Designing Objects in Motion: Exploring Kinaesthetic Empathy 9783035621105, 9783035619317

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Designing Objects in Motion

Board of International Research in Design, BIRD

Members: Michelle Christensen Michael Erlhoff Sandra Groll Wolfgang Jonas Gesche Joost Ralf Michel Marc Pfaff

Advisory Board: Lena Berglin Cees de Bont Elena Caratti Michal Eitan Bill Gaver Orit Halpern Denisa Kera Keith Russell Doreen Toutikian Michael Wolf John Wood

Kensho Miyoshi

Designing Objects in Motion Exploring Kinaesthetic Empathy

Birkhäuser Basel

CONTENTS Foreword BIRD

007

Introduction009

1 Design ­Research through the Senses 015 1.1 Research through Design Practice

017

1.2 Learning to Perceive

023

1.3 Designing Movement

030

1.4 Kinaesthetic Empathy for Design

036

2 Objects in Motion047 2.1 Movement in Everyday Design

049

2.2 Movement beyond the Utilitarian 

052

2.3 Movement as Art (Kinetic Art) 

063

2.4 Movement as Display and Interface

069

2.5 Movement as Life (Behavioural Objects) 

071

3 Designing in Motion 079 3.1 Kinaesthetic Knowing

081

3.2 The Body for Design and Interaction 

085

3.3 Origin of Kinaesthetic Empathy

088

3.4 Kinaesthetic Empathy Now 

092

4 Designing ­Kinaesthetic Empathy103

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4.1 Developing a Design Programme

105

4.2 Kinaesthetic Representation

109

4.3 Kinaesthetic Elements

126

4.4 Design Tools and Framework

152

5 From Kinetic to Kinaesthetic161 5.1 Methods for Designing Kinaesthetic Empathy

163

5.2 Analysis and Creation

169

5.3 Design with Puppetry

178

5.4 Reflections 

193

5.5 New Missions in Motion

200

Acknowledgements 

207

About the Author

208

Selected Bibliography

210

CONTENTS 005

FOREWORD BIRD For some time now, design research – including the BIRD series – appears to have been moving away from what was long considered its central object: the aesthetic and functional artefact. The ‘eclipse of the object’ (Findeli) puts the focus on ethics; the ‘trajectory of artificiality’ (Krippendorff) notes the shift towards meanings, services, systems, discourses; ‘design 4.0’ (van Patter) focuses on social transformation. The ubiquitous trend of digitisation and virtualisation reinforces this. A closer look reveals that the objects are not disappearing, but that the focus is shifting towards the relationships of consumers, users, communities with the things in their environment: semantically, emotionally, atmospherically, morally … In times of wide-ranging design this book presents – at first glance – a conventional product-oriented research project. On further examination, Miyoshi’s enquiry into the bodily dynamics of human-object relationships, based on a dissertation at the RCA London, proves to be a true jewel: the movement of designed objects is not purely functional, it also elicits a variety of sensations. A curtain that moves gently in the wind can make the viewer feel light and relaxed, as if floating in the air. This imagined projection as a result of a perception is called ‘kinaesthetic empathy’. The author examines the aesthetics of moving objects by documenting his own creative research process, for example his experimental collaboration with puppeteers. He thereby creates a conceptual framework that enables designers to observe, describe and design moving artefacts as triggers for emotions. ‘Research through design’ is a promising alternative to conventional modes of design research, which borrow methods from science and the humanities. How the perception experienced by the researchers themselves affects the enquiry has, however, been little examined. Through reflecting on his sensual empirical learning process, the author studies the aesthetics of movement and simultaneously provides a fundamental contribution to the developing paradigm of research through design. Parallels with the widely neglected Goethean phenomenological approach to science are obvious: researchers should harness all available senses in an immersive interaction with the phenomena to be studied. This was in stark contrast to the dominant trend in natural science (like Newton’s colour theory), which was to abandon nature altogether, formulate an abstract hypothesis, then experiment to ascertain whether the hypothesis could be verified or not. Goethe considered this an ‘artificial experience’ which forcibly tears subjective manifestations from the meaningful context of the whole. Instead, researchers must adopt a more lively, more humane approach aspiring to embrace the living essence of nature, as perceived in the phenomenon studied. Miyoshi demonstrates this perfectly. Wolfgang Jonas Board of International Research in Design (BIRD)

FOREWORD BIRD  007

INTRODUCTION The tick-tock of clock hands, the rotation of fan blades, the popping of toasters, the waving of curtains, the sliding, revolving and folding of doors, humidifiers emitting mist, cupboard doors opening and closing, water running through a tap, the creaking of a desk lamp – physical movement appears in a wide and diverse range of designed objects and environments. Each movement not only has a utilitarian purpose but also takes on a unique aesthetic quality through its form, dynamics and context: some appear light, fluent and graceful while others are heavy, stiff and awkward. These physical phenomena we observe are not only processed intellectually, as information, but are also ‘felt’ as qualitative experiences. It is not just the eyes that respond to the dynamism of the phenomenon. We experience the observed phenomenon with the whole body, combining the stimuli received through all our sensory channels. While such an experiential quality is often difficult to articulate explicitly, it is increasingly important for designers to acquire aesthetic sensitivity to physical phenomena in a time of rapid technological advancement. It is easy to predict that technological artefacts will increasingly be deployed in everyday situations in the future: these include automatic vehicles, robots for domestic tasks (e.g. robot cleaners), pet robots and even simple fabrication machines. Unlike machines in an industrial automated factory, where functionality and efficiency are the priority, artefacts that will be used in close proximity to people require careful consideration of the aesthetics of their physical behaviour. If we are experiencing or responding to these physical phenomena with the whole body rather than merely observing them, by designing the movement of artefacts we would also indirectly be designing the physical sensations people experience while they observe, or interact with, the movement. It is an urgent task for design to deepen its understanding of the relationship between the nature of physical phenomena and the kinetic and empathic quality they allow us to experience. While there is already a rich corpus of knowledge in design relating to the functionality of movement, how and why we experience such vicarious sensations towards non-human objects and phenomena is little understood – the stiffness experienced while watching ticket barriers creaking, or the sensation of floating softness arising from observing a curtain waving in a gentle breeze, for instance. Given the recent shift in focus, in both academia and industry, from digital information to physical materialisation, it is a timely task for design research to seek insight into the aesthetics of movement. Rather than relying merely on what current design education offers, what is required is new knowledge informed by both practice and theory regarding aesthetics and embodiment. My research project started out from such a motivation, one that concerned aesthetics, movement and design. It was also developed through my background in aerospace engineering and kinetic art prior to undertaking a PhD at the Royal

INTRODUCTION 009

College of Art (RCA), London. As an aerospace engineering student with an interest in the sense of wonder created by flying objects, such as birds, insects, winged seeds and even flying broomsticks in fantasy novels, I researched the experience of watching and interacting with aerial robots for the purposes of installation and entertainment rather than the technological novelty involved in the realisation of those concepts. What particularly intrigued me was the somewhat immersive feeling experienced when interacting with aerial robots. I remember that the peculiarity of the object hovering in the air, detached from any external object, made me suddenly aware of the fact that there is a rich negative space in the area between objects, walls and floor. This experience was the beginning of my interest in the interplay between motion, space and perception. While the skills acquired in aeronautical technology and physical computing, and developed in the projects, enabled me to prototype various physical phenomena, I felt that in some ways these were also restricting the creativity of my exploration. Technology was indeed a useful tool to overcome technical challenges and to realise concepts. But as a student in an engineering department, I often experienced a conflict between my untrammelled curiosity and the need to justify my projects in the context of engineering. I thus sought opportunities to pursue my creative interest in a focused way, and initiated a number of experimental projects outside the field of engineering. Finally, the work that I created led me to carry out further research into the aesthetics of movement for design. The phenomenon central to my research is kinaesthetic empathy, which refers to the experience of the kinetic quality of observed movements. The obvious example is watching dance; spectators can empathically ‘feel’ the movements of ballet dancers, such as the impact on their legs while landing on the floor after a large leap, without performing the same movement themselves – even while sitting quietly on chairs. Kinaesthetic empathy is known to happen relatively easily between a group of people, but a number of studies suggest that it can also happen in the observation of the movement of animals, and even that of non-living objects. While this phenomenon is still little recognised in design, it received attention in a recent research project on watching dance that was conducted in the UK from 2008 to 2011. I first learned about kinaesthetic empathy from the documentation of this research project and, through my foundational research, gradually confirmed its connection to, and potential benefit for, the design of objects with movement. This book is based on my doctoral thesis, in its two versions – the original ­thesis and the substantially revised version for the completion of the degree. The format and culture of a doctoral research project is variable depending on discipline and region. But it is common for doctoral candidates to be required to make amendments to the thesis after the final examination. The scale of the amendments is also variable, ranging from relatively minor to major. ‘Major amendment’ is a daunting task, and would normally be the last thing a PhD candidate wants from their final assessment (except, of course, for a complete rejection), but it is, in reality,

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a relatively common occurrence, and I was no exception. Although completing the amendments was quite tough, frustrating work, it also allowed me to further reflect on my project and to clarify the real value of the work. What was made clearer in particular was the project’s contribution to the design research methodology now recognised as ‘research through design’, or RtD. This book brings the best parts of both versions of my thesis, the original and the revised, together into a single consistent context. I have been lucky enough to have had several opportunities to share my insights in the form of articles, lectures, workshops and conference presentations. Feedback from practising designers and design researchers from these is an indispensable part of my project. However, the number of people with whom I have been able to share my projects is still fairly limited, as is the literature on the project that I have published so far. The true success of my research will lie in the education of a broader range of contemporaries beyond those who have participated in my occasional lectures and workshops: practitioners in the wider design field, and anyone concerned with the design of objects and movement who would benefit from understanding the nature and value of kinaesthetic empathy in design. The main task of Designing Objects in Motion is to support this understanding by presenting the first thorough documentation of the research project. Chapter 1, ‘Design Research through the Senses’, outlines an original methodology of design research that focuses on the change in perception experienced by the researchers themselves while carrying out the research. It is a contribution to RtD, the mode of research in which design practice and reflection drive the enquiry. At the core of my proposed methodology is the process of designers becoming more perceptive of a certain quality of phenomena through iterative observations and attempts to articulate the quality in question. Perceptual learning, multisensory experience, RtD – each idea discussed in the chapter is not itself necessarily new. However, what I illustrate here is a unique synthesis that integrates multiple ideas that have previously been treated separately into a single context, thus allowing the reader to understand it as a new way of carrying out research through creative practice. This is the aim of this chapter; the following chapters provide a thorough documentation of my own doctoral research as an example and as evidence. The second chapter, ‘Objects in Motion’, surveys examples of existing practice in kinetic composition, not only from a design perspective but also from those of art, human-computer interaction (HCI) and robotics. The first part of the chapter focuses on everyday objects, contrasting the use of movement for functional ends and its use for aesthetic, non-utilitarian ones. This comparison is evidence of the recent increasing attention to movement as an expressive device in design. However, the topic of the aesthetics of kinetic design is still quite young, and the lack of concrete examples makes it difficult to establish useful principles or theory for it within kinetic design. But we can access a broader context for the non-utilitarian use of the movement of objects by referring to existing approaches to movement in

INTRODUCTION 011

adjacent fields – movement as art, as display and interface and as life. Movement as art, or kinetic art, provides profound insights into the aesthetics of movement with reference to kinetic sculptural works. In contrast, precedents in HCI show examples of movement as display and interface, such as kinetic artefacts, often electro­ mechanical ones, to mediate information. Robotic research specialises in exploring movement as life, technically known as behavioural objects, kinetics that present aliveness, intention and emotion. While the communicative and anthropomorphic potential of movement may seem promising and captivating, design needs a critical stance from which to judge the true benefits and risks of such applications. In Chapter 3, ‘Designing in Motion’, I review the literature on design education and design methodology, as well as the context of kinaesthetic empathy from its origins to its recent influence on creative practice. My goal is to trace the relationship between bodily sensations and design from before the birth of modern design education to the present. Early experimental psychology approached non-­ discursive, experiential knowledge, or what Zeynep Çelik Alexander terms kinaesthetic knowing, which informed the educational rationale of the Bauhaus. While the bodily i­ nformed approach was closely associated with art-related training in the early Modernist design movement, it is used as a technique for more rational and practical purposes such as ideation and problem-solving in new methods that include bodystorming and embodied storming. In Chapter 4, ‘Designing Kinaesthetic Empathy’, I outline an original approach to design that focuses on the aesthetics of movement. The key concept lies at the intersection of kinaesthetic empathy and the design of movement. I introduce a new framework and new techniques, vocabulary, and tools related to design and kinaesthetic empathy. The most significant is my original idea of kinaesthetic ­elements – fragments of kinaesthetic sensations that are projected onto observed movement, identified through changes in my aesthetic sensitivity to qualities of movement. I use Johan Redström’s concept of the design programme, a specific range of activity and approach to design based on certain values and intentions, as a model to frame the integrity of new ways of designing. Chapter 5, ‘From Kinetic to Kinaesthetic’, embodies the design approach illustrated in the previous chapter, introducing two projects that have explored kinaesthetic empathy for designing movement. One of these was a design workshop in which a group of designers used the original design framework, and their feedback allowed me to improve on it. The other was a collaboration with other types of practitioners, such as puppeteers and sound designers, where the potential of using kinaesthetic empathy for design was explored even further. The participation of other designers, as well as other types of practitioners such as those above, reifies and extends the possibility of the design space. Lastly, the book concludes with a reflection on the project as a whole and the sharing of my mission for contemporary designers. Reading a book is usually a static activity. But the various movements involved in the everyday scenes illustrated throughout the book will hopefully allow

012  DESIGNING OBJECTS IN MOTION 

the reader not only to imagine these but also to revisit these moments and explore how the body would respond to the phenomena. Perhaps because we live within the fleshly body from birth, we already know, if tacitly, what kind of sensations various bodily movements prompt in us. We also know what kind of feelings we experience from watching various physical phenomena. This ‘library’ of non-verbal, embodied sensations that we have developed as we experience the world becomes a powerful resource and reference for the design of kinaesthetic harmony with the human-made environment. I hope that this book will shed light on a way of doing design research by tapping into the reservoir of knowledge, experience and sensitivity ­accumulated in the body and by cultivating it.

INTRODUCTION 013

1 Design ­Research through the Senses

The body of knowledge that this book offers has been created in my enquiry through design practice, rather than from a solely text-based theoretical survey. But what is the thing we call ‘knowledge’? Although this seemingly simple question could prompt endless contemplation, it is important to understand, at this stage of the book, that there are at least two different kinds of knowledge. Behind this lies the multiple roles that ‘knowledge’ is expected to play depending on the context. In empirical science, experiments are conducted to gather data and validate hypotheses. The knowledge created from this process is expected to be a thorough, and ideally an absolute, description of what has been observed, or a ‘fact’. But the knowledge itself does not always provide a direction in terms of the way we should act to enable developments. In research conducted through design practice, the priority is reversed. Although it is still highly important to analyse data and experiences obtained through practice, the ultimate goal is to offer whatever can support our subsequent actions, such as new concepts to facilitate our thinking, new vocabulary to articulate a quality for which we do not yet have a name, new tools to facilitate creative activities, and so forth. This is not to say that a thorough analysis of data is undervalued in design. But the approach to research employed in science, which is often based on an objective and reductionist worldview, is not necessarily compatible with design, where all elements are interconnected as a complex whole. Instead, design requires a first-person, reflective and critical approach to knowledge production.1

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1.1  RESEARCH THROUGH DESIGN PRACTICE Two kinds of knowledge Cybernetician Ranulph Glanville describes the very different roles of knowledge as ‘knowledge of’ and ‘knowledge for’.2 The former is a description of the world as we believe it to be, while the latter is the knowledge that helps us to act or make changes to the world (no matter how tiny they are). In short, the former involves assessing, while the latter involves assisting. ‘Knowledge for’ enables us to carry out actions, and its function is never the same as ‘knowledge of’. The quality that supports ‘knowledge for’ is whether it is ‘good enough’ rather than whether it is ‘right’ or ‘best’.3 This distinction that Glanville articulates derives from the social theorist Gerard de Zeeuw’s differentiation between ‘a model of’ (examining what something is) and ‘a model for’ (exploring what something could be).4 This can be traced further back, to ‘sophia’ and ‘phronesis’, two of the several ways of knowing identified by Aristotle. Put simply, sophia is theoretical knowledge, while phronesis is that which is practical and experiential, or ‘what sophia is based on and must refer back to’.5 These two kinds of knowledge essentially inform each other, and are thus inherently interwoven. Nevertheless, we should have different attitudes to, and expectations from, knowledge depending on its nature and context. The kind of knowledge I intend to offer in this book is ‘knowledge for’, in two senses. The first is knowledge that design researchers need to conduct RtD while engaging the researcher’s own perceptual learning. The second is knowledge that enables designers to understand, and ultimately design, the movement of everyday objects through the lens of kinaesthetic empathy. The scope of knowledge that exists is closely connected to the changing rationale in the early development of design research. In the 1960s, designers and design theorists such as John Christopher Jones, Christopher Alexander and Bruce Archer initiated attempts to produce a systematic and rational understanding of design processes. This movement reflected the desire to understand the nature of design and to find better ways of designing; Archer, for example, was motivated more by the former.6 Most of these theorists took a Cartesian approach, in which a design problem is broken down into smaller elements and the solution to each element is finally brought together to form a solution to the original problem. However, the early approach of ‘scientising’ design, or what design theorists Horst Rittel and Melvin Webber call ‘first-generation’ methods,7 was critiqued for being too theoretical and impractical – by the design theorists themselves who had initially advocated such an approach, including Jones8 and Alexander.9 This led to the ‘second-generation’ approach that was developed in the mid-1970s, that focused on abductive and participatory approaches, in which the designer acts as a mediator for collaboration even before the problem has been defined, rather than as a sole practitioner who

RESEARCH THROUGH DESIGN PRACTICE  017

designs for all the others.10 This also reflects another aspect of the societal change in which design problems have become more complex than ever. Problems studied in science and engineering tend to be relatively well defined, often characterised as ‘tame’.11 In contrast, designers, working with everyday situations, tackle ill-defined, ‘untamed’ or ‘wicked’ problems in which constraints and requirements are often unclear at the outset but gradually emerge in the process of designing. A dialogic process is therefore required in order to refine design problems and consequently create successful outcomes.12

Reflective practice in design research The shift from the first- to second-generation methods resulted in scepticism about design methods and methodology in some of the early methodologists. On the other hand, other theorists, such as Archer and Nigel Cross, reiterated their confidence in design methodology.13 Rather than imitating the methods of science and the humanities, they argued that design methods ‘must be based on the ways of thinking and acting that are natural to design’, which Cross terms ‘designerly ways of thinking’.14 Donald Schön, who was a Professor of Urban Studies and Education at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), advocates a similar turn from technical rationality to designerly ways of thinking.15 Through his attentive observation of designers at work, Schön established his theory of ‘reflective practice’, explaining how practitioners think in action. Believing that competent practitioners should possess tacit knowledge, experiential knowledge that cannot be put into words,16 he identified a process called reflection-in-action, in which a practitioner iterates paths of thinking and acting, progressively reframing the situations and problems at hand. This is paired with reflection-on-action, which refers to the practitioner’s reflection on his or her practice, before or after the practice, from a meta-perspective. Schön considers the practice of designing to be ‘a reflective conversation with the situation’, in which the action of a designer tends to result in ‘an unintended change’ in the situation, whether this is positive or negative.17 Note that it is not a conversation prepared as a documentation, but one which is live, spontaneous and unpredictable. Schön describes this process as follows: The practitioner allows himself to experience surprise, puzzlement, or confusion in a situation which he finds uncertain or unique. He reflects on the phenomena before him, and on the prior understandings which have been implicit in his behaviour. He carries out an experiment which serves to generate both new understanding of the phenomena and a change in the situation.

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Figure 1.1  Glanville’s (2012) ­RefleCTion model with my annotations

3. see the object differently 1. making a mark object

designer 2. be seen by the same but ‘different’ person 4. to be repeated ...

Glanville adds to this the change which happens in the practitioner him/herself.18 Figure 1.1 illustrates his interpretation of reflective practice, or what he calls ‘RefleCTion’. The circle on the right represents the designer, and the square on the left an object – a drawing, say. The arrows express the flow of influences exchanged between the two. The first action is from the designer to the object – for example, drawing a line. The next arrow goes in the opposite direction: the drawn line signals to the designer. The designer, being a slightly different person from what s/he was when s/he drew the first line, perceives the line differently. This allows the designer to gain new inspiration and, based on this, to make a new mark on the canvas. Repeating this cycle, both the designer and the object are transformed while affecting each other. This diagram allows us to realise the plasticity of ourselves in terms of perception, preferences, habits and the sense of value changing through time. The instability of the observer becomes a critical flaw in a scientific experiment. Where creativity is involved, however, it could be an opportunity for us to experience multiple perspectives within ourselves. This mode of research, in which the acts of designing, making and experimenting are the foundational aspect of enquiry, was initially articulated by the educationalist and cultural historian Christopher Frayling, in his paper ‘Research in Art and Design’.19 He used three prepositions to distinguish between the different relationships of research and (art and) design: research into design (e.g. historical, perceptual research), for design (where the thinking is ‘embodied in the artefact’), and through design (such as action research). While the first two of these treat design as a subject to be studied, the third considers design as an approach with which to explore uncharted territory. This (third) kind of design research, in which it is design practice that primarily drives the enquiry, has also been referred to as ‘research through practitioner action’,20 and described in similar terms, such as practice-­based, practice-led or constructive design research, terms which now identify specific design communities and conference series.21

RESEARCH THROUGH DESIGN PRACTICE  019

Figure 1.2  The developmental process of a ­design ­programme

(1)

(2)

practice design experiments

programme

foundation

(3)

(4) reforming foundation

practice and foundation developing concurrently

As a model of how RtD (research through design) develops, I use the notion of the design programme (Figure 1.2) proposed by the design researcher Johan Redström, for its usefulness for exploring the different levels of abstraction between theory and practice in design.22 He defines a programme as ‘a set of basic beliefs, design ideals, intentions, etc.’ which guides design experiments.23 Such experiments allow design researchers to explore ‘what designing would be like according to this programme through the (re)design of various everyday objects’.24 Taking Redström’s own example, for a design programme based on the statement ‘Design is the use of the basic geometrical shapes of the circle, the square, and the triangle to express the functionality of everyday things’, an example of a design experiment would be to redesign everyday objects by using both simple and complex geo­metrical compositions. Objects, processes and methods gradually materialise the programme, revealing its central position and contours. The model of a design programme usefully reflects the organic and contingent nature of design. It could also offer an alternative to the prevailing approach in design research, especially in the context of academic training in design, which relies on the structure of ‘research questions and answers’. Redström reflects on his own struggle to write a PhD thesis, and argues:25 While there is always the possibility of, basically, rephrasing any (design) proposition as a (design) question, to frame the work using such “research questions” would not have produced the kind of structural transparency I was looking for.

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I­ ndeed, the entire idea of framing the inquiry using dichotomies such as question-answer, problem-solution, and so on, seemed to suggest a process of searching, zooming in, and optimizing that was not present in the actual work. I experienced a similar struggle in my research, at least when I faced the question that is so commonly asked in the PhD design research community, ‘What is your research question?’ My research was essentially based on my interest in certain phenomena – the movement of objects and kinaesthetic empathy – and my anticipation of their engagement with design. Relevant practice and theory from both inside and outside the area of design served as a foundation for the research; based on this, questions emerged in a generative manner, and their levels of abstraction were diverse. Some questions were about more conceptual aspects of research methodology while others were about specific details of the tools developed for workshops. In such situations, as Redström argues, experimental design is a useful means by which to explore a potential design space which is little understood at the outset. While the foundation of a programme is informed by earlier practice and literature, this new space of practice is almost untouched at the beginning. In these circumstances, the best, and only, way of proceeding is, as Archer argues,26 to harness one’s own practice and reflection as media for research. There is no guarantee of success in a practice-led approach; but, as Cross argues,27 the activity of design often relies on intuition and practice to generate new findings in an opportunistic manner. Glanville’s metaphor captures well this particular aspect of design:28 I think that what designers do is they make errors that are opportunities. They hold conversations with themselves, and it is through this that they manage to do something which is quite, quite magical, which is to find the new. And it is through this that designers ‘solve problems’ – but they don’t. What designers do is they go on a sort of wander through the forest and find a beautiful place to sit down and say, ‘That’s why I went on this walk today!’ This approach to design turns errors into opportunities and enriches the knowledge one gains from one’s own practice. Like Glanville’s metaphor of walking in the forest, even an action without a predetermined purpose, such as playing with materials, can sometimes bring new findings that benefit our research. In fact, errors or unintended outcomes appear very frequently in many design scenarios, such as making objects and working with people. But such unexpected events and phenomena result in a broadening of the range of experience of the designer. This is one of the benefits of RtD, where researchers themselves do the designing and experience

RESEARCH THROUGH DESIGN PRACTICE  021

such serendipitous moments directly, rather than studying design processes of others at one remove. The first-person nature of RtD is, however, not without its drawbacks. A design researcher’s intervention inevitably influences the problem at hand, which in turn affects his/her views.29 The researcher needs to endeavour to make explicit the subjectivity that is always involved in RtD, so that it can be reviewed and critiqued. Also, the research will not necessarily be reproducible, even with exhaustive documentation. In this kind of research, the quality of rigour is supported by both repetitive reflection and the honesty of the researcher, as Glanville argues: My understanding of rigour lies in continuing to pursue the matter at hand (to continue questioning) until the questions run out: that is, not to stop when the going gets hard, but to persist and hence break through. Behind this understanding stands honesty, the fundamental quality that must be the base from and within which all research is carried out.30 In research through creative practice, the researcher pioneers in a certain area and encounters the unorthodox before anyone else. Strong outcomes of RtD emerge from the exploration while they are fully authentic in their ways of working, rather than being suppressed or hindered by the pressure to present their work as ‘objective’ or ‘systematic’. As it is almost impossible for anyone else to access what the researcher felt and thought while exploring the frontier, the researcher’s honest reflection becomes crucial.

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1.2  LEARNING TO PERCEIVE ‘You are doing a PhD, but the PhD is also doing you’, said one of my supervisors, Michael Hohl, after carefully listening to me reporting on my recent observations. This paradoxical and puzzling statement was too concise for me to grasp its meaning instantly. But as we continued our conversation its deep implication was revealed. What I initially reported in the tutorial was my recent finding – in short, I had identified a new quality of kinaesthetic empathy experienced towards the movement of objects, a quality of which I had not been aware. A positivist thinker might interpret my report as indicating that the newly identified quality already existed out there in the world, waiting to be discovered by someone who happened to be me. Instead, Hohl put it in a dialectical relationship – the new quality of kinaesthetic empathy revealed itself to me as I had become more perceptive of it, not because I just happened to know where to find it. Qualities live in our experience of the world, but not independently in the world itself. Further, as we seek a certain quality, the act of searching also affects us: our sensory antennae are attuned to the quality in question (and possibly less attuned to others). Hohl’s comment articulated the interrelation between the phenomenon, my research approach and my own aesthetic sensitivity. In a typical scientific research project, the researcher would need to collect data ‘objectively’, with no personal narrative or attribution involved. But in research through creative practice, the researcher’s role is not only to gather ‘dry’ data, but also to explore their own multisensory experience and the poetic imagery that arises. Thus, qualities of attention, expression and imagination become vital attributes for a creative practitioner to produce a substantial research output.

Poetic and multisensory experience How can sharpening our perception and enriching our vocabulary articulate our experiences? What kind of material is available out there to make this possible? Critical designer Anthony Dunne points out that ‘the most fruitful reflection on material culture is to be found, not in anthropology or sociology, but in literature concerned with the poetry of everyday objects’.31 Such a literary perspective describes the poetic encounter with mundane objects that emerge through multisensory experiences, rather than ‘the formal aesthetic criticism of the art object’ or ‘the academic analysis of their meaning as signs’.32 In The Poetics of Space, Gaston Bachelard illustrates our sensory experiences of a house and furniture and the poetic dimension these allow us to explore.33 ­Juhani Pallasmaa, in his The Eyes of The Skin: Architecture and the Senses, critiques

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the contemporary privileging of vision, particularly in Western culture and architecture, and provides an extensive understanding of how architecture touches our multiple senses simultaneously and creates ‘one’s sense of being in the world’.34 In The Book of Tea, Kakuzo Okakura describes the way in which subtle phenomena in the Japanese tea ceremony, such as water boiling in an iron kettle, evoke multisensory imagery, fusing sensation and imagination.35 Jun’ichiro Tanizaki’s In Praise of Shadows describes how Japanese objects and architecture were originally appreciated in shadow and darkness, and the way these were distorted by the arrival of electricity and machines.36 These examples do not necessarily offer step-by-step instructions for design, but highlight for us the poetic and multisensory dimension of our everyday interaction with the world and the rich vocabulary that shapes the intangible experience. A poetic exploration is an alternative to the scientific way of understanding the world, and Goethe could be called the originator of such an approach to understanding natural phenomena. Z. Alexander quotes the physicist and physiologist Hermann von Helmholtz, and contrasts the different approaches taken by Newton and Goethe:37 Newton’s reasoning followed logical induction, which, with the aid of syllogisms, “reduced a question to clearly defined universal propositions”. Goethe, by contrast, subscribed to another kind of reasoning that Helmholtz described as aesthetic or artistic induction. The difference between Newtonian and Goethean thinking appears, for instance, in their approaches to the phenomenon of light. Newton would have been concerned with formulating principles of causality, regardless of whether his initial inspiration had been based on experiments or his own observation. In contrast, Goethe focused on the way in which the body experiences light, and the first-person sensation and experience of phenomena such as after-images and illusion. Goethe’s descriptive, or morphological, approach to science was most effective in botany, zoology and anatomy.38 According to Alexander, ‘Goethe’s ingenuity had been to recognize forms in the formless heap of phenomena and to induce types from them’.39 The core of my research into the kinaesthetic quality of movement was informed by exactly the same approach. It is well known that Goethe studied the forms of animals and plants by drawing meticulous sketches. This could be considered a historical example of ‘designerly ways of thinking’, in that one uses the methods and techniques that are most appropriate to design, such as sketching, with the aim of understanding phenomena and/or solving problems.

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Differentiation Let us revisit the question of how we can cultivate our sensitivity to phenomena and thus explore the poetic and sensory experience. Goethe may have been outstandingly skilled at enhancing his sensitivity to subtle differences and patterns in objects and phenomena. This process is, however, not something that is only gifted to some; on the contrary, psychological studies of ‘perceptual learning’ suggest that humans have an innate ability to nourish perceptual sensitivity. The early discourse on perceptual learning centres on the question of whether this process is ‘creative’ or ‘discriminative’. The ‘creative’ model assumes that human perception is enhanced by associating simpler fragments of stimuli and other related concurrent ones, while the ‘discriminative’ model considers that perception improves as stimuli that were once psychologically combined become separated.40 Eleanor Gibson was the first to identify the importance of differentiation, as she termed it, in her experiment which studied the process by which subjects learned to verbalise visual nonsense scribbles.41 Based on the results, Gibson, together with her husband James Gibson, developed the theory of differentiation.42 This was as an antithesis to the earlier assumption of the ‘creative’ process of perceptual learning. Though Gibson and Gibson’s study indicates that differentiation occurs even without feedback, later studies by Eleanor Gibson43 and Geoffrey Hall44 show that ‘­learning to differentiate between objects is typically accelerated by training in which the objects are associated with different labels or responses’.45 I also attempted the use of labels and responses in the first study for my research, in which I increasingly articulated characteristics of kinaesthetic empathy with the movement of objects through labelling, verbalisation and body gestures. Differentiation is present in a wide range of professional and everyday contexts, such as ‘poultry sorters learning to distinguish male from female chicks, and parents learning to uniquely identify their identical twin children’,46 the way ‘a botanist can distinguish between tree species’,47 how we differentiate between beverages, foods, perfume, music and in our descriptions of people.48 Indeed, in design, differentiation is a vital process that nurtures aesthetic sensitivities. One frequently used example is wine tasting, which has been explored in a number of psychological experiments. Various studies have investigated the phenomenon of expert and novice tasters describing wines differently.49 Expert tasters, such as sommeliers, wine writers and wine producers, individually use different terminology and emotive expressions, while the basic descriptive terms they use are relatively common and limited.50 The diversity of personal terminology reflects familial, cultural and geographic contexts, and its origins are considered to be: 1) the chemical diversity of wine aroma; 2) the lack of childhood training in odour identification; 3) the varying condition of the tasters from day to day (or even perhaps time of the day), and ultimately human variability.51 Similarly, it is thus difficult to create universally applicable terminology to describe the experience of kinaesthetic empathy.

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Wines are generally assessed by the use of two forms of score sheets and verbal descriptions. Score sheets comprise synthetic and analytical descriptions; the former assess wines holistically and hedonistically, based on overall qualitative scales such as balance, complexity and development, while the latter make judgements according to individual attributes, reflecting responses that are, for example, ‘visual, gustatory, mouth-feel and olfactory’.52 In most tasting sheets, particular attributes are ranked, or space for detailed comments on integrated impressions, for example, is provided. Whether synthetic or analytical, such parametric evaluation enables the qualitative comparison of a range of different wines. While score sheets enable standardised evaluation, and therefore comparison and statistical analysis, a vast range of (natural) language is associated with the taste of wine. Several properties of wine, such as aroma and mouthfeel, are presented in the form of wheels.53 Although the use of language seems a promising approach, my early attempt to explore the correlation between such language, especially adjectives, and kinaesthetic empathy was not as successful as I had hoped. Movement is a spatiotemporal phenomenon which is quite complex and so is the change of its quality. The primary issue was that words alone could not articulate the complexity of movement, a spatiotemporal phenomenon, and its quality of kinaesthetic empathy. C. Alexander et al., discussing ‘quality without a name’, suggest that ineffable qualities can be better articulated by surrounding them with several concepts which are close to them.54 In their book, they argue for the existence of a quality that distinguishes a place or a building with a positive energy from those with a negative one. Note that the adjectives ‘positive’ and ‘negative’ are oversimplified: they are used here merely for brief explanation. They demonstrate that any relevant word, such as ‘alive’, ‘whole’ and ‘comfortable’, can only partially describe the quality, but it is impossible for a word to articulate the quality in a complete manner. Their concept of ‘quality without a name’ shows both usefulness and limitation of language in articulating a quality. In the context of designing movement of objects we can be radical, and even question whether kinaesthetic empathy should rely on linguistic description at all. The purpose of my research was to create a new way of designing qualities of movement. Language could be no more than a tool to make this possible, but finding a pattern in the relationship between language and kinaesthetic responses was not central to my research. In contrast, a bottom-up and multimodal approach proved effective in describing the experience of kinaesthetic empathy. As Goethe’s morphology suggests, sketching is a powerful tool for enabling differentiation between the patterns in objects and phenomena. Sketches themselves are vital tools for research where the thinking of the observer is embodied, but these are still fairly ambiguous. They can, however, convey the intention and the focus of the observer with annotations, written comments or even additional sketches to further explain the features of the observed.

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Annotated Sketches Sketching itself may seem a very simple activity, but it has a variety of roles in design, as Cross demonstrates.55 It enables designers to communicate ideas with others, to access stimuli for inspiration and critical ideas, to discover something new, to handle different levels of abstraction simultaneously, and to identify and recall relevant knowledge. Such multiple functions of sketching perhaps derive from the two perspectives involved in the process, namely reflection-in-action in the action of drawing on the paper, and reflection-on-action in that of viewing it. The two kinds of reflection enable designers the complex process of thinking, including the differentiation of the observed objects or phenomena. Sketching appears as a vital means for Goethe to conduct scientific research of nature, starting with the study of plants, then that of animals and climate. Such a descriptive approach to science allowed him to found the field of ‘morphology’, ‘a science of organic forms and formative forces aimed at discovering underlying unity in the vast diversity of plants and animals’.56 His emphasis on his scientific research and writings would probably surprise many because of his perhaps more famous achievement in literature. But what Goethe envisioned with his scientific work was ‘a fuller integration of poetic and scientific sensibilities’.57 Close observation through sketching could provide one with an opportunity not only to study the forms of objects in detail but also to appreciate them, exploring the poetic and multisensory space that unfolds between one and the objects. In the context of kinetic design, too, it is hoped that such a poetic perspective would counterbalance the current emphasis on the functional and mechanistic aspects of movement. Goethe’s sketches of plants and animals are often accompanied by rich texts, or annotations, that explain his discovery of patterns and features of nature. In exploring kinaesthetic empathy, we could also attempt incorporating annotations into sketches, or annotated sketches. While studying the forms of natural objects would require a detailed illustration of the objects, exploring kinaesthetic empathy needs to consider two layers of observation, one for the observed movement and the other for the qualitative experience that arises from the observation. The central concern lies in the relationship between the phenomenal aspect of the movement and the observer’s kinaesthetic response to it, rather than the precise illustration of the phenomenon itself. Thus, while morphology is originally a study of possible forms, the morphology of kinaesthetic empathy negotiates between the two layers of forms and qualities. Figure 1.3 shows my annotated sketch of curtains waving in the wind. The annotations explain different feelings associated with parts of the phenomenon. The first thing I focused on was two different kinds of my kinaesthetic response. The softness and lightness can be experienced from watching the central part of the curtain cloth floating while the top of the curtain is attached to the curtain track which gives an impression of tensional force. Even just these two annotations allowed us

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The softness and lightness experienced from watching the central part of the curtain cloth floating

The sense of connection and tension between the curtain and the curtain track

Where does the wind go after touching the curtain?

The sunlight reflecting on the floor to penetrate the other side of the curtain

Figure 1.3  Annotated sketch of curtains billowing in the wind

to be aware of the rich variety of dynamics within the interplay between the curtains and the wind, beyond the two spots I commented on. Stepping back from the two annotations allowed me then to find something else in the phenomenon. The annotation (bottom left) – ‘Where does the wind go after touching the curtain?’ – is a subtle poetic reflection which is not so closely related to kinaesthetic empathy as the previous two. The curiosity about the destination of the wind does not necessarily imply personification of the wind, but it suggests another perspective that the phenomenon allows us to explore. The fourth comment (bottom right) refers to the reflection of sunlight in the space: the sunlight first comes through the window, reflects on the floor and finally lights up the curtain from behind. This annotation highlights the role of sunlight in the totality of the scene, allowing us to appreciate the overall atmosphere once again after having zoomed in on specific parts of the phenomenon. In this way, we can trace the change of our perception and gradually find broader spectra of the quality just by sketching and annotating the same phenomena iteratively.

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For design researchers immersed in their research, observation is no longer an intentional act conducted as ‘research’ but instead becomes embedded in their everyday lives, indeed depending on the subject. During my research, any object in motion encountered in an everyday context could be used as an example of observation, such as squirrels running in the park, vehicles in the streets, people passing by, clouds in the sky, falling cherry blossom, trees waving in the wind, the performance of musicians and athletes, vapour rising out of a teapot and pigeons walking and flying away. It is worth noting that behind my projects illustrated in the following chapters there was a background practice of continuous observations. Like my case, many observations in the everyday situations could possibly be done without sketching. However, annotated sketches become a significant resource for designers to communicate the process of research with examples and evidence. In several texts on design, sketching is considered to be a disciplined approach to designing.58 In exploring kinaesthetic empathy, the creation of annotated sketches gives a quality of discipline to the process of design research and promotes differentiation, or learning to perceive new qualities.

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1.3  DESIGNING MOVEMENT The preceding sections proposed a type of RtD where the perceptual learning of the researchers themselves, or differentiation of the phenomena in question, plays a key role. This section and the next take the topic of kinaesthetic empathy for ­designing movement as an example and illustrate how this research methodology approaches the focal theme of the research.

Movement itself The term ‘movement’ has many meanings, from scientific to political, according to the Oxford Dictionary of English. I define ‘movement’ in this book as the process of objects physically and dynamically changing their position, shape and attitude, such as the phenomena described at the beginning of the Introduction. In design and architecture, static forms can be used to express the ‘sense’ of movement, such as streamlining in vehicle design, or rhythmic visual surface patterns and structures shaped to be deliberately unstable, as if one moment is captured during their temporal transition.59 However, kinetic design as defined in this book excludes such static representations of movement and focuses on physically dynamic phenomena. The critical distinction between the static and dynamic representation of movement can be found in early twentieth-century art. In their Realistic Manifesto, published in 1920, Constructivist artists Naum Gabo and Antoine Pevsner used the term ‘movement itself’ to articulate their focus on physical movement. In the manifesto they proposed a new form of art that was grounded in space and time by rejecting the Futurist approach, which attempted to recreate a sense of movement by using static media and optical effects.60 Marcel Duchamp’s painting Nude Descending a Staircase, No. 2 (1912, Figure 1.4), for example, is a static representation of movement influenced by Futurism. American sculptor Alexander Calder’s mobiles (Figure 1.5), on the other hand, were acknowledged as creating ‘movement itself’. The first work that is considered to employ ‘movement itself’ is Gabo’s Kinetic Construction (Standing Wave) (1920), a simple kinetic composition comprising a metal rod vertically attached to a motor that vibrates to create an after-image of a thin wave (Figure 1.6). Gabo’s theory of movement was further developed by László Moholy-Nagy, who replaced Johannes Itten as leader of the foundation curriculum at the Bauhaus and is also known for work such as his kinetic sculpture Light Prop for an Electric Stage (1930; Figure 1.7). Moholy-Nagy’s Bauhaus foundation course incorporated physical exercises. At the New Bauhaus in Chicago, for which he established the educational structure, movement was regarded as one of the plastic elements that every artist and designer on the preliminary course was expected to consider.61

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Figure 1.4  Marcel Duchamp, Nude Descending a Staircase (No. 2), 1912; Philadelphia ­Museum of Art, The Louise and Walter Arensberg Collection, 1950, 1950– 134–59. © Association Marcel Duchamp / 2020, ProLitteris, Zurich

While the engagement with motion appears to have been a conscious device in art and modern design education, in which artistic training was of great importance, it has been a commonplace element for conventional kinetic design objects such as pendulum clocks or the hinges of cupboard doors, given design’s close connection with functionalism. This pervasiveness of movement in design might explain why a term like ‘kinetic design’ is used much less widely than ‘kinetic art’.

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Figure 1.5  Alexander Calder, Antennae with Red and Blue Dots, c. 1953; Tate, purchased 1962. © Calder Foundation, New York / 2020, ­ProLitteris, Zurich. Photo: © Tate

Figure 1.6  Naum Gabo, Kinetic Construction (Standing Wave) 1919–20, replica 1985; Tate, presented by the artist through the American Federation of Arts 1966; The Work of Naum Gabo © Nina & Graham Williams / Tate, 2020

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Figure 1.7  László Moholy-Nagy, Light Prop for an Electric Stage, 1930. Exhibition replica, constructed in 2006, by courtesy of Hattula Moholy-Nagy. © Harvard Art Museums/Busch-Reisinger Museum, ­Hildegard von Gontard Bequest Fund. Photo: © President and Fellows of Harvard College

Kinetic design The element of motion is not as actively discussed in design practice and education as other plastic elements, such as shape, colour, structure and space. The designer and educator Ben Hopson is one of the few people who, with the explicit use of the term ‘kinetic design’, has referenced its nature and potential. Critiquing the lack of aesthetic attention to the element of movement in design practice and education, Hopson claims that there is a need to open ‘a new dimension for the aesthetic development of physical objects’.62 For him, kinetic design is a specific design approach with which to explore ways to improve the aesthetics and functionality of

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the movement of existing objects, and to invent and develop new product concepts. Hopson’s motivation for engaging with kinetic design lies partly in the identification of the different tasks of designers and engineers and their impact on the aesthetic outcome of the movement, as he describes: While engineers are vital to making things move, they are not artists, and their lack of aesthetic sensibility ultimately degrades the beauty of designers’ work. Designers must commandeer the designing of movement from engineers.63 Behind this critical statement lies his frustration with everyday electronic products, as well as his admiration for them. For example, the way in which a portable DVD player ‘cracks open in an astonishingly uninspired way’64 might disappoint its user, even if the form, style and graphics used in the object are carefully designed. In contrast, the mechanisms of jukeboxes created between the 1950s and the 1970s reveal a far greater attention to the way in which the selected disc is elegantly loaded and played. Now that the level of available mechanical technology is saturated, kinetic design faces a time of aesthetic transition. The spirit of the Arts and Crafts Movement, if already a century ago, where designers like William Morris problematised the impoverished quality of industrial products and pursued the high work of craft, could be revived to rethink the design of movement. To enhance the practice of kinetic design, Hopson suggests three elements – a vocabulary of movement, methods for sketching movement, and methods for recording movement. Design lacks the tradition of kinetic notation and vocabulary, but it can evolve by borrowing terms and frameworks from other disciplines with a longer history of exploration into movement, such as dance and puppetry, and adapting them to design. Movement is a complicated phenomenon, and words alone do not suffice as a medium to express the movement which designers conceive; visual media, such as sketching, will be necessary, and some structures or rules could make it more efficient and consistent. The documentation of movement, such as video recording, is essential to explore and compare a variety of movements with different subtle nuances. What makes the design of movement an even more complex problem is its intricate connection with other critical elements of design. One needs to recognise that crafting the aesthetics of movement will affect the whole integration of the design.65 For instance, the creation of a successful kinetic design often requires a careful consideration of affordance. James Gibson proposed affordance as a psychological concept which refers to the possibilities of action that unfold between formal objects and perceiving subjects, either humans or other kinds of living beings, in a certain environment.66 If we design a kinetic object with which people are intended to physically interact (e.g. grab, touch, twist or press), we need to consider affordance – what kind of behaviour the object is likely to invite from people. But

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affordance still tends to lack clarity in terms of what action exactly should take place in relation to the object. To achieve more semiotic clarity, we can rely on the use of what the cognitive scientist and design thinker Don Norman terms the signifier, such as a sign put on a door instructing people to either push or pull it, or labels on a product with information about how it is to be handled.67 Both affordance and signifier need to be considered in designing the movement of objects. While the two concepts concern the utilitarian aspects of objects, such as functionality and usability, they are not necessarily central to the problem of aesthetics. The aspiration of kinetic design to create novel movements might be dismissed by minimalist designers for its pursuit of aesthetic effects that are not necessarily associated with functional purposes. However, industrial design should be able to provide space in which humans’ aesthetic needs can be explored beyond the utilitarian. As Dunne argues: Industrial design is not art, but neither is it purely a business tool. […] I believe strongly in the potential of industrial design as applied art, or industrial art, to improve the quality of our relationship to the artificial environment, and in industrial design’s potential, at the heart of consumer culture, to be subverted for more socially beneficial ends.68 What I aim to explore in this book is the kinaesthetic dimension of our relationship with everyday objects in motion rather than the functional, practical facets of such artefacts. Now that an optimal level of functional performance is already attainable in many mass-produced objects, the challenge for design research should be to cultivate their phenomenological and inexpressible aspects, into which little research has been carried out. To explore this space, we can usefully refer to Goethe’s morphological approach to phenomena and aesthetic induction, as well as a literary perspective on the poetry of everyday objects. In summary, the design of physical movement is a relatively unexplored area, and is full of new possibilities. Existing practice and literature indicate that to date, practitioners and researchers have treated kinetic design and kinaesthetic empathy as two separate subjects. There is almost no documentation or practice concerning the relationship between the two, except for a small number of reports of case studies.69 It was my foundational research that grasped the potential connection between the two through my creation and observation of a variety of objects and movements.

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1.4  KINAESTHETIC EMPATHY FOR DESIGN The concept of kinaesthetic empathy has recently begun to receive attention, in particular in the AHRC-funded research project Watching Dance: Kinaesthetic Empathy (2008–2011). The dance researchers Dee Reynolds and Matthew Reason interviewed dance performance audiences to understand the way in which they enjoyed watching dance. The audiences reported a variety of ways that they connected with dance movements, such as engagement with the dancers’ grace and ease, and their strenuous actions. Audiences also stated that they projected themselves onto the dancing bodies and experienced virtual and mirroring embodied responses while watching the performers.70 Reason and Reynolds documented their study in Kinesthetic Empathy in Creative and Cultural Practices,71 in which I first encountered kinaesthetic empathy. Reason and Reynolds’ primary focus is on the kinaesthetic empathy experienced while observing human movement, mainly dance. Their findings, identified through artistic and qualitative approaches, are discussed in reference to the theory of mirror neurons.72 I soon realised that this type of empathic sensation was exactly what I had attempted, and failed, to articulate in relation to the movement of objects. The awareness of kinaesthetic empathy has significantly affected my perspective, providing me with the language and theory to explore ephemeral sensations. While most of the recent studies on kinaesthetic empathy focus on human movement,73 the phenomenon was initially associated with non-human entities, both static and dynamic. Kinaesthetic empathy was first identified in 1873, when the German philosopher Robert Vischer used the term Einfühlung (literally ‘into feeling’, later translated into English as ‘empathy’) in his doctoral dissertation to describe ‘the projection of human feeling onto the natural world’.74 Vischer distinguished three phases within Einfühlung, the embodied and empathic response to objects, as shown in Figure 1.8.75 The first stage is the spontaneous and immediate response to sensory stimuli. The second evokes kinaesthetic or responsive feeling: this stage derives from a more attentive engagement of the body, which goes beyond an instant first impression of an object or environment. The final phase is a state in which the observer incorporates their own physical form into an objective form through imaginative projection. The empathy between the observer and the object becomes more complete. Vischer also provided a rich account of the first-person experience involved in the process of Einfühlung, with several examples. He describes his mental process while empathising with objects on a different scale as follows: When I observe a stationary object, I can without difficulty place myself within its inner structure, at its center of gravity. I can think my way into it, mediate its size with my own, stretch and expand, bend and confine myself to it. With a small object, partially or totally confined and constricted, I

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stage 1

stage 2

stage 3

Figure 1.8  Vischer’s three stages of Einfühlung

very precisely concentrate my feeling. My feeling will be compressed and modest (a star, a flower – true reality: a tight belt – a contractive feeling). When, on the contrary, I see a larger partially overproportioned form, I experience a feeling of mental gr­­­andeur and breadth, a freedom of will (a building, water, air – true reality: a loose cloak – an expansive feeling).76 Vischer called such empathy with static objects motionless empathy, which is the imagination of how the objects might move if they could. He provides extensive examples of Einfühlung not only with static objects but also with dynamic phenomena, depicting a variety of bodily and mental associations. His idea was critically developed by philosophers such as Wilhelm Dilthey and Theodor Lipps. In their terminology, empathy retained its meaning as a kind of aesthetic experience rather than a feeling for others’ emotions, especially pity and sorrow.77

Foundational observations and experiments The knowledge of kinaesthetic empathy provided me with a new way of articulating the embodied sensation experienced in observing the movement of objects. What follows describes three examples of the observations and experiments I conducted as foundational research. First, I used one of my earlier kinetic sculptures, Puwants (Figure 1.9), in order to experiment with various patterns of movement. Puwants is an installation of plant-shaped sculptures created in collaboration with the Japanese artist Kosei Komatsu. Made of thin transparent polyethylene terephthalate, the flexible sculptures stand and move as a result of the buoyancy of air bubbles trapped in their bodies. The shapes and movement of the sculptures were designed through iterative making and testing by hand. It might have been possible to rely on technologies such as 3D printing for creating the form and computational fluid dynamics software for simulating the behaviour of the structures in water. However, the

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Figure 1.9  Puwants. ­Photography by Takahiro Tsushima

behaviour of fluid is highly unpredictable and is affected by the very subtle details of objects, such as shape and weight. This randomness was important not only for the kinetic expression created by the sculptures but also for the creative process in which the unexpected combinations of the buoyancy of air and the structure and weight of sculptures, found through a craft-like approach, often triggered new inspirations. The movement and rhythm of the sculptures result from the equilibrium between the airflow and the shape and weight of the sculpture; an example is the one inspired by a lily of the valley (Figure 1.9, right). A close look at the sculpture reveals a subtle and complex transition in the velocity and the trajectory of the movements. When the petal-shaped head hits the lowest point of the trajectory, it gradually decelerates, and the ‘stem’ looks as if it is resisting a weight and trying to lift it up again (Figure 1.10, top). The head exhibits a tiny yet visible impulsive accent when it releases the air bubbles, which resembles the sense of extending the elbow and wrist swiftly when throwing a frisbee (Figure 1.10, middle). The movement of the sculpture is affected by the pressure of the air pump, which can be adjusted by a pressure controller. When the air pressure is set low, the petal hits the floor after releasing the bubbles, as there is not enough buoyancy to maintain its height. The moment when the head suddenly descends and hits the floor might make a viewer feel a subtle sense of faintness (as if all the force inside the body is gone, making it fall) and pain (like hitting one’s head on the ground) (Figure 1.10, bottom). Second, I used kinaesthetic empathy as a lens to analyse the behaviour of everyday objects. Among the objects that caught my attention were the ticket barrier machines in London Underground stations (Figure 1.11). Observing closely, the movement of each ticket barrier looks slightly different, depending on the subtle turning of the motors, the amount of lubricant used, and so forth. Some barriers

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Figure 1.10  Illustrations of ­Puwants – Lily of the Valley

show quite awkward trembling movements, and some others open so strongly that they hit the gate and bounce back. The creaking sound also makes the barriers appear even rougher and more mechanical. Seeing the motion and hearing the sound, we can vicariously experience the physical effort, stiffness and even pain of the machines. Third, prototyping allowed me to create and observe various kinds of object movements beyond the observation of existing objects. One of the kinetic artefacts I created is my wooden Elliptic Sculpture (Figure 1.12).78 This specific shape derived from a casual observation: one day, during my foundational research, I witnessed a squashed roll of tape slowly starting to roll on my desk. At that very moment, I felt as if I were also experiencing a sort of bodily movement with a similarly accelerated rotation, which resulted from the curve of the tape roll and its own weight. Elliptic

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Figure 1.11  Ticket barrier ­ achines in a London m Underground station

Sculpture was developed from this observation to re-examine what contributed to my kinaesthetic impulse. While my kinaesthetic response to the rolling action of the tape was quite subtle and ephemeral, the response to Elliptic Sculpture in motion was clearer and easier to articulate, perhaps because of the larger scale and slower speed. The kinaesthetic empathy I experienced could be associated with the sensations that would result from several bodily movements that are involved in certain kinds of acceleration, deceleration and curvilinear path, for example, sitting on a rocking chair or swinging a golf club. To better understand the relationship between these movements and kinaesthetic empathy, I initially expected to find clues in theories relating to design and emotion, such as the writing on emotion mentioned above in the context of design.79 However, it was not possible to articulate this type of experience with the terms and frameworks in these texts. The dynamic, ephemeral and inexpressible sensations experienced seemed to offer a different perspective from that defined as ‘emotion’ in earlier writing. But what was the dimension that I intended to explore? Following Canadian philosopher Brian Massumi’s theory,80 Reynolds refers to such an indescribable, embodied dimension of experience without or before explicit emotional status as affect: Affect as I use it here can be understood as embodied and as preceding the kinds of cognitive differentiation that separates out emotions into distinct and identifiable categories (such as happy, sad etc). Affect denotes a stage where emotions are still in the process of forming and have not yet taken on a definable identity; indeed, they resist such definition.81

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Figure 1.12  Elliptic Sculpture

Affect, somewhere between immediate sensory perception and an explicit emotional state, turned out to be exactly what I was attempting to investigate. For neuroscientist Antonio Damasio, ‘emotion’ is the physiological response of the body, including the brain, to both internal and external stimuli.82 When the ‘emotion’ is perceived, it creates ‘feeling’, an experiential quality. Damasio refers to both ‘emotion’ and ‘feeling’ as affect. Despite the difference in terminology, Reynolds and Damasio agree that something exists between the sensory stimulus and a conscious, qualitative reaction to it (as visualised below). We do not always experience explicit emotions towards every single behaviour of an object. But there are certainly various qualities we experience from its movements. Kinaesthetic empathy could help us give shape to such qualities, which cannot be captured if we only consider emotions (in Reynolds’ definition). In this way, a new, as yet unarticulated vocabulary for qualities of movement might emerge.

immediate sensory perception - - - affect - - - explicit emotional state Reynolds’ definition (2012)

bodily stimuli - - - emotion - - - feeling                   affect Damasio’s definition (1999)

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The process of research through design The RtD process enabled me to train my own perception and create a new vocabulary and framework for kinaesthetic empathy by exposing myself to various kinds of movements. Using the framework of perceptual learning proposed by Goldstone,83 my research process can be interpreted as follows. According to Goldstone, perceptual learning begins by weighting attention to specific stimuli. In my research, the knowledge and awareness of kinaesthetic empathy enhanced my attention to the relevant quality of movements. Goldstone writes that this is followed by imprinting, in which observers develop their sensitivity to stimuli, and differentiation, in which they learn to separate stimuli that had been once indistinguishable. This process corresponds to my iterative observation of movements and the creation of annotated sketches, which enabled attentive observation and exploration of the variety in kinaesthetic empathy, and how it derives from features of movement. The fourth mechanism that Goldstone identifies is unitization, in which a task that originally required the identification of separate parts can be accomplished by identifying a single whole. This perhaps refers to the phase in which my collaborators and I learned to recognise different elements of kinaesthetic empathy but could capture them instantly without having to spend much time on analysing them part by part. My design practice played a pivotal role in the process of perceptual change. The practice-led approach, in which making precedes theorising, is common in design research where practitioners’ experience and reflection become the important media of research. Likewise, in retrospect it was often my design experimentation that led me to new insights. The main question underlying my practice-based research was twofold. What prompts us to experience kinaesthetic empathy with the movements of physical, non-anthropomorphic objects? How can kinaesthetic empathy enable designers to understand, analyse and design the kinaesthetic qualities of the movement of objects? As noted earlier, however, these questions were not explicit at the outset but formulated through research. In reality, there were many small questions that emerged one after another as my research moved forward, such as: What is the difference between kinaesthetic empathy with the movements of humans and with those of non-anthropomorphic objects? What kind of tools can enable designers to harness kinaesthetic movements? Some of these questions derive from the range of disciplines and theories. It is important to note here that research conducted through creative practice engages with such relevant subjects on a selective basis. The contribution of research of this kind, such as mine, cannot be claimed in all these fields, but lies in bringing these pieces of knowledge together to serve its own enquiry. Likewise, the empirical and theoretical work that is reviewed in the following two chapters, Chapters 2 and 3, provided foundational knowledge for my research. Based on this,

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the examples, methods, risks and aesthetic principles of the design space in question gradually emerged.

1

Eric Stolterman (2008). ‘The Nature of Design Practice and Implications for Interaction Design Research’. International Journal of Design. 2.1; Michael Hohl (2016). ‘Rigor in Research, Honesty and Values’. ­Constructivist Foundations. 11.3: 585–586. 2 Ranulph Glanville (2015). ‘The Sometimes Uncomfortable Marriages of Design and Research’. In: Paul Rodgers and Joyce Yee (eds.). The Routledge Companion to Design Research. New York: Routledge, Taylor & Francis Group. 9–22. 3 Ibid. 4 Ibid. 5 Ibid. 6 Stephen Boyd Davis and Simone Gristwood (2016). ‘The Structure of Design Processes: Ideal and Reality in Bruce Archer’s 1968 Doctoral Thesis’. Proceedings of DRS 2016. 7.16: 2593–2611. 7 Horst Rittel and Melvin Webber (1973). ‘Dilemmas in a General Theory of Planning’. Policy Sciences. 4: 155–169. 8 John Christopher Jones (1977). ‘How My Thoughts about Design Methods Have Changed During the ­Years’.  Design Methods and Theories. 11.1: 48–62. 9 Christopher Alexander (1971). ‘The State of the Art in Design Methods’. DMG Newsletter. 5.3: 3–7. 10 Nigel Cross (1984). Developments in Design Methodology. Chichester: Wiley. 11 Horst Rittel and Melvin Webber (1973). 12 To see more discussions on the history of design research and design methods, see the following texts among many others. Christopher Alexander (1971); Nigel Cross (1984); Ranulph Glanville (1999). ‘Researching Design and ­Designing Research’. Design Issues. 15.2: 80–91. 13 Nigel Cross (1984). 14 Ibid., 307. 15 Donald Schön (1983). The Reflective Practitioner. How Professionals Think in Action. London: Temple Smith. 16 Michael Polanyi (2009 [1966]). The Tacit Dimension. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. 17 Donald Schön (1983). 68. 18 Ranulph Glanville (2012). The American Society for Cybernetics Conference in July 2012. [Online]. [­Accessed on 4 November 2018]. Available from: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I6vQN2vff88. 19 Christopher Frayling (1993). ‘Research in Art and Design’. Royal College of Art Research Papers. 1.1: 1–5. 20 Bruce Archer (1995). ‘The Nature of Research’. Co-Design. 2.11: 6–13. 21 Christopher Frayling (2015). RTD 2015 Provocation by Sir Christopher Frayling Part 1: Research Through Design Evolution. Interviewed by RTD 2015. Accessed: 30 April 2020. https://vimeo.com/129775325; ­Johan Redström (2017). Making Design Theory. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. 22 Redström (2017) differentiates between ‘program’ (US spelling) and ‘programme’ (UK spelling): the former means a more specific scope of activity and structure (e.g. CERN) while the latter refers to the overall framework, something like a worldview, a set of theories and assumptions held to be true as a foundation (e.g. particle physics). ‘Design program’, for Redström, thus means the efforts of design research within a certain scope and scale. In this thesis, however, I use design programme to mean ‘design program’ as Redström defines it, in order to avoid the confusing mixture of British and US spellings. 23 Ibid., 96. 24 Ibid. 25 Ibid., 84. 26 Bruce Archer (1995). 11. 27 Nigel Cross (1984). 52–53. 28 Ranulph Glanville (2014). How Design and Cybernetics Reflect Each Other. Accessed: 1 November 2018. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tTN_9mJIWNw. 29 Donald Schön (1983). 30 Ranulph Glanville (2015). 17.

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31 Anthony Dunne (1999). Hertzian Tales: Electronic Products, Aesthetic Experience, and Critical Design. London: Royal College of Art, Computer Related Design Research Studio Research Publications: 5. 32 Ibid. 33 Gaston Bachelard (1964). The Poetics of Space. New York, NY: Orion Press. 34 Juhani Pallasmaa (2012 [1996]). The Eyes of the Skin: Architecture and the Senses. Chichester: Wiley. 35 Kakuzo Okakura (1906). The Book of Tea. New York, NY: Duffield. 36 Jun’ichiro Tanizaki (1977). In Praise of Shadows. New Haven, CT: Leete’s Island Books. 37 Zeynep Çelik Alexander (2017). Kinaesthetic Knowing: Aesthetics, Epistemology, Modern Design. Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press. 28. 38 Ibid. 39 Ibid., 27. 40 Herbert Pick (1992). ‘Eleanor J. Gibson: Learning to Perceive and Perceiving to Learn’. Developmental Psychology. 28.5: 787–794. 41 Eleanor Gibson (1940). ‘A Systematic Application of the Concepts of Generalization and Differentiation to Verbal Learning. Psychological Review. 47.3: 196–229. 42 James Gibson and Eleanor Gibson (1955). ‘Perceptual Learning: Differentiation or Enrichment?’ ­Psychological Review. 62.1: 32–41. 43 Eleanor Gibson (1969). Principles of Perceptual Learning and Development. New York, NY: Appleton-­ Century-Crofts. 44 Geoffrey Hall (1991). Perceptual and Associative Learning. Oxford: Clarendon. 45 Robert Goldstone (1998). ‘Perceptual Learning’. Annual Review of Psychology. 49.1: 596. 46 Ibid. 47 Ronald Jackson (2009). Wine Tasting: A Professional Handbook. San Diego, CA: Academic Press: 232. 48 Adrienne Lehrer (2009 [1983]). Wine and Conversation. Bloomington: Indiana University Press: 245–255. 49 Harry Lawless (1984). ‘Flavor Description of White Wine by “Expert” and Nonexpert Wine Consumers’. Journal of Food Science. 49.1: 120–123; Gregg Solomon (1990). ‘Psychology of Novice and Expert Wine Talk’. The American Journal of Psychology. 103.4: 495–517; Angus Hughson and Robert Boakes (2002). ‘The Knowing Nose: The Role of Knowledge in Wine Expertise’. Food Quality and Preference. 13.7–8: 463–472; Wendy Parr, David Heatherbell and Geoffrey White (2002). ‘Demystifying Wine ­Expertise: ­Olfactory Threshold, Perceptual Skill and Semantic Memory in Expert and Novice Wine Judges’. ­Chemical Senses. 27.8: 747–755. 50 Ronald Jackson (2009). 231. 51 Ibid., 232–233. 52 Ibid., 233. 53 Adrienne Lehrer, (2009 [1983]). 45–49. 54 Christopher Alexander (1979). The Timeless Way of Building. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. 17–40. 55 Nigel Cross (1984). 54–58. 56 Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (2009). The Metamorphosis of Plants. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. xvi. 57 Ibid., xi. 58 Eric Stolterman (2008); Bill Buxton (2007). Sketching User Experiences: Getting the Design Right and the Right Design. San Francisco, CA: Morgan Kaufmann. 59 David Lauer and Stephen Pentak (2005). Design Basics. Boston, MA: Cengage Learning; Jules Moloney (2011). Designing Kinetics for Architectural Facades: State Change. London: Routledge. 60 George Rickey (1963). ‘The Morphology of Movement: A Study of Kinetic Art’. Art Journal. 22.4: 220–231. 61 Alain Findeli (1990). ‘Moholy-Nagy’s Design Pedagogy in Chicago (1937–46)’. Design Issues. 7.1: 4–19. 62 Ben Hopson (2009). Kinetic Design and the Animation of Products, Core77. Accessed: 4 November 2018. http://www.core77.com/posts/12642/kinetic-design-and- the-animation-of-products-by-ben-hopson-12642. 63 Ibid. 64 Ibid. 65 Robert Young, Daniel Pezzutti, Stuart Pill and Richard Sharp (2005). ‘The Language of Motion in Industrial Design’. Design and Semantics of Form and Movement. 6–12. 66 James Gibson (1979). The Ecological Approach to Visual Perception. Boston, MA: Houghton Mifflin. 67 Don Norman (2013). The Design of Everyday Things. Revised and expanded edition. New York, NY: Basic Books. 13–20. 68 Anthony Dunne (1999). 12.

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69 Petra Gemeinboeck and Rob Saunders (2017). ‘Movement Matters: How a Robot Becomes Body’. In: ­Proceedings of the 4th International Conference on Movement Computing, 28–30 June 2017, London. ACM. 8. 70 Matthew Reason and Dee Reynolds (2010). ‘Kinesthesia, Empathy, and Related Pleasures: An Inquiry into Audience Experiences of Watching Dance’. Dance Research Journal. 42.2: 49–75. 71 Dee Reynolds and Matthew Reason (2012). Kinesthetic Empathy in Creative and Cultural Practices. ­Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press. 72 See Chapter 3 (Section 3.3) for more discussion on mirror neuron theory. 73 Maiken Hillerup Fogtmann (2007). ‘Kinesthetic Empathy Interaction – Exploring the Possibilities of ­Psychomotor Abilities in Interaction Design’. In: Second International Workshop on Physicality. ­Cardiff: UWIC Press: 37–42; Corinne Jola, Shantel Ehrenberg and Dee Reynolds (2012). ‘The Experience of ­Watching Dance: Phenomenological–Neuroscience Duets’. Phenomenology and the Cognitive Sciences. 11.1: 17–37; Dee Reynolds and Matthew Reason (2012). 74 Robert Vischer (1994). ‘On the Optical Sense of Form: A Contribution to Aesthetics [1873]’. In: L. Kostman (ed. trans.). Empathy, Form, and Space: Problems in German Aesthetics. Santa Monica, CA: Getty ­Center for the History of Art and the Humanities: 89–124; Rhonda Blair (2009). ‘Cognitive Neuroscience and ­Acting: Imagination, Conceptual Blending, and Empathy’. The Drama Review. 53.4: 93–103. 75 Robert Vischer (1994). 92–94. 76 Ibid., 104. 77 Jaana Parviainen (2003). ‘Kinaesthetic Empathy’. Dialogue and Universalism. 13.11–12. 154–165. 78 Elliptic Sculpture: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_FkYBI23shU. 79 Pieter Desmet (2003). ‘A Multilayered Model of Product Emotions’. The Design Journal. 6.2: 4–13; P ­ ieter Desmet and Paul Hekkert (2007). ‘Framework of Product Experience’. International Journal of Design. 1.1: 57–66. 80 Brian Massumi (2002). Parables for the Virtual: Movement, Affect, Sensation. Durham, NC: Duke ­University Press. 81 Dee Reynolds (2012). ‘Kinesthetic Empathy and the Dance’s Body: From Emotion to Affect’. 124. In: Dee Reynolds and Matthew Reason (eds.). Kinesthetic Empathy in Creative and Cultural Practices. ­Bristol, UK: Intellect. 82 Antonio Damasio (1999). The Feeling of What Happens: Body and Emotion in the Making of Consciousness. New York, NY: Harcourt Brace. 83 Robert Goldstone (1998).

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2 Objects in Motion

In this chapter, I invite the reader to look at the ways in which design and other areas have approached the element of movement to date. In design the primary role of movement has been functional, but movement has also served non-utilitarian purposes by giving pleasure, surprise and enjoyment to people who encounter it. Traditional examples of kinetics, such as that found in antique clocks, show numerous mechanical variations which embody human fantasy in their kinetic construction. Relatively young designers are also showing new approaches to movement in the design of everyday objects, indicating the influence of kinetic art.1 The comparison between everyday examples and innovative ones shows recent design approaches to aesthetic movement, as well as the continuing limitations of its use as a visual, decorative element. To widen the ongoing exploration into expressive movement in the area of design, three other approaches are discussed: movement as art, as display and interface and as life. Movement as art refers to a genre of art that uses movement for artistic expression, and is generally known as kinetic art. The rich practice of kinetic art has enabled theorists to develop concepts and theory regarding the aesthetics of movement which have informed my research. The element of movement has also been of interest to roboticists, computer scientists and interaction designers for its advantage in creating dynamic systems that satisfy various needs. Precedent projects in HCI and robotics show the communicative (movement as display and interface) and social (movement as life) potential of kinetic objects; the benefits and risks of these need to be carefully considered in designing everyday objects with movement. I will highlight the unique value that movement could provide in the context of design, in contrast to the approaches to movement in technology-related domains such as HCI and robotics.

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2.1  MOVEMENT IN EVERYDAY DESIGN The variety of movements used in everyday objects is broad. Translational movements frequently appear in everyday objects where multiple parts are connected, such as slides, found in sliding doors, curtain tracks and cabinet drawers, and where multiple cylinders are layered (e.g. retractable ballpoint pens). Another very common kind of movement is pivotal. Hinges are often used to connect multiple parts while allowing them to rotate, e.g. cupboard doors and ticket barriers. Jointed structures, such as the arm of an Anglepoise lamp, also create pivotal movements. While these rotational movements are limited within a certain range, full rotation is possible around an axis: examples of this are clock hands, fan blades and revolving doors. Folding is also one of the typical motions that appear in everyday objects such as curtains, books and umbrellas. Some movements are actuated by natural phenomena – this includes the movement of weather-vanes, curtains and flags waving in the wind. The scale of these objects is also variable, ranging from miniature (e.g. the hands of a watch) to products (e.g. desk lamps) and furniture (e.g. adjustable office chairs), and even an architectural scale, such as automatic doors and garage shutters. In addition to the morphological variety, movement is also characterised by dynamics. For instance, some second hands of clocks make discrete movements every second (‘tick-tock’), while others show a continuous ‘sweeping’ motion. Some fans offer the function of mimicking natural wind, giving a rhythmical cadence to the otherwise monotonous rotation of the blades. Newer designs of self-opening doors exhibit a brief moment of deceleration as a subtle gesture towards safety before the door shuts completely. In contrast, ticket barriers in London Underground often hit and bounce awkwardly against the sides of the gates, because they lack enough control in rotational speed and angle of movement to keep their movement within a certain range. The behaviour of a weather-vane has a different kind of dynamics, more organic and irregular than that of other mechanical examples. Further, the experience of movement depends on the interactivity – how the movement is triggered in relation to the action of humans. For example, kinetic parts of everyday objects, such as cupboard doors, non-automatic doors and windows, are approached manually. In contrast, the movement of objects which are not typically required to respond to human behaviour, such as clocks, fan blades and even metronomes, tends to be automatic but not interactive. Self-opening doors and ticket barrier machines are automatic and reactive, responding to specific human behaviour (e.g. approaching the door, inserting a ticket) with a pre-programmed movement. Figure 2.1 shows eighteen examples of kinetic design. These designs are widely accepted, if culturally dependent, forms, and even the rough sketches give at least a vague idea of what they represent. The examples illustrated here include both self-actuated and manual movements. Despite the variety in the types of

MOVEMENT IN EVERYDAY DESIGN  049

2

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12

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Figure 2.1  Illustration of everyday examples of kinetic design

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Figure 2.2  Dyson Pure Cool™ DP04 ­purifying fan. © Dyson

objects, there is relatively less variation within each kind of object. For example, the design of fans is usually like the examples illustrated, although there are some unorthodox examples, such as Dyson’s bladeless fans (Figure 2.2). Each of the orthodox fans is marginally unique in terms of its stylistic details, but not ­often in its fundamental mechanism or movement. There is a tendency for kinetic design objects to rely on a technically optimal structure and mechanism unless other ­innovative designs appear. In contrast to these conventional kinetic designs, recent design objects have untangled the connection between function and movement, exploring the aesthetic potential of movement in design. This is not to say that there is no aesthetic consideration in the orthodox design of kinetic objects. Nevertheless, a more radical approach to the design of movement is also conceivable, beyond the subtle adjustment of movement within the current orthodoxy of design, and beyond a utilitarian optimum.

MOVEMENT IN EVERYDAY DESIGN  051

2.2  MOVEMENT BEYOND THE UTILITARIAN While the primary purpose of using movement in orthodox kinetic design objects would be utilitarian, the impetus that drives my enquiry is the potential for sensuous and poetic compositions. In contrast to the utilitarian use of movement in design, some design objects use movement for poetic, aesthetic and playful purposes rather than functional ones. In the following section I review examples of design objects, both traditional and new, in which movement is used for experiential purposes beyond the merely utilitarian.

Fountains Fountains are one of the most traditional ornamental artefacts. Originally providing people with water for drinking and washing, they are currently used for decorative and monumental purposes rather than functional ones. Although water, the kinetic part of the object, is not solid like typical kinetic sculptures, fountains are a representative and ubiquitous example of objects with dynamic effect. The shishi-odoshi2 (Figure 2.3) is a Japanese fountain which was originally made to startle herbivores, especially deer, acoustically in order to protect crops. It consists of a segmented bamboo tube pivoted to one side of its balance point. At rest, its heavier end leans downwards against a rock. When the amount of w ­ ater poured into the bamboo reaches a certain level, the cylinder tilts to the other side, releasing water, finally returning to its original position and hitting the base stone, making a sharp, not unpleasant sound. The shishi-odoshi is designed to repeat this cycle. Today, however, the device is no longer required to function as it used to but is often appreciated as a cultural monument in Japanese gardens. The sound it creates echoes in the garden and enables us to enjoy the quietness in the intervals between. In the motion of the shishi-odoshi we can observe its unique cadence. ­Although at first the bamboo cylinder starts to tilt slowly, at an almost constant speed, it suddenly accelerates just before it finishes tilting clockwise. This happens because of the shifting of the water inside the tube, which creates the pattern of motion-unique dynamics.

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Figure 2.3  Shishi-odoshi at Shisendo Temple

Clocks Historically, the passing of time was measured by various natural phenomena such as the dropping of water, the combustion of materials and the tracing of shadows in sunlight. The history of mechanical clocks demonstrates many variations in their mechanics and decoration, and these examples are now considered antiques. As different phenomena are used to show the time of day or the passing of time, the concept of time is expressed differently. Mechanical clocks embody a circulatory view of time, both visually and physically. Scent-based clocks perhaps offer a unique temporal impression – time is perceived as a part of the surroundings of the place, merging with the level of brightness outside, hinting at the fluid transience of atmosphere and emotion, unlike a mechanical clock that indicates that the world runs on a somewhat regular and repeatable cycle. I was inspired by the relationship between the concept of time and physical phenomena in creating the Ripple Clock (2013; Figure 2.4). This is a mechanical ceramic clock which works by the second hand tapping the surface of water in the ceramic bowl, generating ripples every second. The rationale behind the work was to express the ‘accumulation’ of time that is often missing in modern mechanical and digital clocks, where time is only measured and expressed as circulation. In the Hamon Clock, the water’s surface embodies the continuous overlapping of the ripples produced from past to present. Clocks are one of the objects that have recently been redesigned with kinetic effects. One example is the Dislocation Clock (Figure 2.5), by the design studio Poetic Lab. The axis of the wall clock is positioned in the middle of its minute hand. The movement of the clock is almost invisible in real time, but can be observed over a

MOVEMENT BEYOND THE UTILITARIAN  053

Figure 2.4  Ripple Clock

period of time. The unique position of the axis creates a sense of acrobatic lightness, as if representing a snapshot of a gymnast performing on a horizontal bar, bending and stretching their body skilfully. This is perhaps because we assume from its shape that the centre of gravity of the clock should be around the axis, regardless of the real distribution of weight. A sense of surprise and curiosity is prompted when the object is supported solely by a different point but still looks stable. In addition, the shifting of the pivot generates more complexity in its movement than that of an ordinary clock mechanism, which also creates a unique visual effect. Studio Ayaskan, a London-based design studio founded by twins Bike and Begum Ayaskan, alumni of the RCA, has created two designs for clocks using non-traditional effects. Sand (2015, Figure 2.6) indicates the passing of time with lines drawn on a surface of sand. The clock hand both marks and erases the sand lines by slightly transforming the part which touches the dial, creating patterns like zen gardens. This clock has only one hand, indicating the hours, at the same speed as the hour hand of ordinary analogue clocks, which is almost invisible in real time. Trace (2016, Figure 2.7) uses photochromic liquid as a dial, and a laser ultraviolet (UV) light colours the liquid and marks each clock hand. The fading of the vividly coloured liquid shows the transience of time in an elegant way. STORY (Figure 2.8) combines a digital display and a magnetically levitating sphere that serves as a second hand. The creative group Flyte also specialises in creating other floating objects, such as light bulbs and planters, which evoke a sense of magic. The use of magnetic effect can be found in kinetic artworks such as Takis’s sculpture, which harnesses the magnetic attraction and repulsion among steel, electric coils and magnets. The invisibility of magnetic force allows the phenomenon to catch people’s attention and to evoke the sense of wonder.

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Figure 2.5  Dislocation Clock, ­Poetic Lab. © Hanhsi Chen / ­Beyond Object Figure 2.6  Sand, Studio Ayaskan. © Studio ­Ayaskan

Figure 2.7  Trace, Studio Ayaskan. © Studio Ayaskan

Figure 2.8  STORY, Flyte. © Flyte

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Figure 2.9  Hanabi, nendo. Photography by Masayuki Hayashi. © nendo

Lights Lights are another kind of object that has often been designed with movement in a non-orthodox way. One example is a kinetic lamp, Hanabi (Figure 2.9), by Nendo, a design studio based in Tokyo and Milan. Its name means ‘fireworks’ in Japanese: the lampshade is made of shape-memory alloys, which are designed to open gradually by receiving heat from a light bulb and to close slowly once it is turned off. The technical success of this design is due to the fact that the way it moves means that it needs no external mechanisms such as strings or motors to open or close the lampshade. This enables a minimalist appearance, and renders the movement intrinsic and organic. One minor issue is the visual noise resulting from the motion; the small irregular oscillation of the alloys creates a sense of awkwardness and lack of control. Portland-based designer Leah Amick’s design for a pendant lamp uses a twisting movement. Twist (Figure 2.11) has a transforming lampshade comprised of white plastic strips. As the wooden knob below is rotated manually, the lampshade inflates and deflates, changing the brightness of the light. A similar approach to the folding lampshade has been realised by by the South Korea-based design group led by Sangmin Bae: D’Light (Figure 2.10) also has a kinetic lampshade that flips round, and can be controlled both automatically and manually. The direction of the movement is like the vortex around a bubble ring, unlike the Twist lampshade which moves around the lamp’s central axis. Elements of rhythm and pulse are explored in the works of Tangent, a London-­ based design studio. Inaho (2013, Figure 2.12) is an interior lighting system consisting of forms which resemble ears of rice, designed to respond to people approaching it by swaying gently. Kihou (2015–16, Figure 2.13) uses two kinds of liquid and air bubbles in which a black silicone oil, which is lighter, lies on the top of a denser gold liquid. When a bubble penetrates the upper liquid, a hemispherical bright light appears and, as it breaks, the upper liquid closes over the hole created by the bubble. Bubbles have also featured in kinetic art, such as Robert Rauschenberg’s Mud Muse (1968–71), but Kihou employs the effect to create an emotive connection with people. Hideki Yoshimoto, founder of Tangent studio, explored the potential of rhythm and pulse in design objects in his PhD research and examined dynamic effects in relation to three qualities central to Japanese aesthetics – suggestion, emptiness and transience.3 056  OBJECTS IN MOTION 

Figure 2.10  D'light. © 2013. Prof. Sangmin Bae, Dept. of ID KAIST, ID+IM Design Laboratory

Figure 2.11  Twist, Leah Amick. © Leah Amick

Figure 2.12  Inaho, Tangent. ©︎ Tangent

Figure 2.13  Kihou, Tangent. ©︎ Tangent

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Tables Transformable tables are designed to be able to change in size to accommodate different numbers of people, such as the Friction Table by Heatherwick Studio (Figure 2.14). The movements that appear in these examples tend to be manual rather than self-activated. In contrast, some recent table designs employ self-­ activated movement as an aesthetic effect under a glass top. The Japanese design team KAPPES presented MOMENTum (Figure 2.15), in which drops of water glide on the water-repellent surface. The water is sucked from the small aperture in the centre of the surface and circulates in the system. Tangent created their Kihou ­Table (Figure 2.16) by embedding Kihou lamps underneath the table top. Sisyphus (Figure 2.17), a kinetic table designed by the U.S.-based artist Bruce Shapiro, has a bed of sand under its glass table top, where a metallic ball rolls around and creates and erases patterns.

Figure 2.14  Friction Table, Heatherwick Studio. ©︎ Heatherwick Studio

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Figure 2.15  MOMENTum, KAPPES. ©︎ KAPPES

Figure 2.16  Kihou Table, ­ angent. © Tangent T

Figure 2.17  Sisyphus, Bruce Shapiro. © Bruce Shapiro

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Doors Doors are designed to satisfy a range of requirements such as architectural conditions and aesthetic preferences. Movements used for doors also have some variety – whether automatic or manual, doors typically slide sideways, rotate (with hinges on one side) or revolve. Designers have recently taken novel approaches to the movement of doors. Kinetic art practitioner Klemens Torggler designed the Evolution Door (Figure 2.18), a combination of four isosceles right triangles jointed to rotate smoothly. Deepak Jawahar and Irina Bogdan’s Slow Door (Figure 2.19), consisting of 252 wooden cubes, opens gradually and slowly, exploring liminal space, in contrast to the typical utilitarian and binary open or closed approach. Though these two works are presented as doors to be used manually, similar mechanisms could potentially be applied to automatic doors.

Figure 2.18  Evolution Door, Klemens Torggler. Photography by Akos Vincze. © Klemens Torggler

Figure 2.19  Slow Door, 2016, Irina Bogdan, Deepak Jawahar, James Bulataw and Fabian Mazzola

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Stationery products We can find a similarly meticulous approach to designing movement in stationery items. Tameiki 3-Second is a pen and stand set designed by delightlabo. As Figure 2.20 illustrates, as the pen is dropped into the stand, the pen sinks to the bottom slowly – it takes almost three seconds for the pen to reach the bottom. Tameiki means ‘sigh’ in Japanese – the name of the product is a metaphor for the elegant movement with the feeling of a slow reduction of pressure. This slow movement is possible because of the gap of 20 micrometres between the diameter of the pen and that of the hole of the stand. It takes three seconds for the air between the pen and the stand to be pressed by the pen’s weight and pushed out of the stand. This precision was made possible by the high-tech facilities of local Japanese factories which specialise in the manufacture of aeroplanes, architectural elements and hydraulic soil control parts. The use of the term ‘sigh’ is an indication of kinaesthetic empathy. The length, subtlety and sense of pressure of the ‘breath’ of the product associate it for us with the bodily sensation of exhaling heavily.

Figure 2.20  Tameiki 3-Second, ­ elightlabo d

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The examples I introduce here are merely a small sample of the increasing number of design projects of this kind presented at fairs and exhibitions and on blogs and social network platforms. My survey indicates that examples of certain types of objects, such as lights, tables and clocks, are more frequent in these contexts than others. This tendency is understandable, as lights and clocks have utilitarian functions yet embrace sculptural form and are less frequently exposed to physical contact with people, which often results in complex problems. In relation to tables, in particular, although they are frequently exposed to physical contact with people and objects, the space underneath table tops provides an ample area in which to create visually aesthetic patterns freely without the risk of external intervention. Whereas it seems that not many examples of the innovative kinetic designs have arrived in domestic scenes yet, they have a potential to enrich people’s everyday lives aesthetically and poetically while serving a function, rather than existing solely as sculptural objects. An emphasis is, however, still placed on the visual, decorative aspects of movement in these designs, while the way in which the movement of everyday objects can resonate with our embodied sensations is still relatively unexplored and waiting to be addressed by designers.

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2.3  MOVEMENT AS ART (KINETIC ART) My interest in reviewing works of kinetic art here lies in sharing the knowledge of the aesthetics of movement that has been richly cultivated in the field. Critical insights into movement have emerged from practitioners’ and theorists’ reflections on the field of kinetic art. Such insights have the power to enlighten d ­ esigners about the integration of movement and other aspects of tangible objects which are rarely taught in design classes or in textbooks. The expressive potential of the movement of objects began to be explored by artists, mainly sculptors, in the 1910s.4 The boundary between some kinetic sculptures and objects such as fountains and weather-vanes, in which natural phenomena are the central trigger for dynamic effects, is blurred. Indeed, the inspiration from natural phenomena familiar to humans was at the heart of early kinetic art, according to the art historian Frank Popper: The origin of what has come to be known as “kinetic art” has been ascribed to imitation of the phenomena of movement in nature, to half-artistic, half-natural works like fountains or fireworks, to works on the boundaries between art and mechanics like androids and mechanical toys, and also to the continuous evolution and final liberation of the element of movement in the plastic arts themselves.5 Rather than constructing movement in a completely mechanical manner, some recent kinetic designs, such as the Tameiki 3-Second ballpoint pen and stand, ‘play’ with various natural phenomena in which the interplay between the air and the structure and weight of the objects results in an interesting movement. Slightly more technical phenomena and materials, rather than those that are raw, are also used in many kinetic arts, as well as kinetic designs such as Kihou (the layering of two kinds of liquid with different densities), Trace (photochromic liquid and a laser UV) and Hanabi (shape-memory alloys). The successful integration of natural phenomena with a kinetic object gives it a quality of randomness, a resemblance to nature and poetry; it is relatively difficult to achieve such ambiguous qualities in purely mechanical creations. Let us think about the two kinds of artificial physical structures, purely mechanical ones and ‘half-mechanical and half-natural’ ones. The former, such as the mechanism of gears and axes inside a watch, can demonstrate a precise, elaborate choreography of movement. But the interaction between the components of the objects is combined in a rigid, relatively forceful manner. Each component is not allowed to behave freely: once they are combined mechanically their movements are governed by the totality of the mechanism.

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In contrast, in the latter case the creation of movement is decentralised. Like a flag waving in the wind, all the physical elements, including the weight, shape and flexibility of the flag and the direction and strength of the wind, determine the movement of the flag we see. There is no single element that determines the behaviour of all the others. Behind the movement we observe are the meanings of all the physical elements involved. This subtle, yet crucial difference of the quality of movement has been articulated by the kinetic art practitioner and theorist George Rickey with his concept of ‘movement itself’.

‘Movement itself’ Earlier, we looked at the term ‘movement itself’, used in the context of Gabo and Pevsner’s Realistic Manifesto. They used the term to distinguish their approach to art from the Futurist approach to movement, which tended to rely on static forms to represent the sense of movement alone, rather than a temporal sense of the phenomena. This phrase, ‘movement itself’, was also used by at least two theoreticians to further explore the aesthetics of movement. In his essay ‘The Morphology of Movement’,6 Rickey presents his six typologies of kinetic art, one of which is titled ‘movement itself’ (see Table 2.1). This category, ‘movement itself’, is exactly the same phrase that Gabo and Pevsner used, but Rickey’s definition is stricter. While both refer to the physical movement of objects, Rickey limits its meaning to objects in which movement and shape are fully integrated, both technically and artistically. Rickey uses Alexander Calder’s mobiles (Figure 1.5) as examples of ‘movement itself’, as their motion results from

Table 2.1  George Rickey’s typology of kinetic art (1963) Category

Explanation

Examples

Optical phenomena

Moiré effect is created by visual patterns.

Not mentioned

Transformations

Static objects appear as different visual patterns depending on observers’ positions.

Yaacov Agam’s polyphonic paintings

‘Movable’

Observers themselves rearrange the sculptures.

Yasuhide Kobashi’s Plumbob IV (1960)

Machines

Usually driven by electric motors, the same movements repeat.

Jean Tinguely’s Fountain (1977)

Light play

Shadows and reflections are created by lights projected onto moving surfaces.

Thomas Wilfred’s Clavilux (1921)

‘Movement itself’

Movement and forms of the objects are closely integrated.

Alexander Calder’s mobiles, Len Lye’s Steel Fountain (1959)

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Figure 2.21  Grass, 1961, Len Lye. Courtesy Len Lye Foundation Collection, Govett-­ Brewster Art Gallery. Credit: Bryan James

their physical features, such as their shape, weight and position, that react to the ambient breeze in the space around them. Rickey considers such works to be ‘valid achievements’ as artworks, pointing out that the importance of motion is intrinsic: Such artists design with “movement itself” as distinct from a movement which is incidental or accessory, like the trimming on a hat, or added, like the letter on a child’s block, without changing the form. Their movement is as intrinsic as that of a gramophone record or an airplane in flight; without it the object would be something else. Here, ‘such artists’ refers to those such as Alexander Calder and Len Lye, who, Rickey considers, create an integrity of movement and shape, and therefore ‘movement itself’. Calder’s mobile consists of a combination of lines and planes in ­various sizes, swaying slowly. The movement of the mobiles is even sometimes dependent on the subtle breeze caused by viewers passing by. Without the need for electrical actuation, the mobiles make little noise, from which the viewer gains a sense of effortlessness. The form of each part receives the ambient wind uniquely, and determines the movement. Lye explored the variety of the nuances of time with his ‘Tangible Motion Sculptures’. One of Lye’s works, Grass (Figure 2.21), embodies the subtle cadence of motion by using a tilting base and attached metal fibres. As the

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Figure 2.22  Carnival Fountain (Tinguely Fountain), Theaterplatz, Basel, 1977, Jean Tinguely

base slowly leans from one side to the other, the fibres bend like elastic. The root of each fibre initiates the movement and the upper part follows it. The cadence found in Grass is an irregular and organic cycle which can be associated with the musical term ‘agogic accent’, meaning the accentuation of sound within musical phrases by the slight lengthening of notes, rather than the regulated, mechanical rhythm that metronomes communicate. On the other hand, Rickey offers Jean Tinguely’s Fountain (Figure 2.22) as an example of a work in which ‘the motion itself is not designed’.7 Rickey regards such motorised kinetic assemblages as ‘the most common, the most captivating (for the public), and the least significant’.8 While in theory the use of technology may provide a high level of freedom of control in the movement of objects, it might conversely decrease the meaningfulness of the movement performed by the objects. The criteria by which a certain work represents ‘movement itself’ are left unclear. It is, nevertheless, understandable that discovering a movement resulting from an unseen yet unforced integration of forms, weights and forces gives the viewer a sense of surprise and delight which cannot be achieved by the somewhat obvious

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assemblages of motors and decorative parts. The discovery of such a movement aesthetically challenges our intuitive, experiential knowledge of the ways in which we expect physical objects to move. As the quotation above notes in relation to gramophone records and aeroplanes, the integration of form and movement has already been achieved in most utilitarian transformable design objects. This is a natural consequence, since the forms and movements of such objects are designed to work together to serve particular functions. As reviewed earlier, some recent experimental examples of kinetic design, such as Evolution Door and Slow Door, undo the connection between movement and function that is taken for granted, exploring new ways in which they can be combined with each other. Origins and Development of Kinetic Art by Frank Popper, a representative figure in kinetic art, provides a comprehensive overview of kinetic art, from the early experiments of Futurism to the expansion in tangible forms up to the 1960s. Popper also uses the term ‘movement itself’ as one of the eight groups of what he terms procedures, processes by which artists approach the technical, semantic and plastic aspects of movement. Rickey’s notion of ‘movement itself’ is focused on the artistic value of movement, and its phenomenal aspects remain rather ambiguous, whereas Popper’s version illustrates mechanisms of movement such as those that are mechanical, electric, thermal, hydraulic and magnetic. Another contribution in Popper’s book is the categorisation of the aesthetic attributes of kinetic art, with reference to actual artworks.9 The twenty-seven categories are located under five meta-categories: intellect, environment, sensibility, action and transcendence (Table 2.2). This categorisation, if deeply embedded in the context of art, is enlightening on the wide range of aesthetic qualities that object movement could allow us to explore. From a function-oriented perspective, the list reminds us of the huge, untapped potential of the aesthetics of movement. Nevertheless, it does not attempt to provide guidance, or a ‘recipe’, for how to achieve such experiential qualities with movement. Kinetic art is also a particular genre of art, and its insight cannot necessarily be transferred directly to design.

Table 2.2  Frank Popper’s aesthetic classification (1968) Meta-category

Category

Intellect

Surprise; the humorous; astonishment; lucid amusement; the unexpected; the fantastic; the impossible

Environment

Identification with nature; life (and vitalism); the machine aesthetics

Sensibility

Hypnosis; the irrational factor; anguish; displeasure; nostalgia; pure sensation

Action

The agogic; sexuality, grace, ballet, acrobatics, sport

Transcendence

Time and eternity; freedom and constraint; evolution (progress); rupture; spiritual energy; the sublime

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The expressive potential of the movement of objects is not limited to the poetic and artistic quality as discussed so far. Depending on the contexts, movement can also communicate information to people and express anthropomorphic or zoomorphic qualities. Since these types of qualities are potentially interwoven rather than discrete, designers need to be aware of which quality they are focusing on. My emphasis is on the former quality of movement – movement as a phenomenon to observe for aesthetic experience – rather than as a medium to demonstrate information or express elements of living entities such as aliveness, intention or emotion. In the following section I discuss the nature of movement as display and interface and movement as life, with examples.

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2.4  MOVEMENT AS DISPLAY AND INTERFACE In HCI and its related fields, increasing numbers of projects employ dynamic effect, such as physical movement and changing light patterns (e.g. LED displays). This section does not focus on its comprehensive context, but instead looks at the common motives behind such a trend and how the key incentive for my book differs. Although I do not intend to identify the focus of this book with any particular movement in HCI, such as ubiquitous computing or tangible interaction, it is worth recognising that the displaying of various kinds of information is one of the functions that often relate to movement. Mechanical clocks are one example of display – the combination of several clock hands continuously expresses the current time of day as they rotate. Another example is the weather-vane, which indicates the direction of the wind. These are everyday examples that employ motion as an interface to communicate information that changes dynamically. Over the last two decades, researchers have been investigating the ways in which 2D abstract patterns of movement work as an interface to communicate messages and express various qualities.10 3D motion, owing to its physical existence, satisfies the need to present dynamic information more flexibly than static objects.11 Movements can also serve as dynamic interfaces, offering different ways of interaction through transformation. Increasing numbers of projects have been designed to involve kinetic, tangible and interactive interfaces.12 Studies of transformable structures13 and soft robotics14 provide new means to create kinetic displays and interfaces. While the examples above are focused on electromechanical systems, design researcher Dan Lockton et al. consider a wide range of phenomena, from natural to artificial, as media through which we interpret information, or what they term qualitative displays and interfaces.15 They propose a spectrum relating to how ‘directly’ the phenomenon and the information presented are interwoven (Figure 2.23). This covers a wide range of examples, from relatively natural, less artificial phenomena, such as weather-vanes, to more artificial ones which involve major processing of phenomena to present information. They suggest that the spectrum also covers huge numbers of screen-based and tangible examples that have been presented to date in HCI research, and termed tangible interaction, ubiquitous computing, tangible user interfaces and so forth.16 The spectrum and the ideas of qualitative displays and interfaces indicate that the physical, abstract and non-digital movement of objects with which this research is primarily concerned can potentially function as an interface and can mediate information. The communicative potential of motion will certainly be of use for design. But designers should be aware of the risk of putting too much emphasis on such communicative ability of movement and ignoring its sensory impact. My educational background in engineering informs my view that when (often robotic) motion is designed as some sort of display or interface in HCI-related areas, the aesthetic details of the movements including sounds are not considered to be as

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Figure 2.23  Spectrum of ­Qualitative Display and Interfaces. Introduced in: Lockton et al. 2017

‘Direct’ connection between phenomena and display Level 0

The phenomenon itself ‘creates’ the display directly

Level 1

The display is an ‘accidental’ side effect of the phenomenon

Level 2

The side effect is ‘incorporated’ into a display that gives it meaning

Level 3

The display is a designed side effect of the phenomenon

Level 4

Some minor processing of the phenomenon creates the display

Level 5

Major processing of the phenomenon creates the display

‘Indirect’ connection between phenomena and display

important as the functional ones (in this case, communicative ones). Dylan Moore et al.’s insightful work articulated this typical lack of attention to the aesthetics (sensory aspects) of robotic motion.17 It studied the aural impressions associated with servo motors, tools commonly used to prototype robotic movement. They found that many of their participants had negative responses to the noise of servo motors, such as ‘Sound B is horrible. Please don’t use that noise for anything ever’, and, ‘Sound A is the sound of robot nightmares’.18 Such aesthetic qualities of mechanical sounds have seldom been considered in robotics. I encourage designers to take Moore et al.’s study seriously and be aware of what we have unconsciously compromised in terms of aesthetic experience while myopically using readily available DIY mechanical tools. In academic conferences on interaction design, video presentations are frequently used, in addition to written papers, to demonstrate the ways in which the systems that have been developed are intended to work. But it is often the case that such videos omit the raw sound of the objects and replace it with ‘background’ music. This encourages the viewer to imagine that the sound of the objects is something that would not bother or distract us, or that it does not even exist. In the light of Moore et al.’s study, however, interaction designers may want to recognise the risk of this culture. Overly visual presentations could impoverish the multisensory consideration in design. While creating physical movements, designers should be careful not to underestimate the impact of the details of objects on people’s perception, even if their practical functions are the primary concern. They may be able to avoid the risk of confusion by having an awareness of the purposes of the movement they are designing; i.e. for communicating information, for creating aesthetic effects or both – or neither.

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2.5  MOVEMENT AS LIFE (BEHAVIOURAL OBJECTS) One of the aims of this chapter is to clarify the seemingly ambiguous yet crucial difference between my focus in this book and what I term movement as life. Indeed, humans tend to perceive the sense of life and even agency or emotion in animated objects. Many projects explore this phenomenon in the fields of robotics, psychology and cognitive science. Movement as life refers to objects that represent the quality of aliveness, intention or emotion through movement. This potential of movement has received attention in both academia and industry and is studied within themes of animacy, agency and anthropomorphism, among others. However, what I find most potential in is not the kind of kinetic object that has anthropomorphic expression, but kinetic objects that are perceived as aesthetic phenomena, or ‘half-natural, half-mechanical physical phenomena’, as Popper describes them, rather than objects that disguise themselves as a living being. This dimension of my focus is fully reified in the everyday objects reviewed in the first and second sections (‘Movement in Everyday Design’ and ‘Movement beyond the Utilitarian’). The movement used in these examples aims to either serve a function or create designed phenomena (or both), rather than imitating the behaviour of living beings. The difference between the two may seem obvious, but a close look at the phenomenon reveals that the contrast between anthropomorphic kinetic objects and abstract (non-anthropomorphic) ones is not a binary one, but one of degree. The context of the attribution of the characteristics of living entities to the movement of non-anthropomorphic objects is too broad to explain all its aspects in this section of the book. Instead, I highlight a couple of recent studies that put key insights into context. Robotic researchers Florent Levillain and Elisabetta Zibetti coined the term behavioural objects to explore the very dimension where the abstractness of objects and aliveness of movement intersect.19 Behavioural objects refer to ‘unsophisticated, non-humanoid or zoomorphic’ robotic artefacts that are capable of self-initiated movement, that ‘can be interpreted as actions executed toward a goal, possibly motivated, and possibly intelligent’.20 Levillain and Zibetti propose three levels of complexity that can potentially be perceived in a behavioural object – animacy, agency and mental agency, from lower complexity to higher (Figure 2.24). At the animacy level, a moving object is perceived as autonomous, possibly responsive to its environment, yet lacking clear intention. At the agency level, the behaviour of an object appears to be oriented towards a certain goal. Finally, at the level of mental agency, a moving object, beyond being intentional, displays a will to interact or communicate with other agents. This three-level cognitive framework is useful to explore the ambiguous space between the high level of anthropomorphism (i.e. android) and the low level, where little animacy or agency are involved. Looking at the increasing numbers of robotised artefacts presented in the contexts

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Figure 2.24  The three levels of complexity potentially perceived in a behavioural object. Introduced in: ­Levillain and Zibetti 2017, 14

of HCI, HRI (human-robot interaction) and interaction design, their primary concern would be what level of animacy or agency the artefact is intended to display while interacting with people. Oliver Wolf and Geraint Wiggins’ work can also be considered as a study of behavioural objects.21 Their 2018 study derives from their findings in an exhibition where people tended to attribute animal-like or human-like qualities to motorised everyday objects, such as a hairbrush with mechanical actuators crawling on a plinth. Although their empirical research was largely quantitative, in that participants rated various kinds of moving objects from human to non-human based on their original measurement tool, the underlying framework, that they call the agency-framework (Figure 2.25),22 provides many insights. The six horizontal spectra measure the qualities between animate and inanimate. Movement is an essential element of life. Automatons, androids and even puppets, coupled with the anthropomorphic approach, express various qualities of living entities. Automatons, mechanical objects resembling human and animals, appeared as early examples of kinetic objects familiar to people. The kinds of movement that these involved were not utilitarian in nature, but were created as elaborate technological decorative aspects to be observed and enjoyed by people. Some of these objects used self-actuated movement, while others were operated manually by humans.

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Figure 2.25  Agency-framework by Oliver ‘Olsen’ Wolf. An alternative version of the figure appears in: Wolf and Wiggins 2018, 59.

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In this way, movement, demonstrated by anthropomorphic or zoomorphic objects, mimics the behaviour of living entities, communicating intention and emotion. Early experiments in animation, such as Michotte’s study on the attribution of causality, show how easily we attribute human characters to non-living entities in motion, even the animation of abstract figures. The human fascination with attributing animate characters to machines was further explored in the era of cybernetics, enabling interactive movement. Edward Ihnatowicz’s The Senster is one of the earliest artefacts that interacted with human behaviour; the head of the dinosaur-shaped sculpture continually pointed to its nearby human. The expressive qualities of movement have been expected to enable non-verbal communication between humans and robots. Paro, a therapeutic robot resembling a harp seal developed by Japan’s National Institute of Advanced Industrial Science and Technology (AIST), is designed to stimulate patients with dementia and other cognitive disorders.23 Its self-initiated and interactive behaviour is known to relieve the stress of patients and caregivers and also stimulate their interaction. A range of evidence has confirmed that movement in robotics can communicate not only simple messages but also various human qualities such as emotion, sociability and politeness, and they can also assist humans in therapy, elder care, education and domestic tasks.24 The combination of anthropomorphic (or zoomorphic) behaviour and everyday objects is attempted in James Chambers’ Floppy Legs.25 By embedding a moisture sensor and four legs into a portable hard drive, it can avoid liquid spilled on a desk by ‘standing up’. When the desk is cleaned up, the hard drive can gently lower itself back down. The behaviour of the hard drive not only serves an important function to save the data but also produces the quality of human and animals. Another work of his, The Gesundheit Radio, can remove the dust accumulated inside itself by making a mechanical ‘sneeze’. In both cases, the relationship between the multiple elements of the objects, such as functions, contexts, problems, solutions and links to human or animal behaviour, is designed carefully and successfully. Both movements are well integrated in the objects and do not appear as merely accessory elements. The tendency for movement to evoke some characteristics of living entities is intriguing and, understandably, it has captivated many researchers as well as creative practitioners. Nevertheless, designers should question whether such a sense of aliveness and the agency of object movement will be beneficial in designing everyday objects. The absence of animacy or agency is similarly important. Owing to the absence of anthropomorphic attribution, these can help to avoid unnecessary tension between the object and the surrounding people and function smoothly at the periphery, not necessarily at the centre, of our attention. Lifelike kinetic objects, or behavioural objects, are believed by some to be a new tool to mediate our relationship with the artificial. The ability to show aliveness, intention and even emotion in the abstract movement of such objects is itself worth exploring, given its implication for human cognition. It is true that the

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kinetic behaviour of objects can potentially catch people’s attention and communicate a particular semantic or emotional message. However, this does not necessarily mean that those objects can benefit people around them through their behaviour. The very ability to communicate (or to pretend to be communicating) with people could potentially evoke a psychological tension between the artefacts and people around them, especially when the object evidences an unexpectedly high level of intelligence. Some roboticists and interaction designers who claim that behavioural objects have the potential to harmonise our relationship to artefacts often have naive views on the impact that technological intervention has on human communication. While technology enables useful communication that might otherwise be impossible, we must also take its risk into serious consideration. For example, imagine a robot capable of catching people’s attention and communicating a simple message to its surrounding people easily by making a movement imitating the behaviour of human or animal. While it could be considered ‘successful’ in terms of its ability to make an incidental interaction with people, whether or not such an interaction benefits the quality of lives of the surrounding people depends on the context. Smartphones’ notification can effectively catch our attention, but relentless notifications could cause inattention and hyperactivity, symptoms associated with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), according to the study conducted by the behavioural scientist and social psychologist Kostadin Kushlev and his team.26 Now that we realise that we, even as adults, do not even know how to cope with the distraction that smart devices cause us, it is worth questioning the value of the robots with such capabilities before simply imagining what behavioural objects might be capable of.

1

Hideki Yoshimoto (2015). Pulse and Rhythm: Exploring the Value of Repetitive Motion as an Element of ­Design. PhD thesis, Royal College of Art. 2 Shishi-odoshi: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hIxOqxJUuc0&feature=emb_title. 3 Hideki Yoshimoto (2015). 4 Frank Popper (1968). Origins and Development of Kinetic Art. Greenwich, CT: New York Graphic Society. 122–124. 5 Ibid., 221. 6 George Rickey (1963). ‘The Morphology of Movement: A Study of Kinetic Art’. Art Journal. 22.4: 220–231. 7 Ibid., 223. 8 Ibid. 9 Frank Popper (1968). 230–243. 10 Leslie C. Vaughan (1997). ‘Understanding Movement’. In: Proceedings of the ACM SIGCHI Conference on Human Factors in Computing Systems, 22–27 March 1997, Atlanta, GA. ACM. 548–549; Michelle Bacigalupi (1998). ‘The Craft of Movement in Interaction Design’. In: Proceedings of the Working Conference on Advanced Visual Interfaces, 25–27 May 1998, L’Aquila. ACM. 174–184; Lyn Bartram and Ai Nakatani (2010). ‘What Makes Motion Meaningful? Affective Properties of Abstract Motion’. In: 2010 Fourth Pacific-­Rim Symposium on Image and Video Technology, 14–17 November 2010, Singapore. IEEE. 468–474.

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11 Hiroshi Ishii, Dávid Lakatos, Leonardo Bonanni and Jean-Baptiste Labrune (2012). ‘Radical Atoms: ­Beyond Tangible Bits, Toward Transformable Materials’. interactions. 19.1: 38–51. 12 Andrew M. Dahley (1998). Designing Kinetic Objects for Digital Information Display. Master’s diss., Massachusetts Institute of Technology; Amanda Parkes, Ivan Poupyrev and Hiroshi Ishii (2008). ‘Designing Kinetic Interactions for Organic User Interfaces’. Communications of the ACM. 51.6: 58–65; Marcelo Coelho and Pattie Maes (2009). ‘Shutters: A Permeable Surface for Environmental Control and Communication’. In: Proceedings of the 3rd International Conference on Tangible and Embedded Interaction, 16–18 February 2009, Regent. ACM. 13–18; Ken Nakagaki, Sean Follmer, Artem Dementyev, Joseph A. Paradiso and Hiroshi Ishii (2017). ‘Designing Line-Based Shape-Changing Interfaces’. IEEE Pervasive Computing. 16.4: 36–46. 13 Jifei Ou, Zhao Ma, Jannik Peters, Sen Dai, Nikolaos Vlavianos and Hiroshi Ishii (2018). ‘KinetiX – Designing Auxetic-Inspired Deformable Material Structures’. Computers & Graphics. 75: 72–81. 14 Ryuma Niiyama, Xu Sun, Cynthia Sung, Byoungkwon An, Daniela Rus and Sangbae Kim (2015). ‘Pouch Motors: Printable Soft Actuators Integrated with Computational Design’. Soft Robotics. 2.2: 59–70. 15 Dan Lockton, Delanie Ricketts, Shruti Aditya Chowdhury and Chang Hee Lee (2017). ‘Exploring Qualitative Displays and Interfaces’. In: Proceedings of the 2017 CHI Conference Extended Abstracts on Human Factors in Computing Systems. 1844–1852. 16 Mark Weiser and John Seely Brown (1996). ‘Designing Calm Technology’. PowerGrid Journal 1. 1: 75–85; Hiroshi Ishii and Brygg Ullmer (1997). ‘Tangible Bits: Towards Seamless Interfaces Between People, Bits and Atoms’. In: Proceedings of the ACM SIGCHI Conference on Human Factors in Computing Systems. 234–241; Eva Hornecker and Jacob Buur (2006). ‘Getting a Grip on Tangible Interaction: A Framework on Physical Space and Social Interaction’. In: Proceedings of the SIGCHI Conference on Human Factors in Computing Systems. 437–446. 17 Dylan Moore, Nikolas Martelaro, Wendy Ju and Hamish Tennent (2017). ‘Making Noise Intentional: A Study of Servo Sound Perception’. In: 2017 12th ACM/IEEE International Conference on Human-Robot ­Interaction (HRI). 12–21. 18 Ibid. 19 Florent Levillain and Elisabetta Zibetti (2017). ‘Behavioral Objects: The Rise of the Evocative Machines’. Journal of Human-Robot Interaction. 6.1: 4–24. 20 Ibid., 5. 21 Oliver Wolf and Geraint Wiggins (2018). ‘Look! It’s Moving! Is it Alive? How Movement Affects Humans’ ­Affinity to Living and Non-living Entities’. IEEE Transactions on Affective Computing; Oliver Wolf (2018). Affinity with Artefacts: Humans’ Perception of Movement in Technological Objects. PhD thesis, Queen Mary University London. 22 References for the agency-framework include: Philip Blythe, Peter Todd and Geoffrey Miller (1999). ‘How Motion Reveals Intention: Categorizing Social Interactions’. In: Simple Heuristics That Make Us Smart. Oxford University Press, USA. 257–285; Hadley Cantril (1941). The Psychology of Social Movements. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Publishers; Susan Carey (2009). The Origin of Concepts. Oxford Series in Cognitive Development. Oxford University Press, USA; Friederike Eyssel, Dieta Kuchenbrandt and Simon Bobinger (2011). ‘Effects of Anticipated Human-Robot Interaction and Predictability of Robot Behavior on Perceptions of Anthropomorphism’. In: Human-Robot Interaction (HRI), 2011 6th ACM/IEEE International Conference. 61–67; Shaun Gallagher and Dan Zahavi (2012). The Phenomenological Mind. Routledge; Rochel Gelman and Elizabeth S. Spelke (1981). ‘The Development of Thoughts About Animate and Inanimate Objects: Implications for Research on Social Cognition’. In: Social Cognitive Development: Frontiers and Possible Futures. 43– 66; Rochel Gelman, Frank Durgin and Lisa Kaufman (1995). ‘Distinguishing Between Animates and Inanimates: Not by Motion Alone’. In: Causal Cognition: A Multidisciplinary Debate. 150–184; Fritz Heider and Marianne Simmel (1944). ‘An Experimental Study of Apparent Behavior’. In: The American Journal of ­Psychology 57.2: 243–259; Ray Jackendoff (1978). ‘Grammar as Evidence for Conceptual Structure’. In: Linguistic Theory and Psychological Reality, M. Halle, J. Bresnan, G.A. Miller (eds.). Cambridge, MA: MIT Press; ­Gunnar Johansson (1973). ‘Visual Perception of Biological Motion and a Model for its Analysis’. In: Perception & Psychophysics 14.2: 201– 211; Sara Kiesler, Sau-lai Lee and Adam D.I. Kramer (2006). ‘Relationship Effects in Psychological Explanations of Nonhuman Behavior’. In: Anthrozoös 19.4: 335– 352; ­Albert Michotte (1963). The Perception of Causality. London: Methuen; Michael W. Morris and Kaiping Peng (1994). ‘Culture and Cause: American and Chinese Attributions for Social and Physical Events’. In: Journal of Personality and Social Psychology. 67.6: 949; David H. Rakison and Diane Poulin-Dubois (2001). ‘Developmental Origin of the Animate-Inanimate Distinction’. In: Psychological Bulletin 127.2:

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23 24

25 26

209–228; Martin Saerbeck and Christoph Bartneck (2010). ‘Perception of Affect Elicited by Robot Motion’. In: ACM Press. 53; Brian Scholl and Patrice Tremoulet (2000). ‘Perceptual Causality and Animacy’. In: Trends in Cognitive Sciences 4.8: 299–309; Francesca Simion et al. (2013). ‘From Motion Cues to Social Perception: Innate Predispositions’. In: Social Perception: Detection and Interpretation of Animacy, Agency, and Intention. 37; Ja-Young Sung et al. (2007). ‘“My Roomba Is Rambo”: Intimate Home Appliances’. In: UbiComp 2007: Ubiquitous Computing. John Krumm et al (eds.). Berlin: Springer. 4717: 145– 162; Jakub M. Szewczyk and Herbert Schriefers (2011). ‘Is Animacy Special?: ERP Correlates of Semantic Violations and Animacy Violations in Sentence Processing’. In: Brain Research. 1368: 208–221; Adam Waytz, John T. Cacioppo and Nicholas Epley (2010). ‘Who Sees Human?: The Stability and Importance of Individual Differences in Anthropomorphism’. In: Perspectives on Psychological Science. 5.3: 219–232. Paro, a therapeutic robot. Accessed: 29 April 2020. http://www.parorobots.com/. Noel Sharkey and Amanda Sharkey (2010). ‘Living with Robots: Ethical Tradeoffs in Eldercare’. In: Yorick Wilks (ed.). Close Engagements with Artificial Companions. 8. Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing. 245–256; Astrid Weiss and Manfred Tscheligi (2010). ‘Special Issue on Robots for Future Societies: Evaluating Social Acceptance and Societal Impact of Robots’. International Journal of Social Robotics 2.4: 345–346. Floppy Legs by James Chambers. Accessed: 29 April 2020. https://jameschambers.co/objects/. Kostadin Kushlev, Jason Proulx and Elizabeth W. Dunn (2016). ‘“Silence Your Phones” Smartphone Notifications Increase Inattention and Hyperactivity Symptoms’. In: Proceedings of the 2016 CHI Conference on Human Factors in Computing Systems. ACM, New York. 1011–1020.

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3 Designing in Motion

While the previous chapter focused on the movement of objects, this chapter reviews the act of designing that harnesses the movement of the body in various ways. When we describe objects in motion, we are often unaware of our own movement, let alone the instability of our perception, as if we always observe the world from an objective and static viewpoint. In the following section, however, I review a range of literature that demonstrates that the body is also a dynamic, plastic system, as is our perception. In fact, it was a breakthrough for my research to realise that the reservoir of our bodily sensations is key to an understanding of why, and how, we can ‘feel’ the movement which we simply observe. In doing this, the book offers a unique perspective on movement which weaves the material and embodied dimensions.

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3.1  KINAESTHETIC KNOWING The first chapter touched on two similar yet different ways of understanding phenomena, logical induction and aesthetic induction, or Newtonian and Goethean thinking. While both adopt the fundamental process of generating more universal knowledge out of concrete instances, they differ in approach. While the former adopts abstract and logical thinking for the inductive process, the latter relies on the phenomenological experience. My research largely relied on the latter, or aesthetic induction, to better understand the characteristics of kinaesthetic empathy that we experience towards the movement of abstract objects and to explore its potential use in design. The potential of bodily sensation may not be the most prominent topic in the contemporary design agenda. But the history of late nineteenth-century Europe indicates that bodily, kinaesthetic experience played a central role in the establishment of the practice and education of Modernist designers. Architectural historian Zeynep Çelik Alexander has conducted a thorough investigation into the origin of the experiential approach to knowledge production.1 While this type of knowing can be labelled in a range of different ways, Alexander coins the umbrella term kinaesthetic knowing and defines it as ‘nondiscursive and nonconceptual knowledge assumed to be gathered from the body’s experiential exchange with the world’.2 The distinction between logical, discursive knowledge and experiential, non-discursive knowledge can be found in the two German words for ‘knowledge’, Wissen and Kennen. The former denotes objective or descriptive knowledge, or ‘knowledge-about’, while the latter experiential knowledge, or ‘knowledge-how’. Further, this division originates from the distinction between the worldviews of Newton and Goethe. German physicist and physiologist Hermann von Helmholtz advocated the notion of ‘aesthetics from below’, which is the origin of kinaesthetic knowing. This bottom-up approach to aesthetics was considered as an antithesis to the top-down, or theory-driven, approach to the aesthetics of human perception. Despite being popular among theorists at one time, the voices supporting ‘aesthetics from below’ gradually attenuated. By 1919 this approach was even considered to be ‘dead’ for its unsolved fundamental questions on subjective bias involved in aesthetic experiences and on the distinction between direct and indirect sensations.3 However, German reformers of the time took up the concept and deployed it to every level of the educational system. Behind this was the national need for education to produce open-minded generalists rather than narrow-minded ­specialists.

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Elementalism at the Bauhaus The preliminary course at the Bauhaus was intended to be a step towards a generalist education required by modernity rather than the first step of a specialised training as an artist. The course made much use of physical attention, especially in the contributions of Johannes Itten and László Moholy-Nagy. Itten first established the course of physical exercise at the Bauhaus, and each of his classes ­began with gymnastic exercises which followed a formalist logic, ‘first flat, then linear, and finally spatial movements’.4 In the physical exercises, Itten also introduced ‘comparative thinking’, which allowed students to explore two opposing qualities such as big-small, long-short. The teachers valued the process of ‘ripening sense, feeling, and thought’5 and they believed in teaching multiple senses at the same time. While education based on Wissen may not have been available for everyone at that time in Germany, Moholy-Nagy believed that everyone possesses the ability to ripen one’s own sensorial experience and thus cultivate one’s creative energy. In this sense, Bauhaus pedagogy implemented Kennen as a pedagogical programme beyond educating artists. One of the characteristics of the pedagogy practised by the Bauhaus masters was elementalism, the orientation towards seeking models and patterns in the elements of things. Wassily Kandinsky was the most obvious in his approach to understanding shapes and primary colours. His approach was largely informed by ‘aesthetics from below’, psychophysical thinking which sought the correlation of stimuli, such as visual stimuli of various forms, and affective responses. This takes an opposite approach from ‘aesthetics from above’, a tendency to understand aesthetics from highly conceptual theories. For example, in Kandinsky’s theory, the right angle is associated with red, acute angles with yellow, and obtuse ones with blue. More examples of such combinations between forms, lines and colours are­ ­explained. Such a synaesthetic theory, according to Kandinsky, comes from the bodily responses to stimuli – for instance, the body responds to the colour of yellow in an identical manner to the way it senses acute angles. His theory of synaesthetic harmony goes even further to include musical tempos, comparing the pulse rates triggered by the various graphical patterns.6 Moholy-Nagy’s preliminary courses also show signs of elementalism. Unlike Kandinsky’s strict attribution of graphic elements to affective responses, however, Moholy-Nagy sought out elements of sensory experiences which he called Grunderlebnisse (‘fundamental experiences’). Such elements were explored by comparing different sensorial stimuli (such as rough-smooth, vivid-dark), rather than measuring a response to a single stimulus. With the notion of fundamental experiences, he aimed to teach the ‘subconscious logic’ of design which, he believed, was impossible with a conventional curriculum that heavily relied on texts. Such an elementalist approach was of great importance in my research as well. But it needs to be clearly differentiated from a reductionist approach which

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was borne out by the ‘first-generation’ design methods that were heavily oriented towards rationalism. While it is useful, and even necessary, for pragmatic reasons to attribute some characteristics to the elements of experience, one always needs to ­understand that the nature of an experience cannot be completely reduced to its elements, and that the whole experience is more than the mere sum of each element.

Harmonisation Theory While Itten and Moholy-Nagy were the central figures who foresaw the potential of cultivating bodily and experiential knowledge, namely kinaesthetic knowing, the early Bauhaus curriculum also included an intriguing class in the preliminary course which specialised in connecting multiple senses through dance and music. Between 1919 and 1924 the Bauhaus teaching included a class called Harmonisation Theory, taught by the musician Gertrud Grunow (Figure 3.1). Grunow developed an educational theory which explored ‘the basic relationships between colour, sound and movement’, which her students learned through moving their bodies. Teaching ‘the equitable and harmonious use of all the senses’, she believed that the ability of self-expression is rooted in a personal sense of colour, sound and form, which helps the designer to select such material properties with intention and certainty rather than by relying on a hunch. Grunow’s class, by letting students physically move their bodies, aimed to liberate them from their intellect-oriented state and to create the unity of body and soul that is perceptive to rhythm and movement, the elements Itten considered an important rationale for the creation of form.7 Grunow’s class was popular with students on the preliminary course. Even students who completed it would sometimes visit her to seek her advice, and other masters sent their students to her to consult her on which of the Bauhaus workshops to move on to after finishing the preliminary course. The Harmonisation Theory class functioned as a sort of ‘counselling’ for students and was considered to be the basis of all the courses in the foundational curriculum. Grunow was allowed to attend the Bauhaus Masters’ Council despite not being a master herself, but she did not receive equal treatment to that of her male colleagues, and continued to work on a free, ad hoc basis until she was finally awarded contract-based employment. Grunow was considered one of the spiritually minded group of people at the Bauhaus that included Itten and Lothar Schreyer. Gropius’s orientation towards technology and Itten’s departure attenuated her influence and in 1914 she finally left the Bauhaus. In contrast to the artistic sensory practices encouraged at the Bauhaus, such as Grunow’s class, later design education has emphasised the teaching of more

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Figure 3.1  Hildegard Heitmeyer during Grunow lessons, 1917 or 1922, reproduction, ca. 1968, Bauhaus-­ Archiv ­Berlin. © unknown

rational and systematic approaches codified into ‘design methods’.8 These methods allow beginners to learn design skills (although skilled practitioners do not always practise methods as systematically as design schools expect their students to).9 This leads to the focus of the next section, approaches which integrate the element of the body first into rational, strategic kinds of design, which was initiated with the term ‘bodystorming’, and then into the design of digital interaction.

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3.2  THE BODY FOR DESIGN AND INTERACTION Bodystorming: the body for ideation In contrast to the relatively artistic design practised at the Bauhaus, kinaesthetic knowing began to be used for more pragmatic purposes. Since the 1990s, its use for exploring design problems and generating ideas for solutions rather than for artistic training has been increasingly recognised. Interaction designers Colin Burns et al. coined ‘bodystorming’ as an alternative to the more traditional mode of idea generation, ‘brainstorming’.10 While brainstorming tends to be conducted in office-like environments that do not necessarily represent the environments in question, bodystorming refers to idea generation that is conducted on site so that it helps designers find contextual cues more easily. Since its invention, bodystorming has been adapted to various formats. Experience prototyping is a version of bodystorming which uses role-playing and improvisation in offices and studies to simulate the real-world situations that are difficult to explore on site for various reasons such as privacy and confidentiality.11 Critiquing the still limited function of bodystorming for generating ideas for given problems, embodied storming extends it to a method not only for generating ideas for solutions but also for defining problems.12 These approaches are intended to prevent designers from overthinking the issues in question and, instead, encouraging collaborations between people in an experiential manner, even before identifying the problem.

The body for designing interaction Bodily experiences then began to be used as a source of inspiration for design interaction with digital artefacts. These approaches have been variously called movement-based interaction,13 somaesthetic design,14 somaesthetic appreciation design,15 somaesthetic interaction design and, in shortened form, soma design,16 among others. Almost a decade of development of the somatic approach to design shows that it has grown in both practical and theoretical terms, but also indicates its still limited connection to digital, interactive artefacts. The interaction design researchers Caroline Hummels et al. critique the emphasis on the cognitive aspect of human intelligence in design education and argue for the harnessing of the experiential qualities of bodily movement to enrich the design of interactive artefacts.17 They claim that interaction designers should be trained in bodily movement to cultivate their kinaesthetic sensibility. Similarly, the interaction researcher Jin Moen explores a movement-based approach to

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interaction design.18 By developing a kinetic wearable device, BodyBug, comprising a wire and a case which moves along the wire reacting to the wearer’s movements, Moen sought what she terms KinAesthetic Interaction, interaction with objects and people that is based on movement and ultimately seeks the pleasure of motion. The interaction design researcher Kristina Höök explores her somatic (and therefore largely tacit) experiences of horse-riding and how those qualities could be transferred to the design of digital technology.19 To effectively transfer bodily experiences to design is often a challenge, but according to the media artist and researcher Thecla Schiphorst it is useful to consult a somatic connoisseur, someone knowledgeable in bodily practices who can support the design of technology from a somatic perspective.20 Since Hummels et al.’s work, which was probably the first in this body-oriented trend in interaction design,21 there have been several projects with a similar ethos.22 Höök and her collaborators have applied the somatic approach to designing interactive objects.23 In their study the designers engaged in Feldenkrais exercise, which uses very slow movements and cultivates people’s awareness of their bodily conditions and sensations, using their enhanced sensibility to bodily sensations in brainstorming. Three design outputs are presented: the Soma Mat is an interactive mat which produces heat in different locations on the mat and works with a smartphone application that verbally guides the user’s focus on his/her body parts to feel the dynamic heat; the Breathing Light is an interactive light with a breath sensor and fabric-made enclosure where lights dim in cadence with the user’s breathing; the Pressure Mat is a mattress with pressure sensors and presumably a projector, which visualises the location of pressure on the mat onto the ceiling simultaneously. These projects are inspired by somaesthetics, a theory proposed by pragmatist philosopher Richard Shusterman.24 Somaesthetics is a branch of aesthetics grounded in phenomenology and pragmatism. By combining the words soma (the body) and aesthetics (sensory perception), somaesthetics explores bodily awareness and its importance for our ways of being and thinking. It comprises theory (analytic somaesthetics), methods (pragmatic somaesthetics) and practice (practical somaesthetics), and it regards body and mind as fundamentally an inseparable unity. Somaesthetics inspired Höök to develop her approach to interaction design, somaesthetic interaction design (SID), in the form of a programme (in Redström’s sense).25 Despite several critical differences, my research project shares with SID a belief in the value of the qualities of bodily movement for rethinking the experiential features of artefacts that unfold between people and objects through interaction, technically known as dynamic gestalt.26

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Kinaesthetic knowing beyond digital interaction My research shares two kinds of premises with SID. The first is that aesthetic sensibility is plastic, and can be taught and trained. This view is also shared by Goethe’s approach of Naturphilosophie (natural philosophy), psychological studies on perceptual learning, as well as recent somatic approach to interaction design as introduced above. The second is the focus on the first-person perspective. The experiential qualities of bodily movements are largely tacit and difficult to understand from a third-person perspective, such as the technique of persona, often used in design to explore the value of ideas by establishing archetypal user characters and behaviour. This is where reflective practice becomes useful, in which practitioners explore their own felt experiences through observation, making artefacts and attempting to externalise the experiential qualities. In contrast to this common ground between my project and SID, several differences in perspective can be found. The first point may be slightly radical, but it concerns the still limited focus on interaction design in SID. Höök problematises the current somatic design community, in which the majority are artistic practitioners, not computer scientists like herself, since the lack of understanding of digital materials would limit the quality of interaction design outcomes.27 While this may hold true within the scope of interaction design, the more fundamental issue, I would argue, is that such a bodily approach is limited to the design of digital artefacts (regardless of whether the emphasis is on computer science or artistic practice). The bodily informed approach has often been explored based on a narrow assumption of the relationship between people and artefacts, in which people are expected to engage with digital artefacts attentively in an interactive loop. Höök herself notes the problematic assumption about human behaviour and the limited focus in interaction design that is even borne out by examples of SID (e.g. the Soma Mat).28 The bodily approach, or kinaesthetic knowing, should be able to contribute to much broader contexts of designing objects, such as the subtle, implicit types of behaviour of everyday objects and the indirect, ambiguous interactions with them.

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3.3  ORIGIN OF KINAESTHETIC EMPATHY Kinaesthetic knowing started as a pedagogical project in Germany and has helped to shape a wide range of educational systems, movements and programmes of design.29 Taken up by the masters of the Bauhaus, it enabled student designers to ‘ripen the senses’ through physical experiences combined with artistic training. It has also helped designers to solve practical issues, in the form of bodystorming and its derivatives, and to rethink the design of digital artefacts by enhancing designers’ bodily awareness. While it seems that kinaesthetic knowing has proved effective for designing many aspects of design, both tangible and intangible, there is still a lack of foundational knowledge about the element of movement (of objects). As noted in the opening chapter, the concept of kinaesthetic empathy holds significant potential for exploring the quality of movement and for providing a theoretical background, as well as highlighting the implications of a new form of kinaesthetic knowing and designing. In this section I revisit the origin of kinaesthetic empathy in the areas of philosophy, aesthetics and neuroscience to reveal its wider context. Providing a new perspective on the quality of movement will enable the reader to look back at the kinetic examples illustrated in the previous chapter through a new lens, with a different vocabulary. Robert Vischer’s coining of Einfühlung was critically developed by his followers in philosophy and has led to what we know as kinaesthetic empathy today. Theodor Lipps illustrates the experiences of Einfühlung thus: ‘If I see a tree swaying in the breeze I carry out its movements in imaginative imitative activities’;30 ‘in watching the tightrope walker balancing precariously on the suspended wire, the viewer projects and feels him/herself so inside the acrobat that his/her conscious self completely merges with that of the funambulist’;31 a vertical line ‘rises up or sinks down, depending on my observation’.32 These empathic experiences are enabled by what Lipps calls ‘inner imitation’ or ‘inner mimicry’. Einfühlung was later translated into English as ‘empathy’.33 But for Lipps, like Vischer, empathy denoted an aesthetic experience, or sensorial experience, of ‘feeling into’ something, such as a work of art, rather than an emotional connection with others. In this literature, kinaesthetic sensations are considered to be the essential components of the experience of ­Einfühlung.

Grace and kinaesthetic projection Alongside the German aesthetic discourse on empathy, in France the aesthetician Paul Souriau also foresaw the empathic connection between the observed movement and the observer’s repertoire of kinetic sensations. Originally published in

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1889, his book The Aesthetics of Movement was translated into English in 1983. According to Popper,34 Souriau’s work is, at least in Western history, one of the earliest theoretical texts to explore the aesthetics of movement. Although it is not certain whether Souriau was aware of the German movement of ‘aesthetics from below’, his study shows a similarly empirical approach to aesthetics, instead of discussing conceptual theory with little reference to concrete phenomena. Souriau’s aesthetic theory of movement evolved from his meticulous observation of the locomotion of various kinds of creatures, including humans, animals, birds and reptiles, as well as psychological engagement. Souriau’s theorisation, that relied heavily on his observation and psychological attention, suggests a link to Goethe’s aesthetic induction. Souriau’s particular interest was the quality of grace in movement. The dominant view of grace held by his predecessors was that grace is created out of physical economy: physical movement, whether of human or of other living creatures, looks most graceful when it is performed with the least effort. Souriau, however, suggested a different view, that grace requires extra effort and psychological ease rather than merely mechanical and muscular economy. To have a better idea of truly effortless motion, imagine yourself removing all the physical force within the body and collapsing onto the floor or performing any behaviour with least energy. Such bodily movements might cost least physical effort, but it hardly achieves the quality of gracefulness because of the many unchoreographed bits of motion that coincide. In contrast, graceful movement, as it requires additional effort, provides observers with the sense of psychological ease, or the absence of both visual and aural noise, mastery of the whole sequence of behaviour. Despite the term never being mentioned, the process by which Souriau conducted observation and developed his theory was nothing but kinaesthetic empathy. He explains in the book how he simulates the sense of movement by projecting his body onto animals beyond the gap in the somatic structures. The following quotation is an example of his view of human empathy with animals through an imaginary projection: The movements of a snake have everything to make them graceful. […] Yet, due to disgust and fear, one has to pause to take pleasure in a serpent’s evolutions. They are incompatible with our own. We understand being a bird. But to be a snake, to have no arms or legs, to advance by wriggling and crawling and curling in and out, this we cannot condone. How awful it is to be a snake!35 This example illustrates the disgust arising from empathising with the movement of snakes. Note that it exceeds their gracefulness in a mechanical sense. Souriau provides further analyses of the terrestrial, aquatic and aerial locomotion of animals. His consideration of both visual and auditory modalities with no ocularcentrism

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was also advanced for the time. The capability of kinaesthetic empathy beyond somatic structures is also highlighted in the literature that followed.36 His significant work inspired me profoundly in terms of its successful combining of aesthetic induction with the physical analysis of movements.

Attention and kinaesthetic empathy One of the crucial ideas that underlie many theories related to design including Schön’s reflective practice is tacit knowledge. The originator of the theory, Michael Polanyi,37 extends the notion of empathy for his theorisation of tacit knowing. He considers empathy with an object to be a spontaneous process, arguing that when we perceive an object we ‘incorporate it into our body – or extend our body to include it – so that we come to dwell in it’.38 In contrast to the way empathy is used specifically in relation to aesthetics in German philosophy, he defines indwelling as a form of tacit knowing that facilitates not only aesthetic appreciation but also the understanding of the scientific nature of phenomena.39 Polanyi’s intuitive and empathic way of understanding the external world parallels Vischer’s Einfühlung and Souriau’s approach to the aesthetics of movement. But Polanyi’s and Vischer’s views differ in terms of the extent to which kinaesthetic empathy is controllable. For Polanyi, indwelling is a type of tacit knowing ‘which we are quite incapable of controlling’.40 On the contrary, Vischer argues that kinaesthetic empathy results from conscious, attentive perception and imagination. Gene Logan supports Vischer’s view that kinaesthetic empathy results from an attentive perception of phenomena: I believe that in order for the feeling to be successfully expressed and for empathy to be successfully evoked, the viewer must intensely perceive or experience the action. At least the more intense this experience, the more likely will he be able to comprehend the feeling being communicated.41 Whether these theorists were referring to the same dimension of experience is still unclear. As will become clear, in the context of design it is not a matter of which of the above arguments is right. Rather, all these possibilities exist as a gradient; that is, the effect of attention on kinaesthetic empathy is not binary but a matter of degree. What my project (see the following chapters) suggests is that what concerns kinaesthetic empathy is not only the level of attention of the observer, but also many other factors such as the plasticity of perception and the observer’s interaction with the moving object.

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Scientific ground: mirror neuron theory While the discipline of cognitive science has traditionally focused on the internal processes of the mind or brain, alternative approaches explore human experiences from wider perspectives, including ecological psychology42 and embodied cognition.43 Concepts such as ecological events, affordance and neuroplasticity have informed my research, but what particularly concerns kinaesthetic empathy in general is the theory of mirror neurons. The mirror neuron system refers to a specific set of neurons that are activated both when one carries out a particular action and when one observes someone else carrying out a similar action.44 First identified in macaque monkeys in the 1990s, it is also believed that mirror neurons exist in the human brain and that they enable our imitative learning and social organisation.45 While kinaesthetic empathy was originally treated as an aesthetic or philosophical concept, the mirror neuron theory largely explains its scientific foundation. For example, earlier research has shown that people tend to experience more intense kinaesthetic empathy with movements familiar to them, and that the activity of mirror neurons shows similar patterns.46 In short, ‘the actions you mirror most strongly are the ones you know best’.47 However, the mirror neuron theory is still controversial in several ways. First, as some studies report, it is not certain that such neurons exist universally in humans.48 Second, the type of target to which mirror neurons respond is not clear. Some studies suggest that they only respond when someone observes the movement of living entities, while others report that they also respond to the behaviour of non-living entities.49 Third, the activation of mirror neurons seems to depend on the observer’s assumption about the observed entity. Studies suggest that mirror neurons of people who were told that the movements they observe are by live beings are likely to show higher responses than those of people without such prior information. This ‘top-down’ mechanism makes it even more difficult to predict the behaviour of mirror neurons.50 It is also worth noting that all these studies tend to be conducted by using fMRI (functional magnetic resonance imaging), equipment which confines subjects in a space significantly detached from everyday situations, both physically and psychologically. In order to study people’s kinaesthetic reactions, it may be more useful to interview people in more natural contexts and try to understand their qualitative experience in detail. Such an alternative approach to understanding has been taken in studies on audiences’ aesthetic experiences of watching dance performance.51 Due to the ambiguous nature of mirror neurons, the implication of mirror neuron research can only really be used as inspiration, rather than as a solid theory on which to base our design for kinaesthetic empathy experiences. Nevertheless, as Reynolds and Reason argue,52 regardless of its future, the discourse, and the curiosity it has produced, have already provided significant impetus for the research and insights into kinaesthetic empathy.

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3.4  KINAESTHETIC EMPATHY NOW The literature about the relationship between kinaesthetic empathy and design is not extensive. Design Basics, a primer of design, is the only design-related document I have found that has an explicit, if modest, mention of kinaesthetic empathy.53 The study of kinaesthetic empathy has been conducted more actively in the area of dance than in that of design. For example, American dance critic John Martin first pointed out the ‘inner mimicry’ observed in spectators of dance,54 which triggered further interest in the phenomenon among dancers and dance theorists. In this section I review the way in which the idea of kinaesthetic empathy has influenced various practices by referencing mainly Reynolds and Reason’s Kinesthetic Empathy in Creative and Cultural Practices.55 While most of the projects reviewed here relate to human movements, my aim in this section is to suggest an understanding of the following five subjects, which also concern kinaesthetic empathy experienced towards non-living entities.

Ambiguity The psychotherapist Bonnie Meekums discusses the role of kinaesthetic empathy in a type of therapy called Dance Movement Psychotherapy (DMP) in which a therapist and participants engage with bodily movements together.56 The participants, together with the therapist, mirror the movement of each other, exploring the m ­ etaphorical connection between their memory and the performed motion. She emphasises the ambiguity and time lag that are involved in the process of DMP. Participants in DMP tend to experience more empathy when they ‘answer’ the therapist’s movements in similar ways, rather than mimicking her movements precisely.57 Also, when participants follow or echo her movements, they are supposed to do so with a slightly delayed timing, rather than attempting to synchronise with them.58 The spatiotemporal ambiguity creates space for people to explore movement metaphors, metaphorical associations of their own previous experiences with observed movements. The ambiguity of kinaesthetic empathy is also pointed out by Adriano D’Aloia in his study of kinaesthetic empathy in cinema.59 He argues that what audiences experience is not a perfect fusion with, or projection onto, the character depicted in a cinema, but accompaniment. That is, not the sense of ‘one with’ but only ‘with’.60 The philosopher Edith Stein pointed out the gap between the (empathising) subject and the (empathised) object by arguing that empathy is not a feeling of ‘oneness’ or ‘self-forgetfulness’,61 in contrast to Lipps and even Vischer, who considered empathy to be a complete fusion between the two.

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Effort and emotion Amy Hayes and Steven Tipper examine our kinaesthetic and emotional responses while observing others’ daily behaviour, such as picking up a mug and putting it down in a different location.62 Based on their observation of how people react to their own behaviour and the observed behaviour, they argue that ‘motor processes can evoke emotions rather than emotions simply evoking motor responses’.63 The relationship between kinaesthetic and emotional responses was originally explored by the psychologist Albert Michotte.64 His study revealed the ways in which people attributed human qualities, such as motivations, emotions and gender, to the simple animations of geometrical shapes. The behaviour of the shapes is interpreted with a variety of emotional and kinaesthetic qualities depending on the fluency (or awkwardness) of the motion. This also concerns the notion of perceptual fluency, the degree of fluency one sees in an observed movement, and studies report that there is a tendency for fluent behaviour to evoke a positive emotional response in the observer.65 Previous analyses support that perceptual fluency of movement, whether it be an observer’s own or an observed person’s, can indicate that the stimulus is familiar, healthy and safe to approach.66 While such a simple equation might explain the quite fundamental level of human response, in reality it can hardly explain cases where complexity is involved. The meaning of the movement is largely affected by its context, and thus cannot be determined by mere perceptual fluency. People can enjoy performing or conducting difficult actions just as much as easy ones.67 This also relates to the distinction Souriau made clear regarding the qualities of ease and grace of movement. We might assume that people see high perceptual fluency in a movement conducted with least effort. But it is in fact a small amount of extra effort that makes the movement appear fluent and graceful. The concept of perceptual fluency, or motor fluency, will probably be a useful concept to explore the aesthetic quality of movement of non-living entities. In the context of dance, there is a systematic way of evaluating qualities of movement developed by the dance theorist Rudolf Laban. In this system, motor fluency is called flow, and the sense of energy observed in the movement is called effort.68 However, we must be aware that Laban’s system was originally developed as a system to evaluate human movement, and there is no guarantee that it directly applies to the movement of non-anthropomorphic objects.

Communicating kinaesthetic empathy Kinaesthetic empathy is an internal kinaesthetic response experienced without the physical movement of one’s own body. This characteristic makes it difficult to

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tell whether someone is experiencing kinaesthetic empathy from outside. Reason writes about his attempt to communicate what kinaesthetic empathy is like in a visual way in collaboration with the dance photographer Chris Nash.69 Rather than communicating or representing the sensation of movement, Nash’s photography suggests ‘that kinaesthetic empathy is something like this’ by ‘acting as metaphor or visualisation of the concept’.70 An example of his photography shows two dancers mirroring each other’s movement – the photograph does not necessarily document the real experience of kinaesthetic empathy but it visualises its conceptual idea. In my project, I employed this approach to visualise how design objects created by me and my collaborators are expected to trigger a kinaesthetically empathic response. We created a short film in which puppeteers animated the designed objects and an actor performed the kinaesthetic exchanges by showing an artificial scene aimed at communicating the narrative rather than real-life scenarios. The example above attempts to visualise what kinaesthetic empathy looks like from a third-person perspective. The following experiment demonstrates how to ­describe the experience of kinaesthetic empathy from a first-person point of view. Reason also approached the non-verbal nature of kinaesthetic empathy by combining oral interviews and sketching.71 His research relates to overshadowing, a problem that lies in verbalisation of non-discursive sensations or preferences. As pointed out earlier, there is a risk that when asked to describe non-verbal experiences, such as preferences of taste, people ‘adjust their true preferences to match their explanation, rather than the other way round’.72 In his research, Reason interviewed audiences about their experience of watching dance performances. To prevent verbalisation from distorting the felt experiential qualities, he asked them first to draw abstract marks relating to what they felt from watching the performance and later to verbalise them by referring to the drawings rather than simply relying on verbal communication. It allowed the participants to reflect on their phenomenological experiences without the pressure to rush to verbalisation, and finally enabled them to articulate effectively their experiences of watching dance. Non-verbal media such as drawings create new channels through which people can describe the tacit dimension of their aesthetic experiences. Reason’s approach shows an effective way of communicating the non-verbal, which is underpinned by theories such as Schön’s reflective practice and Gibson’s differentiation.

Technology for kinaesthetic empathy Kinaesthetic empathy has been employed in many recent interactive and immersive applications. The interaction researcher Maiken Hillerup Fogtmann developed interactive sports equipment, TacTowers, designed to train handball playing skills.73 TacTowers mediates between two opposing players anticipating each other’s

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movements and, based on this, creating strategies. The skill required to anticipate the consequences of someone else’s movement involves the simulation of the opponent’s action, which is enabled by the mirror neuron system, and Fogtmann’s system harnesses this empathic ability. In her article discussing the project, Fogtmann also introduces two categories of interaction that involve kinaesthetic empathy: individual kinaesthetic interaction (‘where one person interacts with a space or an artefact’) and kinaesthetic empathy interaction (kinaesthetic empathy as experienced between a number of people who are playing a game together, either as team or as opposing members).74 The focus of this book fits the former in her classification, while most of the work related to kinaesthetic empathy in the area of dance belongs to the latter. The media artist Brian Knoth discusses his multimedia performance environment Unless, which combines interactive sound and visual systems and reacts to dancers’ movements.75 The space was created to explore the effect of its interactivity on the dancers’ proprioceptive feedback and on the audience’s kinaesthetic empathy. The feedback from the audience shows the diverse nature of the audience’s experiences, ranging from an urge to imitate the dancers’ movements to a virtual sense of space around themselves. According to Knoth, the interaction between sound and movement, in particular, was experienced by the audience. Sound is considered an important element in industrial design76 and HCI.77 Earlier research78 also indicates the crossover between the auditory sense and kinaesthetic sense – some sounds can trigger the sense of mimicry of specific movements, as well as a sensation of space and direction. My project (see the following chapters) explores how sound relates to kinaesthetic empathy in designing everyday objects.

Non-anthropomorphism As stressed by Souriau, Stein and Parviainen, kinaesthetic empathy allows us to project our embodied sensation onto non-anthropomorphic objects, objects that do not possess the typical structure of the human body. Among kinetic artists, Len Lye was particularly aware of the kinetic response experienced in encountering non-­ human forms and movements. Lye showed empathy with the ‘distorted’ representation of the human body that can be found in Modernist sculptures by artists such as Constantin Brancusi. Such nuanced representation of the human body is present in some tribal art, while the European counterpart tends to depict the human body in a more accurate and realistic manner.79 The distortion meant that the expression of the body was closer to what he felt the body to be than what the body visually looked like. A similar perspective can be found in the comment by the art critic Rosalind Krauss on Brancusi’s The Beginning of the World: ‘It is this differential [between the upper and lower halves of the sculpture] that gives to the geometry of

KINAESTHETIC EMPATHY NOW  095

the form something of the kinesthetic quality that recalls the feeling of the back of one’s head, resting heavily on a pillow, while the face floats, weightless and unencumbered, toward sleep’.80 Such fragmentation of kinaesthetic senses is exactly the process that happens in kinaesthetic empathy with non-anthropomorphic forms. While Krauss’s comment describes a static abstract form, interactive arts practitioners and researchers look at dynamic abstract objects and installations and their relation to kinaesthetic empathy. The interaction design researcher and dancer Shannon Cuykendall and her colleagues have investigated the experience of kinaesthetically empathising with their original installation Serpentine Dance, Refocused (SDR).81 SDR is an installation comprising a spinning chair, a curtain, a fan, two speakers and a projector, in which a video of Loïe Fuller’s ‘Serpentine Dance’ (1891) is projected onto the curtain waving in the wind from the fan. The participant sits on a 360-degree revolving chair. As the participant rotates the chair, the spin intervenes and creates effects on the projected video. This is intended to break the typical separation between audience and performers by empowering the audience to alter the audiovisual work, albeit in an abstract manner. This is one of the rare studies in which kinaesthetic empathy is studied in relation to the movement of non-human objects. Another study of the relationship between kinaesthetic empathy and dynamic abstract objects was conducted by Petra Gemeinboeck and Rob Saunders. Situated in the context of HRI (human-robot interaction), their project explored how people respond to the movements of kinetic abstract objects. They used abstract human-scale costumes (e.g. cardboard boxes) that were inhabited and animated by performers from inside.82 In their experiments, they found that the animated object (that was intended to resemble a ‘robot’) sometimes made the observers unwillingly imitate and ‘feel’ the object’s movement. This observation led them to conclude ‘that kinaesthetic empathy is not only a matter of us projecting onto the robot but also is a force that the moving robot body, despite it being radically different to our body, can actively transfer to us – make us feel’.83 This observation addresses the earlier problem of whether kinaesthetic empathy is synchrony or accompaniment – ‘one with’ or only ‘with’ (e.g. Meekums 2012), and also concerns expectations in relation to kinaesthetic empathy in the context of design. Despite these examples of literature, installation works and research projects discussing non-anthropomorphism and kinaesthetic empathy, how kinaesthetic empathy might affect the design of the movement of everyday objects is still largely unknown. One of the critical differences between such previous projects and the context of design is the relationship between the moving object and the observer. The former tends to entail a division whereby the observer is supposed to watch, aesthetically appreciate, and pay attention to the observed movement as a sort of performance. But this is not necessarily transferable to the latter case, or our relationship with everyday design objects. Such objects are not always at the centre of

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our attention – some of them are touched, grabbed and used for practical purposes, rather than treated carefully like sculptures. In the following chapter, I first focus on the effect of non-anthropomorphic objects on our experience of kinaesthetic empathy. There is a considerable gap between the structure of our body and that of objects, which is in theory infinitely diverse. However, kinaesthetic empathy essentially stems from our own bodily experiences. Focusing on the nature of the human body allowed me to identify the fragments of our bodily senses that might serve as a lens through which to explore the kinaesthetic quality of movement. My findings were developed in a bottom-up manner, and I then worked with other designers to explore how to create kinaesthetic empathy in the complex interaction between everyday objects and people.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

14 15

16 17 18

19

20

Zeynep Çelik Alexander (2017). Kinaesthetic Knowing: Aesthetics, Epistemology, Modern Design. Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press. Ibid., 32. Ibid., 173. Ibid., 177. Ibid., 176. Ibid., 182. Hiromoto Makabe (2011; published in Japanese). ‘Gertrud Grunow im Weimarer Bauhaus: Zwischen dem Amerikanischen und dem Indischen’. Journal of Law, Politics, and Sociology. 84.2: 565–602. Nigel Cross (1989). Engineering Design Methods: Strategies for Product Design. Chichester: Wiley. Ibid., 46–47. Colin Burns, Eric Dishman, William Verplank and Bud Lassiter (1994). ‘Actors, Hairdos & Videotape – ­Informance Design’. In: Conference Companion on Human Factors in Computing Systems. 119–120. Marion Buchenau and Jane Fulton Suri (2000). ‘Experience Prototyping’. In: Proceedings of the 3rd Conference on Designing Interactive Systems: Processes, Practices, Methods, and Techniques. 424–433. Dennis Schleicher, Peter Jones and Oksana Kachur (2010). ‘Bodystorming as Embodied Designing’. ­interactions 17.6: 47–51. Caroline Hummels, Kees C.J. Overbeeke and Sietske Klooster (2006). ‘Move to Get Moved: A Search for Methods, Tools and Knowledge to Design for Expressive and Rich Movement-Based Interaction’. Personal and Ubiquitous Computing 11.8: 677–690; Elena Márquez Segura, Laia Turmo Vidal and Asreen Rostami (2016). ‘Bodystorming for Movement-Based Interaction Design. Human Technology. 12.2. Kristina Höök, Anna Ståhl, Martin Jonsson, Johanna Mercurio, Anna Karlsson and Eva-Carin Banka Johnson (2015). ‘Cover Story: Somaesthetic Design’. interactions. 22.4: 26–33. Kristina Höök, Martin P. Jonsson, Anna Ståhl and Johanna Mercurio (2016). ‘Somaesthetic Appreciation Design’. In: Proceedings of the 2016 CHI Conference on Human Factors in Computing Systems. 3131–3142. Kristina Höök (2018). Designing with the Body: Somaesthetic Interaction Design. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. Caroline Hummels et al. (2006). Jin Moen (2005). ‘Towards People Based Movement Interaction and Kinaesthetic Interaction Experiences’. In: Proceedings of the 4th Decennial Conference on Critical Computing: Between Sense and Sensibility, 21–25 August 2005, Aarhus. ACM. 121–124; Jin Moen (2006). KinAesthetic Movement Interaction: Designing for the Pleasure of Motion. PhD diss., KTH Royal Institute of Technology. Kristina Höök (2010). ‘Transferring Qualities from Horseback Riding to Design’. In: Proceedings of the 6th Nordic Conference on Human-Computer Interaction: Extending Boundaries, 16–20 October 2010, Reykjavik. ACM. 226–235. Thecla Schiphorst (2011). ‘Self-Evidence: Applying Somatic Connoisseurship to Experience Design’. In: CHI’11 Extended Abstracts on Human Factors in Computing Systems. ACM. 145–160.

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21 Caroline Hummels et al. (2006). 22 Thecla Schiphorst (2007). ‘Really, Really Small: The Palpability of the Invisible’. In: Proceedings of the 6th ACM SIGCHI Conference on Creativity & Cognition, 13–15 Jun 2007, Washington, DC. ACM. 7–16; Thecla Schiphorst (2009). soft (n): ‘Toward a Somaesthetics of Touch’. In: CHI’09 Extended Abstracts on Human Factors in Computing Systems. ACM. 2427–2438; Thecla Schiphorst (2011); George Khut (2016). ‘Designing Biofeedback Artworks for Relaxation’. In: Proceedings of the 2016 CHI Conference Extended Abstracts on Human Factors in Computing Systems. 3859–3862; Mads Hobye (2014). Designing for Homo Explorens: Open Social Play in Performative Frames. PhD diss., Malmö University; Vygandas Šimbelis, Anders Lundström, Kristina Höök, Jordi Solsona and Vincent Lewandowski (2014). ‘Metaphone: Machine Aesthetics Meets Interaction Design’. In: Proceedings of the SIGCHI Conference on Human Factors in Computing Systems. 1–10; Dag Svanaes and Martin Solheim (2016). ‘Wag Your Tail and Flap Your Ears: The Kinesthetic User Experience of Extending Your Body’. In: Proceedings of the 2016 CHI Conference ­Extended Abstracts on Human Factors in Computing Systems. 3778–3779. 23 Kristina Höök et al. (2015); Kristina Höök et al. (2016). 24 Richard Shusterman (2008). Body Consciousness: A Philosophy of Mindfulness and Somaesthetics. ­Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. 25 Kristina Höök (2018). 26 Jonas Löwgren and Erik Stolterman (2004). Thoughtful Interaction Design: A Design Perspective on ­Information Technology. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. 27 Kristina Höök (2018). 163. 28 Ibid., 9. 29 Zeynep Çelik Alexander (2017). 30 Wiener, Philip (1973) Dictionary of the History of Ideas. Vol. II. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons. 86. 31 Adriano D’Aloia (2012). ‘Cinematic Empathy: Spectator Involvement in the Film Experience’. In: Dee Reynolds and Matthew Reason (eds.). Kinesthetic Empathy in Creative and Cultural Practices. Bristol: ­Intellect. 93. 32 Lipps, Theodor (1923). Ästhetik. Psychologie des Schönen und der Kunst. Erster Teil: Grundlegung der ­Ästhetik. Leipzig: Leopold Voss. First published 1903, Vol. 1. Translated and quoted in: Dee R ­ eynolds (2012) ‘Kinesthetic Empathy and the Dance’s Body: From Emotion to Affect’. In: Dee Reynolds and ­Matthew Reason (eds.). Kinesthetic Empathy in Creative and Cultural Practices. Bristol, UK: Intellect. 127. 33 Dee Reynolds and Matthew Reason (2012). 19. 34 Frank Popper (1968). Origins and Development of Kinetic Art. Greenwich, CT: New York Graphic Society. 224. 35 Paul Souriau (1983). The Aesthetics of Movement. Amherst, MA: University of Massachusetts Press. 84. 36 Jaana Parviainen (2003). 154–165. 37 Michael Polanyi (2009 [1966]). The Tacit Dimension. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. 38 Ibid., 16. 39 Joslin McKinney (2012). ‘Empathy and Exchange: Audience Experience of Scenography’. In: Dee ­Reynolds and Matthew Reason (eds.). Kinesthetic Empathy in Creative and Cultural Practices. Bristol: ­Intellect. 225. 40 Michael Polanyi (1966). 16. 41 Gene A. Logan (1964). ‘Movement in Art’. Quest. 2.1: 45. 42 James J. Gibson (1979). The Ecological Approach to Visual Perception. Boston, MA: Houghton Mifflin. 43 Andy Clark (2003). Natural-Born Cyborgs: Why Minds and Technologies Are Made to Merge. New York, NY: Oxford University Press; Raymond W. Gibbs (2006). Embodiment and Cognitive Science. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. 44 Giacomo Rizzolatti and Laila Craighero (2004). ‘The Mirror-Neuron System’. Annual Review of Neuroscience. 27: 169–192. 45 Giacomo Rizzolatti and Corrado Sinigaglia (2010). ‘The Functional Role of the Parieto-Frontal Mirror Circuit: Interpretations and Misinterpretations’. Nature Reviews Neuroscience. 11.4. 264–274. 46 Beatriz Calvo-Merino, Julie Grèzes, Daniel E. Glaser, Richard E. Passingham and Patrick Haggard (2006). ‘Seeing or Doing? Influence of Visual and Motor Familiarity in Action Observation’. Current Biology. 16.19: 1905–1910; Lucy M. McGarry and Frank A. Russo (2011). ‘Mirroring in Dance/Movement Therapy: Potential Mechanisms Behind Empathy Enhancement’. The Arts in Psychotherapy. 38. 3: 178–184. 47 Sandra Blakeslee and Matthew Blakeslee (2007). The Body Has a Mind of Its Own: How Body Maps in Your Brain Help You Do (Almost) Everything Better. New York, NY: Random House Incorporated. 135.

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48 Vilayanur S. Ramachandran and Lindsay Oberman (2006). ‘Broken Mirrors: A Theory of Autism’. Scientific American. 295.5: 62–69; Ilan Dinstein, Cibu Thomas, Marlene Behrmann and David J. Heeger (2008). ‘A Mirror Up to Nature’. Current Biology. 18.1: R13–R18; Angelika Lingnau, Benno Gesierich and Alfonso Caramazza (2009). ‘Asymmetric fMRI Adaptation Reveals No Evidence For Mirror Neurons in ­Humans’.  Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences. 106.24: 9925–9930. 49 James M. Kilner, Yves Paulignan and Sarah-Jayne Blakemore (2003). ‘An Interference Effect of Observed Biological Movement on Action’. Current Biology. 13.6: 522–525; Lindsay M. Oberman and Vilayanur S. Ramachandran (2007). ‘The Simulating Social Mind: The Role of the Mirror Neuron System and Simulation in the Social and Communicative Deficits of Autism Spectrum Disorders’. Psychological Bulletin. 133.2 310; Annerose Engel, Michael Burke, Katja Fiehler, Siegfried Bien and Frank Rösler (2008). ‘How Moving Objects Become Animated: The Human Mirror Neuron System Assimilates Non-Biological Movement Patterns’. Social Neuroscience. 3.3–4: 368–387; Patrick Power (2008). ‘Character Animation and The Embodied Mind – Brain’. Animation. 3.1: 25–48; Matthias Hoenen, Katrin T. Lübke and Bettina M. Pause (2016). ‘Non-Anthropomorphic Robots as Social Entities on a Neurophysiological Level’. Computers in Human Behavior. 57: 182–186. 50 Kristine L. Nowak and Frank Biocca (2003). ‘The Effect of the Agency and Anthropomorphism on Users’ Sense of Telepresence, Copresence, and Social Presence in Virtual Environments’. Presence: Teleoperators & Virtual Environments. 12.5: 481–494; Haruaki Fukuda and Kazuhiro Ueda (2010). ‘Interaction with a Moving Object Affects One’s Perception of its Animacy’. International Journal of Social Robotics. 2.2: 187–193; James Stanley, Emma Gowen and R. Christopher Miall (2010). ‘How Instructions Modify Perception: An fMRI Study Investigating Brain Areas Involved in Attributing Human Agency’. Neuroimage. 52.1: 389–400. 51 Corinne Jola, Shantel Ehrenberg and Dee Reynolds (2012). ‘The Experience of Watching Dance: Phenomenological-Neuroscience Duets’. Phenomenology and the Cognitive Sciences. 11.1: 17–37. 52 Dee Reynolds and Matthew Reason (2012). 21. 53 David A. Lauer and Stephen Pentak (2005). Design Basics. Boston, MA: Cengage Learning.122, 230. 54 John Martin (1936). America Dancing: The Background and Personalities of the Modern Dance. New York, NY: Dodge Publishing Co. 55 Dee Reynolds and Matthew Reason (2012). 56 Bonnie Meekums (2012). ‘Kinesthetic Empathy and Movement Metaphor in Dance Movement Psychotherapy’. In: Dee Reynolds and Matthew Reason (eds.). Kinesthetic Empathy in Creative and Cultural Practices. Bristol: Intellect. 57 Sharon Chaiklin and Claire Schmais (1986). ‘The Chace Approach to Dance Therapy’. In: Penny Lewis (ed.). Theoretical Approaches in Dance-Movement Therapy. 1.2: 17–36. 58 Danielle Fraenkel (1983). ‘The Relationship of Empathy in Movement to Synchrony, Echoing, and Empathy in Verbal Interactions’. American Journal of Dance Therapy. 6.1: 31–48. 59 Adriano D’Aloia (2012). ‘Cinematic Empathy: Spectator Involvement in the Film Experience’. In: Dee Reynolds and Matthew Reason (eds.). Kinesthetic Empathy in Creative and Cultural Practices. Bristol: ­Intellect. 60 Ibid., 94. 61 Jaana Parviainen (2003). 158. 62 Amy E. Hayes and Steven P. Tipper (2012). ‘Affective Responses to Everyday Actions’. In: Dee Reynolds and Matthew Reason (eds.). Kinesthetic Empathy in Creative and Cultural Practices. Bristol: Intellect. 63 Ibid., 69. 64 Albert Michotte (1991[1953]). ‘The Emotional Involvement of the Spectator in the Action Represented in a Film: Toward a Theory’. In: Georges Thinès, Alan Costall and George Butterworth (eds.). Michotte’s Experimental Phenomenology of Perception. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. 209–217. 65 Amy Hayes and Steven Tipper (2012). 66 Piotr Winkielman and John T. Cacioppo (2001). ‘Mind at Ease Puts a Smile on the Face: Psychophysiological Evidence That Processing Facilitation Elicits Positive Affect’. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology. 81.6: 989–1000. 67 Ibid., 79. 68 Irmgard Bartenieff (1980). Body Movement: Coping with the Environment. Reading: Gordon and Breach Science Publishers. 69 Matthew Reason (2012). ‘Photography and the Representation of Kinesthetic Empathy’. In: Dee Reynolds and Matthew Reason (eds.). Kinesthetic Empathy in Creative and Cultural Practices. Bristol: Intellect.

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70 Ibid., 242. 71 Matthew Reason (2010). ‘Asking The Audience: Audience Research and The Experience of Theatre’. About Performance. 10: 15–34. 72 Ibid., 17; Timothy D. Wilson and Jonathan W. Schooler (1991). ‘Thinking Too Much: Introspection Can ­Reduce the Quality of Preferences and Decisions’. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology. 60.2: 183. 73 Maiken Hillerup Fogtmann (2012). ‘Kinesthetic Empathy Interaction: Exploring the Role of Psychomotor Abilities and Kinesthetic Empathy in Designing Interactive Sports Equipment’. In: Dee Reynolds and Matthew Reason (eds.). Kinesthetic Empathy in Creative and Cultural Practices. Bristol: Intellect. 74 Ibid., 308. 75 Brian Knoth (2012). ‘Interactive Multimedia Performance and the Audience’s Experience of Kinesthetic Empathy’. In: Dee Reynolds and Matthew Reason (eds.) Kinesthetic Empathy in Creative and Cultural Practices. Bristol: Intellect. 76 Lau Langeveld, René van Egmond, Reinier Jansen and Elif Özcan (2013). ‘Product Sound Design: Intentional and Consequential Sounds’. In: Denis Coelho (ed.). Advances in Industrial Design Engineering. ­Rijeka: InTech. 47. 77 Dylan Moore et al. (2017). ‘Making Noise Intentional: A Study of Servo Sound Perception’. In: 2017 12th ACM/IEEE International Conference on Human-Robot Interaction (HRI). 12–21. 78 Rolf Godøy (2003). ‘Motor-Mimetic Music Cognition’. Leonardo. 36.4: 317–319; Marc Leman (2007). ­Embodied Music Cognition and Meditation Technology. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. 79 Roger Horrocks (2013). Art that Moves: The Work of Len Lye. Auckland: Auckland University Press. 105–106. 80 Rosalind Krauss (1994). Passages in Modern Sculpture. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. 86–87. 81 Shannon Cuykendall, Ethan Soutar-Rau, Karen Cochrane, Jacob Freiberg and Thecla Schiphorst (2015). ‘Simply Spinning: Extending Current Design Frameworks for Kinesthetic Empathy’. In: Proceedings of the Ninth International Conference on Tangible, Embedded, and Embodied Interaction. 305–312. 82 Petra Gemeinboeck and Rob Saunders (2017). ‘Movement Matters: How a Robot Becomes Body’. In: Proceedings of the 4th International Conference on Movement Computing, 28–30 June 2017, London. ACM. 83 Petra Gemeinboeck and Rob Saunders (2015). ‘Towards Socializing Non-Anthropomorphic Robots By Harnessing Dancers’ Kinesthetic Awareness’. In: International Workshop on Cultural Robotics. Cham: Springer. 94.

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4 Designing ­Kinaesthetic Empathy

The preceding chapters have discussed the context of movement in art and design, as well as the potential of bodily experiential qualities for the cultivation of aesthetic sensitivity in designers. This chapter presents a new programme of design that I created as a result of my research. In this context, a programme as defined by Redström, means a specific scope of activity and approach to design based on certain values and intentions.1 The research process for the development of the programme embodies ‘design research through the senses’, the methodology I outlined in the first chapter. This chapter proposes a way in which two seemingly unrelated concepts – kinaesthetic empathy and the design of everyday objects – can integrate with each other and produce a new perspective on designing the aesthetics of movement. At the heart of the enquiry lies the researcher’s own perceptual learning acquired through close observation of the phenomena in question and iterative reflection by sketching and annotating. The subtle sensations we experience when we encounter various movements in our everyday lives, such as a door closing in a door frame, or fan blades rotating automatically, escape verbal expression. However, their subtle nuances and patterns are gradually revealed as we attempt to articulate them.

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4.1  DEVELOPING A DESIGN PROGRAMME The conceptual diagram in Figure 4.1 illustrates the programme of Designing Objects in Motion. The lower layer consists of the foundation, or background theory, literature and context which underlie the practice. The foundation for this programme consists of the contexts reviewed in the preceding two chapters, ‘Objects in Motion’ and ‘Designing in Motion’, that centre on theories of kinetic art, kinetic design and kinaesthetic empathy. The upper layer is practice, which refers to both the activities of designing and the designed objects. In Redström’s original description, the cylinder-shaped space between the two layers is a programme, ‘a set of basic beliefs, design ideals, intentions, etc.’ which guides design experiments.2 The programme is articulated in a set of design experiments, practical attempts to explore the relationship between the foundation and the practice. To explain this figuratively, each experiment can be represented as a thin cylinder; as they increase in number, the multiplying cylinders gradually give shape to the envisaged programme. A programme refers to the design space, as well as a force that binds the approaches together to create a design practice based on a specific foundation. As components of a design programme, it is also worth considering framework and method although they are not discussed explicitly in relation to programme in the original text.3 Although a foundation is a vital element for a programme, framework and method are more arbitrary components which could help to facilitate the practice based on the programme’s ethos. A framework is intended to consist of interpretations of the foundational theory and principles organised into a consistent system. If there are multiple theories critical to the programme, a framework explores the way in which they fit together. A method is a technique or a procedure informed by the framework to conduct practice and gather and analyse data. New methods can be conceived by combining existing methods and frameworks, as well as by reflecting on the practice and exploring what was successful and what was not. Both method and framework need to reflect the basic principles of the programme.

Principles The foundation of a programme is informed by the knowledge and ideals that concern the design space. The key aspects of the foundation can be summarised as principles that guide the practice. It is important to note that programmes do not necessarily start with fixed principles; the principles can evolve through design experiments. As Redström argues, ‘it is obvious that we would be mistaken to follow the historical tendency to think of the Bauhaus as being built on a manifesto, a programmatic declaration of intent’.4 Even if one conducts practice based on a

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practice

Figure 4.1  Illustrations of the programme of ­Designing Objects in Motion

experiments

foundation

foundational theory, carrying out design experiments also reveals new principles, of which I had not been aware. Likewise, the following three principles for the programme of Designing Objects in Motion were not clear at the outset but gradually emerged as I pursued my research through design. 1. Kinaesthetic empathy with everyday objects The most fundamental principle of this design programme is the use of kinaesthetic empathy as a lens to articulate and design qualities of movement. Originally developed by Robert Vischer as a concept of Einfühlung, kinaesthetic empathy now inspires many creative practitioners in fields such as the performing arts and interaction design. My project is thus the first thorough exploration of the uncharted area in which kinaesthetic empathy is used for designing everyday objects with movement. 2. ‘Movement itself’ As discussed in the second chapter, ‘Objects in Motion’, George Rickey’s concept of ‘movement itself’ provided an important principle for the programme. In his article Rickey demonstrated that the use of physical movement is key to the success of a work of kinetic art, not merely for decoration but as an element fully integrated with the form of the object. I would argue that such an integration of movement and other elements of the object, such as functions and scenarios, has more potential than adding random kinetic mechanisms to everyday objects for mere decorative purposes. Although the way the concept applies to the actual practice of kinetic design remained ambiguous, it revealed itself as I, together with other designers, explored the way in which the consideration of kinaesthetic empathy can be materialised in design objects.

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3. Non-anthropomorphic yet kinaesthetically empathic In using kinaesthetic empathy for designing objects, one of the frequent issues is the balance between human verisimilitude, or anthropomorphism, and abstractness in the object’s appearance. As several studies show, we can easily experience kinaesthetic empathy with the movement of other people. If the brief is just to design a kinetic object that evokes kinaesthetic empathy from people, the easiest solution is to create something that borrows anthropomorphic structures, something like a doll or a humanoid robot, or even visual cues such as the pattern of a human face. However, the primary purpose of the programme is to explore movement as an aesthetic phenomenon. Thus, reliance on anthropomorphic appearance might guarantee a kinaesthetically empathic effect but it also creates a social, emotional and even intelligent connection which conflicts with the desired aesthetic feature. The design principle ‘non-anthropomorphic yet kinaesthetically empathic’ emerged out of the need for clarity in this direction, since the optimal balance between anthropomorphism and kinaesthetic empathy was ambiguous when the project started, and my collaborating designers mentioned this as the main challenge. The kind of movement which I intend to explore here is a sort of ‘half natural and half artificial’ phenomenon rather than behaviour which communicates aliveness, intention or emotion to people around it. The first principle clarifies the context in which benefit can be contributed, while the second and the third are focused more on the act of designing. The above principles have some similarity to somaesthetic interaction design (SID) and the interaction design projects related to kinaesthetic empathy, such as the work of Fogtmann, Moen and Cuykendall, which we shall call kinaesthetic interaction design (KID) here, in their belief in the benefit of somatic exploration, despite the critical differences that were reviewed in the previous chapter. The programme for Designing Objects in Motion establishes a new and original type of design practice, as will become clear (Figure 4.2). Design research has in the past placed an emphasis on committing to ‘change’ for the future.5 However, what design programmes allow us to explore are alternative perspectives for looking at, and designing for, the contemporary world, not necessarily forcing changes on the status quo. As Redström puts it: There is little reason to understand design research as strictly committed to futures, although the narratives of technological progress coupled with design’s optimistic outlook certainly exercise a strong influence in that direction. Design research addressing matters such as attitudes, values, and behaviors, does not necessarily depend on future technologies or opportunities to be possible. On the contrary, it depends on questioning what is now, asking what if things were already different.6

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Figure 4.2  Relationship between the ­programmes

practice

foundation SID

Designing Objects in Motion

KID

The annotated sketches we reviewed earlier are good examples of exploring alternative perspectives on the physical phenomena around us. It is not necessarily about imagining potential futures but about questioning what we are experiencing in the present. Perceptual learning enables designers to adopt new perspectives on experience and designing bodily experiences, based on which they can envision alternative ways of designing the world.

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4.2  KINAESTHETIC REPRESENTATION Kinaesthetic empathy is essentially an association of the observer’s own kinaesthetic sensation, whether a real memory or an imagined one, with observed movements. However, even if one experiences kinaesthetic empathy, the experience is often difficult to verbalise. Through trial and error I developed a way of communicating the sensation of kinaesthetic empathy by using body gestures, which I termed kinaesthetic representation. The body gestures created in this method are a representation of internal kinaesthetic sensations rather than the external, superficial appearance of movements. As a first step I explored my own kinaesthetically empathic response to one of the kinetic sculptures I had created. Figure 4.3 shows an example of an annotated sketch of a sculpture called Balance Machine.7 I created this in order to understand the movement and mechanism of Machines That Almost Fall Over, an artwork by Boston-based artist Michael Kontopoulos. This is one of the best examples I have ever found of a kinetic object that evokes kinaesthetic empathy. The first step was to sketch the object in motion, as illustrated in the central section. Annotations were then added to express the kind of kinaesthetic empathy that was experienced from the movement. The annotations consist of language and illustrative references, mainly human figures and a couple of physical phenomena. The human figures express the postures and actions of the body which would enable the observer to experience a kinaesthetic sensation similar to the kinaesthetic empathy felt with the observed object movements. This makes it possible to explore the tacit and complex kinaesthetic stimuli. This relates to Meekums’s concept of movement metaphors, which facilitate a dialogue between a t­ herapist and a client in DMP.8 This translation from internal sensations to external postures proved to be an effective tool with which to communicate with other people the ineffable sensation of kinaesthetic empathy. The illustration (top right) of a man losing his balance is my kinaesthetic representation of the sculpture’s movement, focusing on the senses of balance and imbalance. The nuance of kinaesthetic sensation is present even in the choice of the direction of leaning: backwards, not forwards. The sculpture supports itself with the base stretched to the right, but on the other hand the left side is empty and defenceless. This mirrors the way humans can resist imbalance better when leaning forwards rather than backwards because of the direction in which the feet extend from the heels. Other parts of the movement in the sculpture, such as the hammer hitting the sculpture, the hammer hanging from the top and swinging and the base of the sculpture wobbling on the floor, are annotated separately. In this way, kinaesthetic empathy with the movement of the sculpture was at first difficult to articulate, but gradually become possible to identify.

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1a. The heaviness in the shoulder when lifting a hammer while keeping the arm straight (without bending the elbow) and the lightness of suddenly releasing the tension and lowering the arm

1c. The sense of physical contact between a sharp edge of an object and a flat surface, e.g., the heel of a shoe touching the ground

1b. Balance and imbalance. The sculpture’s motion somehow makes me think of the sensation of falling over backwards not forwards.

1d. Watching the hammer hitting the wooden structure makes me imagine similar pain, e.g. the hammer hitting a hard part of the body such as the head.

Figure 4.3  Kinaesthetic representations of Balance Machine

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Describing kinaesthetic empathy in the form of kinaesthetic representation requires attention to the kinaesthetic stimuli felt when watching a movement and careful comparison to kinaesthetic sensations deriving from various bodily movements. While making annotations, physically moving the body, even subtly, can return the kinaesthetic sensations to the body of the observers themselves, providing better simulation for kinaesthetic representations. In this sense, I echo Kristina Höök in that listening to one’s own kinaesthetic sense, or what she calls inward listening, requires focus and time, unlike the quick ideation that is encouraged in brainstorming. Successful exploration might result in a realisation such as ‘Moving like this [one’s own bodily motion] feels just like that [studied object motion]’. The use of the metaphors of bodily movement to investigate kinaesthetic empathy, as practised in kinaesthetic representation, was inspired by Matthew Reason’s study in which he asked an audience at a dance performance to make drawings of their experience and to use them to reflect on and better articulate their experience of the event.9 While drawing may seem an additional task in an interview, it enabled the participants to articulate their experiences in a way that was an alternative to verbalisation. The drawings that were created also supported the interviewees’ reflection and enabled them to articulate their experiences better. A frequent outcome of this phase is that one movement is annotated with multiple points that could trigger kinaesthetic empathy of a different nature. This multiplicity is not so surprising, as we can empathically feel different kinds of bodily sensations while watching another’s movement. Watching someone kicking a football, for example, allows us to engage with different parts of the action, such as the impact of the ball on the top of the foot, the weight of the body on the other foot and leg, the slight tilting of the body, the air blowing onto the front of the body, among others. Though these sensations are integrated as a whole experience, we can still articulate the characteristic aspects of the bodily sensations. However, as Souriau, Stein, Parviainen, Lye, Gemeinboeck and Saunders have acknowledged, the non-­ anthropomorphism of observed entities makes it hard to match different kinds of physical phenomena with the kinds of bodily movement we experience. This is unlike the situation in which a human observer empathises with another’s movement, when a straightforward projection is possible between the two. It was, in fact, a collection of annotated sketches of kinaesthetic representation that eventually allowed me to identify patterns within the ambiguous connections. As noted earlier, many perceptual processes, including the case described above, can be considered as ones that involve differentiation, but Goldstone distinguishes two processes – differentiation of category and of dimension.10 Category learning often involves dividing a large category into smaller subcategories (e.g. many different kinds of birds can be distinguished from each other by ornithologists, but not by laypeople). On the other hand, perceptual dimensions refer to the intensity of various features in a stimulus, just as expert wine tasters can isolate individual perceptual features in wines.11 The features of kinaesthetic empathy

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I identified through observation are closer to dimensions than categories, as many of them can often be found in a single movement. Compared with the relatively developed domain of wine tasting, significantly less knowledge has accumulated in the terminology of kinaesthetic empathy, or the aesthetics of movement in general.12 As discussed earlier, expert tasters’ use of wine language has a two-layer structure, and this can be a useful reference to develop vocabulary for movement. The fundamental layer of descriptions of wine consists of a set of standard terms, or lexicon, to explore basic gustatory and olfactory qualities, whereas the advanced layer offers the taster the freedom to use their own words to explore the complex, emotive and imaginative nuances of the stimuli. The current state of research into kinaesthetic empathy suggests that only an advanced layer of terminology exists, in which participants describe their experience of kinaesthetic empathy quite freely, with no expectation that established terms will be used.13 I called the dimensions in kinaesthetic empathy that is experienced with the movement of objects kinaesthetic elements, and identified them according to two principles: • A kinaesthetic element is abstract enough to be identified in many different instances of movement. • Kinaesthetic elements are developed to be collectively exhaustive and mutually exclusive. The second criterion proved to be problematic. Kinaesthetic elements refer to the features of experiential qualities that are by nature impossible to separate completely, unlike situations in mathematics and physics in which dimensions are ‘discrete’, completely independent of each other. The naming of these as kinaesthetic elements, rather than kinaesthetic ‘dimensions’, was intended to avoid the expectation that the elements would possess such discreteness. What I aim to achieve with kinaesthetic elements relates to the study of the human understanding of physical phenomena conducted by Andrea diSessa.14 According to diSessa’s study, we understand the mechanism of physical phenomena by constructing minimal abstractions of common events that are self-explanatory from observing physical phenomena. Such cognitive fragments, e.g. ‘objects which receive no force do not move’, or ‘released objects fall’, are termed phenomenological primitives, or p-prim for short. They are ‘primitives’ because they cannot be reduced to more abstract forms. A p-prim, often combined with others, allows us to understand observed physical phenomena and predict the behaviour of unseen physical events. This weakly organised system of knowledge is close to the way in which kinaesthetic elements work. The elements are, so to speak, minimal fragments of the kinetic sensations of the body. Like p-prims, kinaesthetic elements, often in combination, allow us to simulate the movement of even non-anthropomorphic objects. Further, kinaesthetic elements and p-prims are alike in that they possess characteristics of both

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specific examples and general theory. As kinaesthetic elements are patterns identified in multiple instances, they are already more abstract than the examples. But they are not intended to function as universally as scientific theory is generally expected to. While the beginning of the research process was mainly conducted by me, several other designers and practitioners contributed to the later phases. Their feedback allowed me to improve the framework, including the kinaesthetic elements, and the updated framework was used in subsequent participatory design experiments. This proceeds as a spiral process in which, as Schön argues, ‘naming’ qualities and ‘framing’ the overall picture are conducted iteratively. As new kinaesthetic elements emerged in my research, they served as new lenses through which to explore unseen qualities of movement.

Development Following the first observation of Balance Machine, described above, I took the same approach in looking at other examples of movement, such as kinetic sculptures by other artists, kinetic designs, artefacts I created for observation, everyday objects and natural phenomena. The following sketches (Figures 4.4–4.14) represent selected results. The observation of movements and the identification of patterns of kinaesthetic empathy through annotated sketches inform each other, gradually enabling the identification of the quality of movement. This took the form of the following three phases. In Phase 1, I explored patterns of annotation and identified common aspects among the examples. The formulation of this idea was particularly inspired by the idea of the five human senses. Although I find this phrase misleading, as it could imply that humans have only five senses, my question was: if there were something equivalent to these five senses in kinaesthetic empathy, what would that be like? ­Table 4.1 presents the four groups of annotations that emerged in the current stage. I termed each common element balance, articulation, tension and hapticity. The problem with these first four elements was the omission of dynamics. The element of balance derives from the changing attitude of an object; those of

Table 4.1  Four groups of annotations that emerged in the current stage Elements

Explanations

balance

The sense of balance and imbalance

articulation

The particular sensations that are felt in the joints such as elbows and knees

tension

The sense of physical tension which is experienced while stretching the body

hapticity

The sensations of touching external textures

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articulation and tension from the transformation of an object, and the element of hapticity from the contact between multiple surfaces. None of them specifically articulated the kinaesthetic empathy that results from observing a change in the speed and direction of an object that does not change its attitude, transform it or enable it to touch other objects. As observed in the first study, the dynamics of movement can allow us to perceive different kinds of kinaesthetic empathy, but this is not necessarily well articulated by the four elements identified so far. This issue led me to the next phase, in which I considered the possibility of new kinaesthetic elements for dynamics. Phase 2 consists of my re-observations of the movement presented in the previous phase and those that were newly observed, such as the kinetic artefacts I created, everyday objects, natural phenomena and kinetic artworks. My observations indicated that there are more features of kinaesthetic empathy than those articulated by the four elements alone. In this sense, the four kinaesthetic elements enabled me to differentiate the qualities of motion more closely. Table 4.2 summarises the nine elements of kinaesthetic empathy identified up to this point. They were further tested in Phase 3 in collaboration with other designers, where they referred to the elements to observe and design the movements of various everyday objects. Based on the feedback from workshop participants and my continuous observation, six new elements were finally identified – volume, in & out, proprioception, rotation, stillness and space. Compared with the elements identified in Phases 1 and 2, the new elements are slightly more subtle and technical. Proprioception, for example, was first inspired by the technical term of proprioception itself and then applied to kinaesthetic elements, rather than being theorised purely from my observations. The process from Phase 1 to 2 and 3 partly corresponds with the development of my increasing receptivity as a result of conducting this research.

Table 4.2  Nine elements of kinaesthetic empathy identified Elements

Explanations

balance

The sense of balance and imbalance

articulation

The particular sensations that are felt in the joints such as elbows and knees

tension

The sense of physical tension which is experienced while stretching the body

hapticity

The sensations of touching external textures

impulse and resistance

The sensations of acceleration and deceleration, or positive and negative inertia triggered by either internal or external forces

gravity

The sensations of gravity, especially the ones experienced during actions that naturally follow gravity or those that move against it

vibration

The sense of vibrating, shaking because of either intrinsic or extrinsic movements

rhythm

The sensations of slower repetitive movements than oscillation in which the nuance of each stroke is more recognisable

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2a. The head exhibits a tiny yet visible impulsive accent when it releases the air bubbles, which resembles the sense of swiftly extending elbow and wrist when throwing a frisbee.

2b. The elasticity of the plastic tube bending repetitively because of the weight of the head and the dynamic buoyancy. I associate this with the tension felt on the back or the side when stretching the body as in the postures above.

2c. The moment when the head suddenly descends and hits the floor might make a viewer feel a subtle sense of faintness (as if all the force inside the body is gone, making it fall) and pain (like hitting one’s head on the ground).

Figure 4.4  Annotated sketch of Puwants – Lily of the Valley

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3a. The sense of sudden loss of tension in the joint when we stand upright with our legs straight and someone behind us pushes the back of our knee

3b. The edge of the object touching the similarly hard wall triggers a comparable sense of touch as knuckles on the back of the hands pushing on a hard flat surface.

Figure 4.5  Annotated sketch of Joint Structure

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4a. Sitting on a rocking chair makes me feel the kinaesthetic sensation similar to the kinaesthetic empathy evoked by the sculpture’s motion.

4b. Having sat on a rocking chair before, I would associate the connection between the curved base of the chair and the floor with the physical contact between the sculpture and the floor. The rockers of the chair are technically not part of my body, but sitting on the chair I feel it is an extension or even a part of my body.

4c. The dotted line in the middle shows the trajectory of the centre of the sculpture. The sensations of acceleration and deceleration in the motion of Elliptic Sculpture were not articulated in the previous sketch.

Figure 4.6  Annotated sketch of Elliptic Sculpture

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5a. The acceleration and deceleration of the barriers in motion make the observer perceive internal or external force which works either towards or against the direction of the movement.

5b. Some barriers hit and bounce awkwardly against the sides of the gates. While watching and hearing this collision, we feel we know the ‘pain’ of the gates (or the barriers).

Figure 4.7  Annotated sketch of a ticket barrier machine of the London Underground

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6a. The ­pendulum is released from an elevated ­ position in folded form and reaches the bottom fully outstretched, suddenly bouncing up. We might identify it with the action of swinging a golf club or a ­tennis racket, which embraces the kinaesthetic sense of ­rapidly stretching an arm to the point where the ­elbow can no longer bend.

6c. The movement of the ­pendulum evokes a strong sense of centrifugal force.

6b. The pendulum’s motion of ­bouncing up and down and bending back and forth can be compared with the whole body of a gymnast performing on a ­horizontal bar.

6d. The sketch of the body motion ­indicates that we might also ­associate with the movement the sensations of the change in the posture or the positions of different parts of the body.

Figure 4.8  Annotated sketch of a double pendulum

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7a. One of the kinaesthetic senses that I would associate with the movement of the articulated rod attached to the servo motor is balance: from standing upright to lying on the floor.

7b. The two servo motors in the machine can be compared to the shoulder and the elbow. The well regulated speed of the movement makes us feel the sense of muscular effort to keep the angle of the rod (or the arm) rather than leaving the motion just to follow gravity.

Figure 4.9  Annotated sketch of Arm Machine

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8a. Watching air bubbles being released from the top of the sculpture is reminiscent of the sensations of blowing air from the mouth underwater.

8b. The quick, impulsive descent can be associated with the embodied feeling of gravity.

8c. The ascent is not as dramatic a change as the accelerated descent, yet there is the sense of the physical effort of the air bubble lifting the weight of the sculpture.

Figure 4.10  Annotated sketch of Puwants Spiral

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very slow

continuous speed sudden deceleration

9a. Watching an object that is moving in a certain ­direction at a constant speed which then suddenly decelerates and stops, observers may similarly feel the sense of such an abrupt stop or even physical effort to cushion the sudden inertia. This could be likened to the sensation experienced when one jams on the brakes on a bike.

Figure 4.11  Annotated sketch of a sliding door. An observation in a supermarket

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10a. One of the bodily movements of which the sculpture reminds us is a sensation of vibration similar to that of quickly shaking the head ...

10b. ... or the vibration we feel when shaking a flexible bar just like the sculpture.

Figure 4.12  Annotated sketch of a vibrating rod

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11a. The slow fall and deformation of the thin fabric allow us to feel the touch between the fabric and the air where part of the air escapes from the side of the fabric while some penetrates through it.

11c. The air being released out of the space between the fabric and the floor recalls the sensation of exhaling slowly and gently.

Figure 4.13  Annotated sketch of a thin fabric floating in the air

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11b. The gradual fall of the fabric can be compared to a ­prolonged sense of falling as if jumping on the moon.

11d. The fabric floating in the wide space allows us to feel the ­openness of the space and, as it falls onto the floor, the size of the open (negative) space around it is gradually reduced.

12a. The rhythmical motion in combination with the volumetric change can be compared to inhaling and exhaling, as well as stretching the body. 12b. The density of the sphere parts that are folded tightly together reminds me of the tightness of folding the elbows and knees as closely as possible.

Figure 4.14  Annotated sketch of a spherical structure

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4.3  KINAESTHETIC ELEMENTS It is worth reiterating that kinaesthetic elements are potentially intertwined with each other, and are not intended to be discrete. From my conversation with other researchers and practitioners, scientists and ­engineers tended to expect ‘discreteness’ between the elements. But since the kinaesthetic elements are intended to express identifiable features of the ambiguous experiential qualities, they are not meant to be completely separate from each other. The research aimed to offer a new vocabulary, a new way of exploring ineffable qualities. It is important to note that the kinaesthetic elements are primarily concerned with kinaesthetic empathy with object movements and are therefore not guaranteed to function as a classification of human kinaesthetic senses in general. The process of developing the kinaesthetic elements was exploratory and reflective rather than linear and simultaneous. As mentioned above, the kinaesthetic elements presented here are not the only way of categorising kinaesthetic empathy with the movement of objects, but merely one of many potential approaches. If this work were conducted by other researchers, with other participants, at a different time – or with a different motivation – the result would probably be different. I describe below the 15 kinaesthetic elements I identified through my own analysis of the annotated sketches of movement.

15 kinaesthetic elements 1. Balance Watching an object changing its (orientational) attitude allows us to simulate a similar, imaginative sense of orientation. Observing an object at an equilibrium of balance, e.g. a cuboid placed upright on the floor (Figure 4.15, left), may not enable us to experience explicit kinaesthetic empathy. Once the cuboid becomes unbalanced (Figure 4.15, right), however, we can suddenly detect the sense of imbalance and imagine more easily the kinaesthetic sensations of holding a similar posture. This also affects the way we interpret the illustration. If the sketch shows the cuboid statically holding its position, we might think that it is almost unrealistic to expect our bodies to hold such a pose without relying on external support. Alternatively, interpreting the imbalance as a snapshot of a cuboid falling over from being upright, or even standing up from lying on the ground, we recall kinaesthetic sensations that are different from trying to keep the precarious posture statically. Falling down and standing up would also, understandably, require different types of muscular effort by the body.

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Figure 4.15  Cuboid standing ­upright (left) and tilting (right)

Balance Machine (Figure 4.3) is one of the examples that most obviously allow observers to empathise with the kinaesthetic sensations of balance and imbalance. Similarly, Elliptic Sculpture (Figure 1.12) stimulates a slightly different kind of sensation of balance – it undergoes constant incremental change around one stable equilibrium, while the movement of Balance Machine creates an accumulating uncertainty from a point of equilibrium. Bending Sculpture undergoes a more gradual change in balance, while it shares with Balance Machine the basic characteristic of shifting between stability and instability in a linear way. Arm Machine15 (Figure 4.9) stimulates the sense of balance in a slightly different way; as its arm tilts, the centre of gravity of the whole object changes to the direction of the arm tilting, creating a subtle sense of instability. According to the literature on perception, one of the sense organs that make the perception of balance possible is the vestibular system, the non-auditory part of the inner ear.16 Connected with all the other parts of the body and informed by gravity, it enables us to detect a change in motion or acceleration, which is often assisted by other sensory channels of the body – vision, the senses of touch and even hearing.

2. Articulation The structural element known as a ‘joint’ or ‘hinge’ refers to a point at which separate rigid objects are connected while allowing certain movement. These elements often exist to enable movement in parts of everyday objects, such as the bending points of a desk lamp, the hinge of a laptop and the connections between a door and a door frame (Figure 4.17). The human body also has similar structures, known as joints, or articulations, such as the shoulder, spine, wrist, finger, knee and neck, although these body parts vary in structure and the degree of freedom they afford.

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Figure 4.16  MUJI, DC Fan. Photo provided by: ­Ryohin Keikaku Co., Ltd.

These points of articulation are constructed to move freely within, but not beyond, certain degrees and directions. The element of articulation refers to the unique sensation of moving such skeletal structures. The object illustrated in Figure 4.5 is a combination of two acrylic bars connected by a pivot hinge. The hinge allows smooth rotation through 360 degrees. The figure shows the sudden movement of the object that happens around the articulated point. As the hand pushes the object to the wall, the tension in the middle joint increases and it is quickly released as the object is finally pushed and bent all the way to the other side. A metaphor I would associate with this sequence is the sense of sudden loss of tension in the joint when we stand upright with our legs straight and someone behind us pushes the back of our knee. When a leg is straight, the knee is at the skeletal limit with the lower leg locked in position and unable to move any further forward, but it can move freely in the opposite direction: a push from behind unlocks the tension that keeps the leg straight and diverts all the body weight to the direction in which the knee can bend.

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Figure 4.17  Mechanical parts used as joints

A similar structure appears in a double pendulum,17 a pair of rigid bodies joined with a hinge and hanging from either side of its edges (Figure 4.8), that has a structure remarkably similar to the limbs of the human body. A double pendulum is used in sports science as a dynamic model of human limbs. One familiar pattern of motion appears when the pendulum is released from an elevated position in a folded form and reaches the bottom in an outstretched condition, suddenly bouncing up. We might project here the action of swinging a golf club or a tennis racket, which embraces the kinaesthetic sense of rapidly stretching an arm to the point where the elbow can no longer bend. Within this motion are the impulsive pause and sense of skeletal limitation in the elbow, the centrifugal force in the whole limb, the feeling of the blood being pushed to the edge, and the experience of elasticity in bouncing the arm back. In contrast to the limited range of movement permitted in these examples, the fan shown in Figure 4.16 has a greater degree of freedom. Being able to rotate in multiple directions, its movement is like the way the structure of the human neck, shoulder and groin moves. The smooth, continuous pivoting motion has a graceful quality: it shows little sign of effort as the head turns to any angle, an action which, if performed by a human, would require a well-choreographed coordination of parts of the body.

3. Tension Elastic structures can contain physical tension in their form through deformation. As psychologist Rudolf Arnheim puts it, ‘whether we are dealing with a bent steel blade, a sheet of rubber, a funhouse mirror, an expanding bubble, or the rising emotion of a heated argument, there is always a forceful deviation from a state of lower tension in the direction of tension increase’.18 One of the easiest ways to understand

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Figure 4.18  Transformation of 3D objects. Different forms, structures and materials can accumulate and release physical tension in different ways.

the nature of tension in an object is to touch it directly, trying to bend or twist it and so forth, exploring how the material responds to our physical intervention. But as the sketches (Figure 4.18) indicate, it is also possible for us to imagine the tensional force simply by watching the behaviour of the material, especially if we are familiar with the material of the object we are observing. As we interact with a broad range of materials, either consciously or unconsciously, as we live within our physical body from the moment of birth, we accumulate tacit knowledge of the material nature of objects over the years. We also know how our body itself can move elastically, when bending, twisting and inflating. When we stretch our body, we know both the physical effort required to stretch the parts of the body and the sensation of the tensional force while being stretched. Bending Sculpture19 is an artefact that allows us to perceive the element of tension empathically. If one taps softly on the sphere the fibre continues to bend up and down for a while, as a result of the equilibrium between the weight of the sphere and the elasticity of the rod. One of the human kinaesthetic sensations that could be associated with the bending movement is the sense of tension and release on the back of the neck when we lower and lift our heads. The nature of tension largely depends on the material; when the rod is replaced with a thicker one and the sphere with a heavier wooden one, the empathic sensation of tension becomes similarly thick and heavy. This association might emerge partly from the slightly anthropomorphic appearance of the sculpture, as the weight attached to the vertical flexible rod understandably looks like a human head attached to a human body.

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Figure 4.19  Sheet Machine

Figure 4.20  Rotative Sculpture

Sheet Machine20 (Figure 4.19) shows tension distributed to a plane. The sculpture consists of a thick A3 paper attached to a wooden bar, a stepper motor with another wooden rod and a string that connects the rod and the paper. As the motor rotates, the string pulls the bottom left edge of the sheet, creating an elastic curve in the sheet. Although I created this object to observe the tension in the paper, the wooden pillar bends accidentally, which also suggests the tension of the string between the rod attached to the motor. Rotative Sculpture21 (Figure 4.20), made of a metal wire embedded in a rotating wooden rod, evokes a slightly different kind of tensional kinaesthetic empathy.

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Although the wire is simply rotating, it creates the illusion that it is bending and transforming. This perceptual mechanism is frequently employed in Sea Change by George Cutts, a British sculptor, and in the kinetic works by the Japanese sculptor Takamichi Ito, and Rotative Sculpture was created to experiment with a similar effect. The illusory transformation recalled the bodily motion of stretching, bending and twisting elastically.

4. Hapticity While the previous three elements are mostly about internal stimuli, the element of hapticity concerns physical contact between surfaces. Looking at, or even just hearing, a door slammed shut, one can imagine feeling the collision between various dynamics and materiality, such as the impact between the door and the frame, air being squashed and blowing through the gap between the door and the frame, and the metal door-latch quickly sliding into the lip strike. When the ticket barriers in London Underground stations open with excessive force and hit the sides of the gate aggressively, we feel we know the ‘pain’ of the gates (or the barriers). A similarly ‘painful’ haptic sensation is evoked by the hammer hitting the body of Balance Machine. Looking at Elliptic Sculpture in motion, the element of hapticity can be found in the contact between the surface of the elliptic side and the floor, where the pressure between them increases and decreases because of the inertia of the rotating sculpture. Figure 4.21 shows a simple visual experiment in which collisions between various abstract shapes and surfaces allow us to simulate various kinds of haptic empathy. Another example is the shishi-odoshi; when the bamboo cylinder hits the stone base, it not only stimulates our ears but also allows our body to feel the hardness and heaviness of the bamboo and the stone. Those who have played baseball may be reminded of the moment of hitting a ball with the bat. While the collision of rigid objects is an obvious example of hapticity, the impact of liquid can also evoke a kinaesthetic response. Observing attentively, we notice that water being poured into the cylinder and water being released onto the floor have different dynamic qualities. As a more everyday example, when wine is poured into a glass, we enjoy the dynamics and tactility of the slightly viscous liquid landing, slipping and skating on the curved internal surface of the glass. While we have intuitively known about the vicarious haptic sensation felt towards other people, animals and even non-living objects, evidence has also been found in various studies in the field of neuroscience. A key study, conducted by a team led by Christian Keysers, found that we can empathically simulate the haptic sensation experienced by someone we are observing.22 For example, ‘Watching the movie scene in which a tarantula crawls on James Bond’s chest can make us literally shiver – as if the spider crawled on our own chest’.23 They also found that

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Figure 4.21  Simple visual experiment of haptic element. Imagining two surfaces colliding allows us to simulate ­various haptic sensations.

we experience a virtual haptic sensation while observing the movement of non-anthropomorphic objects. The parts of the brain responsible for sensing bodily sensation such as pressure, pain or warmth are activated as though our body is subject to tactile stimulation not only when we are touched but also when we observe two non-living objects touching each other. In the experiment, video clips showing rolls of paper towels and binders being touched by a stick were presented to the participants. The extent to which similar neurological reactions might be triggered by other objects and behaviour remains open to debate. But at least Keysers et al.’s report offers evidence for kinaesthetic empathy with non-living entities, as argued by Vischer, Lipps, Souriau and Stein.

5. Impulse & 6. Resistance The elements of impulse and resistance refer to the sensations that derive from acceleration and deceleration, or positive and negative inertia. An action that shifts the body from stasis to motion, such as moving from standing still to walking, allows us to experience the element of impulse, whereas reducing our speed enables us to feel the element of resistance. Like balance and imbalance, acceleration and deceleration are sensed by the apparatus of the inner ear that is connected to all the

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A

B

constant

accelerate

decelerate Figure 4.22  Three dynamics to move from point A to B. Constant (top), acceleration (middle) and deceleration (­bottom). Each circle stands for the position of the moving object captured stroboscopically.

other parts of the body. Imagine an object that moves from point A to point B. Even if the path is a straight line, this translation can be realised by countless variations in dynamics; the object can move at a constant (Figure 4.22), accelerating (middle) or decelerating speed (bottom). Each dynamic triggers a different kinaesthetic empathy: accelerating movements allow observers to empathically feel certain impulsive forces, whereas decelerating ones enable some sort of resistance, or friction. These types of kinaesthetic empathy cannot be fully explained by any of the previous four elements alone. Both elements are present in the unique cadence of motions of a ‘duet pendulum’. A duet pendulum is a pair of pendulums where the string of each pendulum is connected to another string. Since the oscillating pendulums affect each other, even if only one of the pendulums is set in motion, the oscillation is gradually transmitted to the other while attenuating the original movement (Figure 4.23). The pendulums occasionally accelerate and decelerate as if being pulled by an invisible force.24 Grass (Figure 2.21), a kinetic sculpture by Len Lye, also involves an organic transition between impulse and resistance. While the movement of this sculpture results from simple physical interplay between the tilting base and the elastic rods, mechanically controlled movement also evokes these kinaesthetic elements, just

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Figure 4.23  Behaviour of two pendulums ­ onnected to each other as a ‘duet c ­p­­­endulum’

as mime artists allow us to imagine virtual forces. Study in Acceleration,25 a simple mechanical composition that repeats rotations of a rod attached to a stepper motor, performs a smooth rotation in which the speed of the rotation gradually decelerates. Although it appears that this smooth deceleration results from friction, the rotation of the motor is controlled electrically, and the elastic impression we perceive in the rotative movement is illusory.

7. Gravity The element of gravity refers to the sensation that derives from the awareness of natural, vertical gravitational force (Figure 4.24). It is experienced in a broad range of situations, not only in free fall but also in jumping, falling over, riding on a swing, sitting on a rocking chair, being in a lift that starts to ascend, descend or stop, and so forth. In a similar way to balance and acceleration, gravitational movement is

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Figure 4.24  Concept sketch of gravity

sensed mainly by the inner ear apparatus. However, unlike impulse and resistance, which only appear while in motion, gravity can be perceived regardless of whether someone is in stasis or in motion. These unique circumstances led me to categorise the element of gravity as one individual component of kinaesthetic sensation, separate from impulse and resistance. Watching an object that moves downward can evoke the gravity-kinaesthetic empathy, but upward movement can also allow us to perceive it, depending on the mechanism of the movement. As Figure 4.10 shows, there are at least two kinds of movement that trigger gravity-related kinaesthetic empathy. One is a vertical, downward movement, like an object in free fall, which can easily be understood as a gravity-driven phenomenon. The other is movement in directions other than downward, where the observer can identify a sense of the physical effort against gravity in the movement. One of my kinetic sculptures, Puwants Spiral (Figure 4.10), embraces these two types of gravity in its movement. The spiral-shaped body extends upwards as air

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bubbles accumulate in the flower-shaped head. Once the amount of accumulated air reaches a certain level, a bubble escapes from the side of the tilted head and the structure loses buoyancy and sinks. The sense of gravity is present in both its ascent and its descent, evoking distinct empathic sensations. The quick, impulsive descent can be easily understood as a gravity-driven phenomenon, as it is a vertical and, moreover, downwards movement, which can be associated with the embodied feeling of gravity. It could also be interpreted as impulse, given the clear acceleration involved. In contrast, the ascent does not have as dramatic a change as the accelerated descent, yet there is the sense of the physical effort of the air bubble lifting the weight of the sculpture. This imaginative force that we interpret from seeing phenomena, or what Arnheim calls a perceptual force,26 derives from the positional, physical relationship between the bubble and the sculpture.

8. Vibration and 9. Rhythm The element of vibration refers to the sensation of rapid shaking, where one perceives the repetition not as separate strokes but as an integrated whole. One might experience it when feeling cold, nervous or furious, shaking a spray can, cycling on a bumpy road, and so on. Observing vibration in objects could evoke this type of kinaesthetic empathy from the observer. As the frequency of vibration becomes lower, however, the vibration is no longer viewed as an integrated whole. The cadence of the simple movement itself that constituted the oscillation becomes more and more noticeable. For example, while cycling on a road covered with small rocks, one would feel the little ups and downs as one continuous vibration rather than separate tiny impulses. But as the rocks become larger, each up and down becomes more obvious. I categorised such moderate vibration, which is slow enough to feel each up and down (or back and forth), as another separate element, rhythm. The sensation of rhythm appears in a number of innate bodily movements, such as respiration, heartbeat, walking, chewing and rocking a baby to sleep. Naum Gabo’s Virtual Kinetic Volume (1920; Figure 4.12) is a good example of the evocation of vibration. The vibration of the metal rod is perceived as ‘a whole vibration’, and is no longer seen as separate strokes because of the high frequency. In contrast, Lye’s Grass (Figure 2.21) and Fountain (1963–1965; Figure 4.25) evoke the element of rhythm, as the repetitive movements they both perform are slow enough for us to enjoy the subtle cadence of each component of the repetition. In terms of everyday objects, the vibrating of a traditional alarm clock with a metallic bell is characterised as vibration, while its second hand ticking every second is perceived as rhythm. Neither element is limited to a strict, regular repetition of movement. A movement such as that of curtains and flags flapping repetitively in the wind is likely to allow us to feel a similarly irregular type of rhythmical kinaesthetic sensation.

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Figure 4.25  Fountain, 1963–1965, Len Lye. Courtesy Len Lye Foundation Collection, Govett-Brewster Art Gallery. Credit: Oliver Baker

10. Volume As we move our bodies, the shape of the space we ‘feel’ we occupy, akin to what is known as ‘personal space’, can change according to one’s posture (Figure 4.26), although it is not possible to radically change the physical mass of a human body in a short time. The element of volume refers to the sense of this space. This sense is perhaps most noticeable when it is invaded by something, or someone, else. Watching a balloon expanding or shrinking, one not only perceives the change in the object’s visual volume but also senses its expansion and contraction. Taking melting ice and expanding ripples as examples, Vischer points out the emotional quality of kinaesthetic empathy with objects in volumetric change: In its contractive form (ice melting), this feeling of becoming is always synonymous with a weakening or renunciation of self, while in its expansive form (expanding, concentric rings on water), it is synonymous with a strengthening and liberation of the self.27

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Figure 4.26  Concept sketch of volume

Figure 4.27  Sixty Eight, Nils Völker. © Nils Völker

It is understandable that positive emotion is associated with an increase in size, given the energy and effort that coincide. On the contrary, contracting the volume of the space one occupies can be associated with listlessness and negative emotion. There are not many examples of everyday objects whose physical volume changes radically. But many objects do transform subtly, and in doing so the peripheral space around the object also changes: examples of this include a book or an umbrella opening, or an office chair changing height. These movements could allow us to empathically experience the deformation within ourselves. One example from my project is the experiment with a Hoberman sphere (Figure 4.14).28 As the string pulls and pushes the top of the sphere, it expands and shrinks. Another example from kinetic art is the installation Sixty Eight (Figure 4.27), by Berlin-based media artist Nils Völker, in which a group of rubbish bags are inflated and deflated in a precisely controlled rhythm, creating a wriggling movement. The media artist Taro

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Figure 4.28  Material ­Expression Experiment vol.1, Rubber, Taro ­Suzuki. © Taro ­Suzuki

Suzuki’s work Material Expression Experiment vol.1, Rubber (Figure 4.28) also consists of machine-actuated balloons, but takes on a different interactivity. An array of fifteen balloons are put in place, full and intense, but as someone approaches them the balloons gradually shrink, starting from the one closest to the visitor. When a viewer approaches the obviously full balloon, wanting to take a closer look at it, its shrinking is an immediate betrayal of the viewer’s expectation. Perhaps because the viewer (unconsciously) expects the balloon to remain full until they reach it, the shrinking movement appears even more striking, evoking an intense kinaesthetic empathy for the element of volume.

11. In & out In & out is involved in actions such as inhaling and exhaling, eating, drinking, vomiting and excretion. It is concerned with our body’s relationship with objects and materials external to it, especially where they move from the outside to the inside, and vice versa, of the body (Figure 4.29). Everyday examples include a kettle emitting vapour from its spout or whistling, and water flowing out of a hose. The way in which a vacuum cleaner sucks up air and dust is similarly kinaesthetically empathic. But the empathic feeling could become more intense when a blockage is stuck in the head or tube of the vacuum cleaner, which might make the observer recall inhaling through a stuffy nose, or swallowing too much food and creating a blockage in their oesophagus. In observing Puwants Spiral29 (Figure 4.10) releasing air bubbles, the viewer might experience this type of kinaesthetic empathy as like blowing air from the

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Figure 4.29  Concept sketch of in & out

in

out

mouth underwater. Or if we hold a bucket upside down, plunge it into water and slightly tilt it under the surface of the water, we would feel the quick escape of an air bubble through our hands via the bucket (and also through the sound it makes),30 which is akin to the kinaesthetic empathy with the sculpture releasing air bubbles. Another example can be seen in the movement of Liminal Air Space-Time by the contemporary artist Shinji Ohmaki. As the large piece of cloth falls onto the floor, the air underneath the cloth is gradually pressed away as the cloth descends (Figure 4.13). This might recall the sensation of spreading a sheet on a bed and the air between the sheet and the bed slowly escaping, or simply of the feeling of exhaling deeply.

12. Proprioception Proprioception is a technical term which means an awareness of the positions of one’s body parts.31 Proprioception enables us, for example, to find the switch and turn on the light even in complete darkness, relying on the tacit knowledge of where our own body parts are in the space. This type of kinaesthetic empathy is occasionally experienced in observing the transformation of objects. Seeing the form of an object changing can enable the viewer to simulate the transformation internally by mapping the transformation onto their body. As discussed in relation to the element of articulation, double pendulums have a structure that is similar to human limbs, and they are sometimes used as a mechanical model to simulate the mechanisms of these parts of the body. Watching a double pendulum in motion can evoke elements of both articulation and proprioception. The element of articulation refers specifically to the sensations projected onto the jointed parts, while that of proprioception relates to the awareness of the posture of the structure in question. Taking Bending Sculpture32 as an example, its movement can evoke tension, recalling some sort of muscular tension, but not articulation, as there are no joints or hinges in the objects. It could also prompt a consciousness in the observer of their body posture, such as bowing. The element of proprioception

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Figure 4.30  Concept sketch of proprioception

can be experienced when similarity to the human body is found in the object in motion, even to a very subtle degree. The transformation of everyday objects, such as an Anglepoise-type desk lamp and a foldable bed, can potentially evoke proprioceptive kinaesthetic empathy (Figure 4.30). But whether the observer experiences it depends on many factors, including the size and shape of objects and movements and how they observe the movement – whether they are just watching it or manipulating (and moving) it.

13. Rotation The kinaesthetic element of rotation refers to the centrifugal (or centripetal) force experienced in moving along a curved line, such as running along such a line, or rotation, such as a ballet dancer spinning on pointed toes or an athlete throwing a hammer, or passengers riding spinning teacups in a fairground attraction (Figure 4.31). Regardless of whether the rotation is a full 360 degrees or only part of it, there is a sense of inertia felt in the direction toward the opposite of the centre of the curve. This kinaesthetic quality could be projected onto tangible objects, such

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Figure 4.31  Concept sketch of rotation

as the rotation of fan blades or the smooth, sweeping movement of clock hands or revolving doors, among others. Study in Acceleration33 is an example that triggers this kind of kinaesthetic empathy. The observer can associate different kinds of bodily movement depending on the perspective from which they watch the spinning rod. Looking from the top one can see the rotation, just like looking at a clock. Looking from the side one can see the rod moving in the direction of depth, probably resulting in a different kind of experience of kinaesthetic empathy from that experienced in the former. The rocking of Elliptic Sculpture and the swinging of a pendulum and a double pendulum are not full rotations, but instead embody arcs of rotative movements. One could associate the centrifugal forces we experience in various actions, such as swinging the arms and even running along a curved line, with the arc-like movement of objects.

14. Stillness If we attempt to keep our body completely static for a moment, we notice how natural it is for the body to be constantly moving. The unique kinaesthetic quality of being immobile is what the element of stillness refers to. In kinaesthetic empathy, stillness can be experienced particularly when a static object is contrasted with something dynamic, when an object that is expected to be in motion is actually not so, and when an observed movement is paused by either internal or external forces. The contrast between static and kinetic is an important concept in kinetic art. Like other kinetic artists, such as Calder, Lye treated static expression as a quintessential component, saying that ‘immobility, stillness, quietude have a contrapuntal effect on our sense of motion as silence emphasizes sound’.34 Lye also saw ‘static sculptural quality’ in Paul Cézanne’s paintings, as the expression in them struck him as ‘the opposite of motion but part of it, like the opposites silence and sound’. 35

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Figure 4.32  Concept sketch of stillness

unstable stillness

stable stillness

In designing kinetic objects, it is worth exploring how the object appears in stasis – whether the stillness should contrast with its dynamic state or be connected seamlessly with the movement. Classical mechanics states that there are roughly two kinds of stillness, stable and unstable (Figure 4.32). Stable stillness is the condition in which even if an external force is given to the object in stasis, its internal mechanism has a way of autonomously balancing itself towards equilibrium. Unstable stillness is so fragile that even a light touch might disrupt the whole composition of the object. The curve in Figure 4.32 is intended to express the nature of kinaesthetic empathy metaphorically with still objects rather than to explain the concept of potential used in physics. When we design a kinetic object, the awareness of such types of stillness allows us to consider whether the object in question, when it is static, should look stable so that people can empathically feel its stability. Or should they embrace instability, allowing people to anticipate the sense of readiness for the next movement? Theoretically, anything static can offer an example of an object that evokes this kinaesthetic element, but watching an object in stasis does not always trigger explicit kinaesthetic empathy. The quality of stillness seems to depend on the contrast between the object and its previous movements, or the anticipation of the next movement of the object. When designing kinetic objects, focusing on the element of stillness allows designers to explore how objects should appear at rest compared with the way they appear in motion. For example, butterfly and scissor doors in a car, when opened, move out and up. The unusual angles between the open doors and the body are already striking. But the fact that obviously heavy doors are moved elegantly to high above the car and kept very stable there expresses the effortlessness. In this case, the way in which the doors lift, pause and remain stable at height is of great importance in terms of the kinaesthetic aesthetics. The gracefulness of the doors would be marred by any sign of instability or imperfection in the movement, such as rattling or wobbling.

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15. Space While volume concerns the space that the body in motion occupies physically, the kinaesthetic element of space refers to the physical size and shape of the space in which we are situated (Figure 4.33). In a small, limited space, we feel repressed. On the contrary, being in, and moving around, a wide-open space makes us feel the opposite. Even in the same space, we feel the space differently when we stand in the middle of the space and when we sit tightly in the corner of it. A situation in which we project the sense of space onto an everyday object is a typical interaction with a robot cleaner. A robot vacuum cleaner bumping into, and getting trapped between, chair legs conveys a constrained sense of space. Once the robot has escaped from the obstacles, the observer is also freed from the empathic feeling of constraint. I should add that in this case the empathic feeling is made stronger by our knowledge of the purpose of the robot. The robot is there to serve a function, which is to clean up the floor while moving around, not to get itself stuck between chairs. Such an expectation for the robot cleaner adds another meaning to its situation and gives a nuance to the kinaesthetic empathy that is experienced, too. Table 4.3 shows the correspondence between kinaesthetic elements and the literature on perception and anatomy. Despite the comprehensive knowledge of perception and anatomy in existence, we need a new structure or vocabulary to make kinaesthetic empathy a useful concept for the observations and creations of designers. Kinaesthetic elements address this need directly, and suggest a form of synergy between the observation conducted in the research and the scientific insights provided by the literature. The fifteen kinaesthetic elements can be divided into three groups: structural, temporal and spatial (Table 4.4). Structural elements are involved in transformation, a change in attitude and interaction with external objects. In contrast, temporal elements are dependent on the dynamics of movement, not necessarily on structural change in the objects themselves. There is one spatial element, space, which concerns the relationship between the object and the surrounding environment rather than the object itself. How explicitly we perceive these elements depends on many factors, including intensity, predictability and the similarity of the observed objects to humans. The central process in developing the framework was my own perceptual learning through close observation of physical phenomena, as well as the participation of other designers and creative practitioners. Sketching and annotating a movement of an object in a reflective manner36 enabled me and my collaborators to differentiate between37 and articulate qualities of movement. In articulating experiential qualities, verbalisation would have been a straightforward solution, but previous research indicates that this has both a positive38 and a negative39 effect on

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Table 4.3  Fifteen kinaesthetic elements and references from anatomy and perception Elements

Annotations

Explanations

balance

1b, 2b, 4a, 7a

The sense of balance and imbalance

articulation

1a, 3a, 6a, 6b, 7b

The particular sensations that are felt in the joints such as elbows and knees

tension

2a, 2b

The sense of physical tension which is experienced while stretching the body

hapticity

1c, 1d, 2c, 3b, 4b, 5b, 11a

The sensations of touching external textures

impulse and resistance

2a, 4c, 5a, 9a

The sensations of acceleration and deceleration, or positive and negative inertia triggered by either internal or external forces

gravity

4a, 8b, 8c, 11b

The sensations of gravity, especially the ones ­e­xperienced during actions that naturally follow gravity or those that move against it

vibration

10a, 10b

The sense of vibrating, shaking because of either intrinsic or extrinsic movements

rhythm

4a, 12a

The sensations of slower repetitive movements than oscillation in which the nuance of each stroke is more recognisable

volume

12a

The sense of the physical space which one feels that s/he is occupying

in & out

8a, 11c

The sensations where objects separate from the body, move from the outside to the inside – and vice versa – of the body such as exhaling and ­inhaling, eating or drinking something

proprioception

6d, 12b

The awareness of the positions of the body parts

rotation

4a, 6c

The centrifugal (or centripetal) force experienced in rotational movements

stillness

9a

The unique kinaesthetic quality involved in being static

space

11d

The sense of the physical size and shapes of the space (environment) in which one is situated

Table 4.4  Three groups of kinaesthetic elements Group

Kinaesthetic elements

Structural

balance, articulation, tension, hapticity, volume, in & out, proprioception

Temporal

impulse, resistance, gravity, vibration, rhythm, rotation, stillness

Spatial

space

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Figure 4.33  Concept sketch of space

differentiation. I have become aware that it is particularly difficult to explain kinaesthetic experiences with words alone, as the core of the actual felt quality is often lost in compromising the level of linguistic articulation. The phenomenon whereby people adjust their experience to match their verbal explanation, rather than the other way around, has previously been referred to as ‘overshadowing’,40 and this was also a problem in my research.

Kinaesthetic similarity The knowledge demonstrated so far provides a partial answer to one of my questions: what makes us experience kinaesthetic empathy with the movements of ­physical, non-anthropomorphic objects? The extent to which people experience ­kinaesthetic empathy while observing a movement seems to depend on ‘kinaesthetic similarity’, the extent to which observers associate their kinaesthetic memory with the observed movements. Kinaesthetic elements function as a lens through which to explore the similarity and dissimilarity between people’s kinaesthetic repertoire and observed movements. The number of elements identified in the observed movement does not necessarily determine the degree of similarity. Rather, the elements identified indicate the potential points that trigger kinaesthetic

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empathy. Kinaesthetic similarity also depends on the quality and intensity of kinaesthetic empathy. Qualitative spectra (discussed in the next section) can offer a set of references with which to address the nature of the experienced quality.

Defining ‘kinaesthetic’ While reviewing the relevant literature, I realised that the definition of ‘kinaesthetic’ is variable according to project and discipline. In short, the definition used in neuroscience tends to be narrower than that used in dance-related studies. With this in mind I intentionally kept the definition open and flexible, and waited for a definition ‘in this research’ to emerge. At the end of the research, what I mean by ‘kinaesthetic’ has proven to be close to the broad interpretation used by Reynolds in her research on kinaesthetic empathy and dance.41 In neuroscience, somatic senses, also referred to as somaesthetic senses, refer to bodily senses other than special senses (sight, hearing, smell and taste); that is, feelings of skin (touch), temperature, pain, proprioception, kinaesthesis and ­balance. Kinaesthesis in this sense means exclusively the sense of dynamics of movement, such as the speed and direction of limb movement.42 By comparison, ‘kinaesthetic’ in my research also embraces other kinds of senses, namely kinaesthetic elements (i.e. balance, articulation, tension …) as well as vision and hearing. This breadth has derived from my studies of kinaesthetic empathy with the movement of physical, non-anthropomorphic objects. Kinaesthesis in the narrow sense would be merely a part of our embodied, empathic capability. Figure 4.34 illustrates the correspondence between somatic senses and kinaesthetic elements. Some types of sense, in a somatic way, are considered as multiple kinaesthetic elements.

How do we know the 15 elements are valid? The three-phase process shows that the 15 kinaesthetic elements cover and differentiate between the various dimensions of kinaesthetic empathy identified in the overall observations. Based on the four kinaesthetic elements identified initially, new ones were proposed that could articulate kinaesthetic empathy in a manner which is as mutually exclusive and collectively exhaustive as possible, aiming to satisfy the set criteria. In this sense, the elements were developed to be already valid within the observations conducted in the research, but how can we further justify the 15 kinaesthetic elements and argue for their potential transferability to broader cases? How do we know that this framework is ‘good enough’ – the criteria Glanville uses in design as an alternative to ‘rightness’ or ‘best-ness’ expected in science?43

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somatic sense

kinaesthetic elements

touch

hapticity

temperature

tension

pain

articulation

proprioception

impulse / resistance

kinaesthesis

gravity

balance

vibration rhythm in & out space balance proprioception rotation stillness volume

Figure 4.34  Correspondence between somatic senses and kinaesthetic elements

There is no agreed taxonomy of kinaesthetic qualities to which we can refer to measure the validity of the kinaesthetic elements proposed here. However, the literature on human perception and anatomy provides a comprehensive description of the functions of parts of the body, which makes it possible at least to confirm that there is no critical omission of the types of senses worth considering as dimensions of kinaesthetic empathy, or kinaesthetic elements. While in Phases 1 and 2 the emphasis was on my observation, the literature-driven approach in Phase 3 provided an underpinning framework and complements the earlier, relatively intuitive exploration. Reviewing the literature on human perception and anatomy increased my understanding of human senses and allowed me to identify kinaesthetic empathy in a new way. One instance was the identification of the element of proprioception. In contrast, there are several basic human functions and ways of perceiving that can be expected to be part of kinaesthetic empathy with object movements that were not identified in the observations. First, the sense of temperature, or thermal

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perception, was not connected to any of the observations conducted. For example, watching a piece of paper being set on fire might allow the observer to kinaesthetically empathise with its transformation or degradation (potentially relevant kinaesthetic elements in this context being tension, volume, proprioception), but the sense of heat is rarely associated with kinaesthetic empathy with object movement. Second, gastric muscle sensation is considered to be part of human kinaesthetic senses: Howard Bartley positions this organic kinaesthesis in contrast to skeletal kinaesthesis.44 We may be aware of the movements of the stomach walls when we are hungry, but, like the perception of heat, none of my observations was associated with this type of kinaesthetic sense.

Naming kinaesthetic elements As one of the workshop participants pointed out, the phenomena or the structures which kinaesthetic elements refer to are described with different kinds of vocabulary in mechanical contexts such as industrial design, mechanical engineering and design engineering, for instance: joints, cranks, linkages and degrees of freedom.45 These terms refer to various structures and components from a mechanical perspective, while kinaesthetic elements articulate their sensory impacts, or what people perceive from the movements which result from the structure. As the concept of ecological events combines an understanding of physical phenomena from the perspective of physics with that of human perception,46 kinaesthetic elements will probably function as the lens that allows designers to consider movements from both the mechanical and the kinaesthetic points of view. Naming and categorising kinaesthetic elements was challenging. For instance, articulation was initially named joint, after the structure in the human body that creates the specific kinaesthetic sense. But I later adopted the term articulation, with the aim of referring widely to the structures in which transformation concentrates on a point or a line (e.g. a sheet of paper folded along a line) beyond the typical mechanical joints used in robotic arms. Likewise, before I used the term resistance, friction was used because of its connection with a decrease in speed. Friction’s association with contact between multiple surfaces, however, confused the meaning of the element and I replaced it with resistance, which does not necessarily involve the collision of things. Several elements were removed because they were too specific. For example, an element called cross was identified by the workshop participants, and I considered this as a potential new element. It referred to the kinaesthetic sensation of parts of the body being crossed or entangled. However, I concluded that the element was too specific to categorise as an individual element and finally considered it as a case in which articulation and a specific type of proprioception are combined.

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Link to an ecological approach James Gibson coined the term ecological events to explore the changes, or physical phenomena, we perceive in the environment.47 He classified terrestrial events into three types: change in their layout (shape), change in their colour and texture, and change in their existence (solid, liquid or gas). William Gaver, in his thorough exploration into everyday listening, presented a hierarchical description of sound-producing events.48 These are primarily divided into three groups: vibrating objects, aerodynamic sounds and liquid sounds. This division is founded not only on a physics-based account but also on the results of his experiment in which no participants confused the sources of sounds beyond these tripartite categories. The subordinates of each category are called basic-level sound-producing events (e.g. impacts, deformation within ‘vibrating objects’), which do not always appear on their own in everyday sounds, but often emerge as hybrids.49 Can kinaesthetic elements be considered as a form of ecological understanding of physical phenomena? One major characteristic they share is that both concern the boundary between our intuitive, sensory perception and scientific knowledge. Another similarity is that the basic elements of categories are not necessarily identified by themselves in the real world; rather, they are often combined in a complex manner. For example, various different kinaesthetic elements are often identified in one object movement; basic-level sound-producing events are combined with each other. One dissimilarity is that Gibson’s and Gaver’s accounts focus on vision and hearing, the channels through which we receive external stimuli, while kinaesthetic empathy is an internal response that results from observing external phenomena through senses such as vision and hearing. Another difference is that the two classifications of ecological events are somewhat universal, whereas kinaesthetic elements may be structured differently depending on individual differences. The strength of ecological events is that they bridge physical and aesthetic (sensory) realms, in which people in different professions such as design, engineering, material science and aerodynamics can start communicating with each other. Kinaesthetic elements also have the potential to function as a similar platform for interdisciplinary collaboration. By combining these ecological accounts (of vision, acoustics, and possibly kinaesthetics …), one could develop a comprehensive knowledge of physical phenomena that bridges physics, senses and the body, from which designers could gain, and combine, both technical and experiential understandings.

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4.4  DESIGN TOOLS AND FRAMEWORK Qualitative spectra There seems to be a certain relationship between kinaesthetic sense and emotion. A specific emotional state may be associated with a certain kind of movement. Clenching one’s fists, for example, could be easily associated with a feeling of optimism and energy. Vischer’s suggestion of a correlation between the volumetric change in the body and positive and negative psychological states is another instance of this tendency. However, such a pattern cannot always be assumed, as a single bodily movement can be associated with different emotional qualities depending on the context: clenching one’s fists, for instance, can, in fact, suggest anger, as well as a more positive emotion. Kinaesthetic elements are intended to express purely kinaesthetic qualities, without suggesting qualities in other dimensions such as intensity (e.g. heaviness, lightness) or emotional qualities (e.g. busyness, relaxation). I created another movement analysis system, qualitative spectra, as an alternative lens through which to explore such attributes of movement from a slightly different perspective. As the term indicates, it uses a gradient between two opposing qualities, such as lightheavy, rather than treating the quality as binary. The use of dichotomy to explore the degree of certain qualities has been attempted not only in movement-related areas but also more widely in the arts. At the Bauhaus, Johannes Itten’s comparative thinking facilitated the exploration of two opposing qualities (e.g. wide-narrow, high-low) to educate students’ aesthetic sensitivity. Another source of inspiration for the idea of spectra lies in the movement analysis system effort/shape, developed by Rudolf ­Laban and Irmgard Bartenieff (Bartenieff 1980). The analysis of effort is based on three criteria – weight, time and space. Each criterion is expressed as a continuum between two opposing extremes (e.g. light and strong, in relation to weight). Shape refers to the path that the movement follows. HCI researcher Michelle Bacigalupi considered shape to be a spectrum, using descriptions such as ‘arch-like’ and ‘spoke-like’ to explore the qualities of kinetic typography.50 The spectra of the four qualities are illustrated below. Donis Dondis argues for the usefulness of spectra in relation to visual art, as ‘the contrast of substances and the sensorium’s responsiveness to it dramatizes meaning through the opposite formulations’.51

light - - - - - (Weight) - - - - - strong direct - - - - - (Space) - - - - - indirect quick - - - - - (Time) - - - - - sustained arch-like - - - - - (Shape) - - - - - spoke-like

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In addition to these spectra, the study of the anthropomorphism of moving objects by Oliver Wolf and Geraint Wiggins provided a further reference for the variety of spectra that are potentially relevant to kinaesthetic empathy.52 I selected eight of the spectra proposed in the study, illustrated below, that seemed most relevant, and tested them in my later workshops to see how they might help designers articulate the qualities of movement shown below. The following chapter provides further details, but the design workshops I conducted revealed that the benefit of qualitative spectra was not necessarily the outcome of the analysis. The activity of attempting to position movement qualities on continuums helped the participants deepen their understanding of the quality of movement.

  busy - - - - - (i) - - - - - relaxed painful - - - - - (ii) - - - - - comfortable serious - - - - - (iii) - - - - - funny heavy - - - - - (iv) - - - - - light  surprising - - - - - (v) - - - - - calming  awkward - - - - - (vi) - - - - - smooth factual - - - - - (vii) - - - - - social  extrinsic - - - - - (viii) - - - - - intrinsic

Kinaesthetic Motion Database I created a web-based database of kinaesthetically empathic movement in which the viewer can reference video clips of both human movements and those of objects categorised according to kinaesthetic elements and qualitative spectra. This Kinaesthetic Motion Database (KMD)53 enables the communication of the temporal nature of movements, which is impossible via static media such as paper. The reason why I still use this book as the main medium to explain the project is the capacity of a book to invite the reader into the deep dimension of reflection and imagination. While dynamic media can allow us to enjoy the temporality of time-based expression, static media can, conversely, offer a space where we can step back from ephemeral phenomena and reflect on our sensory experience. Such reflection is difficult while observing or experiencing the phenomena. Watching a phenomenon is, to some extent, an immersive and attentive experience in which the observer cannot help but accept the phenomenon in front of them, like an uncontrollable reflex action. In contrast, reflecting on the observed phenomenon and searching for the

DESIGN TOOLS AND FRAMEWORK  153

Balance

Articulation

Tension

Hapticity

Volume

In & Out

Proprioception

Impulse

Resistance

Gravity

Vibration

Rhythm

Rotation

Stillness

Space

Figure 4.35  Animations (still) of 15 kinaesthetic elements

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right words and metaphors to describe it are relatively intellectual processes which need concentration and no distractions. The KMD provides a platform where actual examples of movement in the form of video and animation can be observed, while the book offers a space for reflection and contemplation. The theoretical aspects of the kinaesthetic elements have been explained above, but the KMD presents kinaesthetic elements in a concrete form. If each kinaesthetic element is compared with each of the pattern languages developed by Alexander and his colleagues,54 the KMD corresponds to their book itself, from which designers learn both instances and the theoretical background. One of the sources of inspiration for creating the KMD was Motion Periodic Table (2015),55 a website focusing on the visual patterns of motion graphics. Each category of motion graphics, such as orbit, particle and twirl, is represented by an iconic animation. I adopted a similar approach in the KMD by creating animations that represent each kinaesthetic element. As kinaesthetic empathy is essentially about the experiential qualities of movement, however, the animations should express the internal sensation of movement, rather than its superficial appearance. I created GIF animations with the help of the animation designer Albert Barbu. We visualised each element in the form of the movement of an object and that of human (Figure 4.35). The movement of objects illustrated as animations are those that are likely to evoke explicit kinaesthetic empathy with each element. The animations of human movements are the kinaesthetic representations of the movement of each object. The animations have been very useful in communicating the non-verbal aspects of movement and kinaesthetic empathy. They are designed to be simple enough for people to interpret them in multiple ways, or to embrace the quality of ‘emptiness’ as defined by the graphic designer Kenya Hara.56 This intended vagueness allows designers to interpret each concept and to be inspired by the marginal space of the animations.

Summary As discussed earlier, the notion of kinaesthetic empathy has been of interest to researchers and practitioners in the domains of dance, film, psychology, interactive arts and interaction design. Several design frameworks have been proposed from previous studies, such as kinaesthetic empathy interaction57 and kinaesthetic movement interaction,58 but these mostly focus on kinaesthetic empathy with human movement rather than that of objects. Examples of previous studies on kinaesthetic empathy with non-anthropomorphic entities do exist but remain as reports of case studies conducted in the context of performative arts59 or artistic installation work60 rather than in the behaviour of everyday objects. Like Vischer’s initial conception of kinaesthetic empathy with non-human entities, the relationship between body

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movement and non-anthropomorphic forms and its effect on kinaesthetic empathy have remained largely unexplored. As far as I know from my survey, what this book presents is the first attempt to investigate the morphological variety of kinaesthetic empathy with non-anthropomorphic objects for the benefit of design, which was enabled by the careful observation of everyday objects, natural phenomena and kinetic artworks. Kinaesthetic elements are intended to express the dimensions, rather than categories, of kinaesthetic empathy that are ambiguous experiential qualities, and that are difficult to articulate. Similar to C. Alexander et al.’s pattern language, the elements refer to an intermediate level of knowledge, more abstract than actual examples of movement but not as abstract as a generalised theory. Redström refers to concepts with such double-sided features as intermediaries.61 They are also close to the concept of phenomenological primitives in that both explore the minimal fragments of our experience of physical phenomena.62 Beyond the still limited understanding of kinaesthetic empathy in design, which merely acknowledges its existence,63 my framework provides designers with a knowledge of its nature and use at a more concrete level. This will help to satisfy the need to improve design literacy in relation to movement qualities, which has been increasingly advocated since 2005 by Jin Moen and Caroline Hummels, among others. The tools and techniques presented in this chapter enable the training of designers in the perception and differentiation of the felt quality of kinaesthetic empathy, which has not been addressed in previous studies. Just as the language of oenology provides wine tasters with reference points which they can use to describe their impressions of the taste of wine,64 kinaesthetic elements work as basic lexicons that help to articulate the qualities of movement. Kinaesthetic representation enables a bottom-up approach to explore the connection between the movement of objects and our kinaesthetic repertoire. Through my practice-based research, four tools and techniques for the programme of Designing Objects in Motion have been developed – kinaesthetic representation, kinaesthetic elements, qualitative spectra and the Kinaesthetic Motion Database. Although I have explained these in their more or less established forms in this chapter, they took shape step by step through practical projects, as the next chapter describes.

1 Johan Redström (2017). Making Design Theory. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. 2 Ibid., 96. 3 Ibid. 4 Ibid., 104. 5 John Christopher Jones (1992). Design Methods. New York, NY: John Wiley & Sons. 6; Herbert Simon (1996). Science of the Artificial. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. 112. 6 Johan Redström (2017). 129. 7 Balance Machine: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NqhhJgOZ3Ss&feature=emb_title.

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8

9 10 11

12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22

23 24 25 26 27

28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39

40

Bonnie Meekums (2012). ‘Kinesthetic Empathy and Movement Metaphor in Dance Movement Psychotherapy’. In: Dee Reynolds and Matthew Reason (eds.). Kinesthetic Empathy in Creative and Cultural Practices. Bristol: Intellect. Matthew Reason (2010). ‘Asking the Audience: Audience Research and The Experience of Theatre’. About Performance. 10: 15–34. Robert L. Goldstone (1998). ‘Perceptual Learning’. Annual Review of Psychology. 49.1: 596. Joseph M. Melcher and Jonathan W. Schooler (1996). ‘The Misremembrance of Wines Past: Verbal and Perceptual Expertise Differentially Mediate Verbal Overshadowing of Taste Memory’. Journal of Memory and Language. 35: 231–245. Dee Reynolds and Matthew Reason (2012). Kinesthetic Empathy in Creative and Cultural Practices. ­Bristol: Intellect. Ibid.; Matthew Reason (2010). Andrea A. diSessa (1993). ‘Toward an Epistemology of Physics’. Cognition and Instruction. 10.2–3: 105–225. Arm Machine: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e4vLAEtg6NQ. S. Howard Bartley (1958). Principles of Perception. New York, NY: Harper & Brothers. 365. Double pendulum: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LqZtAloXr0E. Rudolf Arnheim (1974 [1954]). Art and Visual Perception. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. 428. Bending Sculpture: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G33W2rn1hlI. Sheet Machine: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1lk9M9_Ath0. Rotative Sculpture: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eWrsR3x1ow8. Christian Keysers, Bruno Wicker, Valeria Gazzola, Jean-Luc Anton, Leonardo Fogassi and V ­ ittorio ­Gallese (2004). ‘A Touching Sight: SII/PV Activation during the Observation and Experience of Touch’. Neuron 42.2: 335–346. Ibid., 335. Duet pendulum: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=msz05EU1g6I. Study in Acceleration: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HmskGpGLxbM. Rudolf Arnheim (1954). 16–17. Robert Vischer (1994). ‘On the Optical Sense of Form: A Contribution to Aesthetics [1873]’. In: Lynne Kostman (ed. trans.). Empathy, Form, and Space: Problems in German Aesthetics. Santa Monica, CA: Getty Center for the History of Art and the Humanities: 105. Hoberman sphere experiment: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HnCzcMOAyHw. Puwants Spiral: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ipfUgFifntQ. Puwants was named after the onomatopoeia of the sound bubbles make, ‘puwan’, and the word ‘plants’. Sandra Blakeslee and Matthew Blakeslee (2007). The Body Has a Mind of Its Own: How Body Maps in Your Brain Help You Do (Almost) Everything Better. New York, NY: Random House Incorporated. 9. Bending Sculpture: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iJ_K8j6RUgU. Study in Acceleration: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HmskGpGLxbM. Wystan Curnow, Roger Horrocks and Len Lye (1984). Figures of Motion: Len Lye, Selected Writings. ­Auckland: Auckland University Press. 52. Ibid., 114; Roger Horrocks (2009). Art that Moves: The Work of Len Lye. Auckland: Auckland University Press. 127. Donald Schön (1983). The Reflective Practitioner: How Professionals Think in Action. London: Temple Smith. Eleanor Gibson (1940). ‘A Systematic Application of the Concepts of Generalization and Differentiation to Verbal Learning’. Psychological Review. 47.3: 196–229. Ruth Maki and Jennie Schuler (1980). ‘Effects of Rehearsal Duration and Level of Processing on Memory for Words’. Journal of Verbal Learning and Verbal Behavior. 19.1: 36–45. Jonathan Schooler and Tonya Engstler-Schooler (1990). ‘Verbal Overshadowing of Visual Memories: Some Things Are Better Left Unsaid’. Cognitive Psychology. 22.1: 36–71; Jonathan Schooler, Stephen Fiore and Maria Brandimonte (1997). At a Loss From Words: Verbal Overshadowing of Perceptual Memories. Cambridge, MA: Academic Press. Matthew Reason (2010). 17; Timothy Wilson and Jonathan Schooler (1991). ‘Thinking Too Much: Introspection Can Reduce the Quality of Preferences and Decisions’. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology. 60.2: 183.

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41 Dee Reynolds (2007). Rhythmic Subjects: Uses of Energy in The Dances of Mary Wigman, Martha Graham and Merce Cunningham. Alton, Hampshire: Dance Books. 67–70. 42 Sandra Blakeslee and Matthew Blakeslee (2007). 9; Richard Shusterman (2012). Thinking Through the Body: Essays in Somaesthetics. New York: Cambridge University Press. 6. 43 Ranulph Glanville (2015). ‘The Sometimes Uncomfortable Marriages of Design and Research’. In: Paul Rodgers and Joyce Yee (eds.). The Routledge Companion to Design Research. New York: Routledge, Taylor & Francis Group. 17. 44 Howard Bartley (1958). 45 Dustyn Roberts (2011). Making Things Move: DIY Mechanisms for Inventors, Hobbyists, and Artists. ­London: McGraw-Hill. 46 James J. Gibson (1979). The Ecological Approach to Visual Perception. Boston, MA: Houghton Mifflin; ­William Gaver (1993). ‘What in the World Do We Hear?: An Ecological Approach to Auditory Event Perception’. Ecological Psychology. 5.1: 1–29. 47 James Gibson (1979). 94–102. 48 William Gaver (1993). 49 Ibid., 23–24. 50 Michelle Bacigalupi (1998). ‘The Craft of Movement in Interaction Design’. In: Proceedings of the Working Conference on Advanced Visual Interfaces, 25–27 May 1998, L’Aquila. ACM. 174–184. 51 Donis Dondis (1973). A Primer of Visual Literacy. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. 85. 52 Oliver Wolf and Geraint Wiggins (2018). ‘Look! It’s Moving! Is It Alive? How Movement Affects Humans’ ­Affinity to Living and Non-living Entities’. IEEE Transactions on Affective Computing. 53 Kinaesthetic Motion Database. http://miyoshikensho.com/kmd. 54 Christopher Alexander, Sara Ishikawa and Murray Silverstein (1977). A Pattern Language: Towns, ­Buildings, Construction. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. 55 Motion Periodic Table (2015) created by Kazuki Akamine. Accessed: 30 April 2020. http://foxcodex.html.xdomain.jp/. 56 Kenya Hara (2003). Design of Design. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten. 112–115. 57 Maiken Hillerup Fogtmann (2012). ‘Kinesthetic Empathy Interaction – Exploring the Possibilities of Psychomotor Abilities in Interaction Design’. In: Second International Workshop on Physicality. Cardiff: UWIC Press: 37–42. 58 Shannon Cuykendall, et al. (2015). ‘Simply Spinning: Extending Current Design Frameworks for Kinesthetic Empathy’. In: Proceedings of the 9th International Conference on Tangible, Embedded, and Embodied Interaction. 305–312. 59 Petra Gemeinboeck and Rob Saunders (2017). ‘Movement Matters: How a Robot Becomes Body’. In: Proceedings of the 4th International Conference on Movement Computing, 28–30 June 2017, London. ACM. 60 Shannon Cuykendall et al. (2015). 61 Johan Redström (2017). 62 Andrea diSessa (1993). 63 David A. Lauer and Stephen Pentak (2005). Design Basics. Boston, MA: Cengage Learning. 64 Ronald Jackson (2009). Wine Tasting: A Professional Handbook. San Diego, CA: Academic Press; ­Adrienne Lehrer (2009 [1983]). Wine and Conversation. Bloomington: Indiana University Press.

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5  From Kinetic to Kinaesthetic

In this chapter, I illustrate two projects in which the design approach introduced in the previous chapter was developed and evaluated. The first project was a design workshop with student designers at the RCA: they used my original design framework and tools to work on several design briefs. Their outcomes and feedback allowed me to update the framework, which was again examined in the following workshop, creating a spiral of theorising and testing. In the second project, I explored the significant degree to which kinaesthetic empathy could be applied to design in collaboration with several creative practitioners from various disciplines. The participation of other designers, as well as other types of practitioners, reified and extended the possibility of the design space. Lastly, the book concludes with a reflection on the research project as a whole and the sharing of my mission for contemporary designers.

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5.1  METHODS FOR DESIGNING KINAESTHETIC EMPATHY Within the practice conducted in the programme for Designing Objects in Motion, some common steps for design practice have been discovered. I consolidated these steps into two methods, one for analysis and the other for creation. The methods address the need for a methodology of designing movement, given the current lack of attention to, and educational basis of, the aesthetic aspect of kinetic design, as pointed out by Ben Hopson.1 Hopson also emphasised the three critical elements that are required to support the improvement of existing products, as well as the development of new artefacts: the means to 1) describe, 2) sketch and 3) record movements. The methods presented here provide new ways of practising these three: 1) kinaesthetic elements as a kind of new language to describe the qualities of motion, and 2 & 3) annotated sketches to allow the articulation of movement, whether observed or ideated, and the associated kinaesthetic qualities. However, the meaning of aesthetics in Hopson’s sense and its meaning in my research differ: the former tends to refer to aesthetics in a general sense, such as visual and mechanical beauty and careful attention to detail, while the latter focuses on sensory appreciation, especially kinaesthetically empathic sensations, which is reflected in the paradigm shift from ‘kinetic’ to ‘kinaesthetic’ design. Kinaesthetic exploration requires that we acquire a heightened sensitivity to our kinaesthetic perception, or kinaesthetic literacy.

Kinaesthetic literacy By kinaesthetic literacy I mean sensitivity to kinaesthetic experiences, not only the direct kinaesthetic sensations within our own body but also kinaesthetic empathy, and the ability to make use of them in the context of creative practice. There has already been an awareness of the need to train designers in kinaesthetic sensibility from the early Bauhaus period onwards, as demonstrated by the teaching of ­Johannes Itten and Gertrud Grunow. The importance of training designers in bodily movement has been reclaimed in relation to interaction design (Hummels et al. 2006), and recent processes and techniques for cultivating aesthetic sensitivity in designers, including movement literacy,2 aesthetic laboration3 and sensitizing designers.4 However, these earlier concepts paid very little attention to kinaesthetic empathy, especially in the context of empathising with the movement of non-human ­entities. By deliberately introducing the new concept of kinaesthetic literacy, I intend to enhance the recognition of kinaesthetic empathy in fields relevant to design and embodiment. Another feature of kinaesthetic literacy is that it gives designers

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the power to utilise these two methods, while practising them also enhances their kinaesthetic literacy, forming a circular relationship. Kristina Höök argues that inward listening is a demanding activity, and therefore not necessarily easy to design for, and that soma design methods are different from HCI methods that are ‘easy to grasp for everyone and cheap to perform’.5 In relation to this argument, on the one hand I agree that the process of focusing on one’s bodily and kinaesthetic experiences requires concentration. On the other, kinaesthetic empathy with the movement of objects is sometimes instantly recognisable once we pay attention to it, or even once we start to recognise the concept itself, which perhaps happens much faster than attentive process assumed for ‘inward listening’. This indicates the two possible ‘speeds’ of kinaesthetic sensitivity.

Analysing kinaesthetic empathy The method to analyse kinaesthetic empathy follows three steps. A simple way of conducting the method is to sketch the observed movement and annotate it by referencing the framework, including kinaesthetic elements. It could be thought of as ‘movement-tasting’ (like ‘wine-tasting’), as it involves differentiation, with observers progressively articulating the kinaesthetic qualities of the observed phenomena.

First step: identifying an object of observation The first action is to identify a movement of an object to study (Figure 5.1). Since the experience of kinaesthetic empathy is often ephemeral, repetitive observation offers the observer a better image of the sensation, as in oenology, where the taste of wine can quickly fade away, and several drops need to be tasted to better capture its features. For this reason, video recording is useful to analyse movements that are not repetitive (e.g. opening of the lid of a kettle) or site-specific objects (e.g. automatic doors). When recording the movement with a video camera, attention should be paid to the perspective from which to observe the objects, as the same movement appears very differently depending on the position and the angle of observation.

Second step: exploring the kinaesthetic dimension In this process verbalisation is essential, yet it alone does not necessarily enable designers to articulate the embodied, tacit sensations of kinaesthetic empathy to a satisfactory level. Kinaesthetic representation provides a bottom-up approach (starting with the ‘felt’ sensation and referencing the body) (Figure 5.2), while kinaesthetic

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Figure 5.1  Identifying a movement to analyse

Figure 5.2  Exploring ­kinaesthetic empathy through kinaesthetic ­representation and ­annotated sketches

elements offer a top-down approach (using the existing categorisation as a lens for exploration). Drawing annotated sketches can be useful to facilitate the process. It is common for different kinds of kinaesthetic empathy to be perceived depending on which parts of observed movements the perceiver pays attention to. While the process above is focused on the kinaesthetic aspect of movement, qualitative spectra allow observers to examine the qualities of movement from a wider perspective.

Third step: communicating the analysis Kinaesthetic representation and kinaesthetic elements can be presented in the form of annotated sketches (Figure 5.3). By presenting the results of the analysis, the similarities in, and gaps between, people’s perception may be revealed. Feedback from others, e.g. to what extent one’s analysis makes sense to others, might provide opportunities to reveal how personal, or general, one’s kinaesthetic response is. It is possible that because of the lack of reference to specific actions or situations, or previous experience of these, someone fails to understand the kinaesthetic analysis reported by another. But sharing references can potentially help people better understand each other’s experiences of kinaesthetic empathy. Overall, the analytical process provides designers with a new means and vocabulary to illustrate our kinaesthetic responses to observed movements. Compared with other movement notation systems, such as Rudolf Laban’s dance notation system, known as Labanotation,6 the analysis of kinaesthetic empathy is significantly less abstract and systematic. It is possible that further systematic annotation systems could emerge through a long-term use of the method. However, at least at

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Figure 5.3  Communicating the analysis

this stage, its flexibility makes it possible for designers to quickly learn and use the analysis of movement.

Creating kinaesthetic empathy The method for creation is less structured. Inspired by George Rickey’s ‘movement itself’, the principles of the programme for Designing Objects in Motion inform the direction taken towards the higher integration of movement, function and context. This process is divided into two approaches. One is the modification of the kinaesthetic qualities of an existing kinetic object. For example, if any issues regarding its kinaesthetic qualities are identified by the method of analysis, we may wish to improve these by investigating alternatives (Figure 5.4). New movements can be explored by adding or subtracting kinaesthetic elements to/from existing movements. Qualitative spectra offer a different perspective for imaginative exploration. Most of the existing research into kinaesthetic empathy focuses on the ‘positive’, or artistic, meditative and playful experiences of kinaesthetic empathy.7 On the other hand, negative kinaesthetic empathy remains largely unexplored. Höök shows how, in SID, the designer can enhance their awareness of bodily conditions by realising the discomfort in their own body. But the way in which such a bodily awareness could lead to concrete design practice is left ambiguous.8 Beyond merely cultivating bodily awareness, my research suggests that negativity in kinaesthetic empathy can lead to specific examples of (re)design.

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Figure 5.4  Exploring ­alternative movement qualities by using kinaesthetic elements and qualitative spectra

The other approach is to generate new ideas for kinetic design practice from scratch. Unlike the first case, which takes a largely problem-solving approach, this case concerns pure idea generation. Designers can use the design framework as a source of inspiration to create new kinetic objects and therefore new kinaesthetic experiences. My studies indicate that there are at least two kinds of approach. One of these is to design movements, inspired by typical human behaviour, that coincide with the use of the objects. The combination of such behaviour and the functions of everyday objects results in the outcomes presented in the following sections. The other approach is to focus on the potential ways in which humans might behave in the context where the object is used.

Features Unlike bodystorming,9 the methods of Designing Objects in Motion do not necessarily require ideation in situ, while they both appreciate the usefulness of bodily experience in design ideation. They are closer to embodied storming in that their benefit lies not only in idea generation but also in the exploration of the problems.10 From my experience, the use of kinaesthetic empathy in (re)designing everyday objects with kinetic movement is not an easy task, and requires thoughtful exploration. Though the quick ideation processes that are typically practised in brainstorming are useful, designing kinaesthetic empathy often requires dedicated time for sensory reflection, which echoes Höök’s ideas of slowstorming and inward listening.11

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Overall, the methods introduced here are closer to the ‘second-generation’ methods than those of the ‘first generation’,12 functioning as a lens and a catalyst for creative practitioners. They are intended to allow designers to be prepared-­­for-­ action, such as in reflective practice, rather than being guided-in-action by detailed prescriptive instructions.13 The following sections illustrate two projects from which these methods were developed. One was a workshop with student designers at the RCA in which they analysed and created various kinds of movements using my design framework to perceive movements as kinaesthetic elements. The other was an extension of the workshop in which four of the workshop participants continued to engage in the project with the aim of creating a physical, full-scale model to further explore the experiences evoked by the movements they had designed. As Nelson and Stolterman argue, in their proposal of an ultimate particular,14 the concrete outcomes and processes that appeared in these projects were not just examples of an idea; they also embody the designer’s selection of countless details which cannot be fully presented in an abstract way.15 In addition to the details, a concrete object is also a form of knowledge about functionality – how it can serve its functions. The KMD (Kinaesthetic Motion Database) is intended to be a tool for perceptual learning, inspiration and collaboration, rather than for prescribing step-by-step processes for designers to follow.

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5.2  ANALYSIS AND CREATION Analysis To explore our kinaesthetic empathy with a certain movement, analytical sheets, like the example of those used in my research shown in Figure 5.5, can be useful. These are similar to the sheets used in wine tasting. These sheets would be most useful for those who have just started learning the design framework, while experienced practitioners could conduct analysis without needing them. The multiple steps set out on the analysis sheet in Figure 5.5 correspond to the proposed method for analysis presented in the previous section. The first step of the process is identifying the movement to analyse, and the second step invites the observer to create annotated sketches. The movement of the object is drawn on the left of the sheet, which is then annotated with comments and sketches of kinaesthetic representations on the right. The designer can either use kinaesthetic elements as a lens to explore the kinaesthetic potential of a movement or start with kinaesthetic representation and then use the elements for post-­ rationalisation. As the illustrations on the sheet show, some kinaesthetic representations tend to be expressed with whole-body movement and others with the movement of specific parts of the body or in specific situations, or even in other kinds of creatures. Several qualitative spectra below the sketches are used to further explore the overall qualities associated with the movement. By intentionally leaving some spectra unlabelled, the sheet can also encourage the observer to think about what kind of qualities are relevant for the movement in question. As movements are dynamic phenomena, the quality may also understandably sit on multiple points or within a certain range, depending on the different moments of the movement. The final section of the sheet is for an additional exercise to exchange experiences with others. This process reveals individual variations, such as different foci of observations, kinaesthetic repertoire and cultural references. As noted earlier, the analytical method does not necessarily require the use of sheets. Those who have previous experience of practising analysis through the design framework would not need to follow a strict written procedure. Rather, they might find it easier to conduct the method more flexibly, adjusting techniques to the situation or combining them, going between the range of steps back and forth, in the way that an experienced practitioner does not necessarily follow ‘design methods’, as taught in design school, rather using them ad hoc and flexibly. In Figure 5.6, the participant observed and analysed the movement of a kinetic lamp with a transformable lampshade (Figure 2.11). She associated with the movement the kinaesthetic elements of tension, resistance, volume, rhythm, and one which she originally termed anti-articulation because of the elasticity of the object.

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Figure 5.5  Analysis sheet

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Figure 5.6  Analysis sheet filled in by a participant

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One of the kinaesthetic representations illustrated here is the physical movement of taking off a sweater: ‘I [feel] the stretching tensions from the lamp like how I [feel taking off] my sweater’. A surprising fact was that one of the other participants used exactly the same metaphor to describe the kinaesthetic empathy he experienced. This indicates that people might have some sort of common repertoire of kinaesthesis. Another kinaesthetic representation uses the metaphor of a rice cake: ‘The feeling of flexibility of the lampshade reminds me of [a] rice cake: soft, cute, elegant and gentle, mild. Because of the slow stretching, expansion, bouncing motions.’ Unlike the previous metaphor, other participants who were in the same session found it difficult to understand this association. It seemed that this division largely derives from cultural differences; the participant who filled in the sheet had an Asian background, where people are more familiar with eating rice cakes than the participants from European countries. But the European participants said that they eventually had a slightly better idea of what eating a rice cake feels like after the participant elaborated on her experience. In terms of kinaesthetic sensations, the boundary between memory and imagination appears sometimes to be blurred. Even without an actual bodily experience, we could extend our repertoire of kinaesthetic sensations to some extent by exploring imaginative sensations. This ‘loose’ boundary between what we know and what we don’t know seems to make kinaesthetic empathy, with either a human or an object, possible. In parallel with the research workshops with designers, I had an opportunity to interview a ballet dancer about her experience of kinaesthetic empathy. The dancer, Sara Shirokoma, was training at the English National Ballet at the time. Although she was not yet a professional dancer, her experience from early childhood and daily commitment to training were profound enough to allow her a kinaesthetic sensitivity that was distinct from that of non-ballet dancers. When I presented the animations of kinaesthetic elements, the dancer quickly associated various kinds of movements used in dance with them. As noted earlier, the way the animations were intended to be used was to explore what kind of kinaesthetic sensation the movement (of the animation) allows us to associate it with, rather than to think what the animation ‘looks like’, or to prompt a mere association with the visual appearance of the animation. It could take some time for a designer to understand this intention, but in my experience dancers grasp it relatively quickly. According to Shirokoma, the element of hapticity, for example, reminded her of the kinaesthetic sensations of the développé, a movement in classical ballet in which the dancer stands on one leg and lifts the other leg from the floor upward, bending the knee. In this movement the dancer keeps their toe in contact with the other leg so that the leg and foot follow a well-choreographed line while being lifted up. The sense of touch experienced in this sequence was connected to the animation of the haptic element.

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However, several other kinaesthetic elements were associated with movements in contemporary dance rather than classical ballet. Classical ballet employs a specific repertoire of movement and its aesthetic principle is often described as defying, or escaping, gravity. According to the dancer, unlike the animation, bodily movement in classical ballet rarely challenges the balance of dancers. The animation has a stronger connection to contemporary dance, which features more flexible, non-traditional movements, or even everyday movements, such as quickly ­turning round and back into a room realising we have forgotten something. However, the sense of balance in general is essential for performing ballet movements such as the passé and the arabesque (Figure 5.7). Apparently it takes years of training for a dancer to be able to find their own centre of gravity properly and to align their body along it in the complex dynamics of ballet movement. Kinaesthetic empathy allows experienced dancers, even trainees, to predict, just by watching, whether another dancer will be able to keep a good balance, even before s/he performs a certain pose. Demonstrating kinetic objects also revealed unexpected connections. After watching the rocking of Elliptic Sculpture, the dancer associated the kinaesthetic sensations with making a jump in classical ballet. What she focused on was the subtle breeze the sculpture would be receiving while it was rocking at the maximum speed. It reminded her of the air pressure on the whole body in making the final step just before the leap (Figure 5.7). The sensation can be considered as a combination of multiple kinaesthetic elements, such as impulse and hapticity. But this association was not possible without her kinaesthetic repertoire and attention to the subtle detail of the sculpture in motion. The ballet dancer also identified different kinds of kinaesthetic empathy that derive from subtle differences in materiality. Figure 5.8 shows two forms of Bending Sculptures. The one at the top comprises a foam sphere attached to a thin carbon fibre, while the one at the bottom consists of a wooden sphere attached to a thicker carbon fibre. Both sculptures show slightly different nuances of materiality and weight, but the overall movements look very much alike. For the dancer, however, the two senses of weight were distinct enough to associate two different kinds of movement sensations with them. She compared the bottom one to the sense of tension while performing a spin from the posture of a plié (Figure 5.7). The top one, in contrast, was also associated with the sensation she feels in failing to perform the same movement. A successful spin needs a good amount of force inside the body to keep the initial upward impulse to a certain height. If a dancer fails to do this, and instead releases the impulse upward, the energy escapes from the body and cannot successfully rotate the body. Her broad and attentive kinaesthetic repertoire enabled the dancer to articulate the nuances of movement qualities through kinaesthetic empathy.

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passé

developpé

arabesque toe in contact with the other leg

one step before jump

jump

Figure 5.7  Annotated sketch of ballet movements

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plié

spin

Figure 5.8  Two forms of Bending Sculpture

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Creation Designers can use everyday objects and human behaviour as sources of inspiration to produce a new concept for kinaesthetic design objects. Figure 5.9 shows an example of design ideas created by a designer in a research workshop. The brief was to design a kinetic everyday object that reflects the concept of kinaesthetic empathy. The designer designed a fan by combining the kinaesthetic element of balance and a Daruma doll, a cultural and traditional object, a symbol of perseverance and good luck, commonly seen as a toy or souvenir in Japan. A Daruma doll has a weighted base and returns to an upright position from whatever angle it is placed on a surface. This design, named Daruma Fan, oscillates naturally and consequently generates a breeze around it. People around the object can empathise with the kinaesthetic sensations of balance and imbalance, the repetitive oscillation and the change in the position within a space. While the feasibility of this idea is debatable, it presents a mechanism to generate an ambient breeze which, with a form radically different from the traditional fan, would allow people to experience a new kind of kinaesthetic empathy with everyday objects. Figure 5.10 shows a concept for a desk lamp designed by another workshop participant. Discrete mini LEDs all spin around the central axis, blending into a solid light. The revolving LEDs evoke the kinaesthetic element of rotation. The movement is both an indication that the light is ‘turned on’ and an essential device to create one solid shape of light. This concept embodies a good integration of movement, form and interaction, a design interpretation of Rickey’s ‘movement itself’. The design shown in Figure 5.11 is a more practical example than the previous ones presented. Titled Crowd Control in Panic Situations, it is a concept for a transformable carpet which shrinks by itself in emergency situations. As the carpet folds up, it reveals several lines that indicate the route for evacuation visually. The consideration of kinaesthetic empathy appears in the transformation; the folding movement is intended to be sudden and tense rather than gradual and elegant, so that it signals the sense of tension which is potentially uncomfortable to the people who perceive it. Kinaesthetic empathy with the sensation of tension functions as a sort of intuitive alert rather than linguistic or semiotic information. I would also like to share one example that reflects the designer’s misinterpretation of the concept of kinaesthetic elements. Figure 5.12 illustrates a concept for an interactive transformable chair. It remains in a collapsed form until someone approaches it, when it pops up and becomes ready for the person to sit on. However, the chair falls back when they get too close to it. According to the designer, this behaviour was meant to exemplify the elements of impulse and resistance. But these elements are intended to refer to kinaesthetic sensations rather than emotional or intentional behaviour, and the designer misinterpreted the meanings of the elements.

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Figure 5.9  Daruma Fan

Figure 5.10  LED Rotation Fan

Figure 5.11  Crowd Control in Panic ­Situations

Figure 5.12  Interactive Transformable Chair

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5.3  DESIGN WITH PUPPETRY The first project discussed in the previous section was successful in that it revealed the strong potential of the design framework for the design of object movement. However, because of the relatively limited timeframes of the research workshops, the participating designers were only able to present their design ideas as annotated sketches, or small-scale models at best. Though these outcomes can communicate the basic concepts, it was almost impossible to explore the actual sense of kinaesthetic empathy without physical objects and movements. I aimed to extend the design exploration by experimenting with real movements. One of the most obvious ways to achieve this goal was to create mechanical prototypes. In fact, working prototypes (also known as ‘proofs of concept’) are powerful tools to explore the contexts in which the artefacts can potentially be beneficial, as well as their usability and feasibility. Prototypes that work ‘here and now’ can also be a powerful presentation for potential funders, buyers and collaborators. On the other hand, there are also critical disadvantages to be considered in design. Machines have their own unique rhythms and patterns that often differ from the organic elegance we tend to hope they will have. Until a designer has a firm idea about the detail of the movement they wish to design, such mechanical patterns can potentially dominate and limit the designer’s imagination. It also tends to be challenging and costly to prototype mechanical, and especially self-actuated, movements with a high level of accuracy and subtle nuances, which often becomes an obstacle to the prototyping of kinetic artefacts.

Puppetry as design exploration As a detour around this dilemma, I considered an experimental partnership with the puppeteer Rachel Warr. Warr is a London-based professional puppeteer and has a comprehensive knowledge of puppetry, staging and movement. Almost a year before this project began I had the opportunity to interview her, and this inspired me to devise this project. It may sound unusual for designers to collaborate with puppetry for product development, but it makes sense, given puppetry’s long history in the exploration of the qualities and techniques of movement. On the one hand the partnership with puppeteers was strategic, but on the other hand it was quite an intuitive decision. The main benefits of working with a puppeteer are threefold. First, in puppetry, the body of the performer becomes the ‘actuator’ of the objects, which enables intuitive and flexible exploration of the subtle nuances of movement. Mechanical prototyping often involves rewriting codes or rebuilding the mechanical structures in

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order to modify prototyped movement, even to a small degree. Compared with this, puppetry enables a relatively quick iteration of testing movement. Second, puppetry could broaden the possibility of design ideation by removing the constraints of time and technological resources. Third, the puppeteer’s knowledge and repertoire of movements could help designers to explore the qualities of movement. In contrast to the enabling potential of puppetry, there was a need to carefully consider the balance between realism and fiction in the project, since puppetry makes the performance of wizardry easy. The project ended up pursuing a realistic and feasible scenario, rather than depicting a fictional world. This is because a fictional context, because of its idiosyncrasy, might dominate the perception of the performed objects, which could interfere with the potentially subtle aesthetics explored with kinaesthetic empathy. As a goal, the project aimed to create full-scale props of the designed imaginative objects and present their interactive scenarios as a short film.16 The film was intended primarily to be watched by the designers themselves. By removing the puppeteers and the tools used to animate the props (such as rods), the designers could pose the question ‘what if the objects moved by themselves?’ and explore the similarities and differences between their original intentions and the movements performed by the puppeteers.

Process and criteria Beginning with the partnership with the puppeteer, the project created a new space in which practitioners with different skills collaborated towards a common goal. The collaborative team included another puppeteer, Tom Crame, who supported the video filming as the second puppeteer, three designers who had participated in one of my earlier workshops, and a sound designer, Yaprak Göker, who is experienced in the Foley technique and was responsible for creating imaginative sounds for the designed objects. The filming and editing were conducted by Kumi Oda. This puppetry-informed approach is related to the ‘Wizard of Oz’ technique, ‘in which participants are led to believe they are interacting with a working prototype of a system, but in reality a researcher is acting as a proxy for the system behind the scenes’.17 The common factor is that both approaches rely on manual control by a researcher, or someone equivalent, to produce the behaviour of the artefacts, whether digital or physical, as if they were functioning automatically. Conversely, the essential difference lies in the type of audience involved. In the ‘Wizard of Oz’ method, researchers and experimenters create artificial systems for the participants to observe or experience. In this study, the primary audience for the final outcome consisted of the designers themselves. It was aimed at encouraging the designers to reflect on the design process and outcomes.

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What follows presents five of the designs created and animated by the team, that took the form of a story of a day in the life of an office worker in London. This narrative setting was intended to reflect the cultural and regional influences on this project. The sound designer created the sound of the products, the actor’s behaviour and the environment. In preparation for the project, the puppeteers first investigated the characteristics of the objects, their shape, weight, propensity for inertia and so on, by testing various postures to hold and animate the objects. They then explored the various qualities of the movements, advising each other and using rhythm and tone of voice to help themselves better synchronise their movements. Finally, they gradually brought their explorations together and stabilised the movements. What the actor’s behaviour intends to communicate is not a realistic interaction that someone might articulate in response to the artefacts, but a demonstration of the concepts, showing that artefacts and human experiences designed with kinaesthetic empathy are ‘something like this’, like Chris Nash’s photography.18

Breathing Humidifier Designer Anne Zhou proposed Breathing Humidifier (Figure 5.13), a redesign for a humidifier, focusing on the kinaesthetic sensations related to breath. Made of a flexible silicone cover with a small hole attached to a base, the humidifier inflates and deflates in the same way that lungs inhale and exhale. Water is vaporised and fills the space inside the cover; this is emitted externally as the cover deflates and increases the internal pressure. By repeating this process, Breathing Humidifier diffuses the vapour into the surrounding space. The movement of inflation and deflation is not merely a decorative device but is aimed at distributing humidity in the surrounding space. The kinaesthetic potential of the humidifier’s movement can be explained with the kinaesthetic elements of rhythm, volume, and in & out. Rhythm derives from the repetition of inflation and deflation; volume from the volumetric change in the cover; and in & out from the cover emitting vapour and sucking air. Figure 5.14 shows the full-scale model of Zhou’s Breathing Humidifier, animated by the puppeteers. The vapour accumulated inside was emitted through the small hole on the upper right of its body. The dent on the upper left of the cover indicates the slight deflation of the humidifier. The actor expressed the kinaesthetic empathy with the humidifier by synchronising his breath with the inflation and deflation of the humidifier. The objects were animated by two puppeteers: one controlled the cover’s motion by pulling the string attached to the internal surface of the cover and the other controlled the fluid of mist synchronously with the inflation and deflation. Figure 5.15 shows Zhou’s sketches of the process of seeking an appropriate form for the humidifier. The sketches indicate Zhou’s exploration of the right

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Figure 5.13  Breathing ­Humidifier

Figure 5.14  Sequence of the movement of Breathing Humidifier

Figure 5.15  Sketches of Breathing Humidifier by Anne Zhou exploring the appropriate shape

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balance between abstractness and randomness to create the sense of familiarity. Her focus here was on how to avoid attributing anthropomorphic, zoomorphic or insect-like details that could be easily associated with if the form had even a small element that might remind people of those living entities.

Stomping Pepper Mill Like Zhou’s humidifier, a relatively anthropomorphic movement was also explored in the Stomping Pepper Mill, designed by Viraj Joshi. The pepper mill has human legs and feet stomping on something on the ground as its essence (Figure 5.16). Joshi also considered personifying the ‘legs’ even further, e.g. moving them slightly back and forth as if walking, instead of moving one-dimensionally like pistons (Figure 5.17). But he eventually chose to keep the movement mechanical, without adding overly human-like details. In the film, the actor demonstrates his kinaesthetic empathy with the pepper mill by moving his ‘feet fingers’, as if mimicking the stomping movement, whether consciously or unconsciously. The pepper mill was conceived as an automatic device, although the first concept was a manually activated one, as Figure 5.18 shows. The purpose of this was to allow users to appreciate the movement of the mill without being hindered by their own bodily movements that would be necessary if the mill was manually activated. The pepper mill was designed in tandem with Swirling Salt Mill (Figure 5.16), designed by Ruijing (Hazel) Yan, in which salt ascends through the Archimedean screw, expressing an escape from gravity.

Obnoxious and Courteous Ticket Barriers The movement of doors has been explored from communicative and gestural points of view in earlier projects.19 Obnoxious Barriers and Courteous Barriers (Figure 5.19, 5.20) are my design concepts that were created in relation to ticket barriers (which also have door-like movements) from a kinaesthetic perspective. The two sets of barriers allow viewers to perceive distinct qualities of movement while sharing the same physical structures. Obnoxious Barriers move at an awkward speed, creak heavily and finally slam into the sides of the gate and make a banging sound. Courteous Barriers, in contrast, have a more gestural and graceful quality. The upper ends of the barriers move first and tilt forward, with the lower ends moving slightly later. As a result, the barriers follow a curvilinear path. The smooth up-and-down movement and their acceleration and deceleration recall the dynamic yet elegant kinaesthetic feeling of steps in a waltz. The puppeteers created the two distinct qualities of movement by using the same props, and the sound designer made the difference even more obvious.

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Figure 5.16  Filming models of Swirling Salt Mill (left) and Stomping Pepper Mill (right)

Figure 5.17  Stomping Pepper Mill in motion. The two hammer-shaped arms grind the pepper corns by stomping on them.

Figure 5.18  Concept sketch (rendering) of ­Stomping Pepper Mill by Viraj Joshi

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Figure 5.19  Obnoxious (left) and Courteous (right) Ticket Barriers

Figure 5.20  The puppeteers performing ­Courteous Barriers. They were edited out in the post-production of the film. ­Photo­graphy by Pengduowen Li

Figure 5.21  The actor expressed two kinds of kinaesthetic empathy through his reactions – recoiling, and strolling carefree.

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The former represents a slight exaggeration of my own experience of ticket barriers in London Underground stations, whereas the latter indicates a desirable alternative, which minor changes in the dynamics and the mechanisms of the barriers could perhaps enable. Both movements are associated with the element of impulse (the sense of acceleration) and resistance (the sense of deceleration), although they later take on opposite qualities. The haptic element is present in the creaking sound of Obnoxious Barriers that allows us to perceive the internal friction and materiality of the object. Gravity is present in the waltz-like movement of Courteous Barriers (Figure 5.21). This is an example of the outcomes of using the method for creation in modifying the movement of existing objects. Obnoxious Barriers and Courteous Barriers are the result of my exploration of alternatives by modifying the kinaesthetic qualities of existing ticket barriers based on kinaesthetic elements and qualitative spectra. In this case, I used the basic structures of the existing machines in order to highlight the effect of the dynamics itself. But it is also possible to propose alternatives: for example, by experimenting with other kinaesthetic elements and using radically different structures.

Swaying Clock The second hands of mechanical clocks count seconds in either ‘tick-tock’ or continuous movements. But they are seldom used for practical purposes, and I saw an opportunity here to redesign their movement in an alternative way. Swaying Clock is my second design concept that has a second hand that starts to literally sway at a certain time of the day (Figure 5.22). In the film, the clock is situated in an office environment. The swaying movement was intended to signal the end of the working day. The movement creates a free and relaxed atmosphere, in contrast to the ‘tick-tock’ movement, which is more rigid and mechanical. In the film, the swaying hand induces the man to relax (twisting his neck) and make a slightly playful action (turning to the left and leaving the office) (Figure 5.23). The motion of the clock hand was created as a computer graphic animation based on the real movements of a carbon fibre animated by the puppeteer, in order to create a natural sense of movement (Figure 5.24).

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Figure 5.23  Kinaesthetic reaction to the movement of Swaying Clock

Figure 5.22  Swaying Clock in motion

Figure 5.24  The puppeteer creating the movement of the second hand by bending a ­carbon fibre. Photography by Pengduowen Li

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Curling Bed Lamp Relating to the kinaesthetic empathy experienced at the end of the day, Viraj Joshi created a concept for a redesigned bed lamp. He focused on the unique sensation of comfort, warmth and protection experienced while ‘cocooning’ in a duvet and transformed it into a kinetic bedside lamp. Curling Bed Lamp (Figure 5.25) has an onion-shaped lampshade made of flexible cloth that controls the brightness of the lamp by curling and uncurling. Figure 5.26 shows the first sketch of Joshi’s artefact. The curling movement of the lamp is intended to allow people to rediscover and enhance their unnoticed embodied sensations. In this design concept, movement, function and context are seamlessly integrated. The curling of the lampshade is associated with the bodily sensations experienced in bed because of the context; if the same object were put in different places, such as supermarkets, classrooms or bathrooms, the movement would be linked with other kinds of kinaesthetic sensations. The movement of the lampshade is intended to be self-actuated, responding to the person’s behaviour, as seen in the film when a book is put near the lamp (Figure 5.27). The elements of tension, hapticity, volume and rotation are present. Tension can be perceived in the elastic transformation of the lampshade. The contraction of the lampshade allows people to perceive the haptic element from the way the fabrics of the lampshade touch each other, as well as volume from the shrinking. The gentle twist of the structure creates a subtle sense of rotation. As shown in Figure 5.28, the puppetry model has a rod attached to the top of the lamp so that the puppeteer can hold and twist it to create the movement of folding.

Figure 5.25  Curling Bed Lamp designed by Viraj Joshi

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Figure 5.26  Concept sketch of Curling Bed Lamp by Viraj Joshi. It was originally conceived as a lamp with the spiral-shaped lampshade (lower middle).

Figure 5.28  Rachel Warr and the author animating Curling Bed Lamp. The puppeteer is standing by and holding the rod attached to the lampshade. Photography by Pengduowen Li

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Figure 5.27  Interactive scenario of Curling Bed Lamp

From studio to method The results of the studio-based project are largely dependent on the individual practitioners involved and the context of the collaboration and are therefore difficult to generalise about. Nevertheless, it touched on the benefits and challenges of adopting puppetry as a means to design the experience of kinaesthetic empathy which new artefacts can potentially trigger through interaction. What was discovered here was the seed of a vast, rich and relatively unexplored design approach that bridges product design and puppetry.

Encounter with the ‘right’ movement Once the paper models had been created, the puppeteer and the designers explored potential ways of animating the models together. While watching the puppeteer exploring movements with her hands (Figure 5.29), each designer, including myself, found the exact movements we had in mind, but had not been able to articulate. Such moments were not only joyous; they also confirmed that we had achieved the specific satisfactory quality of movement, even if this was largely non-verbal. This was emphasised by the puppeteer as well as the three other designers. The puppeteer highlighted the importance of the free, playful, and even silly exploration that happens when puppeteers first encounter objects (Figure 5.30), which often helps them explore movement qualities effectively.

Figure 5.29  Rachel Warr testing the puppeteer-ability of the paper model presented by one of the product designers

Figure 5.30  The puppeteer holding a carbon fibre rod and posing while exploring the materiality of the rod. Photography by Pengduowen Li

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Creating design models for puppetry There was an uncertainty at the beginning of the project in terms of how to create ‘puppetry-friendly’ product models. The designers stated, however, that it had not become too challenging, and was even much easier than creating electromechanical prototypes. On the other hand, however, the puppeteer pointed out that some of the models were difficult to animate. For example, the ticket barriers could have been animated more easily with support tools or mechanisms that could have guided the trajectory of the barriers. This issue resulted from the limited time and opportunity available for mutual understanding during the design process, which will be resolved in future practice and research.

Sound The puppetry-informed exploration was, on the one hand, beneficial in that designers could focus on the concrete nuances of movement from an early stage. On the other hand, there was a risk that too much focus was put on movement and less on the material nature of objects. Collaboration with a sound designer counterbalanced the attention, as it allowed the designers to examine the materials and structures in depth by thinking how the objects ought to sound. Eventually some of the sounds created were realistic, while others were less so, but gave an indication of a desirable sense of dynamics and materiality. All the sounds were ‘consequential sounds’ (the result of ‘operating and construction’) rather than ‘intentional’ sounds (the more artificial sounds signified meanings; e.g. a ‘beeping’ sound).20

Why puppetry and puppeteers? The puppeteers, with a rich repertoire of movements and the skills to demonstrate them, significantly helped the designers’ exploration of movement qualities. Compared with other types of movement-related creative fields such as animation design and dance, puppetry is more directly compatible with the process in which product designers work with tangible materials. While the technique of puppetry employed in the study was limited (using rods and working directly with the hands), other formats, such as shadow and wire puppetry, would potentially enable different kinds of explorations.

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Puppetry-compatible design models Both designers and puppeteers considered physical objects to be vital for their ­exploration of movement. In the light of the feedback from the puppeteer, it was beneficial for designers to create not only the design models but also certain mechanisms and tools that could help the puppeteers to explore movement, even if they were not part of the intended designs.

Development of shared tools and vocabulary The reflective interview I conducted revealed common ground and gaps between the designers’ and the puppeteers’ views. Although in this study I, as a researcher, mediated their perspectives, their collaboration would be made more effective by developing common tools and vocabulary. The playful exploration that the puppeteer mentioned is an example of a useful tool that could promote collaborative exploration.

Summary As the introductory chapter suggested, while the aesthetic consideration of physical movements has been limited in everyday kinetic design objects, there have been increasing numbers of innovative design examples where the aesthetics of motion are carefully crafted. But the role of such aesthetic movement has often remained interactive and decorative. The design ideas created in the projects are practical examples in which the movements of everyday objects are kinaesthetically empathic, allowing people to appreciate the kinaesthetic connection to their repertoire of movement sensations. In contrast to the instances of movement as display and interface and movement as life (Chapter 2), they are intended neither to communicate semantic information or emotional signals nor to give an anthropomorphic impression with a human-like appearance. Rather, inspired by movement as art (e.g. Lye’s Fountain, Calder’s mobiles), their movements are intended to be ambiguous enough to avoid association with a particular emotion, intention or cognitive information, instead allowing people to explore kinaesthetic connections. Informed by Rickey’s concept of ‘movement itself’, the design examples created in this project embody the integrity of non-anthropomorphic forms, functions, contexts and kinaesthetic empathy. Earlier research proposed various kinds of artefacts with which people can interact to experience rich bodily experiences. Some of these were focused on enhancing kinaesthetic empathy between people, especially in the contexts of athletics

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(e.g. Fogtmann’s TacTowers), while my research focuses on kinaesthetic empathy between people and the movement of objects in everyday contexts (e.g. Courteous Ticket Barriers). Further, other precedents were designed to enable people to pay attention to their somatic conditions by digitally interacting with their bodily actions and conditions (e.g. Höök’s Soma Mat and Breathing Light). In contrast, the design objects introduced here are intended to stimulate people’s bodily experiences in a much more subtle and indirect manner. The practical issue that is often present in making movements which I have addressed in the research is the difficulty of exploring the subtle nuances of object movement with real physical materials and mechanisms. Even at the stage of exploring and prototyping physical movements, their aesthetic quality matters and influences the direction of development and aesthetic judgement. Just as people tend to adjust the qualities they feel and experience to match the words that are available, rather than the other way round, there is a risk that designers’ ideas will be hindered by the limited patterns of movement that can be easily realised with the relatively cheap DIY tools often available to makers and designers. The research demonstrates one way to address the issue, in this case collaboration with puppeteers and sound designers. Whereas previous works that relied on a knowledge of human movement focused on working with experts in the movement of the human body, such as dancers and practitioners of exercise methods, for example the Feldenkrais technique,21 puppeteers’ expertise in animating objects makes them unexpectedly compatible with the process of design, as ‘kinaesthetic’ connoisseurs (c.f. somatic connoisseur).22 Puppeteers can enable designers to explore various qualities of movement with less compromise in terms of subtle details of movement, and to rely on their broad repertoire of object movement, even during early prototyping.

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5.4 REFLECTIONS Common misunderstandings Visual presentations of kinaesthetic elements The GIF animations of the kinaesthetic elements occasionally narrowed the interpretation of the elements. For example, some participants thought that ‘impulse’ meant the movement with the specific acceleration, exactly as expressed by the animation, although my original intention was broader. The animations were designed merely to express an obvious example of each kinaesthetic element. This miscommunication was revealed by my conversation with participants during the workshops and the reflective interview.

Kinaesthetic empathy – active or passive? During the workshops and collaborative project, some participants pointed out the difference between the natural, immediate response to movements (that results from passive, inattentive observation) and the kinaesthetic empathy with movements (from active, attentive observation). My observations also support this view. However, if the kinaesthetic sensations designers explore through attentive observation were not experienced by people (or the users of designed objects), what would be the benefit of exploring the kinaesthetic dimension? This is where plasticity comes in; people’s kinaesthetic sensitivity changes over time, possibly influenced by their physical conditions and behaviour. Designers may not be able to compel people to experience the intended kinaesthetic empathy, but they can at least create opportunities for people to experience it. As noted earlier, the question of whether kinaesthetic empathy is an active or a passive experience has been touched on in previous work by Reynolds, Reason, Gemeinboeck and Saunders, among others, and is of great relevance to my research. My empirical study suggests that kinaesthetic empathy, in the context of observing the movement of non-human objects, is potentially present in both active and passive, or attentive and inattentive, observations. But whether kinaesthetic empathy is experienced by an observer is dependent on many factors, such as the functions of the objects, kinaesthetic similarity, and the attention and positional relationship between people and objects. Whether the movement of an object is observed actively or passively concerns not only the physical nature of the object but also the way in which people interact with it. For instance, time-based arts such as dance, theatre and cinema are created ‘to-be-looked-at’, which Reynolds and Reason refer to as ‘explicit

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performances’.23 By comparison, the movements created by everyday objects could be called ‘implicit performances’, as they do not take place on a stage; people (users rather than spectators) do not attentively sit still on a chair to enjoy the behaviour of the objects. The attempts of the designers in the workshops and the collaboration with the puppeteers transformed the implicit, mundane movements of objects into slightly more explicit ones. However, whether an example of a movement of an object invites people’s active or passive observation eventually depends on individual people, contexts and cultures. What ‘kinaesthetic’ design objects can provide is the possibility of triggering embodied, empathic responses.

Confusion with affordance Some participants mentioned their uncertainty about whether they had understood the concept of kinaesthetic empathy correctly. This is understandable, given the non-verbal and subjective nature of the phenomenon. In fact, the concept was often confused with what I call an affordance-related kinaesthetic response. When an appropriate behaviour is demanded or invited, or afforded by an object or environment, there can be a kinaesthetic impulse in the observer even if no external behaviour results. In contrast, kinaesthetic empathy is not necessarily about the potential action towards the observer’s surroundings, but about the feeling which results from projecting him/herself, either actively or passively, onto an observed object. Figure 5.31 shows my exploration of how these differences could be visualised. There seem to be three kinds of kinaesthetic stimuli for people to interact with in the movements of everyday objects: 1) direct kinaesthesis that results from physically interacting with kinetic objects (e.g. opening a door with a hand), 2) affordance-related kinaesthetic impulse, and 3) kinaesthetic empathy. How do they co-exist? Do they affect each other? In applying kinaesthetic empathy to designing objects, it is important to be aware of which type of kinaesthetic sensation we are attempting to stimulate with our designs.

Applicability to product design The participants generated several ideas, including well-considered and well-designed ones. However, the ideation seemed to be a challenging task for some. In fact, designing a kinetic object that reflects the insights into kinaesthetic empathy involves the consideration of several things: 1) how the movement relates to the function of objects, 2) what kind of mechanisms realise the movement, and 3) how kinaesthetic the movement is, and what it means for the design. The lack of reference to existing related products or objects probably also made the task challenging.

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Figure 5.31  My kinaesthetic represen­ tation of the tree (top) and two possible ­actions ­towards the tree (left)

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The fluency of ideation was variable, depending on the participants. Some were more fluent and applied the concept more quickly than others. Unlike the performing arts, in which the observers (i.e. spectators) and the observed movement (i.e. of dancers, performers) are usually distant and physically separate, designing (kinetic) products requires the consideration of a variety of relationships between people and objects. Some objects are usually only seen from a distance (e.g. wall clocks), while others are touched and moved (e.g. cupboard doors). Some are located above people (e.g. ceiling fans), while others are used at a lower level (e.g. robot cleaners). Figure 5.32 explores the possibilities of the positional relationship between people and kinetic objects. The framework for Designing Objects in Motion does not yet comprehensively cover the complex interaction between a wide range of kinaesthetic sensations. At this stage, it is focused on the sensations of kinaesthetic empathy that people might experience while observing (not physically interacting with) the movement of somewhat human-scale or product-scale objects. It was probably this purity that enabled me to construct the design framework, and in particular the concept of kinaesthetic elements. Further research is required to reveal the ways in which kinaesthetic empathy and other kinds of bodily stimuli affect each other. The design programme created in this research is still at an early stage; currently there are only about 40 designers who have participated in the workshop, including four who are more intensely engaged in the kinaesthetic approach to design in their final projects. Given the inspirational and educational value of the ideas, such as the kinaesthetic elements, I am keen to disseminate the programme so it can benefit a broader range of designers and student designers. It will allow them to nourish their sensitivity and perceive and design movement in different ways, leading to a cultural change in design education and industry for new generations. The frameworks and tools that I offer, such as the KMD, will support such a shift by being interpreted and transformed by designers who are responding to needs in a range of situations. It should be understood that I am not blindly recommending the use of physical movement in the design of any kind of everyday object. It is quite easy for physical movements to distract and possibly frustrate people, but thoughtful integration of the function and the context of objects could help designers avoid this risk. For example, 1990s cassette players tended to have cassette holders that opened at a continuous, relatively slow and presumably carefully designed speed. This can be interpreted as a quality of care and gracefulness. New users might find such an aesthetic effect captivating, but they might get bored with it, and eventually find the slowness irritating rather than pleasing. The change in user perception over time should also be considered. The element of movement is still at a premature stage, in which its aesthetic potential in design is being explored and tested. An awareness of the risks and past failures associated with the element is important in aiming for design outputs at higher levels.

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A somewhat human-scale kinetic object – can it possibly be used as a coat stand that reacts to people?

How about a slightly smaller one – dog-scale? Some sort of a desk lamp?

or what if it’s smaller (hand-scale)?

or even smaller …

How would physical interactions with kinetic objects affect our kinaesthetic empathy with the movements of such objects?

Even similar object movements can be observed from a distance …

Or what if much larger – architectural scale? How would the scale affect our kinaesthetic empathy with motion?

If there is a ‘kinetic’ shoulder massage device, how would people kinaesthetically empathise with its motion? Or would we do at all?

… or from inside …

... or from ‘on the object itself’. How would our direct kinaesthetic sensations affect our kinaesthetic empathy with the movements of the objects we observe?

Figure 5.32  The variety in the scale of objects and their positional relationship with observers

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Working with movement experts The second project indicated the huge potential of working with puppeteers in the context of design. Likewise, other kinds of movement experts have the potential to contribute to the Designing Objects in Motion programme. Schiphorst originally mentioned the usefulness of working with a somatic connoisseur, someone knowledgeable about bodily practices who can support the designing of technology from a somatic perspective.24 Although my project does not guarantee the success of my approach beyond my project with specific practitioners, it has at least indicated the significant potential of puppetry for exploring kinaesthetic empathy-informed design. While I intended kinaesthetic elements to be appropriately simple concepts for the context of designing objects, such notations of kinetic sense can also be used in other creative contexts. For instance, Figure 5.33 is a sketch of movement notations created by Saori Hala, a Berlin-based dancer and choreographer. With an educational background in design, Hala’s practice, inspired by a range of sources, employs a range of inspiration, from her own personal narrative to theories familiar in design, such as James Gibson’s affordance and Oskar Schlemmer’s experimental approach to bodily movement. Akin to my idea of kinaesthetic elements, Hala’s notations are symbolic representations of the embodied sensations of various patterns of dance movement she has experienced, which is distinct from the formal notation of movement, such as the Laban notation system. Without explanation, each notation communicates its original intention only to the notator, namely Hala herself. Hala’s notations are meant to be her own record of choreography focusing on the ‘felt’ dimension of bodily movement. The variety of visual elements used in Hala’s sketching is diverse, ranging from relatively simple lines in different thicknesses to complex combinations of lines, dots and circles. In contrast to the context of designing objects, where the form of the object is very diverse, the object assumed to be in motion in Hala’s sketches is the human body. And this consistency allows us to imagine more concretely what kind of bodily movement each mark stands for.

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Figure 5.33  Notations of dance movements illustrated by Saori Hala. ©︎ Saori Hala

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5.5  NEW MISSIONS IN MOTION It goes without saying that part of my motivation for the research described in this book was my keen interest in the aesthetic potential of movement in design. But what was also significant was my frustration with the current attention to movement, especially in academic realms of interaction design and robotics, that focuses heavily on movement’s lifelike nature, or its use as interface. I do not mean to deny the value of these research interest trends, but I have the impression that such biomimetic, anthropomorphic and interfacial aspects of movement are relatively understandable features, and that an important dimension between human and ­moving objects is often missed. The kinetic quality that movement conveys to us is so subtle and ineffable that we can easily overlook it. As we pay attention, however, the rich variety in sensory experience emerges. In a sense, Moore et al.’s study on the noise of servo motors exposed the pervasive sacrifice of sensory attention to satisfy functional needs in interaction design.25 And this is close to what I also sensed vaguely as an engineering student interested in that field. In an age when technology is becoming more and more accessible to creators, it is the task of sensible designers and design researchers to be alert to the sensory impact of kinetic artefacts.

Movement beyond lifelikeness and interface Kinaesthetic empathy allows us to explore the bodily and largely tacit dimension of the sensation we experience while encountering movement. It is so fundamental that it theoretically concerns any kinetic object regardless of whether this is a natural phenomenon or an experimental shape-changing interface. Importantly, the kinaesthetic dimension is not equal to an identifiable emotional state (e.g. angry, sad, pleasant), but somewhere before it happens, or what is called affect – ‘a stage where emotions are still in the process of forming and have not yet taken on a definable identity; indeed, they resist such definition’.26 Thus it is a mistake to force the vocabulary or theory of emotion on the design of kinaesthetic experience simply for its superficial relevance. It is also a mistake to assume that existing frameworks developed in other traditions of movement such as dance and puppetry would suffice as a tool for design. We should indeed acknowledge such previous insights but, as Glanville argues,27 we constantly need to reappropriate such external knowledge to be relevant to design. Designers and design researchers must not blindly follow whatever has been established in other fields, but rather examine its true relevance to the problem at hand. Compared with movement in kinetic art, interactive art and performative art, movement in design is unique in that its role is not necessarily to impress viewers,

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in the way that performing arts impress their audiences. There is no harm in designing an object that performs movement in an aesthetically compelling way. But perhaps one of the keys to successful kinetic design is the subtlety of not dominating people’s attention and engagement. The movement of everyday objects is not primarily intended to be watched attentively, like a dance performance. Rather it happens subtly, in the moment when one uses or manipulates the object or accidentally sees it in his/her flow of everyday life. It is the task of a sensible designer to use their judgement in terms of the appropriate level of subtlety in the designed movement. Blending movement and other elements of design is perhaps one of the most challenging tasks in designing objects with kinaesthetic empathy. The goal of Designing Objects in Motion is not to elaborate on already complete objects with unnecessary movements. With the term ‘movement itself’, Rickey critically emphasised the integration of form and movement in kinetic sculpture. The concept is worth adapting to kinetic design. How can we design a unity in objects that was achieved so elegantly in Calder’s mobiles, rather than one that is like Tinguely’s rather forceful assemblages?

Expanding educational programmes Goethe showed an outstanding talent for understanding nature through attentive observation and meticulous illustration. But this sensitivity to detail is not only for those who are gifted; it is potentially for everyone, as indicated by psychological studies as well as the educational rationale of the Bauhaus. ‘Ripening the senses’ was a foundational mission for teachers such as Itten, Grunow and Moholy-Nagy. Just as we can learn to differentiate between the tastes of wine, perceptual ability can generally be trained and sharpened. Educating the senses is a task not only for student designers but also for all those concerned with creation. The theme of sensorial education itself is not new in the context of design, but its relation to kinaesthetic empathy is. ‘Is kinesthetic empathy the kind of thing one can “learn”? Can one catch it, cultivate it, become an experiential expert in it?’28 Reynolds and Reason raised these questions not only in the context of watching dance but also in broader situations, including the design of everyday objects. This book offers an affirmative answer to both questions, providing concrete evidence of designers learning and being trained in the perspective of kinaesthetic empathy and the aesthetics of movement. Now that we have seen the potential benefit of employing puppetry for exploring kinaesthetic design, designing the quality of movement may no longer be a task only for designers and engineers. How can designers identify performers with whom they could collaborate? How can designers engage deeply with such performers and make the most of the collaboration, rather than merely drawing vague inspiration from them?

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For the purpose of assisting designers’ exploration of kinaesthetically empathic qualities of movement, I have proposed new concepts, such as kinaesthetic elements, and original tools, including the KMD. While these tools have been created out of a rigorous research process, they are not meant to be treated as a single absolute framework for design and kinaesthetic empathy. As the results of my workshop indicate, the way in which people kinaesthetically empathise with movement of objects can be individually and culturally different. While the tools and frameworks serve as an entry point to study the foundational literacy, I encourage designers to adapt them to the problems that they address professionally. How can we further educate designers in kinaesthetic literacy beyond the basic knowledge of kinaesthetic elements? Except for the kinetic artefacts I created for the research, most of the tools for educating about kinaesthetic empathy remained intangible. But based on the idea of kinaesthetic elements, for example, we could create tools, like playgrounds, to allow us to explore the sense of balance, of articulation, of tension, and of other elements. A similar approach was taken by Hugo Kükelhaus, a German carpenter, artist, pedagogue and philosopher, known for his children’s toy designs. Kükelhaus was the creator of the ‘Experience Field for the Senses’, dedicated to the development of each particular sense.29 At the Schloss Freudenberg museum in Wiesbaden, visitors can explore a range of objects and rooms that are dedicated to the experience of oscillation, vortex, darkness and so forth. What kind of tools can we create so that designers can further sharpen their kinaesthetic sensitivity and therefore achieve a sophisticated sense of ‘movement itself’ in design objects?

Towards design research through the senses The last four chapters have been dedicated to documenting the practical process of my enquiry based on the ‘design research through the senses’ research methodology discussed in the first chapter. The value of this approach is threefold, as follows. The first aspect is the synthesis of multiple ideas into a form of carrying out research through creative practice, but each idea alone is not new: for instance, reflective practice, one of the ideas that underpin my research, has already been discussed in the context of design, especially in relation to RtD, for more than two decades, including Frayling, 30 Archer,31 Glanville32 and Redström.33 Perceptual learning and differentiation have long been one of the themes explored in psychology and cognitive science. Designers and design theorists have already recognised the value of drawing and annotating sketches in creative practice. These elements of knowledge are already in existence, and they have influenced many design researchers to propose related approaches and methods. However, as far as I am aware, nobody has to date proposed the synthesis that integrates ideas from Goethe’s aesthetic

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induction, the elementalism of the Bauhaus education, kinaesthetic knowing to perceptual learning, reflective practice and RtD into a consistent form of research methodology as laid out in this book. The second aspect is the demonstration of methodology with a concrete research project. The proposed methodology itself would be worth taking an entire book to discuss. But, especially in design, where the particular has the same weight as ‘general theory’,34 I decided that the project could explain the methodology in a unique manner – through projects – that theoretical discourse alone cannot replace. Echoing Redström’s critique of design research’s tendency to frame research as a dichotomy, such as question-answer and problem-solution, I used the design programme he advocated as a model for the way my research project developed. Practice that was based on foundational knowledge and ideals gradually revealed the nature and possibility of the design space, or the programme – this structure enabled the straightforward documentation of the actual research process. As Glanville argues,35 honesty and serendipity are the quintessential elements of design and research. The whole book describes the concrete project that stood at the intersection of the two tides, kinetic design and kinaesthetic empathy. A project of this kind might end up taking up a somewhat niche area (like ‘kinaesthetic empathy for designing movement’), but such scrupulous attention to detail is the heart of designing; as Charles Eames famously stated, ‘The details are not the details. They make the design’. The task of such work is to offer an alternative in terms of value, aesthetics, philosophy and ways of designing, rather than forcing a change to the status quo without reflecting deeply on the present. The third element is the ‘knowledge for’.36 In the first chapter I wrote that the main type of knowledge I intend to offer in this book is ‘knowledge for’, in two senses. One is the knowledge for design researchers to conduct a version of ‘research through design practice’, where the researcher’s own perceptual learning plays a key role. The other is the knowledge for designers to understand, and ultimately design, the movement of everyday objects ‘through the lens of kinaesthetic empathy’. This book will be meaningless if it triggers no action from the reader. The texts are more than merely a project report: they are a collection of thoughts and insights gathered to the best of my knowledge and put into one context. What they communicate is not merely intellectual information but an invitation to open one’s kinaesthetic curiosity and explore new ways to experience and design, especially at a time when design’s cognitive and strategic capability is being increasingly exploited; I hope to contribute by counterbalancing this, arguing for the sensory potential of design that is largely dismissed today due to our utilitarian culture that privileges the digital and visual. It is my hope that some aspect of the knowledge, arguments and scenarios presented here will help you to set your new creative practice in motion.

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Ben Hopson (2009). Kinetic Design and the Animation of Products, Core77. Accessed 4 November 2018. http://www.core77.com/posts/12642/kinetic-design-and- the-animation-of-products-by-ben-­ hopson-12642. Jin Moen (2005). ‘Towards People Based Movement Interaction and Kinaesthetic Interaction ­Experiences’. In: Proceedings of the 4th Decennial Conference on Critical Computing: Between Sense and Sensibility, 21–25 August 2005, Aarhus. ACM. 121–124. Cheryl Akner-Koler (2007). Form & Formlessness: Questioning Aesthetic Abstractions through Art ­Projects, Cross-Disciplinary Studies and Product Design Education. PhD diss., Konstfack University ­College of Arts, Crafts and Design. Elena Márquez Segura, Laia Turmo Vidal and Asreen Rostami (2016). ‘Bodystorming for Movement-­ Based Interaction Design’. Human Technology. 12.2. (2016). Kristina Höök (2018). Designing with the Body: Somaesthetic Interaction Design. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. 19, 86. Vera Maletic (1987). Body, Space, Expression: The Development of Rudolf Laban’s Movement and Dance Concepts. Approaches to Semiotics. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. 75. Dee Reynolds and Matthew Reason (2012). Kinesthetic Empathy in Creative and Cultural Practices. ­Bristol: Intellect. 321. Kristina Höök (2018). Colin Burns, Eric Dishman, William Verplank and Bud Lassiter (1994). ‘Actors, Hairdos & Videotape – ­Informance Design’. In: Conference Companion on Human Factors in Computing Systems. 119–120; Antti Oulasvirta, Esko Kurvinen and Tomi Kankainen (2003). ‘Understanding Contexts by Being There: Case Studies in Bodystorming’. Personal and Ubiquitous Computing. 7.2: 125–134. Dennis Schleicher, Peter Jones and Oksana Kachur (2010). ‘Bodystorming as Embodied D ­ esigning’. ­interactions 17.6: 47–51. Kristina Höök (2018). Horst Rittel and Melvin Webber (1973). ‘Dilemmas in a General Theory of Planning’. Policy Sciences. 4: 155–169. Eric Stolterman (2008). ‘The Nature of Design Practice and Implications for Interaction Design Research’. International Journal of Design. 2.1. Harold G. Nelson and Erik Stolterman (2003). The Design Way: Intentional Change in an U ­ npredictable World: Foundations and Fundamentals of Design Competence. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Educational ­Technology Publications. William W. Gaver (2012). ‘What Should We Expect from Research through Design?’ In Proceedings of the SIGCHI Conference on Human Factors in Computing Systems. 937–946. Kinaesthetic Design Project (short film): https://vimeo.com/436697715. Bruce Hanington and Bella Martin (2019). Universal Methods of Design Expanded and Revised: 125 Ways to Research Complex Problems, Develop Innovative Ideas, and Design Effective Solutions. Beverly, MA: Rockport Publishers. Dee Reynolds and Matthew Reason (2012). Wendy Ju and Larry Leifer (2008). ‘The Design of Implicit Interactions: Making Interactive Systems Less Obnoxious’. Design Issues. 24.3: 72–84; Wendy Ju and Leila Takayama (2009). ‘Approachability: How People Interpret Automatic Door Movement as Gesture’. International Journal of Design. 3: 2. Lau Langeveld et al. (2013). ‘Product Sound Design: Intentional and Consequential Sounds’. In: Denis Coelho (ed.). Advances in Industrial Design Engineering. Rijeka: InTech. Thecla Schiphorst (2011). ‘Self-Evidence: Applying Somatic Connoisseurship to Experience Design’. In: CHI’11 Extended Abstracts on Human Factors in Computing Systems. ACM. 145–160; Kristina Höök et al. (2015). ‘Cover Story: Somaesthetic Design’. interactions. 22.4: 26–33. Thecla Schiphorst (2011). Dee Reynolds and Matthew Reason (2012). 12. Thecla Schiphorst (2011). Dylan Moore et al. (2017). ‘Making Noise Intentional: A Study of Servo Sound Perception’. In: 2017 12th ACM/IEEE International Conference on Human-Robot Interaction (HRI). 12–21. Dee Reynolds and Matthew Reason (2012). 124. Ranulph Glanville (2016). ‘Design Prepositions’. In Gesche Joost, Katharina Bredies, Michelle ­Christensen, Florian Conradi and Andreas Unteidig (eds). Design as Research. Basel: Birkhäuser. 158. Dee Reynolds and Matthew Reason (2012). 318. Freudenberg Gesellschaft Natur und Kunst (2001). Guidebook to the Freudenberg Experience Field. 10.

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30 Christopher Frayling (1993). ‘Research in Art and Design’. Royal College of Art Research Papers. 1.1: 1–5; Christopher Frayling (2015). RTD 2015 Provocation by Sir Christopher Frayling Part 1: Research Through Design Evolution. Interviewed by RTD 2015. Accessed: 30 April 2020. https://vimeo.com/129775325. 31 Bruce Archer (1995). The Nature of Research’. Co-Design journal. 2.11: 6–13. 32 Ranulph Glanville (2015). ‘The Sometimes Uncomfortable Marriages of Design and Research’. In: Paul Rodgers and Joyce Yee (eds.). The Routledge Companion to Design Research. New York: Routledge, Taylor & Francis Group. 9–22. 33 Johan Redström (2017). Making Design Theory. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. 34 Harold G. Nelson and Erik Stolterman (2003). The Design Way: Intentional Change in an Unpredictable World – Foundations and Fundamentals of Design Competence. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Educational Technology Publications. 35 Ranulph Glanville (2014; 2015). 36 Ranulph Glanville (2015).

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The substantial research for this book was undertaken as my PhD at the Royal College of Art, London. The research was greatly moved forward by the guidance, support and impetus from many people. Especially, I feel privileged to have worked with my two supervisors. Thank you to Miles Pennington, who is always full of passion and ideas and knows how to spark magic not only in design projects but also in people. Thank you to Michael Hohl, whose wisdom and openness allowed me to become a different person and researcher from the one I was before embarking on a PhD. I have been lucky enough to have had opportunities to collaborate, or exchange ideas, with great creative practitioners whose inputs and inspirations are reflected throughout the project: Albert Barbu, Anne Zhou, Juhee Hahm, Kevin Ruoff, Kumi Oda, Kosei Komatsu, Mark Esaias, Maxime Benvenuto, Mio Adachi, Rachel Warr, Ruijing (Hazel) Yan, Saori Hala, Sara Shirokoma, Tom Crame, Viraj Joshi, Wayne Binitie, Yaprak Göker, Yusuke Aonuma and Yuta Itagaki. Many ideas were also refined thanks to the conversation with the people at the NERD2GO, MOCO and DRS conferences and my lecture for COOP Design Research students in Dessau. I am also grateful to my friends and colleagues at the College for providing me with advice, company and the place of safety. With regards to the publication of this book, I am thankful to BIRD for providing such a precious opportunity. I feel honoured to have this book as part of the BIRD series and particularly thrilled to find it next to Nigel Cross’s Designerly Ways of Knowing (2006), the book which fascinated me as a student. Bill Gaver and Paul Rodgers were so kind to have accepted to examine my PhD. Their rigorous examination and invaluable feedback allowed me to push the quality of the work to its best possible outcome. After returning to Tokyo from London, Tomihisa Kamada kindly offered a comfortable co-working space so I could concentrate on writing this book. Cathy John’s meticulous review provided my text with colourful nuances and precision. In retrospect, perhaps, I would not have considered undertaking a PhD without having studied under Koichi Hori, my mentor at the aerospace department of the University of Tokyo, who never pushed his expertise on his students but let them pursue their own interests to become a pioneer of each world. The time I studied under him and with my colleagues at his laboratory was indispensable in nurturing my motivation to pursue my own curiosity. My PhD would not have been possible without the generous financial support from the Nakajima Foundation, Nomura Foundation and Terumo Foundation for Life Sciences and Arts. The publication of this book is sponsored by HBK Braunschweig. I thank my parents, sister and relatives, who always allowed me to pursue my reckless curiosity and provided any support necessary. I am grateful for their understanding of the sometimes peculiar life of a researcher and designer (let alone design researcher!). Above all, my wife Sayuri, to whom the book is lovingly dedicated. This entire work wouldn’t have been possible without your empathy, trust and endless support, which even travelled from eight/nine hours ahead.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR Kensho Miyoshi received his PhD in 2020 from the Royal College of Art, London, for his contribution of the design programme centring on kinaesthetic empathy for designing the movement of objects. In the RCA’s graduation show in 2020, his PhD project was selected in Paola Antonelli’s curated collection A Sense of Humanity. Holding an MEng and BEng in Aeronautics and Astronautics from the University of Tokyo, Kensho has engaged in aerospace-related interdisciplinary projects, such as Phenox (autonomous interactive drones) and ARTSAT (satellite for art use), and, as a creative practitioner, has designed kinetic sculptures and installations, such as Ripple Clock and Puwants. After working at the DLX Design Lab of the University of Tokyo, he has been awarded, as has his wife, a postdoctoral research fellowship by the Japan Society for the Promotion of Science from April 2020, and is currently based in Tokyo. Kensho also co-leads the activity of a Tokyo-based experimental design studio, Studio POETIC CURIOSITY.

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WEBSITES Kinaesthetic Motion Database: http://miyoshikensho.com/kmd Short film Kinaesthetic Design Project: https://vimeo.com/436697715

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