Book Review – “Not Your World Music: Noise in South East Asia”

The second half of 2017 was full of good reads for me. Of the 23-25 (mostly non-fictions) books I read during the course of the year, at least 4 or 5 were excellent. Top reads included, “The Gene: An Intimate History” by Siddhartha Mukherjee, Bioart and the Vitality of Media by Robert Mitchell, and Alone Together: Why we Expect More from Technology and Less from Each Other by Sherry Turkle. (Since 2008, I’ve been writing down every book I read, every movie I see, and every place I visit; highly recommended.) To top this good year of reading was an unexpected gem, “Not Your World Music: Noise in South East Asia” by Cedrik Fermont and Dimitri della Faille that deeply resonated with me: as much for its content than its form, mission and approach. Thus, I decided to dedicate the first book review on my blog to this book. As a disclaimer, I am going to review this book from a perhaps unusual perspective: one that focuses more on the exciting methodology with which the book is created (and the implication of its adoption) rather than its content. This is motivated by my own similar approach to research (and writing) that is based on community-engaged DIY methodologies.

I came across “Not Your World Music” at the Ars Electronica Festival. It won the prestigious 2017 “Golden Nica” Prix in the category of “Digital Musics & Sound Art”. I’ve been consistently impressed by the artists who present their work at Ars Electronica (you can read my review of the 2017 festival here); additionally, the book had a very interesting (and ambitious) subtitle that immediately caught my eye: “A book about art, politics, identity, gender and global capitalism”. How can a book about a relatively unknown form of sound art, noise, be about all of these topics? Why did it receive such a prestigious award? Why study noise specifically in the Southeast Asian context? Enough questions to warrant a more in-depth inquiry.

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Not Your World Music – in physical format (Photo: Ars Electronica)

The first thing I found out about the book was that it is simultaneously easy and difficult to get a copy! The book is self-published and each ordered physical copy is printed on demand and send by authors via mail from Germany; the companion compilation is available as a digital download (limited physical CDs are sold out). More importantly, the entire book is available for free download, creating a possibility for creating a DIY version for one’s consumption. This is an important and meaningful choice for the authors as they explain: “Our decision to self-publish the book is political and revealing of the practices of the noise scenes. It is very possible that with some adjustments, this book could have found a receptive ear with a commercial or scholarly publisher. But, self-publishing the book allows us unchallenged control on content, distribution, price and schedule.” Furthermore, “books and CDs come with a very high price tag and are difficult to find and to get outside Europe and North America. Knowledge is difficult to reach for those who would probably benefit from it the most. … We firmly believe knowledge should be freely accessible to all. Besides the book in its printed version, we are circulating a PDF version available as a free internet download.”

Cedrik Fermont (CD/BE/DE), Dimitri della Faille (BE/CA)

Dimitri de la Faille and Cedrik Fermont at the Ars Electronica Festival

The next thing that caught my eye about the book was its two (primary) authors and their complex backgrounds. In a section entitled, “Who we are”, they describe their backgrounds: “Cedrik was born in Zaire (today the Democratic Republic of the Congo). He is of Congolese, Greek and Belgian descent and grew up in Belgium. He has not graduated from any university and is mostly self-taught. He is a professional composer and musician based in Germany. … Dimitri represents the stereotypical image of elite North European white male domination. He was born and raised in Belgium in an upper class family. Highly educated, he holds a PhD (doctorate) in sociology and is a tenured professor at a Canadian university. He now holds the dual Belgian-Canadian citizenship.” As can be seen from the passage above, the authors put the description of their identities front and center in the book. They go further and ask: “This book is being written by two “Belgian” males. Is that not paradoxical for an anti-colonial and anti-sexist discourse?” This question and how they address it is, in my mind, of paramount importance. In the last few years, I have also worked with many communities in Asia, Africa and Latin America, as well as, underserved communities in North America, where my identity as an Iranian-Canadian middle-class academic male has seemingly been at odds with the work I have been doing. Over the years, I have adopted a value-sensitive approach that shares a lot of aspects with the reasoning presented by Cedrik and Dimitri. This is how they address this question: “Yes, it would have been beneficial to have South East Asians tell and narrate their realities. Yes, it would have been greater to have females tell their own stories. Yes, knowledge is produced in part by the usual stereotypical domineering thanks to his understanding of the rules of publication, his high education and his capacity to navigate administration and gather resources. But, during the process of researching, writing and releasing this book and its companion compilation CD we have, as much as we possibly could, involved South East Asian collaborators. …. So, the suggested paradox is only superficial. … It must also be stressed that during the writing of this book, we have constantly attempted to keep the dynamics of ‘Northern’ male domination under control. Every aspect of this book has been constantly discussed, when not loosely negotiated, with those whose stories are being told here. And, in the case of Dimitri, we have attempted to transform his white upper class background into a sort of leverage. If anything, perhaps his status as a university professor from a ‘Northern University’ may allow counternarratives to be told in (what could possibly be perceived as being such) a more ‘legitimate’ way.” In other words, and this is what is brilliant about this approach, they have adopted a participatory, inclusive method where community members ultimately and reflexively create knowledge. Furthermore, Dimitri’s role is indispensable as it ensures that the effort is not considered as “outsider research” (by either academics or local practitioners) since there is an expert on board the project who can help inform and, thus enrich, the (de)construction of knowledge.

I admire Cedrik and Dimitri for not shying away from the complexity of describing cultural experiences and concepts in a feminist approach that is sensitive to nuances of identity and structures of power. Feminism is, of course, about understanding power and problematizing (or in Judith Butler‘s words, “troubling”) existing structures of power and especially existing hegemony. The self-declaration in the “Who we are” subsection is testimony that sometimes, feminist research does not have to take the form of protest or the subversive creation of alternatives, and can be more about explicitly talking about structures of power that are inevitably created by historical, social, cultural and economic forces; an important and often overlooked point of feminist analysis is not to necessarily change an existing hierarchy or power structure but to make it manifest.


So, what is noise (or noise music) and how can it be defined in an “anti-colonial, anti-sexist” manner? A clue to the innovative way that this book addresses this question is in the title: “Not Your World Music”. In chapter 1, the authors state that, “As implied in the title, this book is critical of ‘world music.’ It is critical of the fact that the production and distribution of music from the ‘World’ is mostly in the hands of multinational companies headquartered in Europe and North America. It is critical of the fact that a single label, a ‘terminological dualism that distinguished world music from music’ (Feld, 2000, p. 147) is used to qualify music that is not from Europe or North America. Under such a label, ‘musics understood as non-Western or ethnically other [continue] to be routinely partitioned from those of the West’ (Feld, 2000, p. 147).” So, if the starting point of understanding noise music is not studying established texts (such as the book Bruits (Noises) by Jacques Attali) or scholarly definitions where to start? The answer, as it turns out, is to start on many fronts: First, the authors use an online survey to ask musicians in the region themselves about how they characterize their music and find out that the English term, “Noise Music” is actually widely used by musicians themselves. Next, they cast a critical look at the global history of noise music (in Europe, North America, Japan, and other places in the world). Through this examination, they identify two streams of artistic practice as roots of noise music: the electroacoustic stream (with strong connections to academic music traditions), and the avant-garde experimental stream (with connections to performance art, underground music, avant-garde rock, etc.). Additionally, they try to define noise from a sonic and acoustic perspective; offering both a negative definition (e.g., “as not resembling any commonly known music, especially popular music”) and a positive definition (e.g., “the art of organizing sounds (Landy, 2007)”). While these definitions might be helpful, the authors argue, it is difficult to get away from ethnocentric, normative and poetic tendencies when defining such an elusive genre. But that perhaps is the point: cultural phenomenon are messy and so should be their study. While the range of (sometimes contrasting) definitions seem confusing at first, after some reflection they seem cohesive and informative. In my mind, in such a challenging encounter the key step forward is neither to declare the topic as impossible to capture nor to give in to reductionist tendencies in order to satisfy our desire for organization; rather it is have courage to be satisfied with messy, “troublesome” characterizations that are not limited to binary decisions of “noise vs. not noise”. And what better subject to start with than noise music that in itself seems to be an expression of challenging arbitrary boundaries.

In addition to these fascinating foundational discussions, the book continues with subsections that discuss the history (or “itinerary”) of different genres of noise music both in a global setting and in much more detail, in relation to the countries in South East Asia. The book chapters alternate between academic-style essays (e.g., Chapter 5. Reflections on the Social Determinants of Noise Music in South East Asia) and fascinating conversations with a range of actors (artists, promoters, producers) of sound music in South East Asia (e.g., Chapter 6. A Conversation with the Noise Scenes in South East Asia). At times, these chapters might seem to be too different from each other and dissolve into a cacophony of narratives; however, with patience, they start to make sense and provide a rich tapestry of voices that masterfully capture the diversity and overall harmony of this phenomenon. This is rather similar to the experience of listening to the companion noise music compilation (highly recommended!).

As should be clear by now, “Not Your World Music” has a mission, or several missions. As I’ve argued above, it causes ethnomusicological “trouble” (in a positive, feminist sense); additionally, it motivates self-reflection in the community of noise artists in South East Asia. In their Ars Electronica lecture, Dimitri pointed out that since the publication of the book many noise artists in South East Asia have started to document their work and the work of their peers more systematically. In addition to the above, I believe there is a third, and for me, increasingly inspiring, outcome of this work: increased community-building through research (or knowledge-building) activities. In their attempt to build a participatory narrative of noise, the authors have included many biographical sketches, interviews and commentary from contemporary noise artists, producers, promoters and fans in South East Asia. The fact that the contributions of these individuals are brought together in a cohesive book that is freely available online means that they (and their communities) can learn about each other through this effort and potentially strengthen their international and regional networks. In a world where the outcomes of much of academic and non-academic research is (still!) hidden behind paywalls and inaccessible academic language, it is inspiring to see a knowledge-building and -sharing project that is committed to bringing back its results to the communities it aims to serve. The project is crowdfunded and crowdsourced; liberating it from obligations to prove anything to anyone to demonstrate worthy outcomes. This allows it to stay true to the community of noise artists in which it is situated: it is a project by the people, for the people; and that in itself is enough to pave a new way of creating and sharing understandings of slippery and multifaceted cultural phenomenon such that the outcomes are accessible and relevant to, first and foremost, local communities, as well as, other communities both academic and not.

Future Now: The 2017 Ars Electronica Festival

This September I was invited to participate in the Future Innovator’s Summit at the Ars Electronica Festival 2017. This was a wonderful opportunity to spend several activity packed days discussing some of the biggest questions arising from the emergence of increasingly complex technologies with an interdisciplinary and multicultural group of artists, scientists, philosophers, researchers and designers.


Photo: Ars Electronica Festival

I was delighted that the summit was planned as part of this legendary festival of digital, hybrid and emergent art that has been the venue where a lot of seminal and groundbreaking works, from Stelarc‘s “Ear on Arm” to Joe Davis‘ “Bacterial Radio“, have been showcased over the years.

The festival is held yearly in the beautiful Austrian city of Linz, which sits on the Danube River. The festival is held in several locations around the city but the main venue, POSTCITY, is a former mail distribution center that is mysterious, spacious and labyrinthic and over the course of the festival is transformed into an futuristic exhibit filled with mind-blowing installations, performance stages and conference halls. In the past few years, I have visited Linz several times to present research at the International Conference on Computers Helping People with Disabilities (which is unrelated to the Ars Electronica Festival and is usually held at the Johannes Kepler University).

The theme of this year’s festival was Artificial Intelligence: The Other I. In this post, I will describe some of the highlights of my experience (including a brief description of the Future Innovator’s Summit).

Future Innovator’s Summit

The Future Innovator’s Summit (FIS) is an initiative, under the direction of Dr. Hideaki Ogawa, to create an ad-hoc think-tank that runs in parallel with the Ars Electronica Festival and in which participants spend several days exploring creative questions and themes related to the Future. It is supported by the Japanese firm Hakuhodo and the Ars Electronica Futurelab.

This year four interdisciplinary teams worked on the topics of Future Humanity, Future Work and Future Home. I was in one of the two teams that was focused on the future of humanity.

We started by thinking about three questions:

  • How can we be more human?
  • How can a machine love a human? And vice versa?
  • How can we live as a multiple “I”?

Prior to the summit, we had all sent in some thoughts about these questions to the FIS team. Please see the Appendix below for my extended answers.

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Our team working hard on the questions of the Future. Photo: Future Innovator’s Summit

Our team consisted of myself, Imre Bard (philosopher/researcher), Xin Liu (media artist/engineer), Alex Reben (roboticist/artist), and Pinar Yoldas (artist/researcher).  During the summit, our team (with support from facilitator Fran Miller) decided to focus on a question about the ethics of emerging technologies and specifically Artificial Intelligence:

  • What should AI (not) decide for us?

We approached this question through a participatory perspective, where we interviewed about 40 people at the festival and compiled their answers in a short video. We then presented this video at a final presentation and provided our own thoughts on the topic. Our interviewees presented many excellent ideas. Some highlights included: “Human intelligence should not become obsolete”; “The machines should not repeat our mistakes”, and, “We should not lose our instincts.” We hope that this video was also a small effort towards increasing reflection about the implications of our attitudes towards ourselves and the technologies we build.


Our Team Presentation. Photo: Florian Voggeneder

The video is being edited by the FIS team and I will put a link to the video once it is posted. There might also be a short documentary produced about the summit that I will also share here once it is available.

Artificial Intelligence: The Other I 

Art helps science understand itself.” -Joe Davis

CellF. Photo: Rafaela Pandolfini

I walked into a dark abandoned railway hall and came face to face with a man improvising a duet with a disembodied neural network made from his own cells! “CellF” was one of the opening performances, in which Guy Ben-Ary a media artist, had taken some of his own skin cells through a biopsy and transformed them into stem cells through a process known as Induced Pluripotent Stem cell technology. These stem cells were then turned into an autonomous neural network that could respond to incoming sound and create outgoing signals. The artist was playing a tune on a piano that the disembodied neural network responded to and created sound signals that were then responded to by the artist at the piano.


Corpus Nil. Photo: tom mesic

Another performance with a more indirect relationship to AI was Corpus Nil, in which the artists’s body (Marco Donnarumma) was connected to several biosensors that would communicate several signals from his body to a digital system that used a series of algorithms to process them and turn them into musical sounds. The algorithms would “learn” from the input signals and continually adjust the way they translated them into musical sounds. In the words of the description on the project’s website: “The player cannot control the instrument, but only learns how to affect it and be affected by it.”


Ad Infinitum. Photo: Florian Voggeneder

These are just two examples of the many provocative art projects, including Ad Infinitum, a parasitic robot that captured human arms and forced them to turn a lever by giving them electric shocks and Samantha a talking sex doll with multiple personalities, that explored the question of what are the implications of non-human intelligence through creative expression and art experience.  In addition to the art projects, there were a series of academic lectures on the ethics and aesthetics of intelligent systems by diverse participants, including Hiroshi Ishii from MIT and Zenbo Hidaka, Japanese zen head monk and AI expert.


I have been fascinated by BioArt, an art practice that uses living media as material, for many years and have often conceptualized of my Rafigh project as an edible bioart sculpture (as presented at TEI’s art track in Munich in 2014). Ars Electronica is the premier venue for this art movement and I wasn’t surprised to see many excellent pieces here.


Regenerative Reliquary. Photo: Charlie Nordstrom

One of the most interesting project, Regenerative Reliquary by Amy Karle, involved a 3D printed exoskeleton of a human hand that was covered with living stem cells that were growing tissue around the scaffolding during the festival.


I’m Humanity. Photo: MIRAI records

In another project, I’m Humanity, Etsuko Yakushimaru, a famous pop star in Japan, had pushed the idea of how to record and distribute music to some extreme places. She had encoded her song of the same name as a DNA sequence that was embedded in living cells that would regenerate rapidly and have the potential to outlive humans! So, she had millions of copies of her song living in a fridge at the conference. A caveat was that with each generation of cells there was the possibility of natural genetic mutation, a phenomenon that might impact the encoded music and make it evolve beyond the artist’s original creation. The song lyrics reflected this: “Stop the evolution — don’t stop it”.


Until I Die. Photo: Miha Fras

These are just a few examples of the amazing bioartworks that were presented at the festival this year. Other examples included Until I Die by ::vtol::, in which large samples of the artist’s blood were collected over 18 months and used as batteries to power an interactive sound installation, and K-9_topology, in which artist Maja Smrekar, pushed the boundaries of her relationship with her dog companions through a series of projects, including Hybrid Family that involved her breastfeeding her dog for three months, leading to increased levels of oxytocin in her body, and ARTE_mis, in which she denuclearized one of her own ovum cells and used it as a host for a somatic cell of her dog, resulting in a hybrid human/dog cell.

If these projects peak your interest and you want to learn more about bioart, I recommend Bio Art: Altered Realities by William Myers for an overview of a lot of projects and artists in this space, and/or Bioart and the Vitality of Media by Robert E. Mitchell for a more theoretical treatment of the subject.

Other Projects


Fidgety. Photo: Christopher Sonnleitner

In addition to the above highlights, there were many other amazing projects at Ars Electronica. I particularly enjoyed the amazing installation in the basement of POSTCITY which included immersive sound installations, including Reading Plan that consisted of a chorus of disembodied actors reading passages from automatic page turning manuscripts, and Fidgety, a sound installation consisting of a series of speakers and dedicated sound channels remixing in sound of the artist’s heartbeat in creative rhythmic ways.

A Study into 21st Century Drone Acoustics. Credit: Gonçalo Freiria Cardoso, Ruben Pater

Other highlights included a feminist book and CD compilation about noise music in Southeast Asia, called “Not Your World Music: Noise in South East Asia“, and “A Study into 21st Century Drone Acoustics“, which looked at the negative psychological impact of living in fear of bomb carrying drones. This latter worked was developed as a “field-guide”, similar to a bird-watching guide, with a soundtrack that helped people identify and avoid incoming drones  in conflict zones (e.g., parts of Afghanistan).

Appendix: Some thoughts about the future of humanity  

I will conclude this post with an appendix that includes my expanded thoughts on the three original questions by the FIS team.

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“Hanging out” in POSTCITY

  • How can we be more human?

We can be more human by embracing our hybrid existence. I believe the line between the artificial and natural is socially constructed and we are already cyborgs whose lives are entangled with digital technologies like computers and non-digital technologies like bicycles or clothing. I believe we can be more human by embracing and shaping this reality.

Technology is like a mirror that we can use for self-reflection: all the fears that we project onto technology (and AI) have roots in our experiences with each other. For example, we are afraid that once AI is mature enough it might make us obsolete or oppress us. These are in fact things that humans have done to each other for millennia. In the face of technological challenges that make each of us different from each other based on our access to and experience with different technologies, it is imperative to think about what would future diversity look like. I’m not worried about a society in which robots and human have to co-exist. I’m more worried about a society where the distance between us becomes greater due to the technologies we can access differently. If we think of nature not as separate from us but something that is part of us, we can start thinking about how to protect and respect it rather than control or use it.

  • How can a machine love a human? And vice versa?

I’m actually really interested in the emotional reactions of people to non-human intelligence, especially technologically-mediated intelligence. In order to investigate some of these dynamics, I conducted a research project, Rafigh, in which I designed and evaluated a digital living media system that consisted of a digitally-augmented mushroom colony such that the mushrooms responded to human behavior over a long period of time. In the evaluation, we observed that children and adults responded positively to the system and it created feelings of empathy, responsibility and curiosity in them. Additionally, it supported communication and collaboration between family members. This project shows that it is possible to create hybrid systems that emotionally engage users; we will have to see if these results translate to purely digital systems.

Previous research by Sherry Trukle (and many others) show that digital technologies that aim to replace us (e.g., emotional robots, virtual caregivers, …, she terms them “relational objects”) can be confusing to people and negatively impact human relationships. The technologies that she finds most damaging are ones that aim to replace non-existing or deficient human relationships rather than augmenting healthy ones. Maybe we should instead focus on developing technologies that bring people together and help alleviate some of their anxieties and stress, such that they have more time and energy to explore human emotions of empathy and love. If technology allows us to not worry about the basic questions of survival, such as security, food or health as much as before, will we finally learn how to love without being afraid or will we still wallow in our fears? What is the future of human relationships? How can machines help us love each other and ourselves? Rather than making us obsolete, how can machines make us become more valued and loved by each other?

  • How can we live as a multiple “I”?

This question caused more questions than answers in my mind: if indeed it is possible to transcend our limited cognition, emotion and agency in the future, through technological means, then what happens to the existing patterns of injustice and inequality? Would they become amplified or challenged in such a future? Will we drift further apart from each other or do we become closer?

There is always fear and anticipation when encountering the Other. Is this Other our enemy or our friend, our ally or our rival? I believe the degree of our fear or anticipation relates to how much we sense we might lose control or what we would learn about ourselves through the Other.

Imagine how much self-knowledge can come from falling in love or having a child or learning to connect with people from another culture. If we fail in some of these situations (e.g., if our trust is betrayed, are left out and hurt) we tend to think of others as threats rather than possibilities for finding strength and getting aquatinted with an unexplored side of ourselves. Will we fight, run or love? This ancient idea of encountering knowledge through stepping into the fire of experience without fear is being repeated today. Why should we have a future world of winners and losers? What if we have a world of dancers where we sometimes dance the winners’ dance and sometimes the losers’ dance, and eventually we rest in the knowledge that this life is a dance rather than a final irreversible Truth?

Technological Love/Fear: Reflections from CHI’17 Conference

This week, I attended the ACM CHI Conference on Human Factors in Computing Systems (CHI’17) in Denver and saw many excellent and thought-provoking talks about the interaction(s) and relationship(s) between humans and technology. CHI is a yearly international conference that attracts ~2000-3000 attendees from academia, industry and beyond who come to share and learn about the latest research in the area of Human-Computer Interaction. Many of the attendees are also presenting their own research and so it is a wonderful chance to connect with other researchers, practitioners, and thinkers in this area.

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CHI conference

This year, I presented a short paper that described a case study about how to engage youth in engineering education through hands-on maker activities, a poster about a novel wearable interface for therapists administering Sensory Stimulation Therapy, and a workshop paper about gender, e-textiles and Mayan weaving. It was a wonderful event and also extremely stimulating with ideas, social interactions and complex emotions (towards our collective future). In this post, I will share a few subjective highlights and reflections about the conference and its themes.

Challenging Boundaries

For me, the conference started with a pre-conference weekend workshop called HCIxB which was planned for researchers who work in the field of Information and Communication Technologies and Development (ICTD). Many years ago, I was lucky to attend a course taught at CHI by the late Gary Marsden, who was a pioneer in this field. His enthusiasm and clarity inspired me to try to learn more about this area and conduct several research projects in Bhutan, Mexico, and Kenya.

At the workshop, there were many researchers from Pakistan, Namibia, Mexico and other countries. This year, the new travel ban had caused extra challenges for the CHI community and many participants from the listed countries could not attend the conference in person. One way of bypassing this problem was to attend the conference via telepresence robots.

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Telepresence Robot with very long legs!

In addition to questioning the lines drawn between countries, many of the participants at this workshop also challenged lines drawn between research and practice. Listening to the presentations, made me think about some of the hard lessons I have learned in my prior projects where I tried to cross these lines myself and found it really difficult to both stay true to the goals of my projects and also make a lasting impact in the communities I was working in. This brought many questions to mind: How can researchers create sustainable, scalable projects to impact many people? Isn’t this role better suited to governments, NGO’s or even private companies? While questions of sustainability and affordability are really important and should be taken into account in every project, isn’t it too ambitious for HCI researchers who are often not trained in economics or industrial engineering to tackle them?

A solution that is adopted by many researchers in this area (including myself) is to collaborate and work closely with local trusted practitioners, NGOs or government agencies to translate research results into lasting products or services. Additionally, working with multidisciplinary teams helps with broadening the impact of research by incorporating diverse points of view. Of course, I have a lot of respect for researchers who have the capacity to put on practitioner hats in projects, and there are many who navigate multiple roles really well. I just think it is helpful to clarify that the main role of an academic researcher (at least in my mind) is the creation (or co-creation) of (hopefully relevant) knowledge and the communication of this knowledge to others (students, the research community, the public). This activity might result in societal impact or more importantly provide the ideas or impetus for others to make a large impact, but it is not the main focus of research.

Performance as Inquiry

Right before going to CHI, I saw an incredible immersive theater performance in Baltimore called, “The H. T. Darling’s Incredible Musaeum“. The play took place in the first purpose-built museum in the United States which the theater group had turned into an exhibit of imaginary objects from an imaginary land. The play progressed through several parallel plotlines that were both entertaining and also cleverly disguised a sharp criticism of colonialism and “Othering” that was at the heart of much European “discovery” of exotic lands and people. I deeply enjoyed this play and it made me think of the power of performance as a form of inquiry.

On the bus to CHI, I met a colleague who reminded me of a play she and her colleagues ( Jackie Cameron, Mike Skirpan et al.) had produced last year and I had attended at CU Boulder.  The play entitled the Quantified Self Data Experience invited audience members to experience a performed future scenario that raised questions around privacy and personal data. It utilized personal data collected from the participants prior to the play to give a sense of our vulnerability when we mindlessly interact with algorithms.

At CHI, I came across two other exceptional projects that talked about performance as a form of inquiry. One is a project called The Question that comprises of a theater performance for blind and sighted audience members that takes place in an entirely dark space. Through listening to sounds and interacting with a tangible interface, audience members get to learn about the narrative and explore the performance space.

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Tangible object used in The Problem

Another project in the design fiction track, “On Speculative Enactments”, by Chris Elsden and colleagues, described an approach in which they invited participants to “interact with, and experience, speculation”. Participants would use design probes (e.g., quantified dating cards) and interact with actors in role (e.g., a datagrapher for a wedding) and would describe their experience/feedback about the scenarios to the researcerhs. The presenters claimed that the approach allowed for a better understanding of users’ receptions and attitudes towards future designs.

This really made me think about the potential of using performance art more formally in HCI research (I am aware that this is already an established practice in other fields). The nature of digital systems are changing: rather than monitors with keyboard and mouse that one individual uses at a time, a lot of new systems are embedded in objects, the environment, or even on people’s bodies and are used in social contexts. Doesn’t it make sense for procedures that investigate and understand these systems to evolve so that they are sensitive to the complex dynamics that they embody? How can we learn about these systems without simulating or previewing them “in the wild” (i.e., in the real world, outside of the lab)? Further, what if prototypes did not only consist of research artifacts but of whole interactions (complete with performers, scenarios, and narratives) that could be performed? This approach is not new and as I mentioned above it is already being used (especially in the area of ubiquitous computing and in methods such as “Experience Prototyping“), I just think there’s more room to formalize it as a rich way to understand complex social interactions and to get informed not only by intellectual input from users but also emotional and affective input from them. Also, I really like the idea of having performer/actors as design/research partners.

Additionally, if a key part of research is the communication of ideas why are we in the research community still so obsessed with the written form as the ultimate form of knowledge output? Of course, writing might be the most precise and appropriate form for many forms of knowledge but for others, new media such as video, images or even performances can best capture and communicate knowledge. There is already recognition for this idea in many HCI research communities, including CHI, UIST, and TEI that highly encourage the submission of videos accompanying papers and DIS that has a whole pictorial track. One of my favorite (not limited to HCI) initiatives is the Dance your PhD competition! I hope that I can incorporate some of these ideas in my future research projects.


In the controversial opening keynote of the conference, MIT artist and researcher Neri Oxman challenged the boundary between the natural and artificial. She described her vision of a future world in which humans co-design with nature in an intimate way. Some examples included orchestrating a large number of silkworms to weave a human-sized cocoon and creating a novel 3D printing filament out of shrimp shells.


A tent-sized cocoon that was woven by silkworms

Additionally, Oxman showed impressive 3D printed masks and clothes for artists such as Bjork and David Bowie that were designed specifically for their anatomy. Of course, many ethical and practical (sustainability, anyone?) questions arose during the talk but I believe there was much creative power in the visions that were presented. Additionally, there was a strong sense of optimism in the potential of technology and design to move us into a dreamlike state where anything is possible.


Bjork’s 3D printed mask. “As a designer, I am a lover of nature, we learn from each other, shape each other and look into each others’ images, until we wake up with each other’s faces.” – paraphrased from the opening keynote by Neri Oxman

This optimistic theme of technophilia was present in several other talks and presentations. In a fascinating talk about “grinders“, DIY cyborgs who self-modify their body, Lauren Britton and Bryan Semaan, described how members of this community aim to move beyond established constructed social divisions and use their bodies as a site of social experimentation where embedded devices are used to reimagine a new society where the lines between (for example) citizen/scientist and man/woman are blurred. In other talks, Fabio Morreale and colleagues discussed how a new hardware platform supported the creation of a maker community, Thomas Ludwig and colleagues described the increased social interaction around 3D printing, and Shaowen Bardzell and colleagues explained how maker innovation can lead to policy changes that support creative economies. In offline discussions, representatives from Keio University‘s Superhuman Sports Academy described their vision of creating a new brand of superhuman sports. Of course, these views are reminiscent of the pioneering work of artists such as Stelarc in whose (in)famous words, “the human body is obsolete” and will be “constantly interrogated by technology”. For a thought-provoking (and shocking) talk by Stelarc see here.


Grinders with embedded lights

In contrast, the closing plenary by author Nicholas Carr was full of warnings about the dangers of automation and how it distracts and takes away control from human agents. He described how the Internet is negatively impacting our short-term memory because we don’t have to remember things anymore, and how using self-driving cars will deteriorate our ability to drive and control a vehicle.

On a similar note, in a fascinating conference presentation entitled, “Us vs. Them: Understanding Artificial Intelligence Technophobia over the Google DeepMind Challenge Match”, Changhoon Oh and colleagues described the feelings of fear and despair that were experienced by audience members watching a five-game Go match in Korea between Lee Sedol, a former world Go champion, and AlphaGo, an AI Go program developed by Google DeepMind. After the talk, an audience member asked the presenter, “How would we feel if we were sitting in an audience looking at a robot presenting a paper at CHI? Wouldn’t it be threatening to us?”

Finally, in an excellent alt.chi talk (a conference track that is specifically for non-traditional work), entitled “Design for Existential Crisis”, Irina Shklovskif and colleagues, described the challenges of staying optimistic (and productive) in the face of real threats to human existence. Drawing heavily on the work of Viktor Frankl (among others), they stated how important it is for us to find meaning in life in order to survive future threats. They warned against what they termed, Bovine Design, which results in “tools that encourage passivity, rote-behavior, and a blinkered existence at a time of great uncertainty and change”. They encouraged designers to stop thinking of users as “them”, either the distracted masses or the elite waiting to sit in an Arch on the way to another planet, and instead think of users as “us”, the whole of humanity.

“Who am I? Who are you? Where are we going?”


These were all extremely thought-provoking and made me reflect on my own stance in relation to technology. Obviously, the choice is not only to love or hate technology but to move on a dynamic spectrum of views that assesses each technology in context with respect to our think a lot about where I stand in the chasm between technophilia and technophobia. It is easy to try to think which one is really liked this talk as in some of my past work I have also tried to challenge the boundaries between digital and living media.

I think there is even a more meta-process behind the scenes (I’m inspired by Mark Blythe‘s work on plot and storytelling in HCI research). These extreme love/fear feelings towards technology are reminiscent of previous narratives around the role of God and Nature in making sense of the world. Doesn’t our relationships towards God and Nature and how we revere, fear and try to control them say more about ourselves? Aren’t our feelings of fear and love signs that we are trying yet again to project our responsibility into a mirage of future technologies?

I can appreciate and understand feelings behind technophobia (e.g., fear of automation, fear of Artificial Intelligence and even the more existential fear of technocratic domination and its milder sibling techno-paternalism, etc.). But I am also concerned that this fear does not recognize that we are not separate from technology (or nature) and thus cannot give up our responsibility to take control of how we use and abuse it. I do believe (after Marshall MacLuhan) that technologies are extensions of us and that drawing artificial lines between the natural and the artificial is a dangerous alienating practice (as Donna Haraway has warned in the Cyborg Manifesto). I am talking about technology in the original sense of the word where our clothes, pens, and books are also forms of technology. The fear of the end of the world is not new (see Umberto Eco‘s interview in Conversations about the Time).

This search for meaning is perhaps an essential part of human life (as Viktor Frankl would say) and it takes many forms including despair and confusion. But is it really wise that rather than looking inside and finding out for ourselves, we ask of Technology the essential questions of “who am I? who are you? and where are we going?”. It seems Technology and the Future are filling a gap left by religion and traditional dogmas that were weakened in the 20th century. My hope is that we can stop blaming yet another external entity for our existential misery, take responsibility for our being and live authentic, heartful and fearless lives (as long as they last).

Baltimore Stories: Warm up

I first heard about Baltimore at a PopTech-affiliated conference in Brooklyn, called The City Resilient (which I wrote about in another blog post). In a short heartfelt talk, Ali Smith of the Holistic Life Foundation described how he had learned Yoga at a young age in Baltimore and found it extremely useful to calm his mind and control his feelings when growing up. Ali, a tall black man with a shaved head and urban clothes, thought the most important part of yoga for his kids was its usefulness as a tool for self-regulation that can increase one’s resilience. He was not talking about fitness, enlightenment or bliss; he was talking about survival. That talk stuck in my mind and I thought about the place where he had come from, its perils, its potentials.

FullSizeRenderAt that time, I never thought that one day I would become a resident of Baltimore City and experience this resilient and gritty perspective first hand. Shortly after I finished my PhD, I found an opportunity to work with a very inspiring researcher on several projects at the University of Maryland, Baltimore County (UMBC). When I was considering accepting a postdoctoral research associate position there, I did not know a single person in this city, I had my doubts about the political direction that the country was going towards and I felt unsure about what my next career move should be. After some consideration, I decided to plunge into the unknown. I can’t say I am sorry! In the past few months, I have met many people, mostly colleagues who I work with closely and are amazing, I have also kept contact, mostly from afar, with my partner, my family, and a few intimate friends. However, I have spent most of this time in conversation with myself, my full-time companion and witness!

My experience so far has been rich, overwhelming and nothing like what I expected. In fact, there has been so much to absorb since I moved here that I haven’t really had a chance to write anything on this blog about it yet! However, I feel ready to start writing again and in the next little while will slowly reflect back some of the faces I have encountered in this large beautiful scary rusty antique cracked shiny mirror.

Bologna, Florence and Venice

Bologna is an underrated Italian city with a tumultuous recent history. It is known as “La dotta (the learned), la rossa (the red), and la grassa (the fat)! The first nickname is given to Bologna because of its well-respected university. Founded in 1088, many intellectual heavyweights, Dante, Petrarch and Thomas Becket among them, have frequented this institution. There is a tradition among the university students in Bologna to climb one of the very tall towers in the city. This tower should only be climbed after you graduated, as tradition says that if it is climbed before you might never finish your studies! Finishing my degree a few months back, I felt qualified to torture myself on the endless stairs with no view until I reached magnificent views of the city on top: an experience not unlike doing a PhD!



The strong intellectual tradition of “la dotta” probably supported alternative and progressive ways of thinking that gave the city its second name: the red. While this name was initially given to the city because of the red roof tiles used throughout, later on it became to denote the Leftist tendencies of the citizens. Bologna was a major center of partisan resistance against the Fascists. Being a transport hub, it was bombed extensively during the WWII and was the scene of much fighting. It was the hometown of the controversial director, Pier Paolo Pasoloni (of Salo and Accattone fame), who was viciously murdered by fascists in Rome. Judging from fresh wall graffiti about ISIS and Kobane Resistance, the movement is still strong here. When growing up in Iran, I used to watch Fontamara, a TV series based on the work of Italian Leftist author Ignazio Silone. I later read the novel, and also another one by Silone, called Bread and Wine, and was deeply affected by the pain and suffering that he described. Walking under the cool porticos of Bologna, I think of these books and how we have now forgotten how large parts of Italy were once overridden by poverty, which brings me to the next nickname of Bologna, la grassa.

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In my opinion, the beauty of Italian cooking is (for the most part) that it is focused on feeding ordinary people. Many of the best dishes are made with cheap but high quality ingredients. This is apparent in Roman cooking, Carbonara and the Roman Rigatoni con la Pajata (and the many dishes that use the fifth quarter), and also in the excellent food of Bologna, Ragu alla Bolognese (the mother of all red pasta sauces) and Tortellini. Bologna is the center of the Emilia-Romagna Region (of the Parmigiano Reggiano fame) and is close to Modena with the best balsamic vinegar in the world. In short, a visitor will have a hard time staying fit in this area!

For more fun info about Bologna, check out this Italy Unpacked episode.


Florence has been the home to many famous people: Dante, Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, Machiavelli, …It’s streets are full of history and a simple stroll through its central part (if you don’t mind the heat and crowds, especially in July/August) is rewarding and rich.


My favorite part of the city was the Piazza della Signoria, which houses amazing statues (in Loggia dei Lanzi), provides excellent people watching and is the gateway to river side walking. A hidden gem is a water fountain that offers free delicious lightly carbonated water!


I enjoyed several excellent galleries in Florence, but two contrasting highlights stayed in my mind. The Uffizi Gallery, perhaps the most popular gallery in Florence, houses an exquisite collection of Renaissance art. One of the greatest experience for me was to see many austere but beautiful Middle Ages and Early Renaissance artwork before coming face to face with the fantastic Botticelli paintings that brought back the celebration of humanity from the Greek and Roman art and put them in a new context.


In contrast to the Ufizzi Gallery, the San Marco Monastery was quiet and pensive. Visionary paintings by the legendary Fra Angelico graced bare-bones monk cells. It is a good reminder that despite Italy’s sensual reputation



Getting lost in Venice is an essential experience. I walk around at least for an hour before finding my hostel. Venice is extremely touristy which makes it a bit hard to enjoy. But if you persist and walk through the crowds and the heat, there are magical spaces here and there: Marco Polo‘s home, a Vivaldi museum with ancient and exotic instruments, old buildings turned into exhibits and little islands that are suddenly empty and feel like medieval mazes.


I take the 6 am water bus which is empty and passes through many great buildings: the old castle in which Wagner died and is now a famous casino, the Muslim and Jewish areas, St. Mark’s Square and the Bridge of Sighs (which connect the palace to a prison).


In a few hours tourists start trickling into the city (from huge cruise ships and via the train station) and the city becomes really full. At first the heat and the crowds make it hard to continue enjoying the sights and then I realize this is part of the experience too. In fact, the “siege of Venice” by tourists is quite controversial and has been blamed for pushing locals out of increasingly expensive real estate. See this documentary for more information about this topic.


Italy is touristy, there’s no denying that. Before modern tourism became accessible to everyone, aristocrats from Northern Europe would travel here on what came to be known as the Grand Tour. On an itinerary that often included Rome and Florence and often ended in Venice, young aristocratic members of society would seek Classic history, art and culture. The purpose of this trips that sometimes took months was more than sightseeing. Often young aristocrats were accompanied by a tutor or learned man and were trained in the Classics, History, Languages, …. The idea was that this privileged experience would get them ready to hold high positions in their society. Of course, an essential part of the trip was socializing and partying with other elite which often happened in Venice in masked balls (from which the concept of Masquerade comes from).

This tradition, which started in the 18th century, continued well into the 19th and 20th century and some would argue the “Gap Year” concept is a modern democratic version of it. Later travelers on a Grand Tour included the Romantics, English poets Shelly, Keats and Byron, and later on the Hungarian composer Franz Liszt who was inspired by his travels to compose his famous Annees de Pelerinage (Years of Pilgrimage) piano album. I often had this piece from Liszt in my head when traveling in Italy.

Given the Romantics fascination with nature as a source of inspiration, later Grand Tour itineraries often included natural scenery, such as the Alps in Northern Italy and Switzerland and more secluded parts of central Italy (for example, the Cinque Terre, which was secluded then but is overrun with tourists now!)

Bonus: Epilogue

At some point during my stay in Italy, I decided to take a break from large cities and spent a couple of days in the medieval village of San Gimignano. This beautiful hill town is set in the rolling landscape of Tuscany and is surrounded by vineyards and olive groves. It is also a popular destination for pilgrims as it is on the Camino di San Francisco di Assisi that connects Florence to Rome.


During my stay, I went for long walks in the surrounding area, tried some local specialties (olive gelato, anyone?) and stayed at a quiet monastery. I also visited an unexpected exhibit about the work of Robert Capa in Italy. Robert Capa was a Hungarian war photographer who  captured many historic moments in photographs, including the Allied landing in Normandy. Capa’s life was one of sacrifice and tragedy. He was in love with the first female war photographer, Gerda Taro, who was killed while covering the Spanish Civil War. He also saw many colleagues and friends get injured and die during the five wars he covered. He famously said, “if your pictures aren’t good enough, you are not close enough”. Unfortunately, he was once too close and blew up on a mine in Vietnam.

San Gimigano.pngWalking around San Gimignano was delightful and I spent a few full days walking beside vineyards and farms and enjoying classic Tuscan landscapes. I once met a fellow traveler who told me about an Italian tradition of planting rose bushes next to vineyards. He said the roses usually catch pests earlier than vines, giving farmers advance warning to save their crops.




Thinking about Time in the Eternal City

Funny how as we get older, we try to compensate for our lost years by contemplating our achievements: titles, possessions, family, experiences. We think of the money we made, the degrees we earned, the children we raised, the loves we felt, and after a time of reflection, we like to think, “Time flies, but I have lived!” But what is time? And what is the value of a life? What is the meaning of this coming, being and going? You know, the usual heavy-weight existential questions!

I am walking around Rome and, of course, it is natural to think of these thoughts here.  In the presence of seemingly timeless monuments of empires and religions and lives, lived in the same physical location but in a distant point in time and with inconceivably different frames of mind, many artists, philosopher and thinkers have thought about the fleeting nature of life in the Eternal City. Shelly pondering the death of his young poet friend, Keats, said, “Go thou to Rome, at once the Paradise, the grave, the city, and the wilderness”. And I have come!

In my backpack, I have a copy of Boethius‘s Consolation of Philosophy, a number of mental postcards from Michelangelo, Liszt and Spartacus among others, and a series of existential questions of my own. In Rome and the Vatican (and in many other parts of Italy), I am standing on a stage that has been the set for many serious plays. The performers are long gone but the props are still there. Take the Egyptian obelisk in St. Peter’s Square. It was once carved to guard a tomb in ancient Egypt. When Caesar defeated Cleopatra it was brought to Rome and placed besides the Colosseum. There, for hundreds of years, it witnessed gladiator fights and possibly Christians being thrown to the lions. With the Roman Empire‘s decline, it was moved to the heart of Catholic Christianity, the Vatican City. It has been there longer than any pope and has outlived civil wars and world wars, and is still standing there now that I’m visiting for a fleeting moment. The history of Rome is very rich and full of intricacies and nuances. If you are a history buff, check out the History of Rome podcast (Warning: it is pretty detailed, so be prepared for many hours if you are planning to listen to it!)

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Ideas are liquid and can transcend time and space, and yet, some aspects of a civilization have to be experienced in specific locations. While it is possible to get a sense of a painting by looking at a representation, it is almost impossible to experience a sculpture by looking at pictures or even videos of it. Virtual reality might change that in the future but for now you need to go to the Vatican Museums or the Villa Borghese to experience the masterpieces there. Similarly, it is hard to simulate being in a special architectural space, for example looking up to the ceiling of St. Peter’s Basilica or around the Pantheon‘s sacred space. And then, there’s just some spaces that are pregnant with energy and emotion: the spartan meditation cells of the San Marco monastery that house luminous Fra Angelico frescoes, or the Sistine Chapel, with its backbreaking ceiling masterpiece and breathtaking Last Judgement painting. It is quite an experience walking through the endless corridors of the Vatican Museums, up and down stairs, tired and hot and suddenly turn a corner to be face-to-face with the End of Time! Famously, when Pope Julius II, who commissioned the work, saw the Last Judgement, he fell to his knees and said, “may God forgive our sins!”

When growing up in Iran, I learned a lot about the pinnacles of Western Civilization: the paintings of Leonardo, the philosophies of Socrates and Plato, the music of Beethoven and Bach. But with limited access to Europe, my relationship to the West was like having a pen pal that you have never met in person: you can learn a lot about them but not experience their presence fully. In the last few years, I have visited this friend repeatedly, finding out more about their temperament each time. In Rome the the first masterpiece that blows my mind is the sculpture of Laocoon and His Sons. How can stone capture the anguish in the man’s face, the scream of “we exist!” in his pronounced muscles the moment before they will be crushed by snakes, and the poetry of Humanity in the grip of Fortuna? This Greek masterpiece was excavated in the 1500’s and paraded through the streets of Rome after being hidden in dirt for almost a millennium. It was a sensation and shook the art world at the time. Among the people who saw it and were changed forever, was a young polymath, Michelangelo.

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Laocoon and His Sons

Michelangelo only saw the Greek sculptors of the past as true masters and did not consider his contemporaries in their league. Famously, he was fond of a badly damaged Greek sculpture known as the “Belvedere Torso” (at display in the Vatican Museums). Of the figure that was once whole, only part of the torso is left. Michelangelo used to touch this figure for inspiration and when Pope Julius II requested that he complete it by attaching hands and legs to it, he declined, saying it was too beautiful to be altered.

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Belvedere Torso

Michelangelo is, perhaps, best known for his more dramatic works, for example David, but he was fully capable of bringing out the most tender feelings out of stone. Later on that day, I looked at his Pieta in St. Peter’s Basilica. In this work and other masterpieces by Caravaggio and Raphael who paint the same subject, I feel the timeless sadness of loss of innocence in the face of ignorance . Artists are often the conscience of humanity. Looking at the  contrast between the Christian images of suffering and the Roman symbols of triumph, sometimes placed next to each other, I also think of Nietzsche’s On the Genealogy of Morality in which he contrasts Roman and Christian values.


Deposition by Raphael

Out on the street, Rome is like a piping hot bowl of spaghetti with a rich sauce: chaotic, unexpected, full of character and ultimately wonderful! In a 15 minute walk from the Colosseum to a restaurant, I walk through the backstage of a Hollywood gladiator flick, a Fellini movie set, and into a scene from a Mario Puzo novel. Inside the museums, I am face to face with timeless masterpieces. In the National Museum, I look into the empty eyes of a Boxer at Rest who has been resting for more than 2000 years!

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Boxer at Rest

In the Villa Borghese (or more precisely the Galleria within the villa), my mind is blown again: this time by Bernini‘s masterpiece the Rape of Proserpina. I can’t believe that the artist could capture such raw emotions through stone: the anguish of Proserpina, the lust of Zeus, the madness of his dog, all literally bare naked for us to encounter! I walk around the statue and look at how Zeus‘ fingers dig into Proserpina‘s flesh and how her hair flows: unbelievable! This brilliance is repeated in other masterpieces: Apollo and Daphne, Bernini‘s David, and Aeneas, Anchises and Ascanius.

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Rape of Proserpina

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Detail from the Rape of Proserpina

Another idea blow my mind in Villa Borghese: When looking into the eyes of wild drunken Satyrs on the roof of a large gallery, I am suddenly face-to-face with drunken saints of Rumi! I remembered his ecstatic poem from Divan-e Shams (my translation):

“I am drunk and you are mad, who is going to take us home?

I told you a hundred times drink less, my friend!

I don’t see a sober man in this whole town,

Each worst than the others, mad and drunk!”

It suddenly occurred to me that maybe the mystical obsession with wine and drunkenness (as a symbol of divine unity and ecstasy) in Persian Sufi culture is related to the Cult of Dionysus. In fact, given the ancient history of wine in Persia, it is conceivable that wine was introduced to Greece (and later Rome) via Persia (and Egypt). Wine later became a sacred sacrament and an essential part of Dionysian Mysteries. Perhaps, later on it was re-imported into Persia as a symbol of the path to divinity. To go a step further, maybe Persian mysticism was a resurrection of Dionysian Mysteries, with an Islamic flavor but with the same symbols of ancient Greece. With these far out ideas, I decide I need to learn if anyone has looked into these themes before and also to learn more about Dionysian Mysteries in general. I also remember Nietzsche‘s poetic descriptions of the tensions between Apollonian and Dionysian elements in Greek tragedy (in his Birth of Tragedy) and how art, and specifically tragedy according to him, aimed to resolve it.

Dizzy with these thoughts, I walk down a wide Roman street at night towards my hostel. I pass a dodgy park where drunk young men are throwing empty beer bottles at each other! As I walk by, I see posters on the wall of a museum. They are quotes by a philosopher. I read: “Most powerful is he who has himself in his own power. Loneliness for the soul, is like food for the body. If one does not know which port one is sailing, no wind is favorable.” The final poster reveals that the quotes are by Seneca. The wise words echo the wonderful book I have been reading: Consolation of Philosophy by Boethius. In addition to the visual arts of Michelangelo and Bernini among others, I have been sitting at the foot of  wise men who can tell me which port I should set sail to.

I found the Consolation in a free book bin on a Toronto curb one day and decided to keep it for future reading. This year as I was getting prepared for my trip to Europe, I decided to bring it along and read it on the way. As I started to read the text, I started to feel that the book was talking directly to me and I hungrily read it from cover to cover!

In the last year, I have been thinking of the questions I started this post with: What is the value of my life? What is the meaning of life and how does that translate into my next practical steps in life? As I am getting older, I feel these questions are becoming more urgent. In the past, I have looked at various spiritual traditions and social movements for inspiration but in the last couple of years, I have felt a bit depleted of direction. Additionally, recently, difficult situations have happened in my life where I have lost contact with some dear friends that I still miss and reconciling these events with my life has been challenging. Finally, I have become disillusioned in some of my ideals, but still firm in others. In short, for me, it has been, and still is, a time of questioning and reflection. I sometimes miss my past youthful passion and happy-go-lucky spirit of inquiry!

Boethius was a 6th century scholar and statesman with a brilliant mind. In addition to serving the Roman empire, he was a philosopher who was particularly interested in the philosophy of the Greeks (especially Socrates, Plato and Aristotle). At the height of his power, Boethius was accused of treason and was sent to jail to await his death sentence. He wrote the Consolation when waiting to die in prison. Given this grim setting, it is not a surprise that the beginning of the book is pretty dark. In jail, Boethius is visited upon by Lady Philosophy who after asking a few questions proceeds to “heal” him from his despair by means of Reason and Truth. The mood slowly moves from Despair to Joy, which given the circumstances is incredible!

In an early passage, Lady Philosophy states:

“He is in no real danger. He merely suffers from a lethargy, a sickness that is common among the depressed. He has forgotten who he really is, but he will recover, for he used to know me, and all I have to do is cloud the mist that beclouds his vision.”

When I read this passage, I was shocked by how relevant it felt to me. I wanted to have the clouds removed from my eyes. I read on. According to Lady Philosophy, a wise person should not put their trust in flighty Fortuna. Good and bad fortune come and go, and more often than not, they disappoint. History is full of examples of people who were “fortunate” and lost their fortune and vice versa. In the face of this flux, it is important to find an anchor, a Northern Star to guide one.

During the last few months, the world has seemed very random to me. My days seem to have been ruled by chance meetings and good and bad events that like waves have washed up against my shore. Lady Philosophy advises Boethius (and I listen carefully) that if you find your inner Truth, you will become free of your reliance on Fortuna and will gain knowledge of your next steps in life.

Again, I am astonished by how these words are similar to Persian Mystics that I am familiar with: Hafiz, Rumi and Khayaam. I know that the Persian poets were influenced by Greek and Roman philosophies but my intuition is that this went beyond “influence” and was more like a “reminder” of a Truth that they both knew. I read on. In my interpretation of the next passages, I understand that the only thing that is worth pursuing in the world is True Happiness, which unlike achievements, falls outside the realm of Time.  Truth is the one drop of eternity that we carry within and that lights our path in the world from one tiny step to the next. In the face of adversity and change, the one constant is the Truth in our heart.  Like a blind person following a silky rope, we will know our next steps in life if we follow our heart and see how it resonates with Love.

I have to say the combination of these ideas and the art I have experienced in Rome turned out to be a powerful eye-opening cocktail! The Consolation is full of other great ideas (including excellent discussions around the questions of free will and predestination) but for me its best gift, its greatest “consolation”, is its reassurance that I should trust my inner voice again, and walk within the world but free of it. I will strive to do this and aim to step on my path again, a path that has to be discovered and lived anew, every moment.

Sisyphus in Mauthausen


“Stairs of Death” at Mauthasen Concentration Camp

Touched by kisses,
Covered with bruises,
My body is a chain,
A snake eating its tail.

Step by step,
These endless stairs,
My life is a short sentence,
Written again and again.

Looking at a blind sun,
Talking to a deaf moon,
My tears are drops in a flood,
Evaporating before they hit the earth.

You won’t remember me,
And I don’t remember them,
The ones before and the ones after,
History, a silent heavy rock on our backs.

But I’ll live in your bones,
Sleep in your dreams,
Look through your eyes,
I’ll be the revolution under your skin.

I’ll push you forward and I’ll push you within,
Because we have to find out, we have to know,
What is on the other side of this coin, the meaning of this toil.

If we can’t ask life, let us ask death, and if he is also silent, we will ask our hearts, for they will know:
where do we come from and where will we go.

Note: I wrote this poem after visiting the Mauthausen-Gusen Concentration Camp Memorial. For more about my visit and the camp please see this post.


The country road from Linz to Mauthausen is beautiful and peaceful. My bus stops at small villages and picks up polite and quiet passengers. The landscape is green and hilly. It is hard to imagine I am so close to a place that, for close to a 7 years, was the site of profound human suffering. I’m on my way to the Mauthausen Memorial.The Mauthausen-Gusen Concentration Camp was one of the most infamous Nazi labor camps. During its operation between 1938 to 1945 between 120’000 to 320’000 people died there.

The bus stops. I get off and follow signs up a side road. On the walk up the hill to the gate of the memorial, I pass several beautiful country houses. Later, I find out many of these were built by slave labor for the families of Nazi camp supervisors. I hear a stream flowing beside the road. The sky is grey and I can hear birds chirping before rain. I walk past a beautiful field of wheat. The stalks are dancing in the wind. I see a small red bicycle beside a farmhouse. Life goes on.


Field of wheat, close to Mauthausen Memorial

Austria’s cultural landscape is shifting. This is my second time in Linz. I first came here 6 years ago to attend the International Conference on Computers Helping People with Special Needs (ICCHP). I am attending the same conference again. Since the first time I came here, I notice many more refugees and immigrants in Linz and the villages that I pass on the way to Mauthausen. Here and there, I hear Farsi Dari (from Afghanistan) and I see a large Turkish flag on top of a cafe with mustached men sitting at the front drinking from small cups of strong tea.

I go up the country road and after a few breathtaking minutes see the camp. Mauthausen is located close to stone quarries. Linz was one of Hitler’s favorite cities and he planned to turn it into a center of Nazi culture and art. In his demented vision, his empire would last thousands of years, and so he wanted the best stones that last forever for his neoclassical imposing buildings. The camps were set here, then, as the perfect site of slave labor that would help build the empire. This changed later on and slowly even this absurd vision was lost. Towards the end of the war, the main purpose of the camp was to kill, especially Prisoners of War (POWs), through labor, deprivation and despair.


Mauthausen Concentration Camp Memorial

At the memorial, I join a small group of people for an English tour. Our guide is a German schoolteacher with sensitive eyes who looks a bit like Alain de Botton. His presentation is heartfelt. While he is informative and accurate, more than anything he helps us reflect:  how is this possible? He would not offer explanations for people’s motivations and a few times when people try to over simplify things, he gently reminds us that, “we don’t know”. At one point, when reading the description of the sleeping quarters, he pauses and says, “sorry, I can’t read this. Please search for it online.  This is all documented.” I appreciate his silence: this is a memorial and not a museum.

There are many questions about the people who lived in the surrounding areas. They must have known what was going on here. How could they bear it? Our guide is patient and says there was a range of responses. A few complained, some collaborated (most infamously in hunting down more than 480 Russian POWs who had escaped in what became known as the “Rabbit Hunt”) but mostly people were silent. This silence is easy to judge from a distance. A few days after my visit, I found a short video with interviews with some of the local residents years after the war and they described how they felt about living in such an infamous place. Sometimes a better choice than blaming or dismissing is to stay present.


Stairs of Death

We look down a high hill which is on top of the stone quarries. Prisoners were made to carry stones (sometimes as heavy as 50 kg) up a stairway infamously known as the “Stairs of Death”. Many people lost their lives here. I later walk down the steps and look at the tall silent stone wall. Sometimes prisoners were thrown off this hill to their death. Often SS officers and sometimes the kapos (prisoner functionaries who supervised other prisoners) forced the prisoners to conduct pointless exercises, such as running. Many prisoners died from exhaustion.


Shower Rooms – Many prisoners died of exposure while waiting stark naked and wet in the snow for “hygienic showers”

In the basement of a large building, we visit shower rooms, gas chambers, ovens. In the airless concrete rooms where many spent their last moments, I feel a profound void. Rather than the presence of evil, I feel the absence of God. A place empty of love, light, humanity. Often, people talk of the mystery of God and love, and how mystics seek to experience that. I am in the presence of another mystery, the mystery of darkness and absence of love. This mystery is also part of our existence, the other side of the coin or the shadow of our collective self. Perhaps, to really experience love, one has to experience the lack of it too.


Names of prisoners who died are written in the rooms where formerly bodies were kept before being burnt

Now I know why I am here. I feel an old pain deep in my heart: the pain of encountering darkness and having to incorporate it into your vision of the world. Like many others growing up in the Middle East in the 1980’s, I was exposed to war, revolution and extreme sociopolitical  pressures when I was a child. In a society where most people have experienced these, you don’t think of them as “traumatic”. They are part of “ordinary” life. I did not get exposed to the worst experiences directly: I did not see death first hand, did not get injured, did not disappear. But I was close enough to the people who did experience these to get second degree burns. The idea that people disappeared randomly and that there were other people out there who wanted to invade and kill us was a reality. I am far from being alone in these experiences and worst ones, as this memorial testifies. Everyday in different regions of the world, but especially in the Middle East as I am writing this, thousands of people face the harsh realities of violent human suffering: the darkness of lovelessness.

I survived. I grew up. I left. I forgot. Or so I thought. Years later, I still feel something painful deep inside: a hidden wound that you don’t know exists but hurts and makes you look for relief in the wrong places, a spell that pushes you towards an unknown point in your destiny, a quiet voice in your ear that says, “everyone you love can disappear in a moment!” These elements have created tremendous pressure in my life. Rather than making me give up, they have forced me to run forward. They have made me thirsty for life, but also afraid of disappearing. They have made me feel grateful for what I have but also afraid of losing it. And this fear is something I would like to leave at this memorial. I am tired of running and want to sit down and rest.

I start to make my way out of the memorial. I start to feel a strong bond with the people who have suffered here and with the ones who have suffered in other places and in other times: a bond of common human pain. I remember a book called “Man in the Search of Meaning” by Viktor Frankl who was a Holocaust survivor and a psychologist. Upon encountering tremendous pain and suffering, Frankl identified the search for meaning as an essential part of the human condition. Until we realize that the “unexamined life is not worth living“, we are like Sysiphus dragging the burden of our meaningless existence up the mountain of time. Perhaps our task is to face the mystery, search and find a meaning, the meaning, to our existence.

When walking in the middle of a dark cold night with sadistic guards hitting him with rifle butts, Frankl suddenly had a realization. I quote his book: “A thought transfixed me: for the first time in my life I saw the truth as it is set into song by so many poets, proclaimed as the final wisdom by so many thinkers. The truth—that love is the ultimate and the highest goal to which man can aspire. Then I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart: The salvation of man is through love and in love. I understood how a man who has nothing left in this world still may know bliss, be if only for a brief moment, in the contemplation of his beloved.” Frankl looked his heart in the face and found his meaning. In the midst of emptiness, he was able to see the one thing that was left and could not be taken away from him. I am inspired by this idea and I also realize that this meaning is something one has to find, to experience, to live, oneself:  while the “song of many poets” are previous road signs, they are not the destination or the road.


As I walk away from the gate, I come by a statue that rises out of the ground by the side of the road. A series of stone human heads are silently peering forward. They are surrounded by growing grass and small fragile flowers. Drops of rain start dropping from the sky. I continue to walk. The essence of the river is to flow.

To live is to love, to feel, to hurt, to hate, to seek, to know, and to love again.





Baking Pi’s 4: Working with Touch Pi

I have taken some time off from writing about my Raspberry Pi prototyping but I have been busy prototyping and making a GUI program for the Raspberry Pi.  I started with the wonderful Touch Pi design from the wonderful people at Adafruit that adds a Resistive Touchscreen to the Pi! I made many changes to this system which I will describe in future posts. But essentially, this is what the prototype looks like:


My version of Touch Pi

So for my particular setup, where I wanted to use a large HDMI screen to write my program and then use the Touch Screen to test it, I needed to figure out a bunch of things that I will explain in this post. Please note that this is a fairly technical post that is aimed to help others who are running into similar challenges. I will have more application focused posts in the future (once I actually figure out the rest of my issues!).

For my implementation, I am using a Raspbian Jessie installation. For implementing my particular GUI (which I will discuss in a future post) I used pygame to interact both with the touch screen and the GPIO pins.

Detecting HDMI vs. Touchscreen

In any case, the first issue I had to figure out was how to automatically detect if the Pi was connected to the HDMI screen and then run the GUI from there. If an HDMI cable was not detected then I wanted the GUI to run on the touchscreen. One thing to note is to the best of my knowledge, you can’t run the GUI simultaneously on the touch screen and the HDMI TV because the system can’t handle input from two sources.

The solution I came up with involves modifying (or creating if it doesn’t exist) the rc.local file in the /etc/ folder:

cd etc

sudo nano rc.local

Then add these lines to the script:

if (/usr/bin/tvservice -s | /bin/egrep 'HDMI|DVI); then

     sudo cp /home/pi.displays/HDMI/99-fbdev.conf /etc/X11/xorg.conf.d

     con2fbmap 1 0

     echo "rc.local HDMI selected"


     sudo cp /home/pi/displays/TFT/99-fbdev.conf /etc/X11/xorg.conf.d

     con2fbmap 1 1

     echo "rc.local TFT selected"


exit 0

Thanks to these forum discussions!

Note: This might cause a problem if you plan to use a Raspberry Pi Zero. In case your RPi Zero cannot use the display, comment out the added lines above and also copy the 99-fbdev.conf file form the HDMI folder to the X11 folder and everything should work on startup.

Starting programs on GUI startup

The next interesting challenge was to run my custom python code (or the shell script running it) on startup. I particularly wanted the program to run once the GUI is loaded. If you want your script to run at the beginning (with no graphical support), please see my previous post here.

There are many forum posts about where and how to change files to make this happen but it is important that you locate and change the right file for your particular setup. In Raspbian Jessie, you want to change the autostart file in the .config/lxsession/LXDE-pi directory:

cd .config/lxsession/LXDE-pi

sudo nano autostart

In this file you have to add your particular program path to the end of the list. So it will look something like this:

@lxpanel --profile LXDE-pi

@pcmanfm --desktop --profile LXDE-pi

@xscreensaver -no-spalsh

@lxterminal -e /home/pi/Foad/

The last command specifies that I want my script to be called from a terminal. Depending on your needs you might or might not need to call from a terminal.

Making Desktop Shortcut

A final bonus tip (thanks to the information here)! If you would like to make a desktop shortcut with an icon that you can double click to start your program, you need to create a file in the Desktop directory:

cd Desktop

sudo nano mydesktop.desktop

In this file, you specify your icon, path, …:

[Desktop Entry]


Comment=This is the reMixer program






You have to make sure that your script has execution privileges (set them with chmod) and you are set!