Feb

The Colorful Life of a Human Cyborg

by Meredith Mullins on February 6, 2014

Neil Harbisson, a human cyborg, wearing a head device which expands his senses for creative expression (Photo © Dan Wilton/Red Bulletin)

Neil Harbisson, cyborg and artist, changing the world of senses.
© Dan Wilton/Red Bulletin

Neil Harbisson: Expanding the Boundaries of Creative Expression

He can hear a Picasso painting.

He can paint a Mozart serenade.

He stands for hours in a supermarket aisle listening to a symphony of rainbow-colored cleaning bottles.

He composes music from faces.

This is Neil Harbisson, human cyborg. His senses defy tradition. His creative expression is unique.

He was born to a colorless world, where, in his words, “the sky is always gray and television is still in black and white.”

But, because he believes that everyone should wish to perceive what they can’t perceive, he was driven to extend his sensory perception.

He wears a cybernetic eye—an “eyeborg”—that translates colors into sounds on a musical scale (and vice versa). Pretty cool.

His “Oh, I see moments” become “Oh, I hear moments” . . . and beyond.

black and white landscape, showing that lack of color is a challenge for creative expression (Photo © Meredith Mullins)

A world without vibrant blue sky and a hundred shades of spring green
© Meredith Mullins

A World in Black and White and Shades of Gray

What would it be like to spend your life seeing only black and white and a range of gray tones—to never know the blueness of an open sky or the multitude of greens that emerge as trees come alive in spring?

color landscape, showing inspiration for creative expression (Photo © Meredith Mullins)

A new world
© Meredith Mullins

Neil was born with a rare color vision disorder that creates a gray-scale world. At first his parents thought he was just confused by the names of colors. Doctors thought he was colorblind. His classmates teased him when his socks didn’t match.

At age 11, he was officially diagnosed with achromatopsia. He could not see color at all.

The Eyeborg

Over time, he tried to make sense of color— to associate colors with people. For example, when someone talked about the color blue, he thought of a friend who was very brainy. He created his own world.

When he went on to study music in college, fate introduced him to cybernetics expert Adam Montandon. The result was a collaborative invention—the “eyeborg”— that would enable Neil to hear color.

Neil Harbisson , a human cyborg, using the eyeborg to translate the color orange into a sound so he can use his senses for creative expression (Photo © Dan Wilton/Red Bulletin)

The eyeborg translates “orange” into a musical note.
© Dan Wilton/Red Bulletin

The eyeborg translates light waves (colors) into sound waves, by linking each color to a note or frequency on the musical scale. A camera mounted on Neil’s head scans the colors in front of him and transmits the sound through a chip in the back of his head.

He had to memorize the names of colors and the frequencies associated with each hue, but eventually that became subliminal.

“When I started to dream in color, I felt the software and my brain had united,” he explains. “That’s when I called myself a cyborg.”

He grew more and more comfortable wearing the device on his head. He wore it everywhere—to sleep . . . and even in the shower.

Colorful cleaning products on a grocery shelf, illustrating how Neil Harbisson, a human cyborg standing nearby, will hear a symphony of sounds via his eyeborg. (Photo © Meredith Mullins)

As Harbisson says, “In the supermarket, the cleaning product aisle becomes a symphony.”
© Meredith Mullins

And, finally, he appeared on his passport photo complete with his headgear (after a battle with the British authorities, who don’t allow official photographs with electronic equipment). Neil convinced them that the eyeborg was a part of his body.

As advanced as the eyeborg is, Neil still has to plug himself in periodically to charge his antenna through a USB port at the back of his head. He looks forward to the day when he doesn’t have to depend on electricity. He hopes to use his own blood circulation to keep the device charged.

Neil Harbisson, a human cyborg, plugged into wall, recharging the device that expands his senses for creative expression (Photo © Dan Wilton/Red Bulletin)

Time out for recharging
© Dan Wilton/Red Bulletin

Exploring Creative Frontiers

In a world of science fiction, robotic prowess, and Google Glass, Neil is an unexpected hero. He uses his new perceptions as creative power, breaking boundaries between sound and sight, art and science.

He is the ultimate listener—listening to art, his environment, and the people he meets.

“The way I perceive beauty has changed,” he admits. “When I look at someone, I hear their face. Someone might look beautiful but sound terrible.”

His taste in art has changed. Certain painters, like Rothko and Miró, produce very clear notes. Others produce clashing chords because of the colors they use.

He performs in concerts by playing the colors of the audience. He preempts review with this caveat, “The good thing about this is that if the concert doesn’t sound good it’s their fault, not my fault.”

He creates sound portraits, so that people can “hear” their faces. He’s also working on a sound portrait of Venice, with other cities to come.

Then, in a creative reversal of fortunes, he turns musical notes or frequencies into visual art. He paints Vivaldi, Bach, Beethoven, and Rachmaninov and creates visual impressions of famous speeches.

Neil Harbisson's painting of Mozart's Queen of the Night, creative expression inspired by hearing color. (Image © Neil Harbisson)

A sonochromatic painting of Mozart’s Queen of the Night
© Neil Harbisson

A Cyborg Gathers No Moss

Neil continues to push the boundaries with his work. Regular human color vision includes the visible spectrum of light. But, that’s not enough for a cyborg.

He has added both infrared and ultraviolet light to his audible wavelengths, giving him the advantage of being able to detect motion sensors and of knowing when it’s safe to sunbathe.

Neil Harbisson, a human cyborg, wearing yellow, an inspiration of creative expression (Photo © Dan Wilton/Red Bulletin)

Neil used to dress to look good. Now he dresses to “sound” good.
© Dan Wilton/Red Bulletin

He has also created the Cyborg Foundation to help humans become cyborgs, to promote the use of cybernetics as part of the human body, and to defend cyborg rights.

“Life will be much more exciting when we stop creating applications for mobile phones and start creating them for our body,” Neil says.

Spoken like a true cyborg . . . and an artist who understands the value of extending the senses for unparalleled creative expression.

Photographs courtesy of The Cyborg Foundation and Dan Wilton/Red Bulletin.

Comment on this post below, or inspire insight with your own OIC Moment here.

Meredith Mullins 4 Comments

Innovations/The World's Art & Design/The World's Music

Jan

An Unexpected Connection with Argentine Tango

by Bruce Goldstone on January 6, 2014

Microscopic cells next to a couple dancing the Argentine tango, illustrating an unexpected connection between two life passions. (Images © tagota / Thinkstock (L) and © Alejandro Puerta (R))

From the science of cells to dancing at sunset. What’s the connection?
© tagota / Thinkstock (L) and © Alejandro Puerta (R)

Linking Life Passions

What does Argentine tango have to do with molecular biology?

The fields seem disparate, but to Alejandro Puerta, the connection is perfectly clear. They are his life passions, though the link wasn’t always obvious to him, either.

The Dancing Biologist

Today, Puerta teaches tango in Buenos Aires, Argentina, the home of the passionate dance that has intrigued people around the world since the 1890’s. Puerta’s strengths as a tango professor are deeply rooted in his unusual background. He has a Ph.D. in molecular biology and worked for years as a scientist in Japan.

When he became frustrated with limitations in the lab, Puerta decided to leave Japan, and biology, and return to his native Buenos Aires. His initial adjustment was far from painless. Puerta admits:

“Giving up my career as a molecular biologist left me with an enormous sense of loss. I couldn’t stand thinking about all the years I’d ‘wasted’ getting my Ph.D., working in laboratories, and publishing in science journals.”

At first, he struggled to start from scratch on a new career. To clear his mind, he threw himself into his passion—Argentine tango.

“I worked on my tango daily, as therapy. Two hours a day became five, then seven. I started assistant-teaching in group classes and eventually led classes.”

But he still didn’t think of tango as a serious professional option. Until one day, a student asked for a private class in his home-studio, and his teaching business took off on its own.

Argentine tango teacher Alejandro Puerta dancing with a student in San Telmo, Buenos Aires. (Image © Alejandro Puerta)

Teaching tango in San Telmo, Buenos Aires
© Alejandro Puerta

Walking and Talking Tango

At an essential level, tango is walking with a partner to music. Dancers respond emotionally to the rhythm and feeling of the music. Feet are generally kept close to the floor, giving the dance its familiar look of weight and balance.

A man and a woman dancing the Argentine tango. (Image © sodapix / Thinkstock)

If you can walk, with practice you can tango, too.
© sodapix / Thinkstock

Puerta recognizes that Argentine tango is not something you learn in a few classes. It takes patience to learn, practice, and really integrate the fundamentals.

For Puerta, a successful tango doesn’t rely on flashy footwork or glitz—it’s all about the connection between the dancers. The leader and follower share equally in creating a powerful, palpable connection.

When you’re truly connected with your partner, the signals flow easily and you move as one, as the dancers in this video.

If the video does not display, watch it here.

The Language of Tango

In many ways, learning to tango is like learning another language. But this language is expressed by the body instead of the voice.

Instead of studying vocabulary, grammar, and pronunciation, students study posture, walking, and connection.

Puerta agrees that viewing tango as a language can help students overcome unrealistic and unproductive learning styles. He explains:

“So many students take group classes where they learn sequences of steps. They mistakenly think that learning tango is simply mimicking those sequences. They focus on looking like what they saw.

“But learning tango is really learning the body vocabulary. It is up to the dancers to make their own music out of that vocabulary.”

A good tango is a conversation between the dancers, and later, between the couple dancing and the other couples on the dance floor.

Instead of learning a set of rigid phrases, like those in a primitive guidebook, Puerta teaches a flexible vocabulary of movements that students can use to say what they want to say when they dance.

Argentine tango teacher Alejandro Puerta and student. (Image © Alejandro Puerta)

Student and teacher share their thoughts while taking a break from dancing.
© Alejandro Puerta

Finding the Connection

When tango dancers engage in their unique “conversation,” they make a connection. Puerta insists:

“In tango, connection is everything. And there is no connection without perfect posture. I love the detail and precision of tango class; it satisfies the scientist in me. But the essence of the dance—embrace and musicality—feeds my artistic side, which was starving in my former career.”

And that’s when Puerta had an “Oh, I see” moment. He realized that he never really abandoned his scientist self:

“The most surprising part of this whole journey has been the discovery that I didn’t have to start over from scratch. Everything I learned as a scientist informs the way I teach tango.

“For example, I think I analyze and explain movement as if I were dissecting a specimen. I want each movement to be completely reproducible—like a science experiment. You have to be able to get the exact same results every time.”

Man and woman dancing the Argentine tango. (Image © Alejandro Puerta)

Communication is key, on the dance floor or in the lab.
© Alejandro Puerta

He continues:

“That means learning precise posture, and it means understanding why holding your body in a certain way affects a movement. If a student doesn’t understand my explanation, I find another way to communicate the information. Just as I did in the lab.”

In his new career, Puerta’s life passions—the precision of the molecular biologist and the artistic “conversation” between tango dancers—have come together. When he says “connection is everything,” he could be referring as much to his own life as he is to a couple dancing the Argentine tango.

Comment on this post below, or inspire insight with your own OIC Moment here.

Bruce Goldstone Comments

Argentina/On the World Stage/The World's Music

Dec

Jonathan Tessero’s Hunt to Know the (Musical) Score

by Janine Boylan on December 16, 2013

A butterfly on a musical score, symbolizing Jonathan Tessero's life passion for music and his search for Offenbach's original music to the ballet, Le papillon. (Image © Anna Maria Thor / iStock)

A Life Passion for Music, A Love of Ballet

When conductor Jonathan Tessero heard a recording of Jacques Offenbach’s single ballet Le papillon (The Butterfly), he fell in love with it. He wanted to know how Offenbach could direct stringed instruments to perfectly mimic butterflies. So Tessero went looking for the original score.

He found plenty of information about the composer, the history of the performances, the story line. He found audio recordings and videos of parts of the choreography. He found the modern adaptation John Lanchbery did for the Houston Ballet.

Even with his passion for music and his dedication to the hunt, he could not find the original musical score.

In an age where so much information is at our fingertips, how could this be possible?

Act One

In the 1860s when Offenbach wrote this ballet (as well as his famous can-can music), every note was written by hand on paper.

Each page of the score contained just a few measures for each of the thirty instruments. The entire score was many hundreds of pages of notes.

Offenbach would have written the original copy, or the autographed copy. Then he or other scribes might have spent hours hand-making another copy or two.

At the time, the only way to perform this music was to have one of these original copies. Opera houses, libraries, and collectors kept scores like these safe.

And yet somehow Offenbach’s original score had been lost.

Emma Livry in the ballet Le papillon, whose musical score was the subject of a search by Jonathan Tessero. (Image from National Library of France)

Ballerina Emma Livry in Le papillon, 1861
Image from National Library of France

Act Two

Tessero, a young conductor whose resume includes recordings with numerous Broadway casts and orchestras, was baffled. “This work was done in 1860 and lasted for a hundred years and then it was lost. In the modern day, when we can track anything, we lost it.”

Tessero started following some leads.

Scene 1: The Professor

The recording he had first heard was done in 1972 by conductor Richard Bonynge and the London Symphony Orchestra.

Tessero contacted Bonynge, who lives in Europe, and learned that the score he used was a copy. More precisely, it was a series of printed photographs that he had received from the owner of the autographed original, a professor in the midwestern United States. And the photos were not in great shape.

In addition, that professor, George Verdak from Indiana University, had since died. While Verdak had known the treasure he had in the autographed copy, keepers of his estate didn’t. So after his death, his copy was misplaced—perhaps sold at an estate sale, bundled up in papers returned to the university, or placed in a storage box.

Scene Two: The Italian

Simultaneously, Tessero learned of another copy in Italy. When he tried to acquire it, he was told that they do not lend it out because it is a very, very old version of the original, and the next time it is touched, it could be ruined. (Tessero plans to visit this copy one day. He won’t touch it, but he has to see it.)

Scene Three: The Librarian

Tessero also traced a copy from the Paris Opera Ballet.

About thirty years ago, the Paris Opera Ballet donated their precious scores to the National Library of France. But when Tessero contacted the library, they were unable to locate this specific document.

So after nine months of searching, Tessero wasn’t close to finding the original music. He put the project aside.

Butterfly musician, symbolizing Jonathan Tessero's hunt for Offenbach's original musical score for the ballet Le papillon. (Image © Lidiya Drabchuk / Hemera)

Scene Four: The Finale

A few months later, out of the blue, a librarian from the National Library of France contacted Tessero. They had discovered, not the autographed copy, but a microfilm copy of the original score.

Oh, I see! A breakthrough.

The library sent him a copy of the microfilm, and partially for himself and partially to ensure the future of the ballet, Tessero has been transcribing the score from the microfilm to a digital file. He anticipates the task will take about a year to complete.

Once the music is all digitally input, Tessero hopes to achieve his ultimate goal: “One day a ballet company will do it, and I will get to stand there and conduct it, and then my geek dream will have come true.”

Jonathan Tessero, whose life passion for music and love of ballet led him on a search to find Offenbach's original musical score for the ballet Le papillon. (Image © Jonathan Tessero)

Jonathan Tessero has worked on Broadway musicals, a Super Bowl, and the Macy’s
Thanksgiving Day Parade. He plans to add Offenbach’s ballet to that list.
Image © Jonathan Tessero

Postlude: The Story

While the two-act-four-scene original score has been difficult to find, there is a lot of well-documented history of the piece and its story, thanks to the liner notes Professor Verdak wrote for the London Symphony recording.

As Tessero says, “Most ballets have a theme of nature, or love, or magic. This one has them all!”

Briefly, the story is that a jealous, old and evil fairy transforms a young princess (whom the fairy has kidnapped) into a butterfly. A prince discovers the butterfly-girl’s true identity and captures the wicked fairy. The spell on the girl is broken, the fairy is transformed into a statue, and the prince and princess can live happily ever after.

This snippet is a better representation of the magic in the story and the score.