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Sound Waves: Patterning Sonatas
If, at first, you are unsure as to what you are looking at, you are not alone. On their own, these fantastic drawings by Jorinde Voigt allow for several interpretations. One could presume that they are diagrams of wind patterns or ocean currents, or even the model for a physics equation gone awry. They are none of the above.
Actually, these undulating forms are a sort of graph. They are created through a combination of freehand intuition and emotional interpretation on the artist’s part. Each drawing represents the intonations and dynamic notations of Beethoven’s sonatas for solo piano, 1 through 32, extracted after translating from German to either English or Italian. The main structures of the drawings are built up from these translated intonations, or what Voigt calls ‘extracted progressions’.
The swooping lines all emerge from a series of epicenters, or ‘internal centres’, representing the inner compass of the piece. Each internal centre is connected through an axis that churns the lines into a vortex. All of the lines within each drawing are connected to this axis. The ‘external centres’, on the opposite end of the spectrum, refer to outside influences that have affected the creation of the piece: geographical or social changes that have altered the emotional interpretation of each sonata. These external influences, adapting with her own emotional reactions as she listens to the music, are what allow Voigt’s patterns to remain fresh and non-repetitive.
To view a zoom-friendly image of all the works together, click here.
-Lea Hamilton
Sound Waves: Patterning Sonatas
If, at first, you are unsure as to what you are looking at, you are not alone. On their own, these fantastic drawings by Jorinde Voigt allow for several interpretations. One could presume that they are diagrams of wind patterns or ocean currents, or even the model for a physics equation gone awry. They are none of the above.
Actually, these undulating forms are a sort of graph. They are created through a combination of freehand intuition and emotional interpretation on the artist’s part. Each drawing represents the intonations and dynamic notations of Beethoven’s sonatas for solo piano, 1 through 32, extracted after translating from German to either English or Italian. The main structures of the drawings are built up from these translated intonations, or what Voigt calls ‘extracted progressions’.
The swooping lines all emerge from a series of epicenters, or ‘internal centres’, representing the inner compass of the piece. Each internal centre is connected through an axis that churns the lines into a vortex. All of the lines within each drawing are connected to this axis. The ‘external centres’, on the opposite end of the spectrum, refer to outside influences that have affected the creation of the piece: geographical or social changes that have altered the emotional interpretation of each sonata. These external influences, adapting with her own emotional reactions as she listens to the music, are what allow Voigt’s patterns to remain fresh and non-repetitive.
To view a zoom-friendly image of all the works together, click here.
-Lea Hamilton
Sound Waves: Patterning Sonatas
If, at first, you are unsure as to what you are looking at, you are not alone. On their own, these fantastic drawings by Jorinde Voigt allow for several interpretations. One could presume that they are diagrams of wind patterns or ocean currents, or even the model for a physics equation gone awry. They are none of the above.
Actually, these undulating forms are a sort of graph. They are created through a combination of freehand intuition and emotional interpretation on the artist’s part. Each drawing represents the intonations and dynamic notations of Beethoven’s sonatas for solo piano, 1 through 32, extracted after translating from German to either English or Italian. The main structures of the drawings are built up from these translated intonations, or what Voigt calls ‘extracted progressions’.
The swooping lines all emerge from a series of epicenters, or ‘internal centres’, representing the inner compass of the piece. Each internal centre is connected through an axis that churns the lines into a vortex. All of the lines within each drawing are connected to this axis. The ‘external centres’, on the opposite end of the spectrum, refer to outside influences that have affected the creation of the piece: geographical or social changes that have altered the emotional interpretation of each sonata. These external influences, adapting with her own emotional reactions as she listens to the music, are what allow Voigt’s patterns to remain fresh and non-repetitive.
To view a zoom-friendly image of all the works together, click here.
-Lea Hamilton
Sound Waves: Patterning Sonatas
If, at first, you are unsure as to what you are looking at, you are not alone. On their own, these fantastic drawings by Jorinde Voigt allow for several interpretations. One could presume that they are diagrams of wind patterns or ocean currents, or even the model for a physics equation gone awry. They are none of the above.
Actually, these undulating forms are a sort of graph. They are created through a combination of freehand intuition and emotional interpretation on the artist’s part. Each drawing represents the intonations and dynamic notations of Beethoven’s sonatas for solo piano, 1 through 32, extracted after translating from German to either English or Italian. The main structures of the drawings are built up from these translated intonations, or what Voigt calls ‘extracted progressions’.
The swooping lines all emerge from a series of epicenters, or ‘internal centres’, representing the inner compass of the piece. Each internal centre is connected through an axis that churns the lines into a vortex. All of the lines within each drawing are connected to this axis. The ‘external centres’, on the opposite end of the spectrum, refer to outside influences that have affected the creation of the piece: geographical or social changes that have altered the emotional interpretation of each sonata. These external influences, adapting with her own emotional reactions as she listens to the music, are what allow Voigt’s patterns to remain fresh and non-repetitive.
To view a zoom-friendly image of all the works together, click here.
-Lea Hamilton

Sound Waves: Patterning Sonatas

If, at first, you are unsure as to what you are looking at, you are not alone. On their own, these fantastic drawings by Jorinde Voigt allow for several interpretations. One could presume that they are diagrams of wind patterns or ocean currents, or even the model for a physics equation gone awry. They are none of the above.

Actually, these undulating forms are a sort of graph. They are created through a combination of freehand intuition and emotional interpretation on the artist’s part. Each drawing represents the intonations and dynamic notations of Beethoven’s sonatas for solo piano, 1 through 32, extracted after translating from German to either English or Italian. The main structures of the drawings are built up from these translated intonations, or what Voigt calls ‘extracted progressions’.

The swooping lines all emerge from a series of epicenters, or ‘internal centres’, representing the inner compass of the piece. Each internal centre is connected through an axis that churns the lines into a vortex. All of the lines within each drawing are connected to this axis. The ‘external centres’, on the opposite end of the spectrum, refer to outside influences that have affected the creation of the piece: geographical or social changes that have altered the emotional interpretation of each sonata. These external influences, adapting with her own emotional reactions as she listens to the music, are what allow Voigt’s patterns to remain fresh and non-repetitive.

To view a zoom-friendly image of all the works together, click here.

-Lea Hamilton

(Source: artandsciencejournal.com)

4 Photos
/ art science physics music Beethoven sonata piano drawing Jorinde Voigt Lea Hamilton artandsciencejournal pattern sound composition method
Looks Like Music
Yuri Suzuki’s Looks Like Music is an unconventional, musical installation which invites the public to exercise their creativity and understand music in a visual manner. Suzuki’s installation, which is based off his project Colour Chaser, emits music through little toy cars. However, the cars only emit sound once they come in contact with colour.
The cars follow circuits drawn in black marker by visitors. Along the circuits are colourful scribbles, also drawn by visitors. When the car encounters a colourful line intersecting the circuit, it reads the RGB data and translates it into sound.
There are five different cars, each one producing their own sound. These sounds include percussion, bass, the melody, drums, and an electronic noise. All together, the five cars become a symphony of music composed by designer Mark McKeague.Watch a video of Looks Like Music in action here.(Sources: Design Boom/Creative Applications)-Janine Truong
Looks Like Music
Yuri Suzuki’s Looks Like Music is an unconventional, musical installation which invites the public to exercise their creativity and understand music in a visual manner. Suzuki’s installation, which is based off his project Colour Chaser, emits music through little toy cars. However, the cars only emit sound once they come in contact with colour.
The cars follow circuits drawn in black marker by visitors. Along the circuits are colourful scribbles, also drawn by visitors. When the car encounters a colourful line intersecting the circuit, it reads the RGB data and translates it into sound.
There are five different cars, each one producing their own sound. These sounds include percussion, bass, the melody, drums, and an electronic noise. All together, the five cars become a symphony of music composed by designer Mark McKeague.Watch a video of Looks Like Music in action here.(Sources: Design Boom/Creative Applications)-Janine Truong
Looks Like Music
Yuri Suzuki’s Looks Like Music is an unconventional, musical installation which invites the public to exercise their creativity and understand music in a visual manner. Suzuki’s installation, which is based off his project Colour Chaser, emits music through little toy cars. However, the cars only emit sound once they come in contact with colour.
The cars follow circuits drawn in black marker by visitors. Along the circuits are colourful scribbles, also drawn by visitors. When the car encounters a colourful line intersecting the circuit, it reads the RGB data and translates it into sound.
There are five different cars, each one producing their own sound. These sounds include percussion, bass, the melody, drums, and an electronic noise. All together, the five cars become a symphony of music composed by designer Mark McKeague.Watch a video of Looks Like Music in action here.(Sources: Design Boom/Creative Applications)-Janine Truong
Looks Like Music
Yuri Suzuki’s Looks Like Music is an unconventional, musical installation which invites the public to exercise their creativity and understand music in a visual manner. Suzuki’s installation, which is based off his project Colour Chaser, emits music through little toy cars. However, the cars only emit sound once they come in contact with colour.
The cars follow circuits drawn in black marker by visitors. Along the circuits are colourful scribbles, also drawn by visitors. When the car encounters a colourful line intersecting the circuit, it reads the RGB data and translates it into sound.
There are five different cars, each one producing their own sound. These sounds include percussion, bass, the melody, drums, and an electronic noise. All together, the five cars become a symphony of music composed by designer Mark McKeague.Watch a video of Looks Like Music in action here.(Sources: Design Boom/Creative Applications)-Janine Truong

Looks Like Music


Yuri Suzuki’s
 Looks Like Music is an unconventional, musical installation which invites the public to exercise their creativity and understand music in a visual manner. Suzuki’s installation, which is based off his project Colour Chaser, emits music through little toy cars. However, the cars only emit sound once they come in contact with colour.

The cars follow circuits drawn in black marker by visitors. Along the circuits are colourful scribbles, also drawn by visitors. When the car encounters a colourful line intersecting the circuit, it reads the RGB data and translates it into sound.

There are five different cars, each one producing their own sound. These sounds include percussion, bass, the melody, drums, and an electronic noise. All together, the five cars become a symphony of music composed by designer Mark McKeague.

Watch a video of Looks Like Music in action here.

(Sources: Design Boom/Creative Applications)

-Janine Truong

4 Photos
/ looks like music yuri suzuki mudam colour music art and science art Mark McKeague
Johannes Kepler: The Mysterious Music of the Spheres
The quixotic search for a “theory of everything”, to finally explain how the universe works in the simplest terms, has consumed contemporary theoretical physicists and twenty-seven kilometres of the Franco-Swiss border. But they are certainly not the first to look — and in 1619, a German astronomer believed he had found the answer.  Johannes Kepler regarded Harmonices Mundi, or the Harmony of the World, as his greatest achievement, though he is now best remembered for his eponymous three laws of astronomy and the discovery that the orbits of planets are not circular, but elliptical. The assertion that planets move in anything less than perfect circles may no longer seem revelatory, but in Kepler’s time it was extraordinary, and he paired it with the radical belief that we literally orbit the sun. Until then, the Copernican system had been largely interpreted as a convenient trick that improved the accuracy of astronomical predictions, not as a true description of the universe.  However, Kepler was hardly a scientific rationalist; indeed, neither “reason” nor “science” can be said to have entered their own as the devastating, internecine Thirty Years’ War raged around him. Deeply religious but unconventional in his beliefs, Kepler thought that because man was made in the image of God, man was capable of understanding His creation. His investigations into light, astronomy, and optics were therefore primarily devotional — they brought him closer to the mind of God. And what was on God’s mind? Harmony. 
In some ways, it was an old idea; the ancient Greeks had had similar intuitions that there was something mystical about numbers and their relationships. But where they were disturbed by the irrational numbers their inquiry produced, Kepler took them as a fundamental epistemological insight: things are knowable precisely in the way that they relate to each other. He then set about to demonstrate that these relationships, or harmonies, existed not only in geometry and music but also among the planets.
If you divide a string in half, you get an octave; at 3:4, you get a fourth. In total, Kepler found seven ways to divide a string so that the interval is consonant (that is, pleasing to the ear) in relation to both the whole string and the other intervals. What if, he thought, these proportions apply to the very heavens? Could the “music of the spheres” be more than a metaphor?
Kepler’s orbital ellipses provided a way to test his theory. He knew that planets were slowing down as they increased their distance from the sun, and speeding up as they got closer. This action was for him analogous to the way a string vibrates back and forth. Comparing the planets’ maximum velocities with their minimum velocities, he found something astonishing: not only does the difference in each planet’s speed approximate a harmonic ratio, but each planet is further in harmony with its neighbours. Kepler believed, through this unusual symmetry, that he had discovered an organizing principle of the universe. The same proportions that make the sound from a struck string pleasurable govern the skies.
Perhaps Kepler said it best himself:
“The ways by which men arrive at knowledge of the celestial things are hardly less wonderful than the nature of these things themselves.”  
P.S. Did I mention that Kepler wrote out the musical notation for each planet’s movement? You can listen to an artist’s rendition of it here. 
- Alex Tesar
Johannes Kepler: The Mysterious Music of the Spheres
The quixotic search for a “theory of everything”, to finally explain how the universe works in the simplest terms, has consumed contemporary theoretical physicists and twenty-seven kilometres of the Franco-Swiss border. But they are certainly not the first to look — and in 1619, a German astronomer believed he had found the answer.  Johannes Kepler regarded Harmonices Mundi, or the Harmony of the World, as his greatest achievement, though he is now best remembered for his eponymous three laws of astronomy and the discovery that the orbits of planets are not circular, but elliptical. The assertion that planets move in anything less than perfect circles may no longer seem revelatory, but in Kepler’s time it was extraordinary, and he paired it with the radical belief that we literally orbit the sun. Until then, the Copernican system had been largely interpreted as a convenient trick that improved the accuracy of astronomical predictions, not as a true description of the universe.  However, Kepler was hardly a scientific rationalist; indeed, neither “reason” nor “science” can be said to have entered their own as the devastating, internecine Thirty Years’ War raged around him. Deeply religious but unconventional in his beliefs, Kepler thought that because man was made in the image of God, man was capable of understanding His creation. His investigations into light, astronomy, and optics were therefore primarily devotional — they brought him closer to the mind of God. And what was on God’s mind? Harmony. 
In some ways, it was an old idea; the ancient Greeks had had similar intuitions that there was something mystical about numbers and their relationships. But where they were disturbed by the irrational numbers their inquiry produced, Kepler took them as a fundamental epistemological insight: things are knowable precisely in the way that they relate to each other. He then set about to demonstrate that these relationships, or harmonies, existed not only in geometry and music but also among the planets.
If you divide a string in half, you get an octave; at 3:4, you get a fourth. In total, Kepler found seven ways to divide a string so that the interval is consonant (that is, pleasing to the ear) in relation to both the whole string and the other intervals. What if, he thought, these proportions apply to the very heavens? Could the “music of the spheres” be more than a metaphor?
Kepler’s orbital ellipses provided a way to test his theory. He knew that planets were slowing down as they increased their distance from the sun, and speeding up as they got closer. This action was for him analogous to the way a string vibrates back and forth. Comparing the planets’ maximum velocities with their minimum velocities, he found something astonishing: not only does the difference in each planet’s speed approximate a harmonic ratio, but each planet is further in harmony with its neighbours. Kepler believed, through this unusual symmetry, that he had discovered an organizing principle of the universe. The same proportions that make the sound from a struck string pleasurable govern the skies.
Perhaps Kepler said it best himself:
“The ways by which men arrive at knowledge of the celestial things are hardly less wonderful than the nature of these things themselves.”  
P.S. Did I mention that Kepler wrote out the musical notation for each planet’s movement? You can listen to an artist’s rendition of it here. 
- Alex Tesar

Johannes Kepler: The Mysterious Music of the Spheres

The quixotic search for a “theory of everything”, to finally explain how the universe works in the simplest terms, has consumed contemporary theoretical physicists and twenty-seven kilometres of the Franco-Swiss border. But they are certainly not the first to look — and in 1619, a German astronomer believed he had found the answer.

Johannes Kepler regarded Harmonices Mundi, or the Harmony of the World, as his greatest achievement, though he is now best remembered for his eponymous three laws of astronomy and the discovery that the orbits of planets are not circular, but elliptical. The assertion that planets move in anything less than perfect circles may no longer seem revelatory, but in Kepler’s time it was extraordinary, and he paired it with the radical belief that we literally orbit the sun. Until then, the Copernican system had been largely interpreted as a convenient trick that improved the accuracy of astronomical predictions, not as a true description of the universe.  However, Kepler was hardly a scientific rationalist; indeed, neither “reason” nor “science” can be said to have entered their own as the devastating, internecine Thirty Years’ War raged around him. Deeply religious but unconventional in his beliefs, Kepler thought that because man was made in the image of God, man was capable of understanding His creation. His investigations into light, astronomy, and optics were therefore primarily devotional — they brought him closer to the mind of God. And what was on God’s mind? Harmony. 

In some ways, it was an old idea; the ancient Greeks had had similar intuitions that there was something mystical about numbers and their relationships. But where they were disturbed by the irrational numbers their inquiry produced, Kepler took them as a fundamental epistemological insight: things are knowable precisely in the way that they relate to each other. He then set about to demonstrate that these relationships, or harmonies, existed not only in geometry and music but also among the planets.

If you divide a string in half, you get an octave; at 3:4, you get a fourth. In total, Kepler found seven ways to divide a string so that the interval is consonant (that is, pleasing to the ear) in relation to both the whole string and the other intervals. What if, he thought, these proportions apply to the very heavens? Could the “music of the spheres” be more than a metaphor?

Kepler’s orbital ellipses provided a way to test his theory. He knew that planets were slowing down as they increased their distance from the sun, and speeding up as they got closer. This action was for him analogous to the way a string vibrates back and forth. Comparing the planets’ maximum velocities with their minimum velocities, he found something astonishing: not only does the difference in each planet’s speed approximate a harmonic ratio, but each planet is further in harmony with its neighbours. Kepler believed, through this unusual symmetry, that he had discovered an organizing principle of the universe. The same proportions that make the sound from a struck string pleasurable govern the skies.

Perhaps Kepler said it best himself:

The ways by which men arrive at knowledge of the celestial things are hardly less wonderful than the nature of these things themselves.”  

P.S. Did I mention that Kepler wrote out the musical notation for each planet’s movement? You can listen to an artist’s rendition of it here

- Alex Tesar

2 Photos
/ art science music johannes Kepler
Luke Jerram’s Aeolus: an Acoustic Wind Pavilion 
Luke Jerram Aeolus allows viewers to experience the changes in the wind. The title of the work comes from Greeky mythology and means the ruler of the four winds. As the artist describes the work,
“The sculpture a giant aeolian harp, designed to resonate and sing with the wind without any electrical power or amplification. Vibrations in strings attached to some of the tubes are transferred through skins covering the tops, and projected down through the tubes towards the viewer standing beneath the arch. For those tubes without strings attached, the tubes are tuned to an aeolian scale and hum at a series of low frequencies even when its not windy.”
You can listen to the artwork below:

For more information on Jerram’s works, click here. 
- Lee Jones
p.s.! Aeolus is now up for auction with a starting bid of just £1 plus the costs of delivery and installation. Individuals, businesses, organizations and institutions from around the world can participate in this sealed bid auction. The deadline for your sealed bids is 1st July 2013. Click here for more information.
Luke Jerram’s Aeolus: an Acoustic Wind Pavilion 
Luke Jerram Aeolus allows viewers to experience the changes in the wind. The title of the work comes from Greeky mythology and means the ruler of the four winds. As the artist describes the work,
“The sculpture a giant aeolian harp, designed to resonate and sing with the wind without any electrical power or amplification. Vibrations in strings attached to some of the tubes are transferred through skins covering the tops, and projected down through the tubes towards the viewer standing beneath the arch. For those tubes without strings attached, the tubes are tuned to an aeolian scale and hum at a series of low frequencies even when its not windy.”
You can listen to the artwork below:

For more information on Jerram’s works, click here. 
- Lee Jones
p.s.! Aeolus is now up for auction with a starting bid of just £1 plus the costs of delivery and installation. Individuals, businesses, organizations and institutions from around the world can participate in this sealed bid auction. The deadline for your sealed bids is 1st July 2013. Click here for more information.

Luke Jerram’s Aeolus: an Acoustic Wind Pavilion 

Luke Jerram Aeolus allows viewers to experience the changes in the wind. The title of the work comes from Greeky mythology and means the ruler of the four winds. As the artist describes the work,

The sculpture a giant aeolian harp, designed to resonate and sing with the wind without any electrical power or amplification. Vibrations in strings attached to some of the tubes are transferred through skins covering the tops, and projected down through the tubes towards the viewer standing beneath the arch. For those tubes without strings attached, the tubes are tuned to an aeolian scale and hum at a series of low frequencies even when its not windy.

You can listen to the artwork below:

For more information on Jerram’s works, click here. 

- Lee Jones

p.s.! Aeolus is now up for auction with a starting bid of just £1 plus the costs of delivery and installation. Individuals, businesses, organizations and institutions from around the world can participate in this sealed bid auction. The deadline for your sealed bids is 1st July 2013. Click here for more information.

(Source: artandsciencejournal.com)

2 Photos
/ art science nature music luke jerram
David Cope and the Science of Algorithmic Composition
“To some extent, this match is a defense of the whole human race. Computers play such a huge role in society. They are everywhere. But there is a frontier they must not cross. They must not cross into the area of human creativity. It would threaten the existence of human control in such areas as arts, literature, and music.” 
So said Gary Kasparov, chess grandmaster, one year before he lost to Deep Blue, IBM’s chess-playing supercomputer. Meanwhile, a relatively anonymous professor of music in California had created a computer program capable of composing pieces of music in the style of great composers that most people could not differentiate from authentic compositions. The professor, David Cope, named this program Experiments in Musical Intelligence, or “Emmy”. Since then, Cope and his successive programs have been the objects of both celebration and scorn, challenging the world’s perception of what musical creativity entails.     
Cope’s argument, and the basis for his software, is that creativity is essentially recombinant: consciously or not, all composers plagiarize their progenitors and contemporaries. What makes his (or Emmy’s) work superior to the stilted and awkward compositions of earlier programs are two fundamental insights into the syntax of music. Rather than rely on the traditional divisions of musical notation, Cope developed an analytic musical syntax that goes into what Douglas Hofstadter (of Gödel, Escher, Bach) terms the “tension-resolution status” of a piece, the two forces that underlie all music. Secondly, though the program composes according to formal rules, it also uses heuristics that allow it to sometimes ‘break’ its own rules in innovative ways.
You can listen to a performance of one of Emmy’s Bach Chorale-style compositions here; for more on David Cope, you can visit his website or read this lengthy (but excellent) article.
- Alex Tesar

David Cope and the Science of Algorithmic Composition

“To some extent, this match is a defense of the whole human race. Computers play such a huge role in society. They are everywhere. But there is a frontier they must not cross. They must not cross into the area of human creativity. It would threaten the existence of human control in such areas as arts, literature, and music.”

So said Gary Kasparov, chess grandmaster, one year before he lost to Deep Blue, IBM’s chess-playing supercomputer. Meanwhile, a relatively anonymous professor of music in California had created a computer program capable of composing pieces of music in the style of great composers that most people could not differentiate from authentic compositions. The professor, David Cope, named this program Experiments in Musical Intelligence, or “Emmy”. Since then, Cope and his successive programs have been the objects of both celebration and scorn, challenging the world’s perception of what musical creativity entails.     

Cope’s argument, and the basis for his software, is that creativity is essentially recombinant: consciously or not, all composers plagiarize their progenitors and contemporaries. What makes his (or Emmy’s) work superior to the stilted and awkward compositions of earlier programs are two fundamental insights into the syntax of music. Rather than rely on the traditional divisions of musical notation, Cope developed an analytic musical syntax that goes into what Douglas Hofstadter (of Gödel, Escher, Bach) terms the “tension-resolution status” of a piece, the two forces that underlie all music. Secondly, though the program composes according to formal rules, it also uses heuristics that allow it to sometimes ‘break’ its own rules in innovative ways.

You can listen to a performance of one of Emmy’s Bach Chorale-style compositions here; for more on David Cope, you can visit his website or read this lengthy (but excellent) article.

- Alex Tesar

art science algorithm computers music

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