Tag: notes

Scanning the brain is like scanning a computer with no screen.

©Rune Peitersen 2010

Although I have the utmost respect for scientific research and am personally fascinated by the field of neurology, recently I find myself questioning the methods used to gather information about brain activity, namely the measuring of electrical fields or electrical activity in the brain. Not the specific methods themselves, whether one uses electrodes or mri scans to determine brain activity is of no interest to me. Rather the thinking behind the research seems odd. What can one really hope to gather from measuring a certain area of activity? If a subject is stimulated in a certain manner e.g. hit on the finger, told to think of something nice or shown evocative imagery, then specific parts of the brain light up and the more the subject’s finger is hit, the more accurately the area in the brain can be pinpointed. But what does that really tell us?

There’s no metaphor I reject more than comparing the human brain to a computer, but in this particular case I think it is a valid metaphor. Scanning the brain and drawing conclusions from these scans about the human mind or the human experience of the world, is like removing the monitor from a pc, putting electrodes on the outside of the tower and hammering away at the keyboard. Indeed, certain key stroke combinations seem to evoke very specific responses from the tower, and with a little patience we might be able to piece together an idea of the anatomy of the inside of the computer i.e. motherboard, cpu, gpu, hard drive etc. We may discover that repeatedly hitting ctrl+alt+del invokes a specific response, there might even be a sound, but without the screen we can never know if we’re playing a game, surfing the web, photoshopping or have crashed.

It is an old dilemma of neurology, that whatever else it is, it is always the brain examining the brain. But this is looking for sparks and trying to guess their meaning, this is the brain projecting unto the brain.

The Cartesian theater of The Matrix and Avatar

©Rune Peitersen 2010

Both The Matrix and, more recently, Avatar feature the ability of the protagonist(s) to transfer their mind/consciousness to another (virtual) body. The premise seems to be Cartesian. The human consciousness is trapped somewhere inside our head or brain, but if we were able to ‘free’ it from its corporeal existence, there is nothing hindering it from taking possession of another body.

The modern day logic is the computer logic – we all have the same corporeal hardware and our software (mind) is therefore instantly compatible with any other body. All we need in order to transfer our software is an interface of some sort. In The Matrix this is done by connecting directly to an even bigger piece of hardware, whereas in Avatar it’s all wireless (of course, there are 10+ years between the two movies, but one can’t help notice the distinct tinker-toy PC-feel of The Matrix as opposed to the superficially smooth Apple experience of Avatar). In both cases the mind is ‘uploaded’ to another piece of hardware, and thereafter free to enter another reality where the rules and limitations of the ‘normal’ world don’t apply. IT-worker Mr. Anderson becomes an übercool, streetwise goth super hero, and the disabled soldier becomes a 3 meter tall, blue ‘warrior’ who rides an enormous dinosaur turkey and nails (or rather, ‘tails’) the daughter of the chief (I shudder at the thought, that the soldiers at bases in the US, who are remote controlling Predator drones in Afghanistan and elsewhere, might envision themselves undergoing similar ‘transformations’ when ‘going’ on missions).

Although mind and body seem to have little if any influence on each other, in both movies you still need a ‘real’ body. If your ‘real’ body dies, you’re dead. In The Matrix you die even if your virtual body dies – at least sometimes. In Avatar this is less of a problem; the big blue avatar vehicle can survive without the mind in a vegetative, brain-dead, state – very handy. Also, if you’re lucky, you can have your mind permanently transferred to the big blue body, but that takes a lot of processing power and all the blue people have to jack in to make that work. What happens to the original body after that, is somewhat unclear, but I like to imagine, that in true totemistic style, the heart and liver are ripped out of the still warm body and ritually devoured by the tribe (normally, I’d say the brain as well, but in this particular case, it’s safe to assume that it’s empty(?)).

Now, normally, the brain takes care of regulating a lot of the body’s vital functions. These include regulating temperature, breathing, heartbeat, hormone balance etc. etc. Since the bodies, which are left behind, in the movies don’t die completely, we must assume that the part of the mind which is transferred isn’t involved in any of these tasks. Likewise, sensory input is ‘taken care of’ by the new body, which seems to imply that either all brains are built exactly alike when it comes to e.g. the visual cortex regardless of what kind of eyes you have (goodbye environmental influence – and common sense), or the mind just settles in the driver’s seat of the new brain and lets all the sensory information come to it ‘from the outside’ (hello homunculus problem). In any case, the ongoing individual neural wiring of the brain (which starts as soon as the brain begins to evolve and is more personal and complex than a fingerprint the size of the moon) seems to play little or no part at all, which is good because that would present a problem – how would you get new memories or newly learned skills with you from one body to the other if memories and newly learned skills were brain structures? In fact, it’s probably safe to say, that the only aspects of the mind, which are transferred are: personality (whatever that is when detached from the bodily experience and the individually wired neural network), memory (whatever that is when detached from the bodily experience and the individually wired neural network) and emotions (whatever that is when detached from the bodily experience and and the individually wired neural network).

Anyway, the important thing is that it works. Apparently, we are told, it’s just a matter of the right technology before we can all become the heroes in our own lives – be what we were really meant to be – simply by uploading our ‘mind’ to another body. This is fortunate, because then we don’t have to worry about being ‘what we were really meant to be’ in our everyday lives, all we have to do is wait for the right technology to appear, and then we can be transformed into freedom fighters on far away planets or on a world dominated by machines. We can finally be as brave and bold as we know we really are. We will fight oppression, liberate some people and get the girl in the end. In other words, we can finally do all the stuff we were destined to do, but you can’t do in the real world…because you’re not allowed, or there are no oppressed people anywhere, no injustice and no girls either.

But, what if the technology isn’t developed within our lifetime?!? Luckily, the movies seem to deal with that eventuality as well. It’s a bit tricky, but nonetheless. By stating that the mind (or at least, the mythological 10% we care about) is kind of a separate thing from the body, it seems plausible that it could survive after we die as well – since the body isn’t really needed after all. And then perhaps after we die, we can go to a place where we can finally be ‘what we were really meant to be’, but were unable to be in our former life (for reasons mentioned above). This may sound vaguely familiar, and I can only assume that that is the noble intention of the film makers. To let us know it’s okay if we aren’t the heroes or even protagonists of our own lives, because in the Matrix/Pandora/Afterlife we will be. So, even though the movies may appear to be showing us something new, they are in fact telling us something old. They are giving us a 17th century view of the world dressed up in 21st century effects.

Notes on Peripheral Panorama 4

I am interested in emulating and visualizing the way our senses work. By presenting a ‘video’ version of the peripheral vision, emphasis is put on the discrepancy between how visual information enters our brain and how we (our brain) presents that information to us. There is an apparent ‘misunderstanding’ in our understanding of how we percieve the world. Not only is it impossible to talk of an objective world ‘out there’ to be sensed, but even if it were so, we still wouldn’t be able to ‘see’ it through anything but the filters of our brain. Basically, what that comes down to is, that the world as we know it is a neurological construction and that, when we sense, we sense a neurological projection triggered by stimuli principally unknown to us.
This also means that when we see, we do not see through our eyes like we see through a pair of binoculars, rather the eyes and the visual cortex make up the visual sensation of seeing. In its extreme this means that what we see is the world – no matter if no one else sees it like we do.

In the Panorama, the brain is taken out of the perceptional equation so that the viewer gets an impaired (or, more accurate) image of how our perception works.

Notes on Peripheral Panorama 3

Peripheral Panorama was a video installation built specifically for the Project space, Zaal 5, in The Filmhouse in The Hague. As winner of the annual prize competetion, Workspace07, I adapted an idea from an earlier work to fit the specific setting of both The Hague and the space itself. The installation consisted of a large maze-like structure which the viewer had to enter and walk through in order to view the main video screens. The two screens were set at an angle to each other and the viewer so that they corresponded with the viewer’s peripheral vision. Standing at the right spot, he could encompass both screens within his peripheral vision. However, when doing so, he found himself staring into the darkness between the two screens, which corresponded with his central vision, the visual field where we normally see things in detail. The movies shown on the two screens were shot at a similar angle to each other while walking through the areas in The Hague which had been painted by Mesdag for the Panorama Mesdag in the late 1800’s. The footage had been altered to resemble an estimation of how the peripheral vision is ’seen’ by our eyes. Only movement, colour and contrast remained.
The steady walking movement and the shifting scenery created the experience of moving forward through something but not being able to discern what or where. Some viewers described it as ’seeing through someone else’s eyes’. Others found the lack of central vision disturbing because they felt a loss of control.
Once the viewer exited the maze, he was offered a view of the original, unedited footage used in the Panorama. On a single monitor, the two movies were played sequentially and with sound. Here the viewer could see in detail what my peripheral vision had ’seen’ while filming, but he lost the overview of the Panorama.

Notes on Periperal Panorama 2

I like to think of our mind as a ‘void-filler’. It attributes meaning to our surroundings by interpreting and labeling structurs as recognizable objects. This process is not part of our conscious thinking – it is pre-conscious or sub-conscious.
With this installation I wanted to see if, by taking advantage of a peculiarity of the way we see, the peripheral vision, it would be possible to force the ‘void-filling’, at least partially, into the conscious thought-process.
Among other things this would require control over the viewers visual input – no disturbances allowed. This is similar to the setup of a cinema, and in particular one of its precursors, The Panorama. I decided to make use of some of the tricks used in the constructin of traditional panoramas.
The closer the construction came to completion, the more I came to think of it as a ‘one man cinema’. There is one vantagepoint within the installation from which you should be able to encompass the whole view within your peripheral vision. However, I doubt you’ll be able to restrain your focus to that point for long. Because of the shifting contrasts and movement playing at the corners of your eye, your mind will force your focus back and forth trying to make sense of the imagery – in effect, trying to fill the void.

Notes on Peripheral Panorama

If you look at the pilosophical root of science and compare it to the philosophical implications of modern science, you seem to end up with a conundrum. The first takes its outset in doubt and basically says “don’t trust your senses or any information given to you by them, because our senses can fool us”, and the latter states something along the lines of “it is impossible to talk of a reality ‘outside’ our sensory apparatus”. I have always thought of the cartesian angst of ‘being fooled by ones senses’ as somewhat overrated. The question remains, however, whether the latter statement makes it impossible to ‘be fooled by ones senses’. This would contradict if not common sense, then at least common experience. However, if we turned the argument around it might not have to. Instead of thinking something is wrong with my sensory input when I see something someone else doesn’t see, I should regard it as a conflict between my sensory apparatus and his sensory apparatus. This conflict only arises if we demand to be able to share everything, even the perception of our reality, and could easily be laid to rest by embracing a statement like: “I trust the reality of my sensory input, but accept that this reality may not be shared by others”. This means that we must accept that our shared reality may not be the complete reality (in fact we should disperse of the term ‘complete reality’), or at least that we can choose to see a shared reality as part of a wider definition and experience of reality. Reality is subjective and only where it happens to overlap someone else’s subjective reality, consensus arises and we can then enter into meaningful communication about it.

Peripheral vision is the part of our field of view which lies outside of our central vision. The peripheral vision is basically a colourless blur, in which only contrasts and movement are detected. The eye is not physically capable of detecting detail outside of the center. This, however, is not how we experience the surroundings outside our central focus.
Every time something changes in the peripheral vision, our focus is directed to whatever caused that change. In a sense we determine which part of our world is in focus simply by looking at it. If we don’t look, it remains a blur.

A Panorama is a contraption, not unlike a cinema, designed to trick the viewer into believing he’s somewhere else. Everything is constructed around confusing the viewer, to fool his senses. In The Panorama Mesdag you experience a representation of Scheveningen as it looked to the painter 125 years ago. From there you can walk to Scheveningen and see for yourself what it looks like today.
The word Panorama means something like ‘all encompassing view’.

In Peripheral Panorama you don’t get an ‘all encompassing view’. You get to see two representations of my peripheral vision as I retraced the periphery of Mesdag’s representation of Scheveningen 125 years ago. One gives you detail, the other tries to emulate the visual input I received.
It was never my intention to strive for any sort of objectiveness in this presentation. In fact, I hope each viewer will allow himself to be fooled by his senses and experience a reality which he is unable to communicate to his fellow man.