There is something about artist-programmers, the way they’re caught using general purpose languages and tools in specific, unusual circumstances. Many of the basic assumptions underlying the development of these general purpose systems, such as errors are bad, the passing of time need not be structured only minimised, standards and pre-defined plans are good, etc, often just don’t apply. It’s not that artist-programmers can get away with being bad programmers. Far from it, in my opinion they should be fluent with their language, it’s no good being baffled by syntax errors and spaghetti code while you’re trying to work out some weird idea. However if you are following your imagination as part of a creative process, then established and fashionable software development methods often look arbitrary and inhibiting.
The last few days I’ve been thinking about revision control. Revision control systems are really excellent and have a great deal to offer artist-programmers, particularly those working in groups. What I’ve been wondering though is whether they assume a particular conception of time that doesn’t always apply in the arts.
Consider a live coder, writing software to generate a music performance. In terms of revision control they are in an unusual situation. Normally we think of programmers making revisions towards a final result or milestone, at which point they ship. For live coders, every revision they make is part of the final result, and nothing gets shipped, they are already the end users. We might somewhat crassly think about shipping a product to an audience, but what we’re `shipping’ them isn’t software, but a software development process, as musical development.
Another unusual thing about live coding revisions is that whereas software development conventionally begins with nothing and finishes with a complete, complex structure, a live coder begins and ends with nothing. Rather than aim for a linear path towards a predefined goal, musicians instead are concerned with how to return to nothing in a satisfying manner. Indeed perhaps the biggest problem for Live Algorithms is the problem of how to stop playing. The musician’s challenge is both how to build and how to deconstruct.
There are two ways of thinking about time, either as a linear progression and as a recurrent cycle or oscillation. Here’s a figure from the excellent book Rhythms of the Brain by György Buzsáki:
“Oscillations illustrate the orthogonal relationship between frequency and time and space and time. An event can repeat over and over, giving the impression of no change (e.g., circle of life). Alternatively, the event evolves over time (pantha rei). The forward order of succession is a main argument for causality. One period (right) corresponds to the perimeter of the circle (left).” (pg. 7)
This illustrates nicely that these approaches aren’t mutually exclusive, they’re just different ways of looking at the same thing. Indeed it’s normal to think of conventional design processes as cycles of development, with repeating patterns between milestones. It’s not conventional to think of the code itself ending up back where it started however, but this can happen several times during a music performance, we are all familiar with chorus and verse structure for example, and performances necessarily begin and end at silence.
So where am I going with this? I’m not sure, but I think there’s plenty of mileage in rethinking revision control for artist-programmers. There’s already active, radical work in this area, for example the code timeline scrubbing in field looks awesome, and Julian Rohrhuber et al have some great research on time and programming, and have worked on non-linear scheduling of code changes in SuperCollider.
As far as I can see though, the revision control timeline has so far been treated as a linear structure with occasional parts branching and remeeting the main flow later on. You do sometimes get instances of timelines feeding back on themselves, a process called backporting, but this is generally avoided, only done in urgent circumstances such as for applying security fixes to old code.
What if instead, timelines were of cycles within cycles, with revision control designed not to aid progression towards future features, but help the programmer wrestle their code back towards the state it was in ten minutes ago, and ten minutes before that? Just questions for now, but I think there is something to be done here. After all, there is something about artist-programmers, the way they’re caught using general purpose languages and tools in specific, unusual circumstances.