The Clockwork Penguin

Daniel Binns is a media theorist and filmmaker tinkering with the weird edges of technology, storytelling, and screen culture. He is the author of Material Media-Making in the Digital Age and currently writes about posthuman poetics, glitchy machines, and speculative media worlds.

Tag: media studies

  • How I Read AI Images

    Image generated by Adobe Firefly, 3 September 2024; prompt unknown.

    AI-generated media sit somewhere between representational image — representations of data rather than reality — and posthuman artefact. This ambiguous nature suggests that we need methods that not just consider these images as cultural objects, but also as products of the systems that made them. I am following here in the wake of other pioneers who’ve bravely broken ground in this space.

    For Friedrich Kittler and Jussi Parikka, the technological, infrastructural and ecological dimensions of media are just as — if not more — important than content. They extend Marshall McLuhan’s notion that ‘the medium is the message’ from just the affordances of a given media type/form/channel, into the very mechanisms and processes that shape the content before and during its production or transmission.

    I take these ideas and extend them to the outputs themselves: a media-materialist analysis. Rather than just ‘slop’, this method contends that AI media are cultural-computational artefacts, assemblages compiled from layered systems. In particular, I break this into data, model, interface, and prompt. This media materialist method contends that each step of the generative process leaves traces in visual outputs, and that we might be able to train ourselves to read them.

    Data

    There is no media generation without training data. These datasets can be so vast as to feel unknowable, or so narrow that they feel constricting. LAION-5B, for example, the original dataset used to train Stable Diffusion, contains 5.5 billion images. Technically, you could train a model on a handful of images, or even one, or even none, but the model would be more ‘remembering’, rather than ‘generating’. Video models tend to use smaller datasets (comparatively), such as PANDA-70M which contains over 70 million video-caption pairs: about 167,000 hours of footage.

    Training data for AI models is also hugely contentious, given that many proprietary tools are trained on data scraped from the open internet. Thus, when considering datasets, it’s important to ask what kinds of images and subjects are privileged. Social media posts? Stock photos? Vector graphics? Humans? Animals? Are diverse populations represented? Such patterns of inclusion/exclusion might reveal something about the dataset design, and the motivations of those who put it together.

    A ‘slice’ of the LAION-Aesthetics dataset. The tool I used for this can be found/forked on Github.

    Some datasets are human-curated (e.g. COCO, ImageNet), and others are algorithmically scraped and compiled (e.g. LAION-Aesthetics). There may be readable differences in how these datasets shape images. You might consider:

    • Are the images coherent? Chaotic/glitched?
    • What kinds of prompts result in clearer, cleaner outputs, versus morphed or garbled material?

    The dataset is the first layer where cultural logics, assumptions, patterns of normativity or exclusion are encoded in the process of media generation. So: what can you read in an image or video about what training choices have been made?

    Model

    The model is a program: code and computation. The model determines what happens to the training data — how it’s mapped, clustered, and re-surfaced in the generation process. This re-surfacing can influence styles, coherence, and what kinds of images or videos are possible with a given model.

    If there are omissions or gaps in the training data, the model may fail to render coherent outputs around particular concepts, resulting in glitchy images, or errors in parts of a video.

    Midjourney was built on Stable Diffusion, a model in active development by Stability AI since 2022. Stable Diffusion works via a process of iterative de-noising: each stage in the process brings the outputs closer to a viable, stable representation of what’s included in the user’s prompt. Leonardo.Ai’s newer Lucid models also operate via diffusion, but specialists are brought in at various stages to ‘steer’ the model in particular directions, e.g. to verify what appears as ‘photographic’, ‘artistic’, ‘vector graphic design’, and so on.

    When considering the model’s imprint on images or videos, we might consider:

    • Are there recurring visual motifs, compositional structures, or aesthetic fingerprints?
    • Where do outputs break down or show glitches?
    • Does the model privilege certain patterns over others?
    • What does the model’s “best guess” reveal about its learned biases?

    Analysing AI-generated media with these considerations in mind may reveal the internal logics and constraints of the model. Importantly, though, these logics and constraints will always shape AI media, whether they are readable in the outputs or not.

    Interface

    The interface is what the user sees when they interact with any AI system. Interfaces shape user perceptions of control and creativity. They may guide users towards a particular kind of output by making some choices easier or more visible than others.

    Midjourney, for example, displays a simple text box with the option to open a sub-menu featuring some more customisation options. Leonardo.Ai’s interface is more what I call a ‘studio suite’, with many controls visible initially, and plenty more available with a few menu clicks. Offline tools like DiffusionBee and ComfyUI similarly offer both simple (DiffusionBee) and complex (ComfyUI) options.

    Midjourney’s web interface: ‘What will you imagine?’
    Leonardo.Ai’s ‘studio suite’ interface.

    When looking at interfaces, consider what controls, presets, switches or sliders are foregrounded, and what is either hidden in a sub-menu or not available at all. This will give a sense of what the platform encourages: technical mastery and fine control (lots of sliders, parameters), or exploration and chance (minimal controls). Does this attract a certain kind of user? What does this tell you about the ‘ideal’ use case for the platform?

    Interfaces, then, don’t just shape outputs. They also cultivate different user subjectivities: the tinkerer, the artist, the consumer.

    Reading interfaces in outputs can be tricky. If the model or platform is known, one can speak of the outputs in knowledgeable terms about how the interface may have pushed certain styles, compositions, or aesthetics. But even if the platform is not known, there are some elements to speak to. If there is a coherent style, this may speak to prompt adherence or to presets embedded in the interface. Stable compositions — or more chaotic clusters of elements — may speak to a slider that was available to the user.

    Whimsical or overly ‘aesthetic’ outputs often come from Midjourney. Increasingly, outputs from Kling and Leonardo are becoming much more realistic — and not in an uncanny way. But both Kling and Leonardo’s Lucid models put a plastic sheen on human figures that is recognisable.

    Prompt

    While some have speculated that other user input modes might be forthcoming — and others have suggested that such modes might be better — the prompt has remained the mainstay of the AI generation process, whether for text, image, video, software, or interactive environment. Some platforms say explicitly that their tools or models offer good ‘prompt adherence’, ie. what you put in is what you’ll get, but this is contingent on your putting in plausible/coherent prompts.

    Prompts activate the model’s statistical associations (usually through the captions alongside the images in training embeddings), but are filtered through linguistic ambiguity and platform-specific ‘prompting grammars’.

    Tools or platforms may offer options for prompt adherence or enhancement. This will push user prompts through pre-trained LLMs designed to embellish with more descriptors and pointers.

    If the prompt is known, one might consider the model’s interpretation of it in the output, in terms of how literal or metaphorical the model has been. There may be notable traces of prompt conventions, or community reuse and recycling of prompts. Are there any concepts from the prompt that are over- or under-represented? If you know the model as well as the prompt, you might consider how much the model has negotiated between user intention and known model bias or default.

    Even the clearest prompt is mediated by statistical mappings and platform grammars — reminding us that prompts are never direct commands, but negotiations. Thus, prompts inevitably reveal both the possibilities and limitations of natural language as an interface with generative AI systems.

    Sample Analysis

    Image generated by Leonardo.Ai, 29 September 2025; prompt by me.
    Prompt‘wedded bliss’
    ModelLucid Origin
    PlatformLeonardo.Ai
    Prompt enhancementoff
    Style presetoff

    The human figures in this image are young, white, thin, able-bodied, and adhere to Western and mainstream conventions of health and wellness. The male figure has short trimmed hair and a short beard, and the female figure has long blonde hair. The male figure is taller than the female figure. They are pictured wearing traditional Western wedding garb, so a suit for the man, and a white dress with veil for the woman. Notably, all of the above was was true for each of the four generations that came out of Leonardo for this prompt. The only real difference was in setting/location, and in distance of the subjects from the ‘camera’.

    By default, Lucid Origin appears to compose images with subjects in the centre of frame, and the subjects are in sharp focus, with details of the background tending to be in soft focus or completely blurred. A centered, symmetrical composition with selective focus is characteristic of Leonardo’s interface presets, which tend toward professional photography aesthetics even when presets are explicitly turned off.

    The model struggles a little with fine human details, such as eyes, lips, and mouths. Notably the number of fingers and their general proportionality are much improved from earlier image generators (fingernails may be a new problem zone!). However, if figures are touching, such as in this example where the human figures are kissing, or their faces are close, the model struggles to keep shadows, or facial features, consistent. Here, for instance, the man’s nose appears to disappear into the woman’s right eye. When the subjects are at a distance, inconsistencies and errors are more noticeable.

    Overall though, the clarity and confident composition of this image — and the others that came out of Leonardo with the same prompt — would suggest that a great many wedding photos, or images from commercial wedding products, are present in the training data.

    Interestingly, without prompt enhancement, the model defaulted to an image presumably from the couples wedding day, as opposed to interpreting ‘wedded bliss’ to mean some other happy time during a marriage. The model’s literal interpretation here, i.e. showing the wedding day itself rather than any other moment of marital happiness, reveals how training data captions likely associate ‘wedded bliss’ (or ‘wed*’ as a wildcard term) directly with wedding imagery rather than the broader concept of happiness in marriage.

    This analysis shows how attention to all four layers — data biases, model behavior, interface affordances, and prompt interpretation — reveals the ‘wedded bliss’ image as a cultural-computational artefact shaped by commercial wedding photography, heteronormative assumptions, and the technical characteristics of Leonardo’s Lucid Origin model.


    This analytic method is meant as an alternative to dismissing AI media outright. To read AI images and video as cultural-computational artefacts is to recognise them as products, processes, and infrastructural traces all at once. Such readings resist passive consumption, expose hidden assumptions, and offer practical tools for interpreting the visuals that generative systems produce.


    This is a summary of a journal article currently under review. In respect of the ethics of peer review, this version is much edited, heavily abridged, and the sample analysis is new specifically for this post. Once published, I will link the full article here.

  • Shift Lock #3: A sales pitch for the tepid take

    After ‘abandoning’ the blog part of this site in early 2022, I embarked on a foolish newsletter endeavour called Shift Lock. It was fun and/or sustainable for a handful of posts, but then life got in the way. Over the next little while I’ll re-post those ruminations here for posterity. Errors and omissions my own. This instalment was published May 5, 2022 (see all Shift Lock posts here).


    Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

    Twitter was already a corporate entity, and had been struggling with how to market and position itself anyway. Not to mention, its free speech woes — irrevocably tied to those of its competitors — are not surprising. If anything, Mr. Musk was something of a golden ticket: someone to hand everything over to.

    The influx/exodus cycle started before the news was official… Muskovites joined/returned to Twitter in droves, opponents found scrolls bearing ancient Mastodon tutorials and set up their own mini-networks (let’s leave that irony steaming in the corner for now).

    None of this is new: businesses are bought and sold all the time, the right to free speech is never unconditional (and nor should it be), and the general populace move and shift and migrate betwixt different services, platforms, apps, and spaces all the time.

    What seems new, or at least different, about these latter media trends, issues, events, is the sheer volume of coverage they receive. What tends to happen with news from media industries (be they creative, social, or otherwise) is wall-to-wall coverage for a given week or two, before things peter out and we move on to the next block. It seems that online culture operates at two speeds: an instantaneous, rolling, roiling stream of chaos; and a broader, slightly slower rise and fall, where you can actually see trends come and go across a given time period. Taking the Oscars slap as an example: maybe that rise and fall lasts a week. Sometimes it might last two to four, as in the case of Musk and Twitter.

    How, then, do we consider or position these two speeds in broader ‘culture’?

    Like all of the aforementioned, Trump was not a new phenomenon. Populism was a tried and tested political strategy in 2015-16; just, admittedly, a strategy that many of us hoped had faded into obsolescence. However, true to the 20-30 year cycle of such things, Trump emerged. And while his wings were — mostly — clipped by the checks and balances of the over-complex American political system, the real legacy of his reign is our current post-truth moment. And that legacy is exemplified by a classic communications strategy: jamming. Jam the airwaves for a week, so everyone is talking about only one thing. Distract everyone from deeper issues that need work.

    This jamming doesn’t necessary come from politicians, from strategists, from agencies, as it may once have done. Rather, it comes from a conversational consensus emerging from platforms — and this consensus is most likely algorithmically-driven. That’s the real concern. And as much as Musk may want to open up the doors and release the code, it’s really not that straightforward.

    The algorithms behind social media platforms are complex — more than that, they are nested, like a kind of digital Rube Goldberg machine. People working on one section of the code are not aware nor comprehending of what other teams might be working on, beyond any do-not-disturb-type directives from on high. As scholar Nick Seaver says in a recent Washington Post piece, “The people inside Twitter want to understand how their algorithm works, too.” (Albergotti 2022)

    Algorithms — at least those employed by companies like Twitter — are built to stoke the fires of engagement. And there ain’t no gasoline like reactions, like outrage, like whatever the ‘big thing’ is for that particular week. These wildfires also intersect with the broader culture in ways that it takes longer-form criticism (I would say academic scholarship, but we often miss the mark, or more accurately, due to glacial peer review turnarounds, the boat) to meaningfully engage and understand.

    Thanks partly to COVID but also to general mental health stuff, I’ve been on a weird journey with social media (and news, to be fair) over the past 3-5 years. Occasional sabbaticals have certainly helped, but increasingly I’m just not checking it. This year I’ve found more and more writers and commentators whose long-form work I appreciate as a way of keeping across things, but also just for slightly more measured takes. Tepid takes. Not like a spa but more like a heated pool. This is partly why I started this newsletter-based journey, just to let myself think things through in a way that didn’t need to be posted immediately, but nor did I need to wait months/years for peer review. Somewhere beyond even the second trend-based speed I mentioned above.

    What it really lets me do, though, is disengage from the constant flow of algorithmically-driven media, opinion, reaction, and so on, in a way where I can still do that thinking in a relevant and appropriate way. What I’m hoping is that this kind of distance lets me turn around and observe that flow in new and interesting ways.


    Below the divider

    At the end of each post I link a few sites, posts, articles, videos that have piqued my interest of late. Some are connected to my research, some to teaching and other parts of academia, still others are… significantly less so (let’s keep some fun going, shall we?).


    Reed Albergotti (2022, 16 April), ‘Elon Musk wants Twitter’s algorithm to be public. It’s not that simple.’ Washington Post.

  • Shift Lock #2: Numbers and nodes

    After ‘abandoning’ the blog part of this site in early 2022, I embarked on a foolish newsletter endeavour called Shift Lock. It was fun and/or sustainable for a handful of posts, but then life got in the way. Over the next little while I’ll re-post those ruminations here for posterity. Errors and omissions my own. This instalment was published April 1, 2022 (see all Shift Lock posts here).


    To take a uniquely Web 2.0 perspective, one might say that ‘there is no longer such thing as a passive audience.’ It is undoubtedly true that new tools, technologies, and modes of communication have made it relatively straightforward to communicate one-to-one or among one’s networks. The result is a kind of town square both ad infinitum and nauseum, where memes and weekend warriors abound, a post-truth, “postpolitical cornucopia” where we all “fish, film, fuck, frolic, and fund from morning to midnight” (Miller 2009) In the social media age (Miller’s polite rage at user-generated content seems delightfully quaint now, in a ‘oooh, the teacher said fuck!’ kind of way), it can feel like we’re drowning in immediate reaction, and reactive opinion. In the immediate aftermath of the Will Smith slap incident at the 2022 Oscars, Ryan Broderick called it “viral pre-exhaustion”, the dread that the latest trending issue or moment will saturate feeds and streams and columns for days to come.

    I used to even watch award shows or televised live events hoping for this kind of thing to happen. But now, the very thought of having the same “have you seen X meme or Y take” conversation, which now happens both online and off, feels completely draining. (Broderick 2022)

    Saturation and a feeling of existential dread linked to said saturation is not a product of COVID, but the pandemi-moore certainly hasn’t helped. The distance between home and work, or study, or restaurants or, you know, outside, and the resultant necessary movement, meant that there was at least some forced breaks between the mindless absorption of hot takes. While stuck at home, that boundary, between brain and reactive opinion, between independent, critical thought and the feed, broke down as easily as that between work and life.

    If global internet usage increased by a whopping 40% as a result of the pandemic (Sandvine Inc. 2020) some of that at least has to be users who specifically joined some kind of social network to rage about X or Y pandemic trending topic. Or perhaps they were already raging, and the panini simply allowed them more time and justification and reasons to do so.

    It’s easy to look back and say times were simpler. Some have built careers out of it. And, sure, some of the diagrams we had when I first studied audiences were lovely.1

    Karl Bühler’s Organon Model of human communication, 1934.

    There has always, however, been a private and public sphere. It’s been a long time since I read my Habermas, but the notion of the latter sphere solidified around some kind of arena where debates could be had, grievances aired, authority ridiculed, speech could be free. The concept, at least according to Habermas, emerged after the Renaissance, with the opening up of global trade passages and an increased interest in ideas, creativity, and independent thought.6 What fascinated me most as a rookie media scholar was that I was seeing these 40+ year old ideas playing out live in — get ready for a flashback — the blogosphere. This was the pre-social media height of public and independent discourse, where anyone could publish whatever they wanted to their Livejournal, Blogger or WordPress, and the comments section was where the real conversation kicked off — believe it or not, they used to be rather civil.

    Habermas was also partly responsible for my hybrid interests of media and film, in part because he suggested that it was in media that much of these deliberations, debates, grievances, could be encoded. While I read this, of course I was blogging about films, TV shows, and chatting about them in my uni classes: my own little filter sphere, of course, but a neat micro-example of Habermas’ thinking.

    Over a decade later, and looking back over the evolution3 of internet technology and screen-based cultures, the public sphere seems at first glance to have evolved into a chaotic mess of bad takes and half-baked thinkpieces. The usual culprits cajole and dominate their target demographics, and the filter bubbles seem to close around everyone to an isolation-fuelled zenith. Social media is fragmenting into similar bubbles — e.g. monolithic Facebook/Twitter into Parler, Telegram, etc. — with little interest in public-facing discourse, and more in a kind of gated echo chamber where fringe ideas aren’t actively encouraged, but they certainly aren’t grounds for expulsion.

    The mechanics of Web 2.0 still exist as we shift to web3, web2S 3D, or whatever comes next. It’s still very straightforward to set up some kind of public site for oneself and spout whatever nonsense you like (welcome to Shift Lock). But the unfortunate combination of the web of commerce/apps and the post-truth era means a siloing off: a splicing of the spheres.

    So where, what, who is ‘the audience’? Is it still possible to think of a ‘public’ as a homogenous entity in the era of the platform? Ida Willig tracks this shift within media agencies, and the move from scatter-shot TV and print campaigns to tracked and targeted exposures based on behaviours. As they write:

    When the media agency executive … speaks about ‘behaviour’, it is of course not our offline life he is referring to, nor is it any person in the sense of an identifiable human being, but the activity of a given IP address. This is a fundamental shift in how media agencies think about and work with consumers, and not least a fundamental shift in the knowledge that lies behind the construction of different target groups. (Willig 2022)

    Despite the best efforts of corporations over the last century to assure us that ‘we’re not a number’, turns out we are after all. It makes things so much easier. In the past, salespeople would spin out an ad with no concrete idea of number of exposures or conversions to sale. Willig uses the example of a car:

    With digital media, media agencies can sell ad space directed at people who are in the market for a car, or even a car of that specific brand, and track their exact online behaviour from interest to final buy. (Willig 2022)

    For academics, particularly of the humanities stripe like myself, this is tricky. We’ve done our best to shun spectatorship, and the figure of the singular ‘audience’ is pretty much totally poo-pooed now in cinema studies (that took some work). But even if we shift the conversation in textual analysis to potential interpretations, we’re still treating the audience as a known unknown, or worse still, simply hiding ourselves and our own interpretations.

    The subject of surveillance capitalism is treated as an individual with its own desires, needs, modes of engagement and routines. This sounds like progress until you remember that this system only cares about individuation so long as it makes you buy stuff.

    For media-makers, this is a problem, too — the majority are interested in getting as many people to watch, read, listen to, play, or engage with their creation as possible. Individuated, niche segments, tiny custom campaigns direct a handful of IP addresses in predictable ways. In creating a perfect system for advertising, we have destroyed many concepts, spaces, that could be viewed as a public sphere in the Habermasian sense. Perhaps there never was a monolithic mass media audience in this way, but it was helpful to have that in mind when thinking through how media works.

    Photo by Pixabay from Pexels: https://www.pexels.com/photo/close-up-photography-of-yellow-green-red-and-brown-plastic-cones-on-white-lined-surface-163064/

    So where does the public conversation play out? Instagram stories? TikTok? Whatever is trending on Twitter? Films and TV? Sure, in part. The public sphere is not just one thing, and that’s the point. It’s probably best to think of it in terms of the notion of media landscape discussed previously: a web or mesh of technologies, platforms, tools, companies and individuals, sending, receiving, storing. Add to that mesh several little silos or bubbles that have minimal connection to others, and some bubbles that encompass enormous sweeps of three-dimensional space. Conceivably, we can map The Conversation4 according to the number and frequency of connections between nodes in the mesh, drawing out themes and big issues accordingly.

    This is what algorithms are built to do: they map the mesh and find the best routes to take. What they carry along those routes might be commerce-driven or content-driven, but the goal is still to get it in front of a node (person, feed, platform, screen) who’ll use it. Algorithms are the new media agencies; the more things change, etc etc.


    Below the divider

    At the end of each post I’ll try to link a few sites, posts, articles, videos that have piqued my interest of late. Some will be connected to my research, some to teaching and other parts of academia, still others will be… significantly less so (let’s keep some fun going, shall we?).


    References

    Broderick, Ryan. ‘It’s just Oscars takes all the way down.’ Garbage Day, 29 March 2022.

    Miller, Toby. “Media Studies 3.0.” Television & New Media, vol. 10, no. 1, SAGE Publications, 2009, 5–6, 6.

    Habermas, Jürgen. The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere: An Inquiry into a Category of Bourgeois Society. Great Brit: Polity Press, 1989, 17-18.

    Sandvine Inc., Global Internet Phenomena Report: COVID-19 Spotlight, May 2020, Waterloo, Canada, 5.

    Willig, Ida. “From Audiences to Data Points: The Role of Media Agencies in the Platformization of the News Media Industry.” Media, Culture & Society 44, no. 1 (January 2022): 56–71, 63-4.


    Notes

    1 illustration from Lanigan, Richard L. 2013 ‘Information theories’ in Paul Cobley and Peter J. Schulz (eds.),Theories and Models of Communication, Berlin: De Gruyter, Inc., pp. 59-83, p. 65.

    2 I knew I was lost to media theory/academia when I actually found his Structural Transformation (see Habermas 1989) interesting as a second-year.

    3 Yes, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, I still believe the internet is an evolution, thanks in part to Hank Green.

    4 As in The Conversation™ aka The Discourse, not to be confused with the academically-inflected publication of the same name.

  • Shift Lock #1: Terms of engagement

    After ‘abandoning’ the blog part of this site in early 2022, I embarked on a foolish newsletter endeavour called Shift Lock_. It was fun and/or sustainable for a handful of posts, but then life got in the way. Over the next little while I’ll re-post those ruminations here for posterity._ Errors and omissions my own. This instalment was published March 18, 2022 (see all Shift Lock posts here).


    Shift Lock #1: Terms of engagement

    Photo by Conny Schneider on Unsplash.

    Sometimes it’s good to go back to first principles.

    A course I’m teaching this semester has a number of non-media students as part of its cohort. As a result, I found myself having to establish a number of core ideas from media studies that I hadn’t really thought about for quite some years.

    We talk a lot in our typically siloed university about ‘disciplinary knowledge’, the sort of thing that is often taken for granted that teachers or students of a particular area will possess.

    I was thinking about how to start this little project; what best to wax lyrical about as a way in to some of the deeper theoretical/philosophical questions that might lie underneath whatever it may turn out to be. This idea of disciplinary knowledge let me to think that horrible existential question: do I have any? What have I retained? What are some of the buzzwords that I use all the time without really questioning or thinking too hard about them?

    One such phrase is media landscape. Given that it’s what I tell everyone I’m interested in, I should know what I mean by it, right? Or at least, have some take on it specific to my work?

    Landscape evokes mental imagery of distant horizons, hazy hills, some broken-down ruin in the foreground. Invisible brushstrokes; fantasy rendered real. When I think media landscape, the first flash is of a wireframe model; something from Tron or Lawnmower Man.

    Leaving questions of real/virtual and metaverses to one side for now, though (soon, don’t worry), a wire meshwork is actually closest to how I think about the media landscape. It is an effective model, given that media — broadly defined, at least for me — is a set of relations between texts, artefacts, messages, products; platforms, forms (genres?) and formats; producers, creators; tools and technicians; institutions; and audiences (semi-colonic separation very intentional, if only to bracket out potential future articles/chapters/Shift Lock posts).

    Leaning into this metaphor, then, the meshwork, the lines, the connections, would represent relationships, behaviours, transmissions, shared characteristics between all of these elements.

    In attempting to understand how meaning is formed in non-human minds, Tim Ingold examines James Gibson’s ecological, affordance-based, approach to perception, alongside the work of Jakob von Uexküll, who sits arbitrarily opposite Gibson. I shan’t go into affordance, Umwelt, and so on here, suffice to say that Gibson argues that properties of tools/resources — such as a stone in Ingold’s example — are available to be “taken up”, where von Uexküll offers that “they are qualities that are bestowed upon the stone by the need of the creature in question and in the very act of attending to it.”1 This singular vision of an organism to its resource means that no other possible use or perspective is possible to that organism; it is trapped in its own Umwelt, “its own particular ‘bubble’ of reality.”2

    Such a uni-directional model (organism > object) would render all objects “neutral” in von Uexküll’s view. To this, Ingold rebuts:

    No animal, however, or at least no non-human animal, is in a position to observe the environment from such a standpoint of neutrality. To live, it must already be immersed in its surroundings and committed to the relationships this entails. And in these relationships, the neutrality of objects is inevitably compromised.3

    You may well be thinking, “Well, this is certainly a tangent.” Consider the media landscape, though, as an environment in Ingold’s sense. In many ways, we are caught up in our own little _Umwelt_s, our little cycles of use (or self-abuse), our routines of creation or consumption. These bubbles (theory throwback, anyone?) establish relations and modes of behaviour between humans and the tools (services, platforms, apps, sites, companies…) we engage. They are as porous as we need them to be; some are siloed, others open and truly en_mesh_ed.

    Screenshot from “The Internet map”, taken 18 March 2022.

    So when I close my eyes and think ‘media landscape’, I think some combination of procedurally-generated wireframe world, and also The Internet map, a ‘photo’ that data scientist Ruslan Enikeev took of the internet at the end of 2011. Part of this current project is to map — conceptually, not empirically — this landscape, updating it somewhat to consider innovations in (and impacts of) algorithms, new creative technologies, and recent research in fields like psychology, social science, and ethnography.

    Another part, though, is to head back to those first principles: to audience, institution, to text… and to re-evaluate these in light of the foregoing. Anyway, if that sounds like a fun time, hang about!


    Below the Divider

    At the end of each post I’ll try to link a few sites, posts, articles, videos that have piqued my interest of late. Some will be connected to my research, some to teaching and other parts of academia, still others will be… significantly less so (let’s keep some fun going, shall we?).

    1

    Ingold, Tim, ‘Point, Line, Counterpoint: From Environment to Fluid Space’, in Tim Ingold, Being Alive: Essays on Movement, Knowledge and Description, London: Routledge, pp. 76-88, p. 79.

    2

    Ingold, p. 80.

    3

    Ingold, p. 80.

  • Material Media-Making is out (digitally) now

    The digital (PDF/EPUB) version of my new book Material Media-Making in the Digital Age is available now! Head to the Intellect site to purchase (or tell your institution’s library to do so!).

    Exciting!

    The cover of Material Media-Making in the Digital Age.

    From the blurb:

    “How might one craft a personal media-making practice that is thoughtful and considerate of the tools and materials at one’s disposal? This is the core question of this original new book. Exploring a number of media-making tools and processes like drones and vlogging, as well as thinking through time, editing, sound, and the stream, Binns looks out over the current media landscape in order to understand his own media practice.”