The aim of art is to represent not the outward appearance of things, but their inward significance. — Aristotle
The last two years have been full of psychological turbulence the likes of which I’ve never experienced. I thought when I decided to teach myself to code that I would sit in front of the computer for a few hundred hours, doing tutorials and practicing, then begin building small projects, and eventually apply for some junior developer positions. A nice, straight, path with a clear beginning and end. Oh, sweet, naive, rose-colored me from 2014.
The reality has indeed included many hundreds of hours sitting in front of a computer doing every tutorial known to the internet, and I do own more domain names now than I did then, most of them pointing to the blank space where I’m pretty sure my innocence and hope now also reside.
My overall experience has been much messier than I planned, rife with unexpected emotional attachments, unfulfilled aspirations, and an ever-broadening sense of futility. Tech, I was disappointed to find, is just as political as my former industry of maternity care. Both are overrun with small-minded, angry, money-hungry assholes who spend their days diverting attention on to themselves and their needs and away from the needs of the greater community.
I’m beginning to feel the cynicism that eventually drove me from maternity care creep into my daily thoughts about tech. Do I really want to get deeper into this segment of society in which so many members abuse and threaten each other under the guise of “open communication”? And minorities are forced to prove their right to exist before the industry will pay any attention to their skills? And the majority of employers still consider work-life balance to mean free food and fancy desks so everyone is comfy when they stay at work for 10+ hours per day? And I’m competing for junior positions with much younger people who have no responsibilities but themselves, who are willing and eager (at least at the beginning) to spend 10+ hours at work per day?
Every time I ask myself these questions, and I feel the “NO” coming, I encounter something or someone that reawakens some of my earlier enthusiasm, and they are all related to art. Most really good programmers I know are not simply smart, they are also exceedingly creative and innovative, and when they apply their technical skills to their artistic passions, the outcome is magical.
The first project that introduced me to the ultra-creative, experimental possibilities of programming is meatspace. Originally created by my friend Jen Fong-Adwent, who eventually passed it on to our friend Travis Collins, meatspace was my first foray into the remarkable mind of the artistic programmer. I was so enamored of this place, I created a website (new domain name number one!), and wrote about it.
During the first 12–18 months, the meatspace community engaged in multiple experimental art projects together, including simultaneous goth makeup applications, a bizarre adventure into saran wrap called wrapgeni.us (I’m so sorry this no longer exists), music sharing of all varieties, and well-attended worldwide movie nights.
The pinnacle of meatspace-produced art was revisit.link, an alternate-reality meatspace where members used many dozens of glitch options to alter their images while conversing with each other (while revisit itself no longer exists, the glitch code is open sourced here for anyone who wants to experiment). My husband Bryce (who has been my artistic idol since 1995) spent 48 hours straight making glitch after glitch, while our kids took hundreds of rainbow-sparkle-predator-grayscale-ghosted gifs of themselves and watched in awe as their pictures became instant art. It was beautiful and collaborative and fun and exciting and meaningful.
About 8 months into my learn-to-code journey, I had the privilege of seeing a talk by Willow Brugh, who introduced me to the idea that a tech talk on it’s own can be art. Before I could wrap my mind around the humanitarian content of her talk — using technology to improve response time during natural disasters and bring basic necessities to poor, remote areas — I was stunned by her visual presentation. She didn’t even have slides! It was like she was moving us around the global canvas of her brain using her own art and some fascinating technology that I still don’t understand. I recall Willow’s talk often when I think of the artistry of my favorite programmers, but especially when I am trying to remind myself of the truly positive impact that programming has on all corners of the earth.
I cannot talk about art, code, and positivity in tech without mentioning Jenn Schiffer’s vart.institute. Yes, that link takes you directly to her Mary Cassatt project, because that whole fucking thing is so goddamn inspiring I want to scream. Read it twice, do the demo, share it with your kids. Two-years-ago-me thought programming was for databases, dating websites, and shopping. I didn’t have the tiniest inkling people could make actual art with code, and I’m sad to think about how many humans still don’t know this. Places like var t, where clever, thoughtful people are using technology to educate, to reflect, and to encourage ingenuity — this is the stuff that I hope is the future of the programming.
This past September, just as I was getting ready to quit everything and become a yoga instructor or barista, I had the true privilege of attending &yetconf, which is basically a piece of performance art masquerading as a tech-related conference. We marched in a parade with a mariachi band, watched an original play acted out over three days, listened to music by the enchanting Ben Michel and Hannah McPhillimy, and never once picked up our laptops during the masterful lineup of talks, all asking the same question: What are the consequences of the technology we build?
One of those talks was given by Kawandeep Virdee, co-founder of New American Public Art, an interactive art studio. He told a story about an installation called Your Big Face, in which passersby in the South End of Boston could stand in front of a camera and have their face projected onto this giant, geometric 3D face hung from the side of a building. As he showed video and discussed the reactions of the participants, I was struck by the generosity of this project. The magnitude of resources consumed by Your Big Face had to be significant, all so random people who happened to walk by could enjoy an immersive, thought-provoking experience. How many of the participants had any idea what tools were used to create this? How many of them even realized this was art? I recognized, once again, that to art is philanthropy-- a donation to the broadened consciousness of strangers.
If Aristotle is correct, and art aspires to represent the inward significance of things, then there is plenty to be optimistic about in tech. I’ve only encountered a tiny fraction of the programmer-made art I know must exist, and so far, I am humbled by the dazzling displays of skill and imagination. What I’ve seen shows depth, compassion, wisdom and hospitality — all traits of an industry I’d be proud to be a part of.
