Ben's Notes

Growing Things

Benjamin Earl — Sun, 10 May 2026 23:18:18 GMT

This year I decided to grow some plants from seeds. Our house doesn't have a garden, we have two balcony's on either side. One facing North-East, the other South-West. This year I hope to make both sides a little greener, but particularly the south facing one.

I've been documenting the process from seeds to seedlings so far over on are.na, you can follow along there :)

A week in Cornwall

Benjamin Earl — Sat, 21 Mar 2026 13:13:04 GMT

I am on a train again, this time going in the opposite direction, back to the Netherlands. It is Friday morning at 10:49 and the sun is shining and there are whispy, paint-stroke clouds in the sky.

I wanted to write this as a week note, to remember what happened and how it felt.

Monday
When staying at my parents house, the morning walk opportunities open up infinitely. I could choose to walk down to the cove, past the geese and onto the Todden. I could go across the fields and along the coast path. I could go down the road to Poltesco. I could go to St. Ruan, Kennack, The Lizard...the choices are plenty.

I choose to go down to the cove. I am still on continental time so awoke early, earlier than the geese whose field remains empty apart from a couple of wood pigeons who are pecking at the soft ground. It's threatening to rain and sure enough after I begin to trudge back up the hill, the rain comes down first in misty droplets and then heavier, thicker globules of water.

I work in the morning, in preparation for the workshop on Tuesday whilst everyone goes for a walk to Kennack. I don't really mind missing it as I'm happy to have space to focus and go over some final workshop details.

In the afternoon we go to Falmouth. I meet up with an artist I've been wanting to speak. She gives a new perspective to living in Cornwall, something I need to remember. In the evening I climb at Tide, I like the atmosphere of this climbing gym, it's more relaxed than Monk.

Tuesday
The day goes by in whirlwind in the way a one-day workshop always does. The small group is a pleasure to work with and the fact that it's small eases my nerves to a certain degree. I notice I still don't really like talking about myself.

I get the bus back to Helston in the evening and crave calm music with no lyrics. I listen to Cosmo Sheldrake all the way and crash out in the evening.

Wednesday
I need to do a small amount of work in the morning, just to make sure I don't have a pile up by the time I'm back and, importantly, I won't have to think about these little things whilst here.

I go with my parents to the Botallack Mines. It's an hours drive north-west from the Lizard. I haven't been there for several years but the place remains vivid in my imagination. The pump and winch houses balanced precariously on the stoney outcrop facing the full emotional power of the Atlantic. There's a howling westerly wind that greets us as we arrive, the kind of wind that wares you down like sand if you are subjected to it's sound for short while.

We walk down to the ruins of the mine and spend time touching the rock, imagining how the world might have moved at a different time. I feel in awe of the mines, the shafts of which go out under the sea bed. I heard once before that the miners who worked these shafts could hear the waves breaking above their head.

After lunch we catch the end of a tour of the site and the guide, a man who spoke so eloquently and poetically and with the rough warmth of a Cornish accent, brings the place alive for us. We hear about economies, cultures, geology, labour conditions, and suddenly I feel like I've been fed a slice of time. I am alive with curiosity and a desire to understand.

I watch Youtube videos in the evening of "souls braver than my own" (as our guide phrased it), who enter into the abandoned mines to show us these archives of mud, and stone and of human capacity and cruelty.

Thursday
I am reading George Orwell's Road to Wigan Pier and my mind is still in the mines. In the morning I take a trip with my parents to Kynance Cove. The tide is lower than I've ever seen it and, after clambering over the rocks to the beach, we explore the beach at full capacity. Knooks and crannies are exposed everywhere we look, cave mouths open up and with mining on the mind I spend more time in the darkness of the cave than the shining sun.

In the afternoon I go along for a house viewing that brings up complicated feelings amongst all of us. After a debrief, I get a lift into Helston to pick up some goods for the return to the Netherlands (tea and welsh cakes). Thinking of going back pains me and I try to distract myself by going for a climb at Tide.

They've begun the reset of a wall that leaves it half empty, with only the chalky residue of many attempts remaining.

Friday
I write this as I sit on the train, feeling slightly weepy and wishing I could turn around and go back. I wonder what the mines look like today, is the guide there and will he bring the landscape to life for others? Is the wall at Tide still empty? I feel an urge to go back and clean the chalk, to fully reset.

Today I realise the purpose I might find in week notes.

Walk Notes (or lack thereof) for February - March

Benjamin Earl — Sat, 14 Mar 2026 13:02:21 GMT

So it turns out I'm not very good at keeping a regularly occurring note taking practice - or maybe I didn't try hard enough. I kept up Walk Notes for four weeks and then I fell sick for a week and didn't feel inspired to keep track of thoughts, feelings, sightings, wanderings.

Instead I harboured it inside and felt a bit pent-up. (It was also mid-February, for which I feel anyone can be excused for losing hope)

Now I am here, on a train, somewhere in France, writing this note. There are white and grey clouds hovering above the landscape and it is March.

I'm listening to Bill Callahan's album Dream River and I have two seats to myself. It seems like a moment to restart something, walk note related or not.

I am reminded of blogging in motion.

I've been working quietly on the train, preparing for a workshop about publishing to the handmade web. I am excited and nervous for it, a mingling of emotions that feel similar to the current weather.

I've gathered a collection of websites that I think are good examples of what publishing on the handmade web means. I didn't include any Week Note writers in this, but I think I will add the original Walk Notes.

The train has just entered into the channel tunnel. Has anyone walked here and gone from one side to the other? The amount of barbed wire that surrounds the entrance makes me wander that if someone has, whether they did it by choice.

Somehow, I still have a WiFi connection down here, under the sea.

Contradictions

Benjamin Earl — Wed, 04 Mar 2026 11:17:06 GMT

I've been thinking about contradictions in relation to the work I do. Back last year, during one of the Poetic Computation sessions, one of the participants said something about hypocrisy in relation to working with technology. I think this comment was specifically framed as working amongst the poetic & handmade web. She said that whilst we are making work that is imbued with a set of ideals, the tools we use to build (and share) that work are still part of an extractive amalgamation of tools, platforms, and companies. This hypocrisy, she said, is even more prolific now with the integration of AI tools into almost everything that we do relating to code.

Someone who I was leading the session with said that she didn't like the word hypocrisy. Whilst she agreed with the idea that there is not necessarily a pure way to go about making things with digital technology, but the idea of hypocrisy created a feeling of guilt. She said that guilt was unproductive and that she preferred to think through these contrasting ideals as contradictions that we all carry. A contradiction, as long as it's something we recognise, feels like something we can reconcile with and explore in a healthier manner.

Yesterday, I was listening to a Adam Buxton's podcast in which he interviewed the author Zadie Smith. In it they're talking about being selfish and making ethical decisions. Zadie talks about how life is full of compromise but the place she feels she must be most honest is in her writing.

Today I read through the latest SomeTimes made by two of my fellow Varia members. I read through the colophon which is this eclectic mix of tools, typefaces and software (most of which is open source) to design this publication. It could have been created with one or two proprietary tools but they didn't and I am glad that they didn't because the colophon feels alive, the whole publication feels alive. I feel like there is an honesty in this way of working, the same honest that Zadie Smith is alluding to.

At the moment I'm going through the process of migrating my notes and project management processes from Notion to Obsidian. I have grown tired of Notion's clunky interface and the heaviness that comes with the software (not to mention the increasingly unnecessary addition of AI). I want to prioritise lightness, locality and simplicity. I know Obsidian and use it regularly but have never got it up and running as something I use on a daily basis. I know this small step won't produce profound changes to my work but I hope that one step at a time I can begin to grapple with my own contradictions in a healthy way.

The Pelicans

Benjamin Earl — Tue, 24 Feb 2026 11:03:22 GMT

Walk Notes: February 8th – 14th

Benjamin Earl — Wed, 18 Feb 2026 11:58:38 GMT

Posting this late because I didn't find time over a very social birthday (Wietske's) weekend. Now feeling a little under the weather so just trying to stay on the tracks.

Monday
Sunrise: 8:08

It was misty and dark as we drove back from Wietske’s Dads concert last night. It made the road and the fields we passed feel foreboding. This morning, a residue of the mist still remained floating above the water of the canal, but it had become less anxiety inducing and more like a soft, ambiguous envelope over everything.

A dog walker came towards me with a bright orange scarf and it pierced the greyness with an intensity that made my eyes water. The Pelicans were shivering today, the cold and damp must be getting underneath their feathers.

Tuesday
Sunrise: 8:06

The pelicans were being fed as I stood on the bridge from the side of the road. I had never seen this happen before. A man with two buckets of fish stood on a little platform and gently tossed individual fish into the beaks of the hungry birds. Apparently the most common name for a group of pelicans is a pod but they are also known as a pouch, a scoop or a squadron.

After the man with the buckets of fish departed, the squadron dispelled amongst the water. A few lucky birds held a fish in their beak and paraded their catch in front of their friends/enemies/family. Some tried their luck at snatching the fish away, some succeeded.

The clever ones kept their beak shut, the only giveaway being the fish shaped bulge protruding from their beak pouch. Happy eating scoopers.

Wednesday
Sunrise: 8:05

We’re in a cloud this morning. It seems that no rain falls from the sky but the water collecting on the branches of the trees deliver the drops of water I expect from this type of weather. It’s distinctly dark but soft.

I’m beginning to recognise the regulars on my walks to and fro along the canal each morning. A small collection of the locals. Even though I have no idea where they live in relation to the canal, I enjoy that we all congregate by the canal between the hours of 7:45 and 8:30. It’s the first time living here that I have almost daily interactions with neighbours, which I enjoy immensely coming.

The pelicans were snapping at each other this morning, obviously something was troubling them. No fish today unfortunately but a mighty stench of stagnant muddy water hit me as I walked across the bridge so I didn’t stay for long.

Walk Notes: February 2nd – 6th

Benjamin Earl — Mon, 09 Feb 2026 10:47:04 GMT

Monday Sunrise: 8:20

Yesterday I went on a walk down the river and sat on a slightly damp bench looking over a lake in the north of Rotterdam. Whilst I was there I wrote out a list of what I want in February. I wrote that I want to do less writing on my phone. For the past couple weeks of these Walk Notes I’ve been writing them on my phone after I get back home. No more!

Tuesday Sunrise: 8:19

The view out of the window said nothing about how cold it was outside. The only hint was the pigeon with its feathers sprayed and ruffled, perched on the tree perpendicular to the balcony. He swayed gently in the wind.

The same wind bit at my neck as I walked along the canal. Halfway along I heard the rat-a-tat-tat of a wood pecker and, sure enough, there one was high up in the sycamore tree.

Thursday Sunrise: 8:15

The world was working today when I stepped out the door. The pavement was being dug up (revealing that Rotterdam is truly built on sand), fibre cables were being laid, roofs were being repaired, driving lessons were being taught, buses came and went, children went to school, dog walkers walked. Whilst making my way along the canal, I imagined the world as an organism (or machine) where things are constantly happening, and sometimes things work and somethings things don’t.

On my return to the flat, the pigeon (AKA Monsieur Pigeon) was waiting, like he usually is, to receive a handful of peanuts in a little dish on the balcony. I dutifully fed him and he gobbled them up in a matter of seconds.

Writing On Line

Benjamin Earl — Wed, 04 Feb 2026 22:23:52 GMT

I've been thinking about organising a little moment somewhere, somehow to help get people started with writing on the web. Perhaps blogging, journaling, week-noting, memory pinning, logging etc etc.

Whilst cycling home this evening from the monthly Varia member meeting, I told Alice about it and her enthusiasm made me think it should probably happen. So I'm writing here, on the web, about wanting to put together a little plan to do more writing, on the web, with others.

Anyone interested can, of course, write to me.

Walk Notes: January 26th – 30th

Benjamin Earl — Mon, 02 Feb 2026 13:59:28 GMT

Monday Sunrise: 8:31

Out before sunrise again, the winter mist is back and the low lying clouds brings a particular darkness to the morning that I find quite affronting.

Tuesday Sunrise: 8:28

The sky was pink when I left the flat this morning. The colours undulated as the clouds drove across the horizon. On my way back from the Pelicans, it had turned orange. Surely the weather was about to change. Sure enough, the internet told me rain is on its way. Somehow the sky never lies.

Reading through Weird Walk No.7 over breakfast, a quote from Benjamin Myers sticks in my mind: “Are certain people drawn to small islands? I suspect so. Those of us who feel somewhat separate from the general flow of life seek silence and solace in such sparsely populated places.”

It resonates with me even if I don’t wish to live on a small island.

Walk Notes: January 19th – 23rd

Benjamin Earl — Fri, 23 Jan 2026 13:08:11 GMT

Monday
Sunrise: 8:39

I developed a cold over the weekend but this morning I woke up without a blocked nose. The air is cold and fresh. It feels good to breathe it all in through my nose, and out through my mouth. Now all I need is a good stretch.

The road between the canal and the pelicans is busy enough for me to give up on the crossing, so I u-turn back to the flat. I’m sure the pelicans were happy sitting in the morning light. The pigeons are already nibbling on anything that looks like a shoot on the tree outside the front window.

Tuesday
Sunrise 8:38

Out before the sun hits the city. It’s cold, dark and crisp and everyone hurries. Surfer man is scraping the ice from his car window, I didn’t think it went below freezing last night though? One of the bulbs is beginning to sprout on the balcony.

The pelicans are looking subdued, perhaps the shock of another cold night. Five cormorants sit in the tree above the island.

Discovered the sunlight optimism calculator through Walk Notes and sent it to my parents. “Jerry will really like it”.

Friday
Sunrise: 8:34

Milky skies and still air. A feeling of default winter. No dog walkers at all today but W and I walk to the pelicans as per the unspoken rule that if there is time, we walk.

An unexpected cormorant pops up next to a pair of mallards on the other side of the canal. Everyone looks at each other without knowing how to respond and before anyone can do or say anything the cormorant slivers back under the dark water to search for mysteries in the shallows.

Work this week was teaching a workshop at an art school I used to regularly teach at. I thought I would be nervous but apart from some anticipation fear, I felt fine. It reminded me of how much I enjoy teaching when there is the time and the space to think about it. Teaching code, whilst still relatively novel to me, feels good. Debugging together feels better than debugging alone.

DAP Life

Benjamin Earl — Wed, 21 Jan 2026 18:07:55 GMT

I never really got on with music streaming and whilst I don't agree with the main streaming companies ethics, I can't really point to that and say "thats why I don't like it". I think I like limits and music streaming didn't really offer those limits.

So back in 2024, when Elliott made a single page HTML music player I downloaded it and started using it to play music thats stored on my computer. Since them, I've slowly amassed a more conscious, limited library of music that I listen to in my browser. I edited the original music player to more of my liking and still bookmark it on my browser.

Whenever I want to play music on my laptop, I open my browser, click the DAP icon and it loads a file thats stored on my computer. I choose an album from the dropdown window and press play. It feels like the digital version of putting a record on.

This way of listening to music feels light and it has all I need. If you're interested in using my HTML music player, you can use an online version here. Download the source code and make it your own.

In the meantime, I want to make a physical player that feels as light and appropriate as this single file does. Coming soon.

This was written whilst listening to Tarentel — Fear of Bridges (2002)

Benjamin Earl — Wed, 21 Jan 2026 01:00:00 GMT

dap player

Select a library (a local folder of mp3s)
Load the last library:
(Nothing will be uploaded, keep it local)

00:00 / 00:00

Walk Notes January 12th – 18th

Benjamin Earl — Sun, 18 Jan 2026 13:22:05 GMT

I have been reading Week and Walk Notes for a while now of a few people and I really enjoy seeing this small glimpse of other peoples lives done at the manageable pace of once a week.

I've been going for a walk before breakfast everyday for a few months now, so I thought I might try to capture some of them when I remember to do so.

Monday
Sunrise: 8:45

The first day of above zero since arriving back in Rotterdam. The ice is still heavy on the canal. I walk along it, the canal not the ice, hoping that it will eventually turn into the ocean but alas, only the pelicans. They have a small patch of water where a little waterfall flows into their enclosure. The rest is ice, they sit huddled not really together but not really apart. Dalmatian man is out in his wellington boots.

Tuesday
Sunrise:8:44

I tried taking the long route this morning to avoid the busy roads. Turns out that the path this way is busy with pedestrian commuters. Hurrying towards the station, heads down, sometimes a phone up. Mental note not to walk this route before 8:30.

Wednesday
Sunrise:8:44

The small canal is calm today. A slight mist hangs above the water whilst a Coot scurries across the last of the ice, its comically large feet making holes where it steps. The pelicans have their water back, but they seem sleepy today. The bird lady is flinging seeds about in front of the “do not feed the birds” sign. It’s almost a performance. Walking back along the other side of the water, I see Christmas trees that were flung onto the ice beginning to capsize and go under, the murky water will swallow them whole.

1st of January 2026, 2:33pm

Benjamin Earl — Tue, 13 Jan 2026 19:11:37 GMT

Name a flower

Benjamin Earl — Thu, 18 Sep 2025 12:20:10 GMT

In 2011, my parents, who grew clematis and climbing plants, were asked to propagate a plant by the wife of Ben Clifton. Ben had nurtured the plant from a chance seed that featured a larger flower than usual for that type of clematis. He passed away before the plant was named. His wife gave the plant to my parents, who she hoped would propagate it.

My parents grew the plant and registered it as a garden plant at the Royal Horticultural Society and named it with Ben, the man who made the plant, and me in mind.

"Fls single, broadly bell-shaped, 12 cm across, nodding or drooping, borne singly, not scented. Buds large, purple, heart-shaped. Sepals 4; outside red-purple with, towards the tip, a white margin; inside strongly flushed red-purple at the base of the sepals, shading, through red-purple veins over a white ground, to white at the margins and tip; 7 × 4 cm, broadly elliptic, overlapping and touching at base, gappy above, ribby, wavy- margined, long-pointed, with tips sometimes slightly recurved. Staminodes 2 cm long, cream tinged pink. Filaments and anthers cream. Fruit-heads persistent. Deciduous climber, with stems 3–4 m, green when young, maturing to brown-red. Lvs biternate, dark green, with margins irregularly toothed and lobed. FL: Apr–May on previous year’s growth, with light flowering in summer on current year’s."

registered description of Ben's Beauty.

Norway 2025

Benjamin Earl — Wed, 03 Sep 2025 12:32:13 GMT

W and I recently went to Norway to visit friends who live in Vigeland. Norway is like one big adventure playground. It feels like you could stop anywhere and just walk towards the nearest hill and find yourself surrounded by beautiful landscapes. It's got me thinking about my own access to these kinds of landscapes and the limits to a city such as Rotterdam.

Whilst we were in Norway we walked, climbed, boated, drove, and swam. It felt like a sip of cool, lightly salted, sparkling water on a hot day. I didn't take many photos as I just wanted to look, but now that I'm away from those places I find myself wanting to see photos of it. Here are some of the few things I did capture from the trip.

Benjamin Earl — Wed, 23 Jul 2025 19:26:19 GMT

I want to write more but I don't know what to write. Perhaps thats only partly true. I've got words boiling over in my head, sometimes spilling over to the outside world but often sinking back down into the depths of my mind. I've been reading a lot of books about writing, writing about writing. Ursula K. Le Guin, Zadie Smith, Elvia Wilk; authors offering an inside peak into their ways. As the curtain lifts and I peak in, I feel an affinity with the practice that I don't often get to practice myself.

I thought that I could just start by writing that I want to write more, but perhaps Thursday afternoon isn't the most intellectual time for me. It's a humid day here, torrential rain all morning rising as steam in the afternoon sun. The trees seem happy.

I've been thinking about waves but not spending enough time watching them and instead I sit and fret over small decisions that have been inflated inside my head. These decisions block my ability to sit through more than thirty minutes of focus. I scrunch my eyes up and try to wrestle my attention back to the words on my screen.

Tomorrow I will visit a surfboard shaper in Rotterdam. Not because I want to order a board but just to see and smell a surfboard workshop. Maybe with the intention to shape my own someday, but without the practical realities to achieve such an act.

I've been listening to a lot of Bill Callahan recently. His voice, with its creaking timbers and simple melodies, inspires and soothes me.

I feel like a sensitive professional.

A walk from Poltesco to Cadgwith

Benjamin Earl — Tue, 01 Jul 2025 21:08:10 GMT

Your browser does not support the audio tag.

Benjamin Earl — Mon, 23 Jun 2025 20:06:05 GMT

Swim Notes – 18/06/2025

Benjamin Earl — Wed, 18 Jun 2025 11:52:17 GMT

I swam in the sea, here are some notes:

Yesterday

I woke up early to the sounds of birds and passing runners outside my bedroom window. My mind and body were on "continental time". I lifted the blind to look at the sky, blue without a cloud. I got changed, packed a towel and walked down to the cove.

The light was bright and diffused, the kind of light that only appears in the morning near the sea. The thatched roofs of the houses below were glowing. Two women sat on a doorstep smoking and chatting quietly in a language I couldn't quite make out, I said hello and continued down the hill.

I arrived at the cove as the fishermen were pushing their boats out to sea. The tractor grumbled over the pebbled beach as it softly nudged the boats towards the waters edge.

I continued on to Little Cove and stumbled down the steps. I changed standing on the flattest rock I could find. A cloud shaped like a bird emerged. I teetered towards the waters edge, trying not to step on sharp rocks. The water was colder than I hoped and was smooth like silk. I stepped tentatively over submerged pebbles and tried to catch my breathe as I felt the lightheadedness that accompanies me on a cold dip. I waded out to waist high water and then fell forward into the clutches of the ocean. Ahead of me, the sun shone between a crack in the rocks, I swam towards the rays of light and trod water as I arrived, my head held towards the sun and my eyes closed.

The grumble of the fishing boat engine faded into the distance as it went around the point, towards deeper waters.

I dipped my head under the water, my ears filling and going quiet. I opened my eyes to the blur of rocks, seaweed and sand and floated for a few seconds.

When I emerged, the world felt different. Cooler and quieter.

Today

My head woke up early but my body refused to follow. Eventually I got up and went down to the cove again, but later. The women weren't there and the fishermen had all left. The sky was cloudier today and the air felt softer.

I got into the water at Little Cove, a sheen of oil shimmered across the surface. I swam out to the rocks, climbed onto them and jumped back in. The oil dispersing as I disrupted the surface of the water

I got out and began the walk up the hill. The women were back on their doorstep, smoking and chatting. I said hello and continued home.

Benjamin Earl — Tue, 03 Jun 2025 13:48:15 GMT

We returned from the Peak District on Sunday morning. We arrived on the night ferry from Harwich. I woke up to the sound of a tannoy announcement about the resteraunt on the boat being open for breakfast.

The last time I woke up on a boat was in 2023 after continuing my travels from Naive Yearly. In both cases, waking up and looking out the window to see the sea stretching out towards the horizon was good.

I realise I prefer travel when it's connected to the earth. Even if flying were to become a sustinable mode of transport, I would still prefer to travel along the ground or on the water.

The cabin that we stayed in during our journey had a tv in it that had a variety of different channels in different languages, something for everyone. One channel, which caught my eye in particular, was a webcam looking out of the front of the boat with BBC Radio 2 playing over the top of it. I made a video of it because I love webcams.

I don't really know what the connection is, but webcams, naive yearly and water all feel like they're in the same box. A sign to keep on going perhaps?

#BarefootLife

Benjamin Earl — Wed, 21 May 2025 14:55:31 GMT

A couple of weeks ago I bought some barefoot shoes. I've been wanting to try them for a while and was convinced whilst in the forest in France with friends, one of which had a pair of barefoot shoes.

When I lived with my parents, who had a garden, I would walk around barefoot in most places and until my shoes started becoming smelly I also used to not wear socks.

Luckily, the sock habit has changed (I wear them) but I still miss walking around in barefeet on surfaces outside the house. So, I was excited about the potential of a socially acceptable barefoot feeling with shoes.

I'm happy to report I like my shoes. They have a pretty nice "ground feel" and I've done a few walks with them now and enjoy feeling things with my feet again.

Park Hitland

Benjamin Earl — Wed, 23 Apr 2025 21:37:10 GMT

My touring bike was fixed recently so I took it out for a ride into the country outside of Rotterdam. I went to a place called Park Hitland and to a specific bench that I went to during the covid pandemic. It's a calm space that brings a sort of inner-peace.

Benjamin Earl — Tue, 22 Apr 2025 12:44:39 GMT

I want the ability to add to colours to the backgrounds of my posts.

Benjamin Earl — Sat, 19 Apr 2025 20:59:03 GMT

goals for this site:

Benjamin Earl — Wed, 16 Apr 2025 20:11:21 GMT

this screenshot has been sitting in my download folder for 360 days to this day. I don't know the source, sorry.

Thumbnails from videos

Benjamin Earl — Wed, 16 Apr 2025 11:19:39 GMT

I went through the files on my Sony AX53 yesterday and found the thumbnail folder. I suppose it automatically generates these images from the first few frames and there are some really beautiful ones in there. Small selection below.

Benjamin Earl — Tue, 15 Apr 2025 16:05:19 GMT

sowed on 12.04.2025

seeds from Emma's regenerative dinner
seeds from downstairs neighbours that are for bee's

planted on 14.04.2025:

Rosemary
Lemon Balm
Nepta/Catknip
Camomile
Common Rue

all plants bought from de kas.

Rotterdam Climbs

Benjamin Earl — Sun, 13 Apr 2025 19:50:52 GMT

Yesterday we did some scouting for urban climbs around Rotterdam whilst the weather was good. There's already been some people doing this for a while but most of the routes are at the same two spots so we wanted to find some more. We established four routes all on the same bridge. I documented two of them:

Rosti Ridge was the first one we found and think it's around a 5b.

shit 3 ways was found next to a bag of dog poop. It's crimpy but short.

Benjamin Earl — Wed, 09 Apr 2025 15:36:00 GMT

I walked across Rotterdam yesterday and discovered a new block. This ones on Noordereiland in a park near the Willemsbrug.

Add it to the list of place to climb outside in Rotterdam (site coming soon).

Benjamin Earl — Thu, 03 Apr 2025 18:13:25 GMT

I haven't really found the need to be post multiple times a day yet but I wanted to be able to just incase. So I restructured a few things and added the time into the names/dates of each note so that if it comes to it I can post one a minute...

Who knows what will happen now I've joined e-ink worldwide.

Benjamin Earl — Sun, 30 Mar 2025 13:09:00 GMT

It's the special.fish writing room hour, 11:09am. The clouds are moving fast outside but the trees in the street aren't swaying an inch.

For the last few weeks I've been getting up, packing a towel and cycling to the lake to go for a swim. I've been experiencing what some might call a "burnout" since the beginning of March but somehow the term burnout doesn't feel right to me and still sounds too abstract. However, my desire to dip myself into cold water would suggest that there is something that needs to cool off.

I find writing about it quite hard at the moment because I second guess myself more than usual. This generally leads to me not knowing how to act in a given situation because I don't know if something will cause anxiety or whether it will be fine. I suppose I'm finding it hard to trust my internal compass.

However, each morning when I get up I gravitate towards the lake almost like it has a magnetic pull on me.

There's been much said, written, recorded and published about cold water swimming and it has become a bit of a fad over the last few years. I'm currently reading a book called Why We Swim by Bonnie Tsui that examines the motivation behind peoples interest in swimming, from Icelandic shipwreck survivors to swimming clubs in war-torn Baghdad. I find it admirable that someone can put words to why people do something but for me it still doesn't quite capture the magnetic force I feel each morning.

A book that I found does capture that in a somewhat more poetic manner is a book called Pondlife by Al Alvarez. It's a journal of the writers swimming habits. Through journal entries that are at times observational and at others reflective, you begin to build a picture of why the writer is drawn to the water.

I've been taking occasional photos of the lake to remember these moments.

Ultralight Computer + Visit to NYC

Benjamin Earl — Sat, 29 Mar 2025 15:16:00 GMT

In January of 2024, I went to New York City. I had been invited by Laurel Schwulst to give a workshop as part of her Ultralight: Lightweight Websites in Time & Place course. Laurel invited me to think through how to give a workshop that explored the idea of an ultralight computer.

Since taking part in the Hackers & Designers Summercamp of 2023, I had been very interested in the use of a small computing module called an ESP32. It was a basic development board that had a WiFi module built into it that allowed you to create a hotspot directly from the board itself. During the summercamp, it had been used during a workshop run by Meike Hardt where we imagined what a infrastructure built with love would look like and then created small websites (less than 1MB) that would be loaded onto these ESP32 modules. The modules then created a WiFi hotspot that when connected to would load the small website onto your device, much like connecting to the internet at an airport or a hotel.

One of the beautiful things about these small development boards is the minimal power usage. They can be powered using a basic battery and even run for a certain amount of time on solar power alone. The devices themselves weigh only 30 grams.

Laurel's invitation to think about these devices as ultralight computers brought together a series of thoughts I had been having about how the ESP32 module could become a tool to explore Coding in Situ. If these small, low-power, lo-fi computers could be programmed and used in any location due to their solar-powered capabilities and transportable size, they could become something of a travel companion or alternatively a site-specific computer embedded within the environment.

I landed in New York City on the 14th of January and was greeted by biting cold weather. When I woke up the next day I found a layer of snow covering the backyards I could see out of the window. I decided to stay in the city for three weeks in total so I could get a feel for the place and meet some of the people whose work I had spent a long time admiring from afar.

I spent much of my time walking from place to place. A 2-3 hour walk through the snow felt like the right thing to do at the time (looking back now it's no surprise that I got sick halfway through the trip). It felt like I saw so much everyday but when I returned home and looked up where I had been, I had really just been in one tiny part of the city. I visited the The Noguchi Museum, I was inspired by a doughnut at the Little Flower Cafe, and I crossed the Brooklyn Bridge and took a photo of course.

I joined the Ultralight course for Marie Otsuka's session. Marie's lecture and tutorials were about how to imbue websites with a sense of time which she eloquently explained both conceptually and technically. It made me realise how closely related both our subjects were, both time and place. I had not thought too closely about the concept of time in relation to Coding in Situ, only that there could be ways in showing it's passing. But of course, the idea of doing something in situ is not just about the place but also the time in which it is done.

My workshop, which took place a week later than planned because of illness, consisted of two parts: a lecture and a working session. I first talked about the weight of a network: how heavy is the internet? 17 years ago an article was published on the Guardian claiming it to be about 60g (this was just about the active electrons transmitting information) however I found this view to be a bit limiting in considering what the internet actually is: cables, servers, buildings, computers, people, etc etc.

I wondered during this time how the internet could be so material and heavy, yet feel so intangible and light. In my lecture I presented strategies for returning to the materiality of the web through some specific tools but also through the concept of coding in situ. As well as the prompt for using an Ultralight Computer.

The uses of the ultralight computer and the websites created by the participants of the workshop were quite inspiring. Even though the workshop took place in just one large room (Index Space), each group found a way to dedicate a site to a very specific place. Whether it was a plant, a window, a dogs basket, or the kitchen, each site observed and became part of the space. In the short time we had, little seeds of potential were planted that could develop into something quite beautiful.

When I look back at the visit to the city, not a lot of it feels ultralight which makes those moments of ultralightness feel special. I am thankful to all the people that I met whilst I was out there and for all the conversations and adventures that they took me on. I am thankful to Collette for taking care of me when I was sick. I am thankful to Laurel for inviting me over and for facilitating the workshop and helping me navigate New York. And I'm thankful for all the participants trust that something I was speaking about was worth saying and for their dedication to the ultralight computer.

Lamps In Video Games Use Real Electricity

Benjamin Earl — Fri, 28 Mar 2025 11:29:00 GMT

Lamps In Video Games Use Real Electricity LED panels, Raspberry Pi 3b, custom software 2023

Very rarely does anything I consume online stay with me for an extended period of time. The bombardment of image after image, word after word, leaves my over stimulated brain without a handle to hold on to. But this might also say something about my media consumption habits. But in 2020, I saw a meme that perfectly encapsulated something I had been thinking about for a while. It was a meme of Lisa Simpson walking across a stage, a projection screen behind her with the words "Lamps in games are using real electricity" in a black sans-serif typeface projected on to it.

This meme managed to make tangible an interest and research area of mine that I had been struggling to articulate: places where the digital worlds meet, collide and seep into one another so that the distinction between the two becomes blurred and questionable to begin with. Suddenly, after I had seen this meme, lamps in video games were using real electricity. The meme stuck. And even though I probably saw it on a feed, probably pressed the like button, and moved on, there I was, several years later, being commissioned to make a new work for an exhibition about microchips, and this meme came floating back into my mind.

It turns out the meme's statement originated from a subreddit called /showerthoughts, a place "for sharing those miniature epiphanies you have that highlight the oddities within the familiar." It was posted by someone with username 1Ferrox on the 28th of November 2019. Redditors responded with both enthusiasm and skepticism, with some claiming that if only there were less lights in video games we might begin to reduce global emissions and some debunking it through technical explanations of rendering engines and screen construction.

It didn't really matter whether it was true or not to me, it was more about how a simple thought experiment can begin to make you look at an item you may have seen many times over and over in a different light. I have been playing video games since my parents first got a computer and had never really looked at lamps. Yet now all I wanted to do was go back through all those games I had once played and look at the lamps. (In my teenage years I made little films of my video game playing that I can nostalgically look back on.)

And perhaps the fact that I couldn't tell whether it was true or not was also one of its charms. Do lamps in video games really use real electricity? It made me think and consider what I knew about both electricity and video games. But it also made me begin to consider the nature of playing video games. For what truly happens when I turn on a lamp in a video game?

I still don't have a particular answer to this question (apart from a slightly better idea of the difference between LED and OLED screens) because I think there are many ways in which you could take it. But I made an artwork about this meme called 'Lamps In Video Games Use Real Electricity'. It's a series of four lamps made of LED panels connected to a Raspberry Pi. Each lamp displays a flickering image of a different type of lamp from the Sims 3: floor, table, wall and ceiling lamps.

The process of making the lamps somehow reflected the topic that led me to this project in the first place. It involved countless hours trying to synchronise hardware with code with images generated that had been generated by video games. Whilst the LED matrices that I used were quite hard to understand and their inner-workings still mostly hidden away, it was an exercise of getting to know how things appear as images on a screen. It was an exercise in understanding how something so ubiquitous as light became a technical problem to solve when it appeared on screens in computer simulated environments.

It's been several months since the exhibition ended and whilst I haven't had much time to play video games since, the moments in which I have been able to play have been noticably influenced by knowledge of these mechanics. Somehow now the game environment becomes more interesting than the story. How has the designer decided to light the interior of this space? How do the physics of the world play out in the movement of wind through grass? What does this say about the world that I am playing in and what does it say about the world outside of that? Again, no answers...just more questions.

Benjamin Earl — Tue, 25 Mar 2025 12:52:00 GMT

Personal note as instagram, here are pictures from a quick weekend away in the Hoge Veluwe with W. A highlight for me was finding the spot where one of my favourite webcams is placed (unfortunately it's currently offline so check back again later.)

Benjamin Earl — Tue, 18 Mar 2025 13:00:00 GMT

“True Luddism was about locating exactly where elites were using technologies to the disadvantage of the human being, and organising to fight back. This is an important point: Luddism can and certainly did coexist with technology, and even a love of technology. The handloom, for example, made Luddites’ way of life possible, long before they became Luddites — and they cherished that lifestyle enough to take up arms to defend it. It is a matter, of course, of how technology is deployed.

Before we find ourselves entirely backed into a corner by today’s tech titans, we should ask these questions: Does their technology serve to funnel profits upstream while degrading a livelihood or destabilising a community? Are those who rely on the disrupted systems given a democratic say in how innovation will affect their lives?

The history of the Luddites — the real ones, not the pejorative figment of the entrepreneurial imagination — gives us a framework to evaluate the utility of technologies and their social impacts. Erasing that history collapses our thinking about how tech and automation affect our working lives — and the choice we have to address the disruption they bring.”

Blood in the Machine, Brian Merchant

I think I might be a Luddite.

Benjamin Earl — Mon, 17 Mar 2025 13:00:00 GMT

On the 24th of December 2024 I cancelled my hosting service and most of my internet presence went offline. I switched to a different service within greenhost that meant I had a bit more agency over the files that I uploaded to their servers. I quickly added the html files of my website and then left it at that.

Last week I started a few more things up again, I remade and set up my linkflower (linktree replacement) and then I set about reuploading my journal entries. I originally used Kirby for the writing and pictures I uploaded but it somehow seemed a bit heavy for what it was, so I decided to switch to a static-site generator called Eleventy. I wanted to be able to simplify the process so that I could write on my laptop, generate the site on my laptop and then just upload the files to the server.

This new "notes" website is the outcome of that. I migrated my old posts from Kirby over to Eleventy so that I don't lose them so easily and I'm setting this space up to be a bit more note-taking orientated. More scraps, than posts.

I've been inspired by a few other people who are adding thoughts to the web (Piper, Elliott, Robin, Alice, Becca) and also through the recent use of an RSS reader thats helped me simply see the kind of things I want to see. This is why I've added a feed to this that you're welcome to use.

Poetic Computers

Benjamin Earl — Wed, 13 Sep 2023 14:00:00 GMT

Last week I was looking back through some photos on my phone from earlier this year and I came across a visit I made to the Home Computer Museum in the south of the Netherlands. The museum is a gem for anyone who likes to look at funny computers or has any interest in computer history. Its collection stretches from the 1960s until current day, it's got a replica of the Apple 2 and some of the first programmes made when a programme meant physically attaching cables to different places in small chessboard sized box. I went there because I like computers but also because I wanted to see some funny looking machines made by people whose name's aren't Steve or Bill.

I had a great time there. Not only were there computers of all shapes and sizes, they were all open to play on. The weird looking keyboards and the clunky mouses (mice?) were fantastic to touch and feel. It felt like I was going back in history with each click and button push, and I found a real potentials for other realitys. What if the Pear computer had become extremely successful rather than the Apple? What if the laptop wasn't a foldable item and instead was something that connected together like a jigsaw puzzle.

On the train earlier today I was listening to a podcast that interviewed Jenny Odell about Time. The host of the podcast asked Odell to briefly describe the two books she had written and she started by describing how she started writing How to do Nothing whilst she was teaching art to college students. The ideas were forming whilst she was in a university where it was a struggle to give value to things that didn't have a black and white, obvious value to them which was basically anything in the humanities or things like art and beauty.

It made me think about an interview I had recently where the interviewer asked me to describe what I meant by the poetics of computers. I remember stumbling a bit with my answer but eventually saying something along the lines of that when I thought about the general concept of computers I thought about tools of efficiency and productivity. A tool that could do the menial tasks of a person but at a much greater pace. However, when I thought about computers in that way it didn't feel right. It flattened so many emotions and experiences that have happened whilst on a computer or have been facilitated by a computer. And that didn't feel good, it felt like something was being taken away.

The crushes, break-ups, and friendships that formed all online weren't just the outcome of some tool. And beyond the social things that the computer facilitated, the feeling I got when creating my first website, from writing code that actually does something and from interacting with my computer on a more personal level were also feelings that when thought about it as just a tool they lost their meaning.

So poetic computing was a way of reclaiming the importance of those moments, spaces and outcomes that might not have been productive or efficient but were nonetheless of great importance.

It also aligned the computer with something that is often inspiring to many people and artists: nature. If I can find the sublime in microchips and SD cards in the same way that I find the sublime in mountains and waterfalls, I begin to look at my computer not as a tool but as a landscape. And when I look at it as a landscape it feels good because I feel like I'm knowing it in the same way I might know a park when I go for a walk in it.

If poetic computing is like a walk in the park, then I'm happy to keep walking.

Written during the first session of (b)logging at noon in Rotterdam with Emma, Joel, Tiana and Elliot.

Frustrating Computers

Benjamin Earl — Wed, 17 May 2023 14:00:00 GMT

I was originally going to write something about the various computer histories I've been reading up on recently, but I feel the need to write about something else that feels more urgent at this moment.

Over the last few weeks, I've been attempting to set up a server in the Extra Practice studio that can become a hub for our digital studio life. I had dreams that it would become not only a practical tool where we could write, organise and store things together, but also somewhere that we could experiment and play with digital tools, websites and general online things.

As part of this process, I wanted to try recycling old hardware rather than buying something new in an effort to keep our environmental impact low and not contribute any e-waste to the already cluttered world. We have had a 2007 Mac Mini that Kirsten brought to the studio lying around for a while that was no longer in use, so I decided to use it. At first, I wanted to install Etherpad, Nextcloud and simple web servers for us all to use and then go on from there to open it up to everyone to play with.

However, since I started a couple of weeks ago, I've constantly been taking one step forward and two steps back. Part of this frustrating lack of progress was indeed due to my own incompetences and the learning I did as I went through the various steps. I was (and still am) not an expert in self-hosting, I was learning on the go with the help of tutorials, Stackoverflow and friends. But this was a certain type of frustration that I actually enjoyed, it gave me pleasure to learn and gain more insight into how these things work. The other type of frustration that I've dealt with (and which is the subject of this post) has been one created over time through the black-boxing of computers, the professionalisation of computing and the complete separation of user and programmer, amongst other things. It's a frustration that I've felt ambiently whilst I interact with the various digital devices that I own but felt more acutely as I attempted to work more directly with them.

I had already encountered these frustrations whilst attempting to connect a Raspberry Pi to the Wifi of the school in which I teach in order to use it as a server. Whilst I don't want to point the blame at the IT department (in fact they were very helpful), what should have been a simple task became a difficult one. Ease of use meant the Wifi network had been simplified to the point where it was no longer a resource that could be experimented with, modified and learned from but instead only something that could be passively consumed by those inside the school. This somehow feels detrimental to the process of learning but is not what I wanted to write about here.

Back in our shared studio, on our shared wifi with a piece of hardware that was somewhat hackable, I began to face new frustrations. Hardware frustrations led on to software frustrations which led to documentation frustrations and finally on to learning and progress frustrations.

The Mac Mini I was attempting to convert into a server was a (mid) 2007 model, this makes it 16 years old at the time of writing. Granted that in the context of modern computers 16 years, unfortunately, is a long time (according to this website, that makes it 214 computer years old??). However, I still think it's important to ask why that is. Is it because electronics don't last that long? Do the materials that create landfills of e-waste that will never ever decompose somehow very easily decompose when they're within our nice shiny computer cases? Or is there another reason, perhaps one that involves profit? Is the answer here too easy?

However, this 16/214-year-old computer was working. I could boot it up, plug in a keyboard and a mouse, attach a screen to it and an old version of Mac OS would boot up. But to turn this computer into a server, I needed to wipe away the shiny GUI of Mac OS and install Linux. After several failed attempts at creating a bootable USB drive with various flavours of Linux, I thought it might be good to look into what was contained within our neat little cuboid computer. It turned out that Apple had decided to mix a 64-bit CPU with a 32-bit motherboard, thus creating what some people on the internet called 'dirty architecture'. This 'non-standard' hardware architecture meant that it was difficult to begin installing any OS that wasn't originally designed for this specific computer. This, of course, is not an isolated incident of computers being designed to be compatible with very specific soft/hardware, I was just somewhat surprised that it was happening in 2007.

One of the frustrations I have with computers such as this Mac Mini and the Macbook on which I am writing this text is that they're not open to change and experimentation by default. It's part of a long history of computers being made "user-friendly" and profit-driven that has been at the expense of computer literacy and user agency. Whilst having these frustrations, I revisited Ted Nelson's 1974 Computer Lib/Dream Machines which boldly claims that "you can and must understand computers now". It's a dreamy, handmade, sketchy, and hopeful publication that is filled with information, tips and tricks, and resources about computers in the 1970s. A lot of it (but maybe not the technical explanation) still rings true. Nelson explains "the myth of the machine", the invention of the term "Cybercrud", computer languages, hypertext, computer erotica...the list goes on. All of which are illustrated with playful drawings and bad jokes.

As I sat staring at the terminal of the Mac Mini, trying to figure out why it kept breaking down, I found myself wishing for a modern-day Computer Lib, something that's as playful and accessible as Ted Nelson's original publication with an emphasis on creativity and empowerment that focuses on rudimentary computing.

As I was going through this painful process of setting up the server, I asked my friend Lukas Engelhardt for help and advice. Whilst giving me plenty of practical advice on different software and the way to go about setting up a server, the piece of advice that seemed most important at this moment was "Write down everything you do, you will forget lol". Whilst I am now keeping better records of my activity, I am also writing down how I felt during the process which in this case is mostly frustration.

Whilst this whole text feels a bit like a long rant now, I don't really care because I feel like programmers, developers, computer engineers, designers and anyone involved in putting together a computer needs to know that when computers are built to prioritise profit with smooth, seamless experiences, they begin to eliminate any chance that we can begin to imagine computers anew which I feel like is exactly what we need when so much of what we do is done on computers and that those very computers contribute to ecological, social and cultural collapse. Urgh.

Anyway, I'm done with reading and looking and writing, I want to start making. Time to find people, places, hardware and software that will support that. I'm going to start a Computer Club.

Back to Basics

Benjamin Earl — Thu, 11 May 2023 14:00:00 GMT

This is a post in a series about Coding in Situ. In this entry, I wanted to explore why my early experience of the internet has led me on this search for a more situated, contextual and intimate way of relating to networked technology. The previous post can be found here.

I feel the need to begin at the beginning. Last year my parents were moving out of the house where they have lived since I was born. I went back there to spend some time going through the various objects and memories that had built up over the past 30 years. Part of this meant going through my bedroom wardrobes and sorting through the school reports, swimming certificates, festival wristbands, teenage payslips and anything else I thought worthy of saving and storing. Whilst going through some of the earlier items from my primary school years, I came across a biography and self-portrait I had made of myself when I was eight years old. In the drawing, I state who I am, where I live, how many chickens live in the garden, and my favourite football amongst other things. About halfway through I lay down my childhood intentions: "I want to be a computer maker when I grow up". The portrait drawn below the biography is a full-body portrait of me hovering about 20cm off the ground in front of a table with what I assume is a computer on it.

When I explain to people where I grew up, I start by naming the nearest city, Bristol. Then if they know this I give the name of my nearest town, Taunton. At this point, I've lost the majority, but if I do continue I name the nearest village, North Curry. The village of North Curry has around 1500 inhabitants, but I didn't live in the village. I lived down a small, narrow road ironically named Broad Lane. There were about five other houses in this small hamlet on Broad Lane and it is here that I spent the formative years of my life.

I grew up quite disconnected from the activities and culture that went on in more populated urban areas, instead, I was very connected to the land, the human and more-than-human inhabitants, and the cycles of weather, seasons, and agriculture that affected them. I don't remember exactly when my parents got a computer, but I remember the feeling of being incredibly captivated by it. At first, I played games and drew using MS Paint, and then when an internet connection arrived at our house, I went online. I used the internet to download music, build websites with my friends about our bikes and explore a world out there that I didn't have access to in Broad Lane.

I think somehow this combination of connection online and disconnection in physical space has informed the way I use technology today and the certain types of technology that I am seeking. Last year whilst reading an essay by Alice Yuan Zhang called The Myth of Web3 I came across a quote from Ursula M. Franklin in her lecture The Real World of Technology:

“The struggle to understand and steer the interaction between the bitsphere and the biosphere is the struggle for community in the broadest ecological context.”

The Bitsphere and the Biosphere, the virtual and the material, the digital and the analogue. A lot of my work over the last few years has been somewhat in searching for the spaces, moments and events that these two 'opposites' become less oppositional and more relational. When searching for Coding in Situ, I believe that the type of 'coding' that I am searching for begins to blur, melt and dissolve the boundaries between the bitsphere and the biosphere so to see not only how one may influence the other but how they are intertwined (intertwingled) deeply with one another on so many levels.

When I grew up in the countryside, I spent time looking into a window attached to a computer that gave me access to a whole other world than the one I could see from the window attached to my house. However, growing up with both windows side by side and seeing how lightning, rain and wind out of one window affected the connection speed (or connection full stop) of the other window made me consider the ways in which these two separate windows might not be so separate at all.

From an early age, I became interested in how computers work, but mainly how they talk and how I can talk with them and become social, discover ways of doing things beyond the realm of what I knew possible and then add my realm into the mess of what at that time was the web. Today, Coding in Situ is my attempt to find methods, practices, technology and people that are making the edges of computing seem soft and blurry. It's a guide and a practice for how to relate differently.

Simultaneously, it's a way of looking back, not for a flicker of nostalgia at how things used to be, but to see where potential once lay and to begin to imagine new ways of computing today. It's an attempt to uncover what could have been instead of accepting what now is. In my next entry, I will go a little bit deeper into these other ways of computing could have been.

First of all, what is the internet?

Benjamin Earl — Mon, 01 May 2023 14:00:00 GMT

First of all, what is the internet?

As part of the Design and Deep Future Research Group at the KABK, I have been trying to figure out what Coding in Situ means. I wrote about the idea around 10 months ago after a visit to Robida with Kirsten to make a website. In that moment, it felt right to co-opt a term from architecture criticism and point the lens towards the act of writing code. But, as a term with little definition, it has soft, blurry edges.

When I think through what it means, I try to break it down into sections. Coding is to create instructions using language that can enact a process on an input to create an output. Whilst the abstract definition can be useful, I prefer thinking about the physical act of coding because of the images that it generates, from the hacker in a darkened room to the silicon valley tech bro and everything inbetween. These images give a certain way of contextualising the act of writing code and it's these images that I hope to challenge.

Then there is the word Situ, a term that I've been prodding and poking for quite a while now. What is a Situ? How can it be experienced, mapped, and understood? Is it a physical location with geographical boundaries that you can cross over or is it less tangible situ that goes beyond physical presence? So far, the situ of Coding in Situ has focused on the geographical locality of the place where the coding is happening. However, it does not ignore the networked and global scale of things like the internet that it is inherently connected to.

Then there is the In. What does it mean to be in the situ? As I worked on the Robida website from here in Rotterdam, am I still Coding In Situ? It feels like it, but perhaps thats not up to me to decide. The in is the part that I clearly haven't given much thought to so far.

Towards the end of my participation in the Research Group I will make a report, something to summarise what has happened. I'm going to try writing out what I have done in a series of entries on this website, which somehow seems more fitting than writing into a larger piece of text in a Microsoft Word document. I want to work through the things I've been thinking about in bite-size chunks, posts rather than essays. This will be the first in that series. Perhaps it will become more structured but for now, it is what is it. Here we go:

When I write code, I type out a set of characters that form words that become variables that are part of functions that enact processes on input to create output. I must say now that I am not a professional, I am an amateur and I write code as an artist and a designer, not as a programmer. I write code using the languages of HTML, CSS, Javascript, PHP and sometimes Python. I use these code languages to create interfaces on screens (eg. websites) and software/hardware experiments. When I write code, I do it on my computer, usually at a table whilst sitting on a chair. I use a computer, which in my case is an Early-2015 Macbook Pro with a 13 inch screen, that has a keyboard and a trackpad. Sometimes I use a wireless keyboard and mouse and an external monitor to improve my posture.

When I code, it could mean that I press a key on the keyboard, let's say the letter 'A'. When I push that key, a chain of events occurs throughout my computer that at the moment is too complicated for me to understand but eventually ends up with a letter 'A' being shown on my screen. Whilst this seems somewhat banal, if you begin to look closer it also appears to be magical. I saw a TikTok video a while ago by a someone with the username @ethanforyou that encapsulates the feeling I have when I start examining this process closely.

Late last year, I enrolled on an online course in Computer Architecture and Operating Systems. I did so with the idea that I wanted to get to know my computer better. Whilst I feel like I know every contour, sticky key, dead pixel and broken USB slot on my laptop, I have no idea how things happen behind the screen. By enrolling on this course, I hoped that I would begin to understand my computer on a more intimate and internal basis. I wanted to get to the inner workings, the electrical currents, the cables, and the components.

As part of the course I watched two videos, the first of which explained the different components within a computer; their individual functions, what processes make use of them, and how information flows between them. At the end of this video (which I was watching on my computer), I had this strange moment of sublime as I stroked the metallic surface beside my trackpad and began to understand the scale of the processes going on inside. Whilst I didn't know any of the things that were actually going on at that very moment, I somehow had a feeling for it. I had a feeling for the thousands (millions?) of processes going on at that moment underneath the metal. I could almost feel the buzz of activity, or perhaps it was just my computers fan going into overdrive. As @ethanforyou so succinctly put it "sorry but what the fuck is this? how does it know what this means?"

I think that part of Coding in Situ is about recognising that the world is material, the virtual is material, the digital is material, the cloud is material, VR is material, crypto is material, the web is material and in the same way, all those things are also virtual. When we think through all of these things as material, does it change anything, does it make a difference? Does it make it accessible? Or does the material presence of all these networked things become too much? Perhaps inhabiting the exasperation and urgency that I hear in @ethanforyou's voice is a good place to start find answers.

I want to begin diving deeper into the material relation to the environment. Thinking about what happens across CPUs, local and global networks and maybe also our social environment when someone presses the letter 'A'. For now I'll leave this as an 'intentional' post but I will continue to spend some time writing up my thoughts here about this process and things I find along the way.

Sense of Goethe

Benjamin Earl — Wed, 01 Mar 2023 13:00:00 GMT

For the last month or two I've been working towards an exhibition in the corridor space of the Goethe Insitute in Rotterdam. Unusually for me, it's been a fun process that I've enjoyed working on from day one. This project kind of began last year whilst I was on a residency at a lovely place called Sasso (I made a little website during that time that can be found here). I started there with the ambition to listen to satellites, a practice I had been interested in after reading about the work that Sophie Dyer and Sasha Engelmann do as [[Open-Weather]]. Their collaborative practice has this wonderful mixture of playful, poetic, scientific, collective and embodied research on how the world is imaged through a set of weather satellites, owned by the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Adminisitration.

When I found that they had written detailed guides on how to set up your own satellite ground station, I wanted to give it a try. So I took my little Dipole antenna and SDR dongle with me on the train to Switzerland. After some expected technical issues, I attempted my first satellite listening. I sat in the garden of Sasso, which is perched about 300 metres up the side of a mountain above Lago Maggiore, and as the sun went down I tuned into the frequency of the satellite. For the first few minutes I heard only noise, but eventually a faint beeping began to emerge. I had to take my headphones off to check whether the sound was coming from the house, but sure enough it was coming from my laptop. I suddenly felt this sense of awe you get when you realise your own position in relation to something else at an incomprehensible scale. The satellite was over 500 miles above my head, and here I was sat in this garden picking up its signal.

I didn't realise it at that moment, but later I learnt that the reason I couldn't hear the satellite for the first minutes was due to the mountainous landscape around me. My reception of the signal, and the subsequent image generated was directly influenced by my surrounding environment. Later I found that the signal could be influenced by the movement of my body and the other radio signals around me. All these elements, invisible in the view of the world from above were inscribed into the image it created through noise.

After the residency ended, I carried on practicing these satellite listening exercises in different places around Europe and even upgraded my antenna. I wasn't sure why I was doing the listenings but I felt somehow drawn to the act. What initially excited me was the D.I.Y, lo-fi method of interacting and interfacing with what could be considered a high-technology, but within that I found a different kind of understanding of my sense of place within the world.

The exhibition at the Goethe is one manifestation of this project. Over the last couple of months I've played with the translation of the images made by the satellite using screen printing (I've also considered weaving but thats for a another time). I'm currently thinking of the exhibition as a place to experiment more with others. Whilst it feels weird and a bit scary to present something at the opening which is basically just a sketch, I want it to feel a bit more like an experiment that people can also participate in. I'll be running satellite listening workshops throughout March and some of April where I invite other people to join me in listening to the satellite and afterwards we make a report on the experience.

If you want to join me in these satellite listening workshops then please send a message and I'll make the announcements 10 days in advance when I know what the satellites will be doing. The exhibiton opens on the 10th of March at 17:00 and will be open until the 20th of April.

The Australia Process

Benjamin Earl — Sat, 11 Feb 2023 13:00:00 GMT

I made bread for the first time in a while earlier this week. It felt good to do something productive after being hit by a fairly heavy stomach bug the week before. Somehow making bread felt like I was landing back into life in the Netherlands. One month ago I was in Sydney having a pretty great time exploring museums, ferrying across the harbour, and stumbling upon the best falafel place I've ever been to.

I wanted to reflect a little on the time there and some of the things we did and what I'm going to try and take away from the whole experience. We (Wietske, Fuzz, Pete, and myself) went to Australia for a month and were joined by Joss, Caitlin, and Katy for the middle two weeks. We started in Melbourne, visited the Grampians, and made our way slowly but surely along the East coast towards Sydney stopping in Paynesville, Lilli Pilli, and Kiama. We ended our journey in Moss Vale at the wedding of our good friends Jordy and Kate.

Every single day was a completely different day. We effectively ate, drank, swam, and climbed our way across this tiny segment of Australia. This was partly due to motivation and knowing we only had a certain amount of time in the country and partly because Fuzz had put together a regimented itinerary. By the end of our time there I had become accustomed to seeing completely different landscapes every day, spotting exciting animals, and generally immersing myself in unknown experiences every day. I had truly entered tourist mode.

Occasionally, when we stayed in places for longer than a couple of nights such as Melbourne or Sydney, I found myself striving for routine and rhythm. Whether that be through visiting the same outdoor swimming pool each morning or getting pastries from the same bakery for breakfast, it was still an urge to settle somehow. It struck me only a couple of times, but I noticed the difference between stopping and returning and moving forward and exploring. Ultimately they both are forms of exploring, but it made me think of the different ways I interact with the world around me when I'm home and within a routine.

When I returned from Australia I was still in fully-operational tourist mode. It helped that I had a full schedule packed with things such as the Fiber Weatherscapes Lab and a research week at the KABK. But I moved onwards each day starting afresh and letting whatever was going to coming to wash over me and see what stuck. I like this mode and it fits in with how I've been trying to guide students at the start of their process over the last couple of years.

Marthe and I try to do this through a series of workshops that aim to expand the idea of what research can be and what it means to do research. We've done some more traditional activities like visiting libraries, archives, and museums but we've also done singing workshops, kung-fu lessons, radio making, and bird watching. Whilst these may seem like sporadic activities they all aim to give focus to a different sense or way of doing something to sharpen attention.

Coming back from Australia gave me this heightened sense of noticing I think. I took more in because I had spent a month doing it every day. I didn't think a holiday would become a research method, but maybe it is.

Now that I am back, I want to try to hold on to that sense of intrigue about things around me, but this comes with its problems of priorities, schedules, and responsibilities that I didn't feel so much when down under. It's a challenge but I have the energy to figure it out. If anyone has tips, please tell me...

A Summer Note

Benjamin Earl — Sun, 17 Jul 2022 14:00:00 GMT

This is just a little note to say that I am currently taking part in a residency programme at Sasso Residency in Ticino, CH. I actually plan to write a few more posts on here as part of the things that I do during my month here, but for now I am journaling my time and thoughts in quite sporadic ways over at a little page I made specifically for the this moment: sasso.bnjmnearl.eu.

Feel free to check it out, browse around and come back to hang out later. Also I'm always up for talking, if theres things that you think whilst reading then please send me a message through any of the various channels you can find.

In the meantime, here is the first photograph I took after I arrived here.

Coding-In-Situ

Benjamin Earl — Mon, 13 Jun 2022 14:00:00 GMT

In April, earlier this year, Kirsten and I went on a trip to Topolo, a village on the Italian-Slovenian border. It's a remote and beautiful place, not only because of its geography but also because of its inhabitants. We were there to make a website for Robida, a collective exploring what contemporary practices in the margins of society might look like. We talked about how we would go about making the website during our stay and how we would be somewhat finished by the time we left, just over a week later.

We didn't know what we would find there. From the moment we stepped out of Vida's car, we realised how complicated it was going to be to create a website for such a place. The bird song was the first thing that hit me, then there was the sound of water, the smell of the forest, the sight of the architecture, the view across the valley...and this was only within the first few minutes of being there. In the time we spent in and around the village we discovered the practices of the collective, the relationships between people, places, history, nature, nation, and everything else.

It was overwhelming at first and warm for the rest.

As we began working on the website, I remember trying to think through how we might capture these feelings inside the coding we were doing. How could the sense of place be translated into a digital space? A few days before we left Jack had told me about a text by Jane Rendell in which she explains her concept of site writing. Site Writing is a way of writing architecture criticism in which you immerse yourself in the subject of your critique. Rendell explains that "when writing responds to physical, social, and political qualities of sites, is inserted back into sites, spaces are made out of encounters with readers, and like architecture, texts can inhabit and be inhabited".

What would site writing look like if it was applied to the writing of code? Writing code is different from writing critique. To write code for a website is to write a set of instructions that structure information into a renderable form in a web browser. So, how can a subject be engaged with through the writing of code?

Does the code itself become somehow more revealing of the subject? Does it become more relational? Are the effects of writing in this way only seen in the browser, or can they be traced back to HTML and C

Somehow, this visit to Topolo and spending time with the members of Robida triggered all of these questions. Perhaps it was because they are involved in challenging conventional cultural practices through their projects as well as their everyday activities. This questioning seeped into our way of doing things and thinking through processes.

Of course, because of this, the website was far from done on the day we left. We had sat and coded for quite some hours, yet we hadn't made a website. We had hardly even started. Instead, we had looked at the practice of web development and, even with our amateur knowledge, asked how might we best continue. This question is constantly unfolding and has been stirring in my brain for the last few months. The website will be finished (sorry for the delay Vida, Aljaž and the rest of the Robida crew), but I hope to continue asking this question through the work I do for myself and others.

Time Passes By

Benjamin Earl — Sun, 01 May 2022 14:00:00 GMT

I'm sitting in my apartment in the dark listening to Tangerine Dream's Optical Race (1988). It feels good even if the laptops screen is slightly too bright and bringing on a bit of a headache. Turn brightness down tap tap tap ~*...

I've been camping this weekend with W and her family. The bird song in the morning was very beautiful and even though I didn't sleep well in the cold and my back hurt a bit on the hard floor I had a very good time. However, I didn't feel great when I first arrived. I tried to read James Bridle's new book to get me out of it but actually realised I was just doing research in a field. I often need to tell myself to leave my head or do something that will get me out of it like walking or swimming.

There is a funding opportunity that, if I get it, would make 2022/23 quite nice. But I haven't spent enough time working towards the writing of it and it has stressed me out for the last few days. I arrived thinking about it and I kept on thinking about it until we went on a walk around the surrounding countryside and towns. I need to remind myself that getting up and moving away from what I imagine to be productive is necessary for me.

Likewise, I was reminded today that writing on a journal/blog can be very worthwhile when reading through a couple of different things online this evening whilst cooking and eating dinner. So here I am with a quick update:

Working On

A website for Robida Collective with my good friend Kirsten Spruit.
Peer-2-Peer learning initiative with friends from Varia.
Teaching a course at the KABK that examines the practice of Doing Nothing.
Figuring out where I currently am and where I want to go (some thoughts to follow in next post)
Trying to balance things a little bit better

Reading

Ways of Being - James Bridle
Orwell's Roses - Rebecca Solnit
Driftglass - Samuel R. Delany
MacGuffin Magazine - Number 10: The Bottle

Listening

Madalyn Merkey - Puzzle Music
I-Level - I-Level
NTS Earlybird + Breakfast shows

Okay, I'm going to finish this day up and go for an early nights sleep.

Good for Nothing, Nothing for Good

Benjamin Earl — Fri, 11 Mar 2022 13:00:00 GMT

I became a real teacher in November 2021. Real is in italics because I'm not sure if I feel like whatever a real teacher is and I certainly don't feel certified to be one. I guess there is a difference somehow because my experience with being the educator rather than the educatee was mostly formed by giving workshops at art schools. In these workshops (usually radio or video related) I dropped in, dropped things I knew (knowledge) and then dropped out again. I didn't feel like a teacher during these times and I didn't feel the pressure to be one either.

In almost every workshop I've given, I try to promote the embrace of amateurism, DIY and self-made techniques, methods and processes. I think this is somewhat a reflection of the ideals that I share with the others who I do the workshop with, our 'early-stage 'careers' and also a reaction to the way things are done in Dutch art educational institutes.

When I was studying at the school that I now teach at, I felt a pressure to create something of high quality. This was particularly evident during the process of creating a final graduation project that was supposed to propel me into professional life. Looking back at this time I see that it was both unnecessary and also extremely unhelpful to feel this pressure, which probably came from both myself and my environment.

The class I teach now is called the Design Inquiry Group, it existed before I started teaching it (it was also known as Playlab) so I'm still trying to understand what it's for since the name doesn't really give anything away. I found myself thinking about it as a course that would actually question what design education could be. The first semester of the course I put together with Marthe Prins whom I teach with, was a course about 'doing nothing'. The course included practices, readings and ways of thinking about doing nothing as resistance.

Amateurism was also perfectly inline with this subject, which meant I didn't have to justify my amateur-leaning ways. However, I do worry about teaching future courses where amateurism might not be inline with the education built for the production of 'creative professionals'. However, I want to try to sit with this feeling since I think it can be fruitful to think through and also work with.

So I'll continue being an amateur and maybe I'll never feel like a 'real' teacher but I'm pretty okay with that at the moment.

Windows and Webcams

Benjamin Earl — Tue, 01 Mar 2022 13:00:00 GMT

Yesterday I read Lukas W's contribution to the Are.na Annual 2022 (the theme of which is Portals). It was great to be welcomed into the book by two things that I pay a lot of attention to, waves and webcams. It was also somehow reassuring to know that someone else also collects screenshots from surfcams.

I've come to think a lot about windows and webcams at the moment. I have a favourite window in my house and recently I began thinking of what future scenarios might look like when I look out of the window. There's something about the frame of a window and the frame of a webcam that draws me into whats on the other side.

One of my favourite webcams is located in the Hoge Veluwe, a national park here in the Netherlands. It's a stationary camera, it doesn't pan or zoom. It just has one shot. Occasionally there will be deer or wildboar that you see roaming this patch of wilderness, but most of the time it's empty.

Lukas writes about the longing to be somewhere which creates a kind of ache. I feel that ache when looking at many of the webcams I revisit again and again, but for me this is something about the live aspect of seeing this place from somehwere else entirely that makes that ache more acute. On a summers day, you can almost smell the pines through the webcam and seeing the sun dapples grass really gives me the feeling of being there. What is that? Why does it do such a thing?

I feel a connection when I look through this webcam that I keep returning to. I have an intimacy with the environment that it presents. If it were to dissapear then I would be sad, maybe the 14 other people watching the webcam with me would also be sad. So many of the webcams I enjoy eventually dissapear, I feel as though there should be a webcam preservation society. If anybody wants to start something like that with me, please tell me.

I think time passing also plays a part of why I find these little portals so interesting. Webcam time feels different to most-of-the-internet-time. It's 'real time', which is another topic I would also like to revisit again soon. It's difficult to find that kind of pace on the internet with everything moving so fast and so much information waiting for me.

I'll put together a webcam Are.na channel soon that I'll post here.

My Dinner Table

Benjamin Earl — Thu, 17 Feb 2022 13:00:00 GMT

In my apartment there is a dinner table. It's where I'm sitting right now as I type this out. I only have two chairs for it at the moment, but soon it will be four. I call it the dinner table but actually there is a lot more that goes on here. At the moment on the table is a stack of books (Countryside by Rem Koolhaas, The Age of Earthquakes by Shumon Basar/Douglas Coupland/Hans Ulrich Obrist, Network Imaginaries by Hackers and Designers, Collins Nature Guide to Birds of Britain and Europe, Donald Judd Writings,The Artist As An Instigator of Changes in Social Cognition and Behaviour by Stephen Willats and the Are.na Annual 2022). There is a chess board with only two moves made. There is a fabric net bag with presents for a friend inside it, there is a stack of paper with instructions for some walks that I did with W in the last few weeks. There is a candle holder from Cornwall. The tables surface is also covered in the remnents of my bread making activities from a few days earlier, I should give it a wipe.

There is somehow order and disorder to my kitchen table and I like it that way. When I wake up in the morning or when I come home in the evening, the table and all of its contents are there to welcome me and remind me of what I like. I didn't think I would like having what could be considered a mess on my table and especially when it comes to making and working on things, I thought a clean space offers a clean mind. But now that I live by myself, I find it quite important to have things around me. This feeling kind of grates against my future-self knowing eventually I'll have to move all this stuff, but right now it feels great to be surrounded by my detritus.

I think my dinner table could be considered a picture of me right now. A self-portrait through arrangement. I am going to keep note of this for the future and make note of how this space changes as I also change.

Light Video

Benjamin Earl — Tue, 18 Jan 2022 13:00:00 GMT

Last week Emma and I hosted a workshop at the Critical Inquiry Lab MA at Design Academy Eindhoven. It was the second time we had done this particular workshop. We call it 'Once Upon a Time in Desktoppywood'. The idea of the workshop is to show how video doesn't have to be this big bloated medium that takes time, energy and resources to be able to produce and it can infact be used for short, simple, DIY visual communication.

Emma and I both use video a lot in our own practices but recently I've not had the motivation to make anything with moving image because I began to believe in the heavyness of it as a medium. My feelings were summarised by this instagram post by Avacado Ibuprofen explaining why they didn't make videos anymore. It was with these feelings that I first approached this workshop after coming back from my holidays at home. I wasn't particuarly excited and it was a bit of a struggle to find the enthusiasm.

I think most of those feelings came from my experience with making videos last year. Specifically a video made for an exhibition at Het Nieuwe Instituut about Disney. It took several months to produce this 10 minute video using external render farms and a 6 year old macbook pro (I know it was a silly idea). I worked on this video for 9-11 hours everyday for 2 months and at the end I was exhausted. Burnt up just like my poor little laptop. Then there were others around me talking about 4K footage and 120 frames per second. It was too much. Too much data, too much definition and too much energy. I love being captivated by the quality of renders and 4k video but it also makes me tired.

After we did a bit of planning and organising for the content of the workshop I managed to get more excited and regain some of the enthuasiasm to do it but it wasn't until I started seeing the students in the group produce videos in a matter of hours that the heaviness of video lifted and I saw the lightweight, DIY, sketchy, dirty and awkward version appear...my kind of video.

I began looking back at videos I made 10 years ago whilst playing games with friends online and some of those videos are things that I want to be making now. Awkward edits, rough cuts and lofi effects but with energy and excitement to them. So I'll be returning to video soon.

For anyone interested the website for the workshop can be found here.

A letter to 2022

Benjamin Earl — Sun, 09 Jan 2022 13:00:00 GMT

I decided that I would not write a newsletter this year and instead I would start a blog. A place where I can write down my thoughts and ideas. I actually started writing a newsletter so what you find below will be a version of that letter:

This evening, a Tuesday evening at 8:30, I’m making a start at writing this letter. I’m calling it a letter rather than newsletter because I want to write it as a letter to you rather than an email to everyone. I know it’s an email to everyone but somehow it makes me write differently when I think about the people who might read this. I think a letter sits more within the frame of a conversation than a publication. Which is something I’ve been thinking about quite recently, conversation as a method. Well, actually I should go back one step further. I’ve been thinking a bit about what I want to do in the coming year. Last year I wrote

”I’m happy to be surrounded by water, even when its immobilising…maybe even because its immobilising. And I hope that theres more water next year and I hope that I can be in it.”

Being immersed in something became a kind of guide for 2021. Immersed in activities, topics, making, resting, people, and places. When I look back at the year, I think in some ways this guiding principle really helped me do things and I can see that in other areas I forgot about it. So it still stands this year, immersion as a guiding principle for living. However, I still want a 'resolution' for 2022. Something that is more of a principle than necessarily a thing that I need to do. I have some ideas which I still haven’t quite found the right words for but I’ll try.

I want to focus on home. I want to find new things by staying in one place. I don’t want to make anything new. I want to revisit old ideas and give space to things that are already in motion. I want to walk more. I want to know the different types of birds and trees in the local park. I want to be able to make long-term plans. I want to accumulate things and sift through them. I want to spend more time in libraries.

I don’t really know how to sumarise those things into a resolution because somehow they all feel like they come from the same urge. Maybe they’re all just an extension on being immersed. Perhaps it doesn’t matter that much and what really matters is that the intention is set. The guiding principle is there and I will try my best to remember what I said.

Christmas Rain

Benjamin Earl — Thu, 30 Dec 2021 13:00:00 GMT

It rained a lot on Christmas day this year. I think it rained from the moment I was awake to the moment I went to sleep. Unfortunately this meant that we couldn't go for our normal Christmas walk so easily. We went for a small one around the fields and got drenched. It made me realise I need waterproof trousers, they serve more activities than just cycling in the Netherlands.

After Christmas dinner, I went into my parents garage for more firewood. The door was open and the sound of the rain hitting the door, the car outside and the ground was really nice so I recorded it. At the end of the recording a murmuration of starlings flew by which was quite special.

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Coding in front of the fire

Benjamin Earl — Mon, 20 Dec 2021 13:00:00 GMT

I'm sitting in on the big sofa in my parents living room. There are 3 pillows, a soft blanket and a patchwork blanket on here with me. I'm facing the fireplace where there are some glowing embers and whispy flames giving off an ambient warmth. I'm listening to a show on NTS by Adam Oko with Cool Maritime. It's my first time listening to this host but I can tell it won't be the last. It's 15:42 and it's starting to get dark outside.

There's been grey clouds around all day and the temperature has been hovering around 5 degrees. I'm starting this blog now today so that I can truly begin it in 2022. If you see it now, it doesn't have any styling and very little about it has been planned. I've been meaning to do this for a while but haven't quite had the head space to begin.

Now I find myself coding in front of the fire and somehow this seems like the right time. I've been frustrated with the lack of intimacy I find on my phone and the internet. This is me cultivating some sort of intimacy, even just for myself. This place might shift and change over time but its vibes will be set to 'intimate and cozy' from the start. So here it goes, hello (again) world.