I saw this video detailing Jonathan Coulton a couple of weeks back on the N.Y. Times and just had a chance to read through the related article. I like the way the piece illustrates media transformations through examples of viral musicianship and alternative modes of interacting. The combination of DIY recording, Internet distribution, and second Web social promotion has clearly had an impact on the way music gets made and shared. I like the way the Times puts it, “This confluence of forces has produced a curious inflection point: for rock musicians, being a bit of a nerd now helps you become successful.” Coulton’s “Codemonkey” is a perfect example. The number of YouTube entries for the song is impressive and you can hear how the song itself resonates with lots of inner geeks.

Beyond making me want to cheer for Coulton and his online crew of viral fans, the article makes me think about the way these transformations might also play out in other contexts. A big concern pointed out in the piece is the breakdown of public and private lives wrought by extending the artist into the social Petri dish of the Web: “In many ways, the Internet’s biggest impact on artists is emotional. When you have thousands of fans interacting with you electronically, it can feel as if you’re on stage 24 hours a day.”

Clearly the level of public transformation is not as extensive, but similar concerns can be raised about all kinds of activities as they move toward the 24/7 mediation of the Web. I’m thinking of even the added exposure that teachers or students experience as they become posters, bloggers, participants in online culture. Really we’re looking at new kinds of rhetorical situations in which boundaries must be constantly broken down and re-established. Relating the experiences of Tad Kubler, guitarist for Hold Steady, the piece points out that “Kubler has cultivated a skill that is unique to the age of Internet fandom, and perhaps increasingly necessary to it, as well: a nuanced ability to seem authentic and confessional without spilling over into a Britney Spears level of information overload.”

None of this is that surprising, but it is interesting to see the kinds of decisions artists now make about how they compose their public persona. But there’s one more layer to the piece that complicates things even further. It’s not just that these new modes of being public have created a kind of supercharger for voyeurism that complicates artist’s lives. The environment actually pushes back in a way that alters the basic paradigms of art and creativity.

For many of these ultraconnected artists, it seems the nature of creativity itself is changing. It is no longer a solitary act: their audiences are peering over their shoulders as they work, offering pointed comments and suggestions. When OK Go released its treadmill-dancing video on YouTube, it quickly amassed 15 million views, a number so big that it is, as Kulash, the singer, told me, slightly surreal. “Fifteen million people is more than you can see,” he said. “It’s like this big mass of ants, and you’re sitting at home in your underpants to see how many times you’ve been downloaded, and you can sort of feel the ebb and flow of mass attention.”

Again, some of this is evolutionary change—it's not that different from anticipating and adjusting compositions for either an addressed or evoked audience. But some of it does represent a shift. The artist is no longer working in supposed isolation; now literally bombarded by feedback mechanisms, the artist and the composition are shaped more forcefully than ever by listeners and viewers.

But there is an even bigger shift. Much of the creative production for the larger phenomenon of artistic projects is now off loaded to the crowd. The online crew churning out Codemonkey videos, remixing and amplifying the work of artists like Coulton represents a serious shift in how creativity happens. At this point, I doubt that those who study composition have begun to consider all of the implications for such social creativity. I wonder if these developments can be used to leapfrog some of the hangups in place already when it comes to formalized writing instruction and creativity. Compositionists are quite keen on the social. Perhaps that fancy for the social can be used to smuggle the creative back into writing classrooms.

From a piece called “The Domain of Creativity” I take this quote, "Many creative individuals have pointed out that in their work the formulation of a problem is more important than its solution . . . yet when measuring creative thinking processes, psychologists usually rely on problem solution, rather than problem formulation, as an index of creativity" (Csikszentmihalyi 138).

It strikes me that the same can be said of the way a good deal of writing instruction is conducted in college. Consider the assign, respond, evaluate movement of most writing tasks. Instructor assigns problem, student responds with solution (essay), and then instructor assesses the essay based on the coherency and acceptability of the solution—write an essay in which you take a position. . . . analyze the rhetorical dimensions of a text. . . . report on findings. . . . etc. . . . etc. . . .

The problem is this does little to inspire creative thinking or engage students. Csikxzentmihalyi, citing Getzels, outlines an alternative model that places problem solving and problem discovering on a continuum:

The model describes intellectual activity as taking place on a continuum between two poles: presented problems at one end and discovered problems at the other. A presented problems is one that is clearly formulate, has an accepted method of solutions, and has a generally agreed-upon solution. A puzzle, for example, presents the problem of assembling the pieces so as to form a picture; how to do it and when the task is complete are clear to everyone. A person confronted by a presented problem needs only to apply the accepted methods until the desired solution is achieved.

At the other end of the continuum is a discovered problem. Here instead of a clearly formulated task there is only vague unease and dimly felt emotional or intellectual tension. Because the problem itself has yet to be defined, there can be no agreed-upon method for resolving the tension. For the same reason, one cannot even imagine in advance what a “solution” might be. (138-9)

I’m eager to latch onto the model as I contemplate how far I can possibly stray from assigning projects composed with the written word in first year writing classes. Layer over the continuum model of problem solving and discovery this quote from Kristen Pierce:

Before this assignment, I had never thought of representing a song with one picture. The idea seemed almost impossible until I saw how to do it on PhotoShop. This is another program I took home and just mess around on sometimes when I'm bored. I never thought I could get a bunch of random pictures with completely separate meanings and put them together in a way that represents what I personally want. Especially because I am far from being artistic, I thought this project would be impossible at first. However, while I was researching and experimenting with random pictures, I would stumble upon something I could make work. I really liked the freedom of the assignment; it let me experiment with different ideas until I finally got to what I wanted to do.

Kristen was responding to a collage assignment that asked students to represent a song visually. In terms of open-ended assignments, I suppose this one is not that flexible. It lays out the goals or the problem to be solved pretty clearly—represent a song visually. I think the reason students found themselves in discovery-oriented experiences is two-fold: First, they were not working with the familiar mode of alphabetic text. Regardless of how strict the assignment parameters might be, the switch to an alternative medium meant “unease” and “tension” that had to be resolved.

Second, the technical literacies required a good deal of problem discovery. Our approach is studio-based, whereby we open up the software and start making stuff; I offer help as we go and composers discover all kinds of hurdles as they figure out how to make the program do what they want. Working with more familiar media, even with the non-alphabetic assignment might not have had the same effect, as Jessica Stinger points out:

I am a collage-freak. I have collages all over my room at home, my dorm here, and on things like binders, notebooks, and assignment notepads. Although the playlist collage came second, it was this one that really showed me the possibility of computer generated collage. While it was immediately frustrating not being able to manually use scissors and glue, I loved the undo button (which is sadly not an option in real life) and the opacity tool. Being able to layer pictures brought more meaning to the collage. Two or more images on top of one another added depth in a new dimension as the two could work together, showing similarities or provide stark contrast.

The final point to be made, however, is that the productive problem discovery facilitated by such assignments extends itself into domain expertise and discoveries that we might normally associate with tried and true methodologies. Students don’t just discover problems with visual expression or software, but new insights into the subject areas in which they are working. Consider Joanna Bell’s collage interpretation of “The Race” by Sharon Olds:

I love the poem "The Race". It is so powerful and dark...yet it possesses a quality of anxiety and a hint of happiness. I wanted to portray the speaker's feelings of helplessness in my collage. I wanted to place a plane between the woman and her father...the connecting vehicle that allows the daughter to reach her father. The speaker's actions at the airport emphasize her anxiety of not being to see her father before he dies. The hand represents the father reaching out to his daughter. It was difficult to play with the lighting of this collage. Some of the images were very bright and "sunny" almost. Others were dark and dreary. I like the presence of this light vs. dark opposition in this collage.

It’s a great poem, and you can hear a version of Olds reading the poem online. The point is that through working with the visual medium and engaging the sometimes frustrating problems that crop up from the challenge, students discover new ways of expressing ideas. Again, Joanna says it best:

I especially like the concept of having images represent certain aspects of a character's (or poem's) presence in literature. It was difficult learning how to work the Serif program at first, but with any new system, I know that you have to slowly learn the ins and outs of the program. Learning how to mask images was quite challenging for me, but this tool ended up being my most valuable one. Working on the collages allowed me to express myself in a whole new way. Instead of simply writing down prominent characteristics of Julian of Norwich, I could mold together images that I believed represented her persona. Instead of dissecting "The Race" and discussing its poetic elements, I could place images on a canvas that helped me portray the speaker's struggle to reach her father before he passes away. I love how a collage can truly bring literature to life. I love how a collage does not set boundaries for interpretation. I think that the collages actually encourage differing views

Alex has posted some thoughts on the recent Computers and Writing Conference and others have also offered some reflections, so I thought I’d toss two pennies of my own into the hat. The first coin represents what to me makes the conference and the community worthwhile. I don’t think it is just nostalgia—C&W was the first conference I attended as a graduate student some thirteen years ago. There really is a tighter-knit group and a different dynamic at C&W than I have found at other conferences. I think this may stem from the original outlaw ethos of the group. It’s hard to recognize, now that technology is so ubiquitous in the field of Rhetoric and Composition, but it used to be the case that the technologists in writing studies were the oddballs and outcasts. From the word processor to hypertext to electronic communities to online spaces the history of the group involves a lot of work on the margins that were opened up by the technologies of the day. The main point, though, is how this status created a sense of cohesion and shared purpose within the group: “I come to C&W because I don’t have to define my terms—everyone speaks my language.”

The nature of technology-related work has also shaped the community. There is a good deal of informal teaching, hand-holding, knowledge-sharing involved in learning to use technologies—witness the view/borrow source phenomenon of the early Web and of programming languages, FAQ collections, message forums. The knowledge-sharing/borrowing approach to tech learning, I think, carries over to the Computers and Writing conference. In some ways it colors the general attitudes of the participants; schooled in the technical training way, they bring these sensibilities to the conference. The conference also maintains a lot of the show-and-tell approach to scholarship that has been bled out of the more formalized and abstracted field of rhetoric and composition. People theorize, but they also share through example more frequently with less fear of being seen as un-intellectual.

There is also the wonderful fact that Computers and Writing is in many ways lead by its youth. From Daedalus to Kairos to today’s Web 2.0 many of the best developments in the field have been driven by junior faculty and especially by graduate students. Obviously these groups have been supported by more senior people and institutions, but there are (or have been) more opportunities for people new to the community to have a real shaping influence on the field. This dynamic is felt at the conference as well. When the community gets together it’s common to see a senior person under the tutelage of a young scholar who happens to know more about the subject than anyone else. And, conversely, lots of presentations feature young scholars showcasing their work and actually getting feedback from the field.

Alex asks what the conference might look like in twenty years and also reflects on the status of the field in the context of rhetoric and composition, so let me toss out my second penny as a partial response. I’m discouraged, honestly, by the way technology has been integrated into the larger field of rhetoric and composition. Some of this might just be a sense of loss that comes from no longer being as easily labeled as innovative or unique. I think, though, that this inability to be readily tagged reflects a larger trend that is disheartening. The trend is the professionalization (read academic gentrification and abstraction) of knowledge work. We’ve seen this in the larger field of rhetoric and composition as evidenced by publications in the major journals—see Fulkerson's and Trimbur’s ruminations on the field.

In rhetoric and composition things must be cited, lit-reviewed, and filtered through the usual venues to be given credence and welcomed into the field. My sense is that the computers and writing community used to be given more of a pass when it came to this requirement. In the early 90s as the Web was exploding, people would allow that the creation of a class Web site with student-generated online compositions was innovative. Again, the outlaw nature of computers and writing was helpful. The work was fringe enough that people outside of computers and writing might not bother to try to academicize it. They might not exactly embrace it, but they wouldn’t also try to add the controlling layer of intellectual abstraction that goes with traditional scholaship.

This may just be my own wishful thinking, but I believe there used to be more options for just concentrating on the learning and the teaching in computers and writing. Outlaw makers would make stuff. The rhetoric and composition community let the making happen, even acknowledged and valorized it in some ways by agreeing to leave it alone. Now I think it’s a lot harder to pitch the argument that one is doing quality work in computers and writing because one is making new things, creating heretofore unimagined opportunities for learning and writing. That is fine to do, still, but no longer enough to count as knowledge production in a field more tightly wound within the larger rhetoric and composition community.

Maybe the misty time I’m imagining when that kind of simple making did seem like legitimate work never really existed. I believe it may have, though, and I worry that it no longer does.

Since I've been thinking much of sounds, both verbal and musical lately, this commercial from Volkswagen struck home. First, the words are written by Dylan Thomas and taken from the film Under Milk Wood. I've yet to see the film, but I've put it in the que. The language is measured and evocative of the sounds and scenes of night.

Second, I really like the way the soundtrack with the soft melodic keyboard evokes the atmosphere described through the language: "You can hear the dew falling / and the hushed town breathing."

Then there is the voice--in this case, Richard Burton. The timbre (low-pitched and slighly husky, but clear) and the tempo create a kind of soothing blanket, warm and regular.

Finally, there are the visuals. The dark scenes piled one over the other prepare a kind of inky foundation. Over this foundation is layered the soothing sounds rising toward the conclusion, and then layered in at the end is the brighter image with the car. Visually, we get the same message delivered by Burton: "Only your eyes are unclosed / to see the black-enfolded town / fast and slow asleep."

Click to play
15:06 minutes (6.22 MB)

My paper for the Computers and Writing Conference this weekend. It will be the first time I've actually written up a formal paper to deliver at the conference in thirteen years.

From a trip a few years back come these memories of Catalina Island and a more serene kind of fire. I miss the beach.

Came across this on YouTube. Billy Collins is one of my favorites.

Something I'm starting to digest for the upcoming Computers and Writing presentation next week. I need to layer over some discussion of motivation in education--moving sounds, and then add another layer with some of the Your Brain on Music book I've been looking at. Then I need to tweak on the opacity of the various layers. How's that for visualizing composing something about sound. Here are my thoughts on Elbow's latest article:

Peter Elbow goes with the flow in his recent essay “The Music of Form: Rethinking Organization in Writing.” Citing Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, he points to “the concept of flow [to describe] the experience of complete absorption in a task where time passes almost without awareness” (640). It’s the same flow Greg Ulmer discovers in electracy, the sting of recognition that brings with it an awareness of something more, an experiential magic that occurs “when you are being productive (at anything) and enter into the state of “flow” (298). Not coincidentally, Ulmer attaches an “emotional tone” to the experience. Where Elbow finds music in flowing language, Ulmer finds attunement with the obtuse. Good stuff. Stuff to be sought after, the suspension of time through the creative process. And pitched through sound.

But such pronouncements only take us so far. Or, rather, they take us too far. Like right-clicking the magnifying tool on an image editor, our conceptions expand from words and sounds up through logics and compositional epistemologies and on toward spiritual charge sfelt ineffably in creational flows. We zoom out and away from the tangible surfaces of writing with every mouseup.

So let’s go back down to the compositional surface. Left click. Zoom in. Magnification 300%. Aha. What’s that I see? Even zoomed in, there’s energy flowing through words and sounds. Forget the spatial-bias in the big picture. Elbow asks us to be “open to experiencing a different kind of organization . . . an energy-based organization derived from the kinds of time-binding qualities [found] in music” (631). Forget outlines, Elbow tells us; “they promote a visual ‘perspective’ on organization—they try for the bird’s eye view rather than the ant’s eye view” (634). Zoom in instead to the sounds of the words and their “energy-based organization” which flows just as “melodies, melodic motifs, and rhythmic motifs” (635) flow through music.

Elbow calls for the verb, the energy term that escapes the “spatial trap” of the static concepts, the quiet things that sit unmoving, nounlike, embedded within the conventional outline—Art, Music, Language. With verbs, “sentences contain energy and give dynamic movement (like melodies or harmonic progressions that pull us through to the end)” (636). Zoomed in this closely, we can hear the movements of discovery as Elbow “start[s] by writing out crude little sentences . . . ‘germ’ or ‘telegram’ sentences—but always with a verb” (637). Music the thing becomes the sentence, “Music shows how events in time are held together.”

But wait. We’ve gone too fast here. Too much energy and not enough thing. Elbow’s moving sentence does not deny the noun. It moves it with the verb. Music shows, sounds move, rhythms pulse. Only in the combination of spatial thing and temporal action do we find the flow, the noun and verb. When Elbow finds the combinations, he slips, casting his moving sentences in visual terms: “When I see these tiny germ sentences laid out, I am finally in a good position to figure out what I am groping to say[. . . .]” (637 emphasis mine). Elbow zooms back out on the moving combinations, turning them again into objects concrete enough to be laid out and looked at.

When Elbow offers his delayed thesis some few pages later, the confusion remains: “Our concept of organization is confused because it conflates two ideas that are quite different: how objects are organized in space, and how events are organized in time” (639). But it soon becomes clear that for Elbow, the confusion between the visual/spatial and the aural/temporal is deliberate. He acknowledges that, “even though we apply spatial criteria most naturally to spatial entities like pictures, and dynamic criteria most naturally to temporal entities such as music and speeches, the two styles of organization apply to both space and time” (647).

Elbow deliberately pulls apart the spatial and temporal to highlight what he sees as “the visual bias in our understanding of organization” (651), a bias that Elbow believes

leads to problems. The most obvious is simply the neglect of other dimensions-our "inattentiveness to the global fullness of experience" (Ihde). [. . .] Hearing-the modality that works in time-reaches an older, deeper, and more instinctual part of the brain than sight. Rhythm and movement reach inside us. Eyes tell us about the surface of things, but sound tells us about the insides of things. (651-2)

At the risk of essentializing and privileging a primal, internal mode, Elbow turns toward music and the sounds of words so that we might “experience the inherent temporal and even aural dimension of any text” (656). It’s a helpful corrective because it forms a foundation in language, a zoomed-in perspective through which noun and verb react to create flow; a ground where we can work the surface even as we zoom back out toward the fullness of experience

Stumbled on the page linked here and just had to wonder, Wha'? An Amazon page for this? I particularly like the truncated list of ingedients--the full list is about two-and-a-half times as long. (Yes, I have a box; what do you think lead to this stumble in the first place?) Also of note is the Customers who bought this item also bought section--Twinkies, Ring Dings, Devil Dogs, and Funny Bones. Glad to see the Internet continues to evolve for the betterment of all of us.

Finally got around to reading Steve Jobs's posting, "Thoughts on Music," in which he argues for eliminating the DRM from music. I was initially geared up to help push the bandwagon when word of this went around a couple of months back. Today, though, I chewed on the piece while thinking about putting it into the textbook project and worked up this map representing the structure of the argument. I went back and highlighted some inconsistencies as well.

My take is that the article is much more a defense against the claim that Apple should open up its DRM. In addressing this suggestion, Jobs first argues that the DRM doesn't really lock consumers into Apple's scheme. Moving toward his final position, though, he says eliminating DRM will be better for consumers, because they won't be locked into any system. Similarly, at one point he argues that giving away Apple's Fairplay DRM will break it as secrets get out, but then for his final claim he suggests that DRM doesn't work anyway.

Looking at the visual representation of the argument made me realize why I'm skeptical. Not that I'm in any way in favor of DRM; it just felt like something was not resonating right; seeing the inconsistencies in the structure brought some of it to light.