you are what you make

science, design and the human body at the intersection of biotechnology

a dissertation written bymarisa naruko bennett jensen

in requirement for completion of

ba designgoldsmiths college, university of london

january 2014

You Are What You Make:Science, Design and the Human Body at the

Intersection of Biotechnology

A dissertation written by:Marisa Naruko Bennett Jensen

In requirement for completion of

BA Design

Goldsmiths College, University of London

January 2014

1Science-Design, Design-ScienceAn Analysis of Definitions

2Motives and Metaphors

5ConclusionA Personal Reflection

On BioDesign

/References

Additional Reading

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0Introduction

3BioPunks The Rogue Side of

Doing Biology

4BioCommerce Genetic Gold or

Garbage Tissue?

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What is the value of the skin, hair and other cells

on your body? It’s likely you barely consider these

biological traces you leave everywhere, as you shed

and grow fresh ones every day. What if a team of

scientists were to collect these cells for biomedical

research, or use them for genetic engineering

experiments or biological profiling – would you care

what happened to them then? It’s hard to imagine

why one would want to meticulously collect every

clipped fingernail, every hairball from the shower,

every sleepy drop of drool and squirrel them away,

yet that is exactly what I’ve been doing for the last

few months. Armed with little scientific knowledge

but abundant curiosity for the makeup of my body

parts, I have embarked on a self-exploratory journey,

evocative of the grooming rituals performed by

Vincent Freeman in the genetically discriminatory

world of Gattaca. In reality, the business of bodies

is booming: DNA extracted from human tissue can

reveal powerful information about disease therapy

and genetic ancestry lines, and medical scientists

are in fraught competition to own this information.

Nationwide DNA banks and tissue collection

protocols are cropping up all over the world

[GeneWatch, 2013], because governments know there

is money to be made, and power to be gained, in the

trafficking of human tissue.

Alongside this, the onslaught of biotechnology and

genetic engineering have permeated many areas of

current popular culture, inspiring wild fantasies of

future worlds transformed by synthetically tailored

life forms. Where these practices were once the

stuff of sci-fi novels, they are now the focal point of

contemporary predictions of the future. BioPunks, a

growing community of untrained scientists dabbling

in bioengineering, are already tinkering with the very

fabric of life in their garages without authorisation

or proper equipment. ‘Bio-design’ and ‘bio-art’ are

making appearances at established global museums,

with work ranging from speculative ideas to fully

realized creations.

So how does design vie with science into this bio-

obsessive new world? Alexandra Daisy Ginsberg of

Synthetic Aesthetics, a collaborative group that is

focused on the future of synthetic biology, defines

‘design’ as “the transmission of ideas through

things… the translator of new technologies into the

mass of stuff that surrounds and mugs our everyday

lives” [PopTech, 2013]. If this is true, designers

must remain at the forefront of synthesising these

emergent ideas into understandable and relatable

forms. Yet as the progress of technology continues

to accelerate, and the pace of digital communication

keeps cultural perspectives in constant flux,

maintaining a relevancy and urgency in design work

can be challenging. While it would seem natural

that designers collaborate with scientists to remain

abreast of this momentum, an analysis of Nigel

Cross’ theoretical science-design definitions and a

University of Cambridge study both reveal specific

obstacles and conflicts that can confuse the process.

I will therefore attempt to investigate alternative types

of science-design combinations that may be more

beneficial to both parties in the context of bio-design.

It might help to reflect on a time when creative and

scientific domains were not as explicitly separate

as they seem to be today. In the 17th Century and

leading up to the Industrial Revolution, biologists

and artists worked intimately together as a hybrid

of two disciplines. The Pre-Raphaelite artists in

their 1850 periodical The Germ praised science in

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Introduction

0Introduction

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Faber Futures is a collection of textiles which are screen printed with dyes made by genetically manipulated bacteria. This collaboration is a work in progress by textiles designer Natsai Chieza and The Ward Lab of University College London.

Photos: thisisalive.com/faber-futures/En Vie/Alive, Espace Fondation EDF, Paris April – September 2013

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Introduction

borrowing knowledge from existing artefacts, and the

second through manufacturing and reflecting on new

artefacts [Cross, 2000]. The step forward for design

to familiarise itself with the life sciences, and remain

a culturally relevant stakeholder in the development

and application of biotechnology, must then

surely be through these same levels of interaction

inside the laboratory, or through an efficiently

mediated collaboration. However, it’s important

to recognise the boundaries between design and

science: collaboration does not mean they become

inseparable, and the benefits and disadvantages must

be equally recognised.

its “precise search for the truth” and consequently

painted scientists like Newton and Hippocrates not

within their laboratory settings but in scenes of

artistic inspiration and thinking [Estrin, 2011]. Ernst

Haeckel’s depictions of nature as a machine illustrate

the equal parts scientific precision and abstract

creativity required for encapsulating complex

biological systems and structures. The founding

members of the Royal Society in London were both

practicing architects and leading scientists [Myers,

2012], exploiting different ways of knowing in both

science and art.

With the onset of the Industrial Revolution, however,

the meaning of ‘design’ has moved beyond mere

aesthetic representation and become more intimately

involved with function, efficiency, user experience

and innovation. Nigel Cross likens contemporary

designers to experts in the ‘artificial world’ [Cross,

2000:54]. If the profession of a designer is thus to

add or alter elements of this artificial world, what

does it mean to design with living things? Where

are the boundaries between the ‘artificial’ and

the ‘natural’ when an organism is manipulated or

synthetically created?

Biotechnology continues to creep into the

mainstream, and we cannot continue to think of

design as sitting purely in the artificial domain.

As global needs shift towards softer and more

sustainable methods of production and consumption,

designers must too shift their focus towards these

ends. The implications of ‘designing life’ are vast:

introducing living organisms as a medium to make

with suggests new sets of responsibilities concerning

production, maintenance and disposal that may

not have been previously considered. And when

it comes to designing with the matter of our own

bodies, whether it’s with tissue or with genes, those

implications run even deeper.

Cross contends the current ways of knowing in design

come from two avenues: the first through copying and

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Growth Assembly (left) A series of synthetically created plants that grow the parts to make up a fertiliser pump

E. Chromi (above) An engineered bacteria that signals the presence of harmful pathogens inside the digestive tract by changing colors

In my research I have spoken with certified medical

biologists, do-it-yourself BioPunks and those in

between, and while they all comment on different

degrees of science-design overlap, it’s only in

personal attempts at scientific investigation that

my own ‘designerly ways of knowing’ [Cross, 2000]

reveal themselves. A lack of scientific expertise led

me to make intuitive decisions that were focused

partly on scientific accuracy and partly on design

opportunity, steered for the most part by suspicion.

My attitudes toward my own bodily materials

influenced my willingness to work with elements

that entailed painstaking collection methods, had

particularly high ‘yuck’ factors, or yielded no

apparent scientific value but stoked my design

curiosity.

These factors are undoubtedly entangled with the

inherent or ‘tacit’ knowledge discussed in Chris Rust’s

Design Enquiry: Tacit Knowledge and Invention in

Science [Rust, 2003:3]. Thus we see a third contender

in science-design collaborations that plays an

obvious but crucial role : the unique set of knowledge

that is specific to each individual, regardless of

profession and instead dependent on emotional,

cultural and experiential factors.

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Daisy Ginsberg is part of Synthetic Aesthetics, a collaborative group that focuses on how synthetic biology may implicate science and design roles, our relationships with our products and services, and new ideas about their production, maintenance and disposal. The majority of her current work is design fiction, although she has also collaborated on projects that directly engage with lab biology.

Photos: Author’s ownBunny Smash, Museum of Contemporary Art TokyoDecember 2013

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be an emergent idea that flexibility in design is

valued over specialism, and while this might make

pigeonholing some work difficult, it increases the

chances of finding the best solution in a given design

problem. It presents a stark contrast to the meticulous

categorisation of modern science, which must be

considered in the analysis of existing science-design

collaboration.

Rust makes sense of these differing approaches

by describing science as ‘atomistic’ and design as

‘holistic’ [Rust, 2003]. An analysis of each possible

combination of individual scientific and design

disciplines is a staggering ambition, so for the

purpose of this dissertation I will focus on those

disciplines that participate in and are influenced by

bio-design. Unless otherwise stated I will frame the

subjects in question as ‘scientists’ or ‘science,’ which

includes biotechnology, medical biology, life science

and genetic engineering, and ‘designers’ or ‘design,’

which includes both specific and interdisciplinary

approaches as well as speculative design fictions.

Connections between science and design are by no

means novel, and although the differences between

them may seem at once obvious, a discussion of

their practices and methods can lead to a surprising

amount of confusion. Cross defines the following

three possible science-design combinations:

1. Scientific Design

2. Design Science

3. The Science of Design

‘Scientific design’ refers to the shift from

craftsmanship to manufacturing brought on by the

Industrial Revolution which has introduced scientific

underpinnings to various aspects of design. These

include materials science and engineering, supporting

the placement of design within the industrial

world. While the definition itself is not particularly

controversial, it presents the interesting perspective

of ‘scientific design’ as making science visible.

Cross refers to designed objects as subtly implying a

scientific consideration in their material makeup, but

in the context of synthetic biology one could derive a

slightly different meaning. As cellular investigations

function on the micro-scale, design can act as

magnifier of these seemingly invisible discoveries.

While living organisms are far from becoming the

staple materials in general design practice, futurist

projects that propose possible applications for

synthetic biology fit the role of making science visible

in a much more direct way. By exploring the potential

social and cultural impacts of synthetic biology,

designers are able to render the oft-convoluted

specifics of emerging scientific research visible and

relatable to the public eye.

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Chapter One

In order to pinpoint the intersection of science

and design, it might help to start by dividing the

two practices into categories that facilitate our

understanding of them independently. The terms

‘science’ and ‘design’ are both umbrella terms for two

vast disciplines, each of which contain numerous

specialities that require unique skills, processes

and ways of thinking. The era before the Industrial

Revolution was prone to a rather romanticised view

of science, promoting an all-encompassing approach

that utilised knowledge from the life sciences,

chemistry, physics and the sub-divisions within.

Today, however, the banks of scientific knowledge

have been built upon in such volumes that specialism

is required to increasingly narrow degrees. Max Little

describes scientists as being encouraged to ‘hyper-

specialise’ [Little, 2014:86], which tends to lead

scientific branches to forget they are in fact part of a

tree.

Design, too, implies a range of stand-alone practices

that have clear distinctions spanning industrial,

graphic, fashion, software, and architectural (and

so on). Most design educations that I’m personally

familiar with emphasise a commitment to design

specialism, tutoring the particular skills that have

been established as the standard for each pathway.

However, there seems to be a certain malleability

to these practices that allows for a degree of

interchangeability, reminiscent of the holistic

approach that defined the science of the pre-

Industrial Revolution. My own design education can

be categorised as ‘multi-disciplinary’ (a term that

seems to be employed more and more frequently

by freelancers and start-ups today) encouraging

students to discover alternative opportunities

between disciplinary boundaries. There seems to

1Science-Design, Design-ScienceAn Analysis of Definitions

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Design Beyond Making was one such example:

the speculative exhibition debated the effects

environmental concerns and scientific innovation

might have on society’s use of materials. By

presenting objects, videos and instructive manuals

as ethnographic artefacts from a possible near

future, Cross’s explanation of ‘scientific design’ was

manifested in the speculative materials research,

while also communicating an overall understanding

of its uses and implications.

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Chapter One

Design Beyond Making A design fictions exhibition speculating on the effects of science and technology on future commercial uses and personal relationships with materials

Photos: Author’s ownDesign Beyond Making, Protein Gallery LondonNovember 2013

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Chapter One

‘Design science’ on the other hand refers to an

“explicitly organized, rational, and wholly systematic

approach to design” [Cross, 2000:53], applying a

standardised methodology to the design process.

This assertion seems acutely questionable, especially

when reflecting on my own design methods and ways

of thinking. While falling into certain routines of

working is an unavoidable habit of human nature,

these modes of uncritical thinking are detrimental

for innovation. The problem with a systemised design

process is that it considerably limits the scope of

design possibilities, tending to homogenise the

outcomes. Merely applying scientific rigour to design

methodology only seems beneficial for efficiency in

mass production.

Admittedly, both science and design employ cycles of

reflection and iteration that may relate to one another.

However, it’s important to remember that design is

ultimately a people-focused discipline, meaning there

is a need to consider user interactions and emotional

experiences in the design process that is not present

in science. Jane Fulton Suri and R. Michael Hendrix

of IDEO refer to these factors as ‘design sensibilities’

[Suri, 2010], distinctly categorising them as separate

from design methods. Cross’s description of ‘design

science’ does not account for them, reducing design

thinking to a handful of methods without contextual

richness or empathy. As so deftly put by Tad Toulis,

“You can’t turn design into complete logic, otherwise

it loses its true power.”1

Lastly, the ‘science of design’ can be simply described

as the academic study of design: i.e. how it works

and the methods that are used. Cross argues that the

main benefit of this is as platform for individuals

to have conversations about their practice and find

connections between their methodologies. While he

specifically refers to conversations between designers

of different specialities, it could be inferred that

discussing the ‘science’ of any field could increase

cross-disciplinary understandings, including those

between science and design.

1 Overheard on twitter: http://bit.ly/1dDtLxQ

Design Thinking A diagram outlining the balance between Design Methods and Design Sensibilities

Image: Developing Design Sensibilities, Jane Fulton Suri & R. Michael Hendrix2010

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Although Cross’ definitions of various science-

design combinations warrant their merits, I remain

unconvinced that they fully delineate design’s

complex entanglements with biotechnology. Propelled

by scientific research, bio-design would be nowhere

without the science to back it up. Yet without cultural

speculation and probing, the social element that is

key to design would be lost. Cross writes theoretically,

but a practical investigation at the University of

Cambridge revealed other complexities [Peralta,

2011]. In the study, scientists and designers of

varying backgrounds worked together on three

separate briefs, and while it helped bring to light

some possible misunderstandings, the nature of the

projects promoted a relationship between designer

and scientist that was more like that of designer

and client, rather than a truly collaborative practice.

Nevertheless, the consistent culprits in these cases

seemed to be communication and motivation.

For a designer not fluent in complex laboratory

speak, there might be opportunities for design

innovation that are being misinterpreted or getting

lost in translation. Wired often employs the popular

analogy for synthetic biology as genetic code being

like computer code, implying that life forms can be

‘hacked’ like software [Goodman, 2013]. Although

metaphors can be powerful tools to simplify abstract

systems, it’s important not to confuse the metaphor

for a literal translation.

The outbreak of synthetic biology from its laboratory

confines has given birth to programs like GenoCAD11

or Gene Designer that present genetic components

as icons that can be dragged and dropped, cut and

pasted into specific formations that allow for the

‘design’ of a synthetic organism [Agapakis, 2011].

Although programs like this may promote production

and organisation of genetic code, they don’t

necessarily facilitate a comprehensive understanding

of how the components actually interact or even

what they mean. The software only presents a shallow

understanding of the biological context and dynamics

of gene transcription, disregarding the limits of the

metaphor. In this sense, design acts as a ‘flattener,’

smoothing over the uneven and abstracting away the

uncertainties [McKenzie, 2009].

This is of course a crucial role for design, to make

complex ideas more relatable and articulate a

contextual framework. However as Professor Nikolas

Rose warns, in this ‘flattened’ understanding, it could

also mean that some of the scientific specificities are

being wrongly applied to more abstract perceptions

of the human body and life as a whole [Rose, 2007].

It’s easy to imagine these abstractions leading to

projects that are either misguided or limited to

speculation without substance. Conversations with J.J.

Hastings, a biomedical engineer from collaborative

studio The Kitchen, confirmed this theory. “There’s a

danger of it becoming reductionist, but that’s the limit

of not being specialised in the field,” says Hastings.

“Unless you have ten years of biomedical training,

you’re just not going to know everything that can

be known” [Hastings, 2013]. Perhaps the fostering

of mutual understandings depends on a level of

collaborative intimacy that enables a close regulation

and the development of a shared formal language.

And, perhaps these flattened understandings, while

not always the most accurate, can provide fresh ways

of thinking about science that otherwise wouldn’t

work in the lab.

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Chapter Two

2Motives and Metaphors

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An early experiment involving living materials. Yeast is mixed with water and sugar to create a ‘breathing’ typography that consumes glucose and releases carbon dioxide, growing and dying over time.

Photos: Author’s ownMaterials Workshop, Goldsmiths CollegeOctober 2013

scientists must make when proposing a new idea as a

worthwhile subject of investigation – something that

no amount of logical reasoning could produce [Rust,

2004]. In these moments, it seems scientists too must

partake in a type of design fiction, as they speculate

on some future context to fit their research. This may

be the crucial point for designers to step in, bringing

a richer insight to the cultural needs and desires of

the time.

The initial stage of imagining and enquiring may

actually be more important than the process of

discovery itself: correlations between design fiction

and science fiction, and their ability to spur multiple

avenues of investigation is a trending topic in today’s

design world, most notably discussed by Julian

Bleecker of The Near Future Factory in his essay

Design Fiction: A Short Essay on Design, Science, Fact

and Fiction [Bleecker, 2009].

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Chapter Two

This introduces the second point about motivation

– designers approach their investigations knowing,

however implicitly, that their research will eventually

be manifested in some kind of designed outcome.

Consequently the research is directed by the hope

of inventing something new, whereas the motive of

general scientific research is primarily the expansion

of knowledge. One might pair science and art as

creating for the sake of creating, as opposed to the

constructivist drive of design and engineering.

In my own design practice, the early stages of my

investigations seemed directionless and random, but

they implicitly informed the design decisions that

would be made in later stages. The development of my

work with yeast exemplifies a type of ‘thinkering’ out

loud with science that takes advantage of a ‘flattened’

understanding. This is important because science

must also engage in a type of imaginative invention

in order to pursue certain types of research. Rust

describes this as the ‘leap of illumination’ that

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One example of effective mediation between design,

science and fiction became apparent during a

workshop that ran in conjunction with Design Beyond

Making, hosted by the afore-mentioned studio The

Kitchen – made up of Hastings and her textiles

designer counterpart Amy Congdon. Together they

invented a new use for decellularisation (a scientific

process that is normally reserved for regenerative

medicine) by re-appropriating it for the creation of a

new type of material.

“Working with a designer opened me up to an

interest in materials,” Hastings grinned at me. “As a

biomedical researcher, there’s a way of doing things

within a certain setting; the [lack of] sterility in a

setup like this just wouldn’t be done in a professional

setting for tissue engineering. But working with a

De-CellularisationA process that is normally used for biomedical engineering, de-cellularisation involves stripping an organic material of its cells, leaving behind only the extracellular matrix. In the medical industry this matrix is used for seeding new cells, but Congdon and Hastings apply more traditional textiles methods to explore how it can be used as a material to make with

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Chapter Two

designer has completely freed up my notions of what

is the way forward. It’s playful” [Hastings, 2013].

Perhaps it’s within this ‘playful’ context that science

and design fit best together, allowing cooperative

leaps of illumination and the development of a mutual

empathy. The slightly trite analogy might be that of

two children who don’t speak the same language but

can play in the same imaginary world.

This multifaceted approach to life sciences was

pioneered by interdisciplinary research lab

SymbioticA, the first known studio allowing artists

and designers of differing backgrounds access to

university lab equipment and staff. Offering a fully

experiential program involving academic courses,

personal and collaborative work opportunities,

workshops, exhibitions and public forums, the

most telling aspect of their proclaimed objective is

to perform ‘concept-generating’ activities that are

‘curiosity-based’ [SymbioticA.uwa.edu.au, 2014].

For my own practice, it provides the perfect platform

for implementing a design approach to a scientific

curiosity, committing explicitly to neither discipline

but instead suggesting new forms of research and

idea production that are relevant to both.

Photos: Author’s ownDe-Cellular, Protein Gallery LondonNovember 2013

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Photo: Author’s ownDe-Cellular, Protein Gallery LondonNovember 2013

De-CellularisationA de-cellularised piece of bacon

BioHackspace, LondonA space for members to make, experiment, hack and tinker with biology

Photo: Author’s ownHackspace LondonOctober 2013

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Chapter Three

3BioPunks The Rogue Side of Doing Biology

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Yet while many tout the merits of community

empowerment, DIYbio is not immune to the same

concerns that permeate cultural perceptions about

genetic engineering. The very idea that average

citizens will best know how to use synthetic biology to

suit their own needs is marred by the undeniable fact

that they are not experts in the subject. Accidents (or

deliberate harm) in the wood shop or computer lab

can result in dismembered fingers, a pesky computer

virus or even national missiles being fired off. Yet the

invisibility of bacteria, of illnesses and pandemics,

and the inherent knowledge that living things mutate

as a rule of nature, unlocks a more primal fear in us

as a society.

With synthetic biology there is always the implicit

danger that “the object of your inquiry could kill you”

[Wohlsen, 2011:87]. A computer virus with no ‘off’

button seems a lot less terrifying than a human virus

with no ‘off’ button, and if the blueprints of bacterial

formations were to be as freely available as BioPunks

want them to be, it seems a lot more likely that the

biological version of the 3D printed gun scandal

might occur, invisible to the naked eye until it’s too

late. The last year has seen platforms like Kickstarter

successfully source funding for DIYBio projects like

Glowing Plant and Dino Pet, which were met with

a bittersweet mixture of applause for innovative

sustainability, and fretful hand-wringing over the

wide distribution of unauthorised manipulated

lifeforms.

For the time being however, these public concerns

may be slightly exaggerated. In practice, the level of

scientific expertise needed for these types of fears

to be confirmed is generally much higher than what

can be achieved through self-taught methods and an

oddball collection of donated equipment. The existing

regulations around acquiring potentially detrimental

biological material to begin with is nearly impossible

for people with no credentials in professional science

[Wohlsen, 2011]. My own experience at London’s

BioHackspace led me take bacterial samples from

various parts of my body and grow them for analysis,

which as a novice in bacterial science was intriguing,

but ultimately did not exceed the level of a biology

experiment in high school.

Oliver Medvedik of Genspace noted that all of

their biological material is strictly non-pathogenic,

commenting on the public’s distorted perception of

organisms used in the hackspace in comparison to

the billions of potentially dangerous microbes that

fester around us daily [Eng, 2012]. The BioPunks that

cause the most potential harm seem to be those who

have turned their experimentation on themselves,

ironically posing much less threat to the worried.

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Chapter Three

If scientists and designers can successfully work

together to mediate their objectives and develop

socially meaningful applications for designed life,

it opens the case for visions of idyllic utopias and

unsettling dystopian futures. In reality the direction

of science-design collaborations in biotechnology

will largely be chauffeured by the agendas of

industry, government, healthcare and academia.

No matter the vocal strength social media and

global connectivity have given us as citizens, the

institutional stakeholders involved in emerging

technology will inevitably design its applications

in their own terms. Onerous patenting laws aside,

engaging fully in genetic engineering requires

equipment and chemicals that are expensive and hard

to come by.

As a response, we are witnessing the growth of

DIYbio, a sub-group of the DIY Maker Movement that

holds the same penchant for open-source knowledge

and freely available tools. Spawned by the success

of makeshift basement laboratories like New York’s

Genspace and California’s BioCurious, the movement

has not only risen to an actively competitive level

in the participation of the International Genetic

Engineering Machine Competition (iGEM), but

inspired several similar labs in various parts of the

world. These ‘Bio-Hackers’ or ‘BioPunks’ firmly

believe that cellular exploration should not be hidden

behind walls of authority and strict regulation, and

responsible individuals without a formal science

background have equal right to participate.

Despite the originally negative connotations of the

term ‘hacker’ in computer programming, the hacking

done by BioPunks promotes an altogether different

idealism: one of creative, custom innovations relying

mainly on the collective intelligence of a community.

As with any type of hacking – be it in biology, coding

or making – the hack is the solution to any given

problem. And in essence the only thing the hack

requires is the freedom to access as many tools and

as much knowledge as possible [Wohlsen, 2011].

The strengthening DIY community is the mark of a

quickly changing global framework brought on by

the digital age. As emerging generations increasingly

formulate their cultural agendas by cutting, pasting

and re-tweeting their way through life, the protection

of intellectual property is becoming a somewhat

archaic idea, overshadowed by the appeal of easily

exchangeable and available information. True

ownership of any content that is released online

remains a perpetually foggy area, the discussion of

which is weighty enough for its own dissertation.

But its many connotations aside, without these

changing notions of ownership, hacking would not

exist the way it does today. While traditional science

institutions continue to be plagued by patenting laws

that slow the publishing and progression of research,

hackers see these procedures as tiresome obstacles in

obtaining useful knowledge.

Professor Alexandra Anderson of Imperial College

laments the hierarchical publishing system that

validates a piece of science research: “If your

research isn’t published, it’s like it never happened”

[Anderson, 2013]. For a hacker however, the biggest

success comes from the hack itself, after which the

hack can be shared freely for others to adopt and

iterate [Wohlsen, 2011]. At its very core, the hacker

movement is about empowerment, and you are only

as empowered as the tools you can get your hands on.

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BioHackspace, LondonTaking bacterial samples from isolated areas of my body and cultivating them in petri dishes

Photos: Author’s ownHackspace LondonOctober 2013

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Photo: Author’s ownHackspace LondonOctober 2013

Self SamplesCultivated bacteria taken from my armpit

DIY StethoscopeHacking a stethoscope to connect to a mini-microphone, enabling it to be hooked up to an external speaker

Photos: Author’s ownGoldsmiths CollegeNovember 2013

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Chapter Three

The main virtue of spaces like these, then, seems to lie

in the openness and ease with which the members are

able to cross-pollinate their skills and ideas. Given

the diverse set of backgrounds and professions,

the members are more prone to appreciating the

opportunities in alternative approaches to problem-

solving. In a sense, ‘BioPunks’ are most talented at

the playfulness that could make institutional science-

design collaboration more effective. It’s important

to remember that in the grand scheme of things,

DIYbio is still in its infancy (public attention was

first drawn to it around 2005), so as of yet it’s rather

difficult to predict what design’s role will be. The

current objective of DIYbio is first and foremost the

accessibility of tools and equipment. While spaces

like Genspace have promoted some creative projects,

the bulk of achievements in the movement seem to lie

in hacking the means to at-home science experiments,

by proving it can be done with scant materials and

money.

Admittedly, this in itself should be considered a

type of design feat, as equipment and tools are

redesigned to suit personal needs and capabilities.

The priorities for my own equipment are accessibility

and portability before scientific accuracy; I don’t need

my tools to match the standards of those in a science

lab in order to benefit from them, as I am by no means

looking to make medical breakthroughs or discover

new organisms. Rather, it’s in the re-appropriation

of scientific methods that creativity lends itself, just

as The Kitchen re-appropriated decellularisation for

a textile designer’s ends. As a designer taking part in

science activities without proper instruction, I feel

akin to the ethos of DIYbio only to the extent that I

hack alternative or more design-appropriate ways of

performing scientific activities. The tools I invented

for extracting and exploring bodily materials, while

useful within the scope of the design project, may

not necessarily provide any function for a purely

scientific investigation of the human body. The

customisation and small-scale nature of this type of

hacking is therefore layered with individual forms

of ‘tacit’ knowledge. The point at which I depart

from the DIYBio path and into the realm of design

thus seems to be in the analysis and application of

whatever discoveries I make. We spoke before of

design as a ‘flattener,’ of streamlining the bumpy

connections between science and its entanglements

with businesses, governments and culture in favour

of efficacy. Here it might take on an alter-ego in the

form of ‘mess-making,’ by envisioning a multiplicity

of participants in the making and making-sense of

science and its related tools and practices [McKenzie,

2009].

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scientific research; others are religiously or culturally

bound by the traditions of their community or

upbringing.

Scientists who view human substances like blood,

hair, saliva and sperm to be fully replenish-able and

therefore disposable are not paying attention to the

cultural and emotional importance people place on

the components of their body; they are missing the

‘sensibilities’ that so distinctly separate design from

science. After all, if a person can be fully identified by

the DNA present in every drop of their blood, surely

there are deep emotional connections that should be

considered when it’s retained for experimentation.

Human tissue trafficking causes uproar because our

body parts are entrenched in the ideas, perceptions,

and associations we have about ourselves and our

lives, and exploiting them as commercial products

may not agree with our social beliefs. Yet the

exponentially dropping price of DNA sequencing

and increasing popularity of genomics services like

23andMe suggests an inherent human desire to

understand and analyse our bodies on a personal

scale. This could be for the sake of inheritance risk

assessment, motivation for a lifestyle change or plain

curiosity, but it presents the conflicting decision

between the empowerment in understanding yourself

and the ultimate helplessness you might face with

the discovery of an incurable condition. It brings

to light the thorny relationship between a clinical

understanding of our biological makeup and the

undeniable emotional ties we have with our personal

traits. The culture and ethics of increasing body

commodification have begun to infiltrate the design

world also, most notably discussed in the Body/Art/

Bioethics symposium hosted by SymbioticA and the

Tissue Culture And Art Project of the same director.

Dynamic Genetics Vs. MannA design fiction project by Superflux, narrating the court case of a victim of genetic discrimination who consequently turns to black market gene therapy

Photos: dynamicgenetics.co.ukJanuary 2014

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Chapter Four

4BioCommerce Genetic Gold or Garbage Tissue?

The ethical concerns about designed biology hit

close to home for most people – there’s something

about living things becoming commercialised that

as a society we can’t seem to get over. If suddenly

biology is being designed, the implication is that it’s

being designed to be sold, the significance of which

becomes none the more poignant when it concerns

our own bodies. Dynamic Genetics Vs. Mann, a

design fiction by futurist studio Superflux clearly

exemplifies some of these concerns by narrating

the case of a victim of genetic discrimination by

future insurance companies. Saddled with an

impossibly high health insurance bill or the risk of

unemployment, the protagonist turns to counterfeit

gene therapy to lower the cost of his health insurance,

provoking debate around ideological struggles

about identity, surveillance and ownership that are

presented by advancing biotechnology.

The truth of the matter is that a scientific reduction

of the human body to ‘data banks’ of genetic

information has been ongoing for over a decade,

most notably by the Human Genome Diversity Project

(HGDP). Masked as a kind of philanthropic quest to

preserve the genetic details of ‘endangered tribes,’

the project involved extracting genetic materials of

indigenous and isolated communities to study and

manipulate their biological traits. Modern medicine

has seen countless cases of blood cell lines and other

human tissue being retained in efforts to further

understand ancestral histories, heritable diseases and

population genetics [Andrews, 2001]. Most famously

chastised for its ambiguous tenets around informed

consent and questionable treatment of indigenous

people, the moral complexity of the HGDP is deeply

rooted in cultural and individual perspectives on the

human body. Some may gladly donate their bodies to

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Chapter Four

Selected presentation pages outlining ‘mined’ human substances and consequent experiments

Downwards from top row:Sweat collected after exercise and boiled for salt and mineral extraction; Yeast in skin scrapings used to bake bread; Endurance testing of hair and saliva between two individuals

Photos: Author’s ownNovember 2013

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Saliva of the FittestA competition of the digestive speed between saliva provided by two individuals

Photo: Author’s ownDecember 2013

Full video:vimeo.com/81530408

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Chapter Four

Where the initial collection of my skin, saliva, sweat

and hair felt rather clinical and detached, the point

at which my experiments gained momentum and

character was in the ‘playfulness’ that came with

influence from The Kitchen. Attempting to bake

bread with the yeast I suspected to live on my skin

introduced a ritualistic and social element that was

missing in the rows of plastic beakers filled with

sweat. Combining the scientific knowledge of human

yeast cultures with the domestic tradition of bread-

making provided a fertile introduction to the social,

cultural and personal ideas about identity, ownership

and acceptability that can be both breached and

highlighted when dealing with human tissue. The use

of your own skin in an activity as globally relevant

yet historically domestic as cooking suggests a

symbiotic relationship between a hyper-awareness

of the self and the biological processes that normally

go unnoticed. The value of my skin thus becomes

centred not on the market value it might garner in the

medical industry, but on its ability to function in this

lateral interpretation of its genetic components.

Saliva Of The Fittest takes on the playful element of

scientific investigation quite literally by prototyping

a game where two participants can compete with

the digestive capabilities of their saliva. Funny at

best and disgusting at worst, the game acts similarly

to the bread experiment in that it celebrates the

saliva not for its market genetic value but for its

biological genetic value – how well it can do what

it was designed by nature to do. Despite the almost

inseparable ties between DNA and identity, in its

search for medically poignant genetic strains, medical

researchers can systemise the tissue collection

process to the extent that the tissues ironically

become nearly unidentifiable. Sitting amongst a sea

of glass vials categorised by numbers and letters that

yield no indication of name, face or cultural origin,

the human materials collected in the medical research

field can become eerily un-human. In contrast, the

game presents an alternative opportunity to take

pride in the biological merits of our genetic makeup

within a social context, taking advantage of human

substances that may not be commercially valuable but

are actually indispensable for human functionality.

Without saliva we cannot survive, yet it is generally

discarded without thought, and usually dismissed as

an unsavoury facet of the human body. By competing

with something as simultaneously trivial and vital

as saliva, the prototype proposes a reconsideration

of the value of the biological traits that we may not

necessarily be able to train or reflect on as important

parts of our genetic identities.

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Photo: Author’s ownDecember 2013

Saliva of the FittestA competition of the digestive speed between saliva provided by two individuals

These explorations of the self, and the materiality

of the human body is perhaps the element that has

most successfully tied together the various aspects

of my research. Unlike the bacterial samples taken at

the Hackspace, the tangible tactility of my skin, hair

and saliva allowed me to easily experiment and ‘play’

in ways that helped me learn about their makeup,

formulate avenues of investigation and also excited

my design curiosity. However, despite interactions

with different areas of the scientific community, the

work only fits with Cross’ defintion of ‘scientific

design’ to the extent that the scientific information

was based on suspicions and hunches guided by

iterative cycles of experimentation. Literary research

and verbal confirmation from authorities was used to

justify or nudge these suspicions, but it was rarely a

primary instigator of any activity. In fact, my complete

lack of scientific expertise almost prohibited me from

doing otherwise, leaning my experiments toward the

do-it-yourself formula, and deliberating alternative

social norms surrounding genetic identity and human

value that are defined by my own design sensibilities

and rather than scientific precision.

Sissel Tolaas is a smell artist with a specific focus on human smells, how they are created and how we perceive them. With higher education in chemistry, art and language, her work is an interesting blend of the three, using fragrance as an ethnographic tool and communicator.

(Clockwise from top) Walls painted with the pheromones of unidentified anxious men; Tokyo’s ‘smellscape’ mapped with words; Tokyo’s ‘smellscape’ mapped with samples

Photos: Author’s ownBunny Smash, Museum of Contemporary Art TokyoDecember 2013

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Chapter Four

Smell-artist and scientist Sissel Tolaas takes a similar

perspective on the human body through her olfactory

explorations. Regarding the body as a tool of invisible

communication, Tolaas collects sweat molecules from

individuals and analyses their chemical makeup in

relation to emotional factors like fear or anxiety,

unlocking marvel at the previously unconsidered

intricacy of such a largely disregarded material. In

another project Bacterially, Tolaas collaborated with

synthetic biologist Christina Agapakis to cultivate

cheeses made from human armpit or foot bacteria,

drawing parallels between body odours, food odours

and the power of suggestion. Similar to my use of

saliva and skin, there is a distinct tension between

the pre-conceived ‘yuck’ factor dictated by social

norms, and the alternative perceptions provoked by

an alternative context. It questions the established

notions about what we find appealing, interesting

or valuable about our bodies, which when studied

objectively, can begin to seem to absurd.

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Design proposals of this type are prescriptive as well

as responsive, selling audiences constructed ideas

as well as accounting for their concerns and desires.

No matter the type of science-design combination,

the ‘designerly’ element of the project becomes clear

with the enforcement of ‘design sensibilities’ – acting

as a mediator between the scientific information and

its ramifications on culture, society, government and

business.

Opportunities to collaborate at London’s Hackspace,

while interesting for the purpose of inspiring self-

empowerment, proved to be less concerned with

the creation of socially interesting projects than it

was with catching up with institutional activities

in biotechnology. Nevertheless, hackspaces overall

do seem to tread a blurry line between biology

and design that I suspect will secure their place in

the unfurling domain of bio-design. Groups like

Genspace could be categorised as ‘mess-makers’

of synthetic biology in that they experiment with it

equally in the context of creative projects as well

as standardised competitions like iGEM. As of yet

however I would hesitate to call them designers –

even multi-disciplinary ones – but it’s difficult to

pinpoint exactly why. Perhaps I would feel more

comfortable categorising their more creative

endeavours as ‘bio-art’ rather than ‘bio-design’, as

projects like Glowing Plant or DinoPet successfully

meld the scientific and the creative but do not quite

exhibit coherent design sensibilities.

On the other hand, open-source resources have

begun to burst conventional ideas about authority

in all fields, and with knowledge about almost every

form of making being shared and applied by people

of all backgrounds, the question of “Who designs?” is

drawn to the forefront. As McKenzie points out, the

answer to this was at one point obvious: scientists

and biological engineers took the role of designers

within their specialised fields, as they manipulated

cells for specific forms or functions. Yet there are

elements in the institutional practice of biotechnology

that demonstrate a shift in the organisation,

distribution and responsibilities in doing biology,

most notably embodied in the relevant digital network

cultures. Websites like OpenWetWare (and indeed

the general structure of iGEM) promote flexible

interchanges of imitation and invention through

the sharing of knowledge and protocols, bringing

different figures of design into flux with one another.

[McKenzie, 2009]. By moulding the development of

biotechnology in the image of open-source networks

and web-centric collaboration, the question of who

designs what becomes less defined. This is the very

heart of the hacking movement, and it looks set to the

challenge the conventions of design just as much as

those of science.

While embracing diversity and knowledge

transferability can combat the monotony of a ‘one

size fits all’ approach, it’s important to remain acutely

aware of design’s role in this context. In this sense

there must also be an explicit understanding of

the motives and potential of each party; a constant

exchange that I grappled with in my own explorations.

While the bacterial samples I cultivated proved too

scientifically sterile to provoke design inspiration

within my own capabilities, the tactility of using saliva

or hair inspired a playfulness and curiosity that only

later required more scientific literature to provide

a firmer contextual foothold. Nevertheless, taking

advantage of my ‘tacit’ knowledge when acting on

suspicions was what defines and characterises the

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Conclusion

5ConclusionA personal reflection on BioDesign

So where have we come to with bio-design? In

Chapter 1 I discussed a variety of scientific areas

and forms in which design can manifest and

give benefit. Peralta’s study for the University of

Cambridge highlighted how misaligned objectives

and communication problems between scientists

and designers pose as the most notable obstacles.

As a result I’ve suggested that the most mutually

lucrative area for science-design collaboration lies

in the type of non-committal playfulness of joint

experimentation exemplified by The Kitchen, and

outlined how this approach is manifested in my

own work. For scientists working with designers,

this can be a welcome opportunity for the kind of

inventive brainstorming that may help them make

more innovative leaps of illumination, providing

an alternative approach to the making sense of

biotechnology. For designers working with scientists,

it provides a richer and more culturally poignant

toolkit of materials, processes and contexts with

which to inform their work, keeping bio-design on the

cusp of relevancy and cultural interest.

However, at the moment the majority of creative work

engaging with synthetic biology that can be most

clearly classified as ‘design’ seems to be situated

in the design fiction or speculative camp, bridging

the gap between convoluted scientific research

and the implications it has on communities, ethical

boundaries and public debate. In this state design is

effective even as a perpetually unrealised concept,

a stark contrast to the reductionism and eliminatory

process required by science enquiries. By proposing

multiple possible futures and provoking thought

about the ‘right’ way to introduce this technology into

the hands of the public, design is fulfilling its role

as a people-centered practice and moral regulator.

45 – 46

work, placing it within a cultural framework, boosted

by the intense subjectivity of working with my own

body parts. In this sense, while scientists must

understand the multi-faceted skill set of emerging

designers that goes beyond that of an aesthetic

organiser, visualiser or streamliner, designers must

also stay privy to their own culture, approaches

and ‘designerly ways of thinking’ [Cross, 2000] that

distinguishes them in their own identifiable form of

practice, rather than merely copying and borrowing

certain methods and ideas from other disciplines.

In the spirit of Tolaas’ endeavours to deconstruct,

analyse and experiment with a biological function as

influential yet scientifically overlooked as smell, my

experiments with saliva and skin thus paid homage to

the smell artist’s mantra: “I have what scientists don’t

have — the guts to go out there and try my ideas out

in reality” [Khemsurov, 2009].

The scraping, plucking, tweezing, and hoarding of my

body parts, while bizarre and unappetizing to some,

presented a unique platform on which a clinical,

objective analysis was constantly jostling with the

intense subjectivity of literally working with pieces

of myself. To this effect, no matter how scientifically

accurate or systemised my experiments could be, the

design sensibilities regarding ownership, identity,

culture and tradition that surround our relationships

with our bodies could never be ignored. Republic

of Salivation sits at the intersection of this tension

between science, design and speculative thinking,

stirring debate in the design community about

feasibility and scientific plausibility. Yet critics

of the project seem to have somewhat missed the

point: design fictions like these do not necessarily

stem from a problem-solution motive, but are

instead catalysts for social discussion, dealing

with uncomfortable issues in uncomfortable ways.

Therefore a successful science-design project is

not necessarily contingent on scientific accuracy,

but on its ability to provoke debate, inspired by the

types of suspicions that have so far guided my own

experiments.

However, my endeavours have as of yet only thrived

on a much more personal scale – by mining parts

of my body for personal experiments, I indulged in

my own code of ethics that remains impervious to

institutional, political or economic drivers. Instead

of focusing explicitly on the DNA code that is so

coveted by medicine, government and business,

my approaches considered another type of value

that deals more generally with the functionality

and materiality of the substances we produce

and dispose of subconsciously. I suspect the next

stage will be the consideration of a wider cultural

scope, experimenting with the power of context and

suggestion to draw out alternative reactions to the

same central subject matter.

This is a path that I hope to pursue, investigating

how biological and cultural perspectives on the body

grapple with each other in the biotechnology age. In

some ways it’s a very literal, personal embodiment of

Ginsberg’s idea of design as a “translator of the mass

of stuff that surrounds and mugs our everyday lives”

– except in this case the focus is not on the mass

of stuff around us, but the mass of stuff inside us.

It brings to view a new type of relationship between

designer and object that must be considered in the

overall picture of biotechnology: the more we design

with living things, the more we close the gap between

what we make and what we’re made of, complicating

our perceptions of our surroundings and ourselves.

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Conclusion

Michael Burton and Michiko Nitta’s project Republic of Salivation envisions a future governed by food shortages and famine, resulting in food rations that are tailored to the physical, emotional and intellectual requirements of each individual’s employment. The concept is exemplified by the characterisation of an industrial worker, whose largely starch based diet allows for longer working hours on fewer nutrients. The biological effects of such a government controlled mono-diet are consequently taken advantage of as the worker harnesses the increased presence of amylase in his saliva for the illegal production of alcohol.

(Clockwise from bottom) Contraption for saliva collection; Illegal alcohol distillery alongside photographic food porn; Process of eating government-supplied starch blocks

Photos: designandviolence.moma.org; burtonnitta.co.uk/republicofsalivation.html

Droog Den Haag, The NetherlandsJanuary – April 2012

47 – 48

Con

clus

ion

Khemsurov, M. (2009, May 11). Sissel Tolaas, Scent

Expert. Sight Unseen. Retrieved December 6, 2013,

from http://www.sightunseen.com/2009/11/sissel-

tolaas-scent-expert/

Little, M. (January, 2014). ‘Science’s branches mustn’t

forget they’re part of a tree’. Wired UK., 58.

McKenzie, A. 2009. Design in Synthetic Biology.

Centre For Social and Economic Aspects of Genomics.

Myers, W. (2012). BioDesign. London: Thames &

Hudson Ltd.

Peralta, C., Driver, A., & Moultrie, J. (2010). Discovery

and Creation: Explaining Collaboration between

Designers and Scientists in Scientific Research. DRS

2010 Design and Complexity Conference Montreal.

Peralta, C., Driver, A., & Moultrie, J. (2011). Exploring

How Industrial Designers Can Contribute to Scientific

Research. International Journal of Design, 1(5), 17-28

PopCasts : Alexandra Daisy Ginsberg: Synthetic

Aesthetics. (2013). PopTech. Retrieved October

15, 2013, from http://poptech.org/popcasts/daisy_

ginsberg_synthetic_aesthetics

Rose, N. S. (2007). Politics of Life Itself: Biomedicine,

Power, and Subjectivity in the Twenty-First Century.

Princeton: Princeton University Press.

Suri, J. F., & Hendrix, M. R. (2010, Spring). Developing

Design Sensibilities. Rotman Magazine, 59-63.

SymbioticA. http://www.symbioticA.uwa.edu.au.

Wohlsen, M. (2011). Biopunk: DIY Scientists Hack the

Software of Life. New York: Current.

Interviews

Hastings, J. 2013. Interviewed by Marisa Jensen [in

person] Design Beyond Making, 06 December 2013.

Anderson, A. 2013. Interviewed by Marisa Jensen [in

person] Imperial College, 18 November 2013.

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References

/References

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Jorgensen, E. (2012, June). Ellen Jorgensen:

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can_do_it_too.html

Keller, E. (2013, November 3). Should we fear

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Additional Reading

/Additional Reading

Aldhous, P. (2013, June 7). Do glowing house plants

take gene tinkering too far?. New Scientist. Retrieved

November 3, 2013, from http://www.newscientist.com/

article/dn23668-do-glowing-house-plants-take-gene-

tinkering-too-far.html#.UnaSKJR5xfg

Body/Art/Bioethics: A SymbioticA Symposium.

(August, 2010). Retrieved January 10th, 2014, from

http://www.bodyartbioethics.symbiotica.uwa.edu.au/

Elowitz, M., & Wendell, L. (2010, December 16). Build

Life to Understand It. Nature, 468, 889–8890.

Endy, D. (2011, March 3). On Biotechnology Without

Borders. Seed Magazine. Retrieved October 28, 2013,

from http://seedmagazine.com/content/article/on_

biotechnology_without_borders/

Flaherty, J. (2013, January 22). DIY Bioprinter Lets

Wannabe Scientists Build Structures From Living

Cells. Wired. Retrieved November 13, 2013, from

http://www.wired.com/design/2013/01/diy-bio-

printer/

Gallagher, J. (2013, July 11). Massive DNA volunteer

hunt begins. BBC News. Retrieved October 23,

2013, from http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/health-

24834375?ocid=socialflow_twitter_bbcnews

Hammersley, B. (2009, August 10). At home with

the DNA hackers. Wired UK. Retrieved October

21, 2013, from http://www.wired.co.uk/magazine/

archive/2009/09/features/at-home-with-the-dna-

hackers

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