Cosmos as a Journal

2021

#editorial #space #journal

The issue of the cultural magazine, Cosmos as a Journal, composed by Julijonas Urbonas is dedicated to the expanded notion of cosmic imagination. 18 artists, researchers, curators and journalists from Lithuania, the USA, France and Germany became co-authors of this issue.

J. Urbonas tells readers about the Lithuanian Space Agency and the project "Planet from the People" implemented at the Venice Architecture Biennale, and also talks with the composer and sound artist Gaile Griciūtė about the creation of an opera-installation "Honey, Moon!" Daniel Gilfilan, a professor at the University of Arizona and a researcher of the world of the future, ponders the sounds of space and invites you to listen to a singing comet. Philosopher, author of popular science articles Daniel Oberhaus discusses extraterrestrial communication. If another civilization appeals to us, will we understand?

Choreographer and dance researcher Kitsou Dubois, whose works range from stage productions to video installations and hybrid projects, talks to curator-writer Rob La Frenais about choreography in weightlessness. EXO-MOAN studio co-founders Akvilė Terminatė and Eleonora S. Armstrong discuss gravity and interplanetary sex through design.

Science journalist Goda Raibytė and photographer Visvaldas Morkevičius present an interview with astrobotanist Danguole Švegždienė, who and the team were the first in the world to grow a plant from seed to seed - the white-flowered ryegrass. "I look at the night sky and think about what's going on there," she says. Dovilė Racėnaitė, an ethnologist and researcher of Lithuanian folklore, Baltic religion and mythology, raises her eyes to space from the perspective of Lithuanian mythology.

Various cuts in space culture are complemented by reproductions of works by Audrius Bučas and Valdas Ozarinskas, MK Čiurlionis, Aleksandras Griškevičius, Pakui Hardware, K. Simonavičius, other artists and 8 cosmic works of art.

There will be something to read for lovers of fantastic literature as well. The essay, Otherworldly Journeys, is published in 2014 by Nahum, a Mexican artist in Berlin and founder of the KOSMICA Institute. awarded the Young Space Leader and Karman Fellowship for cultural contributions to astronautics and space exploration. Architect, urban planner Fred Scharmen shares the astronomical-biographical fiction "Whale Space, or, The Killers in Eden" specially created by * as a Journal. According to the author, most of the strange events he described really happened.

Jane Levi, a food historian and researcher at utopias at the Royal College of Art in London, looks at the evolution and culture of eating in space. And anthropologist Claire Isabel Webb, who researches the history of the search for extraterrestrial life at the University of Southern California, talks about how the smells associated with space affect how we imagine outer space itself. CI Webb's article is accompanied by an unexpected souvenir for readers - the smell of space created by Milda Dainovskytė, a curator of contemporary art.

The design of the magazine by graphic designer Gailė Pranckūnaitė.

The * as a Journal is intended for readers of the world interested in modern culture. It is an exceptional space of cultural cooperation, where creators, curators and researchers from Lithuania and various foreign countries meet collectively to reflect on topical topics, and readers are invited to look at them from unexpected cultural perspectives.

26.5 × 21 cm, Softcover, 2021, 9772783568800

More details at https://asajournal.lt

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AS a JOURNAL

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Lithuanian Space Agency: Annual Report No.1

2021

#LSA #book #editorial #space

Editors: Milda Batakytė, Julijonas Urbonas

Publishers: Six Chairs Books; Rupert and Gallery Vartai

Language: English

Pages: 192 pages + poster

ISBN: 9786099605869

Available at Six Books Chairs and Motto Books

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For the 17th International Architecture Exhibition, La Biennale di Venezia, the Lithuanian Space Agency and its founder Julijonas Urbonas present Planet of People, an artistic study into a hypothetical artificial planet made up of human bodies. Along with the exhibition in Venice, the LSA introduces its first annual report.

In the first part of the report, Urbonas delves into the research on gravitational aesthetics which laid the ground for the invention of the Planet of People concept. Following this, the major part of the report is dedicated to outlining the development of Planet of People which pushes our imagination, as well as scientific and artistic research, to their limits.

The report includes a number of feasibility studies for Planet of People, submitted by the LSA’s scientific community. Coming from fields such as astrophysics, astroanthropology, astrobiology, space history and space arts, they explore what it would actually take to realise this architectural fiction and how this project provides us with a different perspective towards our current life on Earth.

With contributions by Michael Clormann, Régine Debatty, Vidas Dobrovolskas, Hu Fei and Jia Liu, Li Geng, Theodore W. Hall, Isora x Lozuraityte Studio for Architecture, Craig Jones, Rebekka Ladewig, Xin Liu, Lisa Messeri, Michael P. Oman-Reagan, Joseph Popper, Lauren Reid, He Renke, Fred Scharmen, Studio Pointer*, Ma Yansong and Zheng Yongchun.

Lithuanian Space Agency: Back to Stardust

2021

#LSA #essay #space

Essay, In: Damn #79 Autumn 2021

Why bother colonizing existing planets when we can make our own? We’ve sure made a mess of things down here, so why look only to transpose terrestrial limitations onto these new worlds? By imagining more cosmically, argues Lithuanian Space Agency founder Julijonas Urbonas, we have the means within ourselves to recontextualize the earthbound constructs that define us: societal norms, race, sexual orientation, politics. The current economies of exploration are limiting and outdated— we need a radical otherworldliness.

What happens to imagination once it leaves Earth? It becomes disoriented after crossing the Kármán line, the boundary between the earth’s atmosphere and outer space. After all, imagination has evolved in the earth’s ecosystem, where it is held by gravity and human care. Catapulted up there, it is confronted by the hostility of outer space, otherworldliness at its most acute. How can we align imagination with such a departure from its terrestrial origins?

Although art, science, literature, and religion—to name a few—have often been reimagined from the perspective of the cosmos (with the prefix “astro” denoting the departure from terrestrial thinking), most of these domains of thinking and making suffer from a certain degree of earth-bound bias. When considering humanity’s long-term survival, these disciplines often simply search for a cosmic replica that is structured around known, and experienced, human con- structs. While the physical space may change, the sensual, psycho- logical, and social concepts often remain earthbound. The majority of the world’s space programmes manifest such a terrestrial conservatism, taking their sustenance from material and (astro-)ecological exploitation, colonialism, and warfare. Our current moment, re-cently labelled the “Second Space Age,” is characterised by the emergence of an outer space economy, the (private) commercialisation of space, an increase in space debris, interplanetary biocontamination, and the establishment of the astro-Anthropocene.

My concern with what I perceive to be a crisis of cosmic imagination led me to establish the Lithuanian Space Agency (LSA), an astro-disciplinary initiative that aims to create a truly extraterrestrial imagination. A think tank-cum-space logistics company, the LSA works to develop the poetic mechanics of establish- ing alternative ways of being and imagining together, on and beyond Earth. Accepting the cosmos as the site of radical otherworldliness, the agency focuses on how we can get closer to the unearthly by shifting our perspectives on humanity to those of an alien. Being aware of the near, if not total, impossibility of its mission and the cold indifference of the universe, the LSA believes that the only way to access the cosmic mindset is through our capacity to imagine cosmically: employing techniques of pretence, make-believe, and simulation as vehicles to multiple cosmoses. This plural term lies at the core of the LSA’s ethos: the cosmos is a multiverse with an infinite number of realities, including some that will never be accessible to earthlings. As such, the LSA combines knowledge and tools gleaned from a multitude of scientific or artistic domains but does not limit itself to disciplinary paths. We are examining methods to unlearn terrestrial thinking.

The conceptual background of the LSA is based largely on my decade-long research into what I call gravitational aesthetics. By examining gravity’s impact on our thinking and imagination, I have developed a set of gravity-defying creative tools that are meant to tap into unprecedented sensual, psychological, and social domains. By embedding these tools into a diversity of fields that include design choreography, vehicular poetics, amusement park engineering, per- formative architecture, art, and sci- fi, I am able to design experiences that push the human body, and its capacity for imagination, to its extremes. Planet of People, a scientific and artistic feasibility study of an artificial planet made of human bodies, is the most recent materialisation of these quests. It is a quasi-real, multimodal fiction based on a variety of narrative devices. The project has been transferred to the LSA to advance its complex intellectual grounding, which spans astro-aesthetics, the eschatological imagination, the astro-Anthropocene, extraterrestrial anthropocentrism, and terraforming.

[This is an essay extract. Full version is printed in Damn #79 Autumn 2021]

A Planet of People

#space #eschatology #essay #book

Essay, In: Marija Drėmaitė, Tomas Vaiseta, Norbertas Černiauskas (editors), Imagining Lithuania: 100 years, 100 visions, 1918–2018, Lithuanian Culture Institute, 2018.

The apocalypse is already here. Pandemics, climate change, deadly asteroids, atomic war, aliens – that is only some of the possible scenarios. But the scenarios for saving humankind are considerably fewer: the colonization of other planets, space stations, and cryoanabiosis (suspended animation by freezing). The great nations are already preparing for these scenarios. America is preparing to colonize the Moon and Mars. The Russians are freezing their people (through the Russian cryonics company KrioRus). The Chinese are conducting negotiations with aliens (using the largest FAST radio telescope in the world). And what future awaits small countries like Lithuania?

Lithuania does not have – and it is doubtful that it will ever have – the technological and economical resources for space colonization programme, like the great nations do. What are the alternatives? To believe in the goodwill of the megastates and free places on their ‘Noah’s arks’?

The ‘black swan’ theory says that such events can happen unexpectedly and suddenly. In the worst-case scenario, if we have to come to terms with end of our planet and history, what human legacy, apart from space debris, will we leave in the Universe? One could consider analogues of the golden phonograph record, on which are recorded images and sounds of Earth’s life and culture, sent in the space probe Voyager. However, nothing can be a substitute for a human being.

I am working on the project Cosmic Lithuania in which I reflect on the cosmic identity of Lithuanian and consider various speculative scenarios of the future. As a part of this project I put forward a proposal – why not catapult a person into outer space? Just the body, without anything else. We would save weigh and volume, and so the flight would be simpler and cost less. And what is most important, outer space is an excellent space for conservation for a long, long time. Outer space is an excellent environment for cryoanabiosis – a vacuum and an almost absolute zero.

In order to avoid solar radiation and unexpected collisions with other cosmic bodies, I am proposing that one of the Lagrange points be chosen. These are locations between two bodies orbiting around one another (for example, the Sun and the Moon, the Sun and Earth), in which the gravitational pull compensate for one another and third bodies, for example, space probes, stay in place and become stabilized. Those bodies are not affected by any other forces, only very weak gravitational forces, emanating from their own bodies (any object with mass has a gravitational field).

In this way the bodies of three million Lithuanian citizens hovering in space over a certain period of time would be glued together in one cluster, an artificial asteroid. One can consider other forms as well, unique sculptural structures: everyone holding on to a huge ring, snowflake, sphere or some kind of architectural composition. A cosmic fossil of humanity. A monument to humanity made up of people or, to be more exact, to Lithuania made up of Lithuanians.

A brief diary of an artist residency at CERN

2016

#micro #lab #residency #quantum gravity

Great Science for Great Arts or Great Arts for Great Science

Designing Death: G-design, Fatal Aesthetics, and Social Science Fiction

#death #extreme #essay #vehicular poetics #euthanasia coaster

The article is published in: The Edge of Our Thinking, edited by Florian A. Schmidt (London: Royal College of Art, 2012, pp. 32-46)

This paper presents my project, Euthanasia Coaster, an alternative euthanasia machine in the form of a roller coaster, engineered to take the life of a human being. The text will outline the crucial aspects of the project’s development: engineering, physiology, ethics, fiction design, and conceptualisation. It will also include some notes on the quite extensive and diverse feedback the project has received from the public and media, with contributions from scientific, medical and technological experts as well as those with artistic, ethical and entertainment backgrounds.

Gravitational Aesthetics

Euthanasia Coaster was developed as a part of my PhD research on the topic, “Gravitational Aesthetics,” an exploration of the interplay between gravity, aesthetics and technologies. The rudiments of the idea of the coaster started to emerge at a later stage of the research, while sketching some ideas on the concept of the dead body (in terms of disembodying trends in design and cultural development as well as exhaustion of aesthetics of amusement park rides) which has been a critical model for the whole thesis. These sketchy ideas turned into a design thought experiment, hypothesising what the ultimate roller coaster would be like. The R&D of the idea involved diverse approaches, both theoretical and studio-led, and different kinds of skills and expertise. I have consulted with roller coaster engineers, an expert in mechanical engineering simulation, an aircraft stress analyst, aerospace physiologists, and a suicide psychologist.

The coaster is presented as a scale model accompanied by a technical drawing and video footage showing pilots’ faces in high-g training in a human centrifuge. #ref 1 ref# The 1:500 scale model is one meter high, and consists just of a single coaster track supported by a series of string-thin columns erected from a pile of black fine-grained sand. The track accentuates the engineered falling trajectory, the key object of the project. The drawing, as a stylised engineering draft in 1:1000 scale, depicts just the front projection of the coaster, and presents the physical calculations of the coaster’s track. The video composition is created from real footage of pilots’ high-g training, showing the effects on the body such as the distortion of the facial tissues, fainting, intensive breathing, etc.

g-design of the coaster

The most important part of a roller coaster is generally its track which shapes the ‘story-line’ of the ride, usually taking the shape of a creatively distorted falling trajectory. The very experience of the ride depends on the curvature of the track, and therefore all the design and engineering involved in building a roller coaster is basically structured around this linear element: its play with gravitational forces, the resulting effects on the rider’s body, dynamic loads on the supporting architectural structure, and the physics of the ride, such as the tendency to slow down due to air drag and friction, etc.

In Euthanasia Coaster, the track incorporates both the aesthetic and the functional aspects of the ride. Both converge in the human-gravity design interface, and permeate the personal and public levels of aesthetics, dealing with the bodily experiences of the ride including pleasurable death, the ritual, but also the sculptural appeal of the coaster’s construction.

Based on physics calculations, the coaster's track has a laconic shape and is completely functional in terms of elegantly and pleasurably terminating the life of the rider. It consists of two core parts: (1) the drop tower — for dropping the coaster's vehicle down the track to achieve a kinetic energy that allows it to sustain 10 g for about a minute within (2) a series of seven teardrop-shaped vertical loop elements, arranged in decreasing size and forming a spiral. In order to keep constant force, the size of the lethal loops decreases along the course according to the car’s reduced velocity owing to friction and drag. The drop-hill features a heart-line roll element, a whirling coaster track element, where the rider’s heart stays roughly in line with the centre of the drop trajectory, around which the body spins. This element adds a vertiginous experience, but also works as a sort of disorienting anaesthetic for the later, harsher part of the ride, the loops. The latter incorporates GLOC (G-force induced Loss Of Consciousness) and subsequent brain death caused by cerebral hypoxia, oxygen deprivation in the brain — which is, curiously, usually a euphoric experience accompanied by surreal dreamlets.

When it comes to efficiency, a coaster is in fact not the best solution to end someone's life using g-forces, there are more efficient ways of killing people, such as the human centrifuge, the Euthanasia Coaster's closest analogue, or the many killing machines and techniques introduced by the Nazis. In comparison to those, the coaster is extremely bulky and grandiose, but this heaviness is balanced by the aesthetics of experiential, functional and sculptural lightness devoted to the dignified death of a human being. Moreover, it is also 'light' for the earth as the coaster is driven almost solely by gravity.

Another issue related to the coaster’s efficiency is variation in the size of bodies and the presence of sickness or disease. For example, it is possible that quadriplegics might survive the ride since their bodies lack sufficient volume in the lower extremities to pool the blood.#ref 2 ref# However, there is no scientific data on this, and this project does not intend to work on feasibility studies or tests, nor appeal to all audiences.

To deal with the physiological issues of the coaster, I've been consulting with Dr. Michael Gresty. He has given enormous help in familiarising me with aerospace medicine. However, to say the truth, Dr Gresty does not actually believe in euthanasia in general. His contribution to the project was just advising on relevant written references and aerospace medicine-related contacts. It was very difficult to get some direct advice from experts in this area as everybody was very sensitive to the topic and was afraid of being involved in it should it be misinterpreted by the public. In fact it seems there is no documented evidence stating how long does it take for a high downward acceleration to kill a person. But I managed to find a few scientists (with the help of Dr Gresty) who gave their guesses on how much force and time would a person need for a lethal dose. They asked to not disclose their names though.

Euthanasia machine

Euthanasia (from the Greek "good death") refers to the practice of ending a life in a manner which relieves pain and suffering. Euthanasia is categorised in different ways which include voluntary, nonvoluntary, or involuntary and active or passive. Euthanasia is usually used to refer to active euthanasia, and in this sense, euthanasia is usually considered to be criminal homicide, but voluntary, passive euthanasia is widely non-criminal. Euthanasia conducted with the consent of the patient is termed voluntary euthanasia. Voluntary euthanasia is legal in Belgium, Luxembourg, the Netherlands, Switzerland, and the U.S. states of Oregon and Washington. When the patient brings about his or her own death with the assistance of a physician, the term assisted suicide is often used instead. Euthanasia is the most active area of research in contemporary bioethics.#ref 3 ref# ⁠

Leaving aside the ethical question whether euthanasia should be legalised or not, I looked into contemporary euthanasia in the countries where it is legal, and what drew my attention was that the procedures of terminating a patient’s life are highly hospitalised and not much different from the mundane injection of medicine. For example, usually the sedative sodium thiopental is intravenously administered to induce a coma. Once it is certain that the patient is in a deep coma, typically after some minutes, pancuronium is administered to stop breathing and cause death. There is no special ritual nor is death given any special meaning apart from the legal procedures and psychological preparation. It is as if death is divorced from our cultural life just as death rituals are in our secular and postmodern Western society. But if it is already legal, why not make it more meaningful, not in a way the aboriginals mourn the deceased by ecstatic singing and dancing around a bonfire, for example, but as a ritual adapted to the contemporary world, where churches and shrines are being replaced by theme parks or at least achieving equal power by producing spiritual effects (More and more people attend theme parks for selfmeliorative purposes — relaxation, self-cultivation, socialisation; or as an alternative testimony, take the increasing number of spiritual theme parks around the world, such as Holy Land in the US, Hindu Park in India and many others#ref 4 ref# ⁠).

Fatal aesthetics

It has been observed that ‘jumpers’, people who commit suicide by falling to the ground, often demonstrate some sort of aesthetic preference for a nice place or structure to kill themselves. They will, for example, travel long distances to find a suitable venue, but they also perform some ritual acts such as folding their clothes neatly before jumping or holding a hat on their head with both hands all the way down.#ref 5 ref# What's more, sometimes the jumpers are undressed or perform some choreography – it seems that they care about how their bodies meet the air. All this testifies that not all self-murderers are apathetic in relation to the ritual of killing themselves, and seek some sort of aesthetic meaning in it.

In fact, falling is a unique experience that sets itself apart from other types of death: while rushing towards the ground or, in the case of Euthanasia Coaster, towards the loop, knowing and anticipating with the whole body the exact time of death, there is still a fraction of time for reflection. This real-time interface and inherent dramatic structure — the leap, the fall, the impact — a three act tragedy, are not present in lethal injection, shooting yourself or in overdosing on drugs, for example. Pull the trigger and you receive the shot — there is no gap between the act and its result, while with lethal injection or overdose there is an unknown time interval. In Euthanasia Coaster the ritualistic drama is exaggerated even more. There is the ride up the tower, the drop, the serpentine fall, the vertiginous and euphoric entry to a series of the loops, and, eventually the fatal ride within the loop. Moreover, another unique aspect is that this dramatic spectacle is open to the public, be it the relatives of the rider or the victims of those sentenced to capital punishment, revealing the full drama of their demise.⁠#ref 6 ref# Given all that, the coaster incorporates the private and public aesthetics of a humane and meaningful death: for the faller it is a painless, whole-body engaging and ritualised death machine, for the observers a monumental mourning machine.

Social science fiction, design fiction and fiction design

Euthanasia Coaster is a design proposal based on a scientific, engineering and medical foundation. However, the coaster could be considered ethically/socially unrealistic today, and so it can be interpreted as a social design fiction.

The term “social science fiction” (SSF) was coined by Isaac Asimov to describe a new science fiction trend in the 1940s, "which is concerned with the impact of scientific advance upon human beings," and places creative and investigative emphasis on the social, or more broadly, upon the human condition, rather than on technological, material or scientific reality.#ref 7 ref# Such fiction might be seen as a "morality tale, warning of possible futures, playing through the means necessary for them to be avoided or rectified."#ref 8 ref# By presenting alternative realities which reflect the social trends and preoccupations of the time, social science fiction functions as a forum for diagnosing the present — probing and bringing to the discursive foreground the technological and scientific effects on humans, and for visualising the possible futures that might come out of them. Thus it is an effective technique not just for speculating on the future, but also for shaping it, and for empowering decision making. Asimov argues that SSF offers a mode of thought to question and imagine change. "We've got to think about the future now. For the first time in history, the future cannot be left to take care of itself; it must be thought about."#ref 9 ref#

But the impact of SF literature on reality and the future has inexorable limits, basically those of the written word, as Bruce Sterling, the father of the term “design fiction”, once said.#ref 10 ref# Introducing this specific design approach, he calls for the designers to help liberate words from their constraints, to free themselves from paper, the publishing infrastructure, the demands of the shelf. What literature really lacks in my opinion is the richness of experience, the realness and sensual texture of the encounter, and an interactive contact with the complexity of materiality. As fiction serves as a series of textual or theatrical props that fuel the reader’s or the viewer’s imagination to produce all sorts of emotional or physical states,#ref 11 ref# in a way, fiction design (I prefer this term to design fiction because it has less to do with literature) might extend this effect by serving as a unique kind of reality simulator, where alternative realities could be encountered, lived, tested, discussed.

In fact some forms of these design strategies could date back to the 1930s. For example, they could have been partially initiated by the ultra-modern city model “Futurama” at the New York World’s Fair in 1939 ⁠and⁠ more recently, from the 60s onward, by the utopian architectural experiments of groups such as Superstudio, Archizoom, Ant Farm, Haus-Rucker-Co and Coop Himmelblau.#ref 12 ref#,#ref 13 ref# Although architecture once seemed to dominate the stage, today this kind of scenario-building is permeating more disciplines and has become increasingly valued in providing a platform to not only recognise, consider and reflect uncertainties in a complex industrial or technological setting,#ref 14 ref# but also to address fuzzy design problems characterised by complex networks of trade-off and interdependency⁠.#ref 15 ref# Most recently, this type of design practice is proliferating and is usually associated with speculative design, critical design, and especially value fiction.#ref 16 ref#

Euthanasia Coaster as a social fiction design is an incomplete story as it is actually a functional design proposal for a killer coaster: just an engineered falling trajectory. It does not say anything itself about the settings (historical moment in time, geographic location), ethics, institutionalising, legal issues, etc. Presenting itself in such a minimalistic way, it reveals itself as a script proposal (of the usage) or as a McGuffin#ref 17 ref# object for your own story. Thus it aims to be less didactic, more suggestive and open for multiple interpretation, generating possible trajectories of the usages or failures — the other realities — in the ‘user’s’ imagination.⁠ Thus such design is capable of existing in several realities at once, or in the words of Michel Foucault, heterotopias, that, unlike utopias, are neither ‘here’ nor ‘there’, but are simultaneously material and mental, such as the space of a phone call or the moment when you see yourself in the mirror.#ref 18 ref# In the case of the coaster, it has even more ‘existences,' it is polyreal. It is simultaneously present in physical reality, such as the tangible one experienced here-and-now during the direct encounter in a gallery, and in scientific realities like the ‘world’ of engineering, medicine and entertainment, but also in the imaginary ones rendered by the open-to-interpretation nature of the project. This insight was partially validated by the huge attention from the media and other people with very diverse cultural, professional, personal backgrounds.#ref 19 ref# Some people accepted the coaster as an alternative euthanasia machine or an execution device, others as the most extreme thrill ride hacked with anti-g equipment, a beautiful sculptural structure or just an SF horror story. One American offered and even begged to be the 1st guinea pig, should the project be brought to life.

Be it an engineering proposal, a sculpture or a story, the project demonstrates the fiction design’s polymorphic power of operating within several domains – both professional and nonexpert – and with several purposes at once, but also functioning as a creative zone of an exceptional freedom, where even the most radical and ambitious ideas could be tested by their authors such as designers or engineers safely and economically, and, most importantly, voted and evaluated democratically by wide audiences, both the potential users and just curious ones, with the help of the public forum a fiction design provides, such as an online commenting or the spread of word of mouth. Thus the shaping of the future could be made accessible to almost everyone. If it fails, you, the fiction designer, can always say it was just a fiction, or even comedy, even it is a black humour.#ref 20 ref# There is nothing wrong about that as long as it stays in feigned realm, where horror or comedy movies also operate in a somewhat similar fashion.

  1. Human centrifuge is a device which rotates at various speeds about a vertical axis and which carries a small cabin within which a person can be strapped in. It is used as a training device for acceleration aspects of complex flight missions, and as a tool that aeromedical scientists use to study effects of g-forces.
  2. This observation was made as comment to a blog entry on the coaster by a person, presenting himself as Prof. Norman Fairview with affiliation to Aerospace Modelling, Alton Towers. He states that he did the coaster’s physics recalculations and double checked the engineering and claims that “the lower G forces and durations calculated with [his] methods predict the ride wouldn’t quite put an end to some quadriplegics, instead further entombing them with retinal detachment and burst ear drums.” The latter insight in fact is not true, such experiences happen in other type of accelerations, such as horizontal ‘eyeballs-out’ g-force or vertical longitudinal negative acceleration. The coaster produces positive ‘upward’ g-force. Thus that error reveals the true nature of Prof. Fairview’s claims, either the absence of aerospace physiology knowledge or a shallow investigation, although the quadriplegics related observation is quite realistic. Fairview, N., 2011. Euthanasia coaster: assisted suicide by thrills. Boing Boing [blog] 20 April. Available at: [Accessed 24 April 2011]. 
  3. Borry, P., Schotsmans, P. & Dierickx, K., 2006. Empirical research in bioethical journals. A quantitative analysis. Journal of Medical Ethics, 32(4), pp. 240-245. 
  4. Mitrasinovic, M., 2006. Total Landscape, Theme Parks, Public Space. Ashgate Publishing, pp. 181.
  5. Soden, G., 2005. Defying gravity: land divers, roller coasters, gravity bums, and the human obsession with falling. New York: W.W. Norton, p. 106. 
  6. This insight has been modified and borrowed from: Soden, G., 2005. Defying gravity: land divers, roller coasters, gravity bums, and the human obsession with falling, New York: W.W. Norton, p. 103.
  7. Miller, M.M., 1977. The Social Science Fiction of Isaac Asimov. In: J. D. Olander & M. H. Greenberg, eds. Isaac Asimov. New York: Taplinger Publishing Co., p. 14. 
  8. Smith, W., 2004. Science Fiction and Organization, Routledge, p. 5.
  9. Asimov, I., 1971. Social science fiction. In: D. Allen, ed. Science fiction: the future. Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, pp. 263-291. 
  10. Sterling, B., 2009. Design Fiction. interactions, 16, pp. 20–24. 
  11. Goldman, A.I., 2006. Simulating minds: the philosophy, psychology, and neuroscience of mindreading, Oxford: Oxford University Press, p. 284. 
  12. Midal, A., 2008. Tomorrow now : when design meets science fiction, Luxembourg: MUDAM Luxembourg, p. 7. 
  13. Midal, A., 2010. Design and science fiction: all that glitters is not gold. In: Swiss Design Network, 6th Swiss Design Network Conference – Negotiating futures - design fiction. Basel: Swiss Design Network, p. 29. 
  14. Varum, C.A. & Melo, C., 2010. Directions in scenario planning literature – A review of the past decades. Futures, 42(4), pp.355-369. 
  15. Peldszus, R., Dalke, H. & Welch, C., 2010. Science Fiction Film as Design Scenario Exercise for Psychological Habitability: Production Designs 1955-2009. In: AIAA (American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics), 40th International Conference on Environmental Systems (ICES). Barcelona, 2010, Reston, Virginia, USA: American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics, p. 3.
  16. Dunne, A. & Gaver, W.W., 1997. The pillow: artist-designers in the digital age. In: ACM (Association for Computing), Conference on Human Factors in Computer Systems (CHI ‘97). Atlanta, 1997, New York, USA: ACM, pp. 361–362. 
  17. McGuffin is a plot device used for setting a story into motion. Usually employed in mystery films, thrillers, film noir, this cinematic tool can be something that all the characters are trying to get their hands on, or can also be someone or something that is lost and being sought, Beaver, F.E., 2006. Dictionary of Film Terms: The Aesthetic Companion To Film Art. Peter Lang, p. 153. 
  18. Foucault, M. & Miskowiec, J., 1986. Of Other Spaces. Diacritics, 16(1), pp. 22-27. 
  19. The project has been featured in dozens of media entries, blogs and hundreds of online discussions and forums that vary quite radically in content, perspectives and audience. Since its first presentation to the public in the HUMAN+ exhibition in the Science Gallery, Dublin in April 2011, the coaster has drawn more than 250K visitors who have accessed the project’s website, 180K watched the SG’s video on Vimeo, and more than 300K read the Wiki article. 
  20. From my experience, occasionally, I was finding the non-expert public interpreting Euthanasia Coaster as a joke, a black humour, but I think it is completely acceptable, even might be desirable, because, first of all, humour is a powerful tool to talk about painful topics, to challenge preconceptions, but also to make the contact with the public more intimate, design becomes less didactic and less elitist yet open to more serious contemplation to those who are willing to do so.

The Barany Chair and g-Design

#vertigo #material hermeneutics

Essay, In: Charmian Griffin (ed.), Arc 14, 2010

We make sense of the world through things. My chair, for example, helps me to write this text, serving as an object to write about but also making my writing lighter, free of gravity’s burden loaded on my legs. Thus approaching you, my reader and the world, is easier thanks to the ‘amputation’ of my legs, and their removal from my thoughts as well, alas. As a compensation for this side-effect I take advantage of my prosthesis. Having a rich selection, from my lab-like chair with gas springs and caster wheels to the powered chair of the automobile, I can choose whichever differing perspective of the world I want to access.

Sat in a chair, merged with it, beginning a cyborg-like relationship with it, I now perceive the world from the perspective of ‘chair-man’. Perception changes with the body’s motility. Rocking chair’s rhythm, accommodated in its dancing surroundings, sooths me, while a roller coaster, a new generation of toboggan-chair, provides the opposite: the harsh oscillating gravitational fields. From here on, my writing could no longer be about chair but through chair. The chair therefore deserves to be called an epistemological engine through which I can approach and make sense of the world around me. Given this point of view, now, to discuss further, or rather contemplate-through, I’ve chosen the Barany chair. It gives a possibility to perceive peculiar aesthetics, which call for a new design approach.

While visiting the Spatial Disorientation Lab at Imperial College in London, I came across an odd-looking chair. Dr. Michael Gresty, the professor who runs the lab, notices my curiosity and, smiling roguishly, asks me to sit in that chair. Then, blindfolded, I’m slowly spun around my vertical axis. The professor commands me to shut my eyes and, now, tilt my head down to my chest, then, quickly back up again. Now tilt down. All of a sudden I start feeling a mild dizziness and a short-lasting misperception of the orientation of my body. “Wow”, I told myself, “Such an acrobatic experience caused by a simple twist!”

“Although the whole of your body is rotating from left to right, by tilting your head you brought the balance organs of the inner ears into a new plain of motion and suddenly you're getting a very complex motion signal fed to the brain from your balance organ. This is disorienting and because the brain finds it difficult to unscramble these messages it starts to make you feel first of all an experience of malaise and then sick and even cause vomiting”, explains the professor and adds: “Despite its dizzy effect, the mild stimulation of this chair is found highly amusing for most people”.

This simple but very effective (or affective) technology, the Barany chair, named after the Hungarian physiologist Robert Barany, is a device used for aerospace physiology training. The chair is used to demonstrate spatial disorientation effects, proving that the vestibular system is not to be trusted in flight. Pilots are taught to rely on their flight instruments instead. It is also used as one of the most effective devices for motion sickness therapy.

Putting aside these medical issues, now I’m playing with this chair as an amusement ride designer or just a curious grown-up kid. I spin faster, slower, head right, left, up, down. Again, now under a different repertoire of movements, my skin starts to prickle and sweat seeps out of every pore, mild headache and drowsiness — technically called Sopite Syndrome — are kicking in. (Interestingly, this syndrome is ‘used’ unknowingly by parents to sooth an infant when rocking). After about dozen turns my stomach starts to feel upset, it’s hard refrain from yawning, and… voilá— all the efforts result in the eviction of the contents of my stomach. The chair creates such an extraordinary kinaesthetic environment that my novice body can’t cope and gives up by fooling itself it were intoxicated. “If you would have managed to force yourself to not vomit, the body would stop reacting to the stimulus with nausea”, the professor comments.

Is it a coincidence that the body doesn’t like to be lifted of the ground? Our bodies are meant to walk on Earth, the chair — sort of an experiential simulation of an aircraft — is challenging the system that evolved over eons, and is thus well adapted for Earth. Even more, it is questioning or even threatening the body to be ‘obsolete’ in the face of technologies. Remember that one of the chair’s functions is to teach pilots not to rely on the body but on aircraft instruments: the various indicators. Now a student pilot, undertaken such training, is ignoring the bodily perception while piloting, or as pilots say, resisting the instinct to fly “by the seat of their pants”. Even the buttocks, perhaps already a heritage of a sedentary era, are removed. The body is almost taken over by flight instruments, mostly visually monitored.

The body is 'amputated’ but the eyeballs left. In this sense, the Barany chair is a sort of ‘perceptual guillotine’. Chop, one eye, chop, second eye.

However, for me, the chair is a kind of platform for self-probing and an amusement ride at once. I experienced a new dimension of my body, entered some hitherto unvisited realm. “The most important thing you have as a biological organism is orientation in space, to know where you are and what's happening around you, without that you couldn't even pick up a cup of tea and put it to your lips”, Dr. Michael Gresty emphasises the importance of this sense. Nausea, disorientation, vertigo — sensations of losing contact with the world — hold something very interesting. On the one hand, when something goes wrong with this orientation in space the brain says: listen you have to get this right quickly to protect yourself. On the other, resisting that request, I enjoy being distracted from the world I ‘wear’ every day, every minute. Roger Caillois, a French intellectual, would interpret this as a deep human’s desire: “pursuit of vertigo…an attempt to momentarily destroy the stability of perception and inflict a kind of voluptuous panic upon an otherwise lucid mind."

This ‘contactless’ connection with world, or rather the ground, is not so exotic as it might look at first look. On the Barany chair there is no visual, aural, or tactile reference of orientation but the pressure under your pants. Doesn’t this phenomenon share the same conditions of today’s ‘couch potato’ or ‘plugged-into-computer’ lifestyle? While the rider escapes gravity (whether losing awareness of it or becoming a pilot), a ‘sedentarist’ enters the zero-gravitational realm of the screen where everything is reached with a blink of eye. Isn’t the ground odd and unstable after spending substantial time on a chair while ‘wired’ to computer (especially, on such a chair where your legs are suspended, that is, they don’t touch the ground)? Me, for instance, I feel dizzy and wobbly when ‘landed’ back to the ground.

For a pilot, it is a path towards conquering the sky, or the fusing of human and aircraft (note, for longer than the first part of the twentieth century, pilots had been selected primarily by the results of the chair test). Training on the Barany chair is almost inhabiting the unique ’kinematic’ environment of the sky. Although the pilot’s body is deliberately torn away, he or she is still having unearthly (or celestial?) experiences. Thus the chair makes it possible to access such experiences, but on the other hand, it prevents pilots from being engaged with the sensations. Paradoxically, the chair demonstrates the expansion of perception and the reduction at the same time, while it opens up new perspectives within the body and environment.

My initial impression of the Barany chair didn’t fade away. Even more, discovering its manifold nature, the combination of design simplicity and perceptual complexity, it turns out to be a very puzzling object. I’ve just tried to unfold (1) its different experiential modes, both torture-like therapy and amusement, transformative bodily effects (embodiment/inhabitation of technology, self-experimentation, amplification of orientation is space), and (2) symptomatic contemporary design/technology traces related to sedentarism and technological [dis]embodiment (in terms of mechanisation or impoverishing of experience). Dealing with such multistability, I see there’s still one common and stable factor affecting relations with that chair, it is the changing relationship with gravity. The chair is capable of bringing the rider into an undiscovered ‘flirtation’ with gravity. But, most importantly, it also makes it possible to quasi-escape gravity through piloting an aircraft. Hence it is an anti-gravitational machine as well.

Given those bodily-perceived phenomena, or, if I’m already allowed to put forward, gravitational aesthetics, I’d suggest to approach through an alternative design perspective. I’d call it g-design (prefix g here serves as a conceptual link to g-force). First of all, note that while the chair embodies the potential of setting human in motion (or stasis?), the reference of interests in respect to the experiential aspect, stems from the human movements provoked by the design rather than its structure (locomotion, choreography etc. VS construction, ergonomics...). Following that focus, in essence, the designer of the Barany chair designs a certain repertoire of human movements, in other words, choreographing the kinaesthetic experience. To this extent, the role of designer comes closer to that of choreographer who is not just composing a set of human movements but building a unique space experienced spatiotemporally. Now, something interesting is emerging in my argument: design is taking a focal turn from material qualities to kinaesthetic and whole-body-engaging dimensions of things. This is g-design. Informed by gravity-related disciplines, such as choreography, sports, martial arts, biomechanics, phenomenology of human movement, locomotion engineering, kinetic art, it might develop itself into a unique design paradigm. What if such g-design approach would prevail?

Talking Doors

2010

#book #talking doors

Publisher: Hotel of Things

Pages: 127

ISBN: 9786099515106

In 2009, Julijonas Urbonas transformed the doors to five well-known public buildings in Vilnius, Lithuania into interactive installations. Equipped with electronic devices, the doors became a portal to Lithuania’s Democracy Index, a musical instrument, a kinetic sculpture, and even he source of an earthquake. This catalog presents the visual and textual documentation of Urbonas’s project. It can be read either as a catalogue of an art project, an alternative primer for a door designer, a methodical resource for a door event organiser, or just a door to a little intellectual adventure. With essays by Gaston Bachelard, Jurij Dobriakov, Aiste Kisarauskaite, Valentinas Klimašauskas, and Bruno Latour.