For Art’s Sake

Hackers can be a strange folk. Our idea of beauty, for instance, can be rather odd. This week, Hackaday saw a few projects that were not just functional – the aesthetics were the goal. I don’t think we’ll be taking over the fine art world any time soon, but I’m absolutely convinced that the same muse that guides the hand that holds the paintbrush sometimes also guides the hand holding the soldering iron.

Take “circuit sculpture”, for instance. Heck, we even give it an art-inspired name that classifies it correctly. This week’s project that got me thinking about the aesthetics of hand-bent wire circuits was this marvelous clock build, but the works of Mohit Bhoite or Kelly Heaton are also absolute must-sees in this category.

Outside of the Hackaday orbit, one of my all-time favorite artists in this genre was Peter Vogel, who made complex audience-reactive sound sculptures that looked as good as they sound.

Is a wireframe animated moving jellyfish art? It was certainly intended to be beautiful, and I personally find it so. Watch some of the video clips attached to the project to get a better sense of it.

In the sculpture world, there is a sub-genre of kinetic art pieces where the work itself is secondary to the beauty of the motions that the pieces pull off. Think ballet, but mechanical. Perhaps my absolute favorite of these artists is Arthur Ganson. If you haven’t seen his work before, check out “Thinking Chair” for the beauty of movement, but don’t miss “Machine with Concrete” if you’re feeling more conceptual.

If you’re willing to buy an insane geartrain as art, what about these 3D printed wire strippers? Is this “art”? It’s clear that they were designed with real intent and attention to the aesthetics of the final form, and am I wrong for finding the way they move literally beautiful?

What’s your favorite offbeat hacker artform?

The Unreasonable Power Density Of Lithium-Ion

We’re all used to it by now, but I’d just like to reflect on how insanely power-packed lithium ion batteries are, and everything that’s afforded us. I’m trying to think of a gadget, a hobby, or nearly anything in my house that’s not touched by the battery chemistry.

I’m looking at my portable wireless keyboard in front of me, with a LiPo pack inside. Oddly enough, I’m charging it with a LiPo-based power bank, simply because the cable to the nearest USB-C adapter is too short. A gaming console, cell phone, and a DSLR camera are all within arms reach and powered with lithium.

It’s not just consumer stuff either. I fly FPV quads and airplanes for fun when I can, and of course those are made entirely possible by the combination of smaller brushless DC motors and their drivers, and the high-power-density LiPo packs that power them. For field recharging, I have a huge self-made LiIon pack that can keep them all in the air all day. These days, LiPo and LiIon tech is the heart of hacker projects big and small. Heck, we even powered this year’s Hackaday Supercon badge with a LiPo that allowed it to run all weekend on a charge for many folks, where in the past swapping out AAs during the event was commonplace.

The application that still blows my mind is that we recently got a solar installation on our roof, which means a huge LiFePO battery in the basement. And while it’s one thing to power noisy little quads on the battery tech, it somehow seems another to power our entire house, for multiple hours per day, from a battery. Granted it’s not a couple of AAA cells in a little black plastic box, but it’s simply amazing to run a washing machine, the fridge, the stove, and even the heating off of what amounts to a battery pack.

Of course, I’m aware of the costs of producing the cells, both in terms of money and the environmental damage. It’s not a free lunch, and I’m looking forward to both cleaner and cheaper energy storage chemistries in the future. But for now, I’m still in awe of the many options that lithium-based battery chemistry has brought us. May your pillows remain non-spicy!

What Is A Computer?

On the podcast, [Tom] and I were talking about the new generation of smartphones which are, at least in terms of RAM and CPU speed, on par with a decent laptop computer. If so, why not just add on a screen, keyboard, and mouse and use it as your daily driver? That was the question posed by [ETA Prime] in a video essay and attempt to do so.

Our consensus was that it’s the Android operating system holding it back. Some of the applications you might want to run just aren’t there, and on the open side of the world, even more are missing. Is the platform usable if you can’t get the software you need to get your work done?

But that’s just the computer-as-a-tool side of the equation. The other thing a computer is, at least to many of our kind of folk, is a playground. It’s a machine for experimenting with, and for having fun just messing around. Android has become way too polished to have fun, and recent changes on the Google side of things actively prevent you from installing arbitrary software. The hardware is similarly too slimmed-down to allow for experimentation.

Looking back, these have been the same stumbling blocks for the last decade. In 2018, I was wondering aloud why we as a community don’t hack on cell phones, and the answer then was the same as it is now – the software is not friendly to our kind. You can write phone apps, and I have tried to do so, but it’s just not fun.

The polar opposites of the smartphone-as-computer are no strangers in our community. I’m thinking of the Linux single-board computers, or even something like a Steam Deck, all of which are significantly less powerful spec-wise than a flagship cell phone, but which are in many ways much more suitable for hacking. Why? Because they make it easy to do the things that we like to do. They’re designed to be fun computers, and so we use them.

So for me, a smartphone isn’t a computer, but oddly enough it’s not because of the hardware. It’s because what I want out of a computer is more than Turing completeness. What I want is the fun and the freedom of computering.

Choice, Control, And Interruption

We were talking about [Maya Posch]’s rant on smartphones, “The Curse of the Everything Device”. Maya’s main point is that because the smartphone, or computer, can do everything, it’s hard for a person to focus down and do one thing without getting distracted, checking their whatever feed, or getting an important push notification about the Oscars. She was suggesting tying your hands to the mast by using a device that can only accommodate the one function, like a dedicated writing tool or word processor.

[Kristina Panos] compared the all-singing, all-dancing black rectangle to an everything-device of old: the all-in-one stereo receiver with built-in tape player, record player, and not just FM, but also AM radio receiver. The point being, the hi-fi device also does a whole lot of things but isn’t similarly cursed. The tape player never interrupts your listening to the AM radio station. When the record is over, it doesn’t swap over to FM. Your agency is required.

Similarly, it’s probably not intrinsically problematic that the smartphone has a camera, a web browser, text messages, and heck even a telephone built in. It’s how they interact with each other and the user, each vying for user attention, and interrupting with popups and alarms. It’s maybe a simple matter of software! (Says the hardware guy.)

Where would a distraction-free, but fully featured, phone begin? With the operating system? It would be perverse to limit you to one app at a time, or to make switching between them more cumbersome. How about turning off notifications, and relying on changing context only when you think about it? Maybe that’s a middle ground. How do you cope with the endless distractions offered to you by your smartphone? By your main computer?

Art of 3D printer in the middle of printing a Hackaday Jolly Wrencher logo

The Joys Of 3D Printing

Al and I were talking on the podcast today about a sweet 3D printed wide-format camera build, and we got to musing on why we 3D-print.

For Al, it’s an opportunity to experiment with 3D printing itself: tweaking his machines to get the best performance out of them. Other people make small, functional objects that they need in their daily life, like bag clips or spare parts for broken appliances. Some folks go for the ornamental or the aesthetic. The kids in my son’s class all seem obsessed with sci-fi props and fidget toys. The initial RepRap ideal was to replace all commercial fabrication with machines owned by the individual, rather than by companies – it was going to be Marxist revolutionary.

But there’s another group of 3D printer enthusiasts that I think doesn’t get enough coverage, and I’m going to call them the hobbyist industrial designers. These are the people who design a custom dog-poop-bag holder that exactly fits their extra-wide dog leash, not because they couldn’t find one that fit in the pet store, but because it’s simply fun to design and fabricate things. (OK, that’s literally me.)

It’s fun to learn CAD tools, to learn about how things are designed, how they work, and how to manufacture them at least in quantity one. Dreaming, designing, fabricating, failing, and repeating until you get it right is a great joy. And then you get to use the poop-bag holder every day for a few years, until you decide to refine the design and incorporate the lessons learned on the tough streets of practical use.

Of course none of this is exclusive to 3D printing. There were always people who designed-and-built things in the metal machine shop, or made their creations out of wood. In that sense, the 3D printer is just another tool, and the real fun isn’t in using the 3D printer, but rather in the process of bringing things out of your mind and into the world. So maybe there is nothing new here, but the latitude that 3D printing affords the hobby designer is amazing, and that makes it all the more fun, and challenging.

So do you 3D print for necessity, to stick it to the man, to pimp your printer, for the mini-figs, or simply for the joy of the process of making things? It’s all good. 3D printing is a big tent.

In Praise Of The Proof Of Concept

Your project doesn’t necessarily have to be a refined masterpiece to have an impact on the global hacker hivemind. Case in point: this great demo of using a 64-point time-of-flight ranging sensor. [Henrique] took three modules, plugged them into a breadboard, and wrote some very interactive Python code that let him put them all through their paces. The result? I now absolutely want to set up a similar rig and expand on it.

That’s the power of a strong proof of concept, and maybe a nice video presentation of it in action. What in particular makes [Henrique]’s POC work is that he’s written the software to give him a number of sliders, switches, and interaction that let him tweak things in real time and explore some of the possibilities. This exploratory software not only helped him map out what directions to go, but they also work in demo mode, when he’s showing us what he has learned.

But the other thing that [Henrique]’s video does nicely is to point out the limitations of his current POC. Instantly, the hacker mind goes “I could work that out”. Was it strategic incompleteness? Either way, I’ve been nerd-sniped.

So are those the features of a good POC? It’s the bare minimum to convey the idea, presented in a way that demonstrates a wide range of possibilities, and leaving that last little bit tantalizingly on the table?

Honor Thy Error

Musician Brian Eno’s Oblique Strategies are like a Tarot card deck full of whimsical ideas meant to break up a creative-block situation, particularly in the recording studio. They’re loads of fun to pick one at random and actually try to follow the advice, as intended, but some of them are just plain good advice for creatives.

One that keeps haunting me is “Honor thy error as a hidden intention”, which basically boils down to taking a “mistake” and seeing where it leads you if you had meant to do it. I was just now putting the finishing touches on this week’s Hackaday Podcast, and noticed that we have been honoring a mistake for the past 350-something shows. Here’s how it happened.

When Mike and I recorded the first-ever podcast, I had no idea how to go about doing it. But I grew up in Nashville, and know my way around the inside of a music studio, and I’ve also got more 1990s-era music equipment than I probably need. So rather than do the reasonable thing, like edit the recording on the computer, we recorded to an archaic Roland VS-880 “Digital Studio” which is basically the glorified descendant of those old four-track cassette Portastudios.

If you edit audio in hardware, you can’t really see what you’re doing – you have to listen to it. And so, when I failed to notice that Mike and I were saying “OK, are you ready?” and “Sure, let’s go!”, it got mixed in with the lead-in music before we started the show off for real. But somehow, we said it exactly in time with the music, and it actually sounded good. So we had a short laugh about it and kept it.

And that’s why, eight years later, we toss random snippets of conversations into the intro music to spice it up. It was a mistake that worked. Had we been editing on the computer, we would have noticed the extra audio and erased it with a swift click of the mouse, but because we had to go back and listen to it, we invented a new tradition. Honor thy error indeed.