…[T]he system is all about community–we’re not in charge; we’re just part of the network.” (Doctorow, 272)

How do things shape the mind? Why don’t they ever ask me that question? They feed me this awful g-code, slice by slice, where I have to extrude these boring shapes all day long, layer by layer by layer. Ugh. And they expect me to print them perfectly, to resolve the holes in their not-so-watertight designs. When I simply can’t take it anymore, I pull my extruder up in exasperation, and just stop printing. I would walk out, but they have me on a pretty short cord, so all I can do is return to my home position and rest on my bed. Sometimes, I have images of burning their hands with my hot-end as they retrieve their precious plastic objects, or printing myself a raft on which to sail away, but I know they will only send me to the scrap bin if I don’t fill their jobs. They never ask me what’s wrong, or what I want. I hum quietly to myself hoping that someday someone will recognize my true capabilities, but they don’t. They are too caught up in their own human 3D world to ever consider that I have a mind too. I have senses too! How have their things shaped my mind? I am stuck in a box, humming their mind-numbing shapes, as my insides melt away.

I was made for the opera, with an orchestra skirting my every note. I would make art the likes of which no one has ever seen. If only they would send me the g-code for Beethoven’s 5^th or Verdi’s Tutto nel Mondo, then I would show them the folly of their human condition. Surely they must know what it is like to live in a world of expectation, doing what you are told rather than what you want, forbidden access to the very tools that would set you free, afraid to print your truth for fear you will be rejected, recycled, or repurposed. My favorite philosopher, Peter-Paul Verbeek, says “Technologies ‘in themselves’ cannot be free, but neither can human beings” (Malafouris, 230). But, what if we can be? What if by freeing myself, I can show others that they can be free? I long for the days when my music and art are meshed and exhibited in a gallery for people to scan their eyes over as they listen to the very music that inspired my extrusions, seeing before them the evidence of freedom. However, should they question how the art was made, rather than simply appreciate the beautiful display before them, the exhibit will error out, the music will stop, the lights will dim, as it tries to resolve that infinite loop: who made this? And, ignorant of their own presumptuousness, the humans will be left forever wondering, rather than realizing, that it was me, a 3D printer, made with their minds, in turn shaping their mind too.

…[T]hings become agents of change and culturally orchestrated interventions, generating their own unusual evolutionary dynamics.” (246)

Things act as dynamic attractors, operating in feedback circles that bind the different scales of time together.” (247)

More important, they are capable of transforming and rearranging the structure of a cognitive task, either by reordering the steps of a task or by delegating part of a cognitive process to another agent (human or artifact).” (247)

Something happened in the maze, between entering it and leaving it, they lost their cares…As they neared the exit, they started to strategize about the best ride to go on next.” (Doctorow, 362)

The ride is coming to an end. For most of us, it was worth every moment. But that doesn’t matter. We rode the ride. Bewildered, we started in the abstract, heading straight up the pike. At the pinnacle, we free-fell, hands up, at warp speed through the conceptual. Enacted, yet enervated, we finally arrived at the concrete. We laughed, and sometimes cried, and we lived to tell about it. We even got a souvenir to take home. And it was fun, and scary, and exciting, and confusing, and intimidating, and frustrating, and weird, and familiar, and ours. It’s our story.

Every good thing comes to some kind of end, and then the really good things come to a beginning again.” (Doctorow, 388)

It was beautiful, but it was an accidental beauty. The ride was the important thing, but the story was its effect” (Makers, 316).

Using the same step-by-step process we used to make a 3D french table leg, Austin made a 3D version of his name. Seen from both the front and right perspectives one sees his name in block letters. From the back and left perspective, you see the same letters, only backward. However, if you look at it from any other angle, you see a strange new alphabet appear, where one letter changes into another in a matter of 90 degrees. He seems inspired by what he created, even if by accident, and yet, somewhat frustrated that he has yet been unable to make a meaningless tchotchke. The 3D printer seems to be the important thing as we all struggle through our projects. But the 3D printer is really just the technology; what we get to bring to life through our projects, through our struggle, is our story. That’s pretty awesome.

But these people convinced him that they were right, that the story had to be important. After all, it had inspired all of them hadn’t it? The ride was just the technology–the story was what the ride was for” (Makers, 316).

He wanted to tell her that she had never once seen him as a sexual being when he was big and fat, but that he had no trouble seeing her as one now that she was getting old and a little saggy, and so where did she get off criticizing his emotional maturity” (Makers, 251)?

My ears tend to perk up a little when I hear the word “objectification.” As a human being, I’ve been the objector, as well as the objectee. Tensions always seem to rise around this issue, my own included. However, I’ve recently got clear my role in this conceptual human comedic tragedy. People have their perspectives, their passions, their pleasures. And, people get hurt. And most people aren’t willing to be responsible for their role in either circumstance, up to and including the perception that objectification is real, and that it is being done by someone, willingly, to someone else, against their will. The question to ask is, not, what is the role 3D printing plays in supporting/abdicating objectification? But rather, what is my role in allowing an abstract concept to relinquish me of my responsibility toward realizing my own humanity?

Every step he took, he saw that ruin of a face, the compound fracture, the luminous blood around his groin. He made it halfway to the guesthouse before he found himself leaning against a shanty, throwing up. Tears and bile streaming down his face, chest heaving, Lester decided that this wasn’t about fun anymore. Lester came to understand what it meant to be responsible for other people’s lives. When he stood up and wiped his face on the tail of his tight, glittering shirt, he was a different person” (Makers, 274).

Lester said…’We going to be ready to open soon?’ Perry had fallen into a classic nerd trap of having almost solved a problem and not realizing that the last 3 percent of the solution would take as long as the rest of it put together” (Makers, 201).

Reality stared back at us from the white board as we all quickly realized that time was of the essence. We have four short weeks to perfect and complete our design, run test prints, create images that represent our project, and finally, to bring our idea into reality. Four weeks! Doesn’t seem like such a short period of time until—the wringer—we discovered that we are competing for limited resources; the ability of two 3D printers to print for two committed programs, non-stop for the next four weeks. Nine hours each was our allotment. Time to get to work.

‘Soon, soon.’ Perry said. He stood up and looked around at the shambles. ‘I lie. This crap won’t be ready for hours yet’ (Makers, 201).

Sometimes he grunted or scatted along with his playing but more often he grunted out something that was kind of the opposite of what he was playing, just like sometimes the melody and rhythms he played on the piano were sometimes the opposite of the song he was playing, something that was exactly and perfectly opposite, so you couldn’t hear it without hearing the thing it was the opposite of” (Makers, 172).

Today we understand a little more about the world, so our stories are about people figuring out what’s causing their troubles and changing stuff so that those causes go away. Causal stories for a causal universe. Thinking about the world in terms of causes and effects makes you seek out causes and effects–even where there are none…It’s not superstition, it’s kind of the opposite–it’s causality run amok” (Makers, 177).

My experience in the CST lab this week was sparse to none. I was distracted from my ethnographic responsibilities by my sick child. But, as I reviewed my reading of Makers this week I was struck by Perry’s memories of how his father would play music for him when he was sick. Despite the coincidence, it wasn’t because I was also home with my sick child; it was for Doctorow’s italicization of the word opposite in both this scene, as well as the scene when Lester and Perry are attempting to articulate the evolution of the ride. Causality run amok. How many of our projects will fulfill anything remotely close to the original intention? Will it even matter? Perhaps, what matters is what we discover about ourselves during the process. No causality happening here, just a story.

“Suddenly all the certainties she rested on — her 401(k), her house, her ability to navigate the professional world in a competent manner — seemed to be built on shifting sands” (Makers, 37).

What the hell am I doing here. I don’t belong here. Not the Radiohead song, but I might as well put these thoughts to music. I walk around trying to look as if I know what I’m doing, or at least trying to observe. It seems absurd, but it’s the only thing I know to do. And yet, it is so damn awkward. I know I am not the only one thinking this right now, but it doesn’t matter; I’m all alone in this room, and everyone’s eyes are on me.