, saying it could  be done  this way and that,  and  then  he said if it couldn't  be done  in such  a rigorous  way let's  do it  anyway  and that'll be art. Scientists very frequently get excited about becoming involved in art. And the very first thing that  comes to their minds is just to chuck out the whole discipline that  their entire  career is based on. They think if it's art, it's free. Anything that goes with random numbers is art; and anything that has to be worked out carefully so that  this goes here and this has got to go there, that's not art, that's  science. But for my money it's more important and difficult to get this here and that  there  in the area of art, because it involves much more than  just counting  numbers  and  making it mathematically  sound:   it's  got  to  be  intensely   and  intuitively sound.  That's  what  I'm  searching   for.  That's   what  I  mean  by structure.

James Whitney's Lapis: Cybernetic Philosopher's Stone
James   Whitney's   cybernetic   art   seems  totally   removed   from the  idyllic  scene  in  the  serene  Southern   California  garden  where he has developed ceramic handicraft to a fine art in days of quiet meditation.   Yet his  Lapis is  perhaps  the  most  beautiful, and  one of the most famous, of all computer  films. Like the work of his long­
time friend,  Jordan  Belson, they  represent  expanded  cjnema  iU-iSS widest   m  anin  : 	r  x·	· 	That itney  claims to  have  failed  in his quest  does not subtract  from
the archetypal eloquence  of his works. They  are  glowing testimony
to the  truth  of Herbert Read's  assertion  that  greatness  lies "in the

power  to  realize  and  even  to  forecast   the  imaginative needs  of mankind."
The  fundamental  imaginative need  of  mankind   today  is,  as  it always  has  been,  the  bridging   of  the  chasm  between   spirit  and matter.  Atomic science is moving us closer to that  realization.  But in the  words  of  Louis  Pauwels,  "just  as  science  without   conscience spells  ruin  for  the  soul,  conscience  without  science  means  defeat also." In  this  respect  Whitney  is a "scientist  of the  soul" like  the ancient alchemists in whose work he has found much inspiration.
Internationally  known   as  experimental  filmmakers   because   of
their  five  Film  Exercises  of  the  period  1941-44,  James  and  John Whitney  began  working  separately around  1945. "After  the  exer­ cises," James recalls, "the structure of my work was external,  follow­ ing pretty close to serial imagery concepts. The intent  was a unity of structure which  would  result  in a whole  experience.  The  structure was whole, and naturally it would relate to your own attempts  at wholeness: as you were more whole the structures you were dealing with  would  become  more  whole. Then  after  that  there  was  a long period  of development in  which  I  tried  to  make  exterior  imagery more  closely  related  to the  inner.  Those  early  images  just weren't relating  thoroughly to  my own  experiences  in  meditation, for  ex­ ample,  where  forms  are  breaking  up.  So I  reduced   the  structural mode  to  the  dot-pattern, which  gives  a  quality  which  in  India  is called the Akasha, or ether, a subtle  element  before creation  like the Breath of Brahma, the substance that  permeates  the universe  before it  begins  to  break  down  into  the  more  finite  world.  That  idea  as expressed through  the dot-pattern was very appealing to me."
Thus in 1950 Whitney  began  work on his first truly  personal  film, Y antra, an inspired  and  arduous  project, which  was to consume  ten years before  its completion.  Drawn  entirely  by hand  on small filing cards, it was an attempt  to relate  images to Yoga experiences.  ".  . . A Yantra  is an  instrument   designed  to  curb  the  psychic  forces  by concentrating them on a pattern, and in such a way that  this pattern becomes reproduced by the worshiper's  visualizing power. It is a machine  to  stimulate inner  visualizations,   meditations,  and  expe­ riences  .  . . when  utilized  in connection  with the  practice  of Yoga the  contents  of the  Y antra  diagram  represent those  stages  of con-

James Whitney: Lapis. 1963-66.
16mm. Color. 10 min. "A mandala that revolves eternally like the heavens."

Lapis:" . .. they manifest  as though out of the air itself, gathering and converging around a central sphere
... revolving  with implacable grace against the eerie drone of the tamboura."

sciousness   that   lead   inward   from   the   everyday   state   of  nai:ve ignorance  through the degrees  of Yoga experience to the  realization of the Universal Sel£."26
During  most of the ten-year  period  in which  James Whitney was laboriously  producing the  intricate images  of Y antra  by  hand,  his brother   had  developed the  analogue   computer, which  could  pro­ duce images of far greater  complexity  in a fraction  of the time.. After Yantra was finished the brothers  assembled  another  mechanical analogue   computer,  and   it  was  on  this  device   that   Lapis  was created.
In general, the term Lapis held the same meaning for the ancient alchemists that the mandala  holds for the Lamaist, Tantrist, Taoist, Hindu:  a  kind  of  "philosopher's  stone"  or  aid  to  meditation. In alchemical times,  and  later  during  the  period  of the  Rosicrucians, the  Lapis was felt to contain  a vital force or mystic power,  a center of  knowledge.   Hermes   asserted   that   the  Lapis  was  composed   of body, soul, and spirit, ". . . that thing midway between  perfect and imperfect bodies." Gnostic  philosophy  suggests  that  the  way  to the power of the Lapis is by a spiral or circumambulation, specifically, according  to  Jung,   "a  mandala   that   revolves   eternally   like  the heavens."
Whitney  began  work on  Lapis in 1963 and  completed it in 1966.
Much  of this  time  was  consumed,  however,  in the  construction of
the analogue  computer that  programmed the extremely intricate mandala-like structure of the  film. Thus  cybernetics assisted  Whit­ ney to return  through  the centuries  to the ancient  practice of syncre­ tism in his search for a more total vision.
The  opening  sequence of  Lapis  is startlingly beautiful:  a  pure
white  frame  into  which,  very slowly,  moves a ring  of thousands of tiny particles.  They  manifest  as though  out  of the  air itself,  gather­
ing  and   converging   around   a  central   sphere   of  light,   gradually tightening, growing  more complex, until they  become  a vast syncre­ tistic  mandala   of  intricate  geometrical patterns.  These  configura­ tions defy  definition  as they  revolve  with  implacable grace  against the eerie drone of a tamboura.
To  achieve  this  effect,  Whitney   hand-painted glass  plates  with
26  Heinrich   Zimmer,   Myths   and   Symbols   in   Indian   Art  and   Civilization
(Harper Torchbook;  New York: Harper  & Row, 1946), pp. 141-142.

fields of dot-patterns that began sparsely and collected  into high concentration  toward   the  center.   These  were  placed   on  rotating tables   beneath  a  vertically-mounted  camera.   The  tables  spun   on their  own  axes while  simultaneously revolving  around  another  axis, and at the same time moving horizontally  across camera  range.
At first  the  huge  mandala is a  monotone  beige  against  a  white field, then it becomes  a glowing red-orange and crystallizes  into thousands  of intricate modules,  each  containing a green  floral pat­ tern  inside  a diamond  configuration.  Forms  take  shape  and  vanish as the whole revolves majestically, its movement  accentuated by the sonorous  drone  of the  tamboura. Suddenly the  image  disintegrates into  a loose cloud  of red,  yellow,  and  orange  particles  that  solidify into the word  Lapis. This bursts  apart  slowly as the first beats of the tabla  are heard and a raga begins.
The  mandala   draws  away  from  the  camera   until  its  individual sections  are  no longer  distinguishable from  the  whole. It dissolves into  a  blue  multispoked  mandala  in  the  center   of  a  black  void, revolving  and  spewing  out  showers  of fine sparklike  particles  that fade and vanish. One seems to detect snowflake crystals, diamonds, molecular   clusters-but they're  transformed before  the  mind's  eye can  grasp   their   trajectory.  Later   we  see  starbursts  throwing   off showers  of  light,  spinning  around   dark  centers.   A  repeat   of  the opening  sequence is done in blue  and black-thousands of tiny blue particles   slowly   collecting   around   a  central   vortex.   For   a  split second  the particles  freeze  into diamond-like crystals  and  then  melt back into the syncretistic field. A vibrant  orange  sun shimmers  in blackness,  surrounded by a corona  of concentric rings, each  enclos­ ing a peacock floral pattern.
Finally  the  original  beige  mandala reappears and  spins  rapidly through  the  various  configurations  we've  seen  throughout the  film. Two  translucent  globes  within   a  blinding   white  center   begin  to stretch   apart   diagonally    across   the   frame,   creating  a  sense   of enormous  tension  and stress, shimmering, pulsating, until the final blackout.  This  was Whitney's way  of suggesting what  he calls "the last  breaking  or snapping, unable  to  reach  Samadhi. That  was  be­ cause  Lapis was  near  the  end  of  what  I  could  do.  The  machine restricted   me;  my  fantasies   couldn't   How.  Of  course  we're  in  the most primitive  stages  of cybernetic art, but  my inner  imagery  gave

way at the same time that  my outer  ability  to control the instrument broke down."
Whitney finds more  than  a casual  resemblance between Eastern philosophy  and  modern  science,  and  suggests  that  this  confluence may have a profound  effect on conventional notions  of art. "Only to a person  who has expanded his consciousness," he says, "is ordinary experience expanded. So it's  exciting  where  art  is going  in this re­ spect.  Art and  science  are  getting  much  closer  to  Eastern  thought. But  you'll  always find  those  who seek  to go beyond  any  language. Those are the people  whose eyes and  ears are really  open.  But they will come back,  and  they  will be totally  open  and very sympathetic to what  the artist  is doing, but they won't have the energy  to remain within that  confine of art.  Artists must in order  to create.  The  other man will see art as the great  play and fun that  it is, but  he won't  be able to put  that  same sort of intensity  into it as the  artist  does. The artist, in a sense, must keep  a lot of ignorance. To stay in the world you have to preserve  a certain  amount of ignorance.
"I  certainly  do  not feel  that  art  is dead.  But  when  you're  really involved with the thing  you want  to experience,  you stop conceiving it.  Art  finally  becomes  a  barrier   to  accepting what  is.  Art  stays within  its closed  circle and  reality  never  does. Art is all symbols of reality. Symbols are never going to free you. But it would  be foolish to say 'Stop  making  art.' That's  not what  I'm saying.  One should  be aware  of its  limitations,  that's  all. This  must  be  what  they  had  in mind when they said: 'Thou shalt not create graven images.'"

The Younger Whitneys: Children of the New Age

"An inadvertent spin-off from  technology will transform man into a transcendental being.   Nothing we  can  conceive  now  will  give  us  a  clue to  what  that  spin-off  will  be.  But  I suspect   that  vision  will  play  an  im­ portant role. The eye will have a lot to do with it."
JoHN WmTNEY,  }R.
If the  Starchild Embryo  of 2001 were  to  grow  up  as  a  human he'd  probably feel quite  at home with  the Whitney brothers. From earliest  childhood   the  future  has  been  their  way  of life. John,  Jr., Michael,  and  Mark  all were  born  well  after  World  War  II.  They were  raised   in  an  environment  of  science,  technology,  the   arts,

Eastern   philosophy.   John  Cage,   Buckminster   Fuller,   and  Jordan Belson have  been  their  houseguests. Their  eyes and  ears have  been nourished  by higher  orders  of sight  and  sound  than  most of us are able to conceive. At eighteen  John was filming slit-scan sequences, several  years  before  Stanley  Kubrick  discovered  the  technique. "I surpassed  Dad  when  I was about  eleven," says John,  who built  his father's   computer   camera  and  wired  an  analogue   computer   at  an age when most boys find model airplanes  challenging.
In 1965 the Whitney living room was transformed into a multiple­ projection    environment  with   seven   screens   and   ten   projectors mounted   on  two  levels.  At that  time  John  was  eighteen,   Michael
was  seventeen,  and   Mark   was  fourteen.  And   what   were   they thinking?

MICHAEL:  We  were  anxious  to  get  away  from  the  limitations  of a single screen.  Obviously  the answer  was multiple  screens.  As very young  children  we were  exposed  to the  films our  father  and  Jim had made. All of our lives we've been exposed to that  kind of non­ realist material.  We didn't  try to interpret them. We  just accepted them as films without  any other hangups. People call our films "abstract"  but   they're   not.   They're   concrete   films.  "Abstract" means  to make  an  abstraction from  something  concrete,  but  our films are concrete.  I can remember when  all the other  kids in the neighborhood would  go to  the  movies every  Saturday afternoon and our parents  wouldn't  let us go. There  was an obvious  reason of  course:   those  movies  were  absolute  trash.  John  and  I  were thinking  in terms  of "performance" films: not  just one strictly­ composed  film but  multi-images  whose relationships could  be im­ provised  in real time. You would "play" as you felt. We began  to envision  encompasing other  art  forms.  We  had  ideas  about  car­ tridge  loops  and  spontaneously interchangeable films. Some sys­ tem that  would  make possible  a real-time  film image composition, being able to change  a cartridge so you could compose spon­ taneously.

Also during  this period,  while  Michael  was studying calculus  and physics, John was completing his first computer film Byjina Flores, a pidgin-Spanish satirical  translation of "vagina  flowers." Though  he

has since  disowned  this film, it  remains  a beautiful optical  experi­ ence,  one  of  the  few  movies  that   might   stand   comparison    (in concept  if not in fact)   to the  Op  Art of Vasarely  or Bridget  Riley. John's father  had devised  a method  of scanning  an image through  a slit, which would guide  the phasing  relationship between  the image and  the  camera.  This  was  essentially  the  method   used  by  Doug Trumbull several years later for the Stargate  Corridor of 2001.
In  Byjina Flores,  filamented,   fluted  panels  of  neon-bright  red,
orange, and yellow shift rhythmically across the range of vision to produce   weird  perspectival illusions  and  kinetic  trajectories.  Ob­ jects, which seem to be giant walls of lightbulbs, warp,  wobble,  and dance, alternating colors stroboscopically. The effect approximates a kind of sculpture in time, a kinetic molding  of the temporal as well as the optical experience.

JOHN: It was an overall  pattern of moire dots  moving  with  a scan­ line  which  guided  the  phasing  between  the  moire  and  the  lens. The  artwork  was trucking  horizontally  while  the zoom was mov­ ing in and out to achieve the illusion of curvature, warps, and perspectives. My  idea  was  to  work  with  illusions  of  color  and retinal  persistence  of  images.  There's   one  point  where  it  only slightly works as I intended, so the film becomes a total failure for me.  We've  hardly  begun   to  scratch   the  surface   of  possibilities with the slit-scan. The computerized optical  printer  I've built will scan  consecutive  frames  of  a  whole  motion-picture sequence. I could've  had the whole 2001 setup  reduced  down to a small panel and  scanned   it  on  our  computer   and  come  up  with  the  same effect. In the  making  of Byjina Flores  and  all our  analogue  films there  are  parallels  with  the  way  one  programs  a digital  system, that  is, determining variable  values  in  a system  by  setting  cam rates  and  directions   which   are  linked   differentially   to  related functions  and amplitudes.

From September, 1966, to September, 1967, the brothers  staged several  multiscreen environmental shows  across  the  country.  For  a Grateful   Dead   concert  in  San  Francisco   they  worked  with  Tom DeWitt  and  Scott  Bartlett,  using eight  or nine screens  at angles to each  other.  At the  Center  for the Study  of Democratic Institutions

in Santa  Barbara, they staged  an environmental presentation using a truckload  of  equipment  including  speakers,   ten   projectors,    and dozens  of film loops  for  projection   on  five screens  that  they  con­ structed  at  the  site.  In  1967  they  were  given  a  building   on  the grounds  of the  Monterey  Pop  Festival  and  trained nine  projectors on three screens.  A day after  the festival  closed they were in Aspen, Colorado,  showing  their  work at an international design  conference.
By this  time  John,  Jr.,  had  made  more  than  5,000 feet  of  com­ puter  film out of which  came the extraordinarily beautiful, and  now famous,  triple-screen film that  remains  untitled  (see  color  plates). It  was premiered at  Expo  '67 in  Montreal  and  later  that  year  was shown  at  the  Museum  of  Modem  Art  in  New  York. The  film is a sequential triptych: it develops  in time and space,  exploring  the relationships  of  both   form   and   color,  visual   tensions,   rhythmic modes, and optical  illusions in a way that  relates  each  screen  to the other two with flawless exactitude.
It  is among  the  few  independently-produced  multiple-projection
films to  justify its own  multiplicity. Whereas most  multiple  projec­ tion  is  gratuitous  and  arbitrary,  the  Whitney film  is  a  cohesive whole, each element  accentuating and complementing the other  two in ways that  make the experience incomplete without all three  parts. The  flanking  images  are  identical,  though  reversed,  so as to frame the  center  screen  symmetrically, and  the  close  synchronization of form  and  color  among  the  screens  demands highly  controlled  pro­ jection conditions.
Like  most  Whitney films the  triple-screen film is set  to  an  East
Indian   sound   track.  It begins  with  circular   arrangements of  rose stems, the  halves of one circle split  between the  two end  screens  in burnt  sienna,  the  center  screen  yellow  ochre  with  a  complete  but smaller  circle  of stems  revolving  at  a faster  rate  than  its  counter­ parts.  What  we are seeing is actually  two views of one configuration divided  into  a triad.  As the  stems  revolve,  the  colors  change  from warm yellows to cool violets.
This  becomes  a vortex display  of concentric circles and squares endlessly  moving  into  the  frames  and  diminishing into  infinity  only to  be succeeded by  other  layers  of circles  and  squares  of different colors moving  in  unison.  In  this sequence the  image  split  between the two end screens  is different  from the  central  image  in color, but

Computer Filma   233

identical in design.  Once  again,  the flanking  images  are larger  than the center  image  and,  moving  in precise  synchronization, create  an optical  tension  that  induces  a strong  kinetic  empathy in the  viewer. The  colors alternate between  cerulean blue,  Mars red,  rose madder, and  black. A sense  of tension  and  vertigo  is established through manipulation of form and motion from screen to screen, while simultaneous  color  changes   create   their   own  "narrative" in  still another  nonverbal dimension.

GENE:  What  particular aesthetic,  if any,  did  you  follow  in  making this film?
JOHN:   When   I  was  eighteen  I  was  drawn   deeply   into   Eastern thought,  Jungian   psychology,   the  subconscious.  When   I  think about  the  time  when  I made  that  footage-trying to  understand what  happened-!became merely  an instrumentality in tune  with
a force, a creative  energy  force  which  expressed  itself. I was able
to make  the  films without  thinking  too  much  about  what  I  was doing. There  was  just this continuous How of energy  between  me, the  machine,   and  the  images.  But  the  machine   became   trans­ parent. I don't  think  I was conscious of any systematic manipula­ tion  or  exploration of a geometrical theme,  though it  is undeni­ ably in the film. I was  able  to be sort  of comprehensive when  I was making  the images, whereas  when  I made  the  machine  I had to  be  a  mechanical  engineer,   an  electronics  engineer,   and   an optical engineer.

The  relatively  rectangular imagery  of the  previous  sequence now becomes  a  series  of  ornate,   almost  baroque, circular  forms,  floral patterns, and  interconnected  rings,  all  moving  inward   at  various rates  to vanish  as other  rings  appear, and  so on. The  colors  at  this point are extraordinarily florid, ranging  the entire  spectrum in kaleidoscopic  brilliance and mosaic complexity.  The images  at times

John Whitney, Jr.: Untitled. 1967. 16mm. Triple-projection.
Color. 17 min. "A sense of vertigo  is established ... the images at times resemble gears, flowers,  cosmic  configurations
Shown are two three-screen "frames" from the film.

resemble  gears, flowers, cosmic configurations, and dancing optical ellipses.
There  is a brief  pause  and  the second  portion,  or "movement," of the film begins. Throughout this section the center  screen  explores variations   on  the  square,   the   circle,  and   the   triangle  while  the flanking  screens  run  through a dazzling  repertoire of optical  effects. These   include   mandala-like  configurations    around   which   sweep bright   fingers  of  light  in  mauve  and  violet,  bouncing  curvilinear dish-shapes,  starburst clusters,  and  clocklike metronomes  in flawless synchronization with the  music. The  archetypal mandala symbolism of "squaring the  circle" assumes  dominance in the final moments  of the  film  as  all  three   screens   accelerate in  a  symphony   of  color, design, and motion.
Today  John and Michael Whitney have become computer pro­ grammers,  working with digital computers  in addition to the com­ puterized, hybridized  optical   printer   and  the  analogue  computer. Like  John  Stehura,  whose  work  we  shall  discuss   later,   Michael Whitney is involved  in formulating new computer-language  systems specifically  for graphics  problems.  He speaks  of "graphic integrity," and   of  a  visual   language  that   would   approach  the   purity   and abstraction of music.  Like his father  and  brother, he maintains that such  a quantum leap  in the  manipulation of visual  graphics  is only now possible  because  of the digital  computer and its unprecedented powers.
One  of the  first efforts toward  this  goal is  Binary  Bit  Patterns,  a dazzling   exploration   of  archetypal  geometrical configurations that approaches defa vu.  The  film was made  on a PFR-3  programmable film  recorder   manufactured  by  Information International,  Inc.,  in Santa  Monica,  California. The  PFR-3  is a specialized visual sybsys­ tem driven  by the  Digital  Company's small PDP-9  computer. It is a
hybridized microfilm  plotting  system  built  specifically  for  reading film into  the  computer or  recording information on motion-picture film. There  are  16,000 possible  xy coordinate points  on  the  three­ inch face of the PFR-3's cathode-ray tube.  Produced with a program developed by one of the firm's employees,  Michael Whitney's Binary Bit  Patterns  provides  a deep  emotional experience despite  the  fact that  it  has  less  kinetic  activity  and  less  image  variation than  the films of his brother  or father.

Michael  Whitney: Binary Bit Patterns.
1969. 16mm. Color. 3 min. "Squadrons of polyhedral modules  come pul­ sating out of a black void  ..."

Perhaps  metamorphosis best  describes  the  effect  of this  film, in which  quiltlike  tapestries of polyhedral and  crystalline  figures  pul­ sate and multiply  with some kind of universal  logic. In effect, if not style, it is reminiscent  of Norman  McLaren's  Mosaic and  Brakhage's The horseman, the woman, and the moth. In the  McLaren  film, geometrical  clusters of dot-patterns collect and multiply  with mathematical precision.  In  Binary Bit  Patterns there  is  the  same sense  of  mathematical  play  although   it  is  not  as  discrete   as  the McLaren   film;  shapes  are  always  permutating into  other  shapes, and  an ornate,  almost  baroque, visual style softens  any mathemati­ cal dryness. It resembles  the  Brakhage  film because  of its  approxi­ mation  to what  Stan  calls "closed-eye  vision," the  patterns we see when  our  eyes  are  shut.  These  ornate  snowflake  crystals  flash  and multiply  before  us with  the  same  kind  of ghostlike  evasiveness  as the colors that  flicker across the retina  of our mind's eye. Squadrons of polyhedral modules  come pulsating  out of a black void, growing and  multiplying  until  the  screen  is  a  tapestry  of  intricate,  ever­ changing  image-color  fields.  The  impact  is enhanced  considerably by  an   extraordinary  guitar-tape   composition    by   Whitney    and Charles  Villiers.  Michael  not  only  talks  about  music,  he  composes and  plays  it  on  acoustical   and  electric   guitars.   As  with   Belson's work, it is difficult to distinguish  whether  one is seeing,  hearing,  or feeling Binary Bit Patterns.
Even  without   sound,  however,   the  film  is  extraordinarily  hyp­ notic. The  boys speak  of such imagery  as possibly developing into a kind of "kinetic  wallpaper," which  could be rear-projected onto  the translucent walls of a room  at  close range  in  ultra-high  resolution using large format film and special lenses. One would live in a home whose  very  walls  were  alive  with  silent  kinetic  activity-not  the shallow  flickering  of  present-day  color  organs   but  rather   "visual music" of the highest graphic integrity and psychic relevance.

GENE:  Do you think of the future in connection  with computers?
JOHN:  Well let's divorce  the  future  from technology  and talk about human  values.  I see the  nature  of things  today  in the  world  and there  seems  to  be  a strong  force  of discontent   and  evil.  And  I wonder  how can there  not be some counterbalancing force, some­ thing  that  can  apply  itself  to the  spirit  of man?  And  I  begin  to

The Whitney brothers. Left to right:  John, Jr., Mark, Michael. Photo: Gene Youngblood.

think  about  what  is the  meaning  of the  film work  I'm  doing?  I believe  it's possible  that  an inadvertent spin-off from technology will transform  man into a transcendental being. There  isn't much we can conceive now that  can give us a clue to how it will come about.  But I suspect  that  vision will play an important role. The eye will have  a lot  to do  with  it.  It  could  conceivably  be some external  thing,  which  metaphysically  will  affect  the  mind  and cause some transcendental experience.  So with  that  in mind  I've been thinking  of ways to integrate the realist image into the nonobjective image so that a synthesis will evolve, a cinematic experience  which might contribute to an evolutionary  transforma- tion of man's thought  processes.
MICHAEL:  It's very effective to use a realist  image  for its nonobjec­ tive values. You're using it for its form, and if the form happens  to be human  it's evocative  and easily digested.  The whole idea  is to work with the imagery  and to develop  total and complete  control through  structuring, once you have the ability to control the prob-

lems with the equipment. Man has not yet learned  to master tools that  will  express  as much  eloquence   and  latitude as  his imagi­ nation.
JOHN: I'm not suggesting  that  the films as we know them today will be the releasing force. We don't know how to integrate realist and nonobjective images effectively yet. But I think our computerized optical  printer   will  help  show  the  way.  The  use  of  the  realist image  is  just  a  basis,  a  starting   point.  Working   with   optical scanning  you transform  the images,  and this seems to be a key to bringing   nonobjective   and  realist   imagery   together.   And  why bring  them  together?  Because  it  may  lead  to  new  insights  and new experience.
GENE: What sort of new experience?
JOHN:  Well  of course  I  don't  know.  But  I've  been  thinking  about dreams.  Why  is it  difficult for  a  person  to  understand his  own dreams?  Why  don't  people  know  what  their  dreams  are  telling them?   Why   does   a  person   have   to   go  to  someone   else-an analyst-to know about  his own personal  dreams,  which someone else can't  possibly  understand? Why  don't  dreams  reveal  them­ selves to us naturally  as part of daily experience?  Now maybe this "new experience" I'm wondering  about  will be the point in evolu­ tion  when  man  reaches  that  level  of sophistication   as a sentient being. I believe the analyst is serving a function  now which won't be  needed  in  the  future.   Everything we  know  now  in  the  "ra­ tional"  world will be subsumed  in the  new knowledge  or wisdom of  the  future.   I  think  parapsychology, extrasensory   perception, and  related  phenomena   certainly  cannot  be  ignored  as possibil­ ities. So in terms of our film work, the only way it may have some relevance to future  consciousness is through  problems  of formal design.   Not  the  technical   things   we're  doing,   just  the   design problems.  In  other  words,  sparking  an  inner  revolution  through exterior manipulation. The high state we achieve through  LSD or marijuana  today  is insightful  to the  extent  that  it may be similar to  what  man  will  feel  on  a  daily  basis  in  the  future   without exterior  manipulation.  This  state  has  already   happened  in  the East-not in the  Occident  because  it's  not  part  of our  heritage­ but  it has happened with the Yogis and so on, and  it's coming to the West through  technology.

GENE:  Perhaps  this simultaneous awareness  of inner  and outer  space is  the  beginning   of  that   new  experience   you're  talking   about, John. A new attitude toward  experience.
JOHN: And space. And time. And motion. And the speed of light.
GENE:  The Uncertainty Principle becoming a certainty.
JOHN: So I've built this machine,  which will be the cohesive force in our future  work. We're  amassing  film. The  machine  will bring  it all together  and also will generate its own imagery.  It's the begin­ ning of an application of technology  to an  area  where  it's  never been  applied.   Bringing  together   a  whole  number  of disciplines. So, as sources  of imagery  we have  the printer  itself, we have  the analogue   computer,  we  have  live-action  films-which  is  where our brother  Mark is proving  very effective, as a person  able to go out  into  the  world  and  get  something  meaningful on  film. And then  Michael  who, from  his studies  in physics  and  calculus,  has some  exciting   ideas   of  ways  to  use  a  digital   computer   with images.

John Stehura: The Aesthetics of Machine Language

"Studying computer language leads the artist back to the paintbrush-but a computerized paintbrush."

John Stehura's  spectacular film Cybernetik  5.3 (see  color plates) combines  computer graphics  with  organic  live-action  photography to create  a new  reality,  a Third  World  Reality,  that  is both  haunt­ ing and extraordinarily beautiful. Cybernetik  makes use of realist imagery  for  its  nonobjective qualities   and  thus  impinges  directly upon  the  emotions  more  successfully  than  any  computer film dis­ cussed in this book.
However,  Stehura  considers  the  film only  an "incidental test"  in an ongoing  experiment  with  computer graphics  that  has  occupied most  of  his  time  for  the  last  nine  years.  Like  Michael  Whitney, Stehura  is interested in  addressing  the  computer   directly  through graphic  images  rather  than  using  mathematics to  achieve  graphics and thus becoming enmeshed in a "number game."
Cybernetik  is  unique  also in  that  it  was  constructed fom  semi­ random  image-generation techniques similar to Michael  Noll's Gaussian-Quadratic figures.  Whereas   most  of  the  computer   films

John Stehura: Cybernetik 5.3. 1965-69.
16mm. Color. 8 min. A series of basic image forms before the addition  of color, showing random character  of permutations.

discussed so far are characterized by mathematical precision, Cybernetik  exudes a strong  feeling  for the  uncontrolled, the  uncon­ trollable, the inconceivable.
Stehura   began   studying  computer   programming  at   UCLA  in
1961 when  he was eighteen years old. He became  quite  conversant with  computer languages  and  in 1965 programmed the first images that  were to become the film Cybernetik 5.3 in its completed version some  four  years  later.  It is  the  only  computer   film  Stehura  has produced so far, having  spent  most of his time developing a special "metalanguage," which  he calls "Model Eight," designed  specifically for modeling computer music and graphics systems.
Cybernetik  originally  was  to  have  a computer sound  track  gen­
erated by the same program, but Stehura found the directly corre­ sponding  track  inappropriate and  later  set  the  film to  Tod  Dock­ stader's  Quatermass, a chilling otherworldly suite  of organized electronic sound by one of America's least-known  but most unusual artists. The  result  is a film strongly  reminiscent  of 2001 in the sense that  it creates  an overwhelming atmosphere of some mysterious, transcendental intelligence at work in the universe.
Throughout the  film, complex  clusters  of  geometrical forms  and lines  whirl,  spin,  and  fly in  three-dimensional space.  Showers  of parallel  lines  come  streaking   out  of  infinity.  Crescents   and  semi­ circles develop  dangling appendages and  then  expand  until  they no longer exist. Whirling  isometric skeletal structures permutate into quadrant figures, polygons, rotating multiple-axis  tetrahedrons, expanding  fanlike disks, and endless coils.
These  images  are  neon-bright  in  alternating blue,  red,  orange, and green.  They vibrate rapidly  as they take shape  and disintegrate. The staccato, spiraling,  buzzing  rumble  of Dockstader's sound complements   the  kinetic  activity  with  its  own  sense  of  acoustical space. This storm of geometrical fantasy  is superimposed over a star­ spangled  image of the solar system in emerald  green.

STEHURA:    I programmed Cybernetik  in Fortran, and specified about twenty   fields  so  that   images   would   metamorphose  into  other orders  of design.  In  writing  the  program  I defined  a "field" as a point  in  space  having  a  certain  effect  on  anything entering   its area.  For  example,  the  sun  is a field. That  was  the  basic  idea.  I made  them  very  specific.  I  said  when  the  image  gets  near  this

mathematical point  it  will  either  get  brighter, or  darker,  or  be altered  in such and such a way, like enlarge,  or burst into points, or diminish  into infinity. So that's  the  reason for the  randomness. When  the images go into the metamorphosing fields, their mathe­ matical  order,  while specified,  becomes  too complex  and  appears to be random.  Once all the rules in the program  were specified, I simply  turned   it  on  to  see  what  would  happen. If  I  liked  the results,  I'd  leave  it.  At one  point  I  tried  to  trace  back  how  the computer  generated certain  forms  but  it was becoming  too com­ plex and pointless.
GENE:   How  were  the  color  separations and  superimpositions  pro­
grammed?
JOHN: The basic imagery was computed on an IBM 7094 digital computer   at  UCLA  before  we  had  any  type  of on-line  graphic display equipment. So I ran the computer for seven or eight hours and  took  the  digital  tapes  to  General  Dynamics  in  San  Diego where   they   had   a  Stromberg-Carlson  4020  Microfilm  Plotter. Initially  I specified  how  many  movies I wanted  and  how long I wanted  each  one  to  be.  The  program  indirectly   specified  color based  on the form  or position  of a figure. The  output  went  onto three  plot tapes  which were converted  into three  pieces of black­ and-white film. These  pieces were used to mask primary  colors in a contact  printer.  There  was a piece of black-and-white film to represent  the color red, a piece to represent  the  color green,  and one  for  blue.  Then   I  processed  that  footage   with  the  contact printer for the colors specified.

A fascinating aspect  of this film is that  it traps  the viewer into expecting  mathematically logical  transformations by developing  in that manner for several minutes, and suddenly the forms explode or behave  quite   unpredictably.  Once  this  effect  has  been  fully  ex­ plored, the solar system fades into a fish-eye image of people's  faces and  other  representational imagery  distorted,   however,  almost  to the   point   of  nonobjectivity.  This  sequence   is  printed   in  high­ contrast,  bas-relief  positive-negative color  reversals,  in the  manner of Pat O'Neill's 7362. In addition, the images are speeded so that a frenetic, visually distorted  atmosphere is generated, suggesting extraterrestrial creatures  or anthropomorphic entities.  The  whirling

multicolored  geometrical  images   move  across  this  bizarre  back­ ground   as  though   one   were   peering   into   a  new   dimension   of existence.   Dockstader's  organized  sound   reaches   a  crescendo   of chaotic  dissonance as the final  images  of the film fade  and  disinte­ grate  into  nothingness. The  sense  of  dynamic  kinetic  activity  has been  so powerful  that  this  abrupt halt  leaves  the viewer  suspended and breathless.

STEHURA:   In   writing   programs   in   computer  languages  such   as Fortran I've  worked  with  about  five parameterized models  with which you can specify  designs numerically. One is the "mosaic" scheme,   which  is  the  style  developed   for  the  Beflix language. You're  building   things   with  squares.   Your  basic  figure  is  the square   and   you're   building   patterns  and  shading   things   with squares.  The result is a mosaic pattern with chains of alternatives. The second scheme is the field model which I used for Cybernetik, in which  you set objects  or points  in space  and  by controlling the strength of fields you produce  image forms. A third  scheme is a mathematical model  of  your  arm  as it  would  be  used  to  draw figures.  You  define  angles,  specify   arcs  and  curves,   and   work within  those  parameters. The  fourth   scheme  I  worked  with  is based on the deflection  principle. Your mathematical model is patterned after  a room  or enclosure  into  which  a ball  is fired  at high speed, bouncing  from wall to wall. You plot paths of the trajectories, angles  of deflection,  distances  traveled, the  shape  of the  environment  in  which  the  projectile   is  moving.  All  this  is simulated   mathematically  and   was  interesting  because   it  pre­ sented  form  as the  space  between  objects  or  containers. Finally there's  the scheme  I call "masking,"  which is similar to the idea  of mattes  in  conventional filmmaking.  The  basic  idea  here  is  that you  don't  have  a  positive  figure  you're  drawing, but  you  have masks or shapes  which  hold back light.  You define a form  and its motion,  and  you  use  that   form  to  contain   or  exclude   another image. It's  like a cutout  or translucency. You can  treat  computer graphics in that way.
GENE:   Where  has all this experimentation led you in terms  of using the computer as an artistic tool?
JOHN:  I  discovered   that  working  with  program   languages   to  pro-

duce graphics  is rather  hopeless. They're  really designed  for play­
ing with numbers. general
that  you get into simulating  realitylThat's the trip  physicists  and meteorologists   are  into.  It's  close  to  their  way  of  thinking   and their   proOlems,  but  I  think  it's  a  waste  of  time  in  computer graphics  or music. My explorations  in computer  language  led me back to conventional animation,  back to the paintbrush-a  com­ puterized  paintbrush. So the next level, after playing with these language  or parameter systems,  was to establish  another  level of control  over the  computer.  The  idea  of building  a metasystem  or a control system to control control systems appeared very interest­ ing to me. So over the  last  four  years  I've  developed  a metalan­ guage which I call "Model Eight" since it's the eighth  approach  to these  systems.  It  consists of a set  of operators  to  work  on one-, two-,  or three-dimensional patterns:  sensory  patterns,  music, drawings,  motion, and so on. It's  not a computer  language which is operated one point  at a time,  but  rather  functions  nonsequen­ tially on large  blocks of data.  My idea  was to develop  a language which  would  synthesize  all  the  schemes  I  mentioned   earlier  so that,  for  instance,  in  terms  of work  involved,  whereas  it  took  a couple  of years  to  devise  "Model  5.3" to  make  Cybernetik , my feeling was that it could be done in a couple of hours.
GENE:  What  sort of input-output situations  are involved?
JOHN:  Well,  the  two  input  systems  I've  found  most  advantageous are the optical-scanner and the light  pen, drawing  directly  on the CRT.  I have  three  modes  of operation with  the  scanner:  first, a point-by-point scan  like  a  television  scan  starting  at  one  corner and moving across, and you get a list of intensities  which describe a  picture,   or  just certain  areas  or  colors.  You can  label  it  and manipulate the  whole thing  or  just that  part.  Second is an isoline type  of scan,  which  is  what  you  see  in  weather   maps:  circles within  circles  which  indicate  certain  degrees  of intensity  and  so on. Then,  third,  there's  the situation  in which  you start  out  with an isoline approach  but produce  lines which fill certain  areas, and that output  can appear on the CRT or be further  modified.
GENE:  What  about  drawing  with  the  light  pen?  I  understand that
some  artists,  like  Norman  McLaren,  have  found  this  rather   un­
satisfactory.

JOHN: Well,  the  light  pen  is a crude  drawing  instrument, it's true. You can't  do  many  subtle  things,  the  resolution  is low,  and  the way  you  operate   you're  always  stopping,   waiting  for  "INTER­ RUPT,"  for  the  computer   to  accept  your  line,  or  the  accuracy always  seems  to  be  off,  but  it  does  have  certain   advantages related  to large-volume  image  production. One  of  them  is that you can input information that's more specific to the way the computer's  operating. You put  in a point or a line at a time, and by remembering what you're doing you can control a lot of image transformations. Representational forms  are almost  impossible  to program  with computer  languages,  and are extremely  difficult for a  computer   to  process.  But  by  taking   the  alternate  route,  by drawing  representational forms  with  the  light  pen  you've  given the  computer   graphic  information   which  can  be  simply  trans­ formed  according  to  simple  motion  and  shading  procedures. If you want to draw  a dragon,  for example, and have it transformed into  a  person,  you  simply  draw  the  head  and  type  in "HEAD" and then you draw the head of the man and label it "HEAD"  and the  computer   operates  on  it  to  do  the  transformation. You can label portions  as you draw  to control  the flow of the  transforma­ tion.  You  can  transform   anything   you  can  draw  into  anything else. And in this way you bypass much of computer language specification.
GENE: What  relationship  does "Model  Eight"  have to all this? What
is the control situation?
JOHN:  Drawing  is a specific  operation   just as scanning  or  projec­ tions. With  the language  aspect you can specify  a fish-eye projec­ tion  or  a  projection   on  a  certain   plane   and   you  supply   the parameters. Now, after  I've passed an image through  a simulated fish-eye projection,  what I want to do is start shading  the forms in a different style. So you could  call on a surfacing  operator  which will fill in your image  with  colors or mosaics. Now, my language isn't fixed. One "word" doesn't mean one fixed thing in one fixed context. For  example,  you have  a mathematical model  of an arm movement  and  you tell the  computer  to swing the  arm in a 360- degree  arc to define a circle. The  basis of this operation is a sine wave to produce  the smooth circular form. The fact that  you have a sine  wave  is specified,  even if by  default.  The  output  of this

operation  is a circle, a set of points. And as far as I'm concerned it's a wave form  just as legitimate as the sine wave. So you could run this form  back into the same particular operator  and tell the computer  to use this form-not the  sine or cosine,  but  this form it has just described.  The same recursive form applies to the other operations.   For  instance,   you  could  take  projections  of  projec­ tions, use an object as an element to shade a surface and so on.

Stan VanDerBeek: Mosaics of the Mind

"We're just fooling around on the outer edges of  our own sensibilities. The new technologies will open higher levels of  psychic communication and neurological referencing."

For the last five years Stan VanDerBeek  has been working simultaneously   with   live-action   and   animated   films,  single   and multiple-projection formats,  intermedia   events,  video  experiments, and  computer   graphics.  Clearly  a  Renaissance  Man,  VanDerBeek has been a vital force in the convergence of art and technology, displaying a visionary's insight into the cultural and psychological implications of the Paleocybernetic Age.
VanDerBeek  has  produced  approximately  ten  computer  films in collaboration   with  Kenneth  Knowlton  of  Bell  Telephone   Labora­
tories in New Jersey. They are descriptively  titled  Poem Fields, One
through  Eight, plus Collisdeoscope  and a tenth  film unfinished as of this writing.  The  term  Poem Field indicates  the visual effect of the mosaic  picture  system  called  Beflix ( derived  from  "Bell  Flicks") written  by Knowlton. A high-level set of macro-instructions was first written in Fortran. The particular translation  or definition of this language  for each film is then  determined by the subroutine system of mosaic composition  called Beflix. A new set of Beflix punch  cards is fed  into  the  Fortran-primed computer   (an  IBM 7094 interfaced with an SC-4020 microfilm plotter) for each new movie desired.
Whereas  most other  digital  computer  films are  characterized  by linear trajectile figures moving dynamically in simulated three­ dimensional space, the VanDerBeek-Knowlton Poem Fields are complex, syncretistic  two-dimensional  tapestries  of geometrical  con­ figurations   in  mosaic  patterns. "The   mind  is  a  computer,"   says

Computer interpretation of the word "movies," from a film by Stan VanDerBeek and Kenneth C. Knowlton.

VanDerBeek,  "not  railroad  tracks.  Human  intelligence  functions  on the  order  of a hundred-thousand decisions  per second." It appears this  brain  capacity   was  a  prime  motive  in  the  production of  the Poem Fields, whose micro-patterns seem to permutate in a constant process  of metamorphosis which  could  very  likely  include  a  hun­ dred-thousand minuscule changes each second.
"The  present  state  of design  of graphics  display  systems," Van­
DerBeek  explains, "is to integrate small points  of light turned  on or off at high speeds.  A picture  is 'resolved' from the  mosaic points  of light." The artist seems to feel that this process bears some physiog­ nomic similarities  to  human  perception. "The  eye," he  notes, "is a mosaic of rods and cones."

Variations of the Beflix technique of mosaic image-making, from computer films by Stan VanDerBeek and Kenneth C. Knowlton.

The early Poem Fields were investigations of calligraphic rela­ tionships  between  dogs  and  alphabetic  characters  integrated  into fields of geometrical  patterns  constantly  evolving into  new forms. The  most famous of these is Man  and  His World   (1967),  a title piece for an exhibit at Expo '67.
Variations on the mosaic field became more complex with suc­ cessive experiments, until simulated three-dimensional depth  was achieved in the form of infinitely-repeated modular units in perspec­ tive. It is immediately  obvious that  these films would  be prohibi­ tively tedious and time-consuming to do through conventional animation techniques. "Because of their high speeds of calculation and display," writes Knowlton, "the computer and automatic film recorder  make feasible the production  of some kinds of films that previously would have been far too expensive or difficult. In addi­ tion, the speed, ease, and  economy of computer  animation  permit the moviemaker to take several tries at a scene-producing a whole family  of film clips-from  which  he  chooses the  most  appealing result, a luxury never before possible."27
The more recent  Beflix films have abandoned  the original  calli­
graphic patterns for highly complex Rorschach constellations of stunning beauty. They actually began with a film produced  by two other scientists at Bell Telephone,  B. Julesz and C. Bosche, for use in experiments with human vision and perception. This involved semirandom generation of graphic "noise," whose patterns were reflected several  times  to produce  intricate  mandala  grids  resem­ bling Persian carpets and snowflake crystals.
"We're  now working  with  variations  on  the  Beflix system  that involves  secondary   systems,"  VanDerBeek   explained.   "It   goes
through  two levels: first Beflix, then computerizing  and quantizing that level. It's something similar to what Ken Knowlton and Leon Harmon did with pictures-within-pictures. We're trying to do that cinematically."
The Poem Fields are filmed in black-and-white, with color added
later through  a special optical process that permits color gradations and increments almost as complex as the forms themselves.

27 Kenneth  C.  Knowlton,  "Computer  Animated  Movies," Cybernetic  Seren­ dipity, a special  issue of Studio International, ed. Jasia Reichardt (London, September, 1968), pp. 67-68.

Peter Kamnitzer: Pre-Experiencing Alternative Futures

"We would like to put  the  researcher, designer, decision-maker or the public at large in an environment where they could be exposed to what various futures may look like. We will do this with computer simulation, which I believe will trigger the next creative leap in  the human brain."

So far  we  have  restricted   our  discussion  to  the  computers   and computer   output   subsystems   most  likely  to  be  accessible  to  the filmmaker  with  luck.  Furthermore  we  have  been  concerned   pri­ marily  with  purely  aesthetic   applications   of  these  techniques,  or what I like to call "computer art for the computer's sake." The limitations of these systems should be obvious by now.
We  have  seen  that  in order  to obtain  computerized representa­ tional imagery  it is necessary in most cases to begin  with some sort of  representational input   (physical   scale  models  or  photographs, etc. ) ,  which   are   then   scanned   or  translated  by   the   computer through  optical-pickup devices,  servo-driven  television  cameras  or film-storage systems. In fact the  most spectacular films discussed  so far-Lapis, Cybernetik  5.3, Permutations, and the Whitney  triple­ screen film-were heavily augmented through  conventional film­ processing techniques.
Furthermore, the impact  of these films is wholly visual or experi­
ential, with  conceptual appreciation of the  computer's  role reduced
to a minimum. If we can say that  a conventional  film is "cinematic" only to the  extent  that  it does not rely on elements  of literature or theatre,  we must therefore  say that a computer  film is not fully "computerized" until it is relatively  free from conventional film­ making techniques.
With  this in mind  we might  better  appreciate Peter  Kamnitzer's
City-Scape,  a  film  in  which  no  representational  imagery   existed before  it was  produced   by the  computer.  The  computer  drew  the
city strictly  from  coded  mathematical input  in the  same  way  that the  Whitneys'  geometrical   forms  are  generated from  polar  equa­ tions. The software  and hardware requirements to achieve this, however, are extremely sophisticated and expensive. Viewed merely as an  animated  film, City-Scape leaves  much  to  be  desired.  Com­ pared   to  Yellow   Submarine,  for  example,  it  is  like  the   earliest tintype  compared  to laser holography-on a purely  visual level, that

Peter Kamnitzer: City-Scape. 1968.
16mm. Color. 10 min. Made at the Guidance and Control Division of NASA's Manned Spacecraft Center, Houston, Texas. Four views of the imaginary city.

is. But City-Scape is deceptive.  First of all, it is not an animated  film in the sense  that  most of the  computer  films we've  been  discussing are animated. The color CRT display,  produced  through  electron­ scanning  similar  to  conventional television,  was  recorded  on  color movie film in real-time, on-line operation.
The  $2,000,000  computer,  NASA  II,   and  its  visual  simulation
subsystem  was developed  by General  Electric  for the Guidance and Control  Division of NASA's Manned  Spacecraft Center  in Houston. It has  been  used for  more  than  ten  years to simulate  conditions  of lunar landings.  Kamnitzer,  head of the Urban  Laboratory at the University of California  at Los Angeles, collaborated with GE and NASA for nearly two years to convert the equipment into a tool that also would  allow  pre-experiencing of possible  environmental situa­ tions here on earth.
It  is rather  unlikely  that  any filmmaker  will have  access to such
sophisticated equipment for  aesthetic purposes  only.  However,  as we have seen, the notion of "art" increasingly  includes  ultrasensitive judgments as to the uses of technology  and scientific information. Consciously  or unconsciously,  we invent  the future.  And all futures are  conditional on  a present  that  is conditioned by  the  past.  One way to be free of past conditioning is to simulate  alternative futures through  the fail-safe  power  of the  digital  computer. This is "art"  at the highest level ever known to man, quite literally  the creation  of a new  world   imperceptibly  gaining   on  reality-but  not  so  imper­ ceptibly as before.
A film like City-Scape adds  still  another  dimension  to  the  obso­ lescence   of  fiction.   Whereas    Stan   Brakhage   transcends   fiction through  mythopoeic  manipulation of unstylized  reality, Kamnitzer creates  not myths  but  facts-obscuring the boundaries between  life and  art  with  a scientific finality  unequaled in subjective  art.  Opti­ mum-probability computerized visual simulation  of future  environ­ ments  is  not  limited  to  economic,  social,  or  political  motivations. The  possibilities  for  purely  aesthetic exploration   are  revolutionary and  have  yet  to  be  attempted. City-Scape is the  first step  toward that future  time in which  artists  not only w:ll be the  acknowledged legislators  of mankind  but  literally  will  determine the  meaning  of the word "man."
In  programming City-Scape Kamnitzer  was  limited  to  two  hun-

dred  and  forty  edges,  or  points  where  tangential planes  intersect. Since  an  architectural edifice  normally  has  only  twelve  edges,  the city  could  have  only twenty  edifices. However,  rather  than  having only square  boxes, Kamnitzer  programmed vertical pilasters  and horizontal  lines to generate a sense of scale per floor. The  necessity of at least two freeways  and one tunnel  reduced the city to approxi­ mately  five  or  six  buildings.   This  information  was  input   to  the computer  not  as  a  drawing to  be  scanned,   but  as  mathematical equations   of  perspectives  describing   the  transformation of  a  nu­ merical model of a three-dimensional environment onto a two­ dimensional  display or image plane.
The  real-time  solution  of these  equations produced a color  CRT
display  with six degrees  of freedom,  unlimited dynamic  range,  true perspective, controlled   color  and  brightness, and  infinite  depth  of focus.  With   three   simple   control   mechanisms   Kamnitzer,   seated before  the  twenty-one-inch screen,  was able  to:  ( 1)  stop  and  start the  forward  motion  of the  "vehicle"  moving  through the  city;  ( 2) control the direction  of movement over and under  bridges, through tunnels,  around   corners,  etc.;  and   ( 3)   control  visual  direction  so that, while the vehicle may be moving north the "driver" may look northeast, south,  or in  any  direction  without  affecting  his forward motion.
Because  the  environment  is  stored   digitally   in  the  computer's memory  a true  "environmental" sense  is created. That .is, the  oper­ ator-driver   may  move  into  the  city  and,  after  passing  one  or  two
structures, may decide  to turn  around  and  view what  in effect has been  "behind" him  or otherwise  out  of range  of the  CRT  display. This is done instantly,  with  the operator  manipulating a lever as the CRT draws  a new perspective in color every twentieth of a second. In addition,  the operator-driver may enter  closed spaces, fly into the air,  and   pass   or  "crash" through  environment surfaces-without damage, of course, because the crash is only simulated.
Although  City-Scape is a color film we have  not used  color illus­
trations   for  two  reasons.   First,  the   color  is  not  intended  as  an experience  in itself , an exploration  of color effects as in Cybernetik or  the  Whitney films, but  rather   as a  means  of distinguishing the structures within  the  city-i.e., the  yellow  freeway,   the  blue  free­ way, the  green  mall, the  gray  building,  etc.  Second,  as we  already

have  noted,  a great  deal  of image  quality  is lost  when  color  tele­ vision  displays   are  recorded   on  color  film;  the  result   is  a  pale washed-out  image  neither  so brilliant  as the  original  phosphor,  nor so intense as optically-printed color.
As  the  film  begins   we  are  rushing   toward   the   city's  skyline against  the horizon surrounded by a vast green  plain. Once into the city,  various  types  of movement  and  positions  are  simulated:  cir­ cling  around  the  central  mall area,  driving  up freeway  ramps  and along  freeways,  riding  up  and  down  in an  outdoor  glass elevator, walking  down  corridors  of  buildings,  looking  out  windows,  flying above  the  city  in  a  helicopter   that   takes  off  and  lands  from  a skyscraper  heliport,  the  simulation  of a drunk  driver  and  his crash into  a  swimming  pool,  and  finally  moving  through   a  solid  mass, which the computer  translates  as a tunnel-like experience.
Only a few minutes  have passed before  a strong  sense of location
and  environment is  created,   and  the  viewer  begins  to  remember positions of structures not on the screen.  One actually  begins to feel "surrounded" by this  city,  though  viewing  it  as if through   a port­ hole. The true three-point perspective invests the image with a sense of  actuality   even  stronger   than  in  some  conventional  live-action films.  Kamnitzer   relates:   "The   on-line   experience,   the   sense  of power of sitting  at the  controls, is something  very hard  to describe. You  are  turned   on.  You  are  involved."  It  is  an  extremely   close interaction between  man and machine.  The drunk-driving sequence
-in which the "vehicle" swerves  and careens  through  streets  before plunging  into an empty swimming pool-was done specifically to illustrate  the immediacy  and plasticity  of the computer's reaction  to the instructions of the operator.
Kamnitzer  considers  City-Scape  a  documentary of  the  possibil­
ities  that   now  exist  for  an   Urban   Simulation   Laboratory.  The
concept  is, in  the  absence  of  an  ability  to  experiment   with  real people  in  real  cities,  to  create  a simulated   environment in  which people  can  pre-experience alternative futures.  Kamnitzer's  method incorporates  the use of conventional mathematical models, man­ gaming or operational gaming to simulate  the decision environment, and  the  computed visual  simulation  subsystem  to  formulate   what
Kamnitzer  calls "the total question  of if then, the key to all decision­
making."

The  metalanguage that  Kamnitzer  has  designed  to facilitate this activity  is  called   Intuval,  derived   from  intuition  and  evaluation. Professor  Kamnitzer  considers  Intuval to be an "answer" to the optimization attitude toward  the  computer. "What we  are  doing," he says, "is  very  different  from  people  who  want  to  use  the  com­ puter  to optimize  for them  and  thereby  the  computer provides  the answers.  I am  using  the  visual simulation  subsystem  to trigger  the next creative  leap  in the  human  brain,  and  therefore I consider  my approach very different from the usual rush into data  banks and optimization. If used  in  an  experientially  meaningful  manner   the computer can  provoke  the  next  creative  leap,  while  in my  opinion the  reading of  charts,  books,  monographs, and  statistics   does  not lead  to a creative  advancement. Books are being  written every  day, the  libraries   are  full,  the  data   banks  are  going  to  burst,   but  the decision-maker does  not  have  access  to  this  information when  he needs it, in a form that is meaningful to him at this moment.
"I  make  the  outrageous claim  that  creative  innovation   can  only
come  from  gut  knowledge.  It  cannot   come  from  something that remains  purely  in the cerebral area. I would  even go so far as to say that  what  we  are  unable  to explain  to  an  intelligent thirteen-year­ old, we do not know. So this leads to on-line visual displays  and the
total  question  of if then, the  key to all decision-making. Now I can get  information  in  graphic   form  of  course,   but   then   comes  the moment  when  I want  to know  if then. If I should  decide  to choose
alternate 'B' then  these  and  these  and  these  things  will happen. But
what  if I  had   chosen  alternate 'G'?  And  so  on.  So  you  see  the intuitive  approach has suffered  badly  in the past  because  of its lack of instant  evaluation of what  is strong  and  weak  in your  intuition. The Intuval  system  I've  devised  provides  the  designer  or researcher with this instant  evaluation. It is not simply a visualizing  and pre­ experiencing tool.
"It works  in the  following  manner.  First  we have  a hunch  or an
intuitive   idea   and  we  create   an  environment.  Next,  through the visual  simulation   subsystem   we  experience this  environment both from the  viewpoint of the  designer  and  the  user. And of course  we will discover  weak  points  and  strong  points  in the  environment  so, with the stroke  of a light  pen, we can change  it. We find out where the  weakest  spots  are,  we ask the  computer to provide  the  param-

256   Expanded Cinema

eters  which  define this weakest  link, we will be shown  graphically, then  we will change  the design  and  get a second  evaluation, which now hopefully will have improved that  factor,  but  we may have lost in another  factor.  We  then  again  inquire what  are  the  parameters which  determine this  weakness  and  so on,  evolving  into  an  inter­ active process.
"There   are   people   who   have   built   fascinating  mathematical models,   people   who   do   man-gaming  and   operational   gaming, people   who  experiment  with   physical-environment  simulation   in domes  and  so on, but  I do not know of any  attempt to bring  these disciplines together in an Urban  Simulation  Laboratory to pre­ experience alternative futures and  even to pre-experience the inter­ action of human  beings in a future environment. In this way we can be exposed  to what  various  futures  may look like, feel like, and also what  they  would  cost  economically,   socially,  psychologically, and every other way.
"Now for City-Scape I was limited  to 240 edges.  We  now realize
that  with  another  few  million  dollars  next  time  we  could  increase the  number  of edges  from  240 to  1500, and  we  also  could  create textures  which could, for example,  give you the equivalent of a glass wall on a building  which would  not come out of the 1500 edges. We will  also  have  the  ability  to  collect  all 1500 edges  in  front  of the viewer  at  all  times,  having  no 'invisible' or  off-screen  edges  as in City-Scape. This  would  enhance the  realistic  detail  of the  simula­ tion.  Finally  we  will  have  hemispherical projection  inside  a globe, with real people  interacting with the  computed environmental situation. This is a long way off, but  I've made it my life's work. We have  Intuval,   we  have  City-Scape, we  have  NASA II.  It's  a  be­ ginning."