Bear, Greg - The Machineries of Joy.txt
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Author: Greg Bear
Title: The Machineries of Joy
Original copyright year: 1984
Genre: short story
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THE MACHINERIES OF JOY
© 1984 by Greg Bear. All rights reserved.
Introduction:
In October of 1983, I traveled from San Diego to Los Angeles and San Francisco,
researching a proposed article for OMNI Magazine. What I saw astonished me....
and influenced me heavily when I went on to write the novel-length Blood Music
and Eon. Here was not the beginning of the computer graphics revolution, which
had occurred decades earlier, but the beginning of the flowering of that
revolution. I could hardly restrain my enthusiasm. I suspect the last few pages
of this piece will date badly as time goes by, but they show my frame of mind.
And the frames of mind of dozens of other authors, as well; the information age
has taken science fiction by storm.
OMNI never used this piece, although they paid me for it. Nor did they use the
hundreds of pictures I gathered, a selection from which would have accompanied
it. Many people gave generously of their time, yet never saw their names or
ideas in print. I hope this publication pays them back in some small measure.
The circumstances described below have, of course, changed considerably. Digital
Productions has changed hands and management; Robert Abel and Associates is no
longer an independent company. The revolution has become even more stimulating
and promising. Its effects are everywhere.
This article was completed in early 1984.
THE MACHINERIES OF JOY
"Dinosaurs!" The artist spreads his arms as if to embrace them. "I need the
exact specifications--gridwork layouts of bones, muscles, scale patterns." The
artist's office is covered with drawings of spaceships and alien beings, strange
landscapes and mechanical diagrams. "If I have those, I can put them into the
computer. We can program each muscle, make the skin ripple over the muscles.
Tell the computer how they took a step, how they fought..."
And once again, dinosaurs will walk and fight. The artist is living a childhood
daydream: he has the power to bring dead creatures to life. Even more
remarkable, he has the power-- with the aid of dozens of technicians,
programmers and fellow artists--to film objects that have never existed in any
material form and make them interact with live actors.
But dinosaurs are a future project. The matter immediately at hand is a space
battle. At night, within a stark white-walled enclave, the artist, director and
technician sit before a video monitor, examining the progressive stages of a
nonexistent spaceship's destruction. Highly detailed ships-- complete with
crew--are dueling to the finish. One spaceship is destined not to survive; its
hull is disassembled in the first of six boxes on the monitor. The early stages
of an expanding blast are overlaid in subsequent boxes.
The artist describes an explosion in space. "I'd like the whole screen to flash
white for one frame. Next we see an opaque fireball--fuzzy at the
edges--surrounding the debris." He demonstrates an expanding sphere with hand
gestures. "Then we ramp it down to transparency as the fireball grows." (To
"ramp" is to smoothly increase or decrease any function.) "When the shockwave
passes, all the little stuff--gases and tiny fragments- -fly past and then we
see the big scraps, a little slower, not as much energy." His grin is gleeful
now. The director nods in agreement; this is, indeed, an explosion in space, not
your usual smoke-and-fireworks exhibit.
The stages of the explosion are being fed into powerful computers, isolated
beyond glass walls at the opposite end of the studio in a pristine white-floored
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environment. Artist, director and technician are playing god games in an unreal
universe.
Ultimately, it is all numbers, points charted in a space of three dimensions
within a computer. Each number represents part of the position of a pixel, or
picture element, millions of which go together to form a shape. It is the
computer's duty to keep track of the numbers, and the shapes they represent.
Perspective, color, shadow, motion, must all be processed with scrupulous
accuracy or the apparent reality will collapse.
The numbers are then converted to signals which can be displayed on a monitor.
The pixels assemble, and a spaceship is destroyed, frame by frame. When the
result is printed onto film, it will be indistinguishable from very high-grade
special effects accomplished with painstaking model work.
It will look as real as anything else in the finished motion picture. The
artist, director and technician are, of course, fictitious, and the scenario is
a technological fantasy, not to be realized for years, perhaps decades to come--
And if you believe that, you haven't been keeping track of recent advances in
the incredible field of computer graphics.
It is happening now.
The artist is veteran production designer Ron Cobb, (ALIEN, CONAN THE
BARBARIAN); the director is Nick Castle (TAG, SKATETOWN U.S.A.) and the motion
picture is THE LAST STARFIGHTER, a joint Universal-Lorimar production. Under the
auspices of Los Angeles-based Digital Productions, headed by John Whitney Jr.,
all of the special effects for THE LAST STARFIGHTER are being done by digital
scene simulation--computer graphics designed to match reality. Using two
powerful Cray super-computers and a phalanx of other machines, Digital
Productions is taking a gamble--some say a big gamble--by committing itself
wholeheartedly to the future.
The future of computer graphics will be extraordinary. Most of the experts in
the field--the best can still be numbered on two hands--agree that we are on the
verge of a revolution perhaps more basic and disruptive than Gutenberg's movable
type. Communications and education will be fundamentally reshaped. The
entertainment industry will experience changes far more drastic than the
transition from silent movies to talkies, and talkies to TV.
The power that presently resides in the hands of a knowledgable few, will soon
be available to all.
But first, back to the numbers.
The world of the computer is a very simple one. Everything is broken down into
bits, a bit being the information required to answer any question with yes or
no; in binary, yes equals 1, and no equals 0. Binary numbers consist of chains
of ones and zeros. (In binary, 01 equals one, but 10 equals two.) More ela
borate
codes have been created to relate letters and symbols to certain numbers--thus
allowing computers to display both numbers and text. Other codes relate the
positions of glowing dots on a video screen using coordinates much like those on
a map. A picture can be "digitized"--broken down into these numbered
positions--and put into a computer, which can then manipulate the picture in a
wide variety of ways.
A picture can also be formed within the computer by charting key elements on a
graph, feeding the computer coordinates and instructing it to draw lines or
curves between the points. Mathematical equations which determine fixed
geometric figures or curves can simplify the process; the computer can be
instructed to draw a circle of a certain diameter around a point, or an ellipse;
to trace out a square and expand it into a cube, and so on.
In fact, a "space" is determined within the computer, having three or more
dimensions, and any object can be described within that space, given
sufficiently detailed coordinates. If the object is simple, like a cone, a
"lathe" program can rotate a triangle around an axis to form a cone, or a circle
can be turned around any diameter to create a sphere, much as a shape is spun
from a block of wood on a lathe. More complex, irregular shapes take more
complicated instructions, and much more time. Once the object is constructed in
a simple line drawing, or "wireframe," additional programs can add a light
source to give it highlight and cast a shadow. Colors and textures can be
"mapped" on its surface. A point of view can be established, and what is not
seen from that point of view--the back of the object--can be clipped, making it
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appear opaque and solid.
The process seems simple enough, but in reality the work involved in creating
real-seeming objects on today's machines is extensive. The most complicated
methods of creating objects in a computer--such as a technique called "ray
tracing"-- can take weeks of computer time. Simpler techniques can reduce the
time to fractions of a second, but with a corresponding loss of color, shadow
and detail.
Once the object's numbers have been fed into the computer, the computer knows
what the object looks like from all sides, at any distance, in relation to any
other object or perspective within the machine's memory. A nonexistent spaceship
can be made to zoom past a simulated planet, approach a much larger "mother
ship" and dock inside a highly detailed landing bay, all in perfect perspective.
The computer can then display the objects in two dimensions on a video screen,
or send signals to a printer to transfer images to film. Since the object has
actually been mapped in more than two dimensions, the computer can be instructed
to project two points of view, creating a parallax similar to that between our
two eyes. The slightly separated images can be combined stereoscopically for a
realistic feeling of depth.
If the film image needs to be "squeezed" anamorphically onto 35mm stock for
later projection on a wide screen, the computer can do that, as well. Any
required lens can be simulated within the machine. In the 1950s, artists and
programmers began to pioneer the techniques still being elaborated upon today.
John Whitney Sr. was among the earliest, starting in the late 1940s. He later
received the first IBM grant to study computer graphics in detail, and was
installed in a ground-floor corner window of the IBM building in New York,
displaying images for passers-by.
Bill Fetter began exploring the possibilities of wireframe animation at Boeing
in the late l950s, and assembled the first computer generated commercial in the
late 1960s.
In the early seventies, Ken Knowlton and Michael Noll came on the
scene--Knowlton working for Bell Labs, and Noll arranging for the first gallery
showing of computer art. Noll's specialty was simulating "clay paintings"--made
with plasticine-- using computer images. Many viewers couldn't tell which were
pictures of real clay paintings, and which were simulated.
In the last ten years, the progress has been astonishing; around the world,
computers are helping to create images for scientific research, education, fine
art and entertainment.
Sometimes the divisions between these categories are erased; the enchanting
beauty of a moving computer image can turn a prosaic enterprise--such as stress
analysis of pipe joins--into art. The most extensive use of computer animation
has been in advertising. Already familiar to TV viewers are the plethora of
"neon"-look commercials for banks, airlines and automobile manufacturers.
Generically, computer animation relying on line graphics is known as "vector"
animation. Using various animation techniques--inside and outside the
computer--the lines of these "wireframe" drawings can be made to glow like neon
tubes. This look has become so widespread that within the industry it is
becoming a cliche, to be avoided if possible. Filling in a wireframe object with
color, shadow and texture is called "raster graphics" or "raster" animation.
This requires a more powerful computer, such as the Evans and Sutherland, or the
Digital Equipment Corporation VAX machines commonly found in commercial studios.
Some interesting effects can be obtained by fudging (not a technical term). The
surface of an object to be vector- animated can be covered with
"cross-thatching," using more lines instead of full raster graphics. This is
known as "psuedo-raster" animation and can be charming, even though it falls in
a middle range likely to be used less often as equipment and programming
improve.
Crude raster graphics can be judged by "aliasing"--the appearance of the
"jaggies" along an object's edges. Each pixel stands out against a contrasting
color, and when the object moves, the pixels can appear to march along the edge.
These can be eliminated by coloring alternating edge pixels in shades that
mediate between the contrasting colors. The border is softened slightly, and the
graphics are said to be "anti-aliased."
The most powerful computers available to animators-- the Cray series (the Cray
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1, an expanded version called the Cray XMP, and a much smaller, even faster Cray
2) usually reside in defense establishments and major research laboratories.
Digital Productions is the only private effects studio that owns Crays. The Cray
corporation is reluctant to release the locations of all its machines, but it is
well known that the Sandia Labs and Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory have
a number on hand.
By time-sharing--having the computers process their work when not otherwise
busy--researchers in several such establishments have done important work
programming computers to "understand" and draw transparent objects, lenses and
realistic landscapes.
Two of the most prolific of these researchers are James F. Blinn at the Jet
Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena, and Nelson Max at Lawrence Livermore National
Laboratori
es. Blinn's group at JPL animated the striking computer simulations of
the Voyager probes' journeys to the outer planets, widely shown on network and
public television in 1980-81. Nelson Max has worked largely on graphic
representation of biological processes. Using his graphics programs, he has been
able to predict how molecules will interact before lab tests have been made. Max
has also investigated the effects of mutagens on DNA, and modeled the structure
of very tiny viruses.
After months or years of painstaking labor, computer artists display their wares
at annual SIGGRAPH conventions. (SIGGRAPH stands for Special Interest Group,
Graphics, a division of the Association of Computing Machinery, or ACM.) Private
individuals, employees of giant research establishments and commercial film
studios gather to compare notes and keep up on the latest developments.
C.P. Snow's "Two Cultures" are inevitably wedded in computer graphics.
Not since Leonardo da Vinci have so many technical disciplines been required of
working artists. Not only must they have basic drawing and drafting skills, but
they must know at least the rudiments of programming. They must understand how
light reflects, refracts and diffuses--and be able to translate their knowledge
into terms the computer can digest. The artist can no longer stand aloof from
science and math. New techniques can take him to the frontiers of theory. Recent
work in the texturing of surfaces has used fractals, mathematical entities
capable of generating very complex patterns. Perhaps the most familiar example
of computer animation with fractal-generated landscapes is the "Genesis"
sequence from STAR TREK II: THE WRATH OF KHAN, made for Paramount Pictures by
Sprockets, the computer division of Lucasfilm's Industrial Light and Magic.
One of the focal points for computer animators was the Walt Disney production of
TRON. Information International, Inc., (known as triple-I), Mathematical
Applications Group, Inc. (MAGI) Robert Abel and Associates and Digital Effects
all contributed their expertise; yet TRON contained only ten to fifteen minutes
of full computer animation. The rest was accomplished with conventional special
effects and animation techniques.
A great many of the people who worked on TRON have now moved on to positions in
companies around the country. A few, such as Richard Taylor, are still involved